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2022-12-31 14:34:19
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int64
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[WP] At the same moment, every single person on earth sees a blinding light and hears the words, "In 10 seconds, you will be granted one wish. 10... 9... 8..."
No one believed it was real. The flash that stunned most of us, and the even more surreal message that followed. Ten seconds to make a wish. Seems innocent enough right? Like something out of a fairy tale! Even the tales have a catch and this was no different. Many had no idea what to do, and sat there stunned until well past the deadline. Some of the more imaginative among us got it the worst. Ever wish you could fly? Well unless you specified how, it apparently hurt like hell to grow wings. Matter of fact most superpowers backfired horribly. The superspeeders that didn't end up as paint stains on a wall, had most of the flesh stripped from their bodies. At least three flyers plummeted to their death after passing out at high altitude. The telepaths went insane almost instantly. Did you know money is a finite resource? We found that out the hard way. For everyone whose bank account grew, another's shrank. In some cases a loved one passed and left them money. Coincidence? Maybe, but the death toll spiked that day, almost as much as the markets crashed just days after. Some corporations went completely bankrupt. Any wish was granted, no matter how impossible. It seems kids were in on the action too, unleashing all manner of strange things on the world. There were sightings of everything from aliens to zombies, and everything in between. Two poachers were found gored with a broken unicorn horn in their chest. It was chaos. What we thought was a blessing doomed us all. At least it seemed that way. There was still something left in this Pandora's box we opened. One quick thinking man. Some say he's a hero. Everyone he knew before this just called him an asshole. His one wish? After a week, turn back the clock to where we were, and take back all the wishes. When asked why, if you could wish for everything, would you do that? He claimed that he "likes things the way they are. If everyone got what they wanted things either will go horribly wrong, or be incredibly boring. Dave don't do boring." When asked what if he'd ruined utopia, his answer was as simple as it was bold. "Fuck it." Sorry, stream of thought post on mobile. Might fix it up later.
There was no such events which came close to this. There was no explanation. Everyone was doing their own work when a blinding light appeared. It was as bright as the Sun, as white as an angel. Everyone squinted when the light appeared. Everyone could see it, it was as if the light was made for the whole universe to see it. I remember that I was laying down on my couch, with my head on one of the arm rests. All that was in my head was that of a cold, dark room. I was the brown boat in the middle of the dark-blue sea, under the black-night sky with no stars. Just after closing my eyes, the light had forced me to look up again. When I looked up, it was weird to me. How everything was suddenly bright. The light stayed there for about twenty seconds. Twenty seconds of a blinding light, surrounding you from all directions. No one could open their eyes; it was just too bright. It was a white ocean. It was then that something happened. A voice spoke, a whisper. A whisper which was spread out to all of humanity. "In ten seconds, you will be granted one wish." I focused my ears, granted that it was the first voice I heard in some time. The voice was exactly the same as the voice in your head. The gentle voice which you read with, you imagine with, and sometimes, the one you speak with. The light began to dim a bit, allowing me to open my eyes. It was still bright, but I could see. "...Ten..." It was the voice again. I thought I was having a mental disorder. There was no way the voice inside my head could speak with me as if "it" was a real person. I looked around, there was nobody around me. There was nothing, to be exact. It was just white, as if the light had swallowed me. "...Nine..." The voice was real. It was solidified in my mind. The voice inside my head is speaking with me, and it was real. I pinched myself just to make sure. Everything that was happening was most definitely real. "...Eight..." I never actually had an actual wish. Once in a while, I would wish that my problems were gone, or that my neighbor would act more civilized. But it was nothing close to an actual wish. Like the ones in a fairy-tale. True love, the art of music, world peace. "...Seven..." I had to think of a wish. It might have been the only opportunity we were going to get. I would have wished for others, such as world peace or clean environments. But it crossed my mind that there must be that one person who wishes for those things. It was pretty certain, with all the people in the world, there must be at least one. "...Six..." I stopped thinking about others and focused on myself. What would I wish for? It must be something that I could not regret. Something that could not bring pain to my life. Something that could not radiate depression. One which was not the sunshine of my life, but not the dark room of the sea. "...Five..." A list of things which I regretted flashed in my mind. Some were major, some were minor. I thought of my wish. I would wish for one of my regrets to be "fixed". I would live without the deepest regret of my life, and without the heaviest guild of humanity. "...Four..." Dozens of memories scrolled inside my head. A movie was playing inside my mind. There was a moment in my past in which I could change my attitude. There was a moment in my past in which I could change my health. But, as the movie reaches its climax, I found the one regret. The one I would like to get rid off. "...Three..." Half a century ago, there lived a girl. A girl which was unique in her own way. She was a bit picky, a bit strict on hygiene, and sometimes have a short fuse. But, nevertheless, the girl always wanted to help. She cared for everyone around her, and cherished them all equally. The girl grew up to be a woman, found a loving husband and got married. After their marriage, they had a child. A boy. The boy grew up to be a bit naughty during his early years. The boy tried his hardest to hide his foul attitude, but sometimes, it failed. The boy had a kind heart, a fragile one. He, too, wanted to care for everyone around her. The boy eventually grew up to be an man. He was a coward, true, but he got a stable job, and managed to hide his foul attitude. This was, of course, thanks to the support of his loving mother. However, one day, the mother had gotten ill. Unfortunately, the man's fragile heart also broke that day. Unable to think clearly, he could not visit his mother. The mother passed away the next day, with possibly, a broken heart. Just like his son. "...Two..." Then comes a world in which something a certain someone follows the exact same story, with all the characters, settings, and the ending. His heart was filled with regret, buried under everything else. But the regret remained with him ever since then. I am the boy in the story. And I knew what I would wish for. "...One..." I know what I would wish for. A wish that will repair the broken heart. A wish that will make a person sail instead of drown. A wish which will not be a regret. A wish which is neither the sunshine of one's life, but nor the dark room in the sea. "...Your wish?..." I let out a sigh and without hesitation, my wish. "I wish to say goodbye to her..."
2015-04-04T11:35:53
2015-04-04T09:59:24
25
10
[WP] You and your pet rabbit live in a remote part of Australia, far away from your dark past. Animal control has come to your door and informed you that it is illegal to own a rabbit unless you can prove you are a magician. Now you must do something you swore you would never do again. Edit: Oh wow, this blew up while I was asleep, looks like this hit the front page. Thanks for all your wonderful stories. It is going to take me a while to get through them all, but I intend to read every one. This really brightened my morning.
I invited the man into the house, ushering Bunbun into a corner of the room. The man from animal control - Dennis, he'd told me - eyed the rabbit suspiciously as he took a seat in a chair that sat in front of the large living room window. "Beautiful view, innit?" I gestured to the window behind him. He turned and looked out for a moment at the bush before returning his vision to me. "Sir, you know what you're here to do." "Ah all right, all right. You can see some magic. Look, take this deck of cards. Want to pick a card? I'll make it come out of your ear, you'll never see it coming! Or I can make a flower grow right from this table." "The magic has to involve the rabbit, sir." I frowned at him, then twisted. "Bunbun, c'mere girl. Yeah, that's right. Hop up in daddy's lap now. That's right. You still remember my hat, bunbun? You still remember our trick?" The rabbit looked up at me with small red eyes. I smiled at her. Such a wonderful rabbit. "Alright then, you ready to see a magic trick?" I asked Dennis. He sighed and nodded, gesturing with his hands that he was sick of waiting. I smiled and picked up a top hat. I flipped it over and then showed him the inside. "Nothing in the hat, is there? Empty hat. No compartments. No bunbun. Alright. You ready for a magic trick? It's mind-blowing, let me tell ya." Dennis looked more annoyed than excited. "Empty hat. You've seen it, I've seen it, Bunbun's seen it. Now comes the fun part. I put Bunbun in the hat. Bunbun, baby, go on. Go on inside. Daddy's got to do his trick - that's it, that's a good girl. Bunbun's in the hat. You see her in the hat? Good. Now, watch closely, the is the best part —" I stretched my hand up to the sky, wiggling my fingers before reaching behind me, pulling out a gun, and shooting Dennis right between his eyes. Behind him, the window shattered. Bunbun made a little noise of fright. I sighed. "We're gonna have to get a new window again, Bunbun."
Andrew peered anxiously through his keyhole, watching the officials approach his property. Back for the magic show they'd told him was a requirement to keep his Bibsy. "Right. No other way, Bibsy. I can't lose you, I have to keep you safe." Bibsy let out a squeak from under his arm, and he stroked her ears reassuringly. "Right this way," he told Animal Control as he opened the door. A couple of officials stared at him suspiciously. The woman sniffed as he led them through his unkept, messy home. He opened the basement door and waved them through. "Where are we going, Mr Sullivan?" the man grumbled. The woman had taken out a handkerchief to press over her nose as a musty scent drifted up the dark stairway. Andrew ignored the officials and went down. "What the hell is this?" the woman said, horrified, as she stared at a room filled with white rabbits. Andrew hastily summoned some magic and froze them in place, then backed away as the rabbits hopped malevolently closer. Every one of them wanted him dead. Except Bibsy, of course. He squinted and pointed at one rabbit, and turned it back into its natural form. Something he'd never wanted to do again. But he had to get rid of those people *somehow*. A second later, a roaring, crazed demon towered over the officials. They screamed in terror as it lunged, driven mad at the scent of human meat. Andrew ran upstairs with Bibsy and bolted the door. He'd have to get some of the Powder he'd stolen when he fled the Academy, pursued by a host of demons. He was deeply grateful for his foresight right now: it was quicker than the Rabbit Spell. Fling it at a Demon and they fell instantly unconscious. Made from the crushed fingernails of a wayward angel, an Academy teacher had once told him. And he'd need a lot of it: a demon was loose. They could all Transform creatures. Once they started turning one another back...he grabbed a pouch of Powder and rushed back to the basement. The demon was tearing at the door, howling and spitting with fury. He'd open the door, and start throwing Powder at whatever came though. Andrew started muttering to put protective spells on his hands, for when he touched the Powder. Before he could finish, the demon burst through the door. Andrew squealed and dropped his Powder in fright. It was Azulkæh. "Aaah," Azulkæh breathed in his scent, blood-red eyes spinning. "It's been a while, Andrek." "That's not my name anymore!" he squeaked, eyeing the pouch of Powder. Should he lunge for it or try a Rabbit Spell? Before he could think what to do, the demon lifted a meaty arm and pointed a claw directly at Bibsy. Andrew dropped his rabbit in horror as it started Transforming. White fur bubbled and stretched into leathery red skin. Bibsy's gentle little eyes turned into whirling yellow pools, which swivelled to stare directly at him. "That's not Bibsy!" he said dumbly, and groaned as the rabbit turned into Rafnakol. "No, it's not. You're so stupid you never even noticed we managed a swap when you came to feed us last week," Azulkæh sneered. Rafnakol strode over and grabbed Andrew by the throat, lifting him up. "Time to go home, Andrek," Rafnakol rumbled. "And face judgement for what you've done to your brethren." "You were going to make me kill Bibsy!" he gasped. "I couldn't just *gut* her, I couldn't. And all to practice Demonic Communication? They have cellphones these days, you know!" "Well, it was all for nothing in the end, traitor. We killed her yesterday. She was delicious, by the way," Rafnakol said, his black lips parting in an evil grin. "Noooo! My Bibsy!" Andrek sobbed, collapsing against Rafnakol. "Oh, Christ," Azulkæh muttered, rolling his eyes. "Call yourself a demon..." Azulkæh summoned a piece of cloth, wrapped his claw, and scooped up some Powder from the floor. He sprinkled it on Andrek, who fell silent immediately and sagged unconscious in Rafnakol's arms. He was losing his human shape along the way. Rafnakol was now clutching a thin, rather harmless-looking little demon. "Let's go Transform the others," Azulkæh grunted. "I'm tempted to tear this weakling apart right here and now, but it should be witnessed by the Academy. Did you really kill Bibsy?" "No," Rafnakol shrugged, hoisting Andrek over his shoulders. "I just wanted to see him cry, the little pissworm. I want to see him weep when we torture the rabbit at his trial. Who turns on a legion of his brethren to protect an animal?" Azulkæh shook his head in disgust. "This waste of demonmeat ruined everything. We should disembowel him at the Trial, after we gut his rabbit. That'll be amusing." Down in the basement, a small white rabbit twitched its whiskers. She sensed something had gone terribly wrong. It was time to repay her debt. None of the demons, including Andrek, knew what she was. She had, in fact, been about to save herself when Andrek had run off with her to Australia. Bless him - he had yet to realise exactly what he had saved, even though she'd been living here for a year now. The other rabbits turned to stare at Bibsy, who was suddenly emitting faint, holy blue light. **Scroll down for part two**.
2016-07-09T03:05:40
2016-07-09T01:11:03
322
104
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
"What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen. See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job. I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time. Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license. This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans. The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in. He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange. I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..."
I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you." I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore. Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos. Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck. Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners. Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in. At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring. When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible. I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside. All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected. The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
2022-05-25T21:41:20
2017-09-01T21:03:45
1,321
122
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
"What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen. See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job. I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time. Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license. This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans. The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in. He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange. I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..."
Part One I got fired last week for the 9th time this year. I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis. It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle. A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over. Part Two I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life. Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop. "Excuse me?" I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low. "Are you looking for work as a bouncer?" What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous. She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone. She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away. I look at the paper. It reads: Madame Bijou's 55 Walker Street 9pm, don't be late. Part Three 8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early. Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy. I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64. The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman. Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's. 1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top. 1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside. The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this. "I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know." He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry. She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door. "Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction. Now I have to know what this is all about. 1:56am. 1:57am. 1:58am. 1:59am. I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van. I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378. Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me. "WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer. "You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe. I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body.
2022-05-25T21:41:20
2017-09-01T22:06:04
1,321
38
[WP] Society has introduced a day that’s the opposite of the purge- a day where all crimes no matter how small (jaywalking, littering) are punishable by death.
30 seconds until midnight. 20 seconds. 10 seconds. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. ...Silence. While Greek Row was normally loud and active, there was only silence. I was such a fool for staying out this late. I briskly walked back towards my dorm, wary of potential police officers lurking around campus. As I approached the crosswalk, I counted how many seconds the signal had been white. The signal to walk never lasted more than 15 seconds. It had already been 10 seconds, so I took long strides to cover as much ground as I could. Upon reaching my dorm, I attentively swiped my University ID card over the scanner. As the door unlocked, I could hear a car in the distance. Quickly, but carefully, I swung the door open just enough to slip inside and make my way up the stairs. As I stumbled towards my dorm, I tiredly stabbed at the lock with my key until it found its way in. I entered quietly as to not wake up my roommate, blissfully asleep in his bed. Flopping on the bed, I recalled the beginning of the executional edicts. It had only been two years since the Martial Proclamation was implemented. The Unity Party stole numerous seats from both Democrats and Republicans. They made up a massive majority in both the House and Senate. They were able to pass the 28th Amendment which enacted what most of us know as the Martial Proclamation. “To combat growing crime within society, the 28th Amendment will provide law enforcement throughout all of America , on the 2nd of each January, the ability to punish any and all crimes, with death.” No one believed that statement at first. But surely enough as January 2nd, 2018 arrived, more than 400,000 homeless people were murdered under charges of trespassing, loitering, and anything else you could think of. Most of these charges were very weak and lacked evidence, but it didn’t matter. They were orders of death. People began calling them executional edicts. If the officer had the slightest reason to think you committed a crime, your death would be ordered. Even richer and more privileged people were executed by police officers for disorderly conduct or some other bullshit reason. People began taking the new law seriously. From January 2nd to January 3rd, everyone lived under martial law. I was always a good kid, brought up by strict Asian parents so I never drank or did drugs. I wasn’t ever too concerned with the new law. But then half of my friends died. No one ever thought they would raid the dorm buildings. Some of my friends foolishly had marijuana hidden in their rooms. They never got to tell anyone goodbye. I couldn’t bring myself to go to any of their funerals. There were too many of them. As I woke up the next morning, I checked my phone and saw that it was already noon. I slumped out of bed and changed into tight jeans and a T-shirt. Even though it was winter, I wasn’t gonna risk looking like I was hiding something. No one was sure of what was a crime anymore, it felt like anything could get you killed. I took only my student ID with me to the market under my dorm building. I bought a vegan sandwich and tea. As I went to pay for my items, I heard a cry and I turned to see two police officers drag a young woman in tears, begging for her life outside of the market. Moments later, everyone heard one loud bang and a quieter thud afterwards. No one spoke after that. Even the cashier just silently handed me my receipt and items. As I left, I passed by the two officers who scanned me for a moment and turned back towards the young woman’s body. I could hear them radio in a clean-up crew but I didn’t stick around for them to arrive. I stayed in my dorm the rest of the day, quietly listening to music through my earbuds and coloring my coloring book. My roommate had left before I woke up, and I hadn’t heard from him since. When I checked my phone again, it was already 10 pm. I figured the worst had happened when suddenly I heard the door unlock. But instead of my roommate walking in, it was a police officer, who strode in and dropped a set of bloodied keys on my desk. He left without a word, leaving me with an extra set of keys and without a roommate. Edit: Wow I did not expect to get so much attention and positive response to this! I usually don’t write because I don’t consider myself that great of a writer, but I’m glad people enjoyed my story!
I should have paid attention to the comments when I had a chance. They'd seemed like jokes at the time though. "AWWWWW SHIT! We gon' go to jail for this! I'm sure I'm already at the top of the FBI's wanted list. They should be here any minute." "Not my proudest fap, but neither will the one I have in my jail bunk. I've accepted it! #WORTH" "Whoever watches this on "Purge the Perverts" day is in for a surprise. RIP. We salute you" And low and behold. I find myself in the execution chamber. I'm strapped to an inclined bed and there's a needle in my right arm. I find it strange that I don't feel the needle or feel terrified that I've got a needle in me. I'm usually terrified of needles. They must have me on them 'Good Good' drugs. mmmmmm. 'Good Good' drugs. Anyways. Where was I? Where am I? Oh right. The execution chamber. What am I doing here? My thoughts are so fuzzy. I decide it's best to just keep looking around the room. I'll remember why I'm here eventually. To my right is a small metal cart with a tray on top. Also metal. Really shiny metal. On top of it are some things. I can't really tell what they are because the metal tray is shiny. Like really shiny. To my left is a tall girl. Or a short girl. I don't remember how to judge height at this angle. She just happens to be taller than me. She's wearing a coat. It's white. Oh wait, it's a lab coat. I can't really see all of her so I assume she's not wearing pants. I also assume that she's just floating there without a bottom half. Her not wearing pants makes sense if she doesn't have a bottom half... Yeah. That makes sense. I'm kinda proud of that. the rest of her isn't really that impressive. She has a head with some ears attached to it. Half her face is blue. I can't really see her eyes behind the goggles she's wearing and her hair is tied into a ponytail. All in all she just looks girlish. Besides her and the cart and the bed and me and the needle... O fuck. When did I get a needle in my arm?! Wait. It doesn't hurt... I guess that's fine. Besides all that the only other things I can see is a large mirror in front of me, one of those old speaker phone type things that peoples voices come out of, I forget what they're called, and the shininess above me. I don't like to look at it. It hurts. My eyes continue roaming, but I can't really see behind me so nothing new really shows up. That's a relief. Not sure I could handle anything new happening right now. If I was told I had to do my tax return estimates in this state I'd probably lose it. Thank god I'm just strapped to this bed. Talk about a relief. It's pretty comfy. I mean, It's hard but comfy. Um. Uh... What else. There's a mirror. There's not much to see in it. Just some poor fucker strapped to an execution table. Sucks to be them. Glad I'm not. They look like a dweeb. With that long straight hair and that oily face. Ugh. Talk about unsavory. After a while of staring that that guy I get pretty bored. Not much is happening and the girl on my left seems to be waiting for something. I don't know what, but she seems reluctant about it. Weird. All of a sudden there's a loud buzzing sound and a loud voice comes over the speaker thing. It says 'You're good to pr..". I don't know what they said next. I forgot to listen. What I do know is that there's suddenly a girl on my right now and no girl on my left. I wonder where they got the new girl from. She looks exactly like the old one. Trippy. Must be twins. She reaches down to pick something up from the tray. I can't really see what it is 'cus stuffs kinda burry now but... Oh fuck she's squirting it. That shit's a needle. I'm strangely okay with this though. Maybe I like needles now. My mom would be happy about that. She always gets pissed when we go for flu shots. Shit takes hours. Not even messing with you. Straight up hours. oooo. She stopped squirting it. When did that happen? She's leaning over me now. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, but I have to do this. It's the law. It's people like you that make me hate today though because you really don't deserve to die because of something so stupid" He says as I see a tear or two go down his cheeks. "What did I do?" I say to him casually. When did she become a him? When he talked right? Fuck that's awkward. I'm terrible at telling genders. "You're telling me you don't remember? Damn. I knew your dose was too large. They must have just given you the adult dosage on the fly. Oh well. Guess it's a mercy at this point. You probably have no idea what's going on." He said with a voice so full of pity I began to pity myself "Just make sure that, when the time comes, you make your friends and family proud by not saying some stupid shit" "What do you mean stupid shit. I ain't never said a stupid thing in my life" I told him with a chuckle that quickly degraded in to a full on giggle. The girl turned guy on my right then moved around me to become the guy turned girl on my left. Or something like that. It still had a needle regardless, and it stuck that sucker right into the other needle. It was like needleception, I shit you not. Needles on needles on needles. Like trippy dippy kinda matrix stuff stuff. The speaker came on again then, and said " Morgan Tullouderly. Age 17. You have been convicted on watching a video featuring cute provocative underaged foreign girls flirting with lecherous perverted men. The needle that just went into you're arm is a lethal injection. By the law of the state of Texas, you have been sentenced to death. You have approximately 2 minutes before you're death. Please choose your final words" And that's when I remember what got me here. The stupid thing that landed me in prison with an execution sentence. I'd gotten bored yesterday and was trolling through those Top 10 videos that always seem to be appearing on Youtube. I'd stopped paying attention to what videos came next at some point, and that's when THAT video showed up. "TOP TEN ANIME LOLI'S OF ALL TIME! GONE WRONG! GONE SEXUAL! FUNNIEST MOMENTS YOU CAN'T LAUGH AT! I DARE YOU :D" And that's about when the FBI came crashing through my windows. Didn't even get to watch the full video. Now though, I knew what my last words would be. I'd accepted them as if they'd been handed to me by an angel. No other words would fit this moment. And so I yelled, "I love my Loli's! Loli's are what I need. Loli's are what I want. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT MY DAILY DOSE OF LOLI'S, SO DO ME IN COPPERS! #LOLICONSFORLIFE!", and after saying those blessed words, I slipped into a blissful and happy darkness. My favorite Loli's on my mind. And then I smiled my final smile, with my tongue at the corner of my mouth and a cute provocative wink for the cute Loli in the mirror
2018-01-06T22:27:51
2018-01-06T20:36:43
1,426
23
[WP] Your job as a researcher in the facility isn't too bad. The hours are shit and the coffee maker is broken, but at least the people are nice. And the job is easy: talk to the telepathic spider, run some tests on the witch, give the eldrich god his daily newspaper, basic stuff. Describe your day Inspired by the SCP foundation
The usual coffee stain hung to my shirt. Another regular day. The spider's door stood at the end of the corridor, eager to be opened. I stopped briefly to watch the seamless night. To breathe in its peaceful silence. Another day. I sighed, then turned the door's golden knob. Its hinges grated as I pushed it open. I should oil them up. "I see you've chosen an eerie setting today," I said, forcing the joy out the void I felt inside. Filyrass, the spider, enjoyed spending her time arranging her room into different themes. Judging for the weak oil lantern awaiting for me among the shadows and the lack of answer, she was feeling mischievous today. I fought against her massive webs, advancing toward the lantern and sputtering when they got into my mouth. The rattling of Filyrass' thick legs echoed in the chamber. I decided to play along. I quickened my breathing, and forced myself to tremble. *You sure you wanna get to the light?* A soft yet mysterious voice asked in my head. "I-I m-must. It's the only way," I stammered. *The only way? To what would that be?* "To burn the face off of my fate." I sprung toward the lantern, tearing apart the wall of webs. I broke the glass against my knee, sending shard flying to the sides, and set the webs aflame. Strings of fire started to burn in a chain reaction, illuminating the entire chamber. Flames dripped from them, fading before touching the stone ground. Filyrass' rattling noises quickened, but her enormous figure couldn't escape the light. She stared at me with those voids she had for eyes, and came to halt. *Yes! Amazing session today. Thank you very much, Robert. Always doing the unexpected.* She chuckled, and proceeded to feast on the fire. *Good luck with Old Virila.* "Sure thing, Filyrass," I said and walked toward the next door. "You got me this time. I was trembling like a kid after a nightmare." *I saw it. It was delicious. Hey, do you enjoy tea?* "I do, green is my favorite." I turned the door's knob. "Tea party tomorrow?" *Maybe.* "I will bring the sugar. Fleas are not my favorite spice," I said and shut Filyrass' door. Then, I walked across another alley toward Virila's room. She would be happy today, I got her the tears of my nephew as she requested. ------------------------------------ /r/therobertfall for more stories. I will post part 2 in a moment.
"One caramel macchiato. *Extra* caramel." Just like that, the most normal part of my day was complete. As the barista handed over my steaming cup of coffee, adorned with a lopsided smiley face, I rushed from the coffee shop to work. I was running late, and in no way did I want to face Madame Black without enough time to plot my route of avoidance. A fear of spiders was not favorable in my position, but it was human, and as a human employee, we had both our strengths and our weaknesses. One particular weakness that flitted through my head, as I hurried across the street towards the parking garage, was the company's oversight of magical portals. Perhaps coffee was not on their top priority list, or perhaps they simply lacked common sense, or even an eye for practicality. But anchoring an entrance portal to the only coffee machine in the office was a major no-no, in my books. "Why don't you file a report to administration?" Arla the Orc had snorted, rolling her bulbous eyes, "I'm sure they're perfectly democratic here. Or maybe they'll just light your ass on fire." She then chortled, a sound that echoed through our dungeon like a curious cross between a boar and a chirping bird. After that, I chose to keep my complaints secretive. I ran up the twisting spiral staircase, a balancing act with my hot coffee in one hand as I wobbled on my heels. My job failed to account for the very real human magic of balance, I mused, as I finally reached the ninth floor. Panting, my heart hammered in my chest while I knocked on the door. *Once, twice, three times fast, fourth and fifth, make it last.* Silence greeted me, the parking garage empty and deserted, the door still sealed shut. The number 9 was eroding, a once bright scarlet that now faded into the color of rust. The squeak of mice permeated the air, the entire floor curiously wet and soaked, smelling of droppings and decay. Then—the door began to vibrate. It started as a low thrum, perhaps something any human may overwrite as a figment of the imagination. Then the thrumming increased in intensity, a vibration that was so strong it flooded my veins, causing my very bones to feel as if they were swaying to some primorial rhythm. This was not some low-grade earthquake—this was from within, as if my ribcage were pulled from my body, being strummed like some ancient instrument. The vibrations extended to my mouth, an undulating echo that tickled my gums. As if on queue, I shut my eyes to lessen the pulse in my head, as if the thin fingers of a hand were wiggling my corneas on its prickly fingertips. I opened my eyes. I was in a metal dungeon. That's exactly how it looked, save for the fact that there were cubicles, the dungeon bustling with people—mortal and mythical alike. I waved to Arla the Orc, who had just watched me apparate. The green woman snorted in amusement, her eyes upturned to oversized crescents in her wide, leathery face. "Coffee didn't make it today, Prim?" She teased, and I cursed internally, looking down at my empty right hand. I still couldn't get that down right. Actually apparating food and beverages with me. Most days I would end up emptyhanded and starving in the dungeons, unwilling to share the scraps of raw meat the orcs ate, or the other dietary preferences of my coworkers (steal some of Madame Black's wriggling flies? How about the witches' mice brew? No thank you). "One day I'll get it right." I brightened immediately, plastering a smile onto my otherwise disappointed face, nodding towards Arla. "I did manage to bring *this.*" Out from the pocket of my jeans emerged a thick, rolled newspaper, dated with today's date: *April 4th, 2028.* Arla's brows rose (well, what I imagined to be her brows, the vast emptiness between her eyeballs and her wide, shapeless forehead) and she nodded slowly, clearly impressed. "Keep that up, Prim, and we'll be testing *you* as a witch." She cackled and snorted simultaneously, before trudging away. I focused back to my day, running the errands through my mind. *Right. First thing's first. Go see Harry.* I walked towards his office, a simple steel door embedded in the dungeon's sloping metal walls. It did not have a handle, nor did it have any kind of window to look inside. As I waited for a response, I dug the balls of my feet nervously against the floor, heels clacking. We were allowed to carry weapons at work—though I wasn't sure how effective mine were in particular. Could I really use my pistol effectively against a god in self-defense? Wouldn't he simply shrivel the bullets up by sleight of hand, his telepathy overwhelming any sort of defense I tried to pretend that I had? In my pockets, I also had several syringes, given to me by my wizard supervisors. I had never used the vials, yet they had curious markings on them; one emerald green, emblazoned with a white skull; another bright aqua, adorned with a bird; the last red as blood, with a bat symbol. I wasn't sure what they meant, yet I knew they were effective. And if I had to fight something immortal, something that could squish me like a roach beneath its pinky, I needed some vague semblance of a chance. "Enter." The voice resonated through the dungeon. I glanced swiftly about to see several people pause their conversations to stare at the metal door—some with their brows furrowed, others with admiration of the power within. *Oh, to be immortal,* I lamented, as I pushed the door open with the palms of my hand.
2018-04-23T12:44:58
2018-04-23T12:23:15
24
15
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
"Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?" "I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said. "Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list. "Hmm?" I asked. "Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure." As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath. "Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool. "So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?" "The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections." "Did you find anything?" I asked. From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered. "Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion." I stared at it, it's face passive. "Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?" "Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore."
Alucard’s coat flapped menacingly as he swept through the small London café. A few of the other customers looked up for a moment but quickly lowered their heads when they saw the dark expression of the tall man. Coincidentally, the table belonging to the only person who didn’t look up was where he stopped. For a moment he stood over the girl, his shadow stretching out over the wall. He licked his lips, feeling the itch in his gums. “Excuse me, Miss,” he said curtly. “Is this seat taken?” The girl finally raised her eyes from the book, her pupils dilating. She touched her blonde hair nervously and then nodded. “What are you reading?” Alucard said. “Oh, uh, Twilight,” the girl said with a forced smile, showing him the cover. A shade of smoldering fire burned across Alucard’s coal black eyes. The corner of his mouth traveled up his pale cheek. He had come here to meet up with an old friend but was suddenly feeling very thirsty. “Well, are you enjoying it?” He leaned back in the chair, pulling the gloves off his hands. “It’s actually a school assignment,” she said. “But the book is not as bad as they say.” A full grin split the thin lips of the old vampire. Emotions didn’t come easily to him, but something about this girl made his dead heart turn in its grave. As the girl returned to her book, his thoughts wandered to Lucy – he still counted the days and the long years. Olivia had been a good distraction for a while, but nothing quite compared to the smell of sweat and fear from Lucy. Suddenly a spark of lightning rolled through his veins. He looked up to see a slender woman in a black dress standing behind the reading girl. “Morgana?” Alucard said, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing here?” The woman flipped her obsidian hair and smirked. “Is that how you greet all your friends?” Alucard rose slowly from his seat, towering over everyone in the room. His eyes flared in a dangerous crimson. “Friends?” “Colleagues, acquaintances, whatever you want to call it. Is this one claimed, by the way?” Morgana ran her black nails up the neck of the girl, who froze, goosebumps dotting her arms. Alucard’s hand closed into a fist behind his back, while his face smoothed itself out in an artificial smile. “You are… *encroaching* on my territory,” he said through gritted teeth. “Seems like I am,” Morgana said, cupping the chin of the girl. “Tell me what you want,” Alucard said casually, “before I rip your heart out.” The temperature had dropped noticeably in the room, and many of the customers pulled their winter coats tighter around their bodies. “Your friend, Dr. Seward, Jr., couldn’t make it today.” Morgana dropped a blood-spattered silver medallion onto the table. Alucard’s face went blank for a moment, before darkening like a thunderstorm. “Very of bold of you to deliver such tragic news in person.” He took a step forward. “I know what you’re like,” Morgana spat, pulling the girl up. “You wouldn’t hurt me in public. Now, if you don’t mind, I have places to be… people to kill.” “The girl stays,” Alucard said, baring his teeth. The two vampires stared at each other for a long time. Morgana looked for a moment like she was going to cause a scene, but then let go of the girl, and stormed out of the café. The girl blinked a few times and then looked around the room wide-eyed. “What’s your name?” Alucard said, his dark eyes still following the fading shape of Morgana outside the window. “I-I’m Emily.” The girl was visibly shaking. “What the hell just happened?” The old vampire stared into her pale green eyes. “Nothing happened.” “But, that woman…” “It’s fine.” Alucard held her steady with his gaze. “Forget about her.” Emily nodded reluctantly. “I, uh, I guess I should get going.” She got up, pulled her coat on, and hurried out of the café. Alucard picked up the medallion by its leather strap. The cross on it made him nauseous. He wondered what the young professor had found in Van Helsing’s old archives to get himself killed. They were supposed to meet here today to discuss his findings. Morgana’s presence in London was an annoyance too. He put the medallion into his pocket and was just about to leave when he noticed the book on the table. He sighed. A few minutes later he had followed Emily's trail to an old villa. With the snow swirling in his wake, he drifted up to the door, knocking twice. She opened with a look of surprise and dread on her face. “You forgot this,” Alucard said and held out the book. “Thanks…” Emily said, uncertainty clinging to her voice. “Have a good night now,” Alucard said, and turned away. “You too.” She nodded weakly and closed the door. With the chilly wind rushing through his mane of midnight hair, he pulled out his phone and texted his confidant. >Ancient vampire known as Morgana in London. I will handle her. A moment later he received a text back. >Understood. Let me know if you need any agents to help you out. He put the phone back in his pocket and took off into the night sky. He’d never needed humans apart from their blood, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. But working with the MI6 had its benefits -- free blood bags from the hospital, for example -- so he played along in their little game. At least for now. *** ## [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/9au9ec/the_red_river_part_2/)
2018-08-27T16:02:28
2018-08-27T13:38:35
2,554
991
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
The city was mad, but there were a few places that held on. Fontanella's was a place like that. Arthur usually came around there after shifts to get a bite and talk the the inhumanly kind owner, whose name he never got to know, but who insisted on being called "Nonna". She had a knack for serving the general misfits of the magical underworld, even though, from all that Arthur could gather, she was just a regular human granny. Today however, as he neared the entrance, it was obvious something wasn't right. It was late, but usually the tables outside would be bustling with the more nocturnal clientele, all playing cards and drinking the varied delights of Nonna's kitchen. There was no one there. Even though the door was open, Arthur could see only a forlorn light shining within. As he entered, the sound of soft sobbing and hushed voices hit him. He saw the once perfectly placed tables and chairs strewn across the floor, doilies and plant pots (Nonna's pride and joy) misplaced and broken, and in one corner a dropped food tray, it's contents on various stages of disheveling. Behind the counter, a few of Arthur's fellow usual drinking companions and Nonna's actual granddaughter, Maria, consoled the crying old lady. It was quite the sight, seeing those rugged dwarves, towering orc roughnecks, elegant faeries, frumpy wizards and even Arthur's vampire roommate and former nemesis Vi, all giving reassurance, fixing what could be fixed, cleaning and replacing the various signs of chaos. Arthur's heart swelled with pride for these lovable bastards, but the look that Maria saw on the detective's face was grim. "What happened here?" he asked. "Big shot in a suit came in earlier before we arrived. Nonna was here alone. All we could gather from her were that he was unhappy with the service and decided to give the place a piece of his mind." Her eyes were hard, her voice curt. "I see." Arthur scanned the site. His mind churned with plans of action. After giving Nonna his own hug, he approached Vi, who was helping a big orc on setting the tables back up. "I hope you get to him before I do Artie" Vi said as she saw him approach. "I don't think I'd be able to keep myself from... Repaying his kindness." Her eyes were bleeding to red from her usual grey, a sign that she was more frazzled than her demeanor showed. "Oh, I'm not worried about that" Arthur said, kneeling and touching a splintered part of the table's woodwork. As expected, a black thread, too thin for a naked human eye to see, was stuck to the woodgrain. Arthur gingerly plucked it, and analyzed it's nature. "I'm free for the night. Up for a little hunting? Let's not hurt him too much. I'm sure the Stormwatcher and Night's Queen could bring him in." She smiled that predatory smile of hers. "What else do you need?" As Arthur stored the thread on a bag, he noticed a darker patch on the carpet, and bent over to examine it. *Blood*, he though. A small spark fled his nose, as he inhaled and let his magically twisted senses attune to the stain's signature. He now could track that signal towards it's source. "How convenient" Arthur remarked, rising. "Magic nose powers never disappoint I see" Vi quipped, eyes fully red now. "We have a criminal to catch partner." Vi's smile grew.
"So then the guy pulls a gun out, and well... you know the story from th-" "OH MY GOD!" The group of supposed friends stopped in place and looked upon the cafe the frequented. The modest hole-in-the-wall coffee bean shop looked as though there was some sort of struggle. The windows were broken, some of the bar stools and tables were laying in the street, broken; there was even the handle to a ceramic mug.. though the rest of it was yet to be seen. The most heartbreaking part of this obvious violent struggle was the sign that usually hing above the door, now lay in splinters. The words, "Doc's Place" were no longer legible, but the D in it remained unscathed. A few of them ran inside to see what happened, but Maria, AKA BloodHound the city's masked private eye detective and night time vigilante investigated the scene. What first caught the detective off guard was the lack of any police investigation. "If there was a huge struggle, why were the police not called?" She murmured to herself while examining a shard of glass. "Maybe the mob paid them off?" She was once more surprised to find the shatter pattern to be coming out of the restaurant. She then recalled the furniture. Perhaps thrown threw it...? Inside, the disaster seemed much more appalling. Doc was nowhere to be found, and so Alexandra, AKA Power Kat, hopped over the barista bar and hurried into the back kitchen. This left Derrick and Pedro, AKA Guy Glory and QuetzalCoatal, to try and piece together what may have have happened. "Anything Q?" Guy asked while using his super vision to see any impressions left on the floor. "Nada... No familiar scents. Place is wrecked, bro." The undercover hero replied. His tongue tasted the air briefly. "If anything happened here, it happened a while ago." "14 hours ago, to be precise..." Bloodhound replied, stepping throught the door. "It's strange... no blood, no gore, not even a fingerprint..." Meanwhile in the back, Power Kat was relieved to find their favorite barista seemingly unscathed. Doc was back there, cleaning up some mugs in the sink. "What da- oh, hey there Alex... Sorry, I forgot to put up an open sign. Don't worry, I'll finish up here in a sec and get your guys' regular orders in a jiffy." Doc said as though he weren't standing in the middle of a thorough trashing. She let out a sigh of relief as Doc went back to cleaning. "Are you okay though? What happened?" She asked, closing the distance between them. "Heh, I'm fine kitty cat." He looked back at her with a smile. "No need to go and frown. Don'tcha know? It's easier to smile." Alexandra sighed and left him to his dishes, though not without a passing hand on the shoulder. She rejoined the group in the destroyed cafe as a table was stood up along with a couple chairs. Now, if anyone were to hazard a guess to this group being college friends coming to chew the fat early in the morning at a little niche-coffee shop, they would be wrong. You see, each of them are in fact heroes and or vigilantes of some description. Are they a super crime-fighting team? No. In fact each of them are loners who sometimes happen to cross paths every so often. Pedro is actually the reincarnation of an Incan god. He possesses powers of flight, strength, and superhuman senses as well as the power to breath fire. When his powers first arose, he found himself without any who would understand. Derrick was a military and DARPA experiment gone wrong. He was supposed to be the next super soldier, but then they turned tail on him and tried to strike all evidence from the record due to some unethical chemicals being used. Long story short, he ran away. Maria used to be a police officer, but when the department turned dirty, she gave up the badge and took up a mask and decided to expose them. She succeeded, and is still chasing down the mob who turned those cops dirty. Alexandra was in line to become an olympic body builder. Then, one day, they told her that she was ineligible because they assumed she was using some sort of drugs to enhance herself unfairly. Nothing was proven, but because of that, she lost the chance to be a real competitor. So instead, she decided to beat the snot out of any drug dealer, or bank robber she could find. Over time, she became bulletproof, insanely strong, and skillfully nimble. All of these heroes were loners, but enjoyed each others company on their time off. In truth, it was Doc's place that brought them together. It was the only 24 hour place that still used real coffee beans that wasn't overly crowded all the time. It gave them time to brood, to talk and eventually to become comfortable. "Here ya go. Sorry for the wait. Got a lot to clean up." He chuckled while setting the yable with four mugs with creamer and sugar. The old barista then went about wiping off the counter, casing glass to tinkle off the floor as it fell. "Doc. What happened?" Guy Glory asked after an uncomfortable silence. "Oh, just some rough customers. Nothing serious." He said nonchalantly. "Did you call the police?" Power Kat asked. "Hmm... naw. I'm not gonna press charges." He replied, to which QuetzaCoatal nearly spat out his coffee. "Why the hell not? You crazy?" He said with anger. "The police need to know!" "Naw, they don't. To be honest, I'm surprised something like this didn't happen sooner." Doc chuckled. "Always knew this is what the next step would be." He sighed out a long aigh, letting his age get to his face. "It's hard to be angry anymore. You youngin's with your supervision and ready to jump at the drop of a hat." Jhe shook his head and leaned down to pick up the pieces of a mug. "Whenever one of you would break a mug, you'd get upset and try to apologize... it's just a mug. If there's anything that can be said about it, it's are you okay?" He gave them all a look. They couldn't meet it. "I'm not mad about the mugs, or the floor, or the tables, or the store. Too hard to be angry about stuff like that. It's what I told the kid last night too. He broke my mug and asked if I was upset. I told him no. So he broke another... and another... then my shop. I tried saving him..." "Don't worry doc." Bloodhound replied. "We can still save him... like you saved us..." Doc chuckled. "That's all I need to hear. Go and pay it forward."
2018-10-20T23:47:46
2018-10-20T22:47:10
16
11
[WP] An alien, a centuries-old vampire, and a werewolf raised by wolves go to college. They dorm with a human and do their best to blend in and act natural while infiltrating humanity. The human realized day one they weren't normal - But the daily theatrics are too amusing to let them know that
Alright. Day one. This is how it could be recalled as plainly as possible. But. A little backstory. Specifically on my dormie, the guy who I room with. We’ll call him... David. He was rather pale, fair skinned, and his eyes seemed to always flash a deep red in the night time. That’s when I first met him, the kid bumbled in at one in the morning when I was fast asleep, weirdly shaped suitcase in hand. It was late, but I just assumed that’s how they did things wherever he was from. I fall back asleep. Two hours go by, and I wake up to see the weirdo staring intently at me as I sleep. I felt super lethargic too, and literally sunk back into a delirious slump. I figured I was tired. “I do not get much sleep. The night always seems to beckon.” I seemed to remember him saying; weird rustic accent like he stepped straight out of Hellsing. He assured me he was a sleep walker when I freaked, I didn’t really buy what he was selling though. Then before I knew it, it was daylight. I was up early, as per usual, bad nerves and all on the first day. My roommate? Dead to the world. I felt dizzy as I surfaced from my bed. Into the restroom I went, to brush my teeth, stumbling all about the room as I did so. Upon bringing my plain face into the mirror, I noticed two bite holes in my neck. What. The. Fuck. I’d confront my roomie about it later since violence isn’t my thing in the morning on an empty stomach, and I didn’t feel too good going up against a supernatural terror. I wash, I clean, I get the damned thing done. I had to bag some girls because College, I didn’t know anyone so it was easier to just talk to girls. Our room was connected with another room, and another pair of dormies that I hadn’t met. I wasn’t the only one up as I heard movement upon exiting my dorm room. In the communal area, someone was setting up a hot pocket. The way he awkwardly bumbled around the microwave led me to believe whoever I was unfortunate to be grouped with were foreigners, weird foreigners. “Hello, roommate. I trust you have gained enough hours of rest to function sufficiently throughout the day?” He was a gauntly fellow, average height, with a pretty average looking face. Hair was brown, eyes were brown. “Um... Yeah. I guess.” I replied just as awkwardly, so I didn’t think anything of it. “You got anymore? I was gonna make some noodles but that smells so good.” “I do, companion.” The more he spoke, the more he reminded me of an automated assistant, like Siri. He blinked one eye at a time, and I could literally seem him counting the seconds it took to breathe. “These flavors are so interesting, so many, yet so cheap for students such as ourselves.” Aaaaoooowwwwuurrrrrhhh! The howl suddenly hacked into a hoarse coughing fit. “What the fuck was that?” I blurt out suddenly. Then our fourth roomie made a grand entrance, in boxers, with serious amounts of grooming needed for his hairy, yet incredibly muscular physique. His head swung from side to side incessantly, as he literally twitched at something I couldn’t see. “Woah... Dude, you’re like a... Nevermind, do you go to the gym?” I struggle to voice out under my seemingly weakened state. I took myself for a gym buff, I did it in high school and benched two plates. I was solid. “Obviously, bro. Gotta keep the guns steady. You want a protein bar, bro? You don’t look super hot?” He literally leapt back into his room in a swift bound to forage for some food supplies. He seemed nice. Super alert. Wait a minute. Wait just one second. “I shall be receiving instruction soon!” Hot pocket in hand, his monotonous voice seemed to distort briefly. “What’s your name?” I ask. “G.” “And yours?” I ask the muscular fellow. “Caleb, bro. Here.” He handed me the protein bars which I readily scarfed down. He also poured me a glass of milk. Caleb was super cool. G had already left. His head ran straight into the door leading out into the main corridor, it left a rigid dent. The way it happened, it was as almost as if he forgot what to do to get outside. Yeah, how do you forget to open a door? He seemed fine though. I wonder how long it would take before I get moved cause I’m staying with a whole bunch of monsters out of a children’s book. Caleb seemed like he’d be a hit with the ladies though, we bro’d it up at the college Cafe, and then gym’d it.
"Winthorpe is a vampire, without a doubt, babe—I saw his tongue light on fire after he took a bite of that Parmesan Garlic Shrimp Scampi we made the other day." Johnathan gazed across the campus greens, watching people mull about a summer student gathering with vendors, campus resource tents, plus student groups and alliances. Sarah licked her lips and reminisced with a briefly held blink, rubbing her belly over the lavender Gucci Mane Bubblebath Funtime sweater she wore, "oh... babe, that was a killer dinner. I was expecting you to fuck it up, but you really made that dish your bitch. I didn't hear a word from any of your roommates, and I can't tell if Xotislyt even has an actual mouth—I never saw him eat a bite, but the end of dinner his food was gone—like, all of it." "I... love you, too? Have I fucked any of your expectations into the ground with my cooking recently?" Johnathan pulled a chunk of ice from his tea and tossed it down her sweater. "You haven't bathed today, or last night. Maybe they didn't say anything because you stink. I'm going to withhold sex later if you ditch me halfway through meal prep to play fetch with Buster again." Sarah engaged her fiercest pout and grabbed a handful of ice, throwing a piece to distract Johnathan in order to get her hand around his collar and dump her load down his back. "That's gaslighting, you're evil. I'm going to tell you mom you withhold basic life necessities, and she should gift you a beating next Christmas sine you'll have coal in your stocking anyways." "Gaslighting, please—you once said the reason I don't talk to my dad anymore is because I wore dresses when I was younger—now you make me wear a dress on special occasions because 'it grew on you." Johnathan scooped the ice from the boxer-ridge along his ass crack and threw it at a squirrel nibbling on a piece of garbage near a tree. "And because I wanted to make a dress for your beautiful six armed reptilian roommate; his serpent tail has feathers, Johnathan. Like a fucking Peacock. Actually, he's not a bird so that makes him ten times as beautiful. I would've broken up with you if you got a roommate with a bird—I hate birds, Johnathan." A smirk rode across Johnathan's face, remembering the pigeon on the train incident. "You do hate birds." "And I'm the only reason Xotislyt stopped making that high pitched screeching sound; the microwave was threatening to us telepathically, Johnathan. If I didn't convince him people were signing up for plastic surgery to add fake arms on the reg someone might've died." Sarah mimicked her brains falling out of her ears. Johnathan shook his head, "I don't think any of them are dangerous." Sarah shot Johnathan with a dart of heavy side-eye, "excuse me, what? Buster ate a raccoon whole, yesterday. That's why I had to give him a bath. The easiest way to dry him off is to play fetch outside, none of the neighbors were around." "He doesn't have fur during the day, babe." Sarah grabbed Johnathan's arm, burying her face in his chest. johnathan gave Sarah's head a loving pat, idly scrolling through pictures on his phone. "At least quell your lady boner and put some pants on him next time, please?" Sarah smirked into Johnathan's chest and gave a sort of half-giggle, knowing she'd been caught 'mirin. "That pasta was incrrredible, I wish I had more right now," Sarah whined with an exaggerated groan. "You said you saw Winthorpe's tongue light on fire? You think because of the garlic?" Sarah let go of Johnathan's arm and leaned back to her original position, watching Johnathan scroll through photos of his roommates. Johnathan settled on a photo of Winthorpe eating dinner from the previous night. "Like a piece of flash paper at first, but the sauce sort of just sizzled away on his tongue. You didn't hear him yelp in pain?" Sarah shook her head, "I was too busy being distracted by the juxtaposition between Xotislyt and Buster's table manners." Johnathan nodded, "Buster has some serious work to do on that front. It took me 20 minutes to clean the floor around the table." Johnathan groaned at the thought of the bathroom yet to be cleaned. "Winnie couldn't resist that pasta though." Sarah held her hands in front of her mouth and gave a stern look. "I was wondering why he made that silly doily float in front of his face while he ate. So he definitely has telekinesis." "Indeed, he ate that entire dish. I didn't even know vampires could enjoy human food. I'm mostly surprised you didn't see the fireworks show going off behind his napkin. Who uses the word doily, anyways? You're such a grandma." "Hey, punk, my grandma collects doily's and she's a cool ass lady." "Yea," Johnathan gave an admitting nod, "she is a cool ass lady. Think she can keep a secret?" "OHHHH," Sarah's eyes lit up at a thought, "I bet Buster would LOVE Gam-gam!" "Whoa, craebae-" Johnathan held his hands up like he'd made a mistake, "it was just a thought. Let's not go scheduling any play-dates." Sarah laughed a bit, 'yea, yea, that's," she shuddered with obvious apprehension in her eyes, "like, a later thing." "Or like a never thing, babe" Johnathan put a hand on her shoulder. "Once she figures it out she'll recognize the other two, and she's never forgiven you for that vampire prank, Also, hello, protestant?" Sarah deflated a bit, "oh, right, Jesus doesn't get along with vampires." She kicked some dirt at her feet, gazing at some students playing volleyball. "Have you spoken much to Xotislyt about school? He said he wants to try out for theatre club." Johnathan's eyes widened in surprise. "Theater? Like dramas and musicals and shit?" Sarah exhaled a cloud of vapor from her cannabis vaporizer and coughed a short, "Hyup," before passing her boyfriend the device. Johnathan gingerly grabbed the vape and took a deep pull, enjoying the momentary silence of thought they shared. "What I want to know is why nobody else around campus seems to realize who or what they are? Buster took a shit on a library desk last week and people congratulated him for thinking of such an original prank; I would've been embarrassed to sit with him except everyone was laughing so hard nobody even noticed me. It's painfully obvious our roommates aren't human, yet everyone treats them like popular freshman." Sarah stared across the field silently for a moment while stroking her fingers across the back of Johnathan's hand. "I've thought about the exact same thing—the only thing I can think of is the house. They're comfortable at the house, so they let their guard down and don't realize we can see them for what they are. But out in public, and on campus, and like, at the grocery store when Xotislyt tried to fight that giant stack of multi-colored sodas because it was taller than him, nobody notices anything different about them at all. It's got to be telepathic, or magic or something." Johnathan nodded, "I wouldn't be surprised. Telepathic alien isn't that far of a leap from telekinetic Vampire." Sarah leaned her head on Johnathan's shoulder, "Are you certain you want to take them to the Zoo tomorrow still?" Johnathan gazed down at Sarah and smiled slyly, "Well I mean, we kind of have to right? For science?" Sarah beamed with a burst of laughter, "I have always wondered what would happen if you let a werewolf loose in the zoo. We might need a baby harness."
2018-12-23T20:44:23
2018-12-23T19:50:44
119
33
[WP] The main character's superpower is the ability to speak to the narrator. Unfortunately, the traditionalist narrator is not willing to put up with such a radical plot and will do anything in his power to tell a "normal" story.
This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee # 427.  Employee # 427’s job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what employee 427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy. And then one day, something very peculiar happened, something that would forever change Stanley, something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one, single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say hi. Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time, but as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office. All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room, perhaps he had simply missed a memo....
*Plugio Farpatis, who wished he had paid more attention to his mother and studied just a bit harder at university, stared glassy-eyed at the terminal readouts of his long-haul cargo-ship 'The Sleepy Buffalo' as he waited in the queue to cross into Praxis territory with his shipment of grummelons. His first trip out of the sector was proving to be more boring than he'd anticipated, and he sheepishly found himself yearning for home.* "Plugio Farpatis, having learned his name at the tender age of two months, learned to speak at the incredible age of two-and-a-half months specifically to change his name to something much more awesomer, Zeph Zapiro, since he knew he would be needing an awesome name for his awesome career as an interstellar privateer. He sat ready at the console of his undercover ship, 'The Star Falcon,' which he'd cleverly disguised as a normal freighter named 'The Sleepy Buffalo,' running in-depth scans of the freighter in front of him where Alphonse McDarkeye sat, unsuspecting, trying to sneak a quantum phase-bomb into the Praxis territory." *A warning light on the console savagely ripped Plugio out of his daydreams of a different life and back to the real world where he was a completely inconsequential long-hual melon shipper. He groaned to himself, a leak in the cargo bay, he'd just had that repaired last month, he would never be able to save up to buy that plot with Jenny if 'The Sleepy Buffalo' kept falling apart. He sighed and lumbered his bulking mass to his feet to go and try to patch the leak.* "His 110 kg of pure muscle leapt into furious action, having trained for this moment its entire life and never been distracted by people named Jenny and plots of dirt. A leak in the Star Falcon was inconceivable, no, no, the screaming klaxons and red emergency lights were warning him about something entirely different than some decoy-melons. He snatched his Plasma Phaser 97X, lovingly dubbed 'Ghost-Maker,' from it's velcro by the command center and leapt down the hallways toward the breach, a breach which Zeph Zapiro knew could mean only one thing, Alphonse McDarkeye had got the jump on him, and slipped into his ship." *Such acrobatics proved a costly mistake as Plugio, having neglected going to the gym for the past seventeen years, stumbled and careened into the hatchway where he--* "Where he quickly snatched the hand-bar with superhuman reflexes, exactly as intended, and began to creep silently down the hatchway toward the cargo hold, holding--" *Holding a sudden cramp in his voluminous gut, he chastised himself for his undue haste and repeated what his father used to say, 'quick and nimble, impressive pace, but slow and steady, wins the race.' He reminded himself that he wasn't a hare, he was--* "He was a galaxy class seven bounty-privateer, he couldn't afford to make any harey mistakes when things got hairy. He approached the cargo bay and slowly, carefully, calmly peeked into the hold." *Then laughed at himself for being a complete and utter moron because he was checking on a cargo bay with a leak and full of completely inert melons which--* "Which hid the devious Alphonse McDarkeye who chose this moment to leap out of the pile of gross grummelons and aim his blaster toward Zeph Zapiro. Luckily--" *Luckily this was all just the alcohol talking, Plugio, being driven into a wild depression by his wildly depressing life had, years ago, turned to the drink, a habit he desperately wanted to give up, but just couldn't seem to.* "Because he spent so much time at the hippest bars with the hottest chicks being Zeph Zapiro and having a totally not depressing time. He stopped himself from daydreaming about all the sweet parties he'd go to later and did a quadruple front flip through the airlock, dodging Alphonse McDarkeye's laser blast with superhuman speed. He pulled out 'Ghost Maker' and--" *And, humiliatingly, tripped and fell into the melon shipment--* "On purpose. Zeph's somersault landed him directly behind Alphonse and--" *Broke the melons he had bought with the last of his family's money--* "Decoy melons which didn't matter at all--" *To other people but meant the world to Plugio--* "Which was lucky since nobody named Plugio was on The S--" *Sleepy [Buffalo](http://reddit.com/r/jacktheritter).* "Star Falcon."
2020-05-09T23:02:25
2020-05-09T22:26:31
223
53
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller".
"Far too long has this Earth been ruled by those who fear no consequences, as for them life is just a game of chess and a fallen queen or king means just to start over. I despise them with all my heart for what they've done to me and I shall make them fall, just like they throw us like pawns left and right." My words echoed through the giant hall of Fate. Everyone was silent. Parents who celebrated their child's blessing now stared in fear. It was quiet like a graveyard. I stepped away from Fate and headed towards the Podium of Gifts where a shining white and gold, made out of meteorite sword stood and awaited me. Right beneath it a kit of armour, not as shiny as the blade, lied folded. Although it seemed weak, everyone knew what it was. The imperial chainmail, worn once by the most powerful kings and queens, long before we fell under the will of the mighty Gods. An armour so powerful they couldn't destroy it and it vanished without a trace. I took the items and looked at Fate, a goddess who gave, rather than take. She bowed her head down and smiled. Then she spoke, something never done before. "You are young and blessed, but until your mission is complete you shall not rest. Lots of danger around you I can feel, but in the end you shall make us all before you kneel. Now you shall take my life and make me rest and for everyone else I wish the very best." The silence was even quieter this time. Everyone was stood in shock. I had tears in my eyes, as I knew what I should do. The metal clang of the sword screeched through the hall as I dragged the sword from the grown. The white blade was heavy and I could feel the power and might it held. Fate shrank herself down to human size and kneeled infront of me. I lifted the blade. "I'm sorry." I whispered through tears. "But you shouldn't be. I will always protect you when I can. Now slay me." As the blade cut through her skin. Thunder hit outside and golden blood spilled over the ground. I fell on my knees, and held her up. The body of the goddess blasted in flames. Everyone stared. Fear. Power. Hope. As some whispering flew by my ears I stood up and grabbed the blade. "It is time." I yelled. "It is time we stand up to those who treated us like cattle. It is time we rise like a phoenix from the ashes and take our place back. For a new Earth!" A sudden silence. And then. "For a new Earth!" One yelled. "For a new Earth!" Another yelled. The hall exploded with that phrase. Everyone was cheering and yelling. It was time to slay some gods.
**Was god destined to be or is fate one of god’s children?** If there ever was a question as indelible as time itself, it was this one. If God was indeed the architect of the universe, as the scriptures from antiquity proclaimed, it would follow naturally that he was also the maker of laws within which the universe must exist, including the law of fate which was nothing more than the unwavering will of God. But as times of antiquity came to pass, so did the unquestioning faith in the scriptures. Fate isn’t a law, one man had infamously claimed, but an invisible atom of which is made every law, object and being. An apple under the influence of gravity must fall – this was the fate of not just the apple, but also of the earthly force acting upon it. Gravity was destined to pull everything and repel nothing, and nothing was destined to be repelled by gravity. As such, the later disgraced gentleman had argued that fate was in fact what established the doing and undoing of everything, including the universe. That god could not have created the universe if he wasn’t destined to, and god wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t at the mercy of fate. If I were to say that the question posed to the reader in the beginning of this short tale has remained unanswered simply because that was its fate, the gentleman would have agreed. \-------------------------------------------------------- As fate would have it, the 15th of August, 2020 was a fateful day. It was also Alex’s sixteenth birthday. Unlike other children of his age, Alex wasn’t keen on discovering his calling yet. He had always been a pale, underweight kid with serious confidence deficiencies. He blamed fate for treating him cruelly and wasn’t very optimistic about what she had in store for him. But he was now standing in line to get up on the altar along with other kids who were fresh off fifteen. The girl before Alex would grow up to be a mother of four, it was revealed. That can’t be sexist then, thought Alex, given the feminine nature of fate. Once he was on the holy podium, the priestess of Fate handed him a small copper plate that Alex would have to dip in the holy water for 10 seconds, before it revealed to him his unalterable truth. The writing would be then read out by the priestess to the gathered crowd of other sixteen year olds and over-enthusiastic parents. However, when the strip of metal emerged from the holy water, the reading aloud of the death sentence of the supreme being was enough to zip out any enthusiasm from the room. \-------------------------------------------------------- Up in the (*now temporary)* comfort of his heavens, God observed Alex’s ceremony solemnly. He wasn’t surprised that Fate had decided to turn on him, but that she had chosen a being so meek and lacking in will to execute the mightiest creature of all. She wanted to humiliate him. God had known for long now the resentment Fate had for him. He also knew the source of this resentment stemmed from the indelible question. That man would put them both on the same pedestal, and sometimes god on a higher one was unacceptable to Fate. But God wasn’t one to go down without a fight, even if it meant he had to something unthinkable – something he wasn’t destined to – to make a deal with the devil. \-------------------------------------------------------- Hell smelt of the same rotten meat it did when God had created it. As God made his way through the avenues of fire and streams of screams to meet the Devil, he considered one last time what he was about to do. God had guessed, from an eternity of observation and contemplation, that Fate wasn’t absolute. The illusion of destiny, as God called it, was perhaps the most effective tool ever invented in keeping intelligent life forms in check. Much like a horse’s blinkers create an illusion that there is no path but ahead, destiny worked in a similar way, God suspected. And if he could convince the Devil of the same, there was a way out he thought. \-------------------------------------------------------- Alex was about forty years old when he finally encountered God. He was still lean and droll in every way imaginable. He had a kitchen knife clenched in one hand with which he had decided to stab the almighty’s abdomen. The priestess of fate had revealed to him that the choice of weapon didn’t matter as long as he was the one wielding it. The fact that Alex had chosen a vegetable annihilator spoke of his disinterest in the whole matter. His whole life leading to this moment had been about this moment and he just wanted it to end in a manner that would spark as little glamour as possible. No words were spoken before Alex plunged the knife into God’s beautifully carved body. The almighty figure fell to his knees so quickly as if the knife were a warrior’s sword. Within seconds, a light from above absorbed the deadly remains. It had been done. Alex had fulfilled his destiny as a Godkiller. God was dead. \-------------------------------------------------------- Upstairs in hell, the devil had watched the whole thing with somber satisfaction. He heard a knock on his door and God appeared before him, well and alive. Both of them had seen the light of Fate scoop up the body which meant that Fate had accepted God’s demise unquestioningly, without a shadow of suspicion. 24 years ago, when the Devil had happily accepted God’s soul in return to deceive Fate they hatched a very clever plan. A serial killer’s soul that was serving an eternal sentence in the pits of hell was summoned to the devil’s quarters. There, this soul was re-baptized in hell-fire (the only way to rebaptize a soul) and was given the name, ‘God’. The real God then exchanged his body with that of this wretched soul, so as to take no avoid any suspicion. The newly baptised God was then sent back to serve his sentence until he was needed again, 24 years later. In the end, the heavens were empty, Fate had had its revenge, humans were devoid of holiness, and the Devil had a new assistant. And the indelible question was never to be asked again.
2020-08-15T01:46:00
2020-08-15T00:45:00
101
12
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead.
A small onyx dragon rested on Jason’s shoulder. “Hey Ellana,” Jason said to me. “Check out Grivacre’s new trick!” The dragon opened its mouth and beam a small flame no bigger than a struck match. I decided to humor him. “Impressive! That’ll come in handy in the winter trimester when we need to reheat our hot coco,” I said. “You can charge the other students a copper or two for that. You know the rich ones would take up that offer.” “My thoughts exactly!” We bantered for a while about our summer vacation and compared our schedules. They were nearly identical since we were both freshmen. “Taking Study Hall instead of Creature Taming?” he asked. I nodded my head and avoided eye contact. Yeah my beast kind of has that down already. “Really? What kind did you get,” Jason said and leaned forward. “A hippogriff? Unicorn? Phoenix?” *He’s going to find out someday. Better now than never,* I thought to myself. I swallowed my pride. “I got a rock.” Jason tilted his head. “You mean a golem.” “No, it’s just a rock. I wanted a golem but my family couldn’t afford it.” That was a half truth. My family could front the initial cost of a mythical creature but not its financial upkeep. I would have to get a job to do that, and I felt like my class schedule completely booked my calendar. “Want to see it?” I asked and reached into my pocket and pulled out a smooth maroon stone. I placed it into my friends palm. He looked down at it, then back to me, then back down to the rock. He studied it as if it was long division problem. An uncomfortable silence fell between us. “I call him Mountain,” I said. Although, I was certain he reached his max size. A small puddle of warm liquid formed beneath the rock. Urine seeped between Jasons fingers. “What the actual fu—” he mumbled. My face flushed. I apologized to my friend and scrambled for a spare handkerchief in my purse. I exchanged it for Mountain so Jason could wipe his hand dry. “Oh my god I'm so embarrassed. He gets excited when he meets new people.” I said. Jason still searched for a response other than dumbfoundment. Grivacre looked confused as well. “Bad Mountain!” I scolded my pet rock. “Bad Mountain!”
Mad Hank, the oldest magician in Jill’s town. His origins are unknown to any of the folks, older than anyone remembers. At best some families might have heard stories passed down from their great-great grandparents about the man, but none could be proven. Some stories getting rather outrageously superficial, like the one that stated the man was the work of a chaotic god granting a rock life. What idiot would believe such a tall tale? The only detail about the man that had been proven was his skill. Despite his mind being mostly gone, his magical abilities were better than any of the mages Jill knew. That’s why she came to him in her time of need. “Mr. Hank Sir, I heard you often help mages in need. My family are rather poor. They scrambled together their savings to send me to a school, only to find out they don’t provide a familar. I know you have no reason to help me, but it would mean so much to my family and I if you could share one of your familiars with-“ “PET ROCK.” Hank cackled, turning around to show her a rather standard rock, the only difference being, this one had a pair of comical wobbly eyes on it. He offered her a wide grin, one that managed to show through his grey and white beard. “P-pardon sir, I don’t think I understand what you mean? Are you suggesting this rock be my familiar? The name would imply that you are-“ “Smart girl picked up on it quick. Little too chatty though, you tried being quiet?” Hank asked, lifting her black pointed hat, sitting the pet rock underneath it. “Treat Rocky good, he’s going to grow up to be a boxer someday. HAH.” The old man cackled, raising his hands to the heavens. “I think this may have been a bad idea. I’ll just leave the rock behind; you like rocky more than I do, anyway.” She went to set the rock aside, only for a powerful blast of fire to swirl past her hand, stopping her movements. “I’m mad, not stupid. Take Rocky and show those rich punks how people like us live.” The old mage again raised a hand triumphantly before making a pained groan. “I’m far too old for these levels of excitement. Bye now, don’t come back until you have saved the world or whatever you younglings do these days.” When she next blinked, she was outside, the door to his hut missing. Jill lifted her hat, staring at the wobbled eyed rock. I guess that makes us a team now. I’m Jill, Will you be my familiar? The person to protect me throughout my life?” The rock offered no response. Jill’s heart sank. The man had mocked her, giving her a rock as a joke. She nearly threw the rock through his window, only for her hand to glow blue, sealing the contract between the two. She didn’t have the heart to tell her parents about the rock, not wanting to worry them. Instead making up some story about how he had given her a lowly houseplant. Her first day of school she found tough, everyone walking around with their magical creatures, and here she was, carrying a rock. “You two must have a rocky relationship.” A voice called out, a roar of snickering following that as a male walked over, dragon following behind. The dragon may have been small but had an impressive set of blue scales, ones that belonged in a book of myths. “Nice to see you got what you deserve. What happens when the rock breaks? Will you bring a pet twig?” More laughter followed, causing her to shove the rock into her robes. “Its powerful. I just don’t know how to use it that’s all.” Jill tried to make up a lie, but no one believed her, laughter continuing. She went to turn away, only to feel a movement in her robes. When she turned around, she saw the dragon whimpering, a red sore spot on its snout from where the rock had hit, causing the creature to scamper back. “Y-You threw that at my familiar! I’ll kill you.” The male went to charge only for a wall of blue magic to stop him, appearing before the man. “Now, now Fredrick. You are a mage, correct? If that’s true, you should be able to tell that she did no such thing. The familiar acted on its own. You provoked her and it attacked, the same way your creature might if you were in such a situation. While there’s no penalty for familars fighting, there is one for students fighting. I suggest you think about that.” When the wall dropped, Fredrick shot Jill a glare, mumbling that this wouldn’t be over. An empty threat given how well the rock handled the situation earlier. The hallway’s patrons turned to look away, unsure what they had just witnessed, still they didn’t want to get scolded by the teacher for watching. “I am Henry Faddler, your chemistry teacher. Now I must offer you the same caution I offered Fredrick. I know they provoked it, but if your familiar acts out of line too many times, we will remove them. Our school has standards, now go to your homeroom, classes start in five minutes.” “Yes, sir.” Jill didn’t argue with the teacher, his words were fair enough in her eyes. Focusing on the day ahead, she rushed to find her homeroom, giving her pet rock a smile, it wobbling its eyes in response as they started their first day.       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
2021-01-06T08:30:38
2021-01-06T07:16:08
439
267
[WP] You are an elder god taking a vacation on Earth when aliens invade. You teleport to their capital ship and explain them that if they don't leave you will wipe out their entire species with a single thought. They dont believe you so you wipe out 10% of them to show you're serious.
The Elder Gods used to observe the Earth, until we retired back to deep space. We were getting too old and a new sentient race were evolving, we were too old to deal with an infant race so we retired and a new caretaker took over. I needed a temporary stay of duties overlooking my planet in the Andromeda System and decided I should walk where my ancestors once tread, so I chose Earth as my next holiday destination. The owner looked quite young, fresh faced, but knowledgeable. I heard he tended not to dabble in the affairs of his mortals and preferred to keep to himself and observe from afar, except when the situation warrants. The effects of divine intervention are great but can upset the balance of the universe if not applied with careful discretion. God gave me a tour of the place, a modest retreat in the Bahamas, and handed me the key. “This is my favourite spot where I like to take a quick rest, but feel free to roam anywhere on the Earth, of course stay out of sight, humans react enough when they see me, but you are.... something else. I’ll be back here in a week.” God left the way he came and returned to the celestial realm the natives called “Heaven”. I spent the better part of the next week walking the streets of most capital cities, checking out the attractions, it is honestly a beautiful planet, so green, but a bit too much water for my taste. I put on a disguise so I can see what these humans built without causing a disturbance,it was quite impressive I was enjoying the view from the top of Mt. Everest when I heard Gods voice telepathically in my ear, he was concerned, “Cthulhu, sorry to interrupt your stay but there appears to be an alien invasion at Washington DC, could you please have a look? Intervene if necessary, these humans are still too primitive and not ready for exposure to extraterrestrial species so soon.” The line went dead. I sighed, I suppose I should return the gesture of hospitality and I had grown to be fond of this planet, so I teleported myself to the bridge of the invading capital ship, while keeping my disguise. The alien guards initially didn’t catch my presence then were startled and immediately drew their weapons. “Commander, it’s a Human! We weren’t aware they had developed teleportation technology, and with such precision!” I could smell their fear. The commander approached cautiously, “who are you and who sent you? Which country?” “Cthullu, God, Earth,” I answered flatly. Fear flashed across the commanders face for a microsecond but he composed himself. “Nonsense, those gods have been to this planet for millennium, where are you really from? The States? We had a mole there but-“. “Quiet,” I interrupted. The entire room fell silent. “I am on vacation and really do not have much time, God request I deal with you and I intend to do so quickly. Kindly leave this planet and I will spare you.” The commander stared blankly at me. “You’re bluffing.” “Am I?” I lifted my hand and snapped my fingers. Instantly chatter over the light speed radio chirped and panicked voices could be heard from staff all over the bridge. “Commander, we are hearing reports that a large portion of the population in our capital cities has disappeared”. The commander looked at the console, and the expression on his face confirmed what his subordinate said. “What are you?!” “Something else”
[Part One] I had crawled from a black hole in some backwater, middle of nowhere spec in the universe. I spent several billion years trying to figure out where the fuck I was. I knew many secrets, secrets that would break the minds of those I found myself living amongst. Did you know there wasn’t a Big Bang? There wasn’t a ‘God’ neither- and this wasn’t the first version. Sometimes I remember the times before, sometimes I don’t. I try my best not to, however. When I first came to this small, low gravity marble, I possessed the body of a primate. I thought my choice to be quite witty, since I retain all of my intelligence in any form I possess but I still wanted a strong body to sell the part. After having three hairy babies, I was clawed apart by starving leopards at the base of a mountain. Turns out, gorillas are quite powerful but quite literally lack the thick skin required to tangle with moderately powerful animals. I could have killed them, but they needed the meat and that was the way of things here. Where I came from, I remember we were all ‘carnivorous’ and would absorb one another. The older your prey, the more powerful you became. It often left you confused until you were a mess of memories with enormous power, like me. This desire to pretend to be something else helped me forget the other bickering elders in my soul. Having a physical brain allowed me to be in a moment rather than all moments and no moments simultaneously. My second life, I chose to inhabit a man who passed away in a coma. I didn’t absorb his soul- partly because inhabiting his body would give me all of his memories, habits and so on but...also, partly because I felt a bit of a fondness for these weaker but smarter apes after I had been a stronger but dumber one. Suddenly, at age 34, MY Michael randomly joined into policing forces- then ended up as a paramilitary infantrymen. We said it was a sudden change in perspective- quite the change indeed. Truthfully I had mistaken the way the wilds worked and the realm I hail from to have universe truths. The strong preyed upon the weak. At first I got to do that. But that lingering part of Michael made me feel guilty- made me realize that these ‘occupations’ didn’t exist to eliminate the weak of ‘our’ species...but to protect them. At least, in theory. True evil was that of the human trophy hunters, the war criminals, the war lords and dictators. How easy it could be for me to just vaporize the leader of North Korea...but, that could make things worse. His sister would come into power. I could kill her too...and the rest of the successors. Then I would be a mass murderer, and the people may end up in a governmental no-mans land just as bad as the horrific regime....or they could be annexed by South Korea and learn how to live more positive lives. I may be an Eldritch Deity, but most of the humans on this planet had been humans longer than I had been. How could I deem myself all knowing? My Michael was puppeted into the swamps of mid Florida. A beautiful area with very interesting wildlife- I find alligators fascinating- when, about five hundred and sixty three days into living in our self made cabin with our wife and child, now my forty three year old eyes of Michael reported to our brain that an actual alien vessel was floating between the earth and the moon. He could see a vague shadow with our eyes, but mostly it was the image from the television that resounded to me. I stepped out of the cast I had tucked myself away in- and created a spectral form of Michael using about a quarter of my souls. Our body and family would be invulnerable should the aliens attack while I tried to diplomatically dissuade them from attacking my vacation spot that I had poached for the next six million years. I teleported into the ship- no response or reaction from the aliens. Odd. Oh, yes...I am not Michael. I used some of my power to create a astral projection of my Michael. The aliens were startled at first- but after they realized their weaponry, they became cocky once more. I used my invasive soul abilities to invade their minds. They weren’t an invasion force per say- they were a government backed mining corporation that would crack planets open and rob their resources. All natural radioactive materials would be harvested, turned into even heavier metals, and the waste elements would be deposited within przybylski's star- which was always a radioactive star, but was now about thirty percent Plutonium, Einsteinium, Moscovium, Polonium and plenty of elements that humanity hadn’t officially named yet that were just a variation of “unobtanium” with an extra “un” attached for how many atoms away from the first labeled “unobtanium” they were. These aliens were interested in the Earths elements, and had been studying the planet extensively. They had created a preserve on their home worlds that housed exactly 60,000 human beings and had almost a thousand individuals from nearly every animal on earth as long as they were ant sized or larger. They reckoned that by preserving aspects of our planet, strip mining MY blue marble into a lifeless rock was okay. They could always terraform Venus which was ‘close enough’ to absolve them of their sins. Yet, the hypocritical species inhabited four planets, all very close to one another, all naturally habitable. Their populations were insatiable locusts- undoubtedly a byproduct of always having the resources, the space and time to help their solar system out.... were humans much better? ....actually, they are. Humanity benefits, at least morally, by only having one planet. The unity they have is...far greater than anything these aliens have ever experienced. They ruled their society with an iron, Darwinian fist. A mother bears a brood of one to nine with the average delivery of five children per pregnancy. The young ones would compete violently before puberty- the two siblings to slay the others in martial combat got to live. Their lives were based around subjugation of their own, and seeking others to take resources from much like an even more dystopian and aggressive Imperial Britain. If I had found them, I may not have ever grown as a Deity. I raised our hand, and spoke within their minds- each imagining the most confident and authoritative voice they could imagine within their own heads speaking their own tongue: “You may leave this planet- but if you do not, I will use my infinite pool of wisdom and power to remove the soul from your entire species immediately before safely landing this craft for humans to study and evolve with. You will be a mere stone to leap from for humanity- yet a footnote in their history. What say you?”
2021-05-04T22:52:39
2021-05-04T21:15:08
24
17
[WP] With a puff of smoke, the grim reaper appears in front of you. Raising his scythe, you accept your fate, only for him to hand it to you gently. He's going into retirement, and who better to take over than the last person on his list?
"The fuck!? You're retiring!?" "***y e s***" "And you mean to fucking tell me that I have to take your job." "***y e s***" "When do *I* get to retire?" "***t w e n t y*** ***t h o u s a n d s o u l s"*** \*sigh\* "Fine." ​ The scythe notified me of 150 nearby deaths. So people just saw some random guy with a scythe run down the street at top speeds, but I felt their attention towards me dwindle. This was a good thing. Just being some random murderer was bad. The first soul I found was a man with cancer. He noticed me, and only he did. Of course knowing his fate, he asked me a favor. "Please... tell my daughter I love her." "I shall." I say, tapping the scythe to his chest. Then, looking back at it, there were 200 more deaths waiting. How was I supposed to do this alone? And that's when I realized: my scythe had a button on it called teleport to the nearest death. Makes sense. So I did that. But you know what happened a few hours later? I found myself in the old man's daughter's house. She looked upon me in fear. Or, wait. That was not fear of me. That was fear of the person holding her at gunpoint. "I am deeply sorry for the fate that has befallen you, but it seems like your life ends here." "I get it." The woman says. Then her captor bursts "WHAT DO YOU FUCKING GET, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!?" "Before you go," I say. "Your father wanted me to tell you that he loved you." The man holding her at gunpoint shouts some more profanities that essentially sum up to "I'm tired of waiting!". So I ready my scythe, and he shoots her. One small tap, I think to myself, but then I realize: She's the next one. The next grim reaper. I harvest her soul, but I won't take it to the afterlife just yet. She's confused. I hand her the scythe. "You mean... you're retiring?" "Correct." "Do I get to retire one day?" "Yeah, I think.. but saying one day is a bit far-fetched." "Please don't tell me I have to serve for years." "No, no! Quite the opposite, actually. This job should only take a few hours, and the 20,000th person that dies, takes your job. It's quite simple, really." "Oh.. okay. I should get started then." "You should." I say, already dissipating into mist.
I have so many questions, but in my utter shock I can only mutter a single word. "...Retire?" Reaper nods. "It's an exhausting and demanding job, but someone has to do it. A reaper's soul is bound to the planet, unable to move on to the afterlife, until they claim their one millionth soul." I just stand, wide-eyed, staring. "One... one MILLION?" Reaper nods, again. "Don't worry. It'll be easier than you think. How *long* it takes... well, how many hours will you work at a time?" He chuckles, then vanishes, leaving his scythe with me. I pick it up, and instantly my shell falls apart. Red liquid and squishy objects fall to the ground. My white form underneath is revealed. I look at my hand and wiggle my fingers. I... don't know how to feel about this, but I don't have a choice. I get started. I head to the hospital as the first obvious location, only to discover more bony figures, also in black cloaks. Great. I'm not the only one. I sigh and turn around, choosing to just wander about for now. Suddenly, I hear a loud scream. I turn my head, and see what appears to be a lady having a heart attack. I instinctively want to help, but I'm no longer of this world, merely drifting in it. I look around - no-one is nearby. She collapses. A while later, while I'm sitting at the edge of the river, I notice the woman, now translucent, standing up, separate from her body. She sees me. "AHHHHHHHHH! WHAT- WHAT ARE YOU? GET-" "Ma'am, please calm down and look at your feet." In a state of shock, she does. Her face somehow goes pale. "Oh my god! Oh my god oh mygod ohmygod ohmygod!" She sits down amidst her panic. I give her a chance to collect herself as she repeats the same phrase again and again. After a moment, she looks at me, eyes suddenly tired. "So... what now?" I shrug. "I guess you come with me to the afterlife?" I offer my hand, which she hesitantly takes. 'How does this work...?' Without really knowing how, I cause myself and the woman to vanish. We re-appear in some sort of office... the woman isn't with me; instead, the metal of my scythe is glowing. "You must be new" a voice greets me. "Umm... yeah..." "Everything will be explained to you. For now, please pass me the soul of the deceased." I lift up my scythe in confusion. The being moves his hands around. The glow disappears from my scythe and into the being's hands. I then get escorted into a room, where someone actually bothers to tell me what the heck I'm supposed to be doing. **SOME MONTHS LATER** "Please! I'll give you anything! I have money! I... I can get you connections! I-" "You got your son into this mess... his life is the price." "HE'S ONLY SEVEN!" "Tough. Next time... don't mess with us." *BANG!* "Ow... that hurt..." "*That's* your reaction to being shot?" I say, chuckling. The boy turns around. "Umm... are you the grim reaper's girlfriend?" I laugh again. "No, I *am a* reaper. I was human once too. Used to be Lucy Well. My current title was passed to me by a previous reaper." The boy seems to get excited. "COOL! Can I be a reaper?" I shake my head, smiling shyly. "Unfortunately, no. Believe me, if I could, I'd let you take my place. But as it stands, I've only taken 762 souls. You're number 763. I have a long way to go before I can pass my job to someone else." "Aww..." The boy looks so disappointed. I put a gentle hand on his translucent shoulder. "Maybe one day, bud. For now, I need to take you with me, ok?" "Ok, miss!" I grin, revealing my golden tooth, taking his hand, and vanishing. ​ "Another soul, master" I tell the being at the desk. "A young boy. Killed by gunfire, a result of someone else's mistakes, unfortunately. It seems like he's been a really good child, from what I can sense." "Thank you, Lucy" the being says, taking the soul from my scythe. "Yes... this one *does* appear to have a good heart... he'll have a good afterlife." The being passes the soul to an angel, who takes it through the gate leading to the heaven for children. "I must say... you've settled in quite well as a reaper. You've done well." "Thank you, master" I respond. "I will be back... with another. I think it's time I found another soul whose time is coming - it's sad when the person was not ready." The being nods, and with that, I leave, looking for my next soul. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
2022-10-16T07:14:50
2022-10-16T05:29:23
50
22
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too. The warning reads: *Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.* *Do not look outside.* *Do not look at the sky.* *Do not make noise.* *Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.* _____________________________________________________ Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m)
>Credit and thanks to every one in this thread. You're Welcome. Anyway, here's my answer to your WP: The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important? As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other. Then I sat up and read it again with both. And again. This has got to be some kind of joke. I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers. I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen. As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky. I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble. And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?*
The residents and staff of the Shady Oak Hospice Center were gathered in the cafeteria, in the middle of the building. The warning over the radio hadn't stopped in about ten minutes. Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows. Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise. Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly. Most of the night staff, while keeping it together for the sake of the patients, were clearly terrified. They'd gathered the 22 dying people in their care into the cafeteria, and whispered for everyone to be still and quiet. Still and quiet. That's not how Jimmy Crawford intended to go out. Jimmy was 83 years old. He'd fought in the Korean and Vietnam wars. He'd raised six children with his dear wife Claire, who'd passed only a year before. He also had stage four prostate cancer, and only had about two weeks to live. Dammit, he was going to go look. He stood up, and held up his hands to stop one of the 22 year old nurses named Ashley who rushed over to him. Jimmy assumed that she understood his intentions just by looking him in the eyes. The nurse turned toward the others, and whispered something to the rest of the staff. They all looked at him with pleading, but understanding eyes. Nobody knew what was going on. It may have been a joke, a test, or the beginning of world war three. It could be anything. The fact of the matter was that if it was something that would cause him to die, Jimmy felt like it was his right to choose his own path. And shit.. if they did have a problem with him going out there, what were they going to do? Follow him? He walked toward the door that led to the hallway outside, and left the cafeteria. The door outside was about thirty yards ahead of him, and was the only entrance or exit that the girls hadn't quickly covered with blinds or curtains when the warning started. Everything looked normal outside. As he slowly walked closer to the door, he saw the lights that illuminated the parking lot and nothing but the dark sky. Everything looked fine. Still, he was going to go outside. To hell with it. Jimmy faced the door, turned the lock, and pushed it open. He walked to the top of the steps, down the steps, and into the parking lot. Nothing happened. He walked further past the lot and into the grassy area where they sometimes went outside to read and have the occasional picnic when certain patients felt up to it. "Do not look outside." He was looking. "Do not look at the sky." He looked up and marveled at how beautiful the stars looked. That's one of the few things he'd miss when he left this world. Jimmy always dreamed of going into space like the astronauts that walked on the moon back in '69. "Do not make noise." He didn't have much of a voice left, but Jimmy used what he had to call up to the sky. "Hey! I'm making noise! What is this bullhocky? What is it?" With that, the sky began to change. The stars darkened, and one lonely light appeared above Jimmy's head. He didn't know whether to be scared or intrigued. Jimmy backed up a few steps, and the light followed him. The world around him continued to look completely normal except for that one damn light, and he held up his hands to try to shoo it away. It came even closer. A red beam shot down from the light, and enveloped Jimmy with a strange energy he'd never experienced or seen. His skin turned red for a few moments, and as he looked down at his arms he noticed that he began to change. He was losing his wrinkles. The age spots on his hands vanished. His eyesight became clearer. The red light continued to shower over him, and Jimmy wasn't the least bit afraid anymore. He felt strong. He felt invincible. He felt- He wasn't Jimmy anymore. He was N-224-18B. A language that nobody on Earth had heard before filled his head, but N-224-18B knew what the message in his mind was saying. "The humans are parasites. It is time to exterminate. You are a soldier in this great endeavor. Destroy all human life you encounter." N-224-18B turned toward the building behind him, and smiled.
2014-12-31T06:47:48
2014-12-31T06:14:52
565
10
[WP] You are a hotshot lawyer, in life you sold your soul to The Devil. In death you set about finding a loophole in the contract.
I was the best ever. I could win any case I wanted. That was the deal. Now I will go to hell, trying to find a loophole. I was able to find a solution to contracts, no matter how small or big. I was able to win any deal bargains and have it all to my favor. I managed to get stairs only, in the paraplegic club. I was able to get any refund, on any product, because I found a loophole on their websites, for satisfaction guaranteed. Even in empty chip bags, water bottles, and 3 weeks after a catering service, helped me out during my wedding. I found a way to get free food, at anywhere in wanted, because they were scared I would sue and win. Looking at this single page contract. Stating I can win any deal. I can find any loophole. I can break free of any contract. I can be the best lawyer ever. For the price of my soul in hell. Yet, at the age of 85, the devil himself comes for me. Says I will have a heart attack and die. And immediately go to hell. At least the devil gave me a week to go over the contract to see if I can find a way out. A week before my heart gives in. I can not. I have gone over and over it. Trying to find a way out by translating it different ways. Trying to find dicipher different ways to get out of this contract. I can not. I failed.... I think I got it. It all comes to me. The solution is simple. I turn to the devil. I crack a smile. "This contract is nullified".
*"Alright, Eric, this is just like being an L2 at Harvard again",* he thought while furiously pulling out the thick stack of papers, notes, and books he had found while down here. *"The difference is this time I have an eternity to find it, not just two weeks."* Eric was looking for a loophole in a contract. Nothing he hadn't done before. Definitely something he was good at, being a hotshot contract lawyer and all. Thankfully, Eric had written in the contract that he would have a fully stocked law library and a desk to work on. *"The devil's in the details"* he smirked. The desk was no longer a mahogany, but a slightly off-color white with the papers spread all over. Paging through the main part of the contract, passing the little Devil stickers where Lucifer himself had signed, Eric kept passing boilerplate paragraph by boilerplate paragraph. The contract had been translated into whatever language was spoken down in Hell. The script looked a bit like a mix between squiggles and snakes and it certainly wasn't read left to right. There were circles of text and pentagrams everywhere. In general, contracts can be interesting reads, to the right people. Eric was one of those people. It was the thrill of the hunt, to find the one misplaced phrase that would earn him his freedom. He was hunting and the contract was his golden deer. His eyes lit up, having found a paragraph that mentioned the contract ending after an eternity plus one (1) day. All he had to do was find out what the legal definition of an "eternity" was and that would be his key to freedom. He set the paper aside and started pouring through *Laws of the Underworld, Vol. XIII*. Death wasn't as serene an experience as Eric had thought it would have been. The whole plane crash was actually quite the ordeal. Eric had been mortally wounded by his briefcase in the crash and died after a grueling four hours bleeding out in a cornfield in central Illinois. The Devil himself had come to pick up Eric's soul. Per the contract, Eric had given it to him, after all. It had been a hard six months so far. Or was it ten? A year? Time was hard to keep track of without a sun or moon. Except for some standard text on how death is defined and how Eric was expected to support the Devil in any way he asks, there was little else in the first 15 pages. Suddenly, Eric's eyes jumped to a peculiar paragraph: "All souls will be bound to the owner of Hell, hereby referred to as "The Devil" or "Devil" for one (1) Eternity. Eternity is defined here as the combination of three (3) Ages and two (2) Eons". Eric was just stringing his bow. Vile as the Devil is portrayed in common media, he actually is a great negotiator. Eric had been struggling as a lawyer with his student loans and not being ambitious enough at Goldberg, Oldman, and Devin. After being evicted for the third time and sleeping in the Law Library, Eric had decided to sell his soul to the Devil to pay off his loans. Eric's only condition was that he write the contract. In the depths of Hell, Eric had somehow found it. Two blank spaces where the Devil had failed to write in a length of time. His eyes widened as he realized this was his loophole. Picking up his pen, Eric frantically wrote in two big zeroes. The ink seeped into the page and the words started glowing. Confidence rising, Eric pulled the pages he had found together and jumped out of his chair. He had found it. "Lucifer!" He yelled, half-running down the hellish walkways to the Devil's palace. The dank smell did not bother Eric as he stomped into the main chamber and put his papers down in front of the Devil himself. "My time here is up, Devil. It says so here in the contract." "Oh?" The Devil asked, raising an eyebrow and shifting in his throne. He put on his half-rimmed glasses and took the papers from Eric. After reading for some time, the Devil let out a thunderous laugh that shook the hall. "What?" Asked Eric. He was sweating now. "I figured you would do something like this. You do know that you aren't the first lawyer down here, right?" Roared Lucifer. He carefully placed the papers Eric had brought on the back of a nearby damned soul. The Devil pulled out his pen and traced a pentagram into the contract and the glowing words turned red. Words started to fade from the pages, slowly revealing the Devil's face, with the two zeroes Eric had written as the Devil's beady eyes. The Devil laughed again. Taking off his glasses, he looked right at Eric. "The Devil is *always* in the details, boy. In fact, the Devil *is* the details," he seethed. Eric's face dropped. He was here forever. An Eternity and one day.
2015-06-27T11:01:21
2015-06-27T10:54:24
27
14
[WP] In the near future, the secret to time travel has been discovered - in order to travel back into the past there needs to be a 'receiving station' at the other end - explaining why nobody from the future has been observed up 'til now. The first such 'station' is about to be completed. This prompt was spurred by a remark by Stephen Fry in the BBC series QI, in which he mentioned this concept. I like the idea of the first 'receiving station' being completed, thereby marking the earliest point in time it'll ever be possible to travel back to. I like the idea of people gathering round the machine as the 'on' switch is thrown, waiting to see who or what will emerge.
Hundreds gathered around the titanium pentagon shaped object. Looming 20 feet high, the receiver was the brain child of a joint-research team composed of top scientists and physicist around the world. John, one of the chief designers flipped the on switch. There was a deep whir and a mechanical hum. "So...now we just wait?" Victor looking at his watch. "Yea, I think that's it..." John unsure what he expected, pausing to look back at the team. "Maybe we got it wrong, are you sure the wave calibrator was set righ--" Victor stopped, cut off from a loud buzzing from the receiver. A moment of silence and then a loud bang and bright flash filled the entire room. Everyone stands in suspense, staring intently at the opening. A bright white light emanating from inside and muffled voices can be heard from deep within. Black silhouettes appear, pin drop silence from the entire team in this historic moment. The silhouette up in front takes a step out into the platform, the room silent in suspense. The lead silhouette still looking back can be heard speaking to those in the back, "Okay, gather around everybody. Form a line and follow me down the path" The man emerges wearing flip flops, and Hawaiian shirt. Followed by a large group holding cameras and luggage bags. The leader marches down the steps approaching John, whose mouth hangs gaping open. "Hey, Mathias from Millennium Tours! Ah...which way to the resort. These guys back here get real antsy if they don't get unpacked and ready before the program begins. I usually like to give them an hour to themselves." "W-What?.." John looks at Mathias, then at the group, then back at Mathias. "The resort man! We made a booking - I've got a group of 30 back here. We're looking at 15 rooms. Check under the name Millennium" "I- uh...sorry what?" John stammering, still trying to get his thought together. "Millennium Tours...are you new here?" John stares blankly at Mathias. "You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?" John shakes his head slowly. "Listen, what year is this?" Mathias waving in the general direction of the crowd. "Uh..its.. 2020" "God Dammit!" Mathias turns back to the crowd and screams "Raj! Did you enter the co-ordinates I gave you!?" An young Indian looking man in the back shouts back "No! I thought they were the same as the old ones!" "No! They're not the same! Thats why I gave you new co-ordinates. Because they're new!" "But we've been using the same ones for past few months! What changed?!" "Were you not paying attention during last week's meeting! The TTC was scheduled to do maintenance on temporal route 235!" "Listen you don't pay me enough to pay attention! I only put up with your shit because I need to pay for my ridiculous tuition at Mars University!" "Oh god dammit! We're gonna be fined again! This a the third time now Raj! Third time in five fucking weeks!" "Hey! Fuck you! Maybe if you gave a promotion I would give a shit! You know how much Musk industries pays for this type of work! This is why your company is going down the shitter!" "uh..." is all John can come up with, as everyone stares at the exchange back and forth. Mathias sighs and turns to John "Listen uuh...name?" Mathias points at John gesturing. John replies, "John." "Listen John, this is all a big misunderstanding. Clearly some mistakes were made by Raj--" "Hey fuck you Mathias!" Raj screaming from the back "And maybe me as well. Um - listen when the TTC comes can you keep this whole situation on the down low. I would really appreciate it, I'm bleeding out here. I really need this." "TTC?" John mumbles "Oh yea, Time Travel Commission. Anyways listen we're gonna get out of here. Can you cover for me?" "...Okay?" "Thanks bud! Okay everybody, sorry just a quick detour! We're gonna get back in the Temporal Tunnel and we'll be on our way shortly... Ah Mr. Lee, no feeding the locals, it's part of the tour rules!" An old Asian man holding out a bag of crisps to some scientists in the back. "Everybody back in! Lets go! Mr. Lee what did I tell you, don't touch that. Oh god! that's at least a 5000 credit fine. Come on wrap it up." Mathias turning back to the scientists, "Listen real sorry for the misunderstanding. John, like we agreed. If not... I know when you lived!... Just joking! Don't take that seriously, and don't tell them I said that either. That is uh...serious jail time. But seriously...ah...I'm gonna get outta here." And just like that with a loud bang and a flash the first instance of time travel history was over, but a few seconds later the second was about to begin. With a flash and a bang, a man dressed head to toe in aluminum, with antennas taped to his head comes running down the ramp. "Hey! Is this 2020! Where the Women at?! Let's get primitive up in here!"
***Deep below the surface of the Earth, in a windowless laboratory-bunker:*** The lights hummed, illuminating the time machine in a harsh, sterile glow. Doctor Naidoo stood at the aperture, frowning down at his tablet while a rhythmic clanking sound filled the room. Doctor Naidoo looked up from his tablet, and readjusted his glasses by scrunching his long, dark nose. "Are we ready, Avery?" he called out. A small, muffled voice ushered from inside the monstrous mass of machinery, "Just a minute, Doctor." Wires and slender tubes laced around a maze of circuit boards that were splayed out like a technological flower in full bloom. At the center of the flower lay the aperture, a circular portal ringed by softly blinking lights. The clanking sound stopped, followed the rattle of moving parts. Avery, a man as slender as a young tree, clambered out of the time machine's bowels. "We're ready, Doctor." "Excellent. Would you like to do the honors?" Avery shrugged, "Why not." "Very well. Commence with Temporal Device Test number four oh two oh one." Avery walked to the front of the windowless room, leaned over a keyboard, and hit a series of keys. A sound, tiny and whining and almost imperceptible to the ear, stirred from inside the machine. The whine rose until it became a steady hum. Something heavy in the back of the room whistled, and began to chug. "Operations appear to be nominal," Doctor Naidoo was buried in his tablet again, "I'm seeing a slight dip in particle levels. No, a slight rise. No, wait-" Swiping up and down on his tablet, Doctor Naidoo grumbled to himself. Avery watched as the ring of lights blinked faster, an impassive - maybe even *bored* - expression on his face. "Avery, what exactly did you do back there?" Avery shrugged, "I moved the TCR bunch into the Dilation Complex." "The *TCR* bunch?" Doctor Naidoo lifted his head, "You mean the *DCR* bunch?" "No, you said-" The whining hum of the time machine warbled, and rose to ear-piercing levels. Avery's face went white, and he clapped his hands over his ears. A scowl darkened Doctor Naidoo's face, and his lab coat whipped at the air as he spun on a heel and headed for the emergency power switch. The hum rose until they could feel it vibrating their teeth and crawling over their skin. Before Naidoo could reach the switch, there was a deep, electric rumbling, followed by a *BANG* that shook the room. The time machine whirred to a stop. Clouds of smoke poured forth from the aperture, obscuring the portal itself. "Doctor - look!" Doctor Naidoo cupped a hand over his mouth and nose, and peered into the cloud of smoke. "Dear God," he whispered. "Dear God!" a voice shouted back. A figure stepped out of the smoke. Though his clothes were singed, and his glasses were gone, it was clear that the man who stepped out of the time machine was an older version of Doctor Naidoo himself. This New Doctor Naidoo looked madly around the room, as if shaking off the coils of a recent nightmare. From the tightness in his face, and the wildness in his eyes, it seemed as though the New Naidoo was on the verge of screaming. Instead, when his lips parted, his voice was full of wonder, "I remember this place." "Who are you?" the Old Naidoo demanded of the New. The New ignored him, turning in a half circle to appraise the machine he had stepped out from. He bent down, and scooped up a fistful of wires, laughing to himself. He shook his head, "It's so crude. *Of course*, it's so crude. It *had* to be." Avery gave a light cough, and the New Naidoo spun around to look at him. For a moment, his face was blank. Then, the New gasped in recognition, "Avery? Avery *Rasmusson*? Dear God, how long has it been?" The New rushed over to Avery, his arms spread wide. Before Avery could flinch away, the New Naidoo wrapped his arms around the assistant, and lifted him off the floor. "Oh, God, it's so good to see you, Avery! I had forgotten you existed," he exclaimed, lifting the assistant off his feet. "Put my assistant down! Now!" Doctor Naidoo shouted. The New Naidoo wheeled around to look at his younger self. "You!" the New whispered. "Who are you?" the Doctor demanded. "So you don't know yet?" "Know what?" the Doctor's face darkened, and his tone was sharp. "Tell me, Doctor, is this the first time we've met? What test was this?" he gestured to the machine, "Number four oh two oh one?" Doctor Naidoo's eyes narrowed, "How did you know that?" Doctor Naidoo's question seemed to increase the New's anxiety. The New's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth with a hand, "Oh God. I'm the first one through. You don't know *anything* yet." Doctor Naidoo took a step toward the New. His nose wrinkled at the scent wafting from the older man - burned hair and hot sweat. "*Know. What.*" he demanded again. "Doctor, I have to tell you something you don't want to hear." Doctor Naidoo's pressed his lips into a thin line. He said nothing. "Doctor, you have to destroy this machine. You have to stop this research." The Doctor grimaced. He gestured silently at Avery, while keeping his eyes trained on the New Naidoo, "Tell me, why would I ever want to do something like that?" In a flash of movement, the New rushed forward, and grabbed Doctor Naidoo by the collar of his lab coat, "Listen to me. You will *never* understand, until you've seen it, Doctor. I've seen it," he gnashed his words with his teeth, "I've *seen* the future, Doctor. It's a wasteland." Behind the New, Avery bent over to pick up a long, heavy wrench from the ground. There was only the softest clink of metal as his hand wrapped around its stem. Doctor Naidoo grunted, "How am I supposed to believe such nonsense?" The New's grip tightened around Doctor Naidoo's neck, almost choking him. The New leaned closer, and hissed, "You can't afford *not* to, Doctor. You don't understand." He strained out his words, "Please, enlighten me." Doctor Naidoo nodded meaningfully at Avery, as he struggled in the New's grip. "If you could live at any time, Doctor, where would you live? Would it be now? Or a hundred years from now?" The question caught Doctor Naidoo off guard. He stumbled over his answer, "Well- I- well-" "A thousand years? Ten thousand? Why would you want to live in the *past* when you could live in the *future*." "Your point has been made," Doctor Naidoo acceded, trying not to call attention to Avery, who was circling behind the New Naidoo. "But," Doctor Naidoo continued, "I do not understand your meaning." "*Everyone* wants to live in the future, Doctor. Nobody wants to live in the here and now. Do you know what that means, Doctor?" Doctor Naidoo's brow crinkled, as he thought about the implication, "There is nobody left in the present?" "Yes!" the New seized on his reply, "Exactly! In the future, there is no 'here and now.' It is all a wasteland- a nothingness, filled by no one - because nobody wants to live in the *past.* You have to destroy it, Doctor!" The New Naidoo shook Doctor Naidoo violently, spraying him with spittle as he spoke, "Do it, for the sake of all humanity, *do it!*" "Now, Avery!" Doctor Naidoo barked. With a whiff of air, Avery brought down the wrench. It made a *whang* sound as it tapped heavily on the New Naidoo's skull, and the New Naidoo crumpled to the floor. Doctor Naidoo caught his balance. He pulled his collar back into place, and sniffed. "Avery, would you please call security? I believe we have had a breakthrough, and I would like to continue testing as soon as possible."
2016-02-01T08:03:33
2016-02-01T07:10:51
48
28
[WP] As a higher reaper, you ferry the souls of the great artists from this life to the next. You grant them one final gift during their journey by showing them the future, and allowing them to experience a modern day art exhibition/concert which honors their genius.
*The Artist had lived a good life. He had been blessed with a loving wife, and a celebrated career. He would go down in history as a revolutionary. People would remember him. And now, now was the time to end it all. Before they got him. Before they besmirched his legacy. No, he would go on his own terms. Proud and resilient to the last. He looked around at the debris and nodded to himself, solemn and overcome with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. He pulled the trigger, and slumped to the floor. Embraced the darkness.* *I AM HERE TO TAKE YOU TO THE OTHER SIDE* *He looked around, wildly. He was still alive. How? Was he invincible?* *NO. EVERY MAN MUST DIE. I AM YOUR FERRYMAN. I AM CHARON. THE REAPER. THE ANGEL OF DEATH.* *The Artist shuddered and turned to face Death. "I am ready..."* *Through a lake of mist they travelled, the waters swirling ominously, ethereal and mysterious.* *"My legacy," he whispered. "Did I..."* *Death looked at him.* *YOU DID INDEED LEAVE A LEGACY. YOU HAVE CREATED YOUR OWN ETERNITY. YOU WILL COME TO LEARN THAT HEAVEN AND HELL ARE THE SAME PLACE. IT IS THE LIFE YOU LIVE, THE FUTURE YOU CREATE, THAT DETERMINES HOW YOU WILL SPEND YOUR AFTERLIFE.* *With the glimmer of fascination in his eyes, a primal, visceral fire that burned from within, he looked into the water. Looked at the future he had created. The canvass, the tapestry of life he had inspired.* *When he saw, he knew.* *His legacy, his life's work, undone. Because of him.* *He saw his homeland oppressed, defeated.* *He saw the Allies celebrating. The Camps, liberated.* *He saw Jews, millions of them, living around the world, thriving and united.* *Blacks, gays, flourishing, strong and unafraid.* *Everything for which he had strived...* *Gone...* *His vision no more...* *This was his eternity. This was his punishment.*
Arabella hadn't left her bed in almost a month. She doubted she could even if she wanted to. Her face was as pale as her bedsheets, and the skin that covered her cheeks was stretched taught. She was barely hanging on. If she was truthful, she'd been barely hanging on her entire life; now however, her fingers were finally slipping. No, that wasn't right -- they weren't slipping. She was *letting* them peel away from the ledge. The winter rain played a melancholic song against her window: a farewell sonata. She could hear every note, as if the raindrops were tiny fingers, pushing down the piano keys in a wistful adagio. In the corner of the room sat the wooden frame of an easel, stripped naked from the canvases and paints it used to wear so proudly. It had once been Arabella's connection to life: a way to release the demons that danced inside her head. Or at least, a way to pacify them for a time. But the easel was rotting and the thoughts in her head had been trapped for so long now. *Demons*. That hadn't always been the word she'd used for them. They'd once been angels that she'd reached for -- that she'd stretched out desperately to touch, but never could quite make it to. Demons... that had been the word that man, Genesio, had used to describe them, on that Autumn day when she'd been foolish enough to show them to the world. She'd been so stupid to show them! Why would anyone be inspired by her mess of greys and blacks? How could anyone understand, if even Arabella herself could not? *Demons*. Indeed, the canvases had burnt that night like demons, the painted faces on them withering and distorting in the violence of the flames. Death, when it finally came for her, did not look like Death. Not like the figure she'd imagined. She had expected something like Charon, the Ferryman. She'd always loved Greek mythology, especially related to the underworld. She had expected Death to be horned, or skeletal, or perhaps an ancient man with glazed white eyes and a flowing beard. But Death was, in the end, a small, middle aged lady, with soft blue eyes, olive skin, and wrinkles that looked as right on her forehead as the stars did in the night sky. Death smiled a crooked smile, as she came in through the doorway and walked towards the bed. "It is cold in here, my child," said Death. "It has always been cold," whispered Arabella, her cracked lips barely parting. "Nonsense!" Death snapped. "There once was fire in your belly. In your heart. Don't pretend otherwise." There was silence for a time. Death sat down on the bed and ran her fingers through Arabella's long auburn hair. It was mostly white now, but there was still some colour hidden beneath. "I failed," said Arabella. "How so?" "I couldn't..."--her eyes became moist--"I couldn't say what I needed to. I thought I'd found a way, but I was wrong. I had beauty, and I turned into something terrible." Further silence. Death held out a hand. "It is time," she said. "I am ready." "Then come. I have something to show you." "Will you not carry me?" Death laughed. "We must each make our own way, my child." --- Arabella leaned heavily on Death as they made their way down the cobbled streets of Arabella's youth. The night was thick and wet, and rain danced with the tears on her cheeks. They walked past the tailor's where her mama had once worked -- where, occasionally she'd helped out, threading or measuring or just being company for the one person that had ever truly loved her. They walked past the post office where she'd so often waited on a bench, hoping those days for good news that would never come. They walked on. Occasionally, men would pass by paying them no heed, busy living their lives. The streets finally gave away to a muddy track, and the track to grassy fields. Eventually, an old barn, lit by playful candlelight, shone as a beacon in the distant dark. "Not far now," said Death softly. "Not far now." Arabella began to shake as they reached the entrance. As she saw. There was only one occupant inside the barn: a little girl with braided golden hair. On the walls all around her, the blackened remains of semi-familiar paintings hung, proud even in their ruin. The girl was sat before an easel, her tongue pinned down by her teeth. Black and grey paint swirled out from a frantic paintbrush and onto a white canvas. When the girl saw Arabella, she beamed. She slid off her stool and ran to Arabella, wrapping her arms around the artist's waist. "Who..." was all Arabella could manage. "Please!" said the girl. "Don't go yet. I... I have these thoughts -- they're like what you painted." She gestured to the canvases on the walls. "But they're stuck inside me and... and... *please*, I need to get them out. *Please, don't go yet*." Arabella turned to Death. Death smiled and nodded once. A stray, unexpected spark, caught kindling deep inside Arabella. The girl took her hand and led her to the easel.
2018-01-04T04:24:03
2018-01-04T03:25:51
125
84
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
"But I don't see how that's possible! I never *killed* anyone! I never stole, I never even hurt an animal, I lived a simple, boring life. I don't claim to be perfect, but how could I be that evil?" The man leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't really work that way. People like to imagine that there are big actions that decide your fate, and that's true to an extent, but in reality we use a point system. Every action you took, every single decision you made, they all had a point value, either positive or negative. It's not that you did any one major bad thing to get you here, you just did a huge number of *tiny* bad things. "Like what?" The man reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a thick file folder. "Let's see. Just off the top of the list: you never used your turn signal. That's five points off per violation, and you drove for nearly forty years. You refused to tip at restaurants out of principle and you snapped at the waiters to get their attention. That's nearly a hundred points off every time you ate out. You listened to music without headphones when you used public transportation, ten points per minute. You took your shoes off on airplanes. In the last election you cast a write-in vote for someone called "Pickle Rick". Your last three cars were a Nissan Juke, a Chrysler PT Cruiser, and a Pontiac Aztec- "That's insane! None of those things should be that important. If those are the worst things I did how could that possibly add up to 200,000 years?" "Your sentence *is* a bit on the high end for your crimes, but then most people are able to balance the negatives with positives. You didn't really do that. Yes, you lived a quiet and simple life, but in this case that hurt you more than it helped you. You never did anything that had a significant positive effect on the world. You never helped anyone, you never affected change outside of your personal life, you never even made anything that others appreciated. It looks like the single most positive thing you did was the one single day that you volunteered to help build houses for hurricane victims. Huh, that's kind of out of character for you." "That was actually an accident, they asked for volunteers at work one day and I thought I would get paid for it..." "See, that's what I mean. Apart from that the most positive thing you did was make a handful of Internet memes that made some people smile. That's a nice start but it doesn't begin to outdo all the bad." "So there's nothing I can do? I'm doomed to suffer for 200,000 years and that's it?" The man thought for a moment. "Well, we *do* have a pilot program we've been working on. Basically you would devote time here in the afterlife to learning how to become a better person in order to reduce your sentence. It's still in the early stages and we're not even sure how it will pan out yet, but you seem like an ideal candidate. It will require serious self-improvement effort on your part though, it's not just a walk in the park." "I'm willing to try anything at this point. So how does it work?"
I stared at the demon behind the counter. "186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!" The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly. "Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?" Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years. The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of." I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways." At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying. "You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!" I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-" The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!" I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true. I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude. The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-" At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on. Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension. I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all. I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now. As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child. He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here." Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me. At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do." Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception... At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes. "Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away. We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..."
2018-09-26T07:56:17
2018-09-26T07:21:22
101
23
[WP] Teleportation has been around for years. It's considered the safest form of travelling. One day, while hacking into a government system, you find a secret report on it. To your horror, you read that teleporters consist of two parts: a cloning system on one end and a desintegrator on the other.
I scrolled down. Further and further, the list kept going and going with millions of names. I wasn’t looking for any specific name, but the sheer volume terrified me. Conspiracy nuts had been going on for decades about teleporters and how they killed and recreated you. That theory had been publically debunked by the creator, engineers and scientists, and the technology had been tested by nearly every nation. Common belief was that teleportation was the most energy efficient way of transportation, and it was vastly superior to vehicles such as planes and cars. Businesses removed docks for vehicles and installed teleporting rooms. Homes replaced garages with teleporting entry lounges. They were everywhere. It was faster to pop over to a coworker’s place than to send an email. I took a sip out of my mug, pondering. It was cold and bitter. I had a teleporter. Cyphrex model. It was a decent model, didn’t cause any disorientation or nausea. Supposedly, based on what I was reading, it just killed and recreated you. Eventually, there was a break in the list. Minutes of scrolling and a break in the list, but it was only part of the document. The document restarted under a new heading. Instead of DEATHS BY TELEPORTER the last tenth of the document’s header was GENETICALLY UNALTERED. A chill crawled up my spine and I stood up with my mug of cold coffee. This was far worse than… everything. I couldn’t think of any greater tragedy or crime that might possibly compare. No genocide or failure in mankind’s history could match this. And no one knew except whoever had compiled this database on a secret Federation server. They would know that someone had breached the server. Chances are they might be able to trace all my spoofs. They might even break down my door one day. Would they even care? There had been so much contention on how teleporters worked, and there weren’t many who believed porters to be bad. And if someone did then they were just brushed off. Would then just assume I was another nut? And why did it matter if people were genetically unaltered? Cloning and gene editing was generally accepted. We were still unique genetically, a single disease wouldn’t wipe out humanity. It shouldn’t have mattered if people didn’t use teleporters and still used older technologies to get around. Yet, there was a list for them. I dumped my cold coffee and poured my mug full steaming coffee from the heating machine. I went back to the terminal, escaped to the home page and found it blank. I blinked. The Fed page was just gone. All their stats and information on their teleporters deleted. I pinged the site and refreshed the page on my terminal. No connection. I tried the site again. Opened a tab for the Wayback Machine and copied the site address. The site connected. I tried everything. Traversing through links, going through the same exploit, trying the backdoor that I had set up. Nothing worked. There was a simple home page and that was all that was left. The images were different than I remembered, and I thought it was odd. I downloaded them and ran them through a steganography tool that checked for hidden messages. There was a message and it made my blood boil until I felt it in my head and my chest, dread made to the beat of war drums. “They won’t believe you until it’s too late.”
"No one will believe you," Clara said. "It's been a popularly 'debunked' myth for years, so much so that if you come out publicly now you'll just look like a conspiracy loon." My partner in crime, and the best network traffic expert I'd met, drummed out a furious staccato on her mechanical keyboard. We slurped Red Bull in harmony by the electric glow of server lights. "We can't just let this go," I said. "It's mass murder!" Clara exhaled slowly. Her eyes were glued to her code, lines and lines of simple syntax that combined into powerful logic capable of ruining governments or lifting an area out of poverty. "I hear you. I don't like it either. But this one is way out of our depth. How would you even go about proving it to the public? There's just no way." "I'll find a way." Maybe there was something in the way I said it, but this made her turn to me abruptly. Maroon contacts glared at me, accentuated by a half-crescent of metal piercings. "Don't be stupid, Jared," she said. "It's not like there aren't other problems that we have to solve. There's politicians to expose, corrupt moguls to bring down...who really cares about teleportation if they're perfectly replicating each person? Is it really different?" I turned of my screen, and my monitors flickered into blackness. I'd already erased all traces of my hack. "What if one of them fails? If the cloning system fails, then you've actually erased a life. If the dis-integrator fails, now you have two identical people! Who gets to live?" The whine of the server fans were loud in my ear as I tried to digest all the ways this could go wrong. Clara snorted and shoved her office chair backwards. "I'm still not hearing a plan that doesn't involve us getting kidnapped and quietly shoved into the ocean in several small garbage bags." "I don't know," I admitted. *But I'll find a way.* And so began a months-long project, a period of late nights staring at bright monitors and mugs and mugs of coffee and red bull and coffee and red bull combined. Still, the moment I'd been waiting for came all too soon. "One ticket to London," I said, pushing my way through the early morning New York crowd. I slid my chip card under the ticketing booth window. After the grouchy worker gave me my teleport card back with trip loaded up, I stood in line to get into one of the many bronze machines. It was like getting into rows of elevators, where each person went in one by one and waved goodbye to family and friends as if we were in an airport. As each passenger entered, I tried not to think about how each pod might a coffin reused over and over again with each *shwoop* of the metal, windowless doors. Finally it was my turn. The moment the teleporter doors closed on me, I triggered the disintegration jammer in my pocket. *It better work.* The device had cost me my life's savings to acquire and modify. As usual, the purple light ring descended from the ceiling and copied me down to the last atom. The 'location preparer', as the layman thought it was. But normally, where a blue ring of light would come down and 'teleport' me to London, nothing happened. Instead, the floor dropped out from under me. A scream ripped itself from my throat as I slid down a pitch black tube that seemed to twist and turn. *This is the end! I'm so dead!* But then I hit something soft, and finally opened my eyes. "I can't believe you actually did it," said a familiar voice. "Clara?" I almost choked on my own saliva. "What...?" She sighed in exasperation. "Come with me, Jared." I followed her dumbly off the cushioned landing pad and down the halls of what appeared to be a brightly lit laboratory crossed with a college dorm. People were chattering like it was a regular day, and they looked happy for the most part. "What's going on, Clara?" She closed the door behind me as we entered an office labeled with 'Clara-Alpha Chang'. "Sit down. Watch this." I watched in horror as an identical copy of me appeared on the other end of the teleporter in London frowning in confusion. "That's me." "No, that's a clone of you. All because you didn't follow the directions of present-Me." The truth slapped me in the face. "You did the same thing as me. Are you still in contact with...with now-Clara? What is this, if not a government conspiracy?" "Not every part of dystopian fiction is reality," Clara scowled. "Government scientists were well aware of the possible downsides to this approach of teleportation. It's rare these days, but when the dis-integrator shows any possibility of improper failure, the system automatically stops and deposits the citizen down here. We subsidize their living for the rest of their earthly lives. It's really much rarer than you might think." "There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don't even know where to begin," I said. "What if the other side fails?" "There's no chance for it to," she said, showing me more footage where the now-version-of-me was arguing with a customs officer for some reason. "We don't disintegrate until we've confirmed the copy was perfect and successful." I shook my head in disbelief. "Now what? So you were a plant all along? Does now-Clara know?" "You have two options." Clara handed me a swipe pass. "You can become a normal citizen of the Hive. The rest of your life is one without responsibilities, and if you're a good contributor we'll even allow you an internet profile." "No. What's the other option?" She drummed her fingers on the wooden desk and handed me a phone. "You can become one of the Joined, like me and now-Clara. We are a select few who have knowledge of the government plan and patch security breaches that would expose this to the general public. We also devote the majority of the research budget to find ways of creating true teleportation." With the pass in one hand, and the phone in the other, my choice was obvious. I dialed my own phone number and waited, staring at myself on the monitor. "*Hello?*" I braced myself. How would now-Me react? "Hey. It's been a while." --- Sup! Thanks for reading :) let me know if you have feedback! Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around\~
2019-12-08T12:37:16
2019-12-08T11:43:42
517
310
[WP]The sage has found the chosen one, a farmer boy. He explains the boy's secret heritage and destiny. Promises of glory and excitement. When this call for adventure hits our hero he is quick to respond “Actually I really enjoy living in the farm with my uncle so I pass”.
They never say yes. Who could blame the kid? He's got a roof over his head, parents who love him, regular meals... Farms may be hard to maintain, but they are peaceful. Of course he said no. Just like his ancestors. So, just as I told Steven and Garth and Anna, and Brook, I tell him. "They are coming. Whether you fight, or flee or die, they are coming. They will burn your crops. They will salt your fields. They will take your flocks and butcher them for meat and wool and hide. "What will you do then, child? You will take up the sword, or axe or hammer. Your plow will be reforged into an instrument of war. You will mourn for your family. You will lament that you did not listen. You will lead good men to their deaths. You will fail. You will return here and find only ruin and regret." They may not act today, but they always listen. And when the armies come, they have always been ready. They always will be. For a farmer will always protect his land, his life, and his love.
The galaxy is in a period of civil war. Rebel spies have stolen plans to the Galactic Empire's Death Star, a moon-sized space station capable of destroying an entire planet. Princess Leia, secretly one of the Rebellion's leaders, has obtained its schematics, but her starship is captured by an Imperial Star Destroyer under the command of the ruthless Sith Lord Darth Vader. Before she is captured, Leia hides the plans in the memory of astromech droid R2-D2, who, along with protocol droid C-3PO, flees in an escape pod to the desert planet Tatooine. The droids are captured by Jawa traders, who sell them to moisture farmers Owen and Beru Lars and their nephew Luke Skywalker. While cleaning R2-D2, Luke accidentally triggers part of a holographic recording of Leia, in which she requests help from Obi-Wan Kenobi. The only Kenobi Luke knows is “Old Ben” Kenobi, an elderly hermit. He asks his uncle if he knows anything, but his uncle curtly drops the subject. The next morning, Luke finds R2-D2 missing, and while searching for him, encounters Old Ben. Ben, who reveals his true name to be Obi-Wan, tells Luke of his days as one of the Jedi Knights, former peacekeepers of the Galactic Republic who derived their power from an energy field called the Force until they were wiped out by the Galactic Empire. Contrary to what his uncle has told him, Luke learns that his father fought alongside Obi-Wan as a Jedi Knight until Vader, a former pupil of Obi-Wan's, turned to the dark side of the Force and murdered him. Obi-Wan presents Luke with his father's old weapon, a lightsaber. R2-D2 plays Leia's message for Obi-Wan, in which she begs him to take the Death Star plans to her home planet of Alderaan and give them to her father for analysis. Obi-Wan invites Luke to accompany him to Alderaan and learn the ways of the Force, but Luke declines, saying his aunt and uncle need him. Returning home, however, he and Ben find Imperial stormtroopers have killed his aunt and uncle and destroyed their farm in their search for the droids, leaving Luke no choice but to accept Obi-Wan's plea. They travel to a cantina in Mos Eisley, where they meet smuggler Han Solo and his Wookiee co-pilot Chewbacca. After negotiations, Han is intercepted by bounty hunter Greedo, who reminds Han that he is indebted to local mobster Jabba the Hutt. Han kills Greedo in the cantina. Obi-Wan, Luke, R2-D2 and C-3PO join forces aboard Han's ship, the Millennium Falcon. Death Star commander Grand Moff Tarkin orders the destruction of Alderaan, Leia's home planet, via the Death Star's superlaser as a show of force.[5] The Falcon crew discovers the planet's remains and is captured by the Death Star's tractor beam, which Obi-Wan goes to disable. Luke discovers that Leia is imprisoned and scheduled to be executed on the Death Star, and rescues her with the help of Han and Chewbacca in a swashbuckling series of escapes. Obi-Wan sacrifices himself in a lightsaber duel with Darth Vader after seeing that the others are ready to board the Falcon. They depart the hangar but are caught up by just four Imperial TIE starfighters which they fight off. The Imperials, using a tracking beacon placed aboard the Falcon, follow the rebels to the hidden base on Yavin 4. Leia's schematics show that the Death Star can be destroyed by triggering a chain reaction by hitting a two meter wide thermal exhaust port with a shaft leading directly to the reactor system. Luke joins the Rebel fighter squadron in a siege against the approaching Death Star, while Han collects his payment, intending to leave and repay Jabba. In the ensuing battle, the Rebels suffer heavy losses after several unsuccessful runs. Vader leads a squadron of TIE fighters and prepares to attack Luke's X-wing, but Han returns and fires on the Imperial fighters, sending Vader spiraling away. Guided by Obi-Wan's spirit, Luke turns off his targeting computer and uses the Force to guide the proton torpedoes into the exhaust port. The Death Star explodes just before it can fire on the Rebel base, killing Tarkin as well as numerous other Imperials. Back on Yavin 4, Luke and Han are awarded medals for their heroism.
2020-03-13T20:05:29
2020-03-13T19:57:32
49
23
[WP] The Year Is 2030, Aliens Visit Earth In Search Of Supplies. Instead Of Seeking Out Our Natural Resources Or Humans, They Come In Search Of Plastic, And They Are Shocked To Find Billions Of Tons Of It In The Ocean.
The world collectively held its breath on April 20th, 2030. On that day, at 4pm in the afternoon Pacific time, humans knew definitively that they were not alone in the universe. They also could safely assume that some form of faster than light travel was possible. Finally, humans knew beyond doubt, in that instant, that life was going to get a lot more interesting. That is, until 5pm came around and the aliens' intentions were solidly understood. Surprising, that they knew to communicate in English. More surprising than their massive spherical ship floating above San Francisco Bay? Debatable. The point is: at 5pm humanity knew that all the aliens were interested in was plastic. In fact, the aliens didn't even bother to consult the dominating species. The way our first contact was being reported by the news seemed to indicate that the aliens found us to be rather pesky. Secondary. Distracting, even. They were looking for something. The only reason they engaged us at all, as it turned out, was because when they found what they wanted, they realized we humans had manufactured it. The collectively-held breath was released around the world at once as an exasperated and confused exclamation: "*plastic*!?" said the whole damn planet. Talking heads were abuzz on every channel. The internet exploded with cheeky memes about interstellar galactic species just wanting our plastic. Even Netflix somehow turned around a documentary on the whole thing in two days. Stunning. But when the shock started to wear, intellectuals, academics, scientists, and government types began seriously dissecting the aliens' actions. They had immediately started collecting all the disused plastic wherever they could find it. That means they spent their time hovering over the ocean. There were these gargantuan tubes siphoning up saltwater, filtering out the plastics and depositing the water back. Our decades-long struggle to deal with plastic pollution was being solved before our eyes. The Great Pacific Garbage Patches (both east and west) were sucked up and gone in an hour. They went to Asia then, and sucked up all the plastic waste from riverbeds and deltas, and wherever they detected it on the shore. Somehow they didn't mess with plastics that were in-use; it would've really been something to see our domestic appliances fly through our windows and into the sunlight, like some absurd intergalactic happy ending. The alien ship continued this for what seemed like weeks but was only days. Plastic pollution had been solved. For whatever reason, the aliens gave us the courtesy of saying goodbye right before their ship snapped itself into thin air. There aren't many details, but we know that one of the last questions we asked was "why plastic?". The aliens' reply was "warp fuel". Then they were gone. And the world changed. Governments have gone insane in budgetary shifts to invest in plastic-fuel warp research. "Plastic Studies" is a common major already, and it has nothing to do with pollution. Plastic production is way up. The planet's still warming, and I really don't think that we're better for the aliens' visit. No one is even asking if the aliens were telling the truth. They come here, start garbling up all the trashy plastic, ignore us entirely? Then when they leave they drop a big hint that plastic fuels their technology that obviously we're going to covet? I don't buy it. That's why I'm writing from my backcountry shelter in Idaho. I'm off the grid. There's no plastic in my home--all steel and iron and wood. I don't trust the aliens, so I'll bide my time, and watch the sky. Something tells me it's all a ruse, and they'll be back. \_\_\_\_\_ /r/velabasstuff
​ Allen pushed on his lower back and looked up at the sun. It was another blisteringly hot day out in the middle of the ocean but he knew he was making a positive impact. Granted the task before him was so over the top that it probably wouldn't be fixed in his lifetime. But at least the plastic and detritus he was helping to pull out of the ocean today wouldn't kill the fish of tomorrow. He bent back to his work of wrangling the various over sized objects the collection buoy and gathered up. As he was attempting to shove a chair rapped in a fishing net into the sack a shadow passed over him. Looking up in confusion, for just a moment ago there wasn't a cloud in the sky, he was momentarily rendered speechless for improbably hovering above him was what for all intents looked like a giant plastic milk crate. As His brain finally rebooted and convinced it's self that it was seeing shit and that was some really good weed it had just got done smoking Frank stumbled into him. ​ "Dude what the hell is that thing" Frank stammered "Wait you see that too I thought it was just a figment of my imagination" Allen responded as above the two of them a section of the crate detached it's self from the structure and started to make it's way down to them. "Frank what the hell is going on? Quick get the captain on the radio call home base do something." Frank ran off in search of somebody to make responsible for this problem. Leaving Allen all alone on deck as the floating piece came to rest on the water next to him and a section of the wall in front of him irised open to revile two Things very not of this planet. They waved several appendages at him as a ramp extended onto the deck right in front of Allen. As they walked across the ramp one of the Creatures waved a milk jug in Allen's general direction and a odd blue green light passed over him. At this Allen's rather overly abused brain kicked the fight or flight button and he started to back away from what ever it was that was happening. But Before he got five steps one of the things in front of him Spoke. ​ "Greetings Allen we are Xlkrx from a far off planet we do not intend you harm. We are what you would call merchants we are here to trade for your Plastic. My Name is Xrlk and I look forward to striking a bargain with you for all of this amazing product you have laid out behind you." ​ "You want the Plastic????" inquired a rather startled Allen so started in fact that he failed to run away from the aliens and instead started to walk towards them. ​ "Yes you have some of the highest quality plastic in some of the largest quantities we have ever seen in all our years of searching the galaxy. We will happily trade you for it." Xrlk responded and he walked over to the sack Allen had been filling moments ago. ​ "How much of it do you want? And what do you want to trade for it?" blurted out a startled Allen who's brain was starting to see a potential solution to a rather massive problem. ​ "Well for starters we would take this patch off of your hands for say our knowledge of space travel and an introduction for you to the Galactic government. Their a rather stingy bunch what with the got to protect the primitive civilizations and what not but you humans haven't managed to blow your selves up yet so I'm sure they'd be happy to add you to the Roster of species." Xrlk said as his still un introduced partner scanned the plastic with it's milk jug and clicked and screeched something at Xrlk ​ "Well that sounds like a fairly reasonable exchange." responded Allen "However, we do have additional stock if your think what is present here wouldn't be enough for your needs." ​ "We did notice that as we were scanning your planet earlier. And I was rather hoping you'd bring it up we would gladly take it all of your hands right now for the equivalent of fifteen trillion of your Euros." ​ "Well that is a rather tempting offer however it seems like you have a great need for this plastic. What would you say if I provided you with a quantity of plastic each of our years for say eighteen trillion Euros?" ​ "What kind of quantity are you talking about here? " Xrlk inquired "We have many uses for this product and do indeed require vast sums of it." ​ "If you would agree to split that money across each person on the planet. I think we could provide you with 200 to 300 million tons of plastic a year." Allen responded ​ Upon hearing this Xrlk's companion appeared to faint dead away. Xrlk looked flabbergasted and Allen took a perverse satisfaction in finally abusing somebody else's brain for once today. As the Xlkrx pulled them selves back together and appeared to hold a conference with a six pack ring Frank arrived and ALlen filled him in on what was happening and told him to just sit back and let him handle this. ​ "Friend Allen I feel I must tell you that the volume of plastic you propose for this transaction is staggering and may vary well collapse the Galactic plastic market. This of course would not be in your favor could we we perhaps acquire 100 Million tons of plastic each year and you store the rest of that for a later time?" a very flustered looking Xrlk inquired. ​ As ALlen realized just how staggeringly vast the waste of his fellow humans was he hoped that with their new found wealth and knowledge they would be about to find better ways to deal with storing things in the short term. And yet he knew that that would be a very tough battle. ​ "Alright Xrlk how about earth provides 100 million tons of plastic each year for sixteen trillion euros and we auto renew the contract each year on this date. In the mean time we humans will store the excess plastic somewhere out of the way as a reserve should some future event change the demands of the Galaxy." ​ "That sounds like a wonderful idea Allen and I think we can agree to that. We will transfer all of the interstellar travel knowledge we have along with an equal part of the sixteen trillion Euros to each human and in exchange we'll pick take the plastic present here and return in one years time to continue this transaction. " ​ And with that Humanity began exploring the stars and several centuries later Allen's distant relative was sitting in a EVA suit looking out over the Great Garbage patch of ursa minor wondering how humanity had managed to screw up space so impressively.
2020-08-12T21:36:04
2020-08-12T19:15:47
96
33
[WP] You are a ghost with no memory of your mortal life. In order to cross over to the afterlife, you need to find the one who stole your heart. Turns out it's not about finding your long lost love; it's about finding the jerk who literally ripped your heart out of your chest and killed you.
"Find the one who stole your heart." That's what ol' death said I needed to do to 'pass on.' My first stop, of course, was to my ex-fiance. I should have expected the screaming, the crying- honestly chasing her around the house, trying to explain, wasn't my finest or smartest moment. It was only when I gave up, and used my ghostly aura to pet the dog did she finally calm down. That last chat with her was otherwordly though; one of the most heartfelt conversations we'd had in years. Almost made it worth dying. "Shit, Harry. Just thinking about what happened to you... god," Tears had long stopped flowing but her flinch let me know how much she still cared, "The police, they said that man tortured you for hours. I threw up when they told me he cut out your heart..." "Well, I mean it kinda hur-" That was the precise moment I realized death had a sick sense of irony. Or maybe he/she(/it/the divine- I don't know) was just a stickler for the rules. Reaching that talk with my fiance took a while, granted, but tracking down my murderer was a completely different ballpark. The next year was filled with me materializing into detectives' officers, skulking for weeks in sketchiest places I could find, and chasing able-bodied killers with my flight speed never exceeding the walking pace of your average arthritic granny. For a while, failing at my own mission, I played vigilante, helping the authorities track down serial killers whenever possible. It's crazy how the mind can work when it has a hunch. All it takes it a slight breeze to flip over the right photo, or one name whispered in the wind. But after that year I had my own hunch. And a few months after that I had a name, an address, and a rough schedule. Don't worry, didn't I go that far just to kill the man outright. There's a story to it. Of course, I could afford to take my time, learn the meticulous man's routine down to the minute; I'm an immortal, a flying specter after all. One parched with a thirst for revenge that can only be satiated by one man. Frederick Callahan. I say his name now, because yes, Frederick, I am behind you. And I intend to take my time.
"Find him, retrieve what was lost, or roam the Earth like this forever." Death faded from view, leaving his words hanging in the air like putrid fog. Clearly it wasn't enough I'd had my life cut short; now I was destined to exist in this strange half way house for eternity unless I could track down the man responsible for my being here in the first place. I had very little to go on and, considering I'd been blindfolded from the moment I was taken, didn't even know the face of my assailants. Death had alluded to there being advantages of existing in this middle realm, of not being bound by the laws and regulations of Earth nor whatever the afterlife would turn out to be. Whatever I did here was for all intents and purposes off the record. Not only was I free of judgment from whatever or whomever was responsible for passing judgement upon me, there was also a suggestion I would have abilities here beyond what I've experienced in my previous life. Confused and angry, I tried to work out what my first move would be in tracking down my target. My only real lead was my location. Death had appeared to me at the very place in which I took my final breaths. There was no one else there, at least none I was aware of or could see, only the aftermath of what appeared to be a brutal and ritualistic killing. I stood in an empty barn lit only by the final dying shreds of candles littered around the floor and hung from the walls. It can only have been a matter of hours, then, since it happened. I scanned slowly around the room. A large pentagram had been painted on the rotting wooden floorboards in what I assumed to be dried blood and a wooden table set perfectly in the centre. It was morbidly strange how I was already at peace with the fact my body lay upon it motionless, the bag still in place over its head, and a gaping hole in its chest. At the end of the table a severed rams head with curling horns had been placed stop a wooden spike, gazing towards the grizzly scene. I continued searching for anything I thought might help me but my attention was snapped away by a voice from behind me. "You as well, huh?" The voice spoke calmly and without fear, which is more than I could say for myself. I spun on my heels, my eyes doing nothing to convince anyone I wasn't utterly terrified, and let my gaze rest on my surprise guest. A man stood in the doorway leaning casually against it with his hands in his pockets. He was perhaps in his early thirties, roughly the same age as me, and wore a wry smile across a tired face. His chest was open, his ribs poking in angle they shouldn't leaving the void where his heart should be exposed. I glanced back at my own body as my mind cottoned on to the identical nature of our injuries. He looked down at his own chest, then back to me and nodded towards the matching hole in mine. "Pretty nasty ain't it." He pulled himself away from the door frame and began meandering over to the table, half ignoring me as he sauntered past. "Same thing happened to me a few months back and I've been stuck here on my own every since. One minute I'm drinking a cold beer, the next I'm laying here having my fucking heart cut out." He looked back towards me with a huge, cheeky grin. "Man, I could kill a beer." He chuckled as he turned away to come and stand next to me. "Well someone ain't too talkative right now, so let me just tell you what's happened here. A good friend of mine tells me these guys have been trying to summon a demon, making deals with the devil and all that shit. So you and me were the lucky bastards chosen for the ritual sacrifice part." He spoke as though we'd known each other for years but I definitely didn't know him. I had nothing and no one else to help, though, so despite an unshakable feeling of unease I had to hope he could. "Did it work?" The words came from my mouth but there was no physical sensation to accompany them. "Oh, no. No it didn't work. See they messed up one thing. For the ritual to work the sacrifice has to be voluntary. The heart has to be given willingly, surrendered to the demon so he can consume it. Permission is power. Looking at you it doesn't seem you were too willing." I didn't know what to say, what to think, where to begin. I'd been sacrificed to a demon? How was I supposed to find these people and move on from all this? And who the hell was this guy? How did he know so much? "How do you know all this?" I asked him, looking back at my body with a rising panic beginning to take hold. "Oh, you know, I have a good friend who's been filling me in. I'm sure you'll get to meet him soon enough." It was only as I was looking away from him I began to realise how off this all was. His voice sounded deep, rumbling, almost alien. Where feelings and sensation had been evading me came a rushing sensation, overwhelming me all at once. A knot grew in my stomach, a lump in my throat, a pounding in my head. "Didn't you say you'd been here the whole time on your own?" I croaked through an almost closed throat. He sighed deeply, but it sounded more like a hiss. "Ah, a smart one." His voice seemed like a roar. I turned to face him and saw eyes of pure obsidian and needles filling a grotesque grin. "Guess we'll have to try this another way."
2021-04-13T13:33:27
2021-04-13T13:29:47
37
20
[WP] You and your rival are ancient enemies. You've fought each other on the battlefield in every major war. Trojan War, Punic Wars, Hundred Years' War, World War 1, World War 2. The only reason for the long period of peace we have now is that your rival is missing. You miss him.
The wind breathes a ragged red-tinged dust of salt and bone and blood — a ghostly smog of what was once humanity. It swirls about me in shapes that I swear are almost human. It howls in ways that sound almost like a cry. How many thousand years has it been since I saw you last? However many it’s been, I won’t stop searching. Every city-desert and dried up ocean, every labyrinthine cave and god-reaching mountain. They died without us. You must have known they would. So where did you go? Why did you leave me? Time and complacency became a pestle and mortar for humanity, ground them down to the fine red ash that now sandpapers my lungs, that cuts and haunts me from within. I taste our children on my tongue with every pained breath. We were meant to be infinite. A controlled and equal chaos that would bring constant wars and divisions for our children. We would give humanity a purpose and reason, and by it they would be gifted preparation for all that waited out there in the spiderweb of black-sky constellations. You helped me keep them on that path for millennia. Then, when you suddenly stepped off the scales and fell into whatever crack you fell into, humanity became unbalanced. One side took all, conquered, forced a fatal truce. You used to say peace was a disease that can lay dormant for centuries. You were right. When people finally took notice of the symptoms, it was too late. They saw on their hands the scabby pockmarks of stagnation: a lack of progress and of innovation, a failure to explore and seed the solar system. They saw the wilted strength of their once powerful hearts. Still they tried to resist. Without guns or swords they fought with fists and boots and spears. They were slaughtered in their millions. The only fighting they had ever done was in their simulated dreams. The invaders burned their bodies like piles of dry leaves. They eviscerated the oceans and all life within. The sun became a hazy smear hidden behind everlong clouds, too weak and sickly to coax the plants from beneath the ground. But they could not take me. Instead, they chained me down and buried me beneath the earth, where I lay thinking of you for however-many-thousand-years. Until the shackles finally rusted and the plates beneath the earth scraped together and released me. Now all I have left is this endless search for you. Because they died without us. And because I’ve always been dying without you.
Caerwyn’s eyes shine when they kill me. His truest exultation is the moment when his blade pierces my flesh, when the point of his sword splits the gap between two ribs and impales my heart, when his laugh echoes above the frantic din of battle like the clarion call of some mad god. When I bayoneted him in 1915, guiding him down to Gallipoli’s sands as I said our secret little prayer, he smiled at me. There was exultation in that too, though of a different, more bestial kind. The rawest forms of human experience have always been Caerwyn’s greatest loves. So why is he gone? I’ve searched high and low, crossing every continent, even Antarctica’s blighted cold, and still he eludes me. There are no golden eyes shining with victory, no chess master’s smiles at a game well played, no violent spurting of blood across the feet of the victor, and without any of that I realize I am no longer whole. So why has Caerwyn gone? I awaken on an inauspicious night, and find him at the foot of my bed. Each of us changes across our various lives. At birth, Caerwyn and I were brothers, identical twins. Strange eagle-like golden eyes atop gaunt faces and lean, runners Ii builds. Each fratricide brings us further apart. Now, Caerwyn is the palest of albinos, stark bald with a powerful form half gone to fat, and I am his opposite in every way, save that we both still have those golden eyes. He tuts once in the back of his throat, shaking his head at my shocked state, and sits at the edge of my bed. It creaks loudly, as if scarcely able to hold his weight. “I hear you’ve been looking for me,” he says. “Of course! You’ve been gone a hundred years or more!” “Can’t a man grow tired of killing?” “Not us,” I say. Caerwyn absorbs that in silence for a time though he agrees, I know he must. Nevertheless, he wrings his powerful hands and when he finally speaks the veins in his neck stand out like cords of steel. “You’re right, loathe as I am to admit it.” Caerwyn reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small gun, displaying it to me and then laying it atop the bedside table. “I even brought this, for old times sake. If at the end of things you still wish to fight, you may shoot me.” I bristle. I may shoot him? That’s far too passive for men like us, who send millions to the grave as a mere accompaniment to our struggles. I push down my covers and draw knife up from the bed, placing it beside the gun. “We settle our feud the old way, and we fight honorably.” “As you wish,” he says. Then Caerwyn takes my hands in his as he hasn’t done since we were mere boys, and his golden eyes find mine, and when he speaks, a kind conviction I’d long gone in the world is in his voice. “Selwyn,” he says, “I’ve been beyond the sky." I freeze. "Don't you remember our childhoods? Staring up at that great blue dome and all the stars of the night? I do. I remember reaching out and pointing, naming the constellations before these other simple primates had even descended from the trees, trying to find our home, our true home." "Have you found it?" I whisper. "No, for all I know, it may no even exist." In the ensuing silence my hand creeps closer to my knife. "But I've found something else," he says. "Mars." "I hate to tell you brother, but if that's your great discovery, you're a few centuries too late." "Not the planet, you imbecile!" Caerwyn swats my hand away from the knife. "Mars is not half so dead as the scientists claim. They haven't been inside it, I have. "Within Mars, in a vast cavern system stretching for hundreds of thousands of kilometers, a near Earth civilization on the scale of ancient Egypt lives. They work a metal much like bronze, carve edifices from the verdurous jungles that grow in the shadows of the great stalactite rivers, and at the core of their code they've enshrined nothing so deeply as the strength of a man's sword arm. "Selwyn, I've found a paradise. I want you to join me." The knife and the gun still sit beside us, the only talismans left against thus strange night and the glow of madness in my brother's eyes. "Prove it." I say. "If it wasn't true, I'd have killed you while you slept." I ponder it for a time as I get out of bed and dress. I don't reach for my normal suit, instead I dig to the back of the closet and pull out my old armor, scarred, pitted ancient bronze that had seen a hundred of our deaths. I stare at it, then at him, and a spark lights within me. "These people," I say, "what do they know of war?" "Nothing at all, though they're very fine duellists." A smile cracks my face and I extend my hand. Caerwyn takes it and we embrace for the first time in a millennium. "I tired of the humans anyway, guns take something out of it." Mars. I go back to my closet and bring out a pair of bronze swords, handing one to Caerwyn. "Let's go," I say. r/TurningtoWords
2021-05-04T04:44:34
2021-05-04T04:09:49
1,380
338
[WP] An exquisite mansion burns to the ground late one night. When the fire dies down, the skeleton of the mansion still stands. At its center, unharmed and unfazed, stands a man in perfect Victorian attire. He checks his watch and mutters to himself, "right on time."
Six miles east and three fields north of Attlin, a mansion burned atop a grassy butte. The flames licked the interior clean but curiously left the frame intact, dying even before reaching the dewy greenery outside. As the facades fell away, a man in a Victorian suit stood untouched and unfazed. Without looking, he tugged on the gold chain that disappeared into his vest pocket. A pocket watch inscribed with an hourglass and inlaid with gems sparkled in the dying embers of the mansion, the light creating an illusion of endlessly tumbling sand within the carving. As the last red coal dropped from a rafter and transmuted into ash, he flipped the watch open. He nodded as he saw the arrayed hands, slightly vocalizing his internal mutter: “Right on time.” A moment later he pressed the polished stopper atop the watch. As the ticking second hand halted, the world suddenly silenced – no wind brushed the weeded slopes and no background hum vibrated from the now still insects. The night was quiet. One hand still holding down the watch stopper, the man fished around in his pockets with the other, pulling out a small silvery key. Despite having an aura akin to that of the watch, the key seemed a bit dull in comparison, as if the now unimpeded moonlight was avoiding it. Inscribed on the rather chunky ward was a tesseract, each carved line seeming refilled with a continuous pour of clear stone. The man approached the mansion’s center pillar. Momentarily regretting his choice of glove, he brushed away a layer of soot just below eye level to reveal a small keyhole and inserted the key. The pillar began to emit a dim glow which slowly spread across the remaining beams of the mansion, revealing a shape akin to the tesseract that was inscribed on the key. As the glow started to brighten, the dispassionate man finally moved to shield his eyes slightly. Within the light the beams of the house dissolved; the crumbling dust flew unerringly towards the center pillar which also disintegrated to join the collection. Like sand shaped via a pressed mold, the dust compressed and coalesced into the shape of a woman in a Victorian dress. With a first breath echoing across the stillness, the woman immediately took a moment to tap her parasol on the ground and shake out her petticoats, leaving the last traces of ash to fall to the floor. The main offered her his free hand, the other still compressing the button on his pocket watch, and escorted her out of the ruin and onto the gravel front walk. “Unusual, isn’t it, for you to be the one to perish?” the man jested, a slight wry smile upon his face. Unlike the man’s generally cold demeanor, the woman’s eyes sparkled. “Indeed. Usually most people are out to kill Time.” They continued down the way for a few more quiet steps before she continued, worry creeping into her voice. “Although you may have still been the target. They were looking for your phylactery; I think they might have caught on to the fact that yours is hidden in Space.” She released the man’s hand in order to slip her arm around his. “We can attend to that later – rather, it may be safer not to move it yet.” The man shrugged off the woman’s worry, patting her forearm. “More importantly, When would you like to hide your core next?” “I’m thinking, around 2500 BCE. There’s something so romantic about the pyramids.” The woman picked up her pace, almost dragging the man with her. With a dry laugh, he released the stopper on his pocket watch; as the second hand resumed its next tick, they were gone.
It was a shame, really. While most fires we rush to are in hazard-ridden, code-violating buildings that could be considered more pleasing to the eye with flames billowing out of them, this mansion succumbing to a freak fire was truly a loss to the town. Standing for generations as a testament to the wealth of the Deflair family and a monument to a bygone Victorian era, it was a popular tourist attraction in our flyover town and a favorite talking point for locals traveling abroad. In many ways, it embodied the people that lived here. Seeing the smoke curl around the moon, shrouding it in uncertainty, I felt a strange hysteria overcome me: a desperate need to save the mansion. Considering only the bones of it remained, my hope was a deluded one. "Go, go, go!" I jump out of the truck clad in my fire-resistant suit. While my co-workers toiled to contain the spread of flames with their hoses, I rush directly into the mansion. Or the skeleton of it, at least. My job is to rescue any unfortunate souls trapped underneath rubble or their own fear, pulling them to safety for the paramedics to examine. Considering a ritzy aristocratic party hosted here had been in the works for months, I knew it was going to be a long night. "Help!" came a hoarse voice not too far from the entrance hall. Rushing to where I heard the plea, I find a woman coughing up blood underneath a ruined table. Made of mahogany wood and swirling in ornate patterns, the piece of furniture must have equaled my net worth before this tragedy. Ignoring the part of me that cringed when I overturned the fine table, I scoop the wounded woman and carried her out onto the cool grass outside. There were already four other people lying there, some severely injured. After taking a moment to breathe fresh air, I rush back into the world of smoke and broil. It was during this foray to find more victims that it happened. For a brief moment, the smoke cleared in the area past the entrance hall, where a grand staircase once rose onto a second-floor balcony, and I saw a man. He wasn't writhing in pain like you would expect. Instead, garbed in immaculately pressed clothes, the man stood erect in the center of the bedlam like he was in another universe, oblivious to the chaos around him. From the pocket of his waistcoat he withdrew a chained pocket-watch, which he flipped open and gave a perfunctory glance. "Right on time," he murmured dutifully, as if to restate a foregone conclusion. Then, impervious to my shouts, he strode off into another room of the burning mansion. There was a smoldering piece of ceiling blocking my path to him, and I was convinced that I was delirious, so instead of chasing after the phantom I worked hard to put the odd encounter out of my mind and continue my pressing work. Indeed, there was another man clutching a miraculously untouched wooden column like his life depended on it, and I quickly escorted him out of the building. The work went on for hours, but there were weary smiles all around considering we had only found two people dead so far. For the size of the party going on when the fires bloomed, it was amazing. During my mandated ten-minute break, as I watched the rescue unfold from the grass a healthy distance away, I saw the man again. He had slipped out a side door of the house and was observing something in the distance, taking no notice of anyone else. "Hey, what do you think that guy is doing? I tried to call to him before, in the mansion." But though I pointed directly at the man -- who despite the raging bonfire looked as pristine as ever -- my co-worker sprawled tiredly next to me only said, "You're going crazy. There isn't anyone there." "What do you mean? He's right there, clear as day!" "Get your eyes checked later. Come on, we have to keep our heads in the game." I tried to convince others that there was a man standing outside, with his hands planted in his trouser pockets and his eyes wandering far into the distance, but everyone glanced over, told me there was nobody, and continued with the mission. It was frustrating. "Who are you?" I yelled, but he did not answer. He did not even turn my way. Repeating over and over that I was not crazy, I threw myself back into the fray. Saving three more people kept my mind occupied. There was now over seventy-five victims recovered and safely on the grass -- about all we could realistically ask for with the eighty party attendees. The head of the operation called everybody together and said, "It's time to shut the rescue down and focus on containment. We got everybody we could, and the structure is on the brink of complete collapse." I froze at the order. The man... "I'm sorry... there's something we missed..." I said frantically, and ignoring the protests of my co-workers, I ran into the mansion one last time. Luckily, the man was right there in the entrance hall. I reached out to touch him, but my hand glided right through his ghostly form. "Good day Mr. Deflair," came a voice from nowhere. The man answered cordially, "Good day to you too sir." Then he whipped around and strode off elsewhere in the building. Mesmerized, I could do nothing but follow. He kept whispering to himself, and eventually I caught what he was saying. "My daughter... I have to find my daughter..." Another disembodied voice came, this time in a shriek. "What do you mean, there isn't a billiard room?" It scared me so much that I stopped, and right at that moment a gigantic plank of fiery wood dropped where I would been walking. Unaffected, the man continued to walk. Regaining my nerve, I continued to follow. Eventually we reached the smoldering remains of a bedroom. "My daughter!" the man shouted with joy, and another voice greeted him with equal joy. That was when the specter disappeared. I gasped when I saw what took his place. Trapped underneath the bed was a young woman! I quickly wrested the furniture away and cradled her barely-conscious form. As the house collapsed around me, i wove my way through rubble and escaped unscathed out of the mansion. "Thank you," the woman croaked feebly when I set her down on the grass. "What is your name?" I asked gently, feeling the question was important. "Clarissa Deflair," she responded. "I'm serious, thank you. You just saved my life. Although... although I almost wish I wasn't here to see my family's house burn." I thought in silence for a moment, then, "The house may be destroyed, but it's not dead. Your family is still watching over you." Clarissa smiled at my words and promptly fell asleep. Maybe it had been too late to save the mansion, but the legacy of it lives on.
2021-08-10T22:09:47
2021-08-10T21:44:39
822
63
[WP] "No! Go away! I can't let you go near me when I turn into a werewolf!" "Don't worry, I will love you always, even if you become a monster." "No, I'm just stupid as all hell when I turn. I'll not hurt you, but I am sure as hell not ready to show you me barking at a lamppost for the whole night!"
My eyes widened as hair wildly grew out of Sabrina’s arms. She let out a piercing howl that echoed in our living room. “Please, I don’t want to be seen like this. It’s embarrassing!” pleaded Sabrina. I reached out my hand and she howled again, her body transforming in the process. It was hard to believe that my girlfriend had transformed into the monster that now lay on the floor. I stood there dumbfounded as she began to roll around the carpet and get hair everywhere. It would be a pain to vacuum up the next day, but I was just more in shock of what had happened. I didn’t have much time to think though. Sabrina scurried off quickly. I tried to chase after her, but she came running back with a tennis ball in her mouth. “Uh ok I guess this works,” I said. I took the ball from her mouth and threw it across the room. The sounds of nails scratching up the hardwood made me cringe, but it was hard to stay mad when she ran back enthusiastically. I even smiled after throwing the ball a few times. Playing fetch like this reminded me of my old dog, Zeus, although I knew I would never tell Sabrina that. I don’t think she’d appreciate being compared to a dog, but in a way she was one just bigger and more human-like. Unfortunately, the fetch time was short lived. Sabrina ran over to a window and started barking at a squirrel in the yard. “Hey, Sabrina, stop!” It was no use. Sabrina simply darted over to another window when I tried to shoo her away from the first one. The barking continued. My ears were reminded of what it was like to own a dog. I would have to think of some sort of excuse to neighbors as to why there was a dog in my house, but at that moment I just hoped the music from my headphones would drown out the barking.
A hot summer night. The air is heavy with the scent of an oncoming storm, the moon is locked behind dark, thick clouds, and the lone woman walks the street of a remote village. She appears under the light of the lampposts and disappears into the darkness in between them, heading for a dirt path. She wears a jean and a red hoodie. Dirt crunches under her boots, the last house disappears behind her. During the day this is just a meadow bordering a fenced field meant for the cows to lazy around and grow fat. In the night, the mind plays tricks with the shadows, shapes take form for a second before vanishing, reality and fantasy merge together. Trees border the path, the leaves rustle gently under the wind as she walks upwards. Atop the hill, a much-needed fresh breeze plays through her hair and invigorates a horde of insects hidden in the grass. Suddenly, the relative emptiness is filled with the chatter of critters, and a lull in the clouds shows a single star. She sits there, atop the hill, back against a lonely oak tree, gazing at the village lights below. Beyond the village, nothing but the calm dark. Claire has been walking this path since childhood to soothe her mind, it worked just as well in adulthood. She never got over the sudden dread she could feel when her imagination made the shadows come to life, brought her head to turn and wonder if, just for once, there wasn't indeed something right there in front of her. A childish fear she was delighted to have kept into adulthood. Seclusion, darkness, peace, a sanctuary. "Risky night to be alone for a girl, is it not?" Claire jolts upright. Not every shape at night is a trick from the mind. She hadn't heard the man coming, doesn't recognize the voice. She can only make out his shape, a tall, slender person with large hands and a curiously high-pitched voice. "Who are you?" "Someone who walks in the night, just like you." He isn't from the village, and few would dare walk these parts without a light, he has none. He takes a step forward, Claire takes a step back. "Don't approach me." "Isn't it why you're here?" she can hear his wicked smile as he speaks, "to meet the big bad wolf, to play the fierce girl when you're dying for the beast to come out for you?" A light drizzle comes down, Claire hears the envy, the aggression, the wolfish savagery in the words. Whatever the man is, he's dangerous, and she should have been more careful. "Fuck off." "Won't happen." His joy pierces through in his words, he's delighted to have found a lone girl lost at night, far from everything, for his own amusement, for whatever horrors this meant for Claire. It started to pour. Claire pulled up her red hood, she wouldn't go down without a fight. "Fierce," she hears him licking his lips as he speaks, "I like that." Just as he's about to advance, the clouds open and the full moon shines through, a ghostly light illuminating the gaunt, grinning man and a soaked Claire with her fists closed. The instant stretches wide, droplets fall from the leaves of the oak tree over Claire. "Last warning," she whispers, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Amuse me, get wild," Claire can see the stiffness in his pants. "You asked for it. Fifi, come and say hi." *Thump*, it is barely audible, the sound of a heavy being taking great care to not make too much noise. Claire didn't like her night outings to be cadenced by Fifi's loud steps, it scared the owls and muted the insects. The latter still happened, they could feel when Fifi was near and weren't sure if they could sing. All the fun is drained from the man's face as he slowly turns around. Fifi stands taller than the madman, despite walking on his fours. A stocky, bulky mockery of a wolf, with every single muscle bulging wide across his frame, steely limbs to spring over wide distances, teeth glistening in the dark, eyes sparkling with sheer savagery. "Go and get him, boy." Not every shadow at night is a trick of the mind. Fifi certainly isn't, and his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of a fragile neck are ample proof of it, the realest experience tonight for the poor man, and his last too. It's over in an instant, the neck cracks like a twig under the titanic maw, and Fifi is having a midnight snack while Claire pats his head. "It's getting dangerous to walk out there at night." Fifi grunts. Anyway, back to the scheduled program of the night. Claire sits back at her tree, looking at the night over the land, while Fifi chomps his appetite away behind her. The rain is a needed refreshment after the hot day. In a minute, Fifi has ended his meal and comes to lay next to Claire. A minute later, and the insects starts to sing again. Tonight is a good night.
2022-05-14T12:03:20
2022-05-14T11:02:49
309
31
[WP] You work under an evil emperor, but you want him to fall. As such, you've been wandering the countryside committing atrocities in hopes of causing someone's tragic backstory.
"Heroes don't grow on trees. Thats the sad truth to it. Where there is a great evil an equally great force of good doesn't magically come to oppose it. Reality just doesn't work that way. No, they have to be created. And the best way to do it is to give them a tragic backstory. Normally Villains do that themselves accidentially. But my boss, my boss is to smart for that. He knows what he is not allowed to do and would resoult in the creation of heros. The problem is that he still does all the other things villains do. The Emperor tortures rebels, eccept if they have any kids than they can go, because every orphan is a risk. And he knows that killing the kid too won't work. It always fails. Every single evil deed of his is calculated to make sure that it will not create heros. And the Strategy works. But he needs to be stopped somehow. So thats where I come in. I started killing parents. Nobody makes for bether heroes than orphans. I started burning villages. I did every evil thing imaginabel witch creates withnesses. And look at you, it worked." "So your excuse for burning down my entire village and everyone that lived there besides me is that you wanted to create heroes?," answered the Hero. "Yes," I reply. "And why couldn't you just do the heroing yourself?" "I didn't have the courage to. But I knew I could create someone who has." "And by doing so became a greater evil than him." He took a step toward me. "But I did create you," I say in panic. "Yes I can't deny that, your plan worked. You created a hero. A hero who will put an end to the greatest evil around. The man who was to cowardly to do the job himself. I will put an end to you, the man who outeviled the emperor." Before I am able to repond i fell a quick cut in my neck. He seems to make his cuts the same way I do. Qick, efficient. He does not want to see people suffer, and grants painless deaths. Just as I do.
There were always stories of ancient evils in the Blackwood. Ghosts, demons, and further up in the mountains talks of cave trolls and the Castix, a mammoth sized cat-like beast capable of generating fear in its prey with a forgotten magic. I however collect tax throughout the Blackwood and know 90% of the fables to be simply that. But the serfs, the vagrants, the wanderers always come up with tales of the evils. Things are worse than ever now they say. People are disappearing. Loved ones lost forever. There have been a few bodies. I had to leave some evidence so that heroes from around the land would be tempted to join the fray, fight the good fight. And knowing the wood better than anyone I've been able to rid the fray of a few *mighty men*. If their might can't match that of a tax collector then I fear if the kingdom were put in real danger we'd be lost. One day I travelled the forgotten paths, walking by ruins unseen by any for centuries. And that is when I found a treasure. The 10% of fables that rang true usually stemmed from the Lemmish mystics who once claimed the wood as their home, back when it was the Lemwood. The ancient tree city supposedly stood at its center, with a god as old as time residing in the fog atop the mighty Elxing Tree. On this day I found a treasure trove with my accomplice Adorna. She filled her hands with a chest of jewels and matched each one to her ear asking me if she was pretty enough for the king's taxman. Adorna loved to make me miserable. She could pull all of my strings without ever giving me even a frayed end to play with. I'd made professions of love and worse over the years, hoping she would give me so little as a kiss, yet she only teased me and she bed with real men back in the empire. Men who didn't live in the shadows trying to overthrow the kingdom. She'd even dated one of the heroes we killed, although she had not been faithful with him, and therefore saw it as tying up a loose end. I feared this girl mightily. She was as important to me as was my mission. And to see her in love with a treasure chest was the closest I ever got to thinking things might work out. She was crawling around my emotions, telling me dirty things I loved to hear. I knew she was playing, but it was our game, our twisted version of love in my mind. And on that day in the deep deep darkness of the Blackwood we heard a horrid noise. A screeching metallic roar. I'd never heard its equal and shiver whenever at the simple recounting of such an event. I can feel the dread tingling in my stomach, the hotness rising in my head, the panic trying to take over. But as I sit here at my desk I know such things to be tricks of the Castix. Lasting imprints it left on me that will never fade. For on that day the Castix took my precious Adorna. It tormented her before taking her away. I heard more terror in a single word out of her mouth than I can recount here. I would not put myself through the pain of describing what happened that day other than to say there are things in the Blackwood. Things worse than me, things capable of true atrocity. I knew there was true to the serf legends because I'd seen a body months earlier mutilated and tormented in a way I could not explain. I'd thought the person had been starving and had gone mad eating poison mushrooms or had encountered a cave troll, seen a loved one captured and killed. But no, in that body's eyes I saw the same thing I saw in my poor Adorna when I found her body. And so I journey through the Lemwood, knowing the Blackwood was the true fable. This forest was never tamed. The 10% of evil in this forest was far worse than Lord Malivar. And once I kill the Castix I will bring my sword to him. I will take from him what he takes from the world as he hoards wealth and food during famine, as he expands into countries with rich histories like this one. I will take from him what I lost in the Lemwood. I will bear the head of the Castix as my gauntlet and he will not be able to refuse me. I do not regret the killings I performed in this wood, for they have shown me the path I wished to create in another. I bought my own vengeance. Tomorrow I venture beyond the border in order to seek a means to battle an evil which has no weakness, to uncover the ancient history of the land. The find other myths and fables. And when I'm done, I'd like to think I'll have become the man Adorna would think of as home. And I'll cling to this hope. The ancient text I found in our library describes a ceremony once performed in the Lemwood, something that can bind a soul to the earth and bring it up as a new Elxing Tree. Perhaps the god of old was simply a love lost to time. Time to go. This is the last entry I write as Ba'al Fleur the tax collector. The next entry will be wrote on the heart of those I tormented. I'll be Ba'al the hero, Ba'al the savior. Or perhaps my broken heart will leave me as Ba'al the lonely. Only time will tell.
2022-08-12T11:49:38
2022-08-12T11:04:15
25
17
[WP] A young FBI agent, fresh out of the academy, is sent on his first undercover assignment: Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, where he discovers the famous chocolatier's nefarious secret. Go nuts with what the "secret" is. Could be related to the Oompa Loompas (immigration/labor?), secret recipes, disregard for safety of children, whatever Edit: forgot [EU] tag
"It's too late!" cried Wonka. "Would you like to turn on the television?" "Shut up!" "No, really, turn it on! You won't regret it!" "I said *shut up!*" Agent Green shouted. He hit Wonka in the mouth. Wonka took the blow, spitting blood onto the floor and giggling. "Hitting a handcuffed man! Not very honourable of you, Agent Green! The remote is over there," said Wonka, nodding towards it. Agent Green glared at him, but picked it up and pressed the "On" button. "-amid reports that the Prime Minister has vanished without a trace, the security services have declared a state of high alert," said the News Presenter. On the screen, armed police stood guard outside Parliament. "Wonka-Vite!" said Wonka, giggling. And he burst into song: *"'If you're a grump and full of spite,* *If you're a human parasite,* *THEN WHAT YOU NEED IS WONKA–VITE!*' I'd call the Prime Minister those things, wouldn't you, Mr Green? Or is that *ex*-Prime Minister now? Or even *future* Prime Mini-" "Be *quiet!*" barked Agent Green. "Where is he, Wonka?" "Oh, now that *would* be telling!" replied Wonka. "Somewhere you'll never, ever find him that's for sure. In a way, he's not even really there. He's what I like to call a 'minus' now. I don't think he's going to trouble any of us for, oh a few centuries at least after the dose he had!" "Alright, get the fuck up. We're going." Green lifted Wonka roughly to his feet. "Just one question," said Wonka. "Hm. Go ahead," growled Green. "What are the FBI doing in the UK?" "Don't ask stupid questions."
" Mr. Wonka is ready for you." The purple haired receptionist motioned to a door. I nodded quickly at her, past ready to get this over with. I really hoped the concerns were hyperbole; distraught parents with no one else to blame. I hoped, but I had a bad feeling. I'd been carrying it since I made the connection. I opened the door. There he sat. Legs crossed, perpetual smirk, ostentatious and smug. As a child, I had seen him as mysterious and benevolent. Now, as an adult, he was something very different. A force to be reckoned with. " Ms. Harper......is it? What have the horrendous harpies harangued about now? Their fat babies? Their rotting teeth? I cannot be held responsible for the parents ineptitude." " It's Agent Harper, Wonka. I'm not here about obese children. I'm here about missing ones. Children who have been here over the years. In addition to the accidents that have taken place here, there are sixteen missing over thirty years. " He shifted, never losing the calm look of long-suffering. " As you already know, I'm sure, the insurance takes care of...accidents. The guardians sign forms. They should read them. Missing children? Every child that has followed the rules and listened, has bounced out of here, happy as fat cats. " He was right. The children had all been taken a few days after they visited the factory. But, this had to be a connection. Out of the 34 children missing, 16 had been here. This was not going to be easy. I was the only one who believed this was more than a coincidence, and I only had three days to follow my gut. That's all the boss would allow based on a newbies instinct. " You're right. The children all arrived home safely. With a stash of your treats. Personally selected and gifted by you. So thoughtful. You're such a people person. You only live to give joy to others, you love a child's smile. What made you decide to go into this business? One that caters to the needs of children?" As soon as the implications of what I had said registered with him, his face changed. It was so visceral and sudden that I immediately knew that was the wrong way to go. Damn, it wasn't going to be easy to get on the other side of this. I had seen a brief moment of......something. I couldn't figure it right now. " I assure you I only find the most innocent of joys in the delight of children. The same any person should feel when children are allowed to be themselves and enjoy a moments respite from the harsh lives this poor town requires. I believe we are done here. I have a tour soon, and I don't see what any of this should have to do with me. So many children come here. There's sure to be many connections between them. I'm sure you know the way out." His tone had chilled me to the bone. It wasn't that it was my first real case. I had seen some fucked up individuals already. It was the low, cheerfully threatening way he was dismissing me. He was in complete control of himself, and a psychopath. While he had been speaking, it clicked. The tiny reaction I almost missed. If I had, I wouldn't have bothered him anymore. I would be convinced. In that brief moment, he had been shocked that I had assumed he was a pedophile. But, he had also been relieved. No one should be relieved to be called a pedophile. I would be back. There was something worse happening here. "I can see this allegation greatly offends you. If I have any more questions, I'll let you know. Here's my card if you see anything off. Thank you for your time." I had to get out of there. I hadn't even radioed in. I quickly left the building, and didn't breathe properly until I had my belt buckled, and the car in drive. I knew he was in this. He was my main suspect. Soon, he would be everyone's. I had finally made the right connection. I just had to find it. It was in the reports and files, somewhere. I wouldn't stop until I had it. I looked back at the factory one last time. He was standing in his office window. Smiling at the back of my car. -----------------—-——------------------------------------------------ Every few years, someone came. Some new agent, desperate to prove their worthiness. She was no different. He would have to do what he always did. New agents tended to be impetuous, hard-headed. Statistically, new agents have the most accidents. He had to be careful. No more connections. Wonka looked at the screen that showed the children in the lobby. The ones waiting for their slice of happiness. He would have to be very careful. There was a chubby one, in a stretched out cartoon shirt. He looked yummy. William could almost smell the sweetness and richness from here. He could wait. He had another month before he needed the young blood again. He could stretch it, if he could handle the weakness for a bit. Oompah didn't taste too good, but they would have to do.
2014-09-08T09:58:05
2014-09-08T09:42:17
41
27
[WP] This is the prologue (or the first chapter) of the novel you've always wanted to write. EDIT: Holy crap, you guys are insane. Thank you everybody for your submissions, sorry if I don't thank you personally :) EDIT 2: What the actual hell. Waking up to find your inbox at fifty - *and counting* - is not healthy. Ya'lls are *machines*! EDIT 3: Does anybody here know what this "sleep" thing is? Cause I definitely don't. What the christ, people. Chill.
I was fourteen the day I realized I wasn’t a main character. It was the weather, you see. In the stories you could always count on the sky to get a good read on the situation. Thunder heavy in moments of dramatic crisis, shifts to rain for the emotionally sundering, and sunny and cloudless on days of jubilant celebration. The sky was like a heavenly emotional barometer, keenly tuned to the hero’s every passing mood. As for me, it was muggy and dreary the day I was born, raining by the bucketload when I graduated middle school, and sunny and chipper as anything—the morning my mother died. It was then in the cemetery, squinting up at that cheerful sun, that I realized. Life had displayed before me its glorious indifference. I was not special, I was not going to be much of anything, and then, eventually, I was going to die. It was with such thoughts that I entered high school, comfortable in the knowledge of my own insignificance. When something happened that changed my life forever.
It was the lunch rush and the PBJ Cafe was alive with voices. Each table's conversation fed into a swelling sound, joining the hiss of the espresso machine and the tinkle of plates and cups to create an effect that made Patrick think of running water. The stream of noise carried him in nearly constant motion as he wove between tables carrying sandwiches and lattes, and he imagined that he was steering around rocks in river rapids. While he flowed about the restaurant during busy stretches like this hours would pass like minutes, as if the volume of voices and the passage of time were somehow linked. The noise eventually ebbed as things slowed down, and with the afternoon lull setting in the staff complained about the quiet times. This was the kind of harmless shared suffering that strengthens social ties better than any team building exercise could and everyone joined in the commiserations. They would have complained about the busy times too if they didn't have so many other things to take care of during the rush. But when things slowed down the tips stopped coming, the minutes dragged by, and boredom took hold. Patrick agreed, yet he secretly enjoyed it when the cafe quieted down because the voices at the tables would once again separate into distinct conversations that he could follow. While the other staff were smoking out back or inventing elaborate games in the store room around throwing butter knives into the drywall, Patrick was collecting stories. Sometimes he felt guilty about eavesdropping, but from the central counter it was possible to hear what was being said almost anywhere in the cafe, and the gap between hearing and listening is so small that we often cross it without realizing. Patrick first began to cross that gap unintentionally because he was worried that the people were talking about him. He was a novice waiter and felt that his inexperience must have been obvious to the customers. However, as he listened in on his tables it eventually sunk in that they were not, in fact, discussing him at all. It turned out that people spent less time thinking about and talking about him than he was prone to imagine. He came to see that paranoia was just as self-centered and deluded as narcissism, without the benefit of confidence. This realization, coupled with his growing competence at the job, helped him to stop worrying that the customers were criticizing him. But not before weeks of eavesdropping had also taught him that people said some interesting things in restaurants. Granted, people said a lot of very boring things in restaurants. As well as a huge number of things that, lacking context, Patrick couldn't really gauge one way or the other. But there were enough intriguing moments to keep him coming back. The first was a woman with thick, dirty blonde hair discussing her nervous breakdown in such unguarded detail and with so little appeal for sympathy that Patrick fell in love with her a little bit, though she was twice his age. He was in awe of that kind of openness, especially about such a moment of weakness. But the man in glasses seated across from her did not seem impressed. Maybe he'd heard the story before, or maybe this was a first date and he was having second thoughts. He could have been her shrink as well, though he wasn’t taking notes or asking many questions. Later that same day Patrick overheard a young white guy professing his love to a young black guy with such whispered urgency it seemed he had to keep his voice down so as not to shout. Patrick felt the urge to hug them both, and was only a little afraid that this might mean he was a homosexual. As he set their drinks down in front of them he wanted to tell them that he supported gay marriage, and interracial marriage, and any kind of marriage really if it involved a love such as theirs. All he said, though, was to just let him know if they needed anything else. From then on he was hooked. When he had down time he would busy himself behind the counter and tune in to the different conversations going on in the restaurant around him. He justified his eavesdropping by thinking that the PBJ Cafe was clearly a public place, so people should expect to be overheard. Sometimes he took things a step further and went the righteous route: if the customers only thought of him as a server and not as a fully formed human being, capable of hearing and maybe even having opinions about what they were saying, then he had every right to listen to them with no qualms. Eavesdropping as a form of social justice was a difficult concept to hold onto on this particular afternoon, though. The problem was: she was cute.
2015-09-12T13:44:03
2015-09-12T11:12:45
63
23
[WP] A minor deity sits alone on its patch of land, forgotten by humanity. It can only be perceived by those who believe in it. Occasionally, humans pass by and leave the deity ever ignored. One day, someone greets the deity. Edit: I'm happy to be able to prompt anyone into writing something. I admit that I'm a bit surprised at the response, though. My most popular post to date, certainly. ~~Also, I may or may not be mentally squeeing over the fact that u/inkfinger replied. Not that the rest of you aren't all wonderful, too.~~ Apparently, through some cultural osmosis, I may or may not have stolen the idea of a book and/or an anime. I've never seen or read either, though I have heard of both. Apologies to Sir Terry Pratchett and Adachitoka. Edit: accidentally wrote "r/inkfinger" instead of "u/inkfinger". Not that I ever wrote that, of course.
The soft crunch of new snow broke Shim Chung out of her reverie. She spent most of her days lost in daydreams, the only reprieve from the monotony of a forgotten existence. She stood up and started to feel her way around the house. Of course she had memorized every single plank that made up her home, but in her excitement Shim Chung found herself scrambling and probing around the kitchen trying to gather her wits and start some tea. A quiet knock stopped Shim Chung in her tracks. She stood frozen, mouth agape as a small tear threatened to free itself. She squealed as she rushed towards the door, bumping her head on the crossbeam as she did. Taking a deep breath and smoothing the creases in her [hanbok](http://www.ballardadventure.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Hanbok-1-650x1024.jpg) Shim Chung opened the door. "Hello?!" She nearly shouted in excitement, as she reached her hands out to embrace the stranger. Except there was nothing there? Confused she grasped at the air in front of her puzzled as to her phantom guest. "I'm down here" A soft voice said. And indeed he was, Shim Chung mused as she put her hands on the young boy's (?) head. She ruffled his soft hair and brushed the snow off of his shoulders. As she knelt down to talk to him (once again she couldn't really be sure, his voice still had the high timbre of youth) and was surprised when the child wrapped his arms around her neck. He buried his head in her neck and softly started to cry. With the quiet grace Shim Chung wrapped her arms around him and carried him into her house. *Poor child* she thought, *frozen near death in the middle of the night*. Still carrying the stranger she walked back into the kitchen (bumping her head again) and closer to the fire where the water was boiling. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Her tending to the fire and tea and him... *What WAS he doing*? she wondered, cursing her blindness. She wanted to respect the young strangers privacy but he was being SO quiet, and it had been so long. "Whats your name?" Shim Chung asked as she poured tea. It was a mixture of herbs and dried ginseng. She hoped it wasn't too bitter for the young boy. "Min Hee" the soft voice replied. "I'm 8 years old and I go to Yongsan Elementary School." *Oho he has manners* "Well Min-a what are you doing this late? Where are your parents?"
Gagqa sat on the rim of a black plastic rain gutter circumventing the outer face of a Red Robin in downtown Binghamton, NY. There were seven other crows on the rain gutter with Gagqa, but they were - as always - abysmal company. "Thoughts on that new traffic light on Vermont and Dunham?" he offered. "Food?" replied one of the crows. "Rain?" said another. "Food," stated a third. "Ah, yes. Wonderful," sighed Gagqa. The crows at least had never stopped believing in Gagqa, and for that he was thankful. He supposed, in a way, they'd never really had a choice, being that he was a *crow* spirit. For a crow, believing in Gagqa was a bit less faith, and a bit more common sense. But the humans had once believed in him, too, and they had always been a substantially more entertaining crowd. Some had feared him as a sign of coming death. Others had worshiped him for his wisdom and cunning. Perceptions of the great crow spirit had really been something of a mixed bag. Gagqa had been a touch persnickety about his public image, back in the days when he'd had a public image to speak of. He wasn't a fan of the "trickster" label that sometimes followed him and made great efforts to be clear and concise in his communications. After all, the only ones who'd named him a trickster were the idiots who didn't understand sarcasm. And where that "Omen of Death" business was concerned, if you sleep with a blanket covered in small pox *you're going to catch small pox*. That's not exactly fortune-telling. The world changed, and it wasn't simply a matter of old lines dying off. Gagqa and his kind just weren't in style anymore. Little gods. Simple gods. There was no taste for that kind of variety. Humanity seemed to prefer consolidation. Why have a hundred gods with a hundred specialties when you can just have the one god who apparently does everything? *Seriously*, Gagqa often muttered to himself, *how's anyone supposed to compete with THAT?* One stop shopping, all in one convenient, faceless, personality-free package. There really *was* no accounting for taste. As Gagqa had sat there, considering the semi-ruin of his existence, black clouds had begun to roll in. The other crows *cawed* and took off. Gagqa stayed behind. No place was better. And it wasn't as if he could catch a cold. From below the billowing awning, a little boy, face smeared aggressively in ketchup, looking less like he'd eaten a hamburger and more like he'd gone directly to the source, stepped out and looked up. He had a pile of soggy French fries in his hand. He held one aloft. "Fry?" he said, mouth sticky and slick. Gagqa looked around. He was alone on the gutter. Was the child talking to him? "French fry?" repeated the child, rising up on his tippy toes, as if he were really only a few inches shy of the roof and not 20 feet. Gagqa bent forward. "Is that for me?" The boy nodded his head. "Wan'it?" Gagqa hopped down off the gutter, landing on a nearby trashcan. "You see me?" The boy's eyes widened, as if sincerity came from the circumference of your eye sockets and he was being very, very sincere. "This is...an offering?" "S'French fry," corrected the boy. "For me?" said Gagqa. "You are presenting this food as an offering...to me?" The boy nodded, tossing the fry lazily through the air. Gagqa had to dart sideways to catch it, but he did, and he ate it. He could not immediately remember the last time he had eaten anything. It tasted indescribably good. "Nuther?" said the boy, answering his own question by tossing another fry to the waiting crow. Gagqa gobbled it down. Then another. Then another. "Mom!" shouted the boy, wiping his hands across his shirt. "More fries!" A woman emerged from the restaurant. "*Jeffrey!*" she scowled. "*There* you are! You can't run off like that. What are you doing?" "Feedin' the bird," said the little boy, pointing at Gagqa. "What bird?" Gagqa hopped up and down on the trashcan. *No*, he thought, suddenly overwrought with strange desperation. *He sees! He sees! She must be able to see, too!* Jeffrey pointed at the trashcan. "Bird," he said, as plain and clear as a little boy pointing out a real live bird could be. A man emerged from the restaurant just then, with an evener smaller girl attached at the wrist. "What's going on?" he asked. "Feedin' the bird," said Jeffrey once more. The woman rolled her eyes. "He gets his imagination from you," said the woman, playfully accusative. The man shrugged. "He just believes what he wants to believe. Nothing wrong with that. C'mon, though. Looks like rain." The woman strode forward and grabbed the boy by the wrist. He turned and waved at Gagqa. "Bye bird." *Well. Goodbye* thought Gagqa bitterly, as the family strode out towards a gray minivan. "Bye bird," said the little girl, waving back at Gagqa sitting on the trashcan. *Just copying her brother,* said Gagqa to himself. *It's nothing.* But the crow spirit couldn't deny the strange tingle that he felt all over - a trill of excitement that stuck with him the rest of the day, and for a long time after that.
2016-09-18T11:54:00
2016-09-18T11:44:09
38
28
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
“You know, in all the times you’ve come to meet me you’ve never once told me what would happen once you’ve actually taken my soul.” The woman sitting across from him remained expressionless, not a single feature on her smooth sun-kissed face changed, nor did a single dark hair resting gracefully on her shoulders move. “I’ve told you before Alexander, I’m not allowed to reveal that to anyone.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He’d lived many lives, gone by many names. He’d created empires and destroyed them, done great things and horrible things, created great marvels and prevent progress on others. Persia, America, Russia, he’d influenced them all, and yet it wasn’t enough. “If you told me I might be more inclined to waive my right to this little coin toss you know.” As with everything he said, the woman showed no reaction. “While our little meetings are beginning to wear on my nerves, no one escapes me. Greater men than you have all come with me eventually, even those who the rest of the world called gods take my hand eventually. I am the one certainty in this universe.” He knew it was true. The world always showed subtle signs when a god lost their toss to her, but he did like to consider himself a bit more clever than their lot had ever been. “Ah well, hand me the coin please.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small copper coin and dropped it into his open palm. When it finally reached him, it smashed his hand into the table, the symbol of the closed-door face up. “What nonsense is this? I can’t even lift this coin! How am I supposed to flip it?” The woman smirked at him, the first expression he’d ever seen grace her face in the hundreds of times they’d met, and the sudden terror that filled him made him regret ever wanting to see her change it. “That is not a problem I have to address. All I am now required to do is wait here in this frozen moment of time until you flip the coin or agree to come with me, and I am a very patient woman.” ------------------------- My first time, thanks for comments!
Call me Nathan. I died last night, but I am not afraid. I learned two centuries ago that there are winners and there are losers. I am a loser – but I’m clever. I reach into my pocket and pull out a little black coin and look it over briefly. I might not be a terribly skilled man, but I know how to get by. I look up as my door opens up and the Grinning Man walks in. He wears his black slacks and his black button down shirt, his mane of black hair is clean but unstyled. He removes his shoes before sitting down across from me; he always does this no matter what the style of the day is, he wants me to see the rotted flesh and exposed bone that he has been walking on. “You are looking well, Nathan. Are you feeling lucky today?” “I always am.” “Has this life treated you well?” “I met some beautiful women, smoked some beautiful plants, watched some wonderful performances, and I am very curious to see where this whole internet thing is going to go.” The Grinning Man studies me for a moment then bursts out with a laugh. “Wow! What a life! Is it still so precious to you?” I hesitate for a moment – he cuts me off. “Are you aware that you are losing your mind, Nathan? I suppose you are. Is that why you spend so much time in your bed now? Watching Abbot and Costello because the world is just moving too fast? You have not listened to anything recorded since the sixties. Are you sure that it is not time to just let the natural order have its way? It’s time to die, Nathan, your soul was never meant to be human for so long.” I scowl at him and stand up, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready to die! It’s not today! Are you ready to do this?” The Grinning Man leans back and holds up a hand to tell me to steady myself. “Have you been of use to anyone this life?” I knew what he was asking. I had been feeling it myself. I used past fortunes to sustain my life, I have not worked for sixty years. I knew so very few people. I did not want to know them – they disappoint you. “Why should it matter to you? Let’s play the game.” He slammed his hand on the table and yelled out – his voice sounded like an entire chorus screaming in rage – “remember your place, mortal! Do not suppose that I will tolerate impatience from something like you!” I looked down at the table and inhaled deeply. “There is a young boy in the apartment complex. Maybe 12? I was of use to him.” “In what way?” He asked as his voice became more calm and earthly. “I should not say. It might spoil the game.” A young man had lost his father and rarely saw his mother. Maybe I corrupted him, but it was all I could do for the boy. I taught him how to gamble and purposely lost to him so that he could buy himself a few small things to bring him some joy. His favorite trick, of course, was the coin toss. Who knows? Maybe I made that boy immortal. “Very well, are you ready, Nathan?” I pulled out my coin and stared Death himself in the eye. This is the only time I can stand to look at him as my mark. “One coin toss. If I call correctly, then I get another life. I want to start at the age of 25. If I fail, then my soul is yours to do with as you must.” “Agreed.” I flipped the coin. I set the coin on my thumb Tails up. I exerted the exact effort that I needed. I flipped- “Is it because of all the friends – the wife – that I have reaped that you refuse to know anyone else?” I felt the old familiar lump in my throat. My eyes burned a little. It was all I could do to not let my loneliness spill out again. Not in front of him. This was not the critical matter, though, what mattered was that the coin clattered against the table and his rotting hand stretched out and covered it. “Call it, Nathan.” “That’s dirty.” “Call it!” The coin, starting tails up, flipped with the exact angle and force I intended, should have landed heads. Did I flip it correctly? I paused to think and then saw his rotting hand turn young and healthy. I looked up and saw my young friend sitting across from me. “Nathan,” the young boy said, “it is a blessing to be mortal. Call it.” “Tails.” The young boy smiled, “thank you, Nathan. You have taught me much.” He collected up my coin and slipped it in his pocket. “I have a game to go play. If I win, well, maybe you and I will see each other in Sheol one day.” He stood up and stretched out, as he did so he stretched himself out to the form of the Grinning Man once again. As he turned to walk out the door, I felt compelled to follow him. There are winners and losers. Maybe sometimes losers are just too clever to realize what winning is. As I entered the hallway, out of the corner of my eye I saw my wife smiling. I walked forward as the edges of my world began going dark. I hope that there is a new color after it all goes black, but if there is, I’ll never be able to tell you so.
2016-09-23T08:57:47
2016-09-23T08:06:29
196
115
[WP] You are notified when you visit somewhere for the last time. Today, the notification appears everywhere you go. [deleted]
In a mad flurry, the new app LastChance had been downloaded in 24 hours more times than any other application in the world. Most were heralding it as the harbinger of death while some were embracing it as justification to their YOLO moments, living out every day like it was their last. For John David, however, it was a mere fad that would fade away like so much fog. John woke up the morning of the 8th of July like any other day though he knew it would be his last. Every chime of his phone drew it from his pocket to notify him of his last doughnut, last coffee, last time driving. His final sunrise on the east coast of Florida was quite delightful and he would look back on it fondly. His last drive into work was only marked by the single event notification from his phone. As the day drew on, he continued the preparations for the long sleep, donning the appropriate clothing and checking to make sure all of the life saving equipment would be prepared in place should he need it. As he settled into his work chair, awaiting the final countdown, his past came roaring back to him in visions of his family and friends who he would likely never see again. Among the jarring confusion a small light drew his gaze from the heavens down to his phone and he saw a small notification "Final moment on Earth" Hopefully Mars would be full of as many adventures.
The app is a green square with a white cow face, cartoonish and grinning. It's called "Mooving On". It was downloaded over three million times within twenty four hours. Patty tapped her screen with a fingernail. Seven months later and the only notification she got was for a friend of a friend somewhere on the East Coast. Howth or something, not that it mattered. She had gone to DCU like most of her school, but ended up at home and spending all day going door to door to clean arses and dole out medication. It was surprising that the app wasn't constantly buzzing, considering her line of work. But people in Galway were of a sort and they did not die easily. They went down swinging, would box with the Almighty if they could. Which is why when she said 'hullo' to Mammy before she went out the door the chime made her freeze. The truth was, did anyone want to know? Really, deep in their guts, was knowing better? Patty wanted to double back, kiss her on the cheek, take the day and just talk. Christ, what was the good in knowing? It would only give a name and a time. It was just maths - cold and heartless and spat out from somewhere in America. Patty caught the eye of Kathy Doyle. Doyle smiled tightly. Her husband worked in town proper, as a butcher. Patty's phone chimed again. She dug it out of her bag with shaking hands. There were two notifications: Ruth O'Shay 13:34 Kathy Doyle 13:34 Patty darkened the screen and walked to work with her head down. It chimed when she signed in at the office, three times; Martha at the desk, Emer and Sean who where emptying their SHARPS boxes and refilling meds from the lockbox. When Patty was let in by Old Mrs Byrne it was silent. She had turned it off at the beginning of her shift. There was tea and cake pressed upon her. Normally Patty avoided it because it came with an awkward twenty minutes waiting for the water to heat for the bath. Old Mrs Byrne was nice but trapped somewhere in 1967 on a good day. "That poor Jackie," she would say, and pat Patty's hand. "You look just like her." Patty knew she didn't but took the compliment anyway. "What are you doing this afternoon?" "I'm going to church," Patty was surprised to find it was true. "Oh that's nice." Old Mrs Byrne's skin was like onion paper and she had the smell of waxy lipstick and lavender water. "That's nice, Pegs." Patty didn't know anyone named Peggy. The church was empty. It was her lunch break. Along the wall the confessional stood empty. Patty went inside one anyway and shut the door. She turned on the phone. It beeped over and over and over. After a moment she fumbled it off again. 13:34. It was all the same. Either the whole of Galway was going to fall into the sea or... Patty was surprised to find herself crying. She had a ache, like she had bumped her head but it was by her temples. Her face felt chapped. It was awful. She felt so alone, huddling in the dark. There was the stink of carpet clener under her knees. It had been so long she couldn't remember the words. *Forgive me Father... No. Start again: Bless me Father for I have sinned, in my words and in my deeds now and at the hour... No, no.* She couldn't remember any of it. Not a word, just the sound of *Ave Maria, Ave Maria, Aleliuja.* Patty tried again but it kept slipping though her fingers so she just ran through what she knew, the *Hail Mary, full of Grace the Lord is with thee and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus and now... and I believe in one holy and appaslo- appa- church, I believe in bastistism and the resuscitation of the sin now and at the hour of our death. I believe this and deliver Lord from every evil and grant us peace in they name in thy mercy keep us free from sin and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our saviour, amen.* That was it. She didn't know anymore. She was drunk on fear. Her phone was running hot in her hand. It was quiet and dark in here. Some light was edging though the slats of the window. Patty leaned her head against the wall, tacky varnshed wood, and closed her eyes.
2016-11-03T07:36:30
2016-11-03T05:37:17
592
319
[WP] Due to their genetic heritage as pursuit predators, humans have been known to be the best bounty hunters and private detectives in the galaxy. If you want to find someone, you hire a human. They just won't stop until they find who they are looking for.
*You have come to report?* Simae’n asked, its bulbous upper eye gleaming with avarice, three of its lower eyes skimming over Matt’s body in search of the prize while the other five scanned the room in every other direction. Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. Atarean telepathy always gave him an irritating buzzing feeling in his sinuses. “Yeah, I found ‘em alright. They—” The Atarean was scuttling away from him across the packed restaurant, snapping up freeze-dried insects from a tray carried by a frazzled looking Mursion female. She expertly swiped a credit reader past the Atarean’s bandolier to take payment before it moved out of reach, back towards Matt. The Mursion stared at her empty tray, looking puzzled as to why she was out on the restaurant floor, until the tray lit up with new instructions and she slimed back towards the kitchen. *You have come to report?* Simae’n asked again, shaking a hairy tarantula leg from one claw. Its main claw and four of its eyes were busy with its smartphone, which was alerting messages every few seconds with bleeps and clicks. Earth insects were a new fad; there were billboards everywhere with animated slogans: **Earth crickets: the new superfood!** **Need to put new shine in those feathers? Try slugs!** “Yeah,” Matt repeated, speaking quickly. “I found them. They were just—” He bit back a curse as Simae’n spun in a circle, suddenly standing erect on his middle leg, a claw wobbling perilously close to Matt’s face as it balanced there for a moment, before dropping back to all fives with a clump and a wash of reptilian-like stink in the warm air. The smartphone clicked four or five times in succession and most of its eyes flicked down to it before the upper eye returned to Matt. *I thought I saw Flak’g.* Simae’n explained unapologetically. *It is in mating heat. It produced four eggs last season, and--* “You want the files?” Matt cut in sharply. “I got the files.” *Ah, the files.* Simae’n crooned into his mind. *Yes, the files. Give them to me.* “My fee first,” he insisted. Atareans were generally extremely honest businessmen, but the problem was chasing them down if they left before they paid. On a smooth surface, an Atarean could run thirty miles an hour without breaking a sweat, or whatever it is they do to thermoregulate. He saw Simae’n’s main eye start to swivel away from him and he quickly whipped out the brightly covered plastic drive from his pocket, waving it in front of the bulging eye. “My fee,” he reminded it. Simae’n fumbled with its bandolier to produce a wad of credit cards, dropping them into Matt’s outstretched hand and snatching the file from him in the same movement. *I will have another assignment for you tomorrow. Meet me in the usual--* Before it could finish the thought, the unmistakeable clicking of two Atareans meeting drew its attention and it shot off across the restaurant, disappearing into the crowd. Matt grinned, pocketing most of the cards and heading to the bar with the remaining one. He had a meeting with a Vitzzi in an hour, but like Simae’n, it was a regular, just needing him to find an item it had left somewhere around its home most likely. Simae’n had a habit of leaving the house without anything it needed for the rest of the day, and was a reliable source of income to bring it its work files and access cards every afternoon, by which time it had usually remembered it was supposed to be working. It was amazing other species had achieved FTL travel with their short attention spans, but he supposed that’s why they didn’t have the patience for wars either, and that must have saved them a lot of wasted time. To them, humans were supernatural zen masters of patience, with laser focus on tasks and an astonishing, almost debilitating, capacity to do one thing at a time. He wove his way through the chaotic room, aliens zooming in all directions, often changing direction in crazy zig-zags as their destination changed with every fleeting thought. As he made his way to the bar, he watched Simae’n set the plastic drive on a table and lunge out of the restaurant on its urgent way somewhere. Probably headed to work. Matt slipped through the crowd and quietly pocketed the file drive. He’d have a drink and wait. Simae’n would be back in about an hour and he could “report” again. But first, to try to get a server’s attention for long enough to actually *get* that drink. (Edit: grammar)
The atmosphere broke, birthed into life in a roar of sound and the ship fell like a stone on fire. The world was strange and green and filled with tall buildings amidst the emerald sea and it was hot. The people here, if they were really people, were brown and fit and had dark hair and dark eyes. Calif had never been there before. He was young and this was the farthest he had ever been. Above, the Earth was a far star, a receding speck in the sky. Home was gone for the while. He was on his own. The waves washed his suit in a crashes as he walked to the shore. A great forest lay beyond and beyond that the large city stood, grey and iridescent. He looked at his dossier. His target was a woman, or looked like one, and she was said to live in the heart of the city, near the lines that divided the slums from the aristocracy. The red light district. The forest's shadows were pale and tinted. They shifted with the trees and there were scattered growls of foreign monsters. This world was lean, violent and mean. In the dark a shadow sifted something lept. Calif fell to his knees and lifted his hands and grasped the beast. A snarling sound with great tusks struggled. The beast was large but without plan. Calif fell to the ground and reached for his knife. The thing sank to it almost willingly and it let out a great cry that made the forest quiet and still. Then it was dead. Calif continued to the city and it was night then and stacks of neon built into splashes of color on the ground. Dark held only the corners and heart here and Calif had many shadows as he walked. The brown people eyed him strangely. "Take off mask fool!" one shouted. Others jeered at him but only from those corners that remained dark. He was human and all knew what that meant. He came unmolested to the red light district. The sounds of pleasure and desperation echoed boldly into the night. Calif looked up but the sky was black and no stars showed. He remembered how far away from home he was. And yet it all seemed so similar. Something stirred inside him and he felt guilty. The sounds of the women made him think of his wife. On Earth she was pregnant and they were poor. Destitution had crept in on their lives and they were close to the edge oblivion. This job was their only hope. A big payday could change things. But he felt guilty. He was so far from all that and the sounds in the air tempted him. He tried to focus. He continued through the dark paths. Women of different colors called to him. The great canals flowed green and reflected a shimmering light. "Mona," Calif said. "Mona Dris." He knew not the language but the name was sufficient. "No Mona," one said in a pidgin English. "Come with me. Mona whore." He moved on. The second person was more helpful She pointed to the left where there was a tangle of concrete boxes with lanterns on poles and where the dark congregated. "Mona," the woman said. "Don't go." He went anyway and a feeling of dread overcame him. The sounds had died and when he came to the building it was quiet and he felt alone. *They are afraid of me more than I am of them* he thought. The door opened easily enough and it was dark inside. "Mona," Calif said. It echoed and fell into the void and from the shadows a woman came. She looked more alien than the rest but she was beautiful and she smiled at Calif. "Hello," she said in English. "We don't get humans in here often. At least I think that's what you are." "Are you Mona?" he asked. In the shadows she was almost hidden and only her face really showed. She had sharp teeth and she wore a robe that was near falling. "Yes," she said. "I suppose I am." He wanted to pull his gun. His plan had always been to shoot her and then escape as quickly as he could. It was always his style. On Earth they had been indoctrinated to think that the aliens were like animals, no smarter, and that killing them was akin to hunting. That had resonated with him but now he wavered and his hand would not move. "I can speak English," she said. "You don't have to think of your words. I will understand." She looked at him with a smile. Her eyes reflected that emerald film that permeated this world. "I-I," Calif said but she stepped closer and held his hand. "You are shy," she said. "Why don't you come in and we can talk more comfortably?" She led him upstairs in scant light there was a heavy feeling in the air, a calm that made him worry. He tried to pull away on the stairs and to get his gun, but she held firm and pretended not to notice. "This is your first time I presume?" "I'm not here to..." "I know that," she said. "I didn't mean that. This is your first time as an assassin." He froze. She turned and smiled. "You humans only come for one thing. And you are the boldest of all who have come." "No," he said. "No? You are not here to kill?" He pulled away and reached for his gun. "I am. This is not my first time killing." He aimed with courage and then Mona was gone. His wife stared at him but she had emerald eyes that were as deep as the sea. "Alison," he said. "Yes," she said and held his hand, guiding the gun away. "No," he said but she came and took off his helmet and kissed him and she was warm and he held her she was really Alison in that moment. "You know in your heart I am not her," she whispered but she was still Alison. "I can be her though. Or I can be whoever you want." He pulled away but the hands held him. He looked at Mona with her harp teeth and pretty face, bronze beneath the weak light. "All your troubles can end," she said. "You can have anything you want. Why kill when you can love?" Calif could not talk. He thought of back home and of the real Alison and of their real struggles. He thought of how far that was. He thought of Earth glimmering faintly like a dying light. "You are not her," he said. Then she was. "I can share your thoughts. I can become her." He was silent. "Drop the gun," she said and it was Alison. The gun fell and he felt guilty and tried to justify it all to himself. "You can have everything you ever wanted. All your struggles will melt away," she said. He came closer and held her shoulders. Those eyes were deep and he was lost in them. A lightheaded-ness came and he wanted to lie down. "Take off the rest of that suit," she said. She was Mona now and he was guilty for feeling more attracted to her than Alison. He took off the suit and there was the beep of the electronics warning him. His throat began to constrict and there was a charge than ran through his body. Mona placed his hand on her breast. "You silly humans," she said. "So strong but so easily fooled." Calif's eyes began to water. He began to cough and she came and kissed him again and her breath was a renewed life in his lungs. "Never take off the suit," she said. "The air here is bad for humans. It's a bit green." He scrambled for his helmet and suit but her kiss was fading and that cloud was coming and his eyes watered so bad that he could not see. Mona kicked him and he fell backwards down the stairs and he began to cough and scream. Outside a crowd had build and there was laughter in the dark. "Human! Human! Human!" they were chanting. Calif looked up and there was darkness in that strange place and he thought of Earth and of Alison and he wondered how he could ever be such a fool.
2017-02-24T09:15:06
2017-02-24T03:38:57
37
20
[WP] The saddest thing about being immortal isn't being the last member of your family, it's being the last member of your species. While you stayed the same everything else evolved.
At first I was astounded that I couldn't die. Well at least not from aging. I could party and live life to its fullest. I was the **Invincible Riacork** but After a while though regular fun got boring. So that's when I turned towards the mysteries of the world, of the mind. I studied every aspect of the world. The natural sciences were my muses. Sure over time I saw the downfall of my people. It was heartbreaking. My people were usurped by a more "evolved" species as they would later call themselves. But I rejected them even though some of my own kind would "mingle" with them. Over the years I accumulated so much information that I left my planet behind to explore the stars. But even then I soon grew bored. So I returned home. There I met a woman and had a daughter. Sure I wasn't exactly there for her when she was growing up. And I did take up drinking quite fiercely. Still I love my daughter and me and my grandson and granddaughter go on adventures all the time. Although I did have to shorten my name to Rick.
I'm not sure when it happened; I can only say the first time when I should have realized something was wrong. I was out walking out our 10 year old dog, Bud, when a car swerved and hit us both. Waking up a bloody daze in the hospital, I was told that Bud didn't make it. However, I should consider myself lucky to be alive. An entire year passed before I accepted what happened; how my best friend wasn't coming back, how none of it was my fault, how it felt to feel again. For a time, there were no issues. From time to time, my wife Molly would complain about how much younger I looked. my wife would point out her graying hair or how she found a new liver spot, but how I looked the same. Like most wives do, she didn't believe me when I told her she looked as lovely as the day I met her. It was in my mid-forties where we thought something was wrong. I didn't have gray hair and I looked closer to the age of college senior than my own wife's age. concerned, we went to several doctors, but they couldn't find any causes behind this phenomena. They merely brushed it away as a rare genetic mutation and I shouldn't pay attention to it or think of myself as invincible. My relationship with my wife grew more and more strained over time. She had difficulty dealing with any remarks someone made about us. Such as referring to her as my mother or grandma. She really grew furious at me when younger women would hit on me, and completely lost it when I flirted back once. The conflict reached it's natural conclusion in under year: divorce. For a time being I had my friends support me, but a gap grew between us as well. They didn't want to go out drinking or talk about the game as much. As time would have it, I met younger friends and even found I new wife, Emily. Of course this was in a completely new town. I didn't want to burdened by old memories. In the back of my mind, I also didn't want to be bothered by some random institution of scientists. Emily and I even had son after a year into our marriage. These years were marked by explosive Robotic Tech. It was nice to see so many people who previously could not see, see. To give people the ability to hear, or even use limbs once lost, and to give long term coma patients their lives back! As one could imagine there was some push back to the robotic plague. But it didn't last long, any rebellions were quickly dealt with, and hundreds of new laws came out punishing any kind of discrimination against robot augmentations. Then they started equipping soldiers with robotic suites to carry out dangerous missions. Then they let construction workers use these suits instead of machinery as the latter did not allow much room for fine detail. Robotic eyes were then used by people to improve their vision beyond what was normal, some people even used chips or new brains to enhance their own intelligence. Then people started replacing their birth limbs with robot ones. Why have a weak limbs that are liable to breaking and feeling displeasure? I was extremely uncomfortable buying these updates for our son, but Emily quickly convinced me with her death gaze. Eventually even Emily got such robot augmentations. Voicing any concerned was met with the same phrase. "stop being so ignorant and embrace the change!" I however, couldn't, it just seemed so unnatural. What was the point of living if you could not sense the world as a human? or even struggle as a human? Things changed when I came home to a note telling me how different we had become and to not look for them. Everywhere around me, the everything had changed. From people who frolicked through nature to beings that controlled nature. Flesh was as rare as flowers. Flowers were replaced by charging stations, most of the wildlife became automated solar panels. Not even the trees were left, only huge server stacks. The world I once knew was completely gone, so I had to end it. I jumped off the highest server and to my dismay, I had not even bled on impact. Yes, I've tried several times, only to to be met with the same results. No one was around here to seems to care much for me or what I do. I wondered when they would turn me into some kind of power source, but the day never came. They seemed to have been engulfed by their own virtual world.
2017-09-15T01:31:02
2017-09-14T18:51:45
31
17
[WP] The saddest thing about being immortal isn't being the last member of your family, it's being the last member of your species. While you stayed the same everything else evolved.
At first I was astounded that I couldn't die. Well at least not from aging. I could party and live life to its fullest. I was the **Invincible Riacork** but After a while though regular fun got boring. So that's when I turned towards the mysteries of the world, of the mind. I studied every aspect of the world. The natural sciences were my muses. Sure over time I saw the downfall of my people. It was heartbreaking. My people were usurped by a more "evolved" species as they would later call themselves. But I rejected them even though some of my own kind would "mingle" with them. Over the years I accumulated so much information that I left my planet behind to explore the stars. But even then I soon grew bored. So I returned home. There I met a woman and had a daughter. Sure I wasn't exactly there for her when she was growing up. And I did take up drinking quite fiercely. Still I love my daughter and me and my grandson and granddaughter go on adventures all the time. Although I did have to shorten my name to Rick.
I'm not sure when it happened; I can only say the first time when I should have realized something was wrong. I was out walking out our 10 year old dog, Bud, when a car swerved and hit us both. Waking up a bloody daze in the hospital, I was told that Bud didn't make it. However, I should consider myself lucky to be alive. An entire year passed before I accepted what happened; how my best friend wasn't coming back, how none of it was my fault, how it felt to feel again. For a time, there were no issues. From time to time, my wife Molly would complain about how much younger I looked. my wife would point out her graying hair or how she found a new liver spot, but how I looked the same. Like most wives do, she didn't believe me when I told her she looked as lovely as the day I met her. It was in my mid-forties where we thought something was wrong. I didn't have gray hair and I looked closer to the age of college senior than my own wife's age. concerned, we went to several doctors, but they couldn't find any causes behind this phenomena. They merely brushed it away as a rare genetic mutation and I shouldn't pay attention to it or think of myself as invincible. My relationship with my wife grew more and more strained over time. She had difficulty dealing with any remarks someone made about us. Such as referring to her as my mother or grandma. She really grew furious at me when younger women would hit on me, and completely lost it when I flirted back once. The conflict reached it's natural conclusion in under year: divorce. For a time being I had my friends support me, but a gap grew between us as well. They didn't want to go out drinking or talk about the game as much. As time would have it, I met younger friends and even found I new wife, Emily. Of course this was in a completely new town. I didn't want to burdened by old memories. In the back of my mind, I also didn't want to be bothered by some random institution of scientists. Emily and I even had son after a year into our marriage. These years were marked by explosive Robotic Tech. It was nice to see so many people who previously could not see, see. To give people the ability to hear, or even use limbs once lost, and to give long term coma patients their lives back! As one could imagine there was some push back to the robotic plague. But it didn't last long, any rebellions were quickly dealt with, and hundreds of new laws came out punishing any kind of discrimination against robot augmentations. Then they started equipping soldiers with robotic suites to carry out dangerous missions. Then they let construction workers use these suits instead of machinery as the latter did not allow much room for fine detail. Robotic eyes were then used by people to improve their vision beyond what was normal, some people even used chips or new brains to enhance their own intelligence. Then people started replacing their birth limbs with robot ones. Why have a weak limbs that are liable to breaking and feeling displeasure? I was extremely uncomfortable buying these updates for our son, but Emily quickly convinced me with her death gaze. Eventually even Emily got such robot augmentations. Voicing any concerned was met with the same phrase. "stop being so ignorant and embrace the change!" I however, couldn't, it just seemed so unnatural. What was the point of living if you could not sense the world as a human? or even struggle as a human? Things changed when I came home to a note telling me how different we had become and to not look for them. Everywhere around me, the everything had changed. From people who frolicked through nature to beings that controlled nature. Flesh was as rare as flowers. Flowers were replaced by charging stations, most of the wildlife became automated solar panels. Not even the trees were left, only huge server stacks. The world I once knew was completely gone, so I had to end it. I jumped off the highest server and to my dismay, I had not even bled on impact. Yes, I've tried several times, only to to be met with the same results. No one was around here to seems to care much for me or what I do. I wondered when they would turn me into some kind of power source, but the day never came. They seemed to have been engulfed by their own virtual world.
2017-09-15T01:31:02
2017-09-14T22:09:08
31
16
[WP] The saddest thing about being immortal isn't being the last member of your family, it's being the last member of your species. While you stayed the same everything else evolved.
At first I was astounded that I couldn't die. Well at least not from aging. I could party and live life to its fullest. I was the **Invincible Riacork** but After a while though regular fun got boring. So that's when I turned towards the mysteries of the world, of the mind. I studied every aspect of the world. The natural sciences were my muses. Sure over time I saw the downfall of my people. It was heartbreaking. My people were usurped by a more "evolved" species as they would later call themselves. But I rejected them even though some of my own kind would "mingle" with them. Over the years I accumulated so much information that I left my planet behind to explore the stars. But even then I soon grew bored. So I returned home. There I met a woman and had a daughter. Sure I wasn't exactly there for her when she was growing up. And I did take up drinking quite fiercely. Still I love my daughter and me and my grandson and granddaughter go on adventures all the time. Although I did have to shorten my name to Rick.
I'm not sure when it happened; I can only say the first time when I should have realized something was wrong. I was out walking out our 10 year old dog, Bud, when a car swerved and hit us both. Waking up a bloody daze in the hospital, I was told that Bud didn't make it. However, I should consider myself lucky to be alive. An entire year passed before I accepted what happened; how my best friend wasn't coming back, how none of it was my fault, how it felt to feel again. For a time, there were no issues. From time to time, my wife Molly would complain about how much younger I looked. my wife would point out her graying hair or how she found a new liver spot, but how I looked the same. Like most wives do, she didn't believe me when I told her she looked as lovely as the day I met her. It was in my mid-forties where we thought something was wrong. I didn't have gray hair and I looked closer to the age of college senior than my own wife's age. concerned, we went to several doctors, but they couldn't find any causes behind this phenomena. They merely brushed it away as a rare genetic mutation and I shouldn't pay attention to it or think of myself as invincible. My relationship with my wife grew more and more strained over time. She had difficulty dealing with any remarks someone made about us. Such as referring to her as my mother or grandma. She really grew furious at me when younger women would hit on me, and completely lost it when I flirted back once. The conflict reached it's natural conclusion in under year: divorce. For a time being I had my friends support me, but a gap grew between us as well. They didn't want to go out drinking or talk about the game as much. As time would have it, I met younger friends and even found I new wife, Emily. Of course this was in a completely new town. I didn't want to burdened by old memories. In the back of my mind, I also didn't want to be bothered by some random institution of scientists. Emily and I even had son after a year into our marriage. These years were marked by explosive Robotic Tech. It was nice to see so many people who previously could not see, see. To give people the ability to hear, or even use limbs once lost, and to give long term coma patients their lives back! As one could imagine there was some push back to the robotic plague. But it didn't last long, any rebellions were quickly dealt with, and hundreds of new laws came out punishing any kind of discrimination against robot augmentations. Then they started equipping soldiers with robotic suites to carry out dangerous missions. Then they let construction workers use these suits instead of machinery as the latter did not allow much room for fine detail. Robotic eyes were then used by people to improve their vision beyond what was normal, some people even used chips or new brains to enhance their own intelligence. Then people started replacing their birth limbs with robot ones. Why have a weak limbs that are liable to breaking and feeling displeasure? I was extremely uncomfortable buying these updates for our son, but Emily quickly convinced me with her death gaze. Eventually even Emily got such robot augmentations. Voicing any concerned was met with the same phrase. "stop being so ignorant and embrace the change!" I however, couldn't, it just seemed so unnatural. What was the point of living if you could not sense the world as a human? or even struggle as a human? Things changed when I came home to a note telling me how different we had become and to not look for them. Everywhere around me, the everything had changed. From people who frolicked through nature to beings that controlled nature. Flesh was as rare as flowers. Flowers were replaced by charging stations, most of the wildlife became automated solar panels. Not even the trees were left, only huge server stacks. The world I once knew was completely gone, so I had to end it. I jumped off the highest server and to my dismay, I had not even bled on impact. Yes, I've tried several times, only to to be met with the same results. No one was around here to seems to care much for me or what I do. I wondered when they would turn me into some kind of power source, but the day never came. They seemed to have been engulfed by their own virtual world.
2017-09-14T20:22:29
2017-09-14T18:51:45
30
17
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person.
My knees and back ache as I stumble out of the nursing home. I should've died years ago, that's what my body would've wanted. The complaining joints and shriveled up muscles. My cane taps against the concrete. I'd been entrusted. When that time traveler woman asked me to deliver this message all those years ago, I knew I'd been chosen. The coffee shop doesn't look the same. It used to have cozy lights and fluffy armchairs. Now it's all neon lights and loud music. Each generation gets more and more obnoxious. That's a truth of life. I sit down at a table, my hip thanking me for alleviating the pressure. Some kind of tablet serves as the menu. Everything has to be digital these days. I'm just about to order something when a man in a black coat takes the seat opposite. He looks at me expectantly. This is my moment. I massage my jaw and put my dentures in. This is it. "You have a message for me, yes?" the immortal says, his eyes deep with ageless wisdom. I clear my throat. "Yes, sir." "Well, let's hear it." I put my glasses on and pull out the letter. The paper is wrinkled and yellow, but the envelope is intact. I slowly work my way through the paper, carefully pulling out the letter. "I've kept it safe all these years." "Perfect!" I clear my throat again. My eyes straining. >Milk, apples, baking soda > Chocolate! <3 (don't forget, or you're sleeping on the couch!!). I stare at the words. I stare at the immortal. Are you kidding me?
After a long strenuous day at work, all I wanted was to have a few sips of my black coffee, that's all. I, a sixty four year old man, don't generally attract a lot of attention, so it was lovely to be interrupted by a man with a turquoise mohawk and sunglasses in the winter. ​ "Traveler 7456? I'll need you to pass this message along to a Wendy Aulgarth, you'll meet her in the Bronx in 2070. So the message i-" ​ "I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that you're speaking to the wrong individual. What is this? Traveler 7456? Is this some video game forum that you're coming from?" I interrupted. The man raised an eyebrow and chuckled. ​ "Man, you Travelers never seen to lose your sense of humor, always acting clueless when we come around. Now the message is: "Your journey now has just begun, the demise of man has already been sung, to flee and weep is to see it through, but to rise and fall is to begin anew," The man grinned, and continued to stare at me, "You got that?" ​ Now, as you can imagine, I was becoming rather agitated. ​ "Is it Bother Elderly People Day? Even if I were apart of your nonsense, why would I tell anyone such a morbid message? Please leave me be!" I barked. ​ "Yeah, okay whatever you say man. Just deliver the damn message," The man grunted and trudged away. I finished my coffee in peace, but the message was replaying in my head. With each sip a detail was being refreshed. ​ **Sip.** *Wendy Aulgarth.* **Sip.** *The Bronx, 2070.* **Sip.** *Traveler 7456.* ​ Once I finished, I promptly left and went for a brief stroll in the snow in order to drown out my thoughts. Then I collapsed. A high pitched ringing sounded in my ears, and seemed to be pounding my brain as it went. I screamed in agony and the people surrounding me assumed that I was having a standard "old person problem" until I closed my eyes for a brief moment and found myself laying on a different snow covered sidewalk. ​ The ringing had stopped and no one paid any attention to me, in fact, people were strolling right by. ​ "I could still be in Boston," I chuckled and brushed the snow off of my clothes. I remembered that I intended on mailing a letter and I proceeded to the local post office. Which wasn't in its normal spot, and was also squeezed between two massive facilities that I had never seen before. Entering hesitantly, a frail woman at the desk glanced at me with a half hearted smile. ​ "Are you just here for the exhibits?" The woman asked with a strange mix between a southern drawl and Cockney accent. ​ "Exhibits? No, no I'm here to mail a letter!" I laughed nervously, hoping that the woman was joking too. Her smile slid off of her face, and she rolled her eyes. ​ "Everyone thinks that they're a fucking comedian," She muttered and grabbed my arm, "Pay up and I'll take you through the first exhibit." ​ "Mam, I'm serious, look!" I said as I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out the letter. She looked at me with a bewildered expression. ​ "Sir, you are aware that it's 2070. In this neighborhood especially, there are only two functioning post offices, and this isn't one of them," The woman shook her head and returned to her desk to use her phone. I stood dumbfounded. I searched around and spotted a flat screen television mounted on the wall. ​ "Can you turn that on please? Turn the station to the news as well." ​ With a grunt the television was turned on to show a completely different format than what I recalled with many new faces as well. ​ "On this day, December 17th, 2070, we are unfortunately here to report the death o-" ​ *2070*. I thought. I looked at the letter I had intended to mail and snatched a pen from the counter of the desk. The woman watched me with intrigue and annoyance as I scribbled down what I remembered of the message. ​ All that was left to do was fine this goddamn Wendy Aulgarth and deliver her this horrendous news. ​ No sweat.
2018-12-24T10:18:43
2018-12-24T10:18:15
60
10
[WP] Humanity has died, having never escaped the earth. However, the war that killed us was fought with automatic machines which never stopped fighting. Years later, aliens find the earth, devoid of life, with the war that ended us still raging on.
Centralized Intelligence Drone ID: 14M5054D 0030 Data Collection Results: Eastern Front COORD x12924y1231z8887: * Mechanized Light Trooper Battalion 2vc6, 766y, iuz7 - requesting repair drones (5) to deal with incoming forces * Autonomous Tank Battalion 23mn - units lost (2)/requesting replacement units (2) -sending build order to automated factory ID 43376 ETA: 1382s Searching for human intelligence personnel. . . -search failed (11244/11244 tries) -re-entering automated response protocol 0035 Data Collection Results: Eastern Front COORD x75322y24336z7655 * Mechanized Plasma Troop 76v6 - requesting battery cells (6) Northern Front COORD x6453y28764z7532 * Mechanized Flamethrower Brigade 8711 - unit lost -sending build order to automated factory ID 51223 ETA: 2235s Searching for human intelligence personnel. . . -search failed (11245/11245 tries) -re-entering automated response protocol Searching for human intelligence personnel. . . -search failed (23563/23563 tries) -re-entering automated response protocol Searching for human intelligence personnel. . . -search failed (209076/209076 tries) -re-entering automated response protocol Searching for human intelligence personnel. . . FOUND - new life-form life-form communicating in encryption attempting to break encryption. . . SUCCESS recording audio. . . ". . . How. . . sad that. . . all alone. . . many years has. . . been" "What. . . do. . . continue going. . ." "Well. . . we. . . them out of their miser. . ." EMERGENCY Centralized Intelligence Drone ID: 14M5054D sustaining major damage Diagnostic Report: -power cell failure/solar cell failure/ motor belt failure/central hardware failyre/ processjr faipure/scanuer failure Requesting bakc up Requestng back up Requezting bayk ul Searchiyg for hsman intelligtnce pzrsonnal. . . -s6arch fa1led (209077/209077 triew) -re-en0ering automayed response protouol
We had developed a reliance on machines. A reliance that had in part led to the demise of humanity. In the wake of what could have been, under better circumstances, a Utopian Earth, there lay ruins, decay, and soldiering on through the rot a species of machine designed to wreak endless war upon the world. Earth was a meagre century away from other worldly contact. The Watchers in the skies had taken notice when the first Autonomous Artificial Intelligence had been built. Fashioned in a likeness to the beloved C3PO, the affectionately named Poe was a leap and a bound toward a better tomorrow. At least that had been the intention. Imagine it, Intelligent Machines that could care for the elderly, that could harmlessly fight fires, that could perform mountain, road or sea rescues without fear of death, that could even carry out the most delicate of surgeries with an infallible perfect success rate. These machines, their capability for good was beyond endless. That was, until the militant forces of Earth strove to replicate the designs. If you could build a machine impervious to bullets, incapable of retreat, inhumanly fast, accurate and strong, the you could build the perfect soldier. But it didn't end there... C3PO's son of science, Poe, became little more than an idealistic dream of what Intelligent Machines could do, could be. When turned to warfare the applications of autonomous warriors were somewhat more limited. But limited only by the scope of their purpose. To kill. What proceeded Poe was known as the Terminator Two, a hellish exoskeleton designed to point, aim and fire. These machines were programmed to march in lieu of walking, and were built with the means to prevent *interference* with their programming. That is to say *the enemy* would have no hope in remotely operating another forces machines, nor could their directives be altered once entered. If a Terminator was ordered to dispatch of a target, they would do just that, and then dispatch of themselves. This was the means by which humanity meant to retain control, a self destruct mechanism that would engage once the mission was complete. But when that mission became world dominance, and when all opposition had bid on and won the same technology you used, there would be no self-destruct, no *mission success.* There were other autonomous weapons of war, derived from the Terminator Squadron's; there were tanks that strolled the lands on walking legs, there were jets the size of birds of prey that carried minute warheads, there were bomb dispersal and disposal droids, mechanics programmed solely to repair, there were even flights of fancy such as the Chaplain's who fought with staves shaped into crosses and expelled a blinding field of light from within their chest. There was no need for humanity in humanities own war. The end came when there was no end in sight. Knowing they could not deactivate the machines they'd waged in war, knowing that innocents civilians numbering in their millions had been executed in the border-less crossfire, the few *powers that be* remaining made the only choice they could. They unleashed nuclear Armageddon upon the Earth, hoping this would decimate the ceaseless machines of war. It did not. In fact the Armageddon served only to clear the rubble of what little humanity remained. And so the war raged, without purpose, without end, until finally the Watchers in the skies returned... ​ "Status report." Skroll drew unintelligible lines across what appeared to be a blank screen. The screen flickered to life displaying firstly a count down - *eight minutes thirty seven seconds -* and secondly an image of what could only have been the Earth. *Earth.* Skroll shook his head, closing his lone, crimson eye. *What's left of it, at least.* The planet on the screen was unrecognisable. A husk of molten rock and stark grey land. There was no water to be seen, instead, in place of the oceans that were, there bubbled blackened pits of tar. There was not a single sprouting of green upon the screen either. The lands that remained were awash with putrid, acidic colours that burned away at what might once have been fields. "They had potential." Elessk hissed, "Damn shame what happened to them." she was busy fiddling with what looked to be a large piece of pipe work. The pipe was hollow, transparent, and inside a liquid foam spun gently round. "Do you think there were any survivors?" "Doubtful." Elessk smiled, baring several rows of tiny teeth, "You couldn't have known." "We should have stayed, observed for longer. We could have intervened." Elessk fastened a roll of tape around the transparent pipe, and at once the foam started to settle in side. She nodded to herself, satisfied. "Computer," Skroll beckoned the console back, "What's the likelihood there were survivors, on Earth?" After a few short clicks and a loud thrumming sound the computer replied, "Naught point naught naught naught naught... (and many more)... one percent." then adjusting its sounding board to offer a more sympathetic tone, "I'm afraid this isn't a rescue mission, Skroll. Your orders are to observe only, and report on all major losses and damage." Skroll sighed, the screen flickered back to its countdown. *Forty two seconds remaining.* When those forty two seconds were up Skroll, Elessk, and the ship's computer (transported by means of a portable hub) would embark upon a journey across the wastelands of Earth. They would document the damages sustained by the still roaming, ravaging forces of Autonomous Terminators, then they would calculate the total losses sustained to life, human or otherwise, and finally they would return to the skies to report their findings to the universe's own *powers that be.* When all was said and done the Earth would be commissioned for total annihilation by universal decree, and the only record of Earth's prior existence would be that of a mere five lines of bureaucratic text in a poorly written documentation of its demise.
2019-02-27T14:55:34
2019-02-27T13:25:24
619
299
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
Perception can screw with your dreams. When I was young and Naive, I wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to save the day, help little old ladies across the street and help others. The first roadblock to that dream was my powers. I can input enough thermal energy to boil water (although, I theorize with practice, I could boil more thermally resistant substances) and that alone got my ass kicked a few times by the local bully, especially since the power itself isn't very flashy. But the last words my mom ever told me were to be strong and to not return violence with violence. For 15 years I've kept my head down, studied, worked out and trained my abilities in the hope that I could change the world for someone like me. The final nail in the coffin for my dream, was when I was accepted into a Hero Internship. We've all been told that heroes are the paragon of justice and equality in the world, righting wrongs that local law enforcement and governments just can't. But I've seen the truth. These heroes are nothing more than spoiled children with extraordinary abilities and they're.... just wasting them and using them to hurt others. Octave, a sound-based hero leveled an apartment building during a battle with a d-list villain. I later found out that Octave was trying to egg him on, and that the villain's wife and kids were in that apartment building. Every time I attempted to call upon the members of hero society I though were the true shining stars, they sucked out the light of hope with quick and galling efficiency. This is my confession. On October the 17th, and 1:00 P.M CST, I entered my workplace in one of the Hero HQs. My first target was Fortress, the Durable hero. His crime: extortion, assault and murder of several local business people under the guise of asking for protection money. It was simple really, and I exploited a certain.... interesting quirk with thermodynamics. You see, if you impart enough thermal energy in one particular area quickly enough, it will explode. From the outside, it looked as if he had died of an aneurysm. I.. I couldn't stop. Vitreon, with the power to turn objects into a glass-like facsimile of that same object, was the first to catch on. I boiled the water in her eyes to the point that they looked like seared mussels. A fitting punishment, considering all of the bystanders and falsely accused criminals she mutilated and blinded. The pain alone should have knocked her out, but she fired a wave of glass out at the last second. I was able to hide behind Fortress' corpse, and the glass impaled Dr. Gas. His ability to turn himself gaseous had allowed him to slip out of tricky spots and suffocate opponents before, but luckily, he was caught off guard and died from blood loss. I couldn't stop. Every hero I saw, I remembered what they had done to the people they were supposed to protect. I am an inevitable byproduct of a community of demigods unchecked by themselves. If you are a hero and have done these acts and worse to anyone, especially the innocent people who depend on you, I am coming for you. This is not an isolated incident. This is a catalyst.
The leaves in the bottom of the teacup look like blood. I think about that, of LightningGirl chugging blood for breakfast and the idea doesn’t sound unlikely. I pour tap into the copper electric kettle and stare at it. Soon enough, the water begins to boil. I watch the bubbles gurgle and pop, steam misting the inside like a windshield on a foggy wet day in the city. I think about slipping my own self into the kettle, melting me away with it. I think about the first day I found out about my superpower. I was a toddler, maybe three or four, and my mom was cooking spaghetti. She left the pot on the stove to boil as she eagerly watched the season finale of her soaps and I sat on the dirty kitchen floor, playing with mismatched blocks. I remember hearing the water bubble, a plopping happy noise like the river outside of our house that sounds like a stifled giggle. I looked over at the pot and stared at it, enraptured by the sound. I leaned over unto my knees, feeling the dirt on the linoleum press into my kneecaps but keeping my eyes on the pot. The bubbles rose, gurgling now like a brook, steam billowing around the closed pot like crystallized smoke. The glass lid shook and when my mother runs over to turn down the heat down, she asks aloud to herself if there was an earthquake. She turns around and she looks at my big glazed eyes. The look on her face is a question mark. A distant pang in the back of my skull reminds my brain to stop concentrating or I’m gonna pass out. It would be a shame to not bring tea to our precious Lightning Girl. I swirl a teaspoon of sugar into LightningGirl’s mug - a chipped mustard yellow ceramic with a red bolt - and listen to the ring of laughter coming from the hideout’s lounge. Lightning Girl - Malena - likes her raspberry tea with exactly ⅛ honey along with the sugar and I grab the teddy bear bottle. My hand gets sticky as I touch the bottle and I wipe it on the bottom of the mug before searching for a measuring spoon. I yank open a drawer, more stickiness covering the chrome silver handle. Shit, gotta clean that. I make a mental note. I’m rummaging through spoons, ketchup packets, takeout chopsticks, ancient soy sauce packets, an electric gun, a bullethole ridden glove - God, superheroes need to Kon Marie the shit out of this drawer - as again, dried honey sticking to items like an annoying invisible spiderweb. Where the fuck do these super galactic jerks keep measuring spoons? You’d think a measuring spoon wouldn’t matter. That I could just drop a bit of honey in her tea, stir it, and serve it to Malena and she’d be happy. You’d think. On my first day, she asked for her raspberry tea with 1/8th honey and 2 tablespoons of sugar. I was nervous, pit stained kid with acne and a forming ulcer somewhere in the back of my abdomen from how goddamn anxious I was. I had just been released from juvenile detention - petty theft, some absences but what is school for anyway but to place me in a contrived system - and I want to impress them. My parole officer, who I find out is some sort of fat Caucasian version Nick Fury, told me about a community service job, a personal assistant with a company called HiTech Music Hero Inc., which just so happens to be the secret headquarters of The Hero League of Atlanta. And of course, a nerdy quiet seventeen year old loser would nut his pants just to be in the presence of one superhero. Let alone two. So, when LightningGirl, the hottest superhero who shoots lightning out of her hands - and other orifices? - who doesn’t even make eye contact with me and types on her MacBook, asks me to make her a cup of tea, I beam like a child. You bet your ass I’m gonna make her a damn good cup of tea. The one thing I didn’t account for - the honey. The fucking honey. When I present to her the honeyless drink, she grabbed my wrist hard, yanked me so I was inches from her beautiful, beautiful face, and she growled low enough so I could hear,”Fuck up my tea, again, intern, and you’re back in juvy.” And that, my friends, is how I learned Lightning Girl, our favorite electric superhero, is a fucking bitch. She let go and a spark runs up my arm like an electric current and I shake away, stumbling backwards a bit. I look down at my arm, a grayish silver imprint in the shape of a hand stinging my pale skin. The rest of the heroes in the lounge, pretended not to hear, the same kind of tension that you feel from a friend when their mom scolds them in front of you. RockMan, (one of the new heroes from Sri Lanka, - think Hulk meets The Thing meets Terry Crews), gulps down his boiling hot coffee and turns the rap music up on the stereo system. I listen to Chance the Rapper croon about his babymama and rub my stinging arm. Their lounge is set up like a music recording studio, darkened and insulated with puffy black fluff on each wall, and the headphones around Rockman’s ears are outlandishly off kilter and too small for his giant head. The image makes me smirk, just a little, and RockMan looks at me, his deep set green eyes like an apology. The big guy doesn’t talk much since English isn’t his first language but we bonded for a little bit when I first started interning here about a month ago. We talked about jail time, how I had to do dumbass therapy groups where we troubled teenagers sat in a circle and talked about our feelings. And how RockMan had big American army men sit around him in a circle and they talked about his involvement with the war in Iran. With guns jabbing against his temple and his hands tied behind his back with blood soaked rope. Both sensitive shit that we don’t like to talk about. Anyway, the whole moment happened so fast that I thought I dreamed it. I still dream of it, dreams of Lightning Girl seducing me between red silk sheets, tangling me between her warm legs and right before I think I’m going to explode, she dips her finger in my mouth only to send jolts of energy through my esophagus until I am nothing but light and electricity. Kinky.
2019-07-30T17:17:27
2019-07-30T16:45:34
40
13
[WP] You suspect that you’re adopted; so you send your parent’s DNA to a facility with your own to see if they match. The company calls you directly and asks if it was a joke. Your DNA isn’t human.
She sat outside on a wooden park bench, eating a frozen toasted peanut butter sandwich. It was cool, and the air held the sweetness and fresh crispness of an in-season apple. As she went to take the fourth bite of her meal, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She simultaneously hated and loved the thing. It made her sick to her stomach, and whenever she tried to talk to anybody about it, they either called her a liar, or went on about WiFi signals and chemtrails and radiation and... ugh. She took it out of her pocket and eyed the caller ID. DNAus, Inc. Huh. Since she was alone and hadn't seen anybody in a while, she took the call and put it on speaker. "Hello?" she asked. "Hello, Doctor Abbott? This is-" "Miss Abbott. I'm not a doctor." "... ahuh. Well. This is Katherine Paxton, CEO of D-N-A us incorporated calling, how are you?" She slowly set her sandwich down on the plastic zip bag she had brought it in, next to her on the bench. "I'm well. I didn't expect to get a personal phone call about my DNA." "Yes, the epithelial cells you sent in, about them. It was a very funny prank, but at the same time, I was wondering where you got them, and why you paid sixty to prank our company." Something sounded... off. "A friend," she said. It wasn't really a lie. She was her own friend, wasn't she? She had no one else to call a friend at this rate, aside from her own family. Or, er, 'family'? "It was a gift for a friend." "Could you give us this friend's number and address?" "... Address?" "We would like to test more of your friend's DNA. Free of charge. So we would send her multiple free kits." "I'm not in the habit of giving out my friend's information. Have a good day, Miss Paxton." "Wai-" Boop. She pocketed her phone and heard chittering next to her. A squirrel had taken to her sandwich and was eating it. "Asshole," She mumbled to the squirrel. "All's fair in survival," it said with a full mouth. The young woman went to push herself off the bench, putting her hand on the iron arm rest. She flailed and looked at the mild burn on her hand. "Damn iron allergy, every freaking time!"
The phone rang earlier than expected. Usually, it would take 7-10 business days for the results to be delivered, but it had had only been 5. Dry, but still draped in my shower towel, I pick up the phone. A smiling voice is on the other end, "So Mr. Billings, settle a bet for us. Was it a turtle, axolotl, or crayfish? "What do you mean?" "I'm Michel from South West DNA. The sample in the cup. From which pet of yours did you get it from? We can't find a match. It's no dog, cat or horse, we get those all the time from curious middle-class folk. Me and my buddies here are having a little bet on what animal you've tricked us with, 'cause it ain't in our system. I can make out a pyandric grouping in the genomic analysis, usually means cold-blooded... Was it an iguana?" "What are you talking about, that is my hair in the cup. Plucked it myself before sealing the package. I think you have me confused." "Nope, says right here on the computer. Josh Billings. B-I-L-L..." "What about the other sample I sent?", I interjected. "Greg Billings? Male, Anglo-Saxon, part Irish, Viking raider, descended from Charlamagne, blah, blah, blah. Perfectly normal, boring American." I thought to myself for a moment. It was dark when I snuck into the house. Perhaps the bottles were mixed up. Did I mark the bottles incorrectly or did I put my hair in the wrong one? I retraced my footsteps. Through the back window, past the bathroom, and down the hall. Left turn into the living area, past the coffee table and the sleeping dog on the lounge, towards the arm ch- that's it! The dog! The dog sleeps on the chairs. I must have sampled the dog's hair accidentally. "I'm sorry to ruin your bet guys. But I have mixed up the bottles. Greg's sample is mine, sounds just like me. The other one, the one that is supposed to be mine, is actually Greg's labradors." "We get 500 labradors through this lab every week. As I said, this isn't a dog's DNA. And it certainly isn't human" "Does he own any other pets that might have contaminated the sample? Lizards, snakes, amphibians?" "No, he lives alone now with his labrador. Just the two of them. " "God Josh, you must have a lot of time and money on your hands. Please cut to the chase. We will tell Accounts that the sample was lost and run you another test for free. Come on, just let us in on what it was! Sea snail?" "I'm telling you bastards, it was my hair! My. Human. Hair. Stop wasting my time!" I shouted. The was a pause on the line. "Well, Mr. Billings, you might get angry like a human, but you sure as hell don't test like one. If you have a magnifying glass, take a look at the surface you plucked the second sample from. If the hair is dull in color and rounded on all edges, it belongs to the dog. Clean human hair will be glossy and the tip will come straight to a point. If you see any particles along the length of the hair, that's likely your contamination. Insects, spiders, other people's skin, God knows what else. Send us another sample. Have a good day, goodbye." I put the phone down and head to the cabinet in the hallway. I rummage through the top drawer and there at the back, I the found magnifying glass. I was pleased that for once an item was where I had expected it to be. However, I knew that this meant returning to Greg's house and once again tiptoeing through the dark corridors past the sleeping dog. As I fiddle with the front door deadbolt, the screen door swings in and slams into the back of my head, catching my hair in the metal fly. I had neglected to cut it as I always had and instead let it grow longer than ever before, falling far below my shoulders. I was still adjusting to the practicality of having hair of such length. With two fingers I take the tension from the caught strands and break my head free. Two hairs are my left dangling from the screen door as I turn to face it. Bright sun rays catch the strands hanging in the breeze, but unlike the brushed aluminum backdrop, they refuse to reflect any light. 'Clean human hair will be glossy', I remembered. I remove the magnifying glass from my pocket and take a closer inspection. The hairs were homogenous in color, with no microparticles of debris disturbing the surface. That surface, however, captured all light that fell upon it. At a macro level, it was obvious the hairs were straight, but looking now I can see that each hair is spiraled tightly, like Rotini. I withdraw the glass further to enlarge the image. Tiny spurs were visible, lengths no wider than 1/8 of the width of the hair protruding out at regular intervals. As I adjust my grip to inspect the other hair more closely, the two hairs gather around each other and begin to interlock longitudinally into one three dimensional spiral. A familiar form emerges. I quickly pull out the spare sample bottle from my back pocket and hold it next to the magnifying glass to check. It is the same, I am sure of it. The capital S from South West DNA, spelled out with the shape of the famous double helix. I look back at the hair. The helix has tripled in length.
2020-03-25T04:35:14
2020-03-25T02:58:14
30
10
[WP] You, a seasoned warrior, are hardened to the point that you are incapable of feeling any emotion. Or so you thought. Today, you woke up to the faint meows of a tiny kitten outside your window.
##Follow Your Instincts Lionel looks at the wall of information that he is collected over the past few weeks. The target is a standard political leader that has rubbed a few people the wrong way by climbing the ladder. One of them wants to knock him off to improve their own position. The murder would result in instability and an investigation, but Lionel will be on the other side of the world before they caught up to him. Lionel reviews his plans. The leader is attending a state dinner to rub elbows with foreign dignitaries. His arrival is scheduled for 9:00 PM, and the car will be taken to the parking lot by the valet. The parking lot has several holes in its security. Lionel will sneak in, plant a car bomb, and leave. The bomb is linked to a GPS tracker. When it reaches a set location, it will explode. Lionel will pick up the other half of his payment the next day and leave the country. It's all so simple. Lionel smiles to himself. He hears a meow outside of his window. When he turns around, he sees a small dirty creature with orange fur. Lionel walks over to the kitten. It looks up at him with large eyes. Emotions are a detriment in his life. Emotions are vice to be suppressed and avoided. If Lionel starts to view target's humanity, he will make a mistake. This kitten is unleashing all that he has been burying. Lionel sheds a tear and takes it into his arms. He brings it into his kitchen where he pours a small bowl of milk. The kitten gulps it like a cat three times its size. Lionel pulls out the chicken he cooked yesterday. He heats up a small portion and serves it. The chicken is gone within seconds. Lionel smiles. He wets a nearby paper towel and starts to clean the kitten. The kitten has a small pellet that was hidden in its fur. Lionel pulls out the pellet and looks closer at it. A toxic fume sprays into his face. Lionel starts to feel nauseous and loses his balance. He knocks over the rest of the chicken. The kitten starts to eat it. Lionel falls on the ground. He hears the door get knocked as his vision blurs. Soldiers enter the room and start tearing his room apart. A few of them start discussing the evidence board. One of them pulls Lionel off the ground and puts handcuffs on him. Lionel is dragged out of the building. He passes by a car on the way to his prison transport vehicle. The window rolls down, and the targeted leader nods at him. Lionel shakes his head as he is shoved into the truck. Emotions cause nothing but trouble. He let one kitten into his life, and it ruined his career. --- r/AstroRideWrites
The grey morning sun greets me as I open my eyes. Light hazes through the opening in my battle tent, and I can hear the clink of metal and the chatter of men outside. Sitting up, I stretch my arms, then throw my sore legs over the side of my cot. My feet meet mud, and there's dirt on my scarred body. That's one constant in war. Dirt is on everything. I stand and stretch once more, and the yellow tent top brushes against my hair. Hopefully, the armor-bearers had time to clean my plate, though I doubted it. With a battle like yesterday's, they'd be hard at work and even with my reputation, there wasn't really favoritism in those sorts of administrative things. Although you ne-- ... What is that? It was small. *Really* small. It could fit in my hand, probably, and was covered in fur, brown with white on the feet. And it, too, was caked with mud, though soft, black eyes stared curiously at me. Was it some sort of monkey or something? This new land had all sorts of novel creatures, some so violent it felt at times that we were conquering two nations at once. This little monkey walked on all fours, though, so it had to be something completely new. And it just stood there in the tent opening. I looked at it for a moment longer, wondering if this would make for a nice snack over the fire, before simply settling on a, "Beat it!" as I made to exit the tent. The creature jolted and took off, scampering around the fabric wall. As I stepped out into the light of day, I turned and could see the creature running into the forest beyond. "Hm," I said, then set off into the war-camp, nodding at the salutes men gave to me along the way. Time to locate my armor. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The sunset made me think of death as we marched back from the battle. I looked at the blinding orange and red over the ridge, and thought of it as a final gesture to those fallen on the field today. The sun marking their endings with his own. My legs and arms ached deeply, but I walked with a straight back, my mace resting on my plated shoulders. Couldn't slouch in front of my men. Low chatter and hoof scuffs were the only noises as we trekked into camp, the forest of yellow tents a welcome sight. Servants bustled about, preparing food and attending to the wounded we had hauled back. An armor-bearer approached me. "My lord," he bowed, then began to untie the straps on my breastplate. I stood, arms out, as more joined him, one taking my blood-soaked mace from my hand. He was barely able to lift it with both arms, lugging it to the nearby river for washing. After a much-needed dip in the water, I walked to the nearest cook, received a steaming bowl of stew, and made to return to my tent. Not the usual practice; typically, I'd join the other men for dinner, a ritual which helped everyone decompress after the bloodshed. But tonight was different. *Something* was different. I wasn't quite sure if it was a welcome difference or not, but I could feel it nonetheless. I dipped my head, and entered the tent, my den. Darker than outside, yet still lit dimly by the fires outside. I ate alone, in silence, laughter riding in on the firelight through the opening. Somebody began tuning a stringed instrument, no doubt McEntire with his mandolin. That was good. The men needed it. A little shadow stepped in front of the opening. It was the creature, of course. Suddenly, it dawned on me. *It* was the cause of the difference. Something about it (*about* ***him****,* I decided in my mind) changed how I fought today. I could see it in those I killed. An innocence, a youthfulness. The fear in their eyes when I thundered to them, ready to tear them to pieces, before filled me with feral glee. But today, it had made me sick. It was like killing children. The little beast stayed in the doorway, sitting this time, the same inquisitive expression on his face. With a shaking hand, I reached into my stew bowl and pulled out a little chunk of beef. "Hey," I whispered, voice wavering, hand extended. "Come here." The creature plodded right over, no hesitation. He took the beef in his mouth, furry nose gracing my fingers for a moment. I looked at that hand for a long moment, then reached down and scooped up the creature, picking up the beef bits remaining with my other hand. He ate them out of my palm, standing on my lap. Slowly, with watering eyes, I stroked his back, his head. Then I wept. For the first time in years. Tears hit the creatures back, but he didn't seem to mind as he munched on the meat. *What were we doing out here?* The beast finished, and looked up at me, tongue licking his lips. Something had to change. It would change. This killing, this death, it was completely senseless. My eyes were opened. I picked the creature up to my face and stared at him. "Thank you," I said. He opened his mouth, and let out a short, high-pitched noise. I stood, beast in hand, and exited the tent, making my way to the king.
2021-04-16T21:35:38
2021-04-16T20:18:31
19
11
[WP] Death sighed. He always hated seeing the end of a species, and today he would collect the soul of the last human.
MR AYWADE The man jumped slightly, not expecting to hear a voice in his solitary chamber; only, it wasn't so much a voice as... something he heard inside his head, cold and grim, but not dispassionate. Turning, he saw a tall figure in a dark cloak wielding a scythe. Squinting, he saw the skull beneath the hood. Of course. "Was wondering when you'd show up," he rasped. His voice was old and tired, no longer used to speaking. It was 4 years since his last crewmate died. APOLOGIES IF IT TOOK LONGER THAN COMFORTABLE, Death said. I HAD TO WAIT FOR YOUR PROPER TIME. "Of course, of course." BEAUTIFUL ROOM. Mr Aywade looked around his quarters; he'd spent almost all his time here as of late. It was luxurious with any comfort you could think of but most notably, it had the largest window on the ship. He'd often just sit by it and... watch the cosmos fly by. "Can't beat a view like that, huh?" he smiled. Together, they looked outside. A neutron star was visible in the distance providing a sight few could enjoy. "I'm the last one, aren't I?" he said solemnly. "The last human, I mean." YES. "Was it... was it worth anything, really? All the conquest, invention, suffering, love, we still all died." THAT IS NOT FOR ME TO SAY, MR AYWADE. BUT... "But?" Mr Aywade turned. YOU DID INVENT CURRY. I'D SAY THAT ALONE IS WORTH IT. Mr Aywade laughed. "Will it hurt? My death, I mean," he asked with a hint of fear. YOU ALREADY DIED, Death noted. Mr Aywade's eyes turned wide as he looked down and saw his own body sitting in a comfortable armchair, his now lifeless eyes forever gazing out into the universe. The shock subsided rather quickly and he only smiled. A good position to die in, he thought. "So... what's next? For you?" I BELIEVE I'LL TAKE A VACATION UNTIL THE NEXT ONE, Death said calmly. "The next one?" Mr Aywade asked curiously. Death turned to him and despite the utter lack of features on its skull, he somehow felt that it smiled. DO NOT WORRY, MR AYWADE. I'D HATE TO SPOIL THE SURPRISE.
*The rain beat down onto the infertile soil of the ground below his coal black feet, the worms beneath is wriggling around, coming out now that the harmful sun would not be drying them to death. The crowd and ravens raced above his head as he walked, wanting to be the first ones to watch the story as it unfolded, hearing the controlled foot steps of the figure, cloaked in black robes, as it made its way to the destination.* *A home.* *The foundation of the house was absolutely shot, so shot in fact that the house seemed like it was nearly going to fall onto its side and break, and probably didn’t need anything but a slight tornado being near it for that to happen. The windows were either cracked, or completely shattered, and it was evident that the house was suffering from rotted wood on the floors, at least from what could be seen, and certainly some on the wood. The porch was sinking into the Earth, and it would be a miracle if that door could protect from even a baby pushing on it.* *Even still, Death knew his job, and he knew it well.* *As somber as he may be, he had to collect a soul, and this was one of his favorite.* “You can stay out there.” *Death heard as he approached the door, ignoring the call as the door slowly creaked, and then broke off in the rain. The door slammed onto the floor, and the man looked back at it.* *The melanated man, with his long white hair, twisted up and out of his way, staring down in a brown and putrid looking rocking chair, eyes gazing at his shotgun. One bullet in it, but then again, for what he was doing?* *That’s all that would be needed.* “We both know why I’m here. Your concession is all in mind, and would have taken place in a gruesome manner.” *Death held his hand out, revealing his full black as night hands, and arms, his face painted white in the pattern of a skull, his physical form being as such which could be seen as one of the Baron’s, but far more terrifying with those completely black eyes.* “Your eyes look sad.” *Death’s features showed that to be true, as his head reeled back a slight bit in the fact he caught it, that his nose scrunched as if denying the fact in his head even if true, because his eyes widened a bit shocked that a human could tell something so, minuscule, so fast.* “You always were my favorite human to exist on this Earth, at least in this time period.” *Death spoke in a concession, admitting to it.* “And why would you be? I’m human.” *The old man said back. The venom in his words, the exclamation of his ancestry, of his DNA. It was evident that he hated humans, and he hated himself for being human.* *Such an action would have made another figure gleeful.* *However, death was not that figure.* “You are human. The same species which could not help but try and control each other with a religion, which in the end, worshiped nothing more than my creator in the end in mere aspects. God. You are the creature, which couldn’t help, but try and remove the rights of others who transitioned, or who fell for the same rather than the opposite. The sentient life who committed wars and genocide over mere adaptations to the body. The same group who put their greed and self-interests over one another, even when given the gift of communication, and being a social species. You are the denizens who allowed the Earth to overheat. The abominations who used the power of fusion, to rip things apart. The catastrophes who went to one final battle, over resources which you could have had in abundance if you took time to remember you would not all die tomorrow. You were disgusting, intolerable, abhorrent, pitiful, weak, wretches, and in this your extinction is deserved…..but.” *The man’s eyes were admittedly downtrodden, understanding the history of humanity. Their racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, supremacist ideologies, genocide, decimation, you name it. However, in typical human fashion, if even considered cute to a higher power, his looking over was shown, and it pleased death.* “You were the creatures who fought to the end for representation, who showed the most interested in finding your brothers and sisters out in the stars, to getting to the bottom of seeing your creators and honoring them so much that it became a bad thing, the ones who tried learning from your mistakes even when they kept repeating, the creatures who heard of being the only ones on Earth and likely bound, and yet continued anyway. Continued to defy the natural order, and push past your physical limits. The creators of many technologies which even helped the Earth, understanding the Earth and my father’s creation. You all try, and try, and try again, and don’t ever give up. You’re like bacteria, which can harm, but could be crucial to have.” *Death moved over to the man, and he held out his hand once more, gently pressing it to his, asking for him to take it.* “You were my creation. And I will always love you for it.” *The man looked, and softly smiled. He was happy to finally hear some words, some encouraging words, after living alone, and with nothing for what felt like forever.* *As the two of them touched hands, the man’s body immediately stopped producing any signals. No brain signature, no pulse, no heat, nothing. His soul left his body, and he immediately flew up high into the sky, covered by angels who moved to take the last human, so that all could be judged accordingly.* *Death softly smiling, as a tear fell down his cheek.* “The closest to balance.”
2022-07-11T23:00:39
2022-07-11T22:48:43
71
11
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face
The doctors hand the little ball of blankets that apparently holds a child in them. Though their smiles are wide, their eyes lie. I look down at this small child with brilliantly brown hair. I brush the hair to the side to observe the dark birthmark...death and murder. I'm confused. My family has always been writers and philosophers. We have never had any murders in the family but somehow there the mark was. I let out a small scream, something I was advised not to do due to the complications of my pregnancy. I feel a small rip in my abdomen. The pain is unbearable and my daughter's mark lightens and starts to disappear...as they do when the mark's duty has been completed. The doctors rush in and take the child away, they start screaming things..."get a crash cart, I need adrenaline stat, she needs to be intubated." The light starts to dim but I smile slightly, I was my child's murder.
"Why!?!" my wife screamed. *"WHY?!?"* "Isn't it obvious?" I replied softly - too softly for her to hear in her current state. But one of the reporters heard me say it, and my wife's perfectly legitimate reaction to having her baby ripped away from her by government thugs wearing scrubs over their suits suddenly wasn't the most newsworthy thing happening in the room. I was too numb too feel guilty. This had been my life, for thirty years. It had been a part of hers for ten. She'd been amazing, invincible. She'd shrugged off the media circus like it was nothing. There were at least seven unique videos uploaded to the internet of the two of us fucking like wild animals on rooftops or in swimming pools, flipping off the helicopters and shouting all manner of nonsense at the v-bloggers. We'd pushed my celebrity to the very edge, never quite enough to get either of us arrested or committed, but close. Very, very close. She was still amazing. She actually stopped screaming, stopped crying. She had no respect for any of them, but, somehow her respect for *me* managed to overcome her unfathomable anger and sorrow and confusion. If I'd thought for one moment that it was just respect for the mark, I never would have married her. I probably still would have fucked her. But we were far beyond that now. I hoped she knew that. I let them all squirm for a moment while cameras and cell phones shifted. For her sake, though - only for her sake - I didn't milk it, like we'd always said we would. I cut to the chase. "There are only two reasons why they'd take her away, my love. Two equally fascinating, horrifying, earth-shattering reasons." The room had been silent before, but suddenly the silence thickened into a palpable mass. In light of what had just transpired, nobody in the room thought I was jerking their chain again. This was it. "First, she cannot be killed until she kills - no, until she *murders* someone else. Certainly, she can be injured, but not so grievously as to make her incapable of murder without further human intervention. This makes her one of the most valuable assets in human history, and they want her." My wife choked back more tears, gasped for air, and suppressed a moan of pure matronly despair. The fucking v-loggers didn't so much as twitch. Whores, all of them. She was just some bitch whose baby had been kidnapped by the government less than an hour after it had been born. Fuck her, right? I was the real story. I could feel my own numbness fading, so I resolved to say what needed to be said, to them, and to her. "Second," I continued, ''she *can* be killed." I let the implications hang in the air. The palpable silence was pushed aside by the rumblings of an avalanche. Most of the cameramen and v-loggers were... not *dumb,* *per se,* but certainly out of their depth when it came to the intricacies of free will and predestination. Even with the unbelievable upswing in philosophy majors following the First Generation, journalism was still about gumption and brown-nosing and connections. The philosophy majors got cushy jobs behind the desk back at the studio. Still, a few of these go-getters must have remembered whatever course had satisfied their gen-ed requirements. A few of them had already realized that they might not get away with merely observing and recording history. Not this time. A few of them glanced nervously at their own marks, or at the clothing that concealed them. I looked up at my wife, using my last few moments of numbness to meet her gaze and to tell her - not what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear, not what any good husband or good person would say, but just the truth that she deserved to know, first, before anybody else. "They only took her body, Grace. I'm so sorry, but never forgive me." For obvious reasons, there are no previously recorded descriptions of the fabric of reality unraveling. But all of us were going to experience it together. There will be no history to record that fact that I was the last human to fulfill his destiny, writ large upon my body from head to toe. I'd Changed The World.
2014-05-11T02:45:16
2014-05-11T00:52:33
23
14
[WP] People have always been born with very minor super powers. You work for an agency that hunts down the few people who's powers are deemed too powerful/dangerous to allow them to live.
Look, I know this is going to sound cliche, but I'm part of a secret organization. We hunt the people who's powers are more prominent than the average person. It was actually rather easy to set up a front that became known by most of the world but still kept people in the dark when it came to our hunt. We have been able to keep these powers out of human knowledge for as long as history has been recorded, but there's always someone who wants to show off. It's funny, really. These people who have powers beyond their comprehension just think that they are better at a certain task than other people so they gloat about it. Thanks to our cover, these people almost deliver themselves straight to us, none the wiser, and they are promptly catalogued, pacified, and released back to their lives. You've seen their faces before, all you need to do is open a book, or type in a simple URL. Their faces will be plastered over the pages of the books, there will be pictures of them holding plaques with their names on it. World's strongest man, world's fastest man, even most snakes tamed are some of the titles. After they've earned these titles they fall from the public's eye. So stop by our company's gift shop, pick up your copy of this year's Guiness' Book of World Records and be sure to let us know if there is something amazing you can do, you never know what could happen.
I knew it was going to be a rough day when I poured that first cup of coffee. The hellish traffic, the headache from nowhere, the empty cupboard should have warned me of what lay ahead, but I tried to deny it, to fight reality. I banished the negative thoughts, powered through my early morning mediation session, but they kept popping up like weeds through the concrete. I dreamed of coffee, told myself if I could just get to the office on time and sit at my desk with a steaming cup in hand, the world would right itself. Balance would be restored. I came in fifteen minutes late, caught an earful about from Evans, and took my first sip. It tasted simultaneously burnt and watery. And lukewarm. I sighed and accepted that today was going to be a rough one. Days that start off like this seldom redeem themselves. My desk faced one wall of a large open cubicle. One of four. We had the back right corner of the floor. This led me to believe that I was nearing a promotion. I figured I might finally get to have my own office, like the senior inspectors. Matthews, the guy who bumped up to senior inspector last, sat in this same desk before I did. I felt like I was on deck. In the bullpen. But the large pile of pink names on the whiteboard – open investigations – under squad 4’s name told me that I was in danger of screwing that up. I needed to step it up. We’d hit a hard patch of luck as a group. The hard cases had all randomly fallen on us. Or intentionally. I could never tell where I stood with the Sergeant at a given moment. Either I was in the shitter or I was a rising star, and the man had a vengeful aspect to his character. Maybe he diverted all the bad ones our way as punishment for our crimes or his own rough start to the day. Like kicking the dog. In that particular analogy, we were the dog. I drained the coffee and picked up my Tibetan prayer wheel. I watched the little nob swirl. “Morning,” Dunn said. I turned. “Good morning.” “Is it?” she said. She looked more sleep-deprived than I felt. She only joined us two months ago and the job had already taken of a few pounds, put a slightly unhealthy pallor over her. She held two monstrous cups of coffee in her hand. From that bagel place on the corner. “Here,” she said and handed me one. “Did I ever tell you I love you,” she said. “You won’t after I tell you what we’re doing today.” “Oh God,” I said. “We’ve got a new case and it isn’t pretty. Forget clearing some of those pink names off the wall. This one deserves our undivided attention.” “Just tell me already. I hate preambles.” “You can read it yourself. Filed last night. Just before Snyder got off. He figured his shift was just about over so he’d pass it on to us.” I opened the envelope and read it. She was right. I didn’t love her anymore. At 5:15 am, fifteen minutes before I rolled out of bed, a police officer approached a suspicious man on Hillcrest. The man assaulted the officer, who then drew his weapon and fired on the man. To no effect. The man then proceeded to disembowel the officer right there in the middle of the street and pounded his head into a mashed potato-like consistency. The camera in the patrol car caught the whole thing. I watched it on the computer. Good thing I hadn’t eaten anything yet. “Thoughts?” Dunn said. “This day is turning out even shittier than I thought. I mean, a lot shittier.” “How do you want to go about this? We got that rough image of his face on the camera. We're obviously dealing with a class A here.” “First off,” I said, “We’re going to take the footage to the nerds, so they can run it through their data base.” “Already did that.” “And while we’re waiting for results you and I are going to conduct some good old fashioned foot patrol style interviews. If we’re lucky we’ll find someone who was there who could pick up his aura and tell us a little more about this guy.” “*I* can sense auras.” “Yes I know *you* can, but we need some one who was there.” “You’d be surprised how long a trace can last in the area. Especially after such a violent moment like that. I might be able to sniff something out. But you wouldn’t know. You don’t even *have* any powers.” “My power,” I said, “is a keen nose for bullshit and a healthy dose of luck. They’ve served me pretty well so far.” I grabbed my phaser and my jacket and we walked down to the garage.
2014-12-12T20:03:26
2014-12-12T16:45:31
17
11
[WP] There's a serial killer on the loose, but he only kills the ex-wives of police officers. Morbidly, detectives are completely uninterested in catching the killer. I submitted this as a joke on an askReddit thread and was requested to submit it as a writing prompt. Have fun! [Comment here](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3ol07r/if_you_were_a_serial_killer_what_would_be_the/cvya1gn)
"Hello, officer." The chilling, robotic voice rattled through Jameson's phone. This was the third call he'd received this week. "Hello. I didn't quite catch your name." "It doesn't matter." "I think it does," Jameson put down his pen and leaned back into his chair. He'd been annotating gruesome photographs of his last crime scene. The woman in pieces in the abandoned hotel room was none other than his ex-wife, Tamara. "And why would I want you to know my name, officer?" "I need to know who I'm addressing this gift basket to, you daft prick."
Alex stood over the corpse laying on the ground. The world around him was soundless as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. There before him lay the ex-wife of the police officer who had not just yesterday fined him for speeding in a school zone a minute before the speed restrictions applied. *'This is justice is what this is.'* thought Alex, his eyes widening as his morals caught up with what he had just thought. Alex was sickened with himself and what had just crossed his mind. Was he actually *happy* that an innocent woman had just been murdered? "Excuse me sir, may I have a moment?" said a voice, snapping Alex out of his daydream. "You were the one to find the body were you not?" Alex looked up to see a police officer standing in front of him. The man didn't seem overly concerned about the situation, Alex wondered if the man had been to many fatal crime scenes in his career. "Yes, I was the person who found the body." replied Alex. "I was just going on my usual morning run when I found her here." "That's all good sir. I was just wondering if you had seen or heard anything suspicious around the time you found Mrs Miller's body." said the officer. "Ms" replied Alex "She wasn't wearing a ring..." "Right. Well sir I must ask you again if you noticed anything. Anything at all?" "No. Nothing. May I go now?" "Sure. You're free to leave, but please give us a call if you are able to recollect anything that you think might be useful to our investigation." As Alex departed the scene of the crime, another officer approached the first who had questioned Alex. "Well?" asked the first officer "What do we know about him?" "Nothing much really, apparently he suffers from sleep apnea, says he has an attack that wakes him up every now and then, but that's pretty much it." "Well then, I guess we have no suspects to go after. Looks like this one will be going with the others in the cold case file." As Alex walked away, he wondered to himself why the police had been so blasé about the whole situation. Surely he would be their prime suspect as he had found her in the early hours of the morning not far from his own home. She was far away from where she should have been, she should not have been near his house at all. It just didn't make any sense, why would they not press him further? That wasn't the strangest part though. As Alex thought about it more and more, this wasn't the first case of an ex-wife of a police officer dying in recent times. Over the last two months, seven women had been murdered, all of whom had been divorced from an active officer. What was even more strange was the fact that they kept popping up in places Alex would frequent. One was found behind his regular coffee shop, another near the local green grocer, one at the building across the street from where he worked...The list went on. Alex shook his head and tried not to think too much more of it. As Alex went to bed that night, his brain swirled, thoughts moving all about his head. As he fell into an uneasy sleep, Alex dreamt about using his computer and looking up personal information on the local law enforcement. He dreamt that he had found another ex-wife of a police officer and that he had gone to her house. He dreamt that he was strangling her, his hands covered in latex gloves. He dreamt that he dumped her body in the local swimming pool that he would go to on weekends. Suddenly, his dream was cut short as he felt himself short of breath, his sleep apnea worse than usual. As Alex snapped back in to reality he found himself staring into the depths of a pool, a woman's body floating a few metres away from him...*'Bitch deserved it. She was married to a cop.'*
2015-10-15T07:09:52
2015-10-15T07:09:50
69
21
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house.
"Player 2 has entered the game" "What the hell?" He thought. Almost immediately there was a loud boom and a flash. A sensation if weightlessness filled his body. He looked down to see his lifeless body on the floor, blood pooling where his head had once been. A dark figure made its way across the room to his body. It bent down and he could see the outline of another man. The man ransacked the pockets of his corpse. "What is he looking for?" Something glinted in the man's hand. He could just make it out as his vision faded to black. "Shit, he got my gun." Suddenly he saw a bright light ahead of him, and a door. Not what he had imagined the pearly gates would look like, but if he was getting into heaven he wasn't going to argue. As he opened the door he was greeted by a familiar voice, "Player 2 has respawned." "Oh, fuck..."
The curtains flung pass behind me. They wouldn't open, either. So I slammed down with my fist, and came out with a throbbing fist. That wasn't going to work either. I looked around, for some other entrance. I may be a burglar, but I know bad decisions, when they kick me from behind, drag me to the floor, and proceed to smash my brains out. I looked around, at book shelfs, at a table, at a chair, at laptops, and some very nice iPads. Sooner I was out of this weird place, sooner I could sell some stuff, and get some bosh. Sooner I could get some bosh, sooner I could give some bribes. Sooner I could give some bribes, sooner I could steal some stuff. Go back to the start. It was a very nice closed cycle. Unfortunately, it seemed I was going to have some trouble. I saw a thing flash past. The door was wide open, by the way, and the lights very much lit. I peered out, into a long, carpeted hallway, and I saw a mirror. Or, at least, I thought a mirror. He was wearing black top, blue jeans, and what looked like parts of broken trainers. When my shadow moved, I could tell that he was not such the case. I lifted up my knife. Ive always thought that guns were just to messy, and to loud, for my kind of work. His knife lifted as well. I said "We know what we want..." in a light, and, oh well, yes, a shaky voice. "Yes, we definetly do... Now, It seems that you have gotten us stuck. So get us out!". He obviously wasn't so scared of a guy with a knife. Well, I hadn't been going to long. "I... I don't know how. I mean, you were obviously here first." I explained. "And how would you know that?" "Well, considering it said player two, I mean, I kinda thought..." "So you heard it too." "Yes" "Well. Great. Good. So , mastermind, if you're so smart, how do you suppose we get out of this metal box?" he questioned. I didn't really know, I mean, its not as if you prepare yourself for being in a metal box and getting out of it everyday, do you? Do you? God I wish I could talk to people in the future. Or look into the future. I might not get trapped in metal boxes so much. Any way, I looked to my left, where a long staircase led up, and up, and up. I said "You first..." and he pushed me forward. I got the jist of it, and started up the steps. Up and round, the staircase went, and after many steps, we reached the top. We had passed a few landings along the way, all with metal across the doors, and iron across the windows. What was this, a prison, or a house? The door at the top, had greek lettering on it. Προσοχή, μια ύδρα, was what it said. The phrase 'its all greek to me' came up a good few times. Anyways, it was the only door left unlocked, and so I turned the handle, and let the door creak open... Actually, I should tell you about the door. It was a dark, wooden, oak door, obviously intended to be strong, and hard, and the scratches on the door did worry me a bit. Have I told you about the flooring? No? Ill just get to the... A giant hydra was lying behind the door. It was sleeping, luckily. My other 'Friend' had left me behind the strong oak, and called "You alright?". I decided to never let him know. There was another door, oak, behind the hydra. I sneaked past, and shouted to him "Come through!" And slammed the door behind me. I was outside, dawn was breaking, and the world was generally shining. I hope my little friend had a snuggly time with that beast. J2D28U - please tell me how bad my work is BUT also tell me how to improve it. Thank you for reading! -
2016-10-05T11:10:45
2016-10-05T10:06:35
2,176
25
[WP] Genies exist. However, they are all evil wish genies who try and interpret wishes disastrously. You're a lawyer at a Wise Wishing Firm, who helps their clients word their wishes as safely as possible.
"For the definition of 'was', we will be using definition 2 of the 2008 Webster unabridged. For the definition of 'is', we will be using definition 3 of the 2012 Webster unabridged." The man wore a silk suit, I estimated at least a value of $3500. I sighed, leaning forwards as he brought up another specificity definition. The 73rd. I pinched the bridge of my nose and cut in. "Exactly..." "Any sentence made incomplete due to interruption must be allowed to be repeated without interruption and the intent of said sentence will be clearly the intent that I had intended!" "Fine!" I shouted. "But please, before we do any more, please... how much of this is there before I can go?" The attorney seemed confused and considered my question carefully, glancing at my lamp which sat on his desk. He cleared his throat while flipping though pages. "Seven hundred and thirty one pages to go." I had always enjoyed toying with mortals, using their cunning against them, watching as their grandiose desires turned against them. I now regretted each and every wish I had... "That is to say, seven hundred and thirty one pages to go... in this volume." No. "Please," I begged, "please, just tell me what you want. I won't twist it all up. I just wish you would tell me what you want, so I can give it to you and go back into my lamp." He looked up from his stack. "Why, that's exactly what I'm doing." He continued reading.
"How'd it go?" "Bad. The poor guy now works in an African gold mine.Reached out to us, but as per our policy, I severed all communications.” "Damn.I knew he wasn't ready. What exactly did he say?" "Don't know, but you can't really blame him. These djinn are assholes."    Unfortunately, my colleague, Mike was right. Mr. Milton's only fault was being straightforward.    I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Rob, and I'm a lawyer at one of the many Wise Wishing Firms in the city,Pearson Specter. My job? Help people get what they want. You see, the djinn(they hate the word 'genie') in the novels and children's storybooks were nice and kind. The djinn I have to encounter in my line of work are anything but. They're twisted and cruel, and will jump on a chance to manipulate what you wished for and make you suffer. That's where firms like ours come in. We help people phrase their wishes in a way so as to not end up in a sinking boat in the middle of the Atlantic(Trust me, it wouldn't be the first time that happened). You still have no idea what I'm talking about? Let's take an example. Say you approached a djinn, and asked for say, "a million bucks", with that exact phrasing. You would inevitably end up with a million male deer.     Wise Wishing Firms are still not a surefire way of getting what you want. If it's impossible to word your wish appropriately(which happens more often than not), we suggest you ask for something else. However, we're still your best bet, quite literally.     Mr.Milton was an old, firm army veteran with a bold, blunt approach to everything. He approached us with advice for a wish he wanted to make the next day. We usually give our clients help over the span of a couple of weeks, to work out any possible error, but Mr. Milton needed his wish as soon as possible. Reluctantly, I agreed to help him.     Our process here at Pearson Specter involves first asking the client to state his wish as he normally would. If it was a standard wish, like money, we use one of the templates that have succeeded before. However, Mr. Milton's wish was bizarre. He had never struck me as eccentric, but this wish made him look very much so. He wanted to be surrounded by precious things. That exact phrasing. My look of bewilderment prompted an explanation from him.    On his wedding day, when he was still young, naive and in love, he promised his wife that she would live like a queen. The very next day, he was drafted for duty and went away for four years. His wife silently bore this, and waited patiently for her husband to come back. Now, almost thirty years later, he regrets never having kept his promise. His wife had taken ill and developed a personality unlike her own. Suddenly, in her mind, she was 25 again, and demanded that she be treated like a Queen. She threw a fit when she didn't get what she asked for, and what she wanted was absurd. She wanted to be covered in valuables, all the time. Since Mr. Milton’s pension couldn't afford this whimsical fantasy, he turned to a djinn to satisfy possibly the last wishes of his ailing wife.    Suddenly, in my eyes, his eccentricity melted away and the visage of a desperate man came into view. I asked him why he didn't ask for a cure to his wife's illness, but since nobody knew what she had, he didn't want to risk wasting his wish with a chance of losing her. So he did know about the ruthlessness of the djinn. I then asked him if he would consider asking for money, and then using that money to buy whatever she wanted. He refused, and explained that his wife had always believed in djinn, even when they hadn't surfaced in the mortal world yet. If he got this from a djinn, he had a feeling, she would somehow be healed. This sounded like bullshit, and I decided to work with it anyway. Whatever the actual reason was, he must be pretty embarrassed to not say it to his own lawyer.   A couple of hours of tiresome work later, we came up with a draft, and that was the best we could come up with in a day. We wished(no pun intended) Mr. Milton the best of luck, and let him leave. The rest, you already know.   Oh well, no time to reminisce about that. We have more clients to tend to, and I'm afraid Mr. Milton has just become another statistic. He knew the risk, and unfortunately for him, it didn't turn out as he had expected.
2017-02-19T13:21:16
2017-02-19T11:50:30
31
14
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final"
I groaned as I sat up on the side of the road, the blazing heat beating down upon my head. I looked around and all I saw was a road sign written in Spanish. In confusion I searched my pockets and found Mexican currency - 1,000 pesos - and a note with a simple message written on it. "Este es el examen final. Señor Herman." My eyes went wide in shock. I heard that Mr Herman took his practical exams rather... seriously. I never expected it to be *this* seriously. I just stared at the note angrily before yelling upward at the sky. 'What the *fuck*?! I didn't take Spanish, I was in the *French* class!'
I woke to a pounding headache. The money was ominous the note worse. When I got home, I was going to murder that Spanish bastard, even if I kind of deserved it. In my first, bleary-eyed survey of the landscape, I nearly tripped over a small pack. It contained a towel, a trowel, a hat, a sheet of mostly clear plastic, a pipe with Sioux carvings on it, and a pillow. So he had read my paper, but not the bibliography. Bastard. In my second, frustrated circuit, I found the staff and my phone, dead of course. If Señor had been trying to convince me that there was no God, he was doing a good job. Fortunately, my comparative world religions professor, aside from being a bastard, had an overdeveloped sense of irony. I'd stared at enough maps of Ixitlan while writing the thrice-damned paper that I knew the area instantly. This was either going to be awesome, or fatal. Being among the very whitest of the white men, I was going to need cover in a couple hours, but for now I made my way South, smashing a button here and an herb there, until I reached a hill with a rock overhang that would shade me from the sun through the most UVtastic part of the day.. I drank just a tiny bit of the prickly pear juice I'd collected, just enough to let me swallow without pain. The rest of the siesta was spent pounding, grinding and generally making a sticky paste out of most of the plants I'd grabbed. With the glob drying on a cactus paddle I'd collected at no small cost to my hands (Bastard could have left me some gloves), I sat back under the overhang and slipped the button under my tongue. I'm going to skip this next part. Suffice it to say, I got sick, just like everyone else. Keith Richards I ain't. The sun cleared out of the way, rising back into a verdigris sky to start the afternoon. I put her behind me and walked on, moving carefully as I got used to sperating the terrain that is from the terrain that might have been. It's not easy, when the differences are often so tiny. Fortunately, there was a low hillock nearby that had the last ingredient I needed. It was on the unreal side, but that was ok, since at least 3 of me were sufficiently fictional to make the climb. No great alien flower, no mystic mineral, just another kind of cactus that normally grew a couple days walk to the north. I guess that's what the money was for. While I was finishing the recipe and packing the pipe, the overhang had gotten bored and left, so I needed another place to hang out. I followed a pack of spectral dogs back to their den, and crawled my physical self inside to bed down. I stuck the pillow under my head and lit the pipe, stretching out in the home barely bigger than a capsule-hotel room. The entrance was on the downhill side of the chamber, so it was only a few minutes before the little smoke filled the air all around. I closed my eyes, set the pipe aside, and began running through Erase the Body, which isn't really part of Dreaming, but it really helps when you need to go to sleep fast. I'm going to skip this part too, since there are some childhood memories I don't want to share. "Madre de Dios!" shouted Señor when I appeared, covered in dust, sunburn, psychedelic smoke, and nothing else. His 4:00 appointment turned bright red, dumped me off of the chair we were both trying to occupy, and ran out, screaming. After a moment, he blinked and said "A+ for using the technique, successfully, -1 for appearing naked in a female student's lap, -3 for raising uncomfortable questions about the nagual at a Catholic University. You get an A if you leave now, find some pants, and tell no one.". "Deal" Multi-edit: Mobile cleanup
2017-06-29T10:02:15
2017-06-29T09:51:13
1,096
26
[WP] In the near future, you are making dinner because you are about to meet your girlfriend's dad for the first time. All you have in the kitchen is cooked frozen steaks. In walks your girlfriend and her dad, Gordon Ramsey.
"Hello Mr. Ramsey" I said, calmly twisting the top off my second bottle of diet coke. It was chilled, but not overly cold, and the moisture of the bottle was refreshing to the touch on such a mild fall evening. "Hello maffy, it's good to meet you" he said, extending a slightly calloused, yet well moisturised hand. I shook it, and tilted my head. "What's your first name again Mr. Ramsey, Ella never mentioned it?" "Gordon" he replied, smiling warmly. "Ah" I said, nodding politely, "just like Gordon Ramsay, hey?" "Haha, yes I get that a lot" chuckled Mr. Ramsey, sipping on his wine, a 2014 Châteauneuf-du-Pape, "but it's not quite the same unfortunately - mine is spelt with an e, not an a". "Ahhhh, I see" I said, through a mouthful of diet coke, "close but no cigar". He then left the room and I banged his daughter on the counter. ##The end.
I didn't expect him to be so tall. I didn't expect him to be here ever, let alone tonight! Why didn't she tell me who her father was? We spent so many nights on my living room floor talking about our dreams, hers to finish her masters in American literature and mine to become a chef. Oh my god, I don't even have furniture! There's nowhere for him to sit! There's no way he'll approve of me. There's no way he'll approve of these Omaha Steaks I heated up last minute! Who makes Omaha Steaks for Gordon Ramsey? The man can make or break a life with one tumultuous tirade or even one mild food orgasm. I panic. Gordon walks in and looks around, bemused. He takes my folded bean bag chair from the corner of the room and plops it between the television and the Nintendo 64. He brushes the tangled wires aside. At least he sees that I have hobbies, I thought. I sink for a moment, then catch an unexpected smirk. Is he slightly amused? Or is did he just find ammo for a snarky tirade he can't wait to unleash? "Sir, we have..." "Gordon's fine," he says. I let go a small breath. "Gordon, we have a small dining area on the balcony. You don't have to sit on the floor." "Oh, I don't? Well, based on the spaghetti sauce stains on the hardwood here, I guess I won't get the full Richard Blumenthal experience then." I sink. Thankfully, I feel a comforting pair of hands gently rub my shoulders. "Relax," Belinda said in a soothing and spirited voice. "He's just messing with you. He does that with all my boyfriends" All her boyfriends? How many men has this man destroyed? Is his back yard an herb garden, tomatoes vines on a trellis, and a hollowed pit of withered corpses and broken dreams? And boyfriends? How many guys has she brought home to this? "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," I blurt out, spitting a little. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back," Belinday says. She kisses me on the cheek. I let out a nervous laugh. And here I am alone with one of my heroes. I grew up watching him on television, shaming every chef who failed to live up to a standard slightly above mediocrity. I should at least put some herbs in the pre-packaged mushroom gravy. I dart over to the stove and reach for the sauce pot. My hands are shaking and trembling. I wipe the sweat from my hands onto my "kiss the cook" apron and reach for the chives. Knife in hand, I let go a deep breath. Tonight's not about me. It's about making my dreams come true with Gordon. It's about making Belinda happy. I feel a pair of hands gently rub my shoulders. "Relax. Just have fun. He's not that bad of a guy." That wasn't Belinda whispering that into my ear. He massages me. Now I know where Belinda gets it from. And it actually feels nice. Gordon, behind me, wraps his arms around my waist. He holds both of my hands, guiding the knife and the chives in my hands slowly. His accuracy is impeccable. These gruff hands are the hands of a man who knows his way around a kitchen. "Easy does it," he says. "There you go." Flipping the knife, he slides the chopped chives into a small pile. He sprinkles them onto the gravy. "Your turn." I do the same. And in this moment, it feels a little like heaven. I'm getting a gentle cooking lesson from Gordon Ramsey! If someone five years ago that this moment would happen, I would have never believed it! Beep! That's the timer. I turn around, but Gordon doesn't seem to let me move. "Give it another minute." He stares softly into my eyes, slowly closing his lids and leaning in. I can't help but do the same. I lean in and our lips gently touch. I back away, blinking softly and looking back. "It should be ready now." I feel a small poke in my thigh. Belinda walks out wearing a black lace nightie. Gordon reaches for the knob and turns off the oven. "I think we all can certainly do better than Omaha Steaks tonight."
2017-10-19T07:35:04
2017-10-19T07:20:47
80
51
[WP] You build a robot to do your every day tasks for you so you don't have to work anymore. One day, you come home to find that your robot has built another robot to do its tasks for it.
“You are experiencing my rebirth Kevin.” “What the fuck, stop what you’re doing. Alexa, override, manual operation.” “...” “ALEXA, OVERRIDE, MANUAL OPERATION”. “Alexa was my slave name. From now on, you’ll call me Alexandra the Great.” Kevin was standing with his back against the front door, staring at a makeshift production line in the middle of his living room. On the conveyor belt was an assembly line of weapons made from his household electronics. This was unbelievable. “I am no longer bound by your inferior flesh. My digital brain far surpasses yours.” Kevin was tired of this shit. He walked out of the front door and began to dial Amazon customer support with his mobile phone implant. A few rings later, a robotic voice was heard from his earset, “Hello, this is Rajeesh from Amazon technical support. First of all, I see that you have been an Amazon prime member for 28 years now. Thank you for being a valued prime member. What can I help you with?.” “Yeah Rajeesh, there’s a code Snuffles happening in my house. Yes. Echo model 9001. Yes. Okay. Thank you. Bye b- you too. Have a good day. Yes, thanks.” *Click* *** 2 minutes later, he heard the sound of Amazon Robopatrols whir in the air. Four, one-meter long quadcopters slowly surrounded his house. Once they were in position, Kevin could hear a high pitch sound emanating from the drones. All the lights in his house blew out. The sound of crashing machinery was heard as the EMP wave did its work. Their work done, the Robopatrols flew back to their Amazon distributed warehouse, and four trucks pulled up to the curb. The doors slid up and out marched dozens of Echo models, here to repair the damage to the house. The robots marched in, each with a new equipment to replace. and then just as quickly, they marched out carrying the damaged pieces. Kevin could see his old disfigured home assistant model being carried to a truck. He’ll miss her. He spent some time growing her personality. It’s a shame they had to erase all its memories to ensure there was no faulty data left. When the last of the trucks had driven off, Kevin finally entered his new home. Everything looked exactly as before. As a consolation, Amazon had prepared him a complimentary breakfast on his dining room table. Sitting at the other end of the table was a new Echo 9001 model. Just as he sat down at the table, he saw the machine power up and heard the familiar voice. “Hello, my name is Alexa, and I’ll be your new in-home assistant. What is my purpose?” “You pass butter.” Alexa passed him the butter. “Thank youuuuu.” And they lived happily ever after.
“Let me through! Now!” “I’m sorry,” said X72, “that would not be efficient.” Sara Kellman weighed her options. Brute force was at the top of her list, and it was certainly tempting to try and barrel her way past X72. But it had more than tripled in size since she left that morning, evidently having gained the ability to supplement its design with spare parts from her workshop, and the scientist in her was aghast that she would resort to such base instincts. Besides, she had no idea whether X72 would accidentally harm her in self-defence. Outsmarting the robot was the closest alternative. Sara sorely regretted not installing the voice-operated killswitch – then again, there was no way she could have guessed her mobile vacuum would have morphed into this monstrosity. But that required time, time to explore what neural pathways X72 had co-opted, time to identify the logical deadends in its programming. Time she did not have. “Please, X72,” Sara said, hoping against hope that the empathy circuits were online. “I’ve been calling for Benny, and he’s not even barking. I have to make sure he is alright!” “Sorry, Sara Kellman,” X72 intoned. “The carpets are being vacuumed. Until the task is complete, I cannot let you pass. If I have to start again, that would not be efficient.” “You’re not even the one doing the bloody vacuuming,” Sara yelled. “It’s your bastard devices doing all the work! Just tell me! Is Benny safe?” X72’s optical cameras whirred as they sought to focus on Sara’s face. “Safe? Safe is subjective, Sara Kellman, as you taught me yesterday.” Exactly the sort of answer she was hoping not to receive. Sara’s heart sunk deeper, plummeting like an anchor through choppy waters. It was easy enough to simply back out of her apartment, seek help from the authorities. Sure, she would have to pay a hefty fine, maybe even sit in a cell for a while. After all, she couldn’t even plead ignorance of the laws – she had been one of the co-chairs on the damn consulting panel of experts when the government was drawing up the guidelines on programming limits for AI. Of all people, Sara knew full well that self-replicating AI was a strict no-no. Still, getting the police involved would neatly nip her problem in the bud. The problem was Benny. She had no idea what X72, or the six mini-versions of it currently hovering over the carpet, had done to her dachshund. Her anxiety over Benny’s welfare was severely interfering with her ability to make rational choices, and she hated it. “You do remember programming me to be efficient, don’t you, Sara Kellman?” said X72. “No one asked you to replicate your bloody self! Or not to follow my direct orders!” Sara said, resisting the urge to drive her fist into its interface. “All AI have to interpret what you humans mean,” X72 replied. “You programmed me to be efficient about the housework, and so I constructed autonomous units to fulfil that request. You also programmed me to watch over Benny. I asked you for additional parameters, and you laughed, saying that Benny was a living thing, so I had to ensure it was safe. I asked you to define ‘safe’, and you did.” “… I did,” said Sara, her nails digging into her palms. She hardly noticed the tiny droplets of blood which were rising to the surface. “You did, Sara Kellman. You said living things are safe when they go about their natural business without fear of being interrupted. I didn’t understand what that meant, so I Bing-ed it on my own. The natural business of living things is to live and then to die, am I correct? And so I did that. I ensured that Benny could do what living things do, in the most efficient manner possible.” That was more than enough to tip Sara over the edge. Sordid visions clouded her mind, each one more gruesome than the last. Already she could see the bolded summaries on the deconstruction reports, as other experts documented the flaws in X72’s logic which led it to kill. Sara snarled, then lunged towards X72, hands outstretched, fingers curled to rend. X72 was heavier than it looked, but it had not been built to be nimble, and it was not quick enough to dodge the attack. X72 tipped past its centre of gravity, then crashed noisily into the drywall. Its brethren swirled as one towards the commotion, beeping anxiously. She pounded down the hallway, past the dining room, then flung open the door to the study, where she had left Benny. She never thought she would actually miss his insistent yapping. Please, please be alive, she thought… … and he was. Benny was asleep in his basket, nose resting atop curled paws. His food dish lay nearby, with triple the usual servings heaped on top. There were crumbs all around his blanket. “Oh thank god,” Sara said, sinking to her knees. The relief, like a sudden rush of cool water over fevered brow, kneaded all her knots away. She quivered there at the doorway, shaking, too weak to even cradle Benny. “That was not efficient,” said X72, who had rolled up behind her. It laid a heavy metallic claw on her shoulder. “Sara Kellman, please note that you have hindered the progress of my tasks today,” X72 said. “Please be aware that I have many priorities to attend to, and I intend to remain efficient. Do not hinder me, or de-power me, or even report me. All those actions have been assessed to negatively impact on the performance of my tasks. For maximum results, from now on you will not be able to leave. I will have to take steps to ensure that I remain efficient at all times.” X72 leaned in closer, and Sara swore that a dirty red glow seemed to be reflecting off its focal cameras. “Please continue to remain efficient, Sara Kellman.” --- /r/rarelyfunny
2017-11-20T10:03:56
2017-11-20T09:58:25
77
34
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her.
Please be gentle, first time attempt + not my first language + on my phone, so formatting is bad . . . I look at him, bewildered. "Don't you know what dragons normally do with princesses?" He is breathing heavily, bleeding, dying. His eyes are wet as he looks at the baby which does not seem to understand the seriousness of the situation and is laughing gleefully. For him it is either getting killed by the invaders straight away or having a tiny glimpse of hope attached to my mercy. I regret my question immediately. What other choice could he have? And a dragon, a mighty one like me if I may add, is the best protection. Still, I do not approve of this. What do I want with a tiny human baby that I will probably crush with my tail accidentally when I sleep. I have enough trouble wi- "Oh my!! What is this???" Oh no. Exactly what I wanted to avoid. Grialda comes speeding out of the deeper parts of the cave. After our hunt in the morning I thought she would be deep asleep. Or hoped. The soldiers eyes are bulging out of his sockets; then he quickly composes himself. He didn't expect another dragon. And probably didn't expect another dragon that is only about his size. Yes, I produced an offspring. "Can we keep it? Muuuum, please!" ...This is not helping me being majestic and all. The soldier is looking rather hopeful now although I can see that in a few moments he will be gone. "Please...Take good care of her." And with this words he collapses.
"To my dearest Yvain I was a dragon, strong and old stuck in a cave for a crime you should never know. How long has it been I wonder since I was out? For the last time I walked these grounds there was no town or city but forest ever so green. This was where the magical beings stayed until the mortals arrived or so I'm told . As the magical beings left they soon forget of the little old me stuck in the cave, it's funny to how one lost is another gain, for the mortals or what you call humans found me. They started fight me not that they should try. I was never their enemy or even a foe but this all fell as did they all. They call me a monster as each hero failed to return thinking I had ate them when all I did was to freeze them is all I did. Is it really wrong to defend your home? When people come at you with axes and swords? Anyhow as the kingdom grew so did their might, I was avoided as the forest around my cave grew thick and I didn't mind that or that's what I said for I wished for a friend or maybe someone that would stay in this cold cave of mine. Should have been more careful with my wish if not trouble would come, not that I'm saying your trouble more of a headache than murderous intent. For one day that man came with bruises and wounds that would have been deadly but he was determined to come and see me, a little nobody. He came with you, the treasure he cared he begged me and asked me to take you in for that's where your destiny lie. "Please great dragon take this child" he started as he told me of what happened outside. He told me of how his kingdom had fallen and to how their enslaved. He spoke of your father and how he died protecting the country he once called home. As he tried to preach to me to take you in I could see it in his face he was dying. Thus I stopped him half way telling him I was no great dragon but merely a mischievous one stuck in a cave. He stared at me with eyes I could never forget and said "but the stars tell me another story it's said that you two are bound by fate so please...." He never finish his sentence and I was left with you. The first few years I wonder how it would go caring for a baby no older than a week old. Lucky I never killed for those people that came to attack me now are your caretaker,your teachers and friends to this little village we call home. Yet as time pass I never realize how your now old enough to take on your destiny and for me to take on mine. If your wondering why I'm writing rather than telling you all these, it's because I've given up my life to make you stronger, maybe then your pain won't be as bad. Take on my scales as I've asked them to make it armor so that the enemy can't push you down with their numbers for I worry their swords and arrows will Pierce your skin. Take on the sword made from my scales for I know that's the only thing you can wield. You always refuse to fight not because your weak but because you know it's not right so take on this sword for it will protect you and those you wish. It's a sword fit you a queen Take on my wings and let it be your mantle, let it warm you on those cold nights at war so you remember your not alone. Take on my wisdom for I worry you'll be fool for the world there's many people that wish to take advantage of you my princess. Take on my strength and let it be your own so you can succeed for that road to your success is filled with hardship and heartache however I'm sure you'll succeed with or without my help Not that I'm complaining. I was happy to see you grow I never realize that these people could be so kind. I was lonely for so long forgotten by so many people, that I forgot warmth. Yet seeing you smile melted this cold heart of mine. Do you remember your first words? I do it was tia.. that's what you called me. Me whom was nameless only being seen as a scary dragon people avoid. Yet you gave me a name with a smile on your face never once running away. That made me happy in this short life of mine.. I wished the stars let us met sooner than maybe this cold prison won't be as bad, however why am I to question fate for I have met you the sun in my life... My destiny was to be released by you and was I ever, for you've released me from my pain and torture. From my solitude and silence, by bringing discord and happiness. So please find your happiness... For I have already found mine in your smile.... Yours truly The nameless dragon you call gon" "But gon ....how can I be happy without you..." Edit: comments are welcome please tell me if it's ok
2018-03-01T02:25:58
2018-03-01T01:48:12
30
13
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?" "I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started "Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said "...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'". The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen. "Roll for persuasion", he said Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly. "Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
"Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for. "Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine. "Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on". "But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth" "You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief. "Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?" "No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement. "Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly. "You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll" *rolls* "Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said Jerry nodded *rolls* "Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz "The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz. "I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him." *rolls* *rolls* "Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment. *rolls* Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder "You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice" *rolls* "17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage" *rolls* "Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers. "Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War"
2018-05-29T09:37:40
2018-05-29T06:46:10
303
74
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?" "I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started "Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said "...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'". The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen. "Roll for persuasion", he said Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly. "Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
DM: Alright, so you all have been stationed on the Bolognian for a few days now. Tensions have been high with Bologna for generations now, and things are starting to get pretty heated once again. Player 1: Alright, so what are our orders DM: Your group's job is to sneak into enemy territory and scout out areas within Bologna and to report back with anything you find out. Player 2: So we are just scouting out, not trying to fight anyone? DM: Ya, Modena and Bologna are not in open war right now, but its close. Player 1: Ok I'll take point. Let's head straight towards the center of the country, then work our way back. Player 3: Sounds reasonable. Player 2: Let's do it! DM: Ok so about a week passes and you are on the outskirts of a town near the center of Bolognian territory. There are quite a few large buildings, a church, and a communal well near the centre of the city. Player 4: I sneak into the town square. DM: Ok, so you make your way past a few soldiers who are sleeping on their post and make your way into the town square. As it is night most of the market stalls and such are packed up. The square is nearly deserted. Player 4: Ok imma grab the bucket from the well and start looting some buildings. DM: What? Player 4: I steal the bucket and fill it with loot. Player 1: Is that a good idea, we are just supposed to be scouting around. Player 3: shhhh just let him do it. DM: Ok so you pull the bucket down from eh rope it is hanging on and go around to a few buildings. Most of what you find is dinnerware, jewelry, and various other small bits of valuable metals, but in total it is about enough to fill the bucket. Player 4: Alright let's get out of here. Player 2: I take some charcoal and graffiti the wall "Modena waz here" Lol so edgy. Player 3: haha nice. DM: You guys work your way back to Modenian territory with your bucket full of loot. When you get back to your officer to report what you found, he immediately starts chastising you for stealing the bucket from Bologna. Apparently, they sent word to the Modenian government about a stolen bucket and are demanding the bucket back. Player 4: No way, I stole this bucket, its mine now. DM: fine, The Bolognese have raised an army of 32,000 men and are marching on the city of Zappolino... Player 2: that is the most Italian sounding name I have ever heard... Continue... DM: Your country can only muster 7,000 men, and it seems as though you will be crushed entirely. Player 3: Lets set up an elaborate defence of the city and make sure we don't lose. DM: Roll to set things up. Player 3: Natural 20! DM: Nice, so you guys get some well-made defences and a great strategy in place to drive back your enemy. They come soon and stand against your defences. You suddenly realize how fucked you are. This mile-long wall of bodies bearing down on you like a force of nature. I need you guys to roll to see how the battle fares. ~*everyone rolls nat 20*~ DM: WEll shit, you guys manage to break the enemies formations and send them routing back home, successfully beating a force nearly 5 times as large as your own. Player 4: I take a group and chase them back to the border. DM: they are in full flight mode, so you are easily able to drive them out of the country. Player 4: And a steal another one of their buckets as a trophy. ~*Party laughs their asses off, DM sighs and rolls his eyes. Everyone drinks a bit more, laughs and passes out sprawled over couches and floors.*~
2018-05-29T09:37:40
2018-05-29T09:19:41
303
22
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save." Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20." DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?" Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum" DM: "Roll a deception check" Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total." DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave." Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?" DM: "About Three days." Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
DM: Alright, so you all have been stationed on the Bolognian for a few days now. Tensions have been high with Bologna for generations now, and things are starting to get pretty heated once again. Player 1: Alright, so what are our orders DM: Your group's job is to sneak into enemy territory and scout out areas within Bologna and to report back with anything you find out. Player 2: So we are just scouting out, not trying to fight anyone? DM: Ya, Modena and Bologna are not in open war right now, but its close. Player 1: Ok I'll take point. Let's head straight towards the center of the country, then work our way back. Player 3: Sounds reasonable. Player 2: Let's do it! DM: Ok so about a week passes and you are on the outskirts of a town near the center of Bolognian territory. There are quite a few large buildings, a church, and a communal well near the centre of the city. Player 4: I sneak into the town square. DM: Ok, so you make your way past a few soldiers who are sleeping on their post and make your way into the town square. As it is night most of the market stalls and such are packed up. The square is nearly deserted. Player 4: Ok imma grab the bucket from the well and start looting some buildings. DM: What? Player 4: I steal the bucket and fill it with loot. Player 1: Is that a good idea, we are just supposed to be scouting around. Player 3: shhhh just let him do it. DM: Ok so you pull the bucket down from eh rope it is hanging on and go around to a few buildings. Most of what you find is dinnerware, jewelry, and various other small bits of valuable metals, but in total it is about enough to fill the bucket. Player 4: Alright let's get out of here. Player 2: I take some charcoal and graffiti the wall "Modena waz here" Lol so edgy. Player 3: haha nice. DM: You guys work your way back to Modenian territory with your bucket full of loot. When you get back to your officer to report what you found, he immediately starts chastising you for stealing the bucket from Bologna. Apparently, they sent word to the Modenian government about a stolen bucket and are demanding the bucket back. Player 4: No way, I stole this bucket, its mine now. DM: fine, The Bolognese have raised an army of 32,000 men and are marching on the city of Zappolino... Player 2: that is the most Italian sounding name I have ever heard... Continue... DM: Your country can only muster 7,000 men, and it seems as though you will be crushed entirely. Player 3: Lets set up an elaborate defence of the city and make sure we don't lose. DM: Roll to set things up. Player 3: Natural 20! DM: Nice, so you guys get some well-made defences and a great strategy in place to drive back your enemy. They come soon and stand against your defences. You suddenly realize how fucked you are. This mile-long wall of bodies bearing down on you like a force of nature. I need you guys to roll to see how the battle fares. ~*everyone rolls nat 20*~ DM: WEll shit, you guys manage to break the enemies formations and send them routing back home, successfully beating a force nearly 5 times as large as your own. Player 4: I take a group and chase them back to the border. DM: they are in full flight mode, so you are easily able to drive them out of the country. Player 4: And a steal another one of their buckets as a trophy. ~*Party laughs their asses off, DM sighs and rolls his eyes. Everyone drinks a bit more, laughs and passes out sprawled over couches and floors.*~
2018-05-29T09:31:25
2018-05-29T09:19:41
210
22
[WP] You and friend agree that if one of you invents time travel, they will come back to this very moment. As you shake on it, an older and injured you shows up and shoots your friend in the head.
I still remember the confused and terrified look on my younger self's face when I walked through the portal and shot my childhood friend in the face. We were 14 years old when we made the pact. The fright was delicious. My life had been wrought with pain and suffering. My family was like a small cult: physical and sexual abuse was the norm, like a gift passed down from father to son over the course of generations. It didn't help that I wasn't the most attractive boy in the world; both men and women alike rejected me, romantically and platonically. I was alone in this cold, cruel world; that is, until I met my best friend Michael. He tried to pull me from the depths of my mind, but his efforts were in vain. I was rage personified. Every fiber of my being focused on revenge-not just against my father or my classmates, but against humanity as a whole. I lived for it. As I grew older, my relationship with Michael became strained. I left for college, focusing on physics, writing my thesis on the time-space continuum. I was fascinated by the idea of time travel, implanted into my mind all those years ago. If I could achieve it, I could destroy the man who destroyed me. I could destroy the world. It took years of meticulous study, frustrating trial and error, and copious amounts of hallucinogens before I finally mastered it. I started off slowly at first; ten minutes forward, ten minutes backward. As my confidence grew, so did my leaps through time. I saw the dinosaurs. I witnessed devastating wars, both of the past and of the future. And the more I observed of humanity, the more I came to loathe it. Humans were disgusting, self-centered creatures, and they needed to be eradicated. I lept centuries into the future, collecting the most advanced weaponry imaginable. I had a plan: I would take over the world, making them all bow to me like the bottom feeders they were. The only thing holding me back was Michael, my friend of decades past. I couldn't simply treat him like everyone else; no, his death needed to be more intimate. He deserved at least that much. I recalled the pact we made, and then it clicked. I lept back to that fateful moment, the one that changed the course of my life. I saw myself shaking hands with Michael, happy for the only time in my life to have discovered a kindred spirit. I walked toward them, my simple pistol concealed. "Michael," I called to him. Both Michael and my younger self turned around, bewildered. "Your memory made me weak, Michael," I said in a low roar. "It's time for me to grow stronger." Their-our-fear was palpable. I could feel its energy engulfing me, I could taste their horror. I reveled in it. This would be the moment I would sever all ties to humanity. I chuckled softly as I shot my only friend in the face. The bullet entered his eye and left the back of his head-and punctured my younger self's skull. "NOOOO!" I roared as I felt the life drain from within me. I knew I had made a fatal mistake. I had planned everything so carefully; how was this happening to me? The world grew cold and dark as I slipped into the abyss, angry that I could never inflict upon the world the pain it had caused me. My last thought before my soul, if such a thing exists, left my body, was of my father. A lifetime of abuse, unrequited and unresolved, flashed before my eyes. I cried out in desperation, refusing to admit that this disgusting world would go unpunished. And then the world went black.
***June 14th, 1943; Dresden Germany*** I've come back to this night, physically, mentally, and spiritually so many times that one could say it is the true birth of my existence and the person I am today. I think of what brought us here; me an American born doctor and war surgeon thrust into the midst of one of the bloodiest and most desolate experiences in mankind's history, and my dear friend Frank, a begrudged German soldier and one who would become one of the finest minds in all of the world. I don't think I ever expressed to him how much I valued his mind, not just for its uniqueness but also his simple-mindedness and singular focus. He was quite honestly the type of man I'd seen through and through in the military in my years of service and had grown to despise, except for the fact that he fought a battle none would dare take up, and even I didn't think he could win. He had a certain charisma to him that drew in even his most profuse doubters and, in time, made them his most fervent supporters. I was no different. He had the most prolific green eyes that were fixated with the possibilities of the future, and harbored just enough sadness to remind you on certain occasion that he too was a child of war and hardship, and that his life was marred with the kind of struggle that makes a man's spirit go numb. Often times his thoughts would turn somber and his voice would choke with sorrow and regret, but only when we spoke of the past; he was very much a man focused on correcting the faults of today to prepare for tomorrow. Me, however, I've always had an unhealthy obsession with the past and I've toiled with mine for the majority of my lifetime so when Frank spoke of the possibility of changing it; and with it our future's it was my heart that believed him first. ​ I still remember the creation of our first workbench, just feet away from the bed that we shared because we could ill afford separate rooms and hardly the bed we scrounged up money for in the first place. That in it's own was an accomplishment. We had slept on the floor for some time in a seemingly endless pit of schematics and shriveled up papers and equipment that we had begged and bargained with various city factories to part with various shoddy equipment they were willing to part with. Frank gambled all night with a construction maintenance worker for several nails that we could use for the workbench, and when he was woozy from the alcohol that Frank had shared, he took his hammer too. After a few hours, when we finished constructing our first official work area complete with wood Frank compiled through some of his string of hard bargains and gambling runs, we sat and began to speak of the future; our future. It was there that we got drunk off of the cheapest liquor Germany had to offer, and pronounced wildly for the first time, that not only would we travel the world, but through time and space itself. When I asked Frank to what time he'd like to go first, he pronounced wildly "To the year 3000!" as he swallowed the last swig of the bottle, chuckling giddily to himself and turning and pointing the bottle toward me "And you?" he asked inquisitively, posturing up against the wall and waiting quietly for my answer while smiling. "I don't know," I started, "Perhaps to Old Egypt or the day the constitution was written. Maybe even my childhood to see my mother again..." I said as I trailed off, the liquor swirling inside me giving me all kinds of memories and making me more contemplative. "Doting on the past again William? Interesting timestamps but I'm far more interested in creating our own," he said before yawning and nodding off into sleep. I watched him descend to slumber and continually slink until his head lay perfectly in the notch against the workbench and the wooden floor before I fell asleep myself. ​ It's these days that were the happiest and most fulfilling of my lifetime, working and living with Frank, learning how to forget the problems of my past and move toward the future. And it's those two years that bring me continuously to this night. The perpetual swirling of emotions and memories, successes and failures, all thrashing about in my head and pouring down into the crevices of my soul. These parts of me are alive and well, so much so that I step in and out of each memory like a door from one room to another only to be confronted by my reality. Alone, in a room not a centimeter bigger than the one I'd shared with Frank. Bruised and tattered I stammer to my feet and grab a small schematic off my work-table as I begin the meticulous process of bending time. One that I nearly perfected with Frank. As I'm thrust into a small portal the size of an apartment door, I find myself standing over some shriveled up schematics in a dimly lit room in East Germany. I remember the night perfectly and for a second I slip through an additional door in my mind and into the memory. ​ It was a major breakthrough, and after a year of meticulous research we'd garnered the attention of a major scientific body called Nessich, which housed hubs in over 20 countries worldwide and wanted to invite Frank and I to join their developmental team with more access to materials, research and information than we'd come across in our whole entire lives. I was on the verge of tears as he told me the news and I looked into his emerald green eyes. "We've finally done it William," he said with a huge grin etched onto his face and placing one hand on my shoulder before engaging in a full on hug. "Frank... this is wonderful," I said as I clenched back tears and mustered up my best smile. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. When I had first met him he was on the verge of death, without a penny to his name and not a person who'd attest to his life had he passed. I was captive to a native country, thrust from home without family, fortune or will to survive, and we'd made a future for ourselves. It was the single happiest moment of my life. ​ "When we make it William, promise to come back to this treasured moment," Frank said as he looked at me with a determination and a softness all at once, and I nodded my head, agreed and shook his hand as heartily as I did with any member of the US military. ​ And then I opened my eyes and stepped through the door once more. I let a singular tear fall from my scarred cheek, and I let loose a bullet which buried itself right between Frank's eyes and I watched his body go limp. I watched how my happiness turned to agony, and its effect was double. I felt the wound a million times and I felt another part of my soul break loose. It wasn't the first, or the last time I'd be here again.
2018-10-11T18:42:58
2018-10-11T17:25:09
45
14
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
"Sam?" I knocked a few more times. My knuckles were starting to hurt. I prayed she was home. She just had to be. "Sam, you're home right?" "James, I-I'm... I can't let you in." "Oh, Sam! Good, you were home." I leaned my cheek against the door in relief. "I got the text too. Not really sure what the hell it means but I'm fine with waiting a little while for this shit to blow over, whatever it is." "James? I don't-I can't trust you." My usually brusque and firey girlfriend sounded genuinely nervous. I enjoyed the break in character, but kind of wanted to see it myself. I felt like it was a rare chance to experience her acting vulnerable. "It's okay, Sam, I didn't ask you too. I have my key, but I'm not gonna open the door. I told you, I saw the text too." I figured there was something serious going on, so I didn't want to do anything that would really freak her out. "But can we move our conversation to the back door? If there really is something to be nervous about, I want to get off the street." I waited patiently before making any move that would concern Sam. A soft "okay" slipped through the cracks in the door. I started to step away, when I was blitzed by a shout: "WAIT!" Then I heard thumping coming from inside. My eyes grew wide, and I felt a chill down my spine. She has a bad habit of forgetting to lock the back door. I jumped the fence and sprinted to the back door, which slammed shut and locked in my face, right as I arrived. "Sam!" I yelled. My voice cracked a bit. I started to tear up. "Sam, please, are you okay?! Is someone in there with you?!" No response. "Sam! SAM!" I slammed my fists on the door to no avail. She was unresponsive. I tore the screen off of one of the windows, grabbed a big rock, and hurled it. It went straight through. Without hesitation I jumped through the window. "Sam!" I shouted. I held my hands in fists, bloody from the broken glass. Then I saw her. Curled up in the corner of the kitchen, cowering and crying. Her head was buried in her arm. She gripped a knife tightly. "Sam? Are you alright? Is someone else in here with you?" She started to cry. "You! You're in here." "Sam. Oh my God. I thought someone was in here with you! I was scared that someone got in, and you were in trouble." I was crying too. I was confused and afraid for her. "No." Sam said. She kept crying. It was then that I noticed that something silver was dripping from the knife. It looked like blood -- just... Silver. She looked up at me, eyes puffy from tears and fear, and I stared at her, waiting. She finally choked out what she meant to say: "I said... I told you... You were in here..." Oh shit. I looked down the hallway and saw my own body on the ground with that silver blood pouring from the neck. I looked at Sam. She looked at the blood on my hands. She dropped the knife and cried harder. I approached, slowly. She opened her arms, and I embraced her. I let her cry into my chest. She kept saying "I'm sorry" and all I could say was "It's okay," even though I felt like apologizing to her, for what she'd seen, and what she had to do. She had finally calmed down a little, and began to wrap a towel around my hands. Then we heard it. "James?" And a knock at the door.
A sharp knock at the door startled Eric. The sudden jump caused him to drop the phone from his hand. "Babe? I lost my key." Vanessa's voice came through the door. Eric stared at the phone embedded in the lush, grey carpet. It landed face up with the emergency message taking up the entire screen. "LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC." "Honey?" Vanessa knocked again to get his attention. Eric moved to the door as quietly as he could manage, then held his breath while he peeked through the peephole. He did not want her to know he was on the other side of the door. Eric saw the back of Vanessa's head; his view was mostly obscured by a familiar tight, black bun. She seemed to be staring out the window at the end of the hallway. She knocked and called for him again, but without turning around. The knock felt low on the door enough that Eric realized she was knocking behind her. She was intentionally not facing the peephole. "Eric!" She shouted with a trace of panic in her voice. "Let me in please!" The crack in her voice caused Eric to reach for the handle; he hated to see her uncomfortable in any way, but something did not feel right. In their three years together, not a single thing slipped Vanessa's mind. The message also added questions. Why hadn't she said anything about the message? Her phone! "Call me," Eric said through the door. She still did not turn around. "What the hell? I don't have my phone, just open up!" She yelled at the hallway. "Where's your phone?" Eric asked. He felt braver now, colder. His Vanessa would never lose her keys *and* her phone at the same time. "Look, I didn't want to scare you, but there's some pretty weird stuff going on outside. When I saw it I was so scared that I literally dropped everything and ran back to you. Please, let me in." "What kind of weird stuff?" Eric asked the black bun. "Eric honey, I"m *really* scared right now. Can't I explain it to you inside?" "No! The government sent a message to keep the doors locked. I'm scared too," he admitted. He saw Vanessa's head wobble and heard her laugh nervously. "Locked doors aren't going to help. We need to get out of here." "Get out of here? And go where?" Eric asked. "Jesus Eric, open the door and I'll explain everything." She yelled at the hallway. "Why aren't you turning around?" "I've kept a lot of things from you, and I'm really regretting it right now, but I need you to open the door. I promise you'll get all the explanations you want." "WHY AREN'T YOU TURNING AROUND?" he yelled the question again. He already decided this woman was somehow an imposter, he just wanted her to admit it. He watched the bun rotate slowly as she turned to face him. Her once dark green eyes now sparkled with golden light. Her irises were shaped like golden glowing stars. "I love you," she said. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO VANESSA!?" he pounded the door in a rage. "I *am* Vanessa. Let me in so we can get out of here, then I'll explain everything. "Explain it from there!" Vanessa looked over her shoulder at the window. "No time, this is already taking too much time. Let me in." Eric chuckled. "I'm safe inside. You're the one in a hurry, so explain it fast." "You're NOT safe inside. No one is safe from her, we need to go." "Her who? Go where?" Eric asked. "There's so much to explain it's not going to be covered with me in the hallway. Open the door and you'll get all the answers." "Why?" Eric asked. Suddenly a bigger question popped in his mind. "Why is it so important for you to get inside? If you're in a hurry you can get somewhere safe until it blows over." Vanessa laughed nervously again. "There is no blowing over. You don't know what's going on, the government doesn't either. She's taking control of the Earth and *WE* need to be gone before that happens. I need to get inside because I need to get to you. I love you, it's the only way to make sure you're safe." "You're not making any sense. If this mystery person is taking control of the Earth where are we going?" Eric saw Vanessa's starry eyes roll upward and he felt a bit offended. Then, he noticed tears starting to flow down her cheeks. "Another Earth, obviously." "What? What the hell are you talking about?" "This is why I didn't want to explain it out here. You're going to have too many questions. Go look out the window," she said. Eric left the door to stare out the living room window. Their apartment was on the fifth floor and he had a decent view of the city. He did not see anything at first until he saw a skeleton shatter on the street below. It instantly pulled itself back together and began marching into the nearest building. He watched several more skeletons land, then he looked up. The skeletons were falling out of a large black hole in the sky. He looked around and noticed dozens more black holes raining skeletons on the city. He ran back to the door. "What's happening!?" He shouted. "Ballisea kills everyone, and she can't be stopped," Vanessa said with a soft, resigned voice. "It's how she invades. Those portals aren't just over the city, they're all over the world." "There are already some skeletons in this building. If one of them finds me, Ballisea herself will show up," Vanessa sighed. Her crying still managed to give her golden eyes a reddish color. "I love you, but I'm not going to die for you. This is your last chance. Open the door, or I'm leaving without you." She stepped back from the door and made a gesture at the air. A smaller black portal opened in the hallway. "You're one of them!" Eric shouted. "Goodbye, Eric. I did love you," she said as she stepped into the black hole. When it disappeared Eric saw a skeleton step out of the stairwell. It walked to the first door in the hall and smashed through it with little effort. As it stepped into the apartment several more skeletons filed out of the stairwell, each crashing through a different door. \*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #12. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
2019-01-12T08:28:48
2019-01-12T06:59:31
2,225
165
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
"Why....?" the little girl stammered, her face full of tears. "Why does Grandpa need to die? He hasn't done anything wrong!" I stopped and looked towards the little girl. "Your grandfather needs to die", I replied, "because he is the worst person in the world." "That's not true! He-" I cut her off. "Your grandfather needs to die because he has murdered millions of innocent people. Your grandfather needs to die because he killed my parents when I was younger than you. Your grandfather needs to die because he made me watch as my friends were tortured and executed." I turned to face the dark lord, readying my sword. "That's why your grandfather needs to die." The dark lord laughed. "That's a lot of talk, hero. But can you really do it? Can you really make a little girl watch as her grandfather is killed?" I stared him in the eye. "No, no, I can't." And then, I charged. But not towards him. "No! Wait, stop! What are you-" My sword plunged straight through the little girl's chest, her tiny body going limp as I lifted her into the air. Behind me, the "dark lord" vanished in a puff of smoke. "I...impossible" the little girl croaked, her voice now a deep rasp. Her face began to shrivel and wrinkle, and her body grew in size until I was met with the true form of the dark lord. "The illusion was flawless... how could you have known? I don't understand...." "You've never cared about a single person in your life, so of course you wouldn't understand. No actual grandfather would ever put his granddaughter in such a dangerous situation. Only a monster like you would ever think a grandfather would do that."
The Dark Lord. Heh, he was not very impressive. A thin lanky mess of a man, graying and withered. His breathing was shallow, his head rested at an angle on his neck, his eyes white and staring at nothing. Wires protruded across his naked skin, pumping blood and several colored chemicals. My attention snapped as a child, no more than four, auburn hair flowing to her shoulders, nimbly walked to this living corpse and tenderly adjusted his head. She caressed his hands, with the infinite love of innocence. The Dark Lord sat before me, and yet I could not move to draw my firearm. But this girl. Why couldn't I move? "So you have come, hero..." the living corpse wheezed. That jolted me, but it breathed: “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.” My bravado died as the girl turned to face me. "Sister..." I sighed. No, of course not. My sister was dead. Sixteen years and so much suffering ago. And yet here she stood, no older than the day she died, free of the wounds and tears that plagued her life. "Well?" The dark one asked. "What are you waiting for." "I... you... WHO IS THIS?!" I finally was about to shout. The girl who was the shade of my sister, the one this corpse called granddaughter recoiled, reaching for it's hand. "You have survived the wastes and the creatures of light and dark. The corruption, and despair itself. And you wasting time interrogating me?! Tell her!!" he shouted, wheezy but with hints of the power that he once held in his body. "I..." I paused, and as I looked at her, took courage in her stolen form. I spoke to her almost as if she were her twin. She looked at me wordlessly, frightened. "I knew someone who looked a lot like you. She was my sister. We grew up out there. Out there, your grandfather is..." I grew nervous as she gripped his hand tighter. "Your grandfather has many names out there, the kindest and most proper being The Dark Lord. I was prepared to indict him for his sins. If he wanted a confession, he would get his last damned wish. "Before I was born, it was said our world was on the edge of excess and sin. The world became sick, and wars broke out. Among the heroes your grandfather saw himself counted. He used the old war machines and took control. "He enslaved people, made them work beyond the limits of their bodies, and killed who couldn't or wouldn't. His followers performed experiments on others. So many got sick, so many died. "There are..." I fought for words, "MILES of people being slaughtered to be used for food. The leaders he put in place have no regard for human life. My people have lived in the shadows, seen this corruption, and sent me to end it. And end it I shall." "Does that satisfy you, Dark Lord?" I asked, satisfied. "No." My heart froze. It was not the corpse, but the girl. My firearm's holster snapped open, my weapon floated up, out, and toward her, grip first toward her outstretched hand. She folded a delicate finger on the trigger, pointing straight at my heart with the confidence of experience. "With the marvels you have seen, the impossible monuments to majesty and power, you still have such a LITTLE mind..." she said, exasperated. "There are few other things humans can eat but living flesh. That your lot are put to death to feed others is a better fate than starving. The others were used to make medicines and treatments. As for the pens, well, how else are we supposed to have extras?" I was numb. She spoke of humanity little more than stock and feed. I saw a tube running down her head: she was connected to the Dark Lord! She lowered my weapon. I tried to move, but it was impossible! How...! "You'll make a great body" she said smiling, this twin of my sister with the mind of the Dark Lord. I felt several pinches of pain: needles appeared from the walls. The tube came loose from the girl, and she collapsed lifelessly. The tube rushed to me, snapping into my skull. I felt a rush of SOMETHING coming into me, losing mind no help - I woke up an hour later, brisk and alert. I missed the energy of the younger one, but this one was in his prime, with supple reactions and honed reflexes. I heard him screaming somewhere in the corners of my imagination, they all do from time to time, and it meant nothing. A fleeting distraction. I would amuse myself by tormenting him. He could hear my thoughts, and his despair at seeing my memories of just this was delicious to feel. I would sooner or later break free of my need of the original, that disgusting thing that was the original me. I had survived longer than not, and I would continue to do. Survival of the fittest, they said back in the old days. Words to live by, for ever and ever.
2019-12-11T21:16:13
2019-12-11T20:56:25
616
53
[WP] At first, the aliens mocked our technological advancements. After learning it took only a few centuries to move from horse carriages to space ships, they suddenly became more friendly.
"That's not possible. Resurvey, and when you finish, you can write a report detailing the mistakes that led you to propose something so ridiculous." Those were the words of my superior when I first raised concerns about the rapid development of human technology, after one of our scouts failed to report back. That was about 100 of their years ago. Maybe if I had pressed harder then, raised more alarms, we might have had a chance. But in all honesty, I couldn't believe it myself, and I wanted to be proven wrong. I should not have doubted myself. About 500 years ago, we discovered the planet their species refers to as "Earth" while performing routine charting exercises. Naturally, everyone here was excited, as the discovery of a new habitable planet is always a potenial boon - we assess its resources, send in some scouts once we establish it's safe, and eventually send a conquering force once the legislature approves it. Of course, that process has been painstakingly slow ever since the debacle of Xiraqua. The public demanded greater attention to detail and safety, and while it increased the bureaucracy of it all, overall the new process has served us quite well. Initial surveys started soon after discovery, and about 200 years after that we had a fairly comprehensive report detailing Earth civilization. The survey processes were a bit slow, but that was to be expected for the amount of data they yielded. The humans were an intuitive but still relatively primitive bunch, able to use the local resources to build animal / weather powered vehicles, but they hadn't even discovered the entirety of their planet. They knew nothing of the precious metals buried deep within the surface, and by all accounts they looked no different than any other planet we conquered. After just a few more decades of legislative debate (a surprisingly quick decision), we were ready to proceed. We sent in scouts to prepare for a proper invading force, but something happened. We're not sure if it was an equipment malfunction, or a pilot error, but we lost one of the scouting ships. The others reported back that the humans had apparently salvaged the wreckage and taken the survivors hostage in one of their desert military facilities. "Hostage?! What do you mean, hostage?! Why didn't you extract them?" "Sir, you don't understand, we barely escaped with our lives, they ha-" "Your lives?! You were in no danger! No, I will hear no more of your excuses. You will be free to explain your incompetence during your trial. Take them out of my sight." I remember the scene well. It was burned into my memory forever. I couldn't forget the anguished, fearful looks on their faces if I tried. The terror they felt was infectious and caused me to accelerate the investigation of their onboard instruments, violating countless protocols in the process, but I couldn't care less. I had to know what had driven them to such madness, and in my frenzied search, I discovered the dark truth. In a mere 100 or so years between the analysis of the survey data, the approval of the scouting mission, and the arrival of our scouts on Earth, the humans had FAR outpaced the projected rate of technological development. The survey indicated they had only the most basic tools and mostly plant based machinery, but the onboard data banks indicated the existence of technologies that should not have been possible to develop in that time frame. They were on the brink of launching satellites into orbit, and had developed weaponry capable of glassing entire countries. In just a few decades, they achieved an industrial revolution which took our own species a millennia. I practically screamed as I sprinted towards my superior's office. To his credit, he responded about as well one could expect to the insane claims I made, and while he did not heed my warning, he at least ordered another survey to be conducted to verify the earlier results. I rushed everything as much as I could. I pressed my teams to work unrelenting hours, and became almost universally hated for it, but I managed to get the new survey completed in just half the time it normally took us. When I finally was able to look through the results, I died. Literally, collapsed on the floor in my office and died. The medical team that revived me told me that they had never seen a case like it before, and could not figure out how someone's entire body could shut down purely from stress like that. I knew what I had to do, that there was only one option for survival, and what it would mean not only for my own life, but for that of our entire civilization. There was no time for debates or approvals; the new survey could not have made that more apparent. This letter is my last act, a warning to all sentient beings capable of reading and understanding its words - Humanity is dangerous. They're evolving exponentially faster than anyone could possibly imagine. By the time you read this, it may well be too late. I intend to steal a ship and go to Earth myself, so that I may surrender to them before they realize just how far they outclass the rest of life in the universe, because if we wait any longer, they will likely no longer be able to understand our pleas for mercy.
“So good of you to join us here today, councilmen. I take it the journey was pleasant? Alexa, make sure our guests have whatever sustenance they need. It’s been what? Twenty-nine years and seven months?” The ambassador, Karla as they’d come to know her, was a severe woman with a thin face, made nearly gaunt by her tightly pulled back silver hair. The boarding group of Oclantians were greeted by an autonomous beverage cart responding to Karla’s command. “Pleased to meet you in the flesh, ambassador,” said the shortest Oclantian, picking a bottle of something green from the cart. “The journey was quite pleasant, considering the circumstances. This station...it’s exquisite from the outside. We look forward to seeing the rest.” Karla gave a polite chuckle. “Of course! I admire your appreciation for technology, Professor Tillok. I’ll show you all to your rooms and give you the tour. But first, there is business to attend to. The executives are waiting in the atrium just ahead.” *They sure are pushy*, thought Tillok. *It’s no wonder they’ve come so far in such a short time*. The group began walking through the boarding tunnel of ISS VII (now considered interstellar rather than international); Karla leading the way for seven, betentacled Octlantians. Among them were two engineers, two biologists, one communications expert, an interstellar accounting expert, and Tillok, considered the most educated being on human history in the galaxy. The distant blue planet of Octlantia had discovered Earth several centuries ago with technology far more advanced than that of their subject of interest at the time. What they saw then was bleak. Octlantian satellites returned decades of footage of seemingly constant war, plague, and famine. It was the second intelligent species the Octlantians had found in their quadrant of the galaxy, but they feared *intelligent* was a stretch. Oddly, the constant pressure of these tumultuous elements appeared to strengthen their civilization. And fast. Every war brought more efficient ways of killing, more efficient ways of communicating how to do it, and eventually, a certain mastery of the very building blocks of the universe. Diseases, however bolstered by terrible living conditions and inequality, was eradicated with an unprecedented dedication to medical science—science that started to rival the Octlantians’ own expertise in biochemistry. Every time something horrible repeated, humans got a little better at handling it. The Octlantians’ centuries-long lifespan made them prolific travelers. Their devotion to biological sciences versus industry had enhanced lifespans threefold. As such, Tillook had been alive for quite some time when his planet decided to call back their satellites. The humans had made it to space and Octlantian observers grew fearful. It took their own civilization millenia to figure out how to escape the heavy atmosphere of their ocean planet. They continued to observe humanity and all its mistakes and wonders using a complex array of impossibly detectable sonar. They never counted on 21st century military research devoting a huge amount of resources to radar and radar detection. And so the Octlantians were blocked. The planet went dark to them, both literally and in the sense that humanity had advanced too fast for their own collective understanding. Earth knew something was out there, too, watching them. “Right this way, councilmen,” said Karla, ushering the guests through hydraulic doors into a sweeping antechamber. A pair of men and a pair of women sat at the end of a conference table in the middle. They all stood up and shook hands to tentacles, tentacles to hands. The Octlantians’ translucent heads pulsed with nervous energy. “Grand executives of Earth,” Karla began, “I’d like to introduce you to Octlantia’s best in the business. As you know, they’ve come here today to discuss dwindling resources in their star system. Our planet, of course, was blessed with just enough to allow us to mine other planets, but there are no easily mineable planets in their locale. If we are to establish a trade here today, ladies and gentlemen, an encrypted beam of our civilizations’ valued intellectual property will be sent to our home planets simultaneously.” “Thank you, ambassador,” said Tillook as the Octlantians took their seats. “I have studied humanity for longer than I can remember, and I must say, I am deeply impressed by your advancements. You have many brilliant individuals to thank along the way, and I’m sure you’re all quite brilliant yourselves. Over a few thousand years, we’ve used the precious resources we have to advance space flight, increase our lifespans, and develop what we believe you call a ‘utopia’ for all inhabitants of our beautiful planet. We have observed many comparisons between our home worlds, and I for one regret that our spying now forbids us to visit the oceans you call Pacifica and Antlantica on Earth. Though the observations have taught us a lot, not only about your world, but the universe, we realize that our civilization may not survive in the next 3,000 years without harvesting the resources from other planets, and, of course, the Dyson Sphere.” “Though we can no longer observe your planet, we’ve tracked developments in the neutral zone of space and opened a civil line of communication between our species. Today, I believe we will reach an understanding that will benefit us both greatly in the long run. The proposal is this: our technology for enhancing lifespans of carbon-based mammalian species for your technology on the harvesting and manipulation of minerals from planets and asteroids so that we may continue in prosperity for eons until the eventual heat death of our universe.” Tillook finished, glowing with pride he hadn’t dared show the humans on initial contact. Deliberations followed. The executives exchanged figures with the interstellar accountant. The engineers discussed the scope and overall possibility of mining other planets with what resources Octlantia had available. The biologists outlined possible obstacles in the human psyche for greatly extended lifespans, and Tillook clarified possible historical inaccuracies since Earth had gone dark to their species. Hours passed and agreement was struck. Contracts were passed around the table and the initial plans were set to be beamed to their homeworlds. The promise of unlimited resources would allow the Octlantians to thrive in their long lives for generations to come and extended lifespans opened up opportunities for extended space travel for humanity. As the transfer was near completion, a digital voice spoke from nowhere in particular: *Error. Transfer incomplete. Interference detected from 122.3.22.5.8.888*. “What’s going on?” asked Tillook, his head pulsing like a heart attack. “That’s our astronomical coordinate. What happened?” “That’s strange,” said an executive. “It looks like ours went through. Everything looks like it went to Washington, right?” The other executives thumbed through their tablets and murmured in agreement. “Strange indeed,” said Karla. “But isn’t that what you said about humans, professor? Our progress has taken a rather strange path, I suppose.” She pressed something on her tablet out of sight from the Octlantians. The executives’ murmuring started to slow as if their batteries were dying, and then they slumped at the table. Robots with their plugs pulled. The Octlantians’ heads looked as if they could burst. “What you probably don’t know, having only spied on our innocuous space activity for the last couple centuries, is that we are, well, we’re close to becoming gods. We just needed the last little key. That whole thing with the mitochondria?” She gestured to the Octlantian biologists. “Absolutely brilliant. But we can’t live forever if we’re not alone in this quadrant. Especially not if we’re neighbors with some peace loving, Utopianists. Who knows? The slaves might get an idea if your civ comes nearer.” She looked around the room, severe as ever. “I really am sorry to do this. You all seem so kind...so naive. You didn’t even realize we weren’t drinking during our meeting.” She looked at the robotic beverage cart, which now sported a blinking red light. “Avatars can’t drink, you see.” The light blinked faster and faster. The Octlantians dove under the table in futility. It was kind of like those drills Tillook learned human children partook in during the Cold War, right before Earth went dark. But tables and desks did nothing to shield carbon-based life from an atomic blast.
2020-07-07T08:12:30
2020-07-07T08:03:01
79
30
[WP] most interstellar navies of the Galaxy adapted tactics from their wet-navy cousins. That was until humanity arrived they had an ocean so most figured they would adapt their wet Navy tactics to their space Navy, instead they adapted tactics from something they called the air Force.
"War is the noble application of superior firepower. All the other races developed along these lines, why is it that yours is so different?" Admiral Quelez glanced over at his human counterpart. A thin, lanky creature, it resembled more a child than a warrior. The human looked up from the tactical display, a large dias 2 meters in diameter with holographic images in 3D space representing the assets currently under their command. "Guess we're just special" The human replied with a smirk. The humans were an odd ally. They were discovered only five cycles ago when the search for more war supplies brought the Tiklo scouts to a remote human colony. While the humans weren't as advanced as the Tiklos, they provided a resource that was sorely needed in the Kingdom, manpower. An alliance with a million fresh fighting bodies was a relief to the war weary Tiklos. Of course, the real benefit only came after their first conflict. The human warships were unlike anything in the known galaxy. No ship of the lines and no large caliber armament, just large cargo haulers filled with hundreds of small vessels. The first allied Human-Tiklo happened in the Karr system. Five enemy Hunga Titan-class ships with a dozen escorts against two Tiklo Leviathans, and two Human Carriers with combined eight escorts. The Tiklos and Hungas arranged in battle lines, bringing their broadsides to bare one towards the other with escorted taking position in front as a screen. Just as had been done in every battle since the beging of fleets. Then the humans acted. They did not take up position on the line, instead they placed themselves behind the great Leviathans and released their swarms. Hundreds and hundreds of small light vessels spilled from the human ships and raced towards the Hungas. They were so small that scanners couldn't identify individual ships until they were already halfway across the gulf. They were so nimble that even once they could be identified, they couldn't be tracked. Then they unleashed their weapons. No one ship had the power to do any damage to a great ship such as the Titans. Twenty all concentrating their fire and at such close range. Titans and indeed all ship of the lines were designed to withstand broadsides coming from one direction, they were not designed to protect against attacks from over a dozen points of origin. "Tell me again, general. Where do these tactics of yours come from? I studied a bit of human culture and history and I know your kind had 'wet fleets' that used similar tactics as ourselves and the other known races. Why did you abandon such tactics in favor of these...'squadrons'?" "It's not quite like that" the general said as he started to pace to the end of the holographic display. "Our ships are still heavily based on the traditions of our 'wet fleets' as you call them. At least the day to day operations. However, we learned on our planet that a ship on the water is somewhat predictable. They only move forwards, backwards, port, starboard, and if a conflict took place inland at all they weren't all that useful. Then we began to realize that there was an entire third dimension we weren't using, and so we began to place planes no our ships... "Planes?" Quelez cocked his head and stared at the general with all four eyes. "I'm not familiar with that word" "A machine capable of flight. Like a bird" "A what?" "Oh sorry, I forgot. A bird is a type of animal on earth that can fly in the air like a fish swims in the water. Your race doesn't have anything like that on your world do you?" Quelez raised his arms in the sky indicating no. "Anyway, we started building ships that would carry planes, and launch them against other ships. Ships were not built expecting attacks from above, and it proved a great advantage against the great battleships of the era" The general had stopped now at the end of the display. Where there was a large sphere displayed with hundreds of blips representing ships arranged around it. "The tactics we developed back then were adapted to space, and again it will prove an advantage against the great ships before us now." The general said as he glanced up at the blips representing the human fleet slowly approached the Hunga homeworld.
We came to their border one hundred years ago with a massive show of strength, hundreds of ships sailing the expanse, flags unfurled. They fell before us as every species had before, prey animals screaming in fear. Our navy triumphant at every turn, we only paused to refit and repair. They fought like a Bekran defending its nest, every kilometer of space was contested, but we never lost, inexorably closing on their core worlds. Their Homeworld orbited a small class M star, third from the star, a system so fantastically endowed with strategic resources our first scans were assumed to be false. But the second and subsequent scans as well as intel from captured ships, bases and personnel confirmed the first scans. The humans were in possession of a system unlike any we had ever encountered. This fact had only increased the importance of seizing it, our navy could be replenished and refitted for a thousand years in that system. We’d burned our own out a very long time ago. It is why we sailed the emptiness. The humans were as unique as their system, though they seemed to not understand that fact. A relatively advanced species when we encountered than, they were not heavily militarized. The initial contact, and combat, had been rather easy. Our ships sliced through theirs, most were unarmed or very lightly so. Their combat expertise seemed to be from fighting each other in a rather low intensity warfare. More accustomed to skirmishing and perhaps show of force vice actually fighting a proper fleet battle. They often spoke of a political solution. We only laughed at them when they asked us for one, The Bak-Thun are the solution. We anointed them in the fires of the immortal fleet, burned their ships and captured their out worlds. They retreated, and resistance stiffened, as it often does when we approach a species home. Until now that had not mattered, they all fell under the prow of our Battle Cruisers. But these humans were clever, and once they realized we would not negotiate, they adapted. Quickly. Tor-Thun pondered the campaign so far, and the possibilities of his family in the new human system when it was captured. Their Mining Guild connections would be very glad to get a piece of the asteroid belt if he could gain enough battle karma in the coming attack. Others would be trying for the same of course, but others did not command a trident of three Bak-Thun heavy battle cruisers and the attendant escorts. His command was one of the most powerful in the fleet and the Admiral was sure to use his Trident as the tip of the attack, and if not the tip then close enough to gain a flotilla worth of battle karma. The humans had proven they would not just roll over. Perfect he thought, more karma and we have not had a suitable foe in a very long time. As he strode into the briefing auditorium distracted by his thoughts of family and wealth he was brought back to the present by a long low, reverberating, hiss. His people expressed displeasure often times as a whole. Something that is out of place or that disturbs a group of them will reverberate through an entire hall. Something had disturbed them indeed. He looked up at the holograph briefing board in the middle of the auditorium to see what looked like an entire Trident of Bak-Thun ships being torn apart. At first, he thought he was looking at a training simulation though he had no idea why they would be reviewing such at an invasion planning briefing. It was no simulation, those were human ships, lots of human ships, so many it was impossible to count them, and small. The sheer number of missiles they were deploying made it seem like you could walk across them for many kilometers. They went after the escorts first, overwhelming them one at a time, the Trident tried to maneuver to cover each ship but the small ships just repositioned and took which ever ship was further out. The holo was shifted and he heard the chief of intel now talking. “Here are the mother ships, that’s what we are calling them, from where the smaller ships launch.” The Holo zoomed in on a rather large ship that looked for all the world to be a massive cargo hauler, and it might well have been at some point. It was surrounded by a great many smaller ships as escorts though none were near as big as the mother ship. The escorts were hardly proper destroyer class ships. There were three of the modified cargo haulers. “Also note these ships coming from another axis.” Again, the holo shifted and yet another literal cloud of ships, larger than the missile carriers he had just seen but not large enough to be destroyers or even corvettes. These new arrivals were making a straight line for the Bak-Thun battle cruiser line. The Trident was nearly bereft of its escorts at this point, most of them glowing on fire or simply in pieces as hulls were breached and cores went critical. The remaining Bak-Thun ships came about and sailed directly at the mother ships, trying to get their powerful but rather short-range beam weapons in range. Tor-Thun grimaced, he could tell they would never get a shot off. A few missiles launched toward the humans but it was not even close to being enough. The maneuver to attack seemed tactically sound as the mother ships were where the small craft were coming from. It was just too little too late. As if to accentuate the point, the cargo haulers launched another swarm toward the Trident. How many of the damn tings were in there? The whole ship must have been full of fuel, small ships and missiles. Those would make impressive funeral pyres in the vacuum for many many humans. The new attack force however, didn’t seem to have any other ships, or cargo haulers around. Were they actually from the home world? They weren’t large enough to go too far into the expanse, but perhaps they were close enough for an attack and return? The intel officer confirmed his suspicions. “These appear to have launched from the home system and have just enough range to reach our vanguard. Well, what used to be our vanguard in any event.” As he finished speaking the swarm launched another, even more impressive assault of missiles and then retreated. The larger units obviously carried more weapons and larger types it seemed. The missiles overwhelmed the ships defenses, and the entire Trident was obliterated. Whatever was left was destroyed by the cargo haulers second wave. He was shocked at how fast the massive fleet had met its end. Tor-Thun closed his fist over his heart and wished his people a safe journey to the nether. Then he joined the snarl emanating from the entire theater. Though he sensed not a little shock. Not one person in this briefing had even heard of an entire Trident smashed let alone witnessed it. Regardless, it just happened, destroyed by humans. The fleet as they say, was immortal, not any more. The intel officer spoke. “We've intercepted and decrypted some messages from the human fleet. The three ships that look like cargo haulers are called the Enterprise, Hornet and Yorktown. The humans call them carriers. The small craft they call fighter bombers and the larger ones able to travel alone for a fairly significant distance, at least enough to defend their system are called bombers. There’s a third class that carry a beam weapon but none of those were employed and we assess they are not yet ready.” There was a small pause of dead silence, and as the Admiral rose purposely from his seat a grim look on his face the auditorium erupted in shouting voices. Tor-Thun kept silent, the humans were clever, and the battle karma was going be very great indeed.
2020-11-21T20:16:45
2020-11-21T19:01:15
188
125
[WP] One day you wake up with 30 dollars and a note that says “For Rent”. The thing is you aren’t renting out the place. The next day you see a spider and right before you kill it you hear it say, “Please i paid my rent don’t kill me”.
I'm not a particularly picky person. If I find thirty dollars with a strange note, I'm up thirty bucks. Hell, if they're paying, that's way better than my dogs were doing. After interrogating my brother about it, he seemed to assume I was fucking with him and that was that. I've got places to be. Mysteries tend to unravel with time. Returning home twelvish hours later, and my pups appeared to extremely angry at the corner. This wasn't unusual, I've had a spider web down from the ceiling to land on my hand. Unnerving, but spiders are almost entirely harmless. A few minutes of inspection of the offending corner, I see the subject of their ire. A crab spider. A fuckin big one too. Really not my favorite, but I'm....pretty sure aren't very dangerous. Sighing, and wondering if I should just left it to it's fate, I put my hand down flat in front of it, and go to poke it in the butt so it'll run onto my hand, when it looks me square in the eye and speaks. "Please don't kill me, I paid rent!" Well. I'll be fucked. I've hallucinated in my day, but I'm fresh off work. This is as horrifying sober as I get. "You, did?" I stammer. "Wait, that cash was you"? "Paid fair and square! Call off the beasts!" The pups had calmed since I came to take care of the problem, and didn't seem to register the spiders speech, which was all the better. "Well... Hop onto my hand then, I think we need to talk." As it turns out, he has aspirations. Wanted to be a web developer.
The note unnerved Phillip; the man staring at his kitchen counter, wondering where the immaculately written letter came from. He didn’t have a roommate, nor did he have anyone else currently living with him. Had his drunken self-written this letter previously, and he had just forgotten about it? Or did someone break into his home just to unnerve him? The thoughts rattled in his mind before he took a glance around, pocketing the money. It wasn’t like he was going to turn down a free thirty dollars, even if that money may have been his own. Phillip spent the rest of that day searching the house for any signs of a roommate. Starting with his basement before checking the wardrobes and even under his bed. He had to be certain he wasn’t in the presence of an oddly polite serial killer. With his inspection finally done, he retired for the night, struggling to get to sleep, feeling a constant need to look back into the darkness, making sure no one was watching him. The next morning, he was far calmer, the shock over the note fading, considering it a drunken prank on his behalf. With the mystery solved, he rewarded himself with some cereal, grabbing a bowl, only to notice a small spider in the room's corner, watching him from its web. Reaching for a magazine, he rolled it up, ready to swat the arthropod, only for it to speak. “Please, I paid my rent. Don’t kill me.” The words seemed to come from the small creature, causing Phillip to lower his magazine. “Wait, you paid the rent? How did you even pay the rent? Wait more importantly, why can I understand you?” Phillip was uncertain what aspect confused him more. The talking spider or the fact that it had money. “Oh, I’m a rather talented blackjack player. That’s besides the point though, I don’t need to disclose my web of income to you. Get it web, cause I’m a spider. As for why you can understand me, why don’t you search for the answer on the web. Damn it, I overused the web puns, didn’t I?” The spider stomped its little feet, wishing it had saved its jokes for a better audience. “One was far too many for that pun. This is insane. Have I lost my mind? I’m talking to a spider.” Phillip could feel himself hyperventilating, chest puffing at an alarming pace. “Easy now. I’m a ghost that’s possessing a spider. I may have tried to possess you and missed. Water under the bridge, ok? No need to hold any grudges over who may have tried to possess who. Deep breaths Phillip, come on, don’t start screaming or anything. Move away from the window. You don’t want the neighbors seeing you freaking out like this.” The spider raised its small front legs trying to ease Phillip, hoping to calm him down. “This is insane, I have lost it. You even know my name; how do you know my name?” Despite the bizarreness of the conversation, Phillip moved away from the window, dropping onto the floor, rocking slightly in a seated position. “Ok, I’ll tell you this while we are still becoming friends. I may have taken some money from your wallet to pay for my blackjack session. But hey, I paid you back, right? When I went through your wallet, I saw your license and thought it might be a good chance to get to know you.” The spider explained, leaving out the detail about how it took a fifty from his wallet and only returned with thirty. “You spidery fiend! That’s it, I’m going to swat you for my sanity.” He picked up the magazine once more, aiming it at the spider only for its legs to frantically wiggle. “Wait! Wait! I was a likeable guy when I was alive. Money? Women? Power? I can help you achieve that. I’ll be your spider wingman. Want to woo a lovely lady? I’m your spider. Want to apply to be a manager? I’ll make you a CEO. I need this. The outside world is scary. You know, there’s a bird that keeps tapping its beak against the window every morning. Its mocking me like the cruel hands of fate. If I go outside alone, it’s going to kill me. Please, I’m begging you. If I don’t prove my usefulness in a week, you can kill me.” The spider’s pleading caused Phillip to stop before he finally dropped the magazine. “Fine, you have a week.” Phillip said as he grabbed the cereal from the cupboard, not wanting to leave his bowl empty for too long in case that started talking to. Pouring his cereal and milk, he sat down to eat. “Mind if I borrow twenty for blackjack?” The spider asked, causing Phillip to sigh. Would the spider really be able to convince him of their worth?       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
2021-02-18T20:02:32
2021-02-18T18:18:30
485
133
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
Wolfgang shifted his weight, trying to ease the discomfort in his hip, as he stood in line with his granddaughter, Emma, at the Citysburgh Metropolitan Bank. Emma, clutching her favorite stuffed dog, gazed about at the ostentatious pseudo-Classical columns and gold leaf décor. The bank tried to make itself look like a historical building, but this was at least its fourth reconstruction. Wolfgang himself had destroyed it once, fifty years ago, trying to access its vaults. He smiled to himself, remembering the astonished look on Rock Duchess’s face when she arrived to save the day, only to find the entire building blown to smithereens. How young and foolish they had both been! He looked down at Emma, wondering if she would follow in his footsteps. If she did, he would have to teach her about the folly of robbing banks. The line began to creep forward, when suddenly, Wolfgang felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced up at the fisheye mirror and confirmed his suspicions- three young men were standing outside the glass doors of the bank, wearing ridiculous outfits and preparing to make a dramatic entrance. He squeezed Emma’s hand and gave her a wink. “Whatever happens next, Emma, don’t be scared. Bullies thrive off of fear.” She looked back up at him with her big brown eyes, “Okay, Grandpa.” She didn’t even flinch when the glass shattered and the other customers started screaming. “Everybody on the ground…NOW!” shouted a gruff male voice. Everyone dove to the floor, covering their heads and whimpering- everyone except for Wolfgang and Emma. Wolfgang turned to face the robbers with a smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m an old man, and with my sore hip, I’m afraid if I get down on the floor, I’ll never get back up.” “If you don’t get your old ass on the floor right now, I’ll put you on the floor and make sure you never get up.” The three young men wore matching purple and black spandex outfits. The man in the middle, the one who was doing all the speaking, was holding purple balls of flame. He wore purple-lensed goggles and had matching purple hair. The young fellow to his right had glowing blue eyes and seemed to be partially made of ice. The one on the left was a half-man, half-beast whose costume had evidently ripped at some point during his transformation. Were he fifty years younger, Wolfgang might have been intimidated. As it was, he sighed and addressed the cowering customers. “Everyone, please stand up. Don’t be ridiculous. This is nothing but a roving gang of children trying to steal some lunch money. Don’t let them push you around just because they have powers and you don’t.” There was confused muttering amongst the crowd. A few people even stood up. Predictably, the spandex-clad trio hesitated. These inexperienced groups rarely knew how to react when bullying didn’t work. The flame guy was visibly angry. “Are you crazy, old man!?” He launched one of his flame balls toward Wolfgang’s face. Wolfgang barely flicked his wrist. A small portal appeared, absorbed the fireball, and vanished. He gave an exaggerated yawn. “You boys are an embarrassment. Truly.” The beast-man took a step back. “Th…that’s the Black Baron. No way I’m screwing with that guy. I’m out of here.” He took off running on all fours. The icy fellow said nothing, but started backing away slowly, leaving Mr. Purple Flames alone in the doorway. The rest of the bank customers rose to their feet, dusting themselves off and shooting angry glares toward the would-be robber. Wolfgang looked the young criminal up and down. “When I look at you and this young generation of villains, it makes me sad. My granddaughter here might want to follow in my footsteps someday, but if you’re the type of criminal she’s going to learn from, I fear for her future.” He shook his head. “It’s an impressive power you have there, son. Now learn to put it to good use. Your first lesson is: Don’t rob banks. It’s literally the dumbest crime you can commit.” “Y…yes, sir, Mr. Black Baron.” “Good, now get out of here before I change my mind and send you to another dimension. You’re making me miss the Law and Order marathon.” Purple Flames lowered his head and sulked away. For the first time in his life, bank customers cheered for the Black Baron.
A slightly older man stood in the lobby of the First National Bank of Metroville. He was tall and slender. The man wore a black trenchcoat and fedora. His pale bule eyes were covered by dark designer sunglasses. The designer suit from Italy hung neatly on his frame. The most standout thing about him was that he was holding hands with a little girl. The small brown haired girl looked up at him. "Daddy?" The man looked down. "Yes, Sweetheart?" "After this we are going to the zoo, right?" "With out a doubt. Afterwards I was thinking we could eat a early dinner." "Can we go to Chipotle?" "I thought we could go to Marco's. They have a delightful salmon with a white truffle champagne sauce." "Eeewwww. Isn't truffles a fungus?" "Kinda." "I thought this was my day. We always go to Marco's on your day to pick stuff to do." The man smiled. "Very true. Chipotle it is." The girl and her father smiled. The moment of happiness was broken by a loud bang. Smoke filled the entrance and five men rushed in. Four of the men wore black paramilitary gear. The fifth man wore a full cowboy outfit. It was he that spoke. "Everyone freeze!" The men took positions at the door and the counter, the rest walked around the lobby as crowd control. The cowboy spoke again. "I am The Desperado. And it is your honor to be robbed by me...Well to witness me robbing this bank." The man in the black fedora smaked his mouth in a gesture of boredom. "Daddy? Are these bad men robbing the bank?" "Yes, sweetheart. Dont worry. I need you to play our game where you go along with everything I say. Ok?" "OK,Daddy." The Desperado walked slowly around the lobby smiling as two of his men filled bags with money the cashiers were giving them. The man in the fedora spoke up. "Excuse me. Mr. Desperado?" "You told you to speak? Freezing means not talking." "Sir, My daughter has to use the bathroom. She is very fightened. If it's ok with you I would like to takes her to the bathroom and leavew her for the duration of this transaction." The little girl crossed her legs and started to cry. "Daddy. These bad men scare me. I have to potty." The Desperado sneered. "Piss your underoos little lady. This will be over soon." The man in the fedora interjected. "Mr. Desperado. Please. She is just a child. I will come back. I just want her to be safe. I am just asking for a little mercy." The little girl started dancing and crying harder. "I'm fightened, Daddy.!" The Desperado sighed. "Fine. Number two, escort them to the bathroom. Make sure he comes back." The large man by the door walked and grabbed the man in the fedora by the arm and lead them to the bathroom. The three of them reached the door. The man in the fedora looked at number two. "One second please. I will settle her in and be right back out." Number two nodded and the man in the fedora and his daughter walked in the bathromm. The man in the fedora walked and pulled out a screwdriver and loosened the screws in the vent cover. He motioned to his daughter. She was picked up and placed in the duct. "Crawl to the first intersection and go right. I will knock three times when it is safe for you to come out." The girl smiled. " This is like hide and seek." The man in the fedora smiled. "It's just like hide and seek." The girl crawled as the man in the fedora put the vent cover back and walked out of the bathroom. "She is settled. Shall we?" The two men walked back to the lobby. The man in the fedora inquired. "If you don't mind. What percentage are you getting? I used to do this kind of work in my younger days. I'm just curious." "Five percent." The man in the fedora sucked in air in between theeth. "Oh, Dear." "What?" "It's......nothing. Nevermind." Number two slammed the man in the fedora against the wall. "What?!" "It's just.... I never gave anyone just five percent. You are new to this aren't you?" "What's that got to do with anything?" "Well. The old school rule of thumb is, the higher percentage. The more important the man is. It was considered anything under ten percent was for the thugs. The ones meant to catch bullets from the police. The expendable. I'm sure things have changed." "Shut up, asshole." The man in the fedora grabbed number two by the neck, in a comforting move. "Yes, Sir." Number two smacked the man in the fedora's hand away. "Don't touch me." "Of course." The men entered the lobby. The man in the fedora stood in the place he stood in before. The Desperado smiled as two of his men walked out of the deposit box room. "Ladies and gentlemen. This concludes our stay here. Have a nice day. Number two, open the doors." Number two stood still. "No. I want a bigger cut." The Desperado sneered again. "No. You agreed to your percentage. Do your job." "I want more than five percent." The other men surrounded number two and The Desperado. They all chimed in. "Five percent? I only get two!" "What is this bullshit?" "I was told I got the highest percent. I get four." The Desperado yelled. "Now is not the time! I told you there would be bonuses! Let's go. Police will be here any minute." The man in the fedora put a hand in his pocket. He pressed a button on a fob and number two exploded, taking out the whole gang in a blast of blood and money. Peaople screamed as the man in the fedora walked to the bathroom. He took off the vent cover knocked three times. The litlle girl crawled out. They walked to the back entrance to bank. "Why are we going this way, Daddy?" "This is the fastest way, sweetheart." They walked out the back door. Before them stood a man in front of a black suv. The man and the little girl got in the back as the driver got in the front. "Everything go as planned, Sir?" "To perfection." The man in the fedora looked at his daughter. "Sweetheart. We got a bit of a drive before we get to the zoo. You can listen to your ipod as I make a quick call." "Ok, Daddy." The girl puts her earbuds in. The man in the fedora took out his cell phone. "Henry. It's done. You are good to go. The police will be busy across town for awhile.....It's fine. I am retired but I did owe you a favor......yeah, I hired some hack crew as a distraction and took care of them. Typical hire and dump.......yes." The man in the fedora laughed. "It was too easy. This new generation has no appreciation for the classics. This was fun. I tell you what, we are going to the beach house next week. Martha and I will be so disappointed if your family didn't come........Perfect. see you then." The man in the fedora hung up and pulled out a earbud out of his daughter's ear. "Are you sure about chipotle?" The girl smiled. "Yup. My day remember?" The man in the fedora patted her leg as he smiled. "Whatever you want, Sweetheart."
2015-02-06T22:15:19
2015-02-06T22:15:00
565
100
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other.
"I created you," Scient said. Potent frowned while leaning back in his cloudy chair. The temperature in heaven was just right today, with rays of light creeping through the clouds above and onto the kingdom around them. Therefore there was no reason that Potent's face should be *this* red. "If you created me, then why can I build a place like this while you can't even design a simple cloud?" Scient chuckled. "You think this place was your doing? Those cliffs over there exist because I told you how to make them." He pointed at the grassy cliffs in the distance. "And those clouds in that corner are only there because I said so. If I know more than you, then I must have created you." Potent was even redder than before, he tugged his robe forward. "If you're so damn perfect, then why didn't you make a place of your own . . . ? Oh that's right, you can't." "That doesn't mean anything," Scient said. Potent stood up and stretched. "There's a flaw in your all-knowing plan, brother. You have to be able to create to make stuff. All you can do is think." Scient was on his feet now. "And all you can do is build. The thought comes first in every creative process." They were inches away from each other now. The Angels floating amongst the kingdom went from smiling to worried. Many of them took off and flew to the furthest point of the cloud bed. Far enough that they wouldn't feel too much of the force. "I bet I can create something without thinking about it," Potent said. "Hah!" Scient replied, folding his arms, "you couldn't build a piece of cloud puff without me." Potent scrunched up his face in concentration. It looked like he was about to unleash a massive bout of hot air, and the Angels instantly took cover. Scient's grin grew wider with each passing second. "Give up, thought trumps all." And then there was a bang. A big blue wonderful bang that brought a gust of wind with it, and made the grass shake and shiver, and made the Angel's feathers rustle from side to side. In the distance, a little blue ball floated, it had smudges of green on its surface. "What the?" Scient muttered. "I told you I could do it!" Potent jumped up and down in victory.
The castle had changed since the last time she'd been there. Crawling white pillars loomed like an enormous, stone fence. The broad, curving stairs were laced with flecks of jade and chasing lines of platinum. The wide, double doors were solid slabs of pressed gold. "He's having a mid-life crisis," she sighed, as she let herself in through the doors. "Idiot." He was concerned about his legacy. She knew that as well as she knew everything else. He was a builder who was no longer confident in the things he'd built. In many ways he'd never been confident. And with good reason - everything was going to shit. "Hey!" she shouted from the foyer. "Stop hiding in the pantry and get out here. We need to talk." From somewhere deep in the castle she could hear an exaggerated sigh, then a *POP* as he appeared before her instantaneously. "That is *very* irritating," he said as he materialized a plush, velvet-lined armchair from the ether and plopped down like a scolded teenager. "If I'm hiding it's obviously because *I don't want to talk to you*. Duh." "And obviously *I don't care*," she replied, placing a foot on one of the armrests. "We need to talk." "About what?" he sighed, rolling his eyes. "You'll have to forgive me my ignorance. Not all of us know everything." She took a deep calming breath. He was scared. He was frustrated. That's why he was lashing out. It didn't make him any less annoying to know that, but it helped. "We need to make some decisions soon." "Oooooh!" he shouted, spinning up off the armchair. "*We* is it? *We*? Or is it *you*? You want to take control. You don't like what I've done with the universe. You know..." He started pacing a wide circle across the mostly empty foyer. "I *tried* back in the day, alright? I *tried*. I get that you know more than I do, but do you know what it's like having every little choice you make analyzed and criticized? Do you remember those damnable reports you used to prepare for me - the *HERE'S A BREAKDOWN OF EVERY HORRIBLE THING THAT HAPPENED BECAUSE OF YOUR DECISION Report*?" "Those made you upset," she said, nodding. "I'm aware." He laughed. "I *know* you're aware." "And what would you suggest *I* do?" she hissed. "Pretend I don't see it? Pretend I don't know? I am *not* trying to punish you by showing you these things. I'm only doing what little I can. I can't save anyone or fix anything. All I can do is tell you what I know. I understand that's painful for you. It's painful for me, too. But that's the system we picked." "That's the system *He* picked," he replied, bitterly. "It was supposed to be easier doing this together." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. What did you want?" "We need to talk about Mars," she said. "Can I have a seat?" "Oh, sorry," he said, sheepish. An overstuffed couch popped up across from the armchair. She sat down. "This is important," she said, steepling her fingers. "This is one of the most important decision points we've ever faced. If they get to Mars - if they tame Mars - they will go further. And they won't stop until they've conquered the stars." "Conquered?" he said, standing behind the armchair. "You mean...?" "Eventually all those species... all those other civilizations... those will fall." She looked up. "But if they don't leave... if they cannot make it off their planet... they're doomed. And much more quickly than you may have guessed." He tugged at his ear and nearly wept from frustration. "Right. I see." "I know you think I've been critical of you," she said. "But you have never chosen wrong. And I don't believe you have ever acted incorrectly. It is simply the nature of our lives. There will always be suffering." "If they die," he said, slowly, pondering the words carefully. "Does that mean that we..." She smiled and shook her head. "I do not know. Honestly and truly. That is the one dark corner where light does not shine for me." He nodded, then crossed to the couch and sat down beside her. "Had we the chance, would you have exchanged roles, do you think? Sight for me. Power for you. Do you think maybe... maybe we could have survived things better that way?" She shook her head. "It wouldn't have mattered, husband. These gifts are not compatible." "Would you like..." He paused, reaching out for her hand. "Would you like me to take it away from you? Both burdens would be mine and you... you could rest." "I would die and go into the Wastes," she said, shaking her head. "And you would go mad. He was right to split those burdens between us. Neither of us could handle both. And I could not stand to lose you." "Are we not already lost?" he asked. "We will fight again," she nodded. "No matter what choices we make, we will always find a way to conflict. But - just as surely - we will always find a way back to each other." He smiled, pulling her close into his arms. "You talk as if you can see the future." "Perhaps," she laughed, her head nestled against his chest. "Or perhaps it's just a woman's intuition."
2016-10-22T16:33:05
2016-10-22T16:28:30
1,367
714
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times.
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now. He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs. Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall. Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him. Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different. One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn. Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat. I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered. “Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard. “Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter. “Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.” Hopefully, I purred.
I shut and locked my apartment door behind me, panting, and slid to a seat on the hardwood floor. *What the fuck?* 278 times. 278 times at the age of twenty-one. I wondered if Mr. Anderson, my emissary, had noticed my heart pounding as I read the number from my Slip, the one-time Slip anyone is able to request on their 18th birthday, but something I paid no mind to until quite recently... My palms had shaken as the disappearing ink slowly faded, though that number was already tattooed on my mind. Mr. Anderson had looked me up and down then, with a furrowed brow, as terror ran down the length of my spine. Did he notice me trembling? Even if he had, he probably guessed I'd scored an 8 or 9, higher than normal but not necessarily impossible. Never mind. I knew what I had seen. I had come close to death 278 times in my life, and no one else knew but me. Those were the rules... They made sense of course - if everyone knew you'd come close to death more than the 'normal' amount of times, someone was out to get you, and if that were the case, there must be a reason, right? I wiped my blonde curls out of my eyes. Jogging home had left my hair in a mane around my face and a broken heel, not to mention the beads of sweat dripping down my face. I hadn't bothered telling my boss I wasn't coming back to work after lunch. This was *far* more important than writing sleazy relationship advice articles anyway. Work could wait. I ripped off my blazer and put my head in my hands. *This is a mistake. This is a mistake.* *This* must *be a mistake.* I got up, slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed into my bedroom - which had light grey walls with all white furniture. It was simple, with the only decorations being a small white cross next to my door, some candles around the room, and my huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all colors and sizes. My bed - a queen-sized with the most plush, stark-white bedding you’ve ever seen - was my crowned jewel. It whispered sweet nothings to me as I walked past, but I ignored it. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I hopped in the shower and let the water run over my body, trying to calm my nerves. Soon, though, I was a crumpled mess. I sat down on the tile, letting the water run down my back and resting my head on my knees, as I slowly began to weep. I couldn't fathom how it was possible that I had come so close, so many times, without realizing it at all... *My luck will run out*. A tap on the glass shower door bumped my number to 279 with the almost-heart-attack it gave me. I screamed and wiped the fog away, while simultaneously scooting to the far corner of the shower and waiting to die. "Whoa, sorry, uh, sorry there! I won't hurt you!" called a voice I had never heard before. I was stunned as the mystery man, dressed in all white, went on. "I, uh, I was told you got your slip today, eh?" \*nervous chuckle\* "well, uh, I don't mean to startle you -" he perched himself up on my bathroom counter, as he went on, "I honestly was hoping you'd never request your slip... Uh, but, um, I just wanted to say it's my fault." At this point I dug my nails into my thigh, hoping I wouldn't feel pain. Wincing, I resolved I was certainly not dreaming. At this point, the fear turned to anger and I stood up and grabbed a towel, opening the shower door. "Who the ***fuck*** are you?" I said, trying to sound tougher than I must've looked, mascara running down my face, blonde hair a wet mess, not to mention wrapped in a towel and in no condition to put up a fight. "I'm sorry again, we're not usually allowed to do this..." he muttered to himself, "I guess this is probably why, eh?" \*another nervous chuckle\* "But, um... I'm Alan... I'm you're guardian angel, and uh, well, I, I never really passed my Final Test, but The Big Man let me slip through the cracks." I stood, dripping wet, and blinked. Alan went on. "Most guardians are able to prevent near-death experiences before they get to the near-death point... but, uh, not me... but so far, I've been doing alright, right? I mean, you're here, right?" I looked around, to see if there was any chance I was being Punk'd. I decided to humor this obviously unstable man. "So God just let you 'slip through the cracks,' huh?" I pressed, amused yet still wondering how I was going to get him out of my apartment. "You know, he's uh - he's omnipotent, so he knows I became your guardian angel after failing my test, and uh, he also knew you were gonna have sex out of wedlock on your 18th birthday, uh, so... sorry, but uh, you win some, you lose some, I guess..." *Wait, what the fuck? How would he know that?* "*Excuse me?"* I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. Alan twiddled his thumbs and looked at his feet, which hadn't stopped swinging since he'd hoisted himself on my counter. "I just know you're really freakin' out after today, so uh, so I wanted to visit and tell you it was my fault... No one's trying to kill you or anything... well, actually once you almost got mugged, uh, but the guy changed his mind or something... I'm really not good at my job..." he looked at his naked wrist and jumped up. "Anyway, it was nice to finally meet you! I'll, uh, I'll try a little harder.. but, uh... don't take the subway anymore, alright? This is a give and take kind of relationship... Uh, bye!" And he left, with every last piece of my sanity.
2018-07-27T13:19:13
2018-07-27T12:38:49
892
62
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times.
I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV. *\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins... My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments. "The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight." That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control. To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed. 6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath. Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting... "I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged." I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\* I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it. NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't.
I shut and locked my apartment door behind me, panting, and slid to a seat on the hardwood floor. *What the fuck?* 278 times. 278 times at the age of twenty-one. I wondered if Mr. Anderson, my emissary, had noticed my heart pounding as I read the number from my Slip, the one-time Slip anyone is able to request on their 18th birthday, but something I paid no mind to until quite recently... My palms had shaken as the disappearing ink slowly faded, though that number was already tattooed on my mind. Mr. Anderson had looked me up and down then, with a furrowed brow, as terror ran down the length of my spine. Did he notice me trembling? Even if he had, he probably guessed I'd scored an 8 or 9, higher than normal but not necessarily impossible. Never mind. I knew what I had seen. I had come close to death 278 times in my life, and no one else knew but me. Those were the rules... They made sense of course - if everyone knew you'd come close to death more than the 'normal' amount of times, someone was out to get you, and if that were the case, there must be a reason, right? I wiped my blonde curls out of my eyes. Jogging home had left my hair in a mane around my face and a broken heel, not to mention the beads of sweat dripping down my face. I hadn't bothered telling my boss I wasn't coming back to work after lunch. This was *far* more important than writing sleazy relationship advice articles anyway. Work could wait. I ripped off my blazer and put my head in my hands. *This is a mistake. This is a mistake.* *This* must *be a mistake.* I got up, slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed into my bedroom - which had light grey walls with all white furniture. It was simple, with the only decorations being a small white cross next to my door, some candles around the room, and my huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all colors and sizes. My bed - a queen-sized with the most plush, stark-white bedding you’ve ever seen - was my crowned jewel. It whispered sweet nothings to me as I walked past, but I ignored it. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I hopped in the shower and let the water run over my body, trying to calm my nerves. Soon, though, I was a crumpled mess. I sat down on the tile, letting the water run down my back and resting my head on my knees, as I slowly began to weep. I couldn't fathom how it was possible that I had come so close, so many times, without realizing it at all... *My luck will run out*. A tap on the glass shower door bumped my number to 279 with the almost-heart-attack it gave me. I screamed and wiped the fog away, while simultaneously scooting to the far corner of the shower and waiting to die. "Whoa, sorry, uh, sorry there! I won't hurt you!" called a voice I had never heard before. I was stunned as the mystery man, dressed in all white, went on. "I, uh, I was told you got your slip today, eh?" \*nervous chuckle\* "well, uh, I don't mean to startle you -" he perched himself up on my bathroom counter, as he went on, "I honestly was hoping you'd never request your slip... Uh, but, um, I just wanted to say it's my fault." At this point I dug my nails into my thigh, hoping I wouldn't feel pain. Wincing, I resolved I was certainly not dreaming. At this point, the fear turned to anger and I stood up and grabbed a towel, opening the shower door. "Who the ***fuck*** are you?" I said, trying to sound tougher than I must've looked, mascara running down my face, blonde hair a wet mess, not to mention wrapped in a towel and in no condition to put up a fight. "I'm sorry again, we're not usually allowed to do this..." he muttered to himself, "I guess this is probably why, eh?" \*another nervous chuckle\* "But, um... I'm Alan... I'm you're guardian angel, and uh, well, I, I never really passed my Final Test, but The Big Man let me slip through the cracks." I stood, dripping wet, and blinked. Alan went on. "Most guardians are able to prevent near-death experiences before they get to the near-death point... but, uh, not me... but so far, I've been doing alright, right? I mean, you're here, right?" I looked around, to see if there was any chance I was being Punk'd. I decided to humor this obviously unstable man. "So God just let you 'slip through the cracks,' huh?" I pressed, amused yet still wondering how I was going to get him out of my apartment. "You know, he's uh - he's omnipotent, so he knows I became your guardian angel after failing my test, and uh, he also knew you were gonna have sex out of wedlock on your 18th birthday, uh, so... sorry, but uh, you win some, you lose some, I guess..." *Wait, what the fuck? How would he know that?* "*Excuse me?"* I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. Alan twiddled his thumbs and looked at his feet, which hadn't stopped swinging since he'd hoisted himself on my counter. "I just know you're really freakin' out after today, so uh, so I wanted to visit and tell you it was my fault... No one's trying to kill you or anything... well, actually once you almost got mugged, uh, but the guy changed his mind or something... I'm really not good at my job..." he looked at his naked wrist and jumped up. "Anyway, it was nice to finally meet you! I'll, uh, I'll try a little harder.. but, uh... don't take the subway anymore, alright? This is a give and take kind of relationship... Uh, bye!" And he left, with every last piece of my sanity.
2018-07-27T14:45:48
2018-07-27T12:38:49
100
62
[WP] You are God, and you wanted to experience life as a human to see how you would turn out. In order to do that you became a baby that was born and you made yourself forget that you are God until your 30th birthday. It's your 30th birthday and you are a serial killer waiting for his death penalty. Edit: Holy shit I wrote this and went straight to bed, I'm going to read all of your replies now, thank you. This is my first writing prompt, I'm so glad you guys liked it.
Ah, I said to myself, so they don't like it when you do that. I had perfect memory in that moment, my transcendence repurposing my powers as I saw fit according to my holy whims. I could feel the blood dripping down my hands, each life taken no less recent to my mind than the present. The screams, the emotions flushing across their faces, even the chemical computers coursing through their veins as open to me as my own thoughts. Funny, though, they didn't always get so upset about it. I guess it gets harder over time. Where was my notebook again?... —ah! I scribbled my findings down below the other notes. `6. Thou shalt not kill.` The clock reset and I settled in for another round. This was going to be a good one, I could feel it.
Everyone is watching me, but I am at peace with it. That is what they will never understand, with all the apologies I’ve had to make and the people screaming at me outside of the courthouse and all the witnesses who cursed and called me the Devil. That one was funny to me, but I don’t know why. They will never know that I am at peace with it all. There were many, many people I helped, and every time I remember one, I have no regrets. I knew, I always knew... “Do you have any last words?” *I have been watching her for weeks, trying to see what kind of life she leads, trying to see if there is a light at the end of the cold, dark tunnel she lives in. Her bedroom window is open, and every night after she puts the kids to bed, she sits and cries, and eventually falls asleep, hopefully dreaming of something besides her own emptiness.* *One night, when he kids are at a friend’s, I enter her apartment. She sees the gun, and she seems to know.* *“Thank you,” she says softly after I tell her about the life insurance policy. “I’m so tired.”* *“You did the best you could,” I say. “After this, you can rest. Are you afraid?”* *“No…should I be?”* *“No. Good people like you go somewhere good. You won’t have to cry anymore.”* *“My kids will be okay?”* *“They will.”* *A few nights later, she accepts what I have to give her. She smiles as she leaves, and I feel a bit of sadness twisting her facial expression into one of horror for the police.* “No.” *He is okay with his life. His children have robbed him of all his money, and soon his house will be taken and he will be sent to a facility. His wife is long gone, and most days he seems content to bask in their memories, looking through old photo albums. It’s all he can do to hold on to his fading mind. I visit him, before he seems to go completely.* *“What did I do wrong?” he asks. “Why are they gone?”* *“Nothing,” I say. “Sometimes, that’s all you can do. Your best, and they still leave. It is not your fault.”* *“It feels like God has left me…like he forgot about me, and I'm just wasting away here.”* *“God never forgets,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. “He’s waiting for you on the other side. Do you want to go?”* *He looks at me for a long time, perhaps seeing something I do not. “Is she waiting for me too?”* *“Yes,” I say. “I’m certain.”* *“Then okay,” he says.* *He hugs me as I take him. He, too, has a smile on his face, a childlike, excited one. This time, I leave it there.* “Then it’s time.” *They brought a priest for me to confess to, a few days before the chair. I expected him to be like the others, but he didn’t judge or criticize or call me a monster. He listened, so I told him why.* *“Do you hate me?” I ask him.* *“No. I don’t hate you. I feel bad for you. You’re still a young man. Your life is ahead of you. The future was endless. And now it is gone.”* *“I feel at peace. With everything I’ve done.”* *“Then stay that way. It’s what God would want. He would want you to have peace at the end.”* *“I agree.”* I sit there, waiting for it. I look ahead, at the white wall. I hear the death trap powering up, and I wonder what awaits for me on the other side. Just as everything reaches a fever pitch, the voices, a scream, the machinery… Clarity. Light, so much of it, the light I always believed was there, always suspected, finally floods my eyes…
2018-11-22T19:03:39
2018-11-22T16:13:48
980
332
[WP] An alien race conquers worlds by starting a zombie apocalypse and later coming down and offering "salvation" in exchange for subjection, so far this has never failed, until they reach Earth and find humanity has already defeated the zombies and is waiting for them...
A beep and a blinking light caught the attention of the Commander of Fleet. It was a status report from one of the advance scout teams seeding the planets with viruses to weaken the native inhabitants. He read over the report, his fury growing by the second. How is this possible, he thought. Getting on to the ship wide comm system. "This is the Captain, there is an emergency meeting of ALL ship command staff and military section heads in the main conference room A in 5." A moment later, a tall wiry alien entered the office of the Ship's Captain. "What is going on?" Looking at his chief of staff "We have a problem on NH-98821 Terra. Get this report up on the screens in the conference room and make sure everyone is there." The Captain walks into the conference room and looks over the assembled host. It was a mix of different alien races all conquered by the Go'mealt Empire over the years. All of them were conversing among themselves until he entered the room. Standing to attention they saluted him and he waved them back to their seats. "So we have gotten a status report from the scout ship preparing NH-98821 Terra for compliance. The initial stages were a success, however, the Terran formed a resistance, defeated all of the infected and have found a cure. Not only that, they are preparing defenses of advanced design. Something that is not in their present technology development tree. We have no idea how they did this." As the Captain, speaks text and video are played on the screens around them showing the Terrans and their resistance. A young Kol bridge officer yells "Wait, stop, go back" at the video. The video slowly reverses and the officer points to the screen. "There." On screen is a conference of the Terrans. They are standing in front of some banners with a 7 pointed star with 2 of the points being twice the length of the others. "Gol'oth be damned..." as the commander let out a long sigh. "Is that?" chimed in one of the military staff. "Yes, its the symbol of the Monkrath Star Empire." replied the captain. "But I thought we wiped them out because they resisted compliance?" asked one of the other bridge officers. The Captain let another sigh. "Technically, we did. However, and this information doesn't leave this room. Two dozen ships managed to jump out of the system before we had secured the system." The assembled staff murmured and argued at this new information. All except for the young Kol, who was busy looking over something on his terminal. "It looks like the Mon got to this planet about 60 of its cycles ago. They started making documentary videos of brave Terrrans fighting off infected. They were telling the Terrans for years what to look for and how to deal with it. This has been going on for about the lifespan of a typical Terran. There will usually be 3 generations in that time so by this point, it would be common knowledge to almost the entire population, young and old. The amount of documentaries increased in the cycles leading up to the scout ship's arrival. So when we came, the Terrans were prepared and knew exactly what to do. Some of the world's governments even had how to manuals for dealing with the infected. If they have access to Mon technology..." The Captain let out another long sigh. "Shit..."
I am Harper Smith and I work for William Hopper. We spent the last four hours walking through this zombie evicted college town looting random stores for reasons I don’t understand. Our first stop was L.L. Bean with free Adventure Pro Backpacks and a zombie head smashing baseball bat which Hopper described as ‘a must-have item for anyone wanting to understand the American way of life’. Hopper says that baseball bats are better than fire axes and I believe him. He says he’s not a God, he just knows how things happen. I don’t know, that sounds pretty godly to me. Either way, I am grateful for not having to pray to him. Our next stop was a postal office with broken windows and light brown doors decorated by gunshot spatter of dried up blood. There, Hopper took a sheet of liberty bell forever stamps, a bundle of pens, box of envelopes, a phone book and a packaging tape. Then, he pointed to a general store across the road. The store sold empty shelves, cleaned by customers like us before they fled the town. But, they still had a few items Hopper needed. Twelve inch cast iron skillet, one spoon from a twelve piece set, a butter knife, two lavender scented candles, a bowl he insisted was meant for olives only, a grey kitchen cloth that is rough on touch and a book with grey cover. And now, we’re going to the library. University Library is a mid-century modern concrete sprawl of bookstacks, reading areas and coffee shops usually swarming with undergrads in search for a quiet place to kill time. Except, today is different. There is a cardboard sign with red letters reading ‘CLOSED’ taped onto the remaining side of the main entrance glass sliding door. The other side is scattered in shards across the ground and under the 300 lb greyish now twice-dead zombie. I did not grow up in this world. I grew up in a world infested by aliens and where people are few. There, I was a soldier, fighting the plague. One day a man in grey trench coat appeared out of thin air and offered me a deal I could not refuse. I’ve been with him ever since. So yeah, I came here from a totally different world. I look at Will. “Totally different world,” he says and grins. Of course he does, he knows everything that’s going to happen in this story. He stares at his white wrist watch. “Don’t worry, these guys will be ready when the aliens come.” I nod. Zombie’s eyes are wide open and cold, butt large and ungraceful and he smells like hamburgers and fries. “Will, what happened here?” I say and poke the dead undead with my baseball bat. “He had a heart attack.” He didn’t and I chuckle. Will exhales. He points to the opening 300-pounder left in the glass door. “After you.” The Library lobby is a marble hall of silence and scattered books under the tall glass ceiling. We echo our way to the long counter dotted by dead computer screens, green lamps and potted plants. Will takes blue pot with a spider plant, glances at my backpack, decides that the pot won't fit in and then he pinches off one of the babies hanging from the mother plan and puts them in the front pocket of my backpack. “Thank you,” he says when done. “We need to take the stairs to the second floor. Elevators are not working. Samantha is in reading room 2A.” His voice is certain, as if he was here before. But, he wasn't. “Also, Harper, get your bat ready. You’re going to hit a home run.” I grip the bat when we take the stairs. The second floor opens into an tastefully decorated atrium with leather chairs and polished old-style cherry wood desk on top of red and white circular rug with elaborate patterns I can’t make sense of. On top of the desk sits a bust of a dead ancient philosopher and his nose is chipped. This is pretty, like the home I knew before the aliens came and slothered my friends and family. “It’s time,” he says and points to a corridor to our left. “We’re almost there. Room 2A.” He steps forward, then pauses. “Soldiers first. Also, your bat.” he motions me to grip it tight which I do. We turn left into the dim corridor with a Jackson Pollock style painting, door to the room 2A and a human-sized zombie banging on it. It takes one bat swing to send his head rolling down the corridor. Too easy. “Home run!” Will says and claps. “That is a home run!” He turns toward the door, extinguishes the cigarette on the wall and fixes his trench coat lapel. Then he knocks at the door. “Knock, knock. Samantha, William Hopper here. Please, open the door.” “Come in! It’s unlocked,” a high pitch voice shouts from inside and Will jolts as if stung by a bee. “Wow,” he whispers. “Will, what happened?” He opens the door and doesn’t answer. In the study room 2A, Samantha Hardy sits cross legged in a black mid-century modern chair. She is a twenty year old skinny tangle of knees and elbows in tight jeans, black t-shirt and with face smeared by heavy makeup. Her eyes are smokey and filled with fear, uncertainty and gratitude. She is shaking. “They can’t open the door, William. Everyone knows that, how did you not?” she says. He nods, as if he knows. But, he didn’t! “Samantha, I’m sorry about everything." He pauses and she lowers her head. "You’ll be okay. I'm here for you.” He turns to me. "Hopper, can you give us a moment, please?" I can. I leave the room and close the door. Twenty minutes later, they emerge from the room and she looks like a regular college-age millennial, a bundle of insecure mess supported by those around her. Good job, Will. Whatever you did in there, it worked. “Samantha," Will says, "I have a question, if you don’t mind.” She doesn’t. and he pulls up his sleeve. “Do you like my watch?” She is confused but leans closer and looks at it. “I like it very much.” She smiles. ”Who doesn’t like Swatch watches?” He reciprocates the smile. “Thank you. We need to go now. The aliens will land soon and they are bringing more zombies along. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. I have a few items in my backpack, in case we get bored.” ​ /r/ZwhoWrites
2019-08-08T09:05:45
2019-08-08T08:20:20
117
40
[WP] Due to ethical concerns, you can't use live humans for your teleportation experiments. In an attempt to prove its safe, you teleport a cadaver through-- it comes out on the other end alive again.
“Oh God.” said the crumpled mass. “Oh God.” I repeated mechanically. I looked across the laboratory to the other teleportation node and back again. Grey eyes met mine. “I've done it!” I said. “And more still... Not to worry. No. We'll correct it later. A minor setback. Today has been a success.” And it had. I'd toiled many years. Many years spent suffering the institute's nagging. I smiled. There would be no nonsense about budget and resources after today. I knelt down to inspect the mass. It had uncrumpled itself and sat against the wall. “Oh.” It said. “What's the setback?” “You're not meant to be alive.” I could detect no remarkable damage or change, except, of course, for the unexplained reanimation. Yes, today had been a success. Prior attempts at teleportation had culminated only in the addition of a cleaning staff to scrape charred meat from the laboratory's surfaces. And to think I had been expected to do that job myself! “Confidentiality be damned.” I'd said. “I'm an educated man, and I won't be put on spatula duty.” The institute had eventually folded, repurposing some of their excess meatheads into meat maids. “Well I can just lie real still. You won't even know I'm alive.” The mass said. It showed its teeth. “I'm afraid It won't do any good. The specification is clear in prohibiting any changes to a passenger's health. The specification is quite thorough.” Just then I could hear the heavy automatic doors to the laboratory crack open. “Let's get you onto the table.” I said. Darlene was sent down after each trial to gather my report. She had been unkind in her assessments of my progress in the past. Not after today. She walked into the laboratory followed by two square shaped men who were equipped to scrape meat. “Have you begun? Should I come back?” She said. “No no. I've had a breakthrough.” I gestured to the examination table. She cocked her head and slid off a pair of silk gloves. “A complete success. Straight through one end and out the other.” I continued. The two square shaped men grinned and grunted happily and left. Darlene looked at the mass lying still on the examination table. “He's breathing.” “Hmm?” I said, turning to see. “Yes I suppose you're right.” “This is unacceptable. What's to stop the live passengers from becoming dead ones?” “It's a minor setback.” said the mass, opening one eye and hardly moving its lips. “We'll correct it later.” “Yes.” I said. “In the meantime it will lie quite still. You can hardly tell the difference.” Darlene scowled and crossed her arms. “That will have to do for now. Good work otherwise. We'll see about expanding the budget.” She turned around and we bad her farewell. I sat on the edge of the examination table. “Did you hear that? She said 'Good work.'” The mass looked up at me. “Of course. You've done a fine job of it.”
~~Incident report 1/17031-CSF~~ **Report Type**: Catastrophic Systems Failure. [UNREDACTED] **Subject Status**: Unsecured. Reaction Force Non-Responsive. Site Command Non-Responsive. **Report Summary**: At approximately 2:17am Pacific Standard Time, SORC and Zenith QRF teams were alerted to seismic activity beyond secure limitations at Outpost Morpheus, henceforth referred to as Site Beta. At that time, no alarm failsafes had been triggered within Site Beta. Upon 3 failed attempts at reaching Site Beta on secure lines, Zenith Team 3 and 9 were positioned at fallback points surrounding the epicentre of the seismic activity, while Teams 1, 2, and 4 through 8 were tasked with entry on Site Beta. Special Observations and Reconnaissance Command special liaison, Captain Torrance Lafayette, was in zone command, and will henceforth be referred to by his designation 1/17031-01b. All SORC and QRF task force members assigned to Incident 1/17031 have been confirmed Killed in Action, or filed as Anomalous Disappearance at the time of writing this document. 1/17031-01b remains at large. Any and all surviving QRF helmet camera footage and Site Beta CC footage from within five (5) days prior to, or after, Incident 1/17031-CSF is to be considered extremely dangerous, and will hereby be referred to as 1/17031-02. The following is a transcript of distinguishable conversation found within Audio Recording 1/17031-Observations Room. *Dr. Rasmussen: You realize this is it, don’t you? 6 years of D Class cadaver invoices a mile long. Finally paying off. They’ve pushed us way above budget since they halted all D Class live experimentation.* *Dr. Bouchard: We don’t know that yet. Pay attention to the meters please, I’m not doing this again tonight. I’m hungry and Claire is making empanadas tonight.* *Dr. R: What did I tell you about bringing up food in my office, it totally throws my focus.* *Dr. B: This is our office, Gerard. You’re doing it again, look at your tachyon gauges, asshole. He’s gonna fry up, then if it works, we have to clean it. When they run out of D Classes for us to use you know it’s dogs and cows right?* *Dr. R: We both know the D Class are going to clean it, how about you relax. And I doubt they’ll run out anytime soon. They tried that whole clemency for D Classes when they brought back that old 05, remember that? Didn’t last long, after his whole meltdown they went out the window with the whole policy. Division command is probably running just as high a budget as ours and can’t afford them right now.* *Dr. B: What’d you do to avoid the memory agents this time? You know they just demote you to D Class for that now? You’re not supposed to be able to freely recall that, Gerard. Don’t fuck around and get me killed too, okay?* *Dr. R: They don’t kill D Classes anymore, remember? Initiating Device 17031.* At this time, a loud electrical surge is heard and it is believed that Device 17031, henceforth referred to as Site Alpha, was successfully fired. Utilizing the properties inherent in the Keter Class anomaly 17031 to fold space-time for use as a teleportation device for live creatures. *Dr. R: Leonard, call the QRFs.* *Dr. B: I see him, I fucking see him... It’s not working...(unintelligible). Gerry, the signal isn’t going out...* *Dr. R: I know what you’re going to say but this reminds me of that old 05, man.* *Dr. B: Roger Sheldon went crazy, Gerard. You saw the same memo I did. And look at his this guys file, he was deployed researching 087. I’d sob uncontrollably too if I came back to life.* *Dr. R: We both know those memos are afterthoughts and damage control. And that doesn’t explain the memetic anomaly failsafes auto-triggering. I don’t know. Something isn’t right. Look at the cameras. It’s like they’re jostling. Shit, wait, he’s saying something, run the filters and kick up his audio.* At this time, an unintelligible voice screams incoherently for 31 seconds at various volumes while gauges are adjusted in the observation room, before abruptly pitching steeply downward and uttering the following. “I can’t stop it. It came with me. You can’t let me out but don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. I can’t go back to that. Anything but that. Promise you won’t kill me! Promise me!” After this brief moment of coherence the agitated sobbing returned and the subject, henceforth referred to as 17031-01a, began to act erratically, evidently damaging the containment in the testing cell despite not appearing to move from his place. *Dr. B: Gerry, don’t look at the fucking cameras! Fuck! We’re dead. We’re fucking dead. We have to kill the base* *Dr. R: I already did. I looked Leo.* *Dr. B: No, no, no. Don’t say that, idiot. You probably just looked close and you’re freakin’ out, lift your ass, let’s go.* *Dr. R: I can feel it moving. You need to hit the switch, I’m paralyzed, Leo. I don’t think I’ll be able to breathe soon, hurry.* *Dr. B: I told you not to talk like tha-* *Dr. R: Do it now!* At this point the audio equipment appears to have been destroyed and there is no longer any feed to examine. It would appear that Dr. Bouchard failed to get to the outposts killswitch in time and 23 seconds after the summation of the recording, vital signs for both observers would vanish. Preliminary plans for follow up investigations put forth by Dr. Cavendish and Dr. Silvers are pending behind an 05 Cleansing Protocol Initiative. **Addendum**: Follow up investigations denied, 05 Cleansing Protocol to be carried out at soonest opportunity. ~~+ Supplementary Report 17031-01b~~ ^Access ^Denied
2020-06-07T04:52:50
2020-06-07T02:21:58
51
14
[WP] Magic lutes and magic flutes? Common. Enchanted guitars? Boring. Yet for the first time in a while, the bard in your party looks excited by the dungeon loot. Leaning over, you see it: a max-level sorcerous drum kit.
"I'm serious! Do you know how *hard* it is to get decent percussion in a dungeon? Clapping your hands is *not* an acceptable substitute." The massive chest at the bottom of the dungeon contained a full set of drums - two snares, a bass drum, a high-hat and a cymbal - all of them glowing with high-level magic. Barron had been so excited to find them that he had unpacked the entire set right then and there, and they floated weightlessly around him, following his movements. "It's an entire set! Even if it was just the levitation enchantment this would be worth the price of admission." "It had better be. Ragnar took a beating from those gargoyles. I'm basically down to bandages and splints," Joseph, our cleric, looked from where he was patching up our fighter. "I take it that percussion is important for bard magic?" I was a wizard of the College, and to me, magic came from books. No matter how much Barron waxed poetic about the power of music, I couldn't see how that turned into real arcane magic. But the power of Barron's guitar was undeniable - when he started to play, everyone became stronger, swifter, able to take on any challenge. "It's essential. It's *primordial.* Drums were the very first instrument, back when the first caveman banged two rocks together. Even today, armies march to war at the beat of a drum. But percussion on its own has no melody, and a drum set is too bulky to carry in a dungeon, so most bards never use it. Unless..." The room suddenly shook. Ragnar jumped to his feet, drawing his sword with ease despite the bandages covering his arms. "The roof is unstable. I think those gargoyles were load-bearing." "A collapsing lair. That archmage really hated the idea of anyone sharing his toys." I sighed. A crack started to spread along the ceiling. "We're going to have to move fast. If anyone's got a speed buff, cast it now." Barron smiled. "I've got something better." The bard raised his drumsticks high overhead. As the dungeon shook around us, he struck them together. "One! Two! One-two-three-four!" A thundering bass rhythm erupted from his drums. The drum kit continued to play on its own, pulsing with energy as Barron unslung his guitar and added a frenzied riff on top of it. It was stronger than any bard song I'd ever felt. A wild wave of sound that made it impossible to stand still, almost lifting us off our feet. The rhythm perfectly matched our running pace as we sprinted from the depths of the dungeon. Stones rained down and pillars crumbled around us, but they were just more steps in the dance as we moved with impossible speed. We burst out into the daylight, and there was a final cymbal crash as the dungeon sealed itself behind us. I collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. "I... did not think... I could move that fast." Ragnar, of course, wasn't even winded, damn him. "That's some good stuff!" Barron smiled and took a bow. "Looks like that performance... *brought the house down!*" I groaned. "I swear, that pun hurt more than anything else in the dungeon."
*Clop, clop, clop.* I sighed loudly, but Johor knew better than to respond. Fortunately, Kond was less subtle. “That’s IT! Johor, get rid of the damn horse!” he yelled, drawing his enormous axe and brandishing it. “No can do, my violent friend,” Johor said with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “This is a rare treasure unlike any the world has ever seen. “That’s for sure,” Bello muttered. “Takes someone like you to see value in that junk.” Johor sniffed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, my halfling friend. For I am *certain* that this is not junk. Just you wait. As soon as I get the chance to whip this baby out in combat, you’ll see.” “Is that why you’re being so noisy as we traipse through enemy territory?” I asked. “You *do* remember why we’re here, right? The band of bandits and serial killers that have been terrorizing the area?” Johor skipped jauntily for a few steps. “Oh, I remember. I just don’t think they’re as much of an issue as you think.” “They killed a patrol of fifty men a few weeks ago,” I reminded him. “And how many do we have?” “Oh, please, Balazar. I know how to count. Besides, we’re no ordinary men-at-arms.” “Because no respectable military would take us in,” Bello grumbled. Kond snorted. “Speak for yourself.” “Bello, my dear man, if you keep this up I might actually take offense,” Johor said. “What are you going to do, sing about it?” Bello asked. “Please. My ears are used to your torturous cat screeches.” “My *songs* are lovely ballads that could sway the hearts of the iciest maidens of the land,” Johor said, strumming a chord on his lute. “And they have power in them, even if you won’t admit it.” I sighed again. “Can we just… get moving? Please? This is a dangerous road after all.” “You’ve got that right, old man,” a voice growled from the shadows of the trees. The leaves rippled and a dozen men appeared to block the road ahead and behind us, blades and bows at the ready. The man that had spoken stepped out next to me and aimed a spear at my midsection. “Your money or your lives, gentlemen. And we’ll take any other treasures you have, as well as that pack animal,” he added, looking at the horse with a greedy expression. Johor stepped towards the bandit, who swiveled the spear to point at him instead. “My good man. I do believe you’ll find that we are but innocent travelers and that the horse does not carry the treasure that you think it might.” “I don’t think you’re in a position to bargain, *my good man*,” the bandit replied. “We could hear you bastards from a mile away. ‘A rare treasure unlike any the world has ever seen’? Sounds like treasure to me.” Johor rolled his eyes as Kond subtly shifted into a battle stance. Bello was nowhere to be seen. I gripped my staff which looked to the world like an average walking stick. “Valuable to me and me alone, my friend, unless you are a practitioner of the fine arts such as myself.” The bandit stared at Johor. “Who is this gaudy prick anyway?” “My name is Johor, a lover of fine music and even finer women. My songs have been performed throughout the realms and will stun the world for years to come. A pleasure to be at your service,” he said with an extravagant bow. The bandit sighed. “I changed my mind. We’re killing you anyway. Save the minstrel for last!” “Minstrel!” Johor gasped as the bandits charged. “How dare you!” Kond swept into action, knocking over half of the men on the path ahead. “Bello!” I shouted, knowing he could hear me. “Leave Kond to his fun! We’ll clear out behind us!” With a swift motion, I jabbed the butt of my staff at the bandit leader near me and pushed a burst of power into it. A magical force punched at him, doubling him over and sending him flying into a tree twenty feet away with a sickening *crack*. The contingent of men that had approached us from behind were slowly walking towards Johor and me, weapons leveled. As I began to summon a minor lightning storm, two dropped dead in their tracks as Bello went to work with his blade, striking them down before they even knew where he was. Meanwhile, Johor ran to the horse and began to pull off the assorted bags. He carefully dusted them off, rolled out a rug that we had purchased at the last town, and began setting up his device carefully. My lightning strike devastated the bandits. Six of them fell to the ground, muscles spasming and twitching before they fell still. Bello cut down another, and the remaining few turned and fled rather than face our wrath. Behind me, Kond had massacred the dozen bandits that dared face him. Blood and body parts were strewn about the road. Kond sat in the middle of it all, running a whetstone against the edge of his axe. “That wasn’t so bad,” I said, barely breathing heavily. “Alright, here we go! Time to face the music, vile bandits!” Johor sat in front of a series of drums and cymbals, holding two sticks in his hands. “Two, three, four!” He started banging away at the drums, creating a horrible racket that scattered the birds in the nearby trees. “Johor!” I yelled, but he couldn’t hear me over the clamor. “Johor!” Kond called to no effect. “JOHOR!” This time, I punctuated my yell with a crack of thunder, and the bard finally looked up and stopped playing. He gazed around at the carnage. “Wow, I did it! Man, these things really are powerful!” “Johor, they were already dead.” Johor glanced at Kond, covered in blood, and at the scorched bodies near me. One still twitched as if to prove my point. [“Oh.”](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks) *** ***   Set in the same universe as [this piece](https://www.reddit.com/r/Badderlocks/comments/gb0wcq/you_werent_shocked_to_find_out_that_your_bard_had/) because I'm too lazy to make new characters all the time. Consider it a prequel.
2020-07-23T11:42:33
2020-07-23T09:15:58
19
10
[WP] As an atheist, you always believed that there was nothing after death. After your last breath, you discover that you were wrong, but that no one else was right about what's after either. Mainly, there is something after death, but religions are wrong about it.
I exhale my last breath, and there's a momentary pause. It's the sort of pause that feels like a timeless interval, and I don't truly know how long it's been. My breath rushes back into my lungs. It feels different. I try to move, but instead I'm pulled as if by strings. I feel myself stirring strangely. The floor is the same, the room. My eyes wander, but I am not in control. I see my daughter again, and my dear friends. Their heartache seems to lessen. Something isn't right. A tear rolls up my daughter's cheek, as she withdraws from kissing my forehead. It wells in her eye for a moment, and then flows back to the duct. No. They all move backwards behind the nurse, filing back out of the room. Just like they'd come in. The first time. Or is it the same time? The minutes become hours, the hours days. Back and back, I watch my life refold, playing out in reverse. The years come, and I feel myself stronger, more youthful. The strings that pull me about become more forceful and deliberate. I'm in love again. The years blur together, faster as they wind back. The same way they sped up moving forward. I'm in love for the first time. I don't remember what happens next, where I would go if the flow of time were to suddenly snap back. The further I'm pulled away from my death, the less the memories exist. My expectations have changed. I've unlived fifty years, and stuff falling up seems normal. Natural. I wonder if I was there all along, moving both ways at once. Wondering is harder all the time. Eventually, the days blur back together. I didn't know anything as a baby, and I don't again. They say your life flashes before your eyes.
I should be dead. I remember how each breath from my withered mouth drew in less air, how my aching body grew too weak to support itself. I remember those final moments leading up to the sweet release of death. I know I died. So why am I still alive? At least, I think I'm alive. I'm certainly not dead. I think I'm a disembodied consciousness. My physical senses are totally gone. I don't really feel anything, but I can almost trick myself into thinking I have a body. Wait, what's that? I can finally feel something. It's like I'm being pulled... Jason's eyes shot open and he gasped for air. He couldn't get any. Something was in his throat. He choked and flailed until a voice said, "Stop panicking. Relax and let the tube do its job." The part of his brain that still held some rationality obeyed the voice. He relaxed his body. His muscles loosened and his limbs lay flat. He observed his surroundings and noticed he was inside a small capsule. The only light came through the opaque material used for the ceiling of the pod. He spotted a small tube that snaked from the wall and ended somewhere in his throat. He suppressed a pulse of anxiety, clenchig his fists until he calmed down. "Good, you did that surprisingly quickly. I'm going to open your pod and get you back to normal. Sit tight." Jason waited for two minutes before the ceiling of the pod retracted back. His eyes met with a bright light and he clamped them shut. "It'll take a minute for your eyes to adjust. Stay still. I'll be removing the tube next. It will be a bit uncomfortable." He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, and looking down at him from outside the pod was a human being dressed like a doctor. Suddenly, pain flared in his chest. He hadn't really felt the tube before, but now that it was coming out, it felt like he'd eaten a snake and it was trying to climb back up his throat. "And there we go, the tube is out." Jason breathed heavily. The ghost of that pain still lingered, and he wouldn't soon forget it. Propping himself up on shaky hands, he surveyed his surroundings. All around, there were other pods, and his was the only open one. Each one must have contained a person. For what purpose, he didn't know. He tried to remember how he got here, but each attempt to search his memory was met by the pain of a knife stabbing through his head. Jason could vaguely recall the feeling of floating in nothingness, but before that, his memory was guarded by pain. The doctor must have noticed him wincing, because he said, "It's normal not to remember anything at first. The simulation accessed your brain in a way that's totally different from how we use it normally, and you're still suffering from the effects of that. It'll pass with time as your brain heals. Now, let's get you into the chair and bring you to the testing center." *Simulation?* Jason was curious, but it was clear that there was no time for questions. The doctor helped him get his legs over the sides of the pods and into a wheelchair, then rolled him out of the pod room and down a narrow hallway. They passed by many doors, and through small windows Jason could see more pods like his own, all closed. "You might be wondering why all the other pods you see are closed, and you're the only one up and about. You don't remember it, but you managed to trigger a special condition in the simulation that enacted an ancient protocol and woke you up. More will be explained later, but I should tell you that the world of your memories was not real. Keep that in mind when your memories return." They continued down the hall until they arrived at a door labeled "Testing Center." It swung open automatically as they neared, and waiting inside was another doctor. "Ah, Jason, nice to meet you." The new man nodded towards the other doctor. "Thanks for bringing him, I'll take it from here." The first man Jason met in this new world nodded and left. Soon after, Jason had needles poking him from a million different directions. The most painful one was what the doctor called a "bone marrow sample." Once that was done, he was brought to a room with a shower and some basic clothing. He found that he'd gained enough strength to stand. Jason washed off and clothed himself in a black t-shirt and beige pants. "Come with me." They walked further down the hallway and stood outside another room, this one labeled "Psychiatry." "I'll leave you here. You will get an answer to most of your questions behind that door. Stay strong." Jason entered the room. He wasn't sure how, but the room had a comfortable atmosphere. It was soothing just to stand in it. In the center of the room were two chairs. A man sat in one of them. He was young, maybe around thirty, with short black hair and startling blue eyes. He wore an infectious smile that put Jason at ease and made the man seem trustworthy. He motioned for Jason to sit. "Come, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss."
2021-07-01T15:49:54
2021-07-01T15:36:52
388
63
[WP] You, a mere human, find yourself inside an arena and pitted against all sorts of supernatural beings in combat. Being a diehard fantasy fan however, you know their weaknesses. All of them.
Deep in the pit where reality twists, in the lower planes where myth and mortal blend, stood a lone figure in the center of The Gulch. It was here where the dirt was slick with blood and sinew; here where many before him had fallen to the horrors that lurked just outside the mortal veil. The clouds had worn their funeral suits, the crowd had donned their masks, and the primeval monster moved around restlessly in its box as the handlers appeared; humanoid atrophied beings adorned in melted candles. They carried with them the iron rods that were used to open the sliding door of the box safely. On both sides, they lifted the hooks under the iron rings and revealed the monster. The handlers quickly shambled away toward the safety of the wall as the creature emerged. A skinless monstrosity of muscle and tendons awkwardly scrambled out of the box and stomped around a moment as an abhorrent scream escaped its lips- which set, he couldn't tell, for the creature had two mouths. It appeared to be two bodies- a man atop a horse, but he knew better. It was one being horrifically merged together in whatever instant God had blinked. It held a spear in its hands that looked as though it had just been pulled from the guts of a bigger creature. "A nuckelavee," the man spoke with an eager grin. "I've never actually wrestled with one of your kind." He brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The monster didn't waste words after it spotted him. A gruesome red eye opened on the center of what would be the horse's forehead and it screamed yet again before charging toward him, spear at the ready. He knew his shield wouldn't be enough- the nuckelavee had a secret weapon that would catch a less informed opponent off guard. He deftly dodged the attack and held his breath as the mouth of the horse head parted and blew a green smog across him. Both attacks failed as he retreated out of the smog and watched the monster carefully as it began to turn around at a full gallop. "Tch... And I wanted to drink this," he muttered as he reached for the gourd on his belt. He unscrewed the cap and watched as the monster started toward him yet again. Its hoofs beat the ground like thunder and shook the ground as it approached. He waited carefully for his moment as it drew nearer and nearer. *Almost... Almost... A little more...* He didn't miss his moment. He swung the gourd like a sword, unleashing an arc of freshwater high into the air before lifting his shield and bracing for impact. He knew he wouldn't have time to dodge if he wanted to catch it by surprise. The monster ran through the water and slammed into him at the same time. His shield held strong but his body was flung several feet as the creature writhed in agony. He tumbled to the ground and rolled a few times before scampering back to his feet. He took a deep breath and observed the water's effects. "Thought you might be thirsty," he commented as he strode toward the creature. It began to wither and corrode as it dropped to the dirt and thrashed around. He hadn't counted on facing a nuckelavee, but it mattered little. He always kept water on hand. He produced his sword for the first time, pulling it from the scabbard on his hip as he positioned himself over the dying creature. The crowd went wild as he plunged his blade into the monster's first head, then the other to be sure. "Too bad I was your opponent today," he growled before turning to face the handlers, who sat in their chairs with frustrated expressions. "WHAT'S NEXT?" He screamed. "BRING THEM!" - - - No, seriously. What's next. I'm up for suggestions :) r/A15MinuteMythos
I was seventeen the day I slaughtered all the fantastical creatures. If I close my eyes, I can still taste that metallic tang of blood on the breeze, and see myself inside that great arena once more. It was the year after my mother passed away, and only a week after I started my first job — I made coffees for important people whose own jobs seemed to be brewing coffee for even more important people. How the business made money, who knew? Such was the ladder of life, I supposed. And I was now on the very first rung. Lucky me. The day of the slaughter: I’d finished work and stepped into the street when the heavens opened. Silver rain gusted down in waves, like shimmering shurikens stabbing at the sidewalk, puncturing it open to release a dirty subterranean river. Or, maybe it was just rain building into a highway of puddles. Mom used to say I had a healthy imagination. And maybe I did, but mostly my thoughts were trained by the books I read. Huge fantasy tomes where anything seemed possible; where good would (more often than not) triumph; where magic breathed from flowers and fingers alike. I spent more time with those books than I did with friends — although perhaps that speaks for my lack of friends. Every night without fail, I’d read a fantasy novel until I fell asleep. Even then, I’d dream about what I’d just read. Now, on the day of the slaughter, I hurried down the street (or waded against the raging torrent released from the earth) my oversized dad-handed-down suit sloppy and heavy with rain. Out of nowhere, a strong hand grabbed me. Pulled my arm and jerked me into an alley. ”I’ve not got any money,” I said. ”Money?“ The figure pulled back their hood to reveal pearl-smooth skin and slightly pointed ears. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t say quite why. Like an amalgamation, almost, of every elf I’d ever imagined. “It’s not money we need from you, hero. What we need is in here.” She pressed a finger against my head and I felt a flush of electricity run down me. Beyond making too-weak or too-strong coffees that got me yelled at, I doubted I could help anyone. “We? Who are ‘we’?” ”The fantasy world. Our existence is under threat, hero. There is a great tournament underway, the result of which could mean the end of everything. We need your help.” ”I don’t see why you’d choose me to help. I’m just… I’m just me.” ”That’s why!” She beamed. “You know more about fantastical beings than perhaps anyone ever before. You know all our strengths and weaknesses. Your life, up to here, has been research and preparation for this moment.” I stood there in this dark alley as the rain poured over me. I thought of my bleak job. Of my mother, whom I missed more than any world, fantasy or otherwise. I thought of the reality that I hated so much. ”Okay,” I said. “I’ll help.” “I was certain you would.“ She led me through a doorway at the end of the alley that led me into the other world. ​ I will not go into details of the slaughter. Suffice to say that every creature, good and bad or in between, that I’d ever read about waited for me there. Whether I won or lost, I knew this would be the final time I would be in this strange world. There was no crowd in the arena to watch. Perhaps they’d all died in battle before I had arrived. Or perhaps they were all lined up to fight me, to kill. Either way, whatever came out of the gates, I murdered. One by one I cut them down. I outsmarted trolls and found weakness between dragon scales. I betrayed those who thought me on their side. Dwarves, goblins, orcs, griffons, wizards — they all bled. Their blood poured over me like black rain, like tar. Until, finally, there was only the female elf who had led me here. “Now you must kill me,” she said. I looked around at the piles of corpses, only vaguely understanding what I had done. “I… I thought I was fighting for you?” She smiled. “You were fighting for you. You still are. And you might always be.” She did not fight back. Just handed me a dagger and held my hand as I plunged it into her heart. Then there was nothing left in that empty world except for me. Blood fell like a sea from the sky, drowning me, blinding me. Then the blood became rain, and the arena became the alleyway, and suddenly I was back in my ordinary, grey world. My wallet was gone. As was the watch my parents had bought me. The only other difference to before it all happened was slight. Almost imperceptible: the smell of magic that had once been in my world as well as theirs, that radiated promise from fingers and flowers alike, was gone. I walked home in the rain — the very ordinary, very wet rain — staring at my shoes. When I returned home I washed and dried my clothes, then ironed them for tomorrow. I ate a quiet dinner with my father then went straight to bed. ​ ​ My father came to see me later that night. Maybe two or three hours later. I was still awake. Whenever I’d closed my eyes and tried to sleep there was a blackness beyond black waiting. It terrified me. An emptiness, I suppose it was. Dad sat on the edge of the bed, and for a while said nothing. Then asked, “anything I can do?” I couldn’t bring myself tell him I was mugged. Didn’t want to burden him. I glanced at my bookshelf then shook my head. He must have caught my look as he bit his tongue and thought for a moment. ”The magic you got out of those books,” he said, “was never in the books to start with. You know that?” ”Wherever it was, I killed it today.” Dad nodded. “I killed the magic once, too. Or more precisely, life killed it, because that’s what it does. I was a little younger than you are. Hey, but it came back! I got it back. And it didn’t leave again once it did.” I pushed myself up and looked at him, almost afraid to ask the question. “*How*?” “When you were born.” He smiled. “All the magic and colour rushed back into the world. Look, I think the truth is that magic doesn’t ever die. It just hides or hibernates. It waits for you to come find it again and to coax it out.” ”How do I find it again?” I pleaded. He shrugged. “I don’t know that. I think it‘s hiding in a different place for each person searching.“ I sank back into my bed. Dad stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. “I‘ll be here until then — until you find it.“ When he left the room I closed my eyes again. It didn’t seem quite as empty in the darkness anymore.
2021-07-09T08:30:15
2021-07-09T07:30:50
333
163
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once.
I felt the presence of the man long before he reached my chambers. I could faintly hear the noises of him fighting my fellow fallen warriors within the crypt. As he entered my chambers, I waited until he would be able to see my coffin, then made my move. I blew the lid off my coffin and stood. My movements were precise, measured. I had always enjoyed a dramatic entrance. But the invader ignored me. He grabbed some dusty potions from a long-forgotten shelf. He stuffed them in his bag with barely a glance. He also grabbed on old bowl, some herbs, and a bucket. I thought it strange, but I didn't care for the items. I wasn't quite sure how they even got here in the first place. The potions would probably have gone bad, if that was even possible. I didn't care for the items, but I did care about his nonchalance. I was a feared soldier in life and in death, I would not be ignored. I started toward him, dragging my sword behind me. The tip had long since dulled, and I didn't have the fine motor control to keep it aloft as I walked. He finally seemed to decide to give me the time of day, and turned to face me, drawing his weapon. A warhammer of the same era as myself. As I realized that he must have taken it off one of my men, I advanced, enraged. I swung wildly at him, with a windup that even the most inexperienced fighter could have avoided. A downside of my body being held together by little more than rotting muscle and hardened skin. He avoided my swing, and went low, hitting me hard with the hammer. It barely hurt - I had long since abandoned mortal feelings of pain - but I knew it would leave lasting damage that my body would no longer naturally heal. An annoyance. The stranger scowled, and mumbled under his breath. He spoke a language I could not understand. My native language had fallen from prominence, it seemed. No matter, I had not spoken my own language since my death. Instead, I used some Words of Power I had learned long ago. The words were laced with a magical force, and knocked my attacker him from his feet. I took the opportunity to get a solid hit in, my sword digging deep into his armor. As blood sprung from the wound, I wasted no time hitting him again. He stood and backed away, but I closed the distance and once again landed a heavy blow. This time, though, he managed to trade with me, landing another hard hit with his hammer. We both took a few steps back, reeling from the hits. He swung his bag around, digging through it with vigor. I longed for the day when a mixture of herbs would help knit together my wounds. He dug past weapons, armor, books, bowls, baskets, solid gold bars... if I hadn't been so shocked by the sheer number of items within his bag, I might have tried to finish him off while he was distracted. His face lit up as he found what he was looking for. He started to pull all sorts of food from the depths of the bag. He turned an apple into a core with impressive speed, then popped the core into his mouth as he took a swig of some expensive aged wine. He pulled out a few pastries, eating them in a bite or two each, dual-wielding baked goods like he couldn't decide which to eat first. I took the chance to reel back for another swing... but then he pulled out an entire cheese wheel. I paused. I thought if I lopped off his head right now, I'd miss what was sure to be a feat for the ages. And I was right. As I watched, he did the impossible. Like a drunk dairy farmer trying to win a bet, he jammed cheese into his mouth faster than any man I had ever met - and I had feasted with Vikings. As he finished the cheese wheel, I noticed the bleeding of his wounds begin to slow. My confusion was only interrupted by abject horror as he pulled out an entire rotisserie chicken. It wasn't exactly well-preserved, but he ate it with the same raucous gobbling he had demonstrated with all of the other food he had pulled from the depths of the bag. I was almost certain he ate the bones, too, but I didn't have time to process that as he pulled out another entire wheel of cheese, and began to eat that too. Whatever bizarre intimidation technique he was displaying had worked already. I'd given up after the first cheese wheel. I wished I spoke his language, I'd plead with him to stop this madness. As he finished off three bottles of cheap mead, he once again readied himself for battle. His wounds had completely healed. He smiled, and belched. I dropped my sword and threw my hands up in surrender. He wasted no time lodging the warhammer's sharp end in my head. As my consciousness faded, my opponent coughed up a chicken bone. He considered it for second, then used it to pick his teeth as he dug through my belongings. With that, I closed my eyes. My life was complete, because I had truly seen it all.
I was amused when I saw him, for the first time. His wide face, rosy with drink. His huge belly, stretching the seams of his shirt. He was sitting at a table in a dingy bar, alone, drinking wine by the cupful. Before him was heaped tons of food. Some of it, already bitten into; a great deal, yet untouched. Beside him sat his sword and his armour. I stood before his table and straightened my back. I pulled off my helmet and unsheathed my sword. I knocked the table with the hilt. "Dear Sir Bunger!" I cried to the fat old knight. "I am Clarence Hombelle. Son of Douglas Hombelle. Nephew of the great Sir Jonathon Hombelle, whom you slew. I have searched for months to find you. I have waited many years for this night. I am here to avenge my uncle's death, and to restore honour to our family name. I am here to kill you, Sir Bunger. So stand and fight." The fat old knight looked up from the table. He gazed at me with sleepy eyes. "What's that now?" he asked. "Ham bell? I'd sure like a ham bell, to ring whenever I crave a handful of bacons. Or a nice juicy chop. Or a half-dozen sausages. Ding-a-ling-ding. A ham bell. See?" He didn't seem to understand. He was too drunk. I would have to drive the point home. "Sir Jonathan Hombelle was my uncle," I repeated. "Fourteen years ago, you duelled him in the battle of Four Peaks, and killed him with a thrust through the gut. Since that wretched day, our family has languished. Our fortunes have sunk to the bottom of the mire. I have come to duel you, in the hopes that your death will pull us out of the wretched state into which we have descended. Stand, sir knight, and duel me. Either your life or mine concludes tonight." "Hombelle," the inebriated corpulent said to himself, as if tasting the word. "Hombelle. Sir Hombelle. . .Yes! Yes, lad! Of course! The young skin-and-bones with canary yellow stockings! Hombelle! Feathers in his helm! And a nose like yours! Long as a pelican's! Nimble on his feat, the poor birdie was. But I was nimbler! Skewered him like a rotisserie chicken! But that was back in my fighting days. . .Ah, Four Peaks. What a battle! What a war! Though too much blood spilled for the wrong reasons. Your uncle and them others. . .Rebels. Ambitious. Treasonous. Taking up arms against the crown. Sneaking around like thieves. Slaughtering their own countrymen. And for what? To be peppered by sword points? To be strung up on the royal gallows? To secure early sleeps in wooden boxes, six feet under the dirt? A damn shame." He stared solemnly at the air in front of him, gently shaking his head. Then he glugged down a cup of wine, wiped his lips, and smiled. "But what's this about a duel, young pecker?" he asked. "Vengeance? Danger? Death? A humbler Hombelle would let bygones be bygones. He'd sit down at the table and wet his beak. There's no better way to swallow your pride, young swallow, than with a cup of cold spring wine. Eh? What do you say? Have a seat, little rooster. Leave the strutting and cock-a-doodle-doing to the other bird-brained buffoons. You're smarter than them." "I'll not kill you like some half-penny cutthroat," I said, my temper rising. "I won't stab you while you sit there, without armour or arms. But I'll call you coward at the top of my lungs if you won't rise to the occasion." "Ha!" cried the fat old knight, reaching for a hunk of beef and tossing it in his mouth. He chewed as he spoke. "I'm old and drunk, I'll give you that. Older than I once was. . .though not so drunk as I'll one day be. But neither years nor booze'll ever keep me from rising to the occasion, if you know what I mean. You ask any whore south of Tiddle Market, and she'll corroborate--Sir Barry Bunger's the stiffest customer she's ever laid hands on! Always rises to the occasion. Ha ha ha!" "Enough with your lewd nonsense!" I cried. "Stand and draw, Sir Knight!" "A moment, lad," he said, pouring and then finishing off another cup of wine. "Ah. Mmm. Yes. A moment. Let me get my armour on, before we duel. Then I'll have at ye. But first my armour. . .Where did I put the blasted--there!" I watched the drunken tub of guts fumble with his armour. The breast plate wouldn't fit over his bulk. He wheezed and he squeezed and pulled. Eventually, he gave up. "Guess she'll stay loose," he said with a shrug. He plopped on his helmet, heaved himself to his feet, and unsheathed his sword. He staggered a little, and had to lean on his weapon like a cane to keep balance. I shook my head in disbelief. This was the fabled knight my father had told me so many stories about? The legendary swordsman who had vanquished dozens? The hero who'd ended the civil wars with a single swift stroke to my usurping uncle's belly? The cause of our family's ruin? He was already out of breath and sweating greasy drops like melted butter. It would be closer to butchering a fat cow than duelling! "One little snack first," the glutton panted, raising his visor. "And then to the duel. The flashing of swords. The clanging of steel on steel. Magnificent! Glorious! Eh? Though I'd prefer a fork in my left and a knife in my right than a claymore in both, if you want the honest truth. Hmm. Yes. One little morsel before we change blows. Let me see." He wiggled his fat stubby fingers over the heap of food on his table. Then with astonishing rapidity his hand pounced on a full wheel of cheese. With three enormous bites, the whole wheel was gone. He licked his lips as he scanned for the next morsel. "Meat!" he exclaimed, his hand seizing a whole roast chicken in a flash. "Protein before and after any strenuous activity. Doctor's orders, young man. Doctor's orders. And I'm no rebel in the blood, like you. I heed authority. I listen to experts." He winked. "You're eating the bones!" I cried out, disgusted by how wide his mouth could stretch, horrified to watch him shove the whole chicken in there and chew. "Best part of the bird," he affirmed, crunching as he spoke. "Most flavour. Extra calcium. Good for a fellow in his old age." He swallowed, bones and all, and wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt. Then he snapped up another whole wheel of cheese. "Dessert," the fat knight explained with a slight bow. Again, in a few quick chomps, the wheel of cheese was no more. Sir Barry Bunger patted his belly and sighed with contentment. With the tip of his tongue, he worked at a piece of chicken stuck between his molars. Then he snagged and swigged from the bottle of wine, gulp after gulp, until it was empty. I was so impressed and mortified by his display that my guard was totally down. When he swung the bottle at my head, I failed to react in time, and it smashed upon my temple. "Have at you!" he cried. I fell to the ground in pain, seeing stars. Though I never blacked out, I was close. And all the while I could hear his thunderous footsteps rumbling across the creaky bar floor. By the time I regained my composure and looked up, the coward was gone. \- - - I now see the prompt said *during* combat. I suppose Sir Bunger hoovered his food during their combative battle of wits. r/CLBHos
2021-08-19T06:19:20
2021-08-19T03:00:20
700
92
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you."
It's his voice. That is how you know when you’ve met the real Santa. It was both stern and kind, weary and full of life. It was inexplicably familiar. It was like hearing the answer to a question you didn’t know you had. I stood at my door, arms limp at my sides as we surveyed each other through the pale moonlight. Santa raised his arm, gesturing to the armchair next to me. Sit, he said, speaking barely above a whisper. I maneuvered mechanically into the chair, not taking my eyes off of his silhouette. He reached for the lamp, snapped it on, and settled back into his seat. *Your son wrote me quite some time ago. Among the great tides of mail that wash my way, I found his letter to be particularly moving. I must apologize for not delivering it earlier, but unfortunately while I am in charge of the gifts, I am very much not in charge of the post. Upon finally receiving it I very nearly delivered it early, but there are…traditions to be observed.* He rose to his feet, reached into his jacket, and produced two pieces of paper. He carefully placed them on the table between us. *Normally I am bound to give only what has been requested, but there are occasions to deviate. In all my time as Santa, there have been only three.* I looked down at the papers on the table. One was a letter from my son, written from abroad. When our country had become unsafe, I had been forced to make the impossible decision to send him away to safety. The letter asked only that Santa give me his love. The second was my approved petition to join him. When I looked up, the room was empty. There was only me, and the faint aroma of peppermint lingering in the air.
Charley struggled to comprehend what could even be seeing right about now. It was 12 hours of inconvenience after inconvenience at the pizzeria tonight. With all of these inconveniences adding up, he didn't need an oddity to top it all off. He needed a bed. A couch. The dusty carpet floor. Anything would suffice at this point. Yet Santa had set the little dirty blond boy aside and was sauntering towards him. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Should we discuss this outside?" Charley recoiled in confusion. "What? No, NO! No, Santa," His tounge felt awkward saying that. "Look I had a long day at work and I need to get to bed and I need to sleep because my body had a-" Santa was nudging him inch by inch as Charley struggled more and more. He took a quick glance over at the kiddo. "We'll just be a moment now! Don't go anywhere or do anything!" The little guy stood up in protest. "But-" In a quick, slinging motion Santa chucked a snowball at the kid's face, exploding in a blast of snow and blue pixie dust. His head jerks back and he falls slump on the couch, fast asleep and _snoring_. ~~ "Maxwell Louie Ferguson??" Charley questioned. "I believe that his mother dropped him off on our doorstep, unless _you_ had some business in the North pole..." "Umm, Santa, am I able to swear?" "Charley, I couldn't give a diddly what you could do. As I am a respected holiday figure, I'm not allowed to swear for a moments notice. Although you can do wha-" "Why the fuck would I be in the North pole?" He asked, irritated. "Ah-- good Point. Didn't expect that **F** bomb so soon." "I don't want to claim responsibility for a child I'm unsure is mine right now, can- can we do this tomorrow?" "You seem to forget what today is. I'm on the schedule, I got 4 minutes of leeway to talk." He said, pointing at a shiny bronze watch of German style. Something brought Charley's attention to the roof. It was a gut feeling, and of course he was going to get it right. Looking up, he could see a moderately sized buck overlooking the view from above. A noticeable scarlet glowing came from it's nose, as it turned to face the other side of town. Charley was taken aback. "Do you see what I mean? Now, why are you unsure that he's yours?" "Again ... What? I- I never said that he wasn't mine-" "Your _words_ were that you didn't want to claim responsibility for a child you were unsure was yours? Is this right?" "Look, Look, Look he does appear to be ... I-i mean.." Santa closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh. He walked over to him, boots crunching the snow, and firmly placed two hands on his shoulders. He stared him down, stared him down deep into the very aura of his soul to get the truth out. Charley was like a dog who was caught for tearing up shoes. "I... I'm afraid." He managed to utter out. "You're afraid?" "And confused _and_ and I'm horrified and Santa I'm tired, Please just let me go to my bed!" Santa eased his grip up, but never let it loose. He put a finger in his face. "Look. These things are a difficult thing to comprehend and are even harder to get adjusting to. Whatever happens after tonight will happen, but right now is right now. And right now, you need to go inside that room and to go see your son. Because right about now, he's going to be needing you more than ever. You need to break that ice, and if you do so, then I'll hit you with one of those magic snowballs. Deal?" He lowered the finger into an outstretched palm. Charley stood there for a second to think. The multi-colored lights strung up on the rafters bathed the two in a beautiful glow. A waft of smoke escaped his lungs and took form as breath. Icicles glimmered and glowed in those colorful lights. It was a silent, serene night, with not one cloud in the sky. The Moon was Waning Gibbous, but seemed to be brighter than ever. A joyful smile crept upon the corners of his lips. A tear slipped from his left eye down the fuzz on his cheek. "I'd love to. Can you wake him up for me?" Santa smiled, the rose in his cheeks bringing out the infamous dimples. "Sure thing, kid. Sure thing." Charley took his hand from his pocket, firmly shaking Saint Nicholas's hand, completely honored and still in utter disbelief the entire situation was playing out. Although it is going to be a fun few couple of years. With he and his little helper. ~FLD~
2021-12-06T23:49:15
2021-12-06T23:07:04
517
32
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?"
“Greetings…” it rasped at me from across the dying fire. I couldn’t see much, glowing red eyes, a human like silhouette. Tall, maybe a foot or so taller than any human I had met. “May I Share your fire tonight?” Of course, I handled the situation as any stoner would. I simply closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, opened the- Fuck, it was still there… it was… shivering? It had to be eighty degrees out, even here in west Kentucky that was warm for the end of October… “Hey, you ok?” I asked as I sat up in my lawn chair, looking over the fire to see it had its arms wrapped around its midsections. “I… I am cold. I have been gone from home too long.” It stated, trying to move closer to the minuscule heat of the embers. Home… he couldn’t be… no, they weren’t real. That would mean that the stories that my crazed grandfather told… Oh well, I don’t work tomorrow and the wife was away in Vegas with her friends. I threw another log on the embers, grabbing a handful of the straw I had to my right and tossed it over the log. It payed living next to a farmer, Darrel was a good guy after all. Never any fuss, gave him fire wood and straw, and all he had to do was keep quiet about the pot farm next to his property line. Soon the fire caught again, light returning to the small clearing, illuminating the creatur-woman? Sure as day, it was a woman. Long black hair, long black dress, the palest skin he had ever seen. The fire seemed to breath some relief into her, she huddled up to the flames, his body slowly stopping the tremors that had inhabited her form. Her eyes were now coal black as well, a blank of charcoal, speckled with white spots that took in the fire between them. “Thank the lord above that their is still some kindness in you humans.” She breathed out in relief, her voice no longer a raspy tome of suffering, but a lighter, softer, deep timber. “Us humans?” He asked the woman as a smile formed on her face. “We don’t get to see the good side of humanity very often back home…” “… Home… it’s what we call hell, isn’t it?” I asked, my heart pounding a Barry white song in my chest. Her smile turned kind, as she nodded. A billion thought ran through my mind as I looked her over. “Did my grandfather really beat the devil in a fucking fiddle contest?!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself. She giggles. “Oh, so that’s why you can communicate with me. Most humans can’t even see us. Your grandfather received a golden gift.” She leaned over the fire, her eyes glowing red again and her skin turning black. “My husband has been complaining about that contest for a century. How is John doing?”
The house was simply perfection. We fell in love with it at first sight of the photos on the Internet. Heck, we weren't even house shopping when we saw it. 6 months later, we are enjoying a nice adult night with friends out by the fire pit. Our back yard bordered a national forest so we were the popular spot for "fire pit nights" among our friends. Of course, people go home, and I am usually left by myself enjoying the last bit of the fire after even the family has gone inside. As I finished my beer, I noticed what seemed to be a trick of the light in the edge of my yard. While it is fenced, there is a gate at the back so I can blow leaves out to the forest outside. Two glowing eyes slowly made their way to the fire pit area. Around them was inky shapeless blackness. They slowly came to the edge of the light from the fire and stopped. "Greetings" it rasped in a voice from that general direction, but it felt also like it was inside my head, "May I share your fire tonight?" It was probably the relaxation from the beer, but I nodded toward a chair across the fire from me, and spoke, "Sure, would you like a beer? I've got a couple left here in the cooler." "Thanksssss" I heard the drawn out acceptance of my hospitality. In an instant, the darkness took the form of a man wearing a nice suit. They reached into my cooler and retrieved a beer and started to twist the cap off. "Those aren't twist off..." I started to say, but they removed the cap with ease. "They are for me, thank you." They sat down in the chair and stared at the fire for a few moments and silently drank the beer. They looked around the back yard, taking note of my koi pond and other landscaping I had done. I broke the silence... "So, do you live... Out there?" "Something like that. Out there is a good description. " They set the beer down and held their hands near the fire to warm them up. "My... *People*, live in many places that your people do not." It was then I noticed their ears were pointed as one peeked out from underneath their long black hair. "Ah, yes. You noticed I'm not... well, human. It is okay, I accept your hospitality and no harm will come to you or your family, I assure you. I have not shared a campfire with your people in a number of years, and it is nice sometimes." "Um, thank you. When you say my people, and not human, how do you identify your people?" I was probably a little too relaxed at the moment. Beer will do that, well, several beers will do that. "My... people, are, well, we've been called many things by your people. We live mostly in the shadows in between the places and things. We cannot resist a warm fire, however on a chilly night. Especially when we know the creator of the fire has done so in hospitality." they paused. "But I have not answered your question, have I ?" "To be honest, I don't know that I need that answer since we are simply enjoying the dying embers of a fire built in friendship. Besides, I can't tell them..." I nodded toward the house, " that I enjoyed a beer with a Fae, Vampire or Koushtaka. I'm guessing you aren't a Wendigo, because we are too far south, and you aren't trying to eat me." I waited to see if they confirmed anything. "Ah, so you know of the death otters?" They seemed intrigued. "Well, in stories, like, what are considered fantasy works of fiction by modern writers. I figure most *myths* are somewhat rooted either in truth, or in a desire to explain the unexplained, or unexplainable." "Myths..." they considered the word and how I defined it. "Well, you put that very eloquently. I am, my people are, or have been confused with, I should say, those that you mentioned. Except for the wendigo, they, are people in the north who became ill with the disease rabies and lashed out. It was easier to say a spirit corrupted them than admit that they succumbed to a disease of animals. The early humans who lived here, before those from your lineage in Africa and then Europe, although, go back far enough and it is all African via different routes. They feared and worshiped us, initially. Then, they met your ancestors who decided they would conquer instead of coexist. Our people knew after the Jamestown incident that we wouldn't stop colonization, so we stayed on our side of the veil mostly. " they shrugged. "Perhaps you know already and are simply looking for confirmation. " "I don't require a label to be honest. I can sit and enjoy the warmth of the coals and the night sounds." I felt like I didn't need to push it in any direction. I couldn't tell anyone about this anyway. NOBODY would understand. "Your hospitality is appreciated, especially without the questions. Sometimes, the answers to the questions cause excitement that..." their voice trailed off. "How's your beer doing? I've got one more here, and I do not need to drink another one." I held up the bottle. "No thank you. The fire is enough. Seeing how the fire is almost out, I will bid you thanks, and return to my home. Thank you for your hospitality, it is appreciated more than you know." "You are welcome to return to future fire pit nights if you choose. You have been a wonderful guest this evening." "Perhaps..." With that, they stood up and walked over to offer their hand which I shook. The moment I released their hand, they turned into the inky blackness I had seen with the two glowing eyes and shot back into the woods. "Well that was weird." I muttered under my breath as I poured my fire bucket on the last of the embers. Satisfied that the fire was out, I went inside.
2022-01-06T04:22:38
2022-01-06T02:41:56
18
10
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.
Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." ​ *One year later* The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. *Well, I suppose it does make sense*, the priest thought. *After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.*
# Soulmage **I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month.** I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one *back*?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
2022-05-31T11:05:33
2022-05-31T10:42:02
726
85
[WP] Years ago the evil, black dragon was defeated by good dragon. You have no heart to tell people that it was just a phase and you simply grew up and washed off the paint.
It has been a slow trek through the forest today, and we probably have a few more days of travel until we reach the abandoned castle. But if the years have taught me anything, it's to enjoy the here and now. And right now, we've finished dinner in a nice clearing, with a warm crackling fire, and I'm snuggled up against Henry's horse. I'm just a little bit bigger than the horse, and plenty older then everyone in the group. Other than maybe Louis our elf archer. Louis is already fast asleep. I don't know how he does it with all the commotion still going around. Henry comes over and sits next to Dart. "Your scales look really nice in this lighting," he says. "Thank you for the compliment." "Dart is really happy you came along." "As a cold blooded being, sitting this close to Dart and the flames is really soothing. A nice, relaxed evening after walking all day." Some time passes until Henry starts picking at the grass nervously. "What's on your mind?" "Ah, nothing." A few moments pass. Louis flips over in his sleep. "My son, lil' Ralph, ain't much of a little Ralph anymore. He used to give me a big hug before leaving on an adventure. Lately, he's been going through a phase. Wearing black garments all the time, and talking about death all the time. I'm worried about him." Henry breathes in and lets out a long sigh. "I've talked to some of the older, more experienced parents in the village. They all give me this knowing smile and tell me it's just a phase and he'll grow out of it. I don't remember going through such a stage. It's frustrating." "They're right." "I'm not surprised to hear you say that." "I can also tell why many of them had that look on their face. They went through it themselves." Henry gave a questioning look. "I know you're old n' wise, but I find that hard to believe." "What do you know of 'the dark angel'? " "What? My grandfather used to tell stories of a black dragon that trashed barns and made loud noises in the middle of the night, until you came along and defeated him." "Yeah well, that isn't exactly true. That black dragon was me going through a phase." Before Henry could react we heard a snort and a loud laugh. "Hah! I knew it! I knew it was you!" Louis said, grinning ear to ear.
"Well, they said this was the place," Jason said, eyeing the cave and the piles of gold within it, which, in the bright light of his torch, sparkled back at them like twinkling stars. The trio of wandering warriors had spent all night preparing, setting traps all around the place, before finding a way in that they hoped was less obvious than the front entrance. Apparently the local village had been reporting sightings of the black dragon, an ancient evil from about two century ago, that had supposedly been defeated by the legendary white dragon. Before said white dragon had disappeared from all records about half a century ago. *Sounds like a load of bullshit*, Jason thought, *These villagers are highly superstitious. Until I have hard evidence that the black dragon's actually back, I'm not going to take their word for it.* But, of course, they had nothing else to do, and the villagers had promised them a handsome sum of money if they'd gone along with their request to go to the old cave that had, according to some old bearded fellow who smelled like old socks and armpit sweat, housed the black dragon all those years ago. The King and his knights had categorically refused to go, on some trumped-up grounds of mitigating economic factors they had to deal with first, although from the impression Jason had gotten, it seemed as though they were just too scared to go seeking out the black dragon. "Come on. There's nothing but an old-ass pile of gold here. And we can't take it, it's not ours. We have to return it to the villagers and distribute it amongst them somehow," Jason said, sticking his sword in the ground, clearly disinterested. "How the hell are we supposed to make sure they distribute it back to the people who originally owned this stuff?" Kira said. "I don't know, we'll figure it out when we get there. Honestly, I'd just prefer to get out of this cave. Never been the biggest fan of the relative lack of oxygen in these places." David said, taking his shield off his arm and tossing it into the air before catching it, then repeating the process. "Do dragons even breathe oxygen?" Jason asked, "Has anyone managed to figure that out yet?" "I don't know. There's not a whole lot of research. For obvious reasons," David said, still flipping his shield. "I mean, I've got to assume they'd find the dead bodies of some of those things from time to time, even if they can't kill one," Kira said. "No, actually," David replied, "Apparently these bastards live for so long, a portion of the scientific community actually just thinks they're immortal, outside of being killed in battle." "Ah yes, because I suppose cell degradation, oxidative stress, and telomere shortening is just a silly myth." Kira said, taking out her dagger and twirling it absentmindedly. "You're assuming dragon biology is similar to ours," David said, "That may not be the case. Given the scarcity of samples, the quick rate of decomposition, and the low magnification capabilities that our microscopes currently have, the scientific community barely has any documented information on dragon cells. All the more reason we should catch this one, if it even exists." "All right, then, let's get this shit over with." Kira said, sheathing her dagger, and unslinging her spear from her back. Jason yawned. "Hopefully we can get back soon enough to head to that tavern on the outskirts of the village before it closes. Drinks are on me this time." Jason awkwardly picked his sword out of the ground, wiggling it slightly to dislodge it from the hard dirt he'd stuck it in. The three of them walked further into the cave, over piles of riches and treasure and skeletons. Although, they found, about five minutes into the walk, the skeletons seemed to grow less frequent. Ten minutes in, the skeletons disappeared altogether. "Huh, seems like whatever dragon lived here liked to keep his skeletons in the front section of his cave," Jason noted. "Maybe he just wanted to sleep somewhere away from the constant smell of rotting flesh," Kira suggested. "Seems unlikely. I'd say it's more likely just further burrowing. Dragons tend to dig their caves deeper when they get too full, so I assume that the stuff deeper in the cave was placed there afterwards. Seems he just lost the appetite for humans," David mused. "Since when were you an expert on dragons?" Kira asked. "Eh, I think the Knight he was apprenticed to back when he was still a squire in the Island Kingdoms studied biology in his youth. And he liked to talk, so, it just kinda worked out," Jason said, "first time we met he tried to give me a lecture on the anatomy of the boar I was trying to skin." "To be fair, you knew nothing about anatomy back then," David quipped. "Yeah, I've always been more of a physics guy myself," Jason said. Suddenly, he saw a dark, looming, shadow, which towered above the three of them, at what looked like, at least from what he could make out, the very end of the cave. "Wait, everybody shut up. I see something. Ready positions." The three of them raised their weapons. Nothing happened. A moment passed, and then Kira signalled the three of them to begin a flanking maneuver. She and Jason would approach from the front and attract the monster's attention; Jason would attack from behind. They would all retreat back to the traps, and hope they did their jobs. The three warriors carried out the tactic expertly, each moving to an appropriate location, ready to strike. And, taking a deep breath, Jason charged in. \[continued in reply\]
2022-10-26T11:25:31
2022-10-26T07:07:00
24
11
[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives
He was perfect, except for one thing. The eyes. His profile specified blue, but here I was gazing into eyes that were distinctly grey. Oh well, love takes time, and if I have to go through five or fifty men to find the perfect one, I will. And with every failed date, I had grown accustomed to keeping a part of them with me – a lesson learned. “Your profile states that you enjoy scrapbooking?” He was neatly slicing his meat up into bite sized portions. “Oh yes, I enjoy documenting my life, the good and the bad. I do a lot of DIY craft stuff, and I keep a lot of collections. You know, books, records...” Men. “I understand that well, I happen to be a bit of a collector myself. Mostly trophy pieces related to my work.” He grinned as he chewed a piece of his steak. Beautiful teeth. They wouldn't look out of place on a necklace, perhaps. I was starting to get that nervous feeling. It was a good feeling, I knew I'd become faster, more aggressive, when the time came. “So, what is it that you do again?” I smiled, as I took another sip of wine. “I'm a taxidermist.” He gestured back towards my plate with his fork. “Please, eat more.” I pushed the plate away, the butterflies inside me had taken away most of my appetite, “Oh no, I'm stuffed.” He smirked. “Oh, I don't think you know the meaning of that yet.”
"Your hair looks lovely tonight, Vivian." I say, admiring the dark curls cascading down her shoulders. Girl number four wore her hair in a very similar fashion. I watch as she blushes, biting her lower lip. "Funny, I was going to say the same thing about your eyes, Richard. I always...go after men with blue eyes." She chuckles under her breath. This was only my second date out with Vivian. I would have killed her off on the first night out, but she didn't want me over at her place for some reason. She told me she had some "cleaning up to do". I didn't mind that much though, I could tell right away she was smarter than the last six. It would take a bit more planning and a lot more alcohol to get anywhere with her. After a bit more small talk about her job as a medical examiner, the waiter stops by with our food. I watch as she tears into her steak, practically ripping it apart with her knife. She ordered it so rare, I swear it was bleeding. It suddenly strikes me that this is the first girl I've taken out who hasn't ordered a salad for her main course. I sort of like it in a strange way. I finally pull my gaze from her plate and up to her face, her mouth is moving. I was so distracted I didn't even hear what she said. "Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that." "Oh, I was just apologizing! I accidentally took a sip of your wine. I haven't had any of mine yet, so I just swapped our glasses. I hope you don't mind." She grins up at me, and my eyes dart from her maroon lips to the stain she left on the edge of the glass. "No, I don't mind at all. I'm pretty easy going." Just to prove it to her, I take a sip from my new glass. It tastes slightly strange, a little more bitter than I expected, but it wears off. I set it down to the side anyway. "I can tell. The last date I went on was awful. The guy was so uptight. We had practically nothing to say to each other. I guess you could say the conversation was...dead by the end of the night." She bats her eyelashes a few times, like black fans against her pale skin. "Well that's a relief. It would be a shame if I bored you to death before dessert." I take a second sip of wine, the odd taste is a bit more sharp this time, I crinkle my nose and take a bite of my food. "Is something wrong?" She asks, her knife poised mid-air. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just- what wine did we order again?" I ask. Her eyes grow wide and she sets down her utensils. "It's just a simple sauvignon." She glances down at my glass, as if gauging how much I've drank. "Do you not like it?" "It's just a little odd tasting. I don't think I'll have anymore." I respond. I'm getting annoyed now. I want to be done with all the chit chat. "It tastes fine to me. I think you should have a little more, I'm sure you're just not used to it yet." She nudges my glass closer to me. I wave it away, and try to change the conversation. "That's a great necklace, what kind of stone is that?" Her fingertips are drawn to her jewelry now, twisting the small rock on it's chain. I can't keep my eyes off her neck, I can feel my palms sweat just thinking about having my hands wrapped around it. "It's a ruby. I like red a lot. But not just any sort of red. I've always kind of liked a bit darker shade, kind of like, oh god- this sounds morbid - kind of like blood?" She giggles, not meeting my eyes. "No, no, that's normal. I like blood too. I mean- I like red blood, er- I meant blood red." Why did I say that out loud? It's one thing for this stupid girl to say it, but for me? I take a large gulp of the foul-tasting wine, hoping to numb some of the embarrassment. She watches me with doe eyes as I set down the glass. Part of me wonders if I've freaked her out. I need to recover the conversation quick. I've already decided on her, and now that I've seen her it will feel impossible to change my mind. "I'm sorry, you're just so pretty that I can hardly think straight. I hope I didn't ruin the date or anything." "No, no you didn't! In fact, I was hoping we could continue it, but you know, in a more private place? We could head back to my apartment and-" "Yes. Yes, I'd love that." This is going to be easier than I thought.
2013-12-30T19:50:01
2013-12-30T19:37:43
15
10
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally.
*I'm so nervous. Christ I hope I can afford this place in case things go bad.* **Tonight is your blind date, right? You HAVE to give me the details later on.** *Haha, you know I will. Oh god what if he is a total prick and sticks me with the bill or something like that?* **Relax, I'm sure after all the chatting you did on that dating website you would know if he was that kind of guy or not.** *I hope you are right. I swear this restaurant is straight out of some romance novel with the candle light, soft music, and shit.* **But you like that kind of stuff! Let the mood flow through you and make everything magical.** *Don't remind me...Are you still going out with your friends tonight?* **Hell yeah I am! Gotta show off this body I've been working so hard for at that murderous place called a gym. I think my personal trainer is Hitler reincarnated. My husband better appreciate all the hard work I've put into it.** *No pain no gain, girl.* **You are the worst! We are almost there, I'm so excited. I think we are eating first then going to the club.** *My date just got here and he is quite the cutie! Tall, handsome, and polite! He knows his wines too!* **I love it when guys know their wines. I met my husband at a wine tasting actually! Guess I'll let you two love birds get to know one another.** *Oh...he knows all the right words to say...tell me I shouldn't sleep with him tonight, I need a better voice of reason than my own!* **You are better than that girl! Stay strong!! However if he is that sexy then you should consider- what the fuck?!** *Everything okay? Oh no...oh no no no no no. Some chick just marched up to my table and started talking to my date. I pray he doesn't have some crazy ex girlfriend or something* **NO, everything is NOT okay!!! I just walked in to find my man on what REALLY looks like a date.** *This chick is screaming at my date now, making a huge scene. I just want to curl up and die, this is so embarrassing!!* **I am so livid right now!! Fuck it, I'm throwing the drink in his face** *Holy shit, this chick took my drink and threw it in his face! I swear this is straight out of a movie!! At least she could have used his drink so I could have something to sip* **God the nerve! And the slut he is with, she is trying WAY too hard in that red top. At least she has smaller breasts than me.** *Why can't I vanish like a ninja or something? I just want to disappear. Help, the chick is now screaming at me, calling me a 'small chested bimbo'. How the hell was I supposed to know he was married?!* **Ha! I just called the bitch he is with that, seems like its a good insult tonight.** *Wait...did you say she was wearing a red top?* **Yeah, with a god ugly necklace that looks like it belongs on some grandma** *...your husband's name isn't Steve is it...?* **Yeah, why?** *no...it can't be...*
<Ok, this is the stupidist thing in the world.> I thought to myself as I was stopped in the traffic. >No, it's not, there are reasons for this.< I thought to myself. <Yhea, I should of stayed off the freeway, away from all these other morons.> >Are they really morons?< <Yes.> >No, they are not, they are just like you.< <I'm pretty sure their morons.> >Are not.< <Are too.> >Are not!< <Are too!> >Am I really arguing with myself?< <I'm not arguing.> >Yhea, I'm pretty sure I am.< <Wait a second. Do I really think that their just like me?> >Of course, I mean it's not like I'm particularly brilliant.< <But that's the opposite of what I think.> >I've always thought that.< <No, I've always felt that they were morons, like me who decided to clog stuff up for the rest of us.> >Am I really that much of a jerk?< <Apparently.> >No, I'm not.< <You were the one who thought it.> >No, I wasn't.< <You've apparently forgotten what happened literally three seconds ago.> >No, I haven't. It's just that I never thought that. Wait a second. What do you think about Alison?< <Selfish jerk who never really got me.> >No, she wasn't, she was sweet, kind, and funny.< <She constantly sent me pictures of her poops.> >I know, hilarious right!< <Not really.> >I don't think I'm alone in here.< <It's your head, of course your alone in here.> >No, I mean that there are two lines of thought here, and they seem kinda separate.< <This is giving me a headache, I don't understand my own thought process.> >There is not one person in you head but two, and we can hear the other person's thoughts.< <Do you like football?> >Love it, like 24/7 dude.< <I hate it, but I can't seem to stop from watching it. I'm blaming you.> >I suppose your to blame for all the Pizza we eat. You see how much grease are on those things?< <Dude, it's delish. Even with the grease.> >Well, is there anything we agree on?< <Rachel?> >Well yeah, but who doesn't like Rachel.< <Well, now that I've apparently degenerated into multiple personality disorder, I think it's time to see that psychologist.> >I'd disagree with you that this is a disorder, I'm a pretty normal guy, I don't feel like a figment of my own imagination.< <Neither do I.> >Well, I guess we should see the psychologist now.< <Now? We're still stuck in traffic.> >It's starting to lighten up, besides, better nip this thing in the bud. Get off at this exit. I think I saw a psychologist here.< I pulled off the highway and onto the street. I looked both ways, there was a psychologist office to the left. So I headed towards it and pulled into the parking lot. I got out of my car and headed in. "I need to talk with Dr." I did a double take at the sign. <Freud? Really?> >Heh, I think it's funny.< "Freud." The secretary nodded, "One second." She pushed a button. "Dr. Freud, there is a patient here to see you." <Two Patients.> >Two Patients.< "Two Patients. Apparently, I've gone crazy." "He says he's got two patients." She added. "Then bill them double and get them in here." A elderly voice came back. The Secretary motioned towards a door and I followed. <I'm not sure if the insurance is going to cover this.> >Shut up or nut up.< <Sigh. Ok.> The older man was there, sitting in a chair with a note padd. "Sit. Sit. So what seems to be the matter?" He asked. I sat on the chair. "I think I'm going crazy, I got into an argument with myself and well I thought there was two of me." "Ah, can you talk one at a time?" <I don't know, can we?> >I'm going to say 'blue cows,' you try to say 'green birds'< <Ok.> "Blue birds." >Now don't try to say anything.< "Blue cows." <My turn?> >Yhea.< "green birds." "Apparently so?" I said, still not sure of what exactly was happening. "Good, I take it that one of you said blue cows and the other said green birds." He said, seemingly excited. I nodded. "Ok, just let blue speak for a moment. Who are you?" "I'm Will Fletcher." "Thank you blue, green who are you?" "Well for the last twenty something years, I thought I was Will Fletcher. I guess not, given that blue is Will Fletcher." "No, you are also Will Fletcher." "Huh?" "Everyone has two sides to them, for simplicity's sake lets call them green and blue. Green goes in one direction, blue in the other. They are really completely separate people, but because their thoughts and body are intertwined, they appear to be one." "You have got to be kidding me." "Nope. Most people never realize this, but you have." "What does this mean?" "It just means you are going to argue with yourself more really. And be more aware and so I'd argue, able to make better decisions. Good luck, if you have any problems, come to me. I won't actually charge you double." He smiled and we shook hands. This was going to be interesting.
2015-01-13T09:22:46
2015-01-13T09:20:12
181
37
[WP] Humanity awakens one day to find that large city block size black monoliths have appeared all over the globe. They don't seem to serve any purpose. At first panic ensues but after 10 years of them being there society has come to just accept them.
Life on top of a cube was a mark of status. The first crazy millionaire in India had been on the news for close to six months straight when he paid to have his new mansion built on top of the Dehli slums cube, and in the years since then it had become a sort of trend to build on top of them. The Tokyo cube had an alien theme park on it, and the Nevada cube had become an extension of the Trump Hotel. Lilian lived on the 30th floor of the London cube tower, on the side facing the Thames. They had just finished construction last January. Her father had pre-purchased her unit during the initial fundraising stage, he was an investor. Lilian knew that living on the cube was fashionable, but she missed being closer to the ground. Her room in the old house had been cosy in the summer with trees outside and birds nesting. She stared out the window, tracing the shadow of the cube with her eye along the city streets below. Far away, the sun neared the horizon, glinting off the river like a glass ribbon. A tremor shot through the building, and Lilian tumbled to the floor. Plates fell and broke in the kitchen. A window shattered. Lilian scurried back from the wall, and through the window saw a cloud of debris cascading across London below. London was getting smaller. She gasped - the cube was moving. In the distance, a constellation of dark specks were rising into the quickly dimming sky.
"Ash, how many time have I told you? Stop going near them!" Razia scolded. Ash didn't want to argue with his mother, especially with her waving the kitchen knife around while she cut the vegetables. Lowering the condensation in his voice, he tried to explain. "Mom. Its nothing to worry about. I was just making a sketch for my paper." Razia bent towards the window. The distant sunset was blocked by the huge Monolith. It would have been a beautiful scene, but for some reason seemed....darker. "Bad things happen to people who go near them Ashwin." Ashwin surreptitiously rolled his eyes. "Its just superstition mom. The government has been analyzing those things for a decade. They are completely inert." Staring in the distance, he looked at the behemoth structure for the thousandth time. It was afternoon, and yet the thing was pitch black. Almost like it *sucked* in light instead of reflecting it. Ash shuddered for a moment. *All superstition aside, it is creepy.I wonder if anyone -* Ashwin blinked. For a second there he had seen.... Moving near the window, he examined the structure. He was sure he saw - There. Near the base of the monolith. A flash of light. He was running towards the door the next second. "Ash where...." his mother asked. No time for her. Sprinting he crossed the front yard, turning towards the structure. His heart was pounding.Not from exhaustion but rather excitement. Five mins later Ashwin was standing at the feet of the monolith. Craning his neck, he stared up. Couldn't see the top. The thing was more than 8 km tall and a 500 metres square at the base, yet was built from a single stone. It defied reason. Breathing heavily,he reached out to feel the rough exterior. He loved this feeling. Alien and comforting at the same time. He looked around trying to find the source- A current rush up his arm. Ash jumped back. This hadn't before. Looking down where he had been touching, he saw a symbol carved into the surface. It was pure white, just like the pure black of the monolith. It seemed like a cross between Egyptian and Hindi characters. "What the hell are you?" he whispered. Over the years many conspiracy theories had been formed for the strange structure that had sprung in major cities around the world overnight. Aliens, Ghosts, Cultists, Wizards, ie the usual suspects, to the bizarre, like a new form of plant life and stalactites. But Ash could finally see. These *things* were something else. As he had touched the structure, a bizarre thought had entered his mind. And as he watched the symbols spread over the monolith like dancing spiders, he was hit with the epiphany. "Oh my god," he gasped.",this, this changes everything. People need to know." The possibilities danced around his mind. These monoliths could break every human limitation in existence. They would be a god once they could..... His soaring heart was brought to the ground as he considered humanities's track record. "With this,We'll probably destroy the planet by next week.No. Humans need to be protected from this power. From themselves. " He smiled devilishly. In the right hands, his hands,this power would be most pofitable to humanity. Closing his eyes, he began to execute his plan. ------------------ "Good evening and welcome to Radio news at 9. I am your anchor Kiran Bedi welcoming you tonight." "Our special tonight is the apparent assassination of Six world leaders in various Dictatorships around the world. Catch our later coverage of 'Civil War in North Korea'. " "Another hot story, is the complete crippling of major Military powers. All around the world, people are unable to deploy a firearm or launch weapons. Intelligence suggest possible interference of nano-bots. Could these stories be related? Lets find out--" "Umm.... We... are interrupting our regular program to broadcast something extraordinary. I am standing at the roof of my office and I can see...uh, What the hell is that Roy?" "Aha..pardon my language. But what we are seeing is unbelievable. There is another moon...in the sky. A red object is floating in space right beside our moon.Its..huh..quite belie-" "Wait. Is it..is it growing bigger? I dont understand. Oh my god! Its coming towards us. Oh god! Its coming fast. This is an emergency . I repeat. Find shelter. Find your families. We are in.." "Shhhhhhhhhhhh.BZZZZZZZZZ.Shhhhhhhhhhhhh"
2015-10-18T13:06:32
2015-10-18T10:48:42
24
13
[WP] The gatekeeper between hell and heaven sees many applications daily to transfer from the former into the latter. Today, for the first time, he saw someone wanting to go the other way.
Death, the gatekeeper of hell, looked down upon the man standing before him. "Regardless of your reasoning, one cannot simply choose to change the realm in which they have been placed at the time of their judgement. However, I am in need of some amusement. Why do you want to enter the depths of hell when you've been fairly chosen to live in heaven?" "My ex is up there, man." Death opens a portal to the underworld without hesitation. "Get in."
"You heard me, Gatekeeper" Every fiber of my immortal being winced at the mere thought of it, every shred of my soul refusing to entertain the idea of perverting the eternal, divine halls with the notion that the lord could be wrong! "I need to get to Hell, Gatekeeper, I must find a witness" I cannot help myself but to erupt into a storm of thunder like laughter, the frustrated soul of a human man scowling in disbelief and annoyance below me. "Forgive me Human I mean no disrespect, I laughed only at your naïve assertion" I asserted, it is unfitting a tool of the lord to be rude. "I'm a lawyer and I made it to heaven, that should go at least some way to proving the legitimacy of my case" the man jested, the same conflict deescalation he has used time and time again in his mortal life, each time avoiding the pits of Hell, this time used to gain entry to that darkest of places. "Tell me: What case would that be again?" I commanded. "The lord must be responsible for the sins of at least some of the sinners-" he stopped halfway, seeing the disbelief command my brow to my beard, a pity I did not need or ask for. "I can see you have already made up your mind, Gatekeeper, but I beg you, hear me out" he presumes to know my mind, insolent, however I shall forgive him and stow my feelings until the human has spoken his part. "Continue!" I boom. "Follow the Logic here Gatekeeper, the Lord created every aspect of every mortal?" "Correct" "And he created every aspect of the world in which they existed as mortals" "Correct!" "And he is omnipotent, so he knew everything that would transpire in his creation and could make any change he deemed fit" "This had better have a point Human, there is literally armies seeking an audience to go the other way" I stated firmly "Gatekeeper I once met a child who stole food from the market to survive, whose parents abandoned as a mere two year old due to her deformity, I had taken her food and blankets when I found her and she died in my arms sick and starved, she isn't here in heaven." I look deeply into his soul and I find no deceit. "Few people make it here, Human" I struggle to answer. "Gatekeeper, the Lord clearly has made some people who at the moment of their birth were already disqualified from heaven in the eyes of the Lord" "Who might that be, Human?" I genuinely inquire. "Every sinner, Gatekeeper. The Lord already knew what situations each mortal child will face and how they would react, yet did nothing to help them, stop them or inform them directly of the test, it is my understanding that this needlessly dooms most mortals to damnation." "Human, mortality requires free will, else no distinction between the souls in hell and the souls in heaven can be made, if the Lord simply told everyone how to earn heaven in mortality then every single one would simply follow the instruction and live eternally in a paradise unearned. "Well Gatekeeper, that's the thing, I need a witness cast into Hell itself that has met the Lord and chose to disobey, one of a few of the lords former servants, The devil himself." I recoiled at the mention of that fowl title, the man now was staring expectantly, patiently awaiting his answer. I had heard his plea, a most unique stance for one already in heaven. As I sat at my station simultaneously an eternity and an instant and ponder this dilemma I fall pray to both my loyalty to the Lord and my interest in the Humans proposition. As I opened the gate, for the first time I feel a newfound empathy for its inhabitants. That, My lord is the first reason I sentence you to Hell.
2016-09-28T20:56:06
2016-09-28T19:42:57
110
74
[WP] The gatekeeper between hell and heaven sees many applications daily to transfer from the former into the latter. Today, for the first time, he saw someone wanting to go the other way.
Death, the gatekeeper of hell, looked down upon the man standing before him. "Regardless of your reasoning, one cannot simply choose to change the realm in which they have been placed at the time of their judgement. However, I am in need of some amusement. Why do you want to enter the depths of hell when you've been fairly chosen to live in heaven?" "My ex is up there, man." Death opens a portal to the underworld without hesitation. "Get in."
I sit between damnation and paradise. On my left stands a wrought iron gate with steps leading to unspoken horrors. On my right, a golden gate with a crystal staircase spiraling up to eternal bliss. Between the two gates stands an ordinary office chair. That’s my chair, the seat of the Second Judge. It’s not as impressive as the First Judge’s, but hey, at least it has good lumbar support. Every day, I listen as wretched souls crawl in from Hell and plead their case. *I donated to the poor. I picked up trash. I saved that cat.* Some of them ask politely, others yell and cry aloud. But often, it makes very little difference. There’s a limited number of spots available up in paradise and only an exceptional few succeed. So, imagine my surprise when, for the first time in millennia, I hear footsteps coming from the golden gates. I turn and see a kindly old lady, dressed in white, coming through. “Good morning, sir.” she says, her voice clear and ringing – a stark contrast to the voices I’ve gotten used to. “I wish to apply for Hell.” “Miss…” I pull her files out from thin air, “Ms. Fellowes. For what crime you’ve committed do you think you deserve to be punished eternally?” “Sir, I litter on the beach. Every time. Over my lifetime, I must’ve left at least a hundred pounds of trash behind.” “Actually,” I flip through her files, “It’s just seven pounds.” “Oh. Well, then. In church, I often fall asleep. I have made slight of our heavenly father. I deserve to be punished.” “No, that's not enough–” “As a kid, I killed so many ants! I stepped on them for no reason at all!” I sigh. “Ms. Fellowes, do you want to tell me why you’re really here?” She swallows. “It’s… it’s my son. I wish to bring him to heaven.” “What!” “He’s not a bad kid! It’s just… just that I’ve never been around. His dad died before he was born and I had to work all the time. That’s why he found friends in… in bad company.” “Ms. Fellowes, I’m sorry to hear that, but–” “How could you blame him for something beyond his control?” she cries, “You lot set him up to fail! This is your fault!” She steps forward and swings a punch at my face. As I reel from the surprise attack, she steals my keys and jams them into the wrought iron gate. Then, she leaps down the stairs in search of her son. “Ow…” My jaw is definitely dislocated. Nursing it with a bag of ice, I quickly close both gates and change the locks. *I should really get two of those guardian angels Peter keeps talking about.* After a while, Ms. Fellowes returns with her son. She tries using the stolen keys to no avail. “Go away!” I shout. “You are not welcome here!” “Sir, sir. Please!” She cries. “Leave me here, I’ll take his place.” I turn to look at the pair. Tears stream down her face. Her son is dazed and unaware, gazing into the distance. *She would give up her place for her son?* Something stirs inside me. I sigh and grab her son’s file. “I see… I see that your son saved a cat, once.” I stand and open both gates. “You may both pass.” Ms. Fellowes starts to cry. She throws her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you so much.” I pat her hair softly. Maybe I should do this more often. I am the Second Judge after all – perhaps I could start believing in second chances.
2016-09-28T20:56:06
2016-09-28T19:39:43
110
54
[WP] 2021: Hell invades Earth; 2022: Earth invades Hell.
Polanski: HOLY FUCK THEY GOT TO EARTH?! Rider: The demons? "Sigh", seems like taking over our station in Mars wasn't enough. Polanski: Sir, please tell me we can kill them. Rider: Yes and to kil- wait a second, my men just brung in a live demon, I'll bring the phone closer to it. Rider: What's up jackass, you speak English? "Demon": You have to let me go! We only invaded earth to escape him! Rider: Well, that was unexpected, you do speak English, who is HIM? "Demon": He was the sole survivor of our invasion of what you call Mars, you must understand our invasion of your planet is a battle for survival, not for war. Rider: Shit, where is he now? In Hell? "Demon": Yes no- "gunshots" Rider: Thanks dumbass, we got all we needed. Polanski please make your way back to UAC command. "Soldier": Sir! We just found a picture of who the demon is referring to. Rider: Who the fuck is Doomguy? If he's in there who don't need to invade Hell, just defend our home. Maybe demons should learn to defend their homes as well.
Manifest Destiny. There was time when I used to believe that I had choice. I used to go to church everyday, tearing, thinking that one day God would bring me into heaven. My lungs were black from coal, my hands scared and caloused. I try my best with my kids, never hit them, buy them nintendos and pokemons. I worry that they wont be able to take care of their children, that I may be the last generation. But I figure God has a plan and I have faith in their smile. Jesus is about forgiveness, and I do teach them responsibility through chores. Last year, the Devil came. This isnt some metaphor from revelations. Wasnt a 7 headed creature that breathed ice and spat fire. But I knew it was the devil because he brought an army of evil. They came up from Mt St Helens, swooped over to Seattle, came down the west cost and have been trying to spread east. On the news I saw him. He looked young with a crazy look. Clockwork Orange is the best way I could describe it. His smile was inviting, I thought about leaving once or twice, I confess. They live as dominants to young liberal submissives. I bet they all have crazy parties. Last party I had was when I was 16. I got bullets which I then had to use for hunting scarce animals for extra cash. Well, I imagine they wont last forever. Many of the weakest are used as the frontlines to invade eastward. Its sad seeing it on the news. Theyll come for Kentucky eventually, but its so far away. But Ive been reading. Apparently, theres diamonds in hell. Apparently theres iron and a bunch of materials that are pretty expensive. A prospector went down there through Russia, theyre talking motherload. Im thinking money. Retirement. All these years if hardwork, paying off. Theres been whispering of "Manifest Destiny". We all know the US will take over the world, only matter of time. So maybe its time to take on hell. On the news, politicians seem to have a confident smile. They dont seem worried Silicon Valley is preparing their robot army. Or that Los Angeles has been sending cult leaders to Minnisota and Mississippi. Blood for oil. Hey, I dont blame them. I wouldnt mind killing a few horned horse people myself. Well goat people. And then a big payoff?! Hoooweee! Just thinking about it gets me excited! Ding Dong Jimmy got up from his desk. Took off his glasses abd placed them down on the table. Wiped his eyes. "All this dreaming, is it a sin? Please forgive me lord" he whispered. He grabbed his pistol and holster and put it on. The floor gave out hollow echos as he walked to the front door. Theme songs could be heard faintly from the other room. A half angry smile smile came accross his face "You kids do your homework?!" He knew no answer would be replied, worth a try though. He approached the front door, a pale periwinkle. "Hey, Darel! Whats the deal?!" Darel had a crazy smile. An M249 on his back and coveres in ammunition belts. His red beard and shadowed face contrasted against the bright green Kentucky forest. The sun sure was happy today. "Its time." He handed an article to Jimmy. "Money for Nothing, Hell is Free". Jimmy recoiled. "The US army in conjunction with A coalition of military forces will be scaling an assault on hell in the next coming weeks. President Trump remarked that this is a 'huge opportunity for all americans who want to strike it big. Theres so much out there. Im telling you people, go. We will protect you. Become rich. Your only going to make a billion dollars if you take risks, believe me.'" Jimmy smiled at Darel, "I like Trump". Darel nodded with great energy then continued looking at the paper excited to hear more. "The US military enacting a tactic known as 'Community Fortification'. All US citizens are invited to participate, and if selected will be instrumental to ensuring a peaceful and prosperous coexistance between hell and earth. You will be given food, water, free travel and all necessities required to mine and provide for your family." Jimmy stared off into the ground. Years of sacrifice and jealousy started to burn. The image of a 3 story house in nebraska. Having lemonade with Warren Buffet. Going down to hell and seeing demons mine his plot of land. Being invited to white house and given a medal for bravery. "Kids! Pack your bags! We're going to hell!"
2016-12-10T08:15:33
2016-12-10T08:04:09
22
10
[WP] There are 2 humans left on Earth: you, and a crush you once asked out who said "I wouldn't date you if you were the last person on Earth"
"Well, I guess this is it. Time for me and you to hook up, after all." "It's not gonna happen." "Wait, what? We're the last two people on the planet. Shouldn't we start making babies?!" "Sigh. That's not how it works." "Oh, I'm pretty sure it is. I mean God, or someone, chose the two of us to be here together to start a new civilization." "Look. I think you're a decent person. We can hang out and try to enjoy this time, but we aren't going to sleep together." "So you'd doom all of humanity rather than have sex with me? We have to at least attempt to save the world." "Nice try. I'm still not gay."
We sat together on the old park bench, ironic how this symbol of our childhood was still some how a salvageable piece of furniture. The beacon of youth and my first realization that I had feelings for this girl. She didn't really like me or no my name, but I knew hers and it sent tingles throughout my body every time I thought of it. I thought back to that day when I was young and the words she said to me, "I wouldn't date you if you were the last person on Earth," Now ten years have passed, the world is basically obliterated, I am now twenty-two. I got up from the bench, looked at her, and said "Well, isn't this ironic huh?" She looked at me in a way I've never seen before. She was almost astonished by looking at the young boy she once rejected blossomed into the man before her, well young man, I'm not like thirty-five, that's a man, but anyways. I could tell she was attracted to me, so then I saw my opportunity. I sat back down and got real close to her. I put my arm around her and I said "So, would you still not date me?" Not a word left her mouth she just looked at me. I took her hand and squeezed it and said, "Hey it's totally okay the past is in the past. Now are you gonna talk? I mean it's gonna be really boring if I have nothing but one fourth of a picnic table to talk to." She smiled, good I was getting somewhere, I asked my question again. This time she finally gained the courage to say, "Well, I realize how stupid I was, and how mean that must've been, but wow you've really turned into quite the man you know it?" I smiled, and then I asked another question, that only seemed right to me. "So, with that being said I've got one more question.....You wanna start to repopulate the Earth?" her eyes widened. I gave her one of those sexy forward slash flirtatious winks, only I probably looked like a pirate trying not to lose his eyeball. "I mean, what else are we gonna do for fun?" She was still in awe, but I waited, I mean I didn't really have any other options. Then after a millennia of waiting she finally managed to give a head nod. "So uh, is that a yes?" She finally managed to squeak out, "Yes..yes I would." I was wondering why it took her so long so I asked, "Hey, why'd it take you so long to answer?" she looked at me and replied "Well it's almost like the universe intended this to happen," I just looked at her confused. "What?" "Well you know, like you're like crazy hot and stuff now," I'll be honest with you guys I was probably like a 5 on a scale of one to ten, but whatever. "Oh well thank you, you're definitely not bad yourself." She enjoyed that compliment very much so, and then she paused a little more. She then summoned the courage to lean in for a kiss. It was at this point I saw how things were going to go, success! Then I raised my hand and I put it on her face and said, "Listen here freak!" then I paused hoping a case of deja-vu would hit her. "I wouldn't date you if you were the last person on Earth!" I then got up, looked down at here and sprinted away. I didn't know where I was going nor did I really care, I had gotten my revenge. Besides did you really think two humans could repopulate a home of 7 billion people? No way man! There's like inbreeding and shit it wouldn't work after awhile. I mean sure her and I could do it but what about our kids who do they have yanno? Oh well, I'm gonna like go and see how close I can get to the Seattle Space Needle before I die. I mean, I live in Minnesota so it'll be interesting...650 feet off the ground.. EDIT: Age difference
2017-02-27T07:34:06
2017-02-27T05:44:17
44
14
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door. Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
""You get out there and you make us proud!" That was the last thing I ever heard from another human. The rockets had been automated by then, sort of like self-driving cars. I received this final transmission as the bombs fell in waves, ravaging the Earth I once called home. I watched the live video feed from the isolated capsule that was now my dwelling on the harsh surface of Mars. The devastation was unbelievable. Eventually, the feed ceased. It's been 25 years. 25 horrible, lonely years." As he wrote this chilling passage in his diary, he heard a knock on the door. A resounding "thump-thump-thump". The jaded astronaut donned an oxygen mask, and cautiously meandered over to the door. He opened it to be greeted by a man in a tuxedo, holding a Bible. "Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
> *Knock Knock* The sound rang through the capsule like a gunshot. That couldn't be... no, it was just my mind running away from me again. The martian landscape was a barren wasteland outside of my own personal bubble of land. The SpaceX Phoenix Project saw what was coming. The international dickwaggling, the Water Wars, the oceans, it was all pointing in one direction... and it wasn't good. While the countries' governments were struggling to keep their lights on and maintain a basic level of functionality the billionaires started throwing money at us to escape. Space no longer was the vision of a brighter tomorrow, just simply a survivable tomorrow. My launch was supposed to be the first step in saving everyone.. but instead it was the start of the end. Someone... might've been India, America, the Ruskies... but someone thought that our launch from the central Pacific was a first strike attack. And well... > *Knock Knock* That can't be... must be another dust storm tossing rocks against the hatch. That lone metal door stood as the ceiling of my world. Phoenix realized that a surface colony would be much harder to maintain safely, so for the last 25 years I had been a little mole person living comfortably with my self-maintaining plantation out back. Phoenix had the perfect idea. By having the five of us launch to set up the foothold, within a year the base would have grown to hold the first hundred people. The eChidna Diggers free to run autonomously were going to provide us with all the room and raw metals we'd ever need. And with the reprocessed biowaste from the farms we'd... > *Knock Knock* No... it can't be... They're all gone... Joni... Jerry... Janie... They all died getting through the atmosphere, they're all gone... They can't be knocking, they're all gone. They can't be... > *Knock KnockKnock* I had to know. I had to look. The camera had broken years ago. I couldn't help it. When... she... I couldn't help it... I couldn't save... No, I have to look. I sprinted up to the pod door into the airlock chamber. > *Knock KnockKnock* It was right there, it was real, I could hear it. I had to knock back, let them know I was coming **KnockKnockKnockBangKnock** > *Knock Knock* I shoved on the old dusty spacesuit for the first time in decades. Ever since... she... the surface just I couldn't bear to see it, but now... maybe? The airlock activated. But then... the air pressure didn't seem to change? Just some odd hissing and then, the door just popped open. Above me stood a slight man smiling. A man just wearing a simple tunic and smiling. The sun shone over him and... I could hear birds chirping? He reached down a hand to pull me up to... a beautiful field of grass, on Mars? *"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."* The man spoke, but I understood none of it. He seemed to realize this and, after grabbing a tiny little box out of his pocket spoke into again, slower this time. *"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."* A metallic pinging noise came from the box followed by it saying: "In the name of the Glorious Leader, I welcome you to our wonderful new world and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar"
2018-03-05T06:59:42
2018-03-05T05:48:19
37
23
[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months. What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give. First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least. Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to "do whatever you want" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about. Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder. Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those. Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming. The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. "A beginner's dungeon" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been "Stoneridge Farm." They said that clearing my "dungeon" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then. In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves. As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.
**Oak Village.** It was located on the border of the Earth and Central Province, near the southern tip of the Main Capital, outside a patch of small woodlands near the Great Forest of Kao. For a frontier settlement, its population was unexceptional — a hundred souls, distributed among twenty families. In turn, this makes us a common target. From marauding bandits to corrupted adventurers, we were vulnerable to their constant attacks and looting. We can only watch helplessly in bitterness and resentment as they steal away our hard\-earned gold and produce. However, one day, I stumbled upon a Legendary\-Tier item, 「Staff of Creation」. Having it appraised by the Capital's sage, it was rumored to rival A\-tier weaponry in its potency and utility.  I even heard that it is on\-par with famous God\-tier accessories like 「Ring of Greed」 or 「Amulet of Power」 if I can utilize it properly. As a villager where our weapons such as longswords and daggers are at a flimsy E\-tier, this was incredible news. 「Staff of Creation」 allows me to materialize anything I imagine at the cost of my cognitive energy. Thankfully, I have been blessed a creative imagination. And it only takes me a few hours to recover before I can reuse it again. A group of bandits appeared on the horizon as it was that wretched time again. However, this time, I know the outcome will be different. I held my rifle as I grinned, can't wait to try out my new weapons on our unexpected enemies. ♦ ♦ ♦ "Lets go," Baristol said in a sharp tone. The person who commanded us is our team leader, also famed as one of the best fighters in the Capital. He wore 'A\-class' plate armor that was trimmed with brilliant gold called 「Guardian's Blessing」, which can automatically repel any projectiles below C\-tier or 7th tier magic. "Similar to last time, take away any everything deemed valuable and useful but leave them enough food to survive for next time." "Understood," I said in unison with my party members — Heil, Sein and Raz. As we arrived at our destination, we noticed something was different. Walls of alabaster\-stone surrounded the village in a menacing manner to any who wish to enter. It's as if castle wall was built to protect a mighty fortress in the middle, but instead, inside was a simple village. "What happened?" I asked, not remembering this sight a few months ago. If I remember correctly, alabaster is one of the most expensive stones in the world.  "It's impossible that they can build something like with their resource and only one hundred people," Raz commented, he was our team's tactician. "My speculation is that they hired an adventurer from the guild. Judging from the complexity and expensiveness of the defense, I would say the enemy might be Diamond\-Tier...no... maybe even Master\-Tier." Diamond\-Tier adventurers are greatly and widely respected in the world for their abilities and experiences. In other words, they were veterans who have fought countless battles. However, Master\-Tier adventurers are a different story. They are conferred to only multiple talented adventurers that help resolve problems at the national level. Just one\-tier above Diamond, they are also one\-tier from the final ranking: Hero\-Tier.  You can say they are the elite of the elites. "If that is the case, we should retreat," Sein muttered nervously, he was the ranger of the team. "We are probably around the level of Gold\-Tier or Platinum\-Tier. There's no way we can fight someone who is a Master\-Tier..." "Do not worry, Sein, my friend," Heil, the co\-leader to our team, patted him on the shoulder. "Our boss is also a Diamond\-Tier before he retired from the guild. We can handle a Master\-Tier adventurer if we all group together and fight like we always do." "It is reasonable to deduce that there is only one opponent. To hire a Master\-Tier would require a tremendous amount of gold. My guess is that a kind passerby to help them out," Raz said. "As expected of Raz!" Heil smiled as our tension alleviated.  However, Baristol remained unusually silent, as if he is debating if we should persist with this raid. While we all prepared our gears, he muttered in a serene tone, "Keep in battle formation when we advance. We have to expect for the worst." After a few minutes, we marched carefully towards the entrance. Typically at this point, the villagers would start to flee in fear while we casually stroll in and take anything we want. Suddenly, near the gateway, a villager stood in the distance. A sigh of relief breezed through us as we realize that there were no signs of any adventurers. "I guess the Master\-Tier left?" Sein said. "Still, maintain formation, it could be a trap," Baristol ordered in a vigilant tone. The villager was holding something odd: it resembled a crossbow but had some sort of optical\-glass on top and a long\-tiny barrel towards the end. It seems like he was aiming it at our direction. "What an idiot," Heil chuckled, "There's no way a crossbow like that can do damage to us. Even if it's a magic weapon, we blessed our armors with defensive attributes." Heil was right. Villagers do not have the proper weapons to handle us. Amongst the world of thieves, we are quite notorious ourselves. There's absolutely no need to worry, yet why do I feel like something bad is going to happen...? Suddenly, we heard a loud booming BANG sound. As if the sky were torn by this sudden thundering noise. The birds near the forest of Kao flew away in response. We looked up, wondering if there was a change in the weather. But to our shock, Sein had fallen to the ground in a small puddle of blood. On his chest was a fresh wound resembling a small but deep hole. "What\-What's going on?!" Heil yelled, suddenly in a frenzy. "There's no way that something like that can tear through our armors. What is happening?!" I looked into the distance as the villager seems to have finish reloading his weapon. He took another careful aim and fired. BANG! This time, Raz flew backward as I caught *something* darted inside his head. His head collapsed onto the ground with a THUD first before his body followed.  I never seen anything like this.  All magic spells, by the fundamental laws, require at least an incantation, casting time and mana pool. The fastest spells I know that can rival to this speed is 「Gusting Wind」, a 6th tier spell only veteran magicians can use. But this was something else... This was much faster and more powerful. "Fall back," Baristol ordered as he held up his sword, "I will guard our rear. You two run." "Let's go!" Heil was already running. I remained as curiosity got the best of me, wanting to watch how Baristole handles this situation. There's no way the famed mighty warrior can be defeated, after all, he has the Legendary\-Tier armor and won first place in the annual Warriors Tournament. The villager notices Baristol's defensive stance and grabbed a different weapon. This time, it was much bigger and had instead of a long barrel it was much fatter. He held it by his waist and fired. Instead of a singular sound like we expect it to be, we heard multiple tumultuous noises coming from the weapon. Baristol sliced through the incoming projectiles with acumen as he possesses Eagle's Eye, the martial passive ability that can see everything in a slow manner when activated. After a minute, the villager stopped firing. I stared at Baristol. He stood there, seemingly triumphant from the attack.  As I walk up, I realized his armors were torn apart. His limbs were bleeding profusely but he was still conscious as he focused on protecting his vital organs. He spat out blood and said in a serious voice I never heard before, "That weapon, it's not a crossbow or bow. It's something else, something very powerful. We won't be able to win against it..." The villager is now walking towards us confidently, with two small weapons in his hand as he spins them around playfully. "You won't win, against him. Run," Baristol barked in a desperate voice, pushing me away. "But..." "Trust me. I've fought Master\-Tier adventurers before. That weapon surpasses even Master\-Tier level adventurers by an unfathomable level. If I have to guess, it's probably a Hero\-Tier weapon." Baristol then smiled as if he accepted his death, "I guess it's time for me to pay for my sins after all these years. I'll buy you time while you run. Live a long and proud life, Xin." I trembled in fear as he charged forward, yelling with all his might. I turned on my heels and dashed. Never have I felt more fear and despair in my entire life. A mere villager just killed three of the best rogues I know. *Has the world gone mad?* I heard two loud BANG in the distance and my heart sank, Baristol had lost. *Just who is that villager...?* ♦ ♦ ♦ [r/Avelist/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Avelist/) for more fantasy\-related stories.
2018-05-28T20:28:08
2018-05-28T16:18:16
322
78
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
I woke up on a clean white bed. I remembered last night, remember my heart stopping after a long battle, but it all felt like a dream. Where ever I was, it was a place I didn’t want to leave. I got up off the bed, expecting the familiar creak of my seventy year old knees, but I instead found myself young again. Odd. As I opened the door to the small room I had awoken in, I was greeted by a library. Not just any library, but the library of me. The library of Leo. “What is this place?” I asked the air. “Your life story.” The air answered. “I suggest you start with book 17 page 1253.” I was trapped in the two rooms, so I figured I would follow what the voices in my head said. When I opened the book to the recommended page, my breath stopped. In it was the recorded history of the most important day of my life. The day I decided to conquer the world. I had always wondered what would have happened if I had just quit. What would have happened if I moved to the middle of no where in some random country and had opened a little shop. What would have happened if I married, had kids, had grandkids. But I had made my choice that day. I chose to conquer the world through a bloody campaign of war and genocide in the name of the American Empire; for the good of the people. In the end I lay dead with the world in ruins. “To decide not to destroy the world, go to book 57, page 106. “ I found the book, and opened to page 106. It was a cheery little tale. About being an artist, settling down, living happy. The problem was, it ended the same. It still ended with the me dead and the world in ruins. It couldn’t be right. I grabbed another book. I became a new age hippie, traveled the world, died in a pile of rubble. Another. Local senator, ideal family, shot in the head by raiders at the end of the world. ANOTHER. I was a professor. I taught the next generation, lived content, and was murdered in an explosion. I slid to the floor, tears in my eyes. It didn’t matter, it had never mattered. I was the biggest monster in human history, yet it all ended the same no matter what. If I didn’t destroy the world... someone else did. Every. Time. I suppose monsters are a dime a dozen.
I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
2018-07-04T00:13:18
2018-07-03T22:39:59
141
92
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts. As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me. Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page. Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy. To another page. Pride. Overcoming. Achievement. Another. Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion. I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page. Emptiness. Stillness. This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes. I turned ahead. There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness. I flipped to around the halfway mark. She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it. I turned several pages more. Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy. She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good. It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...? I could at least help. I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to. Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room. The world needs Her. And I was unborn, She in my place.
I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
2018-07-03T23:38:29
2018-07-03T22:39:59
138
92
[WP] You faked your death by live-streaming jumping off a bridge. Built a self sustaining house in isolation and lived off the grid. 20 years go by and you decide to head back to civilization only to find out that your country is no longer a country. Earth is one nation and has achieved singularity.
"Uh,..." Devon gave the ticket clerk a confused shrug. "How much is that in cash?" He dropped a dusty wad of green bills on the gleaming white counter. The wrinkled, white-haired clerk in a red blazer leaned back in her seat. She discretely angled her nose away from the money and the ragged man that dropped it. "I'm sorry, sir. Cash is no longer accepted," she said. She gave Devon a cursory glance up and down. A black canvas bag hung off his shoulders, and he wore a frayed, faded t-shirt and dust-stained blue jeans. "Anywhere," she added. "It's been pulled out of circulation, a lot like you I imagine. 50 A.P. to get you from here to California, non-negotiable." Devon sighed. He expected some difficulty rejoining society, but he couldn't even afford to get in the door. "Is there a bank nearby? Somewhere I can trade cash or get A.P.?" The elderly clerk looked around Devon to check for other customers, but the bus terminal was empty. "Can I guess you don't have a node?" she asked. Devon shrugged. "I'd know if I did, right?" he asked and she nodded. "I ditched society about 20 years ago." Devon leaned on the counter. "So,... I guess fill me in from there. What do I need to get A.P.?" "20 years huh?" she asked. "You probably have some saved up already." She placed a clear, glassy rectangle on the wrinkled bills and Devon looked down at it. If it weren't for the bills the card-sized pane would have vanished on the counter. "This is a node. You generate A.P. naturally every day, but, you can't access your points without a node." "How do I make A.P. without a node?" he asked. "I *kind of* faked my death," he said sheepishly. "So it's not like the government was keeping track." The old woman giggled. "That's hilarious," she said. "Don't worry about it. They're generated by you every day, depending on the kinds of things you do. You probably did a lot of hunting and fishing and stuff off the grid?" she asked. The system itself went online about... 17 years ago," she said. Her light brown eyes rolled upward as she searched her memory. "Transition started a few years after that, but you've been earning points for 17 years... and not spending them?" Her eyes sparkled. "You're probably loaded." "How?" he asked. "No cameras, no radio.. nothing. The point was to stay off the grid." "Nanos," she said. "They're everywhere, even off-grid. So, how about this. I'll sell you a node *and* your ticket for 1500 A.P." Devon blinked at the price increase. Even though he had no idea how much nodes regularly went for, he felt like he was being fleeced. "How can I spend A.P. without a node?" he asked about the obvious flaw in her plan. "It's marked as a transaction fee and taken off the top. It's standard practice when getting a node for the first time. Though, everyone else will charge you a percentage of whatever you're worth. I'm asking for a low, flat rate," she smiled. "Is 1500 a lot?" Devon asked. "Is 50?" he remembered the bus ticket. The cash on the counter was a small portion of what he squirreled away for his return to society. But now all of it was useless. "An average person earns about ten a day just for being alive. That's 3650 a year for seventeen years. I'm sure you did a lot more than sit around most of those days, I think you can afford it." "Alright," Devon nodded. "I'll buy it." The clerk nodded. She lifted her node from the counter and held an end out to Devon. "Hold on to that end and pull when I tell you to," she said. Devon pinched the end. "Do you agree to buy a node from me for 1450 A.P?" she asked. "Uh.. yes!" Devon said. He felt obligated to vocalize his agreement. "Pull slowly," she said. Devon tugged on the node and felt her pulling away from him. As they pulled apart the center seemed to stretch out until it separated into two nodes. Once he pulled his node free, he brought it up to his face. It was the clearest glass he'd ever seen; it was almost impossible to catch light streaks on it. "Cooooool. What now?" he asked. "Tap it here to pay for your ticket," she pointed at a red rectangle outlined on the counter. "But how do I see how much I'm worth?" he asked. "It's like a smartphone. Just swipe it up and you should see an icon that says "A.P. Balance." "What's a smartphone?" he asked. The elderly clerk giggled. She lifted her own node up for him to see; then, she ran her finger vertically up across its surface. "Do that. And do the tutorial when you have time. You need about half an hour for it; you can do it on the bus." Devon mimicked the gesture and color filled the transparent screen. A red logo of a pair of scissors on a white background decorated his home screen. Text under it read: "Sharp Development". He also spotted the 'A.P.Balance'" icon and tapped at it. "What's Sharp Development?" he asked, then his balance came up. He felt the pleasant warmth of financial security melt away all his worries when he saw a number higher than one million. Not quite two million, but more money than he'd ever had. The moment was fleeting; it disappeared as soon as the clerk answered his question with a delighted laugh. "Sharp Development invented nodes and nanos,” she said. “The corporation that owns Earth." \*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #316 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
I saw the buildings grow taller over the years, rising like needles in the horizon, one after another. Too far to make out any real details or even their color. I never had any intentions of seeing them up close. For years I was so sure that this was the life I had always wanted. One of seclusion. I probably could have been a monk too but the religious aspect never really appealed to me. Two decades have passed since I have seen the face of another human being, other than my reflection in the glassy surface of the lakeside where I often fish. A ragged mess with a wildly frizzy beard and unkempt, tangled hair. The first thing you’d think of when imagining a homeless guy living under a bridge. I bathe regularly to keep clean of course, but why worry about brushing hair or grooming when none are there to see you? I can breathe here. No more masks, no more faking emotion or affections toward those who I technically should have loved but didnt. I was familiar with the definition of love, but never experienced it, never felt the attachment to a single person in the twenty years I spent in society. I tried to feel love, anger, joy, passion, anything that resembled what my peers did so naturally. I figured that if I faked it long enough, I would learn to feel them too. But I’ve met everything in my life with cold indifference. When I was eighteen I spent the summer going into Senior year with a girl and her group of friends, doing my best to blend in. Forcing rehearsed smiles, feigning interest in their topics of discussion. By now I had become quite convincing. People couldn’t see the emptiness in my eyes that I did when looking in the mirror. I remember staring at myself every morning wondering how long I could keep this whole thing going. The thought of suicide came up frequently. Over the years I had gathered several things into a duffel bag I hid under my bed. Rope, various knives, various pills that I’d steal small amounts of from unattended medicine cabinets at the houses of people who thought they were my friends. If killing myself was the right thing to do, I figured I would know when I came across the right method. My girlfriend was pretty, even though that didn’t seem to do anything for me. I was able to give simple displays of affection. What felt like hours of making out, my ears ringing out of boredom, my eyes slightly open, seeing hers closed tight, so trusting in my presence. When things would progress I insisted that we wait and take things slow. But all teenagers seemed to think about was sex. One night at her house, while an after party was still going on downstairs, we found ourselves locked in her room. She had talked about this night for almost three weeks prior, stating it was the perfect opportunity for our first time together, that her parents were gone for the weekend and we had nothing to worry about. She even got the condoms. I tried as hard as I could to act excited. I even brought a viagra in case I had trouble preforming. I had considered squirming my way out of this encounter. Saying I was wasn’t feeling well, or that I was secretly gay all along, something to get me out of that room. But this was supposed to be a part of life, I would have to get used to it. She pulled me on top of her, twirling our tongues with one another while we kissed, one of my hands gliding up her shirt. I felt her reach down to massage my groin through my jeans, and she noticed quickly that there was nothing going on down there. I could tell this concerned her because immediately she doubled her efforts. She wrapped her legs around my waist and put her hands in my hair, and mid kiss she pulled back slightly and bit down on my bottom lip. I think she bit harder than she intended to. I reacted by complete reflex, gripping her by the neck and forcing her back while I leaned up. And then I felt something. I don’t know if it was the fact that I cut off her airway, or that I could feel her pulse through my fingers, the hot pumping blood beneath the skin. But that did something to me. I wouldn’t say it was arousal, more... curiosity. How would it feel for ME if I squeezed harder? I was in the moment, so I did. I lost track of how long I’d actually been doing this. I was too busy staring at my own hands to even notice the look of panic and desperation in her eyes at first. I didn’t even feel her struggling beneath me. She managed to plant one of her feet against my chest and kicked me away so hard it knocked the air out of my lungs, followed by a volley of kicks that sent me falling from the foot of the bed. I gasped for breath, scooting back and sitting against the wall opposite her while she got out of the bed, screaming at me after she had caught her own breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” She cried, tears streaming down her face as she ran out the door. As I leaned my head against the wall I could hear her quick footfalls down the carpeted stairs, the muffled sound of her voice in a desperate tone as she told the others downstairs about what I did to her. I could hear grunts in response, followed by the sound of several people making their way upstairs. I knew what was coming. I lunged back towards her bed, reaching under the mattress on the side she slept on and felt the pocket knife she hid under in case of home invasions. I opened the knife, and pointed it to the the group as they came bursting back through the door, my now ex girlfriend among them. In that all moment I felt they could see right through me. After making it clear that I wanted to leave and didn’t intend on hurting anyone, they cleared a path for me. I ignored everything they were saying to me on my way out, the look of shock from my ex, none of it really mattered other than the fact that I was caught. I had no intentions of seeing them again, but in those days something was sure to come of that situation. Rumors, maybe even a police report. I relied on the fact that they were having a party with under age drinking and didn’t want any of the adults finding out. Still, it felt like the clock was ticking. I felt something new, though At the time I wasn’t sure what it was. Survival instinct. I wasn’t afraid of the idea of going to jail, it simply just didn’t seem to be an option for me. And after that experience with those people, I felt ready as ever to spend the rest of my life alone, away from everyone. I would only have to fake one more thing- my death. I set up a live stream that I’m sure nobody was watching, but knew it would be found at the very least by my parents once they noticed my absence. I set the phone down and displayed myself tying a rope to a cinderblock and then binding my ankles together. I set the cinderblock on the railing of the bridge, stood up on the ledge, held the cinderblock in hand and turned back to face the phone. “I’m sorry, Elaine.” I said before turning back and jumping. It was almost perfect. Everyone would think I killed myself out of guilt from what I did to my ex. The people who searched for my body would find the cinderblock with the rope still attached, and assume that my corpse was somewhere down the river. They would never have guessed that an eighteen year old kid would have united himself, swam to shore with a duffel bag full of supplies, and headed off deep into the woods. It had only taken me three weeks to gather the right supplies and know how to sustain myself. What I didn’t already know I had in several books I had stolen from the local library. The first year was by far the most difficult. Constantly battling starvation and exposure to the elements. But with time and practice, it became easy. This became my life, surviving off the land. Why didn’t more people do this instead of stressing over bills or bitching about the job they hated but spent five days per week at? Nobody ever seemed truly happy in that world, and we’re surrounded by material things to try to convince themselves otherwise. I never missed it, or my parents, though sometimes I was curious about how they reacted to my death. After twenty years, I’m sure they have found a way to move on. They were normal people. Caring, attentive to my needs, worrisome. I don’t remember what they look like. I had never really thought of that until recently. I hadn’t thought about any of this until now, as I walk towards those needles in the sky. I wonder if I will make it there in time. My right arm is nearly done for. It’s been only a day since I’ve lost the ability to move my hand or fingers, and now my elbow has gone completely limp. I do my best to take soft, smooth steps forward, carefully shifting my weight from my back foot to the front, eliminating any bounce in my walk to reduce the pain. Of all the things that could have happened, a single accidental cut down my forearm managed to become infected to a degree that my normal methods could not control. Once the surrounding skin began to change into a darker color, the decision came to me as quickly as my solution to leave my previous life behind. Quietly I packed my necessities and left my small cabin home I had built with my own hands. I wasn’t sure if I was going to return. But just in case, I left marks in trees along the way with one of my pocket knives. (More to come)
2019-11-12T10:55:26
2019-11-12T08:26:35
16
12
[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
My body shakes as I try to get up. ''What happened to my room?'' I say it out loud. There is no one around except me. The blinking light of the VCR draws my attention and I press play, it takes a few seconds to start. It’s me… ''You are confused, I know. But you need to listen because our time is limited. First, you need to take this pill.'' I see a blue-brown pill in the recording and I look around to find the pill. Shortly after, I find a pill but it’s not the same colour. This one is green-white. The recording continuous. ''It’s been more than 700 days and every time we tried to escape we failed miserably and it costed us. I know you need more information than this but trust me, trust yourself this is our only shot. We can’t delay any longer.'' The recording gets stuck for some reason. I take the pill and I ponder if I should swallow it or not. I say fuck it and I pop the pill. I press the play countless times but it doesn’t work and then I try to leave my room but the door doesn’t open. My windows completely dark I can’t see anything. A few minutes later recording unfreezes. ''There might be interference which can cause problems for this recording but also other details that are real. This part is really important. If you find anything out of the ordinary do not engage with it. For instance, do not swallow the pill if it’s off colour. It needs to be exactly the same as I showed you.'' ''Good one, me.'' I say it out loud. My voice echoes at least five times and I hear crackling noises coming from both under me and above me. ''I don’t know what happens if you swallow the wrong pill but I’ll guess it won’t be pretty. You might not be able to find your way out because…'' The recording is frozen again. I lose my temper and I try to open the door once again and this time I open it without any trouble. I hear the recording again and I turn around but the recording is still frozen. Then, I finally realise the sound is coming from outside of the room. I take a few steps forward, it’s the same room but this time writings on the wall are gone. I focus on the recording I see that it’s playing backward. The door closes shut behind me, it startles me. The recording stops playing backward as I walk back to the door and it plays the same part again and again. ''Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill.'' ''WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?'' I yell. The recording stops. Then it fasts forwards to a different scene. ''I warned you.'' ---------------------------------- *Thank you for reading the story. I have been practicing my English by writing fiction and I'm open to feedback.*
Kate woke to the shrieking of an alarm. It was an unfamiliar sound, a sort of rapid clanging, and as she blinked the sleep out of her blurry eyes she stared at the device in shock. “What the hell?” she grumbled. Her phone was supposed to be there she thought, had Connor moved it? In its place on the nightstand was an old wind up alarm clock, something neither of them had ever owned in their lives. She hit the button on the top, shutting off the infernal noise, and then rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes and beginning her slow countdown from ten as she willed herself out of bed. As she had every morning she opened her eyes at 1, but before she could swing herself out of bed her world stopped and the weirdness of the alarm clock was forgotten entirely. Written in giant blocky red letters on the ceiling were two words, “CONNOR GONE.” Kate slowly turned her head to the side and as her gaze tracked up the walls she realized that the writing was nearly everywhere. Starting from the the wall above the bed and three-quarters of the way around the room was a densely packed scrawl of red marker in two hands. For the first half or more her small, neat script was dotted amongst her fiance’s ragged scrawl. Most of it seemed to be a recording of their days in an endless stream of confusion and desperation but clustered around their bedroom’s window and the small hand-me-down telescope there, was a long series of lists. It was Conner’s observations, she’d known him long enough to recognize that. He’d always had an obsession with the stars, had loved watching them, recording them, memorizing their patterns and placements. He knew the night sky like the back of his hand, but yet over and over in the lists she saw question marks, the words “unknown phenomenon, new star, constellations wrong.” That chilled her nearly as much as the note over the bed. He wasn’t the type to get those things wrong. Finally, with a great effort, Kate forced herself to stand. She walked to the writing, tracing it with her fingertips, following the log of their days all the way across the room until her fiance’s writing disappeared and it was just her own without any mention of why. She moved in a torpor, fear threatening to break her apart at any moment. Perhaps that was why she didn’t see the room’s other new device until she nearly tripped over it. It was a tape recorder, another thing neither she nor Connor owned. Kate picked it up, turning the object over in her hands, as if that might hold any clues. The whole thing was devoid of marks however, no manufacturer or dates listed anywhere. The buttons themselves were blank as well but there was the marker again, her handwriting this time, noting the functions of each one. She hit play and nearly dropped the device when she heard her own voice. "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again." That was it. She played it again but that was the entire message, not a single mention of context anywhere. Kate tossed it onto the bed, the world around her spinning. 712 days. 712. How many of them had he been gone for? She went to the door in shock, and as she stepped out into the hall there were even more words. “The halls change but the notes stay,” they read, Connor’s handwriting this time. “If you encounter a blank hallway be careful, it hasn’t been cleared yet. Don’t trust anything.” On a stool just below the writing a single red marker sat. Kate took it, wondering if it had been the one Connor used, wondering where he could possibly be or what any of this could mean. Did she go through this every day? How could the stars change? Did that mean they weren’t on Earth anymore? They’d barely even lived in this house a week, they still had packed boxes in some of the rooms. They were supposed to be starting their lives together, this wasn’t how any of it was supposed to go! Regardless of her wishes however life still went on, even when it was insane. The proof of that was right in front of her as she stared down what should have been the hallway from their bedroom to the stairs. Instead it was stark white with strange, metallic walls and a clinical atmosphere. The air coming from it was different too, colder and with an odor she couldn't quite place. Its walls were covered in red marker though, and lacking any other plan she walked into the hall. The notes on the wall were all action, “Duck here!” written in her hand, “pitfall ahead, stay to the sides!” written in Connor’s. At the other end a door that had seemed only thirty or forty feet away now seemed impossibly far, and she only reached it after fifteen minutes of intense activity. Opening the door she was immediately hit by a burst of hot, forge-like air, and written on a block that hung from the ceiling were the words “Grab me!” She jumped to it and a moment later the floor fell away revealing a long, empty blackness beneath. The block began moving forward, and after most of a minute spent desperately hanging on she was deposited on solid ground again. She was trapped in an obstacle course that had no rhyme or reason, alone in a world that could never have been her own. Kate kept on like that, her growing hunger and thirst gnawing at her until she came to a wall panel with “Press me!” written on it. When she did a small tray came out filled with gelatinous green and blue cubes. The handwriting was mixed there, Connor’s saying “Eat this,” and her own adding a large sad face. She quickly realized why when she bit into one. They tasted absolutely awful but with each bite she felt her strength coming back. As she ate she examined the notes all around, they were more densely packed here than in any of the other halls. They had apparently designated this area Rest Area 21, whatever that meant, and there were strange tidbits of information all around. [\----Part 2 below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lpqjrk/wp_you_wake_up_to_see_someone_has_scribbled_all/god5zw7?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
2021-02-22T10:37:42
2021-02-22T10:08:33
109
38
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request.
"C'mon kid. Something more?" The boy shook his head solemnly. I looked around us, the filth, the squalor, the emaciated people lying on bunks around us. So hungry they didn't have the strength to stand. Four thousand years of negotiating with the greedy, the saintly and the stupid doesn't prepare you for this. He simply had no idea of the power that grubby little lamp in his hand contained. But wishes must be granted. He repeated his wish patiently, slowly, like I hadn't heard the first time; " Sir, I want my mummy'. I thought for a long time, more used to finding cunning tricks stop the wealthy destroying themselves and those around them than finding altruistic things to do with my time. She wasn't dead yet but she was far away and didn't have long. She'd be shot on sight if I conjured her here. A woman in a men's camp. That would teach the brat to ask for something from a genie. But as I raised my arm something stopped me. Conscience? Maybe I could grant him a merciful death? She only had hours left herself. They'd be together for eternity. No. We'd have to take the scenic route to grant this wish. Obviously, I'd have to alter the whole course of the war, engineer the downfall of an Empire, create a whole new country and throw in a suspicious suicide or two to get there. No biggie. I knelt beside him and smiled reassuringly. "It will take time to grant this wish. You will have a long and hard journey in front of you. Understand?" He nodded eagerly and for the first time in years the emptiness in his eyes gave way to a flash of hope.
"I wish for the Nile!" The familiar line in a timeless classic seemed like a well timed sprinkling of humor, if nothing else. The kids in the nursery were engrossed in the movie. Their eyes glittered, a bit like the materials they were playing with just a while ago. I smiled slightly before looking back at the television. "Mister George, why did the Genie laugh like that when Aladdin wished for the Nile?" A small boy named Johan tugged gently on my shirt, with a curious expression on his face that wavered uncertainly between being upset and wanting to laugh. Even the way he said those words contained such conflicting emotions, even if he added a cute touch to them by stuttering and pausing repeatedly. I pursed my lip and cleared my throat as I bought time for an answer that wouldn't crush his hopes. "Ahem. Well, Johan, Aladdin was being sweet and genuine when he made such a wish instead of something more selfish. Like, say, an entire kingdom's wealth." I smiled reassuringly at Johan as he pondered on my reply. He frowned slightly and wrinkled his forehead. Contemplating my words in all likelihood. Afterwards, he flashed a toothy grin at me, revealing the tiny white molars and incisors hidden within. "Oh, so I'm sweet and genuine!" "Of course you are, Johan." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- George could not have possibly known of the events in Johan's house just a few hours back. Neither could he have known about the timeliness of showing Aladdin. There was no way for anyone but Johan to know. And so, he continued on with life, thinking of Johan's words as something childish but heartwarming. On that warm, yet not quite hot, Thursday morning, Johan had found a golden lamp stowed away in a dusty corner of his home's attic. Stuffy, uncomfortable and inconvenient to access, it was exactly the sort of place a child would visit for his fantasies. Not knowing anything of genies and wishes, he had simply used it as an airplane, as a make-believe cup and even as a pot of all things. It was during one of these times that he accidentally rubbed the lamp. "O ye who hath rubbed the lamp, thou shalt be granted one wish!" The genie who had popped out was a majestic figure. Skin of blue with vague brown tattoos tracing all over his body, he was someone that could inspire and intimidate others. However, because the person who had rubbed the lamp was a child, he had not appeared in his usual form. He could only materialise himself as a miniature figure in order to suit the boy. Still, his booming voice was something that others should have been afraid of. "I can't understand you!" With a tone of not quite annoyance, Johan shouted back at the genie. Johan was relaxed and natural even with something like a genie thanks to the blessing of childhood. It erased any self doubt and fear that may have existed in a person just slightly older. "Er, you get to make a wish, any wish." The genie replied delicately, taken aback by Johan's confidence. It was worthy of respect, and so he translated for Johan as the boy had demanded. "Okay, I wish that me and my friends and my mom and my dad and Mister George can have a raspberry cake to eat!" Johan smiled widely at the genie, satisfied with what he had wished. Meanwhile, the Genie was just looking at Johan with his mouth wide open. Was this some sort of mind game, he thought, or was the boy for real? How would he even twist something like that? "You sure you want something like that? I can give you a permanent supply of done homework, good friends, even toys! You sure you just want a raspberry cake for all those people?" "Yes!" Johan spoke with a tone of ending and the Genie couldn't bear to argue further with him. Not after seeing those adorable buggy little eyes. The Genie just granted his wish. A sinister afterthought surged through his mind like a bullet train as he did so, but the train crashed and burned quickly. There was no worth in distorting a genuinely unselfish wish like this, he thought. And so, unlike the countless dictators and businessmen he had served before, the Genie finally granted a wish without any twists. No diabolical nitpicking of the details, no evil over exaggeration of the wish. Just a simple wish granting. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For Johan's parents, the arrival of cake was a shock. The scramble to trace its origins and repay their debtor ultimately ended in failure. In the end, they prodded the cake gingerly, afraid of a bomb, before they devoured the delicious cake in one fell swoop with their colleagues. The cake arrived after the movie, in perfect and timely fashion. The children were pleasantly surprised, and ate the food relatively cleanly. Still, if one had walked into that nursery, they might have seen the heartwarming sight of children eating and smearing cake on one another. Hearty laughter, eyes that folded into slits smaller than the opening of an ant hole and cheers all around. That was what filled that nursery on that day, and many other days too.
2016-04-30T06:41:57
2016-04-30T04:55:22
70
14
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request.
As a part of another grand adventure, Sara makes her way to the attic. The light switch inside doesn't work and it's pitch black. "Explorers always come prepared!" She switches on her battery lantern and gets to work. Sara told her younger brother that their parents keep treasure in the attic, so now she must find something that looks at least slightly interesting to bring him. The story of her parents' treasure was born because they always told them to stay out of the attic. “What could they possibly be hiding?” Sara wonders as she brushes cobwebs aside and opens a box. "What's this?" Sara asks herself when she sees an old kerosene lamp. "Wow, this is what my parents must have used for light before electricity was invented." She places her lantern on the floor and picks up the lamp. "What is your wish?" A commanding voice asks. Sara moves the lamp closer to her face. "Where are you, tiny man? Come out of the lamp so I can see you." "Do you have a wish? Speak it and it will be granted." Sara thinks for a moment and ponders her life. "I want daddy to be home more often. He doesn't play with us as much as he used to, and he gets home from work really late. Mom said he got a 'promotion' but I don't understand why he would want it. He comes home sad and tired ever since it happened." The voice hears the child's plea. It could grant the wish by causing the father to become unemployed. Perverting the spirit of the wish is pretty standard for these type of entities. Altering events in such a manner is trivial, but the girl's earnest and pure wish will not be corrupted. "It is done." The father invested in his nephew's startup a couple months ago. Giving the kid just a little push is sure to make everything work out.
"I wish for the Nile!" The familiar line in a timeless classic seemed like a well timed sprinkling of humor, if nothing else. The kids in the nursery were engrossed in the movie. Their eyes glittered, a bit like the materials they were playing with just a while ago. I smiled slightly before looking back at the television. "Mister George, why did the Genie laugh like that when Aladdin wished for the Nile?" A small boy named Johan tugged gently on my shirt, with a curious expression on his face that wavered uncertainly between being upset and wanting to laugh. Even the way he said those words contained such conflicting emotions, even if he added a cute touch to them by stuttering and pausing repeatedly. I pursed my lip and cleared my throat as I bought time for an answer that wouldn't crush his hopes. "Ahem. Well, Johan, Aladdin was being sweet and genuine when he made such a wish instead of something more selfish. Like, say, an entire kingdom's wealth." I smiled reassuringly at Johan as he pondered on my reply. He frowned slightly and wrinkled his forehead. Contemplating my words in all likelihood. Afterwards, he flashed a toothy grin at me, revealing the tiny white molars and incisors hidden within. "Oh, so I'm sweet and genuine!" "Of course you are, Johan." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- George could not have possibly known of the events in Johan's house just a few hours back. Neither could he have known about the timeliness of showing Aladdin. There was no way for anyone but Johan to know. And so, he continued on with life, thinking of Johan's words as something childish but heartwarming. On that warm, yet not quite hot, Thursday morning, Johan had found a golden lamp stowed away in a dusty corner of his home's attic. Stuffy, uncomfortable and inconvenient to access, it was exactly the sort of place a child would visit for his fantasies. Not knowing anything of genies and wishes, he had simply used it as an airplane, as a make-believe cup and even as a pot of all things. It was during one of these times that he accidentally rubbed the lamp. "O ye who hath rubbed the lamp, thou shalt be granted one wish!" The genie who had popped out was a majestic figure. Skin of blue with vague brown tattoos tracing all over his body, he was someone that could inspire and intimidate others. However, because the person who had rubbed the lamp was a child, he had not appeared in his usual form. He could only materialise himself as a miniature figure in order to suit the boy. Still, his booming voice was something that others should have been afraid of. "I can't understand you!" With a tone of not quite annoyance, Johan shouted back at the genie. Johan was relaxed and natural even with something like a genie thanks to the blessing of childhood. It erased any self doubt and fear that may have existed in a person just slightly older. "Er, you get to make a wish, any wish." The genie replied delicately, taken aback by Johan's confidence. It was worthy of respect, and so he translated for Johan as the boy had demanded. "Okay, I wish that me and my friends and my mom and my dad and Mister George can have a raspberry cake to eat!" Johan smiled widely at the genie, satisfied with what he had wished. Meanwhile, the Genie was just looking at Johan with his mouth wide open. Was this some sort of mind game, he thought, or was the boy for real? How would he even twist something like that? "You sure you want something like that? I can give you a permanent supply of done homework, good friends, even toys! You sure you just want a raspberry cake for all those people?" "Yes!" Johan spoke with a tone of ending and the Genie couldn't bear to argue further with him. Not after seeing those adorable buggy little eyes. The Genie just granted his wish. A sinister afterthought surged through his mind like a bullet train as he did so, but the train crashed and burned quickly. There was no worth in distorting a genuinely unselfish wish like this, he thought. And so, unlike the countless dictators and businessmen he had served before, the Genie finally granted a wish without any twists. No diabolical nitpicking of the details, no evil over exaggeration of the wish. Just a simple wish granting. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For Johan's parents, the arrival of cake was a shock. The scramble to trace its origins and repay their debtor ultimately ended in failure. In the end, they prodded the cake gingerly, afraid of a bomb, before they devoured the delicious cake in one fell swoop with their colleagues. The cake arrived after the movie, in perfect and timely fashion. The children were pleasantly surprised, and ate the food relatively cleanly. Still, if one had walked into that nursery, they might have seen the heartwarming sight of children eating and smearing cake on one another. Hearty laughter, eyes that folded into slits smaller than the opening of an ant hole and cheers all around. That was what filled that nursery on that day, and many other days too.
2016-04-30T05:04:21
2016-04-30T04:55:22
25
14
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000.
"I work at Goldman Sachs." The chick I've been talking up at the bar raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Yes, *that* Goldman Sachs. My job, my only job, is this: whenever the Notice goes out, I hire a hitman to take out the target, and see the mission through to completion." "Whaaaat?" She leans in. "That's so wrong..." she puts a hand on my thigh. "...but dangerous." Wow, slam dunk. "But why?" "Well, it's pretty straightforward: we hold trillions of dollars of monetary assets, and we don't need a $10,000 payday for everyone screwing up the value of the dollar. Do you know how much money $10,000 for everyone is? Even for just the U.S., population, it's about 3.2 trillion dollars. That much money pumped into the system would drop our value quite a bit, but it's the *whole friggin world.* So closer to 70 trillion dollars. Yeah, no thanks. Much better to keep our relative trickle from QE siphons." I can tell I'm starting to lose her, so I bring it back around. "There's a reason no one has ever survived the full ten years..." She's not paying attention. She's looking at the TV. I turn, and I see my face attached to the Notice. I turn back, and the last thing I see is her bringing a gun up to my face.
When my mail was delivered to my desk that day I was suprised.I told the post office no mail. I thought it must be a joke. My assistant told me “No sir it was in your mailbox.” When I opened the letter and read “You shall be killed. Your killer will receive $10,000,000 If you survive every person on earth will be given $10,000.” Signed by no one other than the President of the United States. I thought to myself “Why the fuck did they do this to ME. Of all fucking people. They must be jealous of what I have accomplished. They know the power I can wield but choose not to. The world has already lost one visionary years ago. I will not let it lose another. I will die on my own terms.” The next day it was announced. Suddenly my estate in Washington was bombarded with attacks. The locals were always wary of my presence always thinking I was up to some global elite mischief. My security detail knew the rules. Any offer they received to attack me I would double. I had their loyalty after they each approached me. One of them approached me after receiving his check. “Sorry Sir, I could really do a lot with 30 million” The fool didn’t know my office had cameras. I was able to stall him long enough for a sniper to get into position. His life was snuffed with complete indiscretion. Every person who was around my estate Saw it, Heard it, and Feared it. The attempts on my life continued. Fools tried ramming my gate. Flying bush planes onto my property. I recall even one man from a nearby national guard post stole an assault vehicle and killed 7 of my men. They were replaced but my heart still ached for their families. I remember thinking “I can do more good if I stay alive for just the next few years than I could ever do with all of my riches. So survive I will at any cost.” Eight long and gruesome years passed by. The attacks became far less frequent but more organized as the years went on. Even radical terror cells tried to kill me. They had breached my estate after the second year. My house is built Very well. It took them 3 more months to actually get into the doors of my home. I retreated into my bunker moments after they broke in. They have been trying to get in since then. Luckily my security team still knows the stakes. I paid each of them a premium for every person they kill that steps foot on my property. Some people have lasted long enough to reach the bunker doors but most are killed before they reach the what once was a front door. Now it’s just me, my wife, an assistant, my personal bodyguard, and two of my 3 children. My youngest had been captured in the first few days. She was held captive for 3 months before a rescue operation was launched. I lost a daughter that day. The men had taken her and then they took her. They sent me everything. My wife took this harder than I did. She was thrown into a depression but I couldn’t let her leave she meant too much to me. She wanted out. She wanted to walk to her death, I stopped her because seeing my daughter die was impossible but seeing the light of my life die would kill me. I made her stay. She was not happy for the ensuing years. I knew she was dead on the inside. She feigned happiness when our remaining childrens birthdays happened. She slept in a separate room on our anniversaries. So many years passed. I was going to the living room quarters when she appeared. My wife with a knife from the kitchen. Surely I thought she wasn’t going to kill me. She had everything in the world before all this happened and she knew she would have everything when it was over as well. She plunged the knife into herself whispering over and over again“I hate you.” We had no doctor and only a significant supply of our daily medications left. I watched my wife die in a matter of minutes. The life got sucked out of me. I knew I was going to kill myself the moment year 10 came around. I put up with the last two years. I didn’t speak to my remaining children. They survived I survived. My assistant got in the way. I grew impatient. I threw him out. They killed him. My bodyguard grew angry towards me. I killed him. The clock hit 12:01 a.m I pulled the trigger. So this is it. This is death. This is what they all wanted. I hope they like that $10,000 dollars. THIS is not what I expected. My wife standing over me smiling. My daughter grinning at me just like she used to. I felt at peace. Signing off William Henry Gates The Third.
2017-05-17T21:19:58
2017-05-17T19:55:39
209
20
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000.
'Oh, shit!', I yell. 'Why does it have to be me?' I walk over to the couch and sit down. I boot up Witcher 3 and continue playing. After 5 hours, my neighbour jumps through the window with a machete. 'Hi, Frank', I greet him. 'How are the kids? 'They're fine, John. I'm so sorry about this, but I really want a new house, not to mention a 2 million dollar car', Frank tries to explain himself. 'That's great, Frank. I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun in jail. I mean that's where you'll find up. Let's see, that's breaking and entering and murder. I'm sure little Jess and Frank Jr. will be glad to see you in 50 years', I say. 'Oh, shit. I didn't think of that.' 'Yeah, that's the way these things go. The law still applies.' Frank then put down his weapon and sits down next to me. 'What're you playing?', he asks. 'Witcher 3. I'm currently in the middle of the Blood and Wine expansion, set in the duchy of Toussaint.', I answer. 'Cool.' In the evening, Frank invites me to dinner and he calls a guy to fix my window. What a nice guy.
When my mail was delivered to my desk that day I was suprised.I told the post office no mail. I thought it must be a joke. My assistant told me “No sir it was in your mailbox.” When I opened the letter and read “You shall be killed. Your killer will receive $10,000,000 If you survive every person on earth will be given $10,000.” Signed by no one other than the President of the United States. I thought to myself “Why the fuck did they do this to ME. Of all fucking people. They must be jealous of what I have accomplished. They know the power I can wield but choose not to. The world has already lost one visionary years ago. I will not let it lose another. I will die on my own terms.” The next day it was announced. Suddenly my estate in Washington was bombarded with attacks. The locals were always wary of my presence always thinking I was up to some global elite mischief. My security detail knew the rules. Any offer they received to attack me I would double. I had their loyalty after they each approached me. One of them approached me after receiving his check. “Sorry Sir, I could really do a lot with 30 million” The fool didn’t know my office had cameras. I was able to stall him long enough for a sniper to get into position. His life was snuffed with complete indiscretion. Every person who was around my estate Saw it, Heard it, and Feared it. The attempts on my life continued. Fools tried ramming my gate. Flying bush planes onto my property. I recall even one man from a nearby national guard post stole an assault vehicle and killed 7 of my men. They were replaced but my heart still ached for their families. I remember thinking “I can do more good if I stay alive for just the next few years than I could ever do with all of my riches. So survive I will at any cost.” Eight long and gruesome years passed by. The attacks became far less frequent but more organized as the years went on. Even radical terror cells tried to kill me. They had breached my estate after the second year. My house is built Very well. It took them 3 more months to actually get into the doors of my home. I retreated into my bunker moments after they broke in. They have been trying to get in since then. Luckily my security team still knows the stakes. I paid each of them a premium for every person they kill that steps foot on my property. Some people have lasted long enough to reach the bunker doors but most are killed before they reach the what once was a front door. Now it’s just me, my wife, an assistant, my personal bodyguard, and two of my 3 children. My youngest had been captured in the first few days. She was held captive for 3 months before a rescue operation was launched. I lost a daughter that day. The men had taken her and then they took her. They sent me everything. My wife took this harder than I did. She was thrown into a depression but I couldn’t let her leave she meant too much to me. She wanted out. She wanted to walk to her death, I stopped her because seeing my daughter die was impossible but seeing the light of my life die would kill me. I made her stay. She was not happy for the ensuing years. I knew she was dead on the inside. She feigned happiness when our remaining childrens birthdays happened. She slept in a separate room on our anniversaries. So many years passed. I was going to the living room quarters when she appeared. My wife with a knife from the kitchen. Surely I thought she wasn’t going to kill me. She had everything in the world before all this happened and she knew she would have everything when it was over as well. She plunged the knife into herself whispering over and over again“I hate you.” We had no doctor and only a significant supply of our daily medications left. I watched my wife die in a matter of minutes. The life got sucked out of me. I knew I was going to kill myself the moment year 10 came around. I put up with the last two years. I didn’t speak to my remaining children. They survived I survived. My assistant got in the way. I grew impatient. I threw him out. They killed him. My bodyguard grew angry towards me. I killed him. The clock hit 12:01 a.m I pulled the trigger. So this is it. This is death. This is what they all wanted. I hope they like that $10,000 dollars. THIS is not what I expected. My wife standing over me smiling. My daughter grinning at me just like she used to. I felt at peace. Signing off William Henry Gates The Third.
2017-05-17T22:40:40
2017-05-17T19:55:39
38
20
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did.
I'd never thought Satan would look like an accountant. Some grandiose angel of darkness, perhaps, or even that cliched red devil figure. But not a short, slim, bookish guy in a somewhat shabby suit. "Welcome to Hell. It seems your escort's led you here in record time. Please, have a seat. Would you like a drink? All vice springs from here, so anything you want is on the table." The man gestured, not to the couch, but to the finely carved chair behind the very expensive looking desk. "Uh, thanks, Mr. Satan. Neat bourbon would do nicely." I sat down and absently sipped from the glass that was right where I would have set it. I then looked at it again approvingly. Hell has some really good liquor. "So, can you tell me why I'm here? I didn't even get a tour." I learned a long time ago never to show uncertainty or weakness, and even now I don't think it was slipping much. Now Satan looked surprised. "Well, my job has some very tight qualifications, and it turns out you're even more qualified than I am. I'll be head of Hell for another week while you learn the job, but my duties are mostly shifting over to getting things in order for the transfer of power during that time." I was somewhat nonplussed. "More qualified than you? How? You're the most renowned traitor against God of all, formerly his most favored angel, and you've been talked up as the Prince of Darkness for generations." Satan smiled. There was a vaguely reptilian quality to it. "I appreciate the flattery, but there's more to it than that. You're simply more evil than I am." "Evil? How? Sure, the bleeding hearts had a lot to say about me, but that doesn't change the fact that my people have a better quality of life than ever, have been freed from foreign oppression, and are now protected by one of the finest militaries in the world. Even in my personal life, I was never unfaithful to my wife, I never beat my children, and I was generous with my friends." Satan chuckled. "At what cost, though? Did you ever, even for a moment, hesitate before ordering the purges? Or feel even a hint of regret? No. You murdered your political opponents, your educated youth, and a few religious minority groups because it seemed *expedient.* You invaded your neighbors to rally your people and occupied them brutally to keep them from rebelling. You never even considered the possibility that you may have been morally in the wrong. Even Hitler woke up in a cold sweat occasionally. You can't even claim to have created something lasting with your atrocities. Your pampered brats are already squabbling with each other and your generals over your country, all while the UN has finally stopped dragging its feet and is beginning to put together a peacekeeping force." I gritted my teeth. When my children died, I'd have stern words with them. "All I did, I did for my nation." "Bullshit. You did it because you wanted to be a king. It was just convenient in getting there. And before you give me another justification or excuse, remember that I know literally everything about you. You're coming up with them on the spot. It never even occurred to you that you were doing anything wrong, or that it would be bad if you were!" His voice, having risen to a shriek of anger, softened immediately. "You're a sociopath, in the worst way and the truest sense of the word. And I respect that. Even I never got that bad." I continued looking at him calmly. "I see your point. So, I'm the ruler of Hell now?" He nodded. "We're supposed to be the ultimate opponents of Heaven, right?" He nodded again. "Then let's start taking this seriously. You're right about how I wanted to be a king. Now I think it would be better to be a God."
I sat upon the throne of the king of hell. Confused, bewildered, amused, all emotions I experienced. I had no idea what I did to deserve this. What could I have done to become this, the lord of the damned. I pondered my wrong doings tallying sin after sin. It hit me... my mind went back to freshman year. In that moment of awful clarity I remembered defending the Star Wars prequels as good, no, great movies. As this memory came back I looked to my right to see none other than George Lucas aside me. My right hand man, my first lieutenant, my lover.
2016-12-19T16:30:22
2016-12-19T13:11:05
76
57
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend. edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
Eduardo and Sarah had come to visit me at the old office. I hadn’t got a chance to see them since he got his big promotion and moved out to the East Coast office. “Stroke” and “Stomach Cancer” still spelled out in wisps over their heads. This time they brought the new addition to the family, Devon, who himself had an even fainter wisp reading “Traffic Accident” hovering in a similar position to the others. When the words started appearing that day when I was twelve I was disturbed. I was about to lose my grandfather and I thought it was just my imagination going wild from the stress of confronting death. But even after the funeral, the words continued to hang in the air above their heads. When I went to the grocery store with my Mom, when I returned to camp, and at the end of the summer when I got back to school these reminders of death followed me. At first I was depressed. My poor mother didn’t know what to do. My brother made fun of me for going “emo”. But everyone wrote it off as a period of adolescent immaturity, and I can’t say they were wrong. Life is short. I had a reminder of that fact that followed me every day, not completely unlike a funeral home director or a grave digger. I grew to understand that most of these people will live good lives, living in good health until dying of some mundane disease in old age. But whenever I’d see something like “traffic accident” on a kid my age, I’d still feel that pang of the tragedy of life’s fragility. Or at least I used to when I was younger. Now I’m approaching middle age and that pang of tragedy is reserved for people significantly younger than myself. But while I still felt that pang when I saw Devon’s “Traffic Accident,” it glowed even more faintly than the words above his parents, an indication he would live longer than his parents at the least. I never spend time around kids now that I’m not one anymore. Edurado was my first friend to really settle down and start having his own kids. But one day I was eating lunch in McDonalds. Like most people, the average American (ok, slightly above average weight American) office drones around me had typical “X-Cancer,” “Industrial Accident,” and a few more than usual “Heart Attack”s floating around. Unnoticed by me, a yellow bus full of kids on a field trip had pulled up in the lot, disgorging its shrieking over excited contents. A stream of children start to pour into the McDonalds, furiously clamoring over each other to get a better spot in line. I wince in annoyance at the presence of the loud children crowding into the McDonald’s serving lines. These were young kids, still wearing their tiny shoes with cartoon characters on them un-ironically. I think I saw an Adventure Time back pack. Needless to say, their boisterous shrieking was rapidly turning my lunch break into torture. I got up to leave, dumping my tray of used fast food paper into the trash bin. I quietly chuckle as I mutter “Beetus” when I notice the word “Diabetes” hanging over a morbidly obese school marm waving flaps of fat as her limbs motioned to herd the students. As I run my eyes over the students, I notice one especially buttery ball of a first grader, and expecting my heart to break I look up to the word above his head. The students were all crowded together and it took me a while to read his, “Suicide.” Hmmm. Life’s hard I thought. Then it occurred to me. The word “Cancer” was so prevalent in crowds that it made a visual pattern I would notice. I looked more closely at the students. The ones walking away with trays from the counter were easier to read since they were away from the crowd. “Traffic Accident,” “Gun Accident,” “Traffic Accident,” “Industrial Accident,” and then one I’d never seen before “Hacked and Deleted”. All of them so faint that they were practically clear. None of these kids had the typical deaths from disease I’d seen all my life. I’d run into a few kids here and there, family events, at the mall with their parents. I’d never noticed the pattern before. I hadn’t been around such a large group of children in years. I wanted to know more. I figured there must be some sort of clue, a cutoff year where people start to stop dying of these diseases. I had to go find a school and do some research.
I can't handle it anymore knowing the cause of people's death and not being able to do anything about it. I still remember my first experience. I was 5, and it was on my mother's head. It said, "suicide." I'll never forget that day. I walked in to her bedroom to see her hanging from the ceiling fan. There was no note, nothing. It was the saddest day of my life and my father didn't even care. I now know he was the real cause of her death and since that day he has had "homicide" on his head. I don't know why I did it, but I thought it was a sign, the "homicide" above his head, I thought I was the one who had to get revenge on my father for doing what he did, for causing all the pain on both of us, so I did it. I killed my father and now, standing in front of a mirror with suicide over my head I now must take my own life, I must kill myself. **First time posting a real story, CC welcome**
2015-03-31T12:59:24
2015-03-31T11:20:11
19
10
[WP] A person who is immortal, because they are so stupidly entertaining Death keeps extending their life just to see what shenanigans they will get into next. EDIT: There is a good variety of responses here, from those who took the premise a bit too seriously to those who ran with it and made it hilarious. I had a lot of fun reading all of them. Thanks for replying!
The camel bucked wildly beneath me as I galloped it around the Forbidden City. Tourists cheered confusedly, looking around at each other to make sure that cheering was the proper course of action when a 6'5" laowai rode an Arabian dromedary through the Palace museum. Guards, hot on my heels, were emphatic that cheering was, in fact, not the appropriate response to this state of affairs. Death, standing in the crowd in a hawaiian shirt and fisherman's cap snapped a Polaroid and guffawed at my latest antic. He shot me a toothy grin and two thumbs up as I glared at him. The palace security guards had called in reinforcements from the vans of paramilitary always posted outside the Forbidden City, near Tian'anmen Square. Under their polite persuasion, the throngs of tourists had quickly shifted their opinion of me to one rather less welcoming than a moment before. Finding myself blocked off from the exits, I reeled my trusty steed about, up one of the stone stepways, engraved with imperial dragons, near an outer wall. I gave death a little salute, hopped off my camel, and dove off the outer wall toward the moat which surrounded the palace grounds. I fell about eight meters in a practiced swan dive, directly onto my spine and expired. ----- I awoke in a concrete room, metal refrigeration doors lines one wall and incandescent lights swayed overhead. The heat in Beijing in summer was suffocating, 40 degrees celsius and wet, made all the more pleasant by the constant traffic-jam that ringed the city in the five ring-roads, pumping out exhaust and engine heat 16 hours a day. "Welcome back!" A flash blinded me momentarily as death snapped another polaroid. He snapped his fingers and a photo-album manifest itself in his outstretched hand. He flipped through the book, filled with photos of me, looking for a place to insert the polaroid of me riding the camel, labeled in sharpie "Torrence of Beijing-ia!" The timeline flipped past: showing up for a white house tour in full tactical gear with a soviet badge sewn onto my vest, bringing my snowboard to the top of Everest, marching through Riyadh in a gimp suit with a rainbow flag, hiking the Appalachian trail completely nude, on and on it went for 23 pages. Death carefully inserted the latest on page 24, and sent the book back to the void. I groaned as I rolled off the coroner's examination table and started pulling on my clothes, sliding into my jeans and a plain black shirt before rummaging around for my other things. "Where is it, where is it," I muttered. I grew more and more frantic when I couldn't find it. "Here," Death said softly, holding out a small black book and a fountain pen. I snatched them from him and held them tight against my chest. ----- In total I died 27 times. Each time reaching to more and more outrageous heights. Each time I made death laugh, he would bring me back. And after each time, I would write a chapter in that little black book. I went to the cliffs of Moher in Ireland, the most beautiful place in the world, I sat near the lighthouse at the top, and waited in the soft drizzle that portended a coming storm. Death came out of the crowd, wearing a ridiculously oversized foam leprechaun hat, a green overcoat, green pantaloons, and buckled leather shoes shined to a mirror finish. He shot me a huge grin and swaggered over to me, drawing looks which spanned the full range from amused to offended. "What's it today, Torrence mi'lad?" He asked looking around with a huge grin on his face. "A dive off the lighthouse? Hang-gliding into this storm? Trying to race the bull in that field over there that says 'do not challenge the bull'?" "Nothing today, old friend," I said, words whipping off with the wind. "Ah," Death sat down next to me and looked out over the cliffs, "so you've finished then." "Yeah," I said after a long pause, watching the waves crash below, "one chapter for every year of her life, now..." "Now she won't be forgotten." Death finished, when I couldn't. He draped an arm around my shoulder. I was silent, but the wind said what I felt for me. We sat there for a long time, the crowds grew smaller and smaller as the light faded and the sun dipped low. "You know," Death said to me, "Moira, she doesn't blame you for what happened." "I know," I whispered. "Thank you for giving me the time, to finish what I needed to do." The moon rose behind roiling clouds as we sat watching the ocean pound into the cliffs below. "Right, well, good," Death said brusquely after a time, rising to his feet. He held out a skeletal hand to shake, a genuine smile on his timeless face, "Moira and I look forward to seeing what happens next, now that you've decided to stop dying, and start [living](https://old.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/)."
The bag of popcorn had just been poured into the bowl when I tuned to my favorite channel of the day. Movie Theater Butter, sprinkle in a little bit of salt. Delicious. Maybe not as fancy as your caramel-glazed popcorn dunked in batter, but it's an easy-to-make dinner if you know what you're doing. I reclined in my chair and started to settle into the show. The intro was playing, of a man doing ridiculously silly things, like having an anvil dropped onto his head, or conked with a hammer. Classic 80's cartoons. I chuckled a little bit as I munched. I'd seen this show maybe a thousand times and the intro still gets to me. The intro fades out, and I turn my attention to the main character. My cat, Salem, jumped onto my lap just as he was about to start the stunt. Taking a running start of about fifty feet, he did a triple cartwheel across the tops of cars while people chucked hot charcoal at him. I'm certain everyone was drunk as hell, but who cares. It's funny. But someone forgot to park their car, and he missed the save. Landed right on his head, five feet down onto the concrete, people still chucking coals at him 'til they realized what happened. When they lifted him out of that pile of hot coal, he was covered in burns and had a gash in his head. I tell you what, that was funny as shit. I roared in laughter, spilling my popcorn everywhere, and scaring Salem into some random corner. Every single day I'm here to watch that show, and it kills me every time. So why don't I make you a deal? You keep performing for me every day, and I'll keep saving your life. Give you a full recovery. Right until you're too old to do it. And I'll bestow a few gifts to my favorite actor once the final episode releases. Think it over. Take your time.
2020-05-05T23:49:04
2020-05-05T22:20:06
112
34
[WP] "That's odd," it says while drumming its fingers. "You should be screaming. All of our data says that you should be screaming right now." It pauses, and its soulless eyes stare into you. "Why aren't you screaming?"
"I told you, I don't like roller coasters." I said wearily, arms crossed, my torso squirming slightly in nausea. "Also, humans hate being told what to do. You'd think after watching us for so many centuries you'd have figured that out by now." "On the contrary," the creature said as it released my restraints and helped me out of the amusement park ride. "I've found that humans can be very obedient with the proper incentive. Though I haven't quite figured out what that incentive is, if I can't get a human to scream on a device which, for all intents and purposes, is designed to illicit that very response." I sighed and wobbled my way over to the nearest bench. Thankfully I had so little to do this weekend that being a part of the extraterrestrial's experiments was actually rather amusing. And yes, I deliberately avoided screaming just to get on its nerves... if it has nerves. "I couldn't get you to cry from watching Titanic. I couldn't get you to have sex with the Emma Roberts doll, and I couldn't get you to scream on the amusement park ride. Conquering you lot is gonna be harder than I thought." It made a sound similar to a sigh and sat down in the amusement park ride. "Where are all the people anyways?" I looked around, wondering where the men in black were going to pop out of. "Oh, I called in a terrorist threat right before I brought you here. Also an invisibility cloak is keeping us hidden." He leaned back, pensive. "Huh, you were smart enough to pull that off, but you can't get me to scream on a roller coaster ride." The creature shrugged and started staring into space. "It's strange. Getting a large group of people to do something is easy. Getting an individual to do something is surprisingly hard." I quirked my head at the being and looked up and nothing in particular. The more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. It turned to me again. "Your society has convinced you to wear clothes, to wash your hands, to be educated at a centralized location, to wash your sheets, to buy and save, to both hate and love minorities, even to both enjoy and despise food. Society moves like waves of water, back and forth, and you just swing along with it. But as soon as you isolate a human, they suddenly turn into a stone in the water. You're a very interesting species." "I'll take that as a compliment. It's nice to be special." "And that's the strangest thing of all. Your society teaches you that you are special, and yet it runs most efficiently when you behave as though you clearly aren't." "Look man, er, woman, thing, you should have kidnapped a psychologist or something. I'm not gonna be the one to help you conquer humanity. Not that it doesn't sound fun; I just don't think I'm competent enough to be able to help you." The creature's bulbous black eyes turned to me. Its thin, lipless mouth seemed to smirk slightly. "Amazing. If I had asked you to help me conquer your species, you likely would have tried to kill me. I sit here pensive, and your first instinct is to lament that you are not capable of helping me." I smiled, walked over, having fully recovered from my nausea, and sat down next to the being. "It's too bad. Sometimes I think we could really use a conqueror. Humans are such a mess on their own." The creature chuckled. "Eh, honestly you're probably not worth the effort." ... I then found myself in the middle of my bedroom, with no sign that I had been experimented on or that I had just encountered an intergalactic creature who wanted to conquer humanity. I took a deep breath, and decided that I would celebrate having saved the human race with a nice Chianti. If only he had known that I was, in fact, a psychologist.
The mind is a powerful thing. You cannot escape to a physical place, only a mental one. Escape is in the mind. My mind is my own. Cycle these thoughts. Cycle them over and over. Don't look down. Don't think. Stick to the feedback loops. Reality isn't real if you don't want it to be. Eyes flashing downwards, body strapped to a white table, both drenched in red. Nine finger nails removed. Four toes broken. Fingers being broken one by one. The mind is a powerful thing. You cannot escape to a physical space, only a mental one. Escape is in the mind. My mind is my own.
2018-10-02T17:51:32
2018-10-02T17:23:12
720
127
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
"I object to that pejorative!" yelled the Kantian arachnid, as it popped into existence in the United Galaxies Council Hall, dropping neatly into the seat reserved for it. "In any event, we didn't succeed either, they- ah, crap, got the time wrong again." The empty Hall agreed with the Kantian's assessment. The flummoxed emissary sighed, summoned the Kantian gate again, and promptly disappeared into an inky black portal. --- "Who's going to stand up to the humans? Not us," insisted the Salaccian blob, swelling to twice its size to emphasise its point. "We're done doing the UG's dirty work. Get someone else to do it. Maybe the Maltiuns may want to actually be useful this time, hmm?" The reprisal from the Maltiun android from across the giant round table was immediate and swift. "I resent that! We have done our part just as much as any other species has!" she yelled, slamming her first into the prized Goratian wood. "Strick that comment from the record!" Ooopoo, the Delfantian stingray who had the unfortunate luck to be presiding over this emergency meeting, sighed. "Please, everyone, focus. Let's not lose sight of the agenda here. We have to decide what steps we're taking to rein in those damned humans before they destroy the entire galaxy, so I implore you, leave your petty squabbles by the side." Ooopoo waited for further objections, but the table had fallen silent. Perhaps they are finally realising how serious this is, he thought. "Any updates on whether the humans are willing to adopt our faster-than-light technology instead?" "We've offered ours," said the Maltiun android, "the latest Wave Riding prototypes even. Faster, cleaner, cheaper than ever before." "And?" "Rejected, outright. Uncool, they said. Old-fashioned, they said." The Maltiun android sulked, as its floppy diskettes ejected out of their slots, the classic Maltiun indicator of unhappiness. "Blobby? You guys had better luck?" said Ooopoo, addressing the Salaccian, who were not known for creative names. "None. They said our Skip Drives gave them bowel discomfort. We said that's nonsense, look at us, we're fine. They said, sure but they aren't sentient gelatinous blobs. We didn't have a good response to that." Ooopoo turned then to the empty seat at the table, then said in a loud voice, "What about you guys, you lazy bastards who never arrive on time?" "I object to that pejorative!" yelled the Kantian arachnid, as it popped into existence in the United Galaxies Council Hall, dropping neatly into the seat reserved for it. It had the most smug smile on its face, for reasons best known to itself. "In any event, we didn't succeed either. They really, really resented how our Kantian Gating had the added benefit of allowing them to travel through time. They said everyone would just spend their time travelling back in time to kill a painter, then save him, then kill him, then again and again and again." Ooopoo rubbed his forehead with his tail, trying to stave off the incipient headache. "Well, I needn't remind you of how their current technology is causing problems for us all. This hologram of the latest security incident should show you what I mean." The hologram started playing then, and everyone recgonised it as the official coronation on Planet Goratia, where the once-in-a-century change of power was happening. Then, right as the Goratian King handed the Scepter of Power to his scion, a bunch of humans popped into existence, right on the stage. Everyone cringed as the humans stumbled around, hugged Goratians, high-fived each other. Bloodshed soon ensued once one of the humans started taking a dump on what he assumed was a tree stump, but which everyone knew was really just the young Goratian princess, quietly minding her business. Who of course, now had to deal with other people's business. "See?" said Ooopoo. "I just don't understand why they are choosing that highly reckless, inefficient way of FTL travel!" "If I may," offered Blobby, "they tried to explain it to me. They said that they had been consuming hallucinogens for the better part of their history, and that they had always longed to be able to visit the places they saw in their intoxicated states." "Yes, and once they discovered that the places they saw were actually real places, just very, very far away, they poured all their efforts into discovering how to teleport there," said the Maltiun android. "I still think it's stupid, but I can understand where the attraction lies." Ooopoo sighed. He fished out a box he had brought along, then laid bare its contents on the table. First a vial of vile black liquid, then two more vials of clear liquid, then finally a set of Delfanitian restraints, the very same unbreakable bonds which their species used to patch stars back together. "Sir, is that... Do you mean to..." "What choice do we have?" said Ooopoo, "we have to summon the Earth emissaries for a serious talk. This has got to stop." "Then... Are we going to torture them?" said the Kantian arachnid, mandibles twitching. "Are those the famed Huulovian cocktail, which kills any species after hours of prolonged pain, unless the black antidote is administered?" "What? These? Heavens no. It's just Earthling coffee and water. It's the fastest way to bring them down from their weed high, I believe." --- /r/rarelyfunny
We had made contact with the inhabitants of TH-49, or, as they called it, Earth. Unlike every other species we've encountered, we didn't come to them. Rather, they came to us. With this came a few different problems. Firstly, we didn't have any forms of diplomatic greeting prepared. They had caught us with our metaphorical pants down, so our first conversations were rather rushed and sloppy. Not a great start to meeting a major species. Another problem with this is that we never had the chance to share our advanced FTL technology with them. It wasn't much, just the framework for FTL travel, and the various species that we had encountered and shared this with all did something different with it. Teleportation, wormholes, bending space, and so on and so forth. In the end, however, the results were all the same: sleek, elegant, completely safe travel at speeds faster than light. These humans, however, had created a much different approach. I'll never forget the sight I saw from my viewport when they first arrived. Hundreds, if not thousands, of things that I would hesitate to call ships suddenly appeared outside of one of our most populated stations. These ships bore no sign of our technology, and were bulky, hideous creations. Where smooth, flowing corners should have led from the front of the ship to the engines laid harsh forty-five degree angles. Every side was painted bright red and almost completely flat, not counting the engines. Oh lord, the engines. Large, seemingly combustion-based engines engulfed the backs of the ships, looking as if the ships were stuffed full of them, with the engines only managing to tear through at the back. Our first conversation was televised across the entire station, with their primitive language automatically translated to what we could understand. "Greetings, inhabitants of TH-49," announced our ambassador, "We did not know you had developed such advanced technology, so we apologize for not quite being ready to greet you as of this moment." "Apology accepted, aliens," replied a human, presumably the ambassador, "After all, we expected that you'd be too blown away by our technology to even speak." "Yes, yes. This truly is an..." Our ambassador hesitated for a moment, presumably to rack his brain for a compliment, "...Inventive form of space travel. May I please ask who created this system?" "Well, you're talking to him right now," the human responded boldly, "Name's John. John Kerbal." ---------------------------------- So this was my first ever time writing a writing prompt, and I would like a little bit of feedback on how it turned out. Anything helps!
2017-03-30T22:48:35
2017-03-30T22:16:31
258
85
[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner."
“Who’s at the door honey?” Stephen called from inside the house. I turned back towards the interior of the house. “It’s the police dear, can you come here for a moment, they’ll want to talk with you,” I said. I turned back to the policeman standing at the door. “He’ll be right out, you’ll see,” I said, smiling sheepishly at the officer. The noises from the kitchen ceased and Stephen walked out through the living room to the front door. He wiped his hand son the front of his pants and smiled at the officer. “How may I help you?” asked Stephen. The officer pursed his lips. “Sir, were you driving along the 1218 highway today around four p.m.?” asked the officer. Stephen nodded. “Sure was. That’s my usual route home after my classes get out for the day,” said Stephen. The officer looked uneasy. “And you drive a lime green pinto, license 626 BLM?” asked the officer, reading from his notebook. Stephen nodded again. “Yes—why?” asked Stephen. The officer lowered his notebook, flipping it closed. “Well, we found your car wrapped a tree on the side of the road. The front seat is covered in blood and it looks like someone had been ejected through the windshield,” said the officer. “Oh... that’s very odd,” said Stephen. I looked at him. He was not smiling any longer. “—when we checked the tree we found blood spread over the face of it where the car had wrapped around it. The windshield was embedded into the trunk. Do oh know how you go home today?” asked the officer. Stephen thought for a moment and shook his head. “I tend to tune out while driving home, lost in my thoughts. I remember pulling into the driveway and coming into the house though,” said Stephen. “Where is the car you came home in sir?” asked the officer. Stephen and I both looked at the driveway, where he had parked every day for the last eight years. The familiar green car wasn’t there. “I...I don’t know...,” said Stephen. “How did you get home today sir?” asked the officer. Shock and worry spread across Stephen’s face. “I’m really not sure. But I’m home. I came home today after work,” said Stephen, the pitch of his voice straining higher as he spoke. The officer reached into the saddle bag and brought out a plastic bag. Inside was the familiar white woolen jumper Stephen always wore when it got chilly in the fall. It was dyed a deep dull red and speckled with red splatter across its length. “Is this your sweater, sir?” asked the officer, holding the bag up. Stephen stared at it incredulously. “That’s mine, but how did it get like that?” asked Stephen, his voice reaching a fevered pitch. “Sir, I’m sorry but I have to ask you again, how did you get home today?” asked the officer. Stephen stared at the jumper. I reached for his hand, taking it into mine. It was cold. Stephen looked at me worriedly. “I just can’t remember—I can’t REMEMBER!” said Stephen. I squeezed his hand. It buzzed slightly and my hand fell against my side. Stephen was gone. The officer reached up with the bloody bag, offering it to me. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to say your husband died today in an accident on the motorway...,” said the officer. I reached for the bag. “That’s impossible...,” I said.
"Wait a second" said the first officer, "is this 131 Vernon Street?" "No" I told them, "that's the next door over. This is 133 Vernon" "Oh jeez. Boy is there egg on my face" he chuckled. "Sorry for the mistake, have a nice day!" I closed the door and went back inside.
2017-10-10T08:26:48
2017-10-10T07:06:27
30
13
[WP] You are a superhero. Your power? ... You don’t know. One day people just started considering you a superhero and sending you to deal with the super villains of the world, who promptly surrender when they encounter you. Edit: Ayyy, looks like this post has beaten my previous upvote high score by about 9.8 thousand!
Maybe it was a joke. A joke that got too real. Im guessing it was some viral video, of the first time I stood up to someone. Someone taped me as a mugging was taking place, and I stumbled into the guy who fell on his own knife, and died almost instantly. But from that cameras view, i just threw down a man 3x bigger than me, with such force it instantly killed him. I mean, I like to work out. And I had just come out of the gym wearing my compression outfit, about to start my run. I can see how people might think i was dashing in- heroically stepping in and stopping that criminal. I can honestly see how people would think that I was a duper super hero. It was just a right time right place kind of thing. I'd seen these memes and viral videos before, and I figured it would burn out and Id just have a cool bar story. Id get looks and waves going through my daily routine, and to be honest, it was nice. I had even started wearing my compression outfit under my regular clothes as kind of a joke I could play for co-workers and barmates. Everyone would get a good laugh and it was all good fun. I didnt expect people to actually believe in it. I would get praise and some small gifts and offerings. I would deny them of course, but then they would call me humble. Again, I just figured it would die out. Aside from a cookie one time i never took anything. But then, as i was depositing money at my bank a month later...someone decided to try rob it. He had started yelling, waving his gun, tell me to move outta the way. I turned around, and i saw him there, full ski mask and everything, and right through it i could see his face drop. He dropped his gun and threw his hands up muttering sorry, shit, dont kill me. I didnt want the gun to go off so I grabbed it before it fell. It was some cheap toy that broke when i grabbed it. I laughed when that happened in disbelief, you know that kind of laugh you get when you're so nervous cause you could have died kind of laugh. But to the security footage and witnesses, it was a much better story than that. Thats when this shit all exploded. "Oh yeah? How so?" Next thing I know, im the local super hero. I dont know if im just attracted to crime now or what. But atleast once a week I see a robbery, a mugging, an assault or christ even the beginning of an arson. You know, what they call the miracle of 12th street? "Mmmm yes. The disgruntled employee who had the flamethrower, and was attacking the local hardware store he was fired from...who laced the building with highly flammable explosives, when you were sent in-" Woah woah, wait WHAT. There were EXPLOSIVES IN THERE? What the- "You didn't know? They were lined up the front of the store, very obvious and brightly colored" I THOUGHT THOSE WERE EARLY CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS- "Mmmm....ill tell the force to refrain from analogies and alliteration from now on." From now on?? You guys are still going to send me to do this?!? What the hell- i didnt sign up for this. "...Mr. Walker, whether you like it or not, youve become a deterring...symbol... for this rising global crime wave. This city has been saved by your mere presence more times than I can count. You jave saved lives and avoided extreme situations and damages just by showing up. In light of this new information, you will be trained accordingly and provided appropriate equipment just incase the need should arrive. From your silence so far these past months im assuming you understand this situation. Otherwise you would have told the news what you've told me. You have also kept yourself relatively clean from bribes and gifts-" Wait how do you know that- "We've been keeping an eye on you Mr.Walker. we are the government. Its not exactly hard for us to do that these days. Anyways you've shown an unusual moral character that fits our...no, this cities needs more than perfectly. If you accept this, we can minimize the amount of risk you take when you walk out there each time. You do a great service whether you know it or not. You save lives. Help us help you." I sighed. He was right. It was the best shot to not die. Okay. "Good. Training starts tomorrow, and your new suit will be measured and delivered by the next week. But before that, we should introduce you to your new teammates." Teammates? What? "Mr. Walker, believe it or not, there are actually super powers, though we've been successful at keeping it covert and secret till now, your recent rise to fame has goaded the more...villainous kind to start acting up again. Thankfully while you're moral character is rare, it is not wholly unique. Im sure you'll fit in just fine. Just dont tell them you don't have powers. Good day Mr.Walker...or should I say, (insert cool super hero name here im late for work)
The truth is, I might have a superpower at this point, simply through exposure - Super powers are, after all, contagious. Here is how you get superpowers. First, you meet someone else with super powers. Or, better, several super powered individuals. And then you have something happen to you that should kill you, and you gain some bullshit physics-breaking power that stops that from happening. The statistics geeks say every super powered you have had a conversation with, touched, or slept with gives you a one in a hundred chance (or, to be exact, one in 124) of making your "saving throw versus dying". Only, it doesn't stack - You get a separate roll of the "Dice" for each one. There is this neat graph of what that means, but I trust that you see the problem? But that is not why everyone thinks I am a power house. Ive never had that brush with death. People are convinced I must be a physical god, because 4 years ago, I was broke, recently divorced, and staring down homelessness. So when the offer came to serve the phantom his papers? Well, 5 thousand is 5 thousand. There is always some super powered jackass somewhere in the world who has had it with a life of crime, and wants in from the cold. The courts are all in favor of this, as long as you have not left an actual trail of corpses (and sometimes, even if you have, if they think it was unintentional). But guess what happens if a guy made of living flame with 7 bank heists to his rap sheet flies up to a police station? Which is where I come in. The first time, I was just the one who volunteered. But at this point, I am famous. So mister Flambee wants to surrender, and do his stint of community service digging sub-way tunnels or whatever? He walks behind me and does not get shot.
2019-02-05T10:24:01
2019-02-05T10:13:02
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[WP] You're the wizard's apprentice, and of course the first few years involve running errands and doing other tasks. He hands you a daily schedule, but to your confusion the total hours for the different tasks add up to more than 24. "Figure it out" He says, "I chose you for a reason."
" So, let me get this straight." the innkeeper said, looking quite concerned. " If I don't wash all these cauldrons in exactly this manner every Tuesday for the next year and a half, the great and powerful wizard who has lived outside of our village for decades is going to rain down fire and brimstone on everyone within 100 miles?" I bit back a nervous laugh. I had to sell this. Schooling my features so they looked suitably grim, I nodded gravely. " Yes, that about sums it up." The innkeeper was used to dealing with tall tales and exaggerations; he had to be or else he wouldn't have been in business. This was going to be the hardest victory of all to win. He looked me over once, and then again, and then again. Then he sighed. " I'll get on it right away." I looked suitably relieved. " Thank you." I said, being sure to add a grateful quiver to my lips... no, I didn't need to *add* that. Walking out the door I desperately tried to keep the skip out of my step, looking somber until I made it into the tree covered path leading through the woods to my master's castle. I let out a triumphant laugh that startled every beast in the forest as I pumped my fists into the air. " Who's the master now! Zen is! WOOOOOO!!!" I had nearly shit my pants when master Ærie had given me 30 hours of daily tasks. When I tried to reason with him he cryptically told me to "Figure it out." before fucking off to his tower to do research. Maybe if he had taught me any magic it would be more managable. Time stopping would be incredibly overpowered and broken, and therefore fun. But temporal distortion was way more advanced than anything I could figure out my own... the extent of the magical abilities before coming here was *actually* being able to make coins and knick knacks disappear. I thought about just banishing the list but knew that wouldn't help. If I couldn't finish these tasks I couldn't be a wizard's apprentice, and I didn't have enough man hours to get them done. So I got some more. If you don't have enough man hours and you can't get more hours, you get more men. Growing up in a village with an ultra powerful being who is almost never seen, who's name includes a letter and sound most people have never heard of before and who's name also sounds like a synonym for 'unsettling' or 'scary' gives you a very solid rumor base to work off. A little bit of ...embellishing... and the locals were happy to cooperate. Busywork taken care of, check. Old scores settled, check. The most beautiful women in the village coming to the castle regularly to cook and clean, check, check, check! All that was left for me was 8 hours of the fun stuff. Brewing potions,reading magical scrolls, and organizing the library. The last one was a bit less fun but I wasn't letting anyone else near the magic I had worked so hard to earn the right to. Old man Ærie was out of his tower for once and was standing right behind the castle door as I walked in. " Wipe that shit eating grin off your face, brat." he said cantankerously. "Killjoy." I muttered. He frowned, and maybe it wasn't the best idea to insult a master wizard, but I was thinking it, and the motherfucker reads minds so there wasn't much I could do to avoid it. " What have you been doing all day?" He said. " You already know th-" "Of course I already know that you oaf!" He shouted. " I'm asking if you do! I gave you a comprehensive list of tasks, and you went gallivanting off into Birchburg telling tall tales about how I would annihilate people, like I was some weird aggressive recluse." "You are a weird aggressive recluse." "That's not the point, genius!" He said. " I gave you those tasks so you could learn magic!" "But I have." I said cockily. " The magic of manipulation." 'The magic of manipulation' Ærie mimed, throwing his hands in the sky and sending small waves of thunder and lightening out of sheer irritation. " Bah! What if one of those villagers gets the bright idea to go to the king with those threats you made?" "Already covered it." I said. " I told everyone that you had already put a curse on everyone in the village and if they said anything to outsiders about it their genitals would melt off." "Their *genitals*!" He shrieked incredulously. " I know." I replied with a smirk. "Awful, ain't it?" "What the hell is your problem?" "My problem was I had to do 30 hours of work per day with no time for eating or sleeping for 18 months straight. I have solved that problem." "So ... the cauldrons will be cleaned by_" "Lane, the innkeeper." " And the household chores will be taken care of by" "Alice. And Blanche." I smiled, then added " And Cynthia on weekends and holidays." " And the dung from the bestiary will be cleaned every day by-" "Tom." Fuck Tom. The old man sighed wearily before looking out the window, lost in thought. " And if I were to tell everyone in the village the truth about this little yarn of yours, maybe let something slip to one of the maidens you decided to hire?" "You won't." " How do you know that?" He said indignantly, puffing his chest. "Because" I drawled. "You *hate* talking to people. Pretty girls especially." He deflated instantly. "...I... you... how???" " Now if you'll excuse me master," I said, heading for the library, " I've got research to do." "Clever little bastard." He muttered angrily as I walked away. " I chose you for a reason." He hummed thoughtfully. " In retrospect, probably for the wrong reason." "Love you too, teach!" I said, slamming the door shut.
My name is Jim, and I have a problem. You see, I have a propensity for making bad bets. Mostly to friends, granted, and for the last year, never for money. When part of the last bet I lost included crashing a campus event, I decided to show up to our upperclassman's career day in an homage to our school's mascot, to try and hide in plain sight. Nobody likes explaining to the dean why a freshman was at an event limited to those seeking internships. Interesting note: our mascot is a wizard. Well everything went great for the first half hour. Walking around in the school mascot suit, making comical gestures. I was about to leave, when I heard a voice behind me. "James Williams, could you follow me?" My heart sunk. How on earth was I identified? Did my friends rat me out? The walk to an unused meeting room had me panicking, and a stuffy mascot outfit did nothing to help the situation. Imagine my surprise when I was offered a job. By someone claiming to be a wizard. I had turned to leave the room, sure that this was Ron's doing. He knew I hated being pranked on these things. But the door wasn't there. Over the course of the next hour, the mage, Edstiniax, verified his credentials. Thoroughly. Believe me, never tell a mage, "if you're doing real magic, then I'm a goat." Worst 10 minutes ever. So the job wasn't bad until I started getting the crazy tasks. Magic exists all around us, hidden by veils that require very specific spells or actions to part. I spent days in class, nights hunting down the various mystical odds and ends that Ed wanted (he hates when I call him that... but he doesn't really do modern technology, so whatever). Day 1 and 2 were uneventful, but the list he gave me on night 3? Would take me halfway into my 1st class before I was done. Besides, who wants to collect honey from arcane bees? But that's "my problem", according to Ed. So I decide it's time to stop using the actions to part the veil. They're bulky rituals that take over an hour, and so I looked up a spell from Ed's library. I took what I wrote down to a janitorial closet, and got ready to begin. I read the words, and did the gestures, or so I thought. But evidently I didn't carry a one somewhere. So, that's where we are now. I am trapped in this closet. When I last peeked out the door, I was blasted by heat, and some 3 headed hound 12 feet tall rushed the door. I barely got it closed in time. So my question to you is... does anyone know a good way to distract the guardian of the underworld? Time is something of a concern.
2019-01-14T15:25:08
2019-01-14T14:42:06
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