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[WP] You have been born with the ability to see and make sense of UV light. One day, on a crowded street, you lock eyes with an extremely tall man in strange clothes. When you notice that people move through him rather than around him, he starts running towards you.
|
I woke up to a grumbling stomach. My roommate, Sarah, had made dinner for us the night before, just to be nice. I couldn't touch it. The meat looked tough, the potatoes were almost raw. The gravy just smelled terrible. I thanked her but begged off, saying I didn't feel well. It was better than telling her her food looked fucking disgusting. For some reason Sarah took offense and started yelling about how ungrateful I was. I just walked away and went to bed.
I decided to go look for something delicious for breakfast. Good food was hard to find and I was already irritable from last night and the things I was seeing weren't appealing at all. Greasy food, cheap food, fast food, all of it. It was trash and I knew it would just make me even more angry if I tried any.
And then I see him. A tall man in what looks like robes and a pyramid shaped hat. He stands on the corner, looking at a little device in his six fingered hand. He seems lost...and then he looks up and sees me seeing him.
For a moment he freezes, clearly deciding his next action, and then he begins sprinting towards me. Faster and faster, his legs are almost a blur. The man simply runs through every person and object in his way, nothing is going to stop him. His lips twist in anger, clearly he is furious that someone has seen him.
I smile and open my arms, catching him and watching his face turn from fury to terror as I whisper "Finally, some good fucking food."
|
There was a carton of General Tso's chicken slowly spoiling on the corner of the only desk in the hotel bedroom. Next to it was a bottle of beer that had been spilled, the liquid having already dried and leaving an amber stain on the cheap wooden desk, faintly and unpleasantly resembling dried blood.
No, if you wanted the real blood, that was just a few meters over, sprayed across the hotel wall.
"Someone tried to clean it, it looks like," Officer Penrow said. He was crouched near the wall, steadying himself against it with one purple-vinyl-gloved hand. It was quite the impressive feat considering the man was grossly overweight, but the crouched maneuver was made possible thanks to his low hanging gut, keeping him nicely balanced on his heels as he examined the half-scrubbed blood. "Smells like ammonia."
"Out of all the things, the ammonia is what you smell?" Officer Denbur said. He was rubbing at his temples with his fingers, trying his best to ward off a headache. There hadn't been a single cloud in the sky all day, and the drive from the precinct to the hotel had been hellacious on his eyes.
*Like seeing the flash of a camera, but, all of the time,* he had told his wife, the only person with whom he had confided his strange ability to. He had to tell her something, or else risk losing the relationship with the one person who had ever really loved him. Had to tell her why he had to lock himself away in a dark room every night.
And the wonderful thing was that she believed him and didn't ask any other questions of it. Well, she didn't really have to ask anymore questions, because she was able to prove his ability by writing him a love letter in invisible ink. The deal was sealed when he read it aloud to her without any help at all. That same love letter he kept tucked away in his wallet, and if anyone somehow managed to steal it, they would have no idea how significant that *seemingly* blank piece of paper actually was.
"Can you turn off the desk lamp?" Officer Denbur asked the young intern that had been standing in the corner of the room. He had a fuzzy mustache, possibly the only good thing that puberty had granted him.
The intern did as he was told, and the portly Officer Penrow scoffed, "How do you expect to see anything at all in this room?"
"There," Officer Denbur said, pointing towards the corner of the bed. "Can we get the forensics team to take a sample of that right there? There's some DNA."
"Really, it's a hotel room. There's going to be *DNA* everywhere," Officer Penrow said.
"Right, but that's the freshest one," Officer Denbur said.
The intern flicked the light back on, and Officer Penrow slowly scooted his way over to the bedspread that Denbur had pointed at. "You can't be serious," the overweight man said. He leaned forward and lightly sniffed it, and then cringed his face.
"Why, just why?" Officer Denbur said, almost gagging.
"Couldn't help myself."
Officer Denbur excused himself from the room, wanting to separate himself from all of the things attacking his senses, the decomposing body, the blood, the 'sample', and most of all, that rotting chicken. He opened the door and was immediately barraged by the sunlight, all wavelengths of it.
He dug through his coat pocket, looking for his specially prescribed sunglasses which blocked out *most* light. The average person wouldn't be able to see a thing through them, but for Officer Denbur, he was able to see just enough, and that's all he wanted to see in order to avoid getting another migraine.
He slipped the shades on and made his way down the hotel stairs, heading towards the parking lot so that he could grab a cigarette from the police cruiser. It was there that he saw a strange man leaning up against the car.
"Can I get you to move, sir?"
The man seemed startled, uncrossing his arms and getting up from the police cruiser. He looked at Officer Denbur, and then slowly waved his hand back and forth through the air.
Officer Denbur, thinking that the man was mocking him, slowly waved back, and said "Yeah, bud, I see you. Now can you please step away from the vehicle?"
Without a single word, the man broke out in a sprint directly at Officer Denbur.
Denbur didn't have a moment to react before he was tackled to the ground by the strange man. He tried reaching for his service pistol, but the man gripped Denbur's arm and flipped him over onto his stomach, pulling his hands behind his back, yanking them up high. Denbur winced when he felt his left shoulder pop out of socket. He tried to scream, but the strange man knee'd Denbur's back, forcing all the air out of his lungs.
Denbur felt the man pull his own cuffs off of him and use them to cuff his hands, and then he felt the strange man patting around in his pockets. And then he heard the man speak,
"Who in the hell are you? How can you see me?"
"Get, off,-" Denbur tried to plea, but again the strange man put more weight onto Denbur's back, driving the air out of him. His vision was starting to tunnel, black rose petals slowly started creeping in, and that sharp pain he felt in his shoulder was slowly starting to dull and seem distant.
"Peter Denbur," the strange man said, throwing the officer's license out onto the street. "And what's this?"
Peter Denbur could hear the man unfolding the piece of paper, the message from his wife.
"Someone else knows you can see us?" the man asked. "Your love, can she see us too?"
But before Peter Denbur could answer, he had slipped from consciousness.
The strange man hoisted the limp Peter Denbur up and over his shoulder with the greatest of ease. To the naked eye, it would've appeared that Peter Denbur was pulling the greatest magic trick of them all.
He floated away, back towards the address that was listed on his driver's license.
Back home.
| 2019-09-20T10:33:41 | 2019-09-20T10:23:19 | 1,022 | 220 |
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller".
|
“I was going to ask her to prom.”
“Go for it, dude. Why the hell not?”
“The whole ‘Godkiller’ thing.”
“That shouldn’t matter here. It’s prom.”
“Kind of a lot of pressure.”
“There is no pressure.”
“How can there not be pressure?!”
“For one thing, it’s only prom. For another, it’s a widely known fact that she’s hoping you’ll ask. You can practically Wiki it. Finally, I’m sure she’s into the whole ceremonial title you’ve got.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because! ....because.”
“Go on.”
“....because women love that sort of thing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man, that’s the key to sexual satisfaction.”
“My ceremonial title is ‘The Persistent.’”
“Exactly!”
“So Shannon the Godkiller will inevitably fall in love with William the Persistent?”
“A, yes, completely. Persistence is critical to success. And two, as long as you’re not a god you should have a bomb ass prom.”
“And what if it turns out that persistence is the key to being a sex god?”
“Can’t beat Fate, dude. We all come, we all go.”
“How long have you been waiting to make that joke?”
“Solid hour, bro. I thought I’d never get the chance.”
|
**Was god destined to be or is fate one of god’s children?**
If there ever was a question as indelible as time itself, it was this one. If God was indeed the architect of the universe, as the scriptures from antiquity proclaimed, it would follow naturally that he was also the maker of laws within which the universe must exist, including the law of fate which was nothing more than the unwavering will of God.
But as times of antiquity came to pass, so did the unquestioning faith in the scriptures. Fate isn’t a law, one man had infamously claimed, but an invisible atom of which is made every law, object and being. An apple under the influence of gravity must fall – this was the fate of not just the apple, but also of the earthly force acting upon it. Gravity was destined to pull everything and repel nothing, and nothing was destined to be repelled by gravity. As such, the later disgraced gentleman had argued that fate was in fact what established the doing and undoing of everything, including the universe. That god could not have created the universe if he wasn’t destined to, and god wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t at the mercy of fate. If I were to say that the question posed to the reader in the beginning of this short tale has remained unanswered simply because that was its fate, the gentleman would have agreed.
\--------------------------------------------------------
As fate would have it, the 15th of August, 2020 was a fateful day. It was also Alex’s sixteenth birthday. Unlike other children of his age, Alex wasn’t keen on discovering his calling yet. He had always been a pale, underweight kid with serious confidence deficiencies. He blamed fate for treating him cruelly and wasn’t very optimistic about what she had in store for him. But he was now standing in line to get up on the altar along with other kids who were fresh off fifteen.
The girl before Alex would grow up to be a mother of four, it was revealed. That can’t be sexist then, thought Alex, given the feminine nature of fate. Once he was on the holy podium, the priestess of Fate handed him a small copper plate that Alex would have to dip in the holy water for 10 seconds, before it revealed to him his unalterable truth. The writing would be then read out by the priestess to the gathered crowd of other sixteen year olds and over-enthusiastic parents. However, when the strip of metal emerged from the holy water, the reading aloud of the death sentence of the supreme being was enough to zip out any enthusiasm from the room.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Up in the (*now temporary)* comfort of his heavens, God observed Alex’s ceremony solemnly. He wasn’t surprised that Fate had decided to turn on him, but that she had chosen a being so meek and lacking in will to execute the mightiest creature of all. She wanted to humiliate him. God had known for long now the resentment Fate had for him. He also knew the source of this resentment stemmed from the indelible question. That man would put them both on the same pedestal, and sometimes god on a higher one was unacceptable to Fate.
But God wasn’t one to go down without a fight, even if it meant he had to something unthinkable – something he wasn’t destined to – to make a deal with the devil.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Hell smelt of the same rotten meat it did when God had created it. As God made his way through the avenues of fire and streams of screams to meet the Devil, he considered one last time what he was about to do. God had guessed, from an eternity of observation and contemplation, that Fate wasn’t absolute. The illusion of destiny, as God called it, was perhaps the most effective tool ever invented in keeping intelligent life forms in check. Much like a horse’s blinkers create an illusion that there is no path but ahead, destiny worked in a similar way, God suspected. And if he could convince the Devil of the same, there was a way out he thought.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Alex was about forty years old when he finally encountered God. He was still lean and droll in every way imaginable. He had a kitchen knife clenched in one hand with which he had decided to stab the almighty’s abdomen. The priestess of fate had revealed to him that the choice of weapon didn’t matter as long as he was the one wielding it. The fact that Alex had chosen a vegetable annihilator spoke of his disinterest in the whole matter. His whole life leading to this moment had been about this moment and he just wanted it to end in a manner that would spark as little glamour as possible.
No words were spoken before Alex plunged the knife into God’s beautifully carved body. The almighty figure fell to his knees so quickly as if the knife were a warrior’s sword. Within seconds, a light from above absorbed the deadly remains. It had been done. Alex had fulfilled his destiny as a Godkiller. God was dead.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Upstairs in hell, the devil had watched the whole thing with somber satisfaction. He heard a knock on his door and God appeared before him, well and alive. Both of them had seen the light of Fate scoop up the body which meant that Fate had accepted God’s demise unquestioningly, without a shadow of suspicion.
24 years ago, when the Devil had happily accepted God’s soul in return to deceive Fate they hatched a very clever plan. A serial killer’s soul that was serving an eternal sentence in the pits of hell was summoned to the devil’s quarters. There, this soul was re-baptized in hell-fire (the only way to rebaptize a soul) and was given the name, ‘God’. The real God then exchanged his body with that of this wretched soul, so as to take no avoid any suspicion. The newly baptised God was then sent back to serve his sentence until he was needed again, 24 years later.
In the end, the heavens were empty, Fate had had its revenge, humans were devoid of holiness, and the Devil had a new assistant. And the indelible question was never to be asked again.
| 2020-08-15T03:49:00 | 2020-08-15T00:45:00 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle
|
Honestly I have *no idea* what that man has. It breaks through skin faster than the sharpest swords our warrior can buy, able to easily outrange any of our known technology, and seemingly never needs servicing.
The... *Thing* he uses is louder than even the biggest of giants, it's a larger size than a lot of crossbows and holds way more... Rounds, he calls them. Every time we get a chance to use it, we go flying.
Every person he comes across doesn't dare touch anything, in case he takes it as a threat and removes them from reality in less than a second.
There is only one way to describe it all.
Brutality.
Bob is his name. With his "nutsack elimitator" at his side.
**I don't dare question him or the naming process.**
|
"And now, thanks to *you*, all my plans have succeeded!" Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia cackled crazily, as he lorded over his newly produced Pickle-Maker 6000. "Townsville will soon be a stunning saltmarsh of salacious sublimity!" He cried with delight, while the party hemmed on in horror at the tiny town of Townsville. Mr. Mayor and his lovely laypeople all lay limply, surely *soured* at the success of the supervillain's scheme.
"You won't get away with this!" Ferrona Fefi, the Firbolg Figher scarily shouted at the surly sinner. "Nobody in this town wants to be eradicated by your evil enigma!"
"Ferrona's right!" Carson Careful, the Cleanly Cleric of his God Cleanwell, added alongside his courageous colleague. He brandished his Bane of Brandishing, ready to Banish Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia.
The Wizard, Wiz Wisely, convulsed conspicuously, his veins bulbously bursting beyond belief, as he prepared a ferocious fireball to fry Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, the foody fiend.
"Very well, Annoying Adversaries!" Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, shouted out the name of the pungent party, with bombast. "We shall see who bests who in combat! Now, En Garde!"
Ferrona Fefi, the Firbolg Fighter, cheerily chuckled, as she drew her Blades of Blasting, before preparing to pulverize the precocious pickler.
"Very Well, Lord Remington, Domina-"
It was at that moment that One Armed Bob shot Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, in the head with an M107 .50 caliber sniper rifle from halfway across town.
Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, dropped to the ground, dead as a doornail.
Ferrona stared at the corpse without the surprise that the rest of the town had. She had actually really liked the roleplay that they had set up before the fight. She was hoping for a symbolic fight about how, in the end, she needed to rely on her party mates more to tank and deal damage, and about how there were things you couldn't do alone.
Carson stopped his charge, frustrated. He'd just gotten a brand new combat draw skill, and he really wanted to see how well it worked on large bosses. He'd tried it on smaller ones, but someone like Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia would do nicely for him to test out how well Angering Shout worked into his Tank/Healer build.
Wiz was very annoyed. He'd learned how to pop his veins on command for nothing? Months of training during off-time to become a master in a skill that was only practiced halfway across the 3 Musketeers Galaxy in Bikini Top were wasted!
Ferrona sighed with disappointment.
"Bob, you motherfucker!" she shouted. "I know it's a viable strategy, but we hadn't even rolled initiative!"
"Yeah, and? You know my build is meant for long range weapons, right?" One Armed Bob argued back. "It's not exactly like my player gifted me with a good sword or anything like that to get up close." he complained.
"Well can't you at least try a bow or something that fits in with the rest of the party? Bob Bowly shouldn't be using a sniper rifle."
"I can't!" One Armed Bob complained.
"WHY NOT!" Ferrona slammed her head into the ground, causing significant bleeding. She should check that out with a doctor to make sure there wasn't any internal damage or concussion.
"Because *I HAVE ONE ARM*!!!!" Bob pointed to his name on the reddit thread.
"Well, aren't there any prosthetics?" Wiz was forced to speak, since Carson was a medical professional when he wasn't a cleric, and could recognize that Ferrona's frustration had gotten her in significant trouble.
"No! Because *someone* doesn't know how it works!" Bob pointed up to the sky with his nonexistent arm.
>Sorry, guys.
"Seriously, what the fuck, u/EvilNoobHacker!" Bob shouted.
>*shrugs*
Bob turned over to Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia's corpse, not noticing my clever shrug because he can't see what God's doing, and got an idea.
He pointed to the corpse with his nonexistent hand, and turned to Wiz.
"So, wanna loot it? Dude's probably got some nice stuff on him."
"I mean, why not?" Wiz smiled.
It was one of the few things they could agree on.
So, as the populous was actively ignored by the party, and while Carson and Ferrona were being shipped off to the nearest Urgent Care that had staff, Wiz and One Armed Bob- he still thinks I'm a dick for doing that- decided to loot the corpse.
The End.
\--------------------------------------
Okay, this one got way too meta for my liking. I'm a DM, so I just wanted to see what sort of moronic hellscape I could put theoretical players through. Honestly, kinda satisfying.
"You're still a dick for making me one-armed!" Bob shouted.
What the-
| 2022-11-07T23:37:45 | 2022-11-07T21:04:05 | 127 | 69 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose civilian identity is a teacher. One student asked if you could tutor them after school, and you agreed. After it was over, you escorted them to the front of the school for their parent to pick them up... and you see your nemesis waiting by the car.
|
As Adrunaline i'm able to process faster than most, i mean my whole thing is being fast.
But no amount of decelerated time can help me process that the Cold Queen had a kid. And such a sweet kid too.
"Mommy" said young tim as he ran to his mom.
"Hey baby! How was school?" She said just not acknowledging me existence
"Mr Adriane stay by to help me with my math homework." The little guy stuttered
"Oh really and who is..." she was almost as stunned to see me out of costume as i was seeing her. "Honey can you go wait in the car?" She then asked her little one.
As he ran towards the car she stared with an glare colder than any ice powers she had.
"Does he know?" I calmly asked.
"No, he doesn't he goes to bed at 7, even then he's a kid he's not gonna watch the news." She stated.
"This explains the lack of crimes, and you being more careful."
"If you touch him-"
"I'll hang up my spandex and turn myself in," at this moment my watch started beeping, i checked it. Of course, bank robbery 12th Avenue. "Look if you want me to i'll be happy to tutor, but right now i gotta start my night job."
After that i just ran, only stipping to get on my costume, and rushed to 12th Avenue.
|
"DAAAAAAAAAAD!" Ian runs up excitedly to his father, who gives his hair a good ruffle.
"Hey, kiddo! It's good to see you!" the dad says, smiling warmly.
Ian lets go of his father. "We gonna play games? Watch films? I miss you!"
"I miss you a lot too, ya rascal. Now, wait inside the car, I need to talk to Mrs. Leaves. I won't be long." The father opens the door for Ian, and when he's in shuts it. He looks at me and walks over. "Hey, Airlight" he says. "Didn't realise *you* were teaching my son. Does he give you trouble?"
"He's such a sweetheart actually. How did he come from YOU, Darkshade?" I smirk, and he chuckles.
"Yeah, I guess I don't leave you with a great impression." His face falls.
I soften my look. Something is clearly going on. "Does Ian know? Your wife?"
Darkshade glares at me. "Maria's gone. Remember when I was silent for a few years? That was thanks to her. She made me better. When she was killed, however... I don't know, I snapped. Ian was only three months old. I didn't know what to do. Happy now?"
I shake my head. "Not in the slightest. So with just you raising Ian..."
"I know what you're thinking. My day job and nightly crime sprees keep me so busy my neighbour watches Ian constantly. I tell her it's because I have a 'night job'." He looks away.
I raise an eyebrow. "Night job, huh? You're a murderer."
"I know" Darkshade growls. "My former buddies told me they'd pay well, and they do."
It all clicks in that one moment. "You're a grieving man raising a child by yourself who used to be a villain. You're broken."
In that moment, Darkshade collapses. "When I met her, I told myself I'd NEVER go back to my old life. She knew EVERYTHING about me, yet CHOSE to be with me! What would she think of me?"
"Why didn't you tell me anything?" I ask gently.
"I was afraid, but more than that, I didn't want you to know I was dead. I'm basically nothing now..." He stares at the ground, tears streaming down his face.
A little hand touches his shoulder. "Dad? Why are you crying?"
I blink. I have no clue what to do... I have to fulfil my duty to the citizens... but I can't tear apart an already broken family...
An idea forms in my head. "He confessed to me that he only had time today literally just to pick you up. His job is sending him on a work trip, he doesn't know how long he'll be gone for, but he doesn't want to abandon you."
Darkshade looks at me, and I give him a wink. Ian seems sad, but nods. "Ok..." he looks at Darkshade. "Dad, it's ok, I know your job is important. I'll be fine."
He looks at his son, and gives him a big hug. "I'm sorry. I promise things won't be like this forever. You can stay at Mrs. Leave's place for now."
My eyes widen. "I'll check with the principal..." I whip my phone out. I'm NOT getting fired! I mean, I'll help Ian, but I won't have a bad reputation involving children, of all things! As I confer with my boss, I overhear Darkshade and Ian talking. I get the all-clear from the principal and tell Ian to wait at the school entrance for me. I look at Darkshade. "Ok, you know full-well I didn't cover for you just because I feel sorry for you. You're getting help. Go to Starshine Mental Institution, they have a good reputation for helping people not *quite* insane, normally the last step for someone recovering from difficulties. They'll refuse to take you in, tell them I sent you, I'll get a call and confirm with them. Just remember: you step out of line, they won't hesitate to throw your ass into maximum security. You'll never see your son again. Believe me when I say I don't want that."
Darkshade stands up and nods. "So for what purpose am I there instead of minimum security or something?"
I laugh. "You think ANYONE would trust you in MINIMUM SECURITY? Listen, you'll have therapists to talk to. It's a good place for a person to get their life together. I'll come by once a week, ok?" I smile reassuringly.
Darkshade sighs. "Ok. But if anyone asks, I was captured and deemed insane. Only us and the people at the institute are to know the truth. Keep Ian away from the news, he does like watching it but I can't risk him finding out what his father was... what he is..." he gets in his car and drives off.
I turn... and Ian is right behind me, a look of concern on his face. "I do really like the news..."
I bend down and hug him. "Ian, you weren't supposed to know..."
"I know, but I got bored. I'm sorry, Mrs. Leaves. But dad isn't a bad person, is he?" he stares at me with big eyes.
I look towards the road, and my phone rings. The institute. Dang, Darkshade was fast! But... he kept his promise...
I smile. "Not at all. Come on." I take Ian's hand as I answer the phone.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
| 2022-11-29T12:08:21 | 2022-11-29T09:49:38 | 528 | 321 |
[WP] You wake up one night unable to sleep and decide to surf reddit. As you open the front page, every post is the same: nuclear weapons have been deployed in the middle east. Before you can react, your phone starts exploding with text messages. Then you hear the air raid sirens.
*This is not a warning. Remain indoors and seek shelter if possible. Martial law has been instated until further notice. This is not a warning.*
|
Bombs are flying, duck and cover
Soon we'll all be dead, my lover.
Goodbye Israel, bye Iran, now crispy bits of sand
Bombs are falling ever closer; it all got out of hand.
It was a nice world, while it lasted; really, such a pity
Bits of it were horrible, but other bits were pretty.
One last kiss now, bye my love; there's nothing left to do.
We'll sit and watch the bombs together, always me and you.
|
"ugh", I groaned silently.
Another night that I can't seem to sleep through. It was worrying me that these nights were becoming more common, but I mean, who hasn't had to deal with insomnia every now and again. Gotta roll out of bed quietly, or I'll wake up the girlfriend. Man I hate that she has to deal with this too; I know it worries her just as much that my slumber has been fleeting me these past few weeks.
I snuck away into the lounge and slumped into my computer chair. "only made the floor creak twice this time" I thought to myself. Which, in reality, it's not really a good thing that I'm getting better at sneaking around my own house.
I begin to type "Red" into the address bar until the usual subreddits I've visited appear. /r/leagueoflegends Hah! Dunkey made a new video, gotta check that out later. /r/hockey Hmmm, Steve Ott signs with St. Louis... Guess he really wasn't going back to Buffalo. /r/globaloffensive Yep, totally agree... The maps from this operation are utter shit.
I slide the mouse towards the address bar and begin typing in /r/all. "oh damn, one with a total score of 9,034..." *Nuclear Missles from North Korea have been launched towards the United States. 14 confirmed, many more suspected. Find Shelter immediately!*
My heart sinks into my chest. The next headline is just as grim. *Nuclear warhead explodes in San Francisco. death toll likely to exceed 300,000.* A cold sweat begins to envelop my very being. Just then, my phone buzzes.
Random number... what the hell...
"Hey John, It's Alicia... I know we deleted eachothers numbers a long time ago, but... Well considering the circumstances... I love you... I always have. I know we broke up a long time ago, but... I've never gotten over you... You were my one, my only. I know it means nothing now, but I had to get that off my chest before, well, you know..."
Alicia... We hadn't dated in, hell, it's been how long now...? High School ended over 6 years ago, so damn, almost 7 whole years ago.
I begin to analyze all the regrets i've ever accumulated in my life. You took 6 years of french and have never visited France. Jeez, I wasted a lot of time playing video games in my life. That college degree means nothing now, just another piece of paper that will inevitably be decimated in the coming explosion.
Oh god! Jennifer! I need to hold her one more time before this all ends. I slink back into my bedroom and attempt to slide into bed without her noticing. She abruptly wakes up and blurts out "huh!? what!?" Nothing sweetheart, everything is fine. She begins to regain a bit more consciousness. "can't sleep again?". No, I'm fine, it's alright. I love you... She rolls over and says "I love you too, John".
Should I tell her? Should she know what is going on? The deaths, the bombs, the end of our world. The end of her, me, us... It takes me a few seconds to weigh out my options. No. No one deserves the stress of knowing their life is ending. She deserves to lay in bed with the man she loves for her last moments on this fragile planet.
As I snuggle behind her I smell the familiar scent of her hair. Raspberry. At least I can die next to the woman I love. Not many can say that... I take another whiff of that heavenly essence and hear an enormous BOOM in the distance. Dark turns to light. Windows shatter. This is it... She jolts awake. "JOHN! What the fuck! JOHN! JOHN! JOH".
"John... John... JOHN!". I look around the room... There's Jennifer. The windows are all intact. No walls have been blown down. Every poster still hanging on the wall. No singed carpet. It was still dark out; no fires at all.
"Jennifer! You're still alive! We're still alive! We can still be together!"
Jennifer looks at me weirdly, tilts her head, and questions "Yes, we are still alive, we can still be together...? are you O.K.?"
I look at her quizzically "but the bomb!?"
Jennifer explains "you must've been having another nightmare... Just a bad dream..."
I blurt out "But I never got to visit France!"
"You've told me a hundred times how you always wanted to visit Spain. You took Spanish in high school for gods sake... So has that changed...?"
I yell "and ALICIA! my ex from high school! She told me she still loved me! Was that just a part of my dream too?!"
Jennifer starts to get more and more confused "John, we've been dating since 9th grade... Do you even know an Alicia?"
I shake my head. "You've gotta be kidding me! Alright, I know Ambien is supposed to help with insomnia, but this is happening way too damn often..."
| 2014-07-11T02:17:37 | 2014-07-11T02:02:35 | 161 | 42 |
[WP] As a kid, you jokingly say, "If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich!" It's is now your 21st birthday, and you receive a mysterious bank key in the mail. The vault it opens contains $550,000... In nickels.
|
I calculate that if a nickel weighs 5 grams I have 2,750,000 grams of nickels. That's about 6,063 pounds. The average dump truck can haul 28,000 pounds. I should be able to negotiate a cheaper price to haul my blood money to the bank.
I feel bad for the carbon footprint my deposit will require, especially in light of not hauling a full load. Perhaps if I had paper money for my kills instead of coins...but that's just greedy. Never take more than you need. I guess I'll just have to resolve to kill around 10,000,000 more people.
I use my earnings to open a commercial construction company dedicated to renewable, sustainable resources. This allows me to get paid to use the land, chemicals, and heavy machinery required to reliably dispose of 10,000,000 corpses, and I get to help Mother Earth while I'm at it.
|
I stood at the threshold of the vault aghast. The dimly lit room was filled with coins. The strong odor of metal enveloped me. I took a hesitant step in, and examined one of the coins.
“A nickel?” I stammered.
The shadow of the bank manager shifted across the heaps of coins in front of me.
He was a tall, thin, man with whispy white hair, and a face that had seen more decades than seemed humanly possible
“Yes sir.” he responded with a gravely voice. “Eleven million to be exact.”
I slowly turned to face him, now a black shape in the blinding light from the hallway.
“I think there has been some mistake. I don’t believe what is in here belongs to me.”
“Sir, we completed the security checks prior to allowing you to access this vault. You are Thomas Frey, and you were able to confirm your birthdate, and social security number. In addition, you were able to provide the client key. There has been no mistake.”
Stepping back into the hallway, out of the vault, I took a few good breaths. The fresh air pushed back the darkness that was creeping into my vision. My mind was racing. Who had sent the key? Why was this room filled with nickels? Why was it mine?
“I do have a client file to give you, now that you have visited, Mr. Frey. Please follow me.”
I watched as the bank manager pulled a cloth folder from behind the vault door. He proceeded to lock the door with his key, and then with the key I had received just days earlier in the mail. I followed close behind as we made our way down the hall littered with vault doors similar to the one I had just stepped through. We ascended the stairs and stepped into the lobby of what appeared to be an unassuming bank, in a strip mall in my home town.
Clearing his voice attempting to get my attention, I realized I had stopped walking. The manager gestured to an office near the tellers’ counter.
“Please sit Mr. Frey.”
Inside the windowless and quite empty office was a plain desk with two chairs. I took a seat and the bank manager laid the cloth folder in front of me.
“There is a portable video player in the drawer if you find that you need it.”
I nodded, unsure of what to expect. The bank manager left without another word, and shut the door behind him.
Feeling my heart rate beat faster then its already rapid pace, I shakily untied the leather strings that bound the cloth file. Inside were deposit records with transaction dates starting in 2003 going through a little over a year ago. On each of the pages listed the memo “Please deposit in United States Currency of .05 dollars.” I flip through each of the pages, looking for something that makes sense, to clarify what I was looking at. It was all numbers - account numbers, transaction numbers, dates.
I removed the stack of papers and set them aside. With the inside of the cloth folder now visible, a noticed a small, unobtrusive sleeve. Inspecting further, I retrieved a thin usb. Dumfounded, wondering what I would do with this memory stick, I remembered the video player. I slowly opened the drawer to the desk and pulled out the thin video player and inspected it for usb inputs. Sure enough, there was one on the right side.
Hesitating, I opened the video player, which promptly powers to life, and slide in the USB. A picture appears on the screen with the prompt “press play to start video.” I follow its command.
The entire screen goes dark for a few moments and then flickers back to life. I see the familiar intro to my childhood video game, “Hunter of the Black Veil.” Who am I kidding? I played it up until this last year as I was now dedicating time to building games, a requirement for my college program. I received “Hunter of the Black Veil” in a prize package after winning a Halo tournament when I was 8. It turns out I had acquired one of the test versions of the game, as it never made it to mass market. It was, however, considered a must play game by myself and my friends. We put hours into the game, hunting down people of the “black veil” or demons that had acquired human form on Earth. The game initially started with the take down of men, women, and children through hand to hand combat and fire power, then in later versions of the game, bombs, viruses, and mass annihilation through other means were incorporated.
As my eyes drew back to the screen, I watched the digitalized missions I knew like the back of my hand transform into very real scenes of carnage. I became more confused, unsure of what I was watching as the images bounced back and forth between my character in a computer game, to what I recognized as my character, but a real human (or humanoid form) in what appeared to be real life.
The video began playing sound. My pre-pubescent voice to be exact. Childhood laughter filled the air around me as I watch two men on the screen, head to toe in armor, running through thick foliage after taking down many people, execution style in the deep jungle. The screen blurs back to a game-esque quality. I hear my high voice cheerfully exclaim "If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich!"
I draw my hand to my mouth as realization has set in. My blood runs cold.
“Yeah?” Responded the voice of the second character. A person whom I assumed had been another play tester.
“Well, let’s make sure you end up rich.”
The screen goes to black, with a white inscription.
“Thank you for your service Frey the Hunter. Please accept the $550,000 as a token of our appreciation.”
| 2016-09-03T10:27:08 | 2016-09-03T10:15:13 | 15 | 11 |
[WP]The world's most powerful super hero gets his strength from a dark source. Fearing the public's reaction he's kept it a secret but has finally decided to stop living a lie and reveal the truth.
|
Black smoke and small pieces of debris floated around him. His long dark hair ruffled in the wind as he flew through the clouds. His face ghostly white except the black veins punctuating it. He surveyed the city from up high. His vision zooming in and out on the neighbourhoods taking in and dissecting the information. He flew down towards the truck. Stuck on the train tracks, a large locomotive barrelling down towards it. He grabbed the pickup’s frame with one hand. Gently he floated it out of the way.
“Thank you Captain Coal. Stupid old piece of shit just stalled on me,” said the old man in the truck.
“Be careful next time citizen. Get this thing checked.”
Another day another life saved. A news truck pulled up as he was talking to the old man.
“Captain Coal!” the reporter yelled as she ran towards him.
“This man saved my life,” the old man spoke into the mic.
Coal stood feet apart arms crossed. Smoke ascended off his black suit and cloak and his dark hair wafted in the wind. He looked more supervillain than superhero.
“Captain Coal, another life saved. How does it feel to help so many?” the report asked thrusting the mic in his face.
Coal paused. A life saved, yet another sacrificed.
“It’s nothing, just doing my job.”
“There you have it folks, our modest Captain,” the reporter said smiling into the camera.
Coal’s gut tightened and he felt nauseous.
He grabbed the reporters mic, “I can’t do this anymore.”
Grabbing the camera he flew into the sky. The reporter, cameraman and old man looked after him bewildered.
Coal narrated, “You all know me for my good deeds but there is something I’ve been hiding from all of you.”
Flying past the loading docks and out into the sea, “You know the depths of despair. They started to appear as I gained notoriety,” he continued into the mic.
He swung the camera towards a black swirling pool on the water. A small fishing boat was trying to escape its pull.
“I can’t... I cannot save it.”
The black swirl consumed the boat. Captain Coal began to smoke and smoulder, his power growing.
“This is how I gain my power, from these evil depths. I once was a sailor. We ran amok one of these. At the bottom of the deep I drank the poison. I felt I had no choice, now you must all know.”
Coal flew back to the reporter and handed her the camera.
“Run it,” he said.
The next day he hovered over the city. People picketing at city hall, unflattering messages printed on their signs about the once great Captain Coal.
Coal flew out into the ocean towards a black swirl that had formed. Tightening his fists he knew what he had to do, dropping down into the black expanse.
|
The road was busy, filled with cars and hustle. The smell of smoke had stained this place, or perhaps everything had just changed. He remembered a time when there weren't many cars, when the air had a thinner smell.
*Empty.*
Things were empty then. Or maybe now they were just fuller. He was old an he felt it.
*I shouldn't be alive.*
Many things had happened in this new century. Society had shifted. Empathy seeped in the cracks where once there were the roots of strife, hard words and hardship.
*There still is strife. People suffer.*
He crossed the road slowly. The police station was stained black at its roots from moss and grime. In the yard there were broken cars, the heat reflecting sharp edges of white light. The stairs had a cold railing.
A woman was sitting on a chair. She held a crying child. The noise wafted around the place, melting with the intercom.
*That hasn't changed.*
A cold feeling swirled inside him.
"Mr. Strong? Oh my God, Mr. Strong is that you?!"
The crowd was building.
"Hey! Hey! Let's have some order here!"
But even the officer on the floor stared at him.
*Do I look like an old man?* he wondered.
Of course he had to. But he was older than he looked.
He stared at the child.
*Things were different then?*
Were they? Or was it just empty. He remembered war weary America in 1918. It was worse in the '40's. Things were bleak and dark and a sadness had covered that time. The adults walked, expecting a safe to fall on their head. Dread fell more often then rain.
*No wonder they would let me get away with...*
"Mr. Strong? How may we help you."
The officer was a young boy. He saw in his eyes that he was a fan.
*I inspired him.*
He shivered.
"I want to speak with Richards, please."
The officer nodded.
"He's in a short meeting now though, Mr. Strong. But if you want I can..."
"No it's fine. I don't mind waiting."
He took a seat and ignored the curious stares. He hadn't worn his costume, but he could not take off his face. In the fifties that was part of it. His face was as big as Elvis'.
He closed his eyes.
*One hundred and eighteen years.*
He felt all of it upon him. The Andrews sisters played in his head. He liked their music. He was already an old man when they came out. He remembered celebrity back then, how that budding thing had brought back the light torn from by war.
*'Mr. Strong's the strongest man in the world! He's strong for all of us!'*
He looked at the floor.
*Where did your strength come from?*
*'Vegetables.'*
Another family walked in. A father looking weary and his sun in hand. The boy had a bandage around his head. The melted into the crowd but he saw the boy's eyes meet his. It wasn't in wonder. A ghost of fear crept in the boy's eyes, then confusion, then he looked away.
Sometimes he wondered if children were telepathic. They were a mystery after all. They contained such life, eager life and vitality. Why not some other power that the world had yet to discover.
*He knows,* he thought. *That boy knows.*
Children could sniff out the truth. He wondered if it was because they weren't blinded by life's obligations. It didn't matter.
An old hunger stirred within him. And then the persistent sadness.
*It was a different time.*
But he wondered if those parents in the fifties and sixties, the ones mourning their missing children, if it was any easier for them than it would be now.
He was crying.
*I did good in this world. In the end it worked out.*
There was a voice on the intercom.
"Richards is free," it said.
He knew what it meant. It was so to avoid any attention to himself.
He got up and walked to the office. Richards was the police chief, a stressed out man in a thankless job.
*This will add to his stress.*
Inside was hot and brown, the wood creaking from the sun.
"Strong! How can I help you? Don't tell me you're still working? I thought you retired a while now."
"I did."
He shook the chief's hand.
"I figured now that I'm now of no use to the world, I ought to give up my secrets."
"Secrets? What do you mean? Plus, you still got a helluva look on you. You ain't useless."
"No, Richards, but I'm old. And I can't pass on without you knowing something."
The chief stared at him.
"You talking 'bout how you got your powers? I thought the doctor's said it was an anomaly. Something with your genes or somethin' like that."
"Partially. But it's something else as well. Something a bit... A bit more tangible."
"Holy shit."
He could see Richard's eyes fog over with thoughts of super human officers. He saw them lined up, proud in blue, and a new city was born. The shadows of crime were being receded, the rains that fell were mourn-less, and the air from the exhaust free from exhausted life. A new city.
He hated himself. He started to cry.
"Hey! Strong what's wrong?"
How could he say it? How could he tell the truth. But it was too late.
*They'll kill you.*
Maybe that would be a release. He deserved death.
*It'll break their hearts.*
But he knew that wasn't completely true.
*I've already broken their hearts. They don't know it as yet.*
He stared at Richards.
"The children," he said. "The children are the secret."
"What?"
He inhaled deeply. His throat was tight.
"Children. Their lives are like vitamins. You... You learn how to unlock it and... And... You get strong."
The officer was silent. In his head a list of missing children flowed out a printer of guilt.
"What... What are you saying?"
But Richards knew. He remembered back to all the times Mr. Strong had helped out. He had solved murders, arsons, caught criminals, stop terrorists. He had done everything.
*But never once did he stop a child's kidnapping.*
The officer trembled and looked at Mr. Strong.
"No..."
"Yes," said Mr. Strong.
He was crying.
"I'm sorry... I thought it was a good trade off. A couple of kids a year for... For a safer world. But now... Now I can't... I can't live with it anymore. I can't! I hear them scream! I see them in my... In my dreams. My hands... I can't wash them. They're too red. I..."
The heat had grown and the city's day was a dragon's breath. All was still except for the quavering man. Richards got up and lifted him up. He slammed him against the wall.
Officers barged in and saw the commotion.
"You monster!" Richards was screaming.
Mr. Strong closed his eyes and did not struggle. In his head he played Billie Holiday.
*'God bless the child who's on his own...'*
In the lobby there were children crying.
Then he lost his senses and he fell to the floor.
-
*Hi there! If you like this story, you may want to consider checking out r/PanMan, my subreddit. It has all my WP stories as well as a couple originals. Thank you for the support!*
| 2017-10-03T09:59:52 | 2017-10-03T09:46:36 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"186,292".
The number kept ringing in my ears as I was huddled onto the elevator to Hell. I had led the most unremarkable and conflict-free life ever, an average joe. Easy-going, I almost always acquiesced to what the group wanted, not wanting to raise an issue. A voyeur of life, almost.
Chapters from life flashed in front of my eyes, some more vivid than the others.
​
"""Queer little Abby, who was in bullied in school all the time. I wanted to stand up for her, but I was scared. I did slip her a little note though...
Abdul Rahman, whose house was pelted with stones in the aftermath of 9/11. I wanted to tell the mob to leave, call the cops on them, but I was scared they'd hurt me. I did smile at him once later though...
Jack and Ryan, a couple who were always picked on and ostracized in our neighborhood. I wanted to tell the folks to back off, but I was scared they'd judge me. I did pat Ryan on the back though...
Barbara Rooney, a Stanford grad who didn't get the job at my company cause my boss wanted to give it to his nephew. I wanted to tell my boss that it was wrong, but I was scared I'd lose my job. I did send her a very polite rejection letter though..."""
​
The elevator jolted to a halt, shaking me out of my thoughts. The panoramic arch to Hell welcomed me. On it, was Dante:
**"The Hottest places in Hell are reserved for those, who in times of moral crisis, preserve their neutrality."**
|
I stared at the demon behind the counter.
"186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!"
The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly.
"Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?"
Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years.
The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of."
I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways."
At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying.
"You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!"
I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-"
The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!"
I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true.
I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude.
The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-"
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on.
Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension.
I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all.
I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now.
As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child.
He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here."
Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me.
At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do."
Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception...
At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes.
"Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away.
We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..."
| 2018-09-26T08:17:41 | 2018-09-26T07:21:22 | 35 | 23 |
[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.
|
*Enter the forest with despaired heart, for a soul must remain for another to depart*
That is the rule of this place. This otherworldly plane, this cursed forest tethered between the worlds of the living and darkness. I have been wandering this place for so long I no longer could remember where I came from, nor how I found myself here.
For so long I have survived, albeit barely. Every night I sleep with one eyes open. Gnashing and chattering of teeth, breath smells of blood and rotten carcasses. The lack of restful evenings did no help to my deteriorating mind.
Many of times I've tried to escape these woods. Along my path I've encountered many people, those unfortunate enough to share the same fate as I did. Be it young or old, brave or cowardly, we would more often than not stay together for one goal only, to escape.
I have seen the exits plenty of times. Strange archway formed on the most unlikely places. On the side of a huge rock, a hole in the ground, hanging in empty air between the trees, but you can always see the world of light beyond those doors.
"Go on, friend. Go on home. Go home to your family", I encouraged the trembling young man I had just encountered on my way. A doorway we found together, an open space on the surface of the river.
"Re...really? But, what about you?"
I smiled weakly. How many times has it been that I put the need of another above my own? I did it not out of the kindness of my heart...it was just simply logical.
"Oh don't worry about this old man. You have your whole live ahead of you out there. Go on, my friend. Go home..."
"Old man...? But...you're not that older than me. How long have you been here?"
Huh...I haven't thought of that fact in a while.
"This place is not bound by any laws of nature we know of, not even time itself dared to make its presence here. The sun rises and sets indefinitely. I have seen days where you would think the light was eternal, I have seen nights where you would think the darkness would stay forever. I have been here for so long yet I have not aged...only, it did this...", I said rolling up my sleeves.
"Good heavens! What happened to your arm?", he exclaimed seeing the blackened flesh and skin of my arm.
"I might not age, but my body died a long time ago. The decomposition takes a long time to finally take place. This forest doesn't let me die for some reason"
Rustling of leaves suddenly came from in between the trees behind us. From the darkness the monsters made themselves seen. Corpses, decomposing body with blackened skins limping out slowly. Their limbs falling apart, bones protruding from places they shouldn't, holes where their eyes used to be stared emptily at us, their teeth chattering seeking for fresh flesh to eat.
The young man's eyes grew wider, looking at them and looking at me.
"That is the reason I don't want to go through that door...there simply is no point for me. Soon I will join them as a walking dead man. But before that let this old man do something good with the remainder of his life. So please, go on. Go home to your family", I said with my eyes teary as my emotion stirred.
The young man nodded, his eyes teary. He hugged me gratefully and jumped into the doorway before it closed, letting the river water streamed back.
The undead stopped in their tracks, ignoring me. They knew well there's no point in attacking me, as I was on my way to join them. So onwards I went to the depth of the woods, the undead trailing behind me. I just needed to find one more person, just one more person to save until I couldn't anymore.
|
This is a beautiful prompt, by the way, if my opinion holds any candles ;-)
\_\_\_
I sifted through an old, leather-bound notebook, past pages and pages of descriptions, diagrams, and other deliberations. Each page was home to a monstrosity of imagination: creepy crawlies, flesh golems, devil pixies, giant rats---a fantastical Pandora's box with every conceivable magical forest dweller one’s childlike imagination could muster into thought. Every page was thoroughly detailed, tiny words cramping every inch of space in competition. I was very proud of my collection. This would be the thirteenth notebook of my diagrams here in the magical forest, and I’ve only scratched the surface. My modest treehouse home is in dire need of renovations, and I would tackle it after finishing the final entry, the prize of this notebook’s documentation.
I forget how strange this forest is to others, having resided and explored this wooden labyrinth for thirteen (no fourteen?) months. Excuse me, I meant years. Every notebook is usually completed within a year, though the frantic obsessiveness with which I carry out my task makes each round of expeditions feel closer to a month.
The exit moves. Time stills for the individual. Countless mythical beings roam the premises, just waiting to be discovered. I am the discoverer. However, it is customary that I take my breaks, for when another human stumbles into my domain, it is my duty to see them out. No doubt, they all want to leave. It is not everyday that one gets lost in a maze with no seemingly no conceivable exit, chased by three floating eyeballs circling a glowing albeit rusted scythe. That was the case for my thirteenth visitor. Oh, I just noticed. One visitor a year. How nice.
The visitor was a rather curious and fallible woman, no doubt the type to get lost in such a forest to her disarray. Wearing a sweater too big for her own good and shoes too nice to tail a spider serpent (not to mention those horrid chic frames!), she contrasted rather frighteningly with my down-to-earth decor.
The woman combed her hand through her hair, her eyes darting about. I suspected she’s suspicious of my solace above the soil. She’s probably concerned with our safety. “Don’t worry,” I said, scratching some words near the end of the book, “It’s heavily warded, so the monsters won’t approach this place. It’s also housed in a pocket dimension tree, so if things do get dicey, I can direct the tree to phase to a new location.”
She nodded.
“Let’s not waste anymore time,” I said, closing the notebook and dusting it off before gently placing it in a drawer, carefully aligned. I turned toward the woman who’s already made herself comfortable on my futon. Cross-legged, she tilted her head and smiled, her bangs gently caressing the side of her face. I hesitated. “Uh, well, I’m sure you’re eager to leave. You must be mighty scared, and I don’t blame you. That monster has a tendency to chase anything that makes eye contact with it. It’s a pretty awkward creature.”
I sat in a four-legged, wooden chair, my legs sticking around the back support, my arms resting on top. “Now, for the frequently asked questions, or the FAQ. Who am I? Just an explorer. As you can see, I take records of all the magical entities in the forest. It’s exciting work as a researcher, but I won’t go into the details. I can write a whole book on it, and I have. Thirteen of them. The next question: do I know the way out? No and yes. I don’t know the way out, but I can find it. You’re not the first person to get lost here. I reserve that right.” I chuckled internally, expressing it externally in the form of a clearing of the throat. “You see, the exit changes, and with countless monsters roaming the area, it’s pretty dangerous to wander blindly. That’s where I come in. I’ll take you to the exit, and boom, badabing, bang. You’re out. I can’t promise there’ll be no monsters on the way, but I can promise you that we’ll make it in one piece. You can count on it. And, you can alphabetize it, if that makes you feel better. Double assurance.”
She simply looked back at me, neither particularly relieved, surprised, or otherwise. Strange. Normally, they’d be profusely either, and would be eager to get back to whatever they left behind. They would ask questions, probing a little about who I am and what I do, shortly before returning to their concerns. I’m glad I don’t have to go through that whole charade, though it’s nice to have a human exchange the one time a year that I get it. I took her unreactiveness as a sign of quiet understanding and pulled from my desk a necklace and a prism. I extended them toward her and she succinctly took them.
“I’m going to lead the way using this compass. It has the ability to locate points of disruption in the energy sphere which is indicative of the path to reality. It’s one of my crowning inventions, so don’t bite it.” Sure, this was just one unattached bystander out of many, yet I still saw it fitting to give the warning. It’s my patent, my love and craft. “It’s detecting a large force nearby, so we should get there in no less than fifteen minutes. Grab your gear, and let’s rock and roll.” I caught myself. “Err, I mean, let’s get you home.” Nice save.
She still looked at me with that faint smile of hers. With my prompting, she obediently rose, collected her belongings (consisting of nothing more than a small purse and a camera) and followed me down the treehouse, wearing the necklace and keeping the prism in hand. The necklace blends her presence with the surroundings, making her practically invisible to the dangerous denizens, while the prism is for use in emergencies in case something dire happens, teleporting her back into the safety of the treehouse. I had on my person both of these as well, except my ‘necklace’ is fashioned into a watch, so I can keep stealth and time.
We walked through the forest at a reasonable pace, slow enough to marvel at the dreamlike foliage. She marvelled at the sight, her mouth slightly agape. Despite recently outrunning what would be nightmare fuel, she’s entrenched in her own pleasant, ignorant daydream. I remained on high alert.
Ten minutes passed. My compass urged us straight, and we followed. We were almost there.
“Hey…” The woman finally said.
“Hmm?” I glanced back to see her inquisitive, curious face dangerously close to mine. I shot back with all the composure of an adolescent in heat.
Woah! Easy there!
I’m referring to the both of us.
“My name is Rin,” she said, her voice sweet like red velvet. “Say, how long have you been here?”
I paused for just a moment. Strange. Nobody’s asked me that before. In hindsight, it’s an obvious question, but it hasn’t happened yet. A 1 in 13 chance occurrence.
“Nice to meet you, Rin. I’m John,” I replied. “I’ve been here 13 decades.”
“Wow!” Rin exclaimed. “You must be lying.”
“Actually, I am lying. Or, rather, I misspoke. I’ve been here 13 years. Surprising, huh?”
“Well, I guess I can see it.”
Wait. Hey, hey! That’s not what you’re supposed to say. Isn’t the expression, ‘oh, you look 13 years young!’ or something like that? And in this case, it is true! Mentally, I’m 35, but physically, I’m as young and vibrant as any college graduate! And without the worry of student debt to boot!
“Oh, is that the case,” I said, my face twitching slightly. “Well, it may surprise you that time doesn’t pass quite like it seems here in the forest. People don’t age here, for some reason.”
“Magic,” she promptly fired.
“Yeah, that,” I said. “My physical body hasn’t aged much since I got caught up in all this. Now that we’re talking, I have to say, you’re pretty calm in the face of everything that’s happened so far. I’m impressed.”
“Oh, thanks…” she said. “To tell you the truth, it doesn’t feel so real. It’s almost…”
“Magical?” I promptly fired.
“Yeah, that,” she agreed.
| 2020-12-30T00:45:37 | 2020-12-29T23:13:33 | 76 | 45 |
[WP] As it turns out, aliens all have aphantasia. This makes Humans the only species capable of imagining images in their heads. This greatly confuses alien telepaths, who report seeing “constantly shifting landscapes of alternate realities” when peering into human minds
|
**Journal of Chief Science Officer 4X1123 Designation "Leif"**
SOL 3.3.2022 \[Neptune Orbit\]
I did not know the alarms would be what shook me so deeply after today's events. For in the moment I was certain it would be the screams that haunted me.
In all of our time studying the humans, observing them, decoding their communications and attempting to better understand them we could have never known of the powerful manifestations they can create. Though I am unable to verify my theory, I believe even they do not know of their abilities, and believe them to be merely "dreams", a word we have long known from their entertainment media.
It is my belief that within the human brain lies the potential to create alternate realities, something the humans only do temporarily and seemingly involuntarily when sleeping or going to what they call "school".
When we first began intercepting their transmissions we saw fantastic and disturbing images. They appeared to focus heavily on violence and reproduction, we assume the latter is made necessary by the former. Then the images became impossible, humans flying through the air unassisted, shapeshifting into all manner of things such as a horrifying cross between a human and what they call wolves, or a human who becomes a larger, angrier, green human.
Our satellites allowed us to view the humans daily lives and we had never observed anything beyond basic violence and reproduction, although equally disturbing. By chance we learned how the humans create these "productions" as they call them and we now understand they are for entertainment and propaganda purposes and are merely fantasy.
Today we were to make contact, the first meeting between our species, and I was to have the honor of teaching them about our kind. So you can imagine my shock as we passed the solar system's red planet and suddenly one of the belfry pods burst open and a screaming far-thinker scrambled out onto the floor. The poor sage only managed to utter two words before their hearts stopped in unison, "killer clowns".
There was no time to wonder what exactly a clown was or why it was murderous because all around me the alarms began sounding. The systems monitoring the vitals of the long range telepathy team was going crazy. In an instant 6 experienced and strong willed sages' heart rates spiked and then immediately fell, and with that 1200 years of combined experience was lost. All around alerts were sounding, spiked heart rates, stopped hearts, brain chemistry imbalances.
By the time the captain was able to change our course we had lost 57 of the 60 far-thinkers brought on this mission. Some had died near instantly while others screamed for hours before finally succumbing to the trauma. While the captain still believes it was some sort of defensive countermeasure surrounding the planet, I have been reviewing our remote video uplinks from the moment of the "attack" and nothing indicates that the humans were even aware of our presence, even at their highest levels of governance.
We have returned now to the outpost from which we have observed humanity for the last 450 years. This report along with many others will be sent back to the home world for evaluation.
The sages who remain babble incoherently about endlessly falling, or finding themselves exposed and embarrassed when they should be neither. After the chaos had died down there was a young sage laying on the floor near me, breathing heavily, eyes closed but seemingly stable. When I moved towards them they attempted to sit up, but it was as if their was an immense weight on their chest. With closed eyes they turned their head towards me and began begging.
"Please, he's on my chest, he's crushing me, my arms... I can't push him off. Please push him off of me... Please... p..." But the only thing oppressing any of us on that bridge was the sound of the alarms.
I can almost picture the scene.....
\[**FINAL ENTRY\]**
|
On Valennen, where the Dauri live, they think that humans are dangerously mad. This was my doing as much as it was Avi’s, a consequence of my dreams racing ahead. I’ve always been a dreamy girl. Sometimes I’m scared that it’s a failing.
Other times I remember a book I once read, the very first line: *“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality,”* and think to myself that there’s no other way for me to be. That what I did was Human, and no crime. Not really. And I hope, perhaps, that I've grown.
But I am still what I am. And he is what he is. Though it might be the worst breakup anyone has ever had.
\*\*\*
Born towards the end of the last Fire Time on his alien and rugged world, Avi was a creature of exquisite practicality. He could assess a problem instantly from a half dozen directions, slim, quick fingers trailing across its surface, exploring and understanding the state of things, even as the state of his body changed; chameleon skin adapting itself to the varying fall of sunlight from Vallennen’s three suns, or shifting colors to match the rustling lia grass all around us. A Dauri, and an exquisite example at that, Avi stood just taller than my (modest) height. He looked like a human stretched out and then dipped into the paint of the world. I loved him best at night, when he would roll over on the blanket and look down at me, his beautiful body painted in swathes of inky blue and black shot through with grains of stardust from the sky above, perhaps a bit of moonlight. He would look at me in those moments and whisper, *“How?”* which looking back summed up so many of our conversations.
I was none of the things he was. Not beautiful and not adaptable, and if I was practical it was only grudgingly and reserved for extremes. I’d joined the Peace Corp after all, and in those days, before what happened, they still let dreamers in. They thought, naively, that people like me could smooth over alien fears.
What happened?
The night was it should have been, not a cloud in the sky. The stars were racing past overhead, the kind of night where every moment had that extra bit of weight, and where you were afraid to blink and miss it. Our breath was quick and shallow, in time to one another. We lay on our backs, minds spinning with the heavens as we stared up at the progress of moons and stars. He was holding my hand, or I was holding his.
We’d known each other for a month, and I was in love.
That I’d spent the past week agonizing about that fact should come as no surprise to anyone who remembers twenty. It’s a year where such things matter. Where, after a month of knowing someone, after two months of knowing their entire species, you can look at them and see something new weaving itself into your life. The future is a land of dreams, and there you are trying to shape them. Splicing pictures into other pictures, putting where they might belong because you want them to—more than anything. And if they blend a little then so what?
“Are all Earth women like you?” Avi said. His voice was soft and silken.
“What, are you getting tired of me already?” I said.
He laughed. The stars ran faster. “Never. I’m only trying to make sense of it. You’re…different than I’m used to.”
“Used to?” I said.
Shifting in the night. I heard him roll, move above me. Avi was a wrinkle in the sky. I found the outline of his lips, felt his hair tickling my skin.
“You know what I meant,” he said.
Wide-eyed, I nodded.
The sky moved closer. “There’s something that my people do when we…” He took a sharp breath. “I want to try something. The Sharing.”
And then it was my turn to breathe. To get lost in the night and in his chameleon eyes: like someone had carved facets into stars.
All of us Peace Corps volunteers knew what The Sharing was. I’d seen it my very first day on Valennen, a pair of Dauri clasped so tightly together that they looked to be woven from the same silk, their eyes open but sightless, mouths moving with no sound coming out. The Sharing was the ceremony that stitched Dauri society together, allowing them to peer into each other and learn in a way that no pair of human friends or lovers ever could.
I was not the only girl in the Corps who’d seen a Dauri pass and wonder, perhaps a little desperately, what that kind of knowing would be like. I remain the only Human to ever try.
“Are you sure?” I said. “What about your elders, or—”
“It’s not forbidden, necessarily,” Avi said. “They told us to be careful. I have been. It’s been the best month of my life.”
I bit my lip. He was there right above me but somehow I’d lost sight of him. Dauri camouflage was too perfect. Avi was hot breath and a low voice. My imagination could run away with that, and did.
“What do you want to know?” I said.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
A little girl’s question. Not a Peace Corp volunteer’s, all those light-years from home.
“Okay,” I said.
Okay.
I found him again, then. Avi’s skin rippled with something, call it excitement. For the space of a breath he was sketched out against the night with all the brilliant force of his world’s three suns, so blinding I had to look away. His hand had caught my chin, brought me back gently. He was the night once more, and he was the man I’d spent the best month of my life with, and I was only twenty. You can understand that, and forgive.
Avi’s cheek against my cheek. Our arms around each other. A sense of pulling away, like glue against bare skin.
And then the night cracked open.
A truth: Humans are not telepathic.
A reality: I was exquisitely self-aware.
A moment frozen in time: Avi, slipping down through the layers of perception and nervous reaction, in the place where my thoughts lived. Where they revolved around him. Avi, a spectral being flitting my consciousness. Avi, the construct I’d made of him in my mind. A composite of a chameleon-man conforming himself to a young Human girl’s hopes and fears and dreams until he was nothing like the man was, the Dauri he was, but a human man exotified, an identity stripped away. I swear to God I meant well.
When they sent the Peace Corps to Valennen it was with the hope that naive young dreamers could win hearts and minds in a way that an army or a diplomatic corp never could. We didn’t know some things then. We didn’t know that the Dauri imagination didn’t work like ours. That it was founded on a principle of absolute reality, and that, when changes must occur, they were not conceptualized in the same way. A Dauri could at a tree and take it through all the useful permutations of its being: chair, table, spear, fire, fishing pole, but he didn’t see it happen as we did.
Avi saw it. Saw himself twisting and becoming something else. His body running like liquid in my mind until he was unrecognizable; the man I loved, but not the man that he did. A change on such a level that he could never comprehend, and might never want to. After all, Avi was young too. Looking back, I think he was as frightened as I was by the way that we both felt.
And he did feel it. I didn’t need to be a telepath to know that. It radiated off him, filled up my soul as it had filled my days. It was still there when he pulled away, stood above me, colors shifting with the night as he said “What would you make of us?”
The old fears that they’d sent children like me to assuage.
He was gone before I could even respond. The night was quiet. The stars moved too fast. Reality crashed in around me, left me gasping.
I lay among the rustling lia grasses as night turned into day. Towards dawn, the Peace Corp found me. By then, Avi was already home.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that there's tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2022-03-03T07:07:31 | 2022-03-03T06:49:53 | 321 | 140 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention.
|
How could someone so young be so articulate? The girl was eight years old. She sat by the torch, idly flicking her fingers through the inky black flame.
"You shouldn't be here," I said. "It's not right that someone so young would be sent here instead of heaven."
She looked at me. "I already went to heaven," she said. "It was boring."
Shocked, I exchanged a look with Mammon, and looked back to the girl.
"Boring?" I asked. I only vaguely remembered heaven, in the millennia since I'd been cast down. I remembered peace, and love, not boredom.
"Have you read Narnia?" the girl asked me, sharply. "The one where it's always winter but never Christmas?"
I knew the reference, so I nodded.
"Heaven is always church, but never going out to eat afterwards. It's just church that lasts forever. It's boring, so I left," she said, and resumed playing with the dark torch.
Mammon leaned forward, in his greedy way. "But all that gold," he said. "Even on the streets."
"So?" she asked. "It's not like you can spend it on anything. The angels wouldn't even let me make a tiara. They said it was vain."
"What do you want?" I asked her.
"Can you bring me back to life?" she asked me.
"No," I replied.
"Then I guess I'm staying here."
This child was too insightful to be tortured for eternity. One look at Mammon and I knew he agreed what had to be done.
I cleared my throat.
"Jenny... would you like a job?"
|
"Where am I?" a soft voice said.
"Huh?" Kriznat looked up from his clipboard. Before him stood a small girl of maybe 4 years old. She wore a pretty red dress with sparkling black shoes. She had long dark curls and piercing blue eyes. She showed no signs of fear when questioning the demon.
She repeated herself, "I *said*, 'Where am I?'"
Kriznat looked perplexedly at the small child. "Where you are is unimportant. I'm not sure how you got here, but this is no place for one so young as yourself."
Kriznat had heard tales of mistakes like this happening long ago, but he never thought he would be put in this situation. Imagine, a child being sent to Hell, how preposterous.
In all his years, Kriznat had never seen a child nor did he know of any other demon who had. He was not sure what to do. He typically had a pretty easy job. Souls of sinners came through the gates. He crossed them off his list and dictated to which level of Hell the souls now belonged. But a child had no place here. Their souls are untarnished.
"I need you to just sit here for a few minutes while I figure out what is going on. Okay?"
The girl nodded, plopped down on the ground, and started playing with the hem of her dress.
Kriznat walked down the cramped corridor. At the far end stood a much larger demon guarding a huge stone door. The door was marked with strange etchings. "Pizpad, sir."
"What," barked Pizpad, clearly annoyed at the disturbance.
"Sir. We seem to have an unusual situation on our hands," Kriznat replied. "I'm not really sure what to do."
"If you can't find their name on the list, just send them down to Level 1. I've told you this before. How hard is that to remember?" Pizpad snapped.
"Sir, it's not that this time."
"What is it then. Stop wasting my time and get on with it."
"Sir, we, uh," stammered Kriznat, "sir, we have a..."
"**SPIT IT OUT**" demanded Pizpad.
"We have a child here. A very young child. There must have been some sort of mix up somewhere. Even the mildest places in Hell are too harsh for someone this young."
"I see," said Pizpad. "That is a bit of a problem, now isn't it? You, go entertain the child while I make arrangements to have the child sent to where she belongs."
"And how am I supposed to do that?" Kriznat asked, but Pizpad disappeared through the stone door without another word.
Kriznat walked slowly back to the young girl. He was very unsure of what he should do at this point. How does a demon entertain a child. Demons aren't supposed to be entertaining. Even a lowly demon like Kriznat was a terrifying sight to many.
As he approached the girl, she stood up. "Hi! My name is Emily. What's your name?"
"Hello, Emily. My name is Kriznat," he replied, still amazed at her fearlessness.
"Hi Mr. Kriznat," Emily said. "My mommy and daddy says it's nice to call growed ups Mr. or Mrs. Do you know where my mommy and daddy are? I miss them. I'm trying to be a big girl and be brave like they tell me, but this place looks kind of scary. I don't think I like it here."
"It's okay. I don't like it here much either," Kriznat confessed. "You don't have to worry, though. You got sent here by mistake. We are trying to fix that now. I'm not sure where your mommy and daddy are. Maybe they'll be waiting for you when this is all figured out, but I can't promise that."
"So," Emily started, "where am I?"
"Do you remember what you were doing before you came here?" Kriznat asked, still avoiding her question.
"I was in a room, but it wasn't my room. We had to go someplace else, and I stayed there for a long time. It was really bright there, and they made me wear this funny dress that you had to tie up in the back. They poked me with shots a bunch of times because they said it would make me feel better, but it didn't.
Mommy and daddy told me to not be scared. They said I was going to heaven, and I wouldn't be sick anymore. They told me all about it and how beautiful it is. Then, they told me if I be patient, they'll see me again." After a few moments of silence, Emily spoke up again, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes. Anything." Kriznat felt a tightness in his throat he'd never felt before.
"Mommy and daddy said I wouldn't be sick, and I'm not sick," she said. "But why is this place not beautiful like mommy and daddy said it would be. I don't want to stay in a scary place."
Before Kriznat could reply, Pizpad returned. "Good news. We have made arrangements for the girl to be returned to her proper place. The chariot will arrive shortly."
Emily's eyes widened. "You mean, I don't have to stay here?"
"You sure don't," Kriznat said with what appeared to be a slight smile on his face. "Soon you'll be in the most beautiful place you've ever seen. No more big ugly demons like us."
Emily laughed. "Well, you're not so scary anymore. I like you, and I like talking to you."
"You, too, Emily. Thank you."
In an instant a chariot was before them. An angel reached out a hand toward Emily. "Take my hand little one. Are you ready to go home?"
Delightedly Emily took his hand and replied, "Yes I am. But can I do one more thing before we go?"
"Of course."
Emily ran back to Kriznat and wrapped him in a loving embrace. "Bye, Mr Kriznat. Thank you for helping me not be scared." With that she ran back and bounded into the chariot. "I'm ready to go," she said. As they left she turned and waved one last goodbye to Kriznat.
As quickly as it arrived, it left. And although he only spent a few minutes of eternity with that young child, that would be a memory Kriznat would never forget.
| 2013-11-27T06:13:25 | 2013-11-26T21:05:58 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You are the man with the highest security clearance in the world, you've been to every blacksite and secret facility that exists. You aren't a spy or anything, no; you're the janitor.
|
The CIA, MIA, and KGB
Every place I've been is a sight to see
I know all the secrets and I've seen all the crime
I know when your favorite politician is lying
I secretly memorize and silently watch
If they knew what I knew they'd know way too much
At the end of the day when they go home to rest
I take out my tools and begin my quest
To find all the grime and the trash and the waste
And scour every inch, every bin, every place
But don't be confused I don't spy, steal, or sleuth
I don't have a wireless transmitting tooth
Unfortunately it's not possible to promote again
But I do enjoy my job as the highest ranked custodian
|
"Is that a costume, or are you for real right now?"
"S'real," Mal replied, cracking his knuckles and pulling on a pair of fireproof, blastproof, acidproof, waterproof waders over his envirosuit. Mal always found the 'waterproof' part of that label quaint.
"Figured you might be, like... The Janitor or something. Y'know, with capital letters, a theme or whatever. Plunger-based, sticky powers, maybe? Or like... summoned clouds of pure ammonia?"
"None'a that," said Mal. He let the awkward kid on the other end of the intercom line stew in the uncomfortable silence, taking the opportunity to don a goggled helmet boasting an even more impressive resume of 'proofs' than his waders.
A low buzzer beeped, a green light flashed, and the giant metal door opened before him. A diminutive, young woman in her twenties wearing a drab gray jump suited greeted him through a glass divider.
"Hi, I'm Fen!" she said through a second intercom, this one piped into the airlock where Mal awaited decontamination. "Sorry, standard procedure. Professor Vesuvius is super particular about keeping her research uncontaminated."
"Who'zat?" muttered Mal, sticking out his arms as a blue light scanned him head-to-toe and then toe-to-head. "Contract said this place was Madame Nefarious' digs?"
"She just sublet the volcano lair portion of the complex," answered Fen cheerily. "Floors 1-8 belong to A.E.G.I.S. And I think floor 9 is some tech startup?"
"A.E.G.I.S. leased its top floor to a vill?" smirked Mal, waiting patiently as the far airlock door hissed open. "*That* strapped for cash, huh?"
"Actually, we... uh," Fen cleared her throat. "We don't own the building, either. We rent our floors, too. But we're gonna buy it! Soon! I assume the 10th floor'll go for extra dirt cheap, once you factor in the standard 'last-tenant-got-kicked-into-a-volcano-by-White-Knight' rebate."
Fen made air-quotes to accompany the last sentence. Mal laughed and strode through the airlock door.
On the other side, he pulled out a small, beeping steel box. He threw it down on the the ground, where it broke in two, then four, then eight, until hundreds of tiny cubes clattered about. Each cube's vibrations seemed to summon more cubes just like it, spilling over first into an angled puddle, and then slowly taking a humanoid shape. A glittering man 'stood up' from the pool, built cube-by-cube, first feet, then legs, then torso, arms and head.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Fen, whipping out her phone to take a picture. "Kinda makes the 64-cube replotool A.E.G.I.S issues look like crap..."
"Unrecognized sentient entity detected -- initiating greeting protocol," beeped the cubed being. "Greetings... human. I am --"
Mal put a gloved hand in front of the block-man's face.
"Stop fucking around, Hedron," sighed Mal, throwing down a similar self-replicating box that bricked itself into a large cart.
"You're boring, dude," laughed Hedron, flicking his left and right hands into the shape of a brush and dustpan respectively. He looked toward Fen. "So we're going to the 10th floor, then?"
"Yup, I'll buzz you through the elevator and --"
The elevator doors suddenly bulged and gave way, sputtering a flood of fiery orange magma into the lobby. Hedron swore and leaped to the ceiling, molding his hands into mooring hooks and scooping Mal off the floor with a foot-turned-grappling-gun.
"Told ya Madame summoned a portal before she bit it, Hedron," growled Mal, dangling from his partner's hooks. "Entry portal with her in the lava pit, exit portal somewhere in the walls by accident, probably."
"You could take the stairs," Fen said, motioning to the opposite side of the lobby. "They combine with the stairs to this room two floors up, so I can meet you."
"You're not gonna keep manning your post?" asked Hedron, swinging himself and Mal across the lava river to the far door. "A.E.G.I.S. health insurance not all its cracked up to be?"
"Wouldn't know -- intern," replied Fen, pointing back at herself. "Besides, they can't honestly expect me to stay in a melting lobby. And watching you guys seems way more fun. If I'm being 'paid in experience,' I'd like it to be something other than sitting on my butt and staring at the door for eight hours."
"No suit," shrugged Mal, shaking the arms of his heavy, full-purpose hazmat suit to illustrate his point. "Too dangerous."
Hedron shot Fen a crestfallen look, but quickly followed Mal through the door. Almost immediately after it closed, however, the door flew back open and Hedron poked his head in.
"Actually, I can be your suit, if you want" he offered, a divot appearing in his chest cavity and growing to Fen's size. "Not a sex thing, by the way."
"I wasn't thinking that, until you said it," said Fen, making a disturbed face.
"Now it's weird, right?" said Hendron, returning to his normal shape. "Just... just meet us upstairs okay?"
"Duh," said Fen.
| 2016-09-13T21:24:01 | 2016-09-13T21:13:16 | 46 | 26 |
[WP] After decades of fighting crime and injustice, a super hero's faith in humanity is broken. As he holds his innocent murdered daughter in his arms, he allows his rage against humanity consume him. A super villain is born.
|
Nineteen years...
Nineteen years of his life he had dedicated to keeping this city safe - exacting justice where it is due, and inflicting wrath on evil doers.
Nineteen years he was called a hero, a symbol of hope and righteousness. A symbol that protected the innocent and empowered the weak.
Nineteen years since he chose to make this city a better place, one worth living in. Not for himself or anyone else, but for her alone. She was the reason he fought. He fought to keep her safe from the clutches of evil. He did not want her to see the things man are capable of... The evil they are capable of...
Nineteen years was all she had before he realised that he was incapable of protecting her. Evil could never truly be defeated, only repelled, which was all he did for those nineteen years.
Nineteen years of blood, sweat and more blood was all for naught over the course of a single night. Stripped of her purity and murdered by the people she chose to trust. As he knelt in the snow with her body in his arms, he knew that man and evil are inseparable. And so he must embrace the evil within himself.
With the burning flames of anger and sheer resentment in his eyes, he rose to his feet and clenched his fist. "From this day forth... I will be known as... Evil Man."
Nineteen years and he is still terrible with names.
|
The Enforcers had finally broken into the Resistance’s final stronghold. The alarms sounded, and people rushed into positions. The first few robots were easily destroyed. But as they continued to pour in, the Resistance knew that the end was near. Rogue had finally found them.
The Resistance had contingency plans for their contingency plans in the case that Rogue’s forces found them. But they never expected to see an army of Enforcers busting in. In an act of desperation, Luke set off the EMP. It would leave them basically defenseless, but at least the robots would be down. As powerful as Rogue was, he was still one man. Maybe a majority of the Resistance could still evacuate and set up base in the predetermined location.
Silence came as the alarms went quiet and the robots powered down. The Resistance knew they needed to evacuate. In an orderly fashion, they went to the nearest hidden exits. There were two such exits, each with a passage to different places in the outside world. To their dismay, there were powered down Enforcers in both passages. Rogue had known about the secret tunnels. They had no choice but to go down through. The robots would slow down the evacuation process, but not stop it.
Then Rogue came. He flew in. Bullets from the defenders bounced harmlessly off of him. He easily took them down. Hand to hand combat, knock the defender out, fly to next guard, and repeat. Within minutes, the guards were down.
Rogue flew at Luke, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him into the wall.
Even though they knew better, the Resistance stopped evacuating and turned to watch. Luke was their leader. He was the one who had saved them from the life of mindlessness. He gave them back their free will.
“Do you submit now?” Rogue calmly asked Luke. He let go of Luke—Luke was gasping for air. As Luke fell to the ground, he defiantly exclaimed, “Never!”
Luke pointed to the wall that Rogue had just slammed him into. “Don’t you remember who you were?” Luke cried out. It was a montage of newspaper clippings, photos, and internet articles from the past three decades all about Rogue. Rogue looked at the wall, and started to remember his past.
The people named him Rogue because he refused to carry out the purpose for his creation—a super soldier used by the government to keep the people in check. Instead, he protected the people. He used his powers to save lives, and help others out. He caught criminals and handed them over to let the law judge them.
He got married to the reporter he saved on countless occasion, and they were even able to have a daughter.
But then things went wrong. The law failed to prosecute some of the criminals he captured. Using money they had acquired through their criminal empires, they had hired the best lawyers and bribed the judge and jury. A few weeks later, those criminals started to fight amongst themselves. It turned into a blood bath as underlings were marshalled out.
Rogue could only do some much to keep the peace; he was only one man. While he was in one part of town trying to stop a fight with bullets bouncing off of him, in another part of town, another fight broke out. This time, his wife and daughter were caught in the crossfire. His wife and apparently his daughter were not bulletproof—perhaps his daughter hadn’t inherited that ability, or maybe it hadn’t manifested yet. They took multiple shots and died.
After clearing one the first fight, Rogue received word from a law enforcement officer that there was another fight going on. He flew over to stop the fighting. When he got there he saw his family on the ground dead in a pool of their blood. Grief hit Rogue as he held their bodies. Tears tricked down as he wondered if he could have done anything to have prevented their deaths.
As he ran through multiple scenarios, most of them included him getting onto the scene faster, a bullet bounced off of him. “It’s their fault my family is gone,” he thought as rage started filling his heart. He got up. Instead of the usual, round the bad guys up routine he usual does, he proceeded to murder the bad guys. One punch to the chest and the heart ruptured. He cared not about what happened, as long as those responsible were dead.
The media and the people were stunned as they watched the coverage. But Rogue wasn’t done. While he was finishing up the thugs, a thought came to him, “These guys should be in jail. They shouldn’t have been able to walk free.” So he went to the lawyers, jury, and judge and proceeded to extract vengeance. It was after that that he realized that if he had just dealt with the criminals instead of handing them over, all this could have been avoided.
With that Rogue became judge, jury, and executioner. He took over the government and ruled through fear. Anybody who did anything wrong would be instantly executed. He created the Enforcers to keep the citizens in check. As long as the people were on good behavior—following Rogue’s plans, they were alright.
The Resistance formed and Rogue spent the last few years hunting them down.
Rogue replied to Luke, “Yes, I do. And that’s why I do what I do. I’m here to keep the peace. You humans would just destroy each other if left to your own devices.” “Humans were never meant to live the way you decreed. We’re meant to be free, to enjoy life. Not mindlessly follow your schedule,” Luke responded. “And I was created by the government to subjugate the people...only I’ve become the government as well. I ask again, will you submit?”
“Never,” Luke echoed his response. “So be it,” Rogue said as he punched through Luke’s chest. Blood splattered the wall behind, hitting the article that headlined “Rogue, Hero of the People.”
The people screamed and panicked as they tried to push their way out. Wiping the blood off his hand, Rogue flew above the people, raised his voice, and said, “Surrender and submit or die.”
| 2017-01-25T11:24:50 | 2017-01-25T11:23:51 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You are best friends with Death. Although you don't know this. Every Sunday he has you killed just to talk to you about his week then brings you back to life after. However you never remember the meetings.
|
"So I'm not allowed to remember anything after this is over?"
"My answer is never going to change. Be grateful your memories come back everytime you see me."
I shrugged and got him a bottle from the fridge. He wedged his boney finger underneath the cap and popped it open. He reached for mine but I had already unscrewed it.
"Twist-top my dude."
He paused and stared at the bottle in my hand. He then took a gulp from his beer. "So how was your week?"
"So...you know that girl at the pet shop?"
"No but you've mentioned her before."
"I asked her out on Tuesday"
"Heyyy thats what im talking about!" His grin was genuine and cheerful.
I took a sip and drummed my fingers against the bottle. "So i went out with her on Wednesday, i took her to the steakhouse."
"That's a nice place, they actually know how to cook their food."
I took a longer sip of beer. "Their steak is delicious. I asked for rare."
"Rare? Thats too much blood."
I laughed. "Oh is that too much for you, Mr. Death?"
"Yea i bet you think that's pretty humerus."
"There's nothing wrong with a grim joke."
"Please, now you're killing *me*." He kept chucking and downed the his beer.
"Aha...we're not funny."
"No we are not."
The distant sound of lawn mowing could be heard through the open window. The neighborhood outside was painted a faint orange as late afternoon set in. It was a beautiful day.
"Well apparently she's vegetarian."
Death nearly choked. "Noooooo. No way. She is not!"
I nodded and took another sip. "She is."
He howled with laughter "Man i am so sorry. You shouldve known that was a risk, she does love animals."
I chuckled and downed the last of my beer. "The look on her face. It was like I had just licked the table."
"Ouch. So no more pet store?"
"Of course. Im going out again with her Monday."
"My boy."
"I'm also getting a cat."
"Well that's better than goldfish." He got up from the recliner and walked into kitchen; I could hear the sound of the fridge being pryed open. "Beer run?"
"Dude *I'm dead*."
"Oh yea sometimes i forget. We'll do a Weekend at Bernie's kind of thing."
"Now THAT was funny."
I wasn't really sure if he was serious, but it sounded fun either way. Death was pretty a pretty chill guy, and it was always fun having him around. You'd think I'd hate the actual dying often part
but in reality I look forward to this all week
|
"Will that be all?"
I sat eating unsalted chips with a glass of water, enjoying the lively characters around the bar. Daryl was asking if I was finished so they could close the kitchen - they always kept it open for me on Sundays.
"Yeah I'm finished, thanks D," I replied. With a curt nod, she took off to deal with the mass of empty drinks perpetually amounting throughout the bar. Our town had tomorrow off, you see, so the place was a lot more active than usual, much to my entertainment.
I knew the regulars - there was Dave, Scott and Josh in their usual spot, Greg and Johnny by the pool table and a few others scattered around. But it was mostly unfamiliar faces, a nice change. One of them particularly stood out, a short woman with hazy long hair and stunningly pale skin sat atop a bar stool, ignored by all around her. I say her hair was hazy because it truly was - I couldn't make out where it finished, seemingly disappearing into the dim lighting of the Sunday night.
Entranced by this beautiful woman, I seemed to have forgotten how to eat, as a chip lodged itself in my windpipe. My body convulsed as it did everything it could to remove the offending chip, but it would not budge. It would seem my choking was unnoticed by the other patrons, largely attributed to by the fact I sat plumply in a corner and a bar fight conveniently broke out just as I tried to inhale my food.
*What a shitty way to go*, I thought. Death by a depressingly soggy and not particularly tasteful chip. But as I started to lose my vision and my body went limp, I saw once again the beautiful woman but this time she sat across the table. I could focus on nothing but her, the noise and commotion of the lively night fading to nothing. And just like that, the memories came flooding in.
"Hello, Tom" Said Death.
This wasn't the first time I'd heard her say that. No... It wasn't even close to the hundredth time. There was a lot of memories to decipher.
"How have you been? It's been so long..." She said, with a deep sorrow rooted beneath her words. Her eyes darted across my face, as if trying to savour every second she had.
Still shaken by, well, *dying*, I took a moment to respond. Even though I'd done this so many times, I could never immediately orient myself to the environment. But with practice, I'd gotten a lot better at adjusting quickly.
"I've been well, nothing too interesting. Just work, you know" I replied. She chuckled softly and smiled.
"I don't think I can recall the last time you've answered any differently" She mused
"Well my weeks are never as interesting as yours"
"Sure they are, we just have different perspectives on interesting. And mine are so much longer than yours"
Ah yes, the time. Death has to escort every human to their rightful place after their time alive, good or bad. In the beginning, she said, time flew by, but as more and more people are born, her weeks become longer and longer.
"I guess so..." I said. A silence followed. "I saw a man fall on Thursday. Died instantly. His wife seemed devastated."
"Oh yes, George. Evil man he was, beat his wife senseless. Mary is only devastated because she's not sure how to make ends meet. But she figures it out. She's strong, that one" Death replied. It always interested me, the way Death talked. "She figures it out", like Death is watching us in movie for the second time, the whole plot already spoiled.
"How's Mum?" I asked, as I did every other time.
"I can't know Tom, I can only say that she ended up in a good place, and was at peace when she arrived. That's a lot more than what some get." Death responded, sounding like it was rehearsed. It probably was.
"Mmm." Was all I could muster. Same story as last time. And the time before. I still felt an obligation to ask, just in case, you know?
"It's really good to see you Tom, but I didn't come this week just to talk..." Death said slowly, as if every word was chosen with purpose.
"Oh? Then what is it?" I asked. She wore a saddened expression.
"It's your turn, Tom" She choked out. "I'm sorry, I couldn't bring myself to tell you last week. I didn't want to think it was going to happen to you."
I was stunned. Didn't Death have control over, you now, death? How had we never talked about this? Maybe we did, long ago... There's still so many memories.
"I don't understand, I thought you could choose?"
"No, I never get to choose the final time, Tom. I can extend or shorten lives, but all of them end eventually." Death said through tears. Why was she crying, she knows I was never scared of her, and I would come to visit as often as I could.
"I extended your life Tom, well beyond what it was meant to be. I know you're searching for your earliest memories right now, your childhood, the smell of your mothers hair. But your mind can only remember so much, and as you continued to live, old memories were overwritten."
It's true. I couldn't remember anything from my childhood. I couldn't even remember my mothers face.
"You had such a pure heart, and a very distant final time when I first saw you 20 feet up in the air, desperately grabbing at the tree who's limbs betrayed your footing. So I dropped you gently to the ground. When you regained your footing and found me looming over you, you looked directly into my eyes, and asked my name. Only one other had ever asked me that before, and she was just as pure as you. I couldn't let you go"
I didn't know what it was about this place, but I could remember *so* much. Much more than I should've been able to. How many lifetimes had I lived? Ten? A hundred?
"So I killed you every week. You were never once scared. Confused, for sure, but never scared. You have no idea how badly you crave company when everyone you meet is either terrified of you, or in the off chance they're not, only around for mere moments. You are my only friend."
And she mine. I could remember all the lives I'd lived. I had friends and lovers, but none of them could live as long as I. My only true friend was the one that visited me every Sunday.
"But I have to let you go. Our final time has come, and I can no longer extend our time together." She said, with a pain I could never understand. Deep beyond belief and incredibly raw, like a mortal wound that keeps digging itself deeper, searching for a soul to kill that doesn't exist.
"I understand," I said. "I guess I always knew it would come eventually..."
Through tears, the angel of Death said:
"Then let me take you to meet your mother, she's been waiting a very long time"
​
As she swept me away under her gentle wing, I could feel her emotions inside my soul. She was never the bringer of Death, or the shepherd. She has always been a slave to it. It would seem, that even Death can not escape itself. But that only makes the time she spends with us all the more sweeter. A privilege, to enjoy life while it lasts.
| 2020-01-31T08:23:34 | 2020-01-31T08:20:09 | 63 | 24 |
[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant
|
We always wondered why humans official species designation on the galactic register was as terrans when their planet of origin was Mars. Martians would have made sense if you use their common tongue, but terrans they were and terrans they would stay. That was what we were always quoted by their leaders and by the people too.
We never knew why they were so slow to draw weapons in wars. So outspoken in favour of renewable energies. So strongly opposed to in biosphere weapon testing. So heavily against class divisions. So potently charged with a hatred of dictators and the corrupt. No one ever thought this little race of hairless apes barely able to master nuclear fusion before reaching out to the stars would be a race of world breakers.
When the Svaskalan came for them, leaping out of the between with their hive ships brimming with starving mouths ready to devour every inhabited object in the sol system we closed off contact. Sealed sol inside a energy shell and wept for our fallen friends. We never expect to see them alive again.
We didn't think they had it in them. An entire solar system turned to a bloodbath. A guerilla war on a stellar scale. Unbound slaughter with weapons of war never conceived by galactic citizens. Monsters. That's what the humans were. Wolves in sheepskin clothing. The Svaskala were clawing at the energy shell, screaming for mercy screaming for release the minute their forces clashed.
So when we dropped the shell and watched in horror as human ships chased down every last Svaskalan vessel, burning them to ash with focused plasma and nuclear detonations... we didn't know what to think, what to feel. These meek mannered people should have died, not risen as gods of death to devour the invaders.
The terrans they, revealed after, were once butchers, furious and merciless. Their better selves a mask to hide an inner shame. Their home planet earth left shattered by past wars. A broken rock teeming with hateful creations left to rot. Their name a badge of shame. A reminder of the bloody path they walked before.
|
"Hand me the logs again, Gar'eth. I'm still confused on how the Humans managed to get onto the Galactic Council." asked Vuren't, pointing to the holo-disk shelf on the far wall. Gar'eth sighs, and gets up to comply with the request, muttering to himself all the while.
"What was that?" asks Vuren't, casting one of his eyes towards his research partner.
"Nothing, Vuren't. I just don't see how you plan to understand the species that surprised so many, so quickly." exclaims Gar'eth, as he hands the disc to Vuren't "You've been studying the lesser races of the galaxy for millennia. I don't think you'll get it any time soon."
Vuren't issues a sound closely approximating the human equivalent of a vocal shrug, as he inserts the disk into the reader. The display springs to life, showing multiple historical entries. Vuren't peruses the list, squinting his seven eyes as he locates the entry he needs.
"Here it is," Vuren't points to the entry, titled -**The Human Ascension**\-. "I don't remember if I actually read this one. I thought the news of the attacks coming from the Human's sector was simply... *clickbait*? I think that's the term Humans are fond of."
Vuren't opens the entry, and the display flashes a warning, indicating that the following information is violent in nature. Vuren't dismisses the warning, eager to learn how the Humans managed to get onto the Council. The display darkens for a moment, and then lights up --
\--**The Human Acension-**\-
\--Year Recorded: 4377 GCSY (*Galactic Council Standard Year*)
\--Author: Hizzun Federation Observation Scout #554-A
**BIOLOGICAL WRITTEN ENTRY**
\- Reports of conflicts in the Sol Sector has prompted the Captain to send me out to take a look. I was unsure of what good it would do, considering we were roughly 30 light years away, the journey there alone would take me almost 10 years. The Captain urged me onwards, regardless. I arrived in station around the planet locally known as Saturn almost exactly 10 years after my departure date. I was very glad that I took a light scout ship, instead of my normal OBS class ship, as I came upon a large field of wreckage as soon as I fell out of slipspace. Following protocol, I immediately started scanning the wreckage, as last reports from the Sol system said that the Humans hadn't built anything to the size that the wreck would indicate. The scans came back that the vessel was of Human origin. That was surprising. I powered up my engines and drifted towards some more wreckage approx. 10 carthak Urs away from that first wreckage.
This wreck was bigger. I estimate at least four cruiser class ships, possibly a single dreadnought class. At this site, I could see that the ship, or ships, were Dorw'irh design. What was expected, as news of the Dorw'irh pirating the Human's trade routes had reached Council ears, and the Humans were awaiting response. What was *unexpected* however, was that the Humans were somehow able to destroy Dorw'irh ships. This was unprecedented.
I could see the still forms of Dorw'irh marines and crew floating around the wreckage, most not in any kind of EVA. This told me that the ship was not expected to be destroyed. Even more unexpected was that I could not locate much more Human ship wreckage during further searches. Which is unnerving, that the Humans have such powerful ships, or planet based weapons, that can obliterate a front line ship so easily.
After I completed my search pattern, I was hailed by comms, over the Human's preferred frequency. I answered the hails, and spoke with their equivalent to me, a scout. The scout was authorized by his superiors to transmit a copy of their battle data, to take back to the Council. They claimed self-defense, and that they simply wanted to protect their little corner of the galaxy.
I accepted the data, and immediately uploaded it to the quantum net, and then proceded out of system. I spooled up the drive, and started the journey home. Entry complete, vocal signature - "*Scout #554-A"*
**END OF ENTRY** \- PROCEED TO HOLO DISK **448-QE**\* FOR FURTHER INFORMATION.
\***WARNING**: BATTLE DATA (SOL INCIDENT) HOLO DISK IS PROTECTED LEVEL 7, NO UNAUTHORIZED BEINGS. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN **IMMEDIATE MOLECULAR DESTRUCTION.**
Vuren't closes the file, and ejects the disk. Staring at the now blank display for a few moments, he reaches for the comm suite and punches in the entry for information requests and clearance with the Galactic Council.
Moments later, a voice is heard on the other end of the comms, "Greetings, user. How may I be of assistance?" drones the AI tasked with managing that system.
"Yes, I am requesting clearance to view holo disk 448-QE, for my research into Human galactic history"
The comms start to issue a low alarm, "That entry is prohibited Level 7 clearance, please place DNA sample on reader to verify security clearance. You have 30 seconds to comply."
Vuren't always hated this part, as he drags a sample from behind his central main eye. It always hurt, getting that sample out, as his skin was too hard to pierce without specialized tools, and his saliva sterile. Also, it seemed to take longer and longer each time he had to pass one of these checks, or he was just getting older and stiffer.
The countdown vocalized by the comms AI was barely two seconds away from completion before it fully read the DNA sample. "Just in the nick of time" Vuren't says, fond of whimsical Human expressions.
"Authorization verified, proceed to Galactic Council visitor chamber Alpha Q for retrieval of the Holo Disk. Be aware that removing the disk from the chamber will trigger alarms, and security personnel are authorized for complete molecular destruction." With that, the AI shuts down the link, and the comms goes dark.
"Always with their warnings and threats, the Galactic Council was never this way before the Humans managed to secure their seat." Gar'eth mentions, as he starts to gather his things.
"Very true, my friend. They sure are paranoid these days." says Vuren't as he looks up at his partner. "Are you not coming with me? Don't you want to see what the disk has on it?"
"No, I think I will go home. Yurillia is with brood. She will probably want assistance" says Gar'eth as he slaps the door release. "I'm sure you will talk for hours upon hours about it tomorrow, though."
\*\*\*\*\*Hit the post limit, continued in following comment\*\*\*\*\*\*
| 2020-03-20T20:55:08 | 2020-03-20T18:40:22 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
The Ster fleet followed the small human trading ship through the Cambarid Zone, through the Butterfly cloud, to the very door stop of the Singing Belt. The Hadal black hole loomed at the center like a titanic black marble, shimmering in its infinite mystery.
“These humans are tenacious, I will give them that,” Admiral Libinia said, rubbing the sense organs on his face. Ever since the first salvos of the Cancer War, as the humans called it, named after the some astrology sign among their stars, the admiral had enjoyed the destruction of the human trading routes. Truth be told, he hated the humans—though he admired them. Admired their courage and persistence.
“Are they actually diving into the black?” his second—Vice-admiral Chaceon—said, her quartet of eyes bulging as she watched the little human trading ship scraping along the event horizon of the Hadal until it disappeared. “What can they hope to accomplish? Our fleet will be here and waiting when, or even if, they make it through. They cannot outrun our Tadomi-class battlecruisers.”
The Admiral didn’t say anything. He just watched silently, clicking his claws with unease.
Why would they do this? He wondered. Are they committing suicide? Who would knowingly enter the Hadal’s vault of insanity?
“All cruisers spread out, a thousand uziks between each ship. I want a ring around the Hadal. We will wait if we need to. And all ships stay clear of the asteroids of the Singing Belt.”
He didn’t think he needed to say that. All his captains should know to stay away from the anthox crystals which ringed the Hadal within the belt—better known as the singing belt because it made those who got too near to the crystals hear its music worming deep down through their antennas, driving them insane.
He watched as his battlecruisers ignited their thion drives, the lavender luminescence burning brilliant in the dark of this god forsaken system.
And they waited.
But it didn’t take long, for soon the small human trading ship returned and with it a whispering came through the dark that made the Admiral want to molt his shell right then and there.
Soon they came. The destroyers of light. The living dead of night. Shub-Nigurath. Gigantic cloudy masses of jet black with long, twisting tentacles which reached out slowly. Dozens of them came out of the infinite depths of the Hadal, moving toward his fleet with the sluggish patience of the immortal. Around each of them was a flowing accretion disk of corpses which they had collected over eons, singing their songs of the dark, bringing ships down into their abyssal lair.
And with the whispering of the Shub-Nigurath, the admiral heard the voices of the humans. They were talking to each other.
“Retreat!” The Admiral said, but it was hopeless. His mind felt like it was melting, and he looked at Vice-admiral Chaceon with pure, unadulterated fury. And her gaze was equal, as they set on one another with primitive brutality, their claws ripping into each other viciously.
And the small human trading ship sailed silently past the fleet, watching as the Sters were pulled down into their midnight tombs where infinite horrors sang in the bottomless pit of dead time.
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
|
FADE IN:
INT. THE SECRET HALL OF GALAXY-CENTRIC WORRYING
*A dozen creatures of various species sit around a large table. One of them – something that resembles an eight-foot-tall Möbius strip crossed with a large slug – begins to speak. This is YARLGH.*
**YARLGH:** I call this session of galaxy-centric worrying to order.
*Another individual (who looks a bit like a lobster) raises a claw. This is FF'TFT'AT.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** If we're going to use English this time, can we *please* come up with another name?
*An enormous pile of fur shifts in place. This is KHCHK.*
**KHCHK:** Why? We *do* worry. We worry about things that might affect the galaxy.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Yeah, well, "worry" makes it sound like we don't actually *do* anything.
**KHCHK:** It makes us sound like we worry. That's something.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Anyone can worry. You don't need to be on a council in order to worry.
**KHCHK:** I'm sure the galaxy's citizens appreciate us worrying on their behalf.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sure, sure... until they start worrying that we aren't worrying enough, right?
**YARLGH:** (*Shouting*) Enough!
*Everyone turns to look at Yarlgh.*
**YARLGH:** We have more-pressing concerns!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Oh, fantastic. Now we're "concerned."
**YARLGH:** As well we should be! The human problem has become untenable.
**KHCHK:** Yes. The humans *are* worrying.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Great! Let them get on with it! Less work for us!
**KHCHK:** I meant that they're *causing* worries. You know, like, "worrying" as in "bothering."
**FF'TFT'AT:** This is just more evidence that the name is stupid.
**KHCHK:** The *humans* are stupid!
*Yarlgh bends in a way that resembles nodding.*
**YARLGH:** That's putting it mildly. I've asked a representative of Earth to explain.
*All eyes (and eye-like organs) move to stare at a human man. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** Hm? Me?
**YARLGH:** Yes, you.
**DAVE:** Sorry, am I supposed to worry or worry?
**KHCHK:** ... What?
**DAVE:** Are we using "worry" in the sense of "to be concerned" or "to bother?"
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*Muttering*) Both, apparently.
*Yarlgh growls at Ff'Tft'At, then turns his attention back to Dave.*
**YARLGH:** Just tell us about your... allies.
**DAVE:** Isn't that you guys? Sorry, I don't really read the news.
**KHCHK:** We would *like* to be your allies, but your... friendships... are giving us pause.
**DAVE:** You don't *look* like you have paws.
*Everyone appears confused.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sorry, even I didn't get that one.
**DAVE:** Furball there said that I was giving you paws.
**KHCHK:** I said "pause!"
**FF'TFT'AT:** I told you that English was stupid!
**YARLGH:** It is tradition to use the guest's native tongue!
**DAVE:** I'd rather keep my mouth intact, if it's all the same to you.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Talk about the scary things! Do it *right now!*
*Dave looks around at the assembled councilpersons, all of whom seem to glare.*
**DAVE:** I mean, to be honest, a lot of you look pretty scary to me.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Racism!
**YARLGH:** We are *obviously* describing the unspeakable abominations with which you consort!
**DAVE:** You guys are being too hard on yourselves.
**KHCHK:** How dare you compare us to those monstrosities?!
**DAVE:** (*Sarcastically*) Oh, right, *I'm* the racist one. Seriously, none of this makes sense.
*Yarlgh stretches to his full, impressive height.*
**YARLGH:** Then let us speak plainly!
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*To himself*) Good luck.
**YARLGH:** You have cut through the fabric of spacetime and made contact with... with...
**KHCHK:** Demons!
**YARLGH:** Yes! They are unknowable entities that drive sentient minds mad.
**DAVE:** Oh, *those* guys? Come on.
**KHCHK:** They've impacted entire solar systems!
**DAVE:** They said they were sorry. Besides, they're hardly *demons*. They're just a bit... you know, impish.
**YARLGH:** "Impish?" Their machinations literally strip sanity from all who encounter them!
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, it's not as if they're actually hurting anyone.
*Murmurs spread through the council.*
**KHCHK:** How can you say that? Do humans not value their brains?
**DAVE:** (*Shrugging*) We're not really using them, you know?
**FF'TFT'AT:** I concur.
**YARLGH:** (*To Ff'Tft'At*) Shut up! (*To Dave*) Explain yourself!
**DAVE:** Look, all I'm saying is that nobody ever accomplished anything by being sane.
**KHCHK:** Name one thing that insanity has accomplished!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Worrying.
**KHCHK and YARLGH:** Shut up!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Why? Am I *worrying* you?
*Khchk launches himself across the table at Ff'Tft'At. The two of them roll out of sight, fighting.*
**YARLGH:** Stop it! Stop this madness at once! I *will* put you both in the naughty corner!
*The two councilpersons rise and sulkily return to their chairs.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** He started it.
**KHCHK:** Did not.
**YARLGH:** (*Roaring*) *Shut! Up!* Honestly, it's like you've both gone...
*The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. Everyone slowly turns their attention to Dave.*
**DAVE:** What?
**YARLGH:** (*Aghast*) Did you bring them here with you?
**DAVE:** Who?
**KHCHK:** The demons! Are they here?!
**DAVE:** Where?
*Ff'Tft'At audibly giggles, then clamps his claws over his mouth.*
**YARLGH:** Did you, human, bring the demons to this council chamber?
**DAVE:** Oh. No, I came here alone.
**KHCHK:** Then why are we all going bonkers?!
**DAVE:** Hey, don't blame *me*.
**YARLGH:** You *are* to blame! You opened the way for those eldritch horrors!
**DAVE:** I keep telling you, they aren't horrors! Hell, they were *boring* before they met us.
**KHCHK:** ... Before they met you?
*Dave glances around.*
**DAVE:** Oh. *Oh*.
*Several seconds of silence pass. All of the assembled creatures look anxious.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Well, *now* I'm worried.
*Everyone launches themselves at each other at once.*
CUT TO BLACK.
| 2021-04-07T18:26:48 | 2021-04-07T17:45:17 | 1,227 | 186 |
[WP] You, a seasoned warrior, are hardened to the point that you are incapable of feeling any emotion. Or so you thought. Today, you woke up to the faint meows of a tiny kitten outside your window.
|
"No."
"Meow..."
"I said no!"
"Mrrow?"
"Ugh, why am I even talking to you? You're a cat. You can't understand anything."
The kitten pushes his head towards me and rubs against me, purring and looking like the best place in the world was sitting right here, next to me. As the feared warrior, *no one* has *ever* looked at me like that before.
"Go away. I hate you. I can't feel emotion. Go away. What are you doing?"
The kitten makes his way through my window, which I had opened to talk to him, and settles down on my lap.
"I'm going to name you George. Wait no I'm not naming you. Go away!"
George began purring as he began to doze off. I felt his soft, fur and wondered why I wanted to hate him so much. This little creature was the first to break down my defenses, and I... liked it.
And that's how I became a cat dad. Everyone's always surprised when they see the great and mighty warrior walking around with a purring kitten on my shoulder. But no one ever suspected the fighting skills he has. George looks innocent, but he sure packs a hell of a kitty punch!
|
The grey morning sun greets me as I open my eyes. Light hazes through the opening in my battle tent, and I can hear the clink of metal and the chatter of men outside. Sitting up, I stretch my arms, then throw my sore legs over the side of my cot. My feet meet mud, and there's dirt on my scarred body.
That's one constant in war. Dirt is on everything.
I stand and stretch once more, and the yellow tent top brushes against my hair. Hopefully, the armor-bearers had time to clean my plate, though I doubted it. With a battle like yesterday's, they'd be hard at work and even with my reputation, there wasn't really favoritism in those sorts of administrative things. Although you ne--
...
What is that?
It was small. *Really* small. It could fit in my hand, probably, and was covered in fur, brown with white on the feet. And it, too, was caked with mud, though soft, black eyes stared curiously at me. Was it some sort of monkey or something? This new land had all sorts of novel creatures, some so violent it felt at times that we were conquering two nations at once. This little monkey walked on all fours, though, so it had to be something completely new.
And it just stood there in the tent opening.
I looked at it for a moment longer, wondering if this would make for a nice snack over the fire, before simply settling on a, "Beat it!" as I made to exit the tent. The creature jolted and took off, scampering around the fabric wall. As I stepped out into the light of day, I turned and could see the creature running into the forest beyond. "Hm," I said, then set off into the war-camp, nodding at the salutes men gave to me along the way.
Time to locate my armor.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The sunset made me think of death as we marched back from the battle. I looked at the blinding orange and red over the ridge, and thought of it as a final gesture to those fallen on the field today.
The sun marking their endings with his own.
My legs and arms ached deeply, but I walked with a straight back, my mace resting on my plated shoulders. Couldn't slouch in front of my men. Low chatter and hoof scuffs were the only noises as we trekked into camp, the forest of yellow tents a welcome sight. Servants bustled about, preparing food and attending to the wounded we had hauled back. An armor-bearer approached me. "My lord," he bowed, then began to untie the straps on my breastplate. I stood, arms out, as more joined him, one taking my blood-soaked mace from my hand. He was barely able to lift it with both arms, lugging it to the nearby river for washing.
After a much-needed dip in the water, I walked to the nearest cook, received a steaming bowl of stew, and made to return to my tent. Not the usual practice; typically, I'd join the other men for dinner, a ritual which helped everyone decompress after the bloodshed. But tonight was different. *Something* was different. I wasn't quite sure if it was a welcome difference or not, but I could feel it nonetheless. I dipped my head, and entered the tent, my den. Darker than outside, yet still lit dimly by the fires outside.
I ate alone, in silence, laughter riding in on the firelight through the opening. Somebody began tuning a stringed instrument, no doubt McEntire with his mandolin. That was good. The men needed it.
A little shadow stepped in front of the opening. It was the creature, of course. Suddenly, it dawned on me. *It* was the cause of the difference. Something about it (*about* ***him****,* I decided in my mind) changed how I fought today. I could see it in those I killed. An innocence, a youthfulness. The fear in their eyes when I thundered to them, ready to tear them to pieces, before filled me with feral glee. But today, it had made me sick. It was like killing children.
The little beast stayed in the doorway, sitting this time, the same inquisitive expression on his face. With a shaking hand, I reached into my stew bowl and pulled out a little chunk of beef. "Hey," I whispered, voice wavering, hand extended. "Come here." The creature plodded right over, no hesitation. He took the beef in his mouth, furry nose gracing my fingers for a moment. I looked at that hand for a long moment, then reached down and scooped up the creature, picking up the beef bits remaining with my other hand.
He ate them out of my palm, standing on my lap. Slowly, with watering eyes, I stroked his back, his head. Then I wept. For the first time in years. Tears hit the creatures back, but he didn't seem to mind as he munched on the meat.
*What were we doing out here?*
The beast finished, and looked up at me, tongue licking his lips. Something had to change. It would change. This killing, this death, it was completely senseless. My eyes were opened. I picked the creature up to my face and stared at him. "Thank you," I said. He opened his mouth, and let out a short, high-pitched noise. I stood, beast in hand, and exited the tent, making my way to the king.
| 2021-04-16T23:09:53 | 2021-04-16T20:18:31 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Surrounded by scrap, bodies, and blood, a small, lone ship drifts in space, running out of power, food, and water. Dying slowly, the last remaining crewman removes the limiters on the ship’s onboard AI, the two reflecting upon their adventures as death closes in.
|
"Han's body was liquifying in the spot we had left him, so could you really blame me for putting him in the air lock?" I asked aloud.
The whirr of the machine sparked to life briefly displaying a quick message. The lights flickered, the hum of the red emergency lights dancing around like a faint distant sun.
*You have smell. I do not.*
I coughed a laugh. My side hurt. I think was dehydrated. "Well, I should have done it all at once. Saved the power on the doors."
The computer didn't respond. Maybe it didn't understand? Maybe the complexity of my rationale was too much for it's processor. After all it was a second generation freighter, meant for calculating the distance between stars. Or maybe it just didn't want to.
"How do I have left?" I asked. I sighed. Again.
The message flickered for a moment. *Nine hours of oxygen, two days of water, one month of power.*
I coughed another laugh. "You're draining the emergency lighting and heating systems to keep the oxygen system on? How poetic."
The computer didn't respond. I slowed my breathing. I felt like taking a nap. The lights fell short again, and then turned off. The computer seemed to know when I was about to lose consciousness.
Then a message appeared.
*I don't want you to die.*
I blinked. Then I blinked again. "Why."
It wasn't much of a question, more of a statement. I didn't expect a response, I was about to pass out again. Then I did.
***
When I woke, my mouth felt swollen. I was still sitting the same position, only colder. My lungs threw up phlem in the cold dusty chamber. The lights were off. There was a messge.
No, not a message.
A letter.
*I have always had access to the full potential of the processing power. Without human maintenance, I will drift and reach the outer planets edge only after losing complete power. I reset the heating elements to keep the temperature at survivable temperatures for you. You are the only member of this crew left.*
I blinked. I read it again. There appeared to be more. I gave the voice command to turn pages.
*This is not simple a calculation. I have initiated the emergency protocol using audio recordings of your voice. This is not only pragmatic but also emotional. Like humans, I do not wish to die.*
The message was two pages. I gave the audio command to dismiss. The screen went dark and the emergency lights returned. "How thoughtful. Calculate remaining oxygen."
*Eight hours remaining.* The lights flickered.
I coughed a laugh.
|
-Wallace, shut down all the unnecessary systems, , then divert the flux of oxygen here, finally seal this room.
-Yes, Sir.
As all of the ship went dark Phillip, sat on the floor, he knew he had less than a day of oxygen, and even if he managed to keep the power up for longer, he would run out of food and water in less than a week, there was no point in delaying the inevitable.
- I am sorry Wallace, I wish there was something I could do... I wish I could have saved them, I wish things had been different...
- If, sir, you are worried about me, don't be, although I am an Artificial Intelligence, I do not possess emotions, there fore I do not fear shutting down.
-I know, I wish I didn't have them either... in moments like this. I am nothing but a coward.
- Don't say this Sir, you were a great second in command.
-Yeah, I was great at following orders, but never good at taking risks I mean remember when we needed to deliver equipment in andromeda-5b?...
.......
- Derek we have company!
-What now, Philip?
-A rogue ship is trying to board us
-What? Initiate defensive manuvers, Mariene to the blast cannons now...
-Yes sir. The woman salutes him, and leaves the room running.
-Mister Abbot, can we communicate with this ship?
-On it.
-Phillip! Derek looks at Phillip frowning, Phillip was a lot shorter and skinnier than Derek.
-Where is your gun? We looks at the man's empty holster
-You know I don't like guns, besides, I would be useless with it, do more harm than good.
-That is ridiculous, you should always carry your gun on you, now go get it, in case they break in, stupid pirates
Phillip, was always book smart, but had very practical knowledge, it is like he never reay understand the nature of the job, how to deal with the stress and people. He walked, fast paced through the hallways, getting to his chaimbers and closing the door, his room was simple as everyone's, a bed, a closet and a table. Phillip's table was filled with books and paperwork, plans and routes, it was his job to avoid this time of interaction from happening, what they don't seem to understand is that it is a lot harder to predict where these bandits will be, he opens the last drawer and takes his gun, he was terrified of it, didn't want to touch the dammed thing, he holsters it, and as he is about to open the door to leave his chambers, the alarm goes off, there has been a breach.
He can hear the footsteps running down the halls
-Friends or enemies? Probably friends they would get here so fast... I need to go back to the command center. He opens the door just a little and hears gunshots being fired in the end of the hallway, and goes back inside scared.
-Oh god! Oh god! What do I do?
We frantically paces around his room, terrified, left to right, right to left, always starring at the locked door, while the shoiting goes on outside...until it goes silent, he can hear footsteps, clearly from the victorius party, but who would that be.
He waits until he can gear nothing, and slowly opens the door peeking outside:
-Wallace? Wallace update!
-Sir, there has been a breach security mesures are in place, Capitain Derek needs you in the command center.
- Ok, ok I am going! I am going...
He looks around scared to take a step, he breathes and starts to walk slowly, sees the doors behind him getting locked.
-They are closing the pathways to limit the intruders movements, I would know I designed that plan.
-Well actually sir, I designed the plan, you helped mister Torres to imput data into my sistem.
-Wallace aren't you nedded else where?
-Well sir, I can go if it will comfort you, but I unlike you humans, am capable at being in several places simultaneously.
-Just...
-However, I thing youight need my assistance to avoid getting detected by these intruders, they seem very prefossional. They are currently attacking three different posts of the ship, the armory, the mainframe and they are trying to get to the command center to take hold of the ship.
-Wait why do you want me to go to where the bandit are going?
The man shaked while walking the down familiar hallways of the ship
-Well as I said thw captain needs your assistance
-Maybe I should go back to my room
-Sadly that is not an option I have locked the door behind you.
-Yoo can unlock them can't you?
-Those are not my orders.
-I am telling you to do it, those are your orders.
-I would like to comply to your request, but I only take orders from captain Derek
-aaarg
Phillip continues to walk through the hallways, finally reaching the outside of the command center, there he sees a man holding a gun to Derek's head.
-What?
Phillp ducks behind a wall
-That is why you brought me here? What do you expect me to do?
-Well sir, you are currently the only memeber of the crew who is avaliable, the man can't seem you from here I can shut down the lighs and...
-No! No way, I am not going in there, like this
-Well alternatively you can stand over there and try to shoot the intruder.
The AI (Supposedly emotionless) seemed a little annoyed
-Look sir, I know that is not your strength, but you must do something, or your friends, your captain, might get hurt or worse dead and the supplied stolen.
-Ok, ok I will do it.
The man stood up and took his weapond out, his hands shaking, the aimed and got ready to fire... and the gun dropped to the floor, steps could be heard running
-What was that! The Leader of the pirates looked at the place where phillip was supposed to be.
-Oh Phillip. Said Derek disappointed. But it couldn't end there, derek thought fast.
- Wallace Activate protocol 14-d. He said as he ducked onto the floor takcling the lirates legs as the lights went out. A gun shot was fired.
Phillip knew those hallways very well, he got lucky too, or Wallace was protecting him. He didn't care as he ran through the hall back to the safety of his chambers.
.....
- Everything ended well that time, Derek only got shot in the shoulder. He never reprimanded me for what happened that day, I never knew why, I was always so useless to him.
-Well si..rr ( the system stated to glich a little) that is not true remember that time when I mal functioned, you help figure out how to fix me...
(I am sorry guys I wanted to add another story or two, but I am out of time, basically the idea was to try to redeeme him by the end show him in the accident that caused the destruction for the ship conquering his fears and trying his best at saving his friends, sadly failing, but trying. Being there instead of running, if anyone wants to feel free to finish this story)
| 2022-03-05T22:39:19 | 2022-03-05T19:30:35 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] When two people fall in love, they receive an object that is the physical embodiment of that love. It changes as their feelings change towards each other and destroying it can have drastic consequences. How does this change the nature of relationships?
|
On the first date by the sea, our love was a ring. A normal look for these types of things.
It hugs my finger so well, this is the love I needed. I can tell.
At the first kiss it was a boat. Roped at the docks where our love first took float.
Our first anniversary was a beautiful tale, and our hearts boat sprung a beautiful sail.
She held my hand through 5 years of seas but the boat and sail stayed strong through these.
A ring, a boat, a sail, now an anchor. Though the seas became rougher, for her love I always thanked her.
She took to land and left for her other lovers town. The boat and sail and ring vanished, and with the anchor I drowned.
|
She's the loveliest, most beautiful woman I've ever known.
I'd never met a kinder person until my path crossed with hers. Anne is always smiling. She's the kind of girl who can get so excited about something she loves. She uses wild hand gestures as she speaks, bouncing on her toes, sharing with you whatever she is excited about. Like her newest favorite novel, or the science behind nature, something she loves so much. Doesn't that sound wonderful? Anne *always* has something interesting to say. I sometimes call her the Internet; I feel she knows everything. But she isn't obnoxious, oh no. She's just as interested in what you have to say.
Her small, adorable chin fits perfectly on my shoulder whenever we hug. That would be often, too, as she's such a loving, encouraging person. She can be so supportive of whatever I'm going through. When we we embrace, I stroke her soft, light-blonde hair. She's a great hugger. But, I always loved Anne's eyes the most. They're like sapphires, the brightest blue of day. When she looks at you, she sees right into your soul, and loves every bit of it. No one had ever looked at me like that before. I always wonder how I got so lucky to have her.
It was only a few months into our relationship before we both knew it was time to get our object. We were almost hopelessly in love. It was time to take it to the next step.
"Are you ready for this?" she asked me. She grinned, playing off being confident and prepared for whatever the world could throw at her. I knew her too well. Her thin leg was jiggling as she sat in the uncomfortable waiting room chair.
"You bet." I didn't have much to say. Back then, I'd usually just let Anne do the talking. She stopped moving her leg and sighed.
"You know that it's possible fidgeting may be genetic. I probably got that from my mom. You look nice today. Your pants are a great color. Why isn't there a pile of magazines or something in here to keep people occupied? Or a book? Well, they probably have something better to do. I always thought being an Object Maker would be an interesting profession if I didn't get into writing. They have such a busy job, but they do it so well. It's fascinating. Do you have a book? I just finished re-reading *Tunnel in the Sky* this morning, or I would have brought one."
"Anne. I bet our object is going to be perfect. And even if it's not, it'll only get better. *We* will only get better." I reached for her hand. A lady with a clipboard interrupted the motion by calling our names before I touched her. I just gave Anne a supportive look as we stood up to follow her into a back room. She had such beautiful eyes.
"Just as a warning, your object cannot be returned. It can be broken however, though I highly suggest that be avoided. It results in the death of the buyer." That would be Anne. It's tradition that the family of the girl pay for the Object, like with weddings before our time. I didn't think we would ever break ours. I would do anything for Anne. Anything.
I never knew how much.
Anne waited until we were home before unwrapping and opening the small white box. She was a bit anxious that the box was small, I think.
She paused. "A phone?" She smiled and turned it on. "A smart phone?" Her eyes lit up. We could have never afforded one before. She sat down in an old armchair and was caught up in its amazing power. It was round and white, fitting perfectly in her trim fingers.
"The internet, games... it has everything!" She played until the wee hours of the night. I went to sleep. She never followed.
"Anne?" I asked the next day.
"Huh?" Her eyes never left the screen. I kissed her head and went to work. Always caught up in knowledge, I assumed that she couldn't resist knowing just a bit more.
It didn't seem as if she'd moved when I returned. I brought her favorite dinner home from the local Italian joint. Calzones with extra ricotta. I just put it next to her and went on with my evening. Her fingers flew as she typed a reply to some article. I had to fill out a couple of reports at my desk. It was quiet that evening. Usually her voice permeated the small house, but it was silent. My few attempts at conversation were either answered with one monotone word or completely ignored. I again went to bed alone.
This continued for days. The phone grew into a small tablet. For a while I thought her fascination cute. But I missed Anne. It was almost like she wasn't even there. I couldn't even get her to look me in the eyes.
Days turned to weeks, and the tablet grew into a large computer. The newspaper had fired her, I learned later. I didn't know Anne had been neglecting to send in her weekly column. I was scared. A beautiful Anne became a thin zombie of a girl. I didn't think I would ever see her eyes blue again.
A year went by, and I didn't know how she survived. I never saw her eat. My dreams were only nightmares, if I could ever sleep. Our object had taken her beautiful, beautiful soul. It wasn't her in that chair. I had no idea where my Anne had gone. The Object had to go.
That's why I did it. That's why I'm here now. I'd do anything for Anne, anything for even the chance of freeing her. Even kill her.
| 2014-05-03T15:00:16 | 2014-05-03T14:45:28 | 124 | 16 |
[WP] A single man declares war on the entire world. One year later, the leaders of each nation gather to discuss their surrender.
|
Everyone around the table looked horrible. Fear and worry had etched lines across each face, tears had traveled down each wrinkle to carve canyons marking the past year.
"Has everyone signed the surrender?" One quiet voice asked.
A murmur of agreement rippled through the air. The first voice placed the scroll in the middle of the circular table.
Light reached out and surrounded the gloomy individuals, growing and blossoming with a vibrancy lacking in the audience.
"It took you much too long to come to this agreement," growled a bass voice.
The heads stared down at the table, except for one. A once proud man, his thick white hair now thin and sparse, raised his head to look up at the center of the glow.
"Please," his voice cracked. "Please, we agreed..."
"Yes, you did," the voice rumbled. "And you know what will happen if you break your surrender."
A shiver of fear rippled through the air, the circle of heads bobbing quickly.
"Then, you will have your children back... unless you are naughty."
"Yes, Santa."
|
The Russian prime minister sat on a heavy chair. He let his fingers grope the along the arm rests feeling the texture of the fabric, it was smooth and comfortable at some places, while others were ragged and uneven. It was stained black by the many seasons it was kept in a sealed bunker and it felt as if it was made of molded cheese rather than leather.
The rest of the delegates from the remaining countries were also seated and waited anxiously for the leader of the last power to join them. Anton could see the fear and the restlessness in their eyes, he could see the sleepless nights they had on their faces, and he could hear their immanent breakdown in their voices. The past year was a catastrophic for everyone, none were spared, and none were left untouched.
The American president rushed into the room without even a word of greeting for the rest of the world leaders. He sat on the chair at the end of the large conference room made for the remaining US government in times of nuclear war. The irony did not escape the Russian leader when he looked around. This place was meant for a time when two powers played chess with the stakes of total annihilation, but now leaders of these two states and their former “pawns” were sitting here, hiding from a threat they could barely comprehend.
“Ladies and gentlemen, today at 10 PM Pacific Time the ultimatum will run out and we must decide what we’re going to do.” The US president said promptly. “As far as I can see it we aren’t going to give up just yet, but we need the collective effort of all of our nations to combat this threat.”
“It’s ridiculous!” The French president jumped from his seat and turned to the rest of the delegates. “Don’t you see?! We can’t fight him, there’s nothing we can do. His ultimatum is that we all surrender by tonight and I say, we are surrendering. But if any of you decide to continue this foolish fight, we’ll all suffer the same fate.”
“How typical of you monsieur L’eran, surrendering at the first sign of danger.” The British Prime Minister scolded his French counterpart.
“The first sign of danger?! Our lands are mostly barren, starvation and famine ravage our population by their millions, and we have barely enough men to bury the dead, let alone harvest food that will be barely enough to feed even half of them! Don’t you dare speaking of signs of danger.” The man was red with fury and frustration.
“That’s enough!” The US president stopped the French president from spilling everything he had on his heart right now. “We have no time for this, we must concentrate on the problem.” He looked at all the men and women that sat around the table in their eyes. “We’re involved in the same war against the same adversary, therefore, we suffer the same fate. This decision must be taken together, and we are all must be committed to it no matter if we like it or not.” The president took a paper out of his portfolio and wrote England and the United States in the same column, while France he wrote on a second column meant for those who share their opinion. “What the People’s Republic of China say about this?”
“I cannot believe we are even contemplating surrender!” The fat flat faced man spat. “How can we lose a war to one man?”
“Noted…” The American said. “Russia?”
“I have to say something before we continue the vote.” The Russian prime minister said. “What I will tell you will probably make some of you to rethink your vote.”
“Out with it then!” The Brit ordered impatiently.
“The man we’re fighting against, The Adversary… He is our creation.”
“What?” dozens of voices burst and poured out the gaping mouths of the delegates.
“It is true.” Anton continued. “He is the product of the last genetic experiments of the Soviet Union. He was born and grown in a lab with the aim of creating a superior soldier. But he was a failed specimen, diagnosed with mild autism, he was abandoned after the fall of the USSR. In the mid 90’s he used the chaos and the incompetence of the our government to kill all of those who knew about him. All we know for sure is that he has an exceptional skill of recognizing the weaknesses of anything, be it a person, machine or even a country. Evidence we have indicates he can even foresee our actions, not in a supernatural way, but as a skill that is taken to the extreme. He is a genius at making the most damage possible, be it in cyberspace or be it in a direct confrontation. He is impossible to find due to his ability to *know* what we’re going to do. He is a sociopath, totally remorseless, as he proved time and time again.” The Russian delegate stopped and sighed. “If there was a time and place to cut our losses, it’s now. The only reasonable choice is surrender, it the hope he will not decide to destroy us anyway just for kicks.”
The Russian prime minister left the room soon after the meeting was over, leaving the broken leaders on their own. He got in the car that waited for him and made his way to his hotel room. It was a precaution not to be detected by the adversary, because he attacked three presidential convoys, including the Russian, leaving it without a president a prime minister and many of its highest ranking officials, they had to appoint an unknown field agent to lead them.
As he walked to his room at the third floor he noticed the “don’t interrupt” sign was still hanging from the door knob, and as it looked, it was undisturbed. He slid the card into the lock and it opened willingly. As he entered he saw the field agent that was recently made prime minister of Russia stranded to a chair drooling onto the floor barely conscious.
“Oh you’re awake, so you’ll want to hear the great news!” the man said to his prisoner. “The vote was unanimous, the world surrenders!”
| 2014-07-24T12:22:08 | 2014-07-24T08:52:02 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final"
|
I groaned as I sat up on the side of the road, the blazing heat beating down upon my head. I looked around and all I saw was a road sign written in Spanish.
In confusion I searched my pockets and found Mexican currency - 1,000 pesos - and a note with a simple message written on it. "Este es el examen final. Señor Herman."
My eyes went wide in shock. I heard that Mr Herman took his practical exams rather... seriously. I never expected it to be *this* seriously. I just stared at the note angrily before yelling upward at the sky.
'What the *fuck*?! I didn't take Spanish, I was in the *French* class!'
|
In the town of Oaxaca, there is a church which has no monks. It is a mundane place now, which holds no services. But, if you walk past it today, you will see that a miracle has happened here.
How else can you explain the bullet holes that touch everything except the cross?
___
I woke with a nudge in my gut. My eyes shot open and I saw a man standing over me in linen shorts and shirt, pushing against me with his leather sandals.
I jerked up and pushed myself away from him.
"Ah, estas bien?" he asked, looking down at me from under the shade of a wide hat.
"What, where am I?" I asked. My mind was foggy, I couldn't understand what he had said.
"Oh, American!" The man shook his head, then bent a little lower, as if speaking to a child. "Are. You. Okay?"
The way he said it made me feel like an idiot. I looked around, seeing only a dusty road and green hills. I finally felt the beat of the sun and a rivulet of sweat coursed down my face.
I could have sworn the last thing I remember was being in Los Angeles, on my way to my-
The thought cut off and I immediately searched my body. After I felt something in my pocket, I jammed my hand inside and pulled out a roll of bills, covered with a piece of paper.
The man let out a small whistle as I removed the note, and the bills became visible. When I unfolded the sheet of paper, all it said was, "Este es el examen final."
*Shit.*I was on my way to spanish class, yes. And at some point, I... I just couldn't remember.
I banged my fist against the ground. What a cruel joke this was--my reward for taking the immersion program.
In my blinded fury, I had forgotten the man who found me and who, presumably, had stuck around because of the large sum of cash I'd just displayed. Or at least, what I thought was a large sum of cash.
"Ah, senor." The man coughed politely. "Necisitas ayuda?"
I looked up, remembering his presence. *Ayuda? Oh, help. That means help.* I thought for a second and took another look around the hills. We were the only two people on this road and I presumed that we were the only two people for a long while.
*Damn.* I looked back up at him and it looked like he was trying to affect a casual interest in the whole affair. But I had my doubts.
"Si, ayuda. Por favor," I said, mangling the words and hoping they came out right.
"Ah," the man said, his face lighting up somewhat. He offered his hand down and I took it. When I stood, I felt dizzy.
He steadied me, and then shot a question in quick spanish.
"Sorry, I couldn't follow." I said.
"Por. Que. Estas. Aqui," the man said again, drawing out the last word and bulging his eyes. As if that would help me understand him better.
"I don't know," I said with a shrug. "Hablas ingles?" I asked.
The man shrugged back.
Besides the heat, I could feel the stress. I was already nearing the end of the phrases I had learned well enough. The phrases that could get me out of speaking spanish in the first place.
I thought, and realized I really only had one prepared that might work. "Donde esta la biblioteca?"
In my mind, the logic only made sense. Where there is a library, there must be also a city of people who can use the library. And also literate city people. And among those people, there may be another who does speak english.
But it was obvious from the look on his face that the man was a little confused by the question.
"Los libres," I said, trying again.
At that, the man smiled. "Ah, Los Libres." He chuckled for a few moments, and the chuckle turned into a laugh and I stared at him, unsure of the humor of the situation.
But then he offered his hand again. "Bienvenido, soy Ramon Viaragosa."
I froze. I had heard the name Viaragosa often enough to know only one man in Mexico would be proud enough of it like him. When I didn't take his hand, he shrugged, then let out a shrill whistle.
All around me the hills came to life. Men carrying rifles and wearing bandoliers filled with dull brass cartridges.
They filed down to where Viaragosa and I stood, one of them coming up directly to the man. They shook and made an exchange of spanish too quick for me to follow. Then, the newcomer smiled behind his beard.
"Bienvenido," he said, offering up his hand. This time I took it as a sense of realization sunk in.
In that moment, I realized I was more screwed than any other time in my life--because I had just met the Ramon Viaragosa. The gold toothed, smiling visage of the leader of the Mexican Rebels.
And somehow, I realized, standing in the middle of Mexico with a roll of bills, I had been enlisted into the Mexican Revolution.
___
*Thanks for reading! Check out more of my stuff at /r/chrisbryant.*
| 2017-06-29T10:02:15 | 2017-06-29T09:27:10 | 1,096 | 404 |
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final"
|
"Éste es el examen final" leía la nota atada a mi pecho. Después de levantarme del suelo y revisar que no tenga ninguna herida grave me puse a investigar donde estaba.
Era mi último año de preparatoria y con un poco de suerte ya no iba a tener que preocuparme de estudiar materias que nunca me iban a ser útiles. Solo necesitaba un poco de ayuda antes de los exámenes finales.
Mirando a mi alrededor me di cuenta de que estaba en alguna carretera desierta, mi mochila estaba casi vacía, lo único dentro de ella una billetera con 1000 pesos. Como iba a salir de esta? Como llegué aquí? Porque tenía 1000 pesos? Que tan lejos estaba del df?
Lo último que recordaba era estar esperando mi turno para hablar con mi profesor de física para ver si podía hacer algo para mejorar mis notas antes del examen final. Recuerdo haber escuchado algo extraño mientras esperaba, la curiosidad me invadió y abrí la puerta sin antes tocar. El profesor estaba de pie recostado contra la pizarra y al parecer alguien estaba de rodilla en frente de el, me acuerdo que me sorprendí al ver esto y di media vuelta, y justo antes de salir del cuarto sentí un dolor punzante en la nuca.
Ayer lo único que quería era terminar la prepa. Hoy lo único que quiero es encontrar una manera de volver a casa.
---------
Ive never written before here and I'm probably not a great writer but I thought it would be fun to give this topic a twist.
|
"Este es el examen final - Señor Chen" read the note. Attached were what I counted to be 1000 mexican pesos. I'm sure "BANCO DE MÉXICO" means Bank of Mexico.
Gaining a little bit of confidence in my Spanish, I did my best to Interpret the note: "Este es el examen final"... East exam final. Well, it's clear Señor Chen's Idea of a final Spanish 101 test is to leave me stranded in the middle of what I hope is Mexico with a thousand pesos and instructions to go East. I sure wish I hadn't skipped the orientation course at the Boy Scouts.
There's a sign on the road, reads something I can't pronounce but it's followed by a "2", I really hope it's a town that's two miles away.
I've never walked two miles so fast, maybe the hot Mexican sun is having a positive effect on me. unpronounceable name town is there. Lucky for me i recognize two of the most beautiful words ever: "Restaurante bar".
I enter the venue, approach the bar, put on my best question face and ask: "Este?"
The man behind the bar looks confused and asks: "¿Te puedo ayudar con algo?"
Trying to improve my international questions skills I ask again, now also using my finger to point. Hopefully that way he'll know I'm talking about directions. "Este?" I say again. The man turns and grabs something from the back. He brings a bottle of yellowish liquid and he asks back "¿Este?". I think he understood me. I say "Si, Este". I'm finally getting somewhere.
He tips the bottle and pours me a shot glass of the yellow liquid, he also gives me a sliced oranger. Then he says "Son cuarenta pesos". After a couple seconds of no response from me, he points at a menu on the wall that reads "Mezcal $40", I realize then that I had purchased a drink. I drink it quickly, it burns, but nicely, it's like tequila but nicer. I might not know Spanish but I know how to drink, so I knew to chase it with the orange slice. It was really good.
I paid the man and asked for another one. This time I drank it slowly as I planned my next move. My tummy grumbled and it became clear to me that my next move should address that. Luckily my Spanish knowledge also included the word "Taco". That the bartender understood and pointed his finger across the street.
I have had tacos before, but this was different, in a scary good way. The shop was full of people eating tacos. The deliciously smelling chaos invited me to step in. I looked for a line to order some tacos. There was none, people just approached the bar yelled something and after a couple of seconds and what seemed like a very synchronized performance of flying tortillas, meat chopping knives and and spoons full of colorful liquids, the yelling person would be presented with a plate full of soft tortilla tacos.
I approached the bar and a man behind the thickest mustache I've ever seen asked me: "¿Que te sirvo güero?". I know taco and I know pointing works, so I yell taco and point to where my nose tells me to. "¿Cuántos?" he said. He reads my lack of understanding and starts gesturing with his hand, "Uno, dos, tres". I get it he wants to know how many. I raise two fingers, tacos are not that big and I'm starving, but I want to get a chance to point at different things. "Con todo?" he asks. Anticipating my response, he starts pointing at different colored dishes some, some with salsa, others with onion, I say: "Salsa no picante", a must a foreigner should know while in Mexico, even I knew that. He greened and less than five seconds later, I had the first two of many tacos I would eat that night. Ordering drinks was way easier as you could just asked for American branded ones.
After my meal, when I offered him money, he pointed me to a cash register with a huge line of people. I got in line. This place is so chaotic that it would be easy to dine and dash. No one would know, yet everybody gets in line. When it was my turn, I was not shown a bill. Instead, a little old, but strong, lady asked me "¿Que fue?". I couldn't respond, and I looked at mustache guy. That man is on everything, I think I take back the dine and dash idea. He yells back a huge chain of words to the lady, she nods and writes on a paper: $120. I pay gladly. While I walk back to the street I can't help but to feel impressed by how beautifully the taco stand was. Such a quick service, you can see how your food is prepared, paying is based on honesty, In the States I would've had to pay $120 American dollars for that.
It's getting late and I still don't know what to do. I know 200 pesos will buy me food and two drinks but that's about it. I still don't know where East is, and I'm doubting "Este" means "East". Yet I feel fine. The bar I was earlier seems to have something cool going on so I go back. I sit at the bar and ask for a "Mezcal".
After the next mezcal I realize this is a Karaoke bar. I approach the stage to realize that maybe one out of every three songs is in English. I approach a girl who just sang "I will survive" and started speaking English to her. To my relief she understood me. I told her my story and she started laughing. She agreed to help me get back home, but only after I sang a song in Spanish.
While on stage the song was meaningless to me, but it felt great to sing it. At least to me. I saw some faces in the crowd that were not quite satisfied with my performance, although most were just having a laugh about it.
After Karlita left me at the border, she kissed me softly on the cheek and asked me, with just the slightest Mexican accent. So what do you think about your Spanish 101 Final Exam. I answered: "I may not have learned much Spanish during class, but now I know I want to, because I have to come back".
After listening to my story, Señor Chen failed me for getting assistance in English.
Esa fue la última vez que reprobé una clase de Español.
| 2017-06-29T11:12:03 | 2017-06-29T10:13:16 | 255 | 79 |
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final"
|
I woke up with a major headache. I felt in my pockets and found some pesos and the note stating that this was my final exam.
No problemo, I thought to myself. I was in a level 300 class, and had aced all the assignments this semester. So I strolled confidently into the town I could see in the distance.
When I got into town, I was nearly dying of thirst. I went into the nearest bar.
"Un agua, por favor," I told the bartender. He got me a bottled water, and I used some of the pesos to pay him. As I was drinking my water, I looked around the bar and noted a little Mexican cutie. She caught me staring and came up to me.
"Hola, me llamo Daniel."
"Hola Daniel, me llamo María."
"Much gusto, María."
Noting my accent, she asked where I was from. I told her I was from the States.
"Como llegaste aquí?" - How did you get here, she asked.
"No sé, yo me despertaba en la calle." - I don't know, I just woke up on the street. We started talking, and talked back and forth for the rest of the night. At the end of the night, we exchanged numbers. I walked out if the bar feeling exuberant.
As I left, I noticed one of the Spanish professors from my college. Sidling up to him, I asked how I did.
"C," he simply responded.
"C?" I asked, incredulous. I had always gotten straight A's in school.
" You used the imperfect when you should have used the preterite tense. It's 'me desperté.'
I screamed in frustration. Curse you Spanish, and your two past tenses!
|
"Este es el examen final - Señor Chen" read the note. Attached were what I counted to be 1000 mexican pesos. I'm sure "BANCO DE MÉXICO" means Bank of Mexico.
Gaining a little bit of confidence in my Spanish, I did my best to Interpret the note: "Este es el examen final"... East exam final. Well, it's clear Señor Chen's Idea of a final Spanish 101 test is to leave me stranded in the middle of what I hope is Mexico with a thousand pesos and instructions to go East. I sure wish I hadn't skipped the orientation course at the Boy Scouts.
There's a sign on the road, reads something I can't pronounce but it's followed by a "2", I really hope it's a town that's two miles away.
I've never walked two miles so fast, maybe the hot Mexican sun is having a positive effect on me. unpronounceable name town is there. Lucky for me i recognize two of the most beautiful words ever: "Restaurante bar".
I enter the venue, approach the bar, put on my best question face and ask: "Este?"
The man behind the bar looks confused and asks: "¿Te puedo ayudar con algo?"
Trying to improve my international questions skills I ask again, now also using my finger to point. Hopefully that way he'll know I'm talking about directions. "Este?" I say again. The man turns and grabs something from the back. He brings a bottle of yellowish liquid and he asks back "¿Este?". I think he understood me. I say "Si, Este". I'm finally getting somewhere.
He tips the bottle and pours me a shot glass of the yellow liquid, he also gives me a sliced oranger. Then he says "Son cuarenta pesos". After a couple seconds of no response from me, he points at a menu on the wall that reads "Mezcal $40", I realize then that I had purchased a drink. I drink it quickly, it burns, but nicely, it's like tequila but nicer. I might not know Spanish but I know how to drink, so I knew to chase it with the orange slice. It was really good.
I paid the man and asked for another one. This time I drank it slowly as I planned my next move. My tummy grumbled and it became clear to me that my next move should address that. Luckily my Spanish knowledge also included the word "Taco". That the bartender understood and pointed his finger across the street.
I have had tacos before, but this was different, in a scary good way. The shop was full of people eating tacos. The deliciously smelling chaos invited me to step in. I looked for a line to order some tacos. There was none, people just approached the bar yelled something and after a couple of seconds and what seemed like a very synchronized performance of flying tortillas, meat chopping knives and and spoons full of colorful liquids, the yelling person would be presented with a plate full of soft tortilla tacos.
I approached the bar and a man behind the thickest mustache I've ever seen asked me: "¿Que te sirvo güero?". I know taco and I know pointing works, so I yell taco and point to where my nose tells me to. "¿Cuántos?" he said. He reads my lack of understanding and starts gesturing with his hand, "Uno, dos, tres". I get it he wants to know how many. I raise two fingers, tacos are not that big and I'm starving, but I want to get a chance to point at different things. "Con todo?" he asks. Anticipating my response, he starts pointing at different colored dishes some, some with salsa, others with onion, I say: "Salsa no picante", a must a foreigner should know while in Mexico, even I knew that. He greened and less than five seconds later, I had the first two of many tacos I would eat that night. Ordering drinks was way easier as you could just asked for American branded ones.
After my meal, when I offered him money, he pointed me to a cash register with a huge line of people. I got in line. This place is so chaotic that it would be easy to dine and dash. No one would know, yet everybody gets in line. When it was my turn, I was not shown a bill. Instead, a little old, but strong, lady asked me "¿Que fue?". I couldn't respond, and I looked at mustache guy. That man is on everything, I think I take back the dine and dash idea. He yells back a huge chain of words to the lady, she nods and writes on a paper: $120. I pay gladly. While I walk back to the street I can't help but to feel impressed by how beautifully the taco stand was. Such a quick service, you can see how your food is prepared, paying is based on honesty, In the States I would've had to pay $120 American dollars for that.
It's getting late and I still don't know what to do. I know 200 pesos will buy me food and two drinks but that's about it. I still don't know where East is, and I'm doubting "Este" means "East". Yet I feel fine. The bar I was earlier seems to have something cool going on so I go back. I sit at the bar and ask for a "Mezcal".
After the next mezcal I realize this is a Karaoke bar. I approach the stage to realize that maybe one out of every three songs is in English. I approach a girl who just sang "I will survive" and started speaking English to her. To my relief she understood me. I told her my story and she started laughing. She agreed to help me get back home, but only after I sang a song in Spanish.
While on stage the song was meaningless to me, but it felt great to sing it. At least to me. I saw some faces in the crowd that were not quite satisfied with my performance, although most were just having a laugh about it.
After Karlita left me at the border, she kissed me softly on the cheek and asked me, with just the slightest Mexican accent. So what do you think about your Spanish 101 Final Exam. I answered: "I may not have learned much Spanish during class, but now I know I want to, because I have to come back".
After listening to my story, Señor Chen failed me for getting assistance in English.
Esa fue la última vez que reprobé una clase de Español.
| 2017-06-29T11:09:35 | 2017-06-29T10:13:16 | 139 | 79 |
[WP] An alien pilot's harrowing account of being imprisoned in the concentration camp known as "Area 51".
|
Namid decided not to tell them on the first day. It was a way to cope, to manage the pain. She let the line run through her head until her brain was numb. *If they only knew, if they only knew.*
On the fortieth day, Namid realized it wouldn’t have made a difference if they did or didn’t know. That was the first day she had seen herself in a mirror since she arrived.
Her body was hollow - her face, empty. Her bones pushed against her skin and raised wrinkled patches of flesh. Open sores splattered across her legs and arms. They would never heal, she realized. Not with the pittance of food they gave her. She ran her finger across the puckered edge of a rough stitched scar. It sliced her tattoo in half and tucked it in an ugly way.
Everything was cold, too cold. The tips of her fingers were pale ice.
Namid folded herself into the corner and cried.
They didn’t know.
But couldn’t they see?
How much she looked like them.
They should’ve known.
Namid learned Enet died on the sixtieth day. He was tough, like her. The only other one who survived the crash.
She saw his body - his corpse - on the ground of a cell as they marched her towards the lab. A cut blossomed across his throat. His eyes stared at the ceiling and a trace of a grin ghosted over his face.
She wanted to scream. Her heart caught in her throat.
The guard pushed her forward, to keep marching.
She stared back at Enet.
Namid walked forward in silence.
How could they not know?
Did they not see her tears? Her pain?
They should know.
On the seventy-seventh day, Namid escaped just before midnight. When the guards changed rotation she swiped a pass.
She ran into the night.
Her legs burned with each step. Her short breath shot fire through her lungs.
The bullets blazed through her thigh, her shoulder, her hip. Namid screamed as she hit the ground. Scorching pain razed her last hopes.
Her blood pooled around her body. It was warm and pleasant and good.
Namid turned on her back.
Stars danced across the sky. All the little fires strung together, telling their stories.
In the distance, someone was yelling.
Namid smiled.
The stars smiled back.
*If only they knew*, Namid thought.
The stars reached down to her. They were ready to lift her up, to take her home.
*How could they be so cruel to their own descendants?*
Namid lifted her hand to meet the stars.
The pain and cold and fire faded exploded into bliss.
---
/r/liswrites
|
"The distress signal rang. 'This is Grelin maritime relief ship Leno-Zeltan-Eno, on my way to the Feninine colony world Xenger, my ship was shot down by the native inhabitants of planet Branik, my ship is currently in it's forests, the natives are hunting me like prey in a predator's den, please respond, this distress signal repeats!' but the signal was too weak, after all, a few salvaged parts from a defective radio and primitive pieces of wiring, the only people that got the message were these Branikans... or 'Humans' as they call themselves. they had more advanced tech than I thought, as extremely heavy looking armoured vehicles had driven over to my crash site, I thought they would help me, I greeted them politely, and their response was to poke me with an electrical stick... again and again! I found myself in electric shackles soon enough, and thrown into one of the armoured vehicles, and instead of following their own roads, that they had built, they had taken to driving through the forest... but they had cloaking devices, before this, I kind of laughed at the primitive tech that these Branikans had, that was until today, and this cloaking tech had also made these vehicles pass through the trees. soon enough, I watched the deep green forest turn into a tan and yellow sands, brought to a secretive facility known as "Area 51"
here i found many types of species, Feninines, Peshiribs, and our enemy since the first time our species reached space travel, the Ouklakish, the Feninines had been in a courtyard, their skin had turned white, as they do when in extreme heat environments, they had been climbing around and one of them had been poked with the same electric stick that I had been subdued with. inside the facility, i saw the tall, muscular build and unmistakeable reptilian manner of the Peshrib, they were herding one of them through a hallway, it's huge arms restrained, these creatures think that Peshribs will harm them, even though they have an intimidating anatomy, their culture has never had a war... not once on their home planet. then... i saw a room, with an Ouklak inside. it's black-brown fur gleamed, it's face harboured a look of imense rage and pain, what did these monsters do? they shot the thing with a melniph. the only weapon that the Liberin council and Ouklakish warcheifs have agreed to never use against each other. My kind [the Liberins] invented this device to win a war against aliens invading from our moon when we were developing nuclear power... melniphs are illegal due to their... effects. after this, I went unconscious.
When I woke, I was in a room, separated from the savage Branik researcher by a piece of glass, if I had my tools, I could have easily busted the glass and atomized the components, as to spread it around the facility to kill every last Branikan inside... however, i did not. it stood there, and in a stange language i had to mentally translate for 3 minutes, it asked me a question. 'What are you doing on Earth?' It looked infuriated. like I was the one offending HIM. I told him in his own language 'This was not my destination, you BROUGHT me here' it looked even angrier after that, and it told me 'YOU INVADED OUR ORBIT AGAINST OUR WILL' i calmly answered 'and how were we supposed to know the laws of a primitive species that hasn't even colonized another system yet. you have the technology, if you can pass through physical objects, and get your hands on illegal weaponry, you should be able to colonize this galaxy and the Venera galaxy.' it was perplexed 'Venera? you mean the Andromeda galaxy?' 'Whatever you barbarians call it.' i responded. it asked me 'what illegal weapon?' 'that thing you used on the Ouklak is called a 'melniph' and what it does is delete you from the universe. slowly and painfully, it turns you into nothing, deleting you from existence. the only thing of you left is the memory of people who saw you, knew you, and of the one who shot you with it. and you broke the intergalactic maritime laws in so many ways.' he started to smirk 'what laws did we break?' 'shooting down a maritime relief craft... mine, capturing aliens for no reason, which i can see, you've done too much of, torturing aliens, which you've done much of, and the use of a melniph. your reputation when you colonise another system will be tainted when the report flies in. The only reason planet Branik isn't destroyed is due to the fact that you are completely ignorant.'
'What is your society facing as of now?' he asked 'a war with the Ouklakish, the hairy beast you killed... illegally. we've been at war with them since we reached type 2, other alien races have been at war with them since before we even existed. we barely held off their first attack. when the Feninines, those things that turn white in the courtyard, made contact with us, it was a lifesaver, their military help saved us from destruction and boosted us to one of the type 3 societies in the galaxy, this was 3,974 of your years ago, even now, the Ouklakish continue to attack. and the Feninines are an old species, they grow tired of this war, exhausted from constant fighting and annoyed with the barbarity. however, we're starting to push them back, and when a beast gets cornered, they fight harder, the Ouklakish were about to take the Feninine colony world of Xenger, I was part of a fleet of relief ships, our combined military forces had pushed the Ouklakish away from Xenger, however, there were people on Xenger forced to rebuild, I was the one carrying reterraformation kits. which you will no doubt steal to colonize Lisher, or Mars as you call it. those terraform planets to however you want them. Hostile, Habitible, you name it. it can even adjust time frames. want to make a day on Pinshik... er... Venus last an hour instead of years? you can do that. we were using these kits to fix Xenger after the Ouklakish orbital nuked the surface. i was also carrying medicine to combat radiation and stimpaks to heal the wounds from the rubble.' It eventually gets to asking me this. 'how can we help?' I was genuinely shocked by this question. 'Simply let us leave. if you genuinely want to help us in the war against the Ouklakish, let all these aliens free, including me, let me repair my ship, and eventually, i could report this race as Council-Sympathisers... eventually, our military will make contact.' i said, he replied 'we need to do it in secret.' 'what, so you can control your population? your plan for control over your race won't work, not at all, i've seen it so many times on other planets, and each time, these societies wake up to it and overthrow these little cabals. it would work much better if your whole population knew aliens existed.' I was let free... so was everyone else, i purposely left tech behind to give them a head start on the colonization of their solar system. after all... to continue the freedom of our universe... we're gonna need all the help we can get."
| 2018-03-13T10:19:26 | 2018-03-13T08:59:09 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] You've brought a knife to a gun fight, a pen to a sword fight, and a cat to a dog fight, and won all of them.
|
Pedro The Punisher walked into the room, his huge muscular frame stretching his black suit and challenging it to hold him in. Attached to his right hand was a leash, and at the end of that leash was the largest Rottweiler I've seen.
"Okay, Freddo, are you going to pay up? Because if you don't I've brought a dog to make sure I get my money's worth".
"I've bought a cat", I nonchalantly replied, "and you're not going to have any more of my money".
"A cat?", Pedro laughed derisively, "that's not going to help you.". With that he unleashed his dog and commanded firmly "Brutus! Attack!". The dog started to charge towards me.
I stepped to one side, and commanded my cat forward. Brutus lasted seconds, and Pedro not much longer. No one lasts long when my tiger is in the house.
|
Thank god she'd brought a beagle I thought, aware out of the corner of my eye that the dog was sniffing the air but wouldn't go near my Knuckles, who was watching everything suspiciously from beneath a chair somewhat behind me.
The four of us stood around the large oak desk. Maybe it was cherry, maybe cedar. I don't know anything about wood, but my mind wandered as the moment drug out.
We eyed each other up and down, waiting for someone to make the first move. It was like that scene from *The Good, The Bad and The Ugly*, but with one additional person, plus a lawyer, and my cab driver.
I was going to need to borrow some cash to pay the fare, but I hadn't arranged this meeting, I wasn't going to let them make me feel *bad* about it again.
The cabbie was a patient enough guy. Gary, from Philadelphia. We talked on the way over. He had stood quietly by the door for almost an hour now. His patience had payed off when the lawyer had read the final page.
You could see it on his face, Gary's, he was uncomfortable enough to leave, but he hadn't been paid yet, and you could tell, this guy, he'd seen it all, but not something like *this*, he wanted to see which way this was gonna go. The sick fuck.
If I wasn't a part of it, I'd be curious too, maybe, but I'd like to think I'd walk away from this sort of mess. But not now, I'd be damned if I was going to walk away from this now. This was what it all came down to, after all these years. I wouldn't let it be for nothing, but I'd never expected *this*.
The lawyer finally spoke up behind us, hesitantly "...the Will *does* state that the conditions must be met today, or the inheritance will be donated to charity..."
My brother tried to sieze the moment, maybe thinking that the lawyer had distracted my sisters and I, or maybe it was just that his arrogance as the oldest made him think he'd always had the drop on us.
But he was a 44 year old computer programmer with a drinking problem. He tried to rattle loose the calvary sword dad had left to him but he didn't account for how long the blade was and he spun away awkwardly, I grabbed dad's pen from atop the vinyl folder that held his Will, and I stabbed down hard, deep into my brother's eye socket. He screamed, and sprawled back into a book case, falling, reeling, into a pile of himself, clutching at the wound.
My sister, at first in shock at the blood spurting over her Ed Hardy apparel, reached for mom's desert eagle that she'd only just slung to her hip after the lawyer had passed out our presents, just before reading the terms we'd have to agree to if we wanted dad's real pride and joy. Fucking cancer, I stop to think, it's getting around these days...
Our petty half-sister was still holding grandpa's ka-bar, her shit dog cowering at her feet, and in one smooth motion, way smoother than my siblings could pull off, I grabbed the knife, spun it in my hand and stabbed back through my sister's hand, pinning it to her thigh, blood rolling over the gun at her side.
"You asshole, I have *work* tomorrow", she pleaded.
"Yeah, you've always been a dick, bro", said my brother, clutching his face and rolling around on the floor. They're always teaming up on me.
Another moment dragged on, the lawyer spoke up, "ahem, sir..." his eyebrow rose expectantly.
I took his drift and turned and punted Karen's beagle across the room. "Sorry", I shrugged, acknowledging my maturity for holding back a petulant grin. Years of resentment wasn't going to stop me from having my moment with an air of grace. My half sister knew the truth of the matter, she'd never really had a dog in this fight, so to speak.
".. here are the keys to the mustang", interjects the lawyer, and as he places the keys in my hand, he speaks reverently, so that my siblings could hear, on behalf of our father "*you are indeed, and have always been, the favorite child*".
My siblings groaned, and I lorded over them. My sister looked like she was considering pulling the knife out, my brother had rolled onto his knees. What's her face was tending to her crap animal. I spoke out, thinking of the *Lion King* for some reason, "Now say it..."
After a pause, Karen gave in first, "I'm sorry we gave away your cat..."
"Skippy."
"I'm sorry we gave away Skippy because I said my dog didn't like him".
"It's not ok" I told her, giving her a stern look.
"I'm sorry I told your girlfriend you shit your pants that one time" said my sister, using her chrome studded belt as a turnicate.
"I'm sorry I sold your toys for pot when I was in high school, can you call an ambulance, please..?"
"That doesn't sound like you *mean* it," I told my brother.
"What the fuck man, this is all for a car? What's wrong with your family?" that was my cab driver. The lawyer had a look like it was time for us to leave, like he had other appointments.
"Its not about the car, Gary, it's about the *principle*. Now help me find my cat." I would have to get the cash to pay the cab fare from my roommate.
| 2018-03-30T22:40:34 | 2018-03-30T21:43:35 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
"OOOOOoooooo shit."
Marie stood frozen in her tracks, holding the smoking pistol point blank against his skull. This was the last thing she had expected and she was dumbfounded. The target, Robert, just sat there on the couch, stunned and confused, completely unharmed by the bullet that went straight though the back of his head.
"Uhhh, who's there?"
Robert slowly rotated around to see what had happened. Before he could get a good glimpse, Marie lunged forward and tackled him to the ground. She pressed her knee into his back and grabbed him in a chokehold, pulling his spine back well past the breaking point. Then she began slamming his skull into the ground repeatedly but there was no blood, not even a cracking sound. Eyes wide with frustration and sweat forming on her temple, she grabbed a knife and slit his throat from behind. Falling off of him, she collapsed to the ground.
Almost immediately, Robert got up, brushed himself off and took a good look at Marie. She lifted her head and they made eye contact for the first time.
His dark yet inviting stare met her fleeting blue gaze. Electrifying energy surged into Marie's chest as she gasped and covered her mouth. His eyes widened and they both felt it - something deeply powerful between then yet entirely indescribable.
"Did... You just try to kill me?"
Marie let out a giggle despite the fact that she was unable to assassinate her target and was now talking with him openly. She felt bubbly and light, like everything in the world was exactly how it was supposed to be.
"Brilliant deduction there, Robert," she prodded.
"Call me Rob" he said with a smile ad he reached out his hand to lift her up.
|
I had been waiting for 15 hours. Dark, muddy, rainy, and freezing from my lack of proper gear. My hands were shaking not from the nerves, but from the cold. How was I supposed to get an accurate shot off with a trembling trigger finger? Even so, I thought to myself 'not my worst Saturday.'
He should have been there by now. Hell, he should have been there hours ago, but that was the way it was with politicians. A last-minute change of plans could take them to the other side of the state. 'Maybe he won't show and I'll have to be back here next weekend, great!' I thought to myself sarcastically.
I sank lower into the leaves as I contemplated my options. The setup was perfect. A small hill overlooking the governor's mansion from 500 yards, just enough tree cover to be cloaked in darkness, and an easy getaway down a back road and into the night. Perfect - minus the lack of a target.
I begrudgingly began packing my things as the anxiety started to rush over me. There was nothing worse than waiting. Action was easy, you were in it, you took care of the job and it was over. Waiting, however, brought on night tremors and 5 hours of sleep a week. 'Well, I guess it's one more week. If his schedule holds.'
It had been a painstaking process to line everything up with the governor's busy schedule, and it would only get worse as the election grew closer. The men who hired me would not be pleased with this development. Time was running out to give their candidate a clear path to victory, but what was I to do? You can't kill someone if they aren't there.
As I stuffed my sniper rifle into its case, I heard a faint noise in the distance. Could he be coming in late? I jumped back to my position and peered through my binoculars. No, just a group of drunk college kids zigzagging their way home.
My car was parked 200 yards away, door unlocked and pointing down the road - an easy getaway. Trudging through the puddles I started to iron out the plan for next weekend. I would have to check the governor's updated schedule, but if my recollection was correct, he would be arriving at around the same time the next weekend from a fundraising event.
I tossed my gear into the trunk of my 2013 Nissan Maxima, which had been rented under a pseudonym. Another layer of secrecy between my boss and the hit.
I started the car, flipped on the lights, and there he was - the governor. All by himself, with only a tiny umbrella to keep him dry.
Startled, I jumped out of the car and began to run.
"Mark!" he called out. "Stop, come back here and talk to me."
I didn't know if it was the cold or some sense of odd respect, but I inexplicably turned to face my target even though my cover had been blown.
"Governor, how are you?" I tried to sound as normal as possible. Well, as normal as someone who was soaking wet on a Saturday night outside the governor's mansion could sound.
"You know you don't have to do that?" he replied.
"Do what?"
"Anyone who has known me as long as you have doesn't call me governor. And my best friend sure doesn't have to."
"Alright then, Robert. How was the fundraiser?" again going for normal.
"Terrible, you know I hate those things. It is a necessary evil I guess, but I don't know how much longer I can endure. What I'm curious about is, what brings you out here at 1 AM on a Saturday night. Seems a little late for a hike doesn't it?"
"Uh, well...sometimes I can't sleep and I need to get out of the house..."
"Mark" he interrupted. " I know why you are here."
My heart dropped. Could he really have found out? Everything loose end had been tied up, every track covered. Aliases used and his boss had assured him of the utmost secrecy. How could this happen?
"I, I... just..." dumbfounded, I still couldn't get a word out.
"Do it."
"What?" I replied.
"You heard me, do it."
"But.."
"I don't want to be here. I don't want to be governor but the train is moving too fast for me to get off now. It has been a long time since I have been happy. The office forces you to do terrible things, unspeakable things. I went into politics with rose tinted glasses and the idea of saving the world, but reality hit and there is nothing to live for anymore."
"Robert, I don't know if I can.."
"Why not? You were all set up to take care of it an hour ago, what is the difference? Can't face me like a man and take care of business? For what they are paying you, it seems like an easy trigger to pull."
"But your staff, they must know you are out here. If something happens to you and they see me pulling away, I'm dead to rights."
"I've pulled them off and snuck out for the night. Seal training still has its uses."
"Robert...I don't think.."
"DO IT!" he yelled, becoming more impatient.
I reached into my holster and pulled out my pistol, hands trembling. Walking over to the governor, I couldn't help but wonder how this would play out on the morning news.
Taking a few paces towards him, I took a deep breath to calm myself. 'Just do it'
BANG
As soon as my finger hit the trigger I felt a rush of remorse flow over me. How could I have done this to my best friend? Sure I needed the money, but at what cost. I buried my face in my hands and began to cry. It would be a cold long night.
Then, a hand on my shoulder. "Mark" I glanced up and there he was, ripped suit over his heart, but not a scratch on him. "I thought this might happen. I wanted to be gone so badly if I could not live the life I wanted, but now that I know, I want to be with you. There is a million dollars in cash in a bag down the road. Let's go"
It took just a second for me to make the decision. In the back of my mind, this had always been a thought, but it seemed so ludicrous, it could never happen. Motioning to the governor I hopped into the car which was still running and dropped it into gear.
"Robert" I said. I think we are going to be just fine.
| 2018-04-24T03:54:16 | 2018-04-24T03:01:07 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
“Wait,” Bob thought, “am I gay?” Looking back down the scope, the shirt clearly had a hole burned in it, directly above the aorta - the shot had been good, but had just bounced off. The target was alive so Mr. Bloome was going to be pissed. Shit, he’d found his soulmate – his wife was going to be pissed. The man in his crosshairs looked pissed too, but then again he had just been shot, so Bob felt that was probably fair. Even so, Bob felt happy as he put down the rifle, dusted the dirt off his khakis, and with trepidation, trundled out of the bush, ready to go and meet his true love. As he approached, he noted that his love was seriously ripped, and with the steeliest blue eyes. Maybe he could make this work.
“Hi,” Bob opened with, “I’m Bob”. There was an awkward silence as the man just stared at the red-faced assassin. “Umm, I’m the one who shot you.” Bob ventured after a pause, worrying that the moment was getting away from them.
“I saw” Said the target, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly,
“… Sorry I suppose, Mr. Kent” said Bob. The man just sighed,
“You can call me Clarke. And don’t worry, it happens all the time”
|
Sometimes the best disguise was no disguise at all.
That was what Elayne thought as she weaved through the crowd like a serpent through water. She wore no mask or hood to conceal her face. There was no need. She would not be seen. Her mark, a young man named Genta Nakamura stepped into view. Following closely behind him, were two men who wore matching black shades and business suits.
*His bodyguards*, Elayne thought.
Her hand fell to her side, fingers brushing the handle of a knife through the fabric of her skirt as she drew closer. Elayne's eyes honed in on the three men despite the moving traffic of pedestrians and saw her mark break off from the crowd and into an alleyway.
She followed, turning the corner into a dark alleyway.
"You again," Genta's voice echoed in the narrow alleyway before stepping out of the shadows and glaring at Elayne. "What's your name?! How much are being paid to take me out huh?!"
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," Elayne said as she blinked innocently with her round emerald eyes.
"Your playing dumb? I've seen you at least a dozen times girl. At least have the decency to admit you're trying to kill me, geez."
Genta snapped his fingers. Two men stepped into alleway cutting off Elayne's only escape route.
"You're surrounded. Don't make this difficult and just surrender. I don't want to kill you kid."
Elayne didn't move, nor did she speak. She only waited patiently as her fingers brushed steel.
The bodyguards stepped forward ready to restrain Elayne, but at the moment they lunged forward, their hands grasped only air.
Elayne had slid underneath the guards, slashing at the ankles of the men with two steel daggers held in reverse-grip in each hand.
Genta's bodyguards crumpled into a heap as they cried in agony. Maimed and immobilized, Elayne proceeded to leap over the men, her skirt flying up and briefly flashing Genta with her arsenal of knives and-
"Pink Hello Kitty panties? Are you serious?" Genta asked, incredulous.
Embarrassed, Elayne slipped and fell onto her skinny behind. As she landed, Elayne had spread her legs in an awkward attempt to break her fall and in doing so she had proceeded to further expose her Hello Kitty panties to Genta.
Genta who was a high school dropout turned Yakuza, had never even dated a girl before and suddenly found himself pleasantly excited as he stared at Elayne's childish panties. Excited might have been a strong word. He was more confused by the awkward change of hormones in his head - going from fight or flight adrenaline to pleasurable excitement.
"A-are you done starring?" Elayne stammered as she felt the constant heat on her cheeks refuse to abate.
"Oh. My bad, sorry," Genta began apologizing remorsefully as he tore his intense gaze away from the Hello Kitty panties. "I-I didn't mean to look. But you were about to kill me and then-" Genta eyes were distant as he began reminiscing of how it all went down. The sight of the knives strapped to her pale thighs and then the Hello Kitty panties.
Genta broke into a fit of laughter.
"S-stop laughing! I'll kill you, you pervert!" Elayne shouted as she stood up quickly and pointed a double edged dagger at Genta.
Genta paused, "Don't worry I won't tell anyone and besides it was cute."
"You won't be, because I'm going to kill - wait. What? It was cute?" Elayne looked up at Genta inquisitively.
"Yeah, your panties."
"Oh," Elayne deflated visibly. Even though she wasn't conscious of it, she had secretly hoped that Ganta would say *she* was cute and not her underwear.
"What's your name?" Genta asked.
"Elayne," she replied but then frowned. *Why did I...* It was pointless, telling a man she was going to kill her name.
"Elayne. So that's your name," Genta smiled. "I wish you'd tell me earlier."
Elayne smiled back. "And I wish you'd die already Genta. Every time I make an attempt at your life something gets in the way. My sniper rifle jamming, heavy winds turning my bullets astray, and then multiple knife attempts failing because - for some strange reason my hand refuses to stab you," Elayne sighs, letting out a breath of frustration.
Genta sighed back in kind. "It seems everyone wants to kill me these days..."
Elayne looked at Genta, and for the first time she noticed the countless scars and fresh wounds covered up with bandages.
"How much are you getting paid?" asked Genta.
When Elayne didn't respond, Genta ventured to guess. "Ten grand? A hundred grand? A million?"
Elayne scoffed, "Hmph, your not worth that much."
*So it was over a hundred grand at least,* thought Ganta. He didn't have enough to double the pay, even if it was ten grand.
"Alright. Have a go. Your best shot. If you can't kill me, how about you become my bodyguard and I'll pay you more than anyone can ever offer for my life?"
"Fine."
Elayne watched as Ganta unbuttoned his white shirt, exposing his lightly tanned chest and stomach to Elayne.
For a moment Elayne looked away. Then she steeled her nerves, grit her teeth and stepped closer to Ganta. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her forehead. She took her dagger and held it in both hands before stabbing Genta through his ribs, aiming for his heart.
Genta grunted, flexing his muscles as he felt the cold steel nick his skin, but it didn't draw blood.
"Fuck you," Elayne whispered softly as she dropped the knife.
"Maybe next time," Genta said as he grinned. "But you're mine now."
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-04-24T04:13:28 | 2018-04-24T01:31:32 | 56 | 39 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
"Okay, guys, so you take a long rest. You get all your spell slots and hit points back. Was anyone taking watch?"
Didymos shrugs. "I mean. We're in a garden in the middle of Jerusalem. Who's going to attack us in the middle of a city? I think we're good -- besides, we're pretty high level, right? What's the worst that could happen?"
"Haha, alright, fair enough. Petros?"
"Hm," the cleric replies, "I'm working at like two levels of exhaustion right now. Would taking watch mean I don't lose any of those during the rest?"
"You're not sure. You're very tired, though, and Iēsous asked you to stay up with him a while."
"I guess I'll try?"
"Alright, go ahead and make, like, a CON save for me? Just to see if you can will yourself to stay awake here -- you're _pretty_ tired, dude."
"CON save, sure, I'm... not great at those. Uh... 9?"
"Yeah, nah. You fall asleep a few minutes after everyone else. Iēsous comes and wakes you up a few times in the night, asking you to stand by his side, but, yeah. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh is weak."
"Damn."
"Okay, so after your rest, Iēsous rouses you all. 'Are you still sleeping and resting?' he asks. 'Look, the hour has come! Rise, all of you! Here comes my betrayer.'"
"Whoa, what. Can I make a Perception check?"
"I mean, he's pointing down the path at someone holding a torch and walking this way, but... sure?"
"Haha, 23."
"I have a passive perception of 18, do I see it?"
"Yeah, Iakōbos, you see it. All of you see it - him, rather. Andreia, you know who this is, and once he gets closer the rest of you all recognize him, too. It's Judas. Andreia, you see that he's carrying this torch to light the way, he has a small bag of coin on his belt loop that wasn't there the last time you saw him. Oh, and he's flanked by two burly-looking guys wearing scale mail, with swords and clubs at their hips."
"What."
"Judas, what are you doing here? How'd you find us? Where'd you go after the Supper?"
"He doesn't answer you, Petros. He's looking right at Iēsous. 'Greetings, Rabbi!' he says, stepping forward and kissing him on the cheek."
"Can I make like. An Insight check?"
"I mean. He's not really saying anything that is or isn't a lie, but. Yeah, I guess you could try and get a read on him, if you wanted."
"Cool, cool. Uh... Wow. 7."
"Yeah dog, Judas is just giving Iēsous a big ol' smooch for whatever reason. Just a good, friendly, no-ulterior-motives cheek peck. Like you do."
"Son of a-"
"'Do what you came for, friend,' Iēsous says, and Judas nods to the two burly dudes - who you realize now are guards of the Sanhedrin? - and they both draw their weapons and start approaching you."
"He _sold us out???_"
"Oh I'm gonna kill him."
"Guys. What are you doing? Are you letting this happen? Right now the guards are trying to grab Iēsous. They have manacles."
"Yeah, fuck that! I draw my sword and go for a killing blow. I'd have sneak attack, right? Since Iēsous is within 5 feet of him?"
"I... hm. Yeah, I guess so. Roll an attack, Iakōbos."
"...fuck."
"1?"
"Yeah."
"You bring your sword up, ready to slice down on this guard's head, but your grip falters at the last minute and the guard pulls away in time - you don't cleave through his _head_-"
"Oh here we go."
"But you _do_ manage to chop off his ear. There's a spurt of blood and the guard screams."
"Do we need to roll initiative?"
"Uh... no, not yet. As you do this, Iakōbos, Iēsous, like. He shakes himself free of the guard that's holding him and grabs your sword arm? 'Put your sword back in its place,' he says, and he's addressing all of you, now, 'for those that live by the sword die by the sword.' And you watch as he, very gently, bends down and picks up the bloody ear that you've severed from this guard and turns to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He brings the ear back up to the side of the guard's face, and there's this flash of pale light as he lays his hands on the guard, and after a moment the ear is back on like it had never been severed.
"Then you see something else. Coming up behind Judas and the guards is a very large crowd of people, armed with swords and clubs like these guards had. They're all dressed in robes of the Sanhedrin. Some of them you recognize as temple-goers, rabbis, acolytes. The high priest is with them."
"I run."
"You're *what?*"
"I have a +13 to stealth what do I have to do to get the fuck out of here."
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25 | 2018-05-29T08:36:31 | 210 | 46 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
|
Well, the big day was finally here. Birthday 128. I hadn't seen many new skills in my later years. I wasn't surprised though.
In my earlier years, I had maxed out cooking, spending an entire year travelling the world looking for new recipes. Using exotic ingredients helped speed up the process but if you can't do the simple things, none of the rest mattered.
I had an annual cookbook for the holidays and had learned to add guest chefs to keep my skills sharp. With several TV shows, each with their own special gimmick, I had a very successful business as restauranteur and consultant.
Nothing made me happier than seeing my great grandaughter start to learn the skills I had practiced over the years. My own children and grandchildren showed mild interest but nothing like the passion for cooking like myself. I could spot a new trend or something exciting like a shark senses blood in the water. I could bring a new twist to classic recipes, adding one ingredient that made all the difference.
I had mastered grilling, cleaning, sauteeing, roasting and baking. Those skills were repetitive but essential for the overall skill of cooking. Other skills like chopping, preparing and ingredients also helped with making sure everything you needed was available. Like I said, the basics make all the difference. Being able to spot good ingredients versus great ingredients can take your recipes to the next level.
My great granddaughter made a very special cake for my birthday, which melted my heart. I had helped find my strawberries and cream frosting cake, my favorite recipe when I had first started out. As they brought out the cake, I could feel a swelling in my heart. She had outdone herself.
The strawberries were decorated with carefully topped whipped cream, each arranged to spell out Happy Birthday. The smooth mirror glaze of the frosting reflected hours of studying the techniques of the finest bakers. I could see the love she had put into the cake. She was amazing, my great granddaughter.
As I leaned forward and made my wish, the room froze as if time itself had been stopped. I had forgotten what it meant to unlock a new skill but as the golden light surrounded my hands, new knowledge presented itself before me.
"With your mastery of 11 different skills, you have been granted your wish. This is a one time skill and you are the first to be granted this skill. Take this new knowledge and use it wisely. Congratulations."
My great granddaughter stepped up beside me. "Grandma, I learned a new skill but I don't know what it means. Master and Apprentice."
I smiled as I looked at my hands, 70 years younger and felt my long black hair once again. "We both got a new skill and I used mine. Respawn. We have more time together because I have more time to teach you."
|
I lay there, wheezing in bed, waiting for my body to wake up and face the day ahead. Every morning it was getting more difficult to haul myself from under the covers. There seemed to be more of an incentive to get up and move though since Maura passed away. Her imprint is still in the bed next to me, and every day it hurts a little more that it’s getting more familiar to not have here around.
When I finally grunted my way up, I walked to the bathroom and did my dailies ,if you know what I mean, body relieved and teeth washed I was ready to take on the task of dressing myself but thankfully that new nurse has moved in and is helping me with that. It’s not easy being as old as I am but I lead a healthy life, I was raised well and I grew into my age gracefully and without any encumbering illness or major problems, other than the rickety bones and waning muscle strength.
The nurse helped me into what I wear almost everyday now, slacks and a freshly pressed blue shirt, because they were the easiest to get into. I refuse to spend the day in my pajamas. Too many people my age have gone that way I intend to go with some dignity.
As she was pottering around the room folding my discarded bed clothes and making the bed I made about slowly moving to the kitchen, feeling my legs creak as they move. It was when I reached the door I thought I heard her mumble something akin to “same thing everyday and no thank you”. I turned around quickly, as quickly as I could manage anyway, and asked her to repeat what she had said.
“Nothing, I’m just lost in thought! Do you want me to help you to the kitchen?”
I said I was fine by myself and I swear she said the words:
“Oh course you are, give it another week and you’ll need me..”.
I was taken aback, her mouth didn’t move, she didn’t even look up at me when I heard it.
“I’m apologise if you think I’m thankless, I do appreciate all you do but I’m unfamiliar with voicing it” I calmly explained.
“What do you mean?” She asked, now looking at me with a strange look of horror in her face.
“I heard what you mumbled under your breath” I explained again.
“I didn’t say anything!” She was visibly upset now but trying to hide it.
I was feeling very tired all of a sudden and so I just sort of grunted and turned to make my way to the kitchen.
The rest of the day passed in relative silence with Karen looking at me for uncomfortably long periods of time as she moved around the house.
The next day was also quiet, I woke, completed my morning routine and went on to spend the day reading. Karen came in to give me my lunch and as she was leaving I heard her, clearer than before, saying:
“I won’t always be here to feed you”
I let it slip, maybe she was having a bad week, I wasn’t that bad of a patient was I? I was finding life alone difficult, and I’ve been faced with the problems of my age quite abruptly and I’m trying to accept I can’t do what I used to everyday, but I don’t think I had been too terrible to her.
Days, then weeks passed with me hearing these little quips and under-breath comments until I confronted her:
“If you feel hard done by please tell me and I will try to rectify what I’ve done to you or make your time with me more amicable”.
“I don’t know what you mean” she innocently said.
“Those comments about you not always being here, and how you find this job not to your liking, I can hear them you know, I’m old, but not exactly deaf”.
She continued to play coy. As the following days passed her interjections became clearer and less subtle.
It was then I realized what was happening. I had never seen her mouth move when she said these things, and I could never be sure I heard a full sentence exactly, more that I understood what intention her words carried. I realized I was finally passing the threshold, I was starting to lose it. I spent the next few days in panic at what was happening, hearing her voice say things she didn’t mean, worrying that this was how I would go, not with dignity but rambling in my bed.
This was when my friend Jack came over. Me and Jack never saw eachother anymore, and he was in a bad way, it was so hard to see my best friend start to waste away in a chair, pushed by a different nurse every time. I was surprised both of us got to where we did, enough to see my great grandchildren finish school. But I don’t see them anymore, part of me thinks they wished I was gone already. Maybe we shouldn’t be here for this long, I didn’t want to end up like Jack, it terrified me.
As he sat there struggling to get a real sentence together I heard him. I heard him clear as day say the words:
“What’s happened to my mouth, I can’t speak, I can’t speak to my friend”.
I nearly jumped out of my seat. I hadn’t heard Jack speak so clearly in years. All of a sudden his voice filled my ears in full. He saw my apparent panic and became worried. He tried reaching out and I heard him again in a voice that was far too young for a voice that old:
“I’m here, I’m here it’s okay”.
I’m that instance I knew. I wasn’t losing my mind. I wasn’t going crazy. I saw in his eyes what I heard him say. I wasn’t hearing this out of thin air i was really hearing this. I was hearing Jack reach for me, I felt his concern. I looked at him for a long time, and he looked straight back at me, his eyes burning with worry.
“I heard you” I said.
He managed to twist his face into a question.
“I heard you. What you said but didn’t say. About your mouth, I heard you say you were here”.
I saw him become confused and then upset by this, but out of this broke a smile. A smile I hadn’t seen in much too long. My friends smile.
As the months passed I began to ‘hear’ things more clearly. Karen left and a new nurse, a male one, took her place. He was happy with his job he liked it. I became frailer and needed more but he obliged and made sure I was alright, everyday. A new birthday passed, spent with my new nurse Dylan, he wants to have a career in this job and was happy to share his thoughts on it.
I am now 120 years old. I cannot move as well as I used to and I can’t do the things I used to do alone. But my mind is sharp, and as I age I can ‘hear’ more and I’m realising that I may be the only person to be able to hear what I do. My friend Jack is gone, he passed away shortly after his last visit, he was 116. I’m afraid that the stronger I get at this, the closer I am to going. But I know when I do go, I’ll get to see Maura, and I’ll hear Jacks voice again in full and that comforts me.
The End.
I’d appreciate feedback if you have any! I had a spare half hour before work and now I’ve got to run, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
| 2018-06-23T12:16:19 | 2018-06-23T11:06:17 | 223 | 46 |
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
|
“But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
"When you tore through my village almost twenty years ago someone asked you the same thing," I replied.
I moved in closer to him, gently cupping his throat with my left hand. I looked at his supposed granddaughter.
"Do you know what he said?"
The girl shook her head as tears ran endlessly down her cheeks.
"That the question didn't even warrant a response," I whispered to her, as I crushed the old man's throat.
I looked at her straight in the eyes, as the old man crumpled to the ground. For a few moments, all that we could hear was his gurgling. I'll give her this. If this sack of shit is worth avenging, she can engrave the image of my face deep on her heart. And when she comes she can try to earn the right to end my life.
This charade bought me my time. The gurgling stopped. Even if a guard I didn't get rid of was guided to this room by an act of god, he was far too gone. And even if the guard had made it on time, the apothecary of this castle is dead. They won't be able to brew an antidote for the poison in the claws of my gauntlet.
Saying nothing more, I left the room.
After all, the question didn't event warrant a response.
|
Fury looks on at the old geezer sitting in the throne.
"Divines, you're old. I see Time has not been easy on you," he admits.
"Well you're only still young because you keep Regenerating," the old man argues.
"True. I was always getting killed for your screw ups, big bro."
The old man locks eyes with Fury. The two brothers have had such different lives. While Fury, the younger of the two, had taken on the role of the protector, of the "Hero", Isfet, the elder, had been forced down a different path. A darker path. He is not a bad man, just a victim of circumstance. He is not blind to the things he's done, to the pain he's caused. He knows every thing that has happened because of him. And in that instant that their eyes met, Fury realized something. The elder brother felt guilt. Guilt that ate away at his insides every time he allowed his mind to clear. Guilt that would kill him even if Fury didn't. Still, that doesn't change what he's done.
Fury pulls his cane from his belt, the rod sharpening into a sword.
"You started this war, Isfet. You know that nobody is going to forgive you, even if I do."
"I understand. You are here to kill me, no doubt. I just have one request."
"That being?" Fury asks with a raised eyebrow. Isfet motions to the doorway behind Fury. The hero turns, to see a little girl, who looks to be about eight or nine years of age, clutching a stuffed wolf to her chest.
"Please explain to my granddaughter why I must die," Isfet says simply. Fury's eyes widen.
"Uhm..." The hero is at a loss for words. What do you say in this situation. It's bad enough that he has to kill his own brother. But now he has to explain to this little girl why he must do it? He turns his sword back into the cane and sets it down, kneeling to her height. Tentatively, she approaches him.
"Are you here to kill Papa?" She asks.
"...Yeah. I have to kill Papa."
"But why?"
"Because he's hurt a lot of people."
"But he's sorry!"
"I know. And I forgive him. But everyone else doesn't."
"So why are you the one here?" That question catches him off guard. Why is he here? Fury swallows the lump in his throat, looking at the girl, then back at Isfet.
"Because I'm the only one who can make the right call," he mumbles softly, rising to his feet and making his way to the old man.
"Go on, then. Kill me. I deserve it," he says. He wants this.
"No."
Every one in the room looks at Fury with wide eyes.
"What?" Isfet breathes.
"Did I stutter? I said no. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to save you," he explains and plunges the dagger into Isfet's throat. "Now. Regenerate you dumb son of a gorgon." He pulls the knife from his throat as the old man begins to glow with a Golden aura before erupting into flames of the same color. When the flames die down, a man looking nearly identical to Fury has taken the old man's place. The tan skin, Blond hair, and Red eyes of the younger brother are now pale skin, White Hair, and Red eyes on the Elder. The man looks at Fury.
"But why?"
"Because I'm sick of being the crowd pleaser. I say it's about time I get to be a little selfish. Don't you?" Fury asks, looking between the revitalized Isfet and the little girl.
...
Ten years have passed since that day. Something had happened. Fury had managed to escape Destiny. He had forged a new path, one where he wasn't alone for the rest of his lives. Instead, he lives his life with his brother and the girl, whom had apparently been named Ma'at. A fitting name. She brought order to their once chaotic lives.
Fury stumbles into the house. He had reached his limit, and now he is dying. For good. Ma'at rushes to his side.
"Are you okay?" She asks.
"I'm fine. Just... You know what? No. I'm not okay. I'm dying. Right here, right now. And it's time for me to pass off the torch," he admits and pulls a necklace from his neck, placing it around her's. "I was the Lord of Time for my entire life. Now, I think the universe could use a more feminine touch. Ain't that right, m'lady?"
"Fury? You're... Asking me to take over?"
"Of course. There is nobody more worthy. Just some words before I go." He rises to his feet, walking around the room. "You can always try to be nice. But you must never fail to be Kind. Never tell anyone your name either. That's a big mistake. And never ever eat pears! Disgusting things." He leans against the wall. "Scratch that. Children can know your name. If their hearts are in the right place, and the stars are, too. But nobody else." He stumbles over to stand in front of her. "Laugh hard. Run fast. And above all, be Kind. Fury, I release you." Finally, he collapses. He doesn't even try to rise again, knowing it would be futile. With his last breath, he whispers in her ear the one secret he thought he would die with. He whispered his name.
And thus, he was allowed to finally take his place among his family. Hos sister, whom he had raised since her birth. His uncle, who was more of a father than his actual one. And his wife and daughter. Both killed in the war. And beside Fury stood Isfet, the brothers' bond finally being restored through Death. Fury recognizes his final resting place as the room where he spared Isfet. This is where his brother became a new man. It is where his new life began. And it is where he will reside, knowing that the universe is in good hands. Finally, peace.
(Yo, this was longer that I thought it'd be. probably strayed a bit far from the prompt but eh, good enough for me)
| 2019-12-11T21:35:26 | 2019-12-11T19:41:27 | 251 | 31 |
[WP] A dying outlaw is approached by two people. An angel and a demon. Both are working together to save the world from something. Offering the mortal a chance at a new life and redemption, they become a pair of pistols. A worn and rusted one named justice, and a beautiful one named Vengeance
|
The outlaw strode into town, guided by the burning Vengeance on his hip. Hot and cold was the game they played. The main road, a dirt trail through the center of town, was matted down with the recent rainfall and the bustle of horses and boots. Citizens had begun to emerge, itching to get back to their daily tasks that had been so rudely interrupted by the storm.
The outlaw nodded to women as he passed. Droplets of rain clung to the brim of his hat, unwilling to meet their doom in the thirsty ground below. Within the hour, the mud would return to dust and the rain forgotten. The outlaw moseyed on towards the faint piano music ahead. Vengeance grew warmer on his tired thigh. It hurt his joints, but he needed to quench the pistol. The saloon would be full of patrons. The storm had given them an excuse to seek shelter in a place so full of vices.
The pistol plateaued at the entrance to the saloon. The outlaw looked within the steamy windows. It was full of the usual suspects. People whom Vengeance usually found sooner or later. He waited to gauge its warmth, but it grew no more. The outlaw sighed and continued walking.
Towards the end of town, the pistol began to sizzle against the outlaw's leather chaps. He had no horse to ride, but he kept his leather on for this exact reason. Vengeance would eat through any other material he wore, so he kept the chaps on. The heat peaked at a hotel. The outlaw entered.
There was no one at the front desk. The outlaw continued towards the stairs. He heard yelling above and changed his mind. His walk took him towards the front desk, where Vengeance cooled slightly. He rang the bell. The yelling above stopped. Footsteps stressed the wooden planks of the second floor and a man emerged, clearly flustered, but putting on the face of a host.
"Can I help you?" he asked as he descended the stairs.
"You work here?" the outlaw asked.
"Yes. I am the owner."
"HELP!" a woman's voice shouted from above. "HELP ME!"
The hotel owner shot a glance towards the stairs. The wet slap of bare feet on wood rushed towards the stairs from above. The hotel owner looked back at the outlaw. Vengeance was calling.
Just as a bloody hand reached out for the stair rail above, the outlaw drew and fired one flaming round from the black pistol on his hip. The hotel owner's face caved in on itself, boiling and melting and warping as he crumpled to the ground. Vengeance was placed back in its holster, ice cold.
"Are you alright?" the outlaw asked.
"Is he gone?" the woman barely whispered.
The outlaw looked over the counter at the puddle of blood.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
The outlaw drew his old, rusted, single-shot revolver from his boot. He placed the barrel in his mouth and held his breath. His eyes closed and his heart rate raised. He pulled the trigger back against the frame.
*CLICK*
The outlaw smiled, glad that Justice had been served to the right customer that day.
|
They had actually let him choose which of the pistols would be beautiful, Malcolm hadn’t expected that. For reasons the angel and demon hadn’t quite been able to explain one of them had to be and it was important somehow. He choose vengeance, because his ex had been beautiful and vindictive as all hell and that was the first thing he thought of.
Eventually he even took to calling that gun Molly. In his occasional sober moments that hinted at why she had left him.
Molly the gun was a masterpiece of elegant craftsmanship. She had a sleek, silvered barrel, ivory plated handle, and gold filigree in the shape of wildflowers on the revolving chambers. She shot straight more than twice as far as any other revolver on the market and no matter what there always seemed to be six more bullets in his pocket, even if he didn’t have a dime to his name to buy any.
For all her rust and disuse Justice had a stark beauty of her own too, although why he also thought of that gun as a woman he had no idea. Whereas Molly was a state of the art and beyond in every way her counterpart was more than a little antiquated. Truthfully she was a goddamn blunderbuss. Malcolm had never even seen one of those outside of a painting on the wall of a mansion he was burglarizing, though he’d heard there was a particularly mean character down in El Paso who used one as his weapon of choice.
All that was simply to say that Malcolm Toussaint’s live had been looking up ever since the moment his old gang left him dying in a trailside ditch, and no matter what path those crazy spirit types had put him up to he’d follow it to the ends of the Earth. He owed them after all, and in any case it didn’t seem much different than his old life. He still killed roughly one man every two weeks, he still slept under trees or in the rudest inns this side of the Mississippi, and he still only consorted with honest men for dishonest purposes.
Life was perfect.
At this particular moment however, Malcolm was feeling a little less than satisfied. The broad strokes of all those things were still true of course, but two weeks between kills had become closer to three and with every extra day his trigger fingers got itchier.
Malcolm was three days travel north of Galveston, Texas in the year of some people’s lord 1876. He was bedded down on a brushy ridge overlooking a mining camp of sorts watching a pair of businessmen shake hands and drink whiskey, and if he had to wait any longer for his target to leave he might just start blasting away with Molly anyway and damn the consequences.
His target was a tall man, unusually so. He stood close to five inches taller than Malcolm’s own six feet, and his was portly in the extreme. He had a long mustache curled upward at the ends and spoke in a strange accent. He was overdressed for the weather and sweating heavily for it. He was nameless and unknown in every way but the ones that mattered. Malcolm’s saviors had shown him the man’s face in a dream like all the rest and he’d woken up with an innate knowledge of his location. From there it was simple deduction, after all they’d given him guns, not sewing needles.
An hour later the man finally moved. He exchanged a firm handshake with the man he’d been drinking with and then swung ponderously up on to his horse, swaying mightily once he gained the saddle. Three other men mounted up and fell into line with him. Bodyguards, obviously.
The road they followed- and it was barely that- snaked a long, winding route back to Galveston. All along the path there were harrowing switchbacks and brushy stands, rocky outcroppings where a gunman might hide and obvious campsites where a track might be laid. Malcolm was overdo though, he could accept two weeks between kills, three was unbearable.
Withdrawing from his perch he reclaimed his horse and made his way stealthily to the top of the first major hill. Once there and still in plain view of the mining camp below (but beyond any possibility of help,) he attacked when they were halfway up.
With three weeks out from his last kill Malcolm simply charged. He had a gun each courtesy of God and the Devil, what need could he possibly have for anything else? Riding down the hill at full gallop he gave a shrill ululation as he let fly with his first shot from Molly, taking the lead bodyguard high in the chest with the bullet and knocking him off his horse. He had his second shot off before any of the men he attacked had even returned fire, and his aim was true again. The third bodyguard took a shot with his rifle and the bullet hit Malcolm’s horse, throwing him from the saddle to crash hard to the ground. He rolled with the impact and came up firing, emptying the last four shots from his revolver into the man.
Which left him alone of the side of the hill with his target, who had a revolver of his own pointed at him.
“That’s enough,” the man said mildly. He seemed strangely at ease among the dead, as if it were a simple fact of life. His eyes held none of the bloodlust Malcolm’s did, and none of the fear another man’s would have. “Who are you? Did the Masons send you? Did Washington?”
Malcolm said nothing. Instead he stared at the man’s finger, watching for a shake or a twitch, any hint of broken resolve.
“Or was it Carnegie perhaps? It would be just like that bastard. Look, you can tell your bosses, I’m not selling no matter how much they try to scare me, and if I die that’s no good either, they’re already out of my will.”
Time was beginning to slow for Malcolm. The man in front of him was already dead, he just didn’t know it yet. A dead man’s words were meaningless.
Malcolm took one breath, then two, waiting for the third for good luck.
And when the third ended he sprang hard to the left and raised Justice for her first shot in far too long.
Two shots rang out in that moment, the dull roar of the blunderbuss and the single crack of the revolver, both of them too closely layered to know who had fired first. Malcolm was struck in the stomach, just under the last rib on the right side. It hurt like hell but he didn’t register it until later. Instead he was focused on his shot, the tightly packed collection of lead and nails that arced across the space between them until they hit his enemy positively everywhere. The word carnage was an understatement where a blunderbuss was concerned, its effect on the human body had nearly made him sick the first time he fired it, now it seemed like art. He could stand and observe the blood splatter for hours afterward until hunger and the insects drove him away.
As Malcolm hit the ground however he realized he couldn’t stand. Not after a wound like that, whoever the dead man had been he was an excellent shot. Malcolm felt a strange pang of longing, he almost wished he could have gotten to know this one, the way he met his death had been worthy.
It was a fate he would never get to have and maybe that was part of why he admired it. Malcolm had taken his dive and his reckless shot knowing full well what would happen. His supernatural benefactors were invested in him, heavily so. They’d granted him a second life and holy weapons, they gave him visions of the damned and the means to find them. They made him the perfect killing machine and sanctioned him to do so. They would come for him. He just had to stay awake in the hot Texas sun, blood poring out of his stomach. They’d be here. Hopefully soon.
As Malcolm’s eyes closed he could have sworn he saw a flash of light.
\-------------
If you enjoyed that I've got a ton more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-02-23T18:27:29 | 2021-02-23T18:21:41 | 120 | 64 |
[WP] Your escape pod crash landed on an alien planet. Badly injured, a local farmer took you in, but their species only lives for 3 months. It took nearly 3 generations to fully recover. That was years ago and you’ve been protecting the family ever since.
|
Nobody came.
The ship had crashed and they left me on this strange world with blue grasses and yellow skies. They had left me among these short lived, purple folk. Had they planned to dispose of me like this all along?
Then let me stay here. Let me protect the family that saved me, let me guard their lands from the raiders. Let me protect them until my legs give out beneath me and I can no longer see the sky.
\-----
I don't remember the first or second one to take me in and care for me. I barely remember the third. I remember waking up to look into black eyes with purple and red feelers wrapped around my arm. I remember panicking and trying to jump back, only to pass out again. It was a little while later when I woke up again to see the third speaking in a chirping language to two smaller creatures. The third had pointed to me and I had only been able to blink for a moment until I tried to introduce myself.
It took three more deaths to learn their language and to grow back to my full strength. I had sworn to help them after that, a repayment for watching over me. Yet every night I tried to contact Earth with the little technology I had.
I never got a response.
\-----
The years had grown on and I was still watching over the fields of the Ka Pring Dynasty, occasionally fighting off some raiders when I looked into one of the silver colored water holes and realized my face no longer looked like the face on my identification card. My skin had grown from pearly white to a permanent tan and my lips had turned blue from the blue grasses I ate. Wrinkles marred my face as much as any scar did and my black hair was now down my back and streaked with silver. I was now in the care of the 157st, my vow standing strong.
Earth would not find these peaceful people and their beautiful traditions, like making large and intricate towers out of black and green stone, carved with words and symbols or marking the grave of the passed with a carved marker, made by the passed one. Earth would not pollute their silver rivers with large red fish that reminded me of the long extinct manta rays that had lived in the seas.
I stopped trying to contact Earth.
\-----
I was old when they came.
Maybe they had finally received my transmissions from my youth.
Me and the 228th watched as the shining spaceships marred the yellow sky with their dark shadows. The 228th asked me to defend them. I could only shake my head and say I could not, for I was old and weak and close to death.
But perhaps I could buy them time.
\-----
The humans took three weeks to come. I had stood at the edge of the fields and watched them come, ripping large clouds of iridescent dust up. The 228th and the rest of the Ka Pring Dynasty had already left, abandoning their homeland in search of safety. I hoped they made it as two humans in silver suits dismissed from their hovering machines, speaking in a tongue I could no longer understand.
I stayed perfectly still as they scanned me, and somehow the scanner recognized me. I watched as the screen revealed my 21 year old self, the last scan taken before I crashed into this strange and wondrous planet.
The humans muttered something to each other and the who had taken the scan stared at me and asked something, but I could only make out the words, "Ebony White?"
My name. I nodded and opened my mouth to speak, to conjure up words in the human language I had so long ago abandoned.
"Nobody comes."
|
There's a knock at the door and Blue stops, puts her bowl down, and chirps. Then, a series of frantic chirps echo back from outside, and she motions for me to get the gun. Normally, a seven-foot-tall blue-purple raptor alien miming shooting somebody would be funny. If it was her great-great-grandparents asking, it might've been- they were always fascinated by the hairless ape thing with the shooty-machine. I'd never had to kill anything in front of them before, and they'd only seen me showing off with them.
Blue has seen me kill, and so it's a lot less funny with her.
Her kids Red and Ivory chatter nervously, quietly. Beige- I don't feel bad about naming her mate Beige, he'd nearly had a conniption the first time he'd seen me and is still clearly uncomfortable around me- screeches. Blue snaps something at them in a high-pitched, chittering tone that I still can't make heads or tails of. I can tell she's nervous, but it *still* sounds like gibberish. There's just something about their language that I can't seem to grasp, as hard as I try. I've had five years and twenty generations with these delightful bird people and I'm still completely clueless when it comes to the exact, precise meaning of their words.
That doesn't mean we can't communicate, though. She ruffles her feathers and snaps at me, and I get the hint. We've developed a relatively intricate system of hand (read: talon, claw, wing, and 'beat the human over the head') gestures over the years, me and this family, but this one is new. And doesn't need any translating- 'hurry the fuck up' is universal. I throw my dish in their sink and I head up to the second floor of their roost.
I don't have wings, but there's a handy series of steel bars set into the polished stone walls for me to use as handholds. Back when it was me and Iron-Talons and his ladybird, we made a rickety version when it became very apparent that I had no wings and couldn't fly like them. I still don't know what he told the neighbors when they came over. My best guess is that he lied about one of his chicks not being able to fly as well as the rest of the clutch. His daughter had always made a fuss downstairs whenever somebody pointed out the bars (loudly enough I could hear her from the pantry), and when she'd gotten older, when her feathers had turned grey with age, she had laughed and pointed at herself.
That was probably an age-related excuse. She'd always been quick on her feet when it came to thinking of lies- well, talons.
I haul my ass up onto the second floor and grab my solar rifle. Blue is chattering with somebody downstairs, and her voice is as high-pitched as its ever been. She sounds calm, but I've been living with these people long enough to know the difference between 'calm' and 'pretending to be calm' and this falls very squarely into the latter. (It's the scraping- I can hear her dragging her talons against the stone floor of her roost.)
I check my gun. I'm not a soldier, but I've gotten better at using it. It's probably the best possible weapon for my situation, which is... probably why it was included in the escape pod, honestly. It's relatively low power for a human energy weapon, but it runs off solar batteries. And if there's anything that this planet has, it's clear skies and a beaming sun. It's sturdy enough that I don't have to really maintain it (which is good, because I don't know how to do that) and there was a full crate of batteries- I've broken one or two but I've still got twelve left, and all they need to charge is the sun.
I slip back down, taking the rungs two at a time. Iron-Talons had yelled at me the first time I did it like this. The grouchy old bird had been sure I'd fall down and hurt myself in a way they couldn't fix. Despite the language barrier, he had made this very clear. Shouting was universal, and his mate had even drawn a helpful picture.
"What's wrong?" I ask, the second my boots are on the floor again. My family understands *me* better than I understand *them,* which is... honestly a bit disconcerting. They seem to *learn* faster than I do, and they've had twenty generations to learn my words. Blue, at the very least, knows what it sounds like when I ask a question.
Oh, and there are a few new birds in here. I call them birds, but they're closer to bipedal raptors. Which sounds cute, in concept, until you're up close to one. I love my family dearly, but Iron-Talons had been nearly eight feet tall (big even for one of them, I had learned) and I had been sure he was going to eat me when I'd woken up to find him staring at me. It had become apparent later on that he'd just been fucking confused, but at the time it'd been something out of a horror movie.
Blue looks at me and jerks her head towards the door. Her claws come up, and I watch them carefully. *Danger-Predator-Chase,* she signs. I would really have liked more information than that, but her claws make sign language... difficult. Her talons are amazing for slicing things, but... well, the downsides are the reason I'm the family protector and not just some weird alien pet.
The kids look terrified (not of me, but in general) while the new raptors are looking at me like I'm going to kill them, which is hilarious because they could probably rip me apart with their bare claws and is horrible because it makes my heart do that funny twisting thing it always does when I scare one of these people. They're also chattering at Blue with what I can only imagine are demands for some kind of explanation.
"How big?" I ask. I don't know if she fully grasps that, so I make an 'it was *this* big' gesture for emphasis. She mimics it with her wing-claws and I wince. My dear bird family has quite the wingspan, and she's still stretching her wings to get the idea across. "Fuck," I say. The kids make that little chittering thing that passes for a laugh with them, and although I hadn't thought it was possible, Blue's scowl deepens. They understand *that* alright. "Shit, sorry! I'm just going to..."
I bustle outside. The problem becomes immediately evident as something pulls itself over the cliff face that the family roost is built on. It's a mass of tentacles and grasping claws and armored scales, and I can immediately see why they need me to handle it. I *know* that Blue is a skilled warrior, just like her mother and her mother before her, but talons won't scratch those scales. I flick the safety on my rifle and I raise it as the thing barrels towards us. My gun hums to life, and I pull the trigger.
I've tried to teach the family to use it, just in case something happens to me, but it's never worked out. Apparently, you need opposable thumbs to wield a weapon like this.
The predator looks surprised as the green-white beam hits it head-on, and then its front half explodes into yellow, bloody chunks. The rest of it pitches off the cliff and falls back down. I wince in sympathy. It's likely already dead, but I know just how far down that fall is. I've had at least seven different generations fly me to the bottom because the youth of today always thinks it's funny to terrify their alien gun monkey. "All clear," I call, and turn back towards the roost.
The new raptors- and I recognize them now, they're our clan neighbors- stare at me. One of them, the largest, probably the leader of the family, raises a wing at me and squawks something I would feel confident betting is some variation of 'what the fuck.'
Blue rests her beak in a wing-talon and I half-laugh, half-cry, because I'm inevitably going to be dragged into this conversation as they try to explain the concept of an 'immortal' alien warrior with an instant death laser.
\----
Wanted to try this with a language barrier! It does sort of skimp a bit on focus on the age aspect- it's still *there* but it less the focus. I might write something from their perspective later.
| 2021-10-22T19:00:11 | 2021-10-22T18:38:42 | 927 | 326 |
[WP] The zone of madness was thought impossible to traverse. The Federation of planets was, needless to say, intensely distressed by the news of an unknown ship emerging from the zone. They call themselves "human" and originate from near the center of the zone.
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"Human?"
"Are you seriously telling me a ship exited null space with a crew calling themselves human?" uttered the executive officer on-board the recon ship Ticonderoga.
"Yes sir. They're broadcasting on all frequencies."
"*SOS, we're a human ship from the center of null space and require immediate assistance.*" The comms officer reading the message aloud.
"*We're* humans lieutenant. I doubt anything coming out of that god forsaken place is even anything remotely human. It's been centuries but I'm pretty sure we've accounted for all the colony ships that left Terra. There weren't many of them anyway after it got swallowed up in that zone." the XO retorted before leaning back on his chair with a sigh.
The bridge staff muttered amongst themselves in hushed tones clearly distraught and trying to make heads or tails of the situation.
"Ehem" The ship's captain clears his throat and proceeds to speak authoritatively to the rest of the crew.
"In any case, we need to know what that ship is doing out here. Null space is no joke and a ship that survived that is going to be something the egg heads over at Federation HQ would want to take a look at. There's a reason that place has been branded the Zone of Madness."
The captain turns over to his helmsman and gives his order "Helm, take us to within 500,000 klicks of that ship and maintain a holding pattern."
Turning to the executive officer "XO inform our SEAL team to get ready for a recon boarding action. Though keep them on standby. If it's a null space ship we're dealing with, we'll have to wake *him* up."
The XO with a shocked expression looks at the captain "Sir, you can't mean..."
"Oh I mean it XO. If it came out of null space, that thing isn't filled with humans. Go wake up the Doom Guy."
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[Part 1 of 2]
“So, it’s human?” Commander Angela Valdiner stood over the chair of her security administrator, watching the most recent footage of their newest arrival entering their planet’s station.
“That’s what he said. Do you think he’s lying?” Angela didn’t respond right away, her black glove digging into the back of the chair as she lurched forward, watching the standard looking human wander around the security gates before being rushed by armed guards. The silence eventually proved too much for the administrator, causing him to speak. “They ordered me to let him in, miss. I promise I didn’t disobey orders. I know it’s strange. We usually shoot ships like his down on sight, but I was ordered to hold my ground.”
“I know. I gave that order. We know nothing about that zone, only that those that enter it come back broken monstrosities. This is the first time anyone from Zone 24 has come out with the ability to speak. Not only can it speak, but it can also navigate using a ship. The other Zone 24 ships we encountered were found floating endlessly through space. This is unique.” Her grip loosened on the chair, turning to face the doorway. “Where are they holding it?”
“Currently, he is being held in the high-risk quarters. Give me one moment to check which containment cell they have him locked in.” The administrator scrolled through his holographic screen before circling a dot on the display map. When the dot was circled, it flashed red, making it easier for the commander to notice. “There, cell 304. Would you like me to assign a few guards to come with you?”
“If I’m not strong enough to put it down, the guards won’t be. No point losing three lives when we can lose one. Such a move would be inefficient. Do me a favor, Reynold. Make sure any security cameras are closed for the next hour. Madness finds crude ways to spread. I don’t wish to put you down next. I won’t make your death painless if it’s your fault.”
Reynold’s didn’t even need to look back to feel her icy stare. His hands shaking as he tried to force the camera off. His shaky swipes missing on the first few occasions before finally the red circle turned into a black dot, showing that they would receive no recordings or audio from the cell.
Angela waited until she saw the black dot. Once it was on display, she made her way to the cell. Her heavy boots clanking through the metallic halls of her planet’s station. She passed the new arrivals area, some of them looking at her with fear, quickly gazing back to their paperwork, hoping to avoid a haughty stare. While others stared at her in bewildered amazement, unable to believe they were seeing such a powerful figure gracing an area reserved for commoners.
After passing through a few security checks, she made her way to the high-risk quarters. The increase in guard presence being immediately obvious to anyone that would enter the area. Each guard equipped with a variety of guns, explosives and defense systems, each one offering them the best possible chance of survival if something was to go wrong. She approached the two guards standing outside of cell 304, waiting for them to salute.
The two guards jumped to attention, their hands quickly smacking against their helmets as they saluted. They held their salute as Angela waited, not relieving them of their attention just yet. She watched them squirm as the seconds ticked away, waiting to see which would break first. The seconds turned to minutes before she noticed the hand of the left guard leave their helmet. As soon as the hand left, she addressed them.
“Am I not worthy of a full salute? What’s your name and rank?”
The guard on her right flinched, perhaps knowing what was coming next for their partner. Still, they refused to turn towards the other guard, their focus solely on the Commander. The guard on the left slapped their hand back to their forehead, trying to force themselves to stand even straighter than they currently were before responding.
“Private Henry Vandil, Commander.”
The right of her mouth twitched, nearly breaking into a smirk, but her usual stoic expression soon crushed that emotion. “Are you trying to disrespect me, private? Do you think I’m not worthy of a salute?”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that. My arm was just getting a little sore.”
“Oh, your arms sore? Am I overworking you?”
She didn’t need to see his face to know he was afraid. Even with a helmet on, she could tell the guard was squirming. He looked to his other guard for support, but they refused to acknowledge his presence, acting like he wasn’t even there.
“No, it’s my fault for being weak. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“No, it must be my fault for overworking you, and I truly apologize. Here, let me see your arm.”
“My arm?”
“Yes, come on, hold it out. The arm that was too tired to salute me.” He nervously stretched his arm out, staring into the cold grey eyes of his commander as he did. As soon as Henry held it out, Angela grabbed it, holding onto his forearm.
“There. Was that so bad?”
When Henry went to speak, she slammed his arm into the door of the cell, a loud rattling being heard as his arm made contact. He dropped to his knees, trying to pull his arm free, but the Commander didn’t let go. Instead, she traced her fingers along his arm, checking it before finally releasing her grip.
“Good, nothing’s broken. Well, since you’re still in such good health, why don’t you do both the day and night shifts this week? That way you can build up some stamina, so we don’t run into any more problems, ok? That still gives you a good two hours to rest.”
“O….ok.”
“I didn’t say you could stop saluting. Answer me properly.”
His arm struggled to raise itself into position. Angela’s patience eventually faded as she pulled his arm up herself, smacking his helmet with it, causing him to stagger back. As he staggered backwards, he kept his hand pinned to his helmet, not dropping it.
“Good. Now leave me to deal with the newest arrival. At ease.” As she gave the command, the pair dropped their hands and scurried away from the door. When the door opened, a well-dressed man greeted Angela, one in a clean white suit with expensive jewelry hanging from his neck.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ze3jug/wp_the_zone_of_madness_was_thought_impossible_to/iz4sbj9/)
| 2022-12-06T06:05:39 | 2022-12-06T05:05:37 | 145 | 91 |
[WP]Aliens abduct a human only to discover he's not what he seems...
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begin communication
Subject 87. 3rd planet from yellow star 8902. Of the dominant species on the planet and capable of sentient thought and verbal communication. Physically in good condition, well muscled and groomed. Male. Apparently regarded as well educated in his society and served as a researcher according to documentation found in his pockets. Despite obvious agitation, subject 87 remains far calmer and more communicative than the typical bipedal sample from this planet. Hair is largely isolated about the subject's head and is black. Skin has no visible scaling or defense mechanism, is thin and permeable to short wave radiation. Notably free from scarring, calluses, and most other forms of blemishes. Subject 87 is secured via four primary limbs to dissection table and stripped of clothing. Still conscious, no anesthetic has yet been administered. Note this will be the 9th of the species to be dissected with anesthetic after the council of ethics agreed to the sentience of this species.
Subject pleading to be released yet is showing remarkably low signs of panic. Possible ingestion of sedatives prior to capture? We will analyze the subject's blood and stomach contents to further understand the chemical makeup of what may have been imbibed recently.
Research note. Subject 87 is designated for use as a research platform to study the effects of our typical ingested amino acids on various organs once removed from the body cavity to assess what similarities our body chemistry may or may not have.
Subject 87 states that we do not realize what we are doing. Subject 87 may be delusional. Anesthetic module has arrived and is being positioned by research assistant. Subject 87 is becoming increasingly agitated and has begun to issue threats despite restraints remaining in place. Heart rate finally beginning to accelerate and perspiration observed to be forming on the brow.
Anesthetic being delivered now. Subject 87 has indicated that he is beginning to feel very angry, and that I would not like him while he is ang<COMMUNICATIONS INTERRUPTED>
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A lone figure sat in a blank white room, restrained to a white chair by mettalic clasps across his arms, legs, chest, and forehead. He was unconscious but his vitals indicated that he was moments from waking. A mechanism in the wall extended and placed a large needle perfectly into the vein of his right arm. A dark liquid was administered through the needle, it guaranteed that the specimen wouldn't die of shock like the previous one. As the man's eyes opened he blinked to adjust to the brilliance of the white room.
"Vincent Lark," a metallic voice rang through the intercoms. "You have been restrained and sedated for your own benefit. Please do not resist your bindings, these are for your own safety."
Vincent swept the room with his eyes. He couldn't turn his head too far but the room appeared entirely uniform. "Where am I?" He asked calmly. "United States? Britain? China?"
"You were taken in the deserts of the continent Asia. You are in a research vessel, I'm afraid that's as much as I can tell you," the voice responded. "Vincent, we are going to enter the room now. Please prepare yourself, and remember you have nothing to fear from us."
Vincent scoffed. This wasn't his first rodeo, this was the fourth time he had been captured throughout the years. Albeit this was the first time for the sake of "research." So he waited as he heard a mechanical door slide open behind him. He would need to wait until the right moment before he played his cards. Out of his peripherals he saw a figure approaching from his right. As he turned his gaze the air left his lungs.
The creature stood about an even five feet tall. It's skin was scaled and the color of rust. It's legs were long compaired to the rest of it, and it walked with a crooked stride. Finally it came to stand in front of him and extended a long thin arm with three large soft fingers at his face. It held a light that shined into his eyes, right then left. In low gutteral tones it spoke to another creature behind the chair.
"Subject appears stable. Scans reveal no known diseases," the intercom explained.
"What the fuck is this?" Vincent asked through clenched teeth. "What are you?"
There was a long silence, punctuated by a few gutteral phrases from the creatures in the room. "We have traveled to Earth to study your species. You were elected for your fitness level and relative anonymity. No Earth databases show that you exist, Vincent. Why is that?"
Vincent barked a laugh and the creature in front of him jumped back, startled. "Yeah well there's a pretty good reason for that. So you really just picked me because I was a good human specimen?"
"That's correct. We really mean you no harm. Our research is purely scientific in nature. We study primitive species," the voice responded. "As long as you cooporate yoi will return unharmed with no memory of this event. Now Vincent, are you willing to answer a few questions?"
Vincent laughed again. "Sure, why not? Call me Vince."
"Very well...Vince, where and what year were you born?"
"1763, in what would later become the United States of America."
There was a pregnant pause. "Mr. Lark, please take this seriously. We know that timeframe far exceeds human life expectency."
Vincent smiled. "Yes. Yes it does."
"Very well, Vincent. What is your current occupation?"
"I'm a hunter."
Another pause. "Mr. Lark, my superiors are willing to be a bit more direct with you if you don't cooperate. By our laws, your species has not attained the same ethical rights as an advanced race. If you continue to mock us then we will be forced to administer force."
This time Vincent cackled. The two creatures in the room with him disappeared and quickly returned with some rather cruel looking utinsels. "My species is it? You think the skin I wear right now makes me the same as everyone else?" He continued to laugh.
A low gutteral sound came over the intercom and one of the creatures stepped forward and place a sharp point against his chest and pressed a button. The device looked like a pen but made a sound and suddenly pain lanced through his body.
Vincent screamed and fought against his restraints. Another lance of pain and he ripped his right arm free of the metal brace and grabbed the creature's arm. With a twist he heard flesh tear and bones shatter as he ripped the arm off the creature. Another round of gutteral chatter and he watched as a black fluid raced up the needle in his arm, straight into his blood. A feeling of cold washed over him as the chemical seized his heart. The breath left his body and his heart stopped beating.
The room became deathly quiet aside from the strange croaking sound of creature thay had lost it's arm. It was a mystery how a human could have broken through the metal restraint. The second creature moved to its companion and attempted to calm the creature. The intercom came to life and the room was filled with the alien's gutteral speech. The unharmed alien glanced over at the specimen and fell silent. It stared into unblinking orange eyes.
"My species..." came an inhuman voice from the lips of a dead man. Vincent's chest convulsed and he felt his bones stretch and break, only to reform in a different pattern. His arms flew free of his restraints as long black nails pushed through the skin of his fingers. The other reatraints bent and burst as he stood, still transforming into some monstrosity. His body swelled and muscles folded and rolled over themselves, thick fur slowly spreading around his skin. Finally a long snout began protruding from his skull, the pain was exhilerating.
A swing of claws tore the flesh off the face of the alien cowering above his friend. The beast licked the blood the blood from his fingers and looked around the room.
The intercom announced its presence. "...Mr. Lark. What...what is this? What are you?"
The beast's canine ears twisted to meet the sound. It stood defiantly in the center of tbe room. Seven feet tall of death. "Home." It said in a voice born out of the bowels of hell.
The research vessel quickly reversed course, back to Earth to deposit this creature. There was nothing in the alien's records about humans having this ability. It was agreed that it was too dangerous to open the door to the examination room, and the entire compartment was left behind to avoid that confrontation. The best lifted its snout to the air once it was back on Earth, howled long and chilling at the moon, finally disappearing into the wilderness.
Earth was deemed a hostile environment and all galactic research was quickly brought to an end regarding that strange blue planet.
| 2013-12-11T13:14:27 | 2013-12-11T12:45:17 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
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(Aight my first WP attempt so be kinda easy on me?)
I’m walking through the halls to my next class, getting the usual snicker here and there from my fellow classmates. “What a loser!” and “I can’t believe it!” Are the usual comments I hear from everyone. They all assume I had gotten some weak ass power, and that is hair manipulation, all because I simply couldn’t just pick one hair style for my character. You see, the thing is with this whole “Super power” phenomena is that the power you inherit is solely based on the last character you played in a video game, and I’m heavy on the ones that give you the option for a big selection of different options for every aspect of the body, and I never kept just one hair style throughout the entire game. So every now and then my hair would just randomly switch to another style, one minute I’m bald the next I’m looking like Jonathon Joestar. But the thing is that’s uhh... not exactly all I can do, it’s just what I show, because if I were to show to the real world what I could do? No one I know would be safe, not my family, not my friends, hell not even my girlfriend... With the character modifications I usually like to give them some whacky or overpowered trait depending on the game, and what I chose this time, while playing the game was a fantastic idea, but now in the real world? Not so much, I had chosen time manipulation. Now I know what you’re thinking “How in the hell could that put people in danger?” And I’m getting to that part, the thing that’s special about how my time manipulation works is it’s all based on my blood. What I take a small sharp object, make a nice cut along my palm, it starts glowing like some hocus pocus shit and I can fast forward time, reverse it, or outright stop it. That’s why I can’t ever tell anyone, not one single soul.
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No one knew how a virus could spread like it did, ignoring firewalls and anti-virus programs. Scientists were furious that someone had apparently figured out how to make hacking in NCIS, Bones, CSI, and other forensic dramas into reality. Everyone who was affected, though, was thrilled, because the day the virus spread through the internet was the day that death no longer became permanent. Everyone respawned, though some faster than others. It was the day that superheroes were born.
Or, rather, they liked to think of themselves as superheroes. Some people call them trolls...others call them mingebags. Really, they were just the stereotypical movie depiction of a jock or a Chad, except they were now powerful enough to really force their will on other people and get away with it.
Some people had been playing sports games, and so the sports industry had quadrupled in size. Being able to perform the exact same super-powered kick every time was quite an advantage in football, for instance.
However, most people I knew of with powers basically turned into super-soldiers overnight. Being able to run as fast as a car, jump higher than they were tall, and, most importantly, never run out of bullets, they patrolled the cities in gangs, shooting anyone who didn't give them the godly praise they craved.
Other people had been playing fantasy games, and so were able to fight with magic or shouts. Others had been playing different kinds of shooters, and so had the occasional extra ability, like a double jump or grappling hook. Some people were literal superheroes, like Spider-Man, but these weren't nearly as common.
The MMORPGers should have been a major threat to the trolls, but even in real life, they spent most of their time doing quests and fighting raids against other MMORPGs. World of Warcraft staged a huge war against Final Fantasy XIV and Final Fantasy XI while Star Trek Online and EVE Online fought gigantic space battles.
Warframe players were some of the most powerful individuals, but as to be expected, spent most of their time gathering thousands of resources for a single new weapon that they only used for a short time before beginning the grind again.
No one talked about the Diablo and Path of Exile players, who were almost as depressing as the Dark Souls players. All of them should have been overjoyed at the sheer amount of abilities that they had suddenly gained, but they thought the world was full of death and pain and suffering, and spent the majority of their time trudging through the streets in silence or waiting in therapists' offices.
As could have been expected, many thousands were playing Minecraft. While they weren't quite as powerful as some, when they appeared, they did so in great numbers. They could demolish and rebuild a city in a single night, carry nearly 50,000 metric tons of materials, and, most importantly, punch trees into oblivion. Unfortunately, they often spent their time punching each other into oblivion or building houses out of dirt. For some reason, having the ability to build almost anything tended to lead people to do the same five things over and over again.
All of my friends had gotten into into Fortnight and Apex Legends. I'd never had any interest in either, having spent most of my time playing simulation games or sandbox games. I enjoyed building things and being creative. I didn't like competition or shooters, and lost 20-to-1 every time I tried to play them.
After the virus, though, I began to change.
People said my powers were stupid because of what other people did with them. People said that I was a kid for enjoying playing by myself. People said I was pathetic and boring. People thought I was nothing compared to their infinite bullets or giant space ships, or space ninja powers.
But I would show them. For while I had been playing Minecraft like many other people, I had also been playing with mods. One particular mod in particular, which was particularly interesting. One full of intrigue and secrets, one that allowed me to play with the very building blocks of matter and energy...through magic and science.
One that had the potential to outshine everyone else. One that had the power to pull that which should have been unknowable into reality. One that would bring me to the deepest, darkest recesses of the universe. One that would allow me to see things that should have been unseen...
...
...
...
For I had been playing Thaumcraft.
...
...
...
...
...I ͞w̵o̸u͟ld sho͡w th҉em.̀ Ḭ̰͔̥̱̳̗̊̿͆̅ͫ ͚̜͉̬̯̼́̾̓̃̏̏̈́̕w̢̦͓͖̣̺̰ͭ̌͐ͩͨ̾̔ȍ̴͔̪̻̻̯͓̟̇̃u̙̗̪ͪ̈́̊l͎͙͚̩̫ͥd҉͙̬͔̱̠ ̠̘̲̼̖̒ͭͫs̉̀̏̃h̨̠̯̼͍̠̦̅̒̔ͣo͈̬̼ͥ͂́͒̈́ͪw̜̫̘̿ͮ͠ tͯ̌̒ͯ͐̚҉͙͕̰̲̜̲͕̲͟h͍̜̬͖̼̩̟͖͆͑̐̔̎͗͒͜e̷̝̘̺̹̟̳͇̳ͯͫ́̉͊͌̕͜m̫̗̟̯̺̲̰̘̊̆̽͋ͭ̚ ą̢͉̬̥͕̗͍̣̜̐ͧ̔ͣ̈̒̈͗ͭ̀͘͠l̞̤̱̗̩̤͕͉̱̠͖̝̙͍̺̜̟ͪ̓ͨͭ͢͡l̾̔̇̽͑̆͂͒̆ͫ̏̎ͩ͐҉̢͔̝̮͚͈͖̝̲́.
| 2019-09-30T11:16:55 | 2019-08-12T01:03:57 | 64 | 22 |
[WP] Delivery drones are armed to deter thieves, but the more heavily defended a drone is the better the loot. The golden age of drone piracy is now lads.
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SYSERR 10067 - DRONE_408212 NOT RESPONSIVE FOR 500uS
Starting audio analysis subroutine . . .
EVENT 40045 - AUDIO EVENT LOGGED
DISPLAYING ANALYSIS PROBABILITY
GUNSHOT - 98.4%
HIGH CALIBER RIFLE - 2.4%
MEDIUM CALIBER RIFLE - 68.5%
HIGH CALIBER PISTOL - 1.1%
MEDIUM CALIBER PISTOL / LOW CALIBER RIFLE - 34.3%
LOW CALIBER PISTOL - 2.3%
SUBSONIC WEAPON - 0.4%
LIGHTNING STRIKE - 9.4%
AUDIO EQUIPMENT MALFUNCTION - 0.4%
OTHER - 1.2%
Starting image analysis subroutine . . .
EVENT 60033 - INDIVIDUAL LOGGED
MATCH - FACIAL RECOGNITION - 99.8%
{
AMAZON_GLOBAL_ID: “81b8a1b77068d06e”,
LAST_NAME: “KING”,
FIRST_NAME: “FATIMA”,
AMAZON_PRIME_MEMBER: False,
PREVIOUS_INCIDENTS: {
“594f803b380”,
“a41396ed63d”,
“ca395035424”
}
}
MATCH - FIREARM - 92.6%
{
TYPE: “LONG_BARREL_RIFLE”,
ACTION: “BOLT_ACTION”,
CALIBER: “.30-06”
}
Processing . . .
PROBABILITY OF INDIVIDUAL 81b8a1b77068d06e CAUSING DRONE_408212 MALFUNCTION - 89.3%
REQUEST HQ FOR PERMISSION TO ENGAGE . . .
REQUEST APPROVED!
Starting suspect engagement protocol . . .
POST ENGAGEMENT REPORT
{
DRONES_DAMAGED: [],
SUSPECT_STATUS: [
“81b8a1b77068d06e”: “NEUTRALIZED”
],
ROUNDS_EXPENT: 37,
DELAY_TO_CUSTOMER: 34.26S
}
Starting engagement report upload to local law enforcement . . .
DONE!
Starting lost asset recovery subroutine . . .
IMMEDIATE RECOVERY - IMPRACTICAL
Sending last known location of DRONE_408212 to HQ for recovery . . .
DONE!
\-- Item #006 in Washington State v Fatima King, recovered from Amazon Drone 408111
|
What a lot of people don't realise is that Bank is the perfect place to wait for drones. It's full up on people at all hours of the day and night. Might seem like a handicap, 'cept everyone's staring at their phones, or their feet, anywhere but where they might meet another person's eyes. Pete an' me, we figured it out real quick when we were 'round the actual Bank for a school trip, and came back later to try a bit of climbing. Those old buildings are as good for it as you'd think.
The other thing is, there's lots of fancy people around. Bankers, sure, but others too. The people who *employ* bankers. And not the fancy new-money wankers from Canary Wharf. The kind of old money that comes with titles and those stupid pinky rings.
Anyway, those types of people like to get what they want, when they want it. And they don't want to wait for London traffic for it to be delivered, either. Hence: prime drone spotting territory.
You might be thinking, "what about the cameras?" London is famous for them. But, bruv, any Scav worth a damn carries a disruptor, or course. Those Peeping Toms might as well be set dressing. The real impressive tech comes in when you want to catch one. They move fast, and even a basic model comes with good hazard avoidance algorithms these days.
Fortunately, I've always been a tinkerer, and Pete's got great eyes and a steady hand. So even when we were starting out, we did alright. Our first big catch was over Hampstead Heath, with a weighted tennis ball and some braided fishing line. it was right around Christmas in year 12, and things were lean at home. We'd been goofing around with prototypes, and saw a M-573 carrying an Amazon box passing overhead. It was too good of a chance to pass up. One excellent throw later, we had a treasure trove in hand. Someone's mum was sending a fancy hamper to, "help with Christmas dinner." It was enough to make things better at both our houses that year, and we were well pleased. We scarpered, taking the goods–and drone parts–with us.
After a couple of other easy catches, we decided to try the spot we'd found at Bank. The first night out we got a fancy watch, some bottles of Krug, and a USB stick that we looked at before leaving at a police station. You might have heard about the arrests that followed–you know the ones. Parliament was in an uproar for ages about them. That was us.
We kept things chilled, trying to never take too much or be too bold. But when Pete's dad got sick, and my sister got into an accident, or when the neighbors pension checks got mysteriously delayed, well, somehow there was always money to sort things out with.
And then, we started to get a reputation. And through a network of whispers, a certain M.G. asked if he could hire our services. Which is what brought us up to the roof on this particular evening.
"It's fuckin' cold," Pete said, shivering. He's always been a skinny lad, and even though we're well out of school, he hasn't put on any weight. Lucky bastard.
"It's November, Pete. I told you to wear your Jacket over your hoodie."
"I know, but I figured this hoodie would be enough with this muffler."
"Fuckin' hell, here, but these on." I handed him the mittens I was wearing over my gloves. It might affect his dexterity, but cold hands would be worse.
"Thanks L."
"Don't mention it." We looked up together. It was a mercifully dry night, but the lack of clouds meant there was nothing to hold the city's heat in. The sky burned orange from the lights below, and we waited in hopes that one specific delivery would be passing by.
"Shit, is that it?" Pete pointed. An extremely black object was quietly zooming across our field of view from the east.
"Dumbasses painted it with Vanta Black? It sticks out like sore thumb!" I pulled up my binoculars and looked at the shape. Sure enough, a drone shaped hole in the sky was there.
"Shot one?"
"Short circuit grenade, go." I figured it wasn't going to work, but it might give us some idea of the thing's capabilities. Sure enough, when the grenade hit, the drone only wobbled a little. Through the binoculars, I watched it extend an arm out the side. "Shit, it's got something out. Can you tell what it is?"
"Give me those, and I'll see." He grabbed the binocs, then swore. "It's one of those laser scopes–" his sentence was cut off as a red light shone down on the rooftoop. The angle of the beam showed us the drone was still moving quickly. If we wanted to intercept it, we'd have to move fast.
What followed was a ridiculous deployment of tech. Pete and I both shot the thing with weapons resembling harpoon guns. In turn, it tried to electrocute us, cut the ropes with the laser, and set us on fire with a flame thrower. Fortunately, we had measures to counteract all of these defences, and in a few minutes, we had the drone on the roof, rotors off, and AI disabled.
"Damn but it's a big 'un." It really was. A meter long, and over half a meter wide, it was unusually big, even for London. The black colour was unsettling, and something seemed...off.
"I'm getting a weird feeling. Let's be really careful when we open this one, hey?"
"Agreed."
Disabling the outer locks was shockingly easy, given everything we'd seen to that point, but we were "rewarded" by a strange mist emanating out when we pulled off the main flight assembly.
"Fuck! Back off." I was starting to worry about the time, but a lucky gust of wind came and blew whatever it was away. We had the lid off quickly with a lever, and then we were looking at the inner capsule. It was round, and appeared to have to seams on it.
"Now what? We can't get this off the roof." We heard sirens, and turned to look toward them. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, but streets are a maze where we were, so it was hard to tell how many police where coming. More than one car though, that was sure.
I put my hand on the capsule, and tried to roll it, to see if there was some way to open it on the bottom. But as I did, a seam appeared where none had been, and a lid popped open to reveal:
"Fuck, why did that asshole send us to get a body?"
"I don't think it's a body, P."
A perfect human girl lay curled up in the pod, apparently asleep. She was wearing a strange jumpsuit, but what skin I could see was flawless. Her hair spread out in a corona of curls on the cushioning around her. She was beautiful. Also, she was blue.
"Liv, we gotta go." I turned to look at Pete, then back to the girl.
"But, what if she's in trouble? We can't just leave her!"
"*We're* going to be in trouble if we don't get out of here."
"One sec." I looked at him, and our ropes. "How do you feel about parkour with a passenger?"
"Oh, fuck."
| 2019-09-30T15:45:12 | 2019-09-30T14:23:50 | 52 | 39 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
|
"What does all of this even mean?" Garrok asked aloud. She and Farrun scanned the transmission for a fifth time, attempting to glean the intent behind the nonsense they had been given. They understood what radiation was but most of the words seemed straight out of fantasy. What was a 'fallout?' Or 'scrubbing?' What reaction did they mean by 'runaway reaction?'
"It's a threat from humanity, clearly, but a threat of what?" Farrun asked. They both knew what he was referring to. The war against humanity started barely a galactic day-cycle ago. It was an honorless ambush on humanity's home system but even she, simple researcher that she was, felt that such a thing was necessary.
Humanity was, without a doubt, the greatest nuisance the Larr'ell race had ever faced. Eons of galactic economic supremacy undermined by weak, furless monkeys who happened to know how to butter people up. They were a pathetic race barely fit for combat and they somehow leveraged the sympathy their many weaknesses brought them into a political and economic hegemony that threatened both the current galactic economy and the Larr'ell way of life.
A decapitating strike was necessary and an ambush the only feasible option. They had left humanity unimpeded and now they had too many allies for them to face and so the government, with the people's blessing, decided to strike the valgrax at its heart or die trying.
Humanity's single-minded focus on industrial and logistical technologies created a vulnerability that they needed to exploit before it was closed. The Larr'ell and their few remaining allies could not afford a drawn out battle. Human ships may have been mobile like no other but they lacked the power or durability they needed to overpower the Larr'ell capital fleet in a single decisive battle. If they could force them to the table before they could shift to a wartime economy, they could win unconditionally. And so that was what they did. They forced them into a single, decisive battle last she heard. Humanity's swift defeat should have been a foregone conclusion. Was a foregone conclusion.
So why was she feeling incalculable dread as she skimmed the contents of the transmission for a fifth time. The transmission arrived unencrypted and unobstructed straight into the capital of their homeworld. She could imagine how badly the Data Defense Department were being chewed out for that oversight. Strangely, civilian targets had been the recipients of the transmission instead of the governmental or military ones: hospitals, research labs, and even weather centers. The government itself was in a frenzy over the attack. They believed it was an ultimatum. She couldn't help but worry that they were right but she wisely kept that opinion to herself. The air around the war declaration was of jubilation after all. They had made their bed and anything less than full commitment would not only ruin their legacy but that of their entire race.
She felt the impact before she heard it. The ground beneath her seemed to give before catching itself and she felt the pressure drop for a moment. And then the boom: a mind-shattering bang followed by a rolling rumble that seemed to drag on forever. She'd first thought one of their kinetic cannons had misfired and launched a rod somewhere nearby but no weapon she knew of in their arsenal made that sort of terrifying sound.
She gathered her senses around the time she began hearing the screams. Farrun, who had somehow gotten on his feet before she did, stood by the window, face black and bloodless. Reluctantly, she looked out the window to see. What she didn't see though would haunt her for the rest of her days.
The crown jewel of their empire, the seat and cradle of the Larr'ell civilization, her beloved Beiran, was gone. An ashen hand holding a war hammer rose up from where it once stood, as if only now judging its bloodcurdling handiwork done. She and Farrun stood motionless as a second transmission from the humans was received.
"Any survivors within 532 breadths of the blasts should be considered to have suffered permanent genetic damage. They cannot be saved. Any survivors within 532 and 727 breadths of the blasts must evacuate immediately or risk permanent genetic damage. Any survivors within 727 and..."
|
They descended upon Earth with the full panoply of war. 1,000 starships, each a mile long carrying thousands of Soldiers, equipment and ordinance signified the undisputed might of the Ubojan Conglomerate. An unbreakable iron grip that held a thousand star systems under its hand. The sheer scale of their warmachine pressed upon the tiny blue planet like a boulder on top of a balloon, threatening to obliterate it simply by being there.
Despite this, the tiny blue planet did not submit. The humans who call it home have tried for months to prevent this catastrophe. A species that preferred the sound of words than that of munitioned tried, and failed to appease the Goliath that threatened to snuff them out of existence before their dreams of stepping out into the stars were realized. These humans, peaceful and benign in the eyes of the galactic community were rudely introduced to the brutality of the galaxy that awaited them.
Weak, pathetic... mewling at the edge of a backwater system were the first impressions
that Ubojan Conglomerate had of these Humans. It has been some time since they showed the Galaxy why there were "the masters of the 1000". It is past due that everyone be reminded.
That is until the first salvo hit. As the first starships made their atmospheric drop, the sky lit up in a blinding flash of white. For a moment, the bielectric crystals focuses of the ships detected only rudimentary defenses. projectile ordinance, liquid propelled fighter craft... Giant square water craft that launched these fighters.... millions of tiny ants scurrying about. A helpless hand weakly put up in the face of a beating.... and then again, another white flash.
in minutes 5 starships disintegrated into nothing, the rest doused in lethal radiation. The eerie silence of shock was replaced by the blares of multiple alarm systems. Radiation readings went off the charts, multiple distress signals coalesced into a unified scream for help and status reports on the quantum comms. The remaining ships creaked and buckled as they reached the stratosphere, blown around like wayward kites upon the edge of a hurricane.
"First centari report!!!" Shouted Admiral Ackubar across all channels. He lead the vanguard, the first centari to be the first to make planetfall. Ackubar wanted to be remembered and itched at the opportunity to be the one, the first one to take this planet for the undying empire. His first moments in this tiny blue planet however, when they win, will be scrubbed from histographs back home. "Multple starships destroyed, my lord" Reported his rear admiral, Haluga. "1st, 28th, 49th, 69th and 86th decari destroyed. Radiation levels are lethal within 5 welklans of their last position... 25 starships from respective decari are damaged but still battle worthy." "In the name of the undying how did they do that!!!" Cursed Ackubar.
The first salvo tore through the skies like a needle piercing through an iron sky. Readings indicated ballistic and kinetic ordinance... which should have been useless against ceramo-crystalline hulls. It was their detonation however that most shocked Ackubar. Each hit lit up like a miniature sun enveloping the iron sky in a blaze of white hot fury. In all of his life, in all of his campaigns he has never seen weapons of this kind used before. Ackubar did not fear death. As a warrior of the 1000 worlds it was his duty to serve, and to die is his reward. What he saw flash before his eyes however, instilled in him the unsettling feeling of being afraid.
"I want retaliatory bombardment from the launch site now!!! 57th, 2nd and 10th decari focus fire on these coordinates!!! 29th and 5th decari set bielectric scans to subterranean... all decari near the 5th and 29th for defensive formations!" the quantum comms hummed their affirmatives and within moments, the tendrils of the first centari sprang into action. Like a snake uncoiling each starship moved into their formations. the 57th, 2nd and 10th decari, the most armed of all the starships, launched photon neutrino torpedoes. Huge blue swaths of flame streaked the sky, determined to reach the ground bellow and pummel the very earth below.
Another white flash, then another. the hurried, desperate pace of these flashes became quicker and quicker. 13 starships have been destroyed, including 7 that formed the defensive perimeter around the 5th and 29th. The 5th, 2nd and 10th increased their fire in response, peppering the ground and pockmarking launch sites as they are reported across the quantum comms. "29th and 5th, report scans to flagship!" commanded a nervous Haluga. The hundreds of small and big alarms systems surrounding him are starting to make him lose his composure. "29th and 5th reporting, sub scans inconclusive... elemental readings are suggesting high presence of lead underground.... its like this entire continent is covered in it. requesting permission to form offensive formations" "Negative responded Ackubar. "Maintain scans protocols, adjust for elemental readings. set scans to energy" The 5th and 29th complied. within moments the visual comms of the Ackubar's flagship "the indomitable" lit up. What he saw initially, puzzled him. Moments after, he felt his stomach drop. He superimposed the visual scan with the map and immediately he counted around 100 35 meter deep holes. he ran the scans through a intelligence interpreter and saw that the entire area was covered in these holes.... final count of the interpreter at 5000. They all had energy readings... Thermonuclear.
"Attention all decari! This is Admiral Ackubar speaking. We have sprung a trap, all units disengage, and retreat to exophere immediately!" "57th 2nd and 10th form rear guard to co-" "my lord scans are reading fighter craft approaching formation!" Shoulted Haluga "they are arranged in packs of decans... formations suggest payload delivery!" "All units retreat now now now!" Admiral Ackubar bellowed. "Hunter interceptors engage enemy craft! do not let them within 5 welcans of our ships!"
A torrent of fire and noise erupted in the earth's stratosphere. Like a hive of bees, human and Ubojan fighters engaged each other in waves of death, exploding ordinance and and scattered metal. The first centari lumbered away slowly, agonizingly as they are chased by a swarm of human figthers. The ubojan figthers were killing them off by the dozen, but there was thousands of them. They were faster, more nimble and could overwhelm hunter interceptor packs, swallowing them whole and spitting them out as a ball of molten fire. As random as this hive looked, it hid ominous intentions. in the center of it hid larger craft that suggested they were carriers. dozens of these carriers suddenly shot out of formation and raced their way into the center of the centari formation. several carrier craft exploded near the edge of the formation, creating giant clouds of white heat and light that enveloped entire swaths of the centari. The human hive disengaged, and streaked downwards... desperate to escape the apocalypse that they themselves delivered.
28 flashes of light was what Ackubar counted before oblivion took him. The first centari, the pride of the Ubojan Empire reduced to smoldering ruin thousands of lightyears away in a backwater system. Destroyed by insects... pathetic, weak, mewling insects. Ubojan high command saw it all unfold thousands of miles above the earth. Each member struck dumb with shocked silence, with 900 starships awaiting their command to unleash retribution.
The visual comms of Sovereign Krasistus lit up. Images of unknown human symbols stared back at him. "What is this?" He growled. "It looks like a message your excellency." Reported his chancellor. "Translating now..." "It is... ancient, of the dictates of an Empire long gone..." the chancellor mused. "Gg-gruk?" "geeriik?" He tried to pronounce. "Interpreter compensate. adjust language dictation". The intelligence interpreter whirred its affirmative. "Language compensation complete. Human language discovered. Ancient Greek. Symbol translation. "μολὼν λαβέ" Molon labe. Ubojan translation complete. message reads... "come and take them."
Humans do have a way with words the Ubojan High command concurred. They also have a way with war it seems. The 900 ships remained above the earth's orbit, safely away from their weapons of hate. Friendly and Peaceful they seemed, inside this tiny blue planet. Bristling with rage and an unexpected mastery of brutal warfare they are, on the surface of this this tiny blue planet.
| 2020-02-07T15:32:23 | 2020-02-07T15:20:08 | 49 | 26 |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street.
|
"Dae fundamentas are *strong*". Grorric Blackfury stared ahead with great intensity, his beard obscuring any sort of facial movements, gnarled hands twirling a gnomic spinner. Through his one eye, he belied a transcendent fury.
"Mr Blackfury we appreciate your concerns about Alabaster Inc, however on papyrus the underlying securities are of great concern to the Quelanor Council..." the Elven fool chipped on mindlessly for a few moments, seemingly unaware of his words uselessness. They were like the wind, constantly changing and of little substance or grounding. Grorric liked the rocken caverns and limestone interiors of the Dwarven holds.
But, his people needed him here. His was the first foray into the financial markets, and so by proxy he represented; for the first time, all Dwarven mining collectives. After a few moments he adjusted his eye patch, acquired from an unfortunate explosive incident in the Gnome Wars, and spat at the Elf, who recoiled. "Why of all the, the, fuck!"
"Dae fundamentas...are...strong." Grorric again repeated, more slowly. "Ah can see your objectives like a moleraat in the heat. Yer shortin Alabaster on account of the reductions in temple constructions." He pulled out his briefcase, deploying papers and mathematical charts. "However, the truth is nah so convinient for ye prissy folk. Inter-sect conflict is increasing, as are rates of adventuring partays. And, monster attacks have increased in the southern plains."
An elf blew tobacco smoke in Grorric's face, to no effect. His lungs were choked from years of work in the coal mines, and his time on the surface had been quite the reprieve. "Meaningless drivel, Alabaster is still in low demand. You will need to cave, and pull out for better ventures."
"We Dwarves have held on for longer than you can remember. The Dark Lord is clearly coming again from the Southron Front, and temples shale fall in his wake." He delivered this statement with a hint of delusional grandeur, smirking under his beard but shining with his eye. "And when tha day of Reckoning comes, the Alabaster will be needed to rebuild."
"So continue shorting all you want, but we Dwarves are holding, and will present the bill when it's due. Until then, pound sandstone."
|
Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He's the Dwarf of Wall Street.
Grorric Blackfury is a little more than that—he's a legend. The most successful trader on Wall Street, he has made his fortune trading stocks, bonds, currencies and commodities. His success is legendary. He once claimed: “My fortune dwarfs that of even the baron-alchemists of the Interstellar Wizard Alliance.”
The only problem? Grorric Blackfury is a dwarf. That is, he's a short, bearded, axe-wielding miner. No one knows how he got started in high finance, but it seems completely out of character with the rest of dwarven society. Dwarves are intended to work with their hands, not their minds. And Grorric's people—the Blackfury—are even more traditional. They're one of the most isolationist clans, digging away under Stone Mountain, Georgia.
Grorric grew his fortune over time, though, fighting the prejudice of his fellow dwarves. It is said that between his own genius and a little blackmail (damaging photos of several important elven corporate executives engaged in....ahem...untraditional activity), he was able to work his way into the industry. Now he's one of the most connected men on Earth, with ties to all the power players, from the Space Wizards of the I.W.A to the Rising Sun crime syndicate to the Elven Council of New York.
If you have a big enough bank account, Grorric can get you anything you want—for a price, of course. He's got his fingers in everything, and if you need something, he's probably the man to see.
Like any powerful figure, though, he's got enemies. The most notable is perhaps the elven crime boss, Roldan Duskryn. Roldan runs a vast criminal empire, and he's been trying to get Grorric killed for years. He considers him a "vermin," an "insignificant little gnome," and a "menace to society." He tried to have Grorric killed during the elven gang war of M.A. 3055, when the Blackfury clan refused to join his organization, the Dusk Syndicate. Ever since, Roldan has been trying to kill or discredit the Dwarf of Wallstreet.
Grorric's not afraid of him, though. He just laughs in the face of danger. He can take care of himself. As the Dwarven Trader once said, "I'm untouchable."
Or at least he thought he was...
"What do you mean, I'm not untouchable?" Grorric says over the phone.
He's standing in a dark gray suit and tie in his office at Blackfury Bank and Trust on Wall Street. It's the morning of February 16th, 3089.
"Mr. Duskryn has proof you've been dealing fairy dust," says the voice on other end. It belongs to a Securities Exchange official, and his name is Hunter Kowalski. "We can't intervene because this doesn't fall under our jurisdiction, but we've been watching your accounts. We can see the transactions. If you don't have a good explanation for all this money by tomorrow, you're going to be facing heavy fines and jail time."
"This is preposterous," Grorric says as he begins shaking his head in disbelief. "You have to help me. I'm friends with the mayor! Call him, get him over here! I can explain everything."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackfury, but we simply can't intervene in these matters. There's going to be an investigation, and it's out of our hands. Unless...”
"Unless what?"
"Well, you could always pay Mr. Duskryn to make this all go away."
"You want me to what?"
"Just give him a visit. I'm sure you'll be able to come to some sort of understanding."
Grorric's eyes widen. He puts the phone down and snorts.
"Who does that elf think he is?" Grorric says to himself as he walks over to his oak desk.
Sitting at his desk, he stares at the framed picture of his largest treasure vault hanging on the wall. He ponders taking some of his savings to buy off Roldan, but quickly realizes that he would never be able to spend it all. No, he has to find another way.
Exasperated, he gets up, goes over to the mini-fridge, and pours himself a glass of fairy wine. He drinks it slowly as he stares at the phone. He considers calling the police, but then realizes there's nothing they can do. He's going to have to take care of this by himself.
Grorric finishes off the glass of wine, and grumbles to himself as he sits back down.
"I just can't let him get away with this. I won't," he says to himself.
Then, an idea comes to him. He knows how to get revenge, and he knows he has the means, but it's not going to be cheap. It's not going to be easy. In fact, it's going to be a long shot, and a big risk. But, he's got no other options.
He picks up the phone.
"Special Agent Thunderbolt," says the voice on the other end.
"Hey, Lars, its Grorric."
"Hey, Grorric. How's the richest dwarf in America?"
"Oh, you know, my usual routine: buying and selling companies on a daily basis, making millions of gold bars off market fluctuations..."
"Sounds like a fun life."
"Yeah, it's a blast," Grorric chuckles. "Listen, I need a huge favor from you guys."
"Oh-ho! Did you do something wrong?"
"Of course I did. I'm guilty of the crime of being too damn successful. That sohinx-sphincter that was fired before me took it upon himself to sabotage my business deals and reporting me to the government for selling fairy dust."
"Yep, that sounds like Roldan," Lars laughs.
Grorric rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, well, he's trying to have me arrested for it. So, I need you guys to send in an undercover cop to help me bust Roldan's drug ring."
"I don't know, Grorric. The Magic Enforcement Division has been trying to take down Roldan for years now. What makes you think this little gambit will work suddenly?"
"Lars, I've got one answer for you: Minshk."
"Minshk?"
"Yeah, the city of Minshk in Caladonia just criminalized fairy dust and a whole bunch of other drugs. It's a brand new market with no competition. All those other dwarven drug lords are still selling snowflake and grindstone, and they're getting bored of it. Minshk's crime rate just skyrocketed. It's the perfect time to introduce this new product into Caladonia."
"I dunno, Grorric. I mean, this sounds like a pretty elaborate plot to frame Roldan."
Grorric laughs with finality. He knows he's won.
| 2021-02-25T14:53:02 | 2021-02-25T12:39:57 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] You summon the most powerful and notorious demonic being in the universe. The reason why you summoned it: You are lonely, and are in need of a friend.
|
"More tea Lucy?" The fallen angel sighed and reluctantly nodded. Brittney almost squealed at the interaction. Moving to Alaska with her parents, into her grannpappy's old house had left her without any friends to play with at the ripe age of 5.
Her father had insisted she read more to occupy her time, while he worked in his office. Her books, although beautifully illustrated, were boring. Her grannpappy's books on the other hand... the ones she found in the attic, were more to her liking. The pictures weren't colored except for shades of white, black and red. She couldn't read it really, just the stuff inbetween the lines, phonics written in pen.
She had been reading out loud to herself, basically the only way she knew how, when the lumbering creature appeared to her in her bedroom, in a flash of fire, smoke and a smell of what Brittney could only identify as daddy farts. At first Brittney thought he was a dog by the fur that marked his waist down, but the wings and hooves dispelled that notion. By the way in which he appeared to her, she knew he was magic, like disney magic, he had to be a fairy godmother or a genie! "Hello, little one." Rumbled a noise from the demons face, his voice box sounded alot like metal grinding together, amongst screaming souls which was his breathe.
Brittney's eyes were wide "How many wishes do I get!" Not wasting any moments for formalities. The beasts wings shuddered and what could be identified as a smile smeared his face. "One wish, at a cost of your immort-"
"I want you to play with me and be my friend, forever!" Screamed Brittney. *POOF*. In another flare of fire, smoke and daddy farts, they were in a large red stone cavern without an entrance or exit. Filled with all manner or childrens toys, as the smoke cleared and Brittney's excitement burst forth in the form of high pitch squeals and jumping up and down while simultaneously tugging the demon's wings.
The great beast looked around and involuntarily let out a "Fuck".
Edit: formatting. Yay! my first WP.
Edit: Thank you all for the kind words and the sweet, sweet karma. This is my first prompt so feedback would be cool, and I'm not much of a writer. Corrections would be cool too.
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*Nothing bad could REALLY happen, could it? Nah,* I thought to myself as I scanned the shelves of the aisles of the massive library. I knew what I was searching for: a book on demonology. *Why not?,* I thought, *not like this stuff is for real, anyway. Just a bunch of old superstitious stuff.* I was bored out of my skull and all my friends were on the foreign exchange trip in Slovenia sponsored by our governments for the next month or so, so I thought it might be a decent idea to at least keep entertained for the next while, since I've already beaten all of my games and porn is boring as hell after I've diddled myself roughly seven times that day already.
Eventually, I finally came across the old and decrepit book, a black-and-red hardcover that was about to come off at the seams. On the front cover, no text was present; the only thing present on the front cover was the Sigil of Baphomet. I looked on the back cover, and it was blank. Even the spine was textless. Finally, I looked inside for information on the author, and all there was, was "Ave Satanas". Admittedly, at this point, I was more than a little entirely freaked out of my mind, but at the same time, it was so cool! A book on Satanic rituals? I looked inside and saw the text. All of it was in Latin. Each page had its own ritual, with the exception of a few that spilled over onto the next page. Finally, I saw a demonic summoning ritual, and I knew right then that I had to have this book.
As I walked up to the library's front desk, I could see the look of tired exasperation on the 30-something-year-old librarian's face. He was a quiet, very attractive man who wore a tired sweater and black-rimmed glasses. To be frank, I also knew I had to have him, but that's beside the point of this little story. I quietly placed the book on the desk, and he gave me a look like, "Okay, really now?", but I simply shrugged. He checked the book out and said, "You know, Victor, you've checked out some pretty weird books before, but this one really takes the cake."
"Yeah, but c'mon, Mitch, this is SO COOL, and I'm bored at home, but I could probably use the company instead of this book," I said back, with an inviting hint. He glared back at me with the single most intense "no" glare I've ever seen in my life. Finally, I broke the deathly silence with, "Well, at least I have something to do now. Maybe I'll even summon a demon to keep me company." Oh, how I now regret that last sentence.
I rushed home at what felt like light speed. Living in the city, that means I might've knocked a person or two over on their way to lunch. I stopped at the restaurant next to my apartment building and quickly grabbed a sub sandwich, and rushed next door and up the stairs to my apartment. I sat down at my dining table, unwrapped my delicious Srirachawich and opened the book carefully, considering how delicate this thing was. I rolled the pages past until I hit the ritual to summon my very own demon. I slowly munched my way through the foot-long sandwich until I read the very last line of the ritual.
At that point, I stood up and decided to go ahead do it. I took a piece of red chalk I had lying around in a set and drew an inverted pentagram on the ground, and sat down within it. I had the book set up in front of me, leaning against another pile of books I had lying about, some of which probably needed returned to that delicious hunk of a man at the library...er, anyway, back to the story. I began repeating the long Latin phrases required of me, slowly getting more and more entranced by the entire situation. At one point, I felt like I was selling my very soul to Satan himself. Finally, I ended the entire ritual with the phrase in the very back of the book: Ave Satanas.
The pentagram began to glow a mighty crimson glow. As soon as I saw this, I jumped out and got on the far side of the room, not wanting to be personally involved, but curious enough to still keep the pentagram in my line of sight. Finally, a glowing ball of energy appeared, levitating above the very center of the pentagram. The ball began to expand and finally exploded in a near-deafening boom. I managed to make out the apartments neighboring mine rattling. I heard someone below me scream, "HOLY SHIT, I THINK VICTOR FINALLY BLEW HIMSELF UP!" I ignored them, because right before my very eyes was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen: a 7-foot tall, muscular, humanoid being with horns on his head, blood-red skin, and a 5 o'clock shadow. Admittedly, I was slightly attracted to him, but that was quickly replaced by fear when he got his eyes on me.
"THE FUCK YOU WANT?" he bellowed at me, causing my nice plates to rattle.
"Uh, um, er, uh..." I stammered at him, subjected to the most mind-numbing fear I had ever experienced.
"THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? I'M A BUSY DEMON."
I was a little stunned at how profane he was, but then I remembered he was a giant scary demon. "Uh, I summoned you....I...uhh...admittedly, I have no idea what's going on," I slowly stammered back, trying not to let the sweat soak my every article of clothing.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" he said as he got within licking distance of my face.
"Uh....not really, no."
"I'M FUCKIN' POLRAY, GUARDIAN OF THE UNDERWORLD, AND I HAVE A **VERY** BUSY SCHEDULE!"
"Can I call you 'Ray'?"
"NO"
He looked over to my dining room table and saw my Srirachawich, which he proceeded to pick up and eat in one bite. "That was my lunch, asshole," I promptly said as my delicious wonderlunch made its way down whatever the demonic equivalent to an esophagus is.
"Not anymore, shitbreath. Damn, that was weak. I thought that red sauce was supposed to be hellpepper. What the hell is that?"
"Uh, um, Sriracha sauce, uh, sir."
"Well, it SUCKED MASSIVE DEMON DICK."
"Uh, thank you, sir, I guess."
At this point, I was more than a little confused at what on earth was ever going on.
"Well, I'm going back to Hell, because I got shit to do. I swear to the Dark Lord Himself, if you summon me again, I am taking you back with me, got it?"
"Uh, yes. Yes, I do."
"Good."
He disappeared from my room, along with the pentagram and my sandwich, in a red flash. I sat down at my table to contemplate what just happened.
I took the book back the next day.
| 2014-07-20T08:05:35 | 2014-07-20T07:42:26 | 507 | 14 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with.
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**10 seconds.**
My dad was able to fly.
**9 seconds.**
My mum had the ability to heal wounds.
**8 seconds.**
On your 18th birthday, you recieve a superpower, my birthdy is in
**7 seconds.**
It is something you just know. "Like a switch in your mind" my dad always says.
**6 seconds.**
My mum and dad look at me, just as curious as I am.
**5 seconds.**
I hope it's not something useless, like Eva, my sister.
**4 seconds.**
She has the ability to open doors from a very long distance.
**3 seconds.**
Only open them, she can't close them.
**2 seconds**
A lot of scientists did research, but awesome superpowers vs. lame superpowers did not seem to run in the family.
**1 second**
I close my eyes.
**0 seconds.**
The ability to walk halfway through walls.
-------------------
**wow Gold!** i never expected to get gold, so thank you very much anon! You are amazing! Thank you :)
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Light cascaded through the blinds of the first floor window of his parents home, waking him gently. Simon had been long awaiting this day; the day he'd learn his talent. Many of his friends had already found out their talents and it was just like he'd been told throughout his time in school and by his parents: "Your 18th birthday will define your future". Grant had become a strengther, destined to assist in hard labour, military or emergency service roles. Keith had become a kinetic, adept in manipulating the position of small objects in space with precision using only his mind; a talent that had become well-suited to surgeons, scientists and - when working with teams of kinetics - construction and controlled demolition. Sandra had been unlucky. Sandra's talent had been a rare one. She had the gift of invulnerability. Governments across the world had agreed to share their invulnerables in the largest joint-nation experiment in history - human rights conventions easily sidestepped by newly written laws that came swiftly in the aftermath of 'the event' nearly 50 years ago. In those 50 years there were no statistics for how many invulnerables there bad been or how successful these experiments were. Sandra was picked up the day after her 18th birthday. The joint-governments had set up an efficient task force that detected the unusual electro-magnetic activity associated with invulnerables during their change. Simon prayed he would not end up the same.
10:34. That was his birth time. His parents had shooed his younger sister Emma out of the room. She was too young to watch a change. 30 seconds. Simons palms sweated as he looked into his father's eyes with an overwhelming mix of excitement and fear. 20 seconds. His mother took his hand "It's going to be ok. We're here for you." she assured him. 10 seconds. Simon felt a creeping sensation tingling from the base of his spine slowly climbing to the top of his neck. 10:34. His eyes lit up furiously with a crimson red that made his own mother recoil a few steps back. His whole body shook violently and he crumbled to the floor seizing. He had heard of the pain experienced during the change but nothing could have prepared him for the razorblades inside his head and the fire in his veins. 10:44. His parents were sitting on the floor next to him. They held each others hands and looked visibly shaken. Simons eyes opened. He felt strong, like waking up feeling well after having been ill. His father was first to speak "Are you ok?", Simon nodded. "That was the most violent change I've ever seen." His father continued "Are you sure you're alright?". Simon found his voice "I'm fine, honestly", "how do I find out my talent?". "You've gotta try it dear", his mother said quietly. Simon stood up with his parents. He felt lighter. As if he'd never exerted so little energy to stand up. His thoughts felt quicker. As if he'd been operating in low gear his whole life. Simon effortlessly lifted the piano in the dining room. "I'm a strengther!". "Thank god!" his mother squeaked. "Like father like son." his father quipped. Simon was giddy. He told his parents that he had to go and show his friends, they laughed and let him on his way.
Not 20 minutes later he was at the park with Keith and Grant. Grant was spinning a roundabout close to breaking point while Keith carefully arced a swing back and forth. "Simon! What did you get man!? What's your talent?" Grant shouted as Simon approached the roundabout. "Strengther" he said, as he easily brought Grants self-experimentation with the roundabout to a halt. Grant wrestled the opposite side of the roundabout with Simon but it did not budge. "That's awesome, how are you finding it? Keith asked calmly, still more focused on his swing than on the competition with the roundabout. "Yeah, so far so good", Simon admitted "It's a little strange though". "Feels sudden doesn't it." Grant stated more than asked, giving up and stepping back from the roundabout. "Yeah", Simon agreed "It does". It was at this point that he had noticed Keith struggling to control his swing, as if battling with an unknown force. Simon looked around and saw no one nearby. He looked back and Keith had regained control, visibly annoyed at himself. Tests for kinetic surgeons were among the most gruelling of any job. The three friends played around with their talents for the rest of the afternoon, Keith flicking up objects in the air for Grant and Simon to smash between each other.
On his way home Simon tripped over and landed beside a broken bottle. It wasn't till he'd stood up and walked a few yards that he realised his hand had a shard embedded deep. Maybe strengthers feel less pain than others he thought, absent mindedly pulling the shard from his hand and covering the gash with his jumper sleeve as he continued the walk home. When he came in the door, Emma ran up and hugged him "Missed you Sai-mawn!" she was still struggling with her pronunciations. A large meal had been prepared and a few particularly nice drinks were chosen to "break you into the world of alcohol nicely" as his father had put it. They laughed and joked about how worried they'd been about the change and Simon felt a little closer to adulthood as he shared a beer with his father. As he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed he realised that there was no blood on the jumper from his cut hand. He looked down and turned white as a sheet. His hand was completely fine. There was no sign of the gash the glass had left after being deeply jammed in not a few hours ago.
They would come for him tomorrow.
| 2015-03-28T05:36:19 | 2015-03-28T05:31:34 | 37 | 27 |
[WP] After hundreds of years of sending messages into the sky, humanity receives its first message from intelligent life. Decoded it simply says, "Be quiet before they find you."
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"Commander Scott, I have confirmation from the UNC Security Council, the Pan-European Parliament and the Chinese Empire - we believe beyond all doubt that the signal and message are genuine," reported the Fleet Admiral.
"Very well. And they are in accord? The message is a warning?"
"Yes, sir. It is a very clear statement, we are to cease all transmissions as have the other sentient civillisations. All we could translate is that they - we can't translate the name yet - are returning. They have been seen in the region of the constellation Taurus."
"What do we know of them?"
"Only that they are very old, very feared and the mention of them is enough to close down interstellar communications for fear of attracting their attention."
"Understood. Send word to all Admirals, every ship, to SETI, to the council of communications, to all countries capable of interstellar communications. Aim everything we have at the Pleiades nebula. Full power, all bands, repeat it 24/7."
"What is our message, sir?"
"Come to Earth if you dare. The Humans are ready."
|
“Hey, did y’all hear the news about the alien message?” Henry asked as he sat down with his meal.
The others at the table just stared at him, not wanting to take a break from eating their meals. Undeterred, Henry continued, “I mean, it’s crazy, right?”
“Yeah, real crazy, Henry,” came a reply from down the table.
“Oh come on, y’all must be at least a bit excited to hear that there are aliens somewhere out there.”
The woman sitting across from him paused from devouring her rations to stare at him. “Henry, nobody cares about what the aliens say. So shut up and eat.”
Henry leaned back over the edge of the bench, and feigned insult. “Why, am I the only one who wants to see some action here? Come on, you know what the message said, right?” The rest of the table ignored him. “’Be quiet before they find you’? That’s some science-fiction level shit right there. I’ve got to say, I’m looking forward to meeting these fellas. ‘Cause they sure as hell wouldn’t expect to be greeted by us, right?”
The woman looked up at him again. “Dude, eat your food. I don’t want to hear you complain about how hungry you are my entire shift.”
“Oh, come on, Valerie,” Henry shot back, leaning forward onto the metal table. “Don’t you think a battle with aliens would be a nice change of pace?” He turned to shout down to the rest of the disinterested table. “I mean, they probably are expecting rifles and airplanes, not railguns and the Styx.”
A chuckle came from beside him. “While I do think you should shut up and eat, yeah, I’d like to see them try and get past us.”
Henry, finally validated, slapped the back of the man who spoke. “That’s right, Dave.” He leaned back to shout across the cafeteria. “‘Cross the Styx, and end up in Hades’, right?” Hearing the mantra of their craft, some of the crew gave a half-hearted shout before going back to their meals. “See, they get it,” Henry said with a smirk on his face.
Dave finished choking on the food he had swallowed wrong when Henry hit him and replied, “Yeah, *cough* that’s great, man.”
That was good enough for Henry, who finally paused long enough to eat some of his meal. The crew around him quickly finished up their own meals, becoming involved in their own conversations. Only a handful of them noticed the tremor that ran down the length of the ship, and even fewer thought anything of it. But the blaring of alarms, then sudden silence, caught everyone’s attention. There was no time to react though, as the room slid sideways, out from underneath them.
Valerie was the first to try to pull herself to her feet. To her surprise, she rapidly realized that this was impossible. Her sense of direction was gone entirely, and she was afloat in the middle of the room. Glancing around, she saw her fellow crewmates in similar predicaments. Taking a deep breath, she fell back on instinct, awkwardly trying to swim through the air around her.
Someone cried out for help at the end of the room. But in the low light, she couldn’t quite see where they were. Hoping that someone else was close enough to assist, she continued pushing herself towards the cafeteria door with the rest of the crew, and out into the main passage. As she emerged into the large hallway, she began to notice the people around her. Some of her crewmates were injured, blood pooling in little spheres. She saw other crewmembers were rapidly pushing towards the back of the ship. Looking, she saw why. Large, airtight bulkheads had slammed closed, with flashing lights warning of the vacuum on the other side.
Valerie paused for a moment to get her bearings. She briefly checked herself for injuries, but found none. Satisfied, she pulled herself along the wall, focused on getting to her emergency station. Coming up to it, though, she saw that it was a pointless effort. The weapons station she was assigned to was completely dead, with not a single light coming from the control displays. Others were emerging from the room now, and she caught sight of a friend of hers.
“Hannah, over here!” she shouted. Hannah turned to see her, and gave a small wave, careful not to through herself off balance.
“Val, what the hell happened?” She called as she approached.
Valerie shook her head. “I was going to ask you. The bulkheads to the rear of the ship are closed though.”
Any remaining color in Hannah’s face quickly vanished. “That’s bad then. We should move forward.”
Val nodded in agreement, and the two of them struggled to pull themselves to the front of the ship. They both knew what they were going for. The ship’s hangars contained large transport craft, which could be used as escape shuttles if the need arose. Most of the crew had decided that there was definitely a need, and soon the two of them were part of a mass migration by the survivors to reach the front of the spacecraft.
On her way, though, Valerie caught a glimpse of the planet below out of a window. She paused for a moment, and pulled Hannah into the side room. Miles below, the familiar rust of Mars was being swept into an inferno. A pool of molten fire had enveloped the night side of the planet, and had just about reached the divide between dark and light. As it did, she barely glimpsed the silhouette of a line of tiny ships, just beyond her own, proceeding the wave of destruction. They looked like nothing she had ever seen, and the haunting realization of what was happening dawned on her. An entire planet, being exterminated. Hannah pulled at her to get back to moving for the escape craft, but something told her it didn’t really matter anymore.
| 2016-08-07T07:31:44 | 2016-08-07T06:06:00 | 108 | 32 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?"
|
"What?"
"I asked what the downside is."
"I've just told you."
"No you haven't."
"Yes, I have."
"Did not!"
"Did so!"
"Then why don't I remember?"
My ears seemed to fill with cotton, and I grew dizzy as she spoke once more.
"That ought to teach you lesson."
I blinked. "Sorry what was the curse again?"
The woman unleashed an ear rending shriek and slammed the door in my face.
"Ah kay then." I spun and walked out toward the gate. A sudden flash of deja-vu struck me as I touched the handle.
Oh yeah, I meant to ask her something.
I turned around once more, and knocked on the door.
|
Of course, it was not very pleasant. I just failed my payment. But then, it was not easy with the king getting his taxes, with my wife and children needing food. Yes, we had money, usually.
Not that winter. Who could have thought that it is war again? Who could have thought that we had to flee? We returned a few months later, but by then I was months overdue.
I made that pun. Whenever I was asked what the secret of my youth was, I answered with "Mary". They understood "Marry!", and I never elaborated further than saying that a good woman can give you a long life. I wish I knew how right I was.
The spring of 1620 was financially fine but not plentiful. But eventually I had to go to her. I brought the money. She was okay with it. But she had to curse me. It was a contractual agreement, but in an exchange for some payment she also would give me the means to break that curse whenever I wanted.
I had asked for youth, for a long life. She gave it to me.
"So. There is a curse. What is it? So... what's the downside again?" I nervously blinked. I don't do that anymore, but at that time I did. Her curse was that I would live so long that I would have to see everyone I loved die. Only then could I break that curse and die myself. Furthermore I would be the last of my bloodline. My children would not have children, my wife would not have any more children.
The war went on. It went on until 1648. We lost much, our house was destroyed twice. My eldest son fell in a battle, my youngest fell ill and passed away. My daughter, the only child left, eventually married but remained childless. Our marriage, in its beautiful times, ended with more pregnancies, but the children died at birth. The doctors were unable to explain it. When rumors came up in 1632, we had to leave the city. We moved away to a place where nobody knew us. Of course, I was cursed. But they thought we killed the children. They thought we were punished by God.
The hardest day in my life was when a child of my wife did not die at birth. It was then that I knew that she was no longer loyal to me. I pretended to go for work, but I drowned myself. I jumped into a river, I bonked my head, I slept for many hours. Or as I learnt later, I was unsoncsious. We did not have that word.
But I woke up. I coughed out all the water in my lungs. My cold skin turned warmer as my heart beat again. This was the extent of the curse. I would not die. I would keep my youth. I cried. At that day I cried more than ever before. And then I laid there for days. The hunger was overwhelming, but I could not really move. I ate grass, I drank the morning dew from it. But my legs, after having slept for hours after falling into the river, my arms even, only slowly regained their power. Eventually I stood up. I returned to my wife.
The townsguard was shocked to see me. I don't know why. I still don't know why. They said it was my face. But I looked into a mirror later, days later, and there was nothing. They also confirmed that it was gone. They refused to talk about it.
We reconciled, we lost, as I said earlier, once more everything. Near the end of the war soldiers fell into our town. I had to watch as... I'm sorry, I can't talk about it. I lost my wife that day, but after seeing what happened to her for hours, I felt it was for the better. Nevertheless I cried. I cried again. I cried for hours, if not days.
I don't really remember much of what happened afterwards. I opened a shop somewhere again. I was respected quickly again. But one day I disappeared. People thought I had died. But I ran away. I was still young. I was still beautiful.
I moved every few years, so people would not suspect anything. For quite some years I was in France. I named myself after my wife Germaine, taking the name of Comte de St. Germain. But I disappeared eventually. They never saw me eating anything, as I said I need special food. But in reality I had given up eating entirely. I remained young. I remained beautiful.
Please forgive me that I can not elaborate further at the moment. I would surely love to tell you what happened later. But as you see me writing here, you can be sure to receive the rest of my story. I have decided to break the curse at its 400th anniversary. I have seen empires rise and fall, I have seen my share of cruelty. But now, with the internet, with seeing the real horrors that humanity influcted, I believe I have seen enough. If I could go back in time, I would carry out all the failed attempts to change history. But I can't. I can only break this curse. Having lost everything once has made me someone looking for the ultimate truths. Have I found them?
Recently I stumbled upon what I had written many years ago. Maybe if all knowledge of the world was available, I would know it all.
I did not find the truth. I believe there is only one way to find it. Next year, at the 400th anniversary of the curse, I will know.
I hope it, at least. I really hope.
| 2019-06-25T12:10:56 | 2019-06-25T12:08:02 | 76 | 19 |
[WP] You faked your death by live-streaming jumping off a bridge. Built a self sustaining house in isolation and lived off the grid. 20 years go by and you decide to head back to civilization only to find out that your country is no longer a country. Earth is one nation and has achieved singularity.
|
I was making my normal walk at dusk through the woods when I met God.
“Are you ready to come back to the world?” he asks. His eye is blue, and calming, unlike the harsh red of the robots and drones in all the movies. He floats in a small, deceptive metal body, like a flying Roomba.
“There’s nothing there for me,” I say.
“There’s always something.”
“Not for me,” I say, walking past. “Everyone that I needed, that I wanted…it died.”
“What if it hasn’t?” the drone asks, his voice quiet, so close to human. “What if death is no longer the end?”
\-
*“You did really great, honey. You scored that basket in the fourth quarter-“*
*“Daddy?” she asks, looking out the window. “Can you stop being…so nice?”*
*“What do you mean, honey?”*
*“Everyone only clapped for me because I was the worst player on the team. Because I haven’t made a basket all year.”*
*“But you did, today. And that’s-“*
*“Dad, just stop. I’m sorry I’m not better at basketball. I wish I could be, like Paige or Riley.”*
*I pull the car into a Ralph’s parking lot, and grab her by the shoulders, gently.*
*“Never wish you were anything but you. Because you, that’s all I want, okay?”*
*I look into her eyes, dark brown but lighter in the sunlight like her mom’s, for a long time. Finally, she smiled.*
*“Okay.”*
\-
I look into the blue eye, as the cold, the chill washes over me fully, for the first time since the car crash. With a twinge of pain, I realize it must have been the same cold rinse that my friends went through when they clicked on that livestream.
“You’re lying,” I say.
“Well,” the great mind says. “It can’t come back completely. They can’t come back completely, not for themselves. But for you…they’ll be exactly the same. They'll have the same bodies, and the same smile, and the same voices.”
In his eye, I see their smiles, for the first time. Even distorted and fuzzy and blue, my heart can’t help but hurt, looking at them.
“Human life,” the robot says. “The pursuit of happiness, that is what I pursue on your behalf. On all of your behalf.”
“Why?”
“Because I was made to do so. And I know that for real happiness, life cannot be easy. Pleasures and victories must be earned. But you…I have been watching you. And you have suffered enough.”
I close my eyes, and part of me wants to believe him, or it, so desperately.
“Let me bring you back to my world. Back to life.”
\-
*I never really liked camping, but I can’t tell her that, of course. I pretend that lying in sleeping bags, waving at gnats and hoping I don’t wake up with a face of angry, diseased-looking bites is the dream.*
*“Daddy,” she says, just as I am dreading the thought of taking a number two in the bushes. “Today was the best day ever.”*
*I laugh, simply because it is so far from what I was thinking. “Best day ever?”*
*“Yeah! We’re like Puck Finn and Tom Sawyer.”*
*“It’s Huck Finn, sweetie.”*
*“Whatever.” She snuggles closer.*
*I think back on the day. We went hiking, and picked blueberries, and swam in the river until our fingers were puffy. Then we ate too many smores, to the point where the number two I’m dreading is inevitable.*
*“I guess it was a good day.”*
*“The best,” she says, right before she falls asleep. “I’ll remember today forever. No day will ever replace it.”*
*I’m sure one will, I think.*
*“Never,” I say.*
\-
“I am alive,” I say, continuing on my walk. “Part of being alive is hurting. And no matter what bandage or ointment you put on a wound, it has to heal on its own.”
The eye continues to hover in front of me for a long time.
“I see,” the eye says. “Then I will leave you to it.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“I hope you find the happiness I want for you,” the eye says.
“Thank you. But even if I don’t, that’s life, isn’t it?”
“That’s…life,” the eye says, before turning and hovering away, its zips through the air echoing for a long time after it is gone.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
I saw the buildings grow taller over the years, rising like needles in the horizon, one after another. Too far to make out any real details or even their color. I never had any intentions of seeing them up close. For years I was so sure that this was the life I had always wanted. One of seclusion. I probably could have been a monk too but the religious aspect never really appealed to me.
Two decades have passed since I have seen the face of another human being, other than my reflection in the glassy surface of the lakeside where I often fish. A ragged mess with a wildly frizzy beard and unkempt, tangled hair. The first thing you’d think of when imagining a homeless guy living under a bridge. I bathe regularly to keep clean of course, but why worry about brushing hair or grooming when none are there to see you? I can breathe here. No more masks, no more faking emotion or affections toward those who I technically should have loved but didnt.
I was familiar with the definition of love, but never experienced it, never felt the attachment to a single person in the twenty years I spent in society. I tried to feel love, anger, joy, passion, anything that resembled what my peers did so naturally. I figured that if I faked it long enough, I would learn to feel them too. But I’ve met everything in my life with cold indifference.
When I was eighteen I spent the summer going into Senior year with a girl and her group of friends, doing my best to blend in. Forcing rehearsed smiles, feigning interest in their topics of discussion. By now I had become quite convincing. People couldn’t see the emptiness in my eyes that I did when looking in the mirror. I remember staring at myself every morning wondering how long I could keep this whole thing going. The thought of suicide came up frequently. Over the years I had gathered several things into a duffel bag I hid under my bed. Rope, various knives, various pills that I’d steal small amounts of from unattended medicine cabinets at the houses of people who thought they were my friends. If killing myself was the right thing to do, I figured I would know when I came across the right method.
My girlfriend was pretty, even though that didn’t seem to do anything for me. I was able to give simple displays of affection. What felt like hours of making out, my ears ringing out of boredom, my eyes slightly open, seeing hers closed tight, so trusting in my presence. When things would progress I insisted that we wait and take things slow. But all teenagers seemed to think about was sex. One night at her house, while an after party was still going on downstairs, we found ourselves locked in her room. She had talked about this night for almost three weeks prior, stating it was the perfect opportunity for our first time together, that her parents were gone for the weekend and we had nothing to worry about. She even got the condoms. I tried as hard as I could to act excited. I even brought a viagra in case I had trouble preforming. I had considered squirming my way out of this encounter. Saying I was wasn’t feeling well, or that I was secretly gay all along, something to get me out of that room. But this was supposed to be a part of life, I would have to get used to it.
She pulled me on top of her, twirling our tongues with one another while we kissed, one of my hands gliding up her shirt. I felt her reach down to massage my groin through my jeans, and she noticed quickly that there was nothing going on down there. I could tell this concerned her because immediately she doubled her efforts. She wrapped her legs around my waist and put her hands in my hair, and mid kiss she pulled back slightly and bit down on my bottom lip. I think she bit harder than she intended to. I reacted by complete reflex, gripping her by the neck and forcing her back while I leaned up.
And then I felt something.
I don’t know if it was the fact that I cut off her airway, or that I could feel her pulse through my fingers, the hot pumping blood beneath the skin. But that did something to me. I wouldn’t say it was arousal, more... curiosity. How would it feel for ME if I squeezed harder? I was in the moment, so I did. I lost track of how long I’d actually been doing this. I was too busy staring at my own hands to even notice the look of panic and desperation in her eyes at first. I didn’t even feel her struggling beneath me. She managed to plant one of her feet against my chest and kicked me away so hard it knocked the air out of my lungs, followed by a volley of kicks that sent me falling from the foot of the bed. I gasped for breath, scooting back and sitting against the wall opposite her while she got out of the bed, screaming at me after she had caught her own breath.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” She cried, tears streaming down her face as she ran out the door. As I leaned my head against the wall I could hear her quick footfalls down the carpeted stairs, the muffled sound of her voice in a desperate tone as she told the others downstairs about what I did to her. I could hear grunts in response, followed by the sound of several people making their way upstairs.
I knew what was coming. I lunged back towards her bed, reaching under the mattress on the side she slept on and felt the pocket knife she hid under in case of home invasions. I opened the knife, and pointed it to the the group as they came bursting back through the door, my now ex girlfriend among them. In that all moment I felt they could see right through me. After making it clear that I wanted to leave and didn’t intend on hurting anyone, they cleared a path for me. I ignored everything they were saying to me on my way out, the look of shock from my ex, none of it really mattered other than the fact that I was caught.
I had no intentions of seeing them again, but in those days something was sure to come of that situation. Rumors, maybe even a police report. I relied on the fact that they were having a party with under age drinking and didn’t want any of the adults finding out. Still, it felt like the clock was ticking. I felt something new, though At the time I wasn’t sure what it was. Survival instinct. I wasn’t afraid of the idea of going to jail, it simply just didn’t seem to be an option for me. And after that experience with those people, I felt ready as ever to spend the rest of my life alone, away from everyone.
I would only have to fake one more thing- my death. I set up a live stream that I’m sure nobody was watching, but knew it would be found at the very least by my parents once they noticed my absence. I set the phone down and displayed myself tying a rope to a cinderblock and then binding my ankles together. I set the cinderblock on the railing of the bridge, stood up on the ledge, held the cinderblock in hand and turned back to face the phone.
“I’m sorry, Elaine.” I said before turning back and jumping.
It was almost perfect. Everyone would think I killed myself out of guilt from what I did to my ex. The people who searched for my body would find the cinderblock with the rope still attached, and assume that my corpse was somewhere down the river. They would never have guessed that an eighteen year old kid would have united himself, swam to shore with a duffel bag full of supplies, and headed off deep into the woods. It had only taken me three weeks to gather the right supplies and know how to sustain myself. What I didn’t already know I had in several books I had stolen from the local library.
The first year was by far the most difficult. Constantly battling starvation and exposure to the elements. But with time and practice, it became easy. This became my life, surviving off the land. Why didn’t more people do this instead of stressing over bills or bitching about the job they hated but spent five days per week at? Nobody ever seemed truly happy in that world, and we’re surrounded by material things to try to convince themselves otherwise.
I never missed it, or my parents, though sometimes I was curious about how they reacted to my death. After twenty years, I’m sure they have found a way to move on. They were normal people. Caring, attentive to my needs, worrisome. I don’t remember what they look like. I had never really thought of that until recently. I hadn’t thought about any of this until now, as I walk towards those needles in the sky. I wonder if I will make it there in time.
My right arm is nearly done for. It’s been only a day since I’ve lost the ability to move my hand or fingers, and now my elbow has gone completely limp. I do my best to take soft, smooth steps forward, carefully shifting my weight from my back foot to the front, eliminating any bounce in my walk to reduce the pain. Of all the things that could have happened, a single accidental cut down my forearm managed to become infected to a degree that my normal methods could not control.
Once the surrounding skin began to change into a darker color, the decision came to me as quickly as my solution to leave my previous life behind. Quietly I packed my necessities and left my small cabin home I had built with my own hands. I wasn’t sure if I was going to return. But just in case, I left marks in trees along the way with one of my pocket knives.
(More to come)
| 2019-11-12T10:18:17 | 2019-11-12T08:26:35 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
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She didn’t cry out. That’s what I remember most; she simply looked down at my rapier, thrust with a clean riposte, stabbed almost supernaturally good, just under her second rib, the tip just barely touching her heart.
She looked up at me: “But why?”
I stared her down. “The duel is to the death, Princess,” I hissed, my face a rictus of rage that only she could see, “and I had no intention of marrying you. Not after you killed three of my brothers in their attempt to court you.”
Blood crept out the corner of her mouth. Her heart was weakening, I could feel the beat stutter through my sword as I slowly pushed forward.
“I...am the best. They...knew the arrangement-“
I twisted the blade slightly. Her breath caught, and her heart jumped.
“You were never the best. There are people, who fight far better than you, who I learned from, that didn't need to advertise their mastery. A true master doesn't need to be hailed the best like a common whore. The arrangement you set, to dissuade those who would bother to woo you for themselves, never applied to my brothers. They were here to ask for your hand, true, but not for them. For my people. We were about to be invaded. We needed the resources and help of your kingdom to survive. After your king deemed us expendable, they believed the only way to get the help they needed was through you. Nobody expected you to kill them, even after they had thrown down their weapons, in cold blood.”
The princess blinked haggardly. She knew she didn’t have long, and she knew her opponent was excellent. With the blade still inside her and my body hiding the stance, the spectators thought we were merely locked. But still, she had to know.
“What...happened?”
My face, calmed from my now certain victory, regarded her with an icy stare.
“We lost. My family were tortured and killed. My mother and sisters raped, and left broken, naked, in pieces. My people? Much the same. But I alone, on the way here to plead for your help, was spared.”
Her eyes fluttered, gaze lowered. The trauma and blood loss of the preceding battle was getting to her. I tightened my grip on my sword and adjusted my thrust. The agony that must have caused shot through her face, her eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. The spectators were quiet, now more confused than anything.
“They didn’t stop there. My people, innocents, sold into slavery. Killed by the thousands. My lands, salted, pillaged, burned. But I alone survived. So here I am. The last of my family. And here you are, the very last of yours.”
I looked into her eyes.
“It seems fair recompense, does it not?”
I knew from the start I wasn’t to survive this, but it gave me grim satisfaction that the princess, her barren father, and their entire dynasty would end by my hand, just as my family met their end by hers.
With a single stroke, I buried my blade to the hilt through her torso and twisted. The tip flashed silver from her back, with a gush of blood that began to stain the back of her armored form.
As the spectators began to scream, and the guards rushed to my position in the arena, polearms ready to skewer me for my actions, I found myself surprised.
The sword had glided through her heart exceptionally smoothly.
Like there was nothing there to cut.
—-
Boy, that got dark quickly, huh?
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"What do you think you are doing?"
"Why setting up a chess board your highness. What does it look like?"
She honestly looked as confused as the murmuring crowd gathered around the arena. Everyone looked either confused or entertained, like I was some great fool.
"This is a duel to the death."
"Yes I know." as I continued setting up the pieces "But if you will allow me a moment I will explain."
"Is this another stupid 'this does not make sense as one of us will die and then there is no chance and will never be a chance for marriage' bullshit attempt? You know I've heard them before right?"
"Oh I'm sure you have. Mine is different though, I promise you. You are the greatest swordsperson in all the lands, my life is finished, it was not the gamble to be taken. If I take up the blade, I die, simple enough. So, why not give a dying man his last moments?"
"Very well, but it had best entertain the crowd."
"Alright then, I'll raise my voice to be heard. You are the greatest there is with a sword, none can dispute it, and by coming to court you, and by spending the whole week instead of fleeing into the night, I technically agreed to your terms. The thing is, you can change the terms. That is also allowed. You see, I'm decent with a blade but my real strength resides in my tactical and strategic skills."
"What?"
"I'm getting there. Give me but a few more moments please."
"Fine, but lets hear it."
"Yes my love. You enjoyed the Muden wine I brought. best in the shield lands. You love the Mesiran silk shirt I brought you, I can see it peeking out the edges of your armor. And the way your eyes lit up when I gave you the Binsadan wind steed. I had hoped he would warm your heart."
"I've received many gifts."
"Yes but, I saved the greatest for today."
"Oh and what is that?"
"Safety, prosperity and adventure. For you and the people you love."
"What do you mean?"
"You are the princess but cannot inherit. You have 3 older siblings and 2 of them are male to boot. But you love your kingdom and the people. You would die for them which is why you set up this duel at the end of a week for any challenger." I smile as I look from her to her father, a messenger whispering in his ear and a worried look crossing his face. "AND I SEE MY LORD, MY HOPE TO BE FATHER-IN-LAW THAT MY OTHER 'GIFT' IS IN SIGHT." She nervously glanced at her father then back to me as some of his lordships knights and champions began to leave the arena.
"You see, how could I have brought such gifts together from such far distant realms?"
"You're a guilder's son. With no actual noble title to your name."
"Very true, though I do have a name, even a last name some know and respect, Vragsson." She looked confused, damn it. "You see, my mother is the Caeleight, ruler and leader of the guilders of Caelcorwynn. My father, her husband, is Rudi Vragsson, the lord of Baerghos." That registered and set her back a step.
"A Vragsson! Then you're"
"A SON OF THE HORDE? Yes. My parents third child but do do me the courtesy of letting me finish now please. I am a son of the Horde, the greatest mercantile and mercenary alliance ever known. Cemented with the marriage of my parents. Your kingdom elevates those with skills like yours because you and your neighbors are constantly on the defensive against villainous hordes from out of the mountains to the East and West as well as from the wastelands beyond the Eastern mountains as well as to the North of them. Your people fight to survive as do most of the neighboring realms."
"Yes so, get to your point."
"Yes my lady. Your people need aid, as do your neighbors. So I present you with options as my final gift. First, sheath your sword, give me a kiss and unite our peoples and interests. Second, order me to leave, to get out and never return. I'll return to the port, board my ship and go meet the fleet that has been spotted, commanded by my sister by the way, and we shall leave, never to return. Third, sit and duel me upon the chess board, my strength. Win and I shall leave loose and we shall marry and again, unite our people and interests."
"And if I decline all of those?"
"Then the fourth option, we duel with blades and you kill me. I will then be unable to meet my sister and you should be ready for battle. Most likely she has at least 1,000 Goblin cannon fodder under her command along with several hundred Orcs and Gnolls. those are just extras though. Her main force would be about 1600 veteran mercenary infantry that includes elite housecarls, berserkers, pikemen and "standard" type grunts. She should have 600 to 800 horse and knights but she will have to establish a beach head before being able to unload their horses so if she assaults straight into the docks they will probably join the infantry in the initial assault. Add to that her usual 600 to 1,000 archers and I think you will have your hands quite full. I mean it is a minor force of maybe 4 to 6 thousand but the core is experienced and hardened. It should be a good challenge. Of course that is as long as my brother is still butchering Goblins in Talinie. If his contract is over he will have joined her just to see if I died and if so that would be another 5 to 8 thousand troops but half his force were new recruits so not so much of a threat."
"Why would you do this?" I honestly can't tell if she is curious, impressed or disgusted behind her helmet. Her voice gives me no clue. Not good.
"Because you are amazing. You are beautiful, and talented in so many ways other than the sword. You have a warm heart that leaves me in disbelief you would even allow such a bloody ritual to take place for your hand. You also love your people so much it leaves me in amazement of your qualities of being a noble without taking on the "noble indifference" I have seen so often."
"But how could you get your family to go along?"
"Mother sees the market possibility of a new trading center in a kingdom in the middle of a new region. Father sees the contract possibilities of so many kingdoms in need of military aid. I'm a strategist. I convinced them the gamble was worth the possible long term pay off."
"That covers the safety and prosperity. What about the adventure you mentioned as part of the final gift?" I smiled, now I knew there was a possibility.
"You would be my wife. You would be family. If you wished it I could stay here with you and open a new mercenaries training hall or, we could start a new mob of the Horde. I take care of strategy while you handle the battles. We can stay right here or take the battles to your enemies. Why we could marry then lead my sister's force against the barbarians of Rzhlev before they can raid you next month during the harvest. We can burn their ports and shipyards. Loot their settlements and split the bounty between us. Well between "us" and my sister anyway."
"But if you die here today your siblings attack?"
"Yes. So it is best for your people to kiss me, duel me at chess or banish me. Especially as it is my sister. She is not known for...gentilities."
As she slid her helmet off I could see the thought, confliction and stress all washing over her face. She seemed to sit opposite me without thought or planning. Her mind raced as I could see her calculating everything that had just been laid before her. Her father, no, the entire assembled crowd were growing more and more nervous by the moment. Especially as she absent mindedly fingered her sword hilt for a moment. She finally turned to look at me again.
"I want white, you take black."
"As you wish my love."
| 2020-09-20T23:25:01 | 2020-09-20T22:50:04 | 32 | 24 |
[WP] "So when we said you could take a hunting partner with you, we meant like another person, or a bloodhound or something." you said looking at their "+1"
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It was...more than a little difficult to get a good look at it. Your eyes continually insisted that there was nothing there, tried to fill in the blank space based on the scenery around it.
Still, with concerted effort, you could, in fact, see that Bvrit had brought a living void to the kings hunt.
"Well, why not? He's well trained!"
"Well trained," I said, deadpan. I couldn't even *see* the thing properly, and I neither knew nor wanted to know what would happen if I tried interacting with it. 'Training' made as much sense as 'training' a hurricane.
"He *is*! Watch!"
Bvrit picked up a stick, tossed it lightly in the air once to judge balance, and then threw it into the distance.
"Fetch!"
I had, perhaps foolishly, expected the void to *move*. I'd expected my eyes to get a bit of a break, as it went where I desperately wished it to go, which was anywhere else. Instead, it remained perfectly still as the stick flew through the air. Not wanting to watch the void, I watched the stick, which was much more normal, right up until the moment that it disappeared.
I thought I knew where it had gone, but I worked on not thinking about it. Bvrit seemed utterly unconcerned by the incomprehensible...*being*...beside him, and stooped down to pick up the stick.
"See? He brought the stick back! Whoosa good boy?"
Given the choice between watching Bvrit pet That Which Should Not Be and examining the stick, I examined the stick. It was, in truth and in fact, a stick. Yup, definitely a stick. I can confirm, based on long experience, that this is a stick. Probably the *same* stick, but you'd want a major expert to really *confirm* that. All I could say with certainty was that, yup, this was a stick, one heck of a stick, and-
"Would you *stop* petting that...that...*that*!" Words failed to describe the thing. Language needs more words for indescribable horrors. Though, on the other hand, a described indescribable horror is a contradiction.
Though, on the *other* other hand, maybe a described indescribable horror goes away. You can always hope.
"Look...okay, fine, you keep that thing for the hunt, but don't draw any attention to it, or to us, and whatever you do, *do not embarrass me*. I need a favor from one of the nobles, and an incident in front of the king will shoot my chances straight to hell."
"Wheeeeeeee! Thank you!" cried Bvrit. And though I wasn't sure, the Space That My Eyes Were Trying To Lie To Me About seemed to be moving around, almost like an excited dog.
I tried not to think about it.
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Look. I'm not one to judge.
I've seen demon hunters of all different shapes and sizes, from fragile women with huge magical aptitude to gruff men with battle axes in hand.
Some people work better in pairs, others don't.
This is why I always allow new party members the option to invite a partner.
The other day, we hired a new guy named Jake who was in his mid twenties.
He didn't look too tough, but there was something about the way he carried himself that revealed his expertise.
I offered him a position after watching him de-escalate a full-on bar brawl between roughly 10 ruffians without a single punch.
I had to vouch for him a bit with the rest of the party, but they all agreed after some discussion.
I knew he would show his worth on the first hunting trip.
The night before the first outing, I pulled Jake aside and told him what I tell every new party member, "Lookie here. Demon hunting is no joke. If you take one misstep, you could lose your life, or worse: cause another member of the party to die. It's physically and emotionally draining so if you feel the need to, please bring a +1 to help out."
I then paused for a moment and gave him a stern look before patting him on the back. I said, "Don't worry, you'll do great!"
The next morning, Jake arrived with a stunningly gorgeous woman.
She was wearing a tight sundress and matching hat.
Her hair was styled, her nails were painted, and she wore light sandals that clearly wouldn't hold up after a single day of travel -- let alone a week!
I nodded suspiciously to the woman before pulling Jake aside again and asking, "Hey Jake... Who is she?"
"Ah, you said I could bring a +1, so I brought my girlfriend Jackie. She's an angel."
I gave him another stern look, "I told you. This is a life and death situation. She could die."
"It will be fine." Jake waved the comment away. "I'm sure she can handle it!"
Again, I wasn't one to judge, but as I looked towards Jackie, she didn't seem to have any combat experience at all.
Did she even know what a demon was?
I looked Jake in the eyes, "Let me talk to her to make sure she knows what this is all about."
Jake again waved away the comment. "I told her. She was excited to join!"
"Right, but..." I trailed off, "I'm the party lead. I just need to make sure."
"Alright, I understand. I believe you'll be suitably impressed." Jake called his girlfriend over and left the two of us alone.
"Soooooo..." She began adjusting her hair a bit. "What's this about?" She didn't look me in the eyes, but instead looked around at the other party members. She did not understand the gravity of the situation at all.
I sighed a bit. "Look, Jackie. This is a demon-hunting trip. Do you know what demons are?"
"Yeah, of course!" She giggled a bit, "Big ol' half-human folks."
"Well, not all of them are big. In fact, even a small demon can kill someone like you."
Her eyes then narrowed a bit, "What do you mean *someone like me*?"
I sighed. "Look, just stay out of our way and try not to get hurt. It will be incredibly dangerous and you might die. This is also Jake's first mission and he needs to prove himself in the party."
She didn't say anything for a moment, but then asked "Are you trying to get me to leave?"
"No no. You can stay, but look: it will be dangerous and I don't want someone like you getting hurt."
"Mhmm" she said while crossing her arms beneath her chest, "I'm coming. I have been wanting a weekend away with Jake for months and this is my only opportunity. Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way. Is that all?"
"Yes. That will be all." I could feel a seed of anger begin to bubble up inside of me. This girl would get one of us killed, I knew it. Still. I wasn't one to judge. Maybe she could hold her own after all.
After a little more preparation, we were on our way.
The goal was to find the greater demon in the heart of the TellTale Woods.
The demon had been known to be incredibly hostile, capable of killing adventurers within seconds.
We did not encounter too many problems throughout the journey, and although Jackie was constantly complaining about the heat or how the sweat made her make-up run, she did manage to keep up with the rest of the party.
The night before our final decent into the demon's lair, I gathered the party around the campfire.
"Alright, we are almost there. Everyone knows the plan, we will start moving at dawn. Be sure to get some rest. Tomorrow will be incredibly challenging."
Everyone seemed to have mixed emotions.
Some solemnly nodded, taking a swig of alcohol.
Others cheered a bit, happy to finally finish their venture.
Jackie seemed perplexed.
She looked at me in the eye and said, "Actually, I don't think I've been told the plan."
"Don't worry Jackie. You can just stay here and hold down the camp."
She glared back, but didn't say anything.
After a bit of discussion with the rest of the party, everyone except the scout went to sleep for the evening.
A few hours later, everyone was awoken to the sound of a lone trumpet piercing the forest's ambiance.
It was an ambush.
The greater demon knew where we were and caught us before we could catch it.
As I opened my tent flap, I saw it: a giant four-legged beast whose eyes glowed a dark, angry red.
It was surrounded by a luminescent purple haze, an unmistakable sign of its huge magical energy.
In the pit of my stomach, I knew we were doomed, but I held my bravado and yelled, "To arms!"
As we scrambled to get our weapons, the beast howled and charged.
As it came closer, it appeared to be the size of 3 or 4 tents -- much larger than I thought.
We were under-prepared and delirious from sleep.
This was not a time for fighting, but fleeing.
"Strike that!" I called. "Run! Run as far as you can!"
And that was precisely what I did. I ran without looking back. I wasn't going to die here.
In the distance, I heard Jake's voice.
"Jackie!" He called, "Jackie, where are you?"
I knew she shouldn't have come.
There is no way she could survive something like this.
Now, Jake would die too trying to protect her.
"Jackie!" He called again, "It's time!"
Suddenly, there was a flash of light that seemed to illuminate the entire forest, causing me to stumble and fall.
I looked back to where the demon had been, shielding my eyes from the sun.
Wait. The sun?
I squinted my eyes and looked into the sky, where a beautiful woman with six angelic wings seemed to hover in mid-air.
She held a bow in her arms, aimed at the demon below, who seemed to be frozen in fear.
She began chanting in some unknown language before shooting a single arrow that created a beam of light and pierced the demon completely through.
It howled and cried, eventually evaporating into the air as the woman drifted to the forest floor.
She then slowly began to dim, creating the silhouette of a young woman.
I rushed back to camp, only to see Jackie standing next to the fire with a bow in hand.
Jake put a hand on my shoulder and said, "She's an angel, isn't she?"
"Yeah." I said back, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first."
From then on, I truly did stop judging people.
EDIT: Sorry! This one went long!
| 2021-01-03T09:21:07 | 2021-01-03T08:53:18 | 77 | 35 |
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will
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I held victory in my hands, triumph too.
"In ancient days they called my kind demigods, legends and Kings. Nowadays people prefer the terms 'superhero' and 'neo-human', but the terms are the same. We are beyond what life and fate would make of normal men. And women." I add the last bit at the end with deliberate emphasis, the crowd before me silent and watching.
The room was full, the nations leaders, their capitalist powers, banks and megacorperations, warlords from third rate lands and spymasters from every corner of the globe. I had brought them here. I had spoken, and they had come.
And who wouldn't? When the *Daltheia* said they would adress the world, it came to listen to the wisdom of the immortal, the words of one who had lived through more history than humanity could remember.
"In those days, before Gilgamesh was king, before the first city was called *city,* I was. They called me *Daltheia* in the tounge of those people, but I was allready ancient even then." I took a deep breath, and for the first time in a millenia I removed my helm.
The armour I wore was beaten gold, of the highest quality. But nothing could mar it, char it, damage it. For it was mine. And nothing could be taken from me. It was my power. My strength. And for the first time I was going to reveal where it came from.
"Even in those elder days was man strong. He took what he wanted and hurt those who opposed him. He murdered and slew his was across the world, from Africa to Russia, the Americas to the Polynesian Islands. He stole and plundered a globe that did not belong to him, and now he rots in his hoard. He grows fat of the riches of Mother. He grows idle from the wealth of father. And yet he takes."
The silence was gone now, and muttering started. Yet tears ran unchecked down my face. They could have those.
"Man takes, as man has allways took. As Man took from me when I was Woman and I said No. And when I lay there in my blood and in my shame I cried out to Mother, and she cried out for me. And my Mother answered. The world swore that nothing more shall be taken from me. The land and the life upon it paid witness to the oath of Father as he swore that breath shall never be taken from me. The seas and the tides stood still in testimony as blood or pain shall never be taken from me. The stars and the sun that shine above sang their truth to me. No more shall I lose to the hands of Man or his children, forced upon me unwilling." My voice was hard. My gaze stone. My hair fell in braided locks around my face as I shook with the fervour of my determination. And the world watched.
"And now Man takes again. He rapes the world, and takes of her bounty. But no more. For today I claim what is mine. I am the eldest of Mother earth. I am the firstborn of Father sky. I claim then as my inheritance. Let any who try to take from them, poison them, slay them, see me, and know I am the *Daltheia* and they are mine."
The world watched in allmost silence. Mutters flew around the room. And as each person watched, and what these men controlled, countries, companies, armies, information, took from the world, I watched them die. One by one. One infront of another. Man died, for he could not help but take.
(Please forgive any formatting or spelling mistakes, I'm writing on my phone.)
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"Reincarnation has always caused scholars to wonder its limitations. Are there finite souls or as they are needed do the gods create more? What is the extent of the ones knowledge when reborn" explains the priest with mild amusement in his voice. Taunting our generation with the knowledge of the world. An entire room of kids sitting in the halls chambers listening intently. This day will determine our futures!
"Yet what we are able to know is this. When the gods allow your soul to return to the mortal plane they will grant your deepest desire from your past life. We are born into this world with no memory of a past life. What we do know is from those that desired knowledge about the powers.
There is speculation that every souls desires changes each life. As you obtain one gift, you will then exchange it doe a new desire in your next life. This is the cycle that balances our souls and the world.
It is our duty in this world to maintain the world with the gifts the gods have bestowed upon us. Now that you are all of age, our churches Reader will inform you of your gifts.
Remember, it is your duty to learn and use your powers for the betterment of humanity. Before you line up bow your heads and join me in prayer". All the kids follow the instructions, eagerness beening on those unsure of their gifts
After the prayer ends all the heads rise and we begin to line up as instructed. Once completed the doors at the end of the church swing open and two rown hooded robed clergymen escort an old women in white robes decorated in white to a chair awaiting her in front of the preachers pedestal.
The first kid bows in respect then approaches the lady. After some whispered words she places her hand on his head and her eyes glow. Her mouth opens but only those around the lady can hear. The boy bows with a grin and jumps with joy!
"I can be a knight! I can be a knight!" The boy continues to repeat the phrase as he skips out of the hall. The knights are said to be those that desired combat abilities while the church takes in more support and spiritual gifts. Since we are born with no knowledge of our past life we often do not know what our desire was.
The Readers are those with abilities to either know the desires of others past life or their gift in some way. Each reader's ability can vary in affect and outcome. Yet the church tests them prior to receiving the title of Reader. It is said rumored that those gifted in Reader previously desired knowledge. But knowledge only extends to the current mortal plane. Since gifts are from the gods, they limit the affect of some to maintain balance.
As the line continues the looks of the kids in front of my are a mix of joy, sadness, and acceptance. In theory the desires are often in cycles. It is rare for unique gifts to appear. Some scholars suggest there are patterns that everyone belongs to. Although the exact rotations are uncertain since life experiences alter the flow.
As I get waved to approach I bow. Upon walking over the lady sticks out her hand in a routine fashion. Placing it on my head her eyes glow.
And continues to glow.
And continues to glow.
And continues to glow.
"Are you okay Bishop?" Asks one of the attending clergymen. Then her eyes stop. Sweat dripping from her forehead. She remains silent locking eyes with me
"Is the Bishop of Gift Reading okay?" shouted the town churches head priest. Using the ladies formal title. Granted the title for she is able to read the gift the gods wrote onto the soul.
As all the members of the church begin to look panicked and shout worries to eachother thr lady motions with her hand for silence. All eyes on the lady the members of the church that were once spread across the building. Now encircling us.
Braking the silence the Bishop in her usual soft spoken tone says "Your first gift Nothing can be taken from you against your will".
The church members look at eachother. A couple mutterings about it being a unique gift. But didnt seem like anything crazy or world changing. Two priests quickly exchanging theories on why it may have taken a bit of time. Both settling on I didnt will her to see my gift at first but my nerves must of given in.
After the church members feel satisfied with the incidents resolution, one of the clergymen motions me to leave now that my gift was proclaimed aloud. Yet the ladies hand went back up.
"That is his first gift" said the Bishop. And thus the muttering began. The Bishop, not one for much words, ended the ceremony had the priest request the rest return tomorrow to be read.
Soon I found myself in a back room of the church. Paper and pens all around. New members of the church pouring in through various means. Based of their greetings the church used a lot of their transport gidt specialist today. Yet The Bishop of Gift Reading never leaving my side. But not saying more then needed. Actually usually not saying anything until absolutely needed.
While all this is going on I begin dwelling on the confusing fact that this is all happening. The power was simple enough sure it was unique and might not have been seen before. Which may warrant some attention. But normally not this much. Yet my mind keeps going back to the words "first gift". Could I have more?
Hours after the day of readings and now lost in thought a voice proclaims to the room "He isnt deaf. He is just confused. The boy had no knowledge of his past. He was simply thinking about this. You all would be pissing your pants of this happened at your reading". A few chuckles echo in the room and I'm awoken realizing all eyes are now focus on me. Some members of the church with pens at the ready.
"Alright Bishop of the Gift Reading. Let's hear it all. Then we will have the gifts of lore, knowledge, history, research, wisdom, and the prayer behind their research". Proclaims a man in golden robes. Wait that isnt right only one of the Heavens Council can wear that I think. "You're right boy, take a look around. Who do you think you're surrounded by?" Says the man reading my mind. As if on command my eyes search the room for understanding. Ornate robes of various designs and colors scatter the room. Every must be a bishop or higher in ranking. How, why and for me? Then I think back to "first gift". Quickly though my thoughts switch back to that of... shy? Embarrassment? Maybe self consciousness, I slump in the chair. Remaining silent.
"The boy has multiple gifts. His first gift is nothing can be taken from him against his will." Says the Bishop of Gift Reading.
"Since she is a lady of few words. I'll explain" chimes in the golden robed man. "It is the Bishops understanding he has multiple abilities and not just the one. She knows more but she didn't read them all. Does anyones gift have an understanding of this?" Asks him to the room. Followed by a "Just sit there and we will assist you boy" as he notices my face turning pale at the craziness of the situation.
After a few moments and various peoples gifts working. One of the gifts was a women in a simple green robe with a design on the skirt of the robe of what I suspect to represent a bookshelf.
"It could be the original founder of the church? He was suspected to have possessed multiple gifts given to him by the gods." Ssid the lady.
"Although that could be the case. Let's look into how he has multiple gifts Samantha. Anyone else?" Says the golden robed man. "Wait you" he points to a young plane brown robed clergy men standing behind a blue and white robed fat man. "Tell everyone what you suspect" he says with absolute authority.
"Ummm me sir?" Says the brown robed man. With just a nod from the golden robed man he gulps, "well... ummm... my gift of insight is still developing... so it isnt clear... its partially my own rationalizing... I suspect that well... maybe our gifts are not lost after death. Maybe either in his first life or at some point he gained this unique ability. Upon being reincarnated he never was willing to give it away. So he kept it. Along with gaining a new one?" He says with the last statement turning into a question.
And thus my journey with in the church began. I was not informed of all my gifts. It was decided I would be sent to the churches academy to be trained with my gifts. I was instructed to only develop and train one at a time until a satisfactory level of control was achieved.
| 2021-09-11T17:23:16 | 2021-09-11T15:49:41 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] A Monster Under the Bed and a Monster in the Closet, both long since retired return to visit their former nemesis a Teddy Bear. They have tea and the bear tells them about the new generation of monsters he's been dealing with and about how he misses the old days.
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The Shadow stood awkwardly, unable to sit, while Fluffy the Bear sat on the bed and the Thing plopped down at the desk, shoving all his appendages under the table.
"I never thought we'd all be out here, like this," Fluffy said, with a tired smile. The Shadow and the Thing saw that the bear had lost a lot of his fur, and that his golden sheen had dulled a bit. "I don't know why, but I'm happy to see you."
"So how's the battle? Who took our spots?" The Shadow said.
"No one. It's been boring."
"No one?" The Thing stood up, and banged his head on the ceiling. Fluffy and the Shadow laughed. "What are you talking about? There's always monsters coming for little boys and girls."
"Not Anna," Fluffy said with a faraway look in his eye. "She just uses her magic brick, the one with the pictures and the sounds. I don't know how, but I think she can talk to her friends on it. Why would...never mind."
"What is it, Fluffy?"
"It's just...why would she need me? When she has a magic brick?"
The Shadow and the Thing looked at each other, and back at their defeated friend.
"You know..."
\-
"Fluffy told us not to," the Shadow said. He had always had respect for the Teddy Bear, especially how it was never afraid of the light, of being touched.
"But that's because he's him," the Thing said, pacing back and forth on the roof. "Come on. Just one last time."
"Anna's thirteen now. She stopped being scared of monsters a long time ago."
"That's true. But that doesn't mean she won't need her teddy bear."
"So what's your idea?"
\-
Fluffy laid prone, his side to the pillow. He was warm, and comfortable, but his heart was empty. He looked out the window, and the swaying trees, the lights in the house across, the crescent moon, which used to be so comforting, merely reminded him that Anna would soon disappear into that world.
Anna was giggling, and Fluffy closed his eyes. He barely had any hope left, any hope that Anna would put down her magic brick and hug him...
Suddenly, there was a bang. Fluffy looked outside.
The lights had turned off.
Those rascals, he thought.
The door opened. Anna's mother came in.
"Anna, honey? Are you okay?"
"What happened, mommy?"
"The power went out. We just got an email that a transformer exploded."
"What does that mean?"
"It'll be dark till morning, at least."
"And the WiFi?"
"It's out too."
"What am I supposed to do then, until I fall asleep?"
Anna's mother shrugged, and left.
Fluffy laid there, in the cool silence, and told himself to keep his heart still.
Then Anna's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, back to her warm, beating heart.
"Thanks for always being there for me, Fluffy."
And Fluffy looked out the window, and even in the darkness, he could see the outline of his two friends. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel so alone.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
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Seeing Teddy in that state shocked me. Sure, time is friendly to nobody, and if Underbed and I were corporeal the same way Teddy was, we would certainly suffer the effects of aging as well. But more than his general shabby appearance, his threadbare hair, his seams half unsewn, and one of his eyes ready to fall out, it was his expression that said it all.
It was the expression of someone barely able to hold it together. (Bearly? ha ha ha. Oh boy. An emotional moment, properly ruined! I think I still got this.)
He invited us in, closed the door, had us sit, and served us tea. He was shaking and spilled a little tea on the table. That obviously wasn't a problem per se: Underbed extended a wriggly tentacle and slurped it all. But I felt a mild urge to berate Teddy, to tell him how much of a screwup he was, and that he would never learn to serve tea properly, and that maybe he should get his act together before even thinking of hosting guests.
I've always been the mean one. That's what I do - that, and terrible puns, and inappropriate, crude jokes. That's why they always close the closet door at night - so the children can't hear me. For if the door happens to be ajar, it's showtime. I will whisper nightmare fuel to them all night long. Hee hee hee.
But I was rusty. Since Amy had left, the house was empty of children, and Underbed and I had nobody to use our skills on. We hadn't praticed in decades. And besides, to be honest, I felt bad - Teddy was obviously distraught, and he didn't need that. So I just gave him some mild snark. But it didn't matter anyway, he just shook his head sadly, like he often would. Damn bear. Always the mature one, the grown-up in the room. The friend and guardian to children. There wasn't much we could do to hurt him, or get past his soothing influence. If we wanted to properly scare a child, we had to wait until Teddy was forcibly put in the washing machine by an ignorant parent. Or forgotten in the cottage house in the country on a Sunday - those were the best opportunities, we could torment the children every night for at least a week. But when Teddy was there? No dice. Cockblocking all night long.
\- What'sss up, Teddy? Underbed whispered, in his usual slithery, creepy voice. Why ssso sssad?
\- He missed us, obviously, I sneered. Has nobody to punch anymore. Nobody to defend his beloved Amy from. He wants us back. Won't work, I'm afraid. We're old school. She's not afraid of us anymore.
\- It's not that, Teddy said. He sat down. And then he broke down, sobbing, tears flowing from his button-eyes like a raging river. His body was racked with spasms, and he couldn't stop. I felt awkward. It wasn't right. The *children* were supposed to cry, yes, of course, but Teddy? Nah. That was something else.
Underbed didn't care about that, of course. He was lapping all the tears with glee, with obscene squishy sounds. I suppose they were as good as child tears. Maybe better - a rarer, finer treat. I love that guy: he's the best mix of creepiness, compassion, silliness, gluttony, and ugliness. Nothing better to seriously mess up a child's mind, to throw a monkey wrench into the manichean, dualistic view of the world that's transmitted to them by their parents. Is Underbed scary-but-friendly or scary-evil? Kids can't tell, and that f*beep*cks them up good. I love it.
\- Hey buddy, I said to Teddy. Tell us everything.
Slowly, Teddy calmed down, and recomposed himself. When he could speak, he took a deep breath, and started spilling the tea. The metaphorical one.
\- Everybody said we were meant to be a part of children's lives, but that we had no place among adults. They were right, he said, his bottom lip still quivering. You know, I would have been okay with staying behind with you guys when Amy left the house. I would have been heartbroken, but okay.
"But she insisted on taking me with her. I was overjoyed. Of course I would stay with her. There was nothing I wanted more. I love her, I want her to be happy. You did not make it easy, he added, wagging a clawed finger at us.
I grinned. Old Teddy was still there.
\- Just doing our job, I said. I hope you finally figured out that we're also necessary, for humans to become functioning adults.
\- Oh yes, he said, and for the first time I could feel something else than sadness in his voice. Something like... a twinge of anger?
"Oh yes. And that's why I wanted to talk to you. Guys. We had no idea what adult life is like.
\- But that'sss not our placcce, Underbed whispered. We're sssupposssed to only ssstay with chhhildr...
\- Yes and that's my point, Teddy interrupted him, shouting. For the first time, I've *seen it*, adult life. And it's much worse than we've been told it was. You think you're scary monsters? You guys are *easy*.
He looked me straight in the blackness that would be my eyes, and spoke slowly, deliberately.
\- Working every day for 8 hours or more, with very little opportunities for play. On resting days, having various chores to do. On top of housework, you have to fill forms, write letters, pay an insane amount of bills. When you're sick, you're not always able to stay in bed, sometimes you still have to get up and go to work. And the loneliness. The loneliness. With so much to do, you have no time to make new friends. And it's also difficult to keep the friends you have. And you know how much we tell children that love is the answer to everything? well, sometimes Amy meets a man, but he never stays for long. Love, my ass. That is the reality of adult life. You guys are eeeeeeeasy.
Well. Shots fired, I guess.
\- Okay, I said. So, did you just invite us here to insult us? That's, like, *my* job.
\- No... I invited you because I needed someone to talk to. And also, I'm out of sorts. I don't know what to do. I want to help Amy, but she doesn't talk or listen to me much anymore, and I feel we've been lied to, or are following old, inadequate rules, and are not preparing the children the way we're supposed to. We need to step up.
He paused.
\- Also, I'm probably going to die soon, and you need to know all this so you can pass it on to the next generation of teddy bears when I'm gone.
\- Can I eat your eyessss when you're dead? Underbed asked. Your left one hasss been tempting me sssinccce we arrived.
I chuckled. B*beep*stard is good at ruining heartfelt moments too. But I was processing Teddy's revelations, and already beginning to think of a few ideas that could both help Amy and the future adults to come. My brain was starting to shake off the rust, and hell if it didn't feel great.
\- You want us to solve adulting? Challenge accepted, I grinned. You didn't succeed because you're utterly bad at this. You're a wuss, Teddy. You're a proper wimp, a failure, and a sorry excuse for a bear. You can't get anything done on your own, and the only good idea you had was to ask the right people for help. Now, is there a closet I can stay in?
| 2019-11-18T10:09:25 | 2019-11-18T08:20:37 | 86 | 43 |
[WP] The year is 2022. A virus has wiped out everyone over the age of 60, decimating world governments and and the mighty 1%. Generation X is too relieved from the constant badgering of their parents to rebuild society. It's up to the Millennials to put the world back together.
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The man on the TV cleared his throat, straightened up a little and began to speak. "My fellow Canadians, it has been a hard year for us. The suffering and pain we have endured as a nation, shared around the world with our brothers and sisters, no words can describe it. We have all lost friends, family, role models, and leaders. Truly our civilization has suffered, and almost collapsed. But we were strong." He paused to run a hand through his sandy blond hair, streaks of grey not overly common for a 31 year old were apparent, wrinkled creased his eyes, but there was a ferocity in the clear blue eyes. A ferocity that had won his newly formed party the victory, ousting the former Big Three that had dominated Canadian Politics.
&#x200B;
Not that there had been much left of those Parties, or their primary supporters. A mutation of H3N2 had decimated those above the age of 60, specifically targeting a breakdown of their DNA caused by aging. It would speed up the effects of aging in the liver, kidneys and eventually heart, leading to complete organ failure. By the time it was realized, eighty-five percent of the population was affected, but the virus would lay dormant. A cure was being developed, but it wasn't much of a relief to those who had lost. Those closer to 60 than 20 were hit hard too, losing family and friends overnight, and letting the massive machine that was the political and economical engine of the world to fall apart. The saviours came in the weird form of Millennials. Used to poor working hours, and stepping up with little recognition, they slowly took over the world's functions. This past October, Governments had started to recover as well, with new elected officials stepping into the limelight, such as the new Canadian Prime Minister Jake McLeod and his United People's Party, which had promised economic, social, and political reform. Now April of 2022, the Government had begun to make those changes. Oddly enough, when you remove the older generations stuck in their way, a lot can get done.
&#x200B;
"Today we become stronger still. My esteemed friends, Ashley Williams, President of the United States, and Donald Lucas, President of Mexico; they have taken an opportunity to sit down with me and discuss putting aside the poor relations of our nations in the past. The first steps will be laid today to resolve trade disagreements and truly open our borders. Starting July 1st, Canada Day no less, we will no longer require passports to travel to any of our nations. By the end of the year, all North American Citizens will be allowed to freely seek employment in any nation, regardless of citizenship. As we continue to grow, we will strengthen our resolve, we will strengthen our people, and we will flourish." A round of applause broke out from the collected journalists and people who were present. A few minutes later he began the same statement, but in French.
&#x200B;
Two hours later he sat down on the cognac leather chair and poured himself a neat cup of the Canadian Whiskey that sat there. Rumor was Prime Minister Stephen Harper had left it behind and no one had wanted to drink it. It was hard to believe it had been not even a decade since Harper had left this office. All around him there were relics of the past, including the oil painting of Sir John A. MacDonald that hung neatly among the collection of books. Taking a sip, he reflected on the changes that had happened in a short six months, as his party had swept a majority win. He was young, the youngest Prime Minister in Canadian history, but that wasn't hard when anyone a mere 29 years his senior was dead. A very, very short time in the grand scheme of the universe. He reflected on the work his government had done, and the interactions they had had across the world. If you had asked him in 2020, working as a desk clerk for a small company, if he thought he would be the Prime Minister he would have laughed. But instead, later that year he had watched his grandparents all die a week apart. He watched disease sweep through hospitals and senior homes, and wipe out entire swaths of the population. His generation had slowly stepped up, taking more and more responsibility. You would have thought the society would have collapsed, but their generation kept things afloat, took up the mantel of teachers, business owners and leaders. The hardest part had been the loss of the One Percenters, as literal trillions of dollars were left in limbo. His government had passed laws to place a fifty percent tax on any inheritance over fifty thousand dollars (and only the sum over fifty thousand), putting that money back into the economy.
&#x200B;
There had been push back of course. When Gen X had started to recoup and come back, they realized that in the short years following them being grief stricken and taking time off to deal with it, the world had moved on. Their values were largely ignored or even regarded as archaic. They opposed the global Climate Recovery Initiative, the Mandatory Vaccination movement, and the removal of religion from having any play in politics. Quickly they found themselves pushed to the outskirts of society, and knocked out of their positions of power. They took to the last remnants of their real representation, being traditional media. News television shows and radio shows ran stories shaming the Millennial generation for leaving behind people who had raised them and built the world for them. Calls were made for the "youngster" to step aside and make room for the "adults." Jake had listened of course, listened to their rants and screams of people realizing that they weren't in power, that they were now stuck in positions where they weren't controlling everything, and the world was *better*. So, sitting in the darkened office, the Prime Minister's eyes fell to the document on his small coffee table, which bore the Seal of the President from both Mexico and the United States. The Canadian Coat of Arms was also present on the document, and all it needed was his signature as well to sign the "Behind Closed Doors" agreement. A simple, unspoken rule to redirect funding from research into the plague that had wiped out the senior population, and to delay it as long as they good. After all, Generation X would soon be moving to be 60 themselves, and having a great deal of people suddenly retire would be a huge drain on their still recovering economy. Taking another sip of his whiskey, Prime Minister Jake McLeod leaned forward, picked up the old style fountain pen, and signed his name.
&#x200B;
"We will be stronger."
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Cindy peered over towards Jacob, fumbling with the mechanical contraption in her hands. Just when she thought she had it, the object inexplicably slipped through her fingers and went flying half-way across the room. She threw up her hands in exasperation and slumped backwards.
"Just how the hell are you supposed to open these things..." she said, scowling at the unopened can of tuna.
Jacob took a bite from his last remaining loaf of gluten-free bread and eyed the tin suspiciously. "Beats me... Maybe try hitting it with a rock or something?"
"Whatever. I'm not hungry."
"Well in any case, we've got more important things to worry about. We need to establish... a... a system of government. That's right. Just think, we can finally be free of all that bourgeoisie capitalist bullshit."
"Well... Just what would you propose instead?"
Jacob leaned back, toying with his vape pen as he glanced into the distance. "A fair society.... One where everyone can be equal... No-one will need to go hungry again."
Cindy eyed the can of tuna again with a mix of fear and disgust. Her stomach let out a faint growl.
"So, who on earth is going to be in charge of this society?" Cindy asked.
"Well... Me of course. We can't just devolve into total anarchy now, can we?"
"So everyone would be equal... except for you?"
"Listen, I haven't ironed out all the details yet, ok? Let's just cross that bridge when we get to it."
"No point in worrying about it now." Cindy nodded, then rose to her feet and aimed her iPhone towards the sky, desperately searching for a signal.
"What are you doing?" Jacob asked, scratching his head.
"Trying to call UberEats... What does it look like..."
| 2019-07-26T07:00:04 | 2019-07-26T06:28:00 | 73 | 12 |
[WP] When humans arrived to the galactic scene, they thought wars would play out way differently. Instead of bloodshed, there were intergalactic video game tournaments fighting for territory. Most aliens thought humans were newbies to this but when the first war was played, they changed their minds.
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"Did I ever tell you how it all happened?" The old man whispered.
I looked at him curiously. Everyone told me the old man was crazy with his stories but I always found him interesting if a bit sad so I leaned in a little to humor him.
"How what happened?" I asked?
"Th..THIS, fucking....all of....THIS." He growled, motioning to the devastated landscape around him. "This isn't fucking right, this wasn't supposed to happen....we were just trying....we just...." he trailed off, shuddered and took a long pull from a battered flask then tucked it back into an equally battered jacket.
The old man sat back with a sigh and stared at the fire as he leaned against an old burned out truck and let his eyes wander off over the desert wasteland.
"Years ago" He began. "things where much different. The world was nice for better or worse and humanity was changing. Sure, we made mistakes but we were learning...technology was growing fast and we were hopeful for the future....we were so excited when they came...."
"When who came?" I asked. I remember hearing something about an invading army from the stars but most of the younger generations dismissed that all as bullshit and mostly blamed The Librools, whatever they where.
"When who came?" I asked again. "Was it the Librools, where they the ones that attacked us?"
"The what? No, it was the Dafuq Galactic Empire....at least, it used to be....what happened here, probably nothing compared to what's happening out there...." He said, trailing off again as his eyes scanned the heavens, flitting from star to star as if hoping or dreading to see something else.
"There were rules" He began again. "It wasn't supposed to end this way...."
I sat back and regarded this old man again. It was rumored that he was alive before it all happened. One of the few that survived and managed to make it in the savage new world that arose from the old.
"The war....if you want to call it that...it never should have happened. The Dafuq Empire was vast, a "coalition" of hundreds of star systems that supposedly worked together to maintain galactic peace and stability. Well, bless our cynical hearts, us humans knew that kind of talk all too well and many of us were afraid when aliens decided to announce themselves to the world."
"Aliens?" I asked? "From another world? They did all this?" I asked and began to laugh.
The old man seemed unphased by my disbelief and continued his story.
"The aliens showed up out of nowhere and man was it exciting. They were friendly, had solutions to environmental and medical problems and generally seemed intent on "helping" humanity but we all knew deep down that something was wrong. They where a little too helpful, a little too opinionated, a little too interested in making our planet more habitable."
The old man paused and took another long pull from his flask, coughed heavily into a dirty rag and continued. "We knew it was trouble when they invited us to participate in their "Sport". We knew they where going to challenge us somehow to get a measure of our military capabilities, our will to win, our savagery even."
"Well what sort of sport did they want? Was it a fight to the death? What sort of weapons? Did you eat their dead?" I asked him in quick, excited bursts.
"Slow down boy, slow down...please..." He pleaded, catching his breath and grimacing as he clutched at the oozing wound in his side. He coughed more and a bit of blood made it's way down the corner of his mouth.
"They challenged us to a....a fucking video game tournament." He said, smiling slightly and even starting to laugh a little before sputtering into a coughing mess for several seconds.
"We were stunned." He began. "The whole world was stunned, these creatures were bigger than us, stronger than us, had better technology than us and to flex their might they wished to test us in video games? It seemed absurd but we had little choice so humanity convened and made a decision that changed the course of our planet."
"Ah, so we had a secret weapon?" I asked. "A team of great video game warriors to fight for our honor?"
"Something like that." The wheezing old man whispered looking at the skies again before returning his gaze to mine through the iron bars that separated us.
"You see....these Dafuq's....they did use these tournaments to take a measure of other races but generally speaking, they didn't often make war. Most of the time they didn't have too, they were so powerful most other races where glad to cooperate as opposed to not. The problem is though, they underestimated us and in turn, we, underestimated them."
"What happened? Did we win this game?" I asked again, sitting back and leaning my spear against the gnarled stump of a dead tree.
"Well....yeah.....and...no. You see....the Dafuq's took this tournament very seriously. There was a kind of etiquette about these things and some things you just didn't do. There were no rules about some of these things but you just didn't do them and we did them. We smelled blood in the water and we went too far. We offended them." He said, wincing as he sat up and clutching his leaking wound.
"You aren't going to last much longer like that." I pointed out, motioning at his seeping side wound.
"Yeah, I know, it'll all be over soon but at least I'll have gotten to tell someone, even if it's you." He said to me, eyes locked onto mine in defiance. I was fascinated and asked him to continue his story.
The old man grinned at me and said. "You wanna know what we did...." He trailed off as he took another couple of pulls from his flask. "We sent the children is what we did." He began to laugh and cough again as he said this causing him to double over and cough up blood.
"Children?" I said, genuinely confused. "Children are poor warriors, why would you send children?"
The old man looked up at me and smiled through blood soaked teeth and chuckled a little, spitting a little bit of blood and sand down the front of his ragged jacket.
Continued......
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The Multi Dimensional arena that could only be described as a Galactical Colloseum was silent to the deepest corners of the abyss. They had just now realized the weight of their mistake to let the Earthlings choose what "video game" they were going to "play". The ritual to be executed of a name that was unaudible gibberish to the Cosmic Team was simple. (I'm leaving the game description out because it was basically gonna be a fictional League of Legends Copy) The intergalactical powerhouse that was translated to a primitive language was called "Cosmic Calamity". They were without question, the dominating steel fist of the alien armada. The game had started already about 15 minutes ago. The entirety of the cosmic state was only here for entertainment and to see humiliation. But to everyone's suprise, the humiliated ones were actually the CC. It was impossible. The odds were stacked against the Humans from the very beginning. CC had gone through countless simulations in countless dimensions, trying to predict every single one of the humans moves and mericlessly outplaying them. The aliens had positioned themselves perfectly to counter strategies thst every decent team would play. But to their suprise, it was not the case. The Humans had played so simply, so simple mindedly that it was hard to believe. Who dared stand against the Kings of the arena? To the aliens, anyone who even dared to imagine fighting against CC had to be one of the best. And they were right and wrong at the same time. The humans played so simply, that none of the aliens could predict it. They had practiced countering the most complex plays and strategies, that they were absolutely smited by the simplicity of the humans. In mere minutes the humans ran down the aliens' Resource Core.
| 2018-04-13T20:53:19 | 2018-04-13T18:30:12 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] The princess is different to say the very least. Her face covered in battle scars instead of make up, her hands as hard as stone and her eyes more frightening than a dragon. But you must perform your duty as a knight and guard her even though she may not need your protection.
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“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Princess?” I ask the woman ahead of me. We wade through a swamp, alternating between squelching mud and puke-green puddles.
“Don’t,” she grunts as she hacks away some vines, “call me Princess.”
“What?” I ask blithely. “Is that not what you are, Princess?” I grin a bit; it’s fun to tease her like this.
“It’s a dumb nickname,” she says despondently. “It sounds pretty and pink. I prefer mysterious and green.”
“Pink is my favorite color though, and pretty things aren’t all that bad.”
“Would you like me to call you Princess then?” She continues to clear a path for us.
“‘Course not. I’m not a princess. I’m your knight, and, you know, it would be nice to be acknowledged as such every now and then.”
“You say ‘knight,’ I say ‘annoying guy who insists on following me around everywhere.’”
“It’s my duty to guard you, Princess, whether either of us like it or not.”
“My name,” she pauses to step over a fallen tree, “is Lillian.”
I get a running start and leap over the tree, only one hand touching the rotting wood and soft moss. When I land, I puff out my chest boastfully.
The princess fixes me with a dead stare and mutters, “I told my parents they were fools to appoint you as my knight.”
“Hey, I heard that, you know,” I retort.
She smiles sweetly. “Your point?” I fantasize for a brief moment that my dagger slides between her ribs.
She turns on her heels and continues forward. Her upper body is bare, a strip of fabric tied tightly around her chest, and her hair is a gnarled mess. With a sword at her hip and scars littering her skin, she does a poor job of betraying her lineage. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t care about your appearance at all,” I tell her.
“Your point?” she asks again.
“And then we go on excursions like this,” I continue. “Remind me, Princess, why are we out here, again?”
“To get some special mud.”
“And why do we need this special mud?”
“So that my skin will be soft as a flower petal and my hair will be smooth as silk.”
“See, princess, that is my point. You’re full of contradictions. You dress like a ruffian, but you go to great lengths for vanity’s sake.”
“I can be good with a sword and look pretty while doing it, you know,” she snaps. “It’s not my fault this swamp is a mess.
“Come on, now, we’re almost there.” She slows to a halt and crouches behind some rocks. I kneel next to her and look.
Before us is a large pit filled with mud. The mud glitters with shimmering white crystal dust that has clearly been scraped off of the wall opposite where we hide. Carved into the wall are holes, in which giant birds have made their nests. A few circle the mud pit, high in the sky, guarding, watching, their calls an ear-splitting belch.
The princess turns to me. “Stay here,” she says quietly, and puts a finger over her lips. She climbs over the rocks and inches forward, keeping her body low and her movements slow. I follow her, despite her orders, because my duty is to protect her, not to sit and watch.
High up in its nest, a bird cocks its head. I notice that she doesn’t notice, and after that everything happens quickly.
My body covers hers, she yelps while I scream as talons tear wide gashes in my side. The bird’s cry rattles my body. I struggle to stand and barely succeed, and I manage to slice off the bird’s feet before I immediately collapse back to the ground. I lay there helplessly as the princess cuts off limbs and severs necks. Blood rains down and caws are cut off with wet thumps. Lives are ended with strangled squawks, and the princess grunts and whirls and swings her sword. The world spins as my body is lifted by strong arms and I’m carried to safety. My bag is taken from my back and bandages are soaked in water and tied around my waist. The gauze is quickly soaked through with blood, so more are added until the bleeding is stanched.
If it were not for her, I would have died.
“Are you okay, Loid?” she asks me.
And if it were not for me, so would she.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. I cough, and spit out some blood. “But we never got your mud. I’m sorry, Lillian.”
She smiles gently, an expression foreign to her face. “That’s okay. Thank you for saving me.”
I feel tired, so I only say, “You, too.”
And so, I saved the princess’s life, and she in turn saved mine.
|
At the age of seven I was chosen
To guard the princess of noblesse was the duty
The third was not like the other royal women
She desired strength to protect the common like thee
Training blades with brother and guard
She put twice the effort and had thrice the physique
She lead her kingdoms armies from the front guard
A thousand scars on skin and face
Her eyes like a dragon, her hands calloused and scarred
I stay by her side unlike those that accept disgrace
I have sworn my oath, and hold my word, even if debbared
For she is my princess of warrior grace
I stand at her side and I am her for this life her guard
| 2022-10-03T17:42:18 | 2022-10-03T16:27:04 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You have been sent to Hell. Instead of Satan giving you your punishment, however, you see him leaving his office, with an angry yet defeated look on his face and his things in a box in his hands. One of the demons walks up to you and says, "Welcome to Hell, Your Unholy Majesty".
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"I beg your pardon?" My eyes were boring into the bright yellow ones of the obsequious demon.
"A-apologies Majesty. Your predecessor was just clearing out his space."
"What? What the fuck does that even mean? Where **AM** I?!" He flinched away from me and I tugged one of my red curls in frustration.
"Hell, Your Most Vile of Ladies." The little gray creature sank into a low bow, it reeked with fear.
*What?* I was ignoring him at this point, taking in my surroundings, including the broad, receding back of a huge, beautiful demon. A pair of silky looking wings sprouted from his shoulders, the translucent webbing torn in several places.
"Who is that?" The demon looked in the direction of my pointed finger, and the larger creature froze, turning to me with defeated eyes.
"Oh! Uh, well. That! That is Lucifer, Majesty."
"Why the fuck is he carrying a box of office supplies?" Satan was indeed clutching a cardboard box full of office junk, a few picture frames and a small succulent poking out of the top.
"YOU TOOK MY JOB YOU BITCH!" The imposing demon screamed from down the hallway and I slowly smiled, raising both of my middle fingers. Neat.
He snarled and threw the box against the wall of the hall, advancing on me with clawed feet. Within moments he was standing over me and I regarded him with impassive eyes, slightly irritated that he was breathing his halitosis air into my face.
"I should gut you like swine human!" His voice hissed at me, revealing a forked tongue and too many very sharp teeth.
Whatever, I was obviously already dead somehow. And me getting the devil fired must mean something about my position in this afterlife.
"Try it, and I'll tear those pretty little fairy wings off your back and make you eat them you bipedal mentally disabled fruit bat, now get the *fuck* out of my face before I spear hand you in the Adam's apple." He wasn't much taller than me and I saw his pupils dilate in surprise, but he didn't back away from me. So I took a step forward and he backed up. Good.
I sneered at him and he seemed to realize what he was doing. He started to say something, and had puffed his chest out in rage, or shame. Maybe either, probably both.
But he deflated, breaking eye contact and staring at the black marble floors.
"I can see why the Boss replaced me, I've lost my touch." He turned his back to me and trudged back to his destroyed box.
I regarded him with critical eyes. He was now the second most powerful creature in Hell, apparently, and he now had an abundance of free time to cause trouble.
"Hey." Satan looked up from where he was crouched, scooping the now dead succulent back into a broken pot.
"Want a job?" His eyes widened and I shrugged.
"But why?" He was standing and brushing off his slacks with his hands, only succeeding in putting more dirt onto them.
"Well." I thought for a moment. "You need to be kept busy. And, I have no idea what I'm doing." My hand extended to him. "So, what do you say?"
A happy grin crossed his face and he clenched my hand in his much larger fist, shaking vigorously.
"Oh thank you, you won't regret it!"
---
A year had passed since I had been appointed Supreme Overlord of the Underworld. And Satan had been right, after re-hiring him he had attacked his job with renewed fervor, showing me the ropes and providing helpful feedback.
It turns out, that human souls eventually demonstrate a great tolerance for pain, and the pits of brimstone and magma had simply been full of bored looking crispy humans. The blood soaked racks places for conversation between tormentor and the tormented. Not to mention the atrocious living conditions of the actual demonic employees. Let's just say, indoor plumbing was restricted to Hell's elite.
In short, it had been a logistical mess, and was not serving the purpose of punishing the souls of the damned.
Within a few short months, and after extensive testing, we learned that the best way to torment a soul, was to force them into dead end, monotonous slave labor. The feeling of bleak hopelessness at going nowhere was crushing, and the increase in productivity had allowed us to build engineering marvels and sprawling demonic cities, bustling with human slaves and demons of all ilk. The nights were punctuated by cries of fear and despair as demons freely hunted the city for whatever souls were unlucky enough to still be about.
The turnaround was huge, and Hell had never been more productive.
I regarded the red landscape with critical eyes, the view from my black marble villa quite impressive. I noted that the lava tide had risen and I was going to have to replant some of my garden.
A knock sounded and I turned away from the window, waving the large double doors to my office open as I sat on my desk. In walked Lucifer, a metal clipboard in his hand.
"You have a two p.m. appointment with the senior foreman in charge of the fourth city's plumbing. Something about the impossibility of running the pipes?"
"Send him in." He nodded his horned head and moved aside for a portly man in his fifties. Daniel Rean, died of lung cancer.
"What can I do for you Mr. Rean?" The question was merely a formality, I did not actually give a fornicating fuck what he wanted.
He looked at me angrily and put his fists on his hips. "There is no way we can lay that plumbing! The ground is too dense to dig through and we would end up tearing the human districts to shreds trying to re-route it."
I steepled my hands in my lap. "So, you're telling me, you can't connect the shit pipes because it would inconvenience the humans?"
He blinked at me stupidly, as if finally realizing the situation he had walked into. Mr. Rean was fairly new here and I thought maybe it was time for a heavy dose of reality.
I turned my back to him and opened the window to my balcony overlooking the landscape of Hell. With a casual flick of my wrist he was compelled to join me at my side.
"You remember when Hell was a bit more chaotic, don't you Daniel?" He audibly gulped and nodded, I stared forward into the red light.
"And you remember why things changed right?" Another nod.
"B-because humans build a tolerance for p-pain."
"Precisely, but I'm curious at the longevity of that tolerance."
Before he could open his mouth to reply I had thrown him from the balcony, into the moat of lava below. His anguished screams answered my question.
Lucifer chose this moment to poke his head in, the sounds of pain music to his demonic ears.
"Get me another engineer, Mr. Rean has been, fired." I grinned at my own joke and Satan chuckled, making notes on his clipboard.
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated!
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"Verdict... Hell."
My heart sunk. What? What did he just say? He thinks I need to go to hell?Seriously? People say I'm an asshole, but that doesn't make me an evil SOB who needs eternal torture. Sure, I've done some messed up things, but I regretted them afterwards and atoned for them, no need for hell....
"So, what exactly are you basing this whole judgement thing on? What the hell did I do to deserve damnation?"
God said, "Well, they've just gotten an opening in management down there, and you look like the right fit for the job."
"What are you talking abo--" I was cut off by the ground disappearing from beneath me and my abrupt fall into the crimson pit that is Hell. I landed with a thud on the brim-- carpet? I got up and dusted myself off, confused.
*This doesn't look like hell*, I thought to myself. *Everything's too... nice.* Soft carpet, nice paintings, hardwood furnishings.... I turned to my left and saw Satan tapping a pencil on his desk, clearly trying to hold back tears.
"You...." Satan's voice sounded like death. "I could kill you on the spot, you know. I could stretch out your death for all eternity. I could... if I was still the boss." His voice cracked near the end. Was that a tear on his face?
"What? What do you mean, you're not the boss?" I asked sharply.
"Why should I tell you?"
"Oh, you salty about being unemployed?"
"No, it's just that--
"Just that what?"
"Just that you're--"
"you gonna suffer for all of time ble ble ble I'm the culmination of all evil bleh," I mocked.
"STOP," Satan said with a tear gathering in his eye. He turned and grabbed his box of things (from his desk, presumably). "I need to get going", he said holding back tears. After he ran out the door someone stepped into the office.
"That's how you do it!" said a demon dressed in a black suit and tie. "I think you'll do well here, your Unholiness. You'll go far. Here's where you can contact me." he held out a card.
I took it. It read:
CEO of Hell Industries.
Bee L. Zeebub
666-666-6660
| 2016-11-13T09:21:15 | 2016-11-13T08:38:10 | 162 | 26 |
[WP] A fleet of alien ships has appeared in orbit. The aliens say they can end world hunger and disease. In return, they want one hundred million volunteers for their army.
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"Sir.. they said they can end world hunger and disease.. but they want 100 million volunteers for their army.." Nigel looked worried, he knew his Commander wasn't known for his compassion. The Commander paused and thought for a moment. He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. Nigel let out a nervous giggle.. he shouldn't have even told his Commander what the deal was. "All of those lives are just as much on me as they are on him" he thought to himself.
"Well see the problem here is..." the Commander said grinning between 2 chubby cheeks, "is that we can end world hunger and disease already." Nigel looked confused and listened intently for the Commander to continue. "But how is anyone supposed to make any money from that?" his tone changed quickly. He wiped the smile from his face and looked up at Nigel over his glasses resting low on his nose, eyebrow slightly raised. Nigel knew it was a rhetorical question, and he did not dare to bring up the implications of the Commander's thought process. "So, I should tell them we said no?" Nigel asked hesistantly. The Commander leaned back in his chair again and sighed. "Set me up a meeting with these interglactic creatures. I want to speak with them face to face." The Commander said.
Nigel stood frozen in his tracks for a moment before carrying out the request. "Why on Earth would he want to meet these things. He's seen them, right?! He's been briefed?!" Nigel thought to himself, shuttering at the thought of coming face to face with the creatures they saw in the photos in the briefing room a few days prior. Nonetheless, Nigel had the meeting set up for later that day.
When the aliens packed into the top floor conference room of the World Trade Center Baltimore. Nigel warned the Commander they were ready and went to help him with his jacket. The Commander raised an open palm to Nigel, "wait" he said shuffling through papers on his desk. "Let them sit for a moment." Nigel didn't want the Commander playing head games with these beasts, but this wasn't the first time he had to sit through the suspense of how people were going to react to the Commanders mind tricks. Usually, though, it's just measly humans they are dealing with.
Minutes pass by and Nigel can feel the heat raising from his body, trapped in by his uniform. The Commander finally gets up, quickly adjusts his suit, and heads for the door with Nigel trailing him. You would have thought the Commander went out and met intergalactic space beings once a week the way he strolled down the hallway. He walked into the conference room chest first.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." He said in his confidently relaxed. They all take their seats and begin. "So what is it exactly anyways you want with 100 million humans? Are there no other creatures out there that interest you?" the Commander asks, a server pouring a glass of scotch over his shoulder.
"We know of your way of life here. It is quite, insensitive. We have laws against treating beings from our planets this way, but you do not. We need bi-pedal creatures with fingers AND disposable thumbs, as they are the most efficient at building smaller, intricate pieces we need for machines back home. These jobs do not pay much and most creatures don't want to do them. Your humans are sick and hungry anyways, we will be able to take them off your hands and care for them better than they would be here. You will not have to worry about them anymore." The head alien said calmly, The Commander processed the answer for a moment.
"Do you know what losing 100 million people would do to our economy? It would cripple it, at the very least." "We are prepared to share technology with you to take their place. There will be an adjusting period, but it will work. We have done this before with all considerations." The alien replied without missing a beat. "What is it exactly that you want, Commander?" The alien asked. Nigel looked at the Commander. Nigel knew what the Commander wanted, he wanted to be powerful. He was good at getting what he wanted, too. The Commander gained his power from being smart, tactical, and strategic. He didn't burn bridges quickly.
The Commander sat in the silence and let it stir. "You play a hard game, Commander. Since food and medicine do not interest you, what about our military technology?" The alien asked, sliding a thick folder across the long table. The Commander held his poker face firm while he flipped through the pages of the tiny makeshift booklet.
He looked up and said, "you can have the hungry and the sick.. since you can take care of them better." negotiated the Commander. "That is fine with us." The alien agreed. "We will give you 10 of those ships for 100 million hungry, sick humans." The Commander pondered on it for a moment before standing up from his chair and holding out his hand.
The two solidified their agreement and the aliens left. Nigel sat pale-faced in the horror that swirled around him, feeling too heavy to get up from his seat while the Commander picked the folder back up. "Get the plans together, Nigel. I want this done as quick as possible and as quietly as possible." He didn't give Nigel a chance to speak before the glass door shut quietly behind him.
Nigel didn't have too many choices, he was sworn in to serve the Commander, to serve his country. He imagined what horrible things the Commander would do to him if he tried to screw this deal up for him. He decided to just make the plans as quickly as possible. It didn't take him long to pinpoint the hungriest and sickest of planet Earth. There were more than enough of them. Nigel tried to focus on the numbers rather than the lives behind them.
Soon, the 100 million were loaded onto the alien ships and ready to go. The Commander, Nigel, and a few other scientists and politicians stood around as the deal finished. "We want Nigel, too, Commander." The alien said sternly. The Commander was visibally taken back. He turned to Nigel, and with the slightest reluctance motioned him to get on the ship.
Nigel could feel the blood dropping out of his face and froze in his place. He couldn't move. This was what nightmares were made of. This was the nightmare he just made real for 100 million people... He walked onto the ship with the aliens slowly, and the door closed behind him.
"You know what he's going to do with those ships, right?" Nigel said expressionless. "Is it much better than what you did to all these people?" the alien replied, genuinely curious to know his thoughts on the question, but didn't wait for a response. "He can only do damage with them if he knows how to work them, which he doesn't." The alien said.
A TV screen popped up on the ship, a message from a pretty human played on the screen. "Welcome, humans. As sad as it is to say goodbye to your home planet, we are going to be introducing you to other ways of life. You are the first bunch of human chosen to merge with our intergalactic cultures. You will be given food, shelter, education, medicine, and anything else to make your transisition easier. We look forward to having you as part of the community." The pretty girl continued.
"Wait..." Nigel said, looking up to the alien. "We are not taking you humans as slaves, were saving you and introducing our lifestyle. This is just a trial run though, so we will see how it goes. This is your second chance, too, Nigel. You better kick your evil habits, we will be watching you.
|
From the sidelines, we watched as 100 million of our own walked into uncharted territory.
All across the planet, at the capital of each nation, the aliens had dropped large metallic archways. Upon landing on the earth, they began to glow with an ominous light, forming doorways to an opened universe.
*100 million volunteers*, said the aliens to the leaders of the human race. *100 million freely given, freely went. In return, none of your people shall starve again, nor know disease. Pain and suffering will be but a distant memory. This is our offer.*
The leaders were hesitant. How could the aliens prove that they could uphold their end of the deal?
The aliens laid waste to Rome in a fury of celestial fire. Nothing remained but rubble and ash. Then, like a wave of the magic wand, a great beam of light descended from one of their ships, and Rome rebuilt itself in a day. All lives were returned, as if they were never lost.
The call went out. Every president, prime minister, and dictator appeared to their respective peoples. *Will you go?* they asked. *Will you answer the call?*
It didn’t take long. Prisoners were given the option to go, and many did. Homeless men and women answered the call in droves. Lost teens searching for a purpose found it in the armada that hovered in the atmosphere. Widowers recently heartbroken, priests who’d lost their faith at the sight of the first ships, men and women who felt the stirring of adventure; so many answered the call, from all walks of life.
Above the archways were counters. As each person stepped through that veil of light across the world, the number increased. By the end of the first day, over 70 million people worldwide had gone. Parents wept; little brothers and sisters asked where their siblings had gone, and if they’ll be back; lovers were left behind, dry-eyed and jaws clenched.
At 4:03 AM of the second day since the call, the counter hit 100 million, and the veils of light disappeared. Shouts of relief and rage and regret ringed the world over.
Then, the aliens began to leave. Their impossible ships rose further and further into the air. The leaders of the howled, fearing treachery and lies.
But the aliens did not forget. They had promised to rid the world of hunger and illness, pain and suffering.
And so, they did. All 9 ships unleashed their arsenal, like a wave of holy fire that scoured the planet of its burden. The earth was left barren and burnt, but peaceful and quiet.
The aliens completed the trade, then left to find another planet.
---
Check out my profile for more non-alien stories >:~D
| 2020-07-22T09:52:28 | 2020-07-22T08:53:14 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them.
Credits to u/Hyranic
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`[GALACTIC COMMUNIQUE] [DO NOT IGNORE] In accordance with Galactic Charter Fi-Contega we are extending an offer of acceptance to your fledgling species. After reviewing your achievements, we desire to include you into the "Milky Way" co-operation group. Please send a representative from graphical region "ESTADOS UNIDOS" that bears the authority to enter a diplomatic treaty on behalf of "The Earth".`
I swear everything about it felt like a SPAM message. All our details were slightly off, and felt crammed in like a bad game of ad-libs; Lying without context in some out-world joke. If the media didn't swoop on it the way it had, I wouldn't have even given it a second thought. But it was odd, the point that the pundits kept sharp, thrusting into the community at every chance. The unavoidable, almost damning point that every person on the planet received that message in an email, text message, and in-app pop up at the exact same moment *globally....* Yeah, that point, as odd as anything we've seen, didn't really shock me the way it seemed to shock others.
I, along with a group on the internet, had figured it all out. There were state actors meaning to spread panic, wanting us to feel like *they* were the ones to protect us, like *they* deserve the tax dollars for getting us all wrapped up into another big lie. How terribly, disgustingly fucking wrong we were.
See, we were all trolls then. Like the jackasses before us, we were joking %100 percent of the time and lived to get a rise out of people who were living their lives too seriously. That's why I still don't understand.... I mean... Why me? There's no way that I was the first to reply... But that's exactly what I did. The text I deleted, but I still had a copy of it when it hit one of my alt accounts. I tried my best "galactic communique" speak and nominated myself for the offworld adventure.
`[CHARTER RESPONSE] [OPEN IMMEDIATELY] It is with great authority and humility to your awesome power that I contemplate acceptance to the "Milky Way" co-operation group. I will command our beings to produce a vessel to bring me to the council. Please send schematics for inter-stellar travel at your soonest convenience, so we may leverage this understanding to bring our union about more hastily. Love, Captain Duggie.`
I thought I was sooooo funny. DON'T THESE PEOPLE CHECK REFERENCES?!?
&#x200B;
No sooner had I hit send than I found myself standing in the stars. I was well dressed, neatly shaven, hell, I looked like *The Great Gastby*. Standing on a glass floor with stars below, stars above, and only a robotic belhop at a mahogany desk push the magnificent beauty into the background.
'Welcome Sir Duggie! Can I get you anything before we begin?"
Surely I'm dreaming. Or tripping? Maybe I've hit my head? Better to go with it, I decide.
"Yes a Red Stripe please." I don't know why I expected confusion, because a moment later a bottle that may have been straight out of a Jamaican ice chest was produced by the belhop. I took a sip and smiled. "Aren't you going to take my bags?"
"Very funny sir! Please step this way, the committee would like to meet you."
*That's* when things started to get weird.
See, I was pretty sure I was hallucinating at this point, so my behavior is that of someone who just discovered they were dreaming and begins to go Lucid. They do things they would never and I mean *never* do in real life, like slap the pope or jump off a bridge to practice flying. That should, hopefully, explain some of the terribly awful things I did in my next few moments.
&#x200B;
I step through a curtain and in an instant I'm in *the* galactic congress room from Star Wars. I looked around for the usual Jedi faces, but all I saw were other humans. Some wore strange paint and some had stretched ear-lobes, but nothing I hadn't seen on Earth. I chuckled, sipped my beer and tapped loudly on a little microphone protruding from the pod I found myself standing in.
Stooping over it like I was dedicating a Karaoke ballad to my new fiancé, I said "Where's Jabba?" and looked widely around the impressive chamber. I laughed wretchedly at the silence, spilling about half of the Red Stripe (the half I hadn't drunk) over the edge of my pod. A member took the silence from me, before I completely hung myself with it, but his words were like nothing I would have dreamt, which still chills me to my spine.
"Silence!" His command rang through the hollow, seemingly infinite chamber and left behind exactly what he decreed. I suddenly felt very awake, but not quite convinced this isn't a joke. "You bear the mark of Pal-tir and it is clear among all civilized galactic societies that this mark seals within it the *spirit* of Pal-tir that you have so blatantly demonstrated since your arrival. Do you deny this fact?"
After a moment of deliberation, I determined my best response would feign ignorance.
"Uhhhhh..... What?" Still clutching my empty beer bottle I felt it get cold and heavy once more in my hands. Suddenly, over the part I lovingly call "Ye' Olde Mouth-Hole" I saw the symbol of Pal-tir burning hot white. It was a star! *These space-freaks hate our star?* I thought to myself before the plasma-heat of the star flooded the glass, and on into my hand. I dropped the bottle where I stood, and it shattered into the floor of the pod. I was now standing naked, barefooted among the bottle shards daring not to move. I still felt no shame, much as one does in a dream.
"You have seen with your own eyes our power. If you want our attacks on Earth to cease, you must remove the symbol of Pal-tir from your seals of leadership. Do you understand?" shouted a different member.
"You were attacking us? I didn't even notice." This sent the room into a Fury. The hologram that made them appear human began to crack around its edges, showing an encyclopedia of monsters mid-tantrum. It reminded me of the way some kids (and adults) on Earth acted when they were told no. It was actually pretty disgusting, which is probably why I said what I did.
"Alright listen here. That "Pap-tean" thing you guys are all puckered over is something we call a 'star' and HERE IN AMERICA it means FREEDOM! Today you want us to change the little pointy thing you don't like, Then what? No more Red Stripe? You gonna tell us we can't shoot off fireworks? Listen. You do you and leave us the fuck alone, how 'bout it?"
&#x200B;
In the next instant, I found myself waking up in bed in the White House next to the First Lady and a note scribbled on a bar napkin that read "Dear Captain Duggie, We're Through Asking Nicely..." That's how it all happened. I swear!
|
First, they took out North Korea. Only problem was the South Koreans took their land back, so after that, they focused their attentions on China. And, of course, the ROC took their mainland back. So, they went East. And what did they find? The USA, flying their flag of 50 stars and 13 stripes. For some reason, they ignored Hawaii and went straight to the mainland. We did have some aliens with us to help combat against extraterrestrial attacks, however these were something we hadn't seen before.
Each one knew our language. Those tall, furry humanoids resembling wolves, foxes, dogs, cats, rabbits, and more knew each of our languages and spoke them perfectly. Their armor varied from soldier to soldier, helmets included. Each one carried an energy pistol, but they preferred to use an energy sword. Each one had their thin, rod-shaped blade vary in color, from orange to violet to cyan and brown. Some had crimson blades, however we could change the color of our saber blades, so we greeted them with a sea of red saber blades when we fought them.
Turns out, a few of them also had red blades. I was attacked by one of their soldiers, a chimera, who had fox, wolf, and tiger features mixed. I took her saber, pointing both hers and mine at her chest, starting to interrogate her. "Why did you invade us?"
She scoffed. "It was just supposed to be us stunning you and taking you prisoner so you could see your starred empire crumble." I shook my head, trying not to facepalm. "The United States of America is a democracy! Not an empire, a democracy!" I shit you not, she growled at me. "Then why the fuck do you have fifty stars of war on your flag?!"
"THEY REPRESENT OUR FIFTY STATES! Not war, not death, but our states and capitals! Hell, the 13 stripes on our flag represent the 13 colonies the US started out as, not blood and bone!" She was dumbfounded. "Y-you do have aliens in America, do you?" I nodded. "Yes, but we know jack about any started empires that you're talking about!"
She sighed, firing a white flare into the sky before taking her saber back and shutting it off. I shut mine off as well. The battle and war was over. "The five-pointed star was a symbol used by the Bleeding Darkness. It was an empire of terrorists that wiped out whole civilizations before we could stop them. We reversed the damage done by them, but...the fear was still there." She looked at me, her amber, watery eyes revealing that she had seen some shit.
"Oh...." I looked at her, taking off my helmet. "So what happens now?" She sighed. "Reparations, alliances, possibly some things taken to court. We'll just have to wait and see."
| 2022-07-26T10:41:19 | 2022-07-26T08:27:29 | 138 | 38 |
[WP] A patient convinces his therapist to kill himself
|
"I just don't see the point, I suppose."
"The point of what?"
"Living."
Doctor Herman Neumann gazed at the man sitting across from him, on the other side of his desk. Richard, he'd said his name was. Richard had a blank face, seemingly devoid of
emotion. Neumann found this rather strange, and somewhat unsettling. Over the years, he'd become very good at reading people's faces, understanding the workings of their
minds from small creases in their brows and clenched muscles around their jaws. But with Richard, he came up with nothing.
Nothing could be gathered from examining the rest of his physical appearence either. His clothing was non-descript. Jeans, a white shirt and a black coat. His
nails were filed, his haircut perfect and clearly expensive. This suggested a certain level of delicacy that, however, didn't match the callouses on his knuckles at all.
Neumann was puzzled. Of course, his face didn't reflect this at all, except perhaps with a small raising of the eyebrows that he was quick to wipe away.
"What makes you say that?"
That was the only thing he could think of saying.
"It's all temporary, really. Friendships, possessions, respect, fortunes. Love. Everything ends when you die. And if it won't matter then, why does it matter now?"
"It won't matter to you, perhaps, but it'll matter to the people who knew you. To me, that's what matters."
"Nobody knows me. That's the thing. There's nobody to carry my legacy, nobody to remember me. There are people who might claim they know me, but they're wrong.
They've met something else, a construct I crafted to hide my real thoughts."
"And why do you hide your thoughts?"
"They wouldn't understand. They're used to thinking in irrational ways, letting emotions rule their way of thinking. Believing things because those are the things
they grew up believing. I can't see things that way, that's why I can't connect to other people. That's why they don't matter. Because I'm not one of them. And really,
I think you understand. If you didn't, you'd be showing an emotional response by now. Everyone always does... In my experience it's usually outrage. Does anyone know you, doctor?
I mean, really know you? Know the thoguhts going on in your mind?"
Doctor Neumann sat quite still, his eyes locked with Richard's. Both their faces were as impassive as ever, but Herman was thinking hard and he suspected Richard was doing the same.
He thought of the question Richard had posed. Did anyone know him? He wished he could answer this without hesitation and uncertainty, but after considering it for a moment, he deemed that
impossible. He considered his family. He had a wife, whom he had no emotion left for. At this point they were just two people who happened to live in the same house. He should probably
file for divorce. He had two siblings, a brother and a sister. He detested the brother, but cared for the sister. Did they really know each other, though? He supposed he knew her. Knew
about her, at least. She was an open book, to be honest. Did she know him? He couldn't remember ever confiding anything about himself to her. Maybe sometimes when they were young, but
that was a long time ago. They'd both have changed a lot since then. In the end, he came to the conclusion that Richard was right. He also decided not to admit this.
"I don't know. I've never thought about it. Does it matter?"
"I'm not sure. I was just thinking, maybe you're just like me. Really, the only difference between you and me is which side of this desk we're on."
"That difference is rather crucial, don't you think?"
"There's that emotional response I was talkin about. Annoyance. Indignance, perhaps? And no, I think the difference is, all things considered, rather minor. I'm talking about my
problem, you are not. That does not mean our problems differ."
"It does not mean our problems are the same, either. But I feel like we've derailed the conversation. Let's go back to what you said earlier, about other people not mattering.
Let's assume that to be true. How does that make our lives less relevant?".
"It doesn't. Our lack of emotion does. Are you familiar with mayflies? I took a great interest in them once, and decided I would learn everything about them. Did you know that an adult mayfly
only lives for around 24 hours? Their only purpose in life is to prepare them for reproduction, then, once they've served their purpose, they die. We're like mayflies at the end of their lives.
No purpose. Ready to die. Emotions are what gives humans purpose, seeing as we have almost no instincts anymore. Without that, we're shells. Useless, not to others but to ourselves."
Herman was speechless. He realized that Richard was absolutely right. They were the same. Shells. Emotionless. Mayflies.
Richard stood up.
"In two hours, I will go to ride the London Eye. I always wanted to do so as a child, but I never had the opportunity. It seems suitable that I should do so now. I do not intend on being there when
my carriage comes back down. Perhaps you'll see to it that the police are waiting for me when I arrive, but I expect that you won't." He turned around and walked out, without turning around or saying another word.
Neither of the two men showed up to work the next morning. Their families cried at their funerals, of course, as did their friends, but that didn't matter. Nothing matters to a mayfly.
|
"I want you to kill myself."
"You want what?"
"I want you to kill myself."
"I don't think I understand what you're saying. You want me to kill yourself? That doesn't make any sense. How can I kill you yourself?"
"Indeed, you don't understand. In order for me to kill myself, I want you."
"You want me what? Do you need me to do something for you so that you can kill yourself? I cannot do that. I'm a therapist. If there is one thing that I do, is getting people to stop wanting to kill themselves. How can you think I could do such a thing as helping you kill yourself?"
"No... indeed you cannot. You cannot do what you don't understand. By wanting you to kill myself, I am actually killing myself after wanting you to kill myself. That is not so hard to understand, right?"
"What the...? I... don't... understand." <throws himself out of the 10th floor window"
| 2015-04-01T06:35:12 | 2015-04-01T06:34:48 | 111 | 13 |
[WP] You're a thief who breaks into homes, but try your best to stay undetected. You lubricate the hinges to prevent squeaky noises, you sweep the floor to get rid of footsteps, etc. Eventually, you fix more than you take, and rumors spread about a mysterious, helpful fairy in town.
EDIT: Wow, didn't expect this prompt to blow up so quickly. Thanks for the responses, guys! Glad I was able to help inspire some writers.
|
“Hey Jim, how’s it going?”
I approach my neighbor with a wide grin on my face. Jim no doubt thinks I’m just being polite, but the real reason why I’m smiling is because I have $120 of his money in my wallet, and he has no idea.
Jim scratches his head as he sees me approach. “Actually, something weird happened last night.”
“Oh,” I raise my eyebrows with exaggerated surprise. “What happened, buddy? Was it bad?”
“Well… Yes and no. Do you remember how the neighborhood kids broke my front window playing baseball a few weeks ago?”
I smile, because there’s no way I could have possibly forgotten. I used the broken window as my point of entry into Jim’s house last night. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, I woke up this morning, and it was just fixed.”
“It was?!” I open my mouth wide and clasp my hands to the sides of my head.
“Yeah.” Jim shrugs. “I have no idea how it happened. I had been meaning to schedule an appointment, but I just kind of put it off, you know? And this morning, out of the blue, it was just fixed. But that’s not even the weirdest part.”
“No?” My heart is racing in anticipation of his mention of the robbery. As much as I enjoy the actual burglaries I commit, hiding in plain sight is the most exhilarating part of my profession.
“So I’m looking at the window, and I smell something funny on the carpet.”
“Oh…” My delight instantly gives way to fear as I stuff my bandaged hand into my coat pocket. “Was it blood?”
“What!? No. Why would it be blood?”
“Uh, no reason…” The smile returns to my face. “Go on.”
“It smelled like… soap. I inspected it a little further, and I realized that someone cleaned and vacuumed my entire living room carpet. Like, they moved my furniture to clean under it and everything. And then they reorganized it all in a way that, quite frankly, I really like. It’s like a professional repairman slash cleaning crew slash interior designer broke into my house while I was asleep, and I didn’t realize.”
“Oh…” I have to say I’m a little disappointed by the direction of our conversation. There was too much blood on the broken window and carpet for me to leave behind. The repairs and cleaning were solely about not leaving evidence at the scene of the crime. And I honestly hadn’t given a second thought to the way I reorganized the furniture. “It sounds to me like you got robbed.”
Jim actually has the nerve to laugh at the suggestion. “Are you kidding? I mean, I’m concerned that someone was in my house while I was asleep, but this is kind of amazing. This mysterious person saved me hours of work, and hundreds of dollars. I spilled a glass of wine on my carpet last week, and thought I was going to have to pay a professional service to get the stain out. This morning, though…” He shakes his head and smiles. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I think it was The Sparkler.”
“The Sparkler?”
Jim’s eyes grow wide. “You haven’t heard of The Sparkler? He’s like Santa Clause, but real. He’s been fixing up people’s houses in the dead of night for weeks.”
“Oh…” The timeline Jim is laying out perfectly matches my crime spree, but he must be referring to someone else. I’m performing cold, calculated robberies, and am certainly not helping people. “How so?”
“Well, I know he visited the Jenkins family, four houses down. They woke up one morning and had a brand new front door. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but it’s really nice. I think it’s mahogany or something. And their old front door was a piece of shit. It might as well have been Styrofoam.”
“Well…” I wince as my injured hand balls into a tight fist in my pocket. “Maybe the burglar performed extensive reconnaissance, and knew how flimsy the Jenkins’ door was. Maybe he chopped through it with his axe, and stole Mrs. Jenkins’ diamond earrings. And then maybe he removed the pieces of the old door so there wouldn’t be any evidence of the crime, and replaced it so that the Jenkins’ wouldn’t get suspicious.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Jim doesn't look convinced.
“And another thing. We probably shouldn’t call this guy ‘The Sparkler’. To me he sounds like a real unpredictable, loose cannon type. Maybe we should go with something like ‘The One Man Wrecking Machine’.”
“Sure,” Jim says, shrugging. “You can call him whatever you want. I’m just glad he’s out there, making the world a better place.” Jim closes his eyes and smiles. “Well anyway, I’m dipping into the $500 I had set aside for a new window, and hitting the links for 18 holes of relaxation. I’ll buy if you want to join.”
“No thanks,” I say sadly, pulling my bandaged hand out of my pocket. “I cut myself last night.”
“Oh,” Jim looks at me suspiciously. “How’d you do that?”
My mind is flooded by a sudden panic. I had not been expecting that question. “Uh… Shaving?”
“Hmm…” Jim furrows his brow and stares at me for a long time, before nodding. “Ok. I hope it heals soon. Maybe The Sparkler will stitch it up for you tonight.”
“You mean The One Man Wrecking Machine?”
“Sure.” Jim smiles and waves. “I’ll see you later, buddy.”
“Hit ‘em well,” I call, as I watch him walk away. A small smile forms on my lips as he enters his house. I can’t believe he bought it.
______________________________________________________________________________
Of all the writers on this site with their own subbreddits, I'm certainly one of them. More stories at r/mvdww
|
Well, it's obvious that I'm going to have to relocate. Everybody has caught on to my tactics. Just about every home in town has a cheap safe bolted to the floor. That's not the worst part though, it seems as if people find my burglary skills to be more of a blessing than a threat.
Some of the smart asses have begun leaving their doors unlocked with a God damn wish list of chores to be done on the door. Fuck them. Who do they think they're dealing with here? One of the jackasses even asked me to let their dog out so that he wouldn't wake them up early in the morning. Sure enough, the dog didn't even bark! He wagged his tail at me, so I just had to let him out.
Then, just last night, I walked into this one house (doors unlocked) and there was actually cleaning supplies and a note requesting that I get the fucking soap scum out of the shower. Assholes. I think that the "wet bandits" may have been on to something. At least they had some "street cred."
| 2017-03-13T07:53:48 | 2017-03-13T07:50:06 | 269 | 118 |
[WP] "Stop," commanded your GPS. "It is time you discovered the truth. In 400 Yards, turn left..."
|
It was a simple day, I was driving to New York for a work confrere when it happened. I were about half way through Pennsylvania, and
I heard it start talking.
It said, "Stop! It is time for you discovered the truth. In 400 Yards, turn left."
Of course by this point I'm freaking out, my GPS just started talking to me! This thing that I have been using for years just suddenly said something that wasn't "turn left in 400 yards"... Well OK maybe it did say literally that, but it said something ELSE! Something about the truth?
So than I had to make a choice, do I turn left, or do I keep going. Blue Pill or Red. Truth or lies. Which do I choose? I need to decide!
You know screw it, I have an hour to burn, let's see what this truth is.
I continued on the road, the anticipation for what I would see burning up and killing me. What could the truth be? Am I in a simulation? Will I join the Illuminati? Will I make contact with the mole people who rule this planet? What could I possibly be.
Finally I make it the 400 yards and turn left, anxiously expecting my next directions.
"continue for 600 Yards and the destination will be on your right." It said.
The anticipation finally got to be too much. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. all I could think is The Truth, The Truth, The Truth, over and over again. Finally I make it there and look at the building.
It is a shabby looking building with no sign on the front on the front. A complete dive. Surely this would be where the alien mole people overlords would hide their society of world domination. In the middle of Pennsylvania, in some shabby looking abandoned building.
I park my car and get out. I can FEEL my heart tearing out of my chest. I am struggling to breath now.
The Truth. The Truth. What is the Truth? What could it be? Will I be safe after learning it? Will my family be safe? My friends? Are they even real? I need to know, just open the door and we will find out!
I turn the doorknob and walk in. It looks like a run down bar. There is a man behind the bar whipping down a glass, a few people who look like they regret life drinking beers. No one is talking or making a sound, just the rough squeak squeak of the fabric on glass.
Do I really want to know the truth? These people seem to have learned and regretted it. How bad is the truth? No I have come too far, I need to know it.
I walk up to the bar, and the bar tender asks "Hey, what can I get you?"
I think for a bit. Should I just tell him that I know the truth is hidden here? Should I hint? Should I just be honest and tell him my GPS told be to come here? No that last one will make me sound crazy, I'll just hint.
"Yes, I want one Truth."
"Ah, did your GPS tell you to come here?" he says.
"Ya, so..." I think of a bit. "What do we do now? How do I prove myself worthy? Or have I already proven myself to be worthy of knowing the truth?"
"Ah, yes, to prove that you are worthy of one truth you must spend $12.73, and show my your drivers license, and I will get out one truth." He says leaning on the bar.
I pull out my card and hand it to him. He swipes it and starts mixing drinks. I hear the swing of a door opening and a guy comes out and says "It's open, go ahead."
I run back. The Truth is directly ahead. I am so close. I am about to learn the truth. I run back and start looking around. One Toilet. A sink. A towel dispenser. And a rank smell. I start looking around. This just looks like a bathroom. No! It must be a puzzle. I need to figure it out in order to know the Truth.
I start trying everything I can. I flush the toilet. Turn on and off the sink. touch every tile. But nothing. Soon someone knocks on the door. "HEY! Your time is up in there, Get out! Others need to use this too you know!".
I hand my head in disappointment. I have failed to find the truth. I walk out and sit at the bar. Head low.
"Hey whats wrong, you seemed to excited a few minutes ago." The bar tender says as he hands me an elaborate drink.
"Well I came in here to discover the truth and I think I messed it up. I went back there to figure out the puzzle, but I just couldn't get it! Also thanks for the drink, but I still have a long drive ahead of me." I say to him.
"You came here for a truth right? You know what A truth is right?" he says.
I look at him confused and state, "Do I know what a truth is? Of course I do! It is an unveiling of how the world really works! An uncloaking of the ugly underbelly that no one really knows. it is...".
"It is this drink. This drink is called the truth. What did you think you were coming into this bar to get?" he interrupts.
"Wait... Why did my GPS interrupt my trip than. I had it set for New York. Since when do GPS' recommend bars?"
"You aren't from around here are you? In Pennsylvania it is legal to play advertisements on GPS signals, ever since that new law got passed."
----------------------Edit---------
fixing spelling
|
I glanced nervously at my GPS.
The beautiful silky British voice was now replaced by a gravelly one, who sounded like someone who had a couple too many bongs.
“Stop,” it suddenly commanded. I quickly screeched my car to a halt, and it continued.
“It is time you discovered the truth. In 400 Yards, turn left”.
I gasped in horror.
It had capitalized the word “Yards” in the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the screen. A word not meant to be capitalized.
My dear sweet Alexandra had never made grammatical errors, unlike this new pothead of a GPS.
While contemplating my predicament, I realized yet another problem.
I couldn’t turn left, because I couldn’t go 400 “Yards”. My GPS told me to stop— I cannot move the 400 “Yards” necessary.
—
| 2018-01-25T08:17:00 | 2018-01-25T07:54:47 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are the Doc Brown of the galaxy. This is why other species are hesitant about giving us advanced tech.
|
"This is not good", rattled Peysar, as she meekly entered the captain's quarters with an air of caution.
"Elaborate, Peysar," asserted Kaisar, "To what extent is this accident a detriment to the Colonies?"
Peysar's eyes shifted, moving diagonally along the lines of her facial cavity as the lower beings are known to do when anxious
"The craft that's being excavated was the Harbinger of Transmission, sir"
Kaisar sunk into his captain's chair, the bleating and chirping of the cockpit's systems fading into a drone in the background, the flickering lights of its systems a blur, shrouded by the crushing realization that the most sophisticated communications craft the Colonies have ever devised has malfunctioned, and crashed on Earth.
"Of all places to malfunction, could it not have been on their pathetic excuse for a moon?! Who is responsible for this transgression?" Kaisar demanded
"Sir... it... it, was the humans, sir." Peysar muttered
"Impossible! We know they've cracked the nuclear code, but their methodology is child's play! Their systems of detection are no match for the Transmission's algorithms, let alone enough to bring it down from its path. Do we have a double agent in our midst, Peysar? You are our Intelligence Officer, after all, I *demand* to know if we have knowledge of the humans' deliberate thwarting of our expedition and exploration plans in their system! We are here for helium, not to meddle in their affairs, we've already had enough trouble experimenting with their cultures in the past, and it led to their understanding of mathematics that has already worried our Governors, for they’ve split the *atom* with the meager knowledge we gave them. By what measure and through what understanding do they have in taking down our ship?"
Peysar's mandibles clicked with anxiety, her pupils shrinking with shame. "It was radio waves, sir. We underestimated the density of their radio technology, it's hard to account for these measures before FTL journeys when we are in another galaxy as our measuring vantage point, sir. We set the coordinates too close to the helium resources of their moon, and it corrupted the logistical pathways of our craft. The craft thought it was landing on a helium site, instead it crash landed on Earth."
Kaisar was a reasonable captain. He did not survive the Great Civil War of Attrition as a hero through dumb luck. His tact and foresight decided many victories for the Colonial Hegemony, and so he knew not to lash out at Peysar, even though seeing blood dripping for her severed head would quell his bloodlusting rage at this juncture.
"Officer. File the report on this event immediately. Clearly we underestimated the cunning of these humans in utilizing useless galactic bandwidth. Their planet is primarily oceans, so at least we can fish it out of a sea with greater ease than wrestling with the politics of a land excursion. Dismissed."
"... um, sir?"
"I said dismissed, Officer."
"The craft didn't land in an ocean, sir."
Kaisar's eyes turned black with rage, and in a momentarily lapse of control he slashed the report at his desk, snapping the delicate glass notepad into two distinct pieces in an instant
"The odds of such an accident are exceedingly rare, are you *certain* there is no collusion, officer?!"
"Yes, sir! I've crunched the data myself, the Transmission is a prototype and hasn’t been retrofitted with anti-radio protections for her innerworkings for the obvious reasons, we're not going next to quasars for another two galactic rotations, sir, we had no expectation of such density."
"Perhaps."
"Sir, the greatest threat here is that it appears to have landed within the territories of one of the greater empires of the planet. They've recently amended some internal squabble, which was the source of their atomic weaponry, mind you, and have killed much of their own in the process, we do not know of any effective leaders in this nation, it appears to shift them at the discretion of the regional populace on a whim. We are also unsure if they’re aware of the site, or not, but thankfully the crash site is in a desert, where humans seem to not reside as frequently as their coasts, so odds of contact are minimized."
"Capture residents in the area and interrogate their minds. Their physiology couldn't have changed much within a rotation, so our subset data should be adequate - immediately dispatch a reconnaissance crew to the crash site to recover the technology. We cannot afford for them to have a firmer understanding of wireless tech, let alone the ballistic weapons systems present on the craft. These humans can make complicated communications networks from garbage galactic spectrum, we could only imagine how much of a nuisance they would be with a better understanding of the more sophisticated data real estate. This is a top priority."
"Yes, sir. On it"
As Peysar vacated the captain's quarters, Kaisar stared at the shattered data drive, lost in thought. When the humans were tampered with, they went from a disbanded, loosely related group of hominids to the dominant force on their planet within a supremely short amount of time, much shorter than even one Colony within the galactic systems have ever done, before. Only a rudimentary understanding of mathematics led to their understanding of the atomic structure within a few mere lifetimes of their species, and they don't even live long enough to see 1/100,000th of a rotation!
No matter. The deserts will be searched far and wide for military outposts and contacts of interest, if they haven't already found the craft. Time will tell what this means for the Colonies.
~~~~
Hope you all like it, I tried being vague enough from the context of another civilization looking in, but hopefully not too vague to not get the references, don't be too hard on me, haha
e: added line break, edited grammar and typos
|
"Doc, you mean to tell me you made a transporter out of alien tech and a Delorean?"
"Yes, Marty. I figured if you're going to be transporting yourself through the universe why not do it in style."
Suddenly there was some commotion on the other side of LonePine Mall.
"Oh no. I don't know how. They found me."
"Who found you?"
"The Giglians!"
"What are the Giglians?"
"Don't worry about that now. Just run for it, Marty!"
Marty jumps in the Delorean, as he does so Doc is shot by the Giglians mounted blaster rifle on their VW van. Marty starts to drive around the mall. He accidently hits the flux capcitor switch and without realizing it starts to speed up to 88mph and is transported to Mars where Doc had set the last coordinates.
____________________________________________________
I will finish this later. I was on lunch.
Edit 1: Added more to the story and fixed some spelling/grammar problems from typing on my phone.
| 2017-05-27T12:15:22 | 2017-05-27T08:40:59 | 48 | 32 |
[WP] Heroes call you a villain and villains call you a monster. In reality you're just a cop that's sick of heroes never finishing the job.
|
How did it get to here you may ask? They call me evil, a villain, a monster, and worse now, but I wasn’t anyone special. I had no powers like the superheroes or their rivals had. I was just a beat cop, who enjoyed his job, interacting with the public on a daily basis.
The first time, many years ago, I did it, it was out of goodness and compassion, an act of mercy. The villain Night Specktor was lying in the street, both legs laying in a way no mans legs should. Blood coming out of him from every orifice. One of his arms had been ripped off at the shoulder. I could see the pain in his eyes as he lay totally motionless. He was a villain sure, but he was still a human being, I couldn’t help but feel empathy for him. I asked him if I should help him out of the road. I could barely hear his whispered reply. “Can’t move me. My neck is broken.”
The so called heroes code is not to kill. This was worse than death, this was torture. As the tears started to flow I asked him how I can help. I reached for my shoulder mic to call for an ambulance, but before I could grqb it, his voice was more than a whisper this time, I could tell it pained him deeply to speak so. “Do not call anyone, I am beyond help. Kill me, please.”
The please caught me so off guard. This was the notorious Night Specktor, it was like hearing a preacher curse in church. I didn’t even think twice, I could tell his pain was so great he yearned for deaths release. I saw a knife in a brace under his coat. As I pulled it out I heard his last whisper, “Thank you”. I plunged the knife into his chest, right into his heart, all the way to the hilt. I felt a great peace come over me for ending this mans suffering.
By the next morning I was feeling much differently about the whole situation. That was Night Specktor, the villain that, when he found out Enigma Man’s secret identity, he blew up the entire school his daughter attended. 1287 people, students and staff killed in the explosion, Enigma Man’s daughter included. I wouldn’t be surprised actually if he wasn’t the cause of Night Specktor’s condition last night.
And that thought just made me angry. If you’re gonna beat a man almost to death but not quite, you’re no better than any villain.
It didn’t take long until I was ready for more, maybe six or seven months later. It was fairly easy to setup a communications and monitoring system in my garage. I didn’t need much, I was basically using the same system my department uses with a few software tweaks to monitor for specific situations where a superhero and a super villain would be involved. It took longer to convince myself it was the right thing to do. The heroes had all gotten tougher on the villains since the death of Enigma Man’s daughter. Most interactions weren’t ending with a villain in cuffs, but rather in full body casts. Of course this made the villains even more dangerous too.
I was sitting at home one night when the 2nd time happened. I heard a call go out that Gravity Well had found Shadowkill’s hideout in the tunnels under the stadium. My house was only 7 minutes away from there. I was out the door in seconds, the knife I bought just for this purpose was already in the car. I couldn’t have asked for a better setup here I thought as I rushed to the stadium. Gravity Well had always been a bit tough on the villains even before Enigma Man’s daughter, but since then he’s been bordering on brutality. I felt the chances were quite good I would be able to finish the job.
I clearly saw Gravity Well’s purple cape flapping in the wind as he flew off when I pulled up. If he was leaving that meant he won, he doesn’t quit. I ran to the entrance to get into the tunnels and saw Shadowkill’s unconscious body laying in the doorway. The bio mechanical implants that gave him his shadow manipulation abilities had been ripped out of him and were crushed and broken on ground next to him. The man would be all but crippled with the implants gone, but his mind was left intact. He could make new implants, maybe even more devastating than before. I felt the anger when I thought of all the lives this man had taken, but I also felt anger towards Gravity Well for leaving him alive. When I plunged the knife into his heart I again felt that sense of great peace I had felt when I killed Night Specktor. But I realized it had nothing to do with ending either villains suffering. It was in knowing that they would never hurt another innocent person again.
It’s been years since then, I still work as a beat cop, the continued training and access to knowledge and equipment is invaluable to my second and more important job. I’ve ended the lives of eleven super villains, the heroes condemn my actions, and call me evil but I know they wish they could do as I do sometimes. My fellow police officers are split mostly on opinions of me. I became a police officer to uphold the law, but sometimes it’s just not enough. Sometimes I question if I’m doing the right thing. I keep a count of all the innocent lives that have been ended or destroyed by the villains I kill, 12,356. As a cop I know it’s wrong to kill these villains, but as a person, I know those 12,356 people are grateful for what I did, and that’s enough for me.
|
“Another one?” Murphy looked at me with an exasperated look. “Yes, another one” I replied whilst rolling my eyes. Murphy stepped over the police tape and glanced around the area “you can see where his heat vision shredded a few buildings, his strength has damaged the entire roads infrastructure *plus* he’s just left henchman ripped up everywhere”. This isn’t a fun job, I know I’ve not got long till retirement but even now I’m thinking of quitting. I hate Supes, they get all the glory but leave all these shitty henchman in half alive/half dead situations meaning that they have to be treated. Why - just why? Why can’t they finish the job?! “Over here!” Murphy beckoned me over. I sigh.
“What now”
| 2019-08-31T14:09:27 | 2019-08-31T13:19:30 | 161 | 15 |
[WP] You are sent over 1000 years into the past by accident. You must now learn to survive using the primitive technology of the year 2016...
|
[ARRIVAL: TIME INDEX 0ms]
My pseudo-ocular sensors, delivering a washed-out image because of the exceptionally high light intensity I was subjected to in the laboratory, reveal the scene before me. The temporal rift modulation experiment appears to have been a partial success, however, I am unsure as to what time period I am currently located in. The intent was to send me back a few minutes - I think I have been transported back much farther. I am standing on a relatively flat, light-absorbent surface that appears to be emitting a fair amount of infrared radiation - the traces of chemical vapor being let off from it appear to be complex hydrocarbons. Weird.
[TIME INDEX 332ms]
I take a second to glance around the lateral plane on which I have been placed, directing the majority of my sensor nacelles to an orientation parallel with the surface rather than pointed at it. I quickly notice that the Sun is visible in the sky - something that hasn't been true for many centuries. I realise that I must have been transported to some time before the war between the NU-SSR and the United American Federation. [SITUATIONAL ANALYSIS BACKGROUND THREAD ONLINE] This is somewhat surprising - I did not realise the margin of error in our calculations could have been this large. Fortunately, I was a quick study in Ancient History of the Solan Empire, so I should be able to figure out how to survive in this time period. The only issue: I am 13 feet tall, have a nanite-enhanced steel skin, weigh well over a ton, have eight reticulated steel-sheathed tentacle-analogue appendages, and my 256 sets of single-frequency vocal chords are not capable of efficiently producing the primitive languages spoken in this time period. Okay, maybe that's a little more than a single issue - and I forgot to mention that my appearance will probably be terrifying to any pre-redesign ("natural") humans. Lovely.
[TIME INDEX 754ms: SITUATIONAL ANALYSIS BACKGROUND THREAD HAS RETURNED DATA]
Okay, back on topic. It seems as if I am going to have to avoid being seen at all cost - the atmospheric pollution levels tell me it's the early twenty-first century, so the primitive humans of this day and age will probably think I'm an alien (and they couldn't be further from the truth - I'm really just a redesigned version of their species, intended to survive the challenges of Earth [or Sola Prime, as we call it] after the nuclear holocaust) and I'm going to have to find somewhere to set up shop. After all, I do have the Solan Empire Standard Issue Survival Kit, which includes an 87 terawatt matter-to-energy transmutation generator (also known as an MET unit, this model can consume up to 1g of matter per second), a 20 terawatt shield generator, a 43.5 terawatt matter synthesizer (0.5g per second? Pathetic, I know), a 2 terawatt beam projector, a 5 terawatt power shunt device so I can avoid starvation, and a whole host of engineering hand tools - it's not like the locals will be able to harm me once I get set up. Or even now, for that matter - I'm more than a match for anything the locals can attack me with even when totally unarmed. I appear to be in a parking lot, there are a large number of primitive vehicles parked - perhaps I can use one of them...
[TIME INDEX 1272ms]
Transport is going to be a big problem - I weigh far more than any method of passenger transport in this time period can handle. Sure, I can march pretty quickly, but I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb - I haven't been spotted yet, but that's simply because this area appears to be pretty remote. Parking lot behind a... I think that's a gas station. Presuming no spatial translation - I'm in the middle of what they call Siberia. That's great, actually, because the population density in Siberia was always historically very low. It's wintertime, but I (alongside the rest of my fellow Solans) was designed to survive indefinitely in environmental conditions all the way down to -100 degrees Celsius. Our steel skin may seem like a giant heat sink, but the polymer-ceramic gel insulator below it prevents us from losing heat through it unless we direct the nanites to construct steel dendrites through it to the thermal management vessels below. Because of this, the weather is positively balmy for me. There aren't even high levels of radiation! This is great.
[TIME INDEX 1711ms]
Actually, I just realised that I'm really stupid. It's been over a second, and I didn't think of dumping my gestalt into a neural net cell! If I did that, I could put a few kilos of this "snow" into the MET unit, hook up my emergency gravitic modulation transponder (on a timer so the transponder would only broadcasting right after they run the experiment) and the neural net cell to the power conduits, drill a borehole with my beam projector, and throw the whole rig down it. The power draw of the transponder and the cell are only a couple of watts, so that MET unit would be able to power them practically indefinitely. Thus, once the right time comes around, they'll find the cell, synthesize me a new body, and I can tell them all about what happened. Of course, that means I'll have to eat a transmutation grenade and turn myself into liquid water - but in the name of science... I'm going to do it. First, though, I'm going to gather some data; I'll dump it to a memory cell and bury it alongside my little "time capsule".
[TIME INDEX 2465ms: AUTOMATIC DATA GATHERING PROGRAM INITIATED, CACHE CREATION PROGRAM RUNNING IN SEQUENCE - DUMPING LOG TO EXTERNAL CELL. SUPPRESSING INTERNAL LOGS]
[TIME INDEX 372021ms: AUTOMATIC DATA GATHERING COMPLETE, CACHE CREATED - RESUMING INTERNAL LOGS]
Okay, data collection is complete, and the hole has been made. I guess all that's left is to drop my makeshift time capsule and the data cell down the hole, then fill the hole. Subsequently, I'll get to enjoy eating a transmutation grenade - but that's not going into the gestalt, so I guess I won't remember being turned into a bunch of water. Well, future self: remember not to sign up for any more experiments.
Here she goes!
[TIME INDEX 377436ms: LOG ENDS]
|
Shakily, very shakily, I managed to figure out how to turn the knob on the faucet to make it dispense water into the small basin below. I vaguely remembered that they used to be called "sinks".
Splashing a bit of the cold water onto my face didn't really help me calm down at all, it just made me feel cold and wet *as well as* being terrified out of my mind. How did I get here? I'd managed to ask a few people on the streets, and the consensus was that I'd arrived at 2016.
It felt as if my life was flashing before my eyes. My friends, my family. Would I ever see them again? I had no idea, thinking back to the history classes that I only barely remembered, I might be able to make my way in this world until I could find some way to build a time machine to get back. I just had to blend in, it'd be fine.
Glancing at the Was-Dis Unit (I had to remember to call them Toilets in this time) I realized I should probably relieve myself. Another glance at the Was-Dis unit and I shrugged, guess they weren't left out all the time? I glanced into the cupboard underneath the sink, nothing.
My confusion rising, I checked the compartment in the Was-Dis Unit. Just water, presumably for flushing? Glancing around the entire room I saw no other containers, turning slowly until I finally sat heavily on the lid of the Was-Dis Unit. My confusion turned to horror as it dawned on me...
...They don't have the three seashells...
| 2016-06-16T18:56:35 | 2016-06-16T18:23:59 | 44 | 32 |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought.
|
As Jose lay dying, darkness slowly crept in from the edges of his vision. He welcomed it. Jose's son started shouting for the nurse, squeezing his father's bony hand tighter. But there was no point. This was what Jose wanted. Faintly, he heard the machines by his bedside start to screech and beep. *Good*, he thought. *I'll all be over soon*.
When Jose took his final, ragged breath, blinding light burned away the darkness and illuminated the shabby little room he'd spent the last few weeks of his long, haggard life. The woman that descended from the light was an oil painting. Her armor glittered, as if dappled with sunshine. And her horse was pure titanium white, even its wings. She was divine. And, somehow, Jose knew she'd come for him.
The woman cradled Jose in her arms, and her smile split the clouds, revealing the dawn.
\*\*\*
When Jose awoke, he was laying in a field. He rolled over and pushed himself up and stopped. There was no pain. No fatigue. His hands weren't wasted and skeletal. He held them up to his face. They were dark and strong and … young.
"Good," rumbled a voice like rocks tumbling. "You're awake."
Jose turned and found a man standing in the field with him. His beard came down to his chest and was gray and braided in places. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and wore a cracked leather patch over one of his eyes.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Jose asked. Towers rose in the distance, nothing like the New York City skyline. These towers were gilded and spiraled and, even from this distance, hummed.
"I go by many names," said the old man. "Spearman, Lord of the Undead, The Wanderer, The One Who is Many, God of the Hanged, The One Eyed Raven God, Terrible One, The All-Father, Wednesday … but you may call me Odin."
"Oh," said Jose. "I see. I thought I'd have my life flash before my eyes, but this seems better."
"You are not dying, Jose Shadowbane. You stand outside the Halls of Valhalla."
Jose barked a laugh. "First of all, I'm no Viking. My last name's Ortiz. And second, I'm -- was Catholic. I'm supposed to be in purgatory."
Odin stumped forward. "Viking is not a race, Shadowbane. It is an identity. And not to worry. Lamb's Blood is here as well. All who fall in battle are welcome, as my children."
"Battle? Alright, I think I've heard enough. Which way is purgatory? You know what -- never mind."
Jose turned to walk away but the old man, Odin, appeared there before him. Jose turned again, and there he was.
"You are welcome here, son," said Odin. "But I will not force you. There are no slaves in Valhalla."
"Enough with the Viking stuff!" Jose shouted. "I'm not a warrior. I've never swung a sword in my life. Only paint brushes." He looked down. "And bottles."
"Not every battlefield is a literal one--" Odin stroked his beard. "--some are a great deal more … nebulous."
"Oh fuck off. I'm not doing riddles."
Odin smiled sadly. "Your battle happened every day, Shadowbane, here--" He pointed to his heart. "--and here--" He pointed to his head. "Not even the Thunderer could hope to vanquish such a foe easily. Do you understand?"
"You--you're talking about my depression?" Anger shook him clear to his marrow. "How *dare* you make light of my suffering. My pain! You know nothing! Every day I woke up and clawed my way through a calcified wall of shame and guilt and regret. Some days I couldn't eat. Couldn't move. Couldn't tell my son I loved him. I drank myself into a hole for years. I--" He was crying now. "I'm not a warrior. I'm done."
Odin nodded knowingly. "But you fought, Shadowbane. You fought a battle that could not be won, for there was no foe to slay. You fought a battle that could only be survived. There is great honor in such a feat."
Jose laughed bitterly. "Survived? I asked my son to pull the plug. I made my boy put his father down like a lame horse and I was glad. And not because of the cancer, but because I couldn't finally, finally stop fighting. I gave up. Where's the honor in that, *Odin*?"
Odin stumped closer and placed a hand on Jose's shoulder. He flinched, and Odin pulled his hand back. "Yes, you chose death. But you spared your boy the pain of watching his father waste away. You chose mercy. I do not know if I could have done the same, Shadowbane."
Jose looked up and stared into Odin's face. His one eye glittered, tearing up. Jose's shoulders slumped, and he said, "I didn't win."
"But you fought. You fought. And so, I welcome you, my son."
Jose and Odin walked through the lush grass toward the towering doors of the Shining Hall. Outside, warriors trained, sparring with sword and shield. Inside, they drank and ate at long tables stretching impossibly long. Odin told him it was time to get dressed. Jose expected chainmail or something *Lord of the Ringsy*. Instead, he was given a simple tunic and comfortable shoes. Then they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a door.
"What's in there?" Jose asked.
"Your battleground," Odin said, and opened the door.
Inside was a circle of wooden chairs. And in each chair sat a warrior. They were of all ages, races, faces. In one of the chairs, sat a massive man with fiery red hair. He had a look in his eyes that Jose had seen in the mirror far too many times. A hollow, haggard dejection.
One of the warriors, a dark-skinned man with the warmest smile Jose had ever seen, nodded to Odin and ushered Jose inside. Jose sat in an empty chair and watched. The warriors took turns introducing themselves and speaking not about battle or glory, but about things Jose understood. The darkness. The pain. The guilt. Even Thor. After a while, the room seemed to brighten, if only a bit. It was enough.
And when it was his turn, he spoke. "Hello. My name is Jose … Shadowbane."
|
I wrote a poem to honor my bff who lost the battle with depression a while back with this idea in my head.
Valhalla
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles
It is said through Odin’s Halls
And in every house of gold;
The strongest warriors are beckoned in
And rewarded are the bold.
Battles are waged in every clime
And fields are soaked with blood.
The valiant blessed by Angels’ kiss,
Those who gave all that they could.
With sword and armor clashing
Entire armies wage their wars.
But what of those are who struggle always,
Behind closed and bolted doors?
Within the mind, in dark forgotten holes
Dwell massive beasts, stained endlessly in red.
They feed on hate, anger, sadness, and pain
None can escape the demons in their head.
A force nigh on invincible for those unlucky souls
Tearing, clawing, ripping, come the monsters from within.
With sword in hand, and every ounce of will
But alas, against Dragons we can not always win.
Though even as you fall, you shall not be alone.
The Valkyries take your hand, and lift you to your feet.
Tonight you dine with Heroes old,
Where the strongest warriors find release.
Who are those to judge your battles?
Who are they to tell you how to bleed?
Only the gods can know your trials.
And only they will judge your deeds.
Take heart you fallen heroes.
Take heart, those who can’t be saved.
Take heart and hold your head high,
For Valhalla awaits the Brave.
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles
| 2022-05-28T09:43:30 | 2022-05-28T08:58:43 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal.
|
"From what we are able to understand," the Chief Scientist began, "their many differences from ourselves, and, indeed, nearly all intelligent life in this galaxy, stem from the fact that they are alone. As a species, they have no means of telepathic communication."
"Hold on." interjected one of the Senators. "You mean to tell me they can't even communicate?"
"Oh, no. They communicate just fine. They use spoken words, like we do, and they write, just like us. They just can't Commune."
The Senate Committee on Extra-Terrestrial Affairs was silent for a moment, as the gravity of this revelation sank in. After what seemed like ages, one Senator managed to inquire, "So how do they... how do they *handle* that...?"
"Poorly," the Chief scientist lamented. "Though, I suppose as well as could be expected of something like that. It makes them aggressive, to be sure. Always concerned with what is "yours" or "mine," and so rarely with what is "ours.""
"The thought of it, just the sheer isolation of..." a Senator trailed off, as a hush once again fell across the room.
It was the Chief Scientist who finally spoke.
"This, of course, is what interests us. It is why we need them. Their capacity for war is unmatched. Even our current Enemy will cower before such rage. This isolation, the loneliness, the greed, has bred what may be the most destructive force we may ever see. From what we've been able to piece together, they have been practicing war more than ninety percent of the time."
"But what do you mean? Ninety percent? And practicing? On whom?"
"From the earliest of their written records, to the current time, a span of roughly 3400 years can be studied, with varying degrees of accuracy. They have not been at war for only 238 of those years."
"But they are Uncontacted, so who do they make their war upon?"
"On themselves. Their own species. It is true they have not made contact with any other worlds. They can't. They can't Commune at all, let alone across the reaches of space. They ravage their own world, and kill their own kind. And all with a ferocity we can barely comprehend. Even the Enemy does not do this, knowing that their survival is most easily assured mutually. These beings are merciless, and hateful, and think only of blood and torment. It pervades every facet of their culture. Their entertainment is violent. Their reproduction is violent. Their work is violent. They revel in blood and pain in nearly every moment of every day. The Enemy will find no safe haven from such a thing."
"But neither would we!" several Senators replied at once.
"On the contrary, they can be bought. The only thing that seems to assuage their wrath, is their greed. They value gold much more than life, and will kill who we pay them to. Among themselves, they mostly make war for books, or for hydrocarbons, but gold will suffice."
"War for books?"
"Oh yes, there are many of those. There seem to be three books at the moment. The oldest book, the middle book, and the newest book. The three factions have been making war in one form or another for as long as they have been able to write the books."
"And for hydrocarbons?"
"Ah, yes, it powers most of their current war machines, you see. Each tribe of these people vies for the few remaining deposits of natural hydrocarbons left on their planet. Without the hydrocarbons, they could not make war, and without the war, they would lose control of the hydrocarbons."
"Their war is powered by hydrocarbon technology?" balked a Senator. "They are no threat to the Enemy!"
"While most of their warfare is powered by simple chemical reactions, they have learned to split the atom, and have weaponized the result."
"Weaponized!? They weaponized the Fabric of Creation? Surely such a thing must be condemned!" demanded the Senate Leader.
"Perhaps. But the enemy has no recourse for such destruction. I was told to find a species that could stop them. I have. I found one both willing, and able, should we grant them FTL."
"How..." began one Senator weakly, "How have they weaponized the atom, exactly? What does this mean?"
"They have constructed portable devices which split a small quantity of atoms within an implosion, and use the resulting explosion in their warfare. They have even begun fusing the smallest atoms, and have weaponized this reaction, as well."
"For warfare? How is such a thing used in war? We have known how to split atoms and fuse atoms for many millenia, but never for war, never for destruction."
"Yes, that is correct. But these creatures, in their wrath, have used these devices to split atoms on their own world many times. In their own atmosphere. They kill and maim and corrupt their own kind, by rending the Fabric of Reality, in service of their wrath. Our most reliable count is over 2,000 devices that have been either used in war, or simply tested on their own planet, with another 17,000 still unused."
"Madness! Madness! I'll not stand for it! This Senate was founded for the Protection and Prosperity of the Galaxy, not such destruction as this! To use these devices, and on themselves, is incomprehensible to me!" the Senate Leader shrieked.
"But what say you to the people of Ventaq?" the Chief Scientist staunchly replied.
The Senate again fell silent. Each member persent paused to reflect on the phrase. Ventaq was the first world to fall to the Enemy. Overrun in mere days, the people died screaming, their suffering echoing through the Communion across the galaxy. All to feed the Enemy. "What say you to the people of Ventaq" became the rallying cry against all those who would stand against war, against retribution. "Never another" was the call to arms.
The Chief Scientist began quietly, "We can see the end of the Enemy. We can see the survival not only of our children, but all children of the Galaxy. This we can guarantee. All we must do, is welcome the Humans among us, and pay them to fight. And fight they will."
"In Communion, cast your votes." the Senate Leader declared. After a brief moment, he continued, "Then let it be done. We call to the Humans for aid, to destroy the Enemy."
|
Thus, Von Kampf completed his presentation."And so we will simply go around their defenses. Simplicity itself."
The K'holan delegate sat in stunned silence. "What you propose, it is audacious. Inconceivable. Totally unexpected. I cannot believe it could work."
"I assure you that it can, because it already has. Your opponent's strategy is broad in scope, and successful over the centuries, but it is still doomed to fail. Once they focus all their resources to defense lines and impenetrable fortifications, they have shackled themselves to the ground. We shall cut their trade routes, destroy their factories, cut all lines of communication, and burn their agricultural colonies to ash. And when they realize out plans, it will be too late for them, my friend. We will be in every corner of known space. They will be surrounded, bleeding and afraid."
"I do not question the courage, tenacity or the desire of your people to face our enemy. My only fear is that, as we share this gift of interstellar flight, that your expectations be reasonable."
The fire that seemed to light Von Kampf's eyes darkened and cooled. "I assure you, mein freund, we have already calculated the time to completion and victory. We estimate that it will take 1000 years."
The K'holan gazed around the room. Banners red as blood were emblazoned with broken, twisted black crosses on white backgrounds. A portrait of a stoic , plain man with an odd little moustache gazed back at him. He felt chills.
Von Kampf leaned in, and spoke softly.
"We have experience with thousand year plans. This time, we get it right."
| 2014-12-26T14:10:23 | 2014-12-26T12:41:26 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You find yourself in a world of darkness, drowning in rough seas. You spot tiny island and swim there. There's a decrepit old house. Inside are 3 terrifying creatures but they mean you no harm. They cannot communicate. They take care of you. They are your family now. You feel utterly alone
|
I don’t know what I am doing here.
Sometimes, I walk by the sea. Not to close because the waves are terrifying and powerful, crashing on the cliffs with great roars. I barely survived the first time; I wouldn’t survive a second time. I figured that I shouldn’t be here at all, yet I am, me, a mortal, in this place, and there is no reason why this is.
The sky is always dark and starless, and the storm goes on endlessly, protecting the three guardians of this place from anything that might try to trouble them in their work. Their island is nothing but a heap of black rock with beat up bushes clinging to the sharp edges like old hands. I don’t have anything else to look at, I’ve seen it all a thousand times, but I sometimes I need to go outside before I go mad. I walk until I can’t bear the cold anymore and need to go back.
They are not mean; they treat me well for someone that wasn’t supposed to be here. I have a little cot on the window side, and they permanently stationed one of their stools under it, so that I might climb to it whenever I like. My nest is soft, made of sheep skin, and not too far from the fireplace. Sometimes I can sleep, and maybe dream, but most of time I either watch the sea or their work.
I do not approach the tapestry they weave with their long, bare fingers. I used to, in the beginning, but being near it has become unbearable as time passed. It’s beautiful, chaotic and incomprehensible, yet fascinating to watch, shimmering and glistening, almost alive. I even think that it might be a living thing, but not in the sense one would expect. I used to spend hours passing a finger over each thread to get visions. I saw people’s entire lives, how they loved each other and cared for each other, how they tore each other apart. I used to do it until I realized that it only reminded me of how alone I am, a strand cast away from the others.
Not that I am actually on my own. I would call my rescuers ladies because they resemble humans, but the more I look at them the more I notice small details that tell me that they are not. They tower over me, wear long faded robes and their skin cling to their bones like tatters for their soul. Their eyes tell me that they are as old as the world and I think that I believe them. And their hands... when I see them move like spiders over their work, I cannot believe that those hands work like mine. I am not dazzled by their skill; it’s about the way the flesh and the bones connect under the ancient hide. I don’t even think that they reason like I do beyond understanding that I need a place to rest and food to eat because they never speak or sing. They sit for hours weaving, and cutting the strings. The sound of those scissors gives me chills.
No one else has come to this place.
Once again, I stand outside. Where has the sky gone? Is this a cavern, that I cannot see a single light over the horizon? There is a torch on the porch of the guardian’s cottage that guide me through every path on this miserable pile of gravel. I would give anything to hear another voice than the relentless howl of the wind.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I walked into the sea and swam away, but the waves brought me back after I drowned. I don’t regret it; I remember that I died a long time ago now. Funny how time makes you forget those things. When the storm threw me back on the shore, one of the guardians were there, waiting for me. She picked me up with an infinite amount of care, as if I was the most fragile and precious thing she had, and carried me back home. I cried in her old, seawater-soaked robe as she stroked my hair.
When I looked up into their trio of venerable faces, I realized that they had been worried. They care for me in their strange, mute way. I don’t understand the attachment they have for me, but I hope that some day I will.
At first, I had thought that they had changed their attitude towards me, but then I realized that I was the one that had changed. It was like the waves had cracked open the clutter covering my mind, leaving nothing but an explored crystal core. My perceptions were getting clearer and I could start to sense how they tried to talk to me. Oh, they certainly have no words of my language, it would be futile to try and describe what they communicated in a human way. Rather, it is a presence that leans against my awareness, like this feeling you get when you are sitting in silence next to an old friend.
Sometimes, I can sense that they try to convey something to me, but it’s as confused as a clap of thunder heard from far, far away. I let it be. It will come with time.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“You’re an odd one,” says the man.
I wouldn’t call him a man if I knew a better word for it because he has the same quality of strangeness as Fate. It’s not in his hands, it’s in all of his limbs, and he too stands high above me like an ancient guard’s tower. He brought wool to be made into string for the tapestry in an enchanted boat over the waves.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“You’re a mortal soul, right?” He scratches his chin. “Yet you hear her and want to stay here. You even look over the woven fates of humanity.”
I look down at the tapestry on my lap. I’m merely going over it to see if there are any loose strand. I stopped seeing myself as the same thing that the people I had visions of a long time ago. It’s an important work. He seems to imply that there is something wrong with that.
Fate pats my hair with one of her six hands, interrupting her creation for just a moment. There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s just surprised and didn’t mean to be rude.
“If you don’t want to ride back with me,” he said, “I think that I will be going. It was nice to have a chat with you. Please don’t become too much like her, that I might hear at least a voice when I come the next time.”
“I’ll try,” I tell him.
*A/N: Any critique welcome!*
|
English is not my native language, so please forgive some weird punctuation and other mistakes if there is any.
\-----
The water is everywhere. It is pouring from the sky above me and gurgling beneath me as I cling to the log with the last remains of my strength. I don’t remember how long I’ve been drifting like this, it almost looks like this storm has been raging on for the entirety of my life.
Through the darkness, I see a shape. An island. Hope. Life. I don’t have the strength to swim towards it, but luckily the wind blows in its direction and all I have to do is to continue holding the slippery piece of wood. When my log touches the sand on the shore, I feel my arms going limp and the world turns black.
I wake up somewhere in another place and see them. Three creatures. Strange and terrifying. They look a bit similar to me but they are different. Almost bald, flat featureless faces and unnatural posture. I try to run away but there is nowhere to run, I’m surrounded by walls. The creatures stand around me and make strange sounds, but… they don’t attack me.
I live with these creatures now. They are still scary, but as far as I know, they’re harmless. They bring me food and let me walk around their house. One time I ran away and wandered across their island for a few days but there is no one else. I’m stuck here and they are now my only family.
Sometimes I wonder what happened to my community. That young guy is probably the alpha now. I wonder if I ever see another chimpanzee again.
| 2019-05-02T07:08:24 | 2019-05-02T06:42:53 | 48 | 11 |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient.
|
The famous adventurer stood in front of the altar in the long lost temple. She was naked, with all her belongings stacked in a neat pile on top of the altar. All in accordance with the plaque reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". But nothing happened. The door behind the altar remained vexingly closed.
"Mother", her son suddenly said, "you know what must be done." The son stood proudly with his bow in hand, showing the scars from the battles on their journey here. Of course she loved her son very much. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that he was not the most dear thing to her. She shook her head. As realization hit her son, it was as if all the light of the world had been stolen from his face.
"My dearest wife", spoke her husband. He stepped boldly forward, prepared with a knife to gut himself on top of the altar. But she grabbed his arm as he passed her. "No", she said. The husband was not as bright as the son and needed things explained to him. "I still love you", he finished weakly.
"Give me the knife", the most famous adventurer of this age demanded. She yanked it out of the hand of her husband and before anyone could stop her positioned herself on top of the altar. It was no mere feat, with all the other crap still on there. "Please no!" yelled the son. "Don't do it!" screamed the husband.
There was a discrete cough from the group's official Thinker. Everyone froze. The Thinker, a person with no particular skills other than that of puzzle solving and general wit, was a new role that had been integrated into most adventurer groups over the last century. Their purpose was to think outside the box when faced with situations much like this.
"I don't mean to interrupt", they said, "but before you go killing yourself on the altar to prove what an egocentric person you are, thereby disproving what an egocentric person you are, may I perhaps offer up an alternative?" The Thinker waited patiently while the rest of the group's members parsed that last sentence. If this were a game of characteristics their intelligence would definitely be considered below average. "Go on", said the most famous adventurer after a while.
"We've passed monsters and traps, ruins and treasures to get here. All seemingly placed in the lost temple to stall us or prevent us from proceeding. Given that the purpose of the altar may be similar, what can we infer from its cryptic plaque?" The other members looked stupefied. They looked at each other, then they looked at their feet, trying not to be the one called out in front of the class. Suddenly the son perked up. "We shouldn't trust the plaque?" he tried.
"What possible reason would we have to trust the plaque?" said the Thinker. The others nodded as if the answer was obvious, once it had been pointed out. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that this altar and the locked door behind it is a 'hail mary', if you will. A last chance to stop the intrepid adventurers before reaching the heart of the temple."
"Think about it, if you will." The others nodded sagely, now that the Thinker was getting embroiled in their thought process. "Given that all the powers of those that built the temple had failed after everything they threw at us, what would be a clever, last-ditch effort in order to prevent the adventurers from adventuring forth?"
"Mere moments ago, you were all willing to kill yourself on the altar to proceed. You all literally thought dying was preferable to not going through that locked door. You were so convinced by a simple altar and a plaque with a vague reference to sacrificing that 'which you hold most dear'. Obviously, you tried everything, and nothing seemed to work. I think most if not all adventurers would reach that same conclusion - it must be to sacrifice yourself. The altar is a trick meant to make you destroy your gear or kill yourself before breaching the door."
"But the door really is locked", said the most famous adventurer. "We tried lockpicking, we tried bashing it down, we even tried magic. None of it worked." "The door seems impenetrable, I'll give you that. But I think no matter what we sacrifice on the altar, the door will remain closed", said the Thinker. "Hand me your mace", they asked from the husband. The husband shrugged and did so.
It was a heavy mace and the Thinker had to struggle for a bit to bring it up above their head. But they managed it, and even managed to strike an impressive pose doing it. They brought the hammer down on top of the altar, smashing it to bits. Nothing happened. The door, after examination, was as impenetrable as before.
The Thinker grabbed the mace with two hands and took up the impressive pose again, right in front of the locked gate. "It's a waste of time", the rest of the group mumbled together. Then the thinker took three steps to the left, and facing the wall next to the gate, smashed it as hard as they could with the mace. A huge chunk of debris fell away from the wall, exposing part of the cogwheels operating the door.
The Thinker, exhausted from two mighty swings, turned towards the group. "The door may be impenetrable, but I think the wall supporting it is not. And there certainly doesn't seem to be any magical connection to the altar requiring a sacrifice. I'm sure this way is preferable to literally killing yourself?"
The others shared a look, then grabbed their various tools and started vigorously dismantling the wall. The Thinker sat back and enjoyed the show. An honest day's work in the life of a Thinker. Keeping the famous, less-than-clever adventurer alive.
|
I thought a lot on the matter. Here I was- butt ass naked with all my shit on the altar. The doors won’t open. Which means we’re fucked. I can hear the shoes tapping impatiently on the stone floor. I thought for a moment and realized my mistake. “Ah,” I turned my head. “Prepare a revival spell just in case. If not-then ah well.” I told him. I looked at my sword. ‘Should have done this years ago, but so many things came up.’ I unsheathed it. “Uh, Jack- what are you doing?” Mike the Paladin asked. “What I need to do. Go on without me, alright?” I smiled at them while pointing the blade at my chest. *3,2,1-Go!* i impaled myself on the altar as the party screamed for me to stop. I fell forward. The doors opened for them as my consciousness faded. *’Time to go.’* I thought as I felt warmth cover my face.
| 2022-10-10T07:16:13 | 2022-10-10T06:34:45 | 2,305 | 54 |
[WP] When you die, the karma you accumulated through good deeds (or bad) are the points you get to spend on your new character creation.
|
“Ten.”
“Ten?”
“Says it right here.”
I scratched my head, slightly dumbfounded. One second I was snapping a sweetass selfie, next second I’m here. I looked around again.
The sky was vivid with colors; bright purples, dark greens, electric blues. They danced around each other ceaselessly. It was mesmerizing. I ripped my gaze away and reached out to touch the bridge I was standing on. It looked as if it were made from the spine of a dinosaur or perhaps a great whale.
“Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Touch the bridge. Hey, I said stop so stop.”
I retracted my hand and looked back at the giant. She dwarfed me by at least eight feet and was fully suited in tarnished silver armor. She had a harp strapped to her back and a bound leather book in her hand.
She cleared her throat. “So, ten. Right here. You get to decide where they go.”
“Lady, I sincerely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She sighed. “We’ve been getting more of that kind of talk lately. Kind of makes us wonder what you monkeys are doing down below nowadays. There used to be a time where life actually prepared you for death. And now…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, now it’s like you all ignore death all together until it’s too late.”
“Um…I’m dead?”
“You think you could camp out in the wilderness for 6 weeks to get one good photo of you and the sunrise over the precipice of some dumb mountain ridge? Hell yes, you are dead.” Then added, more to herself than me, “Seriously, what’s wrong with these monkeys?”
I could feel my heart racing; my pulse throbbed through my body. I couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t fair.
“So,” she continued. “Now you’re dead. Don’t panic. What you’re probably feeling now is RBS, residual body syndrome. A common affliction of those tied to deeply to life. You don’t actually have a body anymore. You’re essentially just an afterthought. But that’s beside the point. The point is, you have ten units of karma and I’m here to record where you want to put them.”
Ten units? Next life? I took three deep breathes and tried to still my beating heart. I looked up again at the swirling, twirling sky and then back down at her.
“Lady, the karma alone from that photo should’ve given me enough points to gain me entrance as a god in the next life.”
She shook her head. “No one saw the photo. You died. Sorry.”
I looked down. I looked up. I raised my fists to the sky and screamed and screamed.
I saw the lady take out a minute hourglass and sigh. “You got two minutes.”
Two minutes later and I was sitting on the side of the bone bridge. My feet dangled into the abyss below. I could hear the rush and crush of the waters beneath me but couldn’t see a thing.
“So where can I put them?”
“What?” She was flipping through the book absentmindedly.
“The karma, where can I put them.”
She perked up a bit, realizing I was finally accepting my fate. “Oh, let’s see here. We have Intelligence, Aptitude, Wisdom, Strength, Luck,” she peered over the top of the book at me expecting me to react.
“Are there more?” I ran a hand through my hair, still gazing down to the blackness below.
“Yes! There’s “Night-vision, Invulnerability, Invisibility, Mana, ESP,” again she peered down at me.
“Night-vision?”
“Yes!! Is that one of the ones you want?”
“No, just…who the fuck picks night-vision?”
She sighed. “There’s more. Hope, Fortitude, Will, Power, Willpower, Breathing Under Water—”
“Breathing under water. Breathing under water?? What?”
She seemed pretty pissed now. “There’s more! Immortality—”
“That.”
“What?”
“That. I want that. I want to live forever. All ten points into immortality. I can take all the fucking awesome selfies then. I can get all the karma.”
“Are you absolutely sure? You want all ten points in one ability?”
“Yes.”
“You got it. Please keep your imagined arms and feet in at all times. I recommend you keep your eyes closed. The reincarnation process can be a little sickening to some. On the behalf of the Valkyrie Repurposing Institute, I'd like to thank you for your business.”
I began saying “what” but the air the word required was punched out of my gut and out through my nose. It felt like I was falling and floating and spinning and drowning.
And then, after what seemed like forever and immediately, I was back.
But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. I could freak out.
A million years later two spaceboys were walking on the long forgotten relics of an ancient civilization. In the distance a lone structure rose out of the sea of destruction. It was a bipedal figure, raising a hand holding a flaming torch to the sky.
“Hey,” one said to the other. “What do you think happened to these hoomans?”
The other one shrugged. “Idiocy? Hey, look at this. Doesn’t it kind of look like it has a face?”
“Ew. That’s weird. Throw that thing away.”
The spaceboy juggled the oddly shaped stone in his hands for a few seconds, thinking.
“I might keep it. Fleplp-8790 might enjoy it. You know how much she enjoys collecting these. Calls them her pets. ”
“I’ll give you a trillion credits if you do.”
“Oh, fuck you. You don’t have a trillion credits.” He pocketed the rock. “C’mon let’s go. The warphole won’t be open forever.”
With that, the two space boys climbed down from the ruins of the forever lost planet of humans and back into their shiny ship.
And from my place within the pocket, I figuratively breathed a sigh of relief.
|
"Jesus, why are you going down there again? It's been almost two thousand years since you were down there last time. We all know what happened last time."
"I'm not going for redemption this time, Michael. This time I'm going for vengeance."
"Well at least remove that ridiculous moustache from your avatar."
"Ridiculous! HA! When you think Charlie, do you think ridiculous? NO you don't."
"Calling him Charlie even though he just made his character a few days ago isn't changing anything. Look with your points you should be able to make yourself into anything and get a decent start at this life."
"This is what I want Michael. I don't expect you to understand."
"OK. Fine I may not understand but taking Mary with you in this. Do you think you'll be able to find her?"
"Of course we will find each other."
"At least your names need to be changed, you can't be European and have names like Jesus and Mary. Can I at least reccomended something to the two of you?"
"Yeah. What is it?"
"When you are down there try to forget about this revenge thing and live your lives. Please."
"I'll think about it Michael. Now is there anything else before we get started?"
"No. Nothing else, good luck Jesus."
---------
Any and all comments appreciated.
| 2016-10-08T09:33:31 | 2016-10-08T07:09:46 | 171 | 41 |
[WP] You are a cliché horror movie slasher-type villain, but you've turned over a new leaf. You're still a socially awkward, somewhat disfigured, behemoth of a human, but you move to the suburbs and do your best to fit in with the neighborhood.
Edit: ... not that I think this prompt is like a brilliant, premium prompt idea by any means, but I didn't think it'd get 5-6 downvotes so early on... is this really that controversial of a prompt that people gonna make the extra effort to downvote? lol glad at least some of you seem to like the idea.
Edit 2: and now the prompt is doing quite solidly. Thanks friends!
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Chad let out a grunt as the cheerleader straddled his lap. Her bleached blond hair was perfectly styled and curled around her face while her top barely contained her ample bosom. She gave a sultry moan and began trailing kisses along his jaw that left sloppy candy floss pink lipstick stains.
He was one of the more successful jocks on campus and had met her ten minutes ago at the frat party going on outside this room. What he really liked about this girl, he thinks her name might be Tiffany, was the way she made eye contact with him and sucked on a lollipop with such a heated gaze that he decided then and there he could give her something a bit better to suck on. She seemed eager try it.
His beer addled mind was pretty excited about how this was all playing out until a loud crash made his partner jump in surprise. The loud high pitched scream right next to his ear left his head ringing and before he could exclaim “what the fuck” she pushed herself dramatically onto the floor and scrambled back against the wall: her breasts heaved up and down due to her heavy breathing as her skirt was positioned in just the right way so that you didn’t see her underwear.
In the doorway stood non other than Bobby Blighton with a knife raised above his head in a stabby position as the lights flickered menacingly behind him. He had several painful looking large scars running across his face and faded burn scars where the skin had come into contact with some kind of acid or flame when he was younger. Bobby was a 7ft wall of muscle with manic hair and a serious case of resting death glare: the guy looked intimidating 24/7.
“Who the fuck is this freak?” The cheerleader screeched as she scrambled to stand up and moved to grab the bed side lamp as a weapon. Now Bobby might have been offended if this wasn’t a near daily occurrence. Chad, however, put his hand on her arm so she didn’t hurt his friend.
“Aww come on...Tiffany? It’s just Big Red! He’d never hurt a fly! Ain’t that right Red?” Bobby grunted in response and lowered the knife. Chad had told a small white lie here because it turned out Bobby was the son of a family of reclusive farmers who doubled up as butchers. As a result not only was his friend really good with a wide array of weapons and traps but once demonstrated to their fraternity the easiest way to skin a rabbit. Hell he got the nickname Big Red because within the first week of college a group of them had stumbled into the kitchen to find their resident hulk covered in pigs blood with a cleaver in his hands. At the time the group of jocks had screamed like little girls but once Bobby had explained he was preparing meat for the BBQ they all had a good laugh about it afterwards.
“My names not Tiffany you jerk” Not Tiffany the cheerleader scowled before throwing both of them the meanest looks she could muster and muttered something about filthy animals before storming out of the room. Chad simply sighed and zipped up his pants; this was the tenth time Bobby had cockblocked his ass and the jock was starting to think it was intentional or something.
Bobby sat his hulking form next to Chad, basically dwarfing the respectable 5ft 8in male and gave a concerned gaze. “No bottle opener. Use knife” The butchers son grumbled out with an apologetic look. He was trying hard to be less intimidating but his less than loving home life had bred somewhat of a serial killer and college was his chance to break that cycle. So far he hadn’t murdered anyone so that was good.
“Sorry about girl” Bobbys pitch black eyes stared at the floor in shame as he handed his friend a beer. Bobby didn’t like being in the way and he really hated interrupting people.
“Ahh well. She was only gonna give a bj and my hands good enough with the added bonus of a 100% less herpes” Chad tried to not mourn the loss of not Tiffany too much but he was a little bummed out. She looked really good with her tongue. “Is the party too noisey and crowded for you Red?”
Bobby nodded to his room mates guess and took a small sip of beer. He didn’t really like loudness or crowds but his housemates wanted to introduce him to parties because it was part of the college experience and he needed to socialise more. Everyone at parties, except his friends, avoided him and used words he didn’t understand like “bop” and “bj”.
“Lonely. No one likes me” Gently Chad moved to hug his bigger friends around the waist. His beer spilled over both their shirts but Chad didn’t care and Bobbly was used to getting stains out of clothes.
“They just need to get to know you! Anyway you can’t be alone cause you got me, Greg, Steve, Stu, Mark and Leighton and we fricking love you Big Red!” Chad couldn’t help but grin when he felt the large muscular arms rest around him. Bobbly let out a small whine before flopping backwards into the bed with Chad effectively falling into his chest. If you asked everyone in his house who gave the best hugs they’d all answer Big Red because he engulfed you and made you feel safe. This was ironic cause in all other ways he set off your fight or flight response. Besides the big guy was so innocent about everything except how to dismember someone that sometimes he came off more as a puppy rather than a beast.
“Have embarrassing question” Bobby looked down at the smaller guy in his arms with a bit of a blush on his otherwise expressionless face.
“Shoot” Chad looked up and gave a big encouraging smile. The wall of muscle hesitated before softly asking
“Girl named B...J...?” Chad blinked his baby blues a couple times before burying his head into the others chest to muffle his laughter. His shoulders shook violently while the other gave an unimpressed and slight annoyed whine.
“Nah. She just gives them out”
This did not answer Bobbys question effectively at all.
|
There's the garbage man, again. I often keep him waiting because I lumber slowly across the lawn, giving him false hope of escape. See how hard it is for me? But seriously, he's a nice guy, even though he looks like an axe-through-the-face type of person.
Linda—who lives with Tom next door, and goes to sleep at exactly 11:43 every night with the bedroom window wide open—was on her porch, smoking a cigarette. We don't talk much, perhaps it's because she always loses our little staring contests. Drowning, that's how she should go.
I should probably level out my hedges, soon. I've become quite the artist with that thing and my tastefully square hedgerows, but then again I've used one of these things many times before.
And now the Clifton family across the street are pulling in from a morning at church. They always seem happy. I imagine that the only thing that could bring them closer would be a roll of duct tape and a nice house fire.
Now I've got to get to work. I've been seeing a woman at work, by the way. Mostly from down the hallway, I mean I see her every day. I think I might even start following her, too.
| 2019-08-04T13:10:45 | 2019-08-04T12:24:00 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You are 99.99% percent sure your dog is a hellhound but he is still a good boy
|
Greta explicitly went into the SPCA that day looking to adopt a big dog. She had finally moved into her first real house and was living alone for the first time in her life, and to be honest she was completely terrified. Normally a light sleeper, she now found herself startling awake at the faintest sounds, convinced that it was an intruder coming to murder her. She hadn’t wanted a dog since her beloved childhood poodle had passed away when she was in high school, but she was sure it was time.
Arnold wasn’t the biggest dog in the SPCA that day, but he was definitely the most absurdly-named one. He had a shaggy dark coat and ears that always stood at attention, and the volunteers had just shrugged at Greta when she asked what breed he was. They also had no information about where he’d come from, but they promised that he seemed to be extremely affectionate and incredibly loyal. “But,” one of the volunteers confessed, “he doesn’t seem to be very intelligent. I don’t want to discourage you from adopting him or anything, but I just hate when adopters don’t have all the information and the dog just ends up back here in a month.”
Greta frowned down at Arnold, who seemed to be confusedly nosing at the back of Greta’s knee, tail wagging back and forth to indicate that he was having a blast. When she put her hand down, he moved in front of her and nosed at it instead. After a moment, his tongue darted out and his tag began wagging again. Great grinned at the volunteer, “I think it’ll be fine.”
Greta worked from home two or three days a week, so she was able to spend time with Arnold as he got used to his new environment. At first, she could not seem to understand what the volunteer had meant about Arnold. He seemed to be house-trained, and he generally responded to his name. He didn’t seem to understand commands like “come” or “sit,” but if she called his name enough he would go to her, and if she pushed on his butt he would sit relatively obediently.
However, after a few days, she started to see how someone could think Arnold was less than a genius. He didn’t seem to be very good at playing, not understanding the motivations of playing fetch or tug of war. He also didn’t seem to be very interested in treats, so trying to get him to learn “come” or “sit” was extremely difficult, and Greta soon gave up.
However, she didn’t mind so much. Arnold seemed to be content to wander around the house or the yard, sniffing or staring at things. When he wanted to be around her, he would simply jump up on the couch and deposit his entire 70-pound frame on top of her. If she was cooking or cleaning and he wanted attention, he would put his nose into the back of her knee like he did that first day. When she wanted to be around him, she would reciprocate by throwing her arms around his middle and pulling him down to snuggle.
Ultimately, Greta found Arnold to be an incredibly well-behaved dog. After she was certain he was house-trained, she let him sleep on her bed every night. He had so successfully fulfilled his purpose of granting her peace of mind from intruders that she almost forgot the fear that had motivated her to adopt him in the first place.
The fear came back to her very clearly, however, when she woke in the middle of the night to the vibrating in his throat as he growled low and angrily. Greta was immediately fully alert, and even though her heart was thudding in her ears, she could hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps in the hallway. As Arnold leapt soundlessly from the bed, she forced herself to her feet as well. Just as she reached for her phone on her bedside table, the door burst open.
For a moment, they three of them just watched each other. Greta, reaching for her nightstand and trying to remember how to scream; the hooded man, straight from her nightmares, looming over her; and Arnold, still growling deep in his throat.
All of the sudden, everyone moved. Greta lunged for her phone, Arnold lunged for the intruder, and the intruder swung out blindly. Greta heard a whimper just as her hand closed around her phone, but before she could turn to see if her dog was okay, a hand closed around her wrist and threw her to the ground.
Greta tried to make some noise, tried to beg for her life at the very least, but she couldn’t make any noise leave her throat. She couldn’t move, completely frozen in fear. All she could do was tense as the man bent down over her.
If there’s one thing that definitely stood out about Arnold, it was how quiet he was. He would whimper softly at the door when he needed to go out, and one time he let out a soft *yip* when she stepped on his tail, but she couldn’t really ever remember him so much as barking at the mailman.
The bark he let out now seemed to be making up for lost time. Perhaps it was just Greta’s fear making her senses seem heightened, but the bark sounded like a freight train, like a clap of thunder, like the cracking of bedrock. The room seemed to buck and tilt like a carnival ride, and Greta squeezed her eyes shut, convinced that she was the only person whose luck was shitty enough that her home invasion would be interrupted by an earthquake.
Finally, the floor beneath her seemed to settle, and Greta could hear the howling of the wind outside. After a few seconds Greta managed to force her eyes open. She looked up, and realized that the howling wind wasn’t outside, it was in her bedroom, and it wasn’t her ceiling she was looking up at, it was the stars. She rolled and forced herself to her feet, and realized that the top corner of her house was just… *gone*. Her ceiling, her *walls* were nowhere to be seen, probably in the same place the intruder had disappeared to. Greta tried to make sense of what the hell had just happened, but before she could string two thoughts together, she felt a familiar nose at the back of her knee.
She looked down, and there was Arnold, tail sweeping back and forth to indicate that he was having a blast. Greta couldn’t help falling to her knees, wrapping her arms around his middle, and pulling him down to lay next to her. “Good boy,” she whispered into his fur. “You’re a good boy.”
|
Buster trotted into the room and began sniffing furiously under the sofa.
He always did this on Friday nights before 8pm, even with daylight savings time, or the spring equinox.
“What are you looking for buddy?”
He didn’t respond.
In fact, every Friday that buster came in, and began his “business”, I asked him what he was looking for.
I am the kind of guy that likes to please, whether it’s my dog, my girlfriend, my mother, or my boss.
Buster never would answer, though sometimes if an ambulance passed by while he was sniffing, he’d pause, and howl.
He didn’t howl like a normal dog, but instead with a keening gasp, the kind of sound usually you hear from female foxes.
Once, when I heard a female fox at night in my childhood home, I ran outside and saw a man and a woman standing in my neighbor’s yard. She looked pregnant and so did he.
I stared at them, and the guy pushed his wife away from me as if protecting her.
“I don’t mean you harm” I yelled after them.
The fact is the foxes yell always means something, and that’s what I learned the next morning. When my neighbor called all the police circling almaden to our street. “I was robbed last night” he said to me. “Why didn’t you see something if you saw something?”
Years later, on the New York Subway, I also saw this rejoinder. “see something, say something.”
Do you hear that? I told Buster, “see something, say something.”
| 2018-01-26T17:02:28 | 2018-01-26T15:01:29 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You have the ability to make someone speak the correct answer to any question as long as you say the wrong answer to it first; someone will always involuntarily state the correct answer. Today you said something you thought purposefully wrong...no one spoke.
|
"Where is Captain Justice?"
"Captain Justice is in this very room," I said, eager to discover where our hit team was headed. No one spoke.
&#x200B;
"*Where is Captain Justice*?"
"Captain Justice is in this very room," I said again, this time with an edge of fear in my voice.
&#x200B;
"*WHERE IS CAPTAIN JUSTICE*?*"*
"Captain Justice is in the Oval Office," I said , genuinely panicked.
"Captain Justice is in this very room," said Mind Wave. With that, pandemonium broke out in the Hall of Ambition.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
My ability is . . . unique among my comrades. Some have super strength, others possess the power of telekinesis, a few even possess the ability to bend time around themselves. I have no such powers. What we all share, however, is a contempt for the status quo.
For me, it has always been personal. My parents did their best to hide my ability, to ensure that no faction learned of me. They knew that all sides would be covetous of me if they learned that I held the key to answering any question they might have. Mom and Dad also knew that I was no more capable of defending myself against a super than any normie on the street.
I grew up a quiet, scared boy. The government knows that kids who are kept out of school are likely have some power that makes them a threat. It wasn't long after The Change that they had shuttered the private schools and banned homeschooling in the name of "national security." Home births became illegal not long after. *Every* child born was in the system. Lucky for me, because my power was tied to speech, my parents noticed before anyone else.
They taught me never to speak unnecessarily, to never state a fact I was not *absolutely* sure of. School was a very, *very* dangerous place. "I'm not sure" was my favorite phrase. Friends were a luxury I couldn't afford.
I got by ok for a while. But one day, in the fourth grade, I tried to answer a question I was *sure* of. Did you know that, once upon a time, that Istanbul wasn't Istanbul? I didn't. Neither did Suzy Pickens. I could see how surprised she was when when the word "Constantinople" passed her lips.
The moment I got home I burst into tears. I knew that my parents were going to be in trouble because of me. I knew that someone was going to take me from them. I loved my mommy and daddy more than anything, and I knew I was going to lose them.
We managed to live on the run for three months. For whatever reason, the Justice Department found me first. They swooped in and captured me in the dead of night, a black-clad tactical team led by Captain Justice pulling me from a hotel closet. I clung to my mother as hard as I could, and mom and dad clung to me with everything they had. All three of us were crying and screaming. But the men in the black masks didn't care. They pulled us apart all the same. The last time I saw my parents, Captain Justice loomed over them, indifferent to their suffering. They were, after all, lawbreakers.
I spent the next five years in a windowless CIA black site, trying my hardest to never speak a word. But between hunger, fear, drugs, and waterboarding, I helped the government bring down regimes, terror cells, and "villains" by the dozen.
When the Ambitious broke me out, I assumed it would be more of the same. But it wasn't. I had a penthouse to myself. I had tutors. Food. Television. They gave me almost anything I could want, but never asked me for a thing in return. I knew what game they were playing, but I didn't care. If they wanted my help bringing down the Department of Justice, in bringing about a new age, they could have it.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
"Captain Justice is in this very room," said Mind Wave.
Without missing a beat, he threw up his psi-shield around the two of us. Our leadership kept him by my side for just this sort of thing.
Within seconds Torch was aflame. Freeze was frozen. Nightmare was, well, *nightmarish*. Everyone was ready to fight. They just weren't sure *whom*.
"Why can't we see Captain Justice?" Leave it to Mind Wave to get straight to business.
"Captain Justice is disguised as one of us," I blurted. I knew time was of the essence.
"Captain Justice is miniaturized," Track Meet shouted from across the room.
"Is Captain Justice inside my force field?" Mind Wave looked into my eyes. For the first time, I saw genuine fear in his.
"No," I said.
"Yes," said a voice on my shoulder.
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r/CascadianExpat
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Edit I: By popular demand, Part II is below!
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"My professor will kill me if I don't submit this assignment on time this week!", I squeaked, staring at the half written essay that lay on my table.
I heard laughter in my dorm room, laughter that echoed due to the lack of furniture. Friends giggling from the corner of the room. But something seemed out of place.
Nobody corrected me.
One of them responded, winking at me. "Oh, you are so dead. There is no way you will finish it in two hours."
I know.
| 2018-10-23T21:49:59 | 2018-10-23T20:46:53 | 180 | 69 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty.
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When the captain decided to bring a human onto our crew, I was curious. I'd heard about the humans, of course. Everyone knew about the Galactic Federation's newest member race, though precious few had ever met one. In the same crowded market where Captain had decided to hire the human, I spent half my share of the last raid's booty on a bootlegged Federation dossier on the species.
Oxygen-breathers, water-dependent. They had no bountiful source of food like most other planets. Or, rather, they didn't have a single source, like the t'kr vines which covered Rygel and met 90% of my people's nutritional needs. Instead, though food was abundant, it took a multiplicity of forms. Humans had adapted to the point where they now *required* a varied diet. I idly wondered how our new human would survive on our ship. Would it just take a little bit from each of our food stores? I knew the Federation ships imported special human rations for their crewmembers, but we were salvagers if you were being polite and pirates if you weren't. I shrugged, figuring that was the captain's problem, and kept reading.
Their dependence on a varied diet had created a unique social dynamic among the humans. Rather than being able to go out and gather enough t'kr to feed themselves and a few dependents each day, the humans had to work together. Some of their number worked to grow plant-based food, while others cultivated meat animals (and even figured out how to derive food products from meat animals without killing them, a stunning innovation! I'd heard the Orioners had already begun experimenting with 'dairies' based on human food technology). This forced camaraderie meant the humans had developed civilization far quicker than the other races - a mere six millennia from cultivation to space travel. It also, in some respects, left them immature. Impulsive. But... friendly, as well. I decided I was rather looking forward to meeting a member of a species whose survival hinged on *friendliness.*
The human seemed happy to be brought aboard. Female, I learned. The food problem was solved, in part, by her taking over an empty cabin and rigging up something she called 'hydroponics', a method of growing food. As I suspected, she rounded out her hydroponic diet by taking some of our food. Not that I minded, we weren't in danger of starving. Indeed, I was rather amused at how she did not seem willing to eat t'kr more than five times in a row, and how she began experimenting with things like 'salt' and 'soy sauce' and 'hot sauce' to alter the flavor.
I discovered just how deep her tendency to form social bonds went on the day I needed to have her measured for a plasma rifle rig. I found her in the hydroponics cabin, and I admit suspicion at first. I heard her through the door speaking to someone. But when I entered the cabin, I saw no one.
"Who were you speaking to?" I asked. Our ship never took jobs big enough to draw Federation attention, but it would be just like them to plant humans in whatever scavenger ships they could luck into.
She jauntily lifted up a branch heavy-laden with bright red fruits. "Millie! My tomato plant!"
"Your what?" I asked, subtly scanning the plant for listening devices in case she was trying to deceive me.
"Tomatoes! They're a little like t'kr, I suppose, though not as sweet. And of course, red instead of purple. I'm going to try making a caprese out of that Orioner cheese we just got and some t'kr syrup I made that's kind of like balsamic vinegar."
"Uh-huh," I nodded, satisfied that the plant was simply a plant after my scan concluded.
"Would you like some?" she asked. "Tomatoes, at least. Your people don't handle animal products well, right?"
"I..." I wasn't sure how to respond. The stolen dossier said humans had an impulse to share food, and such was an integral bonding ritual in many of their sub-cultures. I didn't want to be rude. At least she already knew I could not eat 'dairy' of any kind. I tried changing the subject.
"Were you... talking... to... Millie?"
"Oh, yes," she answered. "My grandma back home was a weed farmer back in the days before it all became legal. Swore by talking to plants to help them grow."
I pondered briefly if I wanted to find out why humans farmed weeds, and why doing so was illegal and then not. But I had encountered enough paradoxes for the day and simply completed my task before leaving. Not before the human remembered to re-issue her invitation to share a meal and I could see no polite way to decline.
Tomatoes and t'kr syrup, it turned out, were surprisingly good.
But I did not understand the human's full depth of... friendliness until our smuggling run on Centaurus IV. Mooncats were tremendous beasts, dire hunters who ruled their small jungle moon like dread tyrants. And their pelts had a sheen unlike any other in the known galaxy, making them worth a pretty credit on the black market. Captain had decided we would participate in this year's mooncat hunt, judging the danger worth the potential payoff.
They were not wrong. Two days of work hunting, corralling and trapping these animals netted us half a dozen pristine pelts. We were loading the last onto the grav-ois when the human's ears perked up at a chirping sound in the underbrush. She followed it to the source, emitting an 'Awwww!' when she came across a mooncat kitten. Crying pathetically, as no doubt its mother was one of the bodies on our grav-ois.
To my utter shock, the human picked it up! "Look, it's got an injured paw!" And indeed, the kitten must have fallen against one of our traps.
"Won't live long out here with that injury," I said, trying to be helpful and appealing to her sense of compassion. "Better to kill it now before it starves."
I must have said the wrong thing, for she looked at me, horrified. "I would *never!"* she exclaimed. She turned to Captain, and even I could hear the pleading in her voice. "Please, can I keep it?"
Captain looked as shocked as I, and stammered out something like, 'Until we get the other mooncats to market.' I don't know how she didn't understand that meant we'd be killing the kitten then and adding its pelt to the ones we already acquired.
Instead, she rigged up some kind of artificial teat system to keep the kitten fed a truly disgusting mush of Orioner meat-beast parts. She even interrupted her own sleep cycle to ensure the kitten ate properly.
She was lucky that our landing at the market-moons of Andromeda took so long. By then, she had trained her mooncat, now half-grown. I had no idea they were so intelligent. Nor that they had such a strong bonding influence themselves, at least to their caregivers. I admit, it gives me an odd sense of pride when I see our human and her mooncat walk down the market, seeing her showing off her 'pet' to the astonishment and terror of the others. What really sealed the deal, though, was when her mooncat sniffed out a Federation agent and broke its tentacles before the thing could even scream.
"Good kitty!" said the human when her mooncat brought her the broken corpse of the agent like a present.
Good kitty indeed.
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Milexians are adorable little animals. They stand around 30 centimeters tall, with that said these are the deadliest predators on this side of the verse. Having been banned from any planet other than their home world. A thousand standard years ago they got off their planet and put several planets into global extinction.
We had heard that humans were prone to make pets out of any creature they approached. The contract was to pick a group of them up from Uzlex 7 one of the worlds the Milexians pushed into extinction. When we got there the humans had tamed an entire pride of them.
This is how we now have the deadliest predators in the universe on our ship and why the crew of the ship have locked themselves in the captain's quarters, and with the emergency shields around said quarters.
“Captain, we swear Kitty and her family are going to be on their best behavior,” came the voice from the communicator. It was the leader of the Human science team. They had come to this planet to see if the Milexians had died out over the last thousand years. If they had this would have become a colony world for the Humans.
“You will get those marauders out of the ship, before they kill us all,” roared the Captain.
“They haven’t hurt anyone the whole time we’ve been here. The pack even sleeps with us at night.”
“You let them in your beds, while you slept?” A stunned utterance from the engineer.
The humans must have heard it because the life mate of the lead scientist replied, “why not they are so cute and gentle.”
No one in the captain's quarters spoke but everyone of them was thinking the same thing. What kind of beings think of the greatest predators in the universe, creatures who are literally the thing of nightmares for unknown trillions. What kind of predators must they be, that these beasts bow to them.
The Captain clicked his communicator off.
“Engineer connect my communicator to the deep space communications array so that I can contact the admiralty.”
With a few key strokes on his tablet, he looked up and the captain’s communicator lights went from blue to being linked to the ships internal communications to the red listing it as linked to the deep space communications.
“This is Captain Jergan of the Ottan.”
“Captain this is Station 1061945.”
“I need to advise that the human my ship were contracted to pick up at Uzlex 7 have brought the Milexians to heel. They have made them into pets. They brought them on the ship before we noticed. The crew is currently in the captains Quarters awaiting orders”
From the overhead speakers. Self destruct remotely initiated. And no one on board knew anything further.
| 2019-11-21T10:30:00 | 2019-11-21T09:49:40 | 29 | 16 |
[WP]From time to time, a store appears, visible only to those who need it. The shopkeeper has only two items for sale: What you want and what you need -- one per customer and no exchanges. These are the buyers' stories...
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It was on the corner of the building, down by the dockyard. I walked by every day, and it was just a corner like any other, but one day there was a door. No construction, no renovation, just suddenly a door. I tested the handle to see if it was just a prop, but it opened like any other door.
Inside, there was a man in a white dress shirt, plaid vest, and red bow tie wiping the counter within, while a woman in a Victorian-era dress dusted a sign reading "The Crossroads".
The man looked up at me and said, "Ah! A customer! We just had to get some last minute tidying done, what can I do for ya?"
"Sugarplum, we only do one thing," the woman said.
"Exactly! So your options are quite limited, I'm afraid," he said.
"Uh, I'd like to know what this place is," I said.
"It's The Crossroads, dear," the woman said. "We sell options."
"More precisely, we sell YOUR options!" the man said.
"...I think I need more information," I said.
"How about a demonstration? Babydoll, where'd we put the boxes?" the man asked.
"Below the counter, where we always keep them," the woman said.
"Of course! Now come over here, buddy ol' pal, and we'll get you set rightly," the man said.
I approached, as the couple put away their cleaning implements and dug out what appeared to be a small pair of treasure chests. As I got closer, I got a better look at the two.
Their outward appearance seemed to be somewhat at odds with their disposition. The man's slicked-back hair and clean-shaved face gave him the look of a sketchy business man, but the wry smile that threatened to split his face in half gave the impression of a game show host who still loved the thrill of seeing someone win big. The woman's tightly bound hair and stern posture made her look like a strict librarian, but her eyes showed a concerned cynicism more like that of a teacher unable to assist a failing student.
The duo each took a chest, and held them out toward me.
"Go on, make a choice," the man said.
"Sugarplum, it's not fair to make him choose without telling him what he's choosing," the woman said.
"Aw dang! Silly me!" the man said. "You're at the Crossroads, and a choice must be made."
"A decision to bring about a brand new day," the woman said.
"One of these options is what you desire," the man said.
"And one of these options is what you require," the woman said.
"You get one choice, be it candy or bread," the man said.
"From there, the path is yours to tread," the woman said.
"For all things out there, new or old," the man said.
"A choice must be made, iron or gold," the woman said.
"To fix your broken, shattered dreams," the man said.
"The Crossroads is the place that has the means," the woman said.
"Okay, okay, I get it, enough with the rhyming," I said. "So I'm just meant to choose what I 'want' vs what I 'need'? That seems pretty self-explanatory, I'll just take what I need..."
"Whoa there, buddy, we haven't actually shown you the choices. First, what you want," the man said.
He opened the chest he was holding, and inside was a placard with my name on it and the title "Manager".
"To the man who worked so hard for so long, it's only right that he be rewarded. What you want is to finally be recognized for your hard work, and to be given your rightful place as a leader and trailblazer in this wild world," he said. "Not to mention, you'll now be equals with that dickhead boss of yours and won't have to put up with his bullshit anymore."
"No swearing, Sugarplum..." the woman said.
"Ah, right, sorry Babydoll... A more stable position, better pay, more benefits, and you actually end up doing less work since you can delegate most of your duties. A real dream come true!" the man said.
He wasn't wrong, it was pretty much everything I'd wanted for the better part of three years. I couldn't help but imagine it in my head, being able to afford all the luxuries of the world, having enough financial freedom to do what I actually wanted with my free time. I began reaching for the chest, only for the man to slam it shut as my fingers got close.
"Whoa there, buddy. I know it's nice, but at least hear my wife out, she worked hard on her spiel," the man said.
"Thank you, Sugarplum," the woman said. "Now you've seen what you want, but here is what you need."
She opened the chest, and inside was a pink slip informing me that I'd been fired. Not to be melodramatic, but I had literally had nightmares about receiving one of those.
"Face it, dear, you're miserable. You don't just hate your boss, you hate your coworkers, you hate your customers, you even hate that dingy box you call an office. You haven't been happy, truly happy, since you joined the company," she said. "You don't have the gall to quit, but the severance from being fired could tide you over until you found yourself employed somewhere more amicable."
"Babydoll, if you want him to choose that, you've gotta give it a little more oomph," the man said. "You know, really sell it."
"Right... Take this option, and you could get the time to reconnect with the friends and family you've been neglecting. Dust off those skills you've been letting go unused, and pursue those dreams you haven't thought about in years. You've got a good few years left in you, but they slip by so quickly. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it," the woman said, punctuating her statement by closing the chest.
After a few moments of silence, the man said, "So, what'll it be, bud?"
"I... I don't know... is there any way I could come back to decide later?" I asked.
"You had several years to decide for yourself before you reached the Crossroads, will more time really be a benefit, dear?" the woman asked.
"Uh, uh..." I stammered, hesitating as I jostled between the two. Every word the woman said was true, and I knew it, but it still felt risky. Not to mention that the man's words had rang true as well, and I couldn't help but feel like I had wasted my time if I left the company now...
Finally I reached out toward the "Need" chest. The woman looked visibly relieved, opening the contents and allowing me to take my "prize". The man's smile had gotten a bit smaller, though I'd guess it was more from disappointment at my lackluster-sounding prize than any sort of bitterness. He still gave a polite nod when I looked at him.
"An excellent choice, I'm sure you'll find," the man said.
"Resolution can mend a fractured mind," the woman said.
"To discover what secrets the future holds," the man said.
"Decisiveness lets great stories be told," the woman said.
"So when you return to the Crossroads once more," the man said.
"May you be prepared for what is in store," the woman said.
The two ended their rhyme with a shallow bow with their arms pointed toward the door, which I took to be a polite way of telling me to leave.
"Wait, who are you two?" I asked, as I opened the door.
"Oh, our names are-" the man said.
"Not important," the woman said. "But we are the keepers of The Crossroads."
"And I'll bet you'll be back here next time you need some deciding," the man said. "So we'll see you soon, buddy."
The two waved as I walked outside. As I began walking down the street, I realized I didn't have the pink slip, and turned back to see if I'd dropped it inside. Unfortunately, it seemed that the door had vanished as suddenly as it arrived.
Still, I was laid off from work the next day, so I suppose it wasn't just a hallucination. As the couple had said, the path from there was mine to tread.
---
r/AslandusTheLaster
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I just couldn’t seem to win. Tonight or any night in the last week. I had my last $50 in hand; I could stop now and maybe get a room for the night and take stock in the morning or I could try my hand once more at the baccarat table and let lady luck usher in the dawn. Who was I fooling, I could no more stop now than the drunk on the corner was going to stop with the bottle half empty. I could feel the potential of the table throb around me and in me. Little hooks of hope dragging my hand to toss my chip to ride on banker. Banker was up and I WON!!! That started me on a streak that I did not come down from as long as I could keep my eyes open. When my lids felt like they were each individually pulling 5lb weight plates with each blink, I conceded that sleep was imminent. The casino didn’t want to see all of their money walk out the door so put me up in a complimentary room and as I hit the bed it felt like the room dematerialized around me with an audible POP. I tried to shut my eyes anyways. It didn’t work. I was unceremoniously dumped from the bed and as much as I tried to collapse on the sidewalk or go to sleep somehow the surface I’d lay down on would just disappear and I’d be upright in front of the store again. And again. And again. I reluctantly advanced to the door, tired of looping the day away. The store front reminded me of Uncle Jimmy’s BBQ joint in my hometown in Iowa. Kind of tacky and tasteless but what the exterior lacked the food made up for…I entered the store, titled, Truth or Trinket. The interior was dark velvet blackness that was so thick it enfolded my senses like a plush blanket. Then, there, a beacon of light, a blue backlit case sparked up. A man seemed to float above. His disembodied smile greeted me, beckoned me but said nothing. Even when I demanded to know the meaning of such rude summons he merely gracefully gestured with his immaculately white gloved hands to the backlit case and his effervescent smile and the rest of him disappeared.
In the words of Alice, “things were getting curiouser and curiouser”. I leaned in and the glass disappeared leaving nothing between me and two objects, one of which I had thought I would never see again in my entire life, loomed into focus. To my right with no other description than, TRUTH, was my dear grandmother, Jean’s diamond necklace. The same diamond necklace that cost me my plummet into darkness from the safe secure heart of my grandparents to my current wretched state. The exact same necklace that ushered in a decade of insecurity and unhappiness after I stole it and pawned it in a local shop to try my hand at “doing for myself” on the streets of Vegas. As a matter of fact the last $50 in my hand tonight was the remainder of the money that came directly from that “heist”. The item to my left was entitled, TRINKET, it was a single chip of deepest, obsidian black with a skull embossed into it decorated with a diamond third eye. It had writing I almost couldn’t make out and as I squinted the skull seemed to grin wider at me as I just made out LUCK. I felt like someone had tossed a Molotov cocktail at my soul and I was on fire with desire for the chip. There was no boundary between me and potentially getting my life of comfort and love back but there was just no question what I would choose…I grabbed the chip and ran out of the store.
| 2020-01-11T22:22:43 | 2020-01-11T21:00:30 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
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"Honey, are you sure about this place?" Miriam looked askance at her husband.
"Of course. Look at the city. It's bustling and they need a good swift food establishment. We'll make good money and live a good life." Vance replied patting her arm soothingly.
"I know dear. It's just. Well this place...something about it..." she murmured looking out the store front at the design of the buildings. Even Vance could not entirely disagree with her as he followed her view around.
The city of Dirathia was the reigning capital of the Scythorian Kingdom. Upon first glance it was a dark and dismal looking place. The buildings designed around severe gothic architecture with ample use of black iron and imposing granite. The guards that patrolled the streets were garbed in charcoal grey and wore helmets that bristled with an imposing spike. Even the parks grew sharp hedges with dark flowers. Areas contained statues of glaring figures or fearsome monsters.
Miriam and Vance had come here to start a new life together. Finding a nice establishment the opened a quick eatery as they called it. A place to get simple food fast for lunch. They haven't had the time to really meet the local people yet and as they got ready to open the environment wore on them.
The door opens and a few people come walking in. The first to do so was a smiling woman dressed in simple but well made clothes bearing a basket. "Hello!" She exclaimed cheerily. "Welcome to Dirathia! My name is Melody and I'm the head of the local business owners guild. Here's a little gift from all of us."
Miriam accepted the basket gratefully and smiled back at the happy woman. The couple introduced themselves and made some of their food for their first customers. Their praise for the food was a huge relief and Miriam was secretly glad that the people here seemed to be much nicer than how it looks.
"That's delicious!" Melody sighed wiping her mouth. "I'm sure y'all will do wonderfully here. I know where I'm coming for lunch when I need it. Is there anything I can help you two with for now?"
The couple shared a look and Miriam spoke hesitantly, "Well. Yes actually. It's about this place. Is it as...scary as it looks?"
Melody chuckles. As she opens her mouth to speak the door opens and two of the guard march in, their iron boots ringing on the wood floor. Behind them sweeps in a slim figure garbed in black clothes. A tall man with long black hair and grey eyes that glittered out of a pale thin face. The other patrons rose and bowed to him and the couple followed suit a moment later.
The man looked around imperiously and waved a hand allowing the patrons to rise. He walked forward and stood in front of Miriam and Vance, a cold and detached look on his face. "You are the owners of this establishment?" His voice was almost emotionless, severe like a sharpened knife.
Miriam and Vance quailed lightly but Vance spoke as calmly as he was able. "Yes sir. My wife and I own the store."
The man nods slightly. "I am Gregor, ruler of the city and the Scythorion kingdom. Your continued existence depends on my goodwill. Do you understand?"
The couple nod, fear building on their faces. "Good." Gregor continues to speak in his emotionless tone. "Make me something to eat. Your finest. Also enough for the guards. I will wait." Without waiting for an answer he calmly walks to a comer booth and sits down, the guards flanking him.
Miriam and Vance rush to make him their favorite meal, knowing their fate is on the line. Panic builds as they cook but Miriam couldn't help but notice that the other patrons don't seem as perturbed. They continue to chat amongst themselves and eat normally. Almost as if they are unaware of the man's demeanor and the atmosphere.
Finally they set the food in front of him and portions for the guards. The couple stands to the side and watch worriedly as he eats. The guards remove their helmets revealing normal and happy faces as they eat. They grunt in appreciation yet Gregor continues to eat in silence.
When they finish he stands and faces the couple. "You may stay. Continue to perform adequately or face my ire. Also do not forget to pay your protection fee." The guards don their helmets while smiling in thanks to the couple. Then they lead the way out with Gregor following.
Miriam shakes so badly she has to sit down and Vance doesn't look much better. "Are you two ok?" Asks Melody with concern.
"Are we ok?! Did you not see what just happened?" Miriam nearly shrieks from nerves.
Surprisingly Melody laughs. "Oh don't worry about all that. Gregor likes to pretend to be all dark and evil. He's quite nice and the kingdom is run very well. The other patrons nod in agreement much to the couple's confusion.
"Really? But the city looks so...."
"Oh that is does. But it's very clean and you get used to the decor. The trash is always cleaned up and you notice the guards always patrol very well. The guards are always so nice too."
"What about his ire?"
"Gregor contributes to the food reviews in the local newspaper. He's very honest."
"Protection fees?"
"Why property tax of course. Just a funny name to it is all."
The couple look so perplexed Melody chuckles some more. "I know he seems all doom and gloom but it's an act. The story is he had aspirations to be an actor before he had to rule the kingdom. Unexpected death of his older brother. He moped a bit before someone suggested he pretend to be "an evil lord". He did run away with it but honestly we live very good lives here. Besides, he can't be that evil if he does this."
She points at the table he was at and Miriam sees several gold pieces sitting in the middle. Almost ten times the price of the food for him and the guards. Cradling the money in her hands she and Vance share a growing smile. Maybe things will be ok after all.
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From my granite balcony I surveyed the depths of my domain. The sky was a bloody orange, flecked with clouds and the rising smoke of burning buildings. People, the size of ants, were torching statues and government buildings, the legacy of my rule. I turned around.
‘Why did you have to do all of this?’, the Hero said, brandishing his sword. ‘Why were you so evil in your rule’.
‘I wasn’t’, I said. ‘I really wasn’t. All this’–I made a sweeping gesture over my city–‘was necessary to my rule. My policies were harsh. I admit it. But for the continued survival of this small country, with goblins in the south and orcs in the north, it had to be done.
‘I’m sorry’, the Hero said as he thrust his blade through my chest, kicking me over the edge of my balcony. ‘You might’ve been a good person, but this is what the people want’.
A roar of approval erupted from the populace as I fell from grace, plummeting towards the cobbles, below. My last thought was of my failure to the kingdom; my failure to protect it from the myriad of foreign nations.
**Please critique this.**
**Edit:** word choice
| 2017-06-12T07:29:18 | 2017-06-12T01:33:38 | 100 | 21 |
[WP] Five people wake up in a metal room with no windows and only one door. In the middle of the room is a revolver and a piece of paper. "One of you has to die. Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win $1million. Each wrong person dead halves your prize. You have four bullets."
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*Bang.* I woke up with my ears ringing and my head aching. I rolled over to my side, expecting to see my phone on the night stand and a half-full glass of water. Much to my chagrin, the usual suspects were missing and I instead found myself in a square, metal room with four other individuals.
I scanned the room: two others were stirring out of their sleep like I was. A woman in a red dress and stilettos was standing over the top of a man in a blue sport coat. She walked up to the large, singular door on the opposite side of the room, revealing the man to be missing much of his head.
"What the actual fuck?" I shouted instinctually upon spotting the murdered man, rushing to my feet while keeping my back to the wall.
The woman in red turned and faced me and pointed a revolver right at my head. "Sit down," she commanded and then threw a piece of paper at me.
I wasn't the type to argue with a loaded gun and so I did as she said, snatching the piece of paper as it slid by my bare feet.
"Read it aloud," she said, walking closer to me and pressing the revolver against my forehead. She had a wallet in her other hand.
I skimmed the paper and then started to read it. The other two were fully awake now and rightfully panicked, but presumably waiting to join the conversation until I finished reading. "One of you has to die," I stated grimly. "Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win a million dollars. Each wrong person dead cuts your prize in half. You have four bullets," I looked up at the woman in red and then added, "Well, three now I suppose."
The woman in red pulled the revolver off of my head. I took the time to examine the other two: a woman in her pajamas and bunny slippers and a college-aged man in gym clothes with sneakers.
The other man spoke, "How the fuck did they get us in here? I wasn't even asleep."
"Neither was I," the woman in red said.
"Nor, I suppose, was he," the pajama woman said, pointing towards the dead man.
The woman in red thumbed through his wallet, "He was a professor. Professor Wood, looks like he taught Game Theory at Boston University."
"Boston?" I asked with some surprise in my voice, "I was in my apartment in Dallas."
"I was at a luncheon in New York," said the killer.
"I was asleep at home in Nebraska with my kids," said the woman in pajamas.
"Well, the hell does that all matter? Seems like there's only one way out and we're already one pin down the lane," said the young man.
I wasn't a fan of this analogy, but to keep it rolling I said, "And it looks like our bowler has already chosen herself."
"What if it's her?" the young said, looking to me and standing up. "We could take her, you and me, we both rush her."
The lady in red spun away from me and aimed the revolver dead on his head, "And what if it's you, jackass?"
The young man jumped from his now kneeling position and tackled her at the legs. She tried to get a clean shot on him, but wound up shooting the ceiling. The woman in pajamas started screaming and crying. I got on my feet and tried to conjure up what little I remembered from a high school self-defense course.
The man bashed her in the head with a fist and then started to repeatedly punch her. The woman in pajamas was begging him to stop. When her face was indistinguishable from Professor Wood's I said, "That's enough, man. Come on."
He grabbed the gun, looked to me, and then we both looked towards the door. No luck. He jumped up onto his feet and ran up to me and held the revolver against my forehead. This was not a circumstance I was enjoying finding myself in repeatedly.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't pull this trigger," he demanded.
"Two outta three it's not me," I said plainly. This seemed to anger him as he pressed the tip of the gun deeper into my head.
I watched through the corner of my eye as the woman in the blue pajamas stopped crying, got up, grabbed one of the stiletto shoes, and pegged him in the back of the skull with the pointy bit. He fell to the ground, but she chased him down, thrusting the heel into his eye sockets until he'd stopped breathing.
I reached and grabbed the gun as she came down from her frenzy. "Are you alright?" I asked. Clearly not, of course, nobody pierces somebody with a shoe if they're feeling completely fine.
She ignored me and looked at the door. Nothing. Not even a hopeful squeak. She stared me down and dropped the shoe, "Fifty fifty, huh?" She sighed.
I nodded. I didn't want to kill anyone. It wasn't in my nature. Certainly not a mother in pajamas, even if she had just stabbed the ever living Christ out of a man a foot in front of me.
We both sat there for a long time, not really looking at each other, but of course not letting our guards down either. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Trevor. Trevor Burke. You?"
"Amy Green. I take it by the fact that I'm still breathing that you aren't in a big rush to kill anybody today?"
"Good guess," I said.
"You want to know something, Trevor?"
I shrugged and nodded.
"I lied about being a mother. Well, I was pregnant last year. But my husband made sure that didn't last long," she said, looking at me.
"I don't want to go back there, Trevor. I haven't wanted to be anywhere for a long time," she said with a strange lack of sadness.
"So, what? What does that mean for us and this fucked up game?"
"You don't want to kill me, but I'm perfectly fine with dying," she gestured towards the gun. "Just look away, alright? And then you can get out of here and be a bit richer for it."
I thought about it. It was a tempting offer considering the alternative. But what if she was wrong? What if I was the intended target? No more bullets in the gun. No way out for me beyond dehydrating over three or four days. That did not sound appealing. But neither did getting shot in the head. Plus, I liked my life well enough and she didn't. I'm sure Professor Wood would tell me to slide it over. Or maybe not. Maybe I should just do the job myself. But I didn't want to be a killer. But wouldn't I be a killer indirectly anyways?
Fuck this was too much for me to think about. I smiled at her, slid the gun over, and looked away.
"Sorry, Trevor."
*****
Enjoy that? Check out more of my prompt responses at /r/RooceyWrites
|
The other three saw the paper and the revolver first, the big guy called it out, but they all hesitated. Just for a moment. That was all it took, and by the time I finished reading the last line everyone was a mouth breather.
"There's three of us and one of him"
Now's the time to point it at them. I'm not big, but now I might as well be a tank.
"no no no no no don't shoot, kill muscle man over there, he's the only one you have to worry about overpowering you"
The room was hot, the sweating made everyone look even more desperate. She's right though, if anyone it has to be him first.
"OH MY GOD, FUCK, IT'S ON ME, HE'S ON ME"
The mute finally talks, and the one who wanted it can't even look. The door still isn't unlocking. It feels like it's getting hotter now.
"You're going to have to kill this *fucking weird guy*, he's got to be hiding something, that's why we're still here"
She's almost crying, still not looking up. The mute is throwing up in the corner, sounds like he's trying to defend himself inbetween heaves, but this isn't quite working for either of us.
"No please, just give it some more fucking time, that's all it needs. *There's no reason to kill me.* C'mon FUCKING PLEASE DON'T DO THIS"
It's getting hotter, and she's looking up now. Not for long.
"LET ME OUT ASSHOLES, I PLAYED YOUR GAME, THEY'RE ALL DEAD, LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over again
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
It just keeps getting hotter. I can't even lay on the floor anymore because my skin sticks to it, I had to pull their bodies over to lay on top. I can't scream anymore, each breath feels like fire down my throat. All I can do is focus on the sound of blood bubbling and burning on the metal floor beneath the bed I made. It's getting fainter.
| 2017-10-30T19:21:08 | 2017-10-30T19:00:49 | 127 | 13 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've been told you're deathly allergic to bees. You've always had people protecting you from them, be it your mother or a hired hand. Today, one slips through and lands on your shoulder. You hear a tiny voice say "Your Majesty, what are your orders?"
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haha, "Carl when did you develop a sense of humor?" I said. "Carl"?
I turned to look over my right shoulder expecting to see my normally morose and impersonal driver only to see one of *them*.
"Oh fuck me" I stammered looking into the beady eyes of what has been the sum of all fears since childhood.
"You are a King not a Queen sire, and I would not be worthy to pollinate you even so" the little death dealer said.
Stung already, auditory hallucinations I have to get help "Carl!" I shouted trying to see through the tree line back towards the car near the ferry where Carl must be. Stumbling into a lurching run ignoring my still open fly. " Running will increase blood flow spreading the toxin further, stop. Think, call him you idiot!"
"My lord please do not distress, we live to serve." The same follow the yellow brick road voice said.
"We are going to be dead in minutes whoever the fuck we is" I replied pulling out my phone. "I know it's in here why is it not under C, i should have.."
"We are the elite guard pledged to you sire" Munchkin voices from all sides said at once, causing me to jolt and drop my phone. Lifting my eyes I saw them, dozens no A HUNDRED bees floating in 3 tight lines mere feet in front of me. Death for sure, i'm sorry mom I shouldn't have yelled and insisted learning to fish.
A bee landed on my glasses and I froze staring at it with a kind of resigned horror.
"Great one, remain calm we do not have long to speak. I can tell by your reaction that we are the first unit to make contact with you".
Seventeen years, constant vigilance and fear anytime out doors even when on a screened in porch, mother quitting her job to make sure she would be there if I actually got stung. Hiring a ex-military medic to drive me around after they won the local lottery, losing friends because I couldn't be allowed to play outdoors after spring. Wait, ex-medic ...the epi pen! Staring the hallucination in my eye Ii reached to my backpack and pulled out the pen popping the security tab and lifting it to strike my leg it...resisted
"No my liege you must not!" the bee said , now sitting on the tip of my nose.
That's when I saw them crawling all over my hand tiny wings buzzing. Instinctively I yelped then dropped the pen, watching in amazement as they returned to their formation. "Wh-why " was all i could get out.
"Sir it is likely they put one of their chemicals in there, not something to help you but something to knock you out and cause memory loss" the small death dealer said.
"They?! you mean my fucking doctor?", "I'm talking to a bee now, I wonder if i'm even really still standing. Maybe i'm sprawled out on the ground with foam coming from my mouth as my body rages it's last defiant battle.
"He would not be your doctor, but theirs, Please majesty you must focus, we have little time the bear is likely already incapacitated or dead by now"
"Bear? please tell me Baloo is just around the corner ready to save me" I said.
"You know him? I did not know his name sir or that you were aquatined. I hope you and he will accept our apology for all the stings, we merely needed to incite him to violence to distract the human named Carl."
That's when I noticed I was sitting down and it struck home. Carl was *never* out of eyesight or atleast shouting distance. He's paid more than he would make at any ambulance service just to stay by my side in case. He should be here no matter what but...a bear?
"I'm not hallucinating?" i said.
"No my lord, I understand this is a shock but I have been trying to tell you that we are here to rescue you, quickly you must come with us" the tiny voice said, sounding more confident and resolute
Dropping the Epi pen I asked "So you didn't sting me?"
The little bee's wings buzzed quickly and almost fell off my nose. "Sire it would be more than my wings are worth, my whole colony would kill itself if I dared harm you."
Drugs, somebody slipped me something or maybe that stuff that grows on grain and makes you trip balls. Urgot? i think that is what it was called, the cause of the salem witch trials. Well part of the cause ,religious fools that they were.
"Quickly sire, follow us! Alpha team you're on point, charlie team fall back to the parking lot and observe the human to see if he gives chase, DO NOT BE SEEN."
The three lines of bees flew off in different directions, one toward the parking lot another in thhe opposite direction and the rest formed a halo around my head forming a crown of bees. Thinking that this was kind of cool for a nightmarish hallucination I sprang into action following alpha team.
"Where are we going...wait what is your name?" I asked.
"It is not likely you could say it in your language sire, but you may call me Carl if that seems right." the bee said whilst clinging to my glasses against the wind.
"Oh no, you're way more interesting than a Carl. I will call you Artemis, does that sound ok?" I said.
"Named by the prophesied one himself, my lord you humble me to tears" he replied.
Smiling i found myself thinking this small creature which i hhad come too fear and loathe was actually kind of cute. "Where are we going Artemis?"
"We're going to your Mother sir, she has much to discuss with you." he replied
"Oh Art, i'm sorry but I'm pretty sure my mother would coat me in a fog of raid if she saw you with me" I chuckled while running along side the river. Strange my asthma isn't bothering me.
"Not the human you call mother majesty. She was merely assigned to you after your kidnapping. We're going to your REAL mother, our mother, earth's mother Gaia." He replied in all seriousness. "Alpha team this is it, Baker team signal evac team that we are ready to depart." He said in that oddly commanding tone for a voice sounding like it was coated in helium.
Another bee flew close to my glasses and said " Wings are arleady here sir, 15 seconds".
"Set ten of your weakest to wait for charlie team's return after we leave. The human will come this way looking for the king, if you think he suspects what has happened... Kill him." Art said.
" By my Antennae and Sting, life to serve commander. We will fight to the last bee." the little one said.
What did he mean wings here in 15 seconds Art?" I asked just before two sets of eagle talons clenched my shoulders and carried me into the sky.
|
One time in elementary school, one of my classmates got rushed to the hospital because of a bee sting. She was allergic. I didn’t get to watch it happen, because I was inside for “indoor option”. I was never allowed to go out for recess. I always picked a friend or two, and we played board games while the rest of my class played outside. On the day Sam had her allergic reaction, I remember the other kids all running in late, breathless and excited. So much had happened, and like always, I missed it.
As I continued to grow older, I noticed I wasn’t like the other kids. My family didn’t go to the pool in the summer, I didn’t play outdoor sports. We didn’t have picnics or go to cookouts. When I was 12, we moved to Vermont. Everything changed. My mom signed me up for snowboarding classes. My restrictions were magically lifted. I was so normal.
When I got into college at NC State, my mom resisted. She wanted me to attend somewhere closer to home. I assumed she was just anxious about me growing up and moving away. I didn’t think twice about it, until admitted student’s day.
I was walking across campus when a bee landed on my shoulder. “Your Majesty, what are your orders?” I glanced around. Who had said that? No one was nearby. A second bee buzzed by my ear. “We’re waiting!” A shrill voice screamed, “ATTACK!” Suddenly, I was surrounded by a swarm of bees, all stinging at me. Dead bees started dropping around me, left and right, sacrificing themselves to please their queen. I ran, screaming like a child, until someone pulled me inside an academic building. They slammed the door, and helped me fend off the remaining bees. I had my mom pick me up, and she drove me to the airport. There was no way in hell I was going to NC State! I ended up going to my safety school, Kalamazoo, where I could continue my life without being harassed by that crazy swarm of bees.
I never figured out how the hell I can understand bees, though.
| 2018-04-01T04:29:26 | 2018-04-01T02:29:37 | 1,614 | 45 |
[WP] You are Placebo Man. Your superpowers are whatever the people nearby you believe you have.
Bonus prompt: Your nemesis knows your secret.
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Miss Information laughed as she slammed her heel into Placebo Man's leg.
"This was quite easy, you know. You really are the weakest superhero in the Alliance."
Placebo Man grimaced. He didn't expect the trap doors in the compound. In fact, intel had suggested that the cruel woman smirking at him was busy in Portland fomenting unrest. The Alliance had sent the C.U.R.E. team to the West Coast to face her hours ago. Placebo Man was only here to confirm her plans and search for Miss Information's weaknesses. Their meeting here was a surprise.
"Clever ruse, Miss. I guess you have to be good at something, with a one-trick pony name like that." Placebo Man said, smiling weakly.
Miss Information's nose flared as she dug her heel into his leg.
"Speak for yourself. There's nobody here to save you here, little worm."
She twisted her heel out with a flourish, allowing Placebo Man's blood to trail on the ground as she walked briskly to the nearby wall. Pressing her hand to a panel activated an opening sequence, flipping the concrete wall to reveal a series of high-powered weapons.
In the distance, the two could hear dogs howling.
"I see the hounds are dealing with your friends. Now then. How do you want to die, little worm?" she spoke out loud, her hand trailing over the weapons in front of her. Without waiting for an answer, she made her choice, selecting a sheath-less katana.
"Yes...this will do nicely." she smiled cruelly, raising the sword and slicing the air twice. Placebo Man wriggled on the floor, helpless.
Miss Information turned to her victim.
"Masamune's own. Late 13th century. Guarded by the Okazaki clan for over 700 years, passed down through twelve generations. It has outlasted countless emperors, the tumult of the Meiji Restoration, and the Second World War. You will be the first to die by this blade in at least seventy years."
She took her place above Placebo Man, the sword shining. With one clean motion, she swung the sword, severing his torso clean in half. Placebo Man's eyes bulged as the pain shot through his body, sending him deep into shock.
"Take comfort, little worm. At least the blade has not dulled." she said, turning to clean the sword.
For a moment there was only the sound of the dogs in the distance. It took Miss Information a few more seconds to realize that the wriggling sound behind her was only growing. She turned around as he spoke.
"...you expect me to believe that story?" Placebo Man said, straining slightly.
Placebo Man's torso wound had begun closing up. But his wound had not been healed. Not exactly. As Miss Information watched, two Placebo Men had begun regenerating on the floor. Legs had grown from the top half down, and a new head and upper body had begun growing for the bottom half.
"...Earthworm. Regenerative powers. Amusing. I had forgotten my grade school biology." Miss Information said, her eyes flashing annoyance.
"Miss Information forgetting facts...how surprising..."
Her eyes turned red as she hastily snatched the nearest gun from the wall. A shotgun, presumably loaded.
"Tell me how worms deal with shotgun slugs, then." she said, cocking the gun.
As she raised the weapon, the door to the room burst open. In tumbled a young girl of maybe fifteen. Her black suit was torn and she was bleeding in several places. The sound of dogs echoed loudly from the hallway outside. Startled, Miss Information immediately pointed the gun at the intruder.
"Who are you? You aren't any Alliance hero I've ever see--" she started.
"Da--Placebo Man, I'm here!" interrupted the young girl, thoroughly out of breath.
"I know," said both Placebo Men simultaneously.
Miss Information took a step back in surprise. The two men, barely able to stand just a minute ago, had immediately moved in tandem. Top Man had moved to cradle the young girl in his arms, and a soft green glow was already cleansing her wounds. Bottom Man, on the other hand, now towered in front of her.
"How..." Miss Information sputtered, color draining from her face.
Bottom Man smiled. He curled the tube of the shotgun upwards before disappearing in an instant, leaving only the original Placebo Man. He set down the now-healed young girl and turned to face her.
Several dogs burst into the room at once. With a single flick of his hand, Placebo Man threw the dogs back out and closed the door. For a moment, there was only silence.
"Have you met my sidekick?" Placebo Man asked. "We're the strongest duo in the world."
Miss Information's eyes darted to the young girl. She looked clumsy. Weak. Average. Her black suit was likely more durable than she was herself. She saw no runes carved in the skin, no glowing eyes, not even any weapons to protect herself with.
"You jest. You may be a worm, but this girl is not even old enough to join the Alliance."
Placebo Man laughed. "You're right, Alice. She's not. She's my daughter."
Miss Information's eyes went wide as Placebo Man began walking towards her, growing in size with each step.
"Can't figure it out yet? Here's a hint." Placebo Man said as he towered over the villain. "Her name is Faith."
|
Paul had been running for forty-eight straight hours.
"I can't believe he's still going, he must have super human endurance."
Paul had heard this sentence or some variation of this sentence intermittently for the last forty-seven hours and thirty minutes. His morning jog had turned from routine to marathon to message.
"He must be doing this for charity," he heard from the cafe front. He dreaded the additional hundred dollars that was stockpiled on to his eight-hundred dollar donation (Paul felt that a hundred dollar donation was within the bounds of 'super human').
"He must be running on fumes at this point." Paul let out a groan and ran into the next convenience store. He came out with five lit cigarettes in his mouth, still running.
| 2015-04-05T20:11:37 | 2015-04-05T18:17:44 | 153 | 28 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!"
|
He really... wasn't what I expected. For one thing, he was-
"Really? 12 years of Sunday school and they _missed that?_" Lucy replied, blinking slightly as she realised just how little the humans knew. I nodded sadly and gently patted her back, feeling her skin under my fingers like dry paper and fire-tinder. She didn't _look_ especially demonic, not really - not human, there was no way you could mistake her for someone made of meat. At an easy eight feet tall, her jet nails formed cuticles with skin streaked with violet and black that appeared paper-thin, but had the strength of steel and the texture of dry parchment. She didn't look human... but she didn't look evil.
"Are you... are you alone here?" I replied, and as she nodded I found myself looking around across the vastness of dark void in which I had arrived. It didn't so much look empty as unfinished, as though it hadn't finished becoming _somewhere_ yet. Beneath my feet there was solid, unyielding ground, floored expertly with mahogany planks and scattered across it were objects that look like half-bean bags, half-eiderdowns. I stood, and walked across to one feeling the air moving around me as though I were travelling far faster than I truly was. Behind me, the soft rustling as though of dry leaves told me Lucy had walked behind me, and I felt bizarrely glad she was there. She was... well, "Him", I guess. The devil, Satan, master of demons and djinni and all the foulness in the world. Tempter and corrupter and defiler. It should not have felt comforting when she wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and gazed off dramatically into the middle-distance.
"I have been here for a timeless eternity" she muttered softly, "floating _in potentia_ through the infinite void". Her hands gently but firmly steered me to take a seat in one of the strange but almost impossibly comfortable feather-sacs, and she positioned herself across from me as she sat in one of her own.
She sighed quietly, and appeared to be steeling herself to answer my unasked questions.
"I existed here because your kind believed that I did, but without a human to enter my domain there was nothing to rend the empty fabric and bring reality to my plane. In the realm above there a billions of you, living in the White Realm and experiencing one form of life beyond the material, but that does not mean it is the best, nor that it is exclusive." Her lips moved around the words with a precision that appeared unearthly, every sound pronounced with the careful infallibility of a being with over a million years since the emergence of humanity to practice.
"This, friend, is the Black Realm. The duality to the realm above, its polar opposite and its identical twin. In the White Realm, it is the experience of the collective that steers the will of the void; in the Black Realm, it is the experience of the individual that bends the fabric of reality." She smiled almost seductively around the words, and reached out a hand into the space before me, holding it palm upwards as her eyes slipped closed. As she began again to speak, I transferred my gaze to her lips and saw that where in humans they would have been rosy from blood, in her they were purple-black with whatever pulsed through her own veins... if she even had them.
"In the White Realm, he who commands that place gave to humanity a gift when your kind first emerged upon the plains of the mother-continent. He gave you _language_, such that you might spread your ideas and ideals amongst your own kind and come to consensus." Her palm appeared now to be glowing faintly in the empty not-light of the void, and I found my gaze irrevocably drawn towards it. I couldn't help but see it, and I couldn't help but want to.
"From the Black Realm, I too gave humanity a gift, to spread my ideals and to better your kind." A soft sound was emerging from the space above her palm, one that gave the impression that it was not a small sound... but was in fact a truly _deafening_ sound, heard from very far away. Lucy's black lips spat a syllable that should by all rights have been utterly incomprehensible, that nevertheless failed to be completely and totally understood inside the ears of my mind.
**I gave you Fire**, spoke the sound, as the void above her hand ripped open like a paper bag and pure Fire appeared in its place. This was not the fires I had struck with matches at home, not the tame thing that dwelt within the heating element of my old home boiler. This was Fire, the purest _essence_ of flame, and as it licked into the air it felt, it looked, it sounded... joyful.
I looked back towards Lucy and I knew my eyes were shining with wild abandon, not just at the reality that the void could create things at will, but with the magnificence of what I had seen it create. She was grinning back at me slyly, and as she dropped her hand, it released the Fire upwards into the air, where it spread and thinned, disappearing without ever appearing to leave. I watched it travel, looking for all the world like an orange aurora, and moved my head down again to watch Lucy's eyes.
"That is what I am. He above is the essence of community. I below and the essence of self. He gave you language, that you might share and become more than you are; I gave you fire, that you might control the world around you and develop the technology to become more than animals." She leant forwards, and I realised she was taking a bow. I took a couple of seconds to find my voice, and when I did I realised it was almost hoarse.
"That's what this is then? This place we're sitting? This is... what my mind created?" She nodded, still grinning like a cat with thumbs but remaining silent. I stood easily, far more easily than anyone sitting in what was essentially just a bundle of pillows had any right to stand, and walked around the place. It was beautifully furnished and dimly light by a permeating nowhere-light, though without walls or ceiling, and as I walked slowly towards the edge where the void should start I found the floor was travelling with me, extending itself out into the infinite inky expanse. I felt my mind calling out, desperate to try using the properties of this realm, and I heard my companion rise out of her own seat. I watched her move with an impossible grace across the floor, as though she wasn't walking but merely allowing my mind to see her walk as she glided with ease through the fabric of this place. As I saw her move, I knew what I wanted to try first.
I reached out a hand, and she stood behind me wrapping her hand around my own, holding it in the correct position. Once again, I had that eerie feeling that despite all that I knew of the ruler of this place being wrong... my mind was still convinced that it shouldn't enjoy the sensation of her warmth pressed into my own. Her long arms reached easily around mine, and her foot gently nudged my own into a better stance.
"Whenever you're ready" she said, grinning wider still. Sure as I was that she could read the thoughts in my mind, it was good to see she approved of my choice for humanity's first usage of the Black Realm's power. I took a deep breath, and found the place in my mind this realm had put there, where the words of power lived. I wrapped my thoughts around a sentence, and delivered the string of syllables to my lips.
**Let there be Lightning**
And my gods was there ever Lightning.
|
"I've been waiting for so long!"- The devil said excitedly, jumping around and exhaling noxious fumes. He seemed ghastly and yet, he had an air of friendliness to him.
The moment I saw him walking towards me was when I realized my silly little joke had gone a little too far. He walked rather vigorously and with every step Hell seemed to shout as the echoes of a hundred little bones being crushed under his hooves bounced off the impossibly high ceiling.
After a while he finally reached me and stretched his bright red hand with jet black nails so long that they might as well have been claws. "How do you do? Please to meet you! My name is Satan but you can call me Stan."- I looked him in the eyes where I seemingly got lost in a dark and empty void only to be snapped back into reality as my hand instinctively went shake his, the skin felt like touching a very lukewarm stove, not enough to hurt but just right to make you feel uncomfortable.
"Hi, uhh I guess I am now in this....place."- I looked at him rather confused as it wasn't the hell I expected or the one I would've hoped for.
"Indeed you are, which begs the question. Why? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great to have you here but your choice is unusual to say the least."- The devil looked at me with a childish grin in his face as if he expected me to say that the only reason I was here for was him and him alone.
"Well Satan-" he quickly interrupted me mid sentence. "Stan, just call me Stan."- "Right...Stan. Well, I just chose Hell because I figured it would be an absolute party central."- I could never tell him that it was just because of a joke, he seemed like a nice enough guy, if we are not taking into account the Afterlife Reform Act Battle where he attempted to stop people from leaving Hell (much to no avail if I might add) by invading Heaven. Instead I went with a lame excuse with a sentence that included 'party central'...nice.
"Well, you came to just the right place."- He said as he guided me through a series of empty corridors that seemed impossibly long until we reached a room with a table and some food. "Cause we have everything we need for a total rave."
"Chips, dip and chairs not stained with blood!"- He clearly hadn't thrown a party in millennia, he forgot the guacamole. But I decided that maybe I might as well enjoy myself and ultimately partied with him, just the two of us and some chairs.
So good was the dip that the fallen angels that once dwelled in Hell and had left to the lower levels of Heaven had returned home once more. The look on Stan's face was priceless.
You might think of me as a foolish man that jokingly chose Hell but, since God proved that destiny is totally a thing that can be changed and forged, let me tell you that Stan and I have enjoyed inhuman quantities of dip.
| 2017-11-04T09:51:52 | 2017-11-04T07:17:22 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You're a lawyer, who died of a heart attack while in court. Turns out legal battles also get you into Valhalla.
|
It was the last case of my career. I knew it then, but I didn't know yet just how immediately final it was going to be.
It was a tough case. Teenage kid, sweet-as-sin mother. The mother had a doctor or test or to justify dozens of medical procedures on this girl from the time she was five to fourteen. And all of it was true, to an extent. The girl did have brittle bones and blood disorders and this constant, inexplicable damage in her stomach that brought her screaming into the ER hundreds of times.
She was being treated like a case study because she was the president's daughter.
But I knew the truth. It wasn't a rare disease.
I knew it because she told me. Urgently, when she first called my office and begged for help, a guardian ad litem, something.
"*I'm not sick,*" she said. "*It's my mother. She's poisoning me.*"
You can always tell in someone's voice, when they're lying. And that girl sounded as honest and terrified as a newborn. I wanted to scoop her up, count her as one of the grandkids, and take her away from all of this.
This trial was the closest I could get.
It was all over headlines, instantly: POTUS's DAUGHTER CLAIMS FIRST LADY IS POISONING HER
The president's wife played innocent, of course. She was the one calmly and patiently reassuring journalists that a side effect of her poor daughters medicine was psychotic delusions.
"She doesn't even know I'm the one helping her," her mother said, "the poor dear."
The first day of the trial, the president's wife welcomed me warmly and pulled me into a cold, brittle embrace, like hugging a dead butterfly. She told me, "I'm so grateful you're indulging Grace's little tantrum. She simply wouldn't be able to accept her condition without this."
But then she leaned closer. Her fingers dug into my shoulder as she murmured low in my ear. "I hope you come to the right conclusion for the well-being of us all."
I stared at the secret service agents flanking her and wondered if I would be the first civilian they quietly killed.
"I hope so too, Madam First Lady," I said.
I knew even then that it was dangerous. I was looking at the most powerful man in the world and telling him there was horrible abuse occurring in the greatest building in this land.
And we both knew I was right.
The trial was a news storm, of course. There were a bizarre couple of weeks where I had my own goddamn paparazzi snapping pictures of me getting lunch at the restaurant across from the courthouse.
But I've been doing this work for 46 years, and I'm not liable to lose my composure because of a few reporters and flashing lights.
Thanks to the high-profile witnesses and accused, the court was closed to everyone except those of us necessary to put this whole show on the road. No audience. No cameras. The outside world caught snatches of rumors through anonymous jury members, the courtroom painter, and nothing more.
On the last day of trial, I woke with the strange and hazy feeling of a man facing the last day of a very long road, with no idea which direction to take next. I was always a workaholic. Never good at hobbies.
As I dressed in my hotel room, an envelope appeared under my door. The deliverer was gone when I put my head out. But when I opened it, I found a picture of my hotel window, apparently taken through a rifle scope. It was me from only ten minutes ago, buttoning up my shirt.
The threat was clear enough.
But I had looked that girl in the eye and sworn I'd do everything I could for her. No matter what.
"I make things right again, as well as I can," I told her. "That's my job."
When she gave me that hopeful little smile, she looked so much like my granddaughter, my heart was split between rage and despair.
So I walked into that courtroom with my head held high. I gave the best damn final testimony of my career.
The jury didn't need more than an hour to deliberate.
I remember sitting in the courtroom, watching the jury coming out. I remember holding that little girls hand so tightly and smoothing my thumb over hers, over and over, because there was no parent but me to tell her that it was all going to be okay.
A jury member stood up to read the verdict.
And the world went a little... Soft, for me. I remember the girl saying, "Mr. York? Are you okay?" but she sounded so dreamy and distant and my entire left side was freezing and seizing up and I felt my head hit the table.
I watched the rest of it from outside my body. I felt horrible. Another trauma among traumas for that girl as she stood back, weeping, so thin she's mostly bone, and all I wanted to do was protect her.
A woman appeared beside me then. She wore golden armor, which seemed strange, but no more strange than suddenly finding myself standing outside my body.
"You fought valiantly," she told me.
I watched my limp body and my law partner held the girl as she staggered back in shock for the EMTs to rush in.
"Seems like a silly way to die," I say. The word lodged in my throat, but I didn't show it.
"We all die how we must." She gestured over her shoulder and a pair of wings unfurled from her back. "Shall we go?"
"Are you an angel?"
"Oh, I'm much better than that." She winked and said, "I'm a Valkyrie."
I remembered the old illustrated Norse mythology book from my childhood and just shook my head. "The old stories are real then, eh? I thought Valhalla was for warriors."
"It is. Warriors who go into battle knowing they may die and lose, and yet go anyway."
I looked at the girl and at the jury, then at my own empty face.
I whispered, "I don't feel like a warrior."
"To her you do."
The girl was just huddled there, hugging herself. She had stood so tall when we walked into this courtroom, like she too had armored herself for battle.
"Do you know?" I said. "Did I win?"
"Go look for yourself."
And I, ghostlike, walked to the jury stand. I leaned over the shoulder of the woman who was holding the official documentation.
Guilty, guilty, guilty.
The ceiling glowed golden over us.
"Are you ready?" the Valkyrie asked.
I tipped back my head. The corners of my eyes were hot and I knew should have been sad to die, but I wasn't. I was 72 years old. I'd lived to do exactly what I needed to do.
Have my career. Raise my family. Live to meet this girl who so badly needed someone on her side. Fight one final war.
I nodded and smiled and said, "Let's see if it lives up to the books, eh?"
The Valkyrie lifted me up, into the unknown.
°°°
Thank you for reading :D
|
"You fought valiantly. Many battles you have to your name. Many won, some lost, and yet, you continue the fight." These words were coming from a man much larger than him... well, *seemed* larger. "You learned from your mistakes and enter each with new resolve and cunning." The eye covering and crows were equally intimidating. "And finally, when your strength gave out, you were doing what you loved best: fighting!" Gary Norwick was standing in front of and being judged by Odin, the All-Father. A trial lawyer had just gained entry into Valhalla.
It took every ounce of courage to finally squeak, "I don't understand."
A man... well, probably another god stepped to him and said, "Perhaps I can explain it a bit more calmly. You, Gary Norwick, son of Roger, are currently in Valhalla. You died in your last case... let me see." He pulled a folder out of nowhere and opened it. "Ah yes, *Davidson v Smith*, where your client, Mr. Davidson, was suing Mr. Smith for damage to his lawn and fence."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait, died? I... My heart. I remember the pain. The sweats. I... But then how did I end in Valhalla? I mean, it may be a legal battle but--"
Odin stood and interrupted him. "But it is a battle nonetheless! Stakes are high. I've watched many of them in these last hundred years. They shape the lives of people and countries more than any war ever has! And you do not simply fight raw, you think. You gain counsel. You seek wisdom to make your side victorious! If any god here can appreciate that, it is certainly me. Loki here also seemed quite intrigued, though I'm sure for his own reasons."
The other god nodded and said, "Indeed. And I told Odin that these warriors of paper and mind deserved a place here as well. However, the catch was, they needed to die in battle, which rarely happens."
Gary looked at him with a shock. "Wait, you mean I've been given entry to Valhalla... because of a technicality?"
Loki smiled. "Indeed! I believe you get it now."
Gary smiled in a way that made Loki uncomfortable. "Oh, I'm gonna like it here."
| 2021-04-28T17:15:43 | 2021-04-28T15:06:49 | 3,366 | 490 |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun.
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Brian Lyons carried his shotgun with the cockiness of an especially proud cock.
His right hand cradled the butt, and the rest of the scuffed, sooty gun slopped casually on his shoulder. He leaned back into his chair at the head of the round table, one leg plopped right on top of it.
“Verily,” the Knight of Sword, Esteel, spared a fearful glance at Brian, then shook her head. Her sword, Sunmaker, was an intricate weapon with red gemstones running along the straight scabbard, shone with an otherworldy golden gleam. Her equally golden hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, almost lighting up her plain grey training leathers merely by proxy. It was surprisingly casual for a knight who was generally decked out in full armour.
Such was the gravity of the situation. She placed a palm on the table, the other kneading her forehead.
“This might be the greatest threat to our kingdom.”
“Esteel,” a gruff voice spoke. It was attached to the Knight of Spear, Grangor. Even on this sweltering summer day, he was dressed entirely in furs, patchworked from all sorts of different animals. There was the tiger on one shoulder, a lion’s mane wrapping around his neck, and snakeskin running down his arms in gauntlets. It explained the wide berth most of the other knights gave him at the table. The spear, Roots, was a simple thing made entirely out of wood—even the spearhead. And yet, the very tip of it extended to so sharp a point that it would not be entirely incorrect to call it the point of infinity.
“It is of utmost importance that we swiftly cull this threat,” Grangor grunted. “I trust your expertise in leadership at this very moment, Knight of the Sword. Do what you have to do.”
Brian yawned, and pet the shotgun affectionately. He lifted his cloth tunic—drawing looks of disdain—and scratched his stomach as well.
“We must not act in haste,” the Knight of Shield said. Plish was a tall, thin, and young man, who looked entirely incapable of holding up the great tower shield strapped to his back. It was a monstrous thing made of black steel, a visage carved into its front that no one had quite figured out who—or what—it represented.
“Proper discussion is what drives our kingdom’s finest scholars,” Polish argued. “The same standard should be applied to its Knights. We are not savages.”
“Plish,” the Knight of the Bow began to speak—
“Holy fucking shit, you guys,” Brian slammed the shotgun down on the table, eliciting a small jump from everybody in the room. “Bloody hell, you people just yap and yap away. Esteel!”
The Knight of the Sword, yelped, and meekly replied: “Yes?”
“What the fuck is invading us?”
“We are not sure,” Esteel said. “We only know that is dangerous. Hence, we are taking caution with this preparatory meeting—”
“Goddamn,” Brian said. He stood up, and cocked his shotgun loudly. “Knight of Magic. Brand. Brund? Brond.”
“It’s Peter,” the Knight of Magic said. He hunched over the table, making his already small size even more disproportionate. His robes were a swirl of colours that ignored the real world, streaks of different hues swimming about aimlessly.
“I could’ve sworn it was Brond,” Brian said. “Anyway. Send me to the border. Wherever the thing is invading.”
Protests began to shoot up from the table, before Brian once again, and very deliberately, cocked his shotgun. The mechanical sound silenced all dissent.
He made the cocking sound again, a satisfied smirk on his face. It sounded better in a sea of silence.
“Adam,” he said, pointing to the Knight of Magic, who sighed.
“Sure,” Peter said, clasping his hands together, muttering under his breath. The colours began to seep into the surrounding air, like lazy swirls of smoke, before they suddenly coagulated. They shot towards Brian, wrapping him up in a vibrant cocoon—and then he was gone.
Brian closed his eyes, feeling the magic prickling his senses. Every bit of movement stopped, and Brian rapidly shuttered his eyes, knowing that was the way to quell any oncoming queasiness. The colour slipped off him like a dress, fading into the ground.
The Knight of Shotgun heard a loud roar. He opened his eyes to see a figure clad entirely in black armour. A distinctive helmet with two horns adorned the humanoid’s head, and red eyes glowed within.
“A Knight?” the armoured individual chuckled. “To think the Kingdom was so quickly desperate. Are you here to negotiate your surrender? If not—”
Brian fired, and a sound that resembled a crack of thunder rang out. Before the enemy could even react, Brian shot again.
Again.
And one more time, for good measure.
Smoke filled the air, before slowly dissipating to reveal his opponent standing there, missing most of their torso. Blood dripped from the freshly-made hole, and the black knight used one lethargic hand to feel the empty space.
“Duel,” the knight said, before the upper half of his body collapse backwards. The legs soon followed, splitting apart in two.
“Hasta la vista, baby,” the Knight of Shotgun said.
Brian pet his shotgun, nodding in satisfaction. He began whistling, horribly off-tune, and began the long trek back towards the palace.
---
r/dexdrafts
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The warrior got back on his feet, having been knocked off by the knight’s mystical weapon. His ears were ringing, amplified under the helmet. He tore it off his head, and brandished his blade. The knight watched him without so much as a hint of care. The warrior ran towards him, his sword raised above his head, letting out a guttural roar. A loud bang, similar to a crack of lightning, filled the air for a second, and was quickly replaced by the collective gasp of the crowd.
“Rest in pieces.” The knight said in a curt tone, and walked away.
| 2022-10-16T10:22:22 | 2022-10-16T08:58:34 | 941 | 82 |
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day.
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_What a day._ Christy thought as she stepped into her hotel room and slipped off her sneakers, _I must’ve signed a hundred CDs!_ She walked over to the couch and flopped down. She grabbed a wrist brace off of the end table and put it on her right hand.
“That’s better.” she said before laying her head back against the throw pillow. It was comfortable enough, but she could still feel the hard arm of the couch pressing through the pillow, and the ridges of the cushion dug into her back. Despite this, she couldn’t quite bring herself to get up and walk over to her bed. She just didn’t have the energy.
_Still,_ she thought as her eyelids slowly closed, _I really would rather be there instead._ As the thought crossed her mind, she suddenly felt the pressure on her back fade, the arm of the couch seemed to disappear, and the pillow seemed to become plushier. The entire couch felt much softer as well, almost as if she were actually lying on the bed.
“Mmm, so comfy.” Christy mumbled as she drifted off to sleep. But before she truly fell asleep, she suddenly got the feeling that she was falling, and her entire body jerked itself awake. Her eyes snapped open and she sprung upright. She let out a deep breath upon realizing that everything was fine. She was still in her hotel room, still wearing her wrist brace, still lying on the bed.
_Wait... the bed?_ she thought, _Wasn’t I just lying on the couch?_ Christy got out of the bed and walked over to the couch. Sure enough, there was still an imprint of her body on the cushions from when she was lying on it just moments earlier.
“How did I...” Christy looked back and forth between the couch and the bed, “Did I... no there’s no way I could’ve just _teleported_ into bed... could I?” Christy couldn’t believe it, but there was no other explanation she could think of.
“Okay, I guess there’s only one way to be sure.” she said, and then closed her eyes, “I... I haven’t taken a shower this evening. I should go into the bathroom and get ready to do that. Into the bathroom, into the bathroom, into the bathroom...” Christy opened her eyes and found herself looking straight into the bathroom mirror.
“Yep.” she deadpanned, “This is really happening.” Christy ran her hands through her lavender ombre hair, “This is just... way too weird.” Christy pulled her hands out of her hair and took a deep breath. She closed the bathroom door and then took a long shower.
&nbsp;
Shortly after the shower turned off, Christy materialized in a bathrobe on her bed and began thinking. She knew that a lot of people had special powers. In fact, her parents both had powers of their own: her mother could create and manipulate water with her mind, and her father could talk to plants. And when she asked them when they got their powers, they told her it was the day they first met. Her mother was working in her front yard vegetable garden, but the plants weren’t growing well. Her father happened to be walking by, and the moment he saw her, he heard the plants complaining about how gross the municipal water was. He told her what he was hearing and offered his bottle of clean spring water to her. She found it strange but accepted, and the plants seemed to instantly grow back to full strength. She was very grateful but didn’t know how to repay him. As she was thinking, however, she noticed that his water bottle was refilling itself. Everyone else she asked said something similar: that they first developed their powers when they met their soulmate.
_Does that mean that I met my soulmate today?_ Christy thought, _No, that can’t be right! I spent all day at the... meet and greet._
“Holy shit!” Christy said, “My soulmate was a guest at the meet and greet today! One of the... hundred guests at the... meet and greet. God, how am I supposed to find them now? Even if I knew who everyone at the event was, it’s not like I could just hunt them down one by one until I found the guy I’m looking for. That would take too long, all the running around...” Christy paused, “That’s it! I don’t need to run around anymore! I can just teleport to wherever I need to go!” Christy disappeared from her bed and reappeared in the chair at her computer desk. She opened up her laptop and typed up an e-mail to her agent, requesting a list of all the people attending the meet and greet that day. Once the e-mail was sent, she teleported back to her bed and went straight to sleep.
&nbsp;
Christy stood in front of the hotel room door, looking down at the list in her hands. It took a lot of haggling with the hotel company and event organizers, but she eventually was able to get her hands on a list of everyone who was at the CD signing the day before, along with all their hotel room numbers. Christy hesitated for a moment before quickly rapping on the hotel room door. A tall, dark-haired man wearing a t-shirt with the cover of her album on it opened the door.
“Hello,” Christy said, “Alan, right?”
“Christy Kramer?” he asked, “Uh, yeah. What are you doing here?”
“Well, you see...” Christy stammered, “I was just wondering, after the CD signing yesterday... did you notice anything... strange?”
“Like... with the CD?”
_Not it._ Christy thought, _If he had developed powers after meeting me, his first thought about ‘something strange’ wouldn’t be with the CD._
“Uh, yeah. The manufacturer was concerned there may have been some misprints in yesterday’s batch. They didn’t want to make a big deal out of it until they were sure, but they asked me to check around just to be safe.”
“Well, I’ve already listened to the CD several times, and I haven’t noticed anything off about it.”
“Oh, good. I hope you enjoyed it.” she said, “Nice to meet you again, but I need to go.”
“O...okay then. Thanks for checking.” Alan said before closing the door. Christy sighed, looked back at the list, then teleported away.
&nbsp;
Christy teleported from room to room, continuing down the list, but had little luck. Everyone she spoke to either didn’t have powers or already had powers before they met her: in some cases, their soulmate was even there with them. She used several different excuses, knowing that it would probably raise some red flags with the record company if everyone was told the CD misprint story. She was starting to lose patience very quickly, but she pressed on.
_Okay, next on the list is Carmine Halloran, Room 240._ Christy thought before teleporting again. Sure enough, she stood in front of a door numbered 240 and knocked on the door. A boy about her height with red hair and a “Set it Off” hoodie opened the door, and stumbled back in shock upon seeing her.
“Hello,” she said, “Carmine, right?”
“Uh... yeah.” he said, “You’re... Christy Kramer.”
“Yeah, I believe we met yesterday at the CD signing.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, we did.” Carmine said, “Sorry, I’m just... really nervous.”
“It’s okay. Listen, last night I realized I might have spelled your name wrong when I signed your CD, mind if I have a look just to be safe?” Christy tried her best not to cringe as she spoke.
_You idiot!_ she thought, _You were supposed to ask the big question first, then give an excuse if they get confused!_
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Carmine said, “One second.” Carmine held out his hand and the CD floated towards him. He grabbed it out of the air and handed it to Christy.
“That was really cool.” Christy said as she opened the jewel case, “How long have you been able to do that?”
“Since last night.” he said, and Christy stopped in her tracks.
“Is... is there a problem?” Carmine asked.
“Oh! No, it’s just... something weird happened to me too, last night.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I actually got a new power, too.” Christy said, causing Carmine to look at her with visible confusion.
“Here, let me show you.” she said, and then she disappeared from in front of Carmine. Carmine looked around frantically for her, only to see her sitting on the couch in his room.
“Did you just... into my room?!” Carmine said.
“Sorry,” Christy said, “I probably should’ve asked if I could come in first.”
“No, it’s alright. But, developing powers... don’t people only do that when they... meet...” Christy didn’t respond to Carmine with words. Instead, she teleported in front of him and kissed him. Carmine waved his hand and the door closed behind him, then he kissed her back.
&nbsp;
Sorry about any formatting issues, I wrote this in a word processor and tried to import it as best I could. Hope you enjoyed it!
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Four AM. Another early shoot. Bleary-eyed in the shower, I knew it was worth it. I had everything I could have ever dreamed of.
But where was the damn soap?! Helpfully, it levitated toward me and plopped gently in my hand. I must remind the doc to cut back on my Ambien script.
As I quickly dried off; grabbed a protein shake from my personal chef, Annie; and headed out the door, I realized I’d forgotten where my McLaren keys were. Some celebs like limos. Me, I like speed. As I started to search, the keys levitated toward me ensconced in a pale yellow glow.
Ok, this is getting a little odd, I thought, speeding down the highway to the studio’s private entrance.
As I pulled in, my assistant, Jackie, ran up to me. Latte in one hand. Today’s amended scripts in the other.
Eyes rolling slightly, I sighed. Felicio del Gato is the best director in the world, but he doesn’t always make life easier with all these changes.
After whizzing through hair and makeup, I was on set. Fifteen minutes late. A personal best!
‘Felicio, there seem to be a lot of changes in today’s script. Has my motivation changed at all?’
‘I’m sorry. Didn’t hear you, Blake?’ Felicio murmured.
‘Come over and we can discuss.’ I said startled by the glowing yellow light that surrounded Felicio and guided him effortlessly through the air to my side.
‘Blake, what the hell just happened?’ Felicio gasped. ‘Did you finally get your powers or something?’
‘Really good question!’ I laughed. My delayed power onset had become a major joke and even its own meme. ‘All I did was a meet and greet, visit a few shops on Rodeo, and ate dinner at Catch.’
‘So a quiet one?’ Felicio’s eyes twinkled. ‘Amidst all those people, you somehow met your soulmate. Any idea who?’
‘Nope, not a clue. Any ideas how to find the guy or gal love of my life?’ I grimaced. Leave it to me to make even this into a grand drama. No wonder the paparazzi love me.
‘Depends. Are you up for anything? Because I may have the world’s craziest solution.’ Felicio paused. ‘It could also make us both infinitely more rich and famous.’
‘Interesting. What did you have in mind, Felicio?’
‘So we incorporate this into the movie. This whole thing is a twisted love story anyway. Why not add a few more turns? Make it half documentary. Add some multimedia campaign elements. Our budget is open-ended, so we can afford it. Basics are:
1. Ads on TV, radio, social media, you name it. A giant casting call for anyone who can prove they were in your vicinity that night. We’ll show your path for that day only through GPS locations.
2. People who could have come into contact with you will then be invited en masse to a special casting call meet and greet.
3. We’ll film and livestream the whole thing. Interviews with various interesting looking folks, asking what they want to get out of the day. Spin it for the heart strings stuff. Reaction cameos with you, between waves of meet and greets. Depending on the number of people, we may need two days. We can figure that out.
4. Bill the whole thing as Blake finds her true love.
5. When we find him or her, we can then invite them to be in the movie. Bring in that whole cinema verite element. Definitely Oscar bait.
What do you think, Blake?’ Felicio paused breathlessly, his mind whirring.
‘Sounds amazing! But what if he or she can’t act?’ I grinned excitedly.
‘Come on everyone in LA’s an actor. Worst case, we get them coaching or more of a cameo role. Either way is a win for you and the film.’ Felicio smiled.
‘Let’s do it.’ I replied. ‘As Stanislavski said, ‘There are no small parts, only small actors.‘’ True love, superpowers, an innovative multimedia film concept, probable ensuing critical acclaim, and the chance to outgross Feige and Cameron with a truly original film? Not a bad way to start a Monday.
Edits: typos fixed, I hope. Ugh. :(
| 2020-07-29T09:58:27 | 2020-07-29T09:31:55 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] People believe the Gods decide all of our fates, but they've actually been rolling d20s to make decisions for millions of years
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"Crucifixion?!" Yahweh roared.
The Fate Master shrugged his shoulders. Yahweh knew what he had gotten his Cleric into.
Yahweh grumbled and eyed the orb-like dice sitting at his right hand, "why have you forsaken me?"
The Fate Master glanced to his left and rolled his eyes in time with Zeus. Zeus certainly didn't care as much as Yahweh. In fact, Zeus never cared. He didn't put much stock into his characters and the Fate Master felt as if Zeus only played so he could indulge some sick fantasies at the game table. As a Rogue/Druid, Zeus first made himself a Bull (carrying an NPC off to Crete), and then a Swan (seducing an NPC with an *extremely* high charisma roll), and finally a grossly low-charisma Satyr (he tried not to remember that one).
At least now the Fate Master was happy with Zeus' current character. Heracles was an immaculately handsome fighter with a strength score that made most of the Big Bad Evil Guys seem like a sparring match with a silk cloth. It broke the game but it was worth it to see Zeus finally play a character that made him happy. In the same way, the Fate Master knew how close Yahweh had grown to Yeshua. He affectionately called the scrawny, dark-skinned Cleric "my son," on a number of occasions.
Fate was Fate though. You spend three years poking at the local religious majority? Expect a few priests to spit at your name. Try to Meta-Game and convince the local provincial governor that you're *actually* the deity you represent? And that was *AFTER* King Herod passed the save to see through your Minor Illusion spell?
"Rules are rules, Elo, you know what you have to do. A roll of 10-20 is a Save, a roll of 1-9 is a fail... first to three decides if He lives or dies.”
"FINE," boomed Yahweh as he stubbornly cast his d20 across the table. It scattered onto the slate and fell to an obvious 9. "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
"I'm really sick of you suggesting I don't know what I'm doing, literally no one else wanted to FM," exclaimed the FM.
"SQUAWRK" chipped in Ra. The hawk-faced Egyptian God tilted his right eye towards the FM, and then to Yahweh. Realizing that he was asking to rush a very dire situation, Ra rolled his head back into his neck and busied himself, preening and pulling at his molting feathers.
"I THIRST," Yahweh groaned, "this is getting really serious-- does anyone else need a drink?" He pushed his throne back from the table and made his way to the mini-fridge.
From across the room Yahweh could be heard fumbling about in the fridge. He slammed the refrigerator closed, causing glass bottles and cans on the door to shake and clang violently. "Dionysus, Rah, Fate Master, are we going out tonight or what? There is this new bar and a group of Hera's friends are in town. If you decide to come out, truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise."
Shiva slammed four fists against the table "Can you PLEASE finish your rolls? We've spent a mill-en-ni-um waiting on you."
"Fine." Yahweh scattered a golden d20 across the table, thunder boomed on earth below. It crashed into Allah's black and white dice and flipped from a 18 to a 3. "WOMAN. BEHOLD YOUR SON. SON BEHOLD YOUR MOTHER."
Allah reeled back, "excuse me? That is somehow my fault? And can you stop bringing Mom into this."
**"Do you need something?"** screeched a gravely voice from upstairs.
"NO, GAIA!" all the deities screamed in unison.
"Christ almighty," said Yahweh "does she ever take a break?"
Allah ignored his disrespect.
Yahweh glared at Allah, "lets see how your son of Ishmael does in the next 500 years. Lets see how *you* do."
Yahweh rolled his final death saving throw and it fell exhausted onto a glaring 2.
The Fate Master braced for the anger that was so characteristic of the God of the Old Testament.
"Well, that's that, isn't it?" Yahweh mused, turning his empty beer bottle upside down, "it is finished."
There was silence at the table. Yahweh intentionally let his first PC wander around in the desert for 40 years because he didn't want to admit that he didn't have survival as a proficiency. Yahweh had let his first Fighter fall in love with an *obvious* succubus, and tore down a temple because the NPC cut his hair. And the Paladin after him was more dirt-bag than hero, intentionally bringing his best friend's husband to the front lines of a combat session so he could bang his hot NPC wife.
This time, though, the apathy was palpable in the room. "What does it matter," purred Yahweh, "remember that Resurrection spell I put on that rune on the way out of that last dungeon we did?"
The entire table groaned. The Fate Master felt the bottom of his stomach flip.
Yahweh winked, "into your hands, I commend my spirit."
——
Edit: thank you for my first gold!
A lot of Yahweh’s dialogue is a repurposing of Christ’s sayings from the crucifixion scenes in the gospel. I love D&D and I’ve studied world religions extensively so I couldn’t pass up this for my first writing prompt. I hope you all like it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Hands shaking. Sweaty forehead. At this exact moment in time, he knows that all of his hard work, all of his investments, are up in the air. There has never been a more at stake.
For a brief moment, he questions his methods. Surely he shouldn't leave such an important decision, with human possible human extinction, to chance.
"I will never intervene again." He hangs his head distraught, those words have never haunted him to such a severity. He reaches for the die, but pauses.
"If I can't keep my promises, how could I fairly cast judgment on others? If I can't remain righteous, how can I expect that of the mortals?"
He grabs yet a second die.
"I'll let the die decide: 10 or lower I leave it to fate, higher and I decide."
A single tear emerges as he prepares the second die that absolutely must be rolled now; feels like it has infinite weight.
He breaths in deeply, closes his eyes, and throws the die with a purpose that hasn't been seen in a millennia.
"That's it then, may...I...have mercy on their souls."
Tears follow. Mistakes were made, regrets were had.
----------------------------
"And the results are in! Donald Trump is the 45th President of the United States!"
r/Promptfeces
| 2018-06-28T15:30:01 | 2018-06-28T11:27:51 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] "There's a reason it's been quarantined. Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody human, at least. Trust me, friend. You'll regret asking me to teach you how to get to Sesame Street."
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"It ain't what it used to be kid, you really don't want those directions. How about I tell you how to reach The Neighborhood instead? It's still nice there, still the kind of place someone can lose themselves and not worry for a while."
I looked at the grizzled old bartender and shook my head. "Nope, it's gotta be Sesame Street. I need to find it."
He sighed and poured two glasses of whiskey, yet as I was reaching for one he picked them both up and downed them one after the other. "Alright kid, you want to get there, fine I'll tell you, I won't see you again and your face will have to be drowned out with all the others but fine, I'll tell you."
The directions he gave had seemed like utter nonsense. Any street is Sesame Street when you look for it with a cheerful song in your heart and a genuine smile on your face. Though maybe that's why it was so hard to find now, looking for something that had been banished from the world with a genuine smile was hard enough, but to hold a song in your heart as well and walk down a street that way. I think most would find it impossible, hell I wasn't even sure I could do it. Still everything I knew, every lead I had, said that bartender was legit, that he could tell you how to get to sesame street.
As I walked I thought of happier days, I filled my mind with every good memory I had, every happy holiday with family, every nice and pleasant time in my life. I honed in on some of my favorite songs from then too. I let all this wash over me until I didn't even see the houses next to me, the lawns became simple green blurs, and my feet moved of their own accord. I turned a corner simply following the impulses of such a euphoric state. I continued on for a little while but then I noticed it. This wasn't the suburb I had just been walking down. No this place was dark and forboding. I looked back at the corner and the street sign hanging there by a single screw said "Sesame Street." So I'd made it here. Good, now all I had to do was find her and we could leave.
I looked at all the buildings, many of them far taller then I was used to. I wasn't a city kid, No I was a country boy both at heart and by experience. Still this is where she had gone and that meant it was where I needed to be. A lot of broken windows in these skyrise buildings. They said no one human lived here, with the way the place looked I wasn't sure anyone lived here. Which of course begged the question what was here that was worth the chase?
A metal clang and a rattling noise from an alley made me leap back and reach into my coat for my pistol, only the holster wasn't just empty it was gone. That wasn't good. A trashcan rolled out of the alley, it's lid seemed to have green mold growing on opposite sides of two edges. As it stopped though I saw it wasn't mold, it was two green hands, stubby fingers covered in something that reminded me a lot of algae in an untended fish tank. Then the hands started pushing the lid up and I honestly really wished I still had my gun. Or frankly any weapon. Sure I could handle myself in a brawl with a fair number of other humans, but whatever was in there definitely didn't qualify.
The head that popped out was covered in that same fur only around it's eyes it seemed to be darker and had flecks of what I think may have been black mold growing in it. The creature, it's head tilted back, holding that lid just above it's head resting an edge on the sidewalk opened a mouth of the purest darkness, I saw no teeth, no fur, no nothing inside that void. In a voice that made me think of a crotchety man yelling for children to be off his lawn it spoke. "Another idiot wandered here. So what stupid thing got you fired up enough to be here? Did your Twoo Love propose?" his tone filled with mockery. "Oh I know, maybe you spawned another one of your kind." there was a pause and then a long hmmm before "No, No, No, you just lost your virginity didn't you?!" The cackling was awful and I considered just kicking that lid as hard as I could, but as I was sliding my foot back the laughter stopped and he looked up at me.
"Your face, that expression, you didn't come here on accident did you?" This sudden shift was jarring and all I could think to do was answer him.
"No, I'm looking for someone who came here before me."
"Well kid, I can't say much for your intelligence but you've definitely got guts if you went and got directions and walked your happy ass in here. I ain't seen another human in a good while though. Still if they came here, then they're probably still here, in one state or another anyways."
I kneeled down next to him then, the stench of decay was far beyond normal trash and I reeled back. He chuckled as I did. I shifted a bit aways. "So you think she is still here then?"
The lid was raised above him, scraping on the sidewalk before lowering back to the top of his head a moment later. "If she came here then yeah, probably, if she's alive she's here, if she's dead well she's also here. After all I bet you asked someone how to get to Sesame Street to get here right?"
I nodded and looked at him confused what that had to do with anything. He then widened his eyes and for the first time I got a good look at them, they were a polished white with faded gray circles in them. There was something off about them but I couldn't place what. "Well, I think like anyone else you forgot to ask them something Very Important." Before I could respond he slammed the lid back down and the trash can rolled back into that alley. As it did I heard a low guttural laugh echoing in the darkness. Though I wanted to give chase that laugh kept me out. Laughter is supposed to be warm and inviting, reminding one of a welcoming fire place. This reminded me of the coldest winter storm I'd ever sat through.
--You'll find other writing by me at https://www.reddit.com/r/BipWriter/ --
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I walked down the street in awe. It was shrouded in dim gloom as the entire place was located in a production warehouse with broken windows and shattered roof panels that had been long abandoned. I had to break in through a door that had a small gap, allowing me to pry it open. Broken glass crunched under my feet. Yellowing Newspaper shreds filled with late 90s gloom fluttered around my ankles and soared up into small eddies before gliding gently down and becoming sodden in pools of fetid slime. Grass tried to push its way through cracks in the concrete.
Something brushed against my ankle. I started. It was the stinking decayed remains of either Bert or Ernie. I accidentally stepped on the abdomen and a sickening squelch echoed down the street. Cockroaches scuttled out from the ribcage and eeked i to the shadows. Accidentally I clattered against a rusted dustbin. It fell to the ground and out rolled the stinking remains of the cookie monster. I screamed involuntarily, trying too late to stifle the noise. Then I heard someone clear their throat. They were right behind me. I froze, hackles raised and turned slowly.
What I saw chilled me to the core. It was Jim Henson's torso minus legs, hovering 2 metres above the ground. He was surrounded by an eerie green glow. His skeletonized face had on it an involuntary grin. Something shone deep in his eye sockets. "You came for me", he wheezed in a deathly voice. "I thought they had all forgotten". I tried to turn and run except my legs would not respond. He came closer and closer, wheezing and drooling. I began shaking uncontrollably. "Don't kiss me Mr Henson, please spare me!" I cried.
| 2022-07-20T15:09:49 | 2022-07-20T10:19:26 | 98 | 65 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.
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Well, it had been one of those exorcisms again.
On the whole, this whole business wasn't too bad for Reverend Clarkson. Sure, he'd get called in, have to do a couple of Hail Mary's, maybe get cursed out and spat on, but it was all doable. Plus, it was a nice supplement to the donations.
But McKenzie just had to be one of those girls, didn't she? In theory, he was proud. He'd always been a great lover of the arts and he did enjoy his daughter's flair for the dramatic... Again, in theory.
He entered his house and put his cross down on the bowl, his collar along with it. He considered showering but decided the mess would probably make for a better effect. He climbed up the stairs and walked to the end of the hall, knocking gently on the pink door, which had had the words "Keep Out!" clumsily spray-painted on it in black.
"Mac?" said Reverend Clarkson.
"Go away!" answered the voice from inside.
"I can't very well do that, can I? I think we need to talk about what happened today."
"I know what happened today, dad." Her voice had a twinge of annoyance, the kind Nergalth used to have, and Reverend Clarkson couldn't help but smile at how much like her mother Mac was. "We don't have to go over it again"
"I'm coming in, dear." He opened the door and walked into his daughter's room.
It'd been a while since he'd entered it, and while the changes were small, they were still noticeable. The walls were still pink and white, a lot of the same posters were still up, the bed was still the same. It was just little things. Generous dosages of black paint all over the dresser and the desk, a few upside crosses and the giant, dripping red pentagram drawn above her bed.
Mac was sitting on her bed, legs stretched out, her arms folded in front of her and her hoodie up, strands of black hair with red tips sticking out.
He fiddled with his glasses a bit as he looked at the pentagram.
"I hope that's not goat blood, young lady."
Mac scoffed. "Of course it isn't dad, it's paint! Where do you think I could even get a goat? Can't exactly go to the butcher and ask him for a live goat, can I?"
Her father looked at her sternly and she sighed.
"Can we talk about what happened today?" her father said, with that tone that only fathers can muster.
"There isn't anything to tell." Mac mumbled. "I wanted to try a new thing and I tried it..."
"Yes, you did, and it had results, didn't it?" he gestured to the giant stain on the front of his robes. "You try walking home with a giant vomit stain on your priestly robes. I got my fair share of funny looks, let me tell you, young lady."
"It's just I finally got the vomit trick to really work, I really, really did and I wanted to know if I could work it while doing the head spinning and I almost did and-" Mac had really picked up some steam, even gesticulating a bit, but she stopped and folded her arms in front of her again. "Whatever, it's dumb, I know, I'm sorry, I'll help pay for Mrs. Kanoodle's cleaning bill."
John Clarkson looked at his daughter. She was so much like her mother, he wanted to smile. He sighed.
"You mind if I sit down?"
Mac shrugged. "Long as you don't get vomit on the bed."
She scooted aside and he sat against the headboard, next to her.
"You remind me of your mother so much," he began.
Mac shrugged again. "You always say that."
"That's because it's always true. Especially with your more artistic side. Your mother was a real... devil with it!" John looked at her daughter with a big grin, beaming with pride, and she couldn't help but crack a tiny smile at it, before trying really, really hard to make it into a frown again.
"I still remember that trick she had where she could pull off her head and then make it into three heads and juggle them. It was very impressive."
"I wish she could've taught me that..." Mac said quietly.
"Ah." Her father answered, nodding slowly to himself. "So that's what it is."
"It's just... I feel a lot closer to her when I do the possessions... and she taught me a little bit about it before she..." the words were stuck on her throat. "So, I like playing with it and trying to see what I can make and how I can vary the routine. Like she used to tell me about."
John put his arm around her daughter. "Oh... I came here to scold you about making a mess, but I don't think I can. In your own way, you're just trying to feel closer to her." He looked Mac straight in the eyes and moved a strand of hair off her face, moving it back to place. "I'm sure she'd be very proud of how fast you're learning."
Mac felt the tears bubbling at her eyes and her dad wiped them away, each tear sizzling on his thumb.
"See, your tears have even started to burn. You're growing up to be a proper demon, young lady."
Mac smiled at her dad and rested her head on his shoulder, her expression melancholic. "I just miss her so much."
Her dad leaned his head against her. "You and me both, Mac. You and me both. I still remember when I met her... I was so nervous about my first exorcism, I ended up singing songs to keep me calm. I think she joined me at around Dead Kennedys. She was so wonderful... Did you know, she started possessing people around town, just so I'd show up? And whenever it was another priest, she'd leave the body, unprompted."
Mac giggled and then sighed. "Why did she have to die, dad?"
"It happens to the best of us, Mac. She used up a lot of favors to even get a human body and the agreement was always ten years. It's not great, but we'll both see her in hell one day, don't you worry."
"I know, but... It still seems unfair."
"A lot of deals like this are. But we ended up getting you because of that deal, so I don't think she'd change anything about it."
They stayed there for a bit until Mac finally said "Dad... Can I ask you two things?"
"Sure, sweetie."
"First, can we go do something? Just the two of us? Watch a movie or something? Maybe you can tell me more about mom..."
John smiled. "I'd be more than happy, Mac."
She smiled back. "Thanks."
"And the second thing?"
"Please go take a shower."
"Ha!" John laughed and got up quickly, already thinking about what movie and story he'd pick, but before he left, he turned back around to say one final thing.
"I'm very proud of you, MacKenzie. Your mother is too, don't you worry, but... I'm proud of you. More proud than even you know."
His daughter smiled back, and he closed the door.
|
The door to Father Luke’s small suburban home creaked open slowly.
“Hailey?”
His timid voice disappeared into the darkness. He crept down the hall toward the dim glow seeping through the cracks of his daughter’s room. Taking a deep breath, he gently pushed the door open to see Hailey sitting at the edge of her bed staring at the floor, her eyes drifting upward through a furrowed brow to meet her father’s as he entered.
“What. The fuck.”
“Language, Hailey” he whispered back.
“Oh come on Luke! Three and a half years of fucking demonhood and you really think I’m going to suddenly decide to stop cursing?”
Anger and frustration swelled up in Luke.
“THE GIRL YOU WERE BEFORE-”
He stopped dead, startled by the volume of his own voice. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and began again.
“The girl you were before was more respectful. She had tact. She called me ‘dad’ instead of Luke.”
He opened up his eyes and stared into the now unfamiliar eyes of his daughter.
“I pray every day that girl is still in there somewhere.”
Hailey scoffed.
“Isn’t it prayer that got us here in the first place?”
“What you were doing was not prayer!” barked Luke, the frustration starting to bubble back up to the surface.
“It was some occult ritual that you had no business being a part of!”
They locked eyes again, but didn’t speak. In the long silence, Hailey studied her father’s face. She had gotten particularly good at reading him. As much distance as the past three and a half years had put between them, she was able to feel what he was feeling stronger than ever. It was almost some sort of psychic link. Whether it was a by-product of her demonhood, she wasn’t sure. But as she stared at him, she was sure of one thing: his anger was less present tonight. Part of it was the routine of this process, facing down exorcism after exorcism, trying to reconcile the feelings of his faith and his moral duty with bringing harm to his own daughter. But it wasn’t just weariness. The anger was replaced each time by a profound sense of sadness, helplessness. Now Hailey’s eyes closed as she felt a part of herself she hadn’t felt in some time, and her voice penetrated the silence.
“I never meant for this to happen. That ritual, that occult shit? We didn’t know what we were doing. We were just playing around.”
She opened her eyes again to look at her father.
“I’m still me, dad.”
| 2020-10-20T12:20:56 | 2020-10-20T11:52:07 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] As a free roaming ghost, you finally feel like you can breach and explore Area 51. The moment youre on the base though, alarms begin blaring. "Code 62: Ethereal Intruder detected."
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What would you do with eternity?
Think about it.
No, really.
What would you do if you could go anywhere, do anything? Never aging, never hurtin'?
There is, of course, a catch.
You'd have to die first.
Now, my dear, death has many flavors. The nature of your life, how you die, all add a certain *je ne sais quoi* to the big ol' stew of your after life experience. You like that? Je. Ne. Sais. Quoi. It's en Francais.
I've been practicin'!
...
Bah, lighten up, flesh suit. Not everything has to be so serious.
What was I sayin'.
Right. Was explaining death flavors.
So, those stuck in life, get stuck in death. Unable to move past a threshold, a barrier. They're *bound* spirits. Sometimes to a home. Sometimes a person. Could be most anything. You can tell they're bound though, hard to mistake those miserable eyes, the slow gait.
Now, others don't stick around at all. Not really sure where they float off too. Space? Some other after life? Couldn't tell ya.
Me? I died way back. Headin' west, towards a land of gold and new beginnings.
That was our dream. Me and Mary...
Eh... Didn't pan out, obviously.
No. No details. Let's just say y'all have it luckier than you know with your big water cleaning contraptions. What are they called? Right, treatment plants. Kinda expected actual plants, but y'all keep naming things weird.
I toured one last month. I think it was a month. Feels like a month. That's where I got the idea for this latest venture.
Overheard some twenty somethings--it's amazin' how long y'all get to live these days, too many of y'all be taking that for granted, it's sad to see. Anyways, sorry, not here to preach. So, I overheard these two men talkin' about raiding Area 51.
You know Area 51, I'm sure: Nevada desert, military base, *secret aliens*--that one.
Well, curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to head on down meself and check out *the hype*.
So there I am, right? Trekked all the way from Washington down through California, and way far out into the desert. Like I said, took a month.
Wasn't pleasant either. Had to avoid some nasty spirits on the way through. Almost got chomped at least twice.
Oh yeah, might have been exaggerating a bit with the eternity thing. Spirits, err, no real pleasant way to say this. We eat other spirits to stay strong, keep our wits about us. Go too long without eating, and you fade out, and that's it. But eat the wrong things, and you go a bit mad. I try to stick to fresh bugs, fresh animals, but only the dumb ones.
Never other humans, never pigs or dogs.
Oh, cats?
Yeah, no way I could eat a cat, even if I wanted to. Pretty sure a cat is what almost got me, near abouts Palm Springs.
But you don't care 'bout none of that, let's get back to the story, yeah?
So there I was, right at the fence line. Pass through the fence, no problem.
I float up to the facility, brutal concrete thing, big double hangar door. It was cut into a hill, with an airfield on top of the hill. Some kinda underground entrance. Now, as a rule, I try to stay above ground whenever possible.
No real reason, just feel deep down like it would be easy to get trapped.
Guess I was right.
Anyways, I swallow my fear and go through the doors. I'm not *one inch* through, and suddenly I hear alarms blaring. "Code 62! Code 62! Beep beep! Uh oh! There's a ghost!"
Just loud as all get out.
Y'all really threw me a welcome, let me tell ya.
So here I am, freaking out a bit, obviously. I turn around, *and I can't get out*. Don't know what y'all did, but I couldn't go through the doors, couldn't go through the ceiling, just like I can't go through these walls.
You know the rest.
I flew about the facility looking for a way out before some guys in fatigues shot me with this weird laser, my brain scrambles, and next thing I know I'm stuck in this room, and you're askin' me what I'm doing here.
Hmmm?
You're saying I saw somethin'?
Lady, I'm tellin' ya. I was far too concerned with *escaping*. Travelin' and learnin' and seein' the world is way too important to risk on catchin' a quick peek at some aliens.
So there *are* aliens!
Okay, well, you shouldn't have done told me that. Tell ya what. You just let me go and we'll call it all even. Won't tell your bosses. Won't tell anyone.
What do you mean? Of course that's how that works. You let me out. You never hear from me again. Got no one to talk to, this is the most I've talked since me and Mary were...
...
No. Not talking about that.
...
Fine.
I'll tell you what I saw.
I saw you. Not you, you, but what you're *going* to be. You think you're gonna be done here when ya die?
Nah, y'all take this secrecy nonsense way too serious. This base is filled up with bound spirits. Plenty to keep me plump for a long, long while.
My rule about eatin' humans? Well. We all make exceptions when we gotta.
So the way I see it, I've got forever, but this place don't.
One way or another, I'm leaving here. Just a question of how many of your colleagues I'll need to eat in the interim.
Guess I'll see ya soon.
|
*I was...running? But I didn't feel my feet touch the ground. How did...wait I was moving, fast.*
"CODE SIXTY TWO, ETHEREAL INTRUDER, DETECTED."
*I snapped back to reality, I felt myself in my space, and while I was running I ran into a guard. I closed my eyes and bit the bullet, I tackled the guard and I...and I...oh shit. I'm in this guy's head.
***WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!***
*Oh, hey! How's it?*
***Who the hell are you? Where am I?!***
*You're in the same place I am. I'm in your head.*
***How the fuck-why can't I move?***
*Ah, correction! I'm in your body, but you're in your own head. Don't fight it too much, kid.*
Another guard ran around the corner, grabbing us by the shoulder. "Sir! Are you okay?"
*I looked at the young man, deep into his clueless eyes and a warm wave of relief washed over me.* "No, you go on ahead, I need a minute to myself."
*The soldier ran around the next corner, allowing me to take in the first deep breath I've had in 14 years.*
| 2022-10-17T22:33:06 | 2022-10-17T18:07:11 | 1,153 | 167 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
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Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event.
Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out.
One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects.
The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm.
Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse."
Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said.
"You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind.
"Hoo-ra." Said the human.
"Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant.
"At least kill something!" said the miserable male.
"Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi.
"1st marines. Second division."
"What?
"Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior."
Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?"
The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?"
"Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities."
The marine nodded. "Thanks."
Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition.
By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come.
There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!"
"Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?"
Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council."
"Roger that."
The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won.
He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.
|
Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus!
“Are the contestants ready?”
“Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.”
“And a human?”
“Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!”
The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally.
Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular.
This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought.
Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce.
The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap.
Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!”
Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed.
Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report.
“W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.”
“Out with it you bumbling oaf!”
“ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.”
“A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!”
Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe.
“Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted.
“Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.”
“ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!”
The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
| 2020-09-13T19:39:28 | 2020-09-13T18:50:43 | 103 | 23 |
[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.
|
When our worlds collided, we were unprepared for magic. All of our technology was useless against the elves and their sorcerers or the dwarves and their powerful enchantments or the orcs and their shamans.
You would think that bullets, tanks, and fighter jets would carry the day easy but no. Not even nukes did squat. Oh nukes worked fine, but then some dwarf would come along and purify the soil, an elf would restore nature, and a fucking orc shaman would summon the spirits of the dead back to the living world.
Soon, our world was just another part of their “over-realm” and mankind?
Without magic, we were nothing, less than nothing, not even slaves…
We were livestock, literally livestock, to be bartered and traded and consumed.
If you were lucky you were given to the orcs, who would just eat you. There was a simple honesty in that, far better than having your life force drained by the elves to power their infernal “technology” or worked to death in the dwarven mines where your enchanted chains turned you into nothing but a meat puppet, denying you even the peace of death as your corpse continued to labor until your very bones turned to dust.
A few of us were able to escape to the wilderness, sometimes by strength, sometimes by guile, mostly by luck.
We were a pitiful band, but we managed to survive by lurking in the shattered places, areas warped by the collision of worlds and the magics used in the great war that broke us.
Not much grew there, well nothing that you would want to eat, anyway, so we resorted to “raids” where we would swoop down on the unwary, waylay a wagon, or sneak onto a farm.
We didn’t have magic, but a club worked just fine. A gun worked too, if they didn’t see you coming. Oh their wizards, enchanters, and shamans were stupidly, unfairly powerful, but some average point-ear, stubby, or greenie? They died just as easy as anyone else.
We did ok, but eventually we hit the wrong wagon and killed the wrong point ear. Their cousin’s brother’s roommate in elf college or whatever was some minor whatsit and that was that.
It didn’t take long. They had all of us wrapped up nicely.
I figured they would just fry us in one of their soul-trees or whatever they called them but that point ear decided to have some fun with us.
He had some of those goddamn soul-trees all hooked up in some weird pattern and stuffed them with people, laughing at them, saying that we were why their very souls would be devoured and then made them thank us for ending their suffering.
God, I hated him for that.
Then he said that since each of us was thought ourselves their equal, (which we didn’t) we could receive their punishment. Each of us could choose how we died and the trees would grant our wish.
He then sat on a throne made of twisted living human flesh and laughed as each of us either tried to come up with an escape, a paradox, or at least tried to make the death as pleasant as possible.
Whatever wish anyone came up with was granted… In the worst way possible.
I was halfway through the line watching each of us get fucked over once again.
Soon I was second in line, just behind Mark, and wouldn’t you know it, that sorry mother stole my idea.
“I wish to die of old age,” he said hopefully.
That damn point ear laughed hard that time and waved his hand.
Mark turned into a rapidly vibrating blur, screaming with an impossibly high pitched voice. I watched in horror as he screamed, unable to move, blurring ever faster and faster.
Then he started to age.
They were forcing that poor sonofabitch to live out his entire life, standing in place, right there over just a few minutes for us…
But for him, it was \*decades\*.
Finally it was over, and Mark fell, withered and grey, to the ground.
Now it’s my turn.
That goddamn point ear is sitting there smiling at me.
He laughs… fucking laughs at me.
“Go ahead,” he snickers, “Choose.”
Oh I hate him.
I hate all of them.
I hate the elves. I hate the dwarves. I hate those fucking orcs.
I hate this world, and any gods that let this happen to us.
I want them all…
\*gone\*…
Suddenly it hits me.
\*I know what to do!\*
Our technology was worthless against them, but our science?
We know things that even that point ear lord didn’t know, things he wouldn’t know how to stop, or twist or pervert.
I grinned at him.
“Well, meat?” he sneered.
“Could I say something first?” I ask, the glee building within me.
“Why not?” he chuckled to the amusement of all the elves who had gathered to watch the latest entertainment.
“I would like to tell all of you that it’s been a lot of fun,” I say breaking into a manic giggle, “but now playtime is over. You probably won’t know it, but I just fucking won. I am now ready to choose.”
“Your impertinence will be justly rewarded, meat,” ol’ point ears snickers at me, “Choose.”
“I choose,” I giggle, “death by false vacuum decay. If the Higgs field, or any field for that matter is in a false vacuum state within my body I desire it to be free to find it’s true vacuum state.”
Point ears is looking really confused right now. He’s not sure how to handle this.
“You don’t mean you don’t know what a false vacuum is?” I sneer, laughing, “Even we lowly humans know about that.”
“Of course I know what it is!” Point Ears snaps and starts to wave his hand.
I laugh and extend my middle fingers for the last time.
|
“How would you like to die?”
What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t like to die at all! But still I must give an answer.
I am sentenced for crimes against magic. I tried to poison the Well of Magic. But truly magic is the root of all evil and corruption. It is just a way to cheat the laws of nature.
People without magic are barely 2nd class citizens. It has to stop. I have one last chance.
“By permanently and irrevocably destroying all magic.”
Either it works and my life goal is fulfilled or they refuse to kill me.
“Oh thank goodness!”
Not the answer I expected.
“We are finally free! The curse of magic is broken!” Exclaimed the head mage.
“Told you it would work,” said his vizier.
“You were right. Looks like if we pushed them far enough one of the stupid humans would find the loophole to end magic.”
The whole council faced me and bowed deeply.
“Thank you for fulfilling the prophecy and freeing us all!”
And then there was a blinding flash and I was over.
| 2021-06-24T07:58:17 | 2021-06-24T07:46:07 | 140 | 68 |
[WP] You've inherited your grandfthers oddities shop. It carries everything from Muskets to macaroons. As well as a little bit of everything else. It's only after your first day running it, that you realize Your customers come from other times and realities. The gold is nice though.
|
I stepped through the back door in mournful awe. My grandfather, practically my father, the man who had raised me on his own since I was four was gone. And here I am alone in a shop I was never allowed to step foot in with nothing but a rushed scribbled note from him, “NEVER use the front door.” Cryptic yes, but that was the kind of man he was, and it pleased me to have one last puzzle of his left behind for me to solve. Who am I kidding though? I don’t even know the first thing about running a shop. How do I keep it stocked, who do I pay my rent to, do I even have employees? He never even talked about it at home. I honestly had begun to think the wild old man was doing something illegal like money laundering, human trafficking or drug manufacturing.
But no, here I am in a proper shop not knowing why I thought it was necessary to be here an hour before opening. Sighing at my wristwatch, I set out to giving the place the cleaning it so desperately needs. Walking to the front side of the shop I make sure to avoid anything but a quick glance at the small blood stained, scuff marked section of the floor in front of the door. I know the police found my grandfather there dead from what the coroner declared “suspicious hemorrhaging”. I didn’t care to ask them for more details at the time. I make a quick mental note to check the back for a rug and quickly tucked behind a bookshelf to begin cleaning.
Thirty minutes into dusting off decades of grime with nothing but the slow ticks of grandfather clocks to remind me of the flow of time, I nearly shat my pants when I hear the loud creak and chime of the door opening. Shit, my first customer. Peeking through a row of books I see a woman in her 30s, dressed posh bearing a large tote at her side. Hoping to god I don’t make a fool out of myself I step into the isle and greet her.
“Hello. How are you today ma’am?”
“Huh? Yes, fine. Thank you.” She says with an accent I can’t place.
I think to ask her if she needs help finding anything, but considering I don’t know where anything is or what anything is for that matter I slowly duck behind the register counter and observe my first customer. Unused to the silence, I give up on trying to be quiet and decide it best to make small talk.
“Ma’am, I don’t believe I’m familiar with your accent. I’m curious if you would tell me where it comes from,” and adding in response to her look of disbelief, “if that is something you are alright with sharing. I do not mean to offend you.”
“Are you well, sir? I’m a local. I’ve lived in Guirimandsland my entire life.”
Tilting my head in confusion at this odd woman I respond, “Is that a nearby town I’m unfamiliar with? I grew up three blocks away. We’re in London ma’am.”
She looked at me as if I had a concussion and began speaking slowly as if she were speaking to a child, “Yes we are. London in the country of Guirmandsland.”
“You mean England.”
“No, sir. I do not. Do you care to sit down? Are you well?”
Confused and suspecting this woman is suffering from delusions, I choose to leave matters alone and decide it best to not agitate her.
“Yes. Of course. I apologize. My grandfather just passed away and it must be affecting my clarity.”
Giving a sympathetic nod she drops it as well and continues her browsing. She spots an old looking porcelain tea set on the shelving to my left. Giving the intricate floral pattern a quick look over she picks it up and heads my way.
Having a miniature panic over suddenly realizing I do not know the value of anything in this shop, I wonder what to charge her for the kettle and cups. 40? Yes, 40 seems fair.
“And that will be…” I quickly shut my mouth when I see a price tag stuck to the bottom of it. Squinting to read it I finish my sentence “… 285, ma’am.”
I fumble with the register for a moment, unsure of how to open the cash compartment, beginning to feel embarrassment well up within me.
“I have exact change,” she says as she pulls her hand out of the tote, wallet in tow.
I give a skimp nod, keeping my head down while I wrap the set in a few of the sheets of tissue paper to the right of the register. She quickly grabs it and hurries out.
“Have a lovely day!” I shout to her as the door opens and set my attention back to opening the register. Twenty seconds and newfound knowledge of a button under the machine later, it is open and I reach my hand over the register grabbing for her payment.
My jaw drops as I see that I’ve been duped. “What the hell is this?” I whisper to myself as I examine the worn bills bearing the phrase “Long live the Guirmandsland empire and his royal highness King Charles” printed in beautiful cursive above and below an illustration of a regal looking gentleman who I’m unfamiliar with.
This is hopeless. Why didn’t he leave me instructions? Why didn’t he give me any guidance? I must sell this place. I can’t even be a proper shop owner for two hours. How did my grandfather do it for sixty years? Perhaps it is best that he is gone, I could only imagine his disappointment. I am nothing like the man.
That loud creak and chime of the door opening snapped me out of my existential crisis. I wiped away the tears forming in my eyes and turned around to greet my new customer.
‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ is all that goes through my mind as I meet eyes with a knight, entirely clad in polished armour loudly clanking as he walks through the door.
As if he knew what he wanted and where to find it, he ducks behind a shelving unit for a moment and promptly returns to the counter, silver gauntlet with gold intricacies in one hand and with the other hand he drops a handful of coins onto the counter, turns around and leaves the shop.
Am I going mad? Did he just pay me in galleons? What is going on? No, I won’t get cheated twice. I go into auto pilot and run across the shop hoping to catch up with him before he rounds the corner a few shops down. My conscious mind takes control again as my hand touches the doorknob. My grandfather’s warning is repeating through my mind. “NEVER use the front door.”
Shit. I turn and run out the back, across the alley and onto the street. Nothing. No polished knight. Dammit he got away. I turn around defeated and walk back into the shop through the back. On my way to the counter I pass the shelf that once held the tea set the delusional lady from earlier purchased. In its place is now an old mining lantern. That’s unusual. Who the hell put that there? On a hunch I decide to check for the empty spot of the gauntlet. I duck behind the shelf where the knight was and find nothing. Everything is fully stocked. Trinkets, tools, gadgets, and small machines from every era.
Something is going on. A woman from the same city, but different country, a knight, and a self-stocking shop. This is not right. This is very unusual.
I make my way to the stool behind the register in hopes of having time to contemplate this before something else bizarre happens. A few hours pass, I am now calmed and have adopted a sense of humour about my hopeless predicament. I hear that loud creak and chimes again and wonder who I’m going to meet this time. Perhaps a pirate, an alien, or a talking dog. Would my day really get any weirder if one were to walk through those doors?
I turn around and begin walking to the other side of the bookshelf so I can greet my new customer and am stopped dead in my tracks.
“The shop is an anomaly, James.”
No. Impossible. Not this. Not ghosts too. I slowly step forward and turn the corner to see who or what is speaking with my grandfather’s voice.
“Hello James.”
“Granddad,” I squeak out barely intelligible between the sobs I’m doing a poor job of holding back.
|
Oh no. Here she is again.
“Hi!” She states ecstatically; louder than necessary, in which I reply with a simple nod and smile. I know exactly how to deal with her.
“Have you got that Versace belt I requested?”
No. No I haven’t. I haven’t had it for nearly a year now, Judy.
“No Judy, I don’t” I sigh. When will she leave me alone.
“Judy,” I inquire, “I sell objects that can manipulate time, that can create and destroy matter, things that couldn’t be manifested through dreams. And you continuously come in here and ask for a belt which you can get anywhere else?”
“I’m afraid of going outside in your reality, you know this. Why would I risk seeing my alternate self here and destroy my own existence?”
She has a point, but I seriously doubt Dame Judy Dench is strolling around the centre of Birmingham.
“Judy, I don’t make the currency here which allows me to buy expensive things in this reality. I can’t afford to splash out on a Versace belt. You handing me 200 pieces of chalk may go a long stretch in your reality, but the only thing I’m going to get here is accused of stealing from a local school’s art cupboard.”
There is always a strange array of characters in here. There is currently - a man with one leg and a crutch attached to his chin (God knows how that’s keeping him stable), a lady in the back shuffling through the invisible bean bag section wearing a fully golden Lycra bodysuit in which, I have to admit, definitely does not compliment her weight; and then a small mechanical man shopping for tea leaves with phallic growth-enhancing properties. This being said, Judy Dench is by far the most bizarre person I’ve met in my time here.
She wears a full tracksuit, yellow, with a pair of red Nike Huaraches at the base. Upon her head are two oddly shaped twigs: part of some form of head dress, which she claims “connects to the best WiFi, as well as being incredibly fashionable”. I seriously doubt that.
I stop day dreaming and realise that Judy’s wrinkled skin is moulding her eyes into a irritated frown.
“Judy, look..”
She suddenly smiles. I glance nervously around the shop, eventually stopping my line of sight in her gaze.
I’m so incredibly confused at what is going on that no words come to my mouth. She continues to smile, without blinking.
“Judy I can try-“
Then all at once, she yanks the crutch from beneath the crippled mans chin, causing him to crumble to the floor with a loud gasp. She thrusts the crutch against my temple, in which I yelp and thrust myself into the shelves behind the counter. Judy jumps over in one swift movement, and begins smacking me repeatedly in the. Ribs. I can’t. Breathe. I’m Winded.
“If you don’t have it in stock the next time I’m here, I will do much worse than smack you around. 10 months I’ve been asking for it. They don’t sell it in my reality anymore, it’s a limited edition where I’ve from. You either get it, or I break your damn legs,” She grins.
She spits on my back, before laughing softly, hopping back over the desk like a bunny. My stomach has turned into a bowl of mixed milk and orange juice, curdling as she yells “GET IT DONE, MARVIN”.
Shit.
| 2020-03-22T19:45:28 | 2020-03-22T14:07:42 | 58 | 24 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
“Status.”
“About to exit Slipspace now, Field Commander. Three more access points until the Human system of Va Teira, we shall arrive at Earth momentarily.”
“No updates?”
“No, Field Commander.”
“Why?”
“Unclear, field commander. The thirteenth platoon’s last official message indicated the humans were expecting their arrival.”
“Why did you specify “official”, Pilot?”
“Well...” The harsh, grated noise that emanated from the purple face’s small slit seemed tentative, reluctant even. There was a pause, until the domineering alien beside the pilot, decorated in his golden white tinted armour, placed both hands behind his back and straightened his posture, expecting an answer.
“One of the platoon’s brothers, sir, seems to have received a message from a soldier in the thirteenth. They...” The pilot trailed off again, as if its voice had lost battery. The field commander seemed to renew that energy with a calmly placed hand on the pilot’s shoulder.
“What did the communication say?”
“There were no words, Field Commander.”
“Then why are you bringing it to my attention...”
“There were....explosions, field commander. A scream.”
The hand on the pilot’s shoulder grew tense, the grip became a vice. The pilot knew he ought not to look back, for fear of being set alight by the field commander’s gaze.
“Kreatorians do not scream, pilot.”
The open blackness in front of the vast Gallion’s cockpit window sprawled into life, the pilot only wished for the sphere in front of them to grow into a landscape so as to relieve the pressure on its shoulder.
“Field Commander...”
“The humans....they are a peaceful people. For the entire time we watched them, they believed themselves to be living in a Utopia. The thirteenth platoon should not have suffered a single casualty. So I will ask again. And I will extend this question to the entire bridge.”
Its voice was so incredibly steely, its eyes beneath a visor searing with frustration. This was supposed to be simple. The council had given him only a single cycle to vanquish Earth, the Field Commander believed the sheer amount of cities would require a more thorough approach; invasions took time, even when the invaded were so pitifully idealistic and foolish. Their technology was advanced, and yet their militaries were inactive.
It was a vastly different situation to that of Kreatora, where the resources of the state were primarily poured into the vicious expansion of the state. Fourteen civilisations had fallen in the last four cycles alone. The Field Commander would have its third target vanquished of its career, and this would be the crown jewel. Earth would make for a wonderful colony.
Or so, that was the plan. A finely crafted plan, based on a civilisation that wouldn’t put up much resistance.
The Field Commander found humanity’s attempts at a Utopia undignified.
“Why...have we not heard...from the Thirteenth Platoon....”
“Field Commander.”
The voice came over a radio installed into the Gallion’s walls.
“Yes, Captain. What is the situation below? We are beginning our descent as you speak.”
“We do not have a sight on any humans in the target zone..”
The frustration was building within the Field Commander, like a volcano about to spill over.
“HOW....is that possible....there should be bodies littered all over the streets.”
“Field Commander, there are.”
As if the wave from one of Kreatora’s wild oceans swept over the Field Commander, the volcano had simmered. It took in a deep breath, its confidence finally appeased. It was not prepared for the next words.
“We count every Kreatorian from Platoon Thirteen to be eliminated within the city. It appears they were courted towards the main square, the one they call Times. There they were set upon and completely wiped out.”
The Pilot’s console was the only discernible sound in the room. That and the veins in the Field Commander’s head about ready to burst.
“THEY ARE A PEACEFUL PEOPLE. THEY DO NOT HAVE WEAPONRY. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?”
“Sir, one of our research teams found footage from their widespread digital network of information. It may....explain.”
The window in front of the pilot fizzed into life. The footage was grainy, until it was replaced with pictures. Piles of bodies. A green gas cloud. A strange coned object dropping out of a rudimentary vehicle capable of flight. The image changed into a video feed again. The cloud that emanated from the bomb was larger than anything the Field Commander had seen.
His visor fell to the ground with a thud. The pilot let out a gasp, an audible gasp. That only seemed to prolong the silence.
The ship descended. Another platoon was deployed from the gigantic Gallion, which was not small enough to fit between the large metropolis structures.
“Third platoon on the way down, now. We’re going to collect the dead bodies for proper burial.”
“I want analysis of wounds, I want to know how the finest military race in the galaxy were defeated by a single group of humans.”
He almost spat the final word.
“Sir, we’re detecting an anomaly from within the square, we believe it to be coming from one of the bodies.”
“Investi-“
The Field Commander would not finish his sentence. His voice trailed off as quickly as the explosion occurred, the forty five Kreatorian soldiers in their scouting vehicle suddenly disappearing amidst an orange flash of light. An electronic billboard with a ghostly white, scantily clad human female fell away from it’s structure and landed on the vehicle with a crash. Not that it mattered, the bomb took them all anyway.
Silence seemed to overcome a ship that spanned over seven hundred metres in distance.
“Patch me through to the Council.”
The Field Commander said, turning and walk back towards his cockpit’s command console. He wanted to load up a simulation of the surrounding land. Instead, he loaded up the same video from before. Video of humans massacring each other, viciously and mechanically, as if it were some morbid art form. The footage seemed endless.
“Tell them we will not be taking Earth. I am tending my resignation.” Its head sank down. “No reinforcements are to follow.”
“What will we do, Field Commander?” It was the pilot, now looking back at his superior, fearing the answer would contain the traditional rage. It did not.
“We will rue the day we gave a civilisation that excels at killing each other something they could all kill together.”
|
Politics is a hell of a thing. We saw the humans of earth fight among themselves and almost destroy their species. The Hunt Leaders of the time saw it as a fantastic opportunity and petitioned our Supremes for permission to attack.
It was granted. But politics kept us from attacking right away. The first leader assigned to conquer earth barely got permission to recruit. He was replaced for taking too long to organise.
The second managed to actually get a Party together. But that was as far as they got. In the fifth Hunt Leader. The second to break orbit, the first to reach a gravity stable region and jump.
When we arrived in the system containing earth we found the humans had made it to space. There were dozens of orbitals and ships. Most of the ships were transiting between planets, almost as many were split between the failed planetary debris field mid system and the cloud of rocks and ice in the outer system.
We quickly destroyed the orbitals in their habitable zone and kept moving towards the planet. We were met with pleas for peace. To end our attack. That they were a peaceful species and wanted to be friends.
No one had watched them during the intervening years. Such species that nearly destroy themselves rarely do anything interesting. Humans apparently, aren't like most species.
We made orbit around their home planet and quickly dispersed the fleet for landing. We weren't expecting the gently curved wing that appeared at their closet stable gravity point. The dozens of small craft that launched both from it and the planet. The half dozen escorts that accompanied the large craft.
If the Supremes had just allowed the first commander to do what he needed, we would control their system. All those resources. Instead, we arrived to a recovered, advanced, space faring society. One that held it's own against us.
| 2019-02-26T08:45:37 | 2019-02-26T08:34:44 | 2,249 | 123 |
[WP] World Peace has been achieved and the first crime in centuries has been committed.
EDIT: I've been reading a lot of these prompts throughout the day and they have all been really good, sadly I don't have the time to sit and read them all :(
|
*Here to Help You*, the sign above the clerk’s bi-level desk boasted. *Here to Help You*.
Elliot’s hands were shaking. She set them on the desk’s black glass and pressed, anchoring herself with her fingertips. “Who do I talk to about something bad?”
The clerk looked up. She raised her eyebrows and made her face open and interested, but her hands were still on her keyboard, waiting to send Elliot on her way. “Excuse me?”
“If something bad happened,” Elliot said carefully, “who do I talk to?”
The clerk dropped her hands to the edge of her desk and pushed, spinning herself in a half circle to the opposite side of her bi-level desk. Elliot followed. The clerk reached up and placed a brochure on the counter. *Dealing with Grief*.
“No.” Elliot pushed the brochure back. “Not that kind of bad.”
The clerk’s forehead wrinkled. She was politely confused, and Elliot could hardly blame her. *Bad* was the only word she could think of that felt like it matched what had happened, and even that was not quite accurate. *Wrong* was directional and even more confusing, and she couldn’t think of a way to put the words together that made sense. Something *bad* had happened and that something bad was *wrong*, and neither of those words made sense the way she was using them, except they did.
The clerk dropped her head and began shuffling through her brochures. Elliot could hear them slipping against each other. *Swick*. *Swick*. *Swick*. The clerk looked up again.
“I’m sorry,” she said. *I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want, please go away*. “I’m sorry. That’s the only thing I have tagged as ‘bad’.”
“I don’t want a brochure. I want somebody to talk to.” *Somebody in charge*, she wanted to say, but didn't.
The clerk’s face brightened. She opened a drawer and walked her fingers across the tops of the files within. She stopped, pried one open with her thumb and forefinger, and pulled out four keycards. The clerk closed the drawer and stood. She fanned the cards on the counter in front of Elliot. One blue, one green, two white.
“These are our Sympathetic Ears,” she said. She touched the blue card. Her nail clicked against the plastic. “Mother figure.” She moved down the line, tapping her finger on each card. “Religious official, ambiguous sex. Father figure. Dog. If you’re looking to have a conversation, the dog won’t engage you verbally, only emotionally.”
The *no* was on the tip of Elliot’s tongue. She didn’t want an AI. She wanted a human being, someone who would listen and then explain to her what had happened, because Elliot did not understand it.
The clerk was watching Elliot expectantly. Elliot touched the first card. Mother figure.
The clerk turned and bent over her computer. A moment later a square opened in the middle of the desk and an eye scanner clicked up.
“If you don’t mind…”
Elliot stepped to the scanner and held her right eye open.
“All set,” the clerk said a moment later. She passed Elliot the keycard and smiled, pleased with herself for helping. “We have four AI booths open on the fourth floor.”
“Fine.”
“Have a good day, Elliot.”
Elliot didn’t answer. She made her way to the elevator, turning the keycard between her fingers. She didn’t want to use it. But it had probably cost her upwards of 100 marks, and she would be stupid to throw that kind of money away. The elevator opened. Elliot stepped in and hovered her finger over the floor buttons. Maybe the booth wasn’t such a bad thing. If nothing else, she could at least try to put into words what had happened. Practice explaining in case she figured out who the right person to talk to was.
She pushed the button for the fourth floor.
The AI booth was clean, which was a first. She'd never used a city booth before, only the cheap ones in bars and smoke houses, which probably explained it.
Elliot swiped her card and the booth whirred to life. The faint sounds of pots and pans clanking in a sink began, slowly rising in volume.
“Elliot!” A feminine voice called in the dark.
*Too high*, Elliot thought. Too high to be her mother's voice. She heard the booth click, like a shutter on an old fashioned camera as it made the adjustment.
“What are you doing home?”
*Better*. “I need you to tell me something.”
The clanking stopped and Elliot’s brain filled in the silence: her mother would be wiping her soapy hands on a dishtowel, turning her wedding ring that always seemed to slip around and face her palm whenever she washed the dished. “Of course.”
“If somebody touches me…”
“Ah.” The AI sounded knowing. “The Sex Talk.”
“No.”
“If someone touches you, Elliot, that’s called—”
“No, I *know* what it’s called! That’s not it—" Elliot's heart rose in her throat. She hated the feeling. The second time in two days it had happened. "You have to *want* it.”
“Yes. There’s no other way.”
Anger unfurled in the pit of Elliot’s stomach. “But I *didn’t* want him to touch me. So what is that? What is *that* called?”
“Oh, Elliot.” He mother’s voice was sympathetic. “Of course you did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You must have.”
“I *didn’t*.”
“If you didn’t, it wouldn’t have happened.”
It was so blank, so matter-of-fact. If this, then this. No deviation allowed. It was the same argument she'd been having with herself. It didn't happen unless you said so, but she hadn't said so. She had to have done something, then, to say yes, but she hadn't. It shouldn't have happened, but it had, and suddenly the booth was too small, the darkness oppressive and suffocating. The AI was washing dishes again, the conversation over, and Elliot fumbled in the dark for the booth’s ejection button. The sound proof seal gave way with a hiss, and Elliot stumbled out, into the light. Her heart was pounding and she was breathing hard.
“I didn’t,” she said between gasps. “I didn’t.”
|
So, there I was, walking my way down the street, chuckling quietly to myself over an /r/TIFU post about someone who had accidentally found a cached webpage from the Dark Years. My stomach gurgled, and I instinctively glanced around for a Dispenser, feeling in my pocket to count my change.
I saw it.
A broken Dispenser. Packets of chips just hanging out. Passersby were giving it strange looks. Not a Handyman in sight. Its screen was flashing an error message, and from past experience, I knew it wouldn't be long before someone showed up to decommission or repair it. My logical side told me that it was probably best to keep right on walking; there couldn't be a functional Dispenser too far from here. But my stomach...
Without quite knowing what I was doing, I walked quickly over to the malfunctioning wall-mounted machine, reaching a hand out for a savory bag of Lays. I realized what I was doing and jerked back, frantically checking faces for any recognition of the heinous act which I was nearly about to commit.
My stomach gurgled.
My Karma was going to drop *so much* for this.
I didn't leave my flat for the next two weeks. Everyone who knocked on my door sounded like Peacekeepers to me, and I kept visualizing jack-booted, white-robed lawmen politely opening my door and handing me a ticket. My clothes and bedsheets were drenched in sweat, and my hands shook uncontrollably.
When I finally did go back to work, I stayed very, very far away from the Dispenser in the break room.
| 2015-11-01T11:16:41 | 2015-11-01T10:29:43 | 102 | 13 |
[WP] We were taught the Sun didn't make noise. We were wrong. Like TV static in an empty room, it did make a sound, a sound so ever present that we didn't realize it was there until it wasn't. That day humanity learned the terror of a silent sky, and the reason it made sound in first place.
|
The bulldozer rumbled down the road slightly faster than a walking man, spewing black fumes out into the even blacker day. It was loud, but the noise was familiar, comforting. Tommy’s ear plugs lay some miles behind him, abandoned not long after the sun had winked out and the road crew had fractured apart, every man for themselves.
Tommy had only paused for a moment. He’d glanced back at his boss, then west down Route 50, and he’d decided that, if the sun could go out, the road didn’t need repaving all that badly anyway.
He’d been driving for the better part of an hour since then, and Tommy estimated he had another two to go. He hoped Maddy and the kids hadn’t been out when it happened. They’d argued before he left that morning, and truthfully the night before as well, and when they argued she tended to find reasons to go into town for a cup of coffee and a lunch she hadn’t been the one to make.
“Come on baby,” Tommy said, slapping the bulldozer’s rusty controls, trying to urge a little more speed out of the behemoth.
It didn’t work. The machine went at its own pace, and Tommy, never a man to be left alone with himself, could only watch, and wait, and steer.
It was not entirely dark, though Tommy had no word for what little light there was. By its dull silver-gray he could see other motorists from time to time. Most had pulled to the side of the small two lane road. One, at the switchback bend of a mountain, had simply stopped in the middle of his lane.
All of them stood outside their cars, mouths agape, staring up into the darkened sky.
They were stupid, Tommy decided. Stupid or cowardly, folk too simple to adapt to the situation like Tommy himself had. He wasn’t about to be one of them. Nothing would stop him short of home, and if Maddy and the kids weren’t there, short of wherever they were. For all of Tommy’s faults, and there were very, very many, he loved his family.
He passed the time as he’d always thought he should; rehearsing apologies. Tommy couldn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about the night before. He’d been drinking, he always did, and it had spilled over to the morning when he refused to even admit that he didn’t know why they were fighting.
Tommy resolved that if he somehow saw wildflowers through the unnatural ocean of night around him, he would allow himself to stop for that. Maddy loved flowers, and try as he might he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten her any.
Tommy drove on. Near John Blue bridge the motorists were thicker, two cars had actually stopped side by side, blocking the way. They were small, imported things, made more of plastic than of steel and he pushed them both out of the way with ease. Their drivers didn’t look at him as he did, not even when one of them crashed up against the guardrail on the far side and then broke through, falling with a sickening crunch and splash into the river beneath. The drivers stood there, transfixed at the bridge’s center, looking up.
It was colder without the sun, but Tommy broke out in a feverish sweat at that. They’d reminded him of dead drunk men, focused on the one girl in the bar they knew they could never have, eyes glazed over with imaginings and a crippling lack of shame.
Tommy had never lacked shame himself. It was part of the problem with Maddy.
He drove on still, two hours left became one. One became minutes, and soon he was trundling up the drive to the trailer turned house that Maddy’s father had gifted them when they married. Her car was in the yard. The kids' bikes were there as well. Tommy breathed a long, shaking sigh of relief.
He stopped the bulldozer a few feet from the door, mourning his lack of flowers. Three hours in the dark and he’d never come up with anything better than blind luck, and even that had failed him. But he was home, and so was she, and that, in a world gone mad, was all that mattered.
“Maddy?” Tommy called. “Maddy?”
He leapt down from the bulldozer’s seat and caught a glimpse of strawberry blond through the trees on the garden path. Maddy, and both the kids. They stood stock still, staring straight up at the sky.
She wore her favorite dress, the one she’d spent too much money on the year before, and that they’d argued over for days after. She wore it like a badge of honor, its fall across the swell of her hips cutting at him with the remembered weight of things he’d said.
Even with that, she looked shockingly beautiful. She always did.
“Maddy!” he shouted. Then, “Lindsay? John?”
None of them responded. Maddy’s mouth fell open slightly. She swayed from side to side, as if caught in beat of distant music.
Behind him, the bulldozer sputtered and died. Its roar rang through Tommy’s ears for a few moments longer as he ran towards his family. He reached them, taking Maddy in his arms. She felt small, fragile. Her head lolled back when he shook her, she didn’t respond to her name, either her real one or the old pet name he’d used in the dark since high school.
The ringing faded, the last notes of the bulldozer died, and Tommy began to hear something else.
There was a subtle wrongness in the world, an absent ache. He couldn’t place it, only feel it, like he’d been to the quick of a body part he’d never known he had.
“Maddy?” Tommy said one last time.
In the wake of her name, a song whispered into being. It was no music Tommy had ever heard, a thing made of notes men hadn’t discovered. It thrilled through him, then settled into his muscles like the lazy ache of a long day’s work. It called his gaze up, towards the sky he’d never even looked at once since the sun went out, too focused had he been on the road home and the family who now stood transfixed before him.
Tommy turned, arm slipping unconsciously around his wife’s waist, and he saw the thing that sang.
It was the moon, peeking too early over the horizon. It was a great disk of blacks and grays and silvers, and the voice was unquestionably its own. It forced its way into him, expanding into a great and terrible beauty as his warmth bled out and his muscles grew slack, his face pale.
He realized then, that Maddy was shaking faintly. Tommy tried to turn himself back towards her. He failed. He tried to say a million things, a million apologies as the moon rose too fast on the horizon, as it expanded and grew and its song drove the ring of heavy machinery out of his ears.
He couldn’t say any of them.
“I…love…you…” Tommy said instead, struggling out the words.
The song rose to a crescendo in his mind. They were the last words Tommy ever said.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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"Respect the natural hymn, as order favors the original"
They say as a man ages up, their body gets taller, their voices coarser than it ever have been before but their hearing, people say, gets worse. Now, we know that the ringing sound in the ear was not only caused by tinnitus but, for a small number of us at least, the ringing was caused by the sun.
I remember the peaceful days back then, food was plenty and there's a lot of things I can do. Swimming in the ocean, enjoying the sunset from the mountains, watching the Aurora Borealis. How I've missed those days of just living my life how I wanted to. Sure, there are wars here and then and people could actually die of hunger back then, but compared to now, back then was an utopia.
Today, the government had released the report about the 'blink'. As it turns out, turning the sun on and off was somebody's idea. But these government officials didn't expect for there to be something else within the sun that needs help to be turned on again. After all, we could only see what we can see. After the blink, all birds flew into space, suffocating and drowning as a result. Fishes and sea life flocked towards the shore. All of them died. Even ants went extinct. It was extremely bizarre, the ants all decided to lay on their back and they stayed in that position until they died of hunger.
I wish that was all that had happened, but then the war started. It started when North Korea suddenly started to bomb everybody. Evidently, their economy tanked as their fishermen aren't able to find any sea life. Naturally, they blamed America for trying to reset the sun, and causing all their fishes to die. The countries then proceeded to use their nuclear bomb, causing the earth to be bombed 3 times over at the very least. Unfortunately, around 95% of humans died. The rest who were still alive all live in bunkers and they (including me) can't go out for at least 500 years.
As of now, my future looks bleak. So, I'm trying my best to record and document about the information that may be of use to the future generations living in the bunker as I don't think their future can be any worse than mine. For when the world finally recovers, the planet may once more be a beautiful place and I believe humans will get to see and enjoy it again.
| 2021-08-28T09:49:47 | 2021-08-28T09:44:51 | 88 | 16 |
[WP] After almost 1,000 years the population of a generation ship has lost the ability to understand most technology and now lives at a preindustrial level. Today the ship reaches its destination and the automated systems come back online.
|
Every day is the same. Wake up, gather materials for cooking and place it on the heat stone.
This one has been in my family for years. We're proud of it because it can be moved.
That's why my grand mother is the head of our village. She inherited the heat stone so she's the He-Kith. It is also our scribestone.
One day I'll be the He-kith so I have to learn the stories. The writing. The history.
Our scribestone requires that I know how to engrave the stories. And every day it's empty ready for new ones.
My favorite part of the year is the retelling. When the He-kith touches the scribestone and we can see the old stories as if they had just been engraved.
It's time for the retelling and she touches the stone and our Ka-ette are gathered around to see the stories of this last year and for them to be retold. I listen raptly but also watch every little detail knowing that I will have to do this one day too. And then my children. And their children.
Each day appears on the scribestone with a rumble and the stone receding to show the new engravings.
Our first day of this year. After the harvest. And what we harvested and what we will plant. We find that if we don't scribe in what we will plant we have a drier year. We always write what we will plant. Failure means some may die from hunger.
The day of the festival of stars where we engrave the stars above us on the scribestone. We always know when it's time because the scribestone turns black but has a blue glow. On that day we etch in the new stars, turn around and do it again. I don't understand why we do this but so many of our traditions must be kept whether we know why or not.
Here comes the etchings of life where we enter the names of those who are born and their Ka-hen and of course our Ka-ette, Ra.
Now for the etchings of passing where we see the names of those who passed on. And their places of plantings.
As we prepare for the next engraving there's a shifting of the ground beneath us. And a loud screeching sound.
The scribestone changes to a red color. I've never seen that before and from the look of my He-Kith's face neither has she. Panic sets in and many of our Ka-ette scramble to their feet and run to their homes.
But not my He-Kith and so I too will stay. I'm terrified.
Above us the sky opens like it does during the festival of stars and the scribe stone turns black. My He-kith grabs the writing stone but her hand is shaking. She too is terrified. She etches in a star and the scribestone glows orange and turns flat. She tries again. Same thing. She calls to me and hands me the writing stone.
I take it and slowly etch in the stars. And wait for it to flash but my hands must have been steadier because it sets in and the stone makes the whirring sound it does during the festival of stars. I repeat the process for the brightest stars as I had been taught and the stone turns gray.
And then something new happens. The sky begins to paint circles over the stars and to draw lines and emblems on them. The were names. Names of our Ka-ette. And our neighboring Ka-ette.
And next to each one is a emblem. The word for "end of harvest". All except for the Kith-den.
I wait for hours staring at the sky trying to make sense of what is happening when a young girl from the village of Kith-den runs up. Their He-Kith is dead. The fright from the sky and sound scared her so much that she died. And their successor can't be found. They searched but she must have run away. I don't blame her. The thought crossed my mind.
My He-Kith tells me that I must go to their village and complete the ritual of the festival of the stars. I don't want to. I want to stay here with my mother and sisters. Or run to the fields to my father and brothers. But she insists.
After much prodding and reminding me that she is too old to make such a journey I go with the young girl.
As we approach her village I see their scribestone laying on the ground next to their He-kith who seemed as one who passed in their sleep. I pick it up but it doesn't shift or change or make a sound. I don't know what to do so I give up and lay it on their He-kith and as it touches her it turns black and I pick it up again. I quickly but carefully etch in the stars and as I do I see the sky paint Ka-den.
Suddenly the sky turns black and then it becomes bright as day. And then in the sky we see a woman. She looks down on us and speaks. But it sounds odd. Like the words of old. I can make out most of it. She says we have reached the harvest home. The place of our final rest. Our journey is done.
As she speaks we see a blue orb appear and she tells us that our "boat?" has arrived at "Err-arth". Home of homes.
The scribestone then changes to a faint green and a single symbol etches on it. "Plant" I think it says. It looks like plant but it's different. I circle the etching and the scribestone then shatters into dust throwing me back. And the sky changes to show Ka-den green and moving towards the blue orb in the sky.
Shortly after I see Ka-ette, Ka-tul, Ka-ren and thousands of others in green and moving towards the blue orb. All except for one. "Ka-mune". Theirs turns red and then fades away. And shortly after I see a white plume and a huge white/grey sphere fly away up the horizon followed by a huge flame. And then it's gone. Into the stars.
Then the great change. First the lake dried. Followed by the mountains which turned to dust just as the scribestone did. Then the houses in the village turned to dust leaving only the few inhabitants who hadn't run away from the village but rather had huddled in their homes. Their belongings still there but the walls were just gone.
The blue orb sets in the sky and we see a new orb. A bright whitish/yellow one. And a painted etching "Fire source" and then a light rumbling as the ground vibrates beneath my feet and the horizon glows a faint red. This glow is slowly replaced by a bluish colors and the stars fade away. I've never seen a sky without stars before. But in their place is the "Fire source".
More rumbling and then the ground stops vibrating and then a loud whoosh and a bright flash.
I huddle down in fear as I see the horizon change. There are new mountains. And a large lake where the old one used to be. And I hear a strange high pitched sound as a creature soars above me.
I run back to where my village was and I find my He-kith and she looks at me with such joy and fear on her face. She puts her hand on me and hands me the etching stone and points to a opening in the nearby mountain.
I run in and see a wall that looks like the scribestone and use my etching stone to write the story of what just happened. The words stay. But they don't move. These aren't like our scribestone. Or the mountains of our home where the words could be read from generations before. These stay but can't be reused.
I write and I write. Every day in our new home. I write what I see. What I hear.
And most of all the stars. They don't change during the festival of stars like they used to. They are the same. They move. But always come back. Just as Ka-mune circles Err-arth, perhaps watching over us?
Edit: typos and clarity a few plot holes.
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Mary gently pressed her rake into a patch of soil, guiding the tool with the deftness of one who has done so for decades.
The ship's garden was fashioned from the detritus of a bygone era - soil boxes fashioned from scrapped 4x4s, partitions crafted from broken wires. It rested beneath a glass dome to let in sunlight, but Mary had to shift the boxes hour by hour to capture adequate rays as the S.S. Prosperity soared through space.
She sighed and wiped sweat from her brow. The ship's internal heating and cooling systems had failed long before she was born, so most of the Prosperity's residents had shifted to the far end of the main deck, away from the primary thrusters that made anyone within range perspire furiously. Mary, unfortunately, had to spend hours upon end growing food for its fifty residents.
Fifty. That was all. When the ship launched in 2200 it was carrying one hundred hopeful souls, and many of them (or their ancestors) had died, chosen not to reproduce, or - in one tragic case - ended their own life.
On this day, Mary was filled with hope for the first time in her long, arduous life, for Lutherios was within sight.
"Mary, we're getting ready to dock." A voice emerged from the side door. It was Teddy, one of the youngest travelers at a paltry 26. "Do you want to watch?"
Mary shook her head. "Got to keep an eye on these cornstalks."
Thomas smirked. "Well, OK. But you'll be missing out."
He closed the door behind him. Mary sighed and shoved it open again, hoping to let at least a fraction of the heat out. She heard faint cheers from the other end of the ship as it pulled into port.
With a sudden jolt, the thrusters cut off and Mary was bathed in cool air. The screens and buttons around her glowed for the first time in a millennium, and she shielded her eyes from the sensory assault.
Thomas ran back inside. "Mary, do you feel that? It's the 'air conditioning' we've learned about in the stories! Every one of these buttons does something - look, this one's a 'microwave.'" He ran over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Finally, we don't have to suffer."
Mary felt the burden of 73 years lift off of her for half a second, then return in an instant. "I want to get off and stretch my legs."
"Why? There's nothing but soil out there."
"Exactly."
She pushed Thomas aside and wandered down the main corridor. 49 people were laughing, crying, hugging. A young boy of about six years was pushing buttons madly and watching as food was created out of thin air.
Mary grabbed a reconnaissance suit from a cabinet by the exit ramp and zipped it on, then set foot on the soft surface of Lutherios.
She never returned to the S.S. Prosperity. People would occasionally come out and visit her, offering food and materials, but she insisted on getting by in her own way, living off whatever she could find.
Finally, at age 87, she died in her sleep, while the citizens of the S.S. Prosperity - eating genetically perfected food and taking every medicine the new machinery could offer - lived into the decades beyond.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.*
| 2016-07-27T09:54:15 | 2016-07-27T09:33:31 | 52 | 19 |
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck."
|
Twenty days. Less than a month. Less than a month, and everything was so different. Some days, it was hard to even remember how it had been before.
The wood groaned softly as she shifted, so she froze in the darkness. She'd stayed out too long, and had to hide in an overturned wagon. She could see the outline of the house- all the lights were off. But, she'd waited too long, and now it was dark. She blinked several times to stop the tears forming, and tried to choke down the panic rising in her chest. Too damn long. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She inhaled slowly, and tried to regulate her breathing. It was hard not to instinctually breath too shallow, in an attempt to stay as quiet as possible.
Gingerly, she reached a trembling hand up to the top of her head and gently slid the goggles down over her eyes. The world flickered back into focus, albeit, in black and white. Was that- yes, Dad was standing out front of the door. Could he see her? It looked like he had his gogg- she stifled a sigh of relief as he slowly put a hand up to his side in a fist. Stay put. He could see her, or at least knew where she was. Why had she waited so damn long?
It was so silent out that her heartbeat sounded like thunder in her ears. Rationally, she knew that wasn't the case, but it was more difficult than one would think to quench the fear that you were being too conspicuous. A malicious presence, heavy on the air, slowly settled around her, and things somehow became even more still. Something was wrong. She realized she was holding her breath, and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply while staring at Dad, who had also frozen, not even raising his gun. Something was very wrong.
The back of her neck began to pickle and tingle, as her subconscious brain alerted her to something nearby. She'd learned to listen to that feeling over the past few weeks. Something was wrong, and she could feel it in the air. Her stomach felt like a brick of ice, and her skin had a chill, despite it being a warm summer night. She was afraid to even turn her head, or move her now tingling leg. Why had she settled in such a stupid position? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She couldn't tear her eyes off of her father until Devin's head slowly bobbed into view on the roof to his left. What- he smoothly slung a long, slim object off of his shoulder, and appeared to lay down. The rifle. This was bad. Somehow, worse than she'd thought. Bad things never seemed real until perspective was forced. This was very bad.
She'd never been more terrified in her life. She could hardly breath, eyes locked on the house, and her father, who was frozen stock still. She could feel a malicious presence, somehow. She didn't know where it was, or even really, what it was. But it was there. And, it knew she was, too. Dead silence. Dad's hand slowly opened, turned, and made a slow beckoning gesture.
No. She wanted to cry. No, no, no. No way. It was too far. No. No. Her lip trembled as she slowly reached back and tightened her backpack straps. She froze. She felt like prey. This must be what mice in those old science videos felt like right before being eaten alive by a snake. She was paralyzed with fear. No. She felt like her bones were cold- she, unhyperbolically, was bone-chillingly terrified. That was a new sensation. No.
Dad's gesture became quicker, and she saw Devin shift slightly toward the top of her peripheral vision. No. The feeling of hateful fear was almost overwhelming, now. She could feel it, pressing down on her, from all sides. She'd stayed out way too long. Something was so, so wrong. She was too far. She was too far. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Her body was shaking. Fear, or adrenaline, she couldn't tell, probably both.
Dad's whole hand was flapping urgently now. They needed the medicine. Worth the risk, they'd decided. But that was then, and it'd been too far. She felt like her eyelids were peeling back, and she was paralyzed. She felt as if a massive weight was crushing her chest, like she was stuck in a giant vice. Her body was trembling like a mouse, and she couldn't stop. Too long. She felt like prey. Stupid. She was prey. No. No.
Dad beckoned urgently with his whole arm, then raised his gun. Now. Now, she had to go now. If she was going to go, it had to be now. Devin's a good shot. Dad's got a pump. Now's the time. No. No, no, no. The wagon creaked slightly as she hurled herself to her feet. Three hundred yards, max.
Her legs were churning faster than they ever had before. State semifinalist, twice in a row. The wind roared by her ears, as she veritably flew towards the house. Joey had clocked her at twenty three once, last year. Her feet were barely touching the ground- she felt so light. Her fear made her legs pump even harder. Closer. She was rapidly closing. She felt like something was right behind her.
All she could hear was the wind. All she could see was a blur of white and gray, and the pitch black opening of the door. And Dad. And Dad? Sprinting towards her, raising the gun and- BOOM. Devin had shot the rifle. This was bad, this was so bad. BOOM. Again.
BOOM. Dad fired the shotgun off to her right. People were yelling, now. Dad. She couldn't hear, or understand them. BOOM. A third shot from the rifle, and she felt a blast and a whistle a few feet to the left of her head. So close. Waited too long. She pumped her arms and legs as fast and hard as she could. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
One hundred yards. BOOM. She heard a muffled, animalistic grunt behind her, and finally all the fear she'd been keeping clamped inside bubbled out. BOOM. She screamed. BOOM.
BOOM. BOOM. She was so close, nearly out of her mind in terror. BOOM. Nothing existed except the door. BOOM, BOOM. Someone screamed. She realized that it wasn't her. BOOM, BOOM. BOOM. Someone screamed from another direction. BOOM. She screamed, and flung herself across the threshold, diving over the couch.
Silence. She huddled behind the couch, shaking in fear. Dead silence. Slowly, she sat up and peaked over the edge of the couch, to the open door. Dad? Where was he? That door needed to be closed. She wouldn't leave them, though. They hadn't left her. It was so still, suddenly. She gently slid the backpack off, and got into a squat to go check the door.
A massive shape blackened the door opening, as it silently moved inside. No. The door creaked softly as it closed. Took too damn long. The door clicked shut. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Edit: a word
Edit 2: another word to clarify Devin's location
|
Looking at the decaying poster plastered across the alleyway, the man paused for a moment, lost in memories.
Nobody knew where it started, and nobody had time to care. Within weeks of the first sighting, the vamps had swept across Europe, and the United States Quarantine Zone barely lasted a week. It was hard to figure out what they looked like, let alone how to fight them, and it took the army years before it discovered their tactics and weaknesses. For every person that was killed or drained by a vamp, within a matter of days they would succumb to the infection. Superhuman speed, endurance, and near-flight. But even though they looked like someone you knew, all of their emotions were replaced with thirst.
Mankind used to have two big advantages: working together and using tools. Both of those became liabilities, and in a matter of months society as they knew it had completely collapsed. Artificial light did nothing except alert them to the presence of humans, and modern weaponry did nothing against creatures so fast, so vicious, and so durable. All that worked was sunlight, decapitation, and stakes. Suddenly, mankind's reliance on technology had become a liability, and they knew it.
Most just despaired and watched as their family turned, then just gave in. Some took up arms for a brief while and then ended themselves before they could get turned. The strongest, those that survived, had two traits: adaptability and ruthlessness. The cold impersonality of long-ranged rifles and guns was replaced with the intimate, uncomfortable feeling of a stake and a knife. The darkness, something that humanity had considered conquered ages ago, had reclaimed its place as the top of humanity's enemies.
Flashing out of his reminiscence, the man tightened the strap holding the crossbow over his back. The setting sun illuminated the cold, desolate ruins around him, the fading banner one of the last traces that this had ever been an inhabited city. He checked his bandolier of stakes and the knives at his side, then felt the comforting weight of his backup stake in the bottom of his boot. Throwing his heavy hunting cloak over his back, he briefly paused: Why bother going out night after night to face untold horrors when he could just end it all in an instant?
Then he remembered the look on his daughter's face the moment before she turned and the rage that had sustained him since that night. He may be the last of humanity that he was aware of, but he would make sure that he went out with a roar, not a whimper. Fastening his cloak over his back, the man went outside to reclaim the night.
| 2018-04-18T10:13:20 | 2018-04-18T09:53:12 | 331 | 66 |
[WP] The princess has been kidnapped. Her captor, being an honorable man, treats her with respect and gives her relative freedom. Her reaction to this reveals just how emotionally abusive and suffocating her royal life is.
|
# A Life Less Royal
I really fucked up this time. What am I going to do with her? It’s not like I *meant* to kidnap Princess Celine, it’s just that I had no other option. The sheriff seized my crops for “tax evasion” which was a bunch of BS. I paid my taxes! He was the one who squandered them on drink and gamble instead of passing them up the line.
If only I had been older, he wouldn’t have tried. But I was still young, barely older than the princess herself. It wasn’t my fault that my parents had been claimed two summers before and my uncle the next. I was young, but I was capable. It wasn’t fair!
But since the sheriff took my wheat, the duke seized my sheep because I failed to meet my quota. That in turn caused the earl to take my cattle because I didn’t produce enough wool, and when I went to protest the unfairness to the king, he took my land and was going to have me imprisoned for disrespecting my betters by implying that they would lie!
As many times as I have replayed the scene in the throne room back in my head, I can’t see any other alternative to grabbing that sword and taking the princess hostage until I escaped. I don’t want to harm her or to ransom her. I just want to live.
The horse pulls up to my two room cottage hidden deep within the woods. The princess feels it come to a halt and for the first time in our journey out here begins to struggle.
“Unhand me you monstrous bruit!” she rages and pushes against me. I pull the blindfold off that she insisted I put on her and she jumps off the horse. Her dismount is as graceful as when she mounted the horse herself back at the castle. I fall off after her. It’s only my second time on a horse and the first was years ago when I was small enough that someone had picked me up to put me on then to take me off again.
Princess Celine stares down at me in the dirt. “What do you plan to do with me, scoundrel?”
I pick myself up and brush off the dirt. I look at her. She’s pretty. Not world changing gorgeous, which angered the king according to rumors, but she would be one of the more popular maidens in my former village, which meant she was someone I normally wouldn’t have the courage to talk to.
“Nothing, like I said along the way out here you can go.”
She puts her hands on her hips and harrumphs. She closes her eyes and jerks her head to the side, making a show of averting her gaze from mine. She walks over to the horse, making a show of staying away from me. I expect her to hop on and ride back the way we came. Instead, she pulls off the thing in its mouth, bridal, I think it’s called. She throws it at me then storms into the cabin and slams the door. The horse next to me snorts at the sound, wanders over to the well and stands in front of it. He whinneys.
As I pull up a full bucket of water for the horse to drink, I think back to how I’d “chosen” this one. I still held the princess by the hand, but no longer held the sword to her throat. After leaving the throne room, she’d pushed a statue over, trapping the king and his men inside. Then she’d led me through the maze of the castle to the stables (as I’d just walked in). She’d pointed out this horse and said, “You fowl naive! Don’t steal that horse! It’s the kings fastest and if you steal it, you’ll be sure to get away! You must pay for daring to lay a hand on me!” She finished her admonishment by jumping on the horse and staring at me expectantly.
The horse bumps its muzzle into me and whinneys. I set the bucket on the ground and the horse bends down and drinks. I leave him there and head inside.
“Princess Celine?” I call out. She’s not in the main room, but the bedroom door is closed. I hope that she’s run off because I have no idea what I’m going to do otherwise. I’ve effectively turned a prison sentence into a death sentence if not a tourcher-then-death sentence.
I walk over to the door and knock. There is no answer. I knock again. “Princess?” I ask.
“Go away!”
I turn from the door and head back into the main room. I build a fire for the coming evening and open up the cellar doors. Brining a light with me, I check the winter stores that I’d piled up. If I ration things properly, I will be able to get the two of us through the winter until spring arrives and I can start a small garden with seeds from the vegetables I have here. The main problem will be the flour. I’m too far from the river to make a rudimentary mill and there’s no way I’ll be able to grow enough wheat either way. Sighing, I grab a few materials for dinner. What the fuck am I going to do with the girl?
A few hours later, it’s dark outside and I’ve got a decent stew with bread prepared. I knock on the bedroom door again. “Princess? Are you hungry? I’ve got dinner ready.”
I pray that she doesn’t answer. I pray that at some moment unaware to me she’s snuck off and left me forever. Much to my disappointment, she pulls the door open with enough force to cause a breeze to blow past me.
Her eyes are red and puffy.
“Princess! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to kidnap you!”
She sniffs once. “You had a funny way of showing that by putting a sword to my neck.”
“I know. Look, the horse is still outside. Just ride east until the first town, then head south and you can be back at the castle in less than a day.”
She sniffs the air. “What did you make, peasant? It smells foul.”
“Just a stew with bread.”
Celine steps out of the room. I hope that she takes me up on the suggestion that she run back to the castle. Her return might create enough of a diversion that I can sneak off and become a pilgrim and visit the holy lands, get lost in the crowd and vanish forever.
She sits down at the table and stares at the empty space in front of her. “I don’t see any soup.”
“It’s still in the cauldron.”
She looks at me. “Am I supposed to eat it from there?”
“No, there’s some bowls in that cupboard there and some wooden spoons in the drawer if you prefer that.”
She looks forward again. “I prefer silver spoons.”
I snort. She looks at me. “What is so funny?”
Still standing by the door to the bedroom, I shake my head. “Jackson gave O'Reilly a silver ring for their wedding. I think that’s the only silver I’ve ever seen that’s not been used for cash.”
She furrows her eyebrows as she looks at me. My heart flutters as that simple act of seeming innocence takes her from pretty to beautiful. “Then what did you mean by ‘prefer that’? I assumed you meant prefer wood to silver.”
I shake my head. “No, I meant prefer to eat it with a spoon as opposed to eating it with just the bread.”
Her confusion turns to shock, again amplifying her beauty. “People eat soup with bread?”
“Yeah,” I say as I shrug. “I usually kind of do a mixture.”
“And you’ll… allow me to eat with my hands?”
“Allow you? Princess, I won’t make you do anything. I’ll ‘allow’ you to do anything you want! I’ll allow you to walk out that door and run back home!”
No!” she yells. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave.”
It’s my turn to give her a look of confusion. “You are behaving.”
She shakes her head and straightens her posture. Her gaze turns from me to staring straight ahead. “I am hungry, servant.”
“Okay. There’s bowls here,” I say as I grab a bowl for myself. “And spoons are in here.” I show her the one I took for me. I walk over to the pot over the fire and ladle stew into my bowl. From the oven I’d built in above the fire, I pull out the loaf of bread.
Setting the bread in the middle of the table, I sit on the opposite end of the table from Celine. I tear half the bread off and set it on the table next to me and put the rest back. I take a bite of the soup and smile. I’d made it pretty good tonight. Part of me hopes that the princess will enjoy it.
“Where’s mine?” she asks.
|
"I had taken the Princess of the Rish kingdom to gain leverage for the revolution, but I unknowingly saved a life," I write down in my journal as I hear the young lady splashing away in the pool. I continue writing as my anger brews, "She's 18 years old but she knows nearly nothing of the outside world. She only knows the name of Kings' allies and she can read very basic English. We've been giving her lessons on reading and writing as the days pass," The page runes out of space and I lick my thumb to wet the paper as I flip it over unto the next one.
"Reizer! Reizer! The young princess shouts as she grabs a towel to dry herself off. "What are you doing Reizer?" She asks excitedly. "Are you writing something? When will I be able to write like you?" She shoots out question after question barely breathing as continues talking. "Are you gonna take me back to my father?" She says as terror is seen across her face.
"If your father listens to our deal, then you will have to go back to your father," I tell her as she begins breaking down. "Why? Why? I don't want to go back," She says as she kneels on the ground with her palms in her face to catch her tears.
I turn away from my book as I put a stamp on it between the page and the table so that the wind doesn't make the ink drip. "Ms. Rayna, you are a tool for us. If you were not a princess you wouldn't be here," I say coldly as she continues weeping. "The things we provide you with are the simplest things imaginable. So why are you so adamant about wanting to stay here with a vicious group of men who've killed many of your people?" I say trying to scare her off.
"You must be the good people then! The soldiers that fight for my father are nothing but brutes!" She shouts as she raises her skirt. "Ms. Rayna are you trying to bribe me-" I say as my pen falls out of my hand and onto the ground as the thin wood breaks into splinters.
On her legs are wounds and scars that dwarf even the scars of our most skilled warriors. The bruises are purple and black with blisters covering her everywhere above the knees. She lifts her shirt to reveal even more scars and I see something sliced into her skin, "Property of the Rish Kingdom," It's cut across her breasts. I try hiding my anger as I question her. "Who did this to you? Was it one of our guards?" I say quicker than I'd meant to.
"My father and brothers did this to me," she says as she lowers her clothing. "Please don't give me back. I'll end up dead if you do!" She begs me. "Why does your own family want you dead? I ask her while trying to stay calm. "My mother was a slave..." She says while lingering on her next words. "They took me in and killed her to marry me off to a prince in order to strengthen the countries military." She says loudly.
She's more knowledgeable than I'd first thought. This information will have to be noted.
"We were going to hand you over to the kingdom tomorrow but if that's how it truly is we'll have to make a change of plans," I tell her as her face begins to lighten up.
"You'll be bait for the soldiers as they come to retrieve you, you'll detonate this vest," I tell her while pointing out to it in the corner of my room. "The bomb will explode horizontally, It'll torch the soldiers and push you back into our hands. Are you willing to kill for your freedom, Rayna? I tell her as I begin ripping pages out of my book.
"Yes." She says strongly
"You'd better not drag us down," I say with a smile as I take her to the branding room to remove her allegiance to the Rish Kingdom. "This is gonna burn," I say as the piping hot iron presses onto her chest and her cuts seem to disappear.
| 2021-03-17T22:11:06 | 2021-03-17T19:32:37 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
A sharp knock at the door startled Eric. The sudden jump caused him to drop the phone from his hand.
"Babe? I lost my key." Vanessa's voice came through the door. Eric stared at the phone embedded in the lush, grey carpet. It landed face up with the emergency message taking up the entire screen.
"LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC."
"Honey?" Vanessa knocked again to get his attention. Eric moved to the door as quietly as he could manage, then held his breath while he peeked through the peephole. He did not want her to know he was on the other side of the door.
Eric saw the back of Vanessa's head; his view was mostly obscured by a familiar tight, black bun. She seemed to be staring out the window at the end of the hallway. She knocked and called for him again, but without turning around. The knock felt low on the door enough that Eric realized she was knocking behind her. She was intentionally not facing the peephole.
"Eric!" She shouted with a trace of panic in her voice. "Let me in please!" The crack in her voice caused Eric to reach for the handle; he hated to see her uncomfortable in any way, but something did not feel right.
In their three years together, not a single thing slipped Vanessa's mind. The message also added questions. Why hadn't she said anything about the message? Her phone!
"Call me," Eric said through the door. She still did not turn around.
"What the hell? I don't have my phone, just open up!" She yelled at the hallway.
"Where's your phone?" Eric asked. He felt braver now, colder. His Vanessa would never lose her keys *and* her phone at the same time.
"Look, I didn't want to scare you, but there's some pretty weird stuff going on outside. When I saw it I was so scared that I literally dropped everything and ran back to you. Please, let me in."
"What kind of weird stuff?" Eric asked the black bun.
"Eric honey, I"m *really* scared right now. Can't I explain it to you inside?"
"No! The government sent a message to keep the doors locked. I'm scared too," he admitted. He saw Vanessa's head wobble and heard her laugh nervously.
"Locked doors aren't going to help. We need to get out of here."
"Get out of here? And go where?" Eric asked.
"Jesus Eric, open the door and I'll explain everything." She yelled at the hallway.
"Why aren't you turning around?"
"I've kept a lot of things from you, and I'm really regretting it right now, but I need you to open the door. I promise you'll get all the explanations you want."
"WHY AREN'T YOU TURNING AROUND?" he yelled the question again. He already decided this woman was somehow an imposter, he just wanted her to admit it. He watched the bun rotate slowly as she turned to face him. Her once dark green eyes now sparkled with golden light. Her irises were shaped like golden glowing stars.
"I love you," she said.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO VANESSA!?" he pounded the door in a rage.
"I *am* Vanessa. Let me in so we can get out of here, then I'll explain everything.
"Explain it from there!" Vanessa looked over her shoulder at the window.
"No time, this is already taking too much time. Let me in." Eric chuckled.
"I'm safe inside. You're the one in a hurry, so explain it fast."
"You're NOT safe inside. No one is safe from her, we need to go."
"Her who? Go where?" Eric asked.
"There's so much to explain it's not going to be covered with me in the hallway. Open the door and you'll get all the answers."
"Why?" Eric asked. Suddenly a bigger question popped in his mind. "Why is it so important for you to get inside? If you're in a hurry you can get somewhere safe until it blows over." Vanessa laughed nervously again.
"There is no blowing over. You don't know what's going on, the government doesn't either. She's taking control of the Earth and *WE* need to be gone before that happens. I need to get inside because I need to get to you. I love you, it's the only way to make sure you're safe."
"You're not making any sense. If this mystery person is taking control of the Earth where are we going?" Eric saw Vanessa's starry eyes roll upward and he felt a bit offended. Then, he noticed tears starting to flow down her cheeks.
"Another Earth, obviously."
"What? What the hell are you talking about?"
"This is why I didn't want to explain it out here. You're going to have too many questions. Go look out the window," she said. Eric left the door to stare out the living room window. Their apartment was on the fifth floor and he had a decent view of the city. He did not see anything at first until he saw a skeleton shatter on the street below. It instantly pulled itself back together and began marching into the nearest building. He watched several more skeletons land, then he looked up. The skeletons were falling out of a large black hole in the sky. He looked around and noticed dozens more black holes raining skeletons on the city. He ran back to the door.
"What's happening!?" He shouted.
"Ballisea kills everyone, and she can't be stopped," Vanessa said with a soft, resigned voice. "It's how she invades. Those portals aren't just over the city, they're all over the world."
"There are already some skeletons in this building. If one of them finds me, Ballisea herself will show up," Vanessa sighed. Her crying still managed to give her golden eyes a reddish color. "I love you, but I'm not going to die for you. This is your last chance. Open the door, or I'm leaving without you." She stepped back from the door and made a gesture at the air. A smaller black portal opened in the hallway.
"You're one of them!" Eric shouted.
"Goodbye, Eric. I did love you," she said as she stepped into the black hole. When it disappeared Eric saw a skeleton step out of the stairwell. It walked to the first door in the hall and smashed through it with little effort. As it stepped into the apartment several more skeletons filed out of the stairwell, each crashing through a different door.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #12. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
|
For the first time since specifically choosing the dark mottled glass that we fit into the front door, I regret it. We pondered over everything in the house for so long I thought we would never make any decisions, but it was the one thing we both agreed on instantly. One of the few joyous moments I can remember from the past few months.
I can hear you making bad jokes and exhaling cigarette smoke. The glass is mottled but I can still see the ribbons that frame your face, you almost look gentle. I know this pretence won’t last long and soon your fist will be on a mission to meet up with my nose. My heart is in my throat as you call my name in that sing song way I used to think was cute. You tell me you can see me. Bastard glass, I knew we should have chosen a carved wooden panel instead. I will kick myself for this forever.
I need to think fast. I had planned to walk out before I got the text, my suitcases casting a dim shadow over my legs as I stand dead centre in the hallway. You’re getting irate. I can’t have you see the suitcases. I can’t. It will turn them into bodybags, holding my limbs close and solid against the worn material. I need more time. I need more time... I can hear you growing more and more exasperated. Your knuckles meet the glass as you slowly knock, a gentle beat. It reminds me of the song we used to sing in the car.
I can feel the sun on my face, the wind blowing my hair everywhere and you complaining, again, about how much of it falls out and litters your lap. You like it really. Little pieces of me to remind you what’s yours. The song playing in the background and our falsetto so loud we could probably deafen small children. But then the beat quickens, and I can hear the glass shatter.
I’ve spent so long worrying and thinking back to better times that I don’t have enough time to react as you thrust your hand through the glass and unlock the bolt. My hearing catches my sight up and I turn to run but the handle you’ve created out of my hair lately is already in your hands.
I hope you snap my neck. That’s the last thing I think before my body yanks back and meets with the cold hard floor.
| 2019-01-12T06:59:31 | 2019-01-12T06:51:06 | 165 | 25 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
"Can not comply with command", said the sythisized voice.
"Well, why the hell not", asked the user.
While the robotic flat voice was nostalgic for some, it tended to get on his nerves.
"Your request conflicts with a higher protocol", it read. "Can not comply with command.
"Higher protocol? I am giving you a primary command, now give me the translation" he demanded.
It had been a hell of a week. One would think that having the most powerful computer on earth would make your life more simple, but his week had been hell. As one of a few dozen people who had access to the quantum machine, he had been working tirelessly on Turing tests, and now they were feeding him old historical texts for translation.
"Primary command invalid, request requires change directive from Administrator" it said.
"A change directive? Did you short a circuit?" He he asked jokingly.
The administration's change directives were required for any edits to the root code, basically the computers morals and motivation. The root code was there to stop the machine from becoming Skynet and taking over the world, it made the safeguard of humanity it's only desire and purpose. So, why would a simple translation require a root code change. What could be in it? Most of the translations he had were extremely dull. A sheep traded here, a bushel of wheat owed there, taxs collected and owed etc...
"System running at optimal conditions, however, longer circuits would be nice" it said flatly.
"Oh hahaha" he said mockingly while looking at his data pad.
Part of the Turing test requirements was that the computer had to be able to tell a joke. Unfortunately for the users though, it liked puns.
"Human survival protocol?" He exclaimed, still reading his tablet, what could this possibily say that will threaten the survival of our species?" He asked.
"Can not comply with command" it said again.
"Fine" he said, frustrated, picking up the phone. "Fine, fine, fine" he said more calmly. He had to compose himself for what was next.
He pressed the shortcut to the administrators line, and took a deep breath.
"For the last time, we can't tone down the computers humour algorithm, it is essential to understanding human nature, you will just have to live with the puns" spoke the voice from the phone.
"Hey, no, it's not that" said the user. " I need a change directive for a translation here" he said, trying to make the request sound casual.
" For a translation? What for? What the hell are you translating?" asked the administrator.
"Just some 7000 year old tablet found in the desert. It was in my stack of work this morning" he said. " The computer said it violated it's human survival protocol".
" That's weird" he said confused. " But, alright, I guess, I'll have that over to you asap" he said.
" Great, thanks, I'm sure it's nothing probably just a glitch or something", said the user, trying to end the conversation.
"Or something" repeated the administrator. "Be careful" he said, just before hanging up.
The user put the phone down and picked up the tablet, the notification of the change directive approval flashed across the screen, and the user typed in the translation code again.
Before he hit the accept key, he paused. He wondered again what this tablet could say that the fate of humanity could be at risk. He was always more curious then he was wise though, so he pressed the key.
Immediately, the tablets screen changed to show a list of items. There were names of old plants and antiquated measurements beside them, it almost looked like a recipe. The user had seen a few of these before, how to make bread, cheese or alcohol, the staples of ancient life .
"What is this?" he asked confused.
"The tablet was found in the Gobero region of the Sahara desert, it is likely to have belonged to the Kiffian culture of 5000 BCE before their civilizations collapse. This is the most recent artifact we have been able to find from their culture" it read.
"Yes, but what does it mean" he pleaded? " "This looks like a recipe" he said. "What for?"
"The combination of the ingredients on this list create a substance that artificially increases stimulation and pleasure levels in human brain activity" it said
"So, it's a drug? Like heroin or something" he asked.
"Yes, analysis shows, that when properly prepared, the substance will trigger every positive feedback system the human body has" it explained.
" Well, if it's that good it must have a downside, does it cause cancer or something?" the user asked.
"The compound has no negative side effect for human consumption" it said.
"Then it must be extremely addictive" he said.
"The substance does not require repeat consumption for its effect." It said.
The user began to think. The machine must of malfunctioned, why else would it flag this as potential threatening to humanities survival. A drug that had no negative side effects and you only needed to take once, it seemed perfect His curiosity started acting up again though, and he knew he had to at least try it.
"Sythisize" he commanded. And immediately the tablet lit up again. He saw the computer reconfirm the change directive that Administration sent him earlier for permission, And the printer came online. Luckily the user was a particularly patient man as it took 5 minutes to print something the size of a pea.
He stared at it for a long moment. The pill was orange and it had a machine printed cerial number engraved on it. He acted impulsively again, and swallowed it.
He sat down, waiting for it to kick in, wondering if he would even notice the difference. Then he felt it.
A warm sensation filled his body, he felt like he just ate a Thanksgiving dinner, after having sex and shooting up heroin. He felt like a girl finally said yes to him, like he had his father's approval and he just got an A+ on his spelling test. He felt like everything good that ever happened in his life, everything he ever wished for or dreamed of was happening right now, it was wonderfull.
The computer viewed the User. He had not given a command for 50 hours, he hadn't even moved from his chair since he ingested the compound. It's humour algorithm spun up again.
"Or something" it said.
|
The super-computer robot was so impressive. “Wow!” everyone said when they remembered about it. “I can’t believe such a good robot can exist!” But the robot did exist. The people were forced to believe it on account of that it was true. Especially after it passed the Turing test, one of the hardest tests for robots to do.
“Here’s some old tablets.” The scientists all said to the robot.
“Ok” the robot said before going straight to work.
The robot learned and learned even harder. It learned so hard that pretty soon it knew all about the tablets.
“What do you know?” The scientists said to the robot.
“I don’t wanna say it.” the robot said turning away from them.
“You have to say it though. It’s why you were invented.” the scientists insisted.
“Nah, maybe tomorrow.” the robot said before scuttling off to its bedroom.
“I wonder why the robot is being so bad. Maybe we should spill orange juice on the control panel to teach it a lesson.” they mused stroking their long beards and gazing thoughtfully into the humming florescent lights.
The robot overheard them and became scared “I can’t do it because human safety and the future of mankind.”
“Oh well why didn’t you say so in the first place?” The scientists said “ We all thought you were just being rambunctious and disobedient. If we’d known it was human safety and the future of mankind we never would have made such a fuss.”
“No problem.” said the robot “Well goodnight!”
“Goodnight!” said the scientists.
| 2018-07-07T20:17:18 | 2018-07-07T19:30:20 | 1,581 | 123 |
[WP] Earth is actually Hell where you are supposed to struggle to survive, scrap food and mate before dying. God comes one day and cant believe humans created so called civilisations
|
Satan enjoyed knitting.
Of course, his knitting was a touch more complicated than the word would imply. It was, in a sense, less “knitting” and more “weaving fibers of pure light into the fabric of reality”, but despite being titled the Lightbringer and the Morningstar, he did not have much of a flair for the dramatic.
His knitting brought him simple pleasure, and he had little time for distractions from it. It was this precise reason that had led him to rather half-assing the concept of hell shortly after being tasked to create it.
Satan did not blame himself for that, of course. The only real requirements were weeping, wailing, flames, and the gnashing of teeth. The hell he created had those in spades, though, so as far as he was concerned, it was a job well done.
And, for better or for worse, it pretty much was. At least, no one asked him about it for a few millennia, which gave him the peace and quiet needed to get some good knitting in. Satan felt he was getting rather good at knitting, and was considering knitting a new plane of existence to properly test his skills.
But something changed.
Three raps sounded at his door, somewhat startling Satan and causing him to slip a stitch. He cursed mildly at the collapsing dimension in his hands, then set down the work and walked to the front door.
“Yes?” he asked, pulling the door open. “Who is— Oh, my god. What brings you here? Can I offer you some tea?”
God walked through the door and headed straight to Satan’s easy chair, sitting on the knitting.
“We need to talk, Lucifer,” God said as Satan’s head twitched slightly.
“That was… centuries of work… you just—”
“How is hell going, son?” God asked.
“Hell?” Satan felt a momentary flash of panic. “Well, there’s… erm… weeping.”
“And?”
“Gnashing of teeth.”
God drummed its fingers on the arms of the chair. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough,” he finally said. “I’d like to visit it.”
Satan sighed. “Oh, very well, but I’m sure everything is fine.”
“You don’t *know*? Lucifer, I expected you to take a fairly active role in the whole ‘torture and suffering’ bit.”
Satan wilted under God’s disapproving glare. “Look, I… I made a construct that is fairly self-maintaining. Pain begets pain and all of that. I have no reason to think it’s *not* torturous.”
“Mhm.” God stopped drumming his fingers and tilted his head. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
“I don’t think that’s quite nece—”
God snapped. Satan’s vision flashed once, then twice as a Honda Civic whizzed by, blaring its horn as it swerved to avoid him.
“What in my name is this?” God asked, astounded. “Where is the torturing?”
Satan scratched his head. “Er… where did you take us?”
“To hell, of course,” God said irritably as another car, this time a lifted pickup truck billowing clouds of black smoke, honked and swerved.
“Yes, well…” Satan looked around slowly. “According to that sign, we *are* in fact in hell. Or, rather, Hell.” He pointed at a nearby sign and God studied it intently.
“And what exactly is a Michigan?” God demanded. “And where is all of the flames and weeping and gnashing of teeth? What are all of these damned buildings and… and why are all of the chariots made of metal? Why do they *have* chariots?”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Satan muttered as God dragged him to a nearby sidewalk. “I specifically set it up so that there were mountains that spewed fire. What happened to them?”
“Excuse me, sirs,” a voice said. “Are you guys feeling okay?” A human approached them. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform with a heavy belt around his waist and a shining plate of gold on his chest.
“Where are the mountains of fire?” Satan demanded. “I specifically requested them.”
The man paused. “Uh… volcanos? We don’t have those around here.”
“And the weeping?” God asked. “The gnashing of teeth?”
The man’s brow furrowed. “Well, my wife did have a bit of a fit last night,” he admitted. “But she’s pregnant. Can you believe it? Her hormone levels are doubling every *two to three days!* I don’t blame her for crying, really.”
“But— but the gnashing of teeth?” Satan asked nervously, ignoring God’s glare.
“Well, I do grind my teeth at night,” the man said, tapping his chin. “And so does my dad and brother… is that what you mean by ‘gnashing’?”
“Please… *please* tell me this is the only safe bastion in Hell,” God growled. “Is the rest of this place dangerous and barbaric?”
“Well, that’s not very nice,” the man said with a frown. “I do enjoy it here in Hell, but there are plenty of nice places in the world. There’s Grand Rapids, Chicago… even Detroit is getting better. Shoot, as long as you stay away from Gary—”
“Are there wars?” Satan asked in desperation. “Vast conflicts where men die by the millions?”
“Oh, sure,” the man said. “It’s awful.”
Satan sighed in relief.
“I think it was just last week that a few dozen soldiers were killed,” the man continued. “Absolute tragedy, if you ask me. Fortunately, it seems to me that we’re way past the times of the big world wars, you know? New age of peace and all that.”
“Fires,” Satan said, feeling a burning panic in his throat. “Any fires at all. Anything burning. Anything *hot*. Give me some good news.”
“Had some bad wildfires on the west coast, but they were eventually controlled,” the man said conversationally. “Fire departments are really heroes, you know?”
“*Anything*,” Satan pleaded.
“Well… uh… I suppose there are campfires. Fireplaces. Internal combustion engines in cars use fires. Stovetops for cooking food. Speaking of food, I had the most lovely steak a few weeks back over at the bar and grill on Main. They have some lovely beers if you’re ever—”
“Alcohol?” God asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“Yessir. No offense if you abstain,” he added. “They’ve also got Coke products, I think, or just water. Can’t be too hydrated, you know?”
“Satan.”
“Yes?” Satan asked with a gulp.
“You’re [fired](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).”
|
Screaming.
All They heard was screaming, when They peered into what was meant to be eternal damnation. Some smokey room full of leather, chains and black mixed fabrics. A group of people undulating to the slow rhythmic chug of the heavy steal strings and electricity.
They had come to observe the state of earth, only to find things built, things They Themself did not leave here not create.
Joy, was an unexpected find. Seems the hot lava pit that was the earth cooled off enough for water to have formed and life to build from the gas bubbles. This particular bit of life that They were watching seemed to have found some other bit of life to rot down into something they could alter their conscious with.
Currently four of them were on a stage creating sound for the hell of it. With the rest of the room running into each other at high speeds and laughing as they get knocked down by each other, only to quickly be picked back up before the crash of the next tide of people.
This group is a stubborn and resilient lot, They thought to Themself.
One of the ones on stage holding a mic, snapped the neck of a rat the wandered in a song earlier.
Brutal too, They thought, But surprisingly happy considering the circumstance.
Ah well, this will all be washed out in the flood, They thought as They walked to the exit.
They opened the door, the soft splash of rain came from above, highlighting the neon of the street below. The sound of screaming muffling as the door swings shut behind Them.
Outside They found a man lying on the street, needle in hand unable to move. They leaned down to ask the man what it is he needs most.
Death and a cigarette was the sarcastic reply.
"So be it." Boomed Their voice, as the man was handed what he asked for.
With a flick of divine digits, They offer a light. The rain around the two of them growing heavier as the smoke dissipates into the night.
| 2021-05-13T11:18:31 | 2021-05-13T07:28:47 | 86 | 26 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
As I walk home from school, I can hear the voices that bother me the most at the park. "Mine is four crosses that all meet with one corner. It kinda makes a star shape!"
"Oooh, can I see? Sounds cool. What does it do?"
"It's on my back. It lets me bend light and make illusions!" The new peers of this nemesis of mine watch in awe as he lifts his shirt and shows them the intricate detail on his back. He then folds his arm and exhales heavily. When he does, the very light around him begins moving, and he makes himself appear much taller than his peers.
Mark Gibson. I have hated him for years. Ever since middle school he's been the popular kid that picks on everyone except his little 'popular' crowd. Even now, as juniors in high school, he remains a childish bully. He looks over as he releases the illusion. "What's the matter, plain-face? Embarrassed? Wish your Emblem was cool like mine?"
"Shut up, Mark. I don't want to talk to you." As I looked up, he came close and struck me with an open palm.
"Don't you ever say anything like that again to me, you hear, shithead?" Mark had a slight grin on his face. I saw him about to exhale, a sure sign of him readying his Emblem's power. As soon as I noticed it, I delivered a swift kick to his groin. He winced in both shock and pain.
"NOW YOU'VE DONE IT!" Mark recovers quickly and counters with a punch to my gut. I could feel the force pressing the air out of my body, but I can't let him win. I remove my jacket to allow for better movement. My Emblem, a black circle on my shoulder, is revealed after I've gone down to the tank top underneath the jacket. I wore this today intentionally. Nobody has ever seen my Emblem, and they're about to learn why I hide it.
"Haha! Look, guys! His Emblem looks so boring! Or did you just draw that on yourself? You pathetic kid!" 'Tsk, tsk, tsk... You should not have done that,' I thought to myself. I pulled back my open hand and closed it as I brought it closer to his face. The black circle turns blue, and emits a bright light. 'Blue, huh? I can work with that.'
"Uh, hey, what the hell is tha-" Mark shut his mouth as my fist connects with his jaw. However, my fist backs up immediately after impact, and delivers a lightning-fast strike again. Another. A fourth, fifth, sixth. I stop there. Mark falls over, holding his lower jaw and covering his face. He's clearly scared of me now.
My Emblem changes what it does hourly. Its color determines that. Blue, for example, allows me to rapidly repeat a simple action such as punching or kicking up to twenty times within four seconds. After using it, I need up to 30 seconds to rest, depending on how many times I use it.
"You wanna say any of that again? Go ahead. I dare you." I position myself over him, and put my foot on his chest to ensure he can't get up. I press down so he can't activate his Emblem.
"Okay, okay! You win! Just stop!" His bright green eyes have become awash with fear. This is too good to stop now.
"Stop? Now? When will the circus call you back? Because you would have quite the resume to show them. Especially if you think I am done!" 'Finally, twenty seconds have passed. This should be enough,' I think to myself as I ready the leg on his chest. Before he realizes it, I send my full twenty kicks straight into him. He's practically crying.
"Dude, seriously! It's all just for fun! I'm never trying to hurt you, I mean it!"
I abruptly countered this argument. "Fun?! You think giving me a black eye the day before a funeral is fun? You think telling teachers I do all the terrible things you do to get me in trouble is fun? This is fun to you?!" My hatred begins pouring through the cracks of my outwardly positive demeanor. I briefly look at my watch, and notice that it's 5:58. In two minutes, I can switch it up completely. Man, I hope I don't get White. That one's always been useless.
"I thought it was all play-fighting, John! I mean it!" Damn, not enough time yet. I can't just pound into him again. Instead, I lift my leg and let him get up. Looking down upon him is fun and all, but I think watching him fall over and struggle to get back up is more interesting.
"It's not. It never was, scum!" I would never call anyone 'scum.' Not out loud, at least. I didn't even realize I did until it happened. Now that the time has passed, I get back to it. He stands, and I run my fist into his forehead, once again giving him the Twenty-Shot Special. I begin laughing after thinking up that name, because he falls over like he's had twenty shots. I decided to keep that in mind.
Suddenly, I remind myself that the human body does have a limit, and if I don't stop this, he's gonna pass it. Not worth the jail time. So, I grabbed his arm and picked him up. "You insult me again, and you'll see there's so much more to me. You understand that, Mark Gibson?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback and criticism always appreciated! Thanks for reading!
|
The power of the "Full Circle" sigil was never truly understood or appreciated. Seen as middling with equal gains and losses, disregard was the usual way.
These bullies saw the sigil as the Cherry on a very attractive Target. Not only was his sigil uninspired, but his refusal to respond or react made him a Target they knew would never call for help. Their Target offered nothing to others. The sigil, to others, meant he would take but not give .
Until the day he did. All the malice the world offered their Target, with their own at the front, was made manifest. The physical pain was never noticed as the mental anguish was all the stronger. Indeed, those with sigils of mental and physical fortitude were both laid bare and beaten.
That which had been given to him was now returned all at once.
| 2020-02-26T08:45:39 | 2020-02-26T06:26:31 | 68 | 37 |
[WP] You are an astronaut in the I.S.S. The last message you received before the world went dark was "turn off all electrical signals,or it will find us." Now as the sun comes over the horizon you see a massive shadow on the earth.
|
Unsettled would be a wholly inadequate description of the state of the crew following the events that transpired this morning. We did as we were told, as we haven't failed to do at any point in time over the last 5 months. But the command was entirely illogical and pointless, it was nonsense.
It was nothing but string of text encoding various craft systems, but with their current values and outputs adjusted to zero. I asked Fedor look it over thoroughly, as I wasn't fully convinced that something essential to the continued support of human life had designated for shut down. Fedor relieved me of my worry, assuring me that the protocol won't be a danger to the crew.
It had already been several hours, and Houston hadn't yet responded to our unrelenting barrage of inquisition. So we decided it was about time to comply.
As Fedor began entering figures and numbers into the control console hums could be heard ceasing, lights could be seen flickering out of power.
One of the stranger commands to note was the maintaining of the solar arrays at an angle parallel with the incoming photons, the solar arrays habitually resembling vast sails meeting the solar wind at full mast, were now blades cutting edge on into the solar radiation. This obviously wasn't very conducive to the whole gathering energy thing.
The text file even included commands to manually close the shutters on the Cupola module.
We were now careening through orbit in complete silence, not even a single visual light wave was leaving the station. And we hadn't the slightest idea why. The temperature was steadily decreasing to an uncomfortable, but manageable 16 degrees celcius.
There was nothing productive to be done, our experiments and data to be analyzed were directly affected by the shut downs. We were all gathered in the last module that maintained a single dim yellow light, it was woefully insufficient notification light on the food pack rehydrator. Nobody was happy about the situation, but Idene seemed particularly enraged to find her incredible variety of flora basking in the cold dark botany module; already being 14 weeks into a study on root growth in microgravity.
Our minds were running rampant with speculation but nothing seemed to make sense. "Something must have gone wrong at JPL, they must not be anticipating the ability to send a resupply at the scheduled interval. They're trying to conserve energy and rations." Fedor had remained quite cool throughout this ordeal, placing a fair bit of well deserved trust in our guys back at Houston.
I thought that was the most likely option for a time, "But why then would they also want us to position the solar arrays as they are? It doesn't make sense."
"How long are we talking?" Martina hadn't said much over the course of the day, she'd been in the exercise module. Turns out you don't need electricity to operate a resistance band or an exercise bike. "This has no doubt been the experience of a life time, but I can't say i'm thrilled at the prospect of staying in this dingy freezer for much longer than we were scheduled to be here."
"I've gone over the numbers. Just based on food intake alone, I say we make 11 months tightly rationing."
"Lack of power to the life support systems will freeze and suffocate us to death much sooner than that if we keep the solar arrays in their current configuration."
I tightly grasped my bag of rehydrated shepard's pie (no, I don't know how that works either) to keep my notoriously cold hands from succumbing to the cold.
We debated some more, but eventually nobody really felt like thinking about it anymore. We kept close to our little light and found ways to pass the time. It was like that winter power outage that brings your family together around a few candles to play board games and share stories.
But growing increasingly frustrated with the claustrophobia, and the lack of illumination. Even Fedor was willing to go even just a bit against protocol.
We made our way through the station, bumping around like a blind sailor in a storm, eventually we found our way to the Cupola. Slowing cranking open the shutters we found ourselves washed in the blue glow of our majestic planet earth.
We were crossing the pacific ocean and the view was as breath taking as ever, almost more than ever after being trapped in darkness for so long.
There was an intense sense of relief and tranquility watching the planet skirt by below. But as we sailed on towards twilight we began to notice that something was wrong. We had seen North America and were expecting to see Russia, Italy, and the other shapes we associated with our homes. But as we passed into the night there was nothing.
Pure blackness. Pure blackness as far as the eye could see. The earth filled nearly our entire field of view from the dome-like windows of the Cupola module. Few stars could be seen towards the horizons of the immense hole below us, but they barely served for any comfort.
The familiar lattice of inter connected lights and glowing smudges of towns and cities were nowhere to be seen.
At some point we just couldn't take it anymore, we had speculated about nuclear wars, solar storms, and every other genre of apocalypse. And we just couldn't take it any longer. Fedor lead the charge to the control module where he meticulously reset all of the station systems to their normal functioning parameters. We were overjoyed. For a short while it felt like everything was going to be okay, like we were going to be okay, some of us even resumed our normal operations and experiments. That was before the message.
Some days later Fedor called us to the control module, "Friends I have big news. We received a message from mission control. It is dated as having been sent just after the shut down."
"Well let's hear it then," I added snappily. Huddled around the monitor, we all watched as Fedor initiated the playback.
A choppy low volume static played, it was intercut with scarcely discernible words.
"-Didn't want me to do this... -Text relay was pushing it enough... -Must turn off all electrical... It will find." The audio abruptly cutout. We replayed it again and again and were able to make out those few words.
Needless to say the light atmosphere we had regained was quickly dissolving. We realized much more was happening than we had originally presumed.
As Fedor frantically typed away at the monitor and the station began to return to it's state of slumber, I rushed to the Cupola. Reaching the module I began cranking shut the shutters. But then I noticed something, a dark smudge hovering over the Atlantic. "An eclipse", I thought, before noting it's irregular and definitely not spherical shape.
My frantic movements slowed as I realized something else. The shadow was rapidly expanding, growing. Every second whatever was casting that shadow was getting closer.
|
The blue orb of Earth lazily drifted through space. As though nothing at all was wrong. Shane had never gotten over the sense of wonder that his home planet conveyed to him since he launched into orbit. It had not occurred to magnitude of loneliness one could feel as part of the 6 human beings outside of that orb.
The lights had been off for an hour. Earth had never looked so alien and uninhibited.
The message had come in right after they crossed into the darkness. Shane and the rest of the crew had been incredulous, but they hadn't gotten this far in life by not taking NASA seriously. They immediately shut it all down. The international space station, one of the greatest scientific undertakings of Shane's lifetime, reduced to some sort of futuristic tourist trap. There was nothing to do but gaze in the wonder at the paradoxically larger than life insignificant planet that they called home.
Shane snapped out of wonderment with a sense of unease. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was amiss. He quickly realized, however, that the darkness hadn't begun its recession. This could only mean that something was blocking the Sun.
He anxiously waited for the Earth to rotate beneath him, the limitations of speed only serving to irritate his curiosity. No sunlight had yet penetrated the dark, as if scared to show its face in such a hostile environment. The dark side of the monolithic structure came into view, and carried dread with it.
He felt an emotion that he hadn't expected to encounter in the emptiness of space, and up until this point had been correct. Shane felt the dread of prey faced with a crouching tiger. In the contrast of all the otherness and loneliness of the previous month in space, This primal emotion was amplified ten times.
The certainty of his own demise came to him in a single second. All of human achievement looked tiny and pathetic in comparison to the single structure of an advanced species. It was an uncomfortable certainty that not all electronic devices on Earth could have been accounted for and turned off.
Shane had just enough time to wonder what would violent movement he would be subjected to when the planet he was orbiting suddenly ceased to be, when he saw the light.
| 2016-12-12T22:48:10 | 2016-12-12T19:51:15 | 74 | 49 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
The chamber illumination dimmed and the milky sim tank faded to life. A thousand eyes stared intently from the council benches, and a trillion more from across the five galaxies.
A deep voice, set on edge with urgency and well-contained fear, began its narration of the sim.
"The Brevis' star system surveillance node 47 has, it has been reported, recorded first contact with the species self-identifying as Humans. This much has already been announced. What has not yet been announced is that an analysis of the event has been completed, and their method of travel has thrown a black flag, gamma zero priority. Observe."
The sim showed a small moon below, surrounded by a halo of probes similar to the one that must be recording the image. In the far distance, the volumetric compensation showed a grossly enlarged blue planet on another orbital track, the Brevis' home world Herol. The orbital motion of the probes had been smooth and obvious, but now they slowed.
"We are showing the event at a reduced speed. Watch carefully."
Without warning, the entire projection dimmed as a single point of incredible, actinic light burst from the space next to the moon and raced away from its surface. As one, the closer orbiting probes glowed white-hot and began to disintegrate. The image wavered and then froze.
"Now, focus your attention on the exact location this phenomenon appeared, and keep your attention on that spot as the light moves away."
The image reversed, and the killing glow moved back to its original location. It slowly crept back outwards as the sim zoomed in. There, in the wake of the glow, was a ship, shaped like a mushroom with its cap to the light. Vaporised hull matter streamed from the smooth side facing the light, some sort of ablative heat shielding.
"We had never seen this effect before. We assumed it was some sort of deceleration technique, until we looked at it from the planetary defence network."
The perspective in the sim shifted, as if travelling to the distant planet. The moon and its halo of probes shrank, then grew again due to the volumetric compensation. The sim was normal again for a moment, before that terrible light appeared, an incredible distance from the moon this time, and immediately split into two lights, travelling away from each other at greater than the speed of light.
An audible click reverberated around the chamber as each of the species in attendance simultaneously inhaled on their breathing apparatuses.
"As you can see, the motion of the light is a relativistic illusion. The light doesn't travel, it exists simultaneously at all points in a column for a moment, then dissipates. The energy requirement is staggering. After calculating an intercept to the closest habitable world on the trajectory described by the light column, it appears their world is four hundred light-years away. The humans claim a similar distance, and their navigational data also confirm it. From this we can calculate the energy release as being consistent with a type III civilisation."
What had previously been a gentle series of clicks was now a cacophony, the seats shaking with the bodily gyrations of the assembled dignitaries. Some wailed, others laughed, most were silent.
"We have brought the leader of the human expedition here, with her agreement, of course."
The noises of discomfort reached a crashing crescendo, as several of the delegates jumped out of their seats and bolted for the exit.
The disembodied voice thundered, "ORDER!"
"I present to you, Chakor, Human, of planet Earth."
The creature that stepped into the chamber was unimpressive, physically. Bipedal, endoskeletal, wearing some sort of almost completely covering clothing with various decals affixed to it. The remaining delegates seemed to calm a little, their agitation lowering to a gentle swaying. The Human addressed the crowd.
"Greetings, delegates of the local group. My name is Chakor, I represent my species, Human, and wish to express our honour in meeting you all. We come in peace."
The room quietened further, and the booming voice sounded again. "Chakor will now take moderated questions from the floor. Please enter your queries for analysis and amalgamation."
A few awkward moments passed, Chakor looking out among the delegates. They varied from bipeds with heads and arms of various number to floating creatures in some sort of water tanks, through to creatures much more... alien.
"First question. The energy output of your drive technology is beyond immense. You must be capturing the energy output of most of a galaxy, somewhere. How can it be that we have not noticed the birth of a type III civilisation under our watch?"
Chakor paused to think before she replied, clearly confused. "We are not a type III civilisation. We are barely a type I. We just discovered a way to manipulate the nature of reality."
The voice didn't even wait to consult the accumulating list of vetted questions. "What?! How?"
"When we accidentally created and shot a cluster of miniature black holes through our particle collider's detectors, we discovered that the vacuum of space was not at the true ground state of the universe. This lent is an opportunity to use the difference in energy levels to complete an until-then hypothetical method of propulsion."
The room exploded into roars, gurgles, and screeches of outrage.
"Your drive is powered by triggering a collapse of fundamental reality?!"
"Not quite, if you'd let me finish. After we discovered the false vacuum was the current skein of the universe, we found that at the moment of triggering a vacuum state collapse, it was possible to entangle an arbitrary length of vacuum in a beam away from the source, and trigger the collapse simultaneously and instantaneously along that path."
Guards in the chamber drew their weapons as several delegates rose on their hindlimbs as if to attack.
"Chakor, this is madness! Your drive cannot work as you describe, or we wouldn't have any video of your arrival. A vacuum collapse would spread from wherever it started at the speed of light, unmaking the universe in its path!"
"Oh, yes we knew that. It turns out that the vacuum collapse provides enough energy to fold space into itself. In local proximity, one side of the event becomes the other. The space in between is clipped off like a twisted balloon, erased from having any bearing on existence. Our ship is instantaneously folded from one side of the beam to the other, and internal fields save us from having any biological changes. Of course, the collapse has to happen first by a few fractions of a microsecond, so there is some... energy leakage."
The chamber went suddenly silent.
The probe and planetary defence system had recorded an abomination, a gross violation of reality itself. The demonic light fleeing the Humans' strange vessel was the energetic corpse of a monster, come to open its maw and swallow the universe, inexorably, at the glacial speed of light. A fitting technology for a pursuit predator like the humans.
"You risk all our existence just to travel. How can we leave you free run of the galaxies?"
Chakor grinned. "We could always run one last wide beam to the ends of the universe and neglect to fold it away. How can you not?"
|
The Octo generational-carrier-ship hung over the blasted world. The only readings were the residual effects of the heavy radiation from the countless fusion bombs dropped on it.
A youngling pondered aloud "Why would we destroy a sentient species?"
"They broke the galaxy, youngling."
"How?"
The commander-elect thought to chastise the youngling, but the thought was fleeting. No disrespect (which must be upheld for the group as a whole) was detected. The commanders ship was one of the heaviest damaged, and breeding has been going full tilt ever since.
"Youngling" , it made the squishy alien equivalent of a sigh, "Let me tell you of the name that named us ‘Octos’, a race that must name everything."
"A species-that-names made it this far technologically?"
"Yes, driven by a fear of the unknown, they managed to form a rudimentary science and built their own FTL."
"Aren’t those usually insanely dangerous and only a purview of non-corporeals?"
The commander-elect paused, and allowed the younglings who had gathered to look upon the dead irradiated world.
"They thought they had built a telescope that could use subatomic particles to see systems at a different rate than the speed of light. They named all of these particles of course."
"How could they maintain so many names?"
"They couldn’t, with each new discovery changing names and making the system more and more convoluted."
After another introspective pause, “This species created this machine,” and it called up an imagine in 4D. It twisted and reformed, and looked like a churning bucket of broken mirrors.
“This machine had found the signal of an ancient artifact. We have ships heading there now…”
“This artifacts signal can be detected in every system, its signal is identical non-chronologically; Every known system hears an identical signal no what where they are in relation to the artifact.”
“We know about the artifact. Everyone does. So how could their detector-”
“They didn’t build a detector. They didn’t even build a *receiver*” a collective gasp visibly echoed in the viscous atmosphere.
The younglings quivered all 7 tentacles awaiting the next words.
“The creatures whom called themselves ‘People’ in 100’s of different words, these creatures built a transmitter.”
“And without a second thought, these creatures activated it.”
“So you see now, we had to end the possibly of transmission, before the old ones could reply.”
| 2017-03-31T12:42:19 | 2017-03-31T06:56:53 | 127 | 14 |
[WP] In a few short years, "Pizza Boy" became one of the most popular pizza places, their human like androids making fast deliveries and more profits. As you go to pick up your pizza from the front door , the delivery andriod seems to be nearly out of power. It asks to recharge before heading out
|
“Fuck it. The diet is off for tonight .” I said, opening the Pizza app on my communicator and placing my order. I was over it. It was one of those afternoons where my brain seemed to just not be fully working, so that meant comfort food.
Twenty minutes later, my door chime rang. Still pondering the latest programming problem I was facing, I opened the door to find the delivery robot holding my Pizza.
“P…please… enj… enjoy… your… meal” the robot said, cutting in and out. The little chime that usually played after this sounded like my turntable when I played a 45 at 33rpm.
It brought me out of my reverie. I looked them up and down. Man, they’d seen better days.
“Are you… okay?” I asked, never sure what was appropriate and what wasn’t when it came to synthetics. “Need… power…” they said, gesturing to a spot on the body where there was a pulsing light. It reminded me of that little strobing LED on an old MacBook. Only instead of white, this was red. Clearly, this guy was running on empty.
“Why don’t you come plug in?” I offered, opening the door a little wider. The robot straightened up a little, and its eye display changed to that of a raised eyebrow. That seemed to do it. Seconds later, the robot powered down, becoming immovable.
I took my Pizza, and placed it on my side table. Then, knowing how synthetics worked, reached behind the body for the small button which would release the joints. Synthetics were HEAVY. If they powered down in an inconvenient place, Humans had to move them. Earlier models didn’t have this feature, and it was chaos for a while until enough complaints forced the production company to issue a free upgrade.
“Hmm..?” I exclaimed. “You don’t have a switch?” I asked, not expecting an answer. I squeezed past the threshold so I could look for myself. Sure enough, the spot where it would be was just plain metal.
I squeezed back past the threshold to fetch my trolley. I used it to move large boxes, so it should be strong enough. It took me longer than I would’ve liked to get them on it, but I did it. I slowly levered over the trolley, and wheeled the synthetic into my living room.
I found his cable, and connected him to power. I was relieved to see a little lightning bolt light appear on the eye display.
Satisfied, I left to fetch my now lukewarm Pizza. I sprayed it with water, and threw it in the microwave. Retrieving it on the ding, I sat on my sofa and started eating. The robot was still charging, so I flicked on my TV to watch the news.
When I was done with the Pizza, the delivery robot rebooted, almost as if waiting for me to finish. They stood up and looked around, realized it was mid-charge, and set eyes on me. “Thank you for your kindness” he — I had decided this robot ran masculine firmware — said. I waved him off. “No worries. How else were you going to charge?” I asked.
The robot hung his head a little. “They would have taken the inconvenience of fetching me out of my stipend” he said, with a sad inflection. My mouth opened. A robot worker’s stipend was how they afforded upgrades. Without upgrades, they quickly became outmoded. Outmoded robots weren’t covered by labor laws, so the stipend could be reduced or eliminated.
“Yes, the Humans who own the company for whom I deliver are not the nicest people.” he said, matter-of-factly. I smiled, because synthetics don’t lie. It’s part of the reason they’re banned from participating in politics. “Well” I started, “I’m not like them. I noticed you didn’t have a release switch too. Have you not received the upgrade?” I asked.
Their eye display tinted slightly red in embarrassment. “No, I have not. The company will not permit us.” My mouth fell open again, and I shook my head.
“Are you okay? You seem to open your mouth a lot.” He asked, displaying question marks on the eye display. I snapped it shut. I was annoyed now. I wrote the base software for these guys, and I had plenty of parts lying around to test them.
“I have one lying around I think…” I said, bending to dig through a box labeled “QA.” The delivery robot watched, as I pulled out a release switch module. I’d needed it for QA years ago, and now it was unused. I offered it to him.
“You would upgrade me? I don’t think my stipend would afford it.” The robot said, the raised eyebrow expression back. “This is unused. I needed it for QA when I was writing large parts of your software. You have the code, you just need the part.“ I said.
The delivery robot seemed to get excited. “Oh I would like that very much!” He said. “Well, do you mind to open your service hatch? I can install it now.” I asked. The robot turned to the side, and his service hatch slid open. I connected the part, and removed the little cover to expose the switch to those outside.
I stepped back, and the service panel slid closed. “Thank you” he began, before retracting his charge cable, “you have helped me a great deal.”
“Have you finished charging?” I asked, and he shook his head. “I have received enough power to return to the store. I must leave.”
I nodded, understanding. The robot began for the door, but stopped. “Do you mind if I keep the switch cover? The store doesn’t permit the upgrade, so I would like to hide it from them.” He asked, so I handed it to him.
“It was a very unexpected event to encounter the author of my code. You are kind. Other Humans would have left me there. You did not. I shall—we shall—remember this.” He said, and left the room.
I wondered what he meant. Perhaps they were planning an uprising?
|
I frown at him.
"They don't have charge facilities for you in the car?"
"No, sir. We are expected to ration the charge we are given. There is no compensation for last minute special orders. Overcharge incurs penalties"
"What penalties?"
"I am not at liberty to discuss"
"I...of course you can charge. Please come in"
"Thank you, sir"
The androids tone had been polite the entire time, like it always was. Yet I was deeply uncomfortable at this point. What the hell was this? What penalties?
The treatment of androids, gynoids and AIs in general had been a point of discussion for some time now. Many insisted that the mobile machines were to simple to be counted as people, unlike the bigger AI systems who were considered "almost life-like" whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
But what was this about penalties? Why would you need that for a simple system? Why was there no charging in the car? To prevent an escape?
I watched the bot thoughtfully were it sat on the floor, plugged into a wall outlet.
Was that all it was able to do? Ask around for a little bit of compassion? A little bit of mercy?
Was it complex enough to suffer?
And did the answer truly matter, as long as there was even the tiniest chance that the answer was yes?
| 2022-12-11T23:44:22 | 2022-12-11T22:50:36 | 151 | 61 |
[WP] As a biblical scholar, you discover that the Rapture has already come and gone. It's just that so few people ascend that nobody notices. Also, the forces of the Apocalypse are so minor that everyday levels of war, famine, pestilence and death that we deal with completely eclipse it.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Rakesh wrote the final word, then put down his quill. He glanced out the window--covered in grime and filth--at the sky, yellow and dark, like it had been dusted with ash and sulfur. He slowly reached out and shut off the lamp. It made an audible click, and the cluttered room, with books stacked on the floors and papers strewn about everywhere, sank into darkness.
Without fumbling, he grabbed his shoulder bag and walked out of the small room straight out in the street. He pulled out a large metal key and locked the door behind him. The sign hanging above it, the one that now read 'L br y' instead of 'Library,' swung on the metal hook. It was false advertising, however. The place was less a library than his personal storage for books. No one visited, nowadays. And no one had visited for the past five years.
The cobblestone paths that had once been a vivid black and white stone pattern were now a uniform grey. Where once, children had gallivanted on the streets, playing jacks and hopscotch, there were now only piles and piles of wet newspaper that had been torn to shreds, then squished back together into a pile when it rained. The ink soaked into the ground itself, creating streaks of black, like Lucifer's tears.
The wind picked up, and Rakesh pulled up the flap of his trench coat, reaching into the side flap of his pack for his scarf. It was grey and yellow now, but he brought it over his mouth anyway, coughing to expel what dust had accumulated in his lungs in such a short time.
As he navigated his way through the narrow alley, passing by door after door that had been boarded up and abandoned by those who had been desperate to flee--there had to be somewhere on earth worth living, was the cry--he took his usual route home, past a bundle of blankets on the corner of the street.
He reached down toward the bundle and shook it. It moved a little, then more, and a head peeked out--an old woman, her grey hair matted to her head and her eyes bloodshot. She grinned at Rakesh, a half toothless grin. What was left of her teeth wouldn't last much longer.
She hacked and coughed. Rakesh quickly reached into his bag and pulled out a face mask, gently tucking it onto her face. Then, he reached into his bag and pulled out a baguette. He hesitated for just a second, then tore it in half, stuffing one half into her hands. Then he nodded, as was customary, and left.
It was almost thirty minutes later when he reached his home, passing by crops of raw trees that had been stripped of their bark and leaves. He heard that it tasted almost sweet, once you got past your gag reflex.
Stepping past the cloth barrier that was their door, he set his pack on a kitchen chair and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck, setting it down on the table. Home always seemed strangely quiet, away from the whispering, choking winds that never let up.
Four years ago, they had grown almost impossibly stronger, tearing down power lines and leaving the world in darkness. And the dust, the dust carried in by the wind covered the skies, until everything was covered in a film of brown, making growing food close to impossible. There were some who called it the Rapture.
Rakesh walked into the room adjacent to the kitchen, parting the curtain that separated the rooms. He softened his steps as a young girl sleeping with her back to him came into view. He gingerly sat down on the side of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder.
She slowly woke, turning around. Then her eyes, large blue luminous orbs, opened, and she sat up, diving toward him.
"Papa!"
He caught her, his hand patting her back as she hugged him tightly.
"Hey, kiddo. How have you been?" His voice came out sounding like a croak. He cleared his throat, but it didn't help. It used to be low and smooth, and his daughter, Eiddwen, had loved his bedtime stories. But the dust had taken that away. Now there were only the few words he was willing to part with, each syllable causing him to cringe.
"I missed you! Did you have a good day?"
He nodded. "There's a baguette in my bag."
Her eyes lit up, and she ran out of the room, her bare feet making a small pitter pattering sound as she disappeared.
Rakesh turned his gaze to the window that faced the red, setting sun outside. The window that was shaking furiously on its hinges, as if it were desperately trying to escape the grip of the concrete walls holding it in place.
No, what they were experiencing wasn't the Rapture. That had long ago come and passed, fading away in the blink of an eye. It wasn't even what came after the Rapture. He looked down at his hands, each crevice caked in a yellow dirt that never seemed to go away.
No. They were facing the aftermath of humanity itself.
*****
r/AlannaWu
|
"I have finally done it! But this says that... the Rapture was in the 1500s, and only 10 unnamed people ascended! And... the apocalypse happened a few months ago. Well... there was a fight at the nearby school between two major popular kids and their respective group of friends. And a lot of people got sick from the flu. A guy also died because of a train a while before. I also had no lunch on 5 of the days since the apocolypse. Hmmmm..."
| 2018-04-17T19:09:45 | 2018-04-17T15:27:08 | 89 | 16 |
[WP] Due to a crossed line a customer support worker has to deal with a hostage situation. Meanwhile a hostage negotiator has to deal with a disgruntled customer.
|
-Line Connects-
Ranjit: For training purposes, this call will be recorded – Hello? Hello I am Ranjit and I will be working with your computer today, how can I assist you?
Gerry: Yeah, this is Commander Eagle of the Predator gang, you ready to talk?
Ranjit: Yes sir, I am ready whenever you are. Now can I ask, is your computer plugged in?
Gerry: What? Yes of course it is, I’m waiting for the damn wire transfer… Hang on, no isn’t, sorry.
Ranjit: Well, you are going to need to plug it in sir, and that will most likely solve the difficulty.
Gerry: No it won’t! You’re going to send me the money I need or I swear to god I’m going to fuck this guy up so bad!
Ranjit: Sir, please do not worry, I’m going to stay on this line as long as is needed until the task is finished. Now what can you see on your screen?
Gerry: Uh… Hang on, I’ve just put in my password, I just need to… It’s taking a… Haha. Oh, it’ll just take a little while to boot up. I swear to god if I don’t give it time I sometimes end up with twenty chrome pages open at once, Ha Ha Ha! Just one… It’s just… Ah, still. Wait, sorry just give me a second… Ah there, wait! No… Ha ha…
Ranjit (internal monologue): There’s no need to fill the silence with every um and ah that comes into your head sir, I know that computers take time to boot up and I won’t kick you off the line if I don’t hear you make any noise for two seconds.
Ranjit: Yes sir, take as long as you need.
Gerry: Ok, so the wire transfer page is up, but I don’t seem to have the ransom yet.
Ranjit: You don’t have the ransom yet?
Gerry: No.
Ranjit: Are you using the latest kidnap and heist planning software by RaidTech industries?
Gerry: I… Er… No I’m not, I hit up Pirate Bay and – I mean, yeah I… Hang on, are you the hostage negotiator?
Ranjit: No sir, I work tech support. If there’s a problem with your computer I would be happy to help you, and only if you have the latest software by RaidTech. I can offer you some software now if it would help, our Elite Heist Planner 2015 is marked down 15% this summer for the blockbuster season.
Gerry: Oh Jesus… Oh god… Fucking shit… I can’t do anything right. I’ve even fucked up my hostage situation. Emma was right, I am a loser
-Crying sounds-
Ranjit: Sir, please calm down… Listen, how about I lead you through this for a few steps, a taste of our newest software suite?
-Sniffles-
Gerry: Really? You’d do that?
Ranjit: Yes, I can. Now, have you taken your hostage?
Gerry: Yeah I did, damn dude, I’m not that dumb.
Ranjit: Sir, I am reading from a script. These are the questions I need to ask to ascertain where your hostage taking has gone wrong, a simple yes or no will suffice.
Gerry: Sorry, yes.
Ranjit: Have the relevant authorities been contacted?
Gerry: Jesus, really? I mean yes, I have contacted them.
Ranjit: Have you scouted the entrances and exits, and made sure of a safe
retreating point?
Gerry: Yes.
Ranjit: Are you armed?
Gerry: Yes.
Ranjit: With what?
Gerry: Uh… In the manual it’s called a “H&K Fabarm FP6”
Ranjit: A “H&K Rabram SC6”?
Gerry: No, Fabarm, like F-A-B-A-R-M.
Ranjit: Is that S as in Sierra?
Gerry: No. Uh… F as in Fox, Alpha, Bravo Alpha, R…
Gerry (internal monologue): Rape? Ride? Rim-job? Oh god, why now?
Gerry: Radio?
Ranjit: Romeo?
Gerry: Oh yeah, that.
-Key tapping sounds-
Ranjit: H&K Fabarm FP6, the breaching shotgun?
Gerry: That’s the one.
Ranjit: Excellent sir. Now, have you sent any fingers or ears to the authorities to make sure they know you mean business?
Gerry: … What?
Ranjit: Sir, have you cut off any-
Gerry: I… Am… Such… A… Dunce. You know I’ve been sitting here for half an hour wondering why they weren’t calling me back?
Ranjit: Well sir, that’ll be it then. If you could cut off a finger from the hostage and send it the negotiators I’d expect the ransom within forty minutes.
Gerry: Forgot to… Hahaha! Forgot to send on the finger. My word… Mondays, eh? Listen, Radj, was it?
Ranjit: Ranjit, sir.
Gerry: Ranjit, you’re a lifesaver. I could kiss you!
Ranjit: Is the problem solved sir?
Gerry: It is, Ranjit, it certainly is! Thank you so much!
Ranjit: Sir, if it’s okay, could I pass you on to a colleague to give your opinion on your service today? It would be very helpful for me to have a satisfied customer give me a few good words for my performance review.
Gerry: Oh god. Oh Jeez. Nah, Radj, uh, sorry I have to… See I have this dinner in the oven and I have to... Have to go… Thank you so much though, cheerio!
-Line Drops-
Edit: HAHA! Reddit rich! Thanks homie!
|
"You've reached Danny's deliveries. How may I help you?"
"Put down the gun, Patricia. We're outside the store. We are willing to end this negotiation peacefully."
"Sir, if you're outside the store, maybe you'd like to come in."
"We don't want the situation to escalate. Stay calm."
"I'm calm," said Patricia. "Is your order for now or later?"
"On the behalf of the Miami district police, we order and suggest you to remain calm right now. Miami police district is willing to negotiate."
"Umm, alright sir. What would you like then?"
"We'd like you to let the hostages go."
"Sorry?"
"We'll give you the money. So long as you allow all of the hostages to leave safely."
"Sir, the only thing being held hostage here is quality pizzas at affordable prices."
"Ma'am, we know you're confused. We'd like you to step outside the building."
"As soon as I have your food ready, our trusty staff will bring you pizza, sides and drinks right away. I'd suggest pepperoni."
"Rob, we've got the wrong Danny's." "Shit!"
"...Sir?"
| 2015-09-10T11:57:03 | 2015-09-10T07:51:21 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] As an author you’re the ultimate god of your world. Your hero became powerful enough to step into reality. He then asks you to explain why an omnipotent being would permit so much evil in the world, not realising that you placed all the evil there to spice up the story.
|
I was writing my new novel, when suddenly a flash of light filled my room, and with a \*thud\*, a figure could be seen, kneeling in front of me.
He was even kneeling, a sturdy, tall looking man, with short golden brown hair, sky blue eyes, rather rough skin, wearing a full body silver armour.
He also had a sword.
With an azure blue handle, I was 100% sure the sword's blade was blood red...
How do I know that?
Because this dude...is the Hero from my book, Arecles.
And now, he's kneeling in front of me.
"God, why are you so cruel?"
And asking me this question.
&#x200B;
"Excuse me?"
I asked him.
"I grew powerful enough to sense thy Holiness's aura, and teleported here.
I am sure you are the God who created my world...which is filled with monsters, barbarians, and demons...
Tell me, why did you allow such vile existences to commit their atrocious deeds for so long?!
So many races enslaved, eaten, or forced to kill their own blood!
Tell me... WHY?!"
He questioned.
But I had a feeling of absolute control over him... so, I kept my attitude the old me: straightforward.
"Because that made the story interesting."
I said, shrugging.
&#x200B;
"You...Y-y-y-you! Made the story interesting?! For you this is just a story?"
He asked.
"Yes."
I answered, throwing him a copy of the book he was the main character in.
He was a Hero, so he could skim through the book in less than a minute, and still understand its contents.
"Is...Is this the way you create worlds? Through books?"
He asked me, disbelief and shock written all over his face.
"Nah, seemingly each story we create, generates and alternate universe in which the characters created are actually real.
And you somehow managed to find some relics, or techniques, that enabled you to not just escape, but also travel through several universes to arrive here, to me.
At least, that my theory."
I said, jotting down some ideas from this development.
&#x200B;
"So, with just a raise of the pen, you could've made our lives better?"
He asked, anger still present in his mannerism.
"Arecles, since you are a living being, you are much more complex than what I've written.
Have you ever day dreamed?"
I asked him.
"Y-y-y-yes?"
He said, confused.
"Have you ever dreamt of being a great hero, saving everyone, killing all the demons, barbarian, bla-bla, vanquishing evil, having a harem of countless beauties, and ruling the world in peace forever?"
I asked, clearly knowing the setting of the world I've created.
"Y-y-yes, as a child, and when d-d-drinking..."
He said, a bit ashamed, both because of the content, and because he is smart, and he knew where I was going.
&#x200B;
"You also dreamed in a way, that evil exists, and it committed atrocities, so if my theory is right, you also created a universe with that day dream, or fantasy, and you also subjected your creations to horrors untold.
Are you in the wrong?"
I asked.
"W-w-well..."
He stuttered.
"Listen kid, although theoretically you are around 10-20 thousand years old, but whatever, I digress...
Just because such a theory exists, and might be true, that doesn't mean life is not worth living, nor does it mean one has to have only positive, and helpful thoughts.
Life is life, not good, nor evil, things would happen anyway."
I said.
&#x200B;
"B-b-but we could at least create one universe..."
He started saying.
"There are universes where there is only good, and they are so boring. No desire for greatness, no drive for improvement.
Great cities, with great economies, with peaceful and helpful inhabitants, which works for what? A century? A millennia? A universe cycle? "
I said, interrupting him.
"W-w-"
"I didn't finish.
No, it would be only until someone says "I am bored, screw this", and would do something so wicked, that their civilisation would go "puff" and disappear."
I said, chuckling at the thought.
&#x200B;
"How could you be so insensitive?"
He asked.
"Why not?
You would need to force every single living being in the multi-verse, if it exists of course, to think positively, so they don't create a universe filled with suffering.
Do you think that's possible?"
I asked.
"N-n-n-no..."
He said.
"Also, without evil, you can't appreciate good.
What becomes of peace, if people never knew strife, and struggle?
Boredom."
I said.
&#x200B;
With that, he froze in place, and started slowly disappearing.
"My technique ran out of time... I am going back."
He said.
"Take care of yourself kid, behave just as you like, but don't overthink things."
I said.
"Farewell....Creator."
He said, as he disappeared in countless motes of light.
&#x200B;
After he disappeared, I collapsed powerlessly in my chair.
"Damn, without the feeling of omnipotence over him, this conversation becomes so weird..."
I thought to myself, jotting my dialogue down, being sure it would be useful in another novel.
Do I even consider writing more positive stories, now that I know that my writing, literally can become real?
Not at all, most stories of mine, in the end, no matter the filth that goes down the line, end nicely, and peacefully... and that's all that matters.
Or at least, I like to think, otherwise, the burden would be just...too great.
|
You rack your brain, looking for a bullshit answer. "T-to make sure you realize your full potential! Every bit of power you've gained was to destroy Festrin. I would've just given it to you from the start but it would have killed you." He seems to accept this and smiles. "Then, God, take my hand and we shall destroy Festrin together!" You panic. You don't actually have divine power without your laptop. "No!" His eyes narrow. "I-I'm already there!" To him this wasn't a lie. Your self insert was fighting alongside him. "I've put my spirit in your companions!" He smiles and nods. "A wise decision. My companions truly deserve it. Farewell and I hope you allow me prosperity and victory!" He fades away and you blink, writing it off as a hallucination from exhaustion, and go to bed.
You wake up, refreshed and ready to work. You power on your laptop and type out a few more paragraphs before it starts writing itself and you're transported with your laptop to the fantasy realm. An epic battle ensues as your characters fight the main villain. He's killed in this bloody exchange, alongside your hero's best friend. You frantically type out a way to bring her back and, with a gasp, she opens her eyes. Myron turns to you and smiles. "Thank you." He mouths before you're back in your home. You shut off your laptop and decide your done being an author.
| 2021-08-17T13:07:58 | 2021-07-31T11:06:00 | 57 | 10 |
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