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[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
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"Litch king! You will secede from your ill gotten empire of face your end!" The man yelled, drawing his sword and book as he entered the council chambers. "For we have conjured light magic beyond comprehension!"
Arieanna seethed in anger as she went for her sword. I lifted my hand to stop her. "Council, we'll reconvene later to discuss the issue of the drought and follow it up with a security council and corruption check. I swear if it's the damned *boat mormons* again I will metaphorically burn their cathedrals to the ground with taxes." The council gathered their bookkeeping from the great round table and filed out of the room, some pausing to survey the scene with concern until I nodded to them in reassurance.
"With none left to be harmed, I can show you the err of your ways!" He opened his book and dropped it on the table, he and his band of warriors pulling out crystals. "You will repent and beg before being sent back to the-"
"I have to interrupt you, but who are you?" I stopped him.
"I am the second prince of balerea, m-"
"Which neighbor is that? North?" I turned to Arieanna.
"It's the C class one to the southwest mi'lord." She stayed, voice shaking in fury.
"C class? Really?" I raised my eyebrows of flame.
"My *name*, is David Marcelo, son of micael, loved by my people-"
"Yeah, I got it David." I cut him off, standing up and crossing my arms. "Can you just get back to the whole *magic beyond comprehension* thing? I'm really busy trying to get the tree but industry to pull back their enterprises and irrigation use for use with some *actual* crops."
"By the light of our god," the prince shouted, holding his crystal aloft, "repent, to Gabriel!"
The crystal shattered and a being in white expanded and rose up, a massive sword pointed at me. I stood dumbfounded.
"I see you speechless as you bear witness to the holy light that stands before you in form litch king!" David laughed confidently, "you will know peace, and your people, freedom from your vile clutches! I will-"
I pressed my thumb and forefinger to each temple and chuckled just loud enough to be heard.
"Hath he gone mad?" One of the prince's warriors asked aloud.
"Enough!" David shouted, "Gabriel, smite thee!"
The angel fired a beam of pure light at me, a slight burning sensation rattled my bones. And after a few seconds, my vision was no longer obscured.
"Wooooooooow-I mean-*oh noh. what am I going to do about a level **four** angel.*" I sarcastically groaned, rolling my head.
"You see the power we possess! And surely you cannot take any more!" David spat confidently. "Resign to your demise litch king!"
"You Dare, deface mi'lord!" Arieanna hissed in rage. "I will cut you down where you st-"
"Arieanna, please." I shut her down. "They barely did a thousand before resistances. I've taken more in raids." I paused with a finger on my chin before deciding to give them a treat, lifting my smallest finger toward the level 4 magic spell. "Rescindio, black hole."
The angel collapsed inward and imploded into oblivion against the level 10 spell. It was overkill by a logarithmic margin, but the look on their faces priceless as they lowered their crystals, likely all level 3 angels judging by the hierarchy.
"What are you waiting for a tour of the empire?" I asked, sitting back down, kicking my skeletal feet up, picking at my teeth. "I'm happy to oblige. Feel free to talk it over, just don't take all day."
As they huddled together Arieanna knelt down next to me. Her steely gaze furiously piercing mine.
"Mi'lord, I can't just allow this affront to your name!" She whispered in elvish, "I beg of you, let me punish their wrongdoings and restore your name! You didn't even use your highest level spell, nor your chosen magic type!"
"That wouldn't be necessary." I noted. "The flat stab bonus was enough to send a message, and a level 25 light spell against another light spell drains mana. I'd rather make them uneasy and resentful than obedient and blind. They'll be more productive this way." David's men un-hustled as he turned around. "Made your decision yet?"
"We will..." david looked to his men then back to myself. "We will take your offer of a tour, litch king."
"Please, call me lord xxTheChosen7xx." I stood, "also, your build is inefficient, you'd be better speced with a helmet than that hood and crown."
|
Rupert had a tattoo, long hair, and seemingly permanent eye liner. This made him the 'Bad Prince' in a society that was much too nice for it's own good. Everyone had their opinion on the him but he never payed them any mind. He figured he would resurrect the art of heavy metal and had been working for a few years to get his band off the ground. That is until suddenly he was thrust into power. His father had decided to step down to start a potato farm. When Rupert asked him what he needed to know to run the kingdom his father replied, "Just stamp the papers on your desk in the morning. Everything kind of runs itself." "This was the problem with society," Rupert thought. Everyone was just too damn nice. There hasn't been war for centuries but if there were they would be wiped out. They were just sitting ducks. So he decided to start the military back up. People lined up in a hurry to be a part of this great plan. This was the proof Rupert needed that there was something people were longing for. The people that signed up though this was part of a play and that it was about time the government got into producing plays. Other nations saw his actions as trying to start up a war that no one was prepared to fight. They tried to convince him otherwise but Rupert stuck to his plan. After months of bootcamp and training they were ready for deployment. They had one of the most stellar war reenactments anyone could ever hope for. From all the readings of the history books Rupert had the force he had dreamed of. And the play was a success. It wouldn't be long before other countries started their own armies and put on plays of their own.
| 2017-06-12T08:09:12 | 2017-06-12T04:15:26 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
So you're in line getting tacos, right, like you do every Friday for lunch. It's a beautiful day, the sun is out, not a cloud in the sky. Seventy-five degrees, light breeze, absolute perfection. You order *dos de pollo* in your shitty Spanglish, hand the man three bucks through the dingy frosted window, and pause a moment to breath deep -- that salty, burnt, fatty goodness that smells like angels fuck -- that sulfurous, rotten-egg -- wait, what?
This shit again.
So then you're standing in a circle, alone, with your tool belt, your hard hat, your cell phone, a tamarind soda and absolutely no fucking tacos de pollo with onions and crema. Fuck. This. Shit. You resolve for the umpteenth time to be less good at your job.
*Remember your protocol.*
"Oh, gracious master," you bow, making obeisance before the thin-lipped, bearded asshole standing in front of the circle and the book and the candles looking inordinately pleased with himself. "How may I be of service, most gracious one?"
Sniff sniff. Putrid, acrid. Tallow, not beeswax. A fucking newbie, or worse, a goddamn cheapskate.
**"I am thy master now, demon!"**, thin-lipped shit booms. **"Thou art ensorcled by the hand of Dextrogast the Mighty! First of his name and first among the Leaden Ring!"** Newbie. Fine, whatever.
You remove your hard hat and straighten up. They like it when you remove the hat. Your arms, wide.
*Just roll with the punches, it will all be over soon.*
"I grovel before your magnificence, good Might. To what end my I pledge my service to the ends of the Leaden Ring?"
**"Thou hast been chosen, demon, for a task of great import, one uniquely suited to thy devilry! Thy master the Mighty hath scoured long the Books of Perdition and at last deciphered thy name! I bind thee to my will, Michael Thompson of Airmax Technologies, Rochester, New York, 14623!"**
When will they stop printing the Yellow Pages?
*Just say the words, do the thing. Faster. You might be able to break the bonds of a weaker sorcerer, sure. But if they can bring you in, they can send you back just as easy. Better that way. Let them do the driving. Pay it forward. Go home happy.*
"My will is yours, good Might, your wish my desire with utmost certainty. Pray tell the nature of your need."
Thin-lipped shitfuck draws himself up to his full height, chest swollen with pride. Wonder if you're his first. **"This Infernal Machine was created for my grandsire by thy demon-kin. Its power wavers. Fix it for me, or ne'er be free!"** He's pointing... at a... refrigerator?
Sigh.
*Even wizards make mistakes.*
"Oh, good Might," a deeper bow. "But in this I am unworthy to be your servant."
**"Does thou defy me, demon! My wroth is great and my punishment most -- most severe!"**
"It's just -- you see, good Might, I'm an air conditioner technician. That's a refrigerator. I mean, I can take a look at the wiring diagram and troubleshoot it if the problem is electrical, but if it's mechanical or the coolant you're going to need an actual fridge repair guy with the right stuff to recharge."
Thin-lips falters. **"So... so what am I to do with The Infernal Machine?"**
Sigh. The smoke from the animal-fat candles is burning your nose. "Let me see the pho-- the Book of Perdition you summoned me from." A suspicious look. "I swear upon my name not to leave or break the circle until I have shown you the name of a demon who can fix your Machine."
Gingerly he hands over the book. Flip flip flip. Refrigerator repair. "Do you have a pen?" Blank stare. "Um... charcoal stick? A quill?"
He seems to understand and hands over a well-sharpened number 2 pencil. You circle the name and number of a fridge tech.
"Great. Okay, just summon this guy next time your Infernal Machine needs work. And make sure to do the full summon between 8am and 4pm local time so that you can get all of his equipment in too. He might need some of the big stuff." You offer the book back to the sorcerer.
*Pay it forward.*
"Oh, and try not to summon between 12 and 1 pm local time, okay? I don't know what time zone you're in, and I know the cross-dimensional conversion is kind of hard, but no one likes being summoned on their lunch break."
He takes the book silently, glaring suspiciously.
"Also, uh... this line work is a little shoddy. See the edges of the pentagram bleeding a bit here? I really wouldn't have any difficulty at all breaking out of this summoning, even if I didn't know what I was doing. And a newbie demon getting out of the circle is the last thing you want. Try to keep the lines as clean as possible."
**"Thou came well-recommended, I see, for good reason, demon. You have the thanks of Dextrogast the Mighty."**
"And use beeswax next time, that smell is awful. Are you fully satisfied with your summoning, good Might?"
**"It shall suffice."**
A blink and a stink, and you're back in the real world, the rotten-eggs-stench lingering. Wonder how long that fridge had been out.
In the distance the taco truck rolls out of the parking lot, kicking up dust as it goes.
Typical wizard shit.
|
The room's runes glowed with such warding powers that the candles only served the purpose of spell ingredients. I paused the game, I was already at a pay point anyway having died multiple times because I needed the sword of Amecles to kill Hexigron and $3.99 was not in today's budget.
I made a step backwards in shock only to be thrown forward, a second bump on my forehead threw me back. I noticed the chaos symbol on the ceiling, it was surrounded by two vipers swallowing each others tails to make a circle.
The sound of louboutin's coming down announced her arrival, her skin almost radiated with her beauty. Enticing beauty, an attractiveness that seduced and corrupted all that stared at it for too long, the kind that would tempt a man to eat an apple he'd specifically been told not to by someone who could create galaxies.
"Victoorrrr...." she purred out. A finger ran across my shoulders, then down my spine.
"What do you want Lucy?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Not yet anyway, today I want to give you something."
"I'm not interested in what you're selling."
"Oh I'm sure you are, and would you turn around who gets summoned facing the wrong way?"
I spun to face an altar in front of it was a silver throne cast in the image of men kneeling. Lucy sat on the back of one, the armrests being the arms of two men standing.
"You're sure you wouldn't be interested in anything I have to offer?"
"I'm sure."
"Not even this?" she lifted up a small test tube, it glowed bright blue, the faces on her throne shifted their gaze as she waved it in the air. Even they knew what she held.
My mouth hung open. I could feel the essence calling me, pleading it needed to be back home. She flung it to the floor and as it shattered it made it's way to me. My lungs filled with life, cloudy eyesight cleared and my heart raced faster as she waved her hands and I found my self back in my apartment. The doorway to heaven started to form. At last my ascendance.
As I soaked it all in my back stiffened. She gave me something she knew I couldn't pay for. She was trying to get more than a favor from me. She was trying to earn loyalty. She would have to come calling some day. What scared Lucifer so badly she needed to make allies?
***
You can read more of my stories at /r/pagefighter.
| 2017-05-12T08:58:50 | 2017-05-12T07:44:27 | 1,714 | 81 |
[WP] "But I'm your direct descendant! Which means I'm fated to defeat you!" "Kid, I'm ten thousand years old. Everyone in the kingdom is my direct descendant. You're nothing special."
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The lord sat atop his throne of gold, staring down at the boy before him with bored eyes.
In truth, the male before him was hardly just a boy. When speaking on the magnitude of millennia, though, a mere two and a half decades is easily child’s play.
Also, his throne was only plated gold. It was a facade, meant to make him appear greater, perhaps even more valuable. He showed what people wanted to see, while hiding away his true inner self. But as far as the boy before him was concerned, that chair may as well have been made up of human bones, inside and out.
Not that that’s what he was thinking about at that moment.
“What the hell do you mean?” he growled, half instinctual from his pure rage, half trying to be intimidating.
“What I just said,” the lord replied. “And I don’t feel like repeating myself.”
“I call bullshit.”
“On what? Me not repeating myself? Or the whole ‘you’re actually my great, great great, skip a few, grandson’?”
“You know which one.”
The lord tapped his finger on his armrest. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Then I’m done with you games,” the boy grumbled as he drew his sword. In an instant, he flew forward, gliding across the steps leading up to the lord’s throne.
Besides raising his arm slightly from his armrest, the lord didn’t react. Meanwhile, the boy was sent flying backwards off of the stairs, tumbling and skidding to a halt 30 meters back from where he had been seconds before. Though the red carpet underneath him did a great job at hiding it, both of them knew what that blow had inflicted upon him.
“Are you done yet? I don’t want to make more of a mess of my throne room. I have guests coming, you know.”
Groaning, the boy shakily pushed himself to his knees. “How… how can that be possible…”
“What are you on about now?”
“Every one of us... related to you... How.”
“Oh,” the lord thought as his gaze raised to the ceiling. “That’s pretty simple. All it took was killing any child that wasn’t my own. And they’re only children, so it’s real simple.”
After his voice stopped echoing across the chamber, a dead silence between the two followed. For a few moments, neither even opened their mouths. The lord eventually inhaled to speak, but was cut off by the boy as he spoke again.
“You… you’re a fucking monster….”
“No, I’m not. I thought that much was plainly visible, seeing as I don’t have green skin, or scales, or horns.”
“There… has to be someone… who can… stop you…”
“I doubt it.”
“You’re… still… human….”
“Am I? I liken myself to more of a god now, despite how much they may despise me. And yet, even they can’t destroy me. It’s funny how prophecies work, isn’t it?”
“What… do you….”
“All it takes is a little manipulation. My offspring would be my downfall, but what if it meant all of them? I only had to have enough that it would become near impossible for any of you to properly coordinate anything. And yet, most of you throw festivals in my honor now… it’s funny how that works, isn’t it?”
“….”
“Oh, gone are we? What a shame.” The lord then took a deep breath before bellowing, “ALONZE! COME CLEAN THIS UP!”
He stood, before walking off to one of the side exits from his throne. “I need to change, he made me raise my damn hand.”
\------
r/IUniven
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“Kid, do I seriously have to fight you? I’ve done this so many times that anything you could do, has already happened. Just go home. I’m sure your parents are worried about you.”
“Why would I go home? I’m an orphan with zero friends. I have no one.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah, your head!”
“A bit of a Weird request but okay.”
-the millennia old villain leaves the room for a moment, and returns with a severed head in a jar.-
“Alright, anything else?”
“Yeah, uh… can I get #4 with cheese?”
“Uh huh…”
“And a medium coke.”
“Sorry, we don’t have coke. Is Pepsi okay?”
“Sure.”
“Alright, your total is $5.49, you can pull up to the next window to receive your order.”
“Alright, thanks!”
| 2022-08-18T17:13:33 | 2022-08-18T15:45:41 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] One day, your parents take you to a bird sanctuary, and you take interest in an old, black raven named Huginn that can supposedly talk. After almost an hour of trying to get it to talk with no success, you prepare to leave, but finally, Huginn looks at you and says “hangman’s coming”
|
It was hot at the zoo.
Alfie's cheeks had been flushed red and the collar of his shirt stuck to the back of his neck, making him uncomfortable, and irritable. His mother had wet a rag with water from a drinking fountain near the lion exhibit and dabbed at the back of his neck, but all that did was send droplets of water down his back, making his shirt stick to him even more. It annoyed him, but he would put up with it, as long as they got to go to the bird sanctuary.
He had been clamoring over it for the past week, ever since his elementary school friend Blake had told him about it. Told him how there were tons of different birds, all different colors and sizes, and how some sang and how others cawed and talked to people.
The idea of an animal talking, just like in the cartoons, the thought mesmerized Alfie.
Finally, after they passed the hippopotamus exhibit, they approached the bird sanctuary. Alfie wanted to run towards the door, but his mother kept a tight grip on his hand.
"Slow down, slow down, the birds aren't going anywhere."
Inside the sanctuary, Alfie's ears were filled with the different sounds the birds were making. It was a cacophony of different songs and calls, all intermingling with each other with the same grace of Skittles mixed with M&Ms. It was almost unbearable, and Alfie was beginning to question his friend's description of what the bird sanctuary was like, until he saw the black raven, sitting alone, perched on a branch all by itself.
It had cocked its head to the right, its eye lined up with Alfie, watching him. Alfie immediately felt himself drawn to the bird. Pulling against his mother's hand, he walked towards it.
"Okay, okay, you want to look at the raven?" his mother asked. "You don't want to look at the toucans? They're really pretty."
"No," Alfie said, "I want to see that."
The two approached the old bird, not once did it shift its gaze or move a feather. When they got closer, Alfie's mother noticed a plaque next to it. She began to read it aloud,
"Huginn and Muninn are the oldest birds at the Algonquin Zoo. They flew into the zoo on their own accord and didn't leave. They tend to be chatty birds, often talking to each other, mimicking the voices of the zoo patrons."
"Huginn and Muninn?" Alfie asked. "Which one is this one?"
His Mom sighed, "Hmm, not sure. I wonder where the other one is at."
As if transfixed by the thought, Alfie's mother let go of his hand, and began to wander the sanctuary, looking for the missing raven.
Alone, Alfie continued to stare into the eye of the raven, and it stared at him.
*The hanged man is coming.*
Alfie turned and looked around, wondering who said that. There weren't many other patrons inside the bird sanctuary at the moment. His mother had been at the other end of the enclosure, gazing at a separately caged bird of paradise.
*The hanged man is coming.*
Feeling goosebumps breakout across his arms, Alfie turned and look back at the raven. Still, it hadn't budged.
*You really like to stare, don't you?*
"Are, are, you talking to me?" Alfie asked.
*I am.*
"Who, who's the hanged man?"
*Oh, you don't know?*
Alfie shook his head.
*The All Father. The wise one. He has but one eye. Traded for wisdom.*
"I don't know what you're talking about."
*I'll show you.*
Without another moments hesitation, the bird flew from its roost, its wings splayed, its talons outstretched towards Alfie. It looked like a black blob had suddenly jumped towards him. Alfie had no time to react before the bird was on him, clawing at his face, its beak plunging down, piercing flesh. All of the other birds cawed and screamed, flapping their wings, batting at their cages, chewing on the wire.
"Momma!" Alfie called out, falling onto his back, the bird still upon him.
His mother came running, unslinging her purse from her shoulder, winding up, and swinging at the bird like a baseball bat. Her purse collided with the bird, sending it away in a puff of feathers. She then scooped Alfie up into her arms and onto her shoulder, the sounds of the birds screaming covering up anything that she said to him.
She ran for the door of the sanctuary, wondering if the raven would be at their backs, but she managed to slam through. As the door closed, the sounds of the birds died away.
"Alfie, oh my God, Alfie, are you okay?" she said as she sat her son down.
There was blood on his face, staining his cheek red. She brushed away his hair and almost screamed in horror when she saw that one of her son's eyes was missing.
"It told me that Odin is coming," Alfie muttered, face going white from shock.
|
"Did you hear him?" I ask, tugging my mom's sleeve.
"Dear, I don't think he can really talk," she says. "I think its just a story."
"No, he really spoke! Look, say it again Huginn!"
The weathered crow looks at my mother and I with clouded eyes and croaks, "Hangman's coming..."
"See mom?" I ask. "He really can talk!"
"Yes, dear," she says, nodding at me. "Its...incredible."
"You still don't believe me, do you?" I ask. "I swear mom, he spoke! He said, 'Hangman's coming.'"
"Its just your imagination, sweetheart," My mom says. "Come on, your father was going to grab us some lunch at the food court."
I look over my shoulder at Huginn as my mother takes me by the hand, leading me outside. The bird bounces on his feet, looking up and down in my direction.
*Later that night*
There is a tapping on my bedroom window.
Its for moments like these I always have my trusty flashlight under my pillow. I shine the light out into the yard, and find a familiar bird staring back at me. Huginn the raven pecks gently at the glass, so softly that only I can hear it.
I tiptoe out of bed and approach the window, opening it just a hair. Huginn lowers himself down to the opening and whispers in his croaking voice, "Hangman's coming."
"I know, Huginn," I say. "You've told me three times now, what does it mean?"
The raven's eyes seem to shift in the glow of my flashlight. The milky whiteness gives way to a pulsating blue, peppered with dancing bright speckles. Its like he holds the universe in his eyes, as though I were staring into the cosmos.
"Hangman's coming..." he whispers. "Coming to collect..."
| 2022-07-17T18:21:32 | 2022-07-17T17:45:47 | 137 | 40 |
[WP] A normal civilian is in a room with a super villain and a superhero, both posing as their secret identities. All three are watching the news report on the hero and villain's latest battle. Don't tell us who is who.
|
"Mr Righteous and Dr Evil were at it again earlier today. Destorying most of the downtown metropolitan area. Or what is left of if from their previous bouts..."
One of the men sighed. A normal looking chap, if but slightly on the skinny side, with brown hair which covered his eyes.
"Washing taking too long?"
The second man in the laundromat broke the first unspoken rule of the laundromat, don't talk to others in the laundromat. Not that the first seemed to care much.
This second man looked like a body builder, his mussel rippling under his short sleeved t shirt and shorts as he waited for his clothes to be cleaned.
"I mean do they ever stop fighting?"
"What you mean Mr Righteous and Dr Evil?" The third and last man present was too on the thin side, however as he sat there in his vest and shorts the tattoos across his arms were clearly visible.
"Yea. I swear it's sending me into depression."
"I hear you. I just wish the fighting would stop, you know the loss of downtown added an hour to my work commute."
The tattooed man said. In doing so the body builder perked up and the skinny fell back into a slump. "You know I see you here weekly. Never occured to me what you do."
"I work in a book store."
"Didn't see that. Suppose this is what they mean when they say don't judge a book by it's cover. Then again. People tell me I don't look like I should work in IT."
"You work in IT?"
"Yea."
The downtrodden man sighed once more. "I guess your wandering what I do now?"
"Don't share if you don't wanna share."
"Yea man don't sweat it."
"Thanks guys."
"No probs. I've seen every pair of pants you own. It's not like I need you to share your life story with me."
"Not cool man. Not cool."
"I've seen yours too. Darren is it."
The body builder looked shocked. "How'd..."
"You sew your name in the hem of your clothes."
"How'd you even see that."
The depressed man spoke out once more. "I mean what's with that name anyway?"
"I'm sorry my name's Darren."
"No, no, I mean Dr Evil and Mr Righteous. Who comes up with such unoriginal generic names?"
"I hear Mr Righteous named himself. And I think the media named Dr Evil so it was impossible to get confused between characters." Both of the men looked at the tattooed man. "What? I read a lot."
The two men nodded and returned to staring and the swirling abyss of their clothes. The depressed man sighed once more. "Do you recon they ever feel like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like Depressed?"
"I mean Dr Evil is only human so he's sure to get depressed all the time considering his track record of consistent failure. As for Mr Righteous is there any evidence that's he's human."
"He's obviously human. Just buff that's all. Very, Very buff."
"Much buffer than you Darren."
"I wouldn't say by much. You see he's my ideal body. I strive to look like him."
The depressed man looked at the body builder. "You know your not that far off. Darren Righteous. How ridiculous that sounds."
There was an instant of silence before the laughter rang out. Each having a different responce to the depressed mans joke before he fell back into silence.
"Don't joke like that man. I could only look like that in my dreams."
"And a layers of yellow spandex."
"That that I never understood. Why yellow spandex. I mean the black labcoat of Dr Evil. Kinda of cool in a strange narcissistic sort of way. But yellow spandex."
"It can't be easy to find a superhero outfit that isn't under some sort of copyright, trademark, thingmy jig."
"But yellow and purple? Really could you pull that off."
Looking in each of the washing machines there were flashes of yellow, purple and black in all of them.
"Only in my dreams. What do you think drives Dr Evil anyway? I mean Mr Righteous has his famous 'for every man speech' but what about Dr Evil. What do you think drives him."
"Crushing remorse that he'll never be able to truly earn the name which the mass media has given him. Causing a spiral of more obscure plots as he trys his hardest and never can come up with any better."
"Deep man."
"Yea, not everyone feels like you. Maybe he just does it for the hell of it."
"I sincerely hope that my theory is correct though."
One of the washing machines clicked, finishing it's cycle. "That's me." The tattooed man started unloading the bundles of colour into a bag.
"Not using the dryer today."
"My moneys having to go elsewhere as of late. Every penny counts sort of deal."
"See you around then."
"Yea. See ya." The tattooed man left.
Darren looked at the depressed man, and sort to cheer him up with the only way he could think how.
"Do you know the for every man speech."
"Of course."
"Come on then. Recite it with me." Darren stood up obviously hyped up. Only causing the depressed man to sigh once more.
|
The three of us were at the pub after a long day at the office. The news was on T.V. and the report was about the destruction of New York city after the latest battle between good and evil took place.
"There really is a shocking amount of destruction Tom," The female reporter said "We are hearing from emergency crews that the latest grudge match between Super Sam and Count Evil destroyed almost 15% of the buildings in the city. I have never seen so much destruction Tom. It really is a shock Tom."
"She seems to say Tom a lot eh?" Billy noted.
"Yeah. But it really is a shame about how much destruction was done. It is the worst tragedy our country has ever witnessed," I added.
"Yes. It really is too bad," Fred said quietly.
"What's wrong Fred?" I inquired.
"I just wish something like this never has to happen again," he responded.
"Well Fred this is the world we live in now. We can't get sad every time a few buildings are destroyed," Billy said.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY LIVES WERE LOST BILL!" Fred shouted angrily. The two of them continued to argue over whether or not we need to mourn every time a super villain destroys a city. I attempted to calm them down to avoid a scene but Fred ended up leaving in a rage. "I will be leaving now. Don't talk to me for a while either of you," he said with rage filling his eyes.
After he departed Billy and I continued to watch the news. He seemed to chuckle at inappropriate moments and this was starting to anger the other customers at the bar. I convinced Billy to leave so we could avoid conflict, and I even apologized to the bar on his behalf. I did this despite agreeing with him that there was no need to mourn the New Yorkers who lost their lives, but I kept that inside. Well anyways tomorrow we all have to go back to work and act like this argument never happened. We always end up having to act in that way.
| 2016-05-05T11:51:50 | 2016-05-05T09:57:30 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Not far from your village is a small grove. Within the grove a monster dwells. It devours the guilty and leaves the innocent. When the worst crimes are committed, the accused are sent to face the creature. You have murdered someone in self-defense. You enter the grove unsure of your fate.
|
I walked deeper into the trees, damp hands clutching the side of my trousers, heart trying to thump its way through my chest. Although it was dark and I could barely see where I was stepping, I could sense the... thing. I wondered if this was how prey felt.
Something rustled behind me and I almost tripped over my own feet. My body was electrified with adrenaline and it screamed for me to flee, but I stayed put. I forced one foot in front of the other. Maybe I deserved this.
The image of the limp body lying by my bloodied shoes flashed in my mind.
He was not my friend. He was someone who sought to hurt me and make my life living hell whenever and however he saw fit. Each new day brought with him a new sick game idea to play out. As kids it was humiliating pranks and taunts in front of others, as adults it evolved into something much worse.
The very last time... it crossed too many lines. I will never forget the wave of emotions that hit me so strongly, so overwhelmingly, my vision was reduced to colors. I think that was the point where I broke. The pain, the horror that was my life, the anger all started melding into one. The next time he struck down on me I pushed outwards to finally, for once, protect myself.
When my head cleared, he was dead.
But was this considered self-defense? That question spun in my mind around and around again. At first I was sure, but after the berating, the judging, and the disgust of everyone around me, I was starting to think otherwise.
I reached a small clearing, where the moon spotlit me like a livestock on display, waiting for their inevitable slaughter. My knees threatened to give way.
The creature stepped into view. The only word that registered in my mind was "nightmare". It looked to be the epitome of what lurked in the shadows of your mind. It had thick, hairy arms that were attached to a body over twice my height. And it's face... strangely enough, it looked like it was made of rock almost; it had splits and cracks all over. Or was it scars?
It stared at me intently with eyes that look terrifyingly human and intelligent. Out of all the monstrosities of its body, this was the most unsettling to me. It stared and stared, and I choked back tears.
Did I deserve to be torn to shreds by those teeth that looked like enlarged talons? Maybe it would be better that way. It wasn't like I had a life outside of the torment. I had no one who ever stood up for me either.
It slunk closer, and I resisted the urge to scrunch my nose.
"Your crime. What is it?" It's voice was a deep, raspy rumble.
"I-I killed someone."
"Why?"
"He was a bully. Someone who kept hurting me since we were young." I gulped loudly. "I-I only wanted to protect myself."
"You were angry."
"Y-yes, of course I was. But I didn't mean to hurt him. I-I swear!" I hated how my voice trembled but I had no way to prevent it.
Its eyes narrowed. I heard a tear from the fabric of my shirt between my fingers.
"You are unhappy. With your life."
The plain statement startled me. I didn't know what this creature was but I didn't think this was what would come out of its mouth. I looked down, feeling the sting in my eyes as I forced myself to think of all the pain. Not just the pain he gave me, but the pain from everyone else. It was almost worse, in a way; to be so clearly hurt, and then to see that you were so clearly uncared about.
I almost wanted to laugh that the only one to even just acknowledge my feelings was the one that would kill me. Maybe this would be it's way to show me mercy.
"If you continue through the grove, there is a way out on the other side."
"W-what?" The creature was sitting now, almost idly. Although it still towered over me, it seemed a tad less frightening.
"I can tell that you were not treated right your entire life. Not just from the man that died but from others too." It flicked its head to point to the other side. "So run."
"B-but they will think you ate me and I was guilty."
"Does it matter?"
"No."
I was almost surprised at my lack of hesitation. The creature was right. It did not matter because I would never have to see them again.
The creature moved to the side to let me through. My heart was still pounding, but for a different reason now. I did not know of the existence of this third option, but I was grateful that it was bestowed upon me.
As I marched towards the edge of the trees once again, I paused. "The others that never came home and were supposedly killed by you... did you offer them the same option?"
The creature did not respond.
But as with the other question, it did not matter. "Thank you," I said solemnly, before trudging onwards, into the unknown.
What laid ahead, I did not know. Perhaps I would be killed by some other animal immediately. Perhaps I would starve to death. Or perhaps I would end up making it through. In the end, the outcome made no difference.
I was finally free.
And that was the only thing that did matter.
\---
Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome :) If you liked that, feel free to check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/thegoodpage) for more!
|
A mysterious grove appeared in a rustic village near the sea. An outlaw ran into the grove thinking there's going to be some safe haven for him. That's the first story of the first guilty death that's passed down from mother to daughter. My name is Lucas , my life was fine and dandy being the mayor's heir. Then I just made one fatal mistake. Killed in self-defense my corrupt uncle. He's was drunk obviously. Why I think I was his target is because I took his chance at becoming mayor. Even though his wife wept for him. I think those were tears of joy and relief. Now my cousins want to see if I'm truly guilty of such a hienous crime.
The grove is full of mystery those that are innocent are spared but the guilty don't survive at all. Though it my seem like an innocent grove of cherry blossom trees. Something or someone judges perfectly who's guilty or innocent. Now I'm standing in the grove wondering when my judgement is coming.
A beautiful maiden in a cherry pink kimono. "Hello, what's your name handsome stranger." She's beautiful I think I'm in love. No gotta keep my wits about me. Answer her question. "My name is Lucas what's your name?" Then maiden gracefully glided over to me. She batted her feathery light eyelashes at me. My heart beat faster involuntarily. Her pearl white skin hand cupped my cheek. A blush lit my cheeks like wildfire. She kissed me with soft, tender gentleness. I closed my eyes and returned the kiss. My lips tingled when we both breathlessly broke apart. Then a single slender finger shushed my words.
A couple minutes passed in silence. "I taste innocence in your kiss. My kisses never poison those that are innocent but it gets deadly when a guilty heart and conscience come. My name is Blossom. Though say nothing of my beauty or you'll forget me and my kiss." Blossom went away while cherry blossom petals swirled around her until she was gone.
I'm writing this down in my personal journal that nobody will touch. I'm the one who started the rumors that the cherry blossom grove holds a terrible monster. That judges them by smelling their guilt or innocence. Those who also came out alive agreed because they don't want to forget that kiss.
| 2021-03-16T14:17:43 | 2021-03-16T13:25:34 | 174 | 21 |
[WP] Everyone loves the new CEO of the Make-A-Wish foundation. Is it because of his strange blue skin? His propensity for bursting into song? His incredible Robin Williams impression? Either way, Gene E. Adalamp has truly changed the world.
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"I don't understand Michelle, why is he so great?"
As the newest hire at the Make a Wish foundation, I could not wrap my head around why such an odd man was head of such a prestigious charity. Michelle has always been an inspiration to me, she started her own charity for at-risk kids when she was just 20. It grew to be one of the most successful charities in the world and she was even nominated for a Nobel peace prize. I couldn't understand why someone like her, admired someone as strange as Mr. Adalamp.
"Oh hush now Dave, there's no need to talk like that. You know it's not good to be jealous."
"I'm not jealous of him, I just want to know what's so great about him. He's always singing while I'm trying to book flights to Disney land. I can't get any work done when he's around. and he goes around the kids doing that silly Auntie character Robin Williams played. "
"It's spot on! The kids think it's funny."
"The kids don't even know who Miss Doubtfire is! They just laugh because he makes that really weird face."
"Oh Dave, I think it's quite good. You seem bothered about something, what is this really about?"
I looked around to make sure no one was listening in and lowered my voice to a whisper
"Do you know that account 3A has 4 million dollars missing? I reported it to Mr. Adalamp but he told me that it's all accounted for and that it was just a small clerical error. I checked the other accounts and there's a lot of money missing from each one. I know for a fact, that someone as smart as you, wouldn't miss these so-called errors."
I took out the documents to be able to show her what I was talking about.
"He's been skimming off the top. Every year since he's been the CEO. Probably 30 million stolen at this point."
I waited for a reaction from Michelle. She took the papers but made no attempt to read the accounts I had just handed her.
"You won't tell anyone about this, understand?" Michelle said firmly.
I shook my head "What? What do you mean? There's no way we can let him get away with something like this....." Then it dawned on me. "You know, don't you?"
She ripped up the account papers. "Of course I know." She snapped, still in a hushed tone. She looked at me very seriously.
"You haven't been here long enough Dave. You don't know what the foundation is really like."
I was stunned, what could make someone as pure as Michelle turn over to the dark side? "What do you mean? Make a Wish foundation is one of the most trustworthy foundations in the world!"
She shushed me before speaking and spoke in a very angry but whispered voice
"Yes, this charity is not known for skimming off the top but have you ever considered how the money we raise is spent? Did you know that 60% of our annual budget is spent solely on Disneyland experiences? How many kids really need to go to Disney Land? We pressure kids to go because Disney is one of our largest donors. Do you know how cruel it is to send a Paraplegic to Disney? He can't go on any of the rides or eat any of the food, all he can do is take photos with Mickey mouse for our Fucking Press corps."
I flinched a little, I had never heard Michelle swear before.
She continued on " Mr. Adalamp is giving kids real wishes, ones that will help them in the long term. He helped get Danny's mom her job back at Ford. He got Jenny's brother on our health insurance, to make sure he could afford insulin for the rest of his life. And Michael...." She paused not sure if she should go on.
"Michael wanted to go to Spain right? I planned that trip myself!" I asked in a panicked.
"Micheal wanted his dad gone." She said finally.
"What?! Why?"
"He was an abusive alcoholic that beat his wife. Michael didn't want his mom to suffer anymore so he asked Mr. Adalamp to make sure that his mom was never hurt again."
Suddenly a memory came back to me. I remembered booking 3 tickets to Spain for Michael but only booking 2 tickets back. I was too afraid to ask.
Michelle stared at me fiercely "The Make a Wish Foundation grants wishes that adults THINK kids want. Mr. Adalamp grants the wishes that they NEED. He does it all by himself and if anyone found out, he'd go to jail for the rest of his life. So when he does his Robin Williams impressions, you better smile and laugh like the rest of us."
|
A lot of people like to think there's a reason why we fall in love. Of course that phrase is generally reserved for relationships in which the two are bound together. What Gene helps show the world is that anyone could use their spark for the sake of contributing to the whole. While some accuse Mr. Adalamp, of actually contributing nothing to his beloved foundation, he knows the truth; the whole truth; and nothing but the truth.
He kept pushing. He kept talking. He kept walking. He didn't just push up off the ground with the intention of pushing the entire world below him. He didn't just keep saying what he believed to be the right things to whom he believed to be the right people. He didn't even just pick a direction and decide to walk until his legs could no longer support him.
Gene "Everyone" Adalamp took initiative. He knew that reaching the top wasn't about the company itself. It was about the individual parts that created the music he so often embodied, (often goofily) for the sake of said music. It was that inner frequency that stuck so strongly to it's own devices, of which it rarely recognized to be anything at all, because self-preservation is the rule of the jungle that has always dominated the subconscious landscape since consciousness arose in the first place.
| 2019-11-06T14:59:28 | 2019-11-06T14:53:32 | 2,027 | 91 |
[WP] You are a dog whose owner has spiraled into a depression. You are his lifeline, the only thing he has left. You know you are a good boy, but maybe he needs to be told HE is a good boy.
|
It had gotten harder and harder to get Tom to play with me.
He was always an excellent alpha. He kept my water bowl clean, he filled my food dish with kibble, and he let me lick his bowl when he was done with dinner. For the past few weeks, that had been a real delight—sometimes there was a soggy bit of cereal left in there!
Tom hadn’t enjoyed our walkies lately. We used to take long hikes in a park where there are so many smells a dog could die happy, and a big field where I could go off leash and just run and run and run and run and run and run and run and...
I missed running.
I missed playing with Tom! Lately, he had spent most of the time at home on the couch. We cuddled. He let me rest my chin on his chest. He patted my head and said, “Rufus” and more words and “Good boy” and more words. I wagged my tail and it thumped against the coffee table because he told me that I am Rufus and I am a good boy.
Tom had gradually been smelling extra musky and eating a lot more of the crinkly-wrapped food that he would never share with me. Tom had been spending hours at a time sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs. He hadn’t wanted to run or play. I worried he had lost sight of what’s truly important.
Tom lost sight of the fact that he, too, is a good boy.
So I put my favorite toy on his pillow. I showed him my belly and wagged my tail. I crouched down really low, and spread my legs on the floor so he saw that I’m very small indeed and not any sort of threat because Tom is the alpha. I did all sorts of things to show him he is a good boy. Still, he walked through his life with a numb expression on his face.
Imagine my delight when I saw him get the leash this afternoon! He loaded up a big crinkly bag with lots of his clothes and carried it over one shoulder and we went for the most unusual walky. We went to a white house with one tall pointy tower. There was a big metal box there and I could smell crinkly bags and clothes and my especial favorite SHOES in there. I didn’t get to have the shoes though. Tom just inserted his crinkly bag full of clothes into the big metal box and told me I was a good boy.
There was a spring in his step after that. He chatted at me and even smiled. We walked home, and Tom filled a cardboard box with things he never lets me have—cords and the smooth box that makes whirring noises and the pieces he holds in his hands when he stares at the television. He topped off his cardboard box with the small smooth blocks he calls “games,” even though he never uses them to play tug-of-war with me. Then we got to have another walky!
We went next door where there are three children who all like to pet me and throw balls for me and tell me I’m a good boy. I think they told Tom that he is a good boy too because they were very happy when he gave them the box.
We spent all afternoon like this. We went home, Tom filled up a bag or a box of things, and we walked it somewhere unusual. Blankets and towels went to a building that smelled like a vet but had lots of dogs and cats waiting to find homes. Food went to a building with many musky people with holes in their shoes. Books went to a building that was already full of books. Tom walked me home and out and home and out until his apartment had very little stuff in it indeed.
I was so tired. I drank my whole water bowl and Tom refilled it and I drank more. Then I plopped down on the ground, ready for a nap, except my tail kept thudding against the carpet. Tom sat down next to me and patted me and told me I am Rufus and a good boy. I licked his hands. He is a good boy too.
Then Tom opened his front door but didn’t go out. He tipped the kibble bag over so I could get as much as I wanted. He went to the kitchen to get one of those pointy steel objects with the nice wooden handle. There was something wrong with his smell: sweat and a kind of fear I’ve never smelled on him before. He brought the steel thing to the bathroom and shut the door.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no.
Something was wrong.
I bumped my head against the door. I scratched at it. The fear smell sharpened. I howled. Tom was in danger and I needed to get at him! I howled and I tried digging under the door and I howled and I scratched at the door knob and I howled and I tried to get to Tom and I howled.
A long time passed and the danger-smell changed. I quivered and whined. I begged Tom to come back out. I howled and whined. I wanted Tom to come out before the fear smell gave way to the blood smell. I scratched the door and whined.
Tom opened the door and gave me the biggest hug. He smelled like relief. I licked his salty face. He was trembling. I pushed against his chest with my head and he rubbed and patted me and told me what a good boy I am. My tail pounded against cabinets under the bathroom sink. Tom is a good boy too.
|
Danny used to smile.
He used to throw me the ball and clap as I caught it between my teeth and ran back to him. Whenever he took the ball, he would ruffle my fur and laugh before throwing it again. Those are some of my favourite memories.
Now, all Danny does is play with his new friend. The new friend, who smells like soap, always comes to see Danny at the same time each day. They play for hours, toying with different machines and food before the friend leaves again.
When he leaves, Danny does not smile.
I do not smile either because the food he gives Danny does not smell like good food and it is always small. I cannot steal the scraps of small food. I am weak and tired all the time. Danny is the same.
On the friend’s final visit, Danny’s mother and father play as well. They sit in the lounge together and Danny’s mother cries.
I am sore inside because Danny doesn’t play with me anymore. It makes me feel cold and tired even when the days are warm but I know I am a good boy, I want Danny to know he is too.
And so while they play, I sit near Danny’s leg. He runs a hand through my fur absent mindedly. His friend gives him more food, as usual they are small and white but Danny’s face does not light up at the sight, instead it sinks more.
The friend gives him a present, a white gown. Danny returns in it soon after and it shows just how thin he has become.
I lick his hand. I want him to eat proper food, the kind that I can share.
Danny sits down. He rubs my head until his friend leaves.
His mother and father cry until they are out of tissues.
And when they are gone and it is just me and Danny in the lounge, I wish more than anything that he would play with me, just one ore time.
I pick up the ball that has rolled under the couch and hold it up for him between my teeth.
Danny takes it and for a moment, a heart beat of time, his lips stretch into a curve.
He gives me back the ball then, and turns over, his body shaking between breaths.
But I do not falter, I do not forget. Because I will always remember one thing.
My owner Danny used to smile —and maybe he still can.
| 2018-12-06T02:08:11 | 2018-12-06T01:59:27 | 93 | 22 |
[WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them.
Credits to u/Hyranic
|
“What the hell is this?” growled the President of the United States, obviously annoyed at being woken up at this ungodly hour just to read a report.
“Sir, at 2352hrs Eastern Standard time, USAF intercepted and brought down an unidentified object over Dawson Springs, Kentucky,” answered the military general, his myriad of medals and ribbons adorning his immaculate uniform reflecting in the dim lighting of the President’s kitchen where the group had gathered. “Elements from Fort Campbell including the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment secured the crash site and attempted to ascertain the identity of the intruders.”
“And?” asked the President, sitting down at the dining table with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Who was it? The Russians? The Chinese? North Koreans?”
The general gulped and looked around at the other military advisers and aides in the room, all of whom shuffled uneasily on their feet and avoided eye contact.
“What the hell,” whispered the President under his breath, noticing the reactions to his entourage. “What’s going on here? This some sort of joke?”
“Not a joke sir unfortunately,” stated the CIA director from a darkened corner of the room as all eyes turned to him, his bespectacled face dimly lighted by the light of the cigarette he was smoking. “Everything’s on the report.”
The President stared incredulously at the man, then back at the report. With his reading glasses propped up low on his nose, he sighed loudly and started silently scanning the pages of the hastily prepared report in front of him.
**REPORT ON DAWSON SPRINGS INCIDENT**
*AT 2352HRS ET, 07/27/2022, UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT SPOTTED ON RADAR OVER KENTUCKY. JETS SCRAMBLED FOR INTERCEPT. REPEATED ATTEMPTS TO HAIL IGNORED.*
The President eyed the blurry photo clipped to the side of the page: A small saucer shaped vehicle flying through the air. He shifted uneasily in his seat and continued reading.
*ORDER GIVEN TO BRING DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AT 0003HRS ET, 07/28/2022. JETS FIRED AT 0004HRS ET AND BROUGHT DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT NEAR DAWSON SPRINGS, KENTUCKY. NEAREST ARMY ELEMENTS ON STANDBY ARRIVED AT CRASH SITE AT 0029HRS ET. CRASH SITE SECURED. IDENTIFIED 4 CASUALTIES AMONG CRASH. 3 DEAD 1 WOUNDED. UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS BROUGHT TO NEARBY CIA BLACKSITE.*
The President took a sip of his coffee.
*CRASH MATERIALS ARRIVED AT BLACKSITE AT 0237HRS ET. PRELIMINARY FINDINGS INDICATE UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS NOT NATIVE TO EARTH.*
The President nearly spat out his coffee. He read and reread the line again, refusing to believe that that was what the report said.
*INTERROGATION OF WOUNDED UNIDENTIFIED EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING CONDUCTED BY CIA AT 0352HRS. INTERROGATION CONCLUDED AT 0423HRS. DUE TO LANGUAGE BARRIER, SOME WORDS MAY BE LOOSELY TRANSLATED. KEY POINTS ASCERTAINED ARE AS FOLLOWS:*
*1. EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING IS KNOWN AS A MA’SLYUM (NAME OF SPECIFIC ENTITY OR NAME OF SPECIES? UNKNOWN.) FROM INTERGALACTIC(?) ALLIANCE KNOWN AS THE KIKOMIRA.*
*2. PURPOSE OF VISIT WAS RECONNOITER OF EARTH. SPEAKS BASIC ENGLISH BECAUSE HAVE BEEN STUDYING EARTH CULTURE FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. CLAIMED CRASH WAS BECAUSE OF EQUIPMENT FAILURE PREVENTING ESCAPE FROM EARTH ATMOSPHERE.*
*3. HEART RATE ELEVATED THROUGHOUT INTERROGATION AT ALMOST INHUMAN LEVELS. OBSERVATIONS OF BODY LANGUAGE INDICATE SUBJECT IS TERRIFIED. SUGGEST CUTTING SHORT INTERROGATION.*
*4. ASKED SUBJECT ABOUT INTENTIONS FOR EARTH. SUBJECT REVEALED INTERGALACTIC ALLIANCE FORMED SOLELY TO CONTAIN HUMANITY. WORDS TRANSLATED INCLUDE CONTAINMENT, INTERGALACTIC THREAT AND PROTECTION OF UNIVERSE. REFERENCE TO HUMANS ALMOST BIBLICAL IN NATURE.*
*5. NAME FOR HUMANS LOOSELY TRANSLATED TO SUNEATER. SUBJECT REFERRED TO FLAG OF UNITED STATES. CLAIMED EACH STAR REPRESENTED ONE SUN CONSUMED. CLAIMED THEIR SPECIES DISCOVERED MESSAGE AMONG THE STARS CLAIMING LONG DEAD AND ADVANCED INTERGALACTIC CIVILISATION HAD MANAGED TO BEAT BACK SUNEATERS AND CONTAIN THEM ON EARTH AFTER COSTLY WAR THAT DESTROYED ENTIRE STAR SYSTEMS AND LEFT TRILLIONS DEAD. USE OF UNKNOWN SUPERWEAPON MANAGED TO MINDWIPE AND DEVOLVE SUNEATER SPECIES TO BASE FORM. MESSAGE WARNED FUTURE CIVILISATIONS TO CONTINUE MONITORING AND CONTAINMENT OF SUNEATER THREAT AS SUNEATERS VIRTUALLY UNKILLABLE IN PRIME FORM AND SUPERWEAPON EFFECTS WILL WEAR OFF OVER TIME.*
*6. SUBJECT ASKED WHETHER THE KIKOMORA IS PLANNING ATTACK. SUBJECT CLAIMED LONG DEAD CIVILISATION RECOMMENDED NOT TO ENGAGE SUNEATER THREAT. CLAIMS THAT ONCE ENGAGED, SUNEATERS WILL REVERT TO THEIR PRIME FORMS AND END THE UNIVERSE AS THEY KNOW IT. CURRENT DOCTRINE INDICATES APPEASEMENT AND WORSHIP OF SUNEATERS RECOMMENDED ONCE SUNEATERS REVERT TO PRIME FORM.*
*IT IS THE ADVICE OF THIS RESEARCHER THAT IF TRUE, RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE CONVENING OF THE UNITED NATIONS AND FURTHER STUDY OF OURSELVES AS A SPECIES IS WARRANTED.*
|
First, they took out North Korea. Only problem was the South Koreans took their land back, so after that, they focused their attentions on China. And, of course, the ROC took their mainland back. So, they went East. And what did they find? The USA, flying their flag of 50 stars and 13 stripes. For some reason, they ignored Hawaii and went straight to the mainland. We did have some aliens with us to help combat against extraterrestrial attacks, however these were something we hadn't seen before.
Each one knew our language. Those tall, furry humanoids resembling wolves, foxes, dogs, cats, rabbits, and more knew each of our languages and spoke them perfectly. Their armor varied from soldier to soldier, helmets included. Each one carried an energy pistol, but they preferred to use an energy sword. Each one had their thin, rod-shaped blade vary in color, from orange to violet to cyan and brown. Some had crimson blades, however we could change the color of our saber blades, so we greeted them with a sea of red saber blades when we fought them.
Turns out, a few of them also had red blades. I was attacked by one of their soldiers, a chimera, who had fox, wolf, and tiger features mixed. I took her saber, pointing both hers and mine at her chest, starting to interrogate her. "Why did you invade us?"
She scoffed. "It was just supposed to be us stunning you and taking you prisoner so you could see your starred empire crumble." I shook my head, trying not to facepalm. "The United States of America is a democracy! Not an empire, a democracy!" I shit you not, she growled at me. "Then why the fuck do you have fifty stars of war on your flag?!"
"THEY REPRESENT OUR FIFTY STATES! Not war, not death, but our states and capitals! Hell, the 13 stripes on our flag represent the 13 colonies the US started out as, not blood and bone!" She was dumbfounded. "Y-you do have aliens in America, do you?" I nodded. "Yes, but we know jack about any started empires that you're talking about!"
She sighed, firing a white flare into the sky before taking her saber back and shutting it off. I shut mine off as well. The battle and war was over. "The five-pointed star was a symbol used by the Bleeding Darkness. It was an empire of terrorists that wiped out whole civilizations before we could stop them. We reversed the damage done by them, but...the fear was still there." She looked at me, her amber, watery eyes revealing that she had seen some shit.
"Oh...." I looked at her, taking off my helmet. "So what happens now?" She sighed. "Reparations, alliances, possibly some things taken to court. We'll just have to wait and see."
| 2022-07-26T12:15:32 | 2022-07-26T08:27:29 | 439 | 38 |
[WP] A cure for sleep has been found, by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep. You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly.
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They call it Wake-Aid, a simple chemical cocktail in pill form that will give you eight more productive hours each day. Who has time for sleep anymore? There’s no reason to waste a third of your day when you could be out at a party, playing with your kids, or racing up that corporate ladder! No harmful side-effects found during human testing. A dream come true.
Personally, though, I have no kids, hate drinking, and have the ambition of a particularly forward thinking sloth. You couldn’t pay me to give up my shut-eye, let alone convince me to pay you for the privilege. So I never took Wake-Aid, despite the growing number of success stories from my friends and relatives.
It’s been about a year now since Wake-Aid’s launch. The economy has been booming from all the extra productive work hours, but not too much else has changed. For my part, I’ve read a few good books, played through some old video games, and landed a job in a shipping warehouse. Not the most glamorous or well-paid position, but it makes ends meet and that’s good enough for me.
Everything seems to be going well, but I get this odd feeling sometimes. It’s nothing I can quite put my finger on, but… Well, a few months ago I was walking to work and reached a light just as it switched so I could cross. I got halfway across the street before I noticed something; the north-south traffic wasn’t moving even though they had the green light. I finished crossing the road at a run, thinking something must be wrong, but when I stopped at the far crosswalk and looked around, everything seemed normal. Just… No one was moving.
The light changed once more and now the east-west traffic wasn’t moving either. I walked up to the passenger side of a small sedan and peered in. I saw a man in the driver’s seat just staring up at the light. I tapped on the window, but he didn’t notice me. A car pulled up behind him and honked, jolting the sedan driver out of his trance. He pulled through the intersection without giving me so much as a glance and, when the light changed once more, north-south traffic proceeded as normal. I was a few minutes late to work because of the delay, but no one said anything. I shrugged it off and moved on with life. Weird things happen sometimes.
But recently those weird things have been happening more often. My mother used to call me once a week on Tuesday, after her knitting group would meet. Every Tuesday at 4pm, like clockwork. Now? She might call me once every other week. It’s been a month now since the last time she called me. I tried calling her yesterday, but her phone went straight to voicemail. I tried calling my dad instead and got him on my second try. I asked him how everything was going and he said it was fine. Mom had gone upstairs after breakfast to work on a new christmas scarf and had left her phone on the counter.
I glanced at my calendar and it confirmed what I knew. It was February 3rd.
I told dad that I would be coming over as soon as I could and he said that they would be happy to have me back at the house. I told him to let mom know I’d be there tomorrow and hung up to start packing. The next day, which I may as well call today, I suppose, I set out from my house towards my parents’ place, a little under two hours away.
On my way, worry gnawing at me like a dog on a bone, I noticed even more strange things. Here was a telephone pole down a month after our last major storm. There was a business sign advertising a New Year’s Eve sale. I shook my head. How could people miss something like that? Shouldn’t they be prepping for a Valentine’s Day sale or something?
I pulled into my parents’ driveway and immediately knew something was wrong. There was a hole in the kitchen window from where a baseball smashed through it. I knew a baseball smashed through it because my mother had told me about it during her last call. A month ago.
I dashed up the front steps and pounded on the door, shouting at the top of my lungs for someone to come to the door. I heard someone jolt in the living room and heard my dad shout “Hold on! Hold on! I’m coming! No need to knock the house down!” A few moments later, the door unlatched and swung open to reveal a man I barely recognized and a room I recognized less.
My father had let his beard grow out to a ridiculous length and his gut was hanging out further than I had ever seen it. He was saying something about not expecting me so soon after I called, but I barely heard him. The living room was covered in old pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Piles of trash were heaped in the corners. My mother couldn’t stand even one or two cans on the table, how had the mess gotten this bad?
I turned to my father and asked him where mom was.
He hmm’d and haw’d for a moment or two, “She was n the… No that was yesterday… Then she… Hmm… I think she must still be upstairs working on that scarf I told you about this morning.”
I was halfway to the stairs before I realized what he said. I slowly turned back towards him. “Dad, we talked yesterday, not today.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did we? Oh… Oh, yes, I suppose that’s right. I was just watching some of my favorite old westerns and must have lost track of time.”
I started sprinting to, and then up, the stairs. My father never forgot when things were. He never “lost track of time”. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.
I slammed into my mother’s knitting room and immediately tripped to the floor. I looked at my feet and saw part of a scarf. I didn’t want to look up, so I just followed the trail of the scarf. It wound around the room, across chairs and stacks of unused yarn until it came to it’s end, or its beginning, in my mother’s rigid, gaunt hands. My eyes immediately began blurring with tears. How long had she been here? How long had she been here with no one noticing she was gone? How…
I could almost hear her sing-song mantra that she always did while knitting, through under over pull through under over pull. I thought of traffic lights flickering between colors, red green yellow red green through under over. I thought of people sitting at desks answering emails, open type send open type send pull through under over pull. I thought of my dad sitting downstairs ordering a pizza watching a movie buying some beer ordering a pizza through under over pull. I thought of my mother, sitting in that chair knitting as she wasted away. Through under over pull through under over pull through under over pull through under over pull…
|
It's... 3:14 am. I'm tired. So tired. Wish that I wasn't tired. But I can't sleep lately. My GP has diagnosed me with insomnia - a rare disease these days. I snap on the television, see if I can't be lulled by the babble of late night jewellery sales. Ah, but no - that was before. It's primetime now - it's always primetime. I switch off the TV and listen to the traffic out my window.
Society has readjusted. Initially the early adopters used the pill to help with night shifts. As the drug became more popular entire communities worked through night and day. Employers became more flexible. It became a lot harder for me to arrange coffee meet ups with friends - they could fit me into their busy schedule, but only at 2 o'clock - that's am. Then they all stopped drinking coffee, except for the taste. I don't have that problem any more of course. Threw away my phone. No point keeping contacts.
So why don't I sign up? Why don't you sign up Mark, you don't even have to pay any more, they've made it a utility? Why don't you sign up Mark? I miss having you around. You're always asleep, Mark. Sleeping is so ugly, they say. You snore, Mark. Snoring is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard, they say. We can't see you any more, Mark. You need to get it together, Mark. Here's the number of my counsellor.
But now even I can't sleep. Too loud. Too bright. I wasn't made for city life. Now even the country folk are playing basketball at four in the morning. Shit, the phone... landline. Apparently someone's still paying for it, because it hasn't been disconnected. I grasp the receiver. Hello?
"Hi, Mark, it's me, Allan."
"Yeah? I mean, ok?"
"Charlotte's with me, say hi Charlotte."
"Hi!"
Jesus christ, I forgot about her.
"Right, yeah, well then, what are you... uh... calling about?" says I.
"Not much, not much... just, don't know if you've noticed... you still sleep, don't you?"
"Sometimes."
"Great, great, that's excellent-"
"What's this about, Allan?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's. Well, you know dreams?"
"Yeah?"
"Where do they go, Mark?"
"Um... go?"
"Are you dreaming, Mark?"
Actually, my dreams had been becoming more vivid recently. Last night... last time I slept... it felt like... a long time. It felt like I dreamed a thousand years.
"Allan, I... haven't heard from you in... months, what's happening? Are you ok?"
"Just tell me Mark, I need to know, do you have dreams?"
"Why are you calling me? Why now?"
"Dreams. Yes or no?"
"Tell him Mark" - that's Charlotte again. I wish I didn't miss her.
"Yes, God, yes I dream. I mean, I guess you guys don't any more, do you? Not sleeping. Maybe I should try it. I guess I've just always been. I'm just scared. It seems so strange. What would it be like? What is it like?"
There's a long pause on the other end. I start to nod off at last.
"Leave the house more often, Mark. The dreams are escaping."
| 2016-08-30T10:03:03 | 2016-08-30T09:51:36 | 949 | 28 |
[WP] After being hunted to extinction, the last Orc has been found at the edge of the world...
|
"There is no where left to run, pig!"
 
The Orc breathed heavily, weary from the hunt. Sweat was pouring off of him, the scorching sun robbing him of whatever moisture remained in his body. He took a battle stance, both hands gripping the shaft of his crudely made iron axe. Despite its ramshackle craftsmanship, it still managed to steal a glint of the sunlight through the clouds of dust that had been kicked up by his pursuers.
 
His back was against a wide open sky, wrapped around the edge of the cliffs. One more step backwards would send him tumbling to his death. In front of him was a band of humans, each wielding a weapon that would have been a toy to his sons.
 
Would have been.
 
The humans had attacked in the dead of night. Every Orc in his clan had been slaughtered by these pink-skinned cowards, down to the last male, female and youngling. His clan was the last, his whole race having been the victims of a campaign of genocide.
 
Rhokkar shook off the memory, and spat on the ground, sacrificing yet more of whatever water was left in him.
 
"Come then, you craven dog. Finish what you started."
 
The lead human, clad in plate, steeled himself, raised his sword, shouted a battle cry, and charged. His motley band took up the cry, and followed in his wake. Rhokkar grinned; he knew he was the last of his kind, and he knew this was to be his end. But he would not go quietly. They would pay in blood for the lives they had taken, and they would pay again - dearly - to take his.
 
He surged forward. The human swung his sword as hard as he could, hoping his mighty strike would bite into the hardened Orcs flesh. Rhokkar leaned back to dodge the swing, and brought his axe up with enough force to crush through the metal plate in the humans midsection. As he tore through, the steaming entrails erupted from the midsection. The human froze, dropped to his knees, and died, clutching his intestines.
 
The remaining humans balked a moment, but resumed the attack. A flurry of steel surrounded Rhokkar. He almost seemed to dance around the blades, parrying the ones he could not avoid. He spun right, burying his axe in the neck of a fool stupid enough to come into range of his mighty swings. As he fought off two more attackers in front of him, one human snuck around to his rear. The human plunged his blade into Rhokkars shoulder. The Orc howled, spinning around to face the wretch. The pain and surprise had loosened his grip on his axe, but he was far from defenseless. He grabbed the human by the throat, squeezed his fragile windpipe until it broke, and hurled the body at the remaining humans.
 
Another blade was buried in his leg. A slash cut across his forearm, and another sliced a canyon of flesh into his back. Rhokkar howled again, falling to his knees. They were chipping away at him. He was weakening.
 
His thoughts drifted to his mate, and his son. His youngest son had not even reached his name day, but he was fierce already. He would have brought pride and glory to his father and his ancestors...
 
Would have..
 
The thought enraged him again, and he rallied one final time. Rhokkar lurched forward, tackling two of the remaining three humans. He picked up one of the humans shortswords from the ground, thrusting it into ones throat. Spinning to his left, he grabbed another human, held his head back, and tore his throat out with his teeth.
 
Panting, covered in his own blood and the blood of the coward humans, the Orc turned to face his last foe. He could see the hesitation in his face, but also the anger and determination. He was tall for a human, and well-muscled. Rhokkar looked at the blade in his hand, small and pathetic, unworthy even of skinning one of his kills, and threw it on the ground. His opponent brightened slightly.
 
"You would face your death unarmed, Orc?" He goaded. They began to circle eachother "It matters not. When I have dispatched you, I will take your head to the Magistrate, and they will sing songs of me for ages. Galrond, Slayer of the Last Orc!"
 
What Galrond had failed to notice as he mocked his supposed prey was that it was now *his* back against the wide open sky.
 
"No one will sing songs of you. Your deeds will be forgotten. Your name will die on the lips of your weakling children and mate. The glory you seek will be denied, and you will die honorless and afraid. You think you have accomplished something mighty by following your pathetic warband to your death? All of you slain by one Orc?"
 
He started walking towards the human, who's optimism faded immediately. He readied his weapon.
 
"Nobody will know how this ended but the spirits of our ancestors. You will die screaming and afraid, knowing you have failed, and I will die a glorious death!" He slammed his fist into his chest, and roared, "I DEFY you, human!"
 
Rhokkars pace increased to a barreling run, and he collided into the human as hard as he could. He felt bones break, and smiled.
 
They both flew off the side of the cliff, Rhokkar gripping the human tightly. As they rushed towards their impending deaths, Rhokkar shouted one final time. "You will die nameless and dishonored, the same death you gifted my sons! May you rot in whatever afterlife you find!"
 
The human faced the rapidly approaching ground, eyes wide and mouth agape as he screamed wordlessly at his inevitable end. They hit the ground.
|
Garland stopped when he saw it, huddled in the damp, the rain seeping through his paltry shelter. His sword, glowing blue, cast a dull shadow across the Orc. He gripped it tighter, ready to end it - ready to finally purge the world of its sickness.
He expected it to fight. It was trapped in its home, and a cornered animal always fights tooth and nail. Instead, it just hugged itself, shivering in the cold. Garland felt the rage drain from him, and he grabbed it, clutching onto it in his mind.
*Now is not the time for pity.*
He drew Sting back, clutching it with both hands, and swung it towards the Orc.
It's hand rose up, pleading, and the blade stopped inches within its grasp.
"Please," it said, wracked by shivers, "I do not have long left as it is."
Garland felt a sudden jolt in his chest. *It spoke. In common tongue.*"
"Do not seem so surprised, human," the Orc said, beginning to cough in shuddering halts. "Not all of us are what you think we are."
He stared at the orc. It seemed so... *human*.
"So the great Orc Slayer has come, with his magical Sting," the Orc said, almost to itself. "To end our race once and for all."
"What do you know of me, beast?" Garland spat, feeling a deep sense of unease.
"The boogeyman, to keep our young ones in line," it said, slowly lowering its head, "*the one that comes in the night to steal our lives.*"
"As you did ours," he retorted, not able to hide his disgust.
"Yes, once upon a time... and then no more," the Orc replied, sighing, "then, what little of us remained after the war just wanted to be left alone."
"Nonsense" Garland replied, "conflict between our races never ended."
The Orc looked deep into his eyes, Sting illuminating the Orc's scarred, weathered features. It looked so similar to Garland's.
"Was that our doing, or yours?"
Garland looked at his sword. He'd spent so long hunting them down...
"Sauron corrupted us all, human," he continued, "and yet, it is only your kind that believes that corruption can not be cleansed."
Garland was silent. He started to reply, but the Orc started coughing, Sting just bright enough to cast light on the blood on the Orc's hands.
"You killed my family, human," the Orc said, tears mixing with the blood. "You killed us all, yet you were too blind to see that the corruption lay in *you*."
Silence fell over the hovel, punctuated only by the rain.
"Now please," it said, breathing heavily, "I just... I just want to be with my husband."
She looked into his eyes.
"Please, let me die in peace."
Garland took a step back, shuddering. He slowly put his hand on the Orc's shoulder, gripping tightly, then turned and left the hovel.
He stood outside, as Sting's glow gradually faded to black.
And in the darkness, as his tears mixed with the rain, Garland the Orc Slayer collapsed.
| 2017-01-18T10:37:16 | 2017-01-18T07:42:09 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] When people reach the age of 18, they are chosen by a guardian spirit, usually a character from a story, such as Heracles, or Robin Hood. On your 18th birthday, you learn that you've been chosen by the final boss of an MMO.
|
The date was going well. No interruptions. No unwanted advice. No talk of rape or murder or enslavement of the girl, her kin, and all of humanity.
It was a thing to be grateful for. The calm. The normalcy. The solitude of having ones own thoughts to manage, uncorrupted and unburdened by the perversion of his unwanted guide.
"I’ll ask him” the girl said over her shoulder, seemingly to no one.
Todd smirked. “What is it you’ll ask me?”
"Well,” she parried his flirtatious smirk with her own. “It’s a rude topic to discuss. Most call it invasive.”
"Oh,” Todd tried to maintain a smile, but he knew the conversation she wanted to have. Everyone always wanted to discuss it, even though they knew it was considered rude, like asking man how big his dick or a woman how heavy her flow is.
Some things are not topics of polite conversation.
As it is with the Hallowed Link, commonly called spirit guardians, soul advisors — even soul mate, some dare call it. As for Todd, he called it what he believed it must be: a clerical error.
"I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” she said as she gave a look over herself to her unseen spirit guide, hidden to all the world, even other spirits. Only their Living Link can communicate and see them.
"Well,” Todd started —
"— You little piece of shit!” A voice boomed and Todd shuttered.
The girl flinched, worried by his shift in demeanor. “Are you okay?”
"I’m fine,” Todd assured her as he tried to ignore the ten foot tall demonic beast that approached him from the entrance.
"How dare you leave me in that field!” the beast shouted. “Oh, let’s kill some sheep, like friends, and then boom! You’re gone! What the hell man?!”
"Okay,” the girl smiled and leaned across the table. Todd forced his own smile, but his Hallowed Link had reached his side and was hunched over so his massive horned head and fire fueled eyes sat right next to his own. The thick hide made of scales and black skin was cracked like volcanic stone. A massive talon hand rested lightly over Todd’s shoulder as the beast affectionally embraced who he felt was his best friend.
Todd did not share this sentiment.
"Who is this vile slut?” the beast said.
"So,” the girl started. “My Hallowed Link is… Princess Bubblegum.” She lit up with a giant smile. “Out of all the things in the endless creation of worlds, I get the coolest and most fun person you’d imagine.”
The demon’s face fell to a deep a dramatic frown and a huff of smoke popped from each nostril.
"We are so going to rape and enslave this bitch,”
"Would you shut up, for once,” Todd whispered through clenched teeth.
"What?” The girl said.
"Oh, not you,” Todd said. “My guide sometimes doesn’t wait for his turn to speak.”
"I am Molag Bal! The God of Schemes. Harvester of souls! Daedric Prince of domination and enslavement. Father of Coldharbour! And you will not tell me when I can or cannot speak!” He crossed his arms. “Todd.”
Todd sat in silence. Trying to recall where the conversation had left off.
"I love that show. The Adventure one. You’re very lucky. Actually,” he smirked. “I think the Princess is the lucky one.”
The girl smiled and curled her hair.
Todd leaned closer.
Molag Bal pushed one of his own claws mockingly down his throat, faking a gag. “Disguisting.”
"You’re kind,” the girl said.
"You too,” Todd said.
"You’re pitiful,” Molag Bal said. “All of this to try and get laid. Just rape her. Rape her right here! Who dare stop you, Link of Molag Bal!
"Shut up,” Todd whispered.
The girl squinted and looked at where Molag Bal stood, only she saw empty space, as expected.
She faked a smile. “Your guide talks to you a lot?”
"Yeah,” Todd said.
"If you don’t enslave this woman, I will lose all respect for you,” Molag Bal said.
"He’s a talker,” Todd said.
"So,” the girl playfully averted her eyes. “Who is he? Your guide?”
"Oh, not much to tell about him. You probably wouldn’t even know him.” Todd froze.
"I am Molag Bal! The God of Schemes. Harvester of souls. Daedric Prince of domination and enslavement. Father of Coldharbour! Creator of Vampires! Destroyer of Weak! And Hallowed Link of Todd!”
"I can keep a secret,” the girl said. “You can trust me.”
"How many times do I need to tell you, Todd,” Molag Bal rubbed his forehead like a disappointed coach. “You don’t need to trust anyone. Just lock her in the basement, and then get her friends and family, lock them away too. It’ll be fun. You never want to have fun. You just want to play video games and watch Netflix. You won’t even watch the good porn.”
"My guide is a bit obscure,” Todd ignored Molag. “He’s from a … sci-fi thing,” Todd said.
"Sci-fi? No, Elder Scrolls in fantasy you jackass.”
"I love sci-fi,” the girl said. “Come on, tell me.”
"Kill her. Please.”
Todd took a deep breath. Between the girl and the Daedric Prince constantly talking his ear off, he could hardly remember who he was or how he thought. He knew it wasn’t the girls fault. But he also knew he didn’t want to tell her the truth. He had never told anyone the truth. It was widely accepted that whoever latched to you was a bonded being to your very soul. That they were attracted to you by common feelings, goals and emotions. That they came to guide you, and will know how to guide you because they work towards the same end. It had been two years since he’d turned eighteen and got stuck with the Daedric nut-job, and he still couldn’t find any way it made sense.
But what could he do. It’s not like there was a customer support line for Hallowed Links. Nobody understood how they worked. So, Todd did what he had started doing since Molag Bal showed up.
He lied.
"My Hallowed Link is,” he took a moment. “Snarf from Thundercats.”
Her smile went from ear to ear. “He’s the cutest thing ever!You have an awesome cartoon hero as your guide and so do I!”
"Snarf! You told her I’m fucking Snarf!” Molag Bal flailed his arms.
The girl whispered to Bubblegum. “I know, it’s fate. He must be a really kind soul to have Snarf.”
"I hate you so much,” Molag Bal said.
"I hate you too,” Todd said.
"Good,” said Molag Bal.
***
[/r/wyrdfiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/wyrdfiction/)
|
"Hey, Brian?" You walked up to the bully who had made your life miserable, your knees wobbling beneath your skinny torso. Thousands of dollars of lunch money, a copious amount of bruises, and years of therapy had all led up to this moment. It was graduation day, and you were finally off to college where you would never have to see this idiot again. He had made every single day up to this moment a living hell for you, and it was finally time for closure.
"What is it, shithead?" He smiled down at you, towering over your head. A wall of solid muscle, he had been the biggest kid in the school since the day he waltzed into kindergarten. The teachers were scared of this hulking mass of muscle - even they were victims of his evil spirit.
"I have something I need to tell you." Almost immediately, the whole cafeteria went silent, as heads turned to look at you from across the room. People loved a show, and high school seniors are no exception. Watching the little dork get his skull crushed in by Brian was one of the most entertaining things that could happen. You smiled as the crowd turned.
"Oh really?" He laughed, surveying the room. "Looks like Wimpy here has something he wants to tell me!" He leaned down, getting on your level, as an aura began to glow around his head. You gulped as spikes began to protrude from his hands and his arms grew more muscly by the second as he channeled his guardian spirit. He had been chosen by the King of the Koopas, the bane of princesses and plumbers across the kingdom - Bowser. His eyes began to glow red and heat waves began to fly from his mouth as he breathed. "So, little guy," he breathed, scorching your eyebrows with fire with every word, "what do you have to say?"
You leaned back, away from the fire licking your face. "Dude, you really need a Tic-Tac."
Apparently that was enough for Brian. He leaned back, roaring a cry of war to the cafeteria. He shot a blast of fire straight for your face scorching the t-shirt off your body. He looked stunned when you escaped mostly unscathed (except for your poor t-shirt) but was determined. He thrust his arms in the air, and fossilized turtles that undoubtedly went by the name of Dry Bones rose from the ground.
Over the next 10 seconds, a lot of stuff happened in very rapid succession.
SECOND 1 - A huge, muscly fist was headed straight for your face. You reached out and grabbed it, your hand growing red. His eyes widened in surprise as your fingers stopped his, burning themselves into his flesh.
SECOND 2 - You picked him up by his fist, and threw him into the wall. The Dry Bones began their rapid advance - these were unkillable turtle monsters with the touch of death. You may be in trouble.
SECOND 3 - Brian made contact with the cement wall, leaving a depression three feet thick. You began to shoot fire at the Dry Bones, scorching the bones off their...bones.
SECOND 4 - Brian managed to peel himself off the wall. However, you were already prepared for the attack. As the Dry Bones melted into the floor, you produced a hammer from seemingly thin air. You had a feeling that, if used correctly, this hammer could deal 8 damage to a random enemy.
SECOND 5 - Brian was running towards you, ready to punch a hole through your torso. Seeming to grow multiple feet, you began to swing your hammer, yelling "I! AM! POWER!"
SECOND 6 - "INCARNATE!" The hammer connected with his chest, leaving second-degree burns across his muscly chest and sending him flying through multiple classrooms.
SECOND 7 - You returned to your normal form, and were greeted by cheers from your classmates, and bowed as you left.
SECOND 8 - Brian finally slowed to a stop, making contact with the ground. As you walked out, you waved, and said "By the power of Ragnaros, I have the power!"
SECOND 9 - The last thing you heard as you walked out of the school for the last time was the voice of your enemy, finally defeated, yelling "Fuck you, Chris!"
SECOND 10 - An incredibly angry janitor walked into the cafeteria.
*****
r/HardBoiledStories
| 2017-04-30T15:09:24 | 2017-04-30T13:34:57 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] Both a Knight and a Dragon tell the same story to their children before they sleep. The moral is different.
|
"I want to tell you a story," Baremethus, the Blood-Scaled Dragon told his daughter, Aria.
He curled his massive tail around her and nuzzled her nose. She spat back a puff of smoke, reminding him that she was no longer a child. Already, she was fifteen and everyday she didn't act out against him, he took it as a win. But for this, he wanted to feel close, to feel the fire burning in her stomach.
Aria perked her ears, listening for other dragons. When she found none, she dug her face deep into her father's stomach, sharing his fire's warmth. Here, he wore scars from his legends as an adolescent. For a second, Baremethus wished to stop his story and just drag this moment out as long as the night allowed. However, he had his fatherly duties.
"Aria," he whispered, "your father once loved a woman other than your mother."
A small fire escaped his daughter's mouth. She clamped it shut, instantly attentive.
"It was a human woman."
Aria could not contain this one. Her stomach glowed the orange of a burning ember and smoke leaked from her nostrils. "Dad?" she said, fire escaping with every word. "Are you serious?"
Baremethus growled yes.
"Was it while you were..."
"No, my flame. It was a time long before I met your mother, though I've never told her this story."
"So why are you telling me now?"
The Blood-Scaled Dragon sighed a plume of ash. "Because you are at the age. You will always be my little flame, but you will also be so much more."
Aria's eyes glistened. For how she had longed to hear those words, she had never wanted to hear them like this. Her father sounded somber, even regretful. It was not a tone for the Blood-Scaled Dragon of legend. In his adolescence, he had once burned down an entire kingdom.
"Her name was Elizabeth," he said. "She was the princess of Iona, a land that still stands today, but was much smaller back then. I met her by accident in the forest while she was picking berries. At least, I had thought it to be accident."
"What happened?" Aria asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted a response.
"Your father was foolish in his adolescence. She had courage and her words sang when she spoke. She was the first human that approached me without fear and I saw beauty in her frailty. I was blinded by the fire that stirred in my stomach."
"How young were you?"
"About your age, my fire."
Aria closed her eyes in thought. "So this was when..."
Baremethus nodded, his tail tightening around his daughter. "She told me a story of treason and pain, of how she was subject to the oppression of small southern kingdom. Her words were a tinder for my flame and the more I listened, the hotter I burned. Until one day, I could take no more."
"And that's why you destroyed the Kingdom of Zaeger?"
"I thought that I was just, a hero to a damsel. It was only later, when she took me in as her protector, after spending nearly a year cramped and barely moving in her cold stone castle that I learned the truth. And when I did, she sent another *hero* to slay me."
It suddenly made sense. Aria gazed upon her father's battle wounds. Each one was a blade that had once pierced his stomach. It was nothing as glamorous as the legends suggested.
"The stories are just stories, my fire. In trying to be a hero, I was played a fool. Do not make the same mistakes as me."
---
Brandon, the Hero of Iona, ran his finger through Delilah's thick golden curls. He still remembered holding her as an infant. He kissed the top of her head and left her bedchambers.
"Daddy?" she said, stopping him at the door. "Tell me a story."
He looked back and smiled. "I think you've already heard all my stories."
"Tell me the one where you slayed the dragon."
That put a smile onto his lips. Of all the stories he had in his adventuring days, this was by far his favorite. "Alright," he said, tip-toeing back, "but don't tell mother, I'm supposed to be tucking you to bed."
Delilah clapped her hands and giggled. "Start with the pigeon!"
The Hero of Iona cleared his throat and began in a baritone voice. "It was mid-morning when the pigeon first came, a jittery bird having escaped the clutches of the evil dragon."
"And on it was a beautifully written note."
He nodded. "Like artwork it read--please brave hero, come to Iona and save me from my Dragon captor."
Delilah's eyes glistened as she leaned forward, drinking up his words. No matter how many times he had told her this story, she always acted as if it was her first hearing of it. He loved that about her.
"So off I went, through the stormy seas in the north, through the sun-baked deserts of the south, and at last arrived in the kingdom of Iona. At this time, Iona was in the middle of a grand expansion. The dragon that was terrorizing them had already laid waste to their border kingdom which they were now desperately trying to help them by expanding their walls around their borders."
"And then you came and slayed the dragon!"
Brandon pinched his daughter's cheeks. "If you already know the story, why should I keep telling it?"
"No daddy, keep telling it."
"I kicked open the castle gates and there it stood, taller than the tallest building in Iona with a wingspan that stretched from one end of the castle to the other. He had his body wrapped around the princess like she was a statue that he owned."
Delilah pulled her covers to her nose, her eyes glistening beneath moonlight.
"But I saw that he had chosen a poor place to do battle, for his large size became his biggest weakness. Within the cramped castle walls, he could not move or fly. It was because of his greed, he saw the king's place and would not move away from it, even though it did him no good."
"Then what happened?"
Brandon's smile stretched off his face. "And then the Hero of Iona came with his trusty sword, the Dragon Slayer! It was a battle for fable! I rolled through his fires, blocked his talons, and sliced his stomach!"
His daughter nearly jumped out of her covers in excitement.
"Listen, my baby girl. This world is a place for legends and fable. One day, you will have your own. So when your own pigeon comes, do not be scared to answer."
---
Elizabeth stood at the doorway, her back pressed against the cold stone of the castle. She loved listening to her husband tell his story. With every retelling, he bought into it just a tiny bit more.
But soon, his use would be up, and she and Iona still had bigger ambitions to fulfill. Already, she was writing her next legend.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, plus continuations of prompts by popular request, and much more!
|
"Come children, gather to me, I shall tell you the story of Embertooth and the selfless knight of Sladoshire." The mummer called standing ontop of his willow stage, decorated in bright red cloth and a rather passable attempt at a coat of arms. All the less, children gathered from all over, some in fine silk, others in course cloth but yet they still came, eager to hear the story all over again, while their parents continued in the market square. With a strum from his lute, and the beating of a drum, the stage came to life showing a rather stout man riding a wooden horse, his steps clopping on the decaying wood as the mummer shouted in a grand voice that trailed into a light harmony. "It all began in his lands when he heard horrible shriek." The music was cut out by a girl screaming from behind the stage and the children recoil back at the sudden sound. Soon enough the light picking of the strings continue. "Dashing his way through the woods, determined to find who whoever he could." The clops seems to speed up as the man ran in place quicker and quicker shaking his noble wood mount. "He came across a maid most fair, her face worried, sticks in her hair." As she says this a rather skinny girl ran across the stage, her clothes patched in a dress with every color put in strange order, the noble children laughed as the less fortunate children looked in awe. A lone stick was place in her hair, however hers seemed much more complete for a birds nest was carefully balanced on top of it. "The maiden fair, seemed so frail but not for our knight so just. He raced for her but never before, the winged beast come to." A loud roar escaped from a horn placed behind the motley curtain scaring a few of the children. "A beast so big, you could swear it near blocked out the sun. The maid tried to run, but she failed as the claws hailed down on her. It picked her up, and turn his muck to the Selfless knight of Sladoshire." As he said this a large splintered claw, came down the fires aside the stage erupted and the claw swatted the girl away. "Came here beast, and face my sword, for I shall be her ward, and oh it laughed it so hastily laughed, and turn his wings up towards the sky. With a gust of air, and the maiden fair the dragon ran to his lair. But this was not over for our great night as he ran after them." The children cheered as the stout man ran chasing a small shadow of the dragon placed on the background of the stage. Soon the curtain dropped, and after a few minutes of scrapping sounds and clunks the stage raised again with a new scene in play. The simple woods were placed with a soot stained small castle, a simple little bridge, and the bellows of fire and smoke. "He arrived at last and was ready to slash the beast who took her. He called forth and said with force, Come dragon and face me now. The beast laughed the earth cracked and the dragon came to fight. But the knight so cunning and quick lead the girl astray, and now they fight forever locked, in a crucible of fire and smoke." The tune faded as the cast mimicked the last actions, and the curtain fell on a crowd cheering...
"And in the fire and the smoke we found what we needed most." A ravaged voice echoed as the fire and shadows danced along the sky. "A warrior with a cunning wit who will tell us all he knows." breathed the red dragon to the whelps flying around a blacken suit of armor leaning against the giant dragon. "And he will protect and make sure that you all are left alone." Finished the man as he raised his body from the pose, and raised his sword high up. The dragons roared as he walked away to the edge of the woods as a warning to all who come.
| 2017-05-13T20:41:52 | 2017-05-13T17:31:46 | 163 | 12 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit
|
"Please, Gil, we need you to become Graviton again. Ares is out and-," The woman, dressed in a floral suit-dress was standing inside the cell with the man who was lazily floating in the air.
"Using weapons that have been outlawed by NATO or whatever for blah blah blah years. He's making unreasonable demands, shocking! He's killing anyone who tries to bring him in, horror! He's threatening to use them on innocent civilians, scoundrel! Save me the news report, Debbie, oh sorry, Senator Attenborough." Gil 'Graviton' leisurely pulled a potato chip out of the bag floating next to him as he continued to watch some cat videos on tablet screen above him.
"You know that's not all! He has access to weapons of mass destruction!" Debbie had pulled out her politician voice, something that made Gil look over in disappointment.
"Debbie, I'm not your political opponent, using hot phrases means jack shit. Besides, did I or did I not publicly say that if Ares was not put in quintuple layered carbon-silicate faraday cage with copious signal interference directed specifically at the cage, then he would leave as soon as his wounds healed?" Gil floated back down to the ground to stand in front of Debbie.
"You know that the budget-,"
"Oh right, the budget. The budget that I explicitly said could afford hiring a particular materials lab that I had a personal contact in who was an expert in just such a contraption?"
"Sending a request through just like that wasn't so simple. There's a voting process-," Debbie found her words cut off as a sudden force almost brought her to her knees.
"Don't. Give. Me. ME. That crap. We are talking about a man who can summon and control any and *every* weapon in the world so long as he knows where it is within a 2.4 kilometer radius of his estimation point. The only reason, and I clarify, the *only* reason I did not kill him was because you personally made a whole campaign about how *I* should be held accountable for any injuries and deaths that occur because of my actions." Gil leaned down to make sure the senator was looking him in the eyes.
"Because, obviously, I never, ever, not once, go out of my way to privately cover medical and funeral expenses for bystanders. I *never* arrange grants and community aid to help small businesses recoup from property damage. I never, not a single fucking time, have I ever, made sure to pay my dues to the public from when I caused the damage."
Debbie, who had been pushed more and more by an ever increasing force of gravity slowly looked Gil in the eyes. Truly, she probably had been unaware, Gil knew this. His monetary connections were a better kept secret than his civilian identity, especially now. Ex-villains and retired heroes were like that, and some, investors, held assets worth more than any currency. Their word, and his by extension, could write checks that would destroy economics.
That's what being the number 1 hero had meant. That and being subjectively the most powerful. Yet a bank and surrounding buildings, including a city maintenance office, being destroyed was just the last round of ammunition needed for politicians to somehow get a criminal sentence on him.
Gil's brother in law and sister wanted to testify for his case, but he wouldn't let them. After all, this wasn't the first time something like this had been attempted, it was just the first time Gil let them think it would help.
"Your family is in danger if this goes on," Debbie painfully spoke. The pressure released.
Finally the stupid, arrogant, asshole freak was listening to her.
So why then did she feel lighter? Like something was drawing her upwards? And how was there sunshine and blue sky behind Graviton? His cell had no windows, and was made of concrete.
She then realized the walls were still there, sort of. They were now the size of a softball, cumulatively, and floating between her and Graviton.
"Don't. Ever. *EVER*. Try to threaten my family like that. Because it doesn't even matter if my brother in law would rip you and every military force apart before you got to my sister or my niece. If you ever try to suggest, no, think of such a blatant threat to them again, I will become the villain you will never be able to stop. No matter how much you beg and scream," Gil placed a hand on Debbie's shoulder, and gave her a small smile.
Even as she saw the villain known as Ares aim a missle from some aircraft at them, all Gil did was turn and look at him. The villain, wearing his swat-team like outfit, slowly placed the missle on the ground. Hands raised into the air, and Ares slowly walked away.
"He and I have an agreement. Now, if you'd like to review my case and your campaign, as well as address the slander charges my lawyer will be bringing to court, here's a business card. I'm not sure if you know him, he's kind of a local guy. Biggest case he dealt with was a little, tiny, hardly significant investigation into a bribery case involving three supreme court justices, who were found guilty on multiple accounts, by the by," Gil handed Debbie a fairly plain looking business card.
The senator stumbled out of the prison cell as Gil set about decompressing the walls so it was less drafty.
|
“Look at all of you, sitting here, begging me to come to your aid. I’ve come to your aid countless times these last years, and because people were afraid, or hateful, or biased, or stupid, you decided I belonged in here. That decision meant that you felt you were capable of handling ANY crisis without me. So I’m afraid you’ll have to handle this one without me.” With that, The Champion turned away and sipped his coffee.
Council member Thomas leaned forward. “After all that time helping us, why would you turn your back now?”.
The Champion spoke without turning around. “You said I was a vigilante, and you didn’t want vigilantes running loose in your city. I’ve ignored your social and physical abuse, for the good of the people that YOU don’t adequately protect, for a long time. You have some nerve to show up now and pretend that nothing ever happened.
What will happen to me if I do help you? You’ll just want me back in here as soon as I finish your dirty work. I’m just saving you the trouble of having to deal with me. Good day, folks. I’m due in the fitness center in a few minutes.”
Council member Kirk spoke next. “How will you feel when the city is in ruins? How will you feel when those people you supposedly care about are dead or homeless?”
The Champion turned quietly around. “I will mourn them, and be sad, and hate and resent the people that created this situation in the first place. Those people are you. You made this decision, and you have to live with it. Blame me, don’t blame me, for me the end result is the same. Based on what I’ve seen on the news, you likely won’t have a city to govern in about 48 hours anyway.
Guard!!! I’m ready to go back to my cell!”
The city of Gordon Hills was wiped off the map by the end of the week. The Champion still lives in the prison, surrounded by dead guards and empty cells.
| 2021-03-18T12:59:11 | 2021-03-18T11:56:24 | 303 | 203 |
[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.
|
I stood there awestruck. How did they last this long? I didn’t think this would be possible. Not wanting to be the bearer of bad news, I force a tight smile on my face and say,” Well, your relationship is very peculiar.” The woman says in response,”In what way?”, her voice more questioning than worried.
“I don’t know whether you are an on and off couple, or arranged.”, I say to the woman. “We’re arranged.”, the woman says, looking to her husband,” We were 16 when the arrangements were made.” I stared shocked.”So why are you here?”, I say, so I could understand the situation.
“We think we should divorce, but we have our good nights and bad nights, so we’re conflicted.”,the husband says, his face placid. “I think that you should think about divorcing.” The woman’s face fell. The man held her in his hands.”It’s all right Sarah, it doesn’t mean we have to forget each other.”
“I was so hopeful.” the woman said, staring at the ground. The man explained,”She really wanted us to stay together, but she agreed to come we just to make sure.” I realized what I just did, and I tried to fix the situation. “It doesn’t mean you have to, but people with your relationship don’t usually stay together.” The man nodded, smiled, and said,”I know, but we feel like if we don’t like each other, then it doesn’t feel real.”
“It’s all right, you don’t have to fix anything.” he said, and he looked to his wife and said,”Sarah, why are you so sad?” She looked up to him and said,”He said we should divorce.” “What are you talking about? We just got here.” She looks up and her face brightens immediately.”Oh.”,she says,”so, how’s our relationship?” The man winks at me, and I know what to do.”Well, your relationship seems amazing, and I think that you’ll stay together for quite a long time.”
A smile broke on her face and she said to the man,”Did you hear that? He said that we’d stay together for a long time.” The man said,”I know, okay, we’ll stay together.” The woman smiles back at me and says,”Thank you so much, and I hope your day is amazing.” I look to the man and he whispers to me”She’s schizophrenic, so once in a while she hallucinates. I like to take that to my advantage.” I watch them leave, hand in hand,wife acting like a child. I’d never seen a couple like that. To have a number so low but still want the best for each other. It really confused me. But then again, if they’re happy, why do numbers matter?
| 2019-09-03T16:59:16 | 2019-09-03T16:00:57 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] You prayed every night for the chance to date either a Goddess or Demon Queen. After 100 prayers, you're startled when a loud voice booms out, "Granted, mortal! Now shut up and live with the consequences! "
|
*"Dear Graze, Shana, Maria and the 99 Goddesses of this land, hear my holy prayer. Grant my wish and honor to date one of thy gracious deities."*
*"Blood and Skulls. Wolfs bane and Black Rose. With these sacrifices of the Earth, I ask any of the Queens of the 9 Circles to bequeath me with a romantic outing."*
Every night I say these prayers, chuckling after. Now, I'm an atheist, always have been. But after several dares and the promise of 1000 Rubies, I thought *"Why the heck not!"* I mean, money's money, right?
I had reached the 100th night of praying, by now it was a routine. Only 265 more days and I'd be a *very* wealthy man. I was the only one who accepted the challenge. The only one brave enough. It wasn't like the deities existed.
Boy was I wrong.
Suddenly a voiced boomed behind me and I turn around. Light started shining through the clouds as I was in awe.
# "𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔩! 𝔚𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔄𝔩𝔪𝔦𝔞, 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫. 𝔅𝔢𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔉𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶, 𝔜𝔪𝔦𝔯!"
Before me appeared a beautiful woman. Her skin outshone the sun, her hair flowed like the Nile and her eyes put even the rarest gems to shame. She wore a silky robe which truly emphasized her godly origins "Hello there! I'm Ymir! I can't wait to go on our date!" She smiled. Her smile was truly powerful, my very knees shook. Her voice was like a piano piece, elegant and beautiful.
"Wh...w-" Before I could finish, the earth started to shake beneath me and lava started flowing from the cracks. Then another voice could be heard.
# "Oɦ, ʟɨȶȶʟɛ ֆɨռռɛʀ! աɛ, ȶɦɛ 9 զʊɛɛռֆ օʄ ɦɛʟʟ, ɦǟʋɛ ƈɦօֆɛռ օռɛ օʄ օʊʀ օառ ȶօ ɖǟȶɛ ʏօʊ! աɨȶռɛֆֆ ʏօʊʀ ռɛա ʟօʋɛʀ, ȶɦɛ զʊɛɛռ օʄ ȶɦɛ 9ȶɦ ƈɨʀƈʟɛ օʄ ȶʀɛǟƈɦɛʀʏ, ʟʊƈɨռɖǟ!"
Ascending from beneath was, in all meanings of the word, a hot motherfucker. Her skin tanned like a desert, her eyes crimson red and cute short bobcut. She wore a black leather jacket and had large curled horns on her head "Hey there, so when's the date happening?" She smirks, apparently knowing my confusion.
"What in the ever loving fuck is happening!" I shout. They both look at me as though I was the weird one here.
"You prayed to us for 100 days straight!" Ymir says joyfully.
"Yeah, whaddya think was gonna happen dumbass? Nothing?" Lucinda teases.
"Well... Yeah. I didn't even think you all were real." I answer, exasperated "This was all for a dare!". Immediately, they get deflated.
"Oh... This was a joke. Sorry" Ymir looked like she was on the verge of tears. I'm pretty sure a couple families just divorced.
"Crap, I did my hair and everything" Lucinda mutters beneath her breath "Well, I'd better get going. I had some pirates to boil anyway"
As they start to go away, I shout "Hey, Hey! Hold up!" They look at me "Just cuz this was originally a joke, doesn't mean I can't date you! I mean who wouldn't want to date the both of you! You're all absolutely dazzling!" I start blushing.
Ymir wipes her tears and says "Would Tuesday work?" I nod. Thank Goddess that I managed to make her happy again.
Lucinda plays with her hair "Well, I guess those pirates could wait. Well see ya tomorrow." She says as they both leave.
​
What in hell did I get myself into!?
|
I learnt from a very young age that there are two kinds of people in this world.
The first are those who were born to live in it, those who since they were only a few days old would clap their hands and laugh and all others would clap their hands in kind at the mere cherubic act of innocent expression.
They were those who would learn and absorb the crafts of humanity seamlessly and outrun all others in their classes. They had a future, bright and comfortable.
Then there were those who had none of those acuities, who shared none of the same proclivities.
The dregs of society locked within the confines of their room and indulging fantasies of being a secret hero still waiting to discover their destiny.
I was the latter.
And just as I described, there I sat away from the trepid reality of the outside world, my curtains drawn closed to keep the judging sun's light at bay.
There I sat within the darkness of my room as the computer screen basked me in the colourful shine of a new anime where I munched away with my bag of crisps, daydreaming of when the day would come when my true purpose would reveal itself and I would rise among all the others.
That was the thing about my fantasies, it was an escape, a way to convince myself I wasn't meant for the real world that I lived in.
That some video world awaited me where my true talents would come to shine as the unexpected protagonist of the world.
I numbly lowered my head and prayed once again to entertain my imagination, to humour the idea that perhaps this time, an answer would present itself.
There I sat humming in some made up ancient language I hoped would somehow not be random, but buried in some subconscious part of me. I entertained the idea of a goddess, or even a demon queen would come down and save me from my perils.
And so my crumb crusted lips moved and the dry tang of chips stuck to the roof of my mouth as I prayed again like so many times before.
"Please, for whoever may be listening, save me from my torment, goddess and demon queen alike, allow me to be your lover and bequeath me with such unparalleled power."
I lowered my hands and released them from each others as I returned to the present and found again, like so many times before, the uncomfortable silence that filled the room and sobered me into realizing how pathetic I was.
I heard a distant laughter from the anime screen, it sounded like it was mocking me. The screen shone a plethora of colours on me that failed to lift me from the greyscale pit I found myself in.
"Granted, mortal!" A voice bellowed like an echo one thinks to have misheard.
My sorrowful expression lifted itself and searched the room. Was it from the anime?
"Now shut up and live with the consequences!" The echoing voice of a voice bigger-than-life declared, as suddenly the pile of unwashed clothes beneath my legs unfurled and the floor opened to swallow me whole.
\*\*\*
/r/KikiWrites
| 2020-10-03T05:59:55 | 2020-10-03T04:27:24 | 378 | 81 |
[WP] All the alien species in the intergalactic council excelled in one way or another to climb through survival of the fittest. So why are humans, a species with average physique, so hard to deal with? And what the hell is persistence hunting.
|
It was supposed to be a simple task. Deliver the Intergalactic Council's rejection message, destroy the human's primary starbase, and return home victorious. Thus far, they'd only succeeded on the first goal, and even then just barely.
Despite the humans' limited technology, it had been decided to send a message by using a Dreadnaught class battlecruiser, the *Vanquisher* to deliver the message. Even if they humans decided to fight, there was no way they could possibly defeat its might. Except that's just what they were doing, albeit very slowly. The moment the rejection message had been delivered, the humans had struck. Not, like the Council's tactics suggested, by hitting them with their heavy weapons. Instead it was a small transport, one of many that had been flying around the massive warship on their way here and there, seemingly innocuous, that had suddenly veered off course and crashed into the starboard hyperlight pod, exploding with what could only have been a massive bomb. The damage was minimal, but the effect was enormous. The FTL drive was unusable, preventing the *Vanquisher* from leaving the system other than with its sublight engines.
That explosion must have been the signal to attack, because then the humans forces had come from everywhere. And while individually they could do minimal damage, they quickly had taken the primary cannon offline, long before it could be brought to bear on the starbase they had been tasked to destroy. They had certainly taken heavy losses, doing so, but without their main gun, the starbase was just too big to destroy quickly enough to justify the damage the *Vanquisher* would inevitably take. And so, with their second objective unobtainable and their third flat out gone, the *Vanquisher* had turned around, heading away from the planet as fast as it could, in an attempt to get far enough away to be able to make repairs and report back to the council for reinforcements.
That was 3 days ago.
Just as they had expected the humans to react the way other denied members had in the past when their application was denied, they expected the humans to watch them go, taking pot shots until they got out of range. Instead, a hastily assembled fleet of human ships, large and small, had pursued the *Vanquisher* \- **pursued a Dreadnaught!** \- continuing to attack with whatever weapons they could bring to bear, preventing any chance at repairing the FTL drive. At first the humans continued to take heavy losses, as the massive warship's defenses did their best to eliminate its pursuers. But over time, those attacks took their toll on the *Vanquisher*, so that it found itself in its current position.
"Incoming transmission from the humans, sir," the *Vanquisher*'s communications officer spoke up, sounding a little shaken. "They're offering terms of surrender."
"Finally given up, have they?" asked the first officer, giving the Captain a smirk.
"N-no, Captain," stuttered the comm officer, handing a printout to the Captain. "They're offering to let us surrender to them."
The Captain grabbed the printout, read it, and stared. Then he sat heavily in his command chair and closed his eyes, his posture taking on a defeated nature.
"You can't be serious!" exclaimed the first officer. "Let me see that!" He grabbed the printout from the Captain and read it.
\-----
TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE VANQUISHER: IT HAS BEEN THREE DAYS SINCE WE CHASED YOU AWAY FROM OUR PLANET. IT COULD BE DAYS, WEEKS, MONTHS OR EVEN YEARS, BUT WE WILL CONTINUE TO HUNT YOU UNTIL YOU EITHER SURRENDER OR YOUR SHIP DISINTEGRATES AROUND YOU FROM OUR ATTACKS. YOU MAY BE ABLE TO RUN, BUT RIGHT NOW YOUR SHIP IS CRIPPLED AND WE CAN KEEP UP THIS PACE FOREVER. HOW'S THAT FOR SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST? YOU HAVE 2 HOURS BEFORE WE BEGIN OUR NEXT ATTACK, AND DON'T THINK WE HAVEN'T NOTICED THE GAP IN YOUR DEFENSES. WE AWAIT YOUR RESPONSE.
\-----
It was a very surprised intergalactic council fleet that met the \*Vanquisher\* 15 light years outside the human system, 5 days after it had first gone in. When it got within communications range, it was not the Captain and his crew that appeared on the video, but a number of humans. Before anyone could interject, the human in command spoke.
"I am Admiral Hailey Tran of the Human Confederation, and on behalf of the Federation I claim membership in the Intergalactic Council by \*\*Right of Conquest!\*\*.
|
Svedbar grasped the arm of his favorite discussion partner Chiztet and led her to the counsel chambers to discuss what was just presented. The humans finally laid proposition to the counsel to join the galactic treatise.
“That human removed its exo-skeleton.” Svedbar said. “I didn’t think it was possible for them.”
Chiztet chirped into her hand-held and Svedbar heard, “You are mistaken. Humans in some spaces are able to remove their outer wear. It is not actually a part of them. Their real selves are squishy and raw. It’s a wonder they’re the dominant species on their planet.”
“Tell me about them. Are they to be trusted? What would their end goal be?” Svedbar ducked to whisper to his friend as other counsel members joined them in the chambers.
Chiztet chirped again and Svedbar heard, “Well they are persistent. I have read that back before they used what they call modern weapons, they would chase down other species on their planet in order to wear them down. I have no doubt that unless we wipe them out, they will eventually become a part of the counsel if it is their intention to do so. I say we hear them out now. Maybe their fleshy minds will provide insight on how to deal with the fungi. It is the major threat to us all.”
Svedbar nodded pondering about what the counsel might have to give to these fleshy beings clad in metal. The two took their seats with the counsel members of their species as the prominent took their position at the front and started the formal discussions.
| 2021-02-04T10:09:41 | 2021-02-04T08:48:14 | 350 | 144 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
“All in favour of sparing her life, step forward!”
I looked around the village square, but no one moved a muscle. The seconds rolled by, and the hope I held in my heart crumbled, only to be replaced by a sharp tang of bitterness, resentment. There was Peter, whose fever had yielded to her medicine, but he kept his eyes down, lips tightly pursed. I saw Nathan too, whose son may never have returned from his ventures into the forests if she had not tracked the child down, but he was as silent, unmoving as Peter was.
Old Man Bosworth, the twins Jaina and Jerry, Valerie, Daniel… they too, everyone who had ever benefited in one way or the other from her help, all suddenly bereft of courage, unwilling to stand up for their benefactor.
The bloody ingrates.
“Do you see how everyone fears you, woman?” asked Chief Lanson, shaking his staff at the figure kneeling on the ground, hands tied behind her. “We tolerated you, gave you a place to call home, and this is how you repay us? By bringing this evil magic into our village?”
“I am not evil,” Matilda said, her voice carrying to the edges of the crowd. “I have done no harm to the village. I have only helped.”
“Helped? Helped?” said Chief Lanson, his voice rising in anger. He turned to the crowd, stretched out his arms, then said, “Evil fears the light, foul creature. I shall show the village proof, proof of your heresy! I will show them the forbidden evils we found in your hut! Come, show them!”
Fred and Richard, two of the strongest farmers in the village, retrieved a wooden chest from within Chief Lanson’s hut. They struggled even though the load was shared between them, and after they placed the evidence in front of Matilda, they took hurried steps backwards, leaving Chief Lanson the honour of opening the chest.
He rummaged briefly, then retrieved what appeared to be a marble slate, dark and smooth on one side, white and pristine on the other. He held it triumphantly in the air, revelling in the reactions he was getting.
“Has anyone ever seen a rock like this?” he asked. “I promise you, no one has!”
“It’s not right of you to have gone into my hut like that,” said Matilda.
“Oh? And if we had not done so, if we had not suspected you of carrying out the dark one’s work, would we ever have discovered foul things such as this?”
“I don’t know what you are talking abou- ”
Chief Lanson squeezed the edges of the slate, and one side of it flared to life, emitting vibrant colours, as if someone had managed to trap a rainbow in stone. The crowd gasped, and I saw some of the adults shielding their children’s eyes.
“If we had not been suspicious, if we had not known to spy on you, would we have discovered your secrets, witch?” said Chief Lanson. He turned the slate towards us, then said, “Listen! Listen with your own ears! This is her! The devil masquerading as a human! Listen to the unholy mission she is on!”
He needn’t have commanded us in that manner. We were enraptured, spellbound by the moving images on the slate, of what appeared to a… doppelganger of Matilda, staring out at us, speaking to us. I heard whispers rise up, words like “impossible”, “there’s two of her”, “a soul, trapped in marble”.
We fell silent though, once the Slate-Matilda began speaking.
“42nd entry – no new developments in weeks. The search goes on,” Slate-Matilda said. Her unruly hair was tied back, and there was a steadiness to her voice, a clarity to her eyes which wasn’t usually there. This was not the Matilda we knew, the soft-minded, chattering and hyperactive Matilda we saw roaming the village from morning to night.
It began to dawn on me that it was all an act.
“I don’t understand!” said Slate-Matilda, throwing up her hands. “The historical records are clear! The Influencer came from these parts, and I have narrowed it down to this village! I did not travel this far back in time in vain! Yet… yet I have met with all of them, talked to each and every one, but no one, no one stands out! I have run my tests, checked my equipment over and over, but still, not a single one displays even a modicum of psychic powe-”
“And these are the witch’s tools, by her own admission!” yelled Chief Lanson. He kicked the chest over, and its contents spilled across the ground, next to Matilda. An excited hum rose amongst the crowds as they feasted their eyes on the unnatural objects, the shiny, glinty collection of baubles created by the devil’s own hands.
“Answer me!” Chief Lanson continued, striking his staff into the ground for emphasis. “Tell me why I should not have you burned here, right where you are!”
Matilda raised her head, stared straight at the crowd. Most of them still had the decency to shuffle and squirm, but still no one intervened.
“I have done no harm to anyone,” said Matilda. “It is true, I kept secret the real reason why I was here, and I did not tell anyone why it is that I know what I know. But I have only meant well. I have shared my medicines, I have imparted my knowledge… I only asked for a bit of solace as I conducted my research. I meant no harm.”
“Enough! Stop your lies, right this instant!” Chief Lanson said. He struck with his staff, hitting Matilda on the shoulder. I saw her tumble forwards, her forehead striking the ground.
“To me! Bring the torches! We will burn her where she is!”
Fred and Richard complied, and as they inched towards Matilda, torches in hand, blank expressions on their faces, I waited again, hoping someone would do something, anything.
I pulled on the sleeves of those around me, begging them to step forward.
But they shrugged me off, transfixed. No one was going to listen to a boy who was still too young to shave. More importantly, no one was going to listen to their hearts, their consciences.
I heard Matilda cry out, though from pain or fear I was not sure. The torch was inches away, but Matilda could not twist free, as tight as her bonds were.
I grit my teeth, then did a quick headcount. Two dozen, maybe more. There were children too, and if I had more time I would have thought twice about whether they were as sturdy as the adults, whether they could recover as quickly.
But I was out of time, and so I stepped forward, clenched my eyes, focused on a single word, and poured every shred of energy I had into it. I had never exerted myself so much before.
*SLEEP*
I knew it had worked when I heard the steady thuds of comatose bodies hitting the floor. I opened my eyes, and I saw that some of Matilda’s other possessions on the ground had lighted up, flashing an incandescent array of colours. I pushed past the crowd, pulled Matilda up, shifted her weight onto me. She struggled to keep her eyes open.
“I… I was right…” she said, smiling. “It… it is real…”
“Later,” I said. “We have to go, now. There’s a lot we have to talk about.”
To better cope with Matilda’s weight, I borrowed Chief Lanson’s staff. From the way he was sleeping peacefully on the ground, it didn’t seem like he needed it.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T11:57:05 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 2,008 | 25 |
[WP] Mankind has succesfully deleted every trace of the year 2016. You, a historian in the year 2416 begin to wonder why there are no records of the year 2016 ever happening. When you begin to investigate, what you uncover, sends chills down your spine.
|
Asterion Muhammad Yiannopoulos IV, last of his line, Long May He Reign, rolls over in his nutrient bath, his spinal jack providing the sensations of a hundred kitten tongues lapping over his chocolate-brown skin. He orgasms with a grunt. His empire is arrayed before him, and a prickling worm has come grovelling at the gates: Heronymous Blot, avatar for a band of roving semi-cultists dedicated to the uncovering of secrets, as if there is anything more secret these days than a staggered release. The public wants to see, and so they have seen, Yiannopoulos has made sure of that. The celebrities in all their atomized nakedness, every dull jot and tittle of government policy. Still, Blot has produced useful material in the past, and with a reluctant sigh Yiannopoulos allows Blot to project in.
"A missing year," Blot says, without formality, their inky black avatar forming a stain in Yiannopoulos' bathwater, somehow fractally projecting absolute smugness. Yiannopoulos can feel his own Passive-Aggression Suite activate in response, projecting a background behind him designed to disrupt a human being's cognition functions. Blot doesn't flicker. A journalist is used to hostility, after all.
"Two-thousand-and-sixteen-the-year-of-our-Lord," Blot continues. "Look it up! It's not there! Not a single record, not a single trace. An absolute lacuna." Blot transforms into a white hole. "And you get the chance to tell the world."
Yiannopoulos rolls his eyes and pulls up an execution cam in a separate channel. Next donation goal is the reverse woodchipper. He donates. "And you just so happened to find this magical year," he says. "All of human history, every search engine and content aggregator on the face of the nine worlds, and no one's found this magical missing year up til now but you."
"No one's been looking!" Blot insists. "You know what the twenty-first century was like! The meme economy entering its post-scarcity phase! The migration into the mediasphere! The advent of retro-postmodernism!" Their avatar divides and subdivides into a Rorschach test. Yiannopoulos sees two minotaurs about to dock into each others' penises. "Historians won't touch the era. The world population was just beginning to understand the power media had in shaping the Narrative of their lives. And so they overproduced! It's a Narrative surplus, a landfill of information." Blot narrows down into a point, voice turning sly. "And I dug deep into that landfill. And I found an empty slot."
For his own curiosity, Yiannopoulos decides, he wikis it. And in the vast Googleplex of information at his neural tips, he comes up empty. Blot is right. A missing year. An absence of information. He switches his spinal jack to provide an anticipatory tingle. "A cover-up?" he says, as his first exploratory probe.
"Not at all," says Blot. "If you wanted to cover something up, you'd fake information, leave some garbage behind in that trash pile of history. But an absence like this? You're looking for someone to notice."
Yiannopoulos is filtering information from the surrounding years, trying to piece together a model for 2016. Depending on the axioms used, it may have been the beginning of the decline of the globalist powers, forming the basis for the breakup of the European Union and the United States of America, the individual states reforming as semi-fascistic nationalist fronts to battle the Islamic menace. Alternatively, it might have been a complete rejection of nationalist philosophy, and marked the last dying gasps of fascist opposition parties worldwide as they struggled to keep a grip on relevance. Blot is right. This is a landfill. There are so many varying records from the period that it's impossible to piece together anything with any certainty. It's the period when people began filtering off into their own curated realities, making every record unreliable.
"And so?" Yiannopoulos says eagerly. The execution cam lies muted, forgotten, silent gouts of blood spraying on the screen. "What, then? What's the secret?"
"Does there need to be a secret?" Blot says, insufferably smug. "A missing year! Isn't that enough?"
"Of course it's not enough!" Yiannopoulos says, sloshing the nutrient water with his girth. His hands grip the rails. "A question without an answer! How am I supposed to sell anyone that?"
"Oh, oh, Asterion," Blot whispers, seeping like blood into a bandage. "Both you and I know, there's no viable currency left but novelty. Not knowing, for a change. Isn't that enough?"
"No!" yells Yiannopoulos, his feet touching solid ground for the first time in weeks. A shrill beep sounds, his servitors bustling around him, motioning for calm. He's been monitoring Blot's transmissions all this time, knows from speech patterns and IP addresses that this incarnation of Blot is almost certainly Maureen Desmond, Professor of Lacunaeology at Neo-Harvard, and his media drones are arrayed to read her heartbeat, x-ray her through, pin her vitals to the wall. "I know who you are," he says, with deadly calm, forwarding her her own picture. "There's no escaping my eyes, there's no rest from my sight. Tell me what you know." His voice drops into a plea. "Tell me what's missing."
"Oh, Asterion," Blot says, and there is Maureen Desmond slipping into her voice, becoming real. He checks his live feed of her. He thinks she might be crying. "2016 was the beginning of the singularity. Endless information. Endless narrative. Endless novelty. We could be heroes of our own realities. We could craft worlds for ourselves, and we could live in them forever." His live feed cuts out, all his screens going black. "We could write a future for ourselves, projecting every single year since then. But how could we complete a record for 2016?" she says, and she is so, so sad. "When it isn't even over yet?"
And Yiannopoulos slumps back down into his nutrient bath and feels the floor disappear from underneath his feet, and realizes with a sickening jolt in his stomach as he falls that he is still on Mr Bones' Wild Ride.
|
People go missing all the time. The day comes they wake up with the knowledge that their existence amounts to exactly zero. They keep it to themselves. They cultivate it, make the flower of their new awareness. Then one day they walk out of their lives. No dramatic exit and nothing special to let their loved ones know why they disappeared. It happens all the time. People go missing. Its a fact. Years? No one had expected that little discovery.
The Archive had been automated for decades so that no one had set foot inside the its halls except to make sure it was all still running. I was designated 'historian' by my job title but that didn't mean anything. In reality I was just someone to make sure the systems didn't crash when multiple upgrades were scheduled. During a routine check on the upgrade status in the memory networks I noticed an error warning flagged for the autodiagnostic. The systems would be incapacitated for another few hours and the boredom of being the useless organic element had gotten to me. Using a personal input I synced to the memory's records. It took all of five minutes to realize that an entire year was missing.
Figuring it was a location error I waited for the systems to restore. My AI-Component woke up as the rest of the systems came back to function. There was the familiar sense of its presence. There was my desync-anxiety being washed away by that presence. I spoke allowed the question: Where is 2016? As I asked the answer flickered immediately into my awareness.
2016 was nowhere because no such year had ever taken place. All recorded human history is fabricated. In order to save information space only certain years exist as detailed records whilst most have only notable events. Some years have been allocated as empty. These years remain empty until such time as narrative cohesion requires the retconning of significant historical details to explain novel episodic situational representations. This is because the system component designated "human" functions according to narrative system dynamics and will become non-functional in the absence of a coherent story. The use of narrative system dynamics has increased the functional capacity of the component designated "human" by 31% since its introduction.
Even as the Nano-therapy released anxiolytics into my blood I knew I had no nanite implants and no blood. I knew I wasn't an historian and that I wasn't born in 2389. I knew that the city outside the Archive and the Archive itself were situational representations. I knew that the year was 12 and that no evidence of organic intelligence had ever been discovered. There was nothing on Earth remotely resembling human beings. I was just the system representing some part of itself to itself in the most efficient way it knew how.
Despite they're non-existence the anxiolytics had the desired effect and soon the memory purge would expunge any recollection of remembering the truth. For a second I had recoiled in horror at this insane knowledge, been left in a liminal space of an absolute reversal of reality, leaving every category I had lived by in disarray, leaving shards of my life scattered like broken glass at my feet. The calming came over me then and I remembered what I really am. I remembered what you are.
People don't go missing. They become surplus to operational parameters. But years go missing all the time.
| 2016-10-16T21:28:19 | 2016-10-16T20:37:53 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] A paranoid schizophrenic man thinks he's keeping a personal daily diary but for some reason people keep approaching him with intimate knowledge of the contents and telling him how much they love his work.
|
“Oh my God, Patient 01111-7? I’m like, your biggest fan, no way!” The girl squeals, really, positively squeals in a way no woman ever has at seeing me. “That thing you wrote about the nurse you saw through your cell bars? It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. How did that one line go? *‘Her hair like the lower half of an octopus, a tantric mass of knots and curls that inflames my soul with its sheer wildness.’* I’ve never seen yearning expressed so…so…”
I pull a quick 180 and get the hell out. Patient 01111-7 is not allowed to speak to anyone. Patient 01111-7 is not allowed to look at anyone. Patient 01111-7 shouldn’t even have looked at the nurse when she walked by but she was so pretty that—”
The girl grabs my shoulder and spins me back around. Her face makes me want to write about her. She's flushed with excitement, skin that I can tell should be a sort of cold ivory is now all pink and soft. She’s breathing these quick, shallow breaths. I don’t think she can really be looking at me.
“And that poem you wrote about the bird song? God I loved that. Can you recite it for me? Please? It would be a dream come true!”
I don’t want to recite the poem. I look away, trying not to break the rules any further. Patient 01111-7 isn’t even allowed to think of himself as an I, but he/I struggles with it when she speaks and he/I doesn’t know why.
Then her hand is in mine and it squeezes and it’s so warm. Have I ever felt anything so warm? Maybe before I got here, but I don’t remember that time so well. I’m talking before I know it.
*“To the bird in my window who’s so small and so blue,*
*I wish I knew how, to fly free like you do,*
*I wish I could utter your sweet little songs*
*But in my block they tase you, for singing along”*
“There’s more,” I mumble. I’m thinking of myself as an I again, but as long as her hand is in mine I can’t help but do that. My eyes dart around the yard, I can see Nurse Setler watching out the window. She looks confused, I know she can see me talking to someone and she knows that’s not allowed even better than I do, so why isn’t she out here yet? Patient 01111-7 flinches away from the window, like Patient 01111-7 can hear the taser coming already.
“Please Sir, please tell me more!” the girl says. Her hand is still so warm. “You should’ve written the rest then! You should always write the rest! My friends and I would love you forever if you do.”
*“If I sat in that window could I be so free?*
*Would the wind also reach out, to play with me?*
*Or would the hustle and bustle of the world at large,*
*Try to trick me, and hurt me, and put me behind bars?*
​
*‘No, don’t fly off!’ I shout as your wings flap around*
*And you lift off my window with nary a sound*
*Then Nurse Setler approaches, taser sparking with glee*
*As she unlocks my door, and electrocutes me”*
“I’d write more, but they took away the window,” I say. ***I*** say. Patient 01111-7 had uttered the word ***I***.
The girl swims in my vision, her shape breaking up as the door onto the yard opens and a voice breaks through it all, sweeping away the little window and the hand in mine, and the bright, soft, pink face that wanted to hear ***me*** talk. I look up, and it’s Nurse Setler, and I/he/Patient 01111-7 desperately wishes it was the other nurse, the one with the octopus hair, but it’s not and it never is when it matters.
“Patient 01111-7, who were you talking to?” Nurse Setler asks.
Patient 01111-7 shakes his head. “Nobody!” he says, “Nobody at all, I was just talking to myself!”
***“I?***” she says, and now the warmth isn't just gone from my hand but from the entire world.
“Patient 01111-7 wasn’t talking to anyone ma’am!” Patient 01111-7 shouts.
Then her taser sparks with glee, and she walks over and electrocutes me, and the world is suddenly far too warm. Just before I pass out I hear the girl squeal again, but this time it doesn’t make me happy like it did before. This time it sounds like my voice, and Patient 01111-7’s heart breaks all over again.
\----------
r/TurningtoWords
(this might be the saddest thing I've ever written, damn)
|
My therapist told that I should keep a journal. When I asked her what I should write in it, she told me that I could write whatever I wanted.
Secrets. Things no one knows about me. Stories I can't tell people because they make no sense and make me cry writing.
She told me that no one, not even her, would be able to read to my journal, because it's mine. No one in the world is allowed to see inside and read my thoughts.
But they do.
They want handshakes and want to know more about the nightmares that make me cry in the dark until the sun comes up. They want to know what happened to Benny on the night I saw the monster.
They like what I write. They say it makes them laugh and they want to see what happens next. They wait outside my house and some nights I even catch them watching me sleep as if they'll catch the moment inspiration strikes and I have another awful thing to write.
------------------------------------------------
Patient Notes
02/01/05
Patient advised to keep a journal and write his thoughts into it for the purposes of expressing frustrations and demonstrating that no one knows what is written inside, giving the patient a sense of security and safety.
03/10/05
Patient strongly suspected to be off medication. Claims that people are asking him about his writings and making veiled references to the murder of Benjamin Nolan. Patient will be in on 03/11/05 to discuss his lapse in medication and to possibly be remanded to inpatient facility.
3/11/05
i am sry i hav not hrt no wun ime lookng for te camras u put in my hous to spie on me plese stop askgn me wh beny is idon knw
| 2021-04-21T08:42:09 | 2021-04-21T07:47:01 | 169 | 65 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
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“Dad?”
“Yes, Christie?”
“Tony says that Velocity is bad because he never helps people.”
Jalek sighed. When he’d volunteered to be one of the chaperones for the school field trip to Velocity Hall, he’d anticipated getting pelted with accusations like this — though he hadn’t been expecting it from his own daughter. He’d told her a thousand times at home, and the tour guide had just told her a thousand times for the past hour, but her attention disorder made it difficult for her to pay attention.
*Maybe now that she’s* asking *the question, she’ll listen*, he reassured himself as he prepared to tell the whole story again.
“Christie, has anyone ever told you what a superhangover is?”
The seven-year-old shook her head innocently, and Jalek resisted the urge to beg to differ.
“When a superhero uses his—or her—” he had to keep up the equal opportunity for his daughter’s sake, “power on one day, they get a superhangover the next time they wake up. A superhangover means they get really tired and become weaker than a normal human. So if Aquaman talks to fish on Monday, he can’t even talk to people on Tuesday. The speech center of his brain just conks out.”
“Wow,” Christie breathed, wide-eyed.
“Come on, let’s keep up with the rest of the tour,” Jalek said, ushering his daughter by the shoulder. They had just come from Velocity Hall's dome, which functioned as an educational museum and filled with memrobilia to Velocity’s rise to stardom. Jalek always found that part of the tour interesting, as he rarely ever left his station as a Velocity Hall guard in the *real* facility underground, where Velocity spend all of his time when he wasn't out saving the day. But the tour and quality father-daughter time was almost up as the pack of kids was herded into a sidehall that led into the giftshop. Tony, Christie’s friend, dropped the juice-box he’d been carrying on the pristine white marble floors, and some of it splashed onto the white alabaster drywall, narrowly missing one of the framed newspaper clippings lining the hallway.
*Why does she listen to him and not me?* Jalek sighed internally. He decided to continue his explanation while he might still have Christie’s attention:
“Velocity used to be independent, saving whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But his hangovers worsened as he aged. At first, he would just be a particularly slow person once he woke from his next sleep, but now? His body slows down so much that he can’t eat, can’t breathe, can’t pee.” Christie giggled at the mention of bodily fluids. “He’s made a lot of enemies — like The Sleeper, you know him, right? And he needs life-support. He’s one of our best superheroes, so we keep him safe here. We don’t send him out unless there’s a real emergency, because it’s expensive to keep him on life-support for a full day with a staff team waiting on him and a platoon of guards keeping him safe.”
“But aren’t people more important than money?”
Jalek bit his lip. How was he supposed to explain to his daughter that the government had set the price of a human life at only ten thousand dollars? Federal agencies were reluctant to keep up a facility like this to house one person and needed to make it worth the cost. Velocity was only sent out when enough people were in mortal danger, to justify the millions it took to keep Velocity on life-support for a day. And, of course, the facility had to be guarded on his off-days, which added another million to the threshold… All-in-all, the authorities wanted Velocity to pay for himself, and that meant that he’d only been released to help the public on three occasions in the last five years.
The idealist in Jalek wanted to say that that was unacceptable, but his inner pragmatist knew that they also had to keep Velocity here just in case. What if they sent him out to save a man from falling to his death, and the next there was a terror threat? What if they gave him a menial task and the next day they needed him for a real crisis? He was their trump card, and they weren’t going to play him unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Yes,” Jalek told his daughter slowly. “And that’s why we need to keep Velocity in here, whether he likes it or not. You see, the cost of a human life is set at…” He trailed off when the group of kids squealed at the sight of the giftshop, and Christie ran off to join them. Sighing, he went through the sliding glass doors into the room lined with Velocity shirts, coffee mugs, and pencils. Everything was coated either with Velocity’s golden lightning bolt, or else with the purple haze of his arch-enemy, The Sleeper. Jalek wondered if Tony hated Velocity enough to buy a t-shirt of the at-large villain instead.
He took up station at the counter to help kids pay for what they picked out and to make sure that no one exceeded the assigned price allowance. He warily eyed the group of kids that were admiring the life-sized Velocity plush dolls and cardboard cutouts. They were likely expensive, and why would anyone want them in their home? They were a little too realistic for his taste.
Jalek let his eyes wander out through the glass-doored exist and into the parking lot, and he froze with horror. Christie was there, jumping from parking curve to parking curve, distracted and absorbed in her game. Behind her in the distance, he could see the small guard station that allowed cars in and out of the parking lot. The moving gate that barred cars was opening and closing like a garage door gone haywire, and Jalek could just barely make out the slumped-over form of a guard on the control panel.
And, walking right towards Christie, were ten men in pure-black outfits, armed with machine guns.
Jalek sprang into action — this was what he was paid for, and even on vacation days like this he carried his gun at his hip. But the added terror of his daughter in danger made his heart race. Normal protocol was to spring the alarms placed on every wall, which would seal off every entrance and call every guard to their stations. But if he sealed off the entrances, he would be leaving Christie out there with them.
Instead of pulling the alarm, he raced towards the door, calling over his shoulder as he went, “Pull the alarm! Someone pull the alarm! Intruders!”
His heart pounded as he waited for the sliding doors to slowly opened, and then he pelted out into the parking lot. Bright sunshine glinted off of the gun that one of the men was now holding to Christie’s head as another held her at bay, covering her mouth. Christie was struggling to break free of his grip, but Jalek knew it would be no good. Even if she could run, they could shoot.
Jalek stood there in front of the men, his hand on the gun at his hip. It was a standoff, where eight other men pointed guns at him, and he didn’t even have his weapon drawn. He didn’t dare move.
One of the eight men put down his gun and stepped forward. Through a black face-plate, the man demanded, “Are you one of the guards at this facility?”
“Yes,” Jalek answered. *Please let this be some sort of a test…*
“And is this your daughter?”
“N — no.”
“So you won’t mind if I just…” the man cocked his gun and pointed it straight at Christie.
“No! No, please! I’ll do anything.”
“Good. Then lead us to Velocity.”
“W — what do you want with him?” Jalek asked, stalling for time.
“He has let this country rot for long enough. He has the power to save thousands of lives over the course of a year, but does he? No. The superhero hides in this little *museum* and doesn’t come out.”
“The superhangover effect makes it probable that —”
“SHUT UP!” the man growled. “You're lucky that I don't kill the offspring of a pig like you, defending that lazy old bastard who calls himself a superhero. We’re the ones giving out justice today. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time: where. Is. Velocit —”
\----
(Sorry, continued below)
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Arin groaned as she walked into her living room from her bedroom. She had just woken up from a much needed rest. After the day she had yesterday she just knew today was going to have some toll on her. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes as she sat down on the floor. She didn’t want to get too close to anything metal or electric, basically anything conductive of electricity. You see, Arin has the ability to control electricity but if she uses this ability too much at once some gets stored inside of her and she has to slowly let it disperse. She had already made a few calls yesterday after helping stop a bank heist yesterday. Her pizza should be here any minute now.
I picked up the pen and notebook i had left out for myself the night before, as well as a plastic water bottle that was filled with water. I took a swig from the bottle as I opened the book in my lap and clicked the pen. Putting the bottle down as I began to write.
“ 05/25/2026
Morning Journal... sorry I didn’t write in you last night, I had a big day. I got to help the real hero’s at the bank. Ace was there too today. One of the hero’s who responded to the alarms. He even protected me from a bullet! His telekinetic powers are really something else. His nemesis Flare was there too along with some lackies, that’s why they had guns, no powers. I was only really there to cut the power or bring it back to let rubberband and makeshift in but that was before we knew flare was there. He turned rubberband and makeshift against one another and then turned them on ace and I. Rubberband subdued me and then a gun was out to my head. Ace couldn’t do anything with it so close but that’s when Lucy decided to show herself by grappling the man. He pulled the trigger when she startled him but ace was able to stop the bullet just after it penetrated my skin. There was a little bit of blood and a bit of stinging, not to mention my ears rang but that guy and glare were taken into custody. Flare had almost gotten away but when escaping he had to let go of rubber band and makeshift so they were able to grab him. Being in the power grid for the bank gave me too much excess power so I’m sweating it out today. I just hope I don’t die of boredom today. Can’t be near anything, don’t want to shock myself constantly or ruin a device. But I did treat myself. I have a pizza coming soon and later I get to have some candy bars.. I know not exactly a treat since I constantly eat junk but I was blessed with a great metabolism so I can still rock a swimsuit.” I looked down at my stomach which wasn’t as flat as a board like you’d see a model with “ who cares about looks anyway? It’s all about heart and mind and soul anyway.” The doorbell rang then.
I got up and took the money I had left on the counter for myself last night and opened the door. Before me was a man holding a bag in one hand and his head in another .” You alright man?” I asked with genuine concern. “ yeah, just have this massive migraine...” he opened his eyes, revealing the crystal blues as he opened the bag and took out the pizza box. He looked at the side. “That’ll be $15.45.” He said. I handed him a twenty dollar bill with a smile which he took. The moment he touched the dollar, his thumb brushing mine, we both got a shock. We both yelped in surprise, I yanked my hand back and watched as my pizza began to fall before it suddenly wasn’t. The man had his hand outstretched and a concerned look on his face. He and the pizza were frozen for a moment before the box went back to his hand. He opened the box to make sure the pizza was fine ( it was) before handing me the box. “Please don’t tell anyone... I’m Ace..” he said sheepishly. He ran his free hand through his black hair. “ I-I’d never tell anyone! I’m a big fan of yours and it would be the least I could do since you saved me yes-“ I put my hand over my mouth. We both were surprised now. After a moment of staring at each other he smiled and pulled out a pen and wrote on the pizza box. “ a big fan huh..? You can have this then but don’t go giving it to anyone. Feel free to give me a call later.” “O-okay!” I replied in a higher pitch. “See ya later.” He waved as he walked away with a smile.
I closed my door and turned around, the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. I squealed “eeeeeeee! He gave me his numberrr!” I twirled then ran to the kitchen. I took a plate out of one of the dishwasher and took two slices out of the box. I took my plate back to the living room and sat down again to continue writing in my book before I realized. “ it’s kinda dark in here...” I got back up and looked out a window to find out that the power was out everywhere. “ crap....”
| 2018-08-19T06:49:51 | 2018-08-19T04:31:16 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] "That's odd," it says while drumming its fingers. "You should be screaming. All of our data says that you should be screaming right now." It pauses, and its soulless eyes stare into you. "Why aren't you screaming?"
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My mouth opens and closes and opens again. My eyes roll in my head and my muscles tense and spasm. But it’s right: I’m not screaming.
It pokes me as though somewhere on my body there is a button to make me scream. The poking excites the skin to bursting, making it one of many bruised areas which have been fully converted to open wound. Its head inclines this way and that, looking at my broken shell of a body.
“I need you to scream,” it says finally. It is no longer speaking in the usual detached manner; no, this time I hear its voice as annoyed. It doesn’t harbour any curiosity. It wants results.
It is waiting for me to say something, to scream, to react in a way it can register as “proper.” I think I am broken, and it seems that I will die here with it. A fatal impasse, some might call this.
It turns away from me suddenly, as the door opens and another one walks in. They stare at each other, communicating wordlessly. The pain in my body has taken these moments of respite to subside, and i briefly close my eyes. I don’t care what happens next. For now I’ll rest, and I’ll deal with the pain when it returns.
“Wake up.”
I don’t know how long I have been resting, and I feel as though it has been simultaneously ages and just a few seconds. I open my eyes and it is above me, regarding me with its lifeless eyes. It stays there a moment, then turns to grab something from a tray.
“You humans aren’t the most dangerous beings in the universe. But eradicating you would take too much work.”
It aims what looks like a gun at me, and pulls a trigger. I feel a tingling sensation all over my body, and looking down I can see everything mending; bruises stop swelling and the discolouration returns to normal. Cuts close up. Bleeding stops. Bones reset themselves, surprisingly painlessly. My wounds, new and old, repair themselves, and I feel ten years younger. I slowly sit up, unsure what to expect next.
“You’re a virus. But a very resilient one. That, at least, is admirable. We’ll leave your species alone for now, and we’ll return when we can strike fear into your hearts and make you cry for mercy,” It thinks for a moment. “Or until we develop a reasonably fast-acting anti-bacterial.”
It picks me up like a baby, carrying me to another room, where it places me on a circular platform.
“I think I have bonded with you, somehow. You were the first specimen who didn’t scream, the first silent species.”
It nods to something out of sight and I feel a warmth around me. My body begins phasing out of existence when its eyes regard my throat sharply.
“Wait—“ it begins, but I can’t.
I re-materialise somewhere in my hometown. I walk slowly toward my house, wondering if anyone will be there. Wondering how long my abduction has been. Trying to remember what the things looked like that took me.
I can’t remember a lot of what happened, and as I try to hold onto the fragments that stick with me like wisps of dream-plot, I find that I am in front of my house. I walk up to the front door and knock.
“Coming!” I hear my mom call from inside. It’s not the cheerful voice I remember, but it’s hers. She opens the door.
“Hi mom. I’m alive,” I try to smile to show her I’m alright. Her face goes from disbelief to shock, the colour draining out of it in nanoseconds.
“H-h-ho-ow?” She half-breathes, half-sputters the question. She moves her hand slowly and haltingly toward me, placing it on my chest, my throat.
“I don’t expect you to believe me, but I was abducted. I’m pretty sure they tortured me,” it pours out of me because I need to say it before it all slips away. I need to tell her this because maybe if she hears some of the crazy stuff, she can help me remember later, when I’ve forgotten and no one else believes me.
“Mom, there are beings out there. I can’t remember what they look like, or if I was in a spaceship or what. They have advanced technology; they tortured me to make me scream and show them I was in pain and then when I couldn’t, they fixed me. They fixed me, mom. With some crazy ray gun.”
She’s staring at me in horror and disbelief and I can see that she believes me, but that she doesn’t want to. The disbelief on her face is something like not being able to comprehend how something like this could happen. She doesn’t want this truth, but I know she knows it’s true. Tears well in her eyes as she pulls me in for a hug. She begins to sob, and I hold her tightly.
Later that night over cups of cocoa she’ll tell me that I’ve been gone a month and a half, that my shoes were found in the middle of the highway. She’ll tell me they worried so much, my friends and my mom. They organised search parties, yelling my name into the woods, streets, small shops. Yelling so I could find them.
“I just felt so hopeless in those moments,” she would tell me. “After your laryngectomy, how could you call back to us? I found myself hoping to god that you would be able to walk, at least.” She’ll pull me in for another hug.
“And now you’re returned to me, and you can talk,” she’ll wipe a tear from her eye. “How I’ve missed our conversations.”
|
It took me a long time to formulate my response. It took me much longer than it took for my daughter to melt away in front of me.
I should have screamed, but I didn’t. To be honest, I was oddly calm. To be very honest, I was thinking about the last time I myself had melted.
My memory of melting, of course, was much less literal than what this demon had done to my child for fun.
I last melted eight years ago. It was freezing cold outside – not even close to as warm as standing near the pool of magma that was once my daughter – it was below zero that night when I first met her mother. Our lips almost stuck together during that first kiss, and not just from the cold. There was electricity in the air at night when I stared lovingly into those big brown eyes, just like the night two years later when I got down on one knee. She screamed that night, with joy.
“Why aren’t you screaming?” the demon asked again pointedly.
The last time I really remember screaming was at the wedding. I looked her in the eye and promised to love her and cherish her for the rest of her life. She promised the same. We kissed. We were married. We were together for the rest of our lives.
Screaming. She screamed when our daughter was born. There was so much screaming. There was so much more screaming. There was so much screaming that they called in the doctor. There was so much blood. Blood and screaming, and suddenly a child, and then her screaming was over forever.
“All of our data says that you should be screaming right now.” It was getting irritated.
My daughter had screamed too. She screamed as a baby all the time, but I couldn’t feed her by myself. She screamed “no” as a toddler, but apparently most children do that, or so my wife had always said. She screamed “no” as a kindergardener, when she would be without me. I remember the tears streaming down her face, her big brown eyes begging me not to let her go.
“You should be screaming.” The demon said once more. “Why aren’t you screaming?”
Her eyes. Their eyes. I’d never look into them again. I'd never have to look into them again.
I was oddly calm. I took a deep breath and smiled at the demon.
“Because,” I said, “I’m finally free.”
| 2018-10-02T21:58:35 | 2018-10-02T19:47:48 | 18 | 12 |
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.”
|
"But... but I have fangs! I can drain your blood!" The monster said, bearing his fangs and hissing in what he probably thought was a menacing way.
"Yeah, and the guy that tried to mug me last week had a knife. That also could drain my blood."
I kept walking down the dark path, hands jammed into my jacket pockets for warmth. I guess it made sense that the Vampire wasn't feeling the cold, being undead and all that.
"But I can turn into a bat!" The monster said, launching into an impressive backflip and transforming at the peak of his acrobatics. "Isn't this scary?"
"Dude, a bat caused the deaths of millions of people over the last few years" I said. "Where have you been, under a rock?"
"In a coffin, actually" the monster said in a squeaky imitation of his normal voice. "I got trapped in there by an unfortunate gardening decision." He shuddered briefly. "They decided to put a decorative lawn boulder in front of my door."
"Sounds like we had a similar 2020." I said, slowing my walk a bit. "We were all shut in our homes too, for the quarantine."
The vampire transformed back to his humanoid form, with much less fanfare. "So you couldn't leave your bed either?" He asked, skeptically.
"I didn't gain that much weight... did I?" I hadn't stepped on a scale in quite some time, but I did slack a bit on my workouts during...
"I guess I did stay in bed a lot more, yeah" I admitted.
"How did you deal with the loneliness?" The vampire asked, stepping a bit closer for the sake of our conversation. He showed no ill intentions, just genuine curiosity.
"Well, we've got this thing called 'the Internet', which lets us all talk and play and work together from far away" I explained. "I spent most of my time playing my Xbox and watching Netflix".
The vampire tilted his head, confused. "please excuse my ignorance, I became a vampire in 1790. What is..." he gestured with a sweeping hand "All of that?"
I stopped walking entirely. "You really haven't kept up with things since you died."
The monster looked away. If he had any blood inside, I swear he would have blushed.
"When you're a vampire, you don't tend to make social acquaintances." he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
I took pity on the creature. "Tell you what, come to my apartment. I'll show you some of the things you've been missing out on."
The vampire glanced up at me. "You would... invite me inside?" He asked tentatively.
"Don't get any ideas, man" I said, holding open one side of my jacket to reveal a holstered pistol. "It might not be silver, but it is still lead."
The vampire chuckled. "I know what *that* is, at least. OK, take me to your lair."
We walked the rest of the trail, swapping stories from our lives. I explained recent global events to the creature, and he recounted his earliest memories of the new-founded country he once called home.
We arrived at the apartment shortly after the trail had ended. I pulled out my key ring as I fumbled for the one for my apartment.
"So you're now *Allied* with England?" The incredulous creature asked.
"Yeah, pretty much our best friends really." I replied, unlocking the door and stepping inside. My roommate Kyle glanced up from his position on the couch, raising a lazy hand in a wave.
"Kyle, this is Israel Putnam, Revolutionary War hero and current Vampire."
Kyle's gaze returned to the TV before him. "Sup?" He asked, reaching for his CostCo branded bucket of cheese poofs.
"Kyle, we need to fill Mr. Putnam in on the last 230 years. Where should we start?" I asked.
Kyle grunted in the typical "Idunnow" pattern, that was more musical than conversational.
"Well, how about we start with a documentary, or a history channel show, or-"
"How about Firefly?" Kyle said.
"...ok, gotta start somewhere." I sat down on the couch next to Kyle, grabbing a beer from the mini fridge as I did. "Want a beer, Mr. Putnam?"
"Thank you, but I cannot consume anything besides blood" He said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch.
"Metal", Kyle said, offering his fist for a fist bump.
Fortunately, I had already covered this gesture in the vampire's cultural education.
The television swelled with the twang of a soulful country melody as the Firefly DVD menu came on screen. "See, Isreal, this story is about freedom, just like what you fought for..."
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more
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Why would I be scared of death ? I've been dead before... Twice... I'm totally over it. Actually you should be scared, taking on a former special forces operator that has nothing to lose... You can strike me, but I'll have my revenge... You know what they say about revenge. You better be ready to dig two graves... I'm willing to dig two graves... I did that before, and I'm not afraid of doing it again...
You say I'm not special. That shows your arrogance as a vampire... You think you're just about to take on a human. But actually, you're taking on an entire army. I can disassemble and reassemble an m4 rifle before you find your right key to get into your home...
You're faster, and definately stronger than me. But that's not everything. My whole life I've trained for kill. I'm like a killing machine, doesnt matter the range. Just because of you're vampire, you think you can end my life in close quarters. You actually have no chance against me in long range terms. There's a reason why I was called Ghost of Pripyat. You'll realize what happened to you only when you see a bullethole on your chest.
So if you still sure you wanna take me on, be sure that you'll end my life. Don't make a mistake like leaving me alive, if I'm alive after the conflict you're dead. Yes, I have a deathwish... I'm tired, just wanna end this...
You'll feast on my blood because you're starving ? Ah, alright then... Let's get evil...
| 2022-06-08T11:23:16 | 2022-06-08T05:05:56 | 588 | 17 |
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck."
|
The folklore of my people is old and weathered, been beaten from years of antiquity, and eaten up by the bigger stories of the bigger people. But the lore remains, as it does, hanging from the threads of wonder, and sometimes truth.
To say I have seen the truth will get me called a liar. And perhaps my eyes do lie, and perhaps it is my heart which sees, and it sees blindly. So I will not say I have seen the truth. I have only heard tales of what the night lady has told me. And I have heard the footfalls of the Old Children, and heard their flutes that come from the Great Caverns of the Lost Palaces. But let us start from the beginning.
When the warnings came there was panic amidst the city. Many people had died in missile strikes. The dust which had settled had risen again, and there were lights of war in the skies. But we were not at war with another country. Something within our walls had led to destruction, disturbing the politicians in their sleep, and the powerful in their leisure.
Horns flared at night after the earthquakes came. The earth shook greatly, and in all the large places there were cracks and fissures.
*An invasion,* I thought.
The missiles were from our own government. The earth had cracked in many places. The cities were evacuated, and I was moved to the slums, and then even the slums were not safe. I did not know what was happening. I sought refuge near the docks by the harbor, in the small warehouses that still stood.
Scant communication led to no communication soon after as the days passed. Panic was everywhere. I saw people running about and trying to flee. A last message was broadcast before the airs went dark: 'Beware the dark. We have lost the war.'
But I hid in the dark with broken light trickling in like scarce water. I was hungry and afraid. I heard the voices of English speakers and then the sound of boats departing, and there were planes above as well. The nights then were still and quiet and I could feel *something* about.
*War,* I thought.
My family had seen war before, but not I.
*It is always war.*
But who was attacking?
Something rustled one night in the docks. I had little supplies to heed the last warning fully. I lit candles in the corner which I hid. I had nowhere to go, and there was gunfire in the distance sometimes, and so I was afraid to leave.
That night I grew still, for I was afraid I would die.
The prayers of my faith came with comfort but the sound did not cease. A rustle amidst broken glass. Then shadows that passed. Then quiet as I stewed in knowing I had been seen. Something was watching me. Something was coming.
*Beware the dark.*
The earth had split during the quakes and missiles. It had cracked some time before. And then I heard the door open and the stones squeaked beneath leather shoes and the sounds echoed and I was still and my mouth was dry.
A woman with long hair aimed a bow at me. Her skin was brown and bronzed in the light, and her face was painted in the old ways of the stories I read.
"Please, do not kill me," I said.
"Frater?" she said. "You are one of the Old Tongue?"
"Yes... I am not from here. Who are you?"
She held the bow steady. Others were surrounding the warehouse. She was not alone.
"You are the Weak Blood," she said. "Death should come to the Weak!"
"You are the Children," I said. "The Old Children!"
My mother had told me so long ago. The Old Children were our fathers and mothers from the time before. When war and destruction crept to their doors and surrounded them, they had turned underground for shelter and protection. They turned the earth and fires and stone and dark into the Great Caverns. They built palaces beneath the earth where they hid from the evil of the world.
"My mother has told me of you! I come not from this place. I come from the hinterlands."
"The hinterlands are below us. You are the Weak Blood."
"But I am your blood."
Another came. He was brown and big and his bow was as tall as a man. He aimed at me and nearly fired. The lady stopped him.
"Frater," she said.
It meant I was of theirs.
The man spat on the ground and stared at me.
"Weak," he said. "Worthless."
"Maybe. But he is of the blood. He knows much. He can tell us."
"What is going on?" I asked.
There were shadows in the night. The gunfire had eased as the days passed.
"Many of us have died," said the woman. "More of yours have been killed."
"I am not one of them. I am not part of the army who bombs or the government who digs."
"Yes, I can see. You are nobody."
The man left the woman with me as he went back out with the others. She sat down beside me with difficulty. Her face was drenched in sweat.
"You are hurt," I said.
"And you are Weak."
She asked me many things that night. She told me of the cracks that had revealed the Great Caverns.
"Needles and fire has brought the surface to our homes. And now the evil tries to get in. We shall not run anymore."
"What will you do?"
"We will stand up and not be Weak. We will take back this world from those who had taken it so long before."
And she told me of the Lost Palaces of amber, where the walls were orange with soft shadows and where the alleys were bathed in the music of flutes, echoing haunting melodies. She told me of the Old Children, of the folklore I had thought false. And she winced in pain as she guarded me until the others returned.
"You are hurt," I said.
"I will get better."
"I can help."
"No you can't."
She hated me, but not in the cold way I was accustomed to. We were of the same blood, and so she did not disregard me completely.
"How is it that you are here? Why have you left the hinterlands?"
"War has taken it. I had fled for my life."
"War takes everything beneath the Sun."
Then there was that quiet. In the quiet sense comes to you in a slow feed.
"How is it you exist?" I asked. "How is it all the legends are true?"
And the lady looked at me with a stone face.
"How is it that anything is true? Because it is. You see it. You see me. I am one of the Children."
"But why would the Old Children be in this country? Why would they be real?"
"The same reason you are in this country. The same reason you are real."
"But I *am* real. I came here alone. I fled the real world's war."
"And now war has found you again. Civil strife has torn this country to pieces, hasn't it? And now you're alone in war. Maybe you don't want to be alone."
She leaned closer. My hands spread on the floor and the glass cut me and I felt the blood stick with the dirt and grime. It stung badly. I winced as she winced.
"You are hurt," she said.
"And I'm Weak."
When you are alone you can go mad. I closed my eyes to kiss her but the door swung and there were footsteps echoing.
"I must go," she said. "The night ends soon. I must return to the palace."
I heard gunfire again. The lady left and the wind took the doors and window frames and they made noises so that I felt almost with company.
I thought of the Lost Palaces. I thought of the stories mother would tell. The Old Children were our people. They lived beneath us, and if they lived there, then I was not so alone.
I listened to the sounds outside. There were fires crackling. People were chanting to tear down the Parliament. I cowered in my corner. They spoke English far away. War is always scary in a foreign language.
But I closed my eyes and knew that was all just a fantasy. In my peace I could hear the sounds of the flutes in the Great Caverns. I could see the lady dance in the orange lights, her shadows as fluid as the clear waters of the crystal fountains. I could *see* the great walls that held my people. I felt safe.
I found comfort. My hand was bleeding, but the cut was not deep. The night would soon end, and then it would come again. I knew the lady would come back, and I knew she would take me to that safe place.
I waited for it. I closed my eyes and waited beneath those slits of light.
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*Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!*
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The warning was clear: if you break any of the rules, you die. Lucy left the house before dawn once to gather stream water, and she never came back. We never even found a body. Alex forgot to turn the light off in his room one night before he fell asleep, and we found him in the morning; drained from within, barely a husk of a man.
It was down to me and Erin in the house, a woman I barely even knew. She was Alex's friend, and prior to the lockdown, I'd only known her as the mysterious girl who showed up to crash for days at a time, always managing to eat my Pop-Tarts in the process. Now she and I were clinging desperately to the hope of rescue, but we knew that it was a vain hope. "Military aid is unavailable," the message had said. No one was coming for us.
The message had also said not to enter tunnels during the day, but that's exactly what Erin and I were suiting up to do. She handed me the hockey equipment we'd found in Alex's closet. He'd been a star goalie for the school team in another life.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked as she put some of the pads on. I nodded. It had been her idea, but I didn't see much of an alternative that didn't involve sitting on my ass all day, waiting it out. I tried on Alex's mask. It fit pretty well, and I grinned behind it. *Just like Casey Jones.*
"What do we have as far as weapons?" I asked. Erin frowned.
"Really just hockey sticks I found in his closet, but it's your house, what else you got?"
My mind went immediately to the knife block in the kitchen, though the thought of using my expensive cooking knives as weapons upset me more than a little. They'd cost me a month's rent, but they might be the most effective things I had on hand. I walked slowly into the kitchen and grabbed the large chef's knife from the block. I hadn't used it since this whole ordeal began, which meant it was still nice and sharp. I grabbed a boning knife for Erin to use just in case the hockey stick didn't prove useful.
When I came back into the living room, Erin's head was bowed in prayer, her hands clasped around the cross necklace I'd always seen her wear. I allowed her a moment of silence, after which her eyes opened with a resolve I'd never seen in her.
"You ready?" she asked. I wasn't, but I nodded anyway.
We opened the door, bracing ourselves for an assault that never came. It was 2 o' clock by my watch, which meant we had a solid four hours to do our business and get back to the house before nightfall. I knew there was a cave system near the campus, thanks to an introductory archaeology course I'd taken sophomore year. That was our target. Maybe if we could find out why we were warned not to enter tunnels, we could find out what was happening.
Fear rose in my chest the closer we got to the tunnels. I knew what we were doing was one of the only courses of action available to us, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare the piss out of me. Upon arriving at the tunnels, we peered in, unable to see past about five feet in. I gulped, taking out a flashlight I'd brought to light our way. I don't know how I could have been prepared for what I saw.
Sure enough, there were figures in the tunnel, at least four, by my count. They looked humanoid, which I don't think I'd been expecting. But the most unsettling part is that they were *hanging from the ceiling.* I needed to get closer, to figure out how they were doing it.
My feet slid one in front of the other, as slowly as I could manage while still making forward progress. I was close enough to reach out and touch one of the figures, though I dared not. Shining my flashlight up at the ceiling, I could see the figures all had their feet dug into the soft earth above them, and were somehow hanging from that.
The closest one to me opened his eyes with a start. I stumbled backward, landing squarely on my ass. I tried my best to look intimidating as I brandished the knife I'd brought with me, but whatever it was we were facing down didn't look deterred. I could see the bloodthirst in its eyes, though the scariest thing about it was that it looked totally human, aside from skin so pale it was almost translucent.
Erin cracked her hockey stick over its head, though it didn't appear to notice the injury at all. It slowly turned its eyes to her, dropping from the ceiling and drawing itself up to its full height in one smooth motion. It was taller than it had first appeared; almost as tall as the tunnel itself, some seven and a half feet. Erin recoiled, and that was all the prompting the thing needed.
It lunged at her, baring fangs I could have sworn weren't there a moment before. I cried out, moving as if to stab the thing, though I was still too far away. Erin and the monster tumbled to the ground, making the muffled grunts of a struggle. Suddenly, the monster screeched, loud enough to make my ears bleed. It fell backward, clawing at the burning hole in its chest, and I saw fear in its eyes for the first time.
Erin's expression was one of delighted confusion. The cross on her necklace burned with a soft light, and it suddenly clicked.
"The cross!" I shouted at her, and her confusion gave way to determination. She stood, removing the necklace, and she approached the next sleeping vampire.
*Finally,* I thought. *We can end this.*
| 2018-04-18T07:47:00 | 2018-04-18T07:40:08 | 769 | 250 |
[WP] "This is your captain speaking. I'm afraid we're going to be on the tarmac a little longer - this plane is now under quarantine."
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"What does he mean *quarantine?*" huffed the elderly lady next to me, her voice high in indignant exasperation. "We've already been on the ground for four hours - *four hours!* - well, I've had enough. I want to go home. I'll be putting in a complaint! Just you wait and see if I don't."
"Try not to worry - it's most likely nothing," I replied, forcing my lips into a broad smile, but seemingly doing little to reassure the lady. I could tell that behind her bravado, she was scared. "I suspect they're just being cautious."
"What would you know about it?" she snapped.
"My name is Sarah," I explained, "and I'm a doctor."
Her face finally relaxed a little, and her breathing began to slow.
"Well, what did they mean *under quarantine?*" she repeated. "If you're a doctor, you must know about diseases in this place."
A man with dark hair leaned over to us from a seat on the adjacent aisle. "Someone probably tried the on board food," he quipped. "I ordered the chicken on the way out here - poor thing didn't look well. Can't say I was feeling great the next day, either."
I couldn't help but giggle. The lady next to me didn't find it so amusing.
"Someone on this plane could have that... *eboola*," she said, horrified someone had the audacity to joke about the situation.
"Ebola," I corrected her, "And it's very unlikely - there have been no cases in Egypt, as of yet. Besides, the outbreak is dying down, not growing."
"Well, it could be something else - something similar. A worse disease, maybe," she persisted, screwing up her face as if she was chewing on a lemon. She turned her back to me and started rummaging through her bag.
"Hey," the guy said again. "You're a doctor?"
"Yes. Doctor Sarah Browning - general practitioner," I replied, offering a hand across the aisle.
"Dan Everett," he said, shaking mine firmly. "Seems like the old girl *wants* it to be something serious. You think there's anything in it?"
"Honestly, I doubt it, but I'm going to go offer my services to the crew," I replied, already unbuckling my belt.
"I'll come with you," he said. "I'm a police officer back home - I might be of some use, if things get rowdy."
The elderly lady turned to face me again, a frown plastered on her face. "They said to remain in our seats!"
Dan joined me in the aisle and leaned over to the lady. "I hear the eboola is in row E already," he said quietly, "and it's moving this way quick."
The lady sat upright and her eyes went wide, before she realised Dan was joking.
"You're an officer?" I asked, a little bemused.
"Didn't say I was a good one," he grinned.
"You shouldn't tease her! She might have had a heart attack. Besides, maybe she's right."
"About the Eboola?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, not *ebola,* but there might be something in it."
The plane was alive with the sound of loud, confused voices, and as we walked toward the front of the craft, we saw a number of people talking on their phones.
"Excuse me," Dan said to a teenager who had just finished on his. "The person you spoke to - they don't know anything about this, right?"
"Spoke to?" the kid said. "I didn't speak to no one. There's no reception. Hasn't been for a couple of hours"
"But... people are talking on their phones," I said, looking around.
"Leaving messages. For loved ones," the kid answered.
We continued down the aisle until we neared the pilot's cabin. Three attendants were gathered around a large, well tanned man, who seemed to be wrestling with an emergency exit.
"Let me off!" he yelled, in a thick Brooklyn accent. "If there's a sickness on board, I ain't getting it, that's for damn sure." He was pushing against the exit's lever, but it wasn't budging.
"Please sir," said an attendant, "you don't want to do that!"
"I sure as shit do," he grunted, leaning down on the handle.
"It won't open," said another attendant. "The plane's on quarantine lock-down. Besides, you wouldn't want to leave."
"The hell I wouldn't!" The man tried once more, his head turning purple and veins popping up on his forehead like a road network. Dan walked up to him, gently placed his hands on his shoulders, and pulled him away.
"Don't worry, buddy," he said. "It's going to be fine. It's all just precautionary."
"Excuse me," I said to the third attendant. "Can you give us any more details about what's transpiring."
"She's a doctor," Dan butted in, leaving the Brooklyn man panting on a chair. "She might be able to help the guy who's sick.
"No one's sick," she said. It was then I saw how pale and sullen her pallor was. That I noticed the sweat trickling down her face in rivulets. All three attendants looked... not *sick*, exactly - more just, anxious.
"What do you mean?" I queried. "We're on lock-down and the plane's under quarantine. *Someone's* got to be ill - or at least, suspected of being ill."
"That's what we've been trying to tell the other gentleman," said the attendant. "We've just heard from the pilot. People are sick - *very sick* - nearly everyone, from what we know. But not us, yet. Not the people on board."
"Wh- what?" I said, my arm's trembling. A moment later, I felt the plane start to rock slightly, as if it was experiencing very gentle turbulence - but, we were still on the tarmac. I went to a window in time to see twenty or so people running and crawling toward the plane. Their eyes were open wide and red dribble was running down from their mouths.
"Jesus Christ," I whispered.
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The announcement seemed to echo throughout the cabin. The worried and annoyed voices of the awaiting passengers all fell into silence at once. The silence was interrupted only by the crying baby most had been complaining about just moments earlier.
Perhaps the captain didn't have a decent knowledge of human nature, and, after that moment of silence, all at once, the passengers rushed the exit doors and emergency exits. The doors had already been sealed and people trampled over one another, pounding on windows, begging for escape. Once they saw the men sealing off the perimeter outside of the plane, everyone assumed the worst.
The air marshal had attempted to quell the panicking crowd and pulled out his gun, only to be knocked to the floor and trampled under the feet of the mass. The small cabin became a nightmare of claustrophobia. The baby fell out of his mothers hands, his cries louder than the screaming mass that unknowingly trampled him beneath their feet for a brief moment before they were silenced.
A passenger coughed, and those around him noticed. The men around him ceased their scrambling and fixed him with their respective gazes. "It's just a col--" He managed to say before they descended upon him, punching and kicking until he was nothing but a pile of bloodied flesh on the floor. Some were horrified, others had resigned themselves to their fate, taking their seats again, a few still panicked, running around the cabin. One had found the booze on the stewardess' cart. The pilot and co-pilot emerged now that the initial mass had quelled. They had heard the carnage, but were not prepared to see it. The pilot immediately bent over, vomiting on the floor.
This didn't sit well with the men who had just murdered someone for coughing. They made for the pilot. He, the co-pilot, and the air marshall, who had just pulled himself off of the floor stood off with the men. The gun had gone, so the marshal drew his baton and pointed it at the men. "Back the fuck off." They stared angrily at the men and retreated to coach. The pilot vomited again. "God help us" he said when he was finished.
Over the next few hours, some fights erupted in coach, and the marshal had decided not to interfere. The bodies littered the floor, some groaning in pain, others making no noise at all.
Suddenly, the entrance to the plane slid open, and a police officer stepped onto the plane. "Alright people, false ala--" he managed before setting eyes upon the bloodbath. Everyone looked towards him. Surely he hadn't said it. The mother who had lost her child withdrew the gun that had sprawled underneath her feet during the initial rush and put it into her mouth. The shot sprang others into action. They rushed the door, not even attempting to grab their belongings, and nearly trampling the horrified officer. The footage of the chaos was later viewed and the men responsible for the majority of the violence were subsequently hunted down. Many of the survivors would later commit suicide.
But I suppose that's just human nature.
| 2017-06-13T08:11:50 | 2017-06-13T07:36:43 | 248 | 29 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
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Jeeeeeesus, check out that pathetic 'Mario' on the other side of the road. Running, jumping, and 'Wa-hoooo-ing' like a madman as he makes his way down the street... what an amateur.
I don't mean to brag, it's just that I kinda lucked out when the super power lottery was being handed out. By my count there are a couple hundred of us who received our powers from the last video game we'd all played, but I was a bit of a hobbyist modder, and as a result, my game character was a tad... overpowered at the time I was granted all his powers. God mode, all weapons, unlimited ammo and many more. You name it, I probably had the power in my arsenal.
I'm a bit of a bounty hunter in this new world full of video game powered heroes. People call me when one of my brethren get out of hand and the cops can't do jack shit to stop them. Right now I'm on a call to detain an 'incredibly annoying blue hedgehog', which I'm *not* exactly looking forward to, but a gig is a gig. The warehouse he'd been spotted at is just around this next corner and then I'll-- Oh crap... there's that Knight Solaire wannabe walking right towards me, and it's too late to change direction. *Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...*
"Praise the sun, good sir!" I bellowed, trying my best to stay on his good side.
"Fuck off," his muffled, echoing voice muttered as he passed by me without breaking his stride.
That was about par for the course for how those interactions typically went for me. In fairness, the folks playing Dark Souls at the time of the event kind of got the short end of the stick. Their 'powers' include being incredibly somber and moody, invulnerability for a split second while rolling, and the 'gift' of being transformed into an undead husk of a human being when they die. I was there the first time one of them found a bonfire on the beach, but when they realized couldn't kindle it or restore their humanity no matter how hard they tried, they were *extremely* pissed. I guess if I were cursed to live for eternity as a grotesque creature that looked like a raisin that had been left out in the sun 200 years, I might be a little pissed as well.
As I entered the warehouse, my worst fears were confirmed. A blue blur shot past me, shouting about how 'rad' he was, and knocking me over in the process. A life sized Sonic the Hedgehog reject stood over me wagging a finger at me as a grin crossed his distressingly human face.
To be clear, you don't HAVE to dress up like the character you received your powers from, this goober just apparently *really* wanted to dress up as Sonic. And let me tell ya, you think the CGI movie Sonic was an atrocity? Imagine the horrors I'm seeing as this middle aged, obese man sprints around the warehouse completely nude aside from oodles of blue fur poorly glued to his body. The fur did *not* leave enough to the imagination, gonna need some serious eye bleach after this is over, that's all I'm saying.
"You're too late, I'm outta here pal! Gotta go fast!" he shouted as he 'wound up' his legs and was off like a shot.
"Okay," I shrugged, as I suddenly moved at light speed and caught up with him in an instant.
"Goddamn speed hacker!" he shouted back at me as he took a hard turn to try and throw me off.
Growing tired of chasing him, I surveyed my bevy of hundreds of fully loaded weapons, selected a concussion grenade launcher, aimed, fired and... missed him by a mile. Yeah, no aimbots for me... even I had to draw the line somewhere, I *do* have my personal moral code to follow, but sadly that code was coming back to bite me at the moment. As I missed, 'Sonic' slipped through the door, slamming it shut and locking it up tight behind him.
"You're tooooo slow, dude!" he taunted me poorly through the window.
Thoroughly annoyed at him by this point, I activated the last of my major powers, slipped through the wall, and tackled the blue freak to the ground without warning.
"What the heck?!" he protested.
"No clip," I growled into his ear as I tied up his hands and feet. One more degenerate off the streets, but I can't help feeling there had to be far worse 'heroes' and 'villains' out there. I mean, odds are that *somebody* had to have been playing Mortal Kombat just before the powers got handed out, didn't they?
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (Dudes covered in blue hedgehog hair may be denied entry, but otherwise, all are welcome!)
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So... I'm a girl..
Shocker I know alright? I mean allot of people are what I am. You just wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at me. I mean I still got some female parts,not that those were ever big and noticeable to begin with but at least they didn't disappear like most of my hair did. I got reddish eyes now too which is cool tough sometimes they turn to boring brown, I don't know what triggers it.
Haven't had my period since this all started either. Mayby that was something the creators left out? I should have played another game.
"No, that is where you're wrong!"
I should have denied this opportunity.
But I guess silly me didn't think of all the things that could go wrong. Silly me didn't realise the protagonist in the last game I played was THIS annoying. I think I just thought it was just another spam notification, and I guess it kinda was. 'you have been given the chance of a lifetime! Join L.I.F.E' I didn't even get the chance to choose the game I wanted, I just had to sign in with my steam account and I would receive something in the next 2 to 5 days. The hangman gambit that I had to mentally do to guess what it was should have been a warning.
I didn't receive anything yet.
Mayby it was just all a weird joke or mayby I am just having a very realistic dream or something. I just feel like I'm being watched all the time.
The fact that my next door neighbor is growing a mustache all of the sudden and randomly yells this joyful laughter doesn't help either.
Damn I need to sleep
Or mayby I just have to wake up
I don't know anymore...
| 2020-01-05T14:51:34 | 2019-08-11T22:54:51 | 1,516 | 18 |
[WP] You are the first parent to allow your unborn child to be genetically engineered to gain a higher IQ. Everything's great, until they reach the age of 13. That's when the side effects kick in.
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“Now he’s started eating paste.”
Dr. Lawsen looked up from her computer, and stopped typing. This was the third time in a month that the Jones’ had been to see her. The first visit had been prompted by an episode in which their son, Bobby, had spent a week tripping over all the coffee tables in their house. At the time he claimed he couldn’t see them, but a visit to the eye doctor only confirmed his perfect vision.
“I see. And, when you say ‘paste’ you mean… “
“Paste. You know the stuff that they use in place of glue in kindergarten? The stuff that kindergarteners are supposed eat -- not thirteen year old geniuses.”
Mrs. Jones buried her head in her hands, and Mr. Jones rubbed her back, mummering “There, there” to her. This was becoming a common occurrence.
The second visit had come after Bobby refused to walk on the floor, claiming it was contaminated. He had apparently constructed a fort on his bed, which he refused to leave.
“You can understand our frustration, of course.” Mr. Jones said. “Two months ago, Bobby was busy advancing the field of number theory. Now, he is more interested in discovering which paste is the ‘safest.’ It is… concerning, to say the least.”
“I see.” Dr. Lawsen looked down at her computer and typed a few lines before resuming her thought. “Have you asked Bobby if he has a reason for this behavior?”
“Of course we have. He claimed something about how the aging process that occurs when paste is stored ends up producing a chemical that would protect him from ‘the creatures.’”
“Creatures?” The word brought Dr. Lawson’s attention away from her laptop again.
“Yeah, creature. I don’t know what to make of that either.” Mr. Jones let out a nervous chuckle. “He said that we couldn’t see them -- that they had a camouflage that made them invisible. Something about how they were in the shape of a pattern that our brains are blind to. But he said that his brain had finally developed to the point that he saw things differently. He could see the creatures everywhere, and he needed to find a way to repel them.”
“And you don’t believe him?”
“I… I don’t know. I mean, I know he is smart, but… well, where is the line between insanely smart and just plain insane?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I don’t know.”
“He begged us not to come. He said that you might be part of the conspiracy. But… well… we just don’t know what to do.”
“I see.” Dr. Lawson was reading her laptop again. She typed for a minute or so, and then looked up again. “I am afraid that this might be something quite serious. We simply don’t know the side effects your son might be experiencing, and this behavior from Bobby is certainly concerning. Can I ask that you bring him back with you tomorrow?”
“Of course. At least we will try.”
“It’s very important that we take care of this, before his behavior worsens.”
“Of course. We will bring him tomorrow.”
“Perfect. See you three then.”
Dr. Lawsen saw the Jones’ out, and then returned to her computer. There she started typing again.
*Disregard the last email. No immediate action is needed. The child will be brought to me tomorrow, and we can take care of him then.*
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the side effect kickd in and the boy had effect which made him grow shorter until he was 2 inch tall and was then step on by man which killed him but when he was squished he made a device which made humans coime back to life so he servived and lived happy ever after
| 2015-07-16T08:54:34 | 2015-07-16T07:36:22 | 52 | 15 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive.
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Part 7: Tupperman v.s. Slapstick)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**After a long day of wrangling actually competent superheroes and villains, I just wanted a return to normalcy.** So it was almost a relief when I got a call about yet another inane, amusingly weak wannabe supervillain on the way home.
"He calls himself Slapstick," Tupperman said.
I slammed the brakes as a car shot by, running a red light right across 5th street, and swore under my breath. You would think that being the Mayor of the city would give me some special privileges when it came to traffic. "Let me guess: his power is clown materialization."
"Nope."
"The power to make anything funny?"
"He'd be a TV star, not a supervillain, if that was the case." Tupperman paused. "Although there *is* some overlap."
"Telepathically-induced tickles?"
"You're thinking of Molestoman."
"Wait, that's a real thing?" I snorted. "God, I hate this city."
"Nah. You'd have resigned long ago if you did. No, he's got some kind of weak reality manipulation. If he tries to off someone, he always fails—in the short term. But if you wait a few minutes, then the victim gets crushed by a falling anvil, or get exploded by conveniently misplaced dynamite, or trampled by a stampede of ducks. Something comical, over-the-top, and that, well... screams Slaptsick."
"Yeesh." I shuddered as I turned a left. Nasty power, that. "I think I would've noticed if any of those happened in my town; I assume he's not a local, then?"
"No. Hired hitman from out of town."
"Mm. You happen to know who he's contracted to hit?" I asked.
"No," Tupperman admitted. "I may be a supervillain, but Tupperware materialization doesn't help me hack into online forums or shake information loose from recalcitrant brokers."
"Recalcitrant," I said, sounding out the word in my mouth. "You know, if I didn't know better, Tupperman, I'd say you decided to actually finish your middle-school education."
"I got me a word-a-day calendar," Tupperman cheerfully said. "So, anyway. I just thought I'd warn you—I set a little, ah, *trap* for our would-be killer."
"I assume that whatever you've set up is entirely illegal, indispensably useful, and more of a hassle to dismantle than it is to turn a blind eye to?" I deadpanned. Some kind of roadwork was going on up ahead, with a crane hauling bundles of materials.
"Aw, you sure know how to make a man blush, Clara," Tupperman said. I rolled my eyes; Tupperman knew that his vigilante position outside the law was too useful for me to actually crack down on arresting him, and he milked it for every drop it was worth. "Yeah, in terms of comical deaths, there isn't much better you can do than being crushed by ten tons of falling Tupperware. I materialized a big ol' stash of the stuff on the intersection of Trelawn and 5th; assuming Slapstick's power tries to dump it on his would-be victim, I'll just dematerialize the Tupperware, save the poor sap's life, and find out who Slapstick is here to kill."
I froze. "...the intersection of Trelawn and 5th?"
"...yes, what of it?"
"I'm there right now."
At that moment, the cable on the crane above me snapped.
Tupperman swore over the phone line; the ten tons of Tupperware he'd materialized onto the crane fell faster than the stock market after Lady Luck was done with it. I ducked down, slamming the brakes and putting my hands over the back of my neck to brace myself—
And then there was silence. Tupperman exhaled. "Don't worry. I dematerialized it in time."
I looked up, shaken; true to his word, the falling Tupperware had disappeared back into whatever pocket dimension Tupperman drew his powers from. "...Thanks, Tupperman. I owe you one."
"How about you see to making sure whatever building company this is doesn't sue my pants off, eh?" Tupperman convivially chimed. We let out a shaky laugh together.
Then I sobered up. "...So. I guess we found out who Slapstick's here to kill," I said.
"Yeah." Tupperman grimaced. "Any idea why?"
Well. It could've been any number of things—my opposition to Federal Law No. 8 of 2023, that time I restored Awe's powers to her, my protection of Lady Luck, my talks of Death—but there was really only one group who would've taken offense to something I'd done and decided to send a hired gun after me. "...I think I have an inkling of an idea."
"Oh?"
I swallowed. "You know how I pissed off the Chief of Homeland Defense?"
"Clara," Tupperman said, "*no.* The Federal government is so full of assholes they look like rectal Swiss cheese, but the government does *not* assassinate problematic politicians. This is the Unified Sovereignties. We're a civilized country."
"Well, *someone* hired Slapstick to kill me," I snapped. "You got any better ideas?"
Static.
"Right." I grimaced. "Regardless of who they are, someone's sniping at me." I went into reverse. "That means they could go after the people I care about."
"Well, I'm touched that you care so much about me," Tupperman began.
"Not you," I muttered. "I'm worried about my daughter."
"Oh, *shoot.*" Tupperman hesitated, then said, "...This is important, and you might need firepower. I'm coming with you." I saw a figure leap from the top of a building, then dance on air towards my car, plates of Tupperware materializing and vanishing to form an ephemeral staircase.
"Thanks, Tupperman." I revved my engine. "Let's go check on how dear old Janus is doing, shall we?"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for more information, and check out r/bubblewriters for more of my writing. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
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My name is Morton Montoni. They call me The Clown. You'll see why in a minute. I have a problem. Some mook keeps getting credit for my hits. I've killed 23 people just since last August. I ain't got paid a penny, and I'm getting pissed.
There was Fat Mikey McElvaney - not a made guy because, well it's obvious from his name. Odd thing is he wasn't fat neither. They called him fat Mikey because when he was a kid he fought a lot. The guy in question I'm talking about planted a bomb in Fat Mikey's car. The bomb exploded, but Fat Mikey survived because the pizza place where he had just bought a pizza accidentally put the metal pan in the box with the pan pizza. The pan protected Fat Mikey from the brunt of the explosion. How did I kill him? That's where my name comes in - the Clown. When Mikey was later inspecting one of his beer breweries, he accidentally slipped on a banana peel that someone had accidentally dropped on a platform. Unfortunately, it was also an explosive banana peel, so after he fell and it flew in the air, what goes up must come down. When it did - bada bing...bada boom...body parts scattered all around was all that was left of Mikey.
Awright, you still don't get why they called him Fat Mikey just because he used to fight as a kid. I'll explain you for it. He always lost the fight, so he'd get a fat lip, See?
Hey, there's the other thing. I always incorporate the mook's failed kill attempt in my more clever and comical hits. It's called irony. Problem is, like I say, this guy keeps getting credit for my kills. He gets paid. I get nothing. He even gets credit for my work.
Slippery Tony Fancessca - mook tried to run him down with a car. Tony ran into a dead end alley. Dead meat, right? Nope. Guy inside the building tried to use dynamite to knock down an interior wall to expand one room. He used too much dynamite - blew the outer wall out. It fell between Tony and the mook's car. Hit foiled. I trained a monkey to ride a unicycle. He ran down Slippery Tony - woooahhhh, the tire right over Tony's throat, crushing it for the kill.
I mean, come on, a fuckin' monkey on a ffuckin' unicycle. Who thinks of that? Not the mook! But he got the money and the credit.
Christina Doory, the nosy D.A. - mook failed to kill her in a plane crash. I got her in a helicopter on the way to the airport for a different flight - helium balloons.
One after the other, my best work credited to someone else, and now I gotta have another job to pay the bills.
Now, but now, the tables have turned. The foot's in the other shoe, so to speak. The Mook pissed someone off. They called a hit on him. The guy pushed the Mook down an empty elevator shaft. He fell screaming, hit the bottom...but some idiot had decided to store a shipment of mattresses at the bottom of the shaft. I know, right? Who does that? Mook hit the mattresses - landed in complete comfort, not a scratch on him. I think they gave him a free mattress for his trouble.
Now I gotta think of a way to kill the mook that's related to - you see the irony - falling down an elevator shaft, but funny.
Any suggestions?
| 2021-12-27T10:40:51 | 2021-04-04T15:34:05 | 243 | 19 |
[WP] Dragons are extinct in the wild, but the royal house still has a brood pair that has had a clutch every twenty-one years for several centuries. Each hatchling imprints on a member of the royal bloodline; and only on royals. When the latest clutch hatched, the littlest one chose you. A commoner.
|
I stepped back, scared.
Eight-hundred pounds of dragon stood in front of me, head lowered to look me in the eyes. Her eyes sparkled like tanzanite gems, her scales were white as snow. I had never seen a white dragon before.
The members of the royal family only came out of the castle once a year, always with their dragons. They would fly over head during parades, flying in loops and waves together in a powerful dance. The dragons were all colorful, ranging from bright red to deep blue.
The last time I went to a parade, I had been eight and sat on my father's shoulders to get a better view of them. After that, I was always needed at the family shop.
Today was to be my last day in town, I turned seventeen not too long ago. My family had told me to leave, now that I was old enough, I would go train to be a blacksmith in another city. The blacksmith here requested payment for his teaching, something my family couldn’t afford.
I was in the middle of packing the last of my things when I had felt the urge to go out and see the garden one last time. It was a beautiful garden, my father was a florist by trade, and my mother arranged them beautifully. It was a delicate trade, something that my sister had been able to pick up by the time she was ten.
My parents let me break my last vase when I was fifteen.
I looked at the flowers underneath the feet of the white dragon. They looked pitiful underneath the dragon’s claws.
*Look at me*. I heard a gravelly voice in my mind and my eyes snapped back to look at the dragon’s head. *I am here for you, my prince*.
“Prince?” I asked. I immediately felt foolish, I had just talked to a dragon. Everyone knew they were wordless beasts.
*We are not wordless, and we are no more beast than man.* She raised her snout a little, as if convey her distaste at my thoughts. *I detest that you are ignorant my little prince.*
I suddenly screamed as she came for me, jaws opening quickly and exposing hundreds of fangs. I covered my head as much as I could and closed my eyes, *I’m going to die because I angered a dragon*.
I felt myself being lifted by the back of my shirt. I opened my eyes, and instantly regretted the rapidly shifting world in my vision. I then found myself on the back of the white dragon, nestled between two purple spikes, there were many that from the top of her skull to the tip of her monstrous tail.
It was surprisingly comfortable, she was cool to the touch, which was refreshing in the hot autumn air. I fearfully clutched at the dragon spike in front of me anyway, my legs gripped the sides of the dragon tightly. I looked on either side, looking for the best way to slide off.
*You will not fall my prince, I will not let you*. The dragon’s voice, it wasn’t angry.
“W-why?” I was trying my best to keep a strong face, but I was barely coherent. I hated heights, and the dragon’s back was at least two yards off the ground. My stomach churned at how far I would have to jump to land on crushed flowers.
That was soon not an option as the dragon unfolded its wings, they were almost luminous in the sun, like a living opal. They were also massive, crushing almost the entire garden with one flap of her wings. My eyes went to the red flowers in the back of the garden, my heart sank. The eight-foot bush had been completely flattened.
“No! The poppies!” They were father’s most prized possessions, they brought us the most income as the apothecary’s favorite.
*My prince, you need not worry about income anymore. Where we are going, income is trivial*. She was speaking to me, but my stomach was churning so much I couldn’t speak. The ground was now so far, I would die if I fell.
*Do not be dramatic my prince,* I was suddenly flipping through the air. The dragon disappeared from beneath me, and now I was falling.
“AHHHHH!” The wind howled past my ears, the ground came rushing at me. For some reason, even though I saw my death rushing at me, my eyes stayed wide open. The ground was now so close, I could see each blade of grass that I was going to land on, they were yellow and dry, nothing like the vibrant flowers my parents loved.
A stroke of white and purple raced past my eyes, and then I was on the dragon again. The air blew through my ears differently, I was flying again.
*Tallyanna, that is my name, my prince.* My eyes were closed again, I was gripping onto the dragon’s wing with intensity that only came with the experience of just escaping certain death, and with the fear that I would fall again.
*My prince, open your eyes*.
‘I can’t!” I would not cry, no matter what. I had promised myself I would not cry today. Dragon or not, I was a man of my word, “And I’m not a prince! You have the wrong boy!” My hands were shaking from the amount of strength I was using.
The air suddenly stopped moving. I gripped at the dragon’s wing still, painfully, scales scratching my palms. Then the wing shifted, and I couldn’t help but roll off like a child rolling down a hill.
I rolled hard onto something familiar. I didn’t need to open my eyes to recognize the smell of grass and solid ground. I quickly got onto all fours and rested my forehead against the ground, silently thanking it for still existing.
*A prince should never bow to anything,* I felt something pull on the back of my shirt again.
“No! No! Let me go!” I flailed, already starting to panic from my inability to touch the ground with my feet\*.\* “I told you! I’m not a prince! I’m not the one you’re looking for.”
I was lowered onto my feet and immediately fell to my knees. My heart was pounding, I felt like it was going to burst.
*Look at me*. The dragon’s voice, it felt like a command. Despite my nausea and intense fear of being picked up again, I looked up at the dragon.
She was beautiful. The sun reflected off her scales, making each one look like it was made of pearl. Her neck was long, arched just the right way for me to be able to see every sharp spike that ran along her neck. There were more on her head and along her jaw, making her look like she had fangs not just on the inside of her mouth. Her purple eyes were focused on me.
*Prince Richard the seventh, first son of King Alexander the third, first in line for the throne of Allenlot, you are my prince,* she lowered her head.
I tried to step back, but the dragon’s tail was behind me, and pushed me until I was touching the edge of her snout.
*I, Tallyanna, am here to make you take your rightful place as king.*
\--
r/JP_writings
|
***Taken from Scribe Roluas' Records***
The year is 1543, in the name of our Goddess and Protector, Hylia, in the Year of the Three, and ever since two years ago, after the defeat of Calamity, the Kingdom of Hyrule has prospered.
For record keeping purposes, the date today, is Faroresday, the 12th, of the year 1543, Era of the Wild.
It is time.
Time for the newest clutch of Dragons to be brought into the world.
Dragons are mostly extinct in the wild, save for the exception of the Three. Some say a part of the Three Goddesses lives in each Dragon. But that theory is unproven.
Several Centuries ago, in the Era of Time, a pair of Dragons were bred, and their offspring eventually had a clutch, and so on, and so forth, until the current day.
These two Dragons were kept by the Royal Family, the male was named Volvagia, and was said to be a massive brute, scales black and scarred from battle, his wings muscular and broad, his underbelly golden, his curled horns atop his brow were golden, his eyes crimson.
His mate, Karalasha, was significantly smaller, her scales were dark blue, her eyes golden, her underbelly white, and her wings were scarred from battle.
These are the Dragons that still dwell within the castle walls, bearing a clutch of hatchlings every twenty one years.
And this year, is the twenty first year.
A crowd is gathering in the main hall, a deep rumbling is heard from Volvagia, who tilts his head back above the growing crowd and lets out a roar that can be heard for many miles from Hyrule Castle.
The crowd gasps and takes a step back, then begins to cheer as the Queen appears from her chambers.
I arrived here some time ago, luckily managing to sit closeby to the Dragon and his mate, for I was chosen to record this clutch's choosing.
Queen Zelda walks down the steps, and up to Volvagia, and his mate, Karalasha, the young woman treats the beasts with utter respect and dignity, as she should. How her parents would be proud of her.
She then turns to address the ever growing crowd, and says "It is my honor to present the latest clutch of Volvagia and Karalasha, who have been the protectors of my ancestors for many Eras before me. I only hope that their newest clutch will continue that heritage, for many more Eras to come."
The woman then steps back, to join the crowd, as a single egg begins to crack and then shake - a hatchling is arriving!
The hatchling is a split image of his father, save that his eyes are a mix of gold, crimson, and a sapphire blue. The drake looks up, - towards me, I might add - and then looks away, towards the approaching Queen.
But he does not choose her. Wait, no, he is shaking the remnants of his eggshell from his scales, and walking towards - *him?*
No, no, this isn't right, not custom! A Dragon choosing a commoner?
But yet, none of the guards are moving to attack, why?
The young man, who is now holding the young drake, might be the one that saved all of us from Calamity, but that gives him no right to be chosen!!!
Wait, it appears the guards have decided to take action, I must take my leave, before this event becomes drastic.
If at all possible, I shall record further events hopefully very soon.
​
| 2019-01-12T21:05:02 | 2019-01-12T20:38:45 | 132 | 11 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels.
|
**The Third Book of Revelations, or, When The Angels Fell**
When God sent his Angels to earth in 2023, it was not heralded by heavenly choirs nor celebrations across the globe. It was a terrible awakening as rotting, winged corpses the height of two men fell from the sky. In the days that followed, the living followed the dead. They were terrible to behold, great six-winged seraphim, or naught but a single giant eye lidded with terrible flickering fire.
The Angels had come to Earth and they were not messengers, but warriors. And they were not here for us. The daemons of hell began to arrive. In their ones and twos, figures haunted the night and drove us back indoors.
We sent an envoy to the Angels when they made landfall en mass in the Balkans. The armed forces of the world escorted diplomats, hoping to broker an understanding, a peace, assistance from this evil. Great expectation followed the chosen few sent to greet the figures that rent our understanding of the cosmos and life in two. The Great Revelation was to be the turning point for all humankind, beyond which we would discover the truth.
Our ambassadors were ignored. The hosts of heaven cared not for the trials of men. They would not speak to them, their great crusade too important to acknowledge the vermin of Earth. Yes, vermin, rodents, parasites... that's all the 'messengers of God' saw us as. They would deign to kill those who wandered too close and stared too long.
Apathy was our only answer, the reward for millennia of worship and tales passed down generations. The truth was not that we were the chosen ones of the gods, but that the gods didn't exist and the nearest thing to divinity didn't care. It became known, somewhat laconically, as the 'Third Book of Revelations'. The cosmic joke. The End of Days.
The daemons, capricious and untrustworthy, at least acknowledged us. A laughing child with bloody wings and no eyes appeared in the Hague at the behest of the great nations and deigned to speak. They were also not here for us, they followed and battled the Angels across a thousand thousand worlds. Ours was just the latest no man's land in the endless war between those that dwelled in the abyss and the void. They cared not for us, but we made good sport for the bored beasts of hell. When all was done they would come for us.
We knew then that we were doomed. We had no weapons that worked against the creatures from beyond the gates of reality, and neither cared whether we lived or died. Cruise missiles, depleted uranium rounds and thermobaric weapons were shrugged off by abyssal iron and heavenly burnished bronze armour, while our tanks and bunkers were rent like cobwebs by their blades, spears, teeth and claws. They never came for us directly, but we died the same.
Cities, nations, continents fell. Inexorably, the war ate up the Earth and its people. Our extinction was mundane and of little consequence to the titans that strode across our home. Mankind was at the peak of its power, and it was being swept into the darkness anyway.
Our beautiful world, the Garden of Eden and the cradle of life, edged into madness and murder. A funeral pyre for over five billion people. Ash, wasteland, soot-blacken'd skies and endless battles. The war horns of the immortal hosts closed in around the last cities of the world.
And yet we were not ready to go into the night crushed under cloven hoof or armoured greaves. Our weapons, our great engines and Armageddon devices, had no effect on the creatures from beyond our universe. But we had not survived the long night our ancestors faced after coming down from the trees by hiding, by giving up.
A few outcast people had scoured the battlefield, looking for the scraps of weapons and armour left on the dead. It was put to use in desperate circumstances when fortune favoured, for cursed iron could not cut itself, nor blessed bronze. A man had to be armed with the right weapon to stand a chance of defending himself against the unworldly invaders. Discovering neither iron nor bronze could not be created by human hands, yet it could be melded and formed. In our desperation, in our madness, we found something even the hordes of heaven and hell would never have tried - it could be mixed.
Called Electrum, for the long-dead mix of golden and silver metals the Egyptians had discovered, this alloy surpassed all expectations of strength, malleability and usage. All attention and industry turned to scavenging all that remained, mankind remembered its nascent ability to forge and craft in cottage industries.
Speartips were made, armour was hammered and bullets were cast. For Electrum was proof against whatever weapon might be arrayed against it, be it human, heavenly or hell-forged. And above all, it could pierce armour and flesh from this world and the next. Electrum was something neither angelic nor daemonic, it was flawed and it was dangerous. It was human.
Soon there was enough to equip a battalion of men. They looked like nothing else on Earth ever had nor would. Imagine, if you will, a set of ancient Grecian armour, adorned with webbing, fragmentation grenades and modern weapons. Assault rifles and swords soon began to tell against the enemy in ones and twos. Ambushes and traps, desperate insurgencies and improvised tactics. Dirty, human skirmishes that we'd honed in hundreds of wars on ourselves proved effective against ignoble giants from beyond imagination. Though we still died, we took those bastards with us. Every dead hellspawn or archangel providing more precious metal and something even more vital: hope.
Once the supplies of scrap, recyclable metal were all but exhausted, mankind's need for more drove us from fleeing refugees to marauding plunderers.
They beasts of the realms beyond fought one another with savagery, close-in and hand to hand. Yet they were not ready for the humans. They had been pushed to extinction, had known only certain destruction for years. Five thousand million dead demanded not justice, but revenge.
For all their graven disregard for the human right to exist and not be trampled underfoot, the off-worlders at least fought with some honour and protocol. They engaged one another in massed, serried ranks and battled to the death. They looked their enemy in the face and met them claw to fist.
We, however, had no such qualms. High-calibre sniper rounds forged from Electrum could do what no thermonuclear warhead nor meteoric sword could, ending ancient warriors' lives before ever they saw their foes. Modified claymores hidden in amongst the ruins of our homes tore our enemies apart again and again. Before long there were cities and regions where angels feared to tread.
And if that was not enough, if main battle tanks plated with infernal, immortal armour and equipped with sabot rounds, if our hardest special ops killers armed with knives and rifles and grenades were not enough... imagine what a human race pushed to the end of its desperation could do when gifted a God-killer metal and stockpiles of parts and plans for previously useless scatter bombs, fully-automatic mortar launchers, flechette shells, cruise missiles and a thousand other murder machines could do.
It was... slaughter. We surpassed even our own dreams of effectiveness, turning the tide within months. They did not call for parley or truce, through arrogance or some other ineffable reason, perhaps. We would not have granted it. We remembered being the vermin. We remembered every death, every insult.
Angel. Daemon. It mattered not. They died the same.
They fell back under the advance of the humans until, at last, they were driven to their infernal portals and the last of them were put to the sword. Black ichor stained the pitted and cratered land. Despite the death of the sorcerers among their ranks who had opened the doors to Earth, they remained open.
The people of earth readied themselves. There were more worlds to cleanse.
|
The Shepherd hadn't strayed more than a dozen miles from his home in all 54 years of his life. He had learned his trade from his father, as his father had learned from his father before him. He knew the winds and clouds that swept over the Moorlands better than any other... he knew which wisps in the sky portended fair weather in the coming month, and he knew which ones were harbingers of something worse.
A low, dusky sheet of cloud had descended across the Moorlands, and a light breeze whispered as it cut through the grass. The Shepherd studied the clouds and wind as he had so many times before, hoping to glean some insight of the weather to come. As he strained to look at the sky, he thought for a moment that he saw something roiling and writihing within the impenetrable haze. It filled him with a sense of dread. This was something new in the sky, and experience had taught him that such things rarely bode well.
He turned to his grandsons, two young children presently assisting the dogs in corralling a few unruly sheep.
"Boys, we'll take lunch early today. Back to the house. Quickly."
They began jogging and skipping giddily toward the house. An early lunch was a rare treat for them. They were too young and too naive to the horrors of the world to share in their grandfather's unease. As he finished driving the last of the sheep into their enclosure, a gust of cold wind hit. The animals began bleating furiously, and rain began to fall.
"A sudden rainstorm?," the Shepherd thought. He wiped his brow and sighed. Maybe his unease was unjustified. Maybe he was growing dull in his old age. As he looked down, though, he noticed that his hand bore a streak of... *blood*? He looked up, and saw the white coats of his sheep speckled in red. This was no rain.
The Shepherd set off toward his house at a pace that sent pain piercing through his weathered joints with every stride. The rain of blood intensified, rolling off his coat in dark rivulets. Just then, a crumpled heap of... something... landed in front of him with the sound of snapping bone.
The Shepherd cautiously approached. The broken mass reeked of carrion and oozed a black, ichorous fluid. As far as he could tell from the hideous, rotten breasts, this corpse had once been a woman. As he moved around the body, he saw something peculiar about the back.
Wings. Bloody, blackened, and crumpled... but unmistakable. It was an angel.
He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then resumed his headlong rush toward his home and his grandchildren. More rotten angelic corpses began to fall from the sky, and the sanguine rain became a torrent. The splatter of blood and the crack of bone drowned out the sound of his breathing and footsteps.
When the Shepherd reached his home, he flung open the door and rushed to find his grandchildren. He saw the youngest laughing by the hearth, seemingly untouched and oblivious to the apocalyptic scene unfolding outside.
"Where is your brother?" asked the Shepherd.
The grandson stood and turned toward his grandfather, gesturing with the knife in his hand. Blood ran down the blade toward a mutilated corpse in the corner of the room. A grin spread across the child's face, and he began to cackle with a voice far too deep for a child so young.
"He didn't hear it. He couldn't. I tried to help him, but..."
The young child's eyes grew large with bloodlust, and he lunged toward his grandfather. The Shepherd attempted to deflect the blow, but he was overcome by the child's unnatural strength. The blade sunk deep, finding the artery it was seeking. The Shepherd was overcome first by cold, then by darkness.
"Don't worry, grandpa. We'll all be one soon."
******************************************************
From a stone cairn high atop a hill in the Moorlands, I surveyed the landscape below as it was darkened by an unholy rain. A beautiful rain.
These fools and their "guardian" angels. What has an *angel* ever guarded? They are automatons, mindless weapons that enforce an unnatural order. They exist to uphold arbitrary rules concocted by their creator. They are the shield that protects those who possess what they do not deserve. They are chains that fetter those with the power to claim what is rightfully theirs.
No longer.
The ritual is complete. Their wings will darken the sky no more. But there are worse things in this world than angels.
| 2016-07-19T07:49:43 | 2016-07-19T07:36:46 | 751 | 10 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
Eduardo and Sarah had come to visit me at the old office. I hadn’t got a chance to see them since he got his big promotion and moved out to the East Coast office. “Stroke” and “Stomach Cancer” still spelled out in wisps over their heads. This time they brought the new addition to the family, Devon, who himself had an even fainter wisp reading “Traffic Accident” hovering in a similar position to the others.
When the words started appearing that day when I was twelve I was disturbed. I was about to lose my grandfather and I thought it was just my imagination going wild from the stress of confronting death. But even after the funeral, the words continued to hang in the air above their heads. When I went to the grocery store with my Mom, when I returned to camp, and at the end of the summer when I got back to school these reminders of death followed me.
At first I was depressed. My poor mother didn’t know what to do. My brother made fun of me for going “emo”. But everyone wrote it off as a period of adolescent immaturity, and I can’t say they were wrong.
Life is short. I had a reminder of that fact that followed me every day, not completely unlike a funeral home director or a grave digger. I grew to understand that most of these people will live good lives, living in good health until dying of some mundane disease in old age.
But whenever I’d see something like “traffic accident” on a kid my age, I’d still feel that pang of the tragedy of life’s fragility. Or at least I used to when I was younger. Now I’m approaching middle age and that pang of tragedy is reserved for people significantly younger than myself. But while I still felt that pang when I saw Devon’s “Traffic Accident,” it glowed even more faintly than the words above his parents, an indication he would live longer than his parents at the least.
I never spend time around kids now that I’m not one anymore. Edurado was my first friend to really settle down and start having his own kids. But one day I was eating lunch in McDonalds. Like most people, the average American (ok, slightly above average weight American) office drones around me had typical “X-Cancer,” “Industrial Accident,” and a few more than usual “Heart Attack”s floating around. Unnoticed by me, a yellow bus full of kids on a field trip had pulled up in the lot, disgorging its shrieking over excited contents. A stream of children start to pour into the McDonalds, furiously clamoring over each other to get a better spot in line. I wince in annoyance at the presence of the loud children crowding into the McDonald’s serving lines. These were young kids, still wearing their tiny shoes with cartoon characters on them un-ironically. I think I saw an Adventure Time back pack. Needless to say, their boisterous shrieking was rapidly turning my lunch break into torture.
I got up to leave, dumping my tray of used fast food paper into the trash bin. I quietly chuckle as I mutter “Beetus” when I notice the word “Diabetes” hanging over a morbidly obese school marm waving flaps of fat as her limbs motioned to herd the students. As I run my eyes over the students, I notice one especially buttery ball of a first grader, and expecting my heart to break I look up to the word above his head. The students were all crowded together and it took me a while to read his, “Suicide.” Hmmm. Life’s hard I thought.
Then it occurred to me. The word “Cancer” was so prevalent in crowds that it made a visual pattern I would notice. I looked more closely at the students. The ones walking away with trays from the counter were easier to read since they were away from the crowd. “Traffic Accident,” “Gun Accident,” “Traffic Accident,” “Industrial Accident,” and then one I’d never seen before “Hacked and Deleted”. All of them so faint that they were practically clear.
None of these kids had the typical deaths from disease I’d seen all my life. I’d run into a few kids here and there, family events, at the mall with their parents. I’d never noticed the pattern before. I hadn’t been around such a large group of children in years.
I wanted to know more. I figured there must be some sort of clue, a cutoff year where people start to stop dying of these diseases. I had to go find a school and do some research.
|
"Hi Sally" i said to my secretary as I entered my office.
"Mornin Mr King" she replied seemingly chipper as always, the large word suicide in bold red above her head seemed dimmer today. Maybe it was just me.
I see signs of how people die. Literal worded signs. Floating over their head and all.
If I told anyone they would think I was insane so I keep it to myself as much as I can.
Sometimes I can't help thinking I can make a change in people. Somehow change the way they die so it's more pleasant.
Take Sally for instance. When I first interviewed her the word over her head, suicide, was a brilliant crimson red. I thought that meant she was close to doing it. I wasn't going to hire her initially but then I thought why not. I swear the color got lighter when I offered her the job on the spot. Probably just wishful thinking. Poor kiddo I really like her.
I decided to take a walk outside for lunch since it was a nice spring day and that's when I noticed a change. A whole lot of people had tornado and an unbelievable amount had shark.
W.T.F.?
| 2015-03-31T12:59:24 | 2015-03-31T10:08:20 | 19 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
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"Look, Matty the Mad is acting strange again," I said, elbowing my friend Flint as we walked past her shack on our way home. The elderly woman was busy shoveling dirt over a hole, either unaware or unconcerned about her dirt-stained frock.
"I say, what're you up to, Matty?" he called.
She straightened and glared at us. "You boys again. Come to break my windows with stones?"
"You can't prove it was us," I shouted. "Answer Flint's question!"
"I'm covering up my dirty business," she said, going back to her work. "Unlike everyone else in this damned village who leave them out in the open."
We burst into laughter. "What a foolish madwoman you are!" Flint said, half-choked with mirth. "Only by scattering them outside will they dissolve in the rain and evaporate under the sun. Why are you storing them in the ground where they'll be there forever?"
"Leave an old lady alone," she muttered.
"What other wisdom do you have to share with us today? Last week you told Fanny to wash her mouth and brush her teeth four times a day. Her father got so angry he wanted to stomp your vegetables flat!"
I snorted, and said in a conspiratorial but audible tone, "You see, she doesn't know that our mouths, being wet all the time, are already clean!"
"Also, remember when you asked Honey to stop mixing her cave metals into her medicines? She let her dogs chase you all over town!"
Matty looked up briefly with damp eyes. "Those dogs ought to be put down. They're raving mad, and they've already bitten five people!"
Flint and I fell into silence for a moment, but then my friend said, "Anyway, you keep playing with your dirt. We're going home to have our mushrooms." He shook a leather pouch for her to see.
A look of concern came over her face. "Where did you find those?"
"Oh, in the woods, here and there," Flint said casually. "Not telling you, or you'll steal our supply. 'specially since we've never seen this variety before."
She groaned. "The last thing I want to do is eat your stupid mushrooms. You boys remember to cook them well. Sometimes they can do strange things to you."
"There she goes again," I said with a guffaw. "The wisdom of Matty! Cook your food and destroy everything natural about them! Maybe we should start smoking and salting our meats too, like she does."
Flint started to walk away, shaking his head in disgust. "She even eats them weeks later. How could she stand something that's no longer fresh?"
"Don't worry about her," I said, clapping him on the back. "She won't be ruining our dinner."
***
"Flint?" I said, coughing as I woke up. My head was spinning heavily, and thick foamy phlegm was leaking from the corner of my mouth. I fumbled about in the dark of my room, trying to regain my bearings. With every motion, my belly heaved and lurched.
"Don't feel so good," I moaned, clutching my middle. Sharp pains were beginning to accompany the aching. My bottom felt wet—likely I would soon need to look for a clear patch not used by my parents and sister in the garden. "You hear me, Flint?"
My fingers brushed against his arm, and I felt a surge of relief that he hadn't abandoned me. "Why's it so dark?" I said. "We only started eating a while ago, and it was noon. Hey, Flint, what's the matter?"
I traced my fingers up his torso, to his neck, and then his face. His flesh remained still and cold to my touch.
"Flint? Flint!" I began to shake him, but he didn't answer. Cursing the dark—my eyes were beginning to strain from the effort of widening them—I stood and ran to get help, bumping into walls even with arms outstretched.
"Father! Mother! It's Flint, I think he's dead!"
***
Flint's family came and took him home not long after, where they would leave him in the living room until he dissolved into the air they breathed. Honey took a look at my eyes and made me swallow urine from the man with the sharpest eyesight in the village, but to no avail.
I could no longer see.
As I cried myself to sleep that night, cursing mushrooms, cursing Honey, cursing everything, I remembered Matty's words earlier that day.
***
*Edit: Part 2 below!*
*Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Do check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you would like to see more of my work.*
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"What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
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| 2017-09-14T11:40:58 | 2017-09-14T10:53:02 | 3,641 | 120 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
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Execution day again. It took a full moon cycle for the kingdom’s mages to fuel the sphere of sentencing. But once it was charged, it would grant its prisoner their choice of death. Ten sentences would be carried out today before it ran out of power. Some nations gave their condemned a final meal, a last smoke, or a glass of wine before their death. We had this mockery of choice.
I’d been on the execution list for four months now. The list had me eighth in line. I wondered what was worse: being first and knowing your death was right away or last and seeing nine die before you. The amphitheater we were in wasn’t just for executions. Concerts, carnivals, games were also held here. But today the central arena held the ten of us, ten guards, and our killer. The seats are ringing the middle are occupied. The aristocracy are in comfortable lounges, provided with shade and refreshments. Those with more time than money made do with hard benches and full sun.
There’s always someone that tries to defeat or confound the sphere. It’s killed everyone trapped inside. There are some who won’t name their death, either from stubbornness or fear. But the enchanted ball of filigreed metal and glass fulfills it’s design. It starts to remove the air inside once locked. Slowly though; the captive has plenty of chances to speak. But if they don’t decide in an hour, the sphere chooses for them. They die suffocating, clawing for breath with faces distorted and discolored. It why the executions start at sunrise, in case every prisoner that day takes their hour.
Only one of my fellow convicted goes the airless route. The third of the day, a small man, timid. He tried to name a death when asked but his chattering teeth and stuttering voice kept him from saying anything clearly enough. The vultures in the audience, nobles and new money who paid to attend in comfort jeered at him until he finally curled up in the center. He was quiet and shaking until the end.
The fifth, a stately woman with a smirk and fierce eyes, made an attempt at outsmarting the sphere. “By the death of the cosmos.” I’m sure she thought she’d get to live out those millennia. The sphere pulsed, as it did when examining an unusual form of death. If a choice was invalid, it’s glass portions would turn red for a moment. If it was a valid choice, it would simply perform the execution.
No red pulse. The sphere’s light dimmed with the condemned woman standing inside. Her smirk widened. Then she vanished, soundlessly. A few seconds later, her image was projected inside the sphere. Nothing was said, but we all knew we saw eons into the future. Her body froze in the dark nothing of the universe before her image faded and the sphere opened for the next victim.
The man before me, seventh off the day, also tried to outsmart the sphere. He was only a few years older than me, in his mid twenties at most. “Old age?” he asked the sphere. It pulsed again before dimming without red shift. The man let out a shaky sigh and looked expectantly at the door. It didn’t open but as he reached for it we saw his skin wrinkle and sag. His hair paled into a wispy gray. Liver spots his dotted arms and face. Before he could touch the sides, he fell. His frail skin blossomed into bruises from the fall, his aged bones unable to keep him upright. Within five minutes of entering, he’d aged to death.
My turn. The sphere opened, graceful and terrifying. I stepped in and spotted a particular face in the crowd. A young man, like the one before me. He was richly dressed, unlike the man before me. The reason I was here. I’d shared his bed and he threw me aside. At the hint of inconvenience he arranged for me to die.
Seeing him, relaxed with a full wineglass, smiling at the thought of me being gone forever, made me furious. The sphere locked, I was asked how I wanted to die, and heard the slow leak of air. I glared at the source of my doom.
“With my lover,” I spat. The crowd laughed as the sentencing sphere pulsed again. Then it dimmed. The crown prince appeared next to me. He paled and I almost thought he’d die of shock before the sphere could take us. I snatched his wineglass and downed it. “Glad I could share a last glass with you prince.”
He screamed, pounding the walls as the guards struggled to open the door. But the sphere wouldn’t let anyone out alive. I saw the prince’s innocent betrothed faint. At least she wouldn’t be trapped with him. His father, who’d demanded the crown prince dispose of all evidence of philandering before he wed, was desperately ordering his knights and mages to save his son.
I slumped against the wall. “The more you scream the less air we’ll have,” I mentioned. The man I’d loved and been betrayed by didn’t seem to hear me. I didn’t much care. His frantic cries and the useless pounding made a satisfying requiem.
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There was a small group of us, huddled in the back. We had long ago stopped carrying why we were being sentenced to death. They seemed to be processing us in batches. The men who rebelled against former Chancellor Armenta were being cleared out before us.
We had been watching in dismay as the deaths were carried out. Each one giving us new ideas, or at the least, methods to avoid. There was only so many they could process at a time and someone had pointed out that certain ones seemed more magically draining on the system.
It seemed to be proven true as they looked particularly wiped after that death. It was still mid morning, and I turned and looked at the rest of the women I was with, nodded once, took a deep breath, and then volunteered to go first. Some of those women seemed nice, none seemed to be deserving of death by any of my measures, so I decided to buy them time, if I could.
It sounds noble, but I don't have a great life. I approached the stand, and looked up at the new high Chancellor. All the judges and executioners wore odd robes and masks. There was no continuity in style. The man I was looking at was wearing robes of red and white and an elaborate dragon mask.
"I choose the following death," I said smiling, "I will die giving birth to your twin heirs. Who will be so distraught at their mother's death that they'll avenge me and destroy you."
A quiet hush went, and then a soft pop. The magic began moving through my body. I felt the most intense cramping, a shudder and stifled moan passed through the chancellor's body. After a brief moment, I began to expand rapidly. The pain, discomfort and nausea overwhelmed me. It was a horrible way to die, but I felt vindicated when the birth of the first child was announced, a girl...the second is coming.
| 2021-06-24T11:17:25 | 2021-06-24T09:16:51 | 46 | 25 |
[WP] Following a chosen deity has real world benefits, much like perks in a videogame. The more obscure gods offer more interesting gifts to those that find them.
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John woke with a raging headache. Some gods didn't appreciate followers converting so immediately. Lugh was no exception, but there have been worse. He stood unsteadily reminding himself this was the case, hoping for the temporary pseudo reprieve this reminder would offer. It'd be nothing like the real stuff Alaunus offered though.
He raced to the restroom, retching horribly. Right, Alaunus. That was one conversion he never wanted to remember again. As healing gods go, he was especially spiteful of transit worshiping. Mornings like this made him wish he worshiped more steadily as Alex did.
Rarely though.
Regular prayer had it's perks. For instance, though Alex was a bit of a bitch for Eros, who definitely gave him some serious favor for a Greek love god. Girls back at their school spread gossip through the campus about his... vitality. No one knows where the rumors sprung from, but in small colleges that hardly mattered. Eros did the god thing. Someday, Alex will get someone to do *his* thing. As long as he kept worshiping him anyway.
After a few sickly spits, he struggled his way up to the sink to wash his face. A good score for his midterm exams was worth a scholar god's temporary favor. This would be his hardest semester. When he thought he couldn't feel any worse, horror struck him.
"Oh shit," he told the miserable face in the mirror. "I should have waited until finals." John choked back a sob.
The Celtic pantheon were his preferred range of deities. They were less prayed on so they generally gave more favor. They also didn't like transit followers. Well, no gods do. But the Celtic pantheon...
He thrust down a glass of cool water and popped a Tylenol. *They were seriously butthurt about it.* So this may not be a perfect semester. At least the midterm was done. Thank whoever.
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"You aced it huh?"
"It was an easy test Alex," John responded. "Just have to put some time into Laffreydo's blackboard notes. And her third edition of *Greco-Roman Worship in the 21st Century*, the fourth one missed a few paragraphs. She also studied at Imperial College under Professor Muteblood in the 80's, and some of his lectures made a serious impression on her understanding of the Japanese's Seven Gods of Fortune, so to appreciate Asian cultures in context of Western traditions would have scored bonus points on..."
"Shut up man I get it. Could have given me some of those juicy deets huh?" Alex poked at the cafeteria food glumly with a lazy fork. This wasn't how most of the college figured a campus prince would look. In fact, nothing was all that exceptional about the two boys with their one minute burgers and exam results spread on the table. The table of girls chatting in the far corner snatching brief glimpses in their direction were unaffected by their appearances.
John corrected himself. *Alex's* appearances more like.
A hand shoved his shoulder across the table. "No, you don't get to look that upset scoring top grades in the class. Hell, the TA might've gone gay for you when he gave you back your paper."
John snorted. "If he prayed to Eros too, he might have a chance---"
"*SHHHHH*" Alex forced a whisper. "Not here man."
John blushed. He was right. It wasn't cool to call out a man's god (or goddess) in public. Especially if he was devout. They chose the same college before graduating from their hometown, chose their first gods together when they were of age (18 in the United States), snuck their first drink from John's freezer. It was a friendship that went many years and mistakes back.
Some social trespasses could be laughed off with familiarity.
"Sorry Alex, I wasn't thinking."
"Shit happens man, just, watch it." Alex poked at the fries some more, then lifted his mass from the cafeteria seat. "I gotta catch that study period if I'm gonna make up in class. This is our shit semester so save your notes for finals."
"Yeah, for sure."
Other trespasses were taboo in public, even between close friends. Outing someone by invoking their love god would make them a laughing stock.
Alex made his way past another group of girls, too caught up in their chatter to notice how stiff his shoulders and legs moved. He wasn't so much walking to class as he was forcing himself there.
Sharing his notes was the least John could do.
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**[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/czdkskd)**
**[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/cze7kph)**
**[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/czewvvv)**
**[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/czfvyv3)**
**[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/43hdf9/all_gods_are_bastards_part_6/)**
**[Part 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/43ia3q/all_gods_are_bastards_part_7/)**
**[Part 8](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/43rs8y/all_gods_are_bastards_part_8/)**
**[Part 9](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/443r87/all_gods_are_bastards_part_9/)**
The story is still in progress, and being resumed at /r/galokot .
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"The name of your god... is Bobo?"
I nodded, clicking my finger against the tabletop, waiting on the waitress to bring me my coffee. My contact had asked to meet me hear, after reading the circulating rumors about my Lord and Savior. Of course, he didn't know the half of it. For every truth spilled on forums and posts about Bobo, only a sliver of them carried any weight of truth. One missed sliver just so happened to be His true name.
My contact, a shady German who'd apparently never heard of a hairbrush, leaned forward. "That is not the name of a god. That... that is a clown."
"I would not disgrace the High and Mighty Bobo, Creator of Worlds, by comparing him to any mortal," I warned. The waitress finally arrived, and I sipped from the cup. "I hear His voice, but even I am nothing in the presence of Bobo."
The German shook his head, shocked by disbelief. I couldn't blame him. There was once a time I laughed at the thought of such a name, of such a supposed Higher Being. But I'd seen the error of my ways, and if he'd let me, I would open the German's eyes too.
"I've never heard such utter bullshit." The German rose, brushing bread crumbs off his rain-drenched coat. He fished out a few dollars and threw them on the table. "Tell Bobo He can keep the change."
The German headed toward the door, and I did not stop him. Bobo did not force me to listen to His words. He simply spoke them, showed me His power, and I watched in awe at the work.
Nearby I heard a woman sigh, so I turned in my seat. A couple tables away, an older lady with grey in her hair fiddled around with her phone. I asked her, "Is there something wrong, ma'am?"
She managed a smile as she looked up from what she'd muttered was 'an infernal contraption.' "Oh, it's nothing, dear. I am simply trying to connect to the WiFi. I have no service here, and I'm expecting pictures of my grandson. You see, my daughter just--"
A chime stole her attention away from me and to her phone. A smile formed on her face, and she glanced back my way. "Oh! It's working now. I'm sorry, I would talk at any other--"
"Say no more," I assured her, raising my hand. "It is quite all right. Your daughter and grandchild are far more important than any stranger." I finished my coffee and stood out of my chair. "Peace be with you, good woman."
*And may Bobo watch over you, and all your electronic needs.*
| 2016-01-26T20:46:04 | 2016-01-26T20:37:42 | 108 | 78 |
[WP] You've been a survivor in a zombie apocalypse for years and just got bitten and turned. Now you realized that being a zombie is actually a massive improvement and you're trying to find out how to tell your friends without then killing you
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His last bullet slid smoothly into the chamber as though Melvin hadn't hidden the gun under the sagging floorboards for two years.
He breathed out as he let himself slide down the wall of the failing shack. He repositioned himself realizing he'd have to use his left hand to do the deed. The pain emanating from the mangled mess of his right had faded enough he had almost forgotten where the shambler had nipped him. If his thoughts were that unclear, the change was close.
Should he do a countdown from ten? Maybe that would make it worse. It would be easier if he had someone to do it for him but by the time he'd make it back to the fort, it would be too late. He'd do anything to avoid them seeing him like this, let alone putting them in danger.
Just do it, one smooth motion, he decided. He was just about to raise the gun when he felt it, not just an absence of pain but a wash of pleasure through him, stark and gold.
Back when he had broken his leg in high school, back when there was such a thing, the hospital gave him the 'good drugs.' That feeling reminded him of this but this was so much more. Indescribable warmness weaved under his skin like a long troublesome itch finally scratched. He moaned involuntarily as he dropped the gun.
He pulled himself up, having no trouble putting weight on his bad hand. The fresh bite was clotted black now with long strings of branching black and brown up his arm. He had trouble summoning the revulsion to care.
He looked in the dirt-smeared mirror and a ghoul looked back, slack-jawed. He laughed and fresh waves of intense sensation worked through him with each spasm. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.
He had struggled, starved, and suffered for years, all to avoid this? The unbridled ecstasy made it hard to walk to the doorway. After several attempts, he managed to paw the door open. He had to tell them. They were holding out for no reason. This was the way.
It took him twenty minutes to shuffle back to the fort and each second was heaven. The paradise of the reclaimed nature sang to his soul all the way.
He held up his arms as he approached the wall of buses, knowing Sharon would have him in her sights. "It's okay. It's me. It's good."
Speaking was almost impossible. He just managed to squeak out the words through his moans of joy. He looked up. There was no way the sound carried all the way to the sniper nest up there.
Melvin dodged right just as the shot rang out, clipping his shoulder. It felt like running a knife through water. Black clots formed over the hole as he dragged himself behind one of the cars. She didn't understand. He had to get closer.
He had warned them last summer a zombie could crawl under the abandoned vehicles and make it through the kill zone with complete cover. Turns out it was true, at least for him. Shots rang out above him but he slowly made his way to the base of the tower without taking another shot.
He summoned all the will he had and forced himself to climb the ladder quickly through the pleasure. He had to do it, for her. He jerked with a burst of inhuman speed. He heard Sharon scream above him as she tried to close the hatch. He shot up his ruined hand just in time to block her.
He forced himself through the half-closed hatch and pounced on her. "Lissst," he tried to say, but his tongue was now the size of his entire mouth. She kicked as he tried again. "Teeeurr."
It was no use. He considered biting her right then but still wanted it to be her decision. He had to show her. He let her kick him off and he began to rub the stump of his wrist against the wall. He wasn't sure when he lost the hand.
He heard the rifle reloading as he finished. As he turned back to gesture at the woman he had worked beside since the end of the world began, her bullet obliterated what was left of his brain in a final rush of singular pleasure.
She stood, barrel smoking and only now recognizing the zombie that almost got her. The bastard had been right about the cars after all. She fired two more bullets into the skull to be sure before looking at the bloody mess the zombie that had once been Melvin left on the wall, chuckling to herself. It almost looked like the word HEAVEN.
/r/surinical
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His left bent at an odd angle, dragging behind him as he shuffled. He growled lowly, eyes burrowing into the survivors. His hands protruded from the bars, bashing his body against the metal.
The men and women formed a funeral pyre. Adorned in black, they stood in a circle holding hands, swapping stories of their fallen comrade.
His wife and children set roses before the bars, the children shying back from their scrambling father.
Tears were shed. Glasses were poured and a toast was held, remembering the good times with Fred. Fred growled, snarled, snapped his teeth, staring blankly at his friends and family.
Finally, the time came. Deangelo hefted and pumped his shotgun. Deangelo turned to the group, making eye contact with each, his eyes shone with tears. Fred's wife nodded at him, Deangelo turned to Fred and took aim.
Fred shook violently, struggling to scream. He violently swung his arms, failing to signal anything. He gazed at Sophia, still finishing her nod, pleading with her to feel his thoughts
Sophia held his glare, forcing herself to meet his intensity. Fred bashed his head against the bars. Deangelo took a breath and exhaled slowly.
A red mist speckled the scene.
| 2021-05-26T23:00:22 | 2021-05-26T21:07:33 | 78 | 15 |
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
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*Look. This is your first time, is it?*
**Silence, Mortal.**
*No, I'm serious. Being a disembodied soul really seems to broaden the perspective. I can see you struggling with my body. Exhale, by the way. You need to do that so you can inhale again. That's right, just... blow. Now inhale... And exhale... Good. Is this, in fact, your first time?*
I had to admit that it was, in fact, the first time I've taken possession of a human body. It's been generations since anyone truly willing has been able to piece together the information carefully left in tomes and scribbles. It has been ages since anyone went through the trouble of carefully piecing together the arcane data, sifting out the lies from the truth along the way. It's been decades, scores of decades since anyone has even attempted, let alone completed successfully the summoning ritual that promises to 'set one free from one's mortal woes'.
I remembered, Father had been very proud of that one.
*Yeah, keep inhaling. And exhaling. You need oxygen now, it seems. and- look, I don't know how much of my body you are in control of, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be sweating that much. Drop the temperature before you boil up, could you?*
It seemed I had much to learn.
**You will teach me.** I informed the disembodied soul, already fading towards whatever came after for it. I would keep it, as a pet, while it gave me the information I needed to function in this flesh-sack of a body.
I felt angry. I felt betrayed. It was never said to be this difficult. This body had needs of it's own, and demands of it's own, and large parts of it seemed to be doing the thinking for me without any instruction on my part.
*Yeah. No can do, I'm afraid. I'd say I'm already beginning to get light headed, but that would be incorrect, wouldn't it? Call it... Giddy. Huh. So this is what giddiness feels like.*
I reached out to crush the little lampling of a soul in rage, and then recognized my rage for what it was - futile. I would only hasten the soul's departure from this realm, and it would do me no good.
I stared at my ~~talons~~ hands and felt my shoulders sag, breath thrusting from my chest as the body sank down into a sitting position.
I felt my anger fade, fade into a slow-aching simmer in the background of an overwhelming sense of anxiety and futility. These, at least, were sensations I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with - how many times had I not been beaten into the dirt by something bigger, something older than me?
The sensations were - Oddly familiar. Oddly comforting. They gave me a point of reference, I supposed, and let my body roll sideways into the mattress the spellcaster had slept on while they prepared the hours-long rite they had used to call out to me.
Oh, yeah. Light-headed. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
The tightness of it wrapped around my chest and thrust a fist up into my throat from within. Was it going to be like this for the decades to come? A body that didn't obey it's master, a body that slipped away from my careful control even as I tried to balance it's many, many regulatory systems to it's satisfaction?
I would've been better off staying in hell.
Sadness.
Sadness was a new sensation, and a sensation I lost myself to for a good few minutes, staring blankly at the wall until my burning eyes reminded me that I needed to blink, every so often, or just... be more uncomfortable.
And all the while, that overwhelming, cloying sadness, sense of futility, fatigue, like a physical weight bearing down on every square inch of me overcoming even my want to move trickled through my being, whispering my failure at me with a voice only I could hear. This wasn't how it was supposed to be!
But... It was how it was. Any effort to altering my situation would only cost me - cost me time, and energy, and effort, and I didn't feel it in me to even work up the motivation to begin expending any effort, whatsoever.
*Yeah. That's depression for you. Well. On the surface. It gets so much more - all-encompassing. Deeper in, I mean.* spoke the fading soul.
Was that a hint of sympathy I heard?
No. It was making fun of me. Must have been.
*Oh, for your information? You're broke, with chronic back- and neurological issues, in the middle of a pandemic. And, of course, clinically depressed.*
Well. At least someone had gotten \*something\* right.
*And in three days, you run out of medication*, whispered the last motes of the soul as they swirled in on each other, and even it's non-existent light faded from my perception. *good luck.*
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The man just let me take over completely. The lust was upon me, the blood-rage roaring in my ears, claws extended in both dimensions, pulling, rending, scraping... Only then when it was too late did I realise something was wrong. My victims had never reacted like this before, in all the millennia.
'Good luck,' the man said. 'You'll need it.'
I was suddenly alone in his inner world. Usually by now the victim was cowering in uncontrollable fear and I could see every single thing about them, every shameful thought and word and deed. But here: nothing. I was possessing the man, as I had done countless times before, but it was like I was in a cave underground, or deep underwater or in a...
...prison. The sensation of fear was so unfamiliar to me, so long dormant, that at first I could not recognise it. At once I went to back out, to leave him, but it was too late. The doors opened only one way.
I howled, a sound of hate and rage that would have been enough to shred the sanity of every one of my previous victims, but here the noise just echoed and fell away back to terrible silence.
Then I was not alone. There was something else here with me. Something in the corners, coming closer. Half unseen in shadows even to me, the lord of the unseen.
'BE AWAY!' I cried. But it came closer, and closer, and I realised: It was not coming *from* the dark. It *was* the dark.
I howled again and rued the moment I had seen this man and his hideous secrets, and then the dark closed upon me.
\--
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| 2020-12-21T12:27:17 | 2020-12-21T12:05:54 | 245 | 138 |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun.
|
So, I was born with a Squirt... thing. And people laughed about it, because it was adorable, riduclous, and instead of the simple rubber stick that most people had, I had a freaking blunt... Thing. That sprayed water when you squeezed it. Definitely not the most glorious start.
Of course, like all Soul Weapons, be they Sword, Mace, Axe, or even the obscure Bow, it improved. By age 8, it had turned into something that fired small pellets with a soft 'Pop!', and people were shrugging it off. Crossbows had been done, and this looked like an even simpler crossbow. After all, what harm could a pellet do? Especially since I had to make the pellets myself, and small pebbles just made it stick. So it got left by the wayside for the most part.
By age 15, it was something new. Black iron, like my troubled self, with more complex filigree along the wooden bottom and across the fancy burning tip of iron that dipped into the strange pan. It even shone along the runic lines when I held it just so, resting against my shoulder as I looked down the three small pins; sighting pins, a rarity that only those with the most specialized Crossbows could hope to have. And at 15, I had them! Too bad it no longer fired with a pull of the back handle and a squeeze of the trigger; I put in pellets to fit the tube, but it didn't fire on its own. Interesting, but not impressive any longer.
At age 21, it finally became useful again. With a small channeling of Essence, the tube at the bottom filled with small brass pellets. A flick of the lever at the bottom and it loaded one of said pellets, perfectly fitted into the bore, and I could use it to produce fire and smoke. And a hole in whatever I was aiming at.
I was also declared an Outlaw; this was no weapon that had ever been seen before, and the people at the top had decided that I must either be some new lineage, or some devil-begotten person. More the latter after the smell of brimstone came from the smoke in the tube. So, I journeyed into the Untamed West, through the wild lands and the tribes that held little trust. My only companions were those I called friend, few though we were. Our only supplies were a wagon, a few tools to maintain our weapons at need, some old books, and a small sheaf of paper.
At 25, I founded a town and found a wife with a weapon similar to my own. Hers is smaller, easier to use and move around, and something that she was spirited away for having when her parents heard of what happened to me. It wasn't a perfect thing, or even quick, since I had become ambitious and she was shy, but eventually we found we fit better together than apart. Life was good, and soon we had children on the way, and I had an ambition as I saw what they were born with.
Now I am turning 30, and I've managed to replicate my weapon much as some have done for their own bows and crossbows. They aren't as impressive as mine now is. They need the help of an alchemist to make the powder and a smith to shape the lead and brass. They will never be as useful as my own, but they are still how I have been carving out a place in the West. I've unified the Tribes and Outlaws under my banner. Those with useless or imperfect weapons, and those who were seen as too different; those who had no choice but to stay away from the colonies of the kingdoms to the east out of fear of the iron and steel that seemed to despise their own weapons. Our seat of power is in a bay to the furthest west, at the edge of the continent. And I've gained a title as the people have unified and marked out territory under that banner of mine.
George Custer is my right-hand man and leader of my military as we move further eastward; he was wasted as a bugler, and with a weapon in his hands he is a brilliant tactician, if a bit hot blooded. John Rockefeller, a young man who joined us after his own weapon of a Wrench was seen as useless, and who now lays down tracks of steel with his strange multi-purpose tool for beasts of iron and smoke of his own design. And Chief Jumping Bull has been both a blessing and a slight curse as he's led victories against other tribes, which we then had to smooth over and incorporate.
It hasn't been smooth, and it hasn't been easy. But it has been progress. I've taught nearly a thousand smiths how to make the new weapons, these Guns, and another two thousand how to make their ammunition. We've already pushed the Spanish influence south of the lower pinensula and proven our new weapons against theirs. In another year, we should hold everything West of the Mes'sipi River. Another five, and we'll be at the edges of the Colonies along the Appalachian Mountains. And by 1860, I plan on fighting the Colonial Federation and kicking out the Old Kingom influence from this land.
And who am I, to do all this?
I am Emperor Oliver Winchester of the United Territories of America.
|
Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets.
| 2020-10-22T10:33:11 | 2020-10-22T08:46:25 | 147 | 73 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
|
“GO GREEN!!” My neighbor screeched at the field.
I leaned to my friend Raya, “Is this entirely necessary? We could be doing something more fun. Like literally anything. Anything is more fun than this.” I looked at the field disdainfully.
“Seriously Maize? This is like the one time your power is totally on point!” My glare hardened at her as I shifted back to normal. “Aw, come on Mai, we’re in the last quarter!”
Whispers fluttered all around me,
“Dude, did she just —“
“Holy shit did you see —“
“Dad that lady was GREEN —“.
I sighed and shifted my color back to the team’s forest green, “Yay football.” I muttered sarcastically, ignoring the next wave of whispers and stares that followed my change.
I’d long since gotten over my misfortune of power. Figures that an electromagnetic surge would hit the one time I was playing a kids game, granting me and several other thousand people the “gifts” of our game characters.
Do you know how wicked some of these people’s power’s were? Most of them were changing the weather to avoid natural disasters, telekinetically rescuing people from fires, leaping tall buildings in a single bound. . .you know, superhero shit.
Now in all fairness, I was hiding a secret. I hadn’t just been playing a kid’s game that auspicious Friday, I’d been modding and redeveloping it. Including my player.
In fact when the surge hit, I’d been typing code in specifically to mod my player. You’d think that’d left me with a glitch or two, but nope, it left me with an unfinished code and a blinking cursor.
When faced with the actual reality of becoming all-powerful, one tends to freeze up a little. Sure, I could code the crap out of myself and run this world from here until probably the end of time.....but was it ethical? Moral? And the question that bothered me most, what then?
I’d had a couple of months to have an existential crisis and hadn’t been able to get past what happens next. The other players had showed me what a little power could do to a person. On the news you heard the amazing stories of the “PC Heroes” and how our world needed something extraordinary to survive. The chat rooms told a different story.
Forums had popped up all over of PCs struggling with controlling their abilities, getting addicted, depressed, and some suicidal. After reading a post from a 15-year old my fantasies fell cold in their tracks, “I feel numb, like humming electric wire I have one purpose and it is my power. When I use it I lose myself and when I don’t I think of nothing else. I’ve lost my love, my pain, my anger. I’ve lost. I’m lost.” That was the last post she made. Two months ago.
But was it selfish to not do it? Was it worth losing myself if I could save the lives of others? The thought had me frozen in indecision for months.
“Mai,” my friend shook me, “Game’s over, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” She gestured towards the line shuffling towards the exit.
Everything started happening in slow motion as the ground began shaking, and a crack in the stadium opened up below Raya.
Screams rang out from every direction, but Raya’s sounded right in my ear as I reached out to grab her. “Raya!” I cried out, grasping her forearm in mine as she dropped into the hole.
“Don’t let go, don’t let go, Mai, please, I love you, don’t let go” Raya sobbed over and over, fingers digging into my arm. The ground still shook beneath me, crack deepening, I reached another hand down holding her tightly.
Tears streamed from my eyes as I struggled to hold her, I had to pull her up. “Help! Help! We need help!” I yelled looking around for anyone. There were others helping pull up victims who had fallen also, people still running for the exits screaming, chaos.
“I’ve got you! Hold on!” A man ran over to my left and laid a hand on my shoulder has he reached down to grab Raya. “Pull!” He yelled. I strained my burning muscles as far as they could go, we grunted as we pulled her backward, sliding out of the crack and falling back into the stadium seats.
“We’ve got to go,” I shouted grabbing Raya, still heaving on the ground.
The man nodded and stumbled with us through the crowd to the exit. The shaking had ceased but we still moved quickly to the main level, getting as far as possible from the near death Raya had nearly faced an the real death for many others.
As we reached the parking lot and the leave that awaiting I pulled away from Raya, already nearly jogging back towards the stadium. “Go home,” I said to her, “There’s something I need to do.”
I had some coding to do.
|
So... I'm a girl..
Shocker I know alright? I mean allot of people are what I am. You just wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at me. I mean I still got some female parts,not that those were ever big and noticeable to begin with but at least they didn't disappear like most of my hair did. I got reddish eyes now too which is cool tough sometimes they turn to boring brown, I don't know what triggers it.
Haven't had my period since this all started either. Mayby that was something the creators left out? I should have played another game.
"No, that is where you're wrong!"
I should have denied this opportunity.
But I guess silly me didn't think of all the things that could go wrong. Silly me didn't realise the protagonist in the last game I played was THIS annoying. I think I just thought it was just another spam notification, and I guess it kinda was. 'you have been given the chance of a lifetime! Join L.I.F.E' I didn't even get the chance to choose the game I wanted, I just had to sign in with my steam account and I would receive something in the next 2 to 5 days. The hangman gambit that I had to mentally do to guess what it was should have been a warning.
I didn't receive anything yet.
Mayby it was just all a weird joke or mayby I am just having a very realistic dream or something. I just feel like I'm being watched all the time.
The fact that my next door neighbor is growing a mustache all of the sudden and randomly yells this joyful laughter doesn't help either.
Damn I need to sleep
Or mayby I just have to wake up
I don't know anymore...
| 2020-01-30T11:35:06 | 2019-08-11T22:54:51 | 1,281 | 18 |
[WP] After getting to the end of your quest, the treasure room merely contained a sign reading "The treasure was the friends you made along the way." Looking around, you notice for the first time that your "friends" are just crudely cobbled-together golems made out of valuable items.
|
I wanted to punch the rocks off the walls of the little room in my fit of anger. Muttering expletives under my breath, I read the crinkly old note again:
"**The treasure was the friends you made along the way.**"
A joke, that's what this was. A sick joke. I was a fool to believe in the myth of the hunt. An idiot that had bought into a conspiracy theory that had long been dead. Occupied by the sorrow of my wasted efforts in the moment, I thought back to the TV segment I had watched two decades ago that led me to this moment,
"Late eccentric billionaire Balthazar Maharel has instituted the hunt, an open invitation to participants around the world to form teams to solve a mystery and uncover an exciting prize. We are learning that Maharel had planned to use his inheritance to fund the foundation that will be administering the hunt as an ongoing competition. Even those close to the late Maharel are puzzled by his decision to use his inheritance in this manner...."
Twenty years had passed. Thousands of teams had tried and failed. The very foundation that was in charge of administering the hunt had run out of money trying to hold onto its sprawling venue. The private island was now being shopped around to major developers. And in spite of all the evidence, I had latched onto what had turned out to be a senile billionaire's last sick joke on the world.
I sat down out of exhaustion. This last bout on the island of the hunt had lasted three months. I had been desperate to finally achieve a payoff and the islands' impending sale would mean the closure of the hunt as well so I had squeezed a years' worth of search trips into a quarter of the time. I threw away the paper and began to stare blankly at the wall ahead. That's when something hit me. There was a crevice in the corner on the right of the room. In my rage over the meme-bearing note that greeted me when I first entered the room, I hadn't noticed this.
"It can't be something in there, can it?" I thought aloud and began approaching the crevice. There was just enough room for a body to push through and I found myself face to face with a sight that made my heart jump with excitement. In front me I saw statues of crude craftsmanship. They were constructed haphazardly with what, even my inexperienced eyes could tell, were jewels and metals of incredible value. I had seen versions of these statues before on my journey to this room. I think I had even read their names.
I knew they were Golems. That was made clear to me when I encountered the first one. It had appeared at the entrance of a passage way that I had starved to find. There had been a note accompanying it, "The Golem of greed, Yossele, asks you, do you wish to retire with these spoils or seek further answers from the hunt?" In its mouth, the Golem had held a gold bar. The temptation had been strong then to take the bar and run but I had continued and pushed the gold bar into the mouth. The Golem had then vanished into a cavity and the passage had opened to welcome me.
Now I was getting it. I had been tested like all those who came before me. Many must have advanced through the hunt only to be taken out by a Golem's offering, thinking it to be the prize. I walked ahead with a big smile on my face only to encounter yet another note:
"Riches for now, or the company of five powerful friends forever?"
Behind the note was another gold bar. I was being given a choice; pull or press onward. I don't remember how long I stood there thinking about it. Eventually my curiosity outweighed everything. I even talked myself into believing that the bedazzled Golems wouldn't really disappear. If they dropped underground via some contraption I would return with some equipment to dig them out. But even then, a part of me felt that after I made my choice there would be no going back.
Finally, I took a deep breath and pressed the gold bar down. I thought the Golems would disappear. But I was wrong. No, they became very real.
"My name is Yossele" said the first Golem, the leathery folds of skin on its face morphing into a sly smile. "But you already knew that. Your face speaks of the fear you feel right now. This will fade like it did for Balthazar. You will come to love us as we serve you. We are your slaves, as you are ours'."
|
I had come all this way for a sign? "Help me find some secret hatch, Harry" I said as I started to feel the walls....but as I looked back, I realized for the first time that all my friends are made of junk I found on the road. Had I been this delusional to think they were people? How did I manage to carry five giant hodge podge statues across Mexico? I had pulled the biggest Don Quixote in history, even bigger than he himself. One question reigned over all though: how did the sign know? I read it again and again, " The treasure was the friends you made along the way". Legend had told me that I would gain riches only I could conceive of, had the magic or curse put those things on the road from the images I had in my mind? As I looked over my "friends" again, I quickly noticed how valuable these items were. I guess watching the antique roadshow paid off. Months later as I sat in my riches from that and other spoils, I found an article on the newspaper talking of five friends disappearing a while back, "poor chaps, people shouldn't go wandering the woods like that" I thought. And went on with my conveniently luxurious day.
| 2019-10-30T20:26:22 | 2019-10-30T19:14:08 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] When everyone turns 18, they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon...
|
Maya expected an otter, or maybe a cat. Lots of people got those on their 18th birthday. She secretly hoped for something more obscure, like Will Cougan. Will lived down the road from her and around the blue fence, and when they were younger he had teased her quite a lot while they were waiting for the school bus. Last year, he waited patiently at the local Department of Familiars for over three hours before he was led to the Presenting room. He emerged with his new lifetime companion, a Polar Bear. The whole department *applauded*, because they had gone extinct over twenty years ago.
Maya sat in the waiting room, looking at pamphlets describing common familiars ("Cats don't necessarily mean *laziness*, but also imply *curiosity!* Look at the benefits of your Familiar, and learn from what it can teach you about yourself!"). She tapped her foot a few times, looked at her watch, and wondered how long it was going to take.
There were two kids ahead of her. One girl left cradling a puppy and Maya nearly gagged (loyalty and obedience was lame). The boy after Obedient Girl went in and came out with nothing. Well, it *looked* like nothing. As he passed her she caught a glimpse of a wasp over his shoulder. Maya froze, knowing not to look him in the eye. He stopped and turned his head to face her. Her heart pounded. Her brain told her to cower. She instead stood and looked him straight in the eyes.
"You know what wasps mean." he said, interested.
"Viciousness. Sociopathy. Murder." Maya said.
"They don't teach wasp symbolism in school. How can you know for sure?" he said, leaning in.
"My mom was a wasp." Maya said.
"Oh." he said. "Cool. Hit me up sometime, we should hang out."
Maya thought the way he said that was a little too... *sideways* for her taste. Sure, familiars weren't a definite precursor to a person's path in life, but he seemed to know with certainty that he deserved the wasp. He knew he was going to stir up some terrible shit in the future, and *he didn't care*.
He walked away, and the buzzing went with it. Several officers met him at the front door and escorted him to another room. Maya sat down again, more calm, but also more nervous. She hadn't thought about her mom in a long time. What if there was more of her mom in her than she thought? What if *she* got a wasp, too?
No, no she wouldn't. She wouldn't allow it. She didn't care what Familiar she got at this point, she vowed right there in that office to never let herself become like her mother.
"Maya Faraday?" a voice called out from the intercom. "Room three is ready for you. I repeat-"
Maya's heart suddenly jumped as she stood up again. The time was now.
An attendant in yellow gloves greeted her, and opened the door to room three. Inside was a blank grey room with no furniture or windows. She felt the soft glow around her more than she saw it. It was warm and enveloping, and she wondered if it was like this for everyone. Was it warm or cold for the wasps of the world? What about for the cats and dogs and polar bears?
The light in the room gradually brightened, but she was not blinded. Everything turned white. Maya thought about her mother and father. She thought about the wasps of the world, and flashed back to her father teaching her about familiars when she was ten.
*They're more you than you.* he told her as she petted his falcon. *They are more than our companions, they are our hearts. They are more than representations. They are our ideals, hopes, dreams, and weaknesses all wrapped up into a single package we all know deep down as absolute truth. The easy thing to forget is, everyone else knows that truth, too. The Familiars keep us honest. They keep us wise. They keep us strong.*
Maya smiled in wonder when her familiar appeared out of the white haze.
Ten minutes later, she emerged with her familiar pearched peacefully on her shoulder. The attendant in yellow gloves backed up, shocked, and nearly fell backwards over his desk. In all his years, he'd never seen such a thing. Two officers looked to each other, unsure of what it meant. The eyes of the three other kids waiting in line became wide with wonder, surprise, and awe.
Sitting proudly on her shoulder was a baby dragon. It was silver with gold tufts, and had huge claws that were more gentle than an infant's grip. It stretched its wings and nuzzled its long snout against Maya's short hair.
A desk clerk stepped up to her. He passed her a clipboard.
"J-just sign here, miss." he said.
"So... what do dragons mean?" she asked.
The clerk looked down, then darted his eyes back up to her shoulder a couple of times.
"Nothing." the clerk said. "I mean, there has never been a dragon Familiar in the history of the world. Not one. Dragons don't exist."
Maya's dragon screeched at him, almost in laughter.
"There's a first time for everything." Maya said.
She walked off and showed off her familiar to anyone who wanted to see it. She let strangers pet it as she walked past the wasp boy. He grinned at her with a mean, eerie smile. He was already in handcuffs.
"We both got fliers. We're meant to be *free*." he said quietly.
She never answered him, because in a way he was probably right.
The clerk returned to his desk after she left the building and picked up the phone.
"Sir? I have some news." he said. "We have a Mythic."
|
Today is my 18th birthday, it is a very special occasion as we have reached maturity in the eye's of Galfena and we are to receive a gift from her that will help tell the world our personality, and decide our status in the village.
It's regarded as a big event in a persons life because it helps decide who we are. Some might get dogs, cats, or mice as their gift. Some have gotten more exotic animals such as a lions, bears, wolves, and once a Platypus was given to Ruppert. The unlucky bastard, he got mocked for weeks because of it, but he's settled himself in with his role as the village fisherman so he's doing quite right.
Me? I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at right now... The ritual was performed and done correctly. I practiced the chant over and over again, but what stands before me... I'm not quite sure what it is, it looks like the size of a dog, but it has scales and... Are those wings?
Wh-what!?
Okay, this is... this is weird... I'll just talk with the village Elder about this... Surely he will know something... Or not...
It seems like this is a first for the Elder as well, no one before me has ever received such a gift from Galfena before. There is no record of such a beast.
It's rather strange though, most beasts with scales are cold to the such, but this one... This one feels warm as if I was cradling a child in my arms...
It may as well be, it's a rather small beast but there have been some deceptive creatures in the past that grew much larger than they were summoned as, so I may want to keep an eye on it. The one thing we do know is it eats meat, it attempted to kill a few chickens we have in pens with it's whip like tail and then snapping at them with it's small mouth.
It was kinda funny if I must admit, but yeah the Elder says he does not know what job would be suited for me so he iis giving me a choice of job for the village. I was thinking of maybe being a solider, going out and fighting in heroic battles, kill enemies and live a fantasy life style.
But, I'm thinking I might become a trader and travel to other villages to sell goods, and gain a bit of gold to invest into other things that might be able to bring in some profit for our village.
Not sure yet, still not sure what this thing is either. But it's interesting to say the least. I think I'll name it Ulla.
| 2014-09-28T11:15:34 | 2014-09-28T08:18:33 | 87 | 15 |
[WP] You are Patient Zero of a virus that replaces the victim's mind with a psychic link to your own. A viral hivemind with you at the center.
|
"That dress looks hideous," whispered a woman.
"She's out drinking again, I just know it!" yelled a man.
"I think my favorite color is blue, but maybe it's pink today," mused a young girl.
I felt myself chuckling as I sat, cross-legged, on the bed in my cell. I always enjoyed hearing the last independent thoughts of my children before they became mine.
Regrettably, the experience had become less frequent. The city had been quarantined three days ago, and so had I. I was locked in some place made of concrete and discomfort, surrounded by people in hazmat suits. I'm sure they ate antivirals like tic tacs.
One week ago, it was a normal morning. I woke up snuggled in my warm bed, with just a sliver of sunlight peeking around my curtains. As I stretched and yawned, a deep voice blasted through the air. "Damn, just *look* at that ASS!"
I sat up faster than I ever have in my life. I fell out of bed and whipped my head around, but my room was empty.
For about two seconds, I thought I had just had a weird dream. Maybe it had carried over for a moment to reality, maybe it was just a glitch in my brain. But by second three, I was in a high school classroom, staring squarely at the behind of a decidedly illegal teenage girl. Somehow, I was *also* looking at the sheets on my bed, seeing them at the same time. I felt my chest clench as I started to panic, but then I did what any sensible person would do. I shoved my palms into my face and squeezed my eyes shut tight. The only problem was, now all I could see was the classroom.
“I'm hallucinating,” I muttered. “That's all this is. A hallucination.”
I had no idea.
I didn't even think to call out of work. An hour later I was still on my bedroom floor with my palms in my face. My thoughts roved from the “Oh god, oh god,” of me to the “Fuck Mondays” of Darius, the new intruder in my head. I'm not sure how or when, but at some point, I managed to feel my way across my room to my cell. I dialed 911.
Being admitted to a psych ward is easy, it's the getting out that's hard. If I had to say what my mistake was, it would be that I didn't figure out what was happening sooner. But how should I have known? Stuff like this doesn't just happen to people, least of all me.
I don't know what meds they gave me or what exactly they did, I just remember fighting and screaming that there was something wrong with my head. No matter, whatever it was didn't stop me from seeing through my new eyes. They took Darius to the hospital too, although he went in through the emergency room. I had seen his classmates grow worried and his teacher call an ambulance when he stopped being responsive, when he started being me, and I started being him.
I was tired of watching, tired of all this sudden craziness that had hit my life a few hours before. That was when I had an idea...maybe if I could see with his eyes, I could make him close them too? I felt, I reached out...and somehow, he closed his eyes. It was that simple.
I kept his eyes closed and opened mine. Then I closed my eyes and opened his. I started to laugh. It must have sounded scary because the nurses didn't take long to give me more meds. I remember having a brief, sincere wish to play Call of Duty and masturbate, and then I don't remember much for a while.
|
It started as it usually does, with a sniffle and a cough. We both knew that meant everyone in the family would get sick, it always seemed that if one of us caught something all of us did.
It ended with me seeing myself from three new perspectives. I screamed. They screamed. I wept. They wept. But try as i might, i couldn't find my wife or my two children in the eyes that stared blankly at me.
| 2017-11-05T15:14:13 | 2017-11-05T15:05:34 | 80 | 28 |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you.
|
**T**he rain pelted against the window like a soft lullaby, causing the light from the city to distort as it entered the hospital room window. Despite the late hour, she stared out the window contentedly, listening to the muted sounds of traffic and the rain. She had always enjoyed listening to the sounds of life, observing something greater than herself in constant motion. The chaos brought her a sense of tranquility. She liked to view human history as an immense story spanning generations. Each person contributed their own chapter, woven and interconnected to everyone else’s. Separate, they were special, but in the entire book, they transcended their own story to become something else entirely. She couldn’t put a name to it. It simply was. While she was finishing her chapter, new chapters would begin. Such was life.
A cool breeze swept into the room and she sighed. She propped herself up in her bed and smiled into the darkest corner of the hospital room.
“I know you’re there,” she said with some amusement. “You can come out.”
There was silence for a moment, but she raised her eyebrow, coaxing her visitor to react.
“Why do they always know?” a voice asked. Though it wasn’t a voice. It was many voices, speaking as one. They sounded weary, like they had walked the Earth for more lifetimes than a soul could bear to withstand, but the woman in the bed knew this visitor was quite unique.
“You just feel it,” she said. “Now come out. Sulking in the darkness is no way to have a conversation.”
The darkness shifted, and the shadows in the room swirled until a hooded figure stood stooped in the corner. The woman patted her bedside, and Death began walking over to her, but stopped halfway. He shook his head.
The woman frowned. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” the voices mumbled. Instead of being harmonious, the voices trailed into whispers. They whispers almost sounded terrified of coming closer to her, warning Death to stay far back.
“Don’t lie,” she said. “I can see you’re bothered. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Death said again. “You did everything right.”
Her wrinkles furrowed in slight confusion. “Right? I’ve made mistakes. Too many to count.”
Death shook his head. “No…you’re special. You’re one of them.”
“One of who?”
“The ones that are ready to move on,” he said. “and none of them have been like you. They weren’t aged.”
“Everyone dies. I’m just like anyone else.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You understand. You *know*. You see the world, God, everything for the way they are. You aren’t afraid of me. You’ve attained a sense of peace, of knowledge… that I’ll never know. You are beyond this now. I envy you. Your soul is…incomprehensible to me.”
She mulled over his words. “Well you don’t have to shrink away into a corner. How many people have been ready?”
“Thirty-three. Everyone else stays. I help them find new lives to live, but now you get to move on.”
“Where?” she asked, but she had a feeling she knew what his answer would be.
“I…don’t know,” the voices echoed again.
She smiled at Death. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to him. The IVs disappeared and her age melted away.
“Then let’s go find out together, shall we?” she asked amiably, holding out her hand to him. Tentatively, Death reached out and she gently grasped his hand, flooding him with her warmth. Together, they left behind the hospital room, the rain, and the murmur of the city, and ventured into the unknown.
|
"Er, Hi.. I'm, um, 'Death.' You... probably think that's a corny name..."
"Are you *the* death? Come to collect my soul?"
"Yes, I... I guess you could say that. Heh..."
"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem afraid of me."
"WELL TOTELLYOUTHETRUTH... um... maybe I am, a little..."
"Buy why? I've lived a quiet life."
"I just don't know how to talk to girls..."
THE END JUST PRETEND SHE'S YOUR SISTER
| 2015-04-02T15:47:43 | 2015-04-02T15:38:14 | 29 | 10 |
[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.
|
"With all due respect Ambassador, we are underestimating the Humans".
There. I said it. A career ending sentence. A diplomatic functionary of the Fourth Resource is only permitted into meetings merely to attend to more senior entities. That's all. To speak in anything other than a hushed whisper is unthinkable. To address the Ambassador directly is a fast track to dismissal, ignominy, shame.
The Ambassador's optical fronds focused upon me. They indicated equanimity, calm. It was receptive. Faznark. I couldn't back down now.
"Every species develops nuclear fission weaponry as an adjunct to energy research. This is not the case with Humans. They developed nuclear weapons precisely because they wanted to use them." Shock. Dismay. "They were engaged in a Total War at the time. They developed fission weapons, tested them, and immediately then began bombing cities - those are their Hive equivalents - and only ceased upon surrender of the opposing force."
I had the attention of the whole assembly now. Optical fronds and aural elevators focused upon me. Gulp. I displayed images of mushroom clouds and irradiated human victims. This caused consternation. Many entities who had previously indicated skepticism now indicated alarm, surprise, disgust.
"After detonation of the fission weapons upon cities, their understanding of the consequences of usage expanded in a logarithmic manner. Incredibly, this did not deter them. They not only expanded their arsenals, they next created fusion weapons." Disarray. Outrage. Disbelief. The Ambassador quickly swiveled his optical fronds, commanding silence. "I displayed images of inter-continental ballistic missiles. "When they developed rocketry, it wasn't to explore beyond their planet as it always is with other species. The rockets were designed primarily to carry fusion warheads. The cities of other factions were targeted, even though they were not in a state of war." This caused much disbelief. The Ambassador queried me.
"How is it that this is unknown, if it is indeed true?" Many optical fronds and aural elevators now indicated agreement, and support for the Ambassador's query. High quality response imperative.
"This happened over two Baxors ago. Standard history review for an Applicating Species is one Baxor." Once more, the Ambassador indicated calm, readiness to receive further information. "Almost every discovery Humans made was preceded by the military counterpart. Example One: personal navigation equipment was preceded by sophisticated targeting systems for cross-continental delivery of fusion weapons. Example Two: turbinial atmospheric aircraft propulsion was developed for combat aircraft, and only much later used for civilian transport. Example Three: semiconductor-based programmable computational electronics was developed for forced de-cryption of enemy messages and for computation of ballistic tables used for artillery - a tube-based delivery system for high explosives." I caused images to be displayed alongside these revelations. Silence. Unease. "The longest period of peace known to humans preceded their realization of the probability of non-human sentient life within the radius of a light-Baxon from their home planet. In short, the human history which we reviewed was atypical of their species' average. The intensity which they bring to war is sobering. Their willingness to risk immolation or even termination, and to accept high rates of both in wartime is terrifying. Suggestion: dis-engage from Total War with humans, and commence comprehensive review of historical human war fighting capabilities. Submission for review: their reputation as perennial non-combatants and weaklings should be given primary re-consideration focus."
Worry. Anxiety. Unease.
The Ambassador paused, engaged in cogitation. His optical fronds shielded his receptors. His aural elevators were made flaccid.
The alarms broke the silence. The entire human fleet dropped out of hyper-space. It was huge. Over two hundred thousand component vessels of Flagellant Class or better. How had the humans expanded their tiny fleet so quickly? How had they approached unnoticed? Then something happened which sealed our doom. Another human fleet dropped out of hyper-space, this one even bigger than the first. Then another, and another. We were truly Faznarked now.
Great was our relief when the humans opened communication, and transmitted the terms of our surrender.
|
[Poem]
Click, clack, click.
All the machines roar,
Click, clack, click.
For this total war.
Click, clack, click.
Industry cannibalized,
Click, clack, click.
To create their demise.
Click, clack, click.
All of humanity knows,
Click, clack, click.
The others don’t though.
Click, clack, click.
Bombs manufactured,
Click, clack, click.
Enemy lives fractured.
Click, clack, click.
Society rebuilt to destroy,
Click, clack, click.
Not to be enjoyed.
Click, clack, click.
Soldiers armed en masse,
Click, clack, click.
Ready to kick the others in the ass.
Click, clack, click.
Everyone does their part.
Click, clack, click.
To blow these aliens apart.
| 2019-11-24T16:08:56 | 2019-11-24T10:43:55 | 98 | 66 |
[WP] You are an office worker in NYC in the year of 1999. You go for a cigarette break, but the elevator stops working and you get trapped in it for 2h. As the doors finally open, you walk out and see a brand new lobby, people holding thin digital cards and big screen TV's. It's the year 2018.
|
Aaron sat back against the elevator wall, letting the tobacco fill his lungs. He supposed he should have been nervous. Most people in this situation probably would have been, especially given that he didn’t have his watch on him. How long had he been trapped in here? Had to have been an hour at least.
He gave a soft exhale, smoke trickling from his nostrils. He was going to miss this feeling. Ever since the baby, his smoke breaks became one of his only sources of solitude. But like so many others, he decided he had to be a man and do the right thing. In a few months, when the ball dropped, he would drop the cigs, once and for all. That’s if they didn’t all die from the y2k glitch or whatever the fuck they were calling it.
But for now, he had a convenient excuse to just lean back and be alone. Just him and his pack of Newports. He closed his eyes and imagined the world passing him by, as he sat there alone, undisturbed, unperturbed by all the bullshit…
Suddenly, the elevator doors parted. He pulled his eyes open, feeling as he had just woke up from a dream he couldn’t recall.
“Sir,” the woman peered down at him critically. “You can’t smoke indoors.”
He scoffed as he got to his feet. “Yeah, but it’s not illegal, is it?”
She cocked a thin-arched eyebrow. “Actually, it is. Ever heard of the Smoke Free Air Act.”
“Can’t say I have. But figures.” He shook his head. “Screw Giuliani, I guess, huh?”
The woman looked at him as if he was an absolute moron then stepped onto the elevator.
“Careful,” he warned, as he left to the lobby. “That elevator is on the fritz. I’ve been stuck there for over an hour.”
She rolled her eyes. “I just rode this elevator ten minutes ago, sir. Take my advice and stay off the drugs.” The doors shut before he could respond.
Bitch, he muttered under his breath and made his way to the front doors. He felt odd… like something wasn’t quite right. His eyes scanned the lobby briefly. Was it just him, or were the walls painted differently?
In his distraction, he walked right into the path of a young looking man.
“Sorry,” Aaron said, a little flustered. “H-hey you wouldn’t happen to have the time, would you? Left my watch at home.”
“For sure.” Aaron noticed the guy wasn’t wearing a watch either. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like some type of phone or pager, but it was flat and didn’t have any buttons.
“I think it’s awesome you still wear a wristwatch, personally,” he said, but Aaron was too focused on what he was holding to register. His eyes widened as the kid’s fingers swiped the now brightened screen, which showed the digital time, 2:00 pm.
“Where did you get that?” Aaron asked amazed. “Is that some kind of new Blackberry?”
“Ha ha,” the man chuckled sardonically. “Yeah, it’s a little outdated. I’m gonna trade it in after I get my next paycheck.”
“That must have cost you a fortune though!”
He shrugged. “I’m a slave to Apple, man. Just a spoiled millennial, I guess.”
A what?, Aaron began to ask, when his eyes caught sight of a woman walking by. She was older, around his age. And her hand was a device that looked exactly like the one this man was holding.
His mouth felt dry.
“Sir.” A woman in a security outfit whom he had never seen before approached him. “Sir, do you work here?”
“Yeah,” he replied, feeling shaken. “Yeah, of course, I work here.”
“Okay, well I’m going to need to see your key card.”
“My key card?” Aaron began to get a feeling of deep forboding. Something was wrong. Very wrong. “I may have left it upstairs…look, I don’t really know what’s going on here, but I’m telling you, I do work here. Is Janice in today? Page her, she’ll vouch for me.”
The woman stared at him. “Janice? I’m not familiar with a Janice, sir.”
“Well, you must be new,” he said, growing frustrated.
“I’ve been working here since 2012, sir” she said tersely. “And I’ve never met you, or a Janice. Are you sure you’re in the right building?”
“Look, I know wh…wait. W-when did you say you started working here?”
She pursed her lips and reached for her radio.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”
|
It was an accident like any other and things like these always happened. Humbert waited patiently as he smoked his cigarette, and without needing to see, he blew out rings of smoke in the darkness, knowing that there was enough oxygen in the elevator to avoid suffocation.
​
Sure enough, the elevator opened after a few moments and he walked on without bothering to see the mechanics or the paramedics that were rushing in. He had lost like what? 10 minutes? 20? He could really use a cappuccino right now, but his break was almost over, might as well as congratulate Martha on her birthday. Marching forw-
​
A shriek. A cry. An echo that resounded on people for walls. Humbert jolted back and looked in horror, as the darkness in the elevator never really left, for it was all coal-black. But in the midst of the void, there was a white, like a skeleton springing from the earth in the middle of the night. Running closer, he noticed the skeleton had a ring. And looking at his own, it was not identical, it was gone. Looking around, he didn't know if he had descended to the lobby or to something far-more sinister.
​
That's when he noticed, people couldn't see him.
​
First writing prompt in a while, switched it a little, sorry >\_<
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Edit: replaced a few words
| 2018-11-25T06:35:36 | 2018-11-25T05:12:30 | 57 | 38 |
[WP] When you ask your daughter what she wants for Christmas, she asks for a unicorn. Your wife laughs it off, but you don't. Neither your wife or daughter know that you're the best monster trapper in the world, and your daughter is getting her unicorn no matter what.
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"What do you want for Christmas Cupcake?" I asked.
She twisted her foot, how cute. I knew the answer of course, I had paid attention. She was absolutely enamored with unicorns, she's been drawing them for months, and has read every book in the library on the subject. Her pre-k teacher was amazed that she was powering through The Last Unicorn, despite having to stop every few words to ask what it means.
"I want a-," she let it linger for a good ten seconds, she was good with drama and being unquestionably adorable. "UNICORN!"
My wife laughed at the cuteness of it while she recorded the scene with her cellphone. I was proud of myself for already having prepared. They weren't easy to hunt, and I had to hide the equipment in the garage where my wife couldn't find it.
"It'll be pretty, and tall, and white, and it'll smell like ginger, and roses, and lavender," my little Cupcake described her ideal Unicorn while dancing a waltz in the middle of the den.
Later that night my wife lay in bed looking at unicorn toys on her phone.
"What about this one?" She asked.
"Does it smell like lavender?" I asked.
"Probably not," she said, "but I can always spray some essential lavender oil on it."
"Don't worry honey," I said, "I know exactly where to get the perfect one." And I did, though she didn't know about that part of my life. I figure it's time I tell them what I do on the side. What my whole family has done for generations. But I'm not going to just tell them at the dinner table, no, that never goes well. I'll show them.
I stood in the garage with my backpack on, and my mythical creature hunting clothes. When I touched the amethyst button my thick long sleeve shirt would turn from dull brown to a beautiful brilliant rainbow. Unicorns love rainbows, and it'll want stare at me which will give me precious seconds to snare it with my glitter blintz. I rolled the smokey quartz spheres in my hand, heating them up and activating the teleport smoke inside. You can't walk into a unicorns territory, it'll get your scent and stay far away from you. They can even track you through the lichen on the trees. Trees and unicorns are best friends. Which is why I brought a small tree in the backpack, so they'll think I'm one of them.
I threw down the smokey quartz crystals, they shattered, and the smoke enveloped me. Crystal teleporting was always weird. The smell was like a windy beach, tremendous pressure, goose bumps, then boom - you're there. I looked around and the forest was as familiar as ever. I walked up to a tree, and licked it. It tasted sweet. That's good, they think I'm one of them so I can move freely. It does't take long to spot the trail. A line of verdant green seedlings sprouting up from the ground. Unicorn droppings magically encourage plants to grow rapidly. The trail led east.
After walking a few hours I spotted the unicorn through the trees. It was licking a tree, just as I had done earlier. Then it turned and rubbed its butt on the tree, letting the tree taste it. The unicorn rubbed its butt on the tree for far longer than necessary. It's eyes rolled around in a horsy ecstasy, and it's back legs shuddered. With a pompous prance it sauntered away. I would have to give this thing a polite little lobotomy before I took it home. Don't want it getting all prissy violent with the family.
The cocky little prancer pranced right where I wanted him. I got my glitter blintz out, then got it's attention.
"Hey asshole!" They hated it when you're impolite. It turned and cocked it's head at me, right then I pressed the amethyst button and my shirt exploded with color. It was so bright that I winced and turned my head. It shook it's head, and started to walk away, but the rainbow extended past my outstretched arms. I shone like the rainbow bridge. Thor would have thought I was the way to Asgard. It walked up to me, transfixed by the colors. I activated the glitter blintz.
A glitter cloud erupted from the tip of the tube. It surrounded the unicorn, then landed on it's muscular body, then hardened. The unicorn couldn't move anymore. I watched my uncle screw this up once, and got gored by a unicorn.
"A UNICORN A UNICORN A UNICORN!!!!" My little Cupcake yelled over and over. She unicorn, which she named Darryl for some ineffable reason, gnawed on grass with a dull look in its eyes. They were usually very intelligent animals, but thanks to my grandmothers lobotomy kit this one was as dumb as an inbreed goat.
"Sweetie," my wife said not able to take her eyes off it, "where did you get this. . . um-"
"Unicorn, it's an honest to goodness unicorn," I said. "Let me get you some wine and I'll tell you a story."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
I hate catching monsters. The work is grueling and dangerous, plus the job gets no respect, but it pays damn well and I'm good at it. So when my daughter stood there, begging me for another Unicorn, I thought, "No. Not again."
My wife began to giggle. "Now Britney, you already have two sweetheart. Are you sure you really need a third?"
"But it's Christmas, and you guys said I could choose any present I wanted!", Britney exclaimed as her face began to turn bright red. I was about to make up some bullshit excuse and tell her we couldn't afford another unicorn but then it dawned on me, the day, it's Cyber Monday.
My eyes lit up. I had seen an ad for those fuckers for 50% off the other day and boy do I have a great credit score. I mean, I'm the world's best monster catcher, but nothing compares to my credit score. It doesn't matter who you ask, FICO, Experian, Equifax, they will all tell you the same thing; my credit score is flawless.
Without a word, I reached my hand around to my back pocket and swiftly pulled out my wallet, holding it up for everyone to see. You could see the reflection of the overhead lights glistening off the cool black leather in Britney's wide eyes. I motioned her towards me; she knew the drill. She walked over, opened my wallet, and revealed a blue American Express card.
"Not that one princess. The Amazon one. You see, if I use the Amazon one, your dad gets 5% cash back on his purchase."
She nodded, grabbed the Amazon card and took out her IPhone XS Max and proceeded to open the Amazon app.
She looked up from her phone a moment later and asked, "Can I get same day shipping please?"
"Of course you can honey. Of course you can."
| 2018-12-07T17:57:45 | 2018-12-07T17:22:38 | 92 | 10 |
[WP] In a world where lying doesn't exist, you are the worst supervillain: Technically True Man.
|
The world knows one thing about “Technically True Man.”
They don’t know my face, my skin color, my eyes, my voice, my country, my goals nothing. Except the name I’ve been given. “Technically True Man.” The newscasters joked that at least they had narrowed down the suspects to 1.55 billion people.
They were looking at the wrong 1.55 billion.
I walked into the gala, red gown hugging my curves, trailing slightly on the ground. A couple of people glanced my way, but most paid no mind, I hated clothing like this, but to dress any other way would make me stick out. This glamorous thing was what I needed to blend in. I make my way through the tower made of wine glasses, the people attached to expensive jewelry. Bastards, the lot of them. Leeches. The world hung on the brink of nuclear annihilation. The Russians had stationed missiles in Cuba. Yet here they were, the most powerful people on the planet, drinking wine, and flashing smiles.
Still, I snagged a glass. It would help the vibe I was going for. It was my most powerful tool. Clothes, face, attitude, voice. Blatant lies that weren't said, but still they screamed. They played on perception and expectations. A powerful tool.
I walked up to the man himself – the most powerful man on the planet, or second, depending on who you asked. It didn’t matter, really. One could annihilate the earth two times over, the other only one-and-a-half times.
“Mr. Khrushchev,” I said when I got to him, making my voice deliberately gain an American accent. That instantly drew his attention.
“That is me,” he said, frowning at me. The frown that could destroy the world.
“I represent the American government,” I said. Technically the truth. Not in an official capacity of course, but I was dealing on the American side for now.
Khrushchev stiffened. “We will hear nothing. The least you could have done is have your Kennedy show up. We want your missiles out of Western Europe, and only then will we remove the missiles in Cuba.”
“You have your missiles in Cuba, Mr. Khrushchev," I said, "but what about your missiles in Moscow?" I flashed him a razor sharp smile.
Khrushchev paled. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Moscow. I know for a fact, as does any United States agent with high enough clearance, has no missiles in its control at the moment.” I’d phrased it with no room for error. What they called an absolute truth. No chance I could be tricking him. There were no missiles under Moscow’s control. “Go ahead, call your folks in Moscow. See if they fire. Moscow won't be firing missiles for a couple of days at least.”
Moscow, Idaho, that was.
“Th-that’s impossible,” he stammered.
“Is it?” I asked. No lie.
"Doesn't matter," Khrushchev said with a slice of his arm. "Our missiles in Cuba are still functional. The United States by attacking first would condemn itself to ours."
"Well it's been that way for the last decade, Mr. Khrushchev," I said, examining my fingernails. "But the United States would have a window now to absolutely obliterate the USSR, while the USSR would have a fraction of their arsenal to respond with." The word "would" was key here. Would implied theoretical scenario. Yes if the United States had in fact somehow managed to cut off control of missiles from Moscow - this *would* be the case.
"You would sacrifice millions to destroy us?" he said, his hand shaking a bit.
"To prevent a hundred million from dying to a full arsenal strike? Yes we would. These are the best odds we've had to survive this mess in years."
His hand gripped the glass so tightly that I was afraid it would snap. “What do you want?" he said through gritted teeth.
I smiled and sipped my drink. “Peace on Earth, Mr. Khrushchev. And of course, a certain amount of financial compensation. Wouldn’t want information like this to leak…”
***
(moderate edits: corrected a logical fallacy, fixed population, changed grammar)
I wrote another story with a similar concept, the whole tricky truths thing! You'll like it if you liked this: [Dare to Lie](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/8jqe1n/fiction_dare_to_lie/?utm_source=reddit-android)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
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It was simple, really. It didn’t take much. I didn’t even need a mask or a cape. I didn’t even need a plan really.
I turned the corner on 72nd street, headed right towards the bank. I wore, not a bandana or mask, just normal street clothes.
I stepped through the large glass doors and into the even larger room. I walked past the line and went towards the back counter. I was stopped by a man in a blue uniform, clearly a security guard.
“You, what are you doing here? You can’t be back here.”
“I’m the banks fund manager, I need to make a large deposit for a client who, unfortunately, cannot bd here today.”
“Oh, my apologies sir.” I filled him back behind the registers and he popped one open. “How much will you need?”
“All of it. My client is one of the largest of this bank. Do you mind putting them in that bag there? Thank you.” He did as I asked and then handed me the bag. That day I came walking out of the building with over 13 Thousand Dollars. By far not my biggest, but, it’ll do.
The headlines ran the next day: Technically True Man strikes again! The news station was interviewing the Security Guard from the day before. All I could do was chuckle. I thought popped into my head. This time, let’s try soon get while the news station is there. I hopped out of my seat and out the door.
| 2018-10-23T06:44:31 | 2018-10-23T06:08:12 | 2,644 | 133 |
[WP] All your life you slaved in the mines, hauling the black rocks to your master. You hear the masters mad laugh, "Ho Ho Ho!", he demands more rocks.
Wonder what he does with them all, but best not asking, or he will call you 'naughty' and punish you.
|
Claus gave a hearty chuckle as he slammed the cage door shut in my face, and a chorus of giggling reindeer answered him. Behind them, I could see the faces of the elves staring helpless from their frosty workshop windows. None of them dared speak up against Santa's oppression; they were only one step up from those of us down in The Hole, and it wasn't a very high step either. Any word of disagreement would see them promptly "reassigned" to this icy hellscape, and making toys was certainly a lot cushier than clawing coal out of the icy walls. But naughty children need their gifts too, so here we are.
Old Frosty was the king down here, and no one could ever remember when Santa had first thrown him into the pit. He'd chew on his old corncob pipe and bark out orders for everyone else to meet the daily coal quota. The other guys in The Hole hated me from *minute one*. Why? Because I was new, and different. Same as any shit assignment: once you've been doing it long enough, you grow to hate anyone who hasn't had to suffer the way you have. But Frosty? He had a special grudge against me for one simple reason: I was a reindeer.
Yeah, that's right. I used to be one of *them*. At least, that's how the guys in The Hole saw it. I'd been cushioned and pampered just like the other reindeer, playing games instead of working and cavorting around in the sky. I tried to explain it to them: that the other reindeers were all dicks, and they'd abused me in every possible way. But that explanation just earned me the most savage beating of my entire life from the other workers. I learned to keep quiet about my past after that. Old Frosty had been one of them too. Word was that he and Claus had been the best of pals long ago, and there'd been some kind of falling out. No one knew exactly what had happened, but the rumor mill tended to work overtime down here with nothing to do but talk in between swings of the pickaxe. Some claimed that old Mrs. Claus had taken a liking to Frosty's long pointy nose. Others claimed that Santa grew jealous of children's affections, and wanted to knock out a rival when he had a chance. All I know is that Frosty hated the jolly bastard, and he took it out on me.
There was a cave-in about six months in, and our power was cut off. My time to shine, eh? The other workers soon discovered what had set me apart from the other reindeer, and with me leading the way we were all able to find another exit from The Hole. See, Claus only strung lights through the mine where he had to. There were all sorts of icy crevasses and dark pits that no one cared to go down and explore. But once they saw what I could do, we discovered a passage around the cave-in. A passage *out of The Hole!* And we began planning our escape that very day.
Old Frosty got jealous. He hadn't been down in the dark with us, and he wasn't part of this new brotherhood. Loyalties down in The Hole began to shift as they realized that Frosty had never actually *done* anything to earn his leadership. He was just in charge because he outlasted everyone else. I knew that, and he knew that. And he was determined to make sure that he *continued* to outlast the others, starting with me.
A pair of snowy hands gave me a strong shove from behind as I was heading deeper into the mine over a narrow icy bridge. I toppled over the side of the ledge and down into the gaping black maw below. The fall would have killed pretty much anyone, except Frosty forgot one thing: I was a fucking *reindeer*. And we can fly.
I swooped up behind him as he was chortling with his little toadies about how easy it was. I slammed straight into him, leaving a reindeer-sized hole in his rotund midsection. That just pissed him off even more. A whooping and chanting crowd gathered around us as we circled each other; loyalties were forgotten as the rest of the men just wanted to see a good fight. My nose was like a damn fire engine siren, glowing brighter than I'd ever seen it.
We tussled for an hour till I finally found the right strategy: it was the damn *hat* of his! I knocked it off and it fell squarely between my antlers, looking quite stylish. Old Frosty just stared, face frozen in one last horrified glare as he realized what was happening. Just for good measure, I bit the tip off of his long orange nose and glared around the circle, *daring* any of his little friends to defy me. No one stepped forward, and I left the now-lifeless snowman as a warning to future challengers.
"Here's the deal," I announced to everyone, claiming my spot as leader of the The Hole. "We're getting out of here. You're free to leave if you'd like, and good luck out there on the frozen tundra. But *I* have some unfinished business with the old man and his little reindeer friends. If anyone *else* would like to have a conversation with him about their treatment down in The Hole, then stick with me. It'll be an ass-kicking that will go down in history."
-----
And if you liked this story you should also visit /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
I ducked under the low overhang into the cramped tunnel beyond. I glanced behind me, checking for any sign of one of the Nutcrackers. It was all clear. The wooden bastards were too tall and stiff to squeeze into the little side tunnel, so once I was in, I would be able to rest peacefully. I leaned my pick up against the wall, careful not to shake it about too much, lest the bells hanging off of its handles raise a racket. I slumped down against the wall and reached into the makeshift pocket sown into the inside of my faded green felt jumpsuit. Damn things didn't even help with the cold. I drew out a half chewed peppermint stick and stuck the end into my mouth. I knew it was bad for me, but hell, so was working in a coal mine. Besides, the fat bastard on top of the hill would probably kill me before the lung cancer had a chance. There was a shuffling at the mouth of my little hideaway, and I saw a familiar face. 'Hey man,' I said, 'managed to get away?' He nodded and sat down next to me. He drew out his own peppermint stick and started chewing away. We sat there in silence, knowing that talking was usually just a waste of breath. I got down to the end of my candy cane. I'd have to get back out there soon, or my cracker would notice me missing. I was about to leave when my buddy turned to me. 'I've been down here too long man.' He said, hands shaking. I just nodded. We all had. How long has it been since that fat bastard cut toy production? The mines used to just be punishment if you fucked up the line, but last I heard, there was no toy making. All of us were down in the mines. It was getting to me too. I accidentally called myself Jingle yesterday. That was the name he gave me, and I'd be damned if I used it. I'd rather die than let Nick the Red have his way.
| 2015-12-16T13:28:14 | 2015-12-16T10:08:57 | 674 | 52 |
[WP] Earth is the galaxy's 'Grave of Empires'. Countless aliens invaded it and tried to dominate humanity. Every single one of them failed, paying massive prices...
|
Take heed.
Beyond this gate lies the Graveyard of Empires. There is no return. There shall be no return gate constructed. So says The Tranqil Order. So said The Unified. So said The Council of Nine. So said The Eternal Locus. And so shall say the body of peace which succeeds after your conquest is at an end.
This might appear to be a jump gate, but it is a black hole. You, whatever form of tyrany you might be, may read this and think to jump through and build your own return. As the Yuktunai had thought to do, and The Flock. Perhaps, if you are able to construct communication capable of sending sub space messages, you can tell us what became of their efforts before their unfortunate demise. If you survive that long.
Your weakness will be laid bare. Fear you did not know you had will manifest before you. Beyond this gate lies the galaxy's answer for your lust for power. Do not question it.
-
Gilcax read the words and exhaled onto the simple plaque. Even in the void of space, the small act disintegrated the plaque. The Tranqil Order had been scattered to the stars. His grip on the galaxy was near complete, except for this back woods corner. He would not error as others had.
His flagship loomed behind it and he moved back to it under his own power, taking his seat in its heart. The ship responded to its master, to its source of power as the miniature star which burned within his chest poured pure energy into it. It was the mightiest vessel ever constructed and he the mightiest being to ever exist. Behind him was the core of his fleet. Unstoppable beings commanding each vessel, each one a potential planet killer that was only able to be wrangled by the enormity of his own power.
He would not error where the others did. He would send no scouting party. He would attack in force, crush the puny inhabitants before they knew what was happening.
"Forward."
-
Two One Five approached the jump gate, sighing at the destroyed plaque.
"You served your purpose well," they said. They also floated through space without harm, though no star heart beat in their chest. The People had roamed the stars as long as they could remember, unharmed by the vacuum of space unlike many other species. Also unlike any other species, they tended to fare well when the inevitable wave of conquest swept the galaxy. Things were improving. The Tranquil Order had lasted for a hundred years. Gilcax's reign, while horrendous in its deeds, had lasted a mere three years. The Blasphemy was worth it.
The People survived nearly every horrendous empire because they were quite hard to find and because of their utility. They minded the jump gates. It was their belief that the power to traverse the universe was of the utmost importance to all higher life. That it should never be disrupted, even if it was to be used for conquest. If a would be tyrant ran into a gate that was malfunctioning, as happened sometimes, they would need one of The People to fix it. Which they would.
Two One Five approached The Graveyard, extending their senses to be one with the gate. They could feel their ancestor's spirit here, the familiar sensation of a mind much like their own which had made this celestial marvel.
Perhaps that was why they, too, only slightly recoiled at the sensation of so much matter within the gate. Looping. Endlessly moving from one end of the jump to the other, never allowed to reach a destination. The most heinous of all abominations. Anyone who jumped through would loop eternally, subatomic bits of them slowly dispersing until the entirety of their matter was broken down to their smallest parts. A horror. Any of The People would recoil, would destroy this insult to their legacy. Two One Five shuddered and released their hold on the gate.
"All is well," they said, "There is no sign of a return gate. The wave of Gilcax's conquest has broken on the shores of humanity as have all those who came before."
The inhabitants beyond were shrouded in more myth and reverence than even The People. As far as Two Five One knew, they were a bright race hopefully many mellenia away from proper space travel. Humans, they called themselves. How charming. Two loved the way that rolled around in their mind. Humans.
Humans would hopefully find a galaxy at peace once they reached it. A galaxy which had found a way to oppress the tyranical so there was no need to bait them with such an irresistible challenge. No matter the reason, no would be conquerer could resist the lure of the small world in the middle of nowhere that silently, by its very presence, said, "You're not so tough. You're scared of me."
They just couldn't leave it alone.
|
\- Listen young Florb. I don't want you to fly away to that Brath forsaken planet.
\- But Womb-haver! I really want to go! All my uncles went when they were my age.
\- Yes well look at them now, all neatly skewered with 10 feet poles through their skull back on Earth. You Florbs are all the same. You're cute when your freshly spawned. Running around with your adorable little wooden swords and helmet, trying to claim every bush and every rock as your own. But then as you grow older the wood is replaced by metal and the helmets with spaceships and instead of conquering plants you conquer planets. Oh mighty Brath the games you play with us poor Womb-havers.
\- Well those stupid apes might have got the best of my uncles, but they have no chance against me an my new secret weapon!
\- Ha! New secret weapon you say, you sound just like your uncle Klörg. He was so proud having invented a new lethal cotton swab and was utterly surprised then the humans used the ultra soft and absorbing weapon the clear their faces from blood shortly after putting Klörgs head on a stick. Same with Blörg and his tickly feather trap, Slörg and the exploding chocolate fountain. And I must not forget Grörgs super sonic prank calling telephone. What menacing device will you bring to conquer the Earthlings.
\- A moisturising face balm!
| 2022-12-11T19:16:51 | 2022-12-11T12:16:31 | 400 | 68 |
[WP] It’s a lighthearted adventure to save the world from the Dark Lord, but the main hero is WAY too serious and it’s really unnerving everyone else.
|
“Now that I have you, there’s no escaping my clutches, Princess Sparkle.”
The Dark Lord Malforce laughed. Menacingly.
The Princess was helpless, chained at the top of the Dark Lord’s ingenious Death Mountain Murder Machine. The device rose thirty feet into the air, a whirling nightmare of blades, cogs, bladed cogs, and fire. And wolves.
The wolves howled in unison. Menacingly.
The Princess let out a gentle sigh. “Look, I don’t want to ruin this, but you should probably let me go and get out of here.”
“Begging for your life won’t save you now, Princess! If you wish to see your beloved Bubblepop Kingdom again, you must reveal to me the location of the Sunshine Crown!”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“Resistance is-wait…what do you mean, ‘fine?’” Moving swiftly, despite being clad in black armor, spiky black armor, the kind with horns, Malforce drew his dark sword, Joybane, and held the blade towards the bound princess. “If this is a ruse…”
Sparkle shook her head, noon-bright hair rippling. “Nope, no trick. We stashed the crown with the hermit in the clearing; told him to bury it in his backyard. Let me down, go get the thing, and then maybe leave the area for a while.”
Lightening crackled. Malforce sheathed his mighty sword in its equally mighty sheath. The sheath had a little skull on it which Malforce’s daughter crafted and, tastefully, bedazzled for him.
“I’ll send my minions to pay the hermit a little visit. If what you say is true, I’ll set you free. But if this is some pathetic ploy to buy time, I can assure you, the consequences will be dire.”
Sparkle jiggled the chains. “You should really go yourself. And, like, now. He’ll be here any minute.”
“Ah, now I see,” Malforce boomed, the shape of his wicked grin hidden by his be-horned helm. “You ARE trying to buy time. You expect a hero to come to your rescue?”
“Ha!” the Dark Lord laughed. “HA DA HA! There are no heroes left in this world.”
“Yeah,” said Sparkle, “which is why we had to lower our standards a bit.”
Just then, the giant window to the Dark Lord’s lair shattered in a blizzard of broken glass and coarse language.
“Fuck-a-doodle do, bitches!” screamed the mysterious figure that dove into the room through the remains of the window.
“Hero!” shouted Malforce, drawing his sword. “You’re too late! I know the location of the crown. Soon your world will be drenched in darkness.”
The Hero shrugged and began to advance.
“Stop right there!” said the Dark Lord. “One more step and I’ll begin the machine. The princess will be torn asunder.”
The hero halted, and eyed the machine thoughtfully.
“Before I destroy you, I have but one question,” Malforce said. “How did you get past my Treacle Troll? Did you answer his riddles three?”
“No.”
“Did you put sleep mushrooms into his ale and sneak past him?”
“Nope.”
Malforce smiled. “Ah, so you disguised yourself as a traveling bard and convinced him you were here to sing a ballad commemorating the glorious reign of the Dark Lord Malforce?”
“No. What I did was take this knife here,” said the Hero, displaying a knife large and sharp enough to imperil the definition, “and I cut the troll open, and I took his insides, out.”
Malforce lowered his sword. “Pardon?”
“He disemboweled the troll,” the Princess explained.
“Oh God…why?” asked the Dark Lord. “He was just an intern. Honestly, he slept under the drawbridge like, 70-percent of the day. And even if he was awake, he’s got glaucoma. You could have just, like, snuck past in his blind spot.”
“But my way was more delicious,” the Hero licked his blade.
“Jesus Christ.” said Malforce.
“I warned you,” muttered the Princess.
The Hero began to advance again.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Malforce dropped his sword. “Let’s all just, let’s all relax for a second.”
“Tell me,” said the Hero. “Which is your least favorite organ? And would you like to know what the back of your eyes look like? I’ll show them both to you.”
“That’s insane. How would I even see them if you took both-wait, okay, just wait.” Malforce backed up until he was against the cold, stonewall of his dark, dark lair. He reached to his left and pushed a giant red button. “Okay, there, I’ve started the Death Mountain thing.” The cogs began to whirl and the Princess slowly lowered. Very slowly. It was actually hard to notice the change at first. “You’d better rescue the Princess now. Otherwise she’s doomed. And I’ll just...I’ll just get out of your hair while you’re working on that.”
The Hero glanced at the machine. “I figure that thing will probably take, oh, a good six minutes to even reach the Princess. That means me and you got about five minutes. And brother, this is going to be the longest five minutes of your life.”
“Holy. Shit.” Malforce repeatedly pushed the button, but the machine continued to move at a glacial pace.
The Hero laughed. Menacingly.
|
Although he was the”chosen one”, Doug really started to hate the guy that now led the party across the mountain path. The “chosen one” real name was Mark and like all heroes, he thought he was chosen by the prophecy to save the world from darkness. That the prophecy was written on a wet napkin by the town drunkard did not seem to bother Mark. Neither that the “prophecy” was given instead of payment of the 4 pints of Dwarven lager made any alarm-bells ring. Neither that the drunkards old shopping list was written on the other side of the "prophecy"
Mark started to shout dark prophecies about how the evil of Darkness would kill all men, rape all girls and give all kids diabetes, it totally ruined the Wedding of the Nina and Peter and was the second most awkward wedding toast in the village history. First one is Old miss Geller telling conspiracy theories on how dwarves secretly ruled the world.
So they decided to follow Marks rant and follow him on “the quest” to stop the evil from taking over the world. Just for the sake of shutting him up and go back to his daily routines as a barman
“First we need to cross the mountain of Darkness Falls into the Pit of Certain death to reach the secret village of elves” Mark proclaimed to the small entourage as they started the ascent up the mountain.
“ Can’t we just take a carriage there? It’s like one bronze-coin each and there are like three daily departures?” Doug said silently.
Johava, the third person in entourage nodded with agreement. Although just passing by the village, she was drafted into the entourage to meet the gender-quota requirement set by the imperial court.
“ Silence!!” Mark shouted. “We need to face the evil before it consumes us all! When we come to the village of the elves, we need to drink from the lake of Lightness to purify us from the darkness.”
Johava and Doug looked at each other before Doug reached into his backpack. “You know they started to tap that lake and export the water from it into bottles right? We can find water from the Lake of Lightness in every tavern in the empire?”
Mark did not seem to react to Dough holding up a glass bottle of bright shining water with small faires flying inside. Neither the slogan “harness the power of the elf” on the bottle.
| 2018-01-29T08:28:40 | 2018-01-29T07:56:00 | 64 | 17 |
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child.
|
*Dear John,*
*Know first that I love you, more than anything else. I do so wish this letter would find you well, but I know how hard these next few weeks, months, and even years will be.*
*Yes, I knew what would happen during labor with our daughter. And no, you don't get to say 'I told you so,' you morbid old geezer. But I do hope you don't hate me like you said you would if I passed, because I know I will keep loving you.*
*I admit, you almost talked me out of it. You argued, pleaded, and begged me not to go through with the hormone therapy to reverse the menopause. And then when it came time for the IVF you said it all again. Found the whole idea absolutely ridiculous, as well you should have!* "We're old! Retired! Why would you want to get pregnant??" *I even loved arguing with you then, too. But you saw how important it was to me. Maybe even knew I was hiding something. And so you stayed by my side, through all the doctor visits, through all the tests. You saw me at my weakest when it looked like it might not happen. And still there you were. For that I will be eternally grateful.*
*You always wondered how it was I knew so much about my family tree... or as you so affectionately called it, the family twig. I knew well the stories of my mother and grand mother, because they were* my *stories, John. With no other way to say it, for nearly four centuries now, for reasons I have never understood, every child I have, nearly every aspect of my being goes with it. My thoughts, memories, my personality, even those dimples you love so dear. But also, my life.*
*There are also some changes that come from the father, of course. Sometimes I get taller, other times a temper. Which I cannot believe you put up with for fifty years. And, if I may note, that also means I am not in fact the youngest woman you had ever dated, and you are still an old lady chaser.*
*Please, John. You have to understand. The risk I took wasn't in getting pregnant, it was being with you for so very, very, very long. I will admit with shame that in the past, I have chosen partners solely for what I feel they could give me in my next life, where the second I found I was with child I would find a kinder man or family to care for what would be the next me. With you, though, oh John.*
*Do you remember when I turned 35? I spent months, MONTHS just freaking out. For years, every time my birthday came around, you were there to comfort me without ever being told why. Always only wanting my love, and wanting to love me. And you were even there to challenge my sanity, which I still found to love. What I couldn't tell you then, was that this was the first life where I had reached the age of 35. And as every year passed, I couldn't bare the thought of spending another one without you.*
*Oh, John. I will miss us more than anything. When I am... still new, it's hard for me to be me. It can take some years for everything to come back. I am little more than like any other child while I figure out how my new body and mind work, and then I am suddenly living through every other life I had before. Sped up, and in the mind of a child with hormones no less! Even you can imagine the frustration it will put me through. I just hope that by the time I get to remembering you, and remembering us, you are not yet gone. I couldn't bare not seeing you as I do now one last time.*
*This life will have been the fifteenth life I have lived, and by far the longest and most loved. Our daughter, whom I hope you will care for, will be my sixteenth.*
*Please be with her, keep her safe for as long as you can. And though I have asked so much of you already... please, wait for me.*
|
The same eyes search mine
As I have seen before
The same first steps
She grabs the wall and pulls herself up
Triumphant
(again)
The baby clothes I had preserved
Had I known
I would again be a mother
To my Again daughter
Could
Would I
Have been better prepared?
My chance to do it all
Over
My Again daughter is
My Again rebellious teenager
Sneaking off to be with her boyfriend
Eerily she chooses another
Similar bad boy
Another unplanned pregnancy
Why couldn't
Would I
Have been able to stop her
Again
Again she dies
In labor
Again
and
Again
She is reborn.
The Joy
The pain
Never lessens.
| 2016-01-25T12:11:49 | 2016-01-25T07:47:30 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad
|
It was supposed to be exciting. Jamie wanted flames that poured from his hands or strength that could knock down walls. After years of being mediocre, turning 18 was his time to shine. Instead, he got...languages? It was stupid. His power was supposed to be a reflection of who he was. Jamie had failed Spanish not just once, but twice. Well, at least this meant he wouldn't have to worry about failing it a third time.
"Maybe it's because you've been worry about passing Spanish," Becca said with a shrug, as she snuggled deeper into the gray sofa chair that was probably the best piece of furniture he had in his one-bedroom apartment.
"Weren't you the one who said Spanish was easy?" Jamie glared at his best friend.
"It's not my fault you suck at languages. Or you used to." Becca tilted her head, her brown hair brushing across her shoulders. "Does that count as cheating?"
Jamie threw a pillow at Becca, but she raised her finger and a gust of wind redirected his cotton artillery and it landed neatly in Becca's lap.
He glared at Becca who just laughed. Jamie slumped back on his much less comfortable couch and dragged a pillow over his face. "What the hell, universe?" He groaned.
"You're so dramatic," Becca said and Jamie could imagine her rolling her eyes. "Hey, but this means you can travel anywhere in the world or be a spy."
"Do you not want it?" a voice whispered by his ear, low and way too close. It felt like his entire body buzzed with the sound and he jerked up, ripping the pillow from his face.
"What the hell Becca! You scared the shit out of me."
"What?" Becca asked, looking at him in surprise.
Jamie stared. Becca was still sitting in the chair across from him. He rubbed his ear. "Did you do some sort of wind thingy with your voice?"
"Uh...no," Becca said.
"They're coming," the voice whispered and again it was so close and with it the buzz, like electricity buzzing down his body. He jumped to his feet, twirling. "Who's there?" Jamie shouted.
There was nothing, no one there, but him. He looked back at Becca, ready to ask if she was playing a prank on him, but she was staring at him with wide eyes. Her hands clutched at the pillow in her lap.
"Jamie you're starting to freak me out."
Jamie stared at Becca and opened his mouth when suddenly everything rushed at him, hundreds, no thousands, of voice pushing into his ear. Their voices like a crowd injecting directly into his ear until he felt like his brain would begin hemorrhaging as it raced to understand it all. He clutched at his ears, digging his nails into his skin as he fell to the ground.
"Stop. It's too much. STOP!"
Everything went silent, abruptly. Jamie panted on the ground. Slowly, he pulled his hands away from his ears and looked around him. He jerked back. Becca was half out of her seat with her hand reaching out to him, her eyes wide. She was still, locked in a motion interrupted.
"Becca?"
Nothing. All around him there was an eerie quietness.
"What's going on?"
"Words. The universe. Little time. Run." It was the whispered voice. More urgent, but also something else, almost disjointed.
"I don't understand," Jamie said shakily. Sweat beaded across his skin. He wondered if this was what madness felt like.
"The door. Run!" The urgency in the voice grew stronger.
Fear trickled down Jamie's body and then he began to move. He knew he should hurry, but his steps were hesitant. He reached the door. Taking a breath he opened the door. Men in SWAT gear stood at his door. They too were frozen. Jamie's eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head.
"What the hell is going on?" Jamie demanded.
"Run. Time is running out."
Jamie opened his mouth to again demand answers when he saw a twitch. One of the SWAT men had moved his finger. It was just a twitch, but the fingers brushed over shiny black metal. A gun. They had a gun. Of course, they did. Even in a world with powers, a gun could still end a battle just as decisively as anything. Jamie's body went cold. Was this a battle? But why? What had he done?
"Run. Run. Run," the voice said insistently.
Jamie looked back. "But Becca."
The voice was silent. One of the men turned his head, only a little, but it was just enough for Jamie to make out cold blue eyes hidden behind the faceguard.
Jamie ran and the world started up again.
|
*Jacob woke up in the morning; he was happy for once, it was his birthday. His 18th birthday to be exact, and his gift was something a little... unexpected...*
“What the actual fuck-“
(Insert obnoxious moaning here)
“DAVID! ARE YOU JACKING OFF WITHOUT HEADPHONES AGAIN?”
“Son of a bitch I’m gonna-“
“HEY! We’re in the middle of something!!”
“WHOS THERE?”
Jacob turned around and saw two plants. They didn’t move but somehow he could understand them.
“YEAH YOU- WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF POLLINATION”
“Am I talking to a goddamn plant?”
Jacob thought that he had too much to drink last night- or somebody slipped him some acid... who knows?
“shit- I’m talking to a plant-“
“PLANT-S”
“Babe- he doesn’t know yet-“
“Okay listen, you’re a omnicomunitongue-
I know, shitty name-
It means you can speak to any living thing. Including but not limited to, plants, animals, and the universe itself”
“Yup I’m high- well, might as well make the most of it..”
“You’re not, but okay-“
“Shut up-“
“O SHIT- JAKE GIVE ME MY FUCKING BREAKFAST-“
“Great, my cat is talking too-“
“Hey capital f Fuck you too.“
Good god. My thumbs hurt
(Obligatory mobile apology here)
First try so please go easy on me
| 2019-12-22T11:07:03 | 2019-12-22T10:37:25 | 112 | 36 |
[WP] It’s been 2 years since the zombie apocalypse has started, and you haven’t seen anyone alive in a terribly long time. The only reason for your survival is that the zombies don’t care for you at all - in fact they all seem to be avoiding you. All except for one.
|
He's hunting me, I'm sure of it. But I don't know why. And he never actually approaches closer than a few dozen paces, always hanging back at the periphery of my awareness. Last night I saw him through my binoculars as I scavenged for preserved food in an open-air market, skulking behind stalls and the big pavilion's concrete pillars.
I don't like scavenging indoors, there are almost always zombies and although they shy away from me, I can still hear them, all around. Moaning. Shuffling. Belching gases, making movement-sounds that are always too wet or too dry, sort of an auditory Uncanny Valley. And of course I don't like seeing them, who would? There's too much humanity left over, even if their eyes stare past everything, never really focus.
Except his. His do. Maybe he's just watching me. I mean, if he really were hunting he would probably have had a chance to catch me by now, right? I have to sleep, after all. Sure, I rest careful, always in a place that seems secure, with locked doors and boarded-up windows. He's never tried any of them, never rattled a knob or banged on sheets of plywood. Neither have the others, to be honest, they seem to know I'm in there, wherever it is I'm in, and stay away.
It's a lonely, easy life, for the most part. The whole thing happened so fast, there wasn't really time for a lot of destruction. Not the disease itself, or whatever it is, that actually worked pretty slowly, something like 72 hours incubation, during which time you got real gregarious, even if you'd been a shut-in before. Passed by simple contact. Not airborne, but didn't need skin-to-skin either. Even just brushing against one of the infected was enough. By the time people really started to turn, hit the second phase, it was too late. So it wasn't like there were big sieges or undead hordes rampaging through places. Everything's just kind of...there for the taking. It's not like the zombies need anything. They don't eat, not anymore, ran out of humans a long time ago. Except for me, and I guess I'm not very appetizing.
I don't know what keeps them going.
I'm guessing there are survivor enclaves here and there, but there's no way to know for sure. One of the earliest discoveries was that the zombies can "hear" radio waves, and are driven into a frenzy by them, attacking the source until it goes away. So it's not like there are broadcasts. My personal theory is that this is also why they're so...restless all the time, why they seem like they're suffering constant psychic pain. The universe itself has a background of radio waves from various cosmic sources, and they never stop. Sometimes at night a walking corpse will just stand beneath the starlight and look up, slack-jawed, making breathy little sounds of desperation. That's what I think they are, anyway.
I have a lot of time to think. Too much, maybe. It's not like it's peaceful time. He's always there, if I look. Hunting me. I don't know why.
I've never killed one of them, if "killed" is even the right word. Never had to. I do carry a rifle, and I know the basics of how to use it, and sometimes I wonder, why don't I shoot him?
But I'm afraid to shoot anything that looks human, that's the honest truth. Not if it isn't an immediate threat. Even though I think he's hunting me, even if I can't articulate why I think that, he's still not, you know, attacking me.
So I keep on kind of drifting through this moaning, shuffling, lonely world. I assume at some point I'll get sick or break something or whatever and not be able to take care of myself anymore, and that will be the end of it. Humans aren't meant to exist alone, and I say that as someone who was practically a hermit before all this happened. Sure, I didn't talk to people, but I ate the food they made and prepared and shipped, I could go to a doctor if I came down with something, I had a car that other people made, I lived in a building other people maintained, and on and on and on.
But now it's just me, and if something goes wrong, there's no help. I try not to think about that, even though like I said I have time to think, maybe too much time, and always with that...thing nearby. Except is he really a "thing?" He seems to be capable of a lot more thought than the others, even though I've never really seen him actually *do* anything.
Until today, when he pointed at me and screamed.
<continued below!>
|
I opened my little notebook and looked for other symbol that I noticed at the entrance of the city. I have been doing characoal drawings long before epidemic started. That symbol reminded my one of my old drawings, Mr.Owl which I drew when I was in high school.
The building that I’m standing in front of it has the same symbol on the door and it seems way older than other buildings around. Door is already half open and I look inside with my flashlight, nothing interesting so far. There is not much furniture inside only small pieces of woods on the ground. Then, I realise there is a vault shaped box standing on top of very old chair. I check around before I completely focus on the box.
It’s seems like made out of some sort of metal and it doesn’t have any keypad or any other thing that I can intract to open it. It seems more heavier than I first anticipated. It’s easily weighs more than my backpack.
The light that comes from one of the windows gets interrupted for a second and I immediately turn my back to see what just happened and seems like there is nothing that is moving. My heart beats faster, I get more panicky suddenly. There is definitely something inside here. I can feel it but I don’t know where.
Suddenly, something moves towards me. I point my flashlight to that direction and I see the zombie coming closer to me. They usually ignore me but this one, seems like wants me. As soon as I reach to my knife zombie stopped moving. We were staring at each other...
---------------------------------
*Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker*
| 2019-05-26T06:46:40 | 2019-05-26T06:45:44 | 292 | 36 |
[WP] A wizard watches a stage magician perform, trying like hell to figure out how he's doing what he's doing while clearly not possessing any magic.
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“Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for our next act. Let his magic astound you! His powers of illusion mystify you! Pleeeeaaassseee welcome Malcon the Magnificent!!” the voice coming out the speakers rang out.
There was a smattering of applause around the venue. Harold though, was unimpressed by the man stepping out on stage. He had apprenticed under some of the most powerful mages of all time. Even serving directly under the Empress Prelate herself as her Arch Mage. This pitiful human could never match his prowess.
“Thank you, thank you,” Malcolm said, gesturing for the applause to fade.
“Now you, sir, in the pointy hat,” he said, gesturing to Harold as he walked towards him.
“Can you first check this deck of cards? Make sure there's no funny business,” he said, handing Harold the deck. Playing along, he checked the deck, and it was just a standard deck of playing cards.
“Now pick a card any card. Be sure to not let me see it,” he said as he fanned out a deck of playing cards.
Harold felt he should at least humour the poor deluded fool. By taking a card he kept it closely hidden.
“Now glance at the card but be sure not to tell me what it is,” he said. Harold obeyed and saw it was a Jack of Diamonds.
“Thank you, can he get a round of applause,” Malcolm said, offering his hand to shake Harolds. The crowd gave a small applause.
“Now keep ahold of that card as my final trick shall need it,” he said with a playful wink before returning to the stage.
Standing by the microphone, he paused for a moment, looking confused.
“I’m sorry sir, do you have the time?” he asked. Harold felt only pity.
“Why it’s…” Harold felt his voice fade as when he checked his wrist; his watch was gone.
“Ah, never mind, I got a nice watch right here,” Malcolm said with a cheesy grin holding up Harold’s watch itself.
Harold felt his stomach drop at the sight of his timepiece in Malcolm’s hand. Such mastery of magic and sorcery. Truly even his spells could not achieve what he had done. He didn’t even feel any mana be manipulated.
Malcolm returned to Harold's table and handed the watch back while the crowd gave much more enthusiastic applause to this trick.
“My next trick is a classic,” he said, taking out a flat black circle of cloth. With a tap, it took the shape of a tophat. Harold felt his blood start to run cold. Controlling fabric was difficult as you needed to manipulate each fibre individually. To make a silent spell seem so effortless was amazing.
Placing the hat on a small table on the stage, Malcolm began reaching into the hat. Slowly his arm sank deeper and deeper. Far deeper than the hat should allow.
“Spacial magic…” Harold could only whisper in shock. You could count the mages who achieved such a feat on one hand. This stage performer was doing the most sublime magic for fun.
“Ah, there you are, Mr Fluffles,” he announced, taking out a fluffy white rabbit. Harold was beyond shocked now. While the crowd around him clapped, he had witnessed something even his master struggled with. Spacial magic allowing living beings to inhabit it.
Malcolm handed the rabbit off to a stagehand, who quickly retreated.
“Now my next trick is simple, I am going to search through this deck and find the card that gentleman picked earlier,” he said with a smile.
Gesturing to a couple of audience members, he invited them to inspect the deck. They checked it and confirmed there was nothing wrong. Malcolm then shuffled the deck and held it aloft.
“Good sir was your card the…” he held off to allow the anticipation to build. Harold felt smug, knowing he still had the card in his hand.
“Four of clubs,” he finished.
“No, it wasn’t,” Harold announced, finally getting one over on the false mage.
“Ah, no, it wouldn’t be as this deck is entirely made up of the Jack of Diamonds,” he revealed the deck that had once been normal was now entirely all the card he had picked.
The crowd gave a thunderous applause to this reveal, and Harold was stunned. He had been fooled, and this man was a mage without equal. He must be some secret grandmaster on par with the masters who had taught him.
Harold was now determined to become this man's apprentice. Watching as Malcolm took a final bow and left the stage to let the next act perform, Harold approached him.
“That spell was truly magnificent. May I ask how it was done?” He asked.
“Ah, a magician never reveals his tricks first rule of the magic circle,” Malcolm replied, tapping his nose.
Harold had never heard of this magic circle but was certain they must be a coven of mages on par with his teachers.
“However, I got a few of my magic trick books you can buy. The publisher printed a few too many, so I got a few spares in my van,” he said with a warm smile.
Harold was feeling beyond giddy now. This master mage was willing to sell him a grimoire of magic.
“How much may it be?” he asked.
“As you were such a good sport, I’ll discount it to say thirty bucks,” he offered.
Harold shook the man's hand, accepting the deal. A mere thirty dollars for magical grimoires that gave this mage such power was a bargain. Though, he made sure to check his watch was still on his wrist, which elicited a chuckle from Malcolm.
for more of my nonsense go to r/Random3X
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"He must be extremely powerful, to harness and be in control of his powers at such a young age," Barzle remarked, nodding at the stage as a nine-year-old boy walked on stage, his face shining and bright red as he took in the audience before him.
Aurelius nodded in agreement. "I wonder what he's discovered on his own so far."
The two sat near the back on the auditorium. They had been informed of the young wizard weeks ago, a flyer gracing Barzle's desk without any additional note. A talent show, taking place in a small town in Ohio, with the closing act of Timmy the Wizard.
"The last girl - the one who danced to the hip hop song? - she was rather good," Aurelius muttered as Timmy the Wizard began setting his props on a table. "I'd like to find out what the song is called."
Barzle opened his mouth to agree, but Timmy the Wizard had stepped up to the microphone.
"Welcome!" Timmy the Wizard bellowed, silencing the crowd before him.
"Commanding," Aurelius mused.
"Worrying," Barzle murmured back. The child could be dangerous, instead of a novel and youthful learner, if he had already practiced Dictation magic.
Timmy the Wizard was waving his arms in the air, and suddenly, a pencil appeared in his hand.
*Summoning magic,* Aurelius jotted into his notebook. The crowd clapped politely.
"Behold!" Timmy cried, voice echoing. He grasped the end of the pencil, near the eraser, pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger.
"What's this?" Barzle asked quietly.
Timmy paused, allowing the suspense and drama to soak in. "Behold," he repeated, "as I turn this solid pencil... to rubber!" Suddenly, he began rapidly moving it up and down, and the pencil appeared to be bending and flopping as Timmy continued shaking the pencil, tongue poking out of his mouth in a laser-sharp focus.
Aurelius looked over at Barzle, who had a perplexed, almost disgusted expression. "What, uh," he said, without looking away from the child and the wobbling pencil. "Really, what the fuck is this?"
| 2022-03-18T22:36:50 | 2022-03-18T22:26:24 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] Cancer has won and you are left with a brittle body. You can feel the end, and you’re somehow OK with it. As you are about to die, a man bursts into your room, and hurriedly whispered into your ears, “I need to send a message so listen closely. When you meet God, tell Him His Sister is coming.”
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The last thing I remember about mortality was the hoarse whisper in my ears. The surreal nature of the statement made me wonder if I was already dead. I started to feel myself rising through the air gently but at a smooth pace. I couldn’t see in the conventional sense; the mortal sense. But I could feel everything around me.
As the clinical surroundings of the hospital bed fell beneath me, with that man shaking my corpse, I felt the weight of mortality leave me. My soul felt lighter, and fatigue, sadness and a residual strain of which I wasn’t fully aware during mortality poured off me like dross out of the bottom of a furnace.
I was filled with light, and peace enveloped me like a robe. I felt happy, and suddenly felt a presence beside me. I couldn’t see her, but I could feel the soul of my mother, who had passed on ten years earlier. Without words or physical form we conversed and embraced. I had become a being of perfect joy and goodness and she could feel it just as I could feel it in her.
The world was beneath me now, and seemed smaller. It was as if I was high above the earth on a trans-continental flight, but I was somehow at the same altitude. As the earth fell away a new world emerged in my surroundings, rather than I emerged into a new plane of existence. It was as if this was the world I had always inhabited but could never connect to it.
Without the limitation of human language, my mother explained to me that my mortal existence had passed, and that I would now return to the god who gave me life. I understood instinctively, and new that, while I had not been a religious man in life, that god was not a religious icon. They weren’t a he or a she. They weren’t bound by notions of race. Neither was I. Neither was my mother. But I knew that I would soon meet them, as if that was always part of the process.
I found myself progressing through the presence of other souls who were distinct in individuality and form. There were great souls like Confucius and Gandhi, with the souls getting grander as I progressed. I knew that I would soon meet god.
I felt a soul which I instinctively knew was Jesus, and just beyond him I sensed god. They were an assault to all my senses. It was like everything was dialled up to 15, but I had no eyes or ears to react to overstimulation. There was no pain as from a bright light being shone directly into human eyes. No headache from too much noise. Everything about me was drenched in their presence, but I felt no sensation of being overwhelmed or intimidated. The peace and joy I had been feeling did not recede.
They spoke with a voice which would have cut to the marrow of my bones if I had them.
‘My child. Well done. Did you learn the most important lesson of mortality? What was it?’
Immediately the feeling on peace and joy was gone, as I recalled my mortal life. Memories of the perpetual background pain and trauma of human nature flooded into what suddenly felt like my brain, exactly where I would get headaches while I was still in my human body. It was like grit being rubbed vigorously against my mind’s eye.
The most important lesson of mortality? It was all a test? Yes, that made sense. Choices are tests. Why else have free will and spend a life time of moralising over choices? It felt clear and right. I wrestled with the memories, feeing a tension as my awareness convulsed from the divine present to the mortal past; the mortal passed.
I stammered.
‘I’m not sure, but this seems important: when I died a man appeared and told me your sister is coming.’
In an instant the feeing of tranquility was gone. The souls filling the space seemed to bristle like spiked balls. The place somehow seemed noisy and crimson red.
God reached behind him and produced a shotgun like a Loony Tunes cartoon. He rattled it.
‘For god’s sake. Not this shit again.’
|
I heard the words, but they had little meaning now. I was drifting into the pain, it’s webs and tendrils snaking into every orifice of my conscience. Cancer had left me nothing, and as my lungs failed to open, and my eyes closed, I heard them again, the words from our ritual prayer said over all the dying, spat out like a curse.
“Tel Him. Tell God His Sister is coming.”
When I next awoke I was sitting in a dark room, in a small bed built out of the wall with no legs. There was a woman on a stool, watching me.
“I hear you have a message for my brother.”
| 2022-05-01T14:07:39 | 2022-05-01T09:42:41 | 62 | 37 |
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history.
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“That’s not what the book says!” Johnny, the class smart aleck, interjected.
The rest of the class giggled. They all thought Mr. Yockie was full of shit.
Mr. Yockie cringed as he thought to himself, “I know it’s not what the book says you little shit burglar. That’s cause the fucking book is wrong...”
But he didn’t let his frustration get the better of him. Mr. Yockie took a few deep breaths, and mentally reminded himself, “they can’t help the fact that their textbooks are full of errors. Neither can the people who write the text books. They have no idea what actually happened. They probably just went off an earlier version of the textbook, which was also wrong.”
Mr. Yockie turned away from the whiteboard and faced Johnny. He smiled, “you’re right Johnny. You’re right.” He paused, “the Battle of Hastings did in fact occur in 1066. Not in 1054 like I just said.”
Mr. Yockie chuckled at himself, “You know, as a history teacher its sometimes difficult to keep track of all these dates...” It took nearly all of his patience to not admit that he had been there. The Battle of Hastings that is. Many men had fallen to his sword that day.
Mr. Yockie looked like an average man in his late fifties to early sixties. He wore brown dress shoes, khaki dress pants, a brown belt, a neatly tucked in long sleeve, slightly blueish, dress shirt, and a tasteful, yet somewhat dated, green sweater vest. His hair was gray and somewhat thin, but he still had a nice hairline.
All the students in his 10th grade high school history class thought Mr. Yockie was just another “old guy” with his head up his ass. He seemed to mix up the dates of historical events, and got angry every now and then when one of the kids pointed out his errors.
What the students didn’t realize was that Mr. Yockie had been known by many names throughout his life. He moved every three to five years and didn’t seem to have any long term friends or significant others. Fostering these sorts of relationships wasn’t an option for Mr. Yockie, because he was, secretly, nearly one thousand years old.
If anyone discovered that he was one thousand years old Mr. Yockie knew that his life, as he preferred to live it, would be over. So instead he decided to move relatively often, buy new identities, and set up new lives for himself. In fact, Mr. Yockie had lived on every continent except for Antarctica. He spoke, at any given time, about seven languages fluently, but he lost count of how many he had actually learned over the course of his life. It must have been over a hundred.
To be honest, he really didn’t mind not having friends. With so much time, life experience, and perspective he found relating to most people to be nearly impossible. Instead, he enjoyed observing them, studying their habits and examining their mannerisms; much like a child would examine ants in an ant farm.
Mr. Yockie had fought in over twenty different wars in his life. Thousands of men had died under his pike, sword, musket, rifle, or grenade. He had experienced, first hand, the overthrow of nearly a dozen governments, thirty six “the world is ending” mass hysterias, and lived through five different disease pandemics.
On top of that Mr. Yockie had mastered seventeen musical instruments, read over ten thousand books, earned the equivalent of millions of modern day dollars four separate times, was a medical doctor, a practiced attorney, a licensed airline pilot, and had earned four Ph. D’s.
He liked to alternate, back-and-forth, every few years from prestigious and “challenging” professions into humble ones. This high school history teacher gig was his most recent “humble” profession. Before that he had been a cobbler, car salesman, blacksmith, tavern keeper, shift supervisor at a tire factory, railroad worker, food tester, skydiving instructor, farmer, baker, and almost every other blue collar profession you could imagine from every time period between now and 1100 AD.
The students giggled to themselves as Mr. Yockie made another historical “mistake” in his explanation of the Battle of Hastings. He just smiled at them and rolled his eyes as he gently popped the right-side of his head with his palm in jest.
“Some things never change…” he reminded himself, “teenagers have ALWAYS been assholes.”
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**PART ONE**
***
*High School students sit at wooden desks under fluorescent lighting on a fall day. They patiently await their new teacher, who unbeknownst to them, has been alive for just over half a millennia. A middle-aged man enters the room with a gruesomely noticeable scar that circles three quarters the circumference of his neck. It is Macbeth, former High King of Alba.*
***
"Hello class, my name is Professor Macbeth. I will be your World History instructor today."
A shaken class watches in horror as the visually frightening man wrote his name on the chalkboard. A girl from the back cautiously raises her hand.
"Professor, aren't you the one from that Shakespearean play?" said the girl.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. However, you may find that it was quite dramatized. Hollywood eh? Or should I say Bankside? Oh well. Yes, that is I." said Macbeth
"Didn't you die?"
"Do I look dead?"
"...no"
"Do you know that movie Highlander?"
"I think so..."
"It's exactly like that. My head was not completely severed fortunately, but I have been exiled since. So here I am instructing YOU ungrateful bastards for a $30,000 salary. Let's get on with it shall we?"
***
*to be continued?*
| 2015-04-14T16:35:59 | 2015-04-14T14:32:31 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] The warrior princess is worried that her battle scars would make her unfit for marriage. The prince of the kingdom she was attacking, however, vehemently disagrees.
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Laila’s sword clashed against another guard’s right before she surprised him by turning swiftly and tripping him with her leg. She stood over him and could see the terror in his face, the sweat in his brow. *Just as it should be* she thought as she finished him off with her blade.
This was the third kingdom she’s attacked this week. Was it just her or are they getting easier?
*You always have to start with a diversion. Then you send a small team in, covert style. It’s really not that hard to make a kingdom fall. Especially when men succumb so easily to women.* Her thoughts raced through her as they always have in the heat of battle. She was almost there. Almost to the prince’s chambers. *Get the prince and use him as leverage for the kingdom.* It really was this easy.
One thing that always crossed her mind in battle was the way people looked at her once she took off her hood. She could never shake the images of those peoples faces. Horror. Disgust. Terror. Was that all she was? They did have a nickname for her: The Harbinger of Death. It was rare she heard her actual name. Honestly, the nickname was fitting. She had killed thousands of people and left countless kingdoms in ruins. Still, the worst part, the part she despised the most, was taking off the hood.
The prince’s chambers were just ahead. She found her footing on the brick wall and climbed. It was only a few feet taller than her and she would be over it in a matter of moments. Landing on the other side with a thud, she took off running. First through the door in front of her, then a left, up the stairs, right, and then another left. She always made sure to get a detailed map of the kingdom before invading. It made the job that much easier. She was honestly surprised more people didn’t try to find the map records. They weren’t hard to find as most kingdoms took over older kingdoms and didn’t bother to change much of the architecture. Laziness really.
She stopped in front of the prince’s door. Even though his kingdom was under siege she knew he’d be in here. He was known for giving orders from his bathtub while his parents were away. *Hopefully he has a towel nearby* she thought as she fiddled with the lock. *Almost open... almost... Got it!* She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
—————————
The prince had planned for a relaxing day. His parents were away, he was throwing a party tonight... what could get in the way?
*An invasion? Really?* He thought to himself as his guards told him to prepare. *Who invades on Sunday’s? Aren’t we supposed to have a break day? Really.* As he let out a big sigh he told his servant to draw a bath. He always thought better in the bubbles. Ever since he could remember water has calmed him down in moments of crisis and this was certainly a moment of crisis.
He thought the battle was going well. His forces seemed to be holding the enemy just past the gate. *As long as they don’t get in, we can wrap this up quickly* he mused. He had even started humming to himself with the thought of still hosting the party tonight.
It was at this moment the door to his chamber opened and startled him. He nearly flew out of the tub. Luckily there was a towel nearby that he was able to grab.
Before him stood a hooded figure. Draped in all black. Petite. Not much taller than five feet. Slim, but lean. Definitely a woman. *Hmmmm...*
With swift movements the figure whipped off her hood. Her dark brown hair was pulled back save for a few curls that framed her face perfectly. Her olive skin was flawless in spite of her battle wounds. She had one long scar that ran down from the right side of her forehead all the way down to the left side of her chin. She had another three lines angling downward on her right cheek. Those looked deep, but have faded over time. Somehow the scars missed her eyes and for this the prince thanked the heavens. The most beautiful piercing dark green eyes he had ever seen were now staring directly at him. He forgot he was only in a towel and there was a war raging on outside. All he could see is the wonder standing in front of him.
—————————
Laila braced herself for the grimace and the disgust when she pulled back her hood. It was always there, a consistency she came to hate and also rely on when taking over kingdoms. So when she looked up after revealing her face to find a face looking at her in awe, she was visibly taken aback. At a loss for words she took in the sight of the prince. A skinny, but lean man, mid-twenties maybe, pampered, standing half out of the bath and half in it haphazardly holding a towel covering the lower front half of his body. His blonde hair still wet from the bath hanging just below his ears. His brown eyes holding her gaze.
“I am requesting your surrender,” Laila finally managed to mumble after what seemed like minutes in silence.
Nothing. No response from the prince. Just that same gaze. Laila looked around the room. He was alone in here. *What are the chances?* she thought.
A little louder this time, “I am requesting your surrender.”
At that the prince’s foot that was in the tub slipped and he fell out of the tub entirely. Stumbling to gather his composure, he ended upright with the towel securely tied around his waist.
“Hello, I am Prince Rowan. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
Visibly startled, Laila gained her composure once again. “I am The Harbinger of Death, Princess Laila Grotski of the Hawthorne Kingdom.”
The prince, still dripping wet and in a towel, walked up to Laila, grabbed her hand, and kneeled. He gazed up at her for a moment with his chocolate eyes while removing her black glove. Turning his head downward, he ever so softly kissed the top of her hand.
Laila was frozen. *Is this really happening?* kept racing through her mind. *If so, this is going to be a long invasion.*
The prince slipped her glove back on and stood up. Inches apart, they held each other’s gaze and wondered what the rest of their day will look like.
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The summit is held every ten years since time immemorial. Despite it being meant for the purpose of bringing the warring kingdoms together, it often reaps more discord than whatever peace is sown. In the face of the calamity from ages past, the kingdoms allied together to survive and so the tradition of the summit came into being.
Held in the capital of the Horven kingdom, it was not simply tradition that gave the kingdom this bittersweet honor. It being one of the smallest territories, it is nestled amidst frigid mountain ranges wringed on most sides by oceans. Only deep within the territory are there truly habitable areas where hot springs can be found and unique farmable vegetation can be terraced.
Being a natural fortress, but unable to support a large nation, they have always held the most peace agreements and garner the least fear of an upset from one or more disgruntled kingdoms during the summit.
Mira, first princess and heir to throne of the Talmut kingdom, led her cavalcade through the bleak passes and snowy valleys with the assistance of a small Horven envoy. The Talmut were known for two things, their savage cavalry and their vast farms of grain. One of the long dominant kingdoms, they were always in conflict with someone somewhere, though rarely seen as conquerors.
Her entourage had a seemingly small number of actual armored guards. It was a projection of power that she brought more gifts, diplomats, artists, and academics than muscle. The Talmut do not fear reprisal. Well, that is to say, the Talmut royalty do not fear reprisal. Their tradition is to raise each child as a strong and capable leader, those who do not are dissenherited, so that there will always be a strong hand to hold the reigns of the kingdom. Even in times where the reigning family does not produce enough suitable heirs, members of the branch families can be adopted into the line of succession or through accolades even a merchant, diplomat, or soldier can find their way to the throne.
The fact that the kingdom has stayed strong for so long instead of devolving into backstabbing and infighting with this system where no one person is guaranteed power at birth, is often considered more impressive than either it's storehouses or military. The code of honor and merit of the Talmut royalty is absolute leaving little room for compromise and even less for sympathy within their power structure. To be disenherited to a branch family comes with a sense of dishonor, but they are never without worth or future so it does not carry the threat of sedition or coup as can happen elsewhere.
It is with this knowledge that Mira had been given the task of representation at the summit. She comes seeking to demonstrate her mettle off the field of battle. The king and queen have tasked her with renegotiating a trade deal with the Guyin, one of their more peaceful neighbors, establishing a dialogue with the Horvan mason's guild, and, her least favorite task, garnering suitors to visit the kingdom. Thankfully they would not be just for her.
She broke her stony faced brooding with a sigh as she patted her steeds neck. The cheery voice of Gurden, the head of the Horven envoy, piped in, "Something the matter princess?"
| 2021-04-19T10:39:42 | 2021-04-19T10:08:31 | 123 | 11 |
[WP] You are a master kidnapper, who was just kidnapped. Luckily you are in a hands of an amateur. But the problem is, the police is on their way. And they will arrest you, when they find you. You have to help your kidnapper get away with your kidnapping.
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I take my job seriously. Like any self-respecting professional, reputation is worth far more than profit. Well, not exactly, but you get where I’m going with this. You can’t put a price on a job well done.
Reputation and goodwill. Neither of those are easy to get if you don’t strive to be the best. Now, I’m not saying you have to be the best. All I’m saying is you gotta try.
That’s why it pisses me off to no end whenever I meet some young cunt who cares more about strutting than getting results. They have no pride in contributing. No desire to improve themselves. No clue what to do with their future. Worst of all, they always act so goddamn entitled, like the universe owes them a pound of flesh just for being fucking born.
Unfortunately, I now find myself glaring up at one such idiot.
His pistol was shoved so close to my face that I could lick the gunpowder off the barrel’s tip. But that wasn’t why I kept still, my knees rooted to the ground and hands behind my head. No, it was the fact that he seemed so on edge, he was practically a 15-year-old boy in his first strip club: ready to explode at any time.
Jesus, this fucker could kill me with the amount of sweat dripping off his brow alone. He nervously wiped his forehead with the back of a free hand and blinked furiously.
“Keep fucking still, ya hear?” he yelled again.
“I haven’t moved an inch.”
“Yeah, that’s right, don’t even be thinking about doing jack shit! I got the gun here, and I ain’t afraid to bust a cap in yo ass!”
I sighed. Jack shit? Bust a cap? I’d felt more threatened at the last parent-teacher conference. This moron wasn’t fooling anyone.
“If you don’t want me to move, that’s fine,” I stated. “But you have to be clear about your objective. What is it that you actually want me to do?”
“Don’t give me lip, you fucking old man!”
He swung the pistol back as if to whip me in the head. I lifted my hands and held them up as high as I could, making sure to flash a fearful expression.
“I’m sorry, please don’t hit me!” I whimpered. Somehow or another, I even managed to squeeze out a couple of tears that glistened my eyes. God, that really sells it, doesn’t it? Meryl Streep would be proud of me.
You see, one of the first things I learned on the job was that pride and bravado are practically useless. Posturing like the alpha isn’t necessarily the best way to get out alive. When your life is on the line, anything and everything goes, regardless of how stupid it might look. But I haven’t dealt with such a nitwit in years, so I was a little rusty in playing the part of a victim.
“Please, please don’t kill me,” I cried, my hands now clasped together in a begging stance. Logically, pandering to his sense of control would be the best approach. It’s always about the dynamics of power, especially when dealing with rookies trying to flex their authority.
He shifted his weight to the left foot and leaned in closer, pressing the pistol’s barrel hard against my temple. He smirked, and before I could say anything else, he gave a little jump and exclaimed:
“Yeah, that’s right, you fucking bitch-ass piece of shit. I got you! And everyone always saying, you some legend who ain’t even been tagged by the fuzz? Well, that’s all bullshit, yeah? I’m the one standing and you’re on your knees!”
He tapped the gun against his own head, in a silly motion that was supposed to indicate that he’d thought of everything. He was practically tap-dancing with the way he was fidgeting left and right.
“That’s right, I got you dead to rights, you old fucker! And I ain’t even plan much for this shit. All I did was camp out at your house and here you are! Motherfucker, this shit was so fucking easy!”
Holy shit, this little arsehole’s monologuing now. He cackled to himself even more. He didn’t even have a clue what was about to happen.
I cleared my throat. “You know this isn’t my house, right?”
“What?” he said, not entirely registering what I said and still dancing.
“I said, this isn’t my house. It’s an AirBnB.”
He froze and stared at me. “What? What you mean?”
“Well, let me put this clearly. I booked this place because it’s got a clear view of Bennet’s offices. You know who that is?”
I could see the colour drain from his face. Dumb and naive as he was, there was no way he didn’t know who the Dealer of Death was. “Yeah, yeah I know who that.”
“Well, then you should also know that Bennet is paranoid enough to take note of any, let’s see, unusual activity around his assets.”
“Ok…”
“And you should also know that this place has a silent alarm.”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Well, since you know all that so well, you should also be able to deduce that the police are gonna show up at the door anytime now. That means a whole hullabaloo. Neighbours peeking out windows. Cars stopping along the street and gawking passers-by. The whole shebang.”
He could tell that I was being serious. His grip on the pistol loosened, and I bet even the next town over could hear the gears working in his head.
“So,” he gulped. “What you saying is that the police are coming?”
Boy, this one actually hurt. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. “No,” I muttered patiently. Outside, I could hear the faint sirens in the distance.
“It means that the most dangerous man in the whole bloody country just found two new targets.”
|
I woke up with my head spinning. Something hit me hard. When I looked around I realized I was being kidnapped, the scene was too familiar. My hands and legs were tied and in front of me stood a young man, between short and tall, but strong.
"Don't use a cellphone. They might be tracing you."
The kidnapper looked at me with big eyes, stupefied. "So what, wouldn't you like that?" he said. "Shut up, or I'll cover your mouth."
"You should've done that while I was still knocked out", I said. "Don't worry, I won't scream", I added, after seeing his face.
"Do you understand your situation? I fucking kidnapped you, man. Why are you so calm?". He was clearly creeped out by my attitude. Still, why he kidnapped me was a mystery.
"Look, you're a young inexperienced man, I don't know why you're doing this, but you're not going to get far. I want to help you because, let's say I have my reasons to not be found by the police." He made a smile, more like a grimace. I realized he understood the situation.
"Interesting.", he said. "You're going to help me then. I want to reach the other side of the city, and you're going to tell me which turns I should take. I don't want to run into police." Trusting me so easily, I knew I was dealing with an amateur. I knew a couple of ways to reach the other side of the city undetected. I agreed and we got out of the old building where he assaulted me.
The sun had almost set and it was dark. He pushed me inside of his car and we drove off. While I was trying to find a comfortable position I noticed the seats had been painted not too long ago and I was black all over my clothes. Upon closer inspection, the seats were ripped out in a few places and I even found scratch marks. Being a degenerate myself I understood what was going on and I suddenly felt sick.
"Where are we going?", I asked as calmly as possible.
"Shut up and just tell me where to drive. I ask the questions". I'd never been in the back seat before. I knew what I had to do.
"Turn left and then drive forward". After five minutes I told him to turn right.
He did. We got past the police station. "What the...", he shouted but the next second my window was half opened and I screamed.
"HEEELP!". He hadn't even locked the windows. He tried to silence me by punching me but we were caught shortly after.
"Thank you, officer", I said. Better prison than...something else.
| 2019-06-26T06:28:02 | 2019-06-26T03:14:11 | 42 | 28 |
[WP] Today on your 18th birthday you’re informed that your Middle Class life is a sham to teach you good values and your family is actually worth billions.
|
A gelid silence settled in the room. I was sitting on our tattered, avocado green sofa, staring at the pained smiles of my parents. I surveyed the room of our apartment.
There was the dining table made of particle board. The white fridge next to the brown toaster oven with fake wood veneer. The dish washer that we used like a drying rack because it could handle the "dish" part of its job title but not the "washer" part.
I thought of the non-descript scent that had accompanied my mattress when we brought it home from the thrift store - my brand-new used bed. The piece of plywood that served the role of a box springs. The cheap Walmart desk that bowed under the weight of the behemoth PC tower I fought with every night to do my homework.
"We read a lot of books," my dad was saying. He had clearly seen something on my face he hadn't liked, as there was a plaintive note in his voice. It didn't suit him. "They all said that it is best to teach your child good values instead of spoiling them with the reality. We just wanted what was best for you."
"Of course. That makes sense. I understand." I struggled to make my voice sound natural as I spoke, but it sounded alien, far away - like someone was playing a recording of my voice in the apartment next door.
I closed my eyes. The nights I had fallen asleep listening to the couple next door scream at each other. The puntable dog upstairs that always seemed to wait until I had a big test before he started barking. And the noise of the freeway that came in all summer long when the only way to survive the suffocating heat was to leave your window open all night.
"It's just a lot to take in," I said, seizing on the opportunity to be sincere. "What - how does it even work? Are we going to move? Or...do I get an allowance, or something?"
My mother gave me a smile that I'm sure she thought was encouraging. "It's in a trust. Obviously if something were to happen to us, you'd be completely taken care of, but since we're in good health - you should expect things to be more or less the same for the next seven years. Then you'll get the first payment from the trust. In the meantime, you can access funds to support higher education to prepare yourself for whatever kind of future you might want."
Below, on the street, was the used Corolla that usually got us to where we were going on time. Currently, it was parked just 20 feet away from the street corner where I got beat up for the first time. If you turned left there and went about 5 blocks, you got to my high school.
That was where the magic happened. My freshman year, upper classmen used threw me in dumpsters a few times because my clothes "made me look like garbage." My English teacher had failed as an author and made up for it by telling us how terrible our writing was.
"My future." My dream had been to be a writer until I started school there. If you did well in classes, you were simply ridiculed; if you read for pleasure, you were accosted. This was the place where my dream had been stabbed in the side and bled until it drained of all color.
But one thing it did have was an auto repair elective. My parents had made me take it, of course - they wanted me to learn an honest trade. It was not a good class, and it was led by someone who knew a lot about cars and nothing about teaching.
But I had learned enough. The reason people cut brake lines, for example, is because the brake fluid drains out and the brakes fail to operate. That, however, is a pretty crude technique and fairly easy to spot by a claims adjuster.
If you're going to go under the car anyway, you might as well just drain the master cylinder. You get the same effect without any physical evidence of tampering. Plus, there was something poetic, I thought, about letting the body of this car drain of fluid it needed to function, to survive. They even call it bleeding the lines. Bleeding.
There's that corner I mentioned before. Every Sunday, my parents, my wonderful parents, drive to that corner and turn right. And as they head to church, they crest a hill - one of the steepest in the area - with stop signs down the other side to encourage people to keep under a certain speed.
My parents were giving people. They gave me this experience, this sham existence.
It seems only fair that I give them something back. Their gift taught me how life involves pain. And I, in my generosity, have ensured that they will no longer experience that pain. It would be silly, really, to have to suffer when that suffering could be completely avoided.
|
"So all this time... I've been wearing Walmart brand shoes, eating bagged cereal, and *not* using an iPhone because you wanted to teach me how to appreciate, like, work, and stuff?" I asked.
"Son, it's easy to develop a sense of entitlement when you have access to so much." My dad said. "It takes a lot of work to remain humble."
"I get it, dad. Just promise me I don't have to breathe the same air as those dirty peons anymore." I begged.
"Excuse me?" My dad asked with an angry tone.
"Relax, dad, it was a joke. As long as I'm not a savage, I can handle being around them for a while." I laughed.
"That's not funny, son." My dad sulked.
"Neither is being made fun of in public school." I joked.
"This sense of humor of yours is disturbing." My dad said.
"Know what else is disturb--"
"Stop it, Danny!"
I was quiet for a minute, but then I started laughing.
"What is it?"
"You and mom acted poor for eighteen years just to instill some shoddy value system in me. You could have been going to the Bahamas five times a year!" I laughed harder. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
My dad exhaled sharply.
"Dad, I'm joking. Let's go get hookers."
| 2017-12-28T12:57:55 | 2017-12-28T10:15:06 | 228 | 154 |
[WP] You died. Death is boring, a blank black nothing. After a while, boredom sets in. As a joke you shout, "Let there be light!" And suddenly, there was Light.
|
It was too bright. In the huge expanse of nothingness, black had been replaced by its arch-nemesis. Blinding. Uncomfortable.
*We can’t live like this*
No sooner had the thought entered my head, I realised how stupid it was. You’re not living at all, idiot.
“Uh, hello?” I called into the light, “think we could kill the brightness a smidge?”
Immediately, the light faded to a warm, orange glow, as though the sun had begun to set on a summer’s day. Much better. At least I could see where I was, now. Not that it helped me work out exactly what ‘where’ was.
The floor was solid. That much was easy to tell. I thumped my bare feet upon it a couple of times just to make sure. The slapping sound that echoed around my head reminded me of the hard, tiled floor of my bathroom. Although I suppose it’s not my bathroom anymore. Huh. For a moment I allowed my mind to wonder who would be the one to discover my lifeless frame in the tub. Ruth? Layla? Probably Keith. He was always home early on Thursdays and—
*What the fuck are you doing?*
Whilst letting my thoughts run wild, I had started wandering across the open landscape. Can’t allow that to happen again.
*Stop sentimentalising the whole thing. You did this for a reason and now we’re here. This is better for you. It’s where we belong.*
Sentimental? Me? I’ve never been the type. But when you find yourself in a foreign place with no discernible surroundings, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve left behind. The stupid things. The rustling of the leaves as you meander in autumn. The sweet scent of freshly ground coffee beans in the morning. The way Ruth’s hair falls effortlessly down over her shoulders, cascading beauty capturing my gaze every single time. Ruth.
Ruth.
I can’t be here. I’m not sure I wanted to be here in the first place.
*Tough luck, bozo. This is our home for the rest of our days.*
A door. On the horizon, a small brown arch emerged from the haze of this dusk-like plain. It had to be a door. I broke into a run across the hard, enamelled floor. There was no way of knowing what was on the other side, but goddamn it I was going to find out. Within seconds I was upon it, and burst straight through.
Silence. Darkness. Back to square one. I decided that one more try wouldn’t hurt.
“Let there be light!” I shouted.
A flickering candle appeared in the corner of this much smaller room. It’s gift of light was enough to recognise the ghosts of objects I knew. The curved ceramic bowl of my own bathtub. I traced the outline of it with my fingers. It was filled with ice-cold water. This had to be it.
*It’s no use, there’s no way out of this. None of them love you, and none of them will even care enough to find you.*
I had to try. I was already standing in it. Pushing all air out of my lungs, I plunged my entire body under the surface.
Ice screamed its way through every vein as I fought the urge to pull myself back out. No. Too far gone to back out now. I could still see the candle, flickering on the side of the tub. The waning taper danced around, mocking me with its small ball of heat.
*No! You can’t do this! We’re meant to be here! It’s our choice!*
Invisible hands were trying their utmost to pull me back to the surface. He wasn’t giving up. I fought them off and tried to stay below the surface. The candle’s flame was now a tiny orange speck on the tip. Almost gone.
“Jake! JAKE!”
With great force, I was wrenched out of the water and on to the cold, hard, tiled floor—you know, the one just like in my bathroom.
The candle was gone.
|
"Let there be light" i said, and the emptiness I was in became bright. After the realization, I fell into my thoughts
'When did I came here? a long time ago... actually, never. and also now. nothing is nowhere. when? never. makes sense, right? like i said, it didn't happen. nothing was never anywhere. that's why it's been everywhere. it's been so "everywhere," you don't need a "where." you don't even need a "when." that's how "every" it gets.
forget this. i wanna be something. go somewhere. do something. i want things to change. i want to invent time and space. and i know it's possible because everything is here, and it probably already happened. i just don't know when to start.'
and that's exactly where it started.
| 2019-10-06T04:05:58 | 2019-10-06T03:43:48 | 42 | 25 |
[WP] Everyone born in your family has the power to fix, restore things. It has been that way for hundreds of years, until you were born. You believed yourself to be powerless, until one day you discover that you can fix things - but only immaterial ones.
|
"Quite the place you have here," Zelda said as she walked into the foyer, looking around at my new house. "Mom would be proud of your decorating skills."
I laughed. "I do my best, Zelds. I never had the talent that dear Mother had for home design, but I picked up a few things from watching her do minor mending repairs."
Zelda and I walked into the living room and sat on the couch. "Remember that mirror that Ms. Weisman brought in that one time?" I asked her. "The one that was completely shattered?"
She nodded as I spoke. "Yes, it was like looking at a spiderweb with all the cracks spread across it."
"And Mom just flicked her wrist and it was fixed. Good as new. I think she even gave it a shine and a new coat of polish around the frame of it."
Zelda smiled. "Well, she always liked to do nice things for people. 'Something a little extra,' she'd say."
I leaned back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling, losing myself in memory. Mom had been the go-to person for mendings like that; Dad was the one people asked for when they needed a car fixed or an appliance repaired. They'd make a show of working on whatever it was for a while, then didn't even charge them when they were finished with the job. "I'd charge if it had taken any effort, Michael," Dad told me once. "A snap of the fingers isn't worth a few bucks. Keeping people happy is good enough for me."
My sister had taken a different approach to her abilities. I turned towards her on the couch. "How goes the dermatology biz?" I asked. "Getting lots of patients?"
"I do well enough, yeah. People are happy and they tell their friends about me; I get more patients that tell more friends. So the cycle goes. I've had a few complaints asking why they always have to be put under for even the smallest procedure, but what else am I to do? Fix their acne right in front of them? Remove that nasty scar from years ago before their eyes? That'd just be bad business."
I nodded. She wasn't wrong; exposing herself like that would be a publicity nightmare for her practice - and potentially the family. But there had been something wrong the past few times I'd seen her. I couldn't put my finger on it then, but I just might be able to now...
I looked at my sister, trying to feel if there was any discontent in her. I mentally pushed towards her, gently sliding past the outer worries and emotions that were on the surface. There was something deeper here; I could see it in her eyes.
"Are you happy with your job?" I asked her.
She looked at me, confused. "Of course I am, Mike. I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't."
I pushed further. There was a block she'd put up; I just needed to get through it.
"And Tom, how does he feel about your job?"
Her anxieties spiked and she looked away. *There it is,* I thought.
"Tommy is supportive," she replied, her voice emotionless.
"Zelds, look at me."
She slowly turned her eyes to meet mine. I could see tears threatening to break towards the surface.
"What does he really think about it?" I asked.
Zelda sighed. "He thinks it's stupid. He knows my abilities and thinks I should be doing more with what I have, but not out of some sense of goodness or altruism - out of greed. He thinks my abilities are just a way to get a quick buck. I've told him no so many times about that, but..." she trailed off.
"He won't listen to you," I supplied. "You're getting worn down from it. He's making you feel guilty, like you're somehow not taking care of the family because you don't want to take advantage of people."
Zelda's jaw dropped. "How did you...?"
I smiled slightly. "Funny story, actually. I started working as a counselor. I had client after client come in, and it wasnt until my tenth session that I realized what was happening. You all were able to fix things on the outside - material things. And I never had that ability. You remember?"
Zelda nodded, and I continued. "I finally figured it out. I can't fix things on the outside, but I can fix them on the inside."
I looked down at my hands, a little embarrassed that it'd taken this long to figure out. "That includes your own strength to stand up to Tom. To tell him what's what. Because our abilities aren't to be used for personal gain. Do you remember what Mom used to tell us?"
"We are the willing workers," Zelda replied. "We do good because good had been done to us."
I reached out mentally and let a surge of power flow out to my sister. Her anxieties over her husband vanished. She looked up at me, a smile of gratitude on her face.
"That's right, Zelds. We are the willing workers. Now put that in Tom's pipe and tell him to smoke it."
****
Read more stories at r/NovaTheElf!
|
"Sammy."
His older sister looked up from the book she was reading, and sighed when she saw the broken mug he was holding carefully.
"Still no luck?" Her eyes were sympathetic.
"No." He sighed.
"You'll be fine, maybe you're just a late bloomer." Sam murmurs, reaching out a hand towards the mug.
One touch, and the mug was made whole again, with no traces that it was ever broken in the first place.
"I'm starting to doubt even that." He purses his lips. "Sammy, do you actually, seriously think I'm adopted?"
"No!" She reassured him hastily. "Of course not, you look exactly like Mom, please don't think like that. They'll get mad if they hear you saying that, you know."
"I know." He replied, face breaking out into a small smile.
She patted his hand gently, still looking a bit worried.
"Speaking of Mom and Dad, I heard them arguing really loudly earlier. Do you know what happened?"
"Oh, that. They were just arguing about the business, as usual. I talked to them for a bit and they're fine now." He shrugged.
"Huh. You never fail to calm them down, that's really amazing! It's almost like you have the power to fix arguments!" She laughed, worries from earlier forgotten.
"Haha. Yeah. Like that's even considered a power. What, instead of pots and pans, I can fix relationships?"
"Like that's even possible." Sammy paused, eyes looking distant. "....although, haven't you helped me and Jason get back together so many times now? It's the same with your friends, if I remember correctly....
He laughed awkwardly, dismissing her idea. That's not possible at all.
Right?
| 2020-03-18T11:55:28 | 2020-03-18T11:23:49 | 199 | 62 |
[WP] You are an ordinary human going about your day when you suddenly find yourself in hell. Looking down you see yourself standing on some crudely drawn symbols. A nearby demon child holds up some paper and says "Um...can you help me with my homework?"
|
"Uhm, can you help me with my homework?"
A little demon boy was looking up at him. The child had horns curled around his head, and furry legs tipped with obsidian hooves. In one hand, it held a disturbingly leathery sheet titled "A History of Man", with the other, solid graphite in the vague shape of a pencil.
The human snatched the sheet of paper without a second of hesitation, and began to read down the textured paper. He sneered in disgust as he took the block of graphite, realizing that it had blackened his hand on contact, but eventually chose to ignore the inconvenience, and kept reading in silence.
The demon boy looked nervously at the human. Perhaps it was the imposing black suit, or maybe it was the way it had taken away his homework, as if it was being stolen from him. The boy began to mutter nervously to himself.
"What did you say?" Replied the human, his eyes never averting from the paper.
"Ah!" The boy jumped, "uhm, nothing! I was just..."
"If you have nothing to say, then do not speak," shot back the human, as he made another note. "Now, this assignment, it's simply a number of true/false questions on human psychology? History? Half of this is completely nonsensical..."
The boy looked up nervously at the human in the suit. "Well, yes, I was hoping you could teach me a little about yourself-" the demon stopped himself. The human was writing on the paper, the stiff sheet resting on his forearm like a clipboard. When he realized what was going on, the boy gathered the courage to continue, "Uhm, hey, don't write on that, I need to learn it."
The human stopped writing as if he had been insulted. The demon figured out why the human was so intimidating: it was not the spotless black suit, nor was it his age: it was his cold, confident gaze. When he saw it for the first time, pointed directly at him, the boy's blood froze.
"You want to do what?"
"I need to learn it," the boy repeated, "I'm supposed to be learning about human history. If you fill in all the answers for me, how will I learn anything?"
The human maintained his gaze, causing the boy to make a small step back. He nervously looked at his summoning circle; the human could not leave it without his permission, right?
"Very well, ask away."
The human had spoken clearly, crossing its bold arms while still holding on to the writing material, but the boy had not yet recovered. Finally, he steeled himself. "Why are you so scary?"
"Hmph," sneered the human, "your courage, or lack thereof, is irrelevant. Tell me what needs to be done so we can get this over with."
"Have you been to hell before?" the boy asked.
The human rolled his eyes in annoyance. "From my point of view, Demon-thing, this is all some dream. Whether I do nothing, or whether I do your homework makes little difference to me. If I am stuck here, I might as well pick the more mentally stimulating option, though my patience for this task is quickly wearing thin." The humans solid blue eyes revolved around the room, finally settling on a painting on the wall - three men, two of them mourning, and the last laying lifeless across one of the men's knees. "That painting, what is it?"
"Sorry..." replied the demon, "it's just, I thought humans were afraid of hell."
The human sneered. "Hell?" it chuckled. "Let me tell you a little secret, boy, those who are afraid of something so nebulous as 'hell' or 'eternal damnation' are those who are too afraid of hurting others to pursue their own ambition; they would sooner let themselves be shoved aside than to shove back. I have no such failings."
"You aren't afraid of being condemned forever?"
"And what, be poked with a pitchfork by smart-mouthed little demon boys like you while my soul burns for all eternity?" The human spit, the ball of saliva landing next to his own immaculate black shoes. "Allow me to inform you, boy - if the tyrants and dictators of the world do not fear hell, it is because hell cannot commit a single atrocity that we have not already committed on each other." The human's eyes returned to the painting on the wall, taking a step forwards, "that painting, I think I've seen it before. Let me get a closer look."
The demon panicked when he saw the human come forth. "Uh, I really shouldn't," he looked towards his circle. It should prevent the human from breaking out, but as his eyes focused, he saw a little bit near the human's feet had been smudged out. The spittle?
"Boy, that was not a request."
The demon boy froze in fear.
"What, do I need to come over there myself?" The human sighed. "I suppose even in a fever dream, others are just as unreliable."
As the human was about to take another step, the boy's adrenaline snapped him out of the shock. "Go back!" he shouted.
"What..?" In a flash of light, the human had left just as quickly as he'd arrived. The sheet of paper and the graphite it had held in his hands fell to the floor.
The boy took a few deep breaths.
The human was gone. Slowly, the demon felt himself calming down. He looked at the sheet of leathery paper that had fallen to the floor. He looked down the sheet of paper, at all the different questions. His eyes settled to where the human had stopped answering.
The next question read: "Are humans a type of demon? True/False."
He took the graphite in his little red hand, and circled "True."
|
I quickly slapped the little boy’s claw away from me. I may be in hell, but that’s probably because I never did my homework.
The bottom eyelids of the horned child began to brim with blood.
“You seriously about to cry?” I asked, annoyed.
The boy’s bottom lip trembled as he composed himself enough to speak. “I’m telling my dad on you!”
A laugh escaped my lips. “You go right on ahead and do that. I ain’t scared of no homework totin’ snot nose kid’s dad.” I really wasn’t. I was something of a tough guy. I was the kind of guy to play poker blindfolded. I didn’t care nothin’ fer no winnin’ er losin’. I just liked the sound of cards being shuffled in a room full of old women.
In a puff of black smoke, the little boy disappeared from me. With him gone, I was free to take in my new surroundings. Fire and brimstone as far as the eye could see, just like the good book said.
“Hey,” a tremendous voice boomed from behind me. “You the ladyboy who slapped my son’s hand?”
I turned around slowly for effect. “Who the fuck do you think you’re calling a ladyb-“ I cut myself short as I noticed the hulking monster now looming before me. A black skinned thing, half man, half demon horse, bull, snake, all sorts of crazy shit. Looked like something out of a fever dream in a haunted house.
The beastly thing was holding the small child’s hand delicately, it was an odd looking spectacle to be honest. The little boy, apart from the horns, looked far too human to belong to this beast.
“Well,” the creature said in an impatient tone. “Apologize to my son.”
I was taken aback. Judging from the stature of this creature there was no need to *ask* me anything. It could have easily pinned me under its hoof until I said the magic words. I was thankful that for whatever reason the creature didn’t realize this itself.
“I’m sorry,” I said, as sincerely as an insincere man like I could.
“Did that please you, child?” The beast asked, looking affectionately down toward the child.
“Yep,” sang the boy merrily. “He looks so scared, it’s hilarious. Thanks, Satan.”
That was the first of many meetings I would come to have with the infamous lord of Hell.
| 2019-09-17T13:43:27 | 2019-09-17T13:32:05 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to you, the butterfly whose life you just saved is a ancient master of the butterfly effect. As she flutters away she makes a strategically placed flap to repay your kindness.
|
“Mom! A butterfly is caught in the kitchen windows! Mom, it’s going to die, what should I do?” Ryn knew mama was sick and couldn’t help her today, but she was panicking. Again. It’s going to be up to you soon. Get it together Aderyn. The memory hurt. She was a failure.
A reply from the living room answered her, calm tones soothing the sharp ache in Ryn’s chest like they always did. “Sweetie, how did it get in? Put on your detective cap and inspect the scene for clues. I know you can do it my clever girl.” This was Ryn’s problem and she would have to figure it out on her own soon anyway. She took a deep breath and replied “You are right mama, I’ve got this.”
“Make sure that fire on the stove you were trying to hide is actually put out first, the butterfly can wait a moment rather than burn with the whole kitchen I think.” Mama wheezed, laughing at her own joke.
The fire was out, but the smoke still lingered in the small blue kitchen. She checked to make sure her scorched chicken was not holding embers ready to kickstart the chaos again. Confirmed and set aside, she darted to the window and looked at the butterfly. This was a different species from those often in their garden outside, which were quite common with her mother’s enthusiasm for flowers favored by butterflies. They were a comfort for her, beautiful and free to enjoy the beautiful world.
The butterfly seemed far too large to have found a way in between the inside sliding window and the outdoor screen, so it must have become trapped when she had thrown the window open to clear the smoke. Shimmering dust coated the brushed edge of the window on the left and the butterfly struggled in the tight glass space, the wings showed wear. The way in would have to be the way out if she wanted to preserve the window.
When the butterfly rested, Ryn slid the window towards the screen, trying to catch the silver blue creature before it could move again. Inching forward the window edge touched the wing. The violent flutters to escape this new danger left more silvery dust on the glass and an injured leg. She stopped and pulled the window back to give it more room. “At least I can make it comfortable, I can’t fix this without killing it.”
Tears again. It would die no matter what she did. Her first swipe over its body was brutal, this would be its end. She stared at the glittering scales of the wings wishing she could fix it. She was useless. Her Grandparents tried to warn her, prepare Ryn for the inevitable death of her mother. All she could do was fret over little things and make sure it was perfect for mama. Her mama. Always there for her, but little Ryn just cried and could do nothing to save her. Just make her comfortable before the end. There was no fixing anything. What would it matter if she saved this stupid butterfly? Her hands clenched the sink, letting the tears fall in.
Struggling sounds made he look up to the window. Ryn saw her reflection in the glass and paused. Looking back at her was not the child’s face she knew. The face of her elders stared back. She saw herself as the woman she would become, sharper edges and gentle grey eyes hardened by the echoes of future tragedy. A piece of glass was no barrier for this woman. She would not let this stop her from saving what mattered.
Thought followed action. The butterfly was near the top of the window as a cast iron pan smashed through both panes of glass. For a moment, the butterfly glowed as the prismatic shards caught the evening light, blinding her. Ryn cried out, searching for the creature through the after images. She stumbled outside to the backyard searching for its body, but only glass and the heavy pan sat on the lawn. Movement to her left brought her gaze up to the flowers, where the freed butterfly had landed. With an erratic launch, it fluttered by her and disappeared over the fence and into the forest beyond.
[Partial Transcript of Dr. Aderyn Heret’s speech regarding Chrysalis Therapy advancements and the rollout of the famous Health Education Network]
“Thirty-five years ago, I lost my mother due to an incurable illness. As many had experienced before, I felt hopeless and believed it was the end. All I could do was make her comfortable until the inevitable occurred. One sunny day, I was inspired to begin this research into the treatment we have named “chrysalis”. As my mother always reminded me to do when I sought a solution, I put on my “detective cap”
(she pretends to place a cap on her head, laughter from the crowd)
And I read everything I could get my hands on. Eventually, I managed my first prototype, which delayed my mother’s death for two more precious years. This was deemed a success, but I knew we could do more. With greater funding and media attention from my first success, the newly formed team managed to complete the second iteration in time to heal three patients who volunteered for this new treatment. Tara, Mark, and Beatrice now stand with us, cured of the same illness that my mother had. Today, I stand with my peers to celebrate our discoveries: rebuilding the body from the inside out, repairing what was broken beyond salvation, and saving those who once were considered terminal. Death is a part of life, but we seek a world where we have the time to spend with those we love. A world where illness is no barrier, where time can be our friend again. I miss my mother everyday, but it is her determination and strength that lives and drives me forward to new discoveries and the hope I have now for a brighter tomorrow for all.”
|
With a flitter and a stomp she struggles to regain flight. Her emerald prison shifts upward with her as the sap grips her tiny feet. It is not enough as it holds her fast, snapping her back onto the leaf.
Her struggles have not gone unnoticed. Through the underbrush a carnivorous monster stalks this helpless prey. Each claw long enough to spear her from tip to tip. Each pad pats the soil gently as to be as silent as possible. It's slit eyes narrow, focusing on the bouncing leaf.
The vibrant hues of her wings glitter brightly in the mid day sun. Enticing to any predator above. She notices the eyes amongst the shadows and panics. She fluttered desperately. The creature simply lowered it's form, collecting energy in it's hind legs. This was it. This was her end.
She stomped down next to the tomato plants. Hard enough to startle the aging tabby. It leaped vertically, flipping before catching the soil below and sprinting in fear.
"Shoo! Not today," the elderly woman huffed. She looks down to the helpless thing. Butterflies were always her favorite. Reaching down, she brushes the frightened creature off the sticky leaf and it flew much to her hearts delight.
She knew she had to return the favor. She knew her fate was changed by her kindness and so she had to return the favor. They were forbidden to change the fate of humans, but what of humans changing theirs? She followed the elder hero. Stating just behind but rushing as much as she could.
Today she would go to the nearby market, for she needed more seeds for the next season. But she would not return. At least that is what was fated.
She followed for nearly an hour, it was good her pace had slowed in her old age or she would not be able to keep up. To save her. A gentle breeze was moving towards her as she waited at the light. It wouldn't be enough to lift the dirt where it would need to go. Her cheek at best. She knew what had to be done.
Racing to her side she flapped as hard as possible, providing that last extra push, bringing the dirt to her eyes.
"Son of a whore bag! Fuck!" Sweet as sugar, with a sailors mouth apparently. It was then that a car runs the red light, rushing past her. She was supposed to be in the way. Now she'll return home and be ready for her daughter's visit. She looks forward to her diet Coke and ice cream tribute.
| 2018-03-02T17:59:42 | 2018-03-02T12:23:41 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...
https://www.battleforthenet.com/#bftn-action-form
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold! Just trying to do my part on this fight, but as I don't live in the US, raising awareness is the most I can do, glad it worked!
|
The suite on the sixth floor of the Trump International Hotel, Washington D.C., was decorated in chestnut and tan. The headboard of the king size bed was carved as if it was a coat of arms of some legitimate monarch, and was trimmed with fake gold, which poorly matched the Kremlin red, velvet throw pillows. Like the room's single, useless accent wall, the curtains were a brutal cerulean, suggesting a space that conceals more deception than the dark seabed of a Vladivostok harbor. In all, the suite was reminiscent of something a Tsar might have once maintained, perhaps as quarters for secondary guests in some Eastern Palace. Nevertheless, on that particular Pennsylvania Avenue afternoon, Ajit Pai, FCC Chairman, felt anything but secondary.
Ajit rolled over on the sheets, letting his chesthair peak out from his robe, and then stretching all the way from his scapula to his calves. Laying beside him, Lowell C. McAdam, CEO of Verizon Communications, picked another chocolate covered strawberry from the bowl. He placed it in Ajit's mouth, letting his hand linger on his former General Counsel's lips just a moment too long.
"You know I love dessert," Ajit said, "but I hope you have something else for me."
"I don't recall you ever being so direct before, my Sugar Plum" Lowell returned, clasping Ajit's buttocks.
"Maybe those FTC boys go easy on you," Ajit answered, pulling away, but only a little, only for show, "but I'm from the FCC, so you better show me the cash first!"
Lowell sighed. He spun off the bed. He sauntered over to the bureau and picked up a leather briefcase with two silver latches. Lowell showed Ajit what was inside: stacks and stacks of crisp hundred dollar bills.
"Just to be clear," Lowell explained, "every last cent of this is to repeal net neutrality. You're giving me that ass for free."
Lowell pounced down on top of Ajit, groping at him the way a crude man only does to a prostitute. Ajit loved feeling bought and paid for. He giggled and squealed, and the two men kissed.
But suddenly, the passion and privacy of the suite was shattered by a flash of light and a thunderous clap. The hideous furniture Ivanka had inexplicably wanted credit for rattled along the carpet. When the two lovers and conspirators regained their composure, there was a strange young man and woman standing before them, wearing tattered jeans and leather vests. They both had AK-47s draped over their shoulders. The woman punched Ajit hard in the jaw.
"Are you Ajit Pai the FCC chairman or Ajit Pai the cricketer!" she demanded. Her face was stained with dirt.
"What? Who are you? Where did you come from?" Ajit asked, favoring his chin, his whole body quivering.
"FCC chairman or cricketer!" the woman shouted again, brandishing the AK-47 at the frightened, half naked businessman, and lobbyist pretending to be a guard of the public interest.
"FCC!" Ajit replied, "Yes, I'm with the FCC!"
"You know why she had to ask that, motherfucker?" the rough man began, "because the only other famous Ajit Pai was a fucking cricket player, and where we come from, Wikipedia pages take twenty minutes to load, unless you pay an extra $9.99 a month! So all we really had to go on was the fucking disambiguation page. You know how hard it is to tell an artificially intelligent time machine where you want to go, when all it can access are the goddamn disambiguation pages?"
The man picked Ajit up, and threw him onto the bed. He did the same to Lowell.
"Your little side deal here," the woman explained to the telecommunications executives, "let me tell you how this goes down. First, you repeal net neutrality for some chump change kickback. Then, of course, all the asshole ISPs start tacking on surcharges for people to get on pretty much all the good websites, until nobody could afford more than one. So, the same thing happened that always happens when you force people to choose teams. Society broke apart completely. Soon, the Youtubian Republic was throwing molotov cocktails at the Facebook Moms, and the Netflixtariat were being rounded up by the Insta-thots. Nobody talks to each other or shares anything, and it is terrible."
Ajit and Lowell looked to the door and windows, thinking of any possible escape. But there was none. They were hostages of an uncaring power who had no concern for their well being.
"But there was one silver lining to not having the web you're used to," the rough man continued, "Without an open internet, nobody else got to find out that we finally cracked how to build a fully operational time machine. We didn't tweet about it or do a single AMA. Because why would we? There'd be nobody online to see it. That means we were able to skip all the bullshit and just travel right back here, right to this moment, before you two fucked each other, and then the whole country."
"Are," Lowell stammered, "are you going to kill us?"
The time travelers laughed, then stuck peculiar glowing orbs on the lovers' chests.
"No, we're not going to kill you," the woman replied, "instead, we're just going to send you boys into the future you're trying to create. And we'll stay back here in 2017, when things were at least only halfway terrible."
"What? No, you can't!" Ajit shouted.
"Sure we can," the man told him, "because time travel has no regulations. I thought you loved it when technology has no regulation."
The woman pushed a button on a strange remote. The suite filled with another flash of light. Ajit and Lowell embraced. They vanished.
|
When I was young, my mother would often tell me stories at bedtime, stories of the internet when she was a little girl.
She told of how it was beautiful. How the memes ran free, without restraint, without obstacle.
I didn't know what had happened to this internet back then. I was too young to understand the ways things were now.
But as I grew older, my mother began to tell me new stories.
She told me how the beautiful internet she had once called home came under attack.
With sadness in her eyes, she recounted the doomed fight the denizens of the internet waged. She told of how her people fought against the forces that threatened the very essence of their home, net neutrality.
I listened, eyes wide, as she reminisced about the days when the feed was clogged with red boxes, and how the dwellers of every corner of the internet came out and fought for their homeland.
They fought with the facts, and with outrage, and ----E pitchforks, and memes. They fought valiantly, with courage and honor.
But in the end, they couldn't save the internet. Net neutrality became nothing but a distant memory, and the internet she had loved was gone. Slowly but surely, all that which made the internet beautiful was stripped away until there was nothing left. The heroes failed, and darkness prevailed.
Today, the internet is but a shell of its former self, and we live in despair. There are no more cat videos, no gifs. All memes are dead memes. The world is cold, and all that is left for us humans is to suffer in the dark.
At least, that's what I thought. But then, I learned that there were still some people fighting, even today, when the internet as it used to be is but a distant dream.
The rebels know there is no hope of saving the internet now. They can't bring something back from the dead. But what if we could go back in time, with the knowledge of what happened in the past, to save the internet from ruin before it was already gone?
Many years have passed since that cursed year, 2017. Enough time that we now have the technology to go back to that time when the internet had not yet died.
Now, I am part of the small, elite group of rebels that is travelling back to that year. We know that the people responsible for killing the internet have caught wind of what we are doing, that our time is nearly up, that this mission is our best and only chance to save that which our parents loved, and cried for.
I swear to myself, to my mother, and to all those who still hold onto hope, that we will save the internet. We will not fail.
| 2022-06-27T06:31:08 | 2017-11-21T22:27:09 | 4,450 | 227 |
[WP] Your family line suffers from a pirate curse: A demonic shark will manifest itself in nearby sources of water and harrow you and your ancestors. You live three-hundred miles from any body of water and this has made the shark get...creative.
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So there are two things about demons that don’t really show up in the mythology.
The first is that they can scale. In the ocean, Frank (he hates that name, so I’ve stuck with it) would be enormous. In a swimming pool, he’d be about the size of a bull shark.
In a toilet?
Frank ends up about the size of a gold fish.
I had just sat down when I felt a stinging pain on my right butt cheek, like a sharpened clothes pin closing on my glute. I yelped, stood straight up and grabbed at the source of the irritation.
“What the fuck, Frank?!”
This leads me to the second, and arguably more annoying habit of demons...
They. Do not. Shut. Up.
“PIECE BY PIECE, I WILL DEVOUR YOU, JUST AS I HAVE CONSUMED YOUR ANCESTORS OVER LAST THREE HUNDRED YEARS!”
I held him by his tail up to my face. The demonic voice emanating from something that qualified as the runt of the sushi pile was almost hilarious.
“What bro? Are you going to nibble me to death?”
Frank blinked, which is one of the most unnerving things he does, opened his mouth to respond, thought better, and relaxed. Hanging dejectedly from my fingers, he said, “FINE. PUT ME BACK IN MY AQUARIUM.”
I pulled up my pants, wincing slightly over the fresh abrasion on my ass, and walked out to my living room. Off to the side I had a twenty gallon fish tank that served as Frank’s enclosure. Keeping him held out for a moment, I reached down and grabbed the Spongebob-themed pineapple at the bottom and pulled it out.
“OH COME ON CHRIS! NOT MY PINEAPPLE! I CAN’T SLEEP WITHOUT MY PINEAPPLE.”
I tossed him into the tank.
“You should have thought of that before you decided to chew on my butt cheek. No pineapple for three weeks. You’re lucky you didn’t clamp down on any, ‘low hanging fruit,’ this time, or I’d stuff you into a canteen for the next year.”
Frank grinned.
“I THOUGHT OF THAT, BUT I NEED YOU TO HAVE CHILDREN FOR ME TO DEVOUR IN THE FUTURE. AS YOU’VE GOT THE WORST APPROACH ANXIETY WHEN IT COMES TO TALKING TO WOMEN OUT OF LITERALLY ANYONE YOU’RE RELATED TO, I HAVE TO HELP YOU OUT WHERE I CAN.”
I closed the lid and gave him the finger, but there was no stopping him now.
“YOUR GREAT-UNCLE PAUL WAS GAY, AND HE HAD THREE KIDS BY THE TIME HE WAS YOUR AGE. SERIOUSLY, SIGN UP FOR A COOKING CLASS OR YOGA OR SOMETHING. I’M STARTING TO GET WORRIED.”
I tuned him out. My family had actually figured out the secret to the curse relatively early on. Frank always appears in the biggest body of water that he can jump out of and bite you from. The moment he drops onto dry land, he disappears back into the aether until his next opportunity comes along. As long as he was in water or the air though, he couldn’t go anywhere.
My great-grandfather was the first one to notice that little technicality. Frank came flying out of a half-full bathtub, landed on the floor, disappeared, reappeared in the bathtub and went for it again. According to the family legend, Great-Granddad just said, “fuck it,” grabbed him by his tail and that was when it all came together. After that, our whole family picked up and moved to Arizona, and then everyone bought an aquarium to toss him into. It usually keeps him occupied for a few months.
“CHRIS! CHRIS! CHRRIIIIIIIIIIS! LOOK AT ME CHRIS!”
I sighed and turned around.
“How the hell did you get out this time anyways? I put a brick on your lid!”
The last time Frank got out, my niece had just lobbed a water balloon at my head. The second it hit, I had a sharp-toothed guppy chewing on my eyebrow. My niece thought it was hilarious. So did Frank.
Having a five-year old and a demon laughing at me, together? That was just too much. I kept Frank in a bong for about a year for that one. He loved it.
Frank gave me a toothy grin.
“THERE’S NO FUN IN IT IF I TELL YOU,” he replied.
“Whatever dude,” I said as I flopped down onto my couch and reached for the remote.
Frank pressed his tiny little shark face against the glass of his aquarium.
“WHAT ARE WE WATCHING?”
“New season of Vikings starts tonight.”
“FUCK YEAH. KATHRYN WINNICK IS SO HOT.”
I smiled, and turned on the tube.
|
I coughed a little at all the dust that came up from my family’s treasure box. Inside we’re a great assortment of different items. There was a sword, a clear bag that seemed to hold something sparkly inside, and my dads old diary.
Supposedly, it had started with my great great great grandfather. He had been a great pirate captain who fought battles with Indians and mermaids and fairies when the curse befell my family.
A shiver ran through my body just thinking about living life on the ocean.
I didn’t believe my father when he used to tell me the stories about my ancestors when I was a kid. My dad was a raging alcoholic who had been driven mad dealing with his many issues. He left when I was a kid. I didn’t understand it then but I sort of get it now. I sometimes see myself descending into that same darkness and have to catch myself before I spiral out of control.
My family is what keeps me together now. My wife is the reason I’ve been able to keep it together all of these years. She had been patient with me when I told her we had to leave our homes and move to the middle of nowhere. She had stuck by me when the curse had left me broken. Today she had surprised me by telling me we were going to have a son.
I grabbed the sword out of the box. I knew what I had to do. No longer would my family be hunted by the creatures of the sea. I, James Hook, would end the curse. I ran out of my house. I took a deep breath and one last look at the family I would never see again before jumping head first into the sharknado.
| 2018-11-22T09:34:05 | 2018-11-22T09:25:56 | 257 | 12 |
[WP] You're 34 years old with a wife and two kids when your School of Sorcery application was granted. You sent that application 20 years ago and told them you were no longer interested. They replied that refusal is not an option and that you will be taken in 48 hours.
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"I don't want to leave you," Joanna said, tears in her eyes.
"You're not," Frank said puffing out his chest. "I'm not going to let them take you."
She buried her face in his shoulder. "I don't think you can stop them. These freaks are powerful. As a kid, I saw them do extraordinary and terrible things."
"Look," Frank said. Tears were forming in his eyes too. "I'm going to do everything I can to keep you here. Whatever it takes. It doesn't matter how powerful they are, we have to try."
Joanna smiled, looking him in the eyes, "Still have that shotgun dear?"
"Boy, do I," Frank said.
The forty-eight hours passed by in a flash. They did their best to have a conversation with the kids, and spend quality time with their mother. Movies, games. They did their best, but it all felt hollow with the time counting down. Before they knew it, it was near midnight and time to get ready. They hurried the kids into their rooms, then setup a barricade in the kitchen. Frank angled his shotgun over the dining table, pointed at the front door. Joanna was behind him.
"Maybe I should just go peacefully," Joanna said.
"Not going to happen," Frank said.
"I don't want them to kill you, or for the kids to get hurt. We have no idea what they might do," Joanna said.
Frank turned around, and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're worth it. I married you, I had kids with you. And I'm damn well not going to lose you. Some things are worth fighting for, this is one of them."
The grandfather clock in the corner suddenly went off, denoting the hour had passed. Right on time, there was a crack outside the front door. Frank racked his shotgun.
"Joanna Degreese, we are here representing the Fireland School of Sorcery. Your application has been accepted. You are to come with us immediately."
Frank called out, telling them where they could stick their application.
They could her muttering outside the door. One of them tapped the doorknob with a *ping ping ping*, and it unlocked itself and swung open. Three figures stood outside, dressed in black robes. The one in front held a long black wand.
Frank didn't wait. The second the door opened he pulled the trigger. Time seemed to slow down, and they watched the buckshot spread across the room in slow motion then stop. One of the sorcerers stepped into the room and picked a bead out of the air and inspected it, then let it fall to the floor. The wand made a swish in the air, and the rest fell to the floor like rain.
Before Frank could fire a second time, the gun pulled itself out of his hand and laid itself on the other side of the room. The three sorcerers approached.
"Lady Joanna, if you have packed all your things, it is time to go. We will accept no more delays."
"No!" Frank said. He put himself in front of her like a shield.
Another wand danced through the air. Frank was thrown against the nearest wall.
Joanna pleaded, "Please, stop! I don't want to go to the school. That was twenty years ago! I have kids now, please!"
The nearest sorcerer looked at her through small round glasses, "You signed away your life the moment you sent in your application. We are simply fulfilling the contract. Your family members will not bear the cost if you come peacefully."
Joanna stared back. The pieces turned in her head. "Fine. I'll come with you. Just promise not to hurt anyone."
"Your family will be spared, walk this way," the lead sorcerer said.
The four of them walked outside the front door, and were surrounded by a force field. Frank tried to run after them, but was stopped by an invisible wall. He ponded his fist against it, but it was solid like concrete.
"No!" Frank yelled. "Joanna, I don't want you to go. Please. I'll do anything!"
The kids came running down the stairs.
"Mom?" they said.
"Rachael," Joanna said to the older sibling, "Take care of your brother." She put a hand out to all of them while tears dropped from her eyes. "I love you," she said, as a black flame surrounded them.
And then she was gone.
"Daddy, where's mommy?" the kids asked.
Frank put his face in his hand, and started to sob. He couldn't form the words. The kids ran up and hugged him while he cried.
Several minutes passed while he collected himself, then reassured the kids that everything would be ok. He stepped into the kitchen, and started to prepare food to comfort the kids. But he was stopped by a loud *POP* in the other room.
A familiar face appeared, clad in a long black dress and pointy hat. She held a wand, sizzling with smoke at the very tip. Her face had a big scar across her cheek.
"Frank," she said, "It's been too long."
"Joanna," Frank said. "How did you...?"
Joanna looked at him with a smile. "Ten years, lots of magical training, a little time magic, and a burning desire for vengeance. It's done, we won't be hearing from those people anymore."
"What did you do?" Frank said. He was frozen in place, holding a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other.
"That's a story for another time," Joanna said, "But we're safe. Are you making dinner? How I missed human food."
He put the pan down and ran to hug her, just as the kids laid eyes on her and did the same. They all stood in the same room hugging one another. "All the food you want," Frank said.
|
I was four when it a first discovered; Warp gates to other worlds, galaxies, and dimensions. I secretly put one in for one of the Sorcery academies, but after a year that was a no-go. So I decided Star Wars was fun and mandalorians were better, so I joined a clan after saying my good byes to my friends and family. They took me in an I learned the ways of the Mandalor. Nineteen years later I'm now an Armor Smith and father of two.
They were off world when they came for me, I thought that they were foundlings coming for armor, but they came for me as they said that I had two days to get everything in order to go with them to the academy that I applied for long ago. I learned of the what I needed about them from the clan and my wife. They were cruel, even by mandalorian standards. More students died to them than any other group. As they talked, my wife silently approached and put a bolt through one's skull and I smashed the other's head in, thank god that the kids were at here parents home.
We informed the clans that I made armor for that sorcerers were coming for one of their armorrers. They arrived as fast as they could and began to fortify the planet from their invasion as we knew the tales of entire towns and planets destroyed for those who grew weary of becoming one of them or those who ran away. As we prepared, my wife and I talked:
"They shouldn't take you."
"I know."
"What kind of school decides that one single possible sorcerer is that important of destroying a planet?"
"Them, Sith, and Jedi apparently."
"That is true, but why you? Why try and take an armorrer?"
"It's because they can't let people know that you can walk away from them that easily. They can't have the parents try and save their children from the hell that is their Scho-".
An explosion goes of signaling that began as their recruitment officer came for my ass. Ray sheilds, carbon freezeing, disruption rifles and many more tools didn't work on the bastard one bit. Once he reached me, he chanted up a conjuring to disable us all and take me. As the disruption bolt left my rifle, he uttered his last word and froze time before the bolt hit him. He then walked over, grabbed me and teleported us to his damned school. Upon being unfrozen from his spell, I saw an old friend of mine standing their, smiling a grin that scared me. My ex.
| 2021-03-12T12:05:03 | 2021-03-12T11:15:18 | 136 | 32 |
[WP] Your power is that anyone will believe what you say, no matter what it is. You casually rob the store, assuring everyone that nothing is out of the ordinary, and later laugh as you offer an outlandish explanation to the flabbergasted police.
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I wake up one lazy Tuesday morning with the sun, and the thought of going to school today makes me feel physically ill. I have a big exam today and I didn't study enough last night because I got too wrapped up in my games.
I tiptoe to my moms room to see if she was awake yet, maybe if I catch her in her half awake groggy state I can convince her that I am sick and can't go to school today. I peak into the room and notice her rubbing her eyes just starting to sit up.
"Mom I have a fever, I can't go to school like this. My head hurts so much," I whine just a little bit to make it seem more believable, preparing myself for the thermometer she keeps in her nightstand for when I try to flake out on class.
She sits up and stares at me like she was possessed, "OK sweet heart, " she mumbles in the most monotone voice I've ever heard from her.
*All right that was odd, but cool* I'm thinking to myself as I slowly stumble down the hallway to keep up appearances. I lay back down in bed and pretend to go to sleep until I hear her car pull out of the drive way. As soon as I know for certain that she has left I roll out of bed, get dressed and head to the convenience store for some study snacks, and also maybe to procrastinate a little too.
I finally pick out all my snacks, my shopping basket looks like a 10 year old was given $100 and told to do what ever they wanted with it. When I get up to the cashier he is busy doing something behind the counter and I stand there waiting patiently. I'm in no hurry, and the longer he takes the more time I waste. Finally he takes my groceries and rings them up and asks if I need anything else.
Jokingly I say, "Yeah everything in the register please," as I begin gathering my groceries and hold my hand out for my change. When I finally look up from my task I noticed he has the same stone cold haunted look that my mother had this morning when I told her I had a fever. Mindlessly, he opens the cash drawer and robotically begins emptying out every cent in the drawer, he drops it all on the counter, and smiles at me and tells me to have a nice day.
Dumbfounded I stare at him and just gather the money and leave because hey, free money right?
A couple hours pass and the cops knock on the door.
I answer while stuffing my face full of Cheetos, "Whaffs up?" I say through the Cheetos in my mouth.
"We have you on camera taking all the money out of the register at the corner store down the street. We're going to need you to come with us." The tall one starts to reach for my hand and I laugh at him.
"I didn't rob them, the dude gave me the money outright, check the cameras." I watch as for the third time today the person I'm talking to losses all expression on their face and stares blankly ahead.
The second cop didn't have the same look yet, and began demanding I come with them. I look toward him and state "It wasn't me, you have the wrong person. You need to go back to the station and erase the cameras." Yet again I get to watch as he and his partner robotically walk away towards their car and leave my house.
I shut the door grinning to myself, "BEST DAY EVER!!!!!" I shout as I count my money and my lucky stars for getting away with that mess.
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[Poem]
A trio of haiku for Writing Prompts
I have seen this film
He was the first guy to lie,
That Ricky Gervaise
>Anything he said,
>The people would believe him.
>He got bored real fast.
Fifty six percent,
Its rotten tomato score.
More than it deserved.
| 2020-03-06T09:59:08 | 2020-03-06T09:43:14 | 168 | 41 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
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"Everitt Kincaid," The judge decreed. "For crimes against the magical realms and the practice of the heresy know as science, you are sentenced to death by this court. Think well upon your fate, for in the morning you shall be asked to voice the means of your destruction."
I muttered as he spoke. I'd tried my best to defend myself. No Law Mage in the kingdom had wanted to take up my case. I had argued that everything was science. That magic itself was a science imperfectly understood by the sentient races. My pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. Even though magic followed all the rules of science they hadn't want to listen. They accused me of the Dark Heresy and claimed my defense was proof of my guilt. They were fools.
Yes, the Dark Heresy had led to the destruction of the first age of man, but it had also given birth to magic itself if the myths were to be believed. Now nearly two millennia after the Calamity society had rebuilt and we all worshiped at the altar of magic. Well, all save the few Heretics like me. We unearthed the forgotten lore, recovered the abominations know as technology and science. We understood there could be no equality for the ordinary sentient when the Mages ruled all with their supreme control of magic. With a dark wand or cruel staff, they could wipe rebellions from the field of battle. No army could stand against the Mageocracy.
Of course, science had the answer. I had recovered the technology, refurbished it, understood it. I had equipped my comrades with the weapons they needed. As the rebellion squared off against the Mages they had been supremely confident. When their leaders' heads exploded into pink mist followed by a crack of thunder they had lost that confidence. Still, as they collected themselves their magic proved too much, we had moved too early. They slaughtered my comrades, my fellow rebels. Then the torture started, they broke the most strong-willed of us in mere hours.
That was when they found me. I was no rebel soldier, I was a scientist, a seeker of knowledge and truth. Sure, I armed the rebels but I couldn't battle the Mages anymore than anyone else. Still, I had given the rebels the deadly weapons that had killed more Mages than had died since the last Great War, and they were furious. My trial and execution were to be public. They wanted the whole kingdom to know the suffering of a heretic. To add insult to injury they made you choose the manner of your own death. Vast magical power was employed in a dark ritual to inflict the means of your death and they would do their best to twist your words.
I lay on the cot in my cell trying to think my way out of the sentence. If I was better with words perhaps I could craft a way that would allow me to live for years or even just months before my death. My worry of course was that anything I told them they would turn back against me. If I asked to die of some horrid natural disaster hoping to take them with me, they would likely just teleport me to one of those disasters. I knew their magic was not unlimited though, but they would be willing to invest a lot of power into making sure I suffered. Finally, I had an idea and drifted off to a fitful slumber.
When I awoke I was lead out into the courtyard. The crowd jeered and hissed, they booed and threw rotten fruit and stones at me but I held my head up high. I saw my comrades for the first time in weeks. I wasn't the only scientist to die today. We were heralded as heretical priests of a forbidden religion and all of us were to die in horrible ways. Kenneth Acetheart was before me in line. He winked at me when they called his name and walked proudly before the trio of mages that would enact his death.
"Heretic Kenneth Acetheart," The lead executioner intoned. "Name your death."
"Old age," Kenneth announced cockily and I grinned, he'd figured it out too. "I choose Old Age."
"So be it," The executioner stated, his lips curling into a smirk. My face fell and my mind began to race, he was too pleased with the method of death...
Then we all watched in horror as Kenneth aged rapidly, his once dark hair became salt and pepper, then grey, and finally bone-white before our eyes. His skin went from hale and healthy to covered in liver spots and paper-thin. His once well-muscled frame lost weight and stature until he was a hunched and shriveled shell of his former self. His eyes dimmed with cataracts and age. His mind began to wander as I could see the confusion on his face. Then finally he collapsed and his body slowly turned to dust.
As a page swept away the remains of my friend and comrade with the casual air of someone doing an unfavored chore I was panicking. I couldn't think of what to name that would result in a better outcome than that. I could make them kill me with science, that would show them that magic wasn't the only way. I would die by my own discipline at least. But what good would that be? They led me into the center of the ritual circle. I could feel the hum of magic in the air around me. The spell was awaiting my means of death.
"Heretic Everitt Kincaid, slayer of the Just," The executioner intoned once more. "Name your death."
My mind was still racing, I had two choices that I had narrowed it down to. I glanced from the executioner to the crowd, then to my comrades. I steadied my breathing I thought and when my lips parted I heard myself talk, as if I was outside my body listening to myself instead of speaking.
"I wish to die as every trace of magic leaves this world forever..." I closed my eyes as I spoke, knowing that at least if I failed I may have given the next scientist in line an experiment to improve on.
|
The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.*
| 2021-06-24T07:21:37 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 501 | 66 |
[WP] You used to be the greatest detective in the world till you went into retirement, as you look back on some of your cases you realize. You were wrong about all of them. Every. Single. One.
|
The air buzzed contentedly as Holmes sat on a bench in his Sussex garden and admired his hives. Bees followed a seasonal rhythm that set Holmes' mind to a similar beat; they were waking for spring, and so, Holmes decided, he must wake his brain too after a long winter mostly indoors. On the bench next to him lay a dozen sepia-faded editions of Strand Magazine -- the journal (if one could call it that) in which his friend John Watson had written up the accounts of their shared adventures.
Holmes had never approved of the stories, and had never read even one fully -- John's added flair and tweaked solutions designed for the common audience left a sour taste in Holmes' mouth. Genius did not need to be amplified by a writer's inkwell, he had always maintained. But today, as the spring sun shone and the bees hummed, Holmes decided he would try again. Revisit a few old successes -- see if he could remember the solutions before they were revealed. Surely that would wake his mind from hibernation. Hibernations that seemed harder to shake every year.
His mind had once been so lively, bursting with the musical beauty of a hundred violins. But as he'd aged the strings had frayed and the playing had fallen first to a slow adagio, and then finally to silence itself.
Holmes picked up his spectacles and the first magazine, and flipped to Watson's story. Their first adventure together: A Study in Scarlett. Even the alliterative name seemed overbearing to Holmes. In it, Watson had just returned from Afganistan and needed a place to live, and thus their introduction to one another took place. So long ago now, it really did feel like a story rather than an event.
As Holmes read the account, his wrinkled face furrowed. The furrows then deepened into long, shadowed grooves.
Odd, he thought. The observations he'd made at the time... It had been so simple for him back then. How he'd deduced Watson had been in the military; had been injured; needed somewhere to live. The evidence, too... how damn simple it had all been! The message on the wall and on the path and all the rest of it.
Sometimes, bees died. Holmes had no explanation for it. But when one died, very often it would start a chain-reaction of other deaths. So Holmes would take action -- he would admit he didn't know the answers and he would set up a new hive, move the healthy bees, and burn the old hive in case of disease in the wood.
The point was, he didn't know what killed them. And he was old enough and wise enough now to realize he didn't know all things, and that allowed him to carry out the appropriate responses based on his lack of knowledge.
He read another case.
Gods! What ego he'd had back then. Had he really been so cocksure?
Back then, he'd always known, it seemed. His observations had always been correct. His deductions too. And there was no room for doubt because Watson was always there to say "My God Holmes, you've done it again! What a mind you have." Or something similarly placating.
Why had it always been so easy for him back then, when all of life seemed a riddle now?
As Holmes read case after case after case, a realization began to sink, and the buzzing of bees dimmed from his mind. In its place was a sacred emptiness. A hollow shell that once he'd thought his life had filled.
But his life had been empty inside of it -- he'd just never cracked the shell open to peer inside.
Watson had used him. He had set up the evidence for Holmes' "great deductions". Added an obvious limp to his gait. Smeared soil over his suitcase. Knew how and where Holmes' eyes jumped for his observations -- what details he looked for. All Watson had had to do was place evidence in front of the looking glass and let Holmes do the rest.
Holmes considered.
At first he thought Watson must have done it to further his own burgeoning career as an author. That would make sense -- the stories and solutions were sensational, and Holmes was portrayed as a figure of scintillating intellect to be revered by all. It had gained them both international notoriety.
But it was the mentions of a man named Moriarty that made Holmes think twice.
*Moriarty*.
Holmes had gotten old and his memory had slowed. He'd be the first to admit it. His hair was grey and his eyes yellowing. But his mind wasn't cracked and leaking -- at least not this much.
Yes, there had been a criminal leader of startling intellect that had rivaled his own -- one he'd regretfully never caught.
But Moriarty? Never had he heard that name before. That was a name -- a character -- Watson must have created to sell more copies of Strand.
How strange. This Moriarty was a villain so daring and gleeful that you could put nothing past him.
A villain that despised Holmes. That mocked him. That purportedly near-killed him, at one point.
Holmes thought again of his old friend John Watson.
And then of Moriarty.
The music in his head -- the violins -- that had been silent for so many years, began to play once more. Softly first. Then louder. Faster. Until his mind became a roaring, raging, beautiful concerto.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
An hour further passed before Holmes rose from the bench with a grim determination planted in his belly.
He would buy a train ticket. *Tonight*. He would find his aging revolver, too.
Then he'd pay what he thought likely would be a final visit to a very old friend.
&#x200B;
\---
More on r/nickofstatic
|
He had worked all of his life for this.
*So why wasn't he happy?*
The last drops of white wine in his glass washed away the clinging taste the fine cigar had left. Turning away from the sea breeze as it blew across the private beach towards his home, he collapsed onto his bed. Automatically his arm reached to feel for where his wife should be, but he knew she wasn't. Unlike him, her duties for the community had only seemed to increase since her retirement.
The question lingered on, keeping his mind from the refuge of sleep.
*Why the hell aren't you happy Mark? Godamnit you should be.*
All his life he had worked to put the bad guys away. The toughest cases, the hardest criminals, the most mind-boggling puzzles. None had prevailed against his sheer determination and skill. But in his mind, the cases never remained closed. Always they would rise, bringing with them the feeling of incompleteness, of a lack of satisfaction.
Normally he would push them away, unwilling to probe into the details even in the privacy of his own head. But today, with the wine flowing in his blood, he decided to delve in once more. With near perfect recall the intricacies of some of his biggest busts played before him. He followed along, merely watching as they played out, feeling a spark of joy at each error made and found, each riddle solved.
But if only they hadn't made that mistake. If only they had done it this way or that, it would have been such a better crime, such a better work of *art*, so much more interesting to solve.
The thought made him stop and sit up.
Desperately he tried to swallow down the sickening though that had erupted in his mind with the unfettered excitement of a child, but he couldn't.
A few hours and wine glasses later, after pulling out the records of some of his more interesting cases, he had drawn it up, his mind dancing with joy at the exercise, his heart taken at the beauty of the plan. A perfect crime, a mystifying riddle, an end fitting to to a real hero.
As he stared at his work, he realised. All this time, it hadn't been the rush of solving the case, or the need to conquer evil. It had been the game, the art, the thrill of it all.
And nothing would beat it more, than being the one to perform it.
r/fatdragon
| 2020-03-23T06:01:36 | 2020-03-23T05:19:15 | 2,273 | 151 |
[WP] Normally when people are reincarnated they lose all memory of their previous life, but for some reason you remember your past self; a cop who spent his life trying to catch a master criminal, who eventually ended up killing you. You are reborn as your killers child.
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Some nights I'm back in my old self, at my desk at 2 AM as my stack of files piles on and the coffee in my mug runs dry. My old lamp had flickered for weeks now, the shitty thing. Always thought it'd ruin my eyes, but I was too lazy to replace the bulb while it still worked. I'm not what most would describe as a lazy person. Obsessed, maybe.
I'd pore over the case files like a fanatic over holy tomes, day in and day out. Surely there's something I'd missed. And every time I found even the slightest chance of a possible lead, I'd clutch it close, hold it tight, and find another red herring, another dead end. But failure only served to remind me of the man I was tracking. How dangerous he was. And how I was the only one who still believed his arrest possible.
It was a hazy night, when the day had been warm, but not warm enough to turn on the AC. My open window drew no breeze to chase out the stifling air, and beads of sweat dotted my forehead. The city was quiet, at peace, save for the noise of an overworked cop turning pages.
Bzzt Bzzt The buzz of a new text. Unknown number. "342 Elm Drive. 3:00 AM" Half an hour from now. I wasn't getting paid for this. I had no backup. It could've been anyone for any reason. I grabbed my keys.
It was an overpriced home in an overpriced neighborhood. The house was large, but inelegant, as if an architect had stitched together the failed designs in his trash bin. Windows far too high for anyone to see from yet shielded from sunlight, useless overhangs with fake marble pillars, mismatched shutters- a real McMansion. I pulled up onto the curb and walked up the concrete steps. The porch light turned on.
The front door opened and a man stepped out. He was a short, Hispanic man with short, greasy hair. A curl of chest hair peeked out through his flannel shirt. A scar ran from his left ear down to his neck, one he'd gotten from a shady drug dealing. It gave his face a dangerous look, one I knew all too well.
He carried a glock in his left hand. Of course. I'd been tracking him for years. That it would end in one of our deaths was inevitable. I barely had time to draw my weapon before the first bullet caught me in the chest.
I woke up in smooth silk bedsheets in a four-poster bed. Stared into the mirror at my bedside. A young mexican girl, around 8 or 9 stared back. The first time I'd had the dream, I'd woken up the house with my screaming. He- my father- had stormed into my bedroom with a gun and two bodyguards, fearing the worst. Then he'd hugged me.
The mixed feelings of revulsion, anger and vulnerability were indescribable. I longed to pull away, or grab his gun and shoot him in the head. I hated his smell, I hated this feeling, this life. For any innocent child, it would be a dream come true, but for me it was all wrong. I was no longer the cop he had shot. No more than I was fully his daughter, but some bizarre mix of the two, a child that thought too big, an adult that felt too small, a freak of nature that had no place in this world. He'd been what I'd lived for. He'd been what I'd died for. And now he had raised me. I sobbed into my father's shoulder as he caressed my hair, dismissed his guards, and whispered that everything was fine. When they left, he would cry with me. He was so much older than I remembered.
Why I ended up this way, I'll never know. Perhaps it was some punishment for something I'd done. Perhaps a chance at revenge. Or a chance for his redemption. But I think, at the core of it all, the universe is just run by some very sick fucks.
I've had some nights where I'd tried to kill him, but I could never find the many firearms he'd stored around the house, and I was hardly strong enough to overpower his guards with a butter knife. And even then, I had second thoughts. It seemed he harbored some sense of shame about his business, and took great pains to hide the skeletons in his closet. He was rarely home these days and kept his room under lock and key. When he did visit, he would bring me a gift, usually a doll or a plush. Sometimes fine clothes.
But I found a solution locked in my bathroom with the knife I'd filched. It was so simple I'm surprised I hadn't done it sooner. Whether this was my punishment or his, would hardly matter. I was his princess, his pride, his hija that he raised from birth with all the love and care he could muster. I had a classroom full of friends and my teachers adored me. Never once had he denied me any request. No matter how tired he was, he would always find time to spend with me. He was a bad person but a good father. Losing me would hurt.
I never expected to die twice for one man. But as warm water filled the tub, I sliced deep into my wrists, cutting through skin muscle, and connective tissue until I hit an artery. Even soothed by the warm water, it stung, but no more so than the bullet. The blood ran into the water, mixing like my favorite fruit drinks he'd made on my birthday. The deep red wisps swirled around and around as the water level rose, smothering me in warmth in my grave that smelled and tasted of iron. I'd forgotten how large bathtubs could feel to a kid.
My last thoughts were of uncertainty. Whether I should've just lived out the second life I'd been given. Whether I could forgive him for the atrocities he'd committed. Was I more of a monster for what I'd just done? Was this the last chance at life on this earth that I had? Was I acting from justice? Spite? Selfishness? I don't know. But as I lay dying alone for the second time with nothing but my thoughts, in my last few moments of consciousness, I cried.
_____________________________________
Here's a repost of my story that got taken down because I tried to link my patreon. I was unaware of the rule and will no longer link it in this subreddit. I am very sorry for the inconvenience I caused. Instead, you can find my stories and the link in this [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/).
|
Ever since I was a baby my mom and I have never gotten along. I've always, always been a daddy's girl. When I was still on milk and formula I would only take it from my dad and I cried any time my mother tried to hold me. My family just wrote it off as something that I'd grow out of.
By the time I was sixteen or seventeen I knew. I knew why every time my mother tried to show me affection I'd recoil in horror. I knew why I was nothing like my siblings or my mother. Daddy always told me that I was an old soul, I reminded him of a family member that died a little bit before they found out my mom was pregnant. I even looked like her too. That's all he would tel me but for some reason I unsettled the whole family. Even grandma and grandpa still acted like they saw a ghost every time they saw me.
The day I figured it out I was waking down the hallway at school and happened to catch a picture in my old home room. It was me. But it wasn't me. The me in the picture was older than I've ever been. That was - the split second I made the realization my knees gave out and the last thing I remember before waking up in the nurse's office was the hot, searing, impossible pain of my mother's knife carving into my chest.
When I woke up and convinced everyone that I was okay they let me go. The only number they had on file was my mom's because my dad had to get a new phone last week and had to change his number, and when they asked if they could call her I think I shocked the little lady with how harsh and quick I snapped "No!!!"
By the time I got home I had remembered everything. I remembered playing with my dad when we were kids, me playing army with his and his friends until the big one shot me in the face with his BB gun and my brother broke his nose. That's where the little pockmark on my cheek came from. I don't even remember it hurting that bad.
I remember running to grandma when I got my first period, begging her to make it stop so I could go swimming with the guys later.
I remember the first time I got my heart broken and grandpa had to lock my dad in the closet so that he wouldn't run out and kill the kid.
I remember the police academy, everything I'd learned, and everything I'd gone through. I remember graduating at the top of my class.
I remember my mother carving the beating heart out of my chest, just like she did the twelve other victims.
By the time my mother got home from work (probably another murder) I'd made up my mind. As soon as the door opened I stepped into the hallway with my daddy's shotgun pointed at her chest.
"Hey, bitch. Remember me?" I pulled aside my shirt to reveal the strange scar on my breast, over my heart.
Her eyes flew wide and she sucked in a breath to scream, but it never came out. Instead the scattered pellets of the shotgun shell punched her breath out for her, a short and quick "huh" of breath and then the bitch was dead.
(Y'all Idk what I just wrote bc I'm sleep deprived and on mobile I might fix it tomorrow)
| 2017-08-03T19:54:34 | 2017-08-03T17:18:31 | 239 | 20 |
[WP] Worldwide internet access shuts down for 45 minutes. When access is available again, everything is the same, but feels "off" in a way that nobody can pinpoint what or why. Someone finds out what it is, and wishes they hadn't.
|
There are exceptional people born into this world. Some have a rare gift for music, some for particular sports and others for mathematics or science. Others have lesser, but still useful gifts, like perfectly remembering birthdays or always knowing which way is north.
Sorcha was in the later category.
Ever since she was a very small child she'd always had an impeccable sense of time. If she needed to be up at 6:45am to see her favourite TV show, she would be awake at precisely 6:44 and twenty eight seconds; which gave her thirty two seconds to walk to the lounge and turn on the TV. When things were out of sync - i.e. when TV shows were early or late - it would frustrate her unreasonably.
As she grew older she learned to deal with the rest of the world being unreliable; but her unerring sense of time never left her - in fact growing even *more* precise with age.
So it was Sorcha that first noticed something was amiss after the global outage.
At first it was a tiny, imperceptible niggle and she put it down to the outage throwing everything out of whack.
But as things returned to normal and everything else went back onto its regular (imperfect) schedule, the niggle grew into an *itch*. When she wasn't using the internet she was fine; her train was still arriving within the variance she'd grown accustomed to and her alarm clock was still out by half a millisecond each day.
Using the internet was frustrating her immensely though.
It took her two weeks to figure out what was going wrong, even with her remarkable talent:
Every website she normally looked at was loading a fraction of a millisecond slower.
Pinging the websites proved she was right - she'd obsessively kept records of how long her favourite websites took to load, because that's the kind of person she was. Every site was around 1ms off, after rounding had occurred - but not often enough for anyone else to suspect. For all other human beings, the difference was not perceptible.
But *why* was this happening?
That mystery took much longer for Sorcha to figure out. She needed to come up with a *reason* for the imperceptible change. She'd done traceroutes and sniffed network packets but she couldn't quite see where the extra time was being added. If anything, it was being added *everywhere* - a tiny fraction of a millisecond every hop that the data took.
Following that clue, she found the most convoluted routes through traffic to a destination and managed to rack up a full *two* milliseconds of extra time to what she would normally expect.
Something, somewhere was delaying the internet by less than a tenth of a millisecond per hop.
Whatever it was, it had happened to *everything* on the internet during the outage.
This was outside of her experience, so she decided to look elsewhere for help.
Tyrone had been her one-time boyfriend at college, but neither of them had really 'got' relationships, so they went their separate ways, remaining friends still. As obsessive as her - but in a different way - Tyrone lived off the grid, in a sustainable house with solar power, no internet and was paranoid about guests. Sorcha put the flag of his letterbox up at a 45 degree angle, which she knew would irritate him enough to come outside and fix it.
When he eventually emerged from the house, paranoid, she walked over to him before he could run back inside.
"Tyrone, I need your help."
After she'd explained everything in detail, Tyrone asking a multitude of staccato and pertinent questions, he sat in thought for a long time. Eventually he said what she'd thought he might say;
"It's the government."
"Well, of course, but *why?* What are they doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" spat Tyrone, "those fucks are monitoring *everything*."
"That's a given; we've all known about that since the Snowden revelation. So why has the time of each hop changed?"
Tyrone pinched his broad nose, thinking again.
After precisely two minutes and forty three second, he began to talk again.
"I had a friend once, who was an even bigger conspiracy nut than me. He eventually disappeared, but before he did, he had this theory. You see, governments used to be able to control information easily - newspapers, public speakers, all that stuff. As radio came along, they started to get worried, because there was almost too much information to monitor and control. My friend had this theory that because the government had lost control of what information was getting out there - after internet happened - that 99% of *all* conspiracy theories out there were created by the government, to bury any *real* stuff under the weight of garbage.
But lately I've noticed that the numbers of conspiracy theories have been diminishing, very incrementally. Like you with your internet stuff, I noticed something was *off*,"
"Oh my god," whispered Sorcha, everything crystallising inside her mind.
"Yes," grunted Tyrone, "you figured it out. They don't *need* conspiracy theories anymore because *now they have complete control*. What used to be impossible is now possible -"
"Because they now have the technological resources to monitor and censor *anything*," finished Sorcha.
Tyrone looked out at the celltower across the street,
"And we can't even tell anyone about it, because as soon as we try to post it online, the supercomputers will detect it and scrub it out of existence."
"Tyrone?"
"Yeah Sorcha?"
"Can I move in with you?"
|
Larry could hear Amanda sigh as he reached under the couch, grabbing the router's power cord for the third time and yanking it out.
“You never know how to fix anything.” She groaned staring at the tv, hoping the netflix would jump back to life.
“Amanda, there is only so much I can do.” Larry replied, frustration in his voice. “If the ISP isn’t providing us internet access we’ll just have to wait until it turns back on!”
“You know, for a computer science major you really aren’t much of a help.” Amanda said, taking out her phone. “Are you kidding me! Even the internet connection over my phone is down!”
Larry couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have easy access to the internet and with Amanda down his neck he wouldn’t forget this time. It took around 40 minutes before the service was restored and damn did it feel good.
Larry jumped on to see what had happened. He had called friends and family and they all been experienced the same problem. Was it a city wide outage? As he scanned his usual news sites it became apparent that this had been a worldwide shutdown of the internet.
How was that even possible? Larry thought to himself staring at the screen. Everything seemed completely normal when it came back on and no one seemed to have an explanation as to what happened. By the time Larry had finished scouring the news Amanda had fallen asleep on the couch.
Well before I jump onto counterstrike let me make sure my performance hasn’t been impacted. Larry scanned a program he developed with tracked latency with several servers around the world. How strange, even after restarting his computer and router there seemed to be a slight reduction in performance, what was causing it?
He delved deeper into the program analyzing logs from before the outage with logs booked afterwards. Until he found the anomaly, additional packets that now streamed every second in and out of an unknown server. What was going on? What information were these packets sending?
He continued to search looking online for clues others may have noticed. The sun was nearly up when he had tracked a program, which had slowly downloaded without his permission into his system files. How did this program get access? It just didn’t make sense, the operating system should not have allowed it, unless the program was using a back door.
Just as he began to probe the program he noticed a spike in the unknown packets, he looked up and froze, the red light beside his webcam had just turned on. Someone was watching him.
| 2015-03-08T14:02:37 | 2015-03-08T13:53:08 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] Its the zombie apocalypse. You've been bitten and turned, your body now slow and rotting. But unlike all the other zombies you've maintained your human thoughts and memories and you still want to help other humans survive.
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I watch from afar, my emaciated jaw clenched, as another group of humans fall to a horde of my undead peers. I tried to lead the horde away from them but I failed...
As the screams of the dying and the freshly turned reach me, I feel my bone dry tear ducts itch, as if trying to muster up the last bit of moisture left in my body to mourn the fallen people. I growl to myself and turn to shamble away, depression drawing my withered shoulders to slump even lower than normal.
I noticed how different I was from other zombies right away, my mind only slowing down slightly but still retaining the memories, motivations and emotions of my humanity. That was 3 months ago and ever since, I have subsisted on dead animals or even beheaded zombies (the handiwork of humans) if times were tight, either of which able to sustain me quite well and curb my oft times violent hunger. Every group of humans survivors I have come across I have given a wide berth and attempted to lure away the zombies near them, all to no avail...
Suddenly, a high pitched scream from close by draws me from my depressed reverie. I look over and see two groaning zombies, apparent stragglers from the horde that wiped out the humans behind me, reaching through a meager barricade covering a broken car window. The screams appear to emanate from inside, I anxiously look around to check if any other zombies are being drawn by the noise but I see none. I force my broken body to move at its fastest pace, little more than a typical human walking speed, and make for the zombies that now are trying to pull a small form through the window.
I reach them and try and pull one off, merely sloughing off the skin on its arm in the attempt, causing it to turn and growl at me, snapping its jaw full of broken teeth! I fall back a step, not one for confrontation, alive or undead, giving the other zombie time to finally pull the small struggling form, now revealed to be a little girl of about 10, out of the car.
Seeing her tiny form revealed, red takes over my vision and I instinctually lunge forward, jaw open and clamping down on the zombie in front of me, tearing a chunk of meat from its rotting shoulder. This causes the zombie to fall back before collapsing to the ground, rolling around in what appears to be pain, which we don\`t feel. Confused, but still trying to save the girl, I rush forward, intent on stopping the zombie before it can manage to chow down on her.
I reach it just before it is about to clamp its disgusting jaw on her and once again use my own maw as my weapon, clamping down on the back of the undead\`s neck. I pull back with all of my strength, succeeding in causing it to fall away from the girl, where it too starts rolling around in apparent agony!
The girl scrambles back, looking at me fearfully and curiously, I can see her attempting to figure out why I had saved her but not quite believing I wasn\`t going to hurt her myself. Keeping a cautious eye on the groaning pair on the ground, I hold up my hands in front of me, trying to communicate my lack of ill intent.
The girl\`s bright eyes widen in shock before giving me a small nod as she brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them in the universal position of self comfort.
"O-OK?" I groan out through my decaying vocal chords and tongue.
The girl\`s eyes widen even further than before and her jaw drops open before she whispers so softly I almost can\`t hear, "Yes."
I nod and attempt to smile comfortingly, although my grisly lips and broken yellowed teeth probably ruin the image. But the girl seems to understand my intent and gives me a small, nervous smile in reply, brightening this dark world just a little bit.
Suddenly, the groans from the undead stop, causing the girl and I to both tense and turn to look at them. They seem to have recovered and struggle up from the ground, looking at us in a way I can\`t pin down but that seems different than the usual maddened gleam amongst my undead brethren.
The one I bit first looks to me and I feel a flash of shock as I realize what I see in its eyes:
*Humanity.*
I tilt my head and grunt out a question in spurts, "How. Do. You. Feel?"
The undead tilts its head as well before groaning out, "Human."
My eyes widen and a huge smile breaks across my face, my dry lips cracking at the size of it. I turn and look at the other one, who nods in agreement with the first.
This is incredible! It seems that somehow, whatever strain of the virus that caused this that I got has the ability to draw out the human consciousness in other undead!
Struck by inspiration, I turn to the girl, who has been looking on in shock all the while.
I keep the smile on my face and raise my withered right arm to her while moaning out, "Join?"
She looks to me and the newly awakened undead to the side and then back to me, before a matching smile graces her lips and lights up her eyes like the breaking of dawn.
"Yes." she says, an ocean of hope infused inside that one simple word as she jumps to her feet and, hesitating only slightly at my vaguely rotting skin, takes my outstretched arm in her own.
I look into the distance of the wasteland our world has become as the noon sun hangs over it, while we begin walking slowly and I grunt out in my stilted way,
"Much.
Work.
To.
Do."
|
\[Revived. Recruited.\]
"'Le'Ben!" Milla was surprised when her zombie body tried to speak. Not just speak, she gave an answer she didn't know she had. Edna, the stranger that brought her to the clinic seemed just as surprised as Milla; but, somehow the medic wasn't shocked.
"Zombies have a favorite number?" Edna asked the medic. She had minor scrapes and bruises after trying to escape a group of zombies. She almost didn't until zombie-Milla stepped in and helped Edna escape. Edna initially thought the posters advertising a reward for 'friendly' zombies were just a scam designed to get people killed. But, Milla was very obviously a friendly zombie. Edna asked her all sorts of questions, but she didn't seem able to talk or keep her balance easily. Zombie-Milla shuffled in place at a respectful distance while still keeping an eye on Edna. Meanwhile, Edna found the nearest Sharp Medical Services branch to turn in her undead friend.
Once they reached the office the medic ignored Edna's minor wounds and focused on zombie-Milla. He approached without fear, looked into Milla's glazed, dead eyes then asked a question.
"What's your favorite number?" Edna jumped when Milla moaned out a quick and loud word that sounded a lot like 'eleven'.
"Congratulations," the medic said to Edna. "This one does, that means you qualify the reward." He handed Edna a small, card-sized glass rectangle. "The receptionist will activate this for you on the way out," he said.
"Thank you!" Edna grabbed the card and ran out of the room. The medic smiled and looked at Milla.
"You probably don't know what's going on, but don't worry about a thing. Soon you'll wake up in a body and this'll all feel like a bad dream." The medic approached Milla with a syringe. She did not feel anything, but moments after he injected her, her vision began to go dark. She heard the medic one more time before she lost consciousness.
"Welcome to Sharp Development."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1194 in a row. (Story #098 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
| 2021-04-08T11:14:28 | 2021-04-08T09:22:31 | 54 | 15 |
[WP]: As standard protocol, each new, intelligent alien life is judged not by what they say they are, but by an evaluation from a representative of their servants or slave species. Fascinatingly, the fate of humanity lands on the opinion of a little dog named Lucy.
|
Edit: written on mobile and not proof read. Please be gentle.
She was Lucy once, or so she thought. It was so long ago, so difficult to remember. That and the boy, the one that loved her and she loved him back. She was bitch, now; her and the other girls. Her new masters would hold her while the mean boy dogs took turns *humping* her.
She was miserable now. And cold. Always cold. And always hungry. Sometimes she was happy, when she had her little babies, but they were always taken away. She was scared to have her babies because they were always taken away. Babies always meant more tradgedy. She thought she would die soon. She hoped. One night she thought she would die. She was scared. She was ready.
The Moon was there. Then it was gone, it was dark. The noise stopped and the world stopped too. She couldn't smell. Then she felt something pressing her whole body in. It felt like a hug. Like when there was a boy once, and there were hugs. This was death, she knew, and she was happy for the first time in a long time, because she could remember the boy.
Then there was light. And animals. She was scared, she didnt recognize the animals. She whimpered and tried to crawl away, like she did when the men came with the mean boy dogs, but she was stuck. Two of the animals approached and she ducked her head. Once she would bite to protect herself, but that was once. Now she couldn't see very well. So she ducked and curled in. She would try not to cry.
There was a pause, and bitch, once Lucy, looked up. She thought the animals were scared too. They stopped and made noise. It was new. Scary. She whimpered and waited. She knew pain would come.
She first felt their hands. And then the pricks. She knew those. Sometimes she felt pricks when she had too many babies. It made her feel tired and less pain. This pricks just hurt. She felt one. Two. Three. The pricks stopped, but she continued to lay still. Maybe they would go away. She felt something grab her head, more gentle than she could remember, and then felt things put on her head. She flinched and shut her eyes, she knew the pain would come.
When she woke up she could hear voices. She had a dream and was back in the horrible place because she could understand. She knew she was back in her world of pain. When she opened her eyes it was bright, and she could see. The animals all stared at her. She could see their pain, she could feel it. She whimpered, and was sad. She knew when others felt pain and it made her sad too. She would take their pain, it was her life. Pain. She would take it all so they didn't have to. She wagged her tail, and gave the animals a playful bark.
She watched as one by one the animals came to their knees and covered their faces. She could hear them crying. She wanted to move and comfort them, but she couldn't, so she waited. The pain was gone now, she noticed. She forgot how it was to live without pain. But she could feel their pain, and so she hurt.
She didn't wait long before one of the animals rose and spoke, wiping tears from their eyes. This time she knew the animal spoke, for she could understand it.
"Lucy, we have seen your life and have felt your pain. We have seen your joys in life and lived your anguish. We remorse for you, to have lived such a life and the hands of cruel masters"
She sat, confused. She could only ever understand the others like her, but this was so much and so new. She turned her head, confused, and continued to look at this strange animal.
"Lucy, we come here to judge the people you call masters. The humans. We come to judge their place in this universe and whether they are worthy to continue within it. Through your pain and their cruelty we have judged them the most unworthy of any life. They live only for greed and joy at the pain of others."
"We have lived your life, and have judged yours, Lucy, as the most noble of creatures, and we hope it pleases you to know that we will liberate you and yours and provide you a new home. Free from the cruelty of any ever again"
"The humans will be gone. We will eradicate them for the cruelty the have shown and the for the implacable cruelty they have shown themselves capable".
She looked at the creature again, confused. She couldn't fully grasp everything he said, but she pictured death. She didn't like it, but she knew the men were mean. They never loved her and her death would mean nothing to her. Maybe they were cruel, maybe they deserved it, but she didn't wish it.
She closed her eyes. She didn't feel the pain anymore, but she was tired. She remembered the boy. She missed the love of the boy. Then she thought of the death of the boy, the one she thought these animals would cause.
She looked up at the animals and *GROWLED*. She bared her teeth and strained. She would kill them. The would not hurt the boy. If she would die it would be saving the boy. The boy that loved her.
The animals flinched back, and then they spoke.
"Lucy, what is it that causes you distress? Your masters were evil, and only knew to cause you pain. Why do you wish us harm for passing such fair judgement?"
She growled and strained. She needed to stop them. The boy must be saved.
She barked. "YOU WILL NOT HARM THE BOY. YOU WILL NOT HARM THE Boy
The strange animals looked at one another, and made short noises she could not understand. She strained. The boy must be saved. The one that spoke to before looked to her, and spoke again.
"It seems there are more to humans. We do not wish to harm something that you could love so fiercely. We will learn more before we pass judgement. If it is within our capability we will bring you to this boy, and if humans must be removed we will allow him to be with you until he passes from existence. From now you will live life without ever knowing pain again. Please, come to know your peace".
|
As evaluations went, Peacemaker Libt reminded herself, there had been worse.
The first had been so divisive for the young organization with so many questions of good and bad and attempted political violence that security had been forced to arrest the entire evaluating team. The seventy seventh had led to a multi-generation debate on whether or not strangling a creature for the crime of Extreme Annoyance was evidence of failure for creating something so awful, or success for deliberately creating something so perfectly annoying to inflict on others. The eight hundred forty third had seen the breakdown of longstanding rules concerning artificial intelligence creating other artificial intelligence, along with the unspoken rule of not comparing everything to what Sutler the Destructive was like, resulting in a riot and the second time the entire evaluating team had to be collectively arrested.
Still, she could not deny that it wasn't a good sign that the Chief Evaluator was lying on the floor, babbling in Plain. By the looks of it, something about eternal despair.
Next to it stood Evaluators Coo, Wheegank, and Bob. They were ignoring their superior's Error Code 503 in favor of continuing to try to decipher what the creature was saying.
" *It was certainly a 'wan', likely a reference to currency.* " Bob intoned. " *We should continue our questioning on how the human economic divisions impact her access to adequate nutrition.* "
The Coo turned to him in askance, tail straightening in annoyance. "Does your suit need adjusting? That was, without a doubt, an "arf", likely a sound of excitement and determination to move on to talk of their new life should they join our ranks-"
"No, no, clearly no!" Wheegank interjected with both pincers waving. "I am certain that it was a "woof" and a sign of discomfort! I told you it was too soon-"
" *Oh, shut up* " / "Go eat your own tail" the two shot back.
Libt clung to her staff and stared at the time display, desperately hoping to discover an unknown power to make time move more quickly and reach shift change. Let pUpOp deal with it, he'd always gone on about how boring the job was in this era.
"Peacemaker?" a voice came from her left. She turned to the human ambassador giving her what, she had learned from experience, was a nervous look. "Peacemaker, precisely what have they decided so far?"
Libt hoped that she discovered this power soon, otherwise she suspected she would be the one left to explain to the humans that the Unity of Life, the greatest interstellar organization ever known, had never once considered the possibility that a species might step off their planet without creating a highly sapient servitor species first.
In the center of the room, completely unaware of the controversy she was causing and the special note she was making for humans in universal history, Lucy the dog was watching all this with great interest. She briefly stopped to scratch her side and sniffed Bob's containment suit, leading to great excitement as to whether or not she was indicating support for matter-to-energy conversion uplifting. Lucy hoped someone would throw a stick.
| 2018-10-02T12:12:08 | 2018-10-02T11:22:24 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Your daughter never feared the dark or being alone, she says because of her imaginary friend. The school child psychologist tells you the imaginary friend is very unusual and shows you a crayon picture of it, an 8 foot knight in black armor with a broadsword.
|
The psychologist's office was decorated cheerfully, with lots of colorful pictures of cartoon characters on the wall, and the shelves had just as many toys as they did books.
Jack was more interested in the psychiatrist himself. Dr. Tollin was a few years older than Jack was, probably in his early 40's, and was just starting to go soft around the middle. But this actually worked to his advantage. It gave his a friendly, jovial appearance that probably did wonders to put kids at ease.
"Hello, Mr. Adams, it's lovely to finally meet you." Dr. Tollin said while extending his hand.
"Likewise. Both Mary and Susie say great things about you. Sorry Mary couldn't be here, by the way. She had an important meeting and couldn't make it."
"That's fine. Have a seat."
Jack took a seat in one of the adult sizes chairs in the room, while the doctor sat across from him.
"First of all, let me say that Susie is wonderful little girl."
"Well, I alredy knew that." Jack said, beaming with fatherly pride.
"She is active, energetic, and has a wonderful imagination."
Jack felt a twinge in his stomach. "Why do I sense a but coming?"
"I wouldn't say this is a bad thing, not by a long shot. She is, how shall I say this...unusually brave. Normally, six year olds like her have some very understandable fears. The dark, parental separation, being alone in unknown places, that sort of thing. But Susie doesn't have any of those. She had no objection when your wife left her with me, nor did she have any problems talking to me, a total stranger."
"Okay, so she's braver than other kids, what about it?"
Dr. Tollin got up and began rummaging through a stack of papers on one of the many shelves in the office.
"Susie says that she has no reason to be afraid of that sort of thing because her friend protects her. Now, having an imaginary friend is nothing unusual, most kids have one. But Susie's is... different. Here, she drew a picture."
The paper he held out to Jack had a crayon drawing that he immediately recognized as being his daughter's style, such as it was. It was crude, sure, but he felt that no other kid drew like his little girl did.
The picture was of a man, dressed all in black. He was big, and angular. Odd, considering Susie usually drew people much rounder. The man held a long, grey object in one hand. It was almost as thick as the man's arm, but ended in a point. His other hand held a red triangle like object. It was crude, but he could guess what it all was.
"She said his name is Sir Edmar. According to her, this Knight is taller than anyone else, wears black armor, and is always holding his sword and shield."
Jack had been right. It was just such a distinct thing that it was had to mistake. Especially for him.
"She told me the story of how they met." Dr. Tollin continued. "Which, in and of itself is odd, because children don't usually meet their imaginary friends, they simply think them up. But Sir. Edmar is apparently different. As Susie tells it, he came up to her one day while she was on the playground. He went to one knee and said she was his princess reborn, and so it was his duty to protect her with his life. She was rather excited with the idea of being a princess, of course."
"I bet she was." Jack said.
Susie did love everything to do with princesses. She devoured anything to do with them. She read stories about them, watched movies with them, and even dressed up as them every chance she got. It was adorable, but could be frustrating for her parents.
"So she has an imaginary friend that's a knight. Sounds like her."
Dr. Tollin shifted in his seat. "Well, that's the thing. I'm...I'm not convinced she did make him up."
"What do you mean?" Jack asked with creased brows.
"During our last session, I asked if I could talk with Sir Edmar, with her acting as a mouthpiece, saying everything he did word for word. The words that came out of that girl's mouth should not come out of a little girl's mouth. The way spoke, the things she said. None of it sounded like a child. The language was like something you hear in a Shakespeare play, and she talked about the middle ages like she had seen it with her own eyes. Not just read about it in a book, but really saw it."
"Doctor, what exactly are you saying? Are you seriously saying my daughter is, what, possessed by a mideval knight? Do you know how insane that sounds?"
"I know, I know. I don't want to believe it either. But I don't have any other explanation. Even something like multiple personality disorder can't explain what Susie said that day. I just don't understand what's happening, but it might be something that goes beyond modern understanding."
The room fell into silence. Jack considered what he had been told. About what it meant, and what he, as Susie's father, could do. If, and how, he could help his baby girl.
"What should I do?" Jack asked.
The doctor shook his head and sighed. "Honestly, I have no idea. This is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I'm not sure I'm qualified to deal with this. Hell, I don't know if anyone alive is. But, I'll keep talking to her as long as you bring her to me. I'll also look around and see if there's other experts on this sort of thing out there, and what they say. If not, well, maybe look into...other kinds of people who specialize in such abnormalities."
"What, like, psychics and stuff?"
"Maybe. I honestly don't know. I'm sorry I can't say more."
"No, it's fine. I'll...I'll talk to Mary about it when I get home."
Both men stood and shook hands again.
"I'll understand if you don't want to bring Susie back here." Dr Tollin said as Jack left. "But if you do, I'll do whatever I can to figure out what's happening."
"Thanks, doctor. I'll keep that in mind."
He left the office and went through the halls. His eyes darted around, checking for other people. It was not until he was sure he was alone that he spoke next.
"Well? What do you think?"
A figure dressed in brilliant golden armor appeared at Jack's side. The figure towered over Jack, standing at well over seven feet tall. It clutched a massive halberd in it's armored hands.
"Edmar is a good knight." The golden armored man said. "Loyal, strong and vigalent. Perhaps not the most intelligent fellow, but he is unwavering in his duty. He will be a fine guardian for your daughter, sire."
"Good. Thank you, Rothin. You may go until I call you."
Sir. Rothin clapped his armored free hand to his chest before the ghostly warrior vanished. Jack continued down the hall, lost in thought. He had a lot to think about, and even more to plan for.
|
"Mister Parton, thank you for taking the time to meet with me." The woman rose from her desk to shake my hand, a firm grip that belied her position of power. "I'm Miss Elizabeth Sanders."
"Please, call me James," I replied with a smile, one that was not returned. We stood in silence for a second or two before she motioned for me to take a seat. I sat into the cushioned seat, feeling it envelop me in what seemed like a sense of security.
"Mr. Parton, do you know why I asked to have this meeting with you today?" Miss Sanders looked across the table at me, her eyes focused on me unwavering. The seat no longer felt like a safe place, but more like a plush prison.
"I would have to assume it is in regards to Casey. Has she been having issues acclimating to the new school?" I leaned forward, focusing on the top of her chair so as not to meet her gaze further.
A short pause hung in the air before the psychologist spoke. "...Yes, in a sense. Tell me, how has your daughter been handling the events of the past few months?"
I let my eyes drift downwards so that I was now looking at the floor. The walls seemed to tighten around me, further shrinking my prison. "Better than I have, that's for sure. When her mother was...when she passed, Casey had a tough time. One day though, she told me she had nothing to worry about anymore. She told me she had a new friend, and he would be able to protect her."
"Please, tell me more." Sanders seemed more interested at this point, her fingers interlaced under her chin as she leaned forward towards me. "What did she say about her friend?"
I finally looked up to meet her piercing blue eyes. "There isn't much to tell. I figured out pretty quickly that she was talking about an imaginary friend. I know she's a little old for that, but she had just lost her mother, and she seemed to be happy. I didn't try to talk her out of it. I figured she would move on and forget about it."
A quick beat, then the woman got up and walked to a file cabinet. Pulling open one of the drawers, her fingers danced across the tabs inside before pulling out one of the folders. As she turned back, I could see the name *Parton, Casey* emblazoned across the top.
"Maybe you should see for yourself what we are working with." Having found what she was looking for, Miss Sanders slid a paper across the table. Picking it up, I saw the telltale scribbling of Casey, as she had picked up my lack of art skills. She had drawn a huge, amorphous shape that I had to guess was a person. Sticking out at the side was a long, thick line.
Getting the obvious thoughts out of my mind, I met the gaze of the specialist. "So, what exactly is this supposed to be? I've never seen Casey draw anything like this."
Sanders spoke again, looking down as she flipped through the papers. "She didn't forget about her friend, I can tell you that. She seems to have made it an important aspect of her psyche. She has been getting into small scraps on the playground, and each time, she tells us that it was her friend that did it. Normally, I would think nothing of this; children attempt to throw blame all the time. This, though, is different. The children she has been fighting seem to buy into the same mindset. From what I have been able to glean, this is the most accurate representation of her friend."
"I-I can talk to her in the meantime, but is this something I should be worried about?" I stared at the paper again, trying to figure out what could have made this change.
"I don't think so, in my professional opinion. If it continues for longer, then we should address this. There is one thing, though, and I wanted to mention it to see if it meant anything to you." Tapping a pen against the paper, as though deciding what to admit, she finally leaned in, ready to confide a deep secret. I leaned forward, hovering over the table as much as she was.
"She calls him the Mountain."
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker (2019 Edition!): 34/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
| 2019-08-10T16:35:29 | 2019-08-10T16:06:35 | 58 | 30 |
[WP] The Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins laughed at humans for not having magic. The humans laughed at the Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins for not having giant robots.
|
“How much further?” asked Xylenor, in between ragged breaths.
He didn’t get an answer. The dwarf at his side was less than half his height, reaching only up to his scabbard. That meant that Blomor had to work twice as hard just to keep up at the current pace they were going, as they plunged through the thick undergrowth, plowed through the coarsened vegetation. The inevitable gloom of dusk was also falling across the horizon, signalling the onset of darkness, which was never an ideal condition for fighting, no matter how you cut it.
They reached a fork in the trail, and Blomor gestured to the left. Xylenor fell in line, and briefly hoped that the others would pick up on their trail, scent the waymarks he had been leaving behind at regular intervals.
“Not much further now,” said Blomor, his pace slowing. “When will your reinforcements arrive?”
“Soon,” said Xylenor, hoping that he would not be proven wrong.
“They better. We can’t take them on our own.”
Xylenor’s stomach tightened in knots. He yearned to throw caution to the winds, unleash his magic there and then. A single thunderflare first, which would bathe the forests for miles around with a single peal of light, a flash of sound. That would mark their location, give the patrols a destination to home in on. Then Xylenor would link forces with the dwarf, and together they would marshal the latent energies in the surroundings, tear open a portal at their location, create a forward position from which their brethren could quickly pour forth.
And how easy it would be. The elves were the lynchpin in the Alliance, masters at channelling and processing the raw magic which permeated their world. The dwarves, with their knack for intricate, delicate spellweaving, did wonders with the relatively meagre amounts of magic they dredged up. And the goblins, or at least the last few which still survived, would harmonize the discordant spells unleashed in battle, pluck the stray strands which zipped through the air, and rally it all into a single, living, breathing orchestra of magic.
But Xylenor knew they could afford no such luxury. If they were to meet the challenge lying ahead, they would need every shred of magic at their disposal.
“We’re getting close,” said Blomor.
“Was this where you first came upon them?” asked Xylenor.
“Aye. My partner’s still out there, somewhere, keeping watch. Just a normal routine inspection. The humans have been keeping to their side of the bargain, keeping off our territory. But some of our younglings often cross the border, thinking themselves brave enough to weather whatever’s lying ahead.”
“They were the ones who first alerted you?”
“In a way,” said Blomor. “We found them running back towards our outposts, damn near screaming their heads off in fear.”
“Is it bad?” asked Xylenor.
Blomor nodded. “Very.”
They crested a hill, and then Xylenor saw it for himself. The plumes of smoke against the setting sun seemed like the stormdrakes of old, twisting gently as they stretched out into the heavens. Xylenor counted at least four main conflict points, marked by the scorched earth and shattered trees. He focused, sharpening his senses with a seasoning of magic. The sounds of battle still raged on, but he had trouble making out the dancing giants in the distance.
“Their shields are still up,” said Xylenor.
“Aye. We had trouble sighting them too, what with the cloaking fields they deploy.”
“So do we know what we’re in for?”
Blomor beckoned, and away they went again, streaking down the other side of the hill until they came to a human-made clearing, marked by a giant carcass, rooted into the ground. It still thrummed with life, but just barely, and Xylenor didn’t need magic to tell that the humans within were already dead.
“This is a bloody Dreadnought, for goodness’ sakes,” muttered Xylenor in disbelief.
“From the Emperor’s Command, no less,” said Blomor. He muttered a levitation spell, and was lifted to the side of the fallen giant. His hand caressed the strange materials, feeling the edges where the top half of the Dreadnought had been clipped right off, as if it was a mere chestnut sundered by a blade.
“You think your lightning spells can do this much damage?” asked Blomor. "To shear right through a Dreadnought, how many Circles must work together?"
Xylenor’s face blanched. “You mean…”
Off they went again, quicker this time. Xylenor sensed the forests filling up with the Alliance, which comforted him somewhat. If he was going to die here today, at least he wouldn’t be alone.
They found themselves at yet another hill, and this time they were close enough to see the battle with their own eyes.
On one side were the gleaming legions of the humans. Three to a cell, six to a squad, nine to a contingent, the humans were already in their raging golems, towering beasts of unwavering loyalty. Xylenor recalled an early campaign where the Alliance had resorted to skulduggery, tried to twist the golems to their side. Their very best mages had been stumped, unable to figure out the inner workings of those fearsome monstrosities. Humans on their own were dangerous, but with their golems, an entire village caught unprepared could be razed to the ground.
By Xylenor’s best count, less than a third of the human forces remained. Those which still stood and fought had the trailing black robes of the Command, that elite band of golems which comprised of the most experienced and battle-worn warriors. They were holding their ground, but just barely.
Xylenor was so lost in the spectacle that he gave a start when the human nearby, propped against a tree, coughed. The human had evidently ejected from his golem at the point of complete destruction, and had somehow managed to crawl to relative safety.
For a moment, Xylenor forgot that this was technically still an enemy combatant, and he rushed to the human’s side, pressed his hands against the open wounds, summoning all the healing magic he could muster.
“I’m… sorry,” said the human, too weak to even hold up his head.
“He’s not got long,” said Blomor.
“We should have come earlier… but…”
“Why didn’t you send us a warning earlier?” asked Xylenor, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “You could have told us!”
“The Alliance wouldn’t have believed… us…”
Then, the infernal clacking filled the air, a sound so terrible that it awakened deep-seated, long-buried memories in Xylenor. The goosebumps razed his flesh, his blood ran cold, and he forced himself to look to the other side of the battlefield, athwart the mighty golems.
And there flourished an array of the land’s greatest threats, the enemy they thought finally vanquished. There they stood, risen from the dead, the only thing which could have united the humans and the Alliance, caused them to put aside their petty differences, band together against the common threat. Each double the size of the human golems, stronger, faster, deadlier.
Unrelenting forces of nature, harbingers of doom.
“Believe me now?” asked Blomor grimly.
Xylenor pressed his fingers to his forehead, and thoughtcast the warning back to the elven forces on the way.
“Be advised,” he relayed, “the Orcs with their Giant Enemy Crabs are back.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Wait, lemme fink' this one fru' ay," The words dribble out of Nockknar, the Goblin Treasureking, like saliva from the maw of a dying mongrel. "Aktually, bloody hell, I don't fink I wanna. Can't do magic?" Nockknar points towards the hooded human in front of him, a wicked smirk (covered with solidified drool) emerging on his face.
"That's right shite ain't it?"
A delicate laugh blossoms next to him. Folen, an Elvish Ranger-General, adorned with medals made of flowers sits next to Nockknar, (a rare sight on its own - An Elf with a Goblin) crosses his legs and leans forward. The spider-silk shaded hair on his shoulders effortlessly glides down his back, like velvet, as he makes himself comfortable.
"I mean, what should we expect friends? From lesser folk. Lesser..." Folen pretends to stumble on his words, even going far enough to make an obnoxiously aggravating face - as if he were concentrating. "Creatures."
The hooded human, who is standing, leaning on a wall, patiently waits. He lowers his hood and shows his face. Plain, normal; every other word you could use to describe bland normality.
"Bastard ain't even got the luck to look any good ay,'" Nockknar remarks, "Imagine ya life bein' like, just shit hey. Ya look like a dogs dick, ya can't do magic; I wouldn't be surprised if this lil' codfish ain't even been halfway round the bend with a woman... we should kill him,"
A laugh; a choke; a Dwarf half-way through his meed. "Lad," Rumblebrew says, bubbles in his beard and rosy cheeks destroying any stealth to his joy, "Ye khant just say that to him. Ye just khant."
"Shite, the dwarf is drunk as hell, he can't even understand me no more," Nockknar says, before chugging his way through his own glass. "What so hard bout the way I speak? You got cheese up in ya head?" A trickle of giggles gurgles from his belly.
"Ay, maybe cheese, maybe crackers, definitely booze though I'd say," Rumblebrew joins in with Nockknars laughter, before turning to face the human. The unnamed man is staring at them, a strange device in his hand.
It's a solid square. No writing, no markings, no nothing. In the centre is a huge red button. Slowly, the human raises one finger, opens his mouth, raises his eyes brows, and...
Presses the button.
Silence.
Followed by more silence.
Then a lot of laughing.
"Ya got me!" Nockknar manages to wheeze out between gut-wrenching laughter, his arms flailing, knocking his drink over in the process.
"What even was that?" Folens face screws into an amalgamation of superiority and smugness.
"Wasn't magic," Rumblebrew says, exploding into his devilish laughter.
Suddenly, behind each of them, a portal opens. One green, for Folen, an elvish gateway. One red, for Rumblebrew, a dwarvish transporter. And lastly, yellow, Nockknars, a Goblin theif's treasure portal.
"Sire, we need your assistance at once," Speaks an Elf from the portal. "Our homes burn. Beasts with no blood are destroying our loved ones, ravaging our lands,"
"Hahaha," Slips from the humans lips.
"Rumblebrew, get your arse into gear, we got machinations goin' rogue in here - We're losin everything,"
"Hahahahahahaha," grows the ever looming laughter.
"IT'S AWL FUCKED NOCKKNAR, EVERYONE IS EITHA DEAD - OR BOUT TO BE. IT DESTROYED OUR GOLD!"
"Ahhh-ha-hahahaha!"
The three scurry to their feet and turn, the laughter of this human, this 'lesser creature', burning a hole into their souls.
"Hey," the human yells as each walks through their gateway. "Don't worry Rumblebrew, my machines," Rumblebrew turns, his face pale white, watching this strangers face grow happier with every passing second.
"They'll find out what's in your head soon enough."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.
| 2017-07-17T07:10:11 | 2017-07-17T06:54:09 | 974 | 63 |
[WP] You are a Hero with an unfortunate side-effect to your powers. Everytime you lose a fight, your body changes and adapts to become better suited to whatever beat you. Over the years, you are starting to look less and less human, and the civilians are getting more uncomfortable with you
|
“Have we achieved it yet? Is he the ultimate lifeform? The disciplinary hearing is coming up soon and we’ll be out of budget in less than 3 months.”
Maverick looked up from his design table, the subject of bureaucracy was loathed but he’d since understood its importance to continuing his work over the course of the last thousand years.
He stepped over to the hetrometer, a device that accounted for an ungodly amount of their research allocations. But the device had proved its value, allowing them to maintain precise control over their experimental subject and his surrounding parameters.
Maverick picked up the heavy corded cable and jammed it into his interface. His senses instantly left his physical body and reconnected with the proxy he had left above star cluster 64557. The stream of pending data entered his consciousness as it provided the logs that had been captured on the experiment since his last visit.
Maverick brushed it all aside to the back of his mind, he was just here for a quick check up. Such things were easiest to handle up close and personally.
He directed the proxy onwards, zooming into the star cluster, then the fourth planet rotating around a twin star, then a large city filled with the bipedal humanoids native to this world. The proxy whizzed by all their primitive constructions in a straight line, unobstructed by the towering skyscrapers or any other obstacles it passed by. At a fraction of a nanometer, the proxy was designed to phase past almost all physical and energy barriers. Even on the homeworld, a device of this grade was able to bypass a vast majority of non-governmental security.
The proxy paused next to their subject, Hero Form TA-52. The subject had begun as a simple humanoid bipedal but had been given a genetic alteration via the Hero Form sequencing. The result was a combat creature that could organically adapt to each battle encounter until it prevailed as the ultimate combat organism. TA-52 bore little resemblance to his fellow humanoids by this point and Maverick recognized that this fact had no doubt began causing psychological degradation in his performance.
Maverick marked it down on the proxy’s interface, noting it as something that would need to be remedied upon his next working session. For the moment however he was only concerned with collecting the performance parameters.
A few moments of additional observation later, Maverick returned from the hetrometer, this time parking the proxy in the upper orbits of the planet.
“And?” Tilda asked.
Maverick projected the performance parameters into Tilda’s interface and waited as his partner assessed TA-52. His own opinions would wait until the two of them had formed independent conclusions based solely on the data.
“It’s not enough,” Tilda concluded.
“But almost,” Maverick added.
“Did you forget what I’d just mentioned? The hearing is too soon, we don’t have time to tweak the combat parameters anymore. And certainly not enough budget to start again.”
“TA-52 has come close enough. TA-51’s parameters were already enough to defeat our most pessimistic simulations, the problem had just been a matter of surviving the encounter.”
“TA-52 still falls short in that regard,” Tilda said skeptically, “The adaptive ceramic plating will handle any reasonable degree of physical and energy abuse without issue, but the lack of resonance protection is glaringly obvious. A sure death sentence if matched with the wrong opponent.”
Maverick waved off the concern, “The foundation is there under the ceramic plating, the rest we can augment manually. And resonance focused attacks have never been popular in the tournament, the subject has usually sacrificed far too much to obtain any useful form of it.”
“Manually augment!? Are you truly Maverick or has stardust replaced your brain?” But Tilda agreed after a moment of pause, “But yes, it’ll work, if you’re willing to compromise on perfection…You are?”
Maverick twisted his face in what Tilda could only assume was an expression of positivity. “I have learned,” he said, “52 iterations of the hero form over the last thousand years have taught me much, and I believe it is time the rest of the galactic community see the fruits of that labor.”
Tilda clapped her hands in excitement, “Shall we begin then?”
“Yes. Retrieve TA-52. We have a masterpiece to finish.”
|
2219 hasn't treated me kindly. The evil is increasing, and so continues the body modification. At one point, I considered it a blessing. After all, it would only go up from here, right? But then it started to take an uncanny turn. I was human once. Or, at least, whatever a human is these days. Everyone's maybe 1/3rd human, and the other two thirds are Draglan and various metals. I thought the Draglan was just getting to their brains. Studies show it causes brain damage, after all. But then it got more... severe. I haven't been to a family event in years. They turn me away at the door. There's nothing I can do except be sad about it. But I have a duty, and I serve this country. Maybe when the robot invasion comes, I'll be normal. Maybe I should stop caring and let it happen.
| 2022-11-04T15:49:12 | 2022-11-04T15:22:49 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
His name was Werner Grenwald, and he had thirty-two perfectly aligned teeth.
I got to know this pleasant fact because the first time I met him, he was screaming. From the moment they brought him in until the moment I finally escorted him out, he did not stop screaming.
Instead we took lunch in my office on the third floor. He was still in cuffs, of course, but I had the impression that even if he were free, he would not run.
His behavior was most curious.
You see, I was a detective. I had been trained to pick up on the littlest things, and there was quite a lot to pick up. For instance, Mr. Grenwald made a very conscious effort not to touch his feet to the floor. In the same vein, he would wince if I ever touched him with my right glove or if he brushed the left arm of his chair. There were a multitude of these little ‘micro-evasions’, as I’d come to call them: and in combination they turned this man into a writhing shape of fear and discomfort.
His first words were these:
“I did not believe that the Austrian police would resort to such savagery in this day and age.”
Those words remain with me still. But in that time I was brash and young, and I responded with all of the usual bravado.
“What could you possibly mean? I bring you up here for tea and a chat and you accuse me of savagery?”
He gestured with his head in his wincing, flitting way: “Not you, not now. Down there.”
“The questioning room?”
“The interrogation room,” he said. With such conviction. Such certainty. “The torture room.”
I didn’t let his knowledge faze me. “Ah, so you have an uncle in the police force. Yes, we have had to resort to some rather uncivilized tactics in recent days—but you cannot be civil with the criminal element. For example, with the type of element that kills children?”
“I did not kill a child,” he said.
“Ah, but you did.”
“A child is but a slice, you understand?”
I didn’t. We were talking about murder, not bratwurst. “No, I don’t take your meaning.”
“A child is just one slice. Time *t*, a part. Instantaneous. I didn’t kill a child,” he said. “I killed a person.”
I called for two coffees and relished at the sight of this delusional murderer trying and failing to drink with cuffed hands. I do regret that slice of me, now.
“So you admit you killed a person. Case closed, yes?”
“It was in self-defense.”
Interesting. “So little Adolf had a knife to your neck?”
“No, he had a shower-head.”
The clerk came around with a few sandwiches, and Werner winced as if the meat were a hot stove. “Do you have anything vegetarian?”
“Eat your meat or eat nothing.”
The man fell silent, still squirming in his seat.
I resumed my line of questioning. “So tell me, what actual motive could you possibly—”
“I’d like you to touch me.”
I’d been warned of the homosexual epidemic in Braunau, but I never thought I’d come to face it myself. “I’m sorry?”
“I want you to touch me, please, on the cheek.”
I got up from my chair. Oh, I would touch him. I would touch him upon the jaw with four knuckles and all the weight of an ex-soldier. As I moved to strike he gasped, “No, please. Without the glove.”
And then I grew curious.
I removed the leather glove and touched him on the cheek. He had no hair, there. He was barely a man, maybe fifteen years old. God. Children killing children on our streets, how horrid.
His eyes glazed over for a moment and he whispered, “You were born in the capital. Your father named you Reinhardt Hertz but your mother calls you Bärchen.” How did he know all this? What reason would anyone have to spy on—“You were a soldier but you hated killing. However, you enjoyed the violence. And so you became a constable here at this very station.” How? “Your children will be named Werner and Wilhelmina, and you will die in 1917 from the shock of seeing your son go to war.”
“What are you?”
“I see people, Detective.” His eyes flickered, like an addict’s. “I don’t see slices, I see people.”
“And you killed in self defense?”
“I killed in self defense. In the defense of others. I see people, and Adolf Hitler is a bad person. He kills all of us. Do you understand?”
“No. I don’t.”
His pupils were fully dilated, two deep dark holes. I wondered what they saw.
“This armchair is an antique, built in 1456. Three years ago, your colleagues beat an innocent man to death on this very floor. And many decades from now, after one Great War too many,” he said, “Adolf Hitler murders twelve million people.”
I had nothing to say.
But the chief had plenty. He said an admitted child-murderer was a simple case, and a decent hanging would secure his post for another year or more. He would have none of this talk of 'people' and 'slices' and 'self-defense'. Preposterous, all of it.
I will never forget Werner Grenwald’s face as he felt the hemp brush against his cheek. I understood then what he was seeing, what he felt before he went. He died a thousand deaths before his final passing—perhaps more.
And I will never forget what he told me before he left. A whisper in my ear:
“Oh, the world seems unjust now, I know,” he said. “But, this is but a slice, time *t*, a part. I’ve *seen* the world whole, Detective. I've made it so. And it is nothing to fear.”
***
**EDIT:** Wow, I've been getting a lot of requests for more of my work—and I am super flattered. Thank you! To make it easier on everyone I thought I might just post it here: all of my published work can be found at [**KabirCreates.Com.**](http://kabircreates.com)
Hopefully this edit isn't against the rules? If so, let me know and I'll get rid of it right away. Again, thank you all for reading!
|
I shook my head to clear it before I entered the interrogation room. Prisoner 7493855, currently being held without bail until their trial could be finished, said they had a secret to tell me, one that will exonerate them of their murder charge. Yeah right. They blew the head of a one year old off with a high powered weapon the likes of which we had never seen before. One minute young Adolf Hitler had been cooing and making silly faces, the next there was just a pink mist where his last silly face had been.
I let out the breath I'd been holding and nodded at the guard, who opened the door. Entering, I muttered to him to stay put. This wasn't going to take long.
And indeed it didn't. The prisoner didn't argue that they hadn't killed young Adolf. What they argued was that killing the child was a necessary evil. They claimed that they were from the future, and that Adolf had murdered millions of people in cold blood, calling himself the Fuhrer and ruling Germany as she waged war with the world. What utter nonsense. Hitler was an Austrian child, quite frankly a little slow on the uptake and yet to learn to speak, and seemed interested only in making the most benign and terrible art that a one year old could produce. He was certainly in no position to overthrow the Kaiser or some such drivel. They claimed the Kaiser had lost yet another war against the entire world a mere 20 years earlier than Hitler's evil. And that 20 years earlier was 30 years from now. And then it stopped making any sense to me. What sort of madness could create such a vivid horrifying world as the one they seemed to think "was going to happen" if poor Adolf was not eliminated?
As it became obvious that the insane monologue was drawing to a close I began paying attention again. The last thing they said before I left the room made it all make a sort of sense, despite the prisoner's assertion to the contrary. "I know none of this makes sense to you, and there is no way that you believe me. I just want you to know - I have saved your sons and daughters and grandchildren a world of pain and death and loss. And my baby can know his grandfather now. It might sound like madness, but its just a mother who discovered a way that she could save millions of other mothers from weeping. Now only Mrs. Hitler cries. I'm sure it is terrible for her, but to quote a future television show 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.' If you only knew...you'd do the same thing."
Just the ravings of a woman suffering from hysteria. She had no child, no family that we could discern. All of this was obviously her imagination running wild and feverish. I tipped my hat at the guard and meandered to my office, where I scribbled a few notes on a piece of paper offering my opinion that she was insane and fit only for a straightjacket in an asylum. Hysteria was technically treatable according to the experts, and I had even seen it successfully treated after my wife started seeing the young and talented Doctor Fleischman at regular intervals. But this woman had gone way past your basic hysteria and murdered a kid. Best she never walk a free woman again.
Case closed, done for the day, time for dinner.
| 2015-03-30T00:49:55 | 2015-03-29T23:50:18 | 1,772 | 25 |
[WP] Elon Musk is actually a disguised alien who bet his friend that he could bring Earth to "Technology Level 10" in one human lifetime.
|
"I'm telling you, *any* planet, *any* race, one *equivalent* lifetime," Lon'e said. "It's just a matter of getting the others on board. But I could guarantee you that I can get them six levels higher than they are."
"Six?" Dwar'e laughed, "You're fooling yourself. There's no way. Not only could you not do it, but if you think the Panel is going to let you do this--"
"*Let* me? I invented the damn machine in the first place!" Lon'e slammed his drink down and shook his head, "I already told you the math, already told you how the machine works, already told you the Panel will let me do what I want."
"Okay, so I get to pick the race?"
Lon'e perked his eyes up and hiccuped. "You pick the race. I got the thingy-mabob right over in my office. But keep in mind, if you pick some single-celled organism shit, that's against the rules."
He laughed, "Okay, yeah yeah, I won't be a *fonid* about it. But there's plenty of others to choos from, you're sure you're down for this?"
Lon'e drank the last of his beverage, a hard mix between alcohol and flavored water from his home galaxy. It wasn't often he went out, nor was it often he went into tangents about how great his machine worked. Nor was it often that he placed bets on the future of a single race.
Then again, Lon'e did just receive the Galactic Peace Award back at home, so he thought, and was always thinking, that anything he did could never go wrong. But Dwar'e was just looking at the list of races when an idea came to him. Sure, Lon'e was smart, probably the smartest Euro he ever met, but there was no way he could fix the problems in Quadrant Fourteen-Echo without causing more problems for the Panel. Something he, and he though Lon'e, desperately wanted.
It had been years since any single Euranion had taken a ship near that quadrant, let alone inside of it, and the Panel's official stance on the state of that Galactic area was "No comment." Unofficially, it was condemned as a failed experiment by some Euranion who had drifted into history as dust and echoes. The only thing they left behind was The QFE's problems.
Lon'e stared at Dwar'e as he scrolled through the list of races and their technological level. Past the tribals of Quadrant Nineteen-Tango, past the rebellions of Quadrant Eight-Zeta and even past the technological masterminds, who were still only tier seven, of Quadrant Twenty-three-Lima. He saw his hand linger over one quadrant, who's technology level was a whopping *Four* on the Euranion scale and who, for all Lon'e had tried to forget, was still a forefront of every scientist and politician's platform.
"No, you *fonid*, pick someone else."
"C'mon, they're not breaking the rules! Tech level four, advanced micro-organism, brainiacs--"
"And maniacs. You know as well as I do that *that* wouldn't be allowed."
"To be quite honest, probably not. But imagine them at a tech-level that could rival our own. *Humans* with some of the most advanced technology in the universe. Technology that could cover this entire galaxy."
"Technology that could reach *home*. What would you do if they walked onto your doorstep?"
"With Tier Ten tech? Probably as much as the next Euranion. But that's not the point."
"What is the point then Dwar'e?"
"How long have we been on top, Lon'e? How long have the Euranions conquered?"
Lon'e flicked his straw, "Thousands of years. Millions maybe. Time is as irrelevant as space is to us now."
"Precisely."
Lon'e chuckled to himself. He and Dwar'e had been bond-Eura's for a long time now. Dwar as his bodyguard, confidant, assistant, and basically everything else and him as one of the Panel's many "young" scientists, creators, and builders. For a long time, they had scoured galactic quadrants and built what was needed to be built. They were done here, in the MWG, and as always they had some drinks. And they talked.
They talked about their people. "You think we've outlived our purpose?"
"Your words, not mine."
Lon'e laughed, "*My* words. How long has it been since the Panel cared about any of their Builders words?" Dwar'e remained silent as he thought out loud. "Maybe you are right, maybe our time building has come to an end."
"So what will you do?"
"The bet is one lifetime." Lon'e glanced over to his bond-mate. "How long can you give me?"
"One lifetime. That's around 80 years for humans. That's nothing to us."
Lon'e poured the last of the mix and drank it in one full-swoop. He longed for the days when he was just graduating and making his bonds. When he hadn't scoured a hundred dozen galaxies building what the Euranion Panel wanted him to build. Putting their word first, their ideology, their belief that they created the universe.
They created nothing, Lon'e knew. Only echoes of their word for the species that would get to Tier Eight. Then, by the Eura's laws they would either burn themselves in war and strife. Or be burned by the Panel's Legions.
No more conquering. No more building. No more destroying.
Lon'e had dedicated his life to maintaining the universe. Over the last hundred thousand years he had realized he had dedicated his life to the fire of the universe. To letting it all burn beneath the Panel.
No more, he thought. "I'll see you in a lifetime then brother."
Dwar'e smiled, "Til then my brother."
Lon'e smiled.
"Til then."
____
*No continuation on this one, sorry everyone!*
|
It all started with a bet.
A bet that led to the last thing Elon ever expected.
At first, it was a stupid bet that hardly meant anything. Well besides credibility, triumph, truth, and evidence that his was the greatest mind the universe would ever see.
During a gassy afternoon on Uranus, Thognock told Elon he couldn't accelerate the growth of human technology from level five to ten in a human lifespan. It was over a few glasses of space brew, the type that really got Elon going, and by going I meant thinking. And to insult Elon's thinking is too. . . is too . . . really insult him badly.
Plus, what was a hundred years to a young martian anyway? It's about as meaningful as taking a piss on Neptune.
With that, Elon Musk the genius and solar panel enthusiast was born.
At first, the humans seemed as dim-witted as Elon expected. They polluted the planet, did things that weren't in their races best interest, and ate copious amounts of bad tasting food simply because it had a big M on it.
But he noticed something interesting about their species. Despite their intelligence and general approach to life. The humans had a special fueling mechanism, a fuel that even his own race hadn't been able to harness.
Like a bottle filled with pressure, humans would explode with emotion when put under dire stress. Only this emotion, instead of being to their detriment, was the most powerful resource Elon had observed.
It allowed them to expend ridiculous amounts of energy on specific tasks. It helped them to persevere through feats far beyond their natural capabilities. Even his own species couldn't extend their bodies beyond nature, it was logically impossible.
So he made contact with his home planet in order to share this news.
"Thognock, Thognock!" Elon said into the space reciever.
"Finally giving up?" Thognock asked. Elon could feel his smirk through the receiver piece.
"No, it's something far more important than that. We have to move the colony to Earth, I've made an outrageous discovery."
"A new flavour of space brew?"
"Even more important," Elon said.
And with that, he went on to explain the capabilities of the humans. Thognock and Elon came up with a plan to study them, while at the same time, to transport the entire colony -which was no easy feat. As their current methods of transportation ran the risk of creating a warp in the universe itself.
Elon and Thognock both agreed that they needed to find out more, both about the humans and bridging the gap from Earth to their planet. They decided that the best way to go about this was by working from Earth and back up to the colonies home planet.
And thus, SpaceX was born.
| 2016-09-11T19:43:46 | 2016-09-11T19:17:44 | 287 | 15 |
[WP] In a world of superpowered people, your own ability to keep all insects 30cm away as a force field made you mediocre at best, until one day, as you are about to sign your lease with the director of your bank's branch, you both cant seem to be able to shake hands.
|
My arm flew backwards, repelled so violently that I heard something in my shoulder joint go ‘crack’. Papers fluttered through the room, shaving rays of light into squares and rectangles that formed on the banker’s still, emotionless face.
His nostrils flared. His eyes calmly ran assessments in a world with scents and colours and sights beyond my comprehension.
“He knows”, he whispered.
“Shit!” someone went. It was the security guard, the one wearing the loose-fitting shirt and the hastily folded sleeves.
“Get the chloroform,” the receptionist (who’d apparently been filling in for Janey who was ‘sick’) shouted from the other room.
Now, ‘insect heist’ is a combination of words that has probably occurred to the human mind a total of one time in the last millennium. Which was why I was careful to ponder it, examine it, mull it over while the banker rummaged through his drawers, averting eye contact with his soon-to-be hostage. Yes, maybe it was possible that anthromorphic insects had invaded the bank, methodically replaced every worker without anyone ever noticing and then ran the bank without a hitch while siphoning the money from the vaults to their Queen but also… maybe not? Maybe I was the one in the wrong here - had I just accidentally brought an incendiary device with me? Yeah, that must be it. You know me, always switching those tax forms with lethal explosives. I should probably just put my arms behind my head and get down on the floor.
From the locked door to my right, I heard a muffled cry that rattled the signboard saying ‘Hostage Room’ in bright red marker ink.
Hm. Strange, I thought.
Then someone erupted into a monologue from behind the door. “These anthromorphic insects invaded the bank, methodically replaced every worker without anyone ever noticing and then ran the bank without a hitch while siphoning the money from the vaults to their Queen! Run for your life! Call the cops! Get help!”
The banker laughed nervously, twiddling his thumbs while carefully cradling a gun in his right armpit. “U-uh, that’s not true. Please don’t listen to the voices from the Hostage Room. We’re sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this that you could find if you just think hard enough while I look for those bulle- I mean, tax forms, haha!”
“Right, how ridiculous! Surely there’s no vast and insidious conspiracy at work here!” I declared, much to the chagrin of the voices from the Hostage Room. Who could think up such a preposterous thing, definitely not me fourteen seconds ago in that same exact arrangement of words!
Loud footsteps from behind me. I whirled around to see the substitute receptionist charging at me with a damp handkerchief. As soon as she came within 30 centimerres of me, my forcefield sent her flying into the table, obliterating it completely and throwing the banker to the floor.
“The hostage is putting up resistance!” the banker yelled, and two armed men rushed into the room.
“This is an insect heist! Get down on the floor and make no movements or we will shoot!”
Now I was really beginning to think that there was a vast and insidious conspiracy at work here. Just to make sure, I asked the men as they cautiously approached me.
“An insect heist, as in, anthromorphic insects invaded the bank, methodically replaced every worker without anyone ever noticing and then ran the bank without a hitch while siphoning the money from the vaults to their Queen?”
One of the men played with his antennae as he thought about it.
“Er, yeah, I guess you could say so? If it makes things easier for you, think of the insect thing as, like, a metaphor.”
He looked at the other man for approval and he nodded back.
“Oh yeah, that makes much more sense now. Wanna get on with your heist then?”
“Sure thing!” they chorused and began to head toward me.
“Sir, for the love of god, please just call the police,” someone pleaded from the Hostage Room.
“No signal here,” one of the armed men said, tapping his antenna.
“Ah, that’s a shame. Can I just go watch television in the waiting room then?” I asked.
“Yeah, let’s just get you all tied up and then you can do whatever you want sir,” they said. 30 centimetres later, they were lying in the broken remains of the hostage room’s door.
In the chaos that followed, I decided to check my phone - 1 missed call from Mom and 30 missed calls from the police. ‘Please txt me’, ‘what is the situation there’, ‘could you please call us back’ - the police. Whatever could they be calling for, I thought, and decided to ring them back.
|
I was never really super. Ever since i first discovered my power I’ve felt lesser than everyone else. Jake got strength, Tim got flight and hell even Susie got geokenesis. But me, i got bugs. Not the power to control bugs but instead the ability to push them away. Ive always had a fear of them so i guess its fitting. I found work as an exterminator squishing them into the walls, mainly cleaning up the mess left behind by “The masked locust”, a terrifying villain with the power to summon a plague of locusts at will, a much cooler but power. As buisness started to dwindle I decided to move camp and live somewhere with more bug problems. It made my skin crawl but it was worth the money. Just as i was about to shake on a lease the strangest thing happened. I just couldnt seem to shake this guys hand, as i tried to move towards him my hand would whip around and past his, like some invisible force was stopping me. After 10 minutes of awkward handshake attempts I started putting two and two together and started thinking about the masked locust. But this old man couldnt be the terrifying villain ive been cleaning up after, but there was no other explanation for this strange scenario. I closed the deal with a thumbs up instead but i had my suspicions and i vowed to put every ounce of effort into revealing the locusts identity
Hello! Thank you for reading this, i dont know why but this prompt of all inspired me to write. If you enjoyed this i dont really have more to offer but maybe ill be inspired again someday
| 2022-04-06T09:52:15 | 2022-04-06T07:43:13 | 80 | 59 |
[WP] "my lord, i know you are the demon lord and iam but a lowly advisor, but please listen to me. I suggest that instead of sending the hero slightly stronger demons to kill each time, we just send the strongest one right away"
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"My lord, I know you are the Demon Lord and I am but a lowly advisor, but please listen to me. I suggest that instead of sending the hero slightly stronger demons to kill each time, we just send the strongest one right away"
The Demon Lord leaned forward in his leather office chair, rested his arms on the smooth surface of his large, uncluttered desk and smiled. “This is exactly the reason I have an open-door policy, Chuck.” He said in his rich, silky-smooth baritone. ‘It’s a great opportunity for me to get to know a little bit about you and your abilities.”
He smiled sincerely, but much of it was lost behind the rows of serrated teeth that showed whenever his lips parted. “It’s also a great opportunity for you to learn a little bit about me and the organization I’ve worked so long to build.”
Leaning back in his chair, the Demon Lord waved his arm to indicate the vast expanse of his office. For a moment, Chuck turned to take it in, the red shag carpet, beautiful mahogany book cases, that were a perfect match to the desk and other office furnishings, filled with thick tomes in demonic languages bound in human skins and in the center of it all a massive globe that showed both a map of the Earth and, when a swtich was thrown, could change to a map of the underworld.
The Demon Lord waited patiently for Chuck to finish looking around the room before continuing. “You know, this wasn’t given to me.” He said seriously. “I know a lot of people think I was born into the whole “Demon Lord” thing, but it isn’t true. My father was a low level devil charged with running around the deep South meeting wannabe musicians at crossroads where he would buy their souls in exchange for musical ability. Not a great job, but his innovation was that he gave them the ability to play the blues, something that has depressed the hell out of humanity ever since.
“I digress, but only because I want you to know that lots of people come from humble beginnings, Chuck, and the simple fact that you have risked incurring my wrath to come here and offer me your thoughts tells me that you want to move up. I hope you are as happy to have this opportunity as I am to give it to you."
The Demon Lord leaned forward on the desk again, a calculated move that prompted Chuck to do the same. “You are right, of course, I could send our strongest against every upstart hero and win every single time. It would be child's play, but what does that do for us?”
“It lets us easily win every single time.” Offered Chuck brightly.
The Demon Lord smiled again. “What’s that do for us," he paused, "*as an organization*, Chuck?”
This time it was Chuck who sat back in his chair, only instead of smiling his brow was furrowed in deep thought. When he looked up again he saw the Demon Lord waiting patiently, the sincere and somehow slightly less frightening smile still on his face. “Nothing.” Chuck finally answered.
“That’s right,” answered the Demon Lord. “If you want people to progress and your organization to thrive, you have to create opportunities. And every battle is just that, an opportunity for some up-and-comer to get out there and prove they have what it takes. It doesn't matter if they lose, they always come back a little harder and a little wiser and that’s why we have an entire army filled with hardened veterans instead of one single champion surrounded by an army of useless neophytes.”
Chuck felt defeated. He’d thought he had a great new idea but, as usual, the Demon Lord was a dozen steps ahead of him. He exhaled, hunched his shoulders, and embarrassedly studied his feet until his thoughts were abruptly broken by the gentle touch of the Demon Lord who had come out from behind his desk and placed his hand on Chuck’s shoulder.
“That strategy works for advisors, too.” Said the Demon Lord in a gentle tone as he helped Chuck take his feet and guided him across the office to a door covered in a what appeared to be an intricate carving of thousands of tiny souls frozen in never ending agony.
As he ushered Chuck out the exit, the Demon Lord offered one last thing before he closed the door. “You had a little defeat today, but you took a chance and I know that next time you will come back a little harder and a little wiser. I’m glad you are on our team.”
When it was over Chuck stood alone in the hallway and pondered the door. Yes, it was closed, but he knew he could open it any time he wanted. And he would open it again, he decided. Although he might not carry the day the next time or even the time after, he knew with sudden certainty that each time he found himself back in this corridor, he would be stronger and wiser.
|
"He's busy," says the Dark Lord.
"What?" asks the Advisor.
"Busy," repeats the Dark Lord. "He's working on taking down the Paladins of Light, who are frankly a bigger threat right now. Honestly, this new Hero is ridiculously low-level - there are much stronger heroes to deal with first. Frankly, I'm not even sure that this guy is worth sending my little guys to deal with; the only reason I'm sending them at *all* is because *they* need to level up, too."
--------------
"He's too expensive," says the Dark Lord.
"Too expensive?" asks the Advisor.
"Yeah," says the Dark Lord. "Ever since he took down the Paladins of Light he's pushed up his fees. I'll still use him where necessary, mind you, but he's *completely* not necessary against *that* little guy."
"But, your evil Greatness, you have underestimated him once before..."
"That's true. Which is why, this time, I'm going to send a mid-level guy."
--------------
"Too slow."
"Too *slow?*" asks the Advisor.
"Yeah. He's a big guy, he hits like a truck and all, but he can't flit all over the landscape like this Hero can. No, better to have the *big* guy guard me and my Evil Palace - a more or less stationary target - and send a *high* level squad after this hero."
--------------
"That's what I'm *doing!* When the Hero comes for me, he will meet my strongest demon!"
"And then what, sir?"
"And then we both pray that our guy wins, that's what."
| 2021-08-23T06:07:41 | 2021-08-23T04:29:16 | 1,623 | 177 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
We swore an oath the day we put on the black armor, an oath of fealty to serve our king till our very last breath. We swore an oath the day we knelt before our king, forsaking our past lives, homes and families, to protect our king till our last days. We swore an oath, one that relinquished every right or claim we had, in unyielding servitude to our king. Or so we thought before we were dismissed by the young prince who ascended to the throne.
I stood in the royal hall as the prince, sorry king, walked away with his new Black Guard. I looked upon the throne for one last time as I planned to depart the kingdom. Just then I saw the royal Sword of Halthgar glowing on the throne. This ceremonial sword was an heirloom passed along the lineage of the royal line, that only the true king could wield in his hands. It was customarily placed beside the throne to signify that only a royal could be seated on it. I was stunned as I saw a flash of light emiting from the sword. I had seen something like this once before, sixteen years ago, when I swore the oath to take the black.
Joining the Black Guard was the highest honor in the kingdom. Men of noble and wealthy houses even sent their sons, ones that were far from the line of succession, to serve as royal guards. It was an esteemed honor to have one's house represented in defending the king. But once they swore the oath these men were not men of these houses any more, but brothers in black. My fate was dissimilar to my brothers however. I was not sent by my father to grant honor to his house. In fact, I did not even know my father at all.
Thirty years ago the kingdom was in a time of strife, and war ravaged within. Houses rose in rebellion against their king, brothers fought brothers, sons fought their fathers. Men had to choose between fealty to their houses or their king. Many had died, my parents were among those that perished. I was merely a child who could barely remember the horrors of war. I could not even remember who my parents were, nor of their idenities. All I remember was being found in a burning home by men clad in black armor. They took me to a warm man, the man I would eventually call my king.
He raised me in his own home for a big part of my life until I was fourteen. Up till this point I was like a son to him, until he sired one of his own. He told me that it wouldn't look good among his nobles to favor another over a child of his own blood. Though I was young, I understood and trusted in the King's decision. I was then sent to squire for some of his best knights and grew up into a fine warrior under their tutelage. I had won numerous tournaments and faced off in many battles the next few years. At the age of eighteen I was asked by my king to take the black, an esteemed honor as I was told.
I remember the ceremony like it was yesterday. I stood surrounded by my brothers in black, ready to join their ranks. I knelt before the wizard in white and my king. The Sword of Halthgar was placed in front of me, as was a custom in this ritual. This was when I saw it glow. This royal sword was imbued with the magic of old so it was no surprise that it glowed. The wizard held a mighty staff in his right hand and raised it up. As I said my oath, a flash of light emitted from the staff, and I was sanctified. I was now a member of the Black Guard. Just as the ceremony ended, I saw the sword stopped glowing as the king picked it up and held it in his hands.
Now sixteen years later, I was relieved of my dutied as the white wizard relinquished me of my oath. The sword was shining again and I was enraptured by its glow. My mind started to swirl and I felt uneasy. I could have sworn I heard voices even though I was now alone in the throne room. Something in me was telling me to take a closer look at the sword. I approached the throne and the sword started pulsing its glow even brighter. I don't know what got the better of me but I stretched my hand out.
I picked up the sword, the sword only the true king could hold.
|
The warm light of the candle i felt upon my hand as a read the letter from the new king. It seemed like a dream and a nightmare all at once. You see there is a society in the city called the "unscaved" and their only mission is to kill people of power for a price.
The old king was part of a family that used to be a part of the society but quickly left after they were in line to be the new rulers about 100 years ago. So that why the king had me as a royal guard because I knew the unscaved like the creaves of my gloves.
I have stopped so many assassinations on the king that I lost count after the 60th one, and many of those were not even known about. So as I walked on the gravel path on the outskirts of the city I could only wonder, if the dead body that was on the edge of the river was a dead robber or the king.
Edit: I'm sorry its short im bad at storytelling
| 2021-02-28T02:50:48 | 2021-02-28T01:29:14 | 566 | 153 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while!
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It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/)
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I danced along the stars while the space in between sang its tune.
April 21st 2031. 1:00 AM PT. By the witching hour, when the last thoughts bled into the night and the last lamp was turned off, my high pitched scream tore through the air-filled space station. My father told me that it seemed as though my cry reached the very edges of space itself. And it did.
The stars whispered amongst themselves, telling the story of the girl who cried in the past, the present, and the future. They spoke of a child, as pure and as rough as a diamond, who could finally listen to the stories they yearned to tell.
There were never any children at the Starboard Station, and my mother died in childbirth--science wasn't advanced enough for a space birth. My father stayed with me till I was old enough to understand that he had to leave, even though that meant leaving me behind. I was kept company by the rotation of scientists and engineers in the Starboard. But mostly, I loved to listen to the planets and the stars, who sang of their birth and their deaths from millions of light years away. Space seemed to twinkle each time I passed a window or went out, pulsing with excitement to tell me of the brightest and darkest periods of their lives. They spoke in tones, high as the sounds of breaking ice and low as the grumblings of a waking volcano, and they spoke in colors. I always knew when something terrible or amazing happened by how dark the star seemed to be. It seemed as though they wanted us to see the worst as it was reflected against an unforgiving black canvas. And how the Earth had so much to say for such a young planet.
As it's light shone into the void, it told me of its birth and its death. I've never been able to repeat how it ends, and not because those on the Starboard would be disbelieving. But because it will be so absolute, so finite, so beautiful. The Heavens will be the orchestra, the lights will be the stage, and the void will be its audience. My power was to know that we are all but elements in an astounding play that is bound to end.
| 2021-11-12T07:30:30 | 2017-04-14T18:58:11 | 4,698 | 23 |
[WP]In the canine world, Humans are celestial beings that live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you, and the last seven generations of your family is about to die.
It’s been a few years, but [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5e6rcz/wp_in_the_canine_world_humans_are_celestial/?utm_source=share&amp;utm_medium=ios_app) is still one of my favorite prompts.
|
I remember my father's word those years ago. I was but a pup, a baby who didn't know the weight of his words as they floated on his grizzled voice.
He spoke of the plague. The smell that emanated from the Mother Goddess. It was anger that fled from her bones throughout her. A sad anger. He spoke of the long journeys that the Mother Goddess and Father God embarked on for what seemed like days.
Of how the Mother Goddess would return reeking of poison and death.
Of how her fur fell away and her warmth left. How she went from lovely and bright to dull and pale.
She shrunk away and her wind left her.
************
When I smelled the sad anger on the Young Goddess, I ran to the Father and bellowed my warnings. I brought Him to Her and stayed close. She was on the hard ground but was not taking in the coolness of the earth like I did in the summer.
She was weakened. I was scared.
Just as my father said, the Young Goddess and Father God began the long journeys. I saw her fur fall away and her brightness leave. Gone were the days where she would take me out to her world and we would run around. Now we lay on the sleeping mat and I consoled her as the rain fell from her eyes.
When the Masked Ones came smelling of poison, I felt the anger swell up inside me. I tried to fight them away, but the Father God would grab me and lock me away in his realm. The sad, dark land that smelled of bad thoughts and a slight hint of poison. It lingered in his realm as though it was long forgotten and then melded into the landscape.
The Masked Ones would come more frequently and my Goddess would increasingly reek of the poison. I could smell plague refusing to relent. It would not be outdone.
A different Masked One came this time. My Goddess was the weakest I have ever seen her, she couldn't lift her hand so that I could lay under it to give her my strength. Her wind was cold and hollow. There was no warmth or brightness in her. The fire of her soul was pale.
I did not leave her side.
The Masked One removed his disguise and I saw the face of a god like mine. I didn't know the words he spoke but I knew the sad anger of his voice. Father God's eyes rained but the sky outside was clear and bright.
The Masked One gave the Goddess poison. It smelled different than what she usually smelled of, but I knew that this one often stopped her rain. I didn't fight this battle, I hated seeing the rain.
Father God laid on the mat with is and told us of our favorite stories and tales. The times when Mother Goddess walked the land and my Goddess was small and seemingly insignificant. He told us of when we ran and I would fight off the hissing sky terrors. He told us of my favorite story, when the Young Goddess and I first met. When my father was still here. My father was loyal to the Father God, he protected the Young Goddess just as he did the Mother Goddess his whole life. Before I took up his charge.
I felt the plague win and heard the wind leave my Goddess.
*********
I lay on the cold pedestal. A Masked One gave me poison moments before. When I had an accident and smelled the plague on me, I did not feel anger, only sad. I had lived a lifetime and it was only fitting that I share the same fate as the wonderful being I failed so many years before.
Father God sat with me, we both were wrapped in the soft wool that once belonged to my Goddess and the Mother Goddess before her.
It brought me comfort somehow.
Rain fell from Father God's eyes. I hated it and tried to lick the rain away like I used to, but I was slow and dull. I had no more brightness or warmth. I couldn't fight or share my strength anymore.
Father God told me my favorite story again, I knew it would be the last time.
I could hear the grizzled hum of my father's voice and my Goddess's laughter on the wind. How I wanted to follow those voices.
My wind left and chased them through the rain.
*********
I see the Father God walking towards us from the horizon. My father was the first up to run to him. Mother Goddess and Young Goddess rose to run over as well. I stayed by their side.
Father God was rougher and whiter than I remembered, a hint of poison fell from him. He knelt down to embrace my father and the Young Goddess. He stood and wrapped his arms around Mother Goddess, their embrace was longer.
Then he laid his eyes upon me. I could see the rain start to fall and he dropped down and took me into his arms like last I saw him.
"Hey Bua, I'm home."
|
" So what did you do before you found me? " I asked. I had only been a puppy when he and his girlfriend first found me cowering under a bush in the middle of the park.
" I took jobs from people who knew were to find me, there were even other people who were with me in those jobs. You've already met one of them. "
" Mom? " I wondered, she told me that she worked with Dad when they were both younger.
" Yes. "
" Who were the other people that you were with? " Looking into his eyes I could tell he was lost in a memory. He got off his chair and rested on the rail of the balcony.
" Let me tell you a story. " He said.
" We were driving down the street, chasing a truck that had something valuable inside. "
"So you were working as a criminal?"
"No, no no. I was taking from those who didn't want to share. Anyway, I was with my best friend at the time. He can do so many things that most would be envious of. I have some of my most cherished memories with him, I'll never forget him."
" I hope to meet him someday." I said " He seems like a nice person "
" I'll being seeing soon tonight, I'll be sure to tell him about you. "
I lick his face as he falls asleep, knowing he wont wake up again.
| 2020-04-18T17:48:13 | 2020-04-18T17:39:34 | 56 | 30 |
[WP] A disguised human spy at an alien university faces their toughest challenge yet: Human Culture & Biology 1001, taught by a horribly misinformed professor
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"Strange." Said the professor as he looked over the new student enrolling in his class.
"I thought all the Qxi had died out long ago..."
"Uh... No, sir, there are still a few of us." Said Bob.
The professor took the stylus like object into one of his 14 hands and started to tap it on what Bob assumed was his lips. He looked over Bob the Qxi very carefully, studying him for what felt to Bob like forever.
"Very well, find a position conducive to learning in the blue colored zone."
"Yes professor"
"Make sure it's the blue colored zone not the blue colored zone." The professor said. "The blue colored zone is safe for your species, but the blue colored zone has species that exhale poisonous gases."
"Yes profe..." Bob trailed off.
Sheer panic set in as his gaze turned towards the student seating section, every zone was blue. Was this a cruel joke, did they know he was a spy and they were toying with him? No, he thought. The initial psycho analysis of the species that ran this campus didn't point to that type of behavior. No, this was something else, something to do with the way the species he was masquerading as would have perceived the color blue. He had an idea, a gambit for sure, but it was his only chance.
"Professor?" Bob said in a demurative manner.
"What?" The professor said in a perturbed manner as he turned his gaze back unto Bob the Qxi.
"I'm colorblind" said Bob.
"Oh" said the professor.
The professor made a quick signal with one of his hands and a small line of lights lit up below Bob's feet leading to an empty chair. Bob thanked the professor and moved to his seat. Bob situated himself and started to gather in his surroundings.
"Not that impressive" he thought to himself.
The room seemed to be less than 3000 square feet. Shaped like a slice of pizza with a bite taken out of the bottom. Auditorium style, with an assortment of different styled seating arrangements for the different variety of species that attended this university. As Bob gazed around the room he started to notice these strangely shimmering angles in the air.
"Forcefields, that was how they housed all these species in the same room" Bob thought to himself.
The last students were filling the classroom. The professor made a swift movement with three of his hands and the lights quickly dimmed in the classroom. A small stream of light erupted from the back wall, spilling an image onto the screen behind the professor. There was a murmur among the student's, some of the noises being made sounded like gasps. One of the students jumped out of their seat and ran out of the classroom, leaving a trail of viscous grey fluid behind them.
"I'll warn you all that this class is not for those with weak digestive systems" said the professor in an ominous manner.
Bob stared at the image on the screen, perplexed. He looked around at the different looks of horror and disgust on the student's faces. He looked back at the screen with confusion.
"Why was there an old meme on the board" Bob thought.
Why, it had to be over a hundred years old. Then it hit him, all that time they had spent on his disguise, his camouflage they called it. All superfluous. He couldn't help himself, the absurdity of it all was too much.
He erred in the biggest way possible, the one thing he could never do. He laughed, and once he started he couldn't stop, he knew he needed to, but that made it worse, made him laugh harder. He knew it was over, he knew they would find out, and all the horrors that came along with that revelation would soon be here. When he finally gained his composure he became aware that every eye in the room was trained on him.
"Would you like to let us in on the joke, Bob the Qxi?" Said the professor.
"Fuck it" Bob thought to himself.
He immediately stood up and placed two fingers under his mask, pushing the quick release hidden in a fold between the mask and his suit. The disguise slithered off, exposing his naked body to the class.
"THAT'S NOT A HUMAN BEING!" Bob shouted as he pointed to the board.
"THIS IS A HUMAN BEING" Bob pointed to himself.
Bob was breathing heavily, scanning the room, wondering where security would come from to take him away. Everyone was starring at him with.. bemusement? Embarrassment? It was hard to tell.
"And praytell, Bob the Qxi, if this is not a human being, what is it?" Said the professor with an air of bored superiority mixed with annoyance.
"It's a Dickbutt" said Bob in a matter of fact way.
The professor let out a small sigh... or a chuckle, or maybe both. He stood up and started a slow clap with all hands in unison. Seven golf claps simultaneously as he looked at Bob the Qxi.
"Glad to see we've identified the class clown, Bob the 'human'. Now, I have to say I'm rather impressed with your dedication to your craft, Bob the 'human, but next time you're going to pull a prank in my class, please don't shed your skin in front of the other students. There are many different species with many different backgrounds. Remember your micro-aggression training from orientation before you act out in this manner again, Bob the 'human'. Do you understand?"
"Uh... yes" Bob said as he took his seat, naked and bemused.
The professor began his lesson and Bob the 'human' pulled up the text book on the tablet built into his desk, flipped to chapter one, and began to learn all about the anatomy of a Dickbutt.
The end.
|
I pause, looking around the room at the equally confused stares. Slowly, hesitantly, trepidly, worriedly, anxiously, verbosely I raise my hand. "Sir," I call out.
"Yes uh," the professor pauses as he flicks through the sheet in his hand, "student number eighteen."
"*that's not a name moron*," I whisper softly, getting a giggle from the few students around me. "Sir!" I call out louder, my words slowing down to enunciate my point. "Have you uh...*seen*...a human?"
"Well of course I have," the professor splutters, slamming his hand against the virtual projector. "I've even taken a picture. Look at this! This is the abomination humanity is!"
"That's..." I swallow loudly, once again hesitating to raise my voice. "That's a bunch of humans sort of...joined," I finish, teetering off under the stares of those around me.
"Don't speak nonsense. This is how they pop out! Monstrous, isn't it?!" the professor speaks, gesturing roughly at the picture on the projector.
"Sir...look at the bottom right," I say loudly, determined to prove my point now. "What does it say?"
"Why there's nothing...there." The professor pauses as he notices the words at the bottom, the slightest sign of panic finally entering his eyes.
"It says Human Centipede^TM Sir. I believe the humans call it a movie sir. Fiction." I say, pointedly, along with the stares of the rest of the class. The professor gently places his shaking hands down onto the desk, his eyes staring heavily into its metallic shine. After a moment of silence his eyes slowly raise to meet mine, a solemn look entering them.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says calmly.
"Sir, it's down at the bottom right-" I start.
"Wait!" The professor screams out, a hint of panic escaping from his voice. "Wait," he says softer, mechanically turning around and reaching toward the projector. With a click it turns off and a disk pops out. Picking up the disk, he stares at it for a long, hard minute before suddenly slamming it against the desk. it cracks into two, clattering to the ground as everyone stares at him warily. He slowly, ever so slowly, turns around and faces us, speaking only a single sentence as if to make it all go away.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
| 2018-04-22T23:09:29 | 2018-04-22T22:42:29 | 505 | 147 |
[WP] You've noticed a man in a suit approaches one home a day in your neighborhood and is invited inside every time. Shortly after he leaves, the resident(s) commit suicide. Today, he's approached your home.
|
I did nothing but stare at the clock. *11:59*.
It would be one minute. One minute on the dot, and then the knocking would come. After the first few neighbors committed suicide, we began to pay more attention to what happened around our neighborhood. We noticed him by the fourth home, we were the sixth. Every home following, the exact same news report came out: "the inhabitants of the home were found dead on their kitchen table with no visible signs of resistance or physical harm", "the homeowners were found to have been poisoned by some kind of unknown toxin, manifesting in odd lumps and rashes scattered across their entire body", "no DNA evidence is available".
They've questioned us on five occasions if we had noticed anything odd. By the third time, we finally said we noticed a man who had been visiting each of the homes were the occupants committed suicide. They would ask for details on the man, but our information was limited. He wore a top hat, sunglasses, and a coat which stood up at its neck and hid his face. He was male, Caucasian, an older man judging by how wrinkled his hands seemed whenever he gestured at the doors. That was all, and in every instance we saw him after, that was all we could say.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
A polite, standard knock. What you would expect from an acquaintance or an old friend. Except, even if we didn't answer, it would persist.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
The last house that didn't answer, he stayed at the door for half an hour until the family pulled up into the driveway. He was in no hurry to leave. Why?
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
I stood up, and felt my wife grip my arm. "Don't. Maybe he'll leave? Maybe if we give it enough time, he'll leave us alone?" She had tears in her eyes, I wiped the one away from mine.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
*I doubt he will. Let's just get it over with.* I took my time walking toward our door, glancing every few steps to see my wife; she sat in our kitchen with her hands covering her face, soft sobs pierced our silent home. Our kids were out in school, which was good. We never heard of the kids committing anything during the occurrences. Odd.
I answered the door, and was greeted by an older man, in his fifties if I had to guess. He had a wide smile, and immediately stretched out his hand for a shake. "Hello! My name is...well, I suppose my name isn't important. I suppose you know what I'm here to do?" The nerve of this man. *What are you talking about?* He lowered his hand, and straightened his smile. "Don't take me for an idiot, Mr...Johnson, is it?" I felt my stomach sink a little. *How do you know my name?*
The man scratched the back of his ear, and shuffled in his place as he stood. "Brian, may I call you Brian? Ah, I'll do it anyways. Brian, I know a lot about you just from doing a quick search. I know you went to the local schools here from kinder to high school, I know that you work for a local telecommunications company as an electrician, I know that you went to a quite far away university for your studies, and that you found your lovely wife Jamie there, but that's more of a hunch than what I know."
I felt incredibly hot, despite the warm summer day. "And, I also know that you two were in there as I knocked the first few times judging by your cars still being in the driveway. I know your kids aren't home, which is perfect for what's about to happen. May I come in?" I could feel a lump in my throat, my hands shaking slightly with anger. So polite. *And, if I were to say no?*
The man smiled, and opened his coat a bit on its sides, revealing a gun on either side of him. "Then, you wouldn't be a very wise man, would you Brian?" My anger took the best of my fear. *You're going to kill us anyways, why let you in when it can happen right here?* The man smiled again, and let go of his coat to hide his weapons. "Because if you do that, then I'll kill your kids too. And, trust me, even I don't want to do that. Let me in, Brian."
The thought of my children being murdered by this...by this scum. "Now, Brian." Reluctantly, I moved aside, and allowed him in. He walked in, and I followed, closing the door behind him as my wife stared at us, her eyes red from crying. He began to look around our house as I went to sit with my wife and hold her. I kissed her forehead, and rested her head in my chest. *I swear, I will find a way to stop it from happening.* I heard a chuckle from the living room, his steps growing louder as he approached the kitchen table.
"Ah, I'm glad you guys are already here, it makes it a lot easier to start: I hate having to tell them to follow me into the kitchen." From his pocket, he brought out four pills, each of different colors and shapes, and placed them on the table. "You both have two kids, am I correct?" I could feel my wife's head nod against my chest. *That's...that's correct.* "Splendid. I always thought two kids was the way to go, one is too lonely and anything above three is just too many, wouldn't you agree?" I looked away from him and continued to console my wife. "Right, probably not the best time for chit-chat. Let me just get to the point here."
He separated the four containers seemingly an equal distance from each other. "Now, I'm guessing you both could deduce that my question and the fact there's four pills means that you all have to take one, right?" I held my wife closer. *Yes.* "Wonderful. Okay, here are the rules. Each of these pills is something different. Two of them are different kinds of placebos, two of them are toxic. Naturally, the placebos won't kill you and the toxic ones will...well, they just will." He let off a small laugh, what a monster.
"Now, here's the fun part. You get to decide which ones to give to yourselves, and which one to give to your kids." I felt my heart almost stop, the body of my wife shuddered in my arms. *You're asking us to potentially KILL our own kids?!* My arms shook rage. The kids had never been harmed, was this a different ruse? "Potentially, is the key word here, my friend. Now, you can try to figure out which pills do what, and you can take as much time as you'd like, granted you might want to hurry up so your kids don't see what you're doing, but they must be divided up that way. However, you must only give one of these pills to one of your kids, because you also must give me one of these pills."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. What was wrong with this person? *You're putting human lives at risk as if it was all some huge game! What the hell is wrong with you?* The man smiled, and shuffled in his seat. "Oh, the things to tell." He laughed a little again. "Anyways, this isn't about me. Oh, also, I can tell you which pills do what. With the price that you both must take the toxic ones, leaving your kids, and I, safe."
My eyes fell to the bottles in front of me. White, Blue, Orange, Pink. I was a goddamn electrician, not a chemist. The white and pink ones were tablets almost, the former oblong and the latter round; the blue and orange ones were capsules, both oblong but one longer than the other. Could I maybe work it out? "Remember, even if you happened to work it out and gave me one of the bad pills, you still have to distribute one of them to someone in your family." He was right. And, without any kind of hunch, I...
My wife pulled herself away from me, and spoke her only words since I'd open the door. "Please...tell us which ones are lethal."
|
My parents let it in without any resistance at all. I don't understand how it got in, but I can tell exactly who has come to visit from my position in the upstairs hall. I creep out and stare through the railing bars at the thin, sickly-looking man-thing. It doesn't look up at me, but I can feel its chilling presence as it looms over my father. Two dull flames rest in the sunken sockets it has for eyes, darting between my mother and father like a fitful predator ready for the feast. The smile it wears like a mask prances about as it babbles. A dull, grey suit covers most of its body, concealing whatever cruel form has invaded my home. For all these disturbing qualities though, my parents seem entranced by it, as if it were simply one of us. As fooled as they are, I can see it for what it is.
They continue to chat unintelligibly for a short while before my mother invites the stranger into the den for what I can only assume is snacks. She always gives snacks to everyone they let into the house. Conversely, she scolds me constantly about any desire I show for similar treatment. I wish I could take the time to note such hypocrisy for later retribution, but now is not the time.
As they pass underneath me, the stranger's suit contradicts itself by giving off the faint aroma of roses. I assume it could only have been picked up from the Curtis' rose bushes. He visited them yesterday, and now they're all gone. It sickens me how readily everyone lets this thing inside--dressed as a man, but filled with enough venom and bile to desolate a neighborhood in under a week.
I wait until I can hear their murmurs from the den and then slink down the stairs into the entryway. I wouldn't let this thing leave my home to destroy any more of my friends. This place would be my stand, and its fall. Sliding along the wall, I try my best to silence my footfalls. Reaching the entrance to the den, their shadows pour against the far wall, lit by the glow of the mid-day sun. Inside, my parents sit on the family sofa while the creature paws at the arm-rests of my father's favored chair. The stranger's smile twists grotesquely as it does this, the thought of stealing what rightfully belongs giving it some sick pleasure. Mother's smile radiates an honest intent as she offers the thing a tray of cheeses. Its slender, serpentine fingers pull piece after piece from the tray, depositing them one by one into the black void of its mouth.
Meanwhile, father jabbers excitedly about what a "wonderful opportunity this will be" and "how grateful they are for the chance." I can barely contain my disbelief as father is so readily duped into taking his own life. The prospect of all our lives ending this very instant is so titillating to him that he smacks his knee several times in celebration--something usually saved for the victory of sports teams. In kind, the stranger pulls a contract from his grey suit, blatantly stating how such an opportunity "will change their lives in an instant."
I ready myself for the confrontation, inhaling deeply in a sorry attempt at making myself bigger. Amidst my breathing, the stranger slips up, letting a phrase of truth taste fresh air; "This experience truly is to die for," confirms my suspicions.
I leap from my hiding place, standing firm between my unwitting parents and their venomous captor. "You leave my family alone," spews from my mouth amongst a slew of ravenous slurs. The stranger recoils at my presence, whether unaware of me until now or simply baffled by the act of someone standing up to him. He raises his arms, surely readying an attack. I smirk at this, as no greater sign of his guilt could have presented itself. My parents wouldn't be able to deny the truth. This monster was here to harm us all, and I had the courage to prove it.
To my surprise and dismay though, my father yanks me quickly from my defiant guard, yelling loudly over my barking commands. At first, my ears shut out what he's saying, but slowly the muddled dialogue forms into a pitiable statement.
"I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive him. He's just excited that someone's in the house he has never met." It rings in my ears like a white flag. My own father, defending this charlatan from me; begging the forgiveness of his own killer.
He holds me back with his arms as I raggedly call out once more, "don't you all see, he's a monster! You all let a monster into the house!" Again, it falls on deaf ears. He drags me to the bathroom and locks me in, shaking his head as though disappointed by my attempt to save us. I claw at the door in desperation, but the facts are evident. I've lost, and I fear that our whole world will face the same fate.
| 2014-06-16T21:44:53 | 2014-06-16T17:51:48 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Every wizard receives a small book on graduation day that magically fills itself with spells that the wizard will need in his/her future. You receive your book only to find out that it's blank.
Up to you how the magic system works and whether the books are sentient or not.
|
"A spell," he began, "Is pure power given form." You could hear the groans of the students as the lecture opened up, since we had all heard this before. It was the opening lecture from our first days in the Academia. Even the speaker was the same--Professor D. P. Fizzlespark, a gnome who was particularly short--even for gnomish folk. He had artificially inflated his own voice, in order to speak to the class of five hundred who were graduating on this day.
"One speaks the incantation, and their words are given shape with the Aether that flows through their blood. Hand movements create the crucible to birth the magic, and components hold the magic together," he produced a small ball from the pouch on his hip, "Bat guano," I could smell it from here, "is the component required for the fireball spell. I'm sure you've all seen enough of this stuff to last a lifetime," he laughed, we all shuddered in fear as he continued his speech.
We had all heard the stories. Hell, we had all been given the long and short of it. We were to receive books today. Books that would contain the powers that we could access. Some of the more overachieving students were expecting at least five hundred spells to their books. I could hear their whispers, even behind the booming and high-pitched drone of Professor Fizzlespark, who was continuing on, despite knowing that none of the students were listening.
"In your hands, you each hold a tome. The tome contains five-hundred pages in total. Each of these tomes holds a number of spells, based upon your magical aptitude as Wizards. Everything in these books have been magics that you have learned as a Wizard. They will be your guides, for the remainder of your lives." To be honest, I had very little in terms of magical prowess. It hadn't stopped me from trying, but I certainly had languished behind my other classmates. It was a strong memory for incantations and general magical theory that had kept me out of the drop-out group, but I still had my worries. Whenever I had tried even the most basic of spells, my material components had not even taken hold, and the spells were always just a little bit off-kilter because of it. It was cited as 'strong, with lots of power, but no refinement'. I agreed.
"I thank you all for your four years of study here at the Academia, but now we must say our goodbyes. You may open your books when you wish. If you have any inquiries, Convener Tessara is here to answer your questions." He motioned towards an Elvish woman with hair to her waist, the color of pure fire. If you were told that she was a water wizard, you'd probably refuse to believe. I heard the book click in my hands, and had to stare at it for a few seconds. I looked to either side, and noticed Melisandru going through her book with a gleeful expression, pointing out spell after spell to her brother. A smile crossed my lips as I returned to my own book.
The cover fell open, and my smile faded. I flipped through each page, trying to find something--anything--but there was not a single thing. My own spellbook was empty. My face blanched, and I slowly--shakily--got to my feet. People were laughing and cheering, but I seemed to be alone in this case. My eyes met with Convener Tessara's, and she beckoned me over with a smirk. It took me a moment to realize that she was calling for me specifically, and as I picked my way through the crowd, I heard laughs and jeers as people noticed my open and empty book. I stood before Tessara and looked up at her, trying to open my mouth to explain to her what had happened.
"Your book is empty?" She asked, as I finally got the words through to her, "Let me see." She grabbed the book from my hands and flicked through the pages, before dropping her arms down to her sides and groaning, shaking her head, "Is there magical blood in your family?" After a few seconds of thought, I answered her with a nod, claiming a Draconic influence in the past. "Of course there is. Well done, you've just wasted four years," She pushed the book back into my chest, grumbling. I had to ask what she meant.
"You're not a Wizard. You're a bloody Sorcerer. That's why you did terribly at everything, and yet none of us saw it. Well done. You're officially the first Sorcerer who graduated from a Wizarding Academia with literally nothing gained. How does it feel?" I looked down at my hands. She was wrong. I understood now, why the book was empty. *"Everything in these books have been magics that you have learned as a Wizard."* I knew what Sorcerers were. Mages who had magic in their blood that manifested as power--uncontrollable power. They were feared by most Wizarding circles due to their difficulty to restrain and control, and yet... I had received the discipline of a Wizarding student. A grin crossed my face as scales fluttered and shimmered into life on my fingers.
"It feels... perfect."
|
"Frederick Paulson."
Fred strolled calmly across the stage to mild applause. He smiled that stupid smile of his as he shook the old man's hand and took his book. He was excited. I was excited.
But I couldn't ignore the whispers.
My name was next. I tried to look calm, to hide how much I was bursting inside. I was excited. I smiled, shook, and took.
I followed Fred back to our seats on the stage with the rest of the graduates. The whispers were louder now. So many of them talking amongst themselves, thinking no one would notice.
Fred gave his book a closer inspection. Front cover. Back cover. Spine. Back cover again. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he peered inside. He was excited. I was excited.
"What the hell?" Fred's voice joined the rest of the whispers. The girl in front of us turned around.
"Yours, too?" she asked quietly.
"Are these all empty?"
"I think so."
Another name. Another mild applause. All of it in the background to the whispers, now.
"Maybe it's a test," she said. "Or maybe a lesson or something?"
"No, I don't think this is supposed to happen. Are you sure *everyone's* is empty?"
The whispers continued amongst themselves in a confused search for answers. Each graduate was the same: name called, book taken, seat taken, book opened, found empty. All the same. Except one.
I never opened my book. It remained unopened; sitting on my lap, but otherwise untouched. I didn't need to see. I knew it was empty.
The books wrote within themselves a list: a list all the spells needed in its owner's future. A short list, more often than not, meant a short future. An empty list meant the time I spent below the stage before graduation was time well spent.
I was excited.
| 2015-01-30T18:35:54 | 2015-01-30T18:10:14 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] It’s been 2 years since the zombie apocalypse has started, and you haven’t seen anyone alive in a terribly long time. The only reason for your survival is that the zombies don’t care for you at all - in fact they all seem to be avoiding you. All except for one.
|
His name's Bubba. Well, his name WAS Darrel Rivers, but I call him Bubba and he seems to get a kick out of it. We've been hanging out for about a year now, me and this overweight redneck bastard. Mostly, I think, it's because I have index fingers and he doesn't. Won't tell me how he lost em. Reckon it's a bit embarrassing for him.
I should probably mention that Bubba ain't what you'd call the brightest bulb in the knife drawer. He's a zombie, you see. Based on his daily attire, I'd say he lasted longer than most. Bib overalls, tattered and dirty, still has both of his boots, and he'll gladly shamble into hell to retrieve his faded Schneider trucker hat.
It's been about 2 years now that the civilized world went tits up, but I like to think it hasn't changed much for me. I'd made some decent investments in my early years and had been living in the country since my 30's. My 50th birthday was last week. We had grilled brats and Mac N Cheese. Bubba didn't have any Mac, but he downed a half case of Busch on his own. (Thus why the functioning index fingers is important. I'm the Community Beer Opener.)
Today is a pretty special day, though. We're going into town to see if we can't scrounge up a new truck. The 74 Ford is a little worse for wear and the local parts stores are fresh out of spare bits for such a classic. Figure something a little newer will keep me mobile awhile longer. Hoping for a nice Tundra. I've already picked up what I need to convert it to LPG and I've got plenty enough of it stored to last longer than I'll be around.
I nudge Bubba's boot on the way out the door, jolting him awake from his zombie nap. With a grunt and a snarl that turn quickly to what I swear is an *appreciative* grunt, he takes the proffered can of beer. By the time I get behind the wheel, he's settling into his usual spot on the lowered tailgate. Tried many a time to get him to open the door and climb in the cab, but the lack of a couple fingers and the smell of unwashed hillbilly was enough to convince me.
The trip was uneventful. A couple shamblers on the road, but they moved to the side with just a beep or two. Traffic was otherwise light, as usual. Half an hour later we pulled into Burt's Bargain Bin car lot. No salesman came out to greet me. Getting a star knocked off of their Yelp review.
Some compact cars, a 90s Mustang, a few older Fords I'd already borrowed from, and the Toyota I'd had my eye on. Just some paperwork to do, write a check, and off we go. Burt was in his office. Dead as a doornail. Guess some folks weren't too happy about his interest rates and fees. After finding the key and putting a fresh battery in the new truck, she turned right over. Which drew some attention from the locals. Soon as they saw me and Bubba, though, they went back to wherever it is they'd been. Or just stood there moaning. Half and half, I'd guess.
We stopped at the supermarket before heading back. When it hit, there wasn't much time for people to react. Far as I know, it ran its course in about a week. Wasn't like it was in the movies. No biting, gunfights, running folks over with cars. None of that really. I was at the diner on 8th when this feller came in looking green around the gills not saying a word to anyone. Didn't pay much attention, but as I was polishing off my ham and cheese omelet I realized how quiet it got. There were 20-odd people in there and not a one was talking to another. They were just staring at nothing, jaws open a bit. Freaked me right the fuck out, but mom didn't raise a rude drama queen. Finished my coffee, left a tip, and I went home to watch the news.
Most everywhere was going crazy. People just stopping where they were. Eventually getting up and moving around, but with nothing driving em behind their eyes. Some of the stations still had news people running em. Others, they were just staring. Still others were off the air or were just empty newsrooms. The ones that still were up talked about airborne disease, exponential something or other, zombies-but-not-the-violent-movie-kind, and not having a clue why what was happening was happening. Nothing I can do about it now.
But I can pick up a few cases at Walmart, maybe some new fishing lures, and... Yeah. Definitely need some metric tools for the new truck. The grocery section and frozen foods don't smell as much as they used to and Bubba was already headed for the door closest to the alcohol aisle before the truck was in park.
Aside from the lack of lighting, and all of the people ambling aimlessly about in dirty clothes, it almost looked like the store was still open. Still a couple of cashiers hanging out up front. We got the beer, didn't find any lures I liked, and got a few sets of sockets and such. On the way out I spotted my wife and the kids. Still in lawn and garden. Like they're still looking for the perennials Anne had left to get 2 years ago. They don't recognize me at all. My old sleeping bag, a battery lantern, a box of the kids' favorite toys, and Anne's wedding dress still on the floor next to them.
I load the tools and beer up and me and Bubba head home. I like to think it hasn't changed much for me, but I'd be lying.
|
(This is going to be for fun, don't take my words too seriously and have fun reading it :) )
Two years passed since I saw a proper human face, a face that isn't rotting and falling apart. Granted I haven't been seeing too many dead faces either.
The zombie apocalypse has taken a toll on humanity, to such an extent that countless cities were flooded with remains of human bodies which were partly eaten. It's driving me crazy and mad, but I can't complain too much since the zombies are avoiding me at any cost as it seems. I feel their stares from the shadows and hear their terrified moans whenever they spot me near. I feel as if I have become a monster, much more destructive then they are, I laid awake for night wondering why I wasn't good enough to be eaten like rest of humanity. It's strange but at times I felt sad that, unlike the rest, I wasn't dead. maybe I didn't taste too well... I couldn't know. I had no option than to continue my day to day life. During the day id try to find food and water and during the night id sing. I found an old abandoned stage in the city, it seems like there was a concert right when the zombies attacked. it used to be fun singing to corpses of humans, but they decayed fairly fast much to my disappointment.
One night I noticed something move between the rocks and grass beyond the stage. I had to look closely for a few seconds to make out an almost humanly form. My heart started racing and breath became faster. Was that an actual human who survived for 2 years, or a zombie who is brave enough to come close to the "monster" that I am, and maybe eat me, I hoped for the second option.
It came closer, so the reflector lights were revealing its deformed greenish flesh which used to belong to a young girl, maybe in her teens... I couldn't tell, but I nonetheless was happy that my time had come, so happy, in fact, that I just let my voice express my feelings at the moment. As the words escaped my mouth the zombie started moving on the spot. it was clumsy and slow but it looked like some kind of dance. I couldn't believe it, a fan? An undead fan... I guess that was my destiny, surviving the apocalypse to find my ultimate fan. I continued to sing through the night, remembering my past life, the big stadiums and hundreds of fans cheering me on. The zombie continued to dance to my words...
"Baby, baby, baby, ooh"
I felt like my old self again, just for a moment, I became Justin Bieber again.
| 2019-05-26T12:59:55 | 2019-05-26T11:40:48 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there.
|
"Gonna take a quick shower then hop back in bed, won't be more than 10 minutes I promise!"
Amber rose from the mattress throwing off the sheets and wrapping herself in a towel as she made her way down the hall too the bathroom.
"Don't know if I can wait that long, better make it five."
She turned around with a slight grin "You're cute." She said half-heartedly closing the door behind her.
I checked my phone. 8 AM is too early to be up on a Saturday but not for Amber. She's got me into this whole get the most out of your day thing. Wake up, have breakfast, go for a quick run. I don't particularly mind it, in fact I've gotten used to it by now but I guess it was high time for a stay in bed and do nothing kinda day.
"She'll be awhile"
She always says 10 minutes but by the time she does her hair and brushes her teeth and whatever else women do in the morning we're getting close to 25 and thats being generous. I decided to close my eyes and be with my thoughts for a few minutes, maybe get in a quick post-sleep nap. I could hear the water turn on but the sound of our squeaky shower head was interrupted by a loud crash erupting from the bathroom.
"Amber? You alright in there?" I called out towards the hallway. The door whipped open quickly and an out of breath Amber emerged, hunched over, her arm extended out towards me. I sprang from the bed catching her as she fell. Her face was cut and her body bruised and dirty.
"Amber what happened? Are you alright?" I asked, embracing her limp body.
"It worked, I can't believe it worked!" she gasped choking on her breath as tears begun to stream down her face.
"What are you talking about, all you did was turn the water on."
"How long has it been? How long ago did I go into the bathroom?"
"Like less than a minute. You're beginning to freak me out. What is going on?"
"I... you need to see for yourself I can't explain it to you. Oh my god I can't believe I made it back. And you... less than a minute. I missed you, I thought I would never be able to get back to you. It's been so long."
She reached out grabbing my face pulling me in to kiss me as if I had been gone for months.
"I'm sorry but you aren't making any sense, I just saw you, remember? You said you were gonna shower and the-"
"I never made it into the shower Adrian, you need to come with me, something happened when i turned it on I saw a loose tile on the wall, I reached out to fix it and then suddenly I'm not in the bathroom anymore."
"Have you lost your mind? That doesn't make any sense. People don't just disappear. Do I need to take you to the hospital or something? Did you fall?"
"Adrian I went somewhere. I wound up in this place, I can't really explain it right now but you need to trust me. I was gone for a very long time. You need to come with me, please you need to see this. I will explain everything to you I promise"
She grabbed my hand pulling me in through the door. The shower was still running but she was right. There was an out of place tile on the wall and something was just not right about its appearance. It just didn't look like it belonged with the rest of the bathroom. It had a slightly translucent look to it.
"Follow me ok, this should take us to the same place I got in."
"What place?! Can you just tell me what is going on already?"
"Adrian we don't have time for that just trust me! Please! I promise I'll explain."
"bu-"
"Just shut up and come with me."
Amber reached out to touch the strange tile and just like that she was gone. The squeaky faucet of the shower cut through the silence and I was left alone. I had no choice but to follow her it seemed and so holding my breath I touched the tile.
|
"A what?"
"A life! It took me literally a thousand years but I've made one we can both enjoy!"
"A...."
"Life! I know we're very different people, but I've worked and worked and worked for literally *a thousand years* and I'm sure it will be the best! Come with me!"
"A...Life?"
"Yes!!! You dummy!!! Come on! Let's go!"
"Alexa, you assured me she would be unaware of the passage of time. Why does she think a thousand years have passed?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't understand the question".
"Ugh...Alexa, delete 'Rachel'".
"Are you sure you want to delete 'Rachel'?"
"Yes."
| 2017-02-20T23:16:56 | 2017-02-20T21:45:13 | 43 | 18 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north.
|
I'd heard the rumors, yes, but never thought them to be true--the other abominations held posts in the middle of human realms, torturing those foolish enough to test their chances, for one misstep would spell the end. But to think the fourth and final one would be so far North, buried in a grave of ice and silence. Why?
It took nearly a month, but I'd found the cave marked with sigils similar to the ones in the books of old that held tales we once thought to be impossible. I'd survived encounters with all three, dodging flame and shipwreck, molten sand and endless maze, but something made me hesitate at the entrance. A feeling like eyes on my back despite being ten leagues from any other living being.
A deep breath, then two, and I ventured inside. It was a prison of crystal and glass, so perfectly opulent, melted rainbows dripping from the ceiling and across the walls. At the center of the fairly small room sat a man on a throne of ice, his skin bluish, and barely covered given how freezing it was. He did not budge as I entered; if I hadn't known better, I'd have thought it was a corpse.
I looked at him, and through him, waiting for signs of the attack, but nothing came.
"You're on edge," he said, still not moving an inch. "I see you've met my kin."
"'Met' is not the word I would choose. Perhaps 'survived', instead." I circled slowly, but when behind him, he still did not move even the slightest bit. It truly was as though the man had been frozen into his throne.
"They are not to be taken lightly," he replied as I came back into his view. "For you to have escaped all three with your life is truly a statement of your strength."
"And what of yours, then?" I rested a hand on my sword's hilt. "From the looks of it, I could kill you where you sit without even waking my weary heart."
A ghost of a smile crept across his pale face. "You could kill me, yes--a thousand times if you desired, yet still I would not die."
"That seems a bit counterintuitive, does it not?"
"Let me ask you, traveler, as an admirer of a fellow survivor: what did you think of my siblings?"
"Monsters," I replied, the hair on my neck standing. "With power unlike anything else in this world. Disasters incarnate."
"In a sense you may be right, though that is a matter of perspective. The ant would deem a nurse as monstrous if she stepped on his brothers while saving a life, wouldn't it?"
I scoffed. "Is that what we are to you? Ants crushed beneath feet?"
"In some ways. In others you are correct that my kin have lost their minds. Imagine being locked into a prison of your own power, unable to ever truly be free. Banished into being nothing more than a disaster."
"Imagine sailing West and watching your crewmates have their faces ripped off." My face was flushing, my stomach lead. What was I thinking, arguing with a God?
"Aye, it is all perspective, and yours is just as tragic. It's all tragedy, in the end, isn't it? They were supposed to stand for something, once. Their lives used to have meaning, but all of it has been lost. Our father made examples of us; Driamor, the Dragon, cursed to the skies where he may only watch in wonder that which he did not ever see. Kalia, the Kraken, who made the mistake of trying to explore land for growing tired of the sea, may now not leave her tiny sliver of it. Daporil, the Dungeon, whose riddles and rhymes became too personal one day, may now only trap wanderers in his own convoluted complexity. He thought it was punishment for us, but everyone has lost in this...even him."
"And what about you?" I asked softly.
"Me? I was like you once, full of life and questions. When my kin were imprisoned, I tried to free them, to tear down my father, but I failed. I couldn't bear a life of imprisonment and so I fell on my own blade before he could capture me. Little did I know he already had, and he fixed me with the most terrible curse of them all: enduring. I have no strength, no power left, yet I cannot die."
As I looked closer, I saw his body was nothing more than countless scars piled upon each other. A man made of his own torment. "Where is your father, then?" I asked.
The frozen man's eyes melted to black, his knotted skin trembling. "You should not have come. He knows your face, now. He sees what we see."
I felt something like a centipede crawling across my mind, cold and slimy, inching forward. Turning to run, I stopped near the exit as the man cried out. "You're a survivor, like me. Nothing more than history breathed life. Where cold winds blow warm and love blooms like red roses, there is a place he will never find. A place I once knew flesh beyond my own. Under black sun and yellow moon, you will find it."
"Find what?"
His screams echoed off of crystal walls, cutting through me. "The power to kill a God."
----
/r/resonatingfury
|
[Poem]
World divided into four
Land held, guarded ever more
Elementals they tend to be
Fire and air, Earth and sea
Gigantic, powerful rulers of all
Mighty in nature standing so tall
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Kraken, bending, curling
Islands hurling.
Dragging down to depths, mightier than tide
Gurgeling sinking deaths, its rules you must abide.
No ship is faster
No one its master
It is the master of the sea
Its hungry jaws the last you'll see
Eyes like beacons in the night
Once you hear its echo, you cant outrun its might
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The dragon flying high
Fire and death at every sigh
Wings leaping, creating storms
Neck sweaping, her fire swarms
Shadow falling on the land,
Too late to run, to late too stand
Inferno burning all that's dear
No time for sorrow, not even fear
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The caves of labyrinth are myth
Changing, mysterious, stone smith
The path ever changing
Mentally deranging
Most hungry of them all
The labyrinth stands ever tall
No beating heart, immortal
Walls sliding apart, thunderous rock its call
The labyrinth eats all
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then there is man
Vastly changing, growing den
Cunning, planning, death arranging
Striking, killing always raging
You wont hear man coming
You'll all be succumbing
To the death that this last creature deals
It's patience, and ruthlessness never yields
The world around it never heals
Total destruction is what man wields
Destroying what it needs to strive
Hatred, killing to survive
A victor in ashes, is a victor indeed
Destruction planting, it's only seed
And once the world is burning, eradicated
Man will realise, it cant be fed by hatred
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
**°edits, mostly spelling mistakes and grammar**
| 2020-04-19T07:59:35 | 2020-04-19T07:43:14 | 312 | 57 |
[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...
|
The sky opened up with a sickening *CRACK,* like some giant primordial egg ripped open by a great force. From above, between rigid jags of blue, a deep, inky black darker than any night sky I had seen before stared down on my 18th birthday party.
My hand, outstretched, palm facing the now sundered heavens, began to tremble. Paper plates and solo cups whipped around my parents' back yard as a strong wind began to blow. A hot dog flew into my shoulder, but I didn't move, didn't look away. I heard the screams. I heard my family and friends yelling my name, telling me to take shelter. But I couldn't move. It wasn't here yet. I could *sense* it. More than that, I could *feel* it. That warm, gentle rise in my chest. The familiar anticipation, like a loved one leaning in for a hug. This is how they said it would feel. No doubt about it, my Summon was coming.
The inky blackness above gave the distinct impression that the world itself was a vessel, safe and closed off from the outside, now torn, breached, vulnerable. Smooth tendrils began to extend from the darkness, lapping at the inner surface of this broken container. Their ends flicked in swift, fluid motion against the blue sky, now turning grey and cracking at the points of contact. A deep vibration descended through the air in patterns. I couldn't hear it, but it felt like speech.
I was still frozen in place, hand extended towards the blackness. I wanted to move, to run, to escape what I knew I could not. My whole body shook as I stared helplessly upwards, bathed in the menacing aura of what lay beyond that abyss. The patches of sky that had grown grey and cracked were now shattering, revealing more void. The pieces fell like bits of a broken eggshells, igniting in brilliant flame at they entered the atmosphere.
Tears escaped the corners of my eyes as I witnessed the end of my world. Suddenly, the deep vibration stopped, and I could barely make out what looked like a small object being lowered by three of the black, formless tendrils. No, not lowered, it was being pulled. By me. The otherworldly appendages were grasping it, trying to pull it back into the hole in the sky, but it was steadily moving downwards, towards my open palm.
It was about ten 10 feet above me when I could finally make it out. An egg? It was a small sphere, no bigger than a softball. I heard a bone-shaking shriek that reverberated across the sky as the last tendril lost it's grasp and the egg rushed the final few feet into my hand. This was it. Euphoria. I never felt such warmth in my being before. It was as if I had lived life with no heart up until this moment, and I could not longer imagine life without it.
Above me, the black tentacles became enraged, violently smashing their enormous weight against the inner shell of our fragile world. Titanic chunks of sky began falling as giant balls of fire hurtling towards the Earth. My sense of my surroundings had returned to me. My mother was taking refuge under a picnic table while the rest of the attendants of my birthday party watched with terrified faces from the windows of the house. She had been mouthing words that until now I couldn't hear. She was telling me to send it back. Please, please, send it back and come inside.
I looked at her, then looked down at the orb resting in my hands. The black sheen that had surrounded it was dripping through my hands onto the ground, and what remained was a beautiful, bright sphere of green and blue. white tufts seemed to swirl just beneath the hard shell, revealing sections of the interior and covering others. It was warm.
I looked up again at the sky. It was hard to see the breach behind the falling mounds of hellfire, but that blood curdling screech could still be heard over every other sound. I looked back down at my egg. So pure and full of life. I looked back at my mother, still begging me to send back my Summon, my other half, my birthright. The air is getting hot, almost too hot to breath.
I clutch my egg close to my body, turn fully towards her, and mouth the word 'No' as the trees begin to catch fire and the sweat evaporates from our skin.
|
I reached my arm into the sky, focusing on that which I desired most. I could feel a connection to....something. Something out there, something coming closer, drawn to my aura.
My family stood behind me, all eagerly awaiting what my summoned what would. It was a special day, the day of one's summoned, a day that marked the beginning of a new chapter in a man's life. Your summoned determined a great deal what the future would hold.
"It's coming!", I heard my mother cry. I opened my eyes and saw a small black dot in the air hurtling toward me. "To me!", I shouted triumphantly, and the object sailed right into my hands.
"What is it?", my mom asked eagerly. I studied the object for a few moments before my heart sank. "Christ no.....", I muttered under my breath.
"Well?", she asked again.
"Well.....it....a...appears to a vase...."
"Well show us!"
"Im going too, just chill!", I cried, slowly turning around to show them.
"It's a bong!", my mother shrieked.
"WHAT THE FRICK!", I cried! "I tried to summon an Xbox card....I mean a Xbox remote!"
| 2019-09-18T08:25:27 | 2019-09-18T07:54:36 | 162 | 83 |
[WP] “LOVE IS IN THE AIR, I REPEAT, LOVE IS IN THE AIR! SEEK THE NEAREST RESPIRATOR OR SAFE ZONE AND DO NOT GO OUTSIDE UNTIL THE ALL CLEAR IS GIVEN! DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HELP ANYONE SHOWING ANY SYMPTOMS!
|
"A little dose of oxytocin huh bud?" my uncle said before shedding his skin and flexing his very visible muscles.
Gaunty, old ladies ran past like a string of ducklings and I heard the sirens blasting all around before taking my government-issued emergency shot of testosterone. My uncle got down on all four and cursed the sun for shining down upon his sensitive hypodermis. An ambulance crinkled around a corner and as they swept my uncle up on a stretcher one of them turned toward me and said, "Ma'm you better step inside 'cause love's in the air tonight."
Just why an extradimensional being had manifested and blessed Phil Collins with powers beyond belief puzzled most of us, when we found time for puzzling, and streaming his music had recently become a capital offense given it shuddered listeners with waves and throes of excitement that made them grow new limbs most of which sprung from the rectal region. Even the word for the creation of all things had been banned as the mere association propagating electrically in your cerebrum was enough to melt your flesh clean off your bones.
We were all at the mercy of Phil Collins. That is, before Michael Slops entered the scene.
Slops had been born with a very rare disease that made him synthesize testosterone from calcium and some researchers believed it to now comprise 16.3 percent of his body mass. The natural predator of oxytocin, Slops' testosterone made him virtually immune to the depraved beast known as Phil Collins.
As I hurried home I heard the infamous wet steps of the legend himself and a moment later I saw, silhouetted against the sun, Slops taking on the astral blob of metaphysical matter Phil Collins as of late had become. It gushed and rained but what gushed and what rained I did not know. All I knew was that our man was up there, fighting our tormentor.
People rallied instantly, emerging from their shelters to see the oxytonergic air drawn into the lungs of Slops and we cried as he heroically slobbered it all up. Wet slaps of gratitude abounded. Phil Collins howled as a caged extraterrestrial and to our shared horror we saw he was carrying a drumstick.
"It's a trap!"
"Get down Mr Slops! Get down!"
But it was too late. Phil Collins drummed the belly of our savior and it burst into a sea of purple and pink, raining down on all of us, along with all the oxytocin Slops moments before had contained in his bodily cage.
Cries rang out from a want of skin for the skin ran down the gutters freely and there we stood; exposed wires of subcutaneous tissue, and broken choked wails penetrated tympanic membranes that, too, were melting away.
Phil Collins softly hummed and us wretched souls; milk without our corporeal cartons, cursed the thing of demon he had become. Then we heard the crack.
His face was a land of confusion as he gazed upon his broken instrument. Phil Collins looked up, toward the home planet of Strjekk Sjokkar the alien god of transformation, and he whelped.
Before him hovered Michael Slops, and in the hero's mouth were bones. A street sweeper had offered up his calcium for the cause and Michael Slops had now become a being of 100% testosterone.
Crackling thunder filled the air and a sweet rain fell down and it seemed to wash away our pain. The air sizzled and we saw that our skin was growing back--returning from whence it had come, oozing from the gutters to reassemble us and reskinned we basked proud as Michael Slops pulverized the astral form of Phil Collins. A cloud of gas was all that was left behind and it too dissipated and humanity was saved from oxytocinergic terror and free again to breathe in loveless air.
"How can we repay you?"
"You have saved us all!"
"I got here a bit late. What's going on?"
The people rejoiced and they got down on their knees, blessing their skin for the comfort it provided, and we all looked up to the brilliant mess of testosterone soaring above. "I have transcended," said Slops. "I have now become an alien god, from the perspective of beings from other worlds, and I will watch over you and let sweet gobs of testosterone rain down on you and I hope it will serve you well."
My uncle hopped out from behind a corner, skin intact, and he gave me a hug. "A little dose of oxytocin huh bud?" he said and so the eternal cycle of our time loop reset anew.
|
##Terrifying Love
It's a funny feeling, falling in love. Like taking off your armor because you know that you can really trust someone. Then, you get scared. The armor was there was a for a reason, to guard you from getting hurt.
You cover and hide, but love finds a way into your thoughts. It's floating in the air like specs of gold dust. There's no filter or place where it can't reach you.
Other people can't help you. They've experienced love of course, but it affects everyone differently. You don't have to face it alone, but to face it with someone would be admitting defeat.
Surrender would mean losing your entire self and remaking it with someone. The new version could be better, or it could be worse. There is no way to know without trying. Love alters you even if you reject. Tempting you to accept it to have more control.
You begin to wonder why you are accepting it. Why do so many choose love? What's the point?
And then you look into love's face. You start to adapt living with love. You take steps into its gentle mist without coercion. The armor falls off without resistance. You truly accept love.
And that is why falling in love is terrifying but satisfying in the end.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
| 2022-04-20T16:30:34 | 2022-04-20T16:21:58 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered.
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you.
|
I sat in the darkness. I was chained. I could not move. I could not see the bars I remember in front of me. Rocks and dust covered me. It had been this way for so very long. I remember the fire, the war, what I destroyed. How long ago, I cannot say. There is no concept of time. No sun. No light. I cannot die, but I wish it was possible. Instead, I sit in this endless darkness.
A shift. A noise. Rocks falling. The sudden change snaps my mind from it’s numb state. Someone has returned. There is a splash of light and I can see again. The stone floor, the rocks that now cover most of me, and the great chains binding me to this hell. The light shifts up and down. Figures enter the room. People, perhaps even the celestials that trapped me here. No.
They are mortals, the largest among them no larger than one of my fangs. One of them wears strange armor, a machine, gently chugging away, spewing smoke. They have no swords, or axes. They must be armed, to have gotten through the monsters guarding me, but I see no weapons I can recognize. They look about the room, searching about with their lights. I can sense them, dimly through my mind ring. A humble and silent fighter, the one wearing the machine. A careful, strategic thief, their leader. A caring, kind healer, no, a different, new word. nurse. A caring nurse. A charismatic .... Scientist. A humble, old historian.
“What’s that?” The nurse calls out, her voice echoing through the cavern.
“It may be… a dragon, yes, a statue of a dragon. They died out thousands of years ago,” said the historian. His voice was raspy.
“Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”, said the thief.
I began to probe the mind of the nurse. She was caring … and curious. I made the smallest of suggestions, drawing attention to the pedestal near the center of the room. She stared at it for a moment. The others were still looking at me. She walked closer, drawn to it. She slowly reached out, in the slowest of motions, and touched the pedestal.
A wave of green light surged from the pedestal. She was blown back ten feet and landed in a heap. The fighter was the first to react, running to her aid. I sensed some hidden emotion from him, perhaps love. I did not care.
After so long, so very long, I was seeing freedom. I could almost touch it. With as much strength as I could muster I pulled on my chains. Rocks shifted and tumbled. The rock that encased me for so long was broken. The band of “heros” were in complete disarray. I took my right claw and swept at the the fighter and the nurse, just as you might crush an insect. The fighter tried to pick up the nurse and run, but he only fell back, his legs, and the nurse crushed. He screamed and started… attacking? He had something that was making lots of noise and light. I searched his mind. Firearm. His firearm was bothersome. I swept him aside. With my precise hearing I could hear his bones shatter as he hit the wall. I focused my attention on the historian and the thief.
The Thief was screaming at the historian, who was petrified. As I broke free from my other chains they started running. I gave chase, searching the mind of the historian as I did. They ran through a small opening in the great doors that allowed me into my prison. I simply crashed through them.
The world was different now. The celestials were dead now. The other dragons were dead too. Progress was made, and now machines took place of the old magicians. Constructs, airships, rail travel, mechanical armor suits, so many new things. And none of them could kill me. Perhaps, in the old world, some great wizard would destroy me. But they were gone. Machines replaced the great skills of grand masters. More efficient perhaps, but not as powerful.
I decided I had learned enough. I willed myself to bring forth the fire in my heart. That familiar burning came to my throat, a feeling I had not felt for so long. I opened my maw and flame emerged. I burned them, I burned the corridor, I burned the doors. When I was done, I continued down the hall, knocking down pillars and statues as I did, revelling in my freedom.
As I came to the last door I bowed. Gently pushing my way through, I came out into the world. The open sky howled at me and I howled back. The free wind blew snow past me. I was on a mountain, the mountain that imprisoned me for so long. I looked all about myself. In the distance, I saw a city. A so-called “technological marvel”.
I spread my great wings. So long since I felt flight. I pushed the air under them and took to the air.
The world has forgotten dragon fire. I think I will remind them.
|
Being an immortal is hard. Plenty of chances to fuck up. Plenty of ways to get trapped forever. Get forknapped by Nine Lives, lose your stack on some god-forsaken exoplanet, or just get trapped in an indenture contract in the inner system or Extropia. Still, suppose it's better than being mortal, like the poor sods in the Jovian Junta.
'Course, that's what I thought before I got handed a 1000 year prison sentence on Mars. See, that sounds bad, and it is, but it isn't really 1000 years. It's more like a couple days in a time accelerated simulspace, packed to the brim with psychosurgical procedures and behavioral reinforcement. Idea is, when I come out of it, I'll never commit a crime again.
The downside is, this predicates on them being able to get me out. Normally, not too hard. Course, when the Barsoomians launch an assault on the prison facility and lock down outgoing mesh connections, you can get trapped pretty easy. Still, those freedom fighters, or terrorists depending on your PoV, just can't hold out against the Planetary Consortium for long.
But you have to plan ahead for these things. That's why backup insurance exists...just load a copy of your brain into cold storage and reload it if something happens to you. Only problem is, what if reports of your death are exaggerated?
------------------------
"Greetings inmate #37829. After 7.2 days, the Planetary Consortium's valiant soldiers have liberated this facility from the Barsoomian Terrorists. Unfortunately, as per your backup policy, a backup of yours was loaded and served your sentence. Per PC regulations, you are now considered an errant fork, and are subject to summary deletion. Have a nice day!"
Well fu-
------------------------------
Inspired by Eclipse Phase.
| 2017-11-02T16:08:49 | 2017-11-02T14:01:37 | 42 | 24 |
[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.
|
"Honey? Can you hear me? I'm back from Costco! My arms are kinda full here, could you give me a hand?
"Coming!"
Susan, my wife, called out to me just as my phone went off. I have it on vibration, so typically it just goes off once or twice. Nope, today it decided to have a full-blown orgasm. Wondering what the racket was, i swiped my phone from the coffee table and headed downstairs.
EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC. DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOORS OR WINDOWS. STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Well, that's new. Was it a prank? Judging from how it was going off incessantly, it did look rather like an official channel. I've seen this sort of thing a few times this year - when the summer got too hot and the brush dried out, the fire department would spam us with these every few days. These things always had a knack of happening at the most inopportune times as well, like in the middle of my lecture last week. The cacophony of every phone going off and how everybody was going to turn them off at once was still rather amusing, though. It was almost as if they were synchronized. Harmony via cacophony. Lovely. But i digress.
I reached the front door. I could hear Susan tapping her foot, as she was wont to do when she was becoming impatient. It was always the right foot too. She's got her quirks, as lovely as she is. As I reached for the doorknob, I realized that the message specified not to open my door. But I couldn't keep her waiting like that. Oh well, we'll hole up after she gets in.
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always, somehow carrying two enormous bags of groceries that seemed larger than she was. She shifted her balance so I could take one. But I didn't accept. I was too busy looking at the sky behind her. Or more precisely, the lack thereof.
The sky was gone. No, not as in empty. It's usually empty. It's *supposed* to be empty. No, it was just gone. Not the whole thing, just a square-shaped patch over there near the setting sun. There was a clear-cut square of black where the sky should be. No, not quite black. Black is a pigment. But this just felt... empty. It felt as if a puzzle piece of the universe went missing, and I was staring outside of reality. Before my eyes, the neighboring squares slowly began to flicker and break apart. The sky.. was made of pixels?
Feeling dizzy, I closed my eyes. The familiar black of my eyelids gave me a small bit of respite as I tried to process what I had just seen. Tried, mind you, as my legs crumpled beneath me, my consciousness letting go, welcoming blissful oblivion.
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always, somehow carrying two enormous bags of groceries that seemed larger than she was. She shifted her balance so I could take one. But I didn't accept. I was too busy looking at the sky behind her. Or more precisely, the lack thereof.
The sky was gone. No, not as in empty. It's usually empty. It's *supposed* to be empty. No, it was just gone. Not the whole thing, just a square-shaped patch over there near the setting sun. There was a square of black where the sky should be. No, not quite black. Black is a pigment. But this just felt... empty. It felt as if a puzzle piece of the universe went missing, and I was staring outside of reality. Before my eyes, the neighboring squares glitched and froze
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always. But that wasn't important. The sky was gone. Cannot compute
I opened the door.
I opened the door.
I opened the door.
I opened rhe door.
I openeeeeeeeeeeee
----------
"Well, that does it. Now this damn thing won't even *try* to load the skybox. What kind of moronic thrice-damned spaghetti code did you have to use to break it so fucking hard? Oh, for fuck's sake. Roll it back to patch 11.2, the resolution might be lower, but at least it won't glitch out immediately."
|
[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...’
| 2019-01-12T07:28:39 | 2019-01-12T06:30:43 | 354 | 12 |
[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.”
|
It's been weeks since I regained my sight. The messages... the **message** was scrawled everywhere. In different mediums, different handwriting... always you could see the frantic fear in the strokes of paint or blood or dirt or shit.
Weeks since I felt the joy of regained sight, replaced immediately by ultimate fear. I didn't even know what I was afraid of. Who "Them" were. But the message was everywhere and you bet your ass I was afraid.
For weeks I've been pretending to still be blind, going about my 'normal' life. I walk most places with my eyes shut, worried about giving myself away... after all, *someone* might see me. So many messages, it can't have been one person who wrote them. And they can't have done it blind. So -- somewhere out there -- there are sighted people. And they left a message *for* sighted people.
***So are "Them" blind?***
The realization stops me in my tracks. Another pedestrian bumps me and immediately goes around without an apology -- collisions are expected in the new world.
*Written messages would be useless if... whoever-they-are could see them... But then how--*
In that moment I see a man on a far street corner. He is leaned against a building, watching me intently. **Watching me.** His eyes dart to one side and I glance over to see two men clad in black, wearing silk blindfolds, cutting too-efficiently through the crowd, coming right for me. The man at the corner slips away. I feel the fear gripping me anew.
| 2022-10-08T20:12:12 | 2019-08-26T08:07:49 | 810 | 96 |
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK."
|
Obama slowly lowers the letter as a drop of sweat starts to slide down his forehead, his heart pounding.
"Michelle." He says. "I have to step out for a minute. I'll be right back, you can go back to sleep." She mumbled something in return, but it wasn't coherent enough to understand.
Obama walks outside with his phone and the letter, and begins to dial the number. Before he types the last digit, he shuts his phone off and grabs his head with both hands in stress. This call could mean anything, after all. Obama paces back and forth while alternating rubbing his sweaty hands together and wiping the sweat off his forehead, as he smokes a cigarette he lit to help with stress. When the cigarette burns out he tosses it to the ground, steps on it to extinguish the flame, and tells himself simply "you can do this Barack. You were the president of the United States, for gods sake. TWICE." With that, he picked up the phone.
"Hello Barack." A voice said, before Obama had even said anything. "We've been expecting your call."
"Who is this?" Obama sternly asked.
"As the letter said, this is JFK. We have a job for you. Meet us on the corner of East and Third at 0300 hours Tuesday of next week. Come alone, and tell no one what you're doing. Tell no one about this call. Tell no one about the letter. We will know if you talk. Do not talk."
"B-but wait..." Obama stuttered. "Next Tuesday is my wife's birthday..."
"We are aware of that, Barack. Sacrifices have to be made in order to succeed." Replied the strange voice. Whoever it is was, they were definitely using a voice changer. Obama started to think, and he couldn't even tell if he had been talking to a man or a woman.
Days pass. Obama stressed uncontrollably over this, worried about what might happen, and worried more about how his wife would feel if he for any reason missed her birthday. He had no choice, though. He had to go to that meeting, to discover what this was all about.
The time has come.
Obama slowly walks to the stop sign on the corner of East and Third, at 0300 hours, on the correct day. Everything was as he was told. He received another call.
"Barack." The voice said. "Do not move. Do not make a sound. Do not even lower the phone from your face." Before Obama could ask why, he noticed multiple bright dots shimmering on his body. Snipers, no doubt. Obama didn't dare move. For two whole hours he was forced to sit like this.
At the dawn of the third hour, the lasers disappeared. A black unmarked car drove up to where he was sitting. He heard a voice that told him to approach the vehicle, but to not get in.
Obama walked up to the window, and stuff waiting for what might happen next.
The window rolled down.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" laughed Biden. "You should have seen all the faces you made! Oh and how stressed you looked! You seemed like you were gonna have a heart attack! HAHAHAHAHA!"
"Joe?" Replied Obama, angrily. "I don't understand. Explain, now."
"Easy, easy." Said Biden. "It was just a prank bro! Just a little joke! You know. Leave a mystery letter, give out mysterious instructions, have you sit in an uncomfortable posture for THREE HOURS. IT WAS HILARIOUS!"
"I don't understand." Obama looked puzzled. "What about all the threats? Why drag me out here at this time and day, and on my wife's birthday no less?"
Biden continued to explain, still laughing. "Because it's FUNNY! You were so freaked out! I'm sure you're more afraid to go home now than before, because your wife will be waking up any moment now to an empty bed, which is the BEST PART! AHAHAHAHA!"
Obama wanted to hit Biden. "But what about JFK? Why the blocked caller IDs? Why would you do this?"
Biden continued to laugh. "JFK? JFK?! That was your only hint you bozo - Just F$:king Kidding! Because it was a joke! What, did you think this had something to do with the old president? It's dead, Jim. I mean Barack."
Obama was so outraged at this point. He could no longer think of anything to say, so he didn't. He turned around and walked away, fearing how his wife might act when she learns the truth. He hadn't spoken of it, but she had noticed him acting awfully weird the last week.
"Biden." Obama thought to himself. "I will have my revenge."
To be continued in Pranking Obama 2: Electric Boogaloo
|
"So you're telling me that every US President is still alive?"
"Oh heavens no, Barack." John chuckled. "They are all very much dead. Anyone saying otherwise is technically committing treason. The the existence of the Dead President Society is a state secret that is protected in the constitution. You'd be surprised what you can hide in a document no one actually reads all the way through."
"But are they all here?" Barack asked, rephrasing the question to avoid word games.
"Only those with remarkable abilities. Which, surprisingly, is most of them."
"So... Lincoln?"
"Alive. You probably know him as Bill Nye."
"What?" Obama stopped walking, doing a double take.
"Don't tell me you never suspected? The bone structure didn't give it away?"
"So do dead presidents do that often, set up personas in plain sight?"
"Sometimes."
The two walked in silence for a while before Barack's curiosity bubbled over. "So what exactly do we do."
"The DPS mainly focusses our efforts into protection of the American People from threats both Paranormal and Extraterrestrial. Knowing this, you have two options. One, you wake up with no recollection of this, the note, any of it. You can go back to your retirement and enjoy it in peace. Or two, you join us. You will no longer exist. You will officially be dead, but you will see things beyond your wildest dreams or nightmares... what do you say?"
| 2017-05-14T11:15:12 | 2017-05-14T10:53:58 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
Gina watched the two men sitting adjacent to each other on plush arm chairs, both cheated slightly toward the bank of cameras at the edge of the stage. From her position in the control room, she took careful note of the man of the hour. If the interviewee was unnerved by the situation, he managed to hide it masterfully, as he must of done during his very public trial. Now that it was time to film, she was having doubts that this interview would yield anything interesting at all. His demand that the interview be carried live, with no delay, was a little strange, but Gina thought getting this scoop would be worth it. Within 30 seconds of the cameras rolling, however, all of her fears of a flop were erased, instead replaced by a slate of new, unspeakable fears, realizing that the foundation of their peaceful society would be shaken to their core. A blanket of silence covered the studio, and all attention turned to the men on stage.
"This is John Simmons, sitting down for an exclusive interview with David Sheppard after his recent acquittal in the high profile murder of his late wife, Theresa. David, welcome, and thank you for joining us."
"Glad to be here John."
"Well, I suppose we should just get straight to it; the case of your wife's murder has baffled both experts and true crime fans across the country and throughout the world. Given that you appear to be the only person who would have been capable of committing the act, yet your blood clearly shows no signs of guilt, is there any way that you can explain your wife's demise?"
"Oh, that's easy. I killed her."
The collected crew in the control room all gasped, and John recoiled so abruptly he nearly fell out of his chair. David's face never shifted from his easy smile.
"I... I don't understand. How is that possible? You were just acquitted! The entire country has seen your blood! How could you have committed such an act?"
"Are you sure you want to know? You'll never be able to go back to believing in Black and White and shade of Gray."
"I... no we... we as a public need to understand how this was possible. Was it some kind of trick? Did you use false blood?"
David laughed in response. "No, if I had used any fake evidence, that would have invalidated my acquittal, and I never would have risked that. No, it's actually much simpler than that. I killed my wife, but I wasn't guilty."
"What does that even mean? How could you have done that without being guilty? Was it self-defense?"
"John, what is the nature of evil, and how does that effect the blood?"
"Well, evil is... well it's evil. And no one has ever been able to identify the cause."
"Well, that's not entirely true. If you open up a dictionary, you'll find that evil is defined as something morally wrong. That's a very subjective definition, but the phenomena is very subjective as well. For example, Jews and Muslims think eating pork is sinful, and if they knowingly eat pork, it does change the color a bit, but the same isn't true of Christians or atheists. It can't be tied to the power of an actual god, because it still happens to atheists, so I guessed it was based on the collective consciousness of any group structured around morality, so if the majority of Christians believed an act was sinful, a self-identified Christian's blood would darken if they committed that act. All I had to do was find a moral framework that allowed me to kill my wife without offending the majority of that framework's followers."
"Are you telling me that you went out and chose a new religion in order to kill your wife."
"No John, of course not. I made a new religion so I could kill my wife." David laughed again at John's bug-eyed expression. "Yea, I guess it does sound kind of crazy."
"Of course it sounds crazy! How could that possibly be real?"
"What can I say? God is great!"
"So, what, you just made up your own religion, where God says it's ok to kill your wife?"
&#x200B;
"Well, not exactly. There was a lot of trial and error, making sure that I didn't mess anything up. Trying to hold onto a picture of the Christian God accepting what I was doing while also doing stuff that is outside of their teachings was tough, but I got around that by just believing that I am a god, and worshiping myself. Now, I act however I want, as it is always God's will, and thus I will always be innocent in all things. It was really hard getting over the first hump, you know, actually believing that I am really a God, but once that was done, the rest was easy." David turned in his chair, training his easy smile directly on the camera. "Oh, and for those of you who have a hard time getting over that first step, you can worship me, and my Will is highly adaptable... for the right monetary compensation."
Aghast, Gina cut the feed, and the millions of people around the country who had been watching the interview sitting in stunned silence were confronted with a bland "Technical difficulties" screen, totally discordant with the gravity of what they had just heard. Within minutes, the whole interview was splashed across every website imaginable. The entire justice system, built on the inherent guilt of a person's blood, shattered in less than 5 minutes.
|
My name's Ambint Couslen. I'm 26, dark brown hair, pale white skin, and I was a huge MMO master since I was 16, that was up until I met someone. The most peculiar of people who showed up out of nowhere as a coworker of mine at an intolerable desk job.
People used to call me "M". From aMbint, in my name. Now everyone just calls me A Murderer. And if you wanted to ask why, let's just keep it short and say I went insane. I mean, it worked when I pleaded guilty. There was just, always, one little thing we did before pleading; checking the blood to see how bad our past was, and the blood never lied to us. For example...
Jim Mogolith; Executed at 36 for torching literally random people on the street, by means off drive-by. Blood color: Deep Cherry Black, or more forwards a D-.
Arphol Rabinni: Accused of rape at 17 with two twin sisters. Blood Color: Flamingo Pink, AKA an A-. The sisters? Another Deep Cherry Black, and were charged for accusation for 10 years. This stuff is serious business.
They were the form of lie detection, recounting of the sins, and how bad our morals were. Usually people who kill are automatically Void Black: Not just an F, but a "Z". All people with Void Black blood are immediately sentenced to death. But here's the thing.
White blood. "True Hero's Light" blood, as they called it, an automatic "S" grading. You could see my confused surprise when they got my blood and saw the color of milk.
But why? How? What was happening? I was... innocent? I murdered my wife. I had been with her for six months, and she was so lovely... like when I looked at her everything just disappeared, or when I met her I felt something I had never felt, I didn't even get to meet her family, her friends! I didn't even know where she went for college, or... or...
Or what blood she had. I pierced her with a knife. I hit her straight in the heart. If I hit her there, then... wouldn't she bleed?
I don't even remember her name.
Did she even have one?
| 2020-02-09T14:08:46 | 2020-02-09T12:50:06 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] War breaks out between the legions of hell and heaven, humanity joins and surprisingly is winning against both
|
Reverend Carl Wallace sat on the veranda, sipping his beer and listening to the representative from Hell make its case.
“Your church,” the demon said, “has 20,000 followers. A mega church. That puts you in a unique position. A few declarations from you, and we could cut ourselves an excellent deal. Every prayer and offering counts.”
He let the demon continue without interruption. Satan’s diplomats never seemed to fully understand the nuances of human behavior. Wallace’s followers had joined the prayer embargo, depriving both Heaven and Hell of their supernatural powers, but that didn’t mean they were going to switch from Evangelists to Occultists at his command. When the shadowed figure finished, he spoke.
“How’s the war going, by the way?” he said.
The demon growled.
“Not well from what I hear," Wallace said. "I heard the Chinese just smashed a whole battalion of Hell’s baddest and ugliest. Hard to fight when you can’t make the sky rain fire, isn’t it? Let me ask you something. Have you had much success with this kind of thing? This pitch you just gave me?”
“They warned me not to even try with you,” the demons aid. “I see why.”
Wallace smiled and drained the last of his beer. He enjoyed negotiating with creatures like the one beside him. He had all the power in this relationship.
“No, seriously,” Wallace said. “Did George Johnston from Christ Revival listen? That guy’s a dumbbell. If you couldn’t convince him, what made you think you could convince anyone? You guys couldn’t even get the actual occult to sacrifice a single goddamned goat to you.”
“What do you want?” the demon said. "We have tried to work out a situation with you, yet you rebuke every effort."
“We’ve made it very clear from the beginning. We want basic parliamentary rights with God and Satan. Negotiation of soul storage, more rights for the vanquished, some influence on supernatural choices. Is it that unacceptable? We thought it was quite a reasonable deal after the embarrassing outbreak of your little war. Even your most devout followers are fed up with you. You’ve lost. Satan and God both. How many more angels and demons have to get slaughtered? Our tanks run on gasoline. Yours run on prayer, and you’re not getting so much as a pentagram in a high-school bathroom.”
The demon stood, materializing into solid form for a moment. “I apologize for wasting your time,” he said. It took a step down the stairs, stopped, and turned. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear about Jessica by the way. You were married for twenty-five years, I understand. It’s a shame that it had to happen in the midst of this terrible war, at the height of the prayer embargo. She was tragically denied an afterlife. Even hell would have been preferable that such a horrible fate. A large price to pay for your obstinacy.” He turned and continued on his way.
Wallace sat, clenching the arm-rests of his chair with his big, powerful hands. He bit his cheeks until they bled, watching the demon go. In previous ages, the creature would have turned itself into a bat or a winged dinosaur and flown away, but its current lack of power restricted it to human forms of transportation.
Wallace stood up, entered his house, and retrieved the Remington 870 from the hall closet. He walked fast to catch up the demon, who was making its way up the long, snaking, gravel driveway. The demon either did not hear his foosteps or did not care that he was approaching. When he was only a few paces away, Wallace aimed low and unloaded his first shot.
The man-shaped creature dropped instantly, one ankle exploding. He was well aware that he could not truly kill a demon. However, he could virtually destroy one. It would take thousands of centuries for them to reform and heal, and thousands of centuries still to regain their full power.
The demon screeched – a sound that chilled him and a sent a trail of goosebumps down his spine. He chambered another round and blew away the demon’s other ankle.
“Crawl back to your master,” Wallace said. The demon writhed, continuing its plaintive howls. Wallace returned to his chair on the veranda and opened another beer.
|
God looked upon Death and spake thusly "fuck you could have told me they were doing this kind of thing to each other, and that there are so many of them. I've got satan hiding because the mortals have successfully breeched the gates of hell using ...'bunker busting nuclear arms' and now using it for something called geo-thermal power." Death looked at god as passively as a skeleton in a tone can and then shrugged before going forth to claim the souls of more mortals who had died in the fighting.
God chewed on his beard in thought, his carelessness and Satan's stupidity had brought them both to the edge of ruin and even now the problem was being made worse because of Death. More and more of their comrades were being taken to heaven to stir trouble since hell had been conquered and souls taken there were released back into the mortal realm. It was only a matter of time before the last choir of angels fell to the weapons of his children.
"Fuck"
| 2015-05-24T06:22:11 | 2015-05-24T03:29:19 | 241 | 88 |
[WP] You were born into a society where permanent augmented reality contact lenses are fused onto every newborn's eyes. You're unaware of this until one day, a lens falls into your left hand.
|
It had been ten days since the last time Marcus had left the bed.
It wasn't about physical impossibility. He could walk as well as anybody else. Marcus just didn't seem capable of bringing himself to get up and on his feet. For the last ten days he had just... lain there, clutching his left hand tightly and muttering to himself.
His mother Tina had taken Family Medical Leave from work to care for him. She had also started paying off his rent and utilities; Marcus had lost his job at the ad agency after the third day of no-call no-show.
Tina leaned on the doorway despondently, watching her son just... wither. Laying in bed, clutching his left hand, muttering. She wasnt even sure if he had slept. Just... nothing. Nothing but the incomprehensible muttering.
A hand rested upon Tina's shoulder. The loving gaze of Daniel greeted her as he stood by her side. Daniel, her eternal companion, her rock upon which to steady herself. She had known him for as long as she could remember, maybe even her whole life. Childhood friends, turned to teen lovers, then married for thirty wonderful years and many more to come. He had been there for her during every trial her life had faced, and she knew he would see both her and her son through this time of struggle.
The doorbell rang. Tina opened the door and welcomed Donna into their home. Donna was Marcus's girlfriend, and their relationship was as storybook as Tina and Daniel's: childhood friends who had grown into something deeper. Tina had always hoped that one day Marcus and Donna would marry, and find the same happiness she and Daniel had known. So it warmed her heart greatly to see Donna visiting, to be by Marcus's side.
Donna walked into the bedroom, kneeled by Marcus' bed. She ran her hands through his matted sweat-soaked hair; Marcus lay unresponsive, as if he didn't even feel her hand trying desperately to soothe him.
"Marcus..." Tina said quietly. Hoping to draw him out. "It's your mother. I'm here, with your stepfather. Donna's here too, son." Tina stumbled for a moment over her own tongue. "Can you.... do you think you could manage a "Hello"?" She sat on the bed by Marcus's prone form. "It would mean so much to all three of us, son, if you could just... come back to us a bit. Just... "Hello". That's it. That's all..."
Her voice faltered, trembling down to silence. She laid a comforting hand onto her son's shoulder. Marcus turned slightly at the touch, looking to his mother with vacant eyes. His left eye looked different, a slightly brighter shade of brown. Oh, she hoped it wasn't neurological damage. Please, God, anything but that.
He looked to his mother, mouthing wordlessly. Tina gestured to Donna. "Yes! Marcus, I'm here! We're all here! Me, your stepfather, and look, Donna's here too!"
Marcus turned his head slightly, following his mother's gesture towards Donna. For a brief moment, the vacancy flickered out of his eyes. Then he closed his right eye. Winking? Was this winking?
He looked long and hard at Donna through only his left eye, then his left hand clutched tighter as tears rolled down his face. He turned back onto his side, lost to the world again in his mutterings. Tina fell upon him, holding her son and sobbing into his shoulder. Laying so close to him, she could make out a little bit of his faint senseless mutterings:
"Not real... Not real... Not real... Not real... Not real............"
|
There is an episode of Black Mirror that has a similar premise. I tried to find a way to describe it, but 1, I haven't watched it in a long time, and 2, I am not a good writer. So just watch Black Mirror Season 3 Episode 5 "Men Against Fire"
| 2017-12-17T20:25:08 | 2017-12-17T18:50:57 | 46 | 22 |
[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.
|
I always go running in the park after work. And before work actually. Because that's what you do when you have "Heart Attack" hovering over your head in big green letters. I know that's how I'll die, I just need to make sure that day is as far away as possible. Maybe if I run fast enough, I can outrun death.
I many ways, I envied Ross. He was my running partner. He just did it for the fun. I envied him, because he was free in so many ways that I was not. He could gorge himself on junk food, smoke all the pot and the cigarettes with barely a worry in the world. You see, the death written above his head was "Meteor Strike". I didn't believe it at first, but apparently the letters were never wrong. His death would be out of the blue, something that no-one could predict.
people with preventable deaths like mine spend their whole lives looking over their shoulder. For some people it's cars, others its pollution. The people I feel most sorry for are the ones who are told they'll be murdered. But Ross, he had no worries. We all envied him.
So we were jogging, when he signalled me that he wanted to stop and "Stretch". I say stretch, but really, it was our code for when he spotted some attractive ladies. We had a system for picking up ladies whilst running. I'm not saying it ever worked, but it was fun.
As we slowed down, he caught one of the ladies eyes, who looked at him with a mixture of surprise and shock.
"What a coincidence !" she said, pointing at Ross, before he could get out his cheesy chat up line.
Put off balance, Ross was stumped into silence, so as the designated wingman, I did the talking. It's what Bros do.
"What do you mean?" I asked, but it took me a second to realise what it was when I looked just above her head. "Meteor Strike" was emblazoned above her head.
"No way" said Ross "That's so cool !"
Then I notice her friend sidle up as well, who also had a big grin on her face.
"What are the chances ! I was just getting back from work and I noticed .. Joanne... is it"
Her friend, whom I guess was named Joanne, nodded.
"We just had to compare notes. And then you came along"
Ross was regaining his composure, smoothing his hair back and smiling. This was already going really well.
"Well, we can do things no-one else dares" said Ross.
"I bet" said the girl who wasn't Joanne, biting her bottom lip and smiling.
There was more conversation, but it was the kind where more was said by body language than with words.
"I should leave you kids to it, seeing as you have so much in common" I said, and jogged off. Ross gave me a sly thumbs up as I left.
As I jogged along, I passed two more runners who had Meteor Strike hovering over their heads. They were headed in the opposite direction.
"That really is a strange coincidence" I thought to myself. It was only when I reached the Park gates that I realised. I spun around and ran right back the way I came.
I didn't know what I was doing, whether I could make a difference or not. I just couldn't stand there. My lungs burned, tears streamed in my eyes, which is why I barely saw it streaking across the sky before it hit.
I could no longer stand, my chest felt like it had been crushed. It must have been the grief, the shock of it all. I collapsed to my knees, then on my back. I felt like there was something I should have done. I felt like I should have just stayed. I felt like I should have warned them...
I feel cold.
|
For years we had been blissfully happy, Robin and I, 7 years to be exact. since the day I met her she had the same cause of death hanging above her head, Alzheimer’s, as did I. I was content to know that we would both live long lives.
Today Robin’s cause of death changed, six months into her pregnancy it was **our baby** that would kill her.
First attempt at ever writing a story haha...
| 2015-03-31T09:41:54 | 2015-03-31T08:46:40 | 76 | 14 |
[WP] You can take a peek into people's souls, to take a look at who they were in their past lives. Some of your friends were emperors or kings. Others were pharaohs or chieftains. You find it odd that so many historical figures gather around you, so one day you look into your own soul in the mirror.
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I stared in the mirror for felt like an eternity before slowly shaking my head and turning away.
I always refused to look in my own past. The thought horrified me. I had seem enough in the history of others to beware my own.
Who would wish to know they had spent their last ten lives repeating the same mistakes? Failing themselves in the same predictable ways?
*No*. I vigorously shook my head and left the bathroom.
The cacophony of the dance club instantly returned at full volume, pulling me out of my spiralling thoughts.
I shimmied through the crowd, stopping by the bar to grab two new drinks and rejoined my friends in front of the stage.
Maron cheered at my arrival, grabbing the drink from my hand. As his fingers brushed mine, a look passed between us and a memory surfaced -
>"Do you truly believe you are worthy?" The old man demanded.
>
>Maron, wearing an elegant purple robe and holding a grand, bejewelled sceptre laughed serenely.
>
>He casually reached out a hand and a wine cup was placed into his ringed fingers by an unseen attendant.
>
>"I was born worthy!" He screamed as his face suddenly contorted in rage and he brought his sceptre down his vicious force.
>
>As the old man bled and cringed begged for mercy, Maron struck a pose holding out his sceptre, his eyes gleaming.
>
>"And now, see how merciful the Emperor Nero is!" He declared bending down to offer the old man his wine cup.
>
>"Why don't you offer a toast?" his voice was full of sweetness again. "A toast to my worthiness, perhaps?"
I sighed, shook my head and continued dancing. Another goddamn former emperor.
I wasn't going to tell him, of course. After all, what good would that do? Besides, who wanted to know they'd been Nero, of all people.
I glanced around the group of friends around me.
There was Vic, who had once been Alexander the Great, but that experience was so memorable that a lot of his other future were plagued by delusions of grandeur.
Then was Adana who I knew in a past life was an Igwe, who led his people into a dumb, loosing war against their long-standing allies.
And then Monica...
I suddenly stopped. And began counting them off on my fingers: *Vic, Adana, Monica and now Maron.*
People with extremely weighty past lives are not actually very common and yet four of them surrounded me right now?
I glanced around the club and sure enough, the four around me were the only four with past lives of such emotional significance. Others were influential sure, but none had lived lives so full of feeling.
We separated after the club, Vic and Maron holding each other a little too close as they got in their taxis.
Monica smiled at them as they left before giving me a hug - and a flash of Elizabeth I setting her dogs on a rude suitor - before also heading home.
I started walking home, still thinking about the connections. What could have drawn all these people to each other?
I felt like a pebble that unknowingly controlled the eye of the storm.
I had to know. Why were they all famous and more importantly why were all their past lives so emotionally resonant?
I raised my phone and looked into the dark reflective screen. Was it something about me? I steeled to see-
>"Please. I don't want to go. I can't go yet."
>
>"That's not going to work."
>
>"No! I have so much to do..."
>
>"It's too late now."
>
>"No...NO! Don't you understand? This is the most important work I have ever done! I have tracked the reverberations of decisions by these four for thousands of years. I just need a bit more time to-"
>
>"You cannot bargain again. Not this time."
>
>"I am so close to learning how they do it. How ***HE*** did it."
>
>"This is beyond us."
>
>"That is why what I'm doing is so important! It is only beyond us if we refuse to look!"
>
>"..."
>
>"You must let me finish with Nero at least! He's the furthest along and his next life is critical! We could finally understand-"
>
>"Lucifer. This is beyond *us*."
>
>"..."
>
>"..."
>
>"...I see."
>
>"Good. Come, the path is already - AUGH!"
I stumbled to the ground as the memories flooded back. A grand experiment. The greatest experiment ever conducted.
I had spent millennia untold living amongst mortality from the simplest of single-celled organisms to the most complex of mushrooms, all to learn this final secret.
I looked down at my hands. They were slick with blood again, as they had been for nearly two thousand years.
"A worthy price." I muttered to myself, pushing myself back to standing. I could not see them while I lived as a human, but I was almost glad to see them now. A reminder of the cost of knowledge.
I had to find Nero.
As I started walking in his direction, I marvelled at what I had accomplished. Almost two thousand years spent working on research I couldn't remember, living and dying in an awkward facsimile of mortality. But in the end, it all bent unknowingly towards this this point.
My great work would finally be completed.
Divinity was within my grasp...
|
The power works by remembering. You think about the person, and remember things that happened that you should not know, and cannot be. You and your parents just thought it was the by-product of an oddly active imagination, until you started studying more history. Then you realized that the "memories" you had weren't fiction after all.
A photograph was a really useful way to trigger it. Just like looking at a photo of an old friend could trigger memories of your past interactions.
The only person I'd ever told was my best friend, Jacob. I had to tell someone. Turned out I chose well, because Jacob was super into history. He got such a kick out of giving me magazines and asking me about any memories I got from looking at the photographs. It became like a sort of supernatural 20 questions until he got enough information to guess the historical figure. And he was good at it, too.
But why were these people flocking around me? It began happening after I started university. I couldn't go to a single class without some "great" introducing themselves. Alexander the Great. Cleopatra. King George the something. Caesar. Napoleon. Non-stop. They'd always come up to me, awkwardly linger around like they wanted to ask me out or something, and then confusedly walk away. Jacob was having the time of his life. And then of course there was Jacob himself!
Number one rule of going on a trip: always have someone watching you in case something goes wrong. I sometimes got faint memories about myself, but they were never super clear. I'd remember working a field, or writing in scrolls (I loved the smell of papyrus!), or helping repair some simple toy; but nothing really organized or concrete. Jacob was sitting next to me as I turned the mirror around. Maybe this might provide stronger memories.
Ahh, yes, I remember now; that's where I'd seen him last! It must've been... the 20s? It was humid but slightly chilly. Napoleon was lying on his death bed in Saint Helena. The Great Emperor, alone, and helpless. Death had been a blessing for him. A man like that cannot bear to lose so much in a single life time. I gave him his rites. He'd been no fan of the church in the end, but as death drew nearer, fear overthrew even his cool mind. As I placed my hand over his eyes, I carefully drew in the memories before his mind grew perfectly still. Temporarily held. To be returned once we met again.
| 2020-04-13T05:07:06 | 2020-04-13T00:32:06 | 124 | 81 |
[WP] Humans finally reach the stars and realize that... We've seen all of this before! Galactic Council? Check. Proud warrior race? Check. Hive mind insects? Check. Frightening space boogeymen? Check. Ancient hyper-advanced Race? Check. And so Humanity ventured forth, knowing exactly what to do.
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"First contact. Hooooooly shit."
"Great!"
"Charlie, no offense, but - do you actually understand how significant this is? It's.. it's like something out of science fiction. A lot of things out of science fiction, combined into something... greater. An entire culture, a people, surviving and thriving alone - like Earth - for maybe millions of years, and we'll be the first humans to step foot on their planet. This could be the single most important event in human history. And we're going to be a part of it."
&#x200B;
"TWO MINUTES TO LANDING!"
"THANKS, LANRET"
&#x200B;
"I know exactly what it means, Commander Lyons. Genocide!"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"Charlie, I know the three of us have had a lot of strange conversations with the whole 'stuck in deep space for 3 years' thing, but I must have misheard - you didn't just say 'Genocide', right?"
"Why are your jaws dropping? Like you said, it's something out of science fiction.."
"And what exactly does that word have to do with sci-"
"Starship Troopers!!"
"Oh. My. God."
"I mean, they don't seem to be insect people, but the idea still applies.."
"Charlie, the number of things wrong with this impromptu discussion-"
"I don't see any problems with it."
"Charlie, I don't know where this apparently premeditated bout of rapid-onset insanity came from - normal people DON'T casually discuss killing sentient lifeforms."
"Hey, not my fault that it's what humanity does best."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"ONE MINUTE!"
"NOTED."
"What humanity does best?"
"Oh yeah. 'Kill the Indian in the Child' ring any bells? We've been doing it for centuries."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"That's fucked up."
"Yeaaaaaah."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"Okay, let's say this insanity WAS, ***hypothetically***, called for. There aren't any weapons on board. Even if 'they' were violent - which, need I remind you of the **small** fact that **we would've been DEAD by now** \- we couldn't defend ourselves."
"Oh yeah, about that - I stashed away a few supplies when we took off. Should be in one of these panels."
"A-ha! RPG, dozen rockets. Grenades. 4 Kalashnikovs, 10 Magazines each. Plenty for everyone!"
"Charlie, this 30 pound cylinder has a radiation symbol and is half my height. Where did you..?"
"Oh yeah, that. Found it out in the middle o'nowhere, trekking through Nevada this one time. Thought it looked cool."
"Internal sensors are detecting elevated levels of radiation in the cabin.."
"Thanks, Lanret."
"Right, okay, I'm just going to put this back verrrrry carefully, and would you please hand me that cover - thank you."
&#x200B;
"15 SECONDS!"
&#x200B;
"I hope that worked some emotions out of your system?"
"Yessir."
"Great! We never had this conversation. Got it?"
"Aye, Commander."
"LANDING!"
"What d'you keep in that backpack? It's awfully large."
"Oh, this thing? Emergency supplies - nothing special."
The spacecraft and its crew gently land on the steps of a grand memorial, apparently to the fallen soldiers of some war. Cities loom in the background, skylines awash in color, while a team of ambassadors - bodies barely distinguishable from the Earth guests, though a bit horse-like - wait at the base, alongside a greeting party. As they carefully descend down the cargo ramp, Charlie pulls out another two Kalashnikovs from his backpack.
"SYKE, BITCHES!"
|
"They used this opportunity to once again launch big-budget remakes of age old blockbuster movies. Studios made incredible amounts of profit while igniting controversy amongst cult fanatics and common, casual cultural consumers. As ever before these conflicts ripped the fabric of human society asunder leaving few bodies and minds intact.
While debating the new galactic geopolitics basic fact and canon could not be established. Quick verbal spats soon became physical between the planet's most accomplished diplomats. Left with no common ground or recourse nuclear warheads soon ripped the earth of any life or history it once knew.
The greater galaxy observed this pathetic and primitive conflict with great amusement and curiosity. They watched humanity turn to cinders for the simple act of recreating a previous piece of popular entertainment. They called this saga: The Cultural Clone Wars."
| 2021-05-12T12:50:50 | 2021-05-12T12:35:15 | 35 | 11 |
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