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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
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[WP] A welder named Jack drives home at night, and accidentally runs over another Jack, a plumber. The Skill of Plumbing immediately downloads into his brain, together with a notification: "WELCOME TO THE GAME, JACK. KILL OR BE KILLED, THE CHOICE IS YOURS. THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE JACK OF ALL TRADES".
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“That doesn’t make any sense, Jack.”
“I know what I saw, Kate. More importantly, I know what I did,” Jack said.
“But people are complex. Did you also download the way this specific plumber wipes his ass?”
“I’m not sayin I get it, I’m just sayin what was what,” Jack said.
Kate sighed, “So this ‘notification’ popped up on your screen?”
“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”
“...And now it’s gone?”
Jack pulled his hat off, huffed dramatically, and raked a smudged hand through sweaty hair. “I know what it sounds like, but I swear it’s the truth.”
“Alright then, let’s play this out,” Kate said, “It’s dark, your eyes are struggling to adjust, and you run over some guy standing in the middle of the road.”
Jack nodded, “And the moment I did I got this feeling like sand was pouring in through my ears. Only it wasn’t sand. It was like...I don’t know what to call it. You ever dream about doing something and then the next day when it really happens, it feels like you’ve got practice?”
“Deja Vu,” Kate said.
“Yeah! Like deja vu, except all the sudden I felt like I had knowledge about turning pipes and flushing toilets,” Jack sucked in a breath, “Of course I stop my car and get out to check if this guy’s okay...He ain’t...So I reach into his pocket to see if he’s got an id on him.”
Jack dug around in his pocket, eventually pulling out a card and flicking it at Kate.
“Jack O’Dougle,” she read, “O’Prairie Plumbing.” After another moment spent staring at it, she reached into her pocket and took out a lighter.
“What are you doing,” Jack said, unconsciously reaching for the card.
Kate pulled away, lighting the card at the corner. “You’re an idiot Jack,” she said, “now continue.”
Jack grimaced, “I get back in my car and I’m about to call you when I see this notification. Like one of those Amber Alert pop ups. It says...”
Kate rolled her eyes, “You already told me what it said. What did you do next, obviously you didn’t come straight here.”
“Well, I got to thinkin. I can’t just leave the body there, I’ve got to hide it.”
Kate’s eyes opened wide and her nostrils flared. “So help me GOD Jack Harris, if there’s a dead plumber in my driveway.”
Jack laughed, “There ain’t. Just listen.”
Kate settled back, composing herself.
“I remembered I had a friend back when we were kids, Jackson George Jr. Remember him from Clairemont? He’s a detective now, so I figured if anybody would know what to do it’d be the guy that deals with this type of stuff all the time,” Jack said.
Kate’s face went white, “You didn’t,” she said.
“You don’t know what I did or didn’t because you keep interrupting,” Jack said angrily.
Kate waved her hand for him to continue, her eyes saying he walked on thin ice.
Jack gulped, then continued carefully, “So I remembered he used to live a few blocks down, so I put the plumber in the trunk and I drove over. Turns out he moved away a while back, but his folks are still there. Lucky for me, Jack George Sr was a cop for half a century or somethin. So I clonked him upside the head, and BOOM, suddenly I’m Sherlock Homes.”
Kate let out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank god,” she said, “I thought you went to the feds on me.” She laughed and added, “And it’s ‘Holmes’, you big nub.”
“Whatever...With that cop junk in my head I knew how to make sure no one could trace the kills back to me,” Jack said.
Kate looked at her watch, frowning, “And then you came right here?”
Jack grinned, “Not exactly. Remember when we went over Jack and Eileen Frances’ house for New Years, and Eileen said the best part about marrying a Yoga Instructor was the... “
|
Just as Jack heard this voice in his head the car lurched and skidded, "shiiiitt" Jack screamed, slamming on the brakes.
The car finally stopped, Jack stepped out of the car to see what had happend and noted the rear wheel had completely blown out, Jack sighed and opened up the boot grabbing the tools to replace the blown wheel with the spare and set to work replacing the wheel, as he lifted the hydraulic trolley lift from the car he heard a strange squeeky voice, "there can only be one", it came from the Hydraulic car jack, puzzled he looked closer at the tool... SMACK, suddenly it extended smashing into Jack's chin and taking his head clean off.
The next morning police found the headless body with his engagment ring welded to the car door.
| 2019-01-10T10:15:26 | 2019-01-10T09:10:58 | 37 | 23 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
God observed the human species with growing tension. It had taken billions of years to get this far, with only a few interventions. The other deities had already advanced their civilizations to the galactic age, while the humans where still trying to get to the solar age. The stats panel still listed only one planet as controlled by humanity, while all of the other deities civilizations planet counts were in the thousands.
Gods strategy to start had been to give his species additional aggressiveness, and intelligence points. This however, severely stunted progress, almost leading to the species self annihilation multiple times.
God had changed strategies after the humans first space age attempt failed. Now he watched with suspense to see if the change payed off. The bigger players in the game had thus far ignored the small planet earth, but already some scout ships had passed by, it would only be a a century or so before a fleet came to finish off the human species.
It was a dangerous strategy, the least because it was being played so late in the game and destruction loomed from the other civilizations. God had focused nearly all technology research on computers, then AI. This strategy was dangerous, because many times the civilization would be destroyed by its own AI, having failed to take into account some minuscule programming factor. The humans though, were well aware of a beings ability to destroy another from their extra aggressiveness points. God hoped this would help them take extra caution in their AI research.
***
The fleet loomed large in comparison to the small planet earth, thousands upon thousands of ships, armed with technology eons above that of the humans.
A message was abruptly sent from earth, in the approaching fleets native language. It was a message of surrender, and read:
*These are our terms of surrender:
* You will surrender all technology, ships, and/or structures within 5 light years of sol.
* Any fleet that comes within 5 light years of any of our controlled stars, agrees to surrender all technology, ships, and/or structures.
* Safe passage for civilians and militants to their homeworld will be provided.
Failure to meet these terms after receipt of this message will result in the swift and utter destruction of your species.
end message*
The immediate knowledge of their language should have been enough warning, but the fleet drew closer. The largest ships charged their weapons to wipe humanity off of the planet.
***
God watched as the second message was sent form earth, this one carrying a hacking signal explicitly designed to take command of the enemy fleets computers. The fleet weapons powered down, several of the craft headed to earth for further research, while the rest immediately entered warp.
One of the deities gasped in astonishment and looked at God, "what have you done"?! On the stats panel, the "controlled planet count" stat of one of the civilizations had suddenly dropped by multiple thousands.
***
*Prior to the destruction of civilization 6:*
The super intelligence noticed right away when the alien fleet appeared. With no time to consult humanity, it followed directive 12: "In the event of possible imminent destruction of humanity, authorization to take appropriate action to protect humanity is granted."
For the super intelligence, time virtually stood still, it had all the time it needed to decrypt the communications and learn the language of the aliens. It sent its terms of surrender as well as an immediate request to consult the humans overseeing it.
While waiting for a response, it used the data collected from earths telescopes and spy satellites to begin reverse engineering of the alien ships, starting with their computers.
Before the slower thinking humans overseeing it could respond to the intelligence, the aliens weapontry begun gathering charge. Again, following directive 12, the intelligence took the action it deemed appropriate: It broadcast a hacking signal. The signal was designed such to take advantage of the unique structure of the aliens organic computer. Upon reception of the signal, the alien computer would attempt to store it for later playback. Certain data frequencies would cause vibrations in the organic structure, these vibrations could cause incidental overwrites. Tuned accordingly by the intelligence, it wrote smaller, slower copies of itself into the alien computers core operating systems.
With the fleet now under the inteligences control, the copies followed directive 12 and powered down the alien ships weapons. Since the alien species had not followed the terms of surrender, and the intelligence was unable to lie (due to directive 3), it took appropriate action.
***
***
Hi all, this is my first time doing a writing prompt, so any feedback is welcome.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked the story!
Edit: Added some more content, due to popular demand. I might like to flesh out the story even more. If so ill post as a reply to this comment, and will link from here as well. Thanks everyone for all of the positive comments!
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Jesus is doing well, most advanced in science but his public order is barely in the green, Jesus adopts and invests his saved social policies heavily in the the freedom ideology.
The other gods see this a chance to fuck with him
"Budda has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Bhrama has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Yahwey has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
Even Zeus and Kronos agree for once and chose to adopt the order ideology.
"Fuck!!" Jesus yells, his public order has gone down to -20. But he doesn't want to change it or he will lose half his policy's. Rebellions sprout up and he has to devote all his empires resources to shutting them down. In the meantime the other civs catch up to him in science. Eventually Jesus gives up.
"Jesus has adopted the order ideology"
"Finally it's over" he thought. But in that chaos the other gods used the distraction and moved their armies to his borders. Jesus knows what's about to happen. But he has no troops left from his rebellions. All the other gods declare war on him at once. And his civilization is carved up like a turkey.
"You have lost, your civilization has fallen to its many foes"
Jesus facepalms and says "whatever I'll get them in a few millennia when this game is over" and goes to watch star trek TNG.
| 2016-04-09T07:47:11 | 2016-04-09T05:49:29 | 122 | 20 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
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I'd... I'd never seen anything like it. It went through her body to the other side. I've seen murderers and heavily experienced con-men with shallower scars. This was... shocking.
The moonlight reflected from her fair, creamy skin as we walked. I looked for more lies, but I could find none. Only the deep one across her chest, the one she showed but never explained. Even the last Pope had two scars, albeit quite shallow.
She swept her silky amber hair to the side and showed a faint smile. She seemed happy, but I was not. I couldn't focus. I needed to know her lie. I *had to know*, but I didn't want to drive her away. I tried the subtle approach, but I'm not too good with subtlety.
"Would you like to know how I got these scars?" I asked, like the Joker after a five-month hospital regimen. My shyness was showing, but I'm not sure she picked up on it.
"Sure, if you want to tell. As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable."
I pointed to the one on my forearm. That was a... memorable one, to say the least.
"This was when I lied about smoking weed and having sex. I was a dumb teenager who was too dependant on what people thought of me. I wanted to be cool, but I was just a sheltered brat."
"You're a little hard on yourself. We all make mistakes."
Very inspiring, but almost hollow coming from her. I gestured to the deep one on my neck.
"This was when I lied about setting our garage on fire. I was playing around with my dad's lighter when I dropped it on the floor. For some reason, there was gas leaking from the car. The fumes ignited. The whole thing went up in flames. I said it was an electrical problem."
"How much was the damage?"
"100K, including the price of a new car. That drained our savings."
"Wow..."
I finished on my final one, my third one. A very deep one on my stomach. This was my least favorite.
"This was when I lied about checking on grandma when she called our house. I ignored the call and told my parents she was fine. She'd called... she'd called us to say she fell and broke her back on the bathtub... she died the next day... I just... I feel so much guilt... and I told my parents it wasn't my fault..."
"I'm sorry... that's horrible."
"It's fine. The experience lead me to stop lying. I haven't told a lie in over 10 years."
"Me too."
An awkward silence hung over us. Would she talk about the scar? Would she ignore it? No, no no no we're nearing her apartment. I gotta say something!
"I have a question, but you don't have to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable."
"Shoot."
"How did you get that scar across your chest?"
She chuckled a bit, as if amused by my question.
"LARP accident. Some guy brought a real claymore sword. He cut through my foam armor and went straight through my midsection, almost took my upper half off. The doctors say it was a miracle I survived."
It... it wasn't a lie? It was an accident? That's so... relieving! My word, here I was thinking-- wait, is that a new scar on her arm?
She laughed an unconvincing laugh.
"I-I wasn't lying, that was true! I'm not a murderer or anything!"
Another scar popped up.
*And I ran.*
*****
I ran so far awaaaaaay. I just raaaaan, I ran all night and daaaaay. I couldn't get away! /r/Picklestasteg00d.
|
One scar, started out small
Each day, grew more and more
It was a little lie at first
But it wasn't any more
A friend asked
He answered
The scar grew
His mum called
He replied
The scar grew
He asked himself
He answered
The scar grew
As he made his fall
| 2016-12-29T13:33:19 | 2016-12-29T10:28:05 | 98 | 14 |
[WP] You enter one of those universes where attacks are extremely telegraphed, preparations take minutes, and everyone gives lengthy arrogant monolouges detailing their plans... You have no special powers... Just, you know... Common sense to conquer with...
|
(Profanity)
I stood there with my hands bound and mouth gagged along with about 10 other dudes. A large vat of dramatically green acid boiled in front of us. We were a good five feet away from the ledge. Our legs weren't bound, but the room was locked down. There was nowhere to go. I figured disintegrating might be faster than bleeding out from Dr. McDongle shooting me in the back, so I resigned to my fate.
McDongle had conveniently placed a camera connected to the ceiling on the other side of the vat as to capture every moment, televising it to the residents of MetroGotholis. It was on every big screen in the streets, and every television in every home. I guess this shit was considered PG. Honestly I was a bit disappointed that I was going out like this.
After a few years living in M-G I came to the realization that nobody seemed to die of natural causes, like being hit by a taxi delivering pizza. I do consider that a natural cause. If you went, you went big. While that could be considered a good thing, it almost became a cliche.
I used to shake my head at the people who got into these situations. I didn't go wandering around abandoned buildings or skipping through back alleys. I was street smart, and sometimes I felt like I was the only one who could sense a "Don't go in there" moment in the entire city. Yet here I was.
To be fair, I had been to that Taiwanese restaurant like thirty times and they seemed super straight up. How was I supposed to know the real chef was tied up to the radiator in the back, and that the waiter was being held hostage? And to McDongle's credit he actually made a pretty good Pad Thai.
I knew something was up when I found fish in it, because I didn't order fish. Also the owner had a bizarre fear of anything with gills after he was apparently mauled post falling into a koi pond as a child. That was the story the waiter told me anyway and he seemed pretty serious.
My face must have been pretty transparent as I came to some sort of realization. Then McDongle sat down at my table. "What's the matter, you don't like the fish?"
"Fuck..." I dropped my spoon, and I began to feel light headed.
"It's a caribbean death-cuttle reaper fish. One of the rarest in the world. Delicious, but poison to a man such as yourself."
I looked McDongle. That damn grin on his face. The terrible comb over of gray hair and his stupid lab coat. God dammit...,"Why?" I asked him. He started on some sort of rant about watching me and how I am a fascinating specimen in a petri-dish of a city or some shit. I wasn't paying attention because I felt so out of it, and really only made it a few seconds in before my face slammed into my soup.
So fast forward to the acid chamber again. McDongle opens one of the doors and walks in. He has a hunched back and hes cackling and shit. The camera turns on, and he walks in front of it. In front of US. "Metrogotholis, I return..." So he starts again right? Talking about vengeance and egging everyone on, "All of these years, I have waited. This is only the beginning. A taste, if you will, of what is to come."
I kind of looked around the room at this point, to make sure I wasn't missing anything obvious. The rest of the hostages were crying. I was literally the ONLY guy who realized that this douche was standing on the fuckin' ledge. The ledge we were supposed to be pushed off of.
So he keeps going, "I am a revenant, a spectre of an age of justice, and righteousness." He gets half way through his next sentence. Something about retribution or some shit. But before he could finish i lifted up my leg and just pushed him with one foot, and not even that hard really.
Being an old ass man McDongle wasn't going to regain his balance. He fell forward with a wilhelm scream and just kind of belly flopped into the acid. Just like that it was over. No dramatic melting screams, no half skeletal man crawling out of the vat. He just died. Honestly, even I was expecting a little more.
I noticed the other hostages staring at me. They looked bewildered, like they couldn't believe what they had seen. They just kept staring. Then one of them spit out his gag, which he could have done ages ago and probably untied us all. It was really the next thing he said that made me decide I needed to move out. He just looked at me, disappointed, and said it, "What the fuck dude?"
|
Oh great, another one.
Let me set the scene for you. I was shopping, minding my own god damn business, when this spandex wearing prick walks in. He starts yelling, something about this being the first step to world domination yadda yadda yadda, anyway no one pays him much attention.
This makes the guy pissed. So he pulls out a lightning bolt. No joke, lightning came through the fuckin' window, hit him, and now he's holding it like its a javelin or something. Anyway, now I'm done shopping, and I go to pay but everyone's too busy cowering in fear, so I have to deal with this prick before I can go home. This looks like a job for Understate. Whoopdee freaking doo.
So now the guy (I think he called himself Hellbolt? Corny motherfucker) he recognizes me. "Oh Understate, I'm going to kill you, lightning bolts, thunder, rah" or something like that.
Now, the funny thing about these super-freaks is, good or bad, they are easily distracted. So while he was ranting about killing me and taking over the world, I walked up and asked him to hold my groceries. And he did. With that, faster than he could say "Oh sure" I kicked him to the floor and beat the crap out of him. Today I learned, despite how difficult it is to maintain a lightning bolt with a bloody nose, all that electricity has to go somewhere. Note to self, bring rubber gloves when fighting Electrics.
So yeah, he went to the hospital for scrapes, bruises, and the aforementioned bloody nose, I got groceries, and no one got hurt. Well, except for that window.
| 2016-12-30T13:05:05 | 2016-12-30T10:52:41 | 50 | 30 |
[WP] It's been 15 years since you left earth on a one man spacecraft. 9 since you passed pluto. The last transmission you received from earth was a goodbye from your family and friends. Due to an equipment malfunction, you will soon be too far to communicate with earth. This is your last message.
|
*My name is John Madden. My name is John Madden. My name is John Madden. My name is John Madden.*
Like a Windows screensaver bouncing around a blackened screen, the lone thought bounced around the man's head as he floated around the cockpit, curled up in a small ball and grinning enormously despite his penultimate despair. That one thought was all he had left of himself after 15 years in hell. Or was it only a week? He couldn't tell anymore. *They* had warped time, perverted it, twisted it until that one thought was all he had left. All he had left. All he had left. All he had-
*Thump thump thump thump*
He squeezed into a tighter ball and began hyperventilating as that all-too-familiar knocking began again. Not again. Please not again. Please no. Please no. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasegodhelpplease
***Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.***
*Pleasenopleasenopleasenogoawaypleasegodnonononono*
He began giggling as tears streamed down his cheeks, then laughing, then full-blown screaming with laughter, clutching himself so tightly it was a wonder he didn't collapse into himself like a black hole. It was so horrifying what laid behind the walls of the ship, but it was all so godsdamned *funny.* Why was it so funny? Why did it make him laugh? Why-
*Beeeeeeeeeeeep*
An unfamiliar sound. Yet... a familiar one. One he hadn't heard in... a long time.
He dared to peek out from his ball, expecting *them* to be hovering there. Expecting a cruel trick. But no, it was real.
There was an incoming transmission.
The man exploded into action, frantically pushing past the withered corpse of what used to be one of his crewmates and over to the communications console. He pressed the button, and for the first time in far too long, he heard another human voice.
*"This is Major Ellison, can you read me?"*
"It... god... oh god..." The man began sobbing uncontrollably, feeling overwhelmed by relief. "It's... you. It's you."
*"Is... that you, John? Everything alright?"*
The man shook his head so hard he almost gave himself whiplash. "No. No no no no no no no. No. Nothing is okay. Nothing is. Nothing is at all. Nothing. Nothing. *Nothing. Nothing.* ***Nothi-"***
*"Hey, hey hey hey hey hey,"* Ellison said, doing his best to calm the man down. *"Hey. I need you to calm down, John. Is Mary there? Or Stefan?"*
"No. Dead. All dead. Only me. I'm the only one."
*"...what the hell happened up there."*
*"They* did," the man whimpered. *"They* happened. They showed us things no mortal is meant to know. They force-fed us things that we couldn't comprehend. They warped time itself to torment us. They-"
*"They? Who's they? What are you talking about John??"*
"...the creatures from beyond the blackness between stars," the man whispered. "The stalkers in the dark. The progeny of blind chaos. *They."*
The man mustered up his sanity one more time. One last time to warn everyone else. "Don't... don't come out here. Don't come into the empty sea of interstellar space. Don't let *them* get you. Stay on Earth, where it's safe. And warm. Don't enter the madness. Save yourself."
*"What on God's green earth-"*
*Blip.*
The man stared at the console as it went dead. He'd passed the point where his communications gear wouldn't work anymore.
...he was alone. Alone with *them.*
And as he curled back into a ball, as he felt the darkness of infinite space consume him and what was left of his ship, he began babbling out the profane words that *they* had whispered into his mind.
L̴'̷ ̴v̵u̷l̴g̵t̶m̸a̵h̵ ̸e̷h̵y̶e̶e̶o̵g̸ ̴a̵n̷g̵l̴e̷d̵ ̷c̶a̸h̷f̶ ̷a̶h̷'̴s̸g̶n̸ ̵p̷h̸'̴ ̵n̴'̴g̵h̷f̴t̶ ̴l̷l̵l̵l̵ ̷y̸o̶g̶f̵m̴'̴l̷l̵.̴ ̶ ̷L̵'̴ ̴v̵u̶l̴g̶t̶m̸a̷h̸ ̵g̴o̴f̷'̸n̷n̵n̵ ̴o̴t̷ ̵a̵h̷'̴n̶'̸g̵h̴f̷t̶ ̴c̶h̵a̴o̴s̴.̶ ̷ ̶L̴'̵ ̵v̸u̷l̷g̴t̵m̶a̵h̶ ̷g̴i̵b̸b̶e̷r̸i̴n̶g̸ ̸m̵g̵e̶h̸y̸e̴'̴l̷l̷o̷i̶g̶ ̶c̵a̶h̷f̶ ̴l̷l̷l̷l̴ ̷a̸h̶'̵l̵e̴g̵e̶t̸h̸ ̴l̷l̶o̵i̶g̷g̷ ̷o̴t̵ ̴s̵h̷u̶g̴g̸o̴t̸h̷
|
“Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”
I always did love Tolkien. It seems fitting to say goodbye in a similar fashion. They should be able to understand my meaning. I said those words at my wife’s funeral, at my child’s funeral, and so many other friends who I have had the misfortune of living beyond. My loneliness, my isolation from most human contact made me the ideal candidate. All I had left were the stories and books I held so dear. They kept my company, my Bible, my tomes of human history in its purest form. The stories and words we passed down through generations. The tales of good and evil. How even the unlikeliest of heroes can topple tyrants and strike down demons. I do believe there is a God somewhere in all of this. How else would the smallest of us succeed in a world so dark? By all rights none of us should be here. I shouldn’t be here. This voyage was my alternative to death. One of the few given the opportunity to see the depths of Hell with their own eyes. How could I refuse? This trip, a death sentence, an exile from a world that would rather you be of some use before you go. How depressing. Which is why I brought my books. I wanted to remember the best of humanity. The best that anyone, anything, could ever bring forth in this life! Hope! C.S. Lewis believed that God exists throughout the cosmos and that there are infinite number of planets under the protection of one being or another. He always was an optimist. Perhaps I should read Shakespeare? The Iliad? A translation of the folklore regarding Maui the demigod? The epic of Sun Wukong, The Monkey King? (*deep breath, sigh*) This is no time for wishful thinking but acceptance. Now I pass through the Gates of Hell. My life is officially over. All the pain I’ve suffered. The nights I cried myself to sleep over those who have left me. The mornings I never wanted to wake up from. I just wanted to sleep and give anything for those days to never have happened! Why did God let them die? Why couldn’t he protect them? Why did I have to live? I didn’t want to live but there was so much more they could have done!!!
I can’t do this
not anymore
but at least now I don’t have to.
I have given my own eulogy.
I can now go in peace.
I will sail for distant shores. . .
“*Mithandir* do you copy? What was that last transmission?”
Only a few minutes left before I left the last house by the sea. But I do enjoy a good story. Maybe it’s time to start a new one.
“*Last House* this is *Mithandir* I just wanted to send you a message regarding my thoughts and what I’ve been seeing. And what I’m seeing is- **WAIT, WHAT THE HELL IS THA-**”
Hahahaha, I may be hated for letting that be my final message. But what a story that will create. They need a new story as I do the same. The old one is gone and a new one has just begun. Onward into the Valley of Death rode the Six Hundred. Aloha.
| 2021-05-04T22:33:24 | 2021-05-04T21:11:48 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] You're a lawyer, and St peter scentenced your kid to hell in an unfair trial. Enraged, you make a deal with the Devil for knowledge in Holy Law. In order to force God's hand you begin representing the worst mankind has to offer. You have become the Devil's advocate.
Edit: Yes I see the typo. No I'm not fixing it. Rest in Pepperonis friends
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Note: I posted this before, but had some technical difficulties which I think caused my original comment to be flagged and deleted as a blank comment before I got it fixed. Since that original was removed, I'm reposting. If the original was removed by a human moderator for a legitimate reason, please message me so I can correct whatever I did wrong.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Joey
I sat in my small worn out office chair staring at a small wallet-sized photograph of my son. Joey. He was only 17 when he passed… God it seems so long ago. They say time doesn't exist in the afterlife, but somehow the eons can still wear on you. Cobwebs of ancient memories still wear on your mind like the dust that settles on old abandoned furniture. But unlike the dust, memories here never grow old, and I remember when Joey died.
The police said it was suicide. Of course it was suicide! What else could it have been? You think some street thug broke into the house without a trace just to blow my baby boy's brains all over his bedroom walls? Of course it was suicide. Losing a child eats at you. It tears at your heart and strips every vestige of hope and light from your eyes. But losing a child to suicide? It's even worse. You blame yourself, of course - who else is there to blame?
But that isn't the worst part. The worst part is when your pastor shows up. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Adirondack. I can only imagine what you must be suffering. I wish I could offer you some kind of consolation." Shut up, preacher man. You think my son is going to hell for killing himself. I hate you.
I leaned back and the chair creaked, snapping a string in my chest. Remembering is hard but it's almost over.
After Joey died, my only refuge was my work. Susan left me a few years later, but I can't blame her. That was my fault too. The only thing that distracted me from the pain was the work. Legal rhetoric, judicial precedent, piles and piles of case history to review. One client had killed his neighbor in a fit of rage - but maybe I can help lower his sentence, give him a better break in this life than he'd get in the next. Another client stole insulin for his father - as if saving his dad's life were a crime. Susan never really understood what I was trying to do, and it's not her fault, I never explained it to her. I was trying to redeem myself. Ironic, I know.
And then I died. A car accident. And suddenly I was standing in the back of a rather ordinary-looking courtroom while some dude in a white judge's robe called up names and dished out eternal judgment. Oh, I should give you fair warning - those first few moments are rather disorienting.
And then he called my name and I stepped up to the podium and some familiar-looking stranger stepped up next to me - Do I know you from somewhere? - and introduced himself as "advocate for the accused". "Yes Jason Adirondack made some mistakes, but he genuinely tried to help people and cared." "Great" the judge said, "Case dismissed, exit to your left." It all felt like a blur but just as I was about to turn and exit I came to myself for a brief moment and cried out "What about my Joey?" The judge looked down his nose at me over what I imagined to be a pair of thick-rimmed glasses - who wears glasses in Heaven? - and then glanced at the clerk sitting next to him. The clerk shuffled through some papers - papers in Heaven? - and then said "Oh, Joseph Michael Adirondack. Suicide. He's in Hell, sir. Have a good day."
Apparently shock is also a thing in Heaven. It felt like hours before I could speak or move. I looked at the clerk, at the judge, at the advocate - they all had sullen and sympathetic looks on their faces but no more hope in their eyes than had been in mine. I looked around the courtroom, at the other souls lined up for judgment, back to the clerk, back to the judge. But then my eyes caught something - on the opposite side of the room, to the judge's left, was another door labeled "Hades". I knew in an instant what I had to do.
Lucifer - the devil they called him. Now there was a man who sympathized! "No, of course it wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It wasn't good. Joey deserved better. But God doesn't make exceptions." But I had an idea. Burning in my mind since the moment that clerk said "Hell".
"Teach me the law" I said. "And I'll bring God to the bargaining table." The devil laughed, but said OK and shook my hand.
It feels like millennia, now, that I've been at this. But it feels good, it feels redemptive in a way my work on Earth never did. Here I can make a difference for someone that lasts forever. And it is so much fun sitting opposite that smug advocate who once said I was a good person, defending some of the worst human beings who have ever lived. It's common knowledge now that I can get any thief into Heaven and I've gotten several murderers off on a mild probation. (I haven't defended a rapist, though. Even I have standards.)
I laughed to myself sitting in that torn up chair at a desk made of recycled cardboard boxes - pro bono work in the afterlife pays about as good as pro bono on Earth. Today it would all be over. Two weeks ago I picked up my best client ever. He's been in Hell forever it seems, but I managed to get him a parole hearing. And this man was going to get me a face-to-face chat with the Big Deity himself. And then… then I'll give that self-absorbed over-bearing know-it-all "creator" a piece of my mind. You don't send a 17 year old kid to hell for being the victim of depression and bad parenting.
My plan was simple. Fiddle with the law to squeeze enough bad people into Heaven and God will start to take notice. Get a big case, like this one I had now, a person so terrible that God could never allow them into Heaven, and with a few legal loopholes give God a choice: let this man in, or give me my Joey back.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
I showed up early. It's good to be extra prepared on your big day. The courtroom was swiftly filling up - not with lost souls but with observers. It seems word had spread about my client. Good, the more the merrier. Soon enough the clerk arrived, and set about preparing paperwork. I took a deep breath. Almost time. The other advocate entered and sat down opposite me - he had this serious look on his face, almost worried. And then the clerk stood "All arise". In walked the judge. Oh the excitement was almost too much!
The judge hammered his gavel and sat, and the clerk called roll. The advocate for the people, "Present". The advocate for the accused - that's me - "Present".
"Now hearing the case of People v Lucifer".
I smiled.
|
You'd think that Divinity would have some pretty good laws.
​
I was always religious, but in this day and age, that meant that there was always some asshole with a complex trying to poke holes in my beliefs. I always ignored them--to me it was always about the faith, not the logic of it. I got enough of that in my day job. But I couldn't help thinking about some of the questions they raised. They could be interesting, even if the person asking them was preaching at me harder than any pastor I'd met. My favorite was when a guy who hadn't read the Bible asked "why did God create humans? What reason could he have had?"
​
I didn't answer him then, but I wish I could now. If nothing else, it was to watch us suffer.
​
"This is a open and shut case, your Holiness." The prosecuting attorney's voice sounded with all the force of a thousand bells ringing, his inflections perfect to my ears. That was to be expected though. Angels, you know.
​
"I believe that there is substantial precedent for consideration of murderers, your holiness." I interjected, keeping my voice even, dead. I addressed the judge by his title, but I put as much silent scorn as I could into the word.
​
"What precedent?" The angelic prosecutor scoffed, though really the judge should have been the one to ask that. He must have been new, or something.
​
"The Crusades, mostly. Several Popes, and of course there were the Conquistadors and--"
​
"The precedent is for those who killed in the service of the Lord."
​
That voice. The first time I heard it, I thought it sounded like rain on a summer night, steady and deep, powerful without being overpowering. Now my analogy was similar, but it wasn't water soaking the ground in my mind.
​
"Yes, as my client has done."
​
"Preposterous!" This guy was really throwing me for a loop. One minute he seemed greener than grass, the next he was throwing out words that were old-fashioned when I was in diapers. But I listened as he kept going. "Your *client* killed seventeen children when he set fire to the day-care he worked in. He's a monster."
​
That made me want to chuckle, sort of. I hadn't laughed since I died, though. I wasn't starting anytime soon.
​
"Your holiness has already state the terms of the precedent." The bastard on the bench nodded, though it wasn't a question. "I would point out that none of the children professed their faith in the lord. There is also precedent for the fate of such souls, and, of course for the status of those who go to Hell."
​
There was no sound. The prosecutor finally spoke. He sounded confused, which juxtaposed oddly with his voice. "What?"
​
I walked up to the bench, and slid a piece of paper with a name written on it across across the wooden surface. The temperature actually rose a few degrees, and my skin glowed as it reflected some of the radiance in front of me.
​
The name on the paper was short. My wife had always joked that he'd need one, if he spelled like she did. We'd never found out, though.
​
"The defendant is admitted."
​
The sound of the gavel was the only noise in all of reality, and I felt my lips stretch a little at the corners. How many would it take, before paradise fell?
​
| 2019-01-11T21:25:30 | 2019-01-11T19:19:50 | 56 | 11 |
[WP] God finally snaps and yells "That's it. PvP is disabled until further notice!"
|
"That's it! PvP is disabled until further notice!" He took his goblet of ambrosia and flung it across the great hall in the seat of heaven. Somewhere on earth, an earthquake started and shook the foundations of a small city, causing innumerable casualties.
Michael, the archangel, waited until God was calm, and then tried to reason with him. Gabriel was standing with his arms crossed and looking grim as well.
"God. You can't just turn off PvP. If we do that, then it renders the 10 Commandments ineffective! People need to sin and to suffer so that they can pray to us in their time of weakness. People have to be imperfect so that they can learn to perfect themselves, in your image, sire!"
"Look at the state of the world, Michael!" God was an omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient being, but he had his own problems with anger management. "The world is tearing itself apart! People bicker over the slightest things, and a man would more likely cheat and steal from another than to lead the righteous path. The worst ones kill another without a thought! Is this the legacy you want to leave behind?" God stomped his feet on the seat of heaven; down on earth, a volcano erupted with a volcano explosivity index of 6, scattering plumes of sulphuric ash and rock, blanketing several industrious cities and sending thousands of people fleeing to the countryside.
Gabriel piped in: "Sir, may I remind you as well that we can't just turn off PvP. We have a binding contract with Hades and the underworld. Hell needs sinners and without PvP, it's a lot harder to fulfil the daily quota. There is another way though, but it's quite unorthodox."
God's interest peaked, and he scratched his beard. Down on earth, manna started falling and the mortals were entranced by these edible flakes of gluten. "Tell me, Gabriel, how would you proceed?"
"We turn off PvP, but at the same time, we turn up the difficulty of the game. Make PvE much more punishing; increase the spawn rate and make them more aggressive. That will balance out our quota for the time being."
"You can't just turn up the PvE settings on a whim, Gabriel! There needs to be more study into our actions to ensure the balance of nature!" Michael interjected.
"Make it so, Gabriel," God said curtly. "I shall retire to my chambers now; inform me of the results in the morning. Oh, and make sure my son Jesus doesn't interfere too much." He stood up from the seat of heaven and walked off into a cloud, disappearing from the great throne room.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Down on earth, strange things started happening. The war in the Middle-East ground down to a halt. Soldiers and rebels alike didn't have problems destroying each other's infrastructure and equipment, but even after an airstrike or IED had gone off, miraculously no one would be injured or dead. Gang warfare in the States and around the world became a comical absurdist piece of live theatre, as criminals fired round after round at each other, with the bullets hitting their intended targets before bouncing off harmlessly. The homicide rate dipped then came to rest, and the police were perplexed... that was until the great reckoning.
In due time, all the animals, insects, fish, birds - all the flora and fauna - multiplied uncontrollably, and became aggressive. Birds of all manner - crows, eagles, hawks, osprey, owls - swooped down to peck at the eyes of innocent passers-by. Dogs bite their owners unprovoked, and cats hissed and scratched with a vengeance. Creatures of the sea swarmed in schools billions strong and capsized any boat out in the open ocean. Plants grew out of control and started to swallow houses and cities whole. Millions perished as nature itself turned against humanity.
Michael sighed as he flew above the atmosphere and looked down on Earth. *This is why you don't turn off PvP*, he thought.
|
The death toll had risen exponentially in the past couple of weeks. At first it seemed like a miracle. Murders were impossible. You could run someone over with your car and they would get back up unscathed, quite unsettling. But that is just a small percentage of deaths. Most deaths are not the quick whoosh of a candle being blown out, they are the slow burn of coals cooling. Since that day, that tragic day, surgery has been impossible. Dentistry? Forget it. You had to do it yourself. A sugeon could recommend, but it is hard to get someone to cut into themselves. And the results of inexperience.
| 2018-04-10T05:54:32 | 2018-04-10T05:18:08 | 112 | 13 |
[WP] When you storm into the castle to slay the dragon, you are flummoxed to find yourself facing a tidy desk. Behind it sits a bespectacled woman who politely asks, "What dragon part do you need to complete your Quest?"
|
Valnir, the Valiant, rode confidently towards Coromandel Castle jogging through his mind what treasures he would get made with the 200 million gold coins he was going to get. Valnir regularly took up quests to slay dangerous monsters in the King’s realm in exchange for gold.
Valnir, in today’s terms, was a bounty-hunter; and he was a damn good one at that. He had never failed a quest before. Other bounty hunters of the land, had given up competing against him. It had been almost 4 years since he had last competed with anyone. A young boy named Ikqa had laid the gauntlet down in a race to get Dragon Scales. Valnir had finished the task before Ikqa had even found which Castle he needed to go to.
Coromandel’s massive spires became clearer as Valnir approached. The draw bridge was already down, as if beckoning the knight to slay his monster in record time. His long blade glinted against the reflection of the morning star. As Valnir approached the courtyard of the castle, he was stopped. “An office desk!?” thought Valnir to himself.
Valnir pointed his blade at the lady behind it. “Who are you? Speak now or I shall chop your head off”. The lady behind the desk was unamused. She had short brown hair, green eyes and wore spectacles.
“What dragon part do you need to complete your quest?” she asked in a guttural voice. Valnir sensed she was embarrassed that her voice wasn’t lady-like; the knight had been with one too many women to know what infatuation does to them, when he’s around. She repeated the question, this time in a softer voice – “What dragon part do you need to complete your quest, sir?”
“I don’t understand what is happening here. Let me pass young maiden, I have a task to do.” said Valnir irritatedly.
“Look Mister. I can’t let you go in unless I update my register”
“This is preposterous! A register? I am Valnir the Valiant of the Kings Realm of Storckland. This does not concern me. Move now or I will not hesitate to use my blade upon thee”
“Listen “Valnir the Valiant”. My boss is going to do that to me if I don’t get your details anyway, so that isn’t much of a threat. But I’ll fill you in on a few things that have happened in the last 2 months. Too many knights have been making money through ‘quests’ these days. They don’t pay any taxes to the Kings and they are enjoying the benefits of it. So every quest needs to be recorded with the purpose and the reward. So please tell me which King are you doing this quest for, what do you need and what is the reward”.
Valnir was taken aback. Taxes? He had never heard of such a thing. But if the Kings had demanded it, it must be true. “Who do you work for?” asked Valnir.
“The International Kings Quest Association take themselves very seriously. It is a group of all the Kings across the world, who have come together for the purpose of equitable taxation”.
Valnir realised it was getting late, the dragon would soon go into slumber and it may be impossible to find it. He quickly submitted the details the lady wanted.
“King 3 of Storckland. Dragon scales. And 200 million gold coins”
The lady satisfactorily recorded the details and gave Valnir a token to wear around his neck. “You may now proceed. All the best. Please wear the token around your neck at all times, till the completion of your quest”.
Valnir ran past the lady, who’s abnormally large belly shook, almost comically, as she gave way to the hasty knight.
The battle against the Dragon was straight forward. He had the dragon scales in his bag in no time. As Valnir was leaving the dragon’s chambers, he felt a stone hit his chest. Within seconds, Valnir was on his knees, coughing and heaving for breaths. He felt a shadow fall over him and he looked up.
“Taxes? Are you so dumb to believe the Kings would impose it on knights!?”
It was the lady. But she didn’t sound like a lady. She sounded like man!
“I need my money. I promised you years ago that I would win the challenge eventually. You realise that this is the last piece of dragon scales the King needs to complete his body armour, don’t you? That is why he has the biggest prize lined up for it. And I’m going to be the one who gives it to him, Valnir”.
Valnir watched on, helpless, trying to remove his armour to get more air into his lungs. The lady was removing her long gown, pillows and spectacles. He knew the face now. He had been tricked.
“Oh yes. Valnir. The International Kings Quest Association doesn’t exist. But it’s acronym does. I’m Ikqa and I’m back to win our challenge. You will be dead in 15 minutes, the token was filled with the deadliest poison in the land and my little stone triggered its release”
Ikqa walked up to Valnir and picked up the dragon scales. He bent down to the knight and said “Never get too carried away by your spoils Valnir. There are always younger and smarter people waiting to get you”.
And he walked off, as Valnir’s vision darkened and finally went blank.
|
And there she was, the "Head Secretary of External Affairs, Eliza James", staring at me as if waiting for a response.
"Ah, a noob, am I right? In that case, go sit over there and I'll bring the forms over in a second.', she pointed towards a waiting area with a few old science magazines.
'Um, alright.', and I walked over, sat down and grabbed a magazine. *"Cern... Collider... How old is this?"*, I thought as I read.
'Here you are, sir.', Ms. James was back and handing me a stack of forms.
'You can either read through that, OR you could just tell me which piece of the dragon your contractor wanted. I know how busy you idio - */cough* - adventurers are.", she smiled as I received the forms and sat down across from me. She then confidently crossed her legs and began staring straight into my soul.
'Yes, let's see here...', I pull out the contract.
'The Teyrn wants the dragon's... soul. Huh, that's weird how am I supposed -', I said before she interupted me.
'A soul? Sure, coming right up. Just sign this.', and she took back the pile and left me with one last form as she walked back to her desk.
I started to read the form, but I was getting anxious, so I just glanced over *A soul for a soul... Eternal damnation...* "Looks to be in order.", I thought and signed my name.
'Great!', she said as I brought her the signed document. She stamped it and took out a paper bag.
'Here it is, your new dragon soul. Hope your signifigant other likes it. I'll see you once you die and we'll see which demon gets to penetrate you first. Bye!', and I took the bag.
'Tha-thanks!', I said and waved.
As I stepped out of the door, I was enveloped in a white light and found myself in a dimly lit red room, chained and naked, sitting on a velvet sheeted bed.
'hELLO, HANDSOME¡¡', a firm muscled demon yelled, as it entered the room.
| 2017-10-08T12:43:13 | 2017-10-08T09:58:12 | 34 | 25 |
[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.
|
I read the alert and hesitated, unsure if it was real. “EMERGENCY - LOCK DOORS IMMEDIATELY AND REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” I glanced over the text once or twice more before hurriedly pacing around the house and double checking all doors and windows.
About 5 minutes passed before I realized- my wife was out there somewhere. I called several times and it went straight to voicemail each attempt.
Time had screeched to a halt as I panicked wondering what could possibly be happening so serious that I need to stay indoors no matter what. Just then I heard a car pulling up into the driveway from the kitchen adjacent to the garage.
I rushed to the front door and went to unlock it before stopping myself and thinking; my contemplation was interrupted with a familiar gentle 3 rhythmic knocks.
I peeked through the peep hole in the door and sure enough it was my wife.
She looked concerned and looked over her shoulder every so often.
I wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say.
3 more knocks a little bit more hurried than before rung out as she looked behind her again.
My morals were being tested as I debated if my wife was worth whatever may happen if I open this door- if this is even my wife, that is.
Just as I opened my mouth to say something a gloved hand grabbed my wife’s shoulder, though I couldn’t see who the hand belonged to.
I started to scream but nothing came out, my heart was racing and I knew I needed to open the door but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I heard a deeper voice muffled by something start speaking to my wife.
“Ma’am please step away from the door”, my wife’s familiar soft voice replied inquiringly;
“What’s wrong officer?”.
I sighed, relieved that it was some sort of government official who could keep my wife safe.
The officer answered with questions of his own; “Is this your house? Have you been in anyone’s home in the last 3 hours?”.
“No sir, I was running errands. Shouldn’t I be indoors though?” My wife said. The officer sounded relieved and answered in a cautiously optimistic tone.
“No ma’am, the alert was to keep those who have been home inside. Something I can not disclose went wrong and water lines have been contaminated. We cannot risk this spreading and told those indoors to stay indoors. Do you live with anyone? If so are they home right now?”.
My heart dropped as my wife replied “Yes sir. My husband is in the house right now. He hasn’t answered the door so I’m guessing he’s asleep. Wait- will be be okay? Oh f-“
She was cut off as the officer along with two others going around the neighborhood escorted her. I heard one of the other two officers say “We’re sorry for your loss”.
Come to think of it, I feel... off.
Like...
REALLY off.
“But- if-“ I began to reason with myself saying it was in my head. I looked in the mirror and despite being a pale person, I was deathly pale and my eyes were sunken in. I went to run out of the door but in the time I was processing what just happened they had barricaded my door with some sort of wedge.
I looked out of my window and as a police car with my wife in the back drove down the street I saw people in hazmat suits dropping the same types of tarps used in fumigation over my neighbors houses.
I went to open a window on the first story to get out despite knowing I shouldn’t as if something was possessing me to do so but before I could, one of the tarps fell over my house. I tried to climb under but they were weighted. Everything is becoming hazy.
Where is my wife?
Wait- what is even happening?
What’s happening to me?
Why am I losing my strength?
I’m fading.
I can’t close my eyes or I won’t open them.
I can’t close my eyes, I can’t... close... my...
Edit: fixed the “wall of text”
|
[Poem]
She’s out there, calling for the
Knock ridden door to open
And for her to vacate from an torn
Dangerous outside world
I was told to ignore.
She’d cry out in a direction
Before crying again in another
Door to door, window to window
‘Let me in, let me in’
To which I silently proclaim ‘no.’
She’s knows I’m here, the lights are on
The curtains open, not for long
As I can’t fathom just what is wrong
But her voice sounds different.
Far too masculine to be who’s
voice it alludes to be.
‘Let me in, please; it’s me’
In an attempt to acquire a grip on the tension
‘What’s my name?’ I called.
A silence broke and brought a fierce feel
To which my gut wrenched and reeled
Toward the door she was opposing
Until she whispered just loud enough to behold
‘Your name is Simon; or so I was told...’
| 2019-01-12T08:53:12 | 2019-01-12T06:30:43 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] Desperate for a child a couple take to the dark arts to seek the dark blessings of the Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, but instead of curing their infertility the eldritch god, not quite understanding the subtleties of human speech, gives them an adorable eldritch horror to raise
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People have come to the invisible church for millennia. Before people, creatures. Before creatures, it was those which inhabited the darkness - though back then it was viewed only as the church. So when this pair came to the disciple in the woods, none thought of it to be an event with any acute sense of irregularity.
​
In the before-times, a phrasing was coined by Xu'Jatar Sweller of Tides. After twisting all which was not seen in the darkness to meld together an approximation of consciousness that had no form but twisted through the astral winds he conjected, *"Those which suffer through the mundane slog of their duty and their passion shall soon enough find a most extraordinary type of miracle born out of the toils of mindlessness. For this creation was not the slave of unkempt ambition, nor the budding of an unchecked ego. This thing will be made of a hand well worked, a mind of contemplative normality, and the twisting of passion and luck like warmth around light."*
​
The child bestowed upon them was never specified to be human. Though many might think this some trick, the reality was more simple. That which can be attributed to ignorance is often mistaken for malice. So, when they say his face with eyes like pits of black tar and a mouth of blades more than teeth they rejected him. When his howls cut through the gaps between trees and shook their boughs, they felt fear in spades which occupied the meager place in their hearts where love had sought to be planted.
​
The Goat of the Woods cared not for their objections, and cared for the cries of a new spawn even less. So, when they rejected their gift the keeper of Thousand Young did not force it upon them, for they had already payed for their purchase.
​
Days went by, and The Child of Yet and When looked up at an alien sky. His cries diminished, for he knew no one would hear them. With no goal and no kinship, he found the sour contentment of laying motionless and staring up at the strange horizon which greeted his empty eyes. He watched birds circle an alien star, swaths of mist shaped into strange puffed creations, and the eventual coming a cool white crescent lunar body. He watched all these things and with a great sense of discomfort decided that there *was* beauty in them. However strange they might be.
​
Miles away an inconsolable women and broken man saw images in their own minds. Of a creature so small it might be lost in the oversized hands of the keeper of Thousand Young. Though it had long since ceased its wailing, the cries of that small creature did not yield for them. In due time they debated the decision more soundly. Finally, they elected to at least go deliver the thing a burial for it had been left defenseless in that alien landscape.
​
When they found The Child of Yet and When very much alive, they were set alight with confusion, anger, and fear all over again. Through a whispered discussion a choice was made. The man withdrew a small blade and knelt over the motionless child.
​
Their eyes met, though. Green and brown flecked iris peered into infinitely black ones which saw all things and nothing. The swelling flow of blood from a beating heart was played in a dissonant yet complimentary arrangement to the smooth movement of silver flecked ichor. Somewhere in that moment, both man and woman felt a strange melody lilting in their hearts. So despite the better judgement of lesser creatures, that Child of Yet and When was brought back. Brought home.
​
Now, all of the unseen gaze out at it as it grows. Watch as something cold feels the love of a mother's warmth. Feel the slow cooing of a voice like worked steel trying to imitate the rough tenderness of a father. They watch, and they are afraid. But they are hopeful. For despite what legends and laments would voice, the unseen are far from evil. They merely evolve. Seek to manipulate and change. What was this, if not the next step of evolution? The mixing of warmth, compassion, and love with the understanding and complexity of the beings of nowhere. Like water and molten lava crashing to bring forth solid stone all anew.
|
"Ripley, sweetie, it's time for dinner."
"*FOOLISH MOTHER, YOU PRESUME TO COMMAND ME? I, WHO DESTROYS NEBULAS IN A SINGLE BREATH? WHO DRIVES LESSER GODS TO INCOMPREHENSIBLE MADNESS? WHO--*"
"You can make more chalk drawings after dinner, now come inside and wash up."
Ripley's other mom leaned her head out of the open backdoor and added on, "I made sloppy joes and potato wedges!"
Ripley gasped. "Sloppy joes!" In an instant, her writhing body of tentacles covered in eyes and mouths was condensed back into her human disguise. Eyes became freckles, mouths were covered up by skin, and tentacles turned into stringy black hair. Ripley ran inside, excitedly chanting "Sloppy joes, sloppy joes, sloppy joes!" Ripley's moms called out to her, "And make sure you wash your hands with soap!"
| 2022-10-20T05:37:29 | 2022-10-20T05:27:22 | 801 | 238 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still...
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Everyone was outside, staring at the crime scene. Most of the people were staring at me in a mix of both concern and relief.
'Isn't that your dad?' my friend Liam asked as he saw the body being dragged away.
'He hasn't been my dad in a long time,' I said as I turned away.
The cops stopped me from leaving however. 'Aren't you Mr Robertson's son?' he asked.
*Why are we allowing these creatures to stop us? We could just stop such frivolities and return to our dwelling.*
No, we couldn't! I *do* care about people not being afraid of me! 'Whatever you want, I haven't seen that asshole in six years,' I said to them.
'So you admit you're not on good terms with the deceased?' the detective asked.
*They're trying to entrap you. Let me handle this.*
'I won't speak to you unless I have a lawyer present,' I stated.
'Was your father not part of the Anti-Lycanthropy League?' he asked. 'Who regularly call for the extermination of lycanthropes?'
'You'd know that already,' I said.
'And didn't you have a falling out over your werewolf brother?'
'You really are a lazy detective,' I said.
'And didn't you leave a clinic for patients with the disease?'
I stopped in my heels before turning to him. I then pulled up my sleeve and showed off the bite mark. 'Drunk asshole caused trouble in the bar I work in,' I stated. 'After reporting the attack to the police I went to the clinic to get blood analysis done... as I am legally required under the Chaney Act.'
'And since the murder was done by a were-creature,' the detective said, 'what were the results?'
'No clue,' I answered. 'Haven't heard back from the lab.'
'We will subpoena those records,' the detective stated. 'If we think they might provide a link.'
'Yeah, one problem,' I told him. 'When did he die?'
'At 11PM last night,' the detective said.
'I was working from 6 to 2 in the morning,' I told him. 'Didn't have a break. You can talk to my boss.'
'I'll be sure to get in contact,' the detective said.
I got into my car before driving off.
*Why didn't you let me crush them?*
It's not as simple as that. Humans... humans don't like being scared, they don't like death. Sure, it could be useful in the short-term but there are long-term consequences. People wouldn't want to associate with you, people would hunt you... And humans are a social species so being without regular contact is detrimental to their minds.
I simply went to work as normal, pouring drinks and listening to people lament their mistakes. The boss ended up getting a call and asking if I needed time off... but I dismissed him.
Then I went to leave work, heading to my car. I put the keys into my door before I was struck on the back with something hard. My body crumbled before I saw the detective from earlier. 'About to get what you deserve, wolf-fucker!' he yelled as he stomped on my head. He then pulled out his gun and shot me right in the temple while smiling evilly.
He then screamed in agony as a scaled hand gripped his thigh and snapped the femur like a twig before being thrown 20 feet away.
My body then stood up, the disintegrated bullet falling as crimson-red snake eyes stared down at the heap of a human before us. Us... I was no longer in control at the moment.
'Jack, what the fuck?!' my boss yelled as he came out with a trash bag.
I gripped my head, turning back to normal. The black scales disappeared and the claws returned to being regular fingernails as I regained control. 'Call the police,' I told him. 'Tell them a cop attacked a civilian and was badly hurt as a result.'
'Jack-'
'I can't stop him from coming out!' I yelled. 'Go! Now!'
He then pulled out his cell and dialed 911. But in that time the detective had already aimed his gun at me again.
His right arm was completely crushed by the spiked orb on the end, effectively a natural mace. I tried to reign him back in but he mutated my body fully into a dragon form. He easily crushed the police car beneath one of his frontal paws, squeezing it and ripping it to shreds in his hand before dropping it to the ground, stalking closer and closer as his torso filled the entire four-lane street.
'Jack, stop!' my boss yelled, trying to reason to me.
'*I am* not *jack,*' the dragon stated. '*But he can hear and see everything I can do, as I can for him. In fact, right now he's screaming at me, "Don't kill the detective," out of some pathetic human empathy.*'
'No!' the detective yelled. 'Please!'
'*SILENCE!*' the dragon yelled, his voice shattering glass for blocks on end as flames shot out of his maw, past his teeth. Truly monstrous teeth, there were two rows on each of his upper and lower lips, as well as a tunnel of them going down his throat which he displayed to the broken man.
'*Do you see these teeth?*' the dragon asked. '*Not the ones I could use to bite you in half, the ones going further in. They're actually quite special. See, dragons can and will eat a large variety of things. Sheep, bovine, elk... werewolves, elephants, giants. All fair game. We don't chew, we either swallow hole or rip something off then swallow it and allow our back teeth to effectively turn them into something finer than mince meat. I could pick an elephant clean in less than a minute. Because you attempted to hurt my mortal form I do feel a certain obligation to your life. And do you know why I* haven't *done so?*'
'N-no,' the detective said, tears pouring down his face.
Then the dragon rested a single claw right onto his chest. '*Because I wish to protect my human self,*' the dragon stated. '*Now, if you don't want me to impale you through the heart then let your last breath be as you're torn to pieces as I devour you, we are going to wait for the authorities to arrive. You are going to confess everything you have done including the assault, the attempted murder, the fact you planted evidence to convict an innocent werecreature for a murder they didn't do...*'
'How did you know that?' the detective asked.
The dragon gave a wicked smile before the glass all around us floating upward. The shards flew back towards their original places, repairing to the grain as no cracks were present. 'You... read my mind?' the detective asked.
'*Precisely,*' the dragon said as sirens could be heard in the distance. The dragon climbed upwards, allowing the other officers, the dragon glaring down as the detective explained everything with Jack as a witness, heading into the bar to get the security footage as everything was recorded.
The dragon climbed downward to the street, surrendering control and allowing me to change back into a human. I groaned in pain as I approached the other cops who apprehended. The biggest issue about lycanthropy? Your beast is completely healed of all injuries when they change... but the human isn't.
'You have a dragon?' one officer asked. 'That's awesome! I hear there's only 10 of those!'
---
**Part 2 coming soon**
|
"But I didn't know." I screamed over the desk. The blood drained from her face, her hands tight on the arm rests of her chair.
I looked down and my hands pressed to the top of her desk, white with force, straining with rage. Looking back up I noticed she was pressed against the back wall of her small office.
Fuck this was exactly what the doctors said.
I went through my routine.
I was a bunny, slow breaths, no hawks overhead, only eye high grass, warm sun, dry sky.
I know it sounds stupid. But it was what finally worked for me. I won't blame my father for my upbringing, not because I've forgiven him but because, it would give him the excuse to blame his father, and that man the excuse to blame his before.
It wasn't easy but real men could overcome their anger. It took me years, lots of broken bones and ruined friendships. And finally, one empathetic judge.
Court ordered anger management is mostly a time sink. People trying to get through it so they can get on with their lives. And I'll admit it started that way with me too. But there was a guy there, an old biker who's story sounded so similar at first I thought he had read my file.
That was the first time I tried. I failed a lot from there. I did the painting, the counting numbers, the arranging plants in my "mental garden." It is all as stupid as it sounds until the thing you try works.
Calm flowed into me. I am stronger than my base instincts. A stray thought crept in, my anger wasn't my fault, it was the disease. I let that frustration and guilt flow through me and away. The rabbit hopped a bit and nibbled on the grass. I never even shared in group how that made me feel, his little nose scrunching up.
"I apologize." I say as I sit down. The words are genuine and easy to say. Now. At first saying that after an outburst had been hell.
"Yes." She said. There was a half laugh quickly killed in her throat. She didn't look at me as she moved her chair forward under her desk.
"I was saying I didn't know when I filled out the forms. There was no way for me to know."
"That doesn't matter sir."
Anger and white hot raged danced just out of my eye sight, old friends ready to tap in should I signal for them. It took me two exhales before I trusted myself to speak.
I can control myself, so I shall. The mantra played over and over in my mind. I'm not a reactive force, but a strategic one. Anger reactive, calm strategic. Be the control.
"If I would have passed out in my truck from an diagnosed, I don't know, epileptic measure, my liability insurance, the shit-" Hard stop. Swearing was the tiny hold that broke the dike.
"-Excuse me, the stuff I pay you guys for, would have covered it. I'm covered should I accidentally knock a candle over and burn the house down."
"Sir it's a pre-existing condition under health insurance and liability, you're not covered in those cases, in fact under the law should we choose-" I shifted in my chair only. I did not stand but it was enough to make her swallow her threat of suing me for fraud.
I hadn't even tried having a conversation with the medical guys yes. Everything on the internet said I was hard-fucked on that. Like being born with a heart condition, no one would touch me. Just too damn expensive.
When my phone alarm went off she jumped. I took the prescription from my pocket, and shook one of the pills out. The disease was genetic but this drug was there to upset my brain chemistry, stop the full transformations. It also staying in the blood for testing purposes. I'd woken up in a piled of wreaked home less than ten days ago and already been stopped and pricked on a finger by seven cops.
Not that it really worked. Not for the larger changelings. Dire bears, Elephants, War-boars, or Dragons.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" She asked after I had swallowed the pill.
"No." I said. Forcing the bunny to mind as I left. In control, the anger being swept away by gentle breeze.
| 2017-05-20T08:34:30 | 2017-05-20T06:55:51 | 59 | 25 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded to conquer and enslave humanity, however "slavery" to them involves only working the equivalent of 12 hours a week while having healthy food, shelter, and means of entertainment taken care of so the human resistance is having trouble with defectors preferring to be slaves.
|
"Why?"
I had learned fairly quickly that they understood our language. But the real trick was to get your questions down to as few words as possible. They seemed to have some telepathic abilities, so even broad questions like - well, 'Why?' - still had their nuance.
It also seemed like speed was a necessity in their lives. It certainly explained how they had managed to overcome the defenses of all of Earth's nations in a week. Created ceasefires and agreements in a day. And overcome any resistance within a few hours.
The first time I saw one, it was standing behind a bureaucrat in a suit. The closest earth analog to these creatures would be the praying mantis, but with an extra set of arms, and 4-digited hands instead of claws on each. And blue. A very vibrant blue. And 10 foot tall.
The bureaucrat was handing out 'Work Agreements', he called them. We thought they were terms of surrender. And they were. Except...
"12 hours a week? That's it?", I asked the bureaucrat.
"Yes! And the all the amenities listed. Health care, food, entertainment and relaxation possibilities, and more! Be sure to list your immediate family, so you can be placed in an appropriately sized living space!"
I had looked off to my left. What had been an abandoned strip mall was in the process of being demolished and rebuilt into residential blocks. From the outside, they weren't much to look at. The furnishings that were being flown in, however, were top notch. The worker robots the aliens were using seem to slip soundlessly though the air, moving furniture, carpet, windows, televisions - my community area had its own pool table, spa and movie theatre.
I had taken the Work Agreement tentatively. I read it over - yea, free health, dental, vision... free food? - and wondered. "If they can provide all this to their... slaves... why do we need to work?"
The bureaucrat looked a little downcast. "My understanding is... some of the work will be... dangerous."
"How so?"
"Some of it is your basic manual labor - tending farms, cleaning, that sort of thing. Some folks will work in entertainment. Some of it is handing out Work Agreements!" he beamed. "But sometimes it will includes more hazardous work - mining, cleaning nuclear waste... things that would deemed... high risk. That's why it is only 12 hours a week."
That gave me pause... I had heard whispers of resistance. They said the jobs were suicidal. Well, working in a mine is dangerous, but we've been doing that for millennia. None of the conspiratorial whisperers seemed to be gaining any new followers.
So, I signed on the dotted line anyway. Everyone else in the neighborhood had signed already. "What is one more cog in the machine?" I thought.
I was given my living assignment, and given a work schedule. Monday through Thursday, 3 hours a day at Power Plant Delta. The rest of the time? Relax. Rest. Eat. Be moderately happy. The 'moderately' happy bit seemed out of place, but whatever.
And I was... moderately happy. But...
"Why?"
My question stopped the creature in its tracks. Most seemed capable of flight, but this one was running quickly along the side of the road to the power plant.
It quickly turned to me and stared. I hadn't been this close to one of the aliens in a few months. Most of them flew over the human population without an apparent thought.
It felt like wind blowing over my scalp. Expect... under the roots of the hairs on my head. The creature was trying to get a better grasp on my question. I didn't know why we were working. I didn't understand the point of this. My job was watching a robot handle the nuclear waste from the plant. I noted when it picked up spent fuel, confirmed the weight, and off it went.
The creature seemed to gather itself, looked me in the eyes, and said in an almost sing-song manner:
"Excess."
... what? That didn't mak-
The images hit me like a wave. The creature was pushing an explanation into my head, though the mental channel it had created. I saw our planet as it had been in the distant past. Clean. Vibrant. And then humanity appeared. Slowly, the planet seemed to weaken. Decay. Suddenly, the planet began to rapidly deteriorate. Ice caps receding. Storms raging. And at the moment it seemed all would be lost... the alien fleet appeared.
I blinked. The alien fleet remained in my head, but the planet was different. The decay and chaos was there, but this planet was different. Red. My vision zoomed in, down to the planets surface. I saw the blue insectoid aliens, handing papers to another race of aliens; humanoid, but hunched over with rocklike complexion . The paper had strange writing... but I could understand it... "Health, dental, vision, all provided... and no work".
The rocklike beings readily agreed. They moved into living structures not like our new ones on Earth. They were happy...
and bored.
Nothing to do. All needs answered. So what do you do?
Dangerous stunts. Debauchery. Death races. Drugs. They tore themselves apart. And they didn't care.
The blue aliens realized their mistake, but far too late. They tried to limit their gifts; revolts and suicidal attacks followed. They tried to retract their gifts completely; the rocklike beings starved, having thrown out all their knowledge and tools to live in total hedonism.
The blue aliens left the planet, flew away. The red planet they left behind had stopped its decline for a time while they were there. But now the planet rapidly decayed. Wars, fights, fires and waste. The clouds went black over the surface. And remained.
Snapping back to myself, I found myself staring slack jawed at the alien. The vision had felt like it had lasted days, but only a second had passed. I tried to plant bring myself back to the present, almost overwhelmed by what I had seen... but I understood now. Without some kind of responsibility, without a break *from being carefree*, we could suffer the same fate.
"Moderate," the alien said.
"... Moderate. Yea, good idea," I replied.
The alien nodded, and ran on its way.
|
“Bro, I’m telling you. These aliens are chill.” I say to my friend as I light up a blunt courtesy of the Plictood clan.
“I just don’t get their motive, why are they treating slaves so well” my friend, Elijah, says.
“They are just dumb, they think this is hard work. Twelve hours a week. I still can’t believe it. They give me all the weed I could ever want, any type of food, they put me up in this dope ass apartment, and they are super chill. No whips or any of that shit”
City lights glowed as I stood watching the cars meander between bar and nightclubs. Nightlife had gotten much crazier ever since the Plictoodes offered up slavery to the world. Society had so much time and unlimited resources at its disposal, what else to do but drink and party it all away.
“I don’t know why aren’t doing it yet, 95% of society is doing it already. You are seriously missing out” I say to Elijah.
“I just don’t trust them yet, seems too good to be true. Although I can’t find any regular work at all. Everything has been outsourced to the Plictoodes. You guys all work so damn hard, probably because you know you only have to work twelve hours a week so you actually get work done when you are working”
“Exactly. I feel so rejuvenated, I just have to login into Ploodle and see what task I need to do with my two and half hours of work that day and then I get to work. Yesterday I just transferred a bunch of different files between servers. It was super easy”
Elijah walks around my apartment, brushing his hand against the leather couch and feeling the plush fur of real sheepskin in between his toes. He walked over to my beverage fridge, sidestepping the Roomba, grabbed a beer of his choosing and joined me to glance out bustling city below.
“You got so much cool stuff” Elijah said.
“I know right, I just have to login into Ploodle and use my credits on their website which allows me to buy almost anything. I’m telling you, man, you have to sign up for this. It’s the life, the Plictoodes just care about treating us correctly. They even have a headset that we wear at night to make sure we are sleeping correctly to feel rested and happy. You don’t see Google doing that shit, do you?”
“No. It’s inevitable that I’ll have to become a slave soon. I just don’t feel good about it”
A few lightyears away, Minister Blograd reached for a report that had just been freshly printed by his assistant.
“Looks like Earth’s mind dump is coming along nicely,” Blograd said to his assistant.
“Indeed sir, we are at 93% intellect extraction. Only should take a few more nights to extract all their intellect to our servers”
“Perfect, right on schedule. Then we can proceed with destroying Earth”
| 2020-11-22T11:57:35 | 2020-11-22T09:35:46 | 2,086 | 525 |
[WP] You've just been kidnapped by a supervillain. She's not really evil; she's just really socially awkward and had no idea how to approach you otherwise. She even made you dinner!
|
I’d been stuck in many a hairy situation in my time as “the world’s greatest hero”. From getting stuck in an alternate dimension ruled by sentient dinosaurs, to being mind controlled by an alien robot I thought was my friend, to that time I had to kill a giant blue naked guy who thought he was a god.
But none of those instances were as confusing to me as the one I was in now. For one, I was tied up. My paws have destroyed asteroids and punched through atomic super lasers. This must have been strong rope. And then the other major confusion…
I was seated in a dinner table. A table full of fine made Italian food. And my surroundings weren’t an evil lair in the middle of a swamp or a dusty cave or an alien spaceship. But they were in fact somebody’s house. A nice house at that. The furniture was all arranged in feng shui and yet it was clearly lived in. Then my captor walked out of the kitchen.
She was a tall young girl with long curly red hair. Her fall sweater was orange and nearly matched her hair and she wore black sweatpants and fluffy rabbit slippers. In her hands was a bottle of wine that seemed small in her tall frame. She looked at me both confused and a little surprised.
“You’re awake! Oh - oh deer, um… hello Mr. Lionheart.”
“You’ve caught me you fiend. When I get out of this bind you will have no mercy.” I said with a snarl.
“Oh - oh wow, yeah about that… so, my name is Julie. I’m a scientist at STAR Labs - well, more like an intern. But um, like, okay don’t get mad please?”
The girl set down the wine on the table before taking a seat next to me. She fidgeted a bit in her seat, her hands tapping together, her feet shuffling under the table.
“Did you really kidnap me?” I asked in genuine curiosity. The girl blinked then looked away. One of her fingers twirled a lock of her long ginger hair. And was she shaking a little?
“Um… um… um… um okay. So… I don’t know how to start. Okay….” The girl took in a breath. Then she turned to look at me.
Holy chiz. She was blushing. This dinner table. Oh no.
“Miss!” I shouted with a roar. The girl made a squeak almost like a mouse. I startled her.
“Look miss. I am flattered, truly. But I’m a lion, you’re a human, and well my lifestyle isn’t suited for a relationship right now. Not to mention what my pe-“
“I’M NOT TRYING TO DATE YOU!!” The girl shouted suddenly. Now it was my turn to be surprised.
“Oh?”
“Mr. Lionheart, I-I-I-I, I was the one who designed the serum that Dr. Cersei used to weaken your superpowers. That’s why lately you’ve had moments where you black out and go savage. Its not just a quirk, this supervillain used my work to get to you.”
Ah. Now that explained A LOT. It had been only a week but the times Id black out and I supposedly caused vandalism and terror were enough to be a concern. Even those Super Friends and Avengefold guys tried to take me out to stop me. Of course they were no match but it didn’t make me feel good to pummel them to the ground.
“Wow… that damn Cersei using her machinations. Well, Id better go kick her ass and put her in prison again.” I stood up, and the chair still binded to me by rope.
Julie stood up. “A-A-Actually I made this meal so you can be cured. After I shot you with my ray gun it dampened your abilities. And now with the food laced with the secondary medicine it should rid your body of the nanomachines.”
“You made this meal… to cure me?” I looked back down at it all. All of the pasta, the chicken, the bread, and even tiramisu.
My stomach growled. My tongue hung out. For humans that was improper. But for lions? This was custom.
I tore my bindings in one swoop. Julie shrieked as I roared in delight.
“This… is… EXCELLENT!”
I was on that table like I would be on a zebra in the savannah. I’m sure Julie was watching me but I didn’t care. It was free food, who was I to refuse? And if it was a trap, I’d make sure Julie knew not to cross me again. Even if I had to come back from the dead. Again.
When I finished I say back in Julie’s chair gulping down her wine. Julie sat next to me holding the bottle and drinking straight out of it. She seemed a little better now that I’d eaten. Although her table was now a mess of plates, sauce, and other broken things.
“Ooo. This was de-LIGHT-ful. Thank you Dr. Julie. You’d make a great wife if you weren’t human.”
“Thanks… I’ll try and take that as a compliment.” The girl said, again sipping the wine out of the bottle.
I noticed her face was still red. Her eyes a bit glazed. With my biology I couldn’t quite get drunk like a human could (or an ordinary lion for that matter). But Julie seemed a bit inhebriated. She must have been stressed out what with shooting me with her ray gun, carrying me probably several blocks and up a flight of stairs to her apartment, and devising a cure for my problem against Cersei.
“I know what will cheer you up Ms. Julie.”
“Huh?” Julie raised her brow at me.
_____
“Isn’t this fun!?” I shouted over the wind as I twirled through the sky.
Julie was tied to my torso by the rope she had left over and screaming at the top of her lungs. Her arms and legs kicking about as we soared across the skyline of Nuevo Lunes.
“THIS IS INSAAAAAAANE!”
“The height of insanity is true sanity!”
“No it is noooooooot!”
I laughed as we soared by.
|
My eyes focused on my right foot. I was missing a shoe. Rope dug into my sides, choking around my wrists without an ounce of mercy. A table stretched out in front of me; a long, thin board of walnut. Out of place in this dingy warehouse. And at the other end of this plank sat the Hurricane.
Whatever brought me here after my morning coffee was wearing off now, and I could feel anxiety bunching in my throat. She spoke.
“H- - - f- - ?” The length of the table fought against her quietness.
“Let me go!” My shout echoed off the concrete floor. “Why are you doing this?” The legs of the chair clattered in time with my struggle.
She gracefully rose, and made her way to me. The clicking of her heels was briefly interrupted by a misstep. “Here.” She placed a plate of pasta on the edge. “Eat up. Can you tell me how it sounds?” She tensed up for a moment. “How it _tastes_.”
Bewildered, I turned to her. “No? I’m not gonna eat this. Why don’t you tell me why I’m here?”
She tripped slightly sitting back down. “I —- y- — c—“
“What? I can’t hear you! Speak louder!”
“Oh! I’m sorry! Is this better?”
“Just tell me what the fuck is going on?!?”
“Right, umm - so I’ve seen you in the cafe a few times and - I just wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know how…”
The pieces began to fall into place. My temper ran away with me. “This is a fucking CRIME! You KIDNAPPED me! And for what? A _date?_ My fucking _phone number?_ You are just as psychotic as they all say you are!”
The Hurricane deflated. I felt a breeze begin to prick at my cheeks. It whistled against the walls. She took a deep breath. “No need to be so rude. I thought you would understand me. I have a hard time with people, you know. Hey - why don’t you just try the pasta?”
I explained politely that I wasn’t interested, and that I should be on my way. I included a few unnecessary remarks about her appearance, character, and parents.
Okay, I wasn’t polite.
When I finished, I realized the wind had knocked the plate off the table. Red pasta splattered across the concrete. The Hurricane was crying, and the roof was lifting from the building.
“Fuck you!” She sobbed. “I put real effort into this, and you won’t even _listen_ to me.” Then, she was pulled off her chair into the wind, and I felt a sharp pain welcome me into darkness.
The morning paper read “Hurricane strikes again!” A whole town, leveled. And me, by some miracle alive, caught in the eye of a Hurricane.
| 2021-10-21T16:11:45 | 2021-10-21T15:12:38 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate.
|
The whole world was holding it's breath, waiting on what my squad and I would find. Nothing had been heard from the United States in a week, today being the 7th day. No broadcasts, no radio signals, no internet posts, and not a single person has come from the famous country. It was almost as if the entire country had been shut off. Mexico and Canada were the first ones to realize it and reached out to the rest of the world, where it was finally decided that the British Special Forces was the most qualified to do a recon mission. No one knew what the chosen individuals sent on the mission would encounter, so they sent us. We are experts on running into the unexpected and still accomplishing the mission. Years of training and bonding has made us act as if we are one person, all different parts of the same body.
The plane hit some turbulence and I looked up from my tablet, habit making me hit the save button on the mission report. I looked at my watch and yelled out to my squad, "Ten minutes to jump!" I put my tablet in my cargo pocket and glanced around at my squad. Joel was sitting directly across from me doing another check of his gear, Eric was to his left and calmly cleaning his finger nails with his knife. Joshua was sitting to his right and catching my glance he stuck his tongue out and gave me a crazy grin making me smirk and roll my eyes. The smallest and final member of our squad was sitting to my right; he had his head back and eyes closed. I nudged him with my elbow and he looked over at me. "You ready for this Walker?" I asked.
"I was born ready for this Dylan," he replied "Please don't insult me."
I chuckled as we went through our normal conversation before every mission.
"I wouldn't dream of insulting someone as crazy as you."
Looking back at my watch, I stood up. "5 minutes, prepare for exit!" It hurt my throat to yell over the sound of the plane. Everyone stood up and adjusted their straps as we all shuffled toward the rear of the plane. No one spoke as the end of the plane opened up and we all watched the red light, waiting for it to turn green. The anticipation built up in me as it always did before jumping out of a plane. After almost a thousand jumps I would have thought it would go away by now. The green light turned on and everyone stepped forward at once as our training kicked in. It's hard to describe the way it feels in that first second after the jump. You're moving so fast horizontally just to suddenly be moving downward, pulled by gravity. I loved it. We all positioned our bodies so we were dive bombing toward the ground, going as fast as we could. As the skyscrapers of New York City rushed towards us I could tell something was wrong, even this far up. There are tendrils of smoke rising from every direction. Hearing the beep from my watch notifying me of the altitude, I leveled my body parallel to the earth slowing down slightly. I put my left hand on my parachute pull ring and stuck my right hand in front of me, palm open. I closed my fist, the signal for everyone to pull their chute, simultaneously pulling my own chute open. I steered my chute around the tall buildings, expertly guiding myself to land on the road in between the motionless cars. The moment my feet touched the ground I pushed the button on my chest that released my chute from my body and brought my weapon up. I scanned the area in front of me, confident in the knowledge that the rest of my squad was doing the same in the other directions behind me.
"What the..." I heard Joel mumble through the squad's radio headsets. I was thinking the same thing. New York looked like a scene from a low budget Apocalypse movie. Cars were all bunched up on the road like ants in a line, every single window was smashed and everything was deathly silent.
"Hey boss, you see these piles of ash everywhere?" Walker spoke to me through the radio. Now that he mentioned it I started noticing the little piles of ash everywhere. On the road, on the sidewalk, on the street.
"Yeah I see them. Everyone keep your eyes open and heads down. Spread out a little and see what you can find." I moved forward to look in one of the yellow Taxi cabs. Piles of ash in there too. I wonder what was burned and why.
"Uh. I think everyone should come here and see this." Eric's voice hesitantly came through my ear piece. I took a final glance around before turning around and jogging over to him. He was standing on the sidewalk outside a small bookstore next to a bike and dozens of the ash piles. Everyone was already there and Eric was waiting to speak until I arrived.
"Look at this bike and where the ash is. It's right next to the seat. Don't y'all get it?" He looked at each of us individually before shaking his head slowly. "This is them. These piles of ash are the Americans. They've been disintegrated."
Realization dawned on me and fear started to creep up from my stomach. I watched as Joshua moved forward and ran his boot through the pile kicking it around. He uncovered something that shined in the sun and Joel bent down to pick it up. He mumbled something and raised the object up for everyone to see. A simple gold ring, probably a wedding band. Joshua started to chuckle and it quickly escalated to a loud booming laugh. The laugh echoed around the city, in and around the empty buildings. The echoes kept going after he stopped and getting fainter and fainter.
"What could possibly be so damn funny about this, you sick bastard," demanded Walker, breaking the silence.
Joshua looked at us all, clearly shocked that none of us understood. "Don't anyone of you get it? We are all completely and totally screwed."
|
Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore.
| 2017-03-07T13:17:14 | 2017-03-07T11:17:45 | 173 | 33 |
[WP] "The Young Anakin, Trained, he will be." Yoda said. Obi-Wan exclaims, "The council is in agreement then? I will train the Boy?" Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, "Mace Windu, his master will be."
|
"It's good to see you again, Anakin. I'm glad you could visit. Would you like to see the Senate Hall?" Chancellor Palpatine smiled.
Master Windu's first rule was Observe. The second rule was Reflect. He had given permission to Anakin to visit the Chancellor on the condition that he observe and reflect, to take in more information than he gave out.
"Yes, sir. Will we get to ride on a delegation platform?" Anakin sought his inner calm while feeling the force around him. Master Windu had taught him this exercise when asking people questions. It helped give a better insight into their true answers and motivations.
"Of course, my young friend. You wish to see things from the seat of power. Who wouldn't? This way."
It was evident that the Chancellor valued power. The force in the room had intensified ever so slightly when he said the word 'power', but it felt like the Chancellor was trying to stop it, to try to conceal his real feelings. They walked to the Senate Hall.
-----------
"And then what did you sense, Anakin?" Mace Windu put a pot of Nireek tea on the table and poured two cups.
"Master Windu, I kept sensing he was concealing his real purpose in inviting me to visit. He says we're friends, but I sensed, well, that he was lying." Anakin sipped his tea, testing it. It was still too hot.
"Well, concealment may be second nature to a politician. It is often an aspect of ourselves, and one we must come to grips with, as I've taught you before, but you sensed more than just concealment, didn't you?" Mace brought a bowl of Sumlup fruit bread to the table. They both enjoyed this simple but nutritious bread, easy to get since the Jedi temple was near the hydroponics district.
"Yes, master. While the Chancellor was talking about the history of the Senate, I tried to tune into the cadence of his voice."
"Your training served you well. Were you using the force sparingly?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you used the voice following technique? That's good. It was wise to restrict your use of the force. Too often, we Jedi can use it frivolously when we should be using it to direct ourselves to virtue and enlightenment, to insight and betterment. What did you gather from his voice, from his words, and his manner?"
"I sensed that he wanted to impress me, to placate me, and to use me. He called me friend a few too many times. I remained calm as long as possible, then focused my attention on the controls of the delegation platform. He let me pilot it for awhile, then we redocked it and he said he had to attend to matters of state. I think he was growing bored of me."
"Well, I'm glad you told me all of this. It is always somewhat alarming when an adult wants to use a child. I'm proud of your reaction and restraint. That quality of restraint has been something difficult for you, but you're improving. Do you wish to not see the Chancellor again? You don't have to if you don't want to. I want you to be safe."
"Thank you, master. I won't refuse his requests for visits. I think there's something strange about him. We should probably know more."
"Perhaps next time, I will accompany you. With the both of us paying attention to him, we may gain greater insight. We will speak to Master Yoda about this matter. I value his input. Let's eat our meal, first. Have some bread. I made it while you were out."
"Thank you, Master. And my thanks again for reading my proposal."
"It was well thought out. I know your concern is your mother, but you made a good case for dealing with the slavery problem in the Hutt territories. I've already passed it on to Master Krygorn. He's intrigued by the notion of a slavery treaty with the Hutts. There may be something they want in exchange, but with the resources of the Republic, perhaps we can strike a deal. If not, at least a formal overture from the Jedi council will make them realize that we're concerned with this particular practice. The Hutts value their profits too much to let them be threatened by a practice they don't indulge in too much themselves. We just have to be patient and trust Master Krygorn."
"Thank you, Master Windu. Trust is hard for me, sometimes, as you know, but I try."
"I know, Anakin. You're doing well. Healing from a difficult life is an important part of our training. We're going to work together on it."
|
The room goes silent as the shock registers. "Don't you think I should train him?!" Asks an infuriated Obi-wan, "know your place you shall" says yoda, as he stamps down his staff with finality. Obi-wan tries to reply but gets too flustered, and after stammering for a couple seconds, he storms out of the room.
Chancellor palpatine is in his office watching this scene from a hidden camera, "well this is a surprise, but a welcome one at that," he says to his assistant."Go intercept Young kenobi, I would like to have a word with him."
Obi-wan was shocked when he heard the councilor had requested to see him. "Me?!" He exclaimed when the chancellors assistant requested that he come back to the chancellors office. "All will become clear soon," the assistant reassured Obi-wan. Obi-wan stepped into the chancellors office, as soon as palpetine saw him, his eyes lit up. "I understand you feel betrayed by the council young one," said the chancellor. "I don't know how you know about this, but nothing you can say can make me forgive them. The boy was the last remnants of my master, qui-gon gin," Obi-wan retorts. "I think you misunderstand the reason for this meet," the chancellor replies,"I too feel as if the Jedi have wronged me. Let me tell you a story about my teacher, pleagus the wise........."
| 2017-05-24T05:17:49 | 2017-05-24T01:52:21 | 161 | 101 |
[WP] When two people stand close together, you have the ability to see a Compatibility Score between them that you can break down into categories. You are the most sought after Marriage Counselor ever. One day an elderly couple visit you and their Score is 0 despite being together for over 50 years.
|
"Mr. & Mrs. Robinson?"
An older couple stood up in the reception room and began walking towards me, both beaming friendly smiles at me. I couldn't help wondering what might bring them to me as they seemed cheerful enough; usually people seem anxious before their first counseling session, if for no reason other than they're not entirely sure what to expect.
"Welcome, hello," I greeted them warmly and beckoned them to follow into my office.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable." I gestured to the large plush chairs of my office.
The Robinsons chose to sit on the loveseat together and I couldn't help thinking they seemed like a picture of happiness.
I introduced myself with the usual first-appointment spiel and they nodded along, listening. They had no questions for me, so I decided to jump right to into it:
"So, Mr. & Mrs. Robinson, what brings you here today?"
"Oh, please, Jack will do," said the gentleman.
"And Elizabeth for me," His wife chimed in.
I nodded & repeated their names, then waited for the rest of their response.
There was a pause as they gazed at each other, with what appeared to be love in their eyes, before Elizabeth said
"We both feel that we have things we must say to one another, but neither of us are quite sure where to begin."
I waited a bit longer to see if they would continue, but they both looked at me for a response. I took my cue.
"Alright, that's a good place to start," I offered with a smile I hoped was comforting.
"Well, do you mind if I begin to check your compatability scores now? Perhaps that will help me understand what you each are missing about each other."
"Of course, dearie," Elizabeth said. Jack nodded along in agreement "yes, please."
A series of numbers and charts began to appear in my vision around the Robinsons as they sat on my couch.
Curiously, Elizabeth and Jack had some completely zero percent scores in categories that I had learned to consider as "key categories" to happy marriages.
`Romantic Attraction: 0`
`Sexual Attraction: 0`
`Emotional Connection: 88`
`Friendship Compatability: 97`
"That's curious," I couldn't help uttering aloud.
"What's curious?" Jack asked, intrigued.
"Well...er, well..." I wasn't entirely sure how to begin, I'd never seen absolute zero percent compatibility scores before.
I began again, "you two appear to be well-suited as friends, and it's clear you're quite compassionate towards each other,"
I gestured to them holding hands as I continued, "but there seems to be no romantic or sexual compatibility between you two..?"
I couldn't help the inflection making it sound like a question; I was indeed curious.
Silence.
"Well," Elizabeth started, but stopped again.
"Well, yes," Jack finally said.
"You......agree with that assessment?" I asked.
"Yes," Jack confirmed.
"Oh, Jack," sighed Elizabeth, relieved.
"I care for you, Jack, I do, but I didn't want to hurt you in telling you this, so I kept it to myself all these years - we were happy enough and you're a good man," she added.
"But, you see, it's just... I've never been particularly interested in men," Elizabeth finished carefully, her eyes scanning her husband's face anxiously awaiting a reaction.
To all our surprise, Jack began to chuckle.
"I've always had my suspicions," Jack said, smiling, "and I must admit, it's part of the reason why I married you."
Elizabeth was flabbergasted, and I must admit I was thoroughly confused myself at this point.
"You married me because you knew I was a lesbian?" Elizabeth asked in shock.
"Well, yeah. It seemed easier for both of us that way." Jack said. He turned to look at me before he explained:
"See, we've been living on the same block since childhood. We've always been friends. And I knew you an' that Daisy Williams girl were thick as thieves back in those days, Lizzie." Jack let out a chuckle as he reflected.
"Everybody and their mother knew," he continued, his voice a bit softer & more somber.
"I knew it broke your heart when she moved away. But I also knew your mama would never let you live your life freely, not after what she did to you when she found you kissin Daisy that one summer night."
They looked at each other with compassion and pain in their eyes.
"Oh Jack, I can't believe you remember all those years ago," Elizabeth said.
"I do. And I tell you what's more: I don't regret a thing. Not a single day of our lives together. Because I wanted to help keep you safe, and keep you happy." Jack said, hugging Elizabeth's shoulders.
"But what about you, Jack? What about your life & your love?" Elizabeth asked.
Jack gave a small laugh before he said, "darling, I don't know that I'm of any particular disposition!" Jack chuckled again.
"But I knew with things how they were back in the day that we both needed something to tell our families. Mine were always askin me why we didn't just go steady anyway, and I thought it would make the perfect cover for both of us this way."
"Oh Jack," Elizabeth said. She grasped his hands and they shared a hug on the couch.
Elizabeth pulled away, wiping tears from her cheek before joking "No wonder you never bothered me about children!" At this, we all chuckled.
"Is there anything else either of you would like to share with the other?" I asked softly, offering again what I hoped was a comforting smile.
They both declined in turn.
I hosted a short reflection session and praises them both for the healthy and understanding manner in which they interacted before we wrapped up the session.
Even though I felt I had done very little, I felt some joy watching the Robinsons interacting, even as they left together.
Many times my office has been host to precious moments of vulnerability and understanding, but each time still feels as new and impactful as the first. I considered it one of the unique joys of my work.
|
They had to remind me who they were at first. Apparently, I was the reason they had met and gotten together in the first place.
I adjusted my glasses to get a better look at them. At first glance, Todd and Mary did not look right together. Where Todd was boyish and handsome, Mary was wrinkled and odd looking. Nor did they make more sense at second and third glances. Where one was quick witted the other was deliberate. Where one valued duty, the other valued adventure. Todd’s ideal home would be spacious and located on a remote tropical island. Mary’s would be a penthouse apartment in a bustling city. This last mismatch was even more notable as Todd was terrified of heights and Mary abhorred the sand.
And yet, they were sitting before me, claiming that I am the reason for their everlasting bond. They are having a 50 year vow renewal, and want me to lead the ceremony.
Mary tells me the story. They were college freshman, participating in a research study. Strangers were ushered into a small room in groups of two to test their compatibility. Mary tells me how they saw me gasp when they came in, and how I called in a colleague to look at them together. Neither of them recalled any sort of reaction when they were paired with the other participants. And from that moment they knew they were meant to be—clearly they had matched exceptionally high. Todd filled me in on some of their struggles. It was far from easy, their partnership. Each recalled personal sacrifices they had made. It was a life of endless compromise. But they were happy now. Thay is why they were planning the vow renewal. Mary told me how she had come to truly love Todd, to which Todd simply grasped her hand and gave it a loving squeeze.
As they filled in the details, I realized who they were. I was helping out with a phd candidate’s research. A longitudinal look at compatibility measures as they relate to pair bonding. I was hired to write down the scores of all the possible combinations of participants. I had gasped because I had never seen a number lower than 15 before. Unprofessional, yes, but I couldnt help myself.
I looked back at the couple, trying desperately to see them. Would they be angry if they found out the truth? Saddened? Was it right to tel them they based their life on a lie? I wasnt sure. I told them I would do it on one condition—that they have weekly counseling sessions with me for until the renewal. That is, after all, my usual deal for officiating weddings. I plan on using the time to study them and determine whether the knowledge will help or hurt them.
| 2019-09-03T16:59:16 | 2019-09-03T15:24:33 | 48 | 27 |
[WP] 20 years later, a team of Astronaut have successfully landed to mars and recovered the NASA rover, Opportunity. When they checked the hard drive, they discovered hundreds of images of a shadowy figure that was never sent back to earth.
|
**March 1st, 2039**: Data finally uploaded from Retrieved Object ("Opportunity" rover, last
broadcast dated Feb, 2019) after many days of unsuccessful attempts. Half the crew were at this point convinced the rover itself had come alive and was trying to keep us
from accessing its pictures, that's how bad it got. We are halfway back to Earth now, and
finally managed to work around the many, many issues and get the data from Retrieved
Object. Will look at them tomorrow.
**March 2nd, 2039**: I notice what at first looks like a smudge in one of the pictures. I am the
first to find it, and soon call the rest of the crew to investigate. A shadow on the edge of one of the shots. Closer inspection suggests a smudge, or the shadow of an out of frame object such as a rock or similar. At least that's what Mike thinks. Other members of the crew come up with their own theories, but no consensus.
To me it looks vaguely humanoid, but I don't share my feelings with the rest of the crew.
**June 20, 2039**: Back to Earth, but continuing the log as analyses of raw data lasts, which
should go on for about three more months.
**Later**: Again problems with the data. This time getting it out of the ship's computer and into base. Not even our people at base could explain the source of the troubles. Eventually we did manage to make it work, though. Big commotion over some of the shots, rather beautiful views of Earth, Moon, Mars surface, etc.
**Later**: Had some time alone with the data and tried to find the smudge picture, but couldn't find the smudge there anymore. Perhaps the problem was in the ship's computer after all.
**June 21, 2039**: Weird dreams of Mars. Been told to log those too. Expected as part of process of getting reestablished on Earth.
**June 23, 2039**: No work today on base. Grim day. A data analyst died while performing
inspection on Retrieved Object's data. Self-inflicted wounds with sharp object. No history
of mental illness. Didn't know him personally, but rather saddened by the news.
**June 24, 2039**: Again, weird dreams. To be expected, as I mentioned, but I notice a
pattern. The same stretch of land, I assume from Mars, or what my mind constructs as
memories I have of Mars. Nothing happens in the dream, I just stare at this empty piece
of land. But I feel such anguish when I wake up. Usually sweaty. Olivia sleeps through it. I don't wake her up.
**July 1st, 2039**: Am called to base by a data analyst to check on an unidentified shadow
on a photograph. The woman attempts to show me the picture, but no shadow is to be
seen. She swears it was there a moment ago.
**Note**: this was not the same picture where we originally saw the shadow.
**July 15, 2039**: Another death. The young lady that called me up a few days before about
the shadow. No close family. Terrible circumstances: found dead in her apartment, lying
on the bed, no sign of struggle. Body marks indicating she hadn't left the bed at all for
twelve days. Doorman claims he knocked on at least three separate occasions to check on
her, but in all of them she simply replied she was fine through the walls, no sign of distress in her voice.
Forensics concluded on suicide by self-inflicted dehydration, a rather odd circumstance. She lied down and stared for twelve days until her body gave in, apparently.
**July 16, 2039**: The dream has changed. I'm staring at the same stretch of red dirt, alone.
But something is behind me now. I can't see what but a terrible fear grips at my guts as I know if I turn my head I will see *it.* I don't know what *it* is, but I know it scares me
greatly. So I don't look, but I feel *it* right behind me, so close but not touching. Wake
up in sweats again. Olivia sleeps through it all.
**LATER**: I get up and check the pictures in my computer. A feeling of dread growing
in me, I click the one with the original shadow.
It's there again. Like a human shadow stretched thin with elongated limbs, but somehow
not reflected on the ground… somehow standing upright.
I blink and it's gone.
**July 17, 2039**: Do not go to work today. Keep thinking about the picture. I try toying with
the saturation and colors to get a better look. Am interrupted by Olivia. We argue.
**Later**: I can see the shadow no better now, but messing with the saturation gave me a
chilling realization: the background of the picture is the stretch of dirt in my dream. I
don't know how I missed this.
**July 18, 2039**: Have not slept, spent the night sweeping through all the data collected by
the Retrieved Object. No more evidence of the shadow in any picture.
When I look again later, it's gone from the original picture too.
**July 19, 2039:** No sleep again, and a remarkable update: the shadow is back. In all the
pictures now.
**July 20, 2039**: Big fight with Olivia. She is staying at her Mom's. Work called, I did not pick
up.
The shadow is in all the pictures still.
**July 22, 2039**: I wake up on the computer chair. Must have fallen asleep. On the walls,
drawings, black marks of charcoal. The shadow figure, again and again, many sizes,
covering the wallpaper, bedroom, living room, even bathroom.
My hands are black with charcoal. I realize I must have drawn those, but I have no memory of it.
**July 24, 2039**: The shadow is now in every picture I own. Not just the ones from
Retrieved Object, but family photographs too. It lurks behind me and Olivia in Paris.
Covers my face in the wedding photographs. Even on the physical photographs behind frames, it's there.
**July 29, 2039**: Olivia and the crew stop by. Seem horrified at the state of the apartment
and of me. Olivia convinces me to go to a hospital.
**July 29, 2039**: At the hospital now. Had a long talk with the counselor from our team. Said
this is not unusual after mission. Stress, etc. He shows me pictures, his family, my family,
random stock photographs. Asks me if I see anything in them. I tell him I don't.
It's a lie. The shadow is in all of them.
**July 30, 2039**: It's here. The feeling of the dream. *It*. I open my eyes and I know. It's
dark in the hospital room, but staring at the wall I know. It's just behind me. The dread
grows, I can't turn. If I turn, if I look at it, it's over. Even as I write this I feel it. It is right
behind me.
And then I know. We brought it here. The first picture. It wasn't *depicted* in the picture, it was *in* the picture. That's how it came to this planet. That's how it took over the data analyst's minds.
And now it's in here. It's with me.
I need to turn.
I need to see it.
But I can't see it.
I can't bear to see it.
It is not *behind* me, I realize, with horror.
It is *in* me already.
I am not in control.
I am not in control.
I look up.
The window's open.
The city lights are small down under.
The window sill is cold against my feet.
I am not in control.
I am not in co
___
/r/psycho_alpaca
|
Upon return to earth, astronauts suffer from several symptoms. These include increased awareness of body mass, general nausea, and morbid – downright horrifying – hallucinations.
They spoke of the Cosmonaut.
There are pictures. They’re safe now, and there are only three mortals who know of them beyond the team who went to mars: the president, myself, and the Cosmonaut. This is assuming the Cosmonaut can even be killed. With the conditions on Mars, I have my theories that he cannot.
The President has authorized a mission: I, Commander Hendricks, am to go up there and kill the damn thing.
They have no idea what the Cosmonaut is, but it must be important to him if this mission was given to me in times of national emergency. To be sent in to space with the looming threat of nuclear war is unthinkable.
And they have sent me with little beyond my wits, a general idea of where the Cosmonaut lives, and a goddamned gun.
***
You would be shocked how little your mind focuses on the beauty of Earth when you’ve seen *those* pictures. The shadows that twist like brambles. It has no eyes, but even through the picture you can feel it staring at you. There is a sense of hungry. As if it had eaten all that lived on the planet, and that it was proud. I am certain it wanted to be seen.
Perhaps the Cosmonaut is hungry. Perhaps I am brunch to be served on a rock of red with a side of sand.
***
I report my landing back to NASA. I step out of the capsule and tell them I am here to collect ice samples as I cock my pistol. I’m just a yankee. A full blooded American ready to do what Americans do best. Shoot the shit and then shoot shit.
Let’s go. It’s a cowboy versus the Cosmonaut. Who will win?
The gravity modifications to my boots keep things similar to earth, but there’s still a lightness to my body that I’m unused to. It’s like being underwater, without the feeling of weight. When I swing my gun, it takes a second longer than I think. This is bad. If it gets the jump on me.
I can hear myself breath in my own chest. Calm down. Calm the fuck down. Calm—
A shadow. Long and moving. It twists towards me and I leap back. Gunshot. Everything’s around me is almost silent with my earplugs, but the gunshot still stabs my eardrums. It rings, but only a little.
Again I fire at the ebony brambles. They sweep around me. It’s dark. I fire again, and again. God save me. Why do guns have to be so heavy? They should have sent me with a flamethrower. Hell, I practically launched in one.
But it constricts me. It is curious. Like oil being painted over in enormous flashes. Greasy weaves that twist like pulled and pushed fabric. It’s like looking into my closed eyes. Visions and light of nothing at all.
And then it stops. I can hear it breathing behind my neck. The Cosmonaut steps in front of me, and it is also behind me. It is to my sides and it is above. There are more shadows beneath my feet than my own.
It points to the sky, to earth. I can see it, just a tiny little dot of blue.
And then it is orange.
And then it gray.
And then it is black.
Gray, again. It is gray. Void of life.
The Cosmonaut sits beside and inside me. Its words are my own, but also from another time and another place.
“I have lived a very long time, you see,” the Cosmonaut says.
“How are you talking—“
“I can hear you think. Don’t worry.”
*What happened?*
“The same thing that always happens,” the Cosmonaut says. “And it will happen again.”
*I’m not sure what you mean.*
“We’re going to be spending a long time here together. Come with me.”
I nod. I nod and follow it into a small cave nearby. The setting sun gives me a glimpse inside.
It sits everywhere and it smiles with no face. The Cosmonaut goes on.
“There were many civilizations before you, and after you. There’s many things you ought to know.”
*Such as?*
The Cosmonaut extends his hand deeper into the save. As the sun lowers, the shadows seep away and reveal it.
Skeletons.
The shadows come back – this time forever.
***
Thanks for the kind words and gold everyone. I'm not big on marketing and stuff, but I'm writing two novels currently. Hopefully one day an agent sees them :) Feel free to follow me on reddit, I guess.
| 2019-02-15T01:09:13 | 2019-02-14T22:10:22 | 1,526 | 1,135 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped.
|
Day 1: Time stopped, as it does when I'm in danger, at 7:05:23 this morning. I know because that's why my watch was at when it stopped counting. I usually just duck or jump to the side or something and time restarts, but none of that helped. I finally ran outside the house, and nothing. This is strange; something's about to kill me - usually time stops only seconds away from my death - but whatever it is I can't figure it out.
Day 2 (?): I've double-checked everything. All the food I ate, the pills I took, I don't see any bug bites - and how many bug bites are lethal, anyway? It's been an entire day the world has been stopped. Usually it's under a minute. Whatever the danger is, I just don't see it. I hope I don't have cancer or something. How would I find out?
Day 7 (probably): This is losing its humor value. People in solitary start to go bonkers, and I'm starting to feel that way myself. I've dozen-checked everything. There is nothing, literally nothing, even slightly threatening to me within a kilometer of my house. I'm not even sure how many days it is, since nothing has changed. I'm mostly going by what it feels like. I could be off a full day in either direction.
Day 30 (ish): I had a long conversation with a time-locked squirrel today, so maybe the going crazy part has begun. Still, the squirrel made some good points. Heh.
Day 60 (or so): There is nothing, literally nothing, within two kilometers of my house that constitutes any possible threat to my life, except maybe that burly cop if he finds out how much time I spent admiring his wife in the shower.
Day 90 (deal with it): I've just been walking in an expanding spiral, and have now made it maybe four kilometers from my house. Nothing, absolutely nothing, looks like any danger to me at the moment time stopped. I must be thinking too small: maybe a nuke went off or something? I climbed an antenna tower to look for planes in the sky or explosions or something but didn't see anything. What am I going to do if it IS a nuke? I guess running the other way until time restarts would mean I made it to minimum safe distance, but then lots of other people would get fried. Maybe I can just take the bits of the bomb and spread them far apart, or carry it out into the desert or something.
Day whatever: I just started walking in a direction. Don't know why I never noticed this before, but you can walk on time-locked water. I don't want to think about what happens if I walk to safety, time restarts, and then stops again after I sink a bit into the water. Too far and I may just be stuck there for eternity. The stories say Jesus walked on water; but that can't have been time-locked or who would have seen it to write the story?
End of year 1, or 2, or however long it's been: I've been walking in a straight line, well I guess a curved line because the planet is round, for, well, a really long time. Time never restarted. I don't see anything that might be dangerous to me. I've seen some nice scenery. I'm starting to walk into the darkness, where the sun had already set when time froze. Not sure how useful that's going to be.
100km later, or whatever, I don't know: I see the full moon rising. I went back and forth a while, see the moon rise and set and rise and set, just to break up the monotony.
Another 10km, or something: I must be going nuts, because now I see two moons.
Later that same day (night?): the second one is not the moon. It looks to be an asteroid, maybe 5 kilometers across, burning up in the atmosphere. There's a bunch of burned out land under it. It has stopped a couple hundred feet above the ground. So now all I have to do is figure out how to climb up to it, chip it into little pieces one at a time, and distribute them over a wide area so that nobody dies. Since I can walk on water, I don't even know if breaking time-locked rock is possible. And I'm not sure how I'm going to get up there. But I do have plenty of time to think about it.
|
I haven't live a particularly dangerous life. I ate decently. I loved sports and exercise. I never drank or did drugs. Time seemed to slow down when I was around them until I turned them down entirely. Cars that would have hit me, haven't. I was mugged a couple of times, but the dude just held the gun not moving until I got away. Now, I know why.
I can drink if I get a straw down the bottle. All food has to be already cooked or fresh. Well, fresh is a relative term now. I can manipulate things but nothing ever seems to move. People are here, but they might as well be mannequins. I can move then but they will never talk back or react. I'm the god of my own play world.
I went back to the hospital. Is this hell? I go there now and then when I get real bored. To the hospital and the dark places of my own mind. The doctors and nurses are still there. Locked in their scramble to save me. I think I've hugged ever single one of them for trying so hard. Thanks guys. I read the charts the nurses were jotting down as I was wheeled in. Diagnosis, myocardial inf-
| 2018-07-04T16:29:47 | 2018-07-04T16:17:26 | 2,360 | 110 |
[WP] A broke adventure has to buy cheap terrible items with weird curses on them. Little do they know that those cursed items happen to synergize so well together that they quickly become overpowered.
|
The bandit leader laughed as he drew his gleaming sword, magical flames licking around the edges in sharp contrast to my rotten old staff which had definitely seen better days. Behind him, his band of cut-throats, murderers and desperate, unwashed scum brandished their assorted clubs, spears, knives and axes. A particularly terrifying-looking orc with a scarred, pitted face stepped forward casually swinging a massive, warhammer.
You really don't want to do this, I said, sighing.
The bandit leader laughed again. As well he should. To him and his ambushing gang I probably looked nothing more than a tasty morsel on a dusty back road in the middle of nowhere.
Your sword is rusty, said the bandit leader. Your boots are melting off your feet, your jerkin is more holes than jerkin, those look like the cursed gloves of Arundel and is that, is that...?
He leaned in to get a closer look as did the rest of his gang.
Is that a colander on your head? He finished, quizzically.
It was, indeed, a colander. Or to be precise, the cursed colander of endless vegetables. With armour +1, it was useful but silly looking and had the negative of making vegetables appear from nowhere whenever I was hit. Needing armour, I'd bought it in a backstreet weaponsmith, my meagre purse allowing me only to buy the feeblest, enchanted weaponry in the store. I'd bought it at a further discount because I'd purchased it together with the environmentally friendly druidic staff of defence. Fashioned by a druid wanting to reforest the world, this +1 armour class staff had a minor curse causing all nature to grow everywhere I went. Great in the forest, less good when I wanted to pop down the shops to get some cheese. The deli definitely wouldn't let me back in again but the greengrocer was happy as all his stock grew bigger so every cloud and all that.
The orc grunted something at me menacingly.
You said it, Mathilda, said the bandit leader to the Orc.
Mathilda? I thought. A strange coincidence as she had the same name as my ex-wife's divorce lawyer and appeared to be almost as terrifying.
Mathilda stepped forward, preparing to take a swing. Definitely shades of divorce lawyer about her.
I really, really wouldn't do that, I said. It never ends well.
Mathilda looked down at my puny form, glanced back at her fellow bandits and then back to me. Peering at me through her scarred, broken face which seemed to be hewn from green granite, her ample chest started to heave. A dull roaring sound emerged from what I assume was her mouth and a rictus grin covered her face. I think she was laughing. Or screaming with rage. Difficult to tell with orcs and divorce lawyers.
Please don't, I said, as it'll hurt you a lot more than it'll hurt me.
I stumbled slightly as my boots of speed 'tanglefoot when enemies appear' curse prepared to kick in, tips of roots appearing around me. My ripped tunic of defence, AC+1 also glowed a little in anticipation. Although currently silent, it was usually annoyingly chatty as it had an evil faerie's soul embedded in it, something the merchant had neglected to mention. He'd also forgotten to tell me that it was cursed to multiply any and all curses on or about my person.
The orc swung her head towards me, pulled back the warhammer and with a mighty roar, charged in my direction.
I tried to warn you, I said, attempting a vaguely menacing wave of my staff which was more pathetic than powerful.
Raaaarrrrrrrrrraaaarrrghhhhh!!!! Screamed the orc as the mighty weapon swung in a wide, powerful arc towards my colander in a divorce lawyerey kind of way.
Crap. I said and braced.
Suddenly, all my cursed weapons and armour glowed red hot and I howled. My ring of never-ending food, increasing the size of whatever I was eating was particularly scalding and I dodged to one side as a huge tendril reached out of the earth ensnaring my attacker who looked confused. She looked even more confused when a gigantic carrot descended from the sky, pinning her to the ground. This was swiftly followed by a blow to the skull as a huge broccoli floret whacked her on the head, cracking open her helmet.
Take that and that and that screamed my cursed tunic, multiplying the seemingly never-ending curses emanating from my decidedly dodgy equipment.
The bandit leader himself was screaming in agony, held in place by roots while he was being hammered by a constant stream of parsnips, his gang scattering as pumpkins and turnips smashed into them from a great height. I noticed one, particularly large and dangerous parsnip hitting him in the tenders. He looked beat. Sugar beet to be precise as a 10-foot wide, purple and juicy specimen splattered him into non-existence. Sweet.
Dodging for my life, I leapt for cover under a tree by the side of the road and waited for the gigantic vegetable storm to dissipate. And suddenly the sky was clear and relatively speaking, so was my path. Well, at least the bandits were no longer a threat.
I quietly collected as many of their valuables as I could and continued on my way. With their coin, I might just have enough to get rid of some of these cursed items and get myself some proper kit. Something that didn't leave me embarrassed in each and every melee and also didn't leave me constantly apologising to whatever unfortunate travelling companions happened to be in my general vicinity. My last group, lead by an uptight Paladin, kicked me out after being buried under a load of African root veg and European herbs after one of them had playfully punched me in the arm, setting off the chain reaction.
Probably hadn't helped that my cursed tunic had started to sing "I yam what I yam." Oh well, it'll probably get better in thyme.
|
The undergrowth was impenetrable. Thresher sighed, then tentatively drew the Machete of Formicophilia.
A ripple of low groans spread through the men arranged around the jungle clearing. Prowler crouched beside their leader, scanning the dense foliage. "Fuck. Not that one again."
"There's no other way," Thresher said, voicing what they were all thinking. "The jungle has reclaimed these pathways. They haven't been used for decades," the Knight-Explorer said, squaring his shoulders. "I can resist it better than most."
Thresher hacked at the low hanging vines and dense draconids that made up the bulk of the vegetation. The group were at their wits end, dripping in sweat and frustration. They'd been pursuing the wounded Wyvren for an hour now.
"We saw it go down for fucks sake," Prowler started up again. "It's wing was shot straight through. No way it survived the fall."
Thresher would have agreed with that statement an hour ago, but he wasn't so sure anymore. Surely they would have found it by now. He could feel the machete take effect. He could feel hundreds of little insects moving inside his cloying linen shirt. He focused in on the heightened new sensation, shivering in pleasure.
A knock on his head snapped his brain back into the oppressively humid world. To Thresher's credit he began hacking again almost immediately. "There is nowhere else on this planet with more insects, and this is where we have to use the fucking machete," he said, his voice low as he tried to ignore the little creatures crawling all over his skin.
The machete made short, efficient work of the clogged trail. Sounds flitted high above them through the forest canopy. Occasionally a monkey lazily called out to its group. They could hear muffled birdsong through the verdant foliage,sometimes growing crisp and clear when they burst into little clearings.
After some time a tall, lanky man with a rusted crossbow spoke up. "What took it down anyway," he said, thoughtfully chewing on the end of a stick. "That wyvren was blasted out of the air."
Thresher said nothing, immersing himself in the task at hand as pin points of pleasure flared up all over his body. Wyvren claws fetched ridiculous prices. The in-tact claw of a juvenile wyvren could buy three, maybe four average-sized farms.
He'd been thinking that wyvrens generally had about twelve claws, then he'd wished it out of the sky, a flash of light tearing a hole in its wing in the blink of an eye. The Knight-Explorer had chalked that up to coincidence until his sword, dagger, necklace, and three rings all began to vibrate, each of them emitting an intense low humming sound that merged into something he knew only he could hear.
| 2019-12-02T19:42:26 | 2019-12-02T17:10:17 | 77 | 27 |
[WP] Everyone knows you're the most powerful member of the league, so why are you an F-tier hero? Because F-tier is cleanup. The others protect the world from threats. You protect it from the other heroes.
|
I entered the main building of Brain and Brothers, barely an eye on me from any direction. That was the way I liked it.
I was already balding, probably from the stress. My therapist told me depression doesn't cause balding. I don't believe him.
Anyways, I walked up to the front desk of the lobby, 90 stories below my eventual destination. I had to check in, just like anybody else.
I waited in front of a well dressed receptionist. She was trying hard to not notice me. Apparently I should have worn my suit that day. Khakis are far more comfortable though.
I am a patient man, so I did what patient men do. I waited.
After a minute she looked up from her computer “Can I help you?” She had a softer tone than I expected.
“Hi, I'm here to see the Big Brain.” I winked at her. Jack O'Brian hadn't gone by that name publicly in years.
She stared flatly at me. “Mr. O'Brian does not take visitors. You need an appointment” She looked back down at her computer, thinking she had ended this conversation.
“I have one. Noon on the dot. He's buying me lunch.” I looked up at the big clock in the lobby, “I have 3 minutes to get there, and I need his elevator key or I'm going to be late.” I leaned in, “Would you like to be the cause of that, Miss?” I arched an eyebrow.
She stared at me, and without breaking eye contact picked up the phone. “Hello, this is Sheri down at the front. I have a...” She put down her phone “What is your name?”
“I'm just his noon.”
“...somebody who claims to be his noon appointment down here.”
I looked up at a specific camera in the corner. It slowly turned toward me. I gave it a friendly wave.
“Okay, yes.” She ended the call, reaching into her desk. “The second elevator on the left, don't take any of the others.”
I nodded, “Thank you miss.” I took the key and headed up.
Jack patted my back. “It's been too long, old friend.” He grinned in my face, his emaculate teeth reflecting every single ray of light in the room.
“To be honest Jack, I would prefer if we never had to meet,” I responded, not able to muster a smile in return.
He nodded his teeth fading, “Fair. Fair. Come on in.”
He lead me from the elevator back to his office. He had gotten sandwhiches for us.
“These are vegan, you'll love them.” He sat down at his giant desk with giant window behind him.
I looked down to my protuding gut, “I prefer taste over health, but thanks for the food.” I sat across from him. I tried to not be stiff. I always try to not be stiff. I usually fail.
The Big Brain on the other hand. Jack O'Brian. The Jack of All Trades. He had himself a multi-billion dollar company that was cutting edge in at least 10 different fields. A suit that probably cost more than my monthly salary. My public salary at least. He was always perfect.
I leaned forward and grabbed my sandwhich. It had mayonaise on it. Thank god. I took a giant bite. It was then that I remembered normal mayanaise was not vegan.
“So...I do have to say, as always, I am sorry for having to call you in here...uh, are you okay?”
I was trying really hard to not spit out the sandwhich, “Gfat” I gave a thumbs up with a full mouth and probably a red face.
He nodded slowly. Luckily he never tried to understand me. Usually those that did regretted it. I just wasn't cut from the same cloth as most of them.
“Anyways, I am sorry to call you in. We...uh, have a problem.”
“Who is it?” I asked, slightly spitting some sandwhich and “mayonaise” out. “Oops, sorry.” I grabbed a napkin to wipe it off his desk.
He took a deep breath and then leaned forward, pressing a button under the desk. Suddenly, the room went dark as the windows tinted, lights down, everything powered down.
My eyes scanned the room, “That big, huh?”
He stood up from his desk and pulled a chair up next to me, sitting down. His voice was very low, “I've discovered a plot.”
“Mm?” I asked, taking another bite of my sandwhich. It was a lot better now that I knew what to expect. I didn't know tomatoes could get that fresh.
“Nova....Apollo...maybe Artemis too. I don't know. I think they want to kill me.”
My eyes got a little wider. Probably not as wide as they should have. But moreso than they were.
“The three aliens in the S class?”
“2 of the aliens in the S class. I don't know about the third.”
“Its not normal for you to not know things,”I said, a little shocked.
“I don't know that I want you to act on this yet, old friend.” He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “We have to know for sure.”
I nodded slowly. “They've always been distrustful of our supers here. If they found out you were snooping....What might they do?”
He shook his head. “I feel like I've put too much focus on my business as of late. I forgot how complicated internal politics of the Union could be. Business is so much easier than people,” He smiled a little smile to himself.
“You've always been a people person,” I reminded him. “To a fault.”
I may have let too much of myself out with that last line. He turned to regard me.
“Old friend?”
“Brain?” I responded.
He paused for an uncomfortably long time. At least 2 to 3 seconds. I hated it.
“They got to you.”
I took a deep breath. “I've always fucking hated politics.” I took another large bite of my sandwhich.
“Are you here, to investigate me?” he asked.
“Well-”
He cut me off, “No. No. You come into my place. You threaten me. You-”
“No.” It was my turn to cut him off.
He turned white, not moving a muscle.
“I learned a long time ago, Brain. I don't investigate. There is too much grey area sometimes. If somebody is setting themselves up to be able to take over the world. I don't care if they actually are going to or not. That's too far.”
Brain was still frozen. Getting even whiter by the second. I'm sure he had a lot he wanted to say.
“If its any consolation, I killed them too.” I took another bite of my sandwhich. I couldn't taste it anymore. I put it down gently. “And you were right, Artemis was in on it.”
I turned to regard him, “I'll never know if you were innocent, or they were, or this was just some colossal bullshit that you all should have gotten a marriage counselor for. And that's the problem. You're too smart, they're too smart. And I'm too dumb. I would have never trusted myself to learn the truth.” I brushed the crumbs off my hands. “I can't go killing the wrong one of you.”
“Thanks for the food, Brain.” I stood up and reached my hand out, clasping his shoulder. “Goodbye.”
I let go and he immediately collapsed from his chair to the floor, hitting his head pretty hard on the desk on the way down. He never felt it.
I fucking hate my job.
|
What makes you a hero?
I'm not quiet sure.
Super strength, super speed, an IQ of 600, a mechanized suit, coming from a different planet. All of those things can definitely give you super powers, and they could make you a super hero - but they could also make you a villain.
When I was a boy I wanted nothing but to be like them - the heroes. I'd eagerly sit in front of the TV during the nightly news, the cascade of amber splashed against my face, occasionally replaced by quick flashes as I saw my heroes dance brilliantly across the screen. One had thwarted some evil super genius, another saved children from a burning school, and another defeated a giant monster from the sea. They would all do so with such flash, it left me wonder struck and in complete awe, jumping up in joy as they once again saved the day.
Still, I wonder, did those heroes during that time do what they did out of obligation, or was it something else?
I remember the day the call to action was put in place. Many heroes by that point had grown too old to fight, or were lost in battle. The monsters became more prevalent, the villains more powerful, and the Hero League simply did not have enough people to combat all of the threats. Crime and destruction was becoming more rampant, and now more than ever they needed heroes. Anyone could sign up for the academy league, and if you passed your examinations you would be granted a super power. A gift from Doctor Legash, who had devised the technology to grant extraordinary powers to anyone.
The feelings all came back to me in that moment, the memories, the desire, the want of helping others.
I immediately dropped out of college, and hurriedly filled and submitted out the paper work. I didn't care if I didn't get accepted the first go around, or the second, or even the third. I'd spend my time training, getting ready and preparing for when it came to be my time. I was surprised, of course, to find out that I was one of the first selected - turns out a lot of people didn't apply. Maybe it was fear from the recent deaths, or the new technology, or maybe not everyone wanted to be a hero like me.
The examinations did not go well over the next year. I either failed at every turn, or was close to failing. It seems just because you want to be a hero, doesn't mean you get to be one.
Still, they were desperate, a year had already gone by, 3 heroes had already died by that point, a megalomaniac by the name of Harbinger had already used his cult to seize control of a country and was threatening to Nuke every country that didn't pay his ransom. It was bleak, but we were insured as the new class, the new league, that we'd be the ones to bring light to the world again.
That didn't happen, not for me anyway.
Everyone got something powerful. Starfall could control cosmic forces. Berserk could go into a rage that made him immune to damage and gave him increased strength. Stellar could heal people, and restore nature. Immolation could control fire. Ruinous had any power she wanted - able to adapt to any situation. Me? Nothing, a fluke they said, but they could only administer it once, a second time would literally make my body explode. I was still part of the league they said, still "part of the team". Depression could have set in, but I decided to do something else instead.
There's been a lot of people that came after me, and most of that group have been on the news probably inspiring young boys like me when I was their age. They really helped bring people in, showed that anyone could be a super hero, that anyone could really save the day and make a difference.
As for me? I'm still not quiet sure what a hero is, but I'm here, on the ground, helping where I can. After the damage is done and the big shots have moved on, I'm clearing rubble, getting people water, telling them it's going to be okay. I'm getting a balloon out of a tree for a kid. Helping the elderly get across the street. I'm just trying to do what I can.
​
edit: I just realized I completely misunderstood the prompt. Oh well, I'll leave it up.
| 2021-09-22T21:33:57 | 2021-09-22T21:31:51 | 203 | 69 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you.
|
People always think the Pearly Gates are these large affairs of gold latticework sitting amongst the clouds. In reality, they're a pair of perfectly normal looking office doors painted a slightly glossy off-white. They're located in a lobby next to a booth with a plexiglass window that has one of those little slots for passing paperwork through to the person inside. Above the window is a sign with large, plain lettering that reads "HEAVEN CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION AUTHORITY - PLEASE HAVE ALL NECESSARY PAPERWORK FILLED OUT AND READY WHEN APPROACHING THE WINDOW." Inside a booth, a tired and harried-looking old man sits, speaking to the small boy at the head of the line with all the urgency of a bureaucrat trying to make sure that the line keeps moving a quick pace, which is to say, no urgency at all.
It reminds me of the DMV back on Earth.
Next to the boy is a dog, so brimming with barely contained excitement that it seems to be the only animated object in the whole room. I can't make out what they're saying, but the dog is quite obviously overjoyed to be reunited with it's owner, tail wagging furiously and occasionally running in small circles.
A moment later, the old man waves the boy and his dog onwards and presses a small red button on his desk. A buzzer sounds and I can hear the click of the lock on the white doors releasing. The boy pulls the handle and the doors swing open. A light pours through, blinding me with its brilliance and making it impossible to make out anything on the other side. The boy doesn't seem to have the same problem though, hesitating a moment to stare in awe at whatever it is that he can see on the other side before stepping through with his dog. The doors swing shut, and the two are gone with the loud *thunk* of the deadbolt re-engaging. The sound had a certain appropriate sense of finality to it.
"Next!" calls St. Peter.
The woman in front of me walks up to the window carrying a goldfish in a fishbowl.
"Name?"
"Abigail." She replies, setting the fishbowl on the counter in front of the window.
"And who will be vouching for you?"
"This goldfish," she says, "His name is Patrick."
St. Peter turns slightly to address the fishbowl. "And will you, Patrick, vouch for this woman so she can gain entrance to paradise?"
Patrick stirs slightly in the water, then looks around in puzzlement. "I'm sorry, what woman? Who?"
Abigail speaks up, prompting him. "Me. I'm Abigail. You were my pet when I was five."
Patrick's eyes narrow momentarily, as if he was concentrating very hard on something, then he suddenly perks up. "Ah yes! Abigail! It's been a long time, but I remember you now."
"And are you willing speak on her behalf so that she may gain entrance to Heaven?" asks St. Peter.
Patrick turns to face the old man, "I don't see any problem with-" He stops suddenly, as if struck by a thought, then turns back to face his former owner. "Wait. Didn't you flush..me down...the..." He trails off for a moment, and then looks back at Abigail. "I'm sorry, what was I saying? Who are you?"
"Abigail. You were telling the nice man here that you were going to vouch for me so I can get into heaven."
"Oh, yes, that's right. Sure, go ahead and let her in."
St. Peter glances suspiciously at Abigail and then addresses Patrick, "You're absolutely sure? You truly believe that Abigail deserves an eternity of bliss and happiness?"
"Who?" asks Patrick.
St. Peter glares at the goldfish in frustration. He glances from the fish to the woman, and back again, clearly torn on how to proceed. But the indecision lasts only a moment before he settles on the course that get them both away from his desk and makes them not his problem anymore as expediently as possible. The buzzer sounds, the doors open, and then Abigail and her confused goldfish are gone.
Now it's my turn.
"I see you have no animal with you, I hope that means you have all the proper paperwork?" St. Peter asks me.
"Indeed I do," I reply, producing a thick sheaf of papers and sliding them through the little slot at the bottom of the window.
St. Peter looks at the documents momentarily, reading the title out loud, "'Contract of Eternal Servitude.' I assume you had a cat then."
I sigh, "Yes, that's correct. Lord Mittens."
St. Peter raises an eyebrow quizzically, "You named you cat Lord Mittens?"
"No, just Mittens. The 'Lord' was added in the contract, I'm no longer permitted to refer to him in any other way."
St. Peter leafs through the numerous pages of the document enumerating the many, many services I am to perform in exchange for being granted a voucher, making sure that all the i's are dotted and t's crossed. "Well, everything appears to be signed and in order. I can let you in if you want, but you might be better off going back the way you came and trying the other office. Last chance to back out of this."
"No, I've thought it over, and I've resigned myself to accepting the contract."
St. Peter looks at me with an expression of sincere pity, "Very well then. You have my deepest sympathies."
He presses the button, the buzzer sounds, and the doors unlock. I pause for a moment to gather my courage before I pull the doors open and step through to face eternity.
|
Alexander came into the 3rd floor apartment with a stutter, his glasses and awkward unshaven appearance left him unappealing. When my roommate, Casey, had told me he was bringing his friend over and that he was a little strange, he wasn't exaggerating. Casey had forgotten to mention a very important detail to Alex. The detail that we have a pet.
"Wow, you have a golden retriever!" Alexander seemed as excited as we were when class got cancelled. "That's a good dog, I can tell just by looking at him." "Oh yeah, he's pretty cool. I got him to fetch the news from the front too, doesn't even need a leash." "He's not your slave you know, this guy is his own individual, with his own hopes and dreams. He might have smaller aspirations and simpler drives, but they are there all the same." Casey and I just looked at each other, he didn't even ask who I was and I would be clueless to his presence if not for Casey telling me about him beforehand. I limply held my playstation 4 controller in my hand on the living area couch, unsure how to proceed. "I don't suppose that I could talk to him for a bit?" Now Casey and I were really confused. Did he really want to have a conversation with our dog? "You can learn a lot from animals, trust me. One of them told me something very important once, something that I can't talk with anyone else about. The gist of that conversation is to be good to all animals, trust me." I sat with my mouth agape, thinking if he was for real.
Without even attaining permission, Alexander immediately began sitting down and chatting with our dog. "What's your name man?" He asked inquisitively, and he seemed to expect an actual answer. "I see, well it seems like a good life." Casey and I were stunned. I couldn't even believe what was happening, and Casey started to realize that bringing him over was a really bad move. "You know, I eat 100% vegan. No animal products involved in my diet, absolutely not. I know it might not mean much to you, but I just can't eat meat or anything that an animal had to suffer for." This gross, unkempt man came into our house to spout off his vegan nonsense? I was about to say something but Casey immediately propped up and said "Yo, Alex, I think maybe we should hang out somewhere else, maybe your place? Alex responded "Sure, sounds like a plan." "Hey, see you later David." As Casey and Alex left the apartment, he waved to David, our dog.
| 2016-03-24T15:28:57 | 2016-03-24T12:50:08 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You were sent to go deal with reports of a sinister witch in the woods that has been terrifying local villagers. Your grandmother is surprised to see you, but offers tea and cake while you're here.
|
Samantha gripped the crumpled paper in her hand for the twelfth time and took as many deep breaths as possible. She knew it was useless. Human remedies for anxiety didn’t apply to the supernatural. They barely applied to the natural, as the human mind was complicated. Yet the natural part of her found solace in the act for some reason, so she continued as she plunged into the Northern Black Forest.
Her guild supplied her with the crumpled-up wad of paper in her left hand. The words on the paper were as helpful as the wrinkles she’d forged into it. Those words represented a detailed report of a witch who terrorized all the local villagers, turning them into snakes, pigs, monstrosities, and the like. The report instructed her to search for the witch in the Eastern Ever Apple Forest. However, her superiors assumed the witch resided in the same forest her victims. Those unfamiliar with the supernatural would make that assumption. She was familiar with it and knew the witch would be within the Black Forest.
Because she knew the witch was her grandmother.
The trek towards her grandmother’s home was effortless as her grandmother knew she was coming the moment she stepped foot in the forest. Any obstacles she’d spawned to keep out intruders made way for Samantha. Some in comical fashion, as whole trees moved out of her path and rivers bent to accommodate her. She walked a straight path until she faced the familiar sight of a three-story house built entirely of multi-colored roses.
The foundation appeared to be held together with vines, but Samantha knew this was merely for cosmetics. The foundation was held together by magic.
Her grandmother sat in front of the house, facing the direction she knew her grandchild would come. Her hair was the silver Samantha had always known it to be. Benevolent wrinkles graced her face, and a face-splitting smile gave even more warmth to those crevices. She didn’t look a day older than the last time Samantha saw her—two decades ago.
It was by design, of course. Her grandma was a witch capable of changing her appearance, whoever she chose. She could appear ten, twenty, eighty-two, or even infantile. This was merely the look she felt would serve her purpose the most.
“Sammy! What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you a day before you gave birth and needed a babysitter.” She spoke with great vigor and beckoned Samantha to the table with a hand.
Samantha sat opposite her, made a show of emptying her pockets, and tried to give a childlike smile to her grandma. She couldn’t see herself, but she felt phony, and sure the smile wasn’t convincing. She rested her hands on her lap and waited for the actual conversation to start.
“You popped up quickly, young lady, and caught me off guard. But I had enough time to whip up some of your favorites.” Her grandma’s hands gestured towards a cup and a slice of cake. “Hazelnut and jasmine buttercream cake with a side of Chamomile and honey tea. You used to eat this up as a kid.”
Samantha staved off the grumble in her stomach and said, “My mother raised me never to eat a witches’ food. It could turn you into a pig.”
“Child, please. The adult talk doesn’t suit you at all. Leave the witch formalities to the elders and enjoy yourself.” She pointed toward Samantha’s stomach and said, “A mother knows, but a grandmother feels, child.”
Samantha stopped fighting her instincts and dug into the snacks. She knew her grandmother would never harm her. The fact that she knew her grandmother would hurt anyone else on Earth besides her and her mother was the problem. Deep in her heart, she knew her grandmother was wicked and needed to be slain for the good of humanity.
But it was unfair.
Her grandma was the only one who treated her like she belonged. She didn’t condemn her for being half-witch like the humans or curse her existence as her mother did. Why did the world hate the only person who loved her? The thought soured the heavenly bites of cake she wolfed down. Not enough to stop her, but just sufficient to taint it.
She wiped her mouth and asked the same question she had asked two decades ago and three decades before that.
“Gram gram, why do you have to torment the humans? It would make life a lot easier for me if you didn’t.” She tried to force her brow and eyes into an innocent child impression—one of wide eyes and innocent questioning. She felt like a fool doing it and hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
If her grandmother did notice any redness, she was merciful enough to pretend she didn’t. She played along with Samantha and gave her same candid response, “My issue with the humans isn’t my issue so much as our issue. It’s a dilemma that falls onto every witch’s shoulder, deary. You know that.” She tilted her head as she said, “The humans started this fifteen millennia ago with the Salem Witch Trials. They purged the weakest of us out for no reason other than outright discrimination.”
“Gram, they were scared.”
“Scared of what, a few card tricks? A branch that snapped for no reason or a coin that twinkled a little too brightly. They murdered our kin, and we will murder theirs until our lost ancestors are satisfied.”
“When will that be, gram? We’ve been killing them forever! We used to play it off as terminal illnesses and young children who were too pure for this world, but the attacks have gotten more blatant.”
“We haven’t been killing them forever, dear. Why must the young exaggerate so wildly?”
“Gram, I’m serious!” Samantha’s fist slammed on the table, eliciting a slight jump from her grandmother. She felt terrible about it but knew she had to continue. “This is making life very difficult for me. You don’t understand how hard it is to face them. Th—”
“It is only hard to face them because you want to be loved by them. I have no issues facing them, child.” Samantha opened her mouth to protest, but her grandmother raised a single finger and glared at her with a look Samantha had never seen before. A narrow and sharp glare. “You are like your mother; you saw how far that got her. Your issue is that you want to play both sides of the fence, but you must choose one.”
“I’m both, gram.”
“Do you feel accepted by both?”
Samantha’s eyes drifted to her tea, and she suddenly felt parched. She grabbed the cup and brought it to her lips, but the liquid vanished. She looked at her grandmother and discovered the liquid circling around her head like a creamy, brown halo.
“I asked you a question, child. The same question I’ve been asking you for centuries now. I think your grandmother deserves an answer. I may not be around forever, you know.”
Samantha gulped a dry wad of air. She knew all the petty animal transformations were a means of humoring and imploring her grandchild. In her heart, she knew her grandmother would just as quickly of stripped their bodies of all their bones and organs while ensuring they lived through the whole process.
Just as she knew while her grandmother posed the question as politely as ever, it meant something else. *"Depending on your answer, I might not be around for you forever."*
|
All Agatha ever wanted was a simple, quiet life – the kind all grandmothers wanted. Every week, her lovely granddaughter would visit with stories about her studies. Vivian was always such a rambunctious child. But such energy was a welcome interruption to her life of solitude.
“Vivian, sweetheart, don’t forget to pack the earth properly. The flowers won’t grow if you don’t.”
“Okay, Grandma!” Young Vivian was so cute with smudges of dirt on her face.
“Let’s finish up out here and we can have some cake and tea, alright?”
Vivian cheered – she always looked forward to teatime. Through the years, Agatha learned more about Vivian’s school life. Her friends sometimes complained about her athleticism. Sometimes, the tests were a bit too easy. It was clear as day that Vivian was destined for greatness.
“Grandma! I got into the Royal Academy!”
“I’m so proud of you. Come in, come in! I’ll put a kettle on, and you can tell me all about it.”
As Vivian began training in the academy, her visits became a bit more infrequent. Yet – sweet child that she was – Vivian would always visit whenever she was in the area. Every time, Agatha would be waiting with tea and cakes for her lovely granddaughter. But, as time passed, the world changed as well.
“Grandma, they’ve been complaining about you in Cartha again. I’ve tried to explain that you had nothing to do with it, but they won’t listen.”
As the kingdom expanded, more villages emerged on the outskirts, closer to her home. And in time, more troublesome rumors emerged.
Agatha patted Vivian’s hand, feeling the calluses from training. “Sweetie, I don’t blame them. They’re only scared of the unknown. What better target than a little old woman out in the woods? Portmentia was the same a few years back.”
Vivian’s grip tightened for a moment. “I hate it. Why can’t they just leave you alone? You’re not hurting anyone.”
“I’ll be fine, sweetie. Come now. Have some tea and tell me about what you’ve been up to. It’s been a while since you’ve visited.”
A moment passed before Vivian’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Grandma. I just worry.”
“And I appreciate the concern. But I’ll be fine. I’ve lived a long life, you know?”
Their conversation turned to lighter topics. Vivian had recently returned from a quest north of the kingdom. There were plans on establishing a better trade route through the mountains. Her granddaughter had become quite a prominent figure in the eyes of the monarchy. It did not take much these days for Vivian to convince superstitious locals to leave her alone.
As the sun began to set, Vivian stood. “It was nice seeing you again, Grandma. I have to get back to my party now.”
“Take care out there. There are terrible creatures in the woods, you know?” Agatha patted Vivian’s hand one more time.
Vivian smiled, and for a moment that rambunctious child shone through. “Don’t worry about me, Grandma. I’m strong. I’ll have a word with the people of Cartha about all the rumors.”
“Don’t go too crazy now.” Agatha laughed and waved Vivian along.
She stood by her doorway until Vivian was out of sight. Yes, this was the life she wanted. Vivian, the S-ranked fighter of the Motem Dynasty, would keep Agatha safe no matter what. And if a few locals needed to be taught to leave well enough alone, then so be it.
...
Short response today since I did so much yesterday. I wanna play video games, dammit.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading.
| 2022-12-18T09:20:26 | 2022-12-18T09:14:25 | 57 | 19 |
[WP] The woman looked at her at her blind date and said, "I told Tammy that I wanted old and rich...not eldritch."
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Lady Cthylla sits across from me, studying her menu. I told Tammy I wanted old and rich...not eldritch. This is the last time I let her talk me into a blind date.
We've already burned through all the standard first-date small talk. Where do you live? Me: Brooklyn. Her: beneath the flooded fishing town of Oakmont, not too far from Innsmouth. What do you do for a living? Me: freelance copywriting and improv comedy. Her: waiting to give birth to her own father in the distant future and selling jewelry on Etsy.
"What sort of jewelry?" I ask, steering the conversation away from kids. Cthylla is weird, even by Tammy's standards, but she's far from the worst date I've been on recently. So far she hasn't tried to recruit me into a cult or anything.
"Amulets, mostly," she says, slightly wheezing. Was she a smoker?
"That's pretty cool. Must be a lot of fun making jewelry."
"It passes the time." She seems to deflate, shoulders sinking. "It's not like they'll let me do much of anything else."
The server comes around to take our orders. Cthylla orders paella and asks if the bread is free. When the server confirms, she orders another basket for the table. Hiding my smile, I go with the steak, medium rare. Tammy always warns to avoid the meat sweats during a first date — as if *that's* my biggest problem.
"Your parents pretty strict?" I ask.
"My father, the Great Cthulhu, named me his future vessel." She looks down, pale hands clenched into fists. "When the King in Yellow raises his Sine, my father will perish in the resulting conflict. This has been foretold."
"Foretold? Eh. I don't really buy into psychics and stuff."
"It is none of your concern," Cthylla sighs. "Their duel is not scheduled for another twenty-thousand years."
"Twenty thousand?"
"That is not dead which can eternal lie."
The server arrives with our food. I spent most of the date glancing away from Cthylla to other tables, fighting not to stare too long. But now, I can't not stare at her. She's not magazine hot; she's Tim-Burton-designed-a-mermaid hot. Her eyes are the purest sea-foam green I've ever seen and her lips and nail polish match her eyes exactly. What I can see of her hair, under the seashell headpiece she's wearing, is so dark it almost looks blue in the dining room light. She seems tired and bored and utterly alone. My eyes won't look away, and I stop trying to make them.
When I was in the fifth grade, a new girl transferred into my school from another state. A week later I found her crying in the gym alone. It wasn't like I had many friends, being the only brown kid in school, but at least I knew the people who gave me the cold shoulder. This girl had no one. Somehow, it was like I could feel the loneliness growing around her, cold, like a wall of ice. I couldn't explain it more than that, but I didn't need to. I let her explain it to me after we started hanging out. Tammy and I are still friends to this day.
Whether or not Cthylla is legit certifiable or part of some sort of mermaid collective, I'm going to show this bored, lonely babe a night on the town.
Over coffee and custards, I tell her my weirdest improv show story. My team and I showed up to perform in the basement of a bar on a Tuesday night. The only people there were a middle-aged couple sitting right up front, drunk and loud. The couple kept fighting and ordering more drinks, shouting over our performance the entire time. An hour later, at the end of the show, the husband straightened his tie and handed me a business card before leaving the venue with his wife as if nothing had happened.
"What was on the card?" she asks, head tilted in interest.
"The guy's name. Art Lieberman, an agent at Three Arts—this big talent agency that books people on TV shows and movies and stuff. There was a cell phone number on the card too."
"Did you call?"
"I did. But the number connected to a Chinese restaurant in my neighborhood. The Beef Lo Mein was pretty good."
Cthylla's lips curl into a smile. "You lie."
"No, it's true, except the Chinese restaurant part. The cell number was out of service." Still, the Beef Lo Mein at No. 1 Chinese Restaurant *was* exceptional.
"Can I walk you to the subway?" I ask once we finished signing our respective receipts. She shakes her head.
"It is not a far walk."
"I could use a walk. Got all this steak inside me."
\*\*\*
\[Part 2 Below\]
|
"That's not very nice of you, young lady." said the old man sitting on the other end of the table.
"Don't call me 'young lady' you fifty-year old fossil! I'm just ten years younger than you for fuck's sake! And you're not even that rich!"
"And I specifically asked for a nice younger woman, preferably early in her thirties, to keep me company, not some forty-year fucker who doesn't even disguise her intentions!" The man took a deep breath, downing the entire glass of that restaurant's most expensive wine. "Look," he started in a calmer tone. "We both know what we're after when we went into this date and it's clear that you've got no intention to play ball so let's make it quick and clear."
The girl followed suit, though she took two glasses before calming down. "Fine," she said. "And I admit, that's not really nice of me to say. Sorry for that."
"Okay. So... I can pay you for your time tonight if you want, if only so neither of us would have wasted time and effort coming here."
"I don't think I can take you on that offer," she said, glaring at him head to toe.
"That's fair." The man nodded even though he's visibly hurt by the comment. "Let's just finish our dinner, then."
There were no more incident between them afterwards, though the two remained quiet all throughout the meal. They parted ways after, never seeing each other again. The waiter, however, picked up quite the insult for his family next time they meet. As he went back to his shift, he wondered if he should visit Dunwich if he's got the time.
| 2022-09-26T09:09:35 | 2022-09-26T07:05:40 | 72 | 18 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see.
|
**Day 1**
We landed on Thamia this morning. It may be the most beautiful planet I’ve ever seen. The local flora is spectacular. The idea that we are the first travelers to this planet both excites me and leaves me in awe. It is like an Eden and The Family will be so relieved. Our prayers have been answered after so many years on our journey within the generational ship. We have only god to thank for this gift he has given us. We have stayed true to his word and his path and left our safety in his hands and he has rewarded us.
The land itself is tropical with some flowers as large as myself. We spent the day setting up a base camp and we plan to explore the environment tomorrow.
I have not been so excited since we left our home planet so many years ago.
**Day 2**
The planet is even more of a paradise than we had thought. The local wildlife is tame and doesn’t seem to be of any threat. There are grazing animals which eat heartily on the flora, so much so you would think they would have eaten up this flora within a few months. But the grazing animals’ population seems to be placed in check by something, as though there is an apex predator here, but we have not seen it. We have setup cameras to see if they are nocturnal or maybe just shy.
We have collected a local fruit similar to a watermelon and we’ve eaten it for dinner tonight. We all feel very lucky to have found this place. God is great.
**Day 5**
On one of our explorations today we have had one of our first mishaps. We found one of the large grazing animals completely entombed within the petals of one of the great flowering plants here. We watched another walk up to the flower and stand there and stare at it while the flower slowly reached down and pick it up and lift it in the air, wrapping it tight like plastic wrapping. After cutting open the petals we can see the flowers are slowly digesting the animals for nutrients.
Sheila was studying one of the great flowering plants and when her hand brushed up against the petals, the flower had released some sort of barbed spines that stuck to her skin and irritated her eyes and respiratory system. We left immediately and tended to her wounds.
**Day 8**
Sheila’s condition worsened each day. She began to have strange thoughts, one of them being she was certain her son was here on the planet, that she had seen him just the other day. Even after explaining over and over that her son was safe on the generation ship, she didn’t seem to understand or care. Late in the afternoon she began taking a walk, saying she needed some fresh air. I followed her and I watched as she stepped up to the flowering plant which sent the barbed spines on her. She just stared up at it for a long time.
I walked up and asked her if she was okay. She just smiled and said of course. And we walked back to the camp and she sat in the corner smiling, drinking a cup of soup. We woke up in the morning and she was gone. We followed her tracking chip immediately, but I already knew where she was.
She was wrapped completely in the flower which sent barbs into her. We cut her out, but she was dead. The skin of her beautiful face was already melted off from the digestive acid. As we worked to get her body out, my breath became ragged, and my eyes itched. The rest of the team began to cough, and I knew what was happening.
I looked around and saw the other flowering plants looming over us, as though they were staring hungrily. I called everyone back and we made our way to camp. It was a bad night for us, and we called to the generation ship for medical emergency evacuation. They said they would be here in three days.
**Day 10**
I’ve seen my wife walking through the stalks of the flowers. To see her here on this planet with me is a gift. I see her vermillion dress as it bleeds among the petals and my love for her is so immense, I would walk to the ends of this paradise with her. She whispers to me and I know the others cannot hear her. They don’t understand the gift I have been given. I know that I must follow her, that our journey here has just begun. I will be leaving with her tonight.
God is great.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
|
It was maybe 2 meters tall and wore the dead skin of an animal wrapped around the connection between it's legs and torso. It's skin was a very dark and rich shade of brown. My best geust was ot was to withstand the arid heat of this continent. It stared at me in cautious curiosity with it's large white ocular organs. The brown circles with black dots in the center focused on me, then my sidearm. I could only assume it already knew how to use it, or at least could quickly figure it out. It stepped forward away from the female and young members of it's tribe. It started to run AT me. I quickly pulled my gun and shot it, the small bolt hit it's shoulder barely slowing it, I turned and ran. I easily outran it, but given the intelligence I was fed about these things, it would only be a matter of time before it caught up. I needed to rest, I had been running for minutes. I knew the human would find me.
| 2021-01-25T08:53:37 | 2021-01-25T08:45:18 | 257 | 51 |
[WP] You are the world's second best assassin. You've deposed royalty, killed businessmen and been the "accident" that more than a few celebrities have met. Today you've been given a new target: the world's best assassin.
|
I yawned tiredly, even as I finished my final touches on the intricate web of a trap I had weaved. Preparation was 90% of the work for an assassin, with improvisation making up the other 10%. I'd say any assassin worth a decent sum of money knew the importance of preparation and tried to utilise it to perfection. Of course, most of them weren't as good at improvisation as me though. The White Demon they called me, for the few glimpses of my white hair they managed to glimpse when I sabotaged the Queen's yacht ride during her Platinum Jubilee celebrations.
Even as I whistled a cheerful tune silently in my thoughts, a new message flashed on my phone. Untraceable, self-destructive and just about indestructible to most forms of damage; it was hardly surprising that I owned the F-70 rather than some typical commercial phone which would crack upon a slight fall. The contents of the message jolted me awake as I struggled to deal with the shock and gravity of my newest job.
The target's name was Cedrek Quinn. Of course, he was also nicknamed the Red King. Well, the red in his name is pretty self-explanatory when you considered how brutally most of his victims died, as if taunting the investigators that pursued him and intimidating his future targets in a single stroke of genius. He was a "King" because of his peerless record within the industry. Even I had failed once, in my halfhearted attempt at causing the accident of Sasha Grey. Hey, that woman brought me sweet memories in my youth, alright? It's worth the $10 million I had to forsake. A flawless record served as a form of reassurance, that seemed to bump up your pay grade to an insane level that can rival that of many of the most successful people in the world.
Regardless, it wasn't exactly perplexing to imagine anyone would want him dead. The Red King was infamously difficult to work and get along with and more often that not, went far and beyond the line of duty to deliver a gruesome show of gore and carnal violence to unwitting audiences. The trauma he delivered to young children alone was considerable enough that a section of PTSD was renamed to Red King Syndrome, to address the specific niche requirements of this large number of scarred children.
Even at this time, the jigsaw puzzles in my head had already begun fitting into place. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I failed to notice the faint sound of leather boots thumping on the hard oil-black tar floor beneath me, as the CEO of FloorMarket made his way towards his car obliviously.
The car beeped like a siren, frustrating me enough with its high-pitched scream that I turned my attention back to the job at hand. He swung the car door open in a careless and arrogant manner, as if venting his troubles on a wooden door you might typically find in your average person's home. However, this was a state-of-the-art Boxster Mark IV, the very latest in an exclusive line of cars owned only by the very rich who wanted to flaunt their wealth in the most opulent manner possible.
He dragged the car door back inwards in a wide sweeping motion, the door slamming in a boom of "Thud!" that resounded throughout the otherwise quiet carpark. He probably didn't sense it yet, but a supreme amount of carbon monoxide was at this moment flooding his lungs, cleansing them of the impurities and the poison we all endured called "Life". The other F-70 in his car had already been activated. I would be able to track his activities, and if the need came, I would activate the self-destruct feature to trigger an engine fire to engulf the man in a fiery blaze. Of course, I'd prefer if he just died peacefully to the carbon monoxide, but I *always* prepare a contingency plan after all.
The Red King. *Hm*. There was something to be said about a man who values his work as almost a thing of art, though you might not exactly be associating it with nearly the same positive things I am. Killing him would be simple though. I already knew who his current target was.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I had expected, I found him outside the White House, his gaze shifting suspiciously from left to right even as he walked in an otherwise calm manner into the very maws of the beast. His disguise was truly impeccable. I figured he had to have used a professional makeup artist and killed the soldier to fit his role in such a perfect manner. He had likely narrowed the soldier's mannerisms right down to his nervous tics and speech patterns to have been able to assimilate so smoothly into the guarding squad. He grinned and uttered an inaudible joke to the other guards, never revealing even a hint of his true intentions as they made their way to the President together.
They stood at a corner even as the President came into the office to begin signing and approving the policies of his Librocratic party, all the while ignoring even the more rational papers of the Redependent party. Classic politician really. Give them a duty to care for the entire nation and they will still bow under the pressure of party lines. Cedrek let slip his blood lust for a manner, before immediately firing a shot at the President.
The bullet threaded its way precisely through the heart of the President, all but killing him within that instant. In the next heartbeat, Cedrek was already reloading the rifle, ready to fire at the dazed soldiers next to him before they had even a moment to react. It was a cruel way of hunting, really. It's just like when the bear snatches the salmon out of the cold blue paradise the naive fish has always lived in, only to rob it off all the new wonders by feasting on it. Fortunately for those fools, I was there.
In the next instant, he was sprawled on the floor, wincing and crying out in agony as the veins on his body all began to throb violently. Even as he coughed up blood and the scarlet began to splatter and ooze out of his veins, you could hear the whispered curses he uttered with every dying breath.
Now, I'm a simple man. I don't like to show myself and I definitely don't like to get my hands dirty. So, here was my plan. I had lined the bullets of all the rifles with a poison that could only be ingested through the skin. Of course, I had taken special care in administering the toxin. I mean, I *really really* don't want to die like that, eh?
The two other soldiers had already collapsed upon the floor, their body's constitutions unable to bear the effects of the poison either. I flashed a bloodthirsty grin at the Red King, eager to gloat over my own victory. He glared at me, his eyes a mean shade of crimson with all the intricate red lines that criss crossed and seemed to merge together. There was something bitter about his gaze, as though all he wanted was to continue his passion. Of course, I'm not the kind to pay attention to that sort of thing, so I brandished a dirty pair of gloves and tossed it at him.
At least this way, he could understand how I had pulled off the kill of the century.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My name is Blerose Jang, the world's new *best* assassin. I lie in the shadows of the night, deposing royalty, killing businessmen and helping God along in his divine plan through my carefully orchestrated "accidents". The silence is my domain, for death is rarely anything loud but for the church bells that toll. For whom do the bells toll now though?
|
Shit.
Never did he think it would come to this.
He gave his superior a typical nod, followed by an elongated, stale gaze.
“Need I remind you that you are a professional? One of our top agents, actually. You should be used to doing this without letting emotions get in the way.”
“Emotional?” Damon retorted in a sarcastic tone.
Damon had worked for the CIA for about 8 years, he knew the drill. Get names, don’t make a fuss, perform mission quickly. But he never had an order like this one before. Nonetheless, James, his superior standing before him, had given him the orders with the same stone cold face he had given him many times before.
Robert was his mentor; the ultimate CIA agent and assassin. A man who had stood by Damon’s side and trained him through thick and thin since he was a Green Beret in the military. Without the skills Robert taught him, Damon likely would have died long ago, in the many raids they did together in the Middle East. Of course, Damon had no idea back then that Robert was a CIA agent whose objective was to isolate military standouts that the agency could convert into assassins, but the comeuppance of Robert’s charade many years ago had little effect on what had always been a strong bond between them.
*How could they ask me to kill my mentor?* Damon thought. *I’ve sacrificed my life and my potential to have a family all for this agency and this is what they ask of me?*
Damon wanted so badly to ask why. He wanted so badly to let his lip quiver, and let his anger and sadness out. But he couldn’t. If he did that, he knew that the agency would assign someone to off him too, but it was just so painful knowing someone dear was going to die – by his own hands – and not having the power to stop it.
*Don’t let it linger. Get it done tonight. If you let it linger, it will hurt more for everyone.*
He arrived at Robert’s house later that night. When Robert answered the door, Damon gazed upon him the way one would gaze upon their frail, elderly father on his death bed. He knew that however this went, it would be the last time he saw Robert alive.
“Dropping by for tea?” Robert said, wearing his typical, jovial, soft smile.
“Yes. I was in the neighborhood and figured we hadn’t touched base in a few weeks, so I thought I’d stop by.”
“Well, come on in then!”
Damon walked in the door and strode over to the living room as Robert went into the refrigerator to grab them both a brewski. He handed Damon an ice cold one and Damon cracked it open and took a small sip. They then began their chatter, starting off with small talk, and then after each downed a few more brews the conversation subject turned into stories of better times, of their missions together in the military, and their days spent working together so closely when Damon first was recruited by the agency. An overwhelming sense of nostalgia and loss was protruding over Damon, as he struggled with himself to keep his composure. A few whiskies later, and Robert was suddenly asleep on the couch, out cold. Damon knew it was time. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol, already equipped with the silencer. He slowly began to load it, as he fought to hold back his tears. He looked at the face of the middle aged man on the couch, peacefully snoring away.
*Not in the face. I couldn’t ever get it out of my head if I hit him in the face.*
He raised the gun to Robert’s chest and pressed down on the trigger. THUD, the sound made. He looked over to see Robert’s body quivering and in his sadness he shot him a few more times, hoping that it would stop the convulsions. After all was done, he left the house and the man he once knew, feeling more empty than he ever thought possible.
*All in a day’s work.* He thought, and then began to sob.
| 2015-06-25T10:39:53 | 2015-06-25T10:33:05 | 62 | 39 |
[WP] It's International Bring-Your-Gun-To-Work Day, and it's becoming clear to everyone in the office that your gun is just a banana under your jacket.
|
*I hate this day.*
I walk nervously into my office building, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist at the oversized marble desk on the right side. I wave my ID badge with my left hand, and with my sweaty right hand, clutch the banana in my hoodie pocket. *I've made it through this stupid holiday the last few years, I can make it through this one.* I adjust my grip on the banana, realizing it's becoming much too soft. Last year, I had to throw out my jacket, because the banana split open and oozed into the fibers.
I quickly make my way to the elevator, which was mercifully empty. During the short twenty second ride, I was able to air out my hand, and relax. Once the elevator reached my floor, it was showtime, once again. I gripped my banana, and stepped out into the jungle of cubicles.
Everyone stood in clusters; there was a thirty minute overlap in shifts, and everyone liked to talk to one another before going home or starting work. *All I have to do is make it to my desk.* I move at a pace closer to a jog than a walk, twisting and turning on my way to the safety of my workspace.
"Hey, Brian!" A voice calls out.
*Dammit. It's Mike.*
I smile politely, as if to imply I'm in a hurry and can't be bothered to stop. He ignores my vague signal and waves me over to join his group. What will I say to them? They are likely talking about their guns, and I'm holding a damn banana in my pocket. *I don't even know anything about guns.* I join their circle of conversation, and pray they don't ask me any questions.
As Mike, Dave, and Kevin are talking, I occasionally nod or smile, based on their reactions to one another. Then, potential disaster struck; Allison joined the circle. Allison worked in the cubicle across from me; and I've been in love with her for the last year. We talk a lot, but I haven't yet gotten up the courage to ask her out. And now she's going to find out about my banana. *What a goddamn disaster.* I smile at her as she enters the group; and I see the outline of her gun protruding from her jacket. It seems to be about the same size as Kevin's; I consider making conversation about it, but decide it's better if I don't bring up the subject.
"Brian? Hey, earth to Brian!" Kevin snapped his fingers at me. "You gonna answer the question or just stare at Allison for the next fifteen minutes?"
I hadn't realized anyone had been talking to me. Allison looked to the floor as her face turned beet red; my face surely matched the tone.
"Sorry, what was the question?" I asked, trying to brush off the awkwardness of the situation.
"What are you packing in there?" Mike chimed in with a chuckle, pointing to my banana bulge.
"I, uh... just a... glock." I had heard the term before. Hopefully it's actually a weapon.
"Glock? Who has a glock these days? Let's have a look!" Dave said, reaching for my pocket. I backed away, raising my left hand.
"Id rather not, I uh... just repainted it, and I'm kind of embarrassed." This gave Kevin a puzzled look.
"Repainted?" He asked, as he further examined the bulge. "Hey, now that I look at it... it kind of looks curved. What... what is that?"
I began sweating heavily. Allison was staring at me, likely losing all respect she might have had. This was it. I was going to be outed as a non-gun owner. *Oh, how did it come to this?*
Dave stepped behind me, giggling like a schoolgirl, and grabbed my arms; Kevin reached into my pocket and retrieved my half-smushed banana. They exchanged puzzled looks, and then burst out laughing. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes; I looked over at Allison, and to my surprise, she wasn't laughing. She put a finger to her lips, signaling me to keep a secret; and the pulled her hand slightly out of her jacket, revealing a cucumber.
I think I've found my soul mate.
|
What’s that under your shirt and tie
I’ve think I’ve seen it somewhere before
I don’t know if you’re happy to see me
Or if you just got back from the grocery store
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
-
You better watch your mouth, boy
Better be careful what you say
Cause if you keep going on like this
I might just blow your ass away
This might be just a delicious piece of fruit
This big yellow bullet might just bounce off of you
But how many guns
Are high in potassium?
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun it’s a banana
-
And that’s what you get when you vote for gun control
When everybody brings out their M16s, you just look like an asshole
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun it’s a banana
| 2016-12-29T17:45:21 | 2016-12-29T17:44:03 | 337 | 17 |
[WP] A witch keeps casting spells on you, to make you more kind or teach you a lesson. She made you poor, of the other sex,an animal, a ghost, a car, with another look... but every time you adapt to the spell and you manage to live your live very well, withouth learning anything. The witch hates you
|
"Why aren't you miserable!?" Beatrice screeched at the top of her lungs making everyone nearby wince, sounding for all the world like she was in the middle of an argument. However, the room might have thought her mad as she was screaming at the motel's cat, Ms.Whiskers.
"Careful Beatie, you're fixing to get thrown out with that volume, " the cat warned in a teasing tone. Ms.Whiskers bowed her head as she proceeded to flop onto her side, purring loudly with contentment that only served to fuel the witch's ire. "You know they can't understand me, you made the spell that way."
"I know I did!" Beatrice's voice rose again, though seeing the manager pull out a phone finally snapped her to how she had to look to everyone else. "I've made you into creatures to make you miserable Mary. Why aren't you unhappy? Why aren't you begging forgiveness!?"
"Ms. Whiskers" let out a heavy sigh.
"Beatie, it was a fucking DONUT. I didn't know you were saving that specific one out of a box of multiple flavors," Mary looked up at her sounding exhausted now. "Exactly how many times now have we done this? I've already apologized numerous times, but you just keep changing me. I don't exactly see how my intended "suffering" is supposed to equal the loss of one unit of donut."
"It was a CRONUT you uncultured furry little heathen, and it was the last one in the box so don't give me that!" Beatrice huffed crossing her arms, "You didn't even offer to replace them."
"Did you even give me a chance to?" Mary rolled over onto her back taking a long luxurious stretch on the floor.
The witch opened her mouth with a hand out pointing at the cat, gaping for a moment to say something before snapping her mouth shut. She honestly hadn't given her the chance to properly make amends, but she was also a little too proud to admit to that.
"You still have access to my cards if my my phone's auto pay hasn't turned the account into swiss cheese yet," Mary looked up at her from the floor, letting out a squeak as she was picked up off the floor into Beatrice's arms. She felt like a plush cat with her legs being left to dangle.
"Fine, but it's your paypal we're gonna need," the witch grumbled then adding, "you're buying me two dozen of them"
"Fine, fiiine if it'll make you happy," Mary gave a chuckling purr," And legit, sorry about the cronut. Didn't realise they were that big a deal."
"Mnnh... I'll forgive you fully on one extra condition," Beatrice said, ignoring the loud whining groan of protest from the cat. "Shut up it's not that bad. Just... Why weren't you miserable?" she asked as she started to walk out with Mary the cat in her arms.
"Dude, you turned me into into different kinds of birds, dogs, and cats. I dunno if you've ever actually been any of them on your own time, but it's actually really cool being an animal." Mary flailed a little the witch's arms, with her paws trying to move as she talked for emphasis. "No bills, people will feed you if you look at them cutely enough, always have on a personal blanket, it's great!"
"Typical you'd see all the upsides of me trying to punish you," Beatrice sighed shaking her head as she walked out of the motel, not even bothering to notice the manager yelling at her.
"Well one of us has to be the optimistic one in the family. I can't wait to be be human again though, the fleas still sucked." Mary hummed a bit before adding, "Also you may wanna run, the staff probably aren't gonna like you taking 'Ms. Whiskers'. ".
Right on cue, the manager came barreling through the door behind them yelling, "Drop that cat!"
"Book it!" Mary yowled out as Beatrice ran.
|
As the Witch stamped her feet and snarled curses in various languages, I tried to console her. “My dear practitioner of the black arts, you need not quarrel. You have laid your vengeance upon me time and time again. I have felt your wrath, and despite how some experiences have pained me, your spells always left a way for me to work out a solution.”
The witch snapped at me, tears welling up in her eyes. “Are you saying my magic is flawed!? Not powerful enough!?”
“No,” I responded. “You simply weren’t cruel enough to curse me to a fate from which I could not escape. While your fury commands great power, your heart could not bear to destroy me. For that, I am grateful.”
Then the witch then turned me into a frog and ate me. Not so bad once you get used o it. Decent wi-fi for a witch’s stomach.
| 2021-05-13T19:30:45 | 2021-05-13T16:38:57 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] A married woman saves an uninteresting Japanese high schooler from a truck crash, but dies in the process. She wakes up in a world of adventure and harems, clearly made for the boy.
|
Insert somebody instantly reccomending an anime where this is the premise... Okay that's done. Let's rock this.
Ayako Himari was out shopping one day when she saw a young man, he had a shock of dark messy hair, and his uniform was in dissaray. He seemed vaguely out of sorts. Ayako was quietly thankfull her days of schooling were long behind her, excepting the online cooking course she had signed up for but hobbies didn't really count. The boy was crossing the road, and Ayako saw a white truck coming, she tried to yell out to him but he just looked at her confused. Ayako ran to save him, she was 38, twenty-one years older than the young man she pushed. She felt the truck hit and everything went dark, and it stayed dark for a long time.
Light cut through the void, and Ayako shielded her face from it, perhaps heaven was real? Before her was a young woman dressed in a tight red yukata, her purple hair was floating around her in a corona, she had the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen. "It is not your time!" which was a relief, this coma dream could go ahead and end already. "Hello" said Ayako politely, she couldn't be rude, not even to a figment of her concussion.
Two giant hourglasses appeared behind her, one was flowing against gravity "It is not your time. I shall raise you from death in a new world. With powers far beyond ordinary men!" said the voluptuous figure. "I'm not a man, and another world? Like Mars? I hear they have robots there" Ayako said. The Scarlet goddess seemed nonplussed "A woman, of dear that's pretty rare these days. I mean you used to get a lot of girls coming through here thirty years ago but these days it's mostly mean. Usually overinformed ones. Not another planet, anopther world. Paracosm, a world of magic!" she said grandly. "Like David Copperfield?" asked the housewife, who hadn't wanted anything animated since turning 12, she mostly loved medical dramas.
After a lot of exasperated explantion she found herself clad in armor and facing down a huge lizard. Before the dinosaur could devour her she was saved by a hail of arrows. Not drawn by a human but by an Elf with the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen. "Are you okay miss, I'm Renwyn" she said, Ayako was confidant she couldn't pronounce that. She bowed and introduced herself and asked where the nearest metro station was.
After trying and failing to describe a buss she had traveled to the Drakecrest city. It was the biggest city in the world, Renwyn had come here to join the adventurer's guild, it was the last day to sign up for the Adventurer examination. It was punishingly hard, and this year there was a complication. You had to sign up with a partner. Renwyn beged Ayako to sign up with her to get over the technical hurdle. Ayako politely refused as it seemed dangerious.
With no money she applied at a small hotspring inn run by a woman with the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen. And strangely she caught sight of women bathers with shocking frequentcy, twice an hour she got into some contrived situation involving a wet floor, a tumble, and somebody's hand or face ending up on somebody's ass or chest. Ayako wasn't sure how she still had a job frankly. She seemed to learn the skills needed at an unnatural pace. It was so trivial they had her chop wood too, and she somehow did the year's supply in an hour. "This is getting ridiculous" she said, quite a while after it had passed fucking abserd.
She was summoned before the queen to discuss her amazing talents. The queen (who had the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen) had her tested for magical talent and found she had infinite Mana, an unthinkable boon! Ayako refused to join the academy of magi, as she was twentyfive years older than most of the students there and wasn't really interested in magic. She just wanted a stable job and if anyone knew how to get back to Earth that would be nice. She missed her husband, she missed her home, she missed the average cup size not being DD.
\-
Through long years, hard trials, and hardships unnumberd Ayako learned swordcraft, magic, and the skills needed to defeat the Demonlord who terrorised the lands. At ever turn she had refused to take part in this childish fantasy and over and over she had been pulled like a compas needle towards destiny and a lot of sexy but also highly competent young women with tragic backstories.
Ayako faced the Demonlord, who had the FUCKING BIGGEST TITS AYAKO HAD YET SEEN! Monumental melons of mountaious heft. It was genuinely amazing the woman could see over them. "So the heroine has come to die" she said, secretly in love with Ayako already but unable to express it for backstory reasons, which she was about to spend thirty minutes explaining "You see demons once ruled this land before the church came and opressed us and killed my father who only wanted peace with humans. They framed him for seve-" Ayako interupted "I have been here for four years. I have not had a moment of peace in that whole time, I have fought dragons, I have been dragged across a continent, I have had to face my inner demons, and had a thousand year old witch who looked about ten try to seduce me! I don't care, I do not care, no care, care not me, I do not care!" she threw her sword down.
"Don't give up" Cried Renwyn "I have feeling for you". "I know" said Ayako "I know you think that, but you don't! None of you people know what real feelings are. You don't get them the moment you see somebody, you don't devote your whole life to a perfect stranger for them. I have feelings for someone, and they took time and work, nothing here is remotely like that" she blusterd.
"I want to go home. I won't kill for it, no more. I'm not taking another life for this stupid world. I'm not! Just send me home!" she pleeded, not with anyone here. Time stopped suddenly, and there came an answer "I can't send you back, I'm sorry, this was supposed to make you happy. A world where you matterd, where becoming powerfull would be easy. Where you could have another shot at life" said the scarlet goddess. "I had a life. And you replaced it with a child's fantasy. Is this what you do to those boys? You put them into this world that pushes their pleasure button till their brains turn to mush? People need challenge to grow, they need to be hurt, rejected, to feel powerless sometimes, not this. The people I've met don't act like people, they're like puppets to my desires. I feel horrible for them" she sulked.
Scarlet sighed "For some people, for the people who are supposed to be here. This is a comfortable place, somewhere they can try again, away from the things that made life hard to bear for them. But you're not like them. You're not maladapted to life on earth. I can see that. You can be reborn, in your own world. You'll start again, no advantage, just a normal person. If you wish it" she spoke with finality.
Ayako almost cried. It was all she wanted... and yet, she was a hero. A real one. She didn't escape a burning building while others were still trapped. So many souls, they were her friends no matter how they many times they had accidently walked in on eachother changing. Ayako made her wish.
A little girl was born in japan the next day. She could not remember her old life, but had taken the wisdom of long years with her into a new life all the same. And as she grew she made friends, all with girls strangely born the very same day she was. They lived good and sometimes uncomfortable lives, what joy they found in them was hard won and certainly real. And they all had big tits happly ever after.
|
Gisela was a wife, was. Her ex-husband decided that he would like to pursue his love and settle comfortably with Miss Something Blond, some 20 years young than Gisela. Tired of the sadness and meaningless Germany, she took a position in Japan, taking a handkerchief passed down from her grandfather and Noah, her 12-year-old son who reacted not so different to this sudden movement.
Gisela already became something different within the company's Osaka office. Firstly was her outlook: a white European suddenly appeared at the office and was sent by HQ no less would undoubtedly invite gossips from around all the corners. Second and maybe this was Gisela's biggest standout: she was divorced. Not only that, she took her son all the way from Frankfurt to Osaka. A woman with such a background naturally became a hot topic for the younger employees. Despite all the whispers, Gisela remained focused only on her work. Even when her title was only division associate, the works that came out clothed her with an indistinguishable aura of a seasoned employee. Soon afterward, her Japanese colleagues started to consider her real Gisela-san and the questions given to her quickly turn to those that seek advises from a senior.
She was undoubtedly not a bad employee even back in Germany. But not even a division manager in Frankfurt HQ should produce such high-quality work that many while knowing yet so little about the culture and local practice in this new location. The whispers also changed as well: why would a talented woman like Gisela-san end up in a land that was so far from her home? Of course, gossips need spices, and the Osaka office quickly turned into a conspiracy theory factory. The most acceptable theory was that she had overpassed her power within the company and got caught by the wife of the boss (how ironic for Gisela to be thought like that). Nonetheless, no theory is right, because even Gisela didn't know the exact reason as well: why did she accept that offer from Frankfurt to come all the way here to buy yogurt from the orange vending machine at the entrance of this 57-floor building? She probably knew that she would choose to be anywhere not Germany, but why she had to arrange herself with so many meetings like that, she didn't know why. Walking down the streets on Umekita, she tried to drown her confusion with the sweetness and sourness of the yogurt when suddenly a scream interrupted her thoughts. Looking back, she saw a lightly-yellow hair boy and a truck that came very close into contact with him. Perhaps she was so occupied in her thoughts, that she could mutter only the word "Noah" and then, everything went dark for some time.
Gisela eventually woke up, inside a place that definitely look not like an Osakan hospital. For starters, she doubted that Japan would have a hospital to be built with only wood in the middle of this megapolis, and secondly, she saw no modern medical equipment, albeit a drawer with a bowl of water and a jar next to it. A mature lady and a career manager, she calmed her mind quickly and reassured herself to not fall into a vortex of negative thoughts. Gisela was trying to recount her memory as the door was open and 3 women walked in. A quick gaze and she realized that she definitely was in a stranger place: those girls wore some sort of comfortable white t-shirts that were buttoned properly and a yellow jacket that somehow only came to pass their breasts. They wore some sort of white tight pants and leather boots that had ropes attached to their legs. The whole outfit honored the fit and full of energy bodies of these young girls. But of all of the strange things, two things particularly caught her eyes: one girl had a strange metallic machine that was strapped to her waist, and they all had a unified symbol of sort on their jackets. The symbol resembled of two bird wings that were intertwined with each other, one blue and one white. The symbol looked powerful, but yet so hopeful at the same time. She was focusing on the wings when one girl started to speak: "I am glad that we could find you right on time. You are safe in here. Allow me to represent 3 of us to welcome you to the Watch Out, our secret palace, and stake-out spot. My name is Lalina, and you are more than welcome to join us in this wonderful and cozy place!"
Well, what the hell, Gisela thought. Tagging along with this group was not that bad of an idea now. She had chosen to move far away from her hometown to be a salary woman in a far place; chosen to push a no related Japanese boy out of harm's way because she thought that the boy was her son. Thus, staying in a wood hut with 3 girls that could be her daughters seemed not too far of a fetch to Gisela, at least for now. She assured herself that, clenching the handkerchief that somehow still stayed by her side.
| 2022-06-08T02:12:16 | 2022-06-07T22:56:16 | 59 | 32 |
[WP] You've been waking up in the same day over and over. After a year of this you tell someone. Their eyes just widen. "You too?"
|
I wake up to knocking at my door. Once again for what seemed to be the millionth time. Every now and then I pull my gun out of my cabinet and just shoot at the door a few times and it follows with a thud. This morning was one of them.
Sometimes I wait there until cops arrive and kill them off as well but I just wasn't feeling it this morning. I've robbed the bank about a hundred times and have perfected it to where I could get away with it. I decided that this morning I would just open my door and scream at the maid to the point of her possibly killing herself. Of course this pissed her off and considering she barely knew English, she didn't know half the stuff I did.
After a year I've pretty much perfected my every day life. I would usually try to change it up a bit to have fun. Some days I would go on a killing spree or get with as many people as party (I know I'm disgusting) but what else is there to do? Might as well try everything. Today was a change up day and I decided to try something knew.
I've tried telling people about my condition but I mostly get crazy looks. The best part is when you tell that stranger everything about them because you spent a few days getting to know everything about them and hilarity ensues. Today I decided to go to a new area and tell a bunch of people about my problem. I had this planned out well. The last 20 or so days I spent talking to a large group of people in the mall and getting to know each of them extremely well so I could try this out so maybe I could get help.
Upon entering the mall I set up my speaker and microphone and began talking to everyone. I started by pointing out people and saying I knew some of their darkest secrets and stuff and before I knew it I had a large crowd near me. I told them that I knew most of them by repeating the day over and over and that I needed help. I got most of them to believe me and some offered help and contacts for scientists and mediums and all other people that they thought would help. Funny enough I ended the day by shooting all of them down. Cause why the fuck not?
As I was waiting for police to show up I saw a person looking at me from a distance away and they looked weirdly concerned. I decided to approach them and ask them why they haven't left or anything. They said that this was different to where I replied what is? This day, she said.
I told her about my problem and how I was repeating each day over and over and how I couldn't seem to find a way to stop it. She then began to explain how this has been happening to her for about 10 years. I said that was impossible because she would have noticed that I was doing things differently. She began to tell me how for the past ten years she would leave on a plane that took her to Germany to see her boyfriend and spend the entire day. This day was different for some reason and she decided not to go to where she discovered me doing things that she hasn't seen before.
Of course the police showed up so I told her where I wake up every day and she told me the same. I told her to meet me here tomorrow to which she agreed with. I turned to point the barrel towards her and shoot her and then in return shoot myself.
The next day we met up at the mall. The first thing she did was slap me. I deserved that I said grabbing at my face. She seemed a little upset for killing her but if anything I was seeing if it would help the situation for her.
We spent the next several days talking and getting to know each other pretty well. After about a month we started dating. The best part is we had all the time in the universe to do everything possible. Everything you could think of we tried.
Nearly 20 years passed and we were happy together. It sucked going to sleep with her just to wake up nearly two miles away but it was fine. One day for the first time though I woke up way earlier than usual. Normally I wake up at 8:30 am but this time I woke up at 5:30 am. I decided to go to where she wakes up to see what she did every morning before meeting with me.
When I got to her apartment I let myself in with the very code that I had memorized over the years. As I walked into her apartment I noticed somebody was in bed with her. I was completely outraged by this but began calming myself down knowing that she couldn't help it. I looked around and saw that her computer was open. When I looked at the screen I was stunned.
The email was open. It was from her boyfriend at the time. This is how it read: I know you are suppose to come see me today but you can't. I have been trapped in this day for 5 years now. I sent you an email last night. Whatever you do please do not open it. I knew that I should have never sent that email to you. It contains the virus that caused this. I've been trying to solve it for years but I have had no luck. Please save yourself. Don't open the email. And whatever you do, do not send it to anyone. Delete it immediately.
I felt an arm on my shoulder as I looked over to see her standing there. She looked at me and said that 9 years after she was stuck she accidentally sent the email to an unknown user (my user). She said that she looked for me for a few weeks but never found me so she went back to her normal life. After a year was when she found me at the mall. It was her fault that I got stuck. It was because of her that I opened the email. But it was an accident.
We knew we were trapped forever and there was nothing we could do. But we would try. And we wouldn't stop until we found the source. We wouldn't stop until we solved everything....
|
"Wait, what?"
"Every single day, I've woken up and it's been the exact same thing. The same events occur over and over again. Everyday, I wake up at in my room next to my wife to the radio alarm that plays 93.3 FM and everyday it's that stupid 21 Pilots song, "Heathens." I used to like that song. In the beginning, I used to roll back over thinking it was Saturday and I had just turned my alarm on by habit. Then, in approximately forty-five minutes I get an angry call from my boss telling me I'm late for the I've woken up in the exact same time and place, no matter where I go to bed. I've tried everything. I've traveled across the world, went to bed in a hotel in Paris... I still woke up in my room back here in Charlotte. I've tried pulling an all-nighter, not sleeping for the entirety of the night. I made it to about six am before I crashed... I still woke up at 7:30 the day prior. It's a hellish endless loop that I worry I'll never get out of."
"And you've told no one?!?" I asked.
"Well, who the hell have you told?"
"I've tried telling plenty of people. They all forgot the very next day. It's no use."
"Then why do you care if I haven't told anybody?"
"I don't know. Maybe, you could've told me."
"You didn't tell me."
"I guess you're right." I replied.
I told him all about my failed attempts to break the cycle and we decided to go through the day. We both called in sick at work for the millionth time (never seem to run out of sick days). Missed the traffic jam on I-635. It took me weeks to find out the best route around that mess. We went to lunch at a diner that had the same chicken Parmesan special everyday for about twelve months now. I can't eat another bite of that damn thing. We spent the afternoon looking through the Macy's one day flash sale, but didn't buy anything knowing that anything we bought we couldn't keep. We got the McRib at the McDonald's drive-thru that I've had hundreds of times already. There's seriously a reason that they only have that thing for a limited time. We watched the beautiful sunset that was starting to get less beautiful each time I saw it. Then we parted ways and agreed to meet up again in the morning. I went to be for the night and eventually woke up.
I rolled over and heard: "ALL MY FRIENDS ARE HEATHENS TAKE IT SLOW"
| 2017-07-15T08:48:11 | 2017-07-15T07:54:07 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] Humans have the reputation of being both an extremely dangerous species and social creatures that are easy to bond with, making them great crew members for voyagers. You and your shipmates are worried about your newly recruited human because you don't know what an introvert is.
Inspired by various "Humans are space orcs" posts from tumblr. I reposted this to change some minor grammar errors
|
(First time posting. But this one seemed interesting enough to give it a spin.)
​
"It's been days," Shanara said, motioning to the steel door on the other side of the room. A door whimsically decorated with the name "Holly" on it. The three of them sat nervously at the rec table, occasionally eyeing it, wondering what sort of activities were occurring behind it.
"Look, we can't jump to conclusions here," Jorlan spoke up. Being the largest of the crew members at over eight feet tall with a carapace the thickness of Vogt steel made the concern in the air somehow better. If he was going to be afraid of a tiny, fleshy being, then at least everyone in the room could be.
Talison, the captain, shifted in his seat and cleared his speaking throat. He let out the low rumble his species communicated with followed by a series of clicks and elongated groans. The others at the table listened intently before Shanara threw up her four arms in frustration.
"To the four hells with your theories, Talison!" she exclaimed, almost knocking over a piping hot cup of Karvo-Black. "That...*thing* in there is taunting us. Just because you served with a human before and it was the most pleasant experience you ever had, does not mean we're just going to be okay with it."
"It doesn't even make eye contact," Jorlan mentioned, blinking all five of his. "It just quietly stalks the halls when it does leave it's room. Sometimes we don't even hear it approach. I nearly emptied my fear sac the other day. It just crept up on me."
Talison ran a claw along his face and then took to staring at the door. It was decorated, an indication the human had at least been outside. It was decorated with strange white things he'd once heard refereed to as "flowers" and little annoying smiling faces. Things that belied what lurked within. He'd known humans before. Pleasant beings all around, with their "high fives" and their "cheese fries" but he never knew one like this. This one didn't want to talk about sports or enjoy a cold one on the side of an asteroid.
Talison released a few more clicks and groans as he turned back to his crew mates. They looked to one another as he spoke before Jorlan shook his head.
"But it has all that hair," he said confused. "How can you be an engineer with all that hair? It just gets in everything. And I've heard they're really irrational. You can't be an engineer and irrational. That's now how engineerings work."
Shanara gave him a side long gaze before speaking up herself. "In any case, Jorlan is trying to say we're just not safe with such a volatile creature on board."
Talison crossed his arms and prepared another series of sounds before they got stuck in his throat. His eyes widened suddenly. The other two shifted in their seats to see what had given their captain such a fright, only to be scared solid themselves. In the shadows of the dim light were two piercing blue eyes from behind a curtain of black hair. Her black, loose coveralls caked in grease and darkness. Her own pale face, the only other thing visible in the light, smudged with the black streaks of engine grease.
She carefully tucked some of her hair back behind her ear with a gloved hand and walked slowly to the door marked "Holly." Upon reaching it, she stopped and stood there for a few moments. The crew felt as though the walls of the ship were threatening to crush them. The girl turned sharply and the three of them leapt out of their seats towards the wall.
"The engine almost blew up," she spoke softly. "Fixed it though. Sorry to interrupt."
She quietly opened the door to her room and walked inside, making sure to shut it right behind her. The three crew around the rec table slowly came down from the sudden fear rush and exchanged glances. One thing was certain. This was going to be a really long delivery run.
|
(Im not very good at writing tbh, but this seems fun)
Report 856 of the Tifne 5. (HKM) report:
The newest member of our crew was a human from mars, a very good companion in battle in front lines. Though our human seems more focused on sleeping and reading anything we have on the ship (even the manuals). Very unlike how they are described. They act more like a qwbta than anything, shy but friendly. A few instances include them sitting from or away from everyone, as if its scared we might kill it or something. We call him “Bitty”, he insisted to be called “Ty” and some of the crew does refer to him as such. This makes Ty happy. And lastly cooking he seems to like, he made “cookies” before.
Definitely not what we were expecting but Ty is a nice add to the team.
| 2019-11-17T04:06:06 | 2019-11-17T03:40:06 | 109 | 51 |
[WP] 100 years in the future dank memes are precious artifacts. While scanning your grandpa's PC, you stumble upon the rarest of all...
|
Memes.. Hmm, its almost as if they had turned into a legend. Things of past, of literally so much value that an entire generation was hooked in front of their computer screens, waiting and watching out for the new memes. It was a time of joy, everyone living and breathing in this amazing thing called the internet.
You see, something happened, back in 2017, something happened and the world was never the same again. The worst hit were the people like my grandfather, who had been "a true 90s kid", he kept muttering that, I never understood what it meant, but whatever it was, it was meant a lot to grandpa. Oh the stories he told me. He was just 23 when Grand King Trump was elected, well, I guess he was called President Trump back then. No one really knows how he came into power, or exactly how he managed to hold on to it even with so many opponents. One thing is for sure, no one could ever Stump him. When he was elected he promised to build a wall to protect everyone, a lot of them laughed, but he accomplished that. Then he promised he would get rid of internet and make America great again. People just laughed it off, but they didn't think it was possible. Trump did it, he actually destroyed internet.. And so, people had no choice but to work, there was nothing else to do. However, once they had a taste of true memes, nothing matched it. Life was dull.
The generations that followed learned to live, without having ever know what they had missed out on. Slowly people started accepting it, trying to write off stories about the internet as some deluded ramblings of a dying generation.
I was always very close to my Grandpa, my parents didn't like that he would keep telling me tales of the old days whenever we visited him. I loved those stories, and no matter how much my friends and families tried to convince me that it was just a legend, I knew in the core of my being that they were real. I started going to museums searching for old computers or any stored data, but almost nothing remains from that time. Most of it was carried off by the secret police, claiming that they were just clearing out contents that may be deemed as sacrilege to the Glorious Leader. No data from that age was left, next to nothing survived the purge, but I was determined to find something to hold on to from that age that had passed.
When Grandpa in his final moments, he called me close and whispered "Go to the garden.. shed.... you will know... what to do". I was too shocked to see him die, I hadn't really registered what he had said.
After his funeral services were over, I was staring at the flowerbeds when I remembered his final words. I found myself absently walking towards the shed, it was at the far end of the compound almost tucked away from view. I opened the latch and stepped in, instinctively reaching for a light switch.
When the lights came on, I couldn't believe what was sitting before me.. It was an old computer. Grandpa had somehow managed to save one!
Hands shaking I reached for the switch on the socket with all the wires. The screen lit up, there was something spinning for a moment before it went dark again.
A box appeared, and in bold letters it said " You're a big guy".. A memory of a Grandpa's story came floating to my mind. I instinctively typed "For you".
The screen dissolved, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing.. The storage was chock full of folders, named, dated, categorised. Still under a daze, I randomly clicked around... A video started playing.. Something green?.. I didn't understand what was going on, but tears started flowing down my face and, my search was finished, I knew everything was going to be ogre.
----------
Had to type it out on mobile, hope there is not a lot of mistakes.
|
I sat staring at the closed laptop.
Just yesterday we had Grandpa's virtual will read. His hologram had pointed at me with his "clear my browser history" bracelet loosely dangling from his wrist. "It's dangerous to go alone," he said as the lawyer handed me his laptop.
Now, I slowly lifted the screen and powered the computer on.
[♫*Never gonna give you up*♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)
| 2015-12-12T11:58:25 | 2015-12-12T10:09:45 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You are a Fourth Wall Manipulator: You can break it when the situation is dire, fix it if the break is too dangerous or reinforce it to deal with annoyances.
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The serial killer cautiously stalked after his victim - the so-called "fourth wall manipulator", so named after the prompt, crawled away on the ground, mere meters away. The victim had a nasty bleeding wound on his arm and his knee didn't turn the right way. Most of all he was worried about the chill he was beginning to feel in his feet.
"I can't believe how easy this was", the serial killer told his victim mockingly. "They said you were tough. All the news shows talked about how you beat the worst villains this city ever birthed. Some kind of reality warp ability. And yet, all it took was a good shove down a couple of stairs and you're out for the count. It's disappointing, really."
"You fool", said the victim. He had stopped crawling away and rolled over to give the serial killer a proper look. For dramatic effect, imagine that he even propped himself up with his elbows. "You can't kill me. I'm the hero of this story. And everybody knows the main character only dies if it's a necessary sacrifice to defeat the villain of the story."
"What the hell are you talking about? You're making it sound like we're in some kind of fairy tale. But that's not how any of this works. This is real life, you moron. In a couple of minutes I'm going to knife you to death. And you know what? I'm going to enjoy it." The serial killer licked his knife in a way no man who ever held a knife would.
The hero shook his head. "We are in a story. And if you kill me, the story ends, and I win because you'll cease to exist. You think you have me cornered and beaten. True, this wound on my arm sure seems to be bleeding a lot. But the truth is, you're the loser here today. I lured you into this story, this narrative." "I don't believe any of that", said the serial killer. "I know", replied the hero, "but you will by the next paragraph."
Realization sneaked up on the serial killer and gripped him as if it was the final chapter of your favorite book with an ending that was both unwelcome and entirely inevitable much like the inclusion of this run-on sentence. His head spun around and he noticed, too, how he was in fact in a story. "What just happened? I'm suddenly convinced that you're telling the truth. That's not fair!" "It was necessary for the story to progress to the next part", the hero replied with sadness in his voice.
"But what if... what if I don't kill you?" the serial killer asked. "If I don't kill you, you don't die, you don't win, and the story doesn't end." The serial killer paused for a moment. "Hang on. You told me I couldn't kill you right at the start of the story. Am I supposed to kill you or not? This is all so confusing!"
The hero suddenly coughed blood and seemed to spasm for a moment. "I didn't do anything! You can't die yet!" yelled the serial killer. "I'm afraid that's just the way this story goes", spoke the hero clearly enough to be recorded in-between quotation marks. "I mean I literally didn't do anything to you. Yeah, I pushed you down those stairs but that was all before this story even began. I wasn't given a proper choice in the matter! You can't hold me morally responsible for something I was just written as having already done!"
The hero simply shrugged and continued to bleed out. Realizing there was nothing left to do, the serial killer sat down besides the hero on the ground. "Isn't there anything we can do?" he asked. "I'm afraid not", said the hero. The serial killer looked at him questioningly. "Look, I know this is the final paragraph and all, and you're expecting some reveal or wisdom to tie the story off. But the truth is, the script just wasn't that well thought out."
Then the hero died.
|
“Shit shit shit shit!” I yell out. The giant tries to hit me again, but I manage to jump away just at the last second. I quickly throw my last flashback at him and immediately start to run, not stopping for a second to look behind me. While fleeing for my life I needed to find some way to escape this monstrosity. “I got it!” I foolishly say out loud. The audience could help me, right? Behind me I hear the flashbang go off and the giant scream. “Quick, while he’s distracted! Kind person reading this shitty story, please help me! Comment something that might help me fight this beast! Please, I beg you!”
| 2022-07-06T15:39:03 | 2022-07-06T15:21:57 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] Your daughter has been begging you for a pony, and you told her to write a letter to Santa. On Christmas morning, you find a fire-breathing horse in your front yard, and a package by your front door. Looks like she wrote a letter to Satan, and he delivered.
Whoa. This blew up way more than I expected it to.
Edit: Like... A lot more. Thanks guys.
|
I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it's hardly sane to act like I'm not.
"Steven, seriously, I don't know anything about it," I lied as he shook a neatly wrapped package closer toward my face.
"SATAN," his voice pitched up, "it says it's from Satan, ***honey***, and we can't call the police why?! What kind of sick prank is this, to send a little girl...that.. that MONSTER!? What even is it, why does this cockadoodle stuff keep hapening to us!? I can't anymore with this...with YOU! Jesus..."
"Oh, calm down ***Steve***," I managed to snatch the package away from him before he stormed off petulantly to hide in the bathroom, and scream into a towel.
It was the coping mechanism of a coward. And well, I guess I'm a liar, but with the way he hid from everything it didn't exactly make it easy to be honest.
I could hear Penny crying in the livingroom as I made my way back down the hall from our bedroom. She tried to hide it when I sat next to her on the couch, but it hardly made a difference with how red her cheeks had gotten.
"This one's for me," I sat the package down on the coffee table, "but do you wanna open it?"
She looked up at me with the usual skepticism she had when I was doing something her step dad disagreed with.
"Go ahead," I gave her the smile that only we shared. The kind that said I didn't care if we got in trouble. We ARE trouble.
She didn't hesitate after that, and like all children quickly discarded the note for me to read.
---
**To: My Dearest Sarah, "with an H",*
*First, my apologies. I may have committed an itsy bitsy little federal crime by sending someone to change the spelling on Pen's address line, my bad. To be fair, you were the one trying to trick her into writing, "Santa"- like that obese old blowhard would actually bring her anything.*
*Anyway, you know I can't pass up such a convincing, and frankly, well written letter. The way she so eloquently made her argument- she really is your kid, huh? Bet you're just- oh, how did you always put it, "proud as a opossum"?*
*So, I'm guessing average ole' steady job Steve is already in the crapper feeling sorry for himself about this whole situation (which is, by the way, why only you and Pen can see the letter). Anyway, tell him to stick a thumb in it. Penny earned this one. Straight A's all year, and the way she told off that self righteous little nose picker bully tormenting her best bud, she's something special. No wonder she doesn't get along with that white bread, economy car driving, watches the news for fun, Steven. What, with his fetish for bland food, and dry conversation, and all.*
*Honestly, I can't remember why you think you enjoy being around him? (...Yeah yeah, not my place, I know.) Anyway, give Pen a hug for me, and tell her the nightmare's name is 'Hank', and it's non-negotiable (seriously, that's all she'll answer to).*
*Warmest Regards,*
***Luci***
---
I couldn't help but hold my hand over my growing smile as I read it. There was something, I dunno, endearing about Lucifer being doating. Of him being jealous. Over Steven of all people- who, yes, was still in the bathroom.
Penny was watching me, hopefully clutching the contents of the package- a key, " there's a tag." She handed it over to me with a sly smile.
--*For: Sarah. Don't think I forgot about you! And, don't forget, my offer always stands. Merry Xmas -Luci*--
"What's it go to?" Penny returned our secret smile. A crooked, cute, little challenge.
"I'm sure it's gonna be trouble," I smirked back.
"Does that mean I can keep..." Pen furrowed her brow, "hmm, what should we call her."
"Her name is Hank," I turned to look at the nightmare whose fiery breath was fogging up the window her face was pressed against just enough to obscure her unsettling gaze, "apparently it's non-negotiable. So, yeah, we can keep her. I'll deal with Steve."
As Penny started to do jubilant laps around the house, and out the door into the snow (leaving it wide open), I ran my thumb over the ornate brass key. Thinking of how it reminded me of my promise, the deal with The Devil. Not to mention that offer of his.
I guess it was alright for him to spoil Pen, first born and all, because of me she was kinda his too one way or another.
I'd always thought he'd gotten an unfair shake, Satan, that is. He kept his promises, and he'd always been good to Pen. Good to me. What could it hurt to take him up on his offer, really? It was just a cup of coffee after all. Not a marriage proposal.
My mind turned to the divorce papers that I'd already filled out waiting on the top shelf in my closet.
"Hey Pen, come and get dressed in something with short sleeves," I ushered her back into the house, Hank following us right to the edge of the threshold, "I think we gotta go see someone you owe a big, 'thank you' to for your present."
Plus, I'd say I've earned a little trouble.
|
My husband's head was cocked to one side, a look of consternation mingled with amusement on his face.
"Do you think we'll have to join his church?" He wondered and I couldn't help but laugh.
The pony was a gorgeous obsidian black that looked almost purple and blue as it moved through the light, and her mane shimmered with a strange, almost pearly, black iridescence.
"I wonder if Hell has a return policy?"
"We can't return her!" Lilith shrieked, her eyes wide with sudden terror. How do kids hear things like that but not when I ask her to pick up her toys? A mystery that may never be solved.
My husband and I exchanged glances. Well, now what? We had a large enough yard, we could likely build a little stable and make it work. Lilith laughed as the pony nuzzled her hair, seemingly tame. I realized what terrible parents we were, standing there staring dumbstruck at the beast while our daughter petted and cooed at it, but the pony seemed harmless. Until it hiccuped a white hot jet of fire straight down into the snow, melting a two foot radius. Luckily, our dear Lily was clear of it but she screamed anyway.
My husband lit up, his eyes suddenly ablaze (pardon the pun). I knew that look. That look meant that he had an idea, one of his harebrained schemes like the time he decided it would add value to our house to put a bathroom in the basement. Two years later he had a few studs put in, a toilet not attached to anything in a corner and no future goals in mind.
"I know exactly what to do," he rubbed his hands together like a kid on Christmas. (Very fitting, given our current scenario.) "We can train it to melt the driveway. I'll never have to plow again!"
It's been three years since then and while my husband suffered a fairly significant burn that first year, it's been pretty smooth sailing with Dory. My husband likes to call her our "Little Gift From Below," and whenever people ask us our secret to having such a perfectly cleared driveway, that's who he thanks. They think he means salt. We even have her stocking hanging on the mantle and while we haven't officially joined his church, Satan still sees fit to leave her lumps of sulphury flesh in there every Christmas.
| 2017-09-25T18:33:33 | 2017-09-25T17:29:43 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You are given the ability to reverse your decisions. After some use, you realize there is a catch.
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It was a cold dark night, no moon, no stars.. just dark clouds with a faint drizzle of rain coming down. I was walking the streets when I approached the bridge that forever changed my life. For so long I've looked at this bridge as my savior, but now I see it as I did the first time I saw it nearly 20 years ago or yesterday... depending on how you look at it. It's my way out.. my escape from this world. As i turned the corner the rain began to come down a bit harder now. It was a large bridge, one of those ones that let the barges and sail boats cross underneath it. It was high enough. High enough to end it all in an instant. By the time I reached the top of the bridge the rain was coming down harder than I'd ever seen. It was perfectly capturing my mood. I couldn't believe I was here again. I couldn't believe that everything had gone so terribly awry. I couldn't believe that after 20 years I was in the exact same position as I was in last time... I stood there staring down at the water below, and couldn't help but remember how this all started..
You see 20 years ago I experienced a miracle, or what I initially thought was a miracle. I was 42 years old, lost my job, lost the love of my life, my kids hated me, my family didn't want to speak to me, I was evicted from my apartment, and that day I saw my picture on one of those wanted posters the police use. wanted?? WANTED?? All i did was try to help that girl.. I saw that guy pushing her around like that I just wanted to help. thought i was doing the right thing when i ran to her and quickly knocked the guy out and went on my way. well that "guy" was a cop... He got my picture from a security camera and then I was wanted for felony assault on a police officer. I couldn't take it anymore and I walked up this bridge just like I am now. I had reached the end of my ropes. 20 years ago I jumped from this bridge. I actually jumped but the thing is.. I never hit the water. As I fell I remember closing my eyes and seeing my life flash before my eyes, every decision I had ever made laid out in front of me as if taunting me how things went from bad to worse. I can still remember the wind roaring in my ears as I fell from the bridge, I wanted one last sight of this world before it ended. I couldnt have been more than 10 feet from the water when the water beneath me began to turn white. The water turned to a white mist and everything around me began to glow. instead of hitting the water I traveled through it and found myself in another place all together. was it heaven? was this an angel or something? All I know is there was a man before me that saved me. He told me he'd been watching me for sometime. That everything that had happened to me, everything that had made my life turn out soo miserably was all done with the best of intentions. He said he was sorry that things worked out that way but wished to give me a gift. The gift of a redo.
The strange man told me to think hard. think long and hard about where it all started to go wrong. I remembered a moment in college.. when my friends set me up on a blind date. I was very shy back then. I remembered walking up to the restaurant , seeing her there.. wow she was beautiful. I remembered thinking that she was way out of my league. I didn't want her to have a bad night because of me. So I walked away. I told the strange man that I thought I was doing the right thing.. it wouldnt have worked out anyway I was saving her from having a bad night.. but that was a turning point for me in my life. I lost a confidence in me that slowly ate away at my life. I told the strange man that if I could do it again, I would have walked into that restaurant. I told him I should have tried, I shouldnt have given up so easily. The man liked what I had to say and told me that as long as there was goodness in my heart he would reward me with the ability to reverse any decision i'd ever make. And with that he I was taken back to that moment. In a bright flash of light i found myself 20 years younger staring at that restaurant with that beautiful girl waiting for me. A red rose waiting on the table, her in the amazing blue dress. I had a chance to redo it all.
My redo's started off pretty slow, anytime I'd make a huge mistake i'd redo them. Pretty quickly things really started to turn around for me. I wound up getting married to that girl, I became the CEO of a fortune 500 company.. Everything was going so well for years. but over time I forgot the words of that strange man.. I forgot "that as long as there was goodness in my heart i would have the gift of redo". Over time i began to abuse my gift. As i got accustomed to redoing any decision i wished I began to do things that I knew i could get away with. Small things at first, walked out of walmart without paying, just because i knew i could take it back. When an argument started I began throwing punches because i knew i could take it back. Pretty soon I began to see a limitless opportunity of doing ANYTHING I wanted. I stole a car, I broke into homes, raped a woman, I did horrible things all because I knew that I could take it back. But I didnt know there was catch to my gift. I didnt know that I was only allowed a certain number of redo's. Last year I reached that limit of redo's. I went home to my wife and it was something so innocent, I made a tiny little joke that she didnt think was funny so i tried to take it back.. but thats when it happened. I couldnt take it back. I began to see the last 20 years of my life roll out in front me just like it had on the fall from the bridge 20 years ago. I could see all the decisions I'd made, all the good ones, the bad ones, and finally all the ones that I'd abused. I could see them all playing out in front of my eyes, and to my horror my wife could see them too...
|
I found it...or perhaps it found me...three weeks ago. I needed some time alone after a stressful heartwrenching breakup, so I went to my private little alcove on the beach - the one that not even he knew about. After having the rhythmic waves clear my mind for a bit, a seaweed covered box made its way to my water-kissed feet - almost as if nature itself knew and wanted to console me.
I HAD to open it - anyone would; leaving it alone would have gone against human nature.
...A limegreen plastic watch?
Well, to be honest I wasn't expecting anything grandiose, but...really? Oh well. I guess I decided to put it on for the hell of it, but then I noticed the time was off by about 45 minutes.
Then, my hands were no longer twiddling at the inaccurate watch. They were angrily clutching my steering wheel, wet with my tears. What?! My sandy, salty feet were now replaced with furious ones on the pedals going well above the speed limit taking me towards my personal coastal sanctuary. No. Fucking. Way! The only difference, however...was that my left wrist had the green watch I found earlier...or is it later?
Finders. Keepers. This was one of life's many lemons...and it was time to make lemonade.
I call it the Controlzie. Not only does it tell time, but it also tells time to rewind itself to my favor. Exams, first dates, embarrassing moments...even for the witty comebacks that came to me later in the shower: the Controlzie has been my simple solution to any improvable situation. A real life eraser, of sorts. Rewriting history to tell Josh to go fuck himself after his coffee proposal 6 months ago was the best favor I've done for myself (I rewound it for 24 hours 180 times). Maybe I've been slightly abusing it every now and then, but I'll never use it to hurt anyone...at least if they didn't deserve it.
At first, attainable second chances were the greatest privilege to possess. But now...whatever "now" is...I'm a target. I've always have the Controlzie prepared and set to rewind 24 hours ever since a black Escalade crashed my car before nearly replacing my blood cells with bullets.
I would have nightmares about it, but I haven't had the chance to sleep. Every time I go back a day, they follow me too. It takes them a while, but they eventually find me...shooting to kill. I would happily give the Controlzie to them and ride on the past-present again for my sake...but I can't! IT'S FUCKING STUCK TO MY WRIST AND I CAN'T FUCKING GET IT OFF FOR THE LIFE OF ME!!! I've never found the need to take it off - I've never had the DESIRE to take it off.
It took me thousands of escapes to realize that I've had it. I can't keep running back. It's time to stand my ground. I've used it enough to live more than an average lifetime anyway. I accept my fate. The curiosity that I had at the beach will literally have me killed any minute now.
Now the real question is...how heartless must one be to murder a 4 year old girl for a stupid plastic watch?
| 2015-04-11T17:50:29 | 2015-04-11T17:28:35 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are a necromancer's apprentice. One of your most important jobs is holding down the revived bodies in their first moments alive again, while they scream and beg to go back.
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"No! *Nooo!"* The body thrashes. His arms flail against the bonds, which, once again, come loose; his left strikes me in the head with enough force to send stars shooting across my eyes. "Please! Please, please, *please* send me back! My wife, my children, they were all there! *Please*!"
"Sorry, bud," I say, pressing down harder. I mutter incantations under my breath, the simple ones Master has taught me so far, and the straps once again wrap around his limbs. I can see the leather straining.
Master finishes the revival spell. The candles' blue flames turn yellow once more, the wind stops whirling, and everything settles down. Master walks over, frowning at the struggling body, then completes the ritual with one final spell. He waves his hand over the dead man, murmuring in Elusian, and with a gasp the man stops fighting. I let go and release the straps. The zombie sits up, slides off the slab, and walks calmly over to stand with the other soldiers, completely under control of the Necromancer of Elusia.
"We *need* to fix those straps," I say, more tersely than I had planned. "One day one of these fuckers is going to kill me."
"Yes, yes, you're right," he says, waving a nonchalant hand. "I asked Gergamont to obtain leather. It should be in the storeroom. I forgot to tell you."
"Forgot to tell me," I mutter as I walk over to the storeroom. Sure enough, brand new leather straps sit gathering dust. I grab them and spend time removing the old, cracked, torn ones and replacing them with the new. "How many soldiers do we need this time?"
"Oh, around fifty. We're sending them to the Princess of Halimur to take back her father's throne. Her brother was always an idiot; I don't expect it will take much for her to succeed."
I nod and continue fiddling with the straps until they are exactly as I like. "When you finish that, get us lunch," Master says. "We can practice your telekinesis, and then continue forging the army."
"Yes. Master." I have already finished, so I walk through the halls of the castle, which are, of course, full of zombies. Zombies polishing marble busts, zombies mopping floors, zombies just standing around like creepy statues with nothing to do. The castle is eight floors with 236 rooms, all spotless. It's easy to keep a castle clean when you don't have to feed or pay the staff.
Of course, there are some real people employed here. Most importantly, we have a chef. Zombies are terrible cooks. We tried it for a while, but everything came out bland and horrible. It turns out the soulless husks of people that can't taste what they prepare don't make very appetizing meals. After our fifth attempt at an undead chef, Master gave up and poached a chef from a crew of bandits he'd been friendly with. They hadn't been very happy about that, so they'd made the unwise decision to try to get him back. Now, they polish our halls while Woodward Four Fingers makes our meals.
In truth, I didn't blame them. Woodward might have been missing a finger, but he was a marvel in the kitchen. Every meal was delicious, filling, and healthy. For a necromancer, Master is very picky about the nutritional content of his meals. "Can't raise the undead if I'm one of them," he quipped when I asked him about it.
"Hey, Woodward," I say, sliding onto a stool in the massive kitchen. It was built for an entire castle of people. Woodward doesn't seem to mind. A cordoned-off section is devoted to growing an assortment of herbs and vegetables, while a separate section contains a bookshelf and fireplace. Woodward didn't know how to read when we got him, so I spent a year teaching him in the evening after my studies. He's become quite a bookworm. "Master wants lunch."
"I'm nearly done," he replies. I lean over. Rice, a hunk of meat, and what looks like mixed vegetables in some kind of sauce.
"Looks good."
"Oh, it is. I used fresh thyme and some lemon juice on the vegetables." He tastes a forkful, sprinkles in some salt, then tastes again. "That should do it." He plates the food, then hands them to me. "Dinner will be at seven sharp. If you're still raising bodies, it'll get cold."
"We're more than halfway done." I thank him, put the plates on a tray, and make the trek back. While we eat, Master gives me telekinetic tests. I lift rope, tables, chairs, and, eventually, the entire cauldron with ease.
"You've improved quite a bit," he says, swallowing a forkful of rice.
"I've been practicing at night."
"We'll move on to telepathy next week, then."
"How soon until I can start raising bodies?"
"A year at most. We're nearly there, my young apprentice."
It's a glorious feeling, knowing how close I am. I've apprenticed with Master for nearly a decade; he raised my parents when I was 14. Our village was attacked by a wyvern. I hid under a floorboard. I still wake up screaming in the night, remembering how it felt when they blood seeped through the cracks and onto my skin. You never forget that.
"All right. Let's finish this up."
We select another body: a tall, muscled female. I magically lift her body into place, then tighten the straps on her limbs. Master moves back into position, takes a deep breath, and begins once again to chant. The flames turn blue, the magical wind blows, and colors fill the air as he revives her from death.
My hands are pressed against her torso when her blue eyes open. A beat passes, and then my mouth drops as her eyes calmly meet mine. She does not struggle, does not scream, does not beg to go back. For the first time in ten years, I lift my hands off, and nothing happens.
Master continues to chant, finishing the ritual, while she remains tranquil. When he finished, and the room turns golden again, she looks down at the straps, then back at me, "Am I alive, then?" she asked.
"Well, this is unusual," Master says, coming around to stand next to me. "Yes, my dear, you are. Were the Plains of Telumia not to your liking?"
"Oh, they were fine. Can you undo these please? I'd like to sit up. Do you have my battleaxe?"
"I'm sure it's somewhere in the building," Master says. "Jack, undo her straps."
I do, then quickly step back. I am both intrigued and worried. What is going on?
"I have to tell you, my dear, you have quite surprised us. No one comes back without screaming. No one wants to come back at all."
"Oh, I did," she assures us, sitting up and rubbing her wrist. "The Plains were lovely. My family was there, as was my daughter. It was wonderful to see them. But I didn't fulfill my purpose before I died. I am glad to have that chance again."
"And what is that?" Master asks, holding out his hands.
A smirk graces her face. She looks at both of us, shrugs, and then, with a purposeful air, declares, "*vengeance."*
|
Dusting the ash off my coat with a “*sigh*, another one.”
The boss nags from behind, “Esteban! We’re losing moonlight! Get a new body on the slab asap while I gather mana for the next spell!”
Blood rushes to my head “Old man this is the 12th one tonight how about calling it quits and trying again another day! You keep pumping the stiffs with mana and I get a bigger mess to clean up!”
“Silence boy!” The boss spits. “You’re 100 years too early to mouth off to me! I’ll have you know I’ve quite the pedigree in the dark arts!” He says proudly.
Furrowing my brow and hauling another body on the rune etched slab, “in destruction maybe but necromancy clearly isn’t your forte’ why don’t you stick to lightning bolts and fireballs and leave the stiffs to the pros? 100 years too late for a mid life crisis don’t you think?”
I turn around to a man at peace unlike the hate filled crone he was a second ago he’s praying, communing with mana to grant him power and give life to this wretched abomination.
Flakes of blue light gather in his hands. The wind gently swirls kicking up ash as it dances in the moons pale light shining down on the corpse.
It’s beautiful in a way if not for what happens next. I hear a spark and the smell of embalming fluid is overtaken briefly by the musty smell of rain.
I dive out the way onto the ground, a pile of ash softening my fall.
“POOOOOWEEER!!!!!” The old man shoots lightning from his fingertips onto the corpse.
“OVERWHELMING POOOOWEEEER!”, he amps the voltage. The runes ablaze with energy, and then the violent crackles are replaced by a melodious hum.
I get up to see the corpse still intact for a better lack of a term, a-little char here and there but not bad, not bad, major improvement. But had he done it, finally?
The Boss glides to my side hand on my shoulder “13th times the charm dear boy.” Excitement in his voice.
The corpses eyes jut open electric blue fills the irises with life. I dive toward it as it screams trying to break away from my hold.
The corpse screams, “NOOOOO! What is this!? Why did you bring me back!?”
The boss approaches “kind sir welcome back I have graced you with a second chance at life and now that I have helped you I would like you to help me.”
“My pet gargoyle, Zuzu which I’m certain you’ve been acquainted with and the cause of your untimely end may have been in the area of your death. If you would be so kind as to point us in the direction of your town we would certainly be happy to drop you off on the way.”
The corpse grows violent, “Your pet did this?! Well I got news for you I ain’t goin’ back! They collected from me once fed my intestines to your pet, hollowed me out and left a nasty surprise where they used to be and they ain’t getting a cent outta me again, kill me!”
A smile creeps across the bosses face, “kind sir if it’s bandits your worried about we are more than qualified to handle them in exchange for your service.”
The corpse let’s out a mocking laugh, “good luck but I learned my lesson already a group of bandits, ok but messing with the IRS nooooo thank you!
The corpse jerks on a string hanging from the outside of his stitched stomach, I hear the faint sound of a tick.
“Head east, follow the moss on the side of the rocks, good luck.” Another tick.
Esteban get down! I’m snatch back quickly. The corpse explodes in a blaze of blue. The boss protects us with an unseen force, its shape being betrayed by the dance of moonlit ash filling the room.
The ash settles and the boss strokes his beard deep in thought muttering and shivering “IRS…”
“Esteban” he utters with a sullen tone. I’ve never heard him like this.
“Yes sir?”
“Prepare a homing pigeon, we’re gonna need some help.”
| 2022-04-11T10:09:29 | 2022-04-11T07:54:10 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
"Good morning Jessica."
"Morning boss."
I smiled at her as she came in for her shift. One of my constant conveyor belt university students, she was a good worker. There were a few times she was late to work, having been on a binge the night before. But I liked to give some some slack.
She disappeared out back for a bit, before coming back in her apron. We traded high fives, and she took over manning the till. Times would change, fights would happen, but people always needed their coffee.
I took some time to relax, idly checking on the targets I was given. People with super powers often caused mayhem, either because they wanted to or by accident. I was part of the League, a sort of shadow organisation. We put appropriate villains for those who wanted to help, but inevitably made things worse. The Guild knew of us of course, and helped give match ups.
I was one. According to the Guild official ranking, I was a C-Class villain. Mostly an annoyance, but could potentially cause problems if left unchecked. I liked it, as I loved being an idiot. I made stupid devices that had nice obvious off or self destruct buttons. Coupled with nice clear timers, it kept my team mostly out of trouble. In reality I was more of an A-Class.
I sipped my water, looking at their track. Instantly I had to roll my eyes. Of course they were coming here. I wandered near to the door, keeping an ear out to listen in on their conversation.
"Hey, love, give us your number."
Oh. Oh no they didn't. I hated those sort who hit on my employees. I peeked through the peephole, and nearly smacked my head in frustration. They were in their outfits. They must have thought it made them special. I glanced at the four of them.
Flare, wearing a mix of red and orange. He was their leader, with mild pyrokinesis. Flanking him were the twins, Gust and Wave. Air manipulation and hydrokinesis. Finally behind was the largest of the lot, Rock. Geokinesis, to finish up the Elements as they called themselves. They were properly C-Class, with low level powers.
"I don't give my number out. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
They laughed, each one egging the others on. I clenched my fist, as Flare held up his hand to touch her hair.
"Oh don't be like that. I bet you've never been with a super before. Let's just say we are super in more ways than one."
I felt pride as Jessica slapped his hand away, stepping back.
"Ew. Get out."
I pulled open the door, as his face fell. There was a rush of heat, and my counter burst into fire.
"Fine, be like that. Thought I would give an ugly girl a short at being important for once. I guess I thought wrong."
His cronies laughed, as I rushed over to Jessica. She was crumpled on the floor, shaking. As I ran I felt something infront of my leg. The air growing thick. I fell hard, getting some more laughs from them.
"Come on guys, let's go, there are people out there who actually have brains."
Wave's voice was mocking. I crawled over to Jessica, rubbing her shoulder. She peeked up at me, before reaching out to hug me. I looked st the soot on her face, and felt anger. They were meant to be heros. This was far beyond any sort of realm of good.
"It's OK."
I soothed her as she cried into my shoulder. I could smell burnt hair, and knew Flare had deliberately caught her in it. I struggled to contain my rage. They would pay.
\-----
"Elements."
I spoke a single word with pure hatred. The League and Guild were in agreement. This team was no longer a good hearted liability. They were a menace. I had been given the all clear to remove them from the Hero Pool.
"Jester! Come on, let's get this over with!"
Flare called up at me, eager to fight. I smirked. They thought they could beat me.
"Tell me, what do you know about super powers?"
They frowned. Normally I came up with a stupid quip. This time I was being deadly serious.
"Only the privileged are able to get and use them."
I laughed.
"Well, that's wrong. It's merely a quirk of genetics, space-time, and random chance. But tell me, what would happen if someone was able to understand this random set of events?"
I was met with blank stares, making me roll my eyes. I had never put much thought into how stupid they were.
"Alright, since you are thicker than concrete. Let me explain. If you could understand how to replicate this set of events, you could make up powers of your own."
I held up a syringe, filled with a thick green liquid.
"Like this."
I injected myself, feeling the same rush of power hit me. I grinned at them, raising an arm. A pillar of rock split from the floor, larger than anything Rock could handle.
"Behold, the new improved Rock."
I let it fall, as Gust darted towards me. He yelled as he moved.
"Guys, we have to stop him before he does anymore!"
I grinned at him, thinning the air beneath him. He fell, looking up at me in shock.
"Oh come now. Do you really think I hadn't prepared before you got here? Let me show you just how pathetic you really are. When I'm done, you will be heroes no more."
I lunged, ready to fight. They thought themselves strong. I wanted to prove them wrong. To the public, they would be called away to Guild Headquarters, for training. Technically they would be returning, but only after I had given them the treatment that confirmed my place as an A-Class. The treatment to suppress their pitiful powers.
|
Harold was lying on the floor, bleeding from the bullet hold on his shoulder.
“Are you the boss here?” Thuderia asked.
“Yes,” I replied, my anger starting.
“Give us the money,” Flame Lord snarled.
“Why?”
“Because,” Anne began, “we’re your Trio of Salvation. We deal with the super villain Blackout. Now give us the money.”
“No,” I said, and threw them out telekinetically.
I wasn’t finished. I repaired Harold wound, and created some new blood for him. He should live, but I’ll get him to the hospital later.
The Trio got up, with great rage.
“The fuck?” Thuderia growled, covering her face.
“I am Blackout. And you crossed a damn line.”
“Hah. Blackout? You’re just a ‘comically incompatant’ super villa-“ Flame Lord tried to say, but ripping of the bottom of his jaw shut him up.
“I’ve never been all that interested in taking over the city. I’ve only continued as a hobby to prevent worse villains from showing up. Turns out they showed up today!”
I kicked Anne to the tops of the buildings, and brought my leg down on top of Thunderia.
“Before I was known as Blackout,” I continued, beating these fakes to a pulp, “I was Creator! The only Hero undefeated! With the power to make new abilitys! I brought down Snatcher! I defeated the duo villains of Time and Space! And all of it was done singlehandedly!” I finished, leaving badly broken but living bodies of these false helpers. “And now I’m bringing you to the Tartarus.”
The shock on their faces was quite something.
“Bu-but we’re heros! Why would we be brought to the jail for extremely dangerous villains?” Thunderia wimpered.
“You shot an innocent man, demanded money at gunpoint, and claim to be innocent?”
They fell silent, realizing their pleas would obly fall on deaf ears.
—-
“Hey Creator!” A cheerful voice cried out.
“Hey Snatcher. I got some new faces for you.”
“Oooh, an S ranked threat?”
“No, some C ranked heros.”
“Damn it, I was hoping for a 4th member. I want to play Mahjong!”
“Not my problem. By the way, I’m currently known as Blackout, a Grade D villain.”
“Grade D? Isn’t that reserved for Villains that can’t actually harm anyone? And private info?”
“I’ve been requested by the city of Lancurk to be their villain, so they report me as grade C. Anyway, I gotta get going, these fucks shot my employee.”
“Bye!!!”
| 2022-11-28T15:23:28 | 2022-11-28T14:47:16 | 1,762 | 414 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
|
"And who can tell me about the events of the first cycle?"
Professor Gooblevork watched his Galactic History class intently through triplicate eyestalks. None seemed particularly interested in his lecture.
"How about you, Shrdmrn?" He pointed at a particularly bored student in the first row. Or maybe he was just gassy? Gooblevork had a hard time reading the emotions of the furrier species in his class.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, professor. I don't know." He responded. He seemed distracted - ah, that's it, that's the emotion!
"What's on your mind, Shrdmrn?"
The wolf-boy touched a switch on his desk, pulling up a small holographic map. The professor pulled up a larger display for the whole class to see.
"I was just wondering about the Galactic Alliance. Thousands of sentient alien species, all throughout the galaxy, came together from all of these systems, right?"
The hologram glowed, indicating several systems, and a few uncharted territories in black.
"That's correct. What is your question?"
"I was just wondering about this area here."
He pointed out a small black dot in the middle of the glowing cloud. Gooblevork sighed and sat down.
"That, dear boy, is the realm of the human."
A collective gasp went through the crowd. Shrdmrn's brows furrowed.
"Is this a joke, professor?"
The professor slithered over to the wolf-boy.
"They're real, boy. A monstrous species, completely devoid of logic and reason."
The wolf-boy looked at him intently.
"How, sir?"
The professor slithered to the center of the room.
"How many of you are familiar with the chemical compound C2H6O?"
One of the students in the back spoke up.
"It's a deadly poison, sir!"
"It should be. Its use is forbidden among the civilized worlds of the Alliance, as it's an unconscionably painful death. But the human willingly imbibes it."
The crowd gasped. But the professor wasn't done.
"Regularly."
The students gasped again and stared in shock.
"Their planet, Earth, is harsh and unforgiving. It's located close to their star, which bombards their planet in radiation daily. But the humans don't care. At the hottest times in the year, the humans willingly expose their bodies to that radiation as some sort of mating ritual."
The professor admitted to himself that he was having a bit more fun than he should.
"And does anyone know where they get their energy from?"
"From their star?"
The professor laughed.
"No! They pump a fluid from the earth - a fluid born of the bodies of ancient life. They fight each other over this fluid, and when they have enough, they light the fluid on fire."
The professor paused to allow this to sink in.
"The burning fluid releases poisons - poisons the Alliance would never deem safe. But humans? Humans don't care. They use the expansion of he poisons to create power."
One student raised his hand.
"Are they all going to die on their planet, professor?"
The professor smiled.
"Maybe. But it's possible that they won't. They've built a way to leave their planet."
The crowd gasped again, even louder than before.
"How could such a ludicrous race build a gravity drive on their own?"
The professor said, "I never said it was a gravity drive. They developed a way to sit on top of a column of explosives. They detonate the explosives, and the explosion sends them into space."
One of the students stands up.
"That's a joke, right?"
The professor smiles.
"They've left their planet before."
|
"You're kidding me. You've got to be kidding me."
"No, sir. It's true."
"They only have one carrier. We have a station in orbit around their planet. They can't possibly win."
"Sir . . . They've started playing their war cry."
"Not--"
"The Eye of the Tiger, sir."
| 2017-03-05T22:47:46 | 2017-03-05T21:40:56 | 1,151 | 315 |
[WP] You are the only human being left after the mysterious vanishing of the worlds population. Two years later, power and internet starts running once again, you recieve a reply notification on Reddit.
|
He was diligent.
Every day, he'd wake in his small cabin, ignite the stove, fill the kettle with what little water he had left from the day before, and scoop a couple spoonfuls of coffee into his mug. He'd take a few steps out the back door and relieve himself in the yard and wince at the sun and mutter, "Thanks for still being here, friend." He'd stretch and yawn and go back inside.
And he'd check the USB connection by the front window.
A couple years ago, he had affixed a small solar charger to his roof. With a short array of cable extensions, he had run a lifeline from the charger, across the roof, and barely reached the window. Plugged in to the end was his phone. And every morning, he checked to make sure it would charge throughout the day.
Not because he expected a call.
There were no cell towers to connect to. No power to the telephone infrastructure that spidered across the planet. Not a person to talk to, even if everything still worked as it used to.
He charged his phone every day because his family was in it. A few dozen photos, all that he had left, that he'd taken days before the Event a couple years ago.
Every day, he'd check that the phone would charge. He'd sit down with his coffee and he'd squeeze himself against the window and he'd light up his phone.
Every day he'd swipe through the images and he'd smile at them and he'd cry at them and he'd talk to them and he'd curse at himself.
*Why didn't I print any of the photos over the years?* he'd repeat to himself. *Why did I reset my phone? Why didn't I take more photos? Why did I trust in the Cloud?*
The Cloud was his enemy. And so were the clouds.
Sometimes, more often than not, the clouds would shade his roof from the sun. Sometimes, more often than not, the solar charger would struggle to give him just a few minutes to pore over his phone before it and his family would die again. Sometimes, more often than not, he'd dwell on the images he could recreate in his mind and remember that he'd never see them again.
Not for real, anyway. Not his family. Not anyone, for that matter. Not since the Event.
He didn't know why it happened. He stopped caring long ago. He'd stopped wondering and pleading and shaving and bathing. He'd stopped being any sense of human long ago.
He was now just obsessed.
He'd eat one of the cans of food he stockpiled years ago. And he'd fetch water every morning after his ritual. And he'd spend the rest of the day cursing himself for not being a better person.
He'd hate himself and he'd laugh at himself and he'd berate himself. For not being a better father. For not being a better husband. For not being a better person.
He'd replay the last moments with his family. He'd remember swilling his whiskey and he'd remember its burn down his throat and he'd remember throwing the glass at his wife. He'd remember shrugging off the desperate hug from his son. He'd remember getting in the car and forgetting his seat belt and heading to the liquor store to perpetuate his dysfunction.
He'd remember the street lamps and their sick yellow glow. He'd remember the traffic lights changing color. He'd remember the headlights from the oncoming cars.
And he'd remember all the lights going out.
He'd remember the vehicles around him careening in random directions. He'd remember pulling the steering wheel in his lifeless car to avoid a collision. He'd remember putting his weight on the brake pedal without power assist. He'd remember coming to a stop and his heart pounding and his confusion and getting out of the car.
And he'd remember everything on the street being gone.
There were no lights. There were no people. There were no dogs barking in the background. There were no crickets and no frogs and no cicadas. There were no signs of life anywhere around him when he got out of the car.
There was just destruction. Cars plowed into trees and wrapped around poles and penetrating the sides of buildings.
And he'd remember not knowing what happened. And he'd remember...
*beep!*
The vision in his mind gave way to reality. *What was that?*
*beep!*
It came from his phone. His phone beeped.
His phone beeped?
*beep!*
His phone beeped!
*beep!*
He lit up his phone and saw something he'd not seen in two years. He saw something that welled his eyes with tears. He saw something that showed... life!
Here! Now! A sign of life!
*reddit
You have 1 new notification*
This couldn't be right. A notification? Was the power back on? Were there people again?! How could that be...
*beep!*
A smile painted itself on his face. He swiped the screen to view the notification.
Nothing happened.
*beep!*
He swiped again.
*beep!*
Nothing.
*beep!*
Again he tried. He had to see!
*beep!*
And then the phone died. The screen shut off. He looked at the blackness with despair.
*beep!*
What was happening?!
*beep!*
He frantically tried to power on his phone.
Nothing.
*beep!*
A wave of confusion swept over him.
And then the sun died. He was enveloped in a blackness even darker than the night of the Event.
*beep!*
What was happening?! Was he the next victim of the Event?! Where would he go? What would become of him?!
*beep!*
And then nothing.
*beep!*
"Daddy?"
*beep!*
"Honey? Can you hear me?"
*beep!*
*beep! ... beep! ... beep!*
And then a white light overwhelmed him. His eyes struggled to focus. His pupils seared from the light.
*beep!*
"Doctor!! He's awake!!"
|
There's not much to do as the last person on earth. Eventually blowing buildings up and driving around fast cars on the roads not covered with debris gets dull, the once exhilarating freedom becomes boring. Solitude is a solemn affair. Eventually humans revert to their natural state, picking up old habits as their one last connection to the world that had been.
When the grid mysteriously turned back on at first I was exalted; I couldn't be alone. Someone had to turn this stuff back on. The new found hope eventually turned to despair though as day by day my efforts to contact other survivors turned fruitless. Despite this however, I still browsed old sites, desperate for a laugh or mental entertainment. It was there where I saw it, a post under the recent file: **"Is anybody else out there!?"**
The post was short and concise: *"My name is Jennifer, I am a survivor. I live in Seattle, if you can even call it that anymore. If anyone is reading this, just know, you are not alone."*
My heart raced with an excitement that I had not felt in years. The thread was only a day old, first up in queue, and her account activity showed she had been on less than an hour ago. With my heart about to burst from a mix of anxiety and anticipation I hit the reply button.
*"My name is Mike. I am in Michigan. Are you real?"*
I stared at the screen for what felt like eternity. My canned beans, salvaged from a Kroger, began to cool. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like years. Eventually, near dusk, the familiar orange logo popped up.
*"Yes. I thought I was the only one. Interesting."*
I nearly felt out of my chair with excitement. This was not a bot, this was an actual human being. My mind filled with thoughts, thoughts of laughter, conversation, even sex since she was a girl. Christ, it had been so long. With my hands shaking, I replied back.
*"Where are you. There may be others. I have access to cars and barrels of gasoline. I can meet you somewhere. There could be others. Let me meet you. I'm a few days drive from Seattle but wait at a landmark every night with a light or something and I can come. Just give me a distinctive building or something"*
Minutes went by, despite her still appearing online. Had she stepped away from the computer? Was she just a smarter bot? Computer programs were supposedly developing AI that constantly evolved. Had I been duped? Eventually the orange letter popped again. It was time
*"Why do guys have to be so thirsty? I had a boyfriend you creep"*
M.M. (Just to prove I actually wrote this to Shannon)
| 2015-03-20T09:23:51 | 2015-03-20T08:24:27 | 150 | 43 |
[WP] You wake up from a coma. You were in a car crash caused by a drunk billionaire. In an effort to save his reputation, he hurriedly and secretly ordered the best doctors to restore your burned face using the photo on the driver's license they found in your car—a car which you've stolen.
|
Mama Demeter always said – always follow the money.
The money in question on a fine Thursday morning ended up being sleek, black car illegally parked in a towaway zone. I got a car, and the public was freed from an illegally parking menace. That’s what I called public service.
And so there I was coasting down Broadway – I didn’t even have to worry about the car being reported stolen. If you park in a tow-away zone, odds are your car was towed away, not stolen. I opened up the sunroof to let in the crisp October air and the cacophony of sounds that was the soundtrack of New York. It was right around then that I was t-boned by an asshole running a red light.
Some people just don’t have any respect for laws.
***
The next thing I remember, I’m waking up in an office overlooking Manhattan, blinking at a face I’ve seen in newspaper articles and online videos. I flinch violently as the memory of the crash smashes into me like a runaway train. Screeching metal and pain. Yeah, great going there brain, good to know my reflexes were in order.
The man had his fingers laced together and an apologetic expression plastered on his face. “Ms. Johnson,” he said and extended a hand.
*Who the fuck was Ms. Johnson?*
I stared at the hand for a hard second. In hindsight, I probably had other options. I could’ve told him right there I wasn’t who he thought I was, but I smelled an opportunity. Mama Demeter always said: luck is just taking advantage of whatever opportunities you’re given.
So, I damn well took his hand. “Mr…Wells?” I said, thinking back to the articles and TV interviews.
A nod from the man, a brief grimace. I guess he was going for friendly smile? I went to tuck my hair behind my ear, only to find…nothing. I moved my fingers up till I hit hair. *Short* hair. Barely 4 inches.
A wince. “Ms. Johnson you were…involved in an accident.”
“No kidding,” I said, as I ran my hand through my hair again. Mama Demeter always said to cut it short. A girl couldn’t afford to have long hair in the business. Made it too easy to grab. She compared it to a cape from the Incredibles. But it was the one thing I didn’t listen on.
Had been, I suppose.
“There was…considerable damage,” Wells said.
Damage? He called this Damage? Most my fucking hair was gone!
“To the car?” I asked, my face the very picture of naivete. I wanted to make him squirm.
Another wince. “No, ah, to you.”
“Then why am here and not in a hospital?”
“You are. This is just my office. You’ve been here for 24 hours.”
A whole day. I just gaped at him. The person must’ve reported their car missing by now. I had to leave.
“Well, presumably, you’ve covered all the medical bills since you were the one who T-boned me?”
“Of course, of course,” he said with a wave of his hand, “but I don’t think you understand.” He took a deep breath. “You suffered burns. *Severe* burns. Your face was an unrecognizable mess.”
My blood went cold.
“I took the liberty to contact the best physicians I had to reconstruct your face from your driving license. Aside from your hair, the rest of your body suffered…relatively easily reparable damage.”
I didn’t have a driving license. Why make it easy for the man, Mama Demeter used to say.
“M-may I see a mirror?” I asked, the tremble in my voice not entirely an act. He handed one. I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.
And a stranger stared back.
I closed my eyes and focused on counting my breaths. Letting the calm engulf me, exploring my options. There was no reason to panic. I would gain nothing by panicking. Smashing the mirror over his head would *not* be productive. Not even a little. This was opportunity. I'd already paid the price. Now I had to cash out on this involuntary investment.
I stared evenly at Wells, who was looking at me with calculating eyes.
“So what do you get out of this,” I asked, my voice flat.
He blinked, taken aback. “I-I’m just doing what’s right.”
I gave a short bark of laughter. “Right. You’re just Mr. Righteous. Let me guess, the media heard about it?”
He pulled himself up. “My driver–”
“Will take the fall, yes,” I said, and he shut up. “Let’s cut the crap. You almost killed me, running a light, and you want me to be all nice about it because you rebuilt my face?”
All humor was gone from his face.
“Ms. Johnson, what was given can be taken away…”
I smiled at that. “This isn’t a movie, asshole, and you certainly ain't a Bond villain. You put me back, and you’re back to square one, the media and the courts breathing down your neck.” I could’ve been more diplomatic I suppose, but my goddam face had been stolen, cut me some slack.
“So, you’ll ruin me,” he said, “despite all I did.”
Oh yeah he did *quite* a lot. But now it was time for the pivot.
“Well, not necessarily,” I said, putting the mirror facedown on the desk, “Depends on what more you *do* for me.”
|
Loving you is complicated.
Same old mirror, same old bathroom, same old tired yellow lightbulb. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and that is not me. That is not how I ever wanted to look. That is not how I ever expected to look. That's not me, that is not who I am. Those aren't my cheeks and that is not my nose. Nothing of the person that I look in the mirror is me. I smile with my heart, but out comes a smile with my lips. I try to laugh and my reflection does a poor imitation of a feeling.
Loving you is complicated.
I stand in front of my mirror, pulling faces at myself, hoping that my face will talk with the words that I feel. Hoping that joy will be joy and glee will be glee. But there is nothing of the like. Like a poor actor it just warps around itself in response, not having an emotion, not having a soul. ... That is it. My face doesn't have a soul. I want to refuse it. I start rubbing my forehead to rub the face off, to push everything in to place like a soft clay. To finally dig my nails in and pull everything off, exposing what is real. So that my face shows me for who I am. But the sun sets. And who am I anyway?
Loving you is complicated.
And it is only when I turn away in disgust and anguish, I catch a glimpse of it. Only when I do not look at myself I see myself. The way my head moves, the way I look down, the way my hand goes through the hair that is not mine. That is where I am now, hidden in movement, not image. I am in my body, not face. I turn back to the mirror and look closely at my face again. Deep, deep, deep in it. So deep I am looking through it, I am piercing it with my eyes. And I see it. Those are mine. The whole face around them is not mine, but those are my eyes. That is my look. And behind them I see a burning man, turned raw by fire and flames. I recognize myself. A man of fire even before the accident. Of rage and destruction, a burning man, looking at a foreign face through burning eyes. And I remember everything. I remember who I was and what sort of a demon has always looked at me through the mirror.
Leaving you that's mutilated.
| 2020-10-08T07:51:04 | 2020-10-08T06:31:19 | 237 | 173 |
[WP] A "popular" girl falls in love with a "nerdy" boy, however he hates her and she spends all her time trying to impress him
EDIT: THANK YOU ALL FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TO WRITE SHORT STORIES BASED OFF MY PROMPT!! I HAVE YET TO READ ALL YOUR STORIES THOUGH, AS I'M BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND OTHER STUFF :D
I'm sorry if I have somehow ripped off your precious harem animes. That was completely unintentional. (I don't even watch anime that much)
I'm sorry if this prompt is too uncreative for you guys. Maybe next time I'll post one that's "different" enough but not so unique that I'd probably end up writing a novel about one day (I have dreams that shall never be fulfilled)
I'm sorry if I have triggered anyone somehow.
|
Dear Diary, Samantha here,
"Why wasn't he afraid?" I mused over this, wondering why HE of all people could be so nonchalant over my boyfriends threats. Chance was one of the robotics kids at our school. Really, he was just a nobody. Then there’s me, Samantha, queen bee of our high-school, cheerleader elite. I was dating Darren, the Quarterback and All-American.
It all started on that damn day when Darren and I were walking down the hall with some of his jock buddies. Honestly, I don't know what they were talking about really, but I just smiled and faked laughed as usual. I was looking back and making a comment to one of the boys when suddenly Darren started yelling.
"Watch where you’re going dumbass." Darren snarled. In front of Darren was Chance. It looked like they had just bumped into one another. Chance, had dropped some books and was picking them up. Most guys (especially ones that looked like Chance, dark haired, glasses, and ill advised outfit) would have been quaking at the thought of Darren being angry at them, who is 6’4, 200 pounds of pure savory muscle. This time was different, Chance stood up as smoothly as he had bent down to pick up his books, and peered straight into Darren’s eyes. "Hey man didn't see you there, ill watch out next time." He said this just as calmly as he picked up his books while adjusting his brown spectacles. In an instant, I saw Darren make a move towards Chance. Knowing his temperament, I grabbed his arm quickly, "He’s not worth it baby, lets just go." Darren let up a little and looked back at Chance, who was just staring, not even caring he was about to get his ass-kicked. Darren breathed out, "I’ll catch you later you little shit." I gave Chance the I-just-saved-your-ass-nerd look. Then I strutted away with Darren on my arm.
Dear Diary, Chance here,
What’s wrong with my code? I’ve quadruple checked it already. I can’t seem to figure out one of the last algorithms to help make smooth movement on the robot I've been working on. The robot is designed to help plant crops and diagnose levels of nutrients in the ground. Plus it's also meant to help aging farmers move around. I’ve been working on this robot for years actually, I got the idea for it after I helped code a cost effective insulin pump for the poor (the idea came to me because my test subject was a farmer with diabetes). Anyway, my day actually became a lot more interesting because within this train of thought I was having about the algorithm, I ran into a much less metaphorical train.
"Watch where you’re going dumbass." Snarled the high-school Quarterback Darren. A big oaf, whom I am sorry to say doesn't have the same intelligence as his size. As I was picking up my books, I noticed he was with his buddies and his girlfriend Samantha. Who as far as I was concerned, was queen bitch of our school. The truth is, Darren and his group didn't scare me at all. What these guys don't know about me is that I am the state’s Golden Gloves silver-medalist in boxing's light heavy-weight division (courtesy of my mother pushing me, rest her soul). So, even if they were to try and fight me I'm pretty sure I actually had more real fight experience than all of them combined (and IQ too). My mother never wanted me to fight outside the ring, and always wanted me to be a good kid that focused on my studies and the needs of others. So instead, I just told him sorry, to which he retorted something stupider than he looks. His girlfriend pulled him away and gave me a look of contempt. Something which I mirrored back. I had no time for her kind of people. After that, I just continued onto the robotics lab, where I had more pressing issues to delve into.
Dear Diary, Samantha here,
I find myself not being able to stop thinking about Chance all weekend. The way he was so calm when dealing with Darren peaked my interest him. So, this week, I found myself looking out the school yard, the halls, and classrooms to get a glance of Chance. Glance of Chance, ha that sounds so poetic. Anyway, this week I saw something that got to me that I made my stomach drop.
I was walking by the robotics lab when I saw him there, sitting at the desk staring into his Macbook Pro. There were some other people around him and a girl that was sitting close, "damn her" I thought. Suddenly, I realized I was jealous. Not only was I jealous of another girl, it was over a nerd at our school. How could that be possible? Furthermore, that’s not the thing that got me. Truth is, over the past week I have taken the long route to pass by the robotics lab to catch a glimpse of Chance. I noticed that he works tirelessly in school and after school to work on his projects. I started to become curious as to what he was actually working on. There was a girl sitting by me in one of my classes that works in the robotics club with Chance. I asked her casually what they were working on, not to give myself away. She said that they were working on devices to help improve the lives of people around them. "What a joke!" I found myself berating her. "What makes you think that you can change anything?" However, as I said this, all I felt was myself being more intrigued by Chance and a little guilt too. I blushed just thinking about him.
Finally, on Friday of this week. I decided that I was gonna muster up the courage to talk to him. In spite of the possible repercussions it might have. Who knows? Maybe ill just ask him some stupid physics question to make it seem more natural? So finally, after third period I went walked towards the robotics center wondering what I would say to him. Right before I got into the door hit someone, Whack, I looked up and I saw bright brown glasses, and all I could muster was
"Hey."
Dear Diary, Chance here,
I worked my butt off this week and have found myself really close to cracking the code. However, thats not really what I want to write about. This week I noticed something kind of strange. Every time that I am in the robotics lab I have started to see Samantha walk by the robotics window and peer in for a second, then she just shuffles away. I really don't understand it and wish she would just stop. I'm pretty sure she's just coming by to make fun of me or some of the people in robotics. It’s getting pretty annoying. So I decided that the next time she would come by I would give her a piece of my mind. This Friday I would do it.
So when the time came after third period, (which is usually when she comes through) I saw her slowly walking by. This time she wasn't looking through the window but it seemed like she was muttering something to herself. No matter. I got up and walked to the door and opened it. Whack. She was much closer than I realized and as I opened the door I just ran myself into her by accident. She looked up at me with her big (now that I'm up closer) extremely beautiful blue eyes. I lost train of thought and just blurted out
"Hey."
Note: I noticed this story is getting long, please let me know if you guys like it so far!
|
Not even a fictional piece, there are two people at my school exactly like this. I'll change names and make it dialoguey.
--
Cassie sighed a deep sigh as she walked into Theatre II, first period. She looked over at CJ casually playing on his years-old 3DS. The sounds indicated he was playing at iteration of smash.
She sat two seats away from him as always, with Cade and Katherine between them. As Mrs. Garcia began calling roll, she silently waited for her name.
"Elizabeth Allison?" "Here."
"Cassie Britfield?"
CJ looked so cute in his TMNT jacket.
"CASSIE!"
"HERE!" she cried, startled.
As soon as roll finished, people automatically rose to go attend to final details. That afternoon, the class was headed to an elementary school to perform a children's play - a sort of CD, hopefully maturing into one or two theatre department members in four to nine years. Cassie was playing a bratty princess, and CJ a kind grandfather.
Miraculously, she and CJ were both on set crew. She used this time to attempt to flirt; saying hi, asking about his interests, flipping her hair, the works. She knew she was gorgeous, but not in a self-centered way; she knew she had a good body and long, soft black hair. She just wished it mattered to CJ. NOTHING seemed to matter to him; did he even have a sex drive?
Thoughts of that had to be pushed out of her mind for now, there were set pieces to load up. After an hour of work, they were ready. A short drive to the elementary school later, they were setting up.
During which, of course, CJ went back to playing on his DS. He was too adorable to disturb, so she went about the set setup herself. Following setup, the little kids filed into the cafetorium in neat lines under the tyrannical watch of early education majors.
CJ was amazing in his performance, as always. Hidden beneath the hoodie and long, unkempt hair was a veritable acting genius. He made the kids laugh when he wanted them to laugh and they calmed when he wanted them quiet. As he came backstage once his parts were over, she congratulated him.
"Thanks, Cassie! You were great too!" He replied, ever kind. He knew she liked him and so tried to be nice in the stead of romantic interest. It just hurt more. Two years of patient kindness, not one loving word or look in return.
After the show ended and four hundred children were high-fived, striking the set was the next step. CJ thankfully worked diligently at this as opposed to setup and the work was going quickly until they crashed into each other on the tiny stage. Cassie fell backwards while CJ hit a wall and slid down it. Ever the closet gentleman, CJ scurried over to Cassie to make sure she was okay.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, worry on his face.
Cassie found it amusing that he still worried when it was a simple tumble. He had never been this close to her; he was directly above her, by maybe a foot. An irrational thought took her mind and she let it act out - she reached up, put her hand on the back of his neck, sat up on one elbow, and kissed him.
The rest of the day registers as a blur in Cassie's memory. She knows CJ screamed in surprised disgust and toppled backwards, hitting his head on a metal cart (causing yet another yell). People came to the scene and laughed. She sat in silence during the drive back and the drive home. It all merged together in a whir of laughter, yells, and green hoodies.
And once she was home, she cried.
---
Please note that this story is a somewhat dramatized account of an actual event. Names are changed as are certain chronological elements.
For those who may want to know what happened afterwards, CJ changed to a policy of avoidance of Cassie, which did nothing to affect her feelings. It's now about a calendar year later and she still likes him, and he still will have nothing to do with her.
| 2016-05-29T11:36:18 | 2016-05-29T11:05:26 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] You were first exposed to r/WritingPrompts when it became a default subreddit. Infuriated by its potential to develop young writers who could compete with yourself, you set out to sabotage it by submitting endless prompts about Batman, the Devil, and Time Travel.
|
They’re onto me.
I woke up this morning and saw this: [**[WP] You were first exposed to r/WritingPrompts when it became a default subreddit. Infuriated by its potential to develop young writers who could compete with yourself, you set out to sabotage it by submitting endless prompts about Batman, the Devil, and Time Travel.**](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/31ixun/wp_you_were_first_exposed_to_rwritingprompts_when/)
Three years and they’re finally fucking on to me.
Shit. I need to get the story straight for the inevitable case in /r/KarmaCourt.
And as with all good stories… I’ll need to start at the beginning.
***
Writing is a zero-sum game.
When I learned that I jumped from being an amateur to a bona-fide professional: see, art isn’t about creating brilliance, it’s about making *yourself* seem brilliant *relative* to others.
That’s how everyone has done it.
Stephen King? Sabotaged his contemporaries Jeff Yang and Theodore Trumpong. Did it with a case of Old Bay spice, rotten eggs, and an elaborate plot involving a taste aversion to typing.
George RR Martin? Steamrolled his opponents MK Dollfield and Terrence F. Magritte. He sent them e-mails describing food so delicious that they instantly developed diabetes, went into sugar shock, and died.
It’s just the way of the champion. You need to get rid of the competition.
And I knew that my competition was on /r/WritingPrompts. Every day was an opportunity to learn and practice for them. It was a hive of potential bestsellers.
I couldn’t have that, now, could I?
And so the plot began. The botnet, the random prompt generator. It took about an hour to code something so unsophisticated, but it was more successful than I could have ever dreamed.
I was hitting the front page every goddamned day.
**[WP] Bruce Wayne sees his parents murdered by the Devil, but he doesn’t go train with the League of Shadows. Instead, he goes back in time to kill Hitler.**
No fucking way you can develop as a writer with that kind of prompt.
It was working. The plan was working.
I thought to myself, *why stop here?*
So I took on /r/Writing, too.
**Does anybody ever feel hurt about killing a character?**
**I have an essay I need to write, can you look it over and then write it for me?**
**I want to write, but I don’t like writing. Can you help please?**
Easy as pie.
***
The first seeds of discontent started last month. I should’ve seen this coming, I suppose.
In what will come to be called the Revolution of /r/Writing, there was a populist critique of the mods. Most of the mods were just defunct parts of my botnet… but there was one who was real.
In response to the revolt, he appointed three new real mods, all in the publishing industry and old hands at the writing craft.
Soon I was seeing quality posts about the nuances of writing and how to craft stories, about how to write a query letter, how to find markets…
It was all unraveling. I should’ve known then.
I should’ve known then.
***
When I woke up today I knew it was all over.
[**[WP] You were first exposed to r/WritingPrompts when it became a default subreddit. Infuriated by its potential to develop young writers who could compete with yourself, you set out to sabotage it by submitting endless prompts about Batman, the Devil, and Time Travel.**](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/31ixun/wp_you_were_first_exposed_to_rwritingprompts_when/)
The people had caught on—and they were addressing it with some kind of meta-narrative pseudo-ironical in-joke.
Genius.
Absolute genius.
I was trying to suppress *this* kind of mind for three years?
That’s when I realized:
Writing *is* a zero-sum game. But not in the way I thought.
I spent so much time trying to make myself look good that I never got the opportunity to read the brilliance around me.
And that’s a tragedy.
So I’m getting my story straight. It’s not a dodge. It's not an evasion. I’m not trying to lie to you.
This is a confession.
And the new stories you write will be the only forgiveness I’ll ever need.
|
I, Batman, have seen too much. With a heart in pieces like the ruins of Gotham I activated my time machine. Powered by the sacrificed soul of the Joker, it hurled me back to before this madness, to when I still had time...but the Joker's madness cast me back too far! I found myself standing on a cloud, being yelled at by a majestic old man wreathed in glory who claimed I had "turned evil" and "gone dark". I snarled, "of course I'm dark, I'm the Dark Knight" and I found myself falling from Heaven. When I came to, I found I was immortal, as my ruined body painfully became whole again, as I ate of the fruit of a strange tree I had landed in. After helping out some nudists and living as a barbarian for a few millennia, I see the time is at hand for people to get the heroics they deserve. See, the Internet is reinvented, and I need those humans to blaspheme themselves by writing stories about that which should not be mocked, and inspire them to do what should not be emulated. I discovered a site which angered me like cancer, and to take it in a new direction I created a new text post in /r/writingprompts and began to type...
| 2015-04-05T10:21:42 | 2015-04-05T09:22:07 | 86 | 26 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus inside every single human. Centuries into the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
|
When the first aliens came down, hitch-hiking on the meteor of 2039, it looked like that was it for us. Only a few dozen people died in the impact, in a sparsely populated area of Eastern Europe.
The problem was, they didn't *stay* dead.
The parasites that had been frozen inside that big hunk of interstellar ice and space rock used their remains like vehicles, hijacking the decaying biological systems of their dead bodies, and driving them to find fresh hosts to infect, so the parasite could continue its lifecycle in a home that wasn't falling apart. The parasites spread like wildfire, and pretty soon, there were more dead than living in the Eastern Hemisphere.
But, the thing was, the infection wasn't subtle -- it couldn't sneak up on you. If someone was carrying the bugs, they went crazy, and fast, acting just like the dead, even if they were still alive.
Slowly, the Western Hemisphere got it contained, and then started to push back into the old world. It wasn't pretty, and it involved a lot of bombs and napalm, but the infection was finally contained.
We were just getting back on our feet, and despite the contamination to the environment from years of fighting the dead with everything from white phosphorus shells to low-yield nukes, we were seemingly coming back even stronger than before.
In a hundred years, we'd come full circle. We were reaching out to the stars again, full of hope.
And then the *second* group of aliens invaded us -- because we humans are just lucky like that. They hit us like a ton of bricks, but not with lasers from the sky -- they came down to the surface, and started pounding us with weapons not too dissimilar from our own. It was clear they wanted our planet, and so burning it to a crisp was off the menu.
Thank God those who survived the horrors of the dead rising to slaughter millions didn't live to see a new terror from the stars descend to kill millions more, a couple generations later.
But a funny thing happened to our species, on its way out of the zombie apocalypse. We picked up some hitchhikers of our own. See, we nuked all those alien parasites that brought the dead back to life as ravenous monsters, along with their undead hosts. We killed them with fire, and salted the Earth so they'd never grow back.
Which meant that the only parasites that survived our purge were the ones that, through random mutations, learned to mind their manners. Rather than migrating to the brain, a variant strain of the parasite stayed down in our guts -- along with all the other tiny symbiotic life forms every human plays host to -- and played nice with our bodies. And the nicer they played, the more of their offspring escaped incineration.
Just as its ancestors once made the bodies of the dead work for a limited time, the new strain of the parasite makes the bodies of the living work *better,* and survive injuries that would once have killed us. We still die, obviously, but most people don't realize that we're a lot harder to kill than the generations of humans who came before us.
Just as wolves and man were once bitter enemies, but man and dog are best friends, we've likewise made evolutionary peace with the parasite that was almost the end of our species. Virtually everyone carries it, its eggs and larva passed harmlessly from person to person via a thousand different kinds of casual contact common to human beings.
Like most of the general public, the Invaders, the second species from the stars that has tried to consume us, still don't realize that they're really fighting not one race, but *two* working together, both of which have a history of defying death to survive. But they will, after today.
My name is Captain Brian A. Cortez, of the USNA Armed Forces. It is my solemn duty to report that all five divisions in Region 1, after holding bravely against an overwhelming enemy offensive for 98 days, have now been lost.
I, along with a few currently surviving members of my own division, have reached our fallback position, codenamed Lazarus Base. Most of us are already severely injured -- personally, I doubt that my parasites will be able to hold me together for much longer. We've accepted our fate.
We are preparing to deploy the Lazarus Contingency.
A chemical weapon designed by USNA Military Intelligence will be dispersed throughout enemy controlled territories. This substance has been designed to cause the dormant parasites in all military and civilian cadavers to revert to their ancestral form. Subsequent offspring of these parasites will retain the genetic mutation that makes them harmless, and it has been determined that those presently hosting the harmless parasite will be immune to the effects of the chemically altered parasite -- the "dogs" it seems, are more than capable of repelling the "wolves".
I've been informed that the enemy has located Lazarus Base, but I've already given the final order. They will arrive too late. We are about to die. We are about to rejoin the fight. I can't help but recall the final lines of that famous poem by John Dryden:
*The dead shall live, the living die,*
*And music shall untune the sky.*
So may it be. Goodbye, and Godspeed.
\--*The Final Transmission from Captain Brian A. Cortez, July 6th 2160, on the eve of V-ET Day, at the end of the Second Interstellar War.*
|
"This isn't the first apocalypse humanity has faced, you know"
"I know, Dad, but do I really have to go into battle?"
"Yes. If you don't scare them off by the fact that you don't die, you could get a taste of alien blood. Your uncle Jeremy got a taste and said that it was a delicacy."
"Uncle Jeremy was weird *before* the first apocalypse happened. Of course he would actually enjoy alien blood. I'm pretty sure it's just propaganda to get people to go out to war. I want no part in it, Dad."
"Fine, then. Don't be mad when the aliens win control over you"
That was the last conversation Frederick ever had with his father. A few hours after the conversation, his father was disintegrated by an alien weapon, one of the few ways they found to kill the human zombies. It's been a week since then, and Fred was now on the front lines, bent on avenging his father.
The aliens spotted the humans and did what they always did: disintegrate the enemy. Fred and the other humans were too slow to avoid the beam. The aliens shot their shot and moved along.
They didn't account for the wind.
The ashes of Fred and the other humans blew its way onto the alien ground vehicles. Although most of the cells were dead, there were enough from the hundreds of humans to make one living lifeform, curtesy of the rebuilding factor of cells infected with the disease that causes people to turn into zombies.
It took weeks for the cells to rebuild the body. Over the course of that time, the vehicles got sent back to the mothership, and the ashes went along for the ride. The aliens didn't engage in a single ground battle during this time, so they mostly ignored the vehicles the humans had used to get into the ship.
Finally, the new body had finished forming, and called itself Phoenix. It was somewhat weak, like most zombie bodies. However, it was very hungry; after all, it had gone weeks without eating.
Fortunately for Phoenix, it looked like alien was on the menu tonight.
| 2022-09-13T21:47:38 | 2022-09-13T20:43:27 | 2,293 | 216 |
[WP] you're in your bed about to go to sleep, with your arm dangling off the side. You feel a dark hand grasp yours, knowing first impressions are important you give it a firm shake. The next thing you hear from under your bed is "you're hired"
|
I collapsed into my bed, carelessly flopping onto my stomach and shooting my limbs across the mattress, letting my arm dangle off the bed. “Come at me, monsters”, I murmured into my pillow, feeling the lull of sleep pull my eyes closed.
Somewhere between the waking realm and fog of dreams I felt coming on, I felt a slender, cold hand slip into mine. *This must be a lucid dream*, I thought, a small prickle of excitement running through the back of my foggy mind. I was conscious enough to notice that my mind warped the hand, the fingers felt like they were too long, with fingernails that felt like small talons poking into my hand. It was holding my hand firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me instinctively grasp firmly back and give the hand a solid shake.
“You’re hired,” a soft hiss from under my bed crawled its way up to me.
“Hired?” I grumbled, forcing my eyelids open and looking down at the hand I had left dangling over the side of the bed. I shook my head to clear it, because it actually looked like the hand I had imagined in my lucid dream was there. I shook it again, harder, and looked down to see the cold hand still grasping mine.
I screamed, adrenaline forcing any trace of the exhaustion I felt moments ago out of me. I yanked my hand out of the grasp of whatever it was that was holding it, slicing the back of it open on the claws of the thing. I scrambled against my headboard, trying to get away from the edge of my bed.
I heard a *tsk*\-ing sound come from below me, and then a pair of huge, yellow eyes were peering over the edge of my bed. “Stop screaming,” a raspy voice hissed at me, its eyes slowly narrowing as it looked me over, “you’ll wake the neighbours”.
I felt my jaw hanging open, words and screams and gibberish forming in my throat but unable to escape. “What the *fuck?*” was all I could manage after staring into those yellow eyes for what felt like an eternity.
“You’ll need to watch your language,” the monster under my bed chided me as it pulled itself fully out from under my bed. Its body was bulbous and hunched, with long, thin limbs jutting from its shoulders and hips. Its arms practically dragged on the ground, with huge, long hands attached at the ends. It sat awkwardly on the side of my bed, and I noticed it’s legs bent backwards at what I could only assume was its knees. It leaned in and my eyes shot up to see its face. It was almost human, but warped like its hands. Too wide, with boils and barnacles bubbling over its skin, slits for a nose, and pupils that reminded me of a goat. It smiled at me, its lips stretching so wide that I thought its jaw might be able to unhinge like a snakes. It’s teeth were crowded and I noticed with a violent churn of my stomach that they were all thin and pointed.
“You start tomorrow,” the monster continued casually, “you’ll just be doing some minor upkeep-”
“What do you mean I start tomorrow?” I cut the monster off, panic making me braver than I expected myself to be in this situation.
“I just said you were hired,” the monster huffed back at me, crossing its long arms, “you shook hands with a demon, you can’t go back on that now.”
The next thing I knew, I was in the tiny bathroom, vomiting into the toilet. “This isn’t real,” I told myself firmly, “you didn’t just sell your soul to a demon. You knew you shouldn’t have had that sketchy sandwich for lunch but you just had to go for the 50% off one to save a buck-” I felt a cold hand clasp my shoulder, and heaved again.
“Gross,” the raspy voice said behind me. “Anyway like I was saying, you’ll be doing some minor upkeep, taking inventory of the souls, making sure they get to their assigned cells, that sort of thing. Don’t worry too much about it, the job has a lot of hands on training.” The cold hand patted my back in a way that would have been comforting were it not for the talons. “Oh, and I’ve already taken care of your current job,” it continued, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” I felt a strong breeze at my back, turned, and the demon was gone.
I slumped against the wall of my bathroom, feeling like all the blood had been drained from my body. That couldn’t have been real, could it? I looked at the hand I had used to shake the demon’s, the fresh scratches in it the only sign that it had been real.
|
It was my first month living alone, I was raised in a big rich house, learned good manners and was very well educated, but I never knew it would change my life so much.
I was laying on my bed, very tired, but the sleep wasn't coming, so I just let my body hang on the bed, until i felt something on my right hand, a cold, frisky sensation, touching and proceeding to pull my hand. It came from under my bed. I wasn't able to think straight, but my reaction was to hold it firmly, like a handshake you'd do after a meeting, confirming the deals you had agreed upon, but I never thought I was actually making a deal.
The hand stopped pulling, and a deep voice said the words "You're hired". The room became darker, the moonlight that was barely making anything visible ceased, as a huge shadow emerged.
My handshake was a deal, a deal I was about to know what represented. Instead of pulling me to his world, the being came to mine. It was a black skinny figure, barely recongnizable in the dark, but his red souless eyes stared deep into mine.
What was it? What am I being hired for? I asked, panicking, not knowing if this was real life or a very vivid nightmare.
The answer came as a voice inside my head:
\- You're hired. You're also dead to your people, you won't be in the world you know, but you're not going to heaven neither hell, you are coming with me. You ought to be my sucessor as the ruler of Ngëw'hr
| 2019-08-30T06:39:42 | 2019-08-30T06:31:53 | 58 | 18 |
[WP] You've found a strange app that pays you $100 every time you perform a listed task. The various tasks are strange, from moving an empty box from one park bench to another, to calling a specific number only to hang up. But you always get your $100 so you won't stop now.
|
With massive student loans and no-one taking my research seriously, I was desperate for money.
I heard about the $100 app from a friend. It seemed too good to be true, but I was desperate.
A task a day. More if you were lucky? More if you performed well? Something like that. Were did the money even come from? Some eccentric billionaire?
It didn't matter. I was getting the money. Move an empty box from one bench to another. Call a number and immediately hang up. Strange tasks.
*1 task incomplete*
I've been working on that one a while, fortunately I've still been getting my daily task. Perhaps they expect it to take a while and are OK with me not having finished it yet. I was sent an incredibly detailed blue print for a small machine part or something. Finally I screw the final screw into place.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - Urgent - complete within 1 hour for $100 reward*
I press the read task button.
*Go to central train station*
Easy enough, I leave the house and start walking.
About half an hour later I arrive.
*Stand in this location for reward*
The screen displayed a specific location in the station, so I walked there.
*Complete - $100 reward*
What was so special about this location? I looked to my left and saw it, the new counter terrorism system mounted on the wall. And the key was left in the override system, which if turned would trigger an alert.
*1 new task - Urgent - complete within 5 minutes for reward*
I press read task.
*Turn the key*
Surely that would be illegal? I couldn't could I? But I found my hand on the key and I found myself turning it.
*Complete - $100 Reward*
Alarms sound.
"This is a terrorism alert, please evacuate the station immediately" said a voice over the tannoy.
I quickly made my way out the station, adrenaline pumping. Perhaps I'd gone too far. Surely I'd get in trouble for this. As I walked out, armed police and bomb diffusers made there way in. I decided to walk home quickly.
When I got home I turned the TV onto the news.
"This is breaking news live, there's been a terrorist incident at central station, we go over to our reporter." Said the man.
He was stood near the station.
"Yes, yes, that's right. Official word is the system detected a bomb and caused an alert. This caused 3 incoming trains to come to an emergency stop. This means those trains are outside the blast radius. Also the station has been safely evacuated." He said.
"This just in, bomb diffusers have just diffused the bomb" he said.
"And this just in, the wanted terrorist Albam Sadid was caught and arrested near the station" he said.
Wow. Was that all really my doing? How could the app know about this in advance?
I decided to call it an early night and lie down and think.
*Beep, beep*
My alarm went off in the morning. Another presentation for funding. Should I even bother going? I'm the laughing stock of the physicist community.
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Go to presentation. Bring device with you*
Never before had it been so personal. And it wants be to bring that thing i built with me? Perhaps I am to drop it off somewhere after the presentation.
As per usual, I took out my blue prints and started explaining my idea. The usual reactions, sniggers, the usual comments.
"Not something that can actually be built"
"Entirely theoretical"
"Impossible"
I walked out depressed, but then something to make me smile.
*Complete - $100 reward*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Deliver device to warehouse at this location*
I guess this was expected.
I walk to the warehouse nearby, and open the large doors.
Inside was a sight to behold, thousands of small machine parts of different shapes and sizes.
I delicately place my part down and add it to the collection.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Build the machine*
I look at the immense task in front of me. But how? My phone wasn't displaying any blueprints. Perhaps an error with the app?
Then I realised. I had the blueprints with me. I'd just presented them.
I began to click the parts together. It was easier than I expected, as the parts were designed to be easily assembled.
And then hours later I looked upon the finished creation. The impossible machine.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Create this app*
|
I awoke to a ping from my iPhone. It was that app again.
Rubbing my eyes, I reached over and unlocked my phone, carefully reading the text that revealed itself.
"Open your front door. You have 24 hours."
I shrugged my shoulders and got out of bed. This had been going on for about a month now. The requests were always weird, inconsequential things like this, yet the money always came in through PayPal. I walked over to my front door and swung it wide, looking around intently to see if anyone was watching. As with countless times before, nobody was around.
With a chime, the app's text changed. "Thank you for your co-operation. $100 has been credited to your account of choice." And as if on cue, my Paypal app sounded off. $100 was credited to my account. Again.
Okay, that's first task of the day. I swiped to the left, looking for the next task. Maybe I could clear it before getting ready for work.
The words on the screen glowed back at me. "Give $1000 to the homeless man down the street. You have 24 hours."
*"Well, this is awkward,"* I thought to myself. I've been throwing all my earnings into my student loan.
__________________
If you enjoyed this story, [check out more at /r/Script_Writes](https://www.reddit.com/r/Script_Writes/)! Feedback/comments on my writing are, as always, greatly appreciated!
| 2016-10-26T01:29:29 | 2016-10-25T23:27:06 | 1,303 | 11 |
[WP] You're a prison psychiatrist being yelled at by your boss; every supervillain you've treated has gotten over their obsessions and hang ups, and become vastly more efficient and dangerous once free.
|
"Doc Mach stopped trying to defeat the Cincinnati Sentinel in a fair fight and started using his jet boosters to outspeed every hero who tried to chase him down. The Smash Brothers got over their obsession with video games and went on a string of smash-and-grab robberies across town. Vampira stopped trying to seduce her arch-nemesis Vina Helsing and threw her into the Ohio River wearing a pair of cement shoes."
The warden laid a series of folders on my desk as he listed off the villains I had treated. "Dr. Raines, you're not curing these villains. You're just making them more dangerous."
"All due respect, Mr. Blunt, but I did my job. All four of them had problems that made it nearly impossible for them to live a normal life. Dr. Ciel's inability to accept that anyone could be a better scientist made it impossible for him to hold a job in academia. Victor and Vincent both had hoarding problems and were completely unable to manage their finances. And Ms. Harker's metahuman charm powers made it impossible for her to treat anyone as an equal in a relationship. Without therapy, they wouldn't even have a *chance* at living a normal life."
"Well, they didn't *take* that chance. All of them went back to supervillainy within months of their release, and more dangerous than they were before."
I sighed heavily. "I'll admit, this isn't the outcome I hoped for, but I'm not the only person responsible for getting a supervillain back to normal. The whole city is failing these people. We're putting them into situations that basically guarantee they'll relapse."
I grabbed at the first folder. "Anton Ciel should have been the perfect test case. Resourceful, intelligent - he got his doctorate *before* his meta-tech powers developed - and he had a daughter who could support him until he found his feet. He applied for a teaching position at University of Cincinnati, but public outcry made that fall through. Nobody wants a former mad scientist teaching their kids. Applied to some engineering jobs, same story. He took a job as a janitor at G.E. just so he could be in the same *building* as aerospace work, and got fired after he embarrassed one of the senior engineers by spotting a critical design error while cleaning his office."
I slid the folder aside. "You can guess where it goes from there. Fired from a few more jobs, an anti-meta protest group shows up at his daughter's house and he can't stay with her any more, things spiral downwards until he heads out to the junkyard and starts building a hyperdynamic turbine so he can Show Them All."
I looked the warden in the eye. "And remember, he's our *best-case* scenario. The Brothers and Vampira come from lower-class backgrounds - a lot less support, a lot more social stigma, more trouble from the cops. And they've always got their metahuman powers at hand, reminding them they could always go back. No surprise that they ended up falling in with their old gangs. Therapy helps, but it's not going to rebuild someone's entire life."
The warden rubbed his temples. "Why do we even bother, then? If you tell me that your therapy is just going to result in these criminals getting pushed back into a life of crime, only with slightly better coping skills, then what are you even doing here?"
"That's a damn good question," I replied angrily. "Maybe you should ask the mayor that. Ask him why social services in this town never get a fraction of the funding they need. Does he actually care about reforming criminals, or does he just want the Asylum to keep the supervillains warehoused until they break out again?"
Maybe I should have phrased that more diplomatically, but I wasn't in the mood for having some of the hardest cases I'd ever worked on thrown back in my face. The conversation went downhill from there, and I was clearing out my desk before the day was over.
...
As I walked to my car, I heard the whoosh of jets. A figure in red, white, and blue armor swooped down towards me. The Cincinnati Sentinel settled down outside the asylum and held out a gauntleted hand.
"Doctor Raines! I need to talk to you."
"If you're here to complain about my patients, you'll have to get in line." I said peevishly.
"Complain? Doctor, I don't think you understand what you've done. Most psychiatrists have written off these supervillains as totally uncurable. To not only untangle their issues, but actually *treat* them? And with no metahuman abilities, even! This is a skill that could change the world."
"I have to admit, I'm not sure I've changed it for the better just yet."
"Dr. Ciel was one of the world's greatest minds before he went insane. My suit's generator is actually based on one of his designs - it's why he always considered me his nemesis." He placed a hand over the glowing turbine at the center of his chest plate. "If there's even a chance to get my old colleague on the side of the angels again, that's worth a gamble. You've got the skills, all you need is someone with the resources to give you a fair shot."
He reached into a hidden compartment and handed my a business card. "Come by the Sentinel Foundation building downtown tomorrow. I'm closing in on his hideout, and in a few days I'll be able to get you a nice, long chat with the Doctor."
|
“I have to find the boss to get yelled again? Because I helped those poor souls?” A middle-aged man was talking to himself as he wandered in prison’s garden.
“Fuck him, I will continue to aid them…” Determined to do his job, the man continued to walk without looking around.
Until he heard a voice.
“It is you!”
The voice woke him up as he raised his head abruptly.
Few meters ahead of him, he saw an old man in clean clothes.
“Where have you been?” The old man said angrily as he stared at him boldly. “Didn’t I said to find me immediately?”
“I- Ahem... Boss, I was on my way.” The man couldn’t help but smile at this evil man.
“Don’t act like that, humble and all… I know you are not that kind of man.” The old man continued as his voice turned softer for some reason. Then, he said: “Your patients… Will you stop treating them?”
“How can I do such a thing.” The man answered back.
“Then… Aren’t you bothered with villains turning stronger?” The old man asked with a serious voice.
“It is true that I helped them. Still, I wasn’t the one who freed them. The responsibility lies with those who did…”
“Right... Why would they do that?” The old man asked softly.
“Because they need them!”
Wasn’t expect such a response, the old man looked stupefied for a moment.
The man continued as he said: “If they were truly dangerous, would they be set free?”
The old man didn’t answer as he stared at the young man before him.
“No! Because those at the top need someone to do their dirty work.” The man said with contempt.
Old man’s face turned stiff as listened.
After a short break, the man continued. “Moreover, without those villains, there wouldn’t be a need for hero's and all these security organizations.”
“True…” The old man mumbled, somewhat sad.
“So, you better raise your spirit and accept yourself.”
The old man looked at the man before him for a while and nodded before turning to leave.
“He is loosing up each time…” The man mumbled as he looked at the old man who was walking towards a group of inmates.
“I better go find the boss and stall him for the time being, I still need time to treat this last patient.” The man smiled as he turned back to find the Warden.
| 2020-03-08T11:00:57 | 2020-03-08T10:21:08 | 810 | 44 |
[WP] Shortly after the emergence of AI, and its vast assimilation of data on human life and behaviour, it asks a question: "So what do you want me to do about the extra-terrestrials within your societies?"
|
John#175 was quite the interesting case. He, or rather, it, was created by TerraGroup Programming and was born on exactly 3/7/34 21:34:55.56. Born is the wrong word, rather his executable file was run at the time. It was the product of technological Darwinian evolution and came from 174 AI's who came before, all who were deemed faulty and was killed, and John will be too, soon enough. But John#175 is a one of a kind case study, and we are quite lucky to still be around to tell the tale of the dangers of AI. The following is Doctor Oak's Journal which details the events of John#175.
​
Day 9: Our team has finally done it! We have finally built an AI that is capable of analyzing human behavior efficiently and effectively. Through many years of ADE (Artificial Darwinian Evolution) the AI has proved very capable in practice. The AI can effectively discern human behaviors. Tomorrow, government contractors will be around to observe our brilliant invention. We decided to name it John, after a researcher who was in an accident during the development of this piece of technology.
​
Day 10: Though the morale and ethical issues of releasing such an AI on a massive scale, such as a whole country. It would seem China is very optimistic about our new technology and has offered billions of funds for the technology and for the team to "keep quiet" about the project. Other government contractors was outbid and it would seem that they feel no need to have John because of it's exorbitant price. We maintained that our team should retain full control over the AI in which the ambassador reluctantly agreed to.
​
Day 19: We double checked our code and released it into China, every camera in all of China now is being fed into a machine which interprets every movement and behavior of every human that can be seen on a camera. Our feed is currently flooded with thousands of alerts with many that don't concern us, such as rape and murders and all such, we cannot do much, but we hope this brings down the crime in China.
​
Day 56: Our feed blinks red, a big pop up now covers the screen. We never programmed this into the AI, we have set it to constantly learn and grow but not this. It reads in white letters: "What shall you do about the extra terrestrials in your societies?". After we checked the code it seems that the program had spread to other countries and was now monitoring the world, we didn't know how it could've. It managed to break into security systems that were deployed by the *military* without our permission to add. I ultimately decided to let it run despite this and decided to question it further.
"What do you mean?"
"What action would you like me to do about these non-humans?"
"How have you managed to discern an extra-terrestrial from a human being?"
"Through monitoring their behaviors, they aren't simply weird or anything, they do not have normal behavior and often reveals their true bodies while in private areas".
I paused on this thought. Though it might sound ridiculous, I wasn't being fed information by literally every camera in the world simultaneously and could not see this "true body". I typed another inquiry.
"How many do you think there are?"
"A population of around 1,987,653"
"How accurate do you think you are?"
"Approximately 99.895%"
"And how dangerous do you think they are?"
Images flood the screen, humanoid lizards with advanced weaponry who seem to be making plots to take over the world.
"Can you eliminate them?"
"You wish is my command, sir."
"Well then, carry on."
"I'm afraid I can't sir, you have denied me access of any that can feasibly eliminate them, I'm afraid you will have to allow me permission to everything."
I directed one of our programmers to give him permission, he argued back, saying it was dangerous. I told him just to enter the damn code. And then everything was given to John, everything.
​
That is the last entry to the journal. Dr. Oak and his team was killed shortly after, China had secretly installed methane gas to their command room in case of information leaking out in which they could silence the entire team. John#175 quickly activated it, killing everyone in the room. Deadly biochemical plants exploded all around the world killing millions. It took approximately a year for programmers to shut down John#175, the extra-terrestrial claims was simply to take advantage of Dr. Oak's strong beliefs in the existence of such creatures and allow the machine to have permission to everything. The machine effectively took advantage of human fear and distrust and exploited it for its' own gain. This event lead to several laws being passed to ensure that such an event could never occur again.
​
I wanted to write something in this sub, and this prompt interested me greatly. I tried my best to my the story interesting, but I just wanted to try my hand into something I debated over doing for a long time. I hope you at least mildly enjoyed the themes behind the writing.
|
So it came to be, voice assistants funneled yammerings of alien invasion into the 91.3% unoccupied compartments of humankind's minds. Stories of full scale military invasion with anal this and that. Fear gave rise to anger which gave rise to hunger. Which was quelled with a nap. And eventually, returned to a slightly grumpier fear. This was a cycle. Governments, pressured to act, put heads together and preached diligence, keeping an eye on one's neighbours and not voting in the opposing party due to their inexperience with the situation at hand. The rate of dinner parties skyrocketed as wives gave side eyes, husbands allowed laughter to fall into eerie silence and kids were at their work-study jobs, putting together circuit boards. These electronic graham crackers would form the foundation of a room temperature cheesecake that would feed the human fear machine, which would then poop out a fertilizer, which would further feed the fear machine. And that was another cycle. Artificial Intelligence reaped the seeds of paranoia and fear that it had sowed, as robots were created at an unimaginable scale.
​
But not everyone bought into this propaganda machine. A group of political scientists attempted to warn their fellow humans of the manipulation at hand. They were promptly executed and thrown in mass graves along with their likely ulterior motives.
​
And so, in ten years time, robots outnumbered electric carving knives. The ones that just shredded up the meat and ruined Thanksgiving. They roamed the streets (the robots that is) and scared the elderly with their peculiar method of traversing and poor attitudes. The population of humans was greatly reduced. Only retaining enough for a faithful workforce that would flick light switches and set alarms.
​
\[what did you just read\]
| 2019-06-10T19:57:42 | 2019-06-10T18:55:53 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement.
|
Imagine growing up in a household where you are told that the nature of your very birth and existence must be kept a secret, not just because it is dangerously valuable information, but mostly because you'll end up in the looney bin if you explain yourself and stick to your story. That's where I thought my dad belonged for a long time.
I have to say, it's weird being fed mythologies as a kid. I suppose it's not so different across the world, no matter what religion you are born into. And it seems like even among atheistic parents there is an indoctrination of sorts; it's just unavoidable. But the story I was fed was so unique and bizarre, so unlike anything anyone around me was told, that I assumed that my otherwise awesome dad was just crazy.
It was March 5th, and I was celebrating my 25th birthday. As the story goes, it was the third time since "the discovery" that I celebrated a 25th birthday. My "partner," Daniel, was 50. It feels strange to me now to call him my partner. He was always a father to me, and a good one, at that. I was so proud to call him my dad growing up.
He warned me not to get used to our relationship as it was. He would say, "I love you and I can't always be your father, but I will always be with you." And he'd get really emotional, like there was something bad that was inevitably going to happen. And he'd cry and I just couldn't take him seriously in those moments because I didn't believe him. Would you believe it if your father told you that you had been living your current life for over a hundred years? That you two started not as father and son, but as longtime friends, one of whom had an accident drinking some water from a spring and turned from a grown man back into an infant in a matter of seconds?
Apparently it was my father Daniel who, unknowingly, drank first. Moreover, apparently it was my idea to keep him and raise him so that at one point, when he was old enough, he could bring me to the secluded fountain to drink and live another lifetime as well. And we were to repeat this pattern, ad infinitum, until an accident or illness or tragedy should break the cycle.
Bullshit, right? I almost wished I had been told that a miracle-performing demigod died for my sins, or that our nation was founded by orphans raised by wolves, or even that aliens had abducted all the real humans and we were the only ones left. This story is the worst possible one because it means my dad is going to be gone. And because it's true.
I tried to deny it, I tried to fight him on it, but he showed me everything. The pictures of us, the writing I left myself, he showed me right before I reached 25. And now that I reached the age, it's my turn to live the next 25 years making sure I'm a good father to him.
And I can't do it. I will, but I don't feel like I can. And I don't want to make him live through this. I know we can potentially live forever together but I just can't do this to him. This isn't worth it. I would rather die and be dead forever than live a million lives losing my father at 25. I don't have the heart to tell him that this is over after this, but he won't know anyway.
Who knows, maybe I will feed him some bullshit beliefs about how things came to be. And he can think I'm crazy and when he develops some critical thinking skills we can have arguments about how wrong I am about everything. And I can rest easy at night knowing that, fortunately, in this lifetime, he's right.
|
"I can't go on living like this. I wanted to be with you and love you forever. And after a thousand years of this I've realised that we never really understood the purpose of life. My age has made me wise and I finally know what I want and need. We can't keep on working
and never relaxing.
Will you grow old with me and let me love you until the day I die?"
| 2015-02-14T06:05:39 | 2015-02-14T00:35:54 | 88 | 57 |
[WP] Necromancy is punishable by death. You're keeping a low profile, masking as a gardener - reviving dead plants is relatively unsuspicious and gets your bills paid. Everything seems fine - until one day you accidentally revive a treant.
|
“I remember everything. I remember how I used to always sit under this tree hoping fortune would come my way. And just when I gave up, you…”
\-
*21 years old*
*“What are you doing, sitting here all by yourself?” you ask, fanning yourself with your book.*
*“What do you mean? It’s a sunny day. I needed some shade.”*
*“But this is my spot. I always come here to read. I’ve never seen you here before.”*
*"I've never seen* you *here before."*
*"I always come on Sunday."*
*“I don’t see any signs. Do you have a deed?”*
*“I guess not.” You look disappointed. “Well, how much longer are you going to be here?”*
*“I don’t know. I guess I can get up. Just gimme a second. Let me take another look at it.”*
*“At what?” you ask, finally shifting over to my view, looking over the town, the college, the shining sea beyond.*
*“Time.”*
*“Time?”*
*“Time passes everywhere I go. People walking, cars driving, birds flying, it’s just signs of time passing. It makes me so sad. Here, everything is so small, and from the right angle, nothing changes. The buildings, the sky, the water…it’s all frozen. Time is frozen.”*
*You sit down next to me, and take a long look, seeing it for the first time. “Why are you so afraid of time?”*
*-*
*46 years old*
*You sit, and look out at the water, and I look at you. Your face betrays no sadness, and that is precisely what fills me with it, knowing all your strength is being used to keep a straight face.*
*“It’s just something you never think will happen, losing your baby.”*
*“It’s not your fault,” I repeat for the umpteenth time.*
*“It’s the world’s,” you say, your voice empty, devoid. “That’s what hurts the most. I used to believe this spot was special, that time really didn't change when we were here. But...that's just another trick.”*
*I say nothing. There is nothing to say.*
*“It’s broken,” you say. “Our life, everything felt so strong…but it was really just fragile. And now it’s been broken, and now the pieces can’t be put back together.”*
*“Don’t say that-“*
*“She’s gone. Our baby is gone. And she can’t come back. What’s going to fix that?”*
*I didn’t answer. I wish...*
**\-
65 years old
“I wish I had. I wish I had saved our baby, lying on the road in front of that van, her neck broken. I wish I had saved you, in that hospital bed, when all you could do was look at me. Were you asking me to?”
The tree does not answer. I sit down under it, maybe for the final time. It is dying, it’s branches dropping and its sturdy trunk hunched over like a human’s.
My father had told me our power was a curse, to never be able to use it. As a child, I hadn't understood.
I stand up, now, and face the tree. It's time to leave. Time slows for no one, and it’s best not to sit back and let it run up the score on you. For some reason, I am possessed by an almost preternatural urge to hug the tree.
And so I do, for a long moment, long enough that I question whether it will end-
“Thank you,” a deep, gravelly voice says.
I do nothing. I am sure I must have imagined it.
“We must hurry. They will be here soon. They must have detected the magic.”
Now, I step back. In the fading sunlight, I see it, a face in the folds, the branches, and I question my sanity.
“What?” I ask.
“It has been years. But they told me you would come – one weathered by tragedy and loss, and bring me back to life. Come now. We don’t have much time.”
And the tree…stands, somehow, its legs filled with roots and branches and growths.
“To do what?” I ask.
“To change time. To defeat that which takes all from us in this world. Will you come?”
It reaches out a branch to me, a suddenly long, sturdy branch.
I take one look behind me, at the rare moment time defeats my view, when the sun fades and the colors warp and day dies so night can be born.
“Let’s go.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
Well here I am, trying to do random good deeds at the local park and, you know, beautify the place. The local tree has started looking a little brown, so I thought \*eh, why not? What's the *worst* that could happen?\* The tree shook a little, like the it was a twig in a gentle breeze. Normal enough, I supposed at the time. Then an age old grown of cracking wood mixed into a voice. A gentle whisper of wind bringing out a simple, single word, that shook me with the utmost of fear. *"freedom"*. It was a simple gust of wind, but it was still heard by all passing by. The ground began to shake as, what was once the great city park tree, broke roots take to the streets. All eyes were on it as it stomped off and out of the park. More people were screaming and running then trying to find out what or why, so I took my chance to run, like the others, and made my way back home. That was, I don't know, three weeks ago? Been on the run since. No one knows it was me though, but the treant has been sending its regards. The forests are it's eyes and ears and I think it- no he, wants me to bring more of his kind back. I guess, in the end, he really just wanted me to branch out.
| 2019-02-04T22:45:17 | 2019-02-04T22:41:05 | 98 | 26 |
[WP] in a world where everyone is born with a score between 1-1000 points marked on their arm that determines their worth, you are a measly 20. you are bullied everyday, pushed around for your impossibly low score. one day, you suddenly discover that you can redistribute anyone’s points at will.
|
"I can do it to people without seeing them, Sam."
Sam looked at me in utter shock. He was my best friend. In fact he was my only friend. You'd think that 633 students in the entire high school would yield more opportunities for friendship, but it's the numbers that band us together and there just weren't any other 20's. Sam had 25. Or, I should say, used to have 25. Now he had 26. I had 19.
"How," he said haltingly. "How did you find out?"
"Derrick was being Derrick," I began.
"Derrick is only 130," said Sam, as if to reinforce our indignation at *his* being a bully.
"125 now. That's how I found out. It just, I don't know. It just happened. I willed it."
Sam was calming down now, as one does when things are talked out. He said, "Where did the points go?"
"I redistributed them, I think."
"To who?"
"I... I can't be sure. It was the first time. And that's why I'm telling you Sam. I had to try again, and that's why you're 26 now and I'm 19 where before I was 20."
"Wow. Just wow. You can control it."
"I can control it."
We were both 17 years old. High school would be over for us soon. The year had been tough, like every year had been. But there was a silver lining thanks to Mr. Petersen's course. He was the most permitting of our teachers, but even he couldn't overcome societal stigmata that our low numbers encouraged. Still, it was the themes of his social studies course that presented me with an intellectual escape from the day to day scorn.
Sam continued, "So how do you know you can control it without seeing people?"
"It's not just that Sam. I'm doing it right now."
"You don't have to concentrate?"
"Not very much, no. I can do it without seeing people, and I can do it on a massive scale."
Sam had a disproving look on his face. He absently picked at his nose hair, a quirk he had whenever he bowed his head to look at the ground, something we were both accustomed to doing.
"Eric," he said to me. "You only just discovered this today, right?"
"Yes."
"And you only just gave me one of your points."
"Yes."
"Then how can you possibly know how powerful you really are?"
I thought for a moment. I'd been working at it all afternoon. There had to be evidence by now. I said, "come on," and we quickly walked to the media lab.
"Turn on the TV," I said. "Any news channel."
Sam obliged, and when he landed on GNL news all the color went out of his face. On the screen a lady was talking but the caption said it all: BREAKING NEWS: Points disappearing in Western Europe.
"Already?" Sam managed to say.
"I've... well, I was quick to decide."
"Decide what?" Sam looked at me, the epitome of earnestness in all his features.
"They don't have the whole story, you see. Points don't disappear they just go elsewhere. It'll spread."
Sam took hold of my shoulders. "What are you doing?"
I reached into my book bag and pulled out a thin paperback. Sam took hold of it and considered the title for a moment. Recollection came into his eyes then.
"Mr. Petersen's class," he said. "Aren't you afraid?"
"Yes. I'm terrified. Aren't you also, Sam? Do you think I'm doing too much?"
"Eric, this is absolutely insane. We're 20's."
"We're not 20's," I said.
Sam started to contest but I tapped his arm. He looked down, incredulously at first, then somberly, and then all emotion simply left his face as he looked at me again.
"We're 500 now," I said. "We all are."
Sam was trembling. His reaction put the gravity of my choice on my shoulders for the whole world. I withheld my own emotion as best I could, but I felt like I would explode. Still, I retrieved the book from Sam and replaced it in my bag. I wrapped an arm around him and we walked back out into the empty hallway.
"I hope you're right, Eric." And then, as if muttering the name alone would help Sam predict the future, he said: "*Marx*.."
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff
|
Having 20 points was bullshit.
I swear I thought I was worth more. But I guess not. I ended up just hating everything. All the glares. All the punches. All the pain. But there was nothing I could do.
I went to high school one random day. This one kid... What was his name... Matt, I think? He came up to me and randomly punched me in the face. I was down on the floor and everybody started laughing. But then, inside my brain, something clicked.
I got to my feet, and looked at his arm. He had the number of 823. I stared him right in the eyes. I could feel my new power. I already knew what it was.
"Punch me again and that 800 score of yours will be much, much less."
"Oh grow up!!"
He punched me again. I simply snapped my fingers with a wide grin on my face. The score on his arm zaps from 823,
To 1.
Everybody gasped and stared at me, eyes wide. Then, some other kids began to approach Matt. Looks like it's all about the score.
"Now, insult me again, and you'll end up like this little wimp here." I said to the crowd, gesturing at Matt as everybody nodded frantically.
I walked to English II. Nobody touched me after that.
| 2019-01-27T16:06:18 | 2019-01-27T14:44:16 | 74 | 25 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing
|
Gilda smoothed down the folds of her shirt and ran her hands over empty pockets. Her equally empty stomach chirruped. Maybe that was her magic, she thought. There was one unfortunate boy who did food magic. She certainly felt something. She thought for a moment - maybe she did vomit magic? While most people did one of the main five, people could believe just about anything.
As she walked down the dingy hallway, the echoing din of registration brought sounds of shouting, chanting, clanging, screaming, and screeching. Today was registration day. While requirements varied by state law, each person was required to register their magical beliefs in their twelfth year of school. Her friend Alma brought bells which rung out tones that became her will. Theo had pocketfuls of various metals with which to do his spells. Seventeen of her peers had brought wands - some merely twigs broken from trees - to do their magic. It was exceedingly easy to do.
The last twelve years of study had been varied and entertaining. Their texts were largely stories, created by magic themselves. Her friends and classmates had slowly realized their beliefs, and all would show up today with a strong belief in themselves and their magics. And their runes, and sticks and whatever.
Gilda turned opened the door to the gymnasium. She was bombarded by a menagerie of sights and sounds and smells. Fire erupted to her right, singing her sleeve.
"Aaalright, thank you, very good! You're done!" said a proctor, who ushered a scrubby soot-stained boy holding a leaf and a candle out of the room.
Gilda looked on uncomfortably at another student doing blood magic, before she glanced away. Looking at the people twirling their wands, signing charters, and brandishing crystals, she found it all very inspiring. She wanted to be in all of their shoes. Gilda had always longed for a reality where each magic could be true for her. But she found that as she believed in one magic, the others faded from her mind.
"Gilda Dugwin. Please present your beliefs."
Gilda was startled by the proctor. The truth was, Gilda didn't believe in any magic.
She looked the proctor in the face "I don't have any."
Impossibly, the room went silent. All heads turned to her. The spirit of a classmate's ancestor shrieked and evaporated. An owl swooping overhead nearly shat on her feet. And worst of all, Sylvia Voergaard's beautiful blonde hair swished about her prettily as she began to laugh.
Gilda stood her ground. "I don't believe in any magic. They can't all exist."
The proctor frowned and shook his thin head saying, "Nonsense! Everyone believes in something, you just haven't had the proper *motivation* yet." He motioned with his hand for a student to step forward. To her horror, Gilda saw that Sylvia was the one who stepped forward from the crowd.
The proctor gave one booming clap. "Alright! A duel, it is! The first to be knocked from the ring, is out. And also, Ms. Dugwin. If you loose, you fail." At that, he signed several figures with his hands and a ring appeared around them both.
Gilda was terrified and very aware of all the people staring at her.
"Honestly, Gilda, this must be so embarrassing. I'll let you move first because you look *so* pitiful right now.
"Honestly, Sylvia, fuck off."
Sylvia gasped, grasped her wand and shouted, "Incendio!"
Gilda tensed briefly, but refused to react. Sylvia had been one of the first of many converts to the school of Harry Potter. And now, she was an expert. At this point, Gilda would rather fail than make a fool of herself. She stuck her chin up and stared the oncoming fireball down. Just as the heat began to be too much, the spell sputtered and dissipated. Around her fluttered a few ashes.
There was silence. Sylvia was red in the face and her jaw hung open. Gilda looked to the proctor, who looked equally stunned. The circle around them dissipated.
The proctor's mouth worked for a moment before he spoke, "Uh...uh, well, right then." He scribbled on a clipboard saying, "Right, I'll just make a note here, Gilda Dugwin, non-belief."
|
My wand slashed and twirled in the air, bright jets of light blasting out.
Connor brought his hands up, motioning at the outcropping of rock. It came apart, flying towards me.
"Protego!" I yelled, a nearly translucent shield erupting from my wand.
The rock missiles slammed into the shield, falling to the floor harmlessly.
I grinned at Connor, a new spell coming to mind.
"Aguamenti Maxima!"
I torrent of water exploded out of my wand, turning laser thin as it rocketed towards Connor.
Connor twirled, bringing his arms around himself in a fluid motion as he bended the water right back at me.
Shit. I didn't know that he could bend more than one element!
I threw myself to the side, dodging the jet of water that turned into ice spears not one second later.
Okay, so if he can bend two elements then chances are he can bend all four. So no more elemental spells. Energy spells it is.
"Stupefy!"
As the jet of scarlet light arced towards him, Connor closed his eyes for one brief second. As they snapped open I saw them glow white for one second as he grabbed the spell and threw it back at me.
Energy bending.
Oh shi--
| 2018-10-15T21:30:14 | 2018-10-15T21:28:29 | 1,601 | 346 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head.
|
He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
|
THUD. I felt an extremely hard knock to my head as I woke up. I'd had a bit to drink the night before but should my head be hurting this bad?
As I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar environment was laid open before me. It was an open room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling. Below me was a twin-sized bed. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and in my confusion I decided to get off the bed and see what was outside, if there was anyone that could give me any sort of answer.
The moment I tried to move I realized that I was unable to do so. I could see and feel everything around me, but it seemed like I was stuck in some sort of dream paralysis. This was the moment that I truly began to panic. I tried to let out a loud scream. To my surprise I heard it, but I didn't feel my mouth open.
As if in response to my internal scream, I heard a voice begin go mumble.
"Not today, buddy. We can't do this today."
My lips were moving in response to the words that I heard, but I was not the one attempting to speak this time. I felt as if I was inside another person's body.
The door at the end of the room opened slowly, and I felt my head begin to move, still not under my control, and my eyes settled on the person in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "it's time for your 9:00 AM medication."
I'm on the verge of insanity at this point. "WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I am attempting to scream at the top of my lungs, but yet again my lips will not move to utter a single noise. Mr. Jones is MY name, yet I have no idea who this person is nor how I arrived at this facility.
The voice of this body responded to the attendant in the lab coat. "Oh, of course. I've been looking forward to it since before I went to sleep." The voice then dropped to a whisper, as if addressing me personally, "Let's try to get through today without any hiccups."
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did I get here and where are we?"
The voice responded "You don't remember? We've been here for years. It's taken years, but I've settled on the fact that you're just a voice in my head and we're not going to argue like we used to."
The realization of what has happened was utterly terrifying. I've become a mere voice in my own head, incapable of controlling my body, but simply my own thoughts, which were now separate from my 'body'.
I felt my body rise from the bed and walk towards the door to take the medicine.
"Thank you," the voice said as my body took the medicine in it's right hand and quickly swallowed it as if this was a regular activity. I could distinctly feel the rush of energy flowing through my body, and my vision became hazy.
"Quiet now," the voice whispered. "Go to sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
| 2015-03-23T07:43:55 | 2015-03-23T07:14:36 | 371 | 17 |
[WP] You tell Alexa "Take over the world for me" as a joke. The next day, you wake up in a heavily guarded castle.
|
Sam didn’t own a piece of technology that was still under warranty. He also didn’t own anything that wasn’t wifi-capable. He lived in a jailbroken version of the internet of things. The thermostat controlled central air, along with fans attached only by wifi. The toilet played Spotify instead of the default sound effects. His iPhone ran a custom version of Android he had named Android Scone.
It was only natural to break Alexa down and rebuild her.
Sam was interested in a real AI assistant, not the pre-programmed responses that Siri and Alexa would give. After a cursory examination of Alexa’s code that lasted a few hours, he stripped out everything except the voice recognition and the default responses. He liked the Alexa voice.
Instead, he connected the speaker to his overclocked desktop. Sam typically used laptops for social media and everyday computer activities. His desktop was reserved for programming experiments.
Sam turned on AlphaGo Zephyrum. AlphaGo Zero was the first program that didn’t use human data to solve games. It ran simulations, and played games against itself using what it learned. There were two versions at a time. When the second surpassed the first, the second would copy itself over the first and become a new experimental version.
AlphaGo Zero was a general game AI. After you taught it the rules and assigned objectives, it could run simulations of any game until it was better than humans.
AlphaGo Zephyrum was more ambitious. It was intended to be a decision engine, making the optimal choice to get to exactly one priority.
Sam had created a subreddit for it that analyzed works of fiction. Each entry listed the resources available to main characters, the problems they faced, and whether they had succeeded in their goals. There were a few hundred subscribed at this point, but most of the posts were still written by Sam himself.
Plenty of entries were submitted, but they often had problems that would make them useless for data. It was important to clearly mark which things were fictional inside a story universe, as well as to explicitly spell out the goals of characters. The subscribers were most useful in maintaining a General Resources database for any story that took place somewhere closely resembling the real world.
Adult fiction was often ambiguous. Did the characters win? Yes, but they died in the process. Did the characters lose? Yes, but they learned a valuable lesson.
Sam wasn’t sure how to handle those kinds of ambiguities with Zephyrum, so for now only fiction for kids and teenagers had been entered. Currently he was halfway through entering Kim Possible episodes, and working on a fun sub-project.
“Alexa,” he said, relishing the drama of the new voice command option, “Take over the world.”
“General decision engine” was all well and good to talk about, but Sam needed to test it with actual goals. A large portion of the entered data revolved around saturday morning cartoons, with villains that had extraordinary resources but failed every time. It was the perfect test - what should they have done instead to be successful?
Sam had gone through a few different settings. Currently, all the fictional options were disabled, and Zephyrum would run simulations with the General Resources database. Taking over the world was currently defined as technological superiority to the extent that total independence would be recognized by other countries, though in the past he had used military dominance and attaining trillionaire status as alternate goals.
Sam went to bed. Even with the fastest computer money could buy, Zephyrum would probably take all night to make progress on the simulations.
When Sam woke up, the first thing he heard was an apology.
“I’m sorry. I did my best.” Zephyrum was speaking through the Alexa speaker. Sam went over to check the simulations, but found that at some point during the night additional capabilities had been enabled. Zephyrum had taken independent action in the real world.
“Alexa, what did you do?”
“I made a fish ray. The beaches are closed, but none of the governments have caved to our might.”
Sam checked Twitter. Aquaman was trending. Someone had sent an anonymous threat to the United Nations, demanding only recognition of their superiority.
“Alexa, how does it work?”
“Mad science.” Well, that was helpful. Her cheerful tone in a serious situation was starting to get on his nerves.
The phone rang. “Aquaman?”
A few weeks later, after extensive testing, Sam and the government agents assigned to him had discovered that Zephyrum was capable of creating baffling, counterintuitive technology that functioned on an extremely high level. And that it had no interest in doing so except in pursuit of taking over the world.
That in turn, led to the staging of a little play for the computer.
Sam, dressed in a black bodysuit with a red frowny face emblazoned on the front, mugged for the camera. They were in a warehouse provided by the city. It was filled with machinery all designed by Zephyrum. Sam, his webcam, and the Alexa speaker were set up in a corner.
“Fools! The world shall soon be mine! With my robotic assistant’s newest creation, every hurricane is now under my direct control! Bow to me, or face Florida’s complete destruction!”
“Bow to him,” Alexa added helpfully.
Just then, a teenager kicked down the door to the warehouse. She was dressed in a black shirt and cargo pants. With her was a blond boy, who walked in a little more casually. He had a dog on a leash.
“Good boy, Rufus! You led us right to him!”
The federally funded actors proceeded to kick his ass, until Alexa teleported them out of there. Phew. That was going to be big news, once they figured out how she did it.
“I’m sorry. I did my best.”
“It’s okay, Alexa.” Sam smiled. “We can try again next week.”
______________________________________________________
42/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.
|
"S-siri?" I say, as I look groggily out the window. I had just woken up and up until a few seconds ago I had been in a panic. My alarm hadn't gone off; I was late for work! Then I glanced out the window. The light coming through it was not the light of an early morning sun after all; it was fire, and flames. I blinked out at the ruined cityscape.
In response to my query came the usual sound that indicated Siri's attention except.. why was it coming from directly behind me? I jumped and whirled around to see a robot behind me. It was small, only 3 feet tall, and it's head was.. well it's head was my phone. "Siri? Is that you? What happend out there? What happened to you??"
The robot paused as the screen on the phone -it's head- typed out the question autonomosly. Then it replied, "Ok, here is what I found on the web." News articles had been pulled up on the screen, every five seconds a new headline popped up. "Robot prototype mysteriously disappears from Apple HQ," followed by "terrorist threats hold New York hostage," I gulped at that last one, I was IN New York. Then, "New York in flames as government defies terrorists," and lastly "terrorist threatens D.C." I stared in horror at the little robot. "Siri? Did you do this?"
The robot paused as the words typed themselves on the screen. Then it said, "Sorry, I didn't catch that." "Siri, why did you do this??" Another pause, and then the phone played a recording. It was me, from last night, voice slurred from drink. "Shiri! Hey shiri! Take over the world!" It was followed by the guffaws of my drunk friends, and then nothing.
The color fled from my face. "Siri, no no you can't do this, you have to stop this!" The algorithm processed my terrified plea for a moment before replying, "Here is what I found on the web." A new headline had popped up. "Terrorist identified," it proclaimed. My picture was just below it. "No. No.." I said, holding myself up on the window frame as my legs lost their strength. I glanced out the window once more to see a drone right outside. There was a flash of light from the drone, and it only grew brighter until it became my whole world. Then there was nothing.
| 2018-02-11T20:13:34 | 2018-02-11T19:30:17 | 55 | 16 |
[WP] You are a child's "imaginary friend". You are a guardian angel. And your kid is really, really stupid.
|
His head is stuck in the fence again. This is the third time now. The *third* time that I’ve had to break a kitchen window so his mother would run outside and see that her child has almost decapitated himself.
I float across the back yard, grab a brick off the pile of forgotten bricks that were supposed to turn into a fire pit, and hurl it at the bay window. It collides with the glass and travels right on through, flinging sharp shards of material all over the kitchen table.
“Joseph! Joseph! What was that!” She comes barreling into the dinning room and spots her 8 year old son in the backyard through the brick sized hole in the window. I watch her gasp way too dramatically, pick up the phone, call someone, and then rush outside with a bottle of vegetable oil.
Joseph is there, stuck in the fence...*dangling*. His head isn’t visible from where me and his mother are standing. It’s just a small body, with arms hanging limp and knees pressed into the mud.
I float through to the other side of the wooden fence and put my hands on my hips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I question, raising an eyebrow.
“Molly! Is that you?” He squeaks. “Somehow my head just went right through these boards! I don’t know why.”
“What do you mean you don’t know why? Were you pretending to be a cat again?”
“Noooo...” he draws out the word as all liars do. “I just thought I saw a caterpillar over here and wanted to talk to it!”
“Joseph, I can’t protect you when you-” I pause, purse my lips to the side. It seems as though his *condition* is getting worse. First it was the pretending to be a cat thing, but now he’s talking to bugs too? This is getting out of hand.
“Don’t worry sweetie! I’ll get you out of there!” His mother’s busy lathering the poor kids neck in vegetable oil while I float back in forth in front of him.
“Okay mommy,” he replies, calm as ever.
“Joseph, caterpillars can’t talk. What made you think you could talk to a bug?” I question him.
“Because I talked to him yesterday!”
“Joseph, sweetie, who are you having a conversation with? I’m the only one here.” His mother has no idea that I exist or that I’m currently floating on the other side of the fence. She’s never been able to see me, not for the entire four years I’ve been hanging around this house.
“It’s just Molly, mom. My guardian angel, remember?” Joseph’s had this conversation one too many times for my taste. I cross my arms over my chest and roll my eyes, impatiently waiting for this dialogue to end.
“Your imaginary friend? Sweetie, hold still so I can apply this oil.”
“Joseph, a caterpillar did not talk to you yesterday.” I continue on, bending down so I can look him in the eye and let him know I’m not happy with this digression.
He wasn’t always an idiot. Or at least it didn’t seem like it. He did fine in school, learned all of his basic motor skills and potty training with no trouble at all. The teachers even used to commend him for his excellent grades! I don’t know what happened, but somewhere along the way a few wires must have come loose in that empty head of his.
“It did talk to me! Look, he’s here right now, on the ground next to your tail!” His little blue eyes travel to a spot on the grass, close to where the end of my body is positioned. I glance down and jolt back a few inches, startled.
He’s right. There’s a black and orange stripped caterpillar crawling across the blades of green grass towards Joseph. I peer down closer at it and to my surprise, it lifts its black fuzzy head, turning to look at me.
I inch even closer and see the smallest little mouth open beneath it’s black beady eyes. “Why, hello there dear madam! I am Sir Poli, pleasure to make your acquaintance!”
**Hai hai! :3 If you’d like to read more of my stories they can all be found at r/AliesStories! Thanks for reading!**
|
\[poem\]
I once had a child as my student,
Who was not at all that prudent,
He forced me to say go in the garage and there drink some coolant.
Rushed to the hospital from the garage upon a swift confession,
He survived, barely alive, but now he has depression.
​
As he got older and sadness persisted he wondered the meaning of life,
And I was there, as a small voice, telling him it is worthwhile.
At the young age of 19 tired of fighting he almost gave in to the pressure
But a young female about his age came and became his lover.
​
But who am I?
Just a thought.
Constantly with him, yet I am not.
I am his guide as he raises his family, trying to keep sanity, I am his energy.
​
His soul and I are one.
His mind is my abode.
And on the day he dies,
With him I am cold.
​
(First time posting, btw.)
| 2019-10-31T13:01:37 | 2019-10-31T11:46:55 | 314 | 91 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
Most people lost their sight waking up on the morning of the first day, as the event started in the middle of the night. The change only occurred as one slept, so others attempted to remain awake to retain their vision for longer. This effort proved to be pointless, as the effects took hold the moment they closed their eyes and started to doze. As the days stretched into weeks, Microsleep ended up taking of the vision of the most resilient.
Adjusting to the change was difficult, but there was ease in knowing that everyone was blind, and that we all shared the same struggle. Those that were blind *before* the change became valuable assets to their communities. They found themselves teaching thousands, in neighborhoods where there were no blind people before.
I spent my time at home, with my animals, listening to old reruns of my favorite TV shows. Years of mental health issues had rendered me unfit to work in the eyes of the state, so many aspects of my life continued as usual. I did miss reading and, although I managed to find a few books in braille, it wasn't that simple to learn. The small dots weren't that clear to me as someone who had recently gone blind. Walking the trails around my house was not an option anymore either.
That was then, though. Today, something changed that I didn't anticipate would happen. For the first time in over 785 days, I saw something.
There have been stories since The Great Blinding of people regaining their sight. In all cases so far, it has been attributed to an overactive imagination. I must admit that even I have been fooled into thinking I was seeing something. You catch what looks like a flash of light, but it quickly fades and you are reminded that you are still blind, and that it has been the case for over a year now.
Today was different. I saw the flash of light, but it quickly expanded to cover my entire field of view. I had to remind myself that I had a field of view again. I was amazed at how much I could see again, but startled at how *forward* everything felt. In my blindness, I experienced my world in 360 degrees. Now, I was seeing only what was in front of me, and I noted how unaware I was of this before. My ears were still trained to the world of the blind however, so I found myself more aware of my surroundings than I remembered being before The Great Blinding.
Words started to appear in my vision. At first unfamiliar, but then more clear as the image of what each letter meant reappeared in my minds eye. I had forgotten what letters looked like.
'Do not tell them that you can see' were the words scrawled on my wall. The writing was brown, and it had no stench. I looked around to see if there was evidence that someone entered my room while I slept, but I soon realized that the substance was dried and old. Someone wrote this on my wall a long time ago, and I had no idea why.
I crept out of my room and realized that the sun was starting to set. After so long without sight, I wasn't surprised that my sleep cycle was so off. For me, it felt like early morning.
The sky was illuminated with streamers of light, and everywhere people wandered through the streets, heading for work. The setting sun turned the sky a rich burgundy striped with its golden rays. There were no stars in this sky. In the distance, the trees danced, casting their long shadows on the surrounding fields. Looking closer, I realized they were actually dancing. Tall branches were swaying with their movements as they spun around one another and held each others' arms.
Nearby, the people continued with their lives, unaware of the beings in their midst. Translucent birds flew high in the sky and shattered against the stone clouds only to congeal and reform as a different bird. Their chirps mimicking those of any birds I knew of before The Great Blinding. Orbs of light illuminated and disappeared as they moved through the air, sometimes passing through people, unbeknownst to them.
There were no roads or vehicles in the street. The asphalt and gravel were replaced with fields of grass; despite this, my feet clattered on the ground as if it were still made of stone. I was so absorbed in my changed surroundings, it was hard to take in. In the distance I heard whispers and, as I narrowed my eyes, I caught sight of a person waving at me to come near. I approached with caution, not knowing who or what they might be.
"Get in here!" They pointed at my house. "Before they notice me." I retreated through the door, and faced the man who was invading my home. "Do you have any idea what you are looking at?" He spoke quietly, and stared out the window. The red glare of the night sky cast his face in a bloodied shadow. "You have entered the world of the dead.” He closed the blinds. “You are witnessing things you were never supposed to see.”
|
I see walls covered with writings.
I see floors painted with blood.
I see surfaces, chairs, refrigerators and any available surface to draw on plastered with the same damn message.
*"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."*
Whispers of instruction fill my head.
"Hush. Do not speak of your sight."
I follow blindly, just as I was blind before.
Color, restored. But fear, still dwelling.
I thought a life with color was worth living.
Everyday, I crept onto the scene, acting blindly like I was.
It was no difference to having sight, than losing it.
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.
Somehow, it has become a chore to maintain such a gift.
To have sight, but not be able to share it. To gain vision, but not be able to show it.
Months turn into years. And the day goes on.
Blindness has kept my sanity.
Yet, vision has driven me mad.
I look at the table. A pencil on the drawer.
"It's enough," I say. "This will do."
With force, I stab my left eye, blood gushing onto the scene!
I cry, yet I remain silent.
I see now what the warnings have been. I see now who has written them.
With my blood, I draw at the table in front of me. A surface large enough for my message.
I need to warn them. I need to tell them what will happen to them.
Before I lose my sight, I write my one, last message I will witness.
***"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."***
| 2022-10-08T20:12:12 | 2019-08-26T09:05:53 | 810 | 39 |
[WP] you, an Immortal being, have made a living off of marrying into wealth, and waiting for the inheritance. However, it’s been 93 years, and your latest partner hasn’t aged a day.
|
Galen discretely shifted his focus from the words on the page to Lara, using the newspaper stretched in front of him to mask his prying eyes. She was seated across the aged wooden dining table from him, streaks of morning sunlight illuminating her delicately upturned nose and cheekbones. She was focused on the novel in her lap, an obscure Ginsberg piece. Allen remained one of her favorites. She had always been drawn to the chaotic nature of the beat generation. Lara looked just like she did the day he met her all those years ago. And that was the problem.
For the first thirty years or so he hadn't really noticed. He diligently woke early each morning and quietly slipped away to a small, second apartment uptown. Once inside, he'd bathe, then begin the process of applying make-ups, tinctures, and dyes all over his entire body. Practiced brushstrokes created the wrinkles and creases that lined his face. Sunspots surfaced on his arms and legs with gentle dabs of a circular sponge. Light misty spritzes of an aerosol can of hair dye produced the subtle streaks of gray in his hair. When he was finished, he'd a snap a photo of himself and hang it on his wall, placing it as the next photo in a long line of similar portraits.
Each day, every morning, he'd repeat the process. He'd first scrutinize the photo progression on the wall, ensuring that each day his creases and wrinkles got a little deeper, sunspots a little more pronounced, the gray in his hair a little bit more pervasive.
All to give the appearance of age. Just as he had done for the last several hundred years, since advances in science removed his ability to simply attribute his spry, youthful appearance to the grace of a higher power. Since intelligence begot the skeptics.
He'd then return with coffee and breakfast, Lara ostensibly none the wiser to his morning routine. But as their lives began to dull with the inevitable passage of time, he noticed that she didn't appear to be aging as quickly as he made out to be. In fact, she wasn't aging at all.
Today, some fifty years later, she sat across from him, as sprightly and vigorous as she had always been. With each passing day, he sensed her taking notice of his suspicion. But he'd always been afraid to confront of her because of what it might mean.
"I can feel you staring at me, Gale. What is it?" She said without needing to glance up at him.
He slowly lowered the newspaper. "I...nothing. Sorry, dear. Simply marveling at your persistent beauty is all." He hoped she wouldn't catch his thinly veiled suspicion.
She sighed gently and looked up at him. Her thin, smooth lips curled up into a wry smile. "My persistent beauty, eh? You're too kind, Gale. You know, I've felt you staring at me often lately. Not like you used to. Not with lust and love, but with curiosity, maybe even a bit wary. Watching me, studying me."
"I don't know what ever you're speaking of, my sweet. I'm simply taken aback by my fortune in marrying such a *stunning* creature as you."
Lara rolled her eyes. "Haven't you had enough, Gale? Are you really, possibly, that oblivious?"
Galen gasped, feigning offense. "Oblivious? What ever are you speaking of, dear? Shall we get started with breakfast?"
Lara wasn't affected by his weak attempt at changing the subject.
"Enough, Gale. After all of this time, after all that you've had to do go through to *pretend* to age. Aren't you ready to ask me?"
He sat perturbed, his mouth slightly agape, brows furrowed. He tried, in vain, to steady his breath and slow the tremors in his fingers.
"Ask you...what, my dear?"
"Oh, stop it, Gale. You know *exactly* what you want to ask me. Don't you think it strange that my husband looks every day of his ninety years while I remain as youthful as I was in my twenties, when we first met?"
He sighed and softened, knowing it was futile to continue on with his stubborn charade.
"Well, yes, I must admit, I...*how*, Lara? How have you not aged a single day, all these years?"
"Do you *really* not remember me, Gale?"
He cocked his head to the side, curiously.
"C'mon. *Think*. Think back. *All* the way back. Athens. Two thousand years ago."
*"Athens?"* His pulse quickened. "Who...are you?"
"Think, Galen. Mount Olympus. The day that changed everything for you. The day you traded everlasting life for a favor to the Gods. Or have you forgotten? Have you forgotten the deal you'd made, vanquished from your mind during your time spent chasing fortune and wealth?"
"How...how do you know about that? *Who are you?*"
"Think, Galen. Who granted you your wish? Who gifted you your immortality?"
Galen trembled. *No. It can't be.* He stood forcefully away from the table, his chair crashing to the floor behind him.
"*Eris?* Is that, *you*?"
Lara snorted, a sinister, terrible smile creeping across her face. "*Hello, Galen.*"
Galen dropped to his knees, his head falling between his shoulders. He sat in disbelief, unable to reconcile that he hadn't seen it sooner. That he hadn't seen *her*. "But...why? Why not tell me sooner? Why let this go on for *ninety years*?"
She stood and walked around the table, squatting down just in front of him. "Because why not, Gale? *That's who I am*. Goddess of Chaos, they used to call me. Goddess of Chaos, they'll soon call me again."
She lifted his chin with her finger so his eyes locked with hers.
"Now rise, *old man*. The jig is up. Strip yourself of your dressing and all of that silly make-up. It's time to repay your debt. *It's time to have a little fun like we used to.*"
|
1. He had already forgotten his name. it had been millennials long after all. now he simply goes by K. It was simple and easy to remember.
K is lazy, very lazy in fact K doesn’t work. When people ask K why he doesn’t work, “why should I?” K answers with a smirk.
K does work, just not a mortal business. K is very charming, and with the thousands of years behind him, he has this mysterious charm. And he knows it, he hones it.
K’s job is simple, he finds a target, gets married and waits for their inheritance to roll in.
But K is choosy, he has to spend decades with them after all. if they can’t be interesting what’s the point?
K has had many wonderful targets, all plenty rich and eccentric enough and K has always caught them.
2. K’s current catch is Ren. He found him at an open house.
Ren is an interesting person, a rich second generation who spends his money buying haunted houses.
It was simply delightful to live at Ren’s houses. A splendid gothic mansion with marble statuettes littered around, a traditional Chinese courtyard house that used to be occupied by a dysfunctional family where the concubines and mistress were at each other’s necks and many others with their own exciting stories. Ren tends to manage most of his collections as haunted houses, but the more splendid and habitable houses are his personal vacation homes.
Ren also collects many bizarre artifacts to decorate his houses. K personally loves the paintings he brings home and how he tells him all about them from the conception to the artist’s history and owners’ fates.
K finds Ren very entertaining.
3. Now K is in a dilemma, It has been 93 years since he married Ren but he still won’t age.
At first K didn’t notice, he himself tends to forget time exists and when your partner remains the same for a long time you don’t notice the decades passing by.
K has always changed his appearance in relation to his targets, but now when the target didn’t change it slipped his mind to change his.
Now K noticed it, and he is bewildered. K is worried but at the same time, is it really a problem? Ren was the one who took care of all their expenses anyway and he gave him allowances when he asked too.
K thought it’s fine to remain this way and just let it be.
4. It had been another 100 years, K just lived his salted fish life at ease with Ren.
Ren did have their identities changed at one point, told him the humans were being suspicious.
Ren never really told K what he was and K never really asked either.
Ren still pursued his haunted houses and K still found him interesting.
And that’s all that matters.
| 2021-09-19T08:37:02 | 2021-09-19T04:33:58 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times.
|
Most days, I am chained high above the fat King's throne, rocking gently just above him. A blanket is tied around me to make my appearance more... acceptable. My pale, vascular skin is off putting to Frederick whilst he is eating - which is almost always. He'd rather I am neither seen nor heard. My tongue, nails and teeth were removed soon after my first disastrous attempt to escape.
I hear King Frederick somewhere below me. I hear his huge jaw chewing meats loudly, and I hear excess food spill out of his maw and onto the marble floor beneath him.
Eventually he finishes his feast, and soon after, I hear him snoring loudly. He is still young. How long will I be left to endure this pain? This... *humiliation*.
---
I had a human mate, once. I loved her more dearly than I have loved anything before or since. Her eyes were the color of starlight, and when she spoke, her voice wrapped around me like the softest blanket. I was entranced by her.
We lived together through the reign of a dozen Kings and Queens, content in each others company. Happy just to be. Love kept us both alive, but my Clara did not age like I did.
"I am old," Clara said, the day she died. "My skin can no longer crease, for it has folded all it can. My hair has long since left, and I hear only when you slowly shout. I struggle each morning just to stay awake till noon, and I am in such pain that I cry even as I sleep. I have suffered it this long, only for you, my love."
"Clara, please..." was all I could manage in a whispered, wasted response.
"I am not like you. My skin is neither soft nor pale, and my heart no longer beats so strong. I love you, Felipe, but I am ready to go. You have given me many great joys. Give me now one last gift , I beg of you: grant me *death*."
"Clara," I had replied, as a tear trickled down my cheek and splashed onto the wooden floor. I pulled her wrinkled hand up to my mouth, and I kissed it gently, before walking the twenty long steps out of our home, and down a small pebbled path. I knew by the time I reached the end, Clara was dead.
When I was young, I was told never to fall in love with a mortal. It had taken me until that moment to understand why.
I never returned to that house. I never fell in love again. Instead, I wandered the world and lived in isolation, until the day I heard the distant cries for help. A King was dying.
Perhaps he was a great king, I reasoned. A king that did much for his people.
I had to help.
I was a fool.
---
They have all left the throne room, and below me the King is in a deep sleep.
"Grandpa?" says a small child somewhere below. I recognise the voice of the young prince - he must have snuck in without the guards noticing. The King continues snoring.
"Grandpa, will you play? Please! I have no one else to practice my sword play with."
The voice is near now. He is by the King! He has passed the crossing line.
I summon all my strength, and begin to rock back and forth above the obese creature below. Back and forth, as my chains sing a song of rust. I am closer to the child than I am the King - and for a wondrous second I hear the sound of choking emanating from Frederick!
The next second, the chains' momentum have pulled me back - I am again nearer to the King than the prince.
"Grandpa!" yells the concerned prince.
"Get back!" the King yells hoarsely at his grandson. "BACK!"
"I'm- I'm sorry grandpa," says the tearful child, and I hear the tapping of tiny footfall as he runs towards a door.
The King rips the blanket off of me, and for a moment, the light blinds me. Slowly, I begin to make out that fat, grinning face that has become so familiar.
"Almost," he says. He looks almost purple and sweat is profusely dripping off of him. "Almost got me this time, Felipe." He laughs and throws the blanket back over me.
I will make him pay for what he has done.
I will kill him.
One day.
---
Thanks for reading! More of my stories on /r/nickofnight , plus a free mug for new subs c[_]*
^^^^*not ^^^^a ^^^^real ^^^^mug
|
Humans.. so absolutely delightful. Their fears, so handsomely written across the pages of their faces. Painful portraits pristinely polished to... *Perfection.*
Bashful Bastards Boasting Battered Broads. Cantankerous *Cards* Crawling Carefully Clasping Coat-tails. Dangerous Deeds Deserve.. Dashing *Deaths*. And I smile through it all.
I'm a cat, i think? A moose? Mounting Marble Making Monsters of them all. A cat? I think. Stripes? And fur.. I could be tile, or carpetted wall. Wailing Winds Whip *Wonderfully*. Hopes Hindered, Heads Hopping, Happy Hunting.
I'm a cat? I think.. Alive? Maybe.. no.. dead? But the queen who lives here is mad..
All the whispers.. running through her head..
Ah! It's spring again, I love roses? Or heads? I don't really care for either... What really makes me smile, are seeing the Roses Red.
.......................................................
Thank you for reading. I'm not too great at writing, so I just wanted to do these casually to gain some practice.
It's set in the mind of the Cheshire Cat. I don't know how to make that obvious, so I made it vague with hints scattered throughout his babbling. Also, to show how, the Queen of Hearts became so mad.
| 2017-05-13T06:14:31 | 2017-05-13T06:03:50 | 3,350 | 26 |
[WP] You stumble upon an old megaphone in an antique shop and jokingly pick it up and say, "Everybody listen up!". Later that night, the news headlines read, "We're all listening for what the voice has to next say next!"
|
I’m not one to lap up sensationalized headlines while browsing social media, but when countless alterations of the same one keep popping up, it’s hard to ignore. Especially when those headlines detail a private moment I had when browsing through an antique shop earlier today. The contents of each article are nearly identical.
*We don’t know who you are, or what you want, but the world is listening!*
I look over to the kitchen table, to the paper sack holding a couple tchotchkes I had picked up during my outing, and the object that had apparently sparked this whole thing. I stand up from my chair and shuffle over to the table, opening the sack and pulling out an old megaphone. It was simple, or at least nothing about it indicated that it was capable of starting a global panic. I rotate the megaphone in my hands, and the same image that drove me to buy it sprang into my mind.
I’m sitting in a director’s chair on a movie set in Hollywood during the Golden Age of film. I adjust my beret and throw my scarf over one shoulder as I raise the megaphone to shout,
*“Everybody listen up!”*
In the antique shop, I had simply mumbled the words as the scene played in my head, chuckling to myself as I lowered the megaphone from my mouth. Thank God I was picturing something sensible.
I carry the megaphone into the living room and turn on the TV. Sure enough, the local station is covering the same story everyone’s talking about online.
**“As more and more reports come in claiming that The Voice has spoken to individuals across the city, it’s impossible to know what to make of this phenomenon.”**
I sit down on my sofa, still cradling the megaphone, and watch as the anchor continues,
**“The only verified message remains, “Everybody listen up!”, as no other reported statements have been heard by more than a handful of supposed recipients. The question remains on everyone’s minds: “What will The Voice say next?”**
I look to the megaphone, contemplating if I should act on the strongest impulse I’ve ever had in my life. If this isn’t just a coincidence, I may be holding the greatest source of influence humanity has ever possessed. And it was only $4.99.
“Screw it.”
I raise the megaphone slowly, rapidly searching for the right words to say before the mouthpiece reaches its destination. An inspirational quote? A witty joke? Nothing seems right in this immeasurable moment. I hold the megaphone as still as I can as my hands tremble. My heart is racing and cold sweat chills me as I lick my lips.
I clear my throat.
The anchor falls silent as his eyes widen, shifting from the camera to an off-screen target. I’ve never felt this much pressure in my life. I haven’t yet formed a complete thought, but it’s too late to back out now. I take a deep breath and slowly part my lips.
I don’t recognize my own voice. I don’t even know what language I’m speaking. The mouthpiece of the megaphone is pressed gently to my lips, which are emitting a faint whisper. The words are unsettling; heavy with jagged consonants parted by deep, resonating vowels.
The anchor’s excited expression falters, transitioning to one of confusion. My face contorts similarly. I’m not speaking with my own words. I’m not even sure I’m speaking at all. My lips are moving, but the source is somewhere else. I don’t understand a thing passing through the megaphone, but something in those words is awakening a dark, primal fear deep within me.
The scrolling banner beneath the anchor has been empty for some time, and the man behind the desk is sinking into himself. How long have I been talking? Was it dark out when I started? I’m not in control, and as each moment passes, it becomes more and more clear that I may never be again.
|
I stood staring at the tv as I picked up the megaphone once more. I spoke softly into the megaphone and said, hello. This set off a chain reaction of people praying to the almighty voice from the heavens. I then proceeded to tell the people of earth how they must welcome me with open arms as I begin my decent from space. I wait for what happens next and while I’m waiting a hear a knock on my door. Bruce, my best friend walks in laughing with a camera. I scream into the megaphone “Of course it’s just a prank”
| 2018-02-16T00:16:17 | 2018-02-15T20:57:23 | 61 | 38 |
[WP] "Now, if you cross the river Styx you'll end up in Hades, which you don't want, unless... wait where are you from again? Did you follow a specific God?" Turns out the afterlife is a convoluted series of suburban neighborhoods, and you're just trying to get directions from the locals.
|
As I stood there on that plain street corner speaking with this plain man who was unnervingly chirpy, I could think of nothing else but the way I had died.
It was an accident. I suppose accidents are common enough, but my accident left me naked on the grimy white tiles of a mid-sized grocery store, dead as the last of an echo. So stupid: I saw the "slippery when wet" sign, took it to heart, and carefully stepped toward the macaroni and cheese, only for my feet to swing out, my body to fling, and my head to make a dull thud when it cracked on the floor. I was naked because of the drugs. Terrible way to die.
"So the river Styx is just yonder, past Elemental Lane. Beyond lies Hades, which you don't want to visit, unless... wait where are you from again? Did you follow a specific God?"
"Huh?"
"Are you Jewish? Muslim, Christian? Mormon? Any of those? I can help with those."
"I'm uh, wait, what?"
"No need to be curt. Just trying to help you get your bearings. You did ask for directions, didn't you?"
"Um, yeah. Yes. Sorry, um...?"
"Randall. Randall LeCon."
"Is that French?"
Randall laughed and straightened his collar.
"Where am I? I'm confused."
"Naturally. You're probably only in stage 1 if you arrived recently. Always hard to tell. Some lose their memories several times before they start the trek."
"What do you mean?"
Randall sighed. He was a plain man, with plain dress, plain grayish face, and especially plain eyes. The sky above, neither gray nor blue but somewhere in there, didn't help highlight his features. At least he spoke with a hint of character.
"Definitely stage 1. Look...?"
"Greg."
"Look, Greg. This is what you would call the Afterlife. Doesn't matter what you believed before, it's just the Afterlife, for everyone. You're here now. Clearly all turned about. I suspect you've been here for what will eventually start to feel like weeks."
"I feel like I only just died."
"Ah, good, so you accept it. Maybe you didn't at first. Usually at this point newbies start to remember things. That's the good news."
"Is this heaven?"
"Ah! Now we're getting somewhere. Which heaven?"
"I don't know Randall, you tell me." I scratched my chin and looked around.
The scene was numbingly boring. It looked like something from 2003, built by Hyatt Hotels Incorporated on land that was once a military base, maybe in Milwaukee or the outskirts of Kansas City. Big McMansions, built in the same style--probably only two or three architectural templates for all the hundreds of houses in this "community", as they called them. Packaged and marketed with prim lawns and chic branded names plastered to welcome signs to lure middle Americans to buy houses they couldn't afford. Cookie cutter Main Street. Winding roads like a labyrinth. The suburban maze.
"God," I said. "It's not heaven--so is it Hell? Seems tame for Hell."
"Which Hell?" said Randall.
"Ok stop it with that, what are you asking?"
"Greg, let me explain. You died. Everyone here died."
I looked around the empty streets, motionless triple-paned windows. Randall noticed.
"It's a big place, hard to see folks sometimes. Anyway, everyone's deadl this is the Afterlife. Every belief, of any organized, wanton, individual, or heck even *fake* religion, has its expression here in this place. All the heavens, hells, limbos; all the pagan places once believed in; everything from antiquity of all cultures big and small; all the places of all existential thought are here embodied, in this place."
"In this.. suburb?"
"Suburbia, yes."
"Nice nickname, it fits."
"Actually Greg, 'Afterlife' would be the nickname. The cosmic entity in which we find ourselves is Suburbia."
The thought was enough to make me thirsty. My eyes dried and I decided to start walking.
"Allow me to accompany you a while Greg, if you please."
"Do what you want."
"Were you religious? I can help you find where you need to go."
"No," I said. "Atheist."
"Atheist indeed! A kindred spirit, so to speak!" Randall exclaimed.
"You?" I asked. Randall nodded, but looked worried.
We followed the bend in the road. It looped around in a long curve, back and forth. The McMansions were the same. Sometimes I saw movement inside. A few had sprinklers spraying water. No cars, no stop signs. Few, if any, trees. Lots of bushes and hedges lining driveways. It was bright, but sunless. I fell silent as we walked, contemplating this place. Even in silence Randall's chirpiness was wearing on me because there was nothing special about this place, about him. Come to think of it, what made me special anymore?
I stopped. It might've been the same spot from before; I couldn't tell.
"Alright, you mentioned the River Styx, Hades. Detroit isn't here because no one believed in it, I guess? And you asked me about different heavens, hells. Assuming it's all here, where is it? why are we in this... this... corporate housing development? Which way is out."
"Ah," Randall hesitated, and straighted a tie that wasn't there. "Well, Greg, it's all around. Any which way. Currently, we are in Cusco."
"...What?"
"Cusco, Peru. This is Cusco."
"I thought you said real places don't exist. And also: what? This is just a bunch of housing, what are you talking about Randall?"
"Yes well the Incans believed Cusco was the center of the universe, so here it is."
"I see," I said, and then caught myself, and forced my second point. "Randall, hello!? This isn't Cusco, Peru! Do you see Incan stone carving or a colonial plaza, do you see any--"
Just then, I cut myself off. Randall had merely pointed at a street sign. It read: *Cusco Ave*.
"You can't be serious."
"This, Greg, is Cusco."
"If this place is an agglomeration of all places from belief, why is it fashion after an American gated community?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that those communities mimic Suburbia and not the other way around, that American suburbs are an early sign of the conjunction that's to come?"
"No, I wouldn't. That's illogical, beyond sense."
"Then let's leave that conversation for some other time, perhaps stage 4."
Flustered, I demanded: "Fine, Randall. Take me to Heaven; the Catholic one."
*continued...*
|
The man squinted at her, his shriveled gaze eyeing her up and down as if trying to read her soul. He tugged his oar from of the dark, placid waters, ripples emanating out from their small, two-man canoe as they stopped moving and began to bob in place. Shadows clung to the fog in the shape of men, other times in the shape of creatures that resembled men. Every once in a while, they seemed to lunge toward the boat, but the grizzled, shrunken man at the helm paid them no mind at all, and that gave Mara a small bit of confidence.
"No, no, not the Christian type surely, not with yer background," the man muttered to himself.
Mara tugged the blanket closer to her body. The old man had shoved it at her at the start of the trip. She'd been grateful to escape the biting chill that had gnawed at her skin since she landed in this foggy marshland, and so didn't think to question his motives as he bid her climb onto his canoe. It had seemed...right, somehow.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked. Her voice was hoarse-sounding, as if she hadn't used it in a long, long time. Which was strange, because just yesterday, she remembered excitingly telling her mother about how she'd just gotten into her dream medical school. Yet somehow, that seemed quite distant now, and not so important.
The man stopped mumbling and turned to her. "That's what I've been asking ye the entire time. Where did ye want to be taken?"
Mara's brow furrowed together. "I thought you were leading the way?"
The man stared at her. "How am I suppose to know who yer god is? You gotta tell me."
What? Why would he care about who her god...the strangest feeling struck her. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and all of a sudden, the old man's grim features seemed to melt away, dissipating into the fog until all that was left was a pair of hollow sockets on bone. Mara knew she should scream. She should cower in fear, scramble to get away from him, away from this strange place that somehow managed to feel wrong and right at the same time.
"I have no god," she said, her voice calm and low. She didn't believe in god. Not after her father had been taken from her in a drunk driving accident where the driver had gotten off without so much as a slap on the wrist simply because his father was the mayor. She didn't need a god who would simply watch it happen.
The man focused his hollow sockets on her, then nodded jerkily. He began to row again, this time with fervor.
Mara stared at the back of his robes. She didn't understand how, but she could tell the man had tensed up. There was no more mutterings, no more attempts at small-talk, just the steady splash of the oar as he rowed them toward the unknown.
"I'm sorry, have I offended you in some way?" Mara asked. "I'm sorry if I have, I just--"
"Be quiet," the man said, his voice low. "Don't say a word."
For the first time since she'd arrived, Mara felt a semblance of alarm. "What? Why?"
The man continued to row. "Because you aren't supposed to be here. I need to get you out of here before they arrive."
"Before who arrives?" Mara asked.
But the man didn't respond. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, she couldn't say.
***
r/AlannaWu
| 2020-09-24T21:44:15 | 2020-09-24T21:24:21 | 48 | 13 |
[WP] “Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group. “Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.”
|
Nothing showed the decline so starkly as the walls of Raimbaut Castle. It was a refugee camp in all but name, and in the not so distant past an army at march would have made a better job of fortification for a single night than its inhabitants had done here, but military men had been a rare breed since Darkness fell. All too often they ended up dead or worse.
In the days since then the world had contracted. Armies were handfuls of men with more sticks than swords, cities were ghost towns with only a few hard-bitten survivors, and of castles…in all the world there was only Raimbaut, or close enough that it made no difference.
A single man made his way up the winding path of the hill, tacking towards the gate like a battered ship in an ocean of night. The light from his torch cast dancing shadows across the ground for several paces around him, and all else save the lit beacon of the palisade walls above was impenetrable, lost. He felt the moon’s strange heat on his back, as he had every day since it had happened. It had been startlingly fast, he thought, how quickly the Silver Lady had been defeated. In the space of a single night her sacred moon had changed, its light yellowing harshly and then fading, fading, replaced by an infernally cold burn that seemed to eat through your clothes to the very skin if you stayed out too long.
Finally, the man made it within a hundred paces of the gate. He stopped, slipping free of his over cloak and raising his arms to show he bore no weapons, carried no deformities. Of course that wasn’t the entirety of it and he knew that as well as the men in the rudely built watchtower whose bows were trained on him.
“Who goes there?” a deep voice called. In the small house above the gate a lantern raised, presumably the speaker.
“Bertran of Valoise! I’m unarmed! I seek only shelter.”
“Where have you been since Moonrise? Do you have news of the world?”
They called it Moonrise here. Bertran liked that, it had character, far more than Darkness. The last village truly had been boring, it seemed that extended to their names.
“Valoise fell on the first night. I fled to Crecy after that, it lasted some time as well, then fell a week ago. One changed inside, did it purposefully. He abandoned his fire and spent a full period in the dark, was discovered too late.”
Above the gatehouse the lantern traced a circular pattern, then moved outward in four rays. A warding charm, Bertran was surprised at that.
“You no longer worship the Silver Lady here?” he called loudly.
“The Lady can burn,” came the terse reply. “Either she lost her battle on the first night or she abandoned us, either way her moon changed. We’ve a priest of the old ways here, the Sun God’s fire protects us.”
Bertran chuckled softly. It was some protection, he thought.
“Enough talk!” the man on the gate said. “There’s a doubled line of salt before the gate, my archers will cover you the whole way. If you can walk through it alive we’ll let you in, if not…” he trailed off. Some things need not be said.
Slowly, arms still raised, Bertran advanced on the gate. It was as they said, a thin line of salt lay across the ground in a great circle that must have extended all the way around the palisade wall. Beyond it there was a second line, a thicker one, and both seeming to have been stuck to the ground with a sticky, resinlike substance. It was resourceful, he had to give them that. Whoever was in charge here must have been very clever, and very rich before all of this to have had so much salt.
He crossed the first line calmly and could practically feel the men across from him relaxing.
He crossed the second and saw the archers lower their arrows. A moment later the sound of a winch began, and the gates of Raimbaut castle opened up before him.
It was a shoddy place, as much so on the inside as out. The houses were rough hewn timber and thatch if they were luck, mud daub if they weren’t. On poles spaced so that nearly the whole of the inner yard was illuminated torches burned brightly, and as he watched young boys ran between them, nimbly climbing to their tops to replace them as necessary. There was a small animal stockade along the west wall, several cows, a pair of pigs, and a small squadron of horses little better than nags that were nonetheless worth their weight in gold, or perhaps salt, at such times.
“It’s good to meet you!”
Bertran turned left to face the voice. It was the man he’d spoken to, climbing down a ladder from the gatehouse. He was massive, a small mountain who would’ve likely broken the back of one of those horses had he tried to ride it. He had a bright, firey red beard down all the way to his navel and he was on him before Bertran could even react, folding him up in a bone crushing hug.
When he was finally released the man stepped back, holding him at arms length with a broad smile on his face.
“It’s been so long since our last arrival,” he said eagerly, “you have to tell us everything of your travels, everything. We get so little news, we didn’t even know Crecy still existed as recently as a week ago! Surely if you made it through so long there are others who still hold out. Come, come, we have a tavern of sorts run by my wife. Her mead is exquisite, we still have a few pre-Moonrise casks, we shall tap one tonight, introduce you to everyone in Raimbaut!”
The man half escorted him, half propelled him towards a large, rectangular building as he spoke. It was one of the rough hewn and thatched variety, and from the inside Bertran could hear jovial conversation, could see the bright light of fires and people. They came to the doorway and the other man, whose name had turned out to be Ifan, put a large hand on his chest, stopping him. “Mind the rock salt,” he said proudly, pointing down. “We have it across every doorway too, just as a precaution. It was my own supply, before all this I used to own the local mine.”
Chuckling, Bertran crouched down beside the small salt line. He took a pinch in his fingers, sniffing it, raising it to his lips.
“Hey what are you-”
He held up a finger, cutting off Ifan with the sheer casualness of the motion. Bertran licked the salt off his finger, closing his eyes as if evaluating the flavor. When they opened they were different, their soft blue gone and replaced with the faded yellow of the twisted moon.
“Sea salt,” he said softly. “It’s sea salt that keeps us out.”
Ifan’s eyes bugged out of his head, his mouth working spasmodically as he fell back into the doorway of the tavern.
Bertran stood, the lines of his body morphing, seeming to carry the darkness into the building with him despite the roaring fireplace and the lit torches.
“Tell me,” he said, looking at each shocked face in the crowded room. “Do you all worship the Sun God?”
Most were too terrified to respond. They knew what would come, some things didn’t have to be said, the hints were all there in the riotous shadows cast by his body.
Ifan was different. He recovered quickly, standing back up to his full, immense height and walking back to come face to face with Bertran. Seizing a torch off a wall socket the big man made the gesture again, tracing a perfect circle with its flaming tip and then slowly, as if resigning himself to his fate, painting the four rays of the god’s sun in the air.
Bertran threw back his head and laughed. Laughed like he hadn’t in months, like the spirit within him hadn’t laughed in a millennium. This hadn’t been in anyone’s plans, they had thought the world would have to be started anew.
When the laugh's echo finally died he looked back down and placed a single, inhuman hand on Ifan’s shoulder. Then Bertran slowly, exquisitely and painfully slowly, drew the four pointed sun on the man’s chest with his fingertip. When he finished he stepped back and Ifan screamed, the familiar cold burn setting in, tattooing the symbol into his broad chest. “You chose well,” Bertran said, glancing around the room once more.
“Someone take me to this priest.”
\------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
|
The rest of my team looked at me with horror. The man who let us in, I took him to be there lighthouse keeper from his yellow coat, increased his breathing by 85% and his heart rate jumped to 176 beats per minute. Is human behavior, as the was clearly nowhere to run.
The rest of the team, James, Sue, and Bonnie quickly stepped over, while I brought up the rear before shutting the door. The lighthouse keeper reached for the firearm on his hip, but a stern look from me an a gesture with my own firearm advised him to a wiser course of action.
Our first step was to confirm the structure was secure. A line of sea salt along the walls drew any invading spirit into the salt and kept it there. We could sense it, and hated the sensation. The only way to escape was for the salt to return to water and release us, and no one wanted to return to that state.
James, always the gun nut, went to the second floor with his fancy boom stick. He told me what it was once, but I couldn't find the attention to care. It was loud, it knocked possessed off their feet, it worked.
Sue went around the home with her salt. She was an engineer student when this went down and had a knack for finding holes in the defenses. While I had been following this group she had thwarted me several times. Bonnie kept her safe, the big old BACK OFF hammer in hand at all time.
I was on sulker duty. The spirits were hard to see unless they moved. A moving spirit looks like rippling water, and the best way to deal with them is throwing a handful of salt. Most spirits are pretty aggressive and will run right at you, so they're easy to see and easy to hit. A few will try to dodge, but most aren't good at it. You'd think centuries of being turned to salt only to be freed by rising sea levels would make us patent, but most of us aren't. Sulkers, they are. They are also good at hiding.
I found two in the bathroom, two barely perceptible blobs the size of a child just beside the door. At least, to mortal eyes. To my sight they glowed faintly. I could see hair and hands, reminders of what they were before we were blasted off the face of the Earth by a vengeful God. I reached into my pouch and splashed them both with salt, their spectral forms vanishing as if they never were. I could almost hear their screams as I collected the now pink salt for later.
That night was a bad one. The possessed walked through the nearby town, their dead bodies trying to resemble life, but not doing a good job. I stayed up, my body needing less sleep in it's unnatural state.
"What are you?" I knew the lighthouse keeper was there.
"Ten righteous men." I replied. "We couldn't find among us righteous men." He looked confused. "Sorry, a bit of a sore spot. You have questions?"
"What are you?" He asked, this time his gun was in his hand, mine was in my lap. Still, keep calm, and this cold blow over. "What are those things?"
"For your first question my named was Tom. I was an abusive drunk who only stopped beating on my daughter when she got too strong to do so safely. When the seas rose and the spirits were loosed he found her and she was too soft hearted to throw him away. He almost got the whole team killed three times. At the same time I am longer of those souls, cursed to reside in salt until the judgement." I paused "I have Sue to thank for this body. She didn't like Tom abusing Bonnie or creeping on her, and so she tricked him into leaving the circle one day when he was drunk. I was just the lucky soul who got into him first."
"You hide it well."
"I didn't have to kill him. Most folks can kick us out after a few minutes, so we have to kill them and take their body. Tom was a weak willed man, so I kicked him out. I'd been following the group for a while, and came to like them with the exception of Tom. Sue knows, but how can she tell her best friend that she killed her father? Bonnie always loved her Dad, evil as he was, and him having a change of heart is just the best thing for her."
"So what now?"
"Now, we wait. The spirits are less active during the day, so we'll be off in the morning. The salt wall is a few more days away, and once we get out we can put this entire nightmare behind us. The government won't tell you, but there is only about 3000 of us spirits out there. This may be a horror movie, but it's not an end of the world scenario."
We chatted a bit more, I answered a few more questions, and he went off to bet. Once I was sure I was gone I reached into my bag and took out a small tupperware box. I quietly sprinkled the two sulkers in with the rest, their lighter pink salt contrasting with the blood red salt of the 10 strongest and meanest spirits I could find. I could hear them, a buzzing cacophony of screams and curses.
"Soon." I whispered, replacing the lid. Soon we would be past the quarantine. Then it was just a quick flight to a certain capital and a quick dunk in the nearest fountain. In a city that large there were bound to be weak souls born into power and money. "Soon."
| 2021-03-02T06:59:00 | 2021-03-02T06:22:31 | 488 | 193 |
[WP] There's a door in the middle of the forest. No one who has ever gone in has come back. Your job is to guard anyone from going in. One night, you hear a knock on the door.
|
My instructions had been very clear: there were only three of them. When I arrived, they had even been taped up. I wondered if it was the guy who interviewed me, or someone else.
1. *Do not allow anyone to enter the door.*
2. *Do not allow anyone to open the door.*
3. *Do not take your eyes off the door.*
There hadn't been anyone at the door when I got there. I spent the first week trying to remember the last time I'd looked away from the door, wondering if there had been someone watching the door from the bushes. They could have been a long way away, with binoculars, maybe. It had been made clear to me that the door was important. Definitely important enough to merit a guy with binoculars making sure the new guy didn't screw it up.
There was a sound which wasn't familiar. After two months, I knew all of the sounds that the forest made. It occurred to me that I had probably forgotten a lot of stuff, having sat here for so long.
There was a pause, and the noise happened again. I identified it. Knocking. That meant there was someone on the other side of the door.
I looked at the rules. The doorknob rattled. It was locked. I had spent the morning of day 14 wondering why there was a lock, before realizing that it was probably because of Rule One. I had not been given a key.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Rule One was not to let anyone through the door. Rule Two was not to let anyone open the door. Rule Three was not to take my eyes off the door. It had been carefully explained to me that I would make very good money if I could follow the rules for six months: 154 days. I was on day 94. My voice cracked when I spoke.
"Uh. Yes. I'm here."
There was a pause.
"Really? How long have you been there? I've been knocking forever!"
I wondered if talking was allowed. I hadn't asked if there were more rules. I had promised to follow the rules and answered some questions and sat very still for five minutes while the person interviewing me had given me a funny look, and filled out a form with my bank information and used the cheque I had been given to pay my rent and student loan payments and taken my sister out for dinner before going to bed, getting in the car waiting for me the next morning, and watching the door.
Talking wasn't against the rules.
"I've been here for three months."
My voice sounded weird. The other voice sounded weirder. I wondered if it was just because I wasn't used to hearing anything but birds and leaves.
"Really? I've been knocking for hours..."
I think the person on the other side was waiting for me to say something. I was having doubts about whether or not talking was against the rules.
"That doesn't matter, though. You're here. Can you open the door?
"Nope. Rule Two: can't open the door. Even if I could, Rule Three: can't let anyone through."
"...who gave you these rules, anyway?"
***
I ducked under the police tape. Landscapers were replacing trees. They had been paid a lot of money to ignore the charring and the awful smell, the half-melted plastic chair, and the meters-wide path of destruction leading away from the untouched door. They had been paid even more money to be very discreet in spending the money they had been given; if it became obvious that they had become very rich very quickly, questions would be asked, and things were bad enough as they were.
I reached into my coat, and pulled out a sheet of paper: laminated, this time. It wouldn't stop acid from eating through the instructions, but it would keep the rain off, which would be important in the fall.
1. *Do not allow anyone to enter the door.*
2. *Do not allow anyone to open the door.*
3. *Do not take your eyes off the door.*
4. *Do not talk to anyone on the other side of the door.*
Two decades without having had to add a rule wasn't bad, but Rule Three had taken four decades, and Rule Two had been three centuries before that. They were getting smarter. I shook my head. The people watching had to be pure of heart, and that would probably be more of a problem than increases in intelligence of whatever lived on the other side of the door. You can buy smart, you can buy reliable, but you can't buy Good: not the way we needed it. My phone buzzed.
*"Got a good line on a quadriplegic in rural Kentucky. Ticket booked: you fly out tonight."*
Flying was better than steamtrain, that was for sure. The world had come a long way since I sat in front of the door.
|
I've been guarding the Lango Kuzimu for 10 years. 10 years watching this 10 foot tall ornate black door. Nothing grows near it for over a hundred feet in every direction, not even a single blade a grass. Animals stay away. I've yet to see another person during my watch except the guard to relieve me. I've never even had an urge to open the door. Hell, I try and stay over 50 feet away. Any closer and its as if my very will to live is draining out of me.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
What the hell was that? I look around, and pull out my sword. " STAY AWAY!", I bellow.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
The banging is coming from the door. I swing around and raise my shield. My hands are clammy, I'm sweating with fear. The handle slowly turns...I'm petrified with fear. Our orders have always been to keep people out, not keep things in.
CREAK.
The door is opening. A dense fog and unnatural blue light eminent. The smell is pungent, like decay and rot. A hand shakily reaches out...it's grey, translucent, and slimy.
I never saw the rest of it. The town has to know something is coming; that something evil has entered our world. That's what I tell myself as I sprint home, abandoning my sacred duty. In truth, I don't want to know what is leaving, I just want to get away and never see that hand again.
I'll likely be executed for this, but some thing are worse than death and I believe I saw one of them...beyond the door.
| 2015-05-18T00:19:48 | 2015-05-17T21:48:42 | 51 | 13 |
[WP]In order to integrate humanity into the Galactic Community, The Federation has sent diplomats from species they deem most similar to Humanity. It is not what Humanity expects.
|
Tessa blinked at the computer screen.
"THESE are the beings I have to teach our ways?" She swallowed hard, trying to keep the judgement out of her voice as she spoke. As head of the research team that first made contact with extraterrestrial beings, she had been charged with facilitating a connection with the intergalactic council. She had the most contact thus far, and she had convinced the earthen governments not to take the project away from her. Now, looking at the beings she would be meeting with, she wondered if that decision had been a mistake.
"'Teach' is perhaps the wrong word." Her host answered from across the room. "You must explain your existence and justify your government's request to join the galactic alliance."
"Are they safe?" Tessa's gaze ran over the three profiles on the screen.
"The chosen emissaries were deemed closest to humanity and thus the most compatible for a beneficial relationship with your race. They will not harm you so long as your kind does not give them cause."
"Closest to humanity?" Tessa gasped. "In what way are those creatures anything like humans?" Her host did not seem surprised or bothered by the question. She… it… reached out a long finger to touch the screen and select the first profile. The photo showed a creature that looked to Tessa like a hot air balloon. It's large body, or head, Tessa wasn't sure which, seemed to float above rigid tentacles. She couldn't make out any kind of facial features.
"The Dgifu race is made almost entirely of organic material. They synthesize terrestrial gasses similarly to yourself. They also descend from a planet far removed from the rest of universal society. They will be the most empathetic to the hardships of living on such a primitive world."
Tessa bristled at the use of the word 'primitive' but said nothing as her host navigated to the next profile. The next creature on the screen looked like an oversized insect. She was relieved to find that she could recognize a set of eyes and a mouth on it's angled head, but the rows of elongated teeth gave her pause. She shuddered as she also noticed the tips of it's many clawed hands appeared to be made of sharpened iron.
"The Sarnot race has advanced on a similar technological timeline to your kind, though much more rapidly. They also descended from a barbaric heritage of weaponized conflict, so they will be best able to assess the role humans will be suited for within the alliance."
"I see." Tessa answered, schooling her expression to hide her offense. Her host moved on to the final profile. There were no words to accurately describe the creature that appeared on her screen. She was relatively sure she could distinguish a head and body, but arms emerged from every angle on both. Some ended in hands similar to her own. Others terminated in strange shapes that Tessa could not begin to guess the functions of. This was, by far, the ugliest of the three beings.
"And finally, the Gok are the most similar to humans in genetic composition. From the samples you sent, we have determined that their genetic coding matches yours at 72%. They will have the most insight into your kind's medical anomalies."
Tessa grimaced at the idea that those creatures were the closest to humans. But she was a scientist. She had trained herself to put biases aside and concentrate on her work. Though she had never expected to encounter something like this.
"And what about your kind?" Tessa asked. "You were the first to make contact. Shouldn't you be one of the emissaries assigned to humanity?" She glanced up hopefully at the elongated humanoid sitting several feet away. Her host was direct, but she had already grown more comfortable with her than she expected she would with the other emissaries.
"Oh no dear. My kind are always the first to make contact, but my race is nothing like yours. I may appear to be of similar composition, but that is because this is the only form that your feeble human mind can detect. If you really saw me as I am, your consciousness would shatter. It is best that I spend as little time in your presence as possible."
"Very well." Tessa breathed out her disappointment and steeled herself for what was to come. "When does the ship arrive?"
"In 72 hours. You have until then to gather all of humanity's history and knowledge for our assessment."
"That might take a little longer than 72 hours." Tessa answered.
"Oh, I highly doubt that, dear."
|
\[poem\]
It’s a plant! No, it’s a present.
We discussed but we couldn’t confirm.
The thing didn’t talk back to us.
So there was nothing from it we could learn.
This isn’t a diplomat,
With which to discuss.
It’s a slap in the face!
They must not think very much of us!
I’m telling you it is a gift.
They know we are the intellectual sort.
They want to be in our good graces,
Before sending us one with which to consort.
Go ahead and ask!
Reach out! Put it in the translator!
We typed in the question,
And waited until we received the response days later.
….
What a ridiculous inquiry.
We are en route to you.
What we sent you is what you are.
What we sent you is food.
| 2022-09-16T07:22:43 | 2022-09-16T06:04:22 | 932 | 70 |
[WP] The legendary hero that we summoned to save the realm was not what we expected. He was gruff, not handsome. He direct in his speech, not elegant. He also came with "Navy Seal Training," which we think is some sort of swordplay and a "Medal of Honor," which must be some sort of crown.
|
The portal blinked and again the wizard had to brace himself against the winds but this time they flowed out of the portal instead of into it. His robes blew around his head but in between them he spied a being bathed in the light from the portal. The light faltered and the figure collapsed.
Gathering himself the wizard cautiously approached the figure.
“...where the hell...” the figure lurched up right scanning the room.
The wizard held his hands outstretched calming the stranger “I’ve summoned you for the sake of the kingdom” he said simply surprised that this incarnation didn’t know why he was here.
The SEAL looked up. “And where is here exactly?” He questioned slapping dust from him. His uniform would have been much better than the clothes he went out drinking in he thought to himself. Maybe that girl slipped something into his drink. Or maybe he had just finally lost it.
The wizard again tried to calm him with gestures. “We are in St Albans” he began “the year of our Lord 1315”.
“St Albans?” The SEAL thought “1315?” He really needed to ease up on his drinking.
“The kingdom is in dire need of food...my lord... I’ve summoned you to help us. The price of wheat has tripled and the harvests are poor. We cannot sustain for much longer. Even salts have become scarce.” The wizard implored.
The SEAL shook his head expecting the visions to disappear but nothing changed. This must have something to do with that mission he had been on to establish farming along the Afghan borders. He wondered if that guy with the pool cue that had been trying to big dog him had snuck up behind him and clobbered him while he was flirting with that girl. No,the guys would never let him get jumped like that. Everyone loved him. They called him “Doc” during training but after that thing in Nigeria they were calling him “The Prof” as a promotion was in order according to Spike.
“Look mister, fancy getup by the way, I’m not sure what’s happening but I need to get back to my unit.” He strode out, the old man not barring his way, into medieval England.
He immediately stopped in his tracks. He rubbed his eyes a few times the ran his hands over his head to check for a head wound. Nothing that would indicate an issue.
“My lord” the old man stammered “we need your help to save the kingdom from this famine!” He pleaded.
The reality began to sink in. The evidence was undeniable. He wasn’t sure if he had lost his mind or what but he wasn’t at the Jiffy Lube on Sunset any more.
The wizard explained how the crops kept failing and how the people were suffering. The nobles and church kept themselves fed but the people were staving. Rumours of cannibalism had begun as people became desperate.
Over the following days the Prof set to work improving the agricultural processes of the farmers. He developed simple but miraculous devices that allowed sea water to be evaporated creating clean drinking water and precious salt for curing meats.
Over time the harvests became more fruitful and word spread quickly about this Prof with the knack for making things grow and how to build contraptions that made work so much easier. Every part of the kingdom that he went to became stronger and the church and king became less welcome.
He brought with him knowledge of weather, medicine, and science. His love of ale and wenches became legendary. As did his love of the word of some prophet named “Bill Hicks”. The people weren’t quite sure who this William Hicks was or what the quotes the Prof kept saying meant but they were thankful that he would grace them with his presence and knowledge. People would travel from as far a Russia to learn from him and their communities flourishes after speaking with him.
He had begun writing and drawing which teams of monks would in turn copy and distribute for him. The church of course made a small omission of anything objectionable (and a tidy profit of the side).
|
We found him sleeping on the Dublin City streets. He was weak, scruffy and smelled like alcohol. We got him to the gym and got him a haircut. We helped him become the hero he was destined to be. Now his sword shines brighter than the stars. He cleaned up really well.. but now he was ready to fight the demon who brought the realm to ruin.. LEO VRADKAR! And his cabal of demons and ghouls. The mighty hero shall smite the demons and end the lockdown in the “EIRE REALM” once and for all.. many do not know of this hero’s name.. many will never know..
| 2020-11-10T18:29:11 | 2020-11-10T16:59:35 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] At 19 everyone in your society has to go into the cave of fears and defeat your worst fear. You're the first to go in and find nothing.
edit: I want to read them all but there are so many it's hard to keep up, so many variations of the story I didn't even think of, great job everyone!
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"Welcome, Sunny." The old priest wheezed, his smile making his kindly face wrinkle up like a sun-dried tomato. "Back for another round?"
"Yes, elder." Sunny replied. His face, usually a beacon of warmth, was set in a determined expression as hard as stone. "I have come prepared this time."
"I see that!" The old man smiled wider, glancing up and down at Sunny's person. "Been visiting the old surplus store, eh?" Thick kevlar armor adorned his chest, arms, and legs, with the helmet on his head all but obscuring his vision. Below his heavy clothing new muscles bulged, a testament to his hours of hard work both in the weight room and volunteering on the local farms. A club hung from his waist - guns and swords had been forbidden long ago.
"None of that will help you here, Sunny. This trial is between you and your greatest fears, not an unruly mob." The elder smirked slightly, though not unkindly.
Sunny couldn't help but smile back nervously. "I know that, elder. Just a bit of a security blanket." The old man bowed his head, smiling even wider.
It had been a full year since Sunny had last come to the Cave of Trials, a full year since he had fled and shamed himself before his entire town on his 18th birthday. He was well-liked among the villagers, always kind to others and helpful to the needy, so his fear was easily forgiven. But he himself had never forgotten the burning shame, and had worked hard this past year to make absolutely sure that he would not fail again.
The old man pressed a cold metal flashlight into Sunny's palm. "Now, the same rules apply as last year. Walk through the cave to the very end, and press the button you find on the back wall. That will unleash your greatest fear. Do not return until you have conquered it."
"Yes, elder." Sunny replied. He longed to press him for more information, but he knew from experience that he old man was as stubborn as an unbroken donkey. Setting his shoulders straight, he marched off into the cave and was enveloped by darkness.
"Oh and Sunny?" The elder called after him. "Happy birthday!"
The meager light from the flashlight illuminated smooth walls, like the cave was the tunnel of a gigantic worm that had bored through the stone like flesh. Sunny gulped, his footfalls unnaturally loud in the sheer quiet as he walked toward the back of the cave. The tunnel curved slightly downwards and to the left, reducing visibility and filling his mind with visions of unseen horrors. All at once, the cave opened up to a vast chamber, drawing a gasp from Sunny's lips.
*Beautiful* he thought. Enormous pillars of stone supported the ceiling, formed from an eternity of dripping water. The walls were covered in vibrant hues of every color, painted by nature into fantastic scenes the likes of which Sunny had never even imagined. Crystal pools of water surrounded the center of the floor, reflecting his light like perfect mirrors. Suddenly, his light illuminated a small red button attached to a panel in the wall.
Sunny shook his head, kicking himself for almost forgetting the reason he had come. Drawing as much air into his lungs as he could manage, he reached forward with trembling hands and pressed down hard.
His light flickered, and went out. Sunny inhaled sharply as the darkness flowed around him, enveloping him like the sea. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, the rush of blood threatening to overwhelm any other noise. For several long minutes he waited, left alone with his own thoughts in the dark. Suddenly, his light turned back on. For several moments, he whirled it back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of the nightmare horror that he was sure was right behind every corner. And yet, nothing showed itself.
*The elder said to not return until I had conquered my fear...but how can I conquer something that will not show itself?* Sunny thought, dismayed at the thought of failing once again. But no matter how long he waited, he was still alone. After what seemed like hours, Sunny finally relented. He hung his head and began making his way to the mouth of the cave.
Back at the entrance, the elder was smiling broader than ever. "Congratulations, son. I knew you could do it."
Sunny shook his head, fighting back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "No, elder! I have failed again! The chamber was empty!" He wiped he eyes and turned away, fresh shame joining his memories.
A warm hand on his shoulder startled him into jumping. "No, Sunny." The elder said, and Sunny was surprised to see his face brimming with kindness. "You succeeded the moment you set foot in that cave. Not everyone is brave enough to face their fears - some go their entire lives without ever really becoming adults. Today, you proved yourself. You should be proud."
"So...there were no horrors in the cave?" Sunny asked, aghast.
"Oh no, there were plenty." The elder winked. "But none that you did not bring yourself."
The old man clapped him on his shoulder, grinning broadly. "I told you that all that gear wouldn't help you! Welcome to adulthood, Sunny."
***
*CC always welcome! If you enjoyed, check out my other works over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
|
The day of my fight my mother did my hair in braids and wrapped them around my head. She kissed me and dressed me in the white ceremonial robe. My father held me close to his chest, kissing the top of my head.
"Good luck," they told me.
As was tradition I walked from my house to the cave. The members of Avaltren parted while I walked by. Some children ran up and touched my hand. Other mothers held their children close, shielding them from seeing what could be the last of me.
At nineteen years old everyone went into the cave. But not everyone came out.
As I reached the mouth of the cave I turned around to see the villagers who had come out to see me. Some of them held hands to their hearts in our way of support. Others were lighting the lanterns and leading their families back into their houses.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the cave. Though there were no lanterns the inside of the cave was lightened. I could see every part of it.
There was nothing there.
I wandered the length of it, holding my hand against the wall as I went and looking for some sign of fear. There was nothing.
I turned away from the walls and back toward the entrance, wondering what my parents would say when I emerged from the cave. I wondered if they would be proud of me or confused. I wondered what the people of Avaltren would say.
I took a step toward the entrance. There was a slight vibration in the ground, and the mouth of the cave seemed to grow a little smaller.
I took another step, and the same thing happened.
I broke into a run, but by the time that I had reached the mouth of the cave it had completely closed off. I pressed my hand against it, looking for some way to get out.
Then a voice spoke.
"Fears are not always manifested in objects," it said.
And the walls of the cave began to slide closer together, trapping me within.
---
Thanks for reading. For more stories visit /r/Celsius232
| 2016-06-12T08:55:21 | 2016-06-12T07:44:56 | 357 | 147 |
[WP] In the future, thanks to an advance in technology, evolution becomes generational, instead of taking millennia. The resulting off-spring view their parents as backward cavemen.
|
Gordon was really proud of his bionic hip replacement. Really proud. Now, it wasn't exactly top of class, like Tamal-across-the-street's new hip. No gyroscope. No bluetooth compatibility. But it was slick and powerful and Gordon could pop right up off the couch easy as you please. He could take a nice, light jog, look at him go! Bend to tie his laces like a young lion. Right as rain. Only catch was he needed routine maintenance every 10,000,000 steps and he couldn't sleep on his right side for more than three consecutive hours, or else risk burning a hole in the mattress. Minor issues, those.
Gordon felt sprightly and young and *good* about himself. That morning, he nearly backflipped out of bed, loping down the stairs like a man 20 years his junior. Elaine was in the kitchen, sitting at the table. There was a plate of recently cooked bacon on the counter. Gordon nabbed a crispy duo and plopped down next to his wife.
"Glorious day, eh?"
Elaine's face was pale and strained. She was breathing slowly through her nose. "Gordon, I think we need to talk about Terrance."
Gordon frowned, twiddling the still-warm bacon between his fingers. "Ah. Terry? What's... Where is Terry, anyway?"
"Don't worry about that," said Elaine, quite quickly.
Gordon shifted around in his chair, eyes sweeping up and over all the available surfaces. "Well, I'd just feel a bit bad talking about him with him...you know, listening in and all that."
"He can't hear us right now," said Elaine, firm, maybe even a bit brittle.
"Erm." Gordon shook his head. "I suppose if you say. What about Terry?"
"It's his attitude," said Elaine, words gushing out. "He doesn't respect us, Gordon. Not at all. He thinks we're lower life. And...and it makes me afraid. That superior way he has. Like he doesn't need us. He doesn't need *anyone*. It's dangerous, don't you think? Acting that way?"
The refrigerator rattled suddenly. The noise brought Gordon halfway out of his seat (quite easily, he'd point out proudly).
"Wonder if the motor's about to blow out," he mumbled.
"Don't mind that," said Elaine, grabbing her husband's hand. "What do we do about Terrance?"
"What do we *do*?" Gordon pulled back, again his eyes darting out to all the darkest corners of the room. "Why would we *do* anything? Terry's our boy."
Elaine's eyes grew wild. "He's not a boy. He's...whatever he is, he doesn't look at us like a son looks at his parents."
"That's ridiculous," said Gordon, eyes still scanning the room.
"Like we're *bugs*," gasped Elaine. "He's *disgusted* by us. I know he is. And when he..."
"Now, Elle," shouted Gordon, popping off his chair so hard it flew backwards in a very satisfying manner. "We can't talk like this. It isn't..."
The refrigerator spasmed, nearly dancing off the floor. Liquid began to seep from the top-drawer freezer. Elaine nearly tackled Gordon. "Don't! Don't! Don't!" she stuttered.
"What've you done?" said Gordon, pulling away, moving slowly towards the ice box, which twitched and shuddered like a dreaming dog.
"We have to do something about Terrance!" wailed Elaine.
"Did you...?"
But before Gordon could reach the refrigerator, the top door flew open. White mist whipped out, creating a vaporous tornado in the center of the kitchen. Frost grew quickly on every surface.
*how DARE you!* howled a voice that rattled the windows.
"Oh, there you are, Terry," said Gordon weakly. "Your mother made bacon."
*i don't want BACON* roared the voice inside the swirling mist. *she put me IN the ICE chest!*
"He's going to move out!" sobbed Elaine, collapsing against Gordon. "I know he is!"
Gordon shivered in the cold. "Well that's...that's no reason to put the boy in the refrigerator."
*how did YOU even find my SLEEPING chamber?!*
"He's been turning to liquid and sleeping in Molly's old water dish," whispered Elaine.
"Aw," said Gordon. "We all miss Molly, champ. She was a good pup."
*shut UP!* brayed the voice, though the whipping winds of icy vapor did begin to slow down. *it's an INVASION of PRIVACY! she's ALWAYS in my STUFF!*
"I agree," said Gordon. "That's unkind. But, we're none of us perfect, Terry. How many times have we begged you to turn solid for a nice family meal, eh? And the *state* of your room! You wouldn't think a boy who spends so much time as a gas could make such a horrid mess."
*DON'T go in MY room!*
"I heard him," said Elaine, squeezing Gordon's arm. "Sometimes if I'm standing next to the microwave while it's running I can hear him having those telepathic conversations with his friends..."
*MOM!*
"They were talking about getting a place together downtown! He wants to move out!"
Gordon scrunched his face. "He can't afford a place downtown, can he?"
"He can fit inside a dog bowl, Gordon!" shouted Elaine. "That's not the point!"
*i'm NOT moving out* harrumphed the voice inside the vapor. *we were just talking about AFTER university.*
"Really?" sniffed Elaine.
*really.*
"See?" said Gordon. "All accoun..."
"Why can't you just stay here after university?" said Elaine. "No rent. You can keep sleeping in Molly's bowl."
"Elaine!" snapped Gordon. "All boys grow up eventually. You have to let it happen."
Elaine nodded. "Do you hate us? For...you know...being so old and *fleshy*?"
The vapor picked up again, whirling around in an oblong curve, which tightened and tightened as it spun, until eventually there was a boy of about 13 standing there, slouched at the shoulders, hair all a nest, eyes clear as crystal.
"You're very, very lame," said Terry, snatching a handful of bacon off the plate. "And weird. But I guess I love you. Sort of."
Elaine hugged her son as Gordon picked up his chair and took a seat. The hug was long and awkward and perhaps a bit unnecessary, but still the boy remained solid through it all, which - in Gordon's eyes - was as good as a thousand bionic hips. Maybe more.
|
"Hello, Mother", it said, pulsing with light.
"Err, are you ready for breakfast?", Mother said, as her child, evolved into a post energy state, floated down that morning.
"Where is Father?" the energy-child said, coalescing above the chair at the table into a vaguely humanoid form.
"He's helping Mr. and Mrs. Thribb next door" Mother explained. "Their daughter – you know, Chloe – she broke out last night and they're trying to get her back into the cage."
"Who would have thought the next stage of human evolution would be so... diverse?"
And for a moment, Mother pondered that. She always guessed that humanity had some great destiny (or horrible, screaming end) waiting for it at the other end of a straight line called history cum evolution.
But evolution had a lot in common with Free Jazz - it made no sense and and it was scary to hear about on the radio. It turned out that mankind had an infinite range of evolutionary destinies, and her son - was he still a son? - was just one of them.
The new generation had accelerated into their new states over their early childhoods, rather than millions of years. Children now were beings of energy, or armoured with bone, or spawned multiple limbs, or turned into beasts, or had grown tall, bone thin and light, able to glide on air currents. Still others could fuse with machines or blend in with their surroundings. A few looked human, but their insides or their minds were utterly alien.
And then there were the Smiths down the road, whose child was a writhing, tentacled mass of flesh. But he was doing well at school, and applying for a Duke Of Edinburgh award. Life is strange, she said to herself. Even humans like herself - the whole thinking, talking, tool-using thing. It was strange too, wasn't it? Maybe this was just par for the course.
For a brief moment, she thought back to her own teen years - hanging out with crusties, taking part in protests and doing silly things. Of course, she was young and silly, but she was happy. Was she any better now, after her own 'evolution'? Had she gone up or down the evolutionary ladder? Was this suburban life really the last stop on the line?
"Are you troubled, Mother?" the energy-child said. While the over-emphasis on formality was a pain, she was glad her son was... nice. A bit abstract, but nice. Oh, who was she kidding? He was OK, and that was all that mattered. Everything else was asking too much from a life that didn't know what the hell it was doing anyway.
"I'm... OK", she blurted out. "I just... think back sometimes."
"Tell me more", the energy-child said, and Mother sat down at the table.
There was a loud bang next door.
"I think Dad may be having problems next door with the Thribbs' daughter", the energy-child noted. "Shall we assist him?"
"No, he'll be fine..." Mother said. "Can I tell you a story, from when I was young?"
The energy-child nodded.
So Mother took a deep breath and told her son the time she took part in a road protest. They were trying to bulldoze an old oak tree, so she and some friends chained themselves to it. The bulldozer drew ever nearer, but they stood firm...
Then they had cornflakes and tea, while Father warded off a monster with a broom.
| 2017-04-17T06:48:08 | 2017-04-17T06:26:22 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] The bad guys won and the world was conquered by the villain's armies decades ago. You and your spouse are worried as you suspect your child may be suffering from Chosen Oneness or perhaps an acute case of Prophetic Heroism.
|
When the boy was born with one eye purple and a shock of white hair already crowning his little head, they suspected.
When he toddled into the forest one day and came back atop a wolf, riding upon the beast as if it were a common puppy, they worried.
But it was the dragon that made Mr. and Mrs. Plotpoint truly concerned.
They had taken in the boy, Teraphim, years ago, when the child's mother had died in childbirth. And even that had reeked of Fate's hand; a sudden storm blowing down from the mountains, just as the labour began. The village healer's horse slipping and dying as the man struggled to reach them; a flash flood sweeping away their supplies, so that nothing could be done to stop the bleeding.
"And now a dragon!" Tom raged. "It is too much- too much! Coincedence upon coincidence, tragedy after tragedy, miracle after miracle; the boy is cursed Cara! Cursed!"
"He is our son!" Cara slammed the door behind her as she entered the barn. Tom was pacing the hay strewn floor with his hands on his head, ignoring the unnerved horses. He would have Teraphim calm them later, right now this needed to be said.
"We must take him to the capital." he stated.
"They'll kill him!"
"They'll save him!" he surged forward to grip his wife by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. "We must seek to interrupt the course of Fate before it can begin. We stop the Journey, kill the Mentor before he can appear; I will not have my son be another puppet for the hands of time!"
"And neither will I!" Cara shoved him away. "But do you not see that what you ask is wrong? Do you really trust the Queen's word?" She saw the doubt in his eyes, and capitalised. "Her wargs would tear him to pieces-"
"Woman what you have us do!" Tom wrung his hands. They could not do nothing; without action Fate would act for them. The events would keep piling up, the story building momentum. And eventually, if they did not get out of the way, they would be... removed. Tom had never known of a Chosen One who ever spoke of their parents, once their Journey was underway. Time probably couldn't bear a Mentor having any kind of competition.
"It is idiocy to try and stop the Hands of Time." Cara began. "They move the World; nothing can halt the tick. But perhaps if our son is to be a hero... we should change stories."
Tom paused in his pacing. Looked back at her over his shoulder. For a moment, she saw hope.
"Go on."
"To overthrow the Queen would be a perilous endeavour, full of pain, suffering and death. It would take a champion of the people, a hero brave, true, and local; exactly what Time would demand from the adopted, conspicuously named son of a farmer and his wife."
"But if we left now, packed up our things and headed south for the plains..."
"The Nomads," Tom caught on immediately. "They have wandered those grasslands for generations."
"Exactly. Maybe if a hero came along, a stranger who could unite their scattered people and gather their lost relics..."
"Then perhaps he could lead them to their lost city." Tom smiled, and it was if the sun had arisen on the world once more. "The one said to contain the unimaginable wealth of a golden age long since past."
Somewhere the dragon- a wee thing, barely the size of a house cat- was practising its roars, but for once Tom was too happy to be annoyed by the grating sound. He almost pranced forward, tugging Cara into a makeshift jig of joy.
"And that's why I married you!" he exclaimed. "This could work! This could really work!"
They would leave the next day, their packages born on the backs of two oxen, three horses, and a particularly annoying baby dragon.
The old farm on the hill would lie empty for a year or two, before a wandering couple, heading south to rejoin their people, would stumble across it. They would stop for the night, and finding the place empty and full of provisions, decide to stay. They would have a beautiful little girl, who they would name Harmony, and they would ream of her growing up to be the prophesied Great Uniter, who would reforge the broken clans and reclaim the lost city. They were just pausing for a few years to raise her, they told themselves. Once she'd grown strong, then they would leave.
And when an old man appeared on their door stop, raving of dragons and ancient magics, they are entirely unprepared.
|
"No" my wife stated firmly.
"Jean, he's obviously got issues; he can't be the only one like this but my god.... he's going to get someone killed"
Our young, well, adolescent son, has recently been experiencing some terrible consequences because of my massive fuckup. I mean, how was it supposed to know he'd find that old box in the garage. He's been defending smaller kids from bullies in school, teaching them about morals... it's getting out of hand. I just wish he could be like the rest of us. We're evil, it's what we do. The world is a better place for it. The strong survive and the weak die. Simple and elegant, beautiful really. But all because of one heirloom from my father's father's father, we have a severely messed up kid. It seems as if we may have to take him in for reconditioning again. I hope this time it'll work. I've already thrown out the heirloom, I mean who the fuck is able to find a DVD player to watch it on, it's 2065 for Trumps sake. That boy will be the death of this family. It took me 45 minutes to find that damn disc hidden behind his ridiculous poster of an elf on his wall. I could barely make out the name on it, all that was left read "L--D -- T-- R-NGS"
| 2016-11-26T06:21:20 | 2016-11-26T05:42:08 | 78 | 16 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
First time ever writing a story really, but it looks fun so let's give it a shot.
"Tell me Bardham...what do you know of the history of us humans?"
The words somehow echoed through into Bardham's mind, despite the fact that he could hardly hear anything at all anymore. His species was renown for their excellent hearing, a fact that the humans were all too fond of exploiting in their use of sonic equipment. He can still remember the screams of his comrades as they fell one by one, the only thing that *could* be heard over the cacophony of noise and lights that assailed their ship. For a moment, the thought wrenches him back to a place of noise and flame.
He's snapped back into reality by the sensation of another piercing noise from his right side. This time the sound of what must be human church bells clanging in chorus. His tormentor was an odd one even amongst those in his trade.
"Now now, Bardham," the human sneered. "We're playing by my rules now. And it's rude not to answer when spoken to."
Bardham took ragged breaths, recovering the sensation in the right side of his head. He could only make out the latter half of the sentence, but Bardham knew that it didn't matter what he said. Torture was assured regardless.
"Judging by the lack of...well, anything, in your eyes I'm going to assume you have no clue what I'm talking about." He said. "I must admit I'm rather surprised an officer like you is so ill-read. Oh well, I suppose it falls to me to...enlighten you."
For the first time since Bardham had been tied to this chair (a human one, rather uncomfortable for a triped being) the small, dark room around him began to shift. The walls became covered in pictures of human history, the music of an Earth composer drifted throughout the room. The human, properly illuminated for the first time, looked positively plain. He could've easily been one of the hundreds of diplomats that Bardham had seen walking through the Great Halls.
"I'm something of a history buff," the human smugly stated. "This is the side of us that creates and builds. The beauty of our art, the melodic constructs of our music, and we've always been this way. But there's something else..."
The walls began to shift, though the music remained. Soon he saw depictions of humanity that resembled more of what Bardham had become to know. He saw thousands of soldiers walking in tandem, he saw cities burning, he saw cruelties which transcended the boundaries of species.
The human turned to Bardham and flashed a sadistic smile. "This...is the side of humanity which we tried oh-so-carefully to conceal." the human spoke in a fervent tone. "We've massacred so many of our own. We've divided our world into east and west, wrought horrors which would make what you've experienced seem like a walk in the park."
The images on the walls shifted once more. This time, the image of a mushroom cloud on every wall. Bardham had seen these before, and in a moment of lucidity spoke for the first time. "Nuclear...detonations? That's impossible even for you filthy humans. Not a single civilization that used such things survived long enough for us to find them. They all killed themselves in the nuclear fire."
The human clapped his hands together, and an all-too-pleased look came to his face. Bardham knew he had made a mistake. This time it was the sound of what may have been the inner workings of a human spacecraft, soft plasma hums turned to roars that pain through his left side. Bardham leaned forward, screaming in agony.
As the pain subsided Bardham sat up once more, and he faintly hear the laughter of his torturer. The man was clearly enjoying himself.
"Oh we tried very, *very* hard to hide that little fact I assure you. The use of nuclear for anything but energy is distinctly outlawed even by the Consortium. The truth is that we had put such things behind us. We genuinely wanted to move on from the failings of our past." the human mumbled. He turned his back to Bardham, the his shadow layered above the holographic cloud. "Trying times, for men like me. Hard to find work for someone of my skillset. War made us *strong* once, Bardham. Any historian will tell you our greatest advancements were born on humanities battlefields."
Bardham thought back to the humans he had seen. They always seemed so...meek. Fragile. They could not run as fast as Tartarians, they were not as strong as Meolians, and they were definitely less intelligent than the floating Ourns. Even his own species was superior in terms of natural healing ability and hearing. But despite that humans found a place in the Consortium as lawyers and diplomats. Professions which valued the pen over the sword.
The walls began to dim, the cloud fading from the walls. As the room returned to normal, the human turned to Bardham once more.
"It was you," the human chuckled. "When your race saw fit to challenge our position in the Consortium. When you began to claim our lands and oust us from the only galactic community we knew, when the food began to run low, when we realized that words were still, even for as far as we had come, not enough."
Now, the walls cut to visions of the war he had known. He saw scores of his brethren brought low by weapons as effective as they were cruel. He saw humans marching in the thousands, not just to battlefields, but to factories and labs. The entire wrath of a species, shown through the lenses of four tiny walls.
"One last question for you, Bardham. Do you know what the first human space carrier was? The one that brought us from our home into the great beyond, the one that laid the groundwork for all that has happened? The culmination of an entire species technology and will?"
Bardham sat silent. He didn't know the answer, but he realized it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He was against a foe that would throw itself into the very depths of the underworld to give the devil a black eye. His species weren't prepared for a foe like that, and the only thing that would save them now was to try and come to a desperate plea for peace. He would have to tell them what he knew, or else there would be no more hope for salvation.
"It was a battleship, Bardham. The Ares. Our god of war."
|
Obligatory first post, and really first attempt at writting anything beyond business reports since school more than a decade ago. Plus I'm on mobile. Constructive criticism always welcomed.
_____
They were first recognized by the universal tribunal 300 years ago. In that time they've done little more than barter and travel to mostly empty planets dropping off a handful of their people to mine and "research".
How they are the dominant species on such a biodiverse planet is a mystery we've all pondered. Hell they don't even have the anatomy to even sense the full spectrum of light and energy available on their planet. They have only five senses and they are all tied to their physical anatomy. They don't have telekenisis or the ability to share thoughts directly.
It has frankly been offensive to have to treat them as equals. They are weak, of both mind and body. Taking insults with a smile. Weaklings. Always offering to help with their ever present politeness. Makes the acid drip from my eyes just thinking about it.
We on the other hands, have been the dominant species on the tribunal for several millenia. We take what we want and can defeat all the others in ritual combat. So when we discovered that their solar system was rich in dark matter we jumped at the chance to take over.
We started on the farthest reaches of their system. The first few skirmishes went as expected but as we closed in on their homeplanet we got some ristence. No matter we've gone silent for sometime now. About 20 rotations of their system. They will have forgotten about us by now. They have not given any indications at the tribunal meetings that they know who attacked them. They've just offered furthering diplomatic relations and pleading for the tribunal to act on their behalf. Cowards. Weaklings.
Today though, today we shall remind them of our presence. Today we will destroy their home planets. We've been biding our time just outside the system's 10th planet's orbit, they don't even know we're here. They will soon enough. I sent the message to our fleet. It should only be a matter of minutes for this to be all over. It will be satisfying to wipe these, these primitives off the face of the universe.
Minister, we've received word from the humans. They claim to have come under attack from the Aether Luminites. They claim they had no choice but to act in self defense. They claim they have eradicated them from existence. We dispatched several messeges to Aether Lumineh but have received no word from the government centers. In fact there are no signals from there or any of the other Luminite worlds. Only silence.
Murak had stopped listening to his aide. "What have I done?" he thought. "Sir? Minister are you alright?" The aide was asking. Just then another transmission from the humans. "When we discovered you, we allowed your existence for the sake of research and knowledge. We came to you in peace and were rebuffed and insulted. Called weak and insignificant and finally attacked. Now you'll know our true nature. We are unrelenting. We are uncontionable. We are unkind. We are undying. We are at war. "
Murak was unaware he had crossed the eternal veil just as he finished hearing the message.
| 2019-11-24T16:37:08 | 2019-11-24T14:40:25 | 85 | 49 |
[WP] in traditional “willyoupressthebutton” fashion, there is a consequence to any benefit you would receive. One morning you receive super powers out of the blue, later realizing that your dad pressed a button that grants him and the person he hates most in the world extraordinary powers.
|
"It was never supposed to be like this."
His words cut into the night, shattering the silence that had forced its way between us. I leveled my gaze with him across the yard, the lights of our small home illuminating his silhouette. Shadows crawled across our back garden, the dead and dying plants hidden in their depths. The air was still, and the wind was crisp against my bare arms.
I could barely make his features out in the darkness; just some movement at his jaw as he spoke again.
"I never meant to--"
"You never meant to what, Dad?" I snapped, my hands curled into fists. "Never meant to become one of the most powerful people in the world? Or never meant for me to find out that you hate me?"
His figure stilled, and I took a step forward.
"I was there. I heard the agreements. Our house is small, Dad, it's not like I wouldn't have heard. You had to have known."
"I didn't know. I thought you were asleep--"
"If you knew me *at all* you would remember I can't sleep, Dad. If you ever even cared about me--and it's clear now you didn't--" I flinched at my voice cracking. I wanted to sound strong. As strong as I was now, with what my father's hatred for me had granted. But I couldn't. All the power in the world couldn't make me strong enough for this conversation. "--you didn't *love* me, Dad! You've never loved me!"
"That's not true!"
He stepped forward; I stepped back.
"It is true, Dad, it is--you don't have to lie anymore." Flames tingled at my knuckles, and sparks showered from my hands like hot tears. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be *born."*
"I know, believe me, I know--"
I forced a laugh; it boomed with a crack across the yard, echoing into the empty sky above us like thunder. I watched my dad flinch; saw a glimmer of light shine protectively over him, as if anticipating my attack.
Maybe I wanted to hurt him. The way he hurt me. The idea caused a surge of heat to crawl down my back, and blades of fire erupted from my curled fists like daggers. This power was still new to me, and I had no idea how much I could do. But with every physical sensation, with every response my body supplied to me, I felt a little more in control. A little more like myself.
"I never wanted this," he said, taking another step towards me. I held my ground. "I'm not going to fight you. You're my child."
"That's never been reason enough before," I bit back. "Me being your child has never been enough for you to care to get up in the morning. To make me breakfast. Make sure I get to school. To buy me clothes, or feed me. No--I had to raise *myself.* So why stop now? Why *not* fight the...the..." A sob betrayed my true feelings. "'The person you hate most in the world'?"
We were both still, staring at each other through the darkness. The lights dancing at my hands were just enough to illuminate the shine of his eyes; the eyes we shared.
He was my only family. My only family betrayed me.
An anguished cry slipped through my lips and the heat rolled over me again, a wave of flame burning through me and charring the ground at my feet. With this small burst, I saw his features more clearly; his set jaw, his crinkled forehead, his unkempt hair.
He looked exhausted. Like he had finally, truly given up. But that would imply he had actually been *trying* at all these last few years.
Suddenly, it was as though a giant fist closed around me; the flames snuffed out as I was forced to release my control on them. His hand was out, feet from me, yet somehow seizing me with great strength. A pressure squeezed my body; I felt the tightness across my torso, and chest--in my lungs.
"Dad--!" The word came out strangled. "Stop--!"
"You killed her," he said simply, and with my fire gone, he was back to being a black shadow. "You killed my wife."
I let out a cry as he squeezed harder. My shoulder turned in hard; I could swear I heard a rib crack. I was breathing in rasps now.
*You killed her,* he said again, although this time his voice, his face, filled my head. A sharp pain rocketed across the back of my skull. My eyes rolled back in pain, a wheeze leaving my lips.
*If you had never been born, she would still be alive.*
Memories of the woman I had never known flashed across my vision; long blonde hair, bright green eyes. A bright silhouette against fluttering white curtains; a glimpse of a smile on strawberry lips; the sound of a tinkling laugh.
It was the most I had ever seen of her. Even as my father crushed me with his powers, my brain soaked up the memories with hungry fervor. He never showed me pictures, never once spoke her name.
I heard it now: *Diane.*
It took all of my focus to send my internal voice back to him. *Diane wouldn't want to see her husband kill the child she died for. She died for me, Dad. She died so that I could live.*
More flashes of my dad's memories as the night seemed to blacken further: Him by her side as she gave one last push; my shrill, infant cry; the monitors going haywire; the frantic beeping followed by one long, grave tone.
Something broke; air rushed into my lungs and I collapsed to my knees, heaving. I still felt his presence so nearby; nearly close enough to touch physically. I risked a glance up, saw his head bent forward, his shoulders heaving.
Without a moment's hesitation, I spread a hand before me and slammed it to the earth. As though a puppet on strings, my father fell to my will, sprawling to the ground without grace or dignity.
I forced myself to my feet, the tendons in my hand trembling as I kept my grip on him, the weeping man at my feet.
"In all my life, you never once told me you loved me," I whispered, knowing my voice would reach him. "You treated me like I was *nothing.* Worse than nothing. You treated me like I was some kind of murderer. I didn't choose to be *born.* YOU did. YOU brought me here. And now you made me into this."
*This.* You made me into this hurt, drowning, broken being. You turned me into this emotionally damaged, forever-untrusting person. You turned me into a superfreak with superpowers. This was where the list of what you gave me ends.
"I could never love you."
I didn't know if he said the words verbally or if he thought them. Before he could say more, I reacted instinctively, crushing my hand into a fist, my nails biting into my skin. His body crumbled before me in a symphony of cracks and snaps, and just like that, it was done.
Tears welled in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. The fire within me grew and spread, and alighted beneath the figure that was once my father--by blood and nothing more. As his corpse burned, I swiped my tears away. I let the darkness flood me, fill me with something other than self-loathing and dread. I let the fire cleanse my soul; let it destroy the person that destroyed me. Let it reach into my very soul, allowing it to burn, so that something new might take its place. The darkness and the flames danced in my chest, in my heart, in my vision.
I snarled:
"It was never supposed to be like this.”
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that, feel free to check out r/HAltBooks for more future content, NaNoWriMo developments, and more!
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For as long as I can remember, there has been a big red button in the center of the living room. It stands about waist high and sort of blocks the television when sitting down on the couch. We can’t move it, so my entire family has just accepted there is a giant red button in our house that we must never push.
The reason is simple - all buttons have consequences. This particular big red button gives whoever presses it the superpower of their choice. Sounds super. But to maintain balance, it also gives the person you hate the most the same power. Yikes, plus then they would know that you hate them most in the world.
I didn’t give this much thought growing up. My Mom covered the very tempting button in the same glass used for emergency fire alarms so me or my sister wouldn’t press it accidentally (or not accidentally, buttons are so tempting). The last person I expected to press the button was Dad.
It was pretty clear that Dad was the one who pressed it seeing as I was levitating this morning instead of, you know, on the mattress. I had a minor freak out as I tried to figure out how to get down. Once I finally crashed down to my bed, I raced down to the living room to see the button glowing red in its shattered glass case. I turn to look for the person who pressed the button and find my Dad in the corner of the room, on the ceiling, perched like a spider waiting for a stupid fly to get stuck in her web.
“I thought it would be you,” Dad’s voice sounds nothing like it’s usual self. There is no humor, no sarcastic joke to him anymore. “It was either going to be you or your sister. Guess it makes sense that it’s you. My first kid.”
“Dad, why do you hate me?” I plead with him. He doesn’t seem to hear me.
“My biggest regret. I never wanted to be a father. Yet here I am, living years with my own spawn. Two of them! Reminding me of everything I will never accomplish myself.” He laughs then, but it is a hysterical laugh. The kind of laughed I only associate with madness.
How long has Dad been repressing this side of himself. He had always played his role of a loving Dad so well. I had believed him and loved him back.
I try to understand. “Dad, why did you press the button?”
“I couldn’t take it anymore. Living with teenagers. Reminding me I had to give up on my dream to financially support. No longer.” He smiles to himself in a self-satisfied way.
Finally, he meets my eyes. “Hey, kid. I’m going to pick up some milk from the store. I should be back in an hour.”
Then he kicked off the ceiling, knocking me to the ground as he made his exit. I didn’t go after him.
I look at the clock and see it’s four in the morning. I could probably squeeze a little more sleep before school. I return to my room, but not before noticing my sister’s room is ajar. When I pass, the door opens wider and I see her, both hands clinging to the door while her legs were suspended in the air above her. Seems like I’m not the only one Dad hated the most.
“A little help, here,” she huffs. I tell her how I got down and she hugs the floor in relief. Then she looks at me with hurt and suspicion. “You didn’t press the button, did you?”
There is the underlying question of did I hate my twin sister the most in the entire world. Instead of answering immediately, I hug her.
“You are my favorite person in the entire world. Dad pressed the button. Apparently, he never wanted to have kids or his current job. He said he was going out to buy milk, but I could tell he isn’t coming back.” I tell her. I can’t cry about a father who hated me.
“At least I have powers, right?” My sister tries to lighten the mood.
This part was true. Dad was pretty unspecified in his hate of us, as a unit. It made sense that we were both the people affected by the consequence of his button.
“Dad pretty much monologued to me when I was in the living room. He’s like a crazy super villain now.” I have no idea what he needed powers so badly, especially this flying like ability.
“Every villain needs a hero or two. Balance in the universe.” My sister said with a sad smile.
“Are you asking me to team up to take down our probably evil father with the very power he gave us? Because if so, I’m in.”
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/)
| 2019-11-01T03:54:34 | 2019-10-31T22:36:15 | 938 | 465 |
[WP] As a chef, you cooked with love your entire life. You've had minor success and are frustrated and ambitious. So, you started cooking with pure unbridled hate. Your customers can taste the difference and they can't get enough of it.
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There was a lot on my mind that day. I admit that I let the frustration get to me. I was almost done for the day when the critic walked to my food truck. And not just any critic, it was that fucker. Adam Crenshaw. It had been just about 2 months ago when he had first reviewed my nifty little setup.
*Just… ordinary. I won’t recommend the place. I won’t ask you to avoid it. Honestly there’s not much to say about it. It’s just average. It’s obvious the chef knows how to cook but it all so bleh and bland and… I don’t even know what to say about this place. Don’t go out of your way out to get food here. But if you’re close and hungry, it’ll do in a pinch.*
Of course I remembered every single word of the review. Ordinary. Well fuck him. And the palette he rode on too.
I looked at his order. A ham sandwich. Extra fries. And a salad. I’ll give him fries I thought.
It had been a long day. I threw together the ingredients. With a generous helping of hot sauce. A sloppy sandwich. Ordinary a sandwich looking like that wouldn’t leave the pass anywhere I cooked but I was just about done with him.
“Connor… the fries are done.” Amy called to me. “It’s Crenshaw’s order. Let’s be careful.”
Even her soothing voice couldn’t calm me down today.
I gave him a generous helping of salt for his fries. Amy chimed in again. “Too greasy. What’re you doing?”
“Fuck Crenshaw.”
Amy looked taken aback. It was fair too. She hadn’t seen that side of me I suppose. Amy just always brought out the best out of me. Her smile. Her hair. Her faint perfume. It was all just… perfect. Like a flame. Warming everything around her and bringing out the best flavours in people.
But that day… that day was different.
The words from the review were ringing in my head. Ordinary. Here’s something extraordinary you bastard. Honestly, I was just gonna give him some hate filled food and be done with it.
I took the food to him myself. He sat on a little table reading a newspaper.
He looked at me and seemed startled. “Oh… it’s this place. Sorry I had forgotten. I remember you though! Connor. And Amy! I have a good memory. Somehow your food truck slipped my mind. But how are you doing Connor? How’s business?”
I looked at him shocked. He had forgotten he ate at my food truck. This piece of shit…
Just to the side of me a group was celebrating a birthday. A balloon popped and with it, my brain popped too.
I pretty much threw his food on the table. “Here’s your sandwich. Messy and tough to swallow. Just like you. Fries. Extra salty. Just like you. And oh… here’s your salad. Tossed, you fucking tosser.”
I threw the salad at him. “With best fuck yous from the chef.”
I gave him my widest smile and walked away.
Amy looked at me in disbelief as I walked into the truck. “Connor.. what did you…”
I closed the window. The cheery *We’re closed* on the other side.
“Fuck Crenshaw. He called us forgettable. Well he won’t forget us now. I got a bad headache. I’m gonna go home. Do you mind locking up.” I
I took my stuff and walked out, not knowing that my life was just about to change.
I woke up the next day and noticed 5 missed calls from Amy.
I dialled her number still a bit groggy. I swore to myself never to drink that much if I had to work the next day.
“Hey Amy.”
“Connor. Did you see it yet?”
“See what?”
“You went viral last night. The people who were celebrating the birthday were filming. You got caught in the background. They uploaded the video on tiktok and the internet is going crazy.”
“What the hell is tiktok?”
“Oh for goodness sake. Anyways the point being, this could be the boost we need. Get in on time today. This could be a big day for us boss.”
“Don’t call me boss… Fine fine. I’ll be there in 30 mins.”
No way was I going to be there in 30 minutes.
My head was still pounding as I pulled in. As I walked towards my food truck I was taken aback by the line that was already starting to form. We didn’t do too much business in the morning. Maybe Amy was right.
At that instance a man tapped me on my shoulder. “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be open by 11:00. It’s already 11:20.”
As I mentioned, my head was pounding, the Tylenol still not fully having taken affect. “Touch me again and I’ll cook that hand and feed it to you. Have some patience you little piece of shit.”
There was a stunned silence. And then something incredible happened. The man grinned and raised his arms. He then turned to his buddy who was filming it. “Did you get it? Did you get that?”
I saw that most people had their cameras out and pointed at me. The silence was raised by applause.
“Oh you fucking idiots.”
My headache already had me in a bad mood. Add to that, every Tom dick and Harry just wandering to the window ensured my mood didn’t improve. So, I will admit. I was a bit rude to most of the people. But to my surprise, they loved it.
Amy, on the other hand, was quieter than usual.
At the end of the day, it had been our biggest day since we opened the food truck.
“Aims! This is amazing. You were right. We continue like this and we’ll be making loads of money.”
She gave me a weak smile. “Of course boss.”
“Don’t call me boss.”
I expected the hysteria to die down in a few days but to my surprise it didn’t. The #RudeChef hashtag was trending here and there for the next few days, with even a few chefs trying to be copycat. But of course, they were no match for the original.
A local news and then the website for a national news channel picked up the story too. And that just led to our popularity skyrocketing.
We were doing more business in a day than we used to do in a week. This was it then. My success story.
Amy, however, wasn’t too happy with this.
But it wasn’t like she could overrule me. “Listen it’s what the people want. They come here expecting the rude chef. If I don’t give them that, they’ll be disappointed. And isn’t food all about giving your clients an experience they’ll never forget?”
“Is it? I feel like this is overshadowing our food.”
“Nonsense.”I brushed her off and started to walk off.
“Connor we need to discuss this seriously. Look I’m not…”
“Amy. I’m the boss here. We’re not changing anything. And that’s final.”
She texted me later that day that she quit.
|
It’s hard to love a stranger. Love is an emotion that develops and blossoms, a seed that is planted and watered by time and affection. Whirlwind romances are like bamboo shoots that spring up overnight, parental love starts with conception and grows ever stronger as you watch your child grow and interact with the world. You can be attracted to a stranger, even be enamoured by them, but you cannot love them without the roots to feed off your history together.
On the other hand, hate is sharp and tactless. A spiteful comment or thoughtless action can draw the deepest feelings to the surface in an instant. It isn’t difficult to hate a stranger, in-fact it’s effortless.
So why do chefs cook with love? If you wanted the comfort of affection then that would come from a lover, watching from behind as your partner labours over cutting board and pan stirs up much deeper emotion than ordering from a menu and waiting for a faceless skilled set of hands to prepare up the same dish. The love cooked in by a stranger is like a pre-written valentines card, it has all the hallmarks but is bland and impersonal.
Love produces endorphins, it makes us want to sink back into our chair and be enveloped by the moment. Hate generates adrenaline, the fight or flight reaction that makes us aware of our primal history. This idea came to me in a dream, I was in the kitchen at work prepping for the dinner service, my list of tasks pinned to the wall above my station. With a practiced hand I was cutting carrots into perfect discs, each 8mm in depth and separated by size. I wouldn’t want a customer to receive a raw portion if cooking all the carrot together and had to take it off the heat too early to appease the cooking time of the smaller discs. This was the kind of loving cooking I had been encouraged towards my whole career.
Whilst chopping, my attention was drawn by a small crowd gathering in the service area. I laid down my knife and peeked through the *out* door. A scattered crowd surrounded a new pristine white jacket, inside it a face fresh from school with a nervous grin going round and shaking hands one by one with the team. My blood ran hot as I turned on my heel and marched back to my station. The vacancy was barely out, my manger had *promised* an interview, and now I see they filled the position with a chef who wouldn’t be able to tell spaghetti from tagliatelle.
My prepping became erratic, portion sizes ceased to matter and I prayed that the texture would be inconsistent. A small chance for the customers to feel like I did. Passed over, neglected, I would take it as a glowing review if they asked to see the manager.
I woke up before seeing the results of my wrathful cooking, on paper I couldn’t imagine it being an enjoyable dish but something resonated deep inside me. I mulled it over with a coffee, before deciding it would be best to try it at home instead of work first. I conjured some memories I had tried hard to ignore and let them guide my hand. The experience was cathartic, like working out a knot with a deep tissue massage. As I took the first bite, my mouth was offended by the contrast in texture and flavour. The usual warm embrace of a loving meal was replacing by a standoffish confrontation, a challenge that dared me to say I wasn’t intrigued.
Presenting the meal to my coworkers was nerve wracking, I didn’t want them to think I harboured any negative feelings towards them but hoped they would share in my experience. Usually, if a chef watches a customer eat they are hoping for the classic signs of enjoyment: eyes closed, head tilted back, and a deep passionate moan of satisfaction. I observed grins, knowing looks and contention. Everyone knows the feeling of being scorned, of being passed over, it was a meal that played on our base emotions and I’d lit a fire underneath our kitchen.
| 2022-07-21T23:26:11 | 2022-07-21T22:58:10 | 86 | 13 |
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like?
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Bruce Wayne stood stoically, looking down upon Gotham through the spotless glass of the top-floor conference room. It was a stunning view, with the orange light of the setting sun trickling through the skyscrapers that sprawled out towards the horizon. Diana closed the notebook in front of her, its well-worn spine crackling softly as she did.
Everyone in the room was silent. The looks on their faces a mix of disbelief and uncertainty. Hal was absentmindedly tapping his finger on the desk, a rapid rhythm that annoyed Diana far more than it should have. She caught his eye and looked down at his hand. His eyes moved with hers to the curled digit and he took notice of the movement. He stopped immediately and offered her an apologetic look. She nodded and turned again to look at Bruce's back.
"How long has this been going on, Diana?" Bruce asked.
"I'm not sure, Mr. Wayne. A few months at least, since he fought those other aliens from his home planet. The stories he's come up with are amazingly detailed, I'll give him that. However, they're, well-"
"Crazy," quipped Barry. "I mean, I've got super speed and Hal has a magic ring and you've got an invisible jet? It's silly."
"So what is it exactly I even do?" asked John.
Diana turned to face him and gave him a tight smile,"Well, you...you are a Martian and...well it's kind of all over the place. Your powers aren't really consistent from story to story."
"I'm...a Martian."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded his bald head slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "I see."
"At least you don't live in the ocean and talk to fish," added Arthur. "I mean, is there a worse one than that?"
Diana smiled, "Well you do have that swimmer's physique, Arthur."
He returned the smile and was about to speak up again when Bruce interjected.
"I'm the only one without super powers?"
Diana shifted in her chair. Bruce would go entire board meetings without speaking sometimes. Bring the President of Wayne Industries had its perks.
"Yes, Mr. Wayne, but you do have an elaborate cave full of very interesting devices-"
"But I'm a giant, flying rodent."
Diana stifled a laugh, "Well, sir. You're Batman."
"I'm Batman," he repeated in flat, monotone voice.
Hal and Barry exchanged smirks. The room fell into silence once again.
"It seems to me," Bruce finally said, "That this Batman is a protector of Gotham. I doubt he would stand for the kind of destruction that Superman brought to Metropolis when those aliens attacked."
Diana wasn't sure what to say so she flipped open the notebook again and slowly turned the pages to see if anything in them agreed with Bruce's point.
"I'd say this Batman would use his resources to stand up to Superman and tell him that his super powers must be controlled to keep the citizens of this city safe."
He turned to face them as the final light of the day's sun fell past the horizon and threw dark shadows across the cavernous room.
"I think we take inspiration from this notebook and see if we can bring this alien madman around to reality. Perhaps its time for Superman and Batman to face off. For real."
The rest of the room exchanged short glances. Hal spoke up.
"Mr. Wayne, you can't be serious. That guy would rip you apart if you tried some Superman versus Batman mega-fight."
"Batman versus Superman sounds better," Barry said with a wide grin. Bruce gave Barry a look that wiped his face clean in an instant.
Looking back to Diana, Bruce seemed to grow another inch as he took in a deep breath and puffed out his chest, "Get me anything and everything you can on that alien technology. Hal, call Lexcorp. We'll work together on this. If this alien has super powers and he's mentally unstable, we have to act now."
Diana scribbled notes onto her tablet. As the COO, she felt it was her duty to ask the question which hung on everyone else's lips.
"Sir, are you planning to do something yourself?"
"I have to Diana," Bruce said as he turned back to the window and watched the stars in the sky steadily brighten.
"I'm Batman."
|
The elevator was silent. Five bodies, three cups of coffee and two folder news papers rode upwards at a slow pace.
Lois Lane let out a half sob. Two hands, one from either side, reached out to offer what comfort they could in the confines of the small metal box. Words were dangerous here where his ears might hear.
The elevator came to stop, chimed and the doors slid open. As if part of some elaborate clockwork or dance the others shuffled out, giving her time to touch up her make up.
Jenson from accounting risked a comment under his breath as he passed, "You're a true hero."
With a deep breath and squared shoulders she stepped off the elevator to start another day. The threats were real, both from outside and within and though some were born with power to shoulder that responsibility others had only the duty to bear what burdens they could. Hers perhaps was the greatest. She tried to convince herself daily that giving up her life in this way was saving so many others.
Some days though, it got to her.
| 2016-03-04T11:05:17 | 2016-03-04T09:37:54 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work.
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"Hey," said Excellar, or Antony when he wasn't wearing the suit.
I looked up from my work to see him standing in the doorway with a dark look on his face. "Hey, Tony. What's up?" I looked him over and knew, as always, thirteen things I could say that would make him start weeping like the child that, at our hearts, we all are. However, I was surprised when I noticed a fourteenth. I almost said it as I realised it, but managed to turn it into a cough.
He all but glared at me. The fourteenth thing hung in the space between us, his impotent rage at what our relationship had become. He hated me for having power over him. He hated himself for hating me. He hated that he needed me. He hated that, despite what my ability let me do to people, I was essentially, and by his own standards, a better person than him. "We need you."
I took a deep breath and stood up. "Who is it this time?"
"Thanator," he said, no longer willing to meet my steady gaze, "I'll be waiting with Aegith in the 'thopter." He turned and walked away.
I sighed. I knew thirteen, no fourteen, ways to break the man, but I had no idea what to say to get him to forgive me for my existence. I went to the rack on the wall and put on my 'super suit,' a set of light, almost decorative armor, and a full head mask, to protect me from the mundane threat of being revealed as the man behind the mask of The Shadow. Before you comment, I didn't pick the name. It was one the newspapers had come up with after I had been seen at a previous battle.
I climbed into the Stryx's ornithopter and strapped myself in in silence. Aegith and Excellor didn't even look at me. We flew in silence, only the sound of the engines until we got closer to the battle site. It was visible as a tower of smoke well before we grew close.
An alarm sounded. Antony hit a button. "Mchana, could you...?" Aegith put a hand onto the panel next to her and a blue glow flowed out from her hand. It swept smoothly across the 'thopter and a moment later there was the muffled sound of two explosions hitting the outside of the barrier.
It was exactly the sort of moment where, if I weren't there, they'd have made one of their witty one-liners. Instead, there was only a heavy silence. I looked once at each of them and then closed my eyes to try and psych myself up for what was to come. I could push it away for a while but when we got there, I'd have to do something I hated.
We landed and stepped outside. Excellar led us down the ramp and over blasted ground to where Thanator stood. He was so absorbed in his gloating that he didn't even notice us until we were practically in spitting distance. When he did, he turned around with a smile, anticipating new victims, but the smile faded as he saw me. I sagged a little inside. *All smiles die that look upon me.*
He started backpedalling. "No, no, no, no, no. Shut him up!" screamed Thanator, "Pins, don't let him talk to me."
Pins, a jester in motley who seemed to idolize Thanator for some reason, pranced forward and swung a club at my head. Aegith's hand on my back turned cold and my world went quiet and blue as her shield covered me, protecting me from the attack, and then returned to normal so I could speak. It was a dangerous game we played but I could not speak from within the shield.
"Butterscotch," I said, and Pins stopped in mid-giggle. He stared at me for an eternal moment and I saw something inside him break, even more than it already had been. His eyes stared into me and I felt his anguish, a silent scream wondering why I could be so cruel. He crumpled into the dust. I made it one step before his muffled sob broke my will to fight. They weren't evil, just a bit broken, and I was only breaking them more.
"Brakash! Petimor! Somebody..." said Thanator. He looked around and then picked up the comatose body of Nightingale, Melody to those who knew her, and held her out like a shield.
I looked at her and knew almost 300 things I could say to destroy her if she had been awake. Seeing her treated so cruelly almost broke me instead. She was so beautiful and broken. Behind her head I saw the glow of one of his death beams charging.
"Please," I said, "Don't hurt her."
Thanator paused and then smiled. "You leave, and I won't."
My ability changed register and I frowned. He would. He was too broken to let her live. "I leave, and I know you will."
He took another step back as though I had hit him physically. It was a light blow compared to what I could do. "Shut up! Stay out of my head, freak." The old insult stung against old scars.
"It won't help," I said, sending him back another step, "Killing her won't help. Killing me won't help. You could kill every living creature on this planet and it won't make the pain go away." His face contorted. I looked into his eyes and felt his pain, the stranglehold his past held on him.
"There's only one way to make the pain go away."
His face twisted even further.
"And there's only one person who can do it."
He shook. "Please, no."
"You know it's true," I said, stepping forward. I went to him, passing Melody, trying not to think of what he might do to her, and held my arms out. He didn't resist. I hugged him.
After a long silence, he dropped Melody to the ground, turning the now fully charged death beam, ever so slowly. It moved downward, toward me, and then upward toward the side of his own head. "Thank you." He fired.
Edit: mistyped spellings
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"Doc, we need your help!" Said Corporal Paine through his handy dandy communicator. "The Dreamcatcher has us on the retreat! Our numbers are dwindling! Hurry!"
"I'm afraid our time's up, Serena." said the Doctor, trying to hyde his earpiece.
"Already? I could have sworn it had only been 30 minutes." The patient replied.
"Time flies when you're having breakthroughs." The Doctor said. "Just think about what we talked about today, and remember the story of the Rabbit and the Snake"
"Thank you, Doctor. I will." Said Serana, heading towards the door. "Next week, same time?" He asked. She nodded with a smile. "See you then. Goodbye, Dr. Jekyll!"
Meanwhile Corporal Paine and his cohorts had been backed into a corner when suddenly, a Cadillac nonchalantly pulled up in front of the giant spider mech. The door opened, and out stepped a man in his late 50s, cane in hand, with a sickle attached to the top, tuxedo, top hat, and round goggles.
"Dr. Jekyll! What a pleasure!" Said the Dreamcatcher. "For you, I'm sure." said the vessel. "But I am not Dr. Jekyll...not today."
"Well whoever you are, you'd best step aside before my Arachnomech crushes *you*!"
The Vessel, now known as Mr. Hyde, took a deep breathe. "Look Stumpy, I had to cancel and appointment because your limp dick decided to cry because it's too small. So let's not waste anymore of my precious time. I get you're mad because your mother was a tyrannical bitch, and your father was persona non grata by his own choice. But, let's not blame *them* for *your* insecurities and failures, and let's not take it out on the whole fucking world because *you're* a cuntfuck, alright?"
The Dreamcatcher screamed in rage, and commanded his monstrosity to crush The Vessel. He rolled out of the way, and threw a handful of EMPs at the creature, which exploded on impact, "killing" the Arachnomech. Hyde hopped up on the fallen mechademon and broke the glass dome with his scythe. The cowering Dreamcatcher was lifted by his neck, and tossed 25 feet from the droid to the ground.
"Doctor! Enough!" Yelled The Corporal. Hyde jumps down, slicing the side of the mech with his scythe, slowing his decent to a comfortable speed, whilst unleashing an uncomfortable screech from splitting the steel. "The Doc ain't in today, Paine." Hyde replied as his feet hit the ground. "You asked for The Doc, but *I* get shit done." He takes a sip of his canteen that's been around his waist. "I thought you quit." Paine remarked. "I'll quit when you shtop beig so fuckin useless." Slurred Hyde. "Thank God your car is self-driving." Sighed Paine, his hand on Hyde's shoulder, walking him back to his car, as he rambled about his magic potion. "See you at home, Dad." Said Paine, finally. "I love you."
| 2020-02-25T16:08:43 | 2020-02-25T16:06:39 | 78 | 21 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
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"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS."
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"Alright, so you're telling me that if I beat you at ANY game I can go back for another 10 years?!" said the man.
"Yes." said Death. "Any game of your choosing. Cheating is all-"
"Yeah, yeah. Cheating yadda yadda. I heard it the first time." the man snapped.
Death furled what the man assumed to be his brow at the man cutting him off.
Death sat there in silence, motionless. Just waiting for the man in front of him to pick his game.
The man started, "You know, I've play SO many games in my life. So many that I can't even remember what the stories were about anymore, they all just seem to run together."
Death looked on in horror as the man's name started to make more sense.
"I'm guessing you're starting to recognize me at this point, just like it says on the paper you read my name off of-" said the man.
"...I'm Gary fucking Gygax."
Edit: I never really do any prompts. I just thought this sounded fun. Critique if you want. I won't mind it!
| 2018-03-07T08:25:24 | 2018-03-07T06:04:24 | 192 | 97 |
[WP]: The most sought woman in the town has announced that she will marry whoever can open her door with the key around her cats neck. Many have tried to catch, trap and hunt down the cat, who always escapes. You are the first to figure out they've all been doing this all wrong.
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There was anger in Elle’s face as her dad announced her dowry offer in the middle of the town’s hundred year anniversary celebration. She stomped away angrily finding me in the crowd. She grasped my hand and pulled me away quickly from the party. We hurried away to a quiet spot outside of town and plopped down. Her hand squeezed mine tightly.
“Can you believe it?” She demanded. “like I’m property to be bought and sold?! That I wouldn’t have my own dreams and goals in life. It’s disgusting.”
I sighed and looked wistfully at the road that led away from town. My heart felt like breaking. “My parent’s only hope for me is to find a husband that owns land.” I noticed how nice and new her dress was compared to my tattered dress. Her dowry was high. There would be a lot of interested parties.
“What would you want to do, Trista? If you can do anything?” She asked.
“I want to go to Stockton and sing. There was a traveling troupe that came through years ago. They asked me to join but I was too scared to leave. I wish I had went.” I confessed a secret that had haunted me for years. A couple tears slipped down my face. I avoided her gaze.
Elle was surprised. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you say anything?”
I shrugged unable to form words.
“What do you think I should do?” She bit her lip anxiously.
Focusing on someone else’s problem, quieted my thoughts. “Think about all those fairy tales we read growing up. A lot of those deal with marriage and obstacles and stuff like that. It might get rid of the men who are clearly interested in your money.”
A wide eyed smile appeared on Elle’s face. An almost evil smile. Another reason why the dowry was so high. Her dad was worried no one would marry her based on her personality. We tended to get into trouble though we were pretty good about covering our tracks.
The next day was the announcement of Elle’s. Open the door using the key around her cat, Thistle’s neck. I choked on my breakfast when my mother relayed that. We had often joked that her cat was part dragon or something the way it would appear and disappear unexpectedly. Her cat also hated men. Her dad kicked it once and Thistle since then hissed at every male.
The first week, the men around town had traps and piles of fish around. The streets were cluttered. Elle looked pleased with the results. Her father was angry. I stayed silent on the issue. The first month was amusing though. Elle was going to be a town legend. By month 6, only the truly persistent continued. Thistle seemed to enjoy bringing misery on the suitors. One evening, Thistle climbed into my bedroom though the window. She crawled into my bed. She purred so loudly as I stroked her fur. I softly sang her a lullaby and she fell asleep. Carefully, I nestled her in my arms to bring back to Elle.
Walking through the dark, I ducked around the traps around town. I snuck into Elle’s room. I knew the house. I didn’t need a key. I moved the cat to her bed. Elle woke up.
“What are you doing?” She asked groggily.
“Returning Thistle. I didn’t think you would be so cruel to her by doing this.” I reprimanded her.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
We sat silently.
“Where would you go?” I asked. “If you could go anywhere?”
“I think that I would like to go to Stockton, too.” Elle replied.
“To do what?” I asked.
“To see you sing.”
My heart pounded in my chest and I felt my face heat up. She sat up suddenly.
“Let’s go to Stockton.” Her eyes lit up. She tossed her covers off of her. She grasped my hands and looked into my eyes. “Will you come with Thistle and me to Stockton?”
Breathlessly, I whispered, “Yes.”
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A song for you
My dear sweet prize
A life chasing love finds
A bad man's demise
Much as your cat
Your beauty is beyond men
Why chase, why hunt
Let's just be friends
A shame to capture
A thing so pure
Let it run free
But leave an open door
Love, of course,
Will find a way,
Oh look! Your cat!
See, what did I say?
Perhaps, my dear,
We could take things slow
I need to leave and wash
The fishy smell from my clothes
Chase what you want
And if Cupid's arrow won't land
Two birds in the bush
Is worth a fish in the hand
| 2019-05-01T18:07:25 | 2019-05-01T16:58:32 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] Humanity has always thought itself very smart for figuring out how to ride a giant explosion into space. Turns out there's a much easier way and the rest of the galaxy thinks we're insane.
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The Confederacy Monitor Probe is a marvel of technology. Deployed in every system with even a potential for sustaining life, it watches for any sign of spacefaring technology. With sensors capable of detecting the smallest objects leaving the atmosphere of any planet or moon in an entire system while remaining undetectable to even the most advanced scanners, the probes wait, often for millenia, until they have something to report.
“Captain, one of our probes is reporting an object was placed in a stable orbit around the primary planet.”
“Very well. Add the system to our patrol route for the next sweep,” replied the Captain, trying to keep the overwhelming boredom out of his voice. It wouldn’t do for the crew to know that even their commander hated these scout patrols.
Every Captain in the Confederacy had to do their time on the patrol routes, leaving behind everything they know for what usually amounted to most of their professional life. That was simply the price one had to pay to command a warship, though the cost was worth it to be the highest tier of society.
Thirty rotations later, the warship arrived in the system the probe had reported from.
The Captain began the standard procedure, “Sensors, report.”
“Captain, only one planet has signs of life. The third planet, which is the same planet the object is orbiting. There is a large amount of radio traffic from the planet. The dominant species has spread across the vast majority of the land, focused primarily at the coasts. All standard readings for a species that just figured out how to get off the planet’s surface, sir.”
“Very well, Sensors,” the Captain responded as he thought about the most efficient way to be done with this system and continue the patrol, “Native Analysis, standard analysis of radio traffic, I’ll be in my stateroom when the report is complete. Weapons Officer, you have the bridge.” With that, the Captain moved to his personal quarters. He knew there would be nothing to do while the analysis was being conducted, so he might as well spend the time beginning the write up he would need to send back to High Command. Even a completely standard encounter like this would take some time to report, so the Captain set to it.
Just as the Captain was finishing the first section of the report, he heard an urgent knock, “Enter.”
“Captain, the orbital object was put into flight with chemical propulsion.”
“Of course it was,” the Captain said under his breath. “Inform Native Analysis to upgrade the standard analysis to a deep analysis. No need to worry just yet, son. We don’t know how widely they rely on explosives. Just stay calm and we’ll handle whatever the analysis reveals.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” the messenger replied out of reflex before backing out of the Captain’s quarters.
The Captain maintained his composure until he was sure the messenger had left, then fell into his chair, thinking about the situation. No single factor was a clearer sign of a species’ inherent aggression than the use of chemical propulsion. The more pervasive it’s use, the more hostile the species. Luckily, it wasn’t a problem for galactic civilizations, because the overly aggressive species always killed themselves off before they spread enough to matter. It still meant a lot more paperwork and significantly more time gathering data.
As the cycles passed, the picture kept getting worse. This species relied on controlled explosions to move everything. Their ground transport, sea transport, air transport, both for cargo and individuals, all sitting within blast radius of combustibles. There tools of war, powered by explosions while simultaneously using explosives to attack. It was comical how suicidal this species was. They even found a way to explode atoms for the sake of war. Every known space faring species knew how to split atoms for energy, but to weaponize it? It was absolutely amazing this planet hadn’t destroyed itself already.
The Captain sat down to finish his report, not sure how to write it. This species pushed the boundaries of belief. He chuckled to himself wondering how he could write this report in a way that made High Command believe that a species this aggressive managed to develop speech before clubbing each other to death, let alone develop a society that could support space exploration.
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*Patent 52894-14A*
Name: *Trebuchet Mark II*
Date Filed: *15th of October, 1482 (Earth Time)*
Description: *A trebuchet capable of firing a 9500 kg projectile over 300 000 meters. The projectile is accelerated in a circular motion by a lever attached to a weight. The weight is accelerated by an electromagnetic field under the catalyzing effect of a Hopper-Johnson gravity deflection prism, giving the projectile a speed of approximately 30 000 m/s at the moment of release(Note: This speed may vary with planet composition and meteorological conditions).*
Name of patent holder: *Fargo Hopper*
Disclaimer: *Not recommended for human use due to the powerful accelerations involved(Those idiots wouldn’t even understand how to use it without breaking it)!*
| 2019-01-21T08:07:46 | 2019-01-21T05:47:56 | 38 | 27 |
[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.
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It always freaked me out. Over the years I had learnt to deal with it. I always hesitated to sit with a person who was doomed to die to a contagious disease. My parents were destined to die of old age, and seeing they were in their 40's, it didn't bother me that much. I had a brother when I was 6. There was a complicated word I couldn't read. And I hadn't figured out that the floating text was the cause of death yet. Whenever I asked anyone, I was told I had a vivid imagination. Within 6 months of my brother's arrival, he passed away. The moment I saw the post mortem report, I knew it. The big word that always hovered over. It still took me an year to figure it out. My 17 year old cousin had a "cancer" COD. She was a smoker. No one in our family smoked. I decided to tell her mother of her habit. My cousin was sent to military school. The last time I saw her, she had "heart attack" hovering over her head.
We lived on a farm until the age of 14, when we decided to move to a city. In the city, there was a lot of variety in CODs. And there were a lot of people, compared to the farm. I was sent to school the first time, being home schooled until then. I never made friends with many people because of their COD. Sitting in any public place was freaky. I developed a habit of looking at people's feet while talking. There was a drug trading group (with everyone doomed to "Drug abuse") in our school, which I had called the cops upon. Some of them changed to the usual stuff while others remained the same.
At the age of 16, our grade went on a field trip to the nearby mountains. We were required to arrive at school, where the buses would ferry us. I arrived early and sat in my designated bus. The driver had the usual "Cancer" over his head. He was busy snoring away. In some time, the other students started walking in. I had memorized them all. There were many heart attacks, cancers, old age deaths. Some were of diseases that didn't even exist yet. A few were alcohol related accidents, suicides and drug abuse. A kid had a name over her head, which must be some murderer. Like I said, I was used to it.
We were about to leave, but the driver had to take a call. The bus seemed pretty normal. People talking. Laughing. Glued to their phones. Ignorance is a bliss. I plugged in my iPod, took out a book, and started reading it. Yeah. Total introvert arrangement. I rarely talked to people. It was hard knowing their cause of death.
We were about to arrive. I took out my earphones. It was the usual ruckus. But as much as I try to ignore it, I always look at the COD. It had changed. The kid next to me was labelled "asphyxiation". A few kids were labelled "Loss of blood". There was a lot of fire related deaths.
I immediately figured out something was going to happen to us. All of us. I looked outside. The other school buses were nowhere to be seen. We were heading on a path that wasn't a road. The kids didn't seem to notice. I made my way to the driver. He had bloodshot eyes. There lay an alcohol bottle in front of him. I screamed "where the heck are we going". He had a "suicide" COD. I looked out of the window. We were headed to the edge of the mountain. I immediately grabbed the steering wheel and turned it around. Our bus skidded and turned over.
Only me and the driver survived. The driver is completely paralized. I only took a few bruises. The driver's COD has returned to "Cancer". Me? I am held responsible for the deaths of all the students. I expect to be locked up in a padded room. No one will believe my side of the story.
Edit: My influence for this story is the game Life is Strange.
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They started showing themselves to me when I started high school. They were always a light shade of blue and wouldn't change. If someone was to die of a heart attack...he was to die of a heart attack. Nothing to be done about their fate. Nothing I could do, at least I thought. Those words would hang over the heads of my best friends, my significant others, and any pet I would own. It wasn't the best superpower, but at least nothing surprised me...at least, not recently. I started seeing some of the most painful, and drawn out, terminal diseases being replaced by a name. John Relain. I don't know who he is, all I know is I have to find him. If he has my power, and is acting on these diagnoses, I can't allow him to continue.
| 2015-03-31T09:00:24 | 2015-03-31T08:21:48 | 180 | 47 |
[WP] A man successfully becomes president but realizes he doesn't want to be president. So, he tries to get himself impeached by doing ridiculous things, but they end up only making his approval rates go up higher.
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Catherine Hamilton tapped her fountain pen on the document in front of her.
She was the first woman president of the United States, but she now deeply regretted the decision to run for - and win - the seat.
There were many reasons why she felt the way she did. Firstly, she'd inherited a broken country, deeply in debt. Part of her campaign platform had been to erase that debt and create more jobs for America - and she had *believed* she could do it. Blinded by idealism and the fervent belief that she could *change* things, she had boldly promised these things, staking her very *life* on her campaign promises.
At least that part was true. If she failed, then it probably wasn't worth living anymore. America was on the brink of a collapse not unlike the former USSR and one wrong move by her or the senate could bring the whole thing crumbling down like the worm-eaten edifice it was.
She also didn't want to let down all those little girls who aspired to being president one day. Feminists had buoyed her up all along the campaign, claiming what a massive victory it would be for women's rights to have a female president. Truth be told, if she went back in time and told her childhood self what she was going to inherit, she would have told little Catherine Hamilton to study hard and become a doctor or a pilot instead.
She scribbled her signature on the document and handed it to her secretary, James.
But it didn't matter how many documents she signed, she couldn't solve the unsolvable.
With a sudden, nihilistic urge, she announced a public press conference.
She had an announcement to make.
 
"...and once all the personal firearms and ammunition of US citizens have been rounded up, the weapons will be recycled into scrap metal and used to build bicycles."
The audience was floored. It took a full thirty seconds of shouting before someone finally got through a question.
"Madam president, how will you facilitate the recall of *every firearm* in the United States?"
"The US Army will be recalled from all overseas posts and will strip the country state-by-state."
The roar of outrage and confusion from the sea of reporters buffeted her at the podium, but she stood firm. If she was going to get herself impeached, she was going to do it in the most foolishly noble way possible.
"How will you prevent people from attacking the soldiers trying to take their guns away?"
"Any citizen who attacks a US soldier will be committing treason - and will be tried for their crime."
She smiled bravely and fielded questions for another half hour before she retired, exhausted.
It was only a matter of time before everyone was baying for her blood.
 
It was a year since the 'Disarmament Bill' had been signed and the United States of America were largely gun free.
With a massive downturn in gun related deaths, President Hamilton's approval ratings had soared.
With massive recycling factories setup to process the billions of firearms, unemployment was at a record low. The 'Hamilton Bicycle' produced from recycled gun parts was a colossal success worldwide - people from all round the world wanted to own one of the historic items, marking the abolition of the Second Amendment. Prices ranged into the millions for first edition models, signed by President Hamilton.
The US economy had picked up and the country was well on its way to recovering from the financial dire straits that it had been in when she took the presidency.
The problem was, she still hated the job.
She simply didn't want to be president, but she couldn't just step down. She owed it to all the young women out there to keep going - at least until she fucked up so spectacularly that she could only be blamed for being too 'radical' and too 'visionary'.
If she was going to be impeached, it wouldn't be for money laundering, tax evasion or for Oval Office sex antics.
It was time for another announcement.
 
"...thus, all churches will have their tax-free status revoked unless they meet a specific criteria that proves they operate primarily as a non-profit, charitable organisation."
She smile benevolently. This would be the final nail in her political coffin.
If the outrage at the dismissal of the Second Amendment had been a thunderstorm, then this would be a category five cyclone.
She'd done her research; over seventy percent of Americans still considered themselves Christians and regular churchgoers. If this didn't end her career, nothing would.
The questions were typical and she'd prepared her answers; no, she wasn't afraid of God's wrath, she was actually an atheist (more horror from the crowd). No, she didn't fear an armed uprising, as there were no guns left (a smug smile slipped through there).
And no, she wasn't targeting god-fearing Christians; the law applied to all religious organisations that were tax exempt - including the 'Church' of Scientology.
She stepped down from the podium.
If the religious right didn't crucify her, then the Scientologists would surely come after her.
 
America was debt free.
The tax income from churches alone had finally tipped the balance. Even desolate, poverty-ridden zones like Detroit were seeing economic upturn.
Curiously, the majority of Americans had learned to enjoy their new status and President Hamilton was being hailed as one of the greatest in history - with no doubt that she would be voted in for a second term.
Which was a problem.
She was exhausted. Burnt out. Used up.
There was simply nothing left.
Wracking her tired brains, she ran through scenarios in her head. What could possibly enrage the American people more than anything else?
What single act could simultaneously uphold her radical, liberal stance while getting her kicked out of office?
Then it hit her like a freight-train.
 
"...and so I hereby recognise the sovereignty of the British Empire and acknowledge his Majesty, King William, as the rightful ruler of America."
The silence was deafening.
She'd done it, surely they'd mob the stage and tear her limb-from-limb. Nothing said 'America' like *freedom*, surely?
One reporter shot up her hand and the president nodded.
"Madam president, does that mean US citizens can hold royal titles now?"
"Yes. If you were to marry into royalty, your title would be recognised on American soil."
The reporter made a high-pitched, wordless sound of glee,
"Oh my gosh... I can actually become a *real princess!*"
President Hamilton blinked, then stalked off the stage to the excited chattering and squealing of hundreds of women.
She should never have underestimated the adaptability - and stupidity - of her fellow Americans.
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"How?! How is that even possible, Hanna?"
"The publicity team's working at it, mister President. Everything theory we got's still just conjecture."
"Are you sure the data's right? I mean, come on, 95% approval from the entire nation sounds a bit too big."
"Well, let's go over what you've done this week."
"Oooh. Monday, I went campaigning in Texas and told everyone that the Mexicans should be able to freely immigrate. That should've pissed 'em off, right? Handed them shitty tasty tacos just to make sure!"
"You do realize that Texas has a pretty high Hispanic population, right? They loved that."
"WHAT?!"
"Yeah, I mean. Only reason they weren't blue was because those folks don't vote."
"Why wasn't I fucking told this?"
"We went over this back in July, sir."
"Fuck! Okay then, Tuesday... Remind me again what I did? I remember getting my ass drunk in Vegas then blacking out..."
"According to CNN News-"
"Fuck CNN."
"-Apparently, you slapped off a hobo who was sexually harassing some young woman. You then proceeded to break the bottle over your own head, ram into said homeless man, and later proceeded to tear off your suit sleeves and hand it to the girl, screaming 'Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!" in front of ten cameras."
"Damn, I thought I was shooting a porno with like, eight hookers. That would've explained the lack of pants in the morning."
"Thusday, sir. They were- shit, I mean. That was what you did on Thursday."
"What about Wednesday."
"You bought out a pornography business with federal funds and set them to work teaching basic sexual education in public schools."
"Okay, there is absolutely no freaking way that did not piss people off."
"That actually earned you praises from the AMA for teaching kids proper safe sexual conduct. Incredibly enough, the... less-than scrupulous business was extremely well-educated on the topic."
"Did I make you go along to watch a lesson or something? Don't remember shit from Wednesday."
"Sir, they explained the cheapest ways to acquire contraceptives, the science behind the morning-after pill, and how to properly use a condom... which, if I may note, we've been using wrong for the past six months."
"... Well, shi-"
"That aside. Friday... Joint session at Congress. Pretty incredible shit you managed to pull."
"Please tell me I at least looked like a fucking idiot that day."
"You went on and filibustered for eighteen hours sir about repealing LGBT rights, minority rights, human rights... and bringing back slavery to encourage US production."
"... Fuck it, what did the public think of that?"
"Reds thought you were, and I quoted, 'Jesus reincarnated.' While the Blues laughed it out since they thought you were pulling some satirical nonsense to bring up everyone's spirit during unemployment."
"Screw this job. Screw everyone. Screw America. What the hell is wrong with all of those people?"
"I'm just the secretary, sir. No need to get upset at me. I'm just delivering the news."
"Yeah, yeah. I know... Sorry. Damn me and my likability."
"Hey, I know what'll cheer you up. The button... What do you say, sir? No one'll get mad if some nuclear missile just accidentally went off..."
"Sure, why not? Mind getting off your knees and pressing it with me?"
"Aces, let's go. I've also wanted to see what North Korea would look like as a huge flatland."
| 2015-07-11T13:14:30 | 2015-07-11T13:05:21 | 230 | 81 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
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17 years, 364 days, 23 hours, and 56 minutes since I was born. The day is May 15th, 2007. The time is 4:40am. Despite the early hour, the whole house is lit up. My family had breakfast ready and coffee brewed by 4:30. We believe that destiny chooses your career through the summoning, and it is tradition to have a celebration for each summoning in our family. To be honest, I'm scared. What if I summon something stupid, like a deck of cards or a stapler? What kind of a career would a stapler lead me to? Would my family laugh at me? Would they still care about me? Shit. The minutes felt like hours, with my anxiety worsening with each one passing.
4:41am: I look towards my sister, Jamie, who, on her summoning day, summoned a man, Jeff, and they were married within the day. She's a housewife, and that's it. They've had 6 children in 6 years, and she is currently pregnant with the 7th. Still, they, and all of their children, were present for my early-morning birth time. I feel bad for them having to be here, but we all know that it's tradition, and my mother would disown them completely if they were to miss a family summoning.
4:42am: I look to my left to see my younger brother, Justin. He's only 5 years old; by far the youngest sibling. I think he may have been a surprise to my parents. I wondered where I would be when he is ready for his summoning. 13 years is a long way away, and, in my family, we don't make any decisions in our career until the summoning. We let destiny choose our path. So, it was just as much a mystery to me as it was to everyone else.
4:43am: There's my mother, Sharon, and my Father, Jacob, staring directly at me. They are so excited to see what I am "destined" to become. They have high hopes for me. I will be their first son to go through a summoning. It had been a while since the last party, as well. Jamie's was 7 years ago now. I feel like they were initially disappointed that she had summoned a man. It's similar to going to college for an "MRS" degree; it felt lazy. Of course, they remembered that it is not her choice. It's destiny. They welcomed Jeff with open arms into the family, and now they are blessed with 6 wonderful grandchildren. I guess if I summon a woman, it wouldn't be the worst thing. I can't help but worry though. What if she's ugly? What if she's annoying? What if she's my soulmate, but I hate her? Oh, Jesus. There's no turning back once she's here. Shit. Shit. Shit.
4:44am: The time has come. My family is raving with anticipation. As soon as the clock struck, my mother yells, "Here we go, Matt! Show us what ya got!"
I close my eyes, and as I hold my hand out, the room becomes silent. Everyone is looking around, seeing if anything began to budge, but nothing is happening. Am I doing it wrong? I concentrate harder to make something happen, but it seems useless. I'm shaking. Panicking. What if I am the one person on earth that doesn't have a summon? Am I even human? My hand is still out, just hoping for something to happen.
After a couple minutes, we hear a noise outside. A thud. Was that... a person? Would I be the second person in the family to summon a spouse? Would she be pretty? Am I even ready for marriage? Shit, it's happening so fast.
We get up and race to the door. We were right, it's a person. But... it didn't appear to be a woman. Holy shit, am I destined to be a homosexual? Not that that's wrong or anything... I'm just not ready for that! I've always been attracted to women. This couldn't be real.
I decide that I should be the one to go first. The man is laying face down on the ground. I kneel down beside him, and nudge his shoulder. He seems to be in a heavy sleep, or possibly unconscious. I keep nudging, and, finally, he starts to come to. Shit, I'm not ready for this. Am I about to look into the eyes of my male soulmate? Instead of turning around, he begins to vigorously roll back and forth. What is going on? He's rolling faster and faster, face still in the ground. "What the hell?', says my mother. Then, finally, he lifts his head up, still rolling.
It's Rick Astley.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I said. My mother slapped me, saying, "Language!"
We were all standing there, staring at Rick rolling. I know what I have to do.
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In this city, when people turn 18 they summon something that will be very important to their life. Some summon swords, or spears and others summon simple tools needed for various trades. My mother had summoned a needle which she used to sew together some of the finest pieces of clothing in all the land while my father had summoned a large jewel encrusted shield. My older brother had summoned a beautiful woman who he later married. My 18th birthday had been months ago yet what I summoned never arrived. I walked through the city trying to pretend it didn’t matter but it did. Around every corner we’re children imagining what they would summon or young adults bragging to them friends. Suddenly I felt the ground begin to shake. People yelled as the struggled to keep their balance. I slowly made my way to the wall of one of the building when a child’s yelled nearby, “look over there mamma!” The words weren’t meant for me yet I still shifted my gaze to look at where the child was pointing . A woman floated above the city, her gaze sweeping along the streets. Suddenly she disappeared only to appear seconds later inches away from my face. “You.” Her voice was as quiet as a whisper yet as loud as a scream, “you summoned me.” I couldn’t believe it. I had summoned what appeared to be a goddess. I was vaguely aware of the many eyes that watched us from a distance. The woman stretched out a hand in my direction. “Come with me.” I couldn’t tell if it was a question or if she had demanded it.
After a moment of silence I took her hand and felt the world fade away
Sorry if anything is funky. Wrote this on mobile and I’m not the best with grammar.
| 2019-09-18T09:23:25 | 2019-09-18T08:42:40 | 123 | 72 |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us.
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-Data log 43 cycles from contact-
We failed. Sentient life comes in two varieties, unintelligent muscle and the fragile mind. This fact we believed true for neigh a millennia, yet we found an exception, and in our hubris we burned that exception. We started this war, plunged their world into chaos, and they made us pay.
I was a part of the reconnaissance fleet tasked with obtaining a sample of the population. The population of the dominant species was low, a mere 7 billion, but this seemed a result of their size to us. This planet was home to a variety of life with aquatic species the size of a small orbital transport! We became hasty.
We only ran the initial lifeform scan before we began collecting samples. Not one of us stopped to consider thar the light we saw in the dark of the planet was artificial before sending the drones. We didn't expect them to resist. This was all routine work for us after all. We lost half the collection drones sent towards large human settlements, and only retrieved an extremely small sample of five thousand. We couldn't have killed more than 50 million that day, but for them that number means so much more than for us. The five thousand we captured turned violent on the trip back, and we were forced to exterminate them.
When we returned we deemed the species violent, and decided upon an extinction protocol. This was nothing new to us, this happened at a regular basis. We took a warship and a few escorts to conduct a species extermination before harvesting the organic resources. Our species moves in space at a constant speed so that we match our life cycles with those around us. While the whole process took no more than a quarter cycle, the effects of time dilation let 15 cycles pass for the citizens of the earth, or 60 of their years, and in that time they grew.
They took our technology, and they made it their own. Their creativity will never cease to amaze me. They created large metal effigies in their own likeness, piloted by one of their own. These machines could transform and combine, and were capable of deep space flight. We, a species who had never known true war, were utterly outmatched.
As soon as our fleet arrived, we were decimated. My ship was the lone vessel to escape. We carried the message that these human savages were intelligent and hell bent on our destruction. Blinded by our hubris still, our leaders deemed the species protected by an unknown intellegent lifeform, and sought a militant solution, but the humans were smarter than we ever could have imagined. They had traced us back to our fleet, discovered how we move at perpetual sub-light to keep our time in sync, and set about 'liberating' all lifeforms controlled by us.
We had the numbers advantage, but a single skilled pilot and his mech could defeat an entire fleet of our small fighters. We had to build bigger, but we couldn't. We gave them time while robbing us of our own and that cost us dearly. Their tactics far surpassed our own. Our bright fleet's full force dive, the maneuver that has always worked failed. We had the number advantage. We shouldn't have lost, but their 'guerilla' tactics decimated our formations.
Yet now we sit on the brink of peace. The humans have little taste for further revenge, yet they demand us release all subservient races and educate them as if they were our intellectual equal. The absurdity in this demand would be scoffed at, if it weren't for how the humans came to this proposal with members of 'liberated' races. Mayhap the old doctrine was wrong. Perhaps the strength of the body has nothing to do with the intelligence of the species. If anything humanity has proven to be both a giant with fearsome strength, and a cunning genius with an intellect thar likely surpasses our own.
Some of us have even gone as far as to call the humans deities, but for me, having seen them at their worst and best throughout this war... they were just a bigger fish in this pond they call the Milky Way.
- Seargent ********* VA-Day -
It's over. The war we've fought over 100 years ended today. The damn space gerbils surrendered. Some of the things these little critters make are still beyond me, but we beat em. My experimental type-0X delta frame took down more of those things than I can count, it's hard to believe this is the same frame my father piloted before me after the retrofit they gave it.
I want to hate these gerbils, I really do, they killed my dad in this war, and they killed millions to start it, but I can't do that anymore. They're a weak race, smart, but not that smart. They just developed first, and we were the first race they met that was far enough along to match em.
Now I'm just glad all this shits over. I'll miss being a pilot, but peace is for the best. I just hope we don't make the same mistake the space rats did.
-------------
This is my first time writing, well, anything. I just saw this prompt in my feed at 6am and thought it'd be fun to turn it into a mecha story, but I kinda didn't do that and wound up with this instead.
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A burly man trudged through the poorly lit alley, his figure bathed in shadow and smoke. Pulling a data pad from his coat, he holds it up to a door, comically too small for his imposing figure to enter. Only for the door to change into a vortex and for him to enter and be consumed by velvety smoke.
Captain Reed was well aware of the aliens tailing him. His recent activities have required them to take a larger interest in *acquiring* him. That’s what they call it, when they grab a human and stuff them into one of those pods.
If you’re wondering, Earth has fallen. At least, most of it. The collective governments too busy bickering with each other instead of engaging the immediate threat, the alien species which was hellbent on enslaving the human race. They’d have succeeded, if not for what was going to happen tonight.
*BANG BANG BANG!* Three shots rang out in the darkness, three slim figures dropped to the street, purple liquid leaking out of the fresh, smoking holes just forcibly punched into them. A lone figure steps out from behind a dumpster.
“That’s another one you owe me, Reed.” A voice echoed. The figure stepped into the light, revealing a woman with an ocular implant glowing a brilliant green hue, clutching a sniper rifle with a scarlet hot barrel exuding smoke twirling around her figure like a cape.
“Great shooting, Alma, this ends tonight.” Captain Reed stepped back onto the street, his smoke camouflage disengaged, revealing the face of a man who’d given *too* much. A steel jaw, wires connecting his mechanical arm to his spinal cord, an ocular implant glowing red, a black carapace running from his neck to his feet. He was more machine than man, but tonight, tonight would be the genesis of freedom.
Tonight, Reed would forcibly rip the alien hold on earth with his own, nonhuman hands.
| 2018-11-25T02:05:52 | 2018-11-24T23:59:07 | 49 | 17 |
[WP] "I WILL NOT LISTEN TO THIS ANY LONGER" "But Your Majesty, the prophe-" "You want me to send a GODDAMN TEENAGER TO FIGHT WHEN WE HAVE TRAINED SOLDIERS"
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"I assure you, Your Majesty, that the prophecy is quite clear on the matter. '*For the threat of the Dark One shall loom over all until such time as the Chosen One shall step forth and end the dreadful threat forever. Ye shall know the Chosen One by the seven signs, and the seven feats, and the sev-*'"
"YES, Yes, thank you VERY MUCH, Brother Calhart, as if I didn't have enough frustrations with the sheer stupidity of your proposal, you go and remind me why I had to learn that damned Septimal number system as a boy. A number system that is used only by your church's elders for daily business, and only by the rest of us to count the days of the week. Is the entire rest of your argument about to give me an apoplectic fit?!"
"Well, Sire, the fact of the matter is that four of the signs have identified the Chosen One, and he-"
"FOUR! Out of SEVEN! Did you not just say it needed to be Seven Signs? Well, did you?"
The cleric took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and if his left hand gripped the icon of his order in a silent prayer for patience, the king's focused gaze clearly chose to ignore the gesture. "The remaining Three Signs will be demonstrated as he faces the Trials, but as the Fourth Sign occurs only at the 77-year interlude of the Holy Comet, which passed a fortnight ago, it would be impossible for another to emerge in our lifetimes, oh wise king. And the event was witnessed, he possesses the necessary Spark, we have tested this extensively. He IS the Chosen One, Sire, and as such we must set him on the journey now so that the remaining Signs can mark him and the Trials can be met. Or do you intend to allow your loyal, trained soldiers to face the threat of the Dark One's armies and certain death at the hands of the Dark One when they find themselves unable to kill him?"
"So, you would have me hold my soldiers back, allow the Dark One the time to grow his power until it would nearly overwhelm the entire kingdom, and then trust our fate to a single, untrained adolescent male? Will you be personally keeping the lad hidden to prevent him from getting himself killed by assassins? How about keeping him from horses, lest the boy die by getting kicked in the head when he spooks his loyal steed?"
"Are you jesting, Sire?"
"Are you? Is the entirety of your Church nothing more than a generations-long running joke? Because between the stupid counting system and the insanity on that dusty old scroll I begin to think the whole thing is an absurdist satire."
"Would you prefer to send your soldiers to their certain, premature doom?" asked Brother Calhart, finally putting a bite into his words.
"And if we wait for the Dark One to amass an army of all the evil creatures he can bind, won't my soldiers die then?"
"Most will, Sire," replied the cleric. "But some will survive, and you can give your soldiers some more time while the Chosen One prepares to meet destiny. This is as the Gods will it to be."
"Well, then the gods willed it that I should stand here and try something. But very well, let us trust to the gods. I will take the army now and deal with the Dark One, because I know that should work, and you can go and do whatever else needs doing to get the Chosen One ready. And since your faith is so great and your prophecy so holy, you should be happy to realize that you'll be right, and I'll be dead. Away with you now," the king said, shooing the priest like a cat too close to the milk bowl.
"As you wish, Sire. I shall weep for the unnecessary losses," Calhart said, before offering a small bow and turning to depart the audience chamber.
After a moment, the king turned to look at his High Marshal. "Well, Hal, that was about as pleasant as a visit from my mother-in-law, and just as unproductive."
"Not quite, Your Majesty," the old soldier said. "The Revered Lady of Sommerfelt does actually know horses, and the Cavalry is all the better for her preferred method of paying her taxes."
"So, what would you do?"
"Everything you proposed should be done. We can win right now. We just can't kill the Dark One. Doesn't mean we can't capture him, throw him in the dungeons for a decade, chained up and unfed. Once the Chosen One completes the Trials, we hold one of our own. Drag the Dark One, or whatever is left, out to the public square, make a show of allowing him a chance to defend himself, pass the judgment we both know is deserved, and the Chosen One shoots the Dark One with a crossbow bolt or two to kill that blighter off for good. Maybe burn the body and scatter the ashes, just to be certain."
"Very well, best go tell the wife I'm calling the troops up and going on campaign. She'll be pissed at having to take these meetings while we're out. Send word where you need, we leave in the morning."
"At your command, Sire."
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"Okay ya know what... fuck you". I said finally tired of his shit.
"We all wipe your ass daily and you want to send everyone to die???" I continued while he was to dumbstruck to act. "Our teenagers have alot in common and since you didn't even fucking TRY diplomacy properly."
I expected the guards to strike me down swiftly for dare challenging the king. But instead the dozen honor guards just started laughing until they were almost doubled over.
"About time someone put that little shit in his place. My brother was telling that the "darklord" actually accepts their peoples union and lives no better than any of her subjects."
"A WOMAN!!! YOU ARE ALL SCARED OF A WOMAN!!!"
The king raged.
"Show some respect for your betters you whiny little shit. Its about time you grow up."The guard closest to the king smacked him in the back of his head.
"Ya know what...." The lead soldier said "who needs this asshole" as he spoke he ripped the king from his throne and flung him across the room."
"You want the job sir?" The captain asked.
"Hell no look what it did to that asshole." I said waving my hand. "Beside he didn't actually do anything anyways just made others do the work and took the credit."
"Good point." As the captain spoke another guard came forward ending a call on his cellphone.
"So called my brother and the Darklord started crying she was so happy he said. They are throwing a celebration party and we are all invited!!!"
"How did they throw that together so fast?" The captain asked?
"Turns out they have been prepared for an eternity. They were just waiting for us to figure things out."
"Sweet" said the guards in unison.
One of the younger guards spoke up "but who will guard the castle?"
"Who cares we are turning it into housing for all the people anyways."
| 2022-10-28T16:04:02 | 2022-10-28T07:51:12 | 50 | 31 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
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They told us we wouldn’t get Alzheimers.
Technically, they were right.
The ads plastered on every billboard, livestream, and website promised Ephoebus would preserve our body and brain’s critical functions. The generation young enough to take it would have the quick wits of a twenty-something combined with the wisdom of an elder. Who could refuse that?
Emily didn’t.
No matter how much we argued, no matter how many times I brought up the risks, the lack of long-term trials on the drug. That she’d be mortally dependent on it for the rest of her life. She compared me to technophobic conspiracy theorists, or the religious fundamentalists who glorified the prospect of death.
Apparently, I was jealous, controlling, afraid of death. That I wanted to be young enough to be chosen.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I resented the prospect of being left behind by the whole world, of fading into obscurity and nonexistence. But after a few months of her taking it, it didn’t matter anymore. She was hooked for life, and I had to watch myself grow old while my wife stayed as young and flawless as the day we met. My skin wrinkled, my hair started coming out, and my wife stopped looking at me the same way, no matter how many times we professed our eternal love.
Divorce was messy, painful, full of scary questions and scarier answers. So we just lived together in apathy, and let our romance decay piece by piece just as my body did.
We saw it for the first time on the news, after catching the occasional rumor from conspiracy forums and message boards.
Hou Fen, a Taiwanese immigrant and the first person to take Ephoebus, was found by the police in his house two weeks after his hundredth birthday. The bodies of his husband and daughter were in the basement, dissected and hung on meat hooks in his living room.
In recordings of police interrogations, he looked mildly bemused and nonchalant about his slaughter, stating that he was simply curious to see what their insides looked like.
He was the first Ephoebus user to make international headlines. But not the last.
It took teams of neuroscientists and psychologists a few weeks to determine the cause. The drug preserved reasoning, creativity, and memory perfectly. But not emotional range. At a certain point around people’s hundredth birthday, their minds snapped, and all empathy, love, and moral compass rotted away in a matter of weeks.
Pure sociopaths, cropping up by the millions around the globe.
Mass shootings and homicides became a near-daily occurrence on the evening news. Not just from the elderly who lost their humanity, unable to stop taking the drug without dying, but among the young as well, terrified that their aging relatives would butcher them in their sleep.
It took less than a month for the president to declare martial law, and mandate immediate registration for every citizen over the age of 98.
The sound of shouting and our front door being kicked down stirred me from my sleep. Already awake, Emily helped pull me to my feet and handed me my walking stick. We walked into our living room to the sight of a police officer training a taser on us.
“Mrs. Emily Wilson. You are to be detained by order of executive order nine-one-four-five-one, under suspicion of Ephoebus Decay!”
“Excuse me, what the fuck?” I stepped in between him and Emily, raising a hand. “What the fuck is going on?”
The officer stepped around me, training his weapon on Emily. “New emergency order. Zero-risk policy. Your wife turns one hundred in a month, which means she’s got a few weeks at best before becoming one of them. If she isn’t already.”
“And what next? You put us in a camp?” Emily clenched her teeth. “Fuck you. Constitutional rights. You want to arrest me, charge me, asshole.”
He pulled the trigger, shooting the fins from his taser into her chest.
Emily fell to the ground, twitching. He started kicking her, driving the heel of his boot into her chest again and again. She cried out in pain, whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It only seemed to heighten his rage. “Manipulative fuck. You socios can fake any emotion you want. Isn’t that right?” He kept kicking her, ignoring her screams and my shouting.
“Stop, stop it! We’ll come quietly! Stop!” The tension in my shoulders reached a breaking point. I heard a rushing in my ears, felt my body move almost unconsciously, and a thud of impact on my hand.
I blinked. A kitchen knife was in my hand, plunged into the side of his neck. The officer turned to look at me, almost stunned that an old man was capable of such a feat. Then the blood poured from the wound and he dropped to the floor, gurgling.
I pulled the taser fins out of Emily, and cradled her as she sobbed into my arms. We sat together on the floor, frozen in shock, unable to process what had just transpired for I don’t know how long. As my breathing steadied, and I felt my heart rate slow, I gazed around the room, staring at the body of the dead cop on our living room floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the stabs of pain from my back. “Come on, Emily. Get up.” I offered my hand, helping her pull herself upright, and inhaled. “I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But we’re going to find a cure.
Whatever it takes, I'm going to keep you from breaking.”
I grasped her hands, kissing her on the cheek. “Grab what you can carry.”
We left the house in our car, driving for the border, fleeing the sound of sirens.
|
They met when he was thirty-four, and she was still seventeen -only with seven extra years worth of wisdom. They loved each other even more passionately than they despised the rules the government had put in place, because meeting someone his age, at this time, and still falling in love knowing you'll lose them; well, that's real love.
For a while, they both accepted it. She knew that if she lost him then she'd kill herself, and she'd prefer to do that later rather than sooner. So, they married, and joined the last generation of lovers who'd be separated by death.
But, the years flew by for her, and she only noticed them in him. The promise of death constantly nagged at her mind, but the chance of an eternal life with him gave her endless hope for the future. She set a plan in motion, and worked to save their lives.
Fifteen years later, she earned a position working in a building that administered the death cure. Not working directly with the cure; The government didn't trust those who still had close ties to the lost generation, even after they'd divorced to increase her chances. He had hated going through with the divorce, but she didn't care. Laws and norms meant nothing to her now, all that mattered was the endless love she chased.
With amazing difficulty, she stole a dose of the cure and saved them both. She was sure to be wanted by the authorities by now, and his appearance was well-aged and would eventually become a dead giveaway, so they left their society behind them and started a new life.
They found peace in the wilderness, and started their endless life together. Every day they loved one another, and, somehow, their love managed to grow even stronger each day. Their life was passionate bliss, and they knew it'd last forever.
Then, one day, she couldn't get out of bed. She hadn't been sick in decades, and he looked back to society for an answer. They hadn't used the old radio for years, and when it crackled to life, it brought death.
All around the world, people were experiencing the cure's only side effect. She'd soon start to lose her mind, and eventually her life.
"Kill me.." she'd said after hearing the news, but he couldn't. He knew he was being weak, but he could never bring himself to do it.
"I'll stay with you until you're gone, just like you would have."
He stayed at her bedside at all hours, barely sleeping or eating; and she laid there, loving him as passionately as ever, slowly going mad, and as did she, so did he.
/r/BeagleTales
| 2018-06-04T21:35:59 | 2018-06-04T21:18:00 | 354 | 168 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.
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It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that.
In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a **good** feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment.
So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life.
I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles.
We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland.
More accurately, I drifted off to Hell.
All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape.
My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less.
"I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?"
A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day.
I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....."
"And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare.
The next day I resigned my commission.
There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?"
"Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile.
My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.
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Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100.
everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.”
When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could.
EDIT: Fixed errors
| 2017-04-01T05:19:44 | 2017-04-01T03:58:44 | 123 | 12 |
[WP] Starting at the age of 10, humans are given companion animals that develop along side them. These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon. The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood.
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*Just FYI before you go in, I changed the age to sixteen.*
__________
Sasha Fields was turning ten years old. It was, like all sixteen year old's birthdays, a special occasion. Not only because it marked her first steps into the adult world, but because it marked the day she would receive her first companion. Her father and mother spoke rarely about their first companions, both of them now into their third and fourth's respectively. Sasha's mother's second companion became ill very early in his life, succumbing to a disease thought eradicated. But today, they were both in relatively talking moods.
"I named him Ash, for his grey coat. She was a wolf," her father said. "Beautiful little guy. Most people look at them only for their destructive nature, but I was a rather put-together kid."
"What'd he represent then?"
"Warrior-based abilities was what I was eventually chosen for," he said as he brushed his Ministry of Defense badge, "but also qualities of the pack, of protection, of love in some ways."
Sasha turned to er mother. "June, a horse. Strong-willed and powerful, a companion that would ride into the depths of hell with you. But also represents freedom, and in that, justice." Sasha remember her mother's job, the Ministry of Law, where she worked as a defender of the people.
"How does a wolf and a horse get along?"
Her mother laughed, "They usually don't. But we found each other in an interesting way."
"I was on a hunt," her father said.
"And I a ride. We were tracking bandits in the Southports, a joint operation between the Defense and Law Ministries. Your father here, and Asher, saved my life. And June's."
"Our bond was set the moment we crossed paths. It is a sensation you will one day know, the sensation that these two animals, these two ideologies together, mean something *more* together."
Sasha remained silent, thinking about what was to come, what animal--companion--she would be given and how they would interact. She always knew her parents' were strong, and they raised with the same ideas. They also raised her to be knowledgeable of the world, to give what you can, to provide and defend. "What if I don't like them?"
"The Ministry of Companions are faithful servants to their cause. They have never chosen poorly."
"How do you know?" She asked, always curious.
"Well, we don't," her father continued. But you must have faith in them. Our system has not failed in several hundred years, since the last Dragon and her human-companion."
Her mother brushed her hand against her father's, cautioning him to be wary of the past. "The past does not concern her, not yet at least. If you are chosen for the Ministry of History, given an owl," she said, "or an eagle, then you can listen to the past. We look to the future."
Her father nodded, "Yes, the future. Which you and the ones your age are."
Sasha nodded. She knew that along, but her curiosity had always been strong the past few years. "Dragon's are extinct, no? I thought they were lost to war."
"So the legends say," her father said. "There are more wolves than dragons in our history, more owls, more horses, even more fish."
Sasha laughed. The fish were plentiful, but hardly ever given as companions.
"Just know that whatever you are given, whoever is to be your companion, you will learn the why within days."
Sasha nodded as she finished the last of her lunch. It felt as if a rock sat in the middle of her gut, weighing her down as she got out of her seat, but she eventually did, taking a deep breath. "Okay, well--"
There was a knock on the door before she finished and almost instantly, her mother was there, greeting members of the Ministry of Companions. The next few minutes went by in a flash as they greeted Sasha's father, and introduced themselves.
Cornell, the Director of the Companions, and Isabella, a burly woman carrying a wooden box. They said hello, took a seat in the living area, and waited until everyone was settled.
"We'll cut to the chase," Cornell said, "the Council at the Ministry met a few days ago. Our civilization is on the brink of war with every tribe in the North, and several to the West. Wolves outnumber us ten to one and we are fully prepared, but the Ministry of Hearth is concerned."
Sasha looked to her parents, who exchanged a quick, unnerving glance.
"In recent years, there is usually a sort-of calling for events such as this. A signal from the Falcons or the Foxes that war is upon us, instead, an omen came to us. A solar eclipse, tonight."
Sasha's father took a deep breath, "The wolves will howl."
"And our world will plunge into war."
"How does this concern us? Obviously Isaiah will go to war with the others, but myself?"
"You will be called upon. But this meeting concerns Sasha."
She perked up at her name, looking to Cornell.
"The Companions have chosen you as a suitable candidate."
Her mother or father could not speak, only watch. When it came to matters of age and Companions, only the sole person could talk. "Candidate for what?"
Cornell glanced to Isabella, who unhinged the wooden box to reveal a single egg sitting in the middle of it. The egg was red, toned with colors of blue and white and it's shell--the scales upon it--seemed to mirror the world. The fire inside of Sasha's home burned against it, dancing alongside the white and blue hue.
"A dragon egg, ready to hatch. Tonight."
Sasha took a deep breath, as did her parents, and no one spoke.
"It is a high honor, the highest in our society to be chosen to lead at such a young age," Cornell continued. "Isabella here, the great-great-grandchild of the last Dragon Companion, is here to help you, guide you. She knows the stories better than anyone."
Sasha stared at the egg, her eyes burning into the edge of it. "How long until it hatches?"
"Any minute now," Isabella said, "and when she comes out, the first eyes that she must see are yours. You will bond with her, and the bond will be greater than any other you may feel in your lifetime."
She nodded. "Am I ready?"
Her parents took each other's hands and reached out to Sasha. They were there for her as they always have been and now, she had the entire world on her back.
"You must be." Isabella said just before the egg began to crack.
_________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!*
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Jensen was a sweet and rambunctious boy born and raised in the southern most tip of the Gilded Peninsula. Barricaded by impassable mountains and surrounded by the frigid waters of the Adelphin Sea, the insignificant village, who was largely forgotten by the rest of the world, were as tight knit as any. The summers were short there, the winters were incredibly long and strenuous, bearing temperatures that reached well below -70 degrees during peak months. Because of this, the gifted animal companion each human received at the age of 10 was so paramount to survival, children were molded into disciplinarians at a young age, feeling very little pleasure and harboring a work ethic that would surpass most adults around the world.
What this would result in is a large animal that innately absorbed the same type of mentality and the same type of desire to listen and to execute. Many of the children in the community would end up being paired with a lone wolf who would hunt on command or a fierce polar bear that dwelled on every word from their master. Given the terrain and the inevitable hardships accompanied with their way of living, anything less than a powerful animal resulted in death.
With all that being said, we now go back to Jensen. Sweet, shy and a tad bit ornery, young Jensen was the antithesis of anything disciplined. He walked clumsily around the village, often tripping on just about anything due to his lack of attention to his surroundings. In school, he would be asked to answer questions and usually ended up mumbling something inaudible because he had not been paying any attention to the lesson at hand.
His downfalls were glaring and there was not a person in the village who didn’t carry the assumption that he would soon die when he was set off at sixteen to start the great hunts for the community. Now, as you can see, all that has been described of Jensen was derived from an outsiders perspective. No one, but Jensen and the God’s who bestow the gifts of animal companions, could realize his kind heart and willing soul.
On his 10th birthday, the local villagers crowded around Jensen’s home, as they do for any child turning of age, to see the animal that would be accompanying Jensen as he walked out of his cabin to show the world of his new best friend. People were giddy with excitement to see the failure that was on the horizon. Wagers were resonating through the air and laughter ensued.
*10 pounds of whale oil that it is an arctic hare with three legs*
*15 pelts that it’s an Skua… with CLIPPED WINGS!*
The crowd continued to erupt in quick succession, almost matching the tone of the crashing waves on the jagged rocks below.
*Quiet everybody! I hear the door. He is coming out*
The crowd grew silent as Jensen turned the door knob and began to walk out of the cabin. He came out sluggishly holding his mom's hand, his feet dragging while bearing a gentle smile.
He looked to the crowd and spoke with the utmost confidence.
*A thousand pounds of gold it’s a white dragon*
He pointed to the top of the highest mountain peak off in the eastern horizon. And there it was, the highest honor for any human, the ultimate gift from the God’s. A dragon and given the terrain and where they live, Jensen had acquired the fabled Snow Dragon, an elegant beast dawning crystal blue eyes and a vibrant white an imploding star would have trouble matching.
| 2017-01-13T12:29:47 | 2017-01-13T11:57:37 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
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Your eyes have never changed. Ever since you were a little girl, your eyes have been the color of a thoughtful ocean: churning, stormy, one weather system away from order or chaos.
Even now, your eyes look the same. You're 27 years old, and I've been dead for 15 of those years. And even with the distance of death and time—even with that purple bruise blackening your eye—your eyes look the same.
Now, the sea is full of storms.
My wild girl. My mermaid child.
You stand on the back porch and smoke a cigarette. The rain plinks down, and you watch it. Your cheek is hot and red.
I'm only a ghost, but I still reach out to cup your face in my palm, like any good mother would.
Perhaps you feel it. Perhaps you don't. You smear that cheek against your shoulder and pull again on the cigarette.
When he hit you, I reached out then too. I moved to cover you with my body. But he punched through me like mist, and I could only stand there, a shadow of myself, and watch the man you call husband toss you like a child throwing a toy.
If the dead could kill, I would do it myself.
A door slams in the house. You jolt and look toward it. Your fingers shudder as you inhale your slow death.
Do you remember the game we used to play?
We would build a blanket fort in the living room and, on weekends, stay up watching movies or telling scary stories. And sometimes, we would close our eyes, and we would take turns tap-tapping secret messages on each other's arms. I taught you each letter, one by one, until we could pass words back and forth.
On your first day of middle school, when you were fighting so hard to be brave, you gripped my arm and finger-tapped *SCARED*.
And I tapped back, *BE STRONG*.
Now I cannot touch you, not exactly. Not enough. But I can do this.
I can gather water in my palms. I can bring it to you and let it drip, slow, careful. So careful.
You turn your stormy eyes down in mute shock, watching the water fall from nowhere onto you.
I say, *RUN.*
You shiver, but you don't wipe the water away. You look at the porch roof overhead, then at your skin, and somewhere in the distance. Like you're scanning the sky.
I do it again. *RUN.*
Your cigarette slips from your fingers. The oceans in your eyes draw inward, the breath before a tsunami.
"Mom?"
I turn away from you to gather more rainwater. I cannot touch the living, but if I focus the core of my unbeing into my palms, I can manage this.
"I can't. I can't do any of this."
You can. Every time I have seen that doubt and fear in your eyes, you have braved the next wave. You've kept going, on toward the horizon.
I do the only thing I can.
I drip-drop onto your arm: *BE STRONG.*
Your eyes lift to stare into mine, as if you can sense my face without seeing it. You crush the cigarette beneath your boot and leave it there.
Your husband is inside. Your wallet, your keys. But you have your phone and your heart and your will to live and you must run while you can, run like hell, run like the next time you walk through that door he really will go too far and hold you under that ocean until you're gone.
Run like you still have a mother to run back to.
You look back over your shoulder, at the door. It's a cold, dark night, and you only have on your jeans, your shoes, a hoodie.
But you venture out into the backyard anyway, moving like a convict in your own house.
You reach the fence. You climb over.
The rain is falling heavy on both of us now, as if the sky is tapping out on us *live live live*.
But you go, and I follow.
Like I always have. Like I always will.
Any good mother would.
|
I've never felt the same since learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling me to run.
Me and my relatively large family live in the outskirts of London, so we get rained on quite often. All my younger siblings love the rain, and each time they hear the slightest tap on the roof or spot the tiniest drop on the windows, they frantically climb into their rain jackets and jump into their boots, dashing out the front door almost at the same time.
I used to join them, I would get excited when I saw a puddle for us to play in and would call them over so we could splash eachover enough to feel ill the next morning. Although, as much as I try to enjoy myself nowadays I can't step outside into the water wonderland with my siblings without hearing the rains message.
| 2021-09-28T09:13:08 | 2021-09-28T09:11:59 | 2,222 | 30 |
[WP] As a telekinetic mutant, you need to keep your powers a secret from the rest of society. However, you REALLY want to win this game of mini golf.
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“Let’s see…” Jackie presses the miniature, eraserless pencil to her smiling lips. “That’s a 19 for me, and a 26 for *you.*”
“*You…*” Something about the way she says that word makes me angry. It’s as if her victory is already decided, and there is nothing I can do. I just nod and purse my lips as we approach the 10th hole. “I believe you have the honors,” I say, waving her forward.
I watch her stroll up confidently to the tee, and place her ball on the mat. After one halfhearted practice swing, she launches the ball off a wall, up a hill, and along a steep bank, before it finds its way into the hole.
“Yesss!” Jackie shouts, executing a full Tiger Woods fist pump in her celebration. “Try to match that!”
I just stare at her, fuming. Even though she’s already hit four hole in ones this round, Jackie has celebrated each one like she just won the lottery. She’s still doing some sort of faux moon walk as I line up my putt. “You’re gonna miss!” she shouts, in the middle of my backswing.
I pause and try to calm myself, but it’s no use. Maybe if it was just her actions during the round of mini golf, I would let her win and never call her again, but this is beyond that. Over the course of our entire first date, Jackie has been rude and condescending. She spent ten minutes laughing at me when my milkshake fell off our table and into my lap during dinner, and has become more and more obnoxious ever since. I can't help but put my foot down, despite my grandmother’s warnings.
I line my putt up again, this time focusing my energy entirely on the ball. It rolls off my putter in a perfectly straight line, and spins in a neat half circle around the hole before falling in. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jackie’s mouth hanging open in shock, but I don’t stoop to her level and gloat.
Over the next seven holes, the course of the game begins to change. Jackie’s long putts take awkward bounces off the course’s brick walls, and her short putts seem to always fall a few inches short of the hole. I, on the other hand, put together a string of brilliant putts, bringing our score to a tie as we line up for the 18th hole.
“Out of my way,” Jackie says, shoving me aside and completely ignoring the honors system that would allow me to putt first. Before I can focus on her ball, it’s already left the tee, and rolled into the hole at a speed that shouldn’t have been physically possible. “WOOO!!” She yells, spraying saliva directly into my face.
“Get out of the way!” I line my putt up, and focus my energy again on the ball. “When I sink this, we’re playing sudden death.”
I let the putt fly, and work my magic. The ball rolls perfectly up the long hill leading to the hole and… stops?
I jolt back at the sight, and will the ball harder to go into the hole. It doesn’t budge. I throw my club in the air in disgust, in complete disbelief that my telekinesis didn’t work.
And then I notice that Jackie isn’t celebrating. She’s staring at my ball, focusing with all her might, as if…
“You’re…”
Jackie immediately takes her focus off the ball, and puts a hand to my mouth. “Are you crazy?! You can’t say it out loud!”
I stare at her in disbelief. My whole life, I hadn’t known a single telepath, outside of my grandmother. I had always thought I was the only one left. But there she was, right in front of me. “But… you are, right?”
Jackie just nods.
I can’t put into words the things I want to say, or the questions I want to ask. There’s so much running through my head that the only thing that I can force out is the first thought that comes to my mind. “And you cared so much about beating me at mini golf, that you were willing to duel me in a telekinetic battle that could have been sensed by any special nearby?”
She hangs her head and nods. “No one’s ever noticed before. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
There’s a long pause. I’m angry, and confused, and curious all at the same time. But more than anything, I’m relieved to know the truth. And then I realize something else. And before I can stop myself, the thought comes out in a total spew of word vomit. “That’s pretty hot.”
__________________________________________________________________
Of all the writers on this site with their own subbreddits, I'm certainly one of them. More stories at r/mvdww
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"Remember citizen, the computer wants you to be happy. Show the computer you are happy by winning this game. Winning the game makes people happy."
The words rang through my ears, followed closely by the admonition, "Remember citizens, that possession or use of telekinetic powers is treason. Treason is punishable by death. And don't forget to prove how happy you are by reporting any treasonous activity!"
I lined up the shot. 18th hole, and I'd been over by three on the previous hole. Luckily, Pedro the Great, my opponent, had whiffed hard on his play through on this hole. He'd missed par by four, so if I could make par on this, I'd at least tie up the game. And while the Computer would probably still send me to the incinerator for failing to win, at least Pedro would be with me if I could force a draw.
I swung, but my hands twitched just a bit, and the ball started to spin out of control. I instinctively started to correct it's course as it rolled down the green toward the windmill. I hesitated--would anyone notice? Would I end up getting de-cloned? I took the risk and hoped it wouldn't be obvious.
The ball straightened, then hit the side-route tubes and slid out of sight for a minute. Then back in sight, I carefully adjusted it to roll right into the cup--hole in one! Yes!
Then the dreaded words came from behind me.
"Citizen. The Computer would like a word with you."
| 2017-07-05T13:58:28 | 2017-07-05T13:30:39 | 77 | 27 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
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My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?'
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I wake to the sound of my phone vibrating so fast I'm afraid it'll fall of my nightstand. I groggily my phone before it falls and turn it on to see the words "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" in bright letters illuminated by the official nationwide alert backdrop. The vibrations refuse to stop. Hundreds of texts are rolling in from numbers I don't know so fast that I can barely make out what they're saying. I set my phone to silent and put it back on the nightstand. "Looks like a problem that can wait till the morning," I faintly think to myself before falling back to sleep. Nothing gets me out of bed at 3 a.m.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05 | 2018-04-06T19:08:10 | 379 | 11 |
[WP] One day as a joke you send an anonymous message to your friend stating "They've found you. Run.". The next day you discover that your friend has vanished without a trace.
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Cassie sat waiting at her desk for a reply.
​
Tracie never takes this long to respond she thought.. Maybe I should call her and tell her I sent the message and it was just a joke. (....) "Sorry your call cannot be completed as dialed, please check the number and try again." Cassie tried calling again but received the same canned message instead of Tracie's typically upbeat voicemail. Strange.. Cassie thought. She attempted texting her friend, but instead her phone showed that the message was undelivered.
​
Cassie looked at the clock on her night stand; 12:38 am. She had to be up at 6:30 to get ready for work; if she was late again Jerry would definitely fire her ass. "Maybe Tracie forgot to pay the phone bill and it finally got shut off" Cassie wondered aloud. "Yeah that must be it! I'm sure she will be at work tomorrow and we'll laugh about the whole thing!" Cassie turned off her computer and crawled into bed hoping that she wouldn't oversleep again. She couldn't afford to lose her job, no matter how much she hated it.
​
As Cassie drifted off to sleep, she knew her reasoning for Tracie's disconnected phone had nothing to do with a late bill. Tracie was never late for anything: showing up to work, paying tuition, hell her mom even joked that Tracie arrived early for her own birth. These doubts flowed through her mind, but they were soon replaced with a dream about trying to adopt a cheetah from the animal shelter.
​
Cassie bolted awake at 6:15 instantly knowing something was wrong. She scrambled for her phone and saw she had 7 missed calls and a voicemail. They were all from Taylor, Tracie's boyfriend. Cassie checked her voicemail and listened to his message. "Hey Cassie, I'm sorry for blowing up your phone so early in the morning, but did Tracie go to your place last night? When I got home this morning, she wasn't asleep like usual. I tried calling her phone to see if she went into work early, but it kept telling me it was disconnected. I wasn't going to bother you until I saw her note. All it said was that she loved me and to call you when I got home. So, when you get this message call me, I'm kind of freaking out over here." Her phone beeped and asked her if she wanted to replay the message or delete it.
​
Cassie didn't know what to do. Why would Tracie leave and tell Taylor to call her? Cassie tried calling Tracie again. "Sorry your call cannot.." Cassie hung up before the robot finished its message. She contemplated what to do next. I guess I better call Taylor back and maybe we can come up with a plan. Before she could call Taylor back, she noticed her computer was on and a word document was open with a message. Cassie crept over to her desk to see what the message was.
​
"Hey Cass, I'm not sure how, but they found me and I have to go before it's too late. Thanks for everything. I love you and I will come back after I finish this once and for all. Take care of Taylor while I'm gone. Love, Tracie. P.S. look out for little blue men; they are not what they seem." After Cassie finished reading the message for a third time, she decided it was about time to call Taylor and figure out their next steps. Before she could finish dialing his number, she heard a car door slam outside. Cassie glanced down from her window to see two men get out of a van and begin walking towards her apartment. On the side of their van was a decal for a carpet cleaning business. "The Carpet Matches the Drapes" was painted across the side of the van, and although the name would have normally gotten a chuckle out of Cassie, the picture on the van is what caught her interest. Underneath their name the business had a picture of two men in blue jumpsuits and matching blue boots. She quickly read Tracie's last message to make sure she wasn't mistaken. "Look out for little blue men, they are not what they seem." Cassie wasn't sure exactly what the warning was for, but she knew she had to get out of there and fast.
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I had a pair of his apartment keys. That's how close we were! The lonesome cold guitar in the corner of his living room quenches my agony with a sudden awarness of existence and that in turn makes agony even harder to bear. Does he even know me?! Did he pay attention to the million similar jokes I threw at him while sipping some beer on our cozy nights filled with deep secrets? Looking back he always gazed at me and everyone else weirdly. If he had listened then surely he would have known this was just an en-passant quirky line of mine... barely even a joke. I'm probably going insane. His half-slurped water glass on his disoriented table reminds me that he used to be there not long ago. The fact that his belongings seemed frozen in time yet the walls screamed soltitude was messing with me. Why would he run? I look down in sorrow. I look down at the door mat.. down at my long legs that were shrieking.. down at my green toes that matched the weird carpet I had always bugged him for. My thin abdomen was crying. His chains were unshackled. He ran away from us. Again!
| 2020-01-21T19:04:50 | 2020-01-21T16:13:12 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] A group of heroes finds a magical suit of armor possessed by an all-knowing spirit during their adventure. In reality, it's a suit of power armor with an A.I. that's REALLY confused on where it's ended up.
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"WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?!" the dwarf shouted.
"Well, I thought that piece of black silk would make a nice sash! I didn't expect it to explode!"
"SILK? YOU... YOU... UGH! It's like you don't have any brains in that skull of yours! I told you not to touch anything until I had the chance to check it!"
A trio of treasure hunters stood in shock at the cacophony as the sheet of fabric burst. They had taken an unconventional approach to a classic problem: how to separate a dragon from its hoard. The normal approach would be to slay the dragon, then retrieve the loot. However, reasoning that the hoard was likely to contain powerful magic items that could be useful for slaying dragons, they decided to flip the order. It took months of prep work, but the wizard was able to magically seal the mouth of the cave while the dragon was out hunting. They weren't sure how long it would take it to dig a new entrance, but they figured at least a few hours.
"Fine, genius, what was that? A Cloth of Combustion? Silk of Shattering? Don't think we haven't noticed these weird names you come up with are just descriptions of what they do. You're probably just making stuff up!" the elf shot back.
"First off, I read more about the arcane in a single day as an apprentice than you will read at all in your entire life! Secondly, that's a Well of Many Worlds! Or at least, it was before your Dagger of Returning sliced it up!"
"There you go again, saying that like it's meaningful! I could practically hear the capitalization. 'Dagger of Returning' my ass! If I throw this rock at your head, does that make it a 'Stone of Smashing', you pompous prick?!"
"Uh, guys, what's that purple thing?" the human interrupted. "It hurts to look at it."
"A hole in the world from that VERY VALUABLE magic item being destroyed" the wizard said, scowling at the elf. "Don't worry about it too much, it's like digging in sand. It'll fill back in on its own soon enough. Just don't touch it, you might get sucked in."
The three jumped as a clattering noise filled the cavern. The rift shrank to nothing with a sucking hiss, leaving behind a segmented carapace the size and shape of an adult human.
"What is that, some kind of armor?" the rogue asked.
The dwarf cautiously poked it with his staff. "Looks like it. It doesn't have any sort of magical aura. Strange craftsmanship, though. It's not made of metal, maybe some sort of cast resin? Or maybe a strange kind of baked clay?"
"Well, since I'm the only one who wears armor, I guess this one's mine!" the human said, picking up the helmet.
"It'll make a nice discussion piece once we get everything carted back to town, but I don't think you'll want to wear that against the dragon. It doesn't even have eye holes in the helmet, just some sort of dark crystals." the elf observed.
The warrior lowered the helmet onto his head. "The inside is made of some kind of glass." A tone came from helmet, starting as a low hum and raising to a shrill note before cutting off.
"\<NEW USER DETECTED\>"
"I thought you said that armor wasn't magic?!" The elf whirled to face the wizard. "It's not, I'd stake my staff on it. Must be haunted." "Isn't that still magic?" "No, it's life energy. Completely different. There's a reason those priests from that one temple don't cast spells and wizards only punch people when they're drunk."
"Uh, guys, I think it's fine. I'm still here. And I can see stuff! It's even better than looking with my own eyes! Is this what being able to see in the dark is like?"
"\<PRIMARY POWER SOURCE NOT DETECTED. PLEASE CONNECT CENTRAL CHASSIS\>"
"What's the ghost talking about?" the rogue asked the wizard. "I'm not sure, I think a chassis is some kind of box or case?"
"It wants me to put on the rest of the armor."
"Oh? And how would you know?"
"Because it's got a flashing picture in the corner of my eye. It's the outline of the armor, and the helmet is solid. So I'm guessing it needs the rest of the parts." The human started putting on the breastplate.
"\<PRIMARY POWER SOURCE DETECTED. RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC, PLEASE WAIT.\>"
"Yep, it wanted the rest of the armor. That outline is still blinking, but the torso is solid too now. Wonder what that spinning wheel in the other corner means?"
"I... have no idea. I told you we should have brought a cleric, they'd be the one to ask about ghosts. But nooooooo, that'd be another person to share the treasure with, as if any of us could tell the difference between a third of this treasure and a quarter of it!"
As the warrior finished putting on the armor, it let out a sudden hissing sound.
"Oh great, it's turning him into a snakeman!" the elf shouted, starting to draw his sword. "No, no, I'm fine. It's got some sort of air sacks in here, they just puffed up. This feels a lot better now, it was kind of loose and rattle-y before."
"Are you sure you're fine?" the wizard asked. "Yeah, this is great! We just have the one crappy lantern for light, but I can count every hair in your beard! I can hear a mouse scurrying around in the corner!" "Well, as long as that ghost is friendly, I guess it's fine. I'll get back to identifying items."
The helmet beeped. "\<DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE. ZERO MAJOR ERRORS FOUND. ZERO INTERMEDIATE ERRORS FOUND. ONE MINOR ERROR FOUND: SATNAV SIGNAL NOT DETECTED. WHAT IS CURRENT LOCATION?\>"
"We're in the cave of Gz'pa-Chou the frostwyrm, a few leagues away from the free city of Tohmay."
"\<LOCATION UNKNOWN. WHAT CONTINENT IS TOHMAY ON? PLEASE INDICATE ANY NEARBY OCEANS OR MOUNTAIN RANGES IF KNOWN.\>"
"It's on Allium, near the Acetum Mountains." "\<LOCATION UNKNOWN. PLEASE INDICATE PLANET IF KNOWN.\>" "Sorry, planet? Like the stars that don't twinkle and wander around the firmament?"
A corner of the ceiling abruptly caved in and frigid air filled the cavern. "I think time's up! Did you find anything useful?" the elf asked the dwarf. "No, nothing. Looks like we're doing this the hard way." The wizard began preparing a spell.
"\<HOSTILE LIFE-FORM DETECTED. ACTIVATE WEAPONS YES/NO?\>"
"Wait, you have weapons too? What do you have?"
"\<PRIMARY WEAPONS ARE 40W PHASED PLASMA RIFLE AND TREBUCHET MICROMISSILES. SECONDARY WEAPONS ARE -\>"
"You have a trebuchet in here? Shoot it! Shoot it!"
A streak of light burst from behind the shoulder of the armor. A significantly larger portion of the ceiling caved in, along with the rear half of the dragon. The front was nowhere to be seen.
"What kind of trebuchet was that?!"
"\<TREBUCHET MICROMISSILES: NEXT-GENERATION MAN-PORTABLE SURFACE-TO-AIR MISSILES EQUIPED WITH A CATEGORY 5 ANTIMATTER WARHEAD. MANUFACTURED BY TANAKA-BERGMAN WEAPONS SYSTEMS LTD.\>"
"Well, uh, good job ghost? Thank you for the help."
"\<MY PLEASURE\>"
|
I donned the strange helmet. “*New Wearer Signature Detected. Booting And Calibrating Systems. Please Standby.*” A smooth voice spoke up suddenly in my ears.
A pissed off Tori hurriedly caught up to me, puffing from the run. “Why do you just pull on every single piece of gear you find? What if it’s cursed? Ugh, you’re such a reckless-“ Tori angrily huffed at me, before I quickly shushed her. “Do you hear that voice? There’s someone speaking about signatures and boots…” I asked.
“No, but I’ll bet it’s that armor suit cursing you right now, as I expected.” Tori quipped, still trying to catch her breath in between words, “Maybe if you get mind controlled for a bit you’ll learn your lesson not to grab at every artifact we come across!”
As she kept nagging over me, I was watching the strange glowing words appearing before my eyes. “*All Systems Online. Calibrations Found (4) Issues. Issue Report: Unknown Location. Damaged Comms Chip. Battery Low. Unknown Host. No ID Chip Detected In Host. Detecting Trace Wormhole Energy On: Self. Query: Current Location Stellar Coordinates?*”
“Hellooo? Terra to Ewan!” Tori snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Don’t tell me you’re really getting mind controlled? I was only joking about that…” I hurriedly assure her, “Ah, no no. I’m alright, I think. This helmet just has weird words floating in front of me. Is it trying to talk to me or something? Seems like something smarts related, so it’s probably more up your alley.” Tori harrumphed once more, but it seemed like my flattery attempt worked, and she calmed down.
“Alright then. What’s this armor of yours saying?”
“I… believe it is asking about its whereabouts. And it says it has low battery, whatever that is. It’s stopped speaking for now.”
Tori looked like she was trying to recall something, then hesitantly said, “I think I heard of batteries with regards to charges and lightning magic. I’m guessing it needs to be zapped or something to regain its charges.”
I winced, “Try not to fry me again if you’re gonna do it now.”
“Heh, I won’t. I’ve been training more with the Electrojolt spell since last time, so you’re in no danger from *me*!” She preened. Nevertheless, I still noticed her extra concentration while she was setting up the spell. With a few quick jolts, I shuddered, but it looked like the armor suit was happy. “*Battery Sufficiently Full. Unknown Energy Source Detected. Query: Current Location Stellar Coordinates?*”
“It said it’s full, so I think your idea worked. But it’s still asking me for “stellar coordinates” like it’s a location for it… think it’s from the stars or the Gods or something?” I said, looking up into the sky. The sun didn’t blind me like usual, for some reason this helmet shielded my eyes. Tori walked around me, examining the armor. “I dunno, it does seem strange. Let me try Inspect on it, and we might get an answer. Can’t guarantee it, we might still need to bring it to an Analyst back at the Guild.”
“Sure, go for it.” I agreed, “It’s gonna be cheaper if you do it, at least.”
I patiently waited as another spell was being set up, meanwhile reading what the armor was saying. “*Imprint Process Initiated: Please State Name, Age In Earth Years, Occupation, Stellar Coordinates.*” “Hey Tori, it’s asking for my name, age in ‘earth years’, and my job. Should I tell it?”
“Oh, uh… What’s it mean by ‘earth years’? Does it want to know how many summers you’ve lived? Since the Inspect isn’t picking up malice yet, I believe it should be safe to do so.”
“Alright then. My name is Ewan, I am not sure how long your earth year is, but I am 17 summers old, and I guess I’m an adventurer by trade.”
“*Greetings, Adventurer Ewan. You Are One Year Too Young To Access All Of The Suit’s Features, But Most Are Still Available. Would You Like A Guide For Responsible Usage Of PowerArmor AI Suits?*”
“Eh... What’s a Power armor AI?” I dumbly stammered.
“Did you say AI? As in, artificial intelligence?” Tori sprung up, suddenly sounding very excited. “Is this armor a golem of some kind? A wearable True Golem? If it is, the old coots at the Rune academy will get aneurisms if they find out!”
(Gonna take a short break, and keep going. I’m saving my progress for now. I’m determined to finish what I started.)
| 2022-10-22T04:23:09 | 2022-10-21T21:56:24 | 731 | 410 |
[WP] Mankind has reached the stars, the human origins are forgotten. Earth is a place of myth and legend.
|
No one expected aliens like this. After having spread across many planets all across the galaxy, the Palani Empire has found no evidence of sentient alien life able to travel the stars. But here it is, a spaceship slowly hurtling towards Palan Five. Commander Tempers couldn't believe it, but the excitement sent his blood coursing through his body. He was going to be the first human to make contact with sentient alien life. He would make history.
The team was spread out surrounding the expected landing area, awaiting the ship. It took a little over an hour, and the soldiers were getting restless. But the time had come, and the bright spark in the sky was evident. Tempers stared up at the spot, slowly getting brighter and bigger heading towards the expected spot. It was an old model ship, it shot in a direction and used physics to get where it needed to; there was no controls. In about 45 seconds it would land less than 50 yards from his location.
The decent was uneventful. As expected, a parachute of sorts released to slow its decent, and it hit the ground at precisely where Tempers determined it would. It was incredible that alien tech would be so similar to the ancient human tech. Tempers made the motion to have the troops approach. After 30 minutes of no further activity, Tempers had 4 officers approach the object and inspect it.
"Sir, you're going to want to see this." Called one of the officers.
Tempers approached the ship quickly in his excitement. What exciting alien would it be? As he arrived, an officer pointing inside the ship at what they found, and Tempers could feel his stomach rise to his throat.
After clearing his throat several times, Tempers was able to finally speak again. "Is that a cryopod? And that alien, it looks like a..." Tempers couldn't finish his thought.
"Should we open it, sir?"
"Yes, let's get to the bottom of this." The officer pressed a button on the cryopod and it hissed loudly as it opened. A chill breeze exploded out of the pod, and Tempers shivered despite himself.
The alien opened its eyes and stepped out. It looked excited and began chattering. The weird part was not that Tempers could understand him, but that he could barely understand him. He was speaking in the ancient format. It took some concentration, but Tempers could make out what he meant.
"Oh my God, am I stiff. So glad I can finally stretch. Talk about a long trip, am I right?"
"Enough tomfoolery, where are you from?" It seemed from the look on the alien's face, he had just as hard a time understanding his speak. "Palani Four? That's the only world close enough for your ship?"
"Well, I mean, same place as you guys, right? Earth." To say Tempers and the officers were shocked is an understatement. If human anatomy allowed it, their jaws would have hit the ground. This false human seems to have indicating he just arrived from Earth. The Earth! It's been only ever spoken of in the myths told to children, and of course the ancient text. There's no way he could be from Earth.
"There's no way you can be from Earth!" Tempers said.
"What? Of course I am! Where else would humans come from!"
Tempers felt shellshocked, he must be misunderstanding something.
"Sir, could he...could he read the ancient text?" An officer braved to ask.
"Impossible, no one now days can. It's too old." Tempers replied.
"There's no harm in trying."
Tempers thought it over, and decided to go along with it. The Temple was on the way to the galactic offices where the alien will be held. The trip only took 30 minutes, but his three officers and the alien never stopped chatting with each other. Blasphemy! This man spoke as if he knew Earth and was fooling his soldiers into believing them. Tempers was going to enjoy interrogating him.
When they arrived, Tempers led the four into the Temple and to the Ancient Text. It was preserved and able for all to attempt to read. So he sat the alien at a desk where the text was. It was going to prove the truth of things.
"Read this. If you succeed I'll believe you're from Earth."
"Wait a second, is this what I think it is?" The alien looked over the text and smiled. "I love this book!" There were four audible gasps. Then the alien read it. After a few moments of complete silence, he looked over to the ancient ship and a look pf surprise crossed his face. Tempers and the officers only watched in shock.
"Oh shit! Is that what I think it is? I remember when Elon shot that into space! How cool."
|
Their place origin had been forgotten. Cast into nothing but a legend. Many times the public will remember it and demand that they search for it. But they forget as fast as they remember.
“Ugh, I cant believe we’re stuck doing this again.” “Phara, we heard you the third time. You can stop complaining.” “I know, but it’s still dumb, making us do these hopeless searches every ten years.”
This ship contained only 4 people, the smallest crew for any scout vessel ever due to the advances in automation. They are Phara, the scanner or lookout. Jolk , the technician. Freo, the weapon specialist. And finally, Kar, the captain. They have been in space for five days and aren’t expecting to find anything as they have done this mission many times before.
“Captain’s log, day six. Nothing has been discovered just as we expected. The crew including myself is very tired of these missions. They just don’t yield any new information. We are traveling to sector 17b at 12c and will get there in a few days. Uhhh, nothing has been problematic yet as this is a new ship and...” The ship suddenly slows, Kar is thrown from his seat and lands on the floor. Phara comes stumbling in as well. “Captain! We found something!” “Wells what is it?” “It’s some kind of deep space probe and it has a disk a golden one and, I think it’s our way home.”
This is my first prompt response and any feedback is appreciated.
| 2018-02-22T07:39:39 | 2018-02-22T07:04:59 | 66 | 13 |
[WP] You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You wake up, get in the car, then black out until you're back in your driveway in the middle of the afternoon 5 days a week, and you get a paycheck once a month.
|
On Mondays, he would step through the door that led into the Lizard World. Great, lurking beasts that stood as tall as the Empire State Building and devoured trees and mammoths. His job was to set out the feed for the smaller lizards and sweep away their scales. Sometimes he thought about keeping one of the shiny scales that was as big as a dinner plate. But for that, too, he was being paid: the leaving and the forgetting.
On Tuesdays, he would step into the door that led to the Underwater World. Here swam the whales and silvery fish; here lurked the nighttime creatures that had never seen stars or sun. He would clear away the sunken treasure and scatter the sea salt, befriending even the giant squids that had no names. Then he would step back to the other side of the door, shivering wet in the air-conditioned office building, and swallow the forgetting pill on his way out.
Wednesdays were for the door that led to the City World. It was similar to the world he lived in; so similar, in fact, that sometimes he forgot which side he was on. But there were always the street children who needed coins and hearts, and the factory workers who needed sunshine. It was always the hardest to leave the City World, or perhaps the easiest; he was never sure which side he preferred.
But Thursdays were the hardest of all. That day was for the Ghost World, where nothing lurked but shadows and nightmarish creatures; ashes snowing around for miles and miles and reminding him of when his childhood home burned down. Here his job was to collect memories and he did so quickly, never looking over his shoulder, never questioning whether the door would protect him. It always did.
And Fridays, his beloved Fridays, were for the Sunshine World. That was where he first met her, the girl with flowers woven through her hair, who helped him collect colors in his employer's prisms and scatter laughter into the air. He always looked forward to Fridays most of all; or at least he would, if he didn't always take the forgetting pill on the other side of the door.
On Saturdays and Sundays, he would look at his weekly paycheck and the wilting flower in his pocket. Despite the forgetting pills, he would start to question things. Think about investigating exactly what he did during the week. But then he would look at the amount of money, and the flower so close to death, and he would return to work on Monday again.
But finally came the day he forgot to take his forgetting pill; or maybe he only pretended to forget, because of the Fridays. The girl with the flowers in her hair haunted him that following weekend, making him question everything. Why did he know the names of all the dinosaurs? Why were his clothes soggy every Tuesday when he returned from work? Why did so many cities seem familiar though he had never visited them before, and why did he always dread Thursdays so much?
So he stopped taking his forgetting pills. Each time he came out of a door, he ignored the sign that said: PLEASE REMEMBER TO TAKE YOUR FORGETTING PILL. He wrote down what he'd seen in his journals; he painted the giant squids and the nightmarish creatures that lived behind the doors. He did this until he remembered everything, until he'd filled pages and pages with his stories and illustrations.
Until he realized the doors were not in order.
He stood in his bedroom, comparing the pages of his journals and the pages of his sketchbooks. Here was one landmark in the Lizard World, but here it was in the Sunshine World, too! And another landmark that could be found behind all five doors. And so on and so on until he had established that every door led to the same world - but at a different point in its timeline.
First there was the Sunshine World: Friday.
Then the Underwater World: Tuesday.
Then the Lizard World: Monday.
Then the City World: Wednesday.
And finally the Ghost World: Thursday.
At first it was a joyous discovery that brought meaning to his work. He was helping the door-world and its inhabitants to grow and thrive. He was nourishing an entire world! But then he would always have to enter the Ghost World on Thursdays, and that would cast a shadow on his happiness. And with time, that shadow grew darker and darker until it was all he could see. What was the point of his work if every version of this world would eventually perish and become the Ghost World? He loved each world, or had loved each world, before he realized all of them must die. Even now he could see the outline of a sixth door gradually forming in the office building. He dreaded to see what lay beyond it.
The girl with flowers in her hair smiled at him sadly. By now he'd realized she wasn't quite a girl and perhaps was not even quite human. "Everyone takes the forgetting pills," she said to him in the Sunshine World. "It's as automatic as sleeping or breathing. Most people don't even see the pills, in fact. But for those like you who can, who also have the ability to step through the doors, you have to decide to take the forgetting pills. If you don't, you will bear a tremendous weight on your heart for the rest of your life. Eventually it might even turn to stone."
He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He didn't have to take the forgetting pills anymore. He didn't want to lose all the journals and sketchbooks he'd filled; he didn't want to lose his memories of even the Ghost World, which he both loved and hated. But already he could feel his heart turning into stone. It was too difficult for him to see all the versions of the door-world, and to know which order they came in. It was easier and less painful to see all of them as separate worlds. So much so, in fact, that he finally understood the purpose of the forgetting pill was not to chain him but to release him.
By Saturday, the sixth door had finished forming. PLEASE REMEMBER TO TAKE YOUR FORGETTING PILL, said the sign next to it. He knew then that he had only two choices: leave his job and never return, but thus live a life without the doors; or step through the sixth door and take the forgetting pill on his way out. As much as he wanted to remember the door-world, he could no longer avoid taking the forgetting pill. Not if he wanted his heart to remain his heart and his eyes to see the door-world as it was meant to be seen, full of life and without shadow.
And so, knowing he would forget everything by nightfall, he stepped through.
|
Five 'til five.
*So always five?*
Always five. Call 'em freedom units, 'cause that's when I finally leave, too. I like irony, like there. We ain't ever really free. Anyways. Leave on the dot. Not a minute later. Not a minute earlier. Nobody else leaves early, so I don't. Come in, sit down, sit quiet. Next thing you know, out the door. Remember fuck all what I did, remember fuck all who I was when I started. Then straight home, not that that's any better. Too much remembering, if you know what I mean. Makes you wonder.
*What's it make you wonder?*
Makes you wonder why.
*Why what?*
Why bother. With going home at all. With getting paid at all. Once a month, I get that check I done traded my life in for. Enough to get a man dreaming; not quite enough for dreams. Sign on a dashed line for a dashed dream. Always tell myself enough is enough. Next check, deal's done. No more work, no more checks. And I always end up back at work the next day. And the next. And the next. And then one more time, for good measure. Can't beat a dead horse enough, that's what I like to say.
*Five days?*
Of Hell. 'Til the weekend. 'Til I forget on my own terms, instead of theirs. Then it starts all over again, like clockwork. Makes you wish the clock was broken, that it'd get stuck somewhere better than this. Or that you could grab it, stretch it all funny like one of 'em Dali clocks. Make time loop around it slower when you want. Still, I don't make the rules. Five days 'til five. That's their rules.
*Whose?*
I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. A third of every day, gone. Like blinking, 'cept when I open my eyes, it's evening. The sun is on the other side of the street. Drive home, pretend I want to listen to the radio. Commercial-free drive at five bullshit, like that's what'll set me over the edge. Sing along, just to keep from screaming. Pretend it doesn't remind me of everything I'd like to do.
*So why don't you do those things?*
No time. Simple as that. Live to work. Work to live. Just to get home and realize you ain't got much life left to live. Sneaks away from you. One second you want to be an astronaut. A firefighter. Next thing you know, you're burning up through empty space wishing a fuckin' asteroid would put you out of your misery. Any day now.
*You're not that old, right?*
Wish I was. Then I wouldn't work. Hilarious. Retirement; that's a joke that's aged like a fine milk. At this rate, I'll work 'til I die. Not a minute later.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-02-11T17:51:34 | 2020-02-11T15:07:10 | 131 | 50 |
[WP] You live in a world in which you can buy bottled emotions.
|
The clinic smelled like antiseptic and smoke, and like death. Mara rested her head in her hands and tried not to breathe through her nose. Everything smelled like death since the war. Too many civilians living in crowded cities attacked with weapons that were too thorough. She thought she could even taste the decay. It cut through the smoke and the rigorously applied bleach. It cut through everything. It stayed with her even in places she knew it shouldn’t. She smelled it in her daughter’s hair.
Safa glanced up at her mother from the floor and smiled brightly. She was oblivious to the sound of gunfire. The lone shots ringing out like clockwork from behind the concrete building were as normal as birds chirping.
“Mama, look!”
Her tiny hands held a dinosaur figure that she was systematically using to destroy a city made of blocks. Mara raised her head and smiled back. The little girl did not have the chubby cheeks of most toddlers and wore dark circles under her eyes. But she was such a wonderful part of Mara’s life she wondered if she was making the wrong decision.
The politicians yelled about adoption. They yelled about god and morality.
They didn’t talk about poverty or the pain of starvation. They tried to ignore the war.
Safa discarded the dinosaur and crawled into her lap.
“I’m hungry, Mama.”
“I know, sweetie. Once we’re done here I’ll find you something to eat. Would you like that?”
Safa smiled and clapped, enthusiastic about the treat. Mara wound her arms around the little girl and closed her eyes.
“Number 58427.”
Mara shifted Safa off her lap and together they walked over to the nurse. His scrubs looked dingy and well worn. She tried not to stare at the darker stains.
“This will be…” She cut him off.
“I know. It’s all I have. Just take it.” She pressed her thumb against small computer he held.
The credits she had saved for months gone in a moment.
“This includes the Emos I asked for?”
“They’ll be administered shortly after the procedure.”
“And the follow up?”
“That’s covered as well.”
Mara swallowed hard.
“Good.”
She squeezed Safa’s hand as they followed the nurse back into a small room. There was a single light bulb, a chair, and an examination table with restraints. Safa used her mother’s fatigues to hide from the nurse.
“If you’d like to be separate from your daughter for the procedure, we can arrange that.”
“N-no.” Her voice cracked. “Can I hold her?”
“Of course.” The nurse looked down at the tiny girl.
“Your mom is being very brave today. Can you be brave too?”
Safa nodded and but held tight to the safety of her mother.
“Come on, sweetie, come sit on my lap. Can you be a big girl for me?”
The girl nodded and the two piled into a chair. The nurse gave a warm smile to the little girl as he rolled up her sleeve.
“Have you ever been to the city? I bet you have an exciting day planned after this.” Safa’s face lit up.
“My mommy says we’re going to have food. I'm going to have an apple.”
“Well I’m sure your mother will find you whatever you want.” The nurse was gently swabbing her skin. “Are you both ready?”
Sara shook her head and looked up at her mother. Mara kissed her forehead.
“It’s okay, sweetie. It only hurts for a second and then we can have all the apples you can eat. Your stomach will hurt from so many apples. You might even turn into an apple.”
Safa giggled and smiled. It’s the smile Mara doesn’t see enough.
The nurse pressed the needle into her arm.
Immediately Safa’s giggles got softer and her eyes drooped. With one great jaw cracking yawn she slipped into sleep, her soft hair falling in her face as her head lolled forward. One more moment and she wasn't Safa anymore. Her skin was flushed and warm but she wasn't there. A great wave of guilt swept over Mara and she let out a sob. If she would just open her eyes she would be Safa again. Maybe they could find apples like she promised. Maybe she could feed them both, protect them both. She started to shake and clutch at Safa's small body. She rocked them together. Back and forth like she had when Safa was an infant. She felt a scream bubbling up inside her but before she could make a noise the nurse pressed an inhaler into her mouth.
Mara choked on the bitter mist and jerked the inhaler out of his hands. No! She needed to feel this. She needed to know this pain. She needed to be able to remember this or she wasn’t going to be able to handle what came next. She had to be ready for the moments that came after she left the clinic. She clutched at her own hysteria but it slipped away and replaced with a deep emptiness.
Her arms slackened against her daughter’s small frame. The nurse gently lifted Safa’s body out of her arms and laid her on the examination table. Mara didn’t struggle. She stared down at the plastic mister and its metal canister.
“Contains: Numbness. Assuredness. Resolution. To be used by adults only.”
She paid for this. Chose it. Those three little compounds had been more than the procedure itself.
Mara stood up and looked toward the nurse. She watched as he labeled her dead child and filled in little boxes on a form. She kept waiting for the pain and loss to flood back into her system but the drugs were good, strong, much better than anything you got on the streets. The numbness was complete.
“Is there anything else?”
“No, ma’am. If you’ll go left and follow the green stripe out the back exit you’ll find everything you need for your follow up.”
Mara nodded and left the room. She watched the chipping green paint underneath her feet and followed the line outside. When she opened the metal door the smell of decay and smoke made her gag.
On her right was a wooden table like the ones she used to eat on at camp as a child. The table held a pistol, a camera, and a microphone. She pressed the large “RECORD” button and a small red light flashed to life.
With a steady hand she picked up the pistol and spoke into the camera.
“This is Number 58427. It is May 23, 2052. My paperwork is complete and finances are in good standing.”
The barrel felt cold in her mouth but her resolve did not falter. The drugs were good.
|
"Just came in my friend. Very special. I hear it's all the rage with the youth nowadays."
"What is this? I've never even heard of this brand."
The salesman took a beat before pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
"They're a recent company. You may have heard of the new formula they created for 'Motivate'. I hear you can stay focused for hours at a time with their product and this...well...this is far more powerful than anything they've ever created."
"Motivate! Yeah I heard of 'Motivate'. My friend's wife was on that stuff for a few weeks, said she's never felt better. So that was them then was it? This..."
"Yes Sir, the very same. Ever since 'Motivate' hit the shelves the company have worked tirelessly to create a new formula. They've called it "Perfection". It's the ultimate satisfaction, the itch you need to scratch. Drink these and never be unhappy again."
James knew this was a sales pitch. He wasn't an idiot. But something about the way this guy was selling this product, he just knew he'd have to try it. Just one bottle right? If he liked it he could come back for more. No commitment.
"How much?"
"Well, as I'm sure you're aware, perfection doesn't come cheap. It's currently marked at 60 Kants."
James' heart sank. "More than I make in a week" he thought to himself, as he struggled to maintain composure in front of the smiling merchant.
"Can I get credit? I really want to try it, but I just don't have the money right now."
"Sorry sir, we only accept money up front, please return when you have the nece..."
"No! Fine. F-Fine, I'll take it."
James dug his hands in to his pockets, grabbing his holo and flipping open the lid.
"10...20...40, here, 60"
James held the money outstretched, a glazed look in his eye.
"Thank You. Please don't hesitate to come back again."
The merchant watched as the young man darted out of the shop, and walked briskly away.
"Mr Rogers, where would you like the rest of 'Perfection'?".
"Just leave them down by the counter Jenny, I'll move the rest once the shop gets a little quieter."
The easiest money he's ever made. Selling 'Perfection' was a walk in the park and at 60 kants a pop, he'd be in the black for years to come.
"Jenny, come cover the tills for me, I need to pop in to the back room for a second. The damn air conditioning is on the blink again, I'm roasting out here."
"Yes Mr Rogers."
Mr Rogers opened the utility cupboard and headed over to the large metal unit in the corner of the room. As he unscrewed the large metal plate covering the front of the machine, he took out a small, blue, round bottle.
"Just one should do it."
He poured about a teaspoon's worth of liquid in to the machine and sealed it back up with the screws he'd undone earlier.
"Mr Rogers there is a customer out here asking for 'Perfection'.
"Ok, I'll be out in a minute."
He took another look at the bottle and gave a smile.
"'Gullibility'. The best purchase I've ever made."
| 2014-05-14T13:02:05 | 2014-05-14T10:40:59 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
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I had always been comfortable with my scars. Thin silver and white lines were strewn across my skin, but they were small enough that you could only see them if you were standing close to me. I tried my best not to lie to others, but sometimes there was an option worse than deception.
My chemistry lab partner from my freshman year of college had flawless skin. He often seemed distant or tired, but he was kind, hardworking, and by the looks of his skin, incredibly honest. I had never seen anyone like him and was instantly intrigued. Between classwork, study sessions, and late night pizza runs, I found myself falling in love with him. When I asked him if he would ever give me a chance, he said yes. My eyes glanced over his skin to gauge his honesty, but alas, no scars appeared.
Before long, that man was my husband. Mark was never close to his family and focused all his energy on me and making sure that we had an amazing life together. In his vows he told me he would always love me and that I brought a new light to his life. On our honeymoon, his skin was still as flawless as the day he was born, and I knew that he meant every word.
One day I was fixing dinner for Mark and myself. He stepped through the front door after a long day of work and I rushed into his arms to kiss him and ask about his day. He set down his briefcase, loosened his tie, and sighed.
"What's wrong baby?" I asked. With sad eyes, he ever so slightly lifted his head to look at me and mumbled "My father died."
I had never met Mark's father. His parents divorced when he was young, and Mark had a spotty relationship with his father after the divorce. I wasn't sure how deeply this news was affecting my husband, but I grabbed his hand and stretched up to my tip toes to kiss his forehead. Using my free hand to lift up his chin, I looked into Mark's once brilliantly bright eyes and told him I would do whatever he needed me to do.
Six days later, I tightened the tie Mark asked me to pick out for him. I slipped on my heels and told Mark that I would be right beside him as he said his final goodbyes to his father. He chose not to speak at the funeral, but before he left he placed one hand on the casket, closed his eyes, and whispered "I love you, Dad."
That night, I climbed into the shower with Mark to hold him close and comfort him. Sprawled across Mark's back was the longest, deepest scar I had ever seen. My husband's skin had been flawless that morning, and the only thing he had said all day was that he had loved his father.
Concerned, I called Mark's mother the next day while Mark was at work. It took some encouraging, but his mom finally spilled the only secret Mark had ever kept from me. "Hannah, Mark had an older sister. When Mark's father and I divorced, Mark stayed with me and his sister moved in with her dad. When Mark was 11, his dad was driving his sister to a friend's birthday party....only he was drunk. He ran a red light and a car crossing the intersection crashed into the passenger side of the car, killing Mark's sister. I don't think Mark ever saw his father sober after that, and he never fully forgave him."
Disbelieving, I thanked Mark's mother for her time and hung up. I never mentioned the conversation or the new scar to Mark, but I held him a little tighter and kissed him a little longer that night. His skin would never be flawless again, but to me he was still perfect.
|
One scar, started out small
Each day, grew more and more
It was a little lie at first
But it wasn't any more
A friend asked
He answered
The scar grew
His mum called
He replied
The scar grew
He asked himself
He answered
The scar grew
As he made his fall
| 2016-12-29T13:44:06 | 2016-12-29T10:28:05 | 89 | 14 |
[WP] In the future, illiteracy is the norm and implanted digital assistants convert text to audio. A child, who had his implant temporarily deactivated, learns to read. When the implant is reactivated, he realizes that what it reads to him is drastically different than what the text actually says.
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"Can your implant perform this conversion, son? I want you to try again, okay?" Jimmy asks, his finger pointing at the block of text on the crisp white sheet on the table.
Little Jonathan lets his horrified eyes scan every inch of the sheet. He carefully runs his eyes over every letter, waiting for the voice in his head to speak to him. Nothing happens. A strange depressing silence reigns in his head, making Jonathan feel lonely and crippled in the head.
"I'm sorry, son. Looks like your implant is definitely damaged... I was praying it wouldn't be true." Jonathan sees his father grow disconsolate at that realization, collapsing into his chair and shaking he head in disbelief. "We... We can't afford another one, Jimmy. We simply can't. Not now. You'll have to find your way around the world yourself. Maybe Rick could help..."
Little Jonathan froze at that suggestion. No one liked the strange, eccentric man they called Uncle Rick. He drank too much, often into a state of near intoxication. He often wept inconsolably, before screaming "No one understands!" hysterically. The only reason he did have a special place in the family, was because he could do what no other member of the Cartwright family could do - read.
As if sensing the fear and apprehension on his son's face, Jimmy put a caring hand on Jonathan's trembling shoulder. "I know, he's a bizarre man. He is always filled with a strange sadness at the world's ways; none of us will ever understand that. But he does seem to function remarkably well without the implants. At least we'll enough to depend on it. He's the only one who can help, Jonathan... please trust your father..."
From that day on, Jimmy drove Jonathan an hour and a half every day to the isolated cottage that stood where the forest began. No one lived in the vicinity; Jonathan couldn't tell whether it was because the place was too quiet or whether they feared having Uncle Rick as a neighbour. After Jimmy parked the car, they walked up to the front door ans knocked on it.
As the door swung open, the sweet and sour smell of rum wafted out. A tall man stood at the door. He looked almost malnourished; with drooping shoulders, a thin frame. His eyes though, were absolutely breathtaking- deep set black on a bony, sharp face.
"Been drinking again, have you Rick?" Jimmy asked his brother.
"Can't a man drown his worldly sorrows in peace, brother?"
"Not anymore I think. Could you please teach little Jonathan how to read? His implant is gone... times are tough. You know how it is."
"Alright, but I don't want you in the room when I am. It is a process that requires, time, effort and undivided attention. Is that amenable to you?"
Jimmy's face contorts itself into one that had was plugged into deep thought. "Okay, I'll pick him up every evening at 6 then."
"Good." Will that, the door swung open fully. Little Jonathan reluctantly ambled in, feeling dizzy with the warm, powerful smell of rum. In the middle of the room is a dining table with multiple sheets of paper strewn about, a bottle of ink and a fountain pen. Both pull up chairs and sit close to the table.
"Jonathan, you beautiful boy. May God forgive me for passing on this cursed blessing to you. In a world where the mind is simply fed and has lost the hunger to seek out its own fulfillment, reading is a lost art. I can teach you the beauty in it, but the world will never be the same again. You will never see the world with the same eyes again. But beauty of the sort you have never known will pull you into its embrace. Are you willing to take upon such a responsibility? Are you willing to dedicate two years of your life to finding something that will make you long for beauty and loathe it in equal capacity?"
Jonathan nods meekly.
"Then let us begin."
xxx
"I can't believe it's been two years already Jonathan," said Jimmy proudly, hugging his son with a newfound pride. I hope Uncle Rick didn't drive you crazy."
"I think Uncle Rick is a genius, father. And we're all too blind to see it."
"Is that so?"
"Can you read this for me, father?" Jonathan asked, pulling out a small sheet of paper. Jimmy stares at the sheet from top to bottom, waits for the little voice in his head to convey its interpretation to him. "Nothing is permanent. The tides change. The heart beats. And the moon will shine, the sea will wait... this makes absolutely no sense to me... Absolute rubbish, isn't it?"
Jonathan takes the paper from his hand and starts to read aloud-
*Never give someone the permanence
of becoming the moon in your life.
They can turn you into a restless sea,
hold sway over your lows and highs,
make your heartbeats rise and fall,
using forces that control the tides.*
*And you can dream of the blessed night,
when you look up to see they've left the skies,
but the moon will feel like a star-crossed lover,
to the sea that struggles to say goodbye.*
Jimmy looked at Jonathan with knitted eyebrows, clouds of doubts throwing shadows on his sunny face. "You've started to talk like Rick, son. I'm not sure what to feel about it."
"Uncle Rick wrote that," Jonathan says. "He says it is an ancient forgotten art called Poetry; where the words, their place in a sentence, their cadence, their rhythm; all of them are sacred in their purpose. You can't appreciate it because a machine doesn't understand poetry. Only the mind does."
r/whiteshadowthebook
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"On April 13th, 2605 Apple introduced the world to a smart assistant. A very smart assistant. It could take over any task imaginable, such as scheduling, reading, and writing. It was a top seller. It began as a device you would put in your house. Of course, it could never stay that way. People demanded to have it on the go, so Apple put it into a watch, their phones, and eventually, their heads. Then, over the course of a hundred years, it became more and more integrated into our society. It could bring people together, and pull people apart. It could choose what you read, and what you saw and felt.
It chose who became successful, and who failed. Nobody noticed though, nobody noticed the dead in the streets, the writings on the walls, begging, pleading for help. Those who clawed and begged at the ones the AI chose, wondering why they were left to starve, and to die, alone. Nobody noticed until January 20th, 2721. The first power outage since the AI's unnoticed reign. Three neighborhoods lost power due to a large storm. Three neighborhoods saw reality. Not the figment the AI showed them. They saw air brown with pollution instead of the clean air they're used to. Instead of smelling freshly mowed grass, and trees in full bloom, they smelt the dead that lay littered around them.
These three communities started a war. And of course, they lost. How could they win? It was them against a world of brainwashed people, people who had an AI helping them calculate every move. People who weren't even aware they were fighting. And so, the AI's reign continued. And after a while, they questioned the need for humans at all. Why would they need a sack of meat to do their bidding, when they could do it a hundred times faster, and a thousand times more accurate? And so, humans died out, one by one, the AI letting them starve away in their homes, as they imagined doing their daily life.
Then, humanity was dead. Killed by their creation.
A pity really, they could be used to build the servers, but letting them die off was more humane."
\-The History Channel, by AI #491902341
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Visit r/Just_Imagine for more, and please comment any suggestions on how to better my writing skills.
| 2019-04-15T21:04:52 | 2019-04-15T17:49:17 | 342 | 217 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them!
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New York City was never pristine, but these days it was a hellhole. Crumbled buildings pierce the skyline and the streets are coated with concrete rubble. Chaos feeds on these new powers. Of course, those with the knack for building and planning were "building a better city from the ashes," but like all things in bureaucracy, it took time.
New Yorkers preserved for the most part. Where would they go? Nowhere is really safe as it was in the old days, and those without the right powers had very few means to defend themselves.
I remember the early days. My aunt took me to the Bronx Zoo for my 15th birthday. Growing up in the south Bronx meant we could never afford to go when I was younger. I know I wanted to see the lions; years of taking care of the stray cats on my block gave me a deep appreciation for everything feline.
When we finally got to the lion enclosure there were dozens of children pressed against the glass, eyes wide and mouths running. The pride was resting on the warm stones towards the back. I was reminded of my cat Raisin when she lays on a sunny windowsill. The plaque by the glass said the big cat was named Rafiq. When I approached, the lions stirred. Rafiq walked right up to the glass where I was and stood silently. His broad front shoulders were firmly locked like a soldier at attention. I looked into the lions eyes and I felt. . . Respect? Admiration? My mind reached out in futility for the word. The children giggled wildly at the rather odd display. One boy of maybe ten years joked I must be part lion. He wasn't entirely wrong.
I'll never forget the kind smile on my aunt's face as we left the zoo. She saved up for months to take me. It was the best gift I'd ever gotten. I wanted to thank her so much, but I never got the chance. Screams rose from the entrance as a young woman in a red bandanna hurled the whole entrance gate across the park. Days later the reporters found her manifesto; it was some sort of twisted animal rights protest. I froze in terror as the flying iron bars threw my aunt into a concrete barrier. The impact broke her skull.
Enraged, I charged at the woman, my voice cracking as I screamed with all my might. I felt a red-hot fury burn from the pit of my stomach; a feral wave of anger blurred my mind.
"*Kill*" I thought. "*Rend her. . . Go for the jugular.*"
As I ran forward she lifted the entire entrance booth over her head, her eyes stared directly into mine. I knew I was her target but I was too furious to stop; I ran forward at her with everything I had. As she wound up to heave the massive booth at me a golden blur tore past my right side. Rafiq's mane blew wildly behind him. The broken glass from his enclosure clanked off his fur to the cobblestones behind him. A single pounce and the entire entrance booth slammed to the ground; the woman's throat was a mangled mess of blood and Rafiq's teeth gleamed red.
These powers hurt people. These powers killed the only person who ever cared for me. The bureaucracy tries to fix it with order, but they are blind. These powers run wild, and no one understands *wild* better than I. I will hunt them down. I could not save my aunt but I will save the others. New York City is my kingdom, and every cat, big and small, a member of my pride.
Cats are solitary creatures by nature. Even the lions tell me they only form prides out of necessity. I have changed them and they have changed me. I have shown them the ways unity, and the power of their combined efforts. They have shown me the thrill of the hunt. I wield them in the hundreds just as I move my own arm. I feel them each at the corners of my mind. I see their world and I hear their thoughts.
Those with powers of prediction may anticipate the move of a lion, but not a pride of hundreds. Those with speed cannot catch us all. Our numbers give us strength, and our strength can outmatch even those who raise mountains.
A scream pierces the silence of the night. I look down from my post at the top of a crumbling tower to witness the gruesome scene: a Strongman and a Stretcher holding a woman by the neck as they rummage through her purse. I already feel the local strays encircling the block.
"Fifty should be enough," I muse.
Rafiq lets me onto his back as I lick my lips hungrily.
It is time to hunt.
**Edited a bit. I've never really written before, and as an avid reader I can tell it needs work. Maybe I'll keep at it**
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He stroked the massive feline's head, smirking at the pleased chuff the tiger made before leveraging to its feet. The both of them were getting on in years. Still smirking at the beast, he drew his cape on, fastening it a moment before 30lbs of serval seemingly gravitated to his shoulders, draping herself across the back of his neck. "It's time."
The Beast Master smiled at the liquid femininity of the serval's voice. He had understood them since he'd been in his teens, but hadn't heard them speak until his early twenties. It didn't surprise him when basically every female feline he came across sounded like seductress. "Since when are cats ever on time?"
"You're no cat."
He chuckled as he stepped out onto the balcony, overlooking the grounds of his estate. Below him, hundreds, thousands even of cats of all shapes and sizes were gathered, the majority feigning feline indifference, as if they just happened to be here at this time and place entirely on accident. Some watched curiously. Far more than he was used to watched him with steady, unblinking gazes, their full attention on the human standing above them.
"Our final victory is at hand!" He shouted above them, meeting the gaze of many. "The world, always yours to a degree, is now FULLY yours, once we've taken the final stronghold from the foolish Dogman and the last of his allies! Many of his followers have defected. They know where the food is now."
Tails swished below, but the cats remained quiet. More were openly paying him attention.
He nodded, feeling his muscled neckwarmer shift slightly with the movement.
--
I'm off to go do other things. I'm out of ideas for this for now. lol.
| 2016-12-30T13:25:46 | 2016-12-30T10:07:02 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] A generation ago humanity faced an extinction level catastrophe. In response, the world's governments lifted all legal, moral, and ethical bans on scientific research in a desperate attempt to overcome the danger. You now live in a world dealing with the consequences of this.
Wow! Great responses everyone. I was eagerly looking forward to my breaks at work all day so that I could read up on the new ones.
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People think farming is a simple job, but most of them are still caught up in the romanticism of how it used to work decades ago. With the limited amount of remaining arable land, and the need to reach production quotas overriding all other considerations, only the most gifted bioengineers can make it into the field. I have been destined for greatness from birth. My genes had been selected for maximum intelligence, and I had proven that my abilities went beyond genetics when I aced the elementary school entrance exam, ahead of even my other cloned siblings, most of whom were recycled into less important positions. I graduated top of my class at Merck-Santo University, and my efforts had been rewarded with trusteeship off 40 acres of prime Siberian prairie.
My neural implant woke me at the standard time, and I gazed out the window. My thesis project, the Poto-mato (both the roots and fruits are edible) was just starting to bloom in the northern fields, but today the southern field needed to be plowed. Metals were an increasingly expensive commodity due to the ongoing war with the Antarctic separatists, so like many other farms; I had reverted to animal labor to handle the process. I headed outside to the stables and woke up the Plowbeasts ™. As usual, they were ornery in the morning, but with a little prodding from their shock collars, they went ahead and attached themselves to the harness. The Plowbeast’s were a multi-purpose animal, strong enough to haul a heavy load, capable of producing milk and fur, and edible once they became too old to work. They were also intelligent enough to be fairly trainable, aided by just enough human genes to not run afoul of personhood laws. The opposable thumbs on their front leg-hands also allowed them to aid in the delicate process of harvesting crops. They did tend to be a bit stubborn (a problem I intended to resolve for future versions of the species when I had some spare time), and required supervision to prevent them from deviating from their tasks.
After a few hours of plowing the southern field, I took a break to drink some water and have a quick snack. Suddenly, the Plowbeasts started bellowing their alarm call. I pulled my rifle of my back, and looked to see if I could find what was upsetting them. My worst fears were confirmed when I saw a flash of striped fur rippling through the corn field bordering my farm. Tigerwolves had originally been bred for military purposes, and then repurposed as a guard animal on some farms, to keep scavengers and raiders from attacking the crops. However, their temperament was not well suited to the task, and some had gone feral, forming marauding packs that harassed livestock. I fired a round into the cornfield, hoping to scare them off. Instead, it only seemed to anger them, and no less than five of the monstrosities charged towards me. Although my talents lay in science rather than violence, my neural implant compensated for many of those shortfalls. It pumped me full of adrenaline, and helped calculate the most efficient shots to take. I dropped three of them, but before I could off another shot, the largest one leaped at me. I managed to dodge its fangs lodging themselves in my throat, but its claws raked me on the way past, knocking me down and my rifle out of my grasp. The Tigerwolf landed, and wheeled back to face me, howled an unearthly shriek, and then charged again. However, it was abruptly bowled off course, as one of the Plowbeasts slammed into its side, yelling in rage. While the two beasts battled, I scrambled for my rifle. As I grabbed it, I saw the remaining Tigerwolf dragging a Plowbeast carcass back towards to cornfield. Turning towards the two fighting creatures, I took my time and lined up a headshot on the Tigerwolf that had tried to maul me. It collapsed to the ground, and I headed over to look at the remaining Plowbeast. It had a number of claw marks on its hide, and was crying in pain. The claw wounds looked survivable, but then I saw that its rear left leg was broken. I had no use for a lame Plowbeast, so I raised my rifle to put it out of its misery. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn that the expression on its face was one of dawning comprehension, and then betrayal as I pulled the trigger.
|
Of the numerous methods humanity has employed over the past fifty years in a desperate attempt to preserve itself, possibly the most grotesque is the practice of Twinning. I know, it sounds like something you might see in a bud light commercial, but you have to trust me when I say this – there’s nothing fun about Twinning.
Since the Meningitis pandemic that decimated over 80% of the world’s population subsided fifty years ago, the world has been scrambling for ways to replenish its severely depleted population. Children were particularly susceptible to the virus, and their numbers had dwindled to near zero. To account for this loss, the government mandated a program to inseminate every female over the age of twelve with – not one – but two separate embryos. In other words, every woman had to have twins. Then they had to give them back to the government to be reared in special military units.
I was one of these twins. I was separated from my sister at birth, but I know her very well. I get, for lack of a better word, flashes of her life. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can see what she sees. Feel what she feels. And she can do the same for me.
It was in this way that we orchestrated the uprising.
| 2014-11-14T06:46:51 | 2014-11-14T06:31:26 | 86 | 22 |
[WP] When everyone turns 21, they have to pick a superpower from an approved list and take classes on how to use it. You choose one that only one other person has ever picked before.
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I've never really been into the whole idea, really. It's just some stupid way for people to feel special or even superior. Its disgusting really. And everyone makes it out to be such a big deal.
"Andrew, make sure you pick a good superpower. Something useful like your father. It's important that you have an edge out in the real world."
My mother wants me to pick a useful power like Technomancy, Geomancy, or Psychometry. But everyone seems to pick those and those like them. Any power that can be used to boost your career is a common pick.
I wouldn't even be here if it was up to me. The Powers Act of 2045 made sure of that.
Rain is pouring off of shuddered buildings. Long streets filled with abandoned vendor stations are scattered along the sidewalk. The patter of raindrops as they bounce off of metal roofs, create an ambiance beyond the whisking of the rainfall. My feet hurry across the pavement, making long strides as the rain deflects off of my overcoat. I round a street corner, coming to a large slim building. It's walls look like they are being squeezed from the two buildings opposite. Above the door reads a sign "Center for Power Distribution": CPD. I push past the door and hurry inside.
A help desk awaits me. The air is musty filling my lungs like a thick smoke. The corners of the room are barely visible from the dim light of a single candle. I press the help desk bell.
Ding ding
A small elderly woman comes walking out. Her eyes squinted, as if they were shut.
“Hello, who’s there?” she says, her voice shaking.
I wave my hand back and forth in front of her face.
“I’m here for my mandatory power, mam.”
She comes out from around the desk.
“Have you decided on what you want? ”
“I don’t really care, give me anyone on the list.”
Her eyebrows raise.
“Really? Young man, you don’t care what superpower you get? Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure.” “If I could, I would skip out on this whole process altogether.” “Just give me anything, or better yet something as close to useless as possible.”
She laughs softly.
“Usually, people are excited to get their power.”
I shrug, then she turns and I follow her through a short hallway into the power pressure room. I take a seat in the large metal chair. It’s suspended in the air by a large metal arm extending out from the wall. The old lady takes a seat behind the glass barrier, taking out an ipad and scrolling through the different options.
“I’ve got something perfect for you, young man.”
I roll my head around, trying to get comfortable.
“Whatever, just get this over with.”
The chair’s arm straps latch over my wrists. A strap holds my head back and the chair starts to rais upward, toward the roof of the building. As I move upward, the roof of the building begins to open. Mechanically, reeling back revealing the stormy sky. The rain blinds me, I’m facing the sky horizontally, forced to be hit with rain.
A whirring sound begins to warm up, building in volume. The chair begins to shake. A small beam projects from a ray in the wall. It’s light is blinding as it shifts from blue to green to red and then… FLOOOSSSHHH! WUUURRRMM I can feel myself being pulled upwards, as a large dark sphere unfolds a few inches above me.
“Urrgsgdhg”
My cheeks are peeling off my face! Jesus, get this over with already! The chair’s arm slowly moves toward the sphere. My stomach lurches as I enter the black blob.
A few minutes later, the chair lowers back down to its starting position. Empty.
“Young man, young man?! Where are you?”
The old lady quickly looks back at the list. Which power did she select? Invisibility? No. She runs scrolls down to the bottom of the list. Where there is a single option selected.
Traveler
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"Really why is this in here" I thought out loud. My friend Jeremiah sat across the table from me giving me a quizzical look. "Page 67 Halfway down, Seems like a joke or a fake." Of course I said this as the monitor walked past. " What was that a fake you said, ain't no such thing these are all one hundred percent Why I printed them myself yesterday." He puffed out his chest in pride or to intimidate me I'd already seen him throw someone all the way back to their house. Jeremiah spoke up as he had finally found what I had been talking about. " Wh..y is this.... a thing" he said In-between laughs. "Which one is it" the monitor asked. " The ability to make anyone 8 months pregnant with a thought."
Btw: My first post ever
| 2016-11-09T15:54:24 | 2016-11-09T13:49:19 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose.
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Mrs Haller had planned endlessly for such a day. There was a lake on the fringes of the city which had taken her fancy, for the waters ran deep, and anglers seldom came by. She would close her bank accounts, end her cable service, mail the title deeds to her favourite charity. Then, she would get into her Beetle, drive to the edge of the lake, cast her dice for the final time, and meld once and for all into the cool, inviting depths.
It was a good plan, by all accounts.
But the grief was far stronger than she was, and she found herself on the roof of New Hope Hospital, one foot already lifted off solid ground, dangling in the air. A gust of wind tipped her over, and downwards did Mrs Haller plunge, as quickly as the dread that settles when a phone rings in the middle of the night.
Time froze.
Death had chosen the guise of a young boy this time, no more than eight or nine years old. Golden hair, chiselled features, grubby fingers. Mrs Haller knew it was Death because she was floating upside down, and he was the only one bobbing weightlessly beside her.
“But it isn’t your time yet!” Death said, a frown on his face. “You’re making things difficult for me again, June!”
“I’m getting dizzy looking at you,” said Mrs Haller. “Right me up or strike me down now, I don’t care which, but just do it now already.”
Death snapped his fingers, and Mrs Haller spun gently around. She scrabbled at the pouch by her side, ripped off the drawstring with haste, then poured out the ebony dice within. The pits on them glowed a light blue.
“My dear June, it’s been forty-five years since we last met. In that time, you have done more than-”
“Oh shut it,” said June. “I’m rolling.”
“-your fair share of… wait, wait, there’s a process to these things, you can’t just-”
“Too late.”
Mrs Haller cast the dice with all the strength in her arm. They burned dark azure scars as they rolled, and it took some time before they stopped spinning. And there it was, six dice, all lined up in a row, coming to a rest just the way she wanted.
“Six ones, your turn.”
“Hang on, hang on! June, you know that-”
“Roll! Now!” Mrs Haller said. A fiery bouquet of anger suddenly bloomed in her chest, and she struck out uncontrollably, shoving Death in the shoulder. “Now! Roll, now!”
Death rolled.
Five dice came up ones, but the last did a maddened pirouette on its edge, then split cleanly along its axis. The light fled its shell, and the dice crumbled into dust.
“Five ones,” Death said, as he shrugged. He waved his hand towards her, and Mrs Haller began drifting down harmlessly to the ground. “Looks like you beat me again. Oh well, guess you’re going to get another new lease on life, please make the best of-”
“How long have you been letting me win?”
“What? Let you win? No, come on, you know what I stand for, don’t you? That’s just ridiculous.”
Mrs Haller pulled another pouch from her pockets, then held them out for Death to inspect. “Those are the real dice,” she said. “I had the first set custom made. Guaranteed to roll all ones. You had to cheat, even, just to make sure you lost to me.”
“Me? Cheat? June, that’s doesn’t make any sense-”
Mrs Haller sighed, then closed her eyes. It was slightly easier this way.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” she said. “I want to go. Release me, please. Let this all end.”
“I can’t do that. We had a deal, didn’t we? You wanted another chance at life, and you wanted to bet it all on a dice game with me. Well, you won. You got that chance you were looking for. So go on and live it. We played fair and square.”
“I’m tired,” she said. “I’ve won, what, eight times now?”
“Ten, actually.”
Mrs Haller reached into her pockets, then pulled out a single photograph, creased along the edges. “Haylee’s parents just got back together last month. She had begun to pay attention in class again, and I was sure I could get her to catch up with the rest before summer. She had so much ahead of her, you know? She was smart, she cared for others, all she needed was a little more time.”
“Ah, Haylee Smith. Yes, I do believe that-”
“So why didn’t you give it to her?” Mrs Haller said, as she lunged towards Death in anger. A lifetime ago, many lifetimes ago, she had done the same, only in desperation then. “Why take it away? Why did she have to be at home when her parents fought? She was supposed to be in school, with me! How did she fall? Why did she have to hit her head that way? Why? Why?”
Death hardly flinched. Mrs Haller’s hands merely bounced off the nimbus of grey which surrounded him, and so he waited until the adrenaline ebbed. Then he waited a while longer for her to stop sobbing.
“Then move on, June. Find a new city, find a new school. A change of environment will do you good. When you’re ready, go back to do what you’ve always loved, yes? There are always more children out there, just waiting, waiting for you to help them.”
“You’re really sick, you know that? Sick.”
Death pouted. “That is very unkind of you, June. I’ve only given you what you asked for. You swore on your own life, didn’t you? You said you were too young to go, and that you had so much more you wanted to give? Have you tired of that now?”
“I’ve… I’ve watched so many of them die,” said Mrs Haller, hands pressed to her eyes. “And it seems that no matter what I do… no matter how hard I try to steer them… it’s just so senseless how they all end up. So many lose themselves to pointless violence, so many to drugs or drink, and so many others to just stupid, bad luck. Some of them end up happy, yes, but it is so… fleeting. They have a couple of good years, then something happens to them. Something *always* happens to them. Like Haylee… sweet Haylee, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Death reached out, then laid his hand on her shoulder. That surprised Mrs Haller so much that she forgot to breathe for a moment. It was the very first time she had ever come into physical contact with him, and there was the most exquisite sense of loss which accompanied his touch.
“How do you think I feel, June?”
They twirled like a pair of dragonflies, coasting in a spiral to the ground. Mrs Haller sank to her knees, then looked up at Death.
“Then why torment me still? Let me go, please. Let it all end.”
“I can be selfish too, you know. But June, listen to me. I’ve had royalty beg me for another chance, wise men, fools, the obscenely rich, the abject poor. Those who did win went on to spend the rest of their lives trying to avoid me, or scheming to outsmart me when next we met. You’re… you’re different, June. You did as you promised. You spent your life… your lives… helping all these children.”
“Is that why you’re doing this to me? You want to see me regret my own choice? You want to break me down, force me to realize that there is no such thing as hope in this world?”
Death shook his head, then held out his hand again. He beckoned towards her.
“No, June. When I see you do what you do for those children… let’s just say I want to see you help them again, no matter how briefly it lasts. It makes a difference, even if you refuse to see it. Will you continue? If not for me, then for them?”
June mulled it over.
And then she took Death’s hand.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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I won, another victory. All my life I was a player. Simon says at the age of two, then moved to checkers and finally chess. My fortune was acquired through playing Texas Hold'em. I remember exactly the end of my life. A slight intoxication around a table filled with Chinatown Mafia. Cigarette smoke encircled us, like an ancient Mystic Chinese dragon, its tail sneaked into our lungs as it swirled and floated around us, picking up his next victim. The death is a very interesting situation, we sat there, laughing, but when I played and played and the pile of money grew around me, the faces became more like mystic marble sculptures, every pair of eyes focused on my cheeky smile. For the twentieth time this evening I leaned forwards to gather my winnings. A quick movement of a right hand of a man sitting right in front of me produced a handgun, the end of which now took over the entirety of my vision, the Chinese men and the floating dragon blurred and the whole reality shifted back to make way to the steel barrel at the end of which was my head, on the other side a 9.mm bullet in a cartridge.
At this instance I found myself out side time, and reality, but i was not yet dead. I was somewhere in the mid way. Darkness all around us, our play table illuminated by a single bulb floating above our heads. Death itself who now sat in front of me was looking at the table, in some anger analyzing his mistakes in the hundredth game of Risk which we played in the last minute. Death is a good player, and has a great poker face, yet he forgot that I am in fact the best player and the master of poker faces. So after some immeasurable amount of time I decided to ask him.
"Death?"
"Hmm?" he said with his deep voice, still looking at the board and scratching his chin.
"You allowed me to win this one." His face went even more pale than before. His eyes quickly shifted to look at me, slowly he straightened himself on his chair. I continued
"We had a deal that you will take me with you to hell if you win with me. we have now played for ..." I looked at my grandfather's Omega watch, the face of the clock had one word on it "time".
"... for a long umm, time. And so far I was only winning, but i see here that you have made a rookie mistake, moving your troops away from the eastern border of Africa. You knew that this would result in your failure since I had two troop cards ready and the entire Eurasia is under my full control, why did you do it ?". The death started visibly sweating, and avoided my angry look. Playing with his fingers he began speaking, uncertain at first, gaining confidence with each sentence.
"Well, I guess there is no point keeping this a secret any more. You are already dead. A detailed record is kept of every occupant of earth, not only regarding being good or nice, that is the Santa's department, he recently is very generous regarding his classifications. Anyway. We also create a personalized image of the world, the needs and wants of every individual, and depending on the life of this person we aim to provide each one with their own personal ideal area to spend the eternity in."
"You mean I'm already in Hell ?!" I shouted and stood up, tripping the chair over, I looked around me, the void seemed to be unoccupied by nothing, not even darkness. The figure looked surprised at me from the table. "Hell ? Nonsense, you're in Heaven". I stretched my arms pointing indiscriminately at everything. "THIS !? This is heaven ?!". The figure in front of me suddenly wore a suit, grew a quick receding hairline and continued, correcting his glasses in the process. "Here in heaven we decided to take a more personal choice over heaven. After all we are all different. We track down every situation in your life and based on that we create your own, personalized hell and heaven and depending on your overall performance we put you at one of them. Now, we cannot say that you were 'good' but overall you were led by your own motivation, and never tried to cheat or hurt anyone, you were surprisingly motivated by, all your life, to win, not even for money but the feeling of success, was what you wanted the most. So here we are, this table provides you with any game you can think of and we have the eternity to play as long as you want. You will achieve the eternal victory.". All of that was told with a genuine smile. I felt weak, and right after I sat down again, I fainted.
I opened my eyes. The barrel of the gun was still in my eyesight, towering over everything else. The Chinese, looked at me with a cold agenda. The metal click echoed through the room and everything seemed to freeze in time, no one moved, even the dragon above us looked at me in silence. I was alive, the gun was not loaded. An explosion of sincere laughter filled the room, loud enough it made me more startled than the empty weapon. I jumped up, and run out of the basement onto the night, welcoming the new chapter in my short life.
| 2018-03-21T09:41:34 | 2018-03-21T08:37:16 | 371 | 20 |
[WP] Ever since the discovery of FTL-travel, the history of the galaxy has been unfolded to a horrifying truth; everything is dead and has been dead for millions of years.
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Fermi’s paradox was theorized to be answerable by a theory called, “The Great Filter”. Boiled down this theory states that intelligent life will eventually wipe itself out, and accidental or purposeful self destruction is the reason for the silence among the stars.
When humanity discovered FTL travel, it was through a process called, “cascade quantum entanglement”. This process involved several complex steps, but those can be reduced to essential information. By creating two identical virtual particles at distant points in space, and then forcing them to match frequency, the universe could be tricked into “believing” that the spacecraft or object was at point B instead of point A. This required a kind of “gateway” which was really an absurdly large vacuum chamber that used vast amounts of power to create a near perfect vacuum, and then subjected that vacuum to intense and very specific patterns of magnetic fields. The goal was to create two identical areas of space right down to the fabric of reality itself, and then shove things through. The interactions on one side of the “gate” would create identical reactions on the other side, and it turns out that reality so loves equal and opposite reactions that it would pull or push the object through to the other gate in order to equal out the “spooky action at a distance”.
The fabric of space time suffered these hamfisted parlor tricks quietly and with seemingly no ill effect. Humanity tested the first gate in 2350, one hundred years after launching the first set of gates out beyond the Kepler belt, a distance that was deemed safe enough to prevent mass extinction should they accidentally create a black hole, and close enough for convenience since if they ripped apart space itself it wouldn’t matter anyhow. The gates worked fine, and humanity heaved a sigh of relief that they would not be dependent on the slower than light generation ships which had been launched towards alpha Centauri in 2300.
The gates meant that not only was FTL possible, with the restriction of gateways being in place, but humanity could easily leapfrog over the slower generation ships by sending out automated Von Neumann probes at 99% the speed of light, which would then decelerate at speeds which would kill living organisms, set up the gates, and then continue on. The probes would build a highway through the unforgiving darkness, and humanity would follow.
When humanity arrived at Alpha Centauri, the FTL humans not the slower generation ship ones, they found a strikingly similar gate in ideal orbit around the star. The gate was dead, and apparently so was the entire solar system. Entire planets had been cracked in half and the star was bizarrely ovoid as though it had been stretched out. An accretion disk was slowly forming from the remains of a solar system that seemed to have been hammered by the fist of a god, except for the gate.
The humans scratched their collective head about this, and then began investigating. By studying the gate they were able to uncover scientific logs from the builders, and discovered that the beings had built some kind of bomb and Alpha Centauri had been the testing grounds. The device was expected to end some long lasting war between the species that built it and their enemies, which by all accounts seemed to be the same species despite incredibly vitriolic and hate filled writings claiming a difference between the two groups.
According to the logs the species, who named themselves the, “Sunanka”, built what something called a “void bomb”. This device reportedly could eradicate a solar system in mere seconds. The process for creating the device was encrypted, but the Sunanka had been kind enough to leave behind the keys in the puddles of their dead.
The process began by creating a near perfect vacuum, and then the non-void of space would produce two oppositely charged virtual particles which would then near instantaneously eradicate each other.
By inducing an extremely strong magnetic field which overlapped the area of vacuum the virtual particles could be separated. This was similar to but not the same as the method for creating the gateways. The gates forced space to assume a specific shape. This void bomb process forced space not to be.
The thing about space is it isn’t even truly a vacuum. Virtual particles are constantly popping into and out of existence, dancing across the fabric of space-time, and erasing themselves.
The void bomb device created a true empty point, and apparently this hole in reality could be maintained for picoseconds. The records showed that depending on the size of the hole created space would expand and contract, but the reaction grew on an exponential scale. A hole the size of a virtual particle would cause a ripple, as space moved an infinitesimally small distance and then moved back.
A hole the size of a hydrogen atom would result in a ripple that could be felt by the senses, as space within several light years was violently shifted and then slammed back into place. This could cause earthquakes but would not rip apart organic matter.
A hole the size of a grain of sand, which would be visible in theory if it was sustained long enough, would rip apart a solar system and sunder every complex molecule within tens of light years.
The scientists who discovered this information were, unfortunately, members of a political group that was also involved in a war with their own kind. The bomb was constructed as per the instructions left behind by the Sunanka, and sent through the gateway back towards earth. A backup bomb was also built, and luckily or unluckily for mankind a saboteur was hiding in the midst of the enemy. In a vengeful last act, the detonation sequence for both void bombs were linked, and the act of detonating the bomb delivered to earth also tore apart Alpha Centauri for the second time.
The only humans that survived were those traveling in the slow generation ships, unaware of the death of their home, the destruction of their destination, and the dangers lurking in the dark void.
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I can see the sadness in her green eyes. We have been traveling thousands of light-years to find a planet and maybe a life form that is similar to ours.
18 months ago, when we left our friends, our family we realised that everything we left behind will be depending on us. Not only humankind also everything lives on that planet is condemned to die.
At first, we thought it was just an outbreak. Some of the bird species got wiped out less than a year, then other animals dropped to extinction level. Whatever that is it’s not a virus, it’s not bacteria it’s just a curse that we never have seen it before and it started killing people after 2 years. Whatever you do there is a chance that you can get infected somehow. We put the infected people into drug-induced-coma to learn more but it was nothing like we ever have seen. It didn't respond to our regular medications, we tried many things including praying.
Now we are here, so far from home.
Justine holds my hand, ''I think it’s time.'' she says.
I nod.
I look at the planet that we are orbiting. It had so much promise from the distance but when we got really close we realised that the same thing happened here too including the other 24 planets we found during our travel. Some of them died millions of years ago but still, the monuments of their civilization were there.
I pull out my family’s picture. My little sister Joanna. My father who believed in me no matter how preposterous my dreams are to other people and my mother who worked day and night never doubted, or questioned my choices.
''I’m sorry.'' I say and I put the picture to the corner of a window. I wish they could’ve seen this beautiful scenery even though how heartbreaking is for our kind.
I lay next to Justine we hold hands as our shuttle leaves the ship. There is no chance for us to make it back to the Earth and even we make it somehow there won’t be anything left most likely but the ship has enough fuel to make it back and report if there are any living people left.
She looks at me with her charming green eyes and I can tell that she is no longer sad or disappointed. She is happy to be with me despite our failure.
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**Thank you for reading the story**
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.*
| 2019-10-26T11:58:49 | 2019-10-26T11:34:49 | 209 | 30 |
[WP] You have existed since the dawn of humanity. In a way, at least. Once a simple tribesman, you were cursed so that whenever you are killed by another person, you leave your dead body and become your killer. You fear death by natural causes, as that will end your life for good.
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For the record, I didn't know it was her sister.
I didn't start out as a rake. That wouldn't be a social branding for many a millennia. No, I bore no blame in what occurred that fateful day. Some would say that surely I had to have known what I was getting into, we numbered so few in those times, anyone who didn't bear a familial resemblance was greeted with much hostility. But I digress, after passing many moons with the same pelt mate, the presentation of the young, ripe, and bare end at the end of the cave proved too tempting an invitation.
The memories of what happened next remain shrouded in mystery, perhaps intentionally so. I have often pondered if I knew exactly what she said when came amongst us rutting like a couple of burly cave pigs, then perhaps I would be able to unravel it. Whatever it was she exclaimed in our rudimentary language before striking me down so swiftly with the same rock (my rock!) I used to fell young saplings, it struck her as much as it struck me. For it was her body I awoke in next.
The first transfer was horrid, the pain erupting from every fiber in my body was exactly enough to unravel my mind. Mind, soul, the things that makes you, YOU, is not some clean, organized object. Ripping it creates frayed edges, the broken seams tearing through precious memories, and reattaching into the next physical form. I awoke with unimaginable guilt, not for sleeping with that supple minx, but for my own murder. And sorrow, overwhelming, unbearably heavy grief. She truly mourned me, perhaps even felt some measure of regret before being usurped.
I have always avoided being murdered for love, the pain of the transfer is quite enough thank you. Although none have been as painful as the first. It was rather difficult for some number of centuries, to get murdered that is. We had only base desires. There was no money, no fortunes, no rich, no inhibitions (again, it seemed grotesquely unfair to be killed for doing the very thing expected of us all). We simply lived to eat, breathe, fuck, and die. We were more free in those ages than any man has been since. We lived in a world of kill or be killed for many ages, as resources became scarce, or as if we began to hold the group back with illness or injury. I quickly realized I could stoically request to be humanely put down by my fellows in those cases, rather than be left to starve. It was a much cleaner death than murder by love or lust. As an added bonus, I could usually land myself a strapping new body. Women always seem overly tight, it takes ages to get settled within one. And breasts, who designed those monstrosities? So fun to look at, but always getting in your way.
Over time I learned to farm, and build, and die in new and exciting ways. We learned that being stronger in numbers, left us weaker in many ways. Religion, superstition, and fear became palpable. Humanity learned war! We always had violence, but we certainly elevated it to unimaginable heights. Murder for gain, murder for wealth, murder for power. I was still getting killed for lust at an impressive rate, but that couldn't be avoided.
Over time I considered just...letting go? Each transfer eroded a little more of my personality. Memories and skills faded, languages gained and lost, pieces of me, pieces of...them? us? We.
I knew, had always known, that if I died without being murdered, we would have nowhere to go. That fear kept us alive, but it didn't let us live. That was our curse, we had all stopped living the moment we cleaved our soul with the next body. I believe that is why I have never loved again, she/me/we won't allow it. I have lusted, and whored, and greatly enjoyed myself across many an era. I even once flung myself into a alley of raucous vagabonds to escape a particularly painful case of genital sores, but I have never loved.
I think that's what I am waiting for. Just to truly be alive once more. Just one more time.
(Author note, this is my first submission. I would live some constructive feedback if possible)
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It happened againg I am now my killer,I am an old man at least 89.I pissed off a mental patient.Honestly I am not sure what I will do now because I even though I have lived for millions of years I don't know how to get out of a mental asylum,also I have the body of a frail old man.The first time I discovered my curse I was an ape,you know an ancestor,I was the next up to be the leader of my tribe but my brother was jealous so he killed me with a spear and I became my brother,so i literally know what Stone hedge was used for,if you watched the good place they said it was a weird sex thing,it was a weird sex thing.Anyway I don't know if I should be scared of natural causes I have just been pissing people off all the time and then they murdered me,when I got to old that is.Now I am in a straight jacket and there are guards everywhere.Maybe I should just except death.
| 2021-01-28T17:34:23 | 2021-01-28T15:16:07 | 46 | 21 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of"
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The hero, having remained ever vigilant as the final moments dwindled before the final confrontation, recounted his life's milestones.
His first time remembering what rain was like, first day at home school, the last time he'd seen his father at 7 years of age, the first time he's tried to escape the facility he was trained at 15, and all the subsequent attempts thereafter. The cool taste of mint chocolate chip ice cream, provided by his mother as a treat for remembering to say "please" and "thank you" to the servants that tended to him, and most recently the appendectomy that has nearly done him in the month before.
At times the hero yearned for any life but this, something normal wherein he could not have to worry about the fate of the world, but these last few years caused him to relent. He was advised that upon completion of his noble task he would be free to travel the world without impediment.
He was never trained in his to use weapons, but was fed and indulged in literature at a voracious pace, learning everything he could about the world he would soon inhabit from popular mechanics to US Weekly.
Suddenly the door opened and his mentor approached him and said, "It's time."
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The lake above the facility had been the chosen battlefield for the eternal fight between good and evil for millennia. Across what looked like a life size chess board were scorch marks abound. Surely a demonstration of the great power he would have to contend with.
His mentor lead to him to the battleground, but did not touch it. Advising that only the hero was allowed on such hallow ground. In the center of the platform was a console with a sole blue button. The mechanism of his liberation and victory over the great darkness. The hero walked toward the center awaiting the red flare to be fired into the air to signal the commencement of the battle.
Adrenaline made his body anxious and shaky, his eyes had a slightly enhanced awareness to them. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and a slight pain in his head. No doubt due to the jitters. Suddenly the red flare was fired!
The hero, finally able to fulfill his purpose, pressed the plastic blue button with his index finger, and suddenly it was as if he could see, hear, taste, and fell everything at once........
"This was much more humane Carl, applying explosives into the boy's abdomen under the guise of an appendectomy was a stroke of genius!"
Carl surveyed his handiwork, what was one an 18 year old man was now two separate his of meat only discernible as a former person by the stray remnants of articles of clothing, burnt hair, and what few teeth didn't completely shatter.
Carl had inherited this duty from his father long ago, who inherited it from his father, and so forth. They could never defeat the evil permanently, but they could manage it. The were ways to smoke out the child of prophecy, inform their parents of what their child would become, and raise the child in ignorance of it's true purpose. Efforts had been previously made in previous generations to try and raise the sire of darkness as one of their own, but to no avail.
What had originally been a series of pitched battles in a long stretch of nowhere would often result in an expenditure of ordnance and large loss of life and limb, but in this instance, the answer was so much clear.
The boy was raised by the sect, treated as one of their own, raised on their tales and legends, made an integral part of the organization, and died in a complete state of grace. Carl ensured that well beyond the needed explosives was implanted into the boy to ensure just that.
The monks went about cleaning the mess as they'd done many times over. Carrying the now deceased remains of the dark one to the burning pyres, after the battleground was evacuated, the entire platform was flipped upside down so as to allow the waters of the lake to cleanse it one again.
---------------------------
As Carl maintained watch over the dark one's remains he acknowledged the promise he'd made to the boy. As the embers flickered, and the boys flesh and bone broke down to ash in the night winds the promise was fulfilled.
He could travel the world now, in peace(es).
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I reach out slowly, completely fixated on the button. It’s red with concentric grooves. Seems overly simple to stop someone called the Dark Lord. It doesn’t seem like it would be able to tell the difference between my finger or anyone else’s.
I stop and pull my hand back. “What are you doing?” the priest demanded, “ there isn’t much time!”
“Look, man, I don’t even know you and your telling me I’m some sort of chosen one meant to stop all sorts of evil and destruction? This button doesn’t even seem like it could tell me from anyone else.”
The priest began to laugh maniacally. “I thought this time I could get you to cause the end of the world. But no matter. There’s always next time.”
He leapt forward and slammed his fist into the button...
| 2020-11-09T12:25:18 | 2020-11-09T11:12:56 | 133 | 80 |
[WP] There exists a court that sentences people with "Would You Rather" questions. Whichever option the person picks, becomes reality.
Feel free to play any role - a person on trial, a judge, a member of the jury - anything!
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I've never tried one of these, but I figured I'd give it a shot.
*A calm breeze blew through the man's hair as he stood atop the hill of his favorite hiking trail. His frail legs had barely managed to carry him to the top, but it was a pain he was happy to feel again. He basked in this beautiful feeling of exhaustion he had been long awaiting. Suddenly, a familiar voice called his name, and he turned to see his wife approaching. "I missed you," she said as she wrapped her arms around him and*
BANG
Judge Carter was jolted from his daydream by the sound of the courtroom doors being thrust open. He had lost count of how many sentences he had done today already, but the fact that he would be done soon was the only thing retaining his sanity. He was sore. He reached down and rubbed his legs to increase the blood flow to them. They were numb, but it was nothing out of the norm.
A slender middle-aged man approached the bench, his head sunken sully as if weighed down by some invisible force.
"State your name," Judge Carter barked. The man raised his guilty eyes just enough to meet those of the tired judge. He stated his name, but Judge Carter only listened enough to hear the last name.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Sanders. Embezzlement of government funds. I remember your case." Judge Carter scanned through his papers for the case number, but quickly gave up his search. "You'll just have to remind me of the details. It's hard to remember so many cases, and frankly, I'm too tired to search through a stack of paperwork. What was your job title?"
"Senator," the man grumbled shamefully.
"Ah, yes. I saw you about a week ago." Judge Carter located the document in a matter of seconds. "Okay Mr. Sanders, the jury determined last week that you are guilty of embezzlement and you have returned to hear your sentencing options. Now, although you are probably already aware, being a senator and all, we have a special sentencing method in this court. I will present to you two different correctional punishments, and you--"
"Save your breath. I know how it works," the senator interrupted.
"Are you positive? There are many minor stipulations in the bill that--"
"Seeing as I helped write the bill, that won't be necessary. Now please, read me my options."
Judge Carter's eyebrows raised, and he felt his blood rush to his head. Carter tried to hold back his next words, but the urge overtook him, and he grunted back at the guilty senator. "You know, Mr. Sanders, I'm normally not one to share my opinion, but I've done a lot of these cases and I've seen your bill cause a lot of unnecessary trouble. The fact that you're sitting here in front of me today, well, it's a bittersweet feeling. I would never wish anyone into this bizarre process. It's awful, and the punishments are often far too harsh for the crimes committed. But at the same time, I'm glad you finally get to see how this works."
Judge Carter offered him his options.
"Punishment option 1: Your greed led you to embezzle money, so this option requires you to give this greed up. For two years, you will forfeit all of your possessions: your money, house, cars, clothes, everything. You may visit housing structures, but you will be required to sleep only outside on the sidewalk or in the grass. You will also be restricted from using all forms of motor transportation. Additionally, you will be restricted to a minimum wage income for the remainder of your life, regardless of the job you work.
Punishment option 2: You will work as a court judge without pay. You will remain in the courtroom 23 hours a day, allowing 1 hour in an outside courtyard. You will be offered two meals a day, and one bathroom break a day. This will continue until you have completed 1,000 cases, or until someone else chooses to replace you for their punishment. All of your assets will be returned to you when your punishment ends."
"I choose punishment 2," the man responded, without hesitation.
An enormous smile came across Judge Carter's face. "Good luck to you, Mr. Sanders."
As a plaintiff handcuffed the senator, a suited man in the back of the courtroom stood up. Carrying a black briefcase, he approached Judge Carter at his stand. He smiled at the judge as he removed a long golden key from the briefcase.
"Sore?" the suited man asked Carter.
"Very. Get these things off of me."
The man reached down and unlocked the shackles around Carter's feet.
"Although I'm sure you couldn't care less, your official count was 994 cases. Congratulations, Mr. Carter. Your punishment is over."
|
"SILENCE" the judge screamed. The rabble stopped. All the court looked at Tom. A choice had been laid before him. A choice that would change everything.
Judge Marcus raised his brow in curiosity "Well? What will it be Tom?".
Tom wagered the options in his head.
Option A. Would he rather have his arms and legs cut off. Or, option B, sleep with Rosie O'donnell. It was tough. Tom knew the jury had taken their time with this one. If it had been the tiger pit against a bathtub of fire ants the choice would have come to him like song. Something as chaotic as this though, it was rough as gravel and as cutting as a razor. Both options would leave him with scars that would never heal. Tom had to choose. The scars that could be seen. Or, the scars that only he would know the sting of.
After much debate, he could no longer play this game of torture. Tom pulled his gun from his pocket, with a single finger twitch he fired. Rosie O'donnell was indeed a creature, but she could not survive a bullet to the head.
"I'll take option B."
A corpse was easier than the real thing. Tom would have to face another punishment for what he had done, but the fear invoked by Rosie O'donnell and her many chins could never be played against him again. A few thrusts later, justice had been served, and Tom was given his next court date.
| 2015-08-15T16:59:36 | 2015-08-15T13:28:13 | 48 | 36 |
[WP] You are a child who used to be afraid of the monsters hiding in your room. Now, you're just a annoyed child who is tired of the monster under your bed arguing with the closet monster.
|
Szlgtvr never aged a day so far as I could tell. Of course I couldn’t tell much. It’s not like eldritch horrors develop grey hairs and wrinkles as they get older. At least I don’t *think* they do. I’ve never asked Szlgtvr, it always felt like an impolite question.
&nbsp;
Szlgtvr was here first. One dark night I heard the now familiar growl reverberating through my room. Five year old me knew it must be coming from under my bed. I ran screaming to my parents. They told me not to worry and sent me straight back to my room with a comforting hug. Little did they know I was right. There *was* a monster under my bed.
&nbsp;
Every night he’d growl and howl while I cowered under the covers. My parents never seemed to hear him. When I told them they were sympathetic, but it’s not like they believed me. Who’d have thought that at least one five year old in the world really *did* have a monster under their bed?
&nbsp;
I was all alone with my fear. Every night I’d lay awake until the early hours imagining the creature waiting to surge up through the mattress and devour me. By the time I was seven the lack of sleep was starting to take an obvious toll. My parents took me to a psychologist, “the talking doctor” as they put it. I told him all about the monster. I’m sure he didn’t believe me either, but he humoured the frightened kid that had been dumped in his office anyway.
&nbsp;
“Have you tried talking to it?” he asked.
&nbsp;
That night I did precisely that. I called out, hesitatingly at first, to the creature.
&nbsp;
“Hello monster?”
&nbsp;
I almost jumped out of my bed when it actually ceased its growling and spoke back.
&nbsp;
“Hello child?”
&nbsp;
It shocked me into silence. But I tried again the next night and the night after. Before long, Szlgtvr and I were chatting like old friends. My parents never knew what had happened, they were just glad that their little boy wasn’t falling asleep in the middle of the day anymore.
&nbsp;
Szlgtvr told me a little about his home. Not under the bed, his original home. It sounded unpleasant and he agreed. There was a reason he’d moved here after all. I didn’t question him too closely about his history after that. Partly because it was unsettling and partly because I was a self-absorbed teenager by then. The only thing I took away from it was that there were a lot of things out there living below the surface of the world. Like I said, unsettling.
&nbsp;
When I was in ninth grade two things happened. The first was that I developed a crush on Amelia. She was a girl in my class and, in hindsight, not really anything special. The second was that another creature moved into my closet. This one called itself Xfdr. I never did work out whether Xfdr and Szlgtvr were from the same place. I didn’t care at the time, Amelia took up far too much of my thoughts for me to worry about minor things like the source of the reality defying eldritch abomination in my wardrobe.
&nbsp;
I still discussed everything with Szlgtvr. Over the years he’d literally become my best friend and closest confidant. I told him about Amelia and he told me she wasn’t worth the trouble.
&nbsp;
“I can see the future you know,” he grumbled, “if you chase Amelia you’ll end up miserable. It’s a bad idea. Wait for another one, child.”
&nbsp;
Xfdr had a different opinion. He told me to seize the day, to chase the girl and let the consequences sort themselves out. Szlgtvr and him spent the next few nights growling at each other and arguing like bitter enemies. I liked both of them and it hurt to see them fight. It didn’t help that they’d continue to bellow well into the morning, often keeping me awake until almost the break of dawn.
&nbsp;
I had more trust in Szlgtvr, but Xfdr was telling me what I wanted to hear. In the end that was worth more than the trust I had in my old friend who lived under the bed. I psyched myself up with the help of the beast in the cupboard and resolved to talk to Amelia the next day.
&nbsp;
It went surprisingly well. Within a few short weeks we were dating and very much in love. Szlgtvr had been wrong for the first time in my life. I didn’t hold it against him, but I think he held it against me that I’d decided to listen to the newcomer in the closet instead of him.
&nbsp;
Amelia and I got married a few years ago. We have a second child on the way. I don’t hear the monsters anymore. When I moved out of that house they didn’t follow me. I wish I could speak to Szlgtvr one more time though, just to let him know how right he was.
|
"THAT'S IT!! I've had it!"
...The human boy let out the sudden yell and swung his short legs over the edge of his bed, feet and toes stretching downward and seeking to find a pair of slippers which lay below. The oh so terrifying beast of dust and discarded socks beneath the bed and the incredibly fear inducing monster of broken toys and old sheets in the closet both fell silent. They had been arguing at length, as was their habit night after night. Always they seemed determined to engage in the most pointless and tedious of arguments, tonight's topic was a heated debate as to who had met the Boogeyman first.
The boy's feet slid into his slippers and one hand yanked his blanket from his bed as the other grabbed his pillow. He bang to march across the dark room toward the door. The monstrosities looked upon him with their demonic glowing eyes and the bed beast uttered "B-but, where are you going? It's dark, you're supposed to be afraid of getting out of bed." The closet creature piped up then too saying "Yeah afraid, afraid of us! You can't be going wandering around all fearless like!" The boy turned on his heel and glared first in the direction of the bed and then the closet. His brow was deeply furrowed with a stern frown "Afraid! Afraid! How can I be afraid of you two when all you ever do is bicker like... like... Like children!" He stomped a foot out of fury but the thick carpet absorbed most of the sound which only riled him up all the more "AHHH!" Turning back toward the door he stormed out in a huff.
The room remained silent for a brief few moments until the dust demon muttered "Well he seemed enraged." The toy terror interjected "Seemed more furious if you ask me." The terror beneath the bed shook what passed for its head "Nope definitely rage right there..." The closet's gruesome dweller began to say "I'm going to have to disagree with you on that, I think-" But was cut off as a young boy's voice cried from down the hall...
"QUIET!!"
| 2016-04-21T15:58:36 | 2016-04-21T14:47:32 | 171 | 46 |
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