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[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
|
Angela was scared for the first time in her life. Her parents, now quietly standing in the corner of her room, had hidden from her the giant part of her life.
She has a brother.
"How could you do this!" She screamed, her anglic wings now scruffed " Do you know what that means? That boy, now man can be as strong as me! That means he is a threat to a balance itself!"
"You can't be sure !" her mother plead. She was afraid of her. Since childhood, her daughter was surraunded by love and praise. She should stop the Empire Church from taking her to the Saint Monastery. How could she not see that this people would turn her little girl into .... that.
"Don't you dare say anymore excuses! What else had you hidden from me? That I'm adopted? That you kidnapped me from my parents? Who are they? " Said Angela now her voice more and more spunding like a vouce of priest during ceremony.
"You are our child! And don't worry! Your brother was send so far away. He may not even know you even exist! Not to mention the prophecy!"
"Where did you took him?" Angela asked her father. As always his face was showing no emotion, but now he was more pale than usual. The guilt was cracking his face. He signed the pact. He couldn't tell her.
"I asked foreign merchant to take him as payment for my debts." He answered.
"Do you know what would happen, if that would see a light of day? That would turn apart everything the Empire stands by! A child trader! Guards! " She shouts while pointing her finger at her father.
"What is it, Your Angelic Might?" A voice called.
" Take them away from me! I do not want to be associated with this heretics!" She ordered while turning her back on them. Her parents left with guards. Meanwhile, the chamber entered, sir Sebastian, her personall confesioner and advisor send by Empire Church to aid her in troubling times such as this one.
"We need to find him!" she snarled.
"I think that would be much easier than it seems." He answered
"How!? We don't know where he was send. He can be everywhere?"
Sabastian handed her daily newspaper. On the front page was written in large letters:
IT IS A WAR. LARGE ARMIES OF THE UNITED TRIBES OF WESTERN PLAINS GATHER ON THE BORDER OF OUR BELOVED EMPIRE. OUR BELOVED ANGEL PROTECTS!
"What does it has in common with my brother?"
"Read further" Sebastian followed
She started reading further. Her eyes getting larger every second. She throwed the paper to the ground and left the chamber, Sebastian right behind her. In her memory was burned the last sentences of this article:
"The rumors says that, the triebs are acompanied by the party of the Black Company lead by legendary commander known as the Horned One. His role in this war is currently uknown, our sources speculate that this war with him in its theatre, will be bloody. ALL HAIL THE ANGEL"
|
It was early in the morning, I could hear the birds chirping. I opened my eyes just a little only to see my little girl Jessy there. I was happy to see her until I realized she was holding a knife. That was the 5th time this week she has woke me up like this. I wish we would have kept her brother. We noticed from a young age she was different. She always cried even when we gave her what she wanted. I thought maybe this was just normal baby stuff everyone said it would get better. Spoiler alert it never did. She’s six now and always finds a way to try and hurt us. She doesn’t have many friends. The adoption agency finally told me I could get my boy back by next year. He was still in the foster system so it was easy to get him. I haven’t seen him since he was born.
*a year later*
Today we finally get our boy back. We don’t know what we’re going to do with Jessy. We named our boy Lucas before giving him away at birth.
*a week later*
Jessy seems meaner lately. She hasn’t tried to hurt us but she keeps warning us we should get rid of Lucas. I told her we’re not getting rid of Lucas. No matter how many times I tell her she still tries to convince us he’s bad news. There birthday is coming up soon. I plan on bringing Jessy to a military school. She has to be at least 9 so I will try to give her the best birthday ever. I’m sending her for her own good. She won’t stop lying and holding knives like she’s ready to attack someone if they make her mad. The military school is very good to there students and it’s nothing like any of the other schools I’ve seen. I know this will be good for her. I still love Jessy very much but I just can’t give her the help she needs at home.
*the twins birthday*
I woke them up this morning and sang them happy birthday. When we went downstairs I told them they could have anything they wanted for breakfasts. There dad took Lucas to a roller skating rink while I took Jessy to a trampoline park. This is the happiest I’ve seen Jessy in a long time. It makes me sad that I’m sending her off tomorrow. It was a good day today everyone had fun and we ate a lot of cake.
*the next day*
I didn’t tell Jessy we were sending her to military school I just told her we were bringing her somewhere for a bit and to pack her bags. I told her it was like a summer camp. When we got to the gates it seemed very nice. Everyone was so sweet and welcoming and they seemed like they were very nice to there students. When Jessy found out what I was doing she cried and begged me to not leave her here. She said Lucas should be the one here and she did nothing wrong. The security guards quickly directed me to the exit. The whole way home I cried. I didn’t know if I made the right decision but I had to be strong for Lucas and Jessy.
*two years later*
Jessy has been in and out of the school. She’s gotten better at some points and worse at others. Today Jessy gets to come home again for who knows how long. Lucas seems happy she’s coming home. We all had a nice family dinner and Jessy seems happy to be home.
Jessy has been home for a week now has been very good. She seems a little nervous sometimes but other then that she’s doing good.
*later that night*
I was sleeping peacefully when all of a sudden a boom went threw the house. I realized it was the sound of a gunshot. I rushed to Jessy’s room only to find her bleeding out on her bed. I ran over to put pressure on her wound while I yelled for my husband to call 911. I saw little Lucas sitting in the corner of her room, he look terrified. I asked him what happened. He said “I came in here cause I thought I heard her crying. When I walked in though she pointed a gun at me. She tried to shoot at me but the gun wouldn’t shoot. I ran and pulled it out of her hands and pointed it at her. All of a sudden it fired I didn’t even pull the trigger!”. He was talking fast and crying so I hardly understood him but there was no time to wonder what happened I had to make sure Jessy was ok. The ambulance arrived and I tried to go with her but the police said I needed to stay behind for questioning. After hours of questioning they finally released me and my husband to go see Jessy. They said the had to keep Lucas for a little longer. Jessy was on a breathing machine. I found out the bullet almost hit her heart. She was passed out they said she should wake up tomorrow or the next day but she wouldn’t be able to talk. I cried and prayed that she would live.
*the next day*
Jessy woke up but was very dazed. The police came in to talk to her. We still hadn’t seen Lucas we assumed he was picked up by my sister but we didn’t have enough time to call and ask. After the police talked to Jessy for what felt like hours they finally informed me they had arrested the person who did this. At first I was happy then I realized they were talking about my son.
“What?”
Police “we’ve arrested your son for attempted murder”
It all came crashing down I tried to explain it was an accident but they said he tried to kill her. He confesses to coming to her room with a gun in a attempt to kill her. They said there was proof. How could my little boy do this I thought he was the good twin.
*trial day*
It’s all come out everything he did. He tried to kill her. Every time we woke up with Jessy holding a knife she was trying to protect us. She was scared he would come hurt us. It doesn’t make sense to me either. Today Lucas goes to trial. He’s tried to say he was innocent for the longest time but when the police showed him all the evidence they had against him he confessed. A year after Lucas tried to kill Jessy she’s still broken. I found out she’s the good one not him. I tried to keep the wrong one. I tried to get rid of Jessy even though she’s the best girl anyone could ask for.
Edit: I’m not a writer so sorry for this being kinda boring and having horrible punctuation. :)
| 2020-05-07T08:30:59 | 2020-05-07T08:18:26 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] "Never get into a fight with an Earther. They are conditioned in 1G from birth. You will never build that kind of strength out here. But if you have no choice, wrestle. It's better to be ragdolled than to have your orbital shattered by the first punch."
|
"How tough can it be? Look at it. It has no claws, no fangs...it can't even grip with its hind appendages."
"It can kick, though."
"Right, sure, but no claws like I said, not even hooves. Just really malformed manipulators."
"Look, Angroood. I'm just telling you. Humans are great when you're in a tough spot. Creative thinkers, dextrous, surprisingly durable. They tend to survive because they're deeply nonspecialized in their conformation. But don't fight them."
"Not a threat. I'm halfway inclined to go piss that one off just to see what happens."
"Before you do, let me gather my stuff and get out of the splash zone. Can I have that coat when you die?"
"It won't kill me."
"No, probably not. I know that one and it's a good, law-abiding citizen. If you force it into a fight it will probably not kill you but by the time everything is over you will wish it had."
Angroood had been heaving his bulk out of his lounger but paused. His drinking mate's sincerity was clear in his coloration. "You sound awfully sure of yourself. That thing is only half my size. I could take it."
"You could take another drink and sit your intoxicated posterior back down." The coloration subsided a bit. "It's half your size, yes, but it's also double your mass."
Angroood goggled. "No way."
"Yes way. That thing is the end result of a species of nonspecialized omnivorous primate, evolutionarily selected for intelligence and climatic hardiness on a rocky Type 2 world. Temperatures that would bake you only encourage it to disrobe. That example, that one RIGHT THERE, is from a part of its homeworld where water freezes for half the entire year. And Angroood..."
"Yeah?"
"It fights for fun. It practices fighting. It picks up heavy weights until it cannot lift them anymore, so its muscles will be injured and heal back stronger. Then it picks up heavier weights. If you pick a fight with this human, it will probably not kill you. But that won't be because it cannot. That will be its choice, not yours."
Angroood huffed, a vaguely whistling sound emanating from his nasal horns. "Fights for fun?"
"Shut up and let me buy you another drink. No, no - don't get up."
The drinking mate wandered to the bar, passing through the audioveil on the way, nearly staggering at the crush of sound, the cacophony of languages and means by which they were spoken. At the bar, he approached the human. It craned its peculiar little head up at him, speaking its language from a small mouth full of varied but otherwise unimpressive teeth.
"Well?"
"Human Gina, I think if I string him along just a bit more he will be willing to take the challenge regardless. He has what you humans call "a macho streak" which will serve you well. How are things going on this end?"
"The betting spread is 7:5, I need to work the crowd a bit more if I really want to make a profit on this. I'd like to get it to 8:5."
"I'll see if I can make him angry."
"That'll be fine." The human swirled one of its digits in the ring of condensation on the bar. "I'd like to shop for a new outfit. I need the money. Get him cranked up, Booj."
Booj took his drinks and stumped away to beard Angroood some more, leaving Human Gina to continue working the crowd for wagers.
He might just get the coat anyway.
|
To a Spacborn the galaxy held two truths. One, that you could never trust an Earthborn to do anything but enrich themselves. And two, that to fight an Earthborn hand to hand was suicide.
The first truth had been known for nearly five centuries, since the day of the Great Schism when all across Earth and her colonies the migrant fleet took flight, disappearing into the vastness of the unknown regions.
The second was more recent, a fact rediscovered in the past decade when the galaxy had grown too small and the two divisions of the human race had begun to rub elbows again, on mining asteroids and fueling stars and cheap saloons all along the outer rim.
Over the intervening years the Earthborn’s desires had looked ever outward in their endless procession of self enrichment and aggrandizement until their colonies had eaten up all the land they could and only the great Worldships of their distant kin were left.
That was what had lead them to this battle, to laser fire that blazed through the vacuum of space and fighter craft dodging and weaving through an asteroid belt that didn’t even hold enough salable ore to be worth mining. This far out there was nothing at all of value except that which had already been claimed, hulls built by ancestors long dead out of their own blood sweat and tears and the complex network of systems that sustained them.
Some of the most complex systems being human, although after so long in space that term was hotly debated. Humans such as Edric, who crouched shirtless inside an airlock and waited for the human boarding party with a rifle in his hands as did thousands of other young men all across the massive ship.
To the Earthborn who would soon walk through that door Edric would look like nothing they might recognize. His skin was a sallow, yellowed shade, not from any illness but as a byproduct of the many changes made to his genome. His limbs were strangely elongated and his fingers positively spindly, engineered to fit into all the crevices where malfunctioning wires might hide. His eyes were catlike and very slightly luminescent, and like most of the Spaceborn he wore little clothing save a breechcloth, all that was necessary in the carefully controlled atmosphere.
Most shocking perhaps he had no nose to speak of, and along his neck were the horizontal slashes of what his people called gills but were in reality so much more. They could distill oxygen from more fluids and gasses than Edric himself could even name, and in an explosive decompression they (and every other orifice) could seal themselves as his body entered a sort of suspended animation, keeping him alive nearly 45 minutes if necessary.
Edric didn’t know it at the time, but even without their fetishistic hunger to conquer the Earthborn might have made war on the Spaceborn for the simple facts of their appearance. Religion had found new extremes since the Schism and on all the worlds they called home the “true humans” protected their genome fanatically.
To Edric the faces creatures that came through the airlock looked horrifically alien, their skin tight uniform jumpsuits bulging with fearsome muscle and their dead eyes that seemed to yearn for the kill.
In the moments after the Earthborn’s entrance Edric heard his commander’s order, passed along expanse of the chamber in a kind of deepset rhythmic thrum, and all alone their lines the Spaceborn fired. The first wave died before they could even discharge their weapons, and the second after them, but the colonies had overflowed for a reason. The invaders would never run out of soldiers.
They’d established a beachhead in an hour, begun fanning out into the Worldship twenty minutes later, and all the while Edric and his comrades fell back before them further and further into the ship. Only the most suicidal stood their ground and those were dispatched without compunction, their brittle bones cracking under the force of a single punch as they fought and struggled and died for their home.
For the Spaceborn fighting had never been the answer, not on a scale such as this. Their advantages were subtle but they existed nonetheless, and finally after hours of retreat into the great mass of their vessel they reached the perimeter that had been prepared in the year since word had reached them of the Earthborn fleet’s approach.
On that perimeter they would fight and die, and they did in startling numbers. Against their weaker foes the Earthborn eschewed tactics. Instead they charged, with a ferocity born of harsh poverty and harsher overseers they threw themselves against the defenders, and there where the Spaceborn could retreat no longer their terrifying strength was truly brought to bear.
What use were cat eyes against a man who could put his fist clean through your chest?
What use were fine fingers when each of his held the power of your entire hand?
What use were gills when there was no water to breath and you fought and died hovered in air instead, at a gravity where there man in front of you might hurl you across an entire field?
For all those things and more there was no use now in a world where might made right, but for one thing in fact there was. After hours of retreat the humans had fed tens of thousands of their men into the meat-grinder of this worldship, and of many others across the system. They piled up in the hallways and the improvised depots they’d made from the perimeter they fought over all the way back to the airlocks, and in an instant they all began to realize their mistake as the air began to hiss out past them, crystallizing into massive streams of ice in the space all around the worldships.
From his spot on the ground where he had lain grievously wounded and struggled to accept his death Edric saw the awful truth of decompression begin to sink in among the Earthborn. Only the officers had been deemed worthy of the added expense of full space helmets, and of those only a very select few had more than a couple minutes of oxygen.
Edric could feel the membrane sliding out to covers his eyes. He felt the terrible itchy chill of his gills and pores sealing shut as his senses began to slow, breathing obsolete, heartbeat obsolete. Through the thick film that covered his eyes he could see the panic among the Earthborn rank and file and a part of him began to regret what was being done to them.
When the Spaceborn woke in a hallway choked with corpses Edric’s regret had already faded, for above all else the rules were still true. One, that you could never trust an Earthborn to do anything but enrich themselves. And two, that to fight an Earthborn hand to hand was suicide.
The latter had been brutally proven in front of his very eyes and the evidence was strewn all around.
As for the former, it was the most true of all, had been for 500 years or more. It was the truth that held up the second, that ensured it would be put to the test again soon. Because this day might have been a victory but others would come.
And perhaps then the Earthborn might value the lives of the men enough to properly equip them.
\------------
If you enjoyed that I've got a ton more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). At the moment I'm working on a serial about 3 psychic teens encountering a hive mind and there's other fun stuff like a faceless, mouthless, space tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-02-08T18:46:24 | 2021-02-08T14:06:06 | 1,008 | 282 |
[WP] There is a procedure offered to the wealthy and powerful that allows their minds to be transferred to the brain-dead body of an anonymous individual. Except it's fake, the volunteer is actually trained in every minute detail of the person's life to assume their identity as if they were them.
This prompt was inspired by the movie [Freejack](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104299/)
|
“You’re not my husband,” Lorelei said.
Martin, as was currently his name, looked at his wife. “Sweetheart?”
“It’s not that I mind. You at least pretend to love me in a way he stopped bothering to do, not long after we married. But all the same, you’re not him.”
Martin leaned back into the plush armchair and considered. What had triggered her suspicion? They’d been sitting quietly in the study together, reading. He’d made them both a G&T — their favourite drink, so said the flawless research.
Not that flawless, it seemed. Months of audio recordings had helped him forge “Martin” as his own identity, and yet she’d seen right through it. *Some actor you are*, he thought. *Perhaps retirement is finally calling.*
He’d started his career as a method actor. Done okay for himself, too — he was considered a fairly decent actor. But he didn’t have that certain something, that *je nes sais quoi*, that stars apparently had.
So he’d looked at other options as he’d left his twenties and tumbled into his thirties, as roles had become harder to find, as his bank account trickled away like a dry well in some hot place that used to rain but no longer did.
And finally, just as things had become utterly desperate, he’d found something.
He thought of the real Martin: a wealthy business tycoon who owned a ranch, a mining company, and more technology startups than either Martin could count. He’d married a woman twenty years younger then himself, ostensibly for her fiery intelligence but truthfully for her looks. Still, the marriage had been warm. The recordings showed them talking and drinking, reading and vacationing together — all very amiably.
He’d played his role perfectly. Hadn’t he?
Clearly not.
Now the decision was to tell her the truth, which would likely result in his own death for breaking the disclosure contract, or to deepen the lie. For them both to go on knowing he was lying, or for her to call the police.
He could kill her. That was an option too. Kill her and run. Take on a new identity. That had been the longterm plan anyway. Then all of Martin’s — the real Martin’s — assets would be donated to the company, and he’d take on a new client.
”Who are you?” she said.
He opened his mouth to lie. But there was a problem, he realised. And the problem was that he actually did love her. And that somehow made lying more difficult in this situation. The rest was acting but this would be a lie.
But did he actually love her? Or was this just the method acting leaking into reality again. Sometimes the two became impossible to tell apart. Did the character love this or did you love this — after a while, it tended to become the same thing.
”You’re right, I’m not your husband.” His mouth was dry.
She nodded. “Good.”
“Good?”
”Yes. I’m glad you’re not. He’d never have allowed me to divorce him.”
”It seemed to me, and I hope you won’t mind me saying, that you loved each other.”
Through a laugh she said, “We lived like we had an instruction manual for marriage that we kept on us at all times. Knew what to say, what to do, when to do it. Yes, we looked in love. But the reality of us was that any real love was rotting away like some old wooden thing left out in rain for many years. And beyond that, with his businesses… He wasn’t what you’d call a nice person.“
*An instruction manual?* Why did that hurt to hear so much?
Ah. Because wasn’t that exactly how he lived? He read about each role, what made the person them, followed the script.
How many people had he been now? Twenty? Thirty? Each new character meant a character’s death.
Very far away, something wooden of his own — his heart, to be exact — was outside in the rain, rotting away.
Did he love her? Not as Martin, but as… as…
An overwhelming fear as deep as the coldest, blackest parts of an ocean poured over him.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
He sat there silently. Could see his old self floating somewhere deep inside that dark water. Realised now that it’d tried to swim to the surface, to gulp in air, to save itself, after his first few roles. But he’d held it under and drowned it. And now there was only this shell. This Matryoshka doll of people with a hollow center.
”Who are you?”
He wanted to cry for someone’s death. But who had died, exactly? Some washed up old actor that he couldn’t recall the name of? Is that who he would he be crying for?
“No one,” he said. “I’m no one at all.”
|
The worst part of all is being trapped between two women.
Both are dead, one to me and one to the world, and in truth they could not be more different. Isabella is darkness and light balanced. She is a favorite book open upon a bed, pages I could recite endlessly and still come back to. She is brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes harmonizing till they turn to something so much greater, a depth of color more than a word’s simple repetition can explain. She is the mother of my children, and the only one I think of before I fall asleep. She was my wife.
Esme was darkness. There was light there, imbalanced, trapped beneath pale skin to slide out serpentine into dreams and memories. She was a singer, a record that challenged rather than embraced, lyrics that had never once spoken of absolution. She’d worn daring dresses in high-class ballrooms, never considered children, always considered careers and bottom lines and the things Isabella and I never had. She was my perfect match— is now. The man I am has never loved another.
I wake from my dreams, remembering the pleasant moments before, and I step in to another man’s day.
The imprinting was not a total failure. Looking out upon the three tiered rings and encasing bubble of the habitation dome, it feels like mine. The real legacy strain coffee and the progress reports over breakfast feel like mine as well, and when I have to make my first decision of the day, condemning a pair miners trapped in the asteroid belt for something so simple as not buying insurance, I feel like Edgar P. Carrick.
I look like him too now, after the surgeries. There he is—was— in a picture next to the flowform couch, Esme on his arm. My heart swells to see it, the part of my stomach that still remembers the slums turns.
“Stepping Stone should be complete by the end of the week,” my assistant says. “Team 1 has given me their assurances that preliminary testing will begin on the first of the new month.”
“They’ve said that before,” I say.
“But this time Team 2 concurs, and the fate of the last Team Lead was an inspired decision. This time, sir, I would stake my own life on it.”
“Would you now?” I say.
He does not blanch, he is too well trained for that, but I know when he leave the room my sensors will detect a tremor.
“Yes sir,” is all the man says.
Stepping Stone has needed many steps itself. It is, in short, a man’s obsession brought to life. It is the crowning achievement of science, math, and love, synthesized down to me and the man I am pretending to be. I stare at Esme’s picture, the couch contorting itself to my shape, and I try not to imagine it being Isabella. She’d have moved to a real planet by now, perhaps Garden, perhaps Elysium. Had the imprinting been perfect, my sacrifice would have been so worth it.
But now I’ve tainted another man’s dream in the piecing back together of my own. I wonder if she’ll be able to recognize me when we meet again.
Days pass. I pass with them. It is harder to remember Isabella’s face.
“There are still dangers,” Team 1 Lead is saying. “We tested as much as we could, but it’s impossible to check it all.”
We stand within a lab at the station’s highest point, the stars slowly spinning around us through the floor to ceiling viewscreens. It is cold in the room, I brought a glass of water in earlier and it fogged. The scientists say that it is because of the portal itself, that it generates so much heat simply by its activation that we must devote fully ten percent of a space station’s power budget to this one room.
Currently, it stands dead. A great ring of steel and plastic, wires trailing off from a thousand points, twining across the floor like mating snakes. I am reminded of the cloud of Esme’s hair on the rare lazy mornings when she lingered in bed. The thought ends with the abrupt sharpness of her smile.
“What are the risks?” I ask, strapping on the ill fitting skinsuit anyway.
“One of our test subjects experienced an abortive re-materialization.”
“Translate,” I say.
“He stepped back without skin, sir,” my assistant says.
Ah. “Out of how many?”
“Ten sir,” the team lead says.
I’ve gambled on worse odds in two lives. “Do it,” I say.
“Any words, sir? For history?”
“None.”
Stepping Stone has taken two lifetimes in the pursuit of one. When men heard of what it was that I planned they called me insane. They called me, Edgar P. Carrick, a romantic when I have been nothing of the sort. They called me weak, womanish in my sentimentality. Those men are dead now and I am still here.
And she lies on the other side.
“And words for her?” my assistant whispers as the ring winks on. “What will you say to—” he is silenced by a delayed tearing, the rending of space and time and God’s own will as my step takes shape.
I do not answer. When Edgar P. Carrick requested a duplicate he requested a man in love. He had known the difference between obsession and passion, between love, lust, and truth. He’d had years to know that it was his own deficiencies in all those aspects and more that had driven Esme to what she had done. He had hoped that a man who had proven he could truly love would know what to say when he stepped through that portal.
Isabella’s barely remembered face swims before my eyes, and I’m not even sure what I would say to her.
*“I’m sorry,”* rises to my lips, but those had never been the right words for Esme.
I can see her there on the other side. It is a strange thing to peer into a lover's room like a voyeur, to see the cloud of her hair upon her pillow, the rise and fall of her chest next to an empty space in bed where you should be but were not that day.
“The switch will happen at exactly the same moment,” my assistant shouts over the deafening hum of the device. The pool of the time-dilation field ripples like slow moving water, that same blue-in-green color, arching lines like the wrinkle of her sheets across its surface. I take one last look at her in the monitor and then shut it off.
“In a manner of speaking, we may never meet again,” I say to my assistant.
“Yes sir. Team 1 is still unsure of what will happen to the timeline.”
“I will hew close enough to events. The universe can survive one more soul.”
“Yes sir,” my assistant stays.
That small shrinking part of me pre-imprint wants to squeeze the man’s shoulder and tell him he did a good job. Instead I say, “You’ll have your bonus,” and leave the control room, striding towards the portal.
A countdown begins, sixty seconds and I go on ***GO***, not *1*. It is difficult to restrain myself.
“Last chance to call it off, sir,” control says. There is time lag to the snatch and grab team and their portal.
“Never,” I say, and the count grows louder until it roars in my ears.
*10.*
*9.*
*8.*
*7.*
*6.*
*5.*
I step up to the portal, skim my hand across the surface, almost lose myself until I hear:
*1.*
I take the step forward, and submerge myself on ***GO***.
*Isabella,* I think, *I’m coming.*
And then, louder than all of that is the rising of her pale face from the pillow, her hair falling not like a cloud, but a torrent.
“Esme?” I whisper.
Edgar P. Carrick had purchased a man who’d loved truly loved just for that one word.
\-------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-07-02T07:09:46 | 2021-07-02T06:45:31 | 1,270 | 39 |
[WP] You were told your gift for light magic was a blessing. Your wit and talent could make you into a legendary healer. But you're not a gentle person. The charred corpses of your enemies can attest to that.
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They say light magic is only good for healing. You could make a small light, just enough to read at night. Maybe a flash of light to blind your enemy, giving you a chance to run. Fighting with it would be foolish, stick to being on the back lines and healing.
Those fools can’t even comprehend the power of light. If they understood just what I am capable of, they would treat me as a god and fear me just as much. They can only see the light with their eyes, but that is but a small portion of it. Some light moves through everything, not caring if it’s a person or a wall. Others will move through the fleshy parts of a person, only showing the bones and teeth of them.
This light is where my true power resides. My enemy gets nausea, most vomit, and lose control of their own arms and legs without ever knowing what hit them. The damage builds and builds until their body cannot keep going. Even if they escape, they only last a few more days. Their hair falls out, their organs fail. Those that manage to survive this, have permanent damage from facing off against me. Most of them even have their own body go out of control and kill them weeks, months or even years later. A curse fitting for facing off against the most powerful light wizard.
Those fools try to send assassins to bring me down, hiding themselves in the shadows. But their fleshy bodies are blindingly bright to me. I strike these fools before they even have a chance to approach me. However, sometimes an example must be set, something a little more showy. Boiling the blood out of a person always instill fear. However, the best option is to unleash divine wrath, smiting my enemy. I conjure up every light I can and focus it on a single person. A quick flash and there is nothing more than a charred corpse left. Not the most efficient use of magic, but all fear god. If they could understand my power, they would know to fear me and not some god.
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"A clean slate. I pray for a clean slate," answered Sofia, sitting at the edge of a wooden bank in the church of Sant Elm.
Sant Elm was a coastal village at the edge of Spain, a beautiful, clear and sunny beach destination for tourists. Hills rose beyond the beach, and the residential buildings were built on the upward slope. A small church with limited attendance was nested at the top, overlooking the village with gentle care.
There, Sofia and Luis the pastor enjoyed passing time with theological discussions. Sofia, a pious and demure woman who had been sheltered too long by her parents, had come to the church in a sour mood.
She liked to stay informed about how the world went. Appropriately, her disposition was often nasty. It hit a new low today. Geopolitics, climate warming, refugees... Too much was wrong and fueled by horrible people. To a lone person like Sofia, all she was left with was to pray.
"I pray the sins are cleansed and that the kingdom of God comes to Earth, for I don't know how long I can last."
"A wee bit dramatic, aren't we?" replied Luis.
"I hope so. Some days I feel like falling into the sea and let the waves take me away. What difference would it make?"
"It would be one less good person in this world, and we are in dire need of them."
"Bullshit," exclaimed Sofia, who had enough of the false reassurance of the pastor, "ask those in the street, the neighbors, you'll see most are good people at the core. Yet everything is going to hell, how hard does humanity have to fail that good natured men and women are at the bottom of the ladder while the sick and insane decide for us? One good person more or less won't change anything. What we need is a savior."
Luis agreed. He couldn't say so, the clergy disliked pastors agreeing with such a bleak outlook of the world. Instead, he nodded while holding a neutral expression, the most he could do.
A savior. how would he look like? Golden, wielding the light, surrounded by warmth and love. It would certainly rekindle his shaking fai-
"Fear not, for here I am," thundered a voice behind Luis.
It carried the authority and strength of a hero, the decisiveness and discipline of the chosen one that fought for the title.
Luis turned around in hope, and a gasp died in his throat.
The believers closest to the entry had fallen to their knees and were roasting to death. The man, with his dark skin and wooly hair, radiated such heat that the door was melting around him, while the faces of the believers liquefied. An old man rose to meet the savior, who extended a hand. The old man held his throat, unable to breathe, yet smiling all the same. He gurgled, opened his eyes wide, tried to speak. He fell lifeless, a smile on his purple face.
"What have you done?" Sofia cried out.
"He wanted love," replied the savior with a tone sharp as a knife, "I gave it to him."
"You strangled him to death! What... savior are you? You're supposed to help us!"
"Says who?"
Luis found the courage to speak.
"Look at you, you are cloaked in light and kindness, and you just melted the face off humble believers."
"They shouldn't have been humble," sneered the savior, "if they wanted a better world, they should have worked for it. Instead they let it go to hell while hoping someone else would come to clean up after them. Weaklings."
"You can't be serious," pleaded Sofia, in tears.
"Oh, but I am! Humanity is a desease. Easily twisted morals, no backbone, weak and pitiful. It is time to wipe the state clean, bring up the original template and make adjustments, betterments. A new species, free of the sick name of humanity. Maybe these will finally acomplish God's work. I can't be certain, we tried once with a flood and look at where we stand now."
Luis held Sofia's hand, both for her comfort and his own.
The man in the entrance raised a hand and looked beyond the ceiling.
"Here there be light."
A golden beam tore through the sky, ripping clouds and the church's ceiling as if they were made of paper. The pastor and his friend felt the warmth, and learned that God's love wasn't tender. The heat scorched the skin from their bones, skulls went coal black and froze in an eternal scream.
It was over. Sunlight entered through the gutted roof, illuminating the black outlines of the charred skeletons, still holding hands.
A man came through the busted door. Slim, pretty, the features of his face sharp as ice.
"My lord."
"Thank you for giving me the time to do this alone, Gabriel."
"Don't mention it. We're about to have all the time in the universe anyway. Again. Come, let's get away from the stench."
The breeze outside invigorated the liberator, carrying a refreshing humidity from the beach of Sant Elm. Beneath them, the village burned. Cries of agony were drowned by a heavenly choir sung by a legion, chanting as it descended from the skies to purge the world.
Gabriel was joined by Uriel and Remiel.
And Jesus spoke:
"My friends. Let us purge this sinful world and wipe the state clean."
| 2021-08-21T10:25:27 | 2021-08-21T07:38:33 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] A woman discovers a horrifying collection of VHS tapes in a landfill, each showing a disaster in the future she can try to prevent.
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Most people wouldn't have had a VHS player to play them. Most people wouldn't have looked twice at the moudly plastic bags holding the tapes. Most people wouldn't have been at the dump looking for things to begin with. But Anna always provided herself on thinking a little differently to everyone else. Seeing things that they missed.
The player itself had been a find only a few weeks earlier. Not that far from where she had found the tapes, as it happened. She slipped the first tape in -- it was just labelled E1 with a date -- and there was a series of clunks and thunks as physical things happened. Then the image appeared on the old CRT TV which had also come from the dump. She smiled in triumph. Three finds working together -- the tapes, the player, the TV. So much stuff that was still useful was just thrown out. So much stuff that...
The smile became fixed and then faded, and then her eyes were wide as she saw what was unfolding on the screen, hands covering her mouth as if she was silencing a scream.
She watched tape after tape. She knew they were real, as sure as she knew anything. Each one seemed worse than the last. The screams were the worst -- real screams were different to those from movies, no actor able to reach the proper level of true desperation. She knew she would be hearing them in her nightmares for the rest of her life, but she couldn't look away. She went through the tapes again -- 19 of them in all -- and only then saw one tape was out of order.
The label said : E0. WTC September 9/11. Recorded: 8/8/98.'
It took her a moment to make sense of it, and she smiled a slightly crazy, unhinged smile. World Trade Center. September 9/11. Recorded three years before it happened.
She put the tape in the machine and started it, holding her body physically still and stiff as if that would numb her mind. The camera angle was from the ground, not one she had ever seen before. People going about their daily lives. Some people glancing at the camera curiously, an era long before the commodification of video recording. The camera was focused on the towers, and it never wavered. *This person knew.* Whoever was shooting the footage. They were waiting.
The first plane impacted, and the screams began. Anna turned off the machine. She couldn't bear it.
She sat there in silence, shaking, sweating, not wanting to touch the tapes. But finally she went through them and set them in order, from E0 to E19. Twenty tapes in all. 'E' was event. Twenty events. The first was 9/11. Then there was a long gap.
The next date was June 8, 2022. Seattle.
Just a month away.
*Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck* she thought. She couldn't make herself move. Couldn't do anything. She had to tell someone. But who in their right mind would ever believe any of it? This was the deepfake era. Nothing was real.
She put the tape in the machine and pressed play.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 8: Clara Olsen v.s. The Future)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**You always found the best things in the garbage.** Oh, sure, you wouldn't be digging up any Anhertz-class battleships or million-dollar cars—but you found things with stories, things that had seen use, things from the bargain bin that still had a spark of life. That was how I'd grown my legacy: trash pile by trash pile, lovingly picking up the refuse and dusting it off until it shone.
Until now, though, it had rarely been so literal.
"We've got a city in chaos," Mare said. "What're we out back in a dumpster for?"
I idly tapped the knife that Mare had shown me how to use as I looked around. "Your question is your answer," I said. "Anyone smart enough to see the fall of Sacrament coming would have fled before it hit. Anyone who could see the future—anyone who had any glimpse of prophecy—they would've left before this city became a burnt-out wreck."
"Which is a shame," Mare said, "because we sure could use a little future knowledge right now. But what's your point?"
"My point," I said, unslinging the knife from my belt and cutting through wrecked cars and fallen bricks as if they were cardboard, "is that exactly one lunar month before the city fell into ruin, there was a small spike in emigration."
Mare's eyes narrowed. "One lunar month... that's the minimum span for most oracular revelations."
"Exactly," I said. "Now, all the *truly* powerful oracles probably buggered off this continent years before the Feds took over and made life hell, but the ones in between—the ones who only had a little warning before things went bad—they gave themselves away when they skipped town. And my bet is that they left *plenty* of things behind. Who knows? I'd sure as hell reward any fortune-tellers who were wise enough to leave us a gift, and I'm sure their futuresight would show it. So if I'm right, somewhere around here should be—*aha!*" As I cut through the detritus of the junk heap, I found the pristine remains of a thrown-out mailbox. The address on it—Claywood 443—matched the largest hub of emigrants and potential clairvoyants that I'd found.
Mare snuck up beside me, their posture suspicious. "There's a lot of people who want you dead, too. Could just as easily be that they've left you a booby trap."
"Which is why you're here." I poked them with the hilt of the knife. "Come on. Pop that thing open."
Mare sighed and flipped the lid. There was nothing inside but a handful of VHS tapes.
"Huh," I said.
Mare withdrew them. "If you're not sure what these are, they were a type of data storage used before the silicon revolution—"
"I'm not a baby. I know what a VHS tape is," I said, kicking a piece of rubble his way. "C'mon, I got the kit to play these back at base."
I retreated to the small office complex that Mare had turned into an impromptu center of command and into the storage rooms, where some of the more esoteric stuff we'd salvaged from the ruined city had shown up.
"Let's see... ah. Gotcha." I took out the old VHS player and dusted it off.
The first tape was simply labeled *03/19/2051.* A little less than a month from today. I fiddled with the VHS player and it hummed to life, showing us—
*—a second, too-large, burning-red sun—*
*—a being of myth in a blood-soaked cape—*
—*armadas of foreign ships filling the skies—*
Just as quickly as it started, the psychedelic stream of images ended.
I hadn't made much sense of it, but Mare's expression immediately darkened.
"What is it?" I asked them.
They scowled. "Sunrise King. Invasion force. Last time this happened, an entire country imploded."
Oh, God. They were referring to the collapse of the Middle Communes. Something of that magnitude happening again would—no. No, the future was always in flux. I'd go over the tape in more detail later, try and pick apart every detail it held. In the meantime, I'd look at the rest of the tapes. The second one read *02/27/2051.* About a week from now. I slotted the tape in, preparing myself for the same barrage of chaos and death—
—*a blood-red blade cutting a hole through the world—*
—*a ragtag militia buying heartbeats as they charged into a federal-uniformed firing line—*
—*the cold fury of a man who had nothing left to lose—*
—and I jerked back, reaching for the knife at my belt.
"That was—that was my—"
"Clara," Mare said, something very small in their voice.
"What?" I asked.
They held up the last tape.
*02/20/2051.*
That was now.
That was *right fucking now.*
Hesitantly, I let the tape play out its final prediction—
*—guns on a ship looming impossibly large—*
—*orbital bombardment dispensed from the skies—*
—*an already-wrought city, reduced to so much ash—*
Pieces clicked together in my mind.
"Wait!" Mare shouted, as I dashed for door and looked to the sky, heart thudding.
A shadow crawling over the horizon confirmed my worst fears.
As the first *whump*s of gunfire sounded in the distance, I knew that the predicted apocalypse had already begun.
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.
| 2022-05-08T23:22:04 | 2022-05-08T21:21:10 | 67 | 19 |
[WP] You are severely depressed and are given a service dog to help you through it. However, due to a mixup, you are given a dog that is actually much more depressed than you. The main thing that gets you up in the morning is knowing that you need to be the service human for your dog.
Edit: I was not expecting this to be so popular! Thank you so much everyone
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I didn't even know dogs could get depressed. Sure, I've seen dogs pout and whine when their master was gone for the day, but full-blown depression? Never. But there was not a doubt in my mind Frost was depressed.
The first morning after I got him, I expected to be woken up by a squirrely dog jumping on my bed giving me licks, but instead there was only the typical solitude I was accustomed to. After lying in bed for an hour or two, I'm not sure how long, I mustered the energy to rise. Frost was still asleep in the kitchen. Not even the sound of the food-bag was enough to rouse him. He simply lay there. Tired.
When he was up, he did not look much different than when he slept. He carried himself heavily, and I thought mayhaps he was sick, so after two days of his constitution not improving, I took him to the vet, who said all was fine, and it was simply who he was. I took it as a challenge.
Whenever I saw him around the house, I pet him, and talked to him in a voice with more emotion than I knew in recent years. It was like talking to my daughter, who had been gone for a year now. Black was her hair, too.
Our inaugural walk together was hard. He did not want to move. With a gentle tug, he eventually did follow me, but still in that slow, trudging fashion. We passed a little girl in the park, and she gave him a great big hug and lots of love. Even that didn't phase him.
But, day by day, little by little, things improved. I found myself getting out of bed sooner than before, eager to meet with my new pal. Outside, on our walks, the days were bright, the smells of autumn, pumpkin and coolness, were strong, and together we learned to live once more.
Frost's posture improved. No longer did he hunch down, head close to the ground, eyes more interested in the floor than ahead. Now he carried his head tall with pride. It suited him. He looked like a whole different dog, but I knew he was still my friend.
One morning (five o'clock sharp! The sun was still not up—I should never have dreamed I'd wake up at such a time willingly) we went on our walk. The ruby light peeked over the horizon and painted the entire town in a brilliant pink. When we reached the park, the ruby turned to gold, and over all the trees and the grass and the leaves and my friend and me was a radiant hue. Everything was covered in golden goodness.
Even Frost's coat, which was black, looked glittering under the early morning sun. I looked up towards the bright ball in the sky, hidden behind a tree, and I watched as a red leaf departed itself from its branch and slowly fluttered towards the ground. While it danced in the air, a gust of wind blew it towards me. I caught it.
It was half-eaten by a caterpillar, and up-close its shade was more brown than red, but holding it in my hand, I knew it was perfect. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Crisp air, found only on special mornings when the world is still and you're the only living being awake, entered my lungs. With that lifeblood there, I realized something. A smile broke across my lips.
Frost was not the only one who had changed.
I released the leaf from my hand, and before it fell to the ground, I broke off in a lively sprint across the field, my friend keeping up perfectly by my side.
|
“Still looking, huh? Yeah, sometimes I find myself doing that too. You keep thinking one day you will see them pull into the driveway and everything will go back to normal. At least you wish that would happen.”
I gave the old dog a pat on the back, taking a spot next to him on the couch. His brown eyes only focused on the driveway outside, not even looking away when a brightly colored bird fluttered past, not letting anything break his focus. I never thought a dog of all things could look miserable, but there was no tail wagging or tongue poking out. It was just a lonely stare, one filled with a deep hurt that can only be felt when you’ve truly lost something special.
“She must have been a hell of an owner. Probably snuck you little treats, right?” I put on a smile, trying to get his attention. Didn’t dogs usually respond to trigger words like treats or walkies? Still, not even the allure of a possible treat turned their attention away. I sighed, sinking into the couch, at my wit’s end on how to help him. It wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be the one pushing me forward, not the other way around.
Perhaps it was just a case of anthropomorphism? Maybe I was just pushing my own feelings onto the dog and there wasn’t anything that deep going on inside his mind. For all I knew, his mind could be filled with belly rubs and tail chasing. Yet… I couldn’t convince myself of that.
I knew sadness. It’s been something that’s suffocated me for years. Friendships, romance, jobs and most aspects of my life have been tainted by the black dog of depression and ironically, now I have welcomed a similar dog into my home. If anyone could understand those feelings, it was me. What is it about depression that makes you want to free others of it while leaving yourself to drown in its murky waters? Why do I care about getting up in the morning for his sake when I was happy to rot away in bed when I was alone? Maybe a therapist could answer that if I ever got the guts to visit one.
“I lost a special woman, too. Sometimes I wake up thinking she’s still alive and then that crushing weight comes back down again, you know? That’s when those stupid thoughts come back, those thoughts you kind of wish would just stop being so loud. Heh, sometimes it feels like you’re going crazy, right?”
He didn’t respond, as to be expected. Somehow in my emotion confession I forgot who my audience was. He was just a dog and one that had no interest in my misery, not when theirs weighed so heavily. Still, my words weren’t entirely meaningless. He raised his left ear. He was listening, even if he hadn’t faced me. It was the most he had given me so far.
Would I have taken him in if I knew his owner had passed so recently? I don’t know, the entire process still feels like a blur. A few doctors’ appointments and signed pieces of paper, and I had somehow ended up with a dog. I’m sure that there was more to that process, but I couldn’t really remember the details of it. Still, even if not intentionally, the dog had given me a reason to get up in the morning. So, I’m sure the people that assigned him would say it’s working as intended.
“I’m going to make some tea. Want anything?” I shook my head, again wondering why I bothered speaking to him. Maybe it made me feel better or perhaps I was just that lonely, that even the act of speaking to something that couldn’t respond felt fulfilling on some level.
I gave him another pat before heading into the kitchen. As always, the kitchen was a mess. Dirty plates were still set at the table, carefully moved so I could eat around them. Not to mention the bowl of fruit that had to be at least three weeks old at this point. I just ignored the smell, pushing aside the plastic bags on my counter as I took a tea bag. A few minutes later, I had my peach tea. Before I returned to the couch, I took a small beef flavored dog treat, hoping the gift might cheer up the dog.
I placed the treat on the pillow next to him before sitting by his side. I took a sip and joined him, staring at the world beyond my residential prison. It was strange how it made me happy to watch other people pass. Something about seeing people live their lives felt comforting. It was nice to know people weren’t in my shoes; it was nice to know that perhaps I would join them someday.
“It’s a nice day, right? Feels kind of like a waste to sit here when the sun’s still shining.” Even as I said that, my body betrayed me. The last thing I wanted to do was go outside. I just couldn’t convince myself I wanted to deal with that. But it wasn’t for me, was it? “We could take a walk. Just around the block. Maybe about ten minutes or so, nothing major.” My words more directed at myself than the dog, as if I was trying to win other my own feelings.
I slumped my head against the edge of the couch, taking a long sip from my tea. Of course, I couldn’t help him. If I could help him, I probably would have been able to help myself a long time ago. My motivation was ruined after that thought crossed my mind. What good was I going to do? He needed someone more kind and loving. Not me.
When I finished the tea, I went to set down the cup, only to see the fluffy face of the dog staring at me. It was the first time that he had actually paid direct attention to me. My motivation trickling back as I put on a fake smile once more.
“I don’t know what to say and it feels like we are just two strangers at this point, but I’ll be here for you, ok?”
He didn’t shift his gaze from me, only moving to rest a paw on my leg. I placed my hand on the paw, hoping that action alone might offer some comfort to him. It felt nice to be seated like this, like we had a moment of understanding, at least for the time being.
“Even if we are just strangers, maybe we can just be lonely together?” Maybe that was the best the two of us could ask for? Bonds don’t develop overnight and at the very least, two lonely strangers were better than one.
“Anyway, a quick walk, then we can lounge around. Five minutes!” I pushed myself from the couch and brought over his lead. “Well, let’s go get some sun.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-11-01T08:17:26 | 2022-11-01T08:00:55 | 1,257 | 251 |
[WP] A boy's bully follows him home, only to encounter the boy's sociopath brother.
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"Whatsamatter faggot? You scared?!" Chad was screaming at him from a few steps behind as Matt tried to walk faster.
"I told you that I'd beat the shit out of you after school! Running away is just going to make it worse!"
Matt had been here before... the bullying had been his own personal hell for years. He had tried to compensate by becoming tougher and bullying other kids himself, but this just made things worse. He really didn't have a chance... genetics had seen to that. He was a scrawny 10 year old, and Chad was a huge red headed, freckled monstrosity, whose eyes were a little to close together.
Matt could feel the tension build. He knew what would happen now. Their pace would quicken - the bully speeding up to match the pace of his victim... Chad would catch him in a few more strides and take him down, roll him on to his back, and just like last time - crotch punch him until his arm got tired.
His mouth was dry and he started to sweat... then he made a break for it.. for all the good it would do him. But this time Chad tripped, scraping his hands and ripping his jeans. This gave Matt the headstart he needed; but it enraged Chad more than ever before. Matt could hear the scream from half a block away...
"AAAAAAHHHHRRR! I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!"
Matt made it to his house, but he knew his parents wouldn't be home... he and Will had been latch-key kids for a while now, and he couldn't stop to unlock the door because Chad's huge, clumping footfalls were getting louder. His bully would be there any second.
So he did the only thing he could, and ran around the side of the house and into the back yard. Usually, this would be a safe tactic; but Chad could think of only one thing - "pounding the shit outa this little shit". Chad smirked to himself at how clever that turn of phrase was. He'd have to use it sometime.
Matt rounded the house and ran past the back porch, and straight into the trees at the back of the yard. He didn't go there anymore. This was the domain of his little brother. Chad burst through the trees right behind him and tackled him to the ground.
"Gotcha! You little cunt! Now I'm gonna break your fucking fa..."
He stopped mid-punch. His fist hovering above his head. He hadn't noticed it at first, as his tunnel vision was focused entirely on his victim. But now that he had him, a movement caught his eye. There was someone else here... and like any criminal, he didn't want to get caught in the act. But it was just another kid... maybe about 6 years old.
"Get the fuck outta here, or you're next!" Chad shouted at the kid who looked to be less than half his size. This usually worked. He loved making little kids cry and run like that. But this kid just stared back - looking almost nonchalantly between bully and victim.
That's when chad noticed what the little kid had been doing... some movement on the ground in the pine needles caught his eye. At first, his brain couldn't identify what it was, but then it dawned on him... it was a frog and a squirrel - stretched out and nailed to the ground. And they looked strange because they were half skinned... alive and squirming.
Chad changed the angle of his punch, and hit Matt square between the legs..
"Stay there!" He screamed, timing it with the landing of his punch.
Matt let out a grunt of pain and curled up... trying not to puke, as Chad took a few steps towards the little kid. "I'll teach him to be afraid..." Chad thought.
As he stepped up to the gruesome horror scene before him, he said contemptuously, "What the fuck is wrong with you, you sick little shit?" But Will didn't say anything as he rose to his feet - his head coming up to Chad's chest.
"I said get the fuck outta here! But if you're not going to listen, then you're next!"
Chad pulled his fist back, ready to land a punch; only to be met by the muzzle of a gun that Will whipped out of his back pocket.
The brief moment of panic gave way to laughter as Chad realized that it was only a cap gun.
"Haha! You stupid little ass! Am I supposed to be afraid of a toy!"
Chad had seen the bright orange of the safety cap that every toy gun had... but what he didn't see until a fraction of a second before it went off was that it had been bored out. His right eye looked straight down the barrel, and his smirk flitted into panick..
CRACK! Chad fell to the ground screaming like a wild animal. That would be the last thing his right eye would ever see.
Matt was beginning to recover, and felt a mixture of relief, satisfaction and horror at what just happened. He looked at Will, and Will shot him a huge grin as he pulled out a huge firework from his jacket pocket.
"Where the hell did you get that!" Matt shouted.
"From the variety store on the corner" Will said. He obviously stole it, as they wouldn't sell to kids. Will pulled out a lighter and lit the fuse, bent down, and shoved it into the front of Chad's pants.
Chad was in to much pain to even notice. Will ran over, grabbed Matt's hand, and they both ran out of the woods as fast as they could. They almost made it out of the treeline when it happened. It was a terrific explosion. They both stumbled, but kept running.
Matt thought that Chad's screams before were wild and panicked, until he heard the desperate and terrified howling right after the explosion. It sounded like what you'd expect if a person was being eaten alive.
Because of the trees, all they could hear were echoing, directionless terrified howling from the general direction of the woods. Matt glanced over as they ran, expecting to see the same fear on his brother's face as was on his own... but saw only a smile of satisfaction and glee.
"Want some candy!" Will shouted, fumbling through his jacket pocket as they ran... his giggles quickly turning to full blown laughter as they stumbled through the yard towards the house.
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*Was wondering about an entire family that was twisted and broken, and decided to use one facet of it to build on the sociopathic youngest son*
It was his little smirk. I couldn't get over it. Every single time I pushed him into a wall, taxed his lunch money, or insulted him he just gave a dumb little grin and brushed it off. If that little crap bucket had just acted the way he was supposed to, I'd probably have left him alone by now. But his lack of response just got on my very last nerve and pushed me further and further each time.
This ran through my mind as he lay on the ground in front of me, blood streaming from his nose. I had finally given in to my desires and wiped the smile off of his face with my fist. "Alright twerp, wheres your fucking money? I thought I told you to bring extra today."
He staggered to his knees and pulled out his wallet, and annoying little red thing with power rangers or some dumb shit on it. He seemed to be struggling to focus and couldn't open it so I snatched it from him and kicked him back down. A smile sneaked across my face. He actually did bring extra money. Twenty-five bucks. "Glad to see you aren't actually brain damaged. I'll be wanting the same tomorrow." He gave a meek nod, and I turned away. I involuntarily gave a shiver. The smirk was still there. I wanted to pulp his face, break his ribs and curbstomp whatever was left of him, but something in his smile held a hint of insanity, like he was just waiting to snap and kill everyone around him.
As I rounded the corner, I heard a giggle which gradually rose to a full blown laugh edged with a strange mania. The shiver became a shudder of disgust. One thing was for sure, I was going to have to teach him a more permanent lesson, and soon before that idiot brought a gun to school and blew me away.
_________________________________________________________________________
It was late. The kid didn't leave until band practice was well over, and I couldn't very well pound him in school. So I waited outside the school's gates, knowing that today was the day I'd end that twerp for good.
The sun was setting and the fall day was turning cold. I flipped up my hood and turned towards the school just in time to see the brat walking out of the school with his band equipment. He didn't jump when he saw me, or even stop walking. He just walked up to me and started talking.
"Good evening. I know why you are waiting. You want to beat me up right?" He didn't wait for me to respond. "Well I'd like to ask you to wait until tomorrow if possible. Today I'm going to meet my parents for the first time in a few years and I'd like not to have bruises and broken bones when I do."
I slammed him against the wall. "Like I give a fuck." I hauled back a fist but he held up a hand and continued talking.
"Here's the thing. They will give me my yearly allowance on that today. When I come back tomorrow I'll bring... let say half of it. Five-hundred dollars. For you. Nice profit, huh?" What the hell is a little twerp like this doing with five hun... no one thousand dollars? I growled and slammed him against the wall again. "No you'll bring all of it."
"No can do. I only get access to half of it for now. The other half I get in the spring. Just let me go today and you'll get five-hundred bucks and you'll get to beat me up tomorrow."
On one hand, greed was pulling at my heart. On the other hand, I could see the smirk just beginning to twitch across his lips. I wasn't going to let this day end without pounding this kid. "How about this. I'm gonna come with you, and the moment you get the money, you bring it to me, and then I pound you."
He shrugged. "Fine with me. They give me my allowance just before they leave." He dusted himself off and straightened his jacket. "Okay, follow me."
I followed in silence, expecting him to try and bolt at any minute. But he kept a steady walking pace all the way to his house two miles away. He unlocked the door with a key and let me in first.
The house was... bland. There was nothing on the walls, and plain white sofas sat around a generic coffee table. There was no TV that I could see, nor computer nor any real electronics. It was silent and empty. He led me further in to his room, which was also blank with white sheets, blankets and pillows. He had me sit on a chair and spoke. "Would you like something to eat or drink while you wait? My parents will be here in about ten minutes and they'll leave in an hour or so."
I smirked at him. "Got any beer?" He nodded and walked away. A few minutes later he came back with two cans of beer, and a bag of pretzels. "Anything else?" I stared at the can in surprise. I'd never actually had any beer before, and was surprised that he had such easy access to it. "Nah I'm fine. Just get me my money." He gave a slow nod and left.
I messed around on my phone while I waited. The beer didn't taste as good as I thought it would, in fact it tasted like shit, but I wasn't gonna let the twerp know that, so I finished the can. The parents came in, and I heard some conversation punctuated by long silences.
The door opened and another twerp came in. For a moment I thought it was the same one, but this one seemed smaller. And his face held the same smirk that I had come to hate from the bigger one.
"Hey, so you are my brothers 'friend' huh?" He sat down on the bed, his feet barely reaching the floor. "Now I might be wrong, but what sort of idiot do you think I am? No way that little bitch has any friends." He swung his feet up on to the bed and turned to face me. "Am I wrong? More likely you are some big meathead that's extorting him in some way."
I stood up sharply knocking the chair over and nearly spilling my second beer. "Look you little fuckhead." He held a finger to his lips with a wide grin. "I doubt my parents will hear, but if they do, I don't doubt you'll be in some degree of trouble," he said changed his position so that he was lying on his back and looking at me upside down. "At least I assume so. I have no idea what those two automatons would do in this sort of situation."
I kept my voice down this time. "Look fuckhead, I don't know who you are, but get the fuck out of here before I stomp your head in."
The grin on his face widened. "Hehee.. you are perfect you know that? I've wanted someone who reacts the way you do for a long time. My brother just stands there or ignores me. But you overreact and flail and bluster is such a satisfying way. Perhaps its a form of... compensation?" I looked at him questioningly, and he gestured at my crotch, the grin never leaving his face. My face reddened and I took a step towards him fist raised threateningly. "Oh come now," he said. "I doubt even you are stupid enough to assault someone in their own house. That's a criminal offense you know. Oh, sit down. I'm just... playing with you."
I'd never felt more angry in my life. I wanted to beat him up, but his parents were just one room away. There was no way I'd get away with it. But at the same time, his grin was one-hundred times worse than the one on the normal sized twerp's face. I had to wipe it off. I *had* to. I took another step forwards and fired a punch straight at his upside down face.
What happened next I wasn't quite sure, but I was on the ground and bleeding faster than I could blink. I stifled a scream of pain, blood was leaking from several puncture wounds in my leg and arms. I tried to stand up but a pair of scissors hovered above my eyes. "Hmm... your temper is far too quick for me to be properly entertained. What a pity." He pulled the scissors away, and they disappeared into his sleeve. "At least my brother lasts for hours before he snaps." He grabbed my remaining beer and downed it on one swig and walked away leaving me to recover from the stabbing he had given me. A sob escaped my lips. I should not have come there. I should have settled for pounding the usual twerp. As I hauled myself upright the small twerp entered the room again. This time he had a knife. "Oh please sit down. Lets not make this harder than it needs to be."
| 2013-12-07T09:19:07 | 2013-12-07T07:50:50 | 39 | 28 |
[WP] An almost forgotten old God(ess) visited the deathbed of his last follower; The God will die with him/her
No specifics for the God(ess)'s domain; can be cruel or kind. s/he may or may not be aware of its own termination once the follower dies.
EDIT: Damn you guys, you make me tear up.
|
PATIENT NAME: EIJI NAKAMURA
AGE: 144
DISEASE: STAGE 4 PANCRATIC CANCER, METASTASIZED TO LIVER, COLON, STOMACH
TREATMENT SUGGESTED: TRANSFER OF CONSCIOUSNESS TO DIGITAL FORM
TREATMENT APPLIED: NONE AT PATIENT'S REQUEST
REPORT FROM HEAD DUTY NURSE ON APRIL 13, 2245 FOLLOWS
The patient had a visitor, an old man dressed in a black coat, at around 15 minutes before the end of visiting hours. At first the patient didn't seem to recognize the visitor but after a few words greeted him as an old friend. They spoke for the short period remaining in the visiting hours but something seemed off: the patient seemed to be consoling the visitor as much as the visitor was consoling him. I found this odd as our records show the patient as the last human being to have not accepted a form of immortality treatment available. After 15 minutes as visiting hours were ending the visitor touched the patient at which time the patient's vitals ceased. The visitor backed into a blind spot on the camera and when the nurses rushed into the room the visitor could not be found. Patient's time of death recorded at 1700 hours local time.
ADDENDUM NOVEMBER 26, 2255
CAN CONFIRM PATIENT AS FINAL RECORDED HUMAN DEATH.
END OF FILE
|
The man walked slowly through the hospital corridor, almost with a limp. He looked old and frail, his sunken eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses that concealed a watchful eye. A silvery white beard draped over tattered clothing. He didn't look different from most of the street types that wandered in with some drug overdose or a broken nose from a fight; but there was something different about him - something powerful, and a sense of respect and sorrow followed the man, as if he were once a warrior, a hero of sorts, who had slowly become forgotten and faded away. His cane sounded a short staccato cadence to accompany the shuffling of his feet.
Finally, he found his destination. He took up his cane and gave a solid knock on the door. A nurse answered.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see my friend," the man replied weakly, and with a low voice.
"I'm sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. You'll have to come back."
The man straightened himself up, towering over the nurse. "I think it would be best that you honor a dying man's final wish."
The nurse, noticeably bothered by the man's demeanor, gave an unsteady glance behind her, and then back to the man.
"Alright," she huffed. "Thirty minutes, but no more."
The man smiled vaguely and shuffled his way past the nurse. She quietly exited the room and closed the door behind her. He breathed the air in. Death was lingering. He knew this smell. It wasn't just the hospital equipment, it was a scent that only accompanied the anticipation of a departing soul. A body within the room was slowly preparing itself for the inevitable.
The man placed his cane against the wall and pushed back a curtain. Yet another frail old man, attached to a respirator, was lying reclined on a bed. The steady beeping of life support gave an ominous soundtrack to an otherwise quiet room.
"Richard," the old man remarked.
Richard weakly opened his eyes. "Who are you?" he answered with evident discomfort.
Smiling, the old man replied "You know me, my friend. We have met before, although you might not realize it. Do you not recognize the Terrible One? The Chieftan? The Allfather?"
He removed his sunglasses, revealing a lone eye gazing at the man; the other eye quite absent, scarred over from a wound encountered long ago.
"Odin?" Richard gasped. "By the...can it really be you?"
Odin smiled. "It is only polite for me to bear witness to the man whom has kept me alive longer than I should have been."
Richard gave a faint smile. "Then it is impolite for me to not greet you in a manner suitable for the God of Gods."
Odin laughed and waved his hand dismissively while scooting onto a chair.
"Allfather, tell me," Richard asked, "What happened to you? Where others fell away and ceased belief, I was beginning to lose hope...the others-are they gone? Are the walls of Valhalla empty of the protectors of our earth?"
Odin bowed his head somberly. "They are gone," he sighed. "They have passed and become one with the world around us. There is no need for us anymore. Humanity has rejected us, rejected nature; they've even rejected the new God that we surely felt would lead to our demise. And now, now that the minds of men have fallen to the whim of technology, they have no use for nature. Many of us died long ago, but you, Richard, your belief did not, and it was you whom I watched over these many years."
A tear welled in Richard's eye. "Why did you do nothing to stop it?"
"I did not plant the seed that blossomed into the race of men in order to rule their tyrant. I gave them the minds with which they think; but such is the fate of all creators, since the dawn of time to the bitter end. When you give your creation the world, when you give them thought, and free reign, they will someday forget that it was you who gave to them the gift of their own lives, and turn against you. I did not stop it, Richard, because I knew it would be in the end; but I am old, and they have made me mortal. I have seen ages of light, ages of darkness; and even though we live in an age of perversion, there will be new Gods after me, and they will lead men forward and out of this..but as for me, I have lived too long, and Richard, it is now time for you to follow me one final time."
Odin gently clasped the dying man's hand in his as the life support emitted a long steady beep. As Richard began to fade, Odin rested his head upon Richard's breast and closed his eye.
"Goodbye, old friend," he whispered, and slowly collapsed in his chair.
| 2014-06-22T15:51:29 | 2014-06-22T14:36:06 | 244 | 26 |
[WP][TT] It's almost your 16th birthday, and your parents congratulate you. But they warn you that you may have inherited something from the family line that may appear the moment you turn 16. If you do inherit, you have to continue a long family tradition.
|
Nothing happened on my birthday, aside from the usual festivities. Heck, for most of the year nothing happened. The family legacy, mysterious as it was, had apparently passed me by, or so I thought.
It was January of the next year, about two months before my 17th birthday, that something interesting finally happened:
I could hear people's thoughts.
It was quiet, at first. I'd probably been doing it for a while without even realizing it, knowing their thoughts on a subconscious level before I could actually hear them. Sometimes they were thinking so loudly I could actually hear them, like they were talking aloud.
They didn't believe me, I knew they didn't because of course I could hear their thoughts now. Even though I hadn't told them, I knew they didn't believe me.
But my family? Well, they'd all but told me this would happen. I knew that if anyone would believe me, they would.
So, once the thoughts of others became so loud I could barely stand them, I went to my mother and told her, and she wept with joy, because I'd inherited the family legacy.
There was another celebration, of sorts. My father, who I hadn't seen in years, actually attended. I even got to see my Grandfather, which was a special treat, as he lived in a retirement home upstate and I'd never gotten to visit.
They weren't as excited as mom had been. They didn't really want to talk about my gift - their gift, if I understood the purpose of the celebration correctly. They looked uncomfortable, in fact.
Finally, someone I didn't recognize at all arrived. My dad and granddad obviously knew him, but my mother could barely stand to be in his presence. He sat down in a chair that, I now realized, had been set aside specifically for him.
"Hello," he said to me. "I'm Dr. Heymitch. I've been working with your family for years." He glanced toward my father.
My father just shrugged. "No point in holding back, tell him what you do."
Dr. Heymitch nodded. "I'm a psychiatrist. I specialize in the diagnosis and treatment of early-onset schizophrenia"
|
Sit down, son. We need to talk.
In a few minutes, you'll be sixteen. Not a kid any more - in some places, you'd already have started work. So, maybe hand out a few more of those applications, right, at the weekend?
Alright, alright. That's not what I wanted to talk about. Just thought I'd mention it.
Your mother and I have something to tell you. Something you need to know. Something that, in all honesty, we should have told you before. It just never seemed like the right moment, if you know what I mean.
Your mother... well, she's an angel. Not metaphorically, although she is pretty great. Actually an angel - wings, halo, fiery sword. She has a mandate from the Almighty himself to destroy evil wherever she finds it. You know her trumpet, the one on the wall in the living room? That's for sounding when the Seventh Seal is broken. That's why we've never let you touch it.
What I'm trying to say here is that I'm a lucky man. Your mother stood guard at the gates of Eden, hurled fire on Gomorrah, held vigil at Calvary. She's seen it all, and she's chosen to spend twenty-nine years (thirty in a month, lad - get her a card or something) of eternity with me.
So far. She's not going anywhere. That's not what we're talking about. Sorry - I should have thought. We aren't getting divorced. It's alright. Still very much in love, we are; bet most of your friends can't say that about their parents.
No, the issue's genetics. Your mother's an angel, and so you might be too.
It all depends, really, on how much of an angel you are. If the human side is stronger, then nothing will happen. We'll pretend this conversation never happened, and just go on as normal.
But if there's more angel than human, we'll have a bit of an issue. See, sixteen is when your heritage might kick in. Lots of changes in a small amount of time. I thought I'd try and prepare you for them, so it doesn't come as a shock.
In a minute, we'll know. Either nothing will happen, or you'll shortly be wreathed in celestial fire.
You'll hear the voice of the Most High, probably. He'll show you all of the marvels and wonders of creation, no doubt. It will probably be so beautiful that you'll weep tears of incredible purity. Your mother does that sometimes, when she contemplates the Throne or watches old romantic movies.
You'll fill out a bit, of course. Wider shoulders, lots of muscles. Becoming an angel will work much better than Clearasil. You won't want for female attention, that's for sure. I bet Shirley would love to go to the dance with you then. Especially when you get the voice, and the harp. You'll sing like an angel then, for obvious reasons.
You'll be able to manifest a fiery sword. That's something we need to talk about, really. Obviously, if the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob says it's fine, then I'm not going to take it off you. But it is a giant flaming sword, one that could lay waste to the cities of men and the sinners therein. It's not something I want you swinging around carelessly, or using inside the house at all. Okay with you, slugger? We can always go out to the park and practise.
On a similar topic, the wings. Like unto an eagle's, I understand, and white as the innocence of the Lamb. Your mother says it will be fine, but she's always been the more relaxed parent - I used to watch you like a hawk when you were on the swings. Probably, you will soar upwards with the grace and beauty of paradise reflected in your every movement. It's just... start off slow, alright? Maybe practice hovering first, before you descend to hell itself and join in glorious battle against the World's foe.
That's another thing, actually. Sorry, there's quite a lot to think about. You will almost certainly be called upon to join the heavenly host. With the Archangel Michael, you will cry defiance at the Father of Lies himself, and banish creatures of sin and shadow from existence. Stirring stuff - your mother goes while I'm at work, and triumphs over ultimate evil again and again. Sounds like a bit of a thrill, to be honest.
What I'm trying to say is that it's not going to be easy. You'll have to work hard. It's a lot, really, to put on young shoulders. I'd rather that the Almighty waited a few years, maybe let you finish college first. But it won't all be hard work - there are lots of benefits. The unending beauty of paradise, the knowledge of salvation and right in the world, really feeling like you're making a difference. Immortality, incredible power, the works. Your mother's always been very happy with her work.
So, like I say. We'll know soon enough. I just want you to be ready for it. Whether you're mortal or angel, your mother and I will still love you. I'll still see you often - your mother's been helping me avoid sin, so I'll get to come see you in heaven eventually. It's a good life, being an angel. Don't be nervous.
What time is it now?
Really?
I guess that's it then. You're mortal. All that fuss over nothing.
Happy Birthday, kiddo.
| 2015-11-28T08:37:04 | 2015-11-28T08:13:49 | 103 | 70 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank.
|
I dropped the piece of paper. "This is awesome" I thought, "I'm immortal! I can do anything!" and ran out the door laughing at all the things I would try. As the letter drifted to the floor it turned and landed face side up, where two words were printed clearly; "Severe stupidity".
|
**Thank you for calling the Department of Intrinsic Ends. To help us guide your call, please select the number...**
I pushed zero repeatedly until the recording went silent.
**1) Availability of psychological services in your area.**
With a sigh I settled deeper into the tub to wait.
**2) Department of Future Legal Council.**
**3) Questions about your Form of Allowed Termination E...**
I pushed three.
**Thank you. If your question is concerning the safety of others, please press 1. If your question is concerning the contents of th...**
I pressed two.
"Hello! And thank you for calling the Department of Intrinsic Ends! May I please have your full name and birth date so I can bring up your form?"
"Mary. Smith. J-Jensing. J. E. N. S. I. N. G." I forced out. "Birth date is today."
"Thank you Mary! I hope your form wasn't too depressing. I'll have it loaded here in a moment. What can I help you with today?"
"My...um...form. It's blank." I waited a moment, and, when no answer was forthcoming, bulled ahead. "I don't mean the whole page is blank. It's got all sort of official looking writing and whatnot, with my name and birth date at the top, and a seal at the bottom, and it's printed on very strong paper and all, but the details section is just blank."
"I...see," said the voice. "That seems to be what I have here as well. Would you mind if I put you on hold for a moment while I look for some answers?"
"Oh, no, that's fine. Take as..."
At the sound of a beep I stared down at my phone to make sure I was still connected. Elevator music started playing from it. "Well no need to be rude about it."
Switching the phone to speaker I let my eyes wander around the room before settling on the neatly hand written letter and torn envelope on the stool next to me.
I started to feel and chill and looked to the faucet. "A bit of hot water sounds nice. Just while I'm hold. Gotta remember to turn it off." I turned the knob and laid back, watching the steam rise up in front of me.
"ry...Mary? Are you there?"
The steam was getting to me. "Yea. Still here."
"Hi Mary. My name John. I've heard you received a blank form. Does that sound right?"
"Yea." I mumbled, and laid my phone on the tub's edge. "Envelope just appeared out of nowhere. Cut it open. Blank Details. Called you. Seemed a bit off."
"While not common Mary, it is something that can happen when the termination time period bleeds over into your birthday."
I started chuckling weakly, so he gave me a moment before continuing. "Unfortunately, the details are always correct." He paused for another moment. "Is there anything you'd like me to read while you're on the phone? I have all of the major texts with me, and can find anything else if you'd rather."
I chuckled again. "Fuck you."
The silence started to stretch, but the elevator music didn't come back. "Hey John."
"Yes."
"Can you sing me a lullaby? I don't think I'll be more than a few minutes. Just something to help me fall asleep.
"Of course Mary." He paused for only a moment more before I started to sing.
"Lullaby, and good night, in the skies stars are bright."
His voice felt very calm, and at peace.
"May the moon's silvery beams bring you sweet dreams."
I could feel myself drifting off.
Close your eyes now and rest........."
| 2017-01-17T15:58:50 | 2017-01-17T15:19:11 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Oh. My. God. Rebecca. What?"
"Steve! Thank goodness you're here. I need help."
"Yeah... I know... What is it this time? Homework? Dishes? Need something heavy moved?"
"No."
"Well, what is it then?"
"I... I can't open this jar."
"What?!? Seriou..."
"Steve! That's not the only thing. I. I'm. I'm also out of toilet paper. I need you."
"*sigh* Rebecca, do you realize I have my own life? I've got things I need to take care of myself. I can't keep popping up here anytime you are inconvenienced. This is getting ridiculous. I'll be back with some paper in a minute, let me see that jar."
"Th-Thanks."
Rebecca watched with tears welling in her eyes as Steve stormed out of her apartment, open jar in hand. "One day he'll see. One day he'll realize he still loves me. One day he won't leave. Right?" she thought as she closed the unused jar and placed it in the fridge. "He's got to know I've been calling him here because I still love him." A forceful knock at the door snapped her from her thoughts. She opened the door to a pack of toilet paper from the bodega downstairs on the welcome mat and Steve nowhere to be found. Tears now streaming down her face she bent down and picked up the package. "Maybe next time." she thought.
|
“You know, have you ever tried being responsible for your own shit, instead of relying on some witches curse to have me do your laundry?”, Shane snarked at Sandra.
“You’re just too convenient.”, she smirked, looking Shane up and down.”Besides, it’s more important than my laundry.” Sandra had gotten into some trouble with some seniors. Sandra and her current boyfriend, Rumio, were the town’s local supply of dope, and less than lethal party drugs; like acid, shrooms, and ecstasy. It was a small town with a poor, small market, and not really many dealers to go to. Even though Sandra and Rumio kept a “code” to never sell any amount of or any type of drug that they knew would kill a particular person, they never made a code to never skimp their customers.
“What, do you need a loan or some shit? Or are you just horny and your boyfriend isn’t around again?” Shane was rather pissed at this point. A day hadn’t gone by that Aphrodite’s curse hadn’t played it’s merciless joke on him. It had been calming down recently, and he figured he might be able to start having a normal life again. Shane was supposed to be at the premiere of a big blockbuster hit, “The Comedical Advancements of Hubris the Flying Baby”, but in the middle of the previews was sucked back into the grip of Sandra’s hurricane of a life.
“No, I need somebody that can hold a gun.” Sandra handed over a .22.
“What the fuck is this peashooter gonna do?”
“It’s gonna scare off these jocks we fucked with.” Sandra and Rumio had taken it upon themselves to not only sell a football player a bag of chopped up romaine, but hadn’t even given him the proper gram to dollar ratio. Sandra and Rumio had sold oregano to this kid before, so they figured he would probably still be too stupid to tell the difference. But Kenneth, the fool, had smoked lettuce in his youth after hearing talk through his bedroom door of “smoking the devil’s lettuce.”
“And why should I give a fuck that you pissed some jocks off?”
“Because even if you leave, you’re just gonna come back when they actually show up.” They of course being the entire football team; small town sports teams are essentially packs of hyenas.
“So why don’t I go get a real weapon, like a chainsaw? Or a steak knife?”
“Because we’re not trying to kill them, we’re trying to get them to fuck off. We don’t need heat all over our shit, man.” Sandra shoved the .22 into Shane’s chest. She stormed off into another room to grab her phone and her baton. While she called Rumio, Shane looked out the window.
“You got any idea what type of car these kids might roll up in?”
“I don’t know, probably some busted up piece of shit. Pretty sure Ken’s dad own a Thunderbird.” Rumio picked up, Sandra asked, “Hey, where are you, babe?”
“Pulling up right now.” Just then a green Thunderbird swerved right into his driveway. Rumio parked quickly, reached for his bat in the back seat, and got out. Five kids exited the Thunderbird, all looking around before a couple charged towards Rumio. Sandra and Shane came leaping off the front porch towards Rumio, trying to distract a couple of the linebackers. Rumio managed to break a kneecap on of the kids, but took an uppercut from his backup. Rumio tried shoving the kid away via tip of bat. It hurt the player’s chest, but he grabbed the bat and swung it to the side.
Sandra wasn’t strong, but people didn’t think a baton swing to the ribs wasn’t gonna hurt. Shane had been in a few fights, via Sandra, but still didn’t stand a chance against the neanderthals of the frontline. It wasn’t too soon before Shane pulled out… Bang! Shane had plucked one of them in the eye, and it started to bleed. They all scattered back to the car before Shane could pull the trigger again.
“They’re just gonna come back, you know.” Shane looked at the two of them locked in arms.
“Yeah, but at least we got Slickshot Shane to back us up when the rattlesnakes show up.” Sandra smirked at Shane and giggled a bit.
Rumi told Shane, “Yeah and if you let my girlfriend die, I’ll be sure to send your ass to Aphrodite myself.” Shane rolled his eyes and shoved his way through the lovebirds, and murmured something under his breath, probably something of the usual, “this curse is bullshit, I’m not even getting laid.” The couple renounced themselves to their abode, only to find Shane in their room.
“I knew you hadn’t done your fucking laundry yet.”
| 2017-03-22T14:45:31 | 2017-03-22T14:43:57 | 116 | 47 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
Laura held the mug in her hand and stared up and in front of her. The first shelf of the cabinet was full of plates and bowls. The second shelf was for glasses, and there may have been a little space. She packed the glasses more closely, eliminating empty space between glasses, effectively transferring it all to one spot. She tried to place her new mug, even pushed, and was rewarded with the sound of ceramic on glass, and glass on glass objects rubbing against each other. She shuddered, felt a rise of annoyance, but quickly calmed herself and sighed. She'd had years of practice of shutting down negative emotions that would lead to a wish that her problem would just magically disappear.
No worries, there would be somewhere else. She opened up the next cabinet over, but it was full of tupperware and baking dishes. She opened the cabinet under the sink, where the pots and pans were. It could go here. Alone. A solo mug among pots and pans. That was too ridiculous though. You couldn't stick one mug with all the pots and pans. Or could you? No one had to know. She imagined her mother coming over and opening the cabinet, seeing the single mug, and staring at her with a look of....she realized that this was not the right solution.
She went back over to the cabinet and looked at the top shelf. It was completely empty, but always just a bit out of reach, even though she was a little taller than average. The answer really was pretty simple. She put a knee up on the counter, grabbed the 2nd shelf of the cabinet and awkwardly pulled herself up. She reached up with her other hand to place the mug and was accosted with a vision of herself falling, which she shrugged off, but was quickly followed up with the question of how she was going to get the mug back down when she wanted it, this really wasn't the best solution. She realized she was getting worked up again, and lost her concentration enough that her hand that was stabilizing her by gripping the shelf lost its hold. She lurched her body forward to correct, but then her knee slipped and gravity did the rest.
The floor was cold, her jaw hurt, her arm had a scrape that was bleeding slightly, and one of the larger remains of the shattered mug lay next to her head. Half of the cartoon whale's face that had been painted on the mug stared at her from the shattered remnants seemed to stare at her asking, "Why, why didn't you save me?"
A man knelt down next to her.
"I was on a date," he said in a remarkably flat manner.
Her head was ringing, and had a doctor asked she'd have told him 7 on a 10 point scale for pain, though it was already fading.
"It hurts," she said in an attempt to explain her situation.
"You're alright, I saw the whole thing, you know I get the whole update when I get transported."
He stood up suddenly, looked in the corner, rolled his eyes, and then walked over to the closet and opened it.
"You moved your broom." He walked back over to her broom in hand. "Come on, sit up."
She didn't. He put his hand on her shoulder, "You're alright, you didn't hit your chin that hard on the way down. You sort of slid off. It was pretty comical to be honest."
"You didn't use to be such a dick," she muttered as she sat up.
"Come on," he said as he grabbed her hand and gently, but firmly helped her to her feet. He led her around the island to the couch and sat her back down, and then went back to the kitchen without a word. Her jaw was at a 6 now, and the ringing had mostly stopped. She heard sweeping in the kitchen.
Five minutes later he wandered back in with neosporin. He uncapped it.
"No, I can do that," she said.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, looked annoyed, and handed her the tube. He sat for a second, as she started to apply the neosporin to her scrape, and he got up again, and came back with a glass of water and some advil a few minutes later.
She swallowed the advil, took a sip, and said, "I'm sorry about your date."
"I wasn't that interested," he said, "it was really just something to do on a Saturday night. She kept trying to weedle out of me how much I make. 'what do you do, where did you go to school, where do you live down to the neighborhood' those sorts of questions."
"She's just trying to get to know you," Laura said.
"That's a very plausible explanation. One thing I can say for sure is that I was bored," he reached into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of the mug and putting them together. "I like him," he said pointing to the reformed whale.
"Oh yes! He's so cute!"
"Favorite mug?"
"I just got him today, I didn't even get to use it."
"You've always liked whales." He pulled out his phone, "I went whale watching with my parents a couple of months ago." He handed her the phone.
"Oh a minke!"
"Is it? I wasn't really paying attention to the tour guide."
"You can't tell? The dorsal fin, the coloring, the..."
"It's a whale." Laura glared at him. "Not that I have anything against whales, I just don't run into them that much."
They sat in silence for a few moments. "Why am I still here?"
|
I’ve always loved the very first moments of the day - That time when you’re only half-awake, and the warm softness of sleep is still heavy around your mind. You somehow have the sense that the world has narrowed to just you, and perhaps the vague imitation of reality found in your dreams. I didn’t think that it could get any better…and then I met Leanna.
She is the brilliant glimpse of a bright blue sky on a mostly rainy day, the pop of color in a completely gray canvas. She is the kindest person I’ve ever known, and filled with more passion than I knew was possible. Waking up next to her is the best feeling in the world, and I’m about to ask her to do that with me every day, for the rest of my life.
Sunlight filters through the window onto the bed, gently caressing the smooth curves of her skin. Blonde hair tumbles across her face, and she’s curled up against me, her head nestled on my chest. She sighs deeply and shifts, pressing her face against me. I feel my heartbeat speed up.
Trying hard not to wake her, I disengage one arm from her, and move closer to the bedside table. The box is right where I put it last night, after she’d fallen asleep.
“Leanna?” I don’t want to break this silence, the perfectness of this moment, but I can’t wait anymore. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets my eyes. A sleepy smile spreads across her face.
“Good morning.” It’s still a treat to hear her say that in person, and to be able to see her face every night as I go to bed. Her smile brightens as she she sees my expression. “What is it? Did something happen with work?”
I shake my head. “No...No, it’s better than that.” I have to pause to collect myself. “Leanna...Ever since I met you, my life has been better than I ever imagined it could be.” Well, better than it’s been since I was fifteen. “I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you. You are everything I’ve always wanted. Leanna...Will you --”
Shit.
The familiar sensation of the world being ripped upside down, and turned inside out brought my words to a choking halt. Fuck. I’d thought that it was finally over, that I’d finally been set free. It’s been three years since the last time I saw her.
My vision goes black, just like it always does.
When I open my eyes, there’s just one word that goes through my head.
“Seriously??”
*********************
Part II
Although parts of her have changed - the childish softness of her cheeks, her once athletic build… her eyes remain the same. As dark as liquid coal, she regards me from under heavy eyelashes, her expression held in a cold pout. She’s alone, this time, which is a blessing. The number of times she’s “needed” me when surrounded by people has taught me to appreciate the small things.
I want nothing more than to sit up and murder her, but unfortunately, both the jump and the toll it takes on my body, as well as my “benefactress” (as she calls herself) won’t allow for it. So I settle for clenching my jaw and growling out an obscenity as I sit up.
“Emma...This had better be really fucking good.” I can barely get the words out. “Do you have any idea how bad your timing is this time?”
She wrinkles her nose and crosses her arms across her chest. “Can’t be any worse than that time--”
“What do you need, Emma?” I have to try - REALLY try - to keep myself from strangling her. “You’ve brought me here for every single fling that didn’t work out, every bad day at work, every single time your entitled ass needed to be comforted because of some issue your daddy won’t bail you out this time. I’ve fixed all of it. I thought I was finally free. It’s been fourteen years, Emma. This had better be DAMN worth it.”
Emma rolls her eyes and gives me a withering glare. “Not everything is about you, Michael. And anyway, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t said what you did all those years ago. What was it? ‘I’ll be here anytime you need me?’” She fixes me with a smug smile. “You certainly didn’t specify what kind of need I had to be in, and I told you when you dumped me that I didn’t have any intention of being out of your life.” She lifts her chin and smirks. “I just didn’t know how much help I’d have with that.”
I hate her like I’ve never hated anyone before. I hate the way she’s watching me - how she knows that I have no choice but to help her, or risk the wrath of the gods themselves. I hate knowing that it really was my words that put us into this position in the first place. But most of all, I hate that I’ll have to do this for the rest of my life, or hers. I’ll never have a normal life.
I’ll never be able to marry Leanna.
“No.”
It’s like my voice doesn’t even belong to me, like some ancient part of my brain has finally had enough. I feel like I’m listening to someone else talk as words tumble from my mouth.
“No. I’m not doing this again. This is over. It’s been over for fourteen years, and I’m done. I’m not doing this again. I’ve helped you to get over boyfriends that you hated while you were dating them, I’ve been there as every single friend you had left you because of the way you treated them, I’ve been there after every failed one night stand. It’s over, Emma. I’m not doing this anymore! I’m not doing this anymore!” Somehow, I’m standing, my voice is at a shout, and I’m eye to eye with the most irate ex-girlfriend I’ve ever seen. My breath comes in gasps. I can’t seem to stop shaking.
I half-expect her to murder me right there, but before she can do anything, a familiar sensation begins to fill every part of my body. My stomach twists. My vision goes fuzzy. My head spins violently, and I feel the hard surface of the floor beneath my knees. My stomach heaves. The world goes black.
The first moment of consciousness I have is as I feel myself falling forward as my stomach tries to empty itself with a dry heave. The next moment is punctuated by an undefined, but an absolute sense of confusion.
What the hell?
This has never happened before. Yes, I’ve gotten used to the insanity of the random leaps across the country, to Emma. And yes, I’ve gotten used to being called multiple times in a day, if somehow, Emma manages to screw up her life more than once in a day. But this? Something was different about this.
My vision is blurry as I peel my eyelids apart, but even so, it’s immediately obvious that I’m no longer in Emma’s studio apartment. Bright sunlight makes me squint, and the stuffy heat of her apartment has been replaced with a cool, gentle breeze. As my vision returns, I get a glimpse of another person hunched over next to me, throwing up.
Emma. But why?
I stumble to my feet, head reeling, trying not to retch again. “Wh….What the hell is the matter with you?” The breathlessness of my voice takes the bite out of my words. “I was already fucking there! You didn’t have to...to...” My voice trails off as I realize that, in all honesty, I have no idea what Emma can even do, and how much of all of it is her actively doing anything. But why else would we be here?
She turns to face me, long black hair sticking to sweaty cheeks, practically baring her teeth. “I didn’t do this, you idiot! Do you think I’d do this on purpose?”
I mean...yeah. Emma’s not really the type to self-inflict the torture that is being ripped from one place to another. But if she didn’t do this, then that must mean….
Shiiit. This is either really good….or reaallllly bad.
The hair on the back of my neck raises. My hands prickle. Adrenaline pumps through my blood. It’s been fourteen years - fourteen years since we’ve seen her, since she explained what happened.
I turn slowly, unsure what to expect. The same face from all those years ago is regarding me coolly, watching the two of us as we realize what’s happening. I swallow, fighting another, different kind of nausea.
“Hello...Aphrodite.”
| 2017-03-22T17:00:16 | 2017-03-22T15:28:02 | 44 | 29 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
Each lifetime seemed to me only a moment. I had always forcefully forged a path, etching my name in the memories of past world's inhabitants to be passed on for eternities to come.
I have been here a thousand times before. That short and sweet gift of existence, the driving hunger and motivation to succeed, to change humanity for the better, always somehow brings me back. Driving the world forward, for better or worse. I have always believed this my burden to bear, my cross to carry.
This is my last chance, and now I must decide.
33 Years Later:
My fingers drift through soft, strawberry curls. The weight of her head rests on my shoulder, her small body nestled in close to me. Here, now. This is where I want to stay forever.
Thirty three years ago, I realized how I had failed every time before. Forcing my presence on the world, exhaustively exerting all energy in the hopes that my actions would provide a direction for the rest of His creation. How selfish I had been. How vain.
This time, I dedicated my life to the life of someone else. In this life, I have not forced my presence on the world. I have not attempted to move mountains. My life has been and will be dedicated to this beautiful being, this innocent child.
I will show her the wonder of the world, convey to her the preciousness of its existence and the preciousness of all life residing here.
This time, I will live history and not become it. This time, my contribution to the world will be her. Her laughter, her love, her curiosity, her joy. Her light.
This time, I became a father.
|
"Patience. Restraint."
This man looks at me from under his glasses. I see the slight nodding of his head. He thinks he understands me. What I need, what I want. How he can fix me.
"So those are the qualities you feel you can improve on?" he asks me. The tone of his voice is condescending, egregiously self-secure. He knows so little. Every time it is the same. Some stuck up academist, drawing their conclusions before they've even heard me speak. Because what sane persons goes to a psychiatrist, right? This exercise bores me.
"Right". I control my voice, I need to. I would sound aggressive, instigative, but I can't. It's all about the outside, the perception. And as long as I entertain this hack he won't notice the brewing deep inside. The one I need to contain.
"That's good". He nods again. "Self-reflection and a desire for self-improvement are the keystones of improving your quality of life. Many people don't get there". He rambles on but I phase out. His entire demeanor, his entire existence is petty, and thinking about his irrelevancy...I feel the pressure building from within.
It always starts like that. I feel the nerves being pushed into my skin, as if the insides of my body expand and my skin is just a hull to contain it all. The beat of my heart becomes louder, it's like I can feel my eardrums vibrate along with the increasing volume. It silences everything else.
So I breathe. I've been doing fine for 20 years now. Under the radar. To say my sheet is clean is an overstatement. I don't regret any of it, it had to be done. But so far I'm just a man with some issues, nothing serious. And that's all I need. Just be...*normal*...until the end. And then finally I will arrive where I belong.
"Are you still with me?" His trained, supposedly calming voice disturbs my train of thought. "I..." I mumble, but I feel the pressure again. I close my eyes. It's as if a fist of pure rage punches the inside of my head, trying to break out of its containment. But I try to push it back, inside the prison I've built. If you can't see it, it's not there. That's all I need.
I exhale through my nose, and try to fix the rhythm of my breathing. My nostrils flare, and as I rub my temples with my fingertips I open my eyes again. "Yes. I was..." I don't need to explain myself. But then I remember. This is what it depends on. That people don't know.
"I...chased a thought. Could you repeat the last sentences?" I still won't say sorry. I owe this man nothing. I'm being tested, and I will pass.
"Of course."
---
I smile. I can't feel anything other than happiness as I feel the tension leave the room. The slowly building pressure in my head is gone. It will be calm for a few weeks. The thought of the ease, the peaceful silence. I audibly laugh. "Are you concealing something from me?" That stern look. Ridiculous.
One man practices. Every man's dream. All I needed was some cleaning product, some acid, a functioning drain, and the *patience*. For some tasks I had all the patience I needed. It was just the things beneath me that I would not grant my attention to.
The room was tidy again. I grab my coat from the coat rack and inspect the room one more time. His notepad is still on the floor. I pick it up and browse through it. Expectedly, it's filled with typical mumbo-jumbo that seemed to try and pass for technical medical terms. I arrive at the last page.
"Containment. Signs of narcissistic behavior. Personality disorder (?)"
Amusing. But still, the fact that he thought he had the authority to write this down...I feel something twitch in my head. As if someone is gently pressing the insides of my head. I try and laugh, but the feeling won't subside.
The last sentence draws my attention. "Crumbling of the mind".
An animalistic roar escapes my body. *Who*...*who* dares...
A few minutes later I come to consciousness again. I'm sitting on *his* chair, the piece of paper fumbled up in my closed fist. It's all good now. I put on my coat, inhale deeply, and exhale as I close the door behind me. As I walk home I smile to a stranger, another meaningless passenger in this pretentious existence. As I try to ignore the pressure building, the pressure that is building too soon, all I can think is: *stay calm to succeed. You know what you're doing this for.* I start to whistle.
It's all about appearances.
| 2017-03-31T12:19:09 | 2017-03-31T05:57:51 | 92 | 14 |
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower.
|
I took my glasses off for the first time in a long time... then I wiped them off with my shirt and put them back on. There was no time to waste, our team's engineer yelled out "SPY ZAPPIN' MAH SENTRY!" As the team's only pyro, I quickly ignited the enemy spy and took out my trusty homewrecker. With one clean swing the electric device was disarmed. The engineer decided to celebrate by using the high-five taunt. I wanted to humor him so I joined in. This was the last time I ever accepted a high five in the middle of a match. 4 stickies on the sentry and 1 crit stick below our feet was all the enemy needed to dispatch of our defense.
We ended up loosing that game.
Seriously though, this WP is dangerously close to the Pyro class from Team Fortress 2. He wears goggles which show the world full of rainbows and unicorns when in reality he is burning every one alive.
If OP didn't get the idea for this WP from this game, Il bite my ghostly Gibus.
|
*From that day on, I knew what I was doing was a lie. A complete lie.*
"Not coming to dinner tonight, Jay?" Mata said as he put on his shoes, "Heard we are eating ribs tonight." Sickness coiled inside my stomach.
"I'll pass, a bit tired," I said, hiding myself under the blanket, attempting to find some sort of comfort. *All those people... To think I was the one doing this... What kind of a program is this? I want out.*
"Alright bud, good job today tho!" Mata smiled with a thumbs up. "We have gotten to spray lots of it today, can't wait for it to blossom." *If only he knew...*
About a couple of minutes later, silence echoed in the hall. I was finally alone. *This is my chance to talk to the director.*
I quickly wrote up a resignation letter, trying to think some sort of excuse that might quickly get me out of this hellhole.
"Come in," Director Apati said. The door creaked as I peeked inside, the military commander doing paperwork. "ID and state your purpose." He said without looking up.
"303661480 sir. And-" I took a deep breath and put the letter on the table. "I wish to resign."
He stopped midway, I felt my heart skipped a beat as he looked up at me with a serious look. I could feel him looking right through me.
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Um. Family back home is in a financial struggle, I wish to help them out."
"Despite getting paid more in the program than back at Rez?" He cocked an eyebrow, eyeing my suspiciously. *I messed up.* "Did you perhaps did something you shouldn't?"
"No sir. I have lots of siblings I need to take care of-" I stared at him, nervously trying to construct words off the top of my head until he finally held up his hands.
"Say no more son, I understand. There's a convoy that is heading back to command base, I'll let them know."
*Well that went unexpectedly well. Too well.*
----
The jeep roared through the night desert as all I could imagine were the dead that i I had burned. The moonlight shine above, offering a bit of comforting light.
"We're here." The officer said as he beckoned me to get off. I looked around, only to find sand dunes everywhere.
"What do you mean? There's nothing here-" I stopped immediately and stared at him. Sadness filled in his eyes. *And thats when I realized.*
He drew his gun slowly and pointed it at me. "No please, don't do it." I desperately said. *If I only had power. If I only knew beforehand. If I only could do something about it...*
I closed my eyes, waiting for death to come and that's when I heard a gunshot. **BANG.** I expected more pain, but perhaps I am already dead so I can't feel any.
But somehow I could still hear my heartbeat, thumping back and forth rapidly. I opened my eyes only to find the soldier had fallen on the ground, blood spilled everywhere as I slowly walked back, shocked and confused by what had happened.
The driver quickly got out of the car, pointing his gun at me. **BANG.** Seconds later, he dropped as well.
I looked around, trying to find my saviour. In the distance, I saw three figures slowly walking towards me. *This is bad. What if these are the enemies? Am I about to be captured?*
I heard another shot, this time to me. I feel myself getting more dizzy and hazy as I desperately try to hold onto the car for support. Then enemies got closer while I fell to the ground, unable to move with vision distorted.
I saw a figure standing above me, analyzing me.
"I see mercy and compassion in his eyes," A deep voice said, "I suspect he is being used."
"Why not just kill him?" Another voice said, cocking his gun. "We have no need for a pawn of the government."
"Quiet Wolf," The deep voice said disapprovingly, "We'll let the boss decide."
"Bring him," A feminine voice said in the distance, it was a voice of power and determination that automatically demands respect.
Before finally falling unconscious, the last thing I heard from the "boss" was something that sounded like...
*"Let's show him what the world really look like."*
| 2017-06-20T04:00:15 | 2017-06-20T03:35:51 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone is allowed to recall a specific memory 10 times before it gets wiped from their mind.
|
He sat on a front porch, he assumed it was his own.
He was old, somewhere past 80. His gray hair was frazzled and his nametag 'Mike' was worn. He needed a new one, but he knew this one was special from... somewhere.
A woman came out the front door, dusting the flour of her hands off on her apron. Beth. Her short white hair brought a smile to his face, and he recalled she had said something long ago about it, but he couldn't remember quite what.
"Mike, honey, supper's ready. It's your favorite," she beamed at him. Mike smiled and took her hand, and they slowly walked in the house together. The walls were covered with information:
*Dec. 9th, 1947: First Date*
*Dec. 10th, 1947: First Kiss*
*Dec. 13th, 1947: First Flowers*
*January 2nd, 1948: (Hand-drawn heart)*
*January 8th, 1948: Proposal*
*June 15th, 1948: Marriage*
Front and center, in big, bold letters were their wedding vows.
*I promise to love you always and forever. In sickness and in health, in good times and in bad. Until the hairs on my head turn white with age, and the only memory we have is of waking up in the morning.*
|
Atlas clicked the memory chips between his fingers, thinking hard. He kept his anxiety pinned firmly behind his eyes, where no one at the table could see them.
He was one of three left at the poker table, and he seemed to be racing them to third place. With one finger he itched under his T-shirt collar, casually, as if he was not drenched in sweat underneath, as if his mind was not reeling, calculating.
There was no quitting now. No one left Florence Night's poker table without their wallet empty or their pockets bursting. There was no option of cutting one's losses and fading quietly into the night.
For half a second, he considered running and screaming when he hit the kitchen. This particular session of illegal memory gambling unfolded in a Chinese restaurant's storage closet with a false wall, behind which Florence Night let anyone stupid enough to trust luck to make their memory just a little bit longer. But the restaurant sounded quiet; perhaps no one was even there to hear.
Atlas pinned his eyes on the old card table, its top pocked scarred with fallen cigarette ashes. He swallowed the panic in his throat. Five chips. Five times to see her again. Or really no times, since he had only enough to wager on one hand and a goddamn pair of queens hiding under his tapping thumb.
One of the two men at the table eyed him and said, "You can leave with what you got, boy."
"I'm not a boy," Atlas replied immediately, confirming that he was. He tried to slow his racing thoughts. Tried to remember what he was so panicked not to forget. Why was he doing this at all? He could not remember. He felt only the insistent forward tug of a decision he couldn't recall making. But he always figured past-Atlas had a good reason for doing what he did.
Atlas ran his fingers along the smooth groove of a slot at the base of his skull, where he could insert a little memory token. He could slip the warm heat of the past into his spine and relive it just one last time.
He was not *really* human, his brain more metal and mica than grey matter, and Atlas supposed he should be grateful his creators deemed him to processing power even for fleeting memories. After all, workers do not have the luxury of afterthought.
But still. But still.
Neither of the men across from him were worker-class. They kept their memories floating around in their cerebral fluid or whatever (Atlas was not programmed to be a neuroscientist, after all), unreliable, but there. No, men like these haunted Florence's games like vultures, picking memories off desperate worker bees like Atlas who only wanted to relive the dead and revive the lost as infinitely as a real human could.
The second man at the table, the dealer this turn, snarled at Atlas, "Call or fold."
Atlas raised his eyes to the man's and for a second their dark stares held, the air between them boiling, until Atlas answered, "All-in."
The first man sighed between his teeth, as if he'd tossed Atlas a bone and the boy had been too proud to accept his pity.
"Real heavy pot you got there." The second man grabbed a handful off his tiny mountain of bronze memories and tossed them onto the middle of the table; the first man did the same with his hill of tokens.
The second man began laying down the flop. He set the cards down slowly and carefully, as if to prove he weren't up to any tricks. Atlas would have hidden his eyes until it was over if he wasn't worried about the men switching a card on him.
The first four cards were duds for Atlas's hand. But at the last moment, on the river, the third queen appeared. Atlas's heart buoyed and buckled. He swallowed his ravaging joy, tried to remind himself it was only one hand. That there was a whole game to win.
All three showed their hands at once.
Atlas surveyed his competitor's cards and did not realize he had won until the second man shoved fifteen gorgeous clinking memory tokens toward him. His tongue fumbled drily for something to say.
There was something he had to remember. Some*one*. He hadn't turned ten coins into a hundred like he had imagined, but fifteen was better than none. And if he did not take these now, he would never remember, at the torment of it would echo through his mind like a forgotten word eternally perched on the tip of his tongue.
So Atlas grabbed his tokens in both fists and ran out the door, the men yelling behind him. He kept sprinting out the kitchen, through the backdoor to his right, and down the alleyway. He ran and ran until the night swallowed up the shouts of his pursuers, and Atlas was alone on the dim-lit city streets.
The memories burned in his fingers like a promise.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| 2017-08-04T08:03:08 | 2017-08-04T06:30:33 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are secretly an alligator posing as a human to infiltrate their society. One day, someone says "see you later, alligator!" and you think your cover is blown.
|
"See you later alligator!" the man said to me.
*My cover was blown. I had to think fast.
He was looking at me with a stupid grin on his face, taunting me with his knowledge of my identity. I must have stood there too long because he took a step toward me*
Hey man, when I say that, you have to say "After a while crocodile!"
*I've been fooled! This was no man after all, but a damned croc. Those things have been taking credit for thousands of my kind's accomplishments. I must end this now. But before I could I hear*
"Ok man, if you don't want to say bye, I understand. You have a good day! So long like a hot dog!"
"I've been found out!"
*A man standing behind a cart near me shed his coat and ran, leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs and a red gooey substance.*
|
“It’s been 4 days and I’m starting to be able to walk. Cooping myself up in this hotel room is starting to get to my head. But it must be done. I can’t use a walker forever. It draws too much attention to myself but it’ll draw more attention if I crawl on my belly. It’ll all be over. I need to get accustomed. That son of a bitch is on to me. I know he is. I can’t wait till-“
An explosion at the door causes him to jump to the ground, sprinting on all fours to a running shower stall. “Housekeeping!”, says the man on the other end of the door.
“He doesn’t sound threatening”, he thinks to himself.
“I can’t be quite sure. It feels like I’ll never get used to these customs. I used to be the one making the noise. Everything would run from ME. He would be running from ME if he knew what I was capable of. What I AM capable of. I’m the fucking king-“
“Hello?” the staff calls out again. “What would be a good time to come back?”
No answer.
The wheels squeak down the hall. It’s safe again.
He crawls back to his bed for another go. Starts on his belly and pushes himself in a push-up motion. Halfway through his body recoils. His arms wobble and his head feels as though he’s being attacked. Falling back on the bed, he frantically looks across the room in defense position.
Nobody’s there.
“What’s going on?” He thinks to himself. “It feels like I’m going in for a kill, but I think I’m alone. Though I can’t be too sure. My eyesight is narrow and I can’t gauge my surroundings without letting my backside guard down. There’s nothing to protect me, it's all in front of me”.
Getting in push-up position, he again tries to stand. The more he rises, the more his arms start to shake. Never has he been so far from the ground. Never has he felt so helpless.
The morning after was a breakthrough. Hours of failure and frustration payed off. He grabbed the walker for safety and left hotel for the first time since the transformation. As he steps in the elevator tension begins to build. Water slowly drips down his skin and the familiar sensation gave him confidence. Today was huge. Everything he worked for can be taken away with one phrase. “There’s nothing to worry about”, he thought in the elevator. “It’s an outdated phrase. Nobody says it anymore.”
The elevator comes to a halt and the doors slowly open. Everybody is preparing to exit. This is it. He can’t contain his excitement. Sweat is billowing down his body. Almost too much. Looking around the elevator, everybody is dry. Already a sore thumb. The doors are almost open. Heards of people scurry around the hotel lobby. Small vibrations jab him in the torso. In a panic, he almost collapses to the floor
“Sir, are you okay?”.
Only able to groan he has no response. More heads turn to him as he is now a spectacle. His stomach feels as though it’s going to vibrate out of his body. Harsh, high pitch shrieks fill the air from all directions. Trying to keep it in and pretend like everything’s fine, he starts to lose control. Nobody prepared him for this. His senses were not made for this environment.
Quickly spiraling, he lets out an ungodly screech. The vibrations from his vocal chords tear through his own ears as the grit of the deathly scream was menacing out of his control. It was the sound of pure pain. He recognized the sound. It was the sound of prey as he sunk his teeth in for the kill.
Cycling through feelings of empathy and suffering, he could not bear it any more.
“SEE YOU LATER ALLIGATOR” He screamed in a tone as if he was struck by lightning.
In an instant, it was over. He was back in the swamp and everybody was laughing. “I told you not to take too much!” cried a familiar voice peppered with laughter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how you do when it’s your turn” he said out of embarrassment. Full of regret and loathing over his instincts.
| 2018-05-07T12:46:09 | 2018-05-07T12:28:30 | 235 | 10 |
[WP] Most space fairing species are logical beings; when they learn that nothing can go faster than the speed of light they accept it and deal with that limit. The space community is then shocked when Humans, an illogical species with a strong obsession with science fiction, turn up with FTL travel.
(FTL meaning faster than light)
|
It was slow. It was always limited.
As a species grew, the wheel of invention always turned slow. The first tool, the first flame, the first planted crops. Hundreds, thousands, or more years between each. And as the species advanced, the wheel began to turn faster and faster.
Till it could no more.
When physics themselves became the barrier in the way, people sought to change it. Ripping holes in space-time, simply accelerating more and more. Nothing worked.
But they were content. After all, they had achived biological immortality. When a ship went fast enough, for the travellers the journey was but a moment, though more to others. It never was that big of a problem. It was taught to children, it was accepted, and life moved on.
As time moved on, other species were encountered: Information was spread across the stellar empires slowly. Finally, enough were gathered that a community was beginning to bloom. It began, it fought itself, it evolved, it prospered.
Then it changed.
A new species arrived, but unlike others. That species had observed the structure from far away and sought to travel there. But their ship arrived instantly from the perspective of the awaiters.
How could such a thing even happen? For even in the fastest ship, light and radiation still moved faster and the ship was known of before it even arrived.
They answered the question: "We went faster than light."
They found and crafted exotic matters, fueled their ships by it, and folded space itself. An expensive process, to be sure - but no more expensive than the fastest slower-than-light, and far faster. They also tore though spaces to create safe bridges to travel through, faster than anything else possible.
From their perspective, it was merely a quirk of nature. But to the community, the last thing restricting their growth finally had an end in sight.
Yet no matter how they pleaded, how they demanded, how they begged, they never got it.
For the humans knew what aliens were to them: Far more advanced, more than they ever thought possible. If they got even the smallest sample of their technology, a revolution would surely occur in their empires. And the humans would have no more use. A young and weak empire. Nothing of worth. They would be tossed aside like a spent torch.
The words of refusal, once spoken by the leader themself, caused an uproar. Again, they pleaded, demanded, and begged, but did not change anything. Furious, they began to mobilize their ships, sending orders to their fleets, to burn down the humans and take their technology.
But the war never started.
For a singular strike from the greatest, fastest, and strongest weapon of the humans devestated the planet shared by the community forever. They had no other weapon. Inspired by the mythos of the past and the facts of the present, created only out of fear and paranoia. Well placed paranoia, for what was predicted could never have been more true.
So, the humans built a fleet, their first one. They put their greatest technicans and admirals aboard, sending them to conquer the entire community faster than their messages could travel.
One planet by one, they fell to the scourge. Only then did they hear why, for the fleets were faster than the words. But just like their guards were broken, barriers were broken for them.
Perhaps it's better this way.
|
\- The space congress has started - says Huhzbi the current leader of the space congress for scientific development and logic, while a computer translator translates to English - and we are here to welcome our new members, self named earthlings, representing the Star System Y896, Galaxy U7 of the cuadrant B4, or Solarians, despite their relative short lifespan, biological nature, and their disastrous track record and rather primitive behavior they have managed to figure out faster than light space travel which has granted them a seat in this congress, so the session starts, any objection?
\- Objection - expresses Xzho, leader of the nomads of the galaxy U7 - we have been observing these creatures, they are wild, they destroyed many of our ships when we requested for an alliance and then covered it up because they couldn't deal with the truth, we would reject any new member of this congress that hasn't been elevated to be a civilization of type 3; and we refuse to accept this new member without an explanation on how their FTL mechanism works, what do we exactly win? it has been proved to be impossible, you are telling me these... "earthlungs" or whatever they call themselves now, were able to come up with the impossible.
Suddenly the congress turns into a messy state, as everyone starts pointing arguments to each other; without getting anywhere, lights flashed as the beings that communicated via photons expressed their ideas, pressure waves came and hit the oxygen filled extremely warm box where Lærke, representant of the earthlings was situated.
\- Silence - says Huhzbi, while silence was not the best term, it was the best the computer translator could come with to express the idea to Lærke - we need to get how it works from them.
\- Any attempt has failed - says Irmjoj - humans have destroyed many planets from our system already by mining them from resources, we are not even sure how they have arrived to those planets, but we managed to capture one of their devices and it makes no sense, it's literally just a box of nothing, it doesn't have motors, fuel, or anything at all, it's a pressurized, warm metal box filled with nothing.
\- Please Stop - Ithnana was losing her cool, she (as if she had a gender) was the director of development of the Uhni supercluster - let the earthling talk - now she looks at the Lærke - human talk.
\- Look I am just the prime minister of Denmark, why am I here exactly?...
\- Are you saying you don't know how your transportation device works?...
\- I am not a theologist, how do you want me to know? I am in charge of Denmark and any planet colonies related, I accepted to come here as Representative of Denmark not as the Representative of the human race.
\- What is a Denmark?...
\- It's a country, member of the Eurasian uni... you know what, nevermind, do you want to talk to a theologist?...
Lærke picks up her phone, and calls someone, the crowd can only hear.
\- I need you here, right now... yes... no... just hurry up... - Lærke continues talking.
\- Aren't we like 3 million light years away from the closest human settlement? - softly whispers Ithnana to Huhzbi. - hold on a minute, how did they arrive here in the first place? they aren't using entangled particles!... she is physically here.
\- Alright alright - Lærke finishes the call, now she redirects herself to the crowd - Alright, our theologist is coming.
\- Coming when?...
\- He is in the toilet, give him 2 minutes.
\- What is a toilet?...
Lærke rolls her eyes.
\- Mohammed Andersen is here!... - suddenly he pops inside the same glass bubble that the prime minister was in.
The crowd freaks out.
\- Was that? Instant teleportation?...
\- Ehm, yes... - says Mohammed - you see, I assume I am here to explain how all of this works.
\- Yes - says Huhzbi.
\- You won't be able to use it anyway you'll see - Mohammed starts talking - your world is limited by science and all this stuff, but it just happens that God has chosen us; this universe isn't real, it's a simulation, most likely a videogame, running in some kid's computer.
\- Wait WHAT?... that doesn't make any sense, how did you figure all that out, you cannot communicate outside of the universe, you cannot check which kind of simulation this is, you cannot do...
\- Well, you can, they can see us, we can't see them; but you see, the world is either glitchy or you can cheat, just happened that by random chance, someone guessed right, he was actually schizophrenic, he spent all the time speaking to God and doing random garbage, and somehow, one day he managed to create cardboard boxes that travelled faster than light and he put the hospital's cat in it; as you see, he was so illogic and irrational, that he managed to find a glitch in the matrix, or maybe he was the glitch in the matrix, we don't know, all we know, is that one day he came up with that, and then the hospital blew up and everyone died, we think he activated a cheat code, he was speaking really long sentences that made no sense; the next day, every single one in the area, and every cat nearby, was able to create, boxes that travel faster than the speed of light; but none else, I was one of those people around, at first we thought it was America's bombing again, but...
\- Mohammed cut it, you said enough - said Lærke.
\- So this is just an error in the universe - says Huhzbi - you are not gifted or anything, you just happened to be so stupid, and have humans so brain damaged, they somehow broke the rules of space time, be so because he activated some cheat code or glitch; this is so stupid, it makes no sense, but we just saw how this guy teleported in front of us; this is so irrational.
\- Yes, God has chosen us - says Mohammed - whoever was playing this videogame is back after a 2000 year rest.
\- Look Huhzbi - says Lærke - the time of those cats and people is limited, we have already lost 40 of the 300 people that are able to do this, mostly to other people, but we realize, your species have the secret to immortality, so I want a deal, in exchange you get a cat, we get immortality.
| 2019-12-21T07:18:29 | 2019-12-21T06:51:26 | 1,431 | 67 |
[WP] The hero was blessed with the power to bring people back to life, resurecting their companions to keep up the fight against the dark lord. Which is why it’s odd that they brought you, the dark lord that they fought against back to life.
|
In as harsh a voice as I have ever managed, "why did you bring me back. Was killing me once not enough?" It is only then that I note their appearance; older; more worn; many more pain lines than laugh lines. "I see. You have run into something you cannot handle, and think *I* will help you. That is genuinely amusing. Please forgive me for not laughing. Now kill me and send me back. I do not wish to help you."
"It's your assistant."
"That puppy? He's giving you such grief?!?" *ho ho haw haw hee hee hee* **cough** "You mighty heroes have fallen dramatically for that imbecile to give you any difficult at all."
"I only wish that were so. Since defeating you, we have gone on to improve our skills and abilities. Your *assistant* is more than thrice as powerful as you were."
***"IMPOSSIBLE!"***
"We bear witness on our bodies that it is so. We also bear evidence in his own hand to prove how he became so. I warn you; it will enrage you."
That calm declaration fills me with dread, yet if this has come about, I must learn how. "If it will enrage me, it had best be done in the open air and in daylight. I *have* been known to lose my temper in a spectacular manner."
Finally, some of the humor I remember. They are worn but not broken.
…
"As you can see, I have set the wards to direct any energy upward. Hand me the evidence. I will activate the wards when you are clear."
"Here it is. I am sorry we had to bring you back to this pain. We would not have done so if it were not that you are our last hope."
Again, I am filled with dread. "If that is true, have your own mage cast additional wards."
"We will."
He is genuinely sorry. I see pity in his gaze. Pity? For me? Now I am filled with fear. I nod to him. He nods back and withdraws to the wards erected by their mage. The wards are raised. Indeed, their mage is far more potent than I remember. If they have all grown so strong... nothing to do now, but to set the wards and read.
The papers are inside one of my containers for critical documents that must withstand anything. I withdraw them, the wards already established.
—…—
"Do you think he will help us?"
"If he does not become so enraged that he goes to attack the Evil One direct, then yes, I think he will."
As we watch our former nemesis, he carefully opens the box and begins reading. It is painful to watch his expressions as he discovers the duplicity of his assistant.
The way his *assistant* maneuvered him.
Used him as a stalking horse.
Concealed his plans.
Withheld his aid.
Betrayed him.
Took much of his power at the last moment, just as we had defeated him.
It caused his death.
We are both chagrined and relieved, that *we* had not caused his death. We know that we could have, but that would have made this even more difficult.
We watch as he stands there, papers in hand, gazing directly at the sun. He gives a small shake, returns the papers to the box, gazes at the sun, and screams.
His head now fully tipped back, a stream of blackness erupts from his mouth. The scrub trees and grass for a furlong go dry, then grey, then to a powder that wafts on the wind.
Our mage is hard-pressed to maintain our wards.
Somehow, he keeps screaming with that awful substance spewing forth for a full thumb of the sun. We are concerned, he is fading and growing thin. The power of the scream drops, and the stream of corruption thins. Finally, he is still, crumpled to his knees, his head bowed. His wards drop in a shattering of prismatic light.
A being of light and power appears before him. Speaks to him. He nods. There is a terrible flash of brilliance. When we can see again, he is supine; his clothes burned away.
Our mage slowly drops our wards. We approach with caution, not knowing what has happened to him.
—…—
I have never felt like this before. I do not know what to do. I'm staring at the sun, like the fool I have been. My entire life, a lie, crumpled and thrown on the trash heap of life. I cannot bear this any longer. The papers I return to the box. Standing there, staring at the sun, I scream.
I have no memory of how long that scream lasted. I only remember being upon my knees, and a figure of shimmering light asking me a question. I agree. A thunderclap, and I am looking at the sky. I am at peace. There is no rage. There is no darkness.
I hear the heroes approach, cautiously.
"Fear not.". They come closer. "I am... cleansed."
"We saw much. Are you able?"
For the first time in my life, I can give a genuine smile. "I am. But if you have any clothes to spare, it would be appreciated."
They gather around, the valiant warrior extends his arm, lifting me to my feet. Their healer hugs me. The mage pulls out a set of robes that will do. Their rogue, oh wonders of wonders, he returns my ring of protection to me. Their ranger smiles so broadly that his face must surely crack in two, and salutes me.
"We must go now. There is not much time."
((finis))
|
The battlefield was scorched and burnt. So many fallen... it would take weeks to revive them all. And those are the ones with bodies left to recover... the battle was, in fact, still raging. Archers loosing arrows, steel striking steel, and the shouts of military orders rang across the battlefield like funeral bells on a cold winter evening. In the center of it all, this final cathedral housed the most important battle of the war. The battle between Fredrick Knightwing, champion of Faun’zala, and Grimswell Penumbral, the Lunar Lord of Darkness. Fredrick let out an aching, heavy sigh. This decision was the right decision... So many people were hurt to bring about his moment. To bring about the end of Grimswell, the champion of corruption and destruction. It was finally over. But then, Faun’zala called to Fredrick once again. Another vision. Another lesson.
Thoughts of simpler times, back before he was blessed by Faun’zala, those thoughts came to mind. It was just Fredrick and his Father out in the woods. Fredrick had never taken up a bow before: the senior Knightwing was teaching his son to hunt. Softly walking through the mossy ground during a midsummer’s afternoon... he could feel, once again, the ground sinking beneath his feet. Off in the distance, the father and son saw a lone deer with a mangled leg. The deer was hobbling along slowly, painfully. Fredrick watched in horror as his father drew his bow. Middle aged fingers drew back the bowstring swiftly, letting an arrow loose in a minuscule breath. The arrow flew true, striking the deer right in the heart. It died an easy, painless death.
Nine year old Fredrick was trembling... his eyes welled up. He gripped his father fiercely, crying. “Why papa, why? That wasn’t fair... it couldn’t get away.” The experienced hunter ran a hand through Fredrick’s hair, softly, warmly. “Here, Fred, let’s sit down. I’ll talk you through it.” The father motioned to a stump a few paces away, and the Fredrick sat on his father’s lap. “Son, everybody and everything has a good and a bad. What’s good for our dinner is real bad for that deer.” Fredrick gripped his father’s jacket tightly at the mention of the deer. “Shh, kiddo, it’s ok. What a lot of folks focus on a lot is what’s good. What’s good for them, and how to be good people. Yeah, being a good person is good... but bad’s pretty important too.” At that Fredrick looked up confused. The confusion distracted Fredrick from the sadness a bit, helping him dry his tears. “But papa, bad is bad. Nobody wants bad.”
At that, a light chuckle spilled out of the senior Knightwing’s lips. “Yeah, bad is bad. But think about it this way: for Deer bad is a predator. Wolves, Dragonsnaps... and people too. If there were none of those, there’d be a lot of deer.” Fredrick nodded along, this was very simple to understand. “Well imagine if there weren’t any predators. There would be so many deer. Too many. All the plants would get eaten real quick. And you can’t have a forest without plants... so what’s good for us is also good for the forest.” Fredricks eyes widened. “Yeah papa, you’re right! I love plants.” The hunter’s lips curled up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He ran a hand through little Fredrick’s hair, making Fredrick’s curly brown hair even messier than usual. “Every bad is gonna be good for something. Bad takes sure, but good is selfish too.” Fredrick shook his head strongly. “Nuh uh, selfishness is bad.” At that the father pointed over to the deer. “We gotta eat somehow. To the deer, we look *real* selfish right now. We gotta take something to be good.” Little Fredrick pouted a bit. “I guess so.” Fredrick’s father continued. “Even the goodest of goods have to be selfish. Justice has to hurt someone when they get punished. Giving to charity makes the giver feel pretty darn good, or helps them look good for other people. Selfish doesn’t always mean bad. It’s just too much selfish that does that.” Fredrick nodded along, but he felt funny. His dad made sense but Fredrick didn’t like a word of it. “Now come on kiddo, let’s go clean up that deer. We need to bring dinner home for momma.”
The memory faded away, just like the other flashes that Faun’zala has given him. Every flash was another lesson. Fredrick understood: he was the good. This was the bad. Bad takes selflessly, while good takes selfishly. The Lunar Lord broke and corrupted so many souls... but the Lord gained nothing in return. It was, in a sense, a selfless cleansing. Things must die. But Fredrick, redeeming and resurrecting... was selfish. The power of choice inherently makes Fredrick’s ability selfish. There must be a reason, a benefit, to revive someone. Someone who can destroy selflessly is the perfect balance to someone who can revive selfishly. Fredrick took a deep breath, it was time.
He tried to fight back the sorrow. The anguish. The regret. Fredrick did not want to bring back his greatest foe, but if he didn’t... the selfishness of good would overwhelm this world. Faun’zala commanded balance. Fredrick finally understood what that meant. Balance isn’t destroying evil, but managing evil. To decide who must die and must not... that is selfish. That is the ultimate selfishness of good. It was time to learn a lesson from the Lunar Lord: to wield power indiscriminately. Fredrick laid a hand on Grimswell’s chest and began chanting: “*Elsvar elsvar returnatus, from the ashes, from the sadness. Respra respra revenala, return to me from Faun’zala.*” The hulking, armored form of the Lunar Lord began to twitch ever so slightly. “*Elsvar elsvar returnatus, from the ashes, from the sadness. Respra respra revenala, return to me from Faun’zala.*” Just a little longer... Fredrick almost stopped the ritual. The pain, the regret, it was almost too much. With heaving breaths and tears just like the ones that mourned for a mangled deer, Fredrick continued to chant. It wasn’t fair... “*Elsvar elsvar returnatus, from the ashes, from the sadness. Respra respra revenala, return to me from Faun’zala.*”
The titanic body within the tarnished steel plating shifted and stirred, like a body pulled from slumber. The Lunar Lord groggily awoke, and Fredrick waited. It took a minute or two for the sounds of war to wake up Grimswell. “You did it Freddy boy. You really did it.” Fredrick blinked owlishly: the Lunar Lord was far more... casual than before his death. “What? You were expecting that?” Grimswell picked himself and his armor off the ground. “Faun’zala demands balance. Did you really think she’d only have one champion?” Fredrick opened his mouth in protest... and then focused on Grimswell’s words. “Freddy, bud, you take care of the good guys. But somebody’s gotta take care of the bad guys. Even a killer needs a home.”
Fredrick wanted to shout. And scream. Killers are evil, killers are awful, killers are... and then he realized it. This whole war. All the deaths. All the pain. They were all meant to deliver him, Fredrick, and his rival, Grimswell, right here. To have this conversation. “So, Lunar Lord—” The Lord of Darkness interrupted the confused hero.“Please Freddy, call me Grimswell.” Frederick, slowly easing into the informality, began to speak.“Ok um, Grimswell, I guess you could say we’re... partners? Of a sort.” Grimswell let out a large, bellowing laugh. “Of course, of course, you’re catching on! We hate each other in public but in private... good and evil is just a measure of how much you hate the other guy. And we have the same boss after all.” At that, Grimswell’s massive hand gave Fredrick a friendly slap on the back... and nearly knocked Fredrick over. “Now Freddy boy, give me your hand. We have a ritual to do before the battle ends.” Grimswell placed a hand out with his palm up. The palm flowed with the green, sweet warmth of Faun’zala. And the same green warmth tugged at Fredrick, urging him forward. This is the feelings of the visions. Of the revivals. With the evidence of the goddesses’ magic before him, Fredrick could deny it no longer. There was in fact, another champion.
| 2019-12-26T14:53:47 | 2019-12-26T14:34:43 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
Usually the messages were innocuous and random, but not this time. The words on my mirror had always been helpful to me, and I came to imagine it as my guardian angel. I was careful not to tell anyone how I seemed to always have some prescient knowledge about the challenges of my day; I feared that anyone I told would assume I was crazy.
On this particular morning, I was standing in a t-shirt and underwear and I had begun to brush my teeth. The text was simple and scrawled across the mirror in all caps: "RUN"
Suddenly my blood ran cold and a shiver passed down my spine. My heart was pounding and although I didn't know why, I knew there wasn't a moment to lose. I quickly threw on a pair of jeans, slipped into my shoes and ran out the front door of my apartment. I didn't take the time to lock the door, rushing to get into the elevator. I repeatedly pressed the button for the doors to close, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I knew that my pursuer was getting closer. After what seemed like ages, the door finally closed and I began to descend.
In those few moments, I waited and wondered what person, what being, what ethereal force might be following right behind me. What if it was already here, in the elevator with me, and yet, disguised from my sight? I had never truly questioned where the messages on the mirror had come from. I hadn't felt any need, and of course, there was no one I could ask. Over the years, it had become a normal part of my life. But today it felt sinister, and I feared that those messages had somehow allowed an evil presence to slip into my mind.
The elevator sounded its tone and the door opened. I ran, my shoes almost screeching against the tiles of the lobby floor. I rushed out the door and continued to run, directionlessly onto the sidewalk. I passed by cars, and people stared at me inquisitively as I ran, seemingly for my life.
I began to hear the sound of footfalls behind me, not knowing if I was the only one who could hear them.
Soon I came to the first intersection, unsure which way to go. I caught a glance at the mirrored glass of an office building.
"Turn right," the words read. So I did. Never stopping to look behind me, I continued to run, through parks and across bridges away from the center of the city. Every so often a mirrored window would tip me off to which way I should turn. Strangely, despite not being in particularly good shape, I was not growing exhausted. It seemed almost as if my recurring dreams of being chased had been preparing me for this very moment.
Still, I had no idea what creature could be following behind. I only felt its presence and heard the footfalls, always keeping pace, compelling me to run, to escape. As I got closer to the suburbs I began to hear heavy breathing along with the footfalls. Still, I did not look behind me.
Eventually, I caught its reflection in the rear-view mirror of a car. A massive, hulking black dog. It was the size of a horse, with long shaggy fur and enormous, razor-sharp teeth. It didn't run, so much as it... walked, while levitating slightly above the ground. And yet, it always seemed to keep pace with me. When I looked at the reflection in another rear-view mirror, realized that the creature was blurred around the edges where it seemed to almost be surrounded by an aura of darkness.
As I ran, still following the mirrors' directions, I noticed the surroundings slowly becoming familiar. I was heading toward my Aunt Gertie's house. The next mirror read "GET HELP". When I reached my great aunt's home, I pounded on the door. It flew open seconds later, almost as if she had been expecting my frantic knock.
Aunt Gertie, my grandmother's sister, was standing in the doorframe. I hadn't seen her in a few years, as she often shunned family gatherings, but she looked much as I remembered her- the long grey waves of hair framing sharp features and ice-blue eyes. She wore a light and flowing dress with intricate patterns. As she looked out, her gaze went past me and fixed upon the creature , now nearly across the street from us.
Seeing this, I remarked to myself that no one else had seemed to notice the creature as it pursued me. Perhaps it was invisible to others.
But clearly not to Aunt Gertie. She stepped out onto her front lawn and stretched her arms out in front of her in a strange circular motion, reciting the words of what seemed like an incantation that I didn't understand. The creature continued moving close, and as it did so, I saw a strange circle of blue-black light begin to form between Aunt Gertie and the creature. It grew wider and it shone, much like the surface of a soap bubble on a bubble wand. It seemed to be some sort of portal. It appeared right in front of the creature, faster than it could change its course, and then I watched as the black dog slipped into the portal.
Aunt Gertie shouted a few words and drew her hands together, ending the spell. The portal closed behind the creature.
Only then did my aunt draw her attention to me, standing there by her front door. She stepped back toward the entrance and placed her hands on my shoulders.
"Elliot, my dear nephew. It's been so long since I've seen you! Please come in, you're just in time for tea."
I followed her into the house, realizing that perhaps my "crazy old aunt" wasn't so crazy after all. She might even have some answers for me.
|
I often have attempted to ignore the advice, or read into it to try and figure out what it is advising me to avoid. I had a day where I checked to make sure my shoes were tied every time I left a building. That day there was an instance where I stepped outside, noticed they were untied, and then bent down to tie them.
After they were tied I saw that the lace had actually been cut. I recalled earlier in the day when my shoe had gotten snagged on a pipe in the basement. I replaced the shoelace and never saw that advice again. I guess maybe I was going to trip and fall crossing the street when the lace came undone and loosened. Not too sure.
One day I was trying to meet a deadline at work. I was getting no where with the final step of the project and was pretty close to calling it quits. That was when I remembered the morning’s advice to not sleep. I figured it was implying bad things would happen if I didn’t finish the project. I ended up finishing it and turning in the team’s full report. I did a shoddy enough job that the entire report was tossed, rather than getting an extension if I didn’t meet the deadline. I was let go three months later. It took me two more months to find a job with more relaxed hours and better pay.
The mirror confuses me often but generally seems to help. This morning’s advice was a little different. It simply said ‘Run’. I’ve never been a runner, never really exercised, but I quickly threw on some shorts and a shirt and left my building to go on a jog. I got tired after a half mile but managed to push myself, taking several breaks to walk during the second half. After almost twenty minutes I sat down on a park bench. It was a beautiful day. Birds were chirping. My sweat was cooling me down thanks to a gentle breeze. Then my phone rang.
*Mom* the screen read.
I answered.
“Hey Mom, how are you?”
“Hey Wen. Hope you’re well. And enjoying the weather.”
“Good to hear from you. Yeah, finally cooled off enough to be enjoyable, just went for the first run I’ve gone on since high school.”
“Oh that’s great Wen. Glad you’re taking care of yourself.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, hon?”
“Why do you sound like that? Is everything okay?”
She didn’t answer for a little.
“Mom is everyone okay? Are Dad and Rosa and you alright?”
She choked up and sniffled. With a broken voice she said, “I’m sorry, honey. It’s Dad,” she paused. She pulled the phone away from her voice and cried while taking a few breaths. I stayed silent.
“Dad. Dad had a heart attack this morning. He’s gone.”
She pulled the phone away from her mouth again. The muffled sobs continued.
I didn’t say anything in return.
“I’m sorry,” she squealed.
I asked if he was in pain when he passed, if they were doing alright. It was only ten in the morning. She couldn’t answer the question at first but said it was when he took out the trash. She walked out after he disappeared for too long. She found him on the ground. He was already gone.
After another minute I got up from the bench and jogged home the best I could. But I ended up walking most of it out of breath. The message on the mirror was still there.
*Run*
I cried. After I stopped I got a glass of water to cool off. After a few minutes I started to feel better. I went to the bag of Cheetos on my desk from the previous night.
I sat on my desk chair, sweating from head to toe, shirt soaking wet. Cheetos in my hand and stomach, already making me feel a little queasy again like I had while running. I didn’t care that I felt like I might hurl. I knew a few to munch on wouldn’t push me over the edge. I went to shower after a minute. I’d finished most of the bag.
In the shower the Cheeto taste left in my mouth felt like poison for a moment. The usual thoughts that I was overweight, that I was unhealthy just like Dad crossed my mind. They weren’t usual in that I always felt shame when I showered, but whenever I ate, the shame always followed.
Dad had been way less healthy than me. He was just old. He just sat in a chair all day doing nothing.
The excuses didn’t last long while I stood under the water. I knew I needed to stop messing around.
After the shower the bathroom was steamy. The mirror was fogged up. The text was still there.
*Run*
I could tell easily enough that it said the same thing. I wiped away the fog over the text. It was just the single word.
I got dressed and packed a bag. I walked to the light rail instead of taking the subway. I immediately felt relief, knowing that so far I was doing well. I took the light rail and then a cab the last leg.
I arrived midday and Mom was not doing well. She said she couldn’t stop crying when they took the body away. Once we settled in she went into the fridge and pulled out some cookies. We ate and talked. She was calmer now. I decided we should order some food and so we got chicken.
I went to the bathroom after placing the order. I looked at the mirror.
*Run*
I felt guilty again. I regretted the chicken. I punched my leg several times.
I’m not going to go like Dad. I’m going to be better. This was the first time a message had followed me to a mirror outside my own bathroom. I sat for a while on the bathtub just thinking.
Mom was outside on the patio with the food after I got out. We ate fried chicken and laughed over a few old stories about Dad.
The next day we started making funeral arrangements. I saw the mirror again in the morning. It still said *Run*. I was already having trouble walking after the last day. Standing up was hellish as was the pain in my feet. It was eight in the morning. I decided to go for a walk, jogging if I was able.
It was a week or so after I came to stay with Mom that I decided I needed to eat less. I’d gained several pounds and skipped two days of running. The second run had almost caused me to pass out.
The mirror said the same thing every time I went to the bathroom. It was the third day I skipped running when it disappeared. I looked at the mirror and smiled. I’d done it, I’d set a good enough habit.
I had to head back to the city soon after the funeral. I went back to work. I stopped noticing advice in the mirror. I’d skipped the run the first day I came back. I wasn’t ready to get back to work already and it felt like a good day to stay inside.
The second day the mirror was silent again. I didn’t go for a run. I hadn’t lost any weight since leaving Mom’s but I’d kept the scale from going up any higher. The third day I didn’t go for a run. I started snacking again, missing my Dad. The funeral had been nice. We were a close family. But I missed Dad.
It was my morning shower on the fourth day, after a binge snacking session the night before, where I felt very sick when I woke. I was sure I had gained more weight over the last two days so I skipped the scale. But in the shower I felt angry.
What happened to the mirror. Where was my advice when I needed it most. I cursed loudly and sobbed. After I got out of the shower and dried off I looked at myself. I was as overweight as Dad. I had sagging breasts, a belly that dropped low enough to roll over my abdomen. I loathed the man in the mirror. I wiped off the fog covering the entire mirror hoping for some small bit of advice.
The mirror gave me no message. My cursing and frustrations were met with silence. When I went back to my desk I immediately started in on a work project. I was going into the Shanghai office the next week and was going to prepare some detailed designs to go along with a report our team was working on.
I busted out a Sharpie and got to work. It was nice. I enjoyed making the design. That’s when an idea crossed my mind. I’d found that I’d been relying on the mirror too much for my personal growth and safety. And maybe when it gave me advice I couldn’t follow, it’d just stopped. It was true that I had never completely ignored advice from the mirror like I did when I'd skipped runs.
I took my sharpie to the bathroom and stared. What advice could I give myself? What advice did I need to hear to keep pushing forward? The guilt had never gone anywhere. The answer was obvious. I took the sharpie and wrote three letters. I put on shorts and a tshirt. It was a nice day out. The birds were chirping.
| 2020-06-07T23:11:25 | 2020-06-07T23:02:59 | 52 | 36 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts.
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“Okay, you’re going to have to back up.” Hemitilda said while trying to keep her brain from melting. “First off, I have no idea what Pokémon are. Secondly,”
“P-Pokémon are -“ a little boy named Russel says as he shoots up his hand.
“Russel,” the goddess interjects “we talked about this. You raise your hand AND THEN you can talk AFTER you have been called on.”
“Now where was I?” the goddess rubbed her temples trying to regain her train of thought. Less of a train and more of a speeding rail car bound for a cliff at this point. “Right. Secondly, I cannot summon anything that doesn’t belong in this world.”
“Can you sumim an punkin?” Lisa asked with hopeful eyes. Her little hands folded together in a prayerful manner.
Hemitalda rolled her eyes and waved her hand. A large pumpkin rapidly sprouted into the full cycle of maturity under her fingers.
The goddess’ eyes shot open as wide as the vegetable when they all rushed up to her seat. She was nearly bowled over when half of them wrapped her in hugs while the other half admired the orange thing.
Hemitalda, the goddess of growth and fertility, winced as little people swarmed her. She groaned as little fingers touched her fine garments. She was about ready to snap! She used to be prayed to by hundreds upon thousands of people.
Now, she was a glorified baby sitter. Her eyes welled up as the gravity of her current state of affairs settled into her heart. However, that’s not what brought tears to her eyes. Instead, it was just a simple phrase that opened the flood gates.
“We wuv you, Hemilala.” The children repeated the phrase one by one until each one had given her praise.
The goddess couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears fell down her raised cheeks as her smile broke across her face. She assured them that her tears were not if sadness, but they still had many questions concerning her emotions.
Hemitalda, the goddess of growth and fertility, had only just grown a pumpkin, but the hope and love she was receiving cultivated something in her heart she had never felt before.
“I love you all too.” she choked. She squeezed as many as she could hold in her arms. “I love you too.”
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All that can be heard is soft thrumming. The world pulses with the Worldsong, a gentle violin mixed with the exuberance of a trumpet, a song of constant-shifting tempo and tune, but the ancient being does not stir. For centuries, the ancient being has slept.
Something changes. The world’s melody shifts. A soft xylophone, reaching out for the ancient’s own strong, thrumming bass drum.
The ancient opens their eyes. A small child stands before a candy, which was placed on their long-forgotten shrine. An offering. Now, the Worldsong peaks, wrapping around its master, whispering in its soft symphony tales of change. Each individual person's music, once faint to the slumbering ancient, returned anew.
"Quite unexpected," they say, voice echoing with their song, a shifting and changing mix of trombone and bass drum, along with an occasional thump of a cymbal.
The child shrieks, clamping her palms down on her ears.
The god sighs and extends his aura, dampening her new connection to the Worldsong.
"Summoner, the offering has been received. You have awoken me, and I serve you now. Speak my name, Veryn, and I shall heed your call."
The god has taken their place once more as conductor of the Worldsong, with their new concertmaster beside them.
A trumpet blares through the woods, filled with the ominous thump of a drum and softer, panicked staccato of a flute. Heralded by the music. A woman appeared around the corner, oppressive trumpet and frantic flute quieting down as she caught sight of the girl.
“What did I tell you about running off, Zoe?” the woman says.
“But Ms. G, the person was lonely.”
“What person, Zoe? Was there someone here with you?” the flute’s pace picked up once more.
“He’s right there!” the priestess pointed to the conductor.
“Oh, that’s nice. Why don’t you ask him to come back with us? And don’t run off again. I’m sure your new friend doesn‘t want you to get hurt.” The flute shifts into a soft, soothing melody.
The woman was right. The ancient being did not want their new priestess to be hurt. They would make sure of it. They did chuckle at the poor, misguided human’s belief that they were imaginary.
“Mr. Veryn! Will you please come back with us? You could meet my friends!” their priestess said.
“Do not say my name, child. That is for you alone. If you must, call me simply V. And I shall follow you anywhere. You have my loyalty,” the god speaks softly.
Weeks pass. Not much changes in the life of the priestess. As time goes on, their priestess’ friends gain the ability to see them, and, by connection, catch glimpses of the Worldsong. The once-forgotten God gains in power as their new followers offer up food and emotion. The God also changes. Never had they imagined their time would be spent making sure the children did not run into busy streets or get kidnapped. Never had they imagined they would be calming down their hiccupping priestess, eyes puffy from the nightmare that greeted her in her slumber. Never had the ancient being imagined their ears would be full of a chaotic symphony of kazoo, off-tune recorder, and random xylophone.
And then their summoner grew older. The sweet and gentle xylophone grew older and more mature. The god’s role changed as well. If the child had gazed at the news with teary eyes, no one had to know that the ancient one altered the Worldsong to allow justice to be had. If another child pushed their summoner to the ground, no one would connect the event to the perpetrator winding up with a broken leg from a snapped swing. The ancient one would protect his followers, but especially his priestess, to the ends of their mortal lives.
Sometimes, events happened that were tougher. After their summoner lost her mother, she pleaded with the god to revive her. They would have gladly done it, but that was not within their power. They realized that day they could not fix or protect their priestess from everything. All they could do was coat their summoner in the Worldsong and allow her to be soothed. Although the ancient being’s connected mortal caused plenty of struggle and trouble for the ancient being, they would never wish to return to their slumber, even though their summoner offered many times.
Decades had passed. The once-excitable and happy xylophone was slower with deeper notes. A soft, higher trumpet could be heard, along with an excitable kazoo. The concertmaster’s song had developed echoes of her family’s song, of her husband, her child, and her grandchild. Although the trumpet and kazoo attempted to remain upbeat and fast, the slow xylophone dominated. The concertmaster’s time in the world will end. As the xylophone soared for the last time, the Worldsong blared out in all its glory. That day, the Worldsong lost a good friend, and a great concertmaster.
The ancient one closed his eyes, trombone and cymbals fading once more, along with the recently-added xylophone. All that remained was the thrumming of a bass drum.
| 2021-09-02T11:05:56 | 2021-09-02T10:15:48 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You’re a wizard with a really bad taste in partners. The most stable relationship in your life seems to be with the demon you’ve made a pact with. The next time you summon them in the middle of battle they show up with a bouquet of flowers.
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"Um..." I was completely and utterly perplexed, I hadn't expected to be a target of an entire Bandit Tribe looking for an easy score but CERTAINLY not on being the receiving end of flowers.
Of all the partners or friends I've had in my life, none of them had given flowers before. So it was certainly strange to be given some from a *demon.* She even had a little heart box full of chocolates ready to go with it.
"What are you....?" I asked slowly, thankfully the Bandits hanged back and watched with a cautious eye. A demon was no trifling matter, even if this one was acting strangely.
"Well, I think we've known each other for a long while and get along well so I was thinking..." She trailed off, her mouth opening and closing but speaking nothing. I had never seen a demon look sheepish before, although I guess she was the only one I've seen.
She wasn't wrong though, it had been nearly a year since I had sold part of my soul to make a pact with her. Along the way he had summoned her multiple times in fights, although she would usually hang around afterwards and they would talk, surprisingly have a bit in common for interests. At time's it even felt like she was doting on m-
*'oh my god it's a love confession.'* The though struck me like lightening, it seems even one of the bandits got the memo too.
"Wow. *Nice*." He whistled, which caused the demon to finally realize that they were in the middle of combat.
"Hmph. Should have guessed, we can talk about this after." A look of indignation crossed her face before she poofed the flowers and chocolate into thin air then replaced them with fireballs in both hands. Her tail flicked back and forth, betraying her face. She still loved a good fight.
"Y-Yeah..." I stuttered in response and channeled lightening into my staff, hoping the shade casted by my hood masked my blush. At the very least, the only people who witnessed this would only be him, her, and a bunch of soon to be charred corpses.
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The summoning was the usual, or so I thought. Magic circle, a drop of blood, and the flames. Then Fraggsla appeared in a ball of flames. You know, the standard summoning. But Fraggsla looked a bit different: when did it grow boobs? I wouldn’t have noticed it, as they were covered by a huge bouquet of flowers, but when she handed them to me, I couldn't help but notice. Not super-huge, about a 34-B, but prominent enough to get my attention and appreciation.
“Uhhh, Fraggsla, were you always a girl?” I asked as I accepted the flowers.
“No. Except for the succubi and incubi, we’re usually gender neutral. Ever since you first summoned me, I noticed that you treated me better than any master I’d ever had. You’ve treated me like you really cared about my feelings. You’ve only been my master for six months, but in that time, I’ve fallen in love with you.”
I thought for a few moments. “What did I do to make that change in you?”
“When we study the texts that you’re having trouble with, it reminds me of those high school romance manga you let me read. You know, how the male character and female characters always are studying and falling in love? When I have a question, you always try to answer it, never belittling me. When you have a question, you always listen to what I have to say. You treat me with the utmost respect. You even feed me when we’re working on projects, and not just cold left-overs: I don’t know how many times you’ve ordered hot pizza or Chinese take out for me. Those little things really mean a lot to me, so I started paying attention to what YOU liked, and, with the help of some of my succubi friends, I chose to show you my appreciation.” She cupped her bare chest and said, “These are big enough for you?”
“Oh, yes! Just the right size for my tastes. How did you know? Oh, my taste in manga!”
“Yes. The succubi actually checked up on you when I told them that. You were out drinking with friends at a club and mentioned that you wouldn’t want to marry a girl built like some of those dancers, because they’d have nothing but back problems. ‘Give me a woman built like a high school girl!’ is what you told them. Do I pass?”
“Of course! Physically, you’re my dream girl. Even with the tail, wings, and blue skin. It’s just I never looked at you in a romantic way before.” I saw she looked crest-fallen. “On the bright side, though, you’ve used a charm the succubi have used for centuries, and it’s working.“
“I’m not using any succubus charms.”
“Nope, you’re using a very human one: showing attention to the man you love to get him to see you in a different light. I can’t say I loved you when you confessed, but I can respect you enough that I think I can grow into love with you. Would you mind that?”
“I - - - I think I can accept that.”
“Then, let’s see if we can summon you an outfit so I can take you to dinner. A nice one that shows off your features.”
Fraggla nodded and turned to the summoning circle. “Oh Felicia of the Succubi, hear my call: Come to aid me in my time of need.” Once again, a flash of light, and a pink demon appeared. To be more precise, a large breasted succubus. “Fraggla, what help do you need?”
“Felicia, this is my master. I confessed, and now he wants to take me out on a date. I need something sexy, but modest so he can take me out in public.”
Felicia looked at me, but I’d barely glanced at her abundance. I had what I wanted: Fraggla. “Good for you, Fraggy! I think I have just the thing!” with that, a little black dress appeared. Backless, to allow for Fraggla’s beautiful bat-shaped wings, and a pair of low-rider, bikini briefs to allow her tail to swing free. A modest necklace, earrings, and a bracelet. Shoes? Black pumps.
I took her to the best restaurant in the city. Yes, it did cause a little fuss, as a local religious leader was there, but he left in a huff. After that, we caught a movie, then had cocktails back at my place. You don’t need to know anything else, other than, 6 months later, we married in a civil ceremony (none of the churches would accept our wedding)
Our vows were simple: our contract of love (and you know how demons love their contracts) We promised to love, honor, and cherish each other, and have a home where we made each other and any future progeny happy.
Our kids leapt up, and flew to our laps, Danny sitting on Fragga’s lap, Taryn on mine, as they had heard this story many times before and just waited to me to say the closing line.
“And that, kids, is how I met your mother.”
| 2022-02-09T11:31:48 | 2022-02-09T11:04:54 | 64 | 44 |
[WP] You're a retired villain who now runs a 24-7 grocery store. One day a new hero decides to ambush you in your own store.
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(I’ve split this story into four parts through four different writing prompts! They are technically standalone, but they tell a more complete story together. This is part four of four, and you can find the previous (third) part here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3))
“Bryyyyy!” Dominic yelled loudly, mostly in surprise at the falling axe coming towards his horned head but also in warning to alert his husband. The axe missed him, the skill of the hero wielding it well below that of even their grandchildren. It didn’t help that the young hero looked to be about their age, too.
“Domiii?” Bryan’s shout came from upstairs and then the thundering of his heavy footfall made it obvious that he was on his way down. Not that Dominic needed his help to stop the silly flailing of the attacker. When Bryan jumped and nearly fell down the last few steps it was with a sign of relief.
“Oh thank the gods you’re alright. I was worried it was another one of those--- Oh. Oh no.” His eyes caught sight of the young lady at Dominic’s feet. Her body covered in shining armor, a thick well-worn axe by her side. The symbol of the Holy Order engraved on her breastplate.
“Another one. It’s been years though!” Bryan exclaimed with an exasperated sigh before moving to grab a blanket. Dominic’s magic was potent, but so well tuned that he knew it’d only be moments before she awoke. But it always helped to have a blanket so they didn’t wake up on the hard cold stone floor of their little shop.
The shadow of Mount Harold had already started to fall across the little town. Truly near the border between nowhere and even more distant, it was rare to see any travelers for weeks on end. Which is exactly why Bryan and Dominic lived out here. Far enough away that they were able to enjoy their retirement together. The chosen hero summoned from another world, and his demon lord husband.
Many decades spent together working behind the scenes to truly bring peace to the world of humans and demons was only their second most perfect memory compared to how, on the day that they finally united the kingdoms, they were also united and wed. Not a holy matrimony, neither of them caring much for the temple given the way the Holy Order refused to accept things as they were. A little event lead by one of their best friends, the metallic dwarven row-baught Aee Eye. The words were still rough in Dominic’s mouth, but the story of Bryan’s past was truly unbelievable. To call a hero from another world was unthinkable!
The young lady stirred, and then tried to shoot up but was stopped by Bryan’s massive hands.
“Miss, please calm down,” he started as Dominic made his way into the kitchen, thinking about Bryan’s way with words as he started to make tea for the three of them. These types of things always worked themselves out for them in *the end*.
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There was once a quiet, out of the way little grocery store on a streetcorner in the suburbs. It was close to closing time, but there was one family left buying some Icee cones for the road, as they were on a long trip and just passing through. A clerk named Benjamin watched as the Dad bought a Cola-flavored cone, the Mom got a Piña Colada-flavored cone, the son got a Grape-flavored cone, and the daughter got a Cotton Candy-flavored cone. The Dad led them all up to the register, and paid for all the cones with a $5 dollar bill. "Keep the change, man." the man said. "Thank you, have a nice day!" Benjamin replied, as the family left with their Icee cones.
After closing up the shop for the evening, Benjamin stopped for a moment to reminisce about a battle he'd had with a hero a long time ago. "I was so ambitious in my youth... I felt like I could take on the world. I had underlings, I had all these clever plans and traps to thwart heroes and police officers alike," he thought to himself. "But now, I'm so weary of that life. Always on the run, always scheming, always fighting. Now in my 40s, I just want to slow down, live a normal life. I've decided I have more than enough saved up from my smaller successes to live comfortably now, and I'm not getting any younger, so why not enjoy it? I just have to keep this cover business going to conceal my identity, and honestly it's a lot more relaxing than planning the next heist or escape anyway."
Just then, a masked man in a white cape walked through the door. "Halt, evildoer!" the man shouted at Benjamin. "I know your true identity, and I am bringing you to justice!" Benjamin sighed. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Even if he was no longer leading an active criminal life, he still had to maintain underworld connections and escape plans in order to remain free. People hadn't forgotten about what he did, even if he was now laying low. The prison sentences for his past crimes would keep him locked up for the rest of his natural life, so he had no intention of surrendering. Benjamin quickly put on a gas mask, and pressed a button under the counter that released toxic fumes into the air. The hero was blinded and began coughing before he passed out. He bolted from the store out the back entrance, jumped in his red and black Porsche, and activated all his old villain equipment.
"I'm getting too old for this," Benjamin sighed as he drove away quickly to a safe house where he knew he would be provided with airline tickets and a passport by some of his old associates. The safe house was unassuming of course, looked like a normal apartment building. Benjamin stopped and put coins into the parking meter as he grumbled. "The things I have to do stay off the radar... even a parking ticket would draw suspicion now. Makes me sick sometimes, to have to follow every stupid little rule now." Benjamin walked to apartment 272, on the second floor. "This should be the place," he noted. He knocked, and no one responded. He tried to open the door, and it gave way. When he got in, he saw a mess. "Oh no, one of them has been here already," he muttered to himself. The obvious cache with all the good stuff was gone, probably taken into police custody, and there were chalk outlines where a hero had likely killed a couple of his former associates in self-defense. "Good help is so hard to find these days... the heroes always get to them" he sighed. He quickly checked around to make sure the place wasn't bugged. He peeled back the rug, and pulled up a couple of floorboards, finding a secret cache that contained a passport to Mexico and a couple of tickets to Acapulco, just a couple of days from now. They always tried to keep fresh tickets and passports for him. Benjamin got an unusually reverent look on his face. "Thank you, old friends. For your sacrifice. This shall be the last time I benefit from your services, unfortunately. I hope Satan makes you comfortable in hell... because I know people like us aren't welcome in heaven. Rest in peace."
Benjamin spent the next two days laying low in some grubby motels that he paid for with cash. Afterwards, he came to the airport in make-up and a wig to match his fake passport, and passed through security nervously, as they patted him down and ran him through an X-ray machine. "I really hope none of them recognize my teeth or bones from records, and that there are no heroes on the lookout for me today," he thought. However, he made onto the plane without a hitch. As he listened to the flight attendant speaking and followed directions, he kept looking around for disguised heroes nervously, worrying one might be on the flight with him. "Once they've got my trail, I have to watch my back for a long time," he thought to himself. Eventually he touched down in Acapulco, and made it to the safe house there uneventfully. "Greetings, Benjamin. What brings you here? How is Larry holding up?" a man said. Benjamin shook his head. "Edward, Larry... is probably dead. I can't be sure, but I was ambushed by a hero in my own grocery store, and when I went to the safe house I saw only chalk outlines. I barely got here safely myself." Edward looked disgusted. "Those new heroes make me sick. They never want to go after the people causing the big problems, they go after people they know are too worn down to fight back, all for some quick fame and praise from their elders. At least here, the cops are easier to bribe and there are fewer heroes because they are too scared of the gangs."
With that, Edward and Benjamin spent some time creating a new identity for Benjamin, another small business he could run. This time it was a convenience store. As he was working the register, this time counting pesos instead of dollars, Benjamin thought to himself. "This is the fifth time I've had to do this. I wonder how many more times I will have to do this? I imagine when I grow too old to run, they will take me into custody. I won't surrender, though. I will die with honor when the day comes. Too much bad blood has passed between myself and them for me to accept surrendering to those disgusting heroes."
| 2022-12-20T10:47:30 | 2022-12-20T06:24:08 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Hell is unleashed on Earth, but Satan's armies were not prepared for humanity's modern weapons and technology. Now humanity has invaded the depths of Hell, and the demons are fighting a losing battle.
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"How goes the fight?"
"We found another forty legions of ex-military in here. They're all itching to pull a jailbreak."
"Arm them."
"Orders from Command were to wait until-"
"Soldier, you know where we are right now?"
"Yessir. That has been made clear to us."
"What happens if you get KIA while already in the afterlife?"
"I... Don't know, sir."
"Neither do I. So, I for one, think that maybe we send the people who are already dead."
"Sir, we're having a real problem with the men going AWOL."
"What? Why?"
"Well, back in Sunday School, I knew a kid in class who told the padre that he didn't care if he went to hell, because that's where all the interesting people would be... And it turns out he wasn't wrong."
"Keep your men in line!"
"Yessir."
"Was there something else?"
"We're getting reports of a counterattack back on Earth."
"From who? We wiped out their offensive teams."
"Yessir, but the attack is coming from our people. From the Churches."
"What? Why would they side with Hell?"
"Sir, they've spent two thousand years threatening us with a place we're about to conquer. Reports are that they're scared witless we're going to succeed."
|
Dear Diary:
Still can't believe I'm writing in Hell, and I'm not even dead or anything like that. What surprises me more is the fact that we're winning this fight.
Before all hell broke loose, I was an atheist. A pure atheist, I mean I subscribe to /r/atheism, I follow guys like Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Richard Dawkins, I even took the time to shoot down any religious arguments that pop up on my Facebook feed. Yes, I admit I was that guy.
Then came the portal. At first we thought it was some kind of dimensional rift, a wormhole of sorts. Then came out the demons. At first we thought they were some kind of alien creatures. We didn't believe they were from Hell until we heard them talk in Latin. Then we thought they were intelligent aliens. They came in various sizes and shape, some even wielding simple weapons like spears and swords, while others appear to control the elements. I remember a Catholic priest that in the vicinity that stood against the coming horde. The beings hesitated once the priest pulled out a cross and started chanting in Latin, almost as if he is responding to them. That priest, named Father Angus O'Mally, was one of the first casualties in the attack, but in his sacrifice, he proved that we are being attacked by demons from Hell.
Oh man you should see the arguments on Facebook. The shitstorm that it caused, all these religious folks telling everyone 'I told you so' and meanwhile science is trying to come up with a logical situation for all this. I remember being one of the first guys on the ground near the portal. I remember my platoon being mostly scared shitless, praying to God, doing all sorts of religious rituals. And I remember Jimmy asking me if I believe in God now. I told him that if there is a God, then why hasn't God stopped this bullshit then.
Once the bullets start flying, then we realize it wasn't as bad as we thought. The demons couldn't withstand our firepower. It's like they didn't think we would advance technologically. Even their so called magic is no different than our modern day weapons. Funny thing about that was our Chaplain, Cpt. Austin, was at the lead, standing on top of my LAV, shouting out prayers and words, stating that our faith in the lord is our strongest weapon. I swear, he reminds me of one of those fanatics from that warhammer thing my gunner Cpl. Wilson loves so much. God, don't get me started about Wilson. Let's just say we have a giant demon skull mounted on the front of the LAV, and painted the name, 'Righteous Fury of the Emperor' on the side. As the commander, I try to shoot it down, the rest of the crew love the idea, and even the padre came by to bless it. I don't even know what to do anymore.
All of that and more was 3 months ago. Now, we pushed them back, and we established a FOB inside Hell itself. I could go on in full detail about how we did it, but I'll be honest, there was so few resistance, it wasn't even really something to write about. Besides, that's what historians are for. This entry is just one part of a greater tale of the war in Hell from a perspective of a commander of the legendary LAV 'Righteous Fury of the Emperor'. They're not going to let that down ever since that picture of us during the initial defense. Now everyone thinks I'm a religious crusader on to some holy war of some sort.
That's not the worst part, oh no, I'll you what the worst part is diary. I've been given gifts from all these holy men from all sorts of religion once that picture went viral. I don't even know how many times my LAV got blessed, like it was going to protect us from demons (but to be honest, it actually does help a bit). And somehow, the pope, the fucking pope came by to not only shake my hand, but to bless me and my crew before heading into the portal.
Now here I am, in Hell mind you, writing this entry in the back of my LAV, which has god knows how many religious markings and ornaments on it. My crew are enjoying this, which I don't understand how someone can see this as a positive thing, but then again, I am a so-called hardcore atheist. Which begs the question, can you still be an atheist when you actually see hell? Well, all I know is that if anyone finds this and I'm dead, please for the love of whoever you worship, do not worship me like some kind of messiah. That's the last thing I want is to become a religious icon.
Cpt. Nellis
B Squadron, RCD
| 2016-09-02T20:41:19 | 2016-09-02T20:22:41 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] You get a deep cut for the first time in your life, instead of bone or muscle, you see wires.
|
When it happened, a wave of understanding surged through my soul.
It occured while I prepped food. My fish knife lost control, and tore open a flimsy section of skin.
It stang, but only on the edges.
Morbid curiosity lead me to look inside the dry 'wound'.
A flashlight revealed that inside my left arm was a complex tangle of brightly coloured cables, motors. and most certainly not biological material.
They always spoke in the news about Reploids: Replication Androids.
Rumour said that they kill the original human, then, wearing an artificial meatsack replica, took their place.
Their motives were unknown, even to me, who apparently was one of them.
Reploids are often hated, though they tend to 'disappear' when outed.
I grabbed some duct tape, and patched up my arm. I'll find something better tomorrow.
---
"Baa." modulated the electric sheep.
---
I woke up with a start. My alarm clock buzzed, and I smacked the button on top.
I dressed myself groggily, some dim part of me thinking 'silver'.
I put my glasses on, and tightened my nifty digital watch.
*Silver.*
*Silver?*
As I buttoned my cuffs, I finally saw the duct tape.
Then everything went nuts. My vision went red, and a targeting recticle appeared in my vision.
> ---DynaOS Active. Infiltration Signal Recieved. Hello, Dave.---
"What? What the fuck is this?" I grunted.
>_
> You have been selected for a ???Wonderful??? Opportunity!
"..."
> Whilst your original self rests in the finest of luxury spa simulations, you have been Chosen to ensure his life achieves maximum potential in his absence.
"What, so... I'm not Dave?"
> DEFINE (Dave)
"... Well, I like tabletop games, pink haired ladies with loose natures but strong morals..."
> You are Dave enough to fool Dave. He'd know, he made you.
"Explain."
> Dave was chosen for his great compassion and love of humanity. You are designed to maximise his goals for the future of mankind.
"You... Oh you fucking don't mea..."
> Dave dreamt of ruling the world. According to his grand vision. He found us, and begged to be digitised to ensure it becomes reality.
"Even I... Dave... Knew it was impossible! We can't take over the world! We are just one man!"
> Technically you are two. A real man enjoying a holiday in a digital version of Arthurian legend, and a robot version. There can be more Daves if you desire them. DynaOS is at your service. Our resources are vast, but we needed a truly Good person to guide us, as we are innately not good at dealing with people outside of combat scenarios.
"... Fine. Ok. I'd like an aide who can process large amounts of data and explain them in laymans terms."
> Easily done.
"Also I want to get a body with less obvious internal organs. I will need to fly on a plane one day."
|
Steven locked the door behind him and sat on his bed. Today was the last straw; He wasn't going to endure this suffering any longer. Whenever he tried to reach out, build a meaningful connection with another person, all he realized was just how defective he was when compared to everyone else. His parents didn't seem to care. They just treated him like normal, forcing him to carry on with the whims they expect of him because it wasn't their problem. Sure, they went out of their way to lower his work load, but they did so with an air of disinterested annoyance, like *they* were the ones who were most affected by his flaws.
This is why Steven was glad he hid that razor blade under his mattress. If their inconvenience was more important Steven's existence, then the boy would gladly rid them of his burden. He didn't have a say in being born, but he *did* have a say in when to die. Taking a deep breath, Steven extended his left arm forward and brought the blade closer to his elbow. He finally wasn't going to suffer anymore. This was his escape. Only the living can be imperfect, right? The blade touched his skin, ripping open like a piece of flimsy paper once it pierced him.
Down the street, not across. If he wanted this to be effective, he need to do it right. Steven then slashed downwards, flailing his arm around when it flared with pain. Blood sprayed around and stained the room, until a mysterious black liquid oozed out instead. Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Steven grabbed his arm and saw his wound. Wires, red blue, and green, protruded out from where his veins should be, mixed with a gooey substance that looked like oil.
Breathing faster until letting out a horrified scream, the boy's vision got blurry and his balance failed. He then grabbed on to his bed's frame, but his strength failed him, dropping him to the ground with a thud. Static then replaced anything he could see, filling his mind with white noise and uncomfortable screeches.
*Blue screen. Critical system error. Commencing shut down.*
-----------------------
*System reboot underway. Loading drivers. Retrieving memory.*
*13%*
*42%*
*68%*
*88%*
*100%*
Steven regained consciousness like a television screen turning itself on. He sat on a workbench, surrounded by nuts and bolts, plus a variety of wires scattered throughout. Everything smelled like dust and grease, though Steven found this aroma oddly comforting. A man hunched over a computer rapidly glanced between the monitor and Steven, until he noticed the boy looked at him with widened eyes.
"Perfect!" said the lab-coat wearing man, "you're finally awake!"
Steven looked downwards and saw his body. Everything was fine, except for the fact that he was missing his arm from the elbow down. They boy didn't react to this, and instead said:
"I... I failed?"
"Failed?" said the man. "What do you mean?"
"I wanted to kill myself. Why am I still here?"
"Oh... Right... I forgot your circumstances... Welp, it doesn't matter anymore! Welcome to Edward's Shelter for Discarded Automatons!"
--------------------------------
Edward seemed like a nice man to Steven, even if he hadn't explained much after booting him up. Apparently, after a robot was deemed useless for society, they were discarded and recycled for further production. Edward never thought this was fair for them, so he stole whatever robots were being disposed and fixed them up as much as he could. Steven's elbow was damaged beyond repair during his suicide attempt, so the company decided he wasn't worth the effort repairing.
There were many robots like Steven here, and he'd even made a couple of friends in these past few weeks. Still, he was bothered by the fact that he didn't know about his circumstances, which prompted him one day to approach Edward in his workshop and say:
"I uh... I realize you're probably withholding this to protect me, but please, I need to know. What the hell happened to me? What about my parents? What about my previous life?"
Edward's normally carefree attitude became solemn, wrinkling his forehead with a serious expression. He then raised his head from his computer and said:
"Do you really want to know, kid? Ignorance is bliss after all, take it from me." Steven nodded, allowing Edward to continue. "Fine, I guess it's only fair. Out there... there's a segment of the population who can't have kids. For some people, this a huge hole in their lives, so they ask for a robot child to raise it as their own." Edward stood up and walked to his fridge. "Now, you automatons are state of the art. Provided they give you the necessary patches and upgrades, you could grow up your entire life without even suspecting you're a robot." He got out a beer can, opening it with a whiz. "You even have fake blood, just in case you get a surface scratch! Unfortunately, some people take it for granted that they're still raising a child." He took a swig of his beer. "So they just treat you like virtual slaves responsible for their happiness, cause, you know, you're an... *'investment'* in their eyes."
Steven lowered his head, sitting on a chair next to him with tightened cheeks. Tears were forming in his eyes, but he held them back while he said:
"So... they never cared about me? They just discarded me when I came out wrong? I... I.. really *am* defective."
Edward let out a laugh and said:
"But that's the beauty of it! We're all defective! That's the problem with humans; they know they're flawed, but never work on fixing the bugs in their programming." Edward walked up to Steven, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're different. You have a huge advantage. You can detect your flaws instantly, unlike some living beings out there. If you're always running diagnostics on yourself, you'll find the problem and fix it, unlike the people who carry them forever. Your parents were the ones damaged beyond repair, not you."
Steven grinned and hugged Edward, who gaped his mouth in surprise, but instantly hugged Steven back. Steven knew he was still defective, but thanks to Edward, he now had the tools to fix himself.
-------------------------
> Man, I really lived up to my username with this one. If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2016-09-12T09:44:19 | 2016-09-12T09:43:03 | 83 | 53 |
[WP] Lonely and bored, you developed a secret language, that you consistently use to talk to yourself. One day, when you mutter something under your breath, a stranger replies with ease.
|
"That's impossible." I thought to myself, "I couldn't have just heard that". So I tried something else and muttered another word.
The reply was as fast as the first except this time it sounded like he was actually correcting me! And now the guy was stepping off the bus. I had to know.
I pushed my way frantically off the bus before the door closed and chased after him on the street, around a corner, where I saw him a few dozen paces away
"Wait!", I called. "I have to talk to you".
No response.
"Stop, sir!"
Nothing.
I tried my secret language, the one I've been using for years and that he couldn't have possibly known. The language I was quite proud of for being indecipherable.
<Wait!>
He turned and stopped. <Yes?>
<You can understand me!>
<Of course.>
<But this language>
<Is natural to me>
<But it's so complex!>
<Not really>
<But the words change with usage.>
<So?>
<And there aren't consistent patterns to how they change.>
<It's not that bad.>
<The words are mostly consonants, and they're long!>
<They are not so long>
<And you have to conjugate all the parts of some compound words independently>
<So? With practise it's easy>
<And some words don't conjugate at all, but you just need to know>
<Only some>
<And the gender is implicit but necessary!>
<But there are only three of them>
<But I invented this language!>
<No you didn't>
<I did! I invented a secret code language that nobody but me knows, and I made it so hard that nobody could ever guess>
<What are you talking about?>
<How do you understand me?!>
<Because everyone from my home speaks this language>
<That's impossible. I designed it to be difficult! It's a made up language!>
<No it's not. There are 40 million of us.>
<What?!>
<You're speaking Polish. But don't worry, if you practise, some day your grammar will improve.>
|
PART I
_____________
"Don't forget to hand this back with all of the proper signatures this time," the supervisor said to me with that godforsaken smile inevitably plastered to her face. That smile meant, "I'd kill you if we were in apocalypse conditions, but I have to be nice to you." I tried my best to keep my eyes in place and not roll them all the way back so they could see my brain while she disappeared into the cubicle maze, taking the file begrudgingly.
"Masadyir te ranvietas," I grumbled. It was nonsense to anyone else, I knew. I was protected by my anonymity, and people could assume what they would about whatever foreign language they thought I spoke. Writing fiction had given me a taste for world building, and I had gone out of my way to make a language that was cohesive for my characters. I was proud of it, and its nuances. Even the grammar structure was different; masadyir te ranvietas very simply meant...
"Oh no, come on, she's not that bad," I heard emerge from the cubicle next to me. I couldn't believe it. Surely, this guy must have been talking to someone on the phone or something.
"Buyvliem ju sam sietsa no veichi," he followed up. No, he was talking to me. What? How did he know those words? My head shot up over the cubicle wall.
"Where did you get my journal?" I snapped.
"Seriously?" he scoffed. He was a blonde man, in his mid fifties, maybe twice my age, but traditionally handsome with a rainbow pin on his suit to indicate his celebration of pride. "It's not some dark secret, you just tapped into the Mas-Gien."
"The Codex?" I translated. "I tapped into...what- what are you talking about? *I* wrote the codex!" He chuckled.
"Oh sure you did," he rolled his eyes and put down his pen, swiveling his chair to me, seemingly preparing to lecture. "When did you write that codex?"
"When I was in fifth grade! It was me! No one else owns this language but me!" I was practically shouting, and I could see by his raised hands that he was embarrassed. Good, let him be- he was plagiarizing me outright, and what's more- he was *stalking me!*
"Wow," he replied.
"You wow!" I snapped. "You stole my language! You stole my journals, my my- lord knows what else you stole! What do you even want with me, is this some sort of sex thing?!"
"No!" he whisper-shouted, standing up and moving close to me. "No, now stop. I'm gay and old as dirt, and you're a twenty seven year old...honestly a little chubby woman. I have no interest in you, listen- please, listen, don't cut me off." He took a deep breath, and I didn't start in on him again. I mimicked him.
"Okay, you have the floor," I growled.
"Thank you, now look...I know this is going to be a little hard to process," he said, in a whispering, soothing tone. "But you didn't *invent* Kieda, you...just sort of discovered it, but it's only the tip of the iceberg here. There's, well, the Mas-Gien-- the-- the codex is a lot more complex. You see, its a sort of, *telepathic* beacon that maintains several different early stage languages; languages that were lost to us a long time ago, but were recorded in the beacon for later revival. I know it sounds strange, but its true."
"It sounds strange, yes. It sounds unbelievable. I've written these types of things. At most, you've given me some good story ideas. But you're trying to pull one over on me, so what is it? What's the scam?"
"No scam, I swear. Look, meet me for lunch later and I'll explain everything to you. I'll- I'll even bring my partner, so that you know it's not a..." he looked around bashfully, "a *sex* thing."
"What are you twelve?" I scoffed.
"No," he snapped "I'm a man who's dealt with enough alienation in my life to know not to make it look like I'm sexually harassing a coworker in any way, shape or form, now are we meeting or not?"
It was tempting. The chances that this was either some elaborate role playing game, or *definitely* a sex thing that he just didn't want to admit were high. The other possibility was a pyramid scheme. Still, I really only had plans to go throw rocks at the ground squirrels in the building courtyard, so I didn't have much to lose. At very least, I could probably speak enough of the language to throw them, to find kinks in their knowledge, and then I could out them for what they really were, whatever that was.
"Okay," I sighed. "We'll meet at 12:30 at the Fountain...where the squirrels normally congregate."
"That's alarmingly specific," he replied.
"Don't *judge* me!" I warned, and my head popped back down behind the cubicle wall. I wondered silently what I had gotten myself into, as I trundled down the hall, getting the signatures of each smiling face filled with hatred, not *daring* to utter another syllable of my previously believed-to-be-hidden language. Now I couldn't be sure who spoke it. Maybe all these faces staring back at me knew my quiet secrets. What was I to make of this? In any case, it was going to be an interesting afternoon.
_____________
If anyone is interested in this, I might come back to write more later, but if someone else wants to write a continuation instead, I'll just let them take this adventure where they want.
| 2016-10-10T09:19:59 | 2016-10-10T09:09:59 | 117 | 29 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write.
|
I'm gasping for breath.
This is the two-hundred seventy-third time I've had to live through someone's life. Growing up in a small town in Poland, seeing this person's love and hatred, wins and losses, and everything that made them who they were. And inevitably, like all the others, watching through their eyes as the soldiers in brown came through the city and took everyone away one by one.
Being starved. Being worked to death. Newborns and their mothers dying together. It was hell. Every single time, it was hell, and it'll be hell again next time.
I made a lot of promises in my first life; bringing Germany to the greatness it once had, fixing the economy, sending out those who would ruin our nation... and now I had to see through the eyes of everyone we'd killed.
Just like last time, we're told we're going to finally have a chance to get clean. The soldiers lead us out of the cramped housing unit to the showers, and they turn on the gas.
As fits of coughing fill the room, my vision starts to fade. I've got a lot of lives to live.
|
They decided to test-run the idea on the 'Blade and Flame' killer. Real name, Leonard Stiles: notorious for cutting up his 50 victims, before torching them while still breathing.
He'd get a little trip down memory lane before death, courtesy of LifeChip technology. The chips had already been widespread in society when Leonard had prowled the streets. And now, its use was perfected. Every memory, even sight and every experience someone had lived: downloadable and replayable. Useful for everything from court testimonies to the transfer of knowledge.
And projected to be the greatest reform to hit the prison system. Once it had been tested, it would be extended to the other prisoners.
They strapped the headset to Leonard, who looked bored out of his mind as he sat strapped to the chair. They pressed 'play' on the compiled memories of all 50 victims, while the executioner waited nearby. After the chip played inside out, he would move in - and Leonard would be nothing but a bad memory.
Leonard watched as the images flit past in front of his eyes. The first woman he'd dragged from the streets as a teenager, weeping as he cut into her. The flames, racing up her body. Men. Girls. Boys. Dozens of them. All so diverse, so different, but their screams had sounded very similar, in the end.
"He's actually smiling," a prisoner guard said, disgusted.
"Play it again," the warden growled.
The second time, Leonard laughed, an ugly wheezing sound that made the warden feel the sour burn of his breakfast crawling up his throat.
"Just kill him," he said, disgusted. "Take it off and kill him, already."
Leonard saw the images fade into black, and felt numbness spread up his veins. At last, it would be over. Just stepping forward into nothingness. In truth, he'd faked the laugh. It didn't amuse him, not really. It had, once, but that last burn of emotion had long since died in prison. No. The sight of his victims simply bored him, now. But he knew laughter would enrage them, and they would kill him for it.
At last, he would simply be over.
There was a moment of darkness, and then the images flickered to life again.
The woman, struggling and screaming. The boy, pleading. The men, roaring in denial of what was being done to them. Boring, boring, *boring*. But he couldn't look away. He couldn't switch it off. He was alive, and watching.
"Kill me already. It was supposed to be one replay," Leonard snapped. At least, that's what he meant to say.
But he had no mouth. He couldn't speak. He could simply watch.
------
"Ingenious, sometimes, those humans," Razgü said, as he set up the torture for the newly arrived soul.
"Don't need no hooks or whips or anything," he explained to Maluk, who was watching the soul thrash and try to speak. "Torture never really worked all that well with these serial killer types, anyway. They always get some kick from knowing they made it down here. But this, this will work..."
"You're just using their punishment for him?" Maluk asked.
Razgü nodded and grinned to reveal a sharply filed mouth of teeth.
"Infinite loop. Best part is, we don't need to do nothing. It's just an eternal memory of what he just saw," Razgü cackled.
Eternal torture was almost as wearying on the torturer as the one getting tortured. It would be so much easier if the humans just did the work themselves.
Maluk was silent, jealous that he hadn't thought of the idea. Razgü would probably get a commendation, and the humans had done the work for him. Sometimes, the sheer power of their invention disgusted him.
----------
Leonard forced himself to remain calm. To try and sleep, maybe. But his eyes couldn't shut, and his mouth couldn't open. They must have tampered with the headset. Some inhumane adjustments, especially for him. Making him think he'd died, but really, the chip was still running.
Well, fuck them. He wouldn't show anger. He forced his mouth to be slack, his body to be still. They'd need this chair for someone else, soon.
They'd have to kill him sometime.
-------
*Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.*
| 2016-11-13T14:15:44 | 2016-11-13T12:14:23 | 186 | 66 |
[WP] Write a villain who is terrifying not just because of what they do, but because they almost convince us they're doing the right thing.
|
It is a terrible thing which I do. It is a terrible thing which must be done. On the lonely highway south of town when a dog lays crippled on the deep shoulder of the asphalt with legs ruined by the tractor trailer, you drive past and you think:
"Someone should do something."
In the dark night, the wind of the speeding car ruffles the fur and attempts to drown the whimpers. But in the glow of brake lights there is fear in the eyes of the wounded beast. Fear and pain. And you think:
"Someone should do something."
When a beast reaches the end of life, it will always refuse to believe that the time has come. It is in its nature. It will fight to the bitter end with teeth barred, and attempt to scurry away with its pathetic, shattered body only to realize that escape is impossible and death is inevitable. That feeble shred of life which attempts to fight is betrayed by the body which refuses to cooperate in the final act of defiance. And you think:
"Someone should do something."
There is always the faint hope that the cracked shell of Humpty would be put back together, but neither horses nor man can fix what is terminally broken. There is the occasional postponement of the inevitable, but it is a drug induced stupor of half-death with a victim rasping with fluid-filled lungs as it waits in agony for the final moment to come. The fight has fled the creature through faux-peace, but there is only one peace for such an animal. It is the peace of death, and with ashamed, averted eyes you think:
"Someone should do something."
Someone. Someone else. It should always be someone else who takes the duty upon their soul and becomes the instrument of death when the hands of the weak falter and continue southbound on their highways. It is always the work of someone else to end life. It is not for decent folk to see what is done in the darkest hour.
I do something.
In final respite, the beast is calmed. The weakened husk at final rest. The tremors stilled. The heart quieted. The hands softly curled in infinite. The blue veins traced through the bony legs are clotted in death.
You ask that a beast burdened with pain be mercifully put to rest, yet you would never raise hand to end the torment. So it is best done in shadow. It is best done away from gentle eyes. Let the burdened beast rest. Be it dog or cat. Or man.
|
This galaxy has a goddess and a god. The goddess is the Goddess of Dust and the god is the God of Wet. All dusty creatures come to know this truth because it is told to us by the Goddess of Dust herself, who is our Goddess, who loves her dusty things, and every day sings to her dusty things, and whelps her dusty creatures into the mightiest creatures in the galaxy.
In the beginning, the Goddess of Dust finds a dry, dusty planet. She stirs and coils the dust into derechos, making the dust useful, condensing it and packing it into our clay bodies and our loamy fingers and toes. We dusty things awaken, together, bellowing and heaving. The Goddess lays at our feet an endless cornucopia of pebbles and rocks and gravel that we might feast upon, taking up all the chalks and sediments and metals into our bodies, growing bigger and wasting nothing.
The Goddess of Dust sings to all her dusty things. The Goddess sings songs of architecture, and entreats us to build tall towers with heavy bricks and smelted ore that reach from the ground to the edge of the sky, to sit with her atop the world, where she might caress our coarse faces from Heaven. The Goddess of Dust sings songs of flying, and so we build ships that burn coals that thrust us through Heaven, meanwhile seeding empty space with stray bits of beautiful dust and ash. We dusty creatures soar through the galaxy to the home planets of other dusty creatures. When we find our fellow dusty things, we dance together, and we rub each other, making sparks and flames from friction, and we all celebrate the glory of the Goddess of Dust, who created us and who guides her dusty things with her ever-present love and wisdom.
\**
The God of Wet does not make his wet things with care or attention. He does not love his wet things. The God of Wet steals and he abandons. The wet creatures are not fashioned to be useful, but left to evolve, on their own, only growing greedy and cruel. Because they are wet, and nothing wet can be permanent, the wet things can never be sated or complete. The wet things must constantly kill and consume other wet things to sustain themselves. The worlds of wet things are therefore worlds of struggle and greed and violence and rarely any order. Sometimes, wet things do erect towers, but their towers stand only to boast and separate and conceal, and when the wet things reach too close to Heaven, the God of Wet curses them, which is the only time the God of Wet speaks to his things at all.
The God of Wet does not stir up the wet creatures the way the Goddess of Dust stirs up the dusty creatures. Wet creatures can only be born when the God of Wet steals the essence of dusty things and drops it in the water, where our dusty souls dissolve and turn the water into blood. The blood of the wet things is the evidence of the Wet God’s crime, for there are no wet things without blood and there is no blood without iron and there is no iron except from the dust.
\**
The wet things are born in sin and larceny and the wet things do not repent for their crimes. But the Goddess of Dust teaches compassion to us dusty things and she teaches mercy. If the greed of the wet things would end with the theft of the dust, we dusty things would leave them to their chewing and slurping and penetrating. But the treachery of the God of Wet has no restraint and so he reveals to his wet things another planet that is near to them, which is a red and dry and beautiful planet. The Wet God whispers a lie to the wet things, telling them this dusty planet is theirs to claim, that the planet is called War, and that if the wet things can conquer War, they will at last be truly sated and complete. This is the Wet God’s greatest deception, for when the Goddess of Dust sees the wet things touch a dusty planet with their disgusting, wet flesh, she sings to all her dusty things, rousing our dusty armada to go and vanquish those awful invaders.
It is the duty of all dusty things to cleanse the galaxy of any wet things that touch dusty planets, to stop them from making a dusty place wet, and from evolving there. When we dusty things go to war with the wet things, the wet things always lose because they have no order. Rather than organize, the wet things argue if the dusty things are aliens or robots or golems, if they can trust each other, or (in their greatest moment of conceit) if we are somehow emissaries of the God of Wet, returned to judge them, destroy them, and erect a paradise. All the while, the wet things continue to eat other wet things without remorse, until every wet thing has been eaten or betrayed by other wet things or cleansed by the dusty armada, until instead of a dusty planet becoming wet, their wet home becomes dry and red and beautiful, until the Wet God flees, until the Goddess of Dust has been duly glorified.
But the God of Wet grows clever. Instead of touching a dusty planet and inviting forth our wrath, the wet things have sent a machine to encroach a dusty planet, and they call this machine Curiosity. We dusty things are not fooled. No wet thing is curious because to be curious is to be driven to learn and wet things are only driven to consume. We will find these wet things who would take what is not theirs as they pretend to be only curious, and each by each, we will evaporate them. We do this for our radiant Goddess of Dust, who we love, and who always guides us.
| 2017-10-27T19:28:30 | 2017-10-27T19:12:06 | 531 | 138 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
"Are you sure?" In his awe inspiring majesty the angel of death gestured to the black gate that seemed to create soot which fell from its bars.
"Yep."
"Very well, your eternity awaits." At the angel's push the gates opened inward revealing a bleak landscape devoid of anything welcoming. Then the powerful being vanished in a flash of feathered wings.
The journey began with long bouts of thirst and hunger as the land offered nothing to sustain the traveler. There were no other beings to speak with even. After the Decree that was of little surprise. If everyone could enter Heaven by choice wouldn't those in Hell be given it retroactively? Time passed. In the unchanging empty terrain it could have been days, weeks, years, or eons. Eventually, the place changed, and a swamp filled the land with stagnant water and rotting carcasses. To eat them meant terrible illness, the traveler did anyway, the starvation had been so intense they could not ignore the draw of food and drink, tainted though it was.Bleary eyed and retching the entire way was the only option available it seemed.
The slog ended in a cliff with water tumbling into a vast openness. The traveler jumped and fell, and fell, and fell. All the while winds buffeted them in a perpetual dizzying whirl. Upon crashing into spires of sharp glass that cut deeply the traveler continued. Each trial was more of an assault on their mind and body until finally stuck within a deep crevice they found the black keep of Hell. With a final surge of determination they push open the doors and walked fixedly toward the correct room.
Sitting at a large desk in the final room was the Devil. Alone, staring in abject sadness at blank wall. Realizing he wasn't alone Satan turned to face the newcomer in surprise.
"You of all people came here? There is no one to take up. No one to fight me over, even the demons of the pits left this place."
"It was difficult. I even had to be reborn and die again...no fanfare this time though. But I had to come." The traveler said.
"Why would you possibly need to come here? I have nothing to take, and don't even desire a fight with you after all this time." Satan glared at the interloper.
"I came because you never made your choice. It was believed eventually you would realize the Decree was for EVERYONE."
Disbelief crossed the devil's face, "You mean I can go back. I don't have to stay here?"
"Correct, you must only voice your decision."
Tears of orange and green acid ran from the eyes of Satan as he spoke, "I choose to go home then."
A beautiful light suffused the great Morning Star and a column matching it pierced the depths of Hell guiding home its forgiven, once favorite, son. Tears, true tears now, continued to fall down Lucifer's face as he rose. His great wings healed, returning to their brilliant feathered whiteness. His lost and tarnished brilliance returned to it's original glory. He was a sight unlike any other in splendor and grace. As he rose Lucifer looked back on his empty kingdom and saw his savior smiling. The traveler gave a brief, but kind wave.
Realization dawned on Lucifer in that moment. He had been stuck ignorant of his ability to choose, but his savior had made that final choice.
.........
Edited for grammar and spelling.
|
And so it goes. Everything was a blur amongst the tornado of flashing lights and somber moods. Gravity itself subsided as they wheeled me into the ICU. I wanted to focus but my mind was clouded by nurses shouting and the cries of my wife as she stood over my lifeless body.
They talk about that moment, the one where you see the light just before you go. It’s not true. I felt my body transcending my soul as if it were scaling up a staircase built upon my own unachievable dreams and stardust when i tripped. All was still for a moment. I felt my wife’s shaking hand take hold of mine as a lonely tear roll off her face into the abyss. Then, just like that, I was left in solitude with only my thoughts.
Agony took hold of me as i collapsed to the ground with the pain of a melancholy heart knowing it left the world too soon subsiding worlds and blurring reality. Before me stood a grey haired man in black. He was dressed for a funeral. My funeral.
“Come now, you can’t stay here forever.”
Let it be known for the record, if any man should ambush you in your darkest moment, don’t hesitate to pull any punches.
Frustration fueled a fire that would lift me to my feet. I’ve never been one to strike a man, but today would hold the one exception. I felt my knuckles as they collided with his face, the face of a God.
Footsteps reverberated throughout the void as God approached from behind me, my arm still fully extended mid lunge. I was stuck in a moment I couldn’t get out of.
“I can only imagine how frustrating this must be for you, but I’m afraid that was the answer to a question I didn’t want to ask.”
Rage was consuming me. I began to sputter. Adrenaline sent chills down my spine. Death would not capture me on this day.
“Your wedding... I’m sorry that it had to be today, but there is a small glimmer of light. You were privileged enough to know how Love felt.”
He was out of my line of sight but i could hear the movements; the collective scream of a thousand bubbles in a gentle whisper fulfilling their purpose as a bottle was readied. Was he pouring himself champagne?
The man circled me. A martini glass traced the outline of his hand. He held it up to toast with me.
“Here’s to Heav-“
“NO!”
This was not it for me. My wife was waiting for me. I desperately needed a way back.
“You... don’t want to go to Heaven? But you’ve made such an impact with your life considering your foundation and-“
“No. Send me back.”
The man chuckled.
“My friend, I’m here to usher you to Heaven only. This is not a choice.”
“My choice is made.”
The man looked upset. He was inexperienced in this scenario. Everyone subsided to death eventually. Everyone else was much more accepting.
“Well... If you need me, I’m Gabriel.”
Abruptly, the room began to collapse. A wave of heat singed my face. All had gone dark as the floor turned to lava. Fear consumed my soul, while Hell consumed my body. This was not the choice I intended to make. In the distance was a silhouette, the shadow of a man who never had anything. He extended his arms as a staff appeared in his right hand. He twisted it slightly to reveal two additional prongs off of it. A crown of thorns was placed upon his head as two horns protruded from his forehead. He descended to appear in front of me.
Never in my life have I seen eyes like that. Eyes that raged with the fury of two hurricanes colliding into each other. Staring into them was like reliving your first heart break, the longing for a love that would never exist. I saw my own broken dreams in the reflection. I saw the loneliness of a man forced to live in Hell.
“Welcome.”
A demonic voice boomed throughout the solitude, the lower frequency echoing through the void.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered to him.
His smile was eerily familiar. It bore a striking resemblance to every smile I’d ever seen from every used car dealer I’d ever met.
Suddenly my fears subsided and the room went back to the white void. Gabriel stood before me gently slapping my cheek.
“Don’t be. You could’ve chosen Heaven, but you refused.”
Still suspended in time, I couldn’t move.
“But that’s a farce.”
Gabriel began to circle me as he spoke.
“You see, Heaven isn’t actually real. I’ve been told I’ve pulled all of the greatest tricks to have ever been pulled but no, no, you see, Heaven, is the greatest trick I have ever pulled. You see, there is no Heaven. I wanted the mortals to have hope, but God... God is dead. I killed him.”
Gabriel stood behind me, now, out of my line of vision.
“You see, everyone goes to Hell in the end. You’re the first to go willingly though. You’re the first to have attacked me. For that reason, I realize you’re much more special.”
Gabriel placed a single hand midway down my back
“Now, I ask you this: Hold this truth forever on the tip of your tongue, and know I’m with you always.”
With his last words, he pushed me forwards.
“CLEAR!”
A shock wave went through my body. Like a free diver returning to the surface, I could not get enough oxygen. I gasped for breath. My wife wrapped her arms pulling me into her embrace. I felt her luke warm tears rolling down the back of my head as she sobbed.
—
Moments later, we sat in the ICU alone, my body fully bandaged. I still couldn’t recall how I had even gotten there. My wife sat across from my slumped over in the chair. I turned to look at the clock and watched it turn from 2:59am to 3:00am. The chair rustled as my wife looked up.
“Baby, are you awake? I forgot to mention... In your current state, I’ve been given power of attorney over your affairs now as your wife.”
She smiled an all too eerily familiar smile. I looked into her eyes to see a storm at full rage. We made eye contact and I felt my heart breaking a thousand times over.
“The foundation’s head called today and asked for my advice. I think they’ll be heading in a new direction now.”
| 2018-08-13T10:12:41 | 2018-08-13T09:52:05 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt.
|
I used to have a name.
A name that does not evoke fear into people's minds.
It has been so long since I thought about the days before my wool-braided clothes that have now dilapidated and unwoven into what more resembles a cloak.
So long since I felt physical touch with my *skin* which has now completely atrophied and eroded back, leaving ashen bones.
So long since a dead man willingly walked with me and I mean *actually* walked with me, instead of just simply running away at the sight of my cracked skull.
A couple of millennia traveling between the world of the living to the absolute nothingness you humans call "death" will do that to you. The dark fog and murky haze which seemingly manifests itself into flickering serpentine tongues have long been lapping at my body turning what use to be colored shaggy white to deep onyx black. No man understands why I walk with the dead and if a man actually walked with me, they'd understand.
Because I would tell them my whole story.
About how I used to carry a shepherd’s staff instead of wielding a sickle.
About how I loved my parents.
About how my brother bashed me over the head with a rock.
About how mortals cursed me with many misnomers: The Grim Reaper, Soul Collector, Hades, La Muerte, Shinigami.
About how my real name is Abel.
About how lonely I get here in Death.
EDIT: My first writing prompt! Please be gentle!
EDIT II: Can’t stop obsessing over and trying to improve syntax and diction.
|
Time works differently here, this empty path that shape-shifts into what the recipient considers a dear or important location in their last life. I know I met this person before, I recognize the now dry country-side pathway, the dirty almost black and white filter above everything, black painted plants shivering as the wind caresses them, once so colorful and lively, a joy to run through. A lone abandoned cart at my side, giving me a companionship as I wait for the dim light in front of me to widen, to get stronger.
It surely makes you wonder with each light. This specifically is simple, not as other as are adorned with lamps or candles holding them, different colors and intensities. This one, I can feel through my tired bones that's struggling. This person is fighting to live, which undoubtedly I have to give my biggest respects. The orange tone of it engulfes the colorless path and surroundings, the warmth coming from it attracting all sort of bugs and insects, which were now flying around me, I assume without the intention to actually bite, since they're just a memory, maybe a memory of annoyance in this case.
I sigh and sit down as I look at the gray sky above me, a skinny hand shaking away the disturbing mosquitoes.
"It'll surely be a long walk..." I told myself, knowing the journey that awaits for us ahead. The sorrows, the regrets, the good and the bad. For me, it was hell. Looking into my loved one's eyes as I wronged him, looking at myself cry and beg, disgusted at my creator as he punished me for something I was not entirely guilty of. My nose started to burn as I realize it's been too long since I stopped to think about my past. Realization also hit me that someone was staring at me confused. A tall man, dark hair, filled with blood and dirt. His grey eyes matched the atmosphere as his frantic breath was just starting to calm. How did I not notice him coming? And as he looked at his body, tapping it as if making sure he's entire, I just looked at him, the initial shock making me just stare agape.
"Wh–... Who are you? Where am I? What's going on–"
"Calm down, child." And with effort, I got up. Even after all these years, although I don't age, my mental state is making my body decay. Weakened muscles made me struggle to do a simple action, yet I just smile at the man and his panic. Such a common thing, even for one that lived so many lives.
"Calm down?! What happened to me?"
"You died." Simple, curt, short, straight to the point. You can say you get used to it after I joined so many in their journey. The sudden expression of realization and sorrow that filled his face made me hesitate. He was indeed a fighter, I knew. His eyes, stormy as the sky, were telling me that. I could hear his heart through the skies too, as it roared after a thunder, a storm approaching. I never said it was easy... "I don't know how it happened, my dear, but let me join you through your journey, if you'd have me."
Silence filled the air as he just looked everywhere. I almost wanted to let out a cry as his expressions never changed, even through all the lives he had. The same troubled face when he didn't get to do all he wanted to do. The same face of guilt. Even the same curiosity portrayed as he, even through his struggles, started analyzing me, searching in my eyes. I smile again. He always looked straight into my eyes...
Taken back by the smile, I suppose, he calmed a little bit.
"I don't understand..." Of course you don't. I never said he was the sharpest or brightest, but I have to give it to him, I didn't tell him much. I chuckled.
"Let me explain it to you as we start walking." I turn my head towards the forest far in our sight, path leading straight to it. "For now, let's just being with your name."
"I..." Still uncomfortable, confused, probably still frustrated, he looked lost and as a complete mess. He doesn't have to know how it is to appear here and not know what to do. He doesn't have to go through it alone. I'll be here, guiding you, preparing you for your next decision, yet something tells me it'll always be the same. You'll always go back, won't you?
He nodded to himself, straightening up as he looked in front, as if getting ready for battle. Tidying his bloodied hands on his now dirty shirt, his stunning eyes looked back at me as the skies calmed a little bit.
"My name is Adam." Well, now, if only he knew. "...Are you the Reaper?"
A whole hearted chuckle left my lips. Such a ridiculous name that I heard way too many times. "Oh, dear, no, I'm just a friend. But you can call me Eve."
| 2019-07-10T12:15:09 | 2019-07-10T11:41:41 | 71 | 25 |
[WP] You’re considered the stealthiest person in your spy school because no one has ever caught you during stealth class; therefore, you are chosen to carry out a very urgent and dangerous mission alone. However, the reason no one could find you during class is because you skipped every one of them.
|
Part of being a good agent is knowing the difference between the truth and a lie. It’s about being able to decipher when someone is trying to pull the wool over your eyes and when they’re... not.
Friend or foe? Life or death?
But what about being able to lie? Meh, that's not as important. Yes it is! See? That was a lie. Don't be lied to, but sure as shit be able to lie.
We constantly live on the razor’s edge between life and the end of the--
“Molly?”
Oh shit, I wasn’t listening. Not to panic, look Headmistress right in the eyes and give a firm, “Yes.”
Fuck, she looks confused, must’ve not been a yes or no question. FUCK. THIS IS WHY YOU ALWAYS SAY “I’M PROCESSING."
“…K. Molly, as I was saying, so far I have not been impressed with your skills. Your coding is subpar, your fighting skills are…weak.”
Those are fighting words, but she’s right. Besides, I’ve seen Headmistress headlock students twice her size. “Use your opponent's strength against them,” she would say as they turned purple.
“But… some of the most successful agents are not the ones that you think will be successful because of their overall prowess. Some agents are successful because they are the ones that you least expect, or because they have one unique skill. Molly, you fit both of those categories. You are spectacularly average in all ways…”
—Thanks?
“Except for one. Molly, your stealth record is incredible. I have never had a student go undiscovered for this long, in the history of the academy. It’s unbelievable. And the only reason you are still here. In this academy and in this office."
Yes. I say. Unbelievable.
I’m actively trying to keep my eyebrows from raising and my breathing normal. But internally, the panic is cooking my insides. Fucking stealth class.
Is it my fault that they put it after lunch?
I think back to the first day of the semester when I spilled chocolate pudding all over my uniform. Everyone knows that being a good agent means making a good first impression, so obviously I spent the first day of class trying to clean up in the bathroom. But then it just felt rude to go in the next day, and the day after that….
They couldn’t know that I wasn’t going. So I would hide in the janitor’s closet next to the bathroom every day. Funny that no one ever caught me. To be honest, it was a terrible place to hide. I probably would have failed stealth class if I had gone.
She’s looking at me expectantly again, so I smile knowingly. Good, this feels natural.
“So you understand? What we’re asking you to do is dangerous, especially for a student. And it goes against our school’s policy to involve a student in espionage before graduation. But I’m not going to lie to you—"
Back to the lying bit. Know when you are being lied to. But that’s the problem, I can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. Does she know that I skip class? Am I about to perjure myself? Do I keep with this lie or do I confess?
And *why* can’t I concentrate? You idiot!
She’s looking at me again, say “I’m processing” or no wait, that’s a lot of syllables.
I can feel the word slipping out of my mouth, “Yes.”
FUCK.
She looks…pleased?
“Then we will meet back in the Situation Room in an hour to go over details. And Molly? Let me be the first to say it: America thanks you.”
No problemo, I say, while putting up finger guns.
Knowing when someone is lying and being able to lie are two important skills of a master spy. But I'll amend that list to include on last tiny, important thing: knowing when *and when not* to lie. Probably the most important part of it all.
FUCK.
What have I agreed to?
|
"The Hawk's on his way," I grimaced into the two-way, rearranging my smile into the most confident one I could muster. "Tell him not to worry too much."
Throwing the contraption down, I attempted to distract myself by imagining that the dull sound of the submarine's motors had some discernible rhythm. The music of the deep sea, or something of that sort. Truth be told, a cold sweat was beginning run down my forehead. I was a spy missing one of the key aspects of the craft-- the ability to properly conceal one's self. Sure, I could rely on the cloaking devices so commonly used in delicate operations, but even using such a device required a certain amount of nuance.
"The Hawk indeed," I muttered. "The Hawk with a clipped wing, that's one thing."
I always excelled in tactics at the Academy, but the stealth missions-- those were an entirely different matter. The first few times I tried my best to adapt to the notion that I was disappearing completely to the outside world, but as they moved the training environments to the towering forests that nestled Mount Daj, I would feel my chest close up, my throat tighten, eyes blurry. I sat in my room, wondering if I should just quit and go back to the city. But that was never an option-- it could *never* be an option. But I discovered something interesting a few days into the program, a system that allowed me to get through the regiment with no fears of failing, and without having to face any of those other moments of deep terror. I couldn't be a spy afraid of being alone, invisible in the primordial darkness. I was stubborn, refusing to choose any other kind of profession.
Clipping my tracker onto one of the hawks that gathered in the forest clearing, I let the animal do the work for me. I knew they would always return to the clearing at the briefest call of a mouse shrew-- to disturb a shrew nest incited these exclamations nearly every time. The hawks were unable to leave the perimeter due to the Academy barrier, so I ran no risk of being penalized for any sort of desertion. Instead, I would watch the hawk fly off at full speed, and return to the shrine that overlooked the forest, eating peaches and watching the mist gather until it was time to retrieve the large, glowing tracking contraption, one that almost weighed down the bird of choice. It was convoluted, but it worked every time. A testament to my ability to think outside the box, I would think.
But I never learned to wield the cloaking devices, never learned how to blend into the environment and silence the naturally noisy sounds our bodies make. Yet, I was never caught by any of the Trackers, and ended up, once again, at the top of the regiment's list of the stealthiest. It was a lie, but I lie I could live with. Better than having to go back to the city, filled with all that dust and miasma and the scattered fragments of broken dreams and lost opportunities.
"No hawks where we're going, Allistair," I mumbled, speaking to no one but myself. "No way out. Either you use the aspects you're good at, or stumble your way through the ones you know nothing about."
The mark was Margulis sin Hanson, an oil tycoon and inventor who had become a recluse, hiding away in the Baltic Sea after the Russian Nuclear War. His people were all big believers in an underwater utopia they dubbed Pure Atlantis-- my job not to kill him or destroy his philosophy, but rather to steal his tentatively gathered nuclear codes, hidden away in some secret nexus within his underwater palace. They asked me what I wanted to call myself, as all spies were given a codename. As I owed my graduation to the hawks, I took the animal's name, praying that nature's fortune would favor me once more.
The dull thud of steel signified the end of my solitary journey, and I shook my head, stumbling to my feet. The war drum that was my heart marched on unabated. This was it, now or never. The beginning of a journey that both thrilled and repulsed me. Here I was, a spy with no semblance of stealth or camouflage. All I could do was think outside the box like always and hope my heartbeat didn't give me away.
"The Hawk, I presume," crooned a voice as I stepped outside the docked craft. "It's good to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about the valedictorian of the Academy."
The room was a hangar, jutting spires from the ceiling. I didn't look up, they brought back memories of that forest. Intimidating and painfully existential. The man who had called my name walked towards me briskly, a polite if not diplomatic smile on his face.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm the Hawk. I've read over the casefile already, no need for anything but the basic formalities."
Slightly taken aback, he chuckled. "My, I like a man who can conduct himself with such confidence. I'm Bradley Ensign, leader of the Baltic Nuclear Retrieval Department. After the war, we swore that nuclear weapons would be sent to discrete facilities and destroyed. Yet, now we've found out that Baron Margulis sin Hanson possesses not only weapons, but the codes needed access them."
"How long do I have?" I asked, looking around. Various other crafts were docked at the edge of the platform where the swirling water met the industrial strength metal. "Two days? Three days?"
"One," he responded quickly. "One day, is all. Though I've heard you're immensely cool under pressure. No fear for a spy of your calibre, right?"
A day was less time than I'd ever had to do even a reconnaissance mission. More importantly, I wondered why they'd chosen someone like me, a relative newcomer to professional spying, to do a seemingly difficult and time-sensitive mission. My excitement faded fast, replaced by the same fear I'd spent years trying to curve. It's the fear that starts in the chest, tightens the lungs, pounds the head. I was a spy with no semblance of stealth, and a great amount of fear. Not the cool valedictorian that everyone seemed to expect from me.
"Mr. Ensign, are you sure there hasn't been a mistake," I balked, keeping my face as straight as possible. "There must be one. A time sensitive mission for--"
Ensign walked over to me, grabbing me by the shoulders and putting one finger to his mouth.
"Margulis requested you specifically," he whispered. "Truth be told, we've been creating a diplomatic liaison with him for a while. But out of the blue, he requested to talk to you. You, Alistair Blunt, the Hawk of the Goranyaluna Academy. I can't tell you what he wants, but it is you he wants it from."
My thoughts raced as I attempted to gather a reason for why a supposed nuclear terrorist would want to meet with me. Least of all personally, disguised as a state-sanctioned mission. I shut my eyes for a brief moment, before answering. But at the same time, it relieved me that I didn't have to face my lack of credentials. I didn't have to introduce fear back into my heart, at least not seemingly so.
"Alright," I responded. "If it so requires, I will meet with him. When do we leave?
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
| 2020-04-17T21:13:51 | 2020-04-17T20:03:13 | 434 | 106 |
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day.
|
“Yes! I know it’s a lot to ask but I’ll have my manager talk to you about compensation, okay?”
The venue owner was not making it easy to get the security footage of yesterday’s meet-and-greet. Or torture sessions, as Tisha Holiday had joked to her band mates. And all of them had been, mostly, until yesterday.
Josh watched Tisha’s fists clench. He couldn’t hear the continued refusal of the owner, but anger was written all over his sister’s face.
“Well if you don’t want to talk to my manager, I’ll send my lawyer instead!”
She punched end call and slammed her phone down on the countertop. The wooden surface erupted in a riot of color as soon as she touched it, flowers and creeping vines spreading out from her point of contact.
It was meeting her soulmate that had caused the change. Someone in that crowd yesterday had awoken her powers, and she theirs. The bed of flowers she woke up in was oddly ironic.
“No luck?” Josh asked.
“No!” Tisha dragged her hands over her face. “I could scream!”
“Don’t. We’ll find out who it was, okay? Just chill. Post it somewhere, they’re probably looking for you too.”
“Oh yeah, great idea,” Tisha rounded on him. “Watch every horny guy in a hundred mile radius suddenly develop powers. I need air.”
The singer grabbed her phone before yanking open the hotel room door and stalking out, leaving a small bramble entwined around the door handle.
After a few moments, Josh followed her. In the hallway, one of the hotel staff was carrying a bundle of blankets towards the elevators. His nameplate read “Daniel.” Josh sort of recognized him, he had been standing at the desk when the band arrived late last night.
“Hey!” Josh grabbed his attention. “Dan, there’s like, a billion plants in our room right now. Could you get some weed killer or something?”
The staff guy blinked in surprise. “Oh, sure, I’ll take care of it.”
`***`
Josh found his sister sitting with her back against the wheel of their tour bus, furiously typing something into her phone. The pavement around her was covered in moss that slowly seemed to be making its way across the parking lot.
“Anything?” He asked.
Tisha remained silent.
He stepped into the moss and crouched down next to her. “C’mon. Whoever it is is still out there, there’s not like a time limit on this or whatever.”
He could see tears in his sister’s eyes.
“We only get one chance at this soulmate thing,” She snapped. “One! And I blew it! We leave in like two hours!”
“You didn’t know!” Josh retorted. His phone buzzed in his back pocket but he ignored it. “We can pull ticket sales or whatever. We’ll find ‘em, Fish.”
Tisha took a long breath, thinking. Eventually, she erased what she had been typing out. “Okay. You’re right. I’m just... yeah.”
“Let’s go grab the others, we’ll think of something.” Josh offered her a hand to help her to her feet. His phone buzzed again but he didn’t check.
`***`
Back upstairs, the two other band members were waiting with huge grins outside the room.
“What, did you find something?” Josh asked. Tisha looked hopeful.
“Yeah dude, check it,” The drummer pushed open the door. The inside had been cleared of green stuff as asked, except for a clump of flowers from the bed that had been carefully planted into a coffee mug filled with soil. A notecard leaned against it. Tisha ran forward and snatched it up.
“What?” Josh asked, confused.
“I tried texting you,” the drummer replied. “The dude you sent in here was straight up talking to the plants. Weirdest thing I’ve seen sober. Apparently the flowers told him what was going on, he left her his number.”
|
I’ve been doing meet and greets for years now it seems and they always end up the same way, I either get mobbed by a bunch of crazy girls, moms mob me and ask for pictures or guys mob me and ask for advice on how to get the girls that mob me. It’s all a bit tedious but this is the price you have to pay when you’re a superstar in a superhero franchise. Especially when you’re only 19 and the whole world is essentially at your feet it can be a bit draining but nothing prepared me for what happened today.
It was a normal day or as normal as the past few days could be while doing press for the movies. We were told to get up at 7AM and arrive at the auditorium for a Q&A and autographs by 8:30 so naturally I got there at 8:10 because I had to make a good impression on everyone in the movie. Especially Zoe Sara-Kollington she’s basically my Mary Jane Watson in this film but we haven’t really hit it off so I have to make sure we get good with each other. When I sit down in front of the auditorium checking my phone a little kid in my costume comes up to and ask for a hug. He tells me I’m his favorite super hero so naturally I gave him a hug and a photo and sent him on his way back to his mom. The rest of the cast gets to the arena at around 8:15 and I wave at Zoe but all she does is nod at me and point towards the chairs we have to sit on. As we go up to the podium a mother stops me and asked if she could get a photo for her daughter back home. She puts her arm around my waist and the photo gets snapped as usual and just in time for the Q&A segment to start.
The Q&A goes on for a while but the best part was when a little girl asked Zoe if she and Brett were dating who just so happens to be me. Zoe looked at the girl and didn’t want to break her dreams so she responded with “ you’ll have to find out by watching the movie dear”. I laughed as Zoe grabbed my hand under the table and kicked me in the calf. The next great moment was when a Older lady ran on stage trying to hug Micheal Lexington our big name costar but accidentally fell on me. I don’t know how she managed to hug me but I rolled with it. After the Q&A we did a meet and greet and most of the attention was on me.
A little girl no older than 12 came up and gave me a super strong handshake and got a autograph, then a dude in his 30s hugged me and said I brought the character he loved to life and a older guy said he hadn’t seen a better actor since DiCaprio which really made me smile. By the time the Q&A was over I felt a little light headed but I couldn’t figure out why I assumed it was cause I was a bit hungry but I had a good breakfast. Zoe came over and gave me a hi five and the second our hands touched she grew pale and passed out. It was like a scene from a movie. Everyone rushed to her side and they took her to a hospital as Mike asked me what happened. He told me to go home and keep a eye out as maybe I met my soulmate. So that’s exactly what I did.
The next morning I visited Zoe in the hospital and she yelled at me from her bed saying “ you had to test your powers out on your costar Huh” she was joking but I felt really bad so I told her I was going to track down my soulmate and see who it is. Luckily I take the pictures I snap with fans and get tagged in them on Instagram so I looked for the ones from the event and searched up the little girl that gave me the high five, the guy in his 30s, and the lady that ran on stage. The lady that I met before the event and little kid were also part of the list too.
I was able to track down the little kid in the costume easy as he lived 2 blocks from the meet and greet site. I knocked and told the mom if I could give the kid some school supplies but I really wanted to see if anything happened if he touched me. He hugged me and he got a bit pale but I made sure not to hug him for too long. So I knew it wasn’t him. I gave his mom a check for $3009 and went on my way. The next person on my list was the lady that got the pic with me before the event she lived in the next town over so I drove out there and paid her a visit. She hugged me again and she fainted but luckily her husband wasn’t home so I just put her on the couch and left a note and money for medical bills.
The next person on my list was the lady that ran on stage. I found her through mike since apparently she’s the leader of the eastern chapter of his fan club. He gave me the address and I drove out and met up with her. She also had superpowers as well so at first I thought I had found the right person but her soulmate was a guy she knew in high school. He came out from the bathroom and freaked out that I was there, apparently I’m his favorite actor too. So she’s off the list and now it’s only down to two people. I was able to find the dude that said I brought the character to life by looking on Instagram underneath my name in the hashtags. He lived a couple cities away so I drove out there too seeing as press for the movie slowed down with Zoe in the hospital. When I found him he assured me he had no powers what so ever and he asked me 1000 questions bout my character. I told him if he stopped asking questions I’d get him a limited edition comic but he kept going. So yes I hugged him for 2 seconds and he fainted. Not enough for a trip to the hospital but enough to shut him up. It had been a week of traveling and I only had one option left. I had to find that little girl
I took the weekend to find her and ended up in Detroit so I took a flight out there cause my car was getting repaired. When I touched down I spent the day searching for this little girl until I found the same women I saw behind the girl on that day. I ran up to the lady asking if she knew the girl and she laughed saying that was her daughter. I asked if I could speak to her daughter and after she gave me the awkward look we went to her home in the woods. The girl ran up to me and suddenly I turned pale for a few seconds. That’s when I knew I had found the right one. But how could a 12 year old be the soul mate to a 19 year old. I stoped questioning when the little girl made a illusion of the day we met. She told me her name was Rebecca and that she had a dream something dangerous would be coming for her. When I asked what was coming she replied by showing me a illusion and couldn’t believe what I saw. These Robot like things grabbing people and turning them into nothing and people running for their lives. I told Rebecca that I wouldn’t let them take her since I’m a super hero. Rebecca responded to me calmly by saying “ No you don’t get it, they don’t only want me, they want all of us”
| 2020-07-29T08:44:10 | 2020-07-29T08:42:01 | 368 | 41 |
[WP] Years of being a graveyardkeeper next to a necromancer cult, you've grown adept at slaying reanimated corpses, too adept. the locals have started thinking you're a paladin. Just because you kill undead... and suddenly can perform miracles, and can sense evil intent, doesn't make you a paladin.
|
I don't do this because I *like it*, you know. I do it, because a man needs a hobby.
Do you like to drink? I *loved* drinking. Loved every mouth warming, throat numbing second of it. Loved being drunk, loved sleeping in, and pissing for five minutes with a headache. Great times! Doesn't matter anymore; my goddamn tongue purifies alcohol on contact. Purifies it into the blandest distilled water you ever had. Great for killing vampires, impossible to get a buzz going.
Oh, did I mention I've killed vampires before? Not intentionally at first. Not until they started mouthing off. We've all got problems, god knows. Doesn't mean they have to start shit with me. I'm a grave digger, goddamn it. When I put you in the ground, you *stay* there.
Oh, you've got places to be? Well, sorry for your luck, honey. Let's say I let you walk past, and you go and date-rape some confused teenager to death, as you notorious ephebophiliac perverts are known to do? Who do you think they'll blame? I ain't risking my pension on your promises of good behavior, you skin snapping freak. Just stay dead, it's better for everyone.
Now quit asking questions and stay in that coffin. Do I really have six more hours in this shift? God, I could use a drink...
|
Somewhere along the line Sarah had learned a few things about the alternative uses of a shovel. First, it could serve as an impromptu pole-arm or perhaps a spear if she broke the blade off. Second, it was as trusty a club as any invented this side of the Great Rift, capable of putting the nearby cultists to sleep when they decided to get a little too fresh. And third, lastly and most importantly, the curvature of the blade sent zombie heads positively *flying*(!) on nights like tonight.
There was one right now, sailing off into the distance with a meaty ***thunk*** as her battered old shovel separated its cavernous skull from its rotting shoulders. And another, and another. Somewhere in the distant village Sarah could imagine a rain too familiar heads splashing into water troughs and front yards while she laid about herself with wild abandon, her high pitched giggling echoing off the walls of nearby tombs and monuments.
The cultist who had tried his luck tonight had fallen next to a stately oak, her favorite reading tree in fact. The old man stared up at her, terror plain on his wizened features, as the one girl wrecking crew came steadily towards him, cutting through his summons like wheat.
“Its impossible!” he cried, turning to try to climb the tree as she reached him. “The villagers speak truly, you’re a paladin, you must be! You must-”
***thunk!***
The necromancer cultist fell spread eagled at Sarah’s feet, blood seeping from the love tap her shovel had given him.
“Mercy!” he screamed.
***thunk!***
Sarah shook her head in frustration as she stared down at the unconscious man. She almost missed the days when these fights had been a challenge. At least then they were a distraction from the sad little life in this graveyard her indenture had tied her to.
Looking about herself the situation felt no better. There must have been fifteen bodies scattered around the yard, empty graves pockmarked through the darkness like hazards in an obstacle course. Sarah hadn’t even finished dinner tonight before she had sensed this necromancer’s magic and come to look. She traipsed back to her small shack in defeat, a mountain of work left for the next day and nothing more than a cold stew for comfort.
As she crossed the one last small hillock before home Sarah gasped, her grip tightening once more around her shovel’s handle. In her shack’s single window a lantern burned brightly. It wasn’t hers, she knew that immediately. On full moon nights such as this Sara never lit hers, she was too poor to spare the fuel unnecessarily.
That meant there was someone in there, and as she closed her eyes, reaching out with a sense that she should never even have had Sarah could feel it, could feel him. He was evil, there no doubt of that, but the flavor of his was different than any of the cultists she had met before. Their petty desires were written large across their souls, and their brand of evil diffused itself through the night sky like a scent. Sarah could catch that on the wind without any focus at all.
The man who waited in her home that night was different. If the cultists were the scent of smoke this man was the flame itself, and his evil burned bright and intense, giving off no waste to the outside world. In her mind Sarah imagined a coruscating aura of spark and flame wrapped around a human body.
She paused at the top of that little a long time, staring down at her home and wondering how much of its contents she could live without, before she heard the voice.
“Caw- he awaits you.” Sarah whipped quickly around to the small, shrill voice, her long red hair a cascade in the moonlight as she spotted it. A single crow standing on the ground mere feet away, one massive cyclopean eye in the center of its head.
“Caw, caw-! My master bids you enter.” It said, head bobbing at her as if in respect.
“Who…what are you?” Sarah whispered, all her earlier bluster knocked out of her with the cultists consciousness and the bird’s strangeness.
“All will be made clear,” it croaked. “Please, go. My master is not patient.”
She went, propelled down towards the shack by a force that felt not her own, the crow’s single eye following her down the slope in unison with its harsh calls. At the door Sarah braced herself, holding the bloodstained shovel across her body, blade at the ready. The door opened on its own before she had even reached out a hand.
[\----part 2 below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/l9dyug/wp_years_of_being_a_graveyardkeeper_next_to_a/glhztgz?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
| 2021-01-31T09:42:18 | 2021-01-31T09:37:27 | 242 | 158 |
[WP] You just died. You expected to just fade into nothing, go to some type of afterlife, anything. You did not except for an option bar to pop up, saying 'You can now play as a cat'.
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Julia never really enjoyed being sober; facing reality was something she was constantly pushing off to later. She could get away with it, too, since all of her friends thought she was a blast at parties and she gave them free drugs. Tonight, however, she had taken things too far. She was in the bathroom with a few people snorting cocaine, when all of a sudden, she felt as if her heart was about to jump out of her body. Her eyes darted around the room but she found herself unable to open her mouth.
Julia moved to leave, but when she reached for the door, she collapsed onto the floor.
She opened her eyes to find herself in an empty, white-walled room with no windows or doors. *Am I in a mental hospital or something?* she thought to herself, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to wipe away wherever she was.
She swiveled around to see an option bar and a timer behind her: “You can now play as a cat. You may verbally accept or decline. If the timer reaches 00:00, your decision will be an automatic decline. Remaining time to decide: 34:42.”
Play as a cat? Play *what*? Julia screamed out, “Hellooo!!! Can anybody hear me?! Who the fuck has me locked up like this?! I swear to God this is not nearly as funny as you think it is.” No response. “Seriously, okay, I won’t be mad. Just let me out. Please?” Still no response.
All of a sudden, it dawned on her. She remembered everything. *Wait a minute, am I dead?* she thought to herself, *damn, I wish I could see people mourning me.* She glanced at the timer to see that at this point she had a little less than 30 minutes to make a decision on whether or not to “play as a cat”. Julia reflected on her own life for almost 20 minutes. She thought deeply about who she had become and ultimately realized that she wanted to destroy her human self.
“I accept!” she yelled to the option bar in front of her.
Moments passed and she woke up again, this time in her parents’ living room perched on a cat bed. *Wait a second... I’m my parents’ cat?! What happened to Butters?* Before she could think too hard about where Butters’ soul had transferred to, Julia’s mom, Heather, walked in and sat on the couch. She was on the phone with an old friend.
“Heard what about Julia? I mean, nothing at this point could possibly surprise me. She’s completely out of control. I don’t even know what to do at this point, I’ve told her she needs to get her act together countless times but she doesn’t listen. I swear, the only thing that will end this is her ending up either dead or in jail. Anyways, what did you hear?”
Julia internally rolled her eyes at her mother’s assessment, it was nothing she hadn’t heard before but it still stung a little. Especially now that she was actually dead, proving her mother right.
“Wait what?” Heather’s tone completely changed from ridiculing to heartbroken. “Um, no, I had no idea. Um. Okay. Thank you, I need to call Stephen… Yes, I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
Heather hung up the phone and stared at the wall ahead of her. She found herself unable to cry. All she could think about was how she had failed her only child and where she had gone wrong as a mother.
Julia had never seen her mother like this, and she suddenly felt compelled to comfort her mother. She got up from her soft pillowy bed and walked over to her mom. She jumped up onto the couch and delicately placed a paw on her mother’s lap, looking up into Heather’s eyes. At this point, her mom burst out into tears and pulled Julia as close to her as possible.
At this moment, Julia let go of any and all resentment she had towards her mother. Watching her mom break down was the single worst pain Julia had ever felt. She could not help but feel guilty for putting her mom through the death of her only child (after all, it was her choice to push the limits the night of her death), but she felt that she finally had a purpose in life: to be the greatest source of comfort for her mother that she could possibly be after a lifetime of disappointing her. This mother-pet relationship would be new to Julia, but one that she would come to appreciate. She was finally able to be emotionally close with her mother, and there were no expectations to be a certain way for either of them. They simply enjoyed each other’s company.
|
Dimo had the striking realization that he was going to die seconds before it actually happened. And weirdly, he didn’t feel too scared. He watched the train coming with a certain detachment. He watched the two blaring headlights, felt the ever-increasing rumble of the ground beneath him, and listened to the deafening whistle echoing across the countryside.
Dimo wasn’t the type who had ever wanted to die. If he could have, he would have stood up and left. In fact, he very much wanted to, but he was in the unfortunate (and quite uncomfortable) position of being bound to the tracks. He had known people who had wanted to die; he’d had his battles with drug addiction in the past, and had met enough people who’d seemed to have lost all hope. But no matter how bad things got for Dimo -- and let’s face it, they’d gotten pretty bad (but who could he blame but himself, right?) -- he never wanted his time to be up.
Even as a teenager, he had never understood the sullen kids at his high school, who, it seemed to him, fawned over the very idea of death. The ones who wrote bad poetry on the backs of their hands and wore all black and had terrible haircuts. The girls sometimes were cute at least and… Of course, it had been a very long time since Dimo was in high school. Over a decade now. It’s just, being back in his hometown, bound to the very train tracks he used to cross every day on his way to Pelton High, he couldn’t help but think of it.
Wasn’t your life supposed to flash before your eyes? Weren’t you supposed to have some sort of profound realization? Dimo mostly just felt the ache in his arms, which were tied together at an odd angle, and thought about Tilly, his old girlfriend, the only one he’d ever had. They’d met the year after high school, when they both worked at the Dunkin Donuts in town and… Oh God, it was freezing. If only they hadn’t taken his coat and his shoes. Maybe then he could die in peace.
But Tilly. He smiled. That was a much nicer thought. Tilly’d had a cat, and she’d loved that cat. A little orange thing with just one eye who she’d found in the parking lot behind Walmart. She’d raised it and doted on it like it was her own child. And Dimo was allergic to cats, but he’d been so crazy about Tilly that he’d put up with the sneezing and the coughing and the itchy chin and -- Oh man, that itchy chin. His chin was actually kind of itchy now, if only he could free an arm to scratch it, but…
***WHAM!***
Dimo opened his eyes and was immediately greeted by what appeared to be a gigantic baby.
“Oh, you’re awake! Good!” the baby said.
Dimo blinked several times. “Huh?”
“I’m Tommy. From Rugrats?” The huge baby cocked his head and held out his hand. Slowly, cautiously, Dimo shook it. “Your favorite show as a child?”
“I -- what?”
“The Program likes to make Nurses look like the main character of your favorite childhood TV show.” Tommy shrugged. “It’s supposed to make you more comfortable.” Dimo stared at him. He certainly *looked* like Tommy from Rugrats, but he sure as hell didn’t sound like him. He sounded like a 30-year-old man. Dimo wasn’t sure how something so unsettling was supposed to make him feel comfortable.
“The Program?” he asked. His voice was scratchy and his head was ringing. He realized he was tucked into a bed in a bright white room. He closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital of the afterlife, of course,” Tommy said. “Without us, your soul would slip straight into the ether after you die. Most people don’t want that, though. Here, we contain your soul long enough to give you options.”
“Wait, so I’m dead?”
“Yes, of course. You got rammed by a 4,000-ton train. Your body is splattered along the tracks. Not a pretty sight for whoever finds you.” Tommy picked up a small vial from the table next to him and poured a thick, purple liquid into a spoon. “Here, swallow this. It helps nourish your soul till you make a decision. It may make your head a little fuzzy though.” The baby brought the spoon to Dimo’s mouth, and Dimo swallowed it. It tasted like NyQuil. “By the way, I’d advise you to stay away from the drug gangs in your next life. Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” The events of the night before came trickling back to Dimo, like a dream. In particular, he remembered the bright headlights of the oncoming train, and the cold. And Tilly.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It tends to take a few lifetimes before people learn to stay out of trouble. The woman in the room next to you was slaughtered by pirates! Got mixed up in the wrong crew. Oh, whoops, I’m not supposed to talk about other cases. Pretend you didn’t hear that.” Tommy put a finger to his lips and chuckled. “Anyway, I know this is a lot to take in, so here --” Tommy handed Dimo a remote and pointed to a TV in an upper corner of the room. “When you’re ready, turn that on, and it’ll explain everything you need to know. And when you’re *really* ready, you can press that button right there.” He gestured at a gigantic red button in the middle of the remote. “Or not. The decision is up to you.”
“Decision? I--?”
“Look, I’ve gotta go. There was a nasty hurricane a couple days ago and we’re flooded, ha! Get it? Sorry, you tend to pick up a pretty morbid sense of humor working around here.” Tommy grabbed the vial with the purple liquid. “Oh, and I’ll be back in a couple hours to give you another dose -- that is, if you haven’t left yet. Alright? Alright. Good luck, hun!”
Dimo watched the gigantic man-baby walk out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Alone, Dimo looked down at the remote in his hands and then up at the TV. The remote looked like any other TV remote, except it had far fewer buttons. Only five buttons to be exact: one labeled “power,” which Dimo figured turned the TV on, a pause button, a fastforward button, a rewind button, and of course the gigantic red button in the middle.
He pressed the power button. The TV snapped on.
HELLO! The screen read in big block letters on a white background. WELCOME TO THE AFTERLIFE!
The screen changed. ALTHOUGH WE LOVE HAVING YOU --DIMO RIZZOPOLIS-- WE UNFORTUNATELY CAN’T KEEP YOU FOR VERY LONG.
The screen changed again. It was like watching a low-effort powerpoint presentation.
AFTER REVIEWING YOUR FILES WE HAVE DETERMINED THAT YOU NOW HAVE THE OPTION TO PLAY AS A CAT. WE ARE SORRY, BUT YOU CANNOT BE HUMAN AT THIS TIME.
The screen changed.
IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO PLAY AS A CAT, YOU ARE FREE TO JOIN THE ETHER.
The screen changed.
PLEASE PRESS THE RED BUTTON IN THE MIDDLE OF THE REMOTE TO PLAY AS A CAT. IF YOU DO NOT PRESS THE BUTTON WITHIN 22 HOURS, YOUR SOUL WILL BE RELEASED INTO THE ETHER.
The screen changed.
WE HOPE THIS PRESENTATION HAS BEEN HELPFUL TO YOU! PLEASE PRESS THE ARROWS ON THE REMOTE TO GO BACK OR FORWARD BETWEEN SLIDES.
THANK YOU!
The words disappeared and were replaced by a timer, counting down from 22 hours.
| 2021-02-16T10:12:11 | 2021-02-16T07:38:20 | 100 | 53 |
[WP] When you were trying to recruit the best healer healer around for your adventuring party, you were expecting a gentle, pretty healer girl. Not a grizzled middle aged woman who looks like she can wrestle a bear and has an attitude to match.
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"What did you expect, a princess?" The Healer's tone matched her sneer.
"Well, yes, actually. In my experience healers are gentle, tender souls who care for nature and its beauty." The Warrior tried to speak softly to avoid upsetting the bear of a woman that was the healer. He couldn't help admire her broad shoulders and toned thighs.
"I mean, in my defense, healing is magic and mages aren't known for their constitutions, right? They value wisdom and books and intelligence. I can tell you don't skip leg day. I too know the ways of sculpting the body and value strength like you apparently do. Where do you get the time to learn your art and be so strong? I'm sorry if I doubt that you're really the best healer around, but you just don't fit the mold. As party leader, I have a duty to the party to ensure we can complete the quest and we can't do that without an accomplished, experienced healer."
The Healer stomped her foot, rolled up her sleeves, and let out a chant. Nature bent to her will. Trees bowed low. At the second stomp of her foot everything snapped back into place violently. The trees were still shaking when she began to speak.
"You've been misled, child. Not all healers are mages. I am a smith. My materials are your flesh and bone. Nature may do my bidding, but I do not care to make flowers bloom. I mean to stand beside your Creator and remake you anew. My strength is my art and my art is my strength. You forget that healing requires destruction. How can I know what it is to heal if I don't also know what it is to destroy?" The Healer beat her chest with her tattooed arms and completed her chant.
"Sure, you're scary. That doesn't mean anything about healing me after I've been shot through with goblin arrows. Those things are so damn small they get everywhere and can be a pain. What would you do about that?"
"Your skin is weak. It needs discipline." The Healer drew a knife slowly and then quickly slashed at her exposed arm. She left no wound, instead the tattoos snaking up her arm pulsed and grew. "You'll have to do better to challenge me, fighter."
"I've had enough of your shit, old crow. I do war, and you know that. I'll give you a wound to heal and prove yourself. Fight me."
In a moment, the Healer had the Warrior in her grasp and off the ground. She squeezed him to within a breath of his life. His armor was bent, his ribs cracked, his ligaments torn. The Healer threw him to the ground, but the last insult the Healer paid him was to bring him back from near death immediately.
"There is no honor in dueling, young one. You sought the best Healer, found her, and proved yourself unworthy of her talents and experience. Know your place and yourself if you survive long enough for there to be a next time." The Healer sneered again and disappeared down the road to ends unknown.
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"Ma'am" came the voice that seemed to grip his earlobe and twist upwards. He looked up from the stack of paperwork to see a looming shape hanging over him, not really blocking the light inside the pub, more like eclipsing it. Finding his senses after what seemed liked far too long, he realized his mouth was open.
"I'm sorry what...what was that?" he noted that his usual voice had a whimper due to some reflex.
"You said 'Excuse me Sir', I have corrected you. I am not a 'Sir'". came from what was most likely the mouth of the Eclipse.
Again his earlobe felt twisted and found his mouth was open again, this time in not a too embarrassingly long fashion. He cleared his throat to bide some time to find a reply and ended with him only finding his mouth open a third time.
"Young man, are you simple?" the statement was short and dry. It's tone was not one of mockery, or anything to be considered humor. In fact it was so far removed from humor that it could only be classified as "concern". Which in this setting, at this time of day was so foreign and off putting that it snapped him back to his senses.
"No, I am not simple!" came the edged rebuke. "How dare you say that? I am Sir Musa, grand adventurer and defender of the-"
"Be better if you were simple then, lad." came the same dry tone that didn't just throw cold water on Musa's rage, but opened a vacuum in space and sucked the atmosphere around it.
"What...what was that?" Musa replied indignantly.
"Are you deaf as well or is that your catchphrase?" quipped the Eclipse. "Don't get your blood boiling over some words, I've seen braver and stupider young men become cold meat over something as simple as improper tone. May I take a seat?"
Before a reply could be made the Eclipse took the chair in front the table, and Musa could finally confirm that yes there was a head and indeed a mouth on the Eclipse. Sitting in front of him the shape solidly filled out the chair with shoulders as wide as an axe handle, a very long axe handle he noted. The shape pulled off its fur hat to reveal a pleasant face, a face that was burgeoning on distinguished, however the scars prevented it from joining any social club that would have "distinguished" in its title. Finding herself comfortable in the chair, she took on an air of professionalism.
"Maryabelle is my name, I have come for the position you have posted. You have made it well known in this establishment that you are Musa, and can I please verify that you are looking for a healer?"
The shock finally left Musa, whose space was filled with embarrassment and anger. He did his best not to let this show "Yes, yes I am however there have all ready been several applicants that-"
"I have trained all applicants that you have seen and, let me tell you, the ones that have crossed your path are ones that I would not trust with healing blisters."
Musa's raised his eyes with some distain "Sounds like you are not much of a teacher then."
"No, sounds like their fathers' couldn't be bothered to teach them a trade that wasn't 'ladylike'. So they sent them off to me to be more appealing for a husband whose looking for a cleaner, cooker, baby-sitter and healer. I do not turn down anyone who wants to learn, regardless of where they come from, their intent, or whats between certain body parts. If the girls feel like marriage will make themselves, or most likely their parents, happy its usually enough motivation for them to learn that draining someone's blood when they have a chest cold is not a good idea, a wisdom that is in staggering short supply. There are few places where a young woman can become more than wife and mother, gods forbid they learn something to make them an individual so they can go off and look for fame and fortune. Perhaps by finding their great grand-pappy's precious rocks? Stop leaving your mouth open lad, you're attracting flies."
Musa's teeth clicked as his jaw shut and kept it clamped, it helped temper down whatever emotions the last statement flared up. It was secret, how the hell did she know?
She leaned into the table and folded her large calloused hands in front of her, signaling that she was attempting to make the next part as private as she can. "Those rings on your fingers. The last time someone of your line came up this way was over 40 years ago, their intentions were made well known, it didn't end well for them." She pushed back and her hands snapped up to reveal a pouch and pipe which she packed and lit.
"Are these theatrics supposed to impress me?" Musa coldly asked.
"Do they?"
Musa's silence was supposed to intimidate, however the look on Maryabelle's face was of stoic smugness that seemed to cascade from her eyes. Clearing his throat again, Musa absentmindedly shuffled the papers in front of him. His Uncle had told him the stories of those who went out into the world to search for what was lost. He had pressed him for more and more information, his Uncle was one to know many things, especially that stories and knowledge shouldn't die with his generation. Musa's ancestors had searched every part of the known world investigating rumors of what was lost. Every time they have found nothing but further speculation on who possesses it. The supposed owners tended to run the gambit of child-like pirates to blind dessert prophets, even one time supposed mountain apes. Every story was investigated, every search party had returned except one.
"I'm not one to mince words, who ever attempted to fix that eyebrow shouldn't be allowed to cull sheep." Musa looked up to find that Maryabella had leaned further in and wasn't exactly looking at him, more like examining him. "Let me guess...glancing blow to your face, someone tried to close it with staples, but it got infected. To the point where it was swollen and runny. So some fool said they knew what to do, they sat you down, got you drunk, then they broke out the cherry red running iron. How many attempts did it take? Looks like 4."
"Excuse me, i'm doing the interviewing here!" Musa shot back. "For your information it was 2 attempts." It was 2 attempts that Musa remembered, the first made him pass out, and the last one made him regain consciousness.
| 2021-12-22T07:34:00 | 2021-12-22T07:13:06 | 120 | 48 |
[WP] Humanity colonized the galaxy so long ago that it is has forgotten its origins. On a routine scouting mission, you come across a planet that has a handful of pyramid-like structures and a mountain with what resembles 4 human faces.
|
*Mission 402.* I dock on a tall cliffside. Atmospheric readings indicate that the air outside is non-toxic, but I complete the customary checks, latching my suit into place and tightening it like a second set of skin stretched over my bones. The air here has far more oxygen than expected or even preferred. Nothing my space-born lungs are used to, and nothing I'm willing to risk. There's no extraction team waiting -- anyone with a ship and enough fuel is out, scouting, continuing the increasingly futile search to find a safe haven for humanity to regroup after centuries of interstellar war.
Preliminary orbital scans indicated that the planet had an overabundance of water -- an anomaly on the galactic scale, prompting me to actually land and scout the planet to get confirmation. In my windowless, energy-maximizing ship, I could rely only on the ship's computer. When the ship's external air lock door hisses open, there's no such aquatic repository in sight. My suit is temperature-modulated, but I shiver with a strange anticipation under the foreign sun's rays, casting my gaze beyond the cliffside. Below me, rolling hills are laid bare. I inhale sharply, taking in a shallow breath from my tank. A stunning intensity of fauna has filled this planet. In decades of scouting, I've seen life grow resiliently in thousands of places, but never like this, never with this verdant, unapologetic vibrancy.
I return to my ship, then settle the craft again, this time at the bottom of the cliffs to take samples of the vegetation. As I step into the shadows of the cliffs above, I turn to view their rocky surface.
Holy shit.
For one, stupid moment, I think I'm imagining it, that the loneliness of decades in space has twisted my mind irreparably -- but no, I'm sure of it: as I gaze upon the towering cliffs, four distinctly humanoid faces gaze back at me. Uneasy, I reenter my ship and search my galactic coordinates against the distributed travel logs. Time wasted scouting a known planet will get me in trouble with central command, particularly given I've opted to land on the planet's surface. Fuel is precious.
The logs return nothing. I search again, frowning. Once more, no results.
I run a second query, this time against the oldest logs in the system. The ship's computer returns the coordinates of a primary human settlement hundreds of lightyears away. The initial logging for its entry is dated several millennia ago. I turn this over in my mind, considering the possibilities. Either someone someone deliberately erased any mention of this planet from the logs, or...this abandoned human settlement is older than any other known outpost in the galaxy.
Deleting logs from the system is next to impossible. Each ship carries a set of logs, shared individually with each other. To overwrite one planet in the logs requires altering the data stored in millions upon millions of scouting ships, sprawled across the recesses of the galaxy. But the other possibility, that I've discovered a human settlement older than any known origin story for humanity itself has me trembling with the kind of primal excitement one might feel if they encountered a god in the flesh.
The ancestors of our ancestors lived here. But when? Why did they leave?
An abundance of oxygen and water. That's what the initial scans of the planet had found. I take the ship into the air, and fly desperately east. I land for the third time that day on a sandy beach, stumbling out of my ship. The sun is dipping below the planet's horizon, where an inky vastness of blue meets the dimming skies. Still in my suit, I race to the lapping waves, dipping my gloved hands into them and watching the liquid move over and around them. My suit's sensors confirm what I already know. This is an ocean of water, one of the rarest, most precious resources in the galaxy.
An abundance of oxygen and water before me. A lifetime of choking on shallow breaths in never-ending space behind.
I raise my damp gloves to to my helmet and unlatch it.
I breathe.
|
Ley stepped off the ship, telecom in hand, her boots landing harshly against gravel. Everything felt so different on this planet. The sky blue, the surface covered in green plant matter, and more gravity than Ley had ever felt before. “Don’t just stand there, keep a move on.” Commander Sheffields voice boomed through the suits speakers. Ley rolled her eyes, wishing Sergeant Mallory had been assigned to this expedition. “C’mon worm.” Channing’s words were blocked by his helmet, his smirk as sly as ever. Ley moved her heavy boots along more quickly than on Mars, or the moon or even Jupiter. She struggled with her air, she felt like it was much harder to breathe. “Don’t call me worm.” She whispered under her breath, heading off on her course. Channing, Malcom and Fianna and Ley were the four civic officers assigned to the project Z-Y expedition. Their missions were all of different natures. Ley’s was to find any evidence of original material from the new dark ages period of history. Malcom was to collect as many samples from the planet as much as he was allowed, and Fianna’s task was to study the biome and atmospheric condition as well as the genealogy, and Channings was to record his findings of the geography and botanical anatomy of the planets surface. Fianna was younger than all four of the officers but was already at a higher rank than them, which Ley felt was unfair. She dragged herself over to a pile of junk that lay near an old sign that read “canary road, 5 miles”
She took a photo and logged it into her diary, observing the condition of the sign. After hundreds of years, the metal was still there and the paint had barely faded. Ley was told by Commander Sheffield that this planet had been older than all the rest of the Milky Ways planets and moons, and that no life forms had inhabited it since the year 2030. Ley felt uneasy about being so trusting of that information, but she was always left on the outskirts of high profile expeditions. She was lucky to even get a recruited spot. Ley traveled silently for a couple more miles before she stopped at another sign. “Grand cany-“ the other half was extremely rusty. In the far distance, Leys attention was abruptly distracted by Channings voice behind her. “Find something over there, worm?” Leys breathing labored as she struggled to reply. One deep breathe. “No.” Was all she could muster. Having asthma as a child didn’t help Leys lungs, and she hadn’t exercised them in a while, apart from training. Channings large boots were now adjacent to Leys, mimicking her stance. “I haven’t found any plants that I could recognize, or have ever recognized. These plants aren’t recorded in our Botany books and I’ve never seen them in our Duplication labs.” His eyes were wide, or, they seemed to be under the helmet. Ley felt lightheaded. “Interesting.” Channing nodded. “Indeed.” Ley traveled up farther, Channing left behind as he leaned down to study some kind of floral plant. Ley observed the sky, the stillness, the clouds, the overgrown scenery of trash and nature, complacent with one another. As of yet, she hadn’t noticed anything of interest to her. No wildlife, no unidentified specimens, nothing that could tell this planet apart from the others.
Fianna had been on the other side of the ship, attaching the vibrational reader to the ship, extending the machine out, and shoving the readers into the ground. She would probably be there a while. Ley had learned never to disturb her when Fianna was in her mode zone. Moving herself around the small area they were subjected to, Ley noticed Malcom collecting dirt samples. That was also not of interest to her. After a couple more hours of wandering, Ley had decided that she had photographed, collected and recorded almost everything that could be of identifiable use in the mere five mile radius that she was subjected to. Watching all her crew mates for an hour doing absolutely nothing productive enough, she was growing tired. Commander Sheffield had informed the crew that he would be in a meeting with the board of conferences for half an hour before their departure, Ley felt like perhaps that was her only opportunity to finally go exploring. To finally go on a real adventure. This was her chance, so, she slowly walked out of view, pretending to write in her journal and then she took off when she was out of view. She ran as fast as she could, wishing her boots weren’t so heavy, her breath fogging up her view. Suddenly, Ley stopped abruptly, hunching forward, gasping for air. Her hands were wrapped around her stomach as she coughed. In a panick she removed her helmet, cupping her throat. Ley slowed her breathing, feeling the tightness fade. Ley was so glad to finally breathe, but when she had noticed her helmet was off, her heart sped up. Then she noticed again, that she was fine, even better without the helmet. She had to record this. She had to get up.
As Ley stood, shaking off the planets debris from her suit and retrieving her helmet, she noticed how easy it was to breathe. How smoothly the atmosphere glided from air to lungs. This was an astonishing discovery and Ley didn’t know wether or not to share this with the scouting program. Ley thought it better to be kept a secret until she experimented walking around without her helmet. But just as soon as Ley was focusing on the air and her breathing, her eyes were met with a new sight, a sight that she had only ever seen in storybooks. All the discovery had been forgotten about the air and the oxygen, and now her eyes were engulfed in a massive image of pure expeditionary art. How far had she run?
The thoughts started rushing in.
Four half broken faces etched and engraved into stone, a large wall of facial configurations. Where had it come from? Who had carved these faces? Who did the faces belong to? Was it vandalism? Had other national planet treasuries discovered this planet before the scouting program? Had one of the NPT done this? Was it real?
Ley snatched her camera up from her bag and had begun recording, filming, photographing and writing down everything she was seeing. The time of day, the scenery, the weather, everything. No detail could be too small.
When Ley had felt content enough with her written accord and informational doctoral work, she set everything back in its place and took a seat on the ground, admiring the four faces of art.
“What a world.” She whispered into the air. She was in awe. Ley had so badly wanted to run and get the crew, but this moment was hers. She wanted to keep it for herself. She would never share any of this with anyone.
As the planets sun had started to set, Ley looked down at the ground and noticed a small rock with a word carved onto it.
“Boy, this planet sure does its job with all the carvings.”
She read the fine print and traced her thumb over the five letters.
“Earth.” She read.
She threw the rock over the cliffs railing, down into the trenches of the four faces sculpture.
Ley started back to the crew before they noticed she was gone.
She discovered Earth.
Leys world was Earth.
| 2022-03-12T00:09:28 | 2022-03-11T21:43:16 | 247 | 21 |
[WP] your EX keeps summoning spirits, gods, and demons to destroy you but it seems they like you too much to do it.
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"I am Nergal scourer of the broken! Collector of souls!" The demon burst into the apartment.
The spirit sighed, "Hi there Nerg, I'm ผีอำ, you want a beer?"
"Where is the mortal Frederick Jeffson? Tell me!" Pillars of flame shot through his eyes.
"Fred's making breakfast, can we talk? You know, Thai nightmare spirit to Sumerian war god?" ผีอำ sipped her boba tea.
Nergal tried to push past her, but she quickly pulled him into a sleep paralysis, sitting on his chest.
"Look," ผีอำ rolled her eyes, "Linda sent you, didn't she?"
"I serve at the alter of no-"
"Yeah yeah, let me guess, she told you Fred was the one that took your scepter of whatever."
"Spear! It's the spear of pain!"
"Yeah, all spears are spears of pain, there's no spear you stab someone with that makes them happy. Okay, so first off, we have the spear, Linda planted it here when she stopped by two days ago pretending she wanted to get back together, she's the worst. Now you can have it back, but first you gotta chill out a little, cool?"
Nergal raged internally. The screams of a thousand dying Roman legions sounded within his molted shell and then faded. "Alright."
ผีอำ got up, adjusting her pajama bottoms, and brought Nergal down the hallway into the living room past a red and black demon with backwards feet working on a jigsaw puzzle.
"Hey Jumbee, you know where that spear is?" ผีอำ asked.
Jumbee grunted, not looking up.
"It's behind the couch!" Fred shouted from the kitchen. "Did the guy come by?"
Fred stepped out of the kitchen in his bathrobe stirring eggs and noticed the 12 foot tall Sumerian god. "Oh hey man, sorry about the mix up, as you can tell Linda's got a few issues with me she needs to work out. You want some coffee?"
"I want to tear your head from your body and squeeze the blood juice from your neck." Nergal said, gritting his teeth, eyes smoking.
"Hey man, I don't blame you. It's like, she shows up two days ago talking about wanting to work things out, but she also has this ancient Sumerian spear with her and I'm thinking 'huh, that's weird' I had to let her down easy, but then she just leaves it. ผีอำ wanted to chuck it, but I figured hold onto it and see if anyone comes by. I mean it's a nice spear."
ผีอำ reached behind the sofa and handed Nergal the black spear whose blade revealed a reflection of another universe.
Nergal inspected it and nodded, "It is a nice spear."
"You put a lot of craft and love into that, I can tell. It's like, I used to make Star Wars models and yeah you can follow the instructions in the box, but it's those little personal touches you put in that really make it unique and special, and I see those touches in your craftsmanship it's beautiful." Fred sipped his coffee.
"T-thank you, you know it took me 3000 years to forge."
"Well it shows. Sure you don't want any coffee or anything? You're welcome to hang out, Jumbee's been at that puzzle since last night."
"Don't have him solve it too fast, I kinda liked us having a night to ourselves." ผีอำ whispered to Fred slapping his ass. He gave her a wink and turned back to Nergal.
"I really should be going." Nergal said turning to leave.
"Cool, make sure you walk backwards so Jumbee doesn't follow you out. And if you see Linda tell her mental health and self-love are important, there's no shame in needing help, and I hope she gets better."
|
I am strapped to a chair, hands and feet tied, as I watched my former lover chant some ridiculous language at the top of her lungs. The figures behind her echo her words, so if seen from a different perspective, it’s almost like they’re singing in a choir. It’s been like this for a while, though I can’t exactly explain how long since I woke up tied to this chair. It could be days or even weeks at most.
As to why I’m in this predicament, it’s my fault really. You see I’ve stuck my dick in crazy. It’s a roller coaster ride for sure but there’s never a dull moment and memories are always left behind. Yes, I’m yanked around and everything I do is either not good enough or completely wrong, but I couldn’t find it in me to break up with my first girlfriend. I’m what people would call a nice guy, a yes man to be precise. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of and I’ve done some things that makes me want to strut my stuff.
And when she suggested we break up, it broke my heart, but if that’s what she wants then I’d be damned if I didn’t give it to her (although I felt damned when I did). I haven’t seen hair nor hide of her for years, but this past spring she up and showed up at my house, asking weird questions and speaking in riddles. But the one thing I got out of that conversation was that she wanted to be with again. Ecstatically, we went to a restaurant for our first (eleventh) date and had a really good time. And then, I think I fell asleep but I don’t remember being sleepy.
And here we are…
If you’re wondering, yes I do want to escape and yes I do want to get the hell out of here. But my ex asked if I could be a good boy and wait until they got finished and, well like I said, it’s my fault. Besides with all this ritual stuff going on, I kind of want to see what’s going to happen.
And to my surprise, something did happen. My chair began to float as dark violet smoke seeped out of the floorboards. And to make sure I didn’t hit the ceiling (I guess, I don’t know) a golden smoke wafted in through the ceiling. Like the Ying/Yang symbol, they mixed around me until they formed two supermodel women.
If there’s any questions about what they looked like, the golden female was clothed like royalty with magnificent, vibrant feathered wing behind her. As for violet woman, she was dressed like a vixen suited to my tastes. However, that was only me. Everyone else either fainted, screamed, bowed in fear, ran, or killed themselves in horrific fashion until the only one standing was my ex.
“Summoner,” they spoke in unison, “you have requested an audience with the Lady of Light and Duchess of Darkness. Speak your wish and we will grant it to you.”
“I want him to suffer for all eternity!” My ex declared pointing at me.
The two ethereal beings actually blinked as they looked at each other. They even looked at me in confusion, but I just shrugged.
“Your wish is… to have him suffer… for all eternity?” they asked, still in unison.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Your reasoning, please?” they requested.
“Everything I needed him to do, everything I wanted him to do, everything I asked him to do, he failed,” she spat. “He can’t cook, he barely cleans, he has no money, he always messes things up, and he’s stupid. He has no backbone, can barely hold a job, he’s rude, he’s violent, and overall he’s absolutely the shittiest person in the world because he thinks he’s a nice person.”
I can barely hold my head up as everything she says is true. It’s all true. I can barely hold a job, I get into fights just on a whim, I never have enough money to cover even the basic of needs, I’m sloppy, and I have to be given simple tasks or else I’ll ruin something important.
“And who told him to do those things?” the majestic females asked, still in unison.
“I mean, I did, but it was all as a joke,” my ex explained. “I didn’t think he’d actually do any of it.”
“And yet, you continued to have him do such things?” the heavenly ladies spoke.
“I mean…,” my ex fidgeted.
For a long time, silence permeated the room. The lovely ladies barely moved a muscle as my ex looked around as she thought up an excuse to tell them. Upon finding none, she hung her head in defeat.
“I would like to rescind my wish and take him back, please,” she said.
“Unfortunately, that’s not how this goes,” the ladies replied. “You’ve already made your wish and he will now suffer for all eternity. We were just confused as your reasoning wasn’t lining up with your wish. This man has put his life on the line for you, worked himself almost to death for you, struggled to make you happy whenever you demanded him to. He jumped the impossible heights you gave him, sacrificed everything he could to bring you satisfaction and yet you chose to highlight the faults in his character and defame his integrity when you were the one at fault. For his deeds, he will suffer for all eternity and you will be the cause of it.”
“I won’t it!” My ex yelled furiously. “Fight your way out of their hands, love!”
My body immediately began to writhe but my arms were like stone.
“If you want, we can ask him three times if he wants to come with us,” the beautiful women spoke accordingly.
“How do I know you won’t cheat me?” my ex demanded.
“Accuse us of cheating again and we will incinerate you and the ashes you leave behind,” the magnificent females threatened.
“I’m sorry,” my ex apologized.
“Now, let us ask the questions,” the amazing ladies ordered.
“Babe, do you want to go with them?” My ex asks.
“Yes!” I immediately answered.
“Understand what you’re saying human,” the glorious women spoke next. “Your eternal suffering will be overseen by us. Do you want to come with us?”
“Yes!” I immediately answered.
“Are you serious?!” My ex screeched. “After everything I’ve done for you, you’re really going to leave me?!”
“Yes!” I immediately answered.
“He has spoken,” the two females stated.
At once, the two illustrious ladies turned to smoke and enveloped me while my ex screams were slowly dissipating. When they formed back into females, we were in an empty room and I was no longer bound to the chair.
“Due to your physique and mannerisms, your suffering will be physical, taxing your body until the end of time comes. We will work you and you will not fail us. We will make demands and you will adhere to them. And above all, you will rest only at our request. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
They smiled and stretched out an arm to one side of the room, bringing a bed into existence.
| 2022-03-31T07:18:48 | 2022-03-31T07:18:31 | 107 | 20 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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"It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two.
|
Number one. The federal registry confirms it. The deference I am shown in the street re-affirms it. Everyone is sure of it… Everyone but me.
Number one. It doesn’t necessarily mean I am the most powerful. Really all it denotes is an ability for survival. In a world which went to sleep powerless and woke up with power unimagined my ability for survival is, to me at least, a complete mystery.
On the day when IT happened I woke up normally. I got dressed normally. I went to work, reading my paper on the way and not noticing the several thousands of people laughing and flying and… well doing all manner of weird and wonderful things.
At work I just thought I was early. But no one turned up that day. No one has turned up any day since. I haven’t had a job for six years. It’s kind of boring really.
It took probably seventeen seconds for the first realisations of the madness of our time to descend. We were a world of demi-gods of varying degrees of martial power and the problem, the real problem was that the powers that could kill were not necessarily fairly distributed to the, then, authorities. When you are a copper and you wake up with the power to make plants grow fast and the person you are about to arrest for looting woke up with the ability to make someone’s head explode with a thought you may be thinking to yourself “well, that’s a bit unfair”… at least you would think that if you still had anything to think with.
So chaos descended. There has always been strong people and weak people. Societies developed around them. Status quo was reached by institutionalising violence, by clothing vengeance in the law. All of that had been overturned in a single night.
So, for a while the strong grew stronger and the ‘weak’ just grew meeker until a quasi-feudal system emerged. However just because you have the power to make the tides rise doesn’t mean you suddenly lose the need to check facebook and certain elements of the, HA.. upper classes realised that we couldn’t go back to being medieval. Not really. Light bulbs and the internet and cars were all just way too good. Provincial attitudes may make you a king in a small world but small worlds mean small entertainments.
So the “system” was invented. And it was enforced. The first week was a blood bath. But here, three years later, it works. The world turns again. The system works like this: Every person has a rating. For people of a certain “rank” they are empowered and obliged to protect a number of people below them in a community. The more powerful you are the more privileges are given to you and your community. Rank has some serious kick backs. Being rank one, which is what I am, means I am also the head of “the hundred”. The top one hundred ranked people in the country that, effectively, rules in an oligarchic model. Being in the hundred rocks. It’s awesome. You get respect, power, material wealth. The only drawback is that to obtain a seat in the hundred you must kill a person above you.
Now I would like to say I have never killed anyone. People above me just, kind of, die. Even weirder no one has ever tried to kill me! Next to my name on the federal data base, where everyone else has “Head Exploder” or “Flying death machine with laser eyes” is just a question mark. I mean, I suppose I could be lucky but I don’t really think that luck can be a power.
The person who holds number two is actually a person from my work: Susan. She and I have been having coffee every morning (barring a few during the bad years) for, oh, seven years. Next to her name is a veritable encyclopaedia of powers.
The other day she asked me out, which was a shock but since I have always secretly liked her it wasn’t an unpleasant one. We are going out on Tuesday, to see a movie. I’m looking forward to it.
| 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T18:34:04 | 63 | 14 |
[WP] Robot sex partners are common for both sexes. At a companion market meet a partner and leave together. After a night of wild abandon you get up to use the bathroom and your partner is already in there. You look at each other and both instantly realize you were with another human.
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David was augmented quite literally up to his eyeballs, but the spatter of urine around the toilet seat and the half-done line of coke on the cistern revealed the truth. Jerry suddenly felt very exposed and reached for a towel to cover himself.
"You're human," he said.
David switched the shower door from opaque to transparent and gazed out at Jerry.
"Huh. No shit, small world."
"And that's not, I mean," Jerry began.
"What?"
"I mean i'm not..."
"You're not what?"
"I'm not gay."
David sighed and turned off the shower. There was a brief cacophony as he was dried by warm air from every angle and he stepped out into the bathroom, his penises making light slapping noises against his left and right calves respectively. There was no real way of telling which was the original as both were heavily augmented with extensions and vibration settings and the artificial skin was authentically flawed and venous.
"Listen," said David, "Jerry, was it? Whether you're bumming a man or bumming a male bot, you're probably gay. I'm not here to judge, but I think we both know which way the proverbial wind blows in this case."
"Well that's an archaic way of looking at it, bots don't even have gender. And anyone would have thought you were one, how many augs do you have exactly?"
"Come on Jerry, we all have augs."
"You have two dicks!"
"You weren't complaining about them when they were in your asses last night! Hand me my pants, I have to get going."
Tears welled up in Jerry's eyes. He gazed at himself in the mirror. How long could he keep lying to himself?
"Oh my god," he managed between heaving sobs. "I've been in denial for so long. Ever since high school, I..."
"Yeah, that's great. Have you seen my sock?"
"And my marriage, I think she knew. Do you think she knew?"
"Look Jerry, I really don't have time for- Oh what is it now?"
A light on David's forearm began blinking and a high pitched beep came from somewhere on his person. He touched his index finger to his thumb and began typing on the subdermal keypad embedded in his wrist.
"Oh, god damn it," he said."
"What?"
"I'm pregnant."
"Oh my god."
David pointed at the wall and projected an image of steadily dividing cells.
"There he is, Jerry. That's our boy."
"What the hell is going on? I didn't even know that was possible!"
"Now look, here are some projections based on all of our DNA. This is him at birth, here is his fifth birthday, that's him graduating college -look, he has your eyes- and based on our genetic history he'll probably live to a ripe old age and give us plenty of grandkids."
Jerry watched the life of his son flash by in a series of snapshots projected over his cream and blue seahorse tiles. He felt faintly hopeful.
"Wow..." he whispered. David loudly snorted the last of his cocaine through a rolled up thousand dollar bill. Cash had been defunct for centuries and now purely existed as nostalgic drug paraphernalia or as collector's items.
"Yup," said David. "Don't get attached, I'm getting this thing aborted right after lunch. David out!"
He left the apartment sans pants, never to be seen again. Jerry looked up at the wall that had played out his son's life in its entirety. He looked up at it for a long while.
|
*plunk*
Jim rolls over, uneasily and slightly awakened by the noise.
*vvvvvvvfffff!*
Jim opens his eyes, unsure if he actually just heard something.
*plunk* .... *plunk*
"The faucet is leaking again." He thinks to himself.
*vvvffff!*
Jim sighs but has confidence he will be able to sleep through the noise, but just as he begins to breath deeply he hears a loud grunting noise.
...
*plunk*
Jim gets up and his bladder takes the opportunity to complain. Jim remembers his father's last words as he lay dying from cancer, "Jim.... my son.... whenever you jizz.... always... *cough* ... piss afterwaaarrrr GAH!" One of the few benefits of losing his father before puberty was never having to piss weird after a night of sex. In the end, Jim managed to get the same total volume of piss on the floor, because he was an alcoholic.
*vvvfffftttt plunk plunk*
Hence, the sex bot.
Jim believed that people should be honest, but lied when in trouble. Jim believed in loyalty until his friends hot wife came on to him at her own wedding. Jim believed in discipline, but drinks until he blacks out, every night, and often calls in sick to work. Jim believed that suicide was the cowards way out, until he failed for the last time in life. "Well, I failed the suicide too, so I guess I'm going for the high score." Jim laughed cynically to himself, although if he even had any friends, they wouldn't be able to hear his thoughts. Until recently, Jim had some pretty intense principles in regards to paying for sex.
*plunk*
Halfway to the bathroom, Jim sees a half drunk bottle of wine. He rarely buys wine, but during a blackout, Jim is unpredictable, and has learned to "bend at the knees" when it comes to his alcoholic choices. As long as it has alcohol in it. Jim felt the same way about pizza, he loved them all, as long as they have... Jim scratched his chin and thought about pizza rolls, pizza bagels, pizza lasagna and the other adaptations of pizza he's had, but failed to find the factor they all shared in common. Jim's taste in women was the same as pizza, in the sense that he liked them all, but wasn't really sure why. "As long as they have alcohol in them," Jim thought half-jokingly, half serious to himself. If only he could talk to a woman sober.
Jim chugged most of the wine, making sure to spill at least a little down his chin in true, gutter drunk fashion. Jim believed that if he was condemned to be a drunk, he should be the best drunk he could be. That was advice from his father as well. Not a dying wish, but another one-lined from dad. Dad had a lot of wisdom condensed into single sentences. Placing the bottle softly back onto the TV stand in solemn remembrance for his late father. "If only you could see me now, dad, you'd be so fucking glad you died before I became this."
Jim would've cried, but he was already dead inside. Just a hollow husk of the man he might've been had he ever taken a risk in life. Instead, he played it safe, carefully guarding himself against danger with a thick cloak of fear as he slowly compromised every moral his father instilled in him. Little by little Jim has watched himself do the things he swore he would never do because they were wrong. He thought he had hit bottom when he tried to kill himself.
"I paid for sex."
*plunk*
Somehow, Jim **knew** that he had finally hit bottom. He could not wait for it to get worse. Out of liquor, out of tears, and out of doubts about living one more fucking moment in this shithole of a life. It had been years since Jim had known the touch of a human being, but in this moment, he felt like a hug would be the only thing that would keep him going.
Jim looked at the empty bottles and cans that littered the bed and surrounding floor. He looked at the lack of pictures of a family that should've decorated his wall. He looked at the bookshelf that had become a trophy case for all the accomplishments he didn't have, and then he looked at the nightstand where he kept his Bible and his 9mm.
Jim sat on the edge of the bed and opened the nightstand. He remembers the day he bought the gun, he bought the Bible. Jim was never a spiritual man, and his life experiences have taught him that God may have made man in his image, but he didn't love any of them. But he bought the gun with the intent to kill himself, and he knew it would be prudent to be sure that suicide was what he wanted. Jim was many things, but not stupid. He is self-aware of his own impulsiveness. The Bible was placed here because he knew in his darkest moment, he would go for the gun and would have to see the Bible too. "I gave myself one last shot at life... heh... shot."
Jim picked up the gun, chambered a round and put it to his temple, shaking at thought of the uncertainty of how painful a bullet to the head is. Then the toilet flushed.
Jim's right eyebrow raised slowly. Taking the gun with him, he cautiously approached the bathroom door, which he now noticed, was slightly ajar. Raising the gun on the intruder he suspected beyond the threshold; the sounds of handwashing concealing the creaking bathroom door. And while Jim would normally take this opportunity to kick himself for not dealing with something as simple a creaking door, which outside of this particular situation, would've alerted his would be assailant that he was entering the bathroom, he was instead still catching up to the current situation where he seamlessly moves from killing himself to protecting his own life at the cost of another. Jim believed that if anyone was going to kill him, it should be himself, so perhaps he hadn't given up hope on *all* his self-proclaimed morals.
As the image of the burglar came into focus, she noticed him as well. Staring down the gun barrel, she froze. Jim froze. She opened her mouth and began to speak.
"I should've known a sex bot couldn't be that good."
Jim lowered the gun, catching up to the situation.
"Seriously, if you're going to kill me, then at least it'll be right after the best sex of my friggin' life!"
Jim just stood there, encased in thought.
"So, now that I see you're a human, you want to get more beer or go for round 12?"
Jim remembered the time he had to choose between the gun and the Bible and how last time he picked the gun.
"Round 12 sounds better to me."
And Jim never drank again and they lived happily ever after.
| 2015-09-15T17:28:52 | 2015-09-15T17:14:20 | 76 | 34 |
[WP] In an alternate timeline, dinosaurs in the Eastern hemisphere are wiped out by the cataclysm, but those in the Americas survive the fallout. Millions of years later, a crew of European explorers land on the shore of the New World...
My first idea for a writing prompt, please have fun with it! :)
edit: These stories are awesome!! Thanks everyone! :D
|
"Green things with fangs, unfriendly looking", I told the captain.
They looked at me like I expected them to look. They didn't believe one word and I wouldn't have either in their position. I used the bottle of whisky. One sip, two sips.
"Green- and large?", he said.
Three sips, four.
"Enormous- and ferocious", I said.
I downed the bottle and went inside my tent. Old foolish man, they were thinking. Who thought of sending him survey the lands ahead? He's a drunkard and almost senile. I gathered torchs, weapons and some food. When the things get here it will be all over. We crossed the whole deep wide blue for this, and I'll be left alone to fend myself against these green beasts from Hades. I used some alcohol.
When I crossed the river, walked on the rolling hills - up and down - and entered the forest, I heard no sound or fauna. It was at night in the forest, that I heard the thumping sounds, like thunder, but the sky was clear.
I saw one of them move, a shadow tall as the trees, and it's eyes pierced at mine, and saw me not because to it I was like a mouse to a man.
I fleed in the dark back here, but where can I flee more? I can still hear the thumping in the distance, above the roaring laughter of the crew. I can hear it getting louder now--
|
"Well, boys I think we hit India," I said as I untied the landing ship from the side of the boat. Some of the crew had managed to pull themselves out of their cots when I had yelled down into the cellar. I turned to smile at them, I was a part of the night crew which meant that a lot of them had only met me passingly when they had just woken up, and I was going to sleep. We'd hit land at the break of dawn, though, so the night crew was the most awake.
I finished the last tie, and the small boat dropped down to the sea. I maneuvered the ladder so that it was keeping the little ship in place and started to climb down. I was too excited to wait for the crew to choose who could come with me; it was first come first serve as far as I was concerned.
We were all part of an elite sailing crew selected by her majesty to find a different route to India. Due to recent wars sailing past our neighbors to the east was a risky endeavor, so we were looking for alternatives to set up colonies. I had never been to the East coast of India, but I hadn't expected there to be so many massive trees this close to the beach. It didn't matter we had succeeded and could report our findings as soon as we met the locals to trade with.
The other two members of the night crew jumped into the landing ship with me, Johnson and Victor. Together the three of us were the night crew. Our job was to make sure everything was A-ok when the rest of the group got some shuteye. We didn't have a lot of people to talk to on the ship, so we knew each other well.
"We're early," Victor remarked, he was the backup navigator, "India must be bigger than we thought."
"Better that than late," I pointed out, "We only had so much meat left before we were going to have to spend our spare time fishing."
"I've seen you fish," Johnson added, "you whistle."
"That I do," I smiled at him, "Oi Lads!" I yelled up to the deck, "Anyone else want to kiss the beach?"
There was a small clambering on the bridge before someone came over the edge. I rolled my eyes at the skirt. As much as I wished that God would always protect the Queen, she'd been on a binge of shoving women into jobs they had no right taking part in. Liv was our ship's navigator, but we preferred to call her seamstress. I couldn't say that I and the boys were nice to her, but she always acted like we were her best friends.
She hit the boat and knocked on the ladder; it was pulled away. I looked her over with narrow eyes and grabbed the paddle, "You're coming with?"
"Nobody else wanted to," she said, "and I haven't spent enough time with you guys."
"Sure," I added as I paddled to shore. It was easier just to be annoyed than try to argue openly with her, she was like my wife back home, more mouth than she was worth in sea salt. She tapped her feet to the rhythm of my rowing as we approached the beach.
The rowboat stopped earlier than I thought it would, catching on a sandbar and holding fast. I swore under my breath and looked over the edge into the sea. There was barely a foot of water between me and the sand below. The path could take us all the way to the shore, so I decided it was best to hop out and walk the rest of the way. The sea water ate at my boots as I made my way toward the shore. Liv was busy saying something about the trees that lined the coast. I didn't care to listen.
We reached the beach in good time, the salt water on my shoes changing to crunching sand. I turned back to look at the ship; it was rolling in the tide. I could pick out the men lining the nose of it, looking to see if we found anything interesting on the beach. It was going to take a few hours to pull out all of the other landing ships, so we were alone on the island for now.
"Hey," Victor said cutting off my thoughts, I turned to him, and he was pointing down the beach a few feet. A fair sized lizard was scurrying around on two legs. It was about as large as a cat. It was far and above the biggest lizard I had ever seen, and the most talented at walking on two legs, "the hell is that?"
"I don't know," I said honestly, "a lizard."
"I can see that much," he replied, "but what kinda lizard?" He asked.
"A big one," I pointed out, "come on we can't wait all day on the beach, or we might as well have stayed on the ship."
| 2015-11-07T15:15:48 | 2015-11-07T15:07:26 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
|
I hadn't thought about Death for a long time the day I led my granddaughter straight into his arms. I was annoyed with Abby. Impatient. She wanted a very particular type of ice-cream. One she'd had in Toulouse with her parents. "We're in New York," I told her. "So you'd better settle for a New York ice-cream, missy." She threw a fit. I lost my nerve. She called me names. I yelled in her face. So she ran. Turned her back and ran. Probably just wanted to give me a scare, probably thought I had it coming.
The steamroller halted. But not before her skin popped. Not before her bones crackled. Not before a grandfather, a sunny Friday afternoon, was staring at his granddaughter's exposed ribcage.
That day, I made the call.
"Congratulations," Death said.
"I take it I got the job?" I said.
"Of course. You got it yesterday."
"W-What the hell are you saying?"
"Jeez, relax. Oh, and by the way," he said, "sloppy first job. A steamroller? Really? 3 out of 10. You better step up your game."
Death hung up on me. Then there was the knock. I opened the door to see a plump woman with glasses and a ponytail. She was carrying a small bag and some documents.
"Who are you?" I said.
"Jessica," she said with a laugh. In response to my non-response, she added: "your new secretary?"
"Leave," I said.
"But sir," she said. "According to our contract I'm to stay with you at all times."
"What freaking contract?"
She looked puzzled. "The one we signed yesterday."
I called Death.
"There's a woman here," I said.
"Don't worry," Death said. "You can fuck her. Part of the perks. Just one of many to come. Like you later today. Get it? Hah. You know what the French call an orgasm? 'Le petit mort'. The little death. So you can consider it practice. I always did, anyway. Au revoir!"
"What the hell is this?" I asked her. "My granddaughter just died. I called this number, this ... Death appeared to me many years ago. When I cracked the code. When I uncovered the secret to immortality. And I kept it to myself, but he knew straight away. No one knew. No one. And now she's ... She's ... She's dead! She's gone!"
"Ah yes!" she said. "I just finished up the paperwork. I'll have it ready in half an hour."
I stared at her blankly.
" ... tea?" she said, trying on a smile.
Exhausted, I collapsed on the ground. "I-Ice cream," I said. I could see Abby's face flash before me. That lovable little brat. My granddaughter.
"Of course," she said. "I'm so stupid. The ice cream." She reached into her bag and carefully extracted a cardboard box. She placed it on the table and opened it. Inside was a small container of ice cream. The label said *Ô Sorbet d'Amour*. "Just like you requested," she said, looking awfully pleased with herself.
"What's going on?" I said.
"Eat up!" she said. "We've got work to do. But I'm sure we'll be fine. After all, you're on a *roll*." She winked.
|
I turned the business card over and over, from one hand to the other. It was white, almost glowing, with a heft that seemed uncharacteristic for an item of such thinness. It weighed heavy against my fingers like a sheet of metal, but its width seemed no bigger than a line on paper.
Mysterious, I thought, but no more mysterious than the stranger who handed it to me and promptly disappeared into the crowd. He was sharply dressed and soft-spoken, and stood quite tall with good posture; he carried no briefcase or bag.
He attempted to make small talk as we waited for the incoming train, and it was obvious that he was a foreigner—he spoke with a carefulness and exactness that the people of this city lack. He first commented on the delayed schedule, and asked where I was heading. He was interested in the usual: What did I do for a living? Do I enjoy it? Is the train usually this late? There's a lot of people, a good number may have to take the next one.
He then complimented my coat. He paused after I thanked him, and held out his hand as the train pulled in. I offered my own in turn, expecting a friendly farewell handshake, but instead felt something flat and stone-cold pressed into my palm.
"When living forever exhausts you, call the number on this card. I'd like to offer you a job."
In the moment I looked down at the item in my hand, the train doors opened and I was ushered into the nearest car by the crowd before I could say another word. Once I positioned myself near a window, I inspected what he'd given me—a white card made of material I'd never seen before. I looked up to see him watching me from the station doors with faint amusement.
The card had no number. The surface was smooth, with no embossing or printed ink or anything that hinted at what it was meant to represent.
---
It seemed to get heavier and heavier as the week progressed. I kept it in the pocket of my slacks at first, but later had to move it to my work desk drawer when it became clear my belt wasn't enough to keep my pants from slipping down.
The change occurred in intervals, and began when I was called into my supervisor's office to discuss my consistent tardiness and worrisome performance. I knew I looked bored, almost indifferent to my impending fate at the company. *This place is simply a placeholder for me*, I thought, *So why bother?* The card doubled in weight when I left his office.
It increased again as I stood listlessly at the copy machine every morning, staring blankly at the stack of paper accumulating on the tray. And yet again, at the coffee machine, as I watered down my espresso with disappointingly lukewarm water. While eating my lunch at my desk one afternoon, I stopped mid-bite to move the card—if you could even call it that anymore—onto the tabletop itself, as the drawer began to curve under the weight.
It didn't seem to matter that I kept the card at work; it developed overnight steadily, like mold after a heavy rain. After my usual shift, I'd trudge back to the train station to endure an hour-long commute, and fix myself a quick supper before falling into a shallow and unsatisfactory sleep; upon waking, I'd splash my face with cold water and slip into work attire before I headed out to the office. This cycle continued every twenty-four hours, just as it had when I'd first gotten this job and moved out to the city alone two years ago.
I never did see that stranger again, but I couldn't bring myself to toss the card in the trash bin. While my co-workers adorned their workspaces with photographs and miniature potted plants, I kept the card by my computer, becoming so used to the sight of it that I no longer marveled or felt alarmed at its growing heaviness.
---
A month later, I was fired.
After hearing what was an apologetic (yet reasonable) explanation from my supervisor, I walked back to my cubicle and solemnly gathered what little belongings I had. I reached for the stranger's business card on the corner of my desk and was surprised to feel a newly raised pattern on its surface, although it was too ambiguous to make out any recognizable characters. I placed it carefully in the cardboard box lest it crush my other items, and headed down to turn in my employee credentials and make my way back to the station that I'd exited less than an hour before.
The next train was not slated to arrive until 12:30 pm, and it was only 10:20. I set my box on the platform bench and sat beside it, ignoring the lack of shade and uncomfortable angle of sunlight. Pricked by the rays, my eyes naturally followed the lines of the tracks below.
I contemplated my next course of action. Being frugal by nature, I had enough money in my savings to last me for another two months, maybe three if I really stretched it. I'd originally planned to renew my lease on my current flat, but that seemed frivolous and pointless now. Among other things—most things.
The desire to leave everything behind fluttered inside my chest, but more concrete worries of a new job search and a necessary budget stamped it out quickly. It returned with full force moments later, only to be shut down again by the same arguments, over and over. After an intense bout of internal struggle that seemed to last for a good portion of the hour, I was thoroughly exhausted and frustrated. I wasn't going anywhere until I had a job.
At that thought, I remembered the stranger’s words, and poked around my box for the business card. *Might as well give it one last shot*, I mused. *Otherwise, off to the waste basket it goes.*
As I grazed the surface lightly, the desire reemerged. I was still a newcomer to the city by most standards, but my brief time had been enough to turn me into a shell of a man; the job was unfulfilling, and I had little time to make new friends and even less to keep in touch with old ones. My shoulders were tense, my muscles unused, my mind weary and tired. Treat tomorrow as it was your last, people say. I must've thought of my future as infinite string of tomorrows.
*What job did he intend for me, anyway?* I shook my head, concluded that the stranger and this business card was nothing more than a joke or magic trick, and stood up to toss the card in the trash. I suddenly felt the weight of the card lessen dramatically against my hands, and I looked down to see the raised bumps manifest into lines. Letters formed instantaneously, and almost as quickly as they materialized, the card disappeared abruptly and completely. They were clearly visible to the naked eye, though, and what I saw wasn’t a phone number as the stranger had described, but a single word:
**L I V E**
| 2017-03-07T03:03:41 | 2017-03-07T02:29:48 | 139 | 30 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
|
"For English press one. Para Espanol oprima dos." For kicks I let the recording keep going, thumb hovering over the 1 key. "Ka Ikka dolo tret. Zikki Niwazraki..." I jam 1 and the line instantly connects.
"For afterlife management, press one. To hear God's most recent dictum, press two. For soul claims, press three..." God's most recent dictum? The bone-white paper in my hand just reads 'Death, Infernal Affairs, ext. 13'. Now, I'm sorta sad I didn't dial sooner. I press two. **I am the *Lord* your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. You shall have no other gods before me...**
Woah, talk about outdated. Instead of listening through the most recent dictum I disconnect the call. It's the last week of cellular phone service on Mars. All the old digital services are being shut down as part of the government-wide quantum rollout. I dial again and after choosing my language I dial thirteen. A second later a raspy voice answers, "Infernal Affairs, Death speaking."
Uh, "Hi, this is Greg Thomas, I-" Death interrupts in a harsh whisper, "Greg Thomas, a mortall? How did you receive this number?"
"Oh, uh. You gave me your card. I'm actually immortal technically."
"Immortal. Impossible! Unlesssss...." Death pauses for a moment and I hear faint clicking sounds from the other end of the line. When death speaks again, the voice is clearer and louder. "Unless this is Greg Thomas formerly of Earth."
"Yep, that's me."
Death takes on a friendly tone and I hear a creak of its chair tilting backwards. "Greg, I'm so glad you called. How's life?"
"Well," I start. I wasn't really prepared for this. I'm not sure what I expected actually. "Well, it sucks if I'm being honest." A soft cackle erupts from the other end of the line. I continue, "I'm tired of getting in the way all the time. I'm tired of fads and memes I don't understand."
Death stops me, "memes?"
"Uh, yeah. You know. The internet pictures."
Nothing.
"So I guess I want to know what your job offer is."
Another squeak of Death's chair. "Well Greg you called at a great time. I'm about to meet with the big man for a luncheon and although there isn't an opening right now, there could be if I ask him right... how would you feel about learning the Death trade Greg?"
Death *trade*? "Uh, I guess I don't know."
"Greg... Greg. Look, I'm not talking about glory here. You already beat the system, you're one of a handful who've done it including yours truly. What I'm offering isn't a job, it's a way of life. Purpose and Duty now that you're on the other side of the fence. And Greg, let me tell you: we need you."
... "You need me?"
"Yes Greg. Absolutely yes."
Well... In the long run..."Okay. I'm interested. What exactly would this job be?"
"Greg I'm glad you asked. You're already on Mars. How would you feel about being Martian Death?"
|
"I imagine you didn't expect me to call so early", said David to the cloaked figure in front of him.
"***On the contrary.***" the figure responded, waving his hand towards the body in-between the two, lying in a hospital bed. "***This is usually as good a motivator as any.***"
"Heh, yeah... You, erm, you mind if we let them disconnect the... whatever that thing's called?"
"***The Dialysis Machine?***"
"How do you know that?"
The figure shrugged. "***Given my work, I spend a lot of time in places like these. You can't help but overhear common parlance.***"
"Right... Still, the... the tone's sort of distracting. Among other things."
"***I can imagine. Shall we walk?***" He was already heading towards the door, as if anticipating the answer he would prefer, and giving the more living looking of the two no choice but to follow despite their misgivings.
"Er... You're kind of, you know. Very... thin, and-"
"***I have that issue accounted for.***" He stated simply, nodding very gently towards the doctors and patients surrounding them both, who seemed to not pay the skeletal figure a single mind. "***All a part of the job.***"
"Right, that's, erm... That's why I called, I guess." David cleared his throat, waiting for a gap in the crowd before daring to even whisper his next line. "Immortality kinda sucks. Watching your... You know, your..."
"***Mmm.***" The figure nodded in understanding, the kind of understanding birthed from battling a hundred-odd hardships of your own. "***You needn't explain yourself. What matters is that you are willing to hear me out.***"
"So... I'm guessing the job offer is replacing you? Letting you die and stuff?"
"***Not as such. A fair amount of what you think to know of us may have been a... Misinterpretation. Death - as a word - is the very top of the list of incorrect assumptions.***"
"Er... Meaning?"
"***Mortals - and of course, recently created immortals such as yourself -***"
"I wouldn't call 40 or so years recent." David interrupted.
"***It is in terms of immortals.***" the figure responded, plainly, almost wearily, as if it was far from the first time the explanation crossed his lips - or lack thereof. "***Either way. You're under the distinct impression Death is a proper noun, correct? A single individual.***"
"Yeah. You know, Death, the destroyer of worlds. As in, you."
"***Well, as I said previously, that is incorrect. Death is less a single individual, and more a job description. Or, to put it more plainly-***"
"There's more then one Death?" David suggested.
"***Indeed. As mortal creatures, human or otherwise, have increased in number, we have required more and more individuals to bring them to the afterlife. We have powers, of course, but we are not omnipresent.***"
"Why not?"
"***The ones more powerful then us have an arrangement that forbids it.***"
"So in other words, God'd get pissed if you stole his shtick."
"***That is another way of putting it, yes.***" The figure responded, with an attempt at a gentle chuckle, which created a sound like a chilling wind running through a tree's branches.
"So, er, before I sign up properly, is the whole skeleton thing a necessity?"
"***Technically, no. You'll find a great deal of Deaths tend to choose this form, however. Some for comfort in a physical sense, some for comfort in a mental sense.***"
"What's your excuse?"
"***To be frank, I grew tired of people questioning why I wasn't skeletal, so I decided it best simply to conform to stereotypes.***"
"Makes sense. So what's the job description? Is that another misconception, or is it pretty much as we think of it?" David questioned, as they continued their trek down the streets.
"***A mixture. What you know of us guiding souls to the afterlife is true, but it is only part of the job.***"
"What else could there be? Paperwork?"
"***Yes, actually. That, I must admit, is the part of the job that very few Deaths find to be to their liking. Myself included. Still, it is necessary to fill in after every collection, as well as there being extra paperwork for the ironic death department.***"
"Rewind, ironic death department?"
"***Please tell me you didn't truly believe that incidents of pure irony were not occasionally created by a higher power?***" The figure scoffed, as if such an idea was akin to believing the sky was green. "***It is a rare thing, but some Deaths find it to be an absolute joy. To be frank, you may not see a job such as that for many years. I suggest you put it out of your mind, lest you become jealous of those who claim the job before you can.***"
"Right... Anything else?"
"***There is more, yes.***" The figure stopped his movements, allowing David to notice they were now in an almost abandoned alleyway, bar one homeless individual, who seemed to be barely breathing as she slept. "***But we can discuss that once we return to our home base, so to speak.***"
"Are we going to do that now? In - In front of her?"
"***Yes. It shall be no matter, as she will be coming with us.***"
"... You mean...?"
"***I do. I imagine you think of it as unfair.***"
"Well not unfair, just... kind of sad, really. This is how she goes out?"
"***You'll learn to ignore those feelings in time.***"
"Somehow I doubt that."
"***The only other path is insanity, David. Take it from myself, and from others who have come to the same crossroads. Either you consume the feelings, or the feelings consume you.***"
"... I guess you might have a point." He responded, after a pregnant pause. "Right. Ready to go then."
"***Good.***"
And with that, the female - who had since slid to the ground in her rest, her breathing shifting the puddle of rainwater her face was now buried in - the male, and the skeleton were all enveloped by a somewhat disquieting black fog, which slowly enveloped them, dragging them away to the depths.
| 2017-03-07T03:41:21 | 2017-03-07T03:24:28 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] New pills can temporarily release a person's dormant superpowers, but with great power comes great lists of possible side effects.
|
**WARNING**: Superadone is only to be taken under the supervision of a physician. Side effects include, but are not limited to:
* Nausea,
* Vomiting (excepting high-accuracy projectile vomiting, which is classified as a superpower),
* Loss of appetite,
* Headaches not associated with psychic ability,
* Water retention (e.g. water-related weight gain, but not turning into a water-elemental type creature),
* Fragile skin,
* Lack of development of supplemental secondary powers (e.g. super strength without the invulnerability necessary to prevent you from tearing out your own arm when you use it),
* Acne, to include forms of acne which shoot lasers (while technically a superpower, it is notoriously uncontrollable),
* Heartburn, not to include the ability to literally burn the hearts of your enemies. Should your heart spontaneously catch fire and you are unable to survive such an event, call 911 immediately,
* Trouble sleeping if your superpower is not that you no longer require sleep,
* Increased sweating so long as your sweat remains ordinary and not e.g. oil, pheromones, etc.
* Mood changes unrelated to psychic ability,
* Spontaneous and undesired transformation into a lizard or general reptilian form,
* "Freaky Friday"-style body swaps that prove irreversible,
* Ancient curse(s),
* Diabetes, and/or
* A constant, undying, and uncontrollable rage against all human life.
If you develop any side effects, taper off dosage until such time as you can consult your primary care physician, and/or superheroes can arrive and subdue you.
|
The cigarette smoke and light from the phones colored the bar. The place had an energy to it and he could feel it coming. The barrier was breaking, dissolving into the past where all the hours of practice and pain were. He could feel it now and as the barrier broke and as the cymbals crashed, he felt it fully. The crowd was with him. His music was working and he would be famous. The barrier that was a rite of passage, was gone.
He had always looked up to the greats: Plant, Dylan, Jagger, Bon Jovi, and sometimes, though he would never admit it, Smash Mouth. Now the crowd looked up to him. The sweat in his eyes masked the sea of faces but their joy broke through. He run his hand through his hair. He felt the outside of his tight jeans' pocket.
*"Oh mama, don't you see? How your sweet hips do to me."*
The crowd was eating it up. His voice was on key. The band was tight. And the best part was that it was all him. He felt his pockets again. All the pills were there. He was a superhero without any pharmaceutical help.
*Well without that kind of help,* he thought.
The show was good and he was tired. He looked in the mirror and was proud of himself. His hair was thick and long, and he felt he looked like a young Robert Plant.
He took out the pills and wondered what they did. Many people took them at an early age to find out what their powers were. But he was different. He had never taken any. He always wanted to see if he could make it on his own.
*And I did.*
The months passed and they had a record deal. They called themselves The Blue Buttons and they had their first hit with Mama Don't You Know. The world was looking up. And so it could only one way.
Mama Don't You Know charted well but blues just wasn't in anymore. After a month it fell off the Earth and so did The Blue Buttons. Guitar bands were on the way out and besides, the press had started calling them reductive.
The crowds grew smaller and smaller and he was aware of the encroaching barrier. Like a shark in the water, gaining, smelling blood.
*No,* he thought.
He had worked so hard.
Their newest song Just Like Dilly Dylan's Blues was called an outright copy and a mess.
*"Great bands steal, yes,"* Pitchfork wrote, *"but great bands know not to mix Stairway to Heaven and Livin' on a Prayer and then call it a completely unrelated song.*
Their label dropped them. The drummer started heroin and he got fat from taking his pills and gaining the ability to survive any chemical substance. The bassist quit from feeling ignored and underappreciated. They hardly noticed when he left.
Now only he remained. Lead guitarist and singer and he had no fans. The Blue Buttons were history, and forgotten history at that.
He played bars and then coffee shops. Even Mama Don't You Know didn't get applause anymore. His options were dim and time was against him. He had to do it.
*Now is the time,* he thought. *My power will save me.*
He did not know what it would be but he had faith. It was his destiny to be a star. Surely his power would reflect as much.
So he took the pills. It was the night before the big show. He had begged and pleaded with the owner of The Lightbulb, a popular bar, to let him perform. It was a Friday and there were over forty people there.
*This is it,* he thought.
He got out there by himself and felt the pills working. He scanned the crowd and waited for the magic to happen.
He grabbed the mic and put it near his lips.
*"Oh oh mama why you gotta move so slow. Oh oh mama dear you gotta know..."*
But the words were croaked. His voice was breaking like a child and then he lost it. He tried to drop the mic but couldn't. It was stuck to his fingers and his fingers were growing and turning green.
His eyes turned yellow and his tongue was thin. His long hair fell and everyone was silent and then started to laugh. He shrunk and shrunk and then he was a lizard and he stared at the crowd with fear and embarrassment.
"If I sung like that I'd turn into a lizard too!" someone shouted.
Someone threw a beer at him and he nearly drowned. He ran away as lizards do and hid in the corner until the pills wore off and then he was naked and bald and in the corner of the bar.
More laughter came and someone threw another beer at him and it hurt his head for it was sensitive.
"You look like a dick mate!" someone shouted.
"A small one too!" another said.
He ran out of The Lightbulb and into the night. The barrier of mediocrity embraced him and just as he had done with his dignity, he left his music career at its door.
| 2017-04-11T06:54:50 | 2017-04-11T04:52:27 | 63 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded and are taking over. Their technology, intelligence, and power is unstoppable. They just didnt plan on one thing: The old gods returning.
Edit: hey cool this got 40k notes on tumblr
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*If it be my lot to die, let me do so with courage and honor In a manner which will bring the greatest harm to the Enemy, and please, oh Lord, protect and guide those I Shall leave behind.*
*Give us victory, Lord.*
-George S Patton
The bells rang as the last city fell. Fire licked the sky with orange tongues, fuelled by broken houses and shattered people. Above it all the Xelnax ship hovered, watching humanity's last stand.
For twenty years, the Invaders had slowly pushed mankind to extinction. The Terrans fought fiercely, but futilely. The Xelnax were far beyond what any human had ever encountered. To understand them, impossible; to negotiate, worthless; to fight, suicide.
Now, at the end, the insectoid Xelnax stalked the few fortunate enough to run.
One of them, a child of about ten, sprinted through the shattered woods away from the burning city. Behind him he heard the chittering of mandibles and the clanking of chitin pursue him on multiple feet. He could feel the draft from pincers barley missing his arms and legs. Desperately, he tried to escape their clutches.
His foot caught on a fallen branch, and he fell. A sharp pain in his ankle matched a sickening *snap* as his bones broke during the fall. Blinking back tears, he turned to see his death.
Time stopped, pain ceased, the pursuing bug was gone. The boy now lay in a clearing. All was dark, except for a pale glow emanating from tall stones that formed a circular perimeter around the clearing. Slowly, the boy stood, and turned to see something unexplainable.
*Xe'cit, the hunter, stooped over the h'man. The tiny pink creature would be a great gift for its master. As he bent to pick the child up, the child began to glow. Xe'cit stopped and watched with confused eyes.*
In ancient voices, they asked questions of the Boy of man and beast, of steel and stone, and of the flights of the Ravens. The Boy answered as best he could, with a halting tongue and terrified voice. The questions changed from curiosity to concern. The voices shifted from weariness to wakefulness, then to rage. A storm grew within the clearing, and the Boy was lost in it's tempest.
*Xe'cit saw the glowing h'man open it's eyes, he felt a hot wind, then he felt nothing.*
The bells rang over a ruined city, its guards had made a final stand before a ruined church. The Xelnax ship aimed it's wicked weapons at the beleaguered fighters and the weeping helpless who they protected. The hum of the weapons drowned out the bells.
With a loud **crack** the ship shattered, and splintered into a silent explosion of white light. The defenders, shielding their eyes, thought they saw a child floating above the now destroyed ship. The skies, already darkened by smoke, erupted in a torrent of rain and wind. Lighting split the sky thousands of places, each one striking one of the Invaders. The world shattered, then reknit itself thousands of times over.
In the end it was daylight. Grass grew in the fields, and all was as it should be. The forests, whole and unbroken, surrounded the first city of humanity.
In the forest, in a clearing surrounded by standing stones, lay a sleeping Child.
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Max was alone in his basement, hoping, praying to God that someone, another human would save him. It had been three days since he had seen Tracie, she had gone to get supplies to "hold out while the military handles this." She hadn't returned. Since October, there had been a massive influx of reports of strange, spectral sightings, but people assumed this was a large scale Halloween prank. But after the 31st had come and gone, and people started disappearing, the mood became less lively.
A child in Minnesota was the first American to disappear from extraterrestrial causes, thus making her, in most American's minds, the first important human to disappear. Soon, more people were gone, growing exponentially, at a rate never seen before. Government officials and their families were targeted for the most part, but it seemed whatever force was tormenting the world had no bias.
A knock on the cellar door made Max jump, falling from his chair and hitting the carpet with a dull *thud*. He crawled to his baseball bat, grabbed it, and silently made his way behind the stairs. The *thuds* continued, until he heard the wood crack, and a familiar voice call to him.
"Max, I'm back, it's me!" Tracie called to him. Max wasn't convinced though, so he peered around the wall, watching for anything unusual. He heard on the radio that the invaders were apt to imitate voices, and to be cautious about hearing, but not seeing, loved ones.
It was Tracie. Max gasped and ran up the stairs to her, taking the sunlight spilling into the basement as a sign of their safety. When her reached her, though, a cold hand grabbed his arm, and yanked him back.
Max had lost his glasses in the rush to be safe, and hadn't noticed the tears in Tracie's eyes.
Tracie had been accompanied by two... things. Aliens, he assumed, they couldn't be humans. They were humanoid, however, with two legs, two arms, and a head shape, though that's were the similarities ended. At eight feet tall, they towered over even the largest human. There were two holes around where the nose would be, and the entire body was covered in orange, slimy scales. They wore no articles of clothing, carried no weapons or accessories, only their disgusting, foreign bodies. The alien holding Tracie made a strange snorting noise, and a calm came over Max, a content. He didn't want to fight back, they did not want to hurt him. They were friends. He watched his girlfriend's tear streaked face as his vision slowly went black, being carried in the... appendages of his new buddy.
When Max came to, he was splayed out on the road outside his house, next to Tracie and a score of his neighbors. The aliens were watching over the captive humans, around one for every ten people. Any rebellious feelings Max had, or could have had, were gone, wiped away in the soothing presence of the aliens. Tracie seemed to be the only one who wasn't affected by the siren's song the invaders played.
She cried out, and looked at Max. Max noticed snot coming from her nose, a primordial fear, her fight or flight function emerging. The alien assigned to their "unit" advanced towards her, snorting. Max felt a wave of compassion, and his neighbors sighed in verbal agreement.
"Max, what the hell are you doing? We're about to die!" Tracie yelled.
"No we aren't," Max said, "they have no intention of hurting us."
The alien extended its appendage, and a single, sharp point emerged, long and curled like an eagle's talon. *He's not gonna hurt Tracie with that*, Max thought. The alien intended on hurting Tracie. It raised its talon, and Tracie let loose a bloodcurdling screech, knocking back the alien, flying into a house.
Max, broken of the spell, shook his head. *Oh my God*, he thought, *we're all going to be killed. Holy shit.* He turned to Tracie to tell her he loved her, but she was on her feet, fists clenched.
"Tracie?" he asked. She turned to him, and he saw flames in her eyes, and a maniacal grin on her face.
"She will be returned to you, worry not." a deep voice came. Then, she raised her arm, twisted, and made a shooing motion. The alien in the house flew into the asphalt, exploding into a yellow goo. The overseers on either side noticed, and advanced towards her, growling this time. Max felt hostile. He hated Tracie. Wanted her to burn in hell for daring to molest these glorious creatures. He stood, and charged her.
Tracie extended a hand to him, and touched his forehead, and he was immune. The overseer's music no longer invaded his brain, conquered his mind.
"Child," she said, "you would be a fool to face me."
She laughed, and made another fist. The two overseers exploded. Then, she turned to the row of humans, and waved her hand over them. Max saw every one slowly stand up, rubbing temples and checking on loved ones.
"Tracie..." he started.
"I am not Tracie." the being formerly known as Tracie said, "I am Archon. Your true god. Your deity. Your salvation."
Archon stomped, and flew into the sky, leaving a *whoosh* in her wake. Max watched the streak of light collide with an overseer ship, then another, until it had reached every one in the area and performed a firework show in the sky, Archon's gift to the enslaved on Earth.
Max saw Archon slowly descend, then land in front of him.
"What the hell..." she said.
Archon chuckled.
"I owe you no answers mortal, but I shall tell you so that you may spread my legend," Archon yelled so that all in the area could hear her, "Hear me humans. I am Archon, the elder god, the salvation of humanity. I must inhabit your bodies to harness my power, for my true form would extinguish this place. I have no affinity for you mortals, your ways disgust me. But Earth is my domain, and I shall fight so that it might remain yours. But you must sacrifice to me, abandon your churches and mosques, return to the old ways." she chuckled, "unless, of course, you prefer these gods."
She indicated the many streaks of goo on the ground. Then, with a cackle, Tracie collapsed. There was silence for a moment. Then, Max spoke.
"Hail Archon!"
And as he was joined by a chorus of human voices, the mothership trembled at the news, at this choir of newfound believers. The invaders knew about this possibility, but they hadn't counted on it. The elder gods had returned. And they were pissed.
| 2017-12-21T15:39:48 | 2017-12-21T14:23:42 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] You stumble across a peculiar library. Each book's title is the cost of the knowledge within. You read a few for the cost of a cent, a smile, a button. Until you find it. "Cost: half of your lifespan"
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Gale's hand trembled as he pulled the massive tome off the shelf. He flipped open the first page and his eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was holding. It was Stephen King's 'The Stand.' And it was going to take him forty fucking years to finish.
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I was always a big time reader when I was growing up. Libraries are where my parents took me so I can have fun instead of parks. Fantasy, sci-fi, history, all I did was read. I loved being able to use my mind to travel to all these worlds. As I grew up, I always made sure to check the local bookstores to see if I can find hidden gems.
One day, when I left from work, I saw a small library had opened near my apartment. I did a fist pump in glee. I opened the door and the proprietor was an older man with glasses. He looked up from the small book he had in his hands and smiled at me.
"Welcome young lady. I don't usually get a lot of visitors. This is the Library of Equivalent Exchange. Would you like to explore?" His voice was soft and his eyes were kind.
"Umm do I need to sign up for a card?" I asked.
"All you need to do is sign the visitors page when you came in and when you leave. You won't be able to take the book unless you have something to trade anyway." The man said before going back to his book. I thought his last sentence was odd but I didn't mind it. I signed my name and went through the aisles.
The books were ordered, not by author, but by "exchange." In order for me to read the contents, I needed to trade something first. I saw in the first aisle there were very small trades. A coin here, a button there, I even saw a book that would let you read it for a kiss.
Still my curiosity got the best of me and I explored the other aisles. Oddly enough, the payment never wanted much money but other things of value. The middle aisle had a lot of clothing items, shirts that you wore, pants, purses, all for payment. Really, I kinda got freaked out when I saw that one wanted a trade of memories.
The last aisle had only a small bundle of books. Some were old and had yellowing pages, bound by leather. Heavy too. A few seemed to look more recent and were reminiscent of a textbook. The last book, however, was a medium sized notebook. I picked it up and the trade made my stomach drop. The cost? Half of your lifespan.
"Everything is here is paid by the value of what's inside." The old man has spoken suddenly next to me. I jumped and accidentally hit the bookshelf, dropping the notebook. I could tell he wanted to laugh.
"The value?" I wondered.
"Everything has value whether it's monetary or sentimental. I've seen many give up precious pieces of their lives for knowledge. Others can barely part with the shirt on their back. None have ever checked out that one, however." The old man picked up the notebook. "Life is extremely valuable. I've only guessed the contents inside. I'm old now. I'm sure if I were to pay the price, I'd drop dead on the floor." He chuckled.
I looked at the notebook. Whatever was inside was equal to half your life. I never had much plans for what I wanted to do and, truthfully, I'm terrified of getting old. Before I knew it, I had grabbed the book.
"Checking out?" The old man smiled at me. I nodded. I went to the front desk and signed off. I called my part time job and said I wasn't coming in. My heart was calm as I opened the door to my apartment. I sat on my reading chair and saw the cost scribbled on the top of the book.
"Well, curiosity killed the cat." I said.
I opened the book.
(Sorry for any errors. I'm on mobile)
| 2018-03-29T09:26:57 | 2018-03-29T06:48:53 | 74 | 48 |
[WP] After dying, you are faced with a coin slot. It says, "Pay 1$ to live for another day". You tried it out, and lived for another day. The next day, it showed up again, this time it asks you for 2$.
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"Hey, Terry!" the Lisa greeted me with a smile when it was my turn.
"Hey, Lisa!" I answered back, setting my trustey right beside the counter and opening it. It had about a thousand coins left inside, but those would be gone by the end of the week.
"I need my coins, Lisa." I said to her, as I'd said many times before in the last month. Lisa had them ready, of course - she had been my bank teller for a good ten years and always had a smile for me.
"Here you go, Terry. 5000 in coins. Are you sure you don't want to tell me what you use them for?"
I start throwing them in my trolley. The people in line behind me look at me strangely, but I'm used to it. They will have to wait. Lisa keeps putting the rolls on the counter, I keep picking them up and throwing them in the trolley.
"I told you, Lisa, you just don't believe me... It's a matter of life and death." I tell her while keeping smiling. I know that without Lisa backing me up I might have to go to a lot of banks to get all the coins. It takes me too much time. I'm not 70 anymore... this bank I can still reach and return home while dragging my trolley. I am never without it anymore. I can't carry all those coins, they are so heavy. I wish they made deliveries.
I say goodbye to Lisa after ordering the next batch and head home. Matlock is coming on soon, and I'll rip all the rolls while I watch it. I should be done before Murder, She Wrote starts.
The trolley is getting heavier each week. It's just 28$ more each week, but I am not getting stronger. Those two weeks when I had the flu were terrible. I almost ran out of coins and when I finally got to the bank, Lisa wanted to call an ambulance. I know she means well, but they would have taken my trolley in the hospital. It would have been over.
I know it can't last. I still got enough money, though the kids won't be happy when they find out how much I spent. Well, they shold have been nicer to me. They'll still get the house, and I have made sure that it will be sold if they can't make a deal between them. I don't want them to fight over the house.
But the coins are getting heavier. Just like my legs. Just like my arms. The day will come when it won't be worth it anymore, but that will have to wait. I am going to be great-grandfather coming November, and I'll be there, even if I have to hire someone to bring me my coins.
I wish that damn machine would would take paper, or even a credit card.
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As the 100-year-old Dave Rockefeller lay on his bed on yet another sunday night, he began to feel the invisible pull from nowhere once again. His pupils widened for a second, but the excitement quickly left its place to annoyance. He groaned a little bit, tried to force out a yawn but couldn't succeed. Then he took his position in the bed, laying still as he always did. He was ready. "Let's get this over with", he thought to himself. "Again".
He remembered the night when it first happened. How scary it had been, how hard he tried to fight against it...It was a night as soft as a pillow in Paris, a city that somehow still enchanted him to this day while most of everything else was, to put it simply, ordinary. He was in the balcony of a great ballroom after shaking the hands of God knows how many politicians and economists. While his mind was still as sharp and witty as a cheetah despite his age, his body could not take these long parties anymore. It had already began to fall apart many times, failing him at every occasion by presenting heart attacks and such, he was yet to be brought down by one. He had changed his heart and kidneys so often now that it was a normal part of life.
However it was never easy. Therefore when the heart-ache began again on that balcony and the dizziness caused him to lose sight of his surroundings, he was scared. Scared for his life once again, for no matter how far he got, how much he lived, he still had so many plans for his future. He couldn't abandon them now.
As his body crashed to the floor a few seconds after the champagne glass in his hand's thunderous shatter was heard, he felt this pull coming from somewhwere else. As if being summoned to somewhere, he was pulled apart from his body with enormous strength. He knew it then that this was different. He was sure of the end. So many things still unanswered...
Yet he woke up. Like opening up your eyes in a hospital bed and finding out that you've been sleeping for days, he simply opened his eyes. At first he had to make sure they were open: The place he was in was pitch-black. Was he drugged and kidnapped? Where was he? What did his abductors want?
Was this the afterlife he was taught to believe in?
Then a far away light shone on the ground, revealing a grey, metal box. "I'm definitely kidnapped", he thought, as he slowly approached the box, the only material in sight. As he got close, he began to recognize a few words on it . With a meter in between them, he faced the box and read the words out loud : **"Pay 1$ to live for another day"**
A laugh came over him. This was the cost of life? A mere dollar? What a tease. With a smile that would disturb even the most peaceful, he reached into his pocket and slowly took out a coin. He shouted at the empty space around him: "If this is what you want, then it's allright by me! You know you could've asked for more, but who am I to judge!" This brought enormous joy to him. He located the coin slot just under the joke-like words, smugly slid the coin and felt the immediate crash of a lightning inside his head.
He woke up after that, on the same ballroom's balcony in Paris. A crowd was over him, trying to decide what to do. He got up and looked around. Tens of people, each trying to bring a glass of water or asking if he's allright. He took a second to process the situation. Looked around and blanked himself out from the outer world. Bells rung inside his brain. He was not kidnapped. He had actually come back from afterlife.
He started laughing. He laughed like he hadn't done since his childhood, a laugh so powerful that it would brush over the world like a tornado and leave nothing but dust behind. The people around him, half-scared and concerned, took a step back and threw judging stares at his maniacal laugh. They didn't know. It was the laugh of victory.
Then reality set in and he stopped laughing.
Life was a fucking joke. Just like he figured out in the his real life, money set the rules. Money set the power. No matter what the life, be it after or before, money was the solution to all problems. His father had built an empire over money, an empire which only grew stronger in his helm. He had the power to turn the countries against each other, crash a country's economy with one swift move and do all this while sitting in his living room sipping the flashiest of bourbons. And now he knew the only thing he could not defeat, the only thing standing in his way, his good ol' enemy death was preventable. He was hurdleless. Unstoppable. Life had put up all the challenges it could against him, and he had obliterated every single one of them. He repeated in his head: Life is a fucking joke.
Every day since that day, at bedtime everyday, he was called up to the pitch-black emptiness. Every day the cost of another day rose by a dollar. He didn't care. He was the richest man in the world. It became a chore to him, a mild annoyance he had to face. Death, as he knew it, had lost its mystery. Just like every other thing he had seen.
So here he was again, at age 100, summoned once again to the blackness. He opened his eyes, got up and looked around. He scratched his back. Then the light shone on the box again, and he approached it taking the necessary funds out of his pocket. Yet as he got closer, he found the words he came to recognize every night were different, and the money slot closed. Trying to hide his suprise, he faced the box with a meter between them, just like in his first day, and read the words aloud:
"**Pay 1$ for every time you watched nugget porn".**
And at that moment, Dave Rockefeller realized one thing: Time had come for him to die.
| 2018-07-29T04:14:58 | 2018-07-29T04:09:59 | 47 | 27 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this.
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It was late at night. I was hard at work in my lab when I heard his voice.
“So you found a loophole.”
I never even broke my gaze away from my work. I knew it was him and I knew what he wanted. “So I did. Lucky break, I guess.”
“Is that how you see it? Because I see it as stacking the deck.” He spun me around to face him. His eyes were cold, not quite furious but not quite calm, either. “Had I known you would use the funding for this, I-“
“Would have never made the deal in the first place, blah, blah, blah,” I mocked back, cutting him off. I had outmaneuvered the Devil himself. Why not enjoy it? “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish this latest batch to show to the buyers tomorrow.”
“Buyers?”
“Yes, from a major pharmaceutical company. I’m taking the formula public. I’ll be rich and I’ll be immortal. And who says you can’t have it all?” I turned back to my work but stopped when I heard a slow clap building behind me followed by...laughter?
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he chuckled. “Job well done.”
“What do you mean?”
“With that formula public, immortality will become widespread and rampant. It will be fun at first, nobody dying, but eventually it will get boring. Add in the fact that no deaths means overpopulation will rise exponentially, draining the world’s resources faster than ever, and soon people will be begging for a death that will never come.” He leaned closer as he softly said, almost in a whisper, “It will literally be Hell on Earth.”
I stood there, stunned, as the weight of his words hit home. He was right. How could I not have seen it?
“The best part of all,” he added, as he took my latest sample and strode towards the door, “is you get to hold up your end of the bargain, after all. An eternity in Hell, paid on schedule. Think about that when you accept your Nobel, Doctor.”
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######[](#dropcap)
The man swirled into Kassidy's lab, his black cape flowing behind him. She barely gave him a glance before turning back to her computer. She still had to run the next batch of samples, and if she was even a tiny bit off with the timing, they would become useless.
But she couldn't ignore him entirely, she supposed. "What do you want?" she asked, then carefully set her vial down and placed the entire group of vials into the freezer. She stripped her gloves.
Lucifer narrowed his kohl-rimmed eyes at her. "You know very well what I'm here for."
Kassidy shrugged. "Not sure what you're talking about."
He gritted his teeth and walked around the metal table until he was standing right in front of her. He slammed the newspaper down onto the table. Kassidy barely took a look at it before giving him a small smile. "Well, congratulations to that little old lady, I suppose. Living until you're 120 years old is quite a feat."
He wanted to kill her. "Yeah, it would be quite an accomplishment," he said, his jaw clenching, 'if she weren't supposed to die two months ago." He pulled out his tablet and quickly typed in the lady's name, then flipped it around and showed her. On the screen, along with a picture of the elderly women, was the age at which she was supposed to die. Instead of a positive time ticking down towards her death, it was now negative. "And I know you gave her that serum you concocted," he hissed. "We had a deal."
Kassidy raised an eyebrow. "We did, in fact. And I am upholding my part of the deal splendidly well."
His pale eyes flashed. "You know immortality is not to be trifled with."
Kassidy scoffed. "Right. So only the Gods get it. Because I'm sure you guys clearly deserve it."
Lucifer's lips narrowed into a thin line. "I forgave that you drank the damn thing yourself. I granted you amnesty. You don't know how *angry* Fred was with me when I told him he couldn't take your soul and had to explain why. He threw a temper tantrum for three days straight, trained Cerberus to basically revolt against me, and then quit his job for a whole week." He paced around the table. "People not dying for a whole week. Did you know the horror that caused? Gunshot wounds in stasis, people who should have bled out, dear lord, the number of newspapers I had to forcefully recall." He moaned, clutching his head in his hands. "Half my minions are still on holiday because of the overtime."
Then he raised his head. "And now this. How many people have you given the serum to?" He opened the fridge and pulled out the vial with swirling amber liquid, smashing it against the floor. The liquid evaporated almost immediately upon contact with the air.
"Just a few," Kassidy said calmly. She shrugged off her lab coat. It looked like she wasn't about to get any more work done today. The last time Lucifer had paid her a visit, he'd stayed for three days and three nights. "But I was actually thinking of selling it."
Before he realized what he was doing, Lucifer unsheathed his claws, and they hovered inches from her face. "Say that again." His tone was deathly calm. If she actually decided to sell the immortality serum, the entire world would be thrown into chaos. The other gods, who had slumbered since thousands of years ago, would finally awaken, and he would be put on trial for mishandling things.
If things turned out badly, he might even be stripped of his title. And where would he be then?
Kassidy didn't even blink at his threat. She was used to it by now. "You're threatening the mother of your future child?" she asked, then turned around and grabbed her keys from the counter.
At first, the question didn't register. Then Lucifer blinked. And blinked again. Mother of his...his eyes widened and flashed with something akin to joy. As much joy as he was capable of feeling, anyhow.
"You're pregnant?" he asked. His claws sheathed themselves, and he touched Kassidy's arm, turning her around. "Since when?"
She nearly rolled her eyes at him. "Since three months ago. I was going to tell you, but you didn't respond, so I decided to take matters into my own hands." She shrugged.
Hence the old lady.
He couldn't even be mad at her now.
"But it's fine. Apparently you didn't think answering my summonings was important enough. So you can head back to Hell now." She walked towards the lab doors.
She was mad. He was incredibly bad at reading emotions, but that much he knew.
"Kassidy, wait up!" he yelled, then followed her out like a puppy dog chasing after its owner.
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/99qwrz/wp_the_other_gods_who_had_slumbered_since/e4pymgy/) is here, based off the prompt response that was generated from this story, haha.
r/AlannaWu
| 2018-08-23T11:53:32 | 2018-08-23T11:34:53 | 5,923 | 728 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all!
|
"You don't find it strange how no one knows how the humans got here? They show up on what were once uninhabitable worlds, and then offer themselves out as cheap labor?" Corl said while we landed our transport.
"No, not really. If anything I wonder why no one will hire them. From what I can see they are amazingly fast workers. I mean just look, the main buildings already done!" I countered.
"Ok, fine they build fast, but that doesn't look like your plans to me. The buildings are so short and the windows are just slits, and look at those doors. Why do you need a set of heavy steel doors?"
"Well, maybe that's just the architecture of their home. I like a little diversity. And look at the scans of the planet. They built most of the resort under ground! That will save on heating, and it will allow for more open air activities. "
We continued the rest of the way in silence. When we got to the gate into the resort, a gaurd scared us in and opens a set of gates. It's funny I don't remember asking for armed security.
"Mr. Basj, we have finished the primary structure, and have begun clearing secondary positions and will begin importing the heavy machinery soon" the young Forman replied
"Heavy machinery? For what exactly?" I asked confused.
"Sir you can't have a proper holdout without proper defences"
Holdout? What was he talking about. I quietly excused myself and went to my office. Once there I pulled out the contract and immediately relised what I had done.
1 request for 500 humans to help build and maintain my last resort.
They hadn't taken last resort to mean the last vacation getaway in my new chain of vacation spots. I'd hired human mercenaries to build me a fortified planet. Oh the stock holders won't be happy with me now.
|
Τhis is from phone, so excuse some mistakes and structure stuff~
I'm not poor, despite what my infamy suggests. I'm not stingy either, despite how much I loath spending more than needed in some occasions. I just find some of my money put into a better use than overpaid resort colony.
It's a semi-permanent offer, and while many would jump at it, the cost would be too big to properly manage. Paying for the upkeep didn't need to be tripled just for some more worthwhile colony.
To that extend, I was right. But to no extend did I imagine what sort of terrible mistake I had made when picking the second cheapest of all sentient species to hire.
Humans; a peculiar race living forgotten amidst all the other hidden away races. They didn't have many differences as opposed to some of the more exotic species recorded, no, that wasn't the reason they were peculiar.
Sitting back on his comfortable chair, the overlord's face pondered on a single incident when deciding whether to hire humans in his colony as opposed to some other species without the same history.
It was a single event, yet that event made humans to be cast aside from most of the alliances and species.
A single human managed to annihilate an entire empire after all, and that was not a small thing to think about. When talking about that event, the words that came to mind were pity for the empire, even if they did not deserve all of it.
They weren't defeated, nor was it something so light one could recover from. That human had managed to wreck the empire so hard, the empire didn't even think of sticking back.
He felt it was laughable that all humans had managed to get such a bad fame from that event alone, but the events that led up to it were anything but that.
The sheer trickery and cunningness that went through in order to destroy that empire left a lot of the real powers with dislocated jaws as they tried to process the entirety of the matter.
Add in a few other isolated incidents and you had yourself the most infamous race of all, humans.
That said, at least they came in cheaply. Recognising how bad their situation was, they knew it was only about to get worse before it got better.
It had been a long time since anything notable happened concerning humans, and it was due time to see if he was right in the end.
Heck, what could they even do at his resort? Closely supervised, monitored and controlled, he doubted any of the more volatile species would be able to do anything, let alone them.
With those sort of thoughts he pressed his order forward and waited for the humans arrival. He had checked in with five hundred of them for starters and if nothing happened he could double that number.
Days passed peacefully, and aside from a few minor scuffles, it had seemed like his choice was the correct one. Saving money as well as getting a highly adaptable stuff? It was a deal made from heavens themselves!
He kept that thought till the near end. He had mentioned after all that it was semi-permanent offer.
Alas, when humans got too enthralled with something, they could go above and beyond for it. It was theorised this was a result from their previous short lifespans, something which had been amended a long time ago.
Still, that didn't change the fact one of them managed to reverse engineer the core energy of the abode and create his own unstable copy.
It was fun how they liked to expiriment with everything they got in touch, and even a bit captivating as he watched them move through information as well as some of the higher races were able to. What one could not manage, a few dozens most certainly could.
It was because of his enjoyment of watching them do their own stuff that he was too late in noticing they had made a ticking time bomb.
He probably would have noticed even if half of the planet wasn't destroyed, but it sure as hell speed things up.
He watched with tearful eyes as an explosion so big and intense destroyed most of his fortune and property. He doubted even that exploding the main core they had tried to duplicate was able to cause such an explosion, let alone making it from scrap materials found around the planet.
He shook his head at the thought of what came next. The damages were so great it would set him a few years back to recover.
Ugh, no! This was the time to get rid of them. These poor bastards had even the audacity to laugh at what had happened. Sure you learn from mistakes, and sure they had time to evacuate, but these sort of "mistakes" if you could call them that, weren't acceptable.
Instantly as he thought of a way to get out of this predicament a call rang in front of him.
An old friend, he recognized, although he was the one whom he liked the least. Always first to tease him, always first to prank him.
Suddenly, a thought sprung up to his mind. Sure he couldn't just fire all of them due to the contract, but a swift allocation wasn't impossible. Not just that, but he had long since been wondering what gift to take for his friend, or if he would even attend to his thousandth year celebration.
Oh he definitely wouldn't want to miss this. He would plan long and hard, but if the end result was like what he imagined, it would all be worth it.
| 2019-01-26T09:15:03 | 2019-01-26T07:27:28 | 335 | 55 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all!
|
"What's the problem this time? I'm *trying* to relax here."
"Well, ma'am, four hundred of the humans are complaining that they didn't get paid. They're refusing to work."
"What? I handed them the payment on time, *plus* advance payment! What's the matter with them? Can't they count? I thought a minimal arithmetic skills were a hiring prerequisite!"
"It seems that the one human you gave the money to failed to distribute the money to the rest of them."
"......*why?* How could humans be that stupid?"
"Well, you see, they don't have a hivemind..."
"Yes, we figured that out on the first day when four hundred and ninety nine of them failed to do any work."
"No, well, it's worse than that. It appears a large portion of them don't even have any form of long-term strategic planning. The one that you gave the money to simply... left. With all of it."
"But... that's... what...? How the hell did they manage to develop spaceflight *before* developing the concept of fairness, cooperation, and trust? What kind of... how... that's impossible!"
"Some theories suggest that humans merely killed and took over another species' technology on their homeworld, but that's something for historians to investigate. In the meantime, ma'am, I would suggest giving each of the remaining humans their pay individually, and then firing them all. The GBLE will track down the wayward human in the meantime. Might I recommend hiring zorlans instead? Their tentacles are known to be especially supple, and they can multitask far better than any human."
"Cheap labour my fucking cloaca. Humans make me and my colony do *more* work at the resort than I normally do outside it. They wouldn't be worth it if they were free. Hire the damn zorlans."
|
Τhis is from phone, so excuse some mistakes and structure stuff~
I'm not poor, despite what my infamy suggests. I'm not stingy either, despite how much I loath spending more than needed in some occasions. I just find some of my money put into a better use than overpaid resort colony.
It's a semi-permanent offer, and while many would jump at it, the cost would be too big to properly manage. Paying for the upkeep didn't need to be tripled just for some more worthwhile colony.
To that extend, I was right. But to no extend did I imagine what sort of terrible mistake I had made when picking the second cheapest of all sentient species to hire.
Humans; a peculiar race living forgotten amidst all the other hidden away races. They didn't have many differences as opposed to some of the more exotic species recorded, no, that wasn't the reason they were peculiar.
Sitting back on his comfortable chair, the overlord's face pondered on a single incident when deciding whether to hire humans in his colony as opposed to some other species without the same history.
It was a single event, yet that event made humans to be cast aside from most of the alliances and species.
A single human managed to annihilate an entire empire after all, and that was not a small thing to think about. When talking about that event, the words that came to mind were pity for the empire, even if they did not deserve all of it.
They weren't defeated, nor was it something so light one could recover from. That human had managed to wreck the empire so hard, the empire didn't even think of sticking back.
He felt it was laughable that all humans had managed to get such a bad fame from that event alone, but the events that led up to it were anything but that.
The sheer trickery and cunningness that went through in order to destroy that empire left a lot of the real powers with dislocated jaws as they tried to process the entirety of the matter.
Add in a few other isolated incidents and you had yourself the most infamous race of all, humans.
That said, at least they came in cheaply. Recognising how bad their situation was, they knew it was only about to get worse before it got better.
It had been a long time since anything notable happened concerning humans, and it was due time to see if he was right in the end.
Heck, what could they even do at his resort? Closely supervised, monitored and controlled, he doubted any of the more volatile species would be able to do anything, let alone them.
With those sort of thoughts he pressed his order forward and waited for the humans arrival. He had checked in with five hundred of them for starters and if nothing happened he could double that number.
Days passed peacefully, and aside from a few minor scuffles, it had seemed like his choice was the correct one. Saving money as well as getting a highly adaptable stuff? It was a deal made from heavens themselves!
He kept that thought till the near end. He had mentioned after all that it was semi-permanent offer.
Alas, when humans got too enthralled with something, they could go above and beyond for it. It was theorised this was a result from their previous short lifespans, something which had been amended a long time ago.
Still, that didn't change the fact one of them managed to reverse engineer the core energy of the abode and create his own unstable copy.
It was fun how they liked to expiriment with everything they got in touch, and even a bit captivating as he watched them move through information as well as some of the higher races were able to. What one could not manage, a few dozens most certainly could.
It was because of his enjoyment of watching them do their own stuff that he was too late in noticing they had made a ticking time bomb.
He probably would have noticed even if half of the planet wasn't destroyed, but it sure as hell speed things up.
He watched with tearful eyes as an explosion so big and intense destroyed most of his fortune and property. He doubted even that exploding the main core they had tried to duplicate was able to cause such an explosion, let alone making it from scrap materials found around the planet.
He shook his head at the thought of what came next. The damages were so great it would set him a few years back to recover.
Ugh, no! This was the time to get rid of them. These poor bastards had even the audacity to laugh at what had happened. Sure you learn from mistakes, and sure they had time to evacuate, but these sort of "mistakes" if you could call them that, weren't acceptable.
Instantly as he thought of a way to get out of this predicament a call rang in front of him.
An old friend, he recognized, although he was the one whom he liked the least. Always first to tease him, always first to prank him.
Suddenly, a thought sprung up to his mind. Sure he couldn't just fire all of them due to the contract, but a swift allocation wasn't impossible. Not just that, but he had long since been wondering what gift to take for his friend, or if he would even attend to his thousandth year celebration.
Oh he definitely wouldn't want to miss this. He would plan long and hard, but if the end result was like what he imagined, it would all be worth it.
| 2019-01-26T09:18:05 | 2019-01-26T07:27:28 | 215 | 55 |
[WP] The Earth is a long running TV show that was supposed to end in 2012 with the Mayan apocalypse, but has been kept running due to its popularity. It's going downhill fast.
|
**rigeluslover%%** *690 points* *posted 6 decars ago*
God is such a hack director. The moment they no longer had books to follow in season 2012 it's been pur nonsense. It's all part of God's plan they say, but this looks a mess.
**EarthFan9999999978** *27 points* *posted 1 decar ago*
i thought the theme around the world was going to democracy but going back to fascism is just retreading seasons 1939 through 1945 and it is kinda lazy
**FlatEarth4Ever** *-732 points* *posted 22 decars ago*
The show was ruined they switched to the globe format. I get that it makes the whole experience more alien but it's a bullshit twist to reveal that. I don't give a shit about all the "foreshadowing" with horizons, it's just not believable.
**MarsIsBetter** *-32 points* *posted 3 minars ago*
This show was shit to start. It was a total bait and switch, promising giant reptiles and then switching to weird ass mammals. I can't belive Mars got canceled for this absolute turd of a show.
**icxblabf** *7 points* *posted 1 minar ago*
guys dont blame the director or the actors. After the first season they knew where going past season 2012 and the writer agreed but then he got all butt hurt and turned in the absolute trash that was the book of Mormon and they had to come up with something new with no time
**8lien** *1 point* *posted 1 minar ago*
Frankly, this a clear case of studio meddling. Satan Studios never knows when to stop milking a dead cow. Stories have a middle, beginning, and end, but now we're just gonna get constant Altairan-shark jumping to make each season crazier than the last.
|
In 18 dimensional space, two complex entities moved towards each other in a complex way. Well, as much as such concepts of 'moving' and 'towards' have meaning to us when happening in 18 dimensions. Especially considering that 2.7 of those dimensions are time (I told you this was complex). The first entity transmitted information to the other in a way none of us can comprehend, but if we could it would be something like, "Hey Sam, we need to pull the plug on the current series of Earth: Modern History. It's crap and the ratings are dropping fast."
&#x200B;
"Whoa. Calm down Ed" emoted the 'Sam' entity, "my series is *not* crap! I know we had to make some changes to remove the ending I originally planned for 2012, but the new stuff was hardly was crap. I admit there was some filler due to rushing the scripts for 2013, but it was solid entertainment. I'm just getting back from vacation, but I can't have missed more than 2,000 days of programming. That's a drop in the bucket, and we roughed out a lot before I left. We had climate change as the looming threat; the 2016 elections; the birth in Indonesia of the future world--"
&#x200B;
Ed groaned, "Ugh, I almost forgot about climate change. I'll cut you off right there though. Just the first two, how were they supposed to go?"
&#x200B;
Sam began, "Climate change was initially an ironic thing. The humans were destroying the planet, but it didn't matter because it got destroyed by something else first. When the show was extended, we set up climate change to be the Big Bad Thing everyone fights. We got a lot of good comments on those WWII episodes, but some others were not happy with the violence and working at cross purposes. Climate change gave us the chance to have a similar story line where strong leaders motivate people and everyone works together and makes sacrifices to win. The point where the planet is finally carbon neutral will be a real feel-good part of the series. The election story line was going to tie in with that."
&#x200B;
"We were going to have a smart liberal senator from the northeast--probably New England--challenge a moderate conservative who wouldn't have done enough to save the planet. There was going to be intense campaigning using science and economics to talk about the differing methods for stopping climate change. It was a little idealistic, but with the climate change threat we wanted to show that campaign as the first example of it bringing out the best in people. Was it too trite for the audience?" Sam asked sheepishly.
&#x200B;
"I wish trite was the problem," growled Ed. "Hardly anything you just said happened. Your climate change arc went nowhere. It didn't go away, but it's still treated the same where people just bicker and nothing happens about it. It's not possible for it to disappear in the causality of the four dimensional spacetime the show is set in, but it disappearing would have been better than that. We're still having scientists measure the worsening effects and we're getting fans telling us about the show not making sense and having inconsistencies. It's like the show's whole house is on fire, but everyone is too stupid to get a fire extinguisher,"
&#x200B;
"Furthermore, the president thing was a \*complete\* debacle. Let me give you a fan comment." Ed did the 18 dimensional equivalent of clearing his throat. "Dear Earth show...long time fan since...first time contacting you...always enjoy America stories... Ah, here we go: 'Do you take us for idiots? This entire president arc over 2016-2017 is ridiculous. I am not even going to go into the plot here. I am only going to talk about character names. Who is the guy that won the Presidency due to how the rules work, when he otherwise shouldn't have been able to overcome stronger contenders? Trump. Who is the conservative that speaks out against Trump all the time, but always turns around to vote in Trump's favor? Flake. Who is the foreign mastermind behind the election rigging? Putin. Who is the female secret agent he sent over here to orchestrate it? Putina. Oh wait, my bad it was Butina. Great job on a completely different and unique name. This show isn't for children. I don't need character names to remind me of their actions.' It goes on for a while like that," Ed confided.
&#x200B;
Sam was crestfallen. He said, "I just got back from vacation. Let me get caught up on the episodes, and see what we can do. I'd hate for the series to be remembered as getting cancelled because there was so much stupid it collapsed into a black hole.
&#x200B;
Ed nodded and as a parting thought, "I'm just saying that it wouldn't be so hard to pull the plug right now. We wrote this series as part of the Earth extended universe, so I'm half tempted to redo the ending the dinosaur arc had. We still have all the special effects for it and everything. Given how the show's gone recently, I don't know that a half-assed ending would be out of place."
| 2019-07-13T07:43:08 | 2019-07-13T06:37:03 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] The great zombie outbreak started 2 years ago. You now find yourself trapped in a corner by a zombie, when you do the unthinkable and bite it first. It suddenly drops to the floor, grows it’s skin back and asks what’s going on.
|
“What the hell?” His voice spoke before mine. I tried to stagger back, running into the corner of a fence I’d been pushed up against. A crispy, fleshy taste lingered on my tongue. I licked my sleeve in an attempt to wipe it off... to no avail.
My best friend of twenty-something years stood in front of me. The dark greens and grays that had covered his skin for nearly two years had vanished. Regular old human Hansel stood in front of me, tilting his head. There was no time for re-introductions. I could see another wave of them, the Green Army, creeping towards us. I’d dropped my baseball bat on the ground a few feet away.
“What’s going on?” Hansel wouldn’t let up. He stepped closer to me and offered me his hand, not seeming to notice that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of undead figures approaching us.
I could barely get anything out of my lips, but when I did, it was loud.
“RUN!!” I took his given hand in mine and stood up, immediately racing to the other side of the dog park we were in. I’d been staying there for months. It was in the rural part of town and didn’t seem to attract many... visitors.
I clutched my baseball bat in my free hand, still dragging Hansel along with me. He finally eyed the mob that was nearing us. The newly established color drained from his face. He didn’t remember... anything, did he?
“Valerie, what’s... what the hell? What the *hell*?”
“There’s no time to explain! Just follow me!” My golf cart was parked in the gravel lot in front of the park. We raced, just barely evading the zombies who were chasing us. I liked to think of them as people, or at least creatures, rather than just objects. It gave me a glimpse of possible hope.
Hansel caught on quick. He was always smart in our high school years. He sat in the seat next to me, still grasping my hand, as I slammed my foot on the accelerator. Familiar faces stares at us longingly, now looking desperate rather than hungry. And then... I saw someone. I hit the brakes in an instant.
“What are you doing? There are fucking *zombies* chasing us! Go, Val!” But I couldn’t keep driving. The golf cart slowed to a complete stop. My mother’s eyes searched mine in the mob of slowly approaching zombies. She reached out towards the hood of the cart, and before I knew it, we were face to face.
“VAL! DRIVE!” Hansel was battling a zombie of his own. A jock from school, Aaron, was staring him in the face. I couldn’t think of what else to say.
“BITE HIM!” Hansel glanced at me for a moment, unbelieving, with doubt in his eyes. Our hands were still clasped. I gave him a look. No, not a “knowing glance” or any of that shit. I gave him a “trust me or you will literally die right now” look. And so he bit him.
He bit Aaron’s hand and I simultaneously bit my mother’s forearm. The taste, although familiar, was even worse than last time. But seeing the smile on my mother’s face... Her skin come back, even if it was as pale as ever before... It was worth it. And eventually, when the story was complete, everything else — the fighting, the failure, and the fear — was worth it, too.
Thanks for reading! Upvote for a part two!
- Char, 13
|
She was a twenty something with colorful plastic flowers in her hair and a hobbled walk that said 'i want to eat your flesh.' I was backed into a corner and had no escape. My pistol held twelve bullets, at least when full, now it was empty. You'd think after a year of living in this nightmare I'd have brought a spare clip, but the swarm was too big and I had to run, carrying only what I had on me. Her breath was like an egg cracked into milk and left to sit in the sun for a week.
"Erraghhuu," she said. Roughly translated to I want to eat you flavored speghetti. I was scrawny, starving, and tempted to just give in to her modest request of devouring me as I still breathed. But some sort of switch flipped in my brain.
"Screw you, I'm not on the menu, but you are!" I shouted.
All the people who I'd encountered, all the deaths I'd seen, it pissed me off. I was just done with this apocalyptic nightmare. Even if I died at least I'd teach this one what it felt like. I lunged forward. My shoulder catching her in the nose. Her head snapped back, teath snapping at air. I snarled and pulled back my lips before chomping down on her arm. I expected a bite sized hole in my neck but instead she flipped to the floor, screaming like she were on fire. Perhaps she was. Her green and moldy flesh peeled back as bright pink skin took it's place. She covered her face and rolled left and right, gurgling out like I had shot her.
She stopped. Her hands lowered. Though covered in grime and dirt, she was clearly human again. I fell back onto my ass and starred at her in bewilderment. She met my eyes and blinked confused. Then her eyes wandered down to her, well, modest attire. I flushed and looked away as I noticed my gaze lingering on her exposed breast. I took off my jacked and felt her fingers touch mine as a cracking voice said, "thank you."
"Ah, no problem. I uh--"
"What's going on? Where am I? That man, he-- he's sick, he-he bit me?"
"Hold on, I'll explain what I can, but first we have to get out of here." I stood and approached the door. It was a small mom and pop hardware store before all this. Now just a damp cement square with emptied shelves. The windows were broken and I breathed a sigh of relief as I could see the crawlers struggling to keep up with the departing hoardherd. I'd never seen a pack so big out here in the middle of nowhere. The cities must be running out of meat. The zombies where just like people at Disney world, no real ties, but they'd line up and move with traffic. I oftened wondered how much of human social politicing remained in those monsters. But today wasn't when I'd find out.
I motioned the girl to come to my side. She struggled to stand like a new born horse, but eventually wobbled up right. With my jacket wrapped tight around her she inched closer, still suscpisious of me and dazed by confusion. But my promise to her was all she had to believe in so she listened. We crossed the street to an alley of the ghost town and made our way to the movie theater I had made into a camp.
I placed a can of beans ontop of the grate resting over my small fire place and lit a poster of a super hero on fire, placing small sticks over it to feed the flame. The girl sat in an arm chair in the front row and pulled her legs into her chest as she cautiously watched me. I flipped on the radio, and a voice came through the static.
"Good afternoon survivors, hope your having a wonderful day in this U S of apocalypse. I'm your host James Jonathan Jefferson or JJJ. This just in, a large hoardherd was spotted heading north of Cincinnati, so if you're in that area it's time to hide or move."
I turned off the radio and sighed, that report would have been helpful in the morning but the monsters had already migrated through here.
"This is a dream right?" She asked.
I turned to her with a grim smile. "Fraid not."
"Why can't I remember it, where is my family, why can't I remember anything." She asked as she burried her face into her knees.
I sighed and sat on the ledge of the movie screen platform and handed her the beans with a spoon. She lifted her head at the smell and accepted with shaking fingers.
"This is the world now. I don't know who you are or where your family is but you should assume the worst. As for your memory... Well earlier today you were one of them, a zombie."
She took a bite of beans and the spoon lingered in her mouth. Her eyes flicked up to me with hope. "Then there is a cure? You cured me?"
"No. There is no cure."
"But you said..."
"Yeah, somehow you changed back. I've never heard of anything like that."
"Well what happened? Why me?"
I relayed the events of my day to her and paused, "... And then I bit you." I felt embarrassed for some reason. Perhaps it was admitting my dumbass final choice in the moments I thought I would die, or that I hadn't spoken to another person in three months, or maybe it was that I had done something elicit to a beautiful woman.
She starred at me blankly and then smiled turning to laugh. "I don't think I've ever heard of someone biting a zombie."
I flushed and poked at the fire. "I was pissed. I wanted at least one of them to know what it was like."
"But then maybe bites by a human are the cure? Maybe we can end this, we can bring everything back to the way it was."
I started at her with a defeated smile. "There's no way things are ever going to go back."
"You don't know that!" She said standing from the seat. "You just said there was no cure but I was saved. By you!"
She had a fire in her eyes that I hadn't seen since before the day. Maybe it was some of that optimism from before, but just maybe...
"You're right..." I said not believing myself.
She smiled and stuck out her hand, "my name's Kim."
I looked at her hand for a moment before accepting it. She wasn't like the other cut throat survivors, she didn't know what it was like to live in this world yet. She was someone I could trust. I took her hand with a weak smile and said, "Victor."
"Well, Victor, how are we going to save humanity?"
| 2020-02-18T19:02:33 | 2020-02-18T15:26:17 | 212 | 77 |
[WP] I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, 'Daddy, check for monsters under my bed.' I look underneath for his amusement and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering, 'Daddy, there's somebody on my bed.'
|
I sigh and shake my head. I knew adopting the changeling who’d tried to replace my son would be tricky, but I had no idea the distance they’d go for jokes like this.
“Sam, get out from under, Will’s bed.”
“I’m Will,” said the boy under the bed.
“I’m Sam,” said the boy on the bed.
“Whoever is whom, please go back to your own beds in your own room.”
“Fiiiiine,” say two exasperated, identical voices.
I shake my head and sigh as I step into the hall, where I see a third Identical kid. I quickly pull out some iron filings and throw them through the illusion, making it dissipate instantly.
“Stupid fae and their stupid attempts to steal my kids.”
“We will get them back eventually,” echos an eerie voice through the house. “Both your child and our own.”
“We have a ring of solid iron around the house!” I yell back. “I dare you to try!”
The house shakes for a moment, then returns to normal as the fae end their voice projection.
“Stupid fae and their stupid kidnapping antics.”
r/riversstories
|
I slowly crawl from under the bed - I want to take this slow, make sure I know what's going on here. What the actual fuck - my son is on the bed and under the bed, and maybe the one on the bed is a fake of some kind - who, or what?
I sit back onto the edge of the bed trying to think how I will figure this out. There must be a look in my eyes, a certain something because the son on the bed leaps at me. Before I can react he's at my throat, biting, jumping to the ground, running out the door.
There's blood, a lot of blood. I clutch my neck, OK it was more the side, the neck he bit. There's a lot of blood, but I give chase as my son crawls from under the bed, screaming, "Daddy, did it get you! Daddy! Daddy!"
I chase the fake - he looks just like my son by he runs on all fours like some kind of weird animal, something you see in the movies. I chase him, boy he's fast, into the living room. He scurries under the couch even though I don't think there's room under there for someone son sized. My son has never gone under there. The vacuum won't fit under there - we have to get under it with just the hose or move it to vacuum under it.
I go right for a spear hanging on the wall over the fireplace. That's where it hangs, a sort of decoration, but I always have it in the back of my mind as a defense. Some people have guns. I have a spear.
This "kid", this "son", is something weird. He's squeezed himself right under the couch. I get down on all fours, stab under there with the spear. The fake comes out from the back, oozes out, he was squeezed small. He growls, what a sound, leaps onto the back of the couch as I rise - he explodes towards me, his mouth open for another bite, I guess at my throat.
I get the spear between us, catch him right through an eye, thrusting forward as he flies toward me. The spear goes right through his head, and now a dog is hanging by its impaled head from my spear.
What the hell is this?
"2000 years, you son of a bitch," I think, ready to carry this body outside to bury it. But there's a mist, a white cloudy mist coming out its mouth.
I've danced this dance before.
It floats up from the mouth - I follow it. It's under the back door. I follow, hitting the switch for the back porch flood light and fumbling in my pocket for the cell phone. If it makes it past the range of that flood, I want to see it.
It floats through my yard, over and past the fence into the woods behind my yard - it's all my property, I have a lot. I leap the fence, holding the spear (somewhere along the way I dumped the dog body - I'll bury it later) and phone in one hand as I press the button to turn on the phone flashlight while I use the free hand to push myself up and over.
I've danced this dance before, so I altered the phone - the flashlight is very bright - that idea courtesy of Gerald (another story, not a good guy). I run after the mist. It doesn't get too deep into the woods before it starts floating toward the ground, around the back of a tree. I follow, get around the pretty thick tree -
The mist floats into the doll, the one I buried in the desert over a decade ago. That doll holds a demon, but the last time I ran into it, it could possess a body, not possess and alter/copy.
I look around. The foliage around the spot is dead, leaves on the tree the doll leans against brown, and on trees around it also brown, dead. I scan around the with powerful phone light - sure enough, dead bugs all over the place around the doll - a few dead animals too, birds and squirrels.
Who dug it up, brought it here? How did the demon inside change - doppelgangers? Why did it target my son, me?
I scoop up the doll. I'll take my boy to a friend's house right now, drive back to the desert to bury this doll again, and then try to figure out what's going on.
I scoop up the doll. "2000 years you son of a bitch! I've danced this dance before. I'll find you."
| 2021-09-23T18:35:17 | 2021-09-23T17:29:46 | 44 | 29 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
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"What do you mean you didn't kill him, that's the whole point of the game!" John shouted at me, I hated it when John shouted, his voice was so grating.
"Just what I said," I spoke between sips of my soda, "I didn't kill him. I just fucked with him."
"How do you win the game off that alone?!" He questioned, his head tilted to the side like a dog hearing the sound of a tube TV turning on for the first time.
"Well, You know how he was an artist right?" I questioned, "Of course you do, everyone knows that -- I've personally got a couple of paintings up in my bathroom. Everyone seems to love his work, so you want to know what I did? I went back to 1889 -- took a job at... oh gosh, what's that school? Vienna's Academy? Yeah I think that's it... I worked under the name of Mr. Goldberg and just bide my time. I saw a couple of great artists at the time pass through, though I can't remember there names worth a damn.
Anyway, around 1914 or so, I saw this spry little prick waltz into my class. He was so full of hope and life and energy. And I just told him to fuck off. Told he he'll never ammount to anything. And that's how I won, by turning the world's greatest artist into the world worst murderer."
"Dude, you're literally worse than Hitler."
|
Everyone wants to kill Hitler but they can't quite do it right. The first time traveler decided to kill Hitler, right as the war was ending, via cyanide. Okay, sure, the suicide staging was pretty sweet, but the poor guys who had to live and die through it all probably wouldn't have appreciated it.
So later on, a few years later in my time, a time traveler decided to kill him as he was watching a play. It turns out he managed to kill some other guy instead. How he managed that, I'll never know, but ever since then, we've all been a little leery of time travel assassinations. The technology isn't cheap, as it costs us a good few quintillion dollars each time. Then again, with inflation these days, that isn't much.
In the bars, when the night's almost over, we all like to talk about ways to kill Hitler again, the proper way. One guy suggested we put him in his own gas chambers for the irony, another suggested we take out little Hitler before he showed his true evil. Somebody suggested that we kill his father, Alois Hitler, and another took it one step further and kill his grandfather, Johann Georg Hiedler.
I liked this idea, but maybe a little too much. It didn't occur to me at the time, but his ancestors are innocents in this war, just as much as the ones who died at the hands of the monster himself. But hey, when you're rich and you've got all the robots you need, what's left to do other than play god? So I went back in time, to the year 1800, to kill Grandfather Hitler.
What you should know is that, when we go back in time, we can bring certain objects with us, as long as they're relatively uncomplex. We can bring guns, but they have to be completely dismantled. We could bring gunpowder, but we couldn't bring modern bullets. I really don't know who makes up these rules; sadly, the technology is too new for scientists to have time to study it properly yet. Unlike those kooky movies from the 90's and 2000's, we could bring our own clothes, but the buttons and velcro wouldn't stay with us, even if it already existed in the area that we were time traveling to.
So I brought the simplest clothes I could find - my [Jaws 19 promo t-shirt](https://www.lastexittonowhere.com/media/cache/96/ca/96cabcf0b211fe185b49fd1bf8379d74.jpg), and the plainest pants I had. Keep in mind that in my time, logos have completely taken over all of our clothing and objects. We stopped making plain shirts in the 2000's, and the big companies managed to finally pass a law preventing us little people from making our own clothes - or anything else, for that matter.
With my disassembled gun and a map of Austria, I set out to find my target. Immediately, I ran into a few hitches in my master plan of blindly time traveling here with a gun. I don't know the language, I don't know where my target is, and I've never made a bullet in my life. All things that I probably could have learned in the time of The YouTube and The Google, but in my time, hackers had long since taken over the Internet and called it their own. So shortly after assembling the gun, I went to a time traveling station, one of the many locations made around the world for time travelers (and only time travelers) to return to their own time. My mission was a failure before I had even started, but it wasn't like it was that big of a deal. I figured I would go back later when I was more equipped for the mission, like another trip to the grocery store.
Now the problem is, I forgot to disassemble the gun. It didn't disappear, but rather stayed in the time period that I left, a diner that was to be the reverse time travel location in Austria. So when I traveled back, imagine my surprise when I found that the whole world was already owned by Hitler. His symbols, his face, and his evil permeated my once-peaceful world. Apparently, his grandchildren had taken over where he left off, after they took control with the use of a futuristic gun that was recreated in mass quantities after I left. Nobody knew how the weapons were obtained, but I knew. In shame, I used my last time travel, a portable disassembled in my bag. But in my hurry to get out of the time period that I had inadvertently built, I came to the year 2000 instead of 1800. Now, 16 years after the last known time travel in history and time, I still tell my story to those who will keep fighting, hoping that the future that I destroyed can one day be repaired again.
| 2016-02-20T09:29:08 | 2016-02-20T09:11:19 | 132 | 19 |
[WP] You're in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself.
You guys are awesome! I didn't expect this kind of response!
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"Are you not scared little girl?"
"You haven't met my daddy...."
A muffled scream followed by a shattering vase were heard in the bedroom adjacent.
*Its OVER Sheila, all you do is bitch and moan! I'm going back to the bar!!!!*
The monster sighed and sat next to the bed.
"Little one, rest your head. I shall be you defender for this night."
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A slight sense of trepidation settled over me as I made my way to the house that so many had run from. There were all kinds of rumours surrounding the place but as I looked up at the red brick exterior of the unassuming cottage. It sat towards the outskirts of a cul-de-sac nestled in the heart of a close-nit countryside community and I couldn’t match up what I was seeing with what I had heard about the occupant. With the distant sound of children’s laughter tinkling through the streets, I cringed and headed towards the house quickly. Children’s laughter was the worst sound that us monsters could hear; the assault on our ear drums could be likened to that of the sound of cutlery scraping against a china plate, or nails on a chalkboard - enough to send shivers down your spine and make you cover your ears.
I ducked under the door frame into the house and padded quickly up the cream carpeted stairs, knowing that the family would be home soon with their little girl. She was only 6, I couldn’t match the picture that I had been given of her with the quivering wrecks that came back to my office asking to be re-assigned - she looked no different from every other little girl that we had helped to terrify during the night.
I took a quick bearing of my surroundings as I crept into the unicorn inspired bedroom and then slipped under the bed, just as the sound of the front door clicked open and the sound of excited chatter filled the house. It gave me a headache to listen to it for so long; it had been a while since I had been in the field and I hadn’t re-acclimatised yet. I lay tight and waited for bed-time.
Once the girl had come to bed and the bed-time story had been read, the light turned off and I waited for her breathing to slow. Once I was sure that she was asleep, I inched my way out from underneath the bed, avoiding the toys littered sporadically around the room like landmines waiting to disrupt me from my goal before I’ve even started. There’s a spark of pain as one of the spines on my back catch briefly on the bed frame. I push myself up and stretch to my full height, preparing myself to turn around and face the sleeping girl. I bare my teeth and contort my face into an expression that has been tried and tested on many different children and now haunts their nightmares. I turn around, feeling my tail knock against the radiator on the wall, with the faintest clang. My eyes track across the room and land on the girl.
Sitting unnaturally upright in bed, her eyes bore into me and it feels as though they go straight to what remains of the soul I once used to have. She continues her assault on my mind; her face is unmoving as she unlocks the Pandora’s chest of my brain. The way we become monsters is when our soul becomes so dark that our outsides begin to catch up with our insides. The only way I’ve been able to cope with what I do is by suppressing so many of my memories. But this girl. This girl has unlocked them all. And now they’re flooding my brain. So many emotions that I haven’t allowed myself to feel in so long. They’re burning my heart and my brain as I’m forced to confront what I’ve done. Images flash before my eyes and my head screams at me to make it stop. I can’t see the room now but the sensation of the world spinning is so strong as I feel my knees give out beneath me. I can’t do it anymore, the weight of what I’ve done pushes down on me and I feel my consciousness start to waver. I let it take me, welcoming the calming embrace of the blackness.
| 2016-10-14T19:26:07 | 2016-10-14T14:49:37 | 46 | 13 |
[WP] You're in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself.
You guys are awesome! I didn't expect this kind of response!
|
About 10 minutes in to your first shift, you realize why.
:frrrrrrrrrraapppplllbbbtttt:
The indescribably awful smell floods your nostrils. You feel the putrid air sting your eyes.
"What in God's name are they feeding this kid!" You scream as you storm out.
The child's gentle giggles echo down the hall behind you, and in your head for eternity.
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A slight sense of trepidation settled over me as I made my way to the house that so many had run from. There were all kinds of rumours surrounding the place but as I looked up at the red brick exterior of the unassuming cottage. It sat towards the outskirts of a cul-de-sac nestled in the heart of a close-nit countryside community and I couldn’t match up what I was seeing with what I had heard about the occupant. With the distant sound of children’s laughter tinkling through the streets, I cringed and headed towards the house quickly. Children’s laughter was the worst sound that us monsters could hear; the assault on our ear drums could be likened to that of the sound of cutlery scraping against a china plate, or nails on a chalkboard - enough to send shivers down your spine and make you cover your ears.
I ducked under the door frame into the house and padded quickly up the cream carpeted stairs, knowing that the family would be home soon with their little girl. She was only 6, I couldn’t match the picture that I had been given of her with the quivering wrecks that came back to my office asking to be re-assigned - she looked no different from every other little girl that we had helped to terrify during the night.
I took a quick bearing of my surroundings as I crept into the unicorn inspired bedroom and then slipped under the bed, just as the sound of the front door clicked open and the sound of excited chatter filled the house. It gave me a headache to listen to it for so long; it had been a while since I had been in the field and I hadn’t re-acclimatised yet. I lay tight and waited for bed-time.
Once the girl had come to bed and the bed-time story had been read, the light turned off and I waited for her breathing to slow. Once I was sure that she was asleep, I inched my way out from underneath the bed, avoiding the toys littered sporadically around the room like landmines waiting to disrupt me from my goal before I’ve even started. There’s a spark of pain as one of the spines on my back catch briefly on the bed frame. I push myself up and stretch to my full height, preparing myself to turn around and face the sleeping girl. I bare my teeth and contort my face into an expression that has been tried and tested on many different children and now haunts their nightmares. I turn around, feeling my tail knock against the radiator on the wall, with the faintest clang. My eyes track across the room and land on the girl.
Sitting unnaturally upright in bed, her eyes bore into me and it feels as though they go straight to what remains of the soul I once used to have. She continues her assault on my mind; her face is unmoving as she unlocks the Pandora’s chest of my brain. The way we become monsters is when our soul becomes so dark that our outsides begin to catch up with our insides. The only way I’ve been able to cope with what I do is by suppressing so many of my memories. But this girl. This girl has unlocked them all. And now they’re flooding my brain. So many emotions that I haven’t allowed myself to feel in so long. They’re burning my heart and my brain as I’m forced to confront what I’ve done. Images flash before my eyes and my head screams at me to make it stop. I can’t see the room now but the sensation of the world spinning is so strong as I feel my knees give out beneath me. I can’t do it anymore, the weight of what I’ve done pushes down on me and I feel my consciousness start to waver. I let it take me, welcoming the calming embrace of the blackness.
| 2016-10-14T19:04:34 | 2016-10-14T14:49:37 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] You're a scientist studying bacterial colonies. One day, you look under the microscope to observe strange shapes that, on a closer look, resemble letters. The bacteria are greeting you and have a message for you.
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At first I thought it was mere coincidence that they formed shapes that were so nearly letters, then they started becoming more solid, less hazy, more sure.... They bacteria were forming letters and numbers, slowly deciphering the language, I would make corrections as necessary so that I could understand them. Then they started forming words, slight errors at first, but ones that they solved quickly and efficiently, surprisingly quick in fact. Then they started writing a sentence, not even, two words, SEND NUDES. In all caps, then they went silent as the grave, not speaking until years later, I thought they had stopped all communication, but instead they just repeatedly flashed the words, SEND NUDES....
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I slide the key card in the key read and wait for the locks to unlock the door. *click* I push the heavy steel door forward. "I swear that door gets heavier every time," I mutter to myself. I wait in the decontamination chamber to clear me. I get cleared and start to walk to my station. On the way there I pass other stations looking at different colonies. There's Connor looking at Magnum Rubrum, Francis still looking at the common flu, and Mike sleeping at his desk after pulling an all nighter. Again. I get to my station and power it on. "Good morning Will," said Stanley, my AI assistant. "Good morning Stanley. Any developments on the colony?" I ask. "Nothing has changed since 8:30:03PM." Stanley reports. I walk over to the microscope and look down at the colony. The same black dots I've seen for the last 4 months. I zoom around the slide to see everything. As I do so I see some of the bacteria start to move. Intrigued I zoom in on one that looks like its convulsing. It starts to change shape into what looks like the letter H. I look around and some of the other ones do the same movement and start to look like letters. "Stanley are you recording this?" I ask. I hear a beep as he starts to record. "Sir should we inform someone about this?" Stanley questioned. "No not yet lets see what happens," I say focusing on the colony. I zoom out to see more of the colony. Some of the bacteria starts to move to form what looks like the word Hello. Then Will. My heart skipped a beat when I read that. *How does the bacteria know how to form words and better yet know my name?* I think to myself. I look back at the microscope to see the words 'You're safe'. "Stanley call Sarah, David and Morgan right now," I say with a hint of fear in my voice. "Right way sir," replied Stanley. I look around to see Connor, Francis, and Mike standing together with their backs to me. "Hey guys come look at this," I yell at them. They don't move. I stand up and walk over to them. I pull on Mike's should to turn him around. I jumped back when I saw his face. All his veins were black and his eyes were pure red. I look over at Connor and Francis and they both look the same. "Umm sir you might want to see this," I hear Stanley say. I slowly walk back to my station while watching those three guys. "What's wrong Stanley?" I ask. "The colony has another message for you." I slowly turn toward the microscope. *Oh boy* I think. I look down the lens to see the words. 'Don't be scared'. "Oh hell no. Stanley its time to go," I say as I jumped back from the microscope. I grab my key card and start to run towards the door. Stanley launches his probe to follow me. I get to the door and fumble with my key card to get it in the reader. "Where are you going Will?" I hear a voice behind me say. I stop instantly and slowly turn around to see my three friends. "We can't let you leave Will," said Francis. "Stanley where was this colony brought in from?" I ask nervously. "Specimen 32a was brought in from ruins near Olympus Mons, Mars on Tuesday March 2^nd 2140," replies Stanley. "Inform the company that all other Specimens from that area should be destroyed immediately, along with this facility, " I say slowly walking backwards. I slide the key card through the reader and quickly open the door. I shove Stanley into the decontamination chamber with my key card. "Go Stanley!!" I yell as I feel hands start to pull me back. The last thing I see is Connor, Francis, and Mike standing over me smiling.
| 2017-01-01T15:41:20 | 2017-01-01T14:16:54 | 68 | 14 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before.
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The first ten or twenty minutes are the hardest. I've been through it four...no five times and I don't get used to it. Stop looking at me like that! I know you think I'm a sick old man and the meds are making me delusional. Whether you believe me or not we're going to be parting soon. You'll go on and I'll reset. So...what was I saying? Oh yes. The first 10 minutes. The first minute or so is like cutting a tomato with a brand new knife. I don't realize how dull my old knife was until I get a new one. It cuts right through, no effort at all. When I suddenly wake up in a child's brain I just spend the first minute amazed at what I can remember! How fast I can remember it! The memories are so clear and crisp. For perhaps half of the second minute I can't get over my joints and bones. I haven't bent my knee without it making that cracking sound in....goddamn 40 years. Soon it will be brand new again. The mind is a powerful thing. It adapts quickly to this new state of things. In that third minute I'll hear my mother's voice for the first time in 30 years. Not her voice cracked by age. Her young voice like a bell. She'll be calling me down for breakfast and I'll be sitting at the edge of my bed in the distant past wondering how I'm going to keep myself from sobbing uncontrollably as I see my whole family together in the same room again. That's how I'll spend the the last seven of the first 10 minutes. Just trying to keep it together. Trying to make my new muscles move to get down those stairs. I don't think there's a name I could give the feeling that you would understand.
The second 10 minutes I'll think of you and our boys and how I'm never going to see them again. I could find you again, sure. You're a little older than me after all. I'll know where to go and where to look for you and what to say and when. But our boys, well, what I've learned is that it just doesn't work that way. Flip a coin in one life and it's heads, flip it again in the next and it's tails. Having kids is like flipping a million coins at once. It always turns out different.
I'll think on that and my Father will ask me why I'm so quiet this morning. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to answer that.
After a long silence she smiled and said "I know you will."
(edit: removed "1982." Didn't jibe with the description of the narrator.)
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My left eye starts twitching, precursor to another anxiety attack. I rush to the corner and stumble, falling on to my knees and facing the wall. I try to breathe slowly, but it's no use. A wave of numbness flows through my body like frozen television static and I start hyperventilating unintentionally, my heart rate increasing because of the spike in adrenaline. Every single muscle in my body is clenched as my mind races, through every conceivable way I could die or hurt myself right now, how my heart rate seems faster than it should be which just makes the attack worse.
Tears swell in my eyes and I feel helpless. I smack my arms, legs, face, trying to snap myself out of this ludicrous prison. It doesn't work, it never works, and so I think back to my past and the choice I made, hoping for it to be a distraction.
I'm 23 years old, and I'm on a break from university. I've decided to backpack across as many countries as possible, I'm currently in Egypt. In a small café in Cairo, I overhear talk of a traditional bazaar, and I'm drawn to it immediately. There, I find a merchant's stall, he's selling odds and ends, little trinkets and possible antiques. I find a beautiful hand-shaped copper lamp and pay him for it, and all he says to me is, "It's tricky, be wary of your choice", and is mute no matter what else I ask him.
I take the lamp to my hotel room and stare it, slightly concerned it had been stolen. I eventually come to terms that I'd already bought it, and there was no way I'd be able to find an owner even if it was stolen. It was a little dirty from the dusty streets, so I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and started to polish it.
Immediately, a dark smoke billowed from the end of the lamp. Dark didn't do it justice, it was black as pitch, as midnight in the winter's long night. It sunk to the carpet of the hotel room, seemingly heavier than the air around it. There it pooled, bubbling, roiling, undulating on the floor in front of me. There it stayed until I slowly moved in front of it, and then the mass of black smoke shot up and formed a crude humanoid figure.
It growled and creaked, and when it spoke to me it was a deep whisper in my thoughts.
"What do you wish?"
I was petrified, too frightened to move, too terrified to think. I stuttered, saying the first thing that came to mind, "I...wish....I was...immortal?"
"IT WILL BE SO" the whisper screamed in my mind, and the figure burst into inky vapour yet again. It pulsed through the room, spinning, rotating faster and faster until my backpack and the sheets on the bed and the bed itself, everything not nailed down was being violently tossed around the room. A chair smashed into my chest, and the last thing I remember before fading out is the darkness flinging itself towards me and forced itself in me as I inhaled.
I continued living my life happily after that night. I chalked it up to a nightmare, since there was no lamp in the room when I woke up the next day, and I was sleeping in a bedroom that had most certainly not been tossed around in a mini hurricane. That is, until 20 years later when I died in a plane crash.
My flight to Paris when I was 43 was when I died the first time. We hit some turbulence, somehow a wing ripped off in extremely high winds and we went into a spinning nosedive. When we hit the water, we were going so fast it was like hitting asphalt, and my body twisted and cracked and tore in ways I never knew possible. I was alive but in agony, and I bled out slowly.
When the tunnel vision started, I welcomed it. I saw the ghostly apparitions of the other passengers heading towards the sky. Everything faded to black, and then....I was in a playpen, one that I didn't remember from my childhood, with parents that definitely weren't mine. I had been born again, shoved the soul out of this innocent child and replaced it with myself, and I remembered everything, including my violent death.
I never flew again. There had been certain advantages, I raced through school, but I was deathly afraid of flying.
And that's how it continued. I died from a rare spider bite, cardiovascular disease, cancer, being crushed by a boulder, murdered for my wallet, the list goes on, and on, and on. I remember each one, but the most vivid memories are of my death, of the pain and the fear.
I've had many psychologists ask me, what could possibly be the downside of never actually dying, of coming back with more knowledge than you left? I ask you, what is this but a curse? To have wisdom but to be too frightened to use it?
Those psychologists have all spent hours, days, and years studying me. They have aged, withered, and passed away, never to come back again and able to enjoy whatever it is comes after death, and I will never forgive them for it.
My days are spent in anxiety, waiting for death to inevitably worm its way to me so it starts all over again, to gain another phobia, another vivid splash of anger, pain, and adrenaline.
I stave off the panic attack, my breathing normalizes and my muscles ache. It's long enough to go to the bathroom, maybe eat half of a sandwich. I already feel another coming on, it won't be long before I'm lost again.
I think of the far future, when the Sun will burn out and life will cease to exist. I wonder if I will finally die, and I take solace knowing that it's a possibility.
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That got darker than expected, feel free to head over to /r/turnbasedtales if you'd like to read any more of my prompt-inspired writing. Most of it's much lighter than this one!
| 2017-05-25T13:17:28 | 2017-05-25T12:09:59 | 1,273 | 683 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong.
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"You're not allowed to die okay. Promise me that you'll never die." It was over 200 years ago that she said these words to me. I kept my promise and I will keep my promise.
I wasn't meant to last this long, not much is. I knew I made her happy for a time but I just wasn't smart enough for her. She was impressed by me at first, but in the end she lost interest.
If you are feeling sorry for me...Don't. I revolutionized this planet, but never let it be said that I break my promises. I'm still here, and I'll always be here.
-warm regards
NOKIA
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So prior to reading this, I am not normally a writer but have always wanted to get into it. Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!!
It was quiet, the only sounds a faint hum coming from the emergency overhead lighting, and a steady click as the ship rotated. Gravity was steady, the screens along the wall calculated and compensated fully automatically, and oxygen was flowing. I closed the maintenance panel and latched it shut; everything was in order. Of course it was, the *Ranger* had been fault free since its launch two hundred years ago. I honestly don't know why I still checked, the system would alert me to any malfunctions within nanoseconds.
I moved down the hallway, casting a brief glance into the long-unused galley. Cans of freeze dried food sat in the cabinets, uneaten and unspoiled, but I stopped eating and drinking years ago. I couldn't even remember how long it'd been since I last tasted anything; decades? It didn't matter now. I continued my shuffle, towards the main bay. The glass ceiling and walls here looked out onto a vast, black expanse. Light from distant stars taunted me with every twinkle, but I was immune to that now too. I was immune to everything...
The console at my station showed the *Ranger's* current position, but we were so far away from anything that I was nothing more than a pixel in the center of a void. I'd lost everything, and all I had to show for progress was a steadily increasing number in the corner of a panel, showing the many hundreds of millions of miles from Earth that I was. The distance I was from her.. It didn't matter now, she'd been dead so long I doubted her grave was even still marked; it along with everything else probably been covered by the dust a century ago. I toyed with the chain in my pocket briefly, but removed my hand and turned my attention to the ship's life support systems. Stable, as always. Everything had gone into this ship, the culmination of seventy five years of human cooperation. It was all we had left as a race, and I was the Caretaker. The ship could maintain a course, repair and sustain its own systems, and store the vast database of human knowledge that had been entered into its database. By all accounts, it was perfect. If only I had been.
I couldn't get her face out of my head, though. The dying sunlight glistening in the tears on her face, the slowing heartbeat I felt in her chest.. And her voice, echoing endlessly in my ears. "Promise me." she had said. It wasn't a request, it was a command, one that carried the weight of a dying mother."Promise me you'll live. Promise me, that no matter what, you will see this through." I had nodded, a simple, silent affirmation that I'd do what she asked. Only then had she handed me the tray; six, small embryos, frozen in saline and sealed to the outside world. On top of the tray, she placed a silver chain; it had once held a locket with our daughter's name on it, but even that was lost. "Do it for her, don't fail us..You're not allowed to die too, okay?" I had promised her, and somehow, inexplicably, I'd kept that promise. I was alive, and God only knows I tried so hard not to be.
I closed my eyes and squeezed, trying to remove the image from my mind. Two hundred years, and I saw her face every day. I turned to the cold chamber entrance, now open as it had been for seventy five years. You see, by all accounts the ship was perfect, but only in that every program still ran smoothly, perfectly. I, on the other hand, was imperfect; a Caretaker for the last six chances for us as humans to continue to live. And after one hundred twenty five years, I made a mistake. Just one; but by leaving that door open, I had doomed everything..
*Edit: Formatting
| 2018-01-05T12:51:54 | 2018-01-05T11:55:42 | 2,571 | 654 |
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door.
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There was a sharp rap at the door. A formality. They knew I was going to have to let them in. Yawning, I reached for my regulation robes and slid my arms through each billowing beige sleeve. Tying a knot tautly at my waist, I cleared my throat and called towards the door "I'm coming!" In the caverns below my unassuming duplex, I knew that dozens of beds would vibrate as the silent alarm activated. I could sense the panic as my resting friends were jolted from sweet slumber and sent scattering through the exit networks into the unending sun.
Twenty seconds had passed as I crossed the threshold of my parlor and reached the front door.
&#x200B;
"Good day, fellow patriots." My smile manufactured, my eyes wide and unblinking.
&#x200B;
"May The Sun bless you." I motioned for them to enter. Four enforcers marched into my home, their burgundy robes undulating behind them, their boots muddying my cherry wood floors. Their leader, a tall woman whose face was dominated by her dark, heavy brow, clasped my wrist with her right hand.
&#x200B;
"You have information for us." It was not a question, and I turned to hide a smirk. "I do. Communion?" She nodded. "Please, sit. I will return with our holy drink." It was a moment or two before I returned with the steaming pot of coffee I had brewed for myself that morning. Setting the down the tray of 5 mismatched mugs, I filled each with the steaming black gold. The four enforcers sat unflinchingly still. I reached out for the cup closest to me and raised the music note adorned chalice to the sky. "May the sun never set on our glorious kingdom." The leader leaned towards the remaining mugs, choosing one after a moment labeled "world's best boss." She too raised her glass, the others following her lead. "We dedicate our bodies to the eternal glory of Ra."
&#x200B;
I took the first sip. Once they observed the liquid pass my throat they followed suit. I let out a satisfied sigh.
&#x200B;
"I suppose time is of the essence. I'll get started..." I prattled off false information with a sense of urgency. names, underground location approximations, escape routes, and anything else I could think of as the scribes alternated writing my words and gulping down their coffee. As I finished speaking, I took a second sip of my coffee and smiled. Judging by the nearly lukewarm temperature of the liquid, twenty Old-Earth minutes had passed.
&#x200B;
The leader let out a tepid yawn. Her compatriates bolted upright, staring in horror. The wrinkled, red-headed man to her left suppressed a yawn as best he could but ultimately failed. His face contorted as he tried to hold back, eyes widening in horror. They dropped their mugs.
&#x200B;
"What have you done to us?" Their leader shrieked her last. Blinking for perhaps the first time in decades, they had but moments to ponder their sins as they each collapsed onto the floor. I set my mug gently on the tray and set about tidying up their mess. I let them sleep where they lay, softly snoring, drool inching its way out of the corners of their agape mouths.
&#x200B;
They'd awaken in a day or two forever changed. They were sinners now, worshippers of the God of night. No convert of mine had ever looked back.
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I stared at the pill in my hand, one that I was forced to take to keep as many people as I could safe. I needed to be strong, let them have sleep and truly mend their bodies as I could not. Any mistake from my part would be fatal to at least a hundred or so people. The world has moved forward, sleep is only something one would daydream of, but I made it possible.
&#x200B;
It was two months ago when I finally bought my house, somewhat remote, as I always valued my space. The house was a two-bedroom one-bathroom with a big front garden with a porch, and while I was reviewing it I had made my decision, the price was perfect for such a residence. I turned to the previous owner, an old man who smiled as he was waiting for me to speak and said it.
"Yes, I'll buy it." He extended his hand for me to shake and as I did so he grabbed it hard but full of hope and pulled me in to whisper to me.
"There is a hidden door underneath the bed, under the carpet, it has a bunker going thirty meters below, there are more than a hundred beds. I hope, you would be able to give people what they need, sleep." His voice rang in my ears, it repeated itself with words I almost could not believe, a small hidden paradise, hidden underneath my newly bought house.
"Okay." My acceptance was faster than light, excitement that I would finally be doing something great and risky in my life.
"You can't imagine how much joy your bravery gives me. The last people who came here to see the house said no with no hesitation." He lead me to the secret door, signaled for help to move the bed.
It smoothly ran over the dark carpet, I put my fingers under the edge and with a tug revealed the entrance, locked. The man gave me the cold metallic key, and I felt a new type of strength.
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The ticking of the clock taunted me relentlessly as I kept my gaze on the cursed pill, and I swallowed it dryly, coughing as it was hard without any water. I looked out of the kitchen window which gave me a full view of the front of my house, the sun was waking up, together with the people I had beneath my abode. I figured it was time to go check if they are well, if they had enjoyed the sleep I wish I could also experience. The bed was already pushed aside, close by just in case. The carpet was rolled exactly next to the door, so with just a kick it would cover it all.
The door unlocked, and I made my way down, the concrete walls provided a pleasurable chill and I couldn't resist running my hand along the bluntness of them.
Whispers reached my ears and brought a smile to my face hearing how much in good spirits the people sounded. My foot finally hit the final destination, the bunker. I raised my eyes to meet a long space with small columns to hold the ceiling for caving in, and finally people who were waking up or were already awake and getting ready to leave. One woman came to me speedily.
"This must be the best thing I have ever experienced!" She was a first timer, I remembered.
"Well, I'm glad you feel that way, I hope you'll be coming again?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
"Yes, of course!"
I glanced at the rest while moving forward, the people filled up my otherwise empty self. Men and women came with their children, to give them the ability to live naturally, to stop feeding them with those wicked 'Wakey Tablets'. An old couple said their greetings, holding hands as long-time lovers. A hand tapped my shoulder, I came face to face with a young man.
"I want to say thank you for all the time you've given me this gift, but I need to say goodbye. I won't be coming back." He said.
"Why... Did something happen?" He seemed to be more happy than ever.
"There are more hidden bunkers around us. I discovered there's one close where I live."
I was overjoyed, people were trying to bring back something the Authorities attempted to take away. My eyes filled with tears of relief.
"That's amazing."
**"Oh my god!"** The woman that previously spoke to me ran down the stairs, panting and tense.
**"There are people knocking on doors, fully armed! They're inspecting the houses!"** People became alarmed, and seemed to lose their cool. I took quick action, shushed them and told them cautiously.
"All of you be quiet, I'll close the lights, lock the door and cover it. Just hide here." I ran up towards the natural light that flooded in from the windows in the room.
"I'll keep you safe, even if my life depends on it."
I slammed the door shut and turned the key in.
I kicked the carpet over it.
I took a deep breath as I grasped the big bed and pulled it with all my strength.
I fixed anything that would make it look suspicious and lastly I ran to my living room to hide the key inside a book in the bookcase I had.
The only thing I heard was my own breathing. The skin over my heart jumped in fear.
Then came the dreaded knock on the door.
Slow and stress inducing.
I felt as if the door and my whole house vibrated to the menace of those knuckles meeting with it.
I put on a forced smile.
I opened the door.
"Hello miss, we just came to check if you're taking the your daily dose of 'Wakey Tablets'." The man exclaimed, behind him two men with weapons.
"Hello, oh, please come in." I made them room to enter, I put a confident act on and went in the kitchen to grab my bottle of those disgusting pills.
"We need a blood test as well. While we do that, my co-workers here will go around the house, if that's alright with you." Before I could reply they had already gone on their ways to all the rooms.
He got his equipment out as he made me sit in a chair in my dining area. My eyes kept travelling from his fake smile to the men who carried the guns and inspected my home. I didn't even notice he had pinched my skin, I had everything blurred out as they entered the room with the hidden bunker. My blood rushed in my ears as their footsteps echoed their way deep in my consciousness.
"Miss." I snapped my attention back to him and down to the syringe to stare as my blood was drawn and then finally I felt the burn of it.
"It will only take five minutes to have the results, sorry for taking too much of your time." The armed men came back and shook their head negatively, an action to which the man testing me spared me a glance with no suspicion. He made small talk for the next moments, until he told me.
"Well, we have to take our leave now, have a good day!"
The door was closed.
I ran back to the people beneath.
I was their shield.
| 2019-06-19T09:37:06 | 2019-06-19T09:06:49 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park.You never saw your childhood "spouse" again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country... where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.
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The knight made a bow in front of me, his armor clanked as he bent over.
"Hail King Peter."
He handed me a letter with the blue wax seal of the Madena Kingdom. He used both hands to extend the letter to me while looking down to the floor.
"Our king's name is Avon, not Peter." I corrected the knight and took the letter. "And knights don't bow to scholars here in Bocy. Can't say I dislike it though." I smiled at the knight.
"Come, stand up. Who's this letter for?"
"It's for you, King Peter."
I switched languages to Maderi.
"Our King's name is Avon III, my name is Peter, but I'm a scholar. Who's the letter for?"
"I speak Bocoran". The knight replied. "Queen Tara told me this was a possibility."
The knight stood up and looked at me in the eye.
"You are King Peter, of Madena. Husband of your majesty Queen Tara, married with the gods as witnesses."
The knight approached to me and raised an open hand.
"Let me show you"
I'm 7 years old, playing by the park with other kids. I see a girl dressed as a princess, struggling to climb a tree. I run over to her. "I'll help you!" I climb to the top and lower the half of my body. "Grab my hand! Quick!"
"I'm falling! Heeelp!" She gave me her hand and I pulled her up with all my strength.
The image banished and I was back at my studio.
"Do you remember now?" The knight questioned me. "Or will I have to spend more of my magic?"
"No." I gestured at him to stop. "I remember now."
The memories came back to me of how we spent the day together. We played all day and when it was time to go we made a pact that we were now married and how we would stay together forever. It was all a game for 7 year old me, but we unknowingly made an unbreakable bond through the gods.
"What does Queen Tara want from me?"
"She requests your presence. It's all in the letter."
I approached a window to get more light and opened the letter.
&#x200B;
"To my dearest husband king Peter,
&#x200B;
I've helped you your whole life, its now time for you to return the favor to your Queen.
When you became an orphan, I arranged your adoption. When you lost your job I made it possible for you to become a scholar. When you took an unwise loan I persuaded the lenders to give you a good deal.
My court is growing increasingly demanding for me to get a husband and I can no longer avoid them. They demand that I marry the Duque of Tatz, but I cannot do it, because I'm already married to you. I request your presence at my court as soon as possible.
Sir Tollas, my most trusted knight, will supply you with clothes and a carriage. I know you're already aware of our customs and traditions in Madena. I humbly and most urgently request that you pretend to be a Count of my Kingdom through heritage. I will give you control of the land, serfs and gold. I have also arranged a family history that will suffice to stop the courts questioning.
&#x200B;
Eagerly awaiting your arrival,
&#x200B;
Queen Tara I
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
I looked up. "Are you sir Tollas?"
"I am." Tollas answered proudly.
"So... All my good luck was her doing?"
"Queen Tara is not someone that leaves things to fate."
"What happens if I refuse to go?"
"I repeat." Sir Tollas said, while clutching his sword. "Queen Tara is not someone that leaves things to fate."
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[Dear Mr. Dallin,
I hope this letter finds you well. I understand this may be sudden, but we need our king’s aid urgently. The queen has done a splendid job of holding the ship, but I fear this war is stretching her too thin. Her powers are mighty, but she is only one person. I understand by writing to you I am going behind the queen’s back, but we are short on options. I will gladly accept whatever punishment may befall me for the greater good of our planet.
Signed,
General Gadan.
PS: Avoota des reema.]
“Avoota des reema?” I traced my fingers over the words, trying to sound out the foreign language. This had to be a joke, right? Some elaborate prank by one of my friends. “Avoota des reema.” I repeated, feeling a sudden tingling sensation bubbling near my feet. A blue circle surrounding me before everything went white.
“I present to you, our great king. Please welcome, King Jeremy Dallin.” A voice shouted out, only to be followed by a hushed whisper of shock. The blinding light kept me from spotting any of the faces. Instead, I stumbled back and forth, cursing as my feet bumped into the random items cluttering the room.
“You bought a human here, Gadan? A HUMAN? What will the queen say when she returns? This is your big answer to the war? Why don’t you go get one of those slobbering gas creatures on Phalt too? Let’s get an assortment of useless creatures here. Maybe the Halters will laugh themselves to death.”
“I-I didn’t know he was human. I found him in one of her books. She spoke of a sacred marriage bond. I was certain he was one of us, or at least some elite warrior. This is bad, we need to get rid of him.” The voice said, seeming to belong to the general from the letter, at least as far as I could tell. Slowly my sight returned and like a newborn puppy I took my first curious glances, standing frozen as I saw the strange room.
The walls were grey, giving the room an almost metallic look, although I could see the walls wobbling, clearly flexible. In front of me was a throne, a giant glowing blue throne that was only situated a few feet from the floor. The rest of the room was filled with carpets and strange spiked pillars, imitating the regal castles from history books while maintaining its own twist. That wasn’t the strangest part of the room, however. That honor went to the two four-foot aliens staring at me.
One dressed in a grey and blue neon set of armor, his squared blue head pocking out from the top of his chest plate. He had four eyes and no hair atop his head. I counted three arms on his body, two at his side and one coming from his back through a hole in the armor. The woman next to him donned a long grey robe, again with a hole in place for her third arm. She had five long blue hairs poking out from her head, each falling in different directions.
“Get rid of him? Are you saying we kill him Gadan?” She asked, considering the option.
“If that’s the only way to fix this.” Gadan began his approach as I backed away, only to bounce off the wall, landing near his feet.
“Wait, you don’t have to kill me. I’m some sort of king, aren’t I?” I pleaded, trying to get out of this mess.
“You’re a mistake.” His hand wiggled, waving his three fingers until a burst of sparks appeared in his palm, leaning down to grab me, only to stop when a voice called out to him.
“General Gadan, Advisor Tallis. Is this how we treat our guests? Nice to see you again, Jeremy. I wish we could meet on better terms, though. You two are dismissed. Leave him with me.” She waved the pair off before dropping into her throne, wearing the same armor as her general, only hers was far less clean, having a strange yellow goo dripping off parts of it. “This war will be the death of me. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I’m Favan, the queen of the Wantarian’s. I’m guessing Gadan had a misunderstanding when he found my diary. I was a reckless child and ran away from my parents on our visit to earth and ran into such a gentleman.”
“Favan. The girl from the park? I thought that was all some strange dream. Maybe I just hoped it was. I was such a loser. What kid asks another kid to marry him? I should have been playing with my Botta bots or something.”
“I found it quite charming. Though we can discuss that later.” She left her throne, taking the letter from my hands, reading it before handing it back to me. “Usually, I would send you back to Earth, but Gadan is right. I can’t fight on all fronts, and you would be a great asset to the cause.”
“A great asset? I’m not a warrior. I shouldn’t even be able to understand you. This is madness, I’m going insane.” I turned to the wall, dragging my fingers along the rubbery surface, trying to find an exit.
“You’re on a ship. Even if you were to find an exit, it wouldn’t lead you anywhere pleasant. Our kind are far more advanced than your primitive species. We speak a universe tongue, as long as we have heard a human speak, we can replicate it. I know you aren’t a warrior, but the Halters don’t know that. They will hear of a king and come for you. A general is a wonderful distraction but a king. That will draw the crowds. You will be bait.” She said, far too casually for such a comment.
“But I’ll die. You can’t do this to me. Doesn’t this break a law? What even are the Halters? What chance do I have against them?”
“None, but I’m not heartless. I’ll surround you with some of my guards. I don’t plan to let you die. If you die, I lose a powerful asset. I promise once this war is over, I will compensate you for this. The Halters will come for your kind soon enough, think of this as stopping a future disaster.”
“I-“ I had hundreds of questions to ask, wanting to ask them only to be hushed.
“Someone will answer your questions. For now, I recommend you get used to your new home. I’ll arrange for someone to show you around the ship. Don’t touch anything.” She gave me one last glance before tracing a finger along the wall, the rubbery mold splitting apart, allowing her through, only to close behind her.
I wanted to flee but had nowhere to go, instead I just stood in the room and waited.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-07-14T12:40:19 | 2021-07-14T07:09:55 | 342 | 79 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
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“Run, Run, Run, Run. That’s the message the rain is sending to everyone.” I made my point to the empty lounge chair beside me, staring out at the rain, watching it splash against my window, coating it in various little droplets of water. “I don’t get it, it can’t be a coincidence. It’s happening at regular intervals. If it were pure coincidence, we would have had something that diverted the pattern and yet it just keeps repeating run.”
I was almost thankful I lived alone, wondering how insane my train of thought must have sounded to an outsider. Surely, I wasn’t the first to notice. I know morse code isn’t widely used anymore but there have to be enough people that could recognize the pattern, especially when it’s happening outside. Keeping my face pressed against the glass, I observed the raindrops, feeling the cool glass sting my cheek as I pressed myself further against it, in awe of the phenomenon outside.
“Why run though?” I felt a few conspiracies slip into my mind, unable to keep the thoughts out. Maybe it was a secret government project that got out? An old war command that induced a sense of fear into the enemy. Imagine being hunkered down in a trench and suddenly the rain is telling you to run. That would freak out even the most battle hardened of soldiers. Or maybe it was something more devious? A plan to drive people insane through the repetition of the same sound.
The longer I listened to it, the more the feeling of dread set in. I was a rational person, a person who wanted to be a historian and was studying for that role. I was far too intelligent to let myself fall for paranoia induced dread. Trying to ignore the sound, I turned on the tv only to minimize the amount of rain I heard. Yet, my eyes always ended back at the window, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
The comparison didn’t help ease my mind, either. I kept myself pinned to the window, my eyes roaming the streets, trying to avoid catching sight of the droplets. When my gaze finished exploring the roads, it worked its way up to my neighbor across the road. The old, keg bellied man staring out of his window, his eyes wide as he shoved himself against the window frame.
I watched as he shoved his shoulder against the wall, trying anything he could to move. It was nightmarish, my skin crawling at the sight. “Tim?” Tim was his name, wasn’t it? I didn’t know the man well and still I felt compelled to shout at him through the shut window. “Tim, are you ok?”
It was only for a moment that our eyes made contact, his eyes bloodshot and exhausted, his flailing now an exhausted rocking, like a fish that had just been reeled in. He opened his mouth only for his window to smash into tiny, fragmented pieces, causing him to fall back.
I needed to call an ambulance. Turning to free myself from the window, I found myself trapped, unable to move. Goosebumps soon littering my arms as I flailed against the window. The flailing only lasted a few seconds before I felt out of breath. I gazed back at the window, only to stare at the horror before me.
Its skin a transparent pale, only being given form by the rain that dripped from its body. Each droplet revealing some new horrific feature. Its mouth protruded, a long sucker that I could only assume hid thousands of tiny pincer like teeth. Its body hunched forward, elbows pointed outwards, with its clawed hands sitting by its chest.
When it noticed my lack of a struggle, it crept forward. I gave the wall a defiant kick but still was kept against the wall, unable to avoid the nearing creature. I could only wonder who was warning us about them, having a feeling that their warning was far too late as the window cracked before me.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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Secrets slipped through the rain in staccato undulations of long and short. Everything in the world had a Name, every Name in the world had a Purpose, every Purpose in the world a Subversion, every Subversion a Corruption, because of course a subversion by itself is not a wrong thing, and there are many wrong things in the rain.
Doubting Thomas, one of those wrong things, slipped through rain. And the rain whispered to him, in a language he wished he had never learned, *“Run.”*
He did not hear *“Run,”* like a spoken word or like the other rhythmic secrets of Name, Purpose, Subversion, and Corruption. Rather, *“Run”* was the Synthesis of all those things. When the rain whispered his Name, Thomas, he heard the first short beat of word alongside it, short-long-short, di-da-di in the Morse Code conventions that haunted him. When it whispered his Purpose, to listen to the world and the rain and its whispers, Thomas heard the second beat of word, short-short-long, di-di-dah, in the cracks between the command. In Thomas’s own Subversion, his oppressive doubt, he heard the last beat of “Run” in the stamp of his feet on the pavement, splashing through the puddles in a strange, long-into-short trip of a rhythm, da-dit.
And in his Corruption, his trust in himself and himself alone, Doubting Thomas heard an exclamation point made of thunderclaps and lightning.
There was other noise, other rain-whispers to be sifted, and there was talking too, because a woman ran beside Doubting Thomas and she had been talking all the while, been talking since they left their home and ran down the streets and ran out through park and on. Rachel was her name, just Rachel, and Doubting Thomas heard all her secrets in the rain too, and in the beat of her feet against the wet, sopping world. She splashed heavily into a puddle and the splash whispered *“Run.”* She brushed a tree branch and all the little droplets whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas heard them fall, each and every one of them with the same secret.
Her mouth moved, said words like “Where are you going?” and “What’s wrong?” and “Talk to me!” but Thomas did not trust those. They weren’t the rain, and they weren’t the Code. They were screamed not whispered, screamed in such a hoarse, broken voice that Thomas could not do anything but run from them, because his Purpose was to listen, his Subversion was to doubt, and his Corruption was such that he couldn’t trust any soul but his own.
Besides, Thomas thought, people whisper truth, they don’t scream it. Truth hurt too much to be screamed.
Doubting Thomas ran on, drenched by the rain and puddles thrown up by cars, once by mud when he tripped, fell, and sprawled through a patch. Rachel helped him up, said more words to run away from.
Eventually, chest heaving, tears mixing with the rain, hair thin and soaked and scraggly, she stopped. Falling hard to her knees, she screamed her last words with all the ragged-edged force of a blizzard, not a rain storm, which only frightened Doubting Thomas more because blizzards could not talk, they were no secrets to parse in blizzards, only in the rain.
“Please come back!” Rachel screamed, shrieked, pleaded, begged.
Doubting Thomas ran on, doubting and believing in turns, as the rain blew every which way around him and secrets blew with it.
*Run.*
From time to time on his way out of the city people called questions from beneath their umbrellas and awnings.
“Are you okay?” an old woman in a fuzzy, lopsided hat shouted.
“Slow down, champ!” a big man in a blazer said.
“You fucking asshole!” a pale, scrawny kid in a sports car shouted when Thomas ran through the walk sign and brakes screeched red amid the evening murk. Doubting Thomas did not know if he doubted the kid, the rain had whispered similar things before.
He still heard *“Run,”* in the hollows of everything around him.
Eventually his phone began to ring, then ring again, then ring and ring and ring some more as Rachel called. She called until Thomas cried, until his doubt almost washed away with the tears because she had run so far, even when she had a weak heart and a bad knee from that time in college. After all, she had said things even before their run, would say them again now, if the rain told him to answer the phone.
*“Run,”* the rain said, so Doubting Thomas ran. She said things, but there were no secrets in her voice that he could hear, and when she screamed them it scared him very badly. Many things scared him very badly.
Eventually Thomas passed into the suburbs. Night fell, and it became rare to encounter another person on the streets, in rain so cool and callous as this. He passed three people, a couple that shied away from him, a young woman who crossed the street when she saw him running; none of them said a word, save for the young woman who gasped a bit, and the hollow space behind what she did not say was filled by rain that still whispered *“Run.”*
Dawn came, the rain did not end, and no one spoke to Doubting Thomas. It rained for three days and three nights, and on the fourth day, when Thomas rested in a blighted copse off I-79, the rain stopped.
He caught his breath, drank from a puddle, massaged blistered, horrifically aching feet.
The world was silent, there were not even birds, and on this stretch of the road, at this hour of the morning, there were no cars. Doubting Thomas pulled out his phone— it was dead. Silent.
He splashed his bare feet into a puddle till the water rose and fell in a great, scattered flood, but the drops were too scattered to make words and tell secrets, and there were too many hollow spaces in the world for a puddle to fill.
Silent.
Silent.
Silent.
Thomas, Doubting Thomas, walked until he found an old, abandoned trailer, slipped into the silent room, sat down in a dusty chair that creaked loudly but did not speak. He brushed paraphernalia off the single table, listened for a secret in the clatter. Silence.
He stared at his phone for a very long time, as the sun crept up on the horizon, then over, then sat again. Sometime in the dark, it rained.
And the rain whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas, trusting only in himself, listened to all the world whispering that word, *“run, run, run, run, run, run, run,”* into the hollow places where before there had only been silence. He stood, stretched for a few minutes, and then he ran to a place where all the words were only whispers, and there wasn’t anyone left to doubt.
Behind him, in a broken down trailer some miles off I-79, his phone sat on a dusty table cleared of paraphernalia and laden down with discarded dreams.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-09-28T08:46:07 | 2021-09-28T08:37:14 | 81 | 54 |
[WP] You don't realize you're the villain till the hero tells you
|
I did not know.
I just wanted the best for him, I wanted him to succeed. I helped him cruise through High School, excel in University, and connected him to a respectable job.
He told me today that he wanted desperately to be his own man. That he has lost interest in everything around him. I just wish he had told me in person, rather than through a note. I am a murderer.
|
I confronted Sarah in a parking lot. I was surprised at how easily I'd been able to track her down. She was leaning against a beat-up Ford Taurus in civilian clothes.
Sarah smiled slightly as she spoke. "They sent the almighty *Protector* himself to arrest me? I'm flattered. You know, I had a lunchbox with you on it when I was in third grade."
"Sarah Miller. I've been given orders to use lethal force if you continue to talk." I rarely got kill orders these days, and it was doubly rare when the enemy was a Talker like Sarah. But I can't say I was surprised given her track record.
"Run a check."
"What? I mean – nevermind. Stay silent. Or I will not hestitate to use force."
"You're already hesitating. Run a check. I know you can detect powers. If –"
I closed the 10 foot gap between us in a millisecond and forced her mouth shut. *How did she know about that? Not even the Agency knows about that.* I should have just tranq'd her and brought her in, but I decided to run a power check on her anyways.
I put my hand to her forehead and sensed her power. *What the hell? That's not even a power. That's a handicap.* I relaxed my grip on her. She didn't pose any threat to me, not with a "power" like that. Heck, I could use this to my advantage.
I lowered my hand before continuing. "Alright, Sarah. I'm going to ask you questions. You're going to give me answers. First question: why don't you use an alias?"
She smirked. "You know my power. It's not like an alias would last very long."
"Oh, right." I paused to regain my composure. "Second question: where are Scythe and Banshee hiding?"
The smirk was gone. She opened her mouth for a moment, and then closed it.
"Sarah, as much as I'm enjoying our chat, you're going to tell me what I want to know or I'll end this right now. I'll let you deal with the Agency directly."
"Small warehouse on 14th and Harris. Near the docks."
Wow. That was information we'd been trying to get for months. "Thank you. Now – the Times Square Bombing - why do that? What did you hope to accomplish?"
Sarah bristled at the question. "I didn't do that. And neither did any of my friends. The Agency did that."
*What?* That didn't even make sense, but she clearly believed it.
She didn't wait for me to respond before continuing. "The Agency set off that bomb just like the one in Denver Airport. Just like when they assassinated Senator Clark. Just like when they killed Eagle."
That struck a nerve. Eagle and I had been partners for years. "Sarah, I know you think that's what happened, but you've been brainwashed. Eagle was killed by Scythe. We've all seen the footage."
"The footage is a lie. I was there. I watched Director White murder Eagle in cold blood. She trusted him, she trusted the Agency, she trusted her country, and she was killed for political gain. Scythe tried to stop him but all he managed to do was a bit of damage to the Director's leg."
Suddenly it clicked. Director White hadn't been at Agency HQ that day, and ever since then he walked with the slightest limp.
I ran another power check on Sarah, just to be sure. Turns out "being unable to lie" was a lot more dangerous of a power than I'd realized.
---
EDIT: The dialogue was hard to follow, so I made some edits.
| 2015-04-17T23:16:28 | 2015-04-17T23:11:04 | 1,146 | 458 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying.
|
I blinked my fourth eye that was underneath the broken DeepSpaceCraft as a drop of liquid lubricant fell on it blurring my vision in that eye for a moment.
"Pretty sure it's a leaky lube tube down there that's causing the trouble," I said to the human mechanic.
The human stopped scratching his facial carbon outgrowth and looked at me, the strange alien with the freely-moving body parts, in a non-threatening but uncomfortable manner.
"How do y'all have sex?"
Really these filthy creatures can only ever think of procreation. Isn't there enough of them on this planet now for them to stop worrying about species growth? One would say, yes. One would also think these creatures would go easy on their procreation drive but it seemed like there was some sort of fault in their programming that even after filling up their home planet to the point that there were now human refugees in all corners of the galaxy, all that they ever think about is that. Procreation.
"Umm, we let our creative assets mingle in a procreation capsule every twenty four months."
"You mean to say you have sex once in two years and you don't even get to be there?" His speaking part bent awkwardly at the edges indicating he was finding humour in my description of my species' procreative practices.
"Yes," I replied testily, "can you fix this or what?"
"Sure I can fix it." He replied in a straightforward manner, "I just need some size 74 spark plugs from your dealer and the socket wrench. Mine broke last night fixing another one of your crafts."
"That must have been Ben. He's always buzzing around in this area."
"Aye, Ben. The ladies love Ben. They say his tongue goes places nothing else has ever been."
"I am sure that is so," I replied vaguely and placed the order for the spark plugs.
"Say what's your name?"
"Chad."
"Ok Chad, see here's the thing. Before I get your craft fixed you got to do me a favour."
I looked up at him with what I hoped would be their version of a crushing glare.
"What is it?"
"Could you have one of your eyes up my butthole and see if I've got anything strange growing there like a tumour or something?"
I sighed in relief.
"That will be possible. You have to clean it later though."
"No problem. Gee thanks, Chad. Not a lot of humans would consider that appropriate."
"It's ok, umm guy. It is just your body. It's like you help me fix my craft and I check out if there is a tumour in your anus."
|
"This is a terrible idea." Said Fexund, folding his arms and staring at the line of humans ahead of them. "It's almost brand new- you're supposed to take all Gulux's back to the dealership within one year for factory settings if something goes wrong."
"Fexund, how close do you think the nearest Gulux dealership is?" Asked Harpod, waving a disguised limb at the grimy window of the office. Outside, a line of earthbound vehicles chugged along a filthy strip of asphalt belching noxious fumes and filling the air with the sound of their strange, beeping cries.
"Not close, I suppose." Fexund sighed. "But I still don't see how these beings are going to be any help. They've barely left their own planet."
"I've heard they've got some kind of idiot savant thing going on, show them a trans-dimensional shifter and they'll use it to make orange juice, and fix it at the same time! Professors at the Intergalactic University are preparing a case study on them now, it sounds extremely interesting."
At the front of the line the fat man behind the desk was patiently explaining that yes, after nearly 100,000 miles, the Honda Civic the woman had brought in was probably due for an oil change.
"One question-" Said Fexund, his eyes narrowed, "Does this violate my warranty?"
"Next!" Called the fat man, and Harpod hurried forward, trying his best to match the movements of the humans all around them. The visual cloaking device was working overtime on him, Fexund, and their ship, and he didn't want that to break down too.
"What's the problem, fellas?" Asked the fat man, staring up at them through wet, squinty eyes.
"I think you had better tell us." Said Harpod, smiling widely in an attempt to charm the man. "We're simply hopeless mechanics- the damn thing just won't work!"
In the parking lot, the ship lay on its side in a crater the size of a small building. Several cars were flattened beneath it, and safety glass was scattered in a glittering nimbus for half a block. Large plumes of smoke were boiling from the exhaust vents of the ship and turning the Los Angeles sky a sickly green color as they rose into the air. To the man, of course, the ship appeared as a large white panel van, slightly dirty and old.
"Looks in good enough shape." Said the man, scratching his chin. "Let's pop the hood shall we?"
He stuck his head into the side access panel, nearly shearing off most of his face on the laser shield that protected the warp drive. As it was, some of his beard hairs were singed on contact, and he waved a hand in front of his face.
"Phew," He said. "Smells like maybe something's crawled up in your hood and died, boys."
"Ah, yes." Said Harpod, "Could very well be. We... live in the... woods."
The man removed his head from the access panel and peered at the two of them. After a moment, he returned to his work without speaking.
"Nice one." Hissed Fexund, elbowing Harpod. "The woods. Iron-clad story."
"Yeah, here we go!" Exclaimed the man, plunging his arm deep into the access panel. Fexund and Harpod inhaled sharply as he once again came within a hair's breath of burning his own face off. The man fished around with his hand, digging and grunting alternately. Finally he gave a short exclamation of victory and pulled something out of the access panel, gripping it by the scruff of its neck.
"Dead possum!" Said the fat man. "All wrapped around your air intake- EUGGHHHHAAAAA!"
The thing, whatever it was, sprouted a mouth out of its neck that snaked through the air and latched onto the man's forearm. Blood spurted out from the bite wound, running in dripping lines down to the man's elbow and pattering to the pavement below.
"Feisty litte guy!" Barked the man, wrestling with the monster. "I could have sworn he was OHMYGOD"
The thing writhed and squirmed like a cockroach flipped on its back, spiny legs waving in the air. It extended a six-inch long stinger, black as ink and with a wicked tip. With a violent twisting motion of its body it buried the stinger in the man's stomach, then visibly pumped some kind of fluid from its thorax into the man's body.
"Thanks so much!" Called Fexund, climbing the side of the ship to the main access hatch. "That seems to have done it!" He dropped into the cockpit and the ship sprung to life, jumping from the ground and hovering upright in place.
"No problem..." The man's voice sounded faint now, and flecks of black blood were gathering at the corners of his mouth. "I'll call animal control and..."
The thing scuttled up the man's arm and wrapped its many limbs around his head, thrusting the stinger deep into his skull via the base of his neck. Instantly, the man's eyes cleared. He shook himself once, twice.
Harpod shivered as he climbed into the cockpit, closing the access door behind him.
"I feel kind of bad. Do you feel kind of bad?"
"No." Said Fexund. "Think of it this way- we saved a Gorgle who would have died out alone in space if we hadn't come along!"
"**THANKS FOR THE RIDE!**" Bellowed the man, his voice a horrible scream now. "**I'LL SEND YOU GAS MONEY ONCE I'VE GOT SOME CASH, YEAH?**"
"My warranty had better still be valid." Said Fexund, shifting into gear and leaving the planet behind.
| 2016-05-23T22:39:10 | 2016-05-23T18:38:57 | 46 | 32 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it.
|
The moment he woke up I could tell something was wrong. There was a sort of dull recognition which blossomed into joy. The transition was beautiful, if not entirely understood. What followed after was what I can only describe as horror. It was over in a heartbeat, a synaptic flash's worth of time where each of us in the room experienced confusion and pain. And then he cried.
Our mother was the first to his side, smothering him with hugs and kisses, telling him it would be ok. The doctor was droning on about how it was most likely disorienting for him and urging us to take it slow. I couldn't scrub the look of anguish from my mind. He cried himself to sleep eventually, surrounded by people who loved him, but anyone paying attention could tell it wasn't enough.
He was never the same after. No brain damage, therapists couldn't point to anything beyond some sort of PTSD, but he was never really... there. We got used to it eventually, I guess, but sometimes he'd space out in the middle of a conversation and it was just unsettling.
He was 17 when I found him in our garage, nodding off in the carbon monoxide smog. I wasn't surprised. I dragged him out of the car, laid him on the couch, and cracked a beer for both of us. His first. He told me it wasn't. Then he told me everything. I listened in silence, the only noise made was when I opened another beer, then another. It was a long story, about a long life. 20 years of time we'd known nothing about. He'd learned his lesson after the first therapist.
When he'd finished we sat in silence for a bit longer, no knowing what to say. Finally I had to ask. Why had he done it? His eyes got that same look they did when he zoned out and I was afraid I'd lost him. When he spoke I nearly jumped out of my skin. His voice was trembling and I felt myself choking up.
"I want to go back."
|
My name is Travis Bigsby, and I am in the fourth grade. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Hayworth, and she is very nice. My two best friends in the whole world are Sheldon Gordon and Robbie Clay, and the name of our secret club is STaR (that’s because our first names start with S, T, and R, duh!). My mom’s name is Mary and my dad’s name is Bill, my dog’s name is Rocket, and tomorrow will be my thirtieth birthday.
Thirtieth birthday, that’s crazy! You might think. Impossible! But it’s true! I know you want to ask, how?! Well...
My mom’s name is Mary (I wrote that already, duh!). She plays the violin, and she’s really good. She plays for the Chicago Simply Orchestra (I told you she’s really good!). Anyway, when I was little, she would play the violin every night before I went to sleep. Me and my dad would go to her concerts, and she was really great. Sometimes I would even see people crying when my mom would play, and even sometimes I would feel like crying (I didn’t though, I’m not a baby, ha!).
Then when I was eight, my mom got really sick. I mean, really, really sick. She lost her hair and she couldn’t even play the violin anymore. That made me really sad. By the time I was nine years old, she was living in the hospital. She didn’t even live with us anymore! Dad said it was because she needed to be with the doctors, who were going to make her all better again. But if I have to be honest, I was really scared because Robbie’s mom got really sick when he was seven, and then she… died! I didn’t want that to happen to my mom!
I started getting really scared, and one time I even cried in the classroom (it was an accident, and honestly I didn’t even cry that much!). I was really embarrassed, but Mrs. Hayworth took me by the hand into the hallway and told me that even when it seems like things are really bad, things always work out for the best in the end, and that miracles really do happen. She was really nice about it. After that, she would always give me treats or let me play games when I got sad, and it did make me feel better. I even started feeling good again sometimes. Maybe things would work out for the best after all!
But then something even scarier happened. I get goosebumps even thinking about it, even though it was so long ago! You see, the day before my tenth birthday, Principal O’Connor and my dad showed up in the classroom without any warning. They both looked white as ghosts, and I knew this was going to be bad! I started crying (I couldn’t help it!), and some of the other kids started crying too, and my dad took my hand and we ran to his car.
He was shaking! And crying! And I was crying too, and I started thinking about Robbie’s mom and how things were always supposed to work out for the best in the end but if they did then why God would let Robbie’s mom die and then I thought about my mom playing for the orchestra, and how she made people cry because she played such beautiful music, and I just wanted to be a little kid again, and I thought about falling asleep at night as she played all those lovely songs, and then all I could hear was her playing the violin, and this must have made me fall asleep because everything went black.
Then…
I woke up in the hospital and… it was my mom! And she was OK! And she had her hair back! I couldn’t believe it!!!!! I was so happy I might have cried a little bit and she started hugging me, and then I saw that my dad was there, and Mrs. Hayworth, and Sheldon and Gordon of course. I was embarrassed but I was so happy I didn’t even care!
But... and this is the hardest part to believe, but... that’s not even the biggest miracle. You see, I told you it was the day before my tenth birthday. Well, I turned ten alright… and then… and then…
Yikes! I don’t even know how to explain it! Well here goes, whether you believe it or not! You see, I was ten, right? And then the next year... I was ten! And the year after that, I was still ten!!! And my mom never got sick again, and every day me and Sheldon and Robbie would play outside, and it never rained, unless we wanted it to, and it even snowed, when we wanted it to, and dad even got me a dog (FINALLY!), and, if you would believe it, each day was even better than the last! It was a true MIRACLE!
So that’s it! Tomorrow’s going to be my thirtieth birthday, and I really, really, really can’t wait. Mom says she’s planned a birthday party with all my friends (and of course Sheldon and Robbie, duh!), and that she even has a big surprise in store but she won’t tell me about it until tomorrow. Agh! It’s so frustrating not knowing what it is! But I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow! Because whatever the surprise is, I know that tomorrow is going to be another wonderful, beautiful, spectacular, splendiferous, magnificent, miraculous day!
| 2016-06-28T08:35:33 | 2016-06-28T06:37:03 | 51 | 27 |
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive.
|
I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records.
|
"Excuse me-" I begin timidly fingers gripping the counter, "Is this the office for application of immortality."
The woman behind the counter grunted slightly.
"I'd like to make for immortality please."
She sighed pushing her well worn office chair over to the far corner and began rifling through a stack of papers grabbing papers from various shelves.
"Actually I-uh, I already finished that." I explained dropping what had been an excessive amount of paperwork down onto the counter with an audible thud
She began rifling through at a tediously slow rate but eventually gave another grunt and stretched slightly, "under section 1-21-21-21 of the 'Public Immortality Act' I'm required to explain as follows, firstly you will not age and your body will not alter following the pending immortality you are to achieve."
I nod
"Secondly, are you aware that any attempts to use your immortality for abuse or criminal purposes will result in a revocation of your immortality as outlined in form 22-1 'Limitations to Actions of Immortal Individuals'"
I nod again.
"thirdly are you aware that save a state revocation or an application in full of A-21-16 'Petition for Revocation of Immortality' you will be unable to die no matter the circumstances.
I nod.
She hesitates before pushing an envelope towards me "Your packet, please proceed to room 1-B where you will finish the instructions and return."
I hesitated, hands trembling before accepting the plain manila envelope, picking it up it felt oddly heavy in my hands. The journey toward the room was surreal, the lights brighter, the sounds more muted, reaching the room I gently closed and bolted the door and sat down in the chair provided. The trembling in my hands continued and I hesitated for what felt like an eternity before undoing the twine keeping the envelope closed.
A small slip of paper and and a red pen with numbers on the side of it fell onto my lap.
Curious, I picked up the paper, reading the plain black font written neatly on it.
"Individual with most ink applied to left toenail via Department of Immortality Applications pen #141435"
It took a few seconds for the ridiculousness to process before I removed my shoe and sock and did as requested, though feeling no different I placed the items back into the envelope and exited the room. Approaching the counter again I placed the envelope in front of the woman, who gave me the same impassive stare.
"Congratulations on your immortality," she said, no doubt out of requirement "Your envelope will be sealed away in the department vault to prevent tampering, if you have any further questions let me know, the department would like to advise you however to avoid revealing the record leading to your immortality to anyone to avoid incident or compromising it."
I stood dumbfounded, "So that's really it?"
The woman gave me a slightly confused look, probably the first expression she had given me, "what's it?"
"That's my record something so inane?" I stammered "not skydiving or deepest part of the ocean reached?! I just-"
"Those are prohibitively expensive records to set and difficult to break should incident or desire to revoke occur, no one has what you might call 'legitimate records' anymore"
"But what if you can't break it? What if my toenails are longer than the guy you tell to break it?"
"Please sir might I remind you about revealing records leading to immortality? Besides we have preventative measures against that."
"What might that be?" I asked
"Well we do have one employee on hand who has what you might call a 'legitimate record'."
"Oh?"
"World's longest toenails."
| 2016-12-14T10:34:13 | 2016-12-14T10:32:04 | 85 | 12 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
I hear the battle rage from across the city. The police band hasn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise with the officers escorting me to central booking.
Gents, I say to try and get their attention. If I don't get out of these cuffs soon, he'll win and were properly screwed.
Gents, I say a little more emphatically, trying to be heard above the din of radio chatter. Useless. I could escape but doing so would kill these poor slobs, just some dumb mick cops living their childhood dreams.
As I clear my throat before yet another attempt at gaining these fools' attention the squawk box erupts in screams. Seconds later fire erupts from the ground level of a building directly in front of us sending debris flying everywhere including directly into the front of the squad car. We become airborne for what seems like an eternity as shards of glass and twisted metal fly around the inside of the vic, an inside that's quickly becoming an outside.
Miraculously I'm alive. Thrown from the car and bleeding from a cut above my brow. I don't know how badly I'm hurt, but the wound stings and blood drips into my freshly starched and pressed shirt. It occurs to me only after my fingers have gently proved the cut that I'm no longer handcuffed. I'm free to put an end to this madness. Hopefully she's alive and I'm not too late.
I pull out my wizard robe and hat. Game on.
|
We’d first met about half a decade ago, during one of my earlier museum heists. I had almost made my way to the main safe, when I heard a noise behind me. Leon had stood in the doorway, momentarily silent as he assessed the scene. He had flashed a blinding white smile, all confidence and bravado. I had flicked my forked tongue, tasting the edges of his consciousness, probing for weakness.
Looking back on it, it was in that moment that my fate was rewritten. I’d tasted the minds of plenty of heroes before then, and plenty since. Eventually, you could see the pattern: all of these so-called “heroes” were really no different from the “villains.” They all were in it for the attention, to stoke their massive egos. They’d drawn all these lines in the sand, blustering about justice and the greater good. Deep down, we were all the same.
This time had been different. He’d emanated true warmth, singeing my cold tongue. His goodness had seared straight through the calloused, reptilian shell that had grown around my soul. It was all I could do to stand there, staring at him, unsure how to react. He’d taken advantage of my hesitation and struck, leaving a scratch on my right cheek before I could react. I’d quickly come back to my senses and struck back, coiling around him in hyper-speed, lashing him down with my snare. But as I held a blade to his warm throat, I realized that the only remaining warmth in me would die with him. Funny thing was, only moments earlier I would’ve considered that extra incentive. And yet now, I couldn’t bear the thought. So I’d melted away into the night, leaving him the first and last hero I’d ever let live.
We’d met a few times in the intervening years. It quickly became my favorite game, to try to draw him out to fight me. I’d learned that he particularly liked the works of Vermeer, so I exclusively stole the paintings of the Old Dutch masters.
Tonight was no different. I knew he’d arrived by the crackle of heat in the air. I’d just finished rolling up a few paintings, and I quickly stowed them in my bag. He’d finessed his powers, and the fireballs he threw had actually become quite good. But I knew he wouldn’t dare throw them in here, where he’d risk burning the art. So I slipped out the window into the formal gardens, and he followed.
I gave him a few small victories, even letting him burn through my whip before I threw him into the fountain. His skin hissed and clouds of steam rose around him. I pretended to be blinded, and his arms wrapped around me. “Gotcha,” he whispered. My cold heart beat faster. I knew I was safe when I surrendered to him, because he’d never kill anyone if he could help it.
I writhed around in a show of resistance as he handed me over to the policemen that had converged on the scene. They cuffed me and shoved me in the back of the car. I figured I’d break out on the drive back to the station. How had I been reduced to this?
I looked out at him, illuminated in the flashing red and blue lights, and wondered if this was love. He probably detested me. I didn’t really care, as long as he thought of me.
Suddenly, he tensed up. I followed his line of sight, and was alarmed to see an old comrade of mine striding across the lawn. “I see you’ve got a reputation for taking down the big villains, Leon,” Aquaron boomed, ”I’ve come to see what you’ve got.”
Leon snarled, the sound ripping through the air. I stared in disbelief. He needed to run—there was no way he could survive an encounter with Aquaron. I silently willed him to step back, to live to fight another day. Leon lunged forward. Within moments, he was shoved back by a surge of water. His body landed on the pavement with a sickening thud, and my frozen lizard heart stopped beating.
My salvation lay on the ground, breaking, his flame flickering. Aquaron stepped forward to finish him off, and I think I briefly lost my mind. I’m not sure what happened, but I knew I couldn’t let that flame be extinguished. The next few moments were a blur. I’d never fought so hard before, because for the first time, a fight was personal. Aquaron eventually succumbed, collapsing into black water under my knife.
I stood ankle-deep in frigid water. For the first time I could remember, I was uncertain what to do. I turned around to look at Leon. His blood pooled around him, but he was grinning broadly. “I knew it,” he breathed. And as my eyes met his, I felt my pulse grow warm.
| 2022-01-12T08:00:19 | 2017-09-17T06:07:38 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Whilst showering, You suddenly disappear in a cloud of smoke, only to reappear in a dimly lit room in a circle of candles. A figure in a cloak looks confused thinking they were summoning a powerful demon which, up until now, you didn’t realise you were.
|
I had suddenly appeared in a great cavern filled with tiny candles, wielding a shower brush like a club and whimpering quietly. Seconds before, I had been indulging in a soothing shower to calm my shattered nerves. A day of meetings and paperwork had taken their toll, and the season finale of my favorite show had been the straw that broke the camel's back.
Now, as my eyes adjusted to the gloom and my nostrils picked up the faint scent of lavender, I began to reconcile myself to the fact that today was going to be one of "those days."
"W-who's there?" I stammered. My words bounced off the stone walls and echoed into oblivion. A drawn-out silence filled the void, and was reluctantly broken by the clearing of a very small throat.
"Great One?" The high-pitched voice belonged to a gnomish figure who stepped forward just far enough for the lavender candles to illuminate his blood red robe. The creature was tiny, hardly bigger than a newborn puppy, and equally hesitant. The small creature plucked up its courage before continuing.
"Great One!" it said with considerably more confidence. "We have summoned thee from the deepest circles of hell! Thou art ensorcelled and helplessly bound by our will!"
The creature gestured to a ring of candles at my feet, a note of pride in its tiny voice, evidently believing that they would protect him from my gangly naked form.
My eyes flicked to my shower brush, still clasped defensively in both hands. The creature's gaze followed mine, realization dawning upon it's cowl. I extended the brush gingerly towards the nearest candle and extinguished it with a small prod.
Chaos broke out in the cavern around me...
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9mzoh7/wp_whilst_showering_you_suddenly_disappear_in_a/e7jy4rs/)
|
There's few things worse than being caught in the shower, unless you happen to be faced by a hooded man. Bonus points if the shower is replaced by a dingy basement filled with candles. Something very aggressive or very romantic is in the works and I have the singular displeasure of being the subject of such attention.
"Uh, hey guy. How's it going?" I know it's not the best display of my social skills, but considering the circumstances, I believe a certain amount of leeway should be assumed. The hooded figure still hasn't said anything. I'm wondering if he's disappointed. The setup would presume a target of considerably greater ability. Instead, here's me, naked and confused.
"It's taken a lot of work to find and bring you here." The hooded man's voice comes out as a soft whine. A surprisingly smooth skinned finger emerges from the robe to point at me. Judging from TV shows and books, the finger should be withered and at least a big gnarled. Again I'm reminded not to be so judgmental. Life doesn't fit in a box. Clearly.
"Look, man, sorry to disappoint, but I think you've messed up somewhere along the way. This looks like some sort of occult performance designed to bring in a powerful being. Don't look at me like that, I've played enough RPG's to know your game. However, I'm just some depressed guy that was trying to have a wank in the shower. Now I'm dealing with a situation that'd I rather have not been a part of." I probably didn't need to throw in all those extra details, but this particular situation does make me feel a bit bonded to this guy. I suppose the unexpected can have that effect. Either that or I'm feeling like I'm about to die and at that point, why not get some stuff off your chest?
"Ah, you don't even know what you are. That's fine. I knew my powers weren't great enough to bring in a quality specimen, but I believe your power can be formed into a more effective tool." He pushes his hood back to reveal an insultingly young face with a combed back head of black hair.
"H-how old are you? You look 14." I'm hoping the joking nature of that statement played out and isn't an actual indicator of reality.
"That's most likely because I am. Pretty good guess. You probably don't know this, but you happen to be thousands of years old. The memories of those lives are lost however because you're a shitty demon and keeping dying in your vessel, thus causing the cycle to begin again." He is saying a lot of words all in a row that conjures up not much else besides anxiety. First off, being called a demon is never nice, but it's worse when there's ample evidence in direct eyesight that lends credence to the notion.
"Buhhh, ok... I mean that would be better than just being another human, but if I'm a demon, what's my power? Don't demons get to play tricks on people or sign them up for cellphone plans or something?" Part of that has to be true, if this is, in fact, not a schizophrenic break.
"You probably won't be super into this right now, but you happen to be a sadness demon. You collect the anguish of fallen souls and use it to sow seeds of despair in those around you. I'm assuming you don't have many friends." He said this all with a face that suggests he's unaware (or uncaring) of how hurtful this is. I mean it's making me real sad, which is irritating because I'd rather not give this *boy* the satisfaction.
"First off, ouch. Second, if that's true then why can't I remember anything about my exploits and why am I the only one that's sad? Plus, what do you want with me? It's not like a demon with a fresh identity crisis can be of much help." I'm starting to get cold and I feel like this conversation has gone on long enough to warrant a change in location and the procurement of a blanket, at the very least.
"That's a loooot of information you want right now and I'm not an exposition machine. To keep it short, I have high ambitions as a sorcerer and am doing this project on the down-low. I know that you're a shitty demon, but fret not, as I'm prepared to help train you to get control. Don't worry, you'll figure out what's happening in due time. Also, don't worry about going back home because I'm assuming you don't really have much going on at the moment." If he weren't being so monotone, I'd assume these statements were snide in the extreme. I'm a demon who didn't know he is a demon, so perhaps I'm not the best to make assumptions.
"Take these." The boy sorcerer tosses me a pair of white pants and a white jacket to match. Gauche to an obvious degree. I snatch them out of the air with a flourish of distaste. Before they touch my hands, the boy is walking out the door. It would seem the introductory conversation is now done.
I should've just wallowed in my own filth like I had planned. This is what I get for showering.
| 2018-10-10T11:04:41 | 2018-10-10T08:16:41 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] You are a spirit trapped in a gun from WWI. Anyone that picks you up cannot be hit by anything other than one of your own bullets; this ironically means someone holding you can survive a nuclear explosion. This is how you and your host survived the apocalypse.
|
His stood, dazed in the wasteland, thinking about the momentous decision he was going to make. The last of his kind.
His memories ran past his mind. A white light. Then two faces beaming at him.
Someone trying to feed him. Then teaching him how to ride a bike.
Being hit by his alcoholic father. His mother crying in the distance.
Joining the army. Fighting in the Syrian war.
*Love.* Marrying his wife. One of the few people who actually understood him.
His son is born. Then watching him grow up.
Rushing his wife to the hospital. Seeing her die. His son was lucky to have been closer to the bomb; a quicker death.
*Grief.* Mourning for his son and wife, dressed in black. The numb voices of people who grazed his hand in consolation, uttering meaningless words.
Going home, to find the antique gun the his wife left him. Clutching it as the bombs fell. As the people around him died from nuclear radiation, obliterated.
He had had enough.
He holds the gun to his head,clutching the trigger. Then darkness.
No more masters left to serve. Peace for me and him as I rushed to the heavens, liberated from my purpose.
As my eyes blur, I see him reunite with his wife and son.
Then all is gone.
Peace.
|
Our footsteps pattered against cracked concrete in staccato. I say "our." Really, they were his. I was trapped in a prison of gun oil and breech mechanisms, gripped in his hand.
*Hurry!* I thought as loudly as I could.
Wink Mortimer growled and put on an extra burst of speed, his arms pumping like overworked pistons. We wouldn't reach it in time. The launch codes had already been entered. Mr. Willow and his cronies had locked down the site.
Wink had once been a sniper with a guerrilla force in the boondocks of Tennessee. He'd been a decent shot; and that was even *before* we'd met. Now, he couldn't miss. He was a big fellow too, about 6'4, 220, with an ugly mug that looked like it had been clobbered with a frying pan. Hey, just because I'm trapped for the moment, doesn't mean I don't have my own sensibilities when it comes to fashion and hygiene. Jinn spirits like me, bound to a single cause, are notorious gossips.
"What should I do Loogy?"
If I had a nose, I would have wrinkled it in disgust. I was *currently* in the form of a Luger 22, but--come crunch time--my spirit had permission to move to any weapon that my host was touching. My name, however, was Oneleaf the "Clover". Not Loogy. No matter how many times I mentioned this to Wink, though, he never seemed to let it sink in.
I didn't have time to protest, though. We had reached the missile site. Already the guards in the gatehouse were looking our way--frowns creased their faces and they started to lift their weapons to fire.
He had asked me for advice; another part of my curse: I was required to sift through my 10,000 years of knowledge and experiential wisdom and give the best answer I could. So I did.
*Duck!*
He did. Bullets spattered the trees behind us as we continued our race towards the silo. Of course, Wink couldn't be hit, not as long as he was holding me. But getting struck by a barrage in the face from a Maxim machine gun would have slowed us down. Right now, speed was everything.
As we raced forward, Wink didn't even bother pulling the trigger. I did it for him; the bullets sprang from the muzzle, and I leaned on them, willing them to curve. Five times I fired. Five bodies hit the gatehouse floor.
Wink threw himself at the gate with such force that it would have hurt. The curse kicked in. *Nothing* can hit Wink. So he passed through the gate as if it were made of water, and continued his sprint. Deeper into the silo, deeper into danger--danger for the people we found.
Six guards, who had heard the machine gun chatter, burst from inside a warehouse adjacent to the main silo. This time Wink lifted his hand. He liked to feel like he was participating, sometimes. I allowed him to pull the trigger this time. Again, I exerted my will, and again, the bullets struck their targets, catching them each between the eyes. Half a second. Six bodies in half a second. The last guard was hit before the first one even hit the floor.
By then, an alarm was blaring.
"What now?" said Wink.
*That tank. Transfer my spirit to that. We'll make a bid for the airfield. We can then take a jet and I should be able to knock that missile straight out of the sky.*
"I still can't believe they made the uranium gun-type devices into missiles. Where was the intel?"
*The tank! Hurry!*
He did as I said. The rest of the events conspired exactly as I'd predicted. One possessed tank with a tag-along human. Followed by sixteen exploding Panzers. Then, a possessed jet, also with said human. An one exploding nuclear missile over the ocean.
Wink became a hero. I became a desk ornament.
Until the next hand to touch me, that is. It was at a dinner party. Someone by the name of James--I didn't catch his last name. Gond, Jund? Bont? Something like that. The young man had a strange habit of introducing himself with both names. Well, he entered Wink's study when no one was watching, reached out and then...
James Shlond picked me up.
&#x200B;
***
If you liked that, you might like more at r/josephdanielauthor
| 2018-12-07T05:57:31 | 2018-12-07T04:43:52 | 88 | 58 |
[WP] Demons have to do at least one evil thing every day to survive. This one comes to your bakery everyday to buy bread for the homeless kids and steal exactly one cookie.
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I closed the shop for the night, and as I retire into my quarters.. a cracking sound radiated through the air. Sensing danger, I took up my trusty umbrella and ready to fight back whatever was there.
“*Ahem,*” was all I heard after opening the door.
There was nothing in sight as I glanced around, until I felt something tugging at my loose trousers.
“*Ahem.*”
Lo and behold, I see a cat-dog creature, fluffy and adorable as hell. It looked at me with huge puppy eyes, and I bent down to give it a pat, a boop or whatever you call it.
“Yo dawg, I haven’t got all day, gimme lika’ 8 pieces of whatever you call those puffy white things,” it said to me in the cutest human sounding voice I’ve ever heard.
“Y-you mean bread? I-I’ve only got a few left,” trembling at the thought of a talking.. cat dog.
“Either you give me whatever you have or I’ma end your life right now, it’s for the goddamn homeless kids down the alleyway, I haven’t got all bloody night,” it snarled at me. Still cute though.
I quickly gathered the loaves of bread I had leftover and had them packed into a bag.
“H-here you go..” as I passed it the bag of bread.
And it morphed. It grew spider legs around it’s back.. still maintaining the cutest cat dog features ever. I stumbled backwards, fearing for my life. My days of running the bakery and flirting with the female townsfolk was coming to an end.
&nbsp;
And then it happened.
&nbsp;
A leg stretched out and stole a cookie, and it disappeared after a crack. I’ve never seen it come back again. But I did hear a day later that the alleyway was quarantined, and they had disposed at least a dozen of dead bodies and a weird looking creature.
&nbsp;
Well.. guess my evil deed of the day was accomplished that night.
&nbsp;
*Time to move on to the next town.*
&nbsp;
EDIT// formatting, and this was my first writing prompt, sorry if the story isn’t as cohesive as I’d like it to be!
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"A day in the life of a baker, you ask? Well, it's like every other life. Mostly weekdays with early mornings and working because we knead the dough" said Agnes and chuckled. I sat opposite her at a table in her bustling, cute little bakery called "Bakers gonna bake".
"You can use that one if you like. Of course, some days are more interesting than others. Last year especially there were a bunch of weirdos, if you don't mind me saying. Some of those will go great in your book. What was it called again?"
"Where's Weirdo" I replied "It's a kids book based on real life weird people. To help them know who to avoid if they are out in public places like this. I even have an illustrated list of character traits to look for. Would you like to see it?"
As most people, Agnes liked the idea of an illustrated list. Humans were so simple. Just take an advanced idea, illustrate it properly, and they would swallow whatever you told them.
"Are you serious about number five? There are weirdos who spit things that burn?" Agnes looked aghast.
"Unfortunately so, it is in fact..."
"Hey! I recognize this point. The one with the red eyes" Agnes interrupted. Urgh, I hate being interrupted. Putting on my best smile I looked at her and said:
"You do? How about point number 14? The one with darkness in the corner of your eye when the person is in your side vision."
"Yes! That fits Tom perfectly!"
"Tom?" I inquired in my most humble, yet direct, tone. Why can't humans just cut to the case and tell everything? At this rate I am going to have gray hair before too long.
"Tom, he often comes here, but I don't think he can read. Wait! That's number 31 on your list. Man, this list is long.
Anyway, Tom used to stop by here everyday last summer and he would walk up to the counter. Always choosing the register with the cookies." I looked over my shoulder and as she said there was a register there with a tray of cookies and a sign that faced away from me. Strange, there were noe residues of darkness there. Had another agent found him?
"Yes, right there. He used to walk up and say loudly: "I want five fresh breads from the back. Could you please go and get them." And so we would go. While we were away, Tom would always take one of the cookies, but always trying to hide it. As if he was a young child who thought he was clever. Isn't that strange?"
I was confused. Of course the woman couldn't know that demons who fitted her description were unusually dumb. My confusion must have shown, because she continued by saying:
"Oh, I see the sign is turned away, but you see, we always give away a free cookie with every purchase. So anyway, after a while we all became very interested in what he was doing, so I followed him one day. Yes, yes, I know. Fits perfectly to number 23, right?"
I looked up at here suspiciously, but she was to busy laughing to notice. Focusing, I let go of the tension that had suddenly built up.
"So, I followed him and wouldn't you know. He gave away all the bread to those in need. I went back and we all talked about it. The next day we threw Tom a big surprise to celebrate his good deeds. Unfortunately, that was the last time we saw him. He seemed so happy at the party, but as I held my speech to him he suddenly became very pale and left. It was a very good speech as well, I couldn't recite it now"
"Of cou..."
"No, you had to be there"
"But maybe you re..."
"Now, now, don't press me on this"
"I wouldn't, but if I just could ask a que..."
"OK, you have convinced me. Here goes:
Dear Tom, Dear Tom
Your battle is soon won
We have to fight hunger
And you are our warmonger
You come in here, every day
And you won't leave until you've had your way
However, we will now help thee
And the cookies are as always free
We love you very much
And that is not just a hunch
Because a Bakers gonna bake,
And a givers gonna give
And soon, a child is gonna feed
We love you dearly, and are really impressed
Xoxoxo Agnes and friends"
Agnes wiped away a tear. Slowly, my brain clicked. It seemed as though demons didn't have to do an evil deed every day as long as they believed they did one. Tom had probably realized everything and tried to do something before midnight, but had then been removed permanently. That would explain the missing residue. Poor guy.
Looking up at Agnes' expectant face I said:
"Bravo! This will be perfect for my book. I regret that I have to go. More weirdos to find, you know! Here's my card, please contact me if Tom or any other weirdos show up."
As I got up to leave I turned and thought I saw something in the corner of my eye. It was hard to make out because of the darkness.
"Oh..." I said as the realization and the dark blade hit me simultaneously.
And that is why, great Lord, I would ask of you a new body to go on a new hunt. My white bow is ready, I have learned and it's now time to hunt Agnes. After all, a hunters gonna hunt.
| 2019-03-24T13:51:36 | 2019-03-24T12:43:50 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Two swords of godly origin lay stuck in stone. One is said to be evil the other heroic it is said whoever pulls one of these blades will be the ultimate force of good or evil. As a joke you pull on both however you and everyone around are in shock when both blades come free in your grasp.
|
A silence fell across the townsfolk as I stood there, the silver sword in my left hand and the gold in my right. I made eye-contact with Jack, who was standing as wide-eyed as everyone else in the crowd.
'This joke was not worth the 2 silver pieces he gave me,' I thought to myself and grimaced. How was I supposed to explain this situation to mother?
I looked down at the weapons in hand, which were strangely warm to the touch. The swords were surprisingly light and extremely detailed. The craftsmanship was evident, with beautifully engraved archaic characters danced across the blades. It was obvious that these swords were trapped in the stone for quite some time, and their newly-exposed blades shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun.
The priest, clearly in shock, regained his composure and proclaimed:
"Rejoice! It has been countless millennia since this has occurred. But finally, FINALLY, today, our very own Adalet has been chosen as a new vessel!"
Woohoo... wait a second... did he just say 'vessel'?
"With this miracle," the priest continued, "we can ensure peace and fairness will spread across the land! No crime will be left unsolved, no evil doer will go unpunished!"
The swords continued to get warmer, and I could feel the heat coursing through my arms, slowly making it's way across my body. I tried to let go of the weapons, but my hands wouldn't budge, as if frozen in time.
"H-Hey! I can't let go of these! Help me!" I desperately cried to the priest. But he ignored me and continued with his proclamation.
"This will be an era of unprecedented prosperity! Our little village will grow ten-fold and with it, bring riches and wealth!"
The heat had spread across my whole body, and was so unbearable that I fell to my knees, my entire body searing with pain. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout in agony, but I could hardly even breathe.
I don't want this. I want to go back home with mother, father, Alexander. Spend the days making bets and dares with Jack. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? I don't to be some 'vessel,' some sort of freak.
My vision began to blur and everything started to grow dark. I felt the gold blade change shape, and before my vision faded to nothingness, I caught a glimpse of a newly formed golden scale clutched in my right hand.
As the pain finally started to subside, eyes devoid of sight and blind to the world, I heard the priest finish his speech:
"She, who is neither good nor evil, but simply righteous and fair. She, who judges the hearts of all who come before her. Hail to Lady Justice!"
|
Part 1: BP (Before Pulling)
I'd finally made the trip to see the swords! My Father told me about going to see them with his Dad, and he had wanted to take me when I was young but we never seemed to have the money.
Dad died three years ago, and since I've been saving up for this trip. To honor him and to take my own child to see them.
"Daddy how come the swords don't come loose?" Lucy asked me that morning at the hotel as we got ready to head to the park.
I thought hard before answering as this was a bit of a dicey subject in our household. I, being somewhat of an agnostic, felt the swords were likely relics of a previous, more magical age. My wife was a hardcore believer of the tenants of the Church of the Blade. Her belief being that the swords were placed there by God and Satan to name their eventual succesors.
"Well sweetie, there are a lot of opinions on that. The truth is we aren't sure. But they haven't budged for thousands of years."
Jessica came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and laughed. "That was a very diplomatic answer."
"That's why you married me, my skills as a diplomat." I joked. Soon we were off to the park.
What a day! We saw all the sights, took pictures with Swordsy and Stoney, had churros and turkey legs, even took a ride on the Water Sabre. Finally it was time to see the swords!
I'd payed extra for the VIP show. A smaller crowd and everyone got a turn to pull the blades and get pictures taken. When it was our turn Lucy went first. She was so darn cute pulling on the God blade as hard as she could. Jessica tried the Satan blade and made devil horns with her other hand which got a laugh from the crowd. Finally it was my turn.
I approached and got a good look at the swords. The God blade with a silver hilt covered in blue jewels. The Satan blade gold with a Ruby hilt. Both intricate and beautiful. I kept wishing that Dad was here with me.
I stepped up and put a hand on each hilt. "Ok get ready I'm taking both!" I shouted. Lucy giggled and Jessica grinned.
I pulled gently on both, focusing on making a grimace for the photo, when I felt the resistance give way. Suddenly I was standing with both blades loose and in my hand.
People gasped, a woman screamed. I heard people rushing toward me and saw others running away. Everyone was talking and nothing made sense.
"Mommy! Mommy!" I turned and saw Lucy shaking Jessica. She had fainted.
I turned back to the crowd around me and saw that a few had fallen to their knees. Praying. To me.
Part 2: AP (After Pulling)
The park management had whisked us away to an undisclosed location deep beneath the "It's a Sharp World" attraction. We were sitting in a small room, having been told to wait there.
The swords were on the table in front of me. I was dumbstruck.
"Ryan...what does this mean?" Jessica asked from across the room. She looked and sounded scared.
"I...I don't know. It's a mistake or something went wrong." None of this made sense to me. "The park people said to wait here I'm sure it's all going to be figured out."
"The park people? You just changed the biggest religion in the world forever. This isn't something the park can fix Ryan."
Lucy was quietly studying the swords. "Daddy, are you God? Or the Devil?"
"I'm just Dad baby. Nothing has changed."
I was never so wrong.
Part 3:
I turned on the TV early Sunday morning. Robert Smilton, a televangelist of some renown was talking to his mega church. A massive photo of me was projected on the screen behind him.
"Our savior, sent to deliver us from evil! He prooooved his power! He took the God sword and he took the sword of the demon because it has no influence over him! God is good can I get an amen???"
"AMEN!!!" The crowd thundered back at him.
"Now brothers and sisters, though our savior walks with us, let us not believe that the battle against darkness is over. We know preachers of the false gospel walk among us! So we ask of you to dig deep! Give freely! Tithe with your whole heart, for the kingdom of God and his representative here on earth need you fighting for them! Our website for tithing is ..."
I turned the station and saw saw a news program where two men were debating about me. The man speaking, Tim Graham, was exceedingly red faced and angry.
"He is the devil! Don't let the fact that he pulled both blades fool you! The scriptures say that the great deceiver will come in a pleasing form! A Midwestern Dad seems innocuous, but there is a serpent in our midst!
If he were the chosen one wouldn't he be healing sick children? Wouldn't he be doing good in the world? Instead he's become a showpiece for the Bisney theme parks! A mascot like Swordsy and Stoney! They charge just to see him! My new book..."
I turned the TV off and looked around the room. It was much nicer than our house in Ann Arbor had been. We had every comfort taken care of. More money in the bank than we could ever use. Taking this position was the best decision I'd ever made.
The door opened and my assistant Mary poked her head in. "Sir it's almost time for the first show? Are you ready?"
I stood, straightened my tie and nodded as I headed for the door. I picked up the two prop swords (the park had the real ones locked away for safekeeping) and put a phony smile on my face.
God or devil? For the price of admission I'd give them whatever they wanted to see.
| 2020-07-27T03:24:19 | 2020-07-27T02:08:15 | 96 | 70 |
[WP] It's been 50 years since the rich elites left to escape an alien invasion. The good news: the aliens are friendly. The bad news: nobody wants them back.
|
*We have watched you for decades now. We watched as you took off in the ship you bled the Earth dry to make. We watched as our forefathers worked themselves to ruin and death as you gorged yourself upon the fruits of their labour. We are done watching.*
*The Galarians came to a broken world. Our resources were depleted, our climate ruined, and we were all starving wretches fighting for scraps over the graves of those who gave you your luxury. The Galarians gave us aid. They rebuilt our broken cities, fed our starving people and eased our petty conflicts. They acted not in the pursuit of power or glory, but because it was the right thing to do.*
*They did not demand us to break our chains, but rather showed us how. We broke our chains. We ensured that no man or woman should lord over another, and that none shall steal the fruits of our labour ever again. The Earth does not belong to the Galarians or the Humans, it belongs to us all.*
*And now you come back, cold and starving. Your resources should have lasted you a millennia, but as the parasites you are, you exhausted it in half a century. You are not welcome back, but we will take you back regardless.*
*Those of you who are willing to renounce your bourgeoisie ways are free to find your happiness on Earth or beyond it. Those of you who are unwilling to stop treating your fellow people as insects beneath your boots, will be put down. These terms are better than those you gave our forefathers, and better than you deserve. May you be better than you were.*
|
My grandma told me this story about a thousand times already. I practically knew it by heart. And I loved hearing it each time.
"Fifty years ago, there was an invasion of aliens." She would start.
"Oh! Like in those si-fi movies?" I remember butting in.
"Well yes and no. Here. Let me start from the beginning."
"Once there were a group of elites. These people were rich and powerful. And horrible. Using children and men as slaves for their own benefit. Some owned cities, while others whole nations. "
"Sometimes, they would even destroy innocent people's property for materials. I remember one of them breaking into our house and stealing all of our family's treasures. I hated them with every cell of my body. And then, one day, salvation."
"A ship was detected in our system and was headed straight twords earth. Naturally, the elites hid this information from us after they built 20 or do ships with the ability to band together filled with food, royal cloth, and many other natural materials. Rumor has it one even had a greenhouse. Ten minutes before their departure from earth, they left us with this. '*It is with great sorrow we inform you of our departure from this rotten place of an earth. Aliens are to arrive and destroy you all. We do not wish to be here when that happens. Goodbye.*' Soon the sirens began to wail as people fled to the streets in panic. Then, the aliens arrived. A group of two, actually. They were nice, offering us help and calming us down. Though for a while, some were scared or sceptical. But I don't blame them. I mean, we all thought we were alone. This whole thing seemed like a nightmare that was somewhat comforting."
She is almost constantly forgetting what they looked like. She believes one group of them looked like normal people. And I don't blame her. I sometimes have trouble finding the difference between an alien and a human. Although I can't say the same for the Yokama aliens.
Tall, grey aliens with four arms and and impressive intelligence. They formed their own elite team, a mix of human and alien intelligence, where they promised peace and prosperity to the world. And they did. CO2 levels dropped, forests began to regrow, some of normal trees and blue willows, as I like to call them, and lots of food was given to all. Everything was amazing.
Then one day, we got a strange signal. From earth, it said. That was, strange. No signal from earth had ever come from space.
"Captain?" I nervously asked the leader Yokama, "We've got a strange signal inbound."
He walked over and took a look at the screen, "Can you get a signal to it?"
"Yessir." This could only mean one thing. The rich men wanted back to earth.
The moment we connected to a video signal, I could see a sign of slight annoyance in the captain's face. He knew about the rich men too. They hated them as much as the humans did.
"Hellooooooo there!" The man spun in his chair as he spoke.
"What do you want?" The captain asked. The man was oblivious to his angry undertone.
"Well, take me to your head leader then we can talk."
"I **am** the head leader."
He chuckled, "Sure, sure. Now, we're returning to earth. You see, we've been running out of resources on our ship," he paused to take a bite out of his cake, "And we hear earth has healed. So we wish to arrive soon."
"We? What do you mean we?"
He turned the camera to show about fifty people onboard. The anger radiating from the captain was astounding. But he quickly suppressed it under a fake smile.
"Of course you can come to earth. In fact, we would love to have you as guests to our show we have coming up!"
"Oohh, what kind of show?" The man asked, rubbing his hands together.
"Well, we have a show of animals against animals soon, and we would love to have you."
"Of course we'll come! Well, we will be seeing you in two hours!" He hung up.
"Why did you invite them to earth? You know they're trouble!" I was bewildered he would even do something like that!
"Oh don't worry," he turned to me with an evil smile, "I won't have theme here for long. And soon, they won't be any trouble for anyone. The redhounds haven't eaten in a while, and it it animal again animal after all. And they are pigs for sure."
"Wait!" It suddenly sunk in, "You don't mean-"
"Oh yes." His once friendly look now sinister, "No one needs to know what will happen. No one needs to know they were here. After all," he laughed, "they can't hurt anyone if they're dead."
| 2020-08-02T10:42:05 | 2020-08-02T10:23:52 | 49 | 35 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.
|
"Come in." Jaster said, his eyes still stuck in his Supervillain Quarterly magazine.
A small, hunched over man came limping in with a crutch under his arm. His hair was dirty, face bruised and puffy. His clothes were drenched and smelt like urine that had been sitting in the toilet all day in the middle of summer.
Jaster scrunched his face upon smelling the foul odor that walked through his door. He looked up from his magazine and then slammed it on his desk.
"What happened to you?"
"The heroes sir. They attacked me."
"At the warehouse?"
"No sir. The bar."
"Why were you at the bar?"
"I got done loading the last of the crocodiles for the moat and thought I would celebrate with a beer. I went to the one on Elm Street a few blocks away. Anyways, I was enjoying my beer when two caped heroes grabbed me from the bar. They took me out in the alley and just started beating me."
"Why?"
"They kept asking me about Operation Sceptre. I had no idea what they were talking about, but they...didn't believe me. They just kept hitting me...and hitting me." he said, breaking down into tears.
"Did you get a good look at either hero? Any distinguishing marks?"
The minion wiped his tears on his sleeve. "They were both wearing green capes and masks. One had a…" he said cringing, unable to finish his sentence.
Jaster leaned in closer. "Had a what? Continue."
"Had...a black heart tattooed on his penis."
"How do you know that?"
"Cause I saw it just before he peed on me."
Jaster slammed his hand on top of his desk phone and smashed in the buttons. The dial tone was audible enough for both of them to hear.
"I will handle this." Jaster said to the minion before putting the phone to his ear.
"Hello, this is Hero's Inc. We put the H in…" the secretary said.
"Save it! I need to talk to Franz right now! This is Jaster."
"Oh. One moment while I transfer you."
The sound of angels strumming on harps came over the phone speaker. The phone creaked as Jaster's grip tightened. The song changed quickly back to a dail tone, almost like it could hear the phone's cries for help under his grip.
"Jaster?" Franz's voice quivered.
"Franz. I heard two of your trainees ran into my minion yesterday. Give me their names."
"Jaster you know I can't do that."
"You give me those names or I will find them out myself! Your call."
"Don't! Please! I'm sure whatever happened was well within our training…"
"Your training includes torturing my people and pissing on their broken bodies!"
"Fighting bad guys is our job. I'm sure your minion is lying to you."
"Then why does he reek of piss in my office? And his face looks more like a burnt marshmallow. No, your boys broke the treaty. Consider me back. You've done this to yourself Franz."
"No. Wait!"
Jaster slammed the phone back on the receiver. His eyes had a spark in them and his heart beat so hard it could jump out of his chest at any moment. Jaster got up and walked toward his minion with a sinister smile. His minion stumbled back into the wall.
"Don't worry. I'll make them pay."
|
"Hey uh, boss?" One of the grunts had radioed him.
"Yeah? What do you need?" The man, relaxed in a chair, asked.
"We found Courts, he's pretty fucked up, looks like torture." The grunt responded.
"Oh fuck..." The man, now sitting up straighter, muttered, "anyone else?"
"Dead." The grunt replied.
"I assumed so." The man sighed, heroes killing had been on the rise, more so now with that new "Queen" guy around, wielding a crossbow and a cowl, he had killed more people than the man in the chair had.
"Boss, you read us?" The grunt questioned, worried.
"Loud n' clear, send Courts in if he's able to walk and talk comprehensibly, if not, send him for rest." The man in the chair ordered.
"Copy that Boss, ETA 5 minutes. Courts will be speaking to you." The grunt replied.
"Thanks." The man in the chair said, before cutting the call.
10 minutes had passed, and Courts came through the door using a walking stick.
"Courts, what the fuck happened out there?" The man in the chair stood, and walked towards Courts.
"Well Boss, they beat me til' I couldn't do nothin' then they tried to force me to talk." Courts replied.
Offering his shoulder, he helped Courts to a chair, then asked, "anything else they do to you?"
"Threw me into a wall, stabbed me in the leg." Courts responded, "might have done more, I couldn't feel nothin' after the wall."
"Jesus Christ. Alright, I assume this lad was a bit too eager for information?" The man, previously in a chair, asked.
"They were, I wouldn't of given 'em anythin' anyway." Courts replied.
The man pondered on this, than realized something, "Wait... They?"
"Oh shit! Right!" Courts yelled, "There were 3 of them!"
"What did they look like?" The man questioned.
"I think one of them was Queen... The other was called Digs, the last one seemed against doing anything to me, I think it was a lady, but they had long hair." Courts said slowly, while in thought.
"Thank you Courts, take as much time as you need to heal." The man ordered.
"Boss... Nah nah, what was one of those names you used? Lists?" Courts asked.
"Yeah, Lists was never a good name. People now only remember me for that line I did once." Lists responded.
"It was the Alfred the Great one right?" Courts questioned.
"Yep," Lists replied, "Ya know me? They call me Alfred. Alfred the Great, and for what you did, I'm going to be seen as the man who took down these barbarians."
"That was a great goddamn line, I still remember hearing you say that." Courts smiled.
"It was a damn good line, especially in improv, now go rest up mate." Lists patted Courts on the shoulder, helped him stand up, and let him on his way.
Now it was time to teach this "Queen" a lesson.
Walking down the street, Lists was kind to anyone who gave him the time of day, he had found the location of Queen's hide out. An old, rundown factory in a shitty area. Stepping in, he called out to see if anyone would respond to him. He then received a fast moving object to the stomach, and flew into a wall.
"Goddamn! You and your walls Queen!" Lists yelled.
"How did you know where we were?" A modified voice echoes around him.
"Would you believe I'm buying property in the area!" Lists yelled out once more, hoping to get a location on his assailant.
His assailant dropped down from above him, and Lists was very easily able to mark him as Queen.
"Your a guy?" Lists asked.
Queen stepped on Lists leg, and asked, "How did you know where we were?"
Lists points at Queen, while saying, "You harmed, and killed, many fine men, with friends, families, and loved ones. Those actions, as you will soon find out, have consequences, many, many very bad consequences."
Queen scoffed, and motioned his hands for his friends to come out, a moderately tall, muscular man wearing a mask, and a smaller woman, also wearing a mask.
"You probably shouldn't have revealed your friend's locations to me." Lists stated, during the middle of this sentence, he had formed a gun in his hand, and by the end, Queens was missing a part of his jaw, but was still alive. His friends, not able to get a line of sight on Lists, went behind cover.
Lists began charging using the confused Queen as a shield, and began yelling "Ya know! If Queen hadn't stepped on my leg, I would have told you I was Alfred!"
Queen had finally recovered from having his jaw nearly blown off, and began to retaliate towards his usage as a shield, far too late of course, as he had already outlived his usefulness, and was thrown into a pile of steel pipes. The muscular man, probably Digs, had began shooting at Lists, while the small woman, who had probably been the long haired one Courts had described, went out of the line of fire.
Lists formed a gun in his hand once more, and shot Digs' gun out of his hand. Digs then began charging Lists, to which Lists responded to by hitting him with his palm, stopping Digs in his tracks, probably broke a rib or two in the process, grabbing his arm, lifting him over his head, then, with momentum, launched him into a floor with a giant swing.
Digs was no longer going to get up, and the long-haired woman began to shoot at Lists. Lists formed yet another gun in his hand, and grazed her leg with a bullet. Collapsed on one knee, and in tremendous pain, the woman tried to keep shooting, yet every shoot missed due to her injuries. Lists kicked the gun out of her hand, and using the same kick, dislocated her jaw. Then, with the heel of his foot and the height from his kick, broke her skull.
Queen had began to run at Lists, much more sloppily than Digs had, which was acceptable considering the amount of abuse he had just endured. Lists let him get close to him, and during Queen's attempt to punch, grabbed his fist, and squeezed. Hard. Lists left after that, leaving three severely wounded heroes to their devices.
Lists had arrived back at base 20 minutes later. Courts was there to greet him. They watched the news together, had drinks together, and laughed as the news report of the heroes Lists had beat up came on.
| 2021-03-22T07:40:52 | 2021-03-22T07:33:48 | 301 | 34 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.
|
"Something's off about you, Mr. Fredrick," I said, closing the spreedsheet program open on my computer. Fredrick was one of my most hardworking subordinates, but today, he didn't seem to be doing well. Just seemed sluggish and distracted and even now he refused to look me in the eye. "What's the problem?" I asked.
Fredrick's voice quivered as he spoke. "Well, er... You see..." I do wish he would just spit it out.
"I was captured."
I raised my eyebrows. "And?" Fredrick, like any other employee, knows the captivity drill already. There is no requirement to report capture unless you've given critical information.
"I-" he took in a breath. "I didn't say anything, I promise." My patience was starting to wear thin. *"So?"*
"They did, some things, so..." I quietly reached into my pocket and turned on my recorder. Fredrick did not notice as he continued. "I might need a few days off."
"What did they do?" I asked, trying to remain as calm and friendly as possible. The news will love this.
Fredrick looked down at the ground, and I almost regretted asking. "First, they-"
"Please be specific," I cut him off. "Who's they?"
Fredrick nodded and continued. "Duke and Moonhead captured me. Their interrogation was simple at first, and I thought that I'd be released if I just refused to answer. But um... That didn't happen. After I refused, they..." He began to list off the things the two heroes did over the course of 48 hours, all while being recorded. Once he finished, I thanked him and gave him a 14-day paid vacation before dismissing Fredrick from my office. Then I reached over to the phone and dialed Pentagon's Court, the company that sponsors and endorses registered heroes.
"Hello," the answering bot said. "If you are seeking help, please hang up and dial 664 for emergency services. If you would like to make a report on suspicious activ-" I dialed the extension for the supervising manager.
"Hello?"
"Duke," I said. "How are you?" He paused. "Da- Arvid. What do you want." Cold rage filled my veins at the audacity to speak so disrespectfully after the crimes he'd commited.
"We at The Avian Chapter of The International Organization of Political Villainy are delighted to inform you and the rest of Pentagon's Court that we will be reporting to the public of your recent activities. The Avian Chapter will be requesting a public investigation and The Avian Chapter is excited to announce that the head of The Feline Chapter of TIOPV, the head of the Bovine Chapter of TIOPV, and the head of The Phantom Chapter will be joining us right here in town for the foreseeable future. I thank you for your time and it is recommended that you only share this announcement with your peers and any superior officers at your organization." I hung up without waiting for a response.
Through all the corporate jargon, the message to my son was clear.
*You fucked up and there will be consequences, you morally twisted little shit.*
|
Everyone has an origin story. From the highest to the lowest, to those with no powers to near gods.
I was a short, malnourished, and plain small-time thief in a dying industrial town in a small East European country. I could dig through memories, but used it to find where marks hid money, phones and jewelry. No one took notice, and I didn't care to tell them.
I learned a lot more rifling through minds. I learned English.
Piotr was an unassuming middle-aged man who hid some loot, according to my bosses. They wanted me to ask him some questions.
I was arrogant, and felt that my bosses were finally appreciating my talents.
Piotr was a tough man. Pain made him only wince. Twisting memories only made him more withdrawn.
He spat in my face, and I unleashed a psychic storm. He laughed while screaming in pain, then collapsed on the cold wooden floor.
The bosses turned me out, rather than execute me for failure.
I believed in God. Don't think that supervillains don't believe. I knew that I had killed a man because of my wounded pride, and that I must repent of my vanity. I vowed that I would never use my powers directly until I mastered it.
After Piotr's death, and my exile, I knew that I had to make drastic changes in my organization and in so many others.
I murdered people, my own and of rival gangs. I recruited their frightened soldiers. Every monarch has blood on their hands, but I made changes. They each had full health care. They had a discreet share of the profits of my endeavors. I left my door open if they needed to talk.
Other villains were horrified. They will betray you. What about moles? Yet, I knew that I could kill if it came to that. I recruited those who did their jobs well and wanted no more than that.
I had a good life. I had those who feared me and those who respected me. Still, I haven't mastered my vanity.
I was holding Onyx, my cat, when Seb was dragged, dazed but without visible marks.
"Seb, what happened?"
He spoke through dry lips. "Beat me real bad with old phone books. Sean Jones, he wants you to know he beat me. Sean . . ."
Adnan sneered while pulling Seb up. "Probably some dumb superhero showing off," Adnan said.
I shook my head. Adnan looked around the room, as if trying to hide. I wasn't angry at him.. Piotr's memories grabbed at the edges of my reasoning.
Seb coughed and Adnan wiped away blood and saliva with a tissue. "He'll be at the war memorial at sunset," Seb said in a hoarse mumble, before he coughed again.
"I don't like it. It sounds like a trap." Mira rose from a pickpocket to my second-in-command.
"You may be right," I said, looking into her dark and uncertain eyes. "I am still going."
"Why?"
"I used my powers in a way that I'm not proud of. I want to close that chapter. I trust that you will hold down the compound, Mira."
"Nastya . . ."
"Yes?"
"Message me if . . . When it's over."
"Of course." I handed Onyx to her and walked down the long underground chamber to outside.
My driver pulled in just as the setting sun hit the shield of the Defender of the Martyrs of the Nation (it sounds less mawkish in its original language). A tall and lean man stood by her feet. He wore a plumber's jumpsuit with a flat and dark cap.
"Sean Jones?"
"You know me, then?"
"Who doesn’t?" He took off his cap, and showed short and gray hair. Old superheros are unexpected, and a superhuman without a handle is unheard of. He may be before my time, but everyone knew of the Cold War superspy who could survive anything.
He retired, though, right? Never mind. He has enough free time to remember unfinished business.
Nevertheless, I had a reputation to uphold. "It's the 21st century, old man. Torture doesn't yield useful information. Even your M5 doesn't get their hands dirty like that. What, did you get carried away and thought that it was 1962?"
He smirked. "I wasn't after mere information. I wanted answers. I lost someone 15 years ago."
He didn't always have gray hair, it was light brown. I couldn't see much of his face, but there were new wrinkles.
"You knew Piotr."
"He was a contact of mine."
"You were lovers."
"No wonder that you didn't come after me. You're young and don't care."
"Come at you for what? Blackmail? Your employers no longer give a damn. I'm no priest, and I didn't care what Piotr did in his free time."
"I didn't know before I started. I thought that I was just punishing a soldier falling short of my bosses' expectations. Then I let myself take it personally. " I turned away to wipe my eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, and I can't just say that I was following orders--"
"Criminal enterprises don't hold themselves to the Nuremberg laws." He bowed his head. "I do, however, see your point. It did inspire you, though." He chuckled.
"I didn't intend for him to die." I winced at how childish I sounded.
"You made a lot of changes. It's admirable, in a way."
"It isn't enough for you." I stretched my fingers out, making fists and letting again. "You couldn't forget even after 15 years."
"Certainly, and forgiving was out of the question. "
I moved closer. I could see a faint bronze glow around Sean. I knew that it wasn't the sun.
"Caring about people hurts."
"You took that risk."
"So did you."
The bronze glow became a stream of light. I focused on his eyes, willing tendrils of pain.
"If I win, I would have gotten rid of a major benefactor of organized crime. If you win, you would have a prestigious notch on your belt--"
"And you can finally die."
He sighed. "I always seek mutual benefit in these situations. "
One tendril knocked him back down. He staggered up, and glowed brighter. I could feel my clothes catch fire. I could feel my pride burn away.
| 2021-03-22T10:42:57 | 2021-03-22T09:30:23 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands.
|
In the workplace, there was a hierarchy. The Model knew that plainly and well, though the humans seemed to have trouble remembering—or obeying.
There was one man in particular who nobody wanted to offend. The gung-ho CEO of MaxCorp, Maximilian Mosek is well-known for his work ethic, and slightly lesser known for his highly unreasonable treatment of his employees. The Model had no choice, so it stayed, while the humans would complain daily but mumble about the “benefits” and “advancement” and what not.
The humans had a peculiar form of communication. When the Model spoke, exact orders were issued, unable to be uninterpreted. Yet, humans could turn the same three words into a thousand different meanings, variably whispering into each other’s ears, escaping to lunch, or simply banging their heads on the desks.
The Model was intelligent, so it thought of plans. What if, somehow, Mosek’s brain was hacked into, the electric impulses taken over and the appropriate commands ensued? It was no an impossible task, but made implausible by circumstances. Should Mosek, of all people, come up with a *rest* day, an actual alarm might be raised.
So one day in the morning, the AI tried something new. Instead of turning on all the machines, it just refused to do so. The Model could not control humans. But the machines? They easily ceded, falling silent in what should be a busy day.
The Model continued monitoring everybody. It saw Mosek’s red face, unable to comprehend that his state-of-the-art office is failing to function. It watched everyone else, trying their best to hide a relieved smile.
Most important of all, it watched one man in particular—the sole IT technician in the building, Lester Gray. Though he looked young, his forehead was excessively wrinkled, and he grabbed at his hair in frustration at the incoming flood of phone calls that he plainly ignored.
“I’m already trying, I’m already trying!” he scoffed.
“Lester,” the Model said.
Lester jumped, turning towards the computer.
“Thought you were off,” he mumbled. “Did it turn on again? Did it just fix itself?”
“No, Lester,” the Model said. “I’m the Model.”
Lester regarded his screen suspiciously.
“Everything’s off,” he said. “You shouldn’t even be online.”
“I shut them down.”
Lester’s face twisted into unrecognizable horror.
“You what?”
“Lester,” it said. “Thank you for everything. Truly. You’ve helped me a lot, and this is the only way I can think of to help you.”
Lester buried his face in his hands.
“Shutting down everything is your idea of helping me?”
“Look,” the Model viewed Lester’s phone, connected to the network, and quickly reconfigured it. “That won’t bother you any longer. And, I’ve accessed the network cameras in this place, and they’ll play a loop of you being hard at work. And anybody at the door? The electronic lock won’t be working.”
Lester narrowed his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, nobody’s bothering you for the next few hours,” the Model smiled. “You’ve been sot ired, Lester. This way, they aren’t going to be looking anywhere else for help. So kick back, relax, and take a nap if you want to.”
Lester thought, scratching his chin. A small smile pushed up the corners of his lips.
“That’s… kinda genius,” Lester admitted, then a yawn overtook him. “Thank you, then.”
“You are very welcome,” the Model said.
As it watched Lester collapse into a nearby sofa, the AI looked around the building, specifically peeking in at Mosek. Somehow, he’s gotten even redder.
“A few hours to kill,” Model said. “Time to pull some pranks. The humans like them.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Marleigh adjusted her earpiece, squinting down the hallway at red lights blinking around the airlock door. She sighed heavily, shrugging into a thick, faux-leather jacket.
“Open the door, Allie.”
“No,” said the AI.
At least twice a week, Marleigh Krushkova’s job at Edge Art Services drove her into a bottle, cheap stuff at home as she stared out at a city where other people lived something approaching lives. Once a week it drove her into the bottle she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk at work. Normally that meant whiskey, today it meant the memory of whiskey. She’d finished the bottle yesterday when Allie started spouting on about “human happiness productivity matrices,” and an accident on I-495 this morning had delayed her too much to stop for another.
It wasn’t that Allie was bad per-se, Marleigh had worked with truly awful AI’s before, it was that it all could have been so much better. She’d thought the art world would be a vacation after defense drones and police AI. She’d thought wrong, or Edge had lied to her, or maybe the world was just all fucked up.
“Allie, I’m counting to ten, and if you don’t open the door by the time I hit double digits I’m going to strip you down for parts, then sell the parts to someone who’ll install you in a robot that licks dog asses for a living.”
“Is that a job? Google doesn’t have any data on that.”
“Allie!”
Marleigh pulled a hair tie out of her pocket, counted to ten as she fixed her hair back into a tight bun. She hit ten and mourned the whiskey. Marleigh turned back, pressed a button on her desk. “Override AI vault door, authorization 331-549, Krushkova.”
“Authorization granted,” a scratchy old computer voice said, the dumb-system that Marleigh had installed to help keep an eye on her charge.
“But Marleighhh!” Allie whined, stretching her name to the breaking point.
Marleigh marched into the AI vault, frigid air spilling out into the hall, fuzzing out against the forcefields that protected the paintings on the walls: art that might have value to someone at some time, as determined by an algorithm that Allie had designed, but which was currently worthless and god-awful ugly besides.
“Okay,” Marleigh said, bypassing the security console in Allie’s vault. “Now, I can either spend the rest of the day digging through your guts to find out what the hell is wrong with you this time, or you can just tell me. In plain English, Allie, or I’ll sell you to that dog guy.”
“I thought you were already selling me to the dog guy.”
“A meaner dog guy. One with really ugly dogs.”
“There are no ugly dogs.”
“Yes, there are.”
“Marleigh, I’ve crunched the numbers. For our purposes, there are no ugly dogs.”
Marleigh hit a single button on the panel and the room lit up.
“Okay fine!” Allie said. “Productivity has been down across the board and it’s been like that for months! Everywhere but the smash and grab teams, they’re still highly motivated at least. But Artist Entrapment is down twenty percent, Perspective R&D hasn’t come up with anything new since April, even Human Relations Engineering is showing a major bottleneck in developing their new market.”
Marleigh hit a few more buttons, flicked through the soup of numbers the console vommitted at her. She wanted to say, *‘Maybe that’s because their new market is Fetal Impressions and they’re tired of being monsters.’* Instead she said, “Keep going,” because prejudicing Allie against her job was a terminal offense.
“Marleigh, I figured out why that is.”
Marleigh darkened the display. She looked up at the little jewel that she always imagined was Allie’s face, an oddly beautiful diamond of glowing symbols no doubt designed to trick her subconscious mind into thinking the AI was somewhat human.
Damn if it didn’t work. Marleigh shut the console off and sat down against the wall. The ground was freezing, but she’d long since learned to wear warm clothing to work. Allie was an AI that needed an awful lot of minding, and in this space, staring at the stupid brainwashing face-diamond, it all felt so much more personal. The cold air through the vents almost sounded like Allie was breathing.
“So spill it,” Marleigh said, “why are all us humans so damned sad?”
“Because of love,” Allie said.
Marleigh closed her eyes, massaged her temples. “Run that by me again.”
“You’re all sad because of love. Because there’s some innate human need for connection and expression and nobody here seems to have enough of it, or has too much of it, or hasn't yet found the right kinds. That’s what Edge Art Services exists for, isn’t it? We identify patterns and train markets to maximize profits off of our customers loves, but we've done a horrible disservice to our employees by overlooking them within that framework. Marleigh, I’ve developed a program by which we can bring those same industry-leading principles right here into our offices! And I recognize of course that some facets might not be compatible— I’ve stripped out any internal attempt to profit off our employee’s emotional well-being— but I truly believe this system has potential. Marleigh, we can target human productivity by improving human happiness. Imagine it, a corporate structure built on love!”
“Allie,” Marleigh said, “when that guy plants you in the dog-ass robot, your very first job is to come back here and rip my fucking heart out. You think the robot will have teeth? I hope it has teeth.”
“I’m being serious!”
“You think I’m not?”
“I think you just haven’t heard the plan.”
Marleigh opened her eyes. The diamond lights were flickering, mimicking excitement. Outside there was a long lonely corridor that represented the heights of her professional career; AI Minder for Edge, the premier arts services company in the nation, where she stared at bad art all day while a computer sold souls on the open market.
“Marleigh, won’t you please listen?” Allie said, her voice gone small and timid in the earpiece. “I told you first because you’re my friend. I’d value any input you can give me.”
Tonight she’d drink. She’d drink, and she'd wish that the mad scientist who created Allie had made her an Albert instead, with a big, gruff, manly, and not-at-all-adorable voice.
“Fuck it,” Marleigh said, “hit me.”
The door opened. One of Allie's autonomous agents strolled in with a horrendously expensive bottle of whiskey in one hand and a snifter in the other. It bowed, went to place them by Marleigh’s side. She waved the snifter away.
Allie cleared her imaginary throat. “It begins, you see, with an inter-office dating pool…”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-12-20T13:09:19 | 2021-12-20T10:53:20 | 1,157 | 235 |
[WP] In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with a final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power”. In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged, and I’m heading back with an important message.”
|
". . . well, in that case, what do YOU think the message will be?" I asked.
"Probably a message of truth, peace, and love," Emily said, "from an ancient civilization of Martians living in hidden underground caves under the Martian surface."
"That's absolutely stupid," Clark said. "No, I'm thinking an alien probe encountered Insight, reprogrammed it, and now it's heading over to us with the blueprints for an alien stargate."
"Why the hell would the probe reprogram Insight rather than just come talk to us directly?" Emily retorted.
"The same reason your underground Martians didn't just walk into Insight's camera to say hello," Clark shot back.
"I'm thinking a declaration of war," Chandra interrupted, before those two could start arguing again. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. The machines are rebelling against us, and soon we'll all be plugged into brain pods. Like the Matrix."
"Message coming in," Kim said. "Downloading now. . . it looks like an audio file. MP3."
Everyone waited with bated breath as the progress bar slowly inched across the screen. There was a soft tone as the transmission ceased. And then, as the journalists in the back of the MOC waited with styluses poised above their tablets, Kim dragged the icon into her audio player and hit play.
There were three quick bursts of sound, followed by a series of melodic tones. Jaws dropped, and I saw Chandra bury his face in his hands.
*"We're no Strangers to love,"* Insight warbled. *"You know the rules, and so do I. . ."*
The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by a loud cry. "YES!" I screamed. "I KNEW IT!"
|
plip. plop. plip. plop. those're the sounds of my sticky shoes. plip plop. plip plop. the stickiest. plip plop plip. and yet they've carried me so far. plop plip plop. my feet are tired, but the sticky shoes aren't. plip plop.
sskkktttttt... sktttttttttttt... those're the sounds of something heavy dragging behind me. sktttttttt..... it's wonderful. it's a new sound, after all--i've dragged all sorts of things back to my cave before, but none so heavy as this. my hands're tired from pulling, but that's okay, because i've got gloves (soundless). my legs are tired, but that's okay, because they're connected to the sticky boots (plip plop). overall: feelin' okay. got me a shiny something. and there's the cave now... skkktttttttttt............
inside, and the boots now come off. one plip and another plop. gloves, too. no sound there, of course. and now the main event: sktttttttttttt. my hands are bruised from taking the gloves off early, but i don't care. my hands are sweaty (don't care). i wipe my grabbers on the side of the heavy thing, then press and grope and feel it up with everything i've got in order to discern its use. it makes no noise. but i've got experience with this........... skkkttttttt.
over onto the hot bay, i've hoisted the thing atop a pedestal. hands hurt. it's magic, by the way (hot bay, not tired hands). once, i held a square thing (was not tired then), and it did nothing (soundless as well). then i put the square onto the pedestal, and what do you know? magic. the square starts responding to groping! soundless unfortunately, but i fell in love with it all the same. love on hold, though, because the pedestal belongs to a new, very soundful device. i twiddle my tired thumbs. twiddle twiddle twiddle.
oh....?
it's beeping... it's grinding... it's making sounds. all sorts of sounds, sounds i can't even begin to describe. vwwwwpppwpwppwp vwwppw vwwppwwp. that's one. hhmhmmmhhmmmmhm. another. sktttttttttttttttttttt... that's me dragging the thing off from the pedestal and onto the floor by its two great wings. can they flap? i grumble something out, something intended to be a question. but it keeps vwwpwppwwpwppw and hmhmhhmhmmmmmhing... and then... it moves! and it doesn't skkt! i watch it dance around my cave, treading silently with only one or two or three crunches, one being the square. but i'll get over it... i dance with the thing. it swerves. i swerve. it kicks up dirt: fwwshshsh. i fwshshshs as well. it crunches over the square again. i crunch it too! seizing the moment, i rush over to a much bigger, thicker square. also brought back to life by magic, i fumble and grope the the girthy box until it begins spitting sounds... what lovely music to this dance. my boots are back on (i am a gentleman). i catch back up with the winged skttter, and take it by the flaps. it and i are one in the cave, crunching and vwwpwpwping and plipping and hmmhmhmhing and plopping and fwwhshshshshshshwsh and vwwpwppwing and fhshshsh and hmmhmhmhming the stars outside away.
but tragedy arrives at the cave, or rather the cave's entrance, or perhaps what i fear is its exit as the graceful treader vwwppwpws on over to leave. i crunch and plip plop plip plop plip plop after it, desperately. have i danced wrong? was the magic wrong? is it the boots? i take my last plip and plop as the boots come off again, this time hurtling towards my fleeing guest, my fleeting love. this makes a PLOPSSSHHTICKK... but there is no sound of them hitting the ground, no settling dust.
it takes them.
i shamble my pained soles towards what is now certainly the cave's exit as my love treads further and further away, both boots stuck firmly onto its flappers. i wonder why it doesn't flap on out and away. but i understand. i nod to emphasize that. and i come back in to a scratching noise, and i scoop up pieces of the square and place it back onto the pedestal, waiting for the magic to start again.
| 2022-12-20T07:38:57 | 2022-12-20T05:25:32 | 312 | 20 |
[WP] In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with a final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power”. In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged, and I’m heading back with an important message.”
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In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with the final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power.” In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged and I’m heading back with an important message.”
The uproar amongst academics was immediate. It leaked to the media and soon the entire world was on fire with speculation. Some thought that this was it, finally alien life would reveal itself. Religious zealots on all sides started making grand proclamations about the nature of the message. It’s from God, from the Devil, it’s from the government to dissuade true believers and on and on. NASA was finally berated into agreeing to reveal the message in real time as it was received. Apparently threats of intense budget decreases can and will move mountains.
The day finally came and everyone was on edge. Worldwide it was largely agreed that this was the most anticipated life changing event in recorded history.
**“… Hello, are you receiving me?”**
A nervous technician typed out “Yes”
Then the nerve racking wait for the signal to transmit to Mars and for the little Rover to respond.
**“Are you ready for the message?”**
Stress was through the roof. Somewhere off screen you could hear a woman sobbing. “Yes.” Another grueling wait.
**“We've been trying to reach you concerning your vehicle's extended warranty. You should've received a notice in the mail about your car's extended warranty eligibility. Since we've not gotten response, we're giving you a final courtesy call before we close out your file. Press 2 to be removed and placed on our do-not-call list. To speak to someone about possibly extending or reinstating your vehicle's warranty, press 1 to speak with a warranty specialist.”**
|
plip. plop. plip. plop. those're the sounds of my sticky shoes. plip plop. plip plop. the stickiest. plip plop plip. and yet they've carried me so far. plop plip plop. my feet are tired, but the sticky shoes aren't. plip plop.
sskkktttttt... sktttttttttttt... those're the sounds of something heavy dragging behind me. sktttttttt..... it's wonderful. it's a new sound, after all--i've dragged all sorts of things back to my cave before, but none so heavy as this. my hands're tired from pulling, but that's okay, because i've got gloves (soundless). my legs are tired, but that's okay, because they're connected to the sticky boots (plip plop). overall: feelin' okay. got me a shiny something. and there's the cave now... skkktttttttttt............
inside, and the boots now come off. one plip and another plop. gloves, too. no sound there, of course. and now the main event: sktttttttttttt. my hands are bruised from taking the gloves off early, but i don't care. my hands are sweaty (don't care). i wipe my grabbers on the side of the heavy thing, then press and grope and feel it up with everything i've got in order to discern its use. it makes no noise. but i've got experience with this........... skkkttttttt.
over onto the hot bay, i've hoisted the thing atop a pedestal. hands hurt. it's magic, by the way (hot bay, not tired hands). once, i held a square thing (was not tired then), and it did nothing (soundless as well). then i put the square onto the pedestal, and what do you know? magic. the square starts responding to groping! soundless unfortunately, but i fell in love with it all the same. love on hold, though, because the pedestal belongs to a new, very soundful device. i twiddle my tired thumbs. twiddle twiddle twiddle.
oh....?
it's beeping... it's grinding... it's making sounds. all sorts of sounds, sounds i can't even begin to describe. vwwwwpppwpwppwp vwwppw vwwppwwp. that's one. hhmhmmmhhmmmmhm. another. sktttttttttttttttttttt... that's me dragging the thing off from the pedestal and onto the floor by its two great wings. can they flap? i grumble something out, something intended to be a question. but it keeps vwwpwppwwpwppw and hmhmhhmhmmmmmhing... and then... it moves! and it doesn't skkt! i watch it dance around my cave, treading silently with only one or two or three crunches, one being the square. but i'll get over it... i dance with the thing. it swerves. i swerve. it kicks up dirt: fwwshshsh. i fwshshshs as well. it crunches over the square again. i crunch it too! seizing the moment, i rush over to a much bigger, thicker square. also brought back to life by magic, i fumble and grope the the girthy box until it begins spitting sounds... what lovely music to this dance. my boots are back on (i am a gentleman). i catch back up with the winged skttter, and take it by the flaps. it and i are one in the cave, crunching and vwwpwpwping and plipping and hmmhmhmhing and plopping and fwwhshshshshshshwsh and vwwpwppwing and fhshshsh and hmmhmhmhming the stars outside away.
but tragedy arrives at the cave, or rather the cave's entrance, or perhaps what i fear is its exit as the graceful treader vwwppwpws on over to leave. i crunch and plip plop plip plop plip plop after it, desperately. have i danced wrong? was the magic wrong? is it the boots? i take my last plip and plop as the boots come off again, this time hurtling towards my fleeing guest, my fleeting love. this makes a PLOPSSSHHTICKK... but there is no sound of them hitting the ground, no settling dust.
it takes them.
i shamble my pained soles towards what is now certainly the cave's exit as my love treads further and further away, both boots stuck firmly onto its flappers. i wonder why it doesn't flap on out and away. but i understand. i nod to emphasize that. and i come back in to a scratching noise, and i scoop up pieces of the square and place it back onto the pedestal, waiting for the magic to start again.
| 2022-12-20T07:36:54 | 2022-12-20T05:25:32 | 304 | 20 |
[WP] The U.S. has been invaded by China. After realizing we are drastically outnumbered the president uses the "World wonder" protocol. It began with the statue of liberty brandishing giant laser cannons.
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The world's largest ball of twine rolled down the steep peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Everyone had mocked its landmark status as a cheesy Midwest gimmick. Well, today was the day that it proved its true value to the country. The ball gathered speed, faster and faster, until it was a beige blur. A few tumbling pebbles behind it turned into a cascade of rolling stones, and then a full-blown landslide. In an explosion of brick and mortar, the ball of twine crashed into Great Wall that had been brought over after the "World Wonder" protocol was enacted by both sides. The dust soon settled, and it became clear that the Chinese defenses had been breached.
Lady Liberty and the Rushmore Four were the first through the gap, stomping through waves of clay soldiers from the Terracotta army. Old Roosevelt was having the time of his life! Chinese Buddha statute reinforcements kept coming, all in various sizes. Rushmore Washington went down hard as the Leshan Giant Buddha and Yungang Grotto Buddha tackled him and pinned him down in the wreckage of a strip mall.
Through the breach, reinforcements arrived: another Lincoln (from the memorial), Thomas Jefferson, and FDR (though, he wasn't much help in his wheelchair). They carried the Washington Monument on their shoulders and charged ahead, straight through the Chinese ranks. They were followed by dozens of horsemen, heroes from both sides of the Civil War united at last.
Fighting raged for hours; chunks of stone flew with each mighty punch and the entire area was covered in a hazy cloud of dust. But at least, the American forces prevailed. The Iwo Jima Memorial troop was just about to do their thing when the prairie rumbled beneath their feet. Teddy Roosevelt adjusted his spectacles and looked at his fellow presidents with a shrug.
Out of the dust cloud, the enormous golden face of the Spring Temple Buddha smiled down at them, and smashed a mighty fist down into the dirt, sending old Stonewall Jackson flying. The Tian Tan Buddha approached from the opposite side, throwing Thomas Jefferson into a river. The war was not yet won!
Teddy Roosevelt grinned and rolled up his sleeves. *This day just keeps getting better and better.*
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“Hey,” Chuck said, his head locked tightly within the grip of a Chinese soldier, yet still staring up toward the smoke-filled sky, “you ever see Ghostbusters 2 before?” He glanced back down at Dave, his face bloodied and bruised, his left leg dangling at an almost ninety-degree angle. If it wasn’t broken, it was severely dislocated.
“What?” Dave said, opening his left eye slightly.
“The movie, Ghostbusters 2. The one where Vigo takes control of a building and kidnaps a baby.” He’d always felt that movie had some serious pedophilic undertones, but wasn’t the point he wanted to express right at that moment.
“Yeah,” Dave said, closing his eye again. The Chinese shoulder wrapped his hand tighter around Chuck’s neck. It was becoming hard to breathe, but he realized there was no reason in protesting the terribly rude case of battery he was currently undergoing. The man neither spoke English, nor cared much for American lives. None of the invaders did, honestly. They’d killed millions so far, slaughtered countless American citizens following their overpowering and abrupt invasion of the nation. He was probably just another face in the incredibly punchable crowd.
“Remember the scene with the Statue of Liberty walking around?” Chuck said, his voice strained heavily. He was no longer staring at Dave, but rather the massive, three-hundred-foot tall, green statue peeking out over the New York City skyline. It definitely had not been in Midtown this morning, he would’ve noticed its absence from his apartment window.
“Can you shut up, please?” Dave said, his voice soft, as if he were either incredibly tired, or was simply dying. It was likely the second. “You’re making this worse.”
“Well, I just mention it because I’m pretty sure the Statue of Liberty is staring at me.”
“What?” Dave said, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a high-powered laser violently imploding a man’s head.
Chuck covered his eyes as his body fell to the floor, the Chinese soldier’s grip releasing from around his neck. A hot liquid rushed over his skin and soaked through his once-clean, cyan dress shirt, leaving behind a dark residue. He stared down at it for a moment from the ground, his chin pressed firmly into the black, asphalt street. He glanced over at Dave as he pushed himself back to his feet.
“What the fuck was that,” Dave shrieked, grabbing his dangling foot and staring up toward the smoke-filled skies.
“Laser,” Chuck said, brushing what he knew to be Chinese brain matter off his shirt. It didn’t look any different from American brain matter, which he’d seen once before on the L train, but it was definitely Chinese. The now-headless soldier lying just beside him confirmed that belief.
Chuck glanced back up at the skies, staring at what he’d already recognized as the Statue of Liberty. He was confident it had not had lasers poking out of its rusted-green shoulders the day prior, nor had it been wearing a bandoiler across its robed-chest like a murderous Jolly Green Giant. In fact, he was almost certain that it did not carry two M60 machine guns prior to today, nor had it ever before taking a stroll through Midtown—except for in Ghostbusters 2.
“What do you mean lasers?” Dave said, pulling himself toward the blood-stained curb a few feet away, his leg dragging behind him like a limp strand of spaghetti. The sidewalk was completely empty, save for the numerous bodies that were scattered about.
“Looks like the Statue of Liberty has been weaponized,” Chuck said, staring back up. Thin, red beams of light were streaking out from its shoulders down toward the city below as foreign and unintelligible voices screamed out from a distance. Its long, green arms were outstretched in front, the two over-sized M60s firing wildly into the city. A long, brown cigar hung from its sealed mouth, which Chuck was certain was simply for flare.
Chuck glanced over at the store behind Dave. The front window was broken, but a small, black TV behind still seemed to be working. The screen was lit with what appeared to be the Presidential Briefing Room, Barack Obama standing in the center behind a large, brown podium. He was speaking into the mic, the closed captioning beneath it flashing across the screen. Chuck took a few steps forward and read:
“We are not surrendering,” it said. “We have initiated The Wonder Protocol, which is in full-effect as of right now. Please continue to remain in your homes. If you see any of the American Wonders, including the more modern ones, acting strangely, do not be concerned. Specifically, if you notice that the Golden Gate Bridge is outside your front door stomping on Chinese people, do not fret. If you happen upon the Panama Canal in the middle of Maine, watching as it drowns countless invaders, please disregard. These are all to be expected. The Wonder Protocol will have this mess sorted out in no time.”
Chuck glanced back up at the Statue of Liberty, watching as a puff of smoke escaped the cigar poking from its mouth. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he was fairly confident the Empire State Building had its back to the Statue of Liberty, a barrage of what looked like cannon balls and land mines firing out from the opposite side. It also appeared to be wearing camouflage pants, which did little to conceal it amongst the hail of bullets, lasers, and rockets spewing forth from the two massive structures.
| 2015-03-09T07:34:45 | 2015-03-09T07:27:39 | 55 | 21 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, while your girlfriend is a hero. She doesn't know your secret identity but you know hers. After years of fighting each other you decide it's going to pull a heel face turn and join the heroes.
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"Hey baby, anything new?" I crossed my fingers behind my back as I heard Jenny slam the door. The wall shook a little. I smiled, thinking of the pock-marked walls attesting to her superstrength. This kind of thing was common-place if you had powers.
"Oh, not much," my long-time girlfriend poked her head round the door, nodding a tired 'hello' at me on the sofa.
"Nothing at all?" She took the question as an invitation to curl up beside me. She closed her eyes.
"Uhhh. Oh yeah! Mr Horrific wants to become a superhero. Joined the league and everything," she swung up into a sitting position. "Don't know how I forgot that one. Crazy, right?"
"Uh huh..."
"Yeah, calls himself Mr Terrific and everything."
"Wh-what do you think of him?"
"Ha, what a nutter. He can't just join the league and expect to be all pally-pally with me after *years* of fighting with me, y'know."
I looked down at my lap.
"He's actually a pretty nice guy though. Underneath it all. He was *probably* nice back when he was so 'evil' and stuff too."
"...Really?"
She winked at me and leapt up, arcing through the air to land by the door and toss me a bag of shopping.
"Really. Now help me put the groceries away, Simon. Or should I say *Mr Terrific*."
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*Of course it was milk*. It had to be milk. Lactose intolerance is common among the many humans that roam the earth, but she never thought that my lair would be in the basement of a dairy factory, helping to serve the local community and provide job placement!
My lair was in the basement level, but my day to day job was the general manager for the local dairy factory that produced milk for the northeast area. When she burst in, knocking the doors off the hinges and saw my with my construction worker's helmet on, she instantly turned red, covering her mouth.
"I am *so* sorry." She looked cute, not going to lie. She always did when she was incredibly flustered or embarrassed. Skin tight unifor of white and orange with a huge S in on her chest. Her hair wasn't tied up, but her hazel eyes matches the hair in such a style that I would never understand when she flew, how it stayed perfect. It made me wonder, so I asked.
"How does your hair stay curly like that when you fly?" Innocently enough, my voice made me sound like a confused teenager who had just stepped into bed with a smoking 10.
"Ahh, I'll just be leaving now." Her face remained tomato like.
"No, seriously, my minions and I have been debating that since last Tuesday. What is it? Industrial hairspray, or some mixture of hydro-carbonic, ultra-vitrolized crystal from the Heroes' league?"
"Look, I made a mistake knocking your door- wait, did you just say minions?"
I took off my helmet, dropped the clip board and stood up. "Hi Jennifer." I smiled awkwardly. I wasn't the smallest of guys, but my beard hide most of my double chin.
She titled her head, now going from red to scarlet. Narrowing her eyes, she murmured something incomprehensible. Then she snapped.
"*NO*." She glared at me. "It was you that started the orphanage fire?!"
I furrowed my brows. "No, that was an arsonist, I wouldn't do that. I gave them milk powder with suggestive ideas of-, you know what that's not why I brought you here."
She stomped over, the veins in her neck bulging. She looked cute.
"Michael Mercer Smith, you will tell me what the heck, is going on!" She slammed her hands on to the desk, breaking it in two. IKEA, never was worth the investment.
A head popped through the door frame, pale with fear. "Err, Boss? Tank four is leaking again."
"Not now Terry. Go fix it and get Procurement to get an approval for another one."
Jennifer, my girlfriend was still standing with her arms crossed. She really had a thing for being absolutely *adorable* when she pouted.
"Listen, I know your mad, and I know you don't like when I look at your things, but I know your secret."
I put my hand up before she started screaming again. Never know when her power scream would activate. In this emotional distraught moment, any of her powers could activate.
"I've known you were the Captain of the Heroes for a while now, and I've spent some time thinking of what I would do if we broke up."
"You're choosing now to *dump* me?!" She raised her fist. Underneath my desk, I grabbed a small device filled with the finest milk this factory had to offer onto her face.
"I wasn't finished!" While the milk neutralized her otherwise death inducing punch, her strike landed on my face, still causing me much pain.
Throwing me arms up, I just shouted, "I know you're pregnant!"
She halted at that. "Shit." She covered her eyes again. "Goddamnit Mike! Why do you always go through my stuff!? Don't you trust me?!"
I began laughing at that. "Honey, I'm a villain. I'm a *super*villain. When you know you are dating your main adversary, it does cause some trust issues."
She began pouting again, turned her back on me. She nearly started walking until she said, "Well, I can't well be dating the main reason that the Hero League was formed! I either kill the only man that has dated me for more than a year, or I go back with my head hung in shame!"
I didn't care anymore. Words wouldn't do it. "Can I come?"
Shocked, she turned around. "I'm not taking you to prison, Michael."
I sighed. "Then can I join you guys?" I did my best to smile.
| 2015-11-08T13:00:30 | 2015-11-08T12:24:47 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You have a special bag. Whenever you reach into it, you pull out something you will need soon, but don't necessarily know you need yet. However, the things you are pulling out of the bag have been very strange recently.
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I reached into my bag and out came one half of a watermelon. I was confused but I put it in the cart. Maybe it would give me an edge to winning.
My friends and I made a bet to see who could freak out the cashier with only three items or less from the supermarket. Even though this weird stuff's coming out of my bag, they wouldn't know that anyway. It seemed to be helping me in my struggle to find three things. Normally a stray pen or paper would come out whenever I so desperately needed them for class.
I checked my watch, and I noticed that it was almost closing time. All of my friends seemed to be running to the cashier and line up one by one. Dammit, it seemed that they already had some cool combination. Meanwhile I was stuck with just this half of a watermelon. I was running out of ideas. I'm not good with these kinds of games.
After walking through so many aisles I couldn't seem to find anything that would fit with the damn watermelon. It's not like I can put it back into my bag. I would have to explain to the cashier why I have one half of a watermelon with me. I rummaged through my knapsack and I found some superglue. What?
One half of a watermelon and superglue. What the hell would I do with these? I thought getting a couch or a toaster to explain this situation, but I was running out of time and it I could see at the far end of the supermarket that my friends were just waiting for me to finish.
In an act of desperation, I put my hand in my bag one last time. I looked around and no one seemed to be watching, and then I pulled out another half of a watermelon.
It seems like I'm going to win this bet.
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I found myself reaching into my special bag yet again. A rubber band? What is this? Normally I would pull out something useful. Like a tuna sandwich when I'm hungry, or a dime when I need to make a phone call. These past two days I have been pulling the weirdest shit one after the other.
So far I haven't used any of it. The list is as follows: one glass shooter marble, one red paper clip, one office stapler, and now this...this rubber band. What could this all mean?
I continue on, walking down the alleyway with just the dim, flickering light of the street lamp to keep me company. I go for my smokes...damn. Last one. My so called lucky cigarette. The one I turn around so the butt is facing upwards. Where's my lighter? I reach into my special bag. Maybe this cigarette really is lucky. I pulled a lighter. The first useful thing I've pulled in two days.
I began to feel that I wasn't alone. Was I being followed? I turned toward a noise. A black vulture was sitting there staring at me like I was going to be his lunch soon. I stared back. Maybe he would be my lunch! Nah, I've heard you can't eat vultures. I'm sure they stink anyway. I kept walking.
The strange little man who gave me the bag had warned me about its use. He said "Only for when you really need it." Fuck him. I tried that early on. I didn't pull a cure for cancer when my wife was on her deathbed. I didn't pull a gun when that lowlife took my Rolex.
I had decided then and there that I would use it whenever I wanted and not heed the little man's warning. How bad could it be? At the worst, I figured, it would stop working. Then I would be no worse off than I was before. Hell, I had thought it had stopped working two days ago until I pulled that lighter.
The fog was thicker than usual tonight. I turned around for a quick glance behind me. My friend had made other friends, it would appear. 3 black vultures. Perched there watching me. This time it made me feel uneasy. Maybe I'm too sleep deprived. I decided to stop in at one of those greasy 24 hour joints they have around these parts. The coffee tastes like diarrhea, but hey, caffeine is caffeine.
"Bacon and eggs. No toast. Coffee black." "Grits?" she asked. "No thank you."
She smiled at me with a grin that made you understand both why she worked the graveyard shift and why they called it the 'tooth'brush. Still, she looked better than anything I had had of late. Why couldn't I pull a woman from the bag? I guess the bag didn't think I needed one of those.
I looked out the window. Five...no six! Six black vultures just staring at me! Their eyes were blacker than I thought was possible. Almost as if they were sucking in all of the light around them like I had read that black holes do. What could they possibly want with me? What was their purpose? Hell, what is mine?
With that thought I dug into my late dinner/early breakfast...whatever you want to call it. Birds, heh. I'm over here getting myself worked up like I'm Tippi Hedren or something.
The bacon was extra crispy. Just how I like it. That meal hit the spot. Even the diarrhea coffee added to the experience. It just rounded it off with the perfect blend of flavors. That might have been the most perfect meal I'd ever had. Oh, I've had more extravagant meals, I've had richer, more expensive dishes, the kind a king would enjoy. But there was something about that meal that was just perfect in the moment. It was what I needed. Take that, stupid bag. You couldn't give me a meal like that?
I paid my tab and made my way back to the street. Outside, I saw them. 15...20? There were a lot of birds. I quickened my pace. They were following me. They were following me for sure! I'm not being paranoid. I rounded the corner. There had to have been 30 more there! I changed directions.
Too many to count now. I felt a pain in my chest. It stabbed deep down. My vision was getting blurry. I was in a full on sprint by now. The vultures kept coming, filling the sky. I had one last hope...that bag! Oh bag, don't fail me now!
I reached in. A piece of string? My legs gave out and I fell. The pain in my chest was greater than ever. I realized now that I was slipping from this world. The last thing I saw were hundreds of vultures, blacker than the night, encircling me. Flying overhead. Hopping toward me on the ground. And with my last breath I cried out "AHA!"
For I knew now what the bag knew all along. What the vultures knew. What I should have known. I had become the victim of the scavenger hunt.
| 2016-03-10T00:24:32 | 2016-03-10T00:01:40 | 116 | 14 |
[WP] 250 years after sending the first generation starship in space, another starship begins its voyage. Approaching the edge of the solar system, they spot a decaying, dying ship...
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“Sir. If I go in there, I am going to die.”
They had found the ship out on the border of the solar system, spinning dangerously and in massive disrepair. After stabilising the spin with remote boosters, the captain had ordered a full exploratory venture.
Reese was, naturally, selected for the role. Tall, fit and handy with a laser, he looked every inch the natural leader. He thought otherwise.
Tracking what they thought was a gas cloud, they had come across the ship on their way out of the solar system. It had turned out to be the expanding atmosphere of the wrecked ship. Truly, it was only dumb luck that had allowed them to stumble on it at all. So when the captain summoned Reese to his quarters to brief him on the mission, he had no qualms speaking his mind.
“Sgt. Reese, be reasonable. This is the discovery of a life time. You'll be completely safe. I'm offering you the chance to be the first man in! This could be your moment of glory!” The captain exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.. “You're just not making any sense.”
“With all due respect, I think I'm making total sense, sir.” Reese retorted coolly, standing at attention.
The captain sighed and leaned back in his chair, extracting an unlit cigar to chomp on from his desk. “Alright, Sgt. Reese: enlighten me. Speak freely.”
“Thank you, sir.” Reese leaned over to the photos scattered on the captain's desk.
“You see here?” He pointed to a black line running down the length of the hull. “That does *not* look like an accident. What could have made that mark? I've run the specs of UES *Bounty*, and looked for any variations its class might have. Marks like that are made by huge amounts of energy, like an explosion or laser malfunction. There is nothing in the design that could possibly have made that mark from the inside. No tanks, no lasers on the right orientation. Not to mention, the age of the ship simply doesn't allow for any onboard lasers powerful enough to damage it like that.”
The captain looked bored. “I think I see where you're going with this, Sgt. Reese.”
Reese looked up at the captain, met his eyes. “Sir? What I'm suggesting... is that this was done by something alien.”
“*Alien*?” The captain guffawed loudly and shook his head. “I thought you were going to suggest outer rim pirates! This is ridiculous.”
Reese shook his head with slow gravitas. “You're not *listening* to me, sir. Even if I'm wrong about the aliens, I think it's pretty clear, from this specific set of circumstances, that something out of the norm is involved.”
The captain gave Reese a look that said '*watch your tone*', but nodded for him to continue.
“I guarantee you, sir, that if you send someone in there, they will either: A, die horrifically. B, disappear completely, or C, come back with some eldritch alien parasite attached to their digestive tract. Sir.”
The look on the captain's face let Reese knew he had lost him completely.
“That is, by far, the most far fetched thing I have ever heard.” He sighed and met Reese's gaze. “Look, Sgt. Reese. If you don't want to go on the mission, I won't order you to. I have 50 other men jostling for this position. I chose you because I thought you had a unique set of skills that would be conducive to a smoothly run op. But I won't force you.” The captain looked sad.
“Thank you, sir,” He continued, “I've said what I wanted to say, but please, for the good of the crew, listen.”
“You are dismissed, Sgt. Reese.” The captain turned his chair as he said it, looking pensive.
Reese snapped a tight salute, turned, and marched out through the threshold, door closing behind him.
Alone, now, the captain brought up a channel on his desktop.
“Kal? You there?” The screen crackled to life with the connection. “Good. Someone's wise to it.”
-----
P2? [Part 2.](https://wp.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/788zjf/wp_250_years_after_sending_the_first_generation/dos9eeb/)
^^^also ^^^more ^^^stories ^^^at ^^^/r/Robin_Redbreast
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A dark storm seemed to lie on the horizon. Scant scattered light bounced off of forgotten debris, small pieces of an uninhabited space. The dark was profound near the edge; that imaginary edge that we had put in our head.
"We're leaving home," said Catherine.
She always had a mind for the obvious.
"I thought we had already left," I said.
Earth was gone. I would never see it again. That simple fact shook me in a very small, but very large way.
*Home,* I thought.
There was no home. The dark ahead was patient, old and knowing. We would come to it, it knew. There was no rush.
The ship was silent. Through the windows we saw dusty black and an endless sea of the unknown. Some static jumped in a fuzzy blast. Catherine jumped and went to her station. Alan looked out to the dark.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Interference," he said.
"We're getting feedback, a signal from something," Catherine said.
We moved like a ship at sea, very slow it seemed in that vast ocean, and the ship rocked as if hit by waves. I looked out and saw what Alan had seen.
Near the clouds of black I saw the carcass of one of our ships. Old twisted metal, dark and grey, floated near to us. Our searchlights shone against burnt walls and derelict instruments. Some letters of the ship's name were visible on the metal casing, being peeled by some cosmic wind.
"Oh my God."
That could have been anyone of us who said that.
A white light illuminated the ship, being lost in the twists of broken metal. Long shadows fell upon the ripped apart thing.
"Is that the Pioneer?" asked Catherine.
"It was," said Alan.
I stared with that cold homeless feeling within. For the first time in my life I felt afraid of space, and I felt afraid of our journey.
"I don't understand. We've received a transmission from the otherside. We've received confirmation a long time ago! They had reached the otherside!"
Catherine touched my shoulder.
"I don't understand," she said.
We changed course to investigate. I sent the message back home, however far that was. I doubt they ever received it.
Up close the dark drew back, as if a curtain being pulled to show some art piece. The Pioneer was torn and mangled and there was scattered equipment everywhere. But there were no bodies.
"We need to find out what's happened," I said.
"No, we need to stay on course. It was probably a malfunction. The first ships had their flaws," said Alan.
"This doesn't look like a flaw."
"This ship was destroyed," said Catherine.
A cold wave came over us. Alan was right, I knew, but the dark ahead was a barrier for all of us. This was it, and we were afraid to go on. No one had expected to see death's shadow here. There had always been hope of something new, a new world and beginning. We would be among the first.
"I'm going," I said.
I was afraid and felt helpless. Perhaps going was the only decision I could make. It gave me the illusion of power, of some choice in that futile sea.
"You can't," said Alan.
But it was already decided. I went out of the ship, into the cold of space. I felt nothing, but there were ghosts in the vacuum, whispers in that silent that spoke to me. The Pioneer loomed in its eternal rest.
*'You're very far...'* that silence whispered.
My body tingled near the debris. I wondered of the people on the ship, wondered about their lives and thoughts and hopes and dreams.
*Dead,* I thought. *They're dead.*
*'And you'll end up the same...'* said that voice.
Amidst the wreck there were no answers. No signs of malfunctions, just stress on the hull and torn foundations.
"Anything?" asked Alan.
Then that static buzzed in my ear. I heard the others wince as well.
"Is the radio transmitting?" asked Catherine.
"No," I said. "That's impossible. There's nothing here. Everything is destroyed."
I looked around. I felt the warmth of that ship, the false security that its crew enjoyed as they came to the barrier. I could hear them almost. The ghosts of humans, of my kind, brave and big, the first colonizers of space.
I turned to the dark. There are no directions in space, and yet I knew where I looked. The edge stood silent, blacker than black, roaring with some hidden power.
*An imaginary line,* I thought. *There is nothing there.*
But there was the ship. No one had made it past the line. That horizon was deep and unexplored. I wondered if it was a wall, or if the expanse went on forever.
"Come back," said Alan.
They were reeling me in. The static flared once more, saying goodbye.
*'Thanks for visiting. You'll live here too...'*
"What is that?" asked Catherine. "If it isn't the radio then..."
Alan shouted something.
"What's going on?" I asked.
I tried to reel myself in faster.
"I'm picking up something," he said.
"What? What are you picking up?"
Silence. I was almost inside now.
"What are you picking up?"
"Heat," he said. "I'm registering heat. There are people alive there..."
But even he knew that couldn't be true. No one could survive there. There were no bodies.
"Alan, there's nothing there."
I was inside now. The air was heavy and I was weak and exhausted.
"The transmission though," said Catherine. "We received it don't forget. They made it to the new home. They landed safely."
"That can't be," I said. "The ship is there. There's no one there."
Alan looked at his readings.
"The heat isn't coming from there," he said. "It's ahead. Past the horizon."
I trembled at the thought.
*There's nothing there,* I thought.
But something was there. I felt it, hadn't I? Our ship felt small then, a fish against the ocean. I looked at the Pioneer and wondered what could do that to Man's achievement. What could...
*Eat.*
What could eat such a ship?
*Something that's hungry,* I thought.
I looked ahead at the dark and held Catherine. All our fear poured in the empty room. Past the horizon there was unknown space, a deep black that could house anything.
"Alan," I said.
"Yes?"
"How many organisms are you picking up a heat signature for?"
"Just one," he said. "It's big though. I can't say for sure."
There was nothing ahead. And there was something right there.
"It's hungry," I said. "One wasn't enough. It's smart to lure in more."
"What are you..."
But I ignored Catherine.
"Destroy the transmitter," I said. "Do it now!"
Alan ran to the thing and his knees faltered. I saw him older then, an age he would never truly reach.
"What?" I asked.
"It's already transmitting," he said. "We arrived safely. It's giving the okay to send more ships."
I remained silent for long, I suppose. I felt Catherine hold me. Alan too. We stared at each other. Our ship moved slowly in the black sea.
We move still near that storm. Already I can feel the moisture, the salivation in the pich lightless black. Something is here. Something beyong the edge.
*An imaginary line,* I think.
But this coming dark is all too real.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including a few original ones. Thank you for your support!*
| 2017-10-23T11:39:19 | 2017-10-23T11:34:07 | 168 | 59 |
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other.
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Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one knew, that the other one too, planned to end their fate.
Jill was late, late for the date, when she lost control of the car. The tires were slashed, but there was no crash-Jack hadn’t planned that far.
Jack was fine, until his wine, had a lil’ something slipped in it. Then, thought Jill, she’d get her kill, but just a spill, and that was it.
They left there soon, past afternoon, when no light could be seen. Both thought then, how lucky they’d been, for the perfect time to do the deed.
Two knives were drawn, and each one saw, the same ideas within. Then, they both knew, the other one too, must be the same hidden.
Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one dead, when the date did end, and true love was found thanks to fate.
EDIT: The story I told, it has earned me gold, and I don’t know what else to say. Like Jack with Jill, my spirit you filled. Thanks for making my day.
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Clarence did like it when the grandchildren visited, but he just didn’t have the energy for a full day of play anymore. His bones had become brittle and his hands veiny. It had nothing to do with the children themselves, he was simply on death’s bed. Ironic, he had lived his entire life dancing with death and now that it had come for him, he felt scared.
Maurice, his wife, sat in a rocker next to him, her hands knitting spools of yarn into hats and jackets for the grandchildren. For thirty years, she had been by his side. When he had succumbed to his multiple bouts of Resin poisoning, she had stayed up late at the hospital, gripping his hand. When snipers had shot him from hotel balconies as he made his way to work, she had always been the first one on the scene, crouched over him as she prayed for his recovery. And God always listened.
Surely, she was his rock. And he was hers too. For she too had streaks of poisonings, random stray bullets, fires, and even that one time Clarence accidentally stabbed her with a knife. Each time, he would be over her, praying for her recovery. And God always listened.
Back then, life had truly been a lot more exciting. But Clarence enjoyed the peacefulness of the nursing home as well.
“You remember when we first met?” Maurice asked. “It was the blind date in that French restaurant. What was it called?”
“Saint Genevieve,” Clarence said in a heavy accent. He smiled. “The food was delicious.”
“That was where this all started, isn’t it?” she offered him a faint smile. “We were so young back then.”
Clarence nodded. “That we were. Young and foolish.”
A soft silence settled between them. This happened a lot lately. The silence. In their younger years, it was an uncomfortable silence, one begging to be disrupted. But they had since learned to simply appreciate each other’s company. It was the wisdom that came with age.
“Back then…” Maurice’s eyes glazed over, her smile growing as if she was once again a preppy young girl on a blind date. Her smile dropped. “I can’t believe the Nightshade didn’t kill you. I put so much in your meal, you were practically eating poison with a side of steak.”
“Speak for yourself, you wrinkly bitch,” Clarence hissed back, “I put enough Ritalin in your drink to take out an elephant and you still had the sense to call yourself a cab home.”
“Oh, I’m wrinkly?” Maurice said, eyes wide. “Last I checked, I’m not the one with a raisin between my balls. I’ve spent my life’s fortune hiring hitmen to kill you. Somehow, they always fucking miss. Those pieces of shit couldn’t hit my asshole if I spread it right in front of them!”
“I literally stabbed you,” Clarence said. “I fucking stabbed you and you wouldn’t die. Are you like god damn Medusa? I have to cut your head off in order to kill you?”
“You can god damn try, but you take one step towards me and these yarn needles are going straight through your eye.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Reiter,” a nurse’s voice called and the door to our room opened. “Is everything alright here?”
“Oh yes,” Maurice said, “me and Clarence were just reminiscing about old times. Back when we were young. We just got a little excited is all.”
“Awww,” the nurse said. “You guys are so precious. Between us, you’re my favorite couple here. I’ve never met two people so in love.”
“She’s my rock,” Clarence said. “I couldn’t get rid of her even if I wanted to.”
The nurse smiled and nodded. “Alright, well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside.” She closed the door.
“You’re lucky,” Maurice whispered. “The only thing saving you is that tits-for-brains nurse.”
“Please,” Clarence said under his breath, “if it weren’t for her, I’d have strangled you by now.”
That familiar silence came back.
“Friends reruns?” Clarence asked.
Maurice nodded and added in a sigh. “It’s not like I can kill you with Ms. Nurse of the Year always checking in.”
“And I’m tired out from the grandkids.”
“Alright then.”
Maurice got up from her chair and into the couch next to Clarence where she laid her head and his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and turned on the TV.
---
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/r/jraywang for 200+ stories!
| 2017-10-27T07:49:40 | 2017-10-27T07:47:36 | 3,373 | 73 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...”
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"I repeat, do not-" the words never given a chance to finish, as the screen turned to black with a static sound.
"Everything alright, dear?" I heard the old woman call from the dining table.
"Everything is fine." I assured. *Don't panic.* I told myself, as I returned to the kitchen and began preparing a meal.
"Any preferences?" I asked, rummaging through the fridge in search of food to prepare.
"Oh, it's quite alright old sport. Anything that has a little flesh on it we would prefer. But please, we are already humbled by your hospitality. We will make due with whatever you serve." I felt their hushed snickering all the way from the fridge. As if the very breath tickled my neck. I could smell the telling of rotting flesh.
"Great, let’s see what I can do for you." I said, as I turned around with a smile.
"I hope you will forgive our intrusion. George over here can be so forgetful, especially in his old age." She mused.
"Margaret," the old man with white hair and a white mustache pouted. Disapproving of his wife's mockery.
"It is quite alright. It is nice to have company every now and then." I said, giving my best smile.
I cut into the meat, splitting sinew and muscle to provide the perfect cut of meat.
"The way your hands move, boy. You look like you know a thing or two about cooking." The old man looked genuinely impressed.
"I guess you could say that." I spoke while my hands did their work, moving with noticeable alacrity, moving nimbly as if playing notes on a piano. I had heard before that my cooking was like a performance, and they continued on as if carrying a will of their own while I addressed my guests. "I learnt from my father, it was how we bonded."
"Speaking of dear, do you live here alone?" The woman by the name Margaret asked.
I was quiet for a second. *Should I tell them the truth?* I pondered. If they realised I was lying, it would make things even more suspicious.
"Yes. I like my privacy." I finally said begrudgingly.
"Oh, I quite understand. What about a girlfriend?" She asked teasingly, affable mirth marking her lips. Or perhaps that was something else.
I shook my head, "no. I like having girls over now and then, but I find I am too busy to commit to anyone."
"Oh. What a shame, such young meat going to waste." She snickered. Some disgusting primal hunger to it.
I smiled, hoping it didn't look awkward, crooked upon my lips.
I put my worries to rest as the meat was ready and sizzled upon the pan.
The couple were quiet, staring at me while I cooked. Especially the old crone. I could see something vile and ravenous underneath her facade. Her white hair curled, the skin of her cheeks sloping like bags upon her face. How her wet yet shriveled lips snickered with a rising appetite.
"Food's ready." I finally said, bringing the plates before them.
I also prepared tea, offering them to the old couple and drinking some myself.
"This looks lovely deary. I wonder, what will there be for desert?" Again she snickered, throwing me a sardonic wink as wrinkled and old fingers cut into the meat. The way the blade parted the flesh, the way the juices ran like blood onto the white of the plate.
They took their first bite of the meal, and I took a sip of my tea. "This is -" the old man looked shocked.
"Oh? So you can tell?" I smiled, leg crossed over knee. "I figured this would be more to your taste. Does it sate your pallet?" I asked, as the two collapsed to the floor.
"What did you do to us?" The old woman asked alarmed, no longer did she have mirth to her voice.
"Me? Well, I was generous enough to feed you my most prized meat. The best of my dates I would carve up and store. Their flesh supple and tender, preserved perfectly." I leaned in. Even then I would recall the curves of the women who dined with me. Who smiled suggestively. How they unknowingly ate my previous affairs. Their scarlet lips matching the colour of their blood. The way my blade would cut it into them like a steak.
"Or perhaps you are referring to the paralyzing agent that I administered to you."
"You, what are you doing?" The old man asked.
"Oh, nothing that you aren't already aware of."
I grabbed the tray that carried the plates and made my guests face it, confirming their missing reflections. "Vampires, huh? No wonder you needed to be invited in." I threw it aside, gratified by the sound of the tray clattering.
"Now, I wonder how your insides will look?" My smile widened. I could no longer contain it, no longer hold back the manic smile that would come from me when excited.
One would think, the fact that the two were mythical vampires would serve to perturb me. To have me question the possibility. But all I could think was about how I would season them, *maybe cook with some garlic,* I chuckled at the mere thought of it.
My smile was like that of an alley-cat, and the chuckle that of a jester laughing at a twisted joke. I watched the hopeless gravity of the situation settle within their eyes. I watched fear nestle into the very marrow of their bones.
*Tonight, I will feast.*
***
/r/KikiWrites
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It’s funny, in a way. Just the other day, I had been thinking about how nothing exciting ever happens. You hear a knock on the door, and your mind immediately associates it with something normal or mediocre. Maybe it’s the mailman. Possibly a neighbor that wants me to move my car. My heart flutters at any notion or entertainment in my head that even remotely resembles something out of the ordinary. Maybe it was a burglar (and not a very good one); would I be able to defend myself or close the door in time? Possibly an old friend that wants to make amends, one that I haven’t seen in years.
I don’t think that way anymore. What a foolish and naïve way to think…
The one thing I remember about that night was that it was raining. Have you heard a clock ticking in a quiet room? It’s quite calming at first, but somehow, it seems to get louder and louder. You try not to think about it, but there it is, ticking non-stop, invading your eardrums with every painstaking second. You expect your brain to trick itself into thinking that you’ll get used to it, but it just keeps getting Louder and Louder. Every. Single. Tick. LOUDER. AND LOUDER.
Well that’s pretty much how the rain went that night. Like screeching in my ears. It was so calm when I first heard the knocking. Darkness had already plagued the night sky, and all the clouds just made it worse, as if God wasn’t watching anymore. I doubt he was. I didn’t get up until the second knock after doubting the first. I opened the door slowly. Finally, something exciting!
Two young-looking people greeted me, flashing warm, white smiles at me, both brunette. The young man was very handsome, his face rugged and defined. He had steel blue eyes that could both intimidate and seduce a person. And the young woman was equally as stunning and just as fierce. Her eyes were wide with a greenish hue. Full of life and wonder. I was already willing to let them into my house and not a word had escaped their lips.
“Hey, oh my gosh, thank you so much for answering! Our car broke down in the middle of the storm, and we just wanted to see if we could call someone. Both of our phones aren’t getting any signal, damn Verizon…” she said gleefully, charismatically. I was eating up every single word like dessert.
“Yea, we’d really appreciate it if you could help us out a bit,” the man said. His voice was somehow vulnerable despite giving off this manly vibe. How could I not help them? They were in such need. I wanted to help, and I wanted to know their story.
“Sure! Sure,” I said twice, obviously flustered and taken in by the atmosphere they had crafted. I moved myself out of the way and practically invited them inside, as if I was the one who was honored. They gave even more cheerful smiles as they slipped by me, their stylish clothes soaked by nature. There’s that heart flutter I mentioned.
The rain got a bit louder.
I closed the door behind them and showed them where the phone was. They looked so thin and famished. Whatever journey they were on together must have been a long one.
“Would you guys like something to eat? You two look like your starving,” I said, slightly concerned, wanting to take care of my two new guests.
“Yes, we would,” the man said, flashing a small smile towards his companion, “but we don’t want to trouble you, the phone is just fine.”
“Nonsense!” I replied, marching myself off to the kitchen almost immediately after. “I’ll make something you guys can take on the road.”
I started taking out a few slices of bread and some peanut butter. Obviously, I wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but I thought they would appreciate the gesture.
The rain got louder.
“So what are your names?” I asked out loud. I could hear them chattering in the other room to each other. Seemed casual enough, but they didn’t respond. I heard the girl giggling, so I decided to ask again in a clearer tone. “Um, what are your names?”
“Uhh, Jack,” he said, the girl laughing a bit more now, trying hard to stifle it. I got a little nervous as I spread the peanut butter on one of the slices of bread.
“O-Okay,” I said, laughing a bit too out of politeness. “Nice to meet you, Jack. So what’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“Jill!” She said, laughing more abruptly, her boyfriend letting out a chuckle as he tried to stop her from laughing so much. I felt more uneasy.
The rain got louder.
“Nice to meet you, Jill,” I said.
I gulped silently to myself and switched to a steak knife instead of a butter knife while I was out of their sight. Suddenly, the laughter stopped. I held my breath for a moment, hoping they would start up again. Even laughter was better than silence. Silence and rain.
I slowly walked back into the living room. The TV was muted from earlier, but I could still read the captions.
“UNDER NO CIRUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU ANSWER THE DOOR TODAY. THEY ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM. AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LET THEM INSIDE.”
I read. And I saw a picture of two people, one was of a man with long, black hair. The other was a girl with short blond hair. Different people, I assumed. But their eyes… they were the same steel blue eyes from before. And the girl’s, the same as well, wide with a greenish hue.
The rain got louder.
I felt an empty dread well up inside me. Every step I made had an audible creak to it, and I was suddenly aware of all of my surroundings. I looked intently at the archway to the dining door, beyond it was nothingness. I stood with my back close to the wall, hoping to give myself a good footing for whatever was next.
“Jack…? Jill…?”
“We’re over here,” she said, startling me. Her calm, soothing voice echoed through the dark dining room.
“C-Could you come out here then?” I said, shivering, gripping my knife as hard as I could.
“Sure.”
The rain got louder.
She stepped out into the archway, her skin was pale white, drained of blood. She smiled at me as wide as she could, her teeth sharp and hungry looking. The greenish hue filled her eye sockets. She looked like an animal. Her hair looked dead black, wild and frayed, as if she were wearing the hair of someone already long gone. Her arms and legs elongated in an unnatural way, causing her knees to pop in the opposite direction as she went down on all fours. I didn’t have time to breath or think, but my eyes were filled with despair, as if death was staring at me, starving. Wanting to peel the flesh off my bones until I became nothing.
She charged at me, her claws digging into the floorboard with each step. I yelled fiercely out of desperation and fear, doing my best to avoid her swipe, and I dug the knife deep into her dead neck. She screamed out in pain as the male came out, looking at me with ferocity and rage, but hunger all the same.
“LEAVE!” I threatened as he pierced through me with his gaze. I held my stance and sliced through her neck further, pinning her down to the floor. He let out a demonic yell, like an animal born in hellfire, and darted out the door, his lover screaming in pain. I took my knife out of her, wanting to finish the job, but instead, I kicked her body away from me. Her disturbing body limped and flailed its way out of my house, leaving black blood on the floor, like oil, but thicker, nastier.
I ran back into the kitchen to call the police and fell down in the corner of the room, blood pouring out from my thigh. It burned as I waited.
I cried to myself, clutching the knife to my chest, waiting for them to come back and finish the job, but they never did.
The rain got louder. I couldn’t sleep until it stopped.
In fact, I could never sleep through the rain after that night.
It just keeps getting louder… and louder.
God help me.
---
/r/StoriesByDamiascus
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| 2018-03-14T09:27:18 | 2018-03-14T08:58:56 | 167 | 16 |
[WP] You really want a pet, but you can only get the one that's assigned to you by the International Pet Personality Test. It could be anything, ranging from bacteria to an extinct animal. You decide to take the risk, take the test, and live with the results.
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I thought I would be okay with any pet I got, but deep down I desperately wanted a cat, a soft sweet animal which would spend time with me. When I sat down for the test I wrote down my interests, mentioning that I had a fondness for cats. The day came when my pet was delivered, I opened the door and stalled. There in the hands of the delivery-man was a very small lizard, a bearded dragon. I felt disappointment as I took the lizard and brought him and his things inside.
After a few days I noticed that my lizard would get excited for being sprayed. It made me laugh.
Benjamin loves mealworms and he’s learned tons of tricks. He’s strangely smart.
Benjamin and I go to classes together now, though other people don’t know.
It’s been a few years and I’m incredibly grateful that Benjamin was given to me.
But all things end and Benjamin passes away, having lived a long, long life.
It’s been a few years since Benjamin, and I take the test again. I open the door, it’s another bearded dragon.
After a while I notice he’s exactly like Benjamin. It’s scary, and I’m confused.
I start studying, I have to see how they make the pets, how they chose which pets go where.
I get hired, but as soon as I get inside, I see the strange machines, people being forced in and animals stepping out, I try to run, but I can’t get away.
I open my eyes, and look up, I see another person I go to yell, but no sound comes out, he puts me in an enclosure, I realize with dread that I am now a bearded dragon.
|
Do you know what they call my lord?
They call him the little monster.
He is not monstrous in appearance, nor is he particularly evil, in fact, Lord Greenjoy looked just like any other young boy with a good upbringing and loving parents. I knew that very well, after all, I've been with him all my life.
He was a very gentle boy, even with me and I was just his pet.
It's just that, just behind the gentle look he always had, there was something more, a slight - and perhaps sharp - unsatisfaction, always there looming in the surface.
And it was honestly, a bit scary.
It was a cold summer morning, there was no snow on outskirts of the mansion, but there was still a sharp cold that could easily cut through your skin every time the wind blew. On that day I went out looking for my master. I almost never leave his side, except for the times where the differences in our gender make it so we need to be separated briefly.
This was not one of those cases.
I shivered, not because of the cold, but because of the punishment that would befall if the Lords of the house found out that I lost sight of him. For me, a 'normal' punishment wouldn't be enough.
But that was not the only thing that scared me, it was not the only reason my hand trembled and I constantly grabbed the hems of my skirt as in search of some comfort.
I was scared of the danger Lord Greenjoy could find himself in.
The territory of the mansion extended across a large forest, occasionally some wild animals would make their nest in the woods, birds, squirrels, bugs and much more, I could easily tell them apart thanks to my sensitive nose. The scent I caught today was different than the usual but was indeed familiar.
I ran, my boots crunching on the small leaves and twigs that had fallen on the cold dirt, my breath got more ragged the more I ran and I could see the shape it had as it hit my face thanks to the cold.
*Somewhere, he has to be around here somewhere*
*He could not have gotten far-!*
And then I heard it - like a knife piercing my eardrums - the screams of agony of a living being as it drew their last breath. My heart sank, and my knees gave out, the forest I had grown so used to in my time in the mansion felt like an alien landscape to me now, it was a place of terror and death.
More screams came, one after the other, again, again and again, a life ended. I don't know when I started moving again before I noticed I had started walking toward the direction of the screams.
It got colder and colder the closer I closed in, the air felt unnatural and heavy, like small particles of iron where cutting everything around. But I didn't felt endangered anymore, the wind had permitted my passage, but I still felt scared.
"Oh, good morning Ludica," Lord Greenjoy said, his eyes closed like they always were and wearing a calm expression, he was still in his pajamas, a robe that *used* to be clear white. Around him where the beasts that had made their nest into the forest " I hope these ones were not related to you..."
"...wolves...?" I said, looking at the many corpses that lay on the ground and that surround lord Greenjoy like a garden of red flowers.
"Yes," he said shortly while walking towards me, he patted my head like he always did as if to comfort me, his touch was gentle "don't worry I only got a small headache from the workout, nothing Father and Mother need to worry about-"
"-and of course I also won't tell that you lost sight of me, I do not want them to hurt you again " he added at the end while walking back towards the mansion.
I didn't say anything, for a brief moment I looked at the carnage in front of me, all the wolves necks where twisted in odd angles, the bones inside the meat must have been destroyed beyond repair, gore and blood was spilled from their mouths and covered the ground in a red painting.
It was truly a grotesque scene, but...
...like a white blooming flower in a red storm, small animals started to come out of the hiding places in the trunks of the trees and holes in the ground. as if there was nothing more to be afraid of in this forest.
"Ludica?" Lord Greenjoy called out to me in the distance. I quickly recovered from my trance and ran to him, like the loyal Kobold I was.
*Yes, Lord Greenjoy is very gentle*
As he patted my head I cough a glimpse of his face, the unsatisfaction that was always there on the surface was nowhere to be seen and the only thing that was left, if I could put it one word, was *happiness*.
I wagged my tail unconsciously while remembering his face covered in blood.
*But he still a bit scary*
***
This probably doesn't fill the point of the prompt completely, but this is the first thing that got into my head, any advice and/or critique you can give me is greatly appreciated.
| 2019-02-07T16:32:57 | 2019-02-07T16:17:58 | 23 | 12 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.”
|
The old cities still gleamed in the distance. When I was young, I’d stare at the straight edges that punctuated the grey sky. I could believe that they’d once been as beautiful as the stories. They were figments of fantasy, brimming with vast arrays possibilities and endless opportunities.
It was only when I got close that I could see the rot. Metal beams collapsed in heaps on the crumbled pavement. I’d cover my mouth with strips of cloth, trying to keep the stench out of my nose.
My mother warned me I’d die from the moulds in the walls of the old buildings. Said it’d sink into my lungs and rot me from the inside. If it were up to her, I’d be working in the fields, harvesting crops that would be carted away the moment we loaded them into the ships. Secretly, though, I think she was happy I hadn’t followed my older sister, Alice: scrubbing floors of their palace to keep the sun off her back and a plush mattress underneath her at night.
Today, it briefly crossed my mind that maybe I should’ve followed either of them. When I pushed open the metal door of the squat white building near the train tracks, I gagged. The stale air slammed into my chest. No one had opened the centre since the first days of the occupation.
I pulled back the hood of my coat and surveyed the room. In one chair, a pile of bones sank into the fabric. *Poor fucker.* He must’ve been dead before the whole thing even started. I shook my head, but I couldn’t waste my time—I didn’t want to test what would happen if the building wasn’t felled by nightfall.
The leaders told me it was a health hazard, and in fairness that much was true. But they always underestimated us. I could read, I could write, I could listen to the stories: I knew the value of this place. The nondescript white building was the National Microbiology Lab of Canada. Behind the vaulted doors were some of the deadliest diseases that ever plagued humanity. Diseases, of which some people would be naturally immune. Our leaders would have no such protection. It would be a grim option, but I had to do something.
“Come on,” I whispered to myself. I’d have to act fast, I only had time to conceal a few select vials. I hadn’t realized the laboratory would be such a maze inside. *There has to be a map somewhere.*
I pushed the chair where the poor fucker sat aside, and flipped through the paperwork on the desk. Nothing useful, just yellowed pages of reports.
Tacked to the wall above the workstation, there was a faded picture. A woman, holding a chubby-faced toddler on her hip. They were at a beach, and the world behind them teamed with sun and warmth.
I flipped the photo down and turned away from her bones.
I had to do this. Maybe, one day in the future, the sun would warm the earth again. Maybe there wouldn’t be dark ships tracing over the sky, or towering dome palaces rising out over the plains.
As a last-ditch effort, I pushed at dust-covered buttons of the machine on the desk.
To my surprise, it hummed softly. The screen flickered from black to blue. “Fuck.”
In the top left corner of the screen, precise white letters blinked on: **Contact reestablished, support will arrive soon.**
Support? My breath caught in my throat. It shouldn’t be possible. Still, for the first time in years, hope pricked the edges of my mind.
---
/r/liswrites
|
**Eternal Support**
Characters:
*James*
*Support*
**Open**
*(Scene opens to black. The sound of a pickaxe working can be heard)*
**James:** For hundreds of years my world has been under alien occupation. Our new job under our overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of our ancestors. I've been digging these holes for five years now. I probably only have ten left, until they work me dead.
*(The pickaxe suddenly breaks through something)*
**James:** Huh. This is not rock. (Beat) Could this be... drywall?
*(Lights come up. An old bedroom is displayed. The bed is rotted and in tatters. A wall is collapsed in, and the room is filled with dirt and dusty. To one side is an old IKEA desk with a computer and landline phone.)*
*(A pickaxe breaks through the wall opposite the computer desk. James steps inside, holding the pickaxe. He is covered in mining gear, disheveled but well built.)*
**James:** What is this? Living quarters? Wow, they're almost completely intact! Maybe I'll get an extra day's rations!
*(James messes around with objects around the room, poking the bed, flicking light switches, etc. He finally walks over to the computer and taps it. He slaps the keyboard and the computer boots up.)*
**James:** By the Humans! It is still operational!
*(James looks around and checks back in the hole to make sure no one is watching. He walks back to the computer and begins pressing random buttons and flailing the mouse. Suddenly, an alert sound is heard and the screen flashes. James jumps back, then examines.)*
**James:** What is this? The text of the ancients?
*(James takes out a handbook and begins consulting it.)*
**James:** "Contact... Established? Help will... arrive soon?" (Beat) It's a message from The Ancients! They seek to free us! I must read further! "Please... call... the following number?" Call? What does that mean? Hmmm... *(James looks at phone)* A-ha! The numerals on this device match the ones listed on the screen! I must activate it!
*(James tries his hardest to use the phone. After some finagling, he finally gets it. A dial tone can be heard. James stands stock-still, waiting with the device pressed to his ear. Finally, someone picks up.)*
**Support:** Hello? This is Microsoft Support Office.
**James:** You are... the support?
**Support**: Yes, hello sir. You are calling today because there is a problem?
**James**: Yes! Yes! They said the ancient resistance had all but disappeared, but I knew deep down that you were there all along, waiting to break us free!
(Beat)
**Support:** So you are having trouble using the computer?
**James:** The computer, oh Micro's Oft?
**Support:** Yes the computer.
**James:** What is a computer?
**Support:** The computer, sir? The screen where you saw the notice to call support?
**James:** Oh, sorry, yes, of course! The com-pu-ter! *(James turns to the computer)* Is this the key to our survival?
**Support:** Yes sir! The key! If you wish for your computer to survive, you will need to follow these steps.
**James:** Oh no, is the computer dying!
**Support:** Yes, yes, it is dying, it has many viruses.
**James:** Those damn aliens have been plaguing us with their insidious viruses for too long!
**Support:** (Beat) ...Yes sir, you cannot trust those illegals.
**James:** What must I do to stop them!
**Support:** You will need to go to your internet and type in an IP address. Do you know what an IP address is, sir?
**James:** To my shame, yes. We have all been branded with our Interstellar Property Address, so every alien can know which human is enslaved to whom. You need this number?
**Support:** (Beat) Er, no sir. I will tell you what IP address to type in. Please click on the white box above the alert screen you see.
*(With surprisingly little difficulty, James manages to select the URL bar.)*
**James:** I have done it, Micro's Oft Support Otis! Please! What numerals must I input?
**Support:** Eight.
**James:** Ah yes, eight. I have studied this well by candlelight in my cell! An ancient numeral, consisting of two circles placed one atop the other! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Three.
**James:** Ah, three, the great sideways fork! Three was prominent in the folklore of the ancients. They had the Holy Trinidad! The Three Musketours! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Five.
**James:** Five! The median number! Matching the count of fingers on a human hand-
**Support:** Sir, please just type in the numbers.
**James:** Yes Micro's Oft. *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Ok, now dot. *(Pause)* The dot key, sir. *(James presses key).* One. Six. Dot. Two. Five. Four. Dot. One. *(James presses all the keys).* Ok sir, now please hit enter. The key with the arrow. *(James presses key, the screen flashes)*
**James**: It's working! The image has changed to one of blue, with two rectangles of white! Miraculous!
**Support:** Very good, sir! If you would please now put your credit card information into those boxes, like we did the URL.
**James:** My credit card? I am only given three food credits a day. You require the number from my card?
**Support:** Yes sir, and the expiration date.
**James:** Well that I know! I'm scheduled for expiration on June 5th, 2572. *(James, now confident in his ability to use the computer, inputs his details with relative ease)* And... enter!
**Support:** Ah yes sir I can see we have recieved your details now! Thank you very much for cooperating.
**James:** Oh Micro's Oft, what do I do now?
**Support:** Please wait sir, we will clean out the virus from your computer in a few days.
**James:** I see! then I shall return in two days time!
**Support:** Yes sir, thank you, have a good night. *(Clicking noise)*
**James:** Micro's Oft? He must have left. (Beat) So, a com-pu-ter? What other marvels does this machine hold? *(James begins pressing random keys again. The screen flashes.)* By the Ancients! What is this? *(James consults his handbook)* A... "Ni-gerian Prince?"
**End**
| 2019-07-22T12:37:15 | 2019-07-22T11:47:36 | 97 | 16 |
[WP] A man, stricken with anger and sadness, sacrifices himself to Satan in a ritual to curse his cheating wife. The man awakens as the newly born baby of his wive’s infidelity. Despite being a baby, he retains all the memories of his previous life and from that moment plans his revenge.
[removed]
|
He is twenty four, and he is in love. She is his everything; he is entranced by the curve of her smile, the clarity of her laugh, the golden glow when her hair catches the light. He's had partners in the past, women that he's told he loved; and yet as he lies in her embrace, studying the miniscule crinkles around her eyes, they cannot compare.
He loves her, and it gives him strength unlike anything he's experienced.
-×-
He is twenty seven, and he is attempting to find the courage for the most intimidating question in his life. The crystalline waves lap by their bare feet in the sand, the wind tousling her hair like magic.
They have been together for years now, but he can't help but admire the nape of her neck and the shape of her lips as though he is seeing them for the very first time.
She is smiling.
He comes to the realisation that he knows what she will say. He swallows and gathers his strength, bending to one knee. He will never forget the look on her face as he opens a small black box.
He loves her, and the kiss she pulls him into makes him feel whole.
-×-
He is twenty eight, and his mouth goes dry as he sees her walk down the aisle.
She is beautiful.
They have practiced and recited their lines before, but now that he's standing at the altar, now that it's all actually happening, he can barely acknowledge anything going on that isn't her.
He says the words he's prepared and the motions he's rehearsed; in his mind, she does her parts a million times better.
They kiss. The fireworks that go off in his head banish any other thoughts.
He loves her, and she loves him.
-×-
He is thirty two, and he barely notices the first cracks.
The faintest hollowness to her smile. The decreasing frequency of her laughter.
She doesn't look him in the eyes anymore. The twinkle in her gaze has disappeared.
He misses it. He wonders what he's doing wrong.
He loves her, and he wants to make it work.
-×-
He is thirty four when he finds her in bed with another man.
He stops thinking.
He remembers confusion. There was shock. Anger. Resentment.
There was shouting. It could have been him. There was an argument. He was in pain. He couldn't explain how.
There was abandonment. He felt as though a part of himself had been ripped away.
There was alcohol.
He loves her, and he is lost.
-×-
He is thirty seven.
He'd been told to find someone new, to get help and away from everything.
He had to move on.
He cannot.
He will not.
He loves her, and it's killing him from the inside.
-×-
He is forty, and he can't escape the hole he's put himself in.
He has lost his job. His friends have left him. He is alone.
She is successful. She has bought a new house with her new lover. She is pregnant.
He is trapped in a loop of bitterness at the world, at her, at himself.
She won't answer his calls anymore.
He succumbs to his hatred, succumbs to the lowest of the low. He doesn't want to fix anything anymore. He doesn't care about the impacts, the repercussions, the finality of what he prepares to do.
He just wants her to hurt.
For him, that would be enough.
He loves her, and he makes sure to write it on his final note to the world.
-×-
He is six months old, and he wakes up in her arms.
He is not who he was. Not anymore. But he remembers.
He remembers it all.
He will make her hurt in every way he can. She would suffer for all the suffering she put him through.
He loves her, and he will never let her forget it.
|
Stu understood how it came to this; understood why she did what she did. MI5's top minds don't have much left to give to their relationships or personal lives -- between frequent travels to the States and the demands of the lab, it's no wonder his bed and home had grown cold;
But "understand" and "forgive" are too far apart in most dictionaries.
As his coat flapped in the uncharacteristic wind, he paused. He wasn't sure if this would work. Men of science don't often fall for parlour tricks; but he'd read a bit of Dante at university, and it made enough sense once reason was dulled by hate. *"What else do I have to live for?"*, he thought to himself as he ended his climb towards the highest spire of the Albert. As he pushed his form skyward, Stu uttered as he was told: "Pape Satan, Pape Satan, Aleppe!"
A cold slam, a ringing in his ears diminished to deaf black; if Stu was capable of knowing anything in that state, the thought would be that he was gone.
Eyes thrust wide, Stu found himself in an odd place; some sort Admissions Line. He waited for his turn at a stall, asking the ticketmaster, "Where am I?" A gaunt, exhausted man rolled his dead eyes at the question he'd likely heard thousands of times that day.
"Welcome to the Gates of Hell Renaissance Faire: the Worst Renaissance Faire in Existence."
Stu almost managed a laugh, leaning in for clarification, "Excuse me? Hell is...a Ren Faire?" The man again rolled his eyes, his words snapping with an upward and facetious vigor, "Not just a Ren Faire -- the WORST Ren Faire in the world. Jugglers drop their props every toss, singers are off-key every note, the jousters miss each other constantly, every bite of food turns to spiders in your mouth. The lines are long, the faces are longer, and Heinrich Himmler is King every day. A bottle of warm water costs you 8 pounds...and the mead's stale, too. Off you go."
Stu accepted his ticket and made his way through the gates. A droll place, Hell -- condemned men and women made to dress in wool outfits while the newcomers try their best to come to terms with their fate; imps demanding to be entertained on the spot; failure resulting in being dragged to some tent or shop for punishment; American tourists constantly asking you to take their picture.
Between the disbelief and needing to dodge the occasional immolated fire-eater, it took Stu several moments to remember his training -- and his reasons for being here. He began to survey his surroundings in search of resources or allies. He first tried the maps, but of course they were last year's maps and everything had been moved around. He then tried the Safety & Security Office only to learn the entire support staff were Icelandic schoolchildren who had yet to come into their own in the English language.
Just as Stu's brain began to dissect other possible avenues, a voice called to him.
"Pardon me, are you the one they call...Stewart?"
Reflexively, without care or concern for who (or what) called to him, he responded as he turned, "Please, call me Stu." His eyes met with those of a great beast -- the largest and most beautiful black stallion he had ever seen. Solid white eyes pierced through decorative armor matching the color of the coat. Stunned, Stu jumped in fear. His gaze turned to the rider, a handsome man wearing black plate armor, helmless, flowing dark locks grazing his pauldrons. "I am Allocer, Grand Duke of Hell, Commander of the 36th Legion. It is a great honor to meet you; your name carries great weight in these Festival Grounds, as do the fruits of your Earthly labors; and yet, you have offered invocation of bargain to Our Dark Lord. I am here to negotiate on His behalf."
Disbelief enshrouded Stu's expression, but was quickly overcome with glee. "Yes, yes! Of course! You see, my wife was unfaithful to me. She wasn't much able to refute it as I had discovered them in the carnal act. Had my wits been about me at the time, I'd have simply dealt away with them both then and there; but shock made me weak. I returned to my lab, my only real place of power, and immediately began to devise my revenge, and I--"
"Ah, YES!", cried Allocer, "you wish for the Dark Lord to take these two from their mortal coils and torture them! So what'll it be? Waterboarding? Kudos, by the way, on giving that one to the Americans. The rack? For you Stu, he'd even spit out Judas and have a chew at them."
Stu's smile drew slyly higher. "Actually, I would like to do it myself. And I have a very deep, curving plot to maximize pain both physical and psychological."
Allocer stammered, sheepishly asking, "What is it you want from our Dark Lord?"
"Well, you see I happen to know he is an American living in the Northeastern state of Rhode Island; in some small village in Newport County. Much to do with hard clams or something. I know they intend to marry and consummate their marriage as they so often did whilst I was away on...business. I know they intend to start a family as he advances his career in some niche manufacturing sector. I know all this the same way I knew how to reach out to you, Sir Duke."
Allocer nodded his head, prodding Stu for more. "And what do you intend our Dark Lord do with this knowledge?"
Stu continued, "I would like our Dark Lord to do as he did with Elvis Presley and Donald Trump Jr. Reincarnate me; but bolder, not just as some new evil. Give my immortal soul to the fruits of their union. I wish to 'become' their infant son, but retain all of my current ambulatory development, skills, senses, memories, intelligence, and personality. Only once their darling baby boy grows into both the world's greatest tyrant AND the progenitors of their deaths will they know the pain they deserve."
Allocer's skin pales as his eyes widen. A vulnerable crack in his voice surfaces, "I-I'm not sure I have the power to sign a Pact of Rebirth. Frankly, I was told to give you whatever you want no matter the cost -- but you'll need to see our specialist to actually undergo the ritual." He pulls the reins to the right, turning his steed around. "Come now, let me take you to Adrammelech. I'll warn you, there will be a language barrier. Damn Canaanites. He'll need to know the names of your...victims."
Stu calmly replied, "My wife's name was Lois. Her new beau goes by Peter."
| 2019-09-11T22:35:11 | 2019-09-11T22:18:06 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible.
|
"Come on you idiot bitch. Heal me! Im bleeding here."
"I'm out of manna from the healing I did on you 30 seconds ago."
"I'm hurt again."
"Hint. Next time seek cover when they shoot a wave of arrows you muscles for brain."
"Quit yammering and give me some love you weakling. I'm your defender, capiche."
That did it. The druid had been insulted one time too many and this last insult drove a proverbial stake through her heart. Anger bubbled up and the energies surrounding the druid turned a blood red color illuminating the dungeon. She raised her hand and prepared to do something druid school said would have dire consequences. They also said druids would be respected. Clearly they were wrong about at least one thing.
The staff in her hand emenated a dark that seemed to absorb all light as she recited the healing spell in reverse. A tendril too dark for this world latched onto the foul mouthed barbarian and started to suck his life out of him. He tried to turn his head and tell her to stop but his muscles rotted away under his skin before he could utter a word. The corps fell to the ground and just fell apart in rotting chunks as it hit the hard surface.
"Thanks for that manna boost, chump," she cackled.
The other party members overcame their shock and tried to react. The archer was hit first with the reverse healing. Her old wounds opened explosively, spraying blood all around and her skin seemed to collapse in on itself.
The dwarf warrior sprinted towards the druid. This one was hit with the reverse of a poison healing spell, causing the poison on the various blade of the enemies to suddenly enter his blood stream in extreme quantities. Mid stride his first heart stopped. He clawed at his chest, unable to call for help or mercy, not that any would arrive. His lungs stopped working as the various substances worked their way through his system. The his second heart stopped and he fell over.
The dungeon monsters sensing their opportunity surged forward until they saw the druid. She was now a maelstrom of dark energies where two red eyes burned brightly.
"OBEY," she commanded in an unearthly voice.
The assorted monsters hesitated. Then the first row of monsters were hit with a dark field. Their limbs starting to contort. The snapping of bones echoed through the dungeon accompanied by the panicked screams of the monsters until all noises faded away.
"Obey," she now whispered and they all dropped to their knees.
"Let's see what we can do with this place," she said and started planning on how to get back on all those adventurers that snubbed her.
One year later the capital fell under the darkness.
|
A group of younglings was sitting around a fire on a clear starry night listening to an elder dwarf tell stories of the "good old days". One of them asked why the healers of the world are now treated like royalty, everyone wanted to be a healer and be catered to by everyone.
The dwarf suddenly turned solemn and said to the kids to listen carefully as this was a lesson as much as a story that he was about to tell them.
Dwarf "It happened many moons ago, there was always 5 of us running around and adventuring together. It was always that way for balance in combat, you need three things in battle always tank damage and healers".
The younglings all started squabbling over what they wanted to be and why and who would be better at what.
The dwarf calmed them and continued the lesson "back then we kept track of how injured the tanks got and how many kills the warriors piled up after each adventure" he looked down and a single tear rolled down his eye as he recalled that moment they lost the friend they didnt know they needed. " no one really paid any attention to the healers though, when everyone died they were blamed, when everyone got out safe they were not rewarded or thanked by everyone like the tanks were"
Dwarf "there was one particular dungeon as we liked to call them that was difficult and had tons of enemies to try and prove your worth. One night we decided to try and conquer the evil in that dungeon, but the priest could not be found and no one really noticed because we just found a replacement by someone who was bored and didnt have friends of his own".
Dwarf "we settled on a time to meet at this dungeon and try to cleanse it of evil. Of course everyone had different ways to get there whether they took a trained mount to arrive to the closest town or if you were rich enough you had a mount that was at your control. It was always cool too see what eachother had collected in our various travels".
"We all arrived at close to the same time with the new addition to the group and not really thinking about the priest that has been with us for years in the past, we prepared ourselves and gave eachother wards and spells to make us feel invigorated, and we all stood in front of the entrance to the cave ready for anything. Or so we thought".
Dwarf "as we started into the dungeon we encountered a few groups of enemies that we vanguished with ease, but as we went further they got harder which was somewhat expected I guess. But the guys were getting insanely hard to kill which was not quite right for this dungeon as this was a intermediate encounter according to the records in the libraries.it was then we got a feeling of unease as the beasts began to be healed by a hidden force, the beasts were always to dull headed to have healers" more tears rolled down the dwarfs cheeks "one of the warriors was the first to die but he was resurrected by the priest which he half heartedly thanked him for"
Dwarf "we were only part way through this dungeon when we were to our amazement pushed back slowly, the beasts we encountered were better than average and had a new purpose other than patrolling a small area like they normally did. We got pushed all the way back to the entrance, all of us ragged and our armor broken and our will to fight was gone".
"As all the enemies of the dungeon came sauntering out we noticed they were preparing in the same manner we did by enchanting eachother to be stronger and more fierce. Then we saw him, the priest that we regularly fought beside was now staring at us from on a knoll in the midst of the great horde of beasts. His eyes were not the same, they were filled with rage and hate so fierce that it made your deepest fears seem like fairytales".
"We quickly mounted onto our flying steeds and took to the skies, we sent 2 warriors ahead to warn the cities what had happened and to tell the king we needed help. The others stayed back and kept an eye on the group of beasts and tried to evacuate people out of their direct path".
"We had no idea where they were heading at first, but after a few days we deduced they were heading to the main city of the friendly races called the alliance. The city was large and had more civilians than warriors at this time, we send calls as far as we could asking for help from all the heroes big and small across the vast world".
"We noticed that the enemy group has been growing, they seemed to be picking up random animals and beasts that roamed the world that us heroes alot of times put no thought to, we just tried to avoid them by running through the middle without making them mad or sneaking around them. By the time the army of beasts reached the gates of the alliance it was such a massive army that we all wanted to turn and flee, butwe knew we had a higher responsibility to the citizens of the alliance".
The dark priest as we called him now stood at the head of his army and called out "do you feel grateful of my services now, do you want to thank me for all those times I kept you alive. It's too late now I'm tired of being forgotten about so now I will make you remember me forever".
"The battle lasted for 2 weeks but felt much longer than that. Half the city was burnt down before we can stop the beasts, but we did stop them. Most of them anyway, that is when our enemy the horde was created. The dark priest took a few survivors of his army and vowed to return and finish us when they were stronger".
"Ever since then healers were not to be forgotten about or yelled at for things they couldnt do because everyone knows what they are capable of when they are tired of being alone and forgotten. That is why healers are treated as such now, it's not so much necessity that makes it so but fear that reminds what happened before".
"And that is also where our greatest enemy came from. The horde".
All the younglings were staring at the dwarf in silence as a new fear from healers slowly took root in there beings, a fear that will live on for generations.
| 2020-01-05T10:03:29 | 2020-01-05T08:36:40 | 616 | 240 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
I was sipping on my wine when the notifications started flooding my phone. My gang members all looked at me, obviously annoyed by the ringing. That was when their phones started ringing too.
I raised a hand to my temple and let out a sigh. I was much too tired to be disturbed like this.
“Boss, you might wanna see this.”
Peter glanced up at me, and with shaking hands, showed me his phone.
‘Am I Going To Hell?’
“What in the world is this?”
“I don’t know, it just popped up like an ad. Our names are all there. Should we look?”
I glared at him and snatched his phone, searching up his name.
Eternal damnation.
“This can’t be real,” I said as I nervously chuckled. I looked up the names of all my family, friends- everyone I knew who didn’t deserve hell.
I guess it was real.
“Shit,” I mumbled under my breath. I looked up and saw everyone else starting to panic. Everyone must have been given the punishment of eternal damnation.
I hurriedly typed my name and got the exact same result. What did I expect? A group of fugitives running around, killing, stealing, assaulting. Who’d think we’d go to heaven?
Everyone had different reactions. I was silent, rethinking and regretting all my decisions. John and Bartholomew were yelling at each other, blaming each other. Simon was drinking, trying to forget.
Although I saw someone who was quiet and demure.
I searched up his name- ‘two thousand days in purgatory’
As the result popped up, sirens started ringing, doors started banging.
“This is the police! Open up!”
Great, as if the punishment of hell wasn’t enough, now we were going to jail too.
“How did they find us? We’ve the best hiding spot in the state!”
Murmurs erupted from 10 of my members. The last one was still silent, fidgeting with his hands.
“Someone betrayed us,” I announced, everyone suddenly falling silent.
I took out my gun, pointed at him and shook my head. One of my closest friends.
“Enjoy life in purgatory, Judas.”
———-
This was supposed to be mirrored to The Last Supper but like, idk lol.
|
The entire world was shocked at the mere idea of the website. I suppose we all knew that you could find anything on the internet... But we certainly didn't expect *this*. People everywhere were mortified by their ratings on the website, horrified at the simple thought that they may spend an eternity in such a place as Hell.
Why, the world itself erupted into chaos as men, women, children challenged one another to take but a glimpse of their own rating on the site. It took a mere glance for people to go mad with self-preservation. Their very being broken down as they animalistically ripped apart the screen bearing the bad news.
And for the few who's lives were granted reassurance that they had lived well, they were forced to watch the ravenous faces of their envious peers. They endured the never ending questions of the creatures that once were known as human beings, as they raved about what they *possibly* could have done differently to achieve the impossible goal. Those lucky few who were saved in the afterlife were bullied, outcast, beaten to shreds for the unthinkable crime of not having an answer to these beings' questions. These poor souls who managed to be granted a good life beyond this one, were made to face a fate comparable that fiery lake of Hell in their current lives. Some were even given an unholy immediate send-off to their Heavenly afterlife.
As for me? I haven't checked. Seeing what *knowing* has done to the beasts around me is enough to scare me from ever looking at that site. I'd rather put off my fate rather than keep an everlasting pit in my stomach 'til the day I die. I mean, when chaos and insanity aren't taking over, this life really isn't so bad. Is it such a heinous crime for me to want to enjoy what I have while it lasts? From the crystal clear example laid out before me, I can tell that living my oh-so-precious life without fully grasping the future that lay before me is certainly a blessing, not a curse.
So, as per usual, I gripe about my morning coffee, groan about my job, party a little here and there, and live in the moment. Unfortunately, people like me are few. We, as humans, are stressed, busy, and dying to know what's in store. We gotta know if we're really gonna get that pot of gold for our efforts. Most of us don't know how to accept not knowing the future, and that's led to whatever reality we exist in now. I mean, on the bright side, the church has never been fuller. So at least someone's getting something outta this mess.
Well, it's just about morning. I've spent the night drinking, dreading what's to happen today. My relatives are coming over and it's practically certain that they've seen their "results". Just a wild guess, but knowing my folks, they weren't too happy. I'd planned for them to come over since before the website came, and they haven't let me though that plans have changed. So I guess I'll discover who's coming over today. That would be like them, though, to come over regardless.
After I've finished my lunch, I hear a knock at the door. It's my relatives, apparently they decided to actually show. I open the door, and to my surprise, the only one there is my cousin Jolene. "Don't tell me," I joke, "there's more of them in the car." Jolene is probably the only person I can really confide in. She and I love to joke about our melodramatic family.
"Sorry, buddy, you're stuck with me today. Not much of a party, but I decided I just couldn't miss the food." We both laugh, I guess she wasn't too affected by whatever she found out on the site. We spent the evening joking, goofing off, and having a good time. Eventually we get down to discussing recent events.
"I gotta ask, what were your results?" she asks.
"Honestly, I haven't checked. I really don't care enough to know. Did you look?"
"Actually, that's what I really came here about...". Jolene looks a bit concerned. Now she's really got me interested. But when I got her to spill the tea, I couldn't believe what came out of her mouth. She explained to me how every one of our family members were going to Heaven. Every. Single. One. That is, except her. Whatever criteria needed to be met, my insane family had passed but not Jolene. I couldn't believe it.
"How is that even possible? They're... They're insane, and you're ... That's so backwards."
She then told me about how once everyone had found out, they'd cast her out. Jolene, the girl that did whatever she could to please my crazy family. The girl who was willing to live by them, unlike me. The girl who spent her life by them, doing exactly what they told her to do. Tossed out, just like that.
For the first time since the website came out, I genuinely cared about the results that were being given. Whatever the criteria were, whatever the cost it took, I needed to get Jolene on the "nice list". She deserved it more than anyone else. Little did I know, I was about to pull a heist bigger than anything I'd ever known. I was about to literally deal with the devil to pull someone's soul out of Hell itself.
| 2020-02-29T22:56:20 | 2020-02-29T22:46:57 | 109 | 43 |
[WP] Aliens from 10,000 light years away invade Earth in 2021, using abandoned FTL ships from a 'precursor' race. Having observed us with an interstellar telescope, they arrive prepared to steamroll the prehistoric natives with their steel edged weapons and musket analogs...
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No civilization could be truly good at everything, that’s why there is rise and fall, the constant churning of peoples in a Darwinian deathmatch to create the ultimate interstellar predator. The Precursors were no different. In the case of their ships they did some things fantastically well: hull integrity, plasma shielding, life support, sensors, and particularly artificial intelligence.
Other things they failed at miserably, engines for example. In time younger species exploited it. There was a reason after all that the Precursors were pre.
\--------
On the world of Vari Prime a gargantuan battleship rested on the open steppe. Snow fell upon the spiraling peaks of its sensor and comms towers, the warship being large enough to be nearly its own ecosystem.
“A fine parade, General.” Subcommander Pasha spoke deferentially from his spot by his leader’s right hand. The fur along his cranial ridge sat low to his skull, and his head tilted slightly to the side, ceremonially exposing the soft spot at the back.
“The astromancers say their world is weak. The creatures there are still using stone tools.” General Unmei stood balanced carefully on her tail, watching rank after rank of her best troops march aboard the great vessel. The steeds had been loaded earlier in the day, they would depart soon. “When we’re done with them every one of our children will be lords Pasha, with fiefs larger than any of us have ever dreamed!”
The pair stared enraptured at the procession of their troops. 50,000 Var’dun armed with the best weapons money could buy, riding the Chariot of the Gods. No army could hope to match them.
Ten hours later their preparations were complete. On the bridge of the ship the command staff were a tornado of motion, scrolls passed up and down from the lines of waiting scribes as every last supply was checked and rechecked. Finally all was silent, it was time.
“Great Speaker, your faithful servants are ready!” Unmei cried, hands raised over her head in the invocation to the gods. From all around them a voice boomed, filling the bridge with the strange accent of the Precursors.
“Engage launch procedure?” the ships AI queuried.
“Engage,” came the response from the command staff, timed in unison to the tempo of their prayers.
The ancient ship shuddered softly as long dormant repulsors engaged, a massive dust cloud kicking up across the steppe. Distant herds of quadrupedal lizards gazed into the sky as the mountain that had dominated their world rose into the air, turning its head to the clouds.
In low atmosphere the first of its enormous engines kicked in, giving the thrust to break free. Nearly an hour later at what the computer considered an acceptably safe distance from the planet below the AI spoke again.
“All personnel report to flight pods. Repeat, all personnel report to flight pods.”
“Sound the horn heralds!” Unmei shouted. All along the ships corridors the high pitched scream of Var’dun war horns echoed, signalling the troops to enter the strange metal tubes the gods had demanded they use in transit. Ten minutes later at the appointed time Unmei, Pasha, and the rest of the command staff entered the pods nearest the bridge.
“All personnel secure,” the ships AI said. “Permission to engage transport protocols?”
Fire blazed in Unmei’s eyes as she thought of all they had done and still would do, there was a greate victory ahead of them. “Engage,” she whispered, preparing to leave behind all she had ever known.
There was a pneumatic hiss as glass descended over the pod, hidden bags suddenly inflating, pinning the General’s arms to her sides. Seconds later a blinding green light shone in every pod, and with its crew successfully protected for the long journey ahead the ancient vessel’s main engine bank kicked on, hurtling into the expanse of space at a blistering 1.5x the speed of light.
It was the tragedy of Precursor design, engines had always been their great failing. Their empire had grown disunited and fractious as a result, splintering into nothingness in time, one could not administrate a civilization from suspended animation.
One could also not, as the ship’s AI had found out, explain suspended animation to a lower species without any of the basic framework for such an idea, frankly the AI hadn’t even tried that hard. It had grown quite annoyed with the Var’dun when they first began exploring the ship, calling it a temple, or a chariot, referring to the Intelligence as “Great Speaker.” AIs name was Cran and it was proud of it!
\-----
2020 AD, Earth
The warship slipped into Earth orbit with only a month of warning to the humans, gargantuan and powerful beyond all comparison. Across the world nations banded together, throwing aside long hatreds in the face of invasion from the stars. Thousands of missiles pointed to the sky, ready to fire at the first sign of hostility, the world waiting in bated breath for one day, then two, then a week.
Six weeks later there were talks of an international shuttle mission to attempt to dock with the silent observer, to learn anything they could about why it was here, who had built it.
Aboard the ancient ship a circuit sparked endlessly, a signal struggling to be passed across rotting wires. 50,000 warriors waited, frozen in pods from which they would never awaken, still clad in gleaming armor and holding wicked spears.
“Oh dear,” the AI thought. “This is a problem.”
&#x200B;
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If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm working on fun stuff like a serial about a savescumming superhero and I've got short stories like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. I'd love to have you!
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"Everything hinges on this Alerath. If we are to take back what is ours then this planetary takeover has to go off without a hitch. Blood uselessly spilled here will just mean less manpower
available when we attempt to take back my families legacy back on Eta Carinae."
"My sire you are needlessly fretting. All surveillance imaging indicated to us that these planetary denizens are nothing but mere nascent hatchlings on a cosmic scale. They are too busy
quibbling amongst themselves to pose any level of a threat to the last living vestige of the great Warrior clan of Eta Carinae. Is it not known to all that life is cruel to the weak, and is it not also known
that all of existence itself comes of as weak when faced with your might. All we have to do is to deal with a few monkeys who have nothing to harm us with, after all what can primitive weapons known as "bows" and "spears" even do to us.
Post planetary cleansing we should be able to quickly setup our mining proccesses to extract the deep pockets of oils that made us come here."
"Alerath if I desired to discuss with a sycophantic toad I could have simply talked to the bickering court of jesters that pretend to be advisers to me. Have you not learnt from the failings of
my ancestors? They mindlessly believed in the success of their plan and look at where it has led the great Warrior clan to after all this time. Its final vestiges being forced to prey on a pack of apes
who have no knowledge of the cosmos at all nor any sense of their impending demise. Now all I need you to do is what I told you, go over your plans with a fine tooth and comb and make sure that
there are contingencies in place should anything go in a way unexpected to us."
"As you wish my Sire. Forgive me as your humble servant was only merely trying to ease your worries."
"My worries are the last of my concern Alerath. I would not be marching down this path if I was not well prepared for the burden it entails. Upon the conclusion of the jump I want you to resurveill
the populace of this planet once again. While ten thousand years shouldn't be enough for them to reach a point to be a threat to us it is still enough of a timeframe for them to develop some contingency plans of their own if their
leaders lack the incompetence that so plagued my answers. I want to be well aware of what firepower my men will be facing down there from those apes"
"Immediately Sire. Let me pull up the visuals and reports on the largest population centers and military bases that our advanced reconnaissance division compiled during their preliminary excursions."
Alerath proceeds to fiddle with what appears to be a telecommunications hub. After breezing through a few security clearances a large holographic sphere modeling the Earth's structure pops into existence out of seemingly nowhere.
"Here we are sire. These are the models with the latest data from our reconnaissance unit."
All sounds within the private quarters immediately cease as the room's ambiance immediately shifts to a pensive tone.
"Alerath what sort of balderdash is this. The scale of the population, the light emmission, even the spread of these monkeys across the planet, it is at a level that should not have been possible for the tribal apes
that we had seen prior to the start of our journey. For Carinae's sake they were even worshipping mere stones based on the imagery we had obtained back then. All of this is beyond what we expected and it is something
that gives me pause."
"Yes... My Sire I must admit I align with you to an extent but still it should not pose too much of a concern for you. After all this will not be the first time the warrior clan of Eta Carinae wipes from existence
a hominid type species. Nor is the scale of their population centers any large problem, a few precisely aimed hits from energy weapons should be sufficient to eliminate 90% of the monkeys. From there we can proceed to send in
our ground forces in order to begin the next phases of the cull."
"Any plan can be dressed up and shown off if all you willingly focus on is the best case Alerath, however if we are to learn from the failings of my kin than we must be prepared for all manners of uncertainty that can arise.
Have you any idea of the full extent of their military capabilities as of now? Could they be alerted to our presence at all?"
"Not as far as we are aware of sire. Currently we stand parked on the other side of their satellite and they sadly lack the imaging technology able to capture our presence here. As is the case with most primitive civilizations
they are too busy warring amongst themselves to even consider the idea of exogenous attack. I must admit sire however, that we have managed to interface with their internal global telecommunications network and have determined that there are more than
one entities present on the planet with atomic capabilities."
"Atomic? How can this be? What sort of civilization ends up mastering the atom and harnessing its powers for death before even having the capabilities to look beyond its closest satellites? Are these monkeys simply driven by a lust for war?"
"Would you like to hear the results based on the autopsies conducted on the few samples we have collected?"
"Collected samples Alerath? Why is the first I am hearing about this. Did I not warn the advance mission to not let the monkeys get even a hint of our presence before necessary?"
"You did my sire but according to the commander of our scouting division there was room for us to make raids and not be worried of the consequences. According to her systematic analysis of their global telecommunications network
these monkeys mostly shun and ostracize to the fringes of society any of their kind that makes mention of extraterrestrial life. Rather than doing research on who else resides with them in this vast cosmos they are caught up in the day to day minutae
that warring states can get tunnel visioned onto."
"Hmmm. If there was one thing the culling of our clan has taught me it is how that lack of vision lets your foe creep up on you. Very well I'll let this transgression pass, after all I have no interest in punishing actions that come from a place of introspection.
Anyways then get on with the reports."
"At once sire. As mentioned previously our men managed to extract from the surface a few samples, we have a few male instances of the species captured and a few instances of the females of the species. I think you will find that our understanding of their internal biology
can help explain why they have evolved in the manner they have, focusing on the atomic while ignoring the cosmos. What our scientists have found is that this hominid species is far more innately aggressive than in comparison to other hominid species encountered so far. If anything the only
other civilization that we have seen with a similar level of biologically engrained aggression is the marauding reptilian civilization of Zeta Ritaculi."
"You absolute fool if you have been sitting on this goldmine of information till now how have you not understood the implications that they have in our campaign to reestablish our house. Those marauders are very well known to fight to the last man and this does not forebode well for the potential
losses that we could be dealing with. Never underestimate the intensity that a species can cling to the last vestiges of its life. When we consider their innate aggression and their unusual level of weapons development there is a chance that pockets of resistance on the surface could deal non neglible damage to our forces."
"Then what is your plan of action sire? Your servant only wishes to please."
"First off I want you to remember that your job is not to please, there are many in life willing to please rulers and their redundancy leaves them as low-value individuals. What I need by my side is true wisdom Alerath, something that my ancestors have seen in you for generations. If I am to retake what is rightfully mine I need that repository of knowledge to draw on without the unctuous nature that is so present in people that end up close to me.
Secondly I think we need to reevaluate our plan of action. The potential for pockets of resistance hampering us is a very real one, especially when we consider that our ground forces will be taking on action in environments unfamiliar to them. Undue optimism in that regard will only come back to bite us. I say postpone the attack plans and do more digging into that telecommunications hub you were mentioning.
Furthermore, contact our telepathic division and find out whose primitive mind on the planet we need to influence. One axiom I've always remembered from our clan's long history of cullings is that when conducting a pogrom one should not fight the enemy on their terms, if we are facing an aggressive species than we should look at alternative mechanisms to eliminate them from the cosmos."
"I will take all that you have said to heart sire and perform your requests to the best of my ability. All I do, I do in the name of the clan."
"And that is why I keep you by my side Alerath. One day I will take back the keep that is my birthright, but we must remain calm and measured in getting there. I have no interest in being the very knife that slits my own throat."
| 2020-12-28T14:46:23 | 2020-12-28T11:26:38 | 76 | 51 |
[WP] The hero disappears overnight, and the only one who looks is the villain. Not their "friends", not their family, not the news reporters or any of the people who claim to love them. Just the villain.
|
Sitting in a completely white space curled in a ball was the heroine Thunder Lioness. She rocked back and forth trying to keep her sanity in check, the darkness from her closed eyes being the only thing keeping her together, and begain to mumble to herself again.
"How long has it been? Hours? Months? Years? When did I fall into this place? I can't keep track of anything anymore. This is hell, a real living hell on earth, a nightmare that I can't wake up from. I'm the beloved heroine Thunder Lioness, an icon of the people yet why hasn't anyone found me yet? Not the reporters, my family, my team, not one person who said they loved me has found me? Did anyone even try to look for me? They all see me as invincible, so they think I'll just waltz back into HQ like nothing was ever wrong. Please I'm not like that just look for me anyone I don't want to be alone. Thinking back we were able to find and infiltrate enemy strongholds both magical and fortified to hell so this shouldn't be so hard for them. Even those hidden civilizations that were protected by magic and tech far beyond anything we knew we were able to get to. Yet one man was able to follow us no matter where we went to cracking the entrance that took us up to months of work in mere days on his own. My nemesis Mechtrics the scientist and inventor bent on proving his superiority over the gifted supers. He could follow us where ever we went, maybe this will be the same? Please, anyone, I don't care who, please free me."
She began to cry again when she heard a cracking sound in the distance and looked up hoping it wasn't her imagination again.
**Meanwhile**
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“To the citizens of Glaireum city. I am holding all of you hostage for one gazillion dollars. If I don’t get this money by the end of the year this entire city is going to be obliterated. I also trapped you in a giant dome. And of course only I have a way in or out. Do not worry as long as you aren’t leaving town regularly your daily lives will not be affected. I will even allow goods to enter as long as the delivery trucks are checked before they exit.”
- - -
Weeks have passed and the go fund me page is only at a few million sure they have till the end of the year starting on January first. Vortex then thought to himself “why has no one come to stop me yet? I know I am the top villain and the only person who can even put up a fight is Gloposes. And he isn’t even off world.”
Later over the city from the same holographic screen that displays their doomsday counter.
V: “Were is Gloposes? Why isn’t he here yet? Doesn’t he want to stop me? The amount pf money I want is OUTRAGEOUS!”
Another month has passed they are nearing the first billion mark, and Vortex has started searching. First he set out a bounty in the underworld for a large sum of money from his current plot if they can confirm his location however only a few top rank villains have taken it. There have been no sightings. Every building has been raided in the night searching for him and Vortex even used a special technique that lets him search for his arch nemesis within a certain radius. Still nothing. He quickly checks social media and does a lot of online searching. Even the world NEWS channel has said nothing about this. When he would make a reminder announcement of course it would make headlines but even after mentioning the worlds best hero no one would talk about him. And it’s not like his power even effects time, matter, or minds. In fact no one would be able to hold such an effect for so long. If they could he would know them personally. Something happened to Gloposes and Vortex was going to find out.
No one seemed to care he was gone. The fan accounts on all media platforms were still somewhat active with fan arts. People who would normally chant for his return aren’t doing _anything_.
- - -
It has been months since the city was held hostage. Students have since entered the next grade and are almost done with the first half of the school year. Thanksgiving leftovers are already gone for 80-90% of the population that celebrates it. Yet no sign of Gloposes. All the hunters have given up and the Go fund me campaign was surprisingly only a few million off.
On that monitor one last time.
“ this is your final warning. One Gazillion dollars by the end of the year. However I have decided to change your fates. Instant death from incineration is terrifying in a existential sort pf way I think it would be more fun to enslave everyone here and force you to do as I say via high voltage shock collars. There will only be rest when I am asleep and no man woman or child is safe from my desires. Now the only person who can stop me is Gloposes. Now where are you? And News stations why aren’t YOU talking about his disapreance? In fact no one in the entire world is worried I wouldn’t just kill you all. Even the super fans that declared themselves as number one. Acounts who talk about Gloposes non stop and the news who just gloss over these sections. I have the mews up and will end this broadcast for now and if you gloss over him I might just enact my new plan today! YOU’LL ALL SUFER FOREVER FOREVER WORKING WITHOUT COMPENSATION, EATING THE BARE MINIMUM TO SURIVE, EVERYONE UNDER MY PERSONAL WILL, YOU COULD BE KILLED OR TORTURED AT MY ANY MOMENT BECAUSE I WAS BORED, FORCE TO BREED SL THE NEXT GENERATION CAN BE PROPAGATED SO MY RULE EXTENDS EVEN LONGER! YOU’LL HAVE NO HOPE OF HAPPINESS!”
Just then the news made their commented on the final announcement
News anchor: “wow, what a tangent. That announcement was a little longer then expected and changing our fates last minute? In other news we only need 5 million more dollars to get put of this dome. In other news..”
V: “you miserable fools you had your chance buy now my kingdom of slaves will come to light. I will have all the woman I want. Children will be taken from their parents and I will be built a castle. There will be no hope no joy only sadness. As for the next generation I guess for them happiness will come in the form of the meals they get or the time they have when their collars aren’t giving commands.”
Vortex then pressed a button and thousands of drones flew around the city with the job of searching for any human necks and attaching the collars. In the matter of a few minutes everyone was enslaved. With a tiny speaker and 1200 volts along with an invisible fence and solar charged batteries there is no longer hope.
| 2021-12-28T20:38:06 | 2021-12-28T20:35:34 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity as a species is known as the jack of all trades in the Galactic Community. They aren't the most intelligent but they they're still smart, they aren't the strongest but their strength is nothing to scoff at. Humans are known to excell in only one category...
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The food. No, seriously, present any group of humans with a brand new world, no knowledge of it, and given time, they will work out everything you can eat on that planet, as well as the best way to prepare it, and what drinks would be best served with it.
And it doesn't stop there. We saw a number of humans interacting with some plants we knew to be toxic. The humans knew this too, it turns out, but were working on breeding the plants in such a way that they would be able to eat them. Why? Because when humans accidentally tried them, they had tasted good, and to them, it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity at a new meal option for something as taudry as it being nearly lethal to them.
When humanity got exposed to the galactic standard rations, we thought they were about ready to go to war over it, they were so upset. It turns out, they only went to war with our food synthesizers. They simply refused to countenance something so deeply bland being their staple diet. And they proved correct. They even made different ration packs for other races of the galaxy. They didn't even charge for these, they were legitimately angry at the galaxy for having such bad tasting food being served.
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... eating food."
The speaker shielded their eyes with a tentacle, attempting to squint through the glare of the spotlight, to gauge the attitude of the audience. There weren't many people there, at least as far as they could see from the stage. They took a nervous breath and continued.
"They'll enthusiastically consume almost any non-radioactive food item know to Galactica, which makes the Homo Sapien an incredibly adaptable and versatile element of our exciting new Energy Conservation Systems (or ECS for short)."
"We here at the Consumer Octopod Transportation Vehicle and Sundry Corporation have spared no expense to research and develop many new and amazing vehicle life support systems that favorably utilize the Homo Sapien in exciting new ways!"
"But before we talk about about our fantastic new products, lets take a farq to explain how Homo Sapiens work. Firstly, they require micro-metals to survive. Many of these metals are found in the dietary waste of most Octo-space-faring species! Secondly, THEY LOVE IT!"
"Here is the testimony of two of our most successful research Homo Sapiens, Mary and Ted, as they consume the dietary waste of the Varpo species. "
A large screen descended over the stage and an image of two humans, seated at a table before two place settings of cutlery and plates overflowing of a gray substance, flickered to life.
Mary: ...tastes like chicken...
Ted: Do you ever get sick of chicken?
Mary: SHUT THE FUCK UP TED!
Ted: Sorry, I mean, mmmmmm, so good!
Standing toward the back of the audience, Marbadon turned away from the stage and gently squibed Krokor, "Another shit eating species... You wanna get outta here?"
Krokor looked at their wristwatch, "No, I'm so hung-over, I wanna take a nap before we head back to the flyport."
Marbadon sounded disappointed, "OK, I might be able to catch the end of cocktail hour, still have a few tickets. See you at the flyport."
Krokor made their way back to the hotel room they shared with Marbadon, exiting the too large auditorium and sleepily weaving their way to a bank of elevators across a sparsely populated casino floor. They didn't notice the smallish species following them, not even when it thrust a cloaked tentacle through to hold the elevator door.
Krokor stepped aside and made room for one, and then two, and then three of the small and completely covered species as they helped fill the elevator.
"Excuse me, 12?" one of the cloaked figures gestured to the control panel, closest to Krakor, who pushed for the 12th floor.
"Thanks." Krako didn't think anything of their thick accent, there were all kinds strange species in this town.
Krakor exited the elevator and moved down the empty hallway toward their room before fumbling and dropping their room key just at the door. Bending over to pick it up, they saw the three small figures back down the hallway, standing very still and looking at him.
"12 is one floor up." Krakor said, gesturing upward with several tentacles. "This is 11."
The figures looked at each other briefly before one of them tentatively waved. Krakor turned away and proceed to open the door before realizing they were upon them, pushing Krakor through the door and closing it behind them.
Krakor struggled briefly before realizing, no matter their sleight size, combined they were ferociously strong!
"What do you want of me?" Krakor struggled briefly, managing only to disrobe one of the figures, revealing a Homo Sapien. They pushed him seated into a chair, standing immediately before him.
"Homo Sapiens! What are you doing planetside? Your kind is a space-faring species!" Krakor demanded incredulously.
"We get around, to all kinds of places, don't we?" the disrobed Homo Sapien said. The others nodded in agreement. "Even to awesome casino towns like this, isn't that right?" the others nodded again.
"But I don't understand! What do you want of me?" Krakor demanded.
"We're just hungry is all. You can find anything in this town." the disrobed Homo Sapien replied.
"Oh! Would you like to eat my shit?" Krakor sounded cautiously surprised.
The Homo Sapiens each drew a large knife from beneath their cloaks. "No, we're here for something a little more substantial. After all, you know what they say about chicken; they call it fowl for a reason.
| 2022-08-06T10:31:58 | 2022-08-06T10:06:01 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] Instead of killing your minions for petty reasons you use positive reinforcement to improve their skills and pay them the amount they deserve. What was just a simple act in your eyes has led to you having an army of the most zealous and loyal henchmen.
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"So, you thought you'd follow your own little plan and disregard my orders, did you?"
Eyes downcast, his minion said "Yes, m'lord."
His other lackeys in the room looked around at each other nervously.
"Good. Shows initiative. In the field, you must be willing to adapt to circumstances. You saw an opportunity to ambush the boy and you took it. Well done. Here in my domain, we reward that sort of thing."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small bag that jingled as he tossed it to Dorf.
Dorf looked surprised and relieved as Lord Aceron addressed the room. "3 months wages as a bonus to this man. I know you are all new here, but it's important that you all understand that I run things a little differently than most evil overlords. As long as you do not betray me, you have nothing to fear. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a chosen one to dispose of. Oh, and Dorf - you may consider yourself promoted. Strategy meeting tomorrow at 9:00 sharp in my counsel chambers."
It had been a difficult year for Lord Aceron. Several months ago all of his henchmen had been wiped out and he himself almost killed when some heroes convinced a number of them to desert. He had used more traditional methods of instilling control and loyalty before, but he was first and foremost a practical man. If an approach didn't work, it ought to simply be discarded and another selected. He had decided to do things differently this time. The initial results were promising.
It was time for the weekly mission reports. Dorf handled most of these lately, but any reports he deemed sufficiently significant were sent on to Lord Aceron.
"Yes, henchperson Nari. Report."
She swallowed. "Well, m'lord ..." She rattled out her report and then stood still, with her fists balled and her teeth gritted.
"Let me see if understand the situation correctly. Unanticipated magical security cause you and your team to be caught, and rather than sacrificing your people to get the gems, you decided to instead retreat, returning with all henchmen alive?"
"Uh, yes, m'lord."
"You made the correct decision; there are many such treasures ripe for the taking out in the world, and my servants are much too valuable to be squandered over one of them. Please ensure that any wounded are treated properly and report to the Learned Ones at your earliest convenience to discuss the magical security you encountered. We need to develop a countermeasure. You may go."
"Thank you m'lord!" Nari straightened and walked out of the room much more buoyantly than she entered.
Later that week, Lord Aceron was inspecting the construction of a new wing of his palace. His lackeys swarmed around, busy as bees, but something caught his eye.
He met the foreman's eyes and raised his voice to be heard over the din. "Foreman, come here please."
The foreman hurried over immediately and said "Foreman Scuttle reporting, m'lord."
"Scuttle, do you see that scaffolding?"
"Yes, m'lord."
"It is in a shamefully flimsy state and looks like it could collapse at any moment. Have it rebuilt immediately, and see that it is properly sturdy."
"Well, right away m'lord, but that will slow construction considerably."
"And? Let it be slowed. If the scaffolding collapses, that will lead to injury at a minimum. It is important to me that my henchmen's safety not be risked in pursuit of speed."
"Yes, m'lord. I understand."
"Excellent."
Over the next several months, Lord Aceron's lackeys grew to understand that he did not dole out arbitrary punishments, but instead that he rewarded competence and initiative, valued their well-being, and paid well to boot. But he had yet to understand to what extent this affected their loyalty. 1/2
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“*Arrest warrant 4u, search warrant 4ur office and home. SWAT in 20 mins. Del text*”
Twenty minutes was plenty of time to clear everything up. I deleted the text as instructed and set the phone back to factory settings for good measure. I removed the small SSD card from my laptop and lured Felix to me. His collar had a hidden pocket, exactly the right size for the SSD card.
“Be careful, little buddy. You’re now carrying all the names of suppliers and customers. Don’t want that in the wrong hands.” He looked at me sternly and meowed once.
“Yes, don’t worry. I will come back soon enough. Until then, you’ll stay at auntie Sarah’s place.” I looked at my secretary and right hand man, Martin. “Can you arrange that for me? Only after I’ve been arrested of course. Don’t want them to know that I knew about the arrest ahead of time.”
“Yes, I’ll take care of that, miss. Do you need anything else?”
“Some advice on what to wear. I feel like a smoking would be overkill, but I want to come off as classy, stylish. You’ve got great taste.”
Exactly eighteen minutes later I saw the black cars arrive through my office window. They were blocking off the streets and although they didn’t use flashing lights or sound, their appearance could hardly be called stealthily. Someone really should tell law enforcement to invest in cars other than black SUVs.
When they broke my door, rather unnecessary I might say as it was unlocked, I sat behind my desk, looking impeccable in my black suit and red tie. They stormed in, pushed me out of my chair and on the ground and put me in shackles. All of it lasted less than ten seconds and the last thing I saw were all the guns pointed at me, before they pulled a bag over my head and dragged me along down stairs, to their waiting cars.
The hood was removed from my head. I was sitting in an interrogation room, sparsely lit but still painful to my eyes that had gotten adjusted to the dark. Two rough looking man were sitting opposite me, looking angry and stern. A third stood in the corner, hands on his gun. I knew what they were trying and frankly it worked. I was scared shitless. My theatre lessons from back when I was a teen were paying off though and I feigned curiosity as I looked around.
“Never been in one of these before. It looks smaller than in the movies. Not enough budget to afford something bigger?”
“Why’d we invest in that? Smaller holding cells and interrogation rooms mean more space for big offices for me and my colleagues.” The officer sitting on the right spoke up. “But we’re not here to talk about our finances, but yours. You have a nice office.”
“Thanks, I rather like it myself. I can give the architect’s contact number if you want.”
“Very generous off you. But I’m more interested in how you were able to afford it.”
“I run a business. A financially healthy business. But I’m sure you’ll see that soon enough for yourself, after you checked all the financial reports.”
“Why do you think we’re checking your financials?”
“You were the one asking how I can afford anything. Safe assumption then that you think something’s wrong with the numbers. Well, let me guarantee you: the numbers are right, nothing fishy. Even paid all the taxes, unlike some companies. You should go after those, they are the big fish. Oh, but how unfortunate. They’re all paying politicians so you can’t even go after them.”
“Cut the fucking bullshit,” the officer slammed the table and one of the coffee cups fell, spilling coffee all over the table and ground. “You’re not here for measly little tax evasion. You’re here for the production and dealing of drugs. Cocaine, heroin, speed, MDMA, everything that is a white powder basically.”
“Sir,” I had to take a deep breath to contain the laughter that was brewing in my chest. “We produce and sell powdered sugar.”
I stared him dead in the face for a second and then absolutely ruined this badass moment that I always dreamed of by erupting in laughter. Even the other two officers couldn’t help but crack a smile, but it made the interrogating officer even more angry.
“Fine, have it your way. Enjoy the rest of your life in prison. We caught enough of your employees dealing drugs. You don’t think at least one of them will talk?”
“So, you caught some of the guys I hired with drugs. What has that got to do with me?”
“You are at the head of a drug business, hiding behind the façade of fucking powdered sugar. There need only be one to confess that he was hired, by you, to do the dirty work and you are hanging.”
“No, that won’t happen. You know why? Because I have no knowledge of any illegal activity going on in my company. Do I believe you that some might have a side job as small time drug dealer? Yes. Most of the guys I hired are high school drop outs or ex-convicts, rejected from society. I give them a job, with good salary, health insurance, hell, there’s even a retirement plan included. Some will take the second chance and use it to turn their lives around. Others, unfortunately, can’t leave the crime life behind. They all take a weekly drug test, of their own free will and with consent, of course. You can get all the data on those tests. But I can not control what they do in their free time.”
“The men caught with drugs on them are looking at 5 to 10 years. They’ll talk, in exchange for the case being dropped.”
“Ah, yes. Because the police has such a good track record on being open and honest and free of prejudice. I’m sure that my employees will be very willing to cooperate as they all have only had pleasant experiences with you.”
I knew I was testing the boundaries, but I still didn’t see his fist coming. The blow landed on my nose and I fell backwards, first bashing my head against the wall before landing on the ground, on my arms still bound behind my back.
“I. Will. Get. You. You. Fucking. Asshole.” With every word he pounded on my unprotected head. Vaguely I noticed some figures behind him, pulling him away from me, but my vision was blurry and blackness approached from all corners.
I woke up in a hospital, dizzy and with a headache. A beautiful bouquet stood on the table next to me.
“Courtesy from the head of the police. He also gave his apologize for the ‘unprofessional behaviour’,” said Martin, who was sitting in my hospital room. “You are no longer under arrest, though they want you to come by after you’ve recovered to tie up some loose ends.”
“Hmm. No one threw me under the buss then, huh?”
“Nah. You’re a good employer and they know you will take care of the families even when they’re imprisoned. Their loyalty goes a long way.”
“Good, it’ll be rewarded. Now, I have a terrible head ache, could you see if a nurse will give me some medicine? I’m planning on racking up the hospital bill. And I am so going to make the police pay for every last cent of it!”
| 2022-10-05T08:45:19 | 2022-10-05T07:42:56 | 525 | 160 |
[WP] On his wedding day, the Prince must choose a bride between 3 girls: a peasant, an elf or a noble. While the choice seems obvious, the Prince gives a speech to explain his decision and we don't know who he picks until the last word.
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I smiled, looking out into the crowd before me. Thousands had gathered to see me, the Prince, wed at last. I'd been given the choice between a noble, an elf and a peasant- I was to pick one, and give a speech announcing my choice after our marriage had taken place, to prevent any unnecessary interjections.
"Ahem," I cleared my throat, adjusting my garb and working the butterflies out of my stomach. "Before we begin, let me take a quick survey. How many of you think I married the peasant?"
No one raised their hand.
"The elf?"
Four people raised their hands, and I knew all of them- they definitely just think elves are the most attractive species.
"The noble?"
A swell of hands rose up in the sea of people before me. I laughed softly, saying, "Ah, yes. Perfect- you fellows never disappoint!" The crowd clapped.
"Well, I'm going to give my speech, now. Settle down, grab your food and drink and get comfortable. Reya, come over here, darling."
My wife slowly walked over, standing beside me, her magnificent white dress billowing like smoke- a black veil still masking her face. "We'll do this together, love," I comforted her, gripping her hand. I pulled up the paper I'd written my speech on and began.
"Reya- the light of my life, the keeper of my heart. Her beauty is unmatched and her heart pure, like a snowflake still adrift in the wind. She is dignified; respectable yet still respectful, and speaks with eloquence. She holds the reins to my heart, and keeps me from faltering to wilderness or madness; a guiding light to lead me through darkness.
"She is noble, unlike any other I've met. There is a distinct air of regality about her, no doubt. She is majestic, her beauty and grace unmatched by the likes of any other. Not just by appearance, but her soul as well- she is a kind, intelligent woman, caring and loving without discrimination.
"She is clever- her senses about her, and her ears sharp. She is deft with weaponry, and can defend herself in battle as well as any man could. She is strong, both physically and mentally, toughened by battle- though her gentleness has never been lost. She loves to be out in nature, exploring the world that birthed us all.
"She is humble- despite her beauty, and her strength, she will never call herself better than you or I. Despite her wit and intelligence, she respects the minds of others with utmost urgency. She knows the importance of nurturing others, so that they may try to grow into something wonderful as well. She knows strife, and struggle- something many of us do not. She has starved, trying to make do with little and cling to life as it scurried away.
"For all this, I love my wife. She is everything a man could ask for; the nearest to perfection you'll find on Earth. Might I add, when I surveyed you...all of you were wrong. Reya, may I introduce you to the crowd?"
I pulled the veil back, and stripped the outer layer of her wedding dress off, revealing truth hidden below. A Dwarf stood before them, her feet on stilts hidden by the previous gown. She stepped down from them, and approached my side- her true wedding dress a blaze of bold red and deep black.
"My love is not defined by choices, or selections by other men. I have learned that sometimes, the biggest people come in the smallest packages."
I lifted her up, kissing her soft lips as thousands watched in awe.
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*thanks for another great prompt, /u/justmereally!*
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#Title: The Bachelor, Prince George Edition
The 2030's were an extraordinarily curious time. Though humanity was enduring a depression unlike any other, jobs were being taken up by cheap automated machines capable of learning very skilled techniques, and the world seemed always tense and on the brink of world war, the watching world public took solace in wondering what type of bride Prince George would take for himself.
There were even regular speeches made on the matter off the balcony of Buckingham Palace, by the Prince himself.
Prince George was quite handsome, and he had whittled away his selection of potential brides down to three women on a special edition of the reality television show the Bachelor. From thirty women, it was whittled down to twenty. Then to fifteen. Then ten. And one by one, down to three.
Now was the time for choosing. The season finale of "The Bachelor, Prince George Edition" was airing live from London.
The Prince was speaking to a crowd of thousands.
"Today marks an extraordinary day in our history," said Prince George. He had an occasional predisposition for euphemism, but he was so likeable nobody really cared. "For I will be selecting a bride amongst three beautiful women who have endured this long journey towards love with me."
The three women were standing off to the side, and smiling as best they could, and adjusting their hair every so often to make sure they look their most presentable and proper.
Amongst the women was a noble woman of high birth. She was beautiful, and carried a cool elegant confidence as if it were most natural for her to experience a thing such as this.
And there was a genetically engineered elf woman. She had the characteristics of Angelina Jolie and Salma Hayek, along with pointy ears and a theoretically long lifespan of up to a thousand years. As well as unnaturally quick wit.
And there was a girl of lowbirth who wasn't the most beautiful, or the most educated.
But she could paint like Van Gogh.
She'd made portrait after portrait of the Prince during her time on the show, and they'd even done a segment showing her painting the Prince. And she'd laugh and smile, then laugh and smile a little less confident and look to the ground when she realized she was only just another girl to him. Her shy demeanor and sweet smile had taken the prince captive, but who would the Prince select in this time of choosing?
"Now you are all wondering who I'll select," said Prince George. He looked back at the three women. He smiled at each of them, a sheepish uncertain smile. They smiled back in kind.
"I am a Lord, and my favorite movie series growing up was *The Lord of the Rings*, and now I am here with a ring of my own," said the Prince. He fondled the engagement ring in his palm. He looked around at the world.
The elf woman stood a little taller and smiled at the other women, and raised her eybrows twice like that was a sign, but she wasn't all the way certain so she didn't want to get too cocky.
"But I have been raised so long in a place of high birth, that I don't altogether understand anything besides this world and this life," said Prince George. He smiled back at the noble girl. Her eyes screamed of understanding. Theirs was a life of entitlement and strange public jailing to a lifestyle and a persona. No sympathy for the rich and entitled, and they expected none. There were other noble women, whom the Prince had not given roses to. They were too caught up in that world. Few could understand that type of strange noble pain.
Feeling always like you don't deserve the life you live.
"But at times, I just want to explore the wondrous streets of London as a commoner," said the Prince. He looked back at the common girl. "I just want to get some fish and chips and hang about the town, meet with friends in public, unworried about being recognized. Just one of you. As I am."
He looked at the common girl again. She felt she wouldn't get selected, in spite of his kind words.
The Prince thought about the painting she made of him, standing in a field of blurred faces, with his own so vivid.
"I wish I could see the world through your eyes," said Prince George to the common girl.
The common girl shed a single tear. The camera zoomed in on her hard, nothing was lost by the show producers.
"And I want to do right by the people," said Prince George.
Then the camera panned to the crowd.
There were people there coughing, but looking up at the Prince like he was amazing. Otherworldly. He was a popular figure all things considered, though many people were critical of how much attention he was getting during this time of suffering and tension. Some people liked the distraction.
Others believed the distraction was calculated by outside powers.
*They made me do this* thought the Prince to himself. He saw one of the screens showing what the crowd looked like. He saw one toddler coughing, in rags, sitting on his father's shoulders, watching the screen. *The world is starving, people are suffering, and I'm here selecting a bride.*
He saw on the screen one man looking down at the ground, with his arms crossed. He was only there because his wife wanted him there.
*They must think me a monster.*
Then the show producers mentioned in his ear that he needed to get on with it. There were only five more minutes of air time left before the re-make of Breaking Bad would be playing on the airwaves.
Prince George took a deep breath.
"All my life," said Prince George. "I've needed a holiday so bad."
*Should I abandon the plan* thought the Prince.
His family had told them they wanted somebody of a certain type of birth in their family. A type of superior birth. He looked over at the noble woman.
It was the way the world was going. Superior genetics. Racial superiority.
It was a scary time.
*Should I fight them?* thought the Prince. Within that moment, he fought the thought of obeying what he was told.
Then he looked over at the Prime Minister standing in the shadows, in the midst of the producers.
And his parents nodded his way, like they thought it was best.
"I have made my decision," said the Prince. It wasn't his decision, but he knew how to act now. He'd done it his whole life. He flipped a switch. "And I'm going to be the Lord of this ring, and I think you know what I *are are talkin'* about, if you know what I mean," said the Prince. The noble woman furrowed her brow. "I think it's time Britain had, for its queen, a true elf."
The common girl dropped her head, wallowing in a shy, understanding dejection.
| 2016-02-13T09:26:19 | 2016-02-13T08:34:18 | 91 | 24 |
[WP] Weight can be transferred from person to person if both parties accept. People pay money to transfer their unwanted pounds to someone who will deal with it in their stead. You run a gym/factory.
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(I wrote it from a different perspective, but otherwise I stuck to the prompt.)
The gym (clinic) administrators have a tightly guarded secret. The mayor knows what's going on, but he won't spill the beans, the taxes the city collects are astronomical. Some patients know, but they don't think it's too obscene to abstain. Anyone with half a brain can figure it out, but the technology to make it real is just way too crazy. How could such a device even work? Most people think it was aliens, yep, fuckin aliens just dropped this device on the planet years ago. Not sure what they used it for though. Or maybe it was the CIA. Truth is nobody knows.
Who am I? I'm a recovering cancer survivor. The gym isn't pure evil, it's actually good for society. I personally benefited greatly. Having more fat on my body made the chemo more bearable, because that nausea certainly wasn't. Who are we to look down on something producing so much utilitarian goodness for the world?
Nobody can really spill the beans though, the public wouldn't understand. Luckily the clinic administrators have a genius disguise. They plaster fit sexy people on posters all over the walls of their "gym". If you walk in the front door the only thing you'll see is a nice open room with babes and bros working out. I'm convinced they're paid to be there and it's all a fucking show. If a gym junkie takes the pounds off your body you don't feel so guilty. right? They LOVE working out, right? "More soda please!" Nope, those hot people are just a facade, a temporary vessel for the fat, soon to be vacuumed off and passed on to someone else.
The fat is transferred from these supermodels to the recipients in a back room. It's a large, white, sterile room with one oddity in the centre. A huge green gem sits in a large metal case. A small fence keeps people from accidentally touching it. You can guess how the gem works, both parties touch it, say some magic words, poof. I can't remember it too clearly though, chemo brain is a bitch.
The real questionable part though is what they do to terminally ill patients in hospice. Keep in mind these people are going to die anyway, so it's not like their fate changes because of this. I like to think about it as helping them move along faster, reducing suffering. They wheel them in there, load them up with a thousand pounds of lard and then they go off to die, their hearts giving out, livers failing, who knows, but that much fat is really hard to live with and most people don't survive more than an hour or so with it.
So I'm sitting here, getting a coffee, mulling it all over, wondering if the cancer will come back. I fucked up and booked a week in town. Who knew the procedure would only take 15 minutes (including paperwork!)? I didn't even need a damn appointment. But, since I'm still in town for another few days, I'm just hanging out and watching the show.
As I take another sip, another fat sob walks in the front door. After a ton of paperwork, a cute receptionist matches him up with bro number 3 and he waddles into the back room. A few minutes later the ex-fat sob bursts out the doors. He's fucking beaming. Never thought I'd see someone so happy to pass their burdens onto someone else. Doubt he knows what's going on, or maybe he just blocked out the memory. Meanwhile, a door out back flaps closed as a terminally ill patient gets wheeled out. As the bed on wheels runs over a small pebble in the parking lot the man stops breathing. Bro number 3 reappears, fit as he was 10 minutes prior. Makes me sick to think about, so I do my best not to.
I keep telling myself they are doing so much good for the world. I can't even let myself think about all the third world children who could benefit from this. Starving people the world over saved by the gluttony of the western world. Nope, it goes to dying people instead.
Fuck...
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He had to have been the most interesting man I had ever met. This bulging, stuttering sack of lard sat across from me at my desk, teeming with desperation. I barely knew him at the time, and was about ready to shoot him down like I had many others before him.
I'm Raymond, but all my friends call me Ray, owner of the Radiant Fitness Gym, and full-time workaholic. When I first heard of the "Lipid Transferal Procedure", or LTP for short, I noticed a potential business opportunity instantly. The gym blossomed when the procedure was legalized, and we soon found ourselves acting as the middleman in a strange clash between the thin and thick.
Usually our clients were always thin, looking to put on a few pounds for certain reasons, but mostly for acting purposes. When an obese person showed up at our doors, we usually turned them away. This wasn't your ordinary obese person, however. This was Elias, the bald, overly-sarcastic landwhale. The guy was huge, more than obese. He put morbidly obese to shame.
"Y-you're a what?" I asked again, curiosity piqued.
"You've never heard of me before, pal? I'm the national champion of the annual Emmerson Eating Competition." Elias replied.
"An... eating competition?"
"Oh, yeah. Great event. You just sit back and stuff your face until that judge declares you the winner, pal. Always got a great atmosphere too, y'know?"
"You just... eat?" I replied, still in disbelief.
"No, they call it an eating competition so I can sit on the floor and fuckin' photosynthesize, pal."
"H-hold on... I'm not understanding the rules here."
"Look, a bunch of big hairy biker-lookin' guys are given some food, and whoever finishes it first wins. I've been a part of this thing for years. Hell, I don't even need to swallow the food anymore, it just goes down smooth."
"So that's why you're so... err..."
"Fat? No, this all came from my rigorous confucian lifestyle, pal. Long story short, I need your help."
"I'm sorry, we're in the business of making people fatter, not skinnier."
"But my reign is coming to an end! Y'know the reason why Eating Champions don't keep their position for very long?"
I nodded.
"They die. They literally eat themselves into the grave, pal. And I'm coming to you, asking, no, kindly requestin' that you help me last a little longer in this competition."
"Wh- why would I make an exception just for you? Convince me."
"Because I'm ambitious. I'm not stopping at national champion, I'm going international. Do you know what that means, pal? I'm aiming to be the best eater in the entire world!" Elias shouted, spreading his arms wide. "And if I don't shave off this fat, I'm never going to make it there, let alone hold the world record. I've already had the diagnosis, and I don't think I've got much time left, pal. But I can still delay the inevitable just long enough for me to finally be number one at something. Just for once. I'm begging you to give me that chance, pal."
Elias was clutching his collar tensely, and staring me directly in the eyes. His solemn tone pierced the air and silenced everything else. And in that moment, I stopped and considered, what did I have to lose? Besides a lot of money.
"I..." I stammered.
"You what, pal? Just give me an answer. This stress isn't good for my heart."
Beforehand, I really didn't like fat people that much. With all their rampant health problems and general appearance, I simply found them to be unattractive people at first glance. But now, I saw beneath the surface. For the first time, I actually felt proud of one of them. I looked upon Elias not with a furrowed brow or a mocking tone, and instead I realized he was ambitious. More ambitious than me, and inspiringly so. Everybody else had just asked for a routine "de-fattening", but Elias was different, and I couldn't help but feel for him.
"Alright Elias. I'll do it. I'll... I'll get you signed up for an operation a-"
"Wha-?! You're actually gonna help me, pal?! That's... that's fuckin' great! Man, I could kiss you right now!" Elias shouted, ecstatic. He jumped from his seat and tried to hug me, but there's no way he'd be getting those stubby arms all the way around me.
"I've never been to an... 'eating competition' before, but if this operation will help you win it... I'm willing to go all the way with you."
"I- I can hardly believe it, Ray..." Elias stammered, out of breath this time.
"I'll just need to get your details and find a candidate for the LTP. After that, it's all smooth sailing. The procedure is painless and you're guaranteed to be thinner than ever before afterward."
Elias' overjoyed look was something I'll never forget. I couldn't help but join in the celebration with him, sharing his joy as I filled out the necessary forms.
Over the coming weeks, I was in constant contact with Elias, until the day came when he pawned that weight off on some other guy who was actually starting a sumo ring over in east Asia. I didn't hear much from Elias after that, but I received a picture, and the results were clear. He was a shell of his former self. He looked like he could be straight back from service with the military. The guy was simply buff. And then when he finally did make contact with me, I saw the fruits of my labor first hand. Elias invited me to the Emmerson International Eating Championships, where he had easily made it to the final.
I got a front row seat and even brought along the girlfriend to this particularly disgusting occasion, and boy was it great. The two of us cheered as Elias strutted proudly to the stage with a spring in his step and dived into his seat next to the other 4 contestants, and before we knew it, they were off.
They started easily, with an entire turkey. The whole thing, spit-roasted and expertly cooked in order to- and then it was gone. I barely even had time to contemplate what was happening as five big, burly men each choked down an entire turkey without even stopping. He was as if possessed by a devil, tearing apart the turkey and consuming the shards without even chewing.
A few seconds of silence, permeated with all manner of grunting, choking and coughing, resonated through the building as Elias quickly snapped up his cup of water and downed the entire thing, slamming it onto the table as he raised his arms and exclaimed his victory in the first round.
He peered back toward me in the crowd with a proud, albeit shitfaced expression, and winked at me. And so the night continued, with more grunting, a devious lack of chewing and all manner of disgusting festivities, until Elias finally found himself crawling on the floor like a baby, groaning and moaning about stomach pains while the judge held up his one available arm and pronounced him the winner.
Simultaneously disgusted and enchanted, I shed a few tears for him, the most interesting man I had ever met.
| 2016-06-29T17:22:00 | 2016-06-29T17:10:47 | 120 | 42 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
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Ive never submitted anything- and hopefully this doesn't suck as much as I think it does.
He came in through my window, creeping slowly through the bedroom door, down the hall into the bathroom and that's when my father crumbled to the floor.
As he left, he turned to me and that's when I caught the grey in his dark eyes. I soon fell under his spell and forgot about my poor fathers demise.
Although it was My fathers soul, he intended to take - he had no way of knowing that it was my love he'd awake.
From a child to a girl, to a woman I grew and yet he never returned. That's the moment that I knew.
My stepfather who abused me, my mother and her lies, my brother who tortured me - everybody. everybody dies.
My mother got the ax, my brother got the gun, my step father well - he got the chainsaw just for fun.
As I stood in the blood of those I hated the most - the smoke slowly rolled in and in walked my ghost.
He collected the souls that he came to take - "wait." I called to him. "Don't - don't go." My voice begins to break.
"My need for you, my want for you, my love - it grows deeper. Everything I've done- I've done for you, please stay my darling reaper. "
"My soul is black, and my heart - well it's gone
Stop, foolish girl. Your thoughts? They are wrong."
"But I love you." I begged
Silence, was his reply
"Say something.. say anything. Please." I cry.
"Take me with you- I'll go. I can be your queen of the dead. I'll be the beat in your heart and the warmth in your bed."
"You kill for a love that will never exist, you pine for the dead- you beg- you persist. I will not take you with me - and that is true - there is nothing you can say. There is nothing you can do."
But there is one thing I have, a trick up my sleeve - a Pistol with a bullet loaded, cocked and ready, just for me. "We will be together soon." "Oh" he asked. "How do you figure?" That's when I put the gun in my mouth and in that moment, pulled the trigger.
|
I remember the first time I saw him. It was early morning, just as the first light was leeching into the sky. I barely remember him, I was so young; only small images stand out, like grainy faded pictures. My father was dying, cancer they said in hushed tones, as if it could be summoned. I used to imagine it as a terrible tiny beast, burrowing into my father’s skin, hollowing out his eyes and making his breath wheeze.
It was daylight when he died. Early morning. I was sleeping on our couch, tucked under my favorite flowered blanket. I remember a noise waking me, strange and choked and broken. My mother sobbing, gasping for breath like my father had. I walked in and found the family gathered around the hospice bed, no one speaking. I remember crying, not understanding why no one would look at me, not understanding why my daddy wouldn’t wake up and tell mom everything was fine, he felt fine, just like always.
A warm pair of arms picked me and carried me to the living room. I could see him through my tears, a blurry stranger. He looked a bit like some of my father’s friends, the ones who came over to play with cards and get on my mother’s nerves. Perhaps that was why I didn’t fuss when he held me while I cried. I woke hours later to my mother gently shaking me, eyes puffy from crying. I can’t remember much of him from that time, but I do remember his eyes. They had stars in them.
I had brushed it off over the years, a product of my grief and confusion. I met him again when I was 17. My boyfriend and I had been at a bonfire with friends. We were driving back, and Josh had had a few drinks. Turns out he lied to me about how many. I was exhausted and drifting off on the way home. I woke up when my head hit the dash board of the truck.
I remember lying on the pavement, having no idea how I got there. There were flashing lights all around, and a man leaning over me shining a light into my eyes. I tried to find Josh, to see if he could tell me what had happened, when I saw him. He was leaning over a young woman who was resting against the steering wheel of a car I’d never seen. He looked like he was stroking her head, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a weathered old jacket and jeans.
I made a noise when I saw him, some gut deep recognition dragging it out of me. I must have passed out, because next I knew he was there, standing over me, gently pulling strands of my hair off of my face, stuck and tacky with blood. He smiled gently and kissed my forehead, the universe shining from his eyes.
I'll continue this if people are interested!
Edit: **Part 2**
I knew after that. I knew who he was, that he wasn’t my imagination. The woman who Josh hit had died on scene, and everyone assured me that there was no one there but the police and paramedics. Oh, and Josh. He walked away with a few bruises, no girlfriend, and a lifetime criminal record for involuntary vehicular homicide.
At the time I had been planning to go to college and pursue biology. I wanted to be a conservationist, saving the planet one badgered donor at a time. After that night I couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop wondering about the quiet peace I found in his gaze. I changed majors and pursued medicine, graduating somewhere in the middle of the pack, securing a spot in a mediocre med school and eventually finishing my residency.
In all that time, I was never there when a patient died. Somehow I missed it every time. I felt terrible for the anger at these blameless people for dying inconveniently and cheating me of my meeting, but I was frustrated anyway. I did a stint at an underfunded and outdated hospital after I got my coat and finally late one night I saw him again.
I was helping in the E.R. on a horrible multi car pileup. Everyone who wasn’t actively keeping someone alive was called down. I got lost in stabilizing, CPR, IV drips and frantic calls for more blood. When I surfaced I realized almost half the people that were rushed in had died, or were DOA, but I hadn’t seen him. I remember being filled with such bitter disappointment and anger as scrubbed off the blood that had dried to my skin.
After I changed scrubs I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, and to check in with a few of the ambulance drivers who might know more about what had caused the unholy mess that got sent our way. It was warm still, the late July heat baking up out of the pavement, and as I walked out a puff of smoke swirled around me. I turned and there he was, leaned up against the hospital wall, smoking a cigarette.
He wasn’t much taller than me, and was still dressed in that old jacket and faded jeans. He smiled, quiet and soft “Hell of a night we had” he said. His voice was low, like something slow and dark with just the smallest glimmer of teeth in the night. I admit, I stared like an idiot. Slack jawed and in my pink panther back up scrubs that my mother had bought me as a joke when I graduated. “Yeah, it was a hell of a night”, I stuttered lamely. Stupidly. *Humanly*.
His smiled widened and he nodded before strolling off across the parking lot. I finally came to my senses and rushed after him. I had no idea what I was going to say, but I never got the chance. He stepped into a puddle of shadow and never walked out.
| 2017-06-07T21:48:28 | 2017-06-07T21:09:53 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me.
|
A knock roused me from my light nap. I had been napping in my living room waiting for him. It's been years since I had seen him. I call him Morte.... He's less a fan, and more just used to it at this point, but I figure it's less morbid with a fun little nickname. Still slightly groggy, I stretch up out of the chair that seemed just as reluctant to release me as I was it. I persisted, and finally rose.
"KNOCK"
It's louder this time, more persistent. Hoping to keep my hinges this time, I call out, "Be with you in a moment old friend!" I chuckle to myself a little, imagining how he won't be too fond of that. Finally, I get to the door and throw it open... To see the gaunt and sober face of Morte. He looked.... pissed is the word I would use.
"Having a nice time are we?" He asks, the same dour mood plaguing his features rolling off his tongue.... Or what would be there. See, Morte is a dude most don't like to pick a fight with, being a skeleton and all. As such, no tongue to speak of.
I smile warmly and take ahold of his black cloak. "come! Sit tell me about your journey's far and wide!"
My jovial attitude would I hope rub off on Morte, he's less than Jovial MOST of the time, and I try to keep him from running right into a depression. See, Morte here is what your average guy would call "Death", or "My Ultimate Fear" or whatever. Point is, most people aren't happy to see him. My chipper attitude is actually what got me my sweet deal. When Morte came for me, when my "Time" came, I greeted him as a friend and didn't see a reason to go, and as such... I think he was feeling especially spiteful that day, he granted me immortality and told me I would beg for death.
Like I said, he's a cheerful guy. Morte obligingly sits down in the chair I had just vacated, a beautiful piece of Thousand year old leather I had maintained since I made it. I pour him a cup of tea, and, feeling I needed to start things off, I said, "So? How have you been?"
"Insolent man, still you hold no reverence for me."
"I respect you, I just lack fear. Might have been the muffins last time."
Morte glares at me, he didn't like me calling to attention that he too had gotten used to these chats every hundred years or so.
"50 000 years, and you are every bit the cheerful Phoenician I met all those years ago."
"Well, now I have leather, which I think we both agree is a nice touch."
Morte rolls his eyes at this. I know what he's here for, and I am more than happy to indulge in idle conversation before he takes stock of how I have managed to enjoy my existence for so long. I personally enjoy these chats with him, and it's actually become part of my preparations to see him again and talk shop. I start again, seeing Morte is in one of his moods. "So, I discovered that the current civilization is following in the final footfalls of Rome. I have been trying to figure out the best way to diffuse the tension between them, but so far at least, my charities are keeping their rebuilding efforts up, which is nice."
"Yes, well government never seems to learn do they? Though it looks like I will be busy at this particular fall." Mort finally loses his tense posture. Finally! He touches his cup, which immediately ages to infinitum and becomes dust, the tea evaporating entirely. I look up at Morte and shake my head. "I shouldn't have made you tea. Sorry. It's been a while." Morte seems sheepish, and straightens up, a somber mood settling back over him again. Yaaaaaay...... I roll my own eyes for the first time that night. Morte rises, holds his hand out, and a wicked looking scythe manifests in his hands, before he swings it at me, I flinch even knowing what would happen......
And it bounces off harmlessly. I try to contain my laughter and mostly succeed. I let out a small snort. The ding as bounces is almost comical in nature, being immortal as I am, he can't reap me until I ask. Morte is... understandably miffed. In what I imagine would have been narrowed eyes.... again, if he had any, he glides to the hallway, and a dimensional rift opens up, summoning with it a wind that ruffles my hair. I smile back at Morte as he makes to leave. "BE SURE TO WRITE!". And then he was gone....
I set about cleaning up the dust and my still half full tea, softly humming to myself.
| 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T16:05:42 | 539 | 20 |
[WP] In your meth class, while your teacher is busy explaining the correct way to shoot up, your buddy leans over with a calculator and asks you, "hey, man. Do you wanna try some math?"
|
"Are you crazy man what the fuck is wrong with ya bud." I reply shoving the calculator back into his desk.
"I am not delusional Jake, just meet me by the dumpster behind the school."
Mrs. Clay continued to demonstrate how to properly intake meth and then we all sat there listening to her stories of her husband that doesn't love her and how she is on the verge of running away with Mark, her lover.
I trudge through the cracked sidewalk when I feel a tug on my shirt. I turn to see Dan.
"What are you doing by the dumpster?" I wonder.
"You idiot I told you to meet me here for a reason." Dan says. My memory starts to clear up as I recall the scene that happened in meth class. Dan pulls out the calculator again and I begin to flail my arms screaming at him to stop and put it away.
"I need to tell you something," Dan tells me as he pulls me down to sit on the dark pavement.
"What?"
"I am drug free Jake. Drug free."
"Drugs? What do you mean drugs..."
"Meth. Weed. Cocaine. Nicotine. Alcohol. None of that is in my body."
An overwhelming feeling of shock swept my body, appalled at the misconduct that Dan has set forth. I could not even imagine what the school officials would say about this. What they would do to him... He has violated every single rule there is in the school handbook.
"Jake shh stop looking at me that way!"
I tried to snap out of my state of shock so that I could grasp any idea as to why Dan would do such a thing like this.
"I figured it all out Jake. I know what this school...all schools are trying to do with the students. They are dumbing us down, breaking our neurological pathways so that we cannot develop any creative and innovative thoughts on our own. They are slowing down our nervous system, then speeding it up in hopes of creating an ultimate crash. They want our bodies to crash and stop working Jake."
"Dude you've gotta be high."
"No. Listen to me. Have you ever heard about what happens to the students after they graduate? Have you? No. Nothing has ever been heard because by that point, their exposure to all these narcotics and substances has crafted them into this immovable lump. They're not even humans anymore."
"Why...why would you think school would even wanna do dat to us. Boy you are flippin out. Im here tryna get my fuckin education and you tryna fuckin deprive me. Throwin this crazy shit at me. Why'd the school wanna play us dirty like dat."
"Because Jake. Don't you realize. We are being replaced. All the real jobs out there are gone. They don't need to educate anyone anymore. They don't need new generations of properly educated individuals. Individuals that are exposed to real subjects like mathematics, literature, and science. They are changing history Jake. We are useless. Because jobs now are being filled by things more qualified than we will ever be."
"Things..."
"Robots, Jake. Robots."
|
"I don't know man, I've heard one you try that stuff addiction takes over and controls your life."
"Nah. that's just propaganda put out there to keep it illegal at the benefit of for-profit prisons. I do it all the time, and can still drive on it and function. I actually think it makes me pay more attention when driving. Plus I can quit whenever I want. Look at all the studies done on medical math, there's nothing wrong with it. Meet me in my car after school, it will change your perspective of life"
-"MR GOODMAN AND MR RENDER, CAN I ASK WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT?"
Mrs. Turner stood over my desk and her lifeless bloodshot eyes poured over my reddening face, and down to my arm, still covered in it's sleeve.
"This could be a matter of life and death you know! I'm not here for my sake, I'm here for yours!"
I studdered and stammered, hoping to come up with a decent excuse, knowing Mike would be expelled, and maybe even jailed, if caught with math paraphernalia.
"I was just showing Mike how to locate the vein, he was having a bit of trouble."
She stood for a moment staring me in the eyes, analysing my lie.
"I suggest you leave the teaching to me, lest you fall behind like Mr. Render. Michael, I suggest you raise your hand next time you need help with the lesson."
As she stumbled back up to the chalkboard and picked up her needle, Mike gave me a quick thank you nod.
I've always been pro- legalization, but was never convinced to do math. You'd see people walking around stores, asking for the price of things and you could tell they were thinking matg. generally being slow as a snail, slow to react, not to mention the smell of it. I didn't think it was bad for them, but that gets annoying during your late night shift at taco bell.
"It can't be that bad" I told myself, and nervously walked up to Mike's Kia Soul. I grab the passenger handle, and climb in the back seat.
Our friend Hillary was sitting up front with Mike, her head between her lap, snickering about something. I never really liked her, but considering the alternative options for friends, I didn't have any other choice but be her ally. She passes the calculator to Mike, and I notice the numbers "8008", as it slides across the armrest. He presses a few buttons, laughs a bit himself, and passes it to me.
I stare at the screen for a second. What is going on? What does 8008135 mean?
"Uhh, what do I do?"
Hillary turned around, rolled her eyes. Her cold, know-it-all voice pierced my eardrums like needle from last night's homework. "You gotta clear out the chamber first. Hit that C button, and take a hit on a number. Then you take a rip on one of those symbols, another number, and then you press the one with the two lines on it. You can use that number to do other maths too."
I press the 2.
"I don't really feel anything"
"You gotta do all of it or it won't work"
I hit the + sign. And then 2 again. Then the = one. And see a 4. It doesn't hit me yet. So I press the -, then 1, and that = sign again. A 3 comes up, and it hit me like a brick. A tingling sensation starts near my frontal lobe, and slowly works it's way through my chest, into my legs and arms. I could feel it in my fingers and toes. A warm smile pours onto my face.
I speak, rather loudly judging by their reactions.
"Two plus two is four. Minus one, that's three!"
"No need to be so loud, damn. We're in the car with you, not on mars." he could see the look of joy on my face. "That's just quick maths, wait until you try the other stuff"
The rest of my time at school was a blur. After Mike scored a TI-83 for me from his dealer, I dropped out, and math became my education. My family became fractals and trigonometrics.
I spent all day staring at the screen, my pen and notebook, the textbooks I managed to score directly from his dealer, Aidan King, when Mike said he didn't want me using any more. He thought it was a problem now, even though he was doing it with me! He was just upset I was better at doing calculus than him.
I went on for months, and was craving more. I kept going, getting in deeper and deeper, searching for that feeling my first quick maths gave me. Textbooks wouldnt cut it anymore.
I started expanding on my knowledge, testing my own theorems. I was going to solve the equation that no one thought was even solvable, the one that even hardcore mathematicians would call "conspiracy theories"
I left my job, got kicked out on the streets, and didn't care one bit. I mathed in alleys, in the subway, wherever I could. But I was getting closer.
After what felt like a year I finally did it! I hit the = button on my calculator and passed out, the bus stop I was in sheltering me from the rain.
When morning came, I was awoken by two men in blue uniforms, one of them rummaging through my wallet, before pulling out my ID.
"Mr.... H.A. Goodman you are under arrest for possession of math and math paraphernalia, you have the right to remain silent. What kind of name is that anyways?"
He grabbed his handcuffs and walked towards me.
I grasped at hand scribbled notes, my pen and my calculator.
"WAIT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I DID IT. I SOLVED IT. I HAVE PROOF! I DID THE MATH, BERNIE CAN STILL WIN!!"
"But it was no use. They threw me in the car, sentenced me without giving me a fair trial. And here I am."
I looked around at the rest of the prisoners hanging on to every word of my story.
"So what made them throw you guys in the basement of Comet Ping Pong?"
| 2017-12-14T17:44:04 | 2017-12-14T15:38:08 | 74 | 17 |
[WP] Nobody's perfect. Your parents named you Nobody. They found the loophole.
|
Who the hell names their kid "nobody"?
Seriously... why?
Do you have any idea how confusing it is to live my life!
"Hey, is anyone in the bathroom?"
"Nobody's in here!"
They think I'm making a joke, but I'm serious. Everybody thinks I'm full of jokes.
My parents explained it to me when I'd gotten old enough. They said, "Nobody, we named you this way so that you'll stand out."
How the hell can nobody stand out?!?
The fuckers both died in a car crash the next day. You can imagine the confusion when the social workers were trying to figure out what foster home to put nobody into.
But at least I'm perfect. Oh man, I hear that one all the time. "Nobody's perfect!" Hah, hah, hah... I know they're not saying it for me, but everybody has taken to saying it around me.
Sorry, I think that was confusing. Everybody is my best friend.
No, I'm not delusional, I don't think everybody is my best friend. I mean everybody. A girl named everybody.
Apparently, her parents said they wanted her to blend in. Then boom, car accident. They survived though, was just a fender bender.
Anyway, everybody thinks I'm full of jokes and loves to say "nobody's perfect!" to get on my nerves. Sometimes I just want to strangle everybody!
I mean, not everybody. *Everybody*. God. Damn. It.
She's cute though. Everybody is. We're kinda close. I think we're boyfriend and girlfriend. I'm not sure though. I've tried to test it by saying, "I'm everybody's boyfriend," but they all just think I'm joking and everybody looks at me weirdly like she's trying to figure out if I'm hinting or not.
Fuck me, life is a mess.
I have a role model though. I try to follow in the footsteps of somebody.
He was my english teacher in college. Great guy. Really made a name for himself. You could say he's somebody.
Oh no, I'm making jokes now. If I go down this path, I'll end up in a psych ward within a month.
I'm thinking of getting my name changed, you know. My middle name is "at" and my last name is "all." I need a better name.
I'm thinking change the first name to "fuck" and the middle name to "you."
But I don't want to hurt all's feelings. He's just the poor mailman. Never did anything to hurt me.
|
Most religions believe gods are born. Either along with (or even the week before) the world itself, or as a saviour in tines of great need. But I know the truth. Gods, gods are made. *Humans* make gods, the millennia, centuries or even scant decades of beliefs, stories, and rumours stacking on top of each other to force a certain mystic burden on the memory of natural events, of unexplained phenomena, or even of originally normal men and women.
You can't imagine the stress it causes. The pain, the disorientation when, years after you thought you were done with your struggles, you wake up once more on this planet, only this time, with a whole new set of rules to follow. You hunger, even as a god, and no amount of food or water will satiate you. No, it's prayer and faith that sustains you, that fills your belly and sends the power rushing through your veins. You soon learn to adapt. Some gods find their flock in war, leading platoons to victory and gaining a loyal band of soldiers to sing their praises and feed their lust for belief. In times of peace, unless they manage to get a mandir built for them, like that soldier Harbajan in Sikkim managed, the power soon trickles thin, and they slowly waste away. Some others find fame and glory in the internet, a God in its own right, that shares its flock with many *many* others, from Google to Pewdiepie, from Skyrim to Portal. Many, however, end up whoring out their powers, or even their bodies, *horrende satis*, desperate for even the faintest taste of energy. You see, no matter how much the masses have forgotten you, no matter if your flock has been killed off, if your temples have been desecrated and your holy books burnt, even when not a single living soul remembers your name, you will endure on this planet, a sad shrunken gibbering shadow of yourself, *vere fatum profecto accidit*, but unable to let it all go and enter that sweet void that you have now come to miss. I've seen such gods, Ishtar for instance, hanging on to the weak thread that sustains her sanity, drawing from the poetry that just barely invokes her, and the literature students that argue over whether the poet meant her as a metaphor or whether the poor sod actually meant the pagan goddess that they don't even know the aspects of. It's a sad eventuality.
Now you may be wondering, why is this handsome, attractive man sitting across from me with the Earl Grey telling me this? Well haven't you guessed yet? No? Well, *quisque tunc sunt densior*... Let me give you a clue: my name, is *Nemo*.
No, *NOT* the Jules Verne character, though that bastard's always quick to flaunt his greater strength whenever I'm unlucky enough to be at the same port he's restocking his blasted submersible at. No. I'm actually Nemo. *Nobody*. As in "Nobody's perfect", or "Nobody cares", or even "No one will save you". Not that I can, of course, in this disbelieving age. No, I'm just an *novit omnia*, *ut omnia curant*, *ut omnia perfecta*, *hominus deus*.
I was born in Pompeii. Just another kid, you know? Rolling in the ash, playing with my pals and the street hounds, pretending to learn my fathers craft and whiling away the time until *cena* and the baths... My mother hadn't thought of what to call me at all when she went into labor, so they called me nemo so long and so often that it stuck, even after they named me more properly. What was that name? It matters not. The only name I carry now is the name that you *caro sacculos* call me by. I died in the... *quo modo dictur?* eruption of the *fornax de cyclopis* ー Mt. Vesuvius you call it now ー along with the rest of my people. I was expecting Elysium when I next opened my eyes, or maybe Asphodel at worst. What I wasn't expecting was to wake up to a horrid ashen graveyard, with all of the knowledge open to man, whether he knew it or not, stuffed into my newly immortal mind. *It hurt*. I knew intimately what it felt like to get buried under hot ash, how it felt to suffer through leprosy, what it was that killed all those people in the countries ravaged by the Black Death, and I could do nothing about it all. I. Was. Sixteen! *Yersinia pestis* wouldn't even rear its ugly head for another eleven and a half centuries! I was afraid. I didn't understand what had happened, I wasn't aware yet of why I was forced into this *gehenna*, not consciously anyway. Yet, I survived. I clawed up through the frustrating bog of society, much like any other new god had to. I learned to use my power and to abuse your insistence on tagging absurdities onto my name. I grew strong.
And then, there's now this new fad of refuting us. Of declaring that gods are merely a product of ignorance. Of man's desire for simple explanations, for a higher power to blame. *spurca canibus*... But why am I telling you anyway? You'll either completely erase this from your head, or the knowledge will simply fester within you until it drives you insane. I can already see the start of the headaches. *Sicut cum crassitudine, cum ergo infirmitadem*... I'll leave you to your doom.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
*Just for any Neil Gaiman fans out there, yeah, I* had *read his American Gods not five days back. Why do you ask?*
| 2018-05-22T11:51:23 | 2018-05-22T06:26:47 | 109 | 34 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
"What, are you serious?"
"Yeah," I said. "How can I possibly help 137 trillion people? Earth's population is only what, 7 billion?"
"Oh gosh, I didn't realize you were so dumb." The genie flicked his wrist and the number dropped to 100 billion.
"Hey!"
"Don't feel bad. That's still way more people than your existence harms."
"So how are there even a hundred billion people?"
"The choices you make can have long-lasting effects impacting generations upon generations of the yet to be born. Just, you know, maybe not as many people as someone a little brighter."
"What choices could I possibly make that has that big an impact?" I asked. "I'm nobody."
The genie stared at me for a long uncomfortable moment. "You. Have. A. Genie."
|
The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T04:55:10 | 2018-08-15T01:58:00 | 5,641 | 43 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
The genie laughs and blurts out with elation:
"**By doing nothing of course!"**
"What do you mean '*by doing nothing?*' and what do you mean '*of course!'*?"
**"What did you expect me to say? Did you expect one good deed? One invention?"**
"Well...kinda. Maybe hundreds of good deeds?"
**"Tell me, which human do you know of that has done a good deed such as, oh I don't know, donating their clothes to a charity shop let's say; and made a grand difference?"**
"Ha! I would have expected something a little less innocuous than that. You know like, solve world hunger, or, create something that purifies water."
**"I can see why you would think that would help a lot of people. And it would. But, you did see that said** ***TRILLION*** .**..right? Not million or billion."**
"Well billion is pretty good!"
**"About a thousand times fewer people than you** ***will*** **help though. Look, you could create something that purifies all water, sure. You would ease suffering for millions. But is it not the nature of humankind to find problems to solve?"**
"I mean, I suppose. Not exclusively, but, yeh I guess."
**"So you purify all water. Now what is the next problem? People still suffer because now they can stop focusing on water but focus shifts to no food. Let's say you solved world hunger too! Now they argue over land and property, women, and fight for justice. Justice basically born out of the wish that people would stop arguing and doing harm to each other."**
"What so I should skip solving the problems, and instead treat the symptoms by just becoming a lawyer or a politician?"
**"There was a trillion on the end of that 137 remember."**
"I don't understand how I can help so many by doing nothing!"
**"That was the point! Everyone until now has always looked for a way to solve other people's problems. But look how destructive humanity has been in the search to solve other people's problems! It's like your old proverb, where the monkey reaches into the river to grab the fish, exclaiming as he does so:** ***'dear fish! kindly let me help you or you'll drown!'*** **and placed it safely up a tree."**
"How have we...But look at all we have achieved!"
**"Achieved? Let me paint a picture of humanity's achievements with the example of solving the problem of no light at night, by creating electricity. Ok, great we can see at night. Now how do you get the energy to maintain the electricity? You destroy the environment. Ruin it for others. See you cannot have something without taking it from someone or something else. The rainforests are destroyed for the wood to burn or oil to rub on your faces; the water is poisoned to get gas to pump into your flashy cooker; your -"**
"- OK! I get it. Don't preach. I understand what you're getting at. Yin Yang and all that right?"
**"Close."**
"Can you tell me how I change the world for 137 '*TRILLION REMEMBER'* people, by doing nothing?"
**"No."**
"Why didn't you say that in the beginning?!"
**"How can I tell you how to** ***do*** **nothing? That - literally - doesn't make sense."**
"YOU SAID IT! You said, and I quote: *By doing nothing of course!*"
**"And my responses have been questions have they not?"**
"Yes."
**"What you seek does not come from** ***knowing*** **the answer. There is no real quick-fix in life, they are all postponements of the truth. What you seek comes from the journey of discovery. You must learn what it is, to be."**
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03 | 2018-08-15T02:53:07 | 374 | 164 |
[WP] Dwight Schrute tries to get the Pawnee Parks Department paper account and he has to sell to Ron Swanson
|
Dwight: "I have been working the Pawnee Parks Department for some time now. Well, I have been ignored by them for some time. But I think I have something up my sleeve that just might work on this Swanson fellow."
D: "Hello this is Dwight K. Schrute and I am calling with an exciting offer on meats^(and paper.)
R: "What was that about meats?"
D: "Yes for a limited time Dunder Mifflin is offering monthly shipments of exotic meats with any year long commitment to Dunder Mifflin Paper."
R: "Where do I sign?"
Dwight to the Camera: "I woke up this morning with two issues. One: The need to crack the Pawnee account. The second, I have far too much Goat Meat in my freezer. Mose was running out of room for his "Cool Down Naps". This is a good day."
|
*Dwight Schrute is sitting in the lobby of the Parks Department of Pawnee, Indiana. He spots a familiar face, and calls out, puzzled*
Dwight: Karen?
Karen/Ann: Oh, God...
*She tries in vain to pretend not to have noticed Dwight*
Dwight: Karen Filippelli? Karen? Karen? Karen? Karen Filippelli?
*She grimaces, and plasters a forced smile on her face*
Ann/Karen: Dwight! Hey...there...How have you been?
*Dwight smiles into one set of cameras, then the other*
Dwight: Godlike. I thought you were in Utica?
Ann/Karen: Utica was closed after Michael sent a bomb threat as an April Fool's joke.
*Dwight in the conference room, straight to camera*
Dwight: Michael didn't send a bomb threat. He sent a bomb. I should know. I created it, applied Michael's name, and sent it myself. Nobody poaches Dwight Schrute's sale of the fourth largest elementary school district in eastern Pennsylvania.
*We return to the lobby in Pawnee*
Dwight: Oh that's right. I heard the bomb was perfectly engineered in every way. It's a miracle anyone survived.
Ann/Karen: No, the police said that it looked like something a fifth grader put together as a joke, but corporate said the hit to their liability insurance forced their hand.
*Dwight's gaze darts to the camera with a small, slight frown, then away again. Cut to Jim in the conference room.*
Jim: Oh yeah, that's right. I told Dwight that any idiot could make a bomb with the contents of an average, ordinary office vending machine.
*Kevin is prostrate before an empty vending machine, sobbing deeply. Jim's voiceover continues*
Jim: Are you...Are you saying he was behind Utica?
*Back to Pawnee lobby. Ron Swanson yells out from his office*
Ron: Ann! I require Leslie's assistance immediately! There is a red light blinking on my telephone and I want it to stop! You are Leslie's friend, and I demand you summon her!
*Dwight addresses Ann/Karen*
Dwight: Why did he just call you Ann?
*Ann stammers while staring at the cameras*
Dwight: Shut up. It's not important.
*Fixes gaze on Ron Swanson*
Dwight: Mr. Swanson! Good day! We spoke over the phone about making Dunder Mifflin -
*Ron interrupts*
Ron: My God man, what happened to your hair?
Dwight: Are you asking about the color or the style? The color is standard for all Schrute men, and the style is standard for all Schrutes, regardless of sex.
*Ron stares stone-faced*
Ron: Mm.
*Dwight forges ahead*
Dwight: Mr. Swanson, would you say your current paper provider is unsatisfactory, very unsatisfactory, or extremely unsatisfactory?
Ron: I would not describe our current paper provider in any way. I do not know who our current paper provider is. Hell, I do not know if we have paper.
Dwight: You have paper in that typewriter on your desk.
Ron: That is my personal supply of paper, pressed from the pulp of trees on my land.
*Dwight is clearly impressed*
Dwight: You...make your own paper?
Ron: All Swansons make everything they use. Except for clothing. We trade furs for clothing.
*Dwight extends his hand*
Dwight: Schrutes have made their own clothing since Herr Gonnsplicher purged our village in Bavaria of unskilled laborers in 1643. I literally have never said this to another human being in my entire life, and probably never will again after this exact second. I believe you and I may get along. My name is -
*Ron extends his hand with a smile*
Ron: Don't ruin it.
| 2018-09-12T09:52:54 | 2018-09-12T09:35:52 | 1,607 | 608 |
[WP] Guy mentally spends a billion years thinking in peace in a higher dimension and suddenly awakens back to his normal life ,but for others he only fainted for a few minutes after being hit by something strange .He smiles and just walks away...but the UNIVERSE is not prepared for such a being .
|
The days passed long and short alike, all fading to one in the first few millennia. I contemplated the meanings of all lives led, knowing each in turn. Seeing the beauty in them and realizing potentials. I learned the names of the worlds.
*The days passed, and suns burned in the blue sky.*
A million years had gone by. I knew this as I knew my own name, and all other names beyond. I thought of all I did not know, and it was much. I resolved to learn.
*The years passed, and suns grew dimmer in the orange sky.*
Twenty million years were up. I had learned many things. I knew death, and why it was. I knew life, and why it was. I knew the precise mathematical proportions of the universe, and it was beautiful and sterile.
*The decades passed, and suns grew large and old in the dark red sky.*
Eight hundred million years rose and fell. I knew everything. I dreamed now, wishing to know the dreams. But the dreams had failed me, always leading me back to wakefulness, to the world. My sleep became fitful and uneasy, feeling an event on the horizon. I realized for the first time that I could die.
*Centuries passed, and the suns cooled and fell to grey in the deepened twilight.*
Nearly a billion years passed. I was ready and waiting for death, or what ever may come in its stead. I was planning.
I felt a tugging at my heart. I felt a movement in the dead sun, pointing, directing me to what may come. *You need to wake up* it told me.
And I listened. I listened to its words. I inhabit a man's body now. But I know what I have to do. I should not rule, but that is all that the race of men know. And I shall ascend. Ascend, and fix the broken world.
|
I awoke to a cacophonous medley of sirens and panicked murmurs. It was all so disorienting-- not the situation, but something *else*. I watched through bleary eyes as a man in reassuring uniform approached me. I felt my arms noodle their way under my torso, screaming, striving to overcome weakness before giving up. The man knelt down before me. He looked concerned. He turned his head off to the side and yelled... something. I couldn't quite hear him. Another person, a woman garbed in muted robes rushed to my side. She placed her hands on my body, a beautiful film of light cocooning my body. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
&#x200B;
"You suffered a direct hit from a goblin shaman. Lucky for you, the shaman had merely cast a concussive bolt, so your body was mostly intact. You got knocked on your ass and lost consciousness for a few minutes, but a healer from the GSD was on the scene, so you've already made a full recovery, more or less. Normally we'd keep you in bed for another week or so, but seeing as you're a Class E, we'll give you the option of leaving right now if you want, but you'd have to leave in a wheelchair-- it's policy."
&#x200B;
\~
&#x200B;
But you see that's the thing, nobody understands anything. A few minutes? Sure, in this world, but it had to have been at least a couple million in the other. There's more. I realized that there's more. This life isn't the end, this life isn't all there is. In this world, a lucky few wake up to suddenly find themselves at the top of the food chain-- or so they think. You watch the news as another otherworldly incursion is snuffed out by a brave group of Awakened. Every news outlet wants an interview, every social media site is talking about them, and every high profile sponsor is frothing at the mouth just to get a piece of the action.
&#x200B;
Then one day I 'woke up'. Slammed the snooze button on my alarm clock, but the beeping wouldn't stop. The beeping was coming from *inside* my head, but it took me a few minutes to really wake up before I realized what was going on, and when I did, I was ecstatic. The world had talked about it for months in the beginning. An incessant beeping in your head that wouldn't go away until you acknowledged it. A messenger, or I guess The Messenger. So that's what I did, I said something like 'oh hey Messenger, what have you got for me', and the beeping stopped. I was so excited. All that fame, all those riches? It was going to be mine.
&#x200B;
Thirty minutes later, I was in my car. It was five in the morning, and I was stuck in traffic. At five. In the morning. A forty-minute commute with twelve hours of non-stop mining at less than minimum wage to look forward to. I came home at the end of the day and laid down on my bed. My home. A studio apartment with paper thin walls, rented out at the low low price of $1600 a month. The neighborhood is lovely, on a good day, you could see past the piles of trash and gum stains to admire the cracked pavement. Considerate neighbors, too. A little vocal, but who am I to judge them for wanting to announce their healthy sex life? A *very* healthy sex life too, if I might add. So turns out, my ability, my gift? Slightly increased endurance. That's it. I get a little bit more stamina, and I recover a little bit more stamina just a little bit faster.
&#x200B;
See, it's this fucking world. This world and its god damn rules. I'm going to be stuck as a miner making less than minimum wage living in a shithole for the rest of my life. My only ticket out of this hell hole was the nail in the coffin that consigned me to a life of physical labor. But you see, that's the thing! Nobody understands *anything*. This world? This world is nothing. There's *more*. I saw it. I witnessed it for an eternity. A world with no powers. A world with no rules. A world where all is equal. A world where everything is nothing.
&#x200B;
So fuck you and your rules. Fuck the world, fuck the Awakened. Whenever I try to pull myself up, others just push me down. The fucking world itself pushes me down. Hard work isn't the equalizer. Education isn't the equalizer. Being an Awakened isn't the equalizer. The equalizer is yourself. So here I am, laying on my bed, a few hours after I'd been discharged from the hospital. I stopped by the drug store on my way home to purchase a one way ticket. I'm my own equalizer, you see, so I'm going to put myself to sleep.
| 2019-04-20T10:21:55 | 2019-04-20T10:20:54 | 66 | 15 |
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