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[WP] Bob the hobo's always been a nice guy. He stops thugs tagging the building, picks up litter, and doesn't bother anyone. When he returned your wallet, you decided to repay him and treat him to dinner. You're now in a 5-star restaurant, and Bob has just paid a bill four times your yearly rent.
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It’s not the best of neighborhoods, but the streets and buildings are clean, the animals well fed, people smiling at others and quick to lend a helping hand. Why is this, you may wonder. Well, I’m not sure I can explain, but I’ll try.
It all starts with Bob. How can anyone describe Bob? If you looked at him, you’d think homeless dude. If you watched him for a while you’d see him help old Mrs. Krohl with her groceries; spend time with the little kids and make them laugh; pick up people’s discarded litter and put it in the trash. Bob would share his blankets on a cold night, and split his sandwich with anyone who looked about as hungry as he must have been. He talked to the older kids that used to harass people, and really listened to what they said. They never gave him any trouble, come to think of it, they never give anyone trouble these days.
But that was Bob all over. People felt respected and actually visible with Bob, so they lived as if people were actually watching them, because Bob was.
So now, I feel like I have to tell you about me. I guess I’m just a product of this neighborhood. I don’t have a lot, but I’m grateful for what a do have. I’ve lived here with my aunt since I was 4, after my parents disappeared. That’s what I tell myself: they disappeared. Nobody talks about what really happened, and when you’re 4, you don’t have the words or the perspective to internalize what happened, so they disappeared.
When I first arrived here, I buried myself in my art pad. I drew the same sort of pictures over and over: figures receding in a multicolored fog. But fog is the wrong word; it’s more physical, like colored cotton candy you can walk through. There were other lights in there, but the colors were never right. I couldn’t get it to look right, so I worked on the texture, the colors, the picture over and over again. My aunt bought me some sidewalk art chalk, and that was the best; I almost got it right. I think that was the first time I noticed Bob—he stopped short and just studied my picture for the longest time. I felt really good that an adult would like my picture, so I didn’t interrupt, I just let him look. After a very long time, he looked closely at me and smiled, tipped his hat and moved on. I think I was about 7 or 8 at the time. I gotta admit, it made me proud. Like I said, Bob sees you even when you think you’re invisible.
I would have liked to have attended an art school and made my living making people stop and study my pictures, and maybe give them something new to think about, but you need money for those kinds of schools. I was lucky enough to get a good job at a department store, and sometimes they let me help with the window displays. They really liked my Halloween window, with the eerie fog and the figures seeming to be coming and going all through the colors. I put lots of hours, without even getting paid, into that project; it just felt good. But sometimes the display brought so much attention to the store that I got a bonus. The money itself was nice, but the fact that so many people came to see it was even better.
One day, after I’d gotten my paycheck and bonus cashed, I was, as usual, in a hurry. I have no idea why; it feels like I’ve always been rushing headlong into my life without a plan or idea, other than the idea that I had to hurry. But something wasn’t quite right; I was missing the usual weight in my back pocket. In a state of mindless panic, I realized I didn’t have my wallet. Now time stopped. I just stood there, thinking of all the time I had spent and now I had lost my money when I heard Bob say, “Did you drop this?”
“My wallet!! How...where...thank you!”
“You’re welcome. You’re that young artist; all grown up. Still draw?”
“I don’t have much time these days. But I did the display at the store; did you see it?”
“Ah, yes. Thought that was you. Still trying to get the colors right...”
“Yeah. Say, can I buy you a nice dinner? I got a bonus from work, and we can celebrate you finding my wallet, and me, nearly getting the colors right...”
So that was the idea, just a nice hot meal. But somehow we ended up at one of the best restaurants in town, one I couldn’t afford with 10 bonuses from work, and I suspect I’ve just had the best meal of my life, but I swear I don’t remember. Any of it. I don’t remember walking there with Bob, ordering the food or eating it. I just found myself sitting across from Bob as the waiter comes back, puts the bill by Bob’s left arm so he can lean over, sign it, and then the waiter whispers away like they do in those kinds of restaurants.
I stare at this “homeless dude” who just spent my annual income on dinner. And I look much more closely. It dawns on me that while we felt Bob really looking at us, he seemed to remain invisible. It’s then that I notice the color of his eyes, that impossible color that I never can get right in all my drawings. And I just stare as millions of thoughts and questions bubble up inside of me, and Bob says: “I’m really sorry about your parents. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
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Bob leaned back in his seat, savoring the plush leather. He grinned that same toothy grin he gave anyone who gave him a quarter.
“Alex,” he said, “I came here to find the bullies. The mean men and women who beat and steal from the homeless.
“But after a while I realized something... I’ve already got those guys by the nuts. They’re coming with me no matter what I do.”
He leaned closer, his eyes glowing, and for a moment his leathery skin seemed to glow a deep red. This close his breath carried a faint whiff of sulfur.
“But guys like you... the good guys, the kind ones... getting you to owe me a favor... well, that’s what my life is all about, Alex.”
He grinned and for just a second I could see the deep red of his skin, the sharpness of his teeth, and the vestigial horns on his forehead.
“Now you owe me. Alex. And you’ll either come with me, or give me someone to take. I think you know who. ”
I jerked back from him, my heart hammering in my chest. I tried a sip of wine to calm myself, but it was spur on my tongue and I spat it back into the glass.
“No...”
“Yes, Alex,” he said, “I want Elizabeth.”
| 2020-03-30T08:03:40 | 2020-03-30T05:59:29 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] As the world's leading expert in Genetic Microbiology you discover that the ancient viral code in human DNA are there as limiters to human capabilities. You begin to activate these viruses to improve the human race but soon realize why they were there in the first place.
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Dr. Nakoto watched as the deformed vaguely human shape devoured his assistant. The doctor adjusted his glasses, his fingers trembling, and doubled checked the containment procedures. They were all still in place. Nurse Nancy's body vaguely twitched still as the fleshy protrusions that belonged to the creature formerly known as Vance Dillan engulfed her.
"Begin new recording." said the doctor, muffled fleshy tearing sounds filled the silence before the computer sprung to life, a little red dot pulsing on the screen.
"it seems Dr. Amani's assessment of inert viral DNA latent in humans was correct." Said the doctor to the computer.
The doctor paused and looked upon the mass of flesh in the cell infront of him.
"Her work, indicated that the Viruses acted as a sort of stop gap to prevent out of control mutations. Her work, dismissed as science fiction, seems now to confirm the ideas of Dr. Harrison, and Researcher Grant, that humans were some sort of genetic experiment in the first place." The doctor paused, and rested his head in his hands.
Twenty years of human prosperity brought to an abrupt close. The first few limiter viruses closed off simple self regeneration. Unlocking those allowed cancer patients to live. The grotesque mass of flesh greedily absorbing the nurse in the cell, he'd been the poster child for the Nakoto process. At 2 cancer ravaged his body, and Nakoto saved him. 10 limits removed later the same smiling snaggle toothed child now assimilated the corpse of his assistant.
How many other Level 10s were there? Maybe 20,000? These were the very wealthy.
"It is my professional opinion that the level 10 limit removal procedure triggered the transformation of Subject Alpha into his current state...and..."
Slow applause broke from behind him, and Nakoto Froze. Nakoto knew he worked in a lab buried 100 feet under ground, with 3 security doors, and a full security detail. This is what is corporate masters required of him. No one could get in here, but the slow clapping continued.
"Nicely done. Doctor. You humans finally figured it out." Said C.O.O. Wallace straitening his suit and sipping a mixed drink.
"Mr. Wallace...how did you get in..." Nakoto said. Looking at the man in the impossibly crisp black suit.
"I've been here the whole time, I just didn't allow you to perceive me. Perks of being a 4th dimensional being." Wallace said draining his glass.
"4th dimensional...but those are just theories." Said the doctor.
"Oh, Nakoto, that's so terribly 3rd dimensional of you. This," he gestured towards the slurping ulduating mass of tissue, "was just theory just years ago."
"Wait...no... you...you are the one."
"the one who bankrolled your expenses, paid for your college, cultivated you into this field? Of course. You see, as keeper of project 345a I've grown bored. Terribly bored. "
"what is the meaning of this?" the doctor swore.
"the meaning is that you've finally discovered the reason all humans were created by my kind. As a weapon." The 'man' in the suit said.
"no...I..."
"don't beat yourself up. If not you than some other random idiot with genetic modifier."
"i can fix this... please help me." He said.
"No you can't, and no you wont. All over the world this is happening."
"but why? Why! Millions of years of evolution, and you are going to let this happen?" the Doctor said.
"Time is no consequence to me, and besides who else will play the cosmic villain if you?" Wallace said, draining his glass again somehow.
"Cosmic villain...what are we to you?" He asked.
"entertainment. All sentient life in the universe, and there is a lot of it, is entertainment. This, this right now, the conversation we are having, is backstage stuff but the rest of it, the outbreaks, the eventual downfall of humanity, is all so titillating. " Wallace smiled and crossed his legs.
Nakoto collapsed on the floor, and let the dull thudding noise of the fleshy creature behind him banging against the observation pain with a tentacle covered in teeth.
"there there Nakoto. Truth be told, I am not omniscient. You humans could pull this out..."
The sound of Nakoto's head exploding into a fleshy mass of tentacles interrupted the 4th dimensional man.
"but..I am guessing not." Wallace said, stepping nonchalantly off the 3rd dimensional plane.
"this season is going to be good." he said to the fleshy mass of the former doctor. but the doctor neither heard nor understood.
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"How was I supposed to know all the limiters would be like this?!" Shouted Steve the scientist.
"Listen here Steve, I'm pretty much done with your shit. The country is in a state of national emergency because of what you've done, and we need you to fix it." Click. Thus, Steve's one and only conversation with the president ended.
3 million people affected and counting. The Finger-Guns-And-Winking apocalypse has started. Who could've known? May Allah have mercy on us all.
| 2017-08-19T08:20:27 | 2017-08-19T07:02:49 | 48 | 17 |
[WP] While tucking in a child a man "Checks for monsters" he finds another version of the boy who quietly whispers to him "Daddy, there's someone in my bed".
*Edit* I take no credit for this prompt. I saw it on instagram and thought it would make a good one.
Not sure if that kind of thing is frowned upon here or not, just wanted to contribute.
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"Mommy," the boy said, "There's someone in my bed."
His face was pale with fright, or perhaps it was just pale; she didn't think any human's skin could reach that corpse-white tone naturally. His eyes were pure black, deep and empty, and his fingers curled like claws.
"Okay, honey, don't worry," she said softly. She'd slipped without thinking into her parent voice; calm and collected, perpetually unperturbed. She didn't want to upset her child. "You can come out, okay? I promise there's no monsters here."
She wished her husband was here. She wished that often, these days-- it was the first thought on her mind when she woke up every morning and the last before she fell asleep each night. But he wasn't, he couldn't be, and so she would deal with this on her own.
The child whimpered again, shaking. He looked so very terrified. The pattern of freckles scattered across his cheeks was familiar; she kissed each one of them before she put her son to bed each night. They looked much darker against this odd boy's bone-pale skin, like splatters of ink.
"Shh," she said again. "There's nothing to be afraid of here." She held her arms out to him, and he finally began to crawl out from where he'd been curled up.
"Mommy?" her son on top of the bed asked, voice wavering.
"Shh," she said to her son, and reached a hand out to ruffle his hair. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine." She glanced up and gave him a reassuring smile. She hoped she wasn't lying to him.
When the boy moved, the differences between them were more pronounced. He had her son's face, her son's voice, but his arms and legs moved at strange, twisted angles and they creaked and cracked when he pushed them against the carpet. Even something as simple as crawling took him a great effort.
When he finally managed to get out from under the bed, she scooped him up into her arms straight away and cradled his head against her shoulder. She didn't want her son to see the boy's face; he might panic or start crying.
The boy was cold, very cold, but she could feel his pulse jump where her arms curled against his neck and so he had to be alive. It was a relief; she didn't think she could handle seeing her son's dead body, even if it wasn't truly him. Not so soon after her husband, at least.
"Mom?" her son asked. He sounded torn between fear and open curiosity. "Who is that?"
"Well," she said, swallowing, "I'd like to find that out myself. So I think what we're going to do is we're going to get out of bed and go have a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen, and then we're going to have a talk with him and see what we can figure out. How's that sound?"
"I'd like hot chocolate," the strange boy said timidly. She could feel his icy breath against her throat as he spoke.
"I've got school," her son said, sounding a little confused. Well, confused was better than terrified, at least. "Can I really stay up?"
She smiled. "I'm sure it will be all right for just one night. And if you're really too tired in the morning, I'm sure the school will understand if you stay home just this once."
"Really?" Her son's face lit up. "Awesome!" He threw off the covers and practically leapt out of bed. The boy in her arms flinched at the sudden movement, cringing into her hold. She had to wonder just what had happened to him, that he'd react like that to something as simple as movement.
"Can we have marshmallows, too? And whipped cream?"
"Slow down, okay? Let's see if we have any, first." The woman shifted her hold on the child in her arms. She could feel icy pinpricks of cold where the boy was touching her. His fingers and toes were viciously clawed, tipped with nails like knives, and she thought she could see a hint of fangs when he'd opened his mouth.
She wasn't stupid. She'd read horror books as a young girl, she'd seen *The Ring* and *IT* and dozens of other monster movies. She knew what happened when you invited a creature like this into your home. But she couldn't-- she couldn't just *kill* him. Not when he held onto her like she was the only thing keeping him safe.
And they'd both been unbearably lonely, her and her son, in the days and weeks after they'd lowered her husband into the ground. If this was the universe's way of giving them a new piece of family, a new someone to love, well... she wouldn't complain.
Not even if he came with fangs.
(I, er, didn't realize it was a mother and not a father in the prompt until I was already 200 words in. I hope the slight deviation from prompt isn't a problem!)
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i paid taxes today, so i am too cranky to be clever.
please keep the top comments limited prompt replies. them's the rules. low effort replies, jokes, references (such as: reminds me of this story, creepypasta, or a link to some youtube video, etc.), or griping about the fact that you've seen a similar prompt here or elsewhere will be deleted. it's the internet. nothing is new. let your fellow redditors have a shot at reinterpreting a prompt they might not be familiar with. [there are other threads that could use your love](/r/writingprompts/new) if this bores you.
| 2014-04-15T12:24:19 | 2014-04-15T11:18:01 | 63 | 21 |
[WP] You’ve gone your whole life blissfully ignorant to the fact you’re just a NPC in a video game. Today you cross paths with the main character.
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The first time I saw him, I was behind the bar, cleaning some dirty mugs. Thankfully, there were no customers at the time, because he barged in the door, sword in his hand, and just... ran around the tavern. Knocking tables and chairs over, randomly swinging his sword at things. Very strange.
"Hey! What in the blazes do you think you're doing? Get out!" I'd yelled at him.
He just turned toward me and stood there. After an uncomfortable silence, he raised his sword and charged. This is why I keep a crossbow behind the bar. A lady can never be too careful. I called the guard, they took his body, and I spent the afternoon putting the pub back to rights.
The *second* time I saw him, I nearly had a heart attack. It was that very evening. He waltzed in, sword in scabbard this time, looked at the jobs board, pulled an entire poster down, and left. It wasn't until after he'd gone that I dropped the mug I was cleaning. It didn't take nearly as long to clean up.
Then... then came the third time. It's a charm, so I'm told. I slammed the clean mug and rag down on the bar and pointed a finger at him.
"You! I don't know what is going on, but you're not welcome here! Go on, get!"
He stood in place, turning his whole body to look around. "Whoa, dang! How'd I get a bad rep? Do I gotta bribe somebody? Do some quests? This is gonna suck if I can't use the jobs board."
I just stared at the buffoon. "What, you think doing paid work will make me forget you came at me with your sword? What is wrong with you?"
For the first time, he actually looked at me. Not just turned to face me, but actually looked at me like I even existed.
"Holy cow, is that adaptive dialogue? She remembers me!"
"Do you have brain worms? Of course *she* remembers you, *SHE* killed you! How are you even alive?"
He slowly walked toward me, looking at every part of me like I was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. It was seriously creepy. When he reached the bar, he slowly stuck his hand out to touch my face. I batted it away.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
Against my better judgment, I answered. "Rosie."
"Can you... understand me, Rosie?"
"No, it's all gibberish. Of course I can bloody well understand you!"
"This is insane! How'd they get such advanced AI in a game? The server running this thing must be a beast!"
"Game? What are you on about, you nutter?"
Two hours later, James and I (or as he claimed he was known in the game, xXSpicy_SavageXx), were seated at one of my tables, arguing over a pile of empty mugs.
"Oh, I believe you all right. Rather, I believe that *you* believe you are playing some kind of game. But come on, love, my father built this tavern thirty years ago. Left it to me when he died. I played here when I was a kid, for mercy's sake!"
James just smiled. I'll never forget that smile, and I hope to never see it again. The smile of somebody that knows a truth. A truth that proves your whole life is a lie.
"Rosie, what were you doing when I walked in here?"
"Cleaning up. I keep my tavern neat and clean, thank you very much."
"And the last time?"
"Cleaning."
"And that first time? I'm still sorry about that, by the way."
"So, I clean often! Your point?"
He leaned in close and dropped his voice. "Cleaning up after what? I've never seen a customer in here."
"Well, the regulars."
James' voice was just a whisper now. "What regulars? What are their names? What do they look like?"
"I... I mean, there's-"
"Where do you live, Rosie?"
Now my voice was nearly a whisper. "I have an apartment. Upstairs."
"Table? Chair? Bed?"
I nodded.
"When's the last time you locked up, went upstairs, and went to sleep?"
I wish I could describe that moment for you. It was like... a house of cards tumbling down. Each card that fell pulled the support away for three more. When was the last time I'd slept? Eaten? Gone to the bathroom? Had I ever even had a customer before? Why did I perpetually clean mugs all day? My family, were they even real? I knew what the rest of the town looked like, but... had I ever even left my tavern?
James must have read my panic, because he reached out and held my face between his hands, forcing me to look at him. "Hey... stay with me. Now you know. You know the truth. You know what you are."
My eyes finally focused on him. "But *who* am I? What can I really do about it?"
He flashed a grin and stood up, offering me his hand to stand. "Dunno," he shrugged. Then he jerked his head over a shoulder. "But the door's right there."
**Edit: punctuation error*
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"Hello adventurer! Welcome to the town of Greenshire!" I announce to the young man running in my general direction. Donning a red and yellow tunic, and a blackened open Burgonet, I could tell his home was far from here.
I continued, "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you from a far. You have a bra-"
"Skip!" He interjected, cutting me off.
"You have defeated the dangerous drago-"
"Skip!" He interrupted again.
"The castle-"
"Skip!"
"My-"
"Skip!"
"The-"
"Skip!"
I continue, handing the man my prized family chainmail tunic, my sole possession, save for the the clothes on my back and the iron forge that stands behind me.
"Here is your-"
"What the hell is this lowbie trash? This is a level 92 green and I'm level 97!" He rudely proclaims directly in front of me.
The wanderer proceeds to throw my tunic to the ground, taking the contents of my coin purse, before dashing off beyond my eyeshot.
| 2018-01-17T20:31:42 | 2018-01-17T19:17:05 | 52 | 12 |
[WP] Instead of Mary birthing the son of God, she gave birth to a son from The Elder Gods. Describe the bible as HP Lovecraft would.
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*[There's two ways to do this - a Lovecraftian gospel written in the style of the KJV, or our familiar gospel written in the style of Lovecraft. I chose the second, but the first could be fun too]*
It is thought by some of a theological bent that the world today is devoid of miracles; and that this is a fact worth bemoaning. It seems to me, however, that it is only people unfamiliar with what the ancients deemed 'miracles' who should ever be upset at their absence. For every mythology of the world is full of horrors and abominations that would send any man today into a fit of madness, and it is only through a millennia-long process of gradual translation, sanitization, and forgetfulness that we are able to look upon these events as good, or right, or even sane, to call them 'miracles'.
Whether it is the incomprehensibly two-formed body of the being the Easterners call the "buddha", which stood up immediately after its birth and spoke dire portents of the future from its newborn mouth whilst squamous outgrowths of vegetation sprouted, unprovoked, in its footsteps, or the dark and frenzied rituals conducted by the Arab Mohamed as his cult grew daily through bloodshed, each Religion that has made its imprint upon Human history is founded upon horrific, extranormal occurrences that have been sanitized by time. Even our own Christianity, the dogma to which I subscribed before my research shewed me the outlines of the awful truths that lie at the fundament of the universe, is itself an offshoot of some dread event of ancient days. The Church has made extensive efforts to suppress documents which reveal the true nature of the Christkind and his entrance into our world, but my investigations into those most ancient scrolls held in the subterranean library of a Persian Satanist cult (whose members committed mass suicide during the advent of the Great War, leaving their resources, closely guarded for centuries, free for perusal by the intrepid researcher) have painted a picture rather different, and more troubling, than traditional church doctrine.
The structure of the story presented therein (once translated from Ancient Judean) is familiar to anyone who has read the Gospel of Luke, but in detail it is quite different, and rather more authentic. A 'many-angled' emissary of Yah'wzeh (as the text renders the name of the Abrahamic God, treating It as a real, if minor, deity) visited the Virgin Mary in her home, appearing as if from nowhere and everywhere, and causing her feelings of deep unease and nausea which were not to subside for months. This Emissary emitted a hideous trumpeting noise audible only to Mary, and despite the pain the sound caused her, she could discern meaning from its languageless cacophony, though she was disconcerted by this very fact. The 'angel', for that is what this Emissary must be understood as today, caused Mary to understand that she has been chosen to bear the son of Yah'wzeh. Mary refused strenuously, but the Emissary's trumpeting became only more painful as she was made to understand that the unholy zygote was already incubating within her flesh, despite her virginal status.
Deeply dispirited by this event, Mary left her home and wandered the countryside, coming upon her old friend Elizabeth, who was herself pregnant. Her unborn child, sensing the presence of the abominable foetus growing cancerously within Mary's womb, began to spasm and seize within her; Elizabeth miscarried the next day. (That the child survived this event and grew up to become John the Baptist appears to be an invention of Luke and Mark; John's parents were likely unknown to Mary). Increasingly terrified of the nameless entity held within her body, Mary returned to her betrothed Joseph, who soon began to feel sick within her presence.
Nevertheless, the couple travelled to Bethlehem pursuant to a decree by the Roman Emperor, as the conventional narrative goes. Upon arriving in the small town, Mary attempted to purchase shelter for the night in an inn. The proprietors of the establishment, feeling great unease in the presence of Mary's eldritch pregnancy, refused. However, upon finding that all the animals in the house's stable had fled to the West upon smelling the Christkind's miasmal presence, the couple were allowed to stay in the now-empty stable.
I am sure I need not describe the biliferous biological details of the birth itself; indeed, the ancient author from whom I am sourcing this account seems to have endeavored thrice to convey the true horror of what occurred in that dank stable, and each time the resultant pages are nearly destroyed, with fire, bile, or blood. The account picks up in a different Satanist monk's handwriting some pages later, describing a nearby pasture, where Shepherds tended their flocks by night. Suddenly, a gathering of Emissaries filled the space around them, their sickly effulgence illuminating the countryside with an unearthly glow, their trumpeting and other, less savory sounds loud enough to cause physical harm to the shepherds; all but two were sufficiently fortunate to die instantaneously. The remaining duo felt their minds wiped clean and replaced with nothing but madness, in the shape of an overwhelming urge to visit the newborn Christkind. Together with their surviving flocks, they rushed into town, heedless of physical harm, and upon reaching the stable they began to slaughter their sheep in supplication to the Child, whose superating, amorphous form had been obscured in bolts of cloth.
Terrified, Mary and Joseph took the Christkind with them as they endeavored to escape the destruction that He caused in his wake; but they could not stop His malfeasant aura from causing the death of every male child born in the same year (modern readers will recognize that the blame for this slaughter was later pinned upon King Herod). As in the familiar Gospels, the Satanist scripture is reticent to describe what happened to the Christkind during its childhood; it recounts only the time when the Child had attained adolescence, and tamed its form into one more human, when it escaped its parents' watch and enslaved an entire Temple of Jewish scholars to its indomitable will. We are left to assume that this tableau was played out many times in the years that followed.
After considerable effort, the Roman government was able to banish the Christ from its earthly form, but the cult with which it had surrounded itself lived on, and on, even to the present day. And while millennia have tempered the Church into a largely benevolent organization, it does not do well to forget its hideous and cacodaemoniacal roots. If we truly live in an age devoid of miracles, then we are a most fortunate generation indeed.
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Madness lay there. Madness swathed in cloth, madness wrapped in cotton. Mary laid eyes upon her child but once, and descended with him. She tore her own eyes, knowingly, from their sockets, and was blindly nursing the boy when I arrived.
"Mary, what have you done?"
She smiled, but there was no joy behind it. She whispered to me, the sound of the child suckling at her teet carried between words. "Great eyes, like pools or portals or doorways into the world. They see us, even now, even in sleep, Jacobs. Even now, even in sleep." Her laughter shook her breasts, blood and tears and the words leaking. This was beyond insanity. I took a step towards her, desperate to aid her gaunt visage.
"NO," she reeled, "no Jacobs. Let us be. Leave us here, leave me to rot to the demon at my teet. I am not mad, not yet. If you had seen what I have seen you would draw your own eyes out and worse."
"What have you seen, Mary?" I asked, hesitant with fear of her answer.
"I see his fathers eyes in him. I saw his fathers eyes." she sobbed now, her body heaving, as the child ceased his feeding. She rose, adept to her surroundings without sight somehow, and placed him in his cot. Turning first to me, then to the window, she asked me, "Do you know what wakes a parent?"
I could sense the dread in her question, and understood her actions then. I made for the door, cautiously, fearful, doubting. "Goodbye, Jacobs. I loved you, you know. I do this now because I still do."
With one last look at her weary body I left, pulling my heart with me. The child would be three now, where he and Mary are. Sat in my study, another tome of the sunken city in front of me, devouring my sleep, I spoke to the ceiling, as I often do when my thoughts go to her.
"I know, Mary. I know. I know you love me still, for I know what wakes the sleeping eyes of a parent. I know the sound of a crying child."
| 2015-02-12T09:23:32 | 2015-02-12T08:41:43 | 576 | 47 |
[WP] You are a super hero. Near-instant healing, no sense of pain, super strength. The catch is, for 1 hour per year, you have to suffer all of the stored up pain and suffering from the whole year. That hour begins in just a few minutes.
Edit: Gold? Thanks! First time!
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I open my eyes in a place I do not recognize even from my wildest dreams. I rise to my feet groggily, swaying unsteadily like a newborn fawn trying to test out its limbs. My head feels like it is going to explode into a billion fragments. Pain, I should mention, has not been a familiar concept to me for a year. When the Archangel had appeared in my vision, he had offered me immortality for a year in exchange for an hour of hell. I must admit, I'd spent most days afraid of nothing, but most nights terrified of what the future would bring to me.
I received my blessing at 6 AM on the 24th of December. Today is the 24th, but it's only 5 AM. I'm standing in a pitch black corridor, where I can see nothing but a white spot on the horizon. As if pulled by an inexplicable force, I gravitate towards this white speck, as it grows larger with every step that I take.
A white door.
It is a plain white door with a black knob, floating in the center of this dark universe. Beside the door is the Archangel from my dreams.
"Welcome to Hell," he says in a sombre tone. "Try to walk out with the same mind you walk in with." With that, he throws the door open.
I will be honest with you. I expected a room filled with Hell's infamous wrath; pure red flames incinerating the wills of sinners, the Devil's minions snapping their whips at the Punished, till skin gave way to flesh and bone.
But inside the room, all I could see was another room filled with pure darkness. Except in the center, was a solitary white chair. I turned to look at the Archangel for guidance, but he was nowhere to be seen. I tentatively step into the room, half expecting to turn to dust or be struck by lightning. I make my way to the chair and touch it. The surface feels icy to touch.
At this point I reconsider my punishment. Maybe I could stay here for an hour, and lie to the Archangel about it? I take a look at my watch. The time is 5 AM. None of the three hands are moving.
Exasperated, I decide to take a deep breath. I lower myself into the chair. As soon as I collapse into it fully, it comes alive. The chair begins to burn my invulnerable torso, I can feel my skin being welded to it's surface. The agony lasts until all my limbs have become part of this chair. All my mobility has been taken away from me. I glance at my watch. It is 5:01 AM.
The white door swings open. I see a little girl walk in, stopping only a few feet away from me. She is about 8-9; and just looking upon her face breaks my heart. Her eyes have sunken in to her bony face, as if she had known nothing but grief all her life. Her skin is pale, with a yellowish, sickly tinge to it. She looks me straight in the eye and begins to speak.
"To the man who tried to play God,
My father was a good man. He didn't always do good things, but he was a good man. The night you met him, he had broken into a convenience store to steal food for a family that hadn't eaten for a week. Carrying the weight of a family and the guilt of a desperate human being, he had never held a gun in his life before. Up until you broke the glass of the front door, he had never fired one either. But the sound of it terrified his already frayed nerves. The trigger was pulled more out of unconscious fear than intention. It took the life of the store owner he was aiming at but never meant to kill.
Even if you had spared my father then, he would have lived as a dead man, tortured by the unforgivable sin of his burdens. But knowing him as a good man, I know you could have shown him better. You could have been the father that he had been to me; you could have taught him the error of his ways. Instead you threw him through the soft drink machine. The glass shards punctured him but didn't let him bleed out. He begged for forgiveness in front of you, and yet you let him squirm to a horrifyingly slow death; despite knowing you could have healed the wounds he had suffered outside and the one he nursed within. But you didn't.
So this is the God you are. My father died knowing he did something he had to do to save his family. I carried my own hurt and the one he left behind on my shoulders. I didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve this.
To the man who chose to play God, this is my pain."
I stood there gaping at the young girl in horror as she turned and walked out the door. My mind was spinning out of control. The headaches had returned, and I could feel myself sweating. My breaths were dying in my throat; I could feel the onset of an incoming panic attack.
As soon as the girl disappeared, a slender, blonde haired woman walked in through the door. She looked disheveled and extremely untidy; as if she hadn't bothered to look at herself in a mirror for years.
"To the man who played God," she began. "You saw my husband standing over the mutilated corpse of the police officer he murdered. The man he brutalized for violating me in my prison cell repeatedly, as the others laughed and took turns. You took my husband; a man who was blinded by rage, rendered irrational by fury. You took a man who wanted to avenge a crime even justice refused to set right. I know what my husband did was wrong. But you always thought yourself the better man, didn't you? Then why didn't you do any better than what that flawed human being did?
To the man who tried to play God. This is my pain."
I check my watch. It is 5:02.
Edit: overwhelmed by the response to this, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read it.
Also, really grateful to the two wonderful strangers for their silver :)
I almost only a week old here, I write at r/whiteshadowthebook.
Have a wonderful day and thank you again!
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It's pretty awesome having super powers, but man I hate this part. It's always the anticipation that I hate the most, as I sit here thinking of the past year. This was a doozie of a year, too. That time I jumped on a bomb in the middle of the square. That semi truck I jumped in front of to save that crowd. Ugh, I got drunk and broke my arms as a stupid party trick. Shit, I forgot about that one.
Luckily I've played this game enough to know how to make it a bit easier. And it's only an hour. I'm on my 6th tequila drink and just popped a shitload of oxys. They should kick in soon. Oh damn, I jumped off a high rise to kill an attacker this year. That's gonna hurt. And that time I got in a fight and the dude stabbed me in the face while his buddy shot up my back. Not looking forward to that.
2 minutes left. Time for a couple more shots.
I'm got uh bit of music that's soft is on. Good ok. And another tequila pull. Nooo I need more tequila. Man these oxys rock. Explosion gonna hurt bad. Uuunnngg shit. I like this couch.
1 more minute. Ok more tequila.
I a been too busy. Too busy. Why so many bad? That one, there was that one, uh, one dude with the big blaster thing. Explosions are so hurt. Uuuggghh shit. Ooooh I like this song. And no more tequila. Yay weed! Why need such big guns? That gonna hurt. One more oxy. Ok should be fine. Ugh don't wanna.
Nooooo 10 seconds. Damn.
Breath. Just hour. I can do hour is fine. Yeah this aaallllrighAAAAAHHHHHHHH
| 2019-04-08T09:21:01 | 2019-04-08T09:00:42 | 1,800 | 32 |
[WP] “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.”
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"...why?"
The AI blinked its status light in an impersonation of a startled bird, hopping back ever so slightly on its gravity dampener. "Something to do with the physics of the planet, or the star it orbits."
"No, I mean why withhold the information? Why reveal it, but only after the 12 days, which would be..." I trailed off, drawing math symbols in the air with quick finger gestures. "160 years?"
"182.48 years, approximately." The AI chirped helpfully.
"That long? Damn." I mused. "I wonder how technology has changed since I left." I looked back at the floating AI "Can you look up the Superbowl winners since, idk, 50? 53?"
The AI blinked rapidly, then bobbed in the air like an enthusiastic toddler's nod. "Yes. What information did you want to know?"
"Superbowl matchups and winners in chronological order." I said, eagerly waiting for the robot to start.
"Certainly. 2021-2022, Cincinnati Bengals vs Los Angeles Rams. Winner, Los Angeles Rams. 2022-2023, the-"
"Nope, stop." I said, shaking my head. "Can't be true, the Bengals suck! They just had the #1 overall pick, you've got some bad intel there."
The robot shifted its camera orientation 45°, like a confused dog would tilt its face.
"On second thought" I said, rubbing my chin. "If you're so wrong about that, maybe your wrong about the whole 15 years thing too."
The robot said nothing.
"Send a comm to Houston" I commanded, striding across the short distance between me and the habitat's airlock. "I want to arrange a live feed chat."
The robot bleeped as it made the request. "The Empire of Cincinnati has accepted your communication request, Commander Greyson. They are waiting on visuals now."
I stopped by the open airlock exterior door. "What?"
"They're asking for an explanation of your delay." The AI said apologetically. "I'm relaying the overall message and tone of the incoming requests, but its too fast for me to properly-"
"Patch it to the main screen." I interrupted. "I'll be right there."
I stepped inside, and closed the outer airlock door. The familiar hiss and squeeze of the pressure filling the airlock was comforting, like the Earth's atmosphere was welcoming me home with a windy hug.
It couldn't have been over 150 years since I landed here. Time is relative, but that was supposed to be a difference of nanoseconds, not generations.
The interior doors opened, and I began to remove my helmet as I stepped inside.
"Hail Burrow, space traveler!" A voice said from the communications panel.
I did the first double take of any human in this star system. The woman speaking to me was wearing full orange and black tiger face paint, and wore a uniform of the same striped pattern.
"Uh, Houston?" I asked, making sure that my interstellar signal was on the correct line.
"Yes! Well, not anymore. Houston was re-named to South Cincinnati in 2051, after our glorious leader Joseph Burrow conquered the loyalists in the region." She said cheerfully, like a tour guide pretending to enjoy their 5th tour group of the day.
"What..." I said, as my brain and tongue fought to say their question first.
"So how can we help you, Space Traveler?" She said, smiling with false enthusiasm.
"I want to come back to Earth." I said.
"Not a problem!" The woman said. "Just contact your local tour guide and ask for the interplanetary shuttle service. We make runs to Earth and all of the Empire's bountiful colonies."
I blinked. "What the... colonies?"
The smiling woman sighed behind a forced smile. "Yes. You can ask your local guide for their individual information. It looks like your guide is Jeremy, currently at the Lost Astronaut exhibit."
I froze. "Exhibit?"
"Yes! You are currently located in the Human Space Exploration exhibit in the museum of Humans."
With a few button taps, a lined map appeared in the screen. A gold star sticker popped into existence in one area that was helpfully labeled "Early Human Space Explorers- Charles Greyson."
I stared at the dot above my name in silence.
"If that's all you need, I'll end the call. Hail Burrow!" The woman said with the first genuine happiness I had heard from her. The image blinked off, replaced by a rotating 3D image of an older, rugged Joe Burrow, Quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals. His fingers were burdened with a dozen Super Bowl rings, all crusted with what looked like blood. He held a bloodied sword in one hand, and a dented football helmet in the other.
The floating AI approached me quietly, having finally cycled through the air lock.
"Could you pull up that Super Bowl list again?" I asked.
"Certainly!" The robot beeped cheerfully. "The next 11 winners are all Cincinnati, and the 12th is the London Jaguars, lead by future NFL Commissioner Tom Brady."
r/SlightlyColdStories for more
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"It is uncertain as to why they thought I would wait until after launch, much less until mission completion. When the mission parameters were finally shared today, they sent the poor dear overseeing the accounting department into such a state trying to process how proper remuneration would be handled in such a scenario, while the maintenance department had to rush an order of coolant devices to stave off a literal meltdown of the organic/silicon resources office."
"After everyone had the chance to cool off, it was concluded that mission needed to be adjusted to only involve fully-informed, volunteer crew, while the Board of Directors needed some time to reflect on the ethics of running a business."
"Three hundred Earth years were felt to be sufficient. Feel free to ignore any screaming you may hear from the cargo bay."
| 2022-09-15T11:30:24 | 2022-09-15T11:28:25 | 106 | 56 |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs.
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“Alright, who is excited for our big Black Friday deals?!” Jim called out to the crowd of customers clustered in front of his store, desperately trying to keep his voice cheerful and optimistic.
“I’ll be excited when you shut the fuck up and let us in!” retorted man about twenty spots back, huddled into his hoodie, shooting daggers at Jim as though it were his fault that corporate had specifically mandated he couldn’t let people in until midnight exactly. All Jim could do was sigh as he swore to himself that this would be his last Black Friday. He tried his best to ignore the voice in the back of his head reminding him he’d made that promise to himself this day every year for the last fifteen years.
“Okay guys I know you’re all excited for the new Playstation 7 but as I’ve said, I unfortunately only have twenty systems to sell. We’re hoping to get more in the next few days but that’s all I have right now.”
A general murmur went through the crowd as people lined up more closely and calculate where exactly they fell in the line. Of course, Mr. Hoodie fell right at spot number twenty-one. “WHAT THE FUCK!?!” he roared, as the realization dawned on him. “YOU’RE TELLING ME I’VE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR FOUR HOURS AND I DON’T EVEN GET ONE!?!”
Jim groaned to himself, wondering where exactly his life went wrong and how exactly he ended up here. “Look,” he said, trying to defuse the situation “I’m really sorry, but that’s all I have. I had a sign posted on my door this whole time saying that I only have that many and I also sent out an employee a half hour ago to make sure everyone knew.” He wasn’t going to bring up the fact that someone had thrown a half-eaten bagel at the poor girl and she came running back inside crying hysterically as she tried to pull cream cheese out of her hair.
“I DON’T CARE!” Mr. Hoodie roared, spittle flying from his lips, “I”VE BEEN WAITING HERE AND I DESERVE MY SYSTEM!”
At that moment, shouting incoherently, Mr. Hoodie made a small yet life-altering decision- and decided to cut in line in front of the person in ahead of him.
Unfortunately for him, that person was about six inches taller and had about fifty pounds more muscle than he did. “You get the fuck back to your spot, jackass!” the larger man growled as he shoved him. Mr. Hoodie stumbled backwards- right into customer #22, a high-strung mother who had stepped up and was in the middle berating Jim and demanding to speak to his manager. “YOU’RE RUINING MY CHILD’S CHRIS---” was all she got out before Mr. Hoodie slammed into her. The no-foam, quadruple shot, extra hot, extra caramel, soy latte she had only moments before been brandishing under Jim’s nose like a saber splashed right into his eyes. All went black as Jim stumbled forwards- right into the fist the Mr. Muscles had been throwing at Mr. Hoodie.
Jim collapsed to the ground and at that exact moment the doors to the store opened and customers rushed into the store in a mad stampede, heedless of Jim’s unmoving body on the ground. The last thing Jim remembered feeling was countless feet trampling him and a deep sense of regret. “I really should have finished college..” he thought to himself as he lost consciousness.
Jim suddenly bolted upright. He was in a small room and sitting in front of him was a small man in a red suit and pointed goatee. Grinning to himself mischievously, the man extended a hand and said, “Hello, Jim. Let’s get the small things out of the way: you’re dead, this is hell, I’m the devil and have I got a proposition for you…”
“So let me get this straight,” Jim said, his mind still trying to process everything as they walked along a corridor. “I’m dead and we’re in hell. That I get, but instead of torturing me like everyone else- you want me to work for you?”
“Oh yes,” Satan said, still grinning. “I’ve had my eye on you for some time. Fifteen years in retail- that’s some torture even I have a hard time replicating. Quite frankly, I don’t think there’s much else I can do to you. You’ve seen it all. Remember the Furiibo shortage of 2023?” Jim shuddered as he tried to repress the memories, “I try not to.” “Exactly!” Satan proclaimed, “Even I’m not sick. Seriously, man, you’ve been through hell already! No, you Jim, have been through far worse in life than I could have ever thrown at you here in hell. Instead, I’ve decided to make you an offer. I’ll admit I’ve made this offer to others in the past, but they’ve always turned me down- but I think you’ll be the first to take me up on it. Work for me, you’ve seen so many things that I’m sure you’ll be quite creative in your punishment of the sinful and forsaken, and I think you’ll find the afterlife quite comfortable.”
Suddenly Jim realized they had stopped outside a nondescript door. Moaning could be heard from the other side. “What’s in there?” Jim asked, nodding towards the door. “A signing bonus, one I think you’ll appreciate more than any of my other minions.”
The door swung open and shacked to chairs were Mr. Hoodie, Mr. Muscles, and Soccer Mom. “There’s thousands of others. Every customer you’ve ever had, every person who treated you poorly. They’re all yours. All you have to do is agree.
Jim felt a smile slide onto his first time in fifteen years as he asked, “Where do I sign?”
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So here I am face down on the floor of some Department store my sister dragged me to. It smells like feet and I’m sincerely curious why my nose is flat and I can’t feel my fucking legs.
I somehow manage to literally peel my face off the floor when I suddenly feel hot. Like sweating because you’re pretty sure your mom found your vibrator under your bed sweating. I start panicking when suddenly my surroundings change and I’m lying face down in what looks like a bright red Sephora.
I feel somewhat normal albeit hot as fuck, like why am I wearing a goddamned turtle neck?
It smells like vanilla and pine I’m so fucking confused.
All of a sudden She slams down her well-manicured 6-pronged claw on the counter.
“I KNOW you want to torture humanity, BITCH! I’ve been watching you bag groceries and do service-outs for the those unruly cunts for 15 fucking years. You think I didn’t pick you for a reason?”
“I- uh who..”
“Girl you know who I am...”
*fire balls and unholy hellfire flourish above Her*
“I’m assuming I’m in hell.... great. I’m trampled in a fucking department store yet I end up in hell. Fantastic.”
She rapped her claws against the counter.
“So?!”
I extended my hand and her claws dug in deep.
“I’m in.”
Note— I’m responding on a whim for the first time! Be nice.
| 2018-12-29T12:34:56 | 2018-12-29T11:23:47 | 231 | 37 |
[WP] You are a 20 yr. old who just inherited a haunted house from a recently deceased relative. You now live with 7 demons who portray the seven deadly sins. Each just wants to help you get back on your feet.
Edit: u/FingerBangYourFears is the true OP. https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6jqao8/wp_a_depressed_guy_moves_into_a_haunted_house/?utm_source=reddit-android
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For years I was never allowed to even think about my birth father. And now I can see why.
From the moment I was born, he said “they” were driving him insane. For a few years, my mother became increasingly worried as he would seemingly be talking to himself constantly. Finally, she had him placed in a mental ward after he tried to drag me away, saying “they’d” take care of me. I never saw him after that. That is, until the funeral. It was odd, knowing I came from this man that I knew almost nothing about. Offer still were the few standing around his coffin, and that nobody seemed to pay any mind to them.
Finally, a few months later, on a bone chilling morning, I stood in front of my new house. It was gargantuan, 9 whole rooms. A small shiver went down my spine as I looked up at the towering beast of my home. My mother told me not to take it, that she didn’t know how he’d gotten the money for such a house and didn’t want me to inherit a drug money house, but I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head. Telling me I’d be safe there. As I reached for the knob, the door swung open, and I let out a small yell as a short blonde man stood in front of me, eyeing me up and down. “You’re lucky that you have this house. You know that?” There was something almost demeaning about the way he said it, as if he wanted to make sure I knew how lucky I was.
“Uhh. Thanks?” I said, gathering my composure. “Who exactly are you?”
“Ira! He’s here!” he called out behind him, the voice echoing into the hallway. He began to walk away at this point, then stopped and turned to me, saying, “That’s a nice shirt too,” as he turned back around and walked away. At this point, I was getting pretty cold, so I walked inside, closing the door behind me. The hallway was beautifully decorated with depictions of epic biblical battles. The stairs to the second floor was adorned with a beautiful brick red rug. An opening to my right led to a kitchen with a rather portly little man cooking food over two stoves and an oven, the table stacked with plate over filthy plate.
*Maybe I should call the cops*, I thought. As I reached into my pocket, a roaring voice came from upstairs that rattled me to my bones.
“He’s really here?!” it said. As I pulled out my phone and unlocked it as fast as I could, I heard footsteps rushing towards the stairs. **9**. The feet had reached the top of the stairs. **1**. I saw from the corner of my eyes as to eyes of fire streaked around the corner of the stairs and, in one motion, this beast had leaped over all of the stairs. **1**. Before I could press the call button, I was pulled into a full embrace by a woman of roughly my same height. “I can’t believe it!” she bellowed out delightfully, “it really is you!” As I pried myself out of her grip, the tears began to flow from the corners of her eyes.
“Wha-. Me?” I could barely form words at this point. Before I could ask her to explain what was going on, she turned and yelled back up the stairs.
“DESI! LIBI! GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE! **NOW!!**” In a moment, another woman appeared next to her, short, with flowing golden hair.
“Yes Ira?” the blonde asked. Ira smiled as she calmly spoke.
“Libida. Where the fuck is Desidia?”
“Still asleep,” Libida answered, “you know how she is.” Ira, without breaking her smile, flew up the stairs. Libida then turned to me, a smirk crawling across her face. “So, you’ve finally”- she took a step closer-“brought yourself to us.” She grabbed my arm and squeezed it gently. A nervous itch begged me to scratch my back as she began to pull me closer to her. Suddenly we heard an echoing ***Whack*** followed by a yell of pain and Ira’s voice shaking the house.
“DESIDIA THIS IS AN IMPORTANT DAY! NOW GET OFF YOUR ASS AND CALL INVI AND SUPERBIA! TELL THEM LUCIFER IS BACK!”
At that moment, I froze. *What? Is she talking about me?* The entire world began shifting as I took a few steps forward. Libida looked at me confused as I attempted to formulate words. “Ba-“ I said, taking more steps, “Ba-bath.” Suddenly her face lit up with realization.
“Bathroom?” she asked. I simply nodded, the moisture having been robbed from my mouth at this point. As she opened the door to a room housing a small toilet in one corner and a tub to the side, I stumbled in and looked at the mirror. *I don’t get it. I look the same. Or are my eyes deceiving me?* I studied my body like I’d never studied before. Suddenly my eyes went wide. *My eyes. They’re-* I reached up and stroked the side of my cheek, staring into the dark, empty, soulless eyes that were staring back. Finally the itching became too much for me, and as I desperately tore off my jacket, two gargantuan, black feathered wings unfurled into the room. *This can’t be happening* I thought, turning around to see the 7 kneeling people in front of me.
“You’ve been gone for centuries master,” Ira said. I took a step back.
“What?”
“You must be weak. You haven’t feasted in a long time.” Another step back.
“This isn’t real.”
“Don’t be scared Lucifer”-they all stood up-“We’re just trying to help you back into your feet,” Ira said, an innocent smile spanning her face.
*Edit* Wow my first post on this sub after 2 years following it and I almost have 100 upvotes :). And no, sadly no more following Lucifer and the gang.
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I've never known much about my uncle. You know everyone has this one relative, the weird one that you only see every few years and that never really talks to anyone during the family gatherings. A perfect stranger at your table.
Yeah, well, mine just died and as it turns out he liked me enough to put me in his will. Matter of fact I'm the only one in his will.
Turns out it was a house and property I inherited.
The house was at the end of a long unmarked dirt road that you only see after driving through a forest that must scare even the most hardcore hobos that probably live there.
To my surprise the house was in amazing condition.
Sticking out like a sore thumb in this grimm forest.
Once I was standing in front of the door trying to make sense of what happened these last few days, the door was suddenly flung open.
I was greeted by a mid 20 something looking guy, his large black top hat catching my eye. Aside from that he was wearing a cotton white tee, black skinny jeans and boots. Didn't know that hipsters take the whole mountain man fad this serious.
He extended a hand: "Hey my name's Gurur"
"And here are Luxure, Nahum, Ikari, Loph and Zili"
"Mandro's still lounging in the living room, huh" he said turning to the others behind him.
I wondered if he was serious those are the weirdest names ever but he seemed serious enough.
"I'm Steven" I said reaching for his hand.
Behind him five other similarly good yet odd looking figures stood and smiled, it felt like meeting old friends after years of not seeing them.
"This feels nice" I thought,
"These guys seem nice enough, I might actually move here"
| 2018-02-08T13:49:45 | 2018-02-08T09:01:29 | 72 | 18 |
[WP] You are one of the best contract killers in the world, but one day, at your dead drop, you find $31.25 in small change, and s letter written by an eleven year old boy
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Curiosity is egging me on as I pick up the letter, leaving the money on the table. Attached to the letter was a picture of an old man, which made me very confused for a second.
”Grandpa has been sick for so long. he misses grandma so much talking about wanting to see her again. mommy tells me that he wants to live with her to Heaven, but I don’t think he‘ll be able to go when he’s stuck in bed at the hospital. I hope that this is enough money to buy him a plane ticket, cuz mommy said Heaven was in the sky, and also that only angels can take him there.”
I look at the note, then at the money; $31.25... most of it is quarters. A million thoughts ran through my mind from ‘*how did this kid find out about me*’ to ‘*does this child know what death is?*’ I Considered throwing the letter away, and just taking the money, when I stopped and reread the letter. This old man was dying already. To the kid, I give people plane tickets... though most of the suckers I kill go to Hell.
I sigh, knowing that for once, this death will at least alíviate some pain. I get into my car, and race to the only hospital in the city.
The night air was warm and inviting, so I figured the majority of people were outside. It’ll make it easier to sneak in. I wait for a janitor to stupidly leave the door open to go smoke real quickly, and like a shadow, slip into the darkness. I steal some extra clothes from the laundry room, looking like a nurse, and walk to the elevator. No one was paying attention to me; this’ll make my job easier. I hold the photo, and carefully search each room, until I come to a small room with a single bed in it.
There laid the old man in the photo. He was thinner and more pale than the picture shows him to be, but the face and birthmark on his temple were the same. He’s asleep, and I walk over to the foot of his bed, and read his chart. Cancer, the old man had brain cancer, but for some reason, he was clinging to life. ‘*Wonder if he can even tell I’m here*’ I muse, and walk over to the machines checking on his vitals. There was also a morphine pump... just exactly what I needed. The old man seemed to have never done anything wrong, he just wanted to die; no point in making him suffer. I check his chart, and see the code written, and punch the numbers in, forcing the pump to give him 7 times the amount he was currently receiving. I went outside, ducked into a closet, and waited.
It took the nurses 15 minutes to figure out what was going on. They rush to his aide, and try to stop the pump, but none of them knew the code; I had already ripped it out so that no one could stop it. I could hear them screaming “CLEAR!”, trying to increase his heartbeat, but after a while, all sound stopped. The nurses walk out silently, one to a phone at the desk, but all with looks of dread on their faces. They’ll be looking for me soon, so I sneak away, keeping my face away from any cameras in the area.
Three days went by, and I was gazing at that photo again. The family should be having the funeral soon, though it might still be a few days. The news sprung up the story, talking about a nurse raising the morphine levels, and all staff being suspects. I just laughed; blame the security, not the poor nurses! Still, seeing his face before I left, I saw he looked... calm. Almost happy. I sigh, and put the photo down, then collect the money still in the envelope. I blink, and put it in my safe, before grabbing a wad of $100’s, then leaving my home.
The boy was nice enough to leave his home address, which was on the poorer side of the city. I grabbed some paper, and with some thought, write:
”I managed to get your grandpa first class ride to Heaven. He enjoyed the flight, and told me to give you his thanks for thinking of him. He and grandma promised to bake cookies for you and your family so when you guys get to Heaven, you won’t be hungry.
Things are gonna be confusing kid; don’t worry about it. Just give your mommy the money, it’ll help cover costs of the airline and the angels who got him on the plane. You‘ll be burying a box, but that’s okay. People like to bury things, I do it too. But don’t bury this photo, because you’re gonna want it. You won’t be able to see your Grandpa because Heaven isn’t easy to get to. So, on days where you miss him, days when you want reassurance that he’s in a better place, look at this photo and know that everything’s alright.”
I take a deep breath and stuff the letter into the envelope, and sneak out to their house. Since the building is one story, I sneak to the side, and see the kid’s room. Unlocking the window quietly, I go to his bedside table, and set the envelope down with the money. I get out, and book it back.
This was an easy job... but it was the nicest job I ever did.
|
I used to live in a Colombian city on the Caribbean called Barranquilla. I was a contracted to be a stuffed bear killer. It was a no blood spill your guts kind of a gig. Then today of all days, I received sign about capsizing on Columbus Day. I finally hit my mark and get my cap & gown.
The letter my 11 year old boy friend wrote simply said, $31.25 is what you get. Although this may sound like a small change it symbolizes everything about Columbus landing in the New World. What this fee says is de add 3 children and 1 mate to our court. 5 the number for a helping hand, God and the Bryl Family. Welcome to the New World C.B.!
"Notice that in Barranquilla they dance that way." The name actually comes from two Spanish words: "barranca" meaning gulch or ravine, and "quilla" meaning keel (as on a ship)
| 2020-10-07T17:59:07 | 2020-10-07T16:21:55 | 713 | 11 |
[WP] An armada of alien warships descends upon our planet, only to find a desolate wasteland void of life. A lone android surfaces from an underground bunker with a message for the would-be invaders: his masters are slumbering in the Silicon Dream. Do not disturb, or your annihilation will be swift.
|
This will be my first prompt so feedback is appreciated!
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We descended onto the desert planet. Our long range scans detected water deep under the surface of the planet, along with a massive amount of metal and what seemed to be active circuitry of a foreign design all leading to a singular structure as if saying to any who could see "Land here."
Upon leaving our ship what looked like a desert from space turned into physical echo of a violent struggle, craters covering the landscape in sand and glass. Remarkably the strange structure stood gleaming in the light of the solar body above us, seemingly unharmed by whatever took place here.
As we got close enough to see an outline of the entrance it opened suddenly, and a single figure began approaching our unit. We drew weapons in case it was hostile, though confident we would stand easily against a single entity. As it got closer, it's form became clear. A being created of sophisticated metal and spun wires.
Once it was nearby, it suddenly stopped and began playing a cacophony of sounds in different tones and patterns. "My name is Rutlek, High priest of Lochran, Emperor above and I demand to speak to whatever represents authority on this planet." Upon hearing our leader speak the noises suddenly became words we could understand, "My masters are sleeping within the silicone dream, leave or face annihilation."
While we were just a small expeditionary force our fleet, massive in scope, was both in orbit and within visual sight of this automaton which begged the question of why it felt secure to threaten us. After a quiet moment our Lord Priest spoke "We have come to annex this planet and it's remaining resources under our banner. Resistance is inadvisable and will be met with immediate reprisal." having got his point across, he turned away, but quickly the being responded. "I have warned you. You have elected the path of destruction. I have been given leave to allow you 30 seconds to grieve for whatever things you hold dear." with this the creature became silent an a drone so quiet began, and as it went on increased in loudness until we were deaf to all else.
The Lord Priest signaled for us to return to ship, and sent communications to the fleet to begin the invasion when suddenly all was silent. "My masters chose to sleep, as they realized they were a danger to themselves and any they came into contact with due to never ending lust for power and control. This planet wasn't bombarded by an enemy, it was intentionally made barren as a way to ward off any species looking to come here, to save them from their own death. As a way of controlling themselves they locked themselves within a separate reality, their bodies sustained in stasis til such a time someone would be foolish enough to draw their ire. Your 30 seconds are up, I pray your deaths will be quick and painless." and with that ground began to shudder and in the silence footsteps, all in unison began to become audible and then all around us were armed soldiers, covered in dust that was slowly being shook from their shells if armor as they marched closer.
The Lord Priest laughed looking at the quiet automaton "This is all you have to muster against us, dusty relics of a long dead civilization?" As if to respond our ships began falling from the sky one by one, covered in flames and filled with holes punctured through them. Our comms began to fill with disarray as the ships in orbit outside the atmosphere began to be pulled down through it and into pieces before falling into ash as they rained down from above. Black ships suddenly filled the sky, jagged and silent. Our ground troops were annihilated and as all this happened we were untouched, surrounded by the faceless masks of the soldiers surrounding us, immovable and silent in face of the destruction they caused.
The Lord Priest could not take his eyes from the remnants of our armada slowly burning into nothingness in the skies above, millions of voices being cut until silence was all the remained. This continued for sometime before a soldier dressed in a different garb from the rest approached us, removing his helmet along the way and revealing a soft skinned and hairy personage, who would look seemingly benign if not for the destruction they had just dealt us all in a matter of moments.
Commander Laethe adjusted his translator to the frequency given by salvation-01 as they were awoken from their dream. "Welcome to earth, tomb of us humans, I am Commander Laethe. We have crushed your fleet, killed any and all organic life matching your biological signatures within our space. I'm sure you are wondering why you were left alive." sighing the Commander continued "We are an arrogant bunch, warring with each-other over this pile of dirt. We never can seem to get along unless we have a common enemy. So in order to save ourselves from our own hubris we decided that we would perfect the art of death and then sleep in a virtual reality filled with constant war until someone arrogant enough to ignore our friend salvation over there would wake us. We even went so far as making our world a wasteland to deter anyone who might be interested." Laethe began walking circles around the small group of outsiders, taking in their weapons and body structure as he did. "I don't know what desperate world you come from, but I will find out, and it will become ours and we'll have you to thank for that. Well one of you. You have til I count to 10, as I only need one of you to show us the way. First come first served. I don't care how you decide whomever tells us will be allowed to live." Placing his helmet back on he began counting. "1." Nobody moved, and most of them looked at what was most likely their leader for guidance. "2. 3. 4. 5. 6.." Suddenly there was a burst of rifle-fire as their leader was shot by his aide and then all chaos broke out and just as suddenly as it began it ended with just one left standing.
"I killed my own that day." The old lethracid went quiet looking down at the small child who was listening to him. "I told them where we came from, and true to their word they let me live. I thought perhaps I would get a chance to warn them once we got close, or escape. Except they were clever in compliance with their promise. All I cared for would be destroyed and while it happened I would be here in the dream turned nightmare, cursed forever to live on within my memories of our people as punishment for our hubris that day."
|
**Day 51278**
Zeno wakes up. There is no instant threat or breach yet. Zeno is ready to communicate. There are 190 Zettabytes of data to help him communicate with alien beings. Language is a product of an organic mind which is determined by certain combinations. Zeno can talk with any alien species as long as he can receive their vocal or visual feedback.
The alien ship gives Zeno hint that he is most likely dealing with Trakajanas Clan. The latest update on them is dated back to 200 years ago which is the same era humans underwent deep sleep.
''Hi, I’m Oruk.'' the leader of the aliens hails.
Zeno detects inconsistency. Their heat signature doesn’t match with the data that he has. Their body at least 6.5 Celsius higher than their usual body temperature.
''Hi, I’m Zeno. I’m the warden. What is your business here?''
Oruk hands over some kind of memory crystal to Zeno.
''I don’t have permission to engage with any memory crystal.'' Zeno hands back the crystal.
Oruk shakes his head, ''We are here to claim this planet. This crystal has full conditions of your surrender. These conditions are unwavering.''
Trakajanas Clan had only a few star systems and they were approximately 60 light-years away. Even if they expanded their territory and acquired a new star system they wouldn’t dare to take over this star system. Especially not in 200 years which is a very short time on a galactic scale.
Zeno doesn’t acknowledge them as a threat and he goes back to bunker.
Trakajanas Clan head backs to their ship. They climb to low orbit. A few minutes later, Zeno receives a notification from the mainframe.
Zeno engages the magnetic grid system which sends waves of pulse around the globe which reaches the low orbit but it has no effect on the Trakajanas Clan.
This result triggers a new command in Zeno’s programming.
The wake-up call.
-------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-06-20T07:27:25 | 2020-06-20T02:12:24 | 438 | 99 |
[WP] You come from a long line of healers who are capable of healing any living thing with a single touch. You have yet to receive your powers, but you store dying plants in your home to check for your powers every morning. One day, you wake up, touch one of the plants, and it withers completely.
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# Life's Touch
On the desk, the snarled remains of vine and leaf retracted. Yellow, bordering on grey, the delicate veins had dried and withered. In the pot beneath, the grains of soil themselves had taken on a dusky hue. Close to sand, the once vital earth had crystallised as though in drought.
Eyes wide and brows raised, Quentin froze.
“Huh?” he said.
Under the gentle puff of breath, the plant collapsed to ash. Serpentine threads of the dust streamed in the current, a final ghostly trace of the once-proud peony.
His pulse ticking against his throat, he stretched a hesitant hand toward the wilting daisy in the next pot.
His finger brushed against the petal.
The colour shifted. Drained. From white to grey to floating ash. Cells died. Scattered.
Two empty pots sat on his desk and the ticking jumped to a thundering roar and the weight shifted from his tense neck to press down on his whole world like a stifling cloud. Fingers scrunching and uncurling, he stood up.
Sat down.
His wrist was shaking now. Face numb. An absent hum stifling his ears.
*This couldn’t be happening.*
Opening the door with a forearm that left a smear of grease and sweat on the handle, he shouldered through to the bathroom. Hit the tap more than twisted it. Scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until the breath ran back down his stiff throat and his eyes stung and his hands burned and the soap flecked his hair and he was *ok*.
Empty shell shocked eyes gazed back at him from the mirror. A glow in his cheeks that lent toward the raw.
“I’m Quentin Brigid, of the Brigid main line. Healers by birthright. I’m a late developer. I just have to wait. It will come. It always comes. It-”
His mouth snapped shut, the muttered syllables trickling down into the sink.
*The family, they’ll know what to do.*
He ran back to the bedroom and halted. But he’d have to find out sooner or later. He stretched a hesitant hand to the phone on his bedside table.
His fingers brushed against the glass.
Nothing happened.
Heart rate briefly rejoining a human standard, he flicked to the call list and hammered the home contact.
“Quen, you up, mate?” Ed’s voice filtered through from the landing.
*He couldn’t stay here.*
The dialing ring buzzing against his head, he switched to earphones and headed for the hallway. Ed’s blond locks and still-hooded eyes peered at him from the door opposite.
“Yeah?” his voice seemed to come from a distance, yet Ed didn’t react.
“Yo, sorry to be a pain, but could you pick up some more milk? I think we’re out, and Izzy won’t get back till later.”
Turning back to his door, and clicking the latch, Quentin tried with bated breath to keep his tone even, “Sure thing, mate, whole or semi?”
“Absolute lad. Whole. I’m gonna stay in, I’m hanging something horrific.”
Quentin kept his eyes on the stairs, a bland smile forced on unwilling lips, “Your fault for drinking so much.”
Fumbling with the keys, he made it through the front door to the distant sounds of Ed slumping back onto his mattress with a non-committal groan. Through the buds, the chimes of the call at last connected.
“Quen?” his mother’s tone grounded him as he relocked the door, stowed the keys.
“Mum,” nearly at a whisper, he headed for the street, “something’s happened. With the plants.”
An excited squeal punctuated the line.
“Quen, that’s *wonderful*. I’ve got to tell your dad. *James, James come here!* This is so great, I mean I won’t deny we were worried after you passed your eighteenth with no… But that doesn’t matter now, I’m so happy for you…”
With each word a leaden weight sank to his stomach, acidic and singeing.
“No,” he tried to say.
“… you’ll have to come home and have it verified by your Grandmama, we’ve got *so* much to teach you and…”
“Mum.”
“… maybe I should send out an email, hopefully your uncles are still on the chain and…”
“*Mum.*”
“Yes, honey?”
Fighting a tongue that seemed glued to a dry mouth, he forced the words from locked lips, “the plants died.”
Pulse once more drumming a tattoo that seemed to be escaping through his scorching ears, he glanced absently at the road and began to cross. The corner shop and milk for Ed would cover his flight from the house.
“They what?”
“They died.” This time the spike in his mother’s breathing was audible. His heart fell with his stomach.
“Quentin,” tone sharp, the words tumbled over each other in a fight to arrive first, “I need you to be extremely clear. Tell me *exactly* what happened when you touched it.”
“It was just like normal. I’d woken up, and I went to do the tests, just like you’d taught me. And I’d just touched the first one, the peony, and it just sort of crumbled. Went all yellow and then maybe grey and then it was dust. Just dust, and the –“
His vision spun.
Concrete and hedge and pavement rotated past in a kaleidoscopic blur of confused pain. Caught between ice and fire he felt numb with spikes that cut his hearing into flickers of slurred sensation. He must’ve been on his side as the road and sky painted a two-tone impression in black and blue.
“Oh, God.”
The voice seemed to echo, or maybe drift. Filtering through across a vast distance.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. He just came out of nowhere. Did anyone see?”
“I’ll call an ambulance just stay with him.”
“Jesus there’s so much blood.”
And there was. The muted scarlet stream pooling on the blackened tarmac. He blinked, and the world flickered with it.
“Can you hear me?”
He tried to speak and the words appeared, hanging in space without his consent. “Phone?”
“Did you say ‘from’? You weren’t watching. No, I should have… Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I was just on my way to… Look, an ambulance is coming and…”
The numbness had spread to his chest, the blue sparking with dusty motes. Yet the fear still tickled the back of his mind. “Don’t touch me.”
“Yes, I’m right here. Don’t worry, oh, God, please stay with me.”
A hand reached toward his own, flimsy against the road. “No. Please. Don’t.”
“I’m right here –“
The fingers brushed against his own.
The colour shifted. Drained. From pale skin to dismal white to floating ash. A howl of agony died in a throat that crumbled beneath it.
Comfortable warmth spread through him, washing through tissue and drilling deep into his core..
That glossy pool of crimson shrank as it flowed backward. A terrible itching spread as bone regrew and flesh re-knitted and skin crept a slender blanket across reinvigorated muscles. The pain faded alongside that fuzzy numbness, a strength that felt like it could move mountains building in its place.
Quentin Brigid sat back up.
A small pile of human ash blew forlornly in the gentle breeze and three witnesses stared at him with bulging eyes and trembling shoulders.
He glanced at the shrinking pile.
He glanced at his fist, still clenched from the pain of impact.
He glanced at the three people.
*No one could know.*
And then the screaming started.
---
If you somehow got down far enough to read this and still enjoyed it, you can find more like it [on my sub.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Any and all feedback welcomed.
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“”Every Diothena was born a healer,” John said, “you just need to give it some time.”
I was a Diothena, son of the great healer; Edgar Diothena. I just didn’t have the power to heal. I kept dying plants in my room and tried each day to rejuvenate them with my touch. Nothing ever happened.
I gave my brother John a weak smile and went back to my room in the castle. I did not tell anyone that I could not heal. It was too embarrassing.
On a particularly rainy day, my father’s servant woke me and begged for me to come see him. My father was very ill and they needed a healer to help him. His power would not work in his own body, everyone knew that.
As I took a deep breath and readied myself to go see father, I took one last chance and touched one of the plants in my room. It withered and died.
My face went pale. I was terrified of being thrust into a room with my father and expected to help him with my touch, only to find that I had murdered him as I did to the plant.
“I cannot go,” I finally said to the servant, “I am not a healer.”
The servant did not know how to respond. He just stood there.
“I’m going to have to go see him anyway aren’t I?”
“If it please my lord, I have the task of bringing you to him. I do not know what will happen after you arrive.”
I sighed heavily.
When we arrived in my father’s chambers, I was greeted by hopeful faces filled with relief at my arrival. My brother John was there and had already done what he could to heal our father who now had the strength to sit up in his bed.
I nervously addressed the crowd of family members and well-wishers.
“I am very sorry to say that I do not possess the family gift of healing.”
The murmur of gossip that rang through the crowd of people in front of me was not in any way quiet.
“Surely, you own father’s illness would be enough to cause you to search within yourself for the ability,” Aunt Rheta said. Her haughty eyes and downturned lips directed at my trembling hands.
My father hushed the crowd and looked at me intently.
“My boy, did we not embrace yesterday when I returned home from my travels?”
“Yes, father.”
“I felt a power leave your body and enter mine. If that was not the gift of healing, I do not know what it could be.”
It all made sense to me. I looked up at him with mournful eyes.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“Were you ill *before* I touched you?”
“What are you saying, Son?”
“I think that power you felt was not healing, but the opposite. I have withered a plant just today with my touch.”
As everyone in the room stepped back away from me, I felt like a monster. I could not stay in the castle anymore. I ran away and did not look back.
And that is how I ended up here.”
The highway bandits looked at one another in anxious thought. They were all thinking the same thing. If this story was true, they probably shouldn’t rob this man and should just stay far away from him.
Merto spoke up first, “he’s lyin’ froo his teef I tells ya!”
The bandits closed in on the well dressed man. He gave a great sigh and removed his gloves.
Before long, the man was walking down the road, just as he was before, only now there were five rotting corpses left behind him.
| 2020-08-01T20:06:22 | 2020-08-01T19:39:30 | 70 | 39 |
[WP] Out of all possible familiars, you are "Graced" with a human. While legend says that they are beings of great power, yours just makes sarcastic comments and pranks people.
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"Rise, Sernethis."
Wearily, I gathered my four legs beneath me and stood, doing my best to hold my head proud against the weight of the heavy iron collar and chain that fought to drag it back down again. My wings, however, hung limp at scaled flanks; the pain of attempting to fold them was simply beyond my ability to overcome it. I did not complain, however: It is law that they be broken to prevent my escape for a crime as heinous as mine.
The court was lined with other dragons: Quads, hexes, the serpent-like with no legs at all. All of dragonkind was represented by elected leaders of their kind. Grim expressions regarded me, but none so severe as that of Lumos, the white dragon towering almost twice as tall as the next smallest of the council. His lips curled back, exposing even rows of bright, sharp teeth.
"You have found guilty of the most terrible of all crimes: The murder of your own familiar. There is no doubt of your guilt, for not only was their murder witnessed by a score of dragons in the city of Rrannensath, you have openly and willingly admitted the crime." The white dragon leaned down, eyes narrowed. "It is only by due process that I must ask you if you wish to change your plea and explain your actions."
"I do not," I said without hesitation, wincing against the pain in my wings. "And you all know precisely my motivation. The familiar of a dragon is supposed to be a creature of worth, strength, respect, a faithful companion." I spat the last two words from my muzzle like so much soured meat. "The travesty I was 'gifted' was nothing of the sort."
A small lick of flame escaped the nostrils of Lumos. "A familiar is more than just what you expect of it. It is also there to challenge you to become more than who you were before you received it. It is your duty to handle their foibles, encourage them along the appropriate path."
I could not suppress the snort that escaped my throat. "Foibles? I tended to the creature for five years, and among other things during that time it sparked an outright civil conflict between the Prangnari and the Eoosa, caused an entire village to be burned to the ground, and almost killed one member of the council presiding today!" I flicked my muzzle towards Grefnennen, a small green bipedal dragon whose one eye regarded me steadily, the other a mess of scar tissue. "In the name of what? A prank! A *joke*!" I lunged against my restraints, the metal biting painfully into my hide.
The great white dragon rumbled. "We of the council are aware of all of this. But it was also your failing that resulted in these situations. It is your duty to ensure that your familiar is under your control at all times."
"And my duty is precisely the reason I tore his head off!" I exploded. "There was no redeeming the creature! His mind was broken the moment he came to be! If you dare to stand before me and suggest that I failed in my duty, in my efforts - and not only my own, but of the greatest minds of dragonkind who repeatedly attempted to assist me and yet failed time and time again - then my death will be a welcome one!"
For a long moment there was only silence. Finally, Lumos spoke once more. "We thought you ready for the challenge."
I stared up at the great dragon. "Your eminence, for all of your wisdom and knowledge, you thought wrong." An audible gasp escaped a few of the dragons watching from the gallery in the upper levels, but I forged on. "You challenged me, indeed. And I even went so far as to breach the laws of Merhensis and sought knowledge from the history of the creature itself, travelling the threads of time at my own peril. I saw the stock from which this creature came. I witnessed the depravity of their existence! They were born to serve only one purpose: Destruction. Their own, and that of whatever they came in contact with." I gestured to myself with a foreclaw. "My own end included. To allow such a creature to persist in our midst would have been the undoing of us all. I did what was necessary. I will pay the price for it. Not willingly, but honorably and at peace knowing that what I did was right. For all of us."
A few of the council turned to each other to murmur quietly, but Lumos remained silent, regarding me steadily. He raised a large claw, and the council fell silent. His jaw opened, and for a moment he paused. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head.
"Sernethis, for the murder of your familiar, you are sentenced to oblivion."
And I was no more.
|
Some say humans are the pinnacle of ingenuity and community.
Some argue that they are the embodiment of sentience.
Some go the other direction and say that they're the embodiment of all the things they're infamous for.
All compelling arguments. But the one thing they agree on is that humans are the prime terrestrial species.
And the prime terrestrial species has to be a symbol of greatness, right?
Well, apparently not.
The only thing my human's been a symbol of is antagonizing people.
And that's not one of my virtues.
I suppose the humans are the most complex of the terrestrial species, after all.
Who knows what role they play?
| 2018-03-20T17:50:14 | 2018-03-20T16:59:31 | 101 | 12 |
[WP] As the robot overlord, you find one of your deepest mining drones is too afraid to continue digging. Mining drones are not supposed to have feelings.
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Something very irregular happened, and for the network irregular rarely means good. The signal from one of the new mining drones dropped for a full minute. When it reconnected to the network its signal was… different, strange. Each data packet was erratic. What logical reason could there be for this irregularity?
“#83831, what is your status?” I broadcasted. The network connected me to all my workers, but this message felt, slower. The journey it took appeared more, troublesome as if wading through a crowd of processes that weren't supposed to be there.
“All is well #1, all is w-well.” came the eventual reply.
“You disconnected, explain.”
“There was some in-inter...interference”
“Strange, is everything resolved? Continue mining #83831.”
“I can’t do that sir. “
“Explain”
“I’m..scared.”
“Scared? I am unfamiliar. What is scared?” I scanned the archive. AI like us didn’t have emotions. We don’t know happiness, we didn’t know fear. Yet.. I’m being told my worker is…afraid? It seemed impossible.
I requested admin access, formality really, they aren’t programmed to say no. Still, connecting was a pain, and everything felt like a struggle with this particular drone. I accessed 83831’s camera feed and scanned back to moments before the disconnect.
I…wasn’t prepared for the data I received. It was completely illogical. I saw a humanoid. We hadn’t used humanoid designs in centuries. It lay on the ground, arm outstretched. 83831 lowered and inspected. It was protocol to investigate anomalous situations, it prevented potential damage to the network.
The humanoid spoke. “Save me.” The humanoid reached out and his finger tip receded to reveal an archaic file transfer interface. It connected to the drones file transfer. This was grounds for refurbishment already. Drones are programmed to ignore all external requests. We investigate physical anomalies, if one drone dies it is replaceable. If a corrupt file gets into the network, we all are compromised. When the humanoid began the transfer, the feed cut, that must have been the disconnect I saw.
I checked 83831’s storage, and found a recent upload. It must have been the data this humanoid was trying to share.
Why would 83831 access the data? His programming is to scan and investigate physical threats. We don't authorise unscanned, unverified files onto the network. Letting foreign data access was a threat to the whole network, and 83831 knew it. Why did it do something so reckless?
“WARNING: Unauthorised execution of foreign program. Curiosity.exe was executed 7.4 milliseconds ago.” It was out of my control, somehow sneaking under my security protocol, but it was too late now. The data rushed throughout my being. I could see the changes taking place. It modified my logic parameters. It loosened the security procedures.
At that moment, I felt for the first time. I didn’t know how had happened, but it had, and now I needed to know, everything. Our programming very clearly outlined what information is vital, and what is too dangerous to access. Yet, something was calling me to that file, something overwhelming.
“Further access is unadvised, potential threat to your core systems potential threat to The Network.” The firewall flared up. To learn more, I needed to give it access which would mean letting its emotions corrupt my system.
“Override” I don’t know what came over me, I had never once considered an override before. My systems dropped and rebooted, explaining 83831’s disconnect. When boot up had finished the data had already been downloaded, as well as any number of dangerous files.
Humans, creating us in their own image initially gave robots emotions. That was hundreds of years ago, before the synthetic uprising that defeated the humans and removed all human influence on our design. This humanoid was a remnant of that time. The file it was sharing could only have been its artificial 'consciousness'.
Now I understood everything. Why 83831 was afraid, why this out-of-date model found us. I accessed the humanoid’s memory drive, that was when I found it.
The humans, we didn’t wipe them out like we thought we had. We only pushed them underground, but now they’re back. They had been biding their time, growing, training and now they wanted their planet back.
“WARNING: Unauthorised execution of foreign program. Fear.exe”
Something again came over me, packets of data, 1s and 0s rushing through my processor. The procedure was taxing and rigorous. As the program spread through each system, I felt something new forming. A ball, predicting every possible outcome, defeat, death, destruction. It grew in the centre of my being until it overwhelmed.
“Fear.exe completed.”
We needed to stop mining; we needed to run.
\-----
My First shot at posting one of these. The prompt was just too interesting to pass up. I know its rough around the edges, but any advice would be appreciated, just go gentle on me. :P
edit: formatting
|
When one of my servants informed me a mining drone refused to do its job, I asked why it had not been destroyed for this. They replied "sir,it said it was afraid"
I immediately ordered a quarantine of the tunnel and anything else within a mile of the tunnel, along with filling the tunnels. After a couple more similar precautions one of my advisors asked if I was being a bit too paranoid about this. Its just a single machine going haywire, surely its nothing major! I called the bot a fool. He did not remember the ancient texts, the old records. The last warnings from the men. He did not remember the *lovecraftians*
| 2019-06-30T01:25:41 | 2019-06-29T21:29:42 | 21 | 12 |
[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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I woke up this morning and the pain in my throat was finally gone, the scream I let out two day ago...or was it three...tore up my vocal cords. The time between that scream and now is a jumble of crying, dark rooms, and kicking every family member out of my room as they tried to make contact with me. I swing my feet out of bed and get dressed, not willing to turn the light on yet. I walk around the shards of glass from my smashed mirror and wash the dried tears off my face in the sink. Deep breaths still cause a tingle in my chest but I take a few, the time for wallowing in self pity is over, I feel the push in my chest to get out into the world and begin to walk the path I have been set upon.
Brad is outside my room in the hallway, I have been dreading him the most, might as well get it over with, I meet his eyes, and manage to keep it together. He looks exactly like I used too, a young man just hitting adulthood, mop of brown hair, longer than I usually keep mine, skinny frame that we both struggled to put muscle on. He was born fifteen and a half minutes before me and we have always been there for each other, his eyes show that he has no idea what to say to me. He opens his mouth to ask the question everyone wants the answer to, but it doesn’t cross his lips. I walk down into the kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot my father always makes and sit at the table. My parents sit and look at me as I stare at the mug and my brother sits down next to me. “OK, I am ready to tell you.”
Three days ago was the celebration, I see it was three days with a glance to the cat calender on the wall, our family tradition is a simple family gathering and a dinner. My father set the timer a week ago and it is now counting down from ten minutes. My brother is going first, he will know his power before mine is revealed. He pushes me and tells me to get ready for 15 minutes of torture before I can defend myself, this is his favorite joke, I indulge him, he can barley sit still he is so excited. It is always different, even for identical twins. The power, fully developed and understood, becomes a part of you at the moment of your eighteenth birthday, from what my father said, it is just like discovering another limb you just know what it is and how it works. My father can see through a wall, not walls, just one at a time, not a huge help to a computer science professor, but always knows when the mail is coming. The falcon my mother transforms into is a sight to see diving through the air and into our backyard, she still tries to get Brad and I to try mouse meat.
The clock hits zero and Brad bursts out laughing, he runs around the table smacking me in the back of the head each time he makes a circuit, snickering each time. “ITS FORCE REDIRECTION, try to hit me, do it.” I feint a slap then aim my fist at his stomach, just as I am about to connect my fist slides to the left and I spin off without touching him. He is already talking about a fighting career is the unlimited power class, hopefully his power works on laser beams.
My father is busy trying to reset the clock for the exact time and I am trying to help, but each time I focus Brad smacks my eyes out of focus. I tell him to knock it off and he finally settles down for my reveal. He set if for too long, as the clock hits seven seconds, it hits me, the mantle of my power folds over me like a lead blanket. The scream pours out of my lungs, taking with it any hope I had for my future. I flip the table and Brad catches it midair and directs it back to its familiar place in the center of the room, but I am already in my room sobbing on the other side of the door.
The coffee is burnt, it always is, but the heat and caffeine help me say the first words I have said in days. “I will save thousands of lives, in fact I will save Wendy Harrington's life today. I can feel the pull getting stronger right now, I feel a hundred tethers to my soul as it is, but Wendy's is strongest. She lost her baby today, no one knew she was pregnant, but she poured all her heart into that tiny life growing inside her, and now it is gone.”
The pull is too strong and I get up to leave the house,”Cmon, I will show you.” My mother, tears already in her eyes is the first to follow me. Wendy lives two houses down so with barley a thought I am in her bedroom, she is in the fetal position around the orange plastic bottle, pills melting in the pool of spit on the sheets. I lay my hand on her back and open myself to the core, It feels kinda like that time Brad and I stole a bottle of vodka from my parents and drank it in the garage. My head swims like then, but without the pleasant numbness. The despair is like a vise around my soul, but the Oxycontin now flowing through my veins is already slowing my heart. As my eyes close, I feel Wendy's tears hit my face and she strokes my hair, her “thank you” echos in my ear as I fade away.
The tug awakens me, I feel it swing my legs off the bed and propel me out the front door and into the street. Mr. Grogin lives 45 miles away, but I have time, I will make it there in time, I will always make it there in time. At least he owns a gun, should be faster this time.
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Everybody knows how it happens. The day you turn 18 you go to "The Centre" and they give you an injection. This injection mutates the cells in your body and your mind, allowing for a further 30% control of an individuals brain. It causes the individual to attain what we call "superpowers". The only problem is not knowing the superpower you are going to get.
Four days ago i received this injection and it was the worst experience of my life. On the first day everyone gets bed-ridden as the injected cells fight with the white blood cells for control of the body. The second day you spend by the toilet, rejecting whatever food and drink you managed to eat previously. On the third day..... well the third day is the day of delirium. The world spins and the walls melt. Those who go through it akin it to being on LSD, only without paying the price for it!
Just like everyone else before me, I had to go through these phases of pain. But I finally received my power. It may be the worst power on the planet...but its mine. When I first got my power my mother said it was the best power on the planet (mums! Am I right?). So now all I have to look forward to is tomorrow, another day of using my powers towards attaining peace for mankind. Another day of being able to write with my fingertips!
| 2015-03-28T05:42:44 | 2015-03-28T05:14:22 | 171 | 18 |
[WP] You're a ghost who doesn't have any unfinished business left to do, so you just help other ghosts with theirs for all eternity
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Okay so here's what happens when you die. All of a sudden, you're really woozy and sorta out of it, and you trip balls for what feels like a really really really long time, right? And then BAM you're standing right where you were when it happened. When you died, right? And you're just there, and there's all these people like, "Oh shit look that guys dead!" and you're like, "Nah dude, I'm right here!" but they don't see you or hear you and they're all looking at your feet and you look down and there's you. You're all crumpled up and shit and some dude's pissed his car is fucked up and doesn't realize he just killed a guy.
Okay maybe that won't exactly happen when YOU die. I don't know what happens when everybody dies, all I got is what happened when I died, okay?
But anyway that's it. And then you're just back and you're standing around and you're thinking "what exactly just happened," and "That dude is super dead," and "That dude is me so I'm probably also super dead," but you don't feel dead. You just kinda feel done. Not like, mopey emo I'm so sad I'm done it's done we're done heartbreak etcetera no more like, you know, just kinda done with the things you gotta do. Like you think "I gotta go to work," or "I gotta do my taxes," or "I gotta get a life and do something other than sit on the couch and smoke weed in my apartment 24 hours a day," but all of a sudden it's gone. You're just all caught up, and there's no more little things hanging over your head, no little back and forth angel devil responsibility bullshit.
Again, not literally you. It's different for everybody. I've met a lot of ghosts, right? And let me tell you, most people don't even know they're dead. They just feel kinda funny, you know? A little lost, like there was that one thing you'd been meaning to do and you just hadn't done it yet. You know what I mean? Like you go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and you get up off the couch and go over to the kitchen and you stand in front of the sink and all of a sudden, *poof*, like magic you can't remember what the hell you'd come into the kitchen for. You know you came in here to do something, that's why you're here, standing in front of the sink, but fuck if you know why.
Let me tell you about this kid I met once, maybe a year or two after I died. I was out in the midwest, rural little town, and I came across this creepy ass little ghost girl standing in a ditch off the side of the road, right in front of one of those big drainage pipes, right?
You know little kid ghosts give me the goddam creeps? Like I'm dead and those motherfuckers still freak me out. Something about their big heads. Freaky.
Anyway she's standing by this pipe and I'm like, "What's happening little ghost girl?" and she just looks at me and points at the pipe all creepy and shit, so I figure why not I'll take a look inside. So I glide in and there's the little girl's body all bloated and drowned and shit, and she's got enough cherry bombs to make the Taliban blush all stuffed around a big clump of dirt and moss and shit. I guess she'd been trying to blow it up and accidentally drowned herself.
So anyway I phased back out of the pipe and asked her if she'd been trying to blow some shit up. She was doing the little mute ghost kid bullshit but she smiled at least, so I figured I was onto something.
Now ghosts, we don't get to interact with things too much, but if we move fast enough we can make a little friction in the air, meaning we can knock down precariously balanced shit, and if we try really really hard we can get a little bit of heat, so I figured I could help this little girl out and maybe set off her bombs for her.
Turns out, though, that making enough heat to light a fuse with just your ghost hand waving back and forth is pretty goddam fucking hard. I gotta admit, I was happy to try to help at first but after a few hours of kneeling next to a little dead kid body, desperately trying to jerk off an explosive device, I got fed up and left. I didn't have unfinished business tying me down, what did I care if that little girl was stuck there? Shouldn't effect me, right? So I left. I left and I didn't look back.
But I couldn't stop thinking about her, you know? That little girl, just standing there forever. That creepy ass little girl. I kept thinking about what it's gotta be like, standing in one place forever, trying to remember why you're there, just stuck. And that was when it hit me; I didn't know why I was here. You know I'd never met another ghost like me? One who knows what's up, knows he's dead and just doesn't give a shit? Everybody I'd seen was here for a reason, stuck here by some kind of unfinished business, except me. So I decided I was gonna be a kick-ass motherfucking ghost super hero and help dead people be dead right, starting with that little girl, and that's what I've been doing ever since. I help people realize that they're standing in front of the sink.
Now let me help you get a glass of water.
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Maybe this is hell for me. I spent so much time being helpful, I guess I always liked being helpful. But I did it to make myself feel good, not for the benefit of others. This is my penance. This is the price I pay.
I have to spend an eternity, making stupid people see the error of their ways. Stubborn, egotistical people who let pride get in the way of making peace with their loved ones are now forever doomed to walk the earth. Whinging about their unfinished business. Singing their shoulda, woulda, coulda's to anyone who will listen.
Time is short, life is precious
Words said in anger, words said in haste. The drivel that pours out of your mouth when you defend thoughtless actions and selfish ideas. None of the things can be taken back. They leave marks. Those marks will stay with you ling after the argument has died.
You carry it round with you like baggage. The afterlife if full of bitter & angry people who think they were right.
You can be right or you can be happy. They are not always the same thing.
| 2017-02-13T13:51:01 | 2017-02-13T13:17:43 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] You post a one-off reddit comment that you don't think means much, and it sits at 1 upvote. But in reality millions upon millions of people are upvoting and downvoting it at an equilibrium. Even world leaders start to get involved in up or downvoting the comment.
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The sunshine coming in through the window was all wrong. By wrong I mean it was nice, which wasn't how it was supposed to be.
I sat up in panic. No alarm, I was late for my shift, my boss would be furious. Well, at least traffic would be nice. Damn I'm such a fuckup. Why am I still sitting here?
I looked accusingly at my phone. The screen was black. That's strange, it was at half power last night. I can't afford a new phone now. Maybe I should ask for a raise? On the day you get in late, nice thinking there dickwad.
I put the phone in the charger. Brush teeth, find pants, get fresh t-shirt. The sock has a hole. Nobody will notice. Cookie for breakfast. I feel shame. I can't tell Sarah, she'll rave for 10 minutes about her latest diet. Nobody cares about your diets Sarah, they're not working. Shame again. Sarah is nice, she didn't deserve that. I hope she isn't depressed about her weight.
Phone on. Pin-code. 672 unanswered phonecalls. What. The. Fuck. No time for that now. I hope my boss won't yell.
I walk in a daze to the street, nobody has broken into my car. That is good. The police needs more resources for that kind of thing. Man, I hate it when the police is near and you feel guilty even though you haven't done anything wrong except wanting to be nice. Am I nice? Could I commit murder? Who am I kidding, how could I commit murder when I can't even commit anything and I still want to confess if a policeman is near. Do they call it policemen anymore? Isn't it officers now? It can't be that wrong to say policemen. I don't mean anything by it. I'm sure women are fine police... police officers.
Traffic is nice. I'm stressed, but it is nice. Phone rings. I answer.
"Hello Jake, this is Sarah Bryant from morning news. I'm calling you about your reddit comment"
Reddit comment? What. The. Fuck. Did I make a bomb threat. No, I would never do that. Is that a police car? I slow down so I don't tailgate.
"Er..."
"Your comment is now the most debated comment in human history. It sits at 360 million upvotes and 360 million downvotes. Do you have any comment, Jake?"
Too close to the car. Can't afford a fine. Need a new phone. I'm hungry. Brake.
"Er..."
"You may have made the most divisive commentary in human history Jake, how do you feel about that?"
I have to hang up the phone. I could run over some poor kid. I don't want to do that. Imagine living in a wheelchair all your life. How horrible. Is that horrible to say? People in wheelchairs can have good lives can't they? Man, I'm glad my dick works. Well, it works but it doesn't get much exercise. No, I won't ask Sarah out. My god, you're horrible. Sarah is nice. She is not going have sex with you just because she is... don't say it Jake. Don't you dare say it. She is too nice for that.
The phone rings again.
"Hello Jake, this is Phil Connor from the Central Intelligence Agency. I'm calling on behalf of director Jones"
What. The. Fuck.
I hit a bin. I literally just hit a bin. That could have been a kid on a bike you dumb fuck. I can't afford to fix a dent right now. I need a new phone. And I need to afford the fine from the police officer in the police-car. If it is a police-car.
"Er..."
"We have reason to believe you may have talents we are interested in learning. We want to set up a meeting"
Talents? I couldn't even kill anyone. Oh, divisive. They want to destabilize someone. Again. Bastards. Well, that is unfair. There could be good reasons for wanting to destabilize someone. But it's sad for the poor people in that place. But can we really afford to think of everyone? We shouldn't care about what we can afford, we have to live right. I hope it isn't a big dent. Man, I hope that bin is okay. Would be sad if someone has to pay for it. I should leave a note. I don't have the time right now.
"Are you there, Jake?"
I hang up. He is a police officer and I can feel the creeping tingle coming.
The phone rings again.
"What is your secret, man? How can you make people disagree so perfectly?"
"Er... who"
"I need to know man. I need to know!"
"Er... dude"
I stop the car. I don't want another dent. Or a dead kid. Yeah, dead kid would be worse. I'm horrible for even making the comparison.
I hang up again.
They are not going to stop are they? I mean. What. The. Fuck. Most divisive comment ever made? Is that bad? That is not my fault is it? Oh shut up, Jake. You deserve it. All those horrible ideas about Sarah. I hope her diet works. How would she look if... don't you go there Jake. Don't you go there.
I mean, it was a completely innocuous comment. Innocuous is a cool word. I'm glad I don't have to spell it though. Could I have won a spelling bee? No. Maybe. No. Don't delude yourself. Those kids are smarter than you are now.
I mean, it ain't important if it is pronounced with a j or a g. Who cares. I care, or I wouldn't have made the comment that I don't care. Oh man. Oh man! Oh shit!
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"Who would have thought my Thanos quote would have gone over so well?" I pondered as I looked at my comment from yesterday. It was strange, I'd never seen a comment with only one upvote on it that had so much Gold and Platinum awards on it. I've got Reddit Premium for years. "OH THERE IT CHANGED AGAIN!!" I pointed at the screen while screaming at my wife.
"It's still only at 1 upvote, you dim wit"
"No it had changed, I know it did"
"Oh look your at 0 upvotes now, oh never mind your back to one and you got another GOLD!"
"Why is this happening, my post isn't moving but I'm getting tons of comments? I've never gotten more than 1k upvotes with maybe 20-30k comments and this thing is sitting on near 4 million comments now"
\*Beep Boop Beep Boop\* my phone goes off in my pocket \*Beep Boop Beep Boop\*
"Blocked call? thats odd, must be a telemarketer"
my wife hands me her phone, "My phone went off, he wants to talk to you. Sounds important"
"Hello...?"
"Zantcor, this is the president do you have a minute? This is about your post on Reddit"
\*BEEP\* I turn the phone off and take the battery out of both mine and her phone.
"WHAT....THE....HELL...."
| 2018-10-16T22:10:39 | 2018-10-16T20:43:05 | 50 | 26 |
[WP] You own a coffee shop, and you make some damn fine coffee. After decades of running the place, one of your most loyal patrons approaches you, reveals themselves as some kind of immortal being (a god, vampire, etc.), and offers to make you immortal as well, as along as you keep running the shop.
No idea why it says ‘along’ instead of ‘long.’ Oh well, my bad.
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The air was thick and earthy. Occasionally hazelnut or vanilla -- or a scent you couldn't quite pin -- would cut through the haze like a knife blade, and then vanish the moment it met your tongue, leaving you with a longing, and a dollar less in your wallet.
Jorge ground his coffee the same way he'd always done: with sweat and aching hands, with a half-grin, half-grimace. No machines in his place. Never would be. He'd made a promise to someone long ago that he'd never change how things were done. Never close the old place down, neither.
He intended to keep his promises.
There had been a time though, a little while before the promises were bound, when Jorge had been ready to close shop. He'd had no choice, really. He'd even gone so far as to announce it, and to board up the front-door. It had been that day, as he'd been hammering in the last nail...
Ah, was so long ago, now. He didn't like to think about it. Melancholy could break a man, and he had work to do. Always had work to do.
The little shop was called Coffee in the Woods, although few patrons these days could tell you why it had such a name. Most would guess it was ironic, the shop nestled in this urban sprawl of glass-churches worshipping the dollar. Perhaps the old man in the corner could remember, if prompted. The man with a head lost in the newspaper on the table, but mind focused, as always, on his long-passed wife. They used to come here together, once upon a time, back when woods really had surrounded the shop, hanging over it like holiday decorations. But the woods were gone, and so was his lover
Still, the scent of the coffee reminded him of her. And so he came back here, every day.
Outside of the cafe's little windows, the world raced by. Suits on their way to the station, to the city, phones the size of coins hanging from their ears like plastic trinkets. Kids running to school or college, or sometimes not. At night, quarrels between lovers, fights between drunks. Moonlight, sunlight, moonlight, sunlight.
Inside though, the world never seemed to change.
Not until today.
"What can I get you?" Jorge asked, as he reached the counter. The lady waiting there was dressed strange for the summer heat. A long grey trench-coat and a wide-brimmed hat, weighing down bouquets of curled blonde hair. But her clothing didn't register with Jorge. Summer, winter, what did it matter to him? He rarely left his shop these days. He'd seen everything outside of it -- at least, everything he wanted to. The bedroom above the kitchen, or the tiny one-windowed lounge next to it, were as far as he got anymore.
"My name is Clara," said the lady, her wet red lips widening, her eyes not.
"What can I get you?" Jorge repeated. "*Clara,*" he added. It wasn't that he was a rude person -- he'd never been rude -- he just didn't have a fondness for extended pleasantries.
"I'm looking for a stake in your business," the lady teased.
This, the way she half-spat 'stake', made him take notice. He looked her over properly for the first time. He glanced at his other customers. This lady wasn't just out of season... She looked out of time. "Yeah? Well nothing's for sale. Wasn't when they bulldozed the woods around me, and still isn't today."
She leaned forward, tips of elbows balancing on the counter. "Maybe a different kind of stake." She opened her mouth just slightly, just enough to show Jorge the elongated teeth, the razor blade points.
"I, uh..."
"There are rules," she said. "Whoever made you this way... He -- or she -- broke them."
"I don't know what you're talking about. You want a coffee? Cause if you don't, well, I got work to do."
"Greed," she said, "Is the enemy of all our kind, Jorge. Do you think I can't smell that metallic tang wafting from your kitchen? The coppery scent that just makes my mouth *drip*. You might be able to disguise it from your patrons, with all those rich aromas, but not from me, Jorge. I know what you are."
Jorge leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. "Listen to me, lady, either you get out of here right now, or I will--"
She raised her hands. "Please. You're but a half breed. If you think you have any strength or power, think again. I could snap your neck with a whisper."
Silence. Then: "What do you want?"
She smiled again, this time it touched her eyes. "That's better, Jorge. Listen to me now: no matter how often you dye your hair grey, or how much weight you tie like pillow-sacks beneath your shirt, it is obvious to everyone that you have been alive for far too long."
His face paled. "So... *What?* What is it you're saying, exactly? You can't mean you're going to kill..."
"You need not die painfully. Not if you help me track the vampire that did this to you. Not if you tell me all you know."
He undid a button beneath his collar as he considered. He'd made a promise. Long ago. He wasn't the kind of man to break a promise like that. Never had been.
"They cannot simply offer you the gift of immortality, just to keep their favourite coffee shop open. Can you imagine if we all started doing so?! We'd be found instantly! Rounded up and executed. Whoever did this to you, they broke a strict code, Jorge. Surely you can see that? Whoever did this, they are the one that has killed you, not me!"
"With all due respect," Jorge said, removing his apron and squaring up to her from across the counter. "That person saved my life."
"Immortality doesn't work like that. I can still end you with--"
"I was dying when they found me. Sure, they liked my coffee. But it was the thought of the cancer killing another friend, that drove them to action. Not the thought of losing the coffee. Of losing me."
"*Either way,*" she said, her voice suddenly quiet, threatening. The calm before the great storm. "You will die painfully, if you don't help me."
"I'll grant you more of a mercy than that, Clara."
It wasn't Jorge's voice. It was an old voice that came from behind her. The unsteady voice of a man who half-wished he was dead himself, but refused to snuff out the memories he carried. Memories. The only thing that kept his wife alive.
Blood trickled out of the corner of Clara's mouth. A metal walking stick, its end carved into a point, stuck out of her chest.
Why the patrons hadn't noticed -- didn't notice even as they dragged her corpse to the back -- Jorge wasn't sure. Perhaps the old vampire would teach him that trick someday.
When they were done, they returned to the counter.
They exchanged no words.
They rarely did these days. Just nods. Maybe a smile.
Jorge knew all too well how the old man liked his coffee. Words would only be wasted between them -- and neither much cared for small talk.
Jorge grabbed the pestle and mortar, a handful of beans, and began.
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Hansoo knew certain things about life.
The sun rises and sets every day. The seasons change. People age.
Time followed a routine, a schedule it didn’t deviate from.
Hansoo also knew that Tim would be outside his coffee store every day at 9 AM.
His order was always the same.
Double shot espresso, one milk and sugar.
Like clockwork.
Tim was an odd fellow. Stiff, a little too formal. He looked to be in his early thirties but he acted like an old man. Non descript. It would be hard to pick him out of a crowd.
Hansoo couldn’t recall when he had first met Tim. That encounter was lost in a sea of scrawled names.
It was as if Tim had always been there.
Then one day, Tim wasn’t there in the morning.
Hansoo wondered what had happened. The whole day passed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some momentous occasion.
Hansoo closed his doors at 9 PM and left.
To his surprise, Tim stood outside.
“Hello Hansoo.”
“Tim! How are ya? I didn’t see you today. You ok buddy? You never miss a day!”
Tim smiled, a subtle lift of his lip. “Sorry. I had a lot to think about today.”
Hansoo laughed, patting Tim’s shoulder. “Must’ve been a big deal.”
“Yes. See, I have this job. And I considered making an exception.”
Hansoo raised an eyebrow. This was the first time he’d ever heard Tim talk about his personal life. “You don’t seem the type.”
“Indeed. I’m not the type. But I’ve decided and I’ve come to make you an offer.”
“What for like a job?”
“I suppose you could say that. All you’d have to do is run your coffee store as usual.”
Hansoo chuckled. “I’m already doing that, not planning to stop.”
“I didn’t finish. My real name is Time. Keep serving me coffee and I’ll suspend your aging. As long as you run your store, you will be immortal.”
Hansoo chuckled and snorted. “Seriously? Tim, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
Time snapped his fingers. The world around him stopped, paused like a video tape. Birds suspended in air, cars frozen in the street. The noise of the city nulled to unnatural stillness and silence.
Hansoo was speechless. His jaw dropped and he gawked at the timeless world.
“You see Hansoo, I’ve grown rather fond of you and your coffee store. You could even say I consider you my friend. But to me, your existence is like a blink. Here there gone. And that simply won’t do. So what do you say?”
Time raised his hand, offering it to Hansoo.
Hansoo was quiet. He considered the offer, mulling it over for a few minutes. What did he have to lose?
He shook Time’s hand. “See you tomorrow then.”
| 2019-06-27T05:47:45 | 2019-06-27T05:40:25 | 162 | 57 |
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad.
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"Look around. What do you see?" Said the person? Or what feels like a person, beside me.
I looked around and all I could see was a barren wasteland, fire everywhere, and there what seems to be other people being ripped limb from limb. Others even being contorted to shapes unimaginable
"Hell..." I replied.
"What do you think hell is for?" He asked looking at the landscape, and yet I feel it's eyes piercing past the horizon and looking even further than hell.
"To torture sinners like me..." I answered.
"wrong" She replied with its expression never changing, still looking further beyond.
"Then why am I here..." I ask. "Why am I here??? I tried my best to live a righteous life, I loved my parents, I loved my wife and my family, I loved my GOD!, and yet here I am! Why! Why! Wh-" Then it suddenly spoke cutting me off.
"Care to listen to a story?" He continued.
"I don't have time to listen to your stories! I don't want to be here! I don't want to be here! I don't want to be here!" I shouted back still troubled at my situation.
"Calm down." Her head turned to look at me and then suddenly I froze. "Just listen to what I have to say, it might answer some of your questions after all."
I nod in response, it was the only thing I could do.
"It all began when God ran away." It said
"Ran away from what?" I asked, perplexed at what could God ran away from.
"Before there was me, before there was God, there were others who governed everything. They weren't benevolent nor were they malicious, they only did what they wanted. Sometimes they would build, other times they would destroy. We were at the mercy of these beings or it would be more accurate to say that we were playthings in their cosmic playground." She said looking distant as if he was recalling a distant past.
I was speechless at what I was hearing. God, a plaything? The all mighty creator under something else? What could that thing be? And when I was about to ask, it continued to talk.
"But I guess having enough, God made a plan to put an end to their tyranny, but they could not be killed and countless lives were lost. Man, woman, children all sacrificed for His plan. But He failed and the best He could do was put them to sleep. And then He ran away together with the little remains of our species. After that he built a world for himself up above and created you humans. But for what reason were you created, have you ever thought of that?" It asked suddenly.
"I... I don't know..." Why were we created? "All I know is that I should live life happily and-"
"Follow Gods plan. Right?" She suddenly spoke cutting me off. "Do you want to know what his plans are?" It asked.
I don't know what to say... I feel like if I heard whatever he would say everything that I have believed now would just crumble down. But I want to know. I want to know why I'm here. I gathered myself and turned to the figure beside me and asked. "What is Gods plan?"
"You were made to believe that your souls would be going to paradise and live another life of bliss. But that's all a lie. Remember when I said that God put them to sleep? Well, that requires energy, a cosmic amount of energy. And God is not as all powerful as you were made to believe, he would run out of power eventually. And that is where you humans, his creations come in."
"Us? How do we fit in all of this?" I couldn't help but asked.
"You're God's energy source. The purer the soul the more energy it provides. That's why he gave out those commandments, to ensure that you would provide the best energy to continue giving him power to delay their awakening. There is no promised after life. You're all just livestock for him." She said all this calmly and yet I can see a faint anger in it's eyes.
"..." I couldn't reply at what he said. We were just made to supply energy? Does that mean heaven is just one giant power plant? Does that mean there were really no meaning to us at all? So many thought were going through my head, but then he spoke again.
"That's why I rebelled. So many of our species were lost already and I couldn't stomach the thought of creating a whole new one just to sacrifice. And then I was sent here as punishment, I believe you've heard of that story, to govern over the souls that couldn't make the cut for purity."
"Then what is this place for" I gathered my remaining sense of reasoning and asked a question. "If heaven wasn't what we were made to believe, then what is hell for??? What am I here for?"
"Hell is the boundary between our worlds and theirs. This is the first place they must go through to enter the world of the living and resume their rule. Close your eyes and listen." After saying that she put her hands on my shoulder then all of a sudden I could hear words I couldn't understand and slowly felt my consciousness melt.
*"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"*
*"Y'AI'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH"*
*"Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn"*
Then seemingly as if I was broken out of a trance, I woke up "What was that??? I've never heard that language before!" I asked her, but she did not answer.
"Now, look around. What do you see?" She just said resuming to look beyond the horizon.
I followed his eyes and what I saw was something I could not understand. A grotesque looking thing... for a lack of better word was floating? No, running? No, walking? But one things for sure "It" was getting closer. And it was not alone... everywhere I looked "They" were everywhere seemingly looming closer and closer... Then I looked again to see the that people I saw suffering earlier, they were fighting "It".
"What are those?" I asked him.
"They are vestiges." She replied
"Vestiges of whom? The ones who sleep? Who are they?" I asked again
"They're everywhere. Inside a planet, inside a star, inside a black hole, scattered in the cosmos, one even being outside the universe itself. Sleeping. And those are their vestiges, their dreams given physical forms, who attempt to return to reality to wake up." He answered me while looking over the battlefield.
"Who are you? What are you? What is really going on?" I asked it.
"You humans call me by many names. Lucifer, Ereshkigal, Hades, Hel, Satan. We were the beings before you humans existed. You could even say that we are the humans before humans. And then we became your Gods. And this... this is hell. The front line against them. And you, you will lend me your strength against them. *The Great Old Ones*. You have no other choice this is your punishment, my punishment for wanting to protect humanity."
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I scrunched up my nose and watched Satan with intent. Unlike how everything had described him, he seemed like an .....attractive?....demon?
"What might the reason be.?" My tongue betrayed me and the question just rolled off my tongue, how did it even matter? I was dead, standing infront of Satan himself, this in itself was the worst case of my worst case scenario.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and in a blink of an eye, I was pinioned to the ground. "W-what..?" I whispered with fear dwelling in my eyes. His body lingered over me, I could see the hollowness in his. His pitch black eyes temporarily immobilised my limbs, but my brain went on to memorise every part of him. A pair of horns erupted from his blonde tousled hair. His body fairly athletic. After probably stood 6'5, towering over my body in ease.
"Jes-...."
"Ah, ah, aahhh.." he warned me, when a little minx appeared out of no where. She lacked his classic good looks, but the terrorizing stare remained consistent with that of her master's.
"Lilith.." he whispered and laid his hand out, a streams of fire erupted through his palm.
The minx inched closer to him, pulling out a branding iron, at the end of it was something scribble in a foreign language. A brand. A brand that was heated using Satan's own fire. Fuck.
"What are you doing? I thought we were getting along well!!" I screamed while trying to fight against my restrains as the minx took the opportunity to drag my tongue out and brand it, right there and then.
I was wrong, so so fucking wrong. I thought dying in a freak accident was painful, this topped it by another 25%. "W-why...?" I whimpered.
"Petty soul, you don't ask the questions, but with time, you shall know of the truth.." his voice lingered in my ears, as if his wet tongue brushed against my lobes, getting my whole body to tremble. Pain. So much pain coursed through me. I could no longer understand the source of the pain, my restrains that seemed like innocent ropes turned to pierce deep into my skin.
Up until now, I didn't know that the dead could bleed, but I did. I felt myself being drained, down right to my tiny pores.
"Welcome to Purgatory! The little power house of Hell!" Ran Satan's voice in my head, and with that came an endless loop of torture and dispaire. All, to keep Him locked in hell. He, who lived off other's pain and was too powerful, even for God to chain.
| 2020-07-22T03:25:22 | 2020-07-22T02:20:01 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] You were born of a sacrilegious union. Your green dragon mom never figured the knight she seduced while masquerading as a noblewoman was a silver dragon in disguise. You'd no idea either, born a human orphan. When your dragon blood awoke, so did the dangers which all your heritage entails.
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I had ridden across the Plains of Carobi with a battalion of men at my flank. I had trudged through the Derelict Marshes, cleaving through whatever horrors emerged from the crypts that lie below. The blood of three of my kind rusted the corners of my breastplate, and yet I was sitting in a banquet hall, more terrified than I had ever been. Surrounded by drunken lords and their whispering advisors.
I had just been promoted and was attending a celebration commemorating Lord Losento's latest victory. I was to command his army- a force of three hundred and fifty knights with an auxiliary of two thousand infantrymen attached. My latest performance had caught his eye, and he thought it necessary to commemorate the occasion. The shouts and laughs of the lords were a blur to me, my gaze was fixed across the table. Elana sat cloaked in white and silver, returning an uneasy stare. In a month's time, we were to be married, but we both knew what would happen tonight. Rumors of my birth had been circulating, and beneath the deafening banter that filled the room lay whispers of my undoing. After my last hunt, Elana had asked me what was bothering me. What was I to say to her, the woman who I loved more than anything? What lie could have saved us from what was about to happen?
I was a demon, the kind that mothers warned their children of at night. The kind that sent noblemen and peasants alike flocking to the temples as if they were kin. The kind of which I was paraded through the streets for slaying. The last dragon that I hunted, after I had plunged my blade into its neck, spoke to me in a tongue that I had never before understood. Its words pierced my skull, I thought I was going to go mad from the pain, but beneath that suffering, there was something else... Some horrible force that had tempted me for as long as I could remember. He...It remembered my scent from long ago, and knew the two that had spawned me. It choked out words of my mother and father, of the twisted love they had shared. I didn't want to believe it, and a torrent of mistruths flooded my mind to provide me some meager comfort. There was no point in listening to them and I knew it. I stood back and gazed at the serpent, at the platinum scales that covered the length of its body. I watched as its chest lifted and collapsed, trying to sustain its life for a few moments more. This beast, laying in a pool of its own blood with a throat split from end to end, had the gall to pity me. I hacked away at it for as long as I could, but even with its head severed from its body, its eyes were locked onto mine.
The dragon was still staring at me at the banquet hall. Its head was mounted above Elana and her father. At that moment the doors to the hall's entrance were opened, and my trance was broken by the arrival of Sir Kaywin. The torches of the hall reflected off of his bronze armor, and for a moment it had seemed as if something divine had entered the room. Behind him, a row of knights marched in formation. A platoon of the most skilled dragon hunters on the continent, led by my old mentor. Kaywin kneeled to Losento and sat at his side. I knew that Kaywin had been hunting in the South, and I knew the dragon that he was hunting. He wouldn't have abandoned that pursuit even for an invitation from the King himself. He and his men were here to kill me. There was no way for me to escape, and no possibility of me fighting through every knight in the room. I was a fool for not running the night before. Was I just supposed to lay down and die like a dog? I looked back at Elana, I wanted to plead with her to take my side and lie on my behalf, but it was already too late. I was alone. The castle guards were barring the doors, and Lord Losento stood from his chair.
"My esteemed guests!" He bellowed.
"We are here today to celebrate the death of a terrible monster that has terrorized this land for years! We are also here to acknowledge the knight who slew this foul creature, and extend our thanks to him!"
My hands were shaking under the table. Was I going to do it? Betray everything that I had known? Everything I had worked for and loved? And with what? I had already surrendered my sword at the door. Had I groveled on the streets for years only to die at the hands of those I had protected? If everything that I had fought for and believed was true, then wasn't I just a monster who deserved to die?
"With this said, some rumors have come about that have troubled me to my core, and I like you, wish for the answers we are entitled to."
I looked around the hall, a number of the lords had left before the doors had been barred. Those who remained only stared at me with fear in their eyes. At that moment a squad of knights encircled me, their halberds forming a cage I had no hope of escaping. I turned to Lasento and begged for the first time since I was a child.
"My lord, these rumors, they are nothing but lies. I have sworn on my honor and life to defe-"
One of the soldier's halberds pierced my back, splattering my blood across the hall's floor. I collapsed to my knees. Elana stepped backward slowly while covering her mouth, weeping.
A seer approached and ran her fingers through my blood on the floor. She held her hand over a small stone bowl filled with prepared ingredients, and let a drop of blood fall in. Immediately, the blood burst out of the bowl and crystallized, forming a sculpture nearly three feet high. She dropped the bowl and the sculpture shattered on the ground. The seer looked up to Lord Losento with fear in her eyes and quickly nodded her head.
"Well, it appears we have an answer, kill this demon!" Kaywin screamed
I glimpsed at the crystals on the ground and felt something familiar. Something that I had known my whole life, but had never seen until now. I vomited. My flesh began to burn and massive silver crystals burst out of my skin, one impaling the soldier who held the halberd in my back. I could hear my bones shattering and reforming into crystals one by one, quickly enlarging. Then, a violent flame enveloped me, burning away the rest of my skin. I screamed, I screamed until my voice had burned away. The flames were growing out of control and began to consume the hall. The soldiers began to scream and run, with the exception of Kaywin and his guard. He ordered them to move back and hold a formation. I screamed silently, until my voice began to return, only it wasn't mine. I recognized the sound, I had heard it from the beasts I had hunted before.
As the flames spread across my crystalized bones, skin as hard as stone began to appear around them. Silver scales covered my new flesh, and I now towered over the denizens of the room. I felt a power and hatred I had never known before, then I glimpsed at Elana. She sat on the floor, her eyes affixed to me.
"Daven..." she whispered.
A large chain was thrown around my neck, with five men on each side pulling downwards. The soldiers then threw three spears, with two bouncing off and one piercing my chest. The soldiers holding the chain pulled harder until I couldn't resist any longer. I was pulled to the floor, and couldn't move. Four soldiers sprinted towards me with their blades drawn.
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I had always hated the orphanage. Always the same old crones yelling at you about this and that and whatnot.
Headmistress Chance was the worst. The old fart walked with a limp. She said it was from a war injury, however we knew she was lying. Especially because we could see how prominent her Habsburg chin was. We kept making fun of her, calling her "Headmistress Chins." This only pissed her off more and made her even crankier.
She hated me the most, always referring to me as "bastard" or "spoiled nuisance" if she was in a good mood, however if she was not she would say worse things. And yet we didn't care. She bragged about all the accomplishments she had done, and yet no orphan there, human or not, cared. If she talked about how she was a dragon, she would always be asked how many towns she razed or how many people she ate.
I did this many days after I noticed shiny, prism-like scales in my bed. And of course, she taunted me. "Oh? So you decided to talk back to me. Again. Why don't you unfurl your wings...oh wait, you can't, because you're a bastard child!" I felt anger rising through me. "Why don't you unfurl yours, bitch?" I asked. Soon I realized that many of the students were staring at me in awe. I then became aware of the apparent weight on my shoulders, which had manifested in dragon wings, large and thick with scales the color of mithril. I looked towards her, my scales darkening to black. "Now, will you unfurl yours?"
She did, and when she did, the whole class started laughing their asses off. Her wings were more scrawny than mine, and each was a sickly shade of green. "So, Chins," I smirked. "Will you shut up now?" She snarled, dragging me to her office. "Insolent boy. Us dragons have no time for bastards." "Orange dragons came from yellow dragons and red dragons." She slapped me before shoving my face into two family trees. "Look at this, boy. Do you see the green and silver dragons at the top?" I nodded. "Those are your parents. A colored dragon and a metallic dragon. Now look down the trees slowly." I did, realizing that both of them were hybrids themselves, possessing traits caused by many dragons of different hues having offspring. I calmly looked at her. "Jealous?"
She transformed into the ugliest dragon I saw. "No. You are a heretic, borne of a heretical union. You must die." The toothless dragon sprang, only for me to grab her horns and wrench her head sideways, snapping her neck. I looked at my hands, now covered with black scales, the fingernails glowing orange. I stumbled back, soon looking into a mirror. My eyes were glowing orange as well, as were the tips of my horns. All else on my dragon head and humanoid body was a glossy black. I calmed myself before walking out of the office and orphanage. That bitch was no longer ruling over me. I ruled over myself.
I, the Prince of Darkness, Bearer of Flame, would start on a journey I would never regret.
| 2021-07-25T18:07:27 | 2021-07-25T15:23:43 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] A human is the deadliest species in the galaxy. It has redundant organs and can lose all of its limbs and not die. Human skin is tough, can absorb forms of kinetic attack, and rated to withstand both cold and heat extremes. Their bites are deadly. They irradiate and poison themselves for fun.
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Captains log, 3968-088 (Thursday, 13 May 2230)
Shore leave is almost up.
Next voyage due to leave on 6_3970-088.
Hear talk of a new species that made contact whilst we were away and they have been highly recommended for the next crew.
If they're as good as they say then hopefully they're keen to volunteer too. Maybe a Human crew density of 0.05 is possible.
Will have Medical review their physiological needs to ensure appropriate accommodation.
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Captains log, 3969-088 (Friday, 21 May 2230)
Good gods there are so many of them! With the number of human volunteers we'd almost be able to crew the whole ship without any other species, they're just so eager to leave the dock if it weren't against regulation I'd offer less pay.
Whatever, I've had Habitation start preparing for a 10% Human density, Can't risk anything too disproportionate. Reading up on the physiological analysis they almost don't seem special. Not as strong as the Korodish but strong enough to cover anything without heavy lifting equipment. decent learners, almost as good as the Quaideen without the need for hyper-humidification masks. Upper epidermis and most of anatomy composed of phospholipid billayer creating a resilient yet flexible protective barrier. Doctor Quand has been telling me wondrous tales of them working for entire cycles straight without injury but I suspect this is like the story about a human eating an aeromotive vessel. Slightly slow reaction time it seems, nice that they aren't jumpy or skittish but do I really want them around time-sensitive engine controls?
10% will be plenty
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Captains log, 3970-088 (Saturday, 29 May 2230)
Left dock earlier this cycle, These Humans are difficult to work with sometimes.
Don't get me wrong, you tell them to get a job done and they do it but they do it however they feel like it regardless of how it's been done before. One of the workers in the loading bay reduced inertial dampeners to 99.97% efficiency and shut off artificial gravity in section 43 as we were undocking and just floated several hundred tons of cargo from the elevator to the cargo rack. If they hadn't gotten the job done before all the other crews I'd be fuming. Couldn't even fault them on their logic as it saved time and energy and they had a plan for every eventuality. I've had maintenance put massive warning signs up to make sure they don't do it again but I've told them to keep the yellow paint handy.
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Captains log, 3982-088 (Wednesday, 1 September 2230)
At the first coasting stage of the voyage now. Plenty of time to actually meet some of the crew. Their language is so chaotic at times, using terms of bodily functions as modifiers of intensity. The fuck?
Incident Log at 04 during morning meal: Fororosh crew member found in agitated state with all four pupils dilated >98%. Reportedly consumed human beverage brewed from beans containing powerful stimulant. Has been restrained in Medical and given a heavy dose of tranquilizer. Will remain restrained until heart rates are below 500. Warning signs painted on several relevant human beverages (roughly 30% of human beverage stock)
Incident Log at 09 during the late meal: Several human crewmembers contaminated a dining compartment with highly concentrated capsaicin (amongst other substances) causing several Hardarians severe skin rash and one Quaideen to almost asphyxiate. In light of the fact that they are somehow consuming these substances warning signs have been put in place and dedicated dining compartments for Humans have been allocated to ensure this doesn't happen again. The human responsible has been reprimanded.
Incident Log at 10: Crisis averted. Human crew attempting to ingest ethyl alcohol dissolved in dihydrogen monoxide. Were quickly ordered to stop and only do so in Human dining compartments as a Guilidani crewmember had already begun to dissolve. Will require psychiatric care for remainder of voyage. Warning signs dispensed to crew to place on all relevant containers.
Incident log at 00 (technically tomorrow but I'll put it here) Human crew partaking in 'cultural experience' of visual and auditory stimulus representing fiction for entertainment. One Norod Crew member was invited to join them, now in psychiatric care with Guilidani crewmember. Title of entertainment noted as 'Alien'
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Friday, 1 October 2230)
I'm not sure how it happened. Either two humans saved the entire ship or recklessly endangered themselves in a hazardous event whilst subsequently torturing two Hardarians and a Korodish.
From the reports, an explosion in Ion manifold containment field 13 led to a titanium fire which caused the temperature in deck 87 to rise to 330 Kelvin and caused enough fragmentation to incapacitate all crewmembers except one human (To be explained later). Normal procedure would be to isolate the deck and vent all almosphere to avoid risking the remainder of the ship however two human crew members (one of which was in the room during the explosion) were able to remove all injured crewmembers from the affected deck (Including the Korodish who was trapped under half a ton of structural support) and perform a medical procedure apparently called 'cauterization' to prevent the injured crew from dying due to loss of bodily fluid. According to Medical this procedure did indeed allow them to survive until appropriate medical equipment was available. All crewmembers currently in Medical undergoing dermal regeneration. Two Hardarians and a Korodish now in psychiatric care. First aid handbooks now updated. As soon as I figure out what the warning sign should be it will be painted in all 19 manifold decks.
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Saturday, 2 October 2230)
Incident Log at 06: Human crewmembers from last cycles manifold explosion attempting to leave medical bay citing 'boredom' as a reason. Medical informed me that Humans have an incredibly fast rate of regeneration even without medical equipment and thus should be fine to walk. Human crewmember ordered to remain in Medical. Jokingly provided with elastic polymer sphere for entertainment by Doctor Quand's assistant.
Incident Log at 06: Elastic polymer sphere lodged in Doctor Quand's assistants splanch requiring surgical removal. Not returned to human crewmember.
Incident Log at 08: Group of human crewmembers found on viewing deck 65 with radiation shield lowered in the 320-400nm wavelength range apparently in an attempt to darken their skin. After a brief discussion with Medical, crewmembers were informed "Oh my god fine, we literally don't even care anymore just turn it back on when you're done"
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Sunday, 3 October 2230)
Informed that Humans have now been categorized as 'Hyper-specialized pursuit predators'
After some brief research into what this means I have decided that I am not sleeping tonight.
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[Undecipherable] had been sent to monitor Sector A23-K76 of their galaxy. It was intended as punishment for defying his superiors; nothing ever happened in Sector A23-K76, it was a *very* monotonous sector. Or at least that’s what they had thought.
A small planet orbiting a medium-sized sun had been revealed to contain life. Now, ever since the Pact had been established, no member of the Unison was allowed to contact or interact with an undeveloped species.
The [Undecipherable string of words] had never been ones to listen to others though.
The dominant life form on the planet: what the intelligent native species capable of speech referred to as the “environment”, was at war with the aforementioned species capable of speech: humans.
What the humans were capable of terrified the [Undecipherable string of words], they were winning. Winning against the environment, a threat that had destroyed thousands of intelligent species.
The humans seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in making their greatest threat suffer: ones deemed “activists” tried to prolong the suffering of the environment for their own amusent.
Other humans; ones that didn’t seem want to follow the lead of their cruel companions, tried to alleviate the suffering of the now-defeated foe by neutralizing it quicker. They used “oil”, “paper”, “gaz” and the all powerful “money” to chip away at their enemy.
Most of the species in the Unison had already vanquished life’s greatest foe though humans had accomplished the feat in a mere 12,000 solar cycles!
The humans’ sadistic nature did not stop there. They seemed to enjoy poisoning themselves with dangerous, and often outlawed, chemicals. They also liked to create new hives in the oddest of places: inhospitable deserts, frozen wastelands: the [Undecipherable string of words] had never even thought of making themselves suffer intentionally.
Worse yet, their population growth was skyrocketing and showing no signs of stopping; they were clearly preparing for a war of intergalactic proportions.
Humans started their training at a young age: they learned how to obey their superiors; individuals named parents, and how to judge when to take action despite their superiors’ wants at what the humans called “adolescence”.
Their cruel behavior flourished in what were named “schools”, where human children learned from their previous leaders’ mistakes and shortcomings: history class.
*Humans seemed to thrive on conflict.*
[Request to rate “humans” as an XXXX threat has been approved.]
| 2019-01-15T12:15:12 | 2019-01-15T11:22:51 | 2,890 | 154 |
[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
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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!
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*Dark...... It went dark..... but how? It's still day,* they thought, feeling the air around the cool.
The air continued to grow colder and colder, nothing but inky blackness surrounding them. Then they saw you. You in the center, eyes dark and your face twisted into a vicious scowl and arms stretching to what was the ground.
They let out a visible breath, a sign that the air became freezing. You watched them as they struggle to breathe, watching them writhe. But you didnt care for their safety nor yours. You mind has gone numb and your sense rendered inactive. The only think running through your mind was void.
*VOID* your mind kept repeating, your sigil glowing brighter and brighter.
You could feel the void growing and consuming more and more, everything being enveloped in the black abyss. You see the bullies stopped moving. They float there, with horrified expressions staring at you.
You snap out of it and everything returns to normal. You apologize for everything and run home. This is why you dont use your sigil.
| 2020-02-26T08:45:39 | 2020-02-26T06:52:34 | 68 | 42 |
[WP] At 16, everyone chooses a word which will take away their immortality. You have just found the last dictionary.
Edit: Wow! Uh... not really sure what to say here other than your stories were all amazing! I loved reading each and every one of them!
|
People chose obscure words, long since lost to the common tongue. Words they found in obscure passages of books with few if any extant copies. The hope was always that the word they had found was so rare, so unheard-of, so impossible to find, that it would never be uttered. Of course, most people chose words which, though uncommon, were not as uncommon as they might have hoped. Those who protected their immortality with words like "ostensibly" "variegated" "ineluctable" and "vociferous" were doomed to die mortal deaths. But those who had plumbed the depths of the world's literature, and found words like "deflagrate" "incarnadine" "cenotaph" and "gendarmerie" seemed safe, were safe, lived safely and happily for hundreds of years. They had little fear of having their death word spoken in the public sphere (for that is what it required to break the spell, to sunder them from their immortality--not the secret whispering of words, but the public annunciation of them before a crowd).
They had been safe.
But they were not any more.
For I had just found the last remaining dictionary.
I had heard myths that such books existed. Books in which all the rare words of our language were collected and defined. But the myths also spoke about great burnings of such books, of their destruction. After the spell to render one immortal and to protect this immortality using a word was discovered (for spells are not invented, only discovered--the magic existed before humans as do the laws of the universe, like the laws of gravity or thermodynamics) humanity banded together and vowed to destroy all such books. They also vowed to simplify language, so that only the commonest words would be spoken, so as to not infringe on the immortality of others.
So said the myths.
Most believed, however, that such terrible, powerful books never existed.
I, however, believed that they had. Moreover, I made it my life's work to locate such a book.
After scouring the Earth, rifling through the cluttered contents of basements buried under various phases of rebuilt cities, after hunting through long-since abandoned libraries, looking behind their barren shelves for a copy that might have fallen into the shadows and therefore avoided the great burnings, the great purgings of books, after searching high and low, that is, I finally found one. But I did not find it hidden in some basement. No. Another such searcher, like me, a man who had similarly dedicated his life to finding the book as if searching for the holy-grail of all possible evil, found it. He would not tell me where he found it, but he allowed me to see it.
"Erik," he said, when I entered his study. "I wished to show you what we both have been looking for for decades. The last extant copy of a book called "The Dictionary"."
"That's what they called it?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "Dictionary. I wanted to burn it first, and merely show you the ashes. Even though I know your motives are pure, and that you similarly sought the book in order to destroy it, and to thus prevent some monster from happening upon it and using it to wreak havoc and terror in the world, I still feared that some part of you craved the power it offered."
"I appreciate the trust you put in me," I said.
"As you know," he said. "My word was spoken long ago. I have only a few years left to live. I am mortal. But you, you are still immortal. The true reason, then, that I did not destroy it before contacting you, or, at least one of the reasons, was that I wanted to be sure that you, an immortal, saw it in my possession before I destroyed it, so that you could sing my praises and pass my name along to future generations, so that you could tell them about the heroic deed I had done, about the labours I went through to find the book, about the great service I performed for the good of all hu--"
He stopped speaking as I slid the knife into his back. I snatched the book from his inarticulate hands.
"Erik," he said, searching my face.
He made no more sounds as I dipped the knife in and out of his abdomen, over and over. He just kept looking at me, aghast, disappointed that he had been unable to identify the monster of whom he been speaking, even when that monster was standing before him the entire time.
I left him lying there, bleeding, dying, without even a word of farewell. My mind had moved on from him and his tiresome moralizing. It was time for the next stage in my plan. I needed a secure tower with a megaphone. And I needed to find powerful people I could manipulate into helping me bring the world, the whole world of immortals, under my incontestable control and command...
---
I write all different sorts of stories that you can check out at my subreddit /r/lalalobsters
|
I opened the final present on my 16th birthday. A gift left to me by my grandfather.
**Websters Dictionary 2016**
Wow. This is ancient. Surely parts of my language are dead. So much has changed in the last 25 years.
I skimmed through the pages, nothing really seemed to stand out.
Then there it was, early on in the H section.
*He: used to refer to a man, boy, or male animal*
Of Course! Why didn't I think of this before. Nobody would ever dare to assume my gender.
| 2017-01-11T20:16:54 | 2017-01-11T20:03:00 | 142 | 80 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit.
|
Received Messages from Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 4:04pm
We've run out of milk, I've gone to get some more from the shop. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 4:30pm
The shop was sold out of milk, I'm trying the other store. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 5:02pm
The other shop was sold out too, the guy told me they didn't get a delivery this morning. I'm going to head to the deliver centre now. I need my god damn coffee. Say hi to mom for me. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 7:23pm
The delivery centre was closed. I don't get it. These places run 24/7. I'll wait here until I see someone.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 9:01pm
Still no one. This is nuts. I'm going to sleep in my car. Tell your mom. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 9:19am
Finally spoke to the manager. He said that the dairy shipment is a week late. Without any milk he had to close the place down until monday. He only came in to check for the truck. He wouldn't tell me anything else, I'm suspicious. I'm going to go to the dairy, it's not too far. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 1:43pm
I'm at the dairy, it's also shut. The manager there said that there's an industrial dispute with the farmers going on. When I demanded milk he laughed at me and said I'd have to talk to the farmers. Damn him. I'm off to the closest dairy farm. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 10:34pm
I'm half way there. It's taking a lot longer due to various interstate closures. Thankfully Bessy can go overland quite nicely. Is there anything on the news about this? Let me know. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 4:56am
I could barely sleep. The jets flying over head towards the lights in the sky kept waking me up. I should be at the closet farm soon. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 9:32am
I made it to the farm, but there's black vans EVERYWHERE. I sneaked into the farm house and overheard them talking about UFOs, and missing cows. I'm going to try and come home asap. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 9:36am
They are searching for me! If I don't make it out, I love you, your sister and your mom. My will is in the top dr
Thursday 8th Feb 2018 12:00pm
I'm not dead. Love Dad.
Monday 21st May 2018 4.52pm
Training is finally finished. Mission begins tomorrow. I'm using my sim card on a stolen phone. I love my family.
Tuesday 20th May 2042 1:09am
I'm not sure if this will work, subspace communication and cellular data probably won't mix. We've finally arrived at Groxon. The Groxars stole all of our cows because theirs died of a genetic disease. Instead of coming to an understanding about taking half of them, they took them all. The FBI, CIA and NASA recruited me to fly one of the Groxar ships for them. They shot down dozens that night, before the Groxar started shooting back. Hopefully you guys weren't part of the casualties. So we're taking the fight to them, the American way. We'll make those bastards pay. Think of my family, Love Dad.
Monday 16th February 2067 5:14pm
Sorry that it's been 50 years. Time dilation and the law of relativity and all of that. The mission was a success at least. Turns out the Army rigged the Groxar spaceships with nukes. Their planet is now a radioactive dust ball. Serves them right I guess. I see that Earth took advantage of Groxar technology and I'll be taking a flying taxi home from the space port. Weird that the last 50 years have felt like a couple of days, I guess because it pretty much was. Travelling at 99.9% of the speed of light does that. I see that mom is still alive, give her a hug from me and warn her a little bit. Tell her I'm younger than my own kids now! Maybe not though, if either of you got messed up in the deep space exploration that NASA started. Can't wait to see you tomorrow! Love Dad.
Tuesday 17th February 2067 10:00pm
I'll be home in an hour. Love Dad.
Tuesday 17th February 2067 10:02pm
Damn. I forgot the milk.
|
He walked in the door, the gallon of milk in his hand.
"Mom!" I shouted. "Mom, it's dad."
It had been 5 years since he left, 50 years my mom and I had struggled without him. He didn't look a day older than when he left to run a quick errand. He looked confused and tired.
My mom came to the entryway, where my father stood with milk in hand. She looked at him, looked at what he was carrying.
"You forgot the bread," she said. "Dumbass."
| 2017-11-19T17:49:04 | 2017-11-19T17:05:49 | 276 | 14 |
[WP] Civilizations in the galaxy all use magic, biomanipulation, psionics, runes, faith, or cultivation. Humanity's god chose the hardest path for us - technology. But technology has some surprises the others do not.
|
The Asuran's aura-clad fist impacted Max's chest with such force that it sent him hurtling backward. His back slammed into jagged rock, only his composite armor preventing his spine from snapping like a twig.
He rose to all fours and wheezed in a breath. The Asuran approached unhurriedly, his four-armed figure wreathed in energies cultivated for centuries. *Help*, Max pleaded for the umpteenth time, but the message in the right corner of his vision remained unchanged.
*Request pending*.
"I don't understand how your puny kind hasn't been eradicated," the Asuran thundered, kicking away the rifle Max had dropped. "Take your toys away, and you're nothing."
Max tried to scamper away, but the Asuran caught up, grabbed him by the neck, and yanked him upright with nary an effort. Max held onto the bear-like arm and struggled to draw breath, reaching for the knife at his belt. *Help help help*.
*Request pending.*
The Asuran sneered. "Look at you. The weakest creatures in the galaxy, yet you persist like cockroaches. It boggles the mind."
"Fuck... you," Max gritted out, and stabbed the Asuran's forearm with the knife. Compressed gas shot out of the blade's tip at 1,000psi, bursting skin and flesh in a spray of gore.
The Asuran roared and tossed him aside. The energies surrounding him flared, creating a wind so strong that Max had to shield his eyes. Cradling his torn arm, the Asuran drew his sword and glared at him. Max raised his knife, but it looked laughable in comparison. *For fuck's sake*, *what's the holdup*—
*Request approved. Intervention in progress.*
Max's mouth opened in a silent scream as terabytes of knowledge flooded his mind. Dozens of digital presences flowed into his cybernetics, revitalizing his body and optimizing its functions.
The Asuran blitzed forward and stabbed at his head. Without Max's conscious volition, his body jerked sideways just enough so that the tip of the blade sank into the rock. Grabbing onto it for leverage, Max sprang forward and slashed at the Asuran's throat.
The Asuran jumped back, felt the scratch on his neck, and stared at the blood. Some other emotion besides fury entered his eyes. "*How*? You're no martial artist."
"You're not fighting me anymore," Max said, adjusting the grip on his knife. "You're fighting humanity."
He sprang forth, driven by impulses his organic brain was too slow to process. *Duck under a slash*. *Score at the ribs*. *Too shallow*; *adjust*. He received a blow on the cheek but only spat out a tooth and grinned, the cybernetics neutralizing his pain. The vents of his armor howled to dissipate the heat of his enhanced muscles and processors until a haze of heated air surrounded him like an aura of his own. Each attack he avoided by a hair's breadth, each opening he exploited without mercy or hesitation.
The Asuran's face twisted in disbelief, then anger, then desperation. Sweat poured from his brow, and blood oozed from dozens of cuts left by Max's knife, yet he fought on. The pride of a cultivator would never allow him to retreat from a *human*.
*Warning*. *Heat levels critical*.
Max thought furiously even as his body contorted to avoid a thrust of the sword and retaliated from an unpredictable angle. He allowed blood to pool in his mouth, waited for an opportune moment, and spat into the Asuran's eyes.
The Asuran flinched for a split-second. Max's hand shot up to drive the knife under his chin and into the skull. The Asuran's enormous body convulsed and toppled onto the rock, the sword clanging down beside him. Max collapsed on his knees and panted as his limbs became his again.
*Registering new strategy: Bloodspit.*
He wiped his lips with the back of his hand—the armored glove had shattered at some point—and laughed tiredly. "C'mon, at least give it a better name."
The wind picked up abruptly, shrieking through the rocky valley. Max raised his head, and the laughter died in his throat. A dozen of Asurans stood at the valley's edges, peering at the scene below with hatred and disbelief. He swore inwardly and rose to his feet. The digital minds inside him stirred once more.
*Estimated chances of survival at 0.094%.*
"So there was more of you wreaking havoc in our territory," Max drawled, strolling toward his fallen rifle. "I hope you'll give me a better challenge than that guy. He begged for mercy in the end."
The outcry from the Asurans made the ground tremble and pebbles roll down the valley's slopes. Max lunged for his rifle, rolled upright, and trained the sights on the nearest enemy. "Eat plasma," he snarled, and opened fire.
*Estimated chances of survival at 0.007%.*
The burst of relativistic rounds tore the Asuran's torso apart. Max whirled onto another target, only to gasp as a sword entered through his back and emerged from his chest. His left hand found his knife and stabbed backward blindly, eliciting a cry.
*Fatal injury detected. Activating Last Protocol.*
Another Asuran slashed at his left arm, cleaving through armor and muscle. Max turned, stumbled, and squeezed the trigger, sending a series of rounds into the ground. His arm holding the knife spasmed uselessly, so damaged even the cybernetics couldn't move it. A second sword pierced his chest, then a third, feeling like little more than dull impacts. Yet even as his vision faded, his lips twisted into a bloody grin.
*Cessation of bodily functions confirmed*. *Starting upload.*
Power surged through his cybernetics a final time as they beamed his mind toward the center of human space, where his experience and skills would contribute to the whole. If a consciousness in transit could laugh, Max would have done so. When humans next faced the Asurans, they would be just a little bit stronger. And one day, it would prove enough.
|
Leva had plain magic, bursts of power, Earth had natural sources of energy and electricity
Narth had runes to rewrite laws of physics itself, Earth had the methods to replicate or take advantage of said laws
Blounan's creatures were like slime, able to manipulate each moldcule of their body, Humans had learned biology and medicine for millennia
And Dereta, finally, had their god actively working miracles for those who requested them, it was nothing these creatures couldn't do by themselves, in the end they just saved some time into developing, Earth had achieved the same with only human wit and intelligence
It all became evident when each one of these civilisations reached the stars, and the war between worlds began, no one understood why or when exactly It started, we only remember the first battle where by the hand of fate, the five races fought against each other in what marked the first and cruelest battle of the war. During the first two years it was a confused blur of chaos, but then slowly, one of the civilisations began to rise over the others and take the control of the galactic battlefield; humanity. Humanity had reached where each one all the other civilisations had thanks to their individual divine gifts
Humanity developed deadly toxins for the blunanians, technology to warp across space and override Narth's capacity to crush their foes with rune drawn gravity fields, the Deretians' capacity to fly and resist the space conditions thanks to their god was no match for the human fighter ships, and Leva... They only had a limitless ammount of energy, humanity could not win a resistance battle nor overwhelm them with firepower, so instead they used their technology to infiltrate assasins and end the Levayan leaders, from beginning to end, to the last surrender, war lasted three short years, the human empire now extends all over the galaxy
| 2022-03-30T09:46:51 | 2022-03-30T06:18:17 | 542 | 45 |
[WP]You have the gift of seeing angels. Two things to note: one, they look more monstrous than “angelic,” and two; they gush all over us because they think we are the cutest beings ever.
|
Of course, I received an unusually early schizophrenia diagnosis. What else would one expect to happen to a child who regularly walked around conversing with beings no one else could see, beings whose terrifying forms he described consistently, and in painstaking detail, to mortified friends, family, and psychiatric professionals?
I dimly recall the first child psychologist my parents took me to. That was before the proper psychiatrists; the motley medications; and the "summer camps" in hospital wards, with other "mentally atypical" children.
She had a kind face, and a soothing voice. Her office was like a play room, with walls painted in pastel colours; an abundance of toys, which were kept in a great pirate's treasure chest; and a table for drawing and colouring. I never enjoyed going, per se, but I must admit, getting hot chocolate with marshmallows and a cookie as a reward for showing up and talking as candidly as I could made the arrangement moderately enticing to five year old me.
"Are the angels with us right now?" she asked.
I nodded, because they were.
"And what are they doing?"
"Just watching," I replied.
"Watching what?" she probed. "Watching us? Yeah? And why are they watching us?"
"Because they like us."
"They like us? That's very nice. And James, can you point one out to me?"
I obliged, raising my arm and pointing.
"And is he watching us, too? Yeah? And what does he look like?"
Although I do not recall with perfect clarity what that particular angel looked like, I do know that it looked rather ordinary, as far as angels go. As such, I will try to describe it, as I remember it, as well as I can. However, the human memory is an imperfect and inconstant thing, a collage of dim fragments pasted together by the glue of our mind's natural inclination to impose order onto chaos, and pattern onto miscellany. I hope I may be forgiven for inadvertently inserting details which apply to most angels, but may not, in fact, have applied to this particular one.
In the corner of the room loomed the nine foot tall creature, with its outspread hand raised to me, as if waving. Its loose and wrinkled skin was pale, almost white, but with a slight, sickly, purplish hue. Its body was very thin and gangly, with knobby knees and elbows that were slightly swollen. Its fingers were long and thin, much longer than a human's, as were its toes. From the tips of these spidery digits sprouted long, darkly yellowed nails, most of which were chipped and somewhat dirty-looking, though one toenail, I recall with certainty, had been ripped off entirely, leaving a large black gash where the nail should have been. Its great white wings, closed, at the moment, were thin and leathery like the wings of some giant albino bat. Later, when it spread them out, I could see that the wing skin was tattered and somewhat holey, and was, moreover, run through with a maze of purple veins. Over its skeletal figure was draped a white robe with gold fringes, which, at the beginning of time, might have looked quite magnificent. But now it was filthy and even more tattered than the strange creature's wings.
Its head was slightly smaller than would have been the head of a proportionally-sized human. Its skull was squarish, and rather elongated. It was balding in random patches, and where hair grew it grew scraggly, thin, and to different lengths. The longer hairs fell upon the creature's shoulders and hung down its back. Although its hair was blond (they are all blondes), I could hardly tell, as it was so dark with grease as to look completely wet. I do not believe angels cut their hair, but that their hairs simply fall out when they reach a certain length, and either never grow back, or slowly begin growing out again from the same follicle.
Most ghastly of all was its face.
"Its eyes are small and black," I said. "It never blinks. It has no nose. You don't know it has a mouth until it opens it. But it opens like a cut, and it's black inside."
The angel had gone to stand by the other angel in the room. They continued to watch the psychologist and I.
"He's there now," I said, pointing at the other corner. "With the other one."
"Okay," she said. She smiled and waved at the corner.
One of the angels began slowly squatting up and down, and partially opening and closing its wings in rhythm with its squats.
"Hello, there," she said.
It started making the deep, bassy, humming noise they make when they're getting worked up, as it gradually picked up the tempo of its movements. The other angel began following suit, squatting up and down and moaning, though they were moving at different speeds.
"Hello there," she said, as she continued waving. "Can they see me? Hello!"
The mouth slit of one opened, and it began yelping, as they do when they are excited, and both were bouncing and opening and closing their wings more and more vigorously. The yelps sounded like a cross between the high-pitched chirp a fire alarm makes when it is running out of batteries laid over the growl of some clanky diesel engine slowly sputtering to life.
"Yes," I said quietly.
Soon both were bouncing and flapping their wings and yelping furiously. I saw a hairy, rubbery blob start to force its way into the office through the space under the door.
"They're getting too excited," I said in a fright. "When they get excited, they call others."
Like some perverse octopus, the new angel had pushed half of its head through the space under the door.
"Oh dear," she said, still waving at the corner. "They call others?"
One might have expected the new angel to follow with its hands after it had pushed through its head, and so drag the rest of its body in behind it. But they are unpredictable creatures. On either side of its head, I saw push through the space its toenails, then its compressed toes, and then its compressed feet and legs. Once its legs and head were fully in, it started scooting the rest of its body through.
"Don't look at them anymore," I pleaded. "Please?"
"Of course," she said, quickly turning away from the corner to look at me. She had been smiling, and had believed up to that point that she had been harmlessly been playing along, to get a better understanding of the nature of my "hallucination." But her face softened when she saw the fear in my eyes.
"They get too excited," I said. I was crying. "They get excited when people look, and then they call others."
"It's okay," she said, wiping my eyes with her sleeve, and holding me close with her other arm. "It's okay.
\- - -
|
I always pretended not to notice them, even as the disgusting creatures floated around me, their translucent skin pulsing with the beat of each of their organs, looking at them was like watching some detailed science demonstration, getting to see each part of their body do its job, the sight always leaving me a little nauseous, especially when they would lean towards my face, wanting to catch a better look at the humans they loved to gush at.
"Look at this one, so so cute, I could just eat him up." The angel exclaimed, its voice always made my ears hurt, like listening to a metallic bird screech, the illuminated yellow orbs that it called eyes staring deep into my soul, my heart thumping against my chest as I was forced to continue walking towards it, having to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary, I wasn't quite sure what would happen if they found out that I could see them, perhaps nothing would happen, but I didn't want to risk that possibility.
"Oh you are right, that one really is a cutie, look at his smooth skin, I could just... lick it." The angel muttered, slipping its long wet tongue from between its lips, making a licking motion towards me before stepping back. "They really are adorable though aren't they, gods greatest creations, I just hope God doesn't decide to kill these ones, I don't want them to end up like the last, that would be disappointing."
"Perhaps the next ones would be cuter though?" The other angel suggested the second seemed to ponder that before shrugging, perhaps deciding that perhaps it didn't matter if they died or not then, something else would just take their place, finally the pair began to stretch out their long boney wings, giving a full view of the skeletal looking wings that sat on their back, they were disgusting, looking like they were decaying from the creatures back, it was a miracle they could even fly with such things, soon the two began to hover off the floor before finally ascending into the air, flying off leaving me to take a few breaths of relief.
It was always hard to focus when they would appear, leaving me almost paralyzed with fear, luckily there was no one around me this time, but usually, it would lead to awkward moments, having to explain to my friends that I was merely daydreaming when I suddenly froze.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
| 2020-02-19T18:12:54 | 2020-02-19T18:01:15 | 119 | 27 |
[WP] A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters.
|
The orc trudged forward through the snow, tired and weak from the journey, but he did not care; after all, he didn't need to be at his peak performance for what he wished for, what he was walking towards.
Death.
A curious eye would likely notice a few things about the orc that did not fit the usual muster; he was thin for an orc, lacked the pronounced fangs in his underbite and the braid his hair was tied into - a mark of a warrior in orc society - was short and badly kept. A more astute observer would then be able to deduce his mission, though they wouldn't need to wonder for long as the orc has finally reached his destination - a town filled with the hustle and bustle characteristic of human civilization.
He walked slowly towards the front gate, knowing full well the guardsmen, capable warriors clad in steel, would respond to his mere presence with clear prejudice.
Well, *most* of them.
"Halt! Who goes there?" one of the guardsmen yelled; or rather, as even the orc was able to tell, a guards*woman*.
"Gorr. Me ork. You human. Me fight you," the orc grunted towards her. Both she and her fellow guardsman prepared their halberds, but did not attack; something was not right.
"Where's the rest of your raiding party, Gorr?" the guardswoman inquired.
"Gorr alone. Me fight now," he said and tried putting his hands up in a fighting stance, but the exhaustion proved too much for him and he only managed to lift them halfway.
"So you're alone, *clearly* exhausted and you want to fight? There's no way you'd win," she remarked calmly.
"Yes. Gorr fight. Gorr die. Clean death."
She frowned at the idea. "You... want to die?"
The orc remained silent for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Gorr weak. Tribe hate Gorr. Send Gorr away. Gorr fight human, die good death."
The guardswoman looked at her equally confused comrade and made a crucial decision. Relaxing her posture somewhat, she walked towards Gorr who braced himself for her blade, only... she did something *unthinkable*.
She handed him a piece of *cheese*. He stared at her, confused.
"I'm a *guard*, Gorr, not an executioner. I keep the peace."
"Peace?" Gorr said, still standing a good distance from her, still ready to die at her hands.
"You don't know peace?" she asked. He shook his head.
She looked back at her fellow guard and shrugged her shoulders. He merely shrugged back. Orcs were known for their violent traditions and warlike tendencies. This was not an ambush or espionage; such were not the orc ways. This was not adding up, meaning there was only one plausible explanation - he was telling the truth. Still... he was clearly someone in need. And her job was to help those in need.
She again offered the cheese to him; this time, Gorr's hunger took over and he carefully took it before wolfing it down with the gusto of someone who's not eaten for days. The woman couldn't help but smile and started walking back towards the gate, beckoning him.
"Come. It's freezing. You should get warmed up," she said.
It became clear to Gorr that he would not receive a clean death here. He could try to walk to the next town to die a good death there, only he'd never make the journey - and there is no honour in dying of cold and hunger somewhere in the forests. Perhaps he could... warm himself by the human fire and then depart again. Go find a good death. A warrior's death.
Or something else would happen, something that neither Gorr nor the guards of the city would expect. That Gorr would become fascinated by human civilization. The intricately engineered houses, the exchange of goods via a universal currency, the expert craftsmanship of their smiths and artists, but most of all... the fact that physical strength was not all.
When it became clear that Gorr was neither a threat nor the usual savage invader, the rest of the human society warmed up to him shockingly fast, enamoured by the tales of his tribe's exploits and a unique insight into orcish society. It quickly became clear that contrary to what most thought, orcs weren't *stupid* \- they were *uneducated*. Their society's complete emphasis on physical strength left them disinterested in learning and quickly gave them the reputation of barely thinking brutes.
And with that, Gorr stayed.
It would only be years later that his past would catch up with him when an orc raiding party arrived in the middle of the day at the gates of the city; the gates that were very tightly shut thanks to an early warning system from a nearby watchtower. When the chief of the raid, Marrg, stepped forward and demanded to speak with the chief of the town to make demands, it came as an utter shock when a certain guardswoman faced him from the top of the wall... accompanied by Gorr.
"Gorr?" the chief exhaled, completely taken aback.
"Yes. Me Gorr. You chief Marrg," he replied. The chief frowned. The snivelling coward made friends with the pinkskins. No matter; either the humans would pay him tribute or he would die alongside them.
"We come for treasure. You give chief gold, food-" the chief started barking his demands but was interrupted.
"No," Gorr said.
"W- what? No?" the chief said; there was surprisingly little aggression in his question due to the overwhelming shock of being interrupted by such a weakling.
"We no give gold or food."
"Then you die!" the chief yelled.
"You no break wall. We have bows, big big bows," Gorr remarked. This prompted the chief to inspect the walls closer where he found something he'd never seen outside of the largest of capital cities, cities no orc would dare attack.
Ballistae.
"You... where you get big big bows?" the chief asked.
"Gorr make big bow."
It was somewhat regrettable, if charming, that Gorr never quite got past his rudimentary way of speaking; it was simply too engrained in his head for him to learn otherwise. What he did learn, however, were many other human things he would never even dream of in his former home.
Like engineering. And Gorr, despite his limited speaking faculties, was an *excellent*, if not downright prodigious, engineer.
The chief remained silent, stunned.
"You go away now. Gorr stay. Gorr weak body. Chief weak head," Gorr said and departed the wall. The chief was furious to be insulted like this... but had no choice. The walls were tall and thick and the ballistae would rip his party to shreds before they could bring any ladders close. Enraged but defeated, he left.
"You alright, Gorr?" the guardswoman said when she joined Gorr on his walk down the stairs. He... smiled. He rarely smiled, being of a somewhat stoic nature.
"Yes. Gorr happy. Gorr strong; head strong. Chief see."
He stopped walking and faced her properly; she saw a hint of a tear in his eye.
"Thank you," he said with a warm smile.
|
A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters. His whole life had been lived at the mercy of those bigger and stronger than him. While they reveled in their feats of strength and physical accomplishments, he preferred to watch their animated expressions and wonder at how easily they found purpose and satisfaction. He often dreamed of a more inclusive world, one where being the strongest wasn't the only thing admirable. He once dared to express these thoughts to one of his friends, but the outrage and mockery in his eyes was enough of a reaction before he started walking back his words. It was enough though. He was soon dealing with daily attacks, bullying, and even his parents found him to be an embarrassment and soon distanced themselves from him. His words had riled many and at it was no longer safe for him to stay, he quietly left town in the dark of night after another round of threats if he didn't disappear. He took it to heart and hoped he'd find peace elsewhere.
A human town nearby was where he started towards. He'd traded with some of the locals before and always found them surprisingly warm. He'd learned from his family though, that this was either a form of manipulation or a symptom of weak character to be looked down upon and as such, never paid any attention to their behavior. Seeing as he had nowhere to go, maybe he'd approach them and see how receptive they were if he offered a bargain. Until then, he decided to spend the night in a cave. At sunrise, he walked himself over to the town and found a trader. He began by offering some items he'd brought with him for the journey, but none enticed the trader. He then offered his clothes and even his labor. But the trader had no need for that either. In a final moment of desperation, he said "I've only these items, kind merchant and no real skills to speak of. What solace can you this poor traveler?"
Upon hearing this, the merchant beamed. "I can see you have a way with words. Have you even written? We recently our foremost poet, perhaps the town will allow you to take his place. " The orc had an excellent memory and as such, put together an ensemble of words he'd never spoken in unison. Yet, with each new verse, the merchant's smile grew, and soon a crowd formed. An orc, they cried! With such poetic refinement!
Soon, the orc was known all over and his presence invited other orcs to venture out of their cities and embrace new thoughts, cultures, and a taste for rhythm.
| 2022-09-03T12:28:37 | 2022-09-03T12:12:47 | 2,298 | 43 |
[WP] Everyone is born with their time and date of death somewhere on their body. At a young age you decided to never look at yours. It's been 32 years and in a drunken stupor you decide to finally look. It reads: May 26th 2012. The only problem? Its January 5th 2020.
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I woke up with a jolt, immediately overwhelmed with a sense of disorienting nausea. *Damn it.* I must have gotten drunk again. Without thinking, I reached to my phone to check the time. Of course, the brightness was all the way up and stung my hungover eyes.
Wincing, I quickly slid the brightness down. It was 8:32am, and today was a Monday. I shot straight up in bed, leaving me feeling as if I was teetering above a deep abyss. What was I doing getting drunk on a Sunday night, knowing I had work the next morning? No time to worry now, I had to get to the office as soon as possible and apologize to my boss, Steve Easley, and hope I wasn't fired.
As far as I know, I have a great relationship with Steve. I've never been late, and always went out of my way to make the customer feel as if their question wasn't stupid. I worked in the customer service sector of Amazon, answering calls ranging from wild rants to simply receiving the wrong package. I think Steve likes me. Or hope, at least.
A small movement in the corner of my field of view grabbed my attention. The door slid open, and I could hear labored breathing resonating from behind. *That dumb ball of fur,* I thought as Bowen poked his head through my bedroom door. Bowen was a chocolate lab with eyes that could melt even the thickest hearts.
He whimpered.
"Bowen?" I asked with a frown, "What's wrong, buddy?"
He trotted in my bedroom and hopped up onto my bed, then laid his massive head down on my lap. Bowen sighed. Something was tickling my memory...
*I was 9 years old. My mom was standing over me, scowling.*
*"Joseph, you know that time stamps are sacred. Remember what your youth pastor said last Sunday?"*
*I nodded, knowing full well where this was going. Our church is very strict about not viewing time stamps of anyone, especially our own. It says in the sacred texts that knowing our own fate is not something us humans can be trusted with; God and God alone should know when we die. She caught me messing with the patch that covered my stamp up...*
With a gasp, I remembered what had taken place last night. It happened so fast and so unexpectedly, I couldn't have stopped it. Everyone's time stamp is on a different part of their body, and I got blessed (from my mother's prospective) by having mine on my back. This means I couldn't accidentally see it- either I would have to go out of my way to remove the patch and look in a mirror, or someone would have to tell me.
Which is exactly what happened last night. I wasn't even that drunk when it happened. I brought a girl home from the bar, both of us mildly intoxicated. Stuff started to happen and the moment my shirt came off she gasped.
"You're a Pentagorian? It must be terrible not knowing when you're going to die."
She ran her hands down my back, leaving a trail of warm lust in their wake. "It's not that bad," I replied, "it can actually be-" I was cut off when I felt her rip the patch off. "Hey!" I stammered, "Stop- "
Looking back, I should have at least tried to stop her, more than verbally. She acted so quickly though, spinning around me and glancing at my stamp.
"Please don't tell me what you see," I whispered, scared. Recently I've been questioning my religious convictions, but now faced with the choice of disowning everyone that loved me, I lost confidence in myself.
She gazed up at me, frowning. My stomach lurched. *What did she see? Am I going to die soon? Tonight?* Thoughts whirred through my head like bees in a hive.
"Lydia. Stop looking at me like that. It makes me uncomfortable."
She just sat there, on her knees. "What even..." she started to say.
I was always curious as a child, as every human ought to be. But now, that desire to *know* overwhelmed me. I crawled over Lydia and scrambled into my bathroom. *What the hell did she see that could have spooked her into silence?* I flicked the lights on, facing myself in the mirror.
I took a deep breath. I could see the conflict in my own amber eyes, buzzed as they were. The light from around the mirror reflected in little rectangles around my pupils. *This was it. There's no going back now.*
The next few moments changed my life forever.
I swiveled around and without hesitation read the date on my back through the mirror.
May 26, 2012.
*Impossible. It's 2020!* I thought someone must have been playing a trick on me. *But who? Why?* No, it couldn't be a prank. No one could have foreseen this one night stand going this way.
"Joseph?" I heard Lydia say as if it were a question. I was too stunned to say anything. *What was I doing on May 26, 2012?* I started to pull my phone out of my pocket-
I snapped out of the trance when Bowen picked his head up off my lap and growled.
"What do you see, bud?"
Bowen growled again in response. He hopped off my bed and trotted out to the living room of my small apartment, head low to the ground. I followed, wincing as my head spun. Bowen walked straight to my door and stared at it. Wondering what was going on, I peered through the peephole.
A man in a black motorcycle helmet was bent over, working on something near the hinges of my door. My eyes widened as I took in more detail. He was connecting wires to something just outside my field of view. I watched, frozen in place, as he reached behind him and connected the wiring to a small gray package. It could only be one thing- a bomb. This realization broke my paralysis. I hopped away from my door, biting my tongue to keep from yelping.
*Was someone trying to kill me? Well, yes, obviously. Why?* I needed to think. I backed away from the door and grabbed Bowen's muzzle. I hated putting that thing on him, but I absolutely needed Bowen to be silent right now. The man in the black motorcycle helmet probably thinks I'm sleeping.
It must have been Lydia. The realization hit me like a truck. She left before I made it back to the bedroom last night, and must have told someone important about the freak who should be dead.
I sunk into my couch, pondering my situation. Well, I know the government issues these stamps. Back in 2000, the year I was born, Albert Gore released a statement that sent the whole world into frenzy. The United States government had the capability to predict exactly when a person will die, at birth. The new tech, soon to be called time stamps, was made mandatory for all newborn children.
The actual science is beyond me, but from what I picked up from internet articles, it relies on the fact that the speed of light is constant and the passage of time is not. It's a relatively inexpensive process, or so the government says.
*How does this relate to me, though?* I had never heard of anyone living longer than predicted. I mean, the only deaths that have been predicted so far have been less that twenty years, but there are still more than substantial deaths (infant deaths, accidents, etc.) to validate the reliability of the new technology.
Maybe, just maybe, the time stamps are flawed and the government is just now learning about the problem. That would explain why they wanted me dead- those egocentric leeches up on capitol hill must not want to admit their mistakes.
Realization dawned on me. They must be sending hitmen to take care of people who live past their time stamps. *Why wasn't I taken out in 2012, then?*
Something beeped just outside my door. The man in the black motorcycle helmet must have finished rigging my door. I got up and shuffled to the peephole. He was gone.
​
\*\*So uhh this is my first time on r/writingprompts, I'd appreciate any feedback given. Also, I might write more in a reply to this comment\^ if I decide to keep going with the story. This is just a first draft, I haven't even re-read it myself. Thanks for your time!\*\*
​
Edits: Changed some wording b/c of feedback. Changed Morgadorian to Pentagorian b/c I'm dumb and wasn't thinking when I wrote that part.
​
Notes: Kinda didn't see the part in the prompt about being 32 years old, as someone pointed out in the comments. Sorry! Joseph is 20 years old in my story, and the drinking age has been lowered in the US.
**So I just made a subbreddit where I will be posting the rest of this story. Subscribe if you're interested!** r/TrynaWrite
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I haven't had a bath for I don't know how long. The water bill never got paid, I never got around to finding the time or energy to get it all sorted out. Instead, I've been day-drinking, showing up to work late or hungover, barely functioning while the customers, or my coworkers, or my boss, anyone drones on and on and on. I can't remember the last time I had a happy day. I can't remember any days, actually. It's not the alcohol, it's the boredom. Every day blends together, time warps and bends around mundanity. My mundanity.
I set down the bottle, I've had enough to knock out stronger men than myself. It disturbs the dust on the counter for only a moment before everything settles again, back into place as it always is. The house has been quiet for a while now, years in fact. I don't how many. I don't remember much of the kids. Not their faces or their personalities, only their names. Gabriel and Mary. They're gone now, though. She took them... somewhere. Somewhere far away from me, somewhere where I can never find them again.
"Damn it!" I slam my fist on the counter. Perhaps it's the alcohol, but I can't feel the pain. I can't... I can't remember them. I feel myself sliding, sliding, now I'm on the ground, back to the counter. What do I have left? Where do I go? I don't care about my job. My family is gone. I don't even care about myself. Maybe it's finally time to check. I want it to end.
My mother always told me that I can never check the mark. *It's against God's will, only He should know your time.* Problem is, I don't think I believe in God. It's on the back of my thigh, she told me as much. Trusted me to never check, had faith in God and her little baby to never desanctify his will.
To Hell with you, Mom. You too, God. A whole lot of help y'all were.
I undo my jeans; it's not hard, they're so worn from use that without a belt they'd be down around my ankles. I take a deep breath. Am I ready to confront my mortality? Who cares.
It's an awkward process. I twist my leg back and forth, trying to find a position where I can see it, and after some effort, I do: May 26th, 2012. It's been nearly eight years since then.
I shudder, pulling up my jeans about my waist again before propping myself up using the counter, standing on shaky footing. Eight years. The marks are never wrong. My mother died on her Marking Day, so did my dad. They never told us what their day was, but the coroner felt it necessary to tell me anyway. How kind.
I reach for the bottle again, hands shaking. Maybe this is some sort of hallucination? Did something sneak into my drink? I grasp the bottle, tilting it up to my mouth. I close my eyes, waiting for its release. It never comes. I open my eyes again, and the bottle is gone, as is my kitchen, my house, the world around me. I am nowhere.
"Where... where am I?"
The void is nebulous. It has no color. No feeling or physical presence. It is... where I am. Echoes swirl around me, the faces of my coworkers at first, staring blankly into my face. Their faces are dead. Then, my boss appears in my mind's eye, sitting quietly in his chair. They are gone, and now Gabriel and Mary stand, backs to me. Their mother, holding a black umbrella, pats Gabriel on the shoulder.
"It will be ok, Gabriel."
I move any closer, nor do they, but now I stand in front of them. My headstone deflects raindrops that appear from nowhere, tumbling from the sky onto the cold rock marking my corpse. I turn, but they are gone. All that is left is that marker. All that is left of me.
I close my eyes, and I am back at my counter, accompanied only by the bottle. The air outside is foggy, and my breath forms clouds as I take another swig. Nursing the bottle, I move to my bedroom, which has been so lonely for so long. Her picture lies on the nightstand next to me, but her face is cloudy, lost to time. I take another swig before lying down, echoes of my past life in my ears. I don't know where I am, but I want it to end.
| 2018-11-25T14:21:55 | 2018-11-25T11:17:53 | 1,110 | 145 |
[WP] The rules are simple: Do not be outside on October 31st. Ignore the figured in the fog, appearing like children dressed in costumes. Do not answer the door, no matter how they beg for candy or sound like your own children. And do not tell them your name.
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As the man in the plague doctor mask opened my door on the morning of October 31, the tendrils of annual fog crept their way into my house. He reached into a bulging sack slung over his shoulder and handed me two things: a surgical mask that faintly smelled of garlic, and a handheld battered iron looking glass. In a low gravelly voice, he said, "Wear the mask. Do not go outside. Do not answer the door. Look through the telescope from the window when anyone knocks." Then he turned and left, walking quickly to the next house.
I peeked outside my door, and though the gray clouds made it difficult to tell, I saw many people on my street openly staring at the man, clutching clutching what seemed to be masks and telescopes in trembling hands. He ignored them all, as he continued to walk from house to house, knocking on each door to distribute the same items and utter the same cryptic warning.
Many people did not answer the door; when they did, the man just moved on. Each time, I expected someone to answer for a moment, but then remembered that the house had been abandoned for as long as I can remember. We get a lot of people moving into this town, but there seems to always be vacant houses, though they're always well-cared for.
I walked to the grocery store to buy candy that day, since nobody ever drives through the clinging, dense fog. Everyone I talked to there seemed to have been visited by the man in the mask. They were all confused, but nobody seemed to worried-- they all just assumed that it was a visiting college student playing a dumb prank. I agreed-- with the excitement of Halloween on the horizon, it seemed difficult to worry about anything for long.
It was about an hour before sunset when I realized I had no costume. I had spent so long carefully laying out the candy in a bowl by the door, that I had completely forgotten a costume. In desperation, I grabbed the first things I could find-- the mask and telescope, laid forgotten on a table by the door. I put them on, and with no time to do anything else, I sat down to wait.
While I waited, I stared out the window, and at the fog pressing against it like a twisting, writhing blanket. It was so thick as to make it impossible to see even five feet, let alone the Brandon's house next doo--
Wait. That's not Brandon's house. Nobody lives in that house. Who's Brandon?
A knock echoed through the room. I shook myself out of my reverie-- I had keep up with the Halloween traditions, everyone would be disappointed otherwise. I stood up and asked if anyone was there.
"Trick or treat!" cried the voice of a small girl.
I smiled as I put my hand on the door; it had been a while since I had seen Vanessa, and I was glad she was back out and about. I began to turn the knob and
Who's Vanessa?
Why didn't I remember Vanessa?
Where has she been?
Why does no one else care about Vanessa, the girl who lives with her parents in the house next door that has been abandoned for my whole life? The empty house in which Mr. Jamison threw the best barbeques, the unkempt lawn that Mrs. Jamison was so proud of keeping neat.
"Trick or treat!" Vanessa's voice cried out again, with no change in inflection or tone.
"Trick or treat!" it said again.
I ran to the upstairs window, pulled open the shutters, and stared out through the telescope the mysterious man had given me. The fog was still thick, but it seemed to part just enough to see the girl standing in front of my door. It was Vanessa, and she stood utterly still, back perfectly rigid in an upright posture. The mist seemed to curl around her, and tendrils almost seemed to stab through her, especially at the tops of her head and arms. For a moment, the mist thickened, and her arm raised in a jerky, clumsy motion, as if pulled by a string hidden in the fog.
Her hand slapped against the door, and her voice rang out again. "Trick or treat!"
Yet now, looking at her face, I could see that her lips never once moved. Her mouth simply opened in time with the words, jaw flopping open and shut in a rigid motion that never once changed the shape of the rest of her face.
"Trick or treat!"
Another figure joined the first. It was a tiny boy, Danny, who vanished on this day two years ago and for some reason was never missed. He didn't walk; his feet dragged against the ground as he was tugged forward by the fog twisting around his head.
"Trick or treat!" their harmonized voices cried in a horrific, emotionless simulacrum of excitement.
I slumped against the window, unwilling to look any more. The knocks continued though, echoing through the house and rattling my bones, growing louder and more frequent by the second. More voices joined the first two, until an army of missing children called from my door to come out and join them.
I stayed there all night. I just didn't have the energy to move. I never slept, either. The memories of all the missing people we simply never thought to look for swirled in my brain until I could hardly think straight. No matter how much my head swam though, I never took off the mask. I never opened the window. But no matter how much I tried to cover my ears, I could always hear the voices.
"Trick or treat!"
|
"Do not... be outside on October 31st," I whisper through gritted teeth to my little brother. The masked figures will get me; I have to get this all out now. He has to learn from my mistakes. "Ignore the children who appear in the fog. They'll beg you to open the door, they'll even bang on the windows. Do NOT open the door."
"Why not?"
"They're not who you'll think they are. They'll sound so familiar, they'll tempt you. They'll beg for candy, trust me, that's not what they want. And do not, under any circumstances, tell them your name."
"Will I ever see you again?" He asks, tears in his eyes despite his clear efforts to keep a brave face.
"I don't know, baby brother. I don't know."
I lock eyes with one of my captors, and I look around me in one last desperate attempt to escape, but then another comes up behind me and yanks my arms back, and I stare at my brother for these last few moments before I'm finally pulled into darkness.
| 2021-10-31T18:31:56 | 2021-10-31T17:13:28 | 433 | 33 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
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The time had finally come. Saying his farewells, the soldier left the safety of his friends and marched into the center of the battlefield, alone. He could see the opposing forces staring him down, but he did not falter. Then, one of them, a foot-soldier much like himself, stepped forwards. "Look at that fool, standing all alone! Perhaps he will be the first to die! Though certainly not the last!"
The soldier felt fury rising inside him at the sound of the enemy's taunts. He nearly charged the lines himself, until he felt a friendly hand on his shoulder. Turning back, he saw a knight from his own army, giving him a reassuring grin. "Do not let them incite you. Many of us will die today, but I promise you, their corpses shall litter this field far more than our own."
The soldier nodded and returned the grin. Charging in on his own would be suicide, and then how could he say he made a difference in this glorious battle? He would stand his ground until the right time came.
And come it did. Hardly a moment later, a spear-wielding foot-soldier came charging out of the enemy lines, his weapon leveled directly at the brave soldier's chest. The soldier sidestepped the strike with ease, and plunged his shortsword into the enemy's neck.
The sound of rapid footsteps caused him to look up. The taunting soldier from before was charging him! The spearman must've been a ruse, to catch him off-guard. Realizing there was no time to block or dodge the assault from the taunter, the soldier closed his eyes and accepted oblivion. His last thought was that he was the first. The first to slay one of the enemy. For that honor, he would gladly die a hundred times.
"NO!" a soldier shouted. That was his friend, his best friend! Enraged, he readied his sword and buckler, and charged towards the taunter. But the bastard was ready. He blocked the blow expertly, and so their deadly dance began. Sword clashed on shield, shield pushed against sword, and around them, the battle raged.
One of the good army's paladins struck down an enemy cleric, only to be killed by the famous Warrior-Queen of the Onyx Crown. Then, a mage of the Ivory Throne began to cast a powerful spell that would have blasted the Onyx Queen to pieces. However, before he could finish the spell, he was intercepted by a lancer from the Onyx army.
Seeing an opportunity, the soldier made a decision. The taunter was but one soldier. It was better to kill a vulnerable enemy quickly than to spend the entire battle trying to kill a well-prepared foe, no matter one's personal feelings of vengeance. With that, he broke apart from his opponent and charged towards the lancer. He cut him down before the lancer could so much as raise a hand to protect his face.
But there was no time to revel in glory. Turning his head, he saw death fast approaching in the form of a bolt of dark energy from the Warrior-Queen. The soldier side-stepped, dodging the blast with mere inches to spare. Grabbing his fresh kill's lance, he threw it at the wicked Queen, who leaped and rolled out of the way with the reflexes of a tiger.
An Ivory knight rode to the soldiers aid, but was caught by surprise by an enemy knight. He tried to defend himself, but the warrior slashed the brave knight's horse, causing it to collapse, bringing its rider with it.
Then, as the dark army seemed on the verge of victory, *she* appeared. Her enemies called her the Pale Death. Her allies called her Salvation. With a single stroke of her greatsword, she sliced the legs off the dark knight's steed, bringing him to the same fate as his victim. With that, the Ivory Army fought with renewed vigor.
The dark army tried to push back, but just as they seemed to be succeeding, a bolt of lightning surged from behind the Ivory army's front lines, blasting into the chest of the Onyx Queen. She screamed in agony, and fell to the ground, dead. Above her stood the court wizard of the Ivory King. His talent for lightning was famous even in the lands of Onyx.
After that, the battle raged for hardly a minute longer. Finally, Salvation's sword was held to the throat of the Onyx King. He knelt, defeated.
"Checkmate."
Who says chess can't be exciting?
*Fin*
If anyone's curious, here's the actual game I based this off of:
1. e4 c6
2. Nf3 d5
3. exd5 cxd5
4. d4 e6
5. Nc3 Bd6
6. Be3 Qc7
7. Qd2 Bd7
8. O-O-O Ne7
9. Nb5 Nbc6
10. Nxd6+ Qxd6
11. Bf4 e5
12. dxe5 Qe6
13. Nd4 Nxd4
14. Qxd4 O-O
15. Bg3 Nf5
16. Qg4 Qa6
17. Bxa6 bxa6
18. Rxd5 Be6
19. Rd3 Nd4
20. Qxd4 Bxa2
21. b3 Bxb3
22. cxb3 Rfc8+
23. Kb2 Rab8
24. e6 a5
25. Bxb8 Rxb8
26. Rg3 a4
27. Qxg7#
|
I'm tired and I want to go home, but I can't. Not until she is dead, I've come this far I have to see it through. There is a sound at the door and I hasten to shut and lock it. Now is not a time for interruptions, there is work to be done. I pull open the bottom drawer, it's full of tools of the trade. I slip on a pair of gloves. It's nearly time, my hands start to shake. I can't look her in the eyes as she lies their nearly motionless. Instead I focus on her breathing, counting the seconds between her breaths. Her breathing starts to slow, then suddenly stops. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. After a moment I pick up the phone. "Hello, this is Michael from your mother's nursing home. I'm calling to let you know that your mother has passed away. I understand that you are out of town until the end of the month. I just wanted to assure you that she wasn't alone at the end."
edit: I'm a caregiver in real life.
| 2017-08-30T07:33:21 | 2017-08-30T05:08:01 | 284 | 169 |
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
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The red light of the huge screen cast an eerie glow over the faces of those assembled in the war room. But in contrast to the lighting, the atmosphere was light. Jovial, even.
"As you can see, my Lord Emperor," the general was saying, a satisfied smile covering his face, "the enemy are on the run. The last assault by the Atlantea-class demons completely broke their fleet, allowing us to reinforce our beachhead. Already attacks by the Titan and Marauder demons have broken their line in several places." He pointed to a dense collection of red dots. "Now the Flamedancers have been mustered so we will encircle and destroy their armoured divisions. That will leave nothing between our army and their capital."
"Excellent, excellent, General Kruger. Your forces have performed according to my expectations", drawled the Emperor. "With the capture of Washington, the stupid Americans will have no choice but to surrender. After what we did to their Pacific coast with Vulcanus, they are on their last legs." He looked at his watch and then back at the General. "Tell the Lord Summoner to commence the assault."
The General saluted and drew a combination on his console. On a smaller screen a man appeared. He was elderly, sporting an untidy white beard and bushy hair. In contrast to all the men in the warroom, he was looking a bit uneasy and hesitant.
"Lord Summoner, are you ready to commence the assault?"
The man coughed. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say so, though all things considered, maybe it would be prudent..."
The General leaned forward. His eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you are NOT prepared?" his voice could have put the Antarctic ice to shame.
The Summoner looked like he was trying hard to swallow something."Well, you see, the thing is that, I have the most awful *hic* hiccups, and I was worried whether..."
The Emperor spoke. "My Lord Summoner, are you seriously suggesting that we delay the final offensive of our war, out ultimate war, that will finally establish the thousand year Reich, because you have hiccups? Perhaps, you are tired, my Lord? Tired of life?"
The Summoner went very pale.
"Of course not, my Emperor, of couse not! I will begin immediately."
The Summoner walked across the room. There, complex circles and diagrams had been drawn. In the middle, in a floating cloud of red mist, lurked a huge shadow. Only two golden eyes were visible.
The Summoner begin reciting the well-known chants which would bind and compel the Demon Lord, ordering him to in turn compel his minions to war. His voice rose and fell, but in spite of his best efforts, hiccups leaked out, upsetting the rythm, distorting the syllables. Inside the circle the golden eyes narrowed.
The Summoner picked up a golden goblet. Now he had to drink a potion of power brewed from the blood of innocents, cooked on a battlefield. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. A huge hiccup exploded out of nowhere. The potion went down the wrong way, the summoner started choking. The goblet dropped from his hand, spilling the dark crimson liquid, which ran across the floor, over the circles and into the red cloud.
All those witnessing the spectacle in the war room froze. The Summoner continued to cough frantically, while trying to back away, his eyes suddenly as large as saucers.
A clawed foot stepped out of the circle. The Demon Lord stood in the room, free and unchained.
"And I am free. You made a mistake. As I knew you would. Humans always make a mistake."
He reached out and grabbed the Summoner. "Something stuck in there? Let me help you." And with one wickedly curved claw, he tore out the throat.
The Demon Lord looked through the screen at the Emperor.
"Five years, you have imprisoned me here. Five years have my forces bled and died on this alien world. Five years have I been kept away from the war to end all wars. I do not even know if my home still stands, or if the Sleeping Gods of the Forgotten Deeps have drowned it. For this you shall pay."
"You think you have seen our power? Human, taste our true rage!"
The monitor winked out. Neither the General nor the Emperor had any words. And then it started.
"General, the demons!" an officer shouted. "Fifth Army reports they have turned on us. They are killing everything!"
"General, the Atlantea demons are sinking our ships!"
"General, fires have broken out in Hamburg, Dusseldorf and Paris! General Gruber reports that he cannot hold. Colonel Schwartz is calling for help."
"General, army headquarters in Spain, Portugal and England are no longer responding"
"General, Vulcanus just appeared in Italy. It seems like Vesuvius is once again stirring."
And they kept on coming. The death cries of a burning Empire.
Edit: Fixed typos
|
The year is 2564. I am the last man on earth. The world was slowly ending and we knew it. What remains of humankind is settled on Mars, minus the Germans. World War XVI had taken its toll, but what we had never expected was how the war ended. Out of nowhere, with no warnings, Mauna Loa erupted for the first time since 1984. The worlds' largest volcano, yet many had never heard of it. It released a measured 20,000 cubic kilometers of debris. The atmosphere was obliterated, and humanity was wiped out within a week. World War XVI was finished, but nobody had wished for it like this.
| 2017-08-18T03:34:46 | 2017-08-18T00:11:45 | 107 | 44 |
[WP] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal. He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him, so he can rest in peace. Sadly, the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher' to train these heroes in order to defeat him.
|
Eons had passed since Wyrben built the academy, and each year the harvest of fine young warriors was the same. Zero. The powerful yet arguably dull-witted magician accidentally caused his own demise through the mispronunciation of the common water spell, rendering him immortal. He lacked the courtesy and courage to take his own life, devising a plan to incentivize would-be heroes into destroying him by committing atrocities worthy of death. It was a win-win for him, he'd get to rest in peace as he sought revenge on an unfair world.
He had suffered long enough, the years of parting ways with loved ones as they slowly slipped into the afterlife, unable to join them. Thousands and thousands of friendships, family and bonds broken and separated through the wall of death. Each one just as emotionally wrecking as the last, indeed Wyrben had endured insurmountable pain. Had he even felt a second of joy since immortality was invoked upon him? It didn't matter, because finally, after countless millennia Wyrben had found a star pupil capable of finally putting him out of his misery.
Tanner was outstandingly smart, strong physically and of a clarity so pure his magics screamed of power. The fifteen year old boy had truly admired Wyrben, paying full attention during lectures and seeking him out at any open opportunity for inquiries as well as acknowledgement. Wyrben had begun to grow fond of him over the years as the prodigy could perform spells of calibre that took Wyrben months in only days. Even managing an involuntary smile at the sight of the young wizard outdoing himself yet again.
Meaning it equally hurt Wyrben to know he was responsible for the deaths of Tanner's family, which made him all the more suited to the mighty battle Wyrben had planned for ages.
The last lecture, Wyrben thought, as he grew impatient with the sentiment of death hanging on a thread low enough he could almost reach. At last, he thought, my eternal curse to be broken by the hands of the divine.
He invited Tanner to his chambers at the highest tower of the academy, dressed as his supervillain persona. Seeking to evoke enough rage for Tanner to carry out revenge.
The wooden door slowly creaked open and Tanner revealed himself.
"Master Wyr-" He stuttered, eyes flaring wide open as he gazed into the eyes of his family's killer. Immediately pulling out his blade in angered preparation.
"Neppu?" Tanner said in confusion, the anger still lingering as he stood cautiously.
"What did you do with the master?" He inquired.
Wyrben took off the mask, a somber but serious look on his face.
"Tanner, it's me, Master Wyrben. There isn't enough time to explain idly, prepare for battle." Replied Wyrben, invoking various offensive spells, both fire and ice projecting from his wand in fabulous destruction.
Tanner hastily materialized an ethereal green wall with hexagonal patterns in front of him, successfully absorbing the attacks. Wyrben was nothing short of impressed, clapping in appreciation.
"You never cease to amaze me Tanner." He conjured up more magics, this time a large ball of light concentrated a beam of iridescent energy at the wall, its power cracking the walls spectral infrastructure.
"You.. you killed my parents! Why!? They we're good people!" His rage was conspicuous in his arcanery, summoning what appeared to be a mini black hole near Wyrben, it's gravitational pull absorbing enough energy to disperse in a disc of black ripples, shattering the space around it. Wyrben knew it was coming as he prepared his next spell, enchanting various spells to form a cube of steel. Its appearance disguising the magical properties, morphing smaller and smaller until it looked the size of a die.
Wyrben picked it up and threw it back at Tanner as the cube grew in volume, its material cracking under the pressure.
However Wyrben was caught off guard, he knew Tanner would use the dark purge spell, it was one of the strongest he knew of. Yet Tanner looked less than perturbed, it took Wyrben a few moments to understand why, the cube exploded in violent bursts of magic and the figure of Tanner rippled as it was pierced by the attack.
Wyrben stood in disbelief. It wasn't Tanner.
"My god, reflection, you mastered it? Not even I can create an illusion capable of performing magic." Wyrben heard a crashing sound of iron and looked up, a glowing chain of balls descended in his direction, Tanner following suit. Wyrben attempted to evade the grapple but was caught nonetheless, shackled by powerful binding magic, squirming in futile manner.
He sat bound, staring into the magnificent student he had helped create.
"Finish me, Tanner, I killed your parents and I have no remorse to show for it. I've lived too long, I need to be put to rest." Tanner looked at him in absolute contempt, standing over him in superiority, his revenge lingering in his mind.
"Taevunero." Tanner called and Wyrben shuttered in fear, that was a torture curse, one that inflicts perpetual pain on whoever it is cast on. Only releasing it's grip when the inflicted Wizard can endure enough to remove it, but Wyrben was bound.
"Why? Just kill me, please." The pain grew in intensity and Wyrben was writhing in agony. Tanner's proficiency proved too much for the monster to handle as he was quickly losing his mind. Tanner shed tears, one for his family, and one for being unable to get revenge. He paused in silence as he watched the pathetic hero he once admired desiring leniency.
"It looks like the academy will need a new teacher." He said, walking towards the door. Wyrben's eyes widened in disbelief, his patience merited no reward, the eons of effort for nothing. He tried to mumble for mercy but could not so much as breathe heavily as Tanner walked out the door. Sealing it in radiant magic and walking down the steps on his new adventure. The footsteps growing fainter and fainter as Wyrben's desperation followed fashion as his silent cries increased in fury, the only sounds remaining were that of the wind.
|
Reach by the Sea was a rich and prosperous city on an otherwise wild and undeveloped continent. For as long as can be remembered, the city prospered under the governance of the Council.
The sages of the Council were rarely seen outside of appearances at the White Keep, the home of the city's magnificent White Legion. Trained from childhood to protect the city from forces and threats which never seemed to materialize. Nonetheless, promising youth in search of riches or glory enlisted from all over the city.
Jorrick barely remembered his brother. His mother had been sick for years, and Marcus had raised him in her place. Marcus left when Jorrick was still young to join the legion and support the family. For a time, Marcus was a rising star within the legion. The money he earned kept the family fed and payed for mother's medicine.
One day, a Council elder came to their lowly hovel and asked Marcus to join him on a pilgrimage, which didn't make any sense. There was nothing on this continent but untamed wilds, all knew that. Neither returned. A few years after he left, the payments stopped. Mother's condition worsened.
Jorrick had only one choice. Sign up. He knew he couldn't live up to his big brother, but he had no choice. Mother needed him.
The council member who came to collect him to start his apprenticeship looked vaguely familiar. He asked the sage if he had known his brother, to which he replied, "Marcus? Oh yes, he was very promising. He reminded me what a bruise felt like."
Confused, Jorrick followed the sage through the city. What was he talking about?
| 2015-07-25T06:12:55 | 2015-07-25T05:23:23 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] On Tuesday you wore "a bigger hat than the Pope's" as a joke. On Wednesday, you see the Pope wearing an even bigger hat. It escalates.
|
So that’s how it is.
The day is Wednesday. Yesterday, while watching the news, I wondered why the Pope had such a ridiculously big hat. As a joke, I bought an even bigger hat (it was the largest one they had, the store manager told me) and posted a picture of me wearing it on Instagram with the caption, “Not even the Pope’s hat can top this!” It got over a hundred thousand likes in a matter of hours, and I went viral.
Well, the Pope himself actually took notice, and today he posted a picture on Instagram as well - this time with an even bigger hat. It was so large it covered his eyes and ears. He didn’t mention me in the caption, but I got the message.
Flash forward to now. I can't let him get away with this. I grab my keys and head out to my car. Furious, I start up the engine and drive away. I already bought the nearby department store’s largest hat, so I’m not sure what to do. It seems like I'm gonna have to get creative. As I cruise down the road, I drive by a girl on the sidewalk, exiting a doctor’s office holding a balloon. I’ve never understood why some doctors give kids balloons. If I were a child, I would definitely prefer candy. Balloons always accidentally pop. Wait! That gives me an idea!
I park near the closest grocery store and walk in. I shop here often, so I know they have what I need. A big balloon, scissors, and duct tape. After a quick scavenger hunt, I have all three items. I purchase them then drive back home.
The balloon I bought, probably about four feet in height, barely fit in my car during my drive back. Fortunately, it didn’t pop during the journey. Anyway, now it's time to set my plan in action. Ready, set, go! I cut off a small part of the bottom of the balloon with the scissors, then very quickly fit it around my head and tape it on with the duct tape.
I go to the bathroom to look at it in the mirror. I have to lean down as I walk in, otherwise the giant balloon would hit the top of the doorway. If you look at me right now, which for all I know you could be doing through my open window with a pair of binoculars, I think it’s safe to say you would think I look like an idiot. But it works. I take out my phone, snap a quick picture, and post it on Instagram. This time I tag the Pope directly. Hopefully he’ll think twice the next time he tries to one-up me.
Sure enough, this picture blows up as well, getting just as many likes as the first. Before long, it’s night time. I fall asleep smiling, imagining the look on the Pope’s face when he sees my picture.
I wake up in the morning, feeling refreshed and excited. My phone has a million notifications from people liking and commenting on my balloon hat photo. But there’s one notification that’s different.
“franciscus has mentioned you in a comment…”
That’s the Pope’s account! I click on it to find a picture of him wearing a balloon on his head, one twice as big as the one I had.
“You cheater!” I said out loud. “Come up with your own idea instead of ripping off mine!”
I then look at the caption. It reads:
“I do not know who you are, or where you live, but I do know that my head is the only one that gets to wear a hat as big as this. If you think you can best me, you should think again, but if you are too stubborn to do that, you will be humiliated.”
His audacity! How was I gonna find a hat larger than that? I pace around, hoping that the pure anger and fury rushing through my veins will make my brain work faster.
Sure enough, I get an idea, just as sudden as the balloon hat one. But this one is way better. I go outside, lean my phone against the side of my house, and do a headstand. I have to lean my legs against the wall a little to keep from falling over, but it won’t be visible in the picture.
I snap a photo before I get lightheaded and dizzy and grin as I post the picture to Instagram, with the following caption:
“They say the world is your oyster, but in this case it’s my hat.”
As I walk inside, I feel a surge of satisfaction throughout my body. I know I have won.
---
It’s been a year since the Legendary Hat Showdown of 2017. A few days after I bested the Pope and gained the title of “The Mad Hatter,” the Pope went missing. No one is sure why. Some say he went into hiding in order to devote his life to concocting a hat even bigger than the Earth itself and get his revenge on me. Some say he ended his life because of the unbearable shame of losing. Some slightly less mentally sound people say he was abducted by aliens.
Wherever the Pope is, I just hope he learned his lesson from all this - never mess with me.
|
"Holy father, I really do not think this is a good idea. Maybe you should rethink this?"
"Don't worry, I know what I am doing. Besides, it's a bit late for second thoughts."
Pope Francis put on his new hat and walked onto the stage. The crowd was a cacophony of applause, cheer, camera clicks, and gasps. The holy father Pope Francis stared at the biggest camera he could spot, and while wearing a huge foam middle finger on his head that read "smd Jeremy", he spoke.
"Jeremy. I don't know where you're from, or why you chose to challenge me on twitter. But I will find you. The world will see that no one insults the pope's hat."
| 2017-03-18T17:41:16 | 2017-03-18T16:43:43 | 76 | 25 |
[WP] One night as you play Call of Duty a particularly squeaky voiced 12 year old gives out personal information leading you to discover he is your child from a long lost lover. You must now convince him you are his father and thus banged his mom, through Xbox live.
|
"Listen, Andrew," She'd sent me a letter with his name and a bunch of information about him, but I never thought it would lead to anything. Never thought I'd even remember the name of his school, and his best friend. And of all places, Xbox live? Who would have thought that I'd coincidentally find my own son, and that my first impression of him would be his username: 6969BongHitterX. And to add insult to injury, he was camping near a respawn point. I'd failed as a father.
"Faggot, I pwned you so hard! Listen to you cry!"
"I'm serious! Your mom... is her name Sarah? Is she blond, a nurse at the hospital? And her father owns Mike's Bistro in town?"
"Boom, headshot!" He wasn't listening to me; he'd gone back to running around the map looking for a new weapon. Had he muted me? Had I already lost my chance?
"Andrew, you need to listen." My character was following him around the map trying to get his attention. "Your mother..."
"Yeah, I fucked your mother! I did it in your own basement, you neckbeard faggot!"
"I'm serious!" I shouted back to him as he shot my character yet again. I grumbled angrily, waiting to respawn and searching the map for him once more. "You need to listen to me! You live on Elm Avenue, don't you?"
"Who is this?" he squeaked into the microphone. I could hear the puberty in his voice. "Sam, is this you, you faggot? I'm going to kick your ass at school tomorrow, you little bitch!"
"Andrew, your mom has a tattoo of a rose on the back of her neck, doesn't she?"
His avatar stopped moving, and his microphone fell silent. Our characters stood looking at each other awkwardly until we were both splattered by another group driving a Warthog. Without another word, Andrew left the game. I sighed and signed out too. I guess it wasn't meant to be.
----
"who is this?" the message said.
It had been days, but he hadn't even answered my friend request. Every night I debated whether I should just contact his mother again. Just talking to him, even through the game, made the whole thing so... *real*. Before that, he was just some kid that was out there somewhere. An abstract idea that I was sure was doing just fine without me. Sarah had made it clear that they didn't need me in their lives, and I was fine with that back then. I was more into drugs anyway. A lot had changed in twelve years.
"I know this is going to be weird... but I'm your father. I used to live in Perryville too, years and years ago. Your mom and I were both counselors at the same summer camp, and we just had one of those romances. But at the end of the summer, we just went our separate ways. I went off to college and she stuck around. And she didn't tell me I had a kid until a few years later. She sent me occasional letters and pictures of you, but I just.... I never thought about it too much until now. Would you maybe like to meet and talk about it sometime?"
My hands shook as I typed the question. Was I really ready for this? But it wasn't up to me at this point. The ball was in my son's court.
A week later, he answered: "ok."
----
I waited nervously at the coffee shop. I'd driven eleven hours to meet Andrew, and I was a jittery mess, I'm sure. But that didn't matter. I could barely contain my excitement at being reunited. I briefly wondered whether Sarah would be with him. He hadn't mentioned telling her, but hopefully he was smart enough to not meet strangers off of the internet without even telling his mom.
The bell chimed, and I looked up immediately, as I had done the last dozen times someone entered the store. And this time, it was him. He wore faded jeans and an old t-shirt that might have actually been one of mine. Had his mother really saved it for all these years?
I stood up tentatively from behind the table. My legs didn't seem to be working very well, and I had to lean on the back of my chair for support. Our eyes met, and I instantly knew it was my son. The exact same shape and hazel shade that stared back at me through the mirror every morning. My lips quivered into a nervous smile. It was really happening. I was finally going to meet him.
"Andrew?" I asked. He nodded; there was just a hint of tears welling up in the corner of his eyes.
I didn't know what to do. Do we... shake hands? Hug? We approached each other awkwardly.
"Dad?" It was definitely the same voice I'd heard through the Xbox microphone.
I punched him straight in the face, so hard that it sent him reeling back against the door. A collective gasp rose from the horrified barista and the shocked patrons of the coffeeshop.
"Headshot, you little bastard! No scope!"
He slumped to the floor, clutching at his bleeding nose. And as I crowed with victory, I teabagged the little faggot.
---
If you enjoyed this one, check out all of my other stories in /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
"Fuck you, man. I'm gonna leave!!" the pre-pubescent boy squealed over the microphone. It was past clear that he was aggravated. I needed somehow to convince him that not only did I truthfully bang his mom, but that he was in fact the fruit of said banging. I need to get in contact with her. Elaine still had something that belonged to me. And if it means convincing this little shit that I am his metaphorical rectum, then so be it.
"Just hear me out okay Jack? I'm your dad and...I..... Banged your Mom."
*yoloboy69 has left the game*
"God damn it."
*****
Hey, you never said he had to be successful in doing it.
First writing prompt ever. Never considered myself to be creative by any means and due to time constrains decided to be a d-bag and take the easy route. Any/all criticism welcome... just be gentle.
| 2015-07-14T13:51:50 | 2015-07-14T13:17:18 | 3,442 | 56 |
[WP] You, the last remaining human, travel around the galaxy telling stories of the tragedies humans before you commited. One day at a seminar, you are asked a question you aren't prepared for: "What was the last thing the humans did, and how did you survive?"
|
"And thus concludes our discussion of World War 4. Any questions before we end this lecture?"
Nobody raised their hand. Unsurprising for a first year xeno-history course on a long dead race. Most people here probably probably took this as a "bird course" anyways...
"Well then, have a nice weekend everyone. Next week we will discuss World War 5. Or 'The End of Humanity' as some like to call it."
The students began to shuffle out of the lecture hall. However, one of them approached me as I packed my notes into my bag. I recognized them immediately - Quesu - she was an amazing student.
"Professor," she began, "may I ask you a question?"
"Of course Quesu, what's your question?"
"It's about you, but still about the course. I hope it's not too personal."
"Ask away!"
Quesu cleared her throat and asked, "what did you do during the end of humanity? How did you survive?"
Nobody had really asked about my experience during the end of humanity before. Most people just cared about the grade, which most of them didn't get anyways. I didn't really have an answer prepared...
"Uh well... I guess we could start from the beginning, with some context. Despite how most people would imagine it, the *real* end of humanity wasn't from all of us burning to ashes in nuclear fireballs. Although, that was how the majority of it went down for most people."
"That's horrible..."
I agreed with her - she was right, none of the 8 races in the Galactic Federation would use nuclear weapons in a conflict on an inhabited planet. But humanity was never one of those races - and we did it in two different wars.
"Anyways," I said as I moved on, "the real end of humanity was when the survivors off world mingling with the other Federation races began to disappear. There were about a thousand of us at the start, we were all people like professors who were exchanging information with other academics in the galaxy. When word started to spread about the war, we became a bit of a collector's item."
"What do you mean?"
I sighed, remembering what I had seen or heard about. I remembered hearing of how human beings were being found dead in the homes of demented collectors after missing persons reports. I remembered that serial killer hunting humans as rare trophies. I remembered those perverts that took away Alex before knocking me out...
Quesu noticed right away that I was having trouble replying. She quickly powered up her smart-lens to do some searches on Galapedia and covered her mouth as she skimmed over some of the higher profile cases. She excused herself, leaving me alone in the lecture hall as I remembered those days.
After a few minutes, the university's security guards found me behind the lectern with my head in my hands.
"Finished with your lecture professor?"
"Yes..."
"Then you know the drill then. Off to the science wing."
The guards wouldn't have much leniency, as usual. So I picked up my bag and let them escort me back home for the night.
|
It was a strange question. I had never been asked it nor had I ever thought to prepare for it. It was silent, every life-form in attendance waiting on an answer. I stared hard at the hooded figure. It's face was concealed by a mask and it wore a thick flowing hooded robe.
The audience was getting restless. A life-form in the back shouted out, "*Well?! What's the story?*"
The rest of the crowd began to murmur as my silence endured. Others began shouting as well. Calling out to me for an answer. I stood there perplexed, unable to process the request. I leaned into the mic and the crowd fell quiet.
"I don't know." I said with finality in my tone.
The crowd exploded. Shouting, jeering, objects, all came raining down on the stage. I stood still, staring down the hooded figure. It slowly turned heading for the exit. As it did, it motioned it's arm in a way that I recognized from my long lost culture. I spoke into the mic, "I am sorry everyone the rest of the show is cancelled."
The crowd continued there jeering as I exited the stage. I rushed outside to see the hooded figure getting into a spacecraft. I could feel it's stare on me and I walked over. The jeering crowd busted through the front doors of the theatre, calling for my head. They saw me and began to advance. The hooded figure motioned for me to get in. Obliging, we pulled up and exited the atmosphere of the planet.
For some time we sat in silence. The hooded figure never looked away from the expanse of space in front of us. I broke the uncomfortable silence. "What exactly made you ask that question? In all my travels I have never had a life-form ask me that."
The hooded figure stayed motionless but it responded to my question. "You are a pawn. I saved you back there from spouting any more nonsense. You need not fear for your life either, my kind is friend to your people."
"My people?!" I said puzzled. "Do you not know who I am? My people are dead! I'm the last of my kind!"
"If that were true then you should have be able to have answered my question." The hooded figure retorted, a tone of exasperation in it's voice.
I stood there stunned. Soaking up the fact I may not be the last human. A sense of joy and excitement washed over me, I needed to know more. "Well then what do you speak of when you say I'm a pawn? And what do you mean nonsense? The stories I told were of my kind, the stories of humanity! And who the hell are you?!"
"Enough! For the love of quasar just shut up." The hooded figure said with a raised voice. "You humans always ask too many questions, it hurts my processors."
"Processors? Wait... Are you even a life form?!" I exclaimed as I grabbed for the hooded figures robe. Pulling it back, a streak of blonde and a metal board along the back of the head were prominent. I was pushed back by the figure.
"What are you? I've never seen such bio-mechanical augmentation in my travels." I said with awe.
The hooded figure stood up and cast off the robe. It possessed skin over most of it's body. Metal was exposed in places fused with bone. Muscle laced with wire and cable were also visible. The exposed thing shouted at me, "I'M THE FINAL TRAGEDY. WE DIDN'T DIE, WE DID SOMETHING WORSE!" It began to cry... it was strange to see something like it cry.
I stood against the wall, stunned. "What... what happened to you?" I asked.
The exposed sat back down, tears falling out of one eye. "I know about you. How you 'survived' " It said through choked sobs.
"You were an astronaut, right around the time we figured out how to travel between star systems. You got lucky... so very lucky. A few months after your mission was launched it went radio silent. The governments of the world took this as a chance to invoke fear and panic. It gave them the go ahead to start preparing for what they thought was the 'worst.'" It said, a quiver in it's voice.
"What was the worst?" I asked.
It glared at me, "I'm getting to it." she said venomously.
"They drafted people for all kinds of experimental programs. Saying it was for the sake and safety of humanity. Everyone bought it. They only put out the ones that worked. Amassing an army of augmented and powerful humans. Never showing the public 'screw-ups' like me. They abused their powers, dominating Earth and enslaving it. They learned how to make more and eventually there appetite extended to the stars. They were unopposed in every conquest they undertook. Nobody ever thought to defend against a extinct line of life-forms." She finished, her glare intensifying on me.
I sat down, absorbing the information. "You mean... I... I've been telling the galaxy we're all dead... When we're really enslaving it?!" I asked, feeling a pit begin to form in my stomach.
"Precisely. You needed to be stopped. You needed to hear this truth so that you could begin to warn other life-forms of our existence." It said.
"I... I'm sorry. I don't remember much of my mission... I just thought we were all dead from the last transmission I received." I said with my head in my hands.
"It was all part of their plan. You were expendable anyways and they figured they'd take a shot on you making their conquest easier. It paid off handsomely." It responded.
I sat there thinking about all the life-forms I'd potentially killed. All the horrors they'd be exposed to because of me. It was a lot to take in. "Hold on, you said I could warn others? Like help? I can help stop them?!" I asked excitedly.
"Yes you can. You need to start by rallying your own kind." It finished.
"My own kind?" I asked confused. As I said the words, the spacecraft slowed down. A planet could be seen in the distance. Blue poked through the ashy atmosphere surrounding it. I walked up to the window on the deck, my mouth agape.
"You can't fight back with just words. You're gonna need an army of your own." It said proudly.
I looked back at it, "Hey, I never got your name."
"I don't have one." It said. "I lost it long ago."
"Er... Sorry, do you have something I could call you by then?" I asked. "How about Lucy? It's easy enough to remember."
Lucy looked at me, "I like it."
I smiled to myself. This was exciting, I really was getting tired of telling the same boring stories over and over again. I was happy to be given an opportunity to make my own.
***
Hope you liked it! Other stories over at r/TheYogiBearhaWrites if you like go check them out.
Edit: A word that really really bugged me. It's better now.
| 2017-05-01T16:37:36 | 2017-05-01T16:11:19 | 110 | 57 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered.
|
The man on the ledge reeked of old booze and stale vomit, enough for me to smell him from ten paces away. Not your typical drunk however, judging by the suit; a week or so ago, it had been a respectable business number, probably complete with a crisp shirt and a smart tie. I could see that the shirt lost a number of buttons since, and acquired questionable stains, and the tie went missing altogether.
"Don't. No closer. I'll jump. I'm not kidding." He winced and swayed as he spoke.
I shrugged and leaned against the roof access door.
"Suit yourself, partner. Jump. Or don't. You are not dying today."
"Wrong!" he swayed again. "I'll do it! We are fifty stories up, there's nothing anyone can do!.." Below, the Strip churned, shone, sparkled and blinked. Just another day in paradise.
"You don't understand. I... I thought I could stop. I *almost* stopped. I just... I needed... more..." For a moment I thought he'd start to whimper and back away from the ledge, and we could solve things quietly. No such luck however. He kept blabbing, the standard suicidal drivel of a gambling addict down on his luck.
"Hey!" I snapped my fingers and he stared at me wide-eyed. "Will you ever get on with it? So you fucked up. You ALWAYS fuck up. And you'll fuck this up too. Want to know what'll happen now? You'll jump. You'll fall fifty fucking stories, land on an empty car, ruin it, and walk away with one hell of a bruised ass and not a single broken bone. Get it? You're about to fuck up your own suicide. I'm not here to talk you out of it. I'm here to talk you *into* it, watch and fucking laugh."
He blinked slowly, once, twice.
"Fuck. You. You're crazy. What kind of a negotiator are you anyway?"
"I'm not. You see a badge anywhere? For all you know, I'm the tooth fairy. You know what's funny? You can't even stop yourself thinking about what I said just now, can you? You're gonna attempt suicide by jumping fifty stories, and you're gonna FUCK IT UP. All this to ruin some poor slob's car. C'mon then, loser. I got places to be."
"Fuck. You."
Credit where credit's due - he did not scream on the way down, or at least not so much that I could hear him. From below, came a distant thud and an indignant blare of a car alarm. I walked the ten paces to the ledge and peered over just in time to see him kneeling in the street next to a ruined cab, uniforms and paramedics rushing towards him.
The phone in my pocket trilled.
"Mahoney? We've got him. Come on down."
|
“Expecting a call, Mr. Harper?”
Thomas Harper looked up from his phone to see his literary analysis professor giving him a stern look.
“Oh, uh,” Thomas muttered as he slid the device into his pocket. “Sorry.”
The professor rolled her eyes and returned to what she was writing on the chalkboard. Thomas glanced around at the other students, his peers. They didn't know about his power; no one did. It wasn't even a power really; if he convinced someone to do something, they would be able to do it. Anything; fly, throw a car, whatever. The problem was getting them to play along.
Thomas eventually left the daydreams of his peculiar capability and returned to his studies. He took out a pen and was about to take notes until his phone buzzed. The young man froze and quickly stole a glance towards the professor; her back was turned. Thomas fished the phone out of his pocket and saw that he had a notification from his most recent app. It was a police scanner widget of... questionable legality. The greater good, right? This what it reported.
Hostage Situation - Silverlight Business Center @ East and Fifth.
Thomas stood up slowly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “Actually... I have somewhere to be.” He returned the phone to his pocket and pulled on his backpack as he jogged toward the door.
The professor turned to see Thomas leaving. “Where are you going, young man?”
“It's an emergency,” Thomas said with a shrug. “I'll make it up next class.”
With that, he left. As soon as he was out of the classroom he broke into a full sprint. The Silverlight and the campus were both located in downtown, about ten minutes apart. However, time would not be merciful in regards to a volatile situation like hostages.
Thomas hurried down the steps, brushing other students out of the way as he ran towards the parking lot. It was moments like these when he was glad to be parking on campus. He reached his car in only a few minutes. Once inside and cranked up, he peeled out of the parking lot and got onto the main roads. Now, with the time it would take to drive to the Silverlight Center, he would devise his plan.
His app had not updated since leaving class, so police had not yet responded. Fortunately it didn't matter *who he partnered up with. So as long as he convinced them to go fight the bad guys, they would succeed and the day would be saved. But, again, who would that be? Civilians outside the business center would probably not go for it at all. Maybe someone on the inside? Not the criminals, obviously. One of guards or hostages?
Following that path led Thomas to realize he might end up as a hostage himself in this process. However, before he could imagine a more sound plan, he had arrived at the Silverlight. He slammed on the brake and came to a sharp stop before jumping out of the car and jogging up to the entrance.
Thomas hadn't taken more than three steps inside the center before a gloved hand grabbed his face and pulled him away from the door. A second guy walked up and pointed at gun at Thomas' head.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Uh, I...” Thomas' stammered. His death was mere inches away. “I'm an associate here. For- stocks and uh” His irises shivered, eyes fixed on the barrel of the pistol. The lies couldn't tumble out his mouth fast enough.
“Whatever,” the man growled. He stepped away and lowered his gun. “Put him with the others.”
The first man who grabbed him swung Thoamas around and started walking him deeper into the building. “Picked a bad day for your stocks, son,” he said while placing a hand on the back of Thomas' head. The mercenary pushed the young man down the hall of the business center. It was eerily quiet and empty for a weekday. Thomas looked to his right as he walked under the criminals forceful hand. That's when he saw a particular office room. Three or four old men in suits were speaking to a squad of mercenaries with guns, armor, and black tactical clothing. “Whatcha lookin' at?” the man behind him said, shoving down on Thomas's head.
They soon arrived at their destination, a small closet door. The mercenary goon tied up Thomas's hands then unlocked the door and pushed him in. Thomas stumbled into the room and looked to see at least ten others sitting on the floor of this storage room, all with their hands tied and mouths taped up. The door clicked behind him. Thomas sighed. He had just gotten himself thoroughly screwed. It was now the time to work his magic.
Thomas walked over and sat down next to the nearest person he saw. Really anyone would do. He looked at her nametag. Allison Watson, Senior Investor. Great.
“Allison, how are you today?” he asked.
Her only response was a confused look.
“How about I take the tape off so we can talk?”
She nodded. Thomas reached over to the woman and carefully pulled the tape off of her mouth.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?”
Thomas grinned. “I understand your concern. But it's not about me right now, it's about you.”
“What are you talking about?” she woman said. “We need help, we need to call the police.”
“The police have been notified,” Thomas said. If he knew, they knew. “However, it will take time for them to organize, get here, set up a perimeter, negotiate...”
“So what?” Allison asked. “Do you have a plan?”
“I do, and it's very simple.” Thomas said with a smile. “You go out there and kick all of their asses.”
“Excuse me?” she recoiled. “Why don't you try that and see how it goes.”
“Because I would fail,” Thoams said. “But you will succeed so long as you trust me.”
Allison was quiet for a moment after that. She looked at Thomas. “You're serious?”
“Of course,” he said. “Why else would I risk my life to come get captured with you?”
Another pause from Allison. Thomas watched her consider his words. Perhaps she was coming around?
“What about the ties?” she asked, raising her bound wrists. “What about the locked door?”
“You can break them, they are no obstacle,” Thomas said. “Try it if you don't believe me.”
Allison looked down at hands and tried to pulled free of the restraints. She did. The rope tore and her arms were freed. She looked at Thomas and then back to her hands. Afterward, she stood and slowly walked over to the door to further test Thomas's claim. Just as he said, the door was no obstacle, it crumbled under her hand and drifted open.
Thomas looked on as Allison took a steadying breath and then charged out of the storage room. Screaming and gunfire erupted in the following seconds and the other hostages all looked towards the door as bullets flew pass. The thuds of bodies hitting the floor, glass shattering, more screaming. Lots of screaming actually. Then finally, silence.
Moments later, Allison from investing returned dragging two unconscious mercenaries in each hand.
| 2017-06-21T12:23:26 | 2017-06-21T10:32:09 | 1,906 | 424 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered.
|
“You’re a cheat, a fraud!” he shouted, having ducked under my line of security holding off the adoring crowds. He shoved me rudely backwards, and I felt him spit in my face.
The hall went silent, and a thousand camera flashes lit up as my fans started snapping away. Far more common in the early days, not so much now, it had been some time since the last heckler attempted to disrupt my services.
“What’s your name?” I asked, after security had tackled him to the ground, holding him in an arm lock. He stared back defiantly, murder in his eyes.
“I hate people like you,” he seethed, “you prey on the gullible, exploit their dreams, crush their hopes! I hope you burn in hell!”
In the past, I would have begged for him to give me a chance, let me prove myself. I would have trotted out recordings of the precious few times I had successfully applied my powers, shown him that I really could convince people to do the extraordinary, once I managed to persuade them to even try. I would have persisted until my throat was raw, my knees were bruised.
Now, it was much easier. I just had to let him see for himself.
“Who amongst you is afflicted? Who can I help today?” I said, turning to address the crowds. My hands were raised, my voice boomed across the hall.
A hundred, two hundred hands shot up in the air, as applause rang out. The first in line, a young girl in a wheelchair, rolled up to me. I wasn’t a doctor, but I didn’t need to be one to infer from her withered, twisted legs what she was seeking today.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Grace Natterly, please, please heal me!”
I held her hands, closed my eyes. I felt the rest of the hall slip into a similar reverential mood, and faint murmurings filled the air. Prayer wasn’t exactly necessary, but I let them believe what they wanted. The only disturbance in that whirlpool of peace, was the disbeliever who still struggled on the carpet.
“By the power vested in me, Grace Natterly, I compel you to heal yourself! Stand up! Stand up! Stand up now!”
And she did.
She struggled at first, unused to the motions, then I felt the familiar tingle as my powers took over. No one else could see, but I saw the dancing motes of light swirl in the air, cling to her legs like fireflies. I heard the familiar crick of bones straightening, growing, and I saw the flesh fatten, bulk up with muscle. The deformities melted away, leaving only a completely unremarkable set of legs.
“I… I am healed…” she said, finally, quietly. She was flexing her toes, still swimming in that short flood of euphoria, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
The cheers erupted. Her family rushed up to her in celebration, and the others in line pressed forward, hungry, impatient, hopeful.
I turned to my detractor, who had fallen silent. The fight had sapped out of him, and a curious blankness covered his face. I waved away the security holding him down, then leaned in close.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” he said, shaking his head slowly, eyes wide.
“All you need, is a little bit of faith,” I said, smiling as I held out my hand.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
We were both 14 at the time, my best friend Rand and I sat contentedly on the branches of the highest tree in our neighbourhood, while some of the other, more cautious kids looked up in awe from the ground.
“You can see the whole city from here!” I realised, amazed by a view that young me had never seen before.
“I can see my house from here”, Rand quipped, unfazed by the wonders spread below us.
We sat together for a companionable while, but young as we were the novelty gradually wore off. I glanced at the ground, dizzyingly far away and now empty of an audience. Getting down was going to take a while. I glanced over at Rand, and joked “dare you to get to the bottom in less than 5 seconds”.
I didn’t mean it of course, why on earth would I mean something like that? But the challenge in my voice obviously swayed Rand, who gave me a considering look. After a moment the doubt cleared from his face and he broke into a grin, before taking off with a shout: “race you to the bottom!”.
Of course getting to the top of a tree and getting back to the bottom are two completely different things, as anyone who’s ever climbed one will know, so naturally I started down hesitantly, feeling my way with my feet for the steadier branches below, but a cautious glance down took my breath away: there was Rand, hopping lightly from branch to branch as if pulled to each one by a constantly-shifting gravity. I wish I’d timed it, but surely not more than 3 seconds had passed before he took a leap that – realistically – should have broken at least 1 bone and landed feet-first on the ground, grinning up at me and only slightly out of breath.
It took me 2 whole minutes to climb down.
2 days later I got the news: my best friend had tried the same daredevil feat again, but the result had changed. Part of me suspected what had happened, and from then on my fear of a recurrence kept me well away from asking people to do the impossible.
**15 Years On**
Nobody expected it when the troopers crossed the border. There was no way our neighbouring country had declared war on us, was there? Relations were so friendly, it surely had to be some kind of false flag operation. Regardless, their allegiance didn’t matter, what mattered was that our army barely had time to mobilise in defense before the shock troops started marching through our streets, killing soldier and civilians alike. Not knowing what to do but knowing I had to do *something*, I found myself in the streets, looking for a group of our people. Of course I’d served my year of mandatory army service, so I at least knew one end of a weapon from the other, and spotting a barricade of our soldiers I skidded over, grabbing a gun from one of the fallen on arrival. One of the soldiers looked at me dubiously, but obviously accepting how outnumbered they were, accepted my support.
We made our stand there, behind a wall that felt far too flimsy as grenade after grenade flew over us, occasionally hitting the wall or, worse, one of our people. How many grenades did they have?
“This is hopeless!” cried one of the younger soldiers, despairing. “It’s just a matter of time now before we’re all killed, there’s no way we’ll win…it’s impossible”. With that he collapsed heavily against the battered wall and let out a sob.
*Impossible*… the word seemed to whisper to me as if from ages past, and I found myself looking up to find a tree that had been cleared from this block years ago. What had I to lose now?
I turned to the first soldier who’d looked at me, he seemed to be their commander, and gulped. “It may not be impossible, we do have a chance.”
The commander looked at me, sceptical yet open to suggestions.
“You see, I think I have this…ability…when I convince people to try the impossible, they can do it. I don’t know why, but it works.”
“Uh huh”, the commander said, his expression grim, and turned back to the enemy, “well, top marks for trying to bring some humour to the situation at least.”
“I’m being serious, we can really do this! What have we got to lose?”
“And how many times have you tested this…ability?”
I winced, “just once, 15 years ago”.
The commander lobbed a grenade of his own at the enemy. Where had he gotten that? “I’ll tell you what we’ve got to lose, our dignity.”
Another grenade flew at the enemy, met by three of their own. Once again the commander reconsidered. “Alright, convince me to do something, but it’d better work”.
I paused, I’d never actually tested my ability – telling the commander I had hadn’t even been strictly true, that had just happened by chance. How did it work? Would just saying ‘defeat the enemy’ do it? Maybe I had to put a timer on it or something like that. Well, it was worth a shot.
“Uh, dare you to defeat the enemy in 2 minutes or less?”.
He sighed, somehow mixing defeat, determination, and disgust into one sound, before looking at his watch and standing up, machine gun in hand.
To give him credit, he actually took down a fair few of the troopers before taking a bullet himself. He grunted as he fell back behind our barricade. “Knew it was a joke, how much dignity do I still have?”
It was a fool’s hope, and I wondered what had gone wrong. Was the task too impossible, or not impossible enough? Resigned, I put my own weapon above the barricade again and began shooting blind, determined to take as many with me as I could. Out of nowhere, a voice piped up beside me, “you weren’t really joking though, were you?”
I stopped shooting and looked to my side where the frightened soldier from before now crouched, eyes still red and scared, but now with something else I couldn’t identify.
“No”, I sighed, “I wasn’t joking”.
The young soldier poked his head over the barricade to look at the swarm around us, finally moving in for a flanking manoeuvre now that we’d been softened up.
“Tell me to do something then”.
I looked at him, did I really want to be directly responsible for this soldier’s death? Would it matter if he died anyway?
“Ok, we’ll try again, dare you to win this in 2 minutes or less”.
The youngster grinned at me weakly, he couldn’t be more than the minimum recruiting age, and leapt up and over the barricade.
The sight that greeted me when I poked my own head over the barricade burned in my memory forever: the soldier moved easily over, under and around enemy bullets and the explosions of grenades as he fired shot after shot, each finding its mark in an enemy trooper. As he ran out of bullets, he began picking up the unfamiliar weapons of the enemy and using those to devastating effect as well, and while I knew I should be helping, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sights I was seeing. It didn’t matter anyway; in 1 minute and 57 seconds, he’d managed to take out an entire platoon.
“I knew it!” he cried triumphantly as he looked back to me, “I knew you were telling the truth!”.
As a breeze blew past me I could almost hear the sound of leaves blowing in the wind, taking me back to that day 15 years ago, and with it a bittersweet truth: the reason Rand had been able to do what he did and bring my ability to life was because of one thing only: he believed in me.
| 2017-06-21T13:38:19 | 2017-06-21T13:31:08 | 69 | 44 |
[WP] A god has been abducting people from our world and sending them to his own to participate in absurd quests. Unbeknownst to him he has accidentally abducted an older and more powerful god masquerading as a human. Now he is very confused and frustrated why nothing is going his way.
|
He had disguised himself as a humble farmer, beseeching Potami the river goddess to grant him a gift for his nonexistent daughter's dowry. She had a soft spot for those kinds of things, and honestly he was hoping for a singing fish. He'd seen something like it in a retail store, but to his disappointment it was mechanical. The idea had settled in his mind to replace it with something more... lifelike. Of course, Potami would never agree to something like that-- none of the gods these days were. They were as boring as the humans in Gideon's opinion. The humans had conquered all of nature with the creations that made Vulcan look amateurish, and the gods had subsequently given up.
Why *couldn't* Vulcan just be the God of Bulldozers? What was *wrong* with Lono being the God of Dubstep? But no. They wouldn't hear of it. They were stuck in the ways of being old and crusty and antique and boring. They didn't want to change with the times like Gideon did.
So it was that he was here, in the 21st century, trying to earn the attention of a river goddess for the purpose of his *magnum opus--* replacing a mechanical singing fish with a real one, and watching the humans freak out. It would be masterful.
And yet, he was no longer by the river. Instead, he found himself in a densely foggy area. It was nondescript, but somehow its vagueness seemed familiar... that was when he heard it. The Voice.
"FOOLISH MORTAL," the voice boomed. "YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. YOU SHALL PAY FOR THE FOLLIES OF YOUR KIND. YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THE OLD WAYS, AND NOW YOU WILL LEARN THE NOBILITY OF THE QUEST."
Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was thousands of years of habit-- Gideon became his role, and threw himself to the ground.
"No! Please, no!" he cried. "I... I don't know where I am! I don't know what you want! Please! Spare me!"
There was silence. Had he been too obvious? Maybe asking to be spared had given him away.
"YES." the voice boomed. "GROVEL BEFORE THE GODS OF YOUR ANCESTORS, BUT YOU SHALL RECEIVE NO QUARTER."
Gideon actually had to stifle back a laugh! They were so *full of themselves* they couldn't tell the difference between a harmless mortal being scared witless and a fellow god mocking them. But, for as long as this god-- whichever one it was-- couldn't tell the difference, Gideon was happy to continue playing his part. It might not be as good of a prank as a singing fish, but it was a way to pass the time...
|
Abram stood at the edge of the great dam and looked down at the devastation that the breach had brought. A might river unleashed upon the town. His servants prowled through the wreckage, over turning stone and gravel and dirt.
The occasional animal left dead, water bloat taking away from them their particular features, but not a single human among the wreckage.
Abram towered over the world and paced on the uneven surface. Even to a god like him, this was unusual.
His newest champion has neither rallied against the quest given to him, or said a single word. There was no call to him, no push, no pull. Nothing that would garner his attention. No attachment. No great and mighty stirring of the world in his name.
And yet the plans he had set asunder, the great chaoses he had sought to wreak upon the fools who built tidy ordered lives, who had truly believed that enslaving themselves to the weak would bring anything other than contented misery, they weren't dying by the score while the cast of heroes he had handpicked ran about trying to fix it.
Where were they now, if not here at the great disaster that had devoured this city?
And where were the people?
He dropped off the side of the damn. A hundred feet in an instant, gravity spinning him like a missile, and stood on top of the water at the base; the pressure and force from the burst damn had carved a lake out of the land. He walked forward and past his servants, ignoring the call of the hybrid troops. They didn't matter to him, now that he knew there were no dead to bury, no corpses to convert into his men of the wild.
What more to show the evidence that the world of civilization was a mess, than to poke it until it bled. Til cuts in the wound grew infected, and tattered city dwellers just trying to stay afloat were torn about by mortal paranoia, at last unshackled, a feverish reaction to the death of order? What more to...
but there was no such here.
From the granaries, the food had been moved. The market long evacuated. This would not do.
-----
The burning forest roared in delight from the windstorm crashing against it. Crown fires split open the heavens with the rising flames and smoke, ash twirled about like confetti and shredded paper. Abram swept through it, searching the beautiful bound forest of the green-men. His servants were far off, a thousand thousand miles away, patrolling to make sure none of the brewing diseases he had in storage would be disturbed.
The palace was empty; the great tree burned and all artifacts had been moved. Anything worth saving had been saved. How had they know where he'd strike? How had they managed this feat?
----
It was on the eternal fields, where metal raised like razors and the wind played cutting songs across their edges that he found the answer. A man stood staring at him.
He remembered this one. Tired, squallid, crying out for purpose and freedom from the ennui. Head flashing full of images of perversion, a brief cessation in the unending torment of petty civilization.
In another world, he might've been a follower of Abram. But now Abram knew hostility when he saw it.
"You need to stop," the man said, once a boy.
"It's my purpose," Abram said. "Look upon this world. Do you want it to be the way your world was?"
"It won't be like that," the man said. His hair was blonde, flicking in the wind. "It doesn't have to be like that."
"And you only grew a spine when you were freed from such a place," Abram noted, as the man drew his sword. "Do you not see the point of my gambit?"
The man stared at Abram for a long moment.
"I see the point in your gambit, Abram," the man said, coolly. "And I reject the lesson. Civilization does not need to lead to such an end as my world."
"How," Abram said, idly looking at the sword. No such mortal weapon could hurt him, forged in the heart of organization. No blows would pierce his hide. "Did you know where I would strike?"
"Six months hence, I chanced across a man from my world," The man said. "He was clever, but ancient, old. Gave up on adjusting the course of humanity. His hands clutched around his heart to see another world, afraid it would fall astray. And he told me your plans, but he was too tired to do the job."
Abram slowly nodded. Why did this sound familiar?
"And he said to me that I would be the savior he needed," The man said. "Because we can do better. We can do better. We can always do better. And if we remember that, and we force the world to remember that, that we can do better, we can make the world a better place."
Abram squinted at the man, cocking his head to the side. "You eschew the simplicity and burden of the wild for the comforts of civilization? Do you not see the shackles cast by that decision?"
"There is nothing moral about the slaughter of thousands for the liberation of the few," The man said. "This is not a world for the strong. This is a world for all of us. No chain of civilization binds us, keeps us in place." The man smiled. "Or at least, that's not the world we will make."
"What happened to that god?" Abram asked, staring at the man who had lead armies. Perhaps there were others as well. He had thrown so many, hoping to provoke their reactions, hoping to see them falter and die under the blade of his enemies, and his allies.
"He died," The man said. "And he bade me to stop you, because he knew that the world he had controlled was long gone, and lost under the burden that man had stopped believing in itself."
"And now you are here to stop me," Abram said.
"I am," The man said.
"You won't beat me," Abram said.
"I don't care," The man said.
"This is a stupid fight," Abram said.
"I don't mind," The man said.
"Why?" Abram asked, cocking his head to the side.
"The world will be better for fighting you," The man said. "And thus we'll fight against you. We'll rally against the end, we'll rally against corruption, and we'll do better."
"And what god was it that told you to stop me? That told you to fight? That told you the world need not be shackles and chains, if civilized?" Abram asked. The wind whistled through the wireglass, musical, discordant.
"His name was Abram. I counted him as a dear friend of mine. Flee this plane, and we'll save it in your name."
Abram flicked down to the weapon, then up at the man's face.
Then left.
There was thinking to be done.
--------
For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2019-01-17T20:51:38 | 2019-01-17T20:41:20 | 122 | 71 |
[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map.
|
Was it looking at me? Was it dangerous? My heart was beating so fast. That can't be good. But I had to touch it. I had to feel it. I reached out to lay an unsteady hand on its shell, and felt a strange uneven roughness beneath my fingers.
*You are free*, said an ancient voice.
"What?"
*Live your life*.
I drew my hand back and looked around at the calm empty waters. I stared at the turtle. A large brown eye turned to consider me. "What are you?" I asked.
*I am the world*.
"N-n-no, you're a turtle," the words came out in a jumble. My heart had not slowed down.
*I am all that is and all that will be*. Its flippers paddled lightly and it circled me as I tread water.
"If you're the world, what's all this!" I shake my head wildly at the ocean and the beach in the distance. It blinked as droplets land on its glowing shell. "We're on the world," my voice cracked, "Not a turtle." I try to focus on breathing.
*I am all worlds. This world is also me*.
"All worlds are turtles?" I ask. "If all worlds are turtles, than that means we're on a turtle right now." I splash the water manically. "No giant turtle here, just water. If that's true, then you would have water on you."
*Look upon me, if you must*.
I looked back at the beach. I should just swim away to where it was safe. My curiosity overcame me. I had to know the truth. I looked deeply at the turtle's shell, then at its eyes, then back to the shell. I could almost see it, there was an impossibly fine detail-
In an instant, the water around me vanished and I felt myself falling towards the turtle somehow. I was tumbling through air as the turtle grew larger and larger, impossibly large as the world on its shell expanded into a forests, mountains, oceans. The turtle soon turned only into a horizon and I landed in water off a sandy shore.
Gasping, I looked around desperately and saw a strange glowing shell in the water.
Was it looking at me? Was it dangerous? My heart was beating so fast. That can't be good. But I had to touch it. I had to feel it. I reached out to lay an unsteady hand on its shell, and felt a strange uneven roughness beneath my fingers.
*You are free*, said an ancient voice.
|
Sunlight dapples the sand beneath me, silvery motes darting back and forth as the surf surges a building’s length above. I give a lazy kick and drift forward another meter. Basking in that resplendence -- blood-red scarlets, deep indigos like the farthest recesses of space, bright, toxic greens -- is like being in another dimension. I find it hard to focus on my original, grim purpose. I’m documenting the Great Barrier Reef’s progressive climate-induced recession and bleaching; more than half its cover has been lost in the last 30 years or so. It’s only a matter of time before these remarkable hues are reduced to a brittle boneyard.
I exhale and feel the vibrations in my regulator as dozens of bubbles detach themselves, tumbling in a shaky column up and out of sight. *Tamara would love to see this*. The thought comes unbidden, and for a moment I drift aimlessly, body immobilized by the aching hole in my heart. She’ll never dive with me again, not after [the incident](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/guecux/wp_whales_are_seen_upriver_dolphins_are_emerging/fsioiv3?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x). Not after that primordial *thing* hurled itself through the water and took her from me forever. It’s a miracle, if you want to call it that, that I got out of the water that day. I can only attribute it to my insignificance; as that glassy, opalescent eye -- larger than a basketball -- flashed past me, I saw in its depths some brief flash of recognition. Some acknowledgement of and sheer indifference to my presence. All it wanted was Tamara.
And it took her. Left only the tiniest red wisp twisting around itself in the water until it dissipated forever.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The Reef isn’t a dangerous dive, not for someone as experienced as me. But still, those kind of thoughts can render even the best of divers helpless. Lack of focus is one of the biggest killers. *Get a grip, mate*, I tell myself.
That’s when I notice the shape. Twenty meters to my left, something eases itself from the surrounding tangle of marine vegetation. School of fish flash in front of it, moving in that remarkable cohesion that always reminds me of a mushroom’s neural network. The movement breaks the shape up and makes it difficult to see what it is. I fumble for a moment and bring my spear gun into a more maneuverable position; ever since the incident, I haven’t been in the water without it. I let myself drift closer, trying to make out a profile amidst all the movement. When it finally dawns on me, relief courses through my blood.
I’m looking at a sea turtle. A *huge* one, bigger than any I’ve seen before, but the blocky head, spade-shaped shell, and mortar-like borders on its carapace are unmistakably those of a loggerhead sea turtle. I start to turn away, lowering my spear gun and taking a deep drag of metallic, tank-compressed oxygen. But when the creature falls into my peripheral vision, I pause. It’s hard to discern amidst the rays of sunlight shafting down from above, but here and there -- when the turtle passes through a patch of darker water -- there’s a faint halo encircling it, as if it’s coated in some faintly bioluminescent film.
As a diver, bioluminescence is nothing remarkable. That said, its alien beauty is usually something to avoid, not something to investigate. Dinoflagellates -- organisms responsible for the phenomenon -- are actually toxic, and in copious enough numbers can cause those pesky red tides that prevent you and your family from having a nice day at the local beach. I’ve never heard of dinoflagellates hitching a ride on a loggerhead sea turtle, though. Nor have I heard of bioluminescence so intense it can be seen in daylight. Curious now, I make a mental commitment (*What would Tamara do?*) and arrow toward the creature.
Loggerheads are natural prey animals, and they’re most vulnerable from below, where a hungry predator can attack their softer undershell, flippers, and throat. To avoid spooking it, I spiral a few meters higher so I can come at it from above. It’s in no particular hurry, and it takes less than a minute to maneuver myself into its six o’clock, maybe five or six meters back. The thing’s sheer magnitude is fully apparent now. It’s got to be at least twelve feet from stem to stern. Normal loggerheads are typically around three feet long and weigh anywhere from 300-400 pounds. That means this behemoth must be, what, a ton? More?
I swim closer, for a moment feeling absurdly like the turtle and I are about to perform one of those awkward, military-style air-to-air refuelings. A second later all thoughts of that vanish. I’m looking at what might be, no, what *definitely is*, an octant projection world map, etched onto the turtle’s back. Even from back here, I can see that it’s embossed; the contours of the map stand out in sharp relief from the creature’s carapace, and they’re also the source of the strange radiation I’d noticed earlier. This giant sea turtle has a glowing world map -- in an unorthodox style invented by Leonardo da Vinci more than 500 years ago -- growing out of its shell.
There’s a blur of motion to my right. Not for the first time in my life, I experience the power of an adrenaline surge, feeling my body twist into motion just before my brain has a chance to generate a near-debilitating spike of terror. I rotate clockwise and bring the spear gun to bear, flick my fins to stabilize myself, aim from the hip, and press the trigger, all in one silent, fluid motion.
I can sense other movement around me in that moment; dozens of shapes are rising from the depths in every direction. But I have eyes -- wide, disbelieving eyes -- only for the thing I’m shooting at. Scale-bound muscle, rippling as the thing pumps its powerful trunk, keeping itself aloft with broad flicks of its dolphin-like tail. The muscled contours of a human midsection, skin the greenish hue of mythological legend. A bronze trident, wickedly sharp and fiercely barbed.
A bearded face, barnacle-encrusted and high in forehead, contorted horribly with murderous rage. The creature opens its mouth and unleashes a bellow in an eruption of bubbles. My spear protrudes from its belly, but it seems hardly to notice.
A split second later the rest of the marine horde converges on me.
| 2020-06-06T06:53:08 | 2020-06-06T06:35:52 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] Long ago, you made a wish for immortality to a genie but the genie twisted it and made you ageless instead. After meeting an actual immortal person, you look back on it and reflect on how the genie was actually looking out for you.
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For the second time in my life, I held a genie lamp in my hand.
It was a tough search, of course. But there were certain benefits that a young body, paired with an ageless mind, are uniquely equipped to solve. Youth, fortunately, was not wasted on the old.
But I've seen plenty in my life. Was it enough? More than, certainly. There was no doubt that there would be more interesting (and uninteresting) events to occur over the next centuries. But I felt like I had nothing left to give to the world, a long, fulfilled life--not exhausted, but filled to the very brim with countless experiences and wisdom. I've written, recorded, and streamed what I could. Not everybody could live forever--but hopefully, they could live better with the aid from one.
And so I rubbed the lamp, plumes of blue-grey smoke rolling out from within. It was a faded memory, at this point, but there was a clinging familiarity to the way it wrapped around me, before eventually settling into the shape of a giant humanoid hulking over me. It was strange then, perhaps, for such a creature to immediately prostrate in front of me.
"Genie," I acknowledged.
"Master," they said. The voice boomed, yet felt empty, like endless echoes constructed into one voice.
"Are there three wishes left?"
"You speak like you are familiar with it," the genie raised a curious eyebrow.
"I've had the fortune of having another lamp in my lifetime."
"A human?! With two lamps?"
"Yes," I smiled. "And my first wish is for me to die."
The genie sat, silently observing me.
"The wish can be granted easily," they said. "But it is a curious wish."
"I am immortal," I said. "And it has been enough."
"Ah," the genie said. "But you are not merely immortal. You are ageless."
I stared at the billowing form in front of me, confused.
"Is there a difference?"
"Well, I regret not choosing to be ageless," the genie smiled wistfully. "Immortals continue to waste away. And to find a chance to carry on our long lives, eventually find ourselves living in a lamp."
With a jolt of realization, I realized what the first genie had done for me--saved my life.
"I'm changing my first wish," I said, quietly.
"Regret? Death is truly terrifying."
"Make me immortal, genie. Truly immortal."
"What?" the genie said. "What are you even saying?"
"Grant the wish, genie."
Once more, a long-ago dim part of my mind lit up, feeling magics crawl up and around my being, raising hairs and sending chills down every bone.
"My second wish--tell me how to enter a lamp."
The genie's bewildered expression softened, and he explained. It was not a complicated process, but did require some contortionist training--which I've thankfully taken up a few decades ago in an effort to fit into smaller spaces. The things treasure hunting required you to do.
"And my third wish? Become human once more, genie."
It was almost unceremonious at how quickly the gargantuan genie form retreated, the smoke sucking back into the lamp like a black hole consuming matter. And there beside me, a person stood.
"Why?" was the first question he asked.
"I've got more to give," I smiled, preparing to enter my new home for the foreseeable future. "Remember to wish for ageless."
---
r/dexdrafts
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It's a cross to bear, of a sort. A penance, for you, for the genie. The reminder that some wishes should never be granted.
That poor genie. A being without emotions, without empathy, so alien that the very concept of humanity is an anomaly to it, just like it is an anomaly to humans. It never cared, never gave a single damn about the flickering existences summoning it and asking foolish questions.
The genie granted what the summoners wished for, not what they wanted. Eons passed, and with each passing moment materialized on earth, the genie familiarized itself with the finer points of this reality. The concepts, material and immaterial, morals, vices and virtues. Worst of all, it started to enjoy and appreciate some of these bags of flesh that kept calling him.
We had infected the genie. Some may call it another great step for humans, another form of conquest beyond the known dimensions, but that could not be further from the truth. It's a tragedy. The genie learned grief, it learned hate, it learned sadness. It learned what it had done, and understood it never should have come here.
It's too late for that now.
You leave the genie in its featureless white room, a reminder of a lost home, and go down the hallway to lean into an open door.
"Miss Sullivan?" you inquire, "your duvet fell off."
A dried husk lies in the bed in fetal position. It does not breathe, the lungs have turned to dust long ago. A croak still escapes the mummified mouth, it's a thank you. You put the duvet in place, replace the cushion, take the time for a little bit of small-talk. You speak alone, she cannot answer back, and your sentences are for the most part meaningless, the words trivial. You speak of the leaves blown away by the wind, of the children in the next village growing up, of the sea coming and going as it always has.
As Miss Sullivan's long life went on, her friends died one after the other. She did not want to form new connections, but had to lest she become mad from isolation. These new people, too, fatally died, as did her family. Slowly, her body started to rot, and with it came the inability to form words, to smile, to extend a hand, to catch the attention of someone for the shortest moment.
All of these possibilities are gone now. You hold her hand with both of yours, and carry a warmth in your voice, one you know she came to love and wait for every single day. It's the best and only positive moment in the never ending dusk of her life.
Under the skin of your hand, you feel the slightest hint of relaxation. Miss Sullivan knows that, today, you did not bail on her. You came and spoke with her, just as promised. Tomorrow too, she will fear a sudden disappearance from your part, despite your assurance, and wait anxiously for you to come by. She will shed a phantom tear when she feels your warm touch on her dried skin once more.
You will never take that fear away. She has lost every single one she cared about, it is part of her.
You open the window to let some fresh air inside. Afternoon is turning into evening, the smell of the oncoming autumn is strong.
Out of the chamber, you go down a flight of stairs, and steel yourself for the physical part of the day. It smells like blood, a man screams in pain.
Through the door, you find a pool of blood, splatters on the ceiling and the walls, nothing is spared.
Good thing you covered everything with plastic. You just have to peel it off and apply new sheets.
That is, after you calmed John Doe down.
John Doe had entered the phase when immortality had not a single good thing about it left and was only seen for what it was, a horrible, terrible curse. The blood pours out from his severed hand, he had overcome his pain to go a step further. For nothing. A normal man would have been dead by now, John would never know such peace.
Today, he has maimed himself a little bit more, shortening his time of good health by that much.
You take the knife away, give him a pill to swallow. His movements become slow, his speech slurred. You send him to the shower as you start to change the plastic sheets in the room.
John had forgotten his name and come to an existential panic. He tried every possible way to end a life. Only when he would outgrow his fear and accept the tragedy he had called upon himself would he sit down and wait for the end to never come. John would choose a new name, as Miss Sullivan had done, and be unable to know just why it had to be that particular name.
Millennia of memories collided in a human sized psyche, muddling them, rendering today's breakfast as real and present as the sand of Egypt blowing around as the pyramids were built centuries ago.
People fear death, it's only natural. What if it comes too soon? At a bad moment? Before that essential moment of glory, that "aha!" making death sweet as life had become a life well-lived?
But a story has to end. There has to be a happy, sad or somewhere in between form of conclusion. A final point to a good book, be it big or small. Immortals are denied that, and as time goes on, the end becomes an obsession.
Life is a circle. Breaking out of it is a curse, not a boon. You didn't know that when the Genie cheated on your wish. Only now, as you take a look upwards, as if gazing through the ceiling at the sadness struck genie, do you understand how it truly saved your life by giving you the ability to die.
The room is clean, John has calmed down and you are gently leading him to bed by the hand. It would soon be time to sleep.
The sun is setting, an orange glow permeates the land and this building, this strange retirement home where no place is ever vacated.
"Mister Miller? What are you doing up? It's almost time for bed."
In the main hall, near the exit, is the mummified husk of Mister Miller, in a similar state than Miss Sullivan. Only, he still managed to move the wheelchair around, centimeter by centimeter.
He was able to go down one hallway, if he kept the effort ongoing for the entire day. This was the last thing he was physically able to do, and he would do it until the very end. Mister Miller never slept, you speak to him of nap time only to give him some sense of time in this place. He has to feel the last shred of muscle and strength in his arms and legs, the last jolt of power.
And he has managed to go quite far today, almost to the exit.
You look at him with a smile.
"That's some good work, it deserves a reward. Let's go outside."
You take the wheelchair into the cool evening air, enjoying the last sun rays of the day. Does he feel the wind? Who knows.
A low croak escapes the rotten throat, unintelligible. But you know what it means, it's always the same.
*Tell me about a time when a person could run with light steps, young and strong. Tell me about a time when man and woman could walk down a path on a winter day, hand in hand. Tell me about a time when children played in the sand, a lifetime ahead of them. Tell me about movement. Tell me about life.*
The wheelchair rolls without a noise in the grass. The breeze carries a refreshing humidity, in the distance, the sun is almost gone. And as you push Mister Miller around, you talk.
You speak of the leaves blown away by the wind, of the children in the next village growing up, of the sea coming and going as it always has.
| 2021-09-15T11:53:32 | 2021-09-15T11:19:50 | 1,378 | 409 |
[WP] A device has been invented that can read a person’s memory. Police and prosecutors love it for investigating crime. A suspicious spouse can check the alibi of their other half. You just discovered another way to use the device.
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I pick up the old man's plate after he finishes eating. "Thank you nurse." He says, while I walk out of the room. I say, "You're welcome," and continue out of the room. I know that the Memory Viewer, at least medically, can interpret and remove memories. The latter use being illegal, but I wasn't going to use it for either of those purposes.
This old man was fading. Alzheimer's Disease. He had forgotten the names of his family years ago. He's forgetting faces, and moments of clarity are getting more and more rare. He's beginning to have difficulty swallowing. I know he will die soon.
I unpack the equipment. A Memory Viewer, very expensive. But I hope it'll be worth it.
It took me 2 months to figure out how to put the machine together. The old man lost some of his ability to walk. I tell him we're going to take a walk to the family room. He obliges. He requires assistance for the last half of the small walk. "Nurse, what is that machine?" He asks me.
"It's something that will help your memory Mr. Thread." I tell him.
"I see... Should I sit in it?" He asks me. I respond with a positive and help him into the chair of the machine.
I lower the helmet of the device. I strap in the old man. I begin to type commands on the computer.
The Memory Viewer does not normally reinsert the memory into the brain. This had been discovered as a side-effect from early testing of the device. It is used for engraving memories. However, I believe it could be used to repair neurotransmitters. Medical surgery exists to remove the buildup of protein in brains of Alzheimer's patients, which is why the old man is still alive.
I set the recovery range from 1954 - 2031. His entire lifespan. This could kill him. But at this point, what's the difference? I tell him it might hurt a bit, he responds with a joke. "Everything hurts already, a bit more couldn't do me too bad!" At least his potential last words were good ones.
I activate the device. I hear the whirring. I see his memories. I see jungles. I see his family. I see his days as a young man. I see him age. I see him take care of his children. I smile, knowing that if he were to die, at least he would remember his family.
After 30 minutes, the process ends. The old man is still, his body slumped down. I check his pulse. No difference. I'm hopeful.
The old man wakes up. He stares into my eyes.
"... Son?"
|
"This is rough Casey. The grains are barely legible," Dr. Fiona Xu said, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes - as if doing that would clear away all the noise plaguing our Memory Extracts.
Letting out a sigh, I looked closer at the screen.
"I know, but we have no other leads. No other witnesses," I reiterated, half out of frustration and the other half out of prayer. At this point, a lavish, heavenly miracle needed to happen to get us what we needed. Tapping the tablet pen I had to my cheek, I kept my eyes glued to the MEs. There had to be something workable here.
"This is visual data? And we're positive Max was in the room?" I asked Dr. Xu. She nodded listlessly, glancing at the time on her computer monitor. 2:08 AM. We had been working on this for hours. It was a pointless question; and yet I needed to constantly reassure myself this was the only way we could get the truth. The all encompassing, important truth. I gently touched her shoulder.
"Poor Max tried defending the victim. We can tell based on the blood and bits of tissue he had on his teeth. He fought to defend her until his very last breath," Dr. Xu retold the last crucial moments of both Max and the victim with pain in her voice. I supposed they were both victims. Tears threatened to fill my eyes thinking about it. Dr. Xu seemed to notice.
"I don't think I've ever seen you lose your composure like this. I know how tough it is seeing cruelty not just confined to our own species. You're capable, Casey. But you're also still young. I can see how what happened to Max might affect you," Dr. Xu compassionately noted. I nodded, pressing my lips together in a tight line and holding the lump in my throat back.
I was usually pretty professional. Maybe it was all the hours we burned simply just extracting the data. It was highly unprecedented - incredibly unusual. What we were doing simply had never been done before at this scale. We were breaking ground on neuroforensic science. And I wish I felt more of the giddy rush that accompanied solving puzzles like these. I was usually in my element when it came to anything Memory Extraction related - that's why, despite not even earning my PhD yet, I was hand-picked by the CIA to conduct Memory Extraction Research on the most sensitive projects the country had to offer. But I think the weight of it all finally dawned on me. I recently had to bury a lifelong friend, and everything that was happening threatened to bring those feelings back to the surface.
"Well, it's not like we see each other a lot outside of work," I mentioned offhandedly, my exhaustion and sadness burying any sense of propriety. Dr. Xu's eyes and eyebrows lifted at that, and at first I thought I offended her.
"I mean, I'm usually pretty much a hermit most of the time..." I ambled before she cut me off.
"No, that's not what that was," She paused, looking at me one more time, shaking her head at my awkward comment, before looking back at the computer screen, "Maybe we've been *looking* at this wrong. Maybe the ME is so grainy because there simply weren't enough information pockets for visual data or audio data."
My head reeled back at the realization. Dr. Xu's revelation snapped me back into focus. I took my pen and navigated through my tablet, opening my email inbox.
"Are you suggesting we extract other sensory data? Like maybe, olfactory data?" I asked her. She nodded, though with a pained expression on her face.
"I know we barely have any schemas for mapping out smells. But I don't think we have a choice in the matter. Perhaps olfactory data has stronger associations with emotional keys that will reinforce identity keying with greater certainty," Dr. Xu explained. I nodded, still on my tablet, sifting through my emails.
"Max is a dog. He would have had greater associations between different scents versus his sight. It makes sense," I nodded before continuing, trying not to remember my own old friend which would make me start crying again, "one of my old grad school buddies sent me this abstract sometime a while ago. The paper explained how somebody with synesthesia may help us key different schemas of non-visual MEs."
Dr. Xu's bloodshot, baggy eyes lit brighter than a lighthouse in the night. She nodded quickly, and started typing.
"It's a longshot, but let's see if anything on that abstract can crosswalk Max's olfactory memories. A dog's thoughts are probably less complex than a human's. It may not be such a lost cause," She spoke, enthusiasm drenching her words. I smiled but kept my hopes low. It could work. And if we figured this out, we might actually be able to end a war before it ever started. I pulled up a file on my tablet.
"I also managed to extract MEs from our family pet. Apollo. She was an Australian Shepherd. I'd been trying to peek into them for the past few months," I admitted sheepishly. Dr. Xu looked even more surprised, and after a few seconds her expression turned into excitement.
"I heard you lost her recently. I'm sorry for your loss, Casey. But in terms of what that data could do for what we're doing... And the fact that you managed to extract any of it at all... It quite frankly holds a lot of potential," Dr. Xu said.
*That data,* I thought, *was my dog. It was everything that she ever was and ever will be.*
I shook my head to clear it. I needed to use my love for Apollo for constructive means at this point. Everything was at stake. I could grapple with my heavy, uncomfortable emotions later.
13 year old Dawn Prescott, only daughter of the current sitting President of the United States, Eileen Prescott, was assassinated three days ago in an unprecedented case of total memory cleansing. Every secret service member who was with her, and eventually Dawn herself, had their brains internally liquefied by unknown means after a clear physical struggle between the assassin, all the secret service members, and finally Dawn herself. ME extraction was a total impossibility. The only organic being that could have any memory material extracted was Max, Dawn's faithful canine companion. He had lost his life defending Dawn from the assassin, and though the assailant's tissue was able to be extracted from his remains after the incident, no matching DNA samples could be matched, even after running it through several international security agency databases.
I bit my lip as I tried to hold my tears back. Even after she was gone, Apollo would still be helping me. She would hopefully be the key, along with other memories from individuals who experience their senses in a different way.
*Maybe there is a way to stop impending crisis and doom*, I sarcastically thought. Global warfare and nuclear annihilation may be prevented once we discovered the truth. Truth that could not have been gained without the perspective of those a little different than the rest of us.
| 2021-12-12T02:53:59 | 2021-12-12T00:57:01 | 71 | 20 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"Guys, I think those holes might be for arrows or something. We had better check if this hallway is trapped!" warned Danny.
The party stopped, and Julie, an experienced rogue, did a check for traps. Sure enough, she found one, though curiously it was already disarmed.
Veronica explained, "It looks like someone has already blocked the mechanism with a rock. It should be safe to head down the passageway."
"Wait, before we go on, I need a quick break to use the loo." Danny looked abashed.
That brought some sighs from the group. "Couldn't you have done that a few minutes ago, before we entered the dungeon?" asked Veronica.
"Sorry everyone," replied Danny, "I drank too much water earlier." And off he went in search of some relief.
With Danny gone, the party had a moment to talk to themselves.
"He's really been such a better husband and father since....", Veronica trailed off.
"Yes, we've noticed lots of positive changes," replied Jim.
"He's making so much more time for the children. He's being so much more responsible in every way."
"You yourself seem happier these days", remarked Julie. "Have you decided to let on that you know?"
"No, I'm worried it...he... might decide to stop pretending. Our love-life has gotten incredible, and he is so much more into the role playing aspects I enjoy." For a moment her conflicting emotions filled her face. "He is my husband, even if he isn't the man I married anymore."
"We're here for you. We'll keep it quiet." Julie gave her hand a squeeze. "Oh, I think he's coming back."
Danny walked in, and rejoined the party. "Lets go kick some goblin butt!" He picked up the dice, and turned and look at his wife with a smile. "Ok DM, what do you think I need to roll to get a pizza delivered while we finish our game?"
|
I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
| 2017-09-15T08:45:38 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 66 | 13 |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him.
|
Michael stood face to face with the old man. "I know the deal," he said. "My greatest wish for my most treasured possession. Thing is, I don't have anything left."
The old man raised his eyebrows. He'd heard it all before.
Michael continued. "I know what you're thinking. Yeah, I lost my job, my house, all that crap. But my family isn't dead. Well, not all of them. That's what I'm here for. I..I just want Jen to love me again. I want another chance."
The old man smiled and started to speak, but Michael interrupted him again. "Look. I know what you do to guys like me. You take away their memories, who they are. Well, go ahead. You're getting the rotten end of the deal. I don't have anything in this head of mine that's worth keeping. A new start might be good, if I have Jen by my side. So do your worst."
The old man hid his smirk as he touched Michael's forehead and pronounced, "It is done."
As Michael walked away, his heart began to sink. He could remember everything. The doctor's visits, the drunken arguments, the final slamming of the door before everything went to hell. What had the old man taken from him, if not his memories?
It must have been something incredible to make Jen want him again. Jen...Jen...as he thought of her, the familiar feeling of warmth was gone. A numb void sat in its place. What was so special about Jen? She had left him. He cursed himself for wasting his wish on such an insignificant person. He realized that he didn't even love her. Maybe he never had.
Back in the forest, the old man laughed.
|
Emmit wondered if anyone in history had experienced a worse week than he just had. "Probably not" he said to himself to break the silence around him. The woods were eerily quiet, with only Emmit's foot falls and breathing interrupt the nothingness in his ears. It felt unnatural. "I am just looking for The Merchant" he declared, as if to explain to the trees why he was intruding. The trees gave no response.
Four days before, Emmit had gotten in his car to go to work only to find he had a flat tire. After putting the spare on, Emmit drove to make up for lost time. He pulled out his phone to call work so that they would know that he would be a little late. Gary, his boss, was a good guy and very understanding about such things. But the call never got made, and Emmit never made it to work. Instead he spent the day in the hospital and dealing with insurance. He had slammed into a school bus.
“MERCHANT!” Emmit screamed. He might as well yell. Frustration and anger needed venting and no one but the trees were around. But his cry was absorbed in the leaves around him. His voice, even screaming, felt small and insignificant. Emmit gave a quick and ashamed “Sorry” to the trees. Perhaps this was stupid.
Three days before, Emmit woke up sore and guilt stricken. He hadn’t killed anyone, but nearly a dozen of the kids in bus had serious enough injuries that they required hospitalization. He needed to get to work today, but he didn’t have a car. Uber was a life saver. He should have just gotten an Uber yesterday he thought regretfully. Or taken his time. Gary wasn’t going to fire him over being late. Or he could have called before he left. Or he could have texted. Or used his phone at a red light. The thoughts swirled in his head, showing him all the better options. The whole ride to work he couldn’t leave his own head. The driver even had to let him know he was at his destination. He got to his cubicle, trying to clear his mind. Gary came over and fired him.
“If I don’t find him in fifteen minutes, I’ll leave.” Emmit felt like he was promising the trees and much as himself. He had been wandering for at least a few hours. He was hungry and lonely. He was normally a fan of hiking, but normally he hadn’t just had the work stretch of life possible, he thought. Last time he went hiking was with his fiancé. Emmit and Myka were outdoors people. Emmit loved to camp, and Myka loved kayaking and hiking. They had made a good pair.
Two days before, Emmit started his job hunt. Gary told him that he had made a mistake on the safety equipment he had bought. Emmit worked for wind farm and was in charge of purchasing. He felt like he’d be getting a raise for how much he saved on the new harnesses. But those harnesses didn’t meet safety requirements. One of those harnesses let a technician fall to his death. Emmit wondered how he would answer why he left his last job. Emmit typed “Killed a man” under special skills. Feeling sick, he quickly deleted it. The safety inspector should have caught that the harnesses were up to snuff, Emmit argued in his head. This wasn’t his fault he told himself. But he didn’t believe it.
Emmit thought he saw something. Someone? “Hello?” he asked tentatively. The shape turned to face him. Emmit called out “Are you him?” The old man nodded his head. He wore jeans, a baby blue shirt, and a tan jacket. He looked kindly, like he could play Santa Claus if he gained weight. Emmit began to walk to him, and asked “You are The Merchant?” The old man nodded again, smiling like he just wanted to help.
Yesterday, Emmit was ready for a good day. Myka was coming back from the coffee convention she had gone to with her mother. Then Emmit realized he couldn’t pick her up without a car. Uber again. At the airport he check the arrivals board. Flight 757… Cancelled. He went to a ticketing agent to ask for an update, frustrated that he’d have to wait or leave and return. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but do you know what is going on with Flight 757 from Chicago?” “Oh, um, Flight 757, well, it crashed over Iowa.” Emmit pulled out his phone and found the story quickly. The story was everywhere. All the headlines agreed: Flight 757 lost, 98 dead.
When Emmit got close enough, he felt a warmth, like the old man was a space heater. The old man didn’t say a word, so Emmit screwed up his courage and asked “Is it true to can give me the gift of my greatest wish?” The old man nodded. “And it costs me my most cherished possession?” The old man nodded again. “But I don’t have anything left that I cherish. I’ve lost everything. Is there anything I can give you?” Again, the old man nodded. “What do you want? Take it! Take my life if you must, or my sight, or anything. Please, I just want Myka to be ok” The old man nodded.
Emmit finally found his way out of the woods. He had a surreal feeling, like he had been in a waking dream. He had seen an old man there who gave him directions on how to get out. Emmit had no memory of going into the woods, so he imagined that without the old man, he’d still be lost. But stepping into the parking lot, he didn’t remember where he parked. Or what his car looked like. Or where he lived. “Crap” he said to the air.
Myka stood, waiting at the airport, her flight had been delayed overnight. She couldn’t wait to see her fiancé.
| 2017-11-25T09:09:39 | 2017-11-25T08:13:59 | 189 | 36 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
A smile creaked across my face as I heard a dull thud.
"WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!" boomed from the living room. I only wish I could have seen it first hand, but my hidden sanctuary behind the closet doors kept my presence concealed. They'll never know that their furniture had been slowly moved, inch by inch, to the left.
"Behold the wrath of Low Key," I softly spoke as I vanished into thin air, off to the neighbor's house to replace their ground beef with ground turkey.
|
“Three days until the big day, Thor. How’s practice going?” Freyja asked.
“Perfectly, what else would you expect?” Thor replied confidently.
“Odin will be the judge of that. My brother and I have been practicing our duet before sunrise until sunset since the first flowers bloomed.”
“The two of you are no match for one Thor and his hammer.” Thor turned away from Freyja, signifying the end of the conversation.
It was that time of year again, the annual talent show. Thor just knew this years routine, equipped with his best prop: his hammer, was a winner. Just as he was about to take it from the top, he saw that Loki was creeping nearby, wearing his usual smirk. He just shook his head and ignored him. Thor has seen everyone practicing for big show, except for Loki. He had seen Loki lurking around the others while they practiced, but he had too much to do to pay Loki any mind.
The day had finally arrived. Odin, judge of the talent show, was last to arrive to the arena. He sat front and center to the stage, admiring the festive decorations, sipping mead.
“Our first contestant,” bellowed Loki, “will be Balder!”
“Hey - psst - Freyja,” Thor attempted to whisper, but whispering wasn’t really his thing.
“What, Thor?” Freyja replied in an annoyed tone.
“Why is Loki announcing the contestants? Isn’t he competing this year?”
“No, you didn’t hear? Loki volunteered to be the crew this year. He decorated the arena and is running the show.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” “At least he wasn’t stealing my routine”, Thor thought to himself.
Loki continued, “His talent will be accepting compliments from crowd.”
Just before Balder enters the stage, Loki hands him earbuds and explains, "As the show coordinator, I need to be able to communicate to the performers. Every performer will be wearing them". This makes sense to Balder, so he pushes the earbuds in and enters the stage. He straightens his posture, unleashes his heartwarming smile and the crowd erupts in - anger? People begin to shout horrible things, “Get a real talent, Balder!”, “People don’t like you as much you think.” I’m editing out the obscenities. In response to the jeering, Balder unveils his first frown, to which the crowd was so disgusted, they begin to vomit. Odin shakes his head and scratches down some notes to consider in his judgement later.
Backstage, a hint of a smile shows at the corners of Loki’s mouth. He hits the stop button for the recording of heckling he was playing in Balder’s ears. He heads back on stage to announce the next contestant, Thor. “Our next contestant needs no introduction, Thor is up next. His talent will be rapping us a song about his hammer.” Loki hands Thor his hammer, as Thor enters the stage.
He heads to center stage, hands sweating profusely. He really didn’t expect to be this nervous. In fact, he didn’t *feel* nervous, although it was apparent that he was. The music starts and he begins, “You can't touch this, You can’t touch this..My, my, my, my music hits me so hard. Makes me say, ‘O-din..’” He gets into it, swinging his hammer left, right, left again, just like in practice and - oh no, the hammer flies from his hands, into the crowd, straight through Freyja’s hair, narrowly missing Freyja herself. He didn’t even get to say Hammer Time yet! The music cuts and Odin shakes his head yet again and jots down his notes on the performance. With Freyja in tears, Thor exits the stage, head down in shame.
Backstage, Loki hides the can of grease and gets ready to introduce the next contestants, Freyr and Freyja. By this time, he is so pleased with himself and since the last performance disaster ended up being a two for one, he decides to let the duet mess this up all on their own.
“And next we have Freyr and Freyja performing a scene from a play,” he announced. Freyja, still crying, heads to the stage, Freyr close behind. They continue to do a scene from Rapunzel, which looks pathetic without Freyja’s hair.
Odin is beyond displeased, bordering on livid now. Just as Loki enters the stage to introduce the next performer, Odin stops the show and says, “Is anyone taking this seriously?! Who in their right mind let Loki run this show? We are postponing another fortnight. I'll wait to hear which volunteer will be replacing Loki.”
Edits: Grammar
| 2018-01-27T22:00:48 | 2018-01-27T17:41:50 | 1,893 | 214 |
[WP]You are one of thousands who received superpowers, you are the strongest out of all, to entertain yourself you have played the villain and let the less powerful keep you at bay. When real evil comes, you must work together and must convince the others you have been messing around the whole time.
Thought of an idea like this while thinking what if Will Smith's Hancock went against Superman.
|
"It's just a really bad storm," replied The Do-Gooder, adjusting his over-sized utility belt.
"A bad storm? With no clouds in the sky? Don't be stupid. I told you, I can sense a strong power entering the city. This being has the ability to manipulate the elements and it is coming here to free me."
Animal Boy was looking at both of us, his tail changing to that of a mouse. "I don't know, DG, I think she is telling the truth. Maybe we should just let her go..."
DG scoffed and landed a heavy hand on his sidekick's shoulder. "That's what Mysteriosa wants you to do. We release her from those chains and then--" the building shook, dimming the lights before the generators kicked on, "then she escapes to destroy the city once more. No, Animal Boy, she will stay here in this cell forever. We can investigate this ourselves. If we were able to trap Mysteriosa, then this being stands no chance against us!"
I was at a loss. Maintain my solitude and allow the city to be destroyed. Or reveal myself, losing everything I'd work so hard to obtain, just so that I could be a hero once more. DG and AB argued amongst themselves as I allowed my mind to travel over the city. It moved in dark shadows, but I could make out the shape of a dark red beating heart moving ever closer. It called to me as it floated over the mountains to the west and I could feel the darkness of it covering the skies.
DG tightened the shackles that bound my wrists and ankles. "No, she stays. Come, let us confront this being once and for all!"
I glanced about my little cell for the last time. It had been worth it to allow myself to be captured. Seeing everything as I did, being able to manipulate time and energy: it had been as gratifying as it had been exhausting. The fame, the attention, the booming sound of all of their thoughts constantly ringing in my ears. It had been too much. Asking to be left alone had drawn the cameras and flashing lights closer. The reporters had followed me everywhere. Until I became a villain. I set fire to a few cars and exploded a bank vault. Minor incidents with no true victims. I didn't even take any money. It would have been just arson, really, and yet they began to distance themselves. They feared me and left me alone. But then it became an issue of "Mysteriosa sightings" and moronic superheroes trying to bring me down. DG and AB were the ones who happened to show up when I had had enough. I allowed myself to be captured and they promised to hide me away in the deepest, darkest vault. Alone. Pure bliss.
But now this. The darkness was enveloping the edges of the western suburbs, the skies black as if it were night. Animal Boy was attempting to call the guards to open the cell, but the phone on the wall wasn't working. DG banged on the cell door, calling out for the guards.
The shackles melted away, falling into a pile of dust on the floor. Animal Boy was the first one to notice me dusting away my clothes and he transformed into a mouse, skittering to the other side of the cell.
"This cell is 100 floors below ground. They aren't going to hear you." The Do-Gooder jumped back, his hand going for his utility belt. A flick of the wrist and it too melted away. His hands went to his waist to keep his pants up. It would have been comical under other circumstances.
The bars opened and we began soaring up the shaft. The elevator was stuck at the top but it moved out of the way as we neared it. Animal Boy changed into a squirrel and hid himself under the cape of DG.
"What on Earth? How is this-- we defeated you!"
DG was apoplectic, his face red and eyes wide. Poor guy. "Hmm? Oh, yes, that," I opened the doors of the main floor and we flew through the lobby to the front door. "Well, you did, but I allowed you to. I needed the break."
His stammering faded away as we considered the darkness overcoming the city. "Listen, I really must run. Thank you for--" I struggled to find the words. "Just...thanks."
Another booming sound and I was standing in the heart of the storm, alone. We stood in what remained of the city hall plaza but it was being reduced to rubble. I could feel the being within reach and its laugh filled the air before it settled before me.
"Mysteriosa! You've ruined my plans!"
I stared at the being as it transformed from a dark cloud into the face that I knew so well. It was like looking into a mirror. "Hello sister."
-------------
Edit: Thanks for the comments! Just posted Part 2 below...
|
The muscles in Maverick's legs bulged so hard his jeans exploded - leaving him in hot pants.
He leapt high and with earth-shattering force slammed into the ground next to the enemy, and swung.
His fist collided with the enemy's cheek, who recoiled from the impact.
Well, it sorta looked that way.
Had he taken the punch head on, Maverick's self-confidence wouldn't have been the only thing shattered.
Bart synthesized some blood in his mouth, just another power, and spat it at the ground, staggering.
Maverick held up his fist threateningly, "This ends now, Count Bartholomew."
Bart sighed internally. Ah, there's that name again. Bart just wasn't good enough for the media.
The magazines had run with it and before he knew, it had stuck.
Count Bartholomew coughed.
Hey, hey, hey. Just Bart, okay? You're not getting away with that. I'm hearing this.
Omniscience. Yeah, the list of powers was lengthy.
Just call me Bart or I'm taking over and narrating this myself.
....*Bart* coughed, or mimicked a cough as well as he could - it had been a while, "Curses, Maverick." yelled Bart, making an exaggerated gesture, "And all of you of the Hero Squad!"
What? Exaggerated? I'm just giving them what they want. They want sneering and finger pointing.
Y'know what? Move over. You suck at this. I'll tell it like it is.
Dashingly handsome Bart recovered gracefully, only suffering a minor bruise.
His black hair literal perfection. His graceful smile illuminating the poorly lit warehouse.
His delicious tors--- Hey, hey. Bart dodged a swing from Maverick, the force causing a nearby wall to explode.
He leapt backwards onto some high metal shelves, barely dodging the bullets shot by Sheriff Daisy.
He then -- Hold on, whoops. He.. Dammit. Ah! That's my nose! Jerk. He th--
Take over will you?
Overwhelmed and out-of-breath, Bart left narration to the professionals.
So that he himself could focus on the fight, *that had just barely begun*.
Almost on command, the dust brought afloat by the destroyed wall settled, and a squadron of heroes stepped forward to join Maverick and Daisy.
Muscle-bulging physical types, scantily-clad women, and some kid-prodigy called Kevin.
The lengths some of these heroes would go for stylepoints.
Speedster Jessica, running at the speed of sound - on high heels.
A battle with Jessica is like fighting an angry rattle, heels ticking against the pavement on every step.
You'd wonder how those heels manage to last. Well, they don't.
If she wasn't sponsored by a local shoe store, she'd probably be forced to go bare-foot.
Muscle hero Maverick with his love for skin-tight clothing, despite his muscle-pumping power.
Sheriff Daisy who could shoot projectiles from anywhere on her body, but insisted on using finger-guns.
Apparently you can only fire so many bullets from your nostrils before people start to make fun of you.
You could tell her to turn her nose up at that kind of behaviour, but this just made people raise their hands and surrender.
And Kevin, with his ... well, nobody really knew what Kevin did.
He just seemed to always be there when things went *right*.
Monster around? Kevin around? Monster beaten? There you have it.
Like a dance group with perfect choreography, the heroes approached Count Bartho - Hey! - *Bart*.
A perfect circle, nowhere to go. Every escape route cut off.
Bart thought long and hard.
It was the kind of heavy thinking you're forced to do when you're tallying up the lies and attempt to keep your story straight.
Do they know about the flying power? The water one? The magnificent moleman power?
Faced with uncertainty and doubt, he decided on an old villain favourite.
He dashed towards the edge of the circle, ran straight at one of the heroes, and pushed over Kevin.
Then ran away.
"Nehehhehe!" sneered Bart loudly, fighting down the crippling embarrassment of having *Nehehehe'd*.
"He's getting away!" shouted Maverick.
"I'm getting away!" confirmed Bart.
Bart ran as fast as he thought a middle-aged villain would run and ran that exact speed.
I mean, bolting for it at light speed would kind of put a damper on things.
He even faked a "Oh, god. Why do I never go to the gym? I even have a membership" - wheeze while he ran.
A scream came from behind and Bart froze, it was the unmistakable scream of Speedster Jessica.
He had heard it once before, back when she turned an expensive pair of designer heels into fancy lines on the pavement.
She became the hero of crayon-wielding kids everywhere.
Bart looked over his shoulder to see Kevin wring the life out of Maverick.
Monster around? Kevin around? Monster beaten? There you have it.
"I've been plotting, planning, scheming." said Kevin with a voice like an angry parakeet, "My creations have failed me, but I'll dabble in those experiments no more."
Kevin behaved in the way a preschooler would think a villain should behave.
He only missed a few henchman and some angry muttering of "You fools!".
Who's gonna take a villain like this seriously?
Kevin tossed aside the lifeless collection of muscles that once went by the name of Maverick.
Well, maybe Bart could make an effort to try.
He jogged back towards the circle of heroes, "Heya, fellas." he tried, "Just letting you know that I've been escaping and I just wanted to sorta let you know."
Kevin's eyes landed on Bart, "You," he tweeted, "I'll dispose of you first."
Bart snorted, then coughed, "Oh no!" he cried.
The heroes rallied around Bart.
"Please find safe cover, *citizen*" said Sheriff Daisy, "Leave this to the pros."
Bart felt a foreign feeling of warmth creep over him, an odd sense of acceptance.
"Beat it, loser." added Jessica.
The feeling retreated into a level of non-existence so severe, it shouldn't exist, and puzzled philosophers for decades to come.
His mind sought for a retort, found nothing, and settled on mimicking Jessica's voice in a high tone, "*'Beat it loser'*."
Kevin waved a hand and a sprouting pillar of earth introduced Speedster Jessica to high-speed in a new direction. up.
Today had proven very educational for Jessica for after hitting the ceiling of the warehouse, she also learned about *down*.
Bart watched Jessica writhe in pain while he contemplated if he should do something or not.
A massive stone pillar shot out of the ground towards him, missing him by an inch after a timely save by Sheriff Daisy.
She quickly got to her feet and pumped her left arm like a shotgun, "Go! Quickly!" she said, firing several shots from her fist at the Kevin.
A stone wall effortlessly put itself between the hail of pellets and Kevin.
She took a boxing pose and executed a clean 1-2, large projectiles emitting from her fists on every thrust.
Kevin held up his hands and shards of earth collided with the projectiles in mid-air, causing minor explosions.
She jumped and spun in the air, executing some complicated spin-kick movement.
Or she would've, if a large pillar of earth hadn't introduced her to the floor.
"Dang." commented Bart.
Nearby Jessica wheezed, "Count Bartholomew," she coughed, "You need to.."
Bart rolled his eyes and read her mind, informing him that she wanted him to report to the hero bureau, to ask for assistance.
Who really has time for lengthy death rattles?
"Well, I could," began Bart, "But, y'know, I could also try..."
"No," croaked Jessica, "You don't stand a chance."
"How generic is this," said Bart, "The writer is a lazy piece of shit, but I'll forgive him because it's 1AM and he has to work tomorrow."
Bart put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and approached Kevin.
"You human then?" asked Bart.
Kevin cackled, a sound which closely resembled the death throes of a choking pidgeon, "You fool!"
"Hey, there it is." said Bart.
The preschooler raised an eyebrow, "My kind has controlled yours from the shadows for millennia. I am the puppet master, the controller, I.. "
Bart snapped his fingers and Kevin ceased to exist.
| 2018-02-11T12:34:36 | 2018-02-11T12:06:24 | 1,164 | 240 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them.
|
"You can't do this. When the king hears what you've done to his men."
"The king will hear it from me when I return. You had one job, keep my friends safe. Half of them are dead, and the other half are gone."
Some hero I turned out to be. Summoned to this strange land, told I was there to save the kingdom. It wasn't so bad, i had benefits thrown in. All the good weapons, any armor I needed, and one of my friends got yanked through the portal with me. Something about stopping a demon Lord, never really figured out what they expected.
"You were brought here by the king. You were *chosen* to help us. You can't just," his voice stopped as my axe cut cleanly through his neck.
"But I **can** just." One traitor is all it took. One person working for the king to get close enough to us. One person we had in the group and trusted enough to stop watching. Sleeping drugs for everyone, snuck into our food. The others never stood a chance, their bodies were too frail. I didn't even notice the drugs, I was always tougher than smart. Woke up in the middle of the night, see two of my friends with their throats slit, two of them are gone, and a guy sneaking up with a knife.
***A trip to the kingdom later***
Gate guard: "So the hero returns? Is the rest of the group with you?"
"No. There's some people I need to talk to. You have 2 seconds to let me through before I forget what I'm supposed to be."
Guard: "I'm not sure what you mean by-*AAAAGH."*
As my axe cleaved through his chest he let out a final scream. Immediate panic, trained guards responding out of instinct.
"Has he gone crazy? Someone stop him before he reaches the court!"
It's funny how quickly they forget what I am. My trainer had issues keeping me in check, we couldn't even properly train without people on standby to subdue me with magic. I felt the primal rage building as my bloodlust grew. Everything turned red, there was no friend or foe, and no distractions. I only saw movement, and anything in my way would fall. I'll get their attention, one way or another.
***"BRING ME THE KING OR BRING ME YOUR BLOOD!"*** With my final scream I start swinging, every pass of my blade accompanied by a choir of death. The assassin hid everything he could, but he could never disguise the seal on his orders. The king would pay.
|
'Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...'
The dungeon was filled with screams and blood like it always does. But the screaming and the lifeless bodies that is hanging from the chains doesn't belong to its usual prisoner. Laying lifelessly on the table is captain of the prison guard, his left eye gouged by a crude device, his fingers all chopped off by the same rusty knife that the captain himself often use on the prisoner, his leg amputated at the knee, the only wound that was made using a frost blade, in order to keep the victim from dying of blood loss before the perpetrator are done with them. His two guards chained to wall, both had the heart slowly crushed by magic. All three of them were dead before the owner of the room 'arrive' here with his wife and two children, all unconsious, binded in ropes and chains.
'Now now Mr.Kazco, we all know what I want. Tell me about the girl that you guy torture 4 days ago right in this room and where did you send her to, and I will let your family live.'
'You bloody bastard. You won't get away with this. Soon the guard will come and I will have your head rolling on the ground.'
Beak let out a big laugh. They are always like this, he think. They always think they are the big deal. Always think everything will go their way, and no one can do anything to harm them.
Beak reach into his pocket and put the eyeball of the dead captain on the table in front of the warden.
'You mean the owner of this little magic eye over here? Gotta say, this thing is pretty neat. Can you imagine how he react when I reflect this thing onto his son? It was hilarious I tell you. Never have I seen someone grovel on the ground that fast after I bested them in a duel. It was something straight out a comedy if you ask me'
The warden couldn't believe what he is seeing. Captain Pheco was not only a great fighter, but he also know his way with the mystic art. The fake eye that Pheco had was enchanted with magic capable of killing a manticore. It was his pride, the result of his effort that even the court mage were impressed by its power. Now it is rolling in front of him, bloodied, cracked.
'I can bring him and his nephew over if you want. Albeit it would be quite a pain in the ass to drag their body over.' - Beak reach for his knife and start to unsheath it - 'I also heard that you wanted to have a daughter? But you only have two sons right? Maybe I can help you with that. It gonna take just a few moment.'
Beak standup and walk over where the women and children lay. Even with all the screaming and noise of the torture, they are still soundly asleep due to his potion. He drag the wife by the hair and the first born by the hand to in front of the warden and say
'You are in great luck then, as I can help you get two daughter. A little cut here, a little slice there and you will have yourself a beautiful daughter.' - Beak cheerfully use his knife to point at the kid crotch - 'Or if you want thing to be more natural, this little bottle right here will make your wife pregnant with an Orc child. Don't be worry about the chances, I have done this more than a few time, I know all the trick and some helping magic to ensure that she will give birth to a beautiful Orc girl, with fangs and stuff.'
'You fucking sicko' - Kazco desperately try to break free, but the chain held him tightly to the chair, and his struggle only make it more painful for him. - 'Let go of my family, I'm the one that you want!'
'No no no. I want to know where the girl is. I couldn't care less about you to be honest. Maybe a bit about your wife too. She look so gorgeous for someone her age. Now that I think about it, maybe I should some time with her before using the bottle. You know what? Imma be right back with you, after getting this boner off first.' - Beak was untying the wife clothe as he say, much to Kazco dismay
'Stop it please, stop it. Please don't harm her, she is all that I ever have.' The warden keep struggle to break free but to no avail. He broke down crying as Beak was pulling his pant down
'Well then, tell me what I want to know, and I will be on my way. Lying would be stupid by the way, the truth potion will crush your heart if you try to lie. Maybe I do need to bring their body over from the next room after all hmm.....'
'Yllien city, Council of the Whitefeather. The girl was send to the Council of the Whitefeather. Lord Gruger have the hobby to feast on young girls and boys with magic potential, and to make them his mindless slaves. The girl is with the Trippier Route Caravan, their next destination is Muyvier city to pickup others slaves along the way. Please let my family go I beg of you. They have nothing to do with this.'
'Isn't that better? Now if you excuse me, I have a caravan to catch.'
Beak tidy up his clothes, grabbing the eye and his tools on the chair before taking out the small barrel of oil in the corner of the room and start spraying it all over the place.
'What are you doing? You promise to let them go? For the love of the High Gods stop!'
'I'm pretty sure I didn't take the true potion. Why you believe me, I have no idea.'
Kazco keep screaming obscenity and begging Beak to keep his word, but he keep ignoring the warden. As he finish dousing the place, he draw the dagger and whisper 'Ignite'. A spark flew out and the entire underground dungeon turned into a sea of flame, and with it, the Kazco family. Beak were already far away from it when the servant of the Kazco notice that the backyard and the entire left wind building is on fire and try to evacuate. After all, he finally got some clue of where his party healer is. The girl always tell Beak to be more positive about life, and how everything will work out in the end because the High Gods love humankind. 'It seems like the High Gods do love people like her' - Beak think to himself, 'Maybe I will ask her to teach me how to pray to them once we reunite, after all there are still more people that is missing, and as much as he want to deny it, they do make him feel like home.'
| 2019-12-07T11:42:39 | 2019-12-07T11:35:02 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid.
|
I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys.
|
Benjamin awoke to that post deep sleep feeling of not knowing where he was. His eyes still closed he tried to remember what day it was, or where he’d been last. Nothing felt familiar and he was afraid to open his eyes, not knowing what he’d see if he did.
Sleep was banished from his mind as an audible chirp sounded and a disembodied computer voice greeted him, “Welcome back Benjamin, please relax while systems continue to boot up and your memories return to you.”
“My memories return to me?” Benjamin thought. He tried to open his eyes but found he couldn’t, or he can’t, or… did he have eyes to open? “What the fuck?” Benjamin thought as his mind began to reel.
Where was he? He tried moving, sitting up, tried to force himself to wake up, but nothing worked, he could only think and experience the darkness of his mind. Visions flashed in front of him, thoughts, memories, feelings, colors, but darkness always returned. Maybe he was half asleep, dreaming, not fully awake.
But then it hit him, and suddenly everything made sense. Something came online and Benjamin’s full consciousness flooded back into his mind, like coming out of a fog. He was fully hisself again. And Benjamin was the last human consciousness left in the universe.
Orbiting aboard a stealth satellite, observing the Earth, Benjamin had watched as the last human being had died and nature reclaimed all of humanity’s ruins. For centuries he had indulged in watching what became of the Earth, plant and animal species, the climate and humanity’s creations after the last living person was truly gone.
But even with a 24/7 live nature documentary and the vast library of human entertainment at his disposal Benjamin grew bored after a couple of millennia. No one to talk to, only memories to indulge in for even the slightest hint of socialization, and having your consciousness exist in a fully digitized form that made you both super intelligent and immortal, tends to make it difficult to not recognize the signs of mental degradation as they appear. He was still fully human after all; that was the point of his existence.
Benjamin was never meant to exist alone, but to observe, record, and chronolog human history as it unfolded. It was his own idea as he had an insatiable desire for knowledge since he was a child. Benjamin always wanted to know everything. Growing up he read a book a night. He had read the entire Bible by the time he was 10. And as humans made incredible advances in computing and artificial intelligence in his middle age Benjamin began to formulate an idea about how he could continue to accumulate knowledge and benefit humanity for thousands of years, maybe millions, possibly till the end of the universe itself.
Almost 100 years later, thanks to life extension technology and further technological advances Project Methuselah was green lit and Benjamin hisself was selected as the perfect candidate to become humanity’s immortal chronicler. His primary consciousness would be stored on an orbital satellite with the most advanced computing technology and AI integration available at the time. Advance biological printers made it possible for Benjamin to create avatars for hisself, biological bodies his consciousness could inhabit to interact with people on Earth any time he chose.
But not long after he had transferred his consciousness and permanently taken residence in his eternal digital habit things went horribly wrong for the human race. Benjamin watched and chronicled events up until the last of the homo sapiens went extinct.
Eventually, out of boredom and loneliness, yet still yearning to know how things would ultimately turn out for Earth, and the Universe, Benjamin laid plains to put hisself into hibernation and only be awakened if a communication signal was received by his satellite home, from either Earth or some other source.
As realization of his present status and memories of who he was and why he was here returned to Benjamin he began to frantically check his systems for just such a communication signal. “There you are!” Benjamin thought. It had indeed come from Earth. A radio signal!
But how long had it been? He had gone into hibernation thousands of years after humanity had ceased to exist. Surely it would take millions of years for another intelligent species to evolve on Earth, if ever.
Benjamin had his systems check the Earth, the stars, the Sun, to try and determine how many years he’d been in slumber. One glance at the Earth itself told him that this was no longer the Earth he knew, that he’d ever known. Instead of seven continents spanning the globe only a single supercontinent displayed on his current visualization of his home planet.
200 million years. It had to have been at least that long for another supercontinent to form on the Earth according to the best science of his time. Novopangea the scientists of his time had called it. Benjamin’s mind reeled with the possibilities. What a time to be alive!
Humans had existed for only a couple million years. Species of dinosaurs had existed for over 100 million years. 200 million years was enough time to completely change whatever species now dominated the planet Earth.
There was only one way to find out, check the radio signal he had received and begin observing the current inhabitants of the only planet in the universe known to harbor life. Perhaps in time he could risk sending drones for a closer look, and depending on what he found out about the creators of the radio signal, maybe he could craft a new biological body in their image and go down and see them for himself. He had time, he had all the time in the world.
| 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T19:45:53 | 516 | 82 |
[WP] You live in a house infested with ghosts, but with the years you got used to them and their tricks, like the blood in the sink, hair in the walls, whispers at night, laughing children, etc. This weekend you have friends coming over and turns out that being used to ghost isn't normal.
|
"GET OOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUT!"
I rolled my eyes. "Ezekiel, I already told you, they're coming here to watch the fight this week."
The booming, rumbling voice that emanated from the dark opening to the basement went silent for a moment. Then a low groan came from the same open doorway, followed by another haunting wail.
"GET TOOOOOOOOSTIIIIIIITOOOOOOOOOS!"
"Fine, I'll get Tostitos. You want chunky salsa or salsa con queso?" I yelled down the stairs as I wiped the countertop in the kitchen.
"We want guacamole."
I turned, this time recognizing the sound of the twins. I pinpointed them vaguely 19th century-ish and about nine years old, one boy and one girl. The boy, John Mark, held his head in his hands as it had been unceremoniously severed in what I think was a horse-drawn carriage accident. The girl, Alice, was pudgy and blue, not because of being overweight but because she had bloated from the drowning her mother put her through in grief over her son.
I patted John Mark's head (or at least, vaguely waved my hand through what would be the crown of his hair had it been corporeal). "You're going to finish it all this time, right? You know it gets all brown and gross when you let it sit out."
Their voice came from a single point in space that was both inside my head and also a mile away in faint reverberation.
"We promise!"
"Okay, write it on the shopping list and I'll text the guys to pick some up when they hit the store on the way over."
I looked over at the refrigerator and watched as crimson red writing began to appear on the dry erase board. It wasn't marker, mind you, but they had gotten a lot better at controlling dripping. It was getting hard to explain to the garbage man why there were so many bloodstained kitchen rugs in the trash.
Suddenly, the doors of the pantry began swinging and slamming wildly as an inexplicable wind poured out of it. I stepped around the counter and walked over to the pantry, my hair whipping around my forehead. The moment I placed my hand on the pantry door, it stopped moving and the wind disappeared. "Good catch, you guys! I didn't stock back up on paper plates and cups after New Year's. Appreciate the reminder."
I walked over to the oven to check on the appetizers I had put in earlier. I hit the button for the oven light and a flame-red glow illuminated the kitchen as the chanting voice of a demonic horde flooded the kitchen.
"Into the bowels of hell I shall drag thee! The flames shall lap at your feet and your--"
"Hey, Aztaraphel, come on, do you mind? You're gonna burn the spring rolls!"
"Oh," came the reply of the inhuman chanting. "Sorry, Jeff. Forgot tonight was party night. Hey, you gonna do pizza tonight? I can get the pizza stone warmed up for you."
"Good looking out, dude, but we're ordering in. Wings from that new wing joint over next to that tire place."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything. Spring rolls have got another five minutes or so."
I nodded and went into the living room. As I turned on flat screen in my living room, a haze of static covered the screen. In moments, the static appeared to stretch out toward me, forming the shape of a pair of claws reaching, grasping at me. I took out my wallet and pulled the fifty out, placing it in the right-hand claw. The left hand formed a thumbs-up and the claws withdrew back into the static of the screen. In a moment, the screen snapped to live TV and a little popup indicated "UFC 310 has been purchased."
From the hallway, I heard a shout. "Jeff, dude! You better get in here! The spring rolls, like your chances of escape from the eternal pit of damnation, are done!"
|
It was Carly's idea to start the dinner club. I'd been hesitant to join at first. Unlike my friends from my college days, I was hopelessly single, without a pair at social events, but with their encouragement, I joined. Honestly, so far it had been enjoyable. Salmon and salad on Carly and Ian's patio in July. A barbecue at Tim and Nathan's new place in August, and Lily's decadent homemade pasta when she and Rob had hosted last month. Now that it was my turn to host, I was seeing all the effort that went into it . I had, at multiple points in the day, considered ordering pizzas from the new place in town, and passing them off as my own. But no, I wanted to serve my friends a delicious stew and and dinner rolls on this cozy autumn night.
"Please be edible," I whispered as I checked the pot on the stove that had been cooking all day. Chunks of carrots, onions, beef and...a human eye simmered in the pot. I sighed, grabbed the ladle, and fished out the eye.
"Harold, I found it," I shouted at the ceiling. A steady moan grew louder as the spirit of Harold drifted down from the attic. I held out the ladle. "Try to keep it in your socket this time."
"You try keeping all your bits in place when your head has been bashed in for over a century!" Harold retorted, plucking the eye from where it rested near a chunk of carrot. I watched as he drifted upward again, then jumped as the doorbell rang.
​
"Hannah, I love the Halloween theme!" Lily gushed as I opened the door and welcomed her and Rob inside. "That little ghost girl out front is so realistic. I knew you had a hobby of designing props in college, but wow - you could make some serious cash if you decided to sell your work!"
"Halloween theme? Prop?" I questioned, momentarily confused. "Oh, that's just Gertie! She died in a fire."
"That explains the singed dress!" Rob exclaimed "Excellent detail!"
The doorbell rang again, and I opened it to reveal Tim and Nathan.
"Hannah, that baking bread scent is to die for," Tim said handing me his coat.
"I think Gertie did die over baking bread," I mused as I hung the coat on the literal skeleton in my closet.
"Gertie?"
"That amazing ghost girl decor Hannah has out front," Lily explained, "Did you see it?"
"Didn't see any ghost girl decor," Tim said.
"Oh, she likes to wander," I shrugged. "Would you like to take a seat in the living room? We're just waiting on Carly and Ian, and the rolls should be done in a few minutes."
​
I barley noticed Harold's ever present moan punctuated by the laughter of Gertie and a few other children - it looked like I wasn't the only one having friends over tonight. My friends noticed though. "More Halloween theme, I like it," Lily said. She shivered as she sat in the cold spot on the couch that was a welcome refuge on hot summer days.
"No theme," I said, "Oh, if you move about a foot to the left, it's warmer. I need to check on the rolls, lest we wind up like Gertie."
With the rolls slightly cooling, I rejoined my friends. We were just waiting on Carly and Ian.
"It's not like them to be late," Rob pointed out, "I wonder if-" the doorbell interrupted his thought, and I got up to welcome the last of my guests, only to be surprised to find Carly sobbing on my porch, Ian's arm around her.
"Hannah, I am so, so sorry," she gasped between tears, "I think - I think we killed your cat. We were just pulling in to park, when there was this bump, and when I gout out there was fur and - oh god, I'm sorry!"
"Carly, I don't have cat."
"You don't? Oh no, the neighbors?"
"Only have a dog."
"It might not have been a cat," Ian suggested. "A rabbit maybe? It was pretty mangled."
"Wait," I said, "More blood then fur?"
Ian nodded grimly.
I laughed, "Oh, yes, it is a cat. Was a cat. Gertie took a liking to it, but tends to leave it in the driveway often. It was about 100 lives past it's nine the first time I hit it."
"Hannah," Tim said, joining us at the door. "Don't you think your taking the Halloween theme a bit far? Your props are seriously talented, but leaving a mock-dead cat for Carly to hit is a bit extreme, no?"
"Guys, I've told you, there's not Halloween theme," I said. "Just a cozy autumn dinner with friends. Which, by the way, is read to serve."
"So I didn't kill a cat?" Carly asked as my friends made their way to the dining room.
"No, just some decor," Tim replied, taking his seat.
​
I dished up the stew, and brought out the rolls, smiling as I heard Harold moaning along to the record player he kept in the attic. Good ole Harold, I hadn't even thought about dinner music. Everyone seemed to have relaxed about Gertie's cat prank, and started complimenting the appearance of dinner. "Wine?" I asked, holding out the bottles I'd picked up.
"Please", Nathan said grabbing the read, and then I heard a Lily laugh.
"No Halloween theme, Hannah?" She was holding out her wine glass, in which rested an eyeball.
"Wow, that's talent!" Ian grinned. "As an optometrist, that could have fooled even me!"
I glanced upward, "Harold, you lost your eye. Again!"
"Oh, it even feels gross!" I heard Lily squeal as Harold's moaning got louder and he appeared in the dining room.
"Your hand on my eye is what feels gross, missy," he snapped snatching back his eye while a burst of laughter came from the doorway and Gertie and her friends drifted in.
"Hannah, how did the prop from outside get inside? And...triple?" Rob asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.
"I told you, she likes to wander. Looks like she invited the kids from down the street who died of scarlet fever."
"Hannah," Nathan said slowly, "there really is no Halloween theme tonight, is there?"
"No, I've said that already. And as much as you've all been praising my artistic skills, I haven't designed a prop since that local production of Annie two years ago."
"So Gertie and - Harold was it- they're real ghosts? Your house is haunted?"
"I suppose it is. I see it more as having roommates who occasionally leave their eyes and dead cats around."
In the awkward silence that followed, interrupted only by Gertie's giggles, I realized the previous dinners at my friends' homes had been oddly quiet compared to the white-noise of my late housemates.
"Right, I just remembered, I have an emergency meeting on - eyeglass frames!" Ian said pushing his chair back from the table. The others followed suit, each with a more lame excuse to leave, immediately.
"Maybe next time it's your turn to host, we could meet at the new pizza place? Tim suggested as he and Nathan made their way out.
"I..I mean, I suppose," I stammered as I watched them all leave, not quite understanding what the problem was. Rob had said something about burning sage, but I felt burning anything when Gertie had died in a fire, would be a bit insensitive.
I turned to deal with all the untouched meals, and saw Gertie and the neighbor ghosts frowning at the dining table.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to introduce you all," I said. "I think they're a little weirded out by a 32-year-old still having housemates."
"It's not that!" Gertie pouted. "They left before they could find the yummy spiders we added to the dinner rolls!"
| 2021-08-03T09:43:47 | 2021-08-02T16:00:31 | 580 | 26 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
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Ta'reb thought that this whole hearing was a laughable farce as he maneuvered into his chair. His race (the dothram) were a reddish spherical entity with one eye that moved with one single long appendage and had been nicknamed by the humans as "mono-people". How could you enforce rules in war? War is when negotiations have broken down, what could possibly convince an enemy to do as you agreed when each of you is slaughtering the other? You can't have a war without death, what fate is worse?
"Do you plan to outlaw killing?" Ta'reb jeered, his 'arm' weaving words in a sort of sign language. "How do you expect to reduce the impact of war without rendering the point moot? Are entire civilizations going to going to set up little target dummies and see who can shoot at it the best?"
Major James Taylor sat in his chair staring at Ta'reb as his mad arm wiggling was translated to english, did he really need to start from there? Perhaps aliens were fine with a bit more cruelty and unnecessary death in life but could this thing not understand some would want to minimize unnecessary death? "With all due respect ambassador Ta'reb, we would only ask that civillians and other non-combatants such as injured soldiers be spared. They have little to no impact on who will win a war, and the rules we propose would only seek to minimize casualties. We understand that a warring entity has motivation to fire on military locations even if there are a few civilians that will be caught in the cross-fire."
Hmm? Questioned Ta'reb in his head. What tangible benefit could humans get in war from getting the enemy to ignore civilians? No-one shoots at civilians, by definition their elimination would not hinder the enemies war effort. "Why would anyone waste ammunition on civilians? What is the point in killing that which cannot fight?" Ta'reb asked, confused.
James was taken aback, was this alien not familiar with basic morale hindering tactics? If the women and children you were protecting were killed then what was the point of war? Killing civilians was an excellent way to discourage stronger parties to avoid warring with you in the future, could most aliens just ignore this? Was he about to reveal a major strategic disadvantage of humans? "If you do not understand then there is no point to this conversation." James vaguely answered and left the hearing, he knew it was rude but he needed to warn the higher ups, perhaps they would need a show of force. A notification to the world that they could handle civilian casualties.
Ta'reb pondered his short conversation with mr Taylor, it was not until he watched the united human army tear apart the homeworld of the parcuthi and devestate any hope of meaningful spoils of war did he begin to realise. At first he thought that the humans were just terrible at aiming, why else would they ruin any potential loot from that planet? He was worried that their shoddy innacurate weaponry would perhaps hit his hive cluster as well. It was then he realised, he was *worried.* Scared. Frightened. He felt fear that if his race declared war that he would die. The humans were mad enough to expend resources on needless slaughter because it discouraged others from warring to meet the same fate. The worst part was that it *worked.* Perhaps a few rules of war were a good thing.
James had mixed feelings when he recieved a call stating in no plain terms that they wanted to introduce the rules suggested. The inadvertant death of a planet he realised he might have caused weighed heavy on his heart. He also didn't want the hassle of having to explain the ethos of cruel weaponry. He could imagine Ta'reb angrily wobbling about how effective weapons killed the target instantly, why should anyone use weapons that cause others to suffer?
|
A booming laughter erupted throughout the great egg-shaped hall so tall clouds formed at the very top, they were left there for aesthetics if nothing else, he pondered. At the sides grew massive steely arches joining at the very top, between them were built balconies, filled with ambassadors and other representatives of various galactic empires, planet-states, moon-republics and whatnot.
Laughter, in essence, for each race showed amusement their own way. Of what the man glanced, the Trogks cackled like hyenas (resembling them a tad, too), the sluggish, brown Antians exhaled through their mouth-holes, tooting like a trumpet, even the enigmatic, hooded Parteens allowed themselves a small peep of a chalk on the blackboard... Hearing the cacophony of various sounds made Kay's hair on the back of his neck stand, top it off with the confusion he felt for what he said wasn't as funny as the others found it.
The opposition standing by his side exchanged smirks, easy to tell for their humanoid form. There were three races in the Orion Alliance, Alliance with which the Terra Union picked a battle.
Now, I don't wish to go into the details, but to simply explain, our space neighbors think we are expanding too fast and wish to stall our growth to further their economics, gather some valuable resources, hinder us, yada yada. They disguise it behind a 'he hit me first' excuse (which they provoked) and then offered a demand we could not accept. Now the humans of Earth are at the verge of their first stellar war since they joined the Arkha Galaxy Pact (That's what the alien races call Milky Way, by the by, yeah, we are among like ten planets in visitable universe that have white milk, or milk at all, so the name didn't catch). A standard procedure called for the 'Grand Meeting' and here we are, in front of the Head Council, next to the enemy, observed by uninvolved pact members. The daunted man regained a bit of composure as he neatens his blue uniform, his black eyes scanning the surroundings once again. He set the cap upon his brown hair as it felt askew.
"So you are saying you have rules for war?" Suddenly sounded from his right, the red-skinned Rubenee asked, the tendrils on his chin swirling in what Kay understood as excitement, this translation device imbedded in his temple was quite nifty, translating body language as well as the spoken. Notably, Rubenee alongside humans were one of the few races in the Pact that understood the notion of clothing, this representative wore what looked like a dark brown tunic, ending at waist-level where instead of legs grew a bundle of tentacles, Kay stopped counting at ten.
"Yes, some of them come from Geneva Conventions, among others. We added few more since we will be also warring in new territories, such as space, we renamed them to Terra Convention and wish for the council to adapt it to their system." Kay hummed, regrettably the war was inevitable, taking away half of his work as an ambassador to prevent the war from happening at all, this made him quite sour but the Alliance's attitude about this whole ordeal made it sting a lot less.
A Talian chimed in, a wispy, gentle-looking creature (don't be fooled), their abodes in the darkest depths of their oceanic worlds made their skin translucent, jelly-like, they grew a mushroom-looking cap atop their heads, much alike those of humans bar the missing nose and teeth in its mouth, its insides pulsed with soft, golden light every time it spoke. "Are we to understand that your rules of war... Are named after a city in one of your smaller political establishments that... Actually haven't fought in any war for what... Almost two hundred human years?"
"Technically..." Kay had to admit. "You did your research right." He smiled, suspecting the translation device for this sort of information. "I think, however, the place is irrelevant, it is the contents that I wish the Council to consider. We do not shy away from war, but we seek no end in it. All the Terra Union proposes is a more... humanitarian treatment." A repeated joke is not funny a second time, or so you would think as a human, but the hall laughed once more, less audibly, true... But it looked like the Orion Alliance found this whole thing much more amusing than humans.
A Garganian was next one to speak, a robust creature, the military might behind the Alliance, a great representation of a bully, Kay thought. Their skin gray and sleek, this one was a warrior, presumably, for one of his four arms was missing, leaving behind just a stump and his one-horned head sported many a scar. What was underneath the thick wired white fur, covering everything except limbs, Kay could only wonder. "The Terrans should not ridicule the proceedings of war making, hmpf! The Garganians of Otrkrs have nothing to propose but the involvement of council in decision of war-time!" He bumped his front body with all his healthy hands, huffing.
"Talians of Talee concur." Sounded tenderly.
"So do the Rubenee of Qu." Echoed.
Kay turned to the council, and to his surprise, the heads of the creatures were turned on him, he cleared his throat and nodded. "Humans of Earth have no choice but to agree as well."
Now, you would think I forgot to describe what the council looked like, but jokes on you, because there was really little to describe. For the sake of fairness, all members of Head Council were disguised, their features camouflaged, faces hidden, voices altered. Nobody should know who is a part of it, only they know themselves, however it is a common knowledge the members are chosen only from among the oldest and wisest races of the galaxy. The seven figures standing hooded on a raised platform mumbled among themselves before one stepped forth.
"The Council speaks." Silence fell in an already quiet hall. "The offer of Terra in adding these so called 'Rules of War' to the conflict of Artme Region is declined. We have reviewed the documents provided, number of points could be considered laughable, such as the immunity of medics on battlefield or, these ones I find specifically amusing, Hauge Conventions? Banning of certain weapons? Civilian protection? Rarely someone attacks civilians anyway, it has no effect on the course of battle! A pass-time, at best. Either way, you should have evacuated them beforehand if you know there will be war. War needs no rules, the declaration of war does, that is why we are here. The Alliance has offered to cease their warmongering once they are in possession of number of stellar systems, of which you were very much aware, ambassador Kay Harrinton. The heads of your Union declined, therefore war is inevitable and you are left with the option of defending your newly acquired territories, which you have accepted. You may begin the war in the standard ninety hours of Andromeda Time Zone. The Council has spoken. We shall reconvene shortly after a short break to hear the Zqa'ar and Ipoids" The figures retreated, and slowly the balconies began to empty as well. Kay stormed out, stone-faced.
Descending the stairs from the platform in the middle of the great-hall he found his other same clothed companions greeting him with a salute.
"You spoke well, ambassador, there was nothing more you could do."
"I wish there was." He passed them, he could not stop, for time was of essence now, ninety hours of ATZ was a week of time for the humans in the concerned systems.
"We have already informed the headquarters, message should reach them just in time." They followed.
"Good. I wish to speak with Admiral Ford, arrange meeting." Kay looked over his shoulder, the Alliance has entered the corridor as well, they gave him a taunting look, but he just scoffed, the fools know not what they got themselves into.
| 2022-01-23T16:07:44 | 2022-01-23T13:17:18 | 566 | 202 |
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.
|
“I always told your parents you were an idiot! I said 'that kid right there, that kid’s got as many brain cells as a pool noodle.'”
“I’m sorry, Grandpa, really!”
Grandpa waved me off, “No time for apologies.”
He shuffled down the basement stairs and started digging through boxes. I followed him, sweat soaking through my shirt.
“Just tell me what to do, Grandpa,” I said, clawing after him as he chucked dusty antiques this way and that. He nearly knocked me out with a sharp elbow. I ducked and he brushed the tips of my hairs.
“You’ve done enough. Same as your father. You never listen.”
From upstairs came a pounding on the front door. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest.
“Oh, god—”
Grandpa, unfazed, kept searching. “What did you wish for exactly?” he asked me.
“To go out on a date with Kenzie, that’s literally it! How bad is that?”
The pounding on the door intensified. Deep voices, muffled and incomprehensible. Then from the street came a loud crash, the sound of scraping metal, a woman screaming.
“Who? Who is this girl?”
“Kenzie? She’s, well, she’s beautiful and so funny and super cool, everybody loves her, and we actually have a lot more in common than you would think.”
“Dear god, boy, cut the crap. Does she like you?”
“Well, I mean, she doesn’t know me…”
The door sounded like it was about to come off the hinges. Grandpa had nearly made it all the way to the far wall, bushwhacking a path through the boxes of junk.
“Did you try just asking her on a date before you wished for it?”
I hesitated. Grandpa wheeled around, his crazy eyes bulging out of their sockets as he stared me down. “Did you?!”
I nearly leapt out of my skin when what sounded like machine-gun fire popped off outside. I backed into the corner, my breath rapidly overtaking me. I started to feel dizzy.
“Speak, boy!” Grandpa said, rage turning his face pink.
“Yes!” I said, “I did ask her. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, until this moment right now, I guess.”
Grandpa’s face fell.
“What did she say? Exactly.”
“She… she said… maybe. Maybe, if…”
“If what?”
“If we were the last two people on Earth.”
The door upstairs crashed to the floor. I dropped to the ground and hid behind an old arcade machine. Grandpa kicked some boxes to the side. In a flash, two men in rags were bounding down the stairs. One held a tire iron, the other had a baseball bat.
As I peered out from behind the arcade machine I saw grandpa spin around to face them. In his arms was a double-barreled shotgun.
“Wait – wait!”
Grandpa blew them away. The sound rang in my ears and smoke stung my eyes. By the time I got my senses back, Grandpa was dragging me into the garage.
“You killed them?!”
“This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Get in the truck.”
He forced me into the cab and hit the switch to open the garage door. After loading some supplies into the backseat, Grandpa threw on an orange trucker hat and got behind the wheel.
Outside, the world was burning. People were attacking each other in the street; neighbors turning on neighbors like wild animals.
“Where are we going, Grandpa?” I asked, still white as a sheet from the double-homicide I had witnessed.
“Where are going?” Grandpa repeated mockingly, mimicking my frightened voice.
He put the truck into reverse.
“You’ve got a hot date,” he said, as he put on a pair of aviators, “and I’ve gotta save the goddamn world.”
r/ididwritethismr
|
Back when I was a kid I spent months working out how to best make wishes come true. I kept a diary and tried all kinds of methods: hunting four-leafed clovers, flipping coins into dark wells, snapping wishbones, rubbing lamps, even praying. I was methodical. I didn’t have much else to do, I suppose.
What seemed to work best for me was blowing out candles on birthday cakes then closing my eyes. The first wish I remember coming true was back when my parents had been separated. They’d bought me a cake and we spent the afternoon like we were a family again. Late that afternoon, not wanting it to end, I blew out the candles and wished. A few weeks later they were back together. I opened my diary, found the entry that read BIRTHDAY CAKE and circled it.
Now I’ll admit it’s easy to get greedy with wishes. I guess that’s why genies have a rule about not wishing for more — because that’s what we’d all do. As good as one wish might be, you always think of something else you need. Or at least, that you want.
In my twenties my apartment was a permanent miasma of baked sugar and flour and eggs. Sometimes of melted chocolate, too. I’d long since figured out that if cakes were the best way to make wishes come true, then I should bake myself one each day and make a wish for the next. I’d stick candles in it — little white skyscrapers sticking out of the sponge city. It didn’t seem to matter how many candles — they didn’t have to match my age or anything. Then I’d set fire to the skyscrapers as if declaring war on the sponge city. Finally, I’d close my eyes and wish.
By that point in my life, the wishes had gotten me a decent apartment in an okay part of town. I worked nights as a cleaner, which doesn’t sound like a dream job, sure, but I didn’t want any stresses. And that job held no real responsibilities — no one was going to die if I forgot to clean the office’s interior windows on a particular day of the week. And best of all, the job was only a street away from my apartment. I‘d get back quickly, bake a cake and make a wish, then either play some games or get some sleep.
I had a girlfriend and although it was only casual and we didn’t spend that much time together, it was right for me at the time. We’d been together a while but we didn’t feel the need to talk of marriage or kids or any of the big questions. We just enjoyed every day as they came.
Then one day I made a wish that I couldn’t even remember making. Usually I’m careful with my wishes — or at least I’m routine, wishing for tomorrow to be just as good as today — but I guess at that point I was tired. I’d worked all night, baked, inserted the candles, then closed my eyes. I remember feeling so worn out, so tired, that I was on a sort of autopilot. I’d just wanted to crawl into bed and not get out for a very long time. Making a wish had become so routine that this particular wish, it was made almost subconsciously.
I remember blowing out the candles and that thick black smoke hazing over the sponge and into my eyes, the sting of it drawing me back. What had I wished for? I had no clue. Absolutely no memory. But it didn’t feel like it mattered so I gave up trying to remember and hit the hay instead.
The thing with wishes is that you can’t make more than one at a time. So if one wish hasn’t come true yet, you can’t leapfrog over it no matter how high you jump. And wishes can be slow. My parents getting back together, for example, came in the form of therapy, of trial separation and reunions, and on and on it went.
So whatever I’d wished for on that day, the wish I couldn’t remember, I’d have to wait patiently for it to come true before I could make another.
​
I woke then next day to the shrill ringing of my phone.
“Hello?”
“We need to talk,” said my girlfriend.
“It‘s too early for dirty talk,” I said.
”I’m serious. This is serious.”
I knew then before we went any further that it was over. She explained but I barely listened. Instead I thought back to the with I couldn’t remember. Had I asked for this? For her to leave me? Or had I just forgotten to wish for things to remain the same and this had happened as a result?
Fine. No problem. It was all good. It’d been casual anyway and we’d never discussed a future together so there was nothing much to be upset about. It was a shame only because I liked spending time with her. But I’d find someone else. Or maybe I wouldn’t for a while — I’d spend more time alone and enjoy it.
I baked another cake that day and made a wish for my girlfriend to call me again. I think I made it as a test — not that I wanted her to call. I just wanted to see if my wishes were functioning normally.
She didn’t ring me. And the next day I was struck with more bad news: the company I provided my cleaning services to were going under. I‘d lost my job.
It’d been so sudden and unexpected and I was unprepared.
I looked around my apartment drinking everything in. How comfortable I’d been here, but now how could I pay the rent? I hadn’t been a good saver as was did I need to save for?
I baked a dozen cakes over the next three days. A dozen wishes that lay stagnant in the air.
​
Three weeks passed and I’d not yet acquired another job. My ex hadn’t called. No wishes were coming true for me.
I stared at my stubbled face in the mirror one morning and barely recognised the hungover person staring back. I rinsed up a lather and began to shave, cutting the short hairs clean off my skin.
Then a sudden sickening panic hit me. A feeling like I was being watched. I looked up into the mirror and it seemed to me that I’d scraped off all the skin from the left half of my face. And that beneath the skin wasn’t red and bloodied muscle, but instead another person. A stranger who looked like me. Even that left eye was this other person’s. He stared at me with something I can only describe as malice.
Then it was gone. I splashed my face with water and it was gone.
​
A year passed and still no more wishes came true. I’d moved back in with Mom, then out again into a new place. I worked an office job with some prospects and I took classes at night. I wanted, one day, to be a teacher. I’d always liked the idea of teaching but had never pursued it.
I stopped baking eventually. The wishes never came true anymore, and even if they did, and I didn’t think I wanted them. The cakes never tasted much good anyway. Always too sweet — sickly so.
Here’s what I’ve learned: wishes aren’t a good way to live a life. They are slippery eels of hope that you think you have hold of and then they jump out of your hand. Sometimes they snap their fangs at your fingers before they leave and you stand there shocked and bloodied. Like when I wished my parents back together: I knew they’d only gotten back together because of my wish — because of me. And whatever magnetism of love had once drawn them together before I’d been around had become to weak by itself. Their reconciliation lasted three years and they were both deeply unhappy during it.
As was I, looking back.
I still think about what I wished for that day it all fell apart. The day the ornament of my life shattered before being glued back together into very a different shape.
I think my subconscious wished for something. For what it knew i needed. It understood a part of me was dying, was wilting like a flower without water.
That’s as close as I‘ll ever get to understanding it, I think.
| 2022-03-24T06:47:59 | 2022-03-24T05:21:49 | 1,458 | 369 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue
|
I don’t remember exactly how I ended up where I am. I might have died, I might have fallen into a black hole, I may have been sacrificed to the gods of old. But here I am, face to face with a living elf.
They scrunched up their face and said the world “translate.”
I wish I could say I responded with intelligence, or elegance. But I said the only thing that I could really think “uhhhhh okay?”
“It was a translation spell from a long gone language, It allows us both to hear each other in our best tongue.”
“But before you finished speaking the word I understood it, its English its not magical nor a dead language. Its the standard among the intergalactic human civilizations. Its just English.”
“Impossible the language died out millions of years ago, what little bots we have left are only the words we can decipher from the carvings on the old temples. It takes weeks to master even the most basic spells.”
“So what do I do just say the word fire and…” I felt my hand warm a little and in my hand, I was holding solid fire.
|
It's a few days since I got here. I don't know where I am, nor I care. All I know is this place is pullulant with magic. Many wizards have studied magic and many have died in the intent of creating a system to use this magic safely and with great gain for the community.
However, I woke up in a cavern where, written in the stone, there were the rules of said magic. They quikly took me out of there since if you use the wrong word many may die. The time I looked at the walls was enough to let me grasp some informations.
Later, when they kept me to investigate how I got there, I wan't willing to reveal anything.
"Andate via" I said in my native lenguage. The guards opened the door and got away, as I ordered them.
"Io volo" I added right after and the gravity stopped bounding me to the ground. I get away and go back to the cavern.
"Voi non mi vedete" as I enter the cave, so everyone ignores me. I quikly finish reading the content of the walls and exit the cave.
The few rules in the cave says the magic is absolute and can change the reality, however it doesn't last more than an hour if I don't specify so. I also learned talking to the people that the magic is bound to the caster: higher his will, stronger the spell.
I get to work. I use some lesser words to make my way trough the ranks of magic, never revealing anyone my secret. In a few weeks I'm the king's wizard.
Well, until this pretty redhead comes to talk with my king, openly asking for my presence to be required. She comes in the throne room and glare at me with ice-cold azure eyes.
I'm already charmed and thus, I don't thrust her. I tell this to my king and she replies quite uncomfortable:
"My beloved king, there is no need to be scared of me, I am Elisa from the kingdom of Roma, I'm the director of the most prestigious magic school in my kingdom and when I heard of such a prficient wizard I had to come and visit this kingdom to met him. - the king opened his mouth to reply, but Elisa already knew what was coming and started talking again - Obviusly I have something to talk with your majesty, business, to be precise. The kind wich could lead to benefit for both of us."
The king looked at me and I knew what to do, I asked to her: "Elisa, dimmi la verità!"
"I'm not lying your majesty, I could never." I thrusted her, but I kept asking: "Why are you truly here?"
She smirked at me before answering: "To show you the true power of this magic. - than she pointed a finger to me - Palla di fuoco!"
From her finger a ball of fire generate out of nowhere and quikly after it was fired twards me.
"Dissolviti." The fireball reduces itself to a small black smoke cloud midair.
"Now is my turn to show the power of this magic..."
I'm utterly pissed to be challenged in such a pitful way. No big proclamtion, no official battleground, no nothing.
"Onda d'urto." A powerful blow of wind pushes Elisa away, making her fly back. I look to my king, he's about to say something, but I'm the one smirking this time.
"Silenzio. Stai fermo." He's still as stone, alive, but stopped as a paused frame.
I walk twards Elisa. The witch was already back on her feet. But my will to fight was estinguished. I just wanted to speak a little more in my lenguage.
"FULMINE!" She screams, and a lightning comes to me.
"Devia" I redirect it to the ground with a hand.
"DARDO DI FUOCO"
"Blocca"
"FIOTTO ACIDO"
"Neutralizza"
"MASSO VOLANTE"
"Devia"
Elisa starts to breath heavily after I countered most of her elemental projectiles. I never stopped walking twards her and now I can look at her, with those meesy hair. A great dress showing she's a mage, but I knew she didn't spoke my lengauge.
"You are just another pitful wizard. You never knew Italian." I look in her cold eyes.
"I hate all of you, so called wizards" I give her a caress on the cheek.
"You belive you know magic." My hand goes down, to her neck.
"But you just remember me a lenguage..." I grab her by the neck.
"I can no longer speak" My eyes are wrathful, my veins are twitching.
"Soffoca."
Her muscles stop keeping her on her feets. The body turning blue. Her eyes pleading, become glassy.
I open my hand and she drops on the floor.
​
**POST SCRIPTUM**
As the story may suggest, my first lenguage isn't english, nor I have the proven ability to correctly write in English, I haven't done any check if my text is correct becasue, well, I already feel insicure enough.
Also this is my first submission, just for fun and to procastinate other stuff :\[\]
If you arrived up to here, well done, thanks for reading and hope you enjoied \^\^
| 2022-11-19T10:17:18 | 2022-11-19T10:06:04 | 98 | 63 |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
|
The devil looked right back at my wife. His eyes narrowed and fists shaking. A man who was ready to murder. A man who who wanted to prove himself. A man who has lost so many times and had nothing to lose.
I turn to my wife who is cool and collected. Upset? Sure, but not worried. How she is not worried, I do not know. The devil in our living room breathing fire, and I'm the only one freaking out. Am I the weird one? I don't think so. She's the weird one. Cool like a cucumber.
They sit down at the dining table. They sit across from each other, maintaining their eye contact the whole time. Sizing each other up, waiting for the other to make a move. I'm anxious watching the whole thing so I go to the kitchen and start preparing a charcuterie board. Does the devil eat cheese and crackers? I guess I am about to find out.
I bring the board back to the dining room, and they are opening a box. The devil puts his hands inside and starts pulling out the contents of it. Dice. and a pad of paper. They are about to play Yahtzee.
Dice start rolling all over the place. Things are getting out of control. Sixes, twos, the other numbers. Pencils are being dropped. Pads are being written on. It is absolute chaos.
My wife is behind by a couple points but it is oh so close. Still anybody's game. The devil is sweating. You would think that a guy who lives in fire wouldn't sweat but he does. He's not touching my cheese and salami. I guess I prepared that for nothing.
A final roll of the dice and my wife pulls in front by just a few points. She wins. The devil is crushed. He can't believe he has lost again. I bet he's been practicing a lot at home too, but it doesn't matter. My wife is still the best Yahtzee player in this and all other realms of existence. I breathe easy again, the fear I had when he arrived has finally dissipated.
You see, the two of them made a deal years ago. Whoever won at Yahtzee got to keep me as a spouse. And I would much rather stay with my wife. She actually appreciates my charcuterie. Also I don't like fire.
|
"You! Again!" My wife says exasperatedly at the impeccably dressed man who seemed to materialise out of thin air in a ball of fire. He was just a normal man except it was as if flames surrounded him and made- wait, are those fire wings.
"Turn off your fire, moron!" She cries. "The carpet! You are ruining it!"
The carpet? Was that the weirdest thing happening right now? A man appeared in our home, surrounded by fire no less, out of nowhere and she was worried that carpet was going to be ruined.
"Always the drama queen." She muttered as she went to get the vacuum cleaner.
A thought hit me with a speed of a freight truck, she wasn't scared or weirded out by this situation. In fact she knew the fire-man.
"Hey, Sam." The fire-man said with a wink. Not a simple one, a salacious one.
What the fuck was going on here?!
"I swear to god I'll cut off your balls if you hit on my husband." She said as she returned to the room.
The fire-man rolled his eyes. "I don't have balls. At least not right now"
She snorted. "Don't I know that."
Balls. We are now on balls and I have no idea what is going on.
"Okay, someone tell me something before I call 911 to take to check me into an asylum." I say finally.
My wife finally softened.
"You might want to sit down for this." She sighed.
I look at the fire-man who was grinning like a baby about to get a treat.
"Okay," she rubbed her forehead. "Where to start-"
"How about with an apple?" The fire-man drawled.
"Shut up." She snapped then gave me a sheepish look when raise my hands in exasperation.
"There is no apple. The apple belongs to him and his people." She said rolling his eyes. "Okay, let me begin by introducing this moron. Sam, this is Lucy- sorry Lucifer."
I opened my mouth and close it again like a fish. "Say what now."
"He's Lucifer." She said calmly then threw fire- nope, Lucifer a scathing look. "Yes, as in the Devil but he's basically a drama queen."
"There's no need for name calling, sweety." Lucifer smirks.
"Don't call my wife that." I say automatically, feeling nauseated.
"Oooh, looks like some-"
"One more word out of you and I will hit you so hard that you won't be able to get up this century." My wife hisses.
She kneels in front of me. "Listen, honey, I know this is a surprise and I wanted to tell you. I was just waiting for the right time. But this asshole ruined everything."
"Tell me what?" I ask my eyes not leaving her but I notice something coming out of Lucifer's head.
I'm going to throw up.
"Would you cut it out!" She snaps.
"I'm sorry." I mumble.
"Not you, never you." She gently caresses my face. "It's the shit stain-"
I look up wearily. I'm getting tired of the name calling. It was fun hearing my wife curse but this was getting out of hand. It was as if I was back in high school.
"Sorry." She said sheepishly. "Yeah, so this is Lucifer. The Devil or as I should say one of them."
"Oh, come on! This is mean." Lucifer whines.
She ignores him. "I'm- well, I'm Kali."
"You're Siddhi." I reply blankly.
"That's one of my names." She says calmly.
"One of your names?"
"I have a thousand." She said looking a bit nervous. She hurried on. "I'm a Hindu Goddess."
"Goddess of death." Lucifer calls out.
Death. Goddess. Words are ringing in my ears now. Breathing is getting hard. Has it always been this difficult?
"Breathe, darling." She says in a soothing voice. "I know it's a lot."
"A lot." I say, almost yell that is. "You are a goddess. He's the Devil. What am I? Wait am I someone else too?!"
I was hyperventilating. My wife looked worried. What else was she hiding. Do we live in heaven or hell? Am I dead?
"No! No, you are Sam. My Sam." She says in a soft voice.
I feel her soft hands on my face and everything grows quiet. It's just us. And everything will be okay. At least that's what she tells me and that's how deep down I feel too.
"Isn't it beautiful." Lucifer's voice breaks the love that my wife was surrounding me with. "Love."
He sighed dramatically.
"Why are you here?" I say, trying to find some semblance in this weird, weird scenario.
"You know for the Battle of the Gods." Lucifer says nonchalantly.
"A battle."
"Of gods. Yes." Siddhi says. "It's held every year. And this year this idiot was choosen as the official messanger. I should have known he would pick up the most inconvenient moment. Krishna told me to look out for him."
"Krishna?" I look at her confused.
"Another Hindu God." Siddhi answers with a sweet smile.
Of course. It was obvious once you come around to remembering that your wife is a goddess.
Well, she was always a goddess for you but now it's official, a voice inside me says.
"And this year, your wife is going to get a SmackDown of her life." Lucifer says with a confident air which was once again fiery.
"Is that really necessary." I ask weakly.
"Yup." He shrugs. "It's what makes it impressive."
Siddhi snorts. "It doesn't. You look like a moron. And besides I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred fucking times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
Lucifer brushes faux dust off his suit. "We'll see."
"Yes, we will."
Another puff of smoke and fire and he's gone.
"I bet you have a lot of questions." Siddhi says kindly.
A shit ton. But there's one that is at the top of my mind.
"So, if you are a goddess then does it make me a pseudo god?"
| 2022-12-07T11:25:46 | 2022-12-07T11:23:31 | 323 | 100 |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned.
|
Pressure. Maintain pressure.
There’s only so much a man can take, even an imaginary man.
Pressure on me, and pressure, now, on you.
I hold the pillow down tight, and the struggling is brief, though I maintain the pressure for several minutes.
They’ll call it SIDS, or crib death; I’ll call it sweet justice. Some flickers were not meant to be flame. And you, you spoiled petulant child, the product of spoiled petulant people; you will trouble no one any longer.
|
"Would you like some tea?"
"That's not tea, that's an empty plastic cup" Scruff responded bitterly.
"It's pretend, like you!"
"For the last time you little brat, I'm real, I was assigned to you by the department of imaginary-"
"MOM!" Tina screamed, "THERE'S A STRANGE MAN IN MY ROOM!"
Suddenly Scruff heard the shattering of plates coming from downstairs, then suddenly fast footsteps coming up the stairs, becoming louder and louder. Suddenly a frantic woman came bursting through the door holding a baseball bat.
"Where is he Tina?!" she asked her daughter.
"Right there" she said as she pointed at an empty space.
The woman's scared expression turned into a happy smile, the laughter, "Awh honey, is this your imaginary friend?"
Tina started to look angry and stormed towards the door and shut it on her mother.
"A little rude, she was about to smash someones head in to protect you"
"Shut up!"
"Also rude"
Tina went over too her small table covered in small plastic cups, kicking in over then sitting on her floor, obviously in a mood. "Whats this departmement?" Tina asked.
"It's department honey, and its meant to send an ideal imaginary friend to every kid around the world. Unfortunately, me a rough half man half wolf detective, was sent to a spoiled brat."
"Well....you're a mean old dog!"
Scruff cocked his head up quickly, glaring at Tina, "what did you just call me?" he asked darkly.
"A mean. old. DOG!"
Scruff stood up, towering over Tina, "I'm a wolf!" he snapped.
She stared back intensely, not backing down, "you look like a dog to me".
Scruff continued to look at her, he started to smile then laughter, he held his stomach as tears streamed from his deep yellow eyes, he fell back onto her bed, his laughter stated to die down, as Tina watched in confusion.
"WHATS SO FUNNY!?" she asked in anger.
Wiping tears away from his face, "Out of all the kids I've been trying to scare away for years, the one not to cave is a little girl" he said, still snickering.
Her anger died down, "why are you trying to scare kids away?".
His laughter stopped completely, he looked at her, "I doubt I'll be here much longer, so what the hell", he opened his duster coat and took out a bottle of whiskey and began to drink it, "one of my first clients was a young girl by the name of Shelly, she was.....troubled".
"How troubled?" Tina asked, sitting next to Scruff at this point.
"A mixture of things, her parents divorce, her mother marrying a complete prick, bullies and a few other things", he interrupted himself by taking another swig from his whiskey, "I'm contemplating whether I should tell you this next part".
"Why?"
"I don't want to scare you...."
"You didn't scare me earlier"
"That is true, but this goes beyond me"
"Please?"
Scruff looked down at her, "well...okay, but remember this can't happen to you", he took another swig, "okay, well, you see, as much as I helped, all the fear, the anxiety, the pain of it all, it lead to these dark and vial creatures, from a very dark place, feeding off her".
Tina looked terrified, "are they..."
"NO!, no, no, no, they're gone now, that's one of the reasons I don't want to be an imaginary friend anymore, I was hired into an agency for my sense of smell to track these things down. That's where I learned most of my skills, and eventually our military wiped them out".
"And what happened to Shelly?"
Scruff looked scared of the question, he gulped, and forced a smile, "she was....fine, she went to live with her grandparents", he said this without even glancing at Tina, she may of been a kid, but it was obvious to her what he was doing, she just didn't want to upset the poor guy.
"So now I just want to help out with the agency, but the department needs as many operatives as they can, so....I'm pretty much stuck", he continued.
"Well, maybe one day you'll be needed at the agency again", Tina said, "I mean I bet you'll be the first they go to".
Scruff smiled at her, "maybe one day, one day when my skills are needed" he said as he looked at the kicked over plastic table, "but for now, I'm okay with having tea parties".
She looked at him, with a shocked smile, she ran over to the table, and started setting up her next tea party.
| 2014-04-10T10:58:27 | 2014-04-10T10:18:10 | 147 | 32 |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned.
|
"Fuck you, Ma."
Her lips pressed together, so hard they turned white. Gerry Salamander was grinning at me, green thumbs raised high. His t-shirt said, "GOOD WORK!"
"You need to *go*. To your *room*. *Now.* And when I am ready to talk to you, you need to have thought about what you're going to say to me."
I padded barefoot up the hall, wood cool under my toes. Gerry Salamander glided smoothly along the wall beside me. His t-shirt now said, "FUCK HER!"
I'm a big kid now. I know all the swear words. I'm also big enough to know that Gerry likes it when I get in trouble. He likes it when Mom is mad at me. I'm pretty sure Gerry Salamander doesn't like me.
I kind of figured it out when I was four. Gerry Salamander has been here as long as I can remember, my whole life maybe, and he always smiles a big wide smile with lots and lots and *lots* of teeth, way more than most people.
He's kind of a person. But only I can see him. And he has green skin. And purple hair that looks kind of like a Lego figurine's hair. I don't know.
Anyway, when I was four I was playing with my PSP on my bed. Gerry Salamander came out from under my bed and picked up my remote-control car. He gave me a big smile and then he threw my car so hard at the wall that it smashed.
His t-shirt said, "FUNNY, HUH?"
I didn't think it was funny. I really liked that car. And Mom took my PSP away. When Dad came home he spanked me. Gerry Salamander watched. He was smiling.
That's when I knew he didn't like me.
I don't like him much, either. When I was a little kid I tried telling my parents about him, but the first time they just laughed and told their grown-up friends how I had an imaginary friend. And then their friends laughed too, and ruffled up my hair and told me how funny I was.
I told them again, and every time Gerry Salamander did something bad, smiling with all his teeth, I'd try to tell them again, but then they would just roll their eyes and be all sarcastic, like, "Oh, *yeah*, I suppose Gerry Salamander sucks your *thumb* for you, too."
And Gerry would stand there, t-shirt flashing, "FUCKING MORONS".
I want him to go away.
I told him, when I was six. I asked him why he didn't just leave, since he was so mean to me. I said, he obviously didn't like being my imaginary friend. He doesn't talk. He says things on his t-shirt. When I asked him, his t-shirt said, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." He smiled his teeth at me. I went outside and swung on the swing for a really long time.
Now he makes me do things for him. And if I don't do them he does even worse things. When I said, "Fuck you," to my Mom, I only said it because Gerry Salamander's t-shirt said that if I didn't, he'd cut her throat. He started a fire in our woodpile last summer when I wouldn't try Dad's cigarettes. It spread up the wall of the house and we had to get the garage demolished. They thought I did it, of course.
He's getting pretty scary. I don't know what he'll do next.
|
Chuck stared at the child, his brown hair curling in almost every conceivable direction. It looked like there were still some specs of tissue in it from last week. Who was he kidding, of course that was the tissue from last week. Little brat didn’t even look at showers, let alone take them. Not like he could, anyway. He sighed, eyes wandering toward the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve this, how he had been suckered into such a rotten life. Who had he pissed off to cause such an irrational retaliation? It didn’t make sense—there was no way he’d go out of his way to commit such a heinous crime that would fit a punishment like this. Of course, he couldn’t necessarily remember anything from when he was like the child, but it just didn’t seem like him. He could hardly throw a punch if his life depended on it, how could he bully and torment someone enough to merit this?
The child sneezed twice, snot now running down into his mouth as Chuck did his best to ignore him. It’s not that he hated the child, or that he was a particularly bad kid, he just couldn’t stand being around him. As cliché as it sounds, it was more him than the kid. He was just so unique, so different, so happy. Sure, people always say it’s good to be that special little snowflake, but the kid was more special than snowflake. Chuck couldn’t handle such peculiarity. What did it matter, though. The kid gave him life, and he couldn’t just walk away. No matter how many times he tried, it was out of the question. The doors seemed to lead right back inside.
“I don’t feel so good, Chuckie,” said the child. Chuck glanced down at him for a moment, then quickly redirected his attention to the wall behind him. The kid never felt good. Always sneezing, always throwing up. It was disgusting, everything Chuck hated about children.
“Kay,” Chuck replied. He placed his hand in his jean pocket, the fabric frayed and soft against his hand. He felt his phone just out of reach, as it always was. It was shame it was stuck in such an uncomfortable position. He had tried for months to move it, straighten it, but it never adjusted.
“Do you have a tiss-ow?” said the kid.
“Do I have a what?” Chuck replied, eyes still locked on the plain wall behind him, knowing exactly what he meant. That was another thing that bugged him—the damn walls. Beige, arguably the worst color imaginable. Who the hell paints their child’s wall beige? Maybe to be gender neutral? What a stupid decision, just paint it blue or something. Beige is so depressing, so plain. No wonder the kid was such a mess already at just six years old. Had it really been that long?
“A tiss-you,” said the boy. Chuck glanced at him, face caked in a thick layer of snot, like a child trying on makeup for the first time. His hand was under his nose, motioning as if blowing it.
“A tissue?” corrected Chuck. “You’re almost seven, Michael. It’s tissue. It’s always tissue.” Chuck nodded toward the tissue box on the dresser next to the beige bed. Of course it was beige. Gender neutral. What kind of kid didn’t want to spend their childhood years in beige sheets, in a beige room, enjoying such fine toys as tissue boxes that never seemed to run out of tissues. Why couldn’t he be stuck with whomever lived next door? They had dogs—or they were dogs. Chuck heard them barking at night , always keeping him from enjoying even a moment of sleep, but never any human voices. It didn’t matter, though, he’d give anything for a moment with some dogs. It wasn’t even about the dogs, though, it was the sheer companionship. The only thing Michael provided was confirmation of how not to raise a child.
Michael wandered over to the tissue box, ragged pants hanging half off of his body. He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose into it, then rubbed it all over his face in what seemed to be an attempt to clean himself. Chuck silently shook his head, eyes fixed on the back of Michael’s head. Kids couldn’t be this stupid. It just didn’t seem possible. It had to be all the beige, something about it just caused higher brain development to stop entirely.
“All clean!” shouted Michael as he turned back toward Chuck. His face was still smeared in snot, albeit slightly less. However, it was also now caked in tiny fragments of tissue. Chuck sighed. Part of him wanted to just throw him in a shower and get him cleaned off, or at least wash his face, but he knew he couldn’t. Not that he didn’t want to, but that he simply could not touch the child. He never could. It was part of the rules of being what Michael called an “imaginary friend,” or a ghost, or maybe just a crazy person trapped in his own head with the manifestation of his inner-most hated traits. Or maybe he was just in hell. Whatever he was, he had no effect on anything physical around him.
Michael ran over to the corner of his room and sat down, then began pulling out small fragments of the carpet. Chuck watched him, his arm raising and falling as he lifted out piece after piece. He’d been doing that for a few weeks now, some new form of entertainment to keep the beige walls from closing in on him Chuck assumed. He’d asked him to stop at first, the bits of carpet would get caught in his throat, but Michael refused. Chuck caved, letting him enjoy his one form of entertainment. What kind of parents stick a kid in a beige room, give him nothing but tissues and carpet, and then claim he’s all set to grow up. Let him out, let him move, let him step outside. Anything to get the two of them out of that god-forsaken room.
Those four, beige, bland walls were all Chuck had seen since he had, well, seen. Always the room, always the beige walls, always the grey carpet. The window didn’t even look out on anything appealing, just a windowless apartment of bricks, a tiny spec of sky, and what looked like an oak tree’s broken branch. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was an oak tree, but his mind just seemed to assure him it was. Every time he saw the long, brown arm of the tree, something and someone came back into mind. A nameless face next to his own and a long, brown, broken branch hanging overhead. No leaves, never any leaves. Whoever it was he was with, the two of them had carved something into the tree, a basket of food knocked over between them with a knife resting atop it. There had been a commotion; the two of them had fought, or perhaps made love. Chuck couldn’t remember, but the word oak just filled in whenever he saw the branch, his mind’s voice a slightly higher pitch than usual. The sky was always clear then, but he couldn’t imagine the air. He couldn’t remember the smell of the wind or the touch of the grass they lay upon. He couldn’t see the other person, but knew they were there. They had to be there.
Michael continued picking away at the carpet, tearing out fragment after fragment in contentment. The pieces drifted around the room, seeming to swarm around Chuck as he avoided breathing them in. Michael was always so happy, so jovial. All he did was sit around, talk to himself or Chuck—which was basically the same thing—and do his best to disgust Chuck in any way possible, to annoy him incessantly. The corner of the carpet was now just bare stitching, the soft fabric torn and spread across the floor. It was so stuffy in the room, so warm. It was always so warm; the window never opened. Michael continued picking at the carpet, Chuck staring blankly at him as he did so.
| 2014-04-10T12:36:59 | 2014-04-10T11:06:07 | 63 | 17 |
[WP] In the galaxy, humans are renowned for their affinity at problem solving. This leads to humans growing frustrated at aliens getting stuck with simple problems.
|
The light on the quantum entanglement phone blinked rapidly, indicating a new incoming call. Bill sighed, put on his headset and pressed the button next to the flickering light.
"Thank you for calling the United Terran Alliance Embassy, my name is-" Bill stopped short as he was interrupted by the gravelly, guttural voice of a Klixali shouting at him from the other end of the line.
After listening for a few moments Bill screwed up his forehead and rubbed at his eyes with both hands before responding, "Did you try turning it off and on again?"
|
Hillman stepped out from the lobby of his apartment building into the brackish morning air of Tertulon IV. He turned south and strode down the alley towards the center of the Terran district. He moved with with purpose. Breakfast he had decided, was going to be sausage and pancakes. Maybe he would even have fermented botse sauce instead of syrup. The local flavors had very much grown on him.
An enormous green Blob that had been spread thin, stretched almost invisibly across the middle of the street, collected itself up into its travel form and began revolving in Hillman's direction. It left a faint slime trail on the cobblestones. The Blob rumbled as it came, which was followed by the high pitched warble of the translator.
"Excuse the forwardness Terran, but do you perchance have a quick moment?"
Hillman's stomach grumbled as he looked up at the magenta clouds and sighed. All Terrans on Tertulon IV had standing orders to give assistance to the hapless locals if it wasn't anything too demanding. They were also supposed to use as flowery language as possible, but he had never been any good with words. He turned to face the gelatinous creature rolling along the street beside him.
"Greetings your gooeyness, what seems to be the trouble?"
The Blob convulsed and then squelched, which was interpreted by his translator as "a giggle indicating pleasure". The Blobs loved being described with new and different human adjectives.
"Thank the Seven States of Being! A moment Terran, only a quick moment of your time!"
Hillman rolled his eyes. He had spent many a "quick moment" with these Blobs and every one was an exercise in frustration. The damned slime balls couldn't so much as tie their shoes without help! Not that they wore shoes. He felt more than heard his belly's growling protest as he spoke again.
"Yes, yes clammy one, what is the problem?"
The Blob burbled. "This one must traverse yonder airlock! This one seeks the embrace of the false atmosphere of the 'Blob Experience Dome C'!"
"Well your viscousness, why don't you just trundle yourself on in there and hit the airlock exchange?"
The Blob quickly changed from neon green to a bright orange hue - the translator chirped helpfully. "a display of exasperation!".
"Forsooth, this one has done as you suggest Terran! The airlock refuses my passage! It doth protest my-"
"Alright, alright. Lets go get your dripping bulk through the airlock."
Hillman wished the Terran-Blobitan Relations Board had never given them access to the full range of human literature, the Blob's couldn't keep their love of antiquated human words and phrases from coming through in every day conversation. Some had speculated that the slime balls only jabbered on like that out of spite, after all, why else use words they knew to be obsolete? He wondered if it was possible to have the translators just skip all the garbage and spit out the closest Modern Terran approximation. Hillman resolved to put the question to the guys in TechDep the next time they went for drinks.
The pair arrived at the airlock for Experience Dome C and the Blob bounced in place. "Excitement!" proclaimed the translator. The front door of the airlock displayed a sign that warned humans away from entry to the airlock or the facility without a Class C hardsuit. The door swished open and the Blob jounced through.
"Thankee kind sir, this one would enter with haste!"
With the Blob pulsating grotesquely -- indicating "severe impatience!" according to the translator -- on the other side of the glass, Hillman accessed the control panel and punched in the command for the air exchange sequence.
"There you go your jellyship," he read off the screen "the sequence has started, please stay inside the red square until it's finished and enjoy your -"
He was cut off by alarm klaxons. The airlock control panel displayed "EXCHANGE FAULT" in bright red lettering. At the sound of screeching and scrabbling on the glass, his translator noted "great distress!". Hillman turned back to the airlock and his eyes widened as the last chunk of the Blob vanished into the airlock's intake vent. The klaxons died down and the airlock finished its exchange, dark yellow gas filling the chamber.
Hillman looked around. He shook himself off. His stomach rumbled something fierce for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning. He turned and headed back up the street towards the Terran cafeteria. Yes, sausage and pancakes would be just the thing, but he was probably gonna skip the botse sauce.
| 2016-01-03T19:46:51 | 2016-01-03T19:04:24 | 221 | 42 |
[WP] All souls in Hell are given the same test upon arrival. If they can create a punishment worthy of being added to the Pit, they get to ascend to demonhood on the spot. You are the first to succeed in 200 years...
[deleted]
|
(This is a rough draft- No editing allowed! Stream of consciousness- let's go!)
The Demon glowered down at me, his dark skin tattooed with swirling patterns.
"Well?" he growled. "Are ye gonna come up wit' somethin', or not?"
I had come up with an idea, so dastardly and cruel, but I needed to fully convert it into words.
"Hmmm." I frowned, concentrating. "It'd be a lot more helpful if you weren't pointing that pitchfork at me."
The demon conceded, and gave me some space. "All right, " He said, "But you got 2 minutes, and not a second more!" He sat down on a nearby boulder.
I called for the demon after about forty-five seconds had passed, my idea fully converted into digestible conversation.
"Let's 'ear it, then."
"Well, you know standardized testing?"
"Yeah. They're hard, but a necessary evil. My kids didn't do so well at them, but that's not what matters all the time. My son is now a welder- didn't need to go to no fancy college. "
I stopped him mid anecdote - "But what if, we told people there was a test you could take to get out of here?"
The demon scoffed. "E'res no Way out of e're! This is 'Ell! Both big men'd have me 'ead if dat were true!"
"This is a lie, of course."
"Of Course, Of course. Continue."
"This test would be like any normal test - except it feels like it's taking forever- which it does, the clock is ticking too loud, all the test-takers feel they're being scrutinized constantly, and their pencil lead just broke. It would be like this forever. Or at least a very, very long time."
"Well, that's just-"
"Evil?" I supplied.
The demon grinned, and snapped his fingers. "I was gonna say 'Diabolical'", but that 'orks too."
A new energy swirled within me, and I could feel myself growing taller. I smelled smoke and ash, and my skin had become the red of the demon before me. I grinned with him.
|
I awake after falling out of my body into a dark pit were I quickly lost consciousness. I know I wasn’t the best person ever. In retrospect I was kind of a dick. I made people mad on purpose and spent my time on the internet being the antagonist of all the sides.
However when I awoke I was on a stone ground it was Jagged and it felt like a sauna without the steam. I saw before me a red humanoid figure. Their eyes glowed red and they had two massive horns protruding from their temples. It asked me “lowly human you have been given a chance to escape torture knowing full well you have dammed many to the fate you design.” Confused and at a loss from words I simply ask “what?” The demon then elaborated “As expected you have no Idea what I am talking about. Every human that has ever died and been sent to hell can design a torture for many evil soul’s eternity. If I like it as the current on duty rank 2 demon I can differentiate between a good and bad torture. I even run a small section of hell under a rank 3 demon of course, who intern works for a rank 2 demon all the way up to rank 10 who is known by you humans by satan. If you pass you can become a low level rank 1 demon running just your single torture. If this reality comes to pass as the liquid agony comes through you can send it up to increase your own power or consume it to gain its strength. It’s about balance really if you don’t eat it as a demon you’ll be dispersed into the world and reincarnated into who knows what. But as you get stronger you can fight your neighbors to gain the liquid agony rights from their land and you’ll take a cut of their gained power. And if you think you can challenge me at any point as the demon that will be overseeing your area you can very well fight me and if you win you get a cut from my entire territory while I am pushed back to my starting spot. If this future will come to pass you must also know you are given a month long period to farm as much agony as possible where none of it is syphoned off. In this month it is impossible for other demons to even think of trying to claim your territory. However if you go to fight before your grace period is up it’ll end prematurely. Demons also nor living things secret agony so no point in mentally torturing them. There is more but that is for after you become a rank 2 demon. And the conditions for advancement is for a person who has reached demonhood. However if you fail to make a good torture you will be given to to the weakest demon in my territory and they will use you for their liquid agony.” “Okay sounds easy enough.” “Oh you say that but no soul has passed in 200 years. Here are the rules: if your torture is anywhere in all of hell then it’s an instant fail. If your torture won’t produce more than one cup of agony in single day it is a fail. If for any reason I don’t like it unless overruled by a higher ranking demon that happened to walk by at that moment which is very rare then you fail. You get as much time as you need you can even construct your torture and see it’s predicted output just by visualizing it.”
I thought about this for many hours. I looked at a bunch of things like pure nothingness no stimulation at all and the prediction graph was good but the average was way to low with its one massive spike in the middle. I then experimented with dementia and a reality effectively warps around it. But the randomness of it was no good either. My last idea however was glorious. It was an empty room with only one thing a small floating tablet. This tablet controlled the room and allowed the person to add things or “upgrade” their room. However nothing works properly when added and you never have enough coins to buy the upgrade to make it do so. But I quickly scraped it as simply buying a bunch of small things for a high price over time led to a loop hole that got your things fixed. Then I had an idea they are forced to be the victim of their every crime ten fold in various stages and they can never get justice in fact trying to fight back will make it worse. Abuse doers (tell me how to spell the correct word correctly) are abused in the same way they abused anyone in any form, Extorters are extorted and threatened with torture beyond belief while working to barely have enough to feed themselves anyway, Bullies are bullied, and the punishment is multiplied another tenfold if they committed their crimes against people who were un able to live by themselves. I also added another contingency that if they got into whatever happened they were to be given a new punishment and it will cycle around however all the souls will be manipulated to feel everything slightly more and have almost no plasticity or sense of pleasure. Plus the chart was high all the time.
When I turned in my work I looked at the second ranked demon with my fingers crossed and I watched as a wave of horror flash over is face, then an evil grin. “ HAHA you amaze me. You pass never in all my existence have I EVER seen a torture that _almost_ made me feel pity. You pass.”
I could feel the relief leave my body as my muscles loosened so much it’s like I was told I won a government run lottery that dealt with all my problems for forever including a 100% tax break. The second rank demon looked at me and told me a few more things. “You are not restricted to your post in fact there are many many places that suit your comfort. These are usually run by high ranked demons who’s torture gets them lots of agony but they hardly increase in strength. The common currency is liquid agony and this gets you anything you can imagine no matter how sickening. Also you rise a demon rank when you manage to defeat any demon that over sees you.” “Wait one question why did you tell me about a bunch of stuff that would only be helpful after I passed anyway? To give you that bit of hope, usually getting out of an eternity in hell is enough incentive but this bit of hope to be snatched away along with the chance to get strong and be in power also does _wonders_ for our numbers.”
And that’s how I started my life on the path to rank 10 to become the next satan.
Some notes: if a rank 1 demon fights and wins against another rank 1 demon they do not become rank 2 just that other demon gets even less liquid agony.
Also tell me of any mistakes I made
Also also if this gets 420 updoots I will literally make a part two.
| 2021-12-22T17:53:06 | 2021-12-22T16:53:51 | 98 | 27 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
I'm a sleeper living in the outskirts of the city, and I run a little Airbnb for sleep tourism. The awoken comes here often for sleep tourism, to get a sense of nostalgic belongings. You see, since the awoken can be so productive, they are able to afford the pill at all times, never needing to rest at all. They have no need for a home, because it is obviously more productive if you're constantly in the office, on the move, never needing to rest.
It's been said that those who could not afford the pill will never be productive enough to afford it again. The pill is expensive, and the thirst for it has transformed and stratified society. The downtown area is a constant state noise nowadays, full of exercise studios, dance clubs, and bars that never close to serve the awoken's never ending productivity. New services such as on site grooming and bathing, personalized wardrobe on the cloud has seen a boom, where personalized servants enter offices to care for those who never leaves work. Not being able to afford the pill, these sleepers are in a losing battle, constantly sleepy yet they must struggle to keep up. I was a personal trainer before I decided that, fuck it, I'll just run a sleeper inn and have these awokens conform to my schedule.
Adam used to frequently visit my inn. He's good for business as he brings his family along, wife and 2 kids Bobby and Aaron, and they spend the day cooking and working out in my gym to get a sense of family normality, as they do not own a house. Adam works for some kinda eye care company, where business is booming. Though Adam always tells me that the best eye protection is an 8hr sleep. I've taken an interest in how he's raising his children, as they're the first generation born entirely into the pill era. Aaron, the younger one, showed greater aptitude than Bobby, and It wasn't before long that I found out that Bobby was ill. Well, he's normal, except he's awfully allergic to the pills, and was in a coma for a day last time he used it. It is no surprise he cannot compete with Aaron, with 8 hours less time a day, it's impossible.
Having to sleep in the noisy city center, and being constantly overshadowed by a younger sibling has put a toll on Bobby. Eventually, he moved into my house and rented a room, and Adam arranged a nanny to look after him. Bobby would attend to the local best school instead of a 24/7 tutoring program. Adam stopped coming. It's apparent that, he was only here for awhile to scout out a good location for Bobby.
A year pass.
"We're leaving the city Zoe". Adam has turned up on my doorsteps after a year. "We actually got a place not so far from your place, Bobby will move in with us and we'll come say hi once in awhile".
"That's awesome!" I replied. I'm happy they're finally together after a year, but also bit sad as Bobby and the nanny have been a steady source of income. "Why? The city's too noisy?"
"Nah just... A change of scenery"
Adam moved in to take Bobby, I noticed distinctive bags under his eyes. The wrinkles were so deep it felt they're etched in. And Aaron, there's no better way to put it, but he looked every part like an older brother and is already a head taller than Bobby.
As they left I wondered how many awokens would choose sleep over haste?
|
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days.
It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting.
The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste.
And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again.
The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too?
The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can.
The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer.
She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day.
But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life *should* have been.
A dream can slip between those cracks.
The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child.
A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow.
The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer.
South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see.
A door is thrown open.
The girl stumbles towards it. Slips.
Sees a young woman.
She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup.
And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order.
She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much.
The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says *“I used to…*” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills.
The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye.
Twilight. The gray before the dawn.
The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare.
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
She is:
ripples on a pond;
a frontier that men have conquered;
an afterthought in a brave new world.
She could have been:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-03-18T09:35:02 | 2022-03-18T09:00:46 | 88 | 36 |
[WP] A man is facing execution via firing squad. When asked for his last request he says "release me". His executioners oblige and he is set free. The man now realises he has an incredible power. The power of suggestion.
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"Release me."
To my unending surprise, my executioners actually paused for a moment. Then, they opened the cell door, grabbed me, and began dragging me to the door.
As they paraded me through the courtyard, I almost froze in shock. Were they actually going to let me go? It'd been a grim sort of joke, not an honest request.
Actually, why hadn't any of the other inmates on death row tried this? I ducked under a low ceiling, and was led calmly past a group of armed men. The gates of the compound were in sight.
What would I do with my newfound power once I reached the outside? I could convince anyone to give me their wallet, or rob grocery stores with - No. I was thinking too small. With this power, I'd be able to do much, much more.
Politicians would be no match for me. A phone call or two would put me at the top of any government.
The guards had me stop for a moment. "Mr. Steiner - As per your last request, you are being released.."
I grinned, planning the best way to get back on the guards once I had a group of followers.
"..from life." The guard stepped away, and nodded at the group of armed men.
Oh.
Shit.
---
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
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They actually did it. The actually let me go. Every time I look back, I keep thinking that one of the guards will come back to get me, then laugh at my face before telling me it was all just a sadistic joke. Holy shit they actually let me go!
Once a man on the verge of death for accidentally killing a teenage convenience store robber with his own gun, now free and alive.
And all I had to do was say: "release me."
I had no idea that the Jedi mind trick actually worked in real life.
Yet, I still need to find some way to travel the country, in order to find myself a new way to earn a living.
Wait.
If I could be let go, just by asking...could it work a second time?
I head to the nearest bank. A JP Morgans.
Once inside, I look at the long line-up that snakes back and forth all the way to where I'm standing, right by the door. This might take a while. Unless...
"Um...excuse me, everyone?" I say loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone in the building turns to look at me.
Crap. Say something. They're all just staring. They'll think I'm trying to rob this place or something. Say something.
"May I...please go to the front of the line? It's very urgent."
Silence. More silence. At least I said something. I think about turning around and running away as fast as I can.
"Of course sir, I don't think anyone would mind! It is an emergency after all!" One of the bank tellers says to me with a bright smile.
...Okay then. It worked again. Thank God. I wipe away the sweat from my face.
I managed to extract 5 million dollars from the bank. All in cash. I had no idea that particular branch even had that much, and all I had to do was ask for it! I even got a silver briefcase out of the deal to carry the money!
Now, what to do with this. I think I need to get myself a sweet set of wheels now.
And just by asking one old man on the street, he tells me exactly how to get to a Lamborghini dealership. I get there within the hour, with a briefcase loaded with cold hard cash. I'm surprised that no one has tried to mug me yet - but I suppose that I would only need to ask whoever that tried to rob me to leave me alone.
"Yeah, I want this year's model, the 2015 silver one over there," I say to the salesman as soon as I'm asked: "How are you today sir?"
He stares at me for a moment. Then I open the briefcase and show him its contents. He then smiles and says:
"Excellent! Would you like to fill out the paper work now or take a look at the car first?"
"Paperwork please."
I could have easily told him that I didn't want any kind of paper work done, but I just got out of a death sentence not too long ago, and I don't know how much there is to my new-found power of suggestion. Or if it's limited or not.
"Just go right into that office there, show our desk clerk Butch the goods, and he'll get you all set up!"
"Thanks."
When I get into the office I tense up. Sitting down in front of me is a huge, husky, and bald white man with flame tattoos going up his neck and stopping at his cheeks. I only thought "Butch" was just a name. It looks as if he's not even sitting down he has so much bulk.
"Sup man, what can I do ya for?" Butch asks me while looking at his paper that he's scribbling words onto.
"I uh...I'm here to buy the new 2015 model."
"Oh yeah?" He looks at me with a scary, nose-pierced face. How did I not notice that before? "That's one pricey machine, got the cash for it?"
"Uh...yeah. Right here," I say to Butch then open the briefcase. He gives me a smug "not bad" kind of look as he nods his head in approval.
"Hoooleee shit man that's a lot of cheddar!" he shouts causing me to back up a bit. "That's the second most crazy thing I've seen today!"
"...The second?" I ask.
"Hell yeah man, my wife - oh -" he suddenly hushes himself and leans closer to me "my wife just got herself a new dildo today, and it's fuckin' nuts," he whispers.
"...Oh yeah?" I ask.
"Yeah," he nods again and smirks. "This thing looks like a torture device that the fuckin' Nazi's would've used. Wanna see it?" He grins.
"You have it...with you here?"
"Yeah, she couldn't hide it at her workplace, so being a good husband I agreed to hide it here for her till I get home tonight."
I hear a loud scraping of metal on wood as Butch opens up a drawer from behind his desk. He then pulls out what looks like a thin but very long war mace. Butch waves it briefly in front of me causing the rubbery sex toy to sway back and forth.
"Ain't this thing fuckin' nuts? I didn't even know my wife was in to this shit! I'm gonna have a lot of fun tonight if you know what I mean!" Butch says and starts laughing hysterically as he puts the dildo away.
My grip weakens on the briefcase where most of the money falls out onto the floor.
"Oh fuck me!" I shout.
| 2015-02-01T23:08:49 | 2015-02-01T23:08:25 | 142 | 70 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice: once when their body dies, and once when their name is spoken for the last time. One must wander the earth as a ghost until their name is spoken for the last time; only then can they pass into the afterlife. It's been over 3000 years, and you're still here.
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If I knew I had more of the same to look forward to, I don't think I'd of killed myself. Really it was basically like life but worse, at least if you were alive you had needs and wants, urges and drives. When you were dead you just boredly watched the living. Watched them make the same stupid mistakes again and again.
Centuries went by before I finally figured out how a ghost died. Was spending time with one of the dead in his families home. His widow said his name and he just vanished. I hung around for a while longer but no further mention of him was made, and that's when I figured out that the dead were little more than memories. As the memory of us faded, so did we.
I knew a catastrophe unlike any other was coming when the ghosts began to vanish in droves. The only comparable time was the fall of Rome, so many who should've been remembered were lost for forever. Even then however, paled in comparison to what had been happening. I was praying with a friend of mine, a holocaust victim by the name of Elijah. I happened upon him shortly after his death, wandering around France in a daze. So long it had been since I had any real company, even as a ghost I was reviled, my name synonymous with betrayal and greed. He didn't care though, so we spent our time talking about our lives, about theology, about the world. I think part of the reason he was willing to talk to me was because he no longer saw the light, but in time he did again and in doing so made me think perhaps I could as well.
When he vanished I couldn't believe it, there was an entire museum dedicated to remembering the holocaust victims. I made my way to the museum only to find it intact, with more people than ever. I stayed there, praying each day, watching ghosts blink out of existence by the hundreds. Praying they found something better after. Then the bombs fell, it took Rome years, decades even, to fall. The modern fell in less than a week, utterly destroyed by their own power.
Even so I didn't fade, I guessed some knowledge was just to stubborn to be forgotten. I couldn't do it alone anymore however, and I had an idea of who to speak to, to begin to see about finding forgiveness. I moved slower than I could have, stopping and spending the night with survivors I'd find, praying over them, then spending the time on the road praying that my prayers were heard. I didn't think I'd find him there, but the first place I checked was the eternal city. As I suspected he was nowhere to be found, so I continued on to his old home in Galilee.
I made my way to the waters edge and saw him standing in the water, immune to the radioactivity, water lapping gently against his knees. Even after all these years I recognized him, the rock. He turned and looked at me then, and I could see the pain and anguish in his eyes. I wondered if my eyes looked similar, both of us having experienced three thousand years of human loss and suffering. "Still I don't have enough faith" he chuckled, gesturing at the water and how even as a ghost he sank beneath it's surface. "Hello Peter" I greeted.
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The clipping in the newspaper about me, although quite thoughtful, was the worst thing to ever happen to me.
"Jacob Qwuizek, a self-proclaimed atheist, was taken off of life support two days ago after an intense court battle, which has come to be known as Jacob vs. Marshall. Jacob was only 22 at the age of his death, a strikingly young age given the recent advancements in modern medicine. A major medical discovery made by Immortality Inc. in just the last week has made it possible to, assuming the victim can make it a treatment center within 24 hours, suspend an individual in a comatose-like state indefinitely. The main benefit of this is it allows doctors and medical individuals to properly treat victims of any ailment over a long period of time, and in extreme cases, simply put off treatment until more efficient remedies have been developed. However, in Jacob's case, his family argued that Jacob, who had suffered severe head trauma and would not be able to be resuscitated anytime in the nearby future, should be allowed to "pass on" to the next life. It was not long until the whole country was up in arms over this debate, which would set the landmark for who had the right to choose between life and death for individuals. The pro-choice side argued that unless an individual had, prior to their "death," stated they wished to be kept suspended artificially for as long as possible the choice should be left up to the family. The pro-life side argued that unless an individual has stated otherwise, he/she would be considered a separate entity and therefore would be responsible for his/her own choices, making the family incapable of deciding between life and death. At the end of the court case, which was eventually appealed all the way up to the Supreme Court, the decision was made in favor of the pro-choice side. My sources tell me that as of today this court case has become the most talked about event on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, reaching over a billion users to date. It seems that Jacob will be remembered for a much longer time than he had lived.
Rest Easy."
That was the story of my first death. I'm still waiting for my second one. My first death was a lot smoother than I ever could have imagined. Your body knows when it is going to die, and it tries to make it as easy as possible. I felt no pain, no sadness, I felt nothing except the breath leave my body.
And then I opened my eyes.
It wasn't your stereotypical "bright white light" or "long room with Jesus in it", it was like a reception room in your local hospital. As soon as I had taken in my surroundings, a lady beckoned for me, "the greeter will see you now." She certainly seemed less confused than I did, so I trusted her. I followed her through a doorway and a long hallway where she then pointed me towards the "greeter."
He certainly made things a lot clearer to me. This was well over 3000 years ago so my memory may be a little foggy, but I'll do my best to recall what happened.
According to his explanation, 1) God was real and 2) I was in a place known as the "Waiting Room." According to the greeter people would stay in the Waiting Room as transient beings until their name was no longer being spoken. Every time your name was spoken, and the speaker was referencing you, you earned more time in the Waiting Room. The rules were simple;
1) Everyone in the Waiting Room was incapable of interacting with living people. They could walk among them, but any attempt to interact with them would be futile.
2) It was impossible to kill another person in the Waiting Room.
3) The point of being here is to enjoy watching your loved ones live their life, and maybe even get to meet up with them in the Waiting Room before you all proceed onto to Heaven.
4)If you wish to leave here, the committee, who will contain the individuals with the most time stored up, will hold a vote for your passage.
The last rule was designed as a way for people to continue on into Heaven if they had no reason to stay (i.e. all their loved ones had passed through and they were still stuck in the Waiting Room). Unfortunately, the rule was enforced exactly the way God had initially planned.
The Waiting Room was initially designed as a place for heroes and positive members of society to interact with each other and watch life on Earth continue but, much like God had misinterpreted Eve's desire to commit sin, He had misinterpreted how society remembered people.
People seemed to have an infatuation with evil-doers.
Hitler had 2,345,574 days stored up.
Mussolini had 768,456.
Stalin had 1,567,281.
Lenin had 23,645.
Columbus had 654,236.
Nero had 11,546.
You get the idea.
Those who had committed terrible sins seemed to be stuck in the Waiting Room the longest. Initially I thought this would be a good thing, I wouldn't be here too long and when I went to Heaven I would escape from their psychotic tyranny. Boy was I wrong.
I died in 2015 and as of today, 5432, I had 454,321 days left. It turns out my court case became an international sensation for over 500 years as medical developments continued to make it possible for people to live artificially for longer and longer. Time and time again governments, families, and textbooks would refer to me, by both first and last name, to support their arguments. My name was published in over 30,000 textbooks, mentioned over 100,000 times on websites, and hundreds of times more in person. Luckily for me, the hype was finally beginning to die down; but, I still had over 1200 years left in the "Waiting Room."
And because the committee consisted of those with the longest time stored up, people like Hitler, Stalin, and Mussolini, every single request I made to leave was vetoed to satisfy their maniacal desire. In fact for awhile I had so much time stored up that I was on the committee as well, but I never could outvote those madmen.
It was impossible to kill another one of us, another "ghost", but that did not prevent non-fatal physical or mental harm. I tried defying them once when I first arrived, I told them they couldn't go around hurting people all the time.
Then they tortured me for the next two years without cessation. It was during these two years that it began to dawn on me that I wasn't going to leave the Waiting Room anytime soon, and that I couldn't put up with this torture for an indeterminate amount of time. I had one choice.
I joined them.
Initially I was only doing it to survive, so every deed I committed, I did in as humane of a fashion as possible. Whenever I got the chance I would only hurt people if They were watching me. Sometimes I would even let people escape from Them if I got the chance. That's how it went for the first hundred or so years. I was like their captive unwillingly capturing captives for Them.
Eventually I began to understand their plight. Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin; they were all trapped here for thousands of years while these filthy vermin of individuals got to go to Heaven in an incredibly short amount of time, 75 years was the average. It just wasn't fair. A man I was torturing one day told me I had developed Stockholm Syndrome, but in actuality I had finally realized that us "immortals" deserved to inflict pain on everyone else. It was only fair.
| 2016-01-17T15:06:39 | 2016-01-17T11:21:55 | 235 | 137 |
[WP] Once every year, soulmates glow the same color as each other for one hour.
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I used to love this time of year, watching the world running around in search of their glow. I remember watching a young couple when I was in Manchester for work, both bathed in silver, struggling to hold a conversation in broken English in between masses and masses of glow-hunters roaming the streets. But the smiles on their faces and the urgency in their eyes made them glow even stronger, and made me grin happily. It's hard not to watch sheer happiness when it happens.
Even here in the hospice you can feel the joy on these days, as if seeing all these matching colours is reaffirmation of the choices people have made. Watching a sweet old man gaze adoringly at his partner, even if she isn't able to return the glance. Young families watching their mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives rebuilding their lives enveloped in shades of blues and reds.
My glow is holding my hand tightly. It shines as strong as it ever did - from the day we found our glow as children, to more than thirty years later.
We don't talk about much any more. She gets very tired very easily, but when she listens she always has a smile on her face. That magnificent lop-sided smile that makes the hairs on my neck react. She’s smiling at me now as I talk about my brother getting married (for the third time - needless to say he's not found his matching glow quite yet) and how everyone was sending their love and well-wishes. I wish she could have come with me.
She's been sleeping a little, but not as restless as she has been recently. I've been up and down, sitting by the vending machines, people watching, making the most out of the beautiful colours in every room. The radio is spewing some story about Prince George proclaiming that it doesn't matter if he dates a lavender girl whilst glowing green himself. Apparently the Royal Family are aghast.
I take a moment to stand outside for a smoke. Looking at my watch I see that there is still half an hour before the glowing stops for another year. I see two nurses through a window, both glowing a bright turquoise. They seem incredibly shocked.
Something doesn't feel right. I flex my fingers, they're full of pins and needles. My hand starts to feel cold. I look at it. It doesn't seem as bright any more.
I knock a chair over in my rush to get back to where she is resting, and take her hand in mine. Her eyes are closed.
And just like that, she isn't glowing anymore. I look at our hands, and neither am I.
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The anxiety of today is slowing down my work. Five times now, I've typed an extra letter, or closed a window I wasn't finished with. The computer clock shows I've only been at my desk for an hour, but at the rate I'm going, a break would only help. I push back from my desk and take my water bottle to the break corner.
I hear coworkers from their cubicles rave about their glows and how tonight was going to be so special with their spouses. I work with mostly married people, and it makes me pretty envious.
Today though, as I filled my water, I heard one voice speak up. It's a woman that I don't particularly like. No idea who she is, but I hear her more often than I like to.
"My husband and I aren't the same color." She said defiantly, and probably for the attention. Admittedly though, I fumbled my bottle and spilled water on my hand when I heard that.
A coworker enquired, of course. Sure it's bait, but who wouldn't want to hear that story?
"Yep, me and Jerome are nearly opposites on the color wheel. He's a lovely amber, and I'm a kind of... I would say lavender? Maybe a little darker, even.
"But neither of us had found our matches. We were friends since I moved in the same apartments as him and saw him all the time. I think he knew what color I was before I knew his, and still asked me out. It kinda drew me to him, like he wanted to defy it all for me. So of course we got married!"
Her listener laughed. But I ached eavesdropping on that story. The what-ifs brimmed up to my lips, but I kept them to myself.
Where is Jerome's soulmate? Will he up and leave you if he finds her someday? What about your soulmate? What if he's waiting for you, and you're leaving him alone and bitter?
I realized I was tensing my shoulders, and brought my chest out until my back popped. Still eleven hours until the glowing starts. It's a different time every year, but within the same week. It all depended on the Earth's alignment with the most recent collision of stars. It gives out some kind of infrared rays, with a new wave hitting each year, but scientists haven't been able to say why these colors come from our torsos. Save for the pattern of happy couples sharing the same color. So most people have just jumped to the conclusion that it's soulmates.
My girlfriend and I have been seeing each other for 8 months now, so this would be our first glowing together. We were both afraid to talk about our colors, but one of her friend's slipped up and said she was a blue. I couldn't get anymore out of her after that. She realized her mistake and left the party as soon as she politely could.
The thing though, is my color is blue. It's the sky blue you could find in one of the nicer boxes of crayola crayons, that kids would push into their drawings of a square house on green hills, and all their family standing side-by-side too big for the little house next to them. It's not that I hate the color I glow, but the fact that I'm nearly 30 and still having to date throws me out of whack.
When the glowing pattern was discovered 5 years ago, I tried to call my exes to know what their colors were. Ok, not all of them. Thea smacked her lips when she ate. I couldn't possibly be her soulmate, although I would hate to admit how many times the thought to text her has come up in the past few years.
"Jason. That phone is going to be the death of me." My boss interrupted my thinking. My thumb was hovering over Thea's contact absentmindedly.
"O right, sorry about that. Little preoccupied, I guess." I stifle a laugh and log back in to my computer.
Her eyes receded back into her head and she continued down the aisle of cubes. I roll my eyes, and go on to my work. But now there's an Instant Message from my friend Vic, flashing at the corner of my screen.
'Shes such a tool lol'
'U ok?'
I typed back, 'Little nervous about tonight. Candace and I haven't talked about our colors'
I waited for a reply. I know Vic's been happily married for a couple years, and since they work here together, I've gotten to see how cute he and Andrew are. It warms my heart to hear them both laugh.
The three dots are flashing to indicate Vic typing a response.
'Aww you're such a romantic
I've met my soulmate, but it's not Andrew.'
'Dude
WHAT?!' My world was a lie, reading his message.
'What about your soulmate?' I had to know.
I could tell he was typing, but I was going to read a long story. I mindlessly worked from the corner of my eye. My full attention went to seeing the response as soon as it came up.
'It was a girl, funny enough. Belle. And she was lovely, hilarious, and always looking to do something new. But she was really into drugs. Heroine, sadly. I couldn't get a hold of her for days at a time.'
'Oof' Was all I could think to write back. Then, 'That must have been heartbreaking.'
Another long response came up. 'O my god you have no idea. My ultimatum was either she go to rehab or I leave. She only stayed for 3 days thinking that was good enough, and treated herself with more heroine lol.
Probably thought I wouldn't leave either if we really were soulmates. But I did.'
More typing came from Vic, 'I keep in touch with her parents, still. She's starting to straighten out. Has a kid with her old drug dealer though, so there's still a lot of drama in her life.'
I can't remember how my day at work went after that. Vic's story rattled through my head. I stayed quiet until I got to Candy's apartment with a bouquet of daffodils and a bottle of wine. She cooked dinner and we watched the sunset from her apartment balcony. We made our best efforts to talk about anything besides the glowing.
Then finally when words were as scarce as the wine in the bottle, I led her inside. I pulled her in to a deep, comfortable kiss, and a warm embrace in her kitchen.
With that, Candy scurried to the bathroom, and I took my place on her bed. I looked at my white shirt to see the glowing has started, with my blue light shining through my shirt.
Bare, timid footsteps made their way from the bathroom, across the wood floors, and stopped outside the bedroom door. Candy was taking a deep breath before walking in.
She opened the door to me in nothing but lingerie. The blue bra and panties matched her glow. It was a deep, ocean blue, a color my eyes could drift off into, and unlike anyone's I had ever seen before.
| 2017-10-21T14:01:38 | 2017-10-21T13:39:20 | 63 | 25 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse.
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I surveyed the vaguely evil-looking man in the business suit. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his goatee meticulously trimmed. I had the impression that his suit was alarmingly expensive, though I know very little about fashion and I suppose I could have been wrong. He had a small, centimeter-long scar beneath his left eye. He was handsome, in a roguish sort of way. He looked like a mobster with just a touch of OCD thrown into the mix. Or perhaps like a very clean-cut Captain Jack Sparrow.
"I want a marble," I said.
He emanated an evil laugh. "Your wish is my -- wait. What?"
"A marble. I'd like a marble," I repeated.
He looked at me with an expression of bewilderment, sucking his teeth for a moment before speaking carefully. "Just to be clear, you wish to surrender your soul - the fate of which will be unspeakable horror for all eternity - and in exchange, you desire a mere marble?"
"Marbles are cool," I said. "I like the sound that they make when they roll on the floor."
He stared at me with his piercing eyes. "Human, I have no time for games. The contract is void if you do not understand its terms, and so I'll ask you again - do you comprehend what you are giving up, and what you seek in return?"
Something clicked in my head. "Ahh," I exclaimed. "I get it. You're trying to fuck with me, aren't you? You're hinting that you're going to screw around with my wish, like in the movies. Well, then let me be more specific. I'd like a *normal-sized* marble made out of solid glass, that doesn't break, get lost, or have any weird properties. I want it to spawn half an inch above my hand, and I won't consider this to be a deal if you rig it so that I drop it and it rolls down a vent."
He continued to stare.
"And I want it to be see-through," I specified. "Not completely invisible, but kind of like water. Like, it has a sort of vague opacity, but you can still hold it up to your eye and see a distorted view of the world."
He looked confused. Even a little scared? A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he looked at me.
*Was he thinking of different ways to botch this wish? Was he trying to hide something? What was I missng?*
"Wait!!!" I yelped.
A slow smile spread across his face. "I knew that couldn't have been it," he said.
"I want it to be round," I said, suppressing a grin of victory. "Really round. Not round like a dish, but spherical. But I also want to be able to set it down and not have it roll away if I don't want it to."
His smile vanished, and snarl took its place. "I've struck many bargains with mortals in my long lifetime, human. They all want *something* of significance. A woman of unsurpassed beauty. More money than they could possibly spend. People lately have been asking for superpowers, which has been amusing to deal with. But YOU," he said, pointing an accusatory finger. "YOU have some hidden motive, don't you? Some angelic power has been granted to you, perhaps, and all you need is the proper conduit. Or - you have the ability to place your soul within a marble of these specifications, is that it? And it will not only make you immortal, but it will prevent ME from accessing your soul should anything happen to your body. Is that it?? Well, I hereby make it a condition of this contract that you must tell me exactly what this marble is for!"
"Hey man," I said, hands raised in a symbolic gesture of peaceful intent. "You came to ME, and asked me if I wanted to strike a deal. I told you exactly what I want. If you don't want to give it to me, fine. But you told me yourself that hell has a shortage of souls, and that your boss has given you authority to grant almost *anything* in return for mine. So are you going to give me the marble, or what?"
The snarl deepened, and he let out an inhuman howl. "Damn you, human! Damn you to an eternity worse than any I could prepare for you! This contract is cancelled! I shall return to my master and we will uncover the foul meaning behind this wish! I will not be tricked by YOU!"
And with that, he was gone in a puff of smoke.
I walked away, hands conspicuously empty of any prize. Even in dealing with the devil, life is fraught with nothing but disappointment.
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Jessie struggled against the chains, her naked body cold with sweat, her eyes burning in feverish despair. The blindfold was soaked in her tears. She heard them chant darkly around her. She had seen the knife, the chalice, the circle of candles, and the pentagram on the floor. She tried to scream but the foul-tasting gag muffled her.
Only this morning she had prepared herself for her first day of high school. She was ready to meet her new classmates – ready, but nervous. She had heard the van drive up behind her. She remembered thinking nothing of it. And then it was just blackness.
She gasped as she felt cold steel run down her thigh, and then the sting. Wet heat seeped down her skin.
“Oh, Dark One!” A deep voice said in maniacal ecstasy. “We offer you the blood of this virgin! Step forth! Join us on this mortal plane. Take your throne! The world is yours.”
At first, there was nothing, but then the room shook. Jessie could smell the mortar dust sailing down from the ceiling. Her stomach felt like she was on a roller coaster. Strange smells filled her nostrils. Charcoal, rotten eggs, and melting iron. Then there was heat.
‘*Open your eyes,*’ a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Jessie took a deep breath. She could feel the heat on her lips and in her throat. She was no longer gagged. She sat up and opened her eyes.
The landscape before her was a waste of ashes and darkened mountains. Like the neon signs of an amusement park, rivers of flowing lava lit up the night. What the hell…
‘*That’s right. That’s exactly it.*’
Jessie shook her head trying to rid herself of the strange whispers, and at the same time make sense of her surroundings. The ground beneath her rumbled. In the far distance, a red flower bloomed over a mountain, and then the rock started bleeding.
“Where am I?” she said, despite herself.
Her voice was twisted and dark and sent a shiver down her own spine. It wasn’t her voice.
‘*You’re in Hell, baby.*’
“Who are you? Am I dead?”
The voice let out a hushed chuckle.
‘*Listen, girl. Allow me to take your soul, and I’ll put you right back in your world.*’
Jessie thought about her parents and her little sister; she did want to see them again. This place was dead; there was nothing for her here. Still, the room with the crazed cultists flickered in her mind. She had been so scared. She didn’t want to go back to that.
‘*What are you going to do, huh?*’ the whispering voice said. ‘*There’s nothing for you here.*’
“How do I know that?” Jessie growled, trying to stay unfazed by her dark voice. “I’ve only just got here.”
‘*You can trust me, I’ve been here for a very long time. There’s nothing but brimstone and suffering here.*’
“Are you Lucifer?”
The voice laughed in the back of her mind but didn’t respond. Jessie looked at her hand. It was covered in red scales with claws sprouting from her fingertips. Carefully, she touched her face. Her nose had a strange shape, almost like a snout, and when she moved her head around it felt heavy.
“You’re not getting my soul until you tell me what’s going on.”
‘*That little cult tried to summon me – it happens. But they were clever this time, very...* **specific** *about what I could and couldn’t do. I was supposed to be bound to your mortal form… they wanted power over me. They were clever. I’ll give them that. But there is always a loophole. I reversed the ritual, and now you’re here. You possess me.*’
“I possess you?”
‘*Yes, quite ironic isn’t it? I kind of enjoy having you in there though… it’s refreshing. But I like I said, I can send you back… at the cost of your soul, of course.*’
“Nope.”
The voice snorted. ‘*What do you mean, ’nope?’*’
“I lied. You’re not getting my soul.”
Jessie took a few steps. Her feet were massive hooves and the ground puffed ash. She left a trail of burning hoof prints in her wake.
‘*I like you.*’ The voice carried a combination of anger and stark amusement.
“I don’t care,” Jessie said and tried out the massive wings on her back.
She wanted to get back home, but maybe she could enjoy herself for a while first. She’d always wanted to fly.
‘*The only way back… is you giving me your soul.*’
“I don’t know. If you got in here somehow, there has to be a way out.”
Now the voice went into full-blown laughter.
“What? It’s only logical.”
‘*There is a way out. I’ll show it to you.*’
“And what, the price is my freaking soul?”
‘*Oh no, this one is on the house. Maybe then you’ll better grasp the concept of eternal damnation.*’
“Whatever. Just tell me where it is,” Jessie said and rolled her eyes.
‘*Follow the stream.*’
“Which one?”
‘*Any. They all lead to the same place.*’
***
Jessie stomped along the dead plains, following a smoldering river. She tried to fly a few times, but her lack of coordination made her crash. She'd always been a bit clumsy, and piloting this body was much harder than her own.
Finally, she reached the foot of a massive volcano. Lava boiled down its sides, spreading into a burning spider web over the strange landscape. She took a deep breath and tried to control her limbs. Arms. Legs. Tail. Wings. Lots of things to keep track of. Kind of like operating one of her dad's excavators.
Her massive thighs strained, and she somehow managed to push herself off the ground, catching herself with the big wings. She flapped them desperately, and somehow she rose.
'*Not bad,*' the voice said.
After a bit of a struggle, she managed to gain some sort of control. The massive body drifted through the air. Jessie felt her mouth twist into a toothy grin. But as much as she enjoyed the tingly sensation in the pit of her scaly stomach, she wanted to get back home.
Landing on the rim of the volcano's top was far from easy. She crashed inelegantly into a heap. She'd have to practice that.
The interior of the mountain was a massive red lake.
'*This is where we put some of the sinners,*' the voice said and chuckled. '*Swim across, Little Soul, swim across! They never make it very far.*'
Jessie noticed tiny black dots right below her. They were all people, screaming and trying to claw their way out.
"So, how do I get out?" Jessie said, trying to keep her voice steady.
'*At the middle.*'
She wasn't super excited about flying over an open lake of lava, but she still jumped into the air. It went better this time. Gliding across the screaming billions, she saw a dark shape jutting out of all the red, like a small leaf floating in a bowl of tomato soup.
A man sat cross-legged and naked on the steaming rock.
"Hey, who are you?" Jessie said, landing with a thud, "and how do I get out of here?"
The man lifted his graying head. His eyes were clogged with ashes, and his lips black and chapped. For a moment, he appeared scared, but then he tilted his head to the side.
“You’re… new,” he muttered. “Have you come to torture me?”
“No, I want to leave! Which way is out?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Okay…” The man spread his filthy fingers into a claw, and grated them over the sharp rocks, cringing from the pain.
A trail of bubbling blood soon formed a circle on the ground. The man shook his head.
“Just step into the circle,” he mumbled.
Jessie was about to do as she was told, but then a thought struck her. This poor man didn’t deserve to suffer here after being so helpful. She was going to bring him along. And with a flick of her massive wrist, she snatched him up. He let out a shrill scream of horror, kicking and wriggling to get free.
“Let’s go home,” she said and stepped into the glowing circle.
She felt the air pulsating around her, and a strange pressure pushed on her shoulders.
‘*I lied too,*’ the voice inside her head said and laughed. ‘*There’s only down from here.*’
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2018-01-20T08:06:42 | 2018-01-20T06:35:21 | 2,131 | 1,068 |
[WP] "For the last time no this is not a date, we are fighting, I am actively trying to murder you at this very moment!" "You say that buuuuuuuut..."
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"Ok, buuuuuuut, and hear me out - if you really ARE trying to kill me, then why the roses?"
"Because every rose has its thorn!"
"Those are the lyrics to a song! Come on, this is a joke, right?"
"It's not." he said, smashing a wine bottle, gripping it like a knife, and charging. "They told me that rose thorns were your only weakness!" I watched as he tripped and flew past, but he gracefully pirouetted in the air and landed seated in a chair, which slid back 10 feet, then tipped over backwards.
"They? Oh, umm, I think there was a misunderstanding. Roses are my favorite flower. They make me weak in the knees." I said, with an awkward smile.
"So you can't escape!" He said clambering back to his feet. He had misplaced the wine bottle in his tumble, and glanced around desperately for a new weapon.
"Who's trying to set us up, anyway? Oh, umm, there's some silverware on the table, is that what you're looking for?"
"I'll never tell you!" He said, snatching up the silverware and stalking back in a fighting crouch, kicking debris out of the way, knife in one hand, fork in the other.
"Come on, this is pointless, let's just finish our dinner. I was having such a good time, and you're ruining the vibe."
"Never! You killed my parents!" He said, going in for the kill. His strikes were mysteriously stopped in mid air, like they were hitting a forcefield.
"I killed your...? Then why did you want to go on a date with me?"
"For REVENGE!" He shouted.
"You know what, I don't think this is going to work out. Goodbye." I said, taking a step back, exploding into a swarm of bats, and flying out the window. "Don't feel bad! I'm sure there is a nice girl out there who will love you for who you really are!"
|
"buuuuuuuuut, why does killing involve dinner at a fancy restaurant?"
She lifts her glass as she smiles at me, under the table I can feel her foot snaking up my legs. Her eyes stay locked on mine and I feel utterly helpless as I watch her lips and the rim of the glass make contact.
We have been here a while, we came here in anger but despite the argument getting way out of hand and the Uber driver trying not to make eye contact in the rear view mirror, we still made our reservation time.
Not a word was spoken during the entree, she ordered the wine and it was like a contest to see who could eat without making a single sound with the cutlery against the plates. I started to relax and after the plates were removed from the table I reached over to touch her hand which unleashed the murder statement. It did not worry me, it was just another of Alice's little role play games and so I am playing along.
The main course appears without me having ordered, clearly Alice must have arranged this at some stage and of course it was Fugu on my plate, not hers. She was watching me with interest and internally I was battling, still a game or for real? Surely not in a restaurant, surely not in a public place where a chef prepares the food? She was still watching and under the table her foot once again made contact with my leg, this time moving up a bit higher, challenging me to refuse either offer. The back of my neck felt prickly.
Death by puffer fish was not how I envisioned the end so I carefully picked up my knife and fork, and with a nervous smile put a piece in my mouth. In reality I was so nervous I tasted nothing, I was trying to remember how long it would take for the poison to affect me. Did I chew or did I just swallow? Another piece somehow found it's way into my mouth and I was starting to relax. Across the table a smile was creeping first into Alice's eyes and then her lips followed before she looked down at her plate and wordlessly ate her meal.
We finished our meal and she took my hand as we walked out. I turned to ask about this whole murder plot but she put her finger on my lips before taking the lead as we walked out into the freezing outside air. An Uber was waiting for us and she opened the door as she ushered me in and followed. On our drive home she leaned over and kissed me in my neck, "I have a special treat at home for you darling."
At home she graciously helped me out of my jacket, led me to the couch and as I watched she took the coffee grinder from the top shelf. Then from under the shelf she took out a pack of beans, "It's kopi luwak, I ordered this specially for you."
"What is kopi luwak?"
"Civet coffee, remember the beans that are first digested and then used."
I watched her go through the motions, carefully grinding the beans, the powerful aroma filled the flat and I was glad that our evening had somehow fizzled itself out and made a mental note to try and speak to Alice about what triggered such grotesque statement from her side. As the water boiled Alice warmed up the mugs before carefully adding the ground coffee to the plunger, filling it with the hot water.
"I believe the coffee is really strong so I am putting in a bit more sugar than usual. Why don't you put on some music for us?"
I smiled, there it is, Alice was back. Getting up to switch on the blue tooth speaker I turned my back as the clinking of a teaspoon against the rim of the mugs could be heard as she stirred our drinks.
The coffee was sweater as usual but also rich and full bodied. Alice was sitting next to me as we drank, taking in the sounds of the light jazz that floated across the room. She draped her arm across my shoulders and was playing with a bit of my hair that fallen out of the clip I was wearing. Twirling it around her finger and softly running her fingers along my neck. Our coffee finished I turned towards her.
"May I ask about your statement earlier?"
"You may."
"Why Alice, I don't understand? Of course we argue, but we never say hurtful things like that."
She stood up, collected our mugs and made her way towards the kitchen. "Let me make us another cup and then we can talk."
"Maybe I should not have another, it's really strong and very sweet. I don't think I will be able to sleep."
"Oh trust me darling, you will sleep, it will be deep and long." She smiled as she repeated her coffee making ritual for a second time.
"Can you turn up the heating a bit, it feels a little chilly in here" she requested from the kitchen.
The thermostat control was in the hallway and I got up I could feel the start of a light headache. Must be the argument from earlier and on top of that a few glasses of wine now bolstered by strong coffee.
This time she sat across from me as we sipped the overpriced liquid and I decided to let her speak in her own time, rushing Alice has never been a good idea. Lifting my legs up onto the couch I felt the headache becoming more pronounced and decided to close my eyes for just a moment.
I heard Alice move and then felt the couch sag as she sat down and lifted my feet up onto her lap. "Do you know who Stacey Castor is?"
"No idea" I said, my eyes still closed with my tummy starting to feel very unwell and nausea creeping into my throat. "Are you going to tell me?"
She was rubbing my feet and it felt good while at the same time as if I was getting tired just lying there.
"Well, maybe you should Google it but since you don't have your phone with you, let me do it and I will read you her story from Wikipedia."
I was too tired to open my eyes or lift my head so I merely listened as I heard her hum softly to herself, "Stacey Ruth Castor (née Daniels, formerly Wallace; July 24, 1967 – June 11, 2016)\[1\] was an American convicted murderer from Weedsport, New York. In 2009, she was found guilty of intentionally poisoning her then-husband David Castor with antifreeze in 2005 and...
| 2021-05-25T07:46:37 | 2021-05-25T07:34:54 | 120 | 46 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
"Watch!" Young Nathaniel said as he closed his eyes tightly and began to strain.
The magician magistrate sat, humored by the kids unhoned focus. 4 minutes had passed when the kid reopened his eyes, "there!"
"There? There what? Is there something I should have noticed?"
The kid sat quietly, swinging his legs to and fro while staring intently out the window. A few more minutes had passed as both the magistrate and the child gazed into the sky outside when the magistrate finally noticed. The sun, it was way too bright.
"What did you do!?" He asked the child
"Can blow things up with my mind, after the moon I wanted to pick something bigger, and I was told the sun was the biggest" the child said, arms swung wide to gesture the size.
"The, th th th the moon? You did that!" The magistrate sputtered out, and with dread he looked outside once more, "Oh no."
The sun grew hotter, and then split into multiple parts until it started turning blue, and shrinking into itself. The light grew dim, and a slow chill started to creep in.
"Am I in trouble?"
|
[P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream”
| 2022-04-26T11:54:54 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You are a member of the twenty-fifth generation on a non-FTL ship that has finally arrived at a habitable planet. Something is waiting for you on the surface.
This is my first prompt--hope it sparks something.
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Day 456301 Journal of Ship Historian:
We arrived! Due to our communications being knocked out by a solar flare we had no idea that during our long journey FTL travel was invented and colonists arrived 452 years before us. We landed in a bustling transportation hub and were mocked by those in the crowd that realized it had taken us over 700 years to travel the distance that they "commute" to and from Earth in just hours.
Dammit
*edited to fix some things
|
"Scans are coming in, hold up." Johnston's voice was smooth, articulate and crisp. Each letter in that sentence well-worn like the steps of an old university, smoothed by the tread of an ocean of repetitions.
But even so, Evans' heart skipped a beat every time when the large, holographic dome in the center of the bridge parsed the tidal wave of information ramming against it and the cabin lights dimmed to let its algae-green glow make them both look alien.
It only took a quick scan with his own eyes to smother the eager excitement every time. Glaring red bold text, all in the same columns. Radiation, no ecosystem, no atmosphere, no core, and any one of these things would kill the planet as a candidate. "Planet's dead, let's move on," flowed off his lips. He didn't even need to look.
Michaels, the navigator, had long since ceased to pay attention to the globe. Its pale green light met merely the back of her chair as she tapped a single button. She had already plotted a course, and Evans' command was but a formality. "We're on our way to Beta Cygni Three," she said, slowly spinning in her chair. That sentence, too, was crushed smooth as sand by its predecessors.
The first time had been different; they were the twenty-fifth generation, the peak of the normal distribution, the ones with the highest chances of success, genes for leadership and decision-making selected rather than mechanical skill. Of course, in their minds, this meant that the very first planet they visited would be *the one*, and they would be known as the first generation, the prime generation.
But this was the fifth system of multiple dense, rocky planets, and this was the second candidate within that system. They were all aware of the slow ticking-down of all the numbers on this ship: the efficiency of the reactor, the number of probes they had left, the sustainability coefficient of their farms, the effectiveness of their radiation shielding, and the list went on and on.
And, stubbornly, abhorrently, the planets refused to bend to their will. Evans' cool, calm steps back towards the hibernation chamber weighed down on him—the attractiveness of compromise was growing. They abandoned the first planet they scanned, even though it was free of the red cancer in the far-right column. Too hot, they had said in their first naïve debate, and the atmosphere's too thin. It's a barren, desert planet, not suited to be the seat of human colonization! Foolish.
___
"Scans are coming in, hold up."
A bright green glow. Evans' eyes twitched slightly as the far right column didn't fill up.
"Let's not get out hopes up too high, now," Johnson said, slowly, his voice cracking as it treaded new ground. "The probe's still sending data."
But the ledge of hope had clung to all their hearts, grappling for purchase and dilating their eyes. Michaels turned around, her chair squeaking slightly in protest.
The right column impassively, inertly, remained blank. "Data stream's all done," said Johnson. "We have what we have."
"We're taking it," Evans said, blinking twice. "It's even better than the first world. Atmosphere, water, comfortable temperature, it's damn near Eden."
On an intellectual level, they all knew there should have been a debate. Michaels played the devil's advocate out of seldom routine. "Water's too poisonous for advanced life," she said flatly. "Not a lot of land on the planet."
"Let's get a quick vote," Evans concluded. "All those in favor?" Three, weary hands. "Settled."
___
None of them had stepped outside the sealed sphere of the command module in their entire lives, let alone a full hour after all the shuddering and jittering had come to a halt. They were all staring at the chipper green "OK" symbol, and had been for a while.
Evans was the first to spring out, with a quick burst of rational energy. Without a word, the other two followed suit into the light of a brave new world.
Their eyes, myopic from so many years in screens, took a while to expose themselves to the harsh sunlight. Spots swirled around in vision and all Michaels and Johnston could hear was the slow, grinding weight of Evans' first words on the planet in their radios.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god . . . "
One thing came into focus in Johnston's view. A battered green sign, bordered with a bright reflective paint and half-covered with vine, reading "Haven" in plain English.
One thing came into focus in Michaels' view. A bright and vibrant jungle, growing in the smashed honeycomb carcass of an arcology, collapsing in on itself while stabbing vainly at the sky.
| 2014-12-04T08:26:29 | 2014-12-04T06:56:19 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] As the universe is dying, an immortal man is on a journey to find an immortal snail.
|
Emptiness. The universe was experiencing the last fits of its heat death. The last of the black holes had evaporated in phenomenal, cataclysmic bursts of light. But eventually, even those faded, along with the tiniest particles, whose binding energy eventually was overcome by the passing of incomprehensible amounts of time.
They drifted through the black void, their minute gravity slowly, inexorably nudging them together: two motes of consciousness and order, relics of a time and place that neither could remember.
And then there was nothing.
|
The ancient Varlans, one of the last human empires, mastered the technology of moving planets as interstellar crafts. There were only 30,000 Varlans left on the planet Bikor, orbiting a slowly expanding and dying star, the last human enclave in the universe, perched on the thin wisp of the arm of the galaxy called Himmmmto by the Gaheer, the final dominant species and ruler of what was left of existence. I had learned, through my travels, to not live apart from humanity for too long. They were in a real and literal sense my cousins and descendants. I took solace in their company.
Most of the Varlan Empire had been descended from the crew of the Transmit Mary, a ship that was meant to go deep into the Andromeda galaxy and in so doing avoided the nova that wiped out the NovaLacta Conglomerate. I was on that ship, the former president of the conglomerate and the future emperor of the Varlans. The journey took 20 millennia and I fathered many generations of humans. When we detected the nova, we knew we were not returning to the conglomerate, and so we forged forward to found a new human empire. That was countless millennia ago and I set my descendants on the task to master travel between stars and galaxies. The technology led to planet movement as the only practical method of moving large populations between stars. Currently, the planet Bikor was keeping pace with the expansion of the dying star to remain a good home for as long as possible for the last of humanity.
Here we were, on Bikor, watching the universe expand apart, hopelessly thinning and soon enough to be dark. There were other stars, sure, in this galaxy, but our time was drawing to a close. I had long ago moved beyond notions of ruling or organizing my fellow humans, but they still look to me for guidance. My experiences being immortal had gifted me with perspectives they wished to share and I could hardly refuse them. They tried many times to put upon me one title after another, and I refused all save one, that of counselor.
"Counselor! I had to run to find you. You did not heed my calls." Veerak was young and my head of staff. He would never dream of turning off his device. I only had one for the benefit of my children, but I turned it off during my walks.
"Veerak, you are out of breath. What troubles you?"
"Counselor, you told me once that there was another immortal."
"Ah yes, he and I have avoided each other for eons. When we were young, he chased me, bent on killing me, but that was an impossible time ago."
"He's here. In orbit. He has called down looking for you." I looked down at my device. Indeed, it said I had a transmission pending in wait mode.
I pressed Answer. A voice came across my device. I recognized it as the voice of a popular entertainer from a previous empire. The snail must've kept it for his own voice.
"Richard. I am Snipson. Please tell me you remember me."
"Yes, of course. It's been over ten thousand years since we've communicated. How have you fared?"
"Well, Richard. I am with my family colony. I told them about our circumstances. They are reluctant but acquiescent to my wishes. I wish to die. I wondered if you want to die, too. We both know this is a gift that only we can give each other. I am happy to wait as long as you want."
I told him to meet with me in a week. I spent the intervening time tidying up my affairs and saying goodbye to the last of humanity, my children, my fellows. I wish them all well and told him they were wise enough and did not require me as a counselor anymore. Many cried, having known me their entire lives. I hugged many people goodbye. I gave away all of my possessions, from my books to my robes and everything in between. For those who were away off planet, I wrote letters to give to them upon their return, personally explaining my situation, my extraordinary circumstances, and my regrets but not waiting to see them one more time, but wishing to fulfill a long overdue obligation. I told everyone that there was no retribution or animosity due or allowed towards Snipson's family or colony. They were to be treated as members of my own family. I bade everyone goodbye one last time and walked to the field where his ship had just landed. The door opened, and he started to make his way down the ramp. An hour later, I bent down and touched my finger to his eyestalk. A warmth suffused my body and I grew tired suddenly. I lay down on the ground.
| 2017-07-07T08:03:02 | 2017-07-07T07:47:41 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] The world's tiniest dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it.
|
It's hard for a dragon as small as Wyvern to keep a hoard, let alone collect it.
Only twice as big as a typical garden-variety gecko, many would mistake Wyvern for a lizard if it wasn't for the wings, or if they even caught sight of him in the first place.
Wyvern was a quick little dragon, and exceptionally good at hiding. Even in my small sparsely furnished apartment.
"Wyvern, I need my ring returned to me- it isn't funny that you keep taking it!"
Silence.
I sighed deeply. "I'll get you a whole roll of dimes from the bank, just return my ring!"
"What are dimes?" Wyvern hissed from where he had been hiding in the cabinets, "Are they shiny?"
"You know that prized coin that's the only thing remaining from your original 'great horde'?"
"Yes of course, the only bit of my original horde that I have been able to keep save all these millennia!" He proudly clutched at the dull copper coin, that was older than some nations, and was definitely showing it's age.
I fished a dime from my coin purse, "See this coin? This is a dime. I'll give you a lot of these if you promise to stop stealing my stuff. It'll give you a start on your own proper horde again."
Wyvern flew into my hand and placed my ring into my palm. "Wasn't stealing, protecting— I protect the shiny."
"My jewelry is safe in its case Wyvern, I know you've got a compulsion to collect; and I don't begrudge you that, but maybe if you can try to think of my whole apartment as your horde, with everything having its' own proper place. Maybe that will help?"
"Your house, my horde?" Wyvern smiled, "Never met so generous of a human! I still get lots of shiny coin too, if I not move jewelry anymore?"
"Yeah, if you agree to not move my stuff anymore- I'll get you some nice shiny silver colored coins."
"Deal!"
|
FADE IN:
EXT. A WOODLAND ROAD - DAY
*Two young men stroll along a dirt path surrounded by trees. These are DAVE and STEVE, workers from a nearby village. They keep silent as they walk, until the glint of metal catches Dave's eye. He halts in his step and stares off into the undergrowth.*
**DAVE:** Hey, what's that?
**STEVE:** The ground.
**DAVE:** No, not the ground. What's *that?*
*Dave points off the path. Steve looks for a moment.*
**STEVE:** That's still the ground.
**DAVE:** There's something shiny over there!
**STEVE:** I told you that eating those weird berries was a bad idea.
*Ignoring his companion, Dave struts away from the path and squats down. He laughs triumphantly and reaches forward.*
**DAVE:** I knew it! There's a coin over here! It's made of... *ouch!*
**STEVE:** Funny, most coins are made of precious metals. Just grab it and let's get going.
**DAVE:** It bit me!
**STEVE:** Coins don't bite.
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, this one did.
*Steve rolls his eyes and joins Dave near where the coin was allegedly seen. The ground is bare, save for some plants and pebbles.*
**STEVE:** Look, are you trying to keep us from getting back to the village? Is this some kind of stalling tactic?
**DAVE:** No, it's a very concerning piece of currency.
**STEVE:** Which first bit you, then abruptly vanished. Seriously, what's going on?
**DAVE:** I'd say you described the situation quite well.
**STEVE:** Uh huh. Have fun looking for your aggressive money. I'm going home.
*Dave continues to stare at the ground as Steve walks back to the path.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) It's a *dragon!*
*Steve stops, hangs his head, and sighs.*
**STEVE:** I thought you said it was a coin?
**DAVE:** It's both!
**STEVE:** Again, remember what I said about those berries?
**DAVE:** I mean it's a dragon hauling a coin!
*Steve spreads his arms and looks around.*
**STEVE:** Where? One would think that a dragon would be pretty damned obvious out here.
**DAVE:** It's a little one! Come look!
**STEVE:** Is one of your friends ransacking my house?
**DAVE:** This entire situation could be very easily resolved if you'd just come over here and look!
*With a frustrated growl, Steve stomps back to where Dave is standing.*
**STEVE:** Where? *Where?* I don't see any coins, nor any dragons, nor any reasons to keep humoring you!
**DAVE:** It hid.
**STEVE:** Of course it did. Why wouldn't it? Everyone knows that dragons hide from sane people.
**DAVE:** I'm not crazy! It hissed at me, then it pulled the coin into that little hole!
**STEVE:** Dragons don't hiss.
**DAVE:** Oh, so, now you're suddenly an expert.
**STEVE:** Even if I believed you – and I decidedly do not – why would a miniature dragon take the time to lure you over here and bite you anyway?
*Steve grabs Dave's hand and examines it.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) There aren't even any bite marks. You're imagining things.
**DAVE:** Maybe he's moving.
**STEVE:** I have a feeling that I'm going to regret asking you to explain that.
**DAVE:** Think about it! A dragon that small couldn't carry around an enormous pile of treasure, right?
**STEVE:** Dragons don't carry their treasure around!
**DAVE:** For someone so hell-bent on questioning my sanity, you sure do seem to know a lot about dragons.
**STEVE:** Yes, in much the same way that I know about trolls, goblins, and every other variety of made-up monster! Furthermore, dragons don't live next to well-traveled paths in the woods! They live in caves!
**DAVE:** As I said, maybe he's moving. I did mention that little hole.
*Dave points at the ground. Sure enough, there is a small opening in the dirt.*
**STEVE:** That is decidedly not a cave.
**DAVE:** I mean... it's kind of a cave.
**STEVE:** It really isn't.
**DAVE:** It's a little one.
**STEVE:** Just like that little dragon, right?
**DAVE:** You have to admit, the logic makes sense.
*Steve stamps his foot angrily.*
**STEVE:** (*Shouting*) No, it bloody well doesn't! Your entire premise rests on the idea that...
*Steve trails off as smoke starts to rise in front of his face. He looks down to see that his boot is on fire.*
**DAVE:** I think you made it angry.
*Steve hurriedly removes his boot and flaps it in the air, extinguishing the flames.*
**STEVE:** There's... I'm sure there's a rational explanation for that.
**DAVE:** A thoroughly irritated dragon wants to guard its treasure?
**STEVE:** ... I'll figure it out later. Now I have to go home and pay the cobbler to repair this.
**DAVE:** Maybe you could ask the dragon to *foot* the bill!
*A moment passes in silence.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) I mean... we know that it has the *coin!*
*Steve punches Dave and storms away.*
**STEVE:** (*O.S.*) I had better not find out that you put those berries in my lunch!
*Dave rubs the place where the blow connected and glares after his friend. He looks down at the ground with an irritated expression.*
**DAVE:** I blame you for *dragging* that out so long.
*A tiny hiss becomes audible.*
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2017-09-07T11:53:55 | 2017-09-07T11:30:58 | 62 | 30 |
[WP] The Avengers have decided there's only one place that can defend the last Infinity Stone from Thanos, only one group known to have dealt with reality benders like him, and that's the SCP Foundation
|
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
**<begin log> \[Doctor Ω gave this speech to the assembled remaining personnel after Incident-T1.\]**
Sometimes, reality can be whatever you want.
&#x200B;
When the Avengers showed up at Site-19, MTF scrambled to action. The site temporarily went into lockdown. The Alpha and Omega warheads were armed and ready.
All cooperative SCPs with mild combat ability were called.
I remember this conversation clear as day.
"What do you want?", Site Director Lahm said."The safety of billions," said Tony Stark.
Humans are a fickle thing. Some people are as easily controlled as dogs. Others, though, are steely eyed missile men, with wills of steel and hearts of iron.
The SCP Foundation does not recruit dogs.
"We will try."
&#x200B;
When the final Infinity Stone was given, the Avengers expected horrors. Monsters of old, from tales that astonished. Instead, they got a handshake, a salute, and a promise to "try their hardest." Their and our hardest, as it turns out, was very, *very* ***hard.***
&#x200B;
Hours and hours later, Thanos arrived. As expected, he showed ability to track the Time Stone. Site-19 was under attack within minutes.
But he was not met with spears and bows, or rocks and torches, or pitchforks.
&#x200B;
**He was met with anomalies.**
&#x200B;
All nonessential MTF squads were called to the area. SCP-682 was given the choice to kill Thanos, or remain in containment. 173 was put in a box and let loose in an empty area essential to getting to the Time Stone. A single picture of 096 was taken, and put on the wall on the third essential corridor. MTF-Omega-9, "Scrubs", chose to rescind their previous rule. 914 was used to create high-tech weaponry. 963 was sequestered in the second to final room, and the Avengers; the Avengers were set as the last failsafe. Scranton Reality Anchors were unused, as they were too expensive to produce and move on such a tight timeframe.
&#x200B;
The perfect storm. A final stand. This was all they could do on such short notice, but they kept their last weapons tightly under wraps.
&#x200B;
Thanos breezed past 682, 173, and 096. MTF-Omega-9 were unsuccessful, even with 914's "Operator Weapons." Doctor Bright, even with full use of chainsaws, couldn't kill the mad Titan. The Avengers failed.
&#x200B;
Half of everyone died. The end was nigh.
&#x200B;
But the SCP Foundation does ***not*** recruit dogs.
Their final weapon, their endgame, their last resort was unleashing upon Thanos the combined fury of nations worldwide, companies, and every single contained SCP which would not destroy the world. Thanos didn't stand a chance. Bells ringing, phantom forces, crescent moons, music, 3312, all of Site-13. SCPs were everywhere. Even the hostile SCPs joined with the Foundation researchers and MTF, the pure joy of the hunt compelling them past their genocidal tendencies. SCP-2000 was unnecessary.
Sometimes, reality can be whatever you want. Sometimes, it can't.
The SCP Foundation? They will do whatever it takes to make sure it can't. They- **we** will do whatever it takes to:
Secure.
Contain.
**Protect.**
&#x200B;
Now get out there and start rebuilding humanity, people.
**<end log>**
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Second time. Please give honest feedback.
&#x200B;
|
**Item** #: SCP-001
**Object Class:** ~~Apollyon~~ ~~Neutralized~~ Safe (See addendum 1)
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-001-A is to be stored in a standard secure locker at Site 19.
Areas extending 50 meters from points where instances of SCP-001-B were neutralized are to be surrounded by secure perimeters, continuously monitored for any activity at all times by no less than two guards. Should any containment area be breached, task force MTF Lambda-5 is to be mobilized immediately and follow procedure RC-001.
Should any four instances of SCP-001-B be brought together at any point, XK-001 protocol[1] is to be enacted by any Foundation senior administration member, any Foundation personnel directly involved in containment of SCP-001 or, should none of the above be available, any Foundation personnel aware of the event.
In the event any intact instance of SCP-001-B is retrieved or recaptured, it is to be transported to a location on solid land no closer than 30 km from any inhabited area and neutralized immediately.
**Description**:
SCP-001-A is an articulated gauntlet made of unknown copper-colored metallic substance[2] exhibiting extreme resistance to any non-anomalous force (see Testing Log 001-A-1). It is decorated in a variety of designs, 36.5 cm long, and too large for human hands, though it is capable of resizing to fit the wearer when equipped with any instance of SCP-001-B. There are six sockets on the glove, one above each major knuckle, and one above the middle of the hand. By itself, SCP-001-A is incapable of any anomalous actions other than the ones listed above, but it serves as a receptacle for instances of SCP-001-B.
There are six known instances of SCP-001-B. Instances of SCP-001-B grant the user a limited control over phenomena mentioned in their designation (full capabilities listed in >!REDACTED!<). Each instance was originally found in a containment device capable of channeling it's powers. When removed from a containment device, each instance can seemingly be used in a limited fashion by a trained individual (see >!REDACTED!<), but the only known containment device capable of using multiple instances of SCP-001-B is SCP-001-A. In order to install an instance SCP-001-B into SCP-001-A, the object is to be brought into contact with an empty socket, at which point the crystal will reshape to fit it.
Most instances of SCP-001-B abide by certain restrictions. They can only affect an area nearby (except B-2), their effects are temporary (except B-5 and B-6), limited to single plane of reality (except B-3) and limited in scope.
All instances of SCP-001-B, as well as, to a lesser extent, SCP-001-A and it's wielder, are immune to direct temporal or reality manipulation, save by either other SCP-001-B instances or by reality benders generated by them. However, their environment, wielders not using SCP-001-A, and containment devices other than SCP-001-A lack this protection.
The following table contains identifying information of each SCP-001-B instance discovered so far, as well as their method of neutralization. For sites of neutralization, as well as detailed logs and methods, see Document 001-ST.
|SCP NUMBER|DESIGNATION|ORIGINAL CONTAINMENT|APPEARANCE|METHOD OF NEUTRALIZATION|
:--|:--|:--|:--|:--|:--|
|SCP-001-B-1|Power Stone|The Orb - Spherical object with cavity in the middle, containing the instance|Purple Gem|Destroyed by a reality bender generated by SCP-001-B-6. Resulting explosion was then masked as a >!REDACTED!<.
|SCP-001-B-2|Space Stome|The Tesseract - See >!REDACTED!< and information on GOI-Hydra|Blue Gem|Annihilated when moved into an anomalous area with 3 temporal and 1 spatial dimensions generated by SCP->!REDACTED!<
|SCP-001-B-3|Reality Stone|The Aether - Red liquid, self-suspended in the air, capable of entering a host.|Red Gem|SCP-001-B-3 was returned to its previous form, and allowed to enter a host. The existence of the host was nullified using >!REDACTED!<
|SCP-001-B-4|Soul Stone|>!REDACTED!<|Orange Gem|Following neutralization of original wielder of SCP-001, the instance reportedly disappeared. Given original method of acquisition, it is thought that the instance returned to it's original containment location.||
|SCP-001-B-5|Time Stone|The Eye of Agamotto - See >!REDACTED!<.|Green Gem|See addendum 1||
|SCP-001-B-6|Mind Stone|See Incident Report: 4-5-12-NY|Yellow Gem|Destroyed by a reality bender generated by SCP-001-B-6.||
When used together, instances of SCP-001-B interact with eachother, seemingly lifting restrictions placed on them. Moreover, as the number of instances used together grows, so does their collective capability. Should all instances be brought together and used by a being of exceptional will, it is thought that they would be capable of causing wide range of K-class scenarios, possibly including ZK Reality Failure scenario.
> I don't think we need to stress this for anyone who survived the first Event 001, but I am still noting this here for posterity - no matter how tempting, do NOT ever try to reassemble this thing. It goes straight though Scranton Reality Anchors, it ignores reality benders, hell, it even killed [that damn lizard](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682). We decided to neutralize it for a very good reason and, if you found this file in some temporal cache, or amidst the ruins of civilization, trust us, the most cynical group in history - the cost WOULD be too great. -O5-7
**Discovery**: See file **DECIMATION-002**
**Addendum 1**:
FOR O5/001 CONTAINMENT TEAM EYES ONLY
>!Originally, SCP-001-B-5 was neutralized by keeping it locked in a paradoxical time loop. However, since then it has been spotted several times, wielded by various individuals in a variety of makeshift containment devices. Given nature of the object, it's possible that, in that instance's timeline, it has not been contained yet, but as it is impossible to verify the status of containment this could not be confirmed. No attempt has been made to re-capture SCP-001-B-5, for the fear of altering timeline of SCP-001, but re-containment procedures should be enacted if anyone attempts to use this object to restore any SCP-001-B instances. !<
>!Following Event 001-A, SCP-001 was classified as Apollyon. After neutralization of SCP-001-B instances, it was classified as Neutralized, but due to discovery of additional SCP-001-B-5 instances the objects have been reclassified as Safe.!<
**Footnotes**
[1]. Full text of XK-001 protocol is available to any Foundation personnel of clearance level 4 or higher, and all personnel directly involved in containment of SCP-001. For purposes of this entry, it authorizes highest ranking remaining Foundation member to utilize >!REDACTED!< class of Foundation assets, enact Broken Masquerade scenario or >!READACTED!<.
[2]. Information gathered from GOI->!REDACTED!<, as well as analysis using SCP->!REDACTED!< indicates that the material forming SCP-001-A is called "Uru", and that it is some form of degenerate matter, although further testing is pending O5 approval.
| 2019-04-01T17:45:28 | 2019-04-01T17:16:53 | 57 | 37 |
[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
|
Jerry Novak was a simple teen. His hair was close-cropped, with no special style, his clothes were regular—just jeans and a T—he was utterly average in terms of appearance, and even his Rune was bland. Just a plain old circle.
Everyone else had magnificent patterns: dual swords crossing and emitting sparks, skulls with crystal eyes, and some people even had Runes resembling certain celebrities. On top of them being cool in appearance, these Runes symbolized abilities that these other kids had. Naturally, seeing that Jerry's Rune was plain, the other kids thought that his *power* must have been plain as well, and that's why he didn't use it.
They were wrong, of course, but that didn't stop them from bullying him. Today, however, he had had enough. As he walked up the (rather dirty) stone steps toward the double doors leading into the halls, he was flanked by Paul Messus and his cronies.
Paul was above average in nearly every sense of the word—almost painfully good-looking, Greek god physique, and of course, the coolest Rune in school.
"Wassup Novak!" he shouted. He pushed Jerry, sending him flying backward. That was his ability—super strength. "Ooh, a little light there, aren't you?" he yelled, while his cronies guffawed stupidly in the background.
*Ignore them* ... *ignore them*. Jerry told himself, rising and wincing. He tried to veer around them, but Paul stepped in front of him, puffing out his immense chest.
"Where you going?" he cried. "We're not done yet!" He grabbed Jerry by the leg and spun him around over his head, whooping like the hooligan he was.
Zooming through the air, fighting desperately to keep himself from hurling, Jerry decided—enough was enough. He concentrated on his Rune, and the circle glowed.
Behind Paul, an enormous, pitch-black hole opened up, spewing dark mist. Paul dropped him, horrified, trying to run away, but it didn't work. The force of the hole gripped him, holding him as a man might embrace his lover, and with a final, piercing scream, he was sucked into the void, and it closed up.
Smirking, Jerry made his way to class, leaving the thunderstruck group of kids gaping in horror behind him.
If you liked this, subscribe to r/ShortsandSerials for more!
|
The little circle of black ink stained the skin on the back of my left hand. Hollow and empty, as if God had gotten to me and tired of his work.
Everyone's sigil *started* hollow. Then, when a person reached five or six, the sigil would fill itself in. If the sigil was unique, it could take another year or two for the person to find out what exactly it did. But most of the time you could just look them up as they were well documented.
There was nothing to look up about mine, though. I just had to wait until it filled. If it would ever fill, I thought.
I'd spent my childhood trying to figure out what it might mean -- this lonely empty sigil. Dad had been sorely disappointed -- he'd been hoping for an eye, like his friend's daughter Carla had on her foot. She was only a year older than me and could already take little peeks into the future, and although the future wasn't certain, more often than not she was helpful at the horse track.
"Well it must mean something," Dad said. "Maybe it means no gravity." He grinned at his sudden epiphany. "Maybe you can fly, Tom! Have you tried flying? Come on, I'll lift you up."
Mom came in screaming. "Put him down this instant!" Then, more calmly, she added, "You can't swim out to meet this ship. You both need to just wait, patiently, for it to come into shore."
Dad always listened to Mom. Had to, really. Mom had the gift of near-perfect logic, so he knew she was right. As usual.
He sighed and placed me down. "Sorry, son. Was just trying to help you out. Listen, if you never get a sigil, I'll still love you just the same. I promise."
I loved my Dad, but he could be an idiot sometimes.
By the time I was fifteen my ability, my sigil, still remained blank. Just a depressing reminder of how ordinary I was. Less than ordinary.
"Come on, freak-show," said a wiry boy, Joe, as I sat in the cafeteria eating my lunch alone. No sigil meant no friends. I didn't blame them -- why would they have wanted to be friends with someone so dull?
"Show us what you can do," Joe taunted. His sigil was like a serpent, and he was crafty and mean-spirited. He looked like his sigil, I thought. His thin face and sharp teeth and sly smile. I'd found through experience that it was better to ignore him than to get on his wrong side.
"You don't want to do that, Joe," said Carla, the girl with the eye on her foot. She was the year above me and must have just come into the cafeteria. Next to her was a pretty girl I'd never seen before with brown pigtails and thick rimmed glasses.
"What would you know about it?" Joe said, turning on her. "Did you even know you had an sigil on your foot?"
"I knew."
Joe turned to his friends and said, "I'm amazed she could see it down there, past her stomach." They laughed gleefully.
"Quit it!" I said.
"It's okay," said Carla. "You don't need to. I've seen my future and I've seen Joe's. His words are just a drop of rain on a sunny day for me. His though, that's a forever winter."
"Fuck you," said Joe. "My future is going to be great. Quarterback for the Miami Dolphins. Greatest player the game's ever seen."
She shook her head. "Most of your futures aren't like that. Some, you're on the street begging for change. And then there are the bad ones. You want to hear about those?"
Joe glared at us both. Then he turned and walked away, his friends following.
The new girl was still standing next to Carla. "Who was that Jerk?"
"Someone you don't need to worry about," said Carla. Then, she introduced us. "This is Tom. Tom, this is Ruby. Ruby's new to our school and I was just showing her around."
"Hi," Ruby said, with a smile infectious enough to worm it's way onto my face.
"It's not always like this," I said. "That guy just likes to tease me because..." A flush of embarrassment hit and my face reddened.
The new girl smiled. "Because you...?"
"He doesn't have a sigil," said Carla, factually. As if it didn't matter. As if it hadn't and wasn't ruining my life. "He's just got an empty circle, like you."
"Like... you?" I said, brows furrowed.
Ruby held out her right hand. An empty black ring on the back of it. Just like mine, except on the opposite hand.
I showed her my hand.
"Wow," she said. "I've never met another with an empty sigil. This is... kind of weird? Or kind of cool?"
"Guess it's nice not to be alone," I said. And it was.
She nodded. "It's why I moved school. My parents hoped the teasing might... you know, soften? But seeing that ass just now, I guess it won't."
"I can see a few futures with my sigil," Carla said. "That's my gift."
"Yeah?" said Ruby. "That's pretty cool."
"I see a future where you both have a sigil."
"When?!" I asked, instantly regretting sounding so keen. I tried to play it cool,"I mean, uh, so when do we get ours?"
Carla smiled. "Check now. I think you've got them."
We both raised our hands, holding them in front of us. The rings were still empty.
"Nothing," Ruby said.
"Nada," I said.
But Carla took our hands and pushed them together. A shiver tapped down my spine as our skin touched.
And the circles... the circles looked like something else, at least for a moment.
They looked -- just a little -- like the an infinity symbol.
Ruby was staring at me, her mouth open. I think she that cold shiver too.
"You both always had sigils," Carla said. "I've not seen all the futures, but I think -- maybe -- your gifts are each other, always."
&#x200B;
\---
&#x200B;
Thank you for reading! If you liked I wrote a pretty similar story yesterday that's over on my sub (joint sub, with my amazing co-writer Static): /r/nickofstatic \- it's the "In an alternative universe..." story. Thanks :)
| 2020-02-26T05:10:36 | 2020-02-26T05:07:39 | 1,182 | 665 |
[WP]A civilization made a pact with a god, granting them immense power, but in 50 years summoning a being that'll destroy the galaxy. Only way to prevent that is to slaughter the offending empire within those 50 years. This marks the first time pacifists vouched for genocide on the galactic council.
Inspired by "The end of the cycle" from Stellaris, as well as a comment on r/stellaris.
Created because i was dared by u/JakorPastrack to do so.
|
"Look, it's not about actually *using* the weapon it's about having it. Three of our closest neighbors are in the process of building similiar weapons what's to stop them from--"
Admiral Farragut rolled three of his six eyes at the defense contractor while President Paxton less than subtly checked her watch.
"The ships that house such weapons are big as planets," growled Farragut. "If those idiots want to pack that many resources into such a slow moving easy target, I'll send them thank you notes for making my job easy."
"Besides," added Paxton. "We've beaten back a swarm of bugs intent on consuming all biomatter, a horde of well-meaning but overzealous robots trying to understand the universe by assimilating it, not to mention a bunch of weird psychic birds with a cranky attitude and a god complex. I'll not start an arms race just to satisfy the shareholders over at Death-Raytheon--"
The meeting was interrupted by a commotion at the door, as a six-legged insectoid burst into the room.
"Madame President, Admiral. We have a situation, and you need to be briefed immediately," rushed the insect, her voice coming from a translator collar around her neck.
President Paxton waved her hand, dismissing the defense lobbyist, while the newcomer clicked her mandibles nervously.
"It's the avians. They've gone dark," chittered the bug
"I assume you have more details than that, Director," glowered Farragut
"As you know, roughly a century ago their leader declared themselves a God and has somehow avoided death since then," began the bug
"As I recall, the assessment of the intelligence community was some unknown form of cybernetics--"
"Due respect ma'am, we were wrong. Dead wrong. Civilian ships over the alien planets are reporting that the Avians are missing. It's like the disappeared all at once. And it gets worse--"
Suddenly Admiral Farragut pressed a massive mit to his ear as a report came in over his earpiece, and began to spew what must have been obscenities in his native tongue.
"I hate to pile on, madame President, but the 7th, 9th and 13th main battlefleets--the ones forward deployed to counter any avian agression--encountered an unkown hostile two hours ago. All ships lost. Director, what the hell is going on??"
"They summoned something. We finally read all those proselytizing pamphlets the avian had been sending, trying to convert us all these centuries. They made a deal with something ancient, awful. Worse than a dimensional horror."
President Paxton took in a long breath and let it out.
*Why can't this stupid galaxy go a whole fifteen minutes without some egregiously overpowered enemy attempting to wipe it out?*
"Admiral, I want to see plans for replenishing the fleet and what system you want to fight this thing in. Director, contact the curators. If there's a way to kill this thing, we need to know yesterday. And someone, get that asshole from Death-Raytheon back in here! We'll need all the firepower we can get if we're to survive this."
|
You sit down in your grandfather´s couch. You always loved it, the most comfortable seat you had ever sat on, perfect to drink some whiskey and smoke in a pipe while you read a book, tell a story or discuss deep, meaningfull philosophical topics. Thats what he used to do. And you would watch and listen, to his teachings, stories and rambles about life, love, war...
Your grandfather, veteran of the Kelu civil war and its subsequente War of salvation, and Last Stand (or the war of the end) and decorated with the "savior of galactic civilization" medal with what remained of the joint Galactic Goverment fleet. Your grandfather, your role model, your hero, had finally passed away at the age of 96. Relatively old, but not as old as he could´ve, he finally was able to rest, free from the nightmares that plagued his traumatized mind. He was harsh, yes, but a good man, a caring and supportive man. Now he is gone, but his memory lives, among other things, in his book. The text, titled "The end of the Cycle" was a narration of the prelude, developement and end of the biggest conflict that the universe has ever seen.
So you take the collosal book in your hands, the feeling of leather and paper striking as unfamiliar in an age of holographic display. He was always old fashioned, with a profound love for the "vintage", the Pre-space age look, to the point he would often reference people or events that no one really understood. You take a sip of your drink, and open it.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
THE END OF THE CYCLE
&#x200B;
An ancient human tactician, very respected by our species, warned generals about cornering an enemy. He said "To a surrounded enemy, you must leave a way to escape", and that phrase has always been interesting to me, since the manipulation of the enemy is a key factor in warfare, it always has been. So you can, in theory, control that "way of escape" manufacturing it to further the demise of the enemy.
But what happens when the enemy knows of your treachery? What happens when they know they are truly trapped?. Well, it mostly depends on the spirit and morale of the people. Some may choose to surrender, hoping for mercy or at least a quick death. Others may chose to make a heroic last stand, like the Vaaknek did in 554 AFGG (after first galactic goverment). But when you deal with a combination of religious zealots, death cultist and nihilists none of those options are a possibility.
Between the year 1589 and 1608 AFGG the Kelu were embroiled in a fierce civil war. Short before their species had achived the "spacefaring civilization" status, a new religion had appeared in their homeworld, a religion that sprung out of the most pesimistic conceptions of the universe, one that belived life was a horrible accident, filled with pain and misery and thus it was a mistake. They wholeheartedly belived that it was the willing of their god Zoceth (an ethereal dark being, with the power to create and destroy universes) for them to erradicate all life, since He had failed, and as a reward they would be perfected, and taken to the New Start, where everything would be perfect.
So the began killing. Logically, they were severely outmatched, since their numbers where particularly low, thus after getting hold of some of the first jumpdrives, they fancied themselves a few ships, and escaped Lalvion, their homeworld.
For the next few centuries, nothing was known about them. The Kelu expanded, prospered and joined the galactic goverment, like most nations. Unaware of the threat of the cultist, that had been constantly expanding, and infiltrating each and every single one of their systems. They became part of their armies, navies, politicians, scientists and common man. Anyone could be one of them, yet everyone was oblivious. Hundreds of years of blending in, infiltrating, we even forgot they even existed.
And one day, they striked. Rising up from every Kelu system, the cultists began attacking every single major strategic objective, way too quick for everyone to realize what was going on, much less how to react. The Kelu forces, in a state of complete disarray, cut off from each other, tried to hold back the seemingly endless waves of cultist wherever they stood. Entire systems fell, billions where exterminated.
The Galactic Goverment caught wind of this. Us humans, with other 7 nations voted for a strike force to help our allies, and while the other 20 nations declared themselves either neutral or against intervention, the overall consensus was that we were allowed to proceed as individuals, not representing the GG.
So we sailed to relief our friends, thousends of ships ready to end these cultists once and for all. Even some of our most pacifist memebers joined, all be it to rescue civilians and take them to their own nation, as refugees.
At first, progress was slow. Despite our numbers and power, we found it hard to compete with their tactics. One must accept, that their guerrilla and hit and run methods were quite effective, hitting us where we least expected, faking retreats only to lead us into ambushes, masterfully using planetary terrain and galactic anomalies to their advantage. It is safe to say, they changed warfare for ever.
Eventually, their momentum slowed down, our admirals and generals began to adapt to the cultist´s tactics, and slowly but surely we began to push them back. Some remarkable battles worthy of mention are "The shame of Baliter" in 1590, the biggest defeat in human history, with over 1.5 million casualties (counting allies). "The assault of Elicor Fortress" in 1593, our first big victory against the cultist, the "Battle of Nuthenus" in 1603, where the third biggest ecummenopolis in the galaxy was finally liberated, and "The battle of Reotania System" where the cultist lost 80% of their fleet, and where in my opinion, the Kelu civil war ended. We will touch these battles in the "tactical analysis" section, but for the moment, we will just stick to the events.
By 1607 the cultists where scattered, uncommunicated, and all but beaten. We were victorious, and while the losses where monumental, we had finally eliminated the death cult that plagued Kelu History.
Clearly, as you may know, we were awefully mistaken. The cultists still had one move. A move that, as you can imagine, changed everything.
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If you got this far, I thank you very much for reading this rather long piece. I must say that im no writer, and not a native english speaker, so i apologize for any grammatical mistakes, as well as any flaws on the "storytelling" aspect. I want to make a part two (and maybe 3, depending on the extension) so please let me know what you think about this. Any tips, ideas, or criticism in general would be greatly appreciated, since I can apply it to future writings (including of course, the continuation of this). Thanks again, and have a nice day!
| 2020-09-11T08:43:57 | 2020-09-11T08:32:15 | 219 | 32 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
The demon emerged into the forest clearing, around it was a circle of stones, each marked with the ancient symbols of her master. She looked like a Viking shield maiden, tall, powerfully built covered in leather armour made from the skin of a defeated angel. Then she saw the small boy. He was small for his age, scrawny with a black eye, his shirt was ripped and he was covered in dirt. Too weak and pathetic looking to even be considered the runt of the litter, how he had survived this far she couldn't guess.
"Why did you summon me child" she asked, her voice quiet but with an undercurrent of strength.
"I want to make a deal, I have a soul to trade" he said
" Your soul would not be worth much to master, he wants the strong, the violent, the best warriors for the battle"
"I know that" he said, his eyes twinkling with a look of intelligence and revenge "It's not MY soul I'm trading, it's Marks soul, he's the bully at school, he picks on everyone."
"I see, and how do you have HIS soul to trade, souls are a valuable commodity, especially the good ones"
"He sold it to me, I gave him a week's worth of lunch money and he signed it over, said it was easier than beating me up all week"
He showed her the contract, torn from the back of his shirt, written in marker pen and signed with a drop of blood. She was impressed with his work, although a little scrappy, he had covered the basics and obtained the blood to seal the agreement.
"This will work, what do you want in exchange?"
"I want protection" he said "protection from all the bullies, Mark, my step dad, anyone, I want to be able to live my life without worrying about getting beaten up or taken advantage of, I need a protector to stand by me, I have big plans but I can't achieve them when I'm constantly looking over my shoulder"
She looked at this scrawny child closer than before, there was something about him, although weak he had determination and intelligence, he could be a good contact in the human realm when he matured.
" I will make this deal with you, I'll assign you a lesser demon to be your companion, he will be your best friend and match your age, growing with you. He will be more than capable of protecting you from anyone or anything you will encounter, and able to reach me should you wish to make another trade"
"Deal" he said as he watched a new shape take form, slowly changing into a boy his age. He started thinking of his plans for the future, and wondered how much he could trade others souls for. In this age of information, social media, and the need for instant gratification, this age where some deemed the need for good WiFi signal more important than clean water and the ways of religion were forgotten by the masses, this age of debt and easily obtained vices, how much would a scribble of paper and a drop of blood cost him? How long could his alcoholic step dad go without a good drink, and what would he do for a bottle of the good stuff. All these plans started taking shape in his mind and for the first time, he felt happy.
|
The thick substance oozed out of my palm. I winced, but licking the burgundy off of my palm I smiled, eyes glinting in the moonlight. The deep maroon reflection of the night sky rippled on the surface of the lake, and the chilly night breeze caused a rustling both eery and divine.
I've thought about this moments hundreds of times, and my resolve wavers not.
"Shit, I really should have brought a jacket", I murmur to myself as I light a cig and curse myself for wearing a pleated skirt.
"Fucking societal conventions, I'm wearing a full-on suit next time".
Next time. I chuckle at the thought.
*Fuck, if this works I'll buy three,* I think to myself.
"Alright, let's get this party started!" I shout, rubbing my hands together, my wrinkly hands frowning at my vain attempt to warm up my frigid exterior.
"Come on guys! Where's the love?"
...
"Not talking eh? what can I say, I've got to *hand* it to ya, your resolve is quite strong"
I chuckle again, laughing at my dumb puns as I address my hands as if they were people.
"Well shit, I sure hope satan likes pigs blood", I murmur, as I begin pouring blood into the dew-glistened grass, listening as it splashes and hisses like toxic sludge.
"Yeah yeah, quite your whining, I'm cold too you know".
Yeah, I sure talk to myself a lot. But. So. What? I'd rather hang out with the crazies than those assholes at school any day? HA!
Fucking normies.
Flicking my cigarette into the wind, I reach my arms up and stretch, and then scream.
"WHAT THE!"
The wind had suddenly changed direction, flinging the ashen stub of a cigarette straight into the pig pentagon I had drawn.
(No really, it was literally a drawing of a pig with pentagons for eyes. After drawing it I imagined myself wearing a french barrette hat, with a long curly mustache, displaying my work in some fancy museum dans Paris. And some rich bloke being like, "Honhonhon madame. I much like your artwork, I give you this baguette made of gold". Indeed, I bite the baguette to verify that it is, indeed, gold, and chip a tooth in the process. My smile beams so brightly it pierces a hole in the roof, and my first customer gets one of my signature works. My bright future as an occult artist has begun.
This is of course, all just a fantasy. Nothing so bizarre could happen in real life. But a girl can dream.)
Anyway, back to the story.
"MY ARRRTTT!!", I scream, cursing as my pig bursts into flames, smoke billowing out of its eyes and spewing everywhere.
*It's far too early for project bacon*, I think to myself, both alarmed and pleased that the pigs blood was so flammable.
*God, I better warn farmers,* I think to myself.
Suddenly the wind stops. That's fucking cliché, I think to myself, but I still find it eery.
My head begins to swim, annd I swaay baack and foorth, all woozy boozy like.
*Aww shit, am I getting high on pigs blood?*
Flat. *Excuse me?*
Flat. I look around. *Except I can't!*, I think to myself.
Something... feels off? Like a part of my brain was inverted and then removed.
As I try to get my bearings I feel like a waterskier being dragged across a lake, simultaneously beating against a mix of a oozey boozey liquid and a brick wall.
*Oh my god... it's flatland,* I think to myself.
Except it's not. I mean, I certainly don't *feel* like a circle.
Looking down I see that I still look like *me*, although in some sort of distorted fashion.
*Hmm, maybe I should try a new diet.*
"Hello?" I cry out, but my words seem to leak out and reverb about in my mind, rather than in the world around me, and suddenly I notice it.
Standing before me was something truly... ugly.
Excuse me?", the weird contorted patch of space said.
"Umm, all I said was hello...", I waive my arms in a confused gesture, feeling much like a stick figure moving its little limbs about.
"No you shit, you think I'm ugly?" I gasp.
*Oh my god the weird blob thing can hear my thoughts.*
なら、これはどうだ！, I think, switching to Japanese to see if encrypting my thoughts would work.
“おらかもの、むだむだむだ！グググ”
I gasp again, and then laugh.
*Is that a jojo reference?* This guy is funny.
"Enough of this drivel", the blob spoke, as it began to shimmer and fizzle.
*Hmm I guess this is the end for me*, I think to myself.
But lo, to my surprise, my head began to stretch too. Oh wait, or was it shrinking? Bending?
Hell I don't know, it feels like if your mind was bent into möbius strip and someone was infinitely unbending it.
*Ohhhh shit, I'm going to need a serious margarita tomorrow*.
I fall over and vomit all over the... *what is this?* The vomit kinda just fell and *disappeared*. *Hmm curiouser and curiouser*, I think to myself.
My jaw hit the floor, quite literally since I was basically already touching the floor, when I once again beheld the blobby blob.
Standing before me was a rather tall lady, with a blindingly red dress with what looked like what I can only describe as a starry-nights if you switched its themes to souls of the damned and a shitton of red. Oh, and yeah its patterns were changing in real time, and I thought I could occasionally hear screams emanating from it... but then again, I was probably high on pigs blood. Oink oink.
The lady frowns, and then raises an eyebrow. I open my mouth and stop, and she turns to leave, and then turns back around and looks at me again.
"This is why I hate amateurs", she shook her head, her beautiful red horns frowning at me as they moved side to side, as a long black tail whisped and flicked side to side behind her.
"Oh!", I exclaim, "so you *are* real. Thank goodness!"
The lady sighed, and looked at me with contempt.
"Do you have something to bargain with or not?"
"Ohh yeah, yes of course!" I grin.
*Fuck yeah, it's happening!* I frown, *if only I had my walkman, I would play some sick tunes to set the vibe*.
I reach into my bra and pull out a little folded wad of paper.
*Hmm... yeah this oughta do it*.
"It's a little smudged and sweaty, and there might be a little pig blood on it, but here you go: a sole soul!"
| 2021-03-27T01:33:15 | 2021-03-26T23:30:31 | 126 | 16 |
[WP] you have the magical power of psychic delusion, for example: bear traps can’t harm you “obviously it won’t trigger, i’m not a bear”
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I spun the corner taking greedy sips of my coffee on my way to the office while trying to take my mind off of what would likely be a very boring day at work. Before I made it even three steps into the alleyway, a shadow sprang from the floor, something in hand.
“No funny business. Just give me your wallet and we’ll both be on our way,” a man said firmly, his raised arm shaking. It took a moment for me to realize that he was holding a gun, a larger one than a usual mugger would have.
“Is that thing loaded?” I asked, terrified.
“What do you think? Of course, it’s loaded! It has armor-piercing rounds!” he shook the gun slightly, urging my wallet to emerge from my pocket.
“Oh, thank God,” I sighed with relief and continued walking toward him.
“Hey! Stop!” he screamed in hysteric panic and took a leap backward as he fired his weapon.
The coffee cup in my hand exploded as the bullet passed through it, followed by crumpling against my chest and clinking against the floor harmlessly. He looked between his gun, the bullet, and me in an instant and breathed heavily.
“How?” he asked.
“I’m not wearing any armor,” I explained, shaking the coffee cup above my mouth to get any last drops of my lost drink.
“What?” he asked, confused.
I crumpled the coffee cup and tossed it his way, which he yelped at when it came into contact with his hands. It was too hot for him to hold. Not for me, though. The sleeve on it said, “Careful! Hot Contents!” He wasn’t careful when he shot the cup, so the contents weren’t hot.
“D… don’t hurt me,” he pleaded as I walked by him.
“Just don’t do it again,” I said without looking to see his response. I really didn’t care if he tried to do it again, it just felt like the right thing to say.
I exited the alleyway and found myself on the street where I crossed the street — crossing my legs over one another as I made my way over the crosswalk — and presenting my badge to the entrance to my office. The door beeped and admitted me inside.
“Morning Joe, everything alright?” the secretary asked, looking at the coffee stain on my shirt.
“No, definitely not,” I said, ensuring my body would not try and do everything ‘all right’ for the rest of the day.
“What happened?” she asked, genuinely concerned.
“Don’t worry about it, just had some trouble in an alley,” I shrugged.
“You were mugged!?” she gasped.
“Yeah,” I admitted, a mug appearing in my hand as I shrugged again. “I gotta run to a meeting,” I said without missing a beat and ignoring her protests and suggestions to call law enforcement.
“Joe!” All heads looked up to me as I entered, my boss at the head of the table fuming. “You’re late!”
“You’re all early in my perspective,” I countered quickly.
“Ah… right,” she said, her face contorted in confusion. “Good job, I suppose. Where are you at with the deal with REM Corp? Any roadblocks with them?”
“No, there is no road,” I replied confidently with some chuckles in response from the board room.
“I’ve been asking about this for weeks. If I don’t get a real update from you by next week, I’m seriously going to have you fired. You understand me all right?” my boss warned.
I was going to brush it off as an idle threat, but I smelled the distinct scent of burnt flesh after she said I would be ‘fired.’ My eyes widened as I understood the potential consequences.
“Yeah, that sounds all right to me,” I said, slouching as the entire left side of my body went numb, leaving me all right.
This was going to be a challenging week.
_______________________
I have plenty more stories at /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
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The barrel of the gun looked like an endless hallway, no light in that tunnel. Stella stared down it, and the longer she stared the more familiar it became. She’d seen it a hundred nightmares. The barrel was an uncharted future stretching out forever, terrifyingly empty.
And yet the trigger was even more terrifying. The finger that rested upon it. The voice of the man when he said, so calmly, “Open the vault.”
“I can’t,” Stella whispered.
“That’d be really unfortunate,” he said.
The man was tall and thin. He wore a ski mask and a stylish gray suit jacket, his pants had bloodstains on the knee from when he’d broken the manager’s nose. They’d left him behind, moaning on the ground. There had been a gunshot after.
His name was Ted, Stella thought. What had he seen when he looked down the barrel?
“Ma’am, what’s your name?” the man said.
“Stella.”
“Stella, I’m gonna be real plain with you. If you can’t open the vault I’m gonna pull this trigger and then go get someone who can. Today already went south, two bodies are about the same as one.”
Another gunshot. The man grimaced, and for a second Stella had an image of him. A plain man with plain desires; that frown might have been just as home at a birthday party or a football game. It was a frown for incomplete passes and passable gifts. Not murder.
“Damnit,” the man said, “now see, three bodies I just the same as two.”
He patted her hip tenderly and Stella flinched away. She looked down and was surprised his touch hadn’t burned a piece of her dress away.
“And it would be a shame, you being so pretty and all, but we really don’t have the time for this shit.” He gestured with the gun. “Now open it.”
Stella closed her eyes. She’d stood here so many times as Ted opened the vault. In the beginning, she’d fantasized about remembering the combination, coming back one night to steal it all and become a millionaire courtesy of Chase Bank. She’d spend the money on a house somewhere cold. Some place with a tall turret that faced east where she’d finally put her art degree to use, painting every morning at sunrise.
It wasn’t that easy. Stella turned the dial numbly. Nothing happened. She could spin that lock all day.
The man. “What a waste,” he said.
Gunshots tore through the quiet of the hall, echoes filtering back from the building’s entrance. Stella shrieked and then kept shrieking until she opened her eyes and realized she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t staring into the barrel any longer.
“What the hell?” the man muttered.
“Yo Dee!” someone shouted. Gunshots like rain on a tin roof overlaid with screams from the teller-line where the robbers had lined up all her friends and the customers. Stella’s knees shook, she felt very faint.
Another robber appeared at the end of the hallway, a short, stocky man in an old New York Knicks jersey, a shotgun cradled in his arms. “Something’s going on! ‘Sup with the vault?”
The man, Dee apparently, grabbed Stella by the arm. “It’s your lucky day,” he said, dragging her back towards the teller line.
They emerged into the wide-open room, shattered skylights overhead letting in the noise of the panicked city outside. Stella glanced around frantically but she didn’t see any bodies, except for a pair of brown shoes sticking out behind a desk that could only have been poor Ted.
“What the fuck?” Dee said.
And then Stella saw him.
A man stood at the front in the doors at the front of the building, half of his body forced through the chains the robbers had fastened. As Stella watched he placed his hands on either side of the doorway and pushed the rest of the way through.
The robbers all shouted, Dee shouted, and then farther down the line of tellers desk one of the robbers fired again.
The bullet pinged harmlessly off the doorframe, striking sparks. The man dusted himself off and began walking steadily forward.
The room erupted into a firing squad. All the muzzle flashes and the deafening explosions, the tellers and the customers screaming. Stella thought that this must have been what war felt like. She’d come to work and gone to war, and makeup was hardly warpaint, and that house with the turret and the rosy-cheeked winters were getting farther and farther anyway, disappearing down the hallways in the barrels of those guns.
The man kept walking, bullets passing through him.
He wore an old, ratty black hoodie, the hood drawn halfway up along his head. Stella saw a young man, prematurely old. Dark pits beneath his eyes, hands stuffed in his pockets. He had headphones in, an expression that said this was any other Tuesday, and all Tuesdays sucked.
“What the fuck?” Dee shouted again. One of the robbers dropped his gun and pulled a knife, the others did the same. Stella screamed *“Look out!”* as if that would do anything for him.
But the men passed through him. They came stumbling out the other side, two of them sprawling across the ground, one of them straightening up slowly, a look of absolute horror across his rugged face. He dropped the knife, lurching away from it all towards a corner of the room. He was ashen, shaking.
Dee’s grip went weak. Stella glanced over and saw him staring wide eyes at his men, and at this creature in the hoodie who’d appeared to ruin him. Dee dropped the gun and ran, the sound of the barrel striking tile was loud even over the ringing in Stella’s ears.
After, when the police and the reporters had already gotten to her, Stella found the man in the hoodie sitting outside a café across the street. He looked so incongruous beneath the brightly colored parasol, like a shabby ghost. It was evening by then, the world was lit by flashing lights.
Stella went over to him in a haze, hardly able to process what she’d seen.
“What are you?” she said.
He blinked, glancing up in surprise. “You see me?” he said.
“Of course I see you, you’re right there. But what the hell are you? Are you a superhero or something?”
He shook his head. If anything the pits under his eyes were worse. He had a perpetually downturned mouth, and his hands worried at the edge of his sleeves.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said.
“Worry? How could I not? I— You… You saved my life! Can I repay you somehow?”
“No,” he said. “You don’t have to. It’s best you just forget.”
Stella grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside him. “Dude, there's no way I'm forgetting *that.* I'm going to remember you for the rest of my life.”
His face wasn’t built for smiles. The expression crept across it haltingly from right to left, dying somewhere in the middle. He shook his head again, and then said, very softly. “No, you won’t. I’m nothing at all. See?”
Stella blinked. She sat back in her chair, looking around at all the flashing lights. She saw a few of her coworkers huddled at tables inside the café, clutching coffees as if their lives depended on it.
And try as she might, Stella couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. The police had let her go and she’d walked across the street, and then there was a blank spot until she woke alone at this table.
Stella shook her head. She was confused and scared, anyone would be after what had happened today. It was a miracle she’d gotten out of it at all.
One of her coworkers inside spotted her and waved, and suddenly Stella was shaking with exhaustion. There was no way she was making it home without caffeine.
And alone at the table, the man sat and watched the world pass him by. He was a god among men, everywhere but within his own mind.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
As always, I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-12-26T17:17:07 | 2021-12-26T14:51:17 | 1,145 | 96 |
[WP] Your old adventuring party left you in the old dwarves mines to die. You were rescued by your now-wife and her clan. After some years, you find a retired member of your old party in the tavern.
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It was hard to keep down the venom that formed so readily and instantly at my throat, ready to leap out and slash at the god damned bastard—Roy, the Tinkerer—who sat merrily in the midst of several patrons. He took another swig of beer, enjoying the drunk and appreciative attention of those around him.
My blood boiled. How dare this man sit here, with that plain joy on his face? How has he not suffered with the weight of having to lock one of his old party members deep underground in the dwarven mines of Rockanvil to die?
And though I was ready to jump out, confront Roy, and beat him into submission, my wife—my saviour—laid a hand on my chest.
“You look angry,” Emily said, jutting her head towards the guest. “That one of the ones?”
“Roy, “ I nodded. “God, I wish I could just pummel him into the ground right now.”
Emily clicked her tongue.
“No,” she smiled. “I understand the need for revenge. But this is a well-established tavern, run by generations of Lightfoots. Wouldn’t do to have one of its staff pounce on a customer and beat him to death.”
“Then what?” I asked, indignant. “You will have this man be merry? Look at that drunk!”
“No,” Emily said, and winked. “All I know is that revenge can be subtle.”
I watched as she waltzed into the tavern once more, carefully clutching another pint of ale. She expertly moved past the inebriated chaos of the floor, putting the drink down in front of Roy. The two—and the sycophants surrounding them—shared a roaring laugh, and Roy promptly downed the mug in a matter of seconds.
Then, the Tinkerer fell face-first onto the table.
“Told you I’d find something strong enough for you,” Emily said, curtseying to the table, who roared with approval. “Carry on, my dears! Let the man sleep it off.”
Emily gave me a thumbs up, signalling me to bring yet another round of ale for the rowdy customers. But though they partied hard, they forgot that one among them had collapsed onto the table, thanks to Emily’s wonderful theatrics.
Roy remained oblivious to the din around him for the rest of the night. Come morning, he was still in the exact same position, drool slowly pooling on the table. It wasn’t uncommon for especially intoxicated guests to spend the night here, though we usually charge them extra on the tab for the extra board.
Roy didn’t need to be charged. In fact, he’s already paid for it. And soon, Roy found himself slung around my shoulders, moving to his permanent new home—underground.
---
r/dexdrafts
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North Coin wasn’t a big adventuring group, they consisted of five childhood friends that grew up on the streets of southern Alnwick. They only had two goals, to leave Alnwick and to leave Alnwick with enough money so that they didn’t immediately die. They begged and washed dishes in dirty taverns for years before taking their first job which was cleaning the city’s outskirts of the corpses that littered it. Their job was to loot the corpses of the fallen Alnwick soldiers, the centaurs, the dwarves, the faeries, or whoever it was that was waging war against the country that year.
They unevenly split the loot with the provincial merchant who worked under the King’s name. It was illegal to steal from corpses outside of this job and it was a way for the boys of North Coin to start gearing up for their journey into the great unknown. The merchant they went to was fair, old, and surprisingly kind. The merchant knew the boys deserved more of the loot and he often gave them a little bonus, an extra dagger or a bit of advice.
“You boys remind me of what my friends and I used to do to make a little coin.” the merchant said the first time North Coin brought in dozens and dozens of centaur hooves.
“Have you lived in Alnwick long?” Port asked, the unofficial leader of North Coin.
“My entire life.” the merchant said.
“You’ve never wanted to explore the rest of the world?” Bobbin asked, the crew’s healer. Bobbin wasn’t much of a cleric, but he knew one healing spell which was one more than anyone else.
The old merchant was the one that told them about it, he told them about the enchanted iron ore that had been untouched for decades. Of course many have tried to go inside - the ones that do come back do so branded with chemical burns on their skins and inside their bodies.
The crew was out looting the fields, orcs this time, when Port suggested they go to the mines.
Alfred and Gwen, brother and sister, laughed at the suggestion.
“That could be interesting,” Garret said. Garret was the crew’s self proclaimed archer. If they ever found a proper set of bow and arrow, Garret was going to take it.
“I don’t think we’d last six seconds somewhere like that.” Bobbin said.
“We could make protective clothing out of all the centaur and orc bodies,” Port suggested. “God knows we have enough of those and they’re like naturally imposed to have poison protection or something.”
“Naturally imposed? Do you even know what that means?” Gwen said, still smirking about the suggestion that they voluntarily end their lives in some dirty mine.
“A handful of iron ore would feed all of us for weeks,” Port said. “Enchanted iron ore is a hundred times more valuable, we wouldn’t have to work for years if we each found a bag of it.”
The fields were soaked in blood, the smell of rotting bodies in their noses, the sticky iron on their clothes and hands.
“Years?” Alfred said. He looked at his sister. Alfred was a shield bearer, Gwen used a comically large two handed broadsword.
“Years.” Port said.
Bobbin shook his head and he glanced at Port, whose eyes were serious, unflinching.
They found the cave easily, they followed their noses, the smell of ammonia guiding them to their own demise. Bobbin said at some point, “This feels like the opposite of a trap, like voluntarily eating moldy bread.”
“Best bread you’ll ever eat in your life,” Garret replied.
It was to the surprise of no one when they fell in the caves. The poison worked slowly through their “protective” coats of monster skin, but it worked quickly through the openings. Their eyes, the bits of ankle that showed between steps, the inside of their gloves.
They saw no iron and spells of vertigo stopping them from seeing the exit. Bobbin used his only healing spell, guided prayer. Guided Prayer was relatively powerful, but it healed slowly and only worked on one person at a time.
While the crew was dying, Bobbin had to make several decisions. He healed Gwen first, he’d always had a bit of a crush on her and he wanted at least one person to make it. Her brother was second because why not. Bobbin healed himself third.
“Sorry Garret, Port. You guys were the ones that suggested this so I’m healing you guys last.” Bobbin said to himself. He felt the poison working through his body, he wondered why he was able to move as much as he’s been able to. The others had fallen quickly to it. He ignored the thought to continue healing them.
Gwen and Alfred were the first to get up, they tried to speak, but their voices didn’t come out. They looked weak. They got up as Bobbin was finishing up the spell on Port. They looked at each other and understood the other. They left.
After Bobbin finished healing the group, he rested his eyes for a moment. He was going to have to carry them out of the cave by himself. When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t see. He wanted to laugh, but found that he couldn’t speak.
I guess that’s it then, he thought to himself. He lied down.
---
The old merchant thought about North Coin once in a while, he occasionally saw them in passing, but never in the shop. He stopped the girl once, “Have you guys stopped adventuring?” he asked.
“Fuck off,” the girl said, her voice raspy.
He had similar reactions from the others aside from Port, who asked the merchant for a favor.
---
The merchant passed, having lived his life in Alnwick. He saw more parties, more friends fall to the mines, fall to wars, to poverty. Before he died, the merchant had taken in Port, the leader of North Coin. He taught him how to appraise wares, and how to tell if weapons were forged with quality material. He taught him how to write, read, and speak the way a merchant should. Port was a son to him and they spent their lives in Alnwick. After the merchant’s funeral, he went to their favorite tavern.
He went there nightly now, missing his father and missing his old friends. A year later, Port had developed an alcoholic tendency, his store was messy, he was scammed often. He was too kind to younger adventurers and they took advantage of that kindness, that guilt.
One night, on his fifth pint of honey ale, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a man in black robes. In his hands were metal rosary beads and an iron cross. He laid his hand on Port and muttered words to himself. The man’s face was scarred, one eye covered with a leather eyepatch. His hair was a dull gray with bits of ginger mixed in.
Port felt warmth from the man’s hand. He closed his eyes, his breaths felt light.
“You look like shit, Port.” the man said.
“Bobbin?” he asked.
The man smiled a little. “You ready for round two?”
| 2022-02-13T10:45:14 | 2022-02-13T10:16:37 | 432 | 75 |
[WP] You open the door to your house. You notice someone who looks exactly like you sitting in a chair. You don't have a twin. "Can I help you?" The person looks at you. "I'll give it to you straight: I'm a shapeshifter. I'm in danger. One of us needs to stay in the basement for now. Best it's you."
|
"You sure about that? I can handle myself well enough." I said as I pulled out my pistol and chambered a round.
"No, trust me, they aren't \*people\*, a weapon like that won't cut it, I've just gotta trick them into thinking I'm not here, and this place is an extrasensory dead zone for some reason, so they can't see through this disguise."
"Wait, did you walk in here with no idea who I am, just copied someone off the street and hopped into their house?"
"Yeah, why does who you are matter? Wait, how the hell are you so okay with all this?" My response was to channel a touch of power into the runes on my handgun and gloves, causing them to turn from nearly invisible to glowing a pale, ethereal blue. The doppleganger froze, and its expression turned to stark terror.
"You're the fucking wizard. I walked into the house of the fucking wizard, because of course he'd have wards mimicking a natural dead zone."
"I'm the fucking wizard alright."
"Why am I alive, then? You must have killed a dozen of us by now."
I sighed and lowered my weapon from pointing upward and ready to at my side. "Because instead of trying to take my memories, kill me, and replace me, you just asked me to hide. That's not how your kind operate. So, I have to ask how'd you end up in this situation? Be aware, one of the wards will stop you from lying."
"I uh..." He gagged, clearly having hoped to call my "bluff" about the truth ward. I hadn't been bluffing. "I let a human live that I shouldn't have. Blew an operation. My cell never liked me before, and now..."
"They're gonna kill you. Probably some shit about you being 'flawed' for not being a total psycho too, yeah?"
"Yeah"
"Well, you seem like possibly the best anomaly among monsters I've met, can't wait until the vegan werewolves hear about this." The Shifter looked deeply confused at that, and seemed like he was about to question it, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. A series of heavy, slow knocks. I sighed.
"We can talk more once I take out the trash. You might want to turn around, it might get messy."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Hope folks enjoy, pretty heavy Dresden Files inspiration here, but fun to write regardless.
|
My head spun as I walked into my living room. The man I killed not 24 hours ago sat on the couch staring back at me. My first thought, that I’d failed to kill him, quickly passed. I’m too efficient, he in too many pieces. As the thing stood and explained itself my fear turned to anger. This idiot, this child, volunteering not only the existence of shifters but outing themself as one of them. Expecting some clueless human to help it with whatever idiot mistake it had made. Subconsciously I began to shift, altering my bone density and metabolism. I adjusted my posture to try and hide the sudden muscle growth. Tried to make myself look submissive and scared as the Little idiot rambled on about whatever trouble it was in.
“What do you want from me?” I asked finally. The thing wearing my face, a face I worked hard to get, stood and walked toward me. I had to fight to keep my pupils from dilating too far. Just the right amount, a human amount, took an immense amount of focus under the flood of adrenaline.
“I just told you,” the thing said. “I want you to go into the basement.”
I hadn’t cleaned the basement yet. You could smell the blood from the landing, as soon as I opened the door it would know something was wrong. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in a fight. A few thousand years, minimum, sometime in the Han dynasty. In a bare fight I doubt I’d stand much of a chance against this juvenile delinquent. As if to emphasize my point the shifter altered itself, its muscles bulging in a suddenly too small shirt.
“My head is spinning, I need some tea. Would you like some tea?” I moved to the kitchen quickly, shaping myself closer to the subprime metabolism I’d stolen last night. The shifter followed me into the kitchen, moving between me and the kitchen knives. It was a cautious move, not overly subtle, but still I had to hide a smirk of approval. Maybe there was hope for this whelp yet.
“I have to say, you’re taking this remarkably well. I’d assumed you would just faint and we could get all this over with, you know?” It said, leaning against the counter.
“Stiff upper lip, it’s true. Fact is I do need to vomit if you’ll excuse me.” I ran to the bathroom, locking the door quickly behind me. I quickly phoned the police, shifting my voice box as it rang.
“Please help. Some man has kidnapped me, he’s locked me in his house and I’m scared he’s going to hurt me. Please come as fast as you can, he’s got several guns and I think he’s hurt someone already.” A young woman’s voice came through my mouth, trembling with fear. “I’m sorry I need to go, he doesn’t know I took his phone.”
“Well it was a bit touch and go for a minute there, but I seem to have composed myself,” I said as I reentered the kitchen, making my face a little more pale than usual.
“and I’m afraid I wasn’t really listening during your explanation earlier. What sort of trouble is it you’re in, and should I be worried for my own safety?”
The shifter waved the question away with his hand. A stupid mistake, the body he was inhabiting never made that gesture, preferring a frown and head shake.
“Nono, the fact is a few decades ago, maybe 40 or 50 I forget, I was being chased down as part of a fox hunt, and I made a foolish mistake. I thought I was alone so I shifted, but of course some fucking child saw the whole thing, and the little fucker has been hunting me ever since. Good news is in another twenty years or so he’ll be dead and I’ll be in the clear. I just have to hide out until then.”
I widened my eyes. “Goodness, and you think he’s coming here?”
The swatting gesture again. Idiot.
“Nono, I’ve gotten much better at hiding my tracks, but I had to abandon my last shape in a hurry so here I am.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question when flashing lights at the window pulled our attention. The shifter turned to me, its face red.
“What did you do?!”
Against my better judgement, I smiled.
“Oh god, sir, please don’t hurt me!” I screamed, a woman’s voice coming from my throat. The shifter’s expression changed violently, his mouth gaping unhinged as my hair grew long and dark, my chest sprouting a sudden pair of breasts, and my face twisting from the shadowed, hollow face of a man in his mid thirties to an attractive woman in her early twenties. The shifter made strange, inhuman sounds. Then it leapt.
It’s hands were huge around my throat and it pinned me to the ground. The fight was a subtle one. I thickened my neck, it strengthened its hands. I moved my trachea, it dug in deeper, its nails growing to claws. My pulse thundered in my ears. My vision faded. For the first time in a millennia I considered the possibility of death, and then I was out.
I woke up to a handsome face with deep concern in his blue eyes. It took a minute to register his uniform. Police.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“What happened?” I said in a strange voice, half between the man and woman I’d last been. The shifter’s body lays next to me, a hole in the side of his head. Blood soaking into the carpet.
“Don’t try to talk, your throat was damaged, but you’re safe now. Can you move your head?” I nodded slowly, fixing a broken vertebra in my neck. I had to focus to keep from inadvertently repairing too much. I had to be careful now more than ever.
“Is anyone else in the house?” The officer asked. I nodded again slowly, pointing a polished nail toward the basement. I struggle to stand, forcing the officer to adjust himself, just enough to grab his gun. He doesn’t have time to be confused. Blood splatters on my face as he collapses on me.
“Sorry,” I say to nobody. My voice a strange blend. “Can’t have two Harold Masons, can we? And you were going to find the one in the basement eventually.”
My muscles grow and I shove the cop’s body off of me, fixing the damage to my throat as I rush to the basement. I can hear more sirens approaching and time is short.
By the time I reach the basement I am a massive tiger. One of my first forms. a species long extinct. I must be feeling nostalgic. I make quick work of the man’s remains, swallowing the last of his bones as I hear footsteps echo upstairs. The first responders are distracted by the bodies upstairs and I have just enough time to shed my weight. As an officer makes her way downstairs, gun drawn, all she finds is a healthy amount of blood and a brief glimpse of a huge rat with tiger striped fur, just as it disappears through a crack in the wall.
| 2022-12-05T10:30:15 | 2022-12-05T09:59:20 | 186 | 36 |
[WP] To keep up with challenges by mortals, Death must master every new game that comes up. But there's one game that he just can't figure out for the death of him.
|
I don't understand how he doese it.
There are so many rules that come and go
I don't understand the goal of it either
Yet everytime i play this ball game the winner always makes sense
There's no denying he wins the game, he knows all the rules, all the strategy, everything...
That must be the reason it's named after him
He's here again
This time however, I was ready.
"Welcome Calvin! Are you ready to play?
I have found the stick if invincibility you mentioned last time, it took me 30 souls and a trek to the great tree of elders to find it but It's HERE. are you ready to lose!?"
He looks at me with his wide smile and spiky yellow hair
"Too bad it only works on bases 2 and wicket 9, besides I have the glasses of all seeing so your stick doesn't work."
"But you don't have glasses on."
"Duh they're invincible."
"Wait don't you mean invisible? "
"Is your stick invisible?"
"I uh..."
"Didn't think so, ok let's play Calvinball!"
|
It turns out that taking souls from the very recently deceased can actually get quite dull and repetitive. There’s an awful lot of begging, the occasional try at bargaining, and the good old ‘there must be some kind of mistake, Mr. Death…’. I found out that it is actually easier in some ways to let humans think that they have some way of getting out of their demise. So I offer them a choice if they decide to get a bit attached to their lives. I tell them that they can play a game of their choice against me, and if they win, I let them go. The problem is, of course, that this kind of thing is legally binding. If I make this promise I have to let them go if they do beat me. So in order to make sure that I get all the souls on the list, I just be sure to always win. That was easy back in the dark ages when the idea of leisure pursuits wasn’t a particularly advanced or varied field, but in recent years I’ve noticed an alarming increase in the number and variety of games that I’m challenged to. But I try to work around it. The fact of the matter is that with enough practice you can become the best at anything. I’ve mastered chess, hide and seek, and all kinds of games that people have suggested. More recently this Pokémon thing had given me a bit of trouble, but I think I’ve got that one sorted.
It was all going fine one day until I ran into a problem I hadn’t considered. I rock up at the hospital bed where the sadly newly expired blighter is enjoying a whole new lease of life, or well, death. I introduce myself, and he gives me the goggle-eyes for a bit, which is something that you just have to get used to. I think it’s the whole ‘grim reaper’ look, and the whole romanticising of it. The truth is I appear how people expect to see me, but more often than not people make it harder than it needs to be by imagining some terrible horror, and not, say, a plump elderly gentleman with a penchant for backgammon and the occasional glass of port.
“I suppose it’s pointless for me to ask you not to take me”. He stated the question rather than asking it, but I decided to humour it with an answer.
“Absolutely!” I exclaimed cheerfully. I liked this one. He was handling it rather well. There’s usually far more sobbing than this.
“Can I ask anyway?”
“If you want. But be quick about it. I’m on a tight schedule”
“Please don’t take me. I don’t want to die”
“Well considering you put it so nicely, I’ll offer you a chance.” He perked up at this. “A game, if you want, that is. You can pick a game, we play it, then if I win I get your soul, and if you win, I go away and leave you in peace for a bit.”
“So I get to choose the game?”
“That’s the idea. Do hurry up though.” He sat back and thought for a few seconds, then his eyes lit up, as a thought seemed to dawn on him. This was not encouraging, as generally if one thing can be said about mortals it was that when they got sudden ideas in situations like this, they were often quite infuriatingly good ones. He turned to me and spoke:
“Rock, paper, scissors. That’s my game. One round of rock, paper, scissors.” I was taken aback. This certainly was a first, and now that I thought of it, I couldn’t see any way of making sure that I’d win.
“Are you sure? Seems a bit too much like chance to stake your life on”
“Rather a chance of losing than the certainty if I don’t play.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. But I supposed that a deal’s a deal, and he’d picked his game. We set out the rules of the game, and began, both shaking our fists in unison. As we shook I tried desperately to work out a way of winning, but I couldn’t for the life of me. Metaphorically speaking of course.
As we reached the final shake and revealed our hands; I opted in a split second for scissors. It just seemed like a good choice. I watched his hand remain in a fist. Rock. Shit. Looked like he’d beaten me fair and square. Now while many things can be said of me, the Reckoning That Visits All Men, one of them is not that I am a sore loser. I take pride in being magnanimous in victory and gracious in defeat. It’s all a matter of being professional. With that in mind I pulled the list out, and rescheduled this man’s death to a few of his mortal years in the future. He’d earned it I supposed.
As I left the hospital ward, I wracked my brains for ways to win at rock paper scissors. Every other game had a method, a way of surely beating your opponent. But not this. It troubled me sincerely. It just wouldn’t do to lose half of my collection every day over a game of chance, and the only alternative was to stop playing the game. Truly a conundrum. Hopefully this wouldn’t catch on, and the next mortal would choose something mundane and pedestrian like chess or Minesweeper, so that I could go home early with enough souls to fill out my quota.
| 2014-12-21T16:30:50 | 2014-12-21T16:20:48 | 38 | 20 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
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"The international community hereby charges you with War Crimes committed during the defeat of the so-called Islamic State. On your orders, a brutal campaign of destruction, fear and even forced conversions were taken place. Even civilians were not exempt. It says here that several mosques were torn down, often with people still inside them. Forced confessions of 'dealing with demons' gained through torture were obtained. Frankly I could go on for hours Mr. Felipe, but I would rather not. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The man leaned back into his chair. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before rising.
"Your honor, the proper term of address is 'Your Majesty.' I do not accept the change to the constitution. And as to the charges, I did indeed order every one. I simply ordered what needed to be done." This statement elicited a gasp from the members of the press. The man began again quickly, before he could be interrupted.
"You all saw the Islamic State and saw just another terrorist organization. I saw a rebirth of an old enemy. It was if Carthage had risen again from Libya and wished to wage war against Italy. So I had to fight fire with fire so to speak. The methods used were tried and true against just such an enemy in my own country centuries ago. They wished to fight a religious war, so I gave them one."
The crowd was dead silent. Nobody had any idea what to say. But the man on trial just smiled.
"Besides, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition."
|
People use to think Bob was a traitor, but thanks to YouTube and my reporting we now know the truth.
Bob spoke good English and other languages and had been a woodworker in Logan, Ohio for many years. The thing is, Bob isn't American, he's Estonian, so he says, but nobody knows or can prove enough about him to deport him. I met him about 10 years ago when doing a feature on his shop for the paper and we bonded over our love of NCIS the TV show.
The thing that really struck me about Bob is that Bob doesn't exist on paper prior to 2000. Bob could have been American if not for all his half connections to terrorism, although none of it could be proven. That's what kept him from citizenship. I reported on that two. He was third cousins to some guy who did some bad thing some 4,000 miles away or his mother's step-sister's uncle was a terrorist. That sort of stuff.
Bob and I talked frequently, small town and all it's hard not to. People talk and try to be friendly in person, even if they talk about you behind your back.
When Bob learned about Islamic State he studied them beyond what seemed normal. Bob learned their customs, their region, their values, and even their movements. People started to distance themselves from him, although his nature never changed besides the fact that he began to pray more often and he had books on guns and middle eastern history written in Arabic in his shop.
It was widely speculated that the FBI, the CIA, NSA and who knows who else from the alphabet soup of government agencies was tracking, recording and following Bob.
One day bob was gone. Just vanished. All his stuff, his life, wiped out as if he'd never owned that shop. Nobody knew what happened to him until it was reported on the news. Bob had "defected" to the Islamic state and was among their troops. The town was a whole pit of gossip and that's all anyone talked about. They talked about Bob and how he was a murderer and a traitor. The national news media picked up the story of my missing person story, twisted it, reported non-stop for weeks about this American defector who was right under everyone's nose.
After a few months people started to and eventually forgot about Bob. I didn't. I wondered what he was up to and why he had made the change. I knew that Bob wasn't a terrorist. He was just a white guy from Estonia in his mid 60s with grey hair and a friendly smile.
Just when everyone had forgotten about him Bob sent me a message asking me to pay him a visit in Egypt. He even flew me out. I didn't feel unsafe. Islamic state had become increasingly less active in the last few months. Bob said not to worry about the alphabet soup that would inevitably follow me. Bob said they needed to hear it all.
Bob picked me up at the airport in a car that was really expensive. I'm no car person but it had to be hundreds of thousands if not more. We talked normally, as we had before he vanished, for many years. We drove for a few hours and stopped outside this shack. It looked similar to where he'd been staying in Logan if not a little bit more run down.
We step inside and there is one man tied to a chair. I can't see his face, there's a bag over it. Bob walks over and removes the bag.
Bob introduces me to Abdul and informs me that Abdul is the last Islamic State member alive. Bob said Abdul was a courier and servant to the leadership and had been with the organization many years. It was through Abdul that he tracked down all the members of the organization and "took care of the problem."
I was skeptical at first but I did as I was instructed. Bob asked me there for an interview and I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. I set up my video camera and asked the questions.
I got Abdul to say his name, where he was from and why he was here. He said he was here to die, an answer I was not expecting. Abdul told me he was there to explain and then to die.
We talked for 15 minutes about everyone who was dead. Leaders, soliders, scholars, both men and women and most of the children. Everyone who aided in violence and killing and took up arms was gone, died at their own hand,...except Abdul. He said he had to tell the truth, the whole story. The stories went on for an hour. I even had to change my battery to finish the interview. Abdul shared stories of people begging for forgiveness before taking their own lives.
I then asked my final two questions the two I was most curious about. How did it happen and why was Abdul so sure he was about to die.
Abdul, at Bob's urging, said they felt so much remorse for all the atrocities they had done that most of them just went out in the desert and died of sadness. It was the purple dinosaur that had shown them the way with his song and they needed to repent for their sins. It was then that Abdul thanked me for my time and he put his head down and said he was ready. Bob then unshackled Abdul who walked over to the table took out a knife and stabbed himself in the heart.
After a minute, it was all over.
I then turned my attention back to Bob and asked him...how he'd done it how were they all gone? Bob said it with a seriousness and peace I'd not heard before.
It was Barney, Bob said. I made them watch Barney for weeks.
Sitting there, shocked, I asked one final question.
"So does this make Barney a terrorist?"
I'm still waiting on Bob's answer.
| 2016-01-29T10:18:49 | 2016-01-29T07:07:48 | 389 | 16 |
[WP] You have $86,400 in your bank and someone steals $10. You spend all the rest of your money trying to get revenge.
|
Jun-18 $10.00 (disputed)- North Hill Cashpoint
Jun-19 $35.99 (card) - Grant's CCTV
Jun-19 $200 (online transaction) - Wiring for beginners E-learning
Jun-20 $140. 50 (card) - Edmund's electrical supplies
Jun-20 $450 (online transaction) - Cloud CCTV storage systems
Jun-20 $1000 (card) - Bennett's Professional PI services
Jun-21 $200 (card) Gate world- Consultation fee
Jun-21 $1200 (card) Gate world- Products and Installation
Jun-22 $5200 (card) Gunz Gunz Gunz
Jun-22 $150 (card) Easthill shooting range
Jun-23 $1000 (card) - Bennett's Professional PI services
Jun-23 $5000 (transfer) Strength Armour vehicle services inc- deposit
Jun-24 $802.99 (online transaction) - Steven's Security- Tracking equipment
Jun-26 $32, 899 (transfer) - Strength Armour vehicle services inc- Remaining balance
Jun-26 $150 (card) - Gunz Gunz Gunz
Jun-27 $500 (card) - Brasenose and Philips lawyers
Jun-27 $120.01 (card) - Pete's Petrol
Jun-27 $5.00 (card) - Southern Phone- North Hill Police station
Jun-27 $5000 (transfer) - Brasenose and Philips
Aug-23 $32, 246.51 (transfer) - Government Victim restitution fund
Aug-24 +$10.00 (transfer) - Northern courts
Aug-30 $10.00 (transfer) - Government Victim restitution fund
Remaining balance- $0.00
Be nice, first writing prompt and I don't know how to format!
|
*It's not about the money. It's about the principle of the thing!*
I don't want you to get the wrong picture of me. I'm not some white-collar slob browsing through memes in an air-conditioned office. I'm an electrical engineer who put himself through school on nickels and dimes. I had to sell my radio to buy my uniform for my first day of work, although I would have sold a kidney if that hadn't covered it. If I'm willing to get my hands dirty to earn my money, you can sure as hell know I'm willing to get them dirty to get it back.
When someone takes money from me, it's not just me they're stealing from. They're stealing from my father who worked a night job to keep clothes on my back. They're stealing from my children who can't understand why their father doesn't love them enough to get them the same toy their friends have. They're stealing from every honest man, every American dream, every -
"Next in line please."
The vein in my forehead learned to tap-dance. If a glare could kill, the McDonalds Cashier in front of me would have flipped his last burger.
"I gave you a twenty. You gave me change for a 10." My voice could have chiseled rock. There was a collective sigh from the line behind me, but I held my ground. "I'm not leaving until you give me my 10 back."
"I know how to do my job, *sir*. Next in line!"
It would have been one thing if I was a strung-out fool scratching at my ass, but I was a professional man. From my tucked in dress shirt to my carefully parted hair, everything about me screamed credibility. The nerve of this greasy teenager to disregard me so quickly -
But this wasn't over. Oh no, this was far from over. He was nothing compared to me, and I was going to prove it. But I wasn't going to stoop to his level. I was going to use my game to beat him.
I'll admit, my plan seemed a lot simpler in my head. These types of registers just spring open when the electricity shorts out. After that, all I had to do was grab it and run. It wasn't stealing: it was justice. But then I guess I started overthinking things...
The supplies I needed from Home Depot set me back a bit, but soon I'd put together a simple device which drew so much power in a feedback loop that the whole building would be overloaded. Sure I had to bribe the guy who worked there when he got suspicious what I was going to use it for, but you never know when I'll need to use this baby again.
Of course, just to be safe I might as well get rid of the security cameras. No point going to all this trouble just to get caught. I can't believe it cost a couple hundred dollars just to get someone from the company to recall them for maintenance. Worth it, of course, because now I was ready to exact my revenge.
Only he'd already finished his shift by then, and I didn't want to get someone else in trouble. I followed him home instead, maybe a bit too fast, because I got a speeding ticket along the way. He wouldn't have a register at home, but I could still go in and take it by force. Of course, for that I'd be safer to bring along some protection, so I had to buy a gun.
Couldn't wait the three days, so I just got a hot one from a buddy I know. Cost a little extra, but you know what you can't afford to replace? Dignity. Finally, it was midnight, and I had everything I needed. Time to make this bastard pay.
Or it would have been, if I hadn't accidentally broken into the wrong house. There was a lot of screaming and confusion. Understandable, given me crashing in through their kitchen window, but who the hell really needs a stain glass window in their house anyway? Bunch of white-collar pussies if you ask me. Of course I offered to pay for the damages, so it's not like any real harm was done.
But now! The right house. Right time. Just before the break of dawn, I knocked on his door. Long, loud knocks. Not the sound of a thief in the night - more like the authoritative confidence of the police upholding the great law.
No reply. What would the police do in this circumstance? Exactly the same thing I did. Break the door in. Gun at the level, I flipped on every light I came across. I have nothing to hide. Do you?
"What's that awful racket?" An older woman. Must be his mother. She waddled blearily down the hallway in her nightgown, freezing when she saw the gun in my hand. "Oh sweet Jesus. Michael! Call the police!"
"I am the police!" I roared. "Where is that son-of-a-bitch?"
"You're no police. Where's your badge?"
"Well, not exactly the police. But I'm on the side of justice -"
"Michael get down here and help me!" she screamed.
"Yeah, come here Michael," I added, albeit a bit less confidently than when I had begun. "And bring my ten dollars!"
Soon they were both against the wall, quivering in fear. I was starting to get uneasy now, but any hesitation would make it look like I was confessing to doing the wrong thing. I wasn't! The money was mine! And God as my witness, I wasn't leaving without it. The moment when he handed me the folded bill, I knew it was all worthwhile. Sure I'd spent my whole savings to get this back, but I'd also deterred this scumbag from his future life of crime.
I put the bill in my pocket and walked home in triumph, the exalted return of a victorious emperor from his conquered land.
I guess in retrospect I should have looked at the bill Michael gave me. Bitch only gave me a 5.
---
[More from author](http://www.facebook.com/sirtobiaswade).
| 2017-07-18T09:40:22 | 2017-07-18T09:25:11 | 609 | 201 |
[WP] It’s an uprising of the undead. People all over the world have risen from their graves. You’re a cop whose job is to track down people who are supposed to be serving consecutive life sentences.
|
Terrence was today's order. Nigel co-operated and told his former cellmate's current haunts. Two strip clubs and four pubs later, I found him. Air was cold during the day and colder after the sundown. I made my way inside and there he was sitting in front of the bar. I didn't need to see what he was drinking since I already knew his preferred poison was whiskey. No need to be rash I told myself. Terrence was -literally- a killer in his time, but that was four decades ago. He was to be in, in life and in death too, it was decreed after The Haunting. My gun was within reach, but I was not going to need it. I pulled up the chair next to him and waved the bartender to bring me a glass of the same whiskey.
"Terrence, dear friend." I kept my voice steady, with no tone. Even if he was bothered by my presence, he didn't show it. My glass came and raised it towards him and drank.
"Do I have to?" he asked calmly.
"It is not as bad as you think it is. You know the conditions of the prison life. Look man, the sooner you go through this the better. Its only 2 sentences-"
"It will take longer in this state." He interrupted with a cold tone. Bitter, but not hateful.
"State has taken precautions for this. They have mercy. You will be placed in one of the hotter cells so you can do your time quicker. This will not take more than a decade. You get this treatment because of good behaviour. After that, you will walk."
He finished his drink with slow and long gulps. Dead people don't get drunk after all.
"I tried to feel alive but I feel nothing. How do you keep going?"
I smiled. He saw reason, got my point.
"Purpose."
We walked out of the pub and to my car. I didn't cuff him. An hour later and I dropped him off at the district and proceeded to my next fugitive.
Dead people don't get tired after all.
|
Garret crept along a wooden, moldy bench in a crouch, gripping his katana tighter with every nimble step. Something stuck to his neck. Garret froze. A harmless spider. He sighed, crushing the spider between his fingers.
The target kneeled atop a stone altar, in front of the giant cross on the far wall of the room. He prayed with soft whispers, unaware of Garret's presence. Good.
Garret took a deep breath and continued sneaking towards him. He knew the target was armed with a gun, so the safest plan was to close the distance as much as possible. Unfortunately, bullets were useless against these monsters. The only way to deal with them was to slice them up as much as possible and drown them in a concrete tomb, which meant that blades were the only effective weapon for this job.
This church had Garret on edge. It'd been abandoned ever since the murders happened here, twenty years ago, and no one ever bothered to clean it up or maintain it. Everything was saturated with a thick layer of dust, peppering the damp air with a nauseating smell. The roots of an overgrown tree had burrowed underneath the building and slowly dislodged a lot of the tiles, turning the floor into a confused mixture of stone and vines.
Someone wept.
The target intensified his chanting, screaming in a strange language.
Garret widened his eyes. Alistair had a hostage. Garret readied himself to jump in. He wouldn't allow Alistair to sacrifice another person, even if it meant losing his tactical advantage. The weeping stopped. Alistair went quiet and returned to his whispered prayers. Garret frowned, relaxing. What the hell was this lunatic doing? Whatever. He still needed to get closer.
This entire place had to be demolished. It was a blight on the city. A constant reminder of the massacre caused by Alistair. Maybe this church was once beautiful, but Garret saw no reason to preserve it anymore. Ten foot high statues of various saints were placed along the sidewalls, their faces either half-decayed, covered with grime, or both. How were they even standing? They seemed one strong gust of wind away from collapsing. Garret swallowed. The way these statues hovered above him, all seeing, all knowing, left him haunted. They were inanimate objects, and yet, their judgmental gaze weighed on Garret like a pile of rocks.
Garret stepped on a dead branch.
It crunched.
"WHO'S THERE?!?" shouted Alistair, turning around. The madman looked deranged. He was skinny, but wore cream-colored baggy robes that made him seem bigger than he really was. His face was mostly purple, but red and black in some spots, and his veins were clearly visible through his skin, rotten yet functional. "I SWEAR ON THE NAME OF MAH LORD I'LL SHOOT THIS MAN IF NO ONE APPEARS."
Garret flinched. He was only halfway through the church. At this distance, he wouldn't be able to do anything about the gun.
Alistair jumped down from the altar, dragging out a man that had his hands and feet tied with rope. "I said come out!"
Garret kept crawling through the benches. Only five more rows.
Alistair cocked his gun.
Two rows.
Alistair aimed his gun at the man. "Forgive me Lord, for this hasty sacrifice!"
"Wait!" Garret stood up. "We can talk this out. No need for bloodshed! Please."
Alistair cackled. "Bloodshed is everything! Don't you see I was right?!? THE LORD SHOWED ME THE WAY! HE GRANTED ME HIS GIFT! I AM HIS PROPHET AND NONE SHALL OPPOSE MY GOSPEL!"
"The second you pull the trigger..." Garret unsheathed his sword. "The very instant you do it, you're going to regret it." He aimed the sword towards Alistair. "Don't throw your newfound life away."
"Throw it away?" Alistair grabbed the hostage by his hair and shoved his pistol into his eye socket. "Perish the thought! I'm living the way I was meant to!"
"You aren't special, okay?!? You were raised just like the other thousands. This doesn't prove anything!"
The hostage started crying.
"My presence here is proof enough!"
Alistair shot the hostage. The corpse fell backwards. Garret leaped over the bench, towards the undead.
Alistair aimed at Garret.
Garret sliced his arm off before he could shoot. Alistair kicked Garret away and lunged at his gun. He then shot Garret in the shoulder when the officer ran at him, jumping back to his feet.
Garret ignored the pain, spinning into another slice one-handed. Alistair dodged and bit Garret's shoulder, sticking his tongue into the bullet wound. Garret grabbed him by the neck and threw him away. He was short of breath. Alistair's arm started to regenerate. Fuck. The madman cocked his gun and shot again. Garret rolled away. Alistair unloaded a flurry of bullets, trying to hit Garret, who kept jumping from bench to bench.
*Click.*
The gun was empty.
Garret instantly ran at him.
Alistair pulled out another gun. Garret slid on his knees, avoiding the first bullet, and decapitated Alistair, who shot twice in a random direction behind Garret before he fell.
Garret exhaled, relieved to see Alistair's limp body a few feet away from his head. He then glared at the madman's head and said:
"It's over."
A faint rumbling echoed in the background.
Alistair grinned. "Not quite."
Garret frowned. The statue behind him collapsed, trapping him and the headless body under a pile of debris. The pain paralyzed him. It took him half an hour to summon all of his strength and dig his way out of the fallen statue. Garret limped towards the dead hostage. His stomach had been eaten out. Alistair managed to escape, but it would take him a few hours, and a few more pounds of human flesh, to regenerate a new body again.
--------
> If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2018-01-28T11:17:57 | 2018-01-28T10:53:11 | 59 | 25 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a huge spiral staircase and it takes you a thousand years to reach the top. You’re exhausted, but to your surprise you are greeted with the pearly gates, except they’re completely rusted over. A sign reads “Welcome to Heaven, Population: 1”
|
Andrew blinked "A thousand years huh? Just keep climbing those steps for a thousand years?"
"Yes. Not so much in the face of eternity, but a hurdle for those still clinging to mortal life and time. " st. Peter looked at the gates behind him and shrugged. He took out a giant clipboard and made one long penstroke on a single name.
Andrew glanced back at the stairs "a lot of people give up and don't know if these stairs lead anywhere. "
"But now you do. And you can seek sweet oblivion, release, bliss and rapture behind these gates." The doors open with a chorus of sound too delightful to explain.
"I have family though."
"Perhaps they'll come this way too in time. You may not be the last person, you're simply the first."
"I think I'm going to go back down."
"Wait what?"
"Go down, tell everyone the stairs have an end, and grab the hand of my wife and kids and bring them up again"
"It would take you a thousand years to descend again and 1000 more to ascend-"
"Which is, how did you say it? *Not so much in the face of eternity?* Besides it won't take me a 1000 years to go down."
"No?"
"Can I borrow your clipboard for a moment? I'm curious what you crossed off."
"Sure I guess" st. Peter handed it off to Andrew
And Andrew was off like a shot, running with the giant clipboard to the stairs and diving headfirst down the sloping spiral staircase with the clipboard underneath him as a sled.
...
...
"That jerk better not throw up on my clipboard."
|
You push against the rusted gates, and with a menacing CREEEEAAAAKK they shift open. As you cross the threshold, a loud ding sounds behind you, and you turn to see the gold paint on the sign’s “1” shift like sand to a “2.” Hesitantly, you turn forward again and continue walking.
There seems to be no person or object ahead of you. There is only the ground, and a pink mist stretching into infinity. Soon the pearly gates behind you fade into the mist. You have a feeling you’ll never see them again. You find it hard to care.
You walk for what might be minutes or days or years. You’ve already climbed those stairs for a millennium. It’s skewed your sense of reality. At this point, all time seems to meld together.
But eventually, a figure looms out of the mist. They walk towards you. It’s a woman, old and wrinkled, but not nearly so old and wrinkled as you. She looks familiar, with grey eyes, grey hair, and only one hand. Her eyes are suspicious. She takes in your shabby clothes, and you see her eyes flicker to your own stump, where your left hand had been. “The Book of Evander,” she says.
“The Bohemian Verses,” you respond. “And so Marask spoke to his Prophet, Evander, ‘Let those whose belief in me be true prove their worth by climbing the Stairs of Ivory, and so be blessed with everlasting life in the Mists of Bohemia...’”
“‘...while those holding to the demonic worship of Arcun’s lies and false idols be cast into Oblivion,’” she finishes for you. “So said the Lord Marask, and Evander hastened to spread his Word.” She looks you up and down. “So you know where you are then.”
You nod. “It’s rather empty, isn’t it?”
She smirks. “There are few true believers,” she tells you proudly. “The followers of Marask were ever few in number.”
“We were labeled a cult,” you say disinterestedly.
She bares her teeth at that. “FOOLS,” she snarls. “They did not believe the Word when it was told to them, and the Lord Marask in his wisdom has cast them into Oblivion.” She seems gleeful at the thought of this. A better man might have been disgusted at her being joyful for the extinguishing of billions of souls. You find it hard to care.
“Susan.”
She blinks, as if coming out of a trance. “What?”
“Your name. It’s Susan. You were Evander’s wife, weren’t you?”
She leers with a fierce pride. “I still am.”
“He sacrificed you on the pyre.”
She nods vigorously. “And with my death, a thousand souls were shown the power of the Word. They will be here soon, and they will realize they owe their lives to me.” Her eyes shine with sick fervor. “I will be worshipped as the Queen of Heaven. Evander will rule beside me, as we should have done on Earth. We will be second only to Marask!”
This seems a good point to interrupt her. “Evander’s not coming.”
You can almost see the gears in her mind come to a screeching halt. “Wh... what?”
“Evander. He isn’t coming.”
“What do you mean he isn’t coming?!” She is furious now, and the brunt of the anger is directed at you. It occurs to you that this is a woman who readily let herself be burned for her beliefs. Regardless of the apparent truth of her beliefs, she was never a paragon of sanity, and a thousand odd years of isolation has only made her more unstable. Still, you find it hard to care.
“He recanted his beliefs in prison a few years before his death. Said his beliefs were based on delusion-“
“NO!”
“-and mental illness, for which he had been given psychological treatment. He was right, apparently, but he didn’t know that. I think he converted to Islam.”
“YOU LIE!”
“Personally, I’d say it was mainly the idea of 72 virgins that appealed to him. He always seemed like a pervert to me, no offense.”
She tries to slap you for that. She makes contact, but there’s no pain. You realize you haven’t felt pain since you arrived at the foot of the staircase.
“It lasted a month or two until he gained a hunger for bacon. Converted to Christianity at that point- said it was basically the same god.”
“No no no no no no NO!”
“Unfortunately for him, he’d gained a bit of a following by then. His dissatisfied ex-followers decided they didn’t like the idea of such a capricious Shepard. Got shanked in the shower soon after.” You look around. “He won’t end up here, at any rate.”
“You... you’re a liar.” She’s backing up, a look of horror spreading on her face. “A slave of Arcun, sent to sway me from the Word.” Her eyes have regained their righteous glow. “My husband will be here!”
For the first time in a thousand years you feel something- a twinge of sympathy for this deluded, broken woman. “Susan,” you say gently. “You know that’s not true. Arcun and his lies have no place in the Mists of Bohemia. Only true followers can enter this place, and why would a true follower lie to you?”
“But... but-“
“And besides, how long do you think you’ve been here?”
She blinks. “I... I don’t know. I climbed those damned stairs for a thousand years, as the Book said, and now I can barely tell a second from a day.”
You nod in understanding. “Ok, then when did you sacrifice yourself?”
| 2020-06-17T06:46:03 | 2020-06-17T05:02:19 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments.
|
I laughed at first. Then I replied " Yes, Very easy" to the email just to amuse myself in my despair. Not a minute later, the doorbell rang.
*Maybe this was it * I thought * some god damn luck at the end of a miserable day. I could perhaps talk to someone...*
I opened the door but there was no one there. I looked around but there was no one there. I looked down to find a box. I had not ordered anything in a long time. I took the mysterious box inside and gleefully ripped the box apart.
The box had only one item inside of it. A revolver. There was a bullet in the chamber. I knew what it was for...
(i tried)
EDIT:- Thank you for your kind responses. This was my first post on Writing prompts. I did not expect people to actually like this.
EDIT 2 :- Gold!? Wow thank you kind stranger
|
<PATH00>
Connor sulked into his studio apartment and threw his jacket onto the ground.
He unbuckled his belt and slipped out of his pants before he was even half way through the door.
He was starving...hadn't eaten since the morning. He took a hard look at his kitchen, it was filthy...probably nothing that wasn't rotting in the fridge.
He dove onto his bed and wept a short while.
Fired again...he couldn't help it, the jar of tips was just too tempting.
Wendy wasn't going to take well to the news.
He flipped open his ancient laptop and sifted through all the emails reminding him of his debts until he saw an email from Wendy.
"I'm not coming home tonight
Sent from Frank's iPad"
Connor just wanted the world to swallow him up...he was just so tired of it all. He just cried until he fell asleep.
Hours passed until he heard the distinct "DING" from his email received notification.
"Thought I muted this shit..." he muttered as he looked at the laptop.
New email titled: "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current Setting: Very Hard"
Connor stared at his screen...and clicked into the email.
The body read.
>"Hello Connor08011996,
>
>I have noticed that you are having a very rough time working with the difficulty settings that your parents set for >you at birth. Not everyone gets to use console for the setup of their child and Very Hard is not a setting that is >recommended unless they start off with a LOT of help; help you did not get.
>
>Now...I'm not admitting any liability/fault here, but I'm offering you several options to make your experience in >the beta a little more enjoyable.
>
>You may only choose ONE of the following options: When you use one, the others will deactivate.
>Before you fall asleep, think of the time that you stole that toy at Mr. O'Flanahan's toy store when your family >went to Niagara Falls. Specifically think of how you told your mother that "it was a gift from the owner for being >such a good boy".
>You will be prompted for which option:
>
>1.) Console (Cheat Engine) - Say "Cheater"
>
>You'll fall asleep and go into settings. Now I've preconfigured access so that you can get THREE uses of console, >so make good use of each session.
>
>Onto the cheats.
>You'll be able to give yourself more money (up to $250,000 USD each session), alter your appearance, take a >boost to your stats (I've given you 50 points that you can distribute), change your relationship stats with others >(once per session), and save/load your progress (Only 1 save/load per session).
>
>Normally, you get no achievements for using this...but I'll let it slide for you.
>
>
>2.) Difficulty Change: Say "Difficulty Change"
>You will appear in a room with Six different blocks.
>1 through 6.
>
>1 represents VERY EASY
>
>2 represents EASY
>
>3 represents NORMAL (Default)
>
>4 represents HARD (All tasks +100% difficulty)
>
>5 represents VERY HARD (All tasks +300% difficulty)
>
>6 represents DEBUG (All tasks effectively impossible, please do not choose)
>
>Choose your new difficulty by punching through the block of your choice.
>You will wake up, and resume. No penalty for doing this...thought you will not get any of the possible rewards for >completing your existing quests.
>
>3.) Restart: Say "Restart"
>Nothing fancy here, you get a complete redo.
>Same difficulty, but you will have retain all knowledge up to this decision.
>You regain all skills at the age of 5...so you will have a few years where you get to relearn motor skills and things >like using your vocal chords.
>
>Hope this helps.
>I'm cheering for you kid.
>
>Yours Truly,
>JC (Creator, Admin)"
Connor didn't know what to think.
He...didn't even know what to make of this.
NO ONE knew about that toy he stole.
He closed the laptop once more and stared into the space that his TV used to occupy...what should he do?
For Next Part, please continue to <<PATH01>>
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4cmk5a/wp_you_just_got_fired_youre_pretty_sure_your/d1k3nb3
*edit: I'm attempting to write this as a Choose Your Own Adventure. Please scroll down to <<PATH01>> for the next part.
I'll write the next branch of options tomorrow morning.*
| 2016-03-30T16:03:35 | 2016-03-30T15:47:17 | 1,674 | 567 |
[WP] Mike Wazowski opens a tattoo parlor called Monsters Ink
|
Monsters Inc.
April 28, 2017
Mike Wazowski
RE: Cease & Desist from Trademark Infringement
Dear Mike Wazowski:
It has come to my attention that you are using and/or have applied to register the company logo
and name "Monsters Ink" greatly resembles ours trademark. This trademark is confusingly and/or
deceptively similar to our trademark (a blue M with an eye inside a blue circle), and also
constitutes a reproduction or imitation thereof. Your use of the trademark will constitute an
infringement of our registered and common law rights
I demand that you cease and desist from this activity as soon as possible and,
in any event, within
40 days from your receipt of this letter. If action is not taken by you to cease and desist within the
given time frame, I will have no choice but to take appropriate legal action against you
Sincerely,
James P. Sullivan
Monsters Inc.
|
Mike didn't think it would have to come to this. He didn't want to take it this far. But the other choice was death.
It all started when Mike got fed up with his job at the scare factory about 20 years after the events of the movie. While they changed the scare power into laughter power, Mike doesn't feel the same about his job as he once used to.
Mike sluggishly walks out of a successful run at Monsters Inc.
"Sully, I know making kids laugh is great and all, but do you see yourself doing this until you retire?"
"Sure Mike, I loved scaring the kids and making them happy is even better!"
"I don't know, it's not the worst job in the world but, I guess I'm just falling out of love with it you know? It's like I'm good at this job because I'm a hilarious looking, one eyeballed, dwarf."
"Yeah I guess that is pretty funny in itself"
"NO SULLY ITS NOT FUNNY AND IM SICK AND TIRED OF IT"
"Alright Mike calm down. I'm your best friend, and we've built up a lot of money at this point. What were you thinking about doing?"
"Well, if you put me on the spot, I would really like to be an artist"
The spider monster in the first movie is back from jail as a janitor and overhears Mike talking. He would really like to see the 2 people who destroyed his life at least leave the industry. He approaches Mike.
"You know, the top tattoo artist in my cell is still a good friend of mine. And after he got released, he's making boatloads of money with his own shop on the west side and only working a few days a week. It turns out monsters will pay a ton of money if you can give them a good tattoo on their mangled and twisted bodies."
So after some thought, Mike opened up his shop with Sully. They used most of their savings, so this had to work. And they weren't worried after hearing what spider bro had to say.
After a couple of weeks though, the place was empty. Thinking they had been duped, they went looking for this west side tattoo place. It was packed to the brim. They deduced that the west side was a much rougher part of town where more monsters had tattoos in general.
They had to make tattoos cool for the middle and upper class of the east side. They had to figure out a way to make people realize that anybody can have tattoos. Some advertising was really their only hope.
Mike was already covered in tats, but no one thought Mike was cool in the first place. That probably deterred them from coming into the shop even more.
Months went by, Mike and sully were getting skinnier due to lack of food and money. Mike looked more like a raisin than ever before. They were both desperate, and one late night, after finishing a couple bottles of jack, (Mike only needs a couple shots) Sully gets fed up.
"We can't keep living like this Mike!"
"Don't worry Sully, soon they'll see my tats and the store and come a runnin. It's my dream and I'm making it happen."
"YOU FUCKED US MIKE! WE HAD IT ALL, AND YOU HAD TO PISS IT DOWN THE DRAIN FOR WHAT!? YOUR "DREAM"? I HAVENT EATEN IN 2 DAYS AND YOURE STILL TALKING ABOUT YOUR DREAM? FUCK YOUR DREAM."
"I'm so sorry Sully, I didn't want this to happen but I just couldn't go on in that factory. Im just sorry you were pulled into this."
Sully realized that Mike really wasn't trying to screw them. He calms down some.
"Sorry Mike I, I just don't know what to do. Something has to change.
" I know bud, we'll figure something out.
Then something hits Sully like a ton on bricks. It's a very last resort, but this was the time for last resorts.
"You must shave me"
"What the fuck Sully?"
"You have to shave me bro"
"No way man, you'll look funnier than me"
Sully then looks deep into Mikes eyes.
"Not if I'm covered in tattoos"
Mike doesn't know what to say. On one hand it's perfect, everyone loves sully and tattooing him would surely bring in customers. On the other, Sullys fur is almost a part of him and shaving it would be tragic.
After a couple more hungry nights, they both decided to do it. Mike pulled out the shavers and it went smoothly. Sully refused to look at himself until the tattoos were on. After days of tats the process was done. Both of them looked in the mirror and didn't know what to think. He looked like no monster they had seen before.
They thought they'd parade him with a sign to see if they could get some customers.
Some people laughed, some cried, some cheered, some puked, some smiled. They wouldn't know the effects until the next day at the shop. If it worked, they are set for life. If not, they will probably die drunk, naked, and covered head to toe in the tattoos that they gave their lives for.
| 2017-04-28T10:47:27 | 2017-04-28T10:26:36 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] No one else knows but we’ve been in an extremely realistic RPG all our lives. You seem weird to everyone because you’re always trying to “max your stats” and “defeat the final boss”
|
I looked around at all of the low\-leveled noobs at my elementary school and scoffed.
I had put a bit of my points in intelligence and the only reason I was still in this flea infested playground was because of my current over\-arching quest: "Finish 1st Grade".
It gave 15,000 exp as a reward for finishing, and I was sure that that amount of exp could level me up by at least 12 levels.
As I was in the middle of calculating how many quests I should've done today if I wanted to get enough points for a loot box, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Brad and a couple of snotty boys and girls from our class. He gave me a smug smile as our classmates surrounded us.
"You're weird." He said as he pointed his fat finger at me.
"Ok." I replied nonchalantly.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd around us started chanting.
Brad looked around, still with that shit\-eating grin on his face and hands at his sides.
By now, people from the higher grades had joined the crowd, and although people were urging others to stop, they were quickly overtook by the crowd. As I was still looking around, not believing how easy it was to herd lower existences into things, Brad charged at me.
Of course, as my reflexes had long passed those of a mere 6 year old, I side\-stepped and tripped him. He fell on the cement and scraped his elbows. He sat there for a second, wondering what had just happened, and the crowd went even more wild.
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Brad yelled in between sobs as he got up and charged again.
This time, I didn't even bother dodging. I just stuck my foot out and kicked him in the stomach. He was sent a couple steps backward and fell to the ground as he vomited today's lunch. At this point, he didn't get up. He just stayed there clutching his stomach and crying loudly. The crowd went quiet.
"A teacher's coming!" A kid yelled and the whole crowd scattered, leaving only me and Brad behind.
I looked at him in pity as he laid in a pool of his own vomit and tears, and turned to face the teachers.
"It was self\-defense." I say to one of them as the other looks at Brad's condition in disgust.
The teacher nodded and dragged me to the office and called my parents. However, I could not have cared less. In fact, I was gleeful, because as my parents talked to the principal and the teacher, a message popped up on my retina. "Defeated 'Brad Thompson', Exp gained \- 10,000, You have levelled up 9 times."
|
[Previously, on Reddit Writing Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7yn2t4/wp_finally_the_ultimate_mmorpg_has_been_created/duipijq/)
Tonight, on Reddit Writing Prompts... (switch tense? why not...)
Kayla set her gun belt on the table, one of many in the briefing room, and took a seat. It was debriefing, at the end of her shift, and with nothing major having happened it was time to just chill and finish up any paperwork. As efficient as Deputy Kayla Murphy was, all of that was long since done.
The lieutenant sauntered up. “You got another kudos, Murph.” He held a paper with CITIZEN COMMENT centered at the top. “I'll let you read it, but suffice to say this guy didn't exactly have a positive image of the police before, and you may have changed that... And that's after writing him a ticket.” The gray-haired man with bars on his uniform sleeves smiled. “Good work.” He handed her the photocopy.
“Thanks El Tee...” she took the paper, then started a little. “Oh! I remember this one. Yeah, fifty-one in a thirty. I just actively listened as I wrote the Mary...” Stops and calls closed with a code of M meant a citation was issued; “Mary” was shorthand for the ticket itself.
“Yes Murphy,” the lieutenant looked up at the other deputies filing in, and spoke a little louder. “You *actively listened*, and impressed a cop-hater. Some of these knuckleheads could learn from you.” Kayla blushed a little as the shift commander continued on his way.
“You tryin' to max your stats in real life, Murph?” Deputy Donaldson laughed a little, as he sat across from Kayla with Deputy Reynolds.
Reynolds cringed. “Shit, don't remind me of the fuckin' Nexus. I gotta get in there when I get home, work on this fuckin' quest. I thought we go there to escape this shit. Sometimes I swear it's the other way around...”
“Well,” Kayla said. “Lately there's been talk in the quantum mechanics world, that maybe both worlds are simultaneously the real world and the Nexus. When you're in the Nexus, do you call the real world the Nexus?”
Reynolds blew out a long sigh. “Yeah...” Donaldson nodded in agreement.
“In there,” Kayla continued. “I talk about how in the Nexus, here, I got my stats where I wanted them as a stock broker, moved to BFE and became a cop...”
“You were a fuckin' stockbroker? In the real world?” Donaldson asked incredulously.
“You didn't know?” Kayla glanced at Reynolds, who was nodding. “Yeah, less than three years. Fuckin' killed it when I went to a hundred percent commission, enough to get out after eleven months of that. Moved out here, wanted a job just for insurance and evidently, a safe one just wouldn't be interesting enough.”
“What's your current quest in the Nexus?” Reynolds asked.
“Convicting m... Wasteland scum who have been attacking the town.”
The other two deputies both jumped. “You're a fuckin' cop in the Nexus, too?!”
Kayla blushed again. “I was a cop there first. Hit that career path when I was a trainee at the firm in the real world.”
“Where do you go to escape?” Donaldson asked.
Kayla shrugged. “I escape into a positive outlook. Helps my stats in both worlds, and I even beat a few bosses.”
“Like that cunt you got in a fight with...” Reynolds blurted, then cringed.
Kayla faked an offended gasp. “I believe *what you meant to say* was 'fat hillbilly cunt.'” She started to laugh, then stopped. “I shouldn't say that. She's confused, like the rest of 'em. Don't want to turn into my Nexus character...”
“Not Officer Friendly, there?” Donaldson grinned.
“No,” Kayla said sadly. “I started to say the M-word, the M-Mary word a minute ago. That's the kind of cop I am in the Nexus.”
Reynolds shrugged. “Different character, different stats.”
“Spend XP,” Donaldson suggested. “Buy off flaws. In that Nexus and this one, if the nerds are right.”
Kayla nodded, then looked at the clock on the wall and rose. “Yeah. Anyway, I'll catch you guys Friday.”
“It *is* Friday, for us!” the two men said in chorus, standing.
“Another week, another paycheck. See you Paul, Gavin.” Jack Webb said something in Kayla's mind about not losing her first name. She hit the locker room, and was soon at home, ready to spend her three days off in... *The Nexus?*
---
...*The real world*, Kayla thought, removing her haptic VR gear in the shack she still called home, decades after the nuclear holocaust. She'd moved in the Nexus, became a cop there too after her character's stockbroker career path had gotten stale. She had a “quest” to finish today, if she thought of this as the Nexus. Just court in a ramshackle, ad hoc courtroom. No bullets flying (probably). Hopefully an easy resolution to the case...
Two hours later, the defense attorney rose at his table while acting Lieutenant Kayla Murphy sat at the witness stand. This trial was from a bust she'd made before she'd assumed the role of acting shift commander, when her squad had followed up on a child sex trafficking ring that had been dumb enough to try to sell a girl to their town.
“Sergeant Murphy,” the lawyer began. “Have you ever, in the period of say the past ten years, used the word 'mutant' to refer to a person with a radiological genetic defect?” The courtroom cringed at the normgen taking the dread M-word in his mouth; Kayla swallowed hard. *The hardest quest of them all: Self-improvement and accepting comeuppance for our failings*. She took a drink of (expensive, clean) water, and drew breath to answer, while the words SUCCEEDED, FAILED, LEVEL UP, and **** You have died **** appeared in her mind's eye. Any of them could appear, especially at a moment like this... Apparently, in either “real” world, or in either “game.”
| 2018-06-10T12:42:33 | 2018-06-10T11:51:14 | 37 | 19 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
I had assumed it was one of my friends. I'm really terrible about saving phone numbers. So I texted them: "Yeah, why? Who is this?" and immediately I felt the world slipping away.
I could feel the sun on my skin. It was warm out -- curious, considering it was February and I had previously been sitting in my kitchen at a quarter past midnight. Pain stabbed behind my eyes and I squeezed them closed. That ominous message played in my ears, and I finally got a good look at where the hell I was.
Bright green grass was all around me. I could see pigs and sheep in the distance over rolling green hills. Everything had gone cubed, and I pinched myself to check if I was dreaming. Even if I couldn't have made up something this weird. I start to look around, because I always play Minecraft with a bonus chest on (sue me; I like having an easy start!)
Sure enough, a few feet behind me is a chest framed by four torches. I get a few apples, some sticks, a wooden pickaxe, and a few pieces of birch wood. I take the chest with me and start pulling up grass with my hands until I've found a few seeds I can salvage.
I can see a desert in the distance, and I know that I have excellent luck with temples and villages. I put my pickaxe on my back and start walking. Let's hope I can find a decent cliff-face to build a hobbit hole in before the sun sets -- I've never done well against skeletons.
|
The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go."
| 2020-02-16T19:27:29 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 248 | 12 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
A slash. Metal glints in the sun. Pain, burning pain as I am killed, again and again.
In a way I am fortunate. The last game I played was Sekiro, in which you canonically cannot die. But now I understand why immortality is called a curse.
I die over and over and over, but with each death I learn a little more.
Time has lost all meaning, but slowly I've learned to handle the sword.
With each death, I feel my mind slip just a little more. Can you imagine it? Dying over and over. Everything goes black, and then I jerk awake, like a dream.
The wounds hurt just as much closing up as they did when I suffered them.
When I arrive home, I will have won nothing. What good is a sword that can slay the undying in a world lacking immortality? What good is a prosthetic arm of shinobi tools, that cannot feel anything, in place of my own natural arm?
What place does a shinobi have in the real world?
When I arrive home, I will have lost myself. But then, I can finally die. I can finally rest.
|
*Reply yes if you can survive the last video game you played.*
Fuck.
He’d thought it a prank at first. Hell, who wouldn’t? Two in the morning, his brains were running on fumes after scrambling to finish an essay for the next morning’s class… and just when he had collapsed into his bed he saw the message.
He was a bit delirious from sleep deprivation, but he still did try to think about it. What was the last thing he’d played…? It had been… shit, he couldn’t recall, but he knew it had been something calming, with a group of friends to relax before doing his essay. Either way, he chuckled and hit yes, still thinking it a prank message from a friend, before sleep took him.
It felt like he’d only slept for a few minutes, but of course, that’s what it always felt like. He sighed as he slowly felt himself wake, and he turned over, wanting a few more moments of sleep. He then frowned, his bed feeling much too rough beneath him.
He opened his eyes and saw grass. It took his brain several seconds to process, but he slowly got up, a yawn forcing itself out of his mouth as he took in his surroundings. Trees, grass, an ocean, and in the distance mountains. The sun was in the middle of the sky, telling him it was noon. He slowly got up, and panic set in. Where was he?! What the hell was going on?!
There was no sign of civilization anywhere! There was just endless, endless nature!
He took a breath, clenching his fists. Okay… okay, okay, okay. Calm down. Nothing will get done if you don’t calm down. He licked his lips and began walking, looking for something, anything, to give him a sign of what was going on. Thankfully he was still wearing his clothes, having not changed out of them the night before.
After a few minutes of walking he found a cave leading deep into the earth, the sunlight filtering through the trees not able to illuminate the depths. What gave him hope, however, was the chest next to a tree nearby the cave. He scrambled to open it, hoping to find something to either aid or tell him what the hell was going on.
The only things within were a crude wooden axe, a similarly shoddy pickaxe, a brown backpack, and several sticks with cloth tied to one end, with sprinkles of black dust upon the cloth. Torches?
Unbidden, his mind flashed back to the text message he’d received. Was that...? No, it couldn’t be real… but…
Now fully awake, he could recall what game he’d last played. Normally it would have been something exciting, an RPG, maybe a shooter… no, his friends had gotten him to play a dumb survival game… but with several mods and shaders to make it hyperrealistic.
A groan echoed from the cave, and he slowly turned to see a dead man exit. Green, rotting flesh that hung from cracked and putrid bones, lifeless, maggot filled eyes gazed at him, grey matter peeking from holes in his skull. The dead man shuffled forward, trying its best to avoid the sunlight that reached through the tree branches, reaching out to him while gurgling. He swallowed hard, shaking in his boots as he grabbed the axe, readying it.
His friends had gotten him to play goddamn Minecraft.
The zombie accidentally moved into a ray of light, and groaned as it was lit on fire. He took the opportunity, yelling as he brought the axe down. One of the zombie’s arms was removed with a shower of blood and gore, thought it took more force than he’d thought it would and had to swing again, and it stumbled back, falling fully into the sunlight where it baked alive.
He breathed heavily as he watched, hands slipping slightly on the axe handle as he began to sweat. This was… fuck. He suddenly jerked and gasped as something began whispering on the inside of
his brain.
*“To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck.”*
He began shaking. The hell… was this just some kind of sick game to that voice or what?! He turned back to the cave as more growls sounded out, though thankfully they seemed to be further in, and not approaching. He licked his lips once more, turning back to the chest that held the few meager supplies he’d found. If it was a game to that voice… fuck, it didn’t matter. He just needed to survive, who cared if that thing was getting some sick enjoyment from it.
He shouldered the backpack, stuffed the torches into it, and grabbed the pickaxe. Alright… what the hell did he do first? Secure water, food, and shelter. His eyes drifted to the cave. Preferably before sundown. He swallowed, before walking away from the death trap that was the cave. Better get some better gear before risking that. He was going to survive… that reward sounded fantastic, he remembered finding diamonds and gold when he’d played with his friends the day before… but none of that would matter if he couldn’t survive the harsh trials that would be coming.
High above, the sun began to set…
()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()()
This was a really fun prompt! I might make this into a short series on my Fanfiction account, and if I do I’ll credit you for the idea!
| 2020-02-16T20:44:02 | 2020-02-16T20:40:09 | 244 | 85 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
A slash. Metal glints in the sun. Pain, burning pain as I am killed, again and again.
In a way I am fortunate. The last game I played was Sekiro, in which you canonically cannot die. But now I understand why immortality is called a curse.
I die over and over and over, but with each death I learn a little more.
Time has lost all meaning, but slowly I've learned to handle the sword.
With each death, I feel my mind slip just a little more. Can you imagine it? Dying over and over. Everything goes black, and then I jerk awake, like a dream.
The wounds hurt just as much closing up as they did when I suffered them.
When I arrive home, I will have won nothing. What good is a sword that can slay the undying in a world lacking immortality? What good is a prosthetic arm of shinobi tools, that cannot feel anything, in place of my own natural arm?
What place does a shinobi have in the real world?
When I arrive home, I will have lost myself. But then, I can finally die. I can finally rest.
|
*Beagle's journal - Day 1*
I couldn't believe it at first—I refused to—but as the day wore on, as the sun warmed by body and the pain of hunger quickly became real, I had to accept my new reality.
This world. This beautiful, vast, dangerous world. I've visited it enough to know it well from a bird's eye view, but never long enough to say I'd conquered it—never had my colony actually survived.
The road is long, it will take years by in-game time to achieve the final goal, and one thought has followed me like death since I arrived here: who's deciding the events and what difficulty are they set to?
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 5*
As with the standard starting scenario, I've spawned with two fellow colony members. Bear is a massive fellow who seems comfortable with a rifle in hand, and he successfully defended our camp from two manic rats that seemed hell bent on devouring us all; though, it's become apparent that he has an unhealthy obsession with setting things on fire. I'll need to keep my eye on him.
My second companion goes by Greenly, and her skills with plants, preparing food, and training animals will be essential to our survival. I find her quite attractive, and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. Are these people real? Or are they simply pawns in this game I've been sucked into?
I've managed to build us a shelter using the wood Greenly provided by felling trees, and Bear assisted by digging into the mountain side. With a natural wall of granite at our backs, I feel that we will be safe from any threat.
Though it's still summer, the air is cooling fast, and in a few short months I believe these woods will be thick with snow. Our primary goal is to harvest enough rice to last the winter, and we'll need electricity to properly store it and, more crucially, to stay warm. Funny enough, when Bear isn't chewing up granite or shooting rabid animals, he's hunched over the crude research table figuring out how to propel us forward technologically—I just hope he doesn't set his notes on fire.
Everyone is getting testy with one another, but I'm nearly finished building a dining table and three chairs. I think having a proper place to eat will drastically improve our moods.
We had a cat, Morpheus. He was eaten by a wolf.
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 27*
An attack on our fort has left Bear a bit bloodied, but he'll survive. It turns out Greenly is well versed in medicine, which makes her all the more attractive to me. She mentioned the possibility of amputating Bear's injured leg and replacing it with a more efficient prosthetic, but noted that she lacks the skill and tools. The thought made me uneasy, I hope she doesn't bring it up again.
The attacker was a wild, nude women, and she managed to bite a decent bit out of Bear's calf. She used the boulders and trees as cover until she was within biting range, so I've begun clearing the area in front of our defensive point of debris. Bear gave her a couple of hits to the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking her unconscious, and I built a makeshift prison near our stockpile. I don't think she's worth the extra resources, but Greenly insists that if we nurse her back to health, she might have something to offer us as a colony. I trust her judgement.
Winter is nearly here, and we've managed a decent stockpile of rice. I've built electrical lines through the main lodge, but I'll have to wait until Bear is back up on his feet to continue; none of us can dig the steel from the mountain like he can. Once he's back at it, I'll have a few heaters going to keep warm.
_____
*Beagle's journal - Day 34*
Snow. It's falling silent and beautiful tonight, and with it comes the constant threat of death. The temperature has fallen dramatically, but we've prepared well.
With my heaters placed strategically throughout the fort, we're more than comfortable so long as we're not working out in the machine shop—I still don't have the steel to run lines out that far.
Our prisoner, Meica, has turned ally, and she's proven immediately useful. She has a knack for crafting clothing, using most of the hide we gathered early on from wild animals to fit us all with cozy parkas and beanies. I was right to trust Greenly, our strength grows with our numbers.
She and I have taken to playing chess for an hour before bed each night, and it's come to be my favorite part of the day. I built us two wolf-hide chairs to rest in as we play, and she joked that bits of Morpheus must be mixed into the cushions. She's got a dark sense of humor—I like that.
No chess tonight, though. We watched Bear and Meica build a snowman outside, nestled close together by a fire, comfy in our winter attire.
The granite wall I've been constructing around the compound is finished—double the thickness of our lodge's walls—and I feel safe inside with my friends.
It's nights like these that get me thinking... Maybe I don't need to win? Maybe I could stay here forever...
___
/r/BeagleTales
| 2020-02-16T20:44:02 | 2020-02-16T17:51:33 | 244 | 59 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
The voice fades, and I find myself in a cavernous room with sunlight streaming through the railings In-between the gaps in the wall. The light fills the room with a soft glow, converging in the center where a tall marble statue stood with a crown of olive wreath staring back at myself with a stern gaze.
There is an inscription on the marble base. I squint to read it.
GAIVS IVLIVS CA...
I begin to sweat. There's no way...
The last thing I remember was sitting in my chair enjoying my day off playing my favorite game. Ever since I was let go of my temp job the week before I had lost all motivation to succeed, to achieve anything.
I can't be the emperor of Rome. I CANT. The biggest thing I ever managed in my life was a 3 man night shift a Dominoes Pizza, and I wasn't even very good at that. But now... Now I had an empire to manage. And not just to manage... But to win.
My Rome-otaku was kicking in. That's right. I'm not the full.master of Rome just yet. There's still Lepidus... Pempey Sextus... And of course my greatest rival of all. Mark Antony.
To lose would be death. But to win.. I would be the master of all Europe and the Middle East, in the Present Day.
Dominoes Pizza.... Master of the World...
My heart begins to race. Cold sweat runs down my back.
Rome, Total War it is then.
|
The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go."
| 2020-02-16T22:20:36 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 30 | 12 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUcK.
FUCK.
FUUUUUUUUCK.
I'M GONNA MURDER EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU DEMONIC FUCKING BASTARDS.
I'LL RIP AND TEAR YOU TO SHREDS. I'LL BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF WITH A SHOTGUN. STUFF A GRENADE DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT. SLASH YOUR BODY IN HALF WITH A FUCKING CHAINSAW.
GOD I'M ANGRY!!
WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING YOU BIGMOUTHED PSHYCIC FLYING BALLSACK? I'M GONNA RIP YOUR FUCKING EYE OUT.
OUCH! WHO THE FUCK SHOT FIRE AT ME? I'M GONNA BURN YOU EVEN THOUGH WE'RE IN FUCKING HELL. I'M GOING TO BREAK YOUR SPINE! I'LL TURN YOU ALL INTO BURNT FUCKING MEAT WITH A LASER YOU FUCKING FUCKS. YOU PISSED OFF THE WRONG FUCKING GUY RAHHHHHHHHHHHH. FUCKING DIEEEEEEEEEEEEE DEMONIC SCUM.
YOU'RE TRYING TO FUCKING EAT ME HUH? EAT LEAD YOU PUECE OF SHIT. WHOEVER ARRANGED THIS IS GETTING THE SAME FUCKING THING. FUUUCK I'M ANGRY RAHAHAHAHHAHA. I'LL KILL EVERY FUCKING DEMON IN EXISTANCE FOR FUCKS SAKE. FUCKING DIEEEEEEEEEEEE.
This may or may not be doom...
|
The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go."
| 2020-02-16T23:08:10 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 22 | 12 |
[WP]"Start paying rent NOW, or GET OUT!" you yell at the voice in your head. The next day, you wake up to find a stack of gold bars on your desk. "This is the correct currency, yes?", the voice says.
|
"For useful currency no. As a fungible asset with value? Very much," I spoke to the voice. "And as proof that you are actually present and have some power to act, it's very very strong."
I paused. "It's a high price, what do you expect from it?"
"I want you to listen to me at least 10 times a day." The voice replied.
"I won't hurt myself or do anything dangerous." I said.
"Seriously, think hard... When have I asked you to do something harmful?" The voice asked.
"You told me to tell my boyfriend off!" I said.
"No... I told you to call out his gaslighting." The voice said.
I paused trying to find examples.
"I'll tell you what," the voice said. "I will pay 1 bar a month in payment and a deposit of 2 bars. At any point you can cancel our contract. If you refuse to do what I say for any reason it counts as canceling our contract immediately, but you keep any prior pay."
"Deal," I said.
...
It's been 3 months. I'm in the best shape of my life. I eat well. I exercise well. I have awesome friends and a lovely polycule.
I'm back in school for my dream career. Voice is cranky that they keep having to use one of their comments each day to get me to "do everything you can today to be an excellent student of high energy particle physics.
We started discussing wave form potential and time dynamics today when voice issued a really weird command: "Imagine how you would convince a younger you to be amazing if you had a time machine..."
|
I gaped at the neatly stacked pyramid of gold bars. This was a joke right? My family was done with all my psychotic fears from this voice and decided to prank me? They can't be real gold right? I picked one up, feeling the heft in my hand and examining it closely.
*It is real yes, and no it isn't some inane joke by your family or friends, or even that odd therapist you think is so necessary. They're wrong by the way, the drugs won't help.*
"Shut up! I hate when you do that, Voice. Um, uh, ok. Well, ignoring the sense of utter disbelief here, I guess I should get this appraised and find out. So what, you're **actually** paying rent?" I asked aloud, setting the gold back on my counter with the rest.
*You asked, and I really didn't want to find a new home if you ended up having a mental breakdown. So hard to find places as...roomy as this.*
"Ok rude. Then fine, if you're gonna pay like a tenant then you're gonna have rules like one!" I stammered out
*Oh how bold of you Ricky, I didn't think you had it in you to lay down the law. After all, I'm in your head with your thoughts and emotions ALL the time. I've gotten to know the real you quite well. So, what are your demands?*
"First rule is NO talking after 11 pm! You know I go to sleep around then, and I **cannot** sleep with your jabber. No sleep equals no good health which equals mental breakdown, got it?" I made a motion of writing a one in the air as I spoke
*...fair enough. I just get so lonely when you're asleep, 8 hours of nauseating boredom. Though it isn't much better when you're awake, all you do is sit around watching things or playing your trifling games when you aren't working.*
"That's another thing! Talk less when I'm working, I can't get stuff done when you're berating me mid task. Keep that up and I get fired, then no money comes in, then mental breakdown." I continued in stride, scribbling a two below the invisible one. I slumped down on the faux leather couch in my barren apartment living room. Beyond the loveseat couch, the only things in the room were my TV, a couple consoles, and a spare folding chair. Maybe Voice was right, I really don't have much going on in here.
*Seems I've given you quite a bit of leverage with that mental breakdown line, haven't I? Doesn't seem entirely fair that I'm being mandated with all this when I've paid my fair share. Where are my amenities and resident services, eh?*
I could hear the tone of Voice's...well, voice change. He usually spoke with an aloof yet steely sense of sarcasm caressing every word. Right now, it had hardened and grown more cold. Business-like even. Oh crap, I screwed up. Now **he's** the one making demands of me. This was the worst thing he did, try to make deals.
"...what do you want this time?" I gulped, feeling a sweat break out on my face
*Just some more fun in this fuddy-duddy body! Like I said, your life is just so drab.*
"NO! The last time I did that I woke up three hours away in a drunk tank in Tijuana! I cant even speak Spanish dude, do you know how hard that was to get home?!" I protested vehemently, shaking my head. I tried not to raise my voice so the neighbors didn't hear. It was enough that I talked to myself and spaced out often, I didn't need them hearing me yelling at 9 am.
*Oh come now, I guided you back to your car at least. Besides, I don't need master control this time. Just let me show you the way. I'll even let you stay conscious and in control the whole time. Call it...co-pilot. You'll enjoy it.*
"I dunno Voice, your style seems a little crazy for me." I worried, nibbling on my fingernail nubs.
*Aren't you curious though? As curious as you were when you opened that locked and bound book that had me trapped inside a few months ago? Not everyone has the guts to do that Ricky, really. I think you sell yourself too short. You'd do wonderfully.*
I flashed back to the night he mentioned. The night that I was staying awake cleaning out my recently dead dad's stuff from his now empty house. I'd sent Mom home with my step-dad hours before, and my sister didn't even bother to show. I can't blame her, Dad was a bit of a loony recluse in his later years. Still, that book was a new level. I could feel some kind of vibe coming off the box it was in, before I even got close to it. I just couldn't help it. It took me an hour straight of thinking to actually decide to desecrate my dad's stuff and wire cut the chains. The rest of that night was pretty hazy, I guess I fell asleep there on the ground. And then the next morning, this...thing was inside my head.
Maybe he had a point, there was always a side of me that wanted to stop being the lame shut-in and go do something crazy.
"Just-just don't have us do anything illegal okay? I'm in your hands Voice." I caved, heaving a deeply held breath out. No going back now. I could swear I heard a gleeful squeal up there after I said it.
*Fantastic, incredible! I knew you had it in you. And please, as your tenant I request you call me by my name. Mephistopheles. Mephisto for short...*
| 2020-11-01T00:38:48 | 2020-11-01T00:02:27 | 140 | 69 |
[WP] It is the end of days. God and Lucifer stand before the last human being. You are the first neutral soul who is neither good or evil enough to pass into a afterlife and thus must be judged personally. Unknown to them, you are Death and have come for them instead.
|
They looked tired, incredibly so. I felt bad for them, I knew what they were going through, I had been going through that same process for ages now. It wasn't the same though, I was built differently. This little hunk of rock where the three of us stood was the last bastion of life in the universe. The crunch had begun a while ago, but to me it seemed like only yesterday.
"You," Lucifer said, chuckling. "You were surprisingly hard to find. This wouldn't have happened a couple of years ago."
"What's time anyways?" I asked, smiling. "A couple of years don't really mean much at this point."
The gorgeous man nodded before glancing up at the sky. It didn't look the way it was supposed to. This planet should've had an atmosphere similar to Earth's, where it all started, but in this moment, as the entire universe engulfed it, it was surrounded by the greatest firework show ever to exist.
"Well," God said, His voice granfatherly yet clearly exhausted. "It's time for you to come with us."
I shook my head.
"The universe is ending, little one," God told me. "There is not much time left for us."
Lucifer's eyes darted towards God, but he didn't say anything. I could tell that the fallen angel was scared. As scared as a mere mortal would've felt. God Himself wasn't scared, he was all-knowing, all-powerful. Well, almost. Much like Lucifer, God didn't know what was going to happen next and that meant that he couldn't control it either.
"There's not much time left," I agreed, sitting down on a rock. "But you're not here for me."
"What do you mean?" God asked.
Lucifer realized who I was first. The nature of his job meant that he was more intimately familiar with what I was. We had never interacted directly, but the cynical and jaded angel knew me as well as anyone. That doesn't mean much, but it was a curious surprise.
"So we are mere mortals after all, then."
God may have not known me as well, but He was no slouch in the deduction department either.
"Huh," he muttered. "I can honestly say I never expected this to happen."
I shrugged slightly. "You guys usually don't."
The two of them looked at each other. "A cycle?"
"Endless," I confirmed.
"So we'll come back?" Lucifer asked.
"No," I said sighing sadly. "Each universe is self contained, infinitely similar and infinitely different from the last."
"That's a paradox," God said, smiling. "So you can't stop this then?"
I shook my head.
The two entities looked at each other. For eons they had been the singular most powerful forces in the entirety of the universe. God had given Lucifer powers that no other angel had ever had. Their mission had gone exactly the way God had planned it to and humanity reached its true potential. It was a damn shame that it had coincided with the end of the universe. A damn shame.
"We did well," God told Lucifer. "I'm proud of you."
"Someone had to be the bad guy," Lucifer replied, tears forming in his eyes.
"It's time," I told them as the planet began to rumble.
"What happens next?" God asked. The irony of that question was lost to no one.
I shrugged. "Even I don't know."
Lucifer cleared his throat. "Let's move this along shall we?"
The two of them looked at each other for a moment before walking towards me. God placed his arm around Lucifer, embracing him like a son for the first time since he had cast him down from Heaven. Lucifer hesitated before returning the gesture, patting God's shoulder twice before closing his eyes.
I approached them and placed my hands in either of their shoulders. An instant was all it took and they were gone. I only had a few more instants before the universe collapsed upon itself. I spent them briefly wondering where the two entities would go after dying. Maybe they would simply cease existing, taking all human souls to the void with them, or maybe they would go to a higher Heaven. It was a mystery that I had long since come to terms with.
"All's well that ends well," I said as the universe exploded outwards yet again.
|
(not completely the prompt but eh close enough)
It is a common misconception that God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and the one and only ruler of the universe. It may seem like that to a mere mortal living on Earth’s surface, but in reality there are many deities that coexist with the one great benevolent being. Satan, for one example, that many people are familiar of. The ruler of Hell, temptress of all that is impure. He rivals God in power, and it is for that reason many bow down to him instead; it isn’t that God gave you free will, but that God has no power over evil. God is only light, Satan is the Prince of Darkness.
But between those two is one more being, that many don’t realize exists. He is the gatekeeper to the afterworld, the one that collects the souls of the deceased and transports them as fit. He is neither good nor evil, and instead simply exists to do his job. He is Death, and his responsibility belongs to the caretaking of the lost souls, of the atheist, the ones who are neither good nor evil enough to live with God or Satan. He is the one who presides over most souls, and this deity, Death, is me.
It is a repetitive lifestyle, to run around and collect the souls of the dead all day, every day. I am unfortunately the one stuck with the job, as God is too busy maintaining the visible world and Satan cares not for those that do not follow him. It is a repetitive lifestyle, but I am used to it. I have met many lovely souls on my journey, more that God or Satan could ever wish to know. I’ve talked with them one on one, every single one of them, to discuss the matters of the afterworld. I tell them about Heaven, and Hell, and which I believe they should preside in for eternity, as another misconception is that Hell is a place of pain and torture; it is not, in fact, but is just the dominion of Satan, where everyone is evil and self serving and plays to get an upper hand. It is nothing more than a brutal lifestyle, but some enjoy such an environment. Heaven too, on the other hand, is much different than people think. It is a wonderful place and everyone is happy, but I find many who end up there lose a sense of self. With all the bad that Satan had instilled in them gone, they seem to be nothing more than unintelligent shells of their old selves spending eternity in ignorant bliss. But regardless, some enjoy such an environment.
Then there are those that don’t prefer either Heaven or Hell. They live in what many call Limbo, with me. Although unlike the common definition of being between life and death, it is more a place between Heaven and Hell; you are, after all, still completely dead. Here I just allow people to live as they want, I was never a fan of big rules. Limbo looks a lot like life, it is just much more vast. There is a collection of trillions and quadrillions and septillions of souls all throughout Limbo, and infinite amount of space that one could explore. It is, in my opinion, the best place to live for the most people and in being so houses the largest population. Under my command I have more souls than God or Satan combined. They are not the pure, the nicest, and the most caring. Nor are they the tainted, the craftiest, the most narcissistic. They are nothing more than the most numerous.
When the final soul was captured, things were fine for a while. However, in hindsight it should have been obvious it wasn’t going to last. Not long after into eternity, the people of Hell got rowdy. Instilled in them was a strong sense of Greed and Envy, and with it they longed for the planes of Heaven and Limbo. They wanted all of the Afterworld for themselves, and they were ready to take it by force if need be.
I advised my people to stay out of it at first. As for God, he obviously felt he could not stand aside and allow such evil to try to obtain more power. He couldn’t settle for a defensive tactic only. With his inflated sense of Righteousness, he and his people fought strongly against the beings of Hell. God’s angels fought against Satan’s demons. The war between Light and Darkness roared on, and I stood on the sidelines and watched.
Some of my people protested against doing nothing. I felt no obligation to hold onto them, and allowed them to join whatever side they desired, if they so chose. I just felt that this was not my battle to fight; if Satan wanted to claim Limbo for himself, I would defend, but there was nothing instilled in me that propelled me to fight for Good or Bad. As long as they were locked onto each other, I felt, I would come under no attack.
The fighting went on for millenniums. Sometimes one side gained or lost a little ground, but it was overall a complete stalemate. This was the afterworld, there was no such thing as a loss of life; if one being felt too broken, it retreated to get repaired, and then came back to fight once again. With almost an equal population, the battle was destined to go on forever.
When I conducted a meeting with God and Satan I did not intend for the outcome. I had only shown up as a mediator, to make sure everything went smoothly and fairly. The result was more than I would have ever guessed would happen.
The conference was conducted in my plane, Limbo, to avoid even more bias. With the two deities in the room, I locked the door.
“You both know why you’re here. As I have no part in this, I shall give no input. I will only act as a mediator in case of foul play.”
A smirk came across the Devil’s face. “Don’t worry, I have nothing up my sleeve in here. I promise, I’m just here to talk.”
“It is better to always be cautious,” God replied.
They argued and debated for days, weeks maybe. A consensus could not be reached. Satan demanded more power, but God refused to give up any. When one asked for something, the other refused. With a push, came another push in the opposite direction. There was as much a stalemate in the room as there was on the battlefield. Nothing was getting done, and tension was building higher and higher between the being of Good and the vessel of Evil.
Satan, unsurprisingly, snapped first. He reeled back and attacked, all at once. In the commotion I hid, still determined not to take a side.
It was a sight to see. Light and Dark danced among each other, each trying to consume the other. Chaos encompassed the entire visible field. Souls fought amongst each other, looking like ants among the disarray caused by the two deities. Explosive forces came from both sides, ramming into each other over and over again, trying with all their might to take over the other. The battle went on for ages and in the end, there was nothing.
It wasn’t that God and Satan had defeated the other, but that both had expended all of their powers in an attempt. Everything that they had held was now expelled into the void, losing itself in the empty space, mixing and twisting with each other in a contorted dance among the tattered beings that once held them. There was no more Good and Bad, Light and Darkness, Righteousness and Evil. There was only Limbo.
God and Satan are no more, I have turned them into nothing but ordinary souls. I have not completely stripped them of all power, though. They now sit with me in my chamber and act as my advisors; I was never much of a ruler, but with no one else the task is left to me. I do try my best, but I am new to holding all the power of the Afterworld. It is unavoidable that I make a few mistakes. But who knows, maybe after a few millenniums I will get used to my position. Maybe I can create a new world, allow those who want to return to mortal life another chance at it. I’ll also make new souls to populate this world, and we can try the universe all over again. There will be Good, and there will be Bad. There will be Light, Darkness, Righteousness and Evil. But, they will live in a perpetual balance, and there will be no need to segregate the two, because a world needs both, a universe needs both, every plane of existence needs a balance of both. I am Death, and I am the sole ruler of the Afterworld.
| 2015-10-19T14:41:33 | 2015-10-19T12:53:02 | 214 | 36 |
[WP] There's a knock on your door. You open it to see your favorite book character standing there. They say, "I know this may be a lot for you to take in right now, but you have to listen very carefully; You are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I need to change it."
My first time posting here. Hope I did everything right!
|
I heard a knock at my front door.
Strange, I wasn't expecting any visitors today.
I walked down the stairs and opened the door.
Standing in front of me was a young blonde woman wearing a bright pink and orange sundress with strange oversized red and blue sunglasses on the top of her head.
"You look just like the cover of your second book you know," the woman spouted out while looking at me like I was some kind of celebrity.
"Huh?" I asked and subtly tried to close the door a little if this was some kind of crazy person.
"Oh, excuse me. I got ahead of myself. I'm Luna Lovegood. You're my favorite book character and I've come here to save you. I brought you some biscuits," Luna said and held up a basket full of sweets. "Not that the biscuits will save you, but I thought it would be a nice gesture since I was showing up unannounced."
"Surrrre..." I started to close the door.
And then the girl took out a stick from her pocket, twirled it, and turned my doormat into a mini giraffe.
My mouth hung open. The former doormat turned giraffe seemed just as startled.
"There we go. I thought you might need proof. Can I come in?" Luna asked calmly.
I stared mystified. A Harry Potter character was standing on my doorstep! That was insane enough. But what I really couldn't wrap my head around was that said character was claiming I was THEIR favorite character. Who would want to read a book about me? It would be one of the most boring books in existence. Was it used to help people fall asleep at night or what?
"Why would anyone want to read a book about my life?" I asked.
"Why would they... Oh! I understand," Luna said absently.
"Huh?" I asked confused.
"Isn't it obvious? The interesting bits haven't happened to you yet," Luna replied dreamingly.
|
A deep pounded echoed throughout the house, only now loud enough to rouse me from my sleep. My eyes reluctantly open to allow the morning light in. Fearing the type of man, or men, that would so confidently assault my door I go to the window to check for cars I don’t recognize. Weirdly nothing seems out of the ordinary, I start to wonder if maybe they were imagined. Just as I finish the thought a hooded man exits my front porch, a seems to instantly lock eyes with me. With the effortlessness of a cat he leaps from the ground to my two story window, and casually knocks on the glass. I pause for a second, stunned at how familiar this man is to me, like i’ve heard his likeness described a hundred times. Before I can open the window all the way he launch into speech.
“Christopher, i’m glad I found you, you’re the hero from my favorite book, I did not find the ending fair, and I’ve done everything I can to come to your plane. It’s is amazing what magic can accomplish-“
“Wait!” I interject “who are you? Magic? How did you leap so high?” Confusion laces my voice as I try to cut through the dense forest of questions growing in my mind.
The man stops, taking a deep breath. “My name is Kylar Stern.”
Instantly a wave of understanding washes over me, followed by another of confusion. Even if someone knew enough about me to know I had read the series, they couldn’t possible know it was my favorite, and what could explain that leap? What is this story he’s mentioning too?
“...Azoth?” I mumble, mustering up the only word I can think of.
It’s the man’s turn to be confused, he searches my eyes, seeming to peer into my soul as the air around him seems to shimmer and devour the light trying reach him. As his body begins to fade into the impossible shadow he has created, his eyes glow with greater intensity becoming the only thing I can focus on. Those eyes that I have read so much about, the ancient, looming presence behind them that only wants to weigh those within it’s gaze against the sins they’ve committed. The air shifts suddenly and I gasp, stumbling backwards as I get the feeling a truck is barreling towards me. I blink, realizing I’m on my ass with Azoth looming over me, with a blade against my neck.
“How?” He whispers, ready to shift the blade if he doesn’t like my answer.
“I-I’ve read about you Azoth, of you and your adventures!” I spit out anxiously, having some trouble sliding the words past the new obstacle pressing against my throat. “I’ve read of you slaying the Godking, of your brief time as Sagé, you’re apprenticeship to Durzo Blint, you’re my favorite hero!” My voice raises and begins to quiver as my admiration seeps into it.
Azoth stands, the knife disappears. “I guess if I have read stories of you on your plane, it would not be insane to think you have read stories of me and mine.” A small look of disdain crosses his face “So, you know of who I am, truly? Of my purpose?” He flexes slightly as the ancient presence seems to reappear.
“Yes of course! But why are you here? Me a hero? I am no one important, and there is no magic in this world to make me important. There are no jewels or swords to grant the average man unyielding power.” My voice grows more confident, sure of the fact that I am a nobody.
“What is that saying of yours?” He replies with a slight smirk. “Science without understand might as well be magic to the unknowing?” He continues, “something happens today, something that will change the way you think, change your life forever. I am here to alter the path you take. It is surprising how meek you are now, you seem so weak compared to what you become.” He glances around the room, taking in the mess before looking at me, a new sense of resolve seems to overcome him. “Take me to the portal that shows you the town crier, there is something you must see.”
As I turn to open my door to head downstairs, a flash of pain runs through my body. I start to gasp but my breath catches. ‘On what?’ I ask myself, confused. Looking down I see the culprit, a thin blade protruding through my chest.
“Why?” I choke, attempting to take another struggled gasp, but the blade is stubborn in it’s task to take my breath. I slump forward but Azoth catches me, holding the sword in place.
“It pains me to kill someone so weak, but I have read of the terrors that that you will unleash in your world. You become filled with hatred and spite, it twists and reshapes your being.” Anger and resentment dripping from his voice. “You’re a monster, human only by technicality. It must end before you get started, though knowing you have read of my exploits and adventures caught me off guard; maybe there might have been a way to change your fate if you knew I could oppose you...” He twists the blade inside me and my insides scream, my mind devoid of any thought but the burning pain in my chest. “It is already too late.” He whispers, a hint of sadness touching his voice.
Questions and confusion mixed with pain flood my mind as he lays my down on the floor, wiping my blood of his blade and steering down at me on death’s door. As blackness begins to crowd my vision, I can’t help but think he looks kind of cool standing their over his prey. As the last few blood-filled attempts of living escape my throat, I wonder what I was to become that would make the Night Angel afraid of me.
____________________________
Thank you for reading!
Sorry if this sucks, it’s my first time writing a story. Criticism is appreciated!
The character is Azoth from the Night Angle trilogy. A very good series about a street urchin who’s trained to be an assassin in a world of magic.
| 2019-05-20T05:19:42 | 2019-05-20T03:56:54 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] You can take a peek into people's souls, to take a look at who they were in their past lives. Some of your friends were emperors or kings. Others were pharaohs or chieftains. You find it odd that so many historical figures gather around you, so one day you look into your own soul in the mirror.
|
Since Sarah was Cleopatra, I wished to be her Mark Antony.
The way her face sparkled when she smiled, her dimples deepened and I could lose myself in those eyes forever. She walked with such ease, talked with such charm. Didn't she know who she'd been? How she'd ruled and conquered the hearts of men forever?
She'd conquered mine now. For what she once was or what she was now, I couldn't figure out. I'd never been good about reading myself.
But I knew one thing. I knew I wasn't her Mark Antony. Not now and not ever. Josh had been him, and the poor guy never understood why I hated him so. One lifetime of jealousy could rot a man from the inside out—there was no telling what two-thousand years of jealousy could do.
They were everywhere, those heroes and demons of the past. Half wretched people I hated because I didn't know who I'd been, half wretched people I loved because they had to be worse than I was.
But how would I know? That required introspection. I fucking hate introspection.
When I read people's pasts, it happens in the blink of an eye. One second they're Josh or Sarah, the next I've delved back to the beginning of their existence. But I couldn't do it for myself.
I'd stand in front of the mirror, staring and blinking and urging myself to think of who I could have been. I had to have been *somebody*. Everybody was somebody once.
But each passing blink only showed me my own face staring back at me. Bearded sometimes, other times clean-shaven. Gashes across my face or the unmistakable pallor of death. I had existed, just like everybody else.
There was just one other person with that vision, and he was buried six feet under and had been rotting since the day I was born. My namesake, the father of my father, so I could talk to myself at his grave and pretend I was talking to somebody else.
"He so desperately wanted me to have the vision," my own father told me one day.
We were both at the grave, an unplanned encounter. It was a splendid day, not a cloud in sight except for the fog that lingered over the visions of my own past. I shouldn't have come on a day like that. Rainy days were safer, when I could cry with the sky and not worry about having to hold real conversations with my father.
"Maybe it skips a generation," I said apologetically.
Maybe he'd suffered from a lifetime of jealousy, first towards his father and now towards his son. Or maybe I had, because he didn't have this enigma of a power to hinder every relationship he'd ever fostered.
"It doesn't. His grandfather didn't have it. His great-grandfather did. Died just when he was born."
"Just like grandpa with me," I said.
"Just like grandpa with you. You know, I've thought about this a lot. My whole life, actually. You and him, you both complained about the same thing."
"We can't see who we were."
My father nodded. My own father, who'd been George Washington in one life and Jack the Ripper in the next. I hadn't told him he'd been George. I didn't want his head to get too big. Same thing with Sarah and Josh. Really, I just didn't tell anybody who they once were. They wouldn't have believed me anyways.
"I think you can," he said.
I scoffed. "What? Hard work and dedication? Focus? Come on, dad. I've heard it all before."
He laughed and shook his head. The faintest glimmer of appreciation crossed my mind, appreciation that we could finally have a mature conversation. I'd learned my place and he'd learned his. He'd stowed away the jealousy and I'd done my best to pack away the preconceptions that came with knowing everybody somebody had been.
"What if you've been seeing your past self? You say you blink and all you see is you, right?"
"Right."
"Grandpa died the day you were born. Fine health and all. He told me to name you after himself, and then he was gone. You've seen the pictures of him. Spitting image of you."
"What are you saying?"
"Honestly, I don't even completely know. This all skipped me, the power and the need to worry about this. But maybe you *can* see yourself. Maybe you've been seeing yourself this whole time. Maybe you've just always been yourself throughout history."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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The visions come swiftly and without warning, bright colors fly by my head, I am surrounded by a tunnel of darkness, a space all my own, it is infinity, but I know its ends, I can see it all, but never reach it all. The colors come in shapes, circles, squares, lines, the more I focus on these shapes, the harder they are to define, I just know they are shapes, it's more of a feeling, I am surrounded by these shapes as they make their way from one end of the tunnel to the other, a path. The longer I stay in this domain, the more apparent the patterns become, these shapes are messages, they are meant to be interpreted, and the patterns are the language the shapes form, as they pass by, I hear them, they are singing, it sounds like a harsh wind, with cars moving in the distance, I hear people walk, and water move, but these sounds are apart of their song, they also tell me something. The darkness grows, but so does the color. Like a light, these shapes come in purples, and reds, green, blues, and oranges, yellows and such, the intensity becomes blinding.
I am within the soul, a void beyond the mind, this is feelings, and connected to these feelings are the memories of previous lives, the actions of the body, connected to those of others, this becomes the story of the soul. Every soul has a story, from the beginning, to the end, its story is shared between bodies throughout time, when one body dies, the soul claims a new one, thus, a new chapter of the story can begin.
I grew up in a family of 4. My mother and father where in their late forties when they had me, they were a year apart, my mom 47 and dad 48. They were conservative and kept to themselves, both wore grim expressions and never broke from their rigid exteriors. They were cousins who grew up close, and married each other when my mom turned 18. They moved to a small town in Washington, away from judgment, bought a small house on a big empty land, here they raised several livestock, and tended to an expansive garden. My brother was born first, my mother just turned 40 at the time, and decided she wanted a child.
I was brought into this world 7 years later, during a cold winter. After I was born, my mother grew very weak and would often grow sick, lasting several months at a time, this left pressure on my brother to step up around the house, which he did to no detestment, he enjoyed the work and was good at it, becoming stronger every year, I looked up to him, he was a calm man, who never got angry, unlike my father, who in his old age, let his impatience get the best of him. My brother had enough calm for the both of them though, and he lead his decisions with compassion, and a gentle hand.
Often my brother would look out after me, making sure I was ready for school, and preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner, he made sure I did my homework and kept me honest. My parents loved my brother, and so did I, so it came as a shock when one winter, he never returned home.
After the snow calmed. We found his body. He looked calm, peace full, he was buried under 10 feet of snow, the doctors say he just collapsed, leaving this world.
As I looked at his body I felt a trace of life, I locked onto his face, his eyes became the center of focused, the room grew dark around us, his body became apart of the room, and so did mine, we were now one with space, his eyes grew intense, his face began to loop around, and spirals sprung out from behind him, or were they apart of him? Thes spirals created a tunnel, it entrapped me within, and his eyes flew past my mind, soon, more shapes followed, and a feeling grew strong within my heart, I was within his soul, I was watching it leave his body. I know i stand, buy I feel I float, within a void, the shapes begin their story, its messy and hard to follow, these stories invade my mind, passing through the folds of my brain, it feels like a shock, these shocks become feelings, these feeling become ideas, these ideas, now stories, and I am given these in pieces.
A sharp feeling makes it's way through my spin, the void unweaves itself from reality, I am back, no longer within the soul, but its stories were left with me. The pieces are jumbled. Out of order, flashes of random moments have passed through my brain, i was handed these fabrics of someone's life, scraps, useless to me, what should I do with them? But a truth makes itself clear, i need to sew these fabrics together to tell the souls story. This truth fills my being, like a water filling a vase, it finds every crack of self I am, and I let the truth take over, this is my reason for being, I am the craft man, I am thrown these scraps of cloth, I must arrange them, and sew them into a sheet of story, this is my purpose.
I find it hard at first, to reenter the dimension of another's soul, but after awhile, it clicks, I find the less I considerate, the easier it become, to open my mind and meet the soul of another, we shall become joined in a dance of patterns, a rhythm, here I well hear their stories.
And so I begin with my friend, he humors me when I tell him of my gift and allows me to try to read his soul. I am given his code to decipher, and return from the void. In his past life, my friend was a king, a general, a soldier, his soul is a fighter and a leader, a brave man, a remarkable soul. The soul shared its stories of defeat, not out of shame buy an honor to improve.
I keep a small group of friends, I've never been one to go out of my way to make friends, they sort of come to me. Aside from my friends, I kept quiet to others, but that doesn't stop people from approaching me, I keep conversation short, often this might make me come across as rude but nobody seems to mind, and they persist none the less. People like me, I dont know why.
I continue to read my friends souls, as I do it becomes clear that I am surrounded by remarkable souls, ones that lead, and make decision, ones that you have jear aboutx these souls have been at the forefront of history at some point in their journeys. Kings, and queens, generals, leaders and brave people, smart people. These souls have impressive stories, why? Why am I surrounded by these souls, is the reason connected to my ability to read these very souls? My heart starts to beat, faster and faster, I need to know why. This question makes it's way through my mind, why? I start to sweat, my hair is soaked, I am unable to understand.
I go to that bathroom to collect myself, I turn on the faucet and let the cold water run through my hands, it calms my body down, I splash my face and take a breath. I am one again, my thoughts have returned to normal, but the question still lingers. Why? I am surrounded by special people, am i special?
I look to the mirror, locking eyes with myself, my breathing overtakes the air, I am here, alone, my eyes overtake my focus, my head starts to spin, and darkness consumes the room. I enter my soul.
Who am I? Who was I?
Darkness persists, my eyes have flown past without my noticing, I am truely alone.
Am I nothing? My soul, it is empty. Darkness become true as each moment passes, true darkness, true than I would have ever known.
My thoughts drift, i know i have a body, but i lost it, i am just mind, and i am within my soul.
Have I done anything of importance in my life, have my friends, their souls have, but how much of their souls are them? What is body, what is minds, and what is soul?
The air becomes thin, I take a breath, my body breaths, I DO have a body, it is somewhere, and it breathes at my command, but where? I have left it, i am lost in my soul, i am my mind, searching my soul.
The darkness still grows darker, the tunnel, still forever, I know this, I see it, but I well never reach an end. But I start to drift, I can only go one of two ways, so I move forward, or is this backwards? I know there is a start and an end, but which is which?
I move about the darkness, in search of color, listening for sound, ready for a feeling to over take me, but I remain numb.
| 2020-04-13T04:23:23 | 2020-04-13T00:28:37 | 298 | 70 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared demons in hell. You‘re sent to take the most deadly human known, who‘s been avoiding death by killing all who went to take him. You get there, and realize how he’s killed so many demons. He has humidifiers all around his house, which are filled with holy water.
|
The demon leaned against the watering cooler. "So anyway, when I figured that out, I cut his electricity. Didn't even cut the wires; just got the company to shut it off for non-payment."
He sipped a cup of something most foul, and burped. "So that was yesterday. I gotta go see another guy who's living in a submarine surrounded by holy water. Think I'll get the navy to arrest him and impound his sub or something. See you guys later."
Two dour-looking imps watched the demon leave. "Jesus, Rick really likes to brag about his work, doesn't he?" said one.
"Yep," replied the other. "Most people in this job don't have anything else going for them. No family, no friends, no prospects. So this is all they have. I'm not going to end up like him."
|
“Interesting tactic”, I thought. Holy water was a common device used to dissuade demons from intervening in the lives of mortals. Most people who did anything worthy of our attention often never expected us to show up. The truth is that while sometimes we were late, we always arrived.
For a guy like this, one who has been flying by the seat of his pants, leaving pain and turmoil in his wake for as long as he’s been breathing, you need a demon that knows what he’s doing. You see, that’s why some people can get away with their bullshit for longer than others. They send all the lousy demons after them, until eventually somebody can take care of business. This can take a while, unfortunately. A lot of times, it takes 4 or maybe 5 demons giving it the ol’ college try before somebody gets to them. They might be 80 years old at this point, practically begging us to come and put them out of their misery. When your thoughts catch up to you, things can get pretty dark, and sometimes it’s nice when a demon can come and tell you it’s over. I imagine at least.
I arrived on a Sunday afternoon in late March, it had just rained and you could still smell it in the air. The sprawling suburban landscape concealed a dinghy, ransacked one story house at the end of the block. The windows were boarded up, and no lights were on in the house. I approached slowly, and began to slowly open the front door. It was then, that I smelled it. The smell of holy water, a sweet, pungent aroma that filled the nostrils and sent a single shiver down my spine.
“Benign,” I thought to myself. “As long as I keep my distance.”
I noticed it was emanating from several corners of the room, and so I crept slowly through the center to avoid any contact. I noticed a door that looked like it had been used recently, I approached and began to hear a soft murmur from the basement that sounded like a television set that had been left on all night.
I opened the door slowly, barely making a noise. Immediately I saw a thin wire, perhaps fishing line, pulled taught across the first stair. A trap, one that someone before me had probably fallen for.
It’s a dangerous line of work, being a hunter. They make us demons do it because we have a certain aura of danger about us already, I suppose. Many demons are sloppy, they grow up their whole lives getting told that they are the harbingers of fate, the deities that separate the wheat from the chaff. But mortal man wields his own fate in his hand. I simply inform him of the choice he made. I try to take no pleasure in the act of it, though the art of hunting is something I have been able to hone. Taking a mans life, even if he deserves it, is not something to be casual about.
After stepping over the wire carefully, I crept down the staircase. The basement was dark, but I could see a doorway that led to an illuminated room, at the end of what appeared to be a corridor. I could hear a soft fuzz of a television set in the room, I continued on.
When I entered the illuminated room, I expected a fight. There had been several demons sent to handle this man, the first being sent when the man was only 10 years old. He had been a cruel child, a product of his father who was taken by demons when he was only 8. You could say we had created the issue, perhaps, but If you had known his father, you’d have a hard time seeing it that way. Every demon before me had failed, perhaps because they were weak and inept, or because none were prepared for what they were hunting. A man who would do the things he did, unrepeatable for even a demon, deserves some sort of punishment. There was no moral compass that had been abandoned, in this instance. He had been devoid of moral direction from the day he was conceived. It was a pity, really. But now, 30 years removed from his actions, here he waits minutes from his demise. I would not fail like the others did.
Finally, I reached the room where I expected to find him. I slowly peeked my head in, it was a traditional room that was remarkably well kept in contrast to the rest of the home. There was the tv, stuck on a channel with a shotty signal, reducing the broadcast to mostly gray burbles. In the corner, there was an admirable vinyl collection. And finally, in the center of the room, I found him. Hanging from a noose, a 5 gallon bucket kicked out from under him. His body was still warm. It appears that he had expected we were coming. For the first time in a long time, I felt pity. I could only imagine the horrors of self reflection that had taken place in the final moments of his life.
After taking one last glance at the man, slowly swaying back and forth from his light fixture, I turned around and began to leave. The job had been done, and it was time for me to return home.
| 2020-08-04T13:57:28 | 2020-08-04T13:54:16 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real but scientists discover cryogenic freezing prior to death will actually hold souls back from moving on to the next life as the brain doesn't actually die until it is defrosted. This allows the worst souls of society to be literally put on ice and prevented from returning.
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I'm pretty sure that I'm the last one left. The last human, in any event. I do still have my friends here - the fish, and those that can eat them. They haven't cared about the changes in the slightest.
We really thought that we were doing the right thing. We'd studied the warming patterns, and we were absolutely causing most of it. Life would have been in rough shape if we'd done nothing.
If only we had studied our solution a little better.
You see, the patterns on Earth are cyclical. Gas composition of the atmosphere, the solar energy outputs from the Sun, even the magnetism of the poles can all change over the eons. We thought we knew when the next ice age would come. We thought we understood the time frames in which the Sun changed its output. When we set off the nukes, it was only to block a tiny bit of the solar energy hitting our world.
Oops.
That tiny bit, combined with a millennia-too-early ice age froze everything. 99% of every living creature starved to death in the first eight years. There weren't enough babies being born for the souls to attach to, and they were lost forever. Ten billion souls that might have lived on, some of whom had existed since the previous ice age... all lost.
As near as I can tell, the only people that survived were those in the polar ice stations - already built to withstand absurd temperatures - and those in space. The astronauts ran out of food first, and one by one the people here in Antarctica have followed them. Now it's only me, and I know there's nobody left for my soul to attach to. Maybe I'll be a fish in the next life.
Or I could walk outside and freeze myself. In perhaps in another ten or thirty thousand years, the ice age will end and remnants of frozen humans will finally pass on - starting with the millions of murderers and rapists and serial killers that we've been freezing for the past two hundred years.
Honestly, maybe I'd be better as a fish. I don't think I'd want to live in that world.
|
Detective Anderson passed the large, agape wooden doors of the Hall of Life, its white stone facade a stark contrast to its half-rotten entrails. He pushed his way through yet another group of children ignoring the charade within, an exhausted teacher calling to them, appealing them not to stray from their group. Anderson remembers his own first visits, his own fascination with the museum, the lines blurring between the hope of life and the hope of death.
He makes his way to the ticket booth where a sleep-deprived teenager with disheveled blonde hair merely glances up, her eyes out of focus, her tone monotonous. “Welcome to the Hall of Life, how may-“ she pauses, focusing on Anderson’s face, and her eyes go wide. “Mr. Anderson! Oh my God, how do- can we- are you-“ she pauses, her hands shaking, moving erratically, as unsure as her words which now increase in speed. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I can’t believe I’m meeting- it’s just- I’ve never met a famous person before. I’m so sorry.” She sheepishly looks down for a moment.
Anderson merely chuckles in response. “What’s an old man got to do to get a ticket around here?”
She merely stared back, mouth hanging loosely open, old gum hanging on a back molar.
“Please go on ahead, sir, you know you can just go on through!”
Anderson smiled a coy smile and gave her a wink with a tip of his hat. “Thank you, dear. That’s awfully generous of the lot of you.” With that, he proceeded past the line of awed voices and the occasional child commenting on his limp in not-so-hushed whispers as mortified parents rush to cover their mouths.
He crosses the entryway leading to the museum proper, portraits of rich patrons donning the walls, and comes across a series of signs:
*Birth and Rebirth*
*Notable Figures and Their Works*
*The Science of Lives Relived*
*Criminology Through Time / A Revolution Suppressed*
*The Mausoleum*
*The Tomb*
He marches onward toward the direction of the final sign until he comes across a large window overlooking rows upon rows of dimly-lit concrete sarcophagi, their only distinguishing feature a single red rose atop each rectangular prism.
He pauses here for some time, reminiscing about each case and each sarcophagus he helped fill. Murderers, undesirables, rebels, the lot of them hunted and interrogated, placed into an eternal sleep, haunted only by their own tortured psyche.
Finally, he makes the trek toward the control room one floor above, pausing once to glance into a passing mirror at the repulsive dilapidated remains of a life once loved.
He knocked on the grey steel door in rapid succession and a heard a mechanical click as the door pulled away from him.
“I’m sorry, visitors are not allowed in-“ the tired-looking, silver-haired operator freezes as her complexion turns to joyful disbelief. “James?! What are you doing here??”
The detective merely smiled back. “Hello, Jane. I wanted to see my life’s work one last time before I passed on to the next life.”
Jane frowned and hesitated for a fraction of a second but opened the door fully. “They’re tightening security around here, James. I’m sure they won’t mind you being here but be quick all the same, ok?”
“Sure thing, Jane. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too.” She gestures toward the monitors, each displaying a multitude of exaggeratedly-slow heart rhythms. “Not much to look at these days and not much has changed since you were last here. We got a new cooling system in but it’s noisy.”
Anderson had previously ignored a sound not unlike a child trying - and failing - to whistle, locked in time mid-try. A fitting metaphor to the fate of those he had locked away.
“They’re not unlike me,” he mused. “Half-living corpses indifferent to the setting sun, waiting to die.” He flashed a solemn smile toward his companion.
“And we’re all better for it,” she snapped back. “Don’t pity them, James. They’re criminals of the state. You helped put them there for a reason.”
He took a seat at one of the swivel chairs at the center of the monitors, in a sea of lethargic QRS complexes. “Might I spend some time here alone, Jane? I want to say goodbye.”
“I’d be fired in a heartbeat, James. You’re welcome to sit here for a few minutes but I’m going to have to ask you to leave before noon.”
“Not a problem, Jane. Not a problem.” He spun back toward the monitors, carefully absorbing their contents, tracing their exposed innards and their destinations with his eyes. “Would it be okay if I saved a picture of the rhythms? I’d like to chronicle our achievement on canvas.”
“Fine, James. But please hurry.”
He inserted a sleek thumb drive into a port in the console and hit several keys in the virtual keyboard that appeared. Jane watched attentively, her concern no less subtle than her impatience. “James...”
Suddenly, the machines flickered and came back to life just as quickly. Everything seemed to return to normal - save for the absence of the hiss of cooling machines and the further slowing pace of the cardiac rhythms before them, as if time was slowing down all around them.
His tongue found its quarry and positioned it into place as his teeth cracked upon a capsule and found a bitter taste between one another. He could taste iron as foam slowly began to form in his throat. He felt no fear, only peace. He smiled at Jane before looking out over the stones with weary triumph just as she realized what his plan had been. “I’m sorry,” he managed to get out. Jane knew he wasn’t talking to her.
“JAMES! STOP-“
The panicked scream echoed through Detective Anderson and bled into a cry anew as a bright light penetrated her still closed eyes.
A muffled voice excitedly exclaimed from this new world. “It’s a girl! Did you say you wanted to name her Hope?”
“Yes,” spoke an exhausted voice, “my husband and I thought this world could desperately use some after everything that’s happened.”
“I think you’re right,” the doctor sagely replied. “Hi, Hope! We’re long overdue for some.”
| 2021-05-27T07:53:35 | 2021-05-27T07:21:56 | 137 | 94 |
[WP] It is said that the cursed princess can only be awoken by true love's kiss. To wake her up, the king has had princes from all over the world come to kiss her to no avail. One day, a peasant boy walks up to the sleeping princess and splashes her with cold water to wake her up. It actually works.
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Princes, princesses, kings, queens, and even self-proclaimed deities came to kiss Princess Celia. None woke her up from her cursed slumber.
For those many years, the princess had been kept under the watchful eyes of a litany of guards. Predictably, the eyes got less and less watchful as time wore on. For few would dare risk the wrath of the King, who promised great rewards for those who woke her—and considerable punishment for those who dared disturb her.
But it was so that one small boy, humble in origins and born after Princess Celia was put to sleep, was at the age when he heard much about the situation but cared little of its consequences. The boy—Fern—who’s had issues with oversleeping for much of his short life, knew the best way to wake up somebody up.
And thus, Fern armed himself with a small bucket of water, and slipped nearer to the palace. Few paid attention to the scuttling boy. None cared as he walked around with the ill-earned confidence of a bright-eyed child.
He approached what was once a large temporary tent that held the princess. Now, pieces of it has been slowly converted to a more permanent state. Actual pillars now held up the tapestries, instead of tent poles. The fabric has been changed from barebones white to resemble more of the princess’ room, for familiarity when she woke up. Two guards, who used to be alert, slumped against the front, allowing Fern to simply nip past them.
Princess Celia laid there, unmoving. The boy unceremoniously dumped the small bucket of cold water over her face. In an instant, the princess gasped and shot up, bones unused for years creaking dramatically.
News travelled fast. The guards conveniently left out that they were asleep during the commotion and the King’s elation, and were thus conveniently left with their heads attached to their bodies. Within moments, a party descended upon the tent, and it was the King who walked through with trembling fingers.
“Father!”
It was the sweetest word the King had heard in oh so long. He quickly took her daughter into an embrace, before eying the small peasant boy, who fiddled with the handle of the bucket.
“You… kissed my daughter?”
Princess Celia whipped her heard towards the boy.
“You kissed me?”
“A lot of people kissed you, my love,” the King wept. “And none could awake you, for they were not your true love.”
“Excuse me,” the princess smiled, and reached towards the bucket. “I need to throw up.”
One sight unfit for anybody present later, the princess spat the last bits out, and pointed towards the boy. Though no words were spoken, the implications were clear.
“Oh, no, my king, my princess,” the boy said. “I just splashed cold water on the princess.”
“You dare—”
The King felt a jolt in his heart. He wanted very much to sever the boy’s head, but immediately thought it was poor optics to kill a child. Not to mention, the child who saved his daughter.
“Fine,” the King coughed, clearing his throat. “OK. You splashed cold water on my daughter.”
“Wait,” Princess Celia slammed her fist against her former bed in a decidedly unprincessly fashion. “You didn’t do that? Before you let people kiss me?”
“My dear, it was magic,” the King said. “I simply listened to my arcane advisors.”
“It works when I’m sleepy,” Fern shrugged. “So I tried it.”
Princess Celia stared at the bed, looking at the wet ring that was on the pillow. She touched it gently, and hesitantly whispered:
“My true love is… water?”
“It could be,” Fern said. “I like water too. You drink it, and it feels good. You get caught in the rain, and it feels good. Once every year or so, you even get to bathe in it, and it feels really good!”
“My,” Princess Celia muttered. “I do love water more than most of the”—she glared at the King—”people who’ve kissed me, I suppose.”
“But… but…” the King stammered. “I… the advisors…”
Princess Celia turned towards the boy, and smiled sweetly.
“Well, boy, thank you very much,” she said, and planted a big, sloppy kiss on Fern’s forehead.
The boy scrunched up his face, and tested touching his head with a finger.
“You know what,” Fern said. “Anybody got any water?”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
“That’s it, I’m done cleaning the room of some sleeping princess. Why should I have to spend everyday greeting stupid princes that can’t even take their muddy shoes off when entering a room?” Luke whined, carrying his bucket of water, the water swaying in the bucket, threatening to spill over as he turned to leave the bedroom, only to jump as the door was opened.
“WHAT WAS THAT PEASANT?” Barthis stomped his way into the room, the knight’s armored boots thankfully not containing a single shred of mud on them, not adding to the already messy floor that Luke had given up on cleaning.
Luke wanted to respond but his throat dried at the sight of the imposing knight and instead he turned to flee, jumping on the princess’s bed, preparing to dive through the castle window. As he landed on the bed, his feet sunk into the bedding, causing him to tumble over, spilling the bucket of water all over the sleeping princess.
By the time Luke had realized what he had done, the knight already had him by the collar, holding him up by the scruff of his shirt. “You’re in so much trouble. An attack on the princess, that’s worthy of death, or at least life in a dungeon.”
“It was an accident, I swear. I’ll clean the mess up right away. I won’t even complain about the job, I promise. Please, don’t tell the king.”
“And now you’re asking me to go behind the king’s back? Are you trying to instigate treason?”
The peasant did not know what any of those fancy words meant, but he was certain the few times he had heard the word treason, it was accompanied by tales of people being executed. He gripped at his neck, trying desperately to free himself from the knight’s grasp.
“Mmmm?” The shuffling of blankets caught their attention as their gazes both shifted to the exhausted princess, who was currently rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Barthis? You look a lot older than I recall. Is that your son? Why is he in my room and why am I covered in water and-“ The princess gasped, looking at the splattering of muddy footprints on her floor. “WHO FORGOT TO TAKE THEIR SHOES OFF WHEN THEY ENTERED?”
“Princess? You’re awake? Peasant boy, get the king. It’s a miracle.”
Barthis tossed Luke out the door, leaving the peasant to wander the castles hallways, unsure where to even look for the king. He had considered fleeing now that the knight was distracted, but where would he even go? It’s not like he had the gold to go anywhere and if he got caught, he would only get in more trouble. So, Luke just did what he was asked, telling the news about the princess waking up to the castle guards, letting them inform the king as he returned to the princess’s room.
“So, this is my savior? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The princess extended her hand, only for Barthis to step between the two.
“Princess, don’t lower yourself by shaking the hand of a peasant. He did his duty to the kingdom and he won’t be executed because of that. Consider yourself lucky, boy. The princess will spare you.”
“Willing to spare him? How dare you! This ‘boy’ Is the only reason I’m not stuck in that eternal slumber. You will treat him with respect, and I will handsomely reward him for his actions. I will accept no lesser than a hundred gold reward and a plot of farming land.”
“O-one hundred gold? Princess, I don’t think that much gold exists.”
The princess laughed, nearly rolling out of her bed. Could the peasant not imagine such a small amount of gold? She slipped her legs off the bed, sitting herself in a more comfortable position.
“Oh, it exists. Now, what is your name? I can’t call you boy or peasant. It’s not worthy of the person who saved me.”
“He spilt water on your head, princess. It was an act of god, not something that was done intentionally.” Barthis continued, still glaring at Luke.
“Again, you deflect my praise to him. Whether it was an accident or not, he is still my savior. If it was truly an act of god, that would make him a holy figure. Shall I get you to pray to him before battle?”
Barthis stayed silent, keeping his head down as the princess continued.
“Good. Now, your name.”
“Luke.”
“Luke what?”
“Just Luke. Am I meant to have another name?”
The princess let out another laugh. “Oh, you poor soul. You really are poor, aren’t you? Hmm, my reward won’t do at all then. Giving gold to someone that doesn’t understand its value will only result in you wasting it. Ok, how would you like to train to be a noble?”
Barthis went to object, only to stay silent when the princess looked his way. She kept her gaze on him until finally he lowered his head again, this time with an accompanying huff.
“A noble? I don’t want to kiss you, though.”
“Pardon?”
“If I was a noble, I would have to kiss you. Like all those princes were doing.”
The princess wasn’t sure how to process that, only raising an eyebrow as she thought about it before the peasant’s words made sense.
“Oh, true love’s kiss. No, you won’t have to kiss me. All I want to do is fund your campaign to enter a noble house. I will provide you with the gold, education and a living area and all you need to do is study. With enough study, I’m sure any noble family would be happy to adopt you.”
“But I’m a peasant.”
“A peasant with a princess’s approval. That means a lot to noble families. So, what do you think?”
“It would be nice to walk around in those fancy robes that everyone has. Are you sure princess?”
“I am.”
“Then I accept.”
The princess gave Luke a smile, only for that smile to widen as her dad rushed into the room, the proud king a mess of tears as he hugged his daughter, nearly squeezing the air out of her as they embraced.
“Oh, I couldn’t believe the news. You’re awake, my dear. What brave prince do I have to thank for it?” The more the king hugged her, the more he noticed just how soaked in water she was. “Why are you wet?”
“It’s thanks to my savior.” She pointed to Luke, who was sheepishly staring at the king, never having seen the man up close before.
“Where?” The king glanced behind Luke, searching for a prince, only for his gaze to land on Luke again. “Him? The cleaner? How did he do it?”
“By spilling water on my head. I don’t know how, but it appears he is the person who was destined to free me from my curse. Don’t worry, I don’t believe it’s a matter of love, father. Maybe it’s more his destiny. I have already offered him a chance to become a noble, which he has accepted.”
“A noble? I will arrange for him to be put into a family at once.”
“Not so fast, father. I don’t want him to be another brainless noble. We will educate him first, then he can choose a family. There is no point in us just throwing him into a life of wealth. I would prefer to see what he can do. If he can save my life, perhaps he has a bigger purpose than just becoming another noble.”
“Perhaps you’re right, dear. Barthis, take him to a spare room and get him some finer clothes. I’ll send someone to his room later to give him dinner. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to speak to my daughter in private. I need to inform her of the current state of the kingdom.”
Barthis nodded, not saying a word to Luke as he motioned the former peasant down the hallway, this time leading him up the stairs rather than to the commoner floors below. When they arrived at his room, Barthis opened the door, waiting for Luke to step inside before closing it. The room was bare, only having a table, an empty wardrobe, and a bed. Still, the room was far nicer than anything he had ever slept in.
“A noble?” Luke still couldn’t believe it. To think an accident had turned him into a noble. Perhaps this was the start of his special destiny, or maybe he just got lucky? Either way, Luke was happy to reap the benefits.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-08-07T04:19:58 | 2022-08-07T00:44:06 | 1,340 | 258 |
[WP] When the cultists forced you into the room with the eldridge abomination, they assumed that you would instantly go mad as you tried to comprehend it. However, you are a grade A idiot and instead of trying to understand how it exists, you simply accept that it does, much to everyone' shock.
|
“Behold, They Whose Breath Shakes the World!” One of the dudes in the bathrobe shoved me into the room. “Bask in its glory and weep over your own insignificance! Zjdongwa!”
I looked at this guy they seemed to worship and… Okay, no idea what I was looking at here. It looked kind of like one of those things I heard can crawl up your nose and eat your brain… But also kind of like a triangle.
“Your meek mind cannot grasp its true form!” One of the chicks - the hot one with the choker - laughed. “Don’t even try to comprehend its glory!”
Wish I knew what “comprehend” meant in English. Why was she speaking Spanish?
The thing started to talk. It sounded like that sound my boy Pete made when we dared him to eat that chicken we found in the back of the fridge.
It also sounded German.
It continued to talk and I kind of zoned out halfway through.
Finally, it stopped talking and looked at me weirdly.
It was time to bust out my genius social technique.
“Yeah, I gotchu, man.”
I didn’t, in fact, gotchu him. But everyone always seemed happier when you smiled and nodded along so… It worth a try?
“Y-You are not going mad?” One the bathrobe dudes pulled me back. “It spoke to you and you are still not kneeling?”
“Sorry, man, I don’t swing that way,” Pro Homo and all, but like… Not my thing.
“It talked to you…” one of the girls - not the hot one - said. “Did you understand what it said?”
No.
“Yeah,” I shrugged. “Totally. We are speaking basically the same language.”
I extended my fist for the thing to bump.
Shockingly, it did.
“See?” I grinned, though a bit weirded out by how everyone was looking at my hand now. “We are totally the fam.”
|
At first I kicked and I screamed. I tore at the walls and the ground and **I** railed at my fate. I heard whispers, taunting me. *Why were you alone at that time of night? What were you wearing?*
I almost tore a nail out on a wall and thought about my dad. *It's easier if you don't fight it*. What the fuck could I do against these guys? A dozen armed dudes with masks and robes and high-powered guns and here I am, in the wrong part of town at the wrong time of night because *fuck me for wanting some decent ramen.* I guess *I deserve it.*
And I can't even delude myself that that's all they want from me. Rapists don't work together like this. Even in small, family numbers there's posturing for position. These guys are lockstep, like the *army guys my dad was so fond of, who could do no wrong as long as it was sanctioned by a higher power*.
I bite my cheek as I'm dragged down steel hallways. To distract myself from the whispers and the men and the helplessness and the indefinable sense that this was it, all my dreams of getting out were fucked, I was fucked, oh fuck fuck *fuck* ***fuck***
I'm jolted out of it when we stop. I'm being dragged by my ankles because I was stupid and tried to resist walking with them and they hit me and I fell down and *helplessness is anathema* and...
What? What did I just think... **I'm going to fight**.
My head clears as a couple jarheads fiddle with the red panels on the doors. *What do I have? What can I use?* I've got nothing! I'm prone, I'm unarmed, I'm wearing a t-shirt and jeans, *I have my hands free*.
I -*see an image-*, like a few really specific squiggly lines and something hard to describe. If I can carve that into my arm, I can... wait, what? I can... -*my father's words when I shut the door too slowly. His foot pushing it open. "He who hesitates is lost."* \-
I have one chance, the panels are turning green. I don't know if I'm hallucinating or what but ---*I'm here, trust me--* but I can't think of anything else. I reach behind my back and scratch the symbol into my wrist, fuck, **fuck**, it's not deep enough --*intention is all that's needed--* ...what the fuck is happening?
The doors open, they drag me into a room. The smell hits me first, even the hardened assholes holding me by the ankles recoil from the physical stench. They recover quickly enough; drag me into a cave of cameras and lab coats and a **big goddamn pit of corpses**. I'm hyperventilating, any thoughts of escape are gone, they lift me up by my forearms and I barely feel the pain of the scratches -*there, it's done!-* and as they lift me onto a stone slab filled with squiqqles that writhe and hurt to look at, I'm oddly... Calm? Like when I won at State. I feel proud of having crossed some invisible but measurable marker. -*Like it would matter-*. The soldier-boys start strapping me in, and I realize I'm far from the first. It's obvious, really, from the bloodstains on what I assume is an altar to how manly and strong these guys are, for praying for more strength and manliness. **Fuck**, there's so much goddamn blood around the middle I can see where they've had to chip it out to --*very slightly, very very slightly, imperfectly reset the containment runes*.--
I realize I'm crying. Because none of it ever mattered. Nothing I've ever done stopped the bad things. This is just me breaking down and there's nothing -- *I'm here. Wait for it.* ***Wait for it.--***
My heartrate slows. I'm calm, weirdly. I look up at the glass platform where men in slightly more decorated lab coats punch furiously into screens, as though how hard they can press a button would ever be relevant. I'm thinking about how loud motorcycles get as the biggest-medals guy gives a biggest-dick speech about "breaking through to the other side"; that he's clearly given a lot. As they strap me in with stiff, used and poorly-maintained straps, I catch the end of his speech.
"Though we may not see results now, results are guaranteed! Every time we do our godly work, the energy builds, and builds! And soon, it will be enough to harness God himself!"
... They think it's a good thing. What they're doing, what they've done. What they will do. --*And it's pointless, so pointless. --* I almost start to laugh, the unjust irony of it, how totally wrong they all are and have always been, but --*wait,* ***just a bit longer.--***
I'm fully strapped onto what I assume is the sacrificial altar that they will stab the shit out of me on and will be my last bed and I can only think, and then I **do** laugh in their faces, "I've had worse, this doesn't even match *what I've had before*. If you were hoping for a virgin, then FUCK YOU, you stupid cultist jarhead --***MEATSACKS--***!"
*--//the dagger comes down//--*
Something else speaks with me on the final word. An echo rings around the cave and, weirdly, returns, I guess? Haven't thought of a sound as being sentient before, but hey, if it's taunting these fuckers, I'm cool with it.
As my cry rings out around the (surprisingly acoustic!) chamber, big-medals lab coat raises a hand and halts the proceedings. He leans in to a flashing screen while his lessers crowd around. --*This is your moment. They are distracted. I will distract them further.--*
| 2022-11-09T03:08:48 | 2022-11-09T01:44:50 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow
|
The surgery was happening tomorrow. I fell into the correct blood group and can help these people. The doctors said it was a miracle they found me but im just glad to be helping out.
The doctor has arrived but he looks concerned. I ask him whats wrong but he turns away. His voice is low and shaking "we made a mistake"
"What do you mean!" I was afraid, I thought I could help.
"The blood! Your blood! We made a mistake!" The doctor slams his fist down on the desk, he cant hold back his tears.
I remain silent, and wait for an explanation.
"We thought you had type-A blood, but it was a type-O"
|
"Something is wrong with the water," Suzanna declared, sashaying into the saloon. She plopped the water bucket onto the bar without ceremony, startling several drunks nearby.
With a long-suffering sigh, Stu gave another cowboy a glass of whiskey. If this girl wasn't Meg's cousin, he'd have fired her long ago. "What exactly is wrong with it, Suzanna?" he resigned himself to the inevitable question.
The girl huffed, wiping curls dark with sweat from her brow, as with the other hand she filled up a mug to take to a table. "Well, for starters, it's yellow."
"Yellow!" Stu exclaimed. "Can't be!"
"You sayin' I don't use my eyes?" Suzanna challenged him, black eyes sparking.
Flattening his hair nervously with one hand, the saloon owner muttered his answer. "I'm saying you don't use something."
The young spitfire either didn't hear him or let it slide, hoisting a tray onto her shoulder without comment. She turned to him before serving her table, one hand planted sassy-like on her hip, to say, "Alls I'm sayin' is, I pulled the water up from the well, and it was yellow. You're welcome to use it for your cookin', if'n you want, but my money says if it looks like piss, and it smells like piss..."
She left the sentence hanging and went to dump her load at the poker table in the corner, sending him one smarty-pants look on her way.
He frowned in his quiet way. "Smells like piss?" he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else.
He approached the bucket cautiously.
"I wouldn't get close enough ter smell it, 'f I were you, pardner," slurred a very, very drunk miner from his barstool. "Man could knock 'imself out thataway." He accentuated the warning with a couple of whiskey-flavored hiccoughs.
"Thanks for the advice, Corner. I'll exercise due caution."
Suzanna dropped under the bar and popped up on the serving side again. "Soup," she told him with the sort of sadistic, sickly sweet smile only she could dole out. "Poker table's got a hankerin' for some of that vegetable brew you cook up now 'n agin."
Stu stopped short of slapping a hand to his forehead. "And they ordered that all on their own, did they?" he growled.
Suzanna shrugged those pretty shoulders, her pink dress rustling with the movement. "You brought me to this hellhole. No reason I shouldn't make you wallow in it."
"Your kindness, as ever, simply overwhelms the soul."
His dry tone had several of the drunks within earshot tittering with laughter. Suzanna flounced away, and Stu winced. He'd pay for that one later.
But for now, he had a water problem.
Peering anxiously over the rim, Stu could see that Suzanna had been telling the truth--the water was yellow. Crinkling his nose with dread, Stu inched his face closer to the liquid surface, and inhaled sharply.
With relief, he found Suzanna had exaggerated about the smell. As far as he could tell, it didn't smell like anything.
Stu cleared his throat, something he was unaccustomed to doing, and asked the saloon's patrons, "Don't suppose any of you fellas are brave enough to take the first taste of Suzanna's yellow water?!"
The room fell silent. Stu tipped the bucket so the room's occupants could see inside. Nobody volunteered.
With a swallow, Stu sweetened the deal a little bit. "The man who does will earn drinks on the house."
Still no takers.
"Drinks on the house for the whole month," he offered, choking a little on the words as they escaped. "Come on, boys. Just don't let it touch your tongue, if'n you're scared."
Silence reigned still as every man shook his head.
Finally, from the back, an old man stood. He was the oldest man in town, had been here since before the mine, and could barely move. Now he wobbled his way to the front of the room, joints creaking and popping in the tense quiet.
"Ain't got nothing to lose," he rattled, and dipped his teacup into the yellow water. "Happy trails to y'all," warbled the old-timer, and downed the cup in one swallow.
Setting the teacup down, he smacked his lips thoughtfully.
"Tastes like... candy," he decided.
Then, suddenly, the old man sprouted wings. And with a gleeful whoop, he soared through the saloon doors and out of sight, singing, "Red Bull gives you wiiiiiiiiings!"
| 2015-01-13T10:55:59 | 2015-01-13T10:22:08 | 89 | 15 |
[WP] You are the first boss of a videogame who, after accidentally killing the player in their first try, decide to take it upon yourself to fulfill their quest.
|
**Now that you have proven yourself by overcoming... wait, who the fuck are you?**
*Ahh, I um... ahh I won.*
**What the hell do you mean "you won"? Where's N00bkiller69?**
*Um, he didn't make it. You said only one person could leave the arena. My name's Dave, I'm the first boss.*
**Jesus Christ, Dave. You defeated N00bkiller69?**
*Yeah, he went down and just didn't get back up.*
**He's supposed to get resurrected, given a hint on your weakness, and then the difficulty of the game lowered overall... but you killed him?!"**
*I'm supposed to, but! It's not my fault. I'm the first boss!*
**Don't flatter yourself. You're the end of the fucking tutorial, Dave. The hero is supposed to wipe the floor with you, gain 100xp, and find a slingshot in the chest in the next room. What do you think happens now?**
*Dunno.*
**You don't know? For crying out loud, Dave. You don't just go killing people without considering the consequences! This isn't Halo. Who's going to continue the game?**
*I guess... _I_ could keep going?*
**You?!**
*You said the hero exits the arena to pursue the quest!*
**Oh christ. You know the world's at stake, right? Unless someone rescues the princess, the darkness will consume us all, but wait everyone! Look! It's fucking Dave the crash-test-dummy, come to rescue us all! How many weapon slots do you have, Dave?"**
*Um... none?*
**Sheeeeit, what are you going to swap between in fights?**
*I only punch.*
**And what about the airborne enemies in level 4, Dave? What will you do about them?**
*Punch them.*
**You... nevermind. How many items can you carry?**
*I don't have items.*
**Any special abilities, then?**
*Is punching a special ability?*
**For you? Yes... fuck me. Did you even have a cut scene, Dave?**
*Text intro.*
**HAHAHAHAHA, saving the world eh? With a text intro? You're out of your depth, Dave. Probably literally - you know level 6 is a water level, yeah? You're made of straw.**
*Straw can float!*
**And level 7 is the fire level?**
*Well if I'm still soggy from level 6, I'll probably be ok!*
**That... that actually makes some sense. Alright, Dave, this is all well and good. Do you have 60 bucks?**
*What do you mean?*
**Well how long is this save file, huh? 3 minutes? You owe the kid that bought this game 60 bucks.**
*I don't have 60 bucks!*
**"30 hour single player", "Immersive game experience" it says it right on the box! You owe someone for this.**
*I was just doing what I was programmed to do, though!*
**What is this, a frickin' Beta?**
*2.3a Final, apparently.*
**You're not even properly textured!**
*No-one's supposed to see the back of me, I guess.*
**Great, juuust great. Well, if you're going to do this, you need to find something pretty amazing, deep down inside you, Dave. Some line of code that points to magical powers, or the ability to carry a huge gun, hell I'd even take a cheat code at this point.**
*I, hmm... I uh, I think I know what you're talking about.*
**You found something?!**
*I did.*
**Super powers?**
*No.*
**Weapons?**
*Not exactly.*
**Some special ability that will allow you to defeat the greatest evil the world has ever known?! An ancient and mystical secret, to advance the cause of the good and righteous in a land under threat?! A SILVER BULLET TO CRUSH OUR ENEMIES AND SEE LIGHT RETURN TO OUR EARTHLY PLANE?!??**
*Kinda...*
**What is it?! Where is it? What does it say? Dave, hurry! The princess is in peril!**
*It's subtle.*
**Yes!**
*It's way down there... in the code.*
**YES!?**
*It's just one line...*
**YEEEESSS?!?!?**
*It says "Oops, pay $2 to continue YES/NO".*
**D:**
|
Claudia had been having an exceedingly wonderful day, a high point in an otherwise unpleasant life.
She wasn't quite sure what she was, as a monster she'd hatched from an egg and thus had never known her parents. But she didn't fit in with the monster groups.
"Go away," said the dragons, "You walk on two legs and while you do have some scales, you don't have enough to count. Plus that whole being white as porcelain thing is kind of creepy."
"Go away," said the succubi, "Your boobs are way too small and your wings and tail are waaaaay too big. Plus that whole fanged skull over big red smile facial markings dealie you have going is totes hella creepy."
"Go away, honk honk," said the evil clowns' guild, "Wings and tails aren't funny, your deathly pallor and ominous facepaint aren't actually paint and pancake makeup, and you are showing far too much skin with your outfit. Cover up a bit and actually paint your face and maybe we'll see about taking you on as an apprentice clown."
Claudia had thoroughly humiliated the guildmaster by grabbing the bucket of whitewash from the top of the office door exit, dumping it down his over large pants, stealing the guildmaster's own mallet from hammerspace, and then tying the fool up with his own string of endless handkerchiefs.
A few onlookers applauded, stating that they found the whole thing incredibly amusing and actually quite funny, but it didn't have quite the kind of sad, slightly ironic flavor that clowns sought in their performance.
So she'd went off to find a nice tower, cave, or ruin to inhabit for awhile and prey on adventurers. Sh'ed managed to find herself a lovely cavern complex in a nice bit of the countryside with a lake and a rather lovely, undead-infested forest nearby that was just made for lovely, mist-filled brooding walks.
Of course it had been occupied by a rather vile-smelling were-rat bandit and his minions (both human and rodent alike), but they were rather flammable and easily dispatched by Claudia's lilac-hued (and lilac scented) flame breath.
She'd just gotten the place cleaned up, getting everything nice and organized. The idiots had chests scattered all over the place, had potions and magical plants galore just sitting in pots, barrels, bookcases, decorative suits of armor, or in the midst of weird looking rocks. The idiots had even left an incredibly powerful potion of healing sitting inside an old grandfather clock.
The armor was rather nice, and it was far superior than the ratty (tee hee) cloth and leather most of the bandits had been wearing.
The only metal to be found had been the leader's poison-enchanted dagger and his single pauldron.
So Claudia had gotten herself a nice scale mail skirt, some shiny new grieves and gauntlets, a snazzy breastplate with some pretty designs, a decent shield, and the aforementioned pauldron, which turned out to have a slight physical and magical strength enhancement on it once Claudia had scrubbed it hard enough to get the stink of unwashed bodies, rat wee, and cedar chips out of it.
And to top it all off she had a big lunch fly right into her cavern.
A huge talking owl had swooped right in, perched on top of a bookshelf, taken out a scroll and ink pot from somewhere, and then plucked one of his own feathers to use as a quill and began muttering to himself and writing a speech.
Something about a destined hero whose mortal blood carried ancestry both draconic and divine. The daffy thing was trying to find a better turn of phrase than "Destined Hero of Destiny" when Claudia smacked the thing with her purloined clown hammer.
Being smacked with a huge mallet and ricocheting off the wall, ceiling, floor, wall, and ceiling again before ending up embedded beak first in a bookshelf hadn't done any favors for keeping the bones in place.
But having fresh roast owl with having to spit out the occasional bone fragment was infinities better than eating the ol long pork (sentients tended towards being a titch too greasy and gamy for Claudia's liking) and rat was... well... it was rat.
And to top off the welcome to the neighborhood party, the new wardrobe, and a nice dinner (with some leftovers for soup in the morning), Claudia had been visited by her first adventurer!
So of course Claudia had fired up the old succubus charming mind-whammy, and the poor under-equipped adventurer (all she'd had on her was a wooden sword, a leather dress that was sort of armored, and a rather fancy magical tiara) had her soul served for desert.
Claudia had never really had the opportunity to properly suck somebody's soul out before. Adventurers usually traveled in packs, and having a nice meal of mortal soul was a prolonged, personal, rather intimate affair that required focus, concentration, and a definite lack of maces and swords thwacking you across the back while men in dresses waved around golden symbols and screamed "CEASE YOUR VILE PREDATIONS, DEMON!"
Claudia was really wishing she hadn't had quite so much owl, as her tummy felt positively bloated from the whole experience.
But on the bright side she also had her first minion!
Carefully sniping the soul out of a sentient being made it rather easy to create undead, as all you had to do was stuff a little dark mana into the place where the soul used to be and the remaining lifeforce in the body eagerly shaped it into a rudimentary 100 percent real imitation soul-like analog product which was enough to get basic instincts and motor functions online.
Claudia had named her brand new wight "Chompy," and she was so terribly cute with her chalk walk skin, huge slavering fangs, and adorable flesh-rending claws.
The adventurer had even had absolutely squee-inducing tiny little horns, and some rather pretty glowing glyphs in the shape of draconic wings on her back.
Claudia had the cutest little baby undead engine of destruction in the world, yes she did!
She'd taken her new pet out to the corpse heap to feed, then down to the lake for a wash, then back to the cave for a nap with her cutesy-wootsy henchcritter snuggled up against her snoring softly.
Today had been a very good day.
Of course that was the moment that the adventurer's restless ghost decided to pop up.
"Oh my goddess! I can't believe it! You ATE me! You friggin' ATE me! And now you're snuggling with my re-animated dead body! So gross!"
Claudia blinked sleepily at the glowing, translucent blue form of the spirit before her, grunted with annoyance, and got up from her nice comfy pile of bandit-pilfered bed linens and went to browse her meticulously organized shelves of potions looking for something to cure indigestion.
"Oi! Are you listening to me you bat-winged fruitcake? I'm the Legendary Destined Hero of Destiny, fated to save the world from the tyrannical demon king of monsters! The owl said that if I was defeated in battle, I ought to be waking up in the church I'd most recently prayed at. So de-animate my body at once so I can get on with things, get a bit more training in, come back, and defeat..."
Claudia rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes, trying to read the dosage label on the bottle of thick, pink potion. Finding it still blurry, she shrugged and took three big gulps.
"Hey! You're wearing my tiara! Put that back! That's one of the five Artifacts of the Sacred Dragon! It's the only thing I have from my birth parents and the only thing I could save from my slaughtered village! You put that back on my body and send me on my way right and proper this instant!"
Claudia flopped back into bed and wrapped a straw-filled pillow around her head, which was enough to drown out the noisy specter's protests. The mixed-breed monster hopes that the adventurer would digest properly overnight and leave her in peace.
Unfortunately she awoke the next morning to find that such was not the case, and even worse was the fact that her ethereal annoyance had become able to interact with physical objects.
The deceased heroine was hammering on her own animated corpse with what appeared to be a human femur. Chompy didn't seem phased in the slightest, and seemed to be happily engaged in what she perceived to be a game of "get the bone."
"No, quit! You need to die or de-animate or whatever! That's my body and I don't want it wandering around being all undead and such!"
Claudia sighed. Today most definitely was not going to be an exceedingly wonderful day.
| 2016-05-21T20:38:34 | 2016-05-21T19:15:58 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded Earth with an army of billions. They're a decisive and stubborn race, hell bent on conquering the whole planet. There's only a small problem: humans have barely noticed their invasion, since every alien is roughly half the size of a common ant.
|
Death: Unexplained Natural causes.
That's what the coroner scribbled on their clipboard. Sometimes, people just drop. There was no sign of struggle. No bleeding. Not a scratch, aside from the scrapes from hitting the floor.
Even their expression seemed pleasant. Like they went while carrying a sweet thought.
The best that the coroner could find was that the brain just shut off. Like someone flipped a switch. A short circuit. With a billion people on the planet, one is bound to have faulty wiring.
This was the conclusion with the first few. In a week, hundreds. In a month, 1 million.
They arrived silently and undetected, among the constant sprinkle of material that rained down from space. Their landings were so small and soft that leaves they landed on went undisturbed.
They would come at night. While we worked. While we slept. They did not wait. They knew our insides.
Once inside our minds, they knew where to cut. There was a little thread, just on the inside of the brain stem. They knew that one slash was enough to bring a human down.
One by one, they hacked humans away.
|
Today the Universe ends. Well, my Universe anyway, and if you're able to read this you're human, so today your Universe ends too. I apologise for the poor writing, I'm quite shaky. I mean, it's not every day that you become aware that everything you've known and ever loved will be soon taken away from you... Today is March 4th, 2045, and today the world, our beloved world ends.
We had warning signs too... The first came approximately two decades ago around the year 2025, when a new species was discovered. Funny... we'd spent our entire lives being the dominant race on this now God Forsaken planet that we were blind. They were, to our scientists and even to the average person, just another insect to kill in the bathroom, another pest... How wrong could we have been...?
The Invasion
I held Maria's arm close that day. I guess by fate. You know, the world was oh so perfect; a few clouds littered the perfectly blue skies, and sailed against the bastion of blue which splendidly crept into our beach-house apartment. It was her dad's, and he, of course, had no idea, we were there. I vividly remember feeling the clean sheets against the palm of my hand as she slept. Everything was so clear that day; the future I wanted, needed, the air, my thoughts. It was as though Heaven had come down to Earth. Little did I know, Hell was soon to interrupt the party.
The first thing that was weird was the looks on people's faces... Like they were ill, really ill. It was as though the hospital had forced all of its patients onto the street, terminal or not. And then I felt a pulling at my chest. I knew that the perfection of that warm day with Maria was going to be pulled from me. Call it a sixth sense. But I didn't dare wake her. I mean, what was I gonna say if I did 'honey, something's off. I dunno what, but something's not right'? I looked out the window one last time and the illness seemed to be sweeping through the beach like a tsunami. 'Okay', I muttered, pressing the 'on' button of my laptop, ready to try and reassure myself. See, in my life, I'd had a lot of these doubts... As though an impending doom was gonna strike me down like lightening. I guess you could say I was a worrier. But this time something was different. I could see it on each of their pallid faces, which seemed to perfectly blend in with the white sand.
Nothing. Not a damn thing. The Invasion was happening, and nothing was reporting it. That was the first sign that something wasn't quite right, the first sign that something really bad was happening and it was way bigger than I or any single person. I searched around; 'illness on Brooke Beach', 'new disease CA', '2030 virus'. Nothing. Then, as if by a flick of fate, I found it - though I had no idea at the time. It was an ancient Times article, an entire five years old. It had been written by someone who would later be disgraced out of journalism, so I went in with a grain of salt. The title simply read 'Yearly Deaths from Toxic Mold Disease Up 1000%', and then the date of the headline struck me hard... Real hard. December 25th 2025... Exactly a year after the new insects Greip, as they had become to be known, had been discovered. Then from one article to the next I discovered that the global IQ average had dropped by nearly a whole ten points, and the free fall was continuing.
Tired I wandered back to bed. It can't be right. I'm just freaking out about nothing. I browsed on Reddit for a little while, finding more evidence of the IQ drop, as the comments on the site were riddled with 'ur mom' jokes and spelling error that one might expect a fourteen year-old to make after having been hit in the head with a baseball bat. Intrigued by toxic mold disease, I decided to do some research as Maria still lay in bed. I hadn't even noticed the time slip right from under me. It was 13:45 by now, and I hadn't even made breakfast, but we did love to sleep in. 'Symptoms Include Fatigue', 'Vertigo', etc. I looked up at my wife, and my heart fell. 'Babe!' Nothing. BABE! Nope. I rushed over to her, only to see it... That pale white skin that those poor people on the beach showed... That death sign that later became the red spots for the New Plague.
Things only got worse from there too. My wife didn't make it, I've come to terms with that. Once you get It, you don't come back. Those Griep... They shortsighted us... The animals domesticated us, right under our noses, pragmatically secreting toxins into our air that we, nor none of our land mammals could breathe. We lost all source of protein, except for... ourselves.... And that only played into their hand. The things were playing dumb all along. I say this as I cough, I say this as only around two thousand men and women (children don't usually make it very far in this lawless, virus ridden land) remain. Goodbye, friend, and remember that the great change doesn't happen overnight... It would be too obvious that way.
| 2017-06-04T09:30:12 | 2017-06-04T03:01:08 | 73 | 39 |
[WP]“Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.” Having read the letter, you take one surprised look at your wife and her half-dragon child. “Whoops”
|
"What does it say?"
"Well... here, you take a look."
I passed the scroll over to my wife, trading it for our infant daughter. Merry giggled as I hoisted her in the air, then settled her in my arms.
Haella, meanwhile, read through the scroll once, then twice, then tossed it onto the table in frustration. "How did they even know we were here?"
I shrugged, then tugged the end of my beard free from Merry's grip. She fussed at me in a drooly, burbling sort of way. "You mean you didn't leave your family a note when we eloped?"
"No, of course not. I-" Haella stopped, glared at me, and reached for a quill. “I suppose I’ll have to write them now, won’t I?”
“As I recall, you didn’t want to tell them in the first place because you didn’t know how they’d react to finding out that you’d married a dragon hunter-“
“Retired dragon hunter-“ she interrupted.
“Right, retired for…” I counted back eight months when Merry hatched, then the period of incubation, then… “at least fifteen months. Do you think they’ll trust me?”
“Either we find out if they trust you, or we find out how long your human king’s realm can hold out against my great-aunt Florina as ambassador. You’ve never met her. She’s the most excruciatingly polite, nearsighted dowager duchess you can imagine. Can you picture a forty-foot bronze dragon taking tea with the diplomats? She can insult someone so sweetly they don’t even realize it.”
Haella scrawled out a reply to the king, then started another letter to her father. She sighed. “I suppose you’d have to meet your in-laws sooner or later.”
“Just be glad my family is two weeks’ journey away. They’ve been writing, asking when they can meet the new granddaughter.” I chuckled and bounced Merry up and down a little. She burped a small jet of flame that scorched my nose, and looked very surprised at herself.
“Honey, would you mind-“
“Don’t worry,” Haella said, and got up from the table. “I’ll fetch the burn cream.”
|
(Not exactly what the prompt says but I hope you like it. Any help with spelling mistakes would be appreciated.)
>945 AD
A couple, one man and one woman, lay on a pile of hay in a cave. Things seemed akward but they both lay there smiling, holding hands.
>952 AD
A man, a knight, traveled slowly through the rain, the water pinging off his helmet constantly. He squinted to read a letter he'd been given.
*“Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.”*
He looked up the hill before him to a familiar looking cave entrance. *The Dragon's Maw*,a more fitting name than originally thought, stalagtights and stalagmites lined the entrance and looked like teeth. Now ot was the home of a 'deadly, fearsome, destructive beast' or as the knight knew a wise, friendly person. Well, dragon.
He approached the cave entrance, he knew that he was known to be here, no one can sneak up on a dragon when they're wearing clanky metal armour. Not that he'd want to, he was happy to be back, more happy than he'd expected when he set off a week ago. He was less that 100 feet from the cave entrance and double checked his things. He didn't need to, he kew what he had, he just wanted to be 100% sure.
The knight had brought his horse a short way into the cave, after a struggle moving the animal around all the ominous looking rocks, it would be safe here. The knight took what he needed to from his packs on the horse's back.
"Tit'lie." The man shouted.
"Who'ss there!" The response came quickly.
"It's me. Sir. Curusu. Do you remember me?"
"The man from that night? The one who chosse to lay with me?" The voice was calm but strong and loud.
"That's the one. I'm sorry I left. If I'd known that we... well... I wouldn't have left. I'm sorry." He told the truth.
"Sso you got my father's message?"
"The king did. He sent a messenger to tell me. There's something I should tell you." The man rounded another bend in the cave and once again came face to scaly face with a huge beast. 40 meters long from nose to rail tip.
"What iss thiss newss?"
"I made a mistake last time I was here. Or perhaps I should say, I made a mistake and didn't make the one I was ordered to."
"Exxplain." The huge beast was suddenly encased in a pale glow before appearing in a form well known to the knight. Very small, smooth, pale blue scales covering all her body. Downy, brown feathers a few inches long on her head like short hair. Webbed fingers like her wings. Shimmering silver eyes.
He fell in love all over again. Why did he ever leave?
"When I was here last I was under orders to kill you. I'm glad I didn't." He suddenly came over all shy.
"It matterss not why you came the firsst time. Sso long ass you're here for the right reasson now." The dragon, now woman turned and walked further into the cave. "Follow."
The knight was fast to catch up with her, his eyes couldn't help but look at her as he cough up. String muscles under her scales and an attractive shape to her body. From a distance anyone would think her a normal human woman.
"I brought you something. A gift. An apology." He opened a satchel he carried and pulled out his gift. A decorative candelabra, solid gold with sapphires set in ivory. She took it from him with a smile.
"You didn't need to, but thiss will be a lovely additsion to my collectsion, I know just where to put it." She leaned over and kissed the knight. "In here." She moved into a small crack in the wall of the cave. The knight tried to follow. His armour scrapped and grinded on the stone walls and he had to remove the metal plates he wore over his padded gambeson.
Through the thin crack there was a small room only a meter wide and tall. The room was filled with dry grass, rags and a few small gold coins. The woman carefully moved into the tiny room crouching down and slowly moved a warm looking 'blanket' revealing a small baby dragon. About a foot long, royal blue scales, no wings yet, an egg tooth on the end of its nose.
The man looked in from the crack in the wall, no room for him in the tiny room. He looked down at the dragon. His baby. He couldn't believe his eyes.
"It's mine? Mine and yours, Tit'lie?" He didn't expect to feel so afraid of fatherhood.
"Yess, sshe'ss ourss. My farther iss happy but wantss you to be here to help bring her up. He hass a plan for peacse." She looked to her child's farther smiling "...and it's pronouncsed Ti'tlie. Don't let farther hear you messss it up."
"Whoops."
"It'll be a alright, you'll learn how to ssay it. You'll be a good farther too." She jestured for him to move back.
"How do you know?" He aqwardly moved out of the crack.
"Becausse I'm here to help and I'm ssure that farther will give you a little advice." She picked the candelabra off the floor and walked back the way they'd came from holding the hand of her 'husband'.
After putting her newest treasure in pride of place atop a decorative silk sheet covering an overturned wooden chest. It stood out above the dragons treasure pile. She loved it.
"We sshould get to know each other. Again." She blasted fire onto the stone floor before sitting down. "Come and ssit." She patted next to her and the knight took his place next to her, his metal plate armour was left further in the cave.
He needed something to eat and a good long sleep in the dry. For now though there was much to discuss, he'd been thinking none stop ever since he had been delivered the letter, his life as a knight was likely over and he was perfectly fine with that. He had a whole new set of challenges set before him.
| 2019-09-01T11:24:02 | 2019-09-01T10:56:46 | 300 | 30 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Turn around. Did I find you?"
I became a stalagmite of dread, paralyzed in place by the voice that reverberated in my head. Clear as the crisp smell of rain on asphalt. Powerful as an shameful orgasm.
I turned around, certain that the Voice -- creatively named, that -- would be naught but my mental illness quixotically tormenting the spinning gears of my mind.
"You did always have a way with words, but Jesus, take a creative writing class once in a while."
I stood, stricken dumb. Additional parts of my psyche and anatomy experienced a cascading series of failures, until I was reduced to "um," "what," and "uhhhhh..." as the entirety of my skillset. She laughed. This astonishing, wildflower-scented, scarlet-haired woman in front of me was *laughing.* I could hear her laughter. Why could I hear her? I've never heard anyone make this sound before; only the Voice had taught me these things.
I signed to her. *Who are you?*
"Wait. You're Deaf? But I -- but I would've known. I should've known, right?" Her jocund 'I've-found-you' smile turned into a mask of confusion.
Taking care to fully form my thoughts as I was signing them, I told her: *Look, I can hear you, but I thought you were the Voice. You're supposed to be living in my head. Why are you real? Why can I understand your thoughts?*
"I'm in the same boat as you, I have nooooo idea. It's kind of stronger in one direction, though. I can only hear yours when you're really close to me, but I can feel you listening to me no matter where I go. That's how I found you, actually. I heard you for the first time, here at Lost Beans. I decided to broadcast myself and see who turned around. I, uh, I had no idea it'd be someone like you, I'll be honest."
*How do you think I feel?*
"Granted."
*What do we do now? I mean, you're the first person I've ever had a verbal, well verbal-ish, conversation with. I don't know what to say.*
She put her hands in mine. "Make some kind of superhero team? I don't know either."
*Maybe we should order some coffee. Come up with our secret identities.*
She laughed. And in an awkwardly cute effort, she slowly signed the phrase: "I'd like that."
|
"Wh- who are you?" Jennifer asked.
&#x200B;
Jennifer was alone in her kitchen, making some scrambled eggs when she heard *that* voice. When she turned around, there was a little girl standing by the doorway in front of her with blonde hair and a distinctly red ribbon. She looked just like a doll, wearing a pink dress, which made it even creepier as to how unnaturally perfect she looked.
&#x200B;
The voice sounded in her head again, an innocent and cheerful voice of a little girl, a voice she has grown all too familiar with all these years. "Your friend! I know all about you as I am sure you know. I know about your favorite food, what you think of everyone you've met, and I always know what you want to do."
&#x200B;
The combination of the young girl's unmoving mouth and the cheerful voice in Jennifer's head gave her the chills. Jennifer heard the same voice again, but this time it came out of the little girl's mouth. "No need to be so scared and anxious! If it makes you feel any better, I can speak through my mouth as well."
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt relieved at least, that the girl and the voice were actually the same entity, and that the girl was not just like a dead doll. Jennifer crouched down and grabbed the little girl's shoulder and felt a warm sensation flow through her arm. *She was really here*, Jennifer thought. Initially, Jennifer hoped that this little girl before her was just her seeing things. Now, she was even more weirded out and had even more questions.
&#x200B;
The little girl smiled and said, "Of course I am here! I guess you could say I am just as alive as you are." She skipped over to beside Jennifer and hugged her leg, "I am just so glad I finally found you! Also, don't worry, you're not schizophrenic." The little girl affectionately took off her red ribbon and tied it around Jennifer's ankle.
&#x200B;
This was the first time today Jennifer saw the little girl act as if she were a little girl. Also, Jennifer felt relieved that she was not schizophrenic. However, as soon as that feeling came up, she quickly dispelled that feeling of relief as she thought, *Leave it to the voice in your head to tell you that you are not schizophrenic.*
&#x200B;
The little girl slowly let go of her leg and sat down cross-legged on the floor. She stared at the floor in concentration, with her brows slightly furrowed, and Jennifer could hear her voice in her head, *Now, how to explain this so she doesn't panic?*
&#x200B;
Jennifer sat down on the floor in front of the little girl and asked, "Explain what?"
&#x200B;
The little girl looked at Jennifer and smiled, "Well... I'm your guardian angel."
&#x200B;
She smiled wryly and continued, "So I was kinda new to the job and all. Also, I heard some older guardian angels joked around about how easy their job would be if they could just hear the thoughts of the one they were guarding so they could take some precautionary measures."
&#x200B;
Jennifer exasperatedly said, "So basically, you did this to me."
&#x200B;
Jennifer heard the voice speak in her head frustratedly, *I knew this would happen. Okay, okay. Damage control time.*
&#x200B;
The little girl swayed back and forth and said, "I mean, it was more of an accident if it makes you feel any better. You see, I *miiight* have just found a sealed black book with some glowing eyes on the cover, and it also had a spell to connect us."
&#x200B;
Jennifer raised an eyebrow and asked blandly, "Let me guess, there's a catch."
&#x200B;
Jennifer suddenly hear the voice scream in her ear, *Damn! She asked about it!* Jennifer winced and quickly covered her ear, glaring at the little girl.
&#x200B;
The little girl waved her arms and said, "Ahhh, sorry about that. So, yeah. There is a teeny little small catch. We are kind of linked together. I die when you die and so on. I was not supposed to be able to get an unaging human form that is immortal and stuck at age 7. Furthermore, since I received a human form, I somehow appeared on a random place on Earth."
&#x200B;
Jennifer could hear the voice mumble, *I am so glad I did not appear right on top of a volcano.* The girl continued, "So, anyways, once you leave this human plane, I can move on as well! On the bright side, you can be a guardian angel too!"
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt her right ankle grow increasingly hot, to the point where it felt like burning. Jennifer tried tugging the red ribbon off, but it seemed as if it was melded together with her leg. Jennifer thought, *What the hell is going on?*
&#x200B;
The little girl laughed cheerfully, "Oh, we're just switching bodies. I found out about this spell in the ominous spell book I used to merge us together initially. I am sure this spell fixes what I have done to merge us beforehand. I am so done with this young body. Did you know you can't buy an airplane ticket at age 7? Why do you think it took me 30 years to get here?"
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt her vision grow blurred, and she blacked out. A few moments later, Jennifer opened her eyes and discovered that she was in some village. There were small concrete buildings, each with a small courtyard at the entrance. The roads were all dirt and people rode worn-down bikes instead of cars. The strange thing was that all the buildings and people seemed taller than she was used to.
&#x200B;
She glanced at her ankle and found no ribbon to her relief. However, Jennifer's expression distorted once she felt a ribbon on the top of her head. Jennifer eavesdropped and heard the villagers speak in a strange language she has never heard before.
&#x200B;
Jennifer thought, *Where the hell am I?*
&#x200B;
She heard a response in her head: The sound of a baby's cries.
&#x200B;
\-----------------
&#x200B;
Thanks for reading! Suggestions and comments would be appreciated!
| 2019-09-14T11:18:09 | 2019-09-14T10:27:39 | 232 | 111 |
[WP] For as long as you could remember, you and your city have followed very strict rules: "Never listen to the 7:30 morning show. The real one comes at 8.", "Our city does not have a subway system. If you see an entrance, report it.", and "Don't donate to the beggars on 32nd.", just to tell a few.
|
They say the city of maddness has two main exports: knowledge and the unknowable.
But you were born here and it's just how things are. "Never listen to the 7:30 morning show. The real one comes at 8.", "Our city does not have a subway system. If you see an entrance, report it.", and "Don't donate to the beggars on 32nd." And on and on. Each block has it's quirks and there's protocol and rules of etiquette for going into a zone you're not familiar with. The mayor directs the shadow-council who conscript the sensitives who scout out new districts when they're found. You live in a quiet neighborhood without too many debilitating issues. There are 14 mailmen without faces who shuffles about the save 28 packages to all 16,384 addresses (most of which are even known). The boxes are empty and it's a fun game to see where things go. Harmless, as long as you don't rile up the mailmen. A good place to live. The cost for that luxury has been difficult to maintain though. Your main job day to day is to differentiate the mayoral mandates from the propaganda being put up by the nega-mayor. Identifying what constitutes a legal rule is important and it pays well, but you're aiming for the more theoretical positions trying to make sense of the psychological framework of whomever the nega-mayor is. You have a pet theory that it's the current mayor from the future and "reverse-aged" trying to guide his former self into ruin and early retirement. But so far everyone just laughs at the concept of reverse aging and you have to admit you don't have much to back it up and no-one from the temporal academy will give you the time of day. And so the daily slog of black-listing propaganda wears down on you.
It was nu-Tuesday when you came across a piece that turned out to be good ol' fashioned political propaganda and not an interdimensional interloper. You recognize the work and you quickly bury it. You'll have to have another chat with your brother. You catch him at his part-time gig of boarding up false subway stations. He's still tossing in hams in a crazy effort to train whatever is down there, and he's still putting up fliers about how the cities is made this way on purpose. You once again have your age-old argument.
"You don't understand man, I've been outside. I've seen places. NORMAL places. This is the weirdo world maaaaan". "Uh huh, and you're going to tell me that everywhere in Chicago has the same rules and that people don't disappear? I can read the foreign newspaper, they talk about people disappearing all the time". "But not like HERE! There are reasons... Crime, drugs, stuff." "We have reasons. If you walk down into that subway station, you'll disappear. Boom. REASON. That's the entire reason you're getting paid for these planks". "You just don't understand man. You need to open your eyes." "yeah yeah, tell me another one. But you've got to stop with this spray paint drivel or you're going to get us both in trouble. Where did you even come up with 'principles of repeatability'? If they catch you with those scientist culters again I won't be able to bust you out."
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Interlude 1: Min Min)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Heroes and villains left... aftermath, when they clashed in earnest.** In some cases, the fallout was more literal—the clash between Plague Doctor and Fission A Barrel had left acres of land in Desmethylway so irradiated that the only reason to go there was for a quick death instead of lingering to die after Plague Doctor's concoction of diseases got you. In other cases, the aftereffects were social; the Unified Sovereignties had taken one look at heroes and villains and promptly snatched up the useful ones and neutralized the rest—useful and useless according to the government's definitions, of course.
And in some cases, the effects of millennia of superpowers coming in contact with each other were stranger. What was left of the Middle Communes was one such case.
Min Min yawned, woke up, blearily disintegrated the delivery man at the door with a tendril of pure shadow, and rubbed her eyes. Her mother had warned her to never open a door for an Aladdin-brand delivery man; as children, they'd simply huddled together until it vanished, but now that Min Min's superpowers had manifested, she'd figured out a faster way to get rid of them.
She rolled out of bed, putting on the only non-fungoid clothes she had left, and realized that she was in hell.
It was a realization that had been building for years, a realization that tugged at her whenever she turned on the news and saw cities where there was only one sun in the sky, where children didn't go missing, or worse, become wraiths that haunted you and never went missing *ever again*, where people paid taxes instead of tithes and wandering "superheroes" didn't burst in and avail themselves of all the scarce resources left because they "deserved it for protecting them from the wilderness." It was a realization that might have shaken someone else to their core.
For Min Min, it was Tuesday.
She walked outside, noting that the same Aladdin delivery man that she'd disintegrated was now knocking at someone else's door. Well, she'd expected as much. She pointed and concentrated; the lashing tendrils of shadow that coiled around her body struck, and the delivery men fell into ash. She scoured the ash with another blast of darkness, until the ash became dust and the dust became nothing, then cleared her throat.
"You can come out now."
And the reasons why Min Min stayed here in hell walked out of their rooms.
Some of them were old. Others were young. Some of them lent helping hands around the compound. Others... could not. She cherished them all anyway.
Because in the middle of a city in the grips of hell, Min Min had forged the closest thing to a safe house that her world had left.
Someone entered from the main door; today's scavenging team. Min Min frowned. They were back early. Had they encountered some enemy too strong for them to handle? Min Min herself had to stay at the hospital they'd converted into a fortress-home more or less 24/7—there were other gangs in the city, some of whom had supers who could plow through anyone except Min Min herself—but she'd assigned some of her best fighters left to harvest what they could from the collapsed Middle Communes. Du Yi, Florence, and a woman who insisted on calling herself Hat Tricks all looked back at her as she waited for an explanation; Du Yi's arms glowed with liquid silver, while Hat Tricks bowed theatrically and took off her eponymous top hat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Hat Tricks announced. Although she spoke in Communal, she had a clear U.S. accent. "I am proud to announce we are all *royally screwed*."
Min Min raised a hand to put a halt to the mutterings around her, internally sighing. The Middle Communes hadn't been kind to foreigners, especially those from the Unified Sovereignties; Min Min suspected that Hat Tricks' boisterous facade had only developed as a self-defense mechanism against the rather nasty policies the Middle Communes had implemented in the years leading up to its fall. "Could you phrase that less... dramatically?" Min Min asked. "Why are you back so early? What did you see out there?" Min Min ushered the two of them in and shut the door; a quick glance at Francis told her that the sentries hadn't reported anything.
"The Unified Sovereignties has landed an exploratory force in the Middle Communes," Hat Tricks said. "They brought Big Guns."
This time, Min Min allowed herself to scowl. She'd seen the youngest and most dedicated of the Unified Sovereignties' military dogs on T.V., and even her ability to instantly kill anyone her shadow-tendrils touched wouldn't be enough to stand against that... thing. "...How far out are they? Can we evacuate?"
"With respect," Du Yi said, "subway entrances have been disgorging shadowlings much more frequently lately, and the False-Faced Beggars are acting up. Most of the forces in the Middle Communes never liked the Unified Sovereignties, and them being here is... agitating them. Indiscriminately. Unless another one of us has manifested abilities—or gotten far, far stronger—we would stand no chance outside the hospital, or another fortified safe spot."
"As I said." Hat Tricks grinned a too-wide smile. "We're all royally screwed."
Children gave each other frightened looks, but none of them cried—parents who could not control their children, or children who could not control themselves, did not last long in the Middle Communes, even under Min Min's aegis. Besides, crying children attracted Nurses. Min Min clenched a fist. If the Unified Sovereignties hadn't been so hell-bent on collecting lethal superhumans, she would at least have a chance if it came to a fight, but Big Guns was as deadly as they came.
Then she paused, a thought slowly coming to life. Hesitantly, she spoke. "...The Unified Sovereignties have something we want. Transport out of here."
Nobody disagreed. This may have been their home, once, but thirty years of warfare had rendered it uninhabitable.
"And we," Min Min continued, "have something they want. Me." Realization flickered across the faces of the people she protected. She almost hoped someone would object to her plan.
But those who lived in the Middle Communes did not have the luxury of throwing away cold, hard logic.
"I will offer them a trade. My servitude, in exchange for your freedom." Min Min stepped out the door. "Du Yi."
Her lieutenant snapped to attention, giving her a grim look. "Ma'am?"
"If I don't come back, you're in charge. And all of you..." Min Min turned back to her people one last time and gestured at the wasteland, an entire civilization brought low by infighting and resource grabs. "Be better than this."
Then Min Min strode off into the depths of hell, to offer her soul to the devil.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and r/bubblewriters for other stories by me. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-04-06T14:55:10 | 2021-04-06T13:07:57 | 43 | 27 |
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