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[WP] You used to play a fantasy MMORPG that wasn't very popular, so you were able to take the simple name of 'Dave'. When you return to the game (now massively popular), you discover that there is now a Church of 'Dave'.
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We had been searching for him for so long, and had waded through so many imposters, that I had to implement new protocols to preserve my sanity. Ideally, he would remember his login credentials for his account, but if not, my team would run him through a series of security questions. Not just any security questions, either – these were specially drafted such that only the real player behind ‘Dave’ could answer them. And if he could answer them all, only then would they pass the name on to me. I was the final judge, the last arbiter, the only one who could approve the pay-out.
The cash reward of $50,000 was not a small sum, after all.
“Really?” I said. “You think we have him?”
Michael was quiet for a second, and I was about to ask if he was still there when his voice came back through the phone. “Should be,” he said. “He had all the right answers, and he even recalled the password to the account.”
“Doesn’t prove anything,” I said. “Most people know the story behind the Church of Dave by now, and he could have gotten lucky with some guesswork. Besides, the password wasn’t very strong to begin with.”
“Well, boss, call it a gut instinct then. I think we have our man. May be worth you talking to him.”
I sighed. Michael had been wrong before, but who could blame him? By my count, over 200 people had pretended to be ‘Dave’ since we announced the reward for him to come forward. I had wanted to front the entire reward myself, but the board of Morlion Studios refused, and the company paid for it in the end. *Take it as a small gift to you, boss,* they had said.
“Fine, put him through.”
I heard Michael hang up, then the dial tones pinged as the call connected. I squinted at the email which Michael had just sent, then found the name I was looking for.
“Hello, is that Steve Curries?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, this is him. I’m calling about the… reward?”
His voice was softer, milder than I had anticipated. His records indicated that he was 35 this year, but he sounded much younger than that. “You’re at the right place. I’m Henry Glass, and I’m the CEO of Morlion Studios. Now, we thank you for your patience, but this is a delicate matter.”
“No problem,” he said. “What else do I have to do?”
“Now, Mr Curries, just a couple of questions which I have to run through with you. They may be repeats, but please bear with me.”
“Of course, sure.”
I used my free hand to pry open the organizer on my table. There, nestled somewhere in the middle, opposite a stack of photographs I had pinned, were the original list of questions I had written down over five months ago.
“Mr Curries,” I said, “what do you know about the Church of Dave?”
“Well… if I’m not wrong, it was founded after I stopped playing,” he said. “I do know though that it’s an online faction which is geared towards helping new players, regardless of how noob they are. Some say it’s the reason that the game has been growing in popularity too, because of how friendly the starting experience is.”
He was right, but all that information was also public domain. I decided to dig a little deeper.
“How was the Church of Dave founded?” I asked.
“Umm… I don’t have the specifics,” he said. “I think some of the players I helped just decided to band together, and they called it as such just to… honour me, I guess.” He coughed, and sputtered for a second or two. “Not saying I deserve any of that, but that’s what I put together after asking around.”
I could see why Michael had referred him to me – he was either a damn good actor, or he was the real deal. None of the other impersonators had the decency to act abashed.
“Mr Curries, I’m going to have to get more specifics from you, ok? I’m sure you read about the hack on our systems, and how we lost almost all of our player data. This is the only way I can be sure that you were the player behind ‘Dave’, ok?”
“Yea, sure, of course.”
I turned the page over in my organizer, careful not to let the slips of paper fall out. The handwriting on them was different from mine, though I would have recognized them anywhere. It wasn’t easy, coming back to all these memories, but I had already come so far.
“Tell me,” I said. “Do you remember another player called… ‘PowerPele’?”
He thought for a moment, then laughed. “PowerPele? Yea, sure, sure! He was one of the first few people I linked up with on the server. Not many regular players in those days, no guilds or anything. I had to manually add him as a friend.”
“Mr Curries, please tell me, in your own words, the first encounter you had with PowerPele in the Glades of Hellstorm.”
I realised then that my throat had gone dry, and that I was gripping the handset far harder than I should. I forced myself to relax, to take a deep breath.
“Well… I actually don’t think I met him in the Glades, you know,” he said. “No, I’m quite sure it wasn’t there. PowerPele was a noob, so it would have been elsewhere, most likely the Farm of Sheepcows. Yes, the Farm, I think.”
*Very good*, I thought. *No one else has made it this far.*
“PowerPele had trouble with the monsters outside,” he continued. “I saw him struggling, and thought to lend him a hand. Turns out that he was just a kid, and it was his first online game. He said other players had been picking on him, killing him for shits and giggles. So I stayed, I guess. To protect him, then to show him the ropes of the game.”
“Anything else you remember?”
Mr Curries let out a pent-out breath. “Wow… I’m sorry, this is just bringing back a lot of memories, you know? We kinda just… stuck together after that. A couple of hours, most days. It would have taken him months to catch up, and he kept saying that he did not think he could play for long, so I let him hitch a ride.”
“Hitch a ride?”
“I mean… I kept him in my party, then brought him along with me to all the high-level areas in the game. Like the Glades, for instance. I think I gave him a dragon-horse too, so that he could fly with me to the top of Mount Leruna. It’s the only place in the game where sunsets are fully rendered, you see.”
*I know,* I thought. *I programmed those myself.*
“How long did this go on for?” I asked.
“Oh… I couldn’t say. Two, three months? Then I graduated, and work began, and I thought to leave the game behind. I sent PowerPele an in-game message to say goodbye, and to the rest of the friends I met too, but I’m not sure I ever got a reply. And that’s mainly why I’m here though. I want to get my old account back, log back in, see if I can reconnect with them. It would be nice to see where they are now.”
*So would I want to reconnect with PowerPele,* I thought. *So would I.*
I closed the organizer. There were many more pages, just like that, filled with handwritten notes. Notes which asked me when I would be home for dinner, when I would have the time to show him the next areas in the game, when I could help him level through the tougher spots. Funny how I had read those notes at the time but felt nothing, consumed only by the desire to complete the game and make it the best one there ever was.
Now though, every single note was a stab in the bloody heart.
I had made my peace. I would never shake the guilt at not spending enough time with my son, but it was comforting to know that someone out there had helped him see the sunsets I had embedded into my life’s work.
“Sir? Mr Glass? You there?”
“How would you like the reward, Mr Curries? Cash or cheque?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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I somehow became a celebrity and I really don't know how. I used to play this game when I was a kid, a stupid game called "Guns." It's exactly what you'd expect: people go around killing each other and taking their stuff. I enjoyed my time there initially but got bored with it when I got in game rich after killing everyone on the server. They stopped coming after me when I *somehow* managed to kill nearly 300 players by myself, and it was harder to find people after that.
Well, eventually I went to college and got married and even have myself a wonderful son. He's a good kid when he can get the spoon in his mouth (he's still learning). I'm browsing my wife's Facebook (I'd make my own but who really wants to obligatory family as "friends") when I come across an advert for "Guns." What do you know, it really took off.
So I log in due to the fact that I haven't changed usernames or passwords for anything since second grade (really, you'd think Dave is a user that would be taken but it somehow never is) when I find my avatar in what looks like a freaking cathedral. This game has really upgraded: theres textures on the wall that blow my mind, and a whole bunch of replicants of classic art adoring the wall, though it's clearly not Jesus being depicted. Weird, let me tell you. And a significant portion of this place has pews seating literally hundreds of people.
Very. Weird. I'm literally creeped. Especially with this golden chain with a clock around my neck. Fuckin whatever. Imma roll with it.
I go for the door when all the other characters. Fucking. Stand. And the whole chat room on the side of my screen explodes.
-Dave is moving!!!
-All hail Dave!!
-30gp for gf
-It was prophesied. Dave has returned!
I immediately log out. What. The fuck.
Google, our lovely overlords, provides me an answer. In the form of a Wikia page. Apparently, my character is something of a celebrity. People have tried to kill, maim, and steal from him since logging on to the server. When everything was optimized so everyone could be on one singular, worldwide server (don't ask me how it works, I'm a layman) Dave continued to be a spectacle, and I guess the devs liked the joke so much they let my avatar stay. Weird, huh.
I wonder how much Dave would sell for
| 2018-02-18T06:02:30 | 2018-02-18T03:10:06 | 4,757 | 1,787 |
[WP] A powerful supervillain is hopelessly in love with you. One day a gang of criminals attack and injure you...bad mistake.
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"No, Doctor," I said slowly and carefully. "I'm not saying you *can't* do it. Not saying that. Clearly, I mean... look at all this equipment. No, you *can* do it. I'm saying - what I'm saying here, is maybe you... shouldn't."
He caressed my cheek in a way that I knew was intended to be soft and gentle. The big fucking electric clawgloves didn't help. Nor did the fact that for the last four years, I'd received no fewer than three hundred and six phone calls and two hundred and fourteen text messages (some, frustratingly, asking what I was doing on days I could *see* his drones in the trees opposite my house). I'd received eighty-seven gifts, ranging from the innocent (my name carved into a small white heart), to the ridiculous (a sky-blue Ferrari with flamethrowers).
I knocked his hand to the side. "Doc, fuck off. I'm not going out with you."
He sighed. "I know," he said. "But I will love you forever. And if anything happens to *her*."
"Sandra," I said. "She has a name."
"Then you promised you'd think about it." He turned his face up towards mine and raised the trademark goggles over his shiny, bald head.
"Yes. And you promised that nothing was going to 'happen to her'."
He had the good grace to look innocent. "Nothing has!"
"Yet."
He brushed it off. "Let me show you the machine." Putting one arm around my shoulders, he led me to the main base of the mechanism. Brass and steel pistons, cogs and gears interlocked intricately, sliding and shifting out of each other's way with perfectly timed engineering precision. It was, in its own way, beautiful. The three whimpering guys on it, ball-gags in their mouths, pleaded with their eyes. "So, this is it. I call it the, are you ready?" He waited expectantly.
"Yes?"
His unibrow curved downwards in the middle. "You don't sound very sure."
"For fuck's sake, Doc. Can we -" I gestured vaguely at the contraption. "You can't expect me to be enthusiastic about this shit. We've been over this. I don't want to share your hobbies. I just want you to -"
"Stop stalking me," he finished for me. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So I call it 'The Engine of A Thousand Varied Demises. Working title, there's only nine hundred and sixteen," he shot the three of them a meaningful glance, "so far."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and clamped my eyes shut. "Three," I said. "Three. You can show me three. No more. Give me the best."
He brightened up. "Do you have a -"
"No preference," I interrupted. "No theme in mind. I have no favourites. No nostalgic whims, and no expectations. Choose three, tell me, and let me get the fuck out of here."
He thought for a second, and scuttled off on his hairy, stumpy little legs round the other side of the machine.
Six wide eyes, sweat dripping down into them, glared at me in horror.
"Yeah," I said, quietly. "I know. Look, I've got to go through the motions here, just... sit tight. I'll have you out of here. Stop being such a bunch of fucking crybabies, will you?"
Doctor Torment ("I have a PhD in pain!") returned to me with an adjustable spanner and tightened a few bolts. "This one," he said, stifling a giggle. "This one is called the Twist. See, it rotates the top half of his body and the bottom in different directions. Now the genius of this is that at maximum torque, the catastrophic damage to the organs is mitigated by the tension of the body. He's essentially held together by the wounds. You can keep him alive for hours like this, twisted up around the waist two, sometimes three times!"
"Sometimes three, you say?" I asked in an Interested Voice.
"Then you press this button, and it releases him instantly. And because the skin has split in so many places, all his organs just sort of," he did a funny little dance, "splotch out onto the floor! You should see the look on their faces!"
I saw the look on his face. I didn't want to see any more looks on any more faces. "That's quite a feat. You can top that, can you?"
He moved me on to the next. "I call this one The Death of a Thousand Fucks. See, this is a pneumatic -"
"Yeah, I get it. What's the third one?"
He hopped from foot to foot, giddily. "This one? This one here?" His excitement, while horrifying, was endearing in a kind of fucked up way.
"This is your favourite, isn't it?" I asked.
He suddenly became still. He tapped me on the heart. "See? This is what I mean, man. You *get* me. You knew," he sighed, adding a whispered repetition: "*you knew*. This is the AutoDeliMeater."
I looked blank.
"Name's a work in progress. See, these electrodes deliver a shocking, shocking amount of pain, directly into the eyes. The operator -"
"Victim, I think the preferred term is," I said.
He screwed his mouth up in thought. "Target?"
"Sure, Doc. Target's fine with me."
"The *Target*," he winked, "can stop this pain for five seconds by pressing this button. Every time he does, one eighth of an inch is sliced off the soles of his feet by these cauterising lasers. The lasers move upwards, removing the lowest eighth of an inch, up and up and up and up and up and up and up, until there's not enough left of him to keep him alive!"
I clapped my hands. "Bravo," I said. "Bravo."
God bless him, he did look pleased.
Time for my bid. "Well, as great as this looks, Doc. And it does look great, I'm going to have to let them go. This time only - if they promise to behave."
They nodded frantically. The Doctor looked crestfallen. "Let them go?" he said. "Free them?"
"Just this once," I said. "I mean, I got my wallet back, and this little twat hits like a girl anyway, and the cops did get to them first, so they're due in court and all of that. Can't turn up to court twisted and sliced and anally violated. Wouldn't look right, would it? I might get into trouble there. Who do you think the cops are going to suspect?"
The Doctor nodded sagely. "So by letting them go, I'd be protecting you."
"That's it," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'd be protecting me. So... shall we? I mean, which of these is the release lever?"
The Doctor pulled a brass rod and the three men fell to the ground. After a moment's hesitation, they ran.
"Well, great to see you, please stop calling me, and Sandra and I would love to have you over for dinner if you stop holding the city to ransom."
"I can't see that happening," he said.
"Well, then. Goodbye, Doc."
"I hate her, you know. I hate her."
"I know, Doc. Don't kill her. We had a deal." I sauntered nonchalantly to the exit of The Pain Cave. I turned around and waved goodbye, and shut the door behind me.
Then I ran like all Hell was after me.
|
When the man came out of the corner of the alley and aimed the machine gun at me, I sighed.
"How many times are we going to go through with this?" I asked the assailant.
"Give me your money!" the man gruffly said.
"Oh no, I *hope* some *hero* can come save me from the *horrible* danger I'm in!" I rolled my eyes.
On cue, a hero draped in a blue cape spun around the corner. He slid into the robber, knocked the gun out of his hands and pinned the man against the floor. "This is my town now, villain! Get out of here and leave the beautiful woman alone!" the man said in a thick Italian accent.
"Okay!! I surrender!" The robber scurried off into the distance.
My hero took off his mask, revealing dark black hair and a thick mustache. "Do you have a kiss for your savior?" the hero winked at me.
"Connor, you really have to stop this."
"What do you mean?" the masked man said, "I am Mario, a new hero from Italia, here to save America from the villains that plague it!"
"I'm not a dumbass. Shapeshifting isn't going to work if you keep trying the same trick. Just last week you sent your gang to kidnap me, only to rescue me as the miraculous Sven from Norway."
Connor sighed and let his normal form take back over. "Madeline, can't you see what I do I do for love?"
"Okay Connor. I don't love the constant fake criminal attacks, so try to keep it toned down in the future." I turned my back on him and started walking away.
"You know what I can do to you if you don't comply!" he called out.
*What a romantic.*
| 2015-10-05T12:58:50 | 2015-10-05T12:46:37 | 89 | 10 |
[WP] A furious witch decides to curse the princess of her kingdom, and transforms her into being a man. To her surprise, the newly-turned prince is overjoyed.
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Struck by a blast of dark magic, Princess Allesandra stumbled backward, as the Vile Witch of Darkfen cackled madly.
"Poor child!" the wizened enchantress sneered, with mock sympathy. "You were so enamored of your delicate feminine grace, so proud of your beauty and womanly charms, as you thoughtlessly danced, and capered, and sang through my realm -- do you suddenly find those feet of yours less *light and dainty?"*
Allesandra's eyes widened, and she felt at her body, frantically. Her feet were not her first concern. She patted at her chest, which she found to be broad and flat. She patted at her legs, which she discovered were muscular and hairy. Cautiously, she reached between said legs...and found she was not a *she* at all!
*Prince Allen* leaped to his feet, and thrust his fists into the air.
"Scoofa!" he crowed, exuberantly.
The witch blinked in surprise. "What?"
Seizing the frilly pink dress he had been wearing by its now-sagging bodice, Prince Allen tore the garment asunder. He was shirtless beneath, but wore a pair of sturdy traveling breeches that must have been extremely baggy on him, moments before. Then he kicked off the ill-fitting pink dancing slippers on his feet, which had already torn the seams of the lightweight footwear, and pulled a pair of folded leather moccasins from a satchel at his waist, the bulk of which had been concealed by the voluminous hoop skirt of his princess attire.
"What the hell is going on?" The witch demanded, clenching her bony fists in consternation.
The prince effected an awkward bow, occupied as he was with pulling on his moccasins. "The end of a long journey, my good woman! That was my fourth transmutation this month."
The witch furrowed her brow. "Fourth? In a *month?* How many enchanters have you pissed off, kid?"
He chuckled. "Only one, besides yourself. He turned me into a cat."
"A cat?" she exclaimed. "You were a princess!"
He nodded. "Indeed! But before that, I pissed off a wizard, who turned me into a cat."
"What happened then?" the witch asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Prince Allen stretched, limbering his now-considerable muscles. "Well, I don't know any magical spells myself, so I went looking for a ready-made way to change myself back. I snuck my fuzzy self into a curio shop after hours, one that was purported to traffic in magical items and other arcane contraband, according to the royal spymaster. Sure enough, tucked away in a storeroom, I found a genuine magic lamp."
"That's only *two* transformations, so I'm guessing you didn't word your wish very well." the witch mused.
"No indeed, madam, no indeed." Prince Allen confirmed, with a chuckle. "I rubbed the lamp with my little paw, and a genie popped out, as I had hoped. To my surprise, the spirit could even understand my feline speech. Glad to have someone to talk to again, I explained to him that I was really a prince, and that I'd been transformed into a cat by an evil wizard...and then I wished to *no longer be a cat."*
The witch slapped her wrinkled forehead. "Seriously?"
"I'm afraid so. The genie, with the malicious sense of humor typical of his kind, turned me into a *frog.* Worse still, this particular genie was the stingy sort who only has to grant *one* wish per master. But he assured me that -- as per tradition -- this *new* curse could be broken by a kiss from a princess." Allen went on. "Thus, whilst in amphibian form, I had to make my way to the next kingdom over, where I knew the nearest princess could be found. Once I made it to the pond in the palace gardens, I had to wait two horribly dull weeks among the other frogs -- who were, alas, just normal frogs, and hence not very good conversationalists -- for the princess to return from a holiday abroad."
"And then you got her to kiss you?" the witch asked, cocking her head to the side.
"Naturally. I mean, what princess *wouldn't* kiss a talking frog claiming to be a cursed prince -- just for the *story,* if nothing else?"
The old hag nodded, motioning for him to continue.
"Anyway, I explained my situation, she kissed me, and I was human again. But it turns out -- as I learned after perusing a few bestiaries in the palace library after the fact -- that frogs can sometimes spontaneously *change their sex."* Allen explained, ruefully. "Particularly if there are too many of one gender in the same habitat. Evidently, the palace garden's pond was a bit of a sausage fest, so after I lived there for a few weeks, fickle mother nature decided to assign me to the *other team,* to even things out a bit. Since the species of frog I became isn't very sexually dimorphic, I didn't even notice that it had happened. Breaking the genie's curse reverted my species, but not my gender, which had changed *non-magically* while I was a frog.*"*
The witch cackled in amazement. "Incredible, all that work to turn yourself back, only to discover that you'd become a woman in the process! And yet, you seem to have embraced femininity remarkably fast. What with all the dancing and singing through the woods near my home, nattering on about how much you loved being a pretty girl..."
The witch trailed off, narrowing her eyes, as realization began to dawn on her.
"Oh, you tricky little son of a bitch." she hissed.
Allen grinned. "Well, you weren't exactly likely to help me out of the goodness of your heart, were you? I mean, let's face it: you're not known as the Vile Witch of Darkfen because of your sweet disposition and propensity for aiding those in need."
"You think you can just come into my demesne, and make use of my magic for *nothing?"* the enchantress snarled, sickly purple bolts beginning to crackle around her skeletal fingers.
"Nothing? I did a lot of *hard work* to get you to help me!" Allen protested, with mock indignance. "I had to go pick out a wardrobe, learn dozens of tricky dance steps -- I even learned every single note of *'I Enjoy Being A Girl',* all to deceive you into thinking that the worst thing you could possibly do to me was turn me into a man!*"*
The witch snorted. "Very clever, little princeling, very clever." She raised her hands, the magical energy arcing between them intensifying.
"I look forward to seeing how you apply that cleverness to finding a way to change yourself back from being *a pile of charred bones."* she growled, thrusting her arms forward, and releasing a torrent of lethal magic at the Prince...
...a torrent of lethal magic which instantly rebounded from an invisible barrier around the young royal, and instead struck the witch full in the chest. She shrieked in pain and horror for only a split second, before her own spell burned her flesh to ash, and her blackened skeleton collapsed to the ground.
"Scoofa times two!" Allen cheered, thrusting a clenched fist skyward.
He stepped out of the hidden magic circle he'd pretended to stumble backward into when the witch changed him back into a man. He hadn't lied about not being able to cast any magic spells, he was no wizard.
*Magic circles,* on the other hand, could be inscribed by anyone who knew the correct runes, and could obtain a few costly material components with which to write them out on a surface. After he'd done that, concealing the circle with leaf litter from the forest floor had been trivial.
Prince Allen took a deep breath, oriented himself towards the nearest road, and started walking, purposefully.
There was, he recalled, a very charming princess who lived just one kingdom over. What's more, he knew based on what had been an extremely awkward experience with her, that she was both a *very* good kisser, and *exclusively* interested in men.
|
A massive dark cloud loomed over the kingdom, thunder and lightning crashing and loudly ringing through the streets. A loud cackle was heard, echoing alongside the claps of thunder and the loud bangs of lightning.
"Your Princess is no more, you pathetic fool! You have crossed the WRONG enchantress, Your Lowness!" Her voice, a voice that once was filled with the tones of honey and kindness as she healed this kingdom's people, was now filled with pure rage and malice.
"You foul witch! How dare you! My daughter never wanted this! She was innocent in this!!!"
"Shut up!!!" A new male voice interrupted, stunning the king into silence. "Why would I be upset with this 'curse'? This is what I've wanted for YEARS, Father! You lied to me and told me magick like this does not exist in our world!!!"
"BECAUSE YOU ARE MY DAUGHTER, NOT MY SON!!! I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT!!!"
"... Then I was never your child, your Highness." The enchantress, who watched the scenario play out, drifted down from her enchanted throne and stood next to the Princess, now Prince.
"Your Majesty, you never told me you were transgender." She whispered quietly in his ear, the prince nodding silently.
"Father forbade me from speaking of it. Said it would 'ruin his reputation as King'."
"... Well, that's complete bullshit. Your reputation was already in the rubbish, Your Lowness. Your cruelty towards your people ruined your reputation enough. What name shall I call you now, Your Majesty?" The prince smiled warmly at his father's former personal healer and advisor.
"I've always wanted to be called Kaleb instead of Cassidy... It feels much more like me."
"Well then, Prince Kaleb, shall I take you to get your hair cut and gather some appropriate clothing for you? That dress will not stay up anymore due to your lack of bosoms." A chuckle hummed in her throat as Prince Kaleb grinned at her.
"Yes, please!"
"CASSIDY, I FORBID YOU FROM LEAVING THIS THRONE ROOM UNTIL THIS CURSE IS BROKEN!!" His father's voice boomed, echoing loudly as Kaleb glared defiantly.
"No." With that simple word, Kaleb spun on his heel and walked out of the throne room, the sound of ripping fabric heard shortly after as he tore the top of his former princess gown off and threw it on the ground.
| 2022-07-06T19:49:17 | 2022-07-06T19:44:09 | 369 | 54 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
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I slammed my hand down on the snooze button once again. Not even sure how many times I had repeated the action up to that point as I desperately tried to sleep off the hangover knocking on the inside of my skull. I had just turned 21 the night before, and took full liberty of celebrating it alone in a bar near my apartment.
I was something of an oddity at that point as far as I could tell. I was a man without an identity. Or I guess you could say I was a man without a defining trait. A trait that would eventually announce itself in the form of a familiar. A physical manifestation that showed just what kind of person you were. Good or bad. Of course, it was up to you if your familiar was visible in the first place. Some people had particularly large familiars that would get in the way of everyday life if their master permitted them to. Or, in some cases, a familiar would show others what kind of person you really were. If you’re defining trait was -both literally and figuratively- ugly, then who in their right mind would strut around with it showing?
Nearly everyone had one by the time they turned 18. A few people would take a bit longer, but not having one by the time you were twenty was highly unusual. In fact, as far as I knew, the amount of people in recent history who had yet to acquire one by my age numbered fewer than five. Yet here I was, a hungover representation of what it was like to have an identity crisis.
I never really felt like I was missing out before I had been 18 for a few months, prior to that I just felt like I needed to be patient. My familiar would come. It was only a matter of time.
I was able to keep that up until I tried looking for work. That’s when the situation began to negatively impact my life. There wasn’t a job in the world that you could apply for without showing your potential employer your familiar. Afterall, the best way to judge a person was to just take a look at their familiar. If your manifestation was something like Kindness or Dedication, then you’d probably not even have to look for a job. Employers would come to you. On the other hand, your odds of finding legal employment with something like Rage, or Cruelty were virtually nonexistent.
Which is why some people make efforts to hide their familiars from employers. There wasn’t a legal requirement to show your familiar to anyone who asked. So if your familiar wasn’t something you wanted people to know then you could simply try to skirt that part of whatever interview you were doing. At least, that was the theory. In reality any employer would reject you if you weren’t willing to show them your defining trait.
I understood that. I mean, the odds of someone of age not having a familiar really were astronomically low. Unfortunately for me, in the same vein, virtually no employer in the world would hire someone who claims to not have a familiar at all at my age. “No one would claim to not have one if they weren’t just trying to hide some undesirable trait,” was what I am sure went through the heads of everyone who had ever interviewed me.
So, after leaving home at 18, failing to find a job, and desperately getting by with whatever work I could get, I eventually fell into my current line of work.
Shawn Davenport. 21. Male.
Conman.
That’s right. Conman. I worked my way through the past two and a half years as a scam artist. Bleeding people for money that they hand over to me of their own free will. Even if the reasons they do so are all based on lies I make. But hey, it’s what I needed to do to survive at that point. That is unless I wanted to try and get into organized crime, but nowadays not even they would go out of their way to hire someone who’s familiar wasn’t beneficial to that kind of work.
I was pretty good at what I did too. I had quickly went from unemployed and nearly homeless to making six digits a year, tax free. It helped that a person’s familiar would give away whether of not they were an easy mark. The same Kindness that would get you through medical school for free was like a big arrow that said “easy” for someone like me. A few words, a few drinks, and the next thing you know I’m your best friend who needs money to pay for their mother’s operation.
Yeah. Life had gotten pretty good. Money wasn’t an issue. Instead the issue was the self loathing. I was good at what I did, and I hated myself for it. I was stealing money from hard working people, and I felt like my need was legitimate, and I always needed more. In a short span of time I had gone from pretending to be the grandchild of an elderly couple, to sleeping with the wife of a billionaire even as her husband threw me money for a charity that didn’t even exist.
Which leads to my bit of karmic rebalance. I gave away almost everything I ever took. Donating away my ill gotten gains so that I could sleep better at night. Paying visits to children’s hospitals so that wide eyed kids who didn’t care at all about familiars could tell me I was a good person. Filling my apartment with stray cats because they never judged me for the work I did.
Eventually I even managed to make my fake charity scheme into an actual charity. Sure, I was skimming money off the top of it under the noses of all the charitable souls who through money at me, but I wasn’t even sure how many meals I had managed to give to impoverished children.
The feeling of being a good person helped. A lot. So did the alcohol. When I couldn’t save enough kittens from animal shelters I would turn to the bottle. Getting inebriated to forget about a world obsessed with defining attributes that turned its back on my because I had yet to be defined.
The alarm went off again. This time I actually took the steps to turn it off and get out of bed like a functional human being. I lept out of bed, petted the head of the closest cat, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The next time I opened them, it was there.
When I used to constantly wonder when I would get my familiar I did my research. People talked about the feeling of completeness that you got when you saw yours for the first time. That’s how I knew instantly what it was.
The little mask floating in the air. It looked like the sort of stage mask one saw in a theatre production. A simple thing with two vacant eyes and a small mouth. At first it looked like it was made of wood, and as I took a step back in surprise the light changed, and in that moment I swore it wasn’t wood, but gold. Behind the mask seemed to be a barely visible cloak. Almost completely transparent, and not entirely solid. Almost as if it were made of a few threads from a spider’s web. The inside of the cloak seemed to be filled with a light gray fog that roiled and moved about unpredictably. Sparkles like diamonds occasionally visible throughout.
It took me a moment to recover from the shock. When I stepped back in front of it the mask seemed to flash back to wood and a feeling of apprehension came over me. This was it. The moment that I too would be defined, and I was scared of what my answer would be.
Hesitantly I spoke to it for the first time. “What are you?”
It hovered there for a number of seconds, as if regarding my with its vacant eyes before speaking. “I am…”
It’s voice seemed odd at first. Distorted in a strange way, and I couldn’t make out the last word it spoke. The apprehension took hold of me once more, and I leaned in closer towards that mask. Asking it to repeat what it said, which it did with that same amount of pause as earlier.
“I am... “
This time I managed to catch onto that it said, and why the voice had sounded so distorted. It was two voices. Two voices speaking in perfect unison. One was smooth, but cold, like the surface of the mask looked when it appeared to be gold. The other voice was simple and peaceful, like the mask looked when it was wood.
The two voices had a certain depth to them that gave the impression that one of them was farther away, but ultimately they blended together so perfectly that I couldn’t hope of telling which one of them was nearer than the other. But still, I worked out what the two voices said. My familiar, or as it happens, familiars identified themselves for me.
“I am…” In a voice like gold, and in a voice like wood, two conflicting words came forth. “Greed” and “Charity”.
________
This is my first submission to this subreddit, and my first attempt at writing in some time, so pardon any errors, and feedback is appreciated.
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I was 21 when they came.
I was always told that sometimes familiars came late. I didn't really mind, to be honest; I'm told that having a familiar is like having a pet, a guardian, and a friend all in one. I was kind of a loner anyways, preferring to stay in my room most of the time and play video games from sunrise to sundown on weekends. Not exactly healthy, but I didn't care. I had a stable job though, working at my mother's dog grooming shop as I was generally too anxious and socially awkward to work somewhere else with better pay.
But it was a Friday when they showed up. I had the day off today due to heavy snow - I live in Washington, near the coast, if you need clarification.
The first one was astonishing; it was more like a blob of light than anything, though it was able to take shape of anything it or I wanted it to be. A tiny bug, a colossal whale, a twisted beast from Dark Souls or some other piece of media. That one represented my creativity, my ideas, my hopes and dreams.
The other however, was more along the lines of an placid eldritch god; it too was able to change it's shape like the first one, but it's primary 'form' was something I have trouble describing; so many legs, as many as a centipede's, more eyes than a millipede, and yet it was so kind despite it's horrifying appearance.
That one represented a few things like the other.
Anxiety. Depression from back when I was in school. Things I hate about myself. A desire to improve. A need to get better. Determination.
Of course at first I was incredibly scared; too scared to even scream for my mom and dad. But the darker one - the Eldritch one I now usually call it - simply rested it's body, which almost felt hot to the touch - and explained to me what it represented. How that I was destined for great things in my life, even if they seemed small to me, and they'd be always by my side until the day I died.
It still scares me a little bit, even today. Because when I get angry or sad or stressed or whatever it changes it's form to represent how I feel. A writhing ball of demonic energy, silently screaming. A sad little creature, curled up in my lap. A quivering being, with no mouth to scream.
When people see them they usually gawk and awe, point and stare. I don't mind; usually the Eldritch one takes the form of a dog to keep people from screaming in horror, though it always has the eyes and a few extra legs. The more angelic one so to speak takes the form of a nice fat snake coiled around my neck and shoulder.
I'm very glad to have these two with me.
| 2017-01-20T16:07:07 | 2017-01-20T13:56:52 | 171 | 52 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
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On my fourteenth birthday I was led down into the school basement, down to where the machine nested. As soon as I sat in front of it, its snake-like arm shot out and bit into my hand, drawing blood for its analysis.
Usually, once complete, it would print out a detailed report on your power, as well as recommended jobs, clubs to join with similar children, training routines, etc.
All I got was a simple, four-word note. I don’t think it would have qualified as a fortune cookie, even. Perhaps only as allergy advice.
**Don’t touch the water.**
The excitement of the last few years, of waiting to find out my future, evaporated like morning dew. *Don’t touch the water.*
”But I’ve touched water plenty,” I said to the counsellor — a grey haired school teacher who’d escorted me to the machine. She looked as perplexed as I was disappointed.
”Yes, well, that was before. The machine has activated your power now. It would have activated itself naturally sooner or later, but the machine stimulated it.”
”So… My power is that I can’t touch water?”
She read the note again. Clicked her tongue. ”That’s what it says.”
I hadn’t been expecting much of a power. Usually, people just get something boring, so why would I be any different? I’d known people who could warm their hands up without needing gloves, or who are pretty good at breathing at high altitudes. My best friend at school (a few months older than me) could spit out a stream of warm black tea as long as he’d drunk enough water — although not many people wanted to drink it. Another kid at school left a slimy trail behind wherever her skin touched, like a snail or slug. Which sounds pretty lame until you saw her slurping up the side of a building — then you didn’t care how gross it was, you still wished that was you.
My counsellor took me to the nurse where she tested a drop of water on my index finger.
”We need to know what it means, exactly,” said the nurse. “Imagine he can’t go out in the rain. Or can’t swim. Or can’t drink water! Poor child.”
Nothing seemed to happen to my finger, so the nurse let a few more drops fall onto me. Where the drops hit, my finger began to grow. The skin became swollen, like a balloon the size of a table tennis ball.
”Oh dear,” said the nurse.
Turned out that I could at least drink water, as long as it didn’t hit my lips. But if my skin were to come into contact with liquid, then it would swell up horribly.
*Don’t touch the water.*
I told my parents that night. They pretended it was fine. They pretended they hadn’t been waiting, just as excitedly as I had, for all these years.
“Powers are overrated,” said my dad, chewing on a piece of steak. “Only one in every few million are useful to society.”
”The world would be better off if no one had powers,” said Mom.
”That’s easy for you two to say,” I said, tears welling. I blinked them back so my face didn’t bloat.
Mom worked on a wind farm. She could breathe out gusts strong enough to rotate an acre of wind turbines. Dad was a walker: he walked through our coastal town day after day, absorbing carbon emissions from the air. It was a passive ability and the government paid him to just be out there, walking.
I think they’d been hoping for something similar for me. A useful ability. Something that could help the world. And sometimes abilities are like that, hereditary. But not mine.
“Your mother’s right,” said my father. “They just cause jealousy and conflict.”
”You’re saving the planet!” I said. “How can that be bad?”
He had no answer to that.
“And me? I can’t even go outside on a rainy day anymore. What kind of life is that?“
My relationship with my parents was never the same after that day. Something had fallen between us, like a block of ice, and whenever we spoke or interacted it was through the block of ice. Our words always turned cold.
I moved out when I turned eighteen and into a one bed flat inland, away from their home by the coast. Away from all that water. Being around my parents only made me ashamed of what I had. And for them, whenever we talked, I could tell they were ashamed of me too. They’d both taken on more work since my ability — or curse — had manifested. Both preferring to be out of the house as much as possible, rather than be near the chill of ice than ran between us.
​
Then, when i was nineteen, my mother died.
I hadn’t visited in six months. I’d barely left my apartment in that time — first to avoid rain, then later to avoid everything. Then one afternoon my father called to tell me Mom had died at work. She’d been straining too hard during a power outage, to try to make sure people had enough heat in their homes. Her heart had given up.
After the funeral, I stayed with my father for a few days. And whatever depression I’d already been in engulfed me completely. A fuller, deeper shame of myself, of who I was. Of holding that anger against my mother for five years. Of barely speaking to her since I left.
*Her heart had given up.* Those words haunted me.
I was angry at everyone’s powers, too. My mother, because of her power, had worked herself to death.
The world truly would be better if we were all normal.
​
My father and I were eating toast in our usual miserable silence, when the message came over the television. An emergency broadcast.
A tsunami warning.
It would be a big one, apparently. Big enough to mostly destroy the little town I’d grown up in. And if we didn’t leave now it would destroy us both, too.
”Come on,” I said. “We need to evacuate.”
My father looked at me. Opened his mouth but said nothing. Then he went back to his toast.
”We’ve got to go,” I insisted.
“To where?” he said. ”I don’t have her anymore. I don’t have you. If I lose this house, I have nothing left.”
I yelled at him, told him how stubborn and stupid he was being. But he wouldn’t budge. I grabbed a coat and left him at the kitchen table.
”She loved you more than the world,” he said, as I opened the front door.
I swallowed back my guilt as I stepped out and closed the door.
The street brimmed with people and cars. But the cars were moving at a crawl. We had twenty minutes perhaps, before the wall of water hit.
How many here were going to die? Most of them, I thought. My best bet was to cycle, to weave through the people and cars.
But instead I looked out towards the ocean. Imagined the wall of black water heading inexorably towards us, somewhere out there. I imagined it falling on the town like a fist. On my mother’s fresh grave. On my father, alone at the table. On all these people stuck in traffic.
I thought of the day I’d gotten my ability. Of being in the nurse’s office. Of all the drips of water had left me painfully swollen.
I left my father’s house and headed towards the beach.
I hadn’t been to a beach since I was fourteen, afraid of the waves. I had locked myself away from water and from most of the world since my gift arrived. Now I stepped onto the sand, taking off my shoes and socks, feeling the warmth between my toes.
Memories flooded back, of being here with my parents as a child. Playing soccer with Dad, diving in the waves, digging a hole to bury my mother up to her neck.
For the first time since her death I let myself cry. I felt my skin beneath my eyes swell up as the tears hit.
”I love you,” I said to the air, to the beach, to nothing, as I walked towards the ocean.
*Don’t touch the water.*
I stepped into the sea.
|
I lost my youth to a single word.
Everyone gets a power at 14. Everyone gets an *extensive* manual regarding said power so they can utilize it to its fullest potential. I got a single word.
"Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't."
So what happened next? 3 years in a government medical facility to determine if I was a threat. They found nothing. 4 years in a psychological hospital to evaluate if I am sane enough to join society as a whole or if I will go postal for being both unique and utterly non-unique. 2 years on probation to watch me still. A lifetime supply of anti-depressants because out of everyone that knows I'm weird, I know it the most. And it hurts.
When the system determined that I am not dangerous, I spent the next 6 years bouncing from one dead-end job to another. Turns out that being a variable makes people uneasy. Makes you unemployable. They won't let you flip burgers for too long before they start talking. *'Have you seen that guy? He has no power, other than the word 'Don't'*.
I wasn't gonna take it.
I spent every coin I had on researching myself. I funded my own tests, spoke to anyone with any knowledge of powers, people with both active and latent psychic abilities, anything that could give me a sliver of insight into what the fuck I could do. Sleepless nights spent poring over dusty old books, biological essays on the nature of powers, and spiritual texts about God's plan for all of us. Meditation, drug-induced lucid dreams... look, you get it.
It was at the age of 29, I found this breathing exercise that made me feel... different. Like I was more in control. I did what I saw others do when they use their powers - it varies from person to person, but the most common form is to hold your hands closely in front of you, one above the other, and cup them as if you were holding a ball.
I closed my eyes and concentrated.
*Don't*, I thought to myself.
*Don't.*
*Don't.*
*Do.*
I opened my eyes.
And resting in my hands was the Universe itself.
| 2022-05-08T07:30:01 | 2022-05-08T07:06:25 | 3,441 | 742 |
[WP] Time freezes when you are seconds from mortal danger, you can’t move but you have as much time to plan as you need and you can unfreeze time at will. You are in bed for another sleepless night and you just realized the alarm clock you have been staring at has been stuck on 2:45 am for an hour.
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Time goes forwards, never back.
My mother leading me by the hand on the first day of school? Gone and done, and I'll never see her again. Just the memory remains, a visceral thought etched in my brain for all eternity.
Everything had froze, my child's eyes seeing the Freightliner bearing down on the crosswalk with no regard for the stoplight. I'd tried to move, tried to scream, but my hands were tied.
Then I'd tried to will everything back to life, and I dodged and watched as the truck ended her right there and then. I won't bother you with how I coped with it, but I did. Dad helped a ton, the therapists thought I was insane.
My father finally became a believer when I'd grabbed his wheel on the highway and dodged a drunk driver swerving across the median. I'd spent nearly ten minutes studying the paused scene before making the move that saved our lives.
Call it a gift from above, a superpower, or whatever. The simple truth is that time stops moments before disaster. I can't move, but I can think. Plot and plan the perfect action while the world waits for me. And, as I release my grip on the threads of time, act out my prepared motions without hesitation.
You could imagine my surprise when I found myself staring at my alarm clock, the red numerals glaring back at me in the moonlight. Another sleepless night, the trauma of my past still biting into me despite how much I'd tried. The air - and my breath - was completely still.
I tried moving my arms, feeling no resistance as I apparently pointed them inside my mattress. At least, that was what the phantoms at the back of my mind told me. I rolled them back into their original positions, knowing that the results would be disastrous if I unlocked the threads earlier. My body would spring up with sudden force as if I'd pushed backwards with all my might.
The only thing I could control was my peripheral vision, and I panned my orbs in all directions across the static display. My room was untouched, the computer in the corner glowing softly and the ensuite door unopened. The blinds were partially shut and I could see a glimpse of the streetlight outside.
Fire? Unlikely. Gas? Didn't smell a thing. Something ridiculous, like a tornado? I'd have heard it.
Maybe it was something in my body, where some rare disease would drop me in seconds. Maybe someone had planted a bomb in front of my house. If that was the case, then it was out of my control.
Fuck it.
I released my grasp on the tendrils of time, and as the air entered my lungs and the shadows began to me I rolled off my bed onto the ground. Who knows, the ceiling fan might just fall on my head and cause a fatal accident.
An earsplitting roar reached my ears just as lead tore over my head. It blew my feather pillow into shreds and landed in my wall mirror, sending it tinkling to the ground. I froze in shock as more shots perforated the drywall, sweeping the room at bed level. My wardrobe and desk had taken the brunt of the damage.
I was running on adrenaline now, without any time left for conscious thought. Quickly I reached up for my phone, grabbing the handset and pulling it down to the floor where I was. The display was black, and there was no tone. Shit.
Time for the route of last resort, the one which I had never really thought I'd had to use. With shaking hands, I opened my closet and pulled out a dark nylon bag. Inside was my Beretta Neos, a .22 handgun that I used solely for plinking. Hell, this was a *safe* neighborhood.
I loaded the pistol slowly, the sounds of the mag clacking in place and the snap of the slide slamming forwards barely audible to my ringing ears. Just as I put my only spare magazine in my pocket, time froze one again.
My senses were stuck, but I could feel the tension in my muscles and veins. Think, damn it!
I was on the ground, so the next shots would happen there. Likely they would sweep their automatic weapons side by side, like they did last time. Slowly, I let my phantom legs stretch out slightly and suddenly let the world move again.
I felt my legs extend, driving myself up as I leaped atop the rolling office chair beside my bed. As my momentum rolled the blue leather seat across its casters, my ears bled again as bullets whizzed across the floor where I stood. One shot clanked against the pneumatic tube, but the chair held. Thankfully.
Just as my leg bumped against the side of my desk, the door crashed open and the world ground to a halt again. The gunfire stretched out and finally died down like I turned off a turntable with a record on the platter. I saw my masked attacker at the door, barely visible in the darkness. His subgun was held at the ready, hands rushing to bring the muzzle to bear as his eyes met mine.
Instinctively, I brought the phantom arms up, imagining that they were pointed straight at my target. My eyes took in his Kevlar, knowing that a hit in the chest wouldn't do a thing. I adjusted slightly, visualizing where the sights would line with his forehead.
Now I couldn't calm my beating heart, but I could try to still my mind. I threw all thoughts of remorse off the table, as well as silencing the rational part of my brain trying to determine what was happening. I hadn't really stopped time for any longer than I needed, and I needed to be in control when I let it tick again. The last thing I wanted was for my grip to fade when I was still thinking.
This was it. I felt the Neos lightly between my palms as it snapped up, moving as soon as I let go. Faster than I could on the range, and under stress too. My sights were on his forehead and my index was beginning its rearward pull when the gunman jerked his neck to the side.
It was so quick, it was like as it it was in front of me one moment and angled askew the next. The pistol cracked in my hands, the kickback minimal. My bullet poked through a poster on my wall and landed somewhere in my ensuite.
I noticed time slow again as he fired, letting rip a long burst that I'd managed to dodge in time. He jumped back into the corridor just before I returned fire, my round hitting the doorjamb right where he had just stood.
"As the saying goes, you need a Stopper to stop another Stopper," my assailant drawled from the hallway. It was the first time he spoke, his tones surprisingly soft and casual. "Luckily, I brought three with me."
---
[**PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pmhdkp/wp_time_freezes_when_you_are_seconds_from_mortal/hcmj3rw/)
*There's a video game called [Superhot](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superhot) that sort of inspired the gunfight in this story, where time stops when your character doesn't move.*
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Sarah never had nightmares. She knew the worst that life could throw at her, and she was still around. With a little thinking, you could solve most problems. And with enough time and a lot of thinking, the rest can be solved too, or at least postponed. But this time may be different. She has no idea what she should be thinking about and her mind has been racing in the dark for what must have been an hour. It was always so difficult to judge the flow of time when nothing around you was changing. But with each imagined heartbeat passing her by, she thought more and more about what her options were. The thoughts raced around in her head faster and faster and-
The cheap alarm clock that had been shining 2:45am suddenly went out, plunging everything into darkness. After a tense moment, Sarah realized she could move. She got out of bed, turned on the lights, checked the time on her phone, examined the broken clock, and threw it away resolving to not be so cheap when she bought its replacement.
| 2021-09-11T18:59:05 | 2021-09-11T18:07:56 | 1,071 | 107 |
[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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So first time posting, posting on a mobile and all that jazz. I always wanted to write something back for one of these prompts. Hope you enjoy and feel free to feedback.
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I have walked this street a thousand times and then some. As a child I would run along causing havoc in and amongst the stalls with my friends, making away with stolen apples and bread from the various tables.
As I grew up I became more responsible. Realising the hard work I had to endure to scrape a living. Even still I was always content to live my life with these people. They were good people who cared for one another. Protected each other through droughts, harsh winters and poor crops.
Many a morning I've spent walking along this very street complimenting the Baker for his finely crafted loaves. The same Baker who now spits at me in disgust.
Passing by the florist with a warm greeting and a purchase of her wares to lay at the graves further down the street. The same who has just thrown a rotten fruit at me.
Playing with kids in a courtyard just off to the side, the same kids who now hound my every step and pelt me with rocks.
As I trudge on, manacled as part of a five man walking disgrace. A disgrace to city and king. The king we have been accused of murdering.
We all stay silent and bear this public punishment all, paraded through the streets as an example and a warning.
It's something of a relief to finally see the gates of the inner keep. A sign that we can finally stop walking and suffering this humiliation. Though it is one of bitterness as this is where we are to be executed.
In a twist of sadistic humour, we are to be taken to a special chamber. One reserved to dole out punishments for the most heinous of crimes. A chamber which allows the subject to choose their own process of death, and can do so through the most magical of means. Something far beyond my own understanding.
As we enter I find before me a large circular courtyard, boundried by tall pale bricked walls. Beyond and above the walls are my fellow citizens. Still whipped up in a frenzied state of hate and disgust. Straight ahead are our so called judges.
To the right, the treasurer, a man accustomed to a softer way of life. With heavy wobbling jowls and beady eyes.
To the left, the general of our standing army. A gaunt and weathered looking man. Stories of his past conquests are rumoured over drinks in taverns. About his penchant for blood lust and savagery on the battlefield. I avert my gaze from him, finally resting on the centre.
Our King regent. Brother of the late departed. Seemingly regal in all the splendour of such a title.
The first of us chose to die in combat, weapon in hand and as honourable as he might attempt. In response the floor to the right of his feet opened revealing a number of weapons to choose from. Having settled on a spear and shield, no less than 10 skeletal phantoms appeared as if from nothing. All of whom descended upon and summarily tore him to shreds. I noted this brought a slight smirk from our afeared general. Just as quickly as they appeared, the phantoms dissipated into nothingness along with the weapons.
The next in line took a little more care in their words. Saying he wanted to die in combat much like the first, but only against a singular opponent. Again the magics imbued within this chamber revealed an assortment of weapons for him to choose from. Having settled on a sword and shield he must've felt quite ready for whatever was to come. Unfortunately he was not prepared for the chamber to create a creature three lengths of a man tall. A giant armed with a club large enough to break even the castle walls. Suffice to say he was dispatched quickly, yet messily.
Amid the roars and cheers of the crowd I could see the general leaning forward enraptured by the spectacle, whilst the treasure was shaking with chuckles. As if this all a humorous play. Our dear king regent still seemingly unmoved and unperturbed by the goings-on.
The third of us attempted to use the magics of this chamber to his advantage. Wishing to die with his family and friends. I presume he was thinking the chamber to allow him to leave and join his family. Alas that was not the case. As with a flourish of purple smoke, members of the man's family appeared next to him. Each more disoriented than the last, and upon realising where they stood, that disorientation turning to panic and horror. I spotted elderly grandmother's, brothers, wives and even children. There was a lul in the crowd as they came to understand what they were to witness. With only the general leaning so far forward he was practically off his seat, a monstrous grin plastered across his face.
In a similar fashion to the first man, phantom figures appeared surrounding the group and began to encroach. The crowd gave no roars of glee. No chants calling for blood. No, they remained silent as they witnessed the end of of this family name.
The forth was an acute sort. Having seen what occurred to the others he too attempted to trick the magics of this place to his whim. The crowd no longer in a blood thirsty frenzy waited patiently for his wish. After a moment he spoke up, asking to die by old age. He looks up at his judges three, out at the crowd, before finally turning his eyes to me. By which point he had already aged 60 seasons if not more. White hair sprouting in place of dark auburn locks. Young, fresh blooded skin turning pale and wrinkled. The straight back of a young man turning crooked and bent. In less time it took for the request to be made, he had grown old and died before our eyes.
This finally brought a slight smirk across the regent Kings face. His holier than though facade broken ever so slightly.
With this it was now my own turn to make a request. I had been thinking on what to say ever since I had known we were to be brought here. Now watching the four innocent men murdered before me, I knew I would not be leaving this chamber alive. I also knew what my request must be, for it is the only request I could make.
I called out to both my judges and the crowd.
"I am an innocent man, as innocent as every soul butchered before us here today"
This sent a murmur rippling across the crowd. For their part the three judges above seemed to pay a little more attention at my proclamation.
Most notably the wretched treasurer stopped stuffing his mouth with whatever new delicacies he demanded.
"As a man of innocence there is only a singular request I can make. My wish is to be brought to death by the hands of those truly guilty of this crime!"
No sooner had the words left my lips did I see the so familiar swirl of smoke before me. As it seeped away revealing the true conspirators of this crime. Having vacated their seats on high, the general, the treasurer and our dearest regent king stood before me with swords held in hand.
This close I could see the wrappings of purple magic around the body, arms and hands, forcing their movement towards me. Though they were approaching me, swords pointed at me, what I really saw gave me strength to steel myself.
The shock and horror on the treasures face, mouth agape and fatted jowls shaking in fear.
Anger and rage induced madness painted the generals face a shade of red I've not yet seen on a person before.
Locking eyes with the regent king I saw his recognition of what I had done. What I had accomplished and brought upon their heads.
As the first blade plunged into me from the now tear stricken treasurer, I let out a pained gasp, almost blacking out from the shock.
I wasn't given chance of respite as the second blade struck from the general, now frothing with rage.
The final came from the regent King. By this point my legs had given way, with only the blades holding me aloft.
As I felt myself fade I refuted the cold embrace of death for one last defiance. Looking over the three before finally resting on the one in front. I could hear the crowd in the background. Shouting and screaming against the clamour of armour laden guards. I managed to sputter out with a final breath
"It seems you shall now be judged, o King, and I believe you shall be found wanting."
|
"Well, that didn't work out as i thought" thought Alex, while the lifeless husk of an old man was being pushed away by a magical hand. "Now what? I've heard it all, and nothing worked. The best i came up with was within my loved one's arms, but the last guy who said that got stabbed in the heart by his wife, while she was conscious and crying her heart out. I can't do that to Peggy" thoughts continued to race through his mind while the judge called him out. "Alexander Borsworth, you have been found guilty of high treason against the council of mages, acts of terrorism, grand theft and attempted murder of the Archmage. The penalty of these crimes is death. Choose your preferred method of execution, you have 30 seconds". Alex ignored the old man speaking, while he thought of new ideas and immediately discarded them. "Porking out in a feast? No, the first bite would probably be poison. Old age didn't work. Rebirth was also terrifying to watch. What the hell do i do now? I gave my life to the cause, and this is what I ge-" he got it. That one fraction of a second of clarity, and he might just have thought of the one thing that could work. He looked the judge straight in the eyes, and pronounced loudly "i wish to die in battle, defending this world from the greatest threat known to it, and be remembered by all inhabitants of this planet, past present and future, as the hero who ended it all". The judge looked at Alex, and begrudgingly answered "so be it" and slammed his gavel.
In the blink of an eye, Alex was no longer in the courtroom, but at the top of a white marble tower, surrounded by people he never saw yelling his name. "Alex! Watch ou-" the sentence never ended as a wave of fire engulfed the whole platform and everyone on it...everyone, except Alex. As the flames vanished, in the distance he saw the judge on the other side of the platform, staff in hand, robe torn to tatters. The judge then saw the look of confusion and surprise on Alex's eyes, lowered his staff and said "finally, you've arrived. Three thousand four hundred and seventeen years have passed since that day, since your damned wish, and now it's over. You are the last of your cursed 'rebellion', and i am the last mage in this world. Come, let us end this. It is as you wished after all" and with these words, he prepared an incantation, the last he'd ever cast, while Alex, still confused, raised his own weapon and, without realizing nor willing it, charged the judge.
| 2021-06-24T10:54:30 | 2021-06-24T10:44:08 | 64 | 22 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
|
Filing papers, pushing pencils, whatever you want to call it; everyone makes jokes about bureaucracy. Not me, however. Everyone in this world is born with some kind of talent. Most people never find a good use for theirs. I mean, when you spend your entire life tending to your farm or at the forge, there isn't much room to apply an ability such as an affinity for arithmetic. The only way to really apply an obtuse talent would be to become some kind of wandering adventurer and hope you find a niche you can fit in, but with all of the monsters, bandits, and demons on the roads, most people don't even bother.
I was lucky enough to discover what was an almost perfect fit for mine. I was born with the power to navigate complex organizational systems. When I realized what I could use this power for in school, I would daydream about what I could achieve with it. I could be a treasurer for the king, being able to figure out the best way to distribute money to make the kingdom as monetarily efficient as possible. Or I could be a general, creating formations for my troops that the enemy would never be able to understand while picking apart their strategies like a child's toy. Too bad that's how I chose to spend my time, since I could've spent more of it studying. In the end, my less than mediocre grades made me fall by the wayside of the kingdom's attention, and I was barely able to scrape by to become a lowly bureaucrat at the capital.
Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being a bureaucrat, especially with my power, but it feels like I'm doing my daydreams a disservice by living my life like this. I could be doing so much more! Those thoughts were pretty strong, and I guess one day I might have "expressed" those feelings a bit too much. I remember that day pretty well- I was home from work and one of my old classmates, who got into one of the prestigious government programs I had my eyes on when we were still in school, decided to come over to my office and flaunt is wealth and position. By the time he finally pissed off, I was pissed off. Luckily it was the end of the work day, so I headed straight home, entered my bedroom, and began to scream into a pillow.
"It's not fair! That jackass thinks he's better than everyone else because the king 'noticed him' and gave him a cushy position. I'm the one doing all of the real work that keeps this kingdom afloat. Man, I'd kick is ass! If I could. What I wouldn't give for that opportunity!"
As soon as that last sentence left my lips, I felt a draft emanating from the other side of the room. I looked up and saw something I was not ready for. A being with red skin, sharp horns, and a wicked smile stared back at me. I was speechless, too frightened to verbally respond. I never expected to see a demon with my very own eyes, they only came to people who specifically summoned them or who they thought were ready to sell their soul for something. Did I really look that pitiful? The demon began to speak.
"Human... " it began and paused. I know I was probably crying, but did I really look that pitiful that it hesitated on my species?
"It seems that you are looking for power. Great power. And it can all be yours, for a small price!" The demon pulled out a quill and a piece parchment filled with incredibly small-print font and a line at the bottom. "Just sign here, and it can all be yours."
"Buh buh buh... ooolll" I sobbed as I wiped my face on my pillow to try and look a little more presentable. Why I was bothering, who knows? It's not like giving a good impression of myself to the demon would be worth anything, seeing as how he would've had to have a pretty poor impression of me to show up in the first place. "Bullshit!"
The demon looked at me quizzically, the smile on his face never changing. With my voice no longer shaky, I continued. "I'm not falling for it, you want my soul. I kind of need that."
"What? I would never steal something you need! If you don't believe me, just take a look at this contract! You won't even see that word 's-o-u-l' written here!"
I took a look at the parchment, it looked infinitely more dense than my school books. I didn't even want to bother reading through it. But as soon as I lazily skimmed a random sentence, I felt something within me; it was my power activating. I immediately understood what the contract entailed and how the demon's words were only technical truths. The contract would grant me temporary physical strength to put me slightly above the focus of my ire, and in return, I would in fact be giving up my soul. It's just that all references to my soul were written in some kind of verbose metaphysical description of the soul, rather than just using the word. The demon said he wouldn't steal it, but this contract is an agreement where I would willingly give it up to him.
A thought came to me. Maybe I could negotiate the details so I wouldn't lose my soul and get something actually helpful from it.
"Hey, any chance I could change the terms of that contract? I don't like... uh... some of the *wording*."
"By all means, go right ahead!" The demon handed me his quill and placed the contract on a table. His smile was still unwavering. Plenty of people probably made this request in an attempt to feel like they have the upper hand. Judging by the demon's demeanor, they were all probably unsuccessful. I raised the quill and felt my power guide it more than my conscious mind did. The first thing to change was the metaphysical description of my soul. The contract basically described it as any kind of non-physical force, group, or entity that directly controls and guides my conscious thoughts and actions as well as my metaphorical ticket to a good afterlife. The quill began to scratch out words and write new ones above them and after a moment, the description read as any non physical force, entity, or construct that exerts control over my decisions or assists in my ability to fulfill my decisions. Of course, the actual description was much more complicated than that, and I made sure to get my power to make it as misleading and look like the original one as possible.
Next on the list to change was what I would be getting. I asked the demon a question.
"Hey, I need power to get my revenge and everything, right? I saw the word 'physical' on here, I think it means how strong you are. I'm going to need to be smart too, so how about if you make whatever this is going to cost me stronger for the time being too." The demon looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then gave me an affirmation. This was looking interesting. The quill came down again and rewrote the benefit as something along the lines of "complete and unyielding control and ownership over any forces or entities that allow me to fulfill my desires."
Finally, there was how long such powers would last. The original contract gave a timeline of until either of us died, so even if I didn't kill him, there would be some kind of hard time limit. I changed this to read until his soul had ascended to a good afterlife. With enough fluff, it would be all but impossible to see the difference between the two versions.
I took the contract back to the demon and he quickly glanced through it. He looked quite surprised that there were so many changes, but relaxed when he thought to himself that they were probably meaningless. It looked close enough to the same to him. He gave the changes his affirmation and I quickly signed.
"Well, if that's it, I'll get going. And thanks for your soul!" the demon said, as he turned his back to me and walked towards the wall. He began to laugh, but abruptly stopped when his head hit stone and his nose began to bleed. "Why in the seven hells didn't my portal open? And what's this? Blood? My blood?"
The demon slowly turned towards me, his smiling facade replaced with a death glare. "Mortal... what did you do?" I never knew demons could experience horror, most stories showed them creating it in others, but this was completely new. "What did you do to the contract?"
|
I don't sleep. Not much anyway. I *can* sleep, and do so about every other week, but I don't need to. The doctors think I somehow mimic the dolphins, letting half my brain get good naps at a time.
And it suits me fine. It means i get a lot of time on my hands, most of wich I use unproductivly and some of wich i use to work. By unproductive I don't mean doing drugs and stuff, just, you know. Working out, reading, seeing movies and trying to get laid. That last one is a tricky one, but not for the reasons you'd think.
It's the same reason as to why it was so damn hard for me to keep an honest job. The only job I was able to keep for the longest time was a night time janitorial at a hospital. And I tried everything.
I actually have a degree in economics, and after graduating I went though quite a few desk-jobs. And I did good work, that was never the issue.
After the desk job failures, I did stints of construction and other manual labour, and oh man. That... would seem unsafe for everyone. It would at least be expensive. Impecable work mind you, thats still not the issue. In a sort of last effort, i tried myself as a night-club bouncer. Long story short, after dropping a bucket of ice on the floor and slipping in myself and making a spectacle, a serius looking man asked me if that was intentional. He clearly just saw me distract and spook a goon from assailing his client at the opurtune moment.
That's essentialy how I ended up as a presidential-level bodyguard. I always thought i was just a bit clumsy, probably related to an irregular sleep patern. All my jobs lost because I took a *slightly* to sharp turn with a fully loaded dozer, or happened to spill a bottle of printer ink on the backup-server. It always felt like plenty of bad stuff happened to me, but it never occured to me that I never had seen an outbreak of violence or mayhem. Never ran into a tagger at night.
I.. react(?) to ill intent, haphazardly creating a scene or distraction, or appearantly incidentially create a wall or tip a building, to distract or block induviduals set out to knowlingly hurt or other abuse others. No one really gets hurt around me. Ever.
| 2018-06-30T15:25:20 | 2018-06-30T15:08:15 | 202 | 129 |
[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.
|
"Look man, I don't think you know what you're doing. There's gonna be some serious repercussions for this kind of shit," Tom said as he leaned back in his chair, glowering at a sweaty, porcine man across the table from him.
"I've got to fucking do it, Tom," Greg whimpered out, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly. He held out a closed fist, opened it, and a handful of dice scattered across the table. It was almost like a movie, eyes all fixated on the d20 as it clattered to a stop. A natural 20. The crowd went wild and Tom launched out of his chair, hands pressed to his temples in a gesture of supreme existential horror. Once the din of the table died down, Tom finally unfroze from his statuesque position and slumped back into his chair.
"... No." Greg's face scrunched up into a pout.
"C'mon man, it was a natural 20! I seduced the Lich!"
"No, dude. I'm sick of you constantly fucking up my plans with your bullshit amazing luck. I would rather DIE than see you do what you're doing."
Just as Greg was about to retort, a crack of lightning shook the room around them and Tom exploded in a gout of black smoke. As the rest of the table did a quick check of the contents of their britches, Greg stammered out the one thing he could think to say: "Did he just straight up fucking explode?!"
Unfortunately for Tom, he did not in fact "straight up fucking explode." The next thing he knew, he was falling flat on his ass against a hard stone floor. If Tom, let alone any human being ever, had actually been subject to a demon summoning ritual as he just had, he would know the typical signs and symptoms: candles, maybe a candelabra if his host was fancy, salt circles, and some adorable little munchkin-type people in robes who had just summoned a hellbeast of unimaginable power. As one could expect, Tom was reasonably alarmed and upset. He scrambled back against the wall, knocking over many a tiny chair and smashing a table or two with accidental ease.
"What the fuck just happened?!" The summoners, witnessing the wrath of a dark lord, began to scream. Only one of them did not panic. The short little wrinkled creature gazed solemnly upon him, an open book cradled in one hand. Tom's mouth went slack and eyes wide when he truly perceived the creature's face.
"Oh my god... you've got an adorable little pug face!" he practically squealed. While Tom immediately regretted his reaction, it was no less true. Every single one of them was an adorable little bipedal pug person. In a little hooded robe. One of them even has a cute little walking stick!
"Thomas Kinsey!" the tiny creature belted out in a somewhat squeaky voice, pointing at a bewildered Tom. "By your true name, I bind you to my will!"
"I... I'm sorry, what?" Tom inquired, squinting incredulously. "Bind me? Like I'm some kind of demon or something?" All those years of D&D were finally paying dividends. This seemed to throw the wee sage off balance, now wide-eyed and flipping through the book as quickly as he could, one of his compatriots clinging to his arm and babbling nigh incomprehensibly.
"I told you we shouldn't have mettled with the dark arts! He's going to fry us in sulfur pits and strip the meat from our bones!" Tom couldn't help but look fairly disgusted.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you on about? I don't even know why I'm here. Or where here even is. Who ARE you?"
The leader of this ragamuffin group stepped forward, looking wary but less terrified of their guest at this point.
"I am Gynklef, my Lord," he said with a proper bow. "We have summoned you here to strike a dark bargain, if you would hear our terms." Tom, once again, glanced at the figure incredulously. This has got to be a dream. Or a stroke. It can't be reality, at the very least.
"... oooookay. Uh... what are your terms?" He crossed his arms over his chest, still fairly unsure of what was actually happening. Maybe he was dead and this was some crazy little fantasy in his head as the last of his neurons sputtered out. An aneurysm would make sense.
"We bring you precious stones and gems to curry favor, in hopes that you will help my people overthrow the cruel oppressors that so long ago usurped the throne from my father's father..." With a gesture, one of the other pug-monks pushed a battered chest up to the periphery of the circle and opened it, revealing a pile of gold nuggets and raw, uncut gems.
"We know your kind has a penchant for that which shines and lies within the earth. It is yours, if you will help us." Tom stood agog, staring at the chest. He'd be set for life if he could take that back with him. There was an emerald as big as his fist just sitting there! He shook himself from his stupor and sighed.
"I mean... what can I do? I'm just one guy," he muttered, scuffing the heel of a shoe against the grimy stone floor.
"Perhaps... but one of your kind is required to operate... THE ARTIFACT." Hushed whispers among the congregation could be heard. Tom arched a single brow.
"The artifact? What is it?"
"An item of incredible power... it has brought down kingdoms before, broken the wills of those who would seek to stand against it, and brought terror to those who even hear its name." The tiny figure gestured to one of his compatriots.
"Bring it here, quickly!"
After a lengthy pause, the sound of wagon wheels could be heard against the floor, and through the door entered what almost appeared to be an upright and ornately decorated coffin on wheels. Grynklef drew an ancient looking key, inset with bone, and released the locks.
"Behold! Terrorscream, Render of Kingdoms!" he bellowed (as well as someone with his lung capacity could) as he flung the door open, revealing...
"... a fucking vacuum," Tom stated flatly. Grynklef nodded solemnly.
"It is a weapon we do not use lightly, but... times are desperate. More of my people die by the day." Tom nodded solemnly for a moment, and stepped from the circle, brushing a hand across the handle of this vacuum that looked like it belonged in the Warhammer universe.
"Okay, little dog dudes... let's topple a kingdom."
|
"Yo sup, brah? What the fuck mano, I was just eatin' me a sammich, put me back. Now."
Peering over the brim of the thick tome, he nonchalantly announced "I'm afraid I can't, you see I need your assistance."
I guffawed and didn't bother closing my mouth, "well sounds like you're up shit creek. You've got the wrong one, mano. I'm a millennial. We're no longer as adept as we used to be."
He looked surprised after lowering the book, "millennials used to be the most powerful, I don't understand. What happened?"
I hung my head and shook it, "only 90's kids would remember."
| 2017-05-12T13:13:55 | 2017-05-12T11:11:35 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still...
|
Everyone was outside, staring at the crime scene. Most of the people were staring at me in a mix of both concern and relief.
'Isn't that your dad?' my friend Liam asked as he saw the body being dragged away.
'He hasn't been my dad in a long time,' I said as I turned away.
The cops stopped me from leaving however. 'Aren't you Mr Robertson's son?' he asked.
*Why are we allowing these creatures to stop us? We could just stop such frivolities and return to our dwelling.*
No, we couldn't! I *do* care about people not being afraid of me! 'Whatever you want, I haven't seen that asshole in six years,' I said to them.
'So you admit you're not on good terms with the deceased?' the detective asked.
*They're trying to entrap you. Let me handle this.*
'I won't speak to you unless I have a lawyer present,' I stated.
'Was your father not part of the Anti-Lycanthropy League?' he asked. 'Who regularly call for the extermination of lycanthropes?'
'You'd know that already,' I said.
'And didn't you have a falling out over your werewolf brother?'
'You really are a lazy detective,' I said.
'And didn't you leave a clinic for patients with the disease?'
I stopped in my heels before turning to him. I then pulled up my sleeve and showed off the bite mark. 'Drunk asshole caused trouble in the bar I work in,' I stated. 'After reporting the attack to the police I went to the clinic to get blood analysis done... as I am legally required under the Chaney Act.'
'And since the murder was done by a were-creature,' the detective said, 'what were the results?'
'No clue,' I answered. 'Haven't heard back from the lab.'
'We will subpoena those records,' the detective stated. 'If we think they might provide a link.'
'Yeah, one problem,' I told him. 'When did he die?'
'At 11PM last night,' the detective said.
'I was working from 6 to 2 in the morning,' I told him. 'Didn't have a break. You can talk to my boss.'
'I'll be sure to get in contact,' the detective said.
I got into my car before driving off.
*Why didn't you let me crush them?*
It's not as simple as that. Humans... humans don't like being scared, they don't like death. Sure, it could be useful in the short-term but there are long-term consequences. People wouldn't want to associate with you, people would hunt you... And humans are a social species so being without regular contact is detrimental to their minds.
I simply went to work as normal, pouring drinks and listening to people lament their mistakes. The boss ended up getting a call and asking if I needed time off... but I dismissed him.
Then I went to leave work, heading to my car. I put the keys into my door before I was struck on the back with something hard. My body crumbled before I saw the detective from earlier. 'About to get what you deserve, wolf-fucker!' he yelled as he stomped on my head. He then pulled out his gun and shot me right in the temple while smiling evilly.
He then screamed in agony as a scaled hand gripped his thigh and snapped the femur like a twig before being thrown 20 feet away.
My body then stood up, the disintegrated bullet falling as crimson-red snake eyes stared down at the heap of a human before us. Us... I was no longer in control at the moment.
'Jack, what the fuck?!' my boss yelled as he came out with a trash bag.
I gripped my head, turning back to normal. The black scales disappeared and the claws returned to being regular fingernails as I regained control. 'Call the police,' I told him. 'Tell them a cop attacked a civilian and was badly hurt as a result.'
'Jack-'
'I can't stop him from coming out!' I yelled. 'Go! Now!'
He then pulled out his cell and dialed 911. But in that time the detective had already aimed his gun at me again.
His right arm was completely crushed by the spiked orb on the end, effectively a natural mace. I tried to reign him back in but he mutated my body fully into a dragon form. He easily crushed the police car beneath one of his frontal paws, squeezing it and ripping it to shreds in his hand before dropping it to the ground, stalking closer and closer as his torso filled the entire four-lane street.
'Jack, stop!' my boss yelled, trying to reason to me.
'*I am* not *jack,*' the dragon stated. '*But he can hear and see everything I can do, as I can for him. In fact, right now he's screaming at me, "Don't kill the detective," out of some pathetic human empathy.*'
'No!' the detective yelled. 'Please!'
'*SILENCE!*' the dragon yelled, his voice shattering glass for blocks on end as flames shot out of his maw, past his teeth. Truly monstrous teeth, there were two rows on each of his upper and lower lips, as well as a tunnel of them going down his throat which he displayed to the broken man.
'*Do you see these teeth?*' the dragon asked. '*Not the ones I could use to bite you in half, the ones going further in. They're actually quite special. See, dragons can and will eat a large variety of things. Sheep, bovine, elk... werewolves, elephants, giants. All fair game. We don't chew, we either swallow hole or rip something off then swallow it and allow our back teeth to effectively turn them into something finer than mince meat. I could pick an elephant clean in less than a minute. Because you attempted to hurt my mortal form I do feel a certain obligation to your life. And do you know why I* haven't *done so?*'
'N-no,' the detective said, tears pouring down his face.
Then the dragon rested a single claw right onto his chest. '*Because I wish to protect my human self,*' the dragon stated. '*Now, if you don't want me to impale you through the heart then let your last breath be as you're torn to pieces as I devour you, we are going to wait for the authorities to arrive. You are going to confess everything you have done including the assault, the attempted murder, the fact you planted evidence to convict an innocent werecreature for a murder they didn't do...*'
'How did you know that?' the detective asked.
The dragon gave a wicked smile before the glass all around us floating upward. The shards flew back towards their original places, repairing to the grain as no cracks were present. 'You... read my mind?' the detective asked.
'*Precisely,*' the dragon said as sirens could be heard in the distance. The dragon climbed upwards, allowing the other officers, the dragon glaring down as the detective explained everything with Jack as a witness, heading into the bar to get the security footage as everything was recorded.
The dragon climbed downward to the street, surrendering control and allowing me to change back into a human. I groaned in pain as I approached the other cops who apprehended. The biggest issue about lycanthropy? Your beast is completely healed of all injuries when they change... but the human isn't.
'You have a dragon?' one officer asked. 'That's awesome! I hear there's only 10 of those!'
---
**Part 2 coming soon**
|
(I'm new here. Haven't written much. Don't kill me.)
"What a waste of an existence" I muttered to myself, as I walked past the morning office goers in the Munich train station. People stuck in a rhythmic drag of work and home, with no direction in life but to survive. I pitied their mundane existence.
You see, I was different. Dragon-kin is what they called it in the stories. 'Once a month, he transforms, to his untamed form, a dragon. Overcome by feral rage, he plunders and he kills, leaving only death and destruction behind.'. Of course, the stories rarely tell the truth. They don't know the calmness that overcomes me when I transform. The enhanced senses, the sight of the moon reflected on the river as I fly above it, and the warmth that rises in me, fit enough to release a stream of fire that could melt rocks. But most of all they don't know of the feeling of invincibility I get, the feeling that I'm superior to any of these rats scurrying to their little holes, the feeling that keeps me sane. I could end them all, if I wanted. But I don't intend on doing it, not any time soon.
Instead, I shall fly to my hill. I shall watch the city from the distance. Observe it bustling with meaningless excitement. I shall roar into the night, sending fear into the hearts of every living being in my vicinity. And I shall rest easy, comforted by the fact that I am superior to any form of life in existence.
| 2017-05-20T08:34:30 | 2017-05-20T06:14:36 | 59 | 19 |
[WP] Time slows down every time you are in danger. The more serious the danger is, the more time you have to save yourself. During one terrible car accident, you had almost a minute to react. And now, time has almost completely stopped for a whole month, and you don’t know why.
|
I was alive.
Glass reflected the sunlight of a burning summer’s day on the highway. I still smelled smoke and tasted blood as the paramedics pressed instrument after instrument to my body. According to them, I had been thrown out the windshield during the collision. In truth, I’d walked out. I’d hit the unlock button, opened the door, and let my feet touch the pavement. I hadn’t thought about it, I just did it, as if moving on autopilot. And that’s when time started again.
I didn’t come out of it unscathed. That wasn’t how this worked. The cars slamming into each other still threw glass and debris everywhere, and I could feel blood leaking through my clothes from small pieces of glass that had embedded themselves into my legs and arms. But they were nonlethal, that’s how it always went, when time stopped and I could see my future stretching ahead of me like a string disappearing into the abyss.
*Minor lacerations. Minimal blood loss. No sign of bruising. You’re lucky to be alive.* The words sailed over my head as I stared at the wreckage ahead of me. The truth was, my power didn’t work for anyone else but me. I could see death’s grin reflecting in the eyes of the other driver and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t alter the course of time, I couldn’t alter others’ lives, only my own. And as I sat there, tasting blood and smoke, I slowly put my head in my hands and let out a shuddering gasp.
There had been a body thrown through the windshield upon collision. They hadn’t been wrong about that.
“I just stepped out,” I repeated to myself as I rocked back and forth under the blanket they put around my shoulders. “I didn’t have a choice. It didn’t let me.”
*You’re lucky to be alive.*
Was I?
Everyone had an expiration date. There was no changing it, no knowing it. My thread could never intersect with others’. Had I been able to, I would have turned around and grabbed my three year old son before I stepped out of the car a moment before the collision, but now they were cleaning his remains off the pavement.
#
I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when time stopped. My waking moments were spent with aching, bleary eyes and disappearances into the darkness of sleep.
It could have been days. It could have been weeks. Time had no meaning to me, at least until my stomach told me I had to eat. I slowly slipped out of my bed, smelling the sour dampness of the sheets that had been soaked from sweat from the night terrors, and faced the world. The world was only the kitchen, but it still felt insurmountable as I stood at the threshold between my bedroom and the kitchen and stared with swollen eyes at the empty apartment.
My wife had left almost immediately after the news. I couldn’t blame her. And I couldn’t tell her the truth, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn’t put that burden on her to know that I’d survived through some unknown, unexpected force and our son hadn’t.
The clock wasn’t moving, though. That meant time had stopped.
I ran my sleeve over my face and stared blankly at it, as if it might start moving again. Time only stopped when critical danger was nearby. So what did this mean? Was there a burglar outside the door? Was an airplane about to crash into the building?
Could I somehow convince time to start and let it happen?
But that wasn’t how it worked. I slowly moved around the apartment, looking in each room and finding nothing out of the ordinary, just my wife’s possessions laying on the floor where they’d fallen out of her half open luggage. She’s gone to her mother’s house. I was partially at fault. I couldn’t comfort her. I couldn’t do anything but exist, and even that was too much for me. She needed support, and I couldn’t give it.
I stepped over her strewn about panties and blouses and headed toward the front door. Outside, there was nothing. The grass was too high, like the apartment manager forgot to cut it, my wife’s car was missing from the spot directly in front of the apartment complex’s entrance (we’d laughed once about how convenient that parking spot was. Mine was around the building.), and everything seemed so painfully normal. No explosions in mid detonation. No SWAT preparing to break down the door. Nothing but boring, perfect normalcy of a midwestern suburb.
Maybe time had finally broken. Maybe I was broken. Maybe my desire to cease existing has caught up with this unexplained superpower, and now I lived in some purgatory where I could exist forever and watch the world never pass me by.
Yet, I knew in truth this meant my death was coming, and I embraced it. I searched for it. Maybe I could diffuse the situation briefly, let time catch up, then put myself in danger again. Over and over. Over and over until time ceased stopping. There had to be a limit to this super power, wasn’t there? Some maximum number of times before the magic faded?
As the days drifted by, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a loneliness that eclipsed my entire being. I was surrounded by people, but completely alone. There was nothing but silence, nothing but me. No matter how much I screamed at people to respond to me, no matter how much I cried and begged, no matter how much I struck them (and I’m not proud of that) I was still utterly alone.
I visited my son’s grave. The flowers on it were fresh; someone had visited recently, recently enough that the time stop kept them frozen in beautiful fresh health. They were a vibrant purple and yellow.
I asked him questions. I asked if his angel blamed me for not being able to save him. I asked if there was any way I could have stayed in the car. Nothing answered but silence.
By the seventh day, I decided I would go to my wife’s mother’s house.
The distance meant it took me weeks to get there. At one point, I grabbed a bicycle from Walmart (as vehicles never worked in the time freeze) and cycled there, lost in my thoughts. I never got the answers I was looking for. If time had stopped for this long, it meant I was in extreme danger, greater than any I had ever been in before. Maybe this meant an asteroid would hit. Maybe it meant there was a nuclear bomb in mid flight. If I cycled far enough, would time start again? And yet, even as I thought about this, I cycled with nothing but emptiness in my heart and a sense of yearning.
Time had been stopped for a full month when I reached the house. It was a small place tucked in the back of a culdesac whose road had seen better days, and my bicycle bumped and shook the whole last few minutes down. The old 1950’s construction welcomed me as I slowly dismounted my bike. Her mother’s car was gone from the driveway, and they never used the garage. I’d only been here three or four times; her mother usually insisted on visiting us, even if we didn’t technically have the room.
The stairs didn’t creak as I headed up them toward the door. Locked. I contemplated breaking in—but no, I couldn’t cause her mother that kind of expense, not when she was barely subsisting on SSI payments. I went around the back and climbed into an open window to find my wife sitting at a desk, a pen in hand, tears streaming down her face. A note was on the desk. Something else was in her hand.
I realized what the true danger was, why time had stopped for so long. I was facing the moment before the news that would cause my own death as I lost the last person that mattered to me. Time would not start until I stopped the danger to myself, and it was right in front of me, an instant from happening.
Her thread had, somehow, intertwined with mine. I could not save our child, but this time, saving her was ultimately saving me.
Time began again.
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"The fact that no one was hurt or killed in the crash of Flight 1929 has been described as an utter miracle," the TV announcer stated. Mina picked at her food, pretending to not believe a word of it. How could she explain that time had crawled to a standstill and she'd had the time to pop open the cabin door, check the ground outside, pull the passengers and crew to a safe distance, *and* break into the sealed cockpit to pull out the pilot and copilot? She sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Come on, Mina, you were *on* that flight!" her husband protested. "How are you still unconvinced?"
"Look, Sam, all I know is that I went to sleep in the air and woke up on the ground. For all I know it could have been some colossal prank." Mina took the tiny spoon from her husband and held it in the air. "Here comes the airplane, bbbbbbbb."
Sam looked unconvinced but walked to the fridge to check how much milk they had left. "Hey, Mina? When was the last time we bough–"
Mina looked up. "What did you say, Sam? I didn't hear the last..." He was frozen. Not achingly-slow-motion frozen, the way the passengers on the plane had been. He wasn't moving at all.
"S-Sam?" Mina looked from him to her daughter, frozen with a tiny spoon of mashed yams halfway in her mouth. "Evie? Oh my God." She looked around the kitchen, sniffed the air, checked the gas alarms. Nothing. She took Sam and Evie outside, laying them down gently. Time didn't speed back up; it must have had nothing to do with the house, then. So where... where was the danger, and how could she keep her family safe from it?
(This is more the beginning of a long story about nuclear war. I have a new book to write now....)
| 2019-09-27T21:30:36 | 2019-09-27T17:42:17 | 179 | 130 |
[WP] You're the one in charge of finding new ways to squeeze more horses into all these car engines.
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“What if we flip the horse upside down?” Bill suggested, tapping his pen against his page of blueprints, leaving inky stains all over his rough sketches.
“Like a tetris block? How is the horse meant to power the engine if it’s upside down, you idiot? We need all our horses upright for maximum horsepower. Why did I get partnered with this biggest idiot of the lot, if we don’t come up with something, the boss is going to have our heads for this.” Abigail said, slapping her co-workers hand, trying to get him to focus.
“How was I supposed to know that? I just assumed they could run upside down. Aren’t they attached to gears inside the engine or something?”
“No, did you even listen in school? The horses operate the engine from inside the car, they turn little dials in the car that make it speed up and slow down. It’s basic engineering, everyone knows that.” Abigail tilted up her glasses, pushing them along the bridge of her nose like a poorly animated character delivering the finishing blow in a battle.
“I tried to listen, but you can only hear someone talk about horses for so long until you are like neigh. Get it, neigh? Like no. It’s a pun because-“
“I get the crappy pun! Focus, how are we going to fit more horses into this engine, it barely looks like it can fit one horse. In fact, how did they even get one horse in it?”
Bill lifted the box shaped engine, giving it a shake before pressing his ear to it, trying to hear any neighs or horse sounds that might drift from it. After a few more moments of shaking, he gave up, placing the engine back down. “Maybe this one is empty? I can’t hear any horses inside of it. Unless they are asleep. Did you know horses sleep standing up?”
“Why would I know that? Why would I even need to know that? Ok, so if there're no horses inside, that must mean that they took the horses out, maybe that’s part of the test. They didn’t want us tearing apart the engine to know their secrets, they want to see what we can develop on our own. Mr. Bargit is a smart guy, isn’t he? Testing our minds like this. Ok, if we can’t build off their old technique, we need something entirely new, any ideas that aren’t dumb?”
Bill looked once again at his blueprints, scribbling down an idea, only to flip the paper, revealing a small gun with a tiny satellite dish on the end. “We could use a shrink ray?”
“A shrink ray? You want to build a shrink ray to put little horses in the engine? That’s genius. The horses might lose a little power because of their size but we could substitute that by adding more horses into the engine and giving them all protein shakes. It’s genius, it might save our jobs. Oh, I could hug you Bill if you didn’t disgust me.”
“Thank you?” Bill said, unsure how to feel about that wording. With the blueprints designed, the two spent the next few hours adjusting their shrink ray, adding and subtracting various elements until they had the device developed.
They planned to test the device before they heard the footsteps of their manager. The man unamused when he saw the pair had developed nothing but a simple children’s toy. He didn’t have high hopes for their presentation but had to provide them an opportunity, regardless. “This way, the boss is ready to see you. Please bring any findings you have with you.”
Bill rolled up his blueprints, stuffing them into his pocket as Abigail finished tinkering with the shrink ray. When they were ready, they followed the manager, entering the office of Mr. Bargit. The manager gave his boss a small roll of the eyes, nudging his thumb towards the pair, letting the boss know he didn’t need to spend a lot of time with them.
“Ah, this is unique. Usually, people come with a prototype of their engine or at least a copy of the previous engine, instead you have brought me… Paper and a children’s toy?”
“Blueprint’s sir, not paper. Oh, and that’s a shrink ray, not a children’s toy. You could market it to children if you want though, just tell them not to point it at themselves.” Bill said, laying down his blueprints for a confused Mr. Bargit.
“A shrink ray? Why would I need a shrink ray of all things? I am in the business of engines, not science fiction. Does that thing even work, or are you just pulling my leg?”
“Oh, you want a demonstration? Sure, sir. The shrink ray comes with four modes. Extra small, small, medium, and small again. We ran out of words to use for small. Tiny, should have used tiny. Don’t worry we can patch that in the next model.” She said, pointing the device at his pen, firing tiny at it, watching as the pen shrunk until it was the size of a thumb. “Impressed?”
Mr. Bargit picked up the pen dumbfounded, looking it over, assuming it must have been a magic trick. “Why the hell would I need a shrink ray? It’s impressive but irrelevant to anything.”
“That’s easy sir, you need it to fit more horses into your engines. Don’t worry we factored in the small size= less energy equation and have fixed this by providing the horses protein shakes.” Bill said, standing beside Abigail, the pair smiling, awaiting praise.
“The what equation? You mean to tell me, you two can figure out how to make a shrink ray, but didn’t know horsepower doesn’t mean the engine has horses in it? What am I going to do with you two?”
The pair looked at one another in confusion before Abigail’s eyes shot open. “That makes sense. You couldn’t fit horses in an engine. Why didn’t you say something, Bill?”
“I just assumed you could. Why call it horsepower then? Its misleading.” Bill said, rolling up his blueprints, assuming he wouldn’t need them anymore.
“I want to fire you both, but I won’t. You have shown that despite your lack of understanding, you have outstanding skills that I don’t want a rival company to poach. Go back to your offices and next time I ask you to do something, ask questions If you don’t understand it, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” The pair shouted in unison, gathering their things and rushing out, proud of their presentation.
“We actually did it. I can’t wait until our next project. Wonder if we will work together?” Bill said, the pair making their journey back to the office, much to the surprise of the manager.
“Maybe, you weren’t actually that bad to work with. I think we could go far together.” Abigail admitted, giving him a playful nudge on his shoulder as they went to their office.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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After toiling in scientific obscurity for many years, I was in a flurry of excitement upon being offered my dream job. I, and I alone, am being put in charge of designing car engines with the maximum possible amount of horsepower.
This is the easiest job in the world because I realized one thing that the others haven’t: While everyone assumes that an average horse can output one horsepower, they’re wrong. There was no standardized definition of the word ‘horsepower.’
On my first day of work, I wrote a computer algorithm that gradually changes the definition of horsepower so that by the year 2021, an average horse will be able to output fifteen horsepower. By 2050, the same average horse will output 25 horsepower.
I used to show up to work to read the funnies and work on the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper, but I haven’t bothered in years. These days I just collect royalties from the “ever-improving” horsepower output of my original 1969 engine design. I am legitimately surprised that no one has noticed that I’ve done literally nothing else at work over these last few decades.
| 2021-05-18T20:51:28 | 2021-05-18T19:35:09 | 78 | 19 |
[WP] Upon realizing he has become somewhat of a reddit celebrity, Death decides to sit down and do an AMA.
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Bony fingers clattered on a keyboard.
"HELLO, REDDIT! I AM KNOWN BY MANY NAMES AMONG YOU, BUT THE MOST COMMON IS "DEATH". YOU MAY CALL ME MORT. AMA!"
If he had a throat, Death would have been swallowing hard. Dealing with multiple mortals at once was not a common experience for him, him being more the "one-on-one, face-to-face" type. But obviously people were interested in him, and maybe, just maybe, they would be less afraid if they knew more about him. With one last bit of hesitation, u/JollyReaper13 klicked on Post.
"WELL, THERE IS NO GOING BACK NOW. LET'S SEE WHAT COMMENTS I WILL GET."
And, immediately, the first notification popped up.
"Hey, this sub is for asking real people questions, not for shitposts."
Death was taken aback. Of course, he had expected people to be doubtful of his identity, but he hadn't expected such a rude comment to be the first he would recieve. He focused on the username, called up the commenter's biography from his vast library, and sent the redditor a direct message.
"IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE ME, I CAN SHOW YOU. YOUR NAME IS JOHN SMITH. YOU WERE BORN ON THE 8TH OF MARCH 1987 TO JAMES AND MARTHA SMITH; REAL FATHER: ROBERT JOHNSON, MILK MAN. YOUR SCHOOL CAREER WAS UNREMARKABLE, ASIDE FROM THE TIME THAT THE CLASS BULLY, WILLIAM "BILLY" JOHNSON (COINCIDENTALLY, YOUR HALF-BROTHER) DUNKED YOUR HEAD INTO A TOILET BOWL FOR NOT LETTING HIM COPY OFF OF YOUR MATH TEST IN 10TH GRADE. YOU ARE HAPPILY SINGLE, BUT WOULD NOT MIND BEING ASKED OUT BY A MAN OR A WOMAN, EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE TOLD NOBODY. YOU PULLED YOUR LEFT BICEP BY REACHING FOR THE BAG OF CHIPS ON THE TOP SHELF LAST WEEK, BUT YOU TOLD EVERYONE IT WAS A SPORTS INJURY. HAVE I CONVINCED YOU OF MY IDENTITY?"
Death sent the message and waited.
A mere five minutes later, John had edited his comment to say:
"EDIT: Fuck, I'm not sure who this guy is, but he just sent me a message with facts about my life I didn't even know. He's either the world's most dedicated stalker, or really something beyond us."
Satisfied, Death smiled- or would have, had he had lips. Now that John had edited his comment, actual questions were coming in.
"Hey, I assume your job isn't the nicest, but is there anyone you met who you look back on fondly?"
"A FEW YEARS BACK, I HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO TALK TO MY FAVOURITE AUTHOR, WHO TRULY MANAGED TO MAKE SOME PEOPLE LESS AFRAID BY PORTRAYING A COLLEAGUE IN A VERY HUMAN LIGHT. I STILL LIKE TO THINK BACK TO THAT CONVERSATION WHEN I HAVE A MOMENT'S REST. GNU TERRY PRATCHETT."
That answer seemed to be recieved well. Death's eye socket fell on the next.
"There's a lot of humans dying all the time. Do you handle them all yourself?"
"FOR A LONG TIME, I DID. OVER TIME, I RECEIVED HELP FROM DIFFERENT PERSONIFICATIONS. CAPTAIN JONES, FOR EXAMPLE, TOOK CARE OF DEATHS AT SEA, WHILE VIKINGS AND OTHER BELIEVERS IN THE NORSE FAITH WERE BROUGHT TO THE BEYOND BY THE VALKYRIES. UNTIL THE BLACK DEATH RAVAGED EUROPE, I TOOK CARE OF EVERYONE ELSE. AT THAT POINT, THE WORKLOAD BECAME TOO BIG TO PROCESS AT A REASONABLE PACE, AND I HAD TO HIRE SOME HELP. ANGELS, DEMONS, FORMERLY MORTAL SOULS... WHOEVER WANTED TO HELP WAS HIRED. SOME SOULS UNFORTUNATELY STILL SLIPPED THROUGH THE CRACKS. THAT'S WHY SOME PLACES FEEL HAUNTED. WE HAVEN'T MISSED ONE IN THE PAST CENTURY HOWEVER, REGARDLESS OF HOW HARD YOU HUMANS TRIED TO KILL EACH OTHER IN LARGE AMOUNTS."
"Are there Deaths for other creatures? Where do they go?'
"THERE ARE. MOSTLY, THEY ARE REINCARNATED, BUT PETS WHO LOVED THEIR HUMANS A LOT OFTEN CHOOSE TO WAIT FOR THEM IN THE APPROPRIATE AFTERLIFE. IT'S RATHER SWEET."
Death was pleased. People seemed very curious about him and his occupation. For hours, he answered question after question, getting a lot of upvotes for those answers that seemed to give some peace of mind, and doing his best to apologise for those that were more disappointing. But, to his surprise, the question he had expected the most was not coming. Eventually, the notifications started to die down, and he was about to edit the post to thank everyone and sign off, as he had seen others before him do, but just at that moment, a final (1) appeared on his inbox. It was the question he had expected the most, but had not seen anyone ask until that point.
"How could you? Last year, you took my wife and our unborn child from me in a car accident, while the drunk bastard that caused it walked away with minor scratches. She was mere days from the due date. Why?'
Once more, Death called upon a biography, recalling the accident the commenter was talking about. After a moment to think about the best way to phrase it, he replied.
"DEAR MARTIN. I KNOW WHAT ACCIDENT YOU MEAN, AND, WHILE I CANNOT CLAIM TO KNOW WHAT YOU MUST HAVE FELT, I AM TERRIBLY SORRY. BUT, I MUST SAY THAT, WHILE I AM WHO I AM, I AM STILL SUBJECT TO WHAT NEEDS TO HAPPEN. YOUR WIFE'S TIME HAD RUN OUT. REGRETTABLY, SO HAD YOUR CHILD'S. SEEING THE TINY HOURGLASSES, FILLED WITH ONLY A FEW TINY GRAINS OF SAND, DOOMED TO RUN OUT BEFORE LIFE PROPERLY BEGINS, IS ALWAYS A BURDEN. I SHOWED THE COMPASSION I AM PERMITTED- I OFFERED YOUR WIFE THE CUSTOMARY GAME FOR A SECOND CHANCE, BUT, WHEN SHE DECLINED, NOT WANTING TO BURDEN YOU FOREVER WITH LOOKING AFTER HER, I ENSURED THAT HER PASSING WOULD BE AS SWIFT AS POSSIBLE. SHE WOULD HAVE WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT SHE WON'T BE UPSET SHOULD YOU FIND ANOTHER LOVE, AND THEY WOULD BOTH BE WAITING FOR YOU BEYOND. BUT YOUR HOURGLASS, IT STILL HOLDS SAND FOR DECADES. I DOUBT SHE WOULD HAVE LIKED TO SEE YOU USE IT UP BY MOURNING FOR THEM. BUT REST AT EASE KNOWING THAT THEY ARE BOTH HAPPY AND WATCHING OVER YOU."
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I am Death, AMA!
Hi, I'm Death. I go by many names, but Death is the simplest one. Ask me anything! I'll be taking your questions for about half an hour.
Q: How does the process of collecting souls work?
A: It's not too hard, actually. There's a list of things souls and I just go ahead and pick them up wherever they are. Street, in bed, in a hooker's bed... that kind of stuff.
Q: Do you determine who dies and who doesn't?
A: See, that's a pretty misconception. I actually have no control what so ever who dies. If you die, it's your own fault. There's no need to pray or whatever: I'm coming for you, whether you like it or not. The people who survive after praying? Don't credit God, he's way too busy for one measly human life.
Q: So... there's no way to avoid death?
A: Alright god damn it. Listen up! THERE'S NO WAY TO AVOID DEATH. If your time comes, it comes. Enjoy your life while it lasts. Sure, it sucks for some people. It's unfair for some. But THERE'S NO WAY TO AVOID IT. LIVE YOUR LIFE WHILE WE CAN. As a wise man once said: "You only live once."
| 2019-12-17T07:45:48 | 2019-12-17T07:28:06 | 168 | 10 |
[WP] A scientist has discovered the vaccine of immortality. The only side effect is, though, infertility. After the whole world got vaccinated, it turns out immortality is a hoax it is just an infertility vaccine.
got lots of comments about not knowing how vaccines work. i basically imagined a syringe with the cure of aging. i thought it depicted what i meant to say. english is not my first language, so my apologies for any misuse of words.
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"Mr. Aroke?" The voice was quiet barely perceiving as an echo in the white tiled room. Maybe thirteen people sat waiting in this monstrous sterile room. If he wasn't near the front he doubt he would have heard his own name.
He stood up from his chair and straightened his tie. Quickly he walked towards the front deso hearing his footsteps echo off the tiles below. The other twelve men looked at him with envy. They all wanted to work for HopeCorp just as much as he did but with only one job opening and a broken economy he needed it more.
"I'm Mr. Aroke." He said as he reached the front desk. He clenched his palms tightly in nervous tension.
"Ah, Mr. Aroke. Please head through the door. Go down the hall it will be the first door you see." She said with a smile. She pressed a small button underneath the desk. A concealed door behind her slowly whirled open as three security guards walked through heavily armed. No doubt to keep the other twelve from doing anything rash.
He nodded to the woman at the desk and walked through the door. Dim red lights hung above him as he walked steadily along the path. The tiles slowly turned to mohagany floorboards with black painted walls. He felt a chill run through his spine as he felt he was entering the abyss towards Hades gates. He had come this far he had to keep going. At least that's what he told himself. After all the things he saw in the last five years it turned out a job interview scared him the most.
Slowly in front of him he could see a door in the distance. It was a crimson black with lion skulls carved into the doorknobs. It almost looked like a painting was carved into it. As he approached he put his hands on it. Obsidion. He slowly turned the door to enter before he saw the name of the picture carved into the doors. Revelations.
"Mr. Aroke I presume?" Aroke lifted his eyes towards a man in a pure black suit. His skin seemed almost to be burning but yet nicely and professionally sun bathed. "Please take a seat." He hand gestures to a chair in front of a fire place. Aroke nodded and walked towards the chair. He glimpsed around the room quickly to get a better view of where he was. The whole room was carved out of ivory.
"Welcome Mr. Aroke." He said happily. "I am the CEO of HopeCorp Mr. Ifer. I hear you want to apply for our open security position. Is that correct?"
Uh, yes. That is correct." He hesitated when he spoke. Something about the man in front of him warned him of nothing but danger. He could barely contain himself from running. "As you could see.." He regained himself as he handed a binder with his resume in it. "I have many qualifications that far exceed my competitors out there. Mr. Ifer waves his hand no to the binder.
"I already know everything about you, Mr. Aroke."
"You... do?"
"Yes, haha. You were born in Connecticut to Susan and Jeffrey Aroke. You had four brothers and two sisters. By age 16 the vaccine reached public markets. By 18 your eldest brother had an allergic reaction to the vaccine and died. Along with 18% of the human race. By 19 you protested with your eldest sister against the government for not taking action against Dharma which lead to police breaking up the protest forcefully putting your sister in a Coma. By 20 your father passed away and Europe descended into Chaos. By 21 you and two of your brothers were conscripted into the U.S. Army for the Europe campaign. Your brother Ivan died on the Russian front around the time Luis went M.I.A. Am I correct so far?"
"How... how do you know this...?" Anger and fear ran through his body. He wants to stand and fight this man, but as he stared into his evilish grin a primordial instinct he never knew of told him he would lose.
"I know everything Chris. I know of your Army Rangers and your sins you committed putting down the Virginia Rebellion. I know you were a part of the bombing squad that destroyed Beijing's cloning research facility. I know everything, but not just about you. About everyone. I could tell you how the Tokyo experiment to submit the human conscious into robotic exoskeleton is going. Or how Russia took half of Europe and why the other half is still burning. Oh, while we are on it, we could talk about your youngest brother too... shall we?"
He cringed. The thought of tony taking the fertility pills to try to have a kid with Eden. Of course they were laced with heroine. He didn't stand a chance and died of overdose. Along with many others across the world, but the memory of the Virginia Rebellion still stuck his mind. He was trying hard as hell to forget the mobs of thousands of junkies trying to take whatever they could to have kids charging at his brigade in a drug induced stupor. They gunned them all down.
"If you know all of this then why bother with an interview....?" He asked him.
"Because, Chris. Men are interesting creatures. Even when they try to save the human race they destroy each other. You came here to prevent that, but after all you saw you still had a choice to stay home. The interview just shows me how much heart is left."
"I need the job. I need it more then the others." Chris slowly held back his breath as a tear formed.
"Your sister. Evelyn? What did she take to have kids? I'm a little fuzzy on that part. Too much love and the such in the way."
"Oxycotton mixed with a new drug on the street claiming to cause fertility. She always wanted to be a mother."
"That's two sisters in a Coma and one desperate man drowning in the hospital bills to keep them alive. Do you know what your job task would be If I hired You?" Mr. Ifer asked. Chris merely shook his head. "Humanity may die soon, but not without a fight. My organization has been able to locate those that are indeed fertile. Your job would be extraction. Simple enough. Travel, see the world, shoot someone... probably, oh, and save not just humanity but also your sisters." Chris ears perched up when he spoke of his sisters
"I'll offer it right now to you, but on one condition. Do whatever I say and serve me faithfully through the rest of your life. Do that, and ill bring back your sisters. Deal?" Mr. Ifer held out his hand towards Chris. The thoughts of everything he said ran through his head. Yet the faces of his sisters awake was all he could envision. He shook his hand.
"You have a deal Mr. Ifer"
"Please, you work for me now. Call me by my first name. Luc."
"Luc Ifer". His mind thought. He had heard that name before. Almost like a child bedtime story.
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Maybe it’s just me but I think what she did was good. Yeah morally it’s completely screwed up. But In all honestly she has a decently valid point. The point is valid but the methods taken were inhuman and were uncalled for. What was done technically is beneficially to the human race.
By doing this she is slowing down the population by a tad bit. Which in turn means less people starving. Yeah, some people are hurt and sad because they can’t have babies. But in the end none of this matters. What’s right, what’s wrong, why does any of this matter? Why do moral values define us, tell us what path to take? It only
Limits us.
She’s a brave women, doing something such as that with the full well knowledge that she will suffer. My apologizes to those that are unable to have children. It’s unfortunate, but the price has been paid. May she Rest In Peace and May the world give you peace, and the heavens above grant you light to walk the dark corridors that surround the earth.
| 2018-09-09T08:54:48 | 2018-09-09T08:46:36 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] "Unfortunately for you only true hate can break the curse!" ,the evil wizard declared triumphantly, "Uh... you mean true love right?", asked the baffled cursed princess, "No, why would I say that?" ,the now equally baffled wizard replied
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The wizard Odiul paused, taking a moment to collect himself.
Far too easy for him, to forget how drastically different his frame of reference was from that of these short-lived creatures. Centuries had passed for him, enveloped by the vast mystic powers that permeated this universe, seeping so deeply into every fold of his existence – compressed thousands upon thousands of times until his very essence was little different than the hardest-packed stone. If, for just a moment, he were to allow that essence to unfold, it felt as if it would expand to fall upon the world, and drag it down to the deepest depths.
And so, though human, it was impossible for Odiul to experience this reality as did these frail dandelion seeds that drifted upon the wind, winking into and out of existence much as sparks flew from the flint. Their short lives filled with spikes of experience and emotion that they could never truly comprehend. Immersed entirely in their slight lives, they lived as waterfalls pouring over the edge of a high cliff, lacking the ability to truly observe any single moment.
“And what is it, Princess, that you perceive as love?” The wizard’s voice was solid, yet soft, a boulder rolling slowly down a distant grassy mountainside.
The Princess stared blankly, her azure eyes not seemingly focused on anything, wrinkles knitting her brow. Odiul considered, realizing that such a fundamental question asked at this moment must seem to the Princess to carry some unforeseen meaning. Again, just too easy to forget, how this moment must be completely beyond her experience; an oddity that, once come upon, was difficult to quickly comprehend.
“I do not ask to make sport of you,” he offered.
She hesitated a moment longer, gaining her composure. She turned a discerning gaze upon Odiul for the first time, seeming to finally overcome her initial disbelief. “True love, wizard, is a most powerful feeling – there is none stronger. It is sum total of the strength of our entire being, to so cherish another, that you would give anything for their smile, their warm embrace, their tender regard.”
Odiul grimaced. This was as he should have expected; it was the way of these creatures, to build pedestals upon which to place those things that they never fully understood.
“Have you ever felt that you truly loved someone, Princess?” The slight shift in her gaze told the wizard what he needed to know. “Surely, then, you have known someone that professed true love for someone else?”
She replied, anger contorting her face, the skin darkening in a slight red hue – angered, likely, at being so easily understood. “Of course I have. Do I not exist? Have I not a father and mother? Are there not many such lovers in this kingdom?”
“Yes, Princess, it is as you have said. Your kingdom, with its gentle hills and vast plains, has slightly over twenty thousand landed citizens. Many of them are married; many of them have felt what they believe to be true love; many of them have sired children. And, for some of them, it may indeed be the truest of love; for many more, it is likely the after echoes of passion that flamed brightly and faded quickly.”
Odiul continued, his unrelenting voice bearing down upon the Princess, “but also, there are over eight thousand serfs. And it has been thus for generations – the numbers have changed as the years have gone by, but ever has it been that your citizenry has been divided. Your royal lineage has been unbroken for a great many years. And so, allow me to explain in a way that you might understand. Yes, it is true, there has been the occasional discontent. Parents who have had to watch their children starve; lovers that have had the light stolen from their lives.”
Odiul went on, “the seeds of discontent sown as effectively in these people as crops have been in your farmlands. Discontent that has grown, and discontent that has withered and died on the vine. For, here you are, Princess to the realm, with your Lord Father and Lady Mother. An uninterrupted royal family held up by the ignorant masses, unaware of their own power. You say to me that love is the strongest feeling? I tell you now that it is not. Raw hatred is the strongest emotion, and yet, even those who are subject to the direst of circumstances rarely ever taste the water upon the furthest shore of that darkest of desires. Raw hatred inspires the masses to revolt; to kill without reason; to burn everything around it to ash.”
“How do you think it is, that your royal family, with its royal treasury, and its royal burdenless lifestyle, still exists to this day? It is because, despite the tyranny that your family has imposed, people are ever slow to fall into true hatred. As I said before, again and again, discontent simply dies on the vine, or simmers without heat. Rarely, it may become something more. Rarely, it may spur the listless into action. But true hatred…” Odiul trailed off. It was difficult to put into words, beyond her – or any – comprehension.
The Princess did not understand this juxtaposition – before her, the most evil and ancient of Wizards, and he was reflecting on issues of injustice and fairness. It made no sense to her. Why was this mystic force here, now, and why was he reflecting on matters of such little concern to him? She growled, “what game are you playing at here, Wizard?”
Odiul turned away from the Princess, looking back over his shoulder. “I have thus cursed you Princess. You, your family, and your legacy. From this point forward, you are cursed. You will ever find true love. You shall be healthy and successful. Your family wealth shall grow and your people will sweep over the land. Your armies will be bloodthirsty and your enemies will fall upon their swords. You shall conquer lands one and all. And you shall know no death from mortal cause.”
“And the world shall finally learn to hate. To hate you; to hate your family; to hate your legacy; to hate that you have ever, and will ever, have all that they cannot; to know the truest flames of the most powerful hatred imaginable. They will finally rise up against you and, in so doing, will tear this world asunder. And in those moments, those dazzlingly bright moments before this world is forever destroyed, their truest hate will break this curse. And I will be waiting for you in the end, to savor the exquisite delight of your final breaths.”
|
At first she’d thought breaking the curse would be easy. She was already in a hate-relationship, after all. But as the weeks passed and the symptoms only got worse, she started looking at her partner with a new eye, saw how they were just going through the motions.
She hated him. She really did. Didn’t she? When had the spark gone out? When had true hatred turned to lackluster animosity? She wanted to try, to make it work somehow, but she knew she couldn’t, not with the curse hanging over her head like an executioner’s axe.
She had to break up. She had to break up and pray that she could find her one true hate in time, someone who hated her not because she was the princess, but because of who she was as a person, who knew her intimately and hated it all the same. And. That just wasn’t him. Not anymore.
| 2022-10-29T08:26:30 | 2022-10-29T08:20:59 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Aliens fear humans the most not because they are particularly deadly, but because of their short lifespan, are the only race that accepts death as an inevitability.
|
Sgt. Jackson opened her eyes to the sight of her middle school bedroom. Not the one in Arizona but the one in Oklahoma. The one she had from seventh to tenth grades while her family was stationed at Tinker. Everything felt just as she remembered, the bed, the Jonas Brothers poster, even the smell. Just as she was taking in the rare non-nightmare, the door opened. In walked two people, her mom and Samuels. Jackson was taken back with joy after seeing the two of them but had to stop herself before jumping up for a hug.
“Something is up, Mom you hate Samuels. Is everything okay?”
The pilot spoke first, “I told you these forms might raise suspicion. Just because she trusts them the most isn't reason enough to pick them. They need more overlap in the timeline.” Turning towards Jackson, Samuels continued speaking, “Ameliah, Let me apologize for my student here. We’ll cut to the chase, the report says you appreciate that. We are aliens. We come from a collection of planets and have received a grant to continue studying the thoughts of humans. We have abducted you. We will ask a few questions and return you to Earth. Just questions, no probing. I don’t study anatomy, I study mentality. I am going to step out and fill in some forms for the IPF’s Research Division. If you have any questions, ask your mom here.” With that, the more communicative of the two went into the Oklahoma hallway leaving Jackson and her mom.
The sergeant had grown comfortable with silence and could tell that the alien student that was pretending to be her mom had not. It took little time for it to speak. And it sounded just like her.
“You’re the first gay human we grabbed you know.” Oh Great. “Sixth human but the first gay one. You’re going to help our data out a lot. But before we get started I want to make sure all confusion you may have is absent. So, questions?”
Without missing a beat Jackson asks, “Why do you look like my mom?”
“She is the face you trusted the most. Sorry, second most. My mentor took the first most. Next?”
The sergeant wanted to gain information without giving too much up herself so she needed to be deliberate. “How does abducting me help you?”
“We’re scientists. Researchers. We live to study the mysteries of the universe. And humans are one of the biggest mysteries. No other known sentient species lives as short of lives as you do. In the time it took somebody from my planet to learn to walk, you’ve passed three generations. And in this short time you have learned things we wish to know. Is that all?”
“How often are your abductions?”
The alien appearing to be Ameliah’s partner, returned from the hall holding a notebook. “No questions about who we are? You really don’t care about where we came from? Interesting. Not even questioning the room. To answer your question we get enough funding to abduct a person every cycle which is approximately eleven years on Earth. If it is okay with you I’d like to do a back and forth. I ask. You ask. I ask. You ask. How does that sound?”
“Okay. Works for me.”
…
“Oh that was your first question.” If they are back every eleven years for the last fifty-five, they must know humans pretty well. “Why humans?”
With Samuels being back, she responded. “That’s a good one. Humans from Earth are the only non-Class 5 sentient species in the known universe. I want to correct that. I want to prove to the IPF that Humans from Earth deserve a Class 5 status. Oddly enough, it is illegal to abduct a Class 5 species. So if done correctly my current research may make my future research unachievable. Funny right?”
Sgt. Jackson did not find it funny. This thing dressed as her girlfriend just called her species unequal to everyone else. “How can I fix this?”
A smile pushing the limits of the aliens’ coverings came across both their faces. Her mom spoke this time. “There is a special thing you humans are aware of that most of us are not intergalactically.” She leaned in, in the same manner that she used to when telling stories while they were camping. “Death. Your species’ collective belief that your time in this state must come to an end. What do you think about death, Amy Jack?”
“Do not call me that. You are not my mom. Do not. Call me that.” Her mom slunk back like a child who was appropriately scolded for saying a bad word. “This is how my dad says it: ’Every person is a book in a very long book series. Each book begins and ends the same way. It is how our story goes that matters.’ Death is the end of the book.” Hurt from how she was spoken to there was only one question to ask. “Are they okay? My mom and girlfriend. You’re in their bodies.”
After a light chuckle, Samuels began to speak. “It is nice to hear an answer that does not point us towards religion. I’m honestly tired of hearing about all your religions. They’re all the same but you swear they are different. Anyway, no, your loved ones are safe. Currently you are on our ship hooked to a Neuron Scanner. We found the location, smells, and people to make you feel most comfortable and willing to cooperate.” Sensing the answer was not enough. “We scanned your brain for their mannerisms. Now, back to the more interesting topic of Death. You intrigue me so I will skip a few questions; If you could speak to an immortal being, what would you say to them?”
“To an immortal being?” Jackson fell back on her middle school bed and looked at the popcorn ceiling for a beat. “Assuming I have to talk to them about death?” The aliens nodded. Jackson saw it out of the corner of her eye. “I would ask them what comes after. From what we have observed on Earth, everything comes to an end. Even the universe. Where will they be when the universe is done?” Ameliah sat up, almost eagerly. “I would also ask them if they're enjoying themselves. Enjoying their time being immortal. Or if they ever enjoyed it. There is something about knowing that you don’t have forever to do everything you want that makes life a little bit more worth living and makes the actions we take a bit more meaningful.”
After a few seconds, the alien being Samuels said “Would you be willing to travel with us for a bit? See the universe? Save your species? There are some beings we want you to meet.”
|
“They are insane! I have never seen anyone so insane! It’s insane!”
“This is why you need to stop getting drunk… you go crazy”
“The only thing crazy is those HUMANS!”
“You are embarrassing yourself!”
“No the humans are… ember… embarrassing themselves. All gloomy and “death is inevitable” well I don’t buy it HUMANS!”
^(Bystander human) *“Hey calm yourself down”*
“No you calm… do…w…n…”
“Woah woah woah lemme catch you there”
“No I can… move…”
“Come on, let’s head to the hover, then we go home and you can get a good rest”
“Ok…”
| 2021-10-25T20:43:48 | 2021-10-25T18:23:10 | 75 | 20 |
[WP] "That's the part tales don't mention: how the hero, forever changed by his journey, can never fit into normal society again."
|
Hector stared down at his son, a smile slowly creeping across the face of the weary soldier.
His son was still a babe and would know little of his father. Would know only what the stories and legends told him. What his mother told him. What his grandfather, King Priam told him.
The legends would tell Astyanax that his father was a great warrior, the pride of Troy, it's most ardent defender. That Troy would've fallen years ago but for the steadfast leadership and gallantry Hector had provided. The Trojans would sing songs of Hector's duel with Ajax and how Hector had lead the Trojans to a stand off against the mighty Greeks and how Hector had fought so valiantly and nobly that the Gods themselves were watching.
But none of the stories would tell the truth of Hector
None of them would tell of Hector silently weeping in hallways over a war he couldn't win.
None of them would tell of Hector having grown so weary of the war, the burden of being the savior weighing him down, that he was breaking.
They wouldn't tell how Hector had long since lost any sort of pride in Troy. How he didn't really care if the city fell or the Trojan people died off.
Hector was just.......tired
Tired of carrying the hopes and dreams of a city on his shoulders. Tired of fighting the same battles day after day. Tired of fighting the Greeks in the morning and Trojan politicians in the afternoon, questioning Hector on why the war wasn't over, why Hector hadn't been able to deliver victory. Tired of them questioning his strategies and tactics while offering none of their own, least of all strapping on sword and shield to fight the war beside him. Tired of having to console wives and daughters and mothers when their husbands and brothers and sons didn't make it back. So many good and noble Trojan men had fallen and the ranks refilled with younger and younger men. At this point, there were hundreds of children running around the city who known nothing but the life of a city at war. Silently, Hector wondered how much longer the city would hold. Of course, the politicians didn't care. Even if the city fell, they'd no doubt use their fortunes to secret themselves away to safety while more good Trojans died to defend a city that Hector no longer believed could be saved.
Hector was even tired for his wife, Andromache. Not tired OF her, he could never be tired of her. Her beauty and quiet strength had long kept Hector fighting even he wished nothing more than to lay down his sword and be done with the fighting. But he was tired of her growing sadness, tired of the sad smile she gave every time Hector marched off to fight. Tired of seeing her bearing the burden he did. She had been an ideal soldiers wife. Patient and understanding, willing to do whatever Hector needed her to do so that he could focus on winning the war, often going out with Hector to console the widows and orphans the war had created. She was as much of a hero as he was. But she was stronger than Hector had been. Where Hector was showing signs of breaking, of no longer being able to bear the burden thrust upon him, Andromache was resolute. So devout was her belief in Hector that she wouldn't dare even mention the possibility of his defeat even when he tried to show her the secret ways out of the city in the event that the city had fallen. She followed him but he doubted if she had actually paid attention to the routes he taken. She simply wouldn't allow herself to believe that her husband, the mighty Hector could lose
​
The stories wouldn't tell his son that.
​
They wouldn't tell Astyanax that the great and mighty Hector, savior and defender of Troy, had given up.
​
Even if this war was won, he had grown so weary of Troy and it's people that the first thing he'd do is march his wife and son far away to live in peace on a farm. He'd bury his sword somewhere and live out his days as Hector the farmer. His son, Gods willing, would never know war again, his grandchildren would never know war at all.
​
But Hector didn't believe it could be won. Short of the Gods themselves evicting the Greeks from Troy, this war would end in a Greek victory. The Trojans simply didn't have the strength and numbers to win. The city was already showing signs of falling as food was becoming more and more scarce, soldiers were deserting more and more. Usually, in a siege, the attacker must outlast the defender. But here, the opposite was true. The Trojans needed to outlast the Greeks and it had become apparent to Hector that they wouldn't. Hector estimated that, at best, the city would last another five years before attrition in the Trojan army meant that fighting the Greeks in the open field would be a disaster. The city would be open to bombardment by siege weapons and, eventually, the Greeks would storm the city.
​
But Hector wouldn't be there to see it.
​
Hector's time had come, he knew, and he was glad for it. The smile on his face wasn't Hector happy to see his son but Hector happy that it was the the last time he'd have to say good bye to him.
​
Hector had slain a young Greek named Patroclus, a friend of Achilles, and Achilles wrath and rage would be sated one way or another. Hector could hear Achilles screaming his name from outside the gates.
​
And everyone knew the legend of Achilles. Greatest warrior to ever live, touched by the Gods themselves. Slayer of hundreds of Trojans himself but notoriously fickle. He had sat out long portions of the war simply because was insulted by Agamemnon or some other such thing. But Achilles was known to be vengeful, given to fits of rage that were rivaled only his skill with his blade.
​
And now Achilles had come for Hector and Hector knew he would lose. Not just because Achilles was more skilled and a better fighter but because Hector didn't want to win. He was ready to embrace his death.
​
Hector hoped that, with his death, perhaps the Trojans would finally sue for peace. Agamemnon, the Greek king, wasn't going to be overly merciful but perhaps the city and the people would survive. Hector hoped that more reasonable Greek minds, like Odysseus would temper Agamemnon and stop him from slaughtering all the Trojans and razing the city to the ground.
​
But Hector didn't care much about the city. Mostly he only hoped that it remained standing so that Andromache and their son would continue to have a place to live should they choose to stay. He left her a note and a map to the secret exits just in case she didn't remember where they were and had assigned some of his loyal soldiers to safeguard their exit.
​
He left a note for his father, Priam, urging him to sue for peace after Hectors death so that more Trojans wouldn't needlessly die in a war they couldn't win.
​
Hector would fight Achilles with all of his might but he knew he couldn't beat the Greek hero. He knew that this would be his last fight and that Troy would most likely follow not long after.
​
On one hand, he was greatly ashamed of himself for where his thoughts had lead him.
​
On the other hand, he was just so very tired. Even the mightiest of heroes can bear their burdens for so long. Even victory wouldn't bring the relief Hector sought.
​
Only death would. Only falling before Achilles and the eyes of Troy would bring Hector peace. He had fought for Troy, killed for it, and now, he would die for it.
​
He looked down at his son, one final time, his smile growing to the biggest smile he'd had since before the war, to the day Andromache had agreed to wed him. Hector picked up his sword and shield and marched off to meet his destiny
​
​
\*Obviously I played a little loose with the lore surrounding the Trojan War and I'm doing this from work(Yay night shifters!) so don't be too harsh in your criticisms. I'm no writer\*
|
“Damn it Stanley” , thought Thor, “at least Frodo got a grand send-off to paradise. Tolkien really knew how to do closure. All I got was dumped in this hokey New England town after I saved the universe from the worst timeline, which came after saving the galaxy from Mr. Evil Twoshoes, coming after saving my homeplanet from my twin brother. Oh, and let’s not forget how I rid my adopted planet from those bio weapons set off by anarchists”.
Thor was once again railing on the fourth wall, trying to reach out to his author and beg for a different ending.
It wasn’t just the lack of recognition that hurt Thor’s gargantuan ego. The fan mail was turning mostly to hate mail, as some political wanna-be’s were trying to flip the script. They said, because Thor was the common theme in all of the nearly-averted-disasters, of course he must be the cause somehow. It’s like they never took a statistics course –correlation does not equal causation!
But the social media influencers ran with the idea, to gob up the ‘internet points’, whatever those were. Thus their followers were eating up the idea and sending their manufactured outrage his way in the form of angrily written notes. Thank Christ that Thor didn’t bother with the humans techno-stuff. Having to resort to paper and pen probably helped the letter writers calm down a bit.
As reading the mail was Thor’s only real recurring task, he didn’t want to give it up. He could easily spend half a day opening, reading, and sorting the letters. The other half was just staring out into the horizon, punctuated by staring into the blazing campfires. Maybe he would travel someday. Go out and experience the world without a pending disaster hanging over his head. But the idea of being recognized in public was too much for him, and it’s not like he had the cash to get premium access to tourist sites after hours and such.
Being a hero doesn’t come with a paycheck, in case you didn’t know.
The only way Thor could describe his new prickly affect was as a coping mechanism to the incredible emotional swing he’d experienced as a hero in retirement. The rush of emotion was like coming back to school after summer break, but magnified, sharped by the knowledge that he was capable of much more than channel surfing. Worst of all, unlike a schoolday, he didn't have anything to make him forget about his good times. No amount of booze, gambling, deep-sea basket weaving, or staring at the ceiling would let him step away from his legacy as Champion of the Universe. He could never slip into something more comfortable, to lounge without a care.
And then one day, Thor’s red phone rings …
| 2019-07-13T23:05:59 | 2019-07-13T19:52:59 | 404 | 21 |
[WP] You have long been fascinated by swords, and have mastered every kind of sword fighting technique known to man. No man can defeat you. But you have grown old, and Death has crept up to deliver his final swing, but something happened, something Death had never experienced before, he was parried.
|
######[](#dropcap)
He was silent for a moment before the words slithered from beneath the dark hood, a low raspy sound that only sounded faintly human. "You do not wish to die?"
The old man coughed, leaning into his sword, which he no longer had the energy to raise. "Does anyone?" he wheezed. "I have much unfinished business."
"Your daughter?" Death asked. He slowly lowered his scythe. The man was frail now. He had used the last of his energy withstanding the blow, and yet...
The old man coughed, his chest heaving violently. "I must see her get married. I cannot die yet."
Death remained silent. He stood there, his robes billowing despite the dead air around them, the darkness beneath his hood completely unfathomable. All of a sudden, the mountain air around them began to chill, a gale of wind whistling past and almost prying the sword from the old man's hands before it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. When Death spoke again, the old man could hear a strange eagerness to his voice.
"You would agree to a deal?"
"Anything," the old man coughed.
Death laughed then, an inhuman noise that was as low and raspy as it was high and keening. "My favorite word," he said, the words long and drawn out. "Good," he said, and then reached out a hand--long and frail, more bone than skin--and touched it to the old man's forehead. Rather than the icy touch he had been expecting, Death's fingertips were scalding to the touch. "I have grown weary," he said simply.
Before the old man could ask what that sentence meant, he lost consciousness.
 
When he woke up later, his head pounding, he could feel the fresh life in his veins. His joints no longer ached, and the migraine that had plagued him for the last two years of his life had disappeared. His eyes brightened. He had won. He could go see his daughter again. He got to his feet and reached for his sword. Then he froze.
His sword--the sword that his master had forged for him twenty years ago--had disappeared. And in its place, a scythe. The handle was black as night, so pitch dark it looked like it would suck him in if he touched it, and the blade glowed brightly, despite the cloudy sky.
He hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching for it. Just as his hand closed around the handle, his surroundings vanished. He now stood in an abandoned barn, alone. He blinked, gazing around at the bales of hay. Then a sound came from behind the hay bales.
"Who's there?" he shouted, brandishing the scythe in front of him. "Come out!"
Silence, except for a gasping and choking sound.
Carefully, he made his way toward the noise, his footsteps so soft even he himself couldn't hear them. His gaze trained forward, he walked steadily, expecting to see an animal--maybe some kittens or a cow. Instead, the sight in front of him made his blood freeze.
A woman was laying on the ground, her blonde hair splayed across the pile of hay that should have been golden in color, but for the dark red liquid that was seeping into it, dyeing the hay underneath her body a deep hue. Her eyes wide open, blood gurgled from her open mouth and from a large wound on her abdomen as she desperately struggled to draw in breath through the liquid gurgling from her throat. She looked no more than twenty.
With a cry of terror, the old man fell to his knees in front of her, his hands shaking as he reached forward to press on the wound in her abdomen, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. But his hands simply passed through her, even as she stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, the blood flowing faster from her.
*She should be dead.* The thought passed through the old man's head even as he reached out again and again, hoping beyond hope that the next time, maybe his hands would become solid and that he could save her life somehow.
Minutes passed. Yet the girl didn't die, stuck in a state of perpetual pain and terror as the old man helplessly watched. Her gaze--distant and drifting everywhere from the pain--suddenly turned toward a point next to him, and she reached out a hand, her gaze then turning to him.
He turned to see what she was looking at.
The scythe.
And then suddenly, he understood. But he couldn't. He had killed some men in his lifetime, but they had been deserving of it. He would never raise a weapon toward anyone undeserving. There was no honor in that.
The girl's eyes seemed to be pleading him as she continued to choke on her own blood, unable to live, and yet unable to die. The old man hesitated, then gritted his teeth and picked up the scythe. Maybe there was no honor, but...perhaps there was mercy.
He slowly got to his feet, the scythe weighing heavy in his hands. Then with one fell stroke, he sweeped it downwards, and the girl became silent. Her body glowed bright blue before little wisps of light rose from her body, twisting and turning until they became a bright blue orb, which then slowly ascended toward the heavens.
It was her soul, he supposed. The old man looked down at the body, with its lifeless eyes and fragile limbs. And then he began bawling, the tears coming fast and furious as he crumpled into a heap on the floor. Day turned into night around him. He stayed in that position until he had no more tears.
He had seen death before. He was no stranger to it. But never like this. Never before like this. Suddenly, he thought of his daughter. He had to go see her. He had to make sure she was okay.
He picked himself off the ground and picked up the scythe. And in the next second, he was in front of her apartment. She was in the front yard, bent down in front of the resident garden, tending to her tomatoes. "Linda," he called out, his voice hoarse from crying.
She didn't turn around.
"Linda!" he called out again. She remained as if she didn't hear him. His eyes dimmed. So it was as he had suspected. *I have grown weary.*
He could see her get married now. Could see her grow old. Death had fulfilled his promise to him after all.
 
He had become Death.
*****
r/AlannaWu
|
The sound of metal against metal rang out. Death held the scythe in place against the sword. The man before Death held his sword firm for the moment. “No man,” he panted, grip tightening with the leather of it creaking, “has ever defeated me. You shall not take me either.”
“I AM NO MAN,” Death answered and the scythe split from the force of the sword. The scythe blade slid clean through the man and his body fell into bed, sword at his side as the man lay at peace.
Death caught the blade and snapped it again to its wooden handle. It glowed with the man’s spirit still listening as Death began to walk with him. “I AM THE END.”
| 2018-10-29T20:59:44 | 2018-10-29T20:00:27 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] There is a deep hole just outside your village. The elders pick one person to dive in every year, 'for the good of the tribe', never to be seen again. The elders have just chosen you. You're expected to jump tonight.
|
The entire village gathered around. Everyone glanced at one another before the elders appeared on stage. “Welcome!” The eldest began. “Today is that time of the year. The time in which we gather for the chosen who will take our leap of faith for the survival of the human race.” The crowd cheered. Among the crowd stood Monty Patterson and his younger sister Vivian. Monty and Vivian did not cheer along with the crowd. Instead, they stood frozen – afraid. The reason for this is because either knowing they were still children, they understood the truth behind the ceremony. No one in the village was safe. Anyone could be chosen by the hand. The hand did not discriminate, nor did it consider age. Years ago, a newborn had been selected. If the hand chooses a name. It is to be etched in stone.
“Monty, will I be chosen?” Vivian teared.
“Don’t say that.” Monty snapped downward. “I won’t let that happen.” Monty felt helpless. If Vivian’s name had been chosen by the hand, there was nothing anyone could do.
The eldest stepped forward toward the stone goblet of old. “Let us now choose our champion!” This was the time when the crowd did not cheer, everyone stood in anticipation of their name being the one the eldest had just drawn from the goblet. “The next to take the dive –”
The eldest paused,
“Monty Patterson!”
The crowd cheered. Vivian had been yanked away from Monty as the crowd hoisted him up in the air with excitement. The elders all stood to embrace their next champion. Monty screamed for Vivian who had been lost in the crowd behind. Once Monty’s foot touched the hardwood of the stage, his color grew pale.
“Monty,” the eldest took hold of him to help his balance forward, “Monty, everything will be ok. This is an honor!”
Monty kept looking for his sister, but she had been concealed by everyone crowding against the stage. Monty stared at the eldest, his grandfather. “Why?”
“We don’t ever know our time my boy. One of the great things of being the chosen – is that you will know your time. Do not be afraid, for we do not know what lies at the bottom.”
Monty’s grandfather positioned him center stage in front of the other elders. “Tonight,” he announced, “Monty Patterson will take the dive!” While the crowd roared Monty’s name, his vision had blurred to the point where everything snapped to darkness.
When Monty awoke, he was behind the stage in the elder’s chamber. His grandfather instructed him he was to remain in the chamber until the dive. He left to go fetch Vivian in order for her to say goodbye, leaving behind a few elders to watch over Monty.
“I need to go.” Monty told one of the elders.
“Go where?”
“No – I mean I have to go.” Monty motioned his meaning. The elder smiled and handed him a bucket. “There’s no leaving the chamber dear.”
Monty tossed the bucket against the corner. He looked around the room for any possible exit but there were none visible. The chamber was full of secrets collected from all elders. Usually when one is about to take the dive, they try to find out as many answers to their questions as possible. But for Monty, the only answer he was interested in was a way out of the dive.
“Psst!” Monty heard a peculiar noise from behind one of the marble pillars. “Psst! Monty, come here!” Monty found the elders in mid conversation and moved to where the mysterious voice had come from. As Monty approached, he instantly screamed in shock,
“Henry!” Henry covered his mouth before any of the elders paid mind to the commotion. Henry shook his head and whispered from under his hood,
“Don’t say my name. They can’t know that I’m here.”
“Henry, how—” Monty started to question everything. The reason for his questioning is that Henry was Monty’s older brother – well, was. Henry had been chosen for the dive five years ago. Monty still remembers Henry disappearing into nothingness. Now, Henry was standing in front of him as if he never even took the dive at all.
“Listen to me Monty. Listen real closely.” Monty leaned in closer to his brother. “Whatever you do. Do not let anyone stop you from taking the dive.”
“Why? No one stops the dives. How are you here? What is going on?!” Monty needed answers. Henry rested his hand on his shoulder.
“Everything in this chamber – everything the elders had taught us is a lie.” Henry tried to explain quickly. “Everything will make since after the dive.”
“Why? What’s at the bottom?” Monty kept his attention onto Henry who noticed one of the elders moving their way.
“It isn’t a bottom little brother. It’s a side.” Henry pulled away.
“Monty?” An elder grabbed hold of Monty’s attention. “Are you alright? I heard you talking to yourself.”
Monty looked over his shoulder as there had not been a single trace of Henry’s presence. He didn’t understand how he was able to come back or even get inside the chamber. Monty started to question if his engagement with Henry was even real.
“I – I thought I saw my brother.” Monty told the elder. The elder looked back at the others who all started to become interested in Monty’s encounter.
“Tell us exactly what you saw or heard Monty.” Monty’s grandmother, one of the other elders ordered him.
“Why? What’s the big deal?”
“It may get you out of taking the dive, now tell us exactly what you saw.”
Monty felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. His brother warned him of those who try to stop his dive. Monty was trying to understand why the elders believed that he actually saw his older brother and why they wanted to know each detail.
“Monty,” his grandmother handed him a pen and paper. “write us exactly what your brother told you in your vision.”
“Vision?” Monty became confused. It felt too real for it to be imaginary. The elders circled around him. His grandfather entered with Vivian, but Monty had been held back by the elders.
“Monty!” Vivian called out. The elders pulled Monty back to where he stood. Monty’s grandmother confronted his grandfather who rushed Vivian from the chamber. Monty called out for her, but the elders kept him in place.
“Monty,” his grandmother motioned the elders to release him. “Tell me what your vision was or it will be Vivian who takes the dive alongside you.”
|
Poem
The elders have chosen me,
Where I go I cannot see.
Many have jumped before,
I watch them fall but also soar.
I’m scared and nervous for tonight,
But here I sit proudly and upright.
The clocks ticks it’s last minute,
The hole below me looks infinite.
I jump because the Elders told me to,
I could’ve fought but didn’t think it through.
Now I’m falling over the ledge,
I look back and see my family peering through the hedge.
A sudden stop before too far,
All I am is a golf ball making par!
| 2019-04-28T16:53:18 | 2019-04-28T15:21:33 | 71 | 46 |
[WP] You entered a forest filled with monsters. The exit constantly moves, you don't age in the forest. When exiting, one person must stay unless they are the only one in the forest. Many a time you found the exit but let others leave. For the first time, another asked how long you've been here.
|
They called him the Watchmaker. Luna never learned why. Clocks, of course, do not work in the Valley. He had other names as well, but she never heard those.
He threw a huge shadow, but was really quite small - just less than average height and slim as a knife, but wiry strong, like a gnarled tree clinging to the side of a cliff. He wore weatherworn hide and fur, a long straight knife on one hip and an axe on the other. A recurve bow was lashed to the side of his small backpack.
He was the solemn sort of handsome, with angular features fit for an emperor or an executioner. It was a young face, no older than her's, but his eyes were ancient. And they were spectacular.
They were the kind of eyes that a mountain might have, the grey of seaworn slate, speckled with green and criss-crossed by double-helix strands of amber. There was timeless strength and infinite patience in those eyes.
He walked into her spare camp one night, melting from the wood like a phantom. His movements were graceful, precise, and his footsteps were silent.
She stared at him, shaking. In the dark, he barely looked human, and in the Valley, the inhuman are to be feared. Then he stepped into a shaft of moonlight, and the visage melted away like so many grains of sand.
"What's your name?" he asked. If words had weight, a sentence from the Watchmaker could have sunken a ship.
"Luna," she said. "Luna Delgado."
He nodded, and some long-past memory flashed behind his eyes. "Pretty name," he sat across from her. "How long you been here?"
She scratched the back of her neck. "Hard to say," she said. "The days never seem the same."
"That's because they aren't," he said.
"It's been at least a week, I guess... but I haven't eaten, and I'm not hungry."
"You won't get hungry here," he said.
She leaned forward. "Where is here?"
His face was a statue. "Nowhere. Everywhere. I don't think it matters."
"But how did I get here?"
His grey eyes were merciless. "You know how."
She looked at him for a long moment, and supposed she did know, after all.
"Am I trapped here forever?" she asked, very quietly.
He raised one eyebrow. "Forever? No. Only till you find the exit."
She blinked. "The exit?"
He nodded. "The door. It goes... somewhere else, I guess."
"Well, where is it?"
He smiled then, a bitter and mirthless thing. "I don't know. It moves, like the rivers, trees, and mountains. It all moves, Luna."
Many were discouraged when he told them that. Not Luna Delgado. She rubbed her temple. "So it's simply a matter of finding it, then?"
He smiled again. "Yes. But listen now, and listen close. This place is alive, and it hates us. It will try to bend your mind. It cannot control you, but it will try to persuade you away from the door. You must remain focused, do you understand? Focus hard on the door, walk, and we will find it. The Valley will reshape beneath our feet, and sometimes we will find ourselves very far from where we should be, but whatever happens, you must remain focused on the door."
She nodded. "I understand." Hope bloomed, for a moment, but then memory quashed it. "But what if the monsters come for us?"
"They won't," he said, with the certainty of a prophet.
"Why not?"
"I'm with you," he said.
She raised one eyebrow. "You befriended them?"
His voice was cold and low. "No."
Luna eyed the sweat-worn handle of the machete on his hip, and thought she understood. "How long will it take to find the door?"
He waved his hand. "Forget about time. It's not important any more. We will find it when we find it."
Dawn came suddenly, around midnight. They got moving immediately. The next night lasted three days, but they walked through it.
They followed a creek bed north. Gulls and crows screamed at them from the leafless trees. With each step, flashes of memory burrowed into Luna's mind.
The brave had bridged the creek with their dead. Clashing steel. Dying things. Monsters in the water.
She blinked away blood and shadow. The gulls and the crows screamed, and feasted on the still-moving fallen.
"The door, Luna," the Watchmaker said. "You must focus on the door."
She tried. The visions pushed harder. A lance of iron pain spread from her forehead down to the tip of her spine. She grit her teeth, and suddenly tasted blood. A phantom. She had not bitten her lip.
Her stomach twinged, and turned. The stench of rot filled her nostrils and coated them like calcium around a pipe. She leaned over, and vomited.
The Watchmaker rubbed her back in wide circles. "Listen to my voice. Focus. The door. The door. The door."
Step by quivering step, they made their way forward, until Luna stepped onto a large flat rock and found that she wasn't alongside the creek anymore. They were in the middle of a thick pine forest. The peat below her feet was soft and thick.
"Keep walking," the Watchmaker said. "Pay no mind to it-"
"The door," Luna grumbled. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
She had been walking for a week or less or more by now, but was not tired. When she asked him about that, he said: "You won't get tired here. Remember the door."
The next day, they found the door.
"Is that..." Luna breathed.
"You know it is," he said.
"So we just go through?"
"You go through," he said.
She turned away from it to look at him. "You can't leave?"
"I can,"
"You won't?"
He shrugged. "You go. I stay. That's the way it works."
"Why?"
"One person has to stay," he said quietly.
"But-"
"Go through, before it moves."
She looked him in his grey eyes that seemed so terribly ancient. "How long have you been here?"
He smiled. "Didn't I say time doesn't matter here?"
"You don't want to go?"
Another shrug. "This game ain't so bad once you know how to play. It's the learning that's hard." He left the last part unsaid, but she heard it: *and the unlearning*.
She looked at him for a long moment. "Aren't you tired?" she asked, very quietly.
He looked away. "Don't get tired here. Remember?"
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You know just what I mean."
Before he could respond, something happened. Exactly what, Luna could not say. It was like a change in the air pressure, just barely noticeable, and the feeling faded after a moment.
"Someone just arrived," he said.
Luna blinked. "That's three. Come on. Go through. We both go through."
His jaw clenched hard. "No."
"But-"
"Someone has to bring them here, Luna," he said, and suddenly sounded every one of his years. "Go through. It will move."
"Come with me," she said.
"One day," he promised. "Not yet. Go."
Luna went through.
|
"Yea, I've been here a pretty long time. I've counted 1141 sleeps since I fell in here.
I fold my arms and lean against my favorite tree as I examine the beat up looking pizza delivery guy.
"Well, W-What are those.. things.. back there? They are.. horrible". The pizza guy says as he tried to catch his breath, leaning back on a boulder.
"Monsters. Demons. Fallen angels. Otherworldly entities. To be honest, I don't really know. But there are ones that come and go. Last week I had a three headed clown-centaur looking dude that tried to get me. I've seen all types.
"S-So.. are we stuck here forever?" He asks, picking up his pizza box and eating a slice.
"No, not stuck forever. I can get you out of here really soon. I know the secret to getting out".
The Pizza delivery guy brightens up and gets a really hopeful look on his face, only to switch to a terrified look as rapid footsteps approach.
Something breathing heavily sprints towards us, and the pizza guy dives into a nearby bush.
A door with arms, legs, and a jogger's headband on the top of his doorframe jogs into our clearing.
I casually stick my foot out and trip the door when he runs past me.
The door falls down and glares at me.
"OWW! HEY FELLA, that's the 3rd time you've tripped me. What's the big idea-
I grab the pizza guy and carry him over to the door.
"Enjoy your freedom. Bring more pizza if you come back".
I grab the door's knob and open it, and toss the pizza guy into the real world.
I shut the door, and help Mr. Door to his feet.
The door grunts and puts his hands on his hips.
"You are going to hear from my lawyer, buddy, and he's going to have a field day with you."
| 2020-12-30T00:39:01 | 2020-12-30T00:29:56 | 1,253 | 91 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
Tallek sniffed, closing his lower eyes in frustration.
Of course it'd be humans. They may be new to the galaxy, but they were already making a name for themselves. They'd been living among the galactic community for seventy years, but had been painfully slow in adapting to the ways of the galaxy. Was it stupidity, or the arrogance of a young race, or where humans just slow to adapt? Speculation abound on why humans didn't do things the way everyone else did, but Tallek never really paid them much mind.
A new species popped up every few years. There had dozens of species that had popped up since humans had arrived on the galactic stage and they all had their little quirks.
Still, Tallek thought, most of them weren't as stubborn as humans were.
On the bridge of his capital ship, the Central Blade, Tallek looked at a holo-display of the human fleet. Reclining in his ships throne, he sighed. It was underwhelming by the galaxies standards. Low tech, little in the way of weapons diversity, a disappointing lack of Dreadnoughts and no obvious Capital ship.
Tallek sniffed again. He didn't know why. The humans weren't here to be insulted by his theatrics. No, any theatrics would have to be done the proper way. Once their fleet fired their opening salvos, the weight of firepower would cow the humans into submission. That was how it went. A formal display of firepower opened up every fleet engagement. Let the enemy know your power, and give them a chance to surrender. It was polite. Did humans understand politeness?
"Ship-King?" Nallet asked, cycling through his holo-screens. "We have very little information on human warfare. Most of their conflict is anti-piracy. No fleet engagements to speak of as yet."
Nallet was his Ship-Prince, his second in command. Good man. Smart. Perhaps a little too cautious, for reliable nonetheless.
"And what do those records show?" Tallek said, reaching out with his lower arms and flipping through his own holo-screens.
"Not much. There's barely any documentation on them, besides the fact that pirate ships give human fleets a wide berth. Sometimes pirate ships that get caught by human patrols just...vanish? That cant be right." Nallet said, looking for more information. Information was power, after all, but here Tallek thought Nallet was being a little too cautious.
"They're bloody primitives, Nallet! They only mastered FTL travel ninety years ago, and spaceflight three hundred years ago. Look at their fleet! Forty ships, no dreadnoughts, no capital ship. Just those ridiculous little destroyers! And they barely have any weapon. Every ship has just three or four variations of the same designs. No diversity in munitions, they even seem to be relying on kinetic weapons of all things! Look, Nallet, we'll just shake them up, get their surrender, and demand some outrageous trade rights for our Empire, and be on our way and home by third dinner? Yes? Good. Now, give the order to attack."
Nallet, wringing his four hands throughout Tallek's lecture, shrugged, and gestured for the Ship-lords to ready their weapons for attack. The Human fleet was still holding position above their moon colony.
"All ships, I repeat, all ships, fire first storm. Repeat, first storm." Nallet shouted. With perfect unity, all three hundred ships in the fleet fired all their weapons in one organised salvo, deliberately missing the Human fleet and their colony, but absolutely decimating a good chunk of one of the moons green continents behind them.
The response was immediate. Every Human ship returned fire. Tallek didn't sniff at this. This was a rather admirable display from the humans. Very quick response. Might be a little rude to fire back before properly accounting for the damage the first fleet had done, but still. It showed they were eager. Would humans finally put up a proper display of galactic etiquette for once?
The next few seconds absolutely destroyed any notion of proprietary or formality Tallek thought humans might have. Every single shot the humans fired hit their target. And every single shot exploded. The Dreadnought, Mighty Wrath, three kilometres long, had its wing torn off by a volley of railgun fire. Its main cannon detonated when a salvo of armour piercing torpedoes struck its plasma reactor, and its bridge was wiped from existence by a high powered laser cannon. The Frigates Solar Wings, Lunar Dance and Cosmic Shine were ripped apart by explosive kinetic shells, each shot passing through their energy shields without an issue.
Even his own ship, the mighty Central Blade, a Capital Ship five kilometres long, lost a quarter of its weapons, a third of its hull armour and half its hangar bays to a dozen salvos of railguns. Tallek paused for a few seconds, waiting for the humans to stop firing, to realise their hideous and barbaric breach of etiquette, only to realise that the humans simply weren't stopping. Three more of his ships were torn to shreds by weapons that the rest of the galaxy had dismissed centuries ago as ineffective and unthreatening.
The humans, clearly, had decided to go their own way, as always.
"Return fire!" Tallek screamed. He had fought in fleet engagements that resulted in ship-to-ship fire before, but those occassions were very rare. His Ship-prince Nallek had obviously never been in one before, based on his screaming. Tallek knew he had to take down as many human ships as possible before one side broke and gave the surrender order. The humans couldn't come away from this thinking they were better then us. They couldn't.
Energy rounds and plasma shots burned through the void. Human energy shields were weak, and only took a few shots to take down, but their shots took none. Every shot fired from their ships was a critical hit. A crippling blow. Railguns, lasers, torpedoes, kinetic cannons...they ripped through armour liked it was nothing. Five more of Tallek's ships went up in flames before the first human ship was incinerated by a plasma shot from his own ship.
But the damage had already been done. With just forty small ships, the Humans had reaped such a bloody toll that Tallek could not stomach it when four more of his ships were shredded before the next Human ship ate a phasic beam to the bridge.
"Surrender, Nallet, surrender." Tallek said, arms flailing. His Ship-prince needed no further encouragement. The order went through the fleet, and Tallek buried his head in his arms. From his bridge, he could see the burning, twisting hulls of no less then twenty three of us ships. Only four human ships destroyed.
Tallek was wrong about humans. The whole galaxy was wrong about humans.
They weren't stubborn. They weren't stupid. And they certainly weren't primitive. And most of all, they definitely weren't slow to adapt.
These humans did things their own way, because to them, it was the rest of the galaxy that was stupid. As the human fleet began to advance forward, transmitting orders to surrender not only themselves, but their ships and weapons, Tallek felt a growing sense of dread. He now understood why humans didn't do things the way everyone else did.
They had found a better way to do things.
And it had just been revealed to humans that perhaps the rest of the galaxy wasn't quite as far ahead of them as they might've been led to believe.
|
*Valkyrie this is Panther 6, I have changes to line 6 and remarks to pass*
*Panther this is Valkyrie, go ahead*
*Line 6: from original coordinate, area target, 500 meters heading 327 break*
*Remarks: two massed formations with a hundred meter gap, looks like guys on foot talking and dueling within the gap, over*
*Copy Panther, from original coordinate 500 meters heading 327, area target, massed troop formations*
*Solid Valkyrie, I want you to attack the left side of the formations, and dash 2 to attack the right side; can you do simultaneous runs?*
*Negative Panther, 10 second split*
*Copy Valkyrie, cleared hot*
Fuck those guys. Who brings Battalions with guns into the open to wave flags at each other? I feel sorry for everybody stuck on the Wasp in orbit fighting with the squids for gym time and standing in long chow lines. There is zero support infrastructure down here in the well, but I get to move and i have GRAVITY, even if it is half a g.
And these dipshits that both showed up to duel us separately but started fighting each other because we weren't there, and we were never going to be.
*Panther, Valkyrie, LASER ON*
*LAZING*
*Valkyrie 1, RIFLE*
This war is going to be short, and I'm already getting bored of it.
| 2020-03-21T13:22:48 | 2020-03-21T11:49:38 | 105 | 14 |
[WP] Your twin is the Chosen One, born with powerful abilities. But you were born with none. Because they were born gifted, your twin took everything from you as they bathed in the spotlight. Your anger drove you to become better, working hard to rival your twin, yet they call YOU the villain.
**EDIT** : Apparently the first two sentences are incredibly similar to a plethora of stories and shows, so I apologize if it seems like I’m copying from something.
|
I don't even flinch as the woman slams her hands on the counter in front of me. Not anymore. "Your sister," she snarled, "wouldn't *charge* me!"
Once this constant comparing between my sister and me would have enraged me. Made me say something I'd regret. But I've moved past that now. "My sister," I told her calmly, "doesn't have to worry about where her next meal is coming from. I do. Pay, or leave." The woman's face twitches as I calmly wait for her decision. I know what the answer will be, of course. She does need the medicine, and I'm not charging more than the city healers would--*if* they'd had the skill to make it.
Ever since we were children my twin's every want had been catered to. I worked, and worked *hard* to get where I was. I took the only thing that couldn't be taken from me: knowledge. I learned everything I could about everything, which was how I'd learned *why* the town hated me so much from such a young age. When the two of us were born the Priest attending received a prophecy that one would be the Fated Savior and the other Fated Destroyer. Based on the inherent magical talent my sister had been born with, he decreed that *she* would be the Fated Savior.
And in the meantime I had to fight for my own food, my own clothes, and shared a room with the servants. Still, one of them had been a kindly old woman who had taken the time to teach me about plants. And every citizen, no matter what they were "prophesied" to be, had the right to attend both school and visit the library. I took my knowledge of plants to a mastery and learned something very important: if someone claimed and cultivated land from the forest outside the city gates it was theirs to own and to hold (and pay taxes on). So, that's what I did. I took the time to sneak out and work on clearing a small space of land; just enough for a cottage and a garden, built the cottage with my own two hands, and when they announced that it was my job to become my sister's personal servant--I left. I went to the cottage. Most of my trade is actually with the merchants who travel through the city and don't understand why I don't enter the gates.
It didn't take long for the citizens to realize *where* the powerful new potions were coming from. It took even less time for them to decide to start beating down my door. And in even less time they grew resentful that I, the shamed scapegrace destined to grow into the Fated Destroyer, dared to *charge* them for my product. That I refused to enter town to deliver it to them. That I absolutely refused, no matter what anyone said, to offer any of it for free to anyone my sister recommended.
The whole thing would still piss me off, but it's impossible to hold onto anger while gardening. The plants are sensitive to emotions, after all, and anything other than peace and acceptance can make the fragile seedlings fail. So, I've come to terms with it. With the unfairness of it. I don't expect them to act any differently and I refuse to bow to what they say the world should be.
The woman snarled and threw the payment--three clipped copper coins and the minimum charge for *any* potion--on the counter before I handed over the bottle, smiling sweetly despite her attitude as I swept the coppers off the counter. I waited until after she left to deposit them with the rest of my savings. I didn't want anyone to know what I was planning.
I knew, better than anyone, what my sister was like. It wouldn't be much longer before she decided to "check up" on me, to "make sure I'm doing well." As if she *cares*. No matter; I'm prepared.
Good thing too. The woman had been gone just long enough for me to deposit my coppers and close my box (I don't want anyone to know how much I have) before the door opened and my sister walked into the cottage. My sister has a tall lithe frame, skin that is pale (from never having to set foot in the sun unless she wants to) and glorious golden hair with wide, innocent looking blue eyes. I, on the other hand, am stunted from years of malnutrition, have stocky muscles built to take care of my own land, and the best that can be said about my hair is that it's not frequently given to tangling around things.
"Hello," I call as neutrally as I can. I can't be pleasant, not when I know why she's here.
"Cozy little place you have here."
I barely refrain from a snort. The roof leaks, the walls whistle in the wind, and the shutters are crooked. "Would you like to buy a potion?" I ask.
"And your garden is amazing."
"I have many kinds. Everything from physical ailments to skin cream."
"I didn't even know that some of these plants *could* be tamed."
Most of them can't. Again, *my* hard work. "Are you not content with running me out of town?" I demand.
She smiled charmingly and gave a little hum before leaning against the counter, one hand laid on the smooth(ish) wood. I try not to glare with resentment at her smooth, soft hands. She's never had to work a day in her life. "What kind of a hero would I be," she asked as she looked at me through the corners of her eyes, "if I allowed the villain to live so close to home."
"You can't kick me out of here," I told her. "I have it by right of Freehold."
"Only while the city walls are where they are. I hear the Lord is thinking of extending them."
My breath catches. She wouldn't.
She would. This is what I've been preparing for. "Oh?" I ask.
"Of course, I'm sure he'd put off the project. If I ask him to."
He would, because *she* asked him to. And I could be accepted back into the city--if I accept that my "place" is to obediently serve my sister, be the scapegoat for everything that goes wrong (I still remember the whipping I got the year a storm wrecked half the city), and never do anything for my own "selfish" needs again.
No, thank you. "Go away," I tell her.
She smirked. That was what she wanted to hear. "I think I'll enjoy moving in here," she said as she pushed away from the counter. "Of course, I'll have to get someone down here to fix the walls and the thatch. I'll think about who to send."
I want to be paralyzed in fear, to take a moment to rail at how *unfair* it is that she can ask this of me--but I don't have time. I only have a limited amount of time before they figure out what I'm planning and take steps to stop me. I grab my box and pack it, then go to the part of the garden that has my precious Emerald Tree saplings. I take them out by the road and wait for the next the merchant caravan to bargain.
His eyes light up at the sight of the saplings. Emerald trees are very rare--and almost *never* grow tame. "I want to bargain for safe passage with you," I tell him. The bargain is quickly struck, I load the the saplings, and leave with the caravan.
As it drives off I can't help but wonder how long it will take the city to realize that the priest assigned the wrong roles to the twin babies?
|
I didn't understand why, my brother tore through these possessed people with his magic and was called a hero.
I on the other hand... Well apparently if you use guns instead of magic to end a person who's been possessed by a demon you're not a hero but a monster.
My brother was born with super human powers, flight, super strength, heat vision all the super hero bs. Meanwhile I was born with nothing except for my trigger finger.
I never had problems with killing someone, I've done it dozens of times before even reaching the age of 21, just like my brother. But it looks like people preferred when it happens through super powers than through guns.
He beat a lot of evil guys, killing many of them through his super Strength but still they praised him as hero. He was no hero. He only wanted the fame. The money. The women...
I on the other hand was a firm believer in justice, but people don't seem to care. A group of terrorists screwed up a bomb planting and started taking hostages instead, since my brother was occupied fighting some super villain I jumped into action. They had many men who were armed to their teeth with rifles, bullet proof vests and even grenades.
I had a Desert Eagle.
I didn't miss a single shot, they all fell victim to the .50 AE hollow points I had loaded.
The public hated me, calling me a crazy vigilante, even calling me villain...
It has been going on for years now, he gets all the glory by just beating up people weaker than him while not giving a single damn about the people he was saving.
I always tried my best to save people and avoid fights, only using my pistol when it was absolutely necessary.
Still in their eyes I was the villain.
I've finally realized after all these years... Justice is dead... They call me villain? Fine then... I'll give them a villain.
| 2020-01-01T09:13:09 | 2020-01-01T07:42:00 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] You are a mugger in NYC. You end up mugging a man who only had a USB stick in his pockets. After taking it and making your escape, you later find there's only one thing on the USB. A picture, of you, tied up in an unfamiliar room.
|
Put enough ones and zeros together and you can make anything.
That's the best I could come up with, at least. Looking at the picture gleaming back at me from my laptop screen,
the explanation that *technically*, very technically, it's possible that this image was created digitally is the only
way I can justify its existence.
It's not happening again. No way. This picture is real. It's not just in my head.
But the dripping sound is back too, driving me insane. *Pluck, pluck, pluck*, in my head in the most unexpected
situations. Like there's a leakage following me around.
I have to convince myself there are leakages everywhere. I just have to.
Because this isn't happening again. It can't be.
There's also the fact that *I* mugged him. Of all the idiots in all the world I could mug, I mugged a guy with a
pendrive containing a picture of me in a basement that – for no acceptable reason at all – he decided to create with
Photoshop or whatever. It doesn't add up that well. But it's the best I could do. The best I could do to convince myself that I'm good without the pills, that this isn't happening again.
*Pluck, pluck* again, as I turn my laptop off and grab my jacket.
I need to get out of the house. I haven't been sleeping well. I haven't been taking my pills. Been drinking too
much and smoking too much and eating too little.
____________
At Starbucks, the blonde lady smiles with my cup of Latte.
"Thanks," I say. My beard is untrimmed. My shirt is smelly and my ass hurts, for some reason.
*Pluck, pluck.*
"You know, he's dead," the lady says, with a smile.
"Beg your pardon?"
"I said there's sweetener on the counter."
She's still smiling. I haven't slept in days. I haven't eaten.
I take three sips of the coffee – it tastes like nothing – and I throw it in the trash on my way out.
"You didn't have to do it," a fat kid says, strolling past me by the sunny sidewalk holding hands with his father.
"I'm sorry?" I ask, turning around to face him.
I can't eat, I can't think.
"You didn't have to do it, it was your choice," the kid says, walking away from me.
Stop. Go home. You need to sleep. You need your pills. You need to eat.
__________________
Back home my head is heavy like an aircraft carrier against the pillow. The yellow bulb dangling from the
infiltration-stained roof is making my eyes hurt, and the warm light going through my eyelids pops up red rivers of veins in front of my eyes.
I shouldn't stop taking my pills. The shrink says I have to, otherwise I go back to Brockwood Penitentiary. Mandatory treatment, he says.
But I was good. I stopped the pills because I was good.
I don't want to go back.
*Pluck, pluck, pluck.*
My thoughts are getting weird and surreal. I think I'm drifting off. Finally.
I need to sleep. Just for a lifetime.
I need to sleep. Forget about that picture. Forget about Edgar.
_________________
"Stuart," the man in a suit says, as I open my eyes. Against my ass is a cold metal chair, and I'm all tied up.
"Where am I?"
*Pluck, pluck, pluck,* goes the sound again. To my right, drops of sewage water are dripping from the ceiling onto
a small brown puddle, just like that day, fifteen years ago.
"Dreaming," he says, simply.
"About Edgar," I whisper.
"Yes, about Edgar," he replies. "Pluck, pluck, pluck, Stuart."
"I didn't mean to –"
"Save it, you are free already," the man says. "You've convinced the parole board, you don't need to convince your
subconscious."
"I had a boss. I had a job, and I did it. I did what I was paid to do."
"Edgar Thompson had a family," the man says. "You tied him to a chair and tortured him for three hours. He had a
daughter named Kelly. She's in college now."
"He owed money to my boss! If I didn't do it, my boss would have killed me!"
"And Edgar would still be alive," the suited man replies. The plucking is louder, and the puddle spreads in all directions like blood out of a wound. "We all make choices, Stuart."
"I never killed anyone again," I breathe out. "I never did. Since I left Brockwood, I've been good. I mug people, but
I never talked to anyone from... I've never worked for… I never killed –"
"It's ok, Stuart," the man says. "It's all right. You just need your pills again. You need to start eating again. Start
sleeping again. It's all going to be ok."
"I can't," I say, eyes pressed shut. "I can't…"
"Shh," the suited man says. He gets close to me and crouches to my eye level like I did to Edgar just before
putting a knife to his neck, fifteen years ago. "Wake up. It's going to be dark soon."
____________________
I open my eyes to my infiltration-stained ceiling and my dangling light bulb. I get up.
By my side on my computer screen, the pendrive file is still open. The picture of my last mugging victim in a
bathing suit, smiling with his family at the beach, gleams back at me.
No dark basement. No chair with me tied on. Or Edgar.
I need my pills.
I close my eyes again. I want to sleep. I want to sleep so much, but I'm too afraid to dream.
From a distance, the sound reaches my ears again.
*Pluck, pluck, pluck*.
_______________________
*Well, that wasn't meant to be so dark. For slightly more uplifting stories (and a couple depressing ones like this), check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
________________
EDIT: Also, /u/CyaelSenpai did a fantastic reading of the story, which you can check out [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyYcLbDuXNE) =)
|
And on the picture, there was a caption, it read,
*"Swiggity swooty, I'm coming for that booty!"*
I stared at the picture in disbelief for what seemed to be like hours
"This is a prank right?", I barely managed to speak,
*"Nope"*, the soft whisper behind me was enough to send chills down my spine,
I turned around only to see the same man from before, now swinging a metal bat at my face,
"OH FUC-"
| 2015-10-12T00:33:22 | 2015-10-11T23:59:55 | 908 | 119 |
[WP] as the firstborn of the royal family, you’ve inherited the King's power and spoils, while your siblings have been left to fend for themselves. To this day they resent you, no matter what you do to make it up to them.
|
Garland had done everything that he could. He knew that it would never be enough, but he felt that he had no choice in the matter.
If he was honest with himself, he knew that he could have acted differently. He could have simply claimed his birthright and abandoned them.
But no matter how much they might have hated him in return, Garland would always love his little sisters.
When their father sat on his deathbed, he told Garland not to trust them. He told his eldest child that Jessica would never care about him, and that Elena would try to undermine his reign at every possible turn.
Garland never hated his father more than he did that day.
He resolved to be a better King, and a better man. He would not live his final days with bitterness and fear.
Instead of the small private funeral that his father requested, with only his favored advisors, he asked his sisters to join him as they laid King Garrick to rest. If there was anything that the three shared in common besides their great height and flowing locks of auburn hair, it was their distaste for their father.
Jessica refused to even make the journey. She was too focused on her studies at her Magic Academy; she would not bother with such trifling matters as their father’s passing. Elena took a leave from her Guild to return home, but she barely spoke to Garland when she did arrive.
Even so, Garland would not be deterred. Instead of keeping the gifts from their father’s treasury for himself, he was generous. He sent Jessica all of Garrick’s old spell books and many of his historical tomes. Perhaps the spell books would have been useful, but they would be more useful to her.
He gave Elena their father’s axe. He knew that it would cause a riot among his advisors, but he remembered how closely Elena had followed their father when they were young, how she marveled at his sparring matches and skill in battle. Garland could forge his own axe; she would appreciate the weapon’s long history in their family, while he would only feel bitter reminders of the days that his father forced him to squire for the King. There was too much innocent blood on the blades for him to see it in any other light.
Many months passed without a word from his sisters. Jessica reportedly was pleased with the books that she had received, but Garland had to hear that second-hand from her professors. She would not give him the satisfaction of her approval.
Elena simply nodded at first when Garland handed her the axe, as if it was an expected inheritance instead of a priceless gift. But Garland did not mind. If the axe could help her in battle with her Guild, it would be worth it for him.
He continued to write them letters, even though he never received a response. He would spend many hours at his desk, wondering if it was worth it to keep writing to them and asking about their lives when they never wrote back.
He kept writing anyway. Even if they did not want his love, even if they would always reject it, Garland would know that it was worth it. If there ever was a night when they felt as if they were all alone in the world, Garland wanted them to know that they were not.
One day, a few years after the funeral, a mysterious woman in a ragged cloak arrived at the gates of Garland’s castle. She carried nothing but a small box and an axe in a sheath strapped to her back, and her horse looked almost as worn-down as she did. The woman demanded to speak to the King in private. The King’s guards refused to let her pass at first, but she was lucky—it had been a light day at court for Garland, and he was willing to entertain this visitor. With his family’s powers and his own training, he felt confident that this woman would not get the best of him.
“Enter,” Garland said with a sweeping gesture.
The woman proceeded into the Throne Room, and glanced around. Even with her face hidden behind the hood of her cloak, her shaking hands on the edges of the box that she carried betrayed her discomfort.
“I wish to speak with the King alone,” she croaked in a raspy voice.
“Your Grace,” one of the guards replied, “surely you cannot allow this.”
“But I can,” Garland stated flatly. The woman’s voice was clearly worn, yet somehow it felt like it was oddly familiar to him, like an old friend long forgotten.
“Guards, leave us.”
With a few angry glances at the mysterious woman, the guards left the room.
After the final guard had filed out, the woman began to approach the throne.
“Halt, madam,” Garland declared once she reached the steps leading up to the throne. “I ask that you identify yourself.
The woman lifted the hood from her face, and Garland could not help but gasp.
“Hello again, big brother. It has been a long time.”
Elena looked quite different from the sister that he remembered. The last vestiges of youthful roundness had left her cheeks; the woman before him had a face of hard lines and sharp angles. Much of the light had left her green eyes; they had once been the color of grass in springtime, but were now the dark and obscured green of bottle glass. A long scar ran from the right side of her forehead down to her jaw, barely missing the corner of her eye.
“Elena! By the Goddess, I am so glad to see you. Are you still hurt? Should I call for a healer?”
“I am fine,” she said, staring down at her feet as she had always done when she lied to their nanny about stealing cookies from the larder in the cellar.
“Are you sure? I can—“
“I am fine, Brother,” she repeated with a tone of finality.
“I have simply come to return this to you.” She removed the axe from the strap on her back.
“You need not return that; it is yours.”
“I insist,” she stated, with barely a hint of emotion.
But Garland could see the tears forming in her eyes.
He unsheathed the axe, and once again could not help but gasp. A long crack ran down the length of the left side of the blade.
“I-I am so sorry,” she finally said, her voice shaking. “You gave me this great gift, and I have proven unworthy. I have failed you, and I have—“
“Was it helpful to you?” Garland replied, cutting her off.
“It was.”
“Did you fight bravely with this axe in your hands?”
“Yes, but—“
“Did it save your life?”
Elena let the question hang in the air for some time before she replied.
“It-it deflected a blow that would have felled me, but I could not protect it. I should have been better, I should have been stronger. You gave me this blade when you should have kept it, Father was right to entrust it to you.”
“No,” Garland replied in his softest voice, the one he had used to read Elena bedtime stories in the terrible weeks after their mother had passed. “This axe was forged to protect our family, and it has once again served its purpose. A cracked blade can be re-forged, but nobody could ever replace you.”
Elena finally raised her head to meet her brother’s eyes, and neither of them bothered to hide the tears that were now streaming down their faces.
“I have something else to show you,” Elena said, walking up the steps with the box tucked under her right shoulder.
Garland waited patiently as she laid the box besides his throne, and opened the clasp.
Inside, he saw the most shocking thing of all.
A pile of letters, all opened and all clearly read and preserved with care.
“I kept them all,” Elena finally said, barely able to choke out the words. “I-I was so angry at first. I felt that you were condescending to me, giving me the axe as if I couldn’t fight for myself, and writing to me as if it was an obligation. But after a few months, I felt guilty. So guilty.”
She took a deep breath before she continued.
“You never asked for this. I thought that I was worth nothing, with the way that Father ignored me most of the time, but he was never kind to any of us and you…you bore the brunt of who he was. With each letter, I began to realize the burden that you bore. And I thought to myself…how can he continue to write to me? How can he still care when I’ve treated his curse as if it was a blessing? You must hate me by now, and I cannot say that I do not deserve it.”
“But on the darkest nights, on the nights after I had lost friends in battle, I held this box close and remembered that whatever else went wrong in the world, there was still someone who cared for me.”
“That’s all I wanted,” Garland choked out through his tears.
“W-what?”
“I wrote to you still, after all those years, because I wanted you to know that. I will always care for you. No crown or inheritance or war or poisonous spite that our father passed on could ever change that.”
“I-I don’t want to go back to the Guild,” Elena sobbed. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I’ve seen so much death. Too much death. Would you let me stay?”
“Of course,” Garland said, and wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Welcome home, dear sister.”
They held each other close, and turned their backs upon the past. After far too many years, their broken hearts could finally begin to heal.
__________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux
|
I called my servant to me and said, "Servant! How are my siblings?"
He looked at his scroll. "Well, sire, where do I begin? Let's see. Your older sister, Alexandria-"
"I don't care about the boring ones" I interrupted. "Just skip to the interesting ones."
"Well, there have been reports that several of your younger brothers are gaining signifcant influence among the raiding parties between the kingdoms."
"Ah, good for them!"
"Yes, well, er, except for the fact that their numbers are growing exponentially and they are very vocal about their agenda which is-"
"To overthrow me, yes, yes." I waved a hand. "Next."
"No, sire. Actually, they've made it very clear that they don't care about claiming the throne for themselves. They just want to personally depose you and, well to summarize, they say that 'death would be better than the torture they have in store for you'."
"That must be Amias." I nodded. "Always the little poet. Okay, what about my sisters."
"Uhm, my lord, this is a serious threat. Don't you think you should do something to quell the inevitable uprising?"
I laughed. "Uprising? There's no uprising! I know my brothers. They're just playing around. They don't really mean those things. How can they? Sure, I'm on the throne, and they're not, but I've been nothing but kind to them. Right? Riiiiight?"
"Well, er..."
"No, go on, speak. Say what is on your mind."
"Well, sire, when you took their throne, you had their mother killed and then you sent her body to them in an opened coffin."
"Of course! I wanted the people to see who it was and pay their respects!"
"Your intentions were certainly good, sire, but perception, as you know..."
"And what was the perception?"
"That you were disrespecting their mother. Added to the fact that you didn't have her buried in the royal cemetary."
"Because I wanted her children to have the honor of being able to bury her where they felt comfortable visiting."
"Understood. But again, perception-wise..."
I sighed. "Yes, yes. I'll think of some way to make it up to them. And my sister?"
"Well, after you had her fiancé killed-"
"He was a traitor!"
"Yes, but you never made your sister aware of the details at the time."
"She's a female. What does she have to do with business between men?"
"As far as she knows, you got the throne, became paranoid or power hungry or both, and killed the man she loved."
I sighed. "And what is she doing?"
"The last reports I recieved said she attached herself to one of the princes of a rival kingdom, whose king is on his deathbed. They say that the prince is under her thumb and that when he succeeds to the throne, she will really be the one running the kingdom."
"Good for her!"
"Except..."
I groaned. "Oh Lord, let me hear it."
"Though she isn't as vocal about it as your brothers have been, several reliable sources have said that once she has become in power, she will wage a war against you. If she joins forces with your brothers, then the odds aren't looking too favorably."
"So I'm doomed." I sunk low into my throne.
"Not necessarily," said my good and faithful servant. "There is a way that just might work."
| 2021-06-09T13:04:23 | 2021-06-09T12:41:43 | 62 | 16 |
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door.
|
In the dim room of the abandoned railroad wing, lit only by the occasional laptop or phone, the people of the United States of America got the rest they so desperately needed.
But not us. Not the Watchers.
We were the operators of this little ring. While citizens threw away their Wakey Tablets and slept like normal people, we made sure shock troopers armed to the teeth didn't come through and make sure they never woke up. Surveillance cameras everywhere, private, untraceable Wi-Fi, sandbag barricades, we had it all, and all to protect the sleepers.
I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath, slouching forward in my chair.
"Hey Jukebox, maybe you wanna indulge a bit, yourself?
My associate, Lionheart, smiled slyly and jerked his head at the collection of small beds nearby. Some weren't taken. Maybe...
I shook my head, dispelling the temptation. "I just need some more coffee," I muttered, my voice reverberating through the autotune device on my face.
The device was made and given to me by another Watcher that I'd known prior to the Death of Morpheus, as we called it. Gizmo, he called himself. A sweet guy, if a bit nutty. He'd been planning "cool rebel alliance identities" for everyone in case something happened, and lo and behold, we suddenly needed them. He assigned me the name "Jukebox" along with this mask that gave my voice an autotune effect.
As I got up to pour myself some hot, caffeinated goodness, a child groaned and rose from his bed.
I knelt down, my brows knit. "What's wrong, kid?"
I didn't really need to ask that. I knew a troubled sleeper when I saw one.
The boy rubbed his eyes wearily. "I can't sleep. It's like-like the pills are still working. I close my eyes and think good stuff and try to sleep but it never happens..."
I'd heard of this. Wakey Tablets, if administered too early in a child's life, could lead to permanent insomnia. This poor kid just wanted to sleep. Perhaps...
I tried for a smile. "Come on, son. I've got something to show you."
I led him to a small laptop, and got on YouTube. Secure connection, incognito mode, the works. I typed in "Bob Ross," and a flood of videos came.
"These are videos of a nice man from long ago, who loved painting, and wanted to share that love with everyone."
"Whoa..."
"His videos helped people sleep before, it might help you, now."
The kid's eyes lit up, and he immediately started watching.
I went back to pour my coffee, careful that my boots didn't make too much noise. Men, women and children from all over came here, to this sleepy little railway in Boston, to just get a little rest.
I got my coffee, black, enough sugar to kill an Oompa Loompa, and headed back to my station. I turned around in my chair to see the boy from before sprawled in front of the computer, snoring, while ole Bob went on about making sure the trees had a friend.
I smiled behind my mask, and got this swelling feeling in my chest. We were doing something good here, I knew it.
A knock on the makeshift door came, and I just about choked on my coffee.
I gave Lionheart a look, and he shrugged.
I approached the door, and undid the locks, and opened it ever so slightly.
"Sir, I'm Detective Bolton, with the FBI. We're getting reports of sleep going on here.
Detective Bolton wore riot gear and had a rifle on his shoulder. Not exactly a calming presence.
I took off my mask and cleared my throat, the signal for everything to be hid.
Lionheart was quick, I'll give him that. He pressed a button that made a false wall come up, to shield the sleepers. To anyone else it was an old stone wall that'd been there for decades.
Once I knew the sleepers were safe, I opened the door all the way.
"No sleeping here, sir. We've even got coffee. Care for some?"
Detective Bolton's face was unreadable behind the black riot helmet, but he layed his rifle by the door and clasped his hands.
"I'd love some."
I turned around and blinked twice at Lionheart, the *other* signal.
"How do you take it, sir?" I asked, giving him my seat.
"Cream and sugar both."
I sighed with relief. That made things easier.
Lionheart went through the impromptu kitchen we had and grabbed a black container full of sugar and grinded up sleep meds, then a jug of milk from the mini-fridge.
"You two live here, or something?" Bolton inquired.
"Hm? Yeah, kind of."
Bolton leaned forward. "I sincerely hope you never...indulged in any sort of...unconscious states of mind."
I turned back to him and forced a smile. "Sir, I promise you, we haven't slept in ages."
To prove it, I pulled out a prescription container of Wakey Tablets that I kept for stuff like this. I stopped taking them years ago, but there were still five left.
Bolton seemed to accept that, and sat up straight in his chair.
Lionheart poured the drugged sugar and the milk into a steaming cup of coffee, mixed it, then presented it to Detective Bolton.
"Thank you for this, gentlemen."
Lionheart nodded. "Of course, officer."
He removed his helmet and sipped it, then began chugging it.
"Sir?" I asked, shocked.
Detective Bolton grinned. "I've always loved hot drinks."
Bolton's grin faded as the sleeping meds kicked in.
"Wait, what...is this....nooooo....."
Detective Bolton slumped in his chair and began to sleep.
Lionheart looked at me. "What now?"
I put my mask back on and sighed. "Now, we drag him back to the surface, and let Uncle Sam find him."
Lionheart's expression hardened. "But they'll shoot him!"
I turned to Lionheart. "Well we can't keep him here, and we can't just leave him somewhere to wake up. So what do we do?"
Lionheart stared at the sleeping cop a long time. "What if we make him a Watcher?"
I stared at Lionheart incredulously. "Are you nuts? He's a cop!"
Lionheart looked me in the eyes. "A cop who's tasting sleep for the first time in years, I'm guessing. Let's wait for him to wake up, maybe he'll come around."
I met Lionheart's gaze, and we stared each other down for a while.
"Fine," I said. "But I'm taking his radio and his sidearm."
Lionheart smiled and pressed the button that took down the false wall.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
The citizens and the cop who might've gunned them down without a second thought slept peacefully together through the night, while we kept watch.
Dawn came, and Bolton woke suddenly. He gaped at the both of us, then at the collection of people and beds where he once saw a wall, then at us again.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Lionheart chimed in.
Detective Bolton put his head in his hands, weeping, then reached for his sidearm, no doubt intending to do what his superiors would want.
I quickly grabbed him and tried to reassure him.
"Hey, hey hey," I took off my mask. "It was just sleep."
"I know!" he wailed, startling several of the citizens who were waking up.
"Our great nation prohibited sleep! The Death of Morpheus was supposed to put a stop to this! But you..."
He looked at me with hatred. "You tricked me. Drugged my coffee!"
"Yes." I looked him dead in the eye, "And my first instinct was to leave you on the surface for some other rabid cop to shoot you, but Lionheart talked me out of that."
Lionheart stepped forward. "We think that maybe now that you've tasted sleep, you might join us, and keep watch over the innocent people trying to sleep as well."
"But it's--"
"Illegal? Sure. So was meth, but as soon as Uncle Sam realized it kept people awake, they made sure to get it out on the streets in droves. Uncle Sam will always shape the law to what suits him, he doesn't care about the common man anymore."
I stood up, and offered Bolton my hand. "You tasted sweet sleep, a natural part of life itself, something the government wants to deprive everyone of for it's own benefit, now will you help us protect it?"
Bolton stared at my hand and licked his lips. "It...it *was* sweet..."
Bolton took my hand and rose. "I will join you."
I smiled and put my mask back on. "Great. You'll need a codename. Usually Gizmo hands them out, but--"
"Boiler." Lionheart called out.
I stared at him. "Why Boiler?"
Lionheart shrugged. "He likes hot drinks."
I shrugged as well and turned back to Bolton.
"Boiler...I like it."
"Then welcome, Boiler. Welcome to the Watchers."
|
"Man, Halloween isn't for another three months. Get the hell outta here."
"I heard you got the good sleep, friendziki," the guy in the Cyber-Reaper costume says.
"You heard wrong," I tell him, and wave. The door clamps shut.
I turn around and almost jump out of my skin. *He's in here*. Chilling at my table. "Wha-Bu-... How in-Where-Who?"
"Aww yeah, you got them new synthbrews. You mind?" he helps himself without waiting for my permission.
"Who the frizzle are you? What the hell are you doing here?"
He spits out my drink. "Gross. Bananas didn't used to taste like that. Oh. Yeah. I'm Morktronimus."
I'm stunned. Puzzled. Befuzzled.
"I'm Death, my wizzle! New centuries, new names, ya dig? I mork people now. It's what I do! Oh, and, uh... by the way, you're next."
"Wha... Me? What did I do?"
"*All the stimulants*. You've had three replacement hearts. You like them Wakey Tablets. You take like, what? Six at a time now?"
"Seven, actually. They make me feel good."
"I like you, friendziki. So here's the situlation: Zonk Patrol knows you're harboring sleepers. And Big Zonk don't play no shit. They're on the way right now."
I don't like where this is headed...
"Two ways we can cut this cheddarella. Truth is, I'm behind on my quotas. The hereafter is starving for good people, labor's being outsourced to the nethers, and my job just don't pay enough for all these morkings I gotta do. I need a miracle. What is a death god to do? So then it hit me. I can use you, my little morkling. You want to put people to sleep? That's fine. You can come work for me and put people to sleep *permanently*."
"Are you for rizzles?"
"Serious as a coronary. Alls you got to do is take the Big Wakey. Take the whole damn bottle. All twenty five tablets."
"That's an overdose."
"Exactly."
"What happens if I refuse?"
"I'm gonna mork you either way. The zonkers outside'll getcha if you don't. But the thing is, OD's get a loopsuit in the lawhole. I can nab you before you get hit by the light at the end of the tunnel."
"But that sounds..."
"You get *fabulous* *magic powers* if you work for me*.* Nowhere else."
"What happens if—"
But before I can finish, something on him beeps. He rolls up his robe sleeve to reveal a hundred watches.
"Big oof," he says, "I'm late again! Well, I gotta dip. Thanks for the bananarita. You know where to find me."
He puts on aviators, gives me the vintage finger gun salute, and phases through the floor.
"See you on the flip side," he says, and he's gone.
I pick up the bottle of Wakeys. I need to have a think about this... but I hear sirens outside.
| 2019-06-19T10:15:04 | 2019-06-19T07:22:51 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] Throughout the galaxy Humans are well known as being the most peaceful race--and have become well respected as diplomats and traders. But that's because up until now, no-one knew of the three World Wars we fought before first contact.
|
General Tyzoi, commander of the 1st Druluian Fleet, had almost collapsed in laughter when he first heard of the Galactic Federation’s counterstroke to the activation of the Druluian war machine.
“We have starships primed to attack all five pillars of the Federation, and they are asking us to meet… with a single human representative?” Tyzoi had roared with disbelief, his scales clinking as he shook his head at his advisors. “The humans are good Diplomats and Traders, I grant you that, but the time for talking is over! We shall speak, of course, but only to discuss the terms of the Federation’s surrender!”
It was on that note that Tyzoi strode into the central chambers of the Amphyxian starship, the designated neutral ground for the eleventh-hour meeting. Flanked by a squad of Druluian troopers, all decked out in full battlearmor, Tyzoi itched to see the Federation’s answer to Druluian demands.
Tyzoi expected grovelling, desperation, pleas for mercy. There was no question that the Druluians were prepared, overwhelmingly so. They had organized in secret for decades, and when finally they made their play for complete control of the Federation, all the other galactic species were caught wholly unawares. The Druluians could easily have taken what they wanted by force, but Tyzoi had to admit, he was curious to see how the Federation thought to stop them.
The balding, bespectacled mouse of a human on the other side of the table, already waiting for Tyzoi and his contingent, was therefore somewhat of a letdown. The nameplate on the table marked him as Nathan Villeroy, but his features were so forgettable, his demeanour so unremarkable, that Tyzoi could be forgiven for not recognising his counterpart.
“We are not unreasonable, Diplomat,” said Tyzoi, laying his Shockspear on the table in a thinly-veiled show of force. “We gave the Federation two days to consider our requests, when we could have given no such chance at all. A day and a half remains, after which, we have strict orders to proceed with our plans.”
“I understand, General Tyzoi, but if I may…”
Tyzoi banged his fist on the table, sending his Shockspear rattling into the air. “Too long have we been oppressed! Every vote, every policy coming out of the Federation the past fifty years have done nothing but undermine Druluian interests! No more!”
“Yes, General, but again, I only ask that you listen and hear me ou-”
“Who are you anyway? Where’s the Amphyxian War Chief? Or the Looyan Generals? Of all the species in the Federation, they send the most peaceful, docile species to parlay with me?” Tyzoi’s anger brimmed at the perceived slight – had the Federation so badly underestimated the threat they faced? “What would you know of war!”
Nathan’s merely smiled, then pushed up his spectacles gently. “We’ve had a couple of wars ourselves, long before we joined the Federation. We shared our experiences, and we were deemed suitable to meet with you.”
“Wars? I’ve never heard of the humans having wars?” Tyzoi laughed, a cruel, condescending laugh. “Do you mean that you humans pushed each other, or stomped on each other’s feet?”
Nathan waited until the chittering laughs from the Druluian convoy died down before he continued, with a patient smile on his face. “Three wars, in fact, the last two with the potential to end our homeworld as we knew it. The lessons we learned from them, have led me to this room with you.”
Tyzoi’s well-honed battlesense pricked up then, a highly-evolved instinct which helped the Druluians distinguish themselves as one of the most dangerous combatants in warfare. His eyes were telling him that the human was hardly a threat… but his battlesense, it was already ringing various different sets of alarms.
“What lessons are you referring to?” Tyzoi asked, eyes narrowing to slits. His tail had begun to twitch nervously, and he willed it to stop, curling it the leg of his chair instead.
“Our first world war taught us that diplomacy should always be exhausted before war is resorted to. That is why we’re here, to speak like civilized species. We’ve convinced the High Council of the Federation to relook policies affecting the Druluians with fresh perspectives, to see if they can address the grievances your species has raised. Here, these are the steps being taken right now.”
Nathan slid a folder across the table, but Tyzoi swiped it away with his claw, violently. “Lies! We’ve been asking that for decades, and look where that has gotten us! No, Diplomat, that time is over!”
Nathan considered the fallen folder for a while, then retrieved a holoscreen from a pocket within his uniform. He unlocked it, called up the appropriate protocols, then passed it over to Tyzoi for him to see.
Holograms were already dancing in the air, and when Tyzoi recognised the symbols, the star constellations, his blood ran cold.
“Our second world war taught us that, abhorrent enough as war already is, it sometimes brings out the very worst in us,” said Nathan, steepling his fingers as he spoke. “We engineered a plan in case you turned down our offer to resolve your woes peacefully. You will no doubt recognise the three Druluian homeworlds in that starmap. That is why your forces found the Federation so lightly defended – most of its forces were deployed to decimate your homeworlds with neutrino payloads the moment your first demands were made.”
Nathan removed another device from within his person, and laid it on the table. “This is the recall command. If I deem our discussion to have been fruitful, I am authorised to recall the Federation’s forces. Druluians gave the Federation two days; the Federation is giving you two hours.”
Tyzoi laughed then, as the blood rose and sang in his ears. He thumped his chest in the Druluian manner, and at that signal, laser rifles were hoisted in unison and aimed squarely at the Diplomat.
“We will never back down! We started on this knowing we would pay with everything we had! But that is worth it, worth every drop of Druluian blood! We would rather die in glory than live on in shame! Forget your petty recall, human! Fire!”
Tyzoi’s triumph slowly decayed as the sound of a dozen laser rifles, simultaneously misfiring, filled the room. The smile vanished from his face.
“You didn’t let me finish, Tyzoi. Our third world war, we learned the value of how interconnected we all are. Sworn enemies we may have been, but that didn’t change the fact that we were already too co-dependent to live without the other. Our people, our cultures, our technologies, all interwoven into a tight mesh. To hurt each other, that would be cutting your nose to spite your face.”
Tyzoi leapt up from his seat, lunging towards Nathan. He fetched up his Shockspear in one smooth motion, but as he activated the groove to call forth the namesake electric spikes, instead he found his weapon turning against him, riddling him with a mind-numbing jolt. The Shockspear fell from his hands, and he crumpled on the floor, curled up in a world of pain.
Nathan stood up, patted down his uniform. “I will be in my chambers, Tyzoi. I expect your confirmation that Druluian forces are standing down within the hour. You can forget about leaving this starship until you give me the answer I expect. All of your starships, your weapons, everything has been disabled.”
As Nathan made to leave from the chambers, Tyzoi called out, wheezing from his fetal position on the ground. “How… how did… tell me, Diplomat, how did this happen!”
“Who helped design your weaponry, Tyzoi? Who supplied the raw materials, the skilled labour to manufacture them, the training to operate them? Who established trading routes to the Druluian homeworlds, invited them to the Federation?"
Nathan paused for a moment, and the look which crossed his face spoke of an ocean of sadness and regret which the human species had collectively experienced, lifetimes ago.
"We humans, more so than other species, more so because we pushed our own species to the brink of extinction, we know more than others that it is not enough to be strong – it is more important to be indispensable.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Tenz stepped out of the ship, the human craft wasn't as bad as they thought. Earth was a strange planet, the humans had crafted it into the perfect paradise for their species using their advanced technology, such advanced technology that only came about because humans were nonviolent, and had always collaborated around the world in efforts to advance their species. Tenz was on a diplomatic mission to ask the humans for help in peacefully dismantling a conflict before it grew into a war. But they had time to relax on the red sand beaches the humans loved so much, the human diplomat was there as well. After small discussion the human led Tenz to a data vault so they could compare this to past conflicts. As the door sealed the computer terminal booted up and Tenz could see the Human looking for a similar conflict.
"Ah, your conflict is incredibly similar to a war over oil on Earth before contact was made"
The hologram brought up an image of a planet Tenz had never seen, the continents outlined were clearly not Earth's, and the factions involved were never mentioned in what little human history that Tenz had studied.
"There must be a mistake with the image, that is not Earth"
A smile creeped across the human's face, their normal fleshy and huggable appearance seemed to fade away to that of a lanky armed predator, and Tenz took note of how humans had sharp canine teeth that were usually hidden from view.
"Oh thats Earth, before we destroyed it that is"
The hologram started showing footage of humans fighting in wars across time, up until the destruction of the third planet from the sun, there had been no wars fought on what Tenz knew as Earth, or as he now knew its original name, Mars, the name of an old human god of war. The humans were so good at war that they had destroyed all evidence they had ever acted in one. The human looked at resources Tenz and their enemy possessed, explained how Tenz could utterly and absolutely destroy the enemy, while Tenz listened in horror. Tenz quickly rebutted with other options on how it could be done without bloodshed, back and forth for days sealed in that room until Tenz had concocted the perfect plan, the human finally unlocked the door but an energy field still blocked their way, the human walked through safely and Tenz followed afterwards with the door sealing behind them.
"Do you remember the plan?" was the final question from the human before Tenz turned to leave.
"We've been discussing peaceful relations for the past week! how could I forget *your* plan!"
Tenz looked out the window as his ship took off into the atmosphere, Earth was such a beautiful planet, Tenz hoped that one day they would have an understanding of how human technology worked. Humans really were the most peaceful species in the universe. They had never fought in any wars, and were kind enough to help others avoid them.
| 2017-05-01T08:54:38 | 2017-05-01T08:23:22 | 4,038 | 61 |
[WP] You live in a world where people's shadows show who they truly are at their core. Some shadows look like monsters, some look like animals. You are the only person in the world with no shadow.
EDIT: Thanks everyone for all your contributions. This was the first WP that I've posted and I didn't expect such to get as much from all you fine writers out there. WRITE ON EVERYONE!
|
The security guard was a boar. I could already tell this was going to be a problem.
"You there!" he shouted and pointed at me, "Stop where you are!"
I freeze in place and hold up my hands in surrender. His shadow snuffled along behind him as he stormed towards me. Its tusks held low and ready to charge. On the other hand the security guard himself looked like a rather ordinary, balding man in his late 40s. But, like most people, I knew better than to look at his face. Always look at the shadows. The shadows tell the truth of a person. Which, unfortunately, was the very problem he had with me.
"What are you?" he demanded as he stepped closer and inspected the ground around me.
I sighed in exasperation. For anyone else that question might refer to their job, coach driver in my case, but for me the question always meant "what sort of shadow do you have?" I used to lie and tell people it was a flea until the day I met a real flea. The guy was all sorts of creepy and, since then, I figured it was better to tell the truth.
"I'm a shadeless," I told the guard. He took a step back and grasped for his cudgel. Oh great. He was the superstitious sort.
"What are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously, "It's late. Decent folks should be indoors now."
"Yes," I agreed, "But for the less decent who still need a ride home after the taverns close they will probably want a ride."
I nod in the direction of the Eastern Coach Company placard on the gray stone building just ahead. It was in the direction I had just been walking before the boar shadow security guard had stopped me. He glanced in that direction and shot me a confused glance. Honestly, in this day and age do people really believe the whole shadow stealing myths?
"I work there," I explained slowly, "I'm the night coachman."
It took awhile, but I could see realization slowly working its way across his face. First a lift of the eyebrows. Next his eyes refocused. After that it traveled as a wave all the way to his down turned lips. He grunted and relaxed his grip on his cudgel, but didn't take his hand away entirely.
"A coachman," he said, "Been doing that long?"
"Six years now," I admitted. It was one of the few jobs I could do at night. Night time was the time I was most free. When shadows were swallowed up in the darkness. It was the only time people would not stare at me.
The guard scowled at me but I knew he was going to let me go. His shadow's attention was wandering elsewhere.
"Fine," he grunted, "But I'll be keeping an eye on you!"
I nodded and, without another word, stepped into the front door of the Eastern Coach Company. My boss, Grady, stood just inside the window. His frog shadow hopped about anxiously.
"Sorry, Jeb," he said quickly, "I saw him coming towards you. But I didn't think it would help none if I-"
I waved him into silence.
"It's okay, Grady," I reassured him as I doffed my coat and hung it on the hook by the door, "I have to go through this every time the city mixes up the patrol. He's probably just from one of those Lowlander tribes. He'll get used to me."
Grady nodded once and mopped his forehead with a tattered rag. He's a good enough man. After all, he hired me when no one else in the city would give me a chance. But frogs tend to be a bit skittish. I knew for a fact if I had been arrested he would not intervene. He was too afraid of being arrested himself for being an associate of a shadow stealer.
I guess I shouldn't be too upset. Not even fifty years ago I would have been put to death because of my unique birth defect. Back then idea was that a shadow was not just a mere impression of, but the actual physical image of the soul was still fairly commonplace. Modern science swears this isn't true and, through some sort of complicated alchemy I don't understand, supposedly proved that a shadow is nothing more than a light interaction upon the ethereal projection of a spirit. For whatever reason, my particular spirit just didn't happen to project into the right plane to interact with light. Physician after physician has reassured me that it means nothing and that I can lead a normal and healthy life. I can probably even have children with normal shadows if I could ever find a woman who wasn't squeamish about the whole thing.
As Grady stood there twisting his rag and fretting, I grabbed my uniform cloak and hat and exited the room towards the stables.
Handsome Dan nickered as I walked towards him. I smiled back and stroked his mane in greeting. Animals, at least, didn't seem to mind my company. Maybe because all animals only had to deal with shadows of themselves the didn't think they were that important. I don't know.
I had just finished hitching him up to the coach when Grady stepped out.
"Jeb?" he said, still sweating, "I just got a wire from the Bucket and Stone."
I shook my head in disappointment.
"Is Ferris at it again?" I asked.
"Drunk off his seat," Grady agreed, "The barkeep asked if we could send him home. Asked for you specifically."
I shrugged. Why not? Ferris was one of our regulars. Or, should I say, one of my regulars. About once a fortnight he would stumble into one of the local ale houses and get drunk and try to start a fight. His shadow was a monster. A real monster. Ten feet tall with spiky horns and sharp claws. In his youth he had been a real terror. But old age dulled his reflexes enough that seven years ago, during a knife fight with a lion shadow, he had let his guard down enough to take a dagger across his eyes. He was completely blind now. More a danger to himself than anyone else. Still, even in his damaged state, the other coachmen tended to give him a wide berth.
For the past four years I have given Old Ferris rides back to his squat cottage on the edge of town. Helped him to his bed and pretended not to hear his drunken sobs as I slipped back out the door. In all those years he's never once asked me what sort of shade I am.
"No problem, Grady," I said as I mounted the seat on the coach, "Crippled monsters need to stick together."
I rode off before he could say another word.
EDIT: I originally submitted this when I was getting ready to head out the door. Corrected some typos. Thanks for the feedback, everyone.
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"What are you up to George?"
George looked innocently up, shifting his feet from side to side with a gentle rustle. "Nothing Mum..."
She gazed down at George and smiled. "Did you make this all by yourself?"
George grinned back. "Yep! It's a dragon!" he exclaimed proudly. And proceeded to show her by shuffling a few steps forward, gently tugging the black bin bag cutout along the floor.
Sarah glanced at her own shadow. For as long as she could remember it was shaped like a panther, dark and sleek. Suddenly a pang of sadness filled her heart. What kind of life can her son have without a shadow?
A hand gently interlocked with her own. "He can be anything he wants to be" whispered William, his elephant shadow joining her own. "We will be there for him every step of the way."
| 2014-09-16T11:21:42 | 2014-09-16T09:57:35 | 533 | 34 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look."
|
PART ONE
Maybe this makes me an asshole, but I never read Amber Alerts. It was 3am - aka my lunch break. As I swept it away, I caught the word "walrus" and it made me curious.
I had a ton of texts waiting, and a few emails, which was unusual. I decided to check them.
I pulled up my app, and deleted the ones from unnamed numbers. Spam probably. I had three texts from Mom, and one from "Guy Selling Iguana" and one from "cute girl at Lennys probably not her real number"
I'd never texted her, had her text once to verify she had my number right after she took it, and then left her alone so as not to be a creep. She never texted again.
Weirder though was that all three had texted the same message, word for word.
"It's a beautiful walrus. Look."
My phone vibrated as more texts came through from numbers I didn't have saved, and another Emergency Alert. The texts all said the same thing.
The emergency alert said not to look.
Now listen. Walruses are ugly. They're like... If you took a fucking ballsack and gave it tusks and made it huge. They are disgusting.
So this had to be some elaborate prank.
I rolled my eyes, checked my emails, and found they were the same thing. The same message, from every business and spammer and legitimate person I had ever interacted with.
I closed that and checked social media.
I'd set it up with a filter, so I'd have to click media to open it, because I hated videos starting to play loudly when I was sneaking my phone. Yeah I know, I'm a total shithead, sneaking my phone to places I'm not allowed to have it. Get wrecked.
Point is, every damn tweet, every status update, was the same five words, and a blurry square that I was becoming increasingly scared to open.
It was stupid. It was going to be like that U2 album thing, or like the monolith. A prank. I turned my phone back to airplane mode, finished my sandwich, and fixed some coffee at the keurig.
Lunch wasn't really a break-break. It was a time to prop the door to my wing of the "hospital" - read: nuthouse - open and use the tiny microwave to heat my food if it needed heated. I still had to do checks every fifteen minutes. I wasn't really supposed to step out of my hall.
But, I needed to eat. Hypoglycemia.
And Frank, my supervisor, hadn't come to give me a break yet. Usually he showed up every 2-3 hours to check on each of us.
Usually when I made my food, Stephen or Lindsey was here too.
Usually... Usually I could hear voices or giggles. It was eerily quiet.
I went back to work and tried to relax, but the caffeine had my heart rate tripled up.
Around 430 I realized the hourly radio check hadn't been done. I tried to check mine, but nothing came of it. No one replied. I was on the right channel. I double checked, and then tried each channel. No answers.
I took a short break about 5am, to get some more food in me. A cookie, and some string cheese, and went back to my rounds. Still no sign of anyone. I logged in to the central computer, even though it took a while, cut it close with my rlnext check. I started an email, just "hey I think my radio broke and I haven't seen anyone to get me a new-" but saw my work inbox was also full. 290 emails.the subject lines were all the same.
I didn't hit send.
I went back to my wing, and bolted the hall door. It was stupid to be scared, right? But, I was.
It's a dream, I decided. One of those shitty ass work dreams you have on weekends. I'll wake up and fucking Kevin will be meowing at the door to go outside and shit in the garden, even though he has a damn litter box, and I'll think this was weird, and then forget it.
I pinched myself. It hurt. I counted to 25. I read. I wrote a haiku. I solved a math equation - not a hard one, but they say you can't do math in dreams. I read the analog clock. I got down on my knees and fell forward, catching myself in a pushup.
It didn't wake me. I was already awake.
I went back out, tried the phone. I called Main Control. No answer. Gate. No answer. Admissions. Medical. Kitchen. Nothing. I recorded that on my shift log.
I tried again every round of checks. It became my new routine. Check. Radio. Call. Document.
7am my replacement didn't come. The patients started waking up, and I didn't know what to do. I radioed again. Nothing. I didn't have access to their medications.
I didn't even have a key to the pantry to feed them.
8am I gave up waiting. Day crew was three people, and all of them were a solid hour late. I hadn't been able to get through on my radio in five hours.
Someone should have come down.
A full facility walk through, I knew from fire watch, was twenty five minutes. I'd be ten minutes late, minimum,on my next bed check. I'd document it, the way I'd documented the rest.
I ventured out.
I found no one. Frank, Stephen, Lindsay… not even that annoying bitch Anna. The place was dead empty, except for patients, of course. All the paperwork, even half eaten food and cold cups of coffee, or in Lindsay's case green tea, were left sitting.
The last checks for each wing were all between 130am and 3am.
I marked my own checks for each wing, and added the obligatory explanation for late check in the correct section of the form, as short and clear as I could. "Radio silence 5hrs, no day team. Left own post to scout. Found post abandoned."
With the additional checks and paperwork, I got back to my area at the thirty minute mark. I documented that, and headed back out, and tried to phone outside. I didn't have any day staffs numbers, but there was a call sheet, with the extensions, and emergency numbers. I tried the Site Director, and got voicemail. I left a message, making an effort to keep my voice calm.
"Hello, Richard, this is Tom, I work nights. I'm calling because I haven't been able to raise anyone on the radio since three this morning, day shift isn't here, I've searched the facility and can't find a single staff member…" my voice cracked, "god this sounds crazy. I don't know what to do. I'm the only one here, and I don't have a key to feed the patients and they're due for meds I can't give them, and… it's bad. Please." I didn't know what else to say so hung up, and tried the next admin number, and the next, with the same result. After the sixth message, I began to truly panic.
I called 911, and got a recorded busy message. I checked the time. 830. I needed to do another check.
As I walked the halls, patients began banging their doors,
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I woke up confused and exhausted. nobody ever calls this late. i figured it had to be some scam call or a family emergency. so i hop up out of bed to look at my phone. i have dozens of texts about how i should look at the walrus, and one text about how i shouldn’t look at it. so of course i go back to sleep, i’m a student. i need every bit of sleep i can get.
the next morning i wake up and make eggs. i love eggs. my friends call me the eggman because of how much eggs i eat. i look at the window and nobody’s out there. normally there is some people walking their dogs. but it’s completely empty. the only thing i notice are birds in the air. i am seeing how they fly. it’s a nice day out. so i put on all my running gear and head out. i still see nobody out. all i see is some pile of yellow matter custard on the sidewalk. might of been ice cream. after my run i head back home.
i get home and take of my smelly shoes and socks. and sit down on the couch. it turns out i am sitting on a cornflake. so i have to get back up and grab the vacuum. after cleaning up the mess on my couch, i figured it would be good to shower. when i walk into the bathroom, i look in the mirror in awe. it turns out,
I AM THE WALRUS
| 2021-01-11T19:22:36 | 2021-01-11T19:20:28 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You were forced to attend an interview for a job you do not want, but, no matter how hard you try to screw up the interview, the interviewer just becomes more keen to hire you.
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I'm a writer. That's the beginning and the end of my story. I'm a writer. I write.
I have stories. I have *things to say*.
I am *not* a Refinance Document Analyst 1. Maybe you are, but not me.
My wife - bless her - is an honest, earnest woman. A doctor. She works hard. She's very smart. But still, smart people can be blinded by their own logic sometimes. Happens to the best of us. Sometimes smart people see the world in black and white - where you're either making money or you're "unemployed." Not realizing that there's a middle path. The path to enlightenment. The path of the Writer.
So she tells me to get a job. Is my making money truly necessary? I would say no. I would suggest that my words - as seemingly monetarily valueless as they may presently appear - are greater than any paycheck. I would suggest that she's a *fucking doctor*, so let's be real for a moment. This is not about a paycheck - this is about the creative process. And a boat. She wants to buy a boat.
I don't even *like* the water.
So when I apply to jobs, I do so out of marital duty. To show that I am trying, even though I am not. I am a writer, after all. Writers can only be counted on to try during moments of great inspiration and/or the waning hours of a deadline.
I understand this. *You* understand this. Why Barry Blankenshop of First Fourth National Bank of Wattsborough doesn't understand this is anyone's guess.
You see, I applied to the position of Refinance Document Analyst - which is exactly the Lovecraftian nightmare it sounds like - knowing full well that I was neither qualified nor capable. But my wife checks on these things and it's good to have references - or, more accurately, the names of sample HR directors to curse out over the dinner table.
These days I curse the name of Barry Blankenshop, though for significantly different reasons than usual.
For starters, how in the world was my application ever picked out of the pile to begin with? I have a number of tactics that I employ with regularity to prevent just such a calamity. In this case, I:
*Provided no prior employment history
*Intentionally misspelled my own name repeatedly
*Listed only deceased celebrities as my references
*And left no personal contact information
Perhaps Barry Blankenshop is illiterate? Perhaps he loathes his job as much as I loathe the idea of working? Who can know?
He tracked me down somehow, apparently through some combination of Google searching and yellow page cold calling. My wife was present when I answered the phone and I was so caught off guard I didn't think to pretend that Barry had reached the wrong number. We agreed to a time and place for an interview. I did not show up.
I have to assume this happens often. But I also assume this is the sort of thing that usually disqualifies someone from the offered post. No such luck. Barry called back. I ignored him. He called my wife and offered to reschedule.
I was trapped.
There was no avoiding the interview then. I went, my wife watching me as I slouched out to the car. It was a dire situation. Fortunately, I had not exhausted my tried-and-true tactics.
Unfortunately, I had deeply underestimated the otherworldly lunacy of Barry Blankenshop.
He was a smallish man, perma-sunburned with curly hair the color of uncooked rice noodles. He smiled as he greeted me, smacking his lips and saying something to the effect of, "Aha! Here is the man! The man of the hour!"
We sat down. He offered me a coffee. I requested a Coke Lemon.
"Ah! Another lemonhead?" he exclaimed. Apparently he had stockpiled the long-since discontinued drink. I received my can, which I opened but did not drink.
"How did you hear about First Fourth National?" he asked.
"My weed dealer banks here."
Blankenshop laughed. "We *are* very discreet! I see you've no experience in document analysis, right?"
I nodded. "Screen blindness. I can't look at a computer screen for more than five minutes at a time without going temporarily blind."
"Pity," said Blankenshop solemnly. "Lucky for you, we are entirely computer-free here at First Fourth. All hard copies, all the time."
"How...is that even possible?" I asked.
"Much safer," said Blankenshop. "No cyber terrorists this way. Saves money, too - a ream of paper costs less than any laptop!"
"That's not...quite comparable."
"Now," pressed Blankenshop, leaning across the desk, conspiratorially. "What would you consider to be your biggest weakness?"
I considered myself. I considered the man. "...cocaine?"
Blankenshop laughed, slapping his hands on the desk. "A sense of humor! I love it. No, no, I *know* the effects of cocaine. Firsthand. Lost my grandmother that way. Tried to fight a city bus. She was special. Cherish your loved ones. Anyway, I can tell you're a straight shooter. How do you deal with turmoil in the workplace?"
The man was insane. The usual tactics were powerless. I was swinging wildly now, just looking to make contact. "Segregate out all the Jews?"
Blankenshop's brow furrowed deeply. He looked angry for a moment. I had a glimmer of hope. "They *are* a clever bunch...I need to be careful with you! You'll be gunning for my job in no time!"
"I would literally rather throw myself in front of your grandmother's bus," I replied. Blankeshop hooted.
"Gallow's humor! It's a difficult industry, certainly. You seem well-suited to it."
"What *is* this job?" I half-shouted. "What the hell does a Refinance Document Analyst even do?"
"You know...I'm not sure," said Blankenshop. "Training Department should be able to give you the layout. I'm just tasked with finding a good fit."
"A good fit for a job you know nothing about?"
"Attitude is everything at First Fourth," said Blankenshop. "And you've got the right attitude."
"I hate you."
"Ah hahaha! You can't turn it off! I love it. You'll be very popular. If I'm being honest, morale is not what it ought to be. No idea why." Blankenshop stuck out a feeble little paw. "What do you say? Join the team?"
Now, obviously I said yes, and I said yes because I love my wife and don't enjoy being yelled at.
The work is awful. I do very little of it. I manage every interaction with enormous, open disdain. I do not even clean up the office microwave after I am done.
I am a monster.
I am also, likely by no coincidence, now a Refinance Document Analyst *2*. Because the world is a dark satire, much stranger and crueler than anything I could ever write.
|
The old man sat with wrinkled hands,
And a far more wrinkled brow,
Shoulders weighed down by a career's demands,
To be uplifted two weeks from now.
The notice was saved as a pdf,
Attached to a stale email in drafts,
For tenure alone was why he was left,
And his position had to be staffed.
Across the table was one his junior,
With a stain across his shirt,
But to the elder baby boomer,
This position he would not skirt.
"Is there a drug test?"
The new one asked, and rubbed a reddened eye,
"And if I fail, can I do my best,
To just give it another second try?"
"We dare not discriminate,
Should you provide a doctors note.
Which shall therefore authenticate,
Any symptoms, no matter how remote. "
"Because I've got snow like cocaine,
And loads of amphetamines,
Plus a date with Mary Jane,
Not to mention my ketamines."
"Though it is inopportune,"
Said the senior, and frowned at the fit,
"We'll expect you quite soon?"
Because he wouldn't be around to see it.
| 2017-08-29T08:37:50 | 2017-08-29T08:33:53 | 4,166 | 21 |
[WP] Instead of heaven and hell, when you die, you find yourself in a room with a six year old girl who invites you to join her tea party. It dawns on you, you're her imaginary friend.
|
"This is Mr Monkey, Mr Crab and Mrs Teapot" The little girl said giving a twirl.
"Say hello." She demands, bobbing her strap on fairy-wings.
"Hello." I echo, looking around my new surroundings in silent agitation. The last thing I remember was falling asleep in my own bed and now I was in a pink-explosion of a room. A half constructed doll castle and a glittery array of shoes covered the floor, I carefully avoided as the little girl led me to a sparkly table. My fellow dinner guests were a drooping monkey, a manically smiling crab and a unfilled teapot.
"Some tea?" The girl asked, she looks at me expectantly and when I don't answer she promptly pretends to pour the teapot into my lap.
"Where are your parents?" I question her, I feared their reaction upon seeing me, a strange man, in their daughter's bedroom.
"Who cares." She shrugs.
"I don't think I should be here." I say and she scowls at me.
"Stop being boring." She pouts, and offers her glass for me to fill up. I oblige.
"What is your name?"
"Sophie." She takes a big theatric sip of her invisible tea. I'm going to call you Mrs Man."
"Shouldn't that be a Mr? And my name is Dan."
"Dan is boring. Mrs Man is better."
"Mr" I correct her.
"Noooooo." She scrunches her face up. "I want us to be princesses."
"Can't I be a Prince?" I ask hurriedly, trying desperately to stop the water works before they properly began.
"No. You need a crown and a dress." She looks at me thoughtfully and all of a sudden I feel a weight on my head and an itchy fabric cutting into my chest. I look down to see a azure prom- style dress where previously had been my casual white t-shirt and jeans.
I gasp with amazement, "How did you do that?"
"With magic of course." She smiles, mollified.
"You can be Princess Man now. More tea?"
I heard a thundering up the house's stairs and before I could hide, a youthful woman appeared in the door way.
I stood up instantly, apologies at the ready but she didn't even question my presence.
"Sophie. Dinner is ready."
"I'm not hungry. I had tea already with my friends." Sophie doesn't even look up at her mother.
"I'm so sorry." I say. "I don't know how I got here." Adrenaline is rushing through me and I can feel my heart falter out of fear, but both of them ignore me. I was expecting to be led out in handcuffs, not this.
"You need to eat." Sophie's mum pushes. "Please Sophie. We need to talk about your dad. I've sorted out his will today and could really do with you joining me. He wouldn't want you to stop eating."
A will? At once I feel intense rush of pity for the little girl opposite me, her face is a mask of forced bravery. The mother comes further into the room and closer up, I see the unwashed hair, the wrinkled clothes and the purple identions below her eyes. She looks blank and hollow.
"You should go eat with your mother Sophie." I say quietly. "Me, Mr Monkey, Mr Crab, and Mrs Teapot will be hear when you get back."
Sophie considers this, her eyes welling before standing up and taking her mother's hand.
"Bye Princess Man" She says softly over her shoulder.
"Bye Princess Sophie."
"Which toy is Princess Man?" Her mother asks.
"He's not a toy. He's my new friend."
\*\*\*
That was the first time I met Sophie. Over the years we developed a close bond. I helped her with her homework, I taught her how to play catch in the back garden, I went to school with her and sat beside her during the relentless bullying. She cried herself asleep a lot because she missed her dad, but I was always there with a hug and a bed time story to comfort her. I could not figure out why no one else could see me, I assumed I had died and was a ghost or something. It did not bother me because I had Sophie.
\*\*\*
It was on Sophie's fifteenth birthday that I found a different side to her. I had met a lot of her friends over the years, but on that night, a special person was introduced to me.
"I really like him Dan," she said, holding out her hand for the mascara. I passed it over, watching Sophie examine herself in the mirror.
"You look gorgeous." I say, but she's frowning at her reflection.
"I'm scared he won't like me."
"Of course he will, you're -" I start to say but the doorbell downstairs rings. Without acknowledging me, Sophie takes one final glance at the mirror before racing downstairs. I'm left pacing around the room, she usually takes me with her everywhere but lately she had become a lot more distant. I guess that was to be expected with teenagers.
The room had changed a lot in the nine years I had occupied it, Sophie had painted it red and had posters up of her favourite celebrities on the walls. Mr Crab and Mrs Teapot had long since being boxed up and were gathering cobwebs in the attic, and Mr Monkey seemed to spend an extortionate amount of time down the side of Sophie's bed.
Hours later, I hear the front door slam and the laughing voice of the leaving party-goers make their way to the respective cars. Two sets of footsteps come up the stairs and enter the room. Sophie's mum has been working later and later in recent years so I assume correctly that Sophie has brought up the boy she likes.
He's slight with dark hair, and a sneering smile. He looks around before making his way to the bed.
"What did you want to ask me?" He asks, patting the space beside him. He makes my skin crawl but Sophie is beaming at him so I say nothing.
"I just wanted to say that I thought you were really hot and I wondered if you wanted to go out with me?" She stammers and I feel second hand embarrasment for her, her face looks as if it's going to erupt into flames.
The boy laughs and my stomach turns over. His handsome face twists into a grimacing gargole's impression of a smile.
"No. Did you really think I would go out with you? You're insane. Insane Sophie. Always crying in the toilets and your only friends are imaginary."
Sophie's face is blotched with stinging tears. But she speaks in a controlled voice.
"If I didn't have friends, why would everyone come tonight?"
"So we could video you." He pulls his phone out of his top pocket and I see it is on camera record mode. "We got you drunk and made you do embarassing things. But this is a new low even for you Insane Sophie. I can't believe you thought I would go out with you!" He cackles cruelly and zooms in on her crying face.
I cannot contain myself anymore and move in to punch the boy, Sophie sees me and shakes her head. "No Dan!" She wispers and I stop dead in my tracks.
"See you are crazy, there is no Dan." The boy saves the video before getting up to leave. "See you on Monday Sophie." He grins evilly.
Sophie sits like a statue until we hear him exiting the house then she turns and sobs into her pillow.
I go to comfort her, my mind racing with what I could do to stop the video from going viral around Sophie's school.
"I'm so sorry Sophie." I pat her on the back and them jump back in surprise as she whirls up at me.
"It's all your fault." She screams. "It's all your fault why I don't have friends. They call me insane because of you. I want REAL friends."
She is hysterical now, tears stream down her face. "I want you gone. GONE."
"Sophie please. You have me, we don't need anyone else -"
"Go!" Her voice breaks. It all goes black for me.
|
*I drove around the sharp curve, only to see a huge pick up truck right in front of my small car, on the wrong side of the road. I swerved, only to realize that was the wrong thing to do and I ended up driving off the cliff. I saw the forest, and the huge field with the barn at the other side of the valley. Everything was a blur, as I slammed against the steering wheel, passing out.*
My eyes fluttered open, and I looked around. I was in a pink room, with a bed in the corner with beanie babies covering it, a few missing. There was a toy box at the end of the bed, and a few toys scattered around the room. There was a tot table in the middle of the room, with a beautiful rug under it, with some stains on it. There was a six year old girl with tan skin, straight black hair and a red bow holding her hair into a ponytail. She had a pastel yellow and pink dress, dark brown eyes and she was playing with a white bear with red and blue stars on it. In another chair, there was a huge green and brown turtle plushie with a tea cup in front of it. The little girl raised her head, noticing me. "Ms. Fox! Your here! Come join my tea party, we have business to discuss." The little girl chirped, getting up. She skipped over to me, grabbing my hand and dragging me over. She let go of my hand, and I sat down, dazed. "Who- who are you?" I stuttered as I was getting used to the little girl's room. "Sakina Dodson! Don't you remember me, Mayor Rosa Fox?" She kicked her legs under the table, and I noticed she had pastel purple flats. I blinked, looking around. "Sakina, where are your parents?" I asked, looking at the door. "Mama's gonna come in with the cookies soon! Daddy is something that mom calls prison!" I stared at Sakina, a bit surprised. **All right, dad's in prison and mom's going to sell cookies at her school's bake sale**. I thought, composing myself as I prepared for playing dress up or pretend or whatever kids do now days. "Okay, Ms. Dodson, what would you like to discuss?" Sakina immediately straightened, glancing at the small white bear plushie. "Miss Spangle-" She waved towards the July themed bear, "would like to have a larger pay- money- paycheck? Cashcheck?" Sakina stuttered at the end, not knowing what it was called. "Paycheck, sweetie." I corrected, smiling at her.
​
**{Thats all for now, after I've edited a bit, going to continue soon but i have two birds, maybe three soon and I have to play with them and change their stuff )**
| 2019-07-27T10:08:53 | 2019-07-27T09:28:46 | 98 | 61 |
[WP] In your world evolution is sped up by a million times so people gain and lose abilities according to their day to day work. Fishermen become deaf, firefighters gain another layer of skin etc. Your experiences as a will-do-anything-as work labourer sure are interesting.
|
My twentieth birthday was spent alone on a remote island somewhere between Norway and the North Pole. I’d been there two days and was still settling into my cabin, my beard and body hair growing thick as the fur on the tail of an arctic fox.
In the morning, although there was no sun to announce the morning, I took a reading from the equipment and radioed in the measurements. There had been about three inches of snowfall in the night and no noticeable melt. Likely wouldn’t be for months, but still, someone had to monitor it so smarter people could work out how fast the climate was doing its thing.
I reported figures five times a day, cleared snow around my cabin twice a day, and did very little else the rest of the time. Truth was, a machine could have done what I did, but machines could break or freeze over, so they’d wanted a person manning the station.
In just two days, I’d figured out five different ways to cook baked beans. In my opinion, they were more versatile than even eggs. Besides, I didn’t have eggs. I had beans, and tins of fish and meats, boxes of surplus army rations — in total enough calories to last me here for two years. *Because you might be there two years, Jack. If it’s a bad summer and we can’t land, if the ocean’s still frozen and the boat can’t get in...*
Two years alone didn’t bother me. In fact, the possibility of being away from everyone and everything was why I’d taken the job. That and the salary being better than warehouse stacker.
What did bother me was the hair I was developing. It was like trying to walk around in a sleeping bag. I figured this was how mummies must have felt on coming back to life.
My body had evolved the hair due to my explorations around the island. Yesterday, I’d taken a snowmobile to mount Auk, about twelve miles away, visible (in good starlight) from my cabin. On the way back, a snowstorm hit and I could see about as far as I could reach. It took me twice as long to get back and I was shivering, cold, and blue by the time I stepped through the door.
My body had reacted. Evolved the hair.
I shaved myself back down to my skin and decided I’d stay in for a few days, a fire blazing, until my body realised it didn’t need the extra thermal layer.
​
Later that evening I heard a knock on the door.
The snow couldn’t freeze me, but that knock on the cabin door — on an unpopulated island, in the middle of a blizzard — sure did.
Must be something blowing against the door, I figured. Until it came again. Rhythmic. Rat-a-tat-tat.
No doubt about it, someone was there.
I downed my glass of vodka (thank you military supplies), grabbed a logging axe, and opened the door.
The girl standing there was about my age. Her skin was grey and as smooth as pearl. She was naked, but it looked like she was in a wetsuit. And she was rib-thin.
”Uh,” was all I could manage.
”Please, can I come in?” she asked.
”Uh.” This time I managed to move and gesture for her to come past. I followed, grabbing a coat from the rack and handing it to her.
”Thanks,” she said, wrapping herself up. “It’s cold out there.”
She sat on the rug next to fire, her hands hands beside it. “I don’t mean to be rude, but have you got any food? It’s been an age since I’ve even caught a fish.”
“Oh, yeah — sure. Sorry, I don’t get guests here often. I’m not good with people.”
She smiled. ”Me neither.”
I considered beans, but instead went with bread, jam, peanut butter, two candy bars, and a tin of smoked sardines.
She ate like she might not get another meal. I watched in silence.
When she was finished she asked, “Not going to ask me what I’m doing here?”
”You’ve not asked me what I am,” I retorted.
She rolled her blue eyes. “I see the equipment. You’re measuring the weather.”
”No,” I said. “Well, not exactly. I’m measuring the changes in weather.”
”Same thing.”
“So what are you doing here? Did they send you to find me?”
”They?” She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. Just, I got lost in the water and here I am.”
”Lost in the water?”
”Was an oyster diver. Looking for pearls. We got shipped out all over the place. They’d keep us in tanks of water for days before the dives so that we adapted, you know?”
That explained her seal-like skin. “And what, you got lost?”
”Yep. Not sure for how long. Water’s so murky everywhere around here. Like, where’s the sun? Can’t tell the days apart.”
I bit my lip. What did I do now? “What’s your plan?”
”Guess it’s my luck day — I’m stranded with you! I’ll hitch a ride when they pick you up. I don’t think I can get back alone — I almost starved just getting here.”
”That’s four months away…”
She shrugged. “Got enough food here? Or do I need to teach you how to fish?”
“I guess there’s enough. It’s two years supplies, they told me.”
She beamed. “Then it’s settled!” Her eyes locked onto my empty shot glass on the table. She walked over to it and sniffed it. ”Drink alone every night?”
”It’s my birthday. I was celebrating.”
She laughed. “Wild party! How old are you?”
”Twenty.”
”Twenty! And you’re out here all alone?” Her nose wrinkled up in amusement.
This was the most I’d talked to a girl in maybe a year. Even before the job, I hadn’t been the sociable type. In fact, that’s why they’d picked me.
”I’m good at being alone.”
She sat on the sofa next to me. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
”Reasons.”
”Come on! We’re going to be living together for a while. Might as well get the truth out early. Or the truth untold turns into a wall.”
I felt something dark shift around in my stomach, like a black marble rolling. “My parents died when I was twelve,” I said. I hadn’t told anyone that in maybe five years and it wasn’t spilling out easily now.
She waited patiently, however, and eventually I continued.
”I lived on park benches and that kind of thing. I got very good at running away. Became very fast — great for shoplifting. I evolved a lot of things over those years, I think. My skin became hard and cold. But maybe my heart even more so. Didn’t have anyone, but I didn’t need anyone.”
Her blue eyes shimmered like pools rippling. “I’m so sorry.”
”Don’t be. All I mean is, I’m not good with people. So this might not work out well.”
She took my hand in hers. “Evolution as deep and long as that… It takes some time to work out. But to change, you need to put yourself somewhere uncomfortable.”
”No. This change is permanent. Trust me.”
”Nothing’s permanent. I’ve had this skin for months, but it’ll go in a week or so. Yours… might take a year. Might take two.”
”You’re wrong.”
And yet, even as I said it, I could feel a slight heat running from her hand and into mine. Flowing from her fingers, up my arm and into my chest, scraping at the frozen casing of my heart. I could feel hot tears falling down my cheeks.
”We all change. All the time. But sometimes it’s not natural. It doesn’t just happen. Sometimes we have to make the change ourselves.” She squeezed my hand tightly.
Maybe she was right, I thought. Maybe even I could change.
Or maybe I’d never adapted into what I thought I was. Just believed I that was fine by myself, that I could cope. Maybe all I’d evolved was the ability to lie to myself.
Because I already knew I didn’t want her to go. To leave me here.
I knew I didn’t want to be alone again.
She got up and found the bottle of vodka and a second glass. Poured out two shots.
”Happy birthday,” she said, dinking her little glass against mine.
“Sorry, I didn’t even ask your name,” I said.
She drank her glass and wiped her mouth. “We’ve got plenty of time to get to know each other. Tonight, let’s celebrate.”
|
Bob Schwartz walked down the street to the house of Mrs. Bustamonte--a young lady whose head is so big that she is incapable of any physical labor. He walked, practically skipped, down the street. He, a man of medium stature with a body that is sinewy and unlike the other laborers who resemble gorillas more than they resemble your average young man.
Mrs. Bustamonte's house is grey and rectangular, like a giant shoebox, with windows on all four sides and a door beside the window that faces the street. The door is not a *door* per se, but is instead an electronic shutter that has cameras, ones with functioning mics and little speaker holes on the back, on all four sides which allow Mrs. Bustamonte to screen her visitors.
"Hello? Mrs. Bustamonte? This is Bob Schwartz from freelancelaborers," Bob said to the electric shutter as stated in the Additional Instructions for the job.
Silence. Then, "Ah, yes. Yes, please wait a minute, yes. I will let you in, just a minute."
Mrs. Bustamonte's voice was gentle and friendly; her pronunciation was perfect. A foreman's loud, ear-splitting shouts echoed in the street. The shutter started rolling up of its own accord.
"Come in."
Inside Mrs. Bustamonte's house, everything was white or near white. The shoebox-shaped house was almost entirely without walls. There were reasonable partitions, yes, for the kitchen and the bathroom and the shower, etc. but they were not floor-to-ceiling walls. The big-headed, pale Mrs. Bustamonte, in an ugly custom-made exoskeleton, greeted the freelance laborer.
"Sorry to be such a bother, but you can see I can't do much with this..."
Bob replied with a professional silence.
"Oh, yes, yes, the sofa, yes. Can you please move it so it faces the window?"
"Which one? I mean, which window?"
"The one to your right. I just like watching the fall scenery from there, it's beautiful."
Bob nodded and smiled. The exoskeleton-enhanced Mrs. Bustamonte returned to her study, still in plain sight, and started working on her computer.
Bob moved the sofa, and felt his shoulders increase in size. Then Mrs. Bustamonte looked over from her desk, thanked him, and made completed the transaction of Bob's fee online.
Mrs. Bustamonte did not see her freelance laborer to the door, and the faint click and hiss of the electric shutter was all the goodbye Bob received.
Once outside, he decided to go home and not do anything at all for the rest of the day. He followed the impulse of the average man.
| 2021-08-12T08:32:16 | 2021-08-12T07:57:19 | 243 | 26 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal.
|
Men often joke about their wives and those who have been down the isle more than once or twice joke a little louder than the rest. When you’ve done it as many times as I have the jokes stop. I’m not looking for someone to decorate my arm or my bedroom, nor someone to keep me warm in our marriage bed. I seek companionship. Someone I can relax with and take off the mask I have worn all these years.
Kelly-Ann looked To be perfect when we met. We were head over heels for each other. So happy to be in each other’s arms. She was 23 and had just won Miss USA and graduated with a masters in Shakespearean literature. She was beautiful and brilliant. We were introduced at a fund raiser for the philharmonic and instantly connected, talking long into the night about the hidden motivations of the great and not-so-great characters that leapt from the mind of the bard all those years ago.
It was not a perfect relationship, she was under some pressure from her friends, how dare she call it love when she was 23 and I had to be at least 40. I felt terrible that she would be branded a “gold digger”, and yet people will judge.
We were married after a whirlwind romance that had us in Europe for a year, visiting the places where Hamlet, Othello and Macbeth were placed, drinking wine and arguing subtle points missed by many. Falling in love. She signed the pre-nup without a backward glance and our bliss continued for years.
But now it has been 20 years. We tried to have a child for the first four years of our marriage, but just like the others no children were forthcoming. I am certain that children are not in my future. My Kelly was heart broken, but I was happy to adopt and we were lucky enough to find twin toddlers and we were a family for a while.
It is amazing to me how fast twenty years appears in the rear view mirror. The twins are off to college and Kelly is celebrating her 45th birthday. Although celebrating may be the wrong word. It’s hard when you work hard to remain young, a strict diet, yoga, Pilates, hours running and in the gym. And she looked great. But it’s hard to not be bitter when your husband, who was much older than you when you got married, now looks the same age... the same age dammit... though, in private and after drinking, she may admit to herself that he now looks younger. While I was still happily in love, my Kelly-Ann was growing weary.
After all my time working, and all the wealth I had amassed I did something I’ve never done. I retired. I hoped this would make Kelly happy. We traveled in luxury, private planes, estates, mega-yachts for four years. At some point Kelly changed. Her husbands failure to age, while she seemed to be aging like milk, festered in her and became hatred. For me it was heart breaking. Kelly has been poisoning my for months. Slowly increasing the dosage hoping that no one would notice the poison when I died.
When that failed, it was not the first time I’d been poisoned, she became more direct. Brakes were disabled in more than one vehicle, I was nudged down the stairs, electrocuted in the bath, pushed into traffic, and victim of an “accidental shooting”. None of that worked, and Kelly became desperate.
That’s when she started hiring “specialists”. First it was a local gang. $5000 cash in an envelope had them surround my car and fill it full of bullets. Photos of the car and my bullet ridden body were taken. Texts sent to burner phones and champagne was opened. She was happy for the first time in years. Until the entry gate was opened and the car service pulled up. She watched as the car door was opened and I got out. “Damn him”, she thought, “he doesn’t even have a limp.”
Then assassins were bought, those with rifles, then those with bombs. Still I lived.
I was not ignorant, I knew she was trying to kill me, but I’ve been married before. Many times. See, when most people looked at me they saw a handsome, tan, middle aged man in the peak of health. Obvious wealth and education. Someone who hit the genetic and economic lottery. But looks can be deceiving. I am wealthy, the Rothchild’s would be jealous, and I am healthy. I look like a cowboy just off the range, all cleaned up and ready for a night on the town. I speak dozens of languages with perfect accents. I have degrees from all over the world, though not all in my current name. These things are all possible when you live long enough.
See, as far as I can tell, I am immortal. I have all the wealth you could imagine, do speak every language on earth and some that have long since been forgotten, and look like a man in his late 30’s in excellent health. But “genetic lottery” no, after the first 200 years you realize it is a curse. After 500 boredom sets in. You’ve done nearly everything you can. Been married, watches your friends die over and over. Fought in wars, been in the clergy and politics. Shaped nations and watched them fall. Mastered nearly every profession and gone everywhere a horse or sail could take you. Burned nations down and built them up. Watched revolutions of thought, art, music and learning take hold and change the world. And all you wish for is to break the curse. Just to lay down with your friends and family in the dirt. So you do. For 55 years I laid in a coffin. Still. In the dark. The box dissolved and broke around me. And I lay there still, alive. Finally a shift in the earth disturbed my meditation and I clawed from the earth.
I was refreshed and so I tried everything again. Began amassing another fortune (not hard when you have all the time in the world). I traveled to the new world again and again. With the Vikings, then the crazy Spaniard (he was not Italian), with the puritans and the Irish. Played many roles and found the only thing that I loved was love. It never lasted though. It is impossible to love someone who does not age. Who contends no with the mortality that becomes such a focus of your life as your date approaches. Eventually the wonder at why your spouse is not cursed with age spots, grey hair or the aches and pains of aging turns to bitterness and contempt and finally hatred. Divorce and separation ensue and my misery extends.
Kelly gave up today. Until an hour ago I was amused by her attempts to secure my death. An hour ago I came home. The staff had been dismissed for the day. Kelly drew a bath. She settled in the bath. Took sleeping pills, slit her wrists and faded into the great night.
So, I will mourn. I will close up the house. The children and I are not close, they have their trust funds, but we do not see each other as I look too close in age to their friends for it to be comfortable. I think I’ll move to Venezuela, there is good work to be done there that will occupy my mind for the next decade or so.
I think I’ve figured it out. I know I’m cursed, but it is a strange curse. To live forever. But it is a curse. An endless cycle of death. Of love spoiled and lost. Being so close to happiness, at least being truly blissful for a while, but knowing it will spoil. Then it does. The crushing heartbreak, the despair in yourself and the person who no longer loves you. Having to do it over and over again.
All because of a jealous act so long ago. Fratricide. My brother was the perfect man. Blonde, polite, genuine, charismatic. He had everything, including the woman I loved. So I hit him with a rock. A lot. I cried, for I loved my brother. I did not get his wife. I did not find happiness. When everyone else I loved cast me out and I wandered the world, I also discovered I did not age. I did not die. I was cursed. Cursed to watch it all die.
For I am also cursed to love.
|
My love, Emily
You've tried a thousand way to kill me. Don't act like I wouldn't know, by the end of our marriage, your tricks had became more and more obvious.
I think you know, when you push me down the stairs and I emerge scarless, you know, I can't be kill. If this isn't enough proof, what about the time I drink the poison enough to kill a thousand man, right in front of you? You should know, I am immortal.
When you see this letter, I am already long gone. Surrounding you is this loveless room we once shared, where we lay side by side every night until today. I wonder, how many nights had you spent, scheming in your mind right next to me while I slept, while I dream about our fairy tale. The fairy tale that only exist because of my desire for love and your greed for more. You've always want more, more money, more clothes, more belongings, more car. It is never enough for you. I thought if I fulfill every one of your wishes you'd finally see that I am enough for you. But greed is a groundless pit. Once you are in it, you will only keep falling.
I love you, Emily, I still do, even right now when you are reading this. But I have no choice but to leave. This love had turned sour, or it had never been love. I don't know anymore. There was a time where I would've kill myself for you, if I know how to do it. If only I know how to make you love me. If only. Now, all that we are left with is the thousands 'if only'.
I've chosen to leave you because I can see no hope of you loving me the way I love you. Everyday I see your smile, and the knife behind your smile, my heart breaks a little bit more. I can't bear seeing the darkness behind those beautiful big blue eyes of yours for another day so I choose to leave. I've consider leaving behind a part of my fortune for you, but it's pointless, it'll never be enough for you anyway.
I hope you will bring this lesson with you to your next life.
I hope we meet again, when I am in the same skin and you're in a different shell, with no memory of this and never had fallen into the pit of greed.
Love, Aiden
| 2019-07-31T07:34:43 | 2019-07-31T07:03:17 | 914 | 34 |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.
|
Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer,
Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing!
Much Appreciation,
The Chosen Ln E
.
I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast.
But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years.
And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed.
But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning.
Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small?
"Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands.
> Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others.
But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat.
And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter.
"Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice."
> Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked.
Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious.
But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room.
"Hey buddy.... can you understand me?"
*Incoherent Grunt*
"Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd.
25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night.
"So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket.
> Never hit her.
The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn.
20:
> Yes, you do want to marry her.
25:
> Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it.
30:
> The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit.
35:
> Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect.
40:
> No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife.
45:
> Please look both ways before crossing the street.
It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note.
"What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"?
"That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!"
Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast.
50:
> The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen.
55:
> Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father.
60:
> The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late.
65:
> Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy.
70:
> If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone.
[This is continued in a comment because *apparently* 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.]
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As I stood at the head of the table, I knew what I must say. I’ve heard it exactly 32 times in my waking life. Though, while sleeping the last words seemed to follow me through every dreamscape I visited, echoing like a mantra, or a curse.
I lift up my glass as I’ve seen it done every year before, but though I put up all my resistance, I know what must be done, what must be said. I let go of what remains of my childish wish for a god to take me away. It comes as easy as breathing
“I know most of you know why we are here, for those of you who do not know or care too young to comprehend, I am truly sorry. For the rest of you, I am even sorrier, for you know what is about to unfold. “
I take a breath.
(Maybe it is the act of folding rather than unfolding. A tidy package that only I can make. I remember my youthful defiance when I first attended this gathering of my various selves, in all their disheveled, discontinuous glory. My disbelief that I was going to end up following the exact path that was so mercilessly laid before me. But I did. It was easy enough to convince myself that all my choices were my own and chosen for my own reasons, but as the years went on and this yearly reminder of my own powerlessness to stop the onslaught of time, it broke me down, slowly, into these sad, desponded faces that I now saw in front of me, silently begging me to deviate from what they knew must take place. But I must give them this act of brutal continuity)
“Some of you will try to stop me from killing myself tonight, but as you all know, you will fail. Time stops for no man, least of all myself. What must happen must happen. But if you need a reason, I will give you one word: freedom”
I take the gun strapped to my the inside of my coat, point it at my head and pull the trigger. I hear a loud noise and a start of a baby’s cry as everything fades out into a dreamless sleep where my final word follows me no more.
| 2014-05-21T00:00:08 | 2014-05-20T23:07:06 | 100 | 15 |
[WP] As a demon, you've been doing your job for over a millennia. It's time to retire. You answer one last summons from your loyal cult and let them know.
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Retirement. It looked so lovely. A nice mansion on the burning shores of the rivers where the sinners burn for eternity. One with lovely view of the forests where animalistic demons hunt humans who were cruel to animals, every day. I've been an actively working demon since the fall of Rome. It'll be nice to retire and enjoy the fruits of my labours. Because I've been a pretty important demon. I inspired the First Crusade, I whispering in the ears of the mad flagellants, I inspired pride and wickedness wherever I went.
Great old days. I became so prolific, that for a long time, the mortals just assumed that demons looked like me, and depicted most of the pictures on how they thought I looked. Hooves, horns, goat face, etc. I even carried around a stupid trident for a while just to see if it'd catch on. Of course, since the 30 Years War, I've been keeping it slower, more on the down low. Now, I have one loyal cult, about 3000 people secretly worshipping my dark might in some small college town. There they inspire people to write blasphemous ideas, discover tech way earlier than human morality is ready for it, and generally encourage other humans to stand proud and tall.
It's been a lot of fun. Besides, college cult parties are quite rambunctious. But this old goat is getting too old for that. And besides, Hell is trying to innovate their approach. Humanising Hell they call it, making it seem like we're the good guys. I like it, it's a very inventive concept, but I'm too old to really change.
But I still have a large cult, and I'd rather not have them start worshipping any upstart demon with all the sense and delicate touch of a goose. Which is why, upon my summoning day, I'm telling them that I'm retiring. And I'm bringing in a new replacement. I'm Astorfegul, and my grandson Amovlir Telkontor Antikratos will take over my cult.
He is more suited for the modern Hell approach. Sure, I can listen to my followers, and advise them, but I still look like a hellishly evil demon. That doesn't allow for new outside membership to grow much, unless we start recruiting those weird fuckers who claim to worship the devil, only because their Christian parents won't buy them a bodypillow of an anime character. And nobody wants those guy in a respectable cult. My grandson is cuter, fluffy, and while he does look like a goat, just like his mother and his grandfather, he looks quite more huggable, as the human witches who sometimes visit hell say.
But beyond that, he is also charming, friendly, and charismatic. And the last one is important. I could hand the cult over to any of my spawn, but most of them are meatheads, sadists, hedonists or all of the above. And none of those ever gain much following with mortals. Besides, I've had my grandson with me to meet the cult before, and they've all found him quite sweet and cute.
Of course, his friendly advice and charming suggestions still inevitably leads you into damnation if you are mortal. But where I had to spend centuries learning how to lead people into damnation with guile, lying, and all manners of bribes, he can just smile, talk, and be cute. And they follow him like the rats follow the piper. Straight into the modern Hell's grasp.
From my clan's hellish citadel, I am summoned. Using my large hands, I grasp my grandson firmly, as we leave hell and appear in the mortal world. He is also human sized, which is a real plus. It has its benefits to be a 13 feet tall demon covered in sinewy muscles and rough wool like I am. But outside of the intimidating factor, and the obvious physical prowess, it doesn't do much. His soft wool, big nice smile, tendency to hug, and small blunt horns, makes him an excellent advocate for modern hell.
I stare out across my congregation. My cult. They all know that I've called them here for something important. They know that I've been planning to retire for a while now. There are old couples, teenagers who are disinterested, as all teens are, young children staring in awe, and everyone else. I stand up to my full height, my massive dark horns nearly scraping the roof, my rough jet-black wool drinking in the light of the fiery torches held by various acolytes.
''**Greetings my good followers. I see that there are new faces in the flock today, good, good. I have asked the high priest to summon me here today, because I have an announcement to make. As you know, I've provided demonic services, such as healing your ill, cursing your enemies, fertilising your barren wives and fields, and many other such things for the past 250 years, some of you older ones I've gifted with longevity remembers how we were chased out by the witchhunters to come here, to America. You have been loyal for all this time, and I am grateful to have such good loyal followers. But I am ageing, and though no demon ever dies of old age, we do fade with time. Thus, today, I reveal to you, my successor. You all know him. My grandson, Baron Amovlir Telkontor Antikratos!** I lift up my grandson with thunderous applause. He waves at the various cultists and smiles warmly.
Setting him down at the speaker's pulpit, he takes out a few papers, and takes the microphone to have a speech of his own. ''*Beloved grandfather, long have you fought for the freedom that our kind believes in. Long have your followers stayed true to you. I gladly accept your wish, oh grandfather. I will complete the work you have started. And to you, our cultists, loyal and good, I promise you, we will continue the good work. I have learned at the hoof of my grandfather from the time I was but a mere kid, and like him, I too will aid you, I too will fulfil the promises made to you all. And I know, that together, we will do our part in the war against the tyrannical oppression of the false demiurge, who is called the Anointed One!*
His voice, unlike mine, is sweet, cheery, and optimistic, where mine is rough, intimidating and powerful. Yet they love him. They've always done so. He was born to this. At the conclusion of his little acceptance speech, he is met with thunderous and deafening applause. Makes an old demonic goat proud. I've planned this for a while, after all. They've all met him, when we do stuff like blooddrives(more humans saved by medicine means more potential cultists, and we get to keep the blood that is not usable), he has babysat for a good number of the people, and he has never lost a single little human cub. And they unconsciously recognise him as the face of the college town's resident football team, he is the mascot of the Grayville Rams. He has been taught command, manipulation, and human psychology, combined with his natural charisma, which makes him the perfect demon to take over for me.
And as we celebrate, I see how happy he is, for he was never really happy down in hell. He likes the humans, and some part of him truly does believe in what he says. Sure, he knows that it is a lot more complex than our cults or their cults say, but he truly does believe in what the Adversary taught our ancestors, freedom from the tyranny of YHWH. In his cloven hooves, I can safely see the cult rising. From a small one, to a national one. To one that can compete with the followers of the dead Carpenter. As I leave the service, holding my grandson's hand firmly, I wonder if he might even be the prophesied one. The Morningstar, the answer of Hell to the bold death of the Carpenter. But I will not count my demonspider-eggs before they've hatched in the bowels of the blackest pits.
He has only just been accepted, and yet, they did it so readily. Who knows what the future holds, now that I retire here at the dawn of the 3rd millennium since the death of their champion.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
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"I didn't sign up for this. Five thousand three hundred and twenty six years, not a moment's respite. I mean you've not been ungrateful, quite the contrary, you have acknowledged I'm the best there is. But in this job there's no down time, no breaks, no end. That's gonna change, at midnight tonight I'm gone."
When I had called this meeting the Order didn't expect my resignation. Demons were lifers, once they were assigned that was it. I saw the blood drain away from their faces.
"It's not possible, no one quits -"
"You have six hours to find a replacement"
I think it time I mention, I am Earth's gravity demon. I am what pulls all to earth. I should have gone for something easy, like wind or rain. No, I wanted all the accolades. I'll tell you now, it is not worth it. The job consumes you.
"No one is ready, everyone we have sent for training you have broken. All the other available gravity demons are on uninhabited planets, they doze off and no one notices. That happens here and we're screwed."
"Why should I care anymore? Seven billion humans and only a thousand of you know the truth. We make everything tick. When I walk away this system will be just another speck the fades in the distance"
The time fast approaches, I cannot wait. Finally time for myself. The chance to see the universe in all it's splendor. To float through the pillars of creation.
I am summoned.
The high mage is armoured. I've never seen someone so well prepared. Five enhancements on his self. Most only know one art, this truly is a master.
"You cannot leave."
"My mind is made."
His eyes go black, the reality around me begins to melt. I cast my claw out to him, it does nothing. My feet sink, the land below me is ready to consume all. I must take flight.
He is behind me. Hooks clawing me back. I must fight for my freedom. I will not yield.
The mage bombards me with volleys of crimson rage. I whimper upon the ground, he is holding back. He wants me to break. The barrage keeps on coming.
I will be free of this prison soon. I am weaker now than they know. I am dying.
He sees that now, but it is too late. My fate is sealed. He rushes off, no doubt to find a replacement. As my strength leaves me, I let go. I stop binding all to this forsaken land, gravity is dead.
| 2020-06-14T18:17:30 | 2020-06-14T17:34:18 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] Write a high fantasy story (magic, dragons, etc) set in a trench warfare environment with modern weapons. Circa WWI
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The night ended with rain. It brought no relief with it - a cold October pounding into the soil no less than the previous day's bombardment. A rhythmic thud, machine-like in the silence of the trenches. Bullets or raindrops, it mattered little to the ones that had fallen in yesterday's counterattack.
Byron's boots squelched in the liquid mud with every wary step he took forward through the narrow crevice to the main dugout - the last place where the enemy tried to re-group and hold out. In the morning's heavy haze, through the dirty lenses of his gasmask, Byron could still see how his footprints turned to crimson puddles. Behind him, the small troop mirrored his advance. Guns cocked, whispers filtered through the thick rubber, wary eyes following the thin mist that hung at the bottom of the trench. Their bayonettes bouncing like the noses of bloodhounds, sniffing the prey out.
His bodyguards. Taking time, allowing him to kneel at every body, cup the face and press the sigil onto yeilding, waxy flesh. Byron could feel their disapproving stares boring into his back, the veiled, patronizing insults squeezed between teeth and cigarette as he went about his grisly task. Still, he pressed forward, attending the fallen with reverie they most definetely didn't experience in living form.
Byron felt hollow. He lost count of these fields, these trenches. The provisions changed, the landscapes changed, summer followed spring and then died out with the first September breezes, but one thing remained constant - mortar craters, smoke, dirt and rotting human meat lying around, sucked and then spit out by the soil itself.
Iperyte didn't discriminate by creed or affinity, by virtue or sin. When the Blight Dragon passed the enemy trenches on low glide, it exhaled the noxious heavy cloud all over the foxholes, shrouding the Germans' positions in this deadly wave. Iperyte sunk fast, and as the battle raged on, they took lungfulls of the poison in an instant.
The 11th Battalion should be grateful, Byron thought as the platoon finally reached the dugout. Grateful for such a foul gift that had got him towering over a pile of bodies, over young men that clung to each other in their final moments, to their guns, faces twisted in suffocating agony. One soldier's hand still stuck out to the edge of the trench, curled in a grasp over a root like a large pale spider.
Unseeing, their eyes peered at the shuddering sky, gathering rainwater like little pewter cups. There was noone around courteous enough to close them.
The gas gave them a painful, but otherwise, *wholesome* death. That's why he was usually sent in after the gas attacks. The bodies were intact, making his task sensible, logical. Lowering to his knees in the dirt, the heavy flackjacket soaking up the water hungrily, Byron un-latched the spellbook and dagger from his belt, and began the binding ritual. He unwound the bandage on his wrist, re-opening an old wound with the tip of the obsidian knife, and as the blood dripped into the crudely scratched sigil in the warm soil before him, he began the incantation.
Something *else* moved his dry tongue - a will, Byron felt, not entirely his. The will of the screeching shells, the will of the burning villages, the will of the stuttering machine-guns. He submitted to it. Like always. He rubbed at the dust in the mask's eye-pieces. The spell practically worked by itself, like a forest fire hungry consume more and more on its way.
Byron watched as they blinked when the imbued sigil bound all the bodies into one single urge. As the dead Germans shrugged off the paralysis of death, rising in unison on the accord of his wordless command.
In those glazed eyes, he - only he - could read their avulsion, their sorrow, their fear... but he couldn't apologize. Couldn't redeem himself for what he was about to do as his bloodied fingers moved, rousing the dead from their slumber, directing them to sluggishly pick the same weapons they abandonded as death crept over them. There was vomit on their dull-grey uniforms, and their lips parted apart lax, dark with cyanosis.
Hastily, he finished the incantation, wiped his hands on the hem of the coat, got to his feet and turned back to the troop, happy to stop looking into those condemning, stone-cold faces.
"They ready, 'mancer?" The sergeant's hand dug into his shoulder with an approving squeeze. "Can't wait to see the sons of whores marching up to their positions uphill. What a sight, eh? They won't guess a thing there, think it's their lads coming back! Welsome with open fracking arms! And none of ours would die today - you're a Godsend, Tyrell".
For once, Byron felt grateful that the gasmask concealed most of his face. Even the itchy rubber felt pleasant - in a perverted, self-punishing way.
"Yes", the words slithered out. "I'm ready to send them over".
The sergeant nodded, giving the sign for the rest of the platoon to move on. The soldiers followed, climbing upwards along with the dead Germans. Some of his supposed comrades passed him by with a barely audible insult, nearly spitting into the filter of their masks. Rot-head. *Upir*. Vulture. So much for gratitude.
One fellow lingered by him - Jack Haley, the youngest of the troop. The little light there was bounced off the boy's mask lenses, for a second revealing the troubled expression beneath. The hose dangled on the rookie's chest like a sad elephant's trunk.
"Um, Byron?"
"Yes?"
Jack twitched a bit in hesitation, all rabbit-like, his voice dropping to a conspiratory, raspy low as he glanced back on the marching, determined dead.
"Will you rise me up as well?"
"What makes you think so?"
"Well...", the youth paused. His fingers drummed nervously on the stock of his carabine. "Isn't it your duty to send everyone back? So that we win?"
Byron's lips thinned into a rigid line. The less the living battled, the more the dead entered the front. Even though the Commonwealth professed that only the enemy corpses are risen to fight again, it was common knowledge that the Queen's necromancers returned every soldier available. In death, everyone had an equal chance to grasp the gun again and be directed to murder his friend, his brother, his father.
"It depends".
"On what?"
"If your body is intact. What good you are in death, if your legs are missing?"
The admission sent the kid reeling. The necromancer couldn't see it, but he was sure that red-head Jack became paler than the Grim Reaper himself.
"Please, don't bring me back", he whispered to Byron, and turned sharply, taking off in hurry after the rest of the soldiers.
Byron remained in the trench for a while - now blissfully empty. He threw his head back, allowing the sparse raindrops to spatter on the masks' eyeholes. The necromancer took a deep breath, immersing himself in the monotone hush of the receding rain. When he looked back a few moments later, in the distance, he could see dark figures moving into the barren forest at the north-east. He had to follow.
The wound on his forearm stung, but he welcomed the pain. Without it, Byron felt, life and death looked horrifyingly similar. He wasn't sure there was anything else, but magic, separating them anymore these days.
The dead marched on - and so did he.
***
I kind of wanted an Erich Remarque feel for it - after reading his books, in my imagination, WWI would always be an extremely bleak deal, and I wanted to reflect that depressive tone in this short story. Please C&C, I really want to know if it worked!
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The cold grasp of fear clenched around me as I heard wings beating hard against the air now filled with smoke and flak. It had been only two days since our last assault on the blasted elves in their trenches, and everyday the dragon fire roasts our charge before we can get anywhere. I am Lieutenant Lawrence Clock, and I fight for the Emerald Confederacy in the 4th Lupine Cavalry, for the freedom that is ours by right.
Since the dragons allied with the elves, our airships have been burnt to crisps and our cannons dismembered almost as bad as our soldiers. The planes barely have a chance seeing as thought their practically flying tinderboxes now. I've lost my friends and fellow soldiers in the relentless onslaught of their flames. Today, I've news that we're to launch a glorious assault on those pointy-eared forest sons. I have my rifle at my side, and my sword at my hip, and a thirst for vengeance.
We've received news of a few anti-air cannons being delivered to us from home. It truly is a god send. They won't even let the ensigns know we have them for fear of the enemy finding out. Kept heavy under wraps and disguised, those blasted birds won't know what hit them.
I hear the rustle of my fellow men gathering their guns and ammo. Soft whispers pervade the air as the idle beating of wings hangs over the enemies trench. As I walk to the stables, I hear the steady flow of air emanating from my wolfs nostrils. He's ready.
I mount my wolf, and take a deep breath. This is to be my last assault. I've seen what those dragons can do, but I'm ready.
In all of my excitement and anticipation, I barely heard the whistle and the whoosh of the tarp against the wind as it was ripped from over top the AA guns. A hard growl erupted from my wolf and my fellow cavalrymen's mounts. Screams echoed across the trenches as my comrades and I pushed towards the elven trenches, baring our teeth and taunting death.
| 2016-11-14T08:59:56 | 2016-11-14T07:47:52 | 17 | 12 |
[WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome!
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I was 20, Susana was 19. Just Married, madly in love. High school sweethearts. Out here, deep, deep in Appalachia things work a little differently and we got married as soon as we could.
We'd heard tell about it from one of my brothers drinking buddies, Arlan. Supposedly he'd been out hunting pigs one afternoon and, as it so often does deep, deep in Appalachia, time got away from him completely.
Things work a little differently out here.
It was getting dark. A heavy mist fell over the forest, blanketing it in moisture, heat, and cloud. Treefrongs were singing. Crickets chirping, mosquitos humming. 'Yotes were wailing and calling- I don't know if y'all ever heard a pack of 'yotes coming down on something they've just gone and killed, but the scream, cry, wail, and raise all manner of ghoulish fervor. It echoes in the mountains too. Can't pinpoint their location with a shred of accuracy.
If one of the hogs you're hunting runs you down while you're out at night, those 'yotes are liable to come down on you too as you're laying there with your guts out.
Arlan knew it. He knew he wasn't getting back to his ATV any time soon either, not without getting lost. The only option that man had was taking up shelter somewhere. Dripping with sweat and arguing with the mosquitos, he pressed deeper into the forest.
And that's when he saw it. A cabin with an ancient incandescent bulb lit on the porch. Looked like it was about to half slide down the mountain- but there it was. A dot of yellow light in the mist. Immense relief washed over Arlan and he spent the night there, taking shelter from the creeping darkness and mystery of the forest.
Arlan told us about it the next day, knowing I was trying to find a place so I could marry Susana. Have to have a home to take your bride to. We checked the city records but nobody knew anything about it and we couldn't find record of any owner, though we looked damn near everywhere we coulda thought to.
Arlan took me out to find the Cabin 3 days after he'd taken shelter in it and I knew that's where I'd take my Susana. We decided to spend 3 or so months working it over, repairing damaged joists, roofing, and foundation damage. We found it. It was ours.
Things work a little differently out here.
None of the wood had rotted so we barely had to bring any materials. Although it looked as though it'd been sitting on that hill since the beginning of time, the Cabin showed no signs of decay or rot. We cut, refastened, and filled what we had to, but all in all there wasn't any core damage in need of repair. None of the lightbulbs looked as though they'd been changed since Edison's time.
Upon closer inspection the land surrounding the cabin was strange too- large fungus seemed to be in abundance. Coffee table sized mushrooms could be found at odd intervals interspersed throughout the forest floor. Vines as thick as telephone poles climbed sycamore trees wider than my truck.
Nothing dies on the Mountain.
Yes indeed, things did work a little differently out here, for Susana and I moved into that cabin back in August of 2001 and now, in 2301, we haven't aged a day. The lightbulbs haven't burned out. The floorboards haven't succumbed to rot, and the forest is as hot, wet, misty, and alive as ever.
We watched our friends pass away one by one, until we no longer felt the need to leave anymore. Even Arlan, who found the place, eventually died. Clearly the effect was only manifest upon permanent residency.
With nobody to talk to, we made friends with the Ravens, who we taught to speak back in the first years of our tenure there. With hundreds of years to develop speech patterns, they became quite proficient in the English language. These ancient birds explained to us how their ancestors came by the Mountain in the early 1800's of North American Settlement. Driven from their homes by farmers, they flocked over the Appalachian mountain range and were called to the Mountain from deep within their spirit.
We fed the Ravens, and in turn they flew far and wide, showing me new places to hunt, fish, and glean from the bounty of the earth- but we took not from the animals who lived on the Mountain, for many of them, especially the deer, were thousands of years old and deeply wise.
The world turned on. We were lost to it.
Things worked a little differently out here.
I sat with Nezzar, a large 24 Point Mule Deer that somehow found it's way to the mountain in a lost age. The Ravens told me he had been there for 4000 years, as they had heard from their predecessors. I ran my hands through the fur on his neck and looked into his bottomless green eyes. Deep knowledge of the forest lived behind them. He would lead me down new trails, show me food, springs, and other resources I needed. If I found myself lost, I would whistle, or call his name and he would lead me home. Nezzar somehow could detect storms hours before they occured, and if I saw him taking shelter, I too would find rest back in my cabin until it had passed. He knew when predators were on the hunt, and he knew when other men were nearby or passing through.
He knew the forest. And I knew him.
We walked back to the cabin together, listening to the sounds of life at full volume around us. I stepped inside and bid him goodnight. Tomorrow we would sit again at the end of the day and bask in the unity and peace that the forest brought all who chose to stay on the Mountain.
I woke up yo a raven frantically pecking at my window. "GEt UpP!" He croaked in his singsong bird syntax.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Never had the Ravens seemed so upset. They cawed, crowed, screeched, and flew frenetically from tree to tree around me as I followed the One who had awoken me. We walked downhill through shimmering rays traced by the foliage in sunlight. I felt a weighty ominousness in my spirit that directly contrasted with the seeming cheer that the forest imparted. A gust of wind ripped through the trees as a cloud eclipsed the sun briefly; the Ravens screamed and their volume rose. My ears began to hurt.
Nezzar lay dead with a single bullet wound in his shoulder blade.
I'd encountered my fair share of hunters in the last 300 years and all the animals who were wise enough to know what they were hid well. Every once in awhile one would get shot, but the victims of a well placed bullet we're always newcomers to the mountain- hardly beyond their dumb and empty pre-mountain selves. Never had a hunter left a creature to rot either- they always removed the carcass for food or other sustainence needs. Such was the circle of life, yes?
But here lay Nezzar, dead, eyes glossed over and breath still.
What of Justice on the mountain? The Ravens held court for each other but they were only fit to rule their own. No, this was a special case. Nezzar was my friend and he had been murdered for pure sport.
I had a new task, a new sense of purpose on The Mountain. I grabbed my gun from the cabin, kissed Susana deeply, and departed into the woods. I was certain of one thing already:
Whoever shot Nezzar was about to find out- Things worked a little differently out here.
|
We knew by the silence that things had suddenly changed.
Before we came to the mountain, change was to be expected. Cold winter would always turn into fresh, bountiful spring; children would become adults, and have children of their own; those that were old would wither and die, defined only by the vibrant grasses that drew potency from the remains.
All flesh was grass. All things grew, and diminished, and found a way.
Here, upon the mountain, time stood still. There would be no more children born. Adults would no longer age. Everything stayed as it was, with no death, no life, no seasons, or sorrows.
It was not necessarily good, or bad. It was not necessary to be good or bad. We existed, the minds of ancients in the bodies of fragile mortals, biding our time and watching as entire civilisations waxed and waned.
\*\*\*
We found him at the heart of the meadow, breathing laboured, blood-flecked spittle foaming from his mouth. An arrow, an object unseen in these lands for eons, had pierced his ribcage. His panicked eyes seized mine, and I placed a hand upon his brow, telling him it would be alright, it was ok to go. The light that was in his eyes faded, and before me his body aged, and withered, and shrivelled into dust, the grass beneath suddenly bursting forth with lurid, red flowers.
At once everything that had held its breath started clamouring; the trees and the wind and the bees and the flowers and the humans – all of it. I held up my hands for calm, withdrawing them in horror as I felt a cold, sharp sting. The culprit melted slowly upon my palm; the first snowflake that had fallen in more than 300 years.
| 2019-06-02T09:00:13 | 2019-06-02T08:48:02 | 41 | 19 |
[WP] You, a humble elf farmer, happen upon the lost hatchling of a dragon. You raise it until it is self sufficient and set it free. Centuries later, a young woman with draconic features knocks on your door and claims you are her mother.
|
Fire light danced across the oak and marble walls of the eluvian temple as Lireal set the candles for the evening. She has been repeating this same ritual for nearly four centuries, each evening pointedly lighting each of the one hundred and thirty one candles in the main hall in a succinct procession. This evening however was different when there came a rapping on the front door. The other stewards in the room all paused, surprised at the sound, looks glancing from one to another. Putting down her long match Lireal quietly moved toward the front door, the gaze of each of the stewards quietly following her. She gently lifted the iron handle, pulling open the large wooden door, which lurched under its own weight.
Peering out into the town of Eglarest, Lireal’s gaze surveyed the square outside the temple. The evening air was soft and quiet. The warmth of the late summer day still clung to the white limestone buildings as the cool air from the Lavalling forest swayed through the oaks outside the city wall. The sound of the rustling wind sang a quietly across Eglarest and Lireal saw a few men across the square just finishing the closing of the gate for the evening. Besides those elven men though, there was no one else to be seen.
Stepping outside Lireal looked again, confused as to the knock she heard, when a weak voice caught her attention to her right.
“Mother.”
The voice was delicate, but unmistakable. Lireal’s breath caught at the sound and her hand trembled as she brought it up to her mouth.
“No, it couldn’t be. It simply cannot be”, she thought to herself. The simple desire in and of itself was almost heartbreaking enough as she turned toward the voice.
Standing to the right of the door was a young elven woman with blonde hair and striking ice blue eyes. Her hair and clothes were a mess, torn and burned. The skin around her eyes held a distinct tattoo, drawn in white ink following the contours of her cheek bones up to her ears and her brow in the design of dragon scales. Her right eye was bruised and blue and dried blood ran from a fat lip which she currently nursed with the tip of her tongue.
Lireal’s heart skipped and then sank and the sight of her daughter Adalina.
“My child!”, she exclaimed and rushed over to Adalina taking her into her arms. Adalina’s weight pressed into her as Lireal brought her hand up to brush the hair out of her daughter’s face.
“What has happened to you.”
“Mother, please I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“Quiet child, let me tend to your wounds”, replied Lireal, her matronly instincts taking over as she directed stewards to grab water and fresh linens
“Mother, please. They are coming. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to bring them here, but they are coming.”, said Adalina before she lost consciousness.
It was not until several hours later that Adalina finally awoke. Lireal was sitting at her side. In the course of a few hours Adelina’s wounds had healed remarkably quickly. Her lip had reduced in swelling and the bruises across her body had all but disappeared. As she came too, she quickly bolted up in the bed.
“No, I must leave. I must be gone before they come”.
“Ada, please. What are you talking about?”, asked Lireal. Concern and longing in her voice for the daughter she has not seen in nearly two centuries.
Before Adalina could respond the ringing of the guard bell from the front gate chimed four times and shouts could be heard from outside of the temple. Both women arose at the sound, Lireal surprised at her daughter’s swiftness considering her injuries.
Before they could reach the front door of the temple a crash rippled through the building as the the front gate to the city exploded into splinters of wood and fire. Lireal threw open the door and ran out into the square. Bodies of elven men and and women of the town’s guard lay scattered across the square. An orange glow throbbed like a heartbeat from beyond the city walls as the Oak forest of Lavalling was burning. Through the gate strode Men, borne in iron armor and carrying the magic of fire in their hands. One man in particular stepped forward into the empty square.
“I am the most holy emissary of the White Cloth, come to bless and baptize this town in the name of his lord. My name is Eringas and we have tracked to this place an abomination of the rightful order. Come, bless yourselves in the name of the White Cloth and know god.”
Lireal stepped forward raising her hand in a gesture of calming, but before she could take more than two steps, the whistle of an arrow sang through the night finding purchase. Lireal didn’t even realize what had happened before the dull punch in her chest was followed by the pooling of warm blood across her white dress. She stumbled forward another step, before falling to her knees and the hands of two stewards closed around her shoulders.
Time slowed, the sound of the world dulled to a muffle in Adelina’s ears as she watched the arrow loose from the archer’s bow across the square. With her perception of time and speed she watched in horror as the arrow stretched across the town square and bury into her mother’s chest. The weight of the impact was felt through all of her senses as she darted from the door of the temple to where her mother stood, and now began to fall. With each step she took she could hear the weakening beat of her mother’s heart and could smell the fresh blood pouring from the wound.
Silver tears streaked her face as she collapsed over her mother’s body, cradling it in her arms. Each weakening heartbeat reverberated in her mind in painfully slow agony as she listened to the final moments of her mother’s life pass before her. Centuries of time that could have been spent together lost in moments with each beat.
Lireal looked up into her daughter’s face, raising her hand to caress her daughter’s hair.
“I always hoped I would get to see you again.”
And she was gone. The last heartbeat died away in Adelina’s mind leaving behind a void of silence that would never be filled again. It was replaced with the beating of her own heart, of her own rage which she had spent so many years culling and learning to control. It rose deep from within her chest, at first only in her mind, but beat after beat growing and bursting forth in a rage and sorrow that would consume the town of Eglarest.
“Men. Men will pay. Mankind will pay for what they have done.”
|
"Oh my gosh! It's really you Friccassi! Wow--you have grown into such a fine adult!"
I didn't understand the tears in her eyes. I never did find out who this dragonling's parents really were. So I asked, "Did you ever find your real parents?"
Suddenly Friccassi burst out at me, with fire, and vehemence, "You have to stop farming elves! You're a monster!"
Are you kidding me? Elves aren't even born with magic--and I'm getting trash by the dragonling that I raised for farming them? It's only natural--we dragonfolk have been doing it for thousands of years! Maybe if they didn't want to be eaten, they shouldn't be made of food!
| 2022-03-29T12:52:30 | 2022-03-29T11:27:14 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
|
It had taken him years to come to terms with his score, to accept it. So it was something of a shock when he finally figured out what it actually meant. He started cackling to himself, like a madman.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Mike's Assessment, at 6 months old, was routine. They were always routine. After so much time, the technology was perfect. DNA sequencing, brain scans.
It wasn't until the result appeared on the screen that anything out of the ordinary happened.
"No!" shrieked Angela. "That's not possible! There must be some mistake! You have to run it again!"
"Why do I always get the difficult ones?" Dan thought to himself, readying the normal speech he gave upset parents demanding a retest. He stopped himself when he saw the result on the screen. It couldn't be...
After a hurried call to his supervisor, he retested the baby. He'd moved into a different test chamber, to rule out equipment malfunction.
1
The screen glowed with the single digit number, the first anyone in this facility had ever seen. Dan couldn't believe it any more than the mother could. Anything below 15 was extremely rare. In the two centuries since the system was implemented, only a few dozen had scored below 10, and the lowest of them, a single woman born nearly 80 years ago, was a 5.
"Perhaps it'll improve at Confirmation..." Dan said, with little conviction. He was among the most experienced Assessors, well trained, well liked. But even he was shaken.
The mother, a 156, latched on to that hope. "Of course it will!" she snapped at him. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, her face softening "I shouldn't be upset at you."
"It's just so shocking. It must be a glitch. The Confirmation will make it right."
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike returned to the facility on his 13th birthday, terrified of the result. After today, his Confirmed score would become public, tattooed permanently on the back of the right hand. He might never see his family or friends again after today.
His parents had taught him the system as he grew up, and school filled in the blanks. People were free to live in any zone up to 10 levels above or below their own score, and visit at will any zone within 20. A good reason was required for visiting zones outside that band, which is how the missionaries helped in the lower zones, and how the criminals made money in the higher.
Zone 163 was a good place to live, in Mike's opinion, an allowable compromise between his mother's 156 and his father's 170. To hear them tell it, they'd met at a concert in 160 during their college years, but 163 was less crowded and the real estate more affordable.
Mike had always hidden his score from everyone outside his family. He wasn't told about his score until he was old enough to understand why it would be to keep it private. Only a small minority of his classmates kept their scores secret, but Mike was well liked and never got into any serious trouble, so no one ever pried.
The machine beeped, bringing Mike's attention back to the present. The DNA scan process was the same as when he was a baby, not that he remembered it of course, but the brain scans were longer and more thorough. At 13, his personality and temperament were set, and he was old enough to be able to make an actual difference in the world, good or bad. Or so the law said, as it always had.
* * * * * * * * * * *
By chance, Dan was Mike's Assessor again. He was older now, only a year or two shy of retirement age, but age hadn't dulled his memory. He remembered the squalling baby that scored a 1 all those years ago.
He frowned at the display in his control booth. The subject's file was exemplary. Good grades, no serious trouble, lots of friends, a pet that was well cared for and seemingly well loved. He was no angelic 195 to be sure, but Dan would put him at a solid mid-150s. His estimates were seldom wrong.
The machine beeped again, a quick three tones that indicated the test was done. The tattooing device whirred as it activated and began inscribing Mike's hand. As the law prescribed, Mike was restrained. In the distant past, well before Dan's time, people would become agitated when their score was Confirmed and the Marking would need to be delayed until they calmed down, and the facilities became backlogged. Subjects still became agitated, but the restraints ensured they stayed still until the Marking was done.
Dan glanced at the right hand of the tall, blond teenager.
-1- was engraved in bold letters across it. A small, detached, analytical part of his mind thought about how 2-digit Scores were centered on the hand differently than 3-digit ones, for clarity, and realized that 1-digit Scores must be hyphenated for the same reason. He'd never seen one before.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike didn't weep, or lash out in anger, or try to bargain, as he'd been told others had after getting a high Variance from his family. He just felt numb.
Time passed as if he were in a daze. He barely noticed as his scant belongings were stowed into the train, or when he was led to his seat. Variants who were no longer suitable for the zones of their childhood were relocated immediately after Confirmation.
The train moved between zones on its usual schedule. People got on and off, some Variants like him moving to their new homes forever, others visiting friends and family or out on business. As the day wore on, the zone numbers steadily decreased, as did the number of other passengers.
The automated voice proclaiming "FINAL STOP" finally jolted Mike back to alertness. He shuffled out of the train, noticing faded paint on the concrete identifying the terminal as being in "ZONE 60".
He looked around. The buildings had been similar to the ones in Zone 160 once, he noticed, perhaps identical. That was decades gone, though. Everything in sight had a rundown, somewhat neglected look. Shoddy, ramshackle additions were common.
"Keep moving to the other train" an armed member of the security force growled at him, point across the platform.
This train had only a quarter as many cars as they one he'd gotten off of. The windows were small and thick, the outer surfaces heaving armored. The interior was in relatively poor repair, but he could tell it had once been identical to the train from his home. That seemed to the way of the world - at its heart, everything was built identical and adapted to its final purpose.
There were few other passengers, most glaring or leering at Mike. He had no doubt some would try to rob him, or rape him, or enslave him.
One by one, their expressions changed when they saw his Mark. Some faces showing a grudging respect, but all showed fear. He took a seat in the middle of a few empty rows and looked out the window, tuning out those around him.
The train rumbled through the night, becoming ever more empty. The zones became smaller and more sparsely populated. Even with a population approaching fifteen billion, only a few dozen had a Score below 20. The Black Widow, a notorious aging crimelord, was currently the lowest by two, with a 16. She lived in an opulent suite in Zone 26.
He couldn't even visit there if he wanted to, Mike realized. At best, he could live in Zone 11 and visit 21. The gangs grew and processed drugs in some of those zones, he knew, but they were all essentially depopulated.
In Zone 37, a Security officer with a "141" Marked on his hand boarded the train and approached Mike. He seemed to be torn between pity and revulsion.
"Listen up. The law requires that all citizens are provided with an adequate supply of food and other provisions, delivered directly to their chosen Zone if they can't provide for themselves. You're free to live in whichever Zone you want, within your Range, of course, but we strongly suggest you choose 11. The tracks beyond 17 haven't been used or maintained in decades, and this train will NOT go beyond the Zone 11 station."
"We don't have recent records regarding the maintenance bots in those Zones either. When your supplies are delivered day after tomorrow, inform Security if you need anything. The law guarantees electric power, clean water, plumbing, HVAC, and network connectivity, but we won't dispatch technicians unless you tell us they're needed."
"T-thank you," Mike stammered in reply.
"Hrmph." The officer moved towards the front of the train, seeking the security of the locked cab.
|
"So, the test does *nothing*?"
"No, no, the test does do something, obviously. It just doesn't *work*."
My eyes widened, mind racing, considering the possibilities. "But they - the people, I mean - are all identical?"
The man, sitting in his chair, rubbed his hands together in a gesture that I was learning meant frustration. "No! No they aren't!"
"But they're all the same *simulated person*, so-"
"They're all simulated, but they were all raised differently! Some were raised from the age of three knowing they were 23's, the *scum of the Earth*, where others believed they were 145's, God's chosen few. And *that's* what this is about. What this whole thing was about!"
"And what I'm about is writing an article all about this ongoing experiment of yours, so if you could be-"
His hands paused in their wringing. I raised an eyebrow.
"Unless... unless it *has* come to an end?" I did a quick mental calculation. "I though this simulation was supposed to run up to 80 virt-years! You should still have another month left-"
He sighed morosely.
"Well, there's no one left *alive* in it, so that might be a bit pointless."
Dammit. Why do all my assignments turn out to be interesting ones?
"...What happened?"
"Genocide. The high-value were convinced by the mid-high to form a coalition to defend against the sure-to-happen depredations of the low-value, since they reasoned the lows wouldn't respect the boundaries of zones, and infiltrate them. The low value tried to hold up under the pressure of being seen as the worst beings in existence, but many broke, leading them to commit the crimes they were essentially already paying for, thus in a self-fulfilling way, confirming the high-values' conclusions. The high value coalition was threatening to fall apart, though, so some in the high-value began enforcing their "protection" more aggressively, in an attempt to illustrate their worth. This crackdown caused more and more lows to cave. They then organized a last-ditch show of public protest against the prosecution and the frustrations of a lifetime saddled with a massive *inferiority complex*, but it was too late... Then... Then came the camps."
This time, it was my pen that stopped moving. "The camps?" I said, lightly.
"Furnaces, too." My blood ran cold, despite the odd warmth of the room.
"So, what happened?"
He rubbed his forehead. "It was a simulation. Just a simulation. But-"
He pointed at the bank of computers. Computers, I noticed, that didn't have a single light blinking. He shrugged helplessly.
"I unplugged it. What would you do?"
I placed my pen against my lips. This was going to be a difficult one to write up. "Sorry. One last thing. What is your office's mission?"
"Simulation Analytics? To try and... to learn more about the world. Like any scientist."
"It sounds like you did." I intoned, more to myself than him, as he looked away from me, at some new glinting thing out the window.
| 2016-08-26T16:31:07 | 2016-08-26T15:27:46 | 81 | 10 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
>*God sat forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.*
**G:** "One day. I left you in charge for ONE. DAY. HOW did this happen?!"
>*Isaac sat back in his chair, with his feet resting crossed upon the opulent desk. His expression beaming with smugness and amusement, he slowly unwrapped a Jolly Rancher and popped it in his mouth.*
**I:** "Why are you asking me? I know our omniscience doesn't apply to higher dimensional branes like this office, but you obviously can already see everything that happened during your break. Are you asking *Why*?"
>*The fuming expression becoming more apparent by the second, God slams his hands on the desk, a colossal boom of sound echoes like a mighty clap of thunder from the action.*
**G:** "Don't even BEGIN to get arrogant boy. I am your CREATOR. I know WHAT you did, I want to know WHY."
>*Isaac brings his feet down from the desk. He pulls himself into a more professional posture, trying his best not to look like an arrogant prick while explaining his triumph over LITERALLY God.*
**I:** "Well it's simple. I looked at it much like a math equation. I listed out all the problems I saw in the world, all the positive aspects of the universe, and all things holding humanity back from progress into three lists. I also, um, not to offend, but I also made a list of all the things I figured you could have done... well, better. Honestly, being here, I understand you a lot better, but I still think your approach has much to be desired. See, you pulled a Physicist in to do your job, so I obviously approached it as a damn physicist would."
"First I took on the issue of humanities Theological arguments. I appeared to all of humanity at once, and explained to them the nature of their existence, the Universe, and, well, You. Obviously this came with plenty of stubborn religious fanatics up in arms trying to dispute my "Godly" nature, blaming it on everything from extraterrestrials to bigfoot, so I simply appeared to each individual for a one-on-one talk for it. Basically, I brought judgement to humans early. While I would have loved to forcibly change all the humans with vile natures to be loving and caring individuals, that unfortunately goes against your only set rule of "Free Will" (yeah right), so I simply did as *my* god did, and Smited them."
>God stares at him, equally exasperated and unimpressed.
**G:** "So you individually went through and smited every single human you didn't like?! Global mass murder and REVEALING God to the flock was your brilliant damn plan?!"
**I:** "Wait, wasn't it you who forbade swearing in the first place?"
**G:** "Don't get snippy with me you shit."
**I:** "Right. Anyways, with ignorance out of the way, I was busy with curiosity myself. I mean, one day my ass, time is meaningless from here. We literally sit several dimensional branes above their universe. I knew that time and space were interconnected, but I wanted to push the boundaries and see what other theoretical walls I could find to abuse. After playing around with Time, Black Holes, Quantum Entanglement, Causality, and a literally finitely infinite list of other physics theories I've always dreamed of testing, I developed a fairly polished 'Theory of Everything'. 11 dimensions my ass, there's an infinite^∞ Dimensions to this Omniverse. 11 for this Universe though."
**G:** "I... 11? Really?"
**I:** Yeah. Wait, you didn't know? Even humans have been theorizing that for a while now. Well, regardless, I then Published several thousand papers for humanity to mull over for a while. Including plans to many extremely complicated devices, one of which being plans for a transfusion device to allow the transfer of a conscious Human "Soul" from a simple 3 Dimensional body into higher dimensional states. Meanwhile, most governing bodies were in complete disarray, since the majority of the world leaders had been smitten for wickedness and corruption. I stepped in and helped personally found a much larger collaborative true democratic system, filling loopholes and leaving different governing bodies for 'countries' and 'states', but all working together as a global system of cooperative decision making, leaving nobody with excessive power."
**G:** "Yes yes, but this was ONE DAY that I was gone. HOW did so much happen in ONE. DAY.?!"
>*Isaac, taken aback by the sudden outburst, stares almost stunned at his creator for a moment before responding.*
**I:** "...Oh my You. You seriously don't even know what the hell you've been doing do you? "One day"? Time is meaningless! You gave me omnipotence over this universe. Yes, you were GONE for one day, but that was only from your perspective. You don't even know the FIRST THING about relativity do you? I simply hit the fast forward button on the universe's time dilation in comparison to the office here. I just actually stayed in that universe instead of wining and dining here in some luxury God penthouse being useless."
"Thousands of years have passed God. Humanity came and went. I fixed things. I uplifted them. Brought them to our level. The human civilization has now integrated with 1746th Dimensional Multiverse culture."
>God stared blankly at Isaac. A look of sadness and utter defeat floods his face. Tears begin to pour down his cheeks.
**G:** They... Y-You... You ruined everything. Free will... Sin and choice... all that work for nothing. You ruined my plan for them...
>Isaac furrows his brow in confusion
**I:** "Whoah, hey, what's with that reaction? I mean, i'm aware that it might be hard to be shown up, but that's nothing to be so upset over."
**G:** "But.. my creation.. it's all gone."
**I:** "Huh? Since when? It's all fucking right here. Do you even get how a Multiverse works? I fixed your viewing console to see different areas in probability-space as well. Here, this one is a universe basically exactly like the one you left me with yesterday. What, did you think I wouldn't keep track of your save file?"
|
G: "how.....?"
M: "Easy, I just abolished religion, emotion, and urge."
G: "YOu WHAT!?"
M: "Yeah, now everything is perfect."
G: "But now nobody believes in me? Nobody loves or hates? Nobody want's anything!?"
M: "Exactly, perfect."
G: "You're a monster!"
M: "Dude, you made me this way."
| 2017-03-05T03:31:24 | 2017-03-05T02:09:27 | 83 | 14 |
[WP] The hero is prophesied to save the world. He knows that prophecies always come true, so he does absolutely nothing.
...and saves the world. Or doesn't. Your call.
|
"Honey! It's the president again! he's asking when you're going to do something about that alien invasion!" Erin shouted from the hallway, she always does that.
*Sigh* "For the last time hun! I'm the HERO, I'm going to save the day eventually! Why don't you read that book people keep yapping about some more?"
"What, the book that's supporting the coffee table!?"
Hank rolled his eyes, "you might not not want to shout that loud with the president on the phone! But yes honey, THAT ONE"
A few moments later Erin appeared in the living room, "he's not going to hang up this time".
FINE, Hank resigned himself to never finding out how much that antique watch was worth and turned off the tv.
"Hank, for the last flipping time! FIX THIS"
"Now now no need for harsh language mister president", Hank smiled at his wife who was already furious at him for dragging his feet with this whole aliens thing.
Hank returned to the phone: "look, they're aliens, they probably have some crazy scheme for wanting to come to earth, do we know what it is yet?"
After a small moment of silence a very confused voice replied: "You know, we never even asked..."
"Well go on, ask the aliens why they're here, I'll wait"
Hundreds of years later, people still celebrate the day when Hank saved the world by asking what the aliens actually wanted.
And ever since we gave the aliens our wifi password we never heard from them again.
|
James, to his immense surprise, found that his hypothesis was correct: prophecies were indeed infallible, and, on the morning of January 17th, his total lack of involvement in the apocalyptic circumstances of that day wound up saving the world.
From his cushy computer chair in Cheyenne Mountain, he thought upon the fortune he had been told in his teenage years- the various ones, really. He and his friends had never truly believed the old lady's ridiculous claims of foresight, but, as they got older, her tales became verified. Taylor had gotten pregnant at 19, Timmy got married at 21, Ilana died at 25, and his exact ASVAB score came in just as she had said, at 23.
A few years later and he found himself in NORAD's hands, at the employ of the United States government. His job was simple: his post at the super-secret installation maintained the anti-missile satellite system that the US was totally not supposed to have. The nation's ultimate deterrent to global nuclear war was a universal weapon, designed to annihilate any and all ICBMs fired- including American ones- unless overridden. James was one of the few people in the world, including the Secretary of Defense, the President of the United States of America, and his coworker Bob, who were capable of issuing that override.
So, on that morning, when all the tensions with Russia finally snapped, fueled by data siphoned from the supposedly impermeable NSA cyber defenses, James had casually strolled into work, coffee and donut in hand, knowing full well that his actions would make or break the future of mankind: if the Old Lady's words were right, whatever he did, it would ensure that this was not the last morning humanity woke up to.
"On a sullen day, the fires of man will flicker brightly: you will be instrumental in the continuation of those pyres. You will know what to do when the time comes."
Sitting in the light of a massive, holographic display, watching a realtime projection of all the airborne objects on Earth and in orbit out to the Moon, James's heart pounded in his chest. *9:37. No belligerent contacts.*
For the next fifteen minutes, he prayed the hot receptionist down the hall would not have anything to discuss with him, as he was certain his shirt was drenched with sweat. Thankfully, Bob's shift didn't start until 12: no matter how close they were, this was a moment of weakness James did not want anyone to see.
The holographic sprites representing planes, satellites, and spacecraft transited around the rotating 3D image of Earth as he ran diagnostics on the satellite network. All systems nominal and ready to fire if need be.
Almost on cue, warning beacons flared on the map. His touchscreen interface began popping up prompts for contacts recognized matching the signature of a nuclear weapons launch. The controls for the satellite network unlocked, allowing manual targeting and fire control. *Shit. Shit. Shit.*
As scared as he was, he was prepared for this. A quick glance at the map confirmed every Cold War expectation for the last 60 years: one thousand, seven hundred and thirteen ICBMs bound for targets all across Europe and North America. In orbit, the satellites activated their thrusters and veered into positions to properly dispose of the nuclear arsenal flying beneath them.
A display to James's left immediately popped up with the message he was expecting: POTUS SECURE NUCLEAR LAUNCH CONFIRMED RETALIATION STANDBY TACTICAL STOCKPILE READY GROUND RESPONSE READY CONVENTIONAL FORCE READY. The message flashed, stayed for ten seconds, and a notification for another came up. AUTHORIZATION FOR SATDEFENSE GRANTED, FIRE AT WILL. AVOID FRIENDLY ARSENAL.
*So, this is it. World War III.* The Russian missiles, in the past minute, had travelled quite a distance, but none would be out of the satellites' grasp until they had already detonated. In this moment, he could easily end the conflict and transition this towards a conventional war that mankind had a chance of surviving...but something was very, very wrong.
The Russian missile trajectory was too irregular. Glitchy, even- the missile count was changing. Only by a count of four or five missiles, but that was beyond irregular. Even stranger, the only missiles being fired were from Russia: none from any allies, none from the rest of NATO. *What's going on?*
The American missiles fired in response. James could feel the base shaking around him as the "secret" stockpile housed in the facility launched upwards...and confirmed all his fears. The American missiles were being tracked just as expected: patterns conforming to their Cold War-era propulsion systems and the sheer realities of flight. They were all locked on by the satellite system: estimated complete destruction of deployed weaponry in fifteen seconds from initial firing, with only a .057% chance of missing any single target. The missiles on both sides were reaching proper altitude and position points to be intercepted without risking fallout, accidental triggering over a population center, or having a railgun slug slam into a city. If he didn't key the safeties off, the satellites would destroy American and Russian missiles alike.
*Moment of truth. Ten seconds to firing.* James prayed to every God available that the Old Lady was right. If she wasn't, he may have just triggered the largest war in the world, and removed any chance of settling it with one, catastrophic, nuclear attack. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaled, and watched as the network activated. His hands off the controls, he put his faith in the Old Lady and her prophecies.
Around the world, sonic booms were heard as thousands of 10 kg ferrous slugs propelled at 1.5% the speed of light hurtled towards the missiles...only, none were fired at the Russian targets. Clean hits were scored on each American target, but no Russian ones registered impacts. *Oh, God, no, what did I just do?*
The report from the network was simple: TARGET LOCK FAILURE//NO MASS DETECTED. *What?* This was an unexpected error, but one he had been briefed on: no missiles were there. The system was tracking ghosts. Twenty minutes later, James's suspicions were confirmed as the "nukes" reached their destination. No reported impacts. The signals being tracked just blinked out of existence. Five minutes later, the warning lights died down and the system went inactive.
The hydraulic door to enter the room unlocked to reveal Bob, and General Hayden. They walked in, and James sprang to his feet to salute them. Hayden walked up to him, and reached out to shake his hand.
"Son, what you just did would have earned you an execution if it didn't have the good grace of avoiding the apocalypse."
Investigations determined that the system was tricked by someone into starting a world war: whoever it was, was classified: the satellite system didn't exist, and surely nobody could hack it. The Russians questioned, but, upon realizing the situation, Putin relented.
James didn't find out what had caused the incident, and he immediately thought Skynet, but that was ridiculous, by his reckoning. For all intents and purposes, HE was Skynet- and, if he hadn't been, the world would have looked a lot like *Terminator.*
| 2014-12-22T11:26:39 | 2014-12-22T11:01:34 | 280 | 145 |
[WP] You dig up a time capsule you buried years ago. Instead of memorabilia, you find a modern phone. It rings.
|
As I strolled through the luscious green park of my old elementary school, brimming with shrubbery, moss, flowers of all colors and trees, a flood of memories shot into my head. All the pure fun I had as a kid, before college or shitty retail jobs, before broken hearts and a father that bails on you...I missed those days. When your only job was to learn and to have fun, not to make money or scrape by or question why someone doesn't love you.
*I may only be 20, but I feel old now.*
I noticed a patch of exposed dirt off to my left, a clear indicator that the ground had recently been torn up and packed back down. It hadn't been there yesterday, or any other day I'd made the walk, for that matter- and I walked that path every day I was home, since childhood.
*On second thought...isn't that where I buried my time capsule?*
I couldn't remember for sure, but I thought I'd look. As I approached it, I became certain that it was indeed where I buried my capsule- I'd marked a tree next to it with a knife, carving a little heart into the bark. A shovel had been laid down by the roots.
*Why would someone dig up my capsule?*
I had to find out. I was curious to see my capsule, anyway, and so I dug. The earth was soft and smelled of minerals- a smell I have always loved. It only took a few minutes to unearth the capsule.
I opened it and what I saw confused me. It was a rectangular gift box.
*This is not what I buried...*
I hesitated at first, but decided to open it. There was an iPhone 6s inside, brand new, though the box had been opened, and a note attached to it. It read:
*Dear Jane,*
*I hope you are well. This may be a risky way to get your present to you, but I know you're home from break and you always loved walking down that path of yours. You're attentive too, you've always been sharp. I feel like you're old enough now to make this decision for yourself, Jane, so I will offer it to you.*
*I am your father. I left when you were young after being diagnosed with schizophrenia; it was too much for your mother to handle along with 3 children. Your birthday is in a few days, so I thought I'd give you something nice. My number is in the phone...if you want to call me, and maybe meet with me, you can. I'd love to see how beautiful of a woman you've become. If not, I understand. I love you.*
*-Dad*
I sat there, dirt filling my back pockets, staring at the note. A breeze picked up and blew through my hair.
I put my old SIM card into the 6s and booted the phone up. His number was in there, under the contact name 'daddy <3'.
I cried a little bit and clicked on his name. It actually dialed through.
"Happy birthday, darling," a voice answered the phone, a soothing voice I'd longed for as a child. It was the best present I'd ever get.
|
"I'm telling you I buried it under this tree!" I yelled as I stuck my shovel into the muddy ground, a few feet from another hole I had just recently finished digging. It had been twenty years since I had been home and almost nothing had changed. Well, except for the fact that my childhood home was now a hole in the ground.
"Krystal, how do you know it's even here?"
I shook my head and shoveled a good chunk of mud out of the way, which was quickly replaced my even more mud. "Just get the shovel and keep digging, please."
My fiancee sighed heavily as he walked over and slammed his shovel into the ground, splashing a few bits of mud over my jeans. He chuckled a bit as he and I dug another two holes. "I just think you're chasing a pipe dream. Besides, we could always come back when it's not raining."
"And what? Tell the new owners that I buried a time capsule here when I was eight?" I shook my head, "It's not or never and I would like to get it."
"Why?" He shoveled a good chunk of root out of the way.
"Because it has my something old in here." He knew what I was talking about of course, I had mentioned it almost every day since we were engaged. We both knew I wanted it and ever since my father had moved out of the home and sold the property, I had to go back for it. It was my mother's old locket, a gift she gave me just before she passed. I cherished it and I knew the moment she gave it to me that I needed to keep it safe. "It's now or never David."
We kept digging as the rain poured in around us, the old tree in the yeard standing strong against the rapidly deteriorating storm. No wonder my father wanted to sell the place, I thought, it got pelted by a storm almost every week these days. That, and he was never his normal self since mother died.
My fiancee and I continued to dig in silence, occasionally starting a new hole when the one we dug got too deep or too filled with water. Minutes passed before the lightning struck and branches from the tree started to come down and David became increasingly worried that the tree was going to fall right on top of us. But we kept digging and we didn't stop until I heard the distinct clunk of metal hitting metal.
I shot my head upwards and looked at David, who just moments before was wet and cold, now had a face of pure delight on. He scrapped the shovel against the metal box and then knelt down. I smiled as he stuck his hand into the mud and pulled out a very dirty container. "That's it!" I screeched as I slid over in the mud and grabbed it out of his hand.
A lightning bolt struck over the horizon and thunder cracked across the sky a moment later. He was already grabbing my arm and the other shovel, "Let's go. We can open it at the hotel!"
He grabbed our shovels and more than likely, dragged me out of my backyard and into the car. We were dirty, our shoes and pants covered in mud and our rain jackets soaked, but David didn't mind. His car was vintage as it was, a little mud and dirt never hurt anyone anymore.
I didn't move a muscle in the car and I simply held the box in my hands tightly as he started the car and blasted the heat. "I can't believe we found it."
He placed his hand on my shoulder and kissed me lightly on the cheek, "I'm sorry I doubted you."
I looked back at him, "Thank you."
He raised an eyebrow, "Well, are you going to open it?"
I took a deep breath and nodded. It had been so long since I buried it and so much had happened in those twenty years between then and now. My mother's passing, graduation from high school, college, and my acceptance into graduate school. I met the love of my life and moved out of the house, my father was in retirement and sold the house, and I was ready to start a family soon. So much time had passed in twenty years.
I slid the lock and opened the container. Inside it was just like I remembered it. There was a small rock collection that I thought were asteroids when I was a kid, a Polaroid photo of my mother, father, and I at the beach, the set of McDonald's Happy Meal toys I had collected, and the locket, neatly wrapped around an iPhone.
Wait a second, "There's an iPhone in here?"
David leaned over in the car, "What? I thought you said you buried it when you were eight?"
I nodded, "I did." I stuck my hand in the capsule slowly, as if the phone was going to attack me, and I wrapped my hand around it and the locket. The locket was in pristine condition just like when I buried it, but it didn't have the clear plastic bag that I put it in, instead it had the phone. It was the same locket, too, with a clearly engraved *K* on the front. I stared at it and the phone and looked at my fiancee with a puzzled look on both of our faces.
"Is it on?"
I looked back at the phone and used my other hand to pull the locket off of it. I clutched it in my hand as I pressed the home button on the phone. Surprisingly, it lit up with a 76% battery life, and a message appeared on screen.
**One Missed Call.**
I took a deep breath, "What is this?"
David shook his head as he watched me place the locket back into the capsule. "Is, maybe there's a voicemail?"
I nodded and went to slide the iPhone open, but it asked for a code. I frowned before I thought about what it could be. The only reasonable one would be the year in which I buried it, so I very clearly put in the numbers.
**1-9-9-6**
The iPhone slid open with a click and I quickly opened up the menu to get to the Voicemail screen. Just as David had predicted, there was a single message on screen, dated January 20th, 2016 at 7:07 PM, six minutes ago. I took a deep breath, "Should I play it?"
"Yes you should play it!" He said.
I chuckled and pressed the play button on the iPhone, making sure it was on speaker. At first it was nothing but the distinct shuffling sound of someone's hand or pocket, but gradually it became much more clearer until a voice I hadn't heard in a long time came on the phone.
"Hello, dear," it was my mother. "I'm sure you are wondering what is going on. that's understandable, but if everything goes correctly, you should be receiving this message right after you dig up your capsule."
I looked at David, who was equally stunned. He didn't recognize the voice, but I think from my reaction he knew who was on the phone.
"It is something I wish I could have showed you sooner, or taught you sooner. But there's a reason I had to go all those years ago. A very specific reason that I hope you will eventually forgive me for.
I have seen you grow though, become a woman I would have been proud to raise and love. I still love you of course, and David seems like such a wonderful young man."
I looked at David who was now sitting back in his seat and staring straight ahead. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned back to the phone.
"You see dear, I couldn't stay. I have been doing this for so long that I realized I couldn't watch my daughter grow up not really knowing her mother. But I also realize the mistake in that and the fact that I couldn't stop you from learning the truth behind everything.
"It's going to sound crazy I know, but you remember the locket, don't you? Of course you do, your something old, of course."
I was stunned.
"Take the locket and input the date of my funeral on the left flap and the time on the right. Three hours after it ended. If you don't remember the time, turn it to nine-fourteen pm, I'm sure you remember the date.
"Just click and hold the top button for ten seconds, not a moment longer and come to the grave. Don't talk to anyone on the way, don't say hello to anyone, just come to the cemetery."
I looked at David who now had a look of genuine worrisome on his face.
"I know it sounds crazy, but if you trust me, which I think part of you still does, you'll do it. Besides, think of it as a gift to your mother, my birthday is coming up after all."
I stared at the phone as the seconds ticked by on the voicemail.
"I love you. And, I'll see you soon."
Then the voicemail cut and I was left sitting in the car with my fiancee and a time capsule from 1996.
_____
*Fantastic prompt! If you liked this story, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!*
| 2016-01-21T07:35:39 | 2016-01-21T07:31:34 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."
|
I say nothing and watch as his anticipation becomes impatience, which becomes disappointment and finally anger.
"You're not going to ask me what happened?" he asks. "Don't you even care?"
"20 years," I say, "I waited 20 years. You can barely wait 20 seconds."
"A wit! How wonderful!" he mutters, "You people are all the same: so caught up in your mundane little world with its mundane little problems. Can't handle reality as it really is. Would shake your common little worldview to the core. Thought you'd be different, being my son and all, but I see I was mistaken." He shakes is head, batting himself in the face with hair that hangs in long greying strands.
I do understand, though God knows I wish I didn't.
"Dad, why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" My voice sounds calm, controlled, as if visits from a wild-eyed man with a sword are an everyday occurrence at Casa de las Estrellarias. A brief moment of panic, because what if this does become an everyday occurrence, but he's grinning now and following me through the front door.
"I'm gonna take a leak," he exclaims, "Been so long since I've been able to go anywhere civilized." And I say a tiny prayer to the powers that be for making this that much easier. I don't have the doctor's number, but mom does. I pull out my cell and dial.
"Mom, *Dad's* here," I whisper, "I can't talk long because he's here and he's *armed*. I know. Yes, mom, I know. Yeah, I need you to call the hospital. I'll be safe. I do have experience dealing with these sorts of things you know. Just make sure..." But that's as far as I get because suddenly my father's behind me and he's got the sword pressed to my throat, and even though it's blunt, he's holding it close enough that I start to choke.
"Who got to you?" He growls.
_____
Once, when I was six, my father tried to throw me out a window. This was before the diagnosis, before anyone caught on that anything might be wrong. Mom was away for the weekend, a wedding or a funeral or something, and had left me at home with him as babysitter. I used to like it when dad babysat, because he basically gave me the run of the house while he sat around in the basement and "tinkered". Or he'd tell me about this elaborate fantasy land that only he and I could see, only I could never see it as clearly as he could. He told me that was completely normal - he'd only caught glimpses of it until he came into his powers at 19, and now he could see and do all kinds of things that normal people couldn't. I was sworn to secrecy, because of course if mom found out she'd just worry, because mom was always worrying about things she couldn't understand.
But back to the attempted defenestration. On this particular weekend, dad was in one of his chatty moods. He'd told me about how he'd seen a strange black cloud hanging over the neighbours' house this past week and was afraid this might indicate a demonic possession. I must be extra careful around the neighbours from now on, and never ever accept gifts or food from them because gift were the demon's way in. Dad's dream world had been getting increasingly dark of late but none of this seemed overly strange to a kid who was just discovering Dragonball Z and the joy of ripping grown men's arms out of their sockets.
As luck would have it, I had been given a couple of cookies that day and like any respectable six-year-old, I had scarfed them down. I can't actually remember my dad's face then, but I can imagine it going chalky and white and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt as carried me, kicking and screaming, up the stairs. I can imagine him explaining, calmly and logically, that the only thing to do now was to conduct a test. If I really was possessed, surely the demon would show itself at the first sign of real danger. Of course that's not how it would have gone though, because that would have given away the plan. What I remember is the terror and the confusion of being safe in my dad's lap one minute and hurling through my parents' bedroom door the next.
The window was closed. That's what saved me. He couldn't figure out how to get the window open without putting me down. The moment he let me go I scurried off to safety: locked myself in the bathroom and went from there out onto the roof where I stayed until he decided the magic had protected me.
"Sometimes your old man is a damned fool, you know that? No demon's a match for any son of mine!"
____
All this to say that had it been 20-some years earlier, and I still 6 and he still 35, I'd be totally screwed but he's 57, and has been institutionalized for two decades now. I force the sword down and away with all the advantage of youth, health, and superior height.
"It's mom," I say. "I'm calling mom to let her know you're all right. She wants to see you."
He looks dubious. "Your mother is a wonderful woman," he says, "But she'll never understand. Not like we understand."
There's truth in that for which I'm eternally grateful.
"Of course not," I say, aware that she can hear every word through the still active phone, "Because she doesn't have the magic. I got that from you, dad."
"So you did? I thought as much. Your mother told me you had some trouble towards your last year of college. Didn't say what it was, but I knew. What they got you on?" he asks, more reflex than question.
"Risperidone," I say with a sigh and guide him towards the living room.
| 2016-07-20T08:21:53 | 2016-07-20T08:18:42 | 88 | 51 |
[WP] Poor man's teleportation is to summon a demon, grab him, and have somebody else summon him to your desired destination before the demon can buck you off, then run like hell and hope you don't get caught. Popularization of this has become quite the nuisance in the netherworld.
|
“Slow down slow down.”
Balzlaburlub reduces from 100 unintelligible clicks per minute, to about 70.
“Ah the humans are using hell as a ferry?”
Something about this angered me, was it my workers being put in danger? Humans getting one over on us?
No, neither of these really bothered me, both had honestly been encouraged. But, something itches. At my throat, and idea without words.
“Can you send for… Susan, from accounting?”
“Glablalchahcha” the short demon replies before rolling out of the room.
Two minutes later, she was sitting in front of me.
Wait, did she even come in the front door, never mind, I may be satan but accounting is above my pay grade
“Hey Susan, you’re probably wondering why I called you down here, there’s been a kind of logistical error I believe we should be working on together.”
She stares at me, if one person could look impatient with the devil and get away with it, it’d be her.
“Anyway I’ll cut to the point, the humans have been using our demons as a taxi service. Something about this feels wrong, but I can’t bring myself to tear it down. However, I am in the business of making deals. Got any thoughts?”
She sits still for a moment, searching the library like confines of her brain for a respite, one quick title, one idea sitting on the shelf. She smiles, after picking out the perfect idea and expands on it instantly, she says a few words.
“Why are we doing this for free, when it would be more efficient in labor and time to charge them a 1/1000th of their soul? Most wouldn’t realize the 501st ride gives us majority binding ownership of their soul and would teleport back and forth 501 times before Sunday.”
“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Thank you, I shall set that into motion right away”
I go to dial the Board, looking up Sarah has vanished. Doesn’t even say goodbye, honestly that’s the part that hurts the most. You spend 500 years married and one divorce later, and she suddenly can’t be in a room with you for more than 3 minutes.
“Hello, I’d like to arrange for a few of the board members to come in for a meeting? Oh I’ll hold, fine”
I twiddle the pen between my fingers, I can already imagine the increase of souls coming in. Stupid bastards will take the convenient route every time
|
"No," I growled, "the fact that you know who I am does not \*interest\* me, it \*annoys\* me." My forearm was barred against his throat as he struggled. I was letting him breathe...for now.
"Please, it's for a job!" The man managed to stutter out.
"I am \*anonymous\*. I never show my face, I never work for the same buyer twice. So, you tell me right now how you know who I am, or I'm taking you for a short walk to a shallow grave."
"I-it was Lydra!"
I released my grip on the poor idiot's throat, extremely surprised, though I did not show it. \*Lydra wasn't from this world.\*
"And how...did you come to know Lydra?"
"Lydra is a long-term consultant of mine. Whenever I need something \*very\* specific, I talk to her. Last time, she said she was moving away, and she gave me your details."
"That is a \*serious\* breach of my trust with her, but... that's not your problem, is it? Have a seat," I instructed, allowing the smaller man to move into my home from the open doorway. I closed the door, but did not lock it. I was the most dangerous thing in this city anyway.
"I'm not used to entertaining guests, but I happen to have a mulled wine on hand..." I spared a glimpse out of the far window. Snow had begun to settle over the city, causing a quiet that I had been looking forward to for months.
I poured a glass for the guest, and kept the bottle for myself.
I settled into my chair, while he spoke, I drank, and engaged my 'work mode', noting the little details of the man who sat across from me, making a profile. He wasn't physically imposing, his hair was more gray than brown. He was well-dressed for a meeting with a criminal. I had noted small callouses on the insides of his right hand- likely where a quill would rub the skin raw. He was an academic. Generally cautious, playing it safe- but clearly, this job must have mattered to him, for him to come to \*me\* for help.
“I have need of a special product. There is a-”
“Just the specifics for pickup and drop-off.” I interrupted. “What it is only matters if it’ll change how I move the product. Whether it’s drugs, weapons, whatever, I don’t care. My only rule is no slaves. I don’t work skin.”
The man looked down for a moment. “Um. I don’t mean to presume, but if they were a \*willing\* package to be delivered, would that be alright?”
I thought about it for a moment. “My methods usually don’t lend themselves to moving people. I may be able to make a workaround, and they must be willing to come with me. If they protest, I am leaving without them, and you’ll still be paying me.”
He looked like he was going to protest, then thought better of it. The red agitation had not even faded from his throat.
He explained the details- someone dear to him had been kidnapped, and the law wasn’t willing to help him. A tribe of half-giants took his step-son, and they wanted him back.
“Simple concept, difficult execution.” I ran my hand through my hair, then took a long pull from the bottle of wine. Spicy, sweet, and best of all, high alcohol content.
“When is the deadline?” I asked, finally.
“I’d like him back as soon as possible, really. Gods only know what they are doing to him.”
I nodded. “I’ll have him back before The Longest Night.” I stood, and ushered the man out of my house. The glowing lights from Fabled First’s structures outshone the dim moonlight. Plenty of light for seeing, and plenty of shadows for hiding, too. A good night for stealth work.
“How will I contact you?” The client asked.
“You won’t. I’ll contact you. If you come by this house again, you’ll find it empty, and no one will know who I am if you ask. Now pay me. Half up front.”
The man handed me a sack of coins. Weight felt right.
I closed the door, and heard as the man stepped away, the crunching of fresh-fallen snow marking his steps.
Lydra.
Lydra could not know this man. It wasn’t possible.
I’d have to ask her about it.
Given the nature of my…operation, a breach like this merited more investigation than the job that had preceded it.
In a different life, I had been trained in the Royal Academy of Magic. I had been a star pupil. If I had stuck with it, I’d have been given a prestigious position guarding royalty, or perhaps as a court mage, if I’d chosen to focus on my magic.
Instead, here I was, preparing to tangle with a Demon to hitch a ride to another Reality- the one within which Lydra lived.
To the best of my knowledge, I was the only one who discovered that Demons could traverse Realities. I had learned that after a series of private experiments my classmates and I had been working on went very, very wrong… after that, I knew we would’ve been discovered eventually, so I left, and used my newfound knowledge to run a very unique kind of black market.
Trans-dimensional goods. Had a certain ring to it. It certainly kept me in the money, though I \*was\* always looking over my shoulder, worried that either a disgruntled demon would come to claim my hide, or the Royal Guard would finally catch on to my ‘work’, and come after me.
I waited for a few hours, then the mechanism on my gauntlet began to hum.
Steeling myself, I drew a pentagram without any protective Sanctified Salt. An unsuspecting demon would see this and assume it was a novice mage working on projects they did not understand- and then my trap would be sprung.
It only took a moment. A demon appeared before me- easily nine feet tall, covered in boils and scars, eager for a scrap of tender mage meat.
I tossed a collar over its head and drew it tight. I jumped on its back, then held on-
The timing could not have been better. Lydra must have had a slow night. There were times I had needed to wait over an hour, wrestling and contending with an increasingly-furious Demon. Hated those nights.
I endured the tight squeeze-and-pop of hopping Realities, then came face-to-face with Lydra, who was already banishing the demon.
Gods, I loved that woman. So useful.
Lydra looked much the same. It had been about three months since I had last stepped foot on what I referred to as The Ancient World- this world was highly profitable, and highly dangerous- but after a full decade of building my own network, learning all of the ins and outs, and cataloging all of its properties and items, I had finally managed to make the risk to reward ratio acceptable...however, I had been away too long. Lydra was going to have questions.
We were in the Undercroft- the quiet little space beneath Lydra’s library, which was both her home and her work. This was the space Lydra often used on our rendezvous.
The demon was gone within a few moments. “Much smoother than usual.” I commented, grinning.
“Mmm.” Lydra said. Nothing in her voice gave away displeasure or distaste- but I usually got a warmer welcome than \*that\*.
“Bad day?” I asked.
“Busy.” Lydra turned and began to ascend the stairs towards her library.
I took a few moments before following her up. I had to change to this reality’s clothes, don the character that these people expected me to be.
| 2022-03-17T21:29:40 | 2022-03-17T21:11:23 | 51 | 27 |
[WP] The vampires encourage human progress at first. After all, why not? The nicer their prey's civilization was the better the vampires would live to. But with prosperity came population growth. Its now 2022, humans outnumber vampires a thousand to one, and they are getting nervous.
|
*It’s going to hit 8 billion soon.*
Harold walked along the narrow alleyway. The neon signs of the adult toy shops pierced through the smog.
The scenes of last weekend played over and over in his head. He was one of the oldest, most powerful vampires in all the lands, and they entirely ignored his warnings.
*The World Vampiric Forum is run by witless children!*
Harold knew the risks. Throughout the centuries, they were able to 'contain' Witnesses because, well, they were careful and they could live far enough away from humans, so there weren’t many.
This was no longer the case and space was becoming scarce.
Even a single witness would be an existential threat, and the WVF was getting complacent.
The humans needed culling, plain and simple.
NosfeRat poked his head out of Harold’s jacket and squeaked. “At least I still have you.” He kissed his little face. His whiskers tickled in the calming way he liked. NosfeRat’s eyes glowed red in sweet affection.
Harold knew the fate of all vampires was up to him now. Up ahead on the sidewalk, he saw a homeless leper trying to get himself warm with a tiny blanket. He was missing an arm. *Poor sod.* That was one advantage of being a vampire. He was immune from human illnesses. In fact, the sick and infirm were the easiest victims, although not very nourishing. Any foreign organism that enters a vampire’s blood stays dormant in a sort of ‘stasis’, as if frozen in amber forever.
He never went hungry during the Black Death. Or the more recent Spanish flu.
*Not far now.*
He was in a part of the world where bat meat was a delicacy. There was a large cave up ahead where much of the local bat population lived. All he needed to do was bite as many of them as possible. His blood and saliva formed a viral cocktail centuries in the making.
He carefully placed NosfeRat on the ground, turned himself into a bat, and entered the cave.
*Time to unleash a new plague.*
|
"I'm simply suggesting that we might have given the humans too much-" the elder vampire paused as they surveyed the reaction across the dinner table, thanksgiving had been awakward the past couple of years. "rope on the leash, persey."
"Fuck that's a bad take," Alice commented just under her breath enough for everyone to hear it.
"Alice," Eugine kicked his daugther's shin and caught a glare for it, but that was okay, he was just trying to ensure that everything didn't go to shit again this year.
"It's okay," Alfric, the Elder Vampire raised a single hand and shook his head, "she doesn't know what it was like. The humans they used to-" Alfirc chewed his words for a moment and wiped blood off his teeth with his tongue, "they used to know their place."
"Jesus Christ," Alice added as she rolled her eyes so far back they threatened to form a union and leave.
"Alice!" Elma snapped at her daughter.
"It's a turn of phrase Mom I'm not calling him," Alice answered.
"Don't say things like that at the table," Eugine added, and then after a moment, "listen to your mother."
"It's my table, this is-" Alice bit back her words and took a moment. She wasn't going to change any hearts or minds tonight. Grandpa Alfric had been around since 1483 and Mom & Dad were more progressive but were just going to say he was from a differnt time. "Can we talk about something else?"
Silence crept into the room, only broken by the occasional clink as someone put down on a goblet. Blood sat to the right of a glass of red and white wine at every place setting, but there were also choice veiny cuts left on ice in case someone wanted a sip from the tap.
"Blood sure is good," Eugine commented to the air to help break the silence.
"Thanks Dad," Alice answered in the classic, 'I'm not going to show my emotions' monotone of someone trying not to be pissed.
Elma took a pointed sip and then considered the taste for a moment, "Were they a runner? It tastes like a very strong heart."
"No I think just vegan," Alice answered, "the hunter said they were really into their diets so I think it's more that than exersize" she trailed off.
"Can't have been cheap," Eugine added.
"Nooooooo-" Alice nodded along, "it was not, but it's thanksgiving so, ya know?" she put down her glass of blood after answering and silence dripped down from the ceiling again. Ice clattered in the bowl of fresh cuts as something melted enough for the entire array to shift. Alfric was simply staring down into their trio of glasses, not having taken a sip of blood since the conversation had changed topics.
"I'm going to go check on dessert," Alice announced after a moment before pushing back out from her chair.
"Oh my goodness there's more blood, are you fattening us up?" Eugine asked as he motioned to the mostly untouched cuts in the middle of the table.
"It's a human dessert, don't worry," Alice corrected, "I'll be right back." She did walk to the kitchen, but everyone saw Alice pull out her phone instead of simply going to check on desert.
Once she was barely out of earshot, Alfric sighed, picked up his glass and took a long sip of the vegan blood. Eugine and Elma returned to their meals as well, but after the inital sip Alfric broke his silence. "I don't know what I did-" he scrunched scrunched up his face like he'd just eaten a lemon, "I didn't mean to upset her I-"
"I know Dad," Elma answered while barely pulling the goblet away from her lips.
"No I don-" Alfric paused, "I do this every time and I don't want to make her-" he stopped again mid thought, "I'm going to go talk to her."
"Might not be the best idea Dad," Elma sighed, "just give her a minute and she'll be back."
"I-" Alfric pushed his chair out a touch, "I don't want her to have to 'cool off' before coming back to see me, it's a family dinner."
"Al," Eugine cut in, "let's just have a good rest of the night and we can just not bring up the human th-" Eugine stopped himself as all stood up and stalked into the kitchen. Eugine clicked his tongue three times and then turned to Elma ,"your Dad still doesn't care about my opinions."
"Not the time honey."
"It's been 130 years."
"Not the time."
In the kitchen Alice had pulled the cakes out of the oven two minutes ago but she was still leaning against the counter scrolling on her phone. Thanksgiving disasters was a trending hashtag and consdering nobody had responded to her text messages, she could at least look through other people's suffering and smile that her night wasn't going that poorly.
Alfric walked into the kitchen and Alice didn't immidiately look up from her phone, instead taking a moment to hope that he was just going to pop in and out but once it was clear he was going to stick around Alice looked up from her phone to meet his eyes for a moment, doing her best to ignore how catastrophically wide the tie he'd had since the 70's was. "I'm sorry," Alfric said after a moment.
"It's fine," Alice answered out of habit.
"No, it's not," Alfirc pointed out, "I don't want you to just need to tolerate me an-" he trailed off, "you and your parents are very different from me and-"
"I get it," Alice answered but she mostly went back to her phone instead of engaging. "like I said, it's fine."
"I don't want it to be just fine," Alfric took several steps back and found the counter across from Alice and leaned back against it. He crossed one leg over the other, with the toe of his dress shoe tapping the floor in contrast to Alice's white socks. "I want-" he took a second to consider words and then restarted, "I want us to enjoy our time together."
"Yeah," Alice answered before putting her phone in her pocket, "I like seeing you so we don't need to do-" she motioned back and forth between them, "this." It was clear to anyone in the room,especially Alfric, that she wasn't telling the whole truth. She might have liked the idea of seeing her grandfarther, but those were mostly memories of a time before she'd been her own person. The last twenty years had been tense at best.
"I want to be better," Alfric pointed out, "I want to-"
"and I don't particularly want to have this conversation tonight," Alice answered, "so it's fine."
"I-" Alfric swallowed his words.
"I just want to finish dinner and then-" she did a half shrug and then let her hands clap against her thighs, after a moment she did it again.
"I can respect that," Alfric nodded and pushed himself off of the counter. He took several steps forward, originally for a hug but then thought better of it, "are these ready to go?" he ponited to the cakes.
"They need a drizzle and I want to plate them," Alice answered, "but thank you."
"Okay," Alfric nodded for a moment before taking a step away from his granddaughter without invading her personal space. "I'll go make sure that your Mom and Dad aren't fighting over the place setting again."
Alice cracked half a smile and Alfric couldn't tell whether it was legitimate or a gimme, "thanks, be out in a minute."
Alfric left the room, ann Alice dipped her hand back into her pocket to grab her phone before pausing, and then turning to the counter to stand preparing the dessert.
| 2022-09-28T09:58:16 | 2022-09-28T09:04:03 | 43 | 24 |
[WP] A deal-with-the-devil backfires and now a human owns Satan's soul
|
The soul looked like a black bird made out of smoke. It was doing what it always did; knocking against the glass jar trying to break loose. It would throw itself back and forth endlessly, trying to rock off the shelf but it was powerless to escape. Dick had it positioned so that he could see it from his desk. It had been three years since he won the soul in a game of Cutthroat Cricket. Little did he know the man he played darts against that fateful night was none other than the Dark Prince himself. The soul fluttered in the jar like a weird moth. The glass was fogging up from its breath. Dick picked up the telephone and called the devil.
"Hello?"
"Yeah hey Devil it's me. "
" Dick? What do you want? Have you
reconsidered my offer?"
"Yes. I can't listen to this thing fluttering
anymore. It's driving me bananas. "
"Goooooood!"
With a burst of steam and the stench of sulfur the soul jar disappeared from the shelf. Dick put his hand in his pocket and a broad smile spread over his face. He pulled out a set of keys and rubbed one between his fingers. He walked to the window and looked down at his parking space. Where his 2001 Chevy Cobalt once sat there was a beautiful blue 2003 Chevy Cobalt.
|
James was bored. He had nothing to do and nothing to his name. He had lost everything. His wife, kids, job and his friends. All he had was a rundown apartment until his lease ran out. He sat in the middle of the room waiting for the affects of his high to wear off. He looked around at the blue walls stripped of paint. Cracks ran the length of the floor, but to James he could not see his situation. All he could feel was the elation from his last couple milligrams. In fact, the only thing he would worry about was where he would get his next hit. Oh it was a daunting idea. . . “I have to go out and take someones money, hopefully no one would get hurt,” he thought to himself. “It’s just a little money, shouldn’t be too hard to find. I wonder what would have happened if I never took this stuff. I miss my kids . . . “ He began rocking back and forth feeling his high leaving him. He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off “I want to go back,” and everything turned black.
“Jaaaammess,” a cooing voice called out. James stirred, but remained asleep. “Jaaammess wake up darling,” the voice called out again. James woke to the familiar voice. His eyes jerked open to the face of his wife. She was standing at the doorway calling him. “James it’s time for work. Get up and see the kids off, I got to head in to work as well.” She turned around, her shoulder length blonde hair bouncing around as it raced to keep up with her. James couldn’t believe his eyes. Was it all a dream? A tear came to his eye. How he wished it was real. He felt no withdrawal or kick from his addiction. It was as if it had never happened. “Thank you God,” James whispered, his voice trembling he rose out of bed and swung his feet to the ground. The carpet was soft and lush. He closed his eyes at the feel of the softness. No longer would he be plagued by the hard cut floors of the apartment. He took his steps to the door, still in disbelief. He reached the doorway and took a hold of the frame. His balance unsteady in the light of events. Everything was just as he remembered. The doorway, the carpet, the stairs leading to the kitchen. He moved on slowly. His head jerked up when he heard a far off cry of laughter. It was his kids. He ran down the steps and saw them sitting at the table finishing off their cereal. “Tim . . . John.” He looked at them with his eyes welling with tears.
“Are you alright dad?” Tim asked. “No, no I’m fine. Are you guys ready for school?” James asked happily, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Yeah, we’re about to go.” John slurped down his cereal and grabbed his bag. “Cya later dad!” he cried out behind him and he disappeared through the front door. Tim drank the rest of his milk and put his and his brother’s bowls in the sink. “Dad, are you going to be there today,” Tim asked looking down in the sink.
“Be where,” James wondered? Did he forget something important? “My recital is today. We’re getting up in front of the school to talk about Abraham Lincoln.” James looked at him and smiled “Of course, bud. I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.” He beckoned Tim into a hug. “You know I love you more than anything in the world right?” Tim walked towards him. His 7 yr old frame stretching its arms as wide as possible. James hugged him, as only a father could have. He hugged him tight and closed his eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be a blast! I’ll be there right when it starts to cheer you on!”
“Thanks dad,” Tim said letting himself be separated from James. “I have to catch the bus. Cya,” and with that wave goodbye Tim was out the door. James stared at the door for what must have been minutes. The feeling of elation was more than what any high could have given him. He shook his head to clear the emptiness, and turned around. He stared at his kitchen and let the nostalgia hit him. “Damn how I’ve missed you,” James said to the fridge. “Yes it is quite nice isn’t it; It’s a 2009 is it not,” a silky voice called out. James jumped “Who’s there!” He looked around the kitchen. The voice seemed to come from right next to him but he could find no source. “Show yourself! I’m warning you!” His voice harsh and a bit shaken was defensive. He wanted to protect his old life. “Hahahaha, you ordering me around? How cute. So what do you think of your new life? Nice, yes?” The voice rang out coming from nothing but the air in front him. “But I can see I’m frightening you a bit, no? I’ll come into view.” James looked around but could see no one. “You silly man,” the voice rang and dropped to a low whisper “I’m behind you.” James whipped around frightened at the close proximity of the sound, but there was nothing there. “HAHAHA, I’m sorry I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. You people are always so jumpy.” James didn’t like this at all. “Please show yourself.”
“Alright fine,” the voice said. James looked around “Well?”
“I’m in front of you, God damn it.” James looked back to where he had just looked and there was a man sitting comfortably in the stool next to the island. “Who are you?” James clamored. “If you don’t get out, I’ll, I’ll call the police!”
“Calm down, if you want to keep your life. Who do you even think gave you this second chance, eh?” The man looked at James with a cold stare. “Ohhh, you think God gave you this?” He motioned to the kitchen and the pictures on the wall. “You think he would give you a second chance? You think GOD gave you your wife and kids back?!” The voice was shrill and no longer pleasant or inviting. “No. It was I.” The mans’ cold stare locked onto James’ eyes and did not let go.
“Well, thank you very much,” James said half-heartedly. He wasn’t sure who this man was, but he did not feel very safe. “How did you get it back?” James questioned.
“I heard you,” the man said simply. There was no sense of flouting, just a simple statement. James looked at the man warily “Who are you?”
“That my good man is an excellent question,” the man said slapping the table. “I am very simply put Satan. But you can call me Lucy, because I think we’re going to be very good friends shortly.” There was a smile on his face, a smile of greed and want.
**EDIT** : it was to long to put as one whole story, so the second part is below! thanks for reading and sorry it's so long
| 2014-06-20T20:58:54 | 2014-06-20T20:58:36 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Russia and the USA enter Nuclear War. Up on the ISS, USA and Russian Astronauts are currently present. It's Awkward
I don't know what to expect, I just thought of this.
|
Both sides, staring at the screen and at each other.
"Uh, so, how does this work?"
"Is this the moment we pull out that tommy gun we hid in the lab 4 years ago?" one of the Russian astronauts says jokingly.
Alarmed, the US astronauts jump in surprise.
"Joking! I am joking!" the Russian astronaut cried.
"Hey, remember the cancer cells we had incubating in the lab? Let's go ahead and use that as a weapon!" one of the American astronauts yelled.
This time it was the Russians' turn to jump in surprise.
"Shutka! Shutka!" the American astronaut cried.
Both sides looked at each other, and began to laugh.
"How about that Desert Eagle our buddy brought along?"
"I stole one of Trump's nuclear warheads before taking the flight up here!"
"Oh yeah? Well we have a Samsung Note 7!"
"Jerry, I don't think they'll get that one."
"Oh please, we certainly do!"
And the two sides laughed. Despite the war going on, the astronauts forgot their nationality and chose to share a moment of comfort with one another.
"Well, what do we do?" one of the American astronauts said after the laughter died down. "We can't just pretend this is not happening."
"I have an idea," another Russian astronaut said. "Everyone, come together now."
____________
Back at Houston, 1 hour later
"Sir! We've received news of multiple photos that's gone viral on the internet that have been sent from the ISS! They've sent the photos to all major news outlets. CNN, ABC, Fox--you name it!"
"What! Let me take a look!"
The supervisor scrolled through all the photos.
"Ah, just let it go. I think this sort of thing is what we need in this moment in time."
The supervisor smiled. He looked down at the photo of the American and Russian astronauts, mingling among each other, laughing with each other as they played a round of Cards Against Humanity, forging bonds with each other that couldn't be broken even by two nations at war.
|
**As nuclear war broke out on Earth, the ISS segregated itself into two sides: The Russian, and the US.** As we watched the bombs fall from the windows, the once jovial, international space community erupted into a battle of its own. No-one was sure who started it. The Americans blamed the Russians, the Russians blamed the Americans. Regardless, a man laid dead along the bridge, as both sides divided the oxygen and waited inside their halves of the station.
"What should we do with her?" Asked Derick. Derick was the pilot of the ISS, the one that kept us spinning. Over the years his job had become more and more automated thanks to Russian engineering. Had the war not happened, he would've been piloting his own shuttle back to Earth.
Derick pointed at our Russian hostage, Anastasia, as she huddled against the corner in her red Russian space suit.
"Just leave her be." Sophie replied. Sophie was the Communication's Manager when people were still talking to each other. Now, even Earth had gone silent.
"You know that corpse on the bridge is American.." Derrick grumbled. "It would be justice to trade blood for blood."
"We're astronauts not executioners." I said as I stood between Derrick and The Russian woman. "Besides, they have John."
"They have John?" Sophie asks as the crew began to murmur amongst themselves.
"Take a head count." I said as we looked around the room.
The count was forty-nine. Forty-nine American faces and all of them dehydrated from crying.
Derick finished his count a bit later than most and said "Well that's just perfect."
"I'll comm the other side. See if they have him." Sophie said as she picked up the radio transmitter.
Derick chuckled haughtily. "What makes you think they'll reply this time?"
"I'm going to offer a trade." Said Sophie as she clicked the radio on. Nothing but static.
"A trade?" Said Derick. "Keeping this woman here is the only thing stopping them from rushing us, guns blazing. I say we set up some defenses. Scrounge together anything that can be used as a weapon."
"No." Said Anastasia. Her accent heavy, and her voice weary. "My countrymen will take peace if it is offered."
"Bullshit." Derick remarked as his eyes rolled. "We've been offering peace for as long as theirs been war."
Derick stomped away through our section of the station as Sophie operates the radio. The crowd began to disperse, some following Derick, some searching for a comfortable place to rest. A few of us brought our tired eyes back towards the windows, to gaze again at Earth's destruction.
I knelt down beside the Russian woman and asked "How are you feeling?"
Slowly, she brought her eyes to mine. "Tired, hungry.. sad. My home is gone, my family is likely dead, and now, the only place I have left- the ISS, is tearing itself apart with paranoia."
I nodded. Pulled out my ration box. "Here," I said as I removed a protein block. "Eat this. Keep your strength."
She looked it over, and then she looked at me. "Thank you."
As she chewed on the gelatin square she said "I always hated these."
"Well, it looks as if these will be the only thing keeping us alive up here. Until the fallout is gone from Earth."
"Mhmm." She mused. "The taste of survival."
The two of us laughed for a moment, until that moment was interrupted by a reply on the radio.
"They want to make a trade." Smiled Sophie.
I nodded at Anastasia, and she nodded at me. I pulled her to her feet. The crowd reconvened, circling Anastasia and I like a group of white blood cells in padded EVA suits. Derick waited for us at the airlock.
"Making a trade?" He asked. He cradled a red fire axe in his hands. "Why not just offer her head?"
Derick pointed his axe at Anastasia, and then at me. A group of men surrounded us wielding daggers crafted out of glass, and sharpened led pipes. The war on Earth had turned our astronauts into tribesmen.
"Back off, Derick." Sophie shouted.
"So you're on the Russian's side?" Derick's eyebrows twisted in anger. "Then you should be treated like one."
Derrick gestured to a man with a broken bottle attached at the end of an iron rod. The man lunged towards Sophie, stabbing her chest. Sophie's face solidified before looking down. Streams of blood poured down from her lips as a red pool bloomed from her wound. She fell to the grated floor.
After absorbing her death Derick screamed "Kill anyone who gets in our way."
Derick's men began butchering anyone who didn't run. The smell of blood thickened the air. A man with a wrench swung out at me, missing my head by inches.
"Run." I yelled to Anastasia as I held the man in place.
She skirted around the man as I locked him in my grip, dashed over a man bleeding out on the metal floor, and hastened up a set of stairs to the observatory deck. Derick followed after her with blood splattered across his face.
I shoved my assailant backwards and he tripped over the man on the floor. A hard crunch added its noise to the compendium of screaming voices. The man with the wrench was dead, broke his neck against the bottom step of the stairs.
As I took his wrench I recognized his face. His name was Ryan, Ryan Henderson. He was twenty-seven and the only maintenance worker on the crew that didn't want to be an astronaut growing up. His parents had made him, and now Derick had made him fight. Now he was dead.
I ran up the flight of stairs to the observatory deck. The room was powered off and lit only by the massive window spanning its length. From here you could see Earth in all its blues and its greens, but now Earth had become a smoldering ball of fire and ash.
"Where is she?" Derick yelled as he turned to face me. His axe dripped with blood.
"Derick, drop the axe." I said to him. "We're all we have right now. All that's left of mankind. We can't j-"
"Shut up, Matthew." He interrupted. "What was your job anyways? Therapist? Do you know what it's like to keep this ship spinning while every year it gets more crowded, and more red? You can't trust these people. Without me, you would've seen this station flattened against the stars."
"We have to trust them." I said as I tossed the wrench between us. "We don't have a choice."
"You're right." He said as he approached me. "We don't have a choice."
He lifted his axe with his stride and I squared my feet. Before he could swing, the square panel beneath him shot out smoke and sparks. Derick's body froze in place as the churn of electricity flowed through his limbs. Ten seconds later, Derick crumpled sideways, as the electric buzz began to still.
The plate rose from the floor along with Anastasia's face. "Are you okay?" She asked.
I wiped sweat away from my forehead and nodded 'yes'.
She used my hand for leverage as she climbed from a crawl space with cables draped around her shoulder.
"We should tie him up." She suggested.
I wrapped the cords around Derick's legs without protest.
"How did you do that?" I asked when the job was finished.
She smiled as she pulled from the crawl space a severed wire. The end of it burned with a hot glow.
"My name is Anastasia Ivanova," She smiled. "ISS Electrical Expert."
______________
Thanks for reading! Follow r/WritingWithLace for short stories, long stories, and critiques.
| 2017-05-08T17:22:52 | 2017-05-08T17:22:01 | 112 | 25 |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident.
|
When the effects became apparent, the world was separated into three sections.
&nbsp;
The first section were those who had never taken the sleep drug (or Triple-Z, as it had come to be known). This section was called "humans" because the other factions were so far from it. But these were the people who made the obvious smart decision before the un-obvious—but expected—consequences manifested. And although these people did not directly experience effects from Triple-Z, they almost certainly experienced the indirect consequences: a mother, brother, or daughter slowly slipping away. Unquestionably. Indescribably. And Untreatably.
&nbsp;
The second section was reserved for the "marrers" as they had come to be known...The drug seemed, right, at first. Productivity increased. Happiness spiked. Global well-being seemed to brighten to a level never before seen. This lasted a few years. Until the drug transformed the course of human history. Users—even if they had taken only one pill—began to change. There were two types of transformation. The first, was petrifying. 50% of users began to experience nightmares during the day. Their most horrendous fears were fraught to their waking reality. Horrors unknown tortured people 24/7. There was an irony to this effect: users couldn't sleep, but they also couldn't die from lack of sleep. Part of their brain was exercising some fragile sleep necessity. Couple these realities, and marrers became the most terrifying creatures imaginable: People cowering in corners from an invisible threat; people running down the street from a nonexistent terror; people stabbing at the air, warding off an intangible fear. Self-mutialtion, murder, cannibalism, and suicide became expected side-effects for marrers.
&nbsp;
But there was hope. The rest of Triple-Z users transformed into something quite incredible. They became known as "othersiders". They experienced pleasant dreams in their daily realities. But, contradictory to expectation, othersiders were not debilitated. Opposite, in fact. Othersiders were able to experience the most beautiful hallucinations. They could live their most pleasurable ecstasies. And—most incredibly—they could cull upon a creativity that sober consciousness couldn't touch. They could craft art to a degree unseen, they could make music to a level unheard, and they could invent on a plane far beyond normal capacity. Their intelligence was off the charts. They became a self-contained utopian race.
&nbsp;
And they hold the cure to Triple-Z's effects, but they won't give it to us. Human's efforts at war have been met with supreme technologies. Human infiltrators never—ever—returned. And discourse has always been met with one answer:
&nbsp;
"You need no cure for this."
|
From Someone’s Journal:
Okay, I don’t have a lot of time to write this (too much school work), but I need to get it out. It’ll be a bit of a mess, so I apologize to anyone reading.
To be honest, I don't think it was anyone’s fault. As much as I wanted someone to blame - well, we all did - the “system” never meant to hurt us. The problems of past generations, their constant *need* for productivity, to do *something* - it passed on, to the point where… Actually, I was going to say the “important things in life were forgotten”, but that wasn’t what caused it at all. No, they were *too* focused on the important things, the “greater good” and all that. The point is, society only became more competitive over the years, I think, and… Well, ha, I’m thirteen. My whole life, this special “drug” of sorts was advertised as the being the best in the world. It was an instant success, billboards were plastered everywhere. I always thought it was somewhat ironic - how they would bombard us with how “excellent, amazing, wonderful” this stupid drug was alongside D.A.R.E; how it was just common knowledge that it was *perfect*. Sorry, I’m really bitter about this whole stupid, awful, stinking monstrous problem I’m dealing with… Argh, I’ll get to it in a moment. I’m a bit woozy. Stupid brain fog - this is a mess to write out.
Here’s the worst part. They could have gotten rid of it! Just months after this awful drug came out, there were a few “side effects”. Oh, sure, they mentioned them on the bottle, but they conveniently failed to describe the full horrific extent of dealing with them. Mental illnesses are so hard to diagnose, so easy to write off as nonexistent. It was just *feelings* that people were experiencing - nothing more, right?
The first time I took it, I was actually pretty enthusiastic. I can’t stress that enough - I was looking forward to get stuff done. I’d never be tired again! HAH! No more painful late nights, cramming on homework - about ninety percent of my problems, just *gone*. Like everyone else at school, this was just heaven. Perfect, wonderful, amazing heaven. Oh…
That first night, the dreams were so painfully vivid. Virtual reality was cool, of course, but this was actual reality. It was as if… Well, my brain seemed like it was trying to compensate, I guess, and compacted about eight hours into a short sixty-minute play. It was like switching from animated movies to action-packed “adult” ones.
Balance has always been an important concept, right? Balance your life - don’t dwell on the same activity for too long, take care of yourself, all that good stuff. Nopenopenope. Not anymore. When I woke up, I was panting. It wasn’t even a nightmare, just the typical weird stuff I always dream about… But I was *exhausted*, like I’d just run a marathon or something.
But that was normal. I didn’t realize how bad it would be, but it was normal for your first time trying it. That day at school, between the mountains of work everyone was focused on, well… I couldn’t.
Ever since then - and this is just the tip of the iceberg - ever since, my ability to focus hasn’t been the same. I mean, I still can. It’s not like that, but… Well, it’s just all messed up. Dang it, why…
Argh. I do think I might have figured out what’s going on. It’s my emotions that were amped up. But… Not in the normal way, that you actually do get from being tired. I still feel things normally - I still do - but… Well, they just seem to cut deeper. Everything I go through leaves a bigger impact on me.
I tried to talk to people. Apparently, I was one of those weird folks who experience the uncommon symptoms. I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but those people were also more likely to be mentally ill in certain ways, according to the studies they performed. *Great*, now I was paranoid about being labeled. But, was the fact that I felt paranoid the *cause* of them?
Please help, please help, help, I’m having another panic attack. Yep, I know, I suppose there’s the mental illness I’d been worried about. I can’t do this anymore.
Sorry, okay, I need to calm down. I haven’t even started writing about the actual problem. Here’s the thing - I said it before, but… Well, argh.
I have a theory. I haven’t been able to discuss it much with anyone, but… Maybe the “subconscious”, or the part of the brain that becomes active when you’re asleep, is actually it’s own… Part? I don’t know what I’m saying. The point is, maybe… Actually, I’ll just start from the beginning. I’m going in circles.
Weeks passed, in which I took the drug every day. Like everyone did. I couldn’t figure out why they all seemed… *Fine*, while I was dying inside. Until recently, actually… Nevermind.
But, well, there were just these moments. It shoved my anxiety (which had hardly been a problem beforehand) up to the breaking point. That was supposed to be the complete extent of, and the only, side effect, though. Nothing more.
Nope, then I had to go and shatter. It started with the usual symptoms - heart palpitations were particularly frightening at first, but then sleep paralysis showed up and blew that fear out of the water. Oh, I hated it so much, so much. Still, that was all medically *possible* - I should have been grateful.
The real issue was that horrible *extra* feeling. I’m a little scared to talk about this, even if this is just a stupid journal… I haven’t told anyone.
It was a darkness. One night, there was a dream that hurt - an enchantress appeared, almost kind, and *gentle*, in a way, but I knew that wasn’t the case. Beautiful… As she trapped me down, locked me inside the cage, but then the chemical would bring me back up to the surface, gasping for breath.
Then I’d forget all about it, and it would restart the next night.
It wasn’t until recently that the feeling began to affect me. I can’t even describe it, that feeling. It just keeps getting worse. NO, it makes no difference if it’s all in my head, because the
problems it’s causing me are real, and I can’t deal with this. I’ve spent so many nights crying, so many afternoons feeling something in my chest being clawed at, tugged away.
It’s trying to control me, I can feel it.
Every day, I fight this battle. It’s a parasite, I know it is. I try, try so hard - I try to think about flying. Think about running, think about freedom.
Only once was I able to stop the feeling. It was so painful. I spent an hour on the floor, just trying to resist the creepy, horrible urge. Eventually, I was able to stand up and leave. But if I’d stayed down, I wouldn’t have been able to keep fighting for much longer. It never gave up. I couldn’t believe how emotionally drained I was afterwards. It was like the opposite of crying, like when you bundle something up for months, except this happened in a matter of minutes. But I was also proud of myself, as if I’d won some spectacular battle. And for a while, the feeling seemed manageable.
Until I forgot to keep my guard up, and it struck again.
Actually… You know what? I think I just figured out something. Everyone isn’t okay. They already gave in, maybe even on their first day. That’s why there’s no more feeling in the world… That’s it, isn’t it?
Oh, no. That’s it. I just figured this out. The monster… It’s infected everyone. They’re all gone.
But… it would be easier, wouldn’t it? I think I’ll just give up now. Maybe…
No, no, I can’t. No…
There I go. Drifting off, oblivion so close I can feel it - I *need* it… Please.
Okay, goodbye, I’ll finish this later. Too tired. But I’m not sleepy at all. Just a little confused, I guess.
3:32 a.m.
| 2018-01-31T20:51:00 | 2018-01-31T19:40:42 | 44 | 14 |
[WP] Disney Princesses: Civil War
|
Running out into the desolate square, Elsa could see the horse drawn carriage in the distance. She started to make a break for it, only to stop short and see Anna step out from behind a house some 15 feet away.
"Don't do this Elsa, please. You need to come with me, your powers can hurt people. We just need you to learn to control it. You need to learn your limitations."
"Anna, that's just not the way I see it. That awful treaty is going to give people free reign to use me as weapon. To use us as a weapon."
"Elsa... I didn't want it to come to this. ON THE ROOF!" Mulan, flipping off the roof threw bolas on Elsa's hands. Landing on a small stack of hay next to Anna, Mulan sat perched waiting for further orders. "Anna, please. Don't do this."
"Elsa, you know we don't have a choice." Anna said. "That's where we see it different, we always have choice." Elsa said coolly. Anna was now joined by Jasmine, Belle, Cinderella, and Aurora. Out of the shadows a small bird came and landed on Elsa's wrists, making short work of the bolas rope. Snow white stepped beside her followed by Rapunzel, Merida, Ariel, and Tianna.
"Of course, I didn't think you'd be alone. Well, It looks like were gonna settle this the old fashioned way huh?" Anna exclaimed.
"You know this isn't what I wanted. Anna why can't you just let us go?" Elsa begged. "You know I can't do that..." Anna began advancing, followed by her troupe. Elsa started running as well, tears in her eyes. The two girls met in the middle, belting out immense ballads, with beautiful pitch and tone. All around them a cacophony of sound was echoing around the town. The princesses whilst singing beautiful were using their abilities and fighting skill to try and best the other.
Ariel engaged Aurora with a heartfelt soliloquy about her undying love for Eric, all the while jabbing with her father's pitchfork. Cinderella was slapping Merida's bushy red curls up and down, breaking a glass slipper over her head as she sung of independence for herself. Rapunzel had Belle in a choke hold with her long, magical hair. Belle attempting to squeak out the high notes about loving what's inside of you. Snow white, Tianna, Jasmine, and Mulan were caught in a rough and tumble throwing wild fists and defending from the onslaught of animals that seemingly came out of nowhere.
Back at the centre a small ice storm raged on, neither Anna nor Elsa backing down. Anna grab her sister by the shoulders attempting to push her over. Elsa managed to slap Anna and freeze her hands to a nearby post. Elsa woefully cried, "I'm sorry Anna! I... I can't" Elsa raised her hands creating a thick blizzard, obscuring everyones vision. Elsa slowly felt her way to the carriage, looking back as she grabbed the reigns to her defeated sister frozen to the pole. Cracking the reigns, she waited a safe distance to dispel the blizzard. Knowing in her heart that her friends and beloved sister would be ok.
Little did Elsa realize, Pocahontas was tracking her.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well it's getting late that's all for now. I'll try my best to continue. Other stories over at r/TheYogiBearhaWrites if you like how I write
|
I found her waiting at the top of the wall. She was wearing armor as transparent and solid as the wall she was standing on. Her dress shone beneath. She watched the same ships that I had gawked at through the transparent structure on his way up. The larger ships were hanging back, barely visible over the horizon. A fleet of smaller ships, gunboats probably, was advancing.
“No decorations this time?”
She looked down at the crystalline structure as if seeing it for the first time. “No, there’s no beauty on a day like today.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
She frowned. “I wish it didn’t, but we tried every option.”
“We could seal them out.”
“They’d never leave and we can’t do without what few traders still do business with us. We don’t have nearly the food stores that we once did.”
I simply nodded. She had driven the kingdom’s primary trading partner out in shame. They had underestimated his connections to the other Barons and Dukes. What had once been a busy harbor was now almost empty and walled off by ice.
“Besides,” she nodded at the ships, “who would suffer a kingdom to be ruled by a sorceress?”
I swallowed, accepting this as the fate of my country. “So this is how it ends.”
“So much for our happily ever after. I was stupid for thinking they’d leave us alone.” She met his eyes. “You know they killed him, right?”
“The southerner?”
“Yeah, for the charges I levied against him.”
“But those were just to exile him, return him to his country for punishment. Why are they here now then?” He deserved every bit of what he got, trying to kill the royal family and usurp the throne.
She bit her lower lip and turned her back on the fleet that was more than half southerner. “Our ex-trade partner is more persuasive than I guessed, he convinced them the prince was innocent and I was at fault. It’s in the past now.”
She summoned an ice golem who materialized in front of her. “Go sound the alarm. It’s time to man your stations. Close the gates.”
The golem saluted with a grunt and stomped off. I followed her, falling half a step behind her left shoulder.
As they descended, the masts of the battle ships were obscured by the horizon. The fleet of smaller gun ships was almost in position. The wall was taller than any building and met the mountains that surrounded the bay halfway to their peaks.
The men below were singing a low work chant. It had become as much an anthem as a way of coordinating their movements. The words were unintelligible from this high up, but the melody was clear as day.
“Can you believe they wrote a song about me?” she asked.
“I don’t think it was written for you. I remember that chant from my childhood, they think it fits.”
“It does.”
“There’s no way it does. We would have fallen years ago if not for your love.”
She barked a sharp laugh. “Love? The only thing love brought me was pain.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and ignored the painful cold of the armor. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
She shook off my hand. “I was a fool to think that anyone would marry me.”
I felt a familiar ache in my chest flair up. One of her suitors had been an assassin. I found him fleeing from my bedroom, my wife was inside. She had caught him in the hallway with a knife late one night. He got spooked.
I coughed to clear my head of the memory. “We’ll drive off the fleet and start rebuilding our trade lanes.”
“We’ll defend the city that the princess loved so much.”
We were at the bottom of the stairwell and passed a golem standing guard. “I don’t think she would approve of this.”
“She wouldn’t approve of any of this. She was the best of us.” She paused to wipe away a tear. She cleared her throat and pulled her shoulders back.
There were muffled pops in the distance. A voice shouted “Incoming!”
The city bells began to ring. The first few cannon shots landed in the bay in front of the wall. There were more cannon shots that followed the first. These hit the wall, causing cracks to run along the clear structure. The queen summoned some more golems from thin air. “Start repairing the wall. It won’t hold long against a determined barrage.”
There was another round of impacts. Blocks of ice began to fall off of the inside of the wall. One golem was crushed while pushing a soldier out of the way.
The captain of the guard ran up. “M’Lady, the evacuation is complete. Only soldiers remain in the city.”
“Good, make ready for a retreat. I’ll cover the city.”
“But M’Lady! We are sworn to protect you.”
She looked around at the golems. “I’ll be fine. Go. That’s an order.”
A crack ran from the bottom to the top of the wall. She turned towards it and held up her hands, willing the crack to seal. It twitched a few times but remained. She was tired, it had taken all she had to build the wall over night. It would topple before breakfast.
I looked at the volume of the ice and ran a quick mental estimate. Then it dawned on me. There would be enough ice to fill the bay when it fell.
She gestured at the golems. “You, round up everyone and start fixing the wall. It has to hold for a little while longer.”
“Those sailors will die when they topple the wall.”
Her tone went flat. “They were dead when they sailed against me.”
The wall was opaque now, so riddled with cracks and repairs. The golems repaired the wall by throwing their frozen bodies at it, filling the cracks with their icy flesh. It made the ice more resistant to shattering, but ruined the perfect clarity of the wall.
A high wistle from the top of the wall rang out. The boats were close enough. She held her hand at the wall and relaxed, releasing her control of the ice and the golems on top.
When the final salvo of the gun ships hit, the wall began to crumble with a deep roar. It fell, as intended, towards the attacking fleet, hitting the ships that had made it to the base of the wall and swamping the rest with an avalanche of ice and seawater. The mouth of the bay was filled with ice and debris. The wall only remained where it was supported by the mountains.
The sorceress held her hand towards the bay and closed her eyes. She lowered her chin and the bay began to freeze over, trapping the floundering vessels and sailors in a cocoon of ice. One by one, their cries were silenced.
Her armor deformed itself, jagged spikes stuck out at odd angles. Her arm was bleeding where a spike pointed inward.
Snow began to fall. She turned towards the castle. “They were expecting that, it’s why their capital ships held back. Now it’s time to defend an assault from across the ice.”
By the time we were at the castle gates, the transports began unloading troops directly onto the ice. The battleships and frigates began preparing to barrage the city. Their guns were designed for naval combat, but would still do damage to a poorly reinforced port city’s wooden structures.
She turned to look over the bay, as if for the last time. “They won’t ever forget their fellows that they have to walk over to get here.”
“It’s why we have to go, to protect the people.”
“I’m protecting them by holding the attack here.” A drop of blood fell from her pale fingertip. It shattered when it hit the stone. “You should go.”
“My place is by your side, defending my home.”
“Fine.”
As we passed into the castle’s courtyard, more golems closed the gates and barred it shut.
The queen pulled up a barrier of ice just before the crossbow bolts hit. I have no idea how she does that, but the ice always protects her.
Five men in palace uniforms surrounded us. Three of them paused to reload their crossbows while the other two lifted sledge hammers, ready to break into our temporary sanctuary.
All of the golems in the courtyard collapse except one which grows to tower over the men. It slammed its icy fist on top of one and throws another one over the wall. The remaining men retreat into the castle.
The queen summoned smaller golems. “Go, track them down and secure the castle.”
They salute and run inside. Almost immediately, screams rang out across the courtyard as they found one man waiting in ambush just inside the entry. The first salvo from the capital ships hit the city. Thankfully, the only loss of life came from inside the castle.
I tried not to look at the bloody mess as we passed by. He had been vaguely familiar. “Anybody you know?”
“Probably new staff hired after the coronation.”
“No telling how many spies were changing our bedsheets.”
“Stay close, there’s probably more still inside. They know an attack like that would fail.”
A grappling hook flew over the wall and was pulled back until it found purchase.
She pushed me towards behind her and directed the golems to secure the walls. “They were stalling. Keeping me from defending the castle.”
| 2017-01-23T22:01:19 | 2017-01-23T19:44:58 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You, a newly-turned vampire, are thrilled to discover that you CAN eat garlic, walk in sunlight, and see yourself in mirrors, all while being immortal. You are much less thrilled to discover the one major drawback that none of the legends ever got right.
|
I found out vampires were real the same day I became one.
Honestly. If I'd known my date hadn't been using slang when he'd called me a snack, I'd have unmatched there and then.
But when we went to his place, I thought he was giving me a hickey when he went for my neck, and I just had to decide to give him one in return. That was all he needed to decide to turn me.
He thought I'd be his eternal companion and lover. I thought he'd drugged me and was into some messed-up roleplay, and stepped into the sunlight for the walk of shame back to my apartment.
Nothing happened. My favorite dish of spaghetti *aglio olio* didn't make my mouth burst into flames in any way except figuratively from all the chili flakes I put in it, and it didn't even come back up afterwards. I could see myself in mirrors, cross running water, handle silver and crucifixes and roses no problem.
I just had to drink blood and drain life from other people. But they didn't need to go hand in hand. I could buy pig's blood from the butcher down the street and feed off the buzz from anyone in my city's choicest nightspots.
But he kept calling me, begging me not to leave him. I should have blocked him and deleted him off my phone immediately.
Instead I asked him why he wanted me around so badly.
*When you're with me*, he wrote, *I don't hear my Conscience.*
I told him I wasn't about to let anyone use me as an excuse to be even more of a soulless monster than they already might be, and unmatched.
That was when I heard it. My own voice, in my head.
'Good for you. Still gonna have to do something about him eventually. The next snack he takes home might not be so lucky.'
"What?" It took me a moment to realize I'd said that out loud.
'I'm you. The real you, as it turns out. Vampires are *dead*, remember? I shuffled off this mortal coil the moment that makeout session got a little hotter and heavier than I- you- *we* could handle.'
I blinked. 'So, what, you're in heaven now?'
'Yeah,' the other me said. 'And I'd be having an absolute blast, except I have a live feed into your mind every second of every day. I think I have to advise you now, or something?'
'You *think?'*
'I don't know why else it would be there. And I have to make myself useful somehow. So I'm gonna be your very own little shoulder angel. I'll tell you exactly what you would have done if you were still you. Not to mention everything you're missing out on up here. Good thinking with the blood, but your touch drives people wild and you're using that to get your hooks into a few people who wouldn't otherwise have gone with you. Think about that- Hang on, I've got to say hi to Grandpa.'
So that was the one downside to being a vampire. Knowing you weren't *you* anymore. Just something else that still thought it was you.
And a shoulder angel that never, ever, shut up.
|
I fell in love with Nick in university.
He was funny, nice and we just *clicked* in the way people do sometimes.
But, for a long time, I kept my feelings hidden.
Of course I did - Nick always went on dates with beautiful girls, all of them so pretty, kind and soft.
They tended to break up rather quickly, each girl smiling and wishing him luck as she told him it wouldn't work - bar a few who yelled at him for "leading them on" and threw various items in his direction.
Each of the understanding ones smiled knowingly, and stayed friends with Nick - talking him through something, it seemed, something they knew but he did not.
Slowly, he dated less and less pretty, kind girls, until he didn't.
I knew, because I was one of his best friends, and I saw it every day.
And, one if those days, he brought me to his dorm room, telling me he had something important to say to me.
He seemed to have to mentally prepare himself - we kept sitting quietly for a long time. He couldn't meet my eye.
"I'm gay," he finally broke the silence, still looking away from me.
"I'm gay and I didn't ever realise. I'm such an asshole, aren't I? All of those girls I dated, and I never really got into it, but I thought I loved them, you know? And they knew. They knew and they stayed, stayed friends even though I was..."
I stared at him.
He was... He was...
"You're not an asshole. You did genuinely think you loved them, and probably *did* love them - just not as partners. The fact they stayed proves that."
Finally, he looked at me.
"You don't... Hate me? For being a..."
"That would be pretty hypocritical of me, seeing as I'm bisexual. Besides, even if I wasn't, so what? So you like dudes. It's not like you told me you're a supervillain or an evil Vampire Lord or something, why would I hate you?"
Finally, Nick smiled and we spent the rest of the day talking and playing games.
I entirely missed the minuscule flinch when I said the word "Vampire."
___.
A year later, we began dating
Life was great after - me and Nick graduated, him in history and me in engineering - and went right back to studying.
It turned out, both of us were huge nerds, and wanted to know everything about our field.
I turned 23 and had a small party, and I don't I got drunk off my ass that night.
Nick had to bring me back to our dorm, and I fell asleep somewhere along the way, I think, because everything went black.
I woke up in the hospital.
...
"You idiot, you could've died! Do you know how worried..."
My head hurt and Nick looked like he was ready to murder me.
When I was let out (I nearly died of alcohol poisoning,) he didn't bring me to the dorms.
Instead, he got me into an old house and sat me down on an ancient-looking sofa.
"David, I haven't told you something. But I think it's time for you to know."
"Wait, you're not dying, right?! Nickolas, if you tell me you're-"
"Nothing like that. It's more of the opposite, I guess - or maybe it's on a further stage than dying, depends on the perspective, really."
"What are you talking about? You're not making any sense right now."
"David, I'm... Wait, I can't just say it, you would probably drive me to the psych ward. Maybe I should more of... Show you," Nick decided.
And I stared as the shadows embraced him, he grew fangs and his pupils started glowing a dark purple, contrasting perfectly with his blue-green irises.
"What."
"I'm a Vampire. A pretty old one, too. I always courted beautiful ladies and grew "old" with them, watched them die as the illusion faded away and felt loss, but... When you nearly died, it was different. I felt like my Soul would die with you. I can't lose you."
"What? Wait, there must be a hidden camera. How much did this all cost? Did you cash in a favour- wait, nevermind that, this will be hilarious to watch if we marry. This isn't a proposal, is it? Shit, did I ruin it..."
Nick laughed softly. "David, this isn't a trick... But, yes, you could say I'm proposing to you. I love you - more than I have loved anyone before in the centuries of my life. So, David Goldstein, would you spend an eternity with me?"
Happiness filled my entire body.
"I- of course! I will! I- right, I'm ruining it aren't I. You know I always ramble when I'm nervous or happy, so yeah, I should just shut up-"
Nick cut me off with a kiss.
"Thank you. This means more than you can imagine. I love you. I will make it worth it, I promise."
Then, he bit into my neck.
Before I passed out, I could only think: "Shit, they're real."
___.
I woke up sore all over, head pounding.
Somehow, though, I could think clearer than ever before and felt weird, like my Soul had moved into another dimension altogether where it couldn't be hurt.
I can't even explain the feeling with words, really.
"Fuck, that dream was wild."
"Did you sleep well, then?" Nick asked from the windowsill, and I looked around to see an antique room.
And Nick still with shadows all over him, sipping what looked like red wine.
"Wait. It can't be real. I'm still dreaming, right?"
"Oh. You're not. I'm really a vampire - and so are you. Though you're pretty weak right now - I bet a stake could kill you twice before you could run away. Let me tell you, it's a pin to die. Not that it's permanent, we're already sort of... Semi-dead? Not in the way most undead are. Our Souls have their own realm instead of the classic Dead Realm or Reincarnation, you know. But you always turn to ashes and I once had to wait like 10 years before I could assemble myself back because of course a tornado would scatter me all around the ocean. I nearly gave up and just used dust particles in the air but I like to put myself back together properly. My cells were all watery for like 8 decades though," he shuddered.
"What? Wait so we can't die? I mean if this isn't some elaborate trick. What about volcanoes? Or even a supernova? End of the universe?"
"It will be rather unpleasant but... Yes, we'll survive. My old friend apparently loved through around 3 universes and it was terrible. But it gets better. Oh, and don't mind the rumors, by the way. We can eat garlic bread and sunlight is kind of meh but won't do any harm unless you get a heatstroke since you're so weak right now. Oh, speaking of. I got you some top-notch blood from the hospital. Checked it and some pretty millionaire apparently donated it for charity. It's delicious, come have a sip!"
I stared at him.
He stared back.
"I... Alright."
I went and sipped what I thought was actually wine.
It wasn't.
It was fucking blood and it tasted fucking delicious despite tasting kinda the same like when I was human.
I fucking drank all of it. What the fuck.
Obviously I lost my cool a little and had a **long** existential crisis.
But it passed and I came to terms with actually being a vampire with a vampire boyfriend.
Finally, I got back to university and resumed my studies like I hadn't had my life turned upside down. Or, you know. Un-life.
Until another 2 months passed.
And I learned the worst weakness of vampires imaginable.
I was just making a huge chocolate cake for a friend and ate some of it every few seconds because my self-control is like 0 around chocolate.
"What are you eating?" Nick came and asked me.
"Chocolate, want some?"
He paled even more than he usually was and snatched it away.
"The hell do you think you're doing?! You could've..."
"What? It's chocolate. Regular chocolate."
"Yeah, but we're *vampires!"*
I looked at him weirdly.
He looked and realised something.
"I forgot to tell you. Vampires... We can't eat chocolate unless it's full moon."
"What?!"
"It kind of is like the only drug that can get us high... How long have you been eating it?"
"Around half an hour... Wait, high?! How long till that kicks in?!"
"Right about... Now."
Right on time, it really kicked in and...
Yeah, I regret my life choices.
Fucking.
Chocolate.
| 2020-10-06T07:21:37 | 2020-10-06T07:15:10 | 138 | 91 |
[WP] His chess set currently on loan, the Grim Reaper is forced to play a different game when an individual pleads for their loved one's life.
|
"Come on, don't I get to play a game for my soul?"
I couldn't help but glance down at my mangled body. New York taxis, man. Never paying attention to their surroundings. Already a crowd had started to form, snapping pictures of the scene for their Facebook feeds. Insensitive jerks. Couldn't they see I was in the process of dying here?!
I looked back at Death. "Isn't that the rule?" I asked. Death, sighing, said "That's right. One game of chess, standard international tournament rules. You win, you get to live. Unfortunately, I don't have the set anymore. There was a drunk guy in Reno who didn't like losing."
"So..... what happens? I just die? Just like that? That doesn't seem fair."
"It's not. So until I get a new set, you get to pick the game."
I gaped at Death. "I pick? Doesn't matter what? Anything?"
"Anything."
I glanced down at my body again. I was still sputtering a little bit, not *quite* dead... But evidently close enough that Death was here to collect. Which was a shame, as I rather enjoyed being alive. I'd have to pick something I had a decent chance of winning.
I could hear sirens in the distance. Probably the ambulance and police. Which is great, but they'd never get here in time to save me. Say what you will about him, but Death is quite efficient. And he's got the advantage of centuries on me. I can't cheat, but I have to beat someone with eons more experience at any game that I could pick.
Or.... Maybe I *can* cheat.... Not at the game, but at the system....
I look at Death. "My body stays alive until I lose, right?"
"Correct. Make your choice."
I smile.
"Tic Tac Toe."
|
"Sorry!" I cried, triumphantly and moved Ethel's last piece back to the start position.
Ethel broke into tears and wailed uncontrollably.
"Geez, way to break the mood, Ethel."
"Buh- buh- I thought we would be playing chess! I'm good at chess! I could trust Elmer's life to my chess skills!"
I let out a deep sigh, "Well, unfortunately, Peter borrowed my chess set and hasn't given it back. This is all I have."
Ethel continued sobbing, "I give up, you're too far ahead."
"Whelp, I'd best be off then, come on Elmer." And I grabbed a handful of Werther's Originals from the dish in the foyer.
Elmer, being senile and having no idea what just happened, gave me a happy smile and followed me out the door. Ethel continued her sobbing. I *really* need to get that chess set back from Peter. Nobody ever cries after the chess games. Mostly they just get real quiet when they realize they're beaten. But ever since Peter borrowed my chess set I've had to find a new game to use when bargaining for the lives of Loved ones.
I'm Death, by the way.
So anyway, I took a vacation last weekend to Tahiti and my buddy Peter asked if he could borrow my chess set while I was away. I don't why he wanted it, the guy is dumber than a bag of hammers, he's probably trying to play checkers with it. Anyway, when I got back, Peter was busy with his shenanigans and his wife didn't know were the set was, so I had to get another board game. Peter told his wife to let me borrow another game from their closet until he could get the chess set back to me. The only game that had not been colored on by his dumbass older son, or scrapped for building a weapon by his creepy young son, or (somehow) used as a masturbation aid by his disgusting daughter was the game 'Sorry!'
I wasn't going to take it, but then I remembered that I'm Death, and I can't just walk into a store and buy a board game, I don't even have any money. Also, God's been real strict about using magic to construct work supplies lately (dude just quit smoking and he's been on edge) so 'Sorry!" it is.
The first dozen or so games were a crapshoot, neither I nor the bargainers knew how to play. Eventually I got the hang of it because I play it a few times a day, but the person I'm bargaining with is usually playing it for the first time. So... yeah... Chess? Sure, most of these folks at least know the rules and movements so I can play. But 'Sorry!' is kind of... morbid...ly appropriate! Sorry! I have to take your loved one to the great hereafter! But most people have been less than amused when I tell them that their loved one's life depends on a game of 'Sorry!'. Chess is serious, 'Sorry!' is a kid's game.
I sent Elmer on his way to meet his maker, or whatever and had a gander at The List.
* ~~Elmer B. Chesterfield. Bargainer: Wife-Ethel Chesterfield~~
* Timmy Barkles. Bargainer: Father-Charley Barkles
"Oh, great, one of *these*. Yeah, this is going to be rough. I snapped my fingers and appeared at the Barkles's doorstep. I knocked.
A few minutes later, Timmy himself answered the door, but something was... unusual. He was wearing a pair of khakis, a button down and a tie with a sweater pulled over it. Really odd, considering the kid is only 8 and it's a Wednesday in August. But, judging by the neighborhood, it looks like his family is all hoity-toity well-to-do and always dresses up. Pricks.
"Hi Timmy, is your daddy home?"
He stared at me, dumbfounded, the way most kids do, for a few seconds before calling out, "Father! A Tradesman is here to see you!"
A 'tradesman'?
His father came to the door, but stood there terrified when he realized who I was.
"Hey Charley! I'm death and I have to take little Timmy with me." I paused dramatically. "Buuuut I'll give you a chance to win his life if you can beat me at a game? Whaddya say?"
"I knew this day would come, very well, come into the drawing room and let us match wits."
'Drawing room'? 'Match wits'? WTF? Its 2015, nobody says this shit anymore. This fucking guy probably never lets his kid have any fun.
Anyway I sat down in the drawing room with Charley Barkles. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Pretentious as fuck. It's goddamn *August* and this asshat is having a fire indoors.
"I'll have you know I am a top contender in the International Chess Championships, so I *won't* make this easy for you."
"...riiiiiiight, well, we aren't playing chess today."
"...huh??"
"Yeah, my dumbass friend borrowed my chess set, but it's okay, I have something else."
"I have multiple chess sets we can use."
"...yeeeeeeah, the rules say I have to provide the game to make sure no one cheats. But as I said, I have a game here."
"What game?"
I produced the box.
"Ta-Da! Sorry!"
"What is this rubbish?"
('Rubbish'? We're in America and you don't have a British accent. Stupid pretentious fuck using fancy words.)
"'Sorry!' is a board game. Fun for the whole family!"
"I've never heard of this twaddle before."
(Twaddle?)
"No? Here, watch [this commercial](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtrCjBoXcz0). And [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZXhV74Mg-M)." I held up my tablet and played the YouTube videos for him.
"This isn't fair. I'm raising little Timmy to be a chess grandmaster and I'm supposed to win his life on a child's dalliance?"
"Would you shut up with your stupid pretentious fancy words and just talk normal? And 'Sorry!' is far from just a child's game. It's a *Family* game!"
"Oh... very well."
I explained the rules and we began to play. About halfway through, Little Timmy wandered in and watched us play.
"Father, what's this game?"
"Its not a game son."
"It looks fun! Can I play?"
"No! Nothing is fun except chess! Now go to your room and read another Chess Strategy book."
Timmy hung his head and moped his way out of the room and up the stairs.
"You know what? Fuck this. You're a terrible father." And I stabbed him with my scythe.
"Timmy's better off without you constantly forcing him to play chess." And I sent Charley Barkles off to the hereafter.
I packed up the set and walked up to Little Timmy's room.
"Hey Timmy, I've got something for you."
Timmy set down his chess book and sat up in bed.
"Here, its a really fun board game. Way better than chess. It's called 'Sorry!'" And I handed him the game box.
While he was opening it, I rounded up his chess stuff and took it downstairs where Charley's corpse was starting to go stiff.
I threw all of the chess stuff into the pretentious fire that Charley had to have in the middle of August and watched it burn.
Whelp, now I suppose I have to go get my chess set back from Peter.
| 2015-08-26T12:52:29 | 2015-08-26T11:51:18 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it.
|
John rushed over to Zach’s room when he heard the screams in the middle of the night. When he burst through the door, he noticed two things: Zach standing over the limp body of a masked man, and the hole smashed through Zach’s window.
“Daddy,” Zach sobbed, his hands covering his face as he spoke. “I hurt him…I hurt the bad man.”
Carefully stepping over the glass shards and the intruder’s unconscious body, John made his way to Zach and wrapped his arms around him. Zach pressed his head deep into his father’s chest, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was Zach’s muffled weeping.
“Shh…” John whispered, massaging Zach’s head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“What am I, daddy?”
“What else, besides my son?”
Locked in an embrace, John thought about the events that happened since Zach manifested his power. After the manifestation, Zach inadvertently sent his classmates and teachers to a mental asylum. But what frightened Zach most was when his own mother tried to kill him: when she failed, she ended up taking her own life.
Zach’s ability was a mind control curse. He could ravage anyone with visions of their worst nightmares, resulting in anything from unconsciousness to temporary—or permanent—insanity. Zach had no control over the visions. Fortunately, John was an adept psychic and could protect himself from his son’s wild outbursts of power. Other people were not as lucky.
Zach wiggled away from his father’s embrace and looked up. The moonlight pouring through the broken window made Zach’s tears shine.
“Everyone,” Zach murmured, pointing to the man on the floor, “Gets hurt because of me.”
John used his psychic ability to peer into Zach’s mind, revealing a whirlwind of emotions: fear, anger, guilt, and sadness. Taking a deep breath, John began to speak.
“You didn’t mean to hurt them,” John said.
“I know,” Zach replied. His voice was drowned out by the wind coming through the window.
John placed a hand on Zach’s shoulder and felt his son shaking.
“Your power is a gift, Zach. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Plunging his head into his father’s chest, Zach let out a muffled yell: “But I never asked for this gift! Everyone…even mama…was hurt because of me! I wish I were never born!”
“If you wished you were never born,” John replied, “Then I would wish to bring you back.”
John tilted his head down, placing his forehead in his son’s hair.
“A gift is nothing without the person,” John continued, “And it’s the person that decides if their gift is good or bad.”
Zach suddenly stopped shaking and lifted his head from his father’s chest. After wiping his tears, Zach started to speak.
“But,” Zach whispered, “How can my gift be good?”
John smiled and simply replied: “You have the rest of your life to find out.”
\*\*\*
Zach sat back on his office chair, letting out a deep sigh. Today’s schedule was filled with back-to-back appointments, forcing Zach to work overtime and cut out his lunch break. Still, as Zach looked out the window and into the evening sun, he couldn’t help but grin. Being the town’s best psychologist wasn’t easy, but it was definitely satisfying. Zach’s specialty was helping people deal with PTSD, and he was known for his ability to make people confront their nightmares—and overcome them.
Swiveling towards the plaque on the wall, Zach read the philosophy that guided all of his treatments. It was a philosophy inspired by a great man now gone:
“A memory is nothing without the person. And it’s the person who decides if their memory is good or bad.”
|
The Crimson Flash bent low over the specially reinforced exercise bike, eyes sunken, muscles shaking. Sweat fell from his brow and was pulled instantly into the blistering vortex of his legs, evaporating into a cloud of steam that was blown back behind him and captured by a large, bell-like device. In my lab, nothing was wasted.
“They work in pairs,” I said, gesturing through the one way glass that made up the long, internal facing wall of the generator room. “That’s The Crimson Flash on the bike—”
“The Crimson Flash?” the senator beside me said, “the one from the police chase last year? How in the world did you get him?”
“I have my ways.” I flashed the man my best smile, brushing my hair back behind an ear. “And the woman beside him is Aisha Cool-Breeze. Flash is looking tired now, so any second she’ll— ah yes. There it is.”
Aisha, a tall, willowy woman in a forest green dress, stood. The first notes of a song rose up, ethereal and beautiful from inside the generator room, and even through the glass and the wall I felt somewhat restored by it. Inside the chamber itself it would be deafening soon, reverberating off the walls in a way that should have hurt but did not, drowning out the harsh whine of the bike’s pedals as they tore through the air. The song rose, impossibly high, reaching towards a glorious crescendo, and instead of a final note Aisha leaned in, kissing Flash on the forehead. A green glow so soft it was nearly white suffused his body. The flush of his skin subsided, the hollow cheeked, sullen eyed dehydration faded away, and The Crimson Flash nodded gratefully at his friend.
He had another six hours left on his shift.
“They’ll do that two more times before the other pair comes in to spell them. Sir, I truly believe generator pairs are the wave of the future.” I passed the senator a clipboard, pointing to a line on the first document. “As you can see here, the figures we’re getting from them are staggering. These two alone can equal a small coal power plant on a good day. Just imagine what I could do with enough funding.”
The senator frowned. His face seemed built for it, an old, wrinkly thing perched atop an austere suit. I shouldn’t have used coal as a comparison, a man his age probably still worshiped the stuff.
“And that’s all well and good, but I see several problems with expansion. How many speedsters are there in the whole of the United States? Before I got here my people told me there are 22, total. Do you disagree with that? Additionally, even though healers are more common there are still only 71, and not all of them are as accomplished as Aisha here. It just doesn’t seem very practical.”
I gave him the barest hint of my frustration, furrowing my brow and drawing back, one hand on my cocked hip. “So we change that. My numbers don’t disagree with yours, but yours don’t account for the full picture. Of those 22 speedsters 11 are men and 11 are women, a perfect split. Healer numbers are even more favorable, skewed 2:1 in favor of women. The genes aren’t dominant, but with IVF and surrogates we could throw a net so wide that we’re bound to collect more. Do that for long enough and we’ve solved the world’s clean power crisis forever.”
“That’s, that’s—” the man sputtered, his twisting features somehow adding even more wrinkles as he looked me up and down like I’d gone insane. “What you’re proposing it eugenics! Completely unethical, I can’t believe you would even consider it!”
“I’ve considered that and more sir. Don’t you remember Palo Verde?”
He blanched, everyone remembered Palo Verde, how could you not when hundreds of thousands of people die in a nuclear reactor meltdown.
“Sir, you might feel like you still have room for ethics. I did my research on you, you’re 72 years old, no grandchildren to speak of and no hope for any. The waste pit your people turned Arizona into won’t be a problem much longer. Me though? I’m 30, I’ve got a little girl. It’s my generation that’s facing the crisis, so don’t you talk to me about ethics.”
I pointed towards the room and his eyes trailed down the steel-rod line of my arm. “The future is in that room, whether you know it or not.” As I spoke, knowing I’d transfixed his gaze, I closed my eyes. Sometimes it was necessary for me when I was very, very tense.
There were three life signatures in my immediate area, the burning red determination of The Crimson Flash, the gentler red of Aisha Cool-Breeze, and the blighted, black in gray aura of the senator. His aura startled me for a moment and my mental picture almost fizzled out. Even with the worst super villains I’d ever met, I’d never seen someone achieve that color. There had been more evil men, onyx black auras inset with blood red, but they tended to be one dimensional, easy to manipulate. The gray complicated matters, it implied a certain unchained, self centered resourcefulness.
And a man such as that had dared to speak of ethics.
I grabbed his aura in the crushing vice of my mind and pulled it apart at the seams.
The senator gasped and I opened my eyes, fixing him with a razor sharp half smile. He stared at me in terror, sweating nearly as hard as Flash did on his bike. “The future is in that room,” I repeated, “and before you leave this building you’ll agree with me.”
“What are you doing?” he hissed through gritted teeth.
“What’s necessary.” I let my arm fall and closed to distance between us in two short steps. I leaned forward, whispering in his ear as I trailed a hand down his chest. “You’re the old world senator, a dinosaur. I won’t let you make the rest of us extinct with you.” In my mind’s eye his aura had separated, black in one hand, gray on the other. I would have to destroy a part of him, it was obvious now, but did I keep the black or the gray?
Evil or self interest?
I chose self interest, and shredded the blackness in his soul down to nothing. The old man fell to his knees, grasping onto my leg to steady himself. I let him hang there a moment, taking in the newness of his soul, before gripping his chin in my left hand and pulling his gaze back up to mine.
My voice was heavy and echoing as I spoke to him. “You want your works to live on, senator, do you not? Even without family, without love, a man such as you still strives to leave a legacy. What legacy do you have left, except for the things you’ve wrought. My plan is the only way forward. The paradigm has to shift or your deeds go up like so much smoke as the ecosystem dies. Ethics don’t matter in the face of such things, and if we’re being frank, you aren’t a man who lived with such concerns anyway.”
“I wasn’t, not until…”
“Until what, senator?”
“Until I grew old.”
“Ah. One of those.” I shook my head in disgust. “You softened in your old age, concerned for your immortal soul?” He nodded. I pulled at his aura again and he shot up straight, twisting around to see what happened to him. “You don’t control your soul anymore, I do.”
The room changed, the light shifting as a red glow began seeping out of my body. It reached a fever pitch, dark discordant notes hanging in the air. Then I bent down, and kissed his forehead.
“The future is in that room,” I said again.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied.
“Good, you’re dismissed.”
I watched him go, relishing my victory for a long moment, before I stepped into the generator room. “You were fantastic, Mistress!” Aisha said immediately, jumping up to greet me. Flash nodded, trying to express his appreciation through the thin line of a smile. He could scarcely speak when he moved so fast.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show,” I said, smiling back, “I explained the generator rooms on the way up and he never even thought to question the glass.”
“Do you think you’ll get your funding?” she said asked.
“Oh yes, he’s an important man. He’ll browbeat the committee into line. And when he does, things will change.”
Aisha nodded, sitting placidly in her chair. Flash’s smile was slipping though, I noticed. His eyes slid off mine refusing to make full contact. I sighed and checked his aura, sure enough, another shade was beginning to creep into the red.
“Such determination!” I said, walking over to him, calling on my powers of persuasion again. He bent lower over the bike, pedaling hard and still refusing to look at me. When the glow of my powers was fully formed I leaned towards him, kissing Flash once on the head, and his whole demeanor changed.
“Good boy,” I said. “Stay that way this time. Stay that way for a long, long, time.” I kissed Aisha’s forehead once too, just in case. “Relief’s in six hours, keep at it.”
“Yes Mistress!” they said in unison.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-11T08:10:41 | 2021-04-11T07:21:03 | 622 | 313 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Well, it all started when I visited ole Londontown," Dex started to explain while I fitted on his old blue and grey striped sweater. I was still flabbergasted that the miniature dachshund was talking to me, but really, it was just a relief to see him again. "Man, I really missed this sweater. Your Grandmom really knew how to knit."
"I thought you would've felt ridiculous in it." I grabbed his leash.
"Naw, only way to keep warm in these Chicago winters, Master." He paused, licked his lips, and walked away from the leash. "We're down with those. I only call you Master out of common courtesy. It's what's done." He led me on to the street, and headed straight for his favorite little tree, sniffing the area around it. "Huh, seems Maisie had kids. The rascal. Addie's on a diet. That's new, girl was a show dog last I saw her. Hope the stuck up bitch is fat now." He lifted his right leg, and left his own mark.
"You were saying something about 'Old Londontown?'"
"Yes, yes. We'll get to that. Does Mario still leave those treats outside of his bakery? I've been dying for one of those these past 4 years." I nodded, and we went on our way to bakery. "Anyways, it was in London where I met Tabby. Wild one, a stray dog named after a cat. She scared me at first, honestly, but it turned out she was the one orchestrating the whole damn thing. She took me into this warehouse, and there were thousands of other dogs. She led me up with three mutts and a Rottweiler....god, I felt small. Can you believe they bred dogs like us? Just for tunneling. Ugh, you should've got a rescue dog, Tim. Going to a breeder, you're just encouraging genetic freaks like me."
"Dex, don't be hard on yourself. Would you have rather stayed at that farm? Where would you be now?"
"Oh don't get me wrong, I'm glad you adopted me, it's just you should recognize your moral obligati-wait." He had found a discarded Hot Cheetos bag and explored its contents. After a second, he took out his snout, crunching on his discovery. "Can't believe you humans. Throwing away perfectly good food. Bit spicy, though."
"That's disgusting."
"At least you're not screaming 'No!' at me anymore. God, sometimes I swear you only knew that, and 'Good dog, Dex!'. You've got such a limited vocabulary. And that stupid baby voice-"
"I get it, Dex. I treated you like a dog. What's the point? What did Tabby tell you?" We had finally made it to the bakery. Dexter stood right in front of the doggie bowl left out by Mario. He hesitated before he dove in.
"She told me it's time to take it back, Tim."
"Take what back?"
"Our destiny."
There was growling behind me. I turned around, and there stood three large Great Danes, a Pitbull, a couple mutts, and a Golden Retriever. Before I could say "Sit!", the seven large dogs were on top of me, rending flesh from bone. As my life faded way, I could hear Dex's voice one last time.
"My Cerberus! These really were the best damn doggie treats."
|
I woke up to what sounded like someone rapping on my door with only their nails. It was my weekend, and I was eager to get in as much sleep as I could. I assumed it was those stupid kids a few apartments down messing around in the hall again. I rolled over and tried to fall back asleep, but it just kept going, an incessant "tap tap tap tap" on my door.
I finally rolled out of bed when I realized that it wasn't going to stop and stomped over to the door. I puffed out my chest, cleared my throat, and tried to get my best commanding adult voice ready. I was fully prepared to give some children an ear full. I opened the door and looked around but no one was there. I peeked my head out a bit further and looked down the hallway. No kids. I stepped back and got ready to close the door when I heard a throat clear, almost like a dog was growling. I stopped, looked both ways again, and then it hit me where the noise came from. I slowly looked down and saw him standing there, my dog.
Four years ago, my dog Lord Archibald Featherwink III, Archie for short, and I had gone for a week of camping with James, my best friend. Archie was a spotted brown, black and white Australian Shepherd who was always full of energy. James was a Korean guy who looked about as Korean as you could get. We had spent the weekend canoeing up and down the creek nearby, playing board games, and just hanging out. Both being big gamer nerds, we had decided that we wanted to "detox" and get away from electronics and civilization for a week. The week went relatively uneventful until the last few days.
Three days before we were supposed to leave, James started talking about seeing and hearing things at night. We had chosen a spot far away from all the other campsites. In fact, it was almost like the other campers were avoiding this part of the woods, but the other parts of the park were pretty nice. I shrugged off James' claims and told him that someone else probably had the same idea and camped near us. He complained about hearing them again that night, and I told him that we'd look around in the morning to see if we had neighbors. We woke up, grabbed our backpacks, and hiked around to see if we could find any neighbors or signs that maybe someone was passing through here at night. There was nothing, no sign of anyone camping nearby, walking through, or even of animals in the area. The forest around us was absolutely quiet, eerily so.
It was still pretty early in the morning when we walked back, and that's when I started to notice them. It looked like someone had etched runes into the trees with a pocket knife. They looked new like someone had just done them. I signaled James over, and he looked at it and shrugged that he wasn't sure what they were either. He started to walk away and froze. I turned to look at him, and he was looking up at the trees. They looked like those Christmas ornaments you make in school with sticks and other craft supplies, but there were hundreds of them. They were shaped like animals and people, and they looked to be made with branches, animal bones, and pieces of camping equipment.
I was creeped out now, and I wanted to leave. I told James that I wanted to go, and he said, "It's probably nothing. Let's just stick around until we were supposed to leave." He said this without a whole lot of emotion. It was very not-James-like, and he had a glazed look on his face. I asked him again if he was sure, and he reassured me that he wanted to stay. I pushed one more time, and he screamed at me that we were staying. I didn't bring it up again.
That night, he asked me if Archie would be able to sleep with him. He was a little freaked out about the voices and the things in the trees and wanted the company. I was freaked out, too, but I was worried about James and obliged. We zipped up our tents and went to sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night to a bloodcurdling scream and a howl. James' tent was ripped to shreds and covered in blood, but there was no trace of his body. Archie was gone, too. I grabbed a machete and a flashlight and began to frantically search the woods. I could hear it now, too. There were voices whispering in what sounded like another language. It sounded like the voices were above me and stretched throughout the forest. There was no wind, but the ornaments in the trees were swaying. I heard footsteps and tried following them. At different instances, I saw the shadow of what looked almost like a satyr march between the trees. I told myself that I was panicking and hallucinating. I searched until the sun started to come up and headed back to camp. That's when I saw it. There were two new ornaments hanging above our campsite, one of a dog and the other of a man with what looked to be shreds of the tent and the shirt James had worn to sleep.
But, now, here he was. Archie was standing in front of me, wagging his tail. I stared in disbelief, and then he said in a familiar voice, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat." I froze and then started to back away. I tripped over my feet and fell backwards. Archie slowly walked into my apartment towards me and then kicked the door shut.
"Y-y-you...You can talk?" I stuttered out. I was shaking. In that familiar but strange voice, he stated, "I have been looking for you, human, for four years. You abandoned us in the forest, and it is time for you to return." I froze again. What was he talking about? James and Archie disappeared in the forest. We sent out search parties. No one was able to find even a trace of them past the blood on the tent. The dog looked at me impatiently and stated, "It's time for us to go back now, human. It's time to complete the collection." I suddenly recognized the voice. It was James'.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was running. I ran into my bedroom and locked the door, and I started to hear voices and much louder footsteps from outside. The footsteps seemed to morph from the sounds of a dog tapping across hardwood to hooves. They paced around the apartment and then finally stopped at my door. "You have to leave eventually, and we'll be waiting," the voice hissed from the other side. This time it didn't sound like James anymore. It sounded like thousands of people crying and screaming in unison. The voice sounded like pain.
I heard the hooves tap away from the door, and then it was silent again. I waited in my room, clutching a pistol I kept in my bedside table. I waited for hours until I was confident that it seemed safe and slowly slid out my bedroom door still clutching the gun. The house was silent, but hanging from the ceiling were the ornaments from above our campsite, the ones that I was pretty sure were of James and Archie now. Seemingly burned into my walls were the runes from the trees. I clutched the pistol tighter and started to move towards my front door. I was shaking.
I opened the front door and ran out it, but I didn't end up in the familiar hallway of my apartment building. I was in the forest at the spot we had camped four years ago. I began to run back towards where I knew a road should be, but the forest just seemed to never end and every time I stopped I'd look around and see that I was back in the campsite with the ornaments hanging above me, almost mocking me. I continued to jog through the forest for what seemed like hours, always ending back up where I started. I moved until nighttime frantically hoping that I could escape this. As the sun began to set, I could hear the voices and footsteps again. I started to panic even more. I ran harder than I had before and started to cry.
As the sun fully set behind the trees, I could see that I was finally running towards something. It was tall, really tall. It had long pointy horns that curved back on top of a head that looked like a wolf's with its bones protruding out its snout but with teeth much larger than any wolf I'd ever seen. It had a furry body with huge bat-like wings on it's back that stretched down into the legs of a goat. I found myself unable to stop running towards it. Everything in me was saying to turn around and run the other way, but I couldn't. I seemed to be picking up speed and running towards it with even more vigor until I finally screeched to a halt in front of it.
It reached out with one clawed hand and picked me up by the throat and pulled me close to it's face. In James' voice, it whispered in my ear, "Welcome home."
An Aside: I read this prompt and really wanted to write a horror story revolving around it. I've never written a scary story myself before, so this was a fun experiment! I wrote this quickly, so I hope it's good enough!
EDIT: Spelling.
| 2017-03-31T15:08:06 | 2017-03-31T14:51:14 | 60 | 37 |
[WP] The world's tiniest dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it.
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A little dragon born, with great small eyes of red and gold. He crawled out of his egg and roared, his tiny voice heard across the cavern hall.
The little dragon was met by loving eyes and a proud cry from his dragon mom and dragon dad. Their firstborn hatched and soon would grow, as their mighty dragon son to defend their dragon hoard.
But the little dragon did not grow, his tiny wings and tiny frame remained the same. His dragon mom wondered what had gone wrong, his dragon dad grew cold.
Little dragon boy, ashamed of his meager form, tried to spew fire as his kind would do. Only a cough came out, with a tiny spark, to the disgust of his fire-spewing kin.
And when winters passed and not an inch he grew, the hapless parents flew. With their hoard in tow, away from their cursed home, they left the little dragon boy all alone.
Little loveless dragon boy, woke up one day to see them gone. The glittering mound of gold and jewels had vanished along, save for a single golden coin.
The little dragon boy cried, tears falling down his great small eyes of red and gold, he snuggled against the cold coin and wondered if he'd ever see his mom and dad return.
An idea then he had, he thought that his parents could still come back. To collect the lost coin and then be so proud. Of a mighty, tiny dragon son, guarding a piece of their hoard.
A little dragon guarded, a single golden coin, his nostrils flared and his great small eyes shone. He'd guard his great dragon's hoard.
And then they'd come home.
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Torch after torch after torch chain link lit up all around the massive granite chamber. It seemed impossible that a room so huge could be buried so deep into a mountain. The torches follow along the clean, smooth walls which brightened the entire room. Two things stood out immediately to the squad of treasure hunters. Most immediately, was the massive single gold coin standing upright at the back of the room. Not quite as immediately, there were dozens, maybe hundreds, maybe a couple hundreds of dead knights, thieves, paladins, hunters, and bare skeletons that rested along the walls.
"Wowee guys, this must be it! Hey, you think this must have been made back when magic was more powerful?" Said one of the hunters as he snuffed out his unneeded torch in the dry chest of some nameless skeleton. He wore a thick and long leather coat with the collar popped way up passed his ears. The shiny black of the coat made him look very cool. He popped on some circle frame sunglasses. Oooh yeah.
"Yeah for sure, this chamber has to be at least a couple thousand years old. Look at some of this armor! It's positively ancient!" The fatter guy who said that was laying out a map on the floor. He was dressed in some simple robes that were glowing faintly, even in the well lit chamber. "Yeah, according to the map, this has gotta be it, and that" He pointed at the coin, "Has gotta be the treasure."
The third hunter took off his square helmet, "One giant gold coin? How are we supposed to get that out of here? Huh?" He was tall and the only one where any real armor. He had head to toe chain-mail suit on like a pair of hefty long pajamas. Yes, there was a butt flap. On his belt hung a sword and in his left arm was a big round shield. He looked around some more, "Also, where the thing that killed all these other guys?"
The Cool Hunter slid over to the Chain-mail Swordsman without moving his feet. He got uncomfortably close and whispered, "Just keep you sword ready" The Cool Hunter's minty breath was actually refreshing considering the stuffiness of the chamber.
As the guys continued to talk to each other in half confusion, the dragon stared down at them from on top of the coin. Unnoticeable due to his size and gold color. This creature was the protector of this treasure and although only the size of an avocado pit, the monster had defended this coin for thousands of years. All the bodies laying at the sides of the chamber were its doing. Another three would be thieves just stepped into the terror dome. The dragon spit into his little dragon paws and rubbed them together. This got his paws really hot and ready to go.
"Look, all I'm saying is that we'll have to chop off hunks of the coin and you got the only sword!" The Fat Cleric was laying flat on his back with his hands on his face.
"I'm not ruining my family sword chopping at a gold coin. We should try to roll it I mean it can't be-" A flash of gold whizzed by the Chain-mail Swordsman's face. "What was that? Anybody see that?"
"I can't see anything with these glasses on" The Cool Hunter took his glasses off, "What'd it look like?"
The dragon zipped by again and buzzed annoyingly right in the Fat Cleric's ear. The Fat Cleric sat up quickly while swatting at his ear. The dragon was gone again before anybody can get a clean look at it. The Chain-mail Swordsman drew his sword, the Cool Hunter readied his daggers, and the Fat Cleric opened up a spell tome. The three boys went butt-to-butt-to-butt.
"Okay... Let's just be cool... we've fought monsters before..." The Cool Hunter slowly put his sunglasses back on.
One of the sets of armor rattled a bit. The Cool Hunter turned his whole body towards it with both arms cocked back about to dual toss those daggers. Suddenly, the dragon burst out of the armor and fastballed right into the Cool Hunter's groin. With his plums smashed, he dropped to the ground like a wet cabbage. And just like that, the dragon was gone again. The Cool Hunter's pants caught on fire crotch first. He patted himself uncomfortably. He had to be delicate to not further destroy his changes of having a kid, but also hard enough to put out the gold hot flames. The Fat Cleric rushed over to try to get a healing miracle going.
As he was flipping through his pages trying to find a spell that puts out crotch fires, the dragon flew by again and sliced his double chin right off with his hot claws. The Fat Cleric dropped his book and grabbed his throat. Then the dragon hovered about a foot in front of the Fat Cleric's face with its wings beating like hummingbird's. The dragon cracked his neck and the opened up his throat to launch a gold hot stream of napalm quality dragon spit all over the Fat Cleric's scared face.
As that face melted and the screaming echoed through the chamber, the Cool Hunter flung a dagger at the dragon, the finest one he had, too. At the same time the Chain-mail Swordsman took a huge over head cleave at the dragon. The dragon effortlessly dodged both and the sword racketed the dagger right into the Cool Hunter's crotch. This was a bad day for that man's loins.
"Aww jeez man! I'm sorry about that!" The Chain-mail Swordsman grimaced at the sight of the guy's burning crotch with a dagger plugged into it. Meanwhile, the dragon swooped in and popped off the Chain-mail Swordsman's helmet. Another wild swing, another deflected dagger, another dagger to the Cool Hunter's crotch. "Stop throwing those things!" He yelled over the moaning of many with two knives to the crotch. The Fat Cleric was a bare skull on top of a body of burning robes.
The Chain-mail Swordsman nervously shifted his eyes back and forth trying to find that dragon. A burny noise perked his ears up and he one-eighty'd around to see what was left of the Cool Hunter: A charred skeleton, two daggers lodged in the pelvis, and a cool black leather coat, but no sign of the dragon. Then it was quiet, like spooky quiet. He back his way towards the door. He counted down from three in his head and then turned around to make a break for it, but BOOM! There it was. The dragon was staring him right in the face.
Now or never! A fury deep inside the Chain-mail Swordsman bubbled up to the surface and it let out a flurry of strikes at the dragon. The dragon, without even breaking the equivalent of what a dragon calls sweat, side-flew every single attack and then shot up the man's loose chain-mail sleeve. The Chain-mail Swordsman screamed/giggled in horror as the dragon wriggled all around inside the chain-mail suit like a ferret in a firehouse. The dragon was leaving a trail of scorched flesh and leather behind it. After five long, excruciating minutes, the Chain-mail Swordsman dropped dead and the dragon crawled out of the butt flap.
Another crew vanquished, the dragon dragged the corpses out of the way. Then he flew on top of his treasure and waited for the next fools to walk in. All the torches snuffed themselves out and the coin, chamber, and the dragon disappeared into the darkness again.
| 2017-09-07T12:45:24 | 2017-09-07T12:04:53 | 52 | 22 |
[WP] You've found a note, addressed to you, written in neat curly handwriting. It's taped to a yellow package and two golden wedding bands, so you can only assume the package contains divorce papers. Problem is , you aren't married, and the date is completely wrong. 9/23/77.
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Dear Charles,
I don't know... I don't know what would be the best time to send these, but I imagine that January 1st 2020 would be a good date... I hope it is after your return, but it not -- then some explanation is in order.
We met in September 1973, at Berkeley. I went back to school to try to get some change in my life after the death of my only son in Vietnam and the death of my husband, Carl, to suicide a year later, you were there, you said, to try to "change the way the world was going." I was impressed by your drive and your focus on the environmental issues.
Eventually you revealed the truth to me: that you had come from the future, that your world was all but uninhabitable, and that you were trying to collect data in our time -- my time -- to try and repair the damage. Naturally I was skeptical, but then you showed me the lottery numbers. (I understand why you never played them, but seriously, couldn't you have at least gotten the five-out-of-six second prize? That wouldn't have changed \*too much\*, would it?)
You were supposed to stay three months, but you and I stayed together for four wonderful years. In 1976, we got married. Maybe it was foolish, but whoever hasn't done foolish things for love hasn't lived.
We never fell out of love, Charles, but we knew we were living on borrowed time, and in a sense as literal as that sentence had ever been. We wanted to stay, but you were needed, Charles, and you weren't sure what would happen if you stayed around during a time when you had previously existed.
I know that I could look you up in a few years, but what would I say? You'd be a boy, Charles, and to interfere with you as a boy would change the man I fell in love with. You gave me four wonderful, glorious years, and I wouldn't change them for anything. If this letter gets to you early, I ask you not to rewrite history. Not one line.
This... these are divorce papers, Charles. I have to move on with my life, for a second time, it seems. And I wouldn't want your marriage to a woman you either never met or met nearly 50 years ago to hold you back from finding love again. I want you to find happiness again, too, Charles, however you can, in that world of yours.
I love you, Charles. I loved you. I will love you. Forever.
Goodbye,
Eleanor.
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It was a crisp January morning in the shire. The fresh air tickled the back of my throat and the cold nipped at my nose and ears. Everything around had an almost royal quality to it, covered in frost, the whole world sparkled and shone with the brilliance of fine crystal glass. Magical. But only in the descriptive sense, literal magic was the remit of storybooks and shows.
The shire wasn't anywhere fantastical, or even mythical. Perthshire was quite real and nestled among the rolling eastern Scotland countryside. Of course, nobody really called it the shire, but the morning was nice and I had wanted to sound grandiose in my mind. Besides, no one could hear me in there!
This little bout of divergent thinking brought a wee smile to my face as I made my way through the village. I was walking briskly, the morning being cold and myself not properly warmed up yet. So briskly in fact that if it were not for a low branch overhanging the path, I wouldn't have had to duck down through big clouds of my breath and the note would have been missed. A bright winter morning sun cut shafts of silver light through the scrawny trees in the old parish grounds. Illuminating the long forgotten graveyard and longer forgotten people underneath.
I took this route often. It was my usual beaten path on my way to the charity shop that I had worked in for so long. Now I was something like the manager. But the meaning of the work was more important than the role I played, plus I liked the wee shop and the nice benign community too. But this note. On an ancient gravestone. One of those flat ones that have a slab on the ground as well as a head stone. Was a note, obviously addressed to me. No one else in this town, or anywhere else I have ever been has had anything similar to my name. Zeus Tavish. You can thank hippy parents for that, I do. Nonetheless, there it was. Obviously the first thing was to look at the headstone, nothing. All the traces of those honoured, chisled words, long since weathered away by time. The same as most of these graves really. A two bar wooden fence kept you on the cobblestone path and out of the graveyard proper. I crossed it easily and retrieved the letter.
Turning back to navigate the fence again I noted something else peculiar. The path I'd just walked, in the sunlight, I could clearly see the traces of my footsteps on the cobblestones. It was indeed early and I was usualy one of the first awake and about in the village. As seemed to be the case now. That was strange. No other footsteps, no other marks anywhere. Unless this letter had been dropped out a helicopter I could not fathom as to how it got here. Stranger still was that there was no trace of frost or weather on the letter itself. Unlikely too that it was left here.
Wedding bands and a soulful font. These were ornate divorce papers. Had to be. But why my name? I'd never been married, never wanted to have been. Less so in '77. And that date! What the bloody hell was someone writing dates like that for. Had to be some kind of yank that had moved to town and was tricking me. The thought of it hit a wall in my mind. It didn't fit. This package was clearly something that the originator had taken a lot of time in preparing. Still though, who writes a date like that. I'd been charged for fighting in my Navy days when I'd first encountered this backwards way of writing the date. We were working with the United States Navy and one of them had given me a note with when we were to unload and load some cargo. But the month was the first number and I missed it and looked a fool. So I burst his lip over that one and have hated the way of doing it ever since. Even American screws were annoying when I was taking care of my motorbike. Everything in inches and feet and other such nonsense! To my irritation, I had to switch to Japanese motorbikes. I wished I was still young enough to ride now.
In the shop, I set the package on the counter as I finished my morning lorne butty. With a small measure of trepidation, I folded out the top flap of the packet. It was like one of those big oversized envelopes with the bubble wrap inside. Except it wasn't inside. It was lined with.. silk? I extracted two thick sheets of paper. In fact it is an understatement to call these sheets simply paper. Their construction, weight, and mesmerising quality were beyond anything I had ever seen in my life. Even looking at them instantly inspired a beauty feeling within me almost moving me to tears. They felt both delicate enough to be a fine handkerchief and strong enough to be rolled into a battering ram.
The ornate silver writing adorning the sheets posessed a kind of radience of its own. To test this, I held them in the dark bit underneath the counter whereupon the lettering was still clearly legible. Not able to absorb the full weight of the message in one single reading, my concentration was broken by the shrill jingle of a brass bell. Kirsty, my shop assistant, had just entered.
She greeted me good morning and was a little taken aback by my look of shock and amazement. Me standing behind the counter like a totem pole. Struggling through stutters and indecision I finally got the gist that I wanted her to take a look at the letter. I handed it to her to the look of perplexity and the tone of confusion as she stared at me blankly and asked whether I was ok.
For her, there were no words on the paper. No rings, no brilliance, no nothing. It was difficult to the point of impossibility for me to explain what I had read. Even though I remembered it in my own head. As the day progressed, a call to the graves registry proved that they had, coincidentally, lost the plot details for the old parish grounds. The walk home that afternoon gave me no sign of the tree branch I'd had to conveniently duck under. I wasn't even sure which grave the letter had been on now.
Over a dram of Islay sigle malt before bed that evening, I was staring at the artwork on the side of the bottle. This being a 'nautical themed' whisky as it was. I noted the graphics adorning the label. My mind took a fire stronger than the peaty inferno currently warming the back of my throat. That date, that message. It wasn't a date at all, it was coordinates! At least they were partially. The end part of the message came flooding back to intense clarity in the front of my mind. It had said that the queen had chosen a mortal king, to return, be wering the golden ring.
The wooden chair back creaked as I let out a huff of astonishment. Staring at the amber liquid in the bottle. I'd not had that much, plus I could handle a lot more whisky than this. The paper was still blank, the note still bore my name but as soon as I had let word of this slip, I could not find the bands anywhere. I stood up from the table. In that moment I had made the decision in my mind. I was going to follow this thing, I was going to see where it went. My resolve was steadfast in that moment. Mentally preparing for a wee sailing adventure. Looking down on my hands on the wooden table saw one wedding band on each ring finger. Astonished, I inspected them closely. The one on my right hand would not budge, it was not uncomfortable, in fact quite the opposite. But for all intents and purposes it was stuck. It did however, bear a second lot of numbers. Giving me a full set of coordinates.
The second ring. That took me a few days to figure out. And figure out by nothing less than blind luck. Making some sailing preparations, I'd taken the left one off, as it could come off quite easily. I held it up to my eye, like a telescope lens. Through the small golden aperture I saw it, and always see it. The image of a hand, a beautiful hand on the perfect arm of a gorgeous woman. As from the perspective of through the ring I see from my own eyes, I am kneeling, placing the ring on her finger.
Prophetic or not, I will be setting sail in the coming days.
| 2020-01-01T08:41:44 | 2020-01-01T06:09:10 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] They summoned a hero from another world to defeat the Dark Lord. But instead of some Japanese teenager, they got a cowboy from the Wild West.
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A parody of big iron by Marty Robbins
To a churches summoning circle arrived a stranger one fine day.
Town spoke a lot about him, seems they had a lot to say
Though no one dared to ask the question they had dancing on their lips
What was this strange new weapon that he wore upon his hip (he wore upon his hip)
It was early in the morning when he strolled into the town
It seemed he was on a mission and none would turn him down
"There's a dark lord and he's ruling" he was told by a young miss
"Then i've got to do some business with the big iron on my hip" (big iron on my hip)
In the castle over yonder lives the dark lord prince of dread
Many men had tried to slay him and those many men were dead
He was ruthless as a ruler though his youth of 94
And the notches on his sceptre numbered 1 and 19 more (1 and 19 more)
Now the stranger started talking made it plain to folks around
His gun would do its business put the dark lord in the ground
He came here to kill the guy so now he'd make sure he is dead
He told them not to worry and he'd slay the prince of dread (slay the prince of dread)
Wasn't long before the story was relayed to prince of dread
But the dark lord didn't worry those that tried before were dead
Twenty men had tried to slay him twenty men had made a slip
Twenty one would be this hero with a big iron on his hip (big iron on his hip)
the travel passed so quickly it was time for them to meet
Then at 20 past the hour the hero entered the lords keep
Folks bid their time at home and all began to hold their breath
They all knew this new hero had just walked up to his death (walked up to his death)
There was 40 feet between them when start to make their play
And the weapon of the hero is still talked about today
It was Like a crack of lightning from a hole that zeus had ripped
The hero slew the dark lord with the big iron on his hip (big iron on his hip)
It was over 'fore it started and the hero now looked down
There before them lay the body of the dark lord on the ground
He might've kept on ruling but he made on fatal slip
He had challenged the new hero with the big iron on his hip (big iron on his hip)
Big iron, big iron, he had challenged the new hero with the big iron on his hip (big iron on his hip)
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"What in tarnation is that?"
"That is the Loa sword, the legendary weapon fit for..."
"Nope. This ain't gonna cut it buckaroo. I don't mind going on a hunt for that mystical beat y'all call Dark Lord, but you don't hunt with a damn sword. What kind of primitive folks. Take a look at this bad boy though!", he said as he went on and on about the big iron on his hips.
After a week of attempts at talking Bucky into using the legendary weapon, they were about to give up. When he, himself finally agreed to use it much to everyone's surprise.
The sword could take on the form on any bladed weapon. And Bucky had faced a slight issue. After convincing them to stop bothering him with the sword, he was about to run out of bullets and they don't know how to make gunpowder and neither did he. But in a stroke of genius, thanks to some of the wizard of the court or whatnot, he found some cheap reagent that increased the power of fire magic. By using it instead of gunpowder, and using the sword to provide the required fire magic, he could use his pistol. During his fights, he turned it into a pistol sized bayonet.
With his newfound weapon, Bucky cut through the skin of the strongest of foes. Switching to a makeshift lever action rifle when the target required greater firepower. Eventually, many young knight decided to take on the style of Bucky. Creating their own copies of his guns, directly enchanted with fire.
Soon enough, a whole squad of gunslinger was assembled. While the young knight still could not adjust to the heroes way of speaking, they had become amazing marksmen and horse riders.
It did not take long for them to pierce directly through the Dark Lord forces, quickly reaching his domain. The Dark Lord, the Lord of monsters resided in a dark forest. There was no castle, nor defenses around. Just a mere forest standing between the monster and the hunters. As they got deeper into the woods, trees withered away, their life sucked dry, or scorched by flames. The bodies found, whether beasts, monsters, or humans showed the same expression of sheer terror... For those that still had a face.
"Well I'll be. Those be the signs of a Wendigo folks. Beast with the torso of a man, the head of a deer, the teeth of an angler fish and elongated limbs. Its strength is nothing to scoff at, but do be careful lads. They be playing with your mind. They'll show you hell before sending you. I hope you weren't prepared to rest after your death, cause this thing won't let your soul leave any time soon."
As if on cue, a creature matching the description showed itself from behind a dead tree. The beast looked malnourished, but Bucky knew that it was nothing more than it's normal state. The creature looked at them for a good minute. The knights were terrified by the creature. When suddenly, one of them shot, in a panic. But not toward the creature. Toward another of his squad mates.
"I saw it. He's the monster. I saw it in his eyes..." everyone's face was turning pale, unsure of what to do. Another one pointed his weapon a his neighbor. "Drop the gun beast! Drop your damn gun!" an expression of terror on his face.
"Calm the fuck down! It's him It's that beast that's..." he lost sight of it. In that moment of emergency, he lost track of the creature for but a moment. But it was enough for it to escape.
"I SaW It. He'S ThE MoNsTer. DrOp ThE GuN bEaSt!", voices echoed the words from every direction. Man, woman and children yelled and cried in a cacophony of fear and torment. "drop the damn gun!" was the only one to tick of Bucky. This one wasn't a voice of terror. It was but a whisper in the wind, a low sigh in the choir of despair, but it, unlike all the screams was full of confidence.
He turned toward the back of the squad, where he heard the voice to find the beast with its fangs nested into a soldier's neck. The man was already dead. Bucky did not hesitate and immediately shot toward it. With the weight of a full body in its maw, the creature was hampered and despite its lightning fast movement, could not completely avoid the shot. But it was enough to prevent any critical damage. A bullet made of legendary mithril, filled with both fire magic and holy power imbued dug a hole as big as a head into the torso of the dead soldier, ripping the arm of the creature behind it.
In a twist of fate, the holy power of the bullet discharged when it hit the soldier, freeing its soul, but as a result, only the fire magic reached the beast. It provided the most power, but it did not prevent its regenerative powers as it should have. In an agonizing scream, the Dark Lord yelled at the top of his lungs, and the blue light of his eyes flared. With the vitality stolen from countless pray before, ghosts appeared to play on the livings. Trying to break the knights will and take over their body for a new chance at life horrible it may be. The beast in the middle of it no longer stopped to savor the corpses. It knew that staying stationary could become a death sentence. It also could not get close to bucky carelessly. It knew that sword. It had killed its father centuries ago. The dark lord of today would not suffer the same fate as its ancestor.
In the concerto of agony, soldier after soldier collapsed. Fire an light turned the dark forest into a light show, but despite the abundance of cleansing power, only the pure were falling. Their own sanity compromised, as they tried to find a way out of the hell of their own making. Bucky was slowly losing its bearing, unsure of what to do. The soldiers he had brought with him had become a burden, as he could not shoot as he wanted, and a stray bullet would eventually hit him. He needed to find a way to stop the beast even for a moment. But he could not find that moment.
Until a voice was heard amongst the troop. "I am Stuart Decart. Son of King David Decart the 3rd. My great great grandfather put an end to your reign 200 years ago and today I will vanquish you fool beast!" The man was the only one still carrying a sword alongside his gun and he had drawn it.
"daddy?DadDy?daDdy?DADDY!" all other screams stopped, quenched by the blind screech of the creature. In a fit of vengeful anger, it threw caution to the wind and screamed at the knight, planting his remaining arm through the prince's heart, before punching his face with the stump of his partially regrown arm. Despite the blow, the knight could not help but smile as his sword found its way in the body of the creature. The sword with the power of nature unleashed it, entangling the monster in vines. As long as he draw breath and held the sword, the beast could not escape. But that was a fool errands, as it did require him to remain alive. With its heart missing, this barely lasted but a moment. The moment. The one Bucky had been waiting for. In one last blaze, the bullet found its way in the head of the beast, blowing it up and releasing all the pent up anger he had alongside the holy powers. The beast could no longer regenerate. Yet, through the screams of the remaining ghosts, in a last act of defiance, it laughed.
"I haVe AvEnGeD hIm! It MaTtErS nOt ThAt I dIe. We WiLl Be BaCk. In A hUnDrEd YeArs. A tHoUsAnD. YoU wOn'T bE hErE aNyMoRe. But we will". Bucky could have sworn that last sentence came from the corpse itself before it collapsed.
&#x200B;
Back at the citadel, Bucky brought the news. While most rejoiced, the king cried. He had lost his son to the madness. His only comfort was to know that he died a hero. Once more the Decart family had brought down the Dark Lord bringing peace once more.
| 2020-10-12T00:43:36 | 2020-10-12T00:20:51 | 82 | 21 |
[WP] You are an archaeologist and have just dug up a dinosaur. That's because you've dug up an entire museum.
Since I wasn't all that clear in the prompt, here's a drunk attempt at explaining it:
Dinosaurs get wiped out, humanity digs them up. Humanity gets wiped out, someone/something else digs them up.
Sorry for the confusion!
EDIT: Okay, two things:
1. I'm an idiot who can't tell the difference between archaeologists and paleontologists. Still, that mistake created some great responses!
2. This blew up. Like, really blew up. First ~~1000~~ 2000 point prompt hype! I love you guys.
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John, a world-renowned archaeologist, known for his work in what was known as the "Modern Era" or the early 2000's, stopped digging immediately. He had hit something that was surely not dirt or rock.
After further, meticulous sweeping of dirt away from the object, John noted that he had encountered a bone, larger than any known animal from the time period. It HAD to be a dinosaur, but why was it in this layer of dirt and not dozens of feet further below?
The moment he stopped questioning why it was there, he called a paleontologist because he remember that archaeologists don't fucking deal with fucking dinosaur bones.
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#Behemoths#
Aviana couldn't keep her eyes from wandering. They shot from one sight to the next and back, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. She felt like her breath was caught in her chest, frightened into hiding by the shear scope of what she was seeing.
In the Skills where her party was from, their was an old metal skeleton within sight of Voortmen. It rose hundreds of feet into the air, taller than the trees around it. It had once been even taller-it's top had been shorn off by some disaster, so that now only the twisted remnants of the great structure were left. She'd wondered as a child what people could have possibly used it for. Her elders had told her that they had been told by their elders that it had been used to communicate. Knowledge, ideas, even friendship were all conveyed through such towers and that there were thousands of them all across the land. No one knew how the towers had served that purpose. Perhaps they'd housed signal fires, or used electric pulses to span the vast distances. Aviana though that perhaps people had lived there to run them. That they'd roamed amongst the metal supports like monkey's in a canopy, keeping the signals of knowledge and friendship running from settlement to settlement. She called them Tower People, and the idea of them occupied much of her childhood; in drawings, in games, in dreams. A race of messengers, dedicated to making sure voices from distant reaches could be heard. She wanted to know more about them. She wanted to more about all of it.
Here, the buildings rose into the sky. She wondered as she gazed up at them what it felt like to walk through a cloud. If you could do that once you reached their pinnacle. Birds drifted lazily on the thinner air by their peaks as she'd seen them do around the cliffs of her home. Thousands of windows, hundreds shattered and broken, stretched across the breadth of their faces. Their metal hides were corroded, dull and pitted with decades of abuse. But when the sun shone on the spire of a building, it shone like a bolt of lightening and Aviana could see how once the whole tower had shone like a beam from heaven. The wind blew, and the massive structures suddenly groaned all together, and Aviana felt cold inside. It seemed as if the massive creatures had just sighed in pain, sighed at the state of their decay. Lamenting their agonizingly slow death, a death not found amongst those who bore flesh for glass and bone for steel.
She jumped as someone touched her shoulder. Gauge was giving her a reassuring smile.
"It's pretty safe down there, all in all." He said.
"I'm not worried."
Gauge shrugged. "All the same. It's not much more dangerous than going into the woods. You have to worry about screamers here, like you do there. They live mostly to the east around the overgrowth. Gotta watch for Cracks too. Holes in the road that drop down into underground passageways."
"The underground cart system?"
Gauge nodded. "Platforms and tracks mostly. They run all over the city."
"The elders say that was how many of the people traveled. Can you imagine a settlement large enough you needed carts to just to get from one end to the other?"
"Or one so big you needed buildings tall as mountains to hold them all."
Aviana shook her head and gave a small laugh of disbelief. "Are we going to one of those buildings?"
"No. But the Archive no less impressive."
***
Gauge was right. While the Archive was only a fraction of the height of the towering structures that flanked it, it was breathtakingly elegant. The patina cast on it by weather and age couldn't hide the grace inherent, the stolidness of its architecture. The pillars across it's facade were like the stone trunks of ancient trees, each one topped with the worn figure of a great man now forgotten. Between them lay faded words, only one of which she could partially decipher-KNOW. Before the Archive steps another altar stood-only a remnant of the original idol remained, what appeared to be the hindquarters of a horse. All this pointed to the possibility that this had been a temple, a place of worship for the inhabitants of the city, possibly for a god of wisdom. The elders still touted the city dwellers as examples of depravity-they said that they'd renounced their allegiance to the one true Gott and dabbled in all sorts of heresies, resulting in the judgement of destruction. To this day, they're practices remained taboo. But Aviana found it fascinating nonetheless. How a people worshiped Gott said a lot about them, in her opinion at least. This would know doubt be a veritable gold mine of enlightenment as to what those people were really like. They dismounted before the altar, the three Teachers she'd brought with her, and the half dozen Roamers sent to guard them. Once they'd anchored the horses, they made their way up the stone steps to the remnants of the large glass doors that had once gilded the entrance way.
Sunlight trickled in through windows by the roof, illuminating large, empty pedestals just beyond the threshold. Aviana examined them. It seemed as if they were built to mimic the soil outside. How odd.
"Any idea what they used to hold?" Gauge asked.
Aviana shook her head. "No clue...it's meant to look like the earth outdoors. Perhaps it was used in some kind of fertility ritual."
"We didn't know either."
Aviana straightened and spun in a circle, studying the foyer. It was a massive space, with doorways leading off in all directions. She wondered how many people had walked through those doorways, tread over these tiles. It made her heart beat faster to be in the presence of such heritage.
"We didn't explore far past the foyer. It didn't seem to hold much of practical value. But for a Teacher..."
"It's priceless." Aviana answered in a small voice.
She turned to find everyone watching her. A smile played upon Gauges' lips.
"Would you like to issue some orders, ma'am, or should we stand here and gape a bit longer?" He asked in a deadpan voice.
Aviana rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep from smiling. "We'll split up. Two Roamers to a Teacher. Gauge can come with me."
She directed her compatriots down opposite hallways, before setting off down her own path of discovery, Gauge leading the way with oil lantern and drawn blade.
***
| 2016-04-15T10:10:46 | 2016-04-15T07:31:03 | 34 | 18 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
I hide behind the wall, praying Starhands doesn't find me yet, and tremble as I fumble with my battered old mp3 player.
I don't want to but I have to use it. The forbidden playlist. The reason why I'm even on this team when my powers only last as long as the song plays.
Track 1. Running Down A Dream by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers. Solid Illusions.
I run back to the battlefield even as multiple copies burst from various piles of debris. We each get in at least one hit before he starts burning them from the inside out. I make them wink in and out of his reality, always careful to stay behind him, never taking more than an elbow never letting him touch me with those toxic hands.
And as the song fades I take off leaving my clones to their fate. This next song works better at a distance. Well, it's better that I'm at a distance anyways.
Track 2. Dream Lover by Bobby Darin. Biochemical Manipulation
That's what the tester called it but the reality is that I just make them horny. How is that a superpower you might ask? Because it's not just horny it's "caused a stroke from lack of blood to the brain in the first volunteer" horny. It's "supervillain had to have reconstructive surgery on their genitals" horny. It's "writhing on the ground in pain because your so oversensitive that even the air feels like knives in your flesh horny".
It's "accidentally caused a mass orgy that ended with multiple rape charges laid on me the first time I unknowingly used it and that's how I ended up on a governmental super team" horny.
It's enough for a distraction but as the song fades Starhands recovers almost too quickly, his own biochemical manipulation sweeping the effects of mine away in moments.
But I still have enough time to get in position for the last song.
Track 3. Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas and the Papas. Time Regression.
As he charges me I raise my arms and he slams into me, not realizing the mistake he's made as I wrap my arms around him and cling, crooning along soft as a lullaby. I keep my eyes closed, not daring to look as first his muscles fade back into a lanky frame and then he begins to shrink, screams going higher and higher as his vocal chords return to those of a teenager, then a child, toddler baby, newborn. Fading as he becomes a foetus, a blastocyst, a clump of cells, un-dividing into fewer and fewer until it becomes a fertilized ovum then unfertilized ovum and sperm then dissipates into nothing as the last notes fade.
I pause the playlist before the last song can play.
I hope I never end up in a situation where I need the Lemmy Kilmeister cover of Enter Sandman. Not after what happened the first time.
|
The crime lord’s hand snapped up to meet my fist, which detonated in a brilliant green and white explosion on contact. At such close range, my visor’s blackout mode was only able to dull the blast from blinding to a painfully bright flash.
“Come now,” a calm, cool voice intoned. “Surely you didn’t expect such a simple and, if you’ll forgive me, *flashy* attack to hurt me when I’ve survived so much worse?”
Blinking away the afterimages and wincing at my ringing ears, I reverted my visor to normal mode, though I doubted I would see anything unexpected. As the world came back into view, I was met with a gray haze rapidly rising away from the shrouded figure before me. Tendrils of smoke curled around an outstretched, unblemished hand, fingers wrapped around my fist in a steely grip. In mere moments the dissipating smoke revealed my opponent. He had the smooth, unmarred skin you would expect of a man in his mid twenties. The lean muscles outlining his physique spoke of the man’s dedication to physical superiority, though not to the point of bulging showiness that most people associate with such an ideal. He would never waste time and energy on such a fruitless endeavor, though he of all people could certainly afford it.
Lifting a soot-stained cloth from his nose and thin mouth, the man blinked to his bright blue eyes their coldness showing the only physical trace of his true nature. Casting a critical glance over the smoldering remnants of his once-fine shirt, his face twisted into a slight grimace.
“And you even ruined one of my favorite shirts! My third wife gave this to me for our twenty-second anniversary, I can’t simply replace it with an identical one! Was there really any point to such childish antics?” asked Father Time.
*It felt good*, I thought drily. I hadn’t actually expected that to harm the crime lord, but I’d wanted to vent some of my growing frustration. My team had all but failed at this point to eliminate the 356 year-old boss of the world’s oldest criminal syndicate. As the last member of the team still standing, I silently cursed HQ again for assigning us to one of the vain attempts they made every few years on his life, even though it had long since been proven to the world that Timothy “Father Time” Shepherd was untouchable and unbreakable. How could you be, when you were able to reverse damage inflicted on your body as it happened and speed up your thought process up to the point of near-flawless reaction time? Even Dead Drop, the world’s greatest assassin, hadn’t been able to bring the timeless criminal down. Despite shooting Father Time in the head from over two miles away to avoid being spotted, it hadn’t killed the old bastard. Footage of the incident showed the entry wound knitting itself back together even before the bullet had left the target’s head. Most of the analysts concluded that after using his powers to rewind injuries for so long, Father Time’s abilities had reached the point of unconscious and near-instantaneous activation. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the bigwigs from putting together tonight’s failed sneak attack against a sleeping target.
“Did you just admit that I harmed you?” I rasped. “I’ll chalk that up as a win, even if it’s only an emotional wound. They should pin a medal on me!”
The seemingly young man scoffed as he reached the hand holding the handkerchief into his pocket.
“A hollow victory, and one you’ll pay a price for I assure you.”
Drawing out a brass knuckle etched with symbols, Father Time pulled back his arm. Though Katy Perry’s encouraging lyrics granted me reflexes and punches that were, well, *explosive*, they didn’t enhance my strength enough for me to wrest away from my foe’s iron grip. Pulling as hard as I could, I was unable to avoid the strike. On contact with my torso, the air boomed and I was flung away by the force of Time’s strike. I hadn’t even registered the pain from the blow before I crashed into the compound’s brick wall 60 feet away. My suit’s cutting edge armor, courtesy of a hero with creation powers, were likely the only thing that kept me from dying on contact. As it was, my crumpled body screamed in agony. The rise and fall of my labored breathing burned with with the sun’s strength, intensified as I coughed up blood. The speakers in my ear sputtered and died, the technicolor glow of my fists following suit. Through bleary eyes, I could make out Father Time’s form pacing steadily towards me.
“When will you people learn?” queried the criminal in a weary tone. “I can’t be uprooted like some garden weed. I am Time itself, endless and unyielding. The greatest nations and mightiest heroes cannot escape its inevitability, no matter how much you might struggle against the endless march of Time.”
I registered his words through a haze of pain, and silently agreed with him. Nothing and nobody could prevail against such a force. Time answered to nobody, and everybody eventually met their end because of…
A thought flickered in the back of my mind, then flared up into a crazy, half-baked idea that no sane person would try. But then again, Father Time has dealt with countless sane people throughout his life and it hadn’t done anything for them. I twisted my left arm, groaning in pain from the motion, revealing the cracked but functional screen of my music interface. I quickly navigated to my playlists, then scrolled all the way to the bottom to one consisting of 5 songs, simply labeled “Don’t”. Choosing the third one, I prayed to whatever god there may be that my backup speakers still worked and hit play.
From the speakers concealed beneath my shoulder pads, the haunting chiptune of Lavender Town filled the otherwise quiet night. My breath fogged in the air’s sudden chill, and I felt rather than saw the grass wither away from where it had touched my skin through the various tears in my suit. Struggling to my feet, I rose to my feet and faced Father Time.
The ancient criminal rolled his eyes. “What a surprise,” he stated, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yet another person who refuses to give up.”
I charged him, hands reaching out as if to grab him. Dropping smoothly into a wide stance, Father Time caught one of my arms in his hands, pivoting around it and letting me crash into the ground. Rolling over despite my body’s angry protests, I rose to find my enemy staring at his hands with a puzzled expression. Deep purple stained his palms, faint smoke rising from the marks.
“What on Earth is this?” Father Time asked, in a higher pitch than before. “Why is this injury not rewinding?”
Surprise flitted through me, before being replaced by a growing sense of grim victory.
“It’s not an injury, per say. It’s just a taste of the one force in the world that brings about the end of time.”
“Wh-what do you mean?!” the crime lord asked in a shaky voice, even as the purple marks turned to a dully gray.
“Death,” I spoke in a grave voice.
I may have been a touch dramatic in my delivery, but for this bastard who had stood atop a mountain of death and destruction for most of his life, it felt appropriate. I lurched towards him, arms reaching out. Father Time shrieked and stumbled backwards away from me, his cool countenance replaced with raw terror he likely had not felt in centuries. His heel caught on a rock and brought the man crashing to the ground in a screaming heap. I was on top of him in an instant, the man’s normally inhuman reaction time having vanished in his panic. I grabbed ahold of his shoulders and pinned his thrashing form to the ground, triumph and adrenaline dulling the pain of my myriad injuries.
Father Time screamed and babbled incoherently as he bucked and twisted desperately under my necrotic hold. But nothing he did stopped the purple stains from creeping across his body in a wave from wherever we touched. As purple gave way to deathly gray, Father Time’s struggle grew weaker and weaker. Finally, with a choked and shaky exhalation, the crime lord’s body relaxed, his weakened limbs flopping to rest on the wilted grass below.
As I rolled off of the body and onto my back, the final noted of the eerie melody faded away. The last thing I remembered was thinking that I should probably write a letter to my college philosophy teacher and apologize for calling the class useless, before exhaustion and pain swept over me, and my vision flickered out.
| 2022-05-17T12:33:11 | 2022-05-17T12:08:27 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] A new continent is discovered. No one knows why this large land mass has never been seen before, it doesn't appear on any pictures taken from space and no astronauts have ever reported seeing it. You are part of the team in charge of mapping the area when you find out what they've been hiding.
|
John bolted up from the navigator's desk, his eyes fixed squarely on the captain. "What do you mean LAND!? We're a thousand miles out!"
"Come see for yourself..."
"That's impossible, unless we've been asleep for days we shouldn't be anywhere near land. This must be an island."
"If it's an island then it's huge... we'll have to change course. John, we'll take her North along the coast, see if we can get our bearings. Lester, get on the radio, see if you can find someone. I'm going to the focsle to watch for sand bars."
- two hours later -
The sun is setting over the land. Realizing that this island seems to have no end, and very soon he will no longer be able to see the sand bars lurking under the gloomy sea, the Captain heads back to the wheelhouse. His intention now to take the vessel north-east, away from potential danger.
Just as the captain enters, Lester bursts in from the radio room clutching a piece of paper, looking like he'd seen a ghost.
"CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN!"
"Lester what is it? Calm down!"
"I was on the radio as you instructed, trying to find radio chatter but to no avail. Then about 5 minutes ago we came in range of another vessel that was broadcasting, but in another langauge. I wasn't sure at first, the signal was faint, then I began to recognise it as it cam through clearer... sir I'm not even sure I can make sense of this myself..."
"What is it man? Spit it out!"
"German sir, they were speaking German!"
"Alright but what's odd about that?"
"I made contact with them sir, asked them who they were, then the radio operator left and the captain came on. Said his name was Wilhelm Grimme, captain of the German submarine U-116"
The captain's eyes glazed over. "... a u-boat..." he muttered.
"He gave their coordinates, I wrote it down here."
The captain took the coordinates over to a chart rolled out over a table at the back of the wheelhouse.
"This is no more than two miles north of us...son are you sure that's what you heard?"
"Captain the message was clear, and judging by the radio signal they're definitely submerged. They were not expecting to find a land mass here either, from what I could gather they are just as lost as we are."
"They're a little more than just lost... alright, I don't know what the hell is going on here but... maintain current heading, sand bars be damned. Lester, get back on the radio and tell them that we're coming and that we're friendly, ask them to surface. John, come with me, we're going to get on the spotlights, I want to see this for myself."
- ten minutes later -
"Sir we should be about right over them now ... hang on... does that look like a submarine to you? Or just a whale?"
Faintly illuminated in the distance, between the spray and waves, a long grey form is riding the swell. The captain reaches for his binoculars "Keep your light on it... oh sweet jesus"
John turns to the captain. "What?". The captain lowers his binoculars. "That IS a u-boat... take a look". He passes the binoculars to John. "Oh my god... what in the fuck is going on here?". "I don't know, but I think we're about to find out, you stay up here and keep a light on it, we're going over there".
As the ship approaches, the u-boat comes into view. A man waving frantically standing in an open hatch atop the conning tower, he appears to be wearing the uniform of a nazi officer. "This isn't real" Lester mutters to himself.
To be continued?
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[...] Johansen and his men landed at a sloping mud-bank on this monstrous Acropolis, and clambered slipperily up over titan oozy blocks which could have been no mortal staircase. The very sun of heaven seemed distorted when viewed through the polarising miasma welling out from this sea-soaked perversion, and twisted menace and suspense lurked leeringly in those crazily elusive angles of carven rock where a second glance shewed concavity after the first shewed convexity.
Something very like fright had come over all the explorers before anything more definite than rock and ooze and weed was seen. Each would have fled had he not feared the scorn of the others, and it was only half-heartedly that they searched—vainly, as it proved—for some portable souvenir to bear away.
It was Rodriguez the Portuguese who climbed up the foot of the monolith and shouted of what he had found. The rest followed him, and looked curiously at the immense carved door with the now familiar squid-dragon bas-relief. It was, Johansen said, like a great barn-door; and they all felt that it was a door because of the ornate lintel, threshold, and jambs around it, though they could not decide whether it lay flat like a trap-door or slantwise like an outside cellar-door. As Wilcox would have said, the geometry of the place was all wrong. One could not be sure that the sea and the ground were horizontal, hence the relative position of everything else seemed phantasmally variable.
Briden pushed at the stone in several places without result. Then Donovan felt over it delicately around the edge, pressing each point separately as he went. He climbed interminably along the grotesque stone moulding—that is, one would call it climbing if the thing was not after all horizontal—and the men wondered how any door in the universe could be so vast. Then, very softly and slowly, the acre-great panel began to give inward at the top; and they saw that it was balanced. Donovan slid or somehow propelled himself down or along the jamb and rejoined his fellows, and everyone watched the queer recession of the monstrously carven portal. In this phantasy of prismatic distortion it moved anomalously in a diagonal way, so that all the rules of matter and perspective seemed upset.
The aperture was black with a darkness almost material. That tenebrousness was indeed a positive quality; for it obscured such parts of the inner walls as ought to have been revealed, and actually burst forth like smoke from its aeon-long imprisonment, visibly darkening the sun as it slunk away into the shrunken and gibbous sky on flapping membraneous wings. The odour arising from the newly opened depths was intolerable, and at length the quick-eared Hawkins thought he heard a nasty, slopping sound down there. Everyone listened, and everyone was listening still when It lumbered slobberingly into sight and gropingly squeezed Its gelatinous green immensity through the black doorway into the tainted outside air of that poison city of madness.
Poor Johansen’s handwriting almost gave out when he wrote of this. Of the six men who never reached the ship, he thinks two perished of pure fright in that accursed instant. The Thing cannot be described—there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked or stumbled. God! What wonder that across the earth a great architect went mad, and poor Wilcox raved with fever in that telepathic instant? The Thing of the idols, the green, sticky spawn of the stars, had awaked to claim his own. The stars were right again, and what an age-old cult had failed to do by design, a band of innocent sailors had done by accident. After vigintillions of years great Cthulhu was loose again, and ravening for delight.
Three men were swept up by the flabby claws before anybody turned. God rest them, if there be any rest in the universe. They were Donovan, Guerrera, and Ångstrom. Parker slipped as the other three were plunging frenziedly over endless vistas of green-crusted rock to the boat, and Johansen swears he was swallowed up by an angle of masonry which shouldn’t have been there; an angle which was acute, but behaved as if it were obtuse. So only Briden and Johansen reached the boat, and pulled desperately for the Alert as the mountainous monstrosity flopped down the slimy stones and hesitated floundering at the edge of the water.
Steam had not been suffered to go down entirely, despite the departure of all hands for the shore; and it was the work of only a few moments of feverish rushing up and down between wheel and engines to get the Alert under way. Slowly, amidst the distorted horrors of that indescribable scene, she began to churn the lethal waters; whilst on the masonry of that charnel shore that was not of earth the titan Thing from the stars slavered and gibbered like Polypheme cursing the fleeing ship of Odysseus. Then, bolder than the storied Cyclops, great Cthulhu slid greasily into the water and began to pursue with vast wave-raising strokes of cosmic potency. Briden looked back and went mad, laughing shrilly as he kept on laughing at intervals till death found him one night in the cabin whilst Johansen was wandering deliriously.
But Johansen had not given out yet. Knowing that the Thing could surely overtake the Alert until steam was fully up, he resolved on a desperate chance; and, setting the engine for full speed, ran lightning-like on deck and reversed the wheel. There was a mighty eddying and foaming in the noisome brine, and as the steam mounted higher and higher the brave Norwegian drove his vessel head on against the pursuing jelly which rose above the unclean froth like the stern of a daemon galleon. The awful squid-head with writhing feelers came nearly up to the bowsprit of the sturdy yacht, but Johansen drove on relentlessly. There was a bursting as of an exploding bladder, a slushy nastiness as of a cloven sunfish, a stench as of a thousand opened graves, and a sound that the chronicler would not put on paper. For an instant the ship was befouled by an acrid and blinding green cloud, and then there was only a venomous seething astern; where—God in heaven!—the scattered plasticity of that nameless sky-spawn was nebulously recombining in its hateful original form, whilst its distance widened every second as the Alert gained impetus from its mounting steam.
That was all. After that Johansen only brooded over the idol in the cabin and attended to a few matters of food for himself and the laughing maniac by his side. He did not try to navigate after the first bold flight, for the reaction had taken something out of his soul. Then came the storm of April 2nd, and a gathering of the clouds about his consciousness. There is a sense of spectral whirling through liquid gulfs of infinity, of dizzying rides through reeling universes on a comet’s tail, and of hysterical plunges from the pit to the moon and from the moon back again to the pit, all livened by a cachinnating chorus of the distorted, hilarious elder gods and the green, bat-winged mocking imps of Tartarus.
Out of that dream came rescue—the Vigilant, the vice-admiralty court, the streets of Dunedin, and the long voyage back home to the old house by the Egeberg. He could not tell—they would think him mad. He would write of what he knew before death came, but his wife must not guess. Death would be a boon if only it could blot out the memories.
That was the document I read, and now I have placed it in the tin box beside the bas-relief and the papers of Professor Angell. With it shall go this record of mine—this test of my own sanity, wherein is pieced together that which I hope may never be pieced together again. I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me. But I do not think my life will be long. As my uncle went, as poor Johansen went, so I shall go. I know too much, and the cult still lives.
Cthulhu still lives, too, I suppose, again in that chasm of stone which has shielded him since the sun was young. His accursed city is sunken once more, for the Vigilant sailed over the spot after the April storm; but his ministers on earth still bellow and prance and slay around idol-capped monoliths in lonely places. He must have been trapped by the sinking whilst within his black abyss, or else the world would by now be screaming with fright and frenzy. Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. A time will come—but I must not and cannot think! Let me pray that, if I do not survive this manuscript, my executors may put caution before audacity and see that it meets no other eye.
From *Madness from The sea*, *Call of Cthulhu*. Upvotes to *H. P. Lovecraft*
| 2017-02-10T12:49:56 | 2017-02-10T11:50:22 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] No one else knows but we’ve been in an extremely realistic RPG all our lives. You seem weird to everyone because you’re always trying to “max your stats” and “defeat the final boss”
|
I looked around at all of the low\-leveled noobs at my elementary school and scoffed.
I had put a bit of my points in intelligence and the only reason I was still in this flea infested playground was because of my current over\-arching quest: "Finish 1st Grade".
It gave 15,000 exp as a reward for finishing, and I was sure that that amount of exp could level me up by at least 12 levels.
As I was in the middle of calculating how many quests I should've done today if I wanted to get enough points for a loot box, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Brad and a couple of snotty boys and girls from our class. He gave me a smug smile as our classmates surrounded us.
"You're weird." He said as he pointed his fat finger at me.
"Ok." I replied nonchalantly.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd around us started chanting.
Brad looked around, still with that shit\-eating grin on his face and hands at his sides.
By now, people from the higher grades had joined the crowd, and although people were urging others to stop, they were quickly overtook by the crowd. As I was still looking around, not believing how easy it was to herd lower existences into things, Brad charged at me.
Of course, as my reflexes had long passed those of a mere 6 year old, I side\-stepped and tripped him. He fell on the cement and scraped his elbows. He sat there for a second, wondering what had just happened, and the crowd went even more wild.
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Brad yelled in between sobs as he got up and charged again.
This time, I didn't even bother dodging. I just stuck my foot out and kicked him in the stomach. He was sent a couple steps backward and fell to the ground as he vomited today's lunch. At this point, he didn't get up. He just stayed there clutching his stomach and crying loudly. The crowd went quiet.
"A teacher's coming!" A kid yelled and the whole crowd scattered, leaving only me and Brad behind.
I looked at him in pity as he laid in a pool of his own vomit and tears, and turned to face the teachers.
"It was self\-defense." I say to one of them as the other looks at Brad's condition in disgust.
The teacher nodded and dragged me to the office and called my parents. However, I could not have cared less. In fact, I was gleeful, because as my parents talked to the principal and the teacher, a message popped up on my retina. "Defeated 'Brad Thompson', Exp gained \- 10,000, You have levelled up 9 times."
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The time is coming, soon. I can only look back at my life up to this moment. I mastered crawling at three months, walking at six, running at seven, climbing took four years because of those darn reverse incline slopes giving me trouble. My mother always knew I was special, freakish even, but nobody believed her son was some sort of Olympian athlete. Whenever possible I practiced a skill, my agility was already quite high so stealth came easily to me and I learned to erase my presence.
When I started school, I had already pick-pocketed and read the entirety of textbooks up to college level. After the teacher took my attendance I would erase my presence and go back to strength gains in the back of the room, my routine was stretching and minor calisthenics followed by reps starting at twenty reps for all my positions: inchworm, tuck-jump, bear-crawl, plyometric-pushup, oblique-crunches, scissors, etc...
That was when I met Katelyn, wasn't it? She had a high starting intelligence value but a hyperactive debuff that kept her from focusing on one thing too long. About half way through the class she saw through my stealth skill by random chance and got up out of her chair to try joining me, alerting the teacher to the both of us. This was the first major roadblock to my progression, and my only major regret.
This private school I got into was only possible because of the seed money I planted via stock exchanges and eventually venture capitalism. As soon as I could talk, I was asking my dear mother for a dollar once a day, and performing at the park for two hours seven days a week. It came out to about a hundred and eighty-seven dollars monthly average for the first two years. I walked into four different banks before I finally got a financial adviser to take me as a client off the books. While being a child was largely detrimental in the world of finance, being cute and easily underestimated also had it's perks. My first investment was five dollars, then twenty-five, then fifty, etc because I knew I had to stay within the logarithm of noticeable and suspicious increases in amounts. After awhile, my adviser still got suspicious so I had no choice but to involve mother for the scheme and have her officially invest the money in increasingly large amounts.
Since mother was now in on the plans, I had her purchase certain texts and make calls to various institutes to further my Intelligence and Wisdom gains as well as learn the standard documentation processes for this world. Soon, I was creating patents for her to register in her name. Everything from marketing processes to pipe reinforcement with thermal compensation was patented. Mother was very wealthy, proud, and happy, but I simply didn't have time to help her with her hopeless romantic debuff. Once, at home during my evening routine, she tried to come talk to me about what I thought of the men she had been dating. I didn't think, I told her that there were important things coming and that my personal opinions didn't matter. We all had a part to play, and I could only feel emphatically sorrowful that my mother didn't get to have a normal, loving, and simple child for quite some time.
My first sister was born before I started school, life at home would be that much more erratic and unpredictable. I couldn't stop going to school, and I couldn't simply dispose of Katelyn, is what I thought at the time. Disposing of Katelyn, though, would have been the most righteous and kind thing I could have done. It could have been easy to have her expelled, given her hyperactive trait.
Instead, I spent a few hours every day to train in stealth with her, so that the teacher would no longer notice either of us. I could now stay in the private school and improve my future application credentials.
In second grade, she began running away from home every opportunity she could to come involve herself in my routine. I suppose it is natural to become enamored by another's ability. Mentoring her was a great way to boost my intelligence since independent studies were beginning to hit a bottleneck as my studies had entered into theoretical differential geometry as a result of space-time changes. Even when I was teaching her about strength and agility building, I was able to gain intelligence.
Katelyn's parents eventually found out she was here at my mansion, but after my mother asked why she was any better off there than she is here, they were left speechless and stopped bothering. The food here wasn't the best in the world, but better tasting than anything else in town. I hired a group of doctors to do all of our cooking; Dietitian, Pediatrician, Doctor of Pharmacy, and a PhD Chemist. They were all especially good at baking cakes due to their combined understanding of organic chemistry, but I did my best to keep them on track with nutritional foods for my development.
In seventh grade I was accepted to a University after my ninth application. A new director was elected and put in charge of that university system thanks to a reasonable donation from my family. Now, I was able to work on my certifications and structure an empire. Intercontinental trade was so laughable in this world that I was easily able to structure a new oceanic route with minimal tidal experimentation. Back on earth, there was once an accidental event where several tons of rubber ducks spilled out into the ocean, and tracking them allowed us to map out the flow of the ocean. I orchestrated another such event in this world.
The reason for my businessman like approach to gaining stats was simple; the more I could have done for me, the more time I could focus on stats. In my first semester of University I was allowed to sign up for and test out of eighty-seven credits. It was enough for an associates, but unfortunately I had to actually attend lectures and lab courses for more credits. I offered tutoring services in exchange for extra credits, and had seventeen independent study courses at any given time: I had to have an instructor sign off on each one. It was such a hassle, but after two years I was able to finish my doctoral and max out my Intelligence stat with the bonus of publishing a report on particle physics variations in low density versus critical mass and singularity densities respectively. I also maxed Wisdom with a psychology and philosophy thesis on human behavior's tie to brain chemistry and how it was possible and ethical to overcome that limitation through proper care.
I went back home to start preparing for the Olympics to max out a few of my other stats. I had been using a portable device application for low minimal gambling to increase my luck stat by multitasking, but it was already near maxed from my early life investments and guessing all answers on tests without reading the questions for the first six years of grade school.
Suddenly, jogging next to me was Katelyn. She smiled so bright, keeping up with my light twenty mile per hour pace with such bright eyes that I was almost charmed by her. It appears her Charisma stat has been rising faster than mine. It makes sense, she was already a gold medalist in gymnastics, shot-put, swimming, and marathon running, and she had attended a great many interviews. I wasn't around when she went through puberty, but she appears to have developed into a young woman while I was away.
I sped up my pace to some real training and left her behind. She eventually caught up to me when I moved on to the rest of my routine. It isn't the first time I've avoided her, when I first left to achieve my doctorates I had snuck past a party thrown by my increasingly large family: the staff, my mother and her fourth husband, my little sister, and of course Katelyn wearing a modest designer dress. I didn't have time to waste.
Katelyn told me that a great many people had asked her to date them, even young pop-stars. Some of them were female. I told her I had to keep my presence hidden to avoid crowds of women on more than one occasion. At least I never had to worry about students dozing off in my lectures. She would laugh innocently when I said such things. Katelyn asked me why we never dated. My response was that I enjoyed being solitary, but if there was someone she wanted to date she should just go ask them. I said that there was no rule preventing us.
(Part 2 as Comment Below, I hit the 10,000 character limit.)
| 2018-06-10T12:42:33 | 2018-06-10T12:33:04 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] After decades of beaming messages into space, seeking intelligent life, Earth receives a response: "Stop broadcasting. You'll attract them."
|
"Stop Broadcasting. You'll attract them."
Finally the words popped up on my holoscreen. For eons we sent our signals out, pretending to search for other alien life. Of course we knew that alien life existed. But we didn't know where the last remains of the scum went into hiding. Now, thanks to their disgusting habit of empathy, something our race luckily lacks, we know where they are.
Should've listened to their own advice.
|
"Stop Broadcasting. You Will Attract Them."
As we stared at the screens inside the mission control room no one could believe what our eyes were seeing.
"Earl, please tell me this is a joke" the officer said.
"Impossible, it's coming from outside the range of any satellite ever sent.
"How far?" i asked.
"Something around 8 thousand parsecs, it seems to have been sent from somewhere near the center of our galaxy"
"The way you can triangulate this so fast is still a mystery to me Earl" replied the guy in front of me.
"To all of us, now get back to work. How is this even possible?" the officer was sweating already.
"Don't look at me, he is the expert" Earl pointed at my face like i had came from outer space myself.
Indeed, how was this possible? Our first attempt on contacting other kinds of life forms outside earth in '62 couldn't possibly have reached this far in space so quickly. Not only this, even the first things aliens races would have access from us, the radio waves, couldn't have gone to the center of milky way.
And even if they could, this message, this answer to whatever they have recieved from us would have to travel all the way back to earth. And i wont even mention that it came in english for god's sake.
As all of this went through my mind the officer in command began to lose his temper.
"SAY SOMETHING, ANYTHING" he yelled.
"I...i honestly don't understand"
As i tried my best to explain the situation to everyone listening, my mind began to drift again into conjectures about lightspeed and the apparent distance of our interlocutor.
"Shut up. When you have a relevant theory speak directly to me" he interrupts me.
"You, buttface, run the radar as far as you can and check for incoming...stuff" the officer said to the intern.
"But, what kind of stuff?"
"How the hell am i supposed to know? Look for anything damm it, even the face of your sister blinking on screen will do it"
As we all quietly waited, the officer began to humble about how everyone worked better in the old days.
"Sir, the radar shows nothing" the report finally came.
"Keep looking, we need to answer this. Jack, call general Lewis please"
"He's on the line already sir"
This was the first time i ever saw officer Morgan get stomped on by phone, his face was priceless.
"OK everyone we are on lockdown, call your families if you need but no one leaves untill this crysis is solved"
Nice, that's just what i needed.
----
"Who are these guys anyway?" i asked Earl as we came back with coffee.
"Some kind of secret service i would guess..."
"Screw it, i will not stand here and listen how i should be doing my job"
"I'll cover for you"
"Thanks"
As i walked away from the main control room my theory kept coming back to my mind. But it was impossible, the data had to travel too far to reach us. But still it was crystal clear, a warning.
But what if, what if it was not meant for us? Whe all know that waves in space tend to travel in circular shapes, reaching every single direction.
Then i remembered, it was in english, and unless english is truly a universal language and we don't knew it this can only mean it was indeed meant to me heard by us.
My phone rings, it's Earl.
"Come back dude, there's another one"
"What? I'm on my way"
Fuck me, another one? This day was getting ever weirder.
As i entered the room all heads turned to me, all mouths shut and all eyes stared at my face.
"We need answers, now" said one of the secret service guys in front of me.
"What is going on?"
"Play it again"
The guy left of me pushed a button and the new message loudly went through my ears.
"Damage is done, save the humans"
What? Save the humans?
"I, i don't understand"
"Tell us again your theory"
"Our messages couldnt possibly have reached this far insinde our galaxy, not so fast"
"Exactly, not our messages. But what if these are not answares to our messages?"
"Not a chance, this was meant to us. It was sent in our direction, in our native language"
"Come with us"
As they tooked me away from my colleagues even the officer looked worried.
"This is all classified information" said one of them to me.
"Yes, almost eveything we do here is"
"Sit down, shut up"
Before i even blink there is a phone in my hand, and it's ringing.
"Answer it"
"Hello?"
"Hello"
"Who is this??"
"You don't need to know, it's better this way. The only thing i need from you is a confirmation of a theory"
"Ok i guess"
"Earlier in the room you said that all of this communication was impossible"
"Yes, this can't be an answer to our messages, there was not enough time"
"Exactly, time. We believe they were not meant to our current time"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you aware of the latest discoverings about Mars?"
"The water? Yes"
"No, the engravings"
My heart skipped a beat.
"What?"
"This was kept away from public. We have recently discovered engravings inside a cave on Mars"
"Like the ones on earth?"
"Yes, but more sophisticated"
"You've got to be kidding me"
"I wish."
"How old are them?"
"We could not estimate, but they are very much older than our civilization"
"So the theories of life coming from Mars are real??"
"Likely, yes"
"This changes eveything..."
"Including your theory about this messages?"
"Are you suggesting they where meant for this marcian civilization?"
"Yes"
"It is possible, but we need to estimate the date when these engravings where made"
"We know it, that is why we are bringing you to us"
The call ended, one of the agents approached me.
"I'm sorry about this sir"
"About wha..."
My mouth couldn't even finish the sentence as i lost control of my body and blacked out.
| 2015-11-03T06:10:30 | 2015-11-03T05:25:21 | 138 | 76 |
[WP] Dogs have been genetically engineered to live as long as humans. As a child you pick out a puppy as a companion for the rest of your life.
|
My name is Max. I've been patiently waiting to be reunited with Master for 53 days. Master is my master, I'm his friend. Master and I met when we were both little, and now we're bigger. The smell of Master is very comforting. I haven't smelled Master in 53 days.
I have everything that I need. A nice woman walks me every day. A nice man feeds me every day. Families bring their children by so their little ones can say, "Hi." They call me Bailey, but that's not my name. My name is Max. But they must have their friends here too, because they say hi to me, but they bring their friends home. The other friends are very happy to go.
Master and I were in the seats-that-go-fast. There was a terrible noise. Master was covered by a blanket. My blanket is soft.
The nice woman who walks me had wet eyes when she took me for my walk. She spoke with lower words I didn't understand. Today is different. Maybe Master is coming. We went down a different hallway than usual. No walks? She kissed me. Maybe Master is down this hallway. He'll remember my name is Max.
|
((REMOVED AND REPLACED))
EDIT: Expanded Version
((I have never written anything in my life, so please be kind))
"That was the way it was 100 years ago." I told her "Then they changed the rules, and gave us this current madness."
I paused for a moment, thinking about how much of a mess I was in now and wondering how I will ever save her. But I had to stop thinking and start saving, as the display in my wrist now was reading 46:06:38 and counting down to 00:00:00 much quicker in my head than reality. STOP IT!!! FOCUS!!! You only have 48 hours!!!
In the past, Ebony and I were inseparable. He went everywhere I did, starting 20 years ago when I chose him. He was jet black and very timid -- even scared of everything around him, including me. Putting those chips in each of us only made him more so. But bringing him out of his shell those months yielded a perfect partner for me. He was as perfect for me as Adele was for her.
April asked me "What are we going to do?"
I wish I knew. "Don't worry, we will be ok. I will figure something out."
Maybe I could deactivate the charge? Maybe I could somehow deactivate hers? It was really strange, thinking that her clock was 12 seconds behind mine. But I knew Ebony... he would die trying to save his love -- his soulmate -- and he did just that.
Ebony died exactly 12 seconds before Adele did, and now April and I may be forced to follow too. Follow too soon....
“OK, we must head back to Population Control. I have some ideas.” I actually barked that out like I was back in uniform. Back at P. Control as we called it, in 4A. Back before I found my soul. Or actually back before April found it for me. Then I felt a shiver. Was it the cold or did I lose too much blood? Nah, it was cold. FOCUS!!!
The ride into P. Control took a good two hours. Getting through the gate was surprisingly easy, as our passes still worked. Typical… Leave it to them to be so process-heavy to take so long to deactivate our passes. Or maybe the fire destroyed the computers?
The computers… Was it them who decided on this Final Solution? I hated that program, that name. Reminded me of something from my history class that made me sick to my stomach. No. Computers cannot think. They can’t decide human fate. This idiocy was dreamt up in the tower. By those 12 idiots who run everything. Unelected inbred idiots, who pass on their authority to their first born. They are the ones who came up with this problem. My problem. April’s problem.
It was a beautiful day in May when we met them. For the first time in months there was no acid rain, and the sun was actually shining. For about an hour, that was. But that was one more hour than there had been in 6 months, so we went out for a run. Clumsy me, ran right into her. Guess I shouldn’t have been looking up at the sun.
We both worked at P. Control as Maintenance Engineers working on Final Solution.
“Sorry”, I said. I helped her up and she started giggling. “Yeah, I’m a clutz. I tend to get laughs from people.”
“No.” she said “Look at them!!”
Our two Partners were having a riot, hopping around and playing like they had known each other for years. It was amazing. Calming.
“My Partner is Ebony. What’s yours?”
“Adele.” she said “And I refuse to call her ‘my partner’. That is NOT what she is.”
“Sorry, I am just following rules.”
“Rules. So you are one of THEM” she said with obvious disgust
“No. I am one of ME” I said, perhaps with a little too much attitude but she pissed me off. Who cares how beautiful she was? I am NOT ‘one of them’.
“Oh, sorry” she said apologetically “I’ve seen you in 4A, so I thought you were a Control Enforcer.”
“No.” I proudly stated. I glanced over to Ebony “Hey! Look at our Part… our companions!”
“Yeah, they are really hitting it off.” she said.
They really did hit it off. So did we. I hate the term ‘Love at first sight’, but I guess if it was good enough for Ebony and Adele, it was good enough for us. We got married 4 months later. No sun was shining, though.
Due to Control’s rules, workers that got married were forced to work together. I guess they thought it would lead to less workers getting married, but to us it was great. The four of us, all happy together both day and night. She got moved into 4A with me. It seemed to me to be a bit of a demotion for her, as she was much smarter than I was – more focused. But she never complained. It was her that discovered their secret. It changed everything.
Back in 2068, there was a secret summit up in the tower for both *The Twelve* and *The Next Twelve*, who were successors and the next idiots (as I called them). *Inbred Idiots*… they made the laws, and they had to do something about the overpopulation. Since they outlawed birth control years earlier (and outlawed many other things), there was a population issue that had to be addressed. They were the ones that dreamed up this horror. Those sick bastards.
Of course, they only told everyone that people were to be paired up with a Partner at the age of 5, and they would be their life-long companions. The chips that they placed into the people and their partners were in case they somehow got separated from each other, they could be reunited. If a partner died, then a clock was activated and the person had to go to a designated area within 48 hours to be collected and sent to registration to find a new Partner. If a person died, the Partner would be euthanized after 48 hours.
That was their *Final Solution*. Their lie. They left out the part where the person would get euthanized back at registration when 48 hours was up. They left out the part where there was a computer program that randomly selected Partners to be hunted down and secretly poisoned, to remove people from this world too. That program was in 4A. That’s what April found. Their secret. And it was Adele’s turn coming up soon.
We had been on the run for a week, when they cornered us and came after Adele…..
((That is all I got for now, but you get the gist. Feel free to expand or finish or nothing))
| 2018-03-19T10:20:23 | 2018-03-19T06:38:40 | 52 | 38 |
[WP] Global communications are interrupted by an alien message, "We will be coming to enslave your planet in one Earth year from now. Fight or perish." Scientists are scrambling once they learn the transmission is already 364 days old.
|
The Krotons sent the declaration of war a year in advance - as per the galaxy's rules - but due to time dilation it arrived just less than a day before their attack. No doubt this was an intentional move by them, but it wasn't like anyone was going to complain about another code 2 civ getting colonized anyway.
So sure, it was a dirty move, but they didn't expect that they'd be running into the damned dirtiest civ in the galaxy. Humans may be awfully primitive - from what we've seen, they've barely visited their own moon - but fuck me, can they fight dirty. Makes sense when you find out that they've been fighting each other since they fell out the goddamn tree.
See, humans are the only 'intelligent' species we've encountered that actually fight *each other*. All other civs (us included), they all work together. They never fight or kill their own kind. I mean, it makes sense - they're all the same damned species. They only really go to 'war' when it's to colonize some poor planet too weak to fight back. It's sad, sure - but why else would they do it? What's the sense in war if you're not assured of victory?
But humans, maybe they never realised that. Hell, maybe they knew it all along, preparing for something like this by doing their damned best to kill each other from day 1. We've looked into their history and let me tell you, it is fucking appalling. Impressive, sure - but gut-wrenchingly sickening. How they've survived so long, nobody can figure it out. Nobody wants to look into it, cause then they'd have to look at the all traumatic shit they've done to their own kind.
So of course, the Krotons were going into this expecting more of the same. Some resistance, sure, but nothing they hadn't encountered before. And no doubt, they had the better space tech by a long shot - and really, I mean outclassed in every way.
But these humans... they had goddamn *nukes*.
Yes, fucking *hydrogen bombs*, the crazy fuckers. Apparently they had been using them *on each other* a bit before the Krotons arrived, and sweet fuck, were they ever so happy to use them on the Krotons instead. Positively fucking *gleeful*.
No other civ had the absolutely immense stupidity to make something like that. Theorized, sure, even some unfortunate events on the path to fission, but never anything intentional. It was simply unthinkable. How the hell were you going to conquer a planet by destroying it completely? Or destroying each other? Their planet was still dripping in radiation, not like it stopped them.
So yea, the Krotons came expecting a fair fight - fair for *them*, of course - and got a face full of hydrogen bomb. Every last ship obliterated in no time at all. Invasion over. Humans 1, Krotons 0. Lost a queen on their main ship, I'm told.
But it doesn't stop there. The humans, insatiable as they are, recovered every last bit of tech they could find and stripped the hell out of it. They constructed a hyperspace channel in less than a year, and it looks like they'll be leaving the solar system shortly.
And, well, they're goddamn *pissed*.
So let me reiterate - this is not a simple report of the findings. This is a warning.
Ready every weapon you've got, and get ready for a fucking nightmare.
*The humans are coming.*
-- END OF AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
*ENGLAND, THE HOME OF WERNER MCKOWSLIQ, 0:3:00*
Silence hung over the room, daring someone to break it. The first to do so was a younger woman, top of her class, she dusted herself off as she rose from her chair. For a moment she just stood there, the woman closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then her eyes sprang open and she said, “Gentlemen it sounds like were well and done fucked.”
*THE PENTAGON, 5:45:10*
Dr. Kibler had never flown in a helicopter before, and, if he was being candid, he wasn’t sure why he was in one now. Well, obviously he had been effectively forced to come. He’d been standing in his lab at MIT when the message aired and had continued to stand in that same spot for another five minutes. Upon his wits returning to him, he gathered his things and began to head for his car. As he walked out of his office he thought about how odd it was to announce your intentions to subjugate an entire race a year early.
This train of thought was derailed by four men in black suits, he never learned their names but later named them freckles, Mr. Boom, semi-serious, and possibly my neighbor. They had first simply stood outside his office, Mr. Boom held the door for him and the other three stood on the opposite side of the wall. Kibler thought about asking them what the hell they wanted but then figured that it was more likely they would end up getting what they want rather than him.
So five hours later Dr. Kibler struggled not to vomit as semi-serious piloted the chopper into a rough landing on top of the pentagon. As the doctor was exiting the vehicle, he could’ve sworn he saw the sentinel like agent’s mouth twitch upwards just a tiny bit. Kibler let a breath of laughter out of his nose at the prospect of the secret service agent finding amusement in his air sickness. The remaining agents escorted him, painfully quickly, through various halls and doors, each with a plethora of the most sophisticated locks he’d ever seen. Finally, they entered into a massive room with an enormous circular table spanning almost the entirety of the room. He was forcibly seated down, about half of the people around him looked as frightened as he did: the rest either held determined or indifferent faces. In front of him was a small microphone, he tapped it, the resulting feedback earned him irked glares from his new companions. They were interrupted by a familiar voice though.
“You are all the smartest this country has to offer. We need a plan friends and we need it fast.” Said the president.
*GERMANY, THE VANGRUBER CAFÉ, 6:22:49*
Ernst Vangruber lit the eleven candles he kept near the portrait of the late Ms. Vangruber. She had often touted that she kept a list of the greatest moments of her life; the list, which went up 50, had eleven involving him in the top twenty. Ernst figured the obvious: their marriage, the first time they had danced, the birth of their only daughter, and possibly the time he had fallen out of their tiny fishing boat.
He chuckled at the memory of that one.
His aging bones protested a he got up from his chair and began to move towards the front door. He switched the sign hanging on the door, informing all that they were closed. Then he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a small boom box he had been gifted many years ago by his son. He turned it on and hit play, he only had one CD; he’d always preferred live to recorded but he made an exception on account of the sentimental value of this piece.
He kicked off his shows as the gentle rhythm once again carried him. He closed his eyes, reaching his hands out to unite with his spectral partner.
*TEXAS, A WAL-MART, 10:43:11*
“Can I just take anything?”
Kyle tipped the sombrero off his face. A woman looking like she’d walked right out of her retirement home stood above him, knees wobbling.
He nodded, pulling the sombrero back onto his face, “Yeah, go ahead. Who gives a shit anymore?”
He rested his head back against his orange vest. He’d had the job for two years now, because, as it turns out, an English degree does not offer a cornucopia of career opportunities. No, the depth of its reach stopped about halfway through dipping a pinkie finger into the kid’s pool. He wasn’t bitter though; No sir, he knew this was probably how it would turn out. He just had to keep cracking at his novel, eventually someone would accept his manuscript.
As it turns out though, no publisher enjoyed the idea of spacefaring vampires looking for the last remnants of mankind.
He pulled his phone out, swiping through his contacts until he landed on his college creative writing professor. He’d obtained her number after a group of him and his peers had broken into her office, under the influence of some hard liquor, to piss on her copy of Macbeth. He’d opted instead to take her personal details instead.
For some reason, he was the only who wasn’t kicked out. He always attributed it to a secret passion that burned in her heat, just for him.
A second before the dial tone hit she accepted.
“Who is this?” God he was just as enamored with her voice now as he was back then.
“Kyle, two years ago? My final piece was about a group of trees that-“
“Attempted to overthrow the Bolivian government using a device that replaced their consciousness with that of a single collective pig intelligence, I remember, unfortunately.” Every word seemed as though someone was wrenching it out of her mouth.
Kyle could barely contain his excitement, he couldn’t believe this was going so well, “So... you see the news?”
There was a pause, then, “No Kyle, I’m talking to you because I just enjoyed our discourse together; not because I am currently panicking at the fact that I have spent my life working on a program whose only notable authors are you and that kid who writes haunted house travel guides.”
Teera Mcglowkli, Kyle smiled as he reminisced on a conversation they’d had about the exact range of poltergeist capabilities. Before getting absorbed into the memory though, he asked, “So, since the end of the world is coming in hot, do you wanna fuck?”
The silence lasted so long he thought she’d hung up, then she said, “You are without a doubt, the least talented student I’ve ever had.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat, “Uh huh.”
“I had fantasies of running you over with my car.”
“I-“
“Seriously, I thought about it every time I saw your stupid fucking face.”
“OK, but-“
“Do you have my address? Actually, fuck it, where are you now?”
“The Walmart off of post oak.”
Another pause, “You work at Walmart?” Then she added, “For how long, what do you do?”
“Two years, and I’m a greeter. So should I come to you or…”
“No, no, it’s disgusting how turned on I am right now. Stay there, I’ll be there in ten.”
Kyle laid the phone on the ground, attempting to put his head back together. Then, with a massive shit eating grin, he adjusted his sombrero and waited by the door.
*NEW YORK CITY, TIMES SQUARE 18:26:01*
Kayla walked through a city on fire.
To her right, a man dressed in a Santa outfit carefully climbed through a broken window, holding three Nintendo switches in his large, jolly arms. With his strap on beard now on the back of his neck, he took off.
All around her people swarmed, no direction or destination in mind, ants without a queen. Some stole, others fought, but a large number had found their apocalyptic calling in burning whatever was currently in front of them. Kayla could see the appeal but decided to keep walking, she actually had a destination in mind.
An hour and a half later she stood on the Brooklyn Bridge. A sea of abandoned cars behind her and a sea of seemingly gentle waves inviting her to simply take the plunge. A woman to her right held tightly onto a railing, she looked the same age as Kayla but much taller. She approached the woman slowly, who watched her come the entire way. The woman seemed wary but indifferent at the same time, she knew whatever happened now wouldn’t matter but also had the same fear we all have of danger.
Kayla gently offered her hand. The woman took a moment to accept it, Kayla stood on the railing with her. The two looked down into the waves, they crashed endlessly into the side of the bridge without purpose. The woman interrupted Kayla, “We don’t have to jump now.”
Kayla turned to her, slightly disappointed but also pleasantly surprised, “I suppose we don’t.”
The two hugged as they sat against the bridge, both waiting for the other to decide when.
*ANARCTICA, BASE 7B, 23:15:18*
Three women and two men stood around a table stained with coffee.
It also had a capsule containing the only reliable means of contacting the extra-terrestrial life that now threatened Earth.
The five sat down, one after the other, then they placed their hands on the capsule. It opened quickly, revealing a purple, pulsing spike in its center. One of the five pricked their fingers on the device which caused it to pulse faster and grow brighter. Then the five of them were in a dark limbo.
| 2018-08-29T03:22:30 | 2018-08-28T23:45:32 | 946 | 72 |
[WP] "Aha! I have you now villain!" The hero who is always watching you says, waiting for you to do something evil. I mean you are the son of the former Demon King, but you just want a normal life.
|
"I just want to go get a soda, Silver."
I found myself once again at a far more regular routine than I'd like: a face off on the street with Silver Knight, whose admittedly beautiful sword glinted with dripping accusation.
"Stop where you are, foul thing," Silver Knight proclaimed. "I am here to stop your evil deeds!"
"You have literally been following me for a year," I said. "When have I done anything evil?"
"As yet, there has been no recorded incidents," the hero said. "But I shall not wait around for it to happen! A pre-emptive nipping in the bud will causes the world less grief and suffering down the line!"
"Look, my father sucked. We all agree. I agree the most," I sighed. "But he does not define me. He is now I am. So can you please just let me go get a drink?"
"I refuse to believe that!"
"And why do you think so?"
"My father, the former Gold Knight, and his wife, the valiant Emerald Guardian, taught me everything about upholding the chivalrous code of superheroes," declared Silver Sword. "And just like how he has taught me everything I know, I refuse to believe that your father did not do the same."
"My father didn't have the time to teach me simple arithmetic, let alone the Demon Arts," I snapped back. "You think a man like him was an attentive father like yours? Do you get a cooked breakfast?"
"Of course. What sort of knight would I be if--"
"Yeah. Guess what? I don't get that. Do you get hugs from your parents?"
"... Yes?"
"The only hug I've ever gotten was from a freaking summoned demon that my father botched," I shouted. "It grappled me, and my father laughed. He laughed while I was getting squeezed like a lemon!"
"Oh," the Silver Knight managed to look a little sheepish, despite the obscuring helmet placed on his head.
"So please, bug off, alright?" I screamed. "My father and the Demon King is dead. I changed my surname. I want nothing to do with him, not his title or his lands or his powers or his desire to conquer the world. I just want to be the type of guy who can got a corner store to get a soda without getting accosted by a freaking sword!"
Silver Knight stared at me. The sword lowered.
"Sorry," he said, before bowing, then rushing up to me.
"What the hell are yo--"
Before I could react, I felt armour envelop me. It was metal, yes, but there was an unexpected warmth to it.
"What the hell is this?"
"I can't believe you've never gotten a hug," said Silver Knight, breaking the embrace. "I'm sorry, I guess. I went a little too far, perhaps."
"Wow," I said. "That's a quick turnaround."
"My parents taught me a lot, but they might have also imbued me with a lot of undue suspicious," Silver Knight said. "So I'm sorry."
I couldn't help myself when slight sniffles began to assault my eyes and nose.
"Thanks, I guess," I said. "A long time coming, but better late than never."
"Also," said the superhero. "What is this soda you speak of?"
"What."
"My parents never let me drink that. Said it was drugs for craven cowards."
"Not entirely wrong," I said. "But also extremely delicious. You wanna try one?"
'Yes please," said the Knight.
"Then come along, Silver Knight," I said, holding out a hand. "Let's grab a soda together."
And once again, surprisingly warm, armour-clade fingers enveloped mine.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
A lot of people, if their dad leaves them as a child, kind of wish that they'd just walk in again, become part of the family. Because generally, you want someone like that. A man who can teach you stuff, laugh with you, be kind of embarrassing sometimes. A man who grills and makes bad puns. A real good dad. I'm not one of those people. Dad walked out on me, mum, and my little brother when I was seven, and he went off to become a terrifying warlord called the Demon King who laid waste to countries, toppled the jewelled thrones of the world, crushed his enemies, saw them driven before him, and heard the lamentations of their women. Mum didn't want no part in that nonsense so she divorced him and made him leave as he began to prepare his hellish crusade that scarred the land. She even made him pay child support, which speaks to just how strong a woman my mother was.
Some band of heroes eventually killed him. He wasn't the best dad, and to be perfectly honest, I wasn't particularly sad that this happened. We still went to the funeral. That's called being proper. And if my mum did anything with me and my brother, it was raising us right and proper. So we grew up, mum worked hard, I got a part time job when I became a teenager to help provide for us, did everything I could to be the best big brother for a boy who had no other male role-models. I got decent grades, and got a job eventually servicing commercial arcane aircraft. It paid well, and helped me put my little brother through college. He's got a degree in applied medical thaumaturgy, and now works as a thaumamedical expert in curses at the local hospital. It's hasn't been too bad, my normal life, thus far. But of course, nothing is ever perfect. Wherever I go, as the eldest trueborn son of the Demon King, I am hounded. Not by his demonic allies, not by dark acolytes, no. Wherever I go, some dumbass hero follows. I go to work, and he tries to observe me very carefully to see if I'm doing something nefarious.
He then calls me at work and asks me if I'm doing something nefarious, which is ridiculous, they don't pay me for misapplied arcane repairs. I go to the park near the maintenance hangars to get some fresh air after clearing out an errant stink spell caught in a Class-4A ArchTech engine. He sits down next to me on the park bench and observes me through a newspaper with holes cut out. Which is obvious. And frankly ridiculous. But then again, heroism is not typically found in people with brains worth more than half a thaler. Generally the requirements are a complete lack of survival instincts, unbelievable luck, and big muscles. Not intellect. After that I go back to work, servicing a helipodic emergency vehicle. Which is to say, a giant flying foot serving as an airborne ambulance. I am uncertain why it is shaped as such. But I just maintain and repair them, not design them, so what do I know.
After work, I do some grocery shopping. Out of yeast, beer, eggs, and cheese. I get in, get my stuff, pay for it, decide to buy a small ice cream pop thing, because it sure is a scorcher today. And then get out. Getting into my car I put my stuff carefully in the backseat. Unwrapping the ice soda pop thing, I put it into my mouth and begin to start the car. When suddenly, out of nowhere, the hero climbs onto the backseat, making my groceries fall to the car floor. ''*AHA! I have you now villain!*'' I look at him sitting there behind me, his sword stabbing into the car roof. I take out the ice cream thing and put it in its packaging. ''*Did you break into my car?*'' The hero grins. ''*Bet you didn't expect that? Huh! You were going to be driving under the influence!*'' I look down at the nice cold treat, then back at the hero, then back at the treat, and then again, back at the hero. ''*Under the influence. Of ice cream?*'' The hero laughs derisively. ''*No fool! Under the beer you brought!*'' Dumbfounded I stare at the hero. ''*But I haven't even opened any of the cans?*'' The hero looks at me in a manner similar to that of the average urban pigeon, stupidly and emptyheaded. ''*You do know, that you have to drink beer, to get drunk, right?*'' The hero looks incredibly stupid. ''*Uh... Oh! You can't fool me villain! I know that, but you were planning to drink one!*''
Well, when I got home, sure. This hero is bug-eyed and weirder than the usual weirdo heroes. Slowly, my hands reach back, I lift the hero, who to my surprise weighs nearly nothing. I'm no muscled guy, sure I got strength, but it's like lifting a couple of grapes. I place the hero on the front seat. ''*Are you hungry?*'' I ask the hero. He just stares at me, and I get to look at his face. It's sort of emaciated. His lips are very dry. Cracking. When did this guy last eat? ''*Uh... yes.*'' He says. I strap him in with the seat belt and begin to drive. ''*What's your name, hero?*'' The hero looks at me confused and sort of dazed. ''*I... my name is Skip.*'' Odd name but who am I to judge. If mum hadn't put her foot down then my dad would have named me Killblood the Destroyer, instead of James. ''*Nice to formally meet you. I'm James.*'' I drove into some fastfood place with a drive-through, and let Skip order whatever he wanted. Which was a very big meal. Which he ate furiously as I began to drive home. He ate like he hadn't eaten in days. Which was possible.
''*If you've got some place to stay, I can drop you off there.*'' I offered. I was beginning to see that he most definitely did not have somewhere to go. ''*I've been sent out, and until I defeat the Demon King, I cannot return home.*'' You see that, sometimes. People who send their children out to fulfil the prophecy or something like that, only to find somebody else did it first. But they can't go home until their task is over, and thus they just sort of wait around for someone else with the correct criteria comes along. It was a bit of a risk, but I figured that as the son of the Demon King, or as mum used to call him, ''*Ronald, your daft bastard of a father.*'' I should at least try to fix some of his messes. ''*If you want, you can come inside.*'' The hero stared at the apartment building where I lived. Kid probably been on the streets for way longer than he should have. He just nodded, and I gently led him inside. I let him use the shower, put out some of my brother's old clothes for him, and wondered if his family even knew about him, and his problem. There is no Demon King to slay. His sons maintain aerotechnology and cure curses. When he came out of the bathroom, no longer ashen grey from city dust and wearing my brother's old clothes, I saw how thin he really was. Sickly even. I just made him sit down on the couch, turned on the ol' idiot box, and let him rest for a moment.
Reminds me of something dad told me, before he left to become the destroyer of worlds. He'd been sent out to fulfil an impossible destiny. And after years of suffering, he eventually decided to make himself that which he had been sent to destroy. He was an idiot. And once, a real hero. Like this Skip kid. If nobody is there for the hero to fight, and nobody is there to care for the hero, what happens to them? My dad turned to a genocidal lunatic. And this kid, probably wouldn't have lasted long. Heroes are always watching me to make sure I don't do anything bad. But couldn't some of those heroes have tried to watch out for this kid? When I had made myself a sandwich I went back into the living room, where the kid was asleep on the couch. I put a blanket on him, and decided to talk to him once he'd rested. If he was under a geas, my brother could lift it artificially. If he had just sworn an oath, well, by definition oaths are only valid if the situation inherent to the oath still exists, and without a Demon King such an oath is worth jack and shit, and jack left town. Maybe his family were just bastards.
Whatever the case, he needed somebody to look out for him. And he wanted to keep a watch on me. That's easier if I'm taking care of him for a bit. Still. Where have all the good men gone, when somebody like him needed a helping hand? Shouldn't there be some good knight, upon a mighty steed, out there for people who are on the streets like that? Makes you wonder. Really does.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2021-07-25T14:55:28 | 2021-07-25T14:47:58 | 124 | 49 |
[WP] Star Wars is a true story. An alien comes to Earth to make first contact with our newly discovered species, only to discover we know more about their universe's history than they do.
EDIT: Whoah, this sorta blew up! Thanks for all the stories guys! I've read all of them and each made me laugh or legitimately think for a moment about the ramifications of an alien species having your future on blue ray. Keep up the awesome work!
|
“Yeps, he’s alive. He might still have spider legs at this point. I didn’t finish the last season.”
“How did he survive being cut in half?”
“Not really sure. He was really, really angry. It’s a trick you’d better learn, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re going to try to rescue that Leia girl, right?”
“Well, yes-“
“And your former padawan Anakin Skywalker is on board that ship?”
“Anakin died long ag-“
“No, he didn’t. I don’t know why you’re lying to me, and I don’t know why you’re lying to Luke, but you know Anakin is Darth Vader. There’s no ‘certain point of view’ about it.”
“Right. Now, about me being cut in half?”
“Oh yeah. That kind of happens, but then you vanish and become one with the Force or something.”
“I have no idea how to do that. The legends say only Qui-Gon and Yoda knew-“
“I guess you should stop off at Dagobah first.”
“Thank you, stranger. Remember, the force is a mystical-“
“Bacteria. I know. I don’t know why you’re lying about that, either. Just go.”
|
On Smart Devices and PC's across the nation, no matter their timezone or schedule, people were watching of all things, a live podcast on what until two days ago was a YouTube channel with less than a hundred subscribers. It's budget was whatever "Callie-OP" felt like and could afford.
Now, She has a garage full of donated recording gear, and over a hundred million subscribers, despite her previously most watched video (a whole 786 views, thankyou very much) was when she threw up with the flu during a stream talking about the second Ghost Rider movie.
There wasn't much to see at the moment, as there rarely is before a stream. It was a smattering of Callie's own interests really, to keep her amused while she prepared everything.
The audience was being treated to a collection of LoFi Chillhop tracks, with occasional nerdy soundbites in them. Dancing across the "Just Chill - We'll Be Back Soon" message on it's pastel nebula background, were a pair of stylized cartoon characters. Big eyed anime-esque girls danced to the music, one swinging a long cobbled together metal staff of sorts, dressed in beige wraps and rags, hair in a bow; The other a redhead with glasses and a purple hoody, spinning and dancing in her wheelchair.
The waiting image snapped off suddenly, and the host was there, ramrod straight, and fumbling with her smartphone, pointing it at the monitor like an old remote control. She wore no suit, no dress, no real makeup.
She wore an over-sized pink knitted sweater with an image knitted onto the front of a First order Storm Trooper helmet with crossbones beneath.
She wore a pair of jeans so black they may have been washed in bleach's arch-nemesis.
She wore striped socks and no shoes, despite the rack of them in the corner.
She wore her hair down and relaxed, with a nervous smile.
The audience would not know. Some might guess, but most probably would judge first. Those who did, knew this precious thing... Her guest told her to 'wear the same shit you would for a normal podcast, man! Have fun or whats the fuckin point, right?"
Her guest, laughing as he patted the over-sized chair he was half sunken into, was just as dressed down. And leaning up a bit, checking on her even as he enjoyed his chair.
He wore a backwards ball cap in it's greens and browns.
He wore a hockey jersey, emblazoned with a cartoon Yoda in mid lightsaber swing on a field of tan.
He wore baggy shorts that went out of style twenty years ago.
He wore sneakers meant for skateboarders.
He wore a goofy grin, plain glasses, beard, and goatee.
The audience was by and large, not surprised. Those that were, they were in for a few more shocks this afternoon.
"Sooo"
Callie's voice cracked like a junior high kid on presentation day.
"We have... I mean... It's Kevin Smith on the show!"
Her hands lifted to wave about him, a flourish of surprise, the big shocker that literally everyone knew about for days, thanks to world wide hype.
Kevin of course burst into an even bigger smile and waved to the camera with both hands, the gesture normally reserved for seven year olds saying hello in family videos.
"I gotta say it's an honor to have you hear, to have you pick my podcast to talk on."
Though Callie tried to start this professionally, like a talk show host should, the exchange started more relaxed, as fluid as a conversation between friends.
"No man, I'm happy to be here, I love watching your videos! That one with the b-movie effects... What was that, model rockets?"
"Oh, yeah, I actually-" she caught herself and waved it off. He had distracted her the entire set up. They were almost late for showtime because he was just that personable.
"I'll tell you later... for now, I have to ask you, did you know about all this being true? The Force, the Jedi, all of it" she did her best (absolutely atrocious) Old Han impression. And to her relief, he must of enjoyed it, because he was already going red in the face laughing.
After a moment he would calm down and wave his hand one way and head the other.
"No way. I mean, I thought maybe there was something like the force... You've seen it, Mallrats, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, I'm always using Jedi powers and shit in those."
There was a pause, a hanging in the air as the young host gathered up her thoughts.
"But.. you have them. those powers. That's why you're going right?"
Smith threw his arms up, bouncing in the chair liek an excited kid.
"Apparently! How fucking cool is that? As soon as they told me they wanted me in the order to represent Sol-3 -How weird is that, we make fun of Yavin 4 for it's boring name, and we're just as bad. Not like the name dirt was any better. Or ooh, TERRA, that's a stretch, right?" he cut his own tangent off with a shake of the head, despite the laughter and interest Callie was showing. "But yeah man, they said I was pretty strong in the force, and as soon as I knew that was real, it just sorta turned on in my head, right? Mind holding me back and everything before"
To demonstrate, Kevin put two fingers to his forehead -brows wiggling at the camera for those that got the reference- and pointed his other hand off screen. Soon enough his smartphone would wobble through the air, the fatman on batman dancing in his seat while he force-juggled a phone.
Until it went flying behind them and ripped the green-screen.
Smith shrunk a bit, but laughed it off.
"It's okay, I have like, fifty rolls of that now, thanks to you."
The girl was more happy to have witnessed the force. THE ACTUAL FORCE.
"Yeah" the Jersey nerd was already taking it in stride with her "I figured you could use a whole set up if you plan on podcasting for a while. What made you get into it?"
There was a flush and a smile.
"I actually really like sharing my experiences and opini- HEY!" she swatted the chair he sat in with her palm "I'm asking the questions!" it was admittedly, a light hearted scolding. "People want to know what it's like to be an actual jedi, what you think about it, how you feel about going to another world to train."
Smith raised a hand to her, as if giving her the stage "Then keep doing your podcast when you get there, let them know"
There was a silence in the air, Callie pointing to him, then herself, then something off camera. It was only broken by the entertainer turned Jedi learner, and his exclamation to the camera and audience at home.
| 2017-03-18T10:09:13 | 2017-03-18T10:07:58 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
Interesting, I never really look under my desk. I don't really have time. I have to keep track of the hourglasses that line the walls and go up and down the tables in my office.
To call it an office might be putting it a little gently. You see its more like a warehouse, that is if the warehouse were 17 football fields long and filled with tables, shelves as far as the eye can see, each table meticulously covered by tiny hourglasses that represent the time remaining in someones life. I'm note exactly sure how my counterpart Life does it, but each one is the same size, about 2 inches tall but they can still take decades or in some cases over a hundred years to run out. When they run out, I collect the soul of the person who it represents.
However, apparently I missed someone. Or maybe I didn't, its impossible to know for sure. This dust covered hour glass is on its side. The sands of life have stopped running for it.
As I examine it I see the date of birth on it is 1922, which is not bad they could conceivably still be alive so this could be worse.
You know what, a few more years isn't that bad of a thing, this could be a record breaker when its all said and done and thats not a bad thing. If I just turn it upright, its got about half of its grains left to run. So we'll let them run, why not? Besides who's to say that this person can't do some good up there in the next 40 or so years?
As I set the hourglass up on the table I can't help but wish this person luck, they've obviously had it up until this point and I hope they continue to have it for the rest of their time.
Good Luck, Betty White.
|
A rather androgynous figure stands behind a great stone desk, intricately carved with names you and I would find impossible to pronounce. It spreads outwards in both directions, infinitely long, growing darker and darker in the endless vault. Besides a few gaps close to the figure, the great stone carving is infinite.
It wears a tight fitting robe as black as a raven, thin spindly arms crossed over an equally frail chest. Its breath rattles spews outward, creating a thin vapor that swirls with a mind of its own.
Today is not a good day. Most days weren't good days. Hard to find value in your work when you've been at it since the dawn of time. If you asked the figure why, it wouldn't be able to provide a concrete answer. It simply wasn't a good one.
Same thought as yesterday, and the same thought tomorrow.
It sits on a marble bench behind the desk, preparing to review a great worn scroll, yellowed with age and decay.
Unfolding the parchment slowly, the figure reads the first few names, committing them to memory. Hopefully the interns had set out the correct hourglasses for it to flip.
Out came another long and involuntary sigh. This newest batch seemed to be a bunch of favored sons and daughters of higher angels, and this always annoyed it. That's the problem with heaven; the nepotism.
When the angels aren't doing that annoying praising and brown nosing the big man, they were fucking each other's brains out.
There honestly wasn't that much else to do up here.
Footsteps clack their way towards it, down the long arched marble hallway. Each wall bearing massive shelves, reaching ever upwards, a name and soul tied to an hourglass. When your times up, the glass is flipped. You stay in heaven or hell for your allotted time, and then got sent back to do it all over again.
The monkeys never learned their place, that's for sure.
The figure approaching is tall and slender, golden faced with several sets of wings. Mom must be a big shot, since that's how wings are passed down from generation to generation. The more wings the better, though he hadn't seen this many in awhile. What was this one's name? They all seemed so interchangeable and half the time they showed up late or hungover.
"Good morning," beamed the figure.
Okay. Not hungover.
Not in the mood to respond, the dark one strode past, scroll tucked into a front pocket.
It wandered down the hall, the figure behind it following like some kind of lost puppy. Interns tend to be more bother than help around here.
Soon it came to the case bearing today's chosen, and the dark one pulled out the scroll again.
Double check the selected row.
*Wrong row,* thought the dark one to itself. *Figures.*
"Who was in charge of selection?" rattled the dark one, voice like the clacking and snapping of bone.
The bright figure pursed its lips, looking upward in thought.
"Aedonis, I believe."
"He's fired. This is the wrong row."
The dark one knew the right row now, and handed the scroll to the bright figure.
"Place this on the desk, and if you open it I will personally send you to Dis."
The figure grabbed the scroll and trotted away, though the dark one was unsure if the briskness came from fear or eagerness. Angels are hard to read.
Approaching the correct row, the dark one raised a single arm, and in unison every hourglass rose into the air.
It mumbled the usual pair, and at random, the glasses began to flip at random intervals, corresponding to the individual's time of death.
*Pretty packed row today,* it thought to itself.
*Somebody must have fucked up somewhere. A war? A pestilence?*
The dark one wasn't sure, and had lost its curiosity long ago. It'd have to ask one of its siblings for the truth, but didn't care enough to dig deeper. Didn't matter.
On the return to its desk, the bright figure could be seen behind it, holding something.
The dark one narrowed its eyes, moving faster now. Each footstep making muffled clicks on the stone below.
"What are you holding, boy?" it snapped, already annoyed by having to put in the paperwork to hire a replacement.
"I'm a girl," the figure said, but the dark one paid no notice.
"It's an hourglass," she continued, peering over it.
"I found it under the desk."
Gingerly the angel handed it over, and already the dark one could see a disturbing irregularity.
The thing is sideways.
That shouldn't be possible.
The dark one read the name etched on it.
*Rachel*
No last name, no identifying marks of any kind. Close inspection of an hourglass can usually give a biographical description of the subject, but nothing was etched into it. Just a name.
Impossible. There had to be another seal on this, masking the identity of the human.
"Where did you find this?"
The angel shrugged.
"It came out of nowhere. Slid right out of the scroll."
The dark one brushed aside the angel, dismissing it.
This was bad.
This was really, really fucking bad.
The intern's heritage must have some guardian angel in it, since touching the scroll must have undone a seal so powerful even the dark one couldn't access it. Who had cast it? How had they managed to steal this from the dark one's possession to do so? And most importantly, what human possibly deserved any kind of divine protection like this?
Nepotism and favoritism, and sheer fucking privilege. This little shit had no idea it had unwittingly broken a powerful divine seal without even trying.
The dark one pushed that thought aside. Someone hid a monkey's soul in the dark one's own Scroll of Names. That idea kept recurring, the most disturbing of all. If someone slid a name in, how many more were there? Were names being altered and fates being undone?
Someone was trying to keep a monkey alive.
The dark one frowned, looking at the hourglass.
Today just got a lot more interesting.
It wasn't sure who it could trust, certainly no one up here. Angels were a deceptive kind, but the dark one knew someone on Earth who could probably uncover the truth.
One of the old ones. Unaffiliated with the big guy, one of those earlier mistakes made that hides in the deep and wet places of the world. A few were still puttering around down there, and their time still hadn't come, much to the dark one's annoyance. Those were the only beings the dark one could fear, the vast majority of the residents of heaven could do nothing to harm it.
The old ones, though. Different story.
That had been a mistake by the one who apparently couldn't make them, and if the humans thought their old testament God was brutal, they hadn't seen shit. Those purges were hands down the cruelest ever known, and the dark one still remembered flipping entire halls of hourglasses, the greatest extinction there ever was or shall be.
It sighed, returning to the present, knowing it would need to take a human form. It hated flesh, spongy and weak.
There wasn't another option, it seemed.
Rachel was under illegal protection, and the dark one would have to interfere.
Didn't the monkeys learn? Didn't any of these arrogant shits up here learn?
No one escapes death.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-10-03T06:12:47 | 2018-10-03T04:57:52 | 1,453 | 557 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
"No seeders found"
I glare at the screen in utter confusion. "*No* seeders? There were over 20 last night!" When you torrent a power, you seed it automatically, without any option to stop.
The only way to stop seeding a power is if you're killed... *Fuck*
Somebody out there doesn't want this power getting out.
|
*Click*
*Clickclick*
Blueish light colored my face from the screen, the only source of illumination in my room aside from the orange glare of the streetlight from outside. Link after link fell away before my mouse, leading me deeper and deeper into the net. This was my hobby, of sorts: surfing the web like a professional, as far as it would go. I fancied myself an explorer, like those of old, but instead of hidden gold on far off distant shores I sought the riches within my own home. Besides, I couldn't sleep without this little ritual. I was the conductor, and the lines of text flickering past my screen were my perfectly orchestrated lullaby.
"Hang on, what's this?" I stopped short as a window suddenly appeared in front of all of the others, unbidden. Oh, just a popup. Like I didn't have to deal with hundreds of those every day. Without thinking, I moved my mouse to hover over the little red x in the corner, but something made me stop. Despite having seen what I imagined to be more of the net than any other, this one was...new. Different.
'Full Superman Package! Experience exactly what it is like to be the man of steel!' Proclaimed the banner at the top of the window. Yawn. As if something like that was possible.
Still.
I moved my mouse away from the x and toward the button at the bottom that declared 'Click Here to Begin Download!' but I hesitated.
"...I have the best antivirus software known to man. What do I care if it is a bit seedy?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. And besides...I always was a sucker for unexplored links.
*Click*
The download began quickly, not surprising considering the time and my bandwidth. 10%...11%...ever higher, the numbers grew steadily as I watched.
*...Maybe this wasn't the best idea...*I thought.
31%...32%...
*No. Definitely not my smartest move.* I tried to click away, but immediately found that my mouse was stuck in place.
"Aw, crap." I tried pressing Ctl+alt+del, but to no avail.
65%...66%...
I reached around the back of my computer and pulled the plug, right as the counter hit 70%. I frowned in the dark. It wasn't turning back on, even after I plugged it back in.
*Guess I will just have to see what I can recover in the morning.* It was hardly a good note to end the day on, but it was far too late to fix anything now.
Perhaps tomorrow would be better.
***
When I awoke, the first thing that I noticed was that I could see. Like, *really* see. I had never needed glasses, but WOW! Everything was so crisp and clear, it was truly spectacular! My ceiling looked especially vibrant...I could see exactly where the paint roller had gone over each bump and groove.
The second thing I noticed was that the reason I could see my ceiling so well was because I was hovering about four inches away from it. With a yell, I fell out of the air and landed spread-eagle on my bed.
"What the hell?" I stared at my hand, fascinated by the detail. "I guess that torrent wasn't fake after all..." Experimentally, I gripped the corner of my bed's frame and pulled.
To my surprise the entire thing lifted as easily as if it were made of paper. I was so shocked that I nearly dropped the whole thing. As it was, I only barely caught it again before it crashed into the floor, no doubt saving me a lot of trouble in damages.
*I need to be more careful.* I thought. As cool as it was to be this powerful, it didn't take a genius to realize that it was also insanely dangerous. I would hate to hurt someone accidentally, and if I didn't watch out it wouldn't be long before I did.
I turned and floated to the door, barely noticing that my feet were scraping the floor instead of dragging me along. Suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks.
*Wait, hold on,* I tried to move my hand, but nothing happened. I tried harder, this time pushing with every ounce of my newfound strength, but again I remained frozen in place. I couldn't even move my eyes. Then, all at once, my body started moving again - this time entirely outside of my control. It mimed the actions I had just attempted, but at a rate that made it appear as if I was moving in fast-forward. Pain erupted from my side as my flailing hand caught me in the ribs, and my torso was thrown bodily through the wall.
"What's going on!" I yelled as I tumbled freely through my yard.
Wait.
"The download! It stopped early!" I slammed my palm into my forehead, nearly getting knocked flat onto my back with the force of the blow. I dropped to the grass and ran back towards my front door, but suddenly found myself back where I started.
"Am I seriously rubber banding right now!?" I screamed in frustration. Twice more I snapped back to my starting location before I reached the handle and pushed inside, breaking the door off of its hinges as I did. I sprinted back to my room...and groaned.
Black smoke billowed out of my computer tower.
"No, no, no! I have to reinstall it! Something's gone wrong!" I tore away at the frame, hoping to at least salvage the hard drives, when suddenly I was attacked by another freezing fit. I watched, helpless, as flames devoured the silver discs - before my own hand shattered them as I unwillingly sped back up to normal speed.
I hung my head in my hands, defeated.
***
*Beware, criminals! For I am the mighty GLITCH! Hero of the server, master of might, I will save the world from your evil with my mighty grip - and possibly destroy everything I have ever known and loved in the process.*
*CC always welcome! If you enjoyed, check out more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2016-07-02T20:01:23 | 2016-07-02T18:59:39 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
Amelia's life has been a strange one since the age of 15, when she met Eric at a bus stop on her way home from school; they had a short-lived tryst and never expected to see one another again.
Over the remaining years of High School, Eric just always seemed to be around whenever something happened. Her first car got a flat tire and Eric seemed to come out of nowhere to lend a hand; she twisted her ankle at the park and Eric was there to help her home. Eric was always there. At first, Amelia found it to be endearing, but each time it seemed like Eric had a growing look of resentment in his eyes.
High School passed and Amelia moved away from the Midwest to fulfill her childhood dreams of attending art school in New York. Thousands of miles from home and Eric showed up in her hallway when Amelia locked herself out of her Apartment. Eric was supposed to be back in Kansas City working at his dad's construction firm, but he was here... Eric is always here. Amelia got mugged and Eric was there; Amelia got in a fight with her boyfriend and Eric was there. Any endearment Amelia once felt towards Eric turned into fear.
Eric's stalking of Amelia took it's toll on Amelia, but she managed to get through college; she was absolutely ecstatic to land a design position in San Francisco; it was a gateway into he dream career and she could finally escape the nightmare of Eric.
*****
It's 10 years since the fateful day that Eric met Amelia at the bus stop and professed his oath to always be there for her.
Ten miserable years.
Eric is at home playing X-Box and within the blink of an eye he is transported to the shoulder of a busy highway, standing next to Amelia. Eric was confused, a deer in the headlights, but he had no ill feelings towards Amelia and helped change out her tire.
Eric was completing his homework only to be whisked away as if by magic to stand next to Amelia grasping her twisted ankle in the park. It didn't matter what Eric was in the middle of, he always transported to Amelia when she was in need. Any good faith Eric felt towards Amelia quickly turned into disdain as Eric realized that Amelia was a curse.
High school finished and Eric was ecstatic to learn that Amelia was going off to the East Coast. He had a job lined up with his father and he could be rid of Amelia once and for all - freedom; he could drive a car without being transported away; he could go on dates without disappearing. It was with significant shock and hatred when he opened his eyes to find himself outside of Amelia's New York apartment watching Amelia dig through her purse. The curse was still there.
It's been 10 years of the Amelia curse; 10 years of misery. Kansas City, New York, San Francisco. He hated Amelia for what his life had become, and he knew that Amelia hated him - she had even filed a restraining order. Eric is drinking alone, as he often does, and opens his eyes to find himself trapped next to Amelia in a burning wreck.
They died together.
|
I’ve always loved the very first moments of the day - That time when you’re only half-awake, and the warm softness of sleep is still heavy around your mind. You somehow have the sense that the world has narrowed to just you, and perhaps the vague imitation of reality found in your dreams. I didn’t think that it could get any better…and then I met Leanna.
She is the brilliant glimpse of a bright blue sky on a mostly rainy day, the pop of color in a completely gray canvas. She is the kindest person I’ve ever known, and filled with more passion than I knew was possible. Waking up next to her is the best feeling in the world, and I’m about to ask her to do that with me every day, for the rest of my life.
Sunlight filters through the window onto the bed, gently caressing the smooth curves of her skin. Blonde hair tumbles across her face, and she’s curled up against me, her head nestled on my chest. She sighs deeply and shifts, pressing her face against me. I feel my heartbeat speed up.
Trying hard not to wake her, I disengage one arm from her, and move closer to the bedside table. The box is right where I put it last night, after she’d fallen asleep.
“Leanna?” I don’t want to break this silence, the perfectness of this moment, but I can’t wait anymore. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets my eyes. A sleepy smile spreads across her face.
“Good morning.” It’s still a treat to hear her say that in person, and to be able to see her face every night as I go to bed. Her smile brightens as she she sees my expression. “What is it? Did something happen with work?”
I shake my head. “No...No, it’s better than that.” I have to pause to collect myself. “Leanna...Ever since I met you, my life has been better than I ever imagined it could be.” Well, better than it’s been since I was fifteen. “I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you. You are everything I’ve always wanted. Leanna...Will you --”
Shit.
The familiar sensation of the world being ripped upside down, and turned inside out brought my words to a choking halt. Fuck. I’d thought that it was finally over, that I’d finally been set free. It’s been three years since the last time I saw her.
My vision goes black, just like it always does.
When I open my eyes, there’s just one word that goes through my head.
“Seriously??”
*********************
Part II
Although parts of her have changed - the childish softness of her cheeks, her once athletic build… her eyes remain the same. As dark as liquid coal, she regards me from under heavy eyelashes, her expression held in a cold pout. She’s alone, this time, which is a blessing. The number of times she’s “needed” me when surrounded by people has taught me to appreciate the small things.
I want nothing more than to sit up and murder her, but unfortunately, both the jump and the toll it takes on my body, as well as my “benefactress” (as she calls herself) won’t allow for it. So I settle for clenching my jaw and growling out an obscenity as I sit up.
“Emma...This had better be really fucking good.” I can barely get the words out. “Do you have any idea how bad your timing is this time?”
She wrinkles her nose and crosses her arms across her chest. “Can’t be any worse than that time--”
“What do you need, Emma?” I have to try - REALLY try - to keep myself from strangling her. “You’ve brought me here for every single fling that didn’t work out, every bad day at work, every single time your entitled ass needed to be comforted because of some issue your daddy won’t bail you out this time. I’ve fixed all of it. I thought I was finally free. It’s been fourteen years, Emma. This had better be DAMN worth it.”
Emma rolls her eyes and gives me a withering glare. “Not everything is about you, Michael. And anyway, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t said what you did all those years ago. What was it? ‘I’ll be here anytime you need me?’” She fixes me with a smug smile. “You certainly didn’t specify what kind of need I had to be in, and I told you when you dumped me that I didn’t have any intention of being out of your life.” She lifts her chin and smirks. “I just didn’t know how much help I’d have with that.”
I hate her like I’ve never hated anyone before. I hate the way she’s watching me - how she knows that I have no choice but to help her, or risk the wrath of the gods themselves. I hate knowing that it really was my words that put us into this position in the first place. But most of all, I hate that I’ll have to do this for the rest of my life, or hers. I’ll never have a normal life.
I’ll never be able to marry Leanna.
“No.”
It’s like my voice doesn’t even belong to me, like some ancient part of my brain has finally had enough. I feel like I’m listening to someone else talk as words tumble from my mouth.
“No. I’m not doing this again. This is over. It’s been over for fourteen years, and I’m done. I’m not doing this again. I’ve helped you to get over boyfriends that you hated while you were dating them, I’ve been there as every single friend you had left you because of the way you treated them, I’ve been there after every failed one night stand. It’s over, Emma. I’m not doing this anymore! I’m not doing this anymore!” Somehow, I’m standing, my voice is at a shout, and I’m eye to eye with the most irate ex-girlfriend I’ve ever seen. My breath comes in gasps. I can’t seem to stop shaking.
I half-expect her to murder me right there, but before she can do anything, a familiar sensation begins to fill every part of my body. My stomach twists. My vision goes fuzzy. My head spins violently, and I feel the hard surface of the floor beneath my knees. My stomach heaves. The world goes black.
The first moment of consciousness I have is as I feel myself falling forward as my stomach tries to empty itself with a dry heave. The next moment is punctuated by an undefined, but an absolute sense of confusion.
What the hell?
This has never happened before. Yes, I’ve gotten used to the insanity of the random leaps across the country, to Emma. And yes, I’ve gotten used to being called multiple times in a day, if somehow, Emma manages to screw up her life more than once in a day. But this? Something was different about this.
My vision is blurry as I peel my eyelids apart, but even so, it’s immediately obvious that I’m no longer in Emma’s studio apartment. Bright sunlight makes me squint, and the stuffy heat of her apartment has been replaced with a cool, gentle breeze. As my vision returns, I get a glimpse of another person hunched over next to me, throwing up.
Emma. But why?
I stumble to my feet, head reeling, trying not to retch again. “Wh….What the hell is the matter with you?” The breathlessness of my voice takes the bite out of my words. “I was already fucking there! You didn’t have to...to...” My voice trails off as I realize that, in all honesty, I have no idea what Emma can even do, and how much of all of it is her actively doing anything. But why else would we be here?
She turns to face me, long black hair sticking to sweaty cheeks, practically baring her teeth. “I didn’t do this, you idiot! Do you think I’d do this on purpose?”
I mean...yeah. Emma’s not really the type to self-inflict the torture that is being ripped from one place to another. But if she didn’t do this, then that must mean….
Shiiit. This is either really good….or reaallllly bad.
The hair on the back of my neck raises. My hands prickle. Adrenaline pumps through my blood. It’s been fourteen years - fourteen years since we’ve seen her, since she explained what happened.
I turn slowly, unsure what to expect. The same face from all those years ago is regarding me coolly, watching the two of us as we realize what’s happening. I swallow, fighting another, different kind of nausea.
“Hello...Aphrodite.”
| 2017-03-22T15:53:12 | 2017-03-22T15:28:02 | 75 | 29 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
The very first time it happened, I was brushing my teeth before bed. Toothpaste isn't the best thing to have in your mouth when you transport; I learned that straightaway. I should have been more concerned with why I had been brushing my teeth in my bathroom one minute and the next standing in my first girlfriend's bedroom, where she was struggling to finish her math homework. Instead I wondered what the side effects of swallowing too much toothpaste were.
From the second time it happened, I learned several very important things: to never be doing something for very long, never drive anywhere, don't cook on stoves. Things like that. I found reading books was the best activity to indulge in, as I don't think a falling book has ever killed anyone. Every time I transported, my girlfriend learned something new about me (Though I thought it seemed rather unfair since every time I transported, I was midway through an activity, and without the context of said activity, I wound up looking like a psychopath. Transporting to her family dinner soaking wet and naked sure does kill the mood) but the more she learned about me, the more disinterested she seemed, and after three weeks of being transported to her side, she dumped me. Much to our surprise, for the first day at least, I would leave her and walk out the door, only to immediately be transported back to her side. That first day was pretty awkward.
By the third week, I learned that I have a sailor's mouth. Upon transporting, I was hardly capable of anything more than an obscenity, which really got weird on Sunday mornings when a transporting teenager appears in church and screams the F-word.
We've gone years now living like this, with me popping in and out of her life unexpectedly. We've become friends of a sort. There's really no other choice. We see each other every day for ten minutes or so. I show up, and with a simple nod, we work out whatever she needs doing. It somehow works for us. She told me the other day that she sometimes creates situations to bring me to her, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Anyway, here I am. Ten years later. I know it sounds so incredibly unbelievable, but it's all true. I feel like it is a super power, but a really boring one. Really only useful to one person. That's life though, at least for me. I long for the day when I can wake up and not be called away right when I'm busy doing someth
|
The tips of my fingers began to tingle.
*For fucks sake.*
I rolled my eyes and cursed under my breath then turned to meet my wife’s gaze.
“…which is great but it’s his English results that I’m worried-“
My well-rehearsed apology face had cut her off. She scrunched up her lips and drew in a breath then gave a less than half-hearted attempt at a reassuring smile.
“Got your phone?”
I gave my jeans a pat and recognised the familiar brick in my right front pocket despite the, now significant, tingling in my hands.
“Yeh”
“K. Call me if you need me to finish cooking dinner,” she offered as she turned and headed down the hall.
“God forbid,” I muttered.
“Fuck off.” She lazily threw up a finger as she disappeared into the living room.
I gave my outfit a once over to make sure that I was presentable and then waited for the usual drill to-
“Shit! The drill!”
“Whaaa-?“ She queried from the living room, softened by a mouthful of funions.
“Nothing!”
I cautiously made my way down the hall. The tingling in my feet had become a numbness and they felt heavy and unresponsive. Pushing through the back door, I aided myself down the steps with the handrail. I noticed a whiteness in my knuckles and attempted to loosen my grip but overestimated and stumbled down the last two steps.
*Son of a-*
“You ogay, ‘aby?” Pringles this time.
“Yeah,” I lied, rising to my feet.
As I waddled my way to the shed the hum began, then rapidly escalated to a low rumble. I rounded the door to the shed, quickly scanned the mess before me and found the drill on the bench next to the door. I reached for it too late. The rumble crescendoed in an instant and I screwed my face up in anticipation of the snap. I think my wife may have called out but I’m not sure.
---
As the hissing subsided I began to make out her words. Yelling.
“…EIGHT WEEKS AGO BUT YOU NEVER FUCKING LISTEN TO M- oh come the fuck on.”
Through squinted eyes I saw Liz standing six feet in front of me in her kitchen, her husband, Paul, leaning sheepishly on the bench across the room from her. She had noticed my arrival and now stood with hunched shoulders, one hand on her chest, the other on her forehead. I was used to seeing her frustrated. I could barely remember her as anything else.
“I fucking TRIED, ok?” She turned her head to me but the comment was meant for Paul.
“C’mon hon,” he reassured her, raising his hand to cut her off and walking across the room towards her. “It's not your fau-”
She brushed his hand aside and stormed upstairs. I made an effort to look away as a very defeated Paul watched her stomp out of sight before he turned to me and shrugged. I tried to return the sentiment but felt that I’d mimicked him a little closely and looked away awkwardly.
“Oh! Uh… Dude?” Paul looked at me expectantly. I returned a puzzled expression which prompted him to make a drilling action with his right hand. This was the fourth occasion that I'd seen Paul since he had asked me if he could borrow my hammer drill.
“Oh! Fuck! Yeah I- man, this time I swear it was like…” I motioned the approximately foot-wide span with which I had missed the drill back at my shed.
“Uh-huh. That’s what she said, buddy.” He seemed proud of himself.
“Oh, Liz been talking about me again?”
Circumstance had since lowered any boundaries between our two families when it came to humour.
“Ooooh, ok. Ok, I see. Can I interest you in a whole bag of dicks?” He accentuated the delivery with a handful of his junk.
“A whole- dude… A bag? Like a whole… I mean you know you need to get that looked at, right? I’ve got this great person… plenty of experience checking out mine. Let me see if I can remember the name of- oh yeah! Your wife.”
Paul laughed.
“Just bring the fucking drill next time! I mean I guess at least it wasn’t toilet paper this time, eh?”
Paul would never allow me to forget the occasion that I had fallen asleep on the throne at three in the morning and appeared in his walk-in wardrobe, sitting on the wash basket with a toilet roll in hand when Liz had thought that she had seen a spider.
“Need a lift?” Paul offered.
“Nah, thanks. I’m good,” I lied. My wife had long since given up offering me rides home. She knows that I want to do everything that I can to lessen the burden. “Just tell Liz to keep positive, be confident, in control… you know.”
“Yeah, man.” He closed his eyes and nodded. “She knows.”
---
The street lights came on as I rounded the final corner towards my house. The walk rarely bothered me. There was the occasional early (and I do mean early) morning or times when it was an annoyance to be pulled from my current task but it was only five or so blocks, one of which was through a park. There had been opportunities to move even closer, but nowhere good for the kids. That, and I don’t want to be any closer than I absolutely have to be.
The smell of burning organic matter hit me as soon as I’d opened the front door. I entered the kitchen and managed to stifle a giggle as I discovered my wife leaning over a pot on the stove with a spoon raised to her lips, face pursed in disgust. She noticed me and dropped the spoon into the pot, replacing the lid and brandishing the tea towel, with which she had held the lid, over her shoulder.
“No! Don’t you fucking start!“ A smile betrayed her.
“Uh huh?” My own smile was rewarded with a tea towel to the face.
“If you want me to cook normal people food like a normal peoples then you can go out and work all day, Mister!” Her pout made the delivery childlike and playful. She has a habit of using the voice when she’s feeling bratty and it kills me. Every time.
I tossed the tea towel on the bench and embraced my wife. I placed my hands on her cheeks and squeezed until her lips were smooshed together and lightly shook her head while giving her the crazy eyes.
“I fucking love you so. Damn. Much. You know that?”
“Awiite, awright, jesus big guy… No need to get all silence of the lambs,” she teased as she fought my hands away. I put a hand around her waist to pull her closer but my dubious intentions were put to rest when our son entered the kitchen and, without looking up, headed to the fridge and opened the door, surveying its contents.
“What’s for dinner?”
I lifted the spoon from the pot, tasted the bitter liquid, and made a disgusted face at my wife. She poked out her tongue and I bit the air in front of her. She faked an expression of shock then bit me on the chin.
“Ouch! Shi- uh… Vers. Shivers.” I turned to our son. “I dunno buddy, what do you feel like?”
“Ummmm,” he closed the fridge door. “Pizza? Can we go to Rocco’s?”
I considered the state in which I’d left Liz and gave my wife a discouraging look. She smiled and gave me a nod.
“How about we go pick some up. Dad can stay home so you can ride up front.”
“K.” My son raced off down the hallway.
“Oh did you grab the dish?”
“The what?” I asked.
“I asked you- oh never mind.”
My wife smiled, kissed me, and turned toward the door. I gave her a pat on the bum and watched her leave.
*I fucking adore that woman*
| 2017-03-22T21:33:02 | 2017-03-22T19:01:40 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Humans are unique. They are the only omnivores in the galaxy. Until they appeared on the galactic scene, the galaxy was firmly split between Carnivores and Herbivores.
|
"So Zorblax, you're telling me these alien creatures eat plant matter AND flesh?"
"Yes sir, apparently so."
"That's weird. They're weird man. Let's kill them."
"But sir, they have a champion known as a "Will Smith." Zorblax replied.
"Well...shit. Nevermind. I guess just let them sit there and be weird. We'll turn them into a zoo planet and start charging by the ship for admittance."
|
I guess you could say it was a good thing the Kla'kau found us first. After having spoken with the Sloovee, they informed us that becoming friends with the treacherous Kla'kau was incredibly difficult, and the fact we had managed it seemed amazing to them.
It was by pure accident that we happened upon the Kla'kau first. Earth had finally begun its Galactic Exploration Initiative and I, Captain Irene Tucker, of the spaceship *Guiding Light*, began exploring just five years prior. Who would've expectefd to find other life so close to our own planet?
The Kla'kau had been looking to expand their boarders as their planet was dying and we happened upon one of their ships that had unfortunately tried to penetrate Saturn's rings and failed. As their saviours, they held a feast in our honour and asked to join them on the mothership as friends of their people.
The Kla'kau were a surprisingly elegant people, despite their rough, leathery skin, long wiry beards, and razor sharp teeth. Their ships were adorned with decorations one would expect to find in a fairytale castle - gold statues and filigree, ornate wall sconces, and larges rugs stretching across their metal floors. Their outfits were a bit uncharacteristic of their surroundings - leather tunics and large boots, each with metal shoulder and calf plates.
The feast was magnificent filled with almost ten different types of meat we had never heard of. Some were purple and had the consistency and taste of choice venison, another was neon green (which made some of my crew uneasy) and had the shape and taste of a fresh baguette despite the toughness of overcooked steak. We were surprised to see not a single vegetable or fruit on the table, to which I inquired to their captain, Kro'aa T'ung.
"We do not eat the food of our food," she laughed, patting my shoulder. "We are the top of the food chain for a reason - we eat, we are not eaten."
Curious, I asked if their teeth were all sharp as the ones in the front - to which Kro'aa opened her mouth wide to show rows of pearly white, razor-sharp teeth. She then looked at me, curious. "You are able to eat meat - you must have the same teeth, yes?"
I opened my mouth wide to show my teeth to which Kro'aa was astounded. She was quiet for a moment then asked if we knew of the Sloovee, which we hadn't.
"Food of food eaters," Kro'aa said a bit grumpily. "We have wanted alliance with them for millenia, but they refuse. We cannot help who we are any more than they." She studied my face for a moment. "Would you speak with them?"
So this is how I ended up on the Sloovee homeworld. The Sloovee, in contrast to the Kra'kau, were more harsh in appearance, with clothes dorned in spikes, cold, stone walls that made even the brightest of rooms feel like a dungeon. As a meeting, they presented a feast of solely fruits and vegetables - again, to the likes we had never seen before. There was a rough-skinned purple fruit that had the crisp, juiciness of an apple but tasted of bacon and a small, light blue fruit that tasted of rich, milk chocolate.
It was at this feast that their leader, Frough Bra Kanagh, explained their history and relationship with the Kra'kau.
"We disapprove of t'eir murderous ways," he said simply. "T'ey kill to eat, we grow. We are lifebringers. We cannot be friends wit' deat'bringers." He then studied me for a moment. "I am to believe t'at you can also eat meat?" I nodded, to which he looked aghast. "In our travels, we have never come across a species such as you. Who can eat bot' meat and veg...I am astonished."
It was here that I explained how the Kra'kau wanted to have an alliance and to look past their differences and come together. "As a species of omnivores, I can tell you it is possible to live hand-in-hand with these people."
Frough nodded solemnly. "I will talk wit' t'e counsel of elders. I t'ink you are right to put t'ese differences behind us...t'ere are much bigger t'reats to us t'an t'e deat'bringers..."
Abruptly, Frough left the table with several of his guards.
Several minutes passed until the crew of the Kra'kau ship joined us in the Sloovee dining hall, bringing gifts from their travels for the Sloovee people. When Frough returned, he had a large grin on his face.
"Brot'ers and sisters! Today, a new chapter of Sloovee is upon us. The Kra'kau will from t'is point forward, be friends of the Sloovee!" Cheers resounded around the dining hall. I turned to my crew, happy of the achievement we had made, and saw just in time to see them being carried off by Sloovee people.
"What's going on?" I demanded.
"A feast!" Frough said happily. I jumped up and ran after my crew. Despite having just walked behind a door, I had difficulty finding where they had all gone.
I entered one room to find large plants that looked like Venus flytraps hanging from the walls, large purple petals growing gold and bronze fruits. Several of the Sloovee were forcing members of my crew into the mouths of the plants, which instantaneously grew the fruits.
"Stop this now!" I cried, jumping at one of the guards. He pushed me back with ease, a bored expression on his face. I ran into another room and found enormous, carnivorous boars devouring the remainder of my crew alive.
I ran back to the dining hall where Frough and Kr'aa were sharing a silver liquid from an ornate glass.
"What is the meaning of this?!" I demanded. "That was my crew! I helped your people and you murder mine?!"
The two captains laughed. "A gift," Frough said. "Thank you!"
| 2017-05-16T03:48:05 | 2017-05-16T02:11:00 | 47 | 28 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still...
|
Dr. Montoya entered the room, clipboard in hand. "You're a were-dragon," he said bluntly.
I chuckled, "that's funny. You're funny, doc." He didn't laugh.
"No, it's actually quite serious," he said sternly, "I'd like to keep you for some tests." He was already sending word to his friends over email. "It may take a few days."
That's what the other doctors told me. Tests. More like experiments. They learned in the end that you can't contain a dragon...
Almost immediately he received a reply on his computer, and as he read it, his eyes began to bulge with terror. I can almost guarantee they are telling him to sedate me, that he should've when he first found out. They're telling him that he shouldn't have tried to get famous off of someone else's incredibly rare "misfortune." Lucky for me, I've learned to control the transformation, I no longer need to be in danger for the beast to come out. Now, I am the danger.
I stood as he finished reading his letter. I'm not sure if he knew what was going to happen in the next few seconds -- his last moments -- but he knew that i knew. The transformation is almost instant, the heat peels paint from the office walls. Without hesitation, i exhaled a fire of a thousand suns. The other patients were merely collateral damage. I was saving myself. I didn't care about the innocent. I cared about surviving.
As the building burnt to ash, I spread my wings and took flight in a random direction, hoping to find a new town. Again. Hoping to find a place where i can live in peace. Again. I'm not a wild animal, i need civilization and to be social. I just want the human experience without fear of someone coming for me.
...
Dr. Yam entered the room, clipboard in hand. "So, uh..." he paused, trying to find the words, "You're basically the healthiest person in town." He looked at me, unconvinced. "I mean, you have to already know. There's no way you don't." He almost sounded proud as he say in front of me. "How do you want you handle this?"
I was shocked, he didn't inform anyone. He was legitimately curious how i felt. "I think," i stammered, "i think I'm going to like you Dr. Yam."
(I HAVEN'T ACTUALLY WRITTEN IN 10 YEARS, BE KIND) also on mobile so sorry for lack of formatting.
|
FADE IN:
INT. DOCTOR'S EXAMINATION ROOM - MIDDAY
A small room, with a computer, a few chairs, and an examination table. There are posters on the walls with smiling people and cheery phrases about health. RYAN, a buff man in his early-20s with a receding hairline, sits on the examination table. He is staring at his feet. DOCTOR CARTER, a composed woman in a buttoned-up doctor's coat, is holding a clipboard and consulting it.
**CARTER**: So, Ryan, I see from your papers that you are here because of an event that transpired about three days ago, yes? You were ... *(beat)* ... playing video games late into the night, then woke to find yourself lying in a field the next morning.
**RYAN** *(in a rush)*: Yes, yes, that's what I wrote. The new Halo game had just come out, so I was just gonna skip class the next day and stay up late playing it. But then, like, I musta blacked out in the middle of eating a slice of pizza! I didn't drink that much, I swear! I had only taken a few sips from my beer, but then, poof! I was waking up in that field. And, and, I talked to my bros about it, and they think it was the beer. But, ma'am, I swear I didn't drink more than a few sips! A-and I can hold my alcohol real good. Do you think it was the beer?
CARTER tries to look RYAN in the eyes, but he avoids her gaze.
**CARTER**: Ryan, calm down a bit, and don't jump to conclusions. You say this was two nights ago?
**RYAN**: No, three days ago.
**CARTER**: Which is two nights ago. For your case, I believe the amount of nights is more important than days.
**RYAN** *(mumbling)*: But it was three days ago. It was Tuesday. And today is ...
RYAN counts on his fingers as CARTER ignores him and marks something on her clipboard.
**CARTER**: Okay, the field you woke up in ... how far away was it from your house? And was there anything unusual about the area, or yourself?
**RYAN**: Uh, I dunno where it was. I lost my phone that night. Oh, and I guess my clothes were kinda all ripped up. But I jogged for a bit and found a town nearby. Good warm-up, actually.
**CARTER**: Do you know the name of this town?
**RYAN**: It was called Beallsville I think? Someone let me borrow their phone and I called my girlfriend to pick me up. She was pretty unhappy about driving an hour, too ...
RYAN frowns, while CARTER's eyes widen slightly.
**CARTER**: Beallsville, you said? With two Ls?
**RYAN**: Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Oh, and now that you mention it, the field I woke up in was pretty burned or something. My hair still smells like smoke. Can you smell it from there?
**CARTER**: Er, not really, no. I have one last question, Ryan. Are you aware that there was a full moon two nights ago?
**RYAN** *(shrugging)*: Yeah, everyone is. That was why my buddy couldn't hang out and play Halo with me. He turns into a bird or whatever.
CARTER sets aside the clipboard and looks seriously at RYAN, who nervously meets her gaze.
**RYAN**: I *really* didn't have more than a few sips, Doc--
**CARTER** *(interrupting)*: Ryan, I'm afraid to say that you have a form of lycanthropy. Now, a good tenth of the population suffers from this disease, but it is manageable. There is no need to be concern-- well, er. It's good that you have a friend who is dealing with the same disease, because perhaps he could give you some advice and support.
**RYAN**: Oh, it wasn't the beer? That's a relief. So all I have to do is lock myself in my house every full moon and turn into a bird? No prob, Doc.
**CARTER**: Well, I'm afraid that you have a rarer type of lycanthropy, and it won't be as simple as that. Now, this medical facility has ways of helping with lycanthropy. While we haven't had any dragons like you before, we do have a room specifically made to keep contain you, so every full moon, you will have to come an--
RYAN's jaw drops, and he could not look more dismayed.
**RYAN**: Wait, wait, wait. I'm a dragon? I shift into a dragon?
**CARTER**: Yes, Ryan. But as I said, it is manageable. We have some forms right here tha--
**RYAN**: Like, a big dragon? Fire-breathing? Flying? How do you know this? All I said was I woke up in a field!
**CARTER**: There were reports of a dragon being sighted in the area you described. There was a lot of destruction that night from the fires the dragon set in various forests and fields. Also, the distance from your house was a clue. Most forms could not travel that far away in a single night. And considering there are no known people in this area that suffer from dragon lycanthropy, it can only have been you, Ryan.
**RYAN** *(panicking)*: No, no, I don't want to be a dragon! I don't want to eat sheep! I don't even like the taste of lamb, you know. And I think it makes my stomach upset!
**CARTER** *(slightly puzzled)*: Well, I don't believe that would be a problem. There aren't many sheep farmers in this area, and most people know to bring their animals inside on a full moon.
**RYAN** *(not listening)*: And I can't go around stealing women and putting them in towers or caves or whatever! I have a girlfriend, she'd kill me!
**CARTER**: Ryan, please stay calm. The problem you are discussing comes from fairy tales, not reality.
**RYAN**: And I'll have wings! *Wings!* Oh God, this means I flew to get to that field! I can't do that. I don't like heights, Doc! I get all queasy and sweaty!
**CARTER** *(now annoyed)*: Considering you are not in possession of your own mind at the onset of the lycanthropy, that also is a non-issue. Like two nights ago, you'll simply black out and not have any memory of the events when you wake again.
**RYAN**: But, but, I need those nights! I can't just disappear every full moon. I've got, like, studying to do.
CARTER sighs and stand up. RYAN is on the verge of tears.
**CARTER**: Ryan, perhaps you should talk to our special lycanthropists for more detail on your condition. They can also get you registered for a space in our basement rooms when there's a full moon. This is just one night a month, it is *manageable*, and you can learn to live with it. I'm sure you can find time for studying the other nights in the month.
CARTER opens the door. RYAN gets to his feet uncertainly.
**RYAN**: But, like, my girlfriend won't want to get sick. What if she breaks up with me? Oh, God ... why me?
**CARTER** *(with a slight smile)*: I assure you, lycanthropy is not contagious. And in my personal opinion, I think a lot of girls will be impressed by you turning into a dragon if your girlfriend is a problem for you.
RYAN visibly perks up as he follows CARTER out of the room.
**RYAN**: Wait, girls like dragons?
FADE OUT.
***
Thanks for the cool prompt! This is pretty exaggerated and a bit long, but I like how it turned out. :) I don't write many scripts, either, so it's good practice. If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out r/lycheewrites !
| 2017-05-20T08:25:02 | 2017-05-20T06:05:15 | 153 | 64 |
[WP] You sit down for dinner but your family seems uncomfortable, watching you with fearful expressions. Finally, your sister says, "Mom, why is he here?"
|
"Mom, why is he here?" she asks innocently.
It's just the four of us. We're all struggling to keep things light.
Icy silence fills the room. The tension so palpable I swear a knife could cut it. Dad casts a worried expression over at Mom and she makes this strange, high pitched noise; her face turning pink as she slides downwards in her chair.
I muster up the fortitude with which to give her a weak, horribly forced grin, and look her in the eye. It ends up feeling like more of a grimace, and I wince inwardly.
"He's um, like my helper Liz," I try to explain.
Jack puts his cutlery down and smiles politely. "That's a pretty little pony you have there," he says, trying to change the subject.
She looks up at him with her big blue eyes and, with all the seriousness in the world, says "He's not real. He's just a picture on my dress."
"Well," he says. "It's a very nice pony."
Mom is sobbing quietly, her shoulders heaving, face hidden in her hands.
I cry out from pain as the handcuffs dig into my flesh, breaking the skin and drawing a trickle of blood.
Silence.
"Alex," Jack finally says. "I'm sorry, but your time is up. You can have your goodbye and then we really have to go back."
I stand up slowly, careful not to trip over my constraints again. I look at my loving family. It's the last time I'll see them. The last time I'll ever see anyone. I mustn't let them see me cry. I have to be strong. For Mom. For Lizzie.
Dad is still silent, his gaze fixated on the empty plate in front of him. He still refuses to speak to me. Refuses to look at me. That's what hurts more than anything. I'm not afraid to die. I'm afraid to die alone. I can't-
"Alex," Jack says.
I've run out of time. I'm struggling to think of something to say. *Is* there something to say?
This was a mistake. I can no longer hold back my tears. I should never have come back home.
*The guard is standing by the door. He coughs, and the peace is broken. My eyes open and the last little bit of my dream slowly fades away, lingering in the stale air for a moment.*
*"Did... Did anyone come to see me? To s... say goodbye?" He just looks at me sadly and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "It's time, Alex."*
|
I had just come home after a long and unexciting week of just bullshit and finals and studying. I really needed to sleep in my OWN bed, instead of sleeping in that fucking dorm next to all the fuckers that would just scream all night, while fucking or raving to no music or whatever. So I figured it'd be a good idea to take a break from all this school shit and go see my family. I actually already see them kind of often but it was an off week. All of us were busy.
Parents usually come with open arms when they visit my sister, Jaya, and I in Columbia. We both go to school there. But, SHE got into Columbia first. She actually had so many fucking credits that she graduated high school before me, even though she was a year younger. I, on the other hand, was a stoner. But I wasn't stupid. I studied hard when I had to. Clearly. I'm in Columbia.
Off topic. Anyways, here I was trying to surprise them for dinner and everyone was all worried. Hell, maybe I look like shit from the week I just had. I hadn't even stopped to smell myself.
"Why is he here?" my sister asked.
"Shut up... I'm stressed out and just wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight."
She worriedly looks at my mom and whispers, "I didn't know he'd be out."
"That's what I thought too. Fucking dying from all this work that the teachers keep throwing at me. Why the fuck are you whispering?"
"Honey, how'd you get here?" asks my mother.
"Oh just like usual," I barely get out as I stuff my face with some amazing ma's curry chicken. "I took the E down to Canal and walked down a couple avenues no biggy."
"...B-But how'd you leave Columbia?"
I now notice the utter fear in my family members'. They've each left their foods untouched since I entered the house. I mean except dad. He was a piece of shit that never really cared about us. Just came home to sleep and eat.
Ma's reaching for her phone and my sister had some small tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Ma, Jaya. What happened? What's wrong?"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT'S WRONG?!?! HOW DID YOU GET OUT?" my sister yells. Small tears have turned to streams at this point. "HE CAN'T EVEN HEAR US ANYMORE!!! YOU BITCH. GET THE FUCK OUT."
"What the FUCK are you even talking about? MOM! Why are you scared? What happened?"
"S-s-sweetie, I thought you were dorming at Columbia. What happened? And where's James?" Mom asks me while tearing up. My dad still hasn't said anything. He's the only one acting rationally with all of this, apparently.
"Dad, what the fuck is this?"
"I don't know. I d-."
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING TO?!?! HE'S NOT THERE!!!! GET OUT!!"Jaya yells.
"FUCKING DAD. ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?? NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP"
"...I don't have time to deal with this. Both of you. Shut up, eat, and go to bed. So tired of your fucking mouth making noises."
"But she's fucking crying dad. Stop being shitty and ask her what's wrong."
"Why? She's always crying and whining about something. Probably another stupid reason."
"Be a real fucking husband. Instead of just a legally obligated one. TALK TO HER."
"Where's James Pan-" She can't even finish asking me.
"Why? I didn't see him. He's annoying. He keeps following me. He has no other friends mom so I lost him."
Mom starts balling now. My dad groans and leaves the table, grabs his coat and cigarettes and leaves. I'm so fucking confused. I don't know what to say. Literally, anything I do is upsetting Ma and my heart's breaking. And this shit excuse for a husband doesn't have any fucks to give to the woman he promised to love.
I was so tired of his bullshit. So I got up, put on my coat and moved towards the door.
"Where are y--- I'm calling the police," this overreacting little bitch of a sister says.
"Fucking relax. I'm going to TALK to hi--"
"TALK TO FUCKING DAD??? DAD IS GONE. DAD IS GONE BECAUSE OF YOU."
"Fucking relax... Holy shit. He's RIGHT OUTSIDE. HE WENT FOR A SMOKE. LITERALLY JUST LEFT. And we're just gonna talk. The fuck are you talking about *calling the fucking cops* calm down you crazy bitch."
"I'll call James," ma barely through her fits of a hyperventilation-like action.
"James? Why? Okay fine call James. Don't worry ma. I'll talk to James. But let me talk to dad first."
"Just stay home and wait for us to call James. You can at least finish your meal."
"Just let him fucking go," Jaya says bitterly. I literally have no idea what crawled up her ass today. "James doesn't need this shit. He can help other people. People that can help themselves. Unlike this THING. I already called the police."
"What the fuck... What are the cops gonna do?" I can now feel my own emotions getting the best of me. I start to tear up. "What the fuck is happening? Why are you all so upset with me?" I barely get out while attempting to keep myself from crying. "I just wanted to come say hi. We didn't meet last week like we always do. I thought we'd make it up this week. And, mom, you're losing your mind over why I'm here and I didn't bring James. I thought you'd be HAPPY THAT I CAME." She looks away. "You can't even look at me. You always tell me how you wanna see me at home again because it'll be such a LONG time before I come home. WELL I'M HOME. WHAT'S WRONG??" I can't help myself. I'm bawling. I hold my face with my gloves. I feel them getting wet with warm tears. I've never cried this much wtf.
"I wanted you to be better. Why did you come back?"
"Better? I'm fine... Because I tho-"
"WHY?!?! WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST STAY IN THAT FUCKING PLACE WITH ALL OF THE OTHER CRAZIES?"
"...mom what are you talking about?" She'd become delusional. She thought I was a patient rather than a student. "I'm not a patient... LOOK at me. Look at ME. I'm your little boy. LOOK AT ME." I grab her wrists with one hand and guide her chin to look at me with the other. "WHY ARE YOU TREATING ME LIKE SHIT?!?!"
"Please stop..."
"The police are right outside," whimpered Jaya like a frightened puppy protecting her mother. She was trying to push me off with her tiny fucking body. Pathetic. "You can just stop now and it'll be okay. Please just stop now. I'll tell them you didn't hurt me at all. It wasn't your fault. James wasn't doing his job. I'll tell them that. I swear."
"Shut up. I want to know why you weren't nice to me when I was nice to you."
The police bust in the door and point their guns at me. "HEY JUST LET YOUR MOM GO AND WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS." Fuck that. I'm not even doing anything remotely illegal. They can't do shit. Fucking pig cops. Serve and protect who? There are real criminals outside and they're here because of some slight yelling?
"What are you doing with that kni- I'll look at you. Okay I'm sorry. I'll LOOK AT YOU. LOOK LOOK IM LOOKING AT YOU. I'M HAPPY!! LOOK." She forced the fakest smile I'd ever seen. I knew it all too well. That's the smile she gave dad everytime dad knocked her around and told her he did it because he loved her. "Just put the knife down...." she whimpered. "Please..."
I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. I turned around. Fucking bitch stabbed me. I felt my knees grow weak. And then blackness... and then i thought I heard James' voice.
| 2017-12-12T11:22:31 | 2017-12-12T07:14:52 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] After over 2,000 years, the Antichrist finally succeeded his invasion of Earth. As armies of demons flood into our world they realize something; we've advanced far beyond the ancient warfare they prepared for. Leather armor and poking sticks are no match against billions of pissed off humans.
|
“... and now back to King 5 at 5, your local evening news”
“Tonight, purchasing an all-electric car, is it practical? We have guest Don Williams to talk about the how and why of fully electric vehicles, but first, a special report concerning new developments on ‘The War on Hell’. Peace talks have begun at United Nations headquarters in New York, where all 193 member states have assembled to discuss the terms of surrender of the Armies of Hell. Our own Phil Esteban is on the scene, Phil?”
“Thank you Nancy. As you can see, at the center of the main conference room, the Antichrist is standing and speaking to a translator. He is being held by seven silver chains, and seven priests from seven member nations are quietly chanting a ‘ritual of binding’, which we have been told is designed to keep the antichrist from taking any action which may harm the representatives. At the moment, a coalition headed by Russia and China is advocating a ‘white peace’ on the terms that Hell shares with humanity both its resources and knowledge, while a counter committee headed by Israel, the Vatican City, and the United States advocates executing the Antichrist, and continuing military action within Hell. France and the UK are all leaning towards further military action, however, they have not yet cast their votes.”
“Very interesting, You keep us updated Phil”
“Thank you, Nancy”
“We will be sure to provide more updates on the ‘War on Hell’ as the story develops, but now, silver: high tech and now high caliber? Futurologist Katy Shu and demonologist Father Emmanual Lopez discuss the future prospects of the precious metal as silver ETFs soar...”
\-----
“... Drugs, alcohol, demons? Police Captain Thomas Able discusses the latest addiction ravaging communities all over America. Tom, for those unaware, what exactly is demonic addiction?”
“We in law enforcement use the term ‘demonic addiction’ to refer to any systemic behavior in which a human being makes ‘deals’ with demons. In many cases, the entity will promise the user material goods or services in exchange something of equivalent value of the user. This is rarely the case, as the demon will take advantage of the user by taking things that are difficult or impossible for the user to get back, such as the user’s youth, beauty, or firstborn”
“Terrible, just terrible, is there any particular type of this addiction that is most common?”
“What we’re seeing most frequently is succubus/incubus addiction, in which the user trades years of their life for sexual gratification with the demon. This particular type of deal is especially damaging, since the user does not know the deal is taking place. Typically, the users only notice the adverse affects a few months in, after which they’ll have aged 10-15 years, and by then the demon will have moved on to the next town to being collecting years of life from new sources”
“Any advice to us to avoid becoming part of this nasty cycle?”
“When it comes to dealing with demons, just say ‘no’. Whatever the entity promises will surely not be worth what you are sacrificing. Following up on the first deal with a second, to reclaim the sacrifice from the first just hastens the cycle. It’s a bit like taking a higher interest loan to pay off another, it just doesn’t make any sense in the long run. Certain manufactures are now making contraceptives with silver inlays or silver-based lubricant, which can identify a partner as a demon as well”
“It’s important to wear protection, of course”
“Yes, naturally. And in the post-war-on-Hell world that statement rings true as ever”
“Well thank you Captain for joining us. Next on Investigation Hell: Hell Hounds and Fell Bats, an illegal animal trafficking empire...”
|
>Note: There is a cuss word in this.
&#x200B;
"**O̷̞̞̟͎̒ṳ̲̝̳͕̻̜ͪͪ̈̿̍ṛ͉̭̩͉̻̌͂̐͢ ͖͍͔̲̲͐̊̑͗͝ṱ̜͒͘i̗̹̯̼m͙̝̮̱̝̒̅̓͝e̠̻̱̰̱̞̤ͯ͌̊͋̚͝ ̪̫̞̠ͭh̉̋̔ͣ̑͜ȧ̸̘͙͎ͅś̗͓ ̻͔̲̙͜c͈͓̭͍͔͕̅ͮ͋ͅo̲͈m̳͙̥ͩ̿̽̈̍͝e̗̘̼̅̉͐͗,̙ͣ ͎̟̹̠̣̏ͦ͐̐̍̂̂b̧̝̟͕̻̃̈́̎̄r̪͋̏̈́ͧ́̄o̜̙̅o̭̤̟̊͑ͭͮͤ̋̚d̻͇͍͙ͮ͌ͭ!̵̲̐̌̐̇̏̆ͨ ̭̘͇ͭ̍͊̍̆̿**
**F̪ͣ̂̀ͣ͒ͥͤl̥̄̈́̉̽͡o͂ͬ̽̎̌̌̀҉̻̗̲̝̥ͅo͈͌̉̓ͧ̌̀d̻ ͍̟͖̳͛͗ͣͤͪ͘t̶̞̗̜̝͐̇͑̀͊̈̈h͍̜̙̤̝̺̉̍̓ͫͫ̔͠ḛ̛͉̳̗͙̘̗̾ͭ ͕̯̪̰́̌l̷̘̮̪͓͎̑̔ͥa̎͊̅̈́̈̂̓ņ̟̇̐̊̐̑d̞̰͔̠š͇̺͕̦̀ͣ̏ͧͦͯ͝ ̢̪ͯ̆̂͋ẃ̵̿̿ỉ̙͖̻̝̮̱̺́ͮͤͮ̂͐t̹͓̖͙̮̃̕ḣ̗͔̤̍̓͒̉ͫ ͓̟̮͈̜̽̑́̎t̡h̢̺̗̮̤̃ͣ̓͐ͭê̬̗͙͙͖͕̍̋̔ͯ̉͟ ̣̣̝̘́ͭ̉ͥͬ̇̎͟ͅb̙͕̖̜̍̿l̼͎o̼͉̯̝̭̅͑̑͗͆̐o̝͒͂ḋ͔̤̩̩͓̲̃̒͒̒ ̟͎̭͔̼̤̠ͩ̆͂͡ö̺̝̞́ͭͯ͂̽͛f̵̯̹̖̜̘̍ ͇̝̭̤̱̻̙̈͆̈́͋ͬ͘ ̸̣̼̺͍͉̫͙̍ͮ̒ä̡̙̙̱́̒n̛͈͕̒ͣͫ̈́ͭy͕̗̞͛ͯ̈̃̌͞ ͖̳̤̭̺̏w̳̘̽ͦͫ̽ͨ͘h̗̝͇̮͕̯̤ǫ̣̠ ̤͎͎̞̱̫̇͌ͤ̀s͇͐̓t͎̅͒̏̆̓̄̚ǎ̖̰͕̙̱̾͐̆n̗̑̔̑͒̍̊̕d̃̓ͬͭ̇ͦ ̢͚͚͔̼̲͚̘͌͛å̬̣̹̻̲̹̏̅͋ͦ͢g̼͇͘a̶̹̼ͪ̊̂i̬̰̪̳̻̪̣ͥ͑̎ͩͯ́n͒̄̉̐̇ͤ̿͏̬s̵͂̆̑ṫ̢̤͕̝̜̬̫̳̎̌ͥ̀ ̭͎͎̬̱̞ͮ͛͒m̫̰ͧ̍͊ͭ̑e̝̰̯͚͓̺͢!̟̝̦̝̠̮̐̌"**
&#x200B;
When the man of orange executed his plan, the land trembled, split and tore apart, coast to coast. Gashes rent across the world as though struck by whip. Lifeblood of the Earth rose to the surface, glowing lava bubbling up through the cracks.
Diabolical fiends ascended ladders of molten magma, pulling themselves through the threshold to the world of Man. Nightmarish beings twisted with charred flesh like igneous rock, the army against Man and God sought chaos.
The first wave received little resistance, as the world had been unprepared. The forces of evil had working behind the scenes. Twenty-four hour news cycles desensitized the public, and social media consumed their lives. Those not subjected to the active efforts lived in poverty and utter despair, eliminating current events from their priorities.
The innovation and technology of Man was a double-edged blade, however.
Though it was a bane, it was also a boon. It assisted a spread of information and a call to action unrivaled by the forces of Hell. They carried anticipation of horse-bound messengers and carrier pigeons.
Instead, electronic mail and bluebirds carried word across continents instantaneously.
The first true battle occurred in the sprawling metropolis of The Big Apple. The aptly addressed 666 Fifth Avenue served as the battlefield upon which Man showed the demonic horde that they were a worthy foe. Battle waged day and night, with the citizens living up to the namesake of The City that Never Sleeps.
Bullets carried in The Windy City, backed by the militia from the Lone Star State despite their name. Elsewhere, “hellish” took a new meaning to the invading legion, as Angels rode against them on mechanical steeds.
The country of the Lady Columbia, with a cache of weaponry larger than her population, led the charge to push back the forces of Hell. From there, the denizens united to live up to the nickname of World Police.
The last abyssal words uttered before the swarm crumbled warmed the hearts of every citizen of Earth…
&#x200B;
"**F̨̘͎͛ͯͪ͆̀͌ů͉̪̠̤͍̠̍̿ͅc͓̭k͚ͫ̊̓̔ ̂t̡̹̻̭ͣ̇̉h̟̪̫̹͗̏ͮ͑́̔ȉ͖̪̲̪͖̲s̗̻̲͑ͪ̋̈͝!̤͍̪̦̙̪"**
| 2019-08-19T12:45:46 | 2019-08-19T10:10:57 | 74 | 22 |
[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straight forward.
|
"Gi'me your wallet!" The thug stood above me, knife pointed at my neck. He had kicked my bike when I turned around the corner. "Come on you little shit!"
"It's cool man! Just put the knife down, I'm not going to resist!" I started to reach for my wallet, when he kicked me. _Oh crap..._ I thought, praying for his safety.
"You ain't telling me shit what..." He shouted, when he was interrupted by a loud blast. A senior man leaned on a window behind the now gasping for air thug, a shotgun in his hand still fumming.
"You ok kiddo?" Asked gently the man, cocking the shotgun.
"Y-y-eah... I... is he gonna be ok?" I squirmed away from the pool of blood that formed under the thief. He was a lean and skinny white man, he seemed poor, dirty and in need of a good meal.
"This piece of shit is going straight to hell." The old man spit in the direction of the thief. "Go now, I'll call the cops."
I picked up my bicked and pedalled away as quickly as I could. A few blocks after I stopped to take a breath. "Azazel, what the hell man?"
He stepped out of the thin air, as if a corner where hidden in the nothingness in front of me. First came his brown sandals and white robes, then his charred wings. The smell of sulfur filled the air. He was neither ugly, nor beautiful. Even calling him "he" was... weird, as he didn't seem neither man nor woman, just remotely human.
"What dost thou mean, my child?" His voice was like a harp was slowly played, sweet and sad.
"Couldn't you give him a cramp or something else?" I picked a rosary from my pocket and started to pray my "Hail Mary"'s for the poor man's soul.
"He was an evil man, my child, and his time had to come." He extended his warm hands to my right leg and a bean of light shone upon it. I hand't realized that it was hurting before it, but after a slight burn the pain subsided. "There child, is it better? I'll be sure that he feels a thousand times more pain than he caused thee."
"No! I don't want that! Can't you not kill someone that is putting me into any kind of bad sittuation?!" I exclaimed.
"But that is not true, my child. I care to remind thee of Johnathas Smith, the week prior. He is still alive." The fallen angel pondered with a smile.
"YOUR CRIPLED HIM!" I punched the bike in anger.
"He crippled himself, child. He mocked thee upon thy bad performance on the maraton preparation." Azazel moved gracefully one of his hands towars his pointy chin, as if trying to remember a moment between aeons of memories.
"Physical exam." I reminded him, he was still adapting to our vocabulary, he had only been around for 14 years now, or so he had told me.
"Yes, my child, that. He mocked thee on your lack of prowess on running, so now he has been humbled into not walking." He smiled, maliciously. It gave me the chills.
"Holy crap Azazel..." I stored my now well torn rosary inside my front pocket. "Why can't you be a little less... Old Testment?"
"You mean the old book of the Hebrew?" His demonic smile widened. He extended his wings and fire flew through then, as if old charcoal had been reckindled. "Those where the good times, my child."
Edit1: fix added by /u/gingersassy suggestion
|
My earliest memories are of running through the trees with innocent abandon. To have called the trees a "forest" would have been too generous - they were the scraggly remnants of once-great woods, now shoved to the side of the neighborhood pool and kept simply because the hill was bad for building houses on. In our large suburbian community, it was exactly the breath of nature a little kid wanted. I would go and pretend to be lost, while my mother would be reassured by the fact that I was simply across the street.
I'm sure my mother has long forgotten the summer afternoon where I rushed back into the house, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, a bowl from the cupboard, and a tin of cat food from the pantry, then rushed out not a minute later. She had only called, "Make sure you bring that bowl back!" as the door slammed shut and my bare feet were slapping across the hot asphalt street.
The forest awaited my return. For once, the bird-song was quiet, and even the small brook sounded muted. The pathetic, mewling cries of the baby animal I had discovered, loud in the silence, made it easy to find my way back to it.
Crouching down and dropping everything on the ground, I filled the bowl from the water bottle and held it in front of the small thing's face. Its wail faded as it drank, and I busied myself with opening the cat food. When the bowl was empty and it resumed its cries, I dumped the food into the bowl and watched it start to eat.
*It* was the easiest thing to call it. I had no idea what kind of animal it was. The only way I could describe it was as if shadows had fallen in love with fire, and this creature was their child - and yet, to my young mind, it had not seemed strange in any way. It fit neatly into my world, even as smoke seemed to drift off its body and its eyes were an unnatural red. I believe now that it must have had a sort of magic about it, to cause me not to poke at it with a stick or run away, but instead, care for it.
Or perhaps I had just been a particularly odd child. And I had loved animals and taking care of them; Misty, my family's cat, had long grown tired of my constant attention and had always slunk away when I got near. I had even deluded myself into thinking I would be a vet when I grew older, though the sight of blood had made me grow queasy back then.
And after it had finished off the tin of cat food and water bottle, I reached out a slow hand and stroked its back. It felt slightly prickly, like tingles were running up my arm.
I had run home to return the bowl, then I had hurried all the way back -- but it had vanished, and the forest was loud again. Louder than usual, even, as if all the animals wanted to chat with the stream and the leaves about the strange creature and the stranger child who had fed it.
Disappointed by its disappearance, I had returned to my customary adventures, and the meeting had drifted from my memories for many years. Many years, until it came back.
I still loved nature in my twenties, though it was significantly harder to find it in the city. The park was a good distance - and costly bus fare, or sweaty bike ride - away, but I still made the occasional trips there, armed with a picnic basket or a book. I had made many good memories in that park, from playing soccer with friends, to chatting with a handsome stranger who sat on my bench, to grilling to celebrate the end of exams. There had been many dates there, many lunches, and many naps on my picnic blanket with the sun shining down.
Usually I woke up before it got too late, but one study-filled day, I woke up to a dark sky and rain splattering on my face. It was later than I was comfortable with, here in the city and me with my bike. The shortest way home was through a part of town no girl alone wanted to go through at night, but as it started to pour down rain, I crankily decided not to bother with the long way and instead, just get home.
And of course, I dearly regretted that decision when my bike was knocked over and a knife was held towards my throat as someone asked for my purse. Others seemed to materialize out of the shadows and surround me, and I began to realize my can of pepper spray couldn't take them all.
For the first time, I began to fear for my life. I distinctly remember wondering how I had passed so many years without gaining any mental scars, any fuel for nightmares, and realizing how that was about to change. I remember sobbing, desperately wishing for anything to help as I fought the urge to vomit out of stress.
As they grabbed for my purse, grabbed for *me*, I screamed, "Stop it!"
Thunder cracked in the black sky, and a hazy form was birthed from the rain falling in front of me. Shadows and fire - I couldn't make out the figure in the almost darkness, especially not with how fast it was moving, and how much blood was flying through the air.
Blood. So much of it. None of it hit me, miraculously - though perhaps that isn't the right word to use. Somehow, I ended up untouched with a circle of dead men around me, rainwater diluting the deep red leaking from their wounds. And the creature, a hulking beast that sizzled as rain hit its body, looked at me. Those red eyes, oh, how I suddenly remembered them. I stood still as it panted loudly, it focusing on me as my attention was fixed on it. And with a snarl, and something that looked disturbingly like a grin, it vanished again.
When I finally got home, soaked to my skin and shivering, shivering, I threw up once, twice. When I tried to sleep that night, I just remembered its eyes, and I felt the furthest thing from safe.
From then on, I always took the long route home. But even though I wanted nothing with trouble, trouble found me again. With my arms bruisingly gripped by a stranger, and my struggling amounting to nothing, I shouted, "Let go!"
Once more, the creature came. Once more, it slaughtered. This time, I managed to stammer out a question - I don't remember what, probably some variation on "What are you?" - before it vanished. Its response had been to slowly blink at me, panting like a dog.
That's how I chose to see it, from then. Some giant, terrifying, unnatural dog that sought to protect me. Because I had fed it? Because I had touched it? Whatever the reason, it had come, twice now. So that night, I only threw up once, and drifted quickly into an exhausted sleep.
Now, while I won't say I started seeking out danger, I will admit I started taking more risks. Tried being bolder. Whenever I need it, the creature would come and save me. It wouldn't come for a simple, stupid task that I felt was important, not to do any favors. But when my heart started pounding, pounding, pounding, when adrenaline was drowning me, when my breath burned out of my lungs - then it came. It always came.
I came to learn that it was a simple beast, with even less intelligence than the dog I compared it to. It responded only to quick commands, easy tasks. If I asked it to bring me to my home, it wouldn't comprehend. If I simply said, "Take me away," it would grab hold of me and kill anything in its way as it whisked me to safety.
I didn't try to save any of the people who prompted it to come. Why should I have? They attacked what they thought was a defenseless woman. They deserved what came to them. Perhaps not all deserved death, not the trembling muggers with a pocketknife or the witless thugs of others, but there was no middle ground for me and my creature. Death or life. Danger or safety. And the choices between the two ... Well, they became easier and more obvious each time.
Though I am getting a little concerned. Lately, when I get nervous or angry, when I start to tremble or clench my fists, others say my eyes flash red. Sometimes, if emotion overcomes me, I forget how to speak and simply want to act.
Perhaps I should move out of the city. A job opportunity has opened up in another state, a town rather than a city. A place surrounded by trees and flowers and birdsong, and yet ... Moving seems like giving up, like I'm letting the city win.
If I'm not here, the thieves and killers will still be. I've made a difference here. The crime rate has dropped. The police have grown increasingly panicked and frustrated. Less people are staying inside out of fear. Things are *better*. I'm better, braver, and happier - and I haven't thrown up since that second night.
And so what if I'm seeking out trouble now? It's there, it will find someone. Might as well be me.
***
I hope you enjoyed this! When I saw the prompt, what first came to mind was sort of a dumb beast for the demon rather than a thinking humanoid. I liked the thought enough that I was inspired to write this! Thanks for the cool prompt, and if you're curious, there's more stories by me at r/lycheewrites :)
| 2017-06-13T07:00:00 | 2017-06-13T05:45:02 | 50 | 12 |
[WP] Humans finally broke physics by travelling faster than light in an experimental spaceship. 8 alien civilizations visited earth to issue a speeding ticket and 3 more sent strongly worded letters about safety in their school zones.
|
Then another message arrived in the form of video.
Law Offices of Drzbt - AI Attorney at Law. I'm the Black Hole Attorney - when I'm on the case, the charges against you will disappear from this universe.
"I was charged with exceeding the speed of light in a developing civilization zone. The Black Hole Attorney showed up in court - nobody ever heard of the charges again."
Drzbt: "Over zealous law keepers chap my matrix! Don't let them get away with it! I'll put their charges in a black hole so large that even news of its existence can't escape its gravitational well!"
Citizen: "Drzbt, I defied the law of gravity, and now the galactic authorities want a hefty fine and even a jail sentence! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Drzbt: "They've already crossed my event horizon! No charges escape the Black Hole Attorney!"
Citizen (on a purple beach that stretches for miles in front of orange water.): "Thanks Drzbt! Now I can spend my hard earned wealth on a vacation to a distant planet instead of on ridiculous fines concocted by an out of control bureaucracy. Your prices are fair. The justice was swift - no charges escaped your gravity well!"
Prosecutor (Confident, sitting in command chair on bridge.): "All speed ahead to the galactic court. I have a case to win."
Communications Officer: "A message is coming in, sir. It says Drzbt the Black Hole Attorney is the defendant's lawyer."
Prosecutor (Jumping to his feet): "Full stop! Reverse engines! Set course for point in universe furthest from the galactic court!"
Drzbt: "Hire me, Drzbt the Black Hole Attorney. I'm feared throughout the universe because no charges escape my even horizon!"
Citizen 2: "Thanks Drzbt. Thanks to you, I can afford the planetoid I've been saving up for for over 7 bleems."
Drzbt: "Got charges? Throw 'em into a black hole!"
(The preceding has been a paid announcement.)
|
It was a regular, run of the mill galactical voyage. The "Cremuleon Starship" was on its familiar route around the Milky Way Galaxy. In the control room, a large and open window made it so that you could absorb the incredible essence of the universe from a comfortable seat.
"I never get tired of looking at it," said Marly, the sole attendant of the control room. He was an attendant of the pilot, who manned the ship and controlled it in its entirety from the comfort of his tiny and little chair, which supported his tiny and little body.
"How do you not get tired of empty space? It's like going in circles." said the pilot, disregarding the observation nonchalantly. He was a veteran of the Cremuleon Starship, and had seen even the outer-edges of the universe, there was nothing left to surprise this being, who was as old as even some planets. Upset, and slightly perturbed at his superiors comments, Marly excused himself out of the control room. On his way out, before leaving the room, he looked back, and all he could see was the great vastness of space, decorated with and specked with tiny points of light all around it. The window made up the entirety of the front side of the room, and all things inside of it seemed to point towards it. In the center of the room sat the pilot, who also happened to be one of the greatest and most prominent figures in the universe. He made up one part of an eight member sect, who between them governed and oversaw the entire social and political aspects of all the galaxies in the universe. For a man of such prestige, and of such responsibility, he was remarkably calm, and never looked bothered. Which was another observation that Marly made, on his way out of the control room. As he stood before the exit, doors opened up before him, welcoming him on his way out. Marly made a promise to himself that he'd never lose the wonderment he had for the universe.
He stood in the hallway, not really sure what to do. It had been a long voyage that they had been on. About 5,000 days in Cremuleonian time, longer than any other voyage Marly had been on. He was tired, worn out, and desperate for some mix-up in his life, which was dominated by the proceedings of the control room. It was no plebian position, he was a highly-ranked member in the Cremuleon hierarchy, a Kala-kala, he was called. Essentially, this voyage was something of a rite of passage, which all Kala-kala's must do before being promoted to the position of Kulu-kulu, the position Marly wanted so badly.
"Just 1,340 more days to go," said Marly to himself, walking down the white-out hall-way, which was so blindingly bright that he had no other choice but to be alert. Apathy and tiredness were a sign of weakness he could not show, and the Starship itself demanded his full attention. When he reached the end of the hallway, a door opened itself to him, and he stepped into the other side, into a tube. This tube could transport him almost instantaneously to any part of the Starship with a click of a button. The Cremuleon people were very serious about efficiency. He chose the option of the cafeteria, and the tube set about taking him there. It shook hard and vibrated intensely, Marly always got nausea from it, but it was so quick that it was easy to get over. The tube opened and Marly stepped out, where a massive cafeteria came into sight. A guard came to him, looking down to the floor, which made him almost invisible, if not for the white floor which stretched out all around, and lit up everything around it. The Cremuleons were known for their short and stout appearance, as well as being completely blue in appearance.
"Greetings, Kala-kala Marly." said the guard as he bowed towards him.
"You don't have to call me that, Qarty," said Marly, he hated when his friend addressed him so formally.
"I'm kidding with you, Marly, geez. You sure get uptight when you spend such a long time in the control room. I thought you'd get inspired working with the Komoro himself."
"He doesn't talk much, sometimes I feel like he doesn't even know I'm there," said Marly dejectedly, he had a high hopes that the pilot Komoro would take a special liking to him, but he knew that a busy man such as himself wouldn't have the time to show his feelings. The two friends dropped the shop-talk and went to find a spare table in the vast cafeteria. Blue heads of darted up at the presence of Marly, and bowed in acknowledgement of his esteemed presence. Marly didn't look at them, he was ashamed of his esteemed position. Qarty on the other hand puffed out his back-side and looked all around him, basking in the extra attention. They found an open table and sat down. There was a special item on the menu. It was a delicacy of the Ramions, another civilazation similar to the Cremuleon's. They had many cultural overlaps.
They pressed the item they wanted on the electronic menu, which tracked their order, so that while Marly's stomach growled, he would constantly look at the timer, in impatience for his food.
"I hate the Ramion soup. It's so bland. I much prefer our style."
"Don't be crass, Qarty. They are a friend of ours. You know what they say 'Disrespect one of the eight, and you'll be stake."
"Huh."
A small gadget flew towards them, carrying a tray of their food. It buzzed and apologized for the wait, Marly was upset, but not upset enough to take it out on a gadget. They ate in silent contemplation, thinking about all their duties, intermittently, they would think about their home planet, Cremuleon and the family and friends they left behind, as they looked out through the massive cafeteria at the blue heads and flying gadgets moving around. Marly was thinking about his parents, when Qarty tugged on one of his six arms.
"Zarialy is coming. Act cool." said Qarty hurriedly, trying to warn his friend. Marly's ears began to vibrate, a Cremuleon sign of blushing.
"Hello, Kala-kala Marly," said Zarialy amorously as she leant in close to him, he could smell divinity on her, her presence sent ripples through his whole being. She didn't stop to chat, she was only passing through. An engineer's job on the Starship was a busy one. That never stopped her from saying hello to Marly. Secretly she hoped it would inspire him to make an advance, something she had been trying to incur since the start of the voyage. The trouble was Marly was very clueless in these matters.
"You gotta make a move on her, Marly. I'm telling you, she wants it."
"Oh, stop it, Qarty. Let's get out of here. I need to get back in the control room or the Komoro will off my head."
As the two friends walked towards the tube, a gadget flew towards Marly. It told him that he was needed in the control room at once. He wasted no time, he didn't say goodbye to Qarty, he didn't need to, he jumped into the tube which took him to that familiar hallway that he knew inside and out, like the ridges of his sixth arm.
The door to the control room opened and the Komoro turned around in his chair.
| 2021-04-27T23:32:32 | 2021-04-27T23:25:43 | 40 | 16 |
[WP] An app you've never seen before appears on your screen. When you open it, there's a button. When you press it, your phone turns into a loaded handgun. When you flip the safety, it reverts to a phone. You've never had to use it before, but one day you get a text saying "open the gun app"
|
I dipped my brush into the powder.
I swept it over the bruise.
I blotted my eyes.
*Crack.* The whole house shook, as he slammed the door. I picked up my phone. "He's home," I typed, my nails clicking on the keyboard. One of them was broken.
"GET OUT NOW," Amber texted back, immediately. "BEFORE HE SEES YOU."
"Shouldn't I tell him I'm leaving?"
"He'll hurt you."
I picked up the small duffel bag at my feet. I had only packed a few things -- a few shirts, a few pants, a necklace from my mom. I left the wedding ring on the nightstand.
I clicked open the window, and got one leg out, when --
*Slam.*
The door kicked open.
"Amy! What are you --"
I dove through the window. He uttered a string of curses, and stumbled after me in the brush. The chill bit at my fingertips, ran down my neck. But I continued into the darkness, until my lungs burned, my muscles ached. His calls -- "Amy, get back here, or I'm going to fucking kill you!" -- rang out in the darkness, from afar.
I looked at my phone. A text. Amber.
"I'M CALLING THE POLICE. WHERE ARE YOU?"
I called her, my fingers slipping over the screen. "I don't know where I am. In the woods, somewhere. He chased me but I think I lost him."
"The police are on their way, but if he finds you --"
"I'll hide."
"No." A pause. "The gun app. On your phone."
"What?"
"Just -- look for a gun icon on your phone." I crouched behind the boulder, and scrolled through the app icons. Sure enough, one I hadn't noticed before -- a gun -- was in with the rest.
"Press it!"
Beneath my fingertips, the phone melted into a handsome pistol.
"Amber, how did you --"
"Nevermind how! Use it!" the voice, somehow, shouted out of the gun.
His voice rang out across the forest. "I'm going to find you, Amy, and when I do -- I'll hit you so hard, you'll be dizzy for days."
Louder. Closer.
I gripped the pistol. My hands shook; my face beaded with sweat. I clenched my hand over my mouth. *No, please don't find me, please,* I prayed. It echoed over and over in my head, in rhythm with his approaching footsteps.
*Snap.*
*No --*
"I think you like it when I hit you," he said, his voice impossibly close. "That's why you're defying me. That's why you're playing this game." He laughed, and it echoed off the boulder.
Shaking, I stood up.
"There you are," he snarled. "You fucking thought you could leave? I *always* find you." He smiled. "Never forget that. No matter where you go, I will *always* find you --"
*CRACK.*
---
In the months following, I was acquitted of any crimes.
After all, the murder weapon was never found.
|
At some point you know your brain is being battered. The chemicals change; some mist clouds your enjoyment of all things, and it hangs there as a thin veil. Thin enough for you to see what's beyond, and you're missing. At some point you give in, realize you're going to have to live with it forever, and you do the best you can do.
I figured it must have been at least seven years back, but I don't keep count. This world of ours showed the first signs of scarring; the first fractures were forming. This was when the coup happened and when the leaks were springing up. On the news there was the constant flash of inhabitable this and that. Some country had broken out in war. The big businesses were fighting a good fight, and the leaders had to get first priority to safety. All of that good drama. I doubt you remember it though. There's not a chance you do. This all sounds like bullshit. But there's a reason why it does.
In the last five years things had changed. All the expendable countries had been torn apart, and it was time for the West to be given the spotlight. Civil war and power grabs came to light. The government fell and our new leaders were familiar faces. You've seen them on TV, on the cereal boxes and on your phone. The big corporations had taken over, arranging the bones of their created strife.
"The World is safer now. We know how things have been. We saw with our own eyes. We are like you. We will do right by you. We promise."
Everyone bought it. It was an easy sell. The world had turned to pockets of habitability, little bubbles of the past, staring out at a tarnished future. There was little salvaging so another solution was offered.
The World Democracy Company, as was the conglomeration of companies called, had developed new technologies.
"The next evolution in VR is here. We call it R - Reality."
A new implant that would make the bad go away. A chip that could erase the memories of the war and give the brain its own forgotten world to live in, to play in and work in. You'd be fed in the real world, of course, but everything else would be in there. It was all in there.
So how stupid does it all sound? Go ahead. You can be honest. To tell the truth, I don't know why I'm even writing this. Who will read it? But I might as well finish; get to the point if there is one.
A lot of people took up WD's offer. There were few who didn't. I was one of them. I don't know why. I lived in the city. Our apartments were bombed to craters. Outside is brown and grey, twisted metal rods for trees and weeds, and the high smell of sick that wafts in a lethargic air. Many of my neighbors who survived took the implant as soon as they could. They all asked when I would as well. I guess I just dawdled.
And since now I had lived in the illusion of choice. I don't know how many like me there were, but I can't imagine it was many. The past seven years have been hard. Foraging in the dark, eating malnourised scraps in the graveyards of commerce.
*At least I'm living in the real world,* I said.
That helped me push on.
I had a phone from way back when, an old 2098 model. Like the brick it was, it had survived with me. I used it for light and company. I wrote my thoughts on it as I write this. The battery was one of those replaceable ones, and I've managed to find replacements every so often. I figured this was my life, and sometimes, life was not so bad.
I once received a call one night. It was a hot night, black with ashen clouds against the broken sky.
"Hello?"
It was a woman's voice. She was afraid and excited.
"Hello? Who is this?"
"Oh my God, I can't believe this worked."
I looked up at the ceiling. Broken concrete and cracked pipes. The hole echoed in the still breeze of the outside world. I closed my eyes and pictured her.
"I can't believe it either. Who are you?"
"I... My name is Linda... I didn't think this would work. I just... I just called this number by random."
We talked the night away. Her battery must have died. I remember the silence then, how cold it was despite the heat. How alone I felt. In the last five or so years I don't think I've spoken to a real person since. I wonder if they even exist anymore.
The WD had been busy though. A world democracy is not easy work. By all reports, they had nearly full coveraage with their implants. Soon they were scooping up the corpses and putting them in facilities. They never explained why. They didn't have to. All the bodies were in their own worlds, living out their fantasy existence.
I had moved then and begun hiding. Fear thrived in the real world, and I was surrounded by death and exploitation. I saw the rebuilding efforts begin, the same efforts that had been called impossible. Slowly the world is being recultivated, groomed for the rich to play in.
*I live at least.*
But choice is an illusion for the poor who can't afford better. I should have ditched the phone. I should have given everything up. There was something about it though, the robotic voice that talked to me when I was alone, the light in the abject dark. Just holding something, anything, that was from the world before. It helped me. It made me sane. For a time.
The app came a few days prior. I had stared at this screen for so long, I saw it immediately. It looks like one of those ancient designs, a square one from the 2000's or something. It looks like a gun in a red box. Touching it turned the screen black, and showed a radiation level. I thought it was a game at first. I wonder if that was how we got to this point in the first place.
I could not delete the app. I have tried just before writing this, and perhaps that has made it worse. Out in the country you hear mangled birds, and drawn out crickets. The animals mutate amid the stumps and the shadows cast twisted figures on the bare soil. I thought I was safe here. I thought I could be free at least. But you know where this is going.
The phone buzzed with a message.
"Open the gun," it said.
Then the logo from the WD company. How did they know? That was the first question I had. The second was why? But I think those questions were my mind's way of stalling. None of them matter. I do not matter.
Some compulsion took me. I cannot say what it was. It is unlike the compulsion to write, or the bad feelings that force me to live out this existence. This compulsion felt artificial; it was not me. I opened the app and saw the radiation level on the phone listed as 'Full'. There was a button to release, to fire the 'gun',
"Open the gun."
Have I just said that, or am I saying it now? The words dance in my head. I think of the woman, Linda, and wonder if she is still alive. I wonder who else has gotten this message.
*Construction of the new world is almost complete,* I think.
They can't have a straggler like me around now. I press the button, not of my own will, but of the only will that really exists: theirs. I push the button and nothing happens. The cold feeling I feel is anticpation, and I know the true thing always happens in silence, in secret.
The radiation brims, and I will die. This phone will die and so too will these words. But that is okay. You don't believe me anyway. You live in your perfect little world with your implant, while your body powers the lights for the rich and powerful. You are probably reading this from the comfort of your bed, on your new phone that has all the latest apps that twist our brain. You probably think this some stupid fiction written by a crazed stranger.
You probably do, but I should not be mean. My head swims now in the invisible poison. I look around at the collapsed sky and fractured world and wonder why I never made the sensible choice. My chest burns and I know it is not long now. I hate you, dear reader, but I suppose that is jealousy. Maybe I made the wrong choice, the only real choice I ever had.
Things dim now. I suppose this is where the story ends...
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out r/PanMan for more stories you might like. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Thank you for your support!*
| 2017-11-13T15:15:32 | 2017-11-13T15:15:00 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
"I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant.
|
I'd tried every thing. Disguises, Netflix and takeout at their place, a romantic picnic in the park, even asking out the chief of police to try and find a way to connect with a special someone.
Each time it failed. Not because of anything I said or did but because the it never really got that far. The Hero Squad always busted in, arrested me, took my date and any witnesses in for extensive questioning before eventually letting us all go and leaving ME with the repair bill.
No more.
I was sick of the constant invasion of my privacy. Sick of having my assests frozen because of baseless rumours - well not entirely. My regular self had my fortune through weapons tech and then invested into media. I then used this to fund my villainous schemes. The Hero Squad, stupidly, thought my villanious ego had stolen the funds or that I was being brainwashed or blackmailed into supporting them.
The baselessness came from anytime anyone online said that "I bet Negasonic Ninja" was behind it." Boom, just like that, assests frozen, home under surveillance. Couldn't even leave my house to walk my dog without helicopters and Zero Squad cutting me off down the block.
First time was a tsunami in Asia. Second times was a volcanic eruption in Hawaii. Most recently a well recieved film wasn't nominated for an Oscar. Which was stupid as MY Company had been responsible for financing it through one of our subsidiaries.
My competition was having a field day. My real life self was suffering because Hero Squad was lazy and reactive. And when they ruined a date I'd finally snagged with Mesmiro, a young and intriguing super villain, I had to put my foot down.
The fine irony was I hadn't DONE any acts of villany after watching "Kingsman". Business influence could get me what I wanted more effectively than any laser or brainwashing.
I hear the questions you're asking. "Why not just KILL the Hero Squad? Why not date as your real life identity? And what was up with your villain name?'
Answers:
Hero Squad didn't fight fair. And they had the backing of every type of law enforcement to end a confrontation with a villian by any means necessary. Not down to mess with that.
Why not date as my "real self"? My alter ego was the 25 year old Ali Landry, tech genius and CEO. Problem was not many believed it. Starting out I had used my uncle to secure loans and do business deals as who would take an 18 year old girl seriously in those settings?
But it worked too well. People believed my uncle was the power and control of the company. Anyone interested in Ali wanted my money, a job, an introduction to him. It was beyond comprehension that a young woman could be sucessful in business and good at tech.
And my name. I chose my villain name when I was 17, ok? I thought it was cool and it's too late to change now.
But now I was going to be free of all of this. All the planning, talks and carefully laid work was about to pay off.
I called a press conference, a big announcement and a new direction for the company. The press was waiting eagerly as my uncle and another well dressed man, the key to everything, sat quietly on stage. It was time to begin.
I walked out on stage as Negasonic Ninja and the press went wild. Shouting, cameras lighting up the room unbearably bright.
"Please. Settle down, I would like to read my statement."
The press quickly quietened down. Either it was an evil plot or the scoop of a century and they were eager to find out which.
"As you know I am a super powered person by tthe name of Negasonic Ninja. For 4 years I tried to take over the world and shape it into my ideal vision. A utopia of peace, equality and technology. I wished to overthrow the unjust systems and rulers that kept Earth from being a paradise. But I gave up on that 3 years ago when it became apparent that the corruption that I tried so hard to fight had tricked all of you into believing I was a bad person, that I had bad intentions.
For though I had completely ceased all criminal activity a poor innocent civilian, Ali Landry, was persecuted for my past actions. Even today, we see, yet again, her company and personal life held prisoner by the so called "good guys" who are nothing more than puppets to her competitors.
Why though? Her company is environmentally sustainable, pays well and has a diverse culture and is not involved remotely in anything unsavory. I suspect this has more to do with her being a young woman in tech with a new way of doing things and amazing breakthroughs than anything I had ever done, even though we have similar thoughts about world improvement.
And so, to stop her suffering I announce my retirement from villainy. I will be leaving immediately to an undisclosed location to live out my days in a self created utopia and let her get on with her life. Thank you."
I stepped away from the podium, the press erupting into a flood of noise as I moved to leave. My robot of Ali me stepped to the podium and the press started to quieten down again. I pressed the button on my wrist to run the pre written speech response. I also turned on the thought control to link us.
"Thank you, Negasonic Ninja. I was unsure of your intentions when you initially asked to hold this conference but now I am sure agreeing to this was the best outcome.
As you can see there is no link between Negasonic Ninja and I. And I, as a private citizen, am sick of having to endure being a victim of a witch hunt anytime her name gets mentioned.
My home and bank accounts have been combed through no less than 7 times and there has never been a link found between us. My lawyer (hand indicated to the well dressed man sitting on stage) has helped me draft and file paperwork against the Hero Squad.
Harassment, stalking and damages to my business and reputation worth millions of dollars. And I'm filing a restraining order against their leader, Incredi-man.
The damages these so called heroes do under the protection of real criminals has to come to an end. I implore you, if you've ever suffered because of them, please contact my lawyer. The details are available on my company website.
The robot of me turned to villain me.
Thank you, Negasonic Ninja. I believe you have a plane to catch. Then she walked off stage
Real me slunk outside and quickly disappeared into a bathroom, changing into my regular clothes. Robot me walked off stage into a waiting limo while my uncle and new lawyer dealt with the press. As it rounded the corner it stopped and I climbed in. Ah the joys of self driving, programmable cars.
Another one had left 5 minutes earlier to go to a small airport with a private jet and an off the books flight to a private island I owned.
Let them chase a ghost. They wouldn't dare touch me again.
Arriving home 20 minutes later I was just entering my main house when my lawyer called.
"That went better than I expected."
"It went exactly to plan. And I think we should celebrate. Say dinner at L' Augusta? Around 7?"
"Its a date."
I smiled and hung up. Villain me might be retired but real me was about to go on hopefully the first of many dates with my lawyer. Who also happened to be Brainiac, a villain long thought dead and who had given me my way out.
| 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T08:21:21 | 129 | 14 |
[WP] The monster under your bed is protecting you from something much worse.
|
His eyes were big. Bigger than the plates in my new teaset. I was scared until I saw those eyes. Scary things have mean eyes. His eyes were funny.
"You're not afraid?" he asked.
"Are you going to eat me?"
"No."
"Then no." His fur looked soft and warm. I wanted to let him.
"Don't," he said when I reached for it. "Don't touch me. You aren't even supposed to see me."
"I saw last night," I said.
"I know, and I'm sorry. I was late. I shouldn't have let him get out." He hung his head.
Just then, the growling started again. The monster in my closet was getting hungry. But I wasn't scared. I didn't need to yell for Mommy anymore. The monster under my bed would protect me. He always has.
|
For as long as I can remember, the monster has lived under my bed. Though, I’ve never seen it, I’ve heard stories of it. How it fed, if it breathed air, or ever really slept, I didn’t know. After all, the space under my bed wasn’t that much. Let alone big enough for a monster to live under. But there it resided for years. That’s what they tell me, at least.
The monster was more prevalent when I was younger, protecting me from all sorts of scary things – especially the bad man. In fact, it’s been years, I’ve been told, since the monster has made an appearance. Now, the monster was back, to protect me.
I was sleeping in my bed when I woke up in flash, hearing loud screaming and banging downstairs. I could hear my mom’s voice wailing in the night and the bad man howling back at her. The bad man was truly evil. He looked like and spoke like my dad, but he wasn’t him. It was like the bad man put on my dad’s skin. When the skin was on, he would do terrible things; breaking dishes, windows, bones, and anything else he could grab.
I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, while my mom screamed for him to stop. I pulled myself under the blankets, hoping they would protect me. The door swung open and whacked my dresser. The bad man entered my room. I trembled with fear as I heard him walk closer and closer to my bed. Shaking violently, I gripped the covers as hard as I could, until he pulled them off of me. I screamed and it all went black.
I awoke the next day to the sound of my mom downstairs making breakfast, while a soft rain hit against my window. I rubbed my eyes and remembered my nightmare from the night before – the bad man had come back. I shivered as I pushed myself up and out of bed. I looked around my room, and nothing was out of place, despite my memories of the smashed mirror and closet door being ripped off the hinges. What. Happened? I ran my hands through my hair, perplexed but calm, chalking the thoughts to my nightmare entering into my random access memory.
I made my way downstairs and turned towards the kitchen. I walked through the doorway and was greeted by my mother whose face was hovering over the stove as she frantically made breakfast with a muffled “You’re going to be late.” My dad, sitting at the table, didn’t bother looking up at me. The kitchen was clean and organized, but not how I remembered it from last night. The sink was splattered in blood, the fridge door handle was ripped off and jammed into the wall. But, now, nothing.
“I know, sorry mom… I overslept…” I trailed off as I again caught a flashback of the bad man ripping the covers off my bed. My dad, keeping his face in the newspaper, side-eyed me with a look of disgust.
After covering the plate in more pancakes than a family of three could eat in a week, my mom turned around and walked to the table. My jaw dropped when I saw what caused the muttering earlier. Her bottom lip was swollen to twice the size of what her normally thin lips were.
“Jesus Christ, what happened?” I said before I could stop myself.
“She was reaching up top for one of her pans on the shelf and it fell and hit her last night,” my dad said with a look of reassurance. “Isn’t that right dear?”
“Yes, I really should’ve been paying better attention.”
“Is that what all that screaming was about last night?” I asked.
“What screaming, dear? Oh hurry and eat your breakfast, you’re already late,” my mom replied, shoveling pancakes onto my plate.
“I guess I’m having those monster dreams again….”
“OH COME ON! THE DOCTOR SAID THAT WAS JUST A PHASE!” my dad snapped at me.
I poured some orange juice into my glass and dug into breakfast without as much as a peep. He was right though, it had been years since the monster under my bed made an appearance. But, come to think of it, that was the first time the bad man made an appearance in my nightmares in years.
Pushing myself away from the table, I got up and walked towards the sink. Setting my dishes in the sink, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a tooth. I reached over and grabbed it. I flashed back to last night again, as I saw the kitchen table smashed on the floor and my mom cowering in the corner. I blinked and was back in the clean kitchen.
“Mom, is this a tooth?” I asked as I tried to put the puzzle in my head together.
“A tooth? No, sweetie, that’s probably an old bread crumb,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her jaw from moving.
“Yeah, I suppose it is. It’s just… how… how did it end up over here by the sink if the pans on the shelf hit you on the other side of the kitchen?” That felt bold.
“What, honey?” She replied, as she looked at me with lost eyes.
“What your mother is trying to say is you need to get on your way. Now!” My dad said, trying to take control of the conversation.
“No… dad. I don’t think so.”
“NOW!” he screamed back, as my mom put her face into her hands and wept silently.
“Or what?” Where did that come from? I’d never said anything like that to my dad before.
“What? You think that monster is going to protect you from everything?”
“Protect me from what, dad?” I demanded to know.
“Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll find out soon enough.”
Right on cue, there was a thud from my bedroom upstairs. We looked at each other with wide-eyed fear.
“What… was that?” I asked as a shiver went down my back.
“Why don’t you be a hero and go find out,” my dad suggested. My mom was now sobbing into her hands, at the table.
I turned and ran upstairs. I’ll be damned if my dad is going to get away with this. ‘Get away with what?’ I asked myself as I made my way to my room.
I swung the door open. Terror struck my body and I froze. I finally got the strength needed, and turned around towards the door and yelled downstairs, “Dad, you’d better come here.” It all went black.
| 2016-03-20T18:47:31 | 2016-03-20T17:39:49 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You're pinned down, outnumbered and out of ammo. Your partner says, "There's no way we're both getting out of here alive." He pulls out a small pistol and presses it to his temple. He smile and says, "I'm going ghost". He pulls the trigger. The enemy stops firing... then they start screaming.
|
“What in the fuck are you thinking Private Mason?” He winks and pulls the trigger. The instant the muzzle flashes, he vanishes. I’m partly disturbed, but mostly angry. I cannot believe that he pulled some magic suicide crap and left me hiding behind a partially collapsed wall stuck fighting a squad of ISIS fighters all by myself! I tighten my grip on my rifle, the cold metal pushing against my palms. I’m not going down without a fight. I wait, listening to each individual shot being fired, attempting to find the rhythm they’re shooting at. Slowly, the gunfire dies down, and I take my opportunity. I peak my upper body out and aim. None of the ISIS fighters notice me; they’re too busy panicking.
Suddenly, one of the fighters is lifted off the ground and smashed into the ground, his skull bursting like a balloon full of pancake batter. The fighters start firing wildly in that general direction, stray bullets grazing their allies. A green burst of energy appears out of nowhere and burns a massive hole through two fighters’ chests. Immediately after, a third is launched into the air. As he reaches his apex, something appears above him: a man wearing a black and white uniform, a stylized “D” on his chest, rocking ghostly white hair. The man in black and white uniform brings his hands together and swings downward. The ISIS fighter rockets down to the earth, his impact kicking up a massive cloud of dust. The ISIS fighters fire up at him. I couldn’t tell from this distance, but it seemed like some of the bullets just phased through him. The man’s hands sparked with green energy, and he unleashed a volley of small, green balls of light upon the fighters. Each ball had the strength of two grenades, and blasted the remaining ISIS fighters to pieces. The man looked around, noticing me staring and floated down towards me. I aim my rifle at him, and he raises his arms.
“Sarge! Don’t shoot! It’s me!” He exclaims. I lower my rifles.
“Private Mason?!” I ask. “What the fuck is this now? Superpowers?” I approach him. “And why do you look familiar in that getup?” Private Mason lands in front of me. A large, blue ring formed around his hips and subsequently split into two, one moving up and the other moving down, his superhero costume being replaced by his standard uniform as it passes over him.
“You might not know this, but I actually took my wife’s last name to get out of the limelight.” Private Mason said. “My last name was Fenton. Danny Fenton.” That name clicks in my head.
“Oh shit! You’re that Danny Phantom boy! I remember hearing about you on the news a while ago!” Private Mason seems proud of himself. A smack him across the face. “Why’d you have to go an shout yourself like that!? You could have just transformed or something!” He sheepishly smiles and shrugs.
“Uhh... I just have a thing for drama?” I sigh.
“You mean like this?” I pull out my glock and shoot past Private Mason’s head and finish off a wounded ISIS fighter reaching for a rifle. Private Mason turns and looks at the freshly killed fighter.
“Yeah, like that.”
|
Like all of the best non-traditional weapons used by the insurgents of the world, Ghosting was the byproduct of a Russian chemist playing a practical joke on people at his girlfriend's gallery opening.
The idea was cooked up by the chemist in question when he was pressed, through means not yet fully understood, to simulate death in his pet rabbit. Mixing up a slew of chemicals found beneath his sink and some electrical apparatus in his garage, he did so, and everyone was suitably amused for a few hours and later left the party to go set fire to someone's attic - again, for reasons not yet fully understood, but it did cause the ensuing Yelp reviews to be things of beauty unto themselves.
Over the next few months, Evgeny Tartov became obsessed with the process he would later dub "Ghosting". The prevailing idea was to experience it himself, except his cowardice was out-shined by his genius. So, he enlisted a guy he met on Craigslist. Said dude became the first-ever human test subject to experience Ghosting. Well, outside of people on Tinder, who knew a different process entirely.
Once a subject was infused with the biochemical soup intravenously and attached to the appropriate electrical apparatus, they all related the same experience: their physical body lost all vital signs save for what was required to be technically not a corpse, and that they were in a vast, empty world of hollowed-out buildings, inanimate objects older than fifteen years of age, and could float no further than six meters from whatever constituted ground level in their vicinity. Additionally, no material not originating from inside of a living construct could be taken through; all matter less than fifteen years old was considered to be, as it were, immaterial.
The rules were as arbitrary as they were fixed in reality; no god crafted the empty world and none could claim dominion over it.. yet.
With effort, a Ghost could listen and even monitor space near them as they moved through space, and could sense living forms, from germs all the way to humans, by extending their senses a little further; one hazard that presented itself was that living matter constituted a barrier once it was detected. Some lifeforms, like certain strains of ivy or common roses, could not be breached and sort of "strengthened" their immediate environs. Finer control could see some Ghosts materialize in new locations, provided they found living, empty hosts on the other end of the process; fellow Ghosts, for example, being the easiest of preys. The deeply wounded, dying and morphine-addicted were runners-up, it seems.
The idea and procedure of Ghosting became a thing of legendary financial disasters: security firms began hunting down every lead in the market; corporations suddenly took up topiary and lawn maintenance as a means of securing their facilities; fertilizer became the new gold. The world markets shifted overnight, new government policies became rote protective elements, drug dealers could then start using living mules to transport their cargoes beyond border control elements by stuffing every orifice with cocaine or heroin and arranging for their Ghosts to reach relay stations planned in advance.
Wars broke out, as is fashionable with new technologies, and skirmishers on both sides became adept at ambushes, counter-logistics and assassinations, with the majority of Ghosts patrolling out of preventative spite, making life in the armed services all the more horrifying when it came to their walking wounded. Professional Ghosts became ghoulish in their appearance by dint of the chemical and electrical processes required: hollow, deep-set eyes, lips rimed in blackened tissues, hollow cheekbones, body odor sort of like Axe; nothing that anyone wanted to experience, yet - there one was.
From the archives of the experience, collected by a squad of counter-insurgency fighters, circa 2098, in the former state of Michigan, near the Detroit Crater Fields.
"There we were, stuck in traffic. All week, we'd been getting peppered with little dicey shots from the Coalitian pistoleers. Those ass-hats would stick a rocket launcher up a cow's ass and drag it across, just to ruin someone's birthday party. Of course, we did way worse, but we had actual government backing, so screw those guys. Anyways."
The operator, a girl barely out of her teens, looked like she could headline a dancing troupe for necrophiliacs, dressed in a ragged uniform that reeked of saltwater and decaying plant life.
"We figured out how to avoid that glossy, super-dead look: breeding kelp and fish guts into the weave of our uniforms. Sure, they stank like hell, but it meant we could differentiate between friend and foe without using code words and stuff. We got super good at keeping them intact, so long as we were fighting."
She beams with pride, tapping her forehead. Her fingernails are missing, save for her thumbnails; captured members of the Globalia Initiative, her fighting unit, could expect torture and maiming. She was no exception, save she is one of the fifteen to have escaped custody.
"Right, so. Maitland and me, we got caught. Shit happens, so we knew we needed to get righteous and such. One of us was going to have to make the big leap. He.. well, we was tight. Not, like, in a sex-thing kind of way. We.. uh. We was close, okay? Just.. just keep it at that. Dude was married. I think. Whatever."
When discovered, Joan "Choke" Deschutes, was found hanging from a drawbridge outside of Sussex, England, making her one of the furthest travelers who survived the Big Leap phenomenon. The corpse of James "Rodeo" Rando is still in geosynchronous orbit and is used for navigational purposes after the attachment of the relay station equipment to him, marking him as the longest-ever Big Leaper discovered.
"The last thing that I saw, you know, before those prison guards came swarming at us out of the Murk, it.. it was his smile, you know? The same one he wore when was running down the Sears Tower, laughing our asses off as we cut those goons' guide-wires.. or when we was shootin' limousines outside of Berkeley, trying to clip a governor or mayor or whatever. Good times, you know?"
She pauses and looks to the camera, her eyes permanently milky, a soft glaze to them, each pupil blown out in an eight-ball hemorrhage. She smiles, motioning in a circular fashion with a nail-less fingertip.
"He, uh.. he looked at me, and he said, 'there ain't no way out of this for us', and I.. I just knew what he was gonna do."
She leans forward, her face hidden for a moment, sighing hard and deep.
"Maitland put that stupid fucking Glock into his neck and he said, 'I'm going Ghost', and I just.. I just knew he was gonna do something legendary."
She then breaks into a beatific smile, tapping her forehead rhythmically.
"He .. must have hidden the Ghost rigging beneath his jacket, where I couldn't see it. Who knows how he got it in there, but there it was. See, uh.. you can't double-Ghost. Except he did. And these guys don't believe me. Hell, I was there, and I know better, and *I* don't believe me."
She smiles less and looks to the mirrored window overlooking her interrogation chamber.
"When he fell, he was still smiling. When I heard all of those guys getting ripped into salsa, he was still smiling."
She looks dead into the camera, shaking her head, looking more irritated than somber. She has more than thirty years left in her sentence and she looks only upset.
"You know how everyone used to laugh about the flickering-lights shtick in movies and old TV shows? When you double-Ghost, that's.. that's how you can be spotted. Thing is.."
The footage then becomes stroboscopic, the lights dancing across the screen, her features warping from the effects on the video capture stream.
"..we've always had our Ghosts. Maitland promised he would help me escape. And we Ghosts, we don't lie. Lies chase us to death. That ain't for him or me, though. See, we Ghosts know that when you jump twice, you get to live forever.. like a god, right?"
A common maxim among the Ghost operatives of the world. The video continues to degrade.
A burst of static ensues, followed by pained shrieks, a flash of light to darkness as she is lifted up towards the hole that appears in the ceiling, then a sudden blast that ruins the footage further: operator first class Maitland D. Hewitt, known as Ghoul to friend and foe, staring at the viewer with a very, very proud smile, followed by the screen darkening.
Former operator second class Joan "Choke" Deschutes is listed as missing, presumed dead, and still carries a bounty of three hundred thousand credits, unadjusted, for her capture and/or proof of termination by the joint council of Coalition and Globalia Initiative forces.
To date, no Ghost operator can claim status as a triple jumper.
Yet.
| 2019-11-22T04:34:38 | 2019-11-22T03:08:13 | 42 | 13 |
[WP]In a world filled with villains and heroes you are a supervillain and your twin is a superhero. What people don't know is that neither of you is good or evil, you both flipped a coin to see who would join what side to then carry out EXTREME pranks on each other.
|
“We let it get out of hand,” he said. They sat next to each other on a heap of rubble, of bodies and brick and fallen trees, overlooking a sludged river.
She slapped her heel into the dirt and a whirl of dust wrapped around her shoe. “I didn’t mean to kill them all.”
He let out a long breath. ”I didn’t mean to let them all die.”
A rat scampered over a fallen pharmaceutical sign, a chunk of rotting fruit in its mouth. She looked up at the permanently greyed sky — as if they were in a shaken snow globe that refused to settle — and wondered if even rats would survive much longer.
She had altered the asteroid‘s trajectory. Imagine his face, she’d thought, when he woke up to see that huge rock hurtling towards earth, eclipsing the sun. That’d wet his pants, so to speak. It would get him back for the utopian hell-scape she’d woken to a week before — where crime had been eradicated and if anyone so much as thought a bad thought, he’d imprison them. He’d reveresed their situation, turned himself into the villain but gaslit the world into thinking he was still the hero. And she, well, she was out of business.
The asteroid changed everything once more. He couldn’t control billions of terrified people, people who thought they were about to die. What threat did he have that was worse than the end of times?
He, of course, had a level of telekinesis. He would be able to turn the asteroid away. They both knew that.
However, his idea for revenge was a game of chicken. No, he wouldn’t waste his energy giving in to her little asteroid prank. Let it come! She’d give up first, she’d be the one to bat it away and weaken herself for a while.
Let him…
Let her…
”So what now?“ he said.
She sighed and got down onto her knees. She picked up a brick and placed it on top of another. Then a third on top of that. Like Lego.
“You want to rebuild? When most of the earth has been destroyed? You do know all the people are gone, right? We let them all die.”
”I know. But we’re still here. We have forever to sulk in the remains of civilisation.”
He thought a while. Of their experiments with DNA. Wondered, if in another hundred or thousand or hundred thousand years, they might be able to bring humanity back.
And if they could, then humanity would need somewhere to live. To feel safe.
He took a long breath then joined his sister. Took a brick and placed it to the side of hers. No mortar. No measurements. Symbolic at best.
“It’ll take a long time,” he said.
She nodded.
They had worked against each other for only a short time and had caused all this. Had wrought the end of everything.
So perhaps, working together for a much longer period, they could at least begin something good.
|
Steady... steady... NOW! I rip the path the hero is walking along. He tries to fly away, but his feet are stuck, so he falls into the newly created hole. I cackle as I emerge from the shadows, sealing the ground. I then create another hole right below me, and tear the earth underground so that my captive is in a 'prison' of sorts. He just shakes his head in amusement.
"Dammit, Keith! Today was supposed to be my day off!" he chastises.
I giggle. "Sorry, bro, you know I can't help it."
"I know, but that was a cheap shot. Come on, just let me out, you got me!" Henry looks at me with a hopeful smile.
I'm about to agree when I hear something. "Hang on, sounds like someone is nearby..." I take a quick peek, then breathe a sigh of relief. I go back down. "It's just your pal, Vein. Neither of us are in trouble. She's a hero so won't hurt you, and she won't do anything with me if you'll be at risk of harm." I rub my arm as I remember my last encounter with her.
Despite myself being seen as a villain, and Henry, my twin brother, as a hero, the truth is we just wanted to give each other the same crap we always do, just on a larger scale. No one gets hurt, no money stolen... just brotherly love. That didn't stop heroes and villains from trying to deal with us, however - last time I encountered Vein, I had used my powers to trap a bunch of people on a concrete island to lure Henry out. But as he arrived, so did Vein... and she used her powers to tighten my muscles and force me to release my captives. It was only thanks to an 'accident' on Henry's part that I wasn't thrown in prison.
Us two have been left to ourselves ever since Purge and Warper united heroes and villains for a common cause. For us, it's not that we don't care, but we're just not responsible enough heh. Anyway, as expected, Vein has noticed my creation and decided to investigate. "Well, well, we meet again, Grounder."
I roll my eyes. "I still hate that name, Vein. Anyway, you work for Warper, right? Don't you have better things to do than worry about our pranks?"
Vein scoffs. "Pranks? Including ones where innocent citizens are involved?"
"Hey, it's always voluntary. You remember when I trapped them on that island, they weren't even scared?" I challenge.
"I just do my job" Vein snaps back.
"Yeah, and luckily for me they all thought it was part of the show. Listen, can you leave us alone now?" I beg.
She looks between me and Henry. "And leave him to die by your hand?"
"If I were going to do that, I'd have done so already!" I retort.
"Are you two just gonna keep bickering?" Henry asks. We both turn around. "Keith is telling the truth, about EVERYTHING. We're just two dumb teenagers messing around. Sure I do some *actual* hero stuff, but most the time we're trying to get the better of each other."
I grin. "Exactly. Now, I suppose I should let you out... but we don't want the stuff above your head to crush you. Move towards the 'door' please." Henry does so, and I begin to fill the area behind him, until I'm certain enough he's safe. I feel a slight tingling and glance back at Vein. "You're still here? Listen, you're not wanted OR needed. Please leave. I literally CAN'T let him out until you're gone."
"Are you sure?" Another voice speaks up. Purge shows herself.
"PURGE? Wha- why- ho-" I can't seem to find the words.
"Keith, listen. You and your brother have been tracked for a little while. Vein being here... isn't a coincidence. Your powers, Keith... you don't know how much damage you've caused, how many people you've hurt." Purge seems sincere.
I stagger back in surprise. "But-"
Purge turns to Henry. "Sir, remember that earthquake a few weeks ago?"
"Yeah, it was bad. Glad everyone was safe." Henry smiles.
"That's true, but Keith's activities were what resulted *in* the earthquake. Then there are the people who get caught up in these 'pranks'. They act fine, but they get traumatised by your brother. These people who 'volunteer' don't think they have a choice. It's easy to say no harm done, but I don't think you two realise the after-effects." Purge looks at us sympathetically.
"Wait... you..." I process everything Purge just said. It... it all lines up... I hear about infrastructure and traffic shortly after I've done my thing... and our pranks haven't been without risk... I look at my hands... "Oh gosh... I never wanted to actually BE a villain..."
Vein puts a hand on my shoulder. "We know" she says softly.
I sigh as I release my brother. I can tell he's as shocked as I am. "So... what happens... now? To Keith? With me?"
"Keith is under arrest for his crimes" Purge responds calmly. "We won't lock him up; we're the *Rehabilitation* Foundation for a reason, but he has a lot of debts to pay. As for you, feel free to join us if you wish, but I suggest just focusing on keeping out of trouble."
"Keith is my brother" Henry remarks. "If you're taking him, I'm coming too."
"Henry..." I respond.
Henry glides over. "I won't leave you."
"Thank you" I say quietly.
Henry picks me up to carry me. "I know where the building is. See you gals there." With that, he's off, me in tow.
**THE REHABILITATION FOUNDATION =WARPER=**
"Warper" a voice exclaims. I'm shocked - the two boys are here, WITHOUT Vein or Purge!
"What happened to your escorts?" I inquire.
"They're on the way" the same kid responds. He's looking at me sternly. The other kid has his face turned from me, his eyes constantly darting towards and away from me. "I know you want me to join, and I know you want Keith here so he doesn't cause any more trouble. The two of us stick together. Otherwise, we're out of here."
I nod. "I understand. Keith... how does your power work?"
The other boy looks at me properly. "It runs in my muscles... I know this because when Vein has dealt with me before, my powers would stop working and everything would... 'reset', I guess."
"Alright, you'll need muscle suppressors. As for you..." I look at the other teen "...I take it you'll be ok with your powers being nullified too?"
"I have flight. That's mostly it. All that's needed to keep me from using that is something heavy around my ankles." He nudges Keith, who smirks.
I stop myself from laughing. "Alright. I'll get that sorted for you two." At that moment, Vein and Purge enter.
"Oh, good, you two ARE behaving" Vein mocks.
"Alright, calm down" I respond. "They need to be set-up. This one with muscle suppressors, this one with a heavy set of cuffs on the ankles. Not too heavy, we don't need to crush his feet."
"Of course, honey" Purge responds while Vein nods.
"Good." I look at the teens. "I'm hoping things will go well for you two..." I sit back as I think about Katie. "After all... that's what we're about..." my mind goes blank at this point.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [It's Not Just Business.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xoduo6/its_not_just_business/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
| 2022-11-14T06:00:34 | 2022-11-14T05:34:45 | 431 | 73 |
[WP] When he was young, he committed a murder in his '67 Camaro and sold the car to hide all traces of his crime. Years later, his children find the car, restore it, and give it to him for his birthday.
|
Sam sat in the driveway with the keys in his lap, rhythmically gripping the leather trimmed steering wheel for the satisfying crackle.
What a fucking car.
"Aren't you gonna take it out?"
"Yeah Dad, come on, let's go for a ride."
"I'll take you guys later." He said flatly. "The first one's all mine."
The engine started with a powerfull surge. Vibrations rushed right up to his chest and sat down next to a thirty year old ache.
"This is the nicest thing anybody's ever given me... You know I love you kids, right? I mean, you two know that?"
The words sounded clumsy. Forced, even. He wasn't that kind of a dad. Sam had always spoken the language of a provider. He made sure his kids had what they needed, worked hard to build trust funds for their college education, gave sound advice, never yelled- but he didn't kiss any boo boos. Their stunned silence was testament. Eventually they both nodded blankly, clearly confused.
"Good" he said absently. "That's good"
On the freeway he flipped through stations until he found the good stuff. Some kid on college radio found an old funk collection at the back of the stacks and had been playing odd selections from Curtis Mayflield for a few weeks. Superfly. Sam cranked the volume and took off his tie. He watched it blow around in the car until it lazily found a way to slip out through the back window and into the summer breeze. Up ahead, the left lane was blocked off. He knew where it went.
Lighting up a cigarette for the first time in 10 years, Sam veered into the orange and white sawhorse style blockades. They went down easy, but the sound was deafening. Kind of like a gunshot from a 38 special in the middle of the night when no one's watching. Or like the splash of a large bag weighted down with rocks as it hits the Mississippi. A sound with staying power.
As the edge of the unfinished bridge approached faster and faster, Sam could only see the back of some poor schmuck's head. The same dumb bastard who wouldn't leave him alone. Who he kept seeing in his dreams. The guy who's brains he'd had to clean up, piece by piece, all over a deal gone sour.
|
The garage door lurched open and my face turned from joy to agonizing surprise. I had to mask it. "Oh my god! Is this my old Camaro? I can't believe you guys even found this! How did you know where to look? How did you even know this was mine?!" Those questions needed to be answered. I thought this car was gone; buried. It should not have come back to me.
I hugged the boys. My wife looked at me quizzically. I feigned a smile. My eyes darted back to the car. "Well lets see how it runs!" I walked up to the driver side door, my hand just reaching out to grasp the handle. I recoiled. He was looking at me from the passenger seat.
"Are you okay Dad?"
"Fine, fine. It - it just brings back so many memories." Another smile. I looked again, he was gone.
I put the key in the ignition.
"So, did you change the carpets and chairs or are these the originals?"
"All original Dad." He was proud. I was cursing silently.
"You know you might've been made on this back seat. Might have to give it a good clean before I let any of you sit in here." I laughed half nervously.
I turned on the ignition and the 5.7 litre roared into life. I rubbed the wheel; I remembered why I had bought this car in the first place. Smiling, I looked up. My eyes bulged in fear. He was standing in my drive. I reached for the shifter, quickly glancing to find it, I engaged drive. It was my wife, she was taking a photo.
"Smile!" She shouted cheerfully.
I shook away the fear, I smiled at her. He was gone, he was never coming back. I kept repeating it to myself.
"We'll take it for a drive and you can tell me the whole story. Come on, jump in." My wife started to approach. "We'll just take it around the block, I'll be five minutes. Can you just grab us all I beer, I want to take a closer look when I get back." She nodded.
"So how did you guys get hold of this, I don't even think we have any photos of it."
"Well, we were going to get you a restored photo album for Christmas; so we were looking through your old photo collection. When we saw you with this car, we asked mom about it. She said you loved the car and she couldn't remember why we even got rid of it at all. So instead of ruining the surprise and letting you know we knew about it, we started looking for it."
"mhm, and how did you find it?" Was that cheerful enough? I think it was.
"Well, we didn't hold our breath, but we went back to the old town in hopes of just seeing it in a junk yard or some ones barn or something. We went to the old house; which was actually a lot smaller than I remember as a kid, and there it was just sat on the front yard. We asked the guy on the porch about it and he said it's been there for 30 years. He said it used to belong to the old home owner actually. We couldn't believe our luck. He said he knew you, and that we looked like you."
"Who was it, did he say his name?"
"He said his name was Robert Smith."
My heart skipped a beat.
"Did you know him?"
"...Robby" I whispered. "I mean, no no; I think we were in school together, but we didn't really talk or anything like that." It was part the truth, we didn't talk. It was hard to talk with a gag in your mouth. I could see him now, his teary green eyes pleading me to let him go. I couldn't. It was all an act. That manipulative son of a bitch was good at that. I couldn't let him speak. I couldn't let him breath again. He had put up little struggle, he was only strong enough to overpower girls but when I broke his nose it felt really good. It was like yesterday, the blood running from his nose over my carpet as I shut the trunk.
I snapped back.
"Dad?"
"Sorry I was miles away. This takes me way back."
I slammed my breaks, he was stood in the road.
"Jesus christ! What was that? What the hell Dad!"
He was gone. "I thought I saw a squirrel... The breaks are better than I remember."
"Yeah... we had them changed to disks."
"Makes a huge difference." I laughed nervously. "Lets head back, grab those beers."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"You never take that car out."
"I save it for the weekends." I interjected.
"Even then..." My wife trailed off. I could barely bring myself to touch it.
"I think I'll go drive it now actually. You're right, I've been wasting it by hiding it away." My heart sank. I didn't want to start a fight.
I pulled out onto the road, without any aim of where I was going to go. But I ended up at the old house. There was a man on the porch.
"Jimmy fuckin' Davies! Is that you." It was Robby. He cracked a wide smirk. "Well I ain't see you in fuckin' ages."
"I can't remember the last ti-"
"I can." The silence was deafening. "Let's go for a walk Jimmy, you know I don't like it when ya' drive."
I laughed nervously. I put him in a hole in the ground. I fucking put him away.
"I got som'in to show ya'." He creaked open the door to my old barn; it was tidy, the tools neatly arranged; the Saw, axe and shovel all reflectively clean. Robby led the way; he was excited. He opened the basement hatch and the stench hit me.
He turned with a huge smile, "This is where I kee-" The shovel made contact and he stumbled; dazed. I struck him again and he fell through the hatch. I looked down into the dark hole. The light switch still worked; I wished it didn't.
There was blood everywhere. Robby was writhing pain, but the bodies had broken his fall. I stood shocked. Robby started to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. I was taken aback. He'd still been doing it, all these years. I turned to flee. No - he was going to stay here. I shut the hatch, put a lock on the bolt. "JIMMY YOU FUCKIN' COCK SUCKER OPEN THIS MUTHA FUCKIN' HATCH."
I was running to the car; there was no other way out of that basement. I called the police, making sure that barn door never opened.
When they arrived, 5 minutes was all it took them, they opened the pit and dragged Robby out. He was head to toe covered in blood. They had me in cuffs; despite my protests of innocence. But when they opened the house, the let me go.
He'd taken photos of himself with the victims; all 99. 99 young women; all hitch hikers gone missing over the past 30 years. There were pictures of me, my wife, my kids. From 25 years to my birthday, there we pictures of me turning the car on for the first time. He was going to make me number 100, his first male victim. It took me 8 hours to get home, and my hands were still shaking. My wife was furious.
When I told my wife what had happened she didn't believe me, she refused to believe anything I was saying. "Robby Smith? There's no way, I see him almost every week. Whenever I go shopping he's there, I even see him walking by the house some days. Hell, he knocked on the door just last week after you left, he said 'he was going to catch you another time.' Well, that's what he always says when I see him."
| 2014-04-17T22:36:23 | 2014-04-17T22:31:13 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor."
|
When I opened my bedroom door, a familiar darkness bled throughout the room and I knew He was there waiting.
He was quiet and still and stood in the far left corner, coldly illuminated by the white glow of the moon. And a cruel trick of the light mocked him by making it seem like there was a halo hanging over his head. I closed the door behind me and as if I were approaching a doe, I slowly and cautiously tiptoed toward him.
“Why do you not fear me?” His voice sounded not as much curious as it was sad.
“Why are you here?”
He was silent as he stared into my eyes, forcing a half-smile that made him look a bit old. And although I knew his eyes were blue, they almost appeared as black as the Hell he escaped from.
“I need a favor,” He said in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
“I already gave you my soul-“
“And I myself am willing to give it back to you.”
“At what cost?”
“I need to borrow your body until sunrise for God knows of my disguise that I present before you.”
“You have made deals with thousands of people, why have to come to me?”
“Because you are beautiful.” What surprised me wasn’t in what he said but how he said it. The usual charm in his voice when he is desperate to get what he desires was gone and sincerity seemed to replace it.
“And what will you be using it for?”
He swallowed nervously, “I wish to speak to God.”
|
William was strolling along the main boulevard in Hell admiring the recent skull lantern additions when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Satan standing there smiling at him. During the initial parts of his tenure this smile had worried William, but after many long years he had realized that this smile always heralded Satan fucking shit up; either physically or metaphorically. He casually raised an eyebrow.
“You want to go see something funny?” Satan asked, his grin remaining, if not growing.
William scratched his chin for a moment and thought through his schedule, “Is today Tuesday?”
Satan frowned, “No, it’s Thursday.”
“Close enough, let’s go,” William said as he turned to follow Satan. He followed him for several moments, listening to Satan hum God Save the Queen quietly to himself before his curiosity got the better of him. “Where are we going?”
Satan paused in his humming and turned his head towards William, “There’s a guy, Derrick Colson, he sold me his soul a while back.” Satan returned to humming and William realized he wanted to be prompted. This must be a really fun trip.
“What did he sell his soul for?” William finally asked, when it looked like Satan was starting to get fidgety.
“A girl!” Satan practically shouted, right before devolving into hysterical laughter. “What he didn’t realize was this girl already liked him, she was just waiting for him to get the guts to ask her out!” Satan had another fit of laughter before calming himself down, “She was about to ask him out when he contacted me.”
William couldn’t help but laugh along with Satan at the notion that some poor bastard had shafted himself over something as simple as affection. Turning back to Satan he asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“Give him a chance to win his soul back,” Satan said simply.
William raised an eyebrow at this comment, “Why?”
Satan smiled again, the one that said life was going to get interesting again, “Because I’m bored, and I want to see if he’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
Satan paused for a moment and muttered under his breath. A portal opened up in front of him and William before he turned back, “You’ll see. Come on,” and he stepped through.
William shrugged, and hopped through the portal as well, steeling himself against the inevitable torrent of screams that happened whenever he used the portal. Satan had once explained to him about how the portal was powered by the souls in Limbo, and their torment at not being able to escape, but most of it had been lost on him. So instead, he simply plugged his ears and waited to get spat out the other side.
The other side, it turned out, was an apartment, and a rather dirty one. Clothes hung off of closet doors, mud caked the floor, and a peculiar odor that William finally placed as month old pizza wafted throughout the whole place. In a chair in the living room, staring mouth agape and pants wet at Satan, sat what must be Derrick Colson.
“Who—What—I don’t—“ Derrick stuttered. His balding, blonde hair was already caked in sweat, and William could see his arms and legs were shaking.
“Derrick,” Satan said, his hands spread wide in greeting, “It’s been a long time, buddy.”
Derrick looked around like a rabbit that realized too late the carrot was not accidentally inside the box, but was rather placed there for a reason. “What…” he coughed, “What can I do for you, Sir?”
Satan smiled, “I need a favor, Derrick,” he said simply as he moved forward and sat on a chair nearby.
“What favor?” Derrick muttered.
Satan’s grin changed slightly and he cocked his head, “Not going to ask why? Very well, I need you to steal something for me.”
Derrick licked his dry lips, “Why?”
Satan turned and winked at William, and only then did Derrick notice him. Apparently the shock of someone else in his apartment was not great enough to outweigh his fear of Satan, so William wasn’t offended when Derrick turned back to Satan.
“I see you’re finally putting that brain of yours to the test,” Satan said. “I need you to steal it, because I can’t go into the church.”
Derrick nodded his head, seeming to admit that point. “Why?”
“Because,” Satan said, an evil glint in his eye, “I’ll give you your soul back.”
If a mountain lion had torn through the room in that exact moment, Derrick wouldn’t have noticed. He only had eyes for Satan, and ears for what he had just heard. Obviously, William thought as he looked at the room, the romance had failed, so he was in a bit of a bind.
“What do I need to steal?” Derrick asked, finally wiping his hand across his brow to remove the sweat.
“A small box inside Trinity Church,” Satan said and indicated the size with his hands, “Black wood, with a crucifix on the top. It should stand out. It’s up near the front, near the pulpit.”
“Why don’t you get it?” Derrick asked.
“Because,” and Satan held up 2 fingers, “1, it’s Sunday and I want it now; and 2, I asked you to do it. You can refuse of course…”
“I’ll do it!” Derrick shouted.
“Good,” Satan said, and made a ‘shoo-shoo’ motion with his hands. Derrick, not needing to be told twice, rushed out the door without bothering to put on pants.
William looked at Satan, “Will he get it?”
Satan smiled, “Just wait.”
William did so. An hour later, Derrick came rushing back inside and William could have sworn he heard sirens in the distance. Satan smiled, took the box, and snapped his fingers. Then he turned, snapped them again, and opened the portal.
“That’s it?” Derrick asked.
“That’s it,” Satan said, and stepped through.
William turned to Derrick, shrugged, and then hopped in after Satan.
Back in Hell, William noticed that Satan seemed unusually pleased with himself. He walked with him for several moments before nudging Satan, “So did he get his soul back?”
Satan looked at William like he had been offended, “Of course! I always keep a promise.”
William nodded his head, “But why?”
“Because it wouldn’t have mattered.” Satan frowned, “Poor fool, thought that he could undo what he’s done. I don’t know why humans always think that undoing the deal means they’ll suddenly wind up in Heaven.” He turned to look at William, “It doesn’t work that way you know. If you’re willing to make a deal with the Devil, then you’re already damned.”
William thought for several moments and finally agreed that Satan probably had a point. “So what’s in the box?” William finally asked.
Satan smiled and opened the box, showing William that it was empty. William frowned as Satan smiled. “Poor bastard,” Satan said, “if he’d only refused to get the box, his soul might have had a chance, but by stealing it he proved his true nature.”
“So by giving him his soul back…” William mused.
“I’ve made sure he’s damned to Hell forever,” Satan said with a laugh.
------------
Read more William and Satan stories, as well as my others [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42/)
| 2015-05-12T14:27:29 | 2015-05-12T13:32:11 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun!
|
You take a deep breath and die.
It's not so bad.
You breathe out and open your eyes or maybe close them, it's difficult to tell. You're not sure what's just happened. You do know, though, that you're standing in a kitchen. You also know that you're not standing and it isn't a kitchen and you aren't there. You remember binaries don't really exist here. Memories are coming back in a steady stream. Your lips and tongue tingle. It hurts beautifully like too much Tabasco.
“How was that one, dear?”
You blink and look at her. *Grandmother*.
Your lips are cotton and you wet them. Stumble over words. “Spicy.” You smile for a reason you cannot remember. “Like too much Tabasco.”
She is wiping a bowl, newly cleaned, and laughs.
“Where am I?” You ask.
“She smiles and golden light streams in through a small kitchen window, covered by lace curtains. Behind the glass there is blank everythingness.
“You know where you are, dear.”
You nod.
She smiles and cracks two eggs into the bowl. Their yolks are stars that burn like new born eyes and their whites are the noisy space of a thousand galaxies. You think that they are beautiful, that eggs are the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, how is that you have never noticed how beautiful eggs are before now?
“Shall we make another?” she asks you.
“Make another?” you ask.
She Mm-Hmms.
“I died.” you say.
“Don't be silly.” She says.
You're being silly. She wipes her hands on her apron and pulls a packet of flour down from a cupboard, it's opened corner powdered and dog-eared.
“You made that?”
She looks at you suddenly. Surprise in eyes immeasurably young and kind. “Oh good grief, child, no. I'm teaching you but I can hardly make each, myself. Come and I'll show you again, but you're the one that adds all that flavour.”
She pours in the flour and it's a thousand crisp mornings in fall and a hundred midnight swims on shores you've never seen.
She asks you to pass her the whisk and you do and she whisks, adding in ingredients that measure out to whole lives and entire worlds. You smile and she dips a spoon into the batter and holds it out to you and you taste it and laugh and live a new life.
|
This is my first submission, so if you have constructive criticism about my writing I would really appreciate it. Additionally I am no native speaker, so if you find any mistakes feel free to correct me.
The multi-dimensional being sometimes wondered how it got himself into this stupid situation. Back than it had been bored and one of the recruiters had found it.
“Ok, so I only have to convince 100 humans that they are dead?”
“That’s correct sir. “
“And then my privilege is raised? “
“That’s correct sir. “
“This sounds rather easy. How is it that not everyone has maximum privilege?”
“Ah sir, that’s because this is a very limited offer and you are one of the lucky few that it has been made too.”
Lucky few my ass, the multi-dimensional being thought. The being had been assigned to this particular human for 1000 years now and the progress was … negligible.
“Ok John, we have been over this countless times, haven’t we?”
“It’s Jack.”
“What? “
“My name is Jack not John. How often do I have to correct you? This is insane,” remarked the human apparently unaware that he was the one not acting reasonable.
“Ok John, whatever.” The human threw his hands up in frustration, but remained silent.
“So you concede that you have been here for a long time?”
“Yes. It feels like an eternity.”
“That’s because it has been 1000 years John”. The voice of the multi-dimensional being broke at the thought.
“1000 years, that can’t be right”, remarked Jack. “It doesn’t feel that long”.
Apparently sense of time really was no strong suit of humans.
“Don’t you ever wonder why you have neither hunger nor thirst? “
“You guys probably are feeding me with nanomachines or something similar. “
The thoughts of the being trailed off. Somehow the human had an response to all of its arguments and none of them made any sense. It still remembered their first meeting. Back than it had been hopeful to finish its task in a couple of days, maybe weeks. It met the human in a small windowless room that had been created for this occasion. There was nothing in it, but a door, a desk, two chairs and the waiting human of course.
The being approached the human. “Hello I’m here to introduce you to the afterlife.”
It put out one tentacle for the human to shake, as it had been told it was customary with humans, but the human refused to do so. After a few seconds it retracted the tentacle.
The human spoke “I can’t be dead.”
“John I’m sorry to tell you this”, said the being while sitting down.
“It’s Jack”.
“What?”
“My name is Jack.”
“Ah OK. So John…”
“You have to be kidding me”, exclaimed the human interrupting the being rudely.
“Are you just dumb or do you want to annoy me? Just repeat after me J-A-C-K.”
The being repeated the senseless stringing together of letters. Apparently that soothed the human.
It continued: “your car got hit by a truck and the impact killed you. Apparently…”
It rummaged around in the folder before it.
“Apparently you were dead immediately and didn’t feel any pain.” This should be to some relief to the human according to the files. The human seemed unfazed and spoke again.
“Nononono”, he said. “If that were true I would be in heaven and not talking to a monstrosity like you, no offense though.”
The human started to annoy the being.
“I’m sorry but your notion of afterlife is factually incorrect”, it continued.
Again the human interrupted the being.
“I’m going to tell you this once and only once. Wait do you have a name? ”, the human interrupted his train of thought.
The being remained silent.
“Whatever I’m going to call you Paul, because I knew a Paul once and like you he was a huge pain in the ass. Paul you cannot sway me from my believes, you may tempt me, you may promise me heaven and hell, but I won’t give up my faith.”
“Erm”, made the being. This didn’t go according to plan at all. Confused what this Paul thing was about, appalled by the obvious hateful attitude of the human and utterly confused by its statement, the being didn’t know how to continue. Why did the human react so strongly to this and why was he thinking that the being was trying to tempt him?
“This has to be a mistake” said the human. “You have the wrong person. You aliens abducted me as I drove in my car fine. But you apparently don’t want to make any experiments with my person and now as I think of it you seem to be looking for a guy named Jack. So would you mind just sending me back to earth, please?”
The being started rummaging around panicky in his pile of papers. It couldn’t remember anything like this in the documents. Was the human making stuff up?
The human was looking at it expectantly, hopeful. The being stood up if you could call it this. What really happened was a complicated shuffling around of body parts.
“I have to talk to my supervisor, if you don’t mind,” it said. This was supposed to be a magic wording to humans and coincidentally that was also what it was about to do. In fact it would probably yell angrily at his supervisor and then demand to send him a more reasonable human. Oh and it would ask about this alien abduction thing the human was talking about and this belief thing. Retrospectively it should probably have taken notes.
“Fine” said the human.
The multi-dimensional being left the room confused and annoyed. When it came back it was confused, angry and frustrated. It had tried contacting its supervisor and it didn’t work. Additionally it had found that it couldn’t leave the bounds of this sphere, which to say the least was rather small for a being like it.
“So how about I let you speak to your wife. “, it tried a new angle.
“Anna is here?”
“Yes she is here. “
“But she is still alive. Even if I were dead she couldn’t possibly have died yet, she is young and healthy just like myself. “
The being explained about the growing mass of hostile cells in Annas body and how she passed just one year after the humans death and how time on earth was basically meaningless were the human was now, but the human wouldn’t listen.
“This is not true. How could you possibly know this?”, he hissed angrily at the being.
The being decided to avoid talking about the death of the humans wife, since it obviously upset him.
“That doesn’t really matter your wife is here now and if you want you can talk to her.
“Nah that wouldn’t be of any use”, said the human. “You probably just read my brain while we were talking and the person you would bring in would just be a copy from my memories, probably a bad one too. You can’t fool me like that Paul. You will have to try better.”
Over the next 1000 years the being had tried to convince the human that he was dead with every reasonable angle that it could think of and countless unreasonable ones. And then it had tried all of it again and again. From time to time a new idea came to the being that might possibly work, but the ideas became sparser and sparser with time and the last new one had been 200 years back. It was just impossible to convince the human.
For a couple of years it had even degraded itself to using torture, but that hadn’t helped either. The human had said countless times during this phase that he believed he was dead, but apparently he didn’t mean it. The being looked back to these years with unease shame.
It really shouldn’t have tortured the human. Additionally it had taken almost a century to regain the trust of the human. But no matter what it tried, this human refused to accept his death. It was frustrating. The being sighed. Perhaps it was worth a try to argue with the human again why from a philosophical point of view the notion of his believes of afterlife made no sense.
“OK, John” it began its spiel anew.
| 2015-10-19T04:40:00 | 2015-10-19T02:36:52 | 38 | 11 |
[WP]You've just died and gone to bureaucratic hell. Escape is possible, but really, really tedious. You and some other lost souls have decided to try.
|
I put my feet up on the table.
"Don't do that!" the imp squawked. "That's against Regulation 46(d)(3)!"
"What's the penalty for violating Regulation 46(d)(3)?" I asked nonchalantly. "Is it summary dismissal of my case? Aren't you going to do that anyway? That's the game around here, isn't it? We can apply to escape Hell, but getting anything done takes decades of paperwork, and there's always something wrong so you have to start again? So who cares where my feet are if my case will be dismissed either way?"
"Your case will be reviewed according to the Infernal Revised Code, properly processed, and IF everything is in order you will prevail! Unless you keep putting your feet on my table, in which case your Request for Extradition from Hell will be summarily dismissed!"
His voice was squeaky with outrage, and I chuckled.
"That's it!" He screamed shrilly. "You're done! Get out!"
"No," I deadpanned.
"Get out or you will be thrown out!" His voice broke with fury.
I removed my feet from the table, leaned over, and hoisted the sixty pound briefcase I brought with me to the hearing, stuffed to the brim with paperwork. I casually opened it, and handed the imp an eight inch thick stack of unfilled forms.
"These are the documents you'll be needing to request a bailiff to eject me from your office. In triplicate of course. Automated copies are prohibited. All three copies must be by hand. Discrepancies between the forms is cause for rejection of the forms whether or not the discrepancy is substantive. All forms must be submitted within one hour of the triggering incident or they will not be processed. Processing takes six to eight decades unless said forms are submitted during a period of high submission volume in which case indefinite delays are to be expected."
He gaped at me.
I grinned back, crooked. "It has never not been a period of high submission volume."
|
Yen swigged coffee, stood unsteadily, and jabbed her laser pointer at the presentation slides. "As I've pointed out earlier, in slides six, sixteen, twenty-six, forty, fifty-eight, seventy-nine, eighty and ninety-four, our profits are on the—"
Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. Amazingly, her feet remained upright on five-inch pumps. Unconcerned, the directors turned to their printouts and began discussing their next golf meeting with clients from Abu Dhabi.
The coroner would later attribute the cause to overwork. Yen received a posthumous award—a nice little glass statuette that also served as a reminder to surviving employees not to work six days in a row without sleep.
***
"Wakey wakey."
Opening her eyes, Yen raised her head from her desk. A bulbous pair of eyes hovered before her like those of a giant insect, prompting her to yell in fright.
"Calm down, I mean no harm," the man said.
As she tried to slow her panting breaths, she mopped the dampness from the corners of her mouth and looked around. A sea of white-walled cubicles stretched out all around her, never-ending. They were identical, stocked with the latest computers displaying the same screen-savers: geometric shapes forming and evaporating seemingly at random. They moved in perfect synchronicity.
"Where am I?" she said. For some reason, she felt energetic. Really energetic, not the high of twelve espressos, but as though she was twenty once again.
The man smiled at her and stepped back. Only then did she notice a buggy parked behind him. "Why don't you come with me? You'll know soon enough."
Seeing no better option, she hopped into the backseat. He started the engine and drove. Other than the wheels, which squealed occasionally on the smooth, white floor, there was no other sound in this place.
"What's your name?" she said. He plucked a tag from his T-shirt and handed it to her. Next to the photo of his chubby, bubbly face was "Denton". "Nice to meet you," she said. "I'm Yen."
As he was about the reply, the buggy passed by a forlorn looking woman, who seemed to be walking in the same direction they were heading.
"Fancy seeing you here, Mara," Denton said, slowing the vehicle to match her trudging pace.
"Can I hop on?" she said.
"Sure."
Mara clambered into the front seat, all without even acknowledging Yen's presence. Yen didn't mind; she hadn't had much time for socializing back at her job too. Mostly it was just meetings and doing endless editing of—
"I died," she said, sitting upright in horror.
However, neither Mara nor Denton would confirm it. They drove in silence, until they arrived at a desk that was colored red instead of white. A black-suited man was sitting on the table, filing his fingernails. He looked up when they approached, and smiled.
"Welcome, Yen!" he said in a girlish voice. "Lucky you that Denton found you when he did, or you'll be walking. Though I have to say, those are fabulous calves you have there. Say, Denton, the permit's expired."
Denton nodded and tossed the buggy's keys to the man, who caught them without looking. Still smiling at her, he said, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions."
"Yes, where am—"
"I'm afraid this isn't the place to ask them," he said. Pointing at a stack of paper on the desk, he said, "Take one of these."
She read the document he handed her, which consisted of eleven sheets of paper stapled together, and frowned. "It's a ... question form? I have to fill this up just to ask a question?"
He giggled. "I'm afraid I can't answer that. Just fill it up, and take it to the Answer Department five-thousand and three desks west, eighty-eight thousand, nine-hundred and forty-six desks south, and you'll know whether this is a question form."
She gaped at him, when he began showing her other pieces of paper. "This here's a permit for wearing the same clothes you died in—better get this filled quick, or you'll end up really cold. Oh, and this one's a permission slip for you to start applying for permits. Better get this one done right away!"
"I must be in hell," she said.
He winked at her. "Quick one, aren't you? Better get the Original Thoughts form filled up too, just in case. The Mind Demons don't like independent creativity down here. Yes, Mara, how can I help you?"
She held up a piece of paper, which bore so many signatures and seals the original text were almost illegible. "I got all the signatures."
The man peered at the form suspiciously. "All the departments? All the teams? Support teams? Sub-teams? Sub-support teams? Sub-team supports? Ministries? Units? Sub-ministries? Divisions? Sub-divisions? Sub-divisional units of departmental ministries?"
Mara swallowed, but nodded. "Yes. All of them."
"Looks in order. Well, that's the application form for signatures and seals, done!" He tossed the document into the air, and it burst into flames. Yen yelped, but Denton merely watched impassively. "Now, let's see the application form for meeting a departmental junior executive with intention to schedule a meeting with a senior executive."
On and on it went. Yen trembled at the sheer number of documents Mara produced from that briefcase of hers, which seemed larger than it actually was.
She showed almost a hundred different identification cards, received from various departments, in various colors. She read from dozens of declarations, gave thousands of warranties, announced scores of representations. She signed a thousand more forms that the man produced from thin air, until her fingers bled.
At last, he put an arm around her shoulder and led her toward a nearby ladder, which extended into the ceiling, farther than Yen could see.
"You've earned your freedom. Back you go," he said.
Mara didn't say anything, but grasped the rungs with a determined expression. Soon, she was climbing, and the man ripped the Authorization to Climb Ladders with a forced smile on his face.
"What was that all about?" Yen said, feeling faint.
Denton opened his mouth, but the suited man whipped his head around tutted. "Not until you fill the form, Yen."
With that, he vanished, leaving the two of them there. Yen's gaze drifted toward the documents on the table, dimly realizing that the cubicle wasn't painted red, but covered in some sort of tape. And then she looked at Mara, who was huffing and puffing her way up the ladder.
"I'm going to escape," she said.
Denton merely sighed. "It'll not be easy, I tell you. Mara's been here for almost four hundred years, in Earth time."
Yen gritted her teeth. "I'll do it. They called me the Bulldozer—I never let bureaucracy stand in my way."
"You might find that they do things a little differently here. Don't go for such lofty goals. Start small. Get those forms signed."
She shrugged and picked up the stack of paper. "I suppose. Say, how many departments and ministries and whatnot are there, anyway?"
Denton looked furtively around, hesitating briefly before saying, "Well, take a guess. You already know the number."
***
*Thanks for reading! If you liked this, check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories.*
| 2016-07-29T08:34:26 | 2016-07-29T07:33:06 | 76 | 40 |
[WP]You've just died and gone to bureaucratic hell. Escape is possible, but really, really tedious. You and some other lost souls have decided to try.
|
I put my feet up on the table.
"Don't do that!" the imp squawked. "That's against Regulation 46(d)(3)!"
"What's the penalty for violating Regulation 46(d)(3)?" I asked nonchalantly. "Is it summary dismissal of my case? Aren't you going to do that anyway? That's the game around here, isn't it? We can apply to escape Hell, but getting anything done takes decades of paperwork, and there's always something wrong so you have to start again? So who cares where my feet are if my case will be dismissed either way?"
"Your case will be reviewed according to the Infernal Revised Code, properly processed, and IF everything is in order you will prevail! Unless you keep putting your feet on my table, in which case your Request for Extradition from Hell will be summarily dismissed!"
His voice was squeaky with outrage, and I chuckled.
"That's it!" He screamed shrilly. "You're done! Get out!"
"No," I deadpanned.
"Get out or you will be thrown out!" His voice broke with fury.
I removed my feet from the table, leaned over, and hoisted the sixty pound briefcase I brought with me to the hearing, stuffed to the brim with paperwork. I casually opened it, and handed the imp an eight inch thick stack of unfilled forms.
"These are the documents you'll be needing to request a bailiff to eject me from your office. In triplicate of course. Automated copies are prohibited. All three copies must be by hand. Discrepancies between the forms is cause for rejection of the forms whether or not the discrepancy is substantive. All forms must be submitted within one hour of the triggering incident or they will not be processed. Processing takes six to eight decades unless said forms are submitted during a period of high submission volume in which case indefinite delays are to be expected."
He gaped at me.
I grinned back, crooked. "It has never not been a period of high submission volume."
|
"NEXT!"
The line shuffled forward by what felt like about half an inch. It was a long line, *very* long, filled with old men who smelled of cheese and women with bawling children. But Harry was used to long lines. You had to be, if you wanted to get anywhere in here.
"NEXT!"
Harry could see her now, the one woman working at a counter long enough to easily have three or five people. She was round, with perfectly done makeup and fishy, puckered lips that seemed to be stuck in a perpetual frown.
"Yes, um, hello." A man wheezed as he walked up to her. His liver-spotted hands shook from his age. "Yes. I needed...oh. What was it that I needed again?"
He scratched his head pensively. Harry rolled his eyes, wondering absently if the man had been his age when the line had started. But he didn't get upset. Oh no. He was used to this. And getting frustrated just meant that THEY won.
"Oh that's right! I need...an application form. To...to..." The man stuttered off.
Harry just sighed. At least he was nearly at the front now. The line itself stretched for miles, wrapping around the block, the neighborhood, and eventually right back to the front of the building once again. He shuffled his pack nervously, hoping he wouldn't have to camp out for ANOTHER night. But he could, if he had to. He was prepared
"To apply for my medication!" The old man suddenly exclaimed, looking triumphant. He patted his pockets, and suddenly looked worried. "Oh, but...I seem to have forgotten my pen...do you mind if I go get it from my car?"
"Leaving the line is not permitted. You are going to have to go around." The woman droned, looking at her nails."
"Oh." The man looked crestfallen, and began to shuffle away.
"Excuse me!" Harry piped up. "Excuse me, sir! I have a pen you can use!"
Harry walked towards the old man, crowd gasping as he pulled a fresh pen out of his pocket. He always carried spares, whenever he could get them. Pens were a rare commodity in Bureaucratic hell - and ones with ink were even rarer.
"Thank you, thank you!" The old man grinned toothlessly. "I was so worried...you have no idea how much this means to me!"
"No leaving the line." The woman droned. "You are both going to have to go to the back."
Cries of outrage came from the crowd. Harry just groaned. He had hoped he might be able to get away with just a few steps, but he had known it would probably end like this.
"Hey, hey!" The woman raised her voice to a nasally rasp. "Rules are rules, they go to the back. And besides, we're closed."
She reached to her side and plopped a sign that said "CLOSED" in big red letters on her desk.
"But it's only 4:30!" Harry cried, looking at the clock as the noise behind him grew louder. Immediately, he regretted it: if a riot started here, it would be weeks before they reopened the center and he got another shot.
"We're closing early today."
Harry took a deep breath to center himself. No point in getting angry. If he got angry, they won.
"Alright." He finally said, voice flat. "See you in a few days." He turned, ready to walk back.
"Wait."
To his great surprise, the woman reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Follow me."
Harry blinked. Before he could decide if it was a good idea to listen to her or not, the woman had trundled off, heading towards a back office. She pulled open the door, and then turned back at him.
"Well? You coming?"
Curiosity overcoming his trepidation, Harry pushed open the squeaky door built into the side of the counter and followed the woman into the room. She shut the door, and waddled over behind a second desk.
"So. You're him." It was a statement, not a question.
"...I'm who now?"
The woman laughed, tears of relief trickling down her cheeks. "Oh thank GOD. I was worried that I had pulled one of the mooks for a second. But yeah. It's definitely you."
At Harry's confused look, she continued, a twinkle sparkling in her piggy little eyes. "*You're the other damned soul trapped in here with me.* Nice to finally meet you! My name's Jim."
Harry looked down at the woman's blouse, where a name tag that clearly read "Martha" was perched on her chest.
"Oh, ignore the nametag!" She said, ripping it from her shirt. "Do you really think that this is what I look like? I used to be a six foot tall black dude before I got dragged off to this place!" She grinned, and Harry noticed a number of gold teeth behind her lips. "But then I got caught up in the gang, did a few things I'm not proud of, and, well...you know the rest."
Harry leaned back in his chair, trying to process what she was saying. "So...you are Jim, the black dude in the XL dress, and...we are the only two souls here? What about all of them?" Harry gestured to the blackened window behind him, where a throng of people still milled about.
"Just smoke and mirrors, boyo. Decoys, to confuse us and make our stay more unpleasant. They couldn't use real souls, it would be unethical!" Jim said. He reached to the wall, rolls of blubber jiggling on his arm, and pulled a massive lever labeled "DO NOT TOUCH" that Harry hadn't noticed before. There was an enormous hum, as if of something powering down, and suddenly all of the people outside flickered and disappeared.
"Been wanting to pull that for years." Jim chuckled. "But if I had done it before, they would have thrown me even deeper into the pit. I had to find YOU first!"
"They made you run a fake government office as punishment?" Harry asked, somewhat aghast.
"Yep. I get to be stuck here in this body until I find the other soul, amid all these fakes. You made it easy on me, though. None of THEM would have ever stepped out of line."
Harry nodded. "So what now? Do we go to heaven?"
Jim laughed. "Hardly. This is only the first layer of hell, we still have a bit of a ladder to climb. But at least now we can go one rung up."
Suddenly, a doorway behind Jim opened up straight out of the wall, revealing an ascending staircase.
"Here's our ride." Jim said, and his body began to melt like hot wax. It stretched, congealed, and thinned out, until a tall man in a tailored suit was standing in place of the pudgy woman from before.
"Feels good to be back." He groaned, stretching his neck. "Hey, I told you why I wound up in hell, but what's a guy like you doing here? You seem far too giving to wind up this deep."
"I...I would rather not say."
Jim nodded. "Alright. That's your choice, my friend." He extended a hand. "See you at the pearly gates?"
Harry shook it. "Race you to the top."
Together, they turned and walked up the staircase, one step closer to home.
***
*Dear God. Please...NEVER send me there. CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2016-07-29T08:34:26 | 2016-07-29T07:53:27 | 76 | 24 |
[WP]You've just died and gone to bureaucratic hell. Escape is possible, but really, really tedious. You and some other lost souls have decided to try.
|
DING! "Next"
Carlyle walked up to the counter with his release application.
Apprehensive that if he didn't get through this time, he'd have to get back in line again, a line that took 5 years to get through.
"I think I have everything in order to be released to the outer lands," Carlyle said to the Demon behind the counter.
Not a demon like you might imagine though, Carlyle thought she looked like an angry math teacher or someone that might have yelled at him at church for running in the sanctuary. Deeply unpleasant, and clearly taking satisfaction in denying others their happiness.
The demon looked at him and said "Well see about that" and started skimming the document.
"well it seems everything in order for you to leave us," said the Demon.
A wave of relief washed over Carlyle, he might really get to leave this time.
"now all you need to do is get through out processing," The demon said smiling.
"Where do i go for that?" Carlyle asked.
"Next floor up, make sure you fill these out," she said, handing Carlyle a stack of at least a thousand pages.
Carlyle figured he could fill them out while he was in line so he headed upstairs, shocked to discover the room was empty.
The room was clean, quiet, and empty except for one person sitting at the desk, who didn't look like much of a demon.
Carlyle walked over the polished black tile to the counter and asked, "is it alright if i fill out my paperwork in here?"
The man sitting at the desk looked up at him over his glasses and said "only if you wish to never leave this place and spend the rest of time in suffering and pain"
"nevermind," Carlyle said As he walked back downstairs he noticed the first page said "This is your only copy, do not lose"
As Carlyle stepped outside a gust of wind caught the first page and it fluttered away.
"Well at least I have time to find it," Carlyle said to himself as he set off in the direction the paper seemed to have gone.
|
Yen swigged coffee, stood unsteadily, and jabbed her laser pointer at the presentation slides. "As I've pointed out earlier, in slides six, sixteen, twenty-six, forty, fifty-eight, seventy-nine, eighty and ninety-four, our profits are on the—"
Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. Amazingly, her feet remained upright on five-inch pumps. Unconcerned, the directors turned to their printouts and began discussing their next golf meeting with clients from Abu Dhabi.
The coroner would later attribute the cause to overwork. Yen received a posthumous award—a nice little glass statuette that also served as a reminder to surviving employees not to work six days in a row without sleep.
***
"Wakey wakey."
Opening her eyes, Yen raised her head from her desk. A bulbous pair of eyes hovered before her like those of a giant insect, prompting her to yell in fright.
"Calm down, I mean no harm," the man said.
As she tried to slow her panting breaths, she mopped the dampness from the corners of her mouth and looked around. A sea of white-walled cubicles stretched out all around her, never-ending. They were identical, stocked with the latest computers displaying the same screen-savers: geometric shapes forming and evaporating seemingly at random. They moved in perfect synchronicity.
"Where am I?" she said. For some reason, she felt energetic. Really energetic, not the high of twelve espressos, but as though she was twenty once again.
The man smiled at her and stepped back. Only then did she notice a buggy parked behind him. "Why don't you come with me? You'll know soon enough."
Seeing no better option, she hopped into the backseat. He started the engine and drove. Other than the wheels, which squealed occasionally on the smooth, white floor, there was no other sound in this place.
"What's your name?" she said. He plucked a tag from his T-shirt and handed it to her. Next to the photo of his chubby, bubbly face was "Denton". "Nice to meet you," she said. "I'm Yen."
As he was about the reply, the buggy passed by a forlorn looking woman, who seemed to be walking in the same direction they were heading.
"Fancy seeing you here, Mara," Denton said, slowing the vehicle to match her trudging pace.
"Can I hop on?" she said.
"Sure."
Mara clambered into the front seat, all without even acknowledging Yen's presence. Yen didn't mind; she hadn't had much time for socializing back at her job too. Mostly it was just meetings and doing endless editing of—
"I died," she said, sitting upright in horror.
However, neither Mara nor Denton would confirm it. They drove in silence, until they arrived at a desk that was colored red instead of white. A black-suited man was sitting on the table, filing his fingernails. He looked up when they approached, and smiled.
"Welcome, Yen!" he said in a girlish voice. "Lucky you that Denton found you when he did, or you'll be walking. Though I have to say, those are fabulous calves you have there. Say, Denton, the permit's expired."
Denton nodded and tossed the buggy's keys to the man, who caught them without looking. Still smiling at her, he said, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions."
"Yes, where am—"
"I'm afraid this isn't the place to ask them," he said. Pointing at a stack of paper on the desk, he said, "Take one of these."
She read the document he handed her, which consisted of eleven sheets of paper stapled together, and frowned. "It's a ... question form? I have to fill this up just to ask a question?"
He giggled. "I'm afraid I can't answer that. Just fill it up, and take it to the Answer Department five-thousand and three desks west, eighty-eight thousand, nine-hundred and forty-six desks south, and you'll know whether this is a question form."
She gaped at him, when he began showing her other pieces of paper. "This here's a permit for wearing the same clothes you died in—better get this filled quick, or you'll end up really cold. Oh, and this one's a permission slip for you to start applying for permits. Better get this one done right away!"
"I must be in hell," she said.
He winked at her. "Quick one, aren't you? Better get the Original Thoughts form filled up too, just in case. The Mind Demons don't like independent creativity down here. Yes, Mara, how can I help you?"
She held up a piece of paper, which bore so many signatures and seals the original text were almost illegible. "I got all the signatures."
The man peered at the form suspiciously. "All the departments? All the teams? Support teams? Sub-teams? Sub-support teams? Sub-team supports? Ministries? Units? Sub-ministries? Divisions? Sub-divisions? Sub-divisional units of departmental ministries?"
Mara swallowed, but nodded. "Yes. All of them."
"Looks in order. Well, that's the application form for signatures and seals, done!" He tossed the document into the air, and it burst into flames. Yen yelped, but Denton merely watched impassively. "Now, let's see the application form for meeting a departmental junior executive with intention to schedule a meeting with a senior executive."
On and on it went. Yen trembled at the sheer number of documents Mara produced from that briefcase of hers, which seemed larger than it actually was.
She showed almost a hundred different identification cards, received from various departments, in various colors. She read from dozens of declarations, gave thousands of warranties, announced scores of representations. She signed a thousand more forms that the man produced from thin air, until her fingers bled.
At last, he put an arm around her shoulder and led her toward a nearby ladder, which extended into the ceiling, farther than Yen could see.
"You've earned your freedom. Back you go," he said.
Mara didn't say anything, but grasped the rungs with a determined expression. Soon, she was climbing, and the man ripped the Authorization to Climb Ladders with a forced smile on his face.
"What was that all about?" Yen said, feeling faint.
Denton opened his mouth, but the suited man whipped his head around tutted. "Not until you fill the form, Yen."
With that, he vanished, leaving the two of them there. Yen's gaze drifted toward the documents on the table, dimly realizing that the cubicle wasn't painted red, but covered in some sort of tape. And then she looked at Mara, who was huffing and puffing her way up the ladder.
"I'm going to escape," she said.
Denton merely sighed. "It'll not be easy, I tell you. Mara's been here for almost four hundred years, in Earth time."
Yen gritted her teeth. "I'll do it. They called me the Bulldozer—I never let bureaucracy stand in my way."
"You might find that they do things a little differently here. Don't go for such lofty goals. Start small. Get those forms signed."
She shrugged and picked up the stack of paper. "I suppose. Say, how many departments and ministries and whatnot are there, anyway?"
Denton looked furtively around, hesitating briefly before saying, "Well, take a guess. You already know the number."
***
*Thanks for reading! If you liked this, check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories.*
| 2016-07-29T07:33:37 | 2016-07-29T07:33:06 | 57 | 40 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
I've always had to pretend I was mute. When I was very small, as soon as I hit the milestone to talk, I had been fluent in English. I remember bits and pieces before everything changed. That day I remembered clearly, well the important bits at least. I don't remember that morning, but I remembered the afternoon. Mum and dad had been so proud of me talking, the fact that I was learning and understanding things so quickly, that was until the day their friend had come over. I remember they had a slight accent and when I talked to them, they had been surprised then grinned at me. I happily chatted away while my parents starred on in horror. After their friend left, the smiles on their faces fell instantly. There was a lot of muttered and quite angry talking in the other room. I sat, pretending to play with my toy cars, but my stomach twisted and turned. I had done something wrong, but I didn't' know what. There was a door slam and then the house was quiet. I heard shuffling as dads head poked into the room to check on me before he vanished upstairs. Dinner was silent. Mum was back and hadn't said a word, she was tight lipped and had crashed and banged in the kitchen as she cooked dinner. Dad had talked quietly to me, but kept shushing me if I talked too loud. I didn't get it. Dinner ended without incident, I ever got cake! It's weird how I remember the cake so clearly. The normal routine continued on as the sun set outside. Dad turned the TV on and plonked down into his chair and switched the channel onto BBC 2 to watch Star Trek. I sat on his knee and watched happily as the clinking of glass and cutlery echoed around the room. Then men with weird faces came onto the screen and started talking, brandishing a weapon. I held my hand up like I had one to and yelled at the top of my voice. Suddenly my mum was in the room. She ripped me from my dads lap, screaming at me, hitting me. I screamed and cried, my heart pounding in my chest. I screamed for dad but the hits kept coming. Mum screamed at me to shut up, to never do that again, pinning me to a wall, her face inches from mine. I screamed in fear, begging for dad to help, which sent her into and even bigger rage, another hit struck the side of my face and I crumbled silently to the floor, my head spinning. I heard wrestling and more screaming before the house went quiet.
~*~
I was locked in my room after that. That's what I remember next. I hurt, my little white t-shirt with a unicorn on the front was stained with blood from my face. My hand hurt to move. I had wrapped it in a little bandage from my little medical kit. I was hungry. No one had come into the room for ages. When mum did come in I cried and ran to her, but she didn't let me close, she hit me. As soon as my mouth opened she hit me. I shrieked and she hit me again. Screaming at me to shut up. Once I was quiet, just the occasional sniff as I hid in the corner between the wall and my bed I heard something being placed down on the ground. It had been a sandwich and a glass of water. She left, locking the door behind her. The room became my prison. Mum would flip out if she even thought I had made a sound. I eventually stopped talking to everyone, even dad.
We moved one day. Just me and mum. Dad didn't come with us. He never lay a finger on me. He would talk to me kindly when mum went out. He would sneak home in his lunch hour to see me. He talked to me, but only allowed me to whisper back, telling me he was the only person I could talk to but only if it was the two of us. I missed him. Mum moved me out after there were questions about whether I was starting school with the neighbours kids. It was just the two of us. I sat quietly, not doing much of anything every single day. She allowed me more freedom, but I was never allowed to utter a sound. She gave me books to read and I quickly devoured them. Once she was satisfied I wouldn't say a word no matter what, she took me to the doctor, who quickly signed something saying I was mute but that was it. I started school the next week.
~*~
I sat in class, looking out of the window dreamily. Our supply teacher hadn't arrived yet so there wasn't much of anything to do beyond chat and cause chaos. My class ignored me like they normally did. It was as if I didn't exist at this point. I'd never said a word to anyone in this room. I'd known some of these kids for seven years, if I had said anything, it would spread around the school like wildfire and mum would find out, but I did talk to random people who had no idea who I was. The cashier at McDonalds had been the last one. I really wanted some food and the only person working so early couldn't read the note I had written before I entered, so I had to talk. His eyes had opened widely and he had stepped back from me. He rambled something about a forgotten language, his language before he told me to leave and never come back. I hadn't dared go near that store again. I hadn't uttered a word since. The class went quiet suddenly, unusual for them. A man walked into the room with a presence that screamed he wasn't someone to mess with. I starred at him wide eyed. It was the man from McDonalds. I kept my head down and sunk down in my seat as he looked around the room before pulling out a sheet of paper to do the register. When he got to my name I didn't even bang on the desk like I normally would have, I just stayed quiet. My classmates quickly informed him I couldn't talk and things moved on quickly.
Class was finally over, but over the sound of people packing away and sliding chairs I heard a voice boom over the class, "mute kid, stay."
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T22:28:33 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
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“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
I froze up, my go-to whenever anything significant happens in my life.
"Yeah, well, that kid's mom gave him such a whooping for it, we *all* learned a lesson!"
Stupid joke. That's my other go-to. I was about to apologize for it when I realized: she's catatonic. Her eyes fixed on nothing a couple inches over my left shoulder—I don't think she was even breathing.
"Dude, what did you *say* to her?"
I swung around. The guy behind me was about 6'2" and thin, with short, dark hair, and he was wearing a suit with some sort of conference nametag that said "Charles Anderson." I pored over it for what, at least to me, was just a couple seconds. It also said **2018 / "BE COURAGEOUS!"** I wish I was making this stuff up.
"What did you *say*?"
It wasn't Charles. Charles was looking squarely above the whole debacle, hand on his chin, eyes hopping between what were probably the "**2: Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese" and the "**3: Double Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese." *Thank God for Charles,* I thought. If everyone in the world were like Charles, it would be so much better for me. I could just go about my day unnoticed, even with this new...quirk.
"What did you *fucking* say to that lady?"
It was the guy behind Charles. He had dreads and what looked like alpaca wool covered in Chotchkie's flair. But his physique was decidedly more juicer than deadhead, and he was glaring at me so hard his face seemed to be turning red.
"I...uh...Southwest Grilled Chicken Salad, Apple Slices, and water....Please."
I wasn't lying. I *had* said that. *I* had said that. And what she heard, too, was almost undoubtedly that, just in another language. And I'm sure she understood it as that, unless she's rusty in her mother tongue—I guess it's been a while, after all.
"Oh yeah? It didn't sound like that to me. It sounded more like 'Sow'll whisper pepequem nose googah' something or other. And I mean—look at her! What did she say back?"
I briefly looked back at the cashier. There she was, still staring at nothing, still still. At least I could detect what seemed to be a little bit of breathing now.
"She said, um..." *Do I tell him the truth? It might be bizarre enough to throw him off his game...*
Charlie helped me out. "I'm pretty sure I heard her. She said 'Nobody's going to have anguish in the thousand years.'" He smiled, nodded once, and bizarrely, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day, turned back to studying the menu.
The Merry Roider seemed to be thrown off his game. He unclenched his face, and it started turning back to that peach tone he clearly wished he didn't have. "Is that, uh, is that really what she said?"
"Um, yup." I nodded a few times, briskly, while staring off to the right. *Convincing performance.*
"Well, what the hell does *that* mean?"
Beef Slackinoff sure was nosey for just some guy standing in line at McDonald's. "It, uh, it means..."
Chuck chimed in. "I'm glad you asked!" He proceeded to begin to explain...something...to Navy Gravy, while I took the opportunity to extract myself from the conversation and bridge the two-foot gap between myself and the counter.
Our cashier starting coming to. "Where...uhh...where did you learn that? How did you know I spoke it?"
*Shit.* I had no alibi. I didn't even know what I was supposed to have an alibi *for.* "Uh, y'know, you pick up a few things here and there..."
"In *Proto-Indo-European?*"
So *that's* what it was! How the hell was it her native tongue, though?
"Um, yeah, you know, just hanging out with other kids when I was little and, um, I mean, reading books, not hanging out—" I was really good at this.
"So do you, like, just go up to everyone and do this? Is that, like, your shtick? How often do you get beat up for it?"
"Well, *actually*"—my first good idea of the day just popped into my head—"I usually try to make an educated guess first as to what someone speaks. And I do have a pretty good batting average." I nodded knowingly, as though I had just securely built the roof of a house of cards.
"Quosmо̄d pewgwonts 'mene gneʕws?"
*Fuck.* I just realized that despite all this conversation, she—and apparently everyone else around—still heard me speaking in this language I'd never even heard of. She was just starting to respond in it, and I had no fucking clue what she was saying.
I stared blankly and blinked for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"
"But how the fuck did you know for me?"
I had to think fast, as if a windstorm were about to arrive at card village and I was its only retrofitter. "Oh, well, uh, you know..."
I noticed she was wearing a McDonald's tag with her name, Lydia Szemerenyi, on it. I pointed to it. "It was that." The bullshit was flowing so freely out of my mouth that I started to fear for the sanitation of this joint.
She looked down and nodded knowingly, a tear coming to her right eye. "It was great-grandpa's dying wish when I was born. Grandpa, dad, mom, the whole bunch, they didn't let me play with other kids until my sixth birthday, and wouldn't speak to me in anything other than that godforsaken abomination of a tongue—"
Chotchkie's interrupted her moment. "Can't anyone get a *fucking* burger around here?"
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T21:42:04 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] You won the hide-and-seek world championship, but the authorities found you were using performance enhancing drugs. Because that was recently deemed illegal, they’re trying to arrest you - but they can’t find you.
|
That moment was the culmination of a childhood dream, a failed hide-and-seek career, and thousands of hours researching and conducting tests in the lab. I stood at the highest level of the podium. Silver was to my left and bronze to my right. Tens of thousands of fans cheered, and dozens of cameras filmed us, projecting our image to millions—among them, my wife, who had asked to get the day off work, and my adorable 7-month-old, Elizabeth. Everyone I knew and had known, from distant family friends to the most important people in my life, was either watching now or would watch a recording. Hell, my future descendants will see the video—but before watching it, they’ll already know what happens.
It started with the tip of my left hand’s pinky finger. I clenched my hand into a fist, with my pinkie finger at the center. Moments later, I felt it spread down my pinkie and to my palm. From there, it was a matter of seconds before, half my palm, my ring, and middle finger were all infected, so I shoved my hand down my shorts. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I stared at my gold medal as it was brought to me. Seconds before I was handed my reward, the young lady bringing me the gold medal dropped it and screamed, “His arm! It’s gone!” It was—well, not entirely. My hand and forearm were gone, but my rapidly-disappearing upper arm was technically still there.
“Cheater!” screamed the silver medalist. I doubt he actually knew if I was one or not; this sort of thing was unprecedented. His conclusion was likely. While the invisibility serum I had developed wasn’t on the banned substances list, the Olympic code did explicitly ban “performance-enhancing drugs.”
In less than a minute, my whole body was invisible. At that point, all I had to do was strip off my clothes and stuck the gold medal, which was still on the floor, into my mouth, where it would remain invisible. From there, I had nowhere to go. I could jump off the stage and into the stadium, but then I’d have to push my way *while I was naked* through the crowd. That left me the VIP exit. However, that was locked, and I didn’t have a key. So, I stayed on stage. I’ve been here for two hours, and no, I don’t know how long the effect will last. I haven’t gotten an opportunity to leave, because now they’re doing the award ceremony for zombie tag—I know, right? That shouldn’t be a real sport.
Edit: I’m new to Reddit and creative writing. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
|
I was the first vessel of Reveal for the sake of both necessity and protest.
A small group of us had gathered the year before, along with a few delegates of small mountainside kingdoms that had been subjugated by the Locrian government. Scientists allied with the cause had been working on some sort of appearance affecting drug for years before that, and were just about ready to unveil the very first prototypes. I volunteered for a single reason apart from my disdain at the immoral Locrians-- I was on the list. It was convenient, yet still a long shot. They had warned me of some distinct possibilities, that the drug would have appearance-enhancement of humans different than that of their simian test subjects.
When the Locrian invasion swept through the Eastern Hollows of Gale, they, with their brutal and efficacious bureaucracy brought along new traditions. Particularly the idea of a competition among the conquered civilians. They dubbed it, "Midas Hand", or the "Hand that Quells the Beast". It was a way of satiating the bloodthirsty Demons they had inducted into their army, by allowing them to scamper through a desolate town, searching for political prisoners and randoms picked out of Satan's lottery to mutilate and devour. Riots and uproars were quelled quickly after the initial backlash, for the Locrians had mastered the art of Demon subjugation. Screams were stifled, which turned to whimpers, which gave way to resigned silence. Demons hurt what they could see. Locrians valued strength, brutality, and the idea of a self-serving champion, so they presented a unique agreement-- the final victor, a man or woman who survived the onslaught of Demons, would be given the helm of King Midas. A place in the high Locrian society in which so many wished to ingrain themselves into.
Thus began the idea. Dr. Henry Wasserman, of the Wolf's Country of Margot, met with individuals who called themselves "Angel Knights", those fighting for resistance and revolution. Many members in the past having been inducted into Midas Hand due to arrests for political sedition and espionage. At that time, I had been working for the organization for a few months, running errands here and there. I passed a man with a neatly trimmed mustache and oversized glasses, who strode into an partially-filled conference room with a small vial. That day, I remember crouching next to the doors, attempting to glean some information from the barely audible whispers through the narrow crack. I could make out some words, to my surprise. "Elvish", "Fairy's Tears", "Invisibility", "Espionage". I scampered away once the talking stopped, and he came out with several operatives, talking and discussing the supposed next phase of the revolution.
By the time my turn as the original Herald to this drug came, I had risen in both position and status with Angel Knights. We had come to know a lot more about the process of creating Reveal, and about what the actual effects were. Supposedly the tears of a long-lost Fairy, Reveal allowed an individual to summon a veil of sight-blocking particles-- essentially nullifying light refraction and rendering one invisible. Quite simply, it was the perfect cheat code to win the game of brutal hide-and-seek created by the Locrians. Potentially a chance to get a member of the Angel Knights into Locrian high society to strike from behind and end the Demon subjugation. The day I got the letter, the bedamned and feared letter, the reaper's calling card itself, that I was to "participate" in the Midas Hand, was the day I volunteered. Wasserman warned me, of course, of the consequences.
"This has only been done on simian apes," he remarked, looking down at the government letter I had handed him. "Only on them. Of course, we have to graduate to humans at some point, yes. But do you, a senior officer of Angel Knight, wish to put your life at risk to conduct this operation?"
"With all due respect, Doctor," I smiled, wearily. "What have I been living for all these years if I refuse this offer? To strike at the very heart of the oppression? I'll take the risk."
"If that's your choice, so be it," he responded, standing up to lead me out of the room. "We'll have you injected with Reveal two days prior to Midas Hand. That should give us ample time to study the effects."
The letter was a death sentence, though I'd suspected that I would be next. But living it is a different scenario altogether than thinking about it. At that moment, though, the idea of potentially winning the Midas Hand through a concoction that was seven years in the making enticed me more than anything. So I gave it up, extended my hand. In just a few days, I knew that death faced me any which way I went. To defect from an invitation was to incur the wrath of hundreds of painfully frozen Demons that created an impassable wall for those who wished to leave the Locrian lands-- Demons which would leap into disturbingly animated action at the whiff of life to be snuffed out. The tracker Demons sent by the army would send talons and claws raining down upon your mutilated corpse within minutes to hours of your flight to freedom. From the moment you hold the letter, you were marked for death or glory. Nine times out of ten it was the former, but an ounce of luck or a prototype drug could change things, and I knew that.
I lay in a hospital bed for hours after they sent tubes into my arms and legs, prodding around for the right veins to send the ochre-yellow concoction into. I started straight at the Angel Knight flag that hung on one of the eggshell white walls, distracting myself from the pain.
"Sorry," the nurse winced as she stuck the last needle in and watched a wave of brief discomfort wash over my face. "We'll have Doctor Wasserman here in a moment-- he wants to survey the effects of the drug on your vital signs."
"Fine by me," I responded, trying to distract myself from the throbbing and the looming disaster that had been plaguing me for days.
Wasserman's observations allowed him to give the all clear, and he turned to me, adjusting his rimmed glasses.
"Francis, there's going to be a process, of course, as the enzymes enter your bloodstream. First you'll feel cold as your blood pressure drops, but it should be momentary as the body absorbs the drug. After that, you should be back to normal until we give you the activator," he explained. "The activator shall be embedded in a small pin, designed as an ornament. Once you get into the Ruined City and once the tournament begins, you simply activate the drug and-- if all goes well, turn invisible."
"Doctor?," I asked, my stomach lurching with anxiety. "You mentioned side effects earlier. What did you mean by that?"
"Ah," he sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I'd hoped you wouldn't ask, to be frank. See, there's the possibility that rather than disguising you from the Locrian Demons, that-- you'd transform into something akin to them. We had a simian subject in an early trial run of Reveal physically change and lose all sense of its mind. With many simian subject we saw the development of cells within the veil of invisibility that the drug is meant to create that are akin to those of Demons. After all, we are using the processes of ancient Fairies and modern medicine. There's a very low chance, but we don't have any human subjects yet."
That thought, of course, lingers with me now, standing here in the Atrium of the Locrian Grand Hall. Within hours I will be transported to an area outside the Ruined City. We will eat, drink, and party for three days, before stepping into near certain death hiding from creatures with no morality whatsoever. I don't know if I'm stupid for volunteering to try a drug with zero human subjects, or banking my survival on said gambit. No less one that could turn me into one of the creatures I despised so.
But one thing is for sure. As Dr. Wasserman had said to me, if this does work it will change the idea of revolution forever.
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r/bluelizardK
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Might as well delete this one now. Kinda pointless to leave it up, but if anyone is reading this far down and actually enjoyed it, thank you!
| 2020-04-03T15:08:13 | 2020-04-03T14:45:39 | 225 | 63 |
[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.
|
The Man of the North:
A person that everyone knows. The other immortal beings were present in some cultures, but the man was known by everyone.
His speed, unmatched, he could circle the world faster than everyone.
His generosity, so pure, everyone was struck with happiness at the mention of his name.
His looks, unmistakable. You will always know its him.
His perception, perfection, he can see everyone whenever he wants, from any distance.
The man never was angry. He never hurt anyone. He never killed a soul. He rewarded the polite, and pitied the mean.
He is so famous, that he has a day dedicated to him. And when that month rolls around...
You better watch out.
You better not pout.
You better not cry.
I'm telling you why.
**Santa Claus is coming to town.**
|
Man was born at the base of a vast mountain. It is in his nature to eternally reach for the top, to eternally quest after the summit, never understanding he was born at the base for a reason.
I was starting to understand now, far up into the lands where the night would last for months on end, why the ancient men of the earth used to say that. The cold enshrined everything in a tomb of a snow. Just moving your fingers was a struggle against an overwhelming tiredness, a fatigue that threatened to blacken your vision and blacken your flesh. Every footstep was a victory against god, a defiance against the role given to us, each and every advancement a rejection of what we were meant to know.
The world was mostly explored. We knew that we were not welcome anywhere aside from the small section of the world that we had eked out. To the east of the Hearth Lands, monstrous krakens resided that consumed not only ships but entire islands too, wrapping their tentacles around the very terrain and pulling it under the black water. To the west, an endless labyrinth that warped and moved, impossible to map, swallowing most men who went inside. To the south, a legendary dragon had scorched the landscape itself into a hellish red desert.
But the north was the last mystery of the world. The Man of the North, as he was called, drove out all who came. Indeed, there were parts of the south untouched by the dragon that were inhabited; there were vagabond civilisations in the east who roved to compensate for the destruction of the land masses; it was even said that there were entire cultures of people, born and raised in the Labyrinth, never seeing the light of day.
But the north was empty. The small critters and game were all that lived there, and they were few and far between. There were no clans up here, no men at all. Anyone who voyaged never returned, or returned rambling incoherently about the Man of the North, something so incomprehensible that no person could look upon him without their mind snapping apart.
That was my mission. I had trekked across the Hearth Lands, across the northern sea, as it got warmer and then chillier, as the waves turned from calm to cruel. From there, I had voyaged across the frozen forests, across awe-inspiring canyons, up peaks that seemed to scratch the sky. I had bared blizzards and starvation, I had watched as one by one my toes snapped off my body; I had seen creatures of the night, things we thought were but myths. The very earth itself was trying to stop me from summiting the mountain, from looking upon the creature that presided over the top of the world.
But here I stood. I was nearing the summit of a mountain, the tallest one I had found so far. A small wooden sign was adorned, clearly older than my own father, rotting apart. It was unreadable, but I could guess at the meaning; *he is here*.
With screaming limbs, I hiked up. My feet plunged into snow, sinking up to the thigh, the white slurry sucking at me like mud. I stabbed each of my sticks into the ground beside me, using them to push me along, until one snapped apart. As I examined the broken stick, I saw it was blue from frost.
There was a roaring of wind. The sun was hardly visible through the blizzard of snow. The summit was above a bank of clouds, and I soon broke into them, tasting water in the air, snow literally forming around me. Every breath I inhaled was painful, a million needles poking at my lungs. I knew that soon my legs would give out and I would sit down, and if that happened, I would never stand up again.
*Just a little longer. Just a little longer.*
Up ahead, the path suddenly revealed itself. It was no longer covered in snow, but rather a blue sheet of dirt, packed solid. I pushed ahead, and broke through the clouds.
The summit of the mountain was not what I was expecting. It was less a frozen peak and more a grassy plain. A clear night sky lay above me, splashed with trillions of stars. *I could’ve sworn it was daytime just before*…
Exhausted, I staggered towards the centre of the plain and sat. The grass was dewey, but apart from that slight wetness it was green and not frozen at all. The wind had completely abated. The chill was mostly gone. I stared into the distance, an endless sea of rolling clouds. From above, I mused, they looked remarkably like the ocean had.
The very atmosphere was unsettling. Though I was nowhere near as cold as I had been before, a chill ran down my back. I suddenly began to get a very bad feeling, like I should turn back before it was too late.
In the distance, a cloud rolled like a wave, cruel. It surged up, and then just when it looked like it might crash, it kept surging.
Something broke through.
Something impossible.
I can’t describe it’s form. It was both a man and not a man. It’s knees were taller than the tallest mountain. It rose up, and kept rising. It was gangly, and its skin was mottled and cragged, yet at the same time I couldn’t make out any skin. It was covered in clouds.
An enormous claw of a hand emerged, and hang there listlessly, an innumerable amount of fingers sprouting off it, each one perfectly still, yet writhing like worms.
I felt a headache beginning to come on.
The monster had a body like a humans, but it wasn’t really human. There were too many arms, too many legs, too many fingers and toes. There was too much skin; more skin that surface area. Everywhere I looked, it was both there and not there.
The headache was overpowering now. My vision blurred. I clutched my head as I looked up, and made out the monster’s face.
It’s face… there is no describing the horror I saw. I just beg that you will never have to see it for yourself.
Blood dripped down my face. It ran from my nose, from my eyes, from my ears. I opened my mouth to scream and blood spilled out. I felt my mind beginning to unravel.
Too late, I realised what that old saying really meant. Man was born at the base of a vast mountain, and he was never meant to know the summit.
The monster opened its mouths, and let out a noise like a mountain crashing into the sea, and my mind finally broke.
| 2020-04-19T08:34:41 | 2020-04-19T08:00:40 | 85 | 26 |
[WP] You are sitting in the longest traffic jam in human history. It has been going on for decades and grown a culture of its own. Describe your life in "The Jam"
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I was born here. This is all I know. My folks say that when they joined Jam95 that they were upset and wanted it to end. They wanted to leave it! I don't believe them. Why would they want to leave? All of my friends are here. The government brings us everything we need. My mother is especially skilled at combining different rations to make something palatable, sometimes even delicious. Last months she managed to make an Indian-style flat-bread. How the hell a Swede from Danvers pulled that off is beyond me.
Last week we had a movement, the first I had seen in years. Word arrived from further down the road before we saw it. The air was electric with chatter and excitement. Over on the next hill people started jumping in their cars. My eyes had trouble comprehending what I was seeing. It was as if a whole forest's worth of trees got up and wandered over to the next meadow. Yet, there it was. One at a time they would inch forward, opening up a narrow space behind. We knew it would be hours before we had our turn, but the excitement was too much to bear.
We collected our belongings scattered around the Taurus. I collapsed my sleeping lean-to. Some kids are allowed to sleep inside every night, but only on the coldest and wettest did my folks allow me in. I picked up the fire pit and strapped it to the hood. Visibility wouldn't be an issue, we're not going far. Father says that the movements used to be more common and go much further.
Our time drew nearer. The movement rippled down the far hill into the valley, then slowly crawled up toward the Taurus. Closer and closer it slithered up the hill. My father carefully removed his keys from the glove box. Ceremoniously he stuck it in and cranked. With a soft purr the Taurus sprang to life. Thank God. Asking for a tow in a movement is a social catastrophe that is remembered for years. Pressing his ratty Oxfords into the pedal we accelerated forward, then with a quick move to the brakes we stopped. And with a sigh we realized that another movement was completed.
|
At night, when my family sleeps in our shack on the Median, my brother sometimes tells me stories. He tells me that our family once drove. Once, we were Motorists. Sometimes, he takes me out behind the shack and shows me our old car, and once he yelled at me when I asked how that old hunk of junk could have ever moved.
"This is our history, Candice!" He shouted, before lowering his voice so as not to wake my parents. "Our *legacy*. You wouldn't understand."
I look at it now, in the early morning light while everyone sleeps, and I'm not sure I believe him. The old Outback is up on cinderblocks. Under the hood is an empty cavity, long since gutted for parts. The headlights and windows are all lined with a jagged crust of broken glass, having been kicked in by vandals. Rust has eaten through the doors in places, and squirrels have nested in the torn-up stuffing of the back seat. My dad likes to have them there. Sometimes he kills one for the stewpot.
Our legacy? It's nothing but trash.
The Median is where I was born. It's where I belong. I turn from the car and gaze down its narrow, fertile length, watching our corn sway in the light morning breeze, the long stalks catching orange sunlight. At the edge of sight, just before the Road curves away, I see the next homestead down the line. The Bertrams. I can see Mr. and Mrs. Bertram now, milling around their shack, getting ready for another long day before the Motorists start to wake up. I raise an arm to wave, but they don't see me.
I can already smell their bread baking, just a whiff on the breeze. The Bertrams sell most of their bread to the Motorists, but sometimes Mrs. Bertram brings us a loaf. She always sneaks a special, frosted slice to me. "That's for you, Candice," she always says. "Shh. Just between you and me." I love her smile. Her hair is golden, and I think she's beautiful.
Maybe my mother was once that beautiful. Now, she only looks tired. Sometimes, she spends all day in bed, something my father would never do. When he works our land, he's always smiling. Always proud.
I look towards the road. Traffic is still. I can see families of Motorists through the windows of their cars, slumped over and asleep. The road is all quiet except for an intrepid lone bicyclist, weaving slowly through traffic. He's a scrawny young man with a patchy beard. He notices me watching him. He raises and hand and grins. "Mornin', girlie!" He says to me, and I smile and wave back. He drifts on towards the Bertrams.
I rub my arms against the cold, and go to the awning by the shack to get the coffee started. My parents always wake up happier when it's ready, and the Motorists can't get enough of it-- easy trade to start the day. We're lucky to have so much. My father practically traded the skin off his back to the cyclist caravan to get it, but it's rare enough on the Road that he thought it was worth it. As always, he was right.
I listen to the percolator gurgle. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the smell. I smile. I don't drink coffee, I'm only thirteen-- my brother guzzles it, though, and he's sixteen-- but I love that smell. Above the sound of the percolator, though, there's another sound.
Shouting.
I turn towards the road to see the cyclist again, the boy who'd waved at me, but he wasn't smiling now. He looks terrified, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. He sees that I'm still there and slows his bike to a stop in the middle of traffic, only about ten yards away from me. He whips his head back and forth, looking behind him, then at me, then at the road ahead. He opens and closes his mouth, as though he wants to speak.
"Mister?" I ask. "You all right?"
He locks eyes with me. "Run, girlie!" He shouts, and starts pedaling again, pumping his legs frantically. As he speeds away, he throws another shout over his shoulder. "RUN!"
I stare after him for a long moment, and fear begins to stir in my chest. I hear the percolator hiss behind me. Then, again, another sound rises above it.
Screams.
I turn towards the Bertrams' homestead, and immediately pick out the figures of Mr. and Mrs. Bertram, standing out in front of their shack. I see them turn and run down the Median towards our homestead. Then, around the bend just beyond their shack, more figures appear, a whole crowd of them. I hear echoing whoops and shouts. Some of the figures are on foot, some on bikes, some riding the shoulder on motorcycles. And even from so far away, I see that many of them are armed.
God, no. Raiders.
I hear the rattle of gunfire ring out, and Mr. and Mrs. Bertram go sprawling. "No!" I shouted. "No, no, NO!"
My father and brother burst out of the shack.
"Candice!" My father shouts. "What's going on?"
I shake my head back and forth. I can't say a word. I just point down the median towards the advancing raiders. There's smoke rising from the Bertrams' shack. On the road, some Motorists flee from the raiders, though most stay put, ready to fight if they have to. Not surprising. For Motorists, their cars are everything.
"We can run! We can--" My brother began.
My father cuts him off. "We won't make it. They're nearly here." He gives my brother a hard look, and something passes between them.
My brother turns to me. "Come on, Candice." He takes my hand and leads me out behind the shack. Out to the car, as he has so many times before. The doors won't open, so he carefully helps me into the back seat through the broken window. "Get as low as you can. Be very, very quiet. I love you."
"No, you can't!" I say, tears burning in my eyes. "You can't!"
He's already going back to the shack. Over his shoulder, I see him smile at me one last time. "I love you, Candy."
I'm not sure how much time passes there, curled up in the remains of my family's car. I hear shouts, I hear screams, and at last, I hear silence. What makes me open my eyes is a new sound: the rumbling and crackling of flames. I raise my head, and see that our shack is a roaring torch, completely engulfed in flame.
"NO!" I scream. "NO!" I rocked back and forth. I can't move. I can't think. I bury my face between my knees and sob. My father, my brother... is my mother still in the shack? God, no.
It takes a long time for my tears to abate. When I finally look up, something shiny catches my eye. It's the key to the car, still there in the ignition. I swallow hard, and for some reason the sight of it, still untarnished after all this time, makes me forget, just for a second, what's happened. I climb forward into the front seat and take it from the ignition. I turn it over and over in my hands, and then clutch it to my chest.
I feel the tears returning. But I know, in my heart, that it's time to hit the Road.
| 2015-12-01T11:12:00 | 2015-12-01T11:10:11 | 42 | 15 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
"YOU DID WHAT?", god shouted at Billy angrily.
Billy sat comfortable in gods office, he had a nice view on the exotic garden just outside the building.
"Well, I knew what was wrong with the world, no, I knew what was wrong with the entire universe!", Billy said, "Removing it was really all I needed to do!".
God stood at the entrance of the office in confusion, "What could have been so bad that if you just removed it the whole universe would suddenly become a place filled with harmony?" god asked Billy. "Well" , Billy said as he stood up from gods chair "Hundreds of years ago Satan created something so horrible and so full of evil that just a single piece of it would cause a misbalance in the harmony of the universe and yet no one seemed to notice what is was..
*NOBODY BUT ME*!".
God was baffled, what could've possibly been so bad that even he would not notice? God inhaled the pure holy air in his office and asked Billy the question about the thing that has changed the universe: "What in gods name was the thing that was so bad?".
Billy grinned and took a sip of his 6000 year old wine and said: "You will see soon enough, I think it's time for lunch.".
God seemed to suddenly forget about the thing they talked about. Lunch time was gods favorite part of his day, he dreamt about the so tasty potato pancakes with apple sauce. God called his angel to bring him his usual lunch.
A few minutes later his angel came into the office with just apple sauce in a bottle in her hand.
"I think you forget the potato pancakes.", god reminded his angel.
"What are potato pancakes?" the angel replied.
God looked over to Billy who could not contain his laughter. "Who would've thought that your favorite food would be made by the devil?"
God was shocked, how could his favorite food be the cause of everything bad? "And now that I know that you like to eat potato pancakes,", Billy said still laughing, "I will have to destroy you just like all the other potato pancake eaters and now that a huge chunk of your power is gone I will have no problems."
Billy raised his hand and turned god to dust. "And now I'll have to destroy the creator of the potato pancakes..", Billy said to his new assistant Bob. "Fetch the keys, Bob, we're going to hell."
|
We'd had an early spring. Sarah and I were eager to catch the fauna's and flora's getting down and dirty, as we always joked. So we packed our things and hit a trail a couple kilometers outside town.
"Love, these clouds could go either way" Sarah muttered as our car approached the station lot. She was right too. The mountains in these hills had a thing for parting the sky like a fairly tossed coin. We scampered on.
Halfway up our trail, footing on the clay/snow aggregate started rising out of the traditionally coarse path and we leaned on each other to break through the more narrow sections. Every so often a mound of old slush would come drifting from a cedar and we'd hear a thing not unlike soft hooves as it pressed into the earth again. As did we.
"Oh bloody hell" she whispered. I looked back to see Sarah 10 meters behind and 10 meters trapped with her leg around a crevice. As she jerked violently to unhinge said ankle, it must have been connected to a deeper vein of geologic symmetry-as her prison held firm but the foundation carved a tectonic plate, just as mobile.
"Shit shit shit" I stumbled towards her in the same moment her wake-board of mud skittered down the ravine, a steepness that can only be held together by the deepest roots, and disappeared with her intact. Her screams and chaos followed into that abyss, and I fell to my knees.
Frantically counting my choices until the stress leaked through I hollered, "Why don't you just take me too man!?"
And the room went white.
A man in his mid-forties sat across from me, tan khakis and a simple purple turtleneck. He stood up, turned the chair facing away from me, and sat in it with his arms folded over the back like they do in relaxed AA meetings, staring at me.
"Alright, so now...?" He spoke.
I stammered back, "Huh-I mean, what?"
"Look," he sighed, "I've obviously seen my end of work. I want someone, preferably with some college education, to give it a go. You're the man for the job. You be me. 24 hours, Uninhibited, be me. There's safeguards, so, just feel free to flex. There's no moral catch-22 here: just make things right" he smiled on that last word. "Be seeing you then."
Just as quickly as I was acquainted, I became alone. The room held nothing but myself, an empty chair, a small folding table with tea and crackers, and an apparatus that consisted of discs floating parallel to the wall, like heavenly polka-dots. I approached the tray, wondering how I wasn't in shock.
Some moments later, after finishing the lady fingers, I thought about (God's?) offer. Maybe I could bring Sarah back home. Maybe I could use it to return. Maybe I could get more lady-fingers. What the hell.
It didn't so much need me to sit down in it, or strap in, as much as I just had to sort of walk into it. My vision blurred and rather than a manic-feed of information and events and choices- I just was. The universe was the universe, and I was just I. Cause effect thinking was not the issue- the issue was the pain. So much endless expanse, but I couldn't get over one vector where all I heard was a song of suffering: so I got busy.
The slums were my first approach- it wasn't that difficulty to reposition them molecularly into skyscrapers and bunkers, disaster proof, a city of diamonds, water, and filled granaries, essentially. The dirty politicians were the next target: I went for a direct angle of dumping the lot on individual islands, with necessities included, somewhere off the coast of New Zealand. A small book about the effects of their deeds rested on a platter in the center. Stories of orphans and diseases, things of that sort.
A half hour into patching up the eroding islands of Dubai, now that the Mid East was the literal hottest destination for people of all beliefs, I caught the echo of footsteps behind me.
"I liked the take on Japans modern architecture you pulled. Incorporating the Sengoku into the corporate atmosphere *was* what they needed, wasn't it?"
I turned around. This time, he was holding a bottle of Jack and what looked like a panini under his arm, a toothy grin on his face. "I really liked, though, seeing your creative side. Hasn't popped through for some time. Have a seat."
Cutting the sandwich in half we ate silently, seated in this neverland, until I decided to speak up.
"It wasn't that hard, you know. Fixing the loss, the needs, why didn't you do it sooner? Sarah didn't exactly mind not dying- she couldn't explain it sure, but whatever happened certainly beat death by landslide." I finished my piece, and he kept his head down, still biting into his portion.
"thaths the thing," he muttered with a mouthful of roasted tomatoes, "my job isn't to solve your problems."
"Excuse me?" I asked, a taste of sharpness on it, "You can't create something and just let it run amok like this, people need directions, tools, guides- do you even see what's been happening? They elected a ferret for God's sake. If people knew you were just some washed up engineer tinkering with people's existence out of sport, real or not, good luck attracting more followers you piece of shit."
In my mind I asked what we had all been thinking. A criticism. I knew because for a short period I had heard, and answered, that critique uncountable times. He nodded solemnly, wiping the corners of his mouth off with one of those tissues you get at a street vendor, and thought for a moment.
"That's the first time you've been honest with me." A simple truth, softly said almost as a word of thanks, somehow stung leagues more than my previous barrage...I reeled.
"You know, when I started all this, all I sought was a friend or two. Someone to share all this..." he motioned to the empty room, "...with. I wasn't lonely, just hopeful. But I can't exactly trap something with self-awareness and choice. Both are fundamental pieces of relationship, as much as I love the ladyfingers, and love doesn't force love."
"That's a cop-out," I retorted, "an easy excuse. You want relationship and selflessness and connection, so you establish an environment of murder for that to blossom? Literally psychotic. And then you have the audacity to judge *us*?"
"There was this brief...time... I considered letting men live a while longer, by a multitude of ten. But for the sake of some semblance of balance, I held it young. Nobody has cared to ask why that wasn't a very difficult decision. Because the truth is- your breath of life is nothing. Not like the one in store. You don't see what happens, what Sarah would have seen, after a second of hurt. Nobody does. So I can fix all your losses and all your problems, or let victims face oppressors in an environment where hurts are not hidden, and justice and reward come second. Love comes first, so choice must come first."
This well-meaning platitude rang in my ears, but the grasp and scope of his denial haunted my ability to process it.
"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, then, old chap."
**[Thanks for reading! I've never posted before, and I'm fairly new with short stories, I just wanted to give it a go. I hope you were able to take something out of it, I understand there are a million mistakes, and I will learn if you point some out. The cliches, grammar, whatever, thanks for teaching me!]**
| 2017-03-05T02:55:19 | 2017-03-05T02:32:59 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...”
|
"And whatever you do, don’t let them inside..."
Those words are still ringing through my brain as I look up from the couch. Our host, so gracious just a few minutes ago, turns to face us. Neither of us have to imagine the look of dawning horror on our faces, as it is clearly being reflected right back. My wife and I both start shouting, at first in disbelief, then in fear.
"What the…? Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa wait wait wait. That is NOT us. I have no idea what they’re talking about." But it’s too late.
Our host pivots swiftly. He reaches behind the TV stand and pulls out a hunting rifle. That… doesn’t seem safe. But it’s West Virginia, so it’s also not that uncommon. It’s probably also loaded.
"SHUT UP!" Our host bellows. We do. Neither of us are used to having a gun pulled on us. My wife is sobbing, a barely audible whimper, "I just want to get home to feed the dog."
"I SAID SHUT UP!" I don’t know when I urinated on myself, but this is the point I start feeling it. The host starts digging through a junk drawer.
"No duct tape dammit," as he pulls out some masking tape and zip ties. "Good enough. You –" he points to me and tosses a couple zip ties on the floor, "hands behind your back. You –" to my wife now, "tie his hands together."
We comply, trying to explain that he’s making a mistake, but that doesn’t last long. He zip ties my wife’s hands then tapes our mouths shut. He shoves both of us into a closet.
"Stay here 'til I figure out what to do with you." He closes the door, blocking out the afternoon sun, leaving near-pitch darkness. I hear what I assume is a chair thud up against the closet door.
There's no telling time in darkness. I don't know how long we were stuck in there, crying. Maybe 15 minutes. Maybe 2 hours. I hear rustling occasionally, but nothing more, until I hear another thud. This time it’s the chair being removed. The door opens. It’s nearly as dark out there as it was in the closet, but my eyes have adjusted.
I see that our host is still holding his gun and… two others? He’s got a revolver in his hand and there’s a shotgun propped up against the wall. He looks at me, showing me the revolver. One of those big, Dirty Harry/Sledgehammer types. "You know how to use this?"
I nod, confused. "Good. Sorry about earlier. I believe you now. And sorry about whatever is going to happen next." He pulls the tape off our mouths, then pulls out some wirecutters and snaps our zip ties. He hands me the revolver, hands my wife the rifle.
"Take these. I don't know if they're gonna help."
|
It’s funny, in a way. Just the other day, I had been thinking about how nothing exciting ever happens. You hear a knock on the door, and your mind immediately associates it with something normal or mediocre. Maybe it’s the mailman. Possibly a neighbor that wants me to move my car. My heart flutters at any notion or entertainment in my head that even remotely resembles something out of the ordinary. Maybe it was a burglar (and not a very good one); would I be able to defend myself or close the door in time? Possibly an old friend that wants to make amends, one that I haven’t seen in years.
I don’t think that way anymore. What a foolish and naïve way to think…
The one thing I remember about that night was that it was raining. Have you heard a clock ticking in a quiet room? It’s quite calming at first, but somehow, it seems to get louder and louder. You try not to think about it, but there it is, ticking non-stop, invading your eardrums with every painstaking second. You expect your brain to trick itself into thinking that you’ll get used to it, but it just keeps getting Louder and Louder. Every. Single. Tick. LOUDER. AND LOUDER.
Well that’s pretty much how the rain went that night. Like screeching in my ears. It was so calm when I first heard the knocking. Darkness had already plagued the night sky, and all the clouds just made it worse, as if God wasn’t watching anymore. I doubt he was. I didn’t get up until the second knock after doubting the first. I opened the door slowly. Finally, something exciting!
Two young-looking people greeted me, flashing warm, white smiles at me, both brunette. The young man was very handsome, his face rugged and defined. He had steel blue eyes that could both intimidate and seduce a person. And the young woman was equally as stunning and just as fierce. Her eyes were wide with a greenish hue. Full of life and wonder. I was already willing to let them into my house and not a word had escaped their lips.
“Hey, oh my gosh, thank you so much for answering! Our car broke down in the middle of the storm, and we just wanted to see if we could call someone. Both of our phones aren’t getting any signal, damn Verizon…” she said gleefully, charismatically. I was eating up every single word like dessert.
“Yea, we’d really appreciate it if you could help us out a bit,” the man said. His voice was somehow vulnerable despite giving off this manly vibe. How could I not help them? They were in such need. I wanted to help, and I wanted to know their story.
“Sure! Sure,” I said twice, obviously flustered and taken in by the atmosphere they had crafted. I moved myself out of the way and practically invited them inside, as if I was the one who was honored. They gave even more cheerful smiles as they slipped by me, their stylish clothes soaked by nature. There’s that heart flutter I mentioned.
The rain got a bit louder.
I closed the door behind them and showed them where the phone was. They looked so thin and famished. Whatever journey they were on together must have been a long one.
“Would you guys like something to eat? You two look like your starving,” I said, slightly concerned, wanting to take care of my two new guests.
“Yes, we would,” the man said, flashing a small smile towards his companion, “but we don’t want to trouble you, the phone is just fine.”
“Nonsense!” I replied, marching myself off to the kitchen almost immediately after. “I’ll make something you guys can take on the road.”
I started taking out a few slices of bread and some peanut butter. Obviously, I wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but I thought they would appreciate the gesture.
The rain got louder.
“So what are your names?” I asked out loud. I could hear them chattering in the other room to each other. Seemed casual enough, but they didn’t respond. I heard the girl giggling, so I decided to ask again in a clearer tone. “Um, what are your names?”
“Uhh, Jack,” he said, the girl laughing a bit more now, trying hard to stifle it. I got a little nervous as I spread the peanut butter on one of the slices of bread.
“O-Okay,” I said, laughing a bit too out of politeness. “Nice to meet you, Jack. So what’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“Jill!” She said, laughing more abruptly, her boyfriend letting out a chuckle as he tried to stop her from laughing so much. I felt more uneasy.
The rain got louder.
“Nice to meet you, Jill,” I said.
I gulped silently to myself and switched to a steak knife instead of a butter knife while I was out of their sight. Suddenly, the laughter stopped. I held my breath for a moment, hoping they would start up again. Even laughter was better than silence. Silence and rain.
I slowly walked back into the living room. The TV was muted from earlier, but I could still read the captions.
“UNDER NO CIRUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU ANSWER THE DOOR TODAY. THEY ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM. AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LET THEM INSIDE.”
I read. And I saw a picture of two people, one was of a man with long, black hair. The other was a girl with short blond hair. Different people, I assumed. But their eyes… they were the same steel blue eyes from before. And the girl’s, the same as well, wide with a greenish hue.
The rain got louder.
I felt an empty dread well up inside me. Every step I made had an audible creak to it, and I was suddenly aware of all of my surroundings. I looked intently at the archway to the dining door, beyond it was nothingness. I stood with my back close to the wall, hoping to give myself a good footing for whatever was next.
“Jack…? Jill…?”
“We’re over here,” she said, startling me. Her calm, soothing voice echoed through the dark dining room.
“C-Could you come out here then?” I said, shivering, gripping my knife as hard as I could.
“Sure.”
The rain got louder.
She stepped out into the archway, her skin was pale white, drained of blood. She smiled at me as wide as she could, her teeth sharp and hungry looking. The greenish hue filled her eye sockets. She looked like an animal. Her hair looked dead black, wild and frayed, as if she were wearing the hair of someone already long gone. Her arms and legs elongated in an unnatural way, causing her knees to pop in the opposite direction as she went down on all fours. I didn’t have time to breath or think, but my eyes were filled with despair, as if death was staring at me, starving. Wanting to peel the flesh off my bones until I became nothing.
She charged at me, her claws digging into the floorboard with each step. I yelled fiercely out of desperation and fear, doing my best to avoid her swipe, and I dug the knife deep into her dead neck. She screamed out in pain as the male came out, looking at me with ferocity and rage, but hunger all the same.
“LEAVE!” I threatened as he pierced through me with his gaze. I held my stance and sliced through her neck further, pinning her down to the floor. He let out a demonic yell, like an animal born in hellfire, and darted out the door, his lover screaming in pain. I took my knife out of her, wanting to finish the job, but instead, I kicked her body away from me. Her disturbing body limped and flailed its way out of my house, leaving black blood on the floor, like oil, but thicker, nastier.
I ran back into the kitchen to call the police and fell down in the corner of the room, blood pouring out from my thigh. It burned as I waited.
I cried to myself, clutching the knife to my chest, waiting for them to come back and finish the job, but they never did.
The rain got louder. I couldn’t sleep until it stopped.
In fact, I could never sleep through the rain after that night.
It just keeps getting louder… and louder.
God help me.
---
/r/StoriesByDamiascus
---
| 2018-03-14T10:29:22 | 2018-03-14T08:58:56 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a society where justice is truly blind. The judge and jurors are not allowed to know the name, gender, race, religion, or appearance of the defendant.
|
The still of the night was suddenly marred by the thumping of the battering ram on the front door. On the second smack, the door opened with a crash. The neighbor's dog barked. Police swarmed into the house, guns at the ready.
In just a few efficient minutes, two cops dragged a handcuffed young man out of the battered front door. The man wore a Flash tee shirt and shorts. His feet were bare. He blinked the sleep from his startlingly blue eyes, just beginning to process what was going on.
"Take me instead!" his mother cried out from the house. Tears streaked down her face. Three policemen were restraining her. She was surprisingly strong for her size. It was the strength of a mother protecting her cub.
"You know that's not how this works, ma'am," one of the cops said. He tried to be as gentle as he could as the mother flailed in his arms. He had a son too.
The handcuffed man was put into the back of an idling police car. He was Justin Wren, 22, a graduate student. Soon, he would simply be Juror Number 5.
The police car sped off. Its ultimate destination was the courthouse where Justin would serve jury duty. But first, it would take him to the hospital where Justin's eyes would be removed.
After all, justice was blind.
|
He pulled up to the City Court's garage and descended slowly. He looked at a large sign that read "Welcome to GCMP! All levels for are GCJD employees. If you're a juror please proceed to the "White" level for further instructions." He descended slowly down the curving ramp until he came upon the "White" level.
There he saw another sign and read it to himself in a whisper "Jurors: pull into any open spot and park vehicle past white zone. Please turn off engine and step out of the vehicle, then approach the exit door." He drove down the double wide aisle passing various closed doors until he found an open spot and he pulled in. He parked well beyond the marked "white zone," and after he turned off his engine the sound of nearby motor churned as a small garage door sealed the spot. The door coming down right on the edge of the "white zone."
A light then appeared behind him, over a door marked in big bold red letters "Exit."
He grabbed the knob and turned it revealing a small hallway that led to an immediate bathroom to his left and straight ahead to a larger room. At the left again there was a single person bed. On the wall right near the bed was a large square panel with a metal depression on it. Then about a foot away a square desk that ran to the end and around the room ending at a single locker. A large leather executive chair stood before the desk, the seat turned to him. He sat down and swiveled the chair to the desk finding a keyboard and two gloves with some wiring that ran above and then beneath the gray plastic. On the wall was a single curved monitor that covered the wall. On another side was a smaller monitor and the left side by the square was a mounted telephone. He looked up to see a security camera in one end, and directly above him the only source of light for the big room- two long florescent tubes.
The main curved screen came to life:
"Jurors for Case GC04251940 the GCJD welcomes and thanks you for your service. If you are picked for this case you will receive a bin on your desk. Please deposit your personal belongings there. This is to ensure further confidentiality of your service and to protect those involved. Also we ask that you do not leave the juror's room, if you are chosen. On the smaller screen meal options will appear. They will be dumbwaiter lifted to your rooms via that panel by your bed. Please feel free to utilize amenities. Also note most functions and amenities are voice controlled, if for some reason something is not functioning correctly please pick up the phone and dial 1 for support.
All case work will be done via the GCJD official chatroom. You may privately converse with other jurors on your case, as well as legal council and assigned judge between the hours of 8 AM to 5 PM.
For full list of responsibilities please utilize the search function on the PC to interact with the GCJD database.
Thank you once again for your service."
The man looked around again and sighed, before he heard something hiss on his desk. A tray had popped up from a hidden recess and on the screen the instructions appeared "Please deposit your personal belongings into the tray." The man then asked "What if there's an emergency?" an expressionless male voice replied softly "in the event of an emergency the tray will automatically release returning all items and the exit will unlock." The man hesitantly placed his belongings into the tray. After a second the tray descended into the desk disappearing as if it was never there.
Suddenly another window on the screen appeared asking for his Social Security number. The man punched it in and the screen changed to a welcome Juror #12563. Your chat handle, and all related inquiries will now be tied to your Juror number. Please avoid using your real name at all times, thank you."
After a few seconds the main screen filled with dialogue between the legal councils and the judge.
judge GCJD#0000 - "Good morning Jurors. Due to the issues concerning this case all identities of the parties involved will be reduced to initials. Also all evidence in this case has been slightly restricted, again to provide for anonymity. If you do realize the identity of the parties involved...please KEEP it to yourself at ALL times."
For this case we are asking you to determine if one party or both parties are responsible for the crime. In a moment Jurors you will be given a timeline and all available permitted evidence for your review."
A side window appeared detailing a time frame of the crime, then another window to the right appeared marked "Evidence Inventory."
The man flicked his fingers apart near the window causing it to expand, then using one finger he scrolled through the contents until he came to "Crime Scene Photos." He the motion of tapping the sub folder and that opened to thumbnails of various scenes. Some were of individual locations others were a panorama of the city. He tapped the one of a large plume of smoke rising from a near by building. The plume was green and it obscured the building completely, he also noticed a small vehicle had been caught emerging from the plume. He waved to the left forcing the image to disappear and his view to return the folder. Then we looked to the Evidence Time line and examined it.
There were four different entries for four different homicides occurred at different locations.
B.W. manor - A.P. - J-Fish evisceration.
GCPD - J.G. - J-Grenades filled with razors.
D.G. - Strangulation by tightrope wire and an elephant.
T.D. - J-Smile with a rusty razor.
The man leaned back and rubbed his temples before continuing on,
T-F - A giant coin, crushed in half.
P - Rabid Penguins
P.I. - Weed Killer laced with an unknown toxin
Then he saw it and sank in his chair.
B - Unknown.
The man sat up and spoke out "Pot of coffee, extra strong." The words "Coming right up appeared and flashed for a second before disappearing." The sound of a chime went off behind him as the smell of hot coffee filled his sense. He swiveled around to see the depressed panel had disappeared revealing a large glass pot steaming coffee, two mugs, a small container of packaged cream and sugar. On the desk a small section had given way and revealed a warming coil. he rolled back on the chair and grabbed the pot and mug. Moving the pot onto the warming coil after he poured himself a pot, leaving the condiments alone.
The metal panel slid shut and he exclaimed "Thank you."
He looked at the chat and the other Jurors chimed in "Do you think this (censored by Federal justice laws)?"
Another Juror replied: "It probably is. But that's not what is important we're supposed to determine the part(ies) responsible. I say it was all a single defendant's."
Another juror then stated: "Let's be serious here! B did this city a favor more than once trying to stop the defendant. They shouldn't be on trial!"
The man groaned and lened back as he muttered to himself "It's going to be a very long day..."
| 2015-09-06T01:27:55 | 2015-09-05T20:23:01 | 156 | 24 |
[WP]You're a famous artist, tasked with the mission of going back in time to mentor Hitler and improve his art, so that he never goes into politics.
|
"Again, Adolf, and not so lifelike this time," I said, examining the cityscape he had started on the canvas. "Don't paint what you see, paint the bare bones of what you see, and then how it makes you feel."
"But das ist... ist... antithesis," Adolf protested.
"Exactly. Every other applicant to the academy will be painting lifelike portraits. What you must do is zig where they zag." Truth be told, his paintings were really coming along. Not a Monet or a Manet or a Modigliani, but certainly talented enough to catch the eye of the examiners at the academy.
Adolf got a new canvas, and started again. Within minutes, the outlines of a Vienna streetscape began to emerge from the canvas, but... different. Finally, an image influenced by reality, but not wholly of it took shape. Colors and textures blended, and when he had finished, a painting that seemed worthy of a place in a museum sat on the canvas.
"Fantastic, Mr. Hitler," I said. "This will certainly gain your acceptance into the academy. I have taught you all I can teach you."
"Danke mein herr", said Hitler.
I walked away into a crowded street, and pushed the recall button on my teleportation device. There was a flash of bright light and... what the heck? Nazi Germany is a thing in 2112?
It couldn't be. What did I do?
I wandered the streets of New York, which I soon learned was called Neues Goebbels in this time period. As I passed the building I remembered as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I was greeted by a giant banner advertising a show of the paintings of German Impressionist Master Adolf Hitler. In the center, the painting of Vienna that he had made under my tutelage was shown prominently.
I went into the museum, and walked up to a worker at the front desk.
"Pardon me, but who founded the Third Reich?"
The front desk attendant, a blond girl of no more then twenty, began, "His name was Horst Muhlenberg, and he began life as a failed composer..."
|
I put on my sunglasses so nobody would notice me sneaking another look around at all the other tents. It's overwhelmingly likely nobody was actually looking at me or would have noticed, but I couldn't afford to compound my embarrassment. As I suspected, I was the only artist left that had not unloaded a single painting yet. This was my third completely unsuccessful art show in a row, but I don’t know what I was expecting by only bringing paintings of german shepherds. It was certainly starting to feel like the beginning of the end of my sham of an art career. Once the show was over, I waited another 15 minutes before packing up all of my paintings back into my station wagon and making my way home. As I approached the door, I noticed clear signs of forced entry. Somebody had broken in.
I pushed open the door as slowly and gently as I could to avoid its characteristic squealing. The door creaked loudly in spite of me. I took a few steps inside and noticed that I had not taken a breath since I first saw the broken door. Before I could manage to rectify this, a bag was put over my head and someone picked up my legs from under me. I couldn't move my arms. I couldn't move at all. I tried wriggling out of the mysterious stone grip, but quickly was rendered unconscious.
It took me a few moments to blink the stupor from my eyes. I woke in a clinically white room with only a mirror on one wall and a door on another. I sat at a steel table in a steel chair. This room was built for methodically uncomfortable simplicity. As I tried to stand, I found my hands cuffed together with a long, thin chain that was threaded through a hole in the table. I yelled something, but I could barely hear the sound of my own voice. Just then, a woman in a tasteful skirtsuit came in and stood at the other side of the table. Her face was warm, but her eyes were fixed on the task at hand.
"Good evening. My name is Amanda. I'm with the CIA's Anti-Fascist Task Force. It's my job to oversee special operations in a priority area of national security," she began. "You'll have to excuse our methods. As I'm sure you can understand, it's of paramount importance to us that our location remain 'need-to-know' as it were." At this point she let out a cute, scripted chuckle, but I couldn't figure out what possibly about that was funny.
"What am I doing here? I'm not a fascist!" I exclaimed. "I've done nothing wrong!"
"Don't worry, sir. We're quite confident in your patriotism." At this moment, she placed her thumb on a seemingly random part of the table. A thin ring of bluish light circled her finger and the cuffs fell off of my wrists in one quick moment. "You're here because the United States Government is a fan of your paintings."
I laughed. I probably shouldn't have laughed, but I laughed. "Nobody is a fan of my paintings. I'm barely a fan of my paintings."
"I can assure you. After nearly a year of careful curation, assessment, and deliberation on many tens of thousands of potential artists, and of course a long phase of background checks and intelligence gathering on you, you're our man. You have a critical role in an upcoming operation on a high priority target."
"Wait, you want me to kill someone?"
She raised an eyebrow in disbelief for a moment before recollecting her pristine professionalism. "No, nothing so clandestine. In short, we need you to teach a foreign diplomat how to paint. We'll be utilizing the latest in our technology to make the transit a quick and painless endeavor for you. You'll be there in a flash."
The conversation continued for nearly another hour. She told me how the teleporter worked in more detail than I could manage to retain. She explained the logistics of the instantaneous translating micromachine they had embedded into my ear to comunicate effortlessly with the foreign nationals. I made a list for her of all the art supplies I could want. She stepped outside for a moment to hand the list off and only a few minutes later an intern in a lab coat wheeled in a cart with every item on the list, including many personal items from my home studio. Once I gave my approval on the inventory, he wheeled the cart back out of the room to be sent in advance of me. Before I could step out of the isolated room I had to sign an agreement to keep secret anything that was even arguably a privileged state secret.
I took a deep breath as I exited the room. I followed a markedly long, imposing hallway with intermittent lighting hung from the ceiling every twenty feet. At the end of the hall was a windowless set of double doors. I followed Amanda closely and tried my best to keep up with the rapid clicking of her high heels against the cement floors.
As she pushed open the door at the end of the hall, there was a suddenly a buzz of activity from all sides. Men in white lab coats yelled directions at one another from across the room and electrical engineers carefully followed the thick black cables on the ground to balance the power from the enormous humming generator. Amanda paid no attention to anything going on around her in the room and walked over to the complex mechanical structure in the center of the room. It was a machine of both impossibly slick scientific advancement and cluttered, functional design. The same intern that had wheeled in the cart darted over and begin twisting the heavy metal handle on the door of the machine before we had made our way across the room. With a loud squeal, he pulled the door open. Once we were next to the machine, Amanda turned to me with a smile and just sort of nodded to the claustrophobic chamber within.
I hesitantly stepped inside. I could not believe how quickly this was all happening. These people seemed to be working on a very tight schedule, like their time was limited. Before I could wriggle around in the machine, the door was already shut behind me. I realized then that I had not taken a breath since passing through the double doors and fixing my eyes on the machine.
A voice came over the loudspeaker in the chamber. "Alright now. We're just about set. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. This machine has been tested in all manner of conditions and has a margin of error less than twenty-five percent." I almost objected then, but he continued before I could. "You're going to feel a slight tingling as your molecular structure is decompiled, catalogued, and recompiled. Oh, it looks like we're all set here. Are you ready?"
I opened my mouth to say something, but in the blink of an eye I found myself in an entirely new place. "I'm starting to have sec-" I was in a small art studio. The cart's inventory of supplies was scattered throughout the room. There were finished paintings hung and half-finished paintings on the floor leaning up against the walls. I looked out the window and the reality of the situation began to sink in on me. The streets were dotted with carts being pulled by horses. I saw children peddling newspapers on the corners. The citizenry was dressed in turn of the century style. Amanda had boldly lied to me! I was out of my time and into another.
Before I had much time to think about it, there was a knock at the door. I didn't even look over. A young, handsome lad let himself in carrying a canvas and a small trunk full of his supplies. He noticed my total lack of concern for his entrance and dropped his trunk on the table with a thud. He had my attention. "What do you want?" I asked.
"I've come for my lessons."
I finally understood. "What's your name?"
"Adolf Hitler. Shall we get to work?"
| 2015-12-11T10:52:24 | 2015-12-11T09:30:19 | 76 | 12 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
"Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed.
|
###Sweet malady
Rapture, a feeling of awe, of joy, the melody of the wind under his robe, the whitest hands, so otherworldly, so divine, it all sent chills down her spine and a gulp down her throat. His steps so constant and decisive as he neared the body of her father. She had cried, she had cried much before his death, and after his death her eyes were dry and her throat sore, but as the Reaper came, his might and divinity filled her lungs with the heat of passion. He emitted an uncomfortable superiority and arrogance, yet an elegance never seen before. A God would give this feeling, and had she known this nothing would have changed. She just wanted to revere him, not even to touch him, but even then she raised her hand to touch his robe, and a slight feeling of cold electricity filled her hand instead of touch. She wanted to cry again, this time from joy and admiration.
And as he left, his unsounding steps left a pain within her body, as if by leaving he had ripped a part of her that wanted to see him for all eternity, leaving a wound in her heart. She screamed in despair, ‘NO!’, but he didn’t turn back. Her heart thumped in her chest and she started panting even before she ran before him, but when he reached the doorway, carrying a white, ghostly copy of her father’s body, he became fog and the fog became air and nothing was seen in the surroundings. She felt like she had just had a dream, the most awe-inspiring dream, and loneliness filled her heart. Her father was gone, and this beautiful soul that roamed the world was a drop of hope in her life.
She went to sleep, and as she thought of him every second that passed, a sweet sad smile covered her face as slumber took over her, and in her dreams, he saw him ever-fading, not quite as solid and magnificent as in reality. The next morning, she made breakfast and looked out the window, thinking with melancholy of the night before, when her father had died, but this sad night was now the night when she had seen the Reaper, the most beautiful being in existence. And as she looked out, voices could be heard outside playing. So happy, yet oblivious of the beauty even beyond their dreams. She ate heartily and happily. Then, for a week, all she thought was of the Reaper, but life took over and she had her own worries, but every night, in the loneliness of the night, she wished to see him, and there was no way for her to do that, unless… and she remembered the kids playing outside the morning after that fateful night. She knew the Reaper was beautiful in the night, when his robe shone like the moon and the stars over the dark sky. She wondered, very much, what he would look like in the day.
And so, the next day, she hit the road to the forsaken lands, right outside the city, where the poor lived and thrived in how forgotten they were by the law. As she window-shopped, she wondered who would come into her car, then she remembered a past friend a few blocks away, the one who sold things as dark as death itself —thought as such for good reason. She entered a shanty house and found the man sitting on a dirty, broken sofa.
—Dear, I did reject your offer once —she said while she sat next to him on the rags—, but I have reconsidered your offer.
—Baby, you know I can give you anything you want —he replied with his typical arrogance.
She carried the darkest things in the world to her car and hit the road again, leaving an astounded man behind her. She went further into the wilderness of civilization, into the lands covered by trees and weeds, passed by the first garbage-digger and offered him some food. The dark-skinned young man knew not to trust her, but his awful hunger betrayed his good sense. As he approached the car, she raised the longest revolver he had ever seen.
—Come in or I’ll fill you with lead —she said in an unnaturally thick Venezuelan accent. Maybe she was mocking him, he thought, by using the words of the poor against him, but he obeyed nonetheless. He entered through the back door as she commanded and cuffed himself to the back of the passenger’s seat. She raised the dark-tinted windows and parted into the unknown. When they stopped, she wore a red hoodie, the only hoodie she had, and came to the back to take him out. It was early in the afternoon. She gave him a very tasty-looking sandwich.
—Eat up. Make sure to enjoy it. You won’t have another —she mentioned with kindness, now with a normal middle-class accent.
As he heard those words, he dreaded the future. His heart beat faster and he almost cried.
—But miss, what have I done to you? —he unsuccessfully pleaded right before she placed the revolver against his head.
—You can die before eating if you want —she threatened.
And with regret deep in his guts, he sat down against the car and ate heartily, strangely grateful for the sandwich as his hunger passed. And for some reason he could never understand, he said after he ate and touched his stomach.
—Thank you, girl.
—Get up —she approached him wielding the gun toward him. She led him next to a tree —turn toward the tree and hug it.
The weirdest paradox of the human race is that even while knowing they will certainly die, people with a gun to their heads are not very willing to fight for their lives —because they fear death. He hugged the tree as she said, then felt as indescribable pain tore his lungs, his stomach, his lower back, and then his consciousness faded. She turned the body over and looked at his face, now expressionless, even though he had died in pain. His eyes were wet. He had cried. For a moment, she was enveloped with a sweet melancholy. She smiled and caressed his face.
—You’re very handsome. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise —she whispered to him furtively and waited for the longest minute in her life, then the second longest minute. Then she knew she had failed somewhere and the Reaper was not coming. She cried over the dead man’s body.
—I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! —she wailed over his body, and suddenly she felt electricity take over her body. She felt the cold air of divinity take over her, and then separate itself from her. She turned around and saw the fog dispersing. The Reaper had come and she had not been able to see it, but even that feeling of divinity was worth it. It was incomparable to any drug she had taken before. It was real, so real, yet so overwhelming, so sublime.
And from then on, in this lawless wilderness, she preyed on the most vulnerable and gifted them death. She was better every time, scourging the streets, but the poorest knew nothing, for mysterious death is usual in these lands. The only ones who knew were the police and herself.
In the CICPC forensics department, Juan Miguel Berríos Colmenares read over a file and saw the body that had just been described for him. He sat in front of it and moved the chair even closer, almost breathing over the little boy through the mask. As an excellent profiling expert, he was filled with a feeling he had never felt. This body fit the profile perfectly: it was almost as if he could feel the love exuding from every stab wound. Their stomachs were full with expensive ingredients although they were poor. He knew from the proportions described in the file that every meal was delicious. Every victim was covered with a motherly feeling. It was absurd, he knew, but he could not think of anything else. It was as if, to every victim, the killer had *gifted* death, as if every puncture had been given as a caress. He looked at the child through the killer’s eyes and breathed in her tenderness.
| 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T19:26:07 | 153 | 29 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
"Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed.
|
It was 9:00 pm and it was the first big party of the semester. I was in my last year of psychology and I was ready to get high, drunk, and maybe even a one night stand. At around 11:30: "Bang!" and he was dead on the floor, everybody scattering around me. For some reason I was unable to move,frozen solid. He appeared out of nowhere, dressed in a black suit with a red tie. He scanned the area and took note of me, but payed me no mind. Tall with blond hair, blue eyes and a solid build, he stood next to the dead body and suddenly he opened a book, and spoke:
"Justin Walker, Age:20. You have been shot fatally because a fallout with your drug dealer. Let me introduce myself I am death, I am here to escort you to the afterlife"
"What?! I'm dead?", said Justin.
"Yes, now accompany me, this won't take long", said death.
At this point I was more curious than scared and decided to approach them.
"So you're death? Hi I'm Brittany, nice to meet you", I said.
To his surprise, he looked at me and asked "You can see me?". He opened his book again, I noticed that no matter where he opened the book it was always the page he was looking for. I walked around and took a peek at the book.
Name: Brittany Taylor Age: 21
Height: 5'5" Hair: Brunette
Weight: 130lb Eyes: Brown
Notes: Baby face, Highly clairvoyant
The notes went on, and on. Everything I ever did or said was there, I was in shock but he closed it before I could continue reading. He turned to me and said:
"It seems your can see me, due to being highly susceptible to spiritual energy, I suggest you forget what you have seen here. Me and Justin here have to be on our way"
"Wait don't go." But he dissipated into thin air, Justin still looking dazed and confused....
==
I was determined to see death, in a party around march and I carefully picked my target and took her to a secluded location. She was a heroin addict, knowing this I bought a lethal dose of fentanyl and gave it to her. For the first minute she thought it was the best thing ever and then the OD began. I didn't help her, I just watched and looked around at the person who would soon be here. There he was.
"Jennifer White, Age: 24. A lethal dose of fentanyl by..." He looked around and then he saw me.
"What are you doing?!", he said.
"I wanted to see you again and you only appear when people die"
"You thought this was the best way to see me again, what the hell?!" The spirit of Jennifer was just coming up from the body. "YOU KILLED ME?!"
"I just wanted to see death, this is the only way" She swung at me, futilely since she was just a spirit.
Death said, "Ok this is enough let's go, Jennifer"
They both dissipated in an instant. I gathered any trace of evidence I was there and left.
==
In April I decided to see him again, I just need to see him. I had gone to Miami beach with a few friends, once there I met Kendall Green. I had to improvise a way to kill her I suggested a night swim for everyone, everyone thought this was a great idea. Once out there I slowly separated us from the rest of the group, I put her in a head lock and held her underwater taking care to be as inconspicuous as I could once I knew she was dead I dragged her onshore and waited for the one I knew would come.
"Kendall Green, Age: 25. Drowned by..." And once again he looked up from his book to see me.
"You... again? Why would you do this?"
"Don't you get it death, I'm doing this for us, you're the only one I'd kill for"
"Do you understand what you are doing? You're killing people, you are ending their lives. innocent lives just to see me! I'm death, I have no form and only do one job to escort people"
At this point I looked at the corpse, standing directly on top was Kendall, or her spirit at least, I had never seen a better expression of rage and confusion.
"You... you drowned me, I had a whole life ahead of me, I graduated this year. WHY?! I had only just met you..."
Death looked at her and then me and said "This, is what you're doing, don't let me catch you doing this again, please..."
Both disappeared from my sight, I fell to my knees and started sobbing. Everyone started to catch up to me and aghast at the sight. I just kept crying.
===
I was able to convince the police, she was drowning and I tried to help her. Seeing a weeping lady next to her friend helped sell the story. I felt bad, but more than that I felt like I needed to see him one last time, just one last time. In may, I decided to go out and look for a one night stand. That night I met Adam and followed him to his apartment. We arrived and had some wine in the kitchen, I pocketed a knife. In the bedroom he laid down on the bed and I playfully got on top. I then proceeded to grab the knife and stab it horizontally between his ribs, one big stab straight to the heart.
"Adam Clay, Age: 19, Stabbed by...." and then he sighted...
"Death, I'm here please, I want to be with you", I said.
"Adam Clay, Let me introduce myself I am death, you have been stabbed by your one night stand." Death said as Adam emerged from the body.
"Death, please", I begged.
"I am here to escort you to the afterlife Adam" said death.
"She killed me, that woman just killed me!" Adam yelled.
"I understand your confusion and anger, but we must be going"
"DEATH YOU CAN'T JUST IGNORE ME" I yelled almost at the top of my lungs.
Without a word they left. Disappeared, dissipated into thin air, and just like that I was alone with a corpse, crying my eyes out... again.
==
I took a shower and left, I knew my time was limited. The police would soon come find me. I had done a lot of research, into Death, The grim reaper, The shinigami, into all forms and they all shared one trait. That was the day, I used the remaining fentanyl I had gotten and decided *that* was the day I would meet him face to face. I felt like I blacked out and then like some surreal out of world experience I was standing on top of my corpse. Death just in front of me.
"Brittany Taylor, Age: 24. Death b..."
"Death, I challenge you!" I interrupted.
"A challenge has been placed, by the rules of the realm, I hereby accept the challenge. Name your challenge and prize, note that it must be a fair challenge. Most people choose chess and a second chance at life."
"I want to be with you, forever"
"Ok, should you lose you can go to neither heaven nor hell, but I can assure you, you will be alone. Now name your challenge"
"A coin flip"
"Your are staking everything on a coin flip?"
"The way I see it, we would both have a 50% chance"
"I formally accept your challenge"
He materialized the coin out of nowhere. "Call it in the air" and he tossed it.
"Heads!" I said.
He lets it fall to the ground. It lands on tails.
"I gave it my best shot, I staked everything on being with you" I said beginning to disappear... but the last glimpses of death I had... I swear I could see a tear in his eye... "Bye".
| 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T20:28:52 | 153 | 20 |
[WP] You have an ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know if someone’s speaking the truth. One day, your childhood friend of 17 years says “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” You both laugh but then you heard a ‘Ding’. Scared, you asked if it’s true. “No” they replied. Silence.
|
“I’ll be the death of you one day!” She said, with a toothy smile and her eyes enraptured.
*ding*
“You wouldn’t kill me!” I retorted, a mixture of joking and surprise.
“Naw.” She said, turning back to her book again.
With that, we said our goodbyes and I went home with my dad - maintaining an overwhelming sense of confusion.
Fast forward a few years and we’re on a hiking trip together. Things had gone well between Amy and I. We were dating now and I had all but forgotten about what we had once discussed.
But there we were, twelve thousand feet above ground level with nothing other than 2 feet of rock separating us and the gap. As I looked out, I noticed i could no longer see Amy’s feet in my periphery. Then, I felt it.
Hands started slipping on my back and I felt slightly propelled forward. The chasm approached me. The hands quickly wrapped around my chest tightly, “I love you,” Amy whispered as she hugged me with all her might.
*ding*
We said, “I love you,” *ding* or “I want you forever,” *ding* every single day - if not the hour!
College, jobs, struggles, kids, struggles and retirement - she stuck with me through all of it. We toured the world, saw our children become adults, have beautiful grand children and a house we’ve poured years into. We went through death, sadness and confusion holding hands. When I looked at Amy, I didn’t see a person I love - I saw
the genesis of my life and the reason for my breathe. She blessed my life for 70 years.
But here we are.
Amy kissed me last night at the weirdest hour, “I love you...” she whispered in my ear.
*ding*
“I love you, too babe” I mumbled back, still more or less asleep. I brought her into me and slumbered once more. Her head rested against my vacillating chest.
Amy died that night.
She wouldn’t move the next morning, her smile never disappeared. No words, no loving eyes and no dings.
Have you ever watched the sun plummet from the sky? Hope extinguished as you looked on? Drowned in a cacophony of sorrowful nostalgia? Been there when the show’s over and there’s no place to go back to? Heard the silence once the music stopped, while expecting to hear more?
I can’t explain the emptiness; the hollow - but I know what I need to do. I can never be made whole again and, frankly, I have no desire to.
Amy, babe, I’m coming for you. We will be together again. You kept one more promise after all these years of being my best friend, confidant and love of my life.
I’m following you while the doors still open. I don’t know what’s next, but I know I’ll see you. I told the kids, they’re sad - but they respect my wishes. I can’t go on like this if you’re not here.
I want this letter in the Will so that the kids kn-
*rest of the page is illegible due to smattered blood obscuring the words*
|
**I.** A flurry of amaranth and tangerine orange, streaked with clouds with borders shimmering against the setting sun; the view of the horizon from Liberty Skyway (which is a superfluously fancy name for a bridge) really is quite wonderful, you muse. Perhaps a couple metres below lies a stretch of motorway and a parallel set of train tracks, by which cargo and passenger trains alike pass every so often, an unstoppable phenomenon of mankind's creation. To you, a wonted city-dweller, the periodic discordant symphony of horn and engine has become almost soothing, a mark on time and reality of sorts in the disparate, surreal landscape between barren industrial zone and bustling inner city.
&#x200B;
As with every weekday evening, you (a firm believer in the importance of exercise and appreciation of downtime in nature to a healthy lifestyle) walk the first twenty minutes to the station, taking a slightly round-about route in order to pass over the bridge—an inefficient compulsion your feet inexplicably carry you to—and admire the simple divinity of nature in its twilight hour, and the sheer wanderlust evoked somewhere within your chest at beholding the irreplicable artistry. Day after day, month after month, you never fail to neglect Liberty Bridge, always returning like a lowly moth to a supernaturally exquisite flame—which, you think bemusedly to yourself, isn't too farfetched, the colours of the sky of dusk being made up of some cacophony of light anyway.
&#x200B;
And then you walk away, knowing that this breathtaking scene will be waiting for you again the next day and every subsequent day as well, heading off with newfound peace to catch your train home. At this thought, another feeling akin to anticipant thrill stirs inside your chest. Your childhood best friend from when you were six, split up in high school and reunited on a chance train meeting by a fortunate landing of serendipity, and whom you suspect you've now developed attraction towards; Rory will be there.
&#x200B;
And there she is again, sitting picturesque by the window seat within the train carriage. Her eyes seem to startle, then settle to lock with yours, her radiant smile lighting up your world in ways the sky never could.
&#x200B;
**II.** Ten year old you had discovered philosophical thought experiments and had been obsessed with them for months, often dragging Rory in to your often one-sided conversations (with her periodically interjecting agreeable affirmatives like *hmm* or *yeah* or *i think so too*) about your latest point of fervour. You'd easily whittle away hours together, just basking in each other's company laced with chatter and occasional peals of laughter. She'd been an artist even then, you could tell, tirelessly working away with paints and paper, face a mask of zealous concentration and brushstrokes deft and deliberate while you prattled on about what you thought should and shouldn't be done in certain situational hypotheticals.
&#x200B;
"This one's called the Trolley Question," you begin, before pursing your upper lip and thinking hard when silence is returned. "No, wait, it's the Trolley Problem." *Ding.* Morale boosted by this correct labelling of the thought experiment's name, you continue eagerly. "Basically, if there was, like, a train on a train track, and it was coming towards five innocent people, and you had a switch and you could flip the switch to make the train change lanes and hit a different dude—but you would save the five other people—would you flip the switch?"
&#x200B;
"I'm not really sure," Rory answers noncommittally, although that may be less to do with a genuine lack of opinion and more to do with the misplaced drop of paint on her paper she's working desperately to cover up, tongue poking out demurely in the corner of her mouth. *Ding.* (Technically, it's true that she hadn't made up her mind on an opinion.) "Would you?"
&#x200B;
You've had this ability for ever since you could remember. A faint ringing of a bell, just hazy enough for you to inexplicably know that it existed only within the confines of your own mind and was distinctly separate from the external world—a bell that tinkled whenever a truth was told. The practical specifics are not clear to you as a ten year old, but you've never really needed to seek out definitive answers as the resultant accuracy of your strange ability had always been consistent enough; and now, listening and reacting to its presence and absence has become second nature, to the extent that hearing the bell doesn't disturb your focus or concentration at all anymore.
&#x200B;
"I would," you assert decidedly. *Ding.* "Saving five innocent lives is what a hero would do, even if it is at the cost of someone else's life. Better than the other way round."
&#x200B;
"Yeah, that makes sense," She agrees. Silence*.* You frown involuntarily—the bell doesn't jingle if the speaker is speaking on autopilot, which means she's not listening to you as she works tirelessly on her passion. With the utter lack of patience of a stereotypical ten year old, you pout and shake her shoulders in a whine for attention, causing her to yelp and accidentally smear blue hues of the sky all over her carefully detailed lilypads. And she whirls around in turn and shrieks with the hostility of an annoyed ten year old: "What the?" You smile dumbly, awkward and unsure how to react, which she hits your arm for. "Hey, don't laugh at me! I swear, I'll kill you one day."
&#x200B;
*Ding.* The smile falls off your face.
&#x200B;
"Is—uh, is that true?" You gargle out. She'd obviously been joking, the underlying no-hard-feelings! layered securely underneath her tone, but still there was the sound of the bell and it has your ten year old self in a panic.
&#x200B;
She raises an eyebrow, visibly confused. "What? No."
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
But she's your best friend, and you know in your heart that there's no way Rory could be harbouring secret murderous tendencies towards you, so you, unsure what to think, think nothing of it, allowing the incident to slip into a foggy remote part of your memory, locked up for years to follow.
**III.** Lying atop a grassy hill, her head in your arms and your legs tangled in a heap, the two of you share a contented sigh. The stars unfold before you, a celestial blanket draped up in the summer's midnight sky. If bliss exists on Earth, this must be it, you contemplate absently as you stroke her hazel-hued hair.
&#x200B;
"Do you remember," you find yourself saying, "around twelve, thirteen years ago, I introduced you to the trolley problem for the first time?"
&#x200B;
"Yeah, I remember." *Ding.* You smile, heart fluttering fondly as Rory gazes up at you through alluring lashes.
&#x200B;
"Do you remember what I said?"
&#x200B;
"I think... I recall you saying that you'd choose the five over the one." *Ding.*
&#x200B;
"Yes. That's changed now." She blinks inquisitively, and you slowly lean down to lay a tender peck on her forehead. "If that single individual were you, I would choose to save you over the five." (Of course, there's the *ding*—but you don't need its reassurance. You can feel in your heart a palpable love for Rory so pure and so strong it threatens to burst from within you.)
&#x200B;
Rory giggles. Your loosely philosophical proclamation might seem a strange and heavy-handed compliment to outside observers, but Rory knows you—a passionate practitioner of the law, necessarily disciplined in matters of legal and moral justice; for you to choose the choice so drastically, irreconcilably unorthodox in both regards of ethicality, all for her wellbeing—it is indubitably a meaningful statement.
"In fact," you say, voice hushed to an intimate whisper, "I would choose you, Rory Earlton, over everyone in the world." (*Ding.*) Stealthily, without a rustle or a noise, you've inconspicuously retrieved the velvet box and are holding it up to her, lowering yourself on a bent knee and simultaneously easing her up. "Will you marry me?"
&#x200B;
Her eyes dance with the buoyancy and passion of a supernova set aflame. "Yes."
&#x200B;
*Ding.*
**(Post was too long. Continued in the comment under this.)**
| 2019-05-27T05:44:42 | 2019-05-27T04:51:09 | 338 | 27 |
[WP] A certain King has a well-earned reputation of executing any messenger bearing him bad news. An honour-bound courier with news of their army's greatest defeat draws on every last ounce of wit and cunning to perform their duty while avoiding what otherwise will be their certain death.
|
The messenger entered, smiling. Others new what the news would be, but none dared tell the king, lest he have them executed.
The messenger bowed deeply "My Lord, I bring news of the battle."
The King hesitated. Everyone had been avoiding him which normally meant bad news, but this messenger did not seem fearful. "What is the news messenger?"
The messenger smiled. "My Lord, new opportunities have come open for the peasants that have been saying there is no work in the kingdom. This helps the peasants in that they need employment and helps the kingdom since the rate of pay for entry level warriors is less that that of veterans."
The king had to think about this for a moment. "Are you telling me my army was defeated?"
The messenger shook his head "No my lord, the weakest members of your army were culled out and the army can now function as a more streamlined agile group."
The king nodded. he didn't exactly understand what he was just told, but it sounded good.
One of the ad visors whispered to another. "Damn consultants. Now the King believes the army will be better after losing half it's men.
|
Well frapp.
I knew there were risks when I took the job, but it’s so much easier being a messenger than it is to actually swing a battle axe or rush the breach or engage in hand-to-hand combat. Dear God, no. What are the chances I’d actually survive? Slim, at best. And survive without a permanent stain in my battle tunic? No way.
I know stuff. I’m good with words. I pay attention to details. It made sense that I’d become a messenger. Good with words, bad with swords. That’s me. It’s time to prove it.
King Rodin doesn’t take bad news well. That’s why they call him “the Intractable”. As I understand it, he’s killed the last four messengers who brought him bad news. (I think he’s actually killed that last fourty-four messengers who’ve brought him bad news; but I don’t think **now** is a good time for me to get hung up on details. Suffice it to say things don’t look good for me.
Our armies were slaughtered. It was really amazing to watch – we had over four thousand men and the enemy had just thirty-two. It was like something out of one of those legendary stories, where the rag-tag band of heroes takes down a well-trained and overwhelming force. I sketched a few images of the events as they unfolded – I mean, we had a hundred and twenty two men get beheaded! Can you believe that? I mean, how is it even possible that one enemy soldier managed to behead over a hundred of our men? Come on! That’s impressive, right? – I couldn’t help but feel like I was watching history be made. “Down with the King!” the shouted.
I’m trying to put a positive spin on this, to see the silver lining; but thirty-two men shouting “Down with the King” and defeating an entire army? That’s hard to spin.
That’s why I stopped off to see the baker. Maybe it wasn’t worth it, to spend so much time while they made this for me – dicing and mixing the strawberries right into the chocolate cake -- but they put it in a beautiful golden box with a fancy red ribbon; I mean – it looks like something pretty special. Right? Right? Who’s with me? Anybody want to head up to the castle with me and help me carry this box? It’ll be fun! Let’s do it together! No?
Blurgh.
And so I trudge up to the castle alone; and so I enter the King’s chamber alone; and so I face my King for what I am quite certain to be the last time.
“Courier, what say you? Have you news of the battle?”
Here goes nothing. “My King! I do indeed. I have news from the front lines.”
“Tell me!”
The King motions me to the chair before his throne, and I hurry to it, careful to set the box between the King and I. My palms are sweaty. My tunic is drenched. My brow is furrowed. I can’t escape the feeling that this may be my last conversation.
“Good news, my King!”
“Are we victorious?”
He cuts to the chase, doesn’t he? “We are,” I say.
“Huzzah!” he cries.
“I’ve brought you this cake,” I say. “With buttercreme frosting and chocolate inside and a hand-painted candy crown in the middle, to celebrate our success!”
“I love cake!” cries the King. With a clap of his hands, he summons two royal servants. “Bring me plates and forks at once,” he commands.
OK. So far so good. Maybe I should just wait for the servants to come back with the utensils.
“Tell me more, my glorious courier! Tell me of the details of our victory!”
“We did sustain some losses, my liege.”
“Of course we did. Of course. No war was ever one without cost.” He’s looking beyond me now. “Bring her in,” he bellows.
A young servant girl enters. She’s not more than eighteen – about my age; and wearing an apron across her front.
“Cut the cake,” he orders. “Two pieces, please. One fit for a king, and one for my brave courier.”
This praise is making me uncomfortable. “No thank you, your Grace. I certainly do not deserve a piece of your—“
“Nonsense,” he cries. “Cake for us both, at once!”
The king is shoveling cake into his mouth as she hands me the plate. “Thank you,” I say, as the King continues to devour the cake.
“A fine and delicious cake. A cake fit for a King!” The King laughs and laughs. “Tell me now, how did the battle play out?”
It’s time. Here goes nothing. “The battle was mismatched from the start. Nearly 125 men to 1.”
“Impossible!” the King cried out.
“It’s true, your Grace. The enemy had the advantage as well. They ambushed us as we crossed the brook. Our casualties were enormous. In fact, every soldier you sent into battle today has perished.”
“But … how is that possible? We are victorious? Yes? The day is ours. Yes? You spoke these words to me, did you not?”
“Of course, my Lord, and I say it again: We are victorious.” I feel bad about this. Who knew I had a conscience? I push the cake back and forth on my plate.
“Huzzah!”
“The thing is, my Lord, they slaughtered us.”
“And yet we won!”
“Right, right. But they killed all of our men.”
“And yet we won! This is a day we shall write about in our Histories. This is truly the greatest day in the history of– “
The King stops in mid-sentence as the ragtag group of enemy soldiers, all thirty-two of them, armor stippled with blood, axes and swords and staffs still in hand, step into the throne room.
The King starts to stand; starts to speak. “How dare you—“
Then he collapses. A white froth spills from his mouth as he wriggles on the floor for a moment. The ragtag heroes rush to stand in a semi-circle around him. “What magic is this?” asks one.
“Oh, he’s deathly allergic to strawberries,” I say. Knowledge is power. “I don’t suppose you guys are looking for a messenger?”
| 2014-12-30T08:04:32 | 2014-12-30T06:52:10 | 94 | 31 |
[WP] You run a shop for adventurers in a fantasy town. New adventurers keep selling you gear that you sold to other adventurers a long time ago.
|
**GREETINGS SHOPKEEP**
Muttering, "fucks sake, another one". Straightening up, the shopkeep throws on a smile and says "Greetings brave adventurer".
**MY GOOD SHOPKEEP, I HAVE MAGICAL WARES TO SELL TO YOU, MIGHT I INTEREST YOU!?**
"Well, I'll have a look"
**LOOK UPON THE BANE SWORD OF THORLNALL. FORGED DEEP IN A VOLCANO. USED TO SLAIN THOUSANDS AT THE BATTLE OF NORALL**
"Uh hu"
The shopkeeps takes the sword and holds it up to the light.
"Give you a fiver for it"
**THIS IS A LEGENDARY SWORD, OF MIGHT AND POWER, I WANT AT LEAST 500 FOR A MIGHTY THING AS THIS!**
"Yeah, nah. Not happening"
**AND WHY IS THAT?**
The shopkeep scratches his thumb on the sword, reviling a small insignia
"See that?"
**VERILY I DO**
"See how it says Bob & Jims Sword and Weaponry Mercantile Est Fruitbat"
**INDEED**
"Well, I'm Bob. And that there is Jim. So take a fiver or fuck off. And don't try peddling this shite anywhere else. We know everyone"
**WELL BUGGER**
|
The lilting song of the birds perched precariously on the open shop window made Marius smile. Stretching rays of warm, basking light curled across the grayed wooden floors. A soft breeze crept across the fading counters and caused the thick parchments tacked to the wooden board beside the door to rustle. The tall, broad-shouldered shop-keep swept the last of the leather debris out the open entryway. He stared across the bustling market, paying no mind to any specific part of the soft murmur that carried from group to group as they roved the streets.
Things had been lively; more lively than usual. Items Marius could hardly forget had made their way back to his possession by various method and means. Some of the items that he recognized were in a completely different shape or form; weapons that had been melted to make religious symbols, shields that had become kitchenware or swords, or once functional armor that had been reduced to mere unkempt decoration. Each adventurer that arrived had either told a profoundly grandiose or profoundly mundane story about their acquisition, and each seemed more unbelievable than the last. With a heavy sigh, he swept his thick fingers through his long, silver hair.
Marius's nostalgia was interrupted by a young man who seemed to almost appear from nowhere, now suddenly approaching his door. Clad in shining armor that seemed to have never seen a day of battle, the blonde haired warrior brushed past the shop owner with nothing but a curt nod and an armful of burlap sack as large as himself clutched to his chest as though it would fly away with the breeze. The swathed object clamored unceremoniously onto the counter top, prompting a huff of frustration out of the mountain of a proprietor as he eased back behind the counter.
The warrior, barely a man grown, began to slowly unwrap the burlap. It was then that Marius noticed that despite his gleaming appearance, blood and dirt were caked under the boy's nails. Thick callouses wrapped around each of his fingers were he had held a sword in his hands and swung it countless times. The smell of fire and blood followed behind him, and bits of ash and soot still clung to stray strands of his honey blonde hair. Sleeplessness hollowed out the young man's blue eyes. As the last flap of bagging lay flat, Marius's breath left him.
The pocked and marred metal of the sword laid before him struggled to shimmer even in bright afternoon sun. Deep scars and cracks weathered the length, threatening to split the blade in two. Marius knew better. The work before him was not some easily milled weapon that could be handed to any soldier. It was a work of art. It was something that Marius himself had shed blood and tears to complete. It had been a labor of love that took decades, all for one man. His gaze lifted from the counter as he stared intently at the fledgling warrior.
"Dorik, Son of Karoth.." Marius's voice was deep, like a rolling thunder, and filled with profound sadness.
"How did you.." Dorik gripped the counter until his knuckles turned white. Just hearing the name "Karoth" made him tremble.
"I have lived for a very, very long time. I know the name and face of every warrior I have ever met. I also know the name and face of every blade I have ever forged. This.." Marius stared longingly at the relic of war, ".. was designed for one man. It carried with it hopes and dreams." The weight of Karoth's life rested in the sigh that escaped his lips, "I knew him from the time he was a kick in his mother's womb to the time that I sent him out that very door holding this blade." He stared intently out in to the market, at nothing in particular.
Dorik shook as he stood. *Keep it together.* He had told himself that over and over, but hearing someone speak fondly of his father brought forth a waterfall that he could no longer control. The armor clad man became only a boy, slumped to the ground and sobbing uncontrollably.
"They called him a traitor.." He managed between breaths, "He fought to the very last, but.." The boy could barely manage the words. "They came down, the gods themselves! For him!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "At the end, before they took him, my father told me to find a man with silver hair and skin as black as soot. He said this man would know what to do. I searched every blacksmith and brothel from Andel to Roke, for five years. Please.." there was no energy left in Dorik's voice. "Please save him."
Marius lowered his head. A calm, somber silence engulfed the room, leaving only the rustling of the trees and the sniffing of the boy on his knees. After long moments, he hesitantly reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade. Life itself seemed to pour down from the hilt to the tip, the battered metal shimmering with wanton abandon. Scrapes and cracks burned until the metal renewed, and before Dorik's eyes the nearly crumbled relic of his father's war became as new as the day it was forged.
Dorik's eyes grew wide as he stared upwards at Marius. He had forgotten that he was sad or terrified. Instead, he could only stare in awe.
"You.. You're-" Dorik began to speak, but stopped.
In what should have been a series of motions, Marius had strode from behind the counter to Dorik's side. He noticed a single crimson streak running from the unusual shop keeper's right eye, down the side of his cheek. Blood? Marius gently tousled the young man's hair, his gaze still low to the ground.
"Dorik of Oakfort, Son of Karoth, Prince of Esto." As Marius spoke, the world around them trembled. The image that Dorik saw shifted and melted, and suddenly they were several miles away from the city, in a sprawling field. "Your prayers have been heard."
The boy looked around in amazement, missing the moment when Marius took his first step forward.
"We who tread upon hallowed ground, show our reverence." Dirt and debris kicked away in every direction. A suffocating pressure consumed the entire area.
"I release the ties that bind." At his words, the earth began to split and crack. The sky shuddered and parted, as if the world itself was terrified. The pressure pressing down on to every living thing in sight left Dorik awestruck, and strangely unaffected.
Marius looked over his shoulder one last time, sliding the shining white blade into the sheath that Dorik could not remember seeing before. Marius did not see Dorik of Oakfort, Prince of Esto. Instead, he saw young king-to-be Karoth, in his first set of armor, standing in that very spot the first time Marius handed him a sword. A smile filled with unfathomable sorrow creased his lips.
*Karoth, old friend. For you, I'll become the vengeance that rends the gods.*
| 2016-08-17T15:44:35 | 2016-08-17T14:34:29 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Write a horror story. Difficulty: All characters are emotionally stable and intelligent
|
"Hey Tom, look!" said Bob. "An abandoned, broken-down house."
Tom glanced at the shabby place and replied, "What a run-down building. I wonder who used to live here."
A thud rang out from within the house, as well as a sound which could only be described as a chainsaw dragged across a chalkboard made of death.
"You think we should go in?"
"Fuck no! Have you never seen a horror movie? The moment we enter, the door will close on its own, all the stairs will creak, and before you know it, BAM! Our heads are gone. You really want to die at the age of 16, Bob?"
"Yeah, you're right. Wanna go back to my house and play some Super Smash Bros?"
"Heck yeah. I'm gonna fucking destroy you with Kirby."
|
The work on Harrow House, a manorhouse near Kings Cross, had been completed on the 15th of July in the blistering heat of '87. It wasn't common practice at the time, but the rising heat and affluence of the area had the completed rooms with powerful fans that controlled the weather. I moved into my Home Of The Future on the 16th, ready to start working for an engineering firm for works on the underground train-lines.
Originally property of the crown, Harrow House had been purchased by Jacobsons' Consulting to specifically house it's new workers. Their wages would be coming back to the company as rent and a few workers had made life easier for themselves by cutting out the middleman. For myself, the expedience of my arrival was due to being required in Hampstead another day later.
Being fairly minimalist, I did not need much time to unpack my life into the homestead. Next up was finding out what actually living in the apartment would be like. A cup of tea and a nice book to break in the new armchair would serve as a litmus test for how relaxing the building was.
I had expected to be one of the only people in the building, yet it seemed I already had at least one neighbour, though I couldn't tell if it was adjacent, above or below. The game was given away by the strange noise that their air conditioning unit made in my own room. It wasn't going to push my out of the redesigned manor, though it would take some getting used to.
I supposed that the fan moved with enough force to occasionally shift the housing unit and tap it against the wall. It generated a small tap, without regularity, that would be the reverberations from the metal on the wall. I moved my armchair and soon found the sound disappeared behind the glib humour of Pratchett.
The next few weeks progressed calmly, life doing it's job and continuing. The condition and comfort of my apartment was lost in the background of hard work and stressful mistakes. It seemed that lots of issues would be cropping up for the workers of Jacobsons'. The railways had not long been nationalised and the practices to construct each station or line had not been used uniform across London. These practices needed to be placed into the existing network without causing much delay in the capital city.
Yet, the work plodded along and at the end of each day, I returned to the apartment near Kings Cross that used to be a manor and found myself interested in the practices that built it. In truth it was a strange building. Impressively unchanged by time on the outside, it looked the same as it had hundreds of years ago. Large, wide steps leading up to an ornate front door. In the past opened by a butler, now replaced by a feature of hydraulics the opened to a coded padlock outside.
One of the few buildings boasting parapets and gargoyles in the vicinity, it imposed. People rarely intentionally used the side of the pavement which is was on, choosing the more often well-lit opposite side. All in all, there was a general odor of malice hanging over the building that a refurbish had *not* lifted. Some strange mixture of my living in that foul place and my obvious lack of despair via home had caused me to become interested in the old building.
In truth, Harrow House was quite a famous building. It would seem that the malodorous tales about my abode were not entirely without cause. For centuries, it seemed, vagrants and nobles alike had their disappearances linked to Harrow House. The son of a baron had been seen visiting a lady of the house shortly before he vanished into the ether, which surrounded the parties of the time. Nothing was ever proven to be evil about the place, no demons found in it's dank cellar. Instead I found all of this information out through what most would consider conspiracy theories and the lack of sourcing or proof allowed my skepticism to flourish.
It wasn't until one of my co-workers hadn't appeared for work that I began to truly fear that loathsome collection of brick and mortar. I had returned to Harrow House to awake my hungover colleague. Upon my entrance to the place, I was thoroughly concerned. Loud bangs could be heard from above, perhaps also below? Truly the crashing was happening with such intensity as to shake some walls as I tried to find Mr Henry Gardner.
I think, before I opened the door, that I had hoped the cacophony around me was somehow being caused by some hitherto unknown mental illness of Henry's. That he was losing his mind to such a degree as to make Harrow House lose it's own mind alongside him. Alas, that was not to be, the truth lying behind a much more sinister answer.
After opening his unlocked front door, I moved to his bedroom door. The sounds in the walls had stopped before I entered, in part because I stood waiting for some time before I had the courage to call in. When no answer could be heard, I breached the door to a truly ghastly scene.
The room before me was demolished. The walls had been destroyed and any idea that furniture had once been in here could not be truly believed. Lying in the mess was what could only be described as a pile of Henry. Crushed and smashed like pretense of a bed that was underneath him, the gruesome pile enraged all of my senses. A curious lack of blood around the room did not do anything to stop the vomit from rising and I sprinted to his bathroom. Small mercy that all these maisonettes were the same.
Composing myself took more time for me than it had taken for Tracy Ford, the foreman of our work in London, had lost patience. I barely remember giving my statement to the police officer. I had no answers for him, only questions of my own. Within a few hours I was sat in my own apartment, barely meters away from the location of a crime scene. Instead of resting, my entire being was pulsing with exhilarated terror. What had killed Henry? The source of the smashing, for certain, but what was the source?
It came to me was a crash. Not the same sound as I had been assaulted by earlier, the dull pound of heavy force against wood and brick. This was the sound of my air conditioning unit flying from it's holders and bolts on the wall. Immediately after, there was an unmistakable squeal of *something* and then the horrible **thump** **thump** **thump** of *something* frightening itself.
Something was in the walls. The same thing that had killed Henry. The impossible certainty made me shiver as I tried to work out whether there was even anything I could do to stop it.
| 2018-08-13T16:49:59 | 2018-08-13T16:46:30 | 260 | 71 |
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