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[WP] You woke up in a bathtub full of ice with fresh stitches on your back and abdomen. The emergency room reveals that several organs are missing, replaced with something unknown. They want to cut you open, but you're feeling awesome, stronger and healthier than you've ever felt in your life.
|
I touch the threads woven through my abdomen, gazing at myself in the mirror. I can't see the ones on my back but I can feel them pinching at my skin, keeping the edges together, as if trying to seal a portal that has already been opened. It's been five years since I woke in my bathtub with my organs missing and replaced with something else, something foreign: *A dark spot we can't see on the scans*, the hospital said. *You should let us take a closer look at it .*
I said no, of course. All those months spent in hospital beds, in and out of remission, only to be told I had just a week to live - whatever had been done to me wasn't a nightmare or a crime. It was a miracle. Even now, when I can see the bulging under my skin and feel the second heartbeat inside me, I don't regret my decision. This was the only way I could travel the world and see the northern lights. This was the only way I could be with my mother when she died. This was the only way I could have more time.
I was never sure if it had been real, the shadowy beast appearing in my dreams night after night. He always offered me the same deal: *Grant me passage into your world and I will give you the gift of life.* He never said how much life; that was the catch, of course. There's always a catch. But eventually I agreed and his followers cut me open, warning me the passage growing inside me must not be disturbed. Eventually, when the time was right, it would be complete.
I didn't ask what would happen after that. We all knew the deal I was making.
I fall to my knees now, no longer strong but frail again, the life draining out of me as the beast ascends through the passage inside me. One claw is piercing through my skin; another is sawing through a stitch. I alternate between sobbing at the seeping away of my life and laughing at the absurdity of it. All the things I've done, all the memories I've gathered, they're slowly leaving me now. Was it worth it? Was it worth it? I don't know. All I can say is that I don't regret it. Not even as I find myself lying on my back, watching in the mirror as the beast slices through the last stitch and climbs out of me, flies and flames flickering at his feet. Not even as I see my skin and flesh flayed open as if I am no longer a person but a thing.
No, I don't regret it, because everything worth having comes at a cost.
What price would you pay for more time?
This was mine.
|
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
My heart beats in little smoke-detector beeps coming from the machine by my side. The hypnotic ‘vuush-vuush’ of the ventilator is soothing, as are the white walls of the hospital room. The doctor was here a few minutes ago and
explained everything. I had flashes of memory as he spoke. The date. The make out session in her apartment.
Then feeling of something prickling my tongue as she kissed me. Dizziness. A tub of ice. A sharp pain.
Then waking up here. The doctor telling me she stole my kidney. Black market stuff. He told me I’d be
fine as long as I got some rest. It was crucial that I rested. That I not leave the hospital. I must be
feeling really bad, he said.
But I am not. I feel fine. More than fine. I haven’t felt this way since… God, I don’t even know. Since I
was a teenager? Life hasn’t been kind like the old days. Not since I lost my job. Not since Mallory –
that’s my last girlfriend. What, four? Five years ago? Not since my friends started getting married and
having kids, stopped hanging out with me…
Mostly I spend my days watching superhero movies and reading comic books now. Waiting for time to
pass me by. Waiting for something to happen in my life. Something exciting. Something… heroic.
I’d been feeling down. Really down. No energy, no appetite, a physical feeling, more than just sadness.
That’s what depression is, right?
Anyway.
But today? Since I woke up… oh, man. Boy, oh boy do I feel great.
The nurse was here after the doctor, and that’s when it all clicked. That’s when the memories flooded
back in. Because what she said was:
“The doctor doesn’t want you to get too excited. You need rest. I will be down in the cafeteria if you
need me.”
*Why would she tell me where she is going to be if I am not supposed to get up?!*
And then she grabbed my hand and touched it lightly with her index finger, a very particular touch. And
I saw it in her face. The same look. The same touch from yesterday, with the girl, as if it’s a secret
handshake.
What she had said, the girl last night, as we kissed, stumbled toward her bed, I remembered as the
nurse spoke: “This is going to be the most amazing night of your life,” and she grabbed my hand and
touched it the exact same way. And then I felt the pain on my tongue and I passed out.
But not before I saw the address on the postcard over her dresser. It said Paris. Somewhere in Paris. I am
now convinced that girl meant for me to see it. The way I fell, directly facing the postcard, the address
on it, the time and date… it wasn't a coincidence. These people don't leave anything to chance.
COME ON OVER, the postcard said. And the date and time, tomorrow. In Paris.
And this feeling. This feeling inside, oh man… I feel like I could fly if I jumped out that window right
now.
The doctor, the way he was so emphatic about me *needing my rest* and me *not leaving the bed*.
It begins to make sense in my head, more and more. The pieces fall into place. The doctor. He doesn’t want me to leave. As soon as he left the room he got on the phone: “Yeah, the package is finally here. I know there was a delay, but I’ll bring it over as soon as we can –”
I couldn’t hear the rest. Other doctors go by my room every now and then, and they peek inside, as if
to check that I’m still here.
That nurse is the only one on my side in all this. She will get me out. And bring me to the girl last night. In Paris.
*But what did they do to me?! What powers do I have?*
I look at the end table by the bed. It’s nailed to the floor. Warily, I reach out. I grab it with one hand. I pull at it lightly.
It comes off its hinges. Easily. Oh my, so easily, the nails jumping from their place like popcorn. I'm the fucking Hulk. Except not green.
I should be surprised. But I’m not. The way I’m feeling, this hush, this adrenaline, this excitement. I
knew, I knew it already. I have powers. The girl yesterday gave me powers. The nurse is trying to help
me. The doctor wants me to stay – who does he work for? Why does he want me here? Does he work for some kind of evil corporation wanting to steal my powers, use them for evil?
Another doctor goes by outside and stops his eyes on me a minute. Then he clocks the end table. His
eyes go wide for the slightest second as he sees it off its hinges, then he darts off fast down the hallway.
*Shit. My cover is blown.*
I can’t meet the nurse downstairs, there is no time. I have to leave this room right now. I will meet the
girl from yesterday at the address in the postcard. She will explain everything. Yes. I will leave through
the window. This feeling. I can do it. Not sure if *flying* will be it, but I am confident I can reach the
courtyard, eight stores below. I can hover. Maybe climb down the wall outside like Spiderman. I feel it. The
excitement. I can do it. She will tell me. What are we? A secret group of vigilantes fighting crime? A
team of renegade heroes? A secret society of good Samaritans fighting with their newly acquired
powers to –
 
Later, after the nurse recovered from the shock of finding the body – really just a bloody mess of bones
and flesh on the hospital courtyard – she’d say she overheard the patient talking to himself:
“He was saying something about… about going to Paris or something.”
“That’s funny, we caught the lady that stole his kidney,” the officer said, as they wrote their report. “She
has family in Paris. They send her postcards all the time.”
“Nancy! Did you hear?! Doctor Jones' package finally arrived from Amazon!” another nurse approached casually, “By the way, did someone finally fix the end table on room 329? The screws are super loose, I almost knocked it over yester – what’s going on?”
“Mental patient threw himself out the window just now. They just took the body away.”
“Can you tell us anything else he was talking about, ma’am? I mean, when he was talking to himself.”
The nurse sniffled. “Well… he kept saying he was feeling great, but of course he was, he was on morphine! And he kept talking about my handshake, as if it were some kind of secret code. I just put a hand on top of his, to be nice. I do it to every patient.” She paused. “And then… and then he started rambling about being a superhero and how he would get away and join a secret team… I didn’t hear the rest, I left for the cafeteria.”
“Subject was wearing an Iron Man shirt when he died,” another officer said.
“Well,” the first officer said, turning to the other. “If we learned something today I'd say it’s that liking superheroes and comic books meant for kids is stupid and juvenile and the fact that they’re at the forefront of our generation’s cultural identity should be of concern to anyone with two brain cells. What does it say about who we are as a society that stories and media originally meant for teenage boys are now by and large the biggest contribution the 2000s and 2010s have to offer in terms of our cultural footprint, specifically in the film arena? I think as a society we’ve become infantilized by a multitude of factors, paramount among them being the way social media has destroyed out ability to concentrate long term and rewarded polarized, manichaeistic thinking with no room for critical analysis or nuance. You know, like a guy dressed as America fighting a giant purple alien who wants to destroy half the universe. That kind of idiotic dualistic interpretation of good and evil. Metaphorically speaking, we are all this poor young man, depressed and daydreaming of being heroes because of our own inability to grow up and take control of our lives, tragically throwing ourselves out of windows in the hopes that we will be able to fly, fly very far away from this barren cultural and political landscape that we've created for ourselves.”
There was a pause. Then the nurse turns to me and asks, pissed off: “Was this whole story seriously just an excuse for you to give that little speech against superhero movies at the end, dude?”
Yes. Yes, it was, nurse that I invented.
“If you don’t like them just don’t watch them, asshole!” yells someone in a fedora from the other side of
the street.
 
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2020-06-12T10:30:07 | 2020-06-12T10:18:04 | 141 | 39 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
|
*I'm late to the party, but loved the prompt. Mostly a lurker here, so below is my noob attempt. FYI I planned to write more but had actual work to do, so please let me know if you all liked it and I may continue!*
___
An old man is found sitting on a park bench, facing out towards the still lake. His eyes strain from the sunlight gleaming off the mirror-like water. His few thin, white strands of hair tussle with the breeze. His hands are full of breadcrumbs, but no bread – the ducks are still eyeing him, waiting for more treats.
A finely dressed man approaches the bench from behind. His feet can be heard slipping on the leaves and grass as he labors up the hill. As he clears his throat to speak…
A “hello, Agent Morris,” is heard from the old man, without adjusting his posture or breaking his lasting gaze at the landscape.
A bit caught off-guard, Morris flashes a nervous smile and returns, “Hello, Simon. Happy birthday. Does 100 feel at all different?”
“If you mean to ask ‘has it happened?’ The answer is a resounding and deflating ‘no.’ 100 feels just as sore and tiresome as 99, Agent Morris. Given that, I’m not sure any sort of super strength or gift of flight would do much good anyhow.”
Morris relaxes a little at this, walks around the bench to face Simon, removes his large-frame sunglasses, and scolds, “We had asked you to stay in Chicago, Simon.”
Simon looks up with squinted eyes and raises a hand to shield them from the sun. Morris reflexively responds by shifting his stance to cast his shadow over Simon’s face and torso. Simon smiles and leans back into the bench, giving out a sigh.
“I was born here, Agent Morris. In a house that once existed on the other side of this lake, just over there.” Simon points to a small floating dock about a third of the way around the lake. Morris doesn’t break eye contact with him. He sighs again, more forced than before, “and I would like to die here, too.”
“Are you dying, Simon?”
“Yes, Agent. My heart is bad and I feel very weak. All of your work to, to catalogue me or whatever, I hope it will all not be in vain. Eh, anyway, if I were to reach the enlightenment even this minute, I fear I would only have days to experience the gift.”
“Not everyone lives long enough to reach the enlightenment, Simon. You know this very well. You were a doctor, after all.”
“Well, whatever my gift, it must have been a doozie, huh?”
“That’s true, Simon. This is why I’m here. But you knew that already as well.” With a smile he took Simon by the arm and helped him from the bench. They walked together around a path that led them by the floating dock, to a black SUV that had just pulled up.
___
Every day for the past two weeks Morris has been taking Simon back to the lake. Together they feed the ducks and talk about a life gone by.
“In all the time you’ve been following me around,” Simon says to Morris, “ you have yet to tell me about your gift.”
Morris, with his hands in his pockets, nods in agreement. He takes Simon by the arm again, steering him onto the leftward path at the fork ahead. He then shares the story of his enlightenment, being beaten by a group of thugs to within an inch of his life before he was able to sense the incoming punches and kicks just before they landed. He mustered the strength to dodge the first, and each subsequent blow became easier and easier to evade.
“The faster the object was moving, the easier I could react to it. Now,” he says to Simon, “I can dodge bullets just as easily as punches.”
“Can people still sneak up on you?”
“Oh, all the time haha! But I’m working on that.”
Simon smirked and said, “Maybe I HAVE received my gift, then. I have the centenarian power to move super slowly. I am your kryptonite, Agent Morris.”
The two laugh quite loudly at this, stirring up the ducks and turning the heads of the accompanying agents. The laughter fails to last too long, however, as Morris watches Simon grab first his right arm with the left, then pull both hands toward his chest and gasps for breath. Morris grabs him around both arms and torso, takes on his body weight, and gently eases him to the ground. Morris holds his hand behind Simon’s head and takes his radio in the other.
“Quickly! Simon is down. I think it’s a heart attack.”
Agents rush in with first aid materials. They begin to administer CPR. A flying man is seen approaching from just over the trees to the north of the lake, carrying a second man with him – an ambulatory crew. The second man is released and rushes to kneel by Simon’s side. He places his hands together, then on his chest, then onto Simon’s chest. Simon breathes deeply, then again. His eyes open for a moment. He grabs Morris’s hand, then collapses.
___
“He’s already in a delicate state. If we simply provide little aid to him now, he’ll naturally pass, and this crisis can be averted.”
“Crisis?! He’s a human being, let alone one with unimaginable potential.”
“Potential… Do you realize what happened the last time someone his age reached the enlightenment? He almost destroyed the planet before being brought down. Anyone with the POTENTIAL to raze cities on a whim needs to be dealt with.”
“And I have DEALT with him, Sira! In the ten years that I have known the man, he has never shown ill will to a single person.”
“You were supposed to get close to him, to HANDLE him, not befriend him. Can you imagine what he’d do to you if he were made aware of your true intentions?”
With a smile, Morris briefly thought of the slowest punch ever coming his way, but quickly let the thought escape.
“Please just send the healer back in, Sira. You know that Clevon is still out there, somewhere. I’ve been waiting for Simon to show me his gift for some time now – what if he is our answer to Clevo…”
Sira interrupts, “And what if that madman convinces Simon to join HIS "cause?" No. No, we dealt with Clevon once before, and we can deal with him again WITHOUT another centenarian in the mix.”
Sira and Morris stare at each other, then turn their gaze through the observation window and onto Simon, whose life support machinery has just started wailing. He lies on a gurney in the middle of a padded chamber. He takes his last breath in a room that doubles as a hospice center and a prisoner’s cell.
| 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T10:54:10 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity finally reaches the edge of the solar system only to encounter an impassible barrier and a warning not to try and breach it. But is it there to keep us in or to keep something else out?
|
Humanity was expanding.
It was time to go.
It had been 200 years since humans had reached the edge of the solar system. It had taken 2 years to journey that far back then, and now they could pass the expanse from the sun to the edge in just a few tens of minutes. But they could never pass it.
The great barrier hung, invisibly encompasing the system. When humans had first approached, not knowing the barrier was there, they were rocked by the strong magnetics fields. A signal had flashed across the whole of the visable spectrum. Lights turning on and off at high speed. They had found code easy to break, and understood it was a communication meant for them.
"Go back. Do not leave. Go back. Do not leave."
This had started an international crisis. Should they ignore it, and push through? The combined decision of the worlds elected leaders was no. At a vote tallying 90 to 60, the earth had decided to stay within the barrier.
The humans kept testing it. They found that both electromagnetic waves, and physical probes were allowed through, but anything containing biological matter was prevented from leaving. The first casualty of the barrier was one brave astronaut's ham sandwich. The testing continued, the message stayed the same, but then humanity moved on.
And then it expanded. First Mars, then Titan and orbital habitats around Venus and Jupiter. And they kept expanding. And in just 11 generations Humanity started to outgrow the resources of the solar system.
And so it came back to today. The day after polling day. Every human across the expanse of the solar system had been allowed to vote on the decision of whether or not to break through the barrier. The technology to do so had been available for 120 years.
And the results came in. 96% voter turnout. 76:24 in favour of breaking through the barrier.
It was too late. They weren't ready yet. I couldn't even send another warning. It took all I had to maintain the barrier. I had tried. But they didn't even know what they were in for. I had watched them for so long, keeping them safe.
Goodbye, dear friends.
|
Lynn could feel Rob's eyes on her. Exhaling shakily, she slowly met his nervous gaze. Tears traveled down his cheekbones and pooled in a thick, rust-colored beard. His face took on a ghostly hue.
"It's going to be okay, dude. We can do this. We have to do this."
Rob opened his mouth but before he could respond, the noise from outside the aircraft reached a deafening crescendo. They both knew that as they reached heliopause (the edge of their solar system), solar winds would blow at increasing velocities. But they were nowhere close to ready for this.
Lynn watched as Rob turned to look out the window. His eyes became glassy as he took in the terrifying cloud of dark solar winds ripping across their path. Brilliant streaks of red and orange peeked through from beyond the dark abyss. *We may be on our way to a fiery death, but goddamn is it beautiful*, Lynn thought as she considered the feeble tests they had conducted back home. NASA couldn't simulate this. No one on Earth had any idea. This was uncharted territory.
Our of the corner of her eye, Lynn saw Rob's hand reaching for the joystick.
*Shit.* She could not subdue her 6'4" crewmate and pilot their ship at the same time. He was going to have to pull it together.
Lynn knelt next to Rob's seat, raising her mouth to his ear as she placed her hand over his on the joystick.
"We signed up for this, remember?" She said gently. "There's nothing left for humanity back home. We are out of options. But you and I - we're going to find a fresh start. We're the greatest explorers who have ever lived. And there's no turning back now, is there?"
Rob's breathing began to slow. The large brown eyes that sat deep within his pale face focused on his hand beneath Lynn's as it moved slowly back to the arm of his chair. When it had made it all the way back, he looked up at her.
"No turning back!"
"That's right, you son of a bitch. You and me. Now strap in and let's do this!"
As she lurched back towards her seat a violent gust shook the ship. Pieces of metal flew off its siding and disappeared into the storm. She grabbed onto the base of her chair with one hand before her body was thrown back towards the ship's hull. Rob reached for his buckle.
"NOOO!!!!" Lynn screamed. "STAY PUT AND TAKE US FORWARD!!"
As Rob turned his attention to the ship's controls, Lynn began to pull herself forward, struggling to raise her other arm until both hands gripped the chair. Sweat poured down her forehead as she fought the force of the bucking ship. Rob looked back anxiously but after an agonizing 15 minutes, she finally crawled into her seat and desperately clipped on her restraints.
"OK?" Rob screamed.
Lynn flashed him an exhausted thumbs-up, then took back control of the ship. The haze got thicker as the storm grew even more powerful. Just as Lynn started to worry that her eardrums would be the first to go, the red-orange blur they had seen in the distance filled up their view from the front window. The ship abruptly stopped shuddering and settled into a gentle hum. The conditions in heliopause felt like a slight breeze on a calm, summer day compared to what they had just been through. And -somehow - they were alive.
"Lynn? Did we make it?"
"I.. I think so..."
"**YOU'VE MADE IT TO YOUR DEATHS."** A voice bellowed from what felt like the floor and ceiling of the ship all at once. "**WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU BELONG HERE?**"
"W..what?" Rob stammered.
"**FOOL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?**"
Lynn glanced around the ship, out the window, desperate to spot the voice's source.
"**ANOTHER MOMENT WITHOUT AN ANSWER WILL BE THE MOMENT YOU MEET YOUR END.**"
"We're astronauts!" Rob blurted.
"Yes." Lynn broke in. "We are human beings from Earth. We are here to find new territory, new resources. Our solar system is decimated."
"**AAGGHHH!!**" A blood-curdling scream erupted, filling the space in and around the ship. Lynn covered her ears in agony. The storm outside seemed muffled now, all sounds secondary to this primordial protest.
"Please!" Lyn yelled as the voice started to subside. "Please, just tell us what you are and what we have done! We come in peace!"
Silence. Thirty seconds. Forty-five. After a full minute, an 8-foot burst of smoke and fog appeared between Rob and Lynn. It darted about the ship before settling in front of them.
"I know you come in peace," said what sounded like the same voice, but now in a softer baritone that seemed to come from the gray haze hovering before them. "But you see, you're not safe here. You can't possibly understand, but I don't think I have any choice but to tell you."
Gray puffs broke off the main body of the being and changed colors, forming a diagram that it gestured to with wispy limbs. Lynn recognized the diagram. It looked like NASA's map of the edge of the solar system. But it didn't look quite right.
"It's actually 100% accurate," the voice bellowed in Lynn's direction. "Unlike your map - all the brains we gave you and you are still so remarkably challenged when it comes to cartography."
Rob shrank back into his chair. "What do you mean.. you gave us? Who are you?"
"Not too perceptive, eh? How about you with the quick tongue? Do you know who I am?"
Lynn stared silently, considering whether she could say something so ridiculous out loud. "Are you... God?"
A deep, rich laugh rolled over Lynn, Rob and the surrounding heliosphere.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm nothing like my brother! *He* is the one I've been trying to keep you away from. Why do you think it's so hard to leave your solar system?"
The smoke diagram became dynamic, and a miniature replica of their ship took shape and flew through a torrential storm.
"You see, Earthlings, when he creates something, he can't help but torture it."
To the side of the heliosphere diagram, new shapes emerged. A sphere took on blue-green colors then came to hover close to Rob and Lynn. It was impossible to mistake their home planet, but as soon as it had stopped near them, blue overtook the green spots on the sphere. Once the Earth replica was completely covered in blue, a miniature brown boat popped up on top of the sphere. It bobbed across tidal waves and over tiny figures reaching up from the water. Lynn leaned in and realized the figures were people and that faint screams were coming from the sphere, muffled by the rolling waves. What she now realized was not just a boat, but an ark, rolled over human and animal bodies alike.
"Oh, he thought of thousands of cruel little scenarios for his puppets. But I was not about to let him destroy something that had so much potential. Just when I was worried he would wipe you out with sickness, war and genocide, I convinced him that the ultimate finale would be to leave you wounded, weak and ready to kill each other off yourselves. Meanwhile I found something new for him to play with. A new playground a solar system away."
The second diagram disappeared and was replaced by the first. The replica of their ship resumed forward motion toward the heliopause. It slowed as it reached a colorful system on the other side, where a beam of warm light flew overhead.
"I snuck away when I could to tend to you. But the most important part of keeping you safe was making sure you would never reach him. Making sure he would never remember that he had yet to totally finish you off. So I built this barrier. I really thought I'd saved you, but I should have known you'd fuck it up. The only thing you put your minds to any use for - it seems - is escaping the mess you've made of your home. Well I'm sorry you've ruined your own solar system. But trust me, you don't want to go any further into his."
"Wait.." Rob grabbed for an arm rest, overwhelmed by the question bubbling out of him. "If God is your brother...that makes you..?"
"Oh for fuck's sake.. " the cloud moved away from Rob towards Lynn. "I'm Satan alright? Is that clear enough? How the hell do you get anything done with him on board?"
------
/r/GoldenGirlC5
| 2016-04-19T04:03:26 | 2016-04-19T03:09:17 | 1,285 | 193 |
[WP] as the youngest heir to the throne you fake your death to escape a military coup but it was so convincing that Death came to collect your soul. CConfused by the situation, Death decides that you're a new form of undead and can't decide which powers you should be granted.
|
An actor I was at the time
And a good one at that
For I pulled a farce so sublime
That death did tip his hat
​
You may not yet be dead young prince
But you could have fooled me
So as a form of recompense
Here is a choice of three
​
A trickster you have proved yourself
So maybe this will match
Shall your face go upon a shelf
While others you shall snatch
​
Nay, I wish not to change my shape
It simply will not do
Oh reaper shrouded in black capes
What are the other two?
​
You run and run from stronger men
But this you'd do with ease
If you could make shadow your friend
To night you'd have the keys
​
To merely hide is cowardice
Though tempting it may be
Molding the shadow's edifice
Is not the one for me
​
Your people brought your family low
But you could watch them fry
If fires of vengeance could glow
From hateful hazel eyes
​
Oh reaper I can not choose this
For they know not their crime
If I were to destroy them thus
They'd think them justified
​
Having not chosen any three
The reaper laid his curse
A beggar I was doomed to be
With an unending thirst
​
The powers were given to me
The coup I overthrew
Now a monster forced in to being
Thus donned Nosferatu
|
The metabolism slowing tonic was a medical breakthrough. It revolutionized disease treatment and surgery like nothing else. But like any technological advancement, it had yet to be refined. Perfect. Optimized.
I tasked the surgeon general with a seemingly simple task: make a metabolism *freezing* tonic. Something that completely stops your metabolism for a day or two. It took him years, but he did it. The *ultimate* metabolism manipulating medicine. By then I was 22. My father was old and frail, and my older brother was chomping at the bit to take the throne. The freezing tonic was originally intended to be used to safely capture prisoners during times of war... but I found another use.
I found out that I was going to die soon. The kingdom was loyal to my older brother already, but he wanted zero contest for the throne. That meant killing me off. I grabbed a dose from the surgeon general’s office and left him a note: “Destroy all evidence of our secret project. Do not let my brother know of its existence. Do the autopsy yourself.” Then I ran back to my private quarters, drank the tonic, and “died.” The effects should have lasted two days. In that time, I was buried. The surgeon general, the most loyal staff member I had, did his duty. In two days he would be there to exhume my still-breathing corpse and let me run free.
But when I woke up... . There was a specter reaching his hand into my chest, but his hand recoiled as I moved. “This is... most unusual. A typical undead can move without a heart beat. You revived yourself? Most curious.”
I screamed. The Soul Collector is real? The soldiers who report of this specter on the verge of revival were always said to be lunatics. Hallucinating in their final moments. “You can stop screaming now Theo. If you still breath I cannot collect your soul. But tell me, what magic did you use to survive? Sanguimancy? Corpus Mech—“ I started to hack and cough, desperate for air. Buried this far underground screaming took up all my oxygen. “Oh no, this just won’t do. Let’s get you out of this coffin...” I felt my... was that my soul? Whatever it was, yanked from my chest. Somehow, my body followed immaterially through the ground, leaving behind an empty coffin. Once placed upon the earth I began to gasp, taking long and harried breaths to restore my body’s exhausted reserves. I tried to run, but I couldn’t. My muscles hadn’t felt blood in... however long. They were stiff, barely able to move. I was essentially this... thing’s captive audience.
I finally had the chance to observe the specter once my eyes adjusted to the harsh light of late afternoon. It was a gaunt, partially transparent figure concealed by a cowl, glowing a ghastly yellow. The specter smelled like puss and fermentation. I did not know that ghosts had a smell. “Now that you can breath again, speak. How are you alive? What form of undead are you?” I trembled. “Mr. Death, sir, I never died. My doctors devised a tonic capable of freezing my bodily functions for a set period.” The specter brought a skeletal hand to its face, performing some kind of gesture that I assumed to be one of discontent or annoyance.
“Human medicine being able to cheat death without paying any kind of blood rite... it looks like we’ll have to play a more active role in pruning the ambitious from now on. Oh well. You get to live since there are no rules that apply to your type case yet, but I need to give you some sort of fitting powers and weaknesses with your new undead classification...” I was thoroughly shocked at such a proclamation. Me, an undead? I’m no lich, or vampire, biogolem. What is this agent of death implying? The specter, formerly seated across from me on the grassy cemetery grounds, began to pace in thought.
“Undead? I’m not undead, I never died!” The specter scoffed. “You were not breathing. Your heart stopped. All activity in your brain ceased. Not a single cell in your body stirred for nearly a day. That’s death.” Nearly a day? The surgeon general won’t be here for 24 hours. Someone might see me before then. I need to leave. “Mr. Death, could we move away from here? I’d like to not be found.” The specter grabbed my chest again. A moment later I was in the woods nearby the cemetery. “Yes of course, the grace period. How foolish of me. Now tell me, how is a completely bodily shut down not death?”
I stuttered for a moment. I had no answer. And then I thought of something. “Death is permanent. I was always going to wake up, so I never died!” Laughing, the specter shook its head. “No, you died. Waking up from death is called undeath. Those in the confines of undeath are undead. Like you. Hands, or as your kind calls us, ‘Soul Collectors,’ have a legal system for this. One that we now we have to make amends to because of your doctor friends.” Blood drained from my face. A legal system? Did I break some kind of law of death? The specter turned around and clapped his hands.
“I got it! That’s how I’ll classify you. A Reanimus. Upon death your body will freeze again for 24 hours, regenerating any damage—” I interrupted him. “Wait, what?” The specter sighed in exasperation. “This is standard procedure for new undead classifications. We’ll have to create a blood rite for this, but you get to bypass it. Now, after regenerating you’ll be good as new, but lose life span. Now, you faked your death, so... yes, that will do. You feed off of people’s trust. And to make it easier you can change your appearance at will.” This is all so... what? How do I even respond to this? “Trust? How would I feed off of people’s trust?”
The specter l, even without eyes, managed to imply stupidity with its faceless gaze. “The same way a Phobianumus feeds off of fear. You need to make people trust you. And as they trust you, you will drain their life force.” “I... that’s monstrous. I trick people into acting as... life force batteries?” The specter chuckled in response. “Being an undead isn’t *fun.* You have to pay some sort of price for effective immortality. Now...”
The specter darted forward and plunged its hand into my chest. I felt the presence, the one that the specter used to drag me through the earth, I felt it tear. Part of it was ripped off. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. That small piece was replaced with something... dark. Vile. i felt that piece spiral out and infect everything it touched within me. “You’re officially an undead now. Congratulations! I’d recommend you go into hiding and build up some life force, and then find an undead faction to join after draining some people dry. Now, I have to go file a report with my superiors.”
What... this is so confusing. “Superiors? Factions? Wait, I have so many questions!” The specter waved a gaunt hand and then a portal opened. The stench of rotting flesh spilled out of that portal like an olfactory tidal wave, causing me to vomit. “You’re going to want to get used to death. I can’t answer questions anymore. I’ve already overstayed my allotted time, and my report will put me far behind schedule on my soul quota. Good bye Theodore. I hope you never have to meet another Hand.”
And then the skeletal emissary was gone, and with it the smell of death dissipated from the field. I decided to test the face changing ability I gained with something simple: changing the shape of my nose. I made it long and narrow. I could feel the cartilage crunch and shift into a new shape. The sensation was terribly unpleasant. I can go anywhere now. Do anything. But people will die. And undead will find me.
| 2019-10-05T16:44:15 | 2019-10-05T15:56:55 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers.
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The reporters always, ALWAYS, asked how I'd gotten my super powers, and I always told them I just didn't know. I could focus on things with my eyes, and the lasers would come out and destroy whatever they were looking at. It all happened so fast no one could even see it.
Except me. I knew. And I knew I could never explain it.
How, sure, I had laser vision. That's it. Simple red lasers. Just dots.
But the cats. Oh God. The cats. They were so fast. And so many. And they HAD to attack the red dots...
|
# VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/)
| 2022-06-06T17:55:17 | 2022-06-06T14:18:28 | 42 | 10 |
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose.
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"I thought there were 7 deadly sins." I asked Peter.
St. Peter looked at me with a sad smile.
"Of course there are, but that's not the sins that matter."
So I'm going to an Afterlife based on sins I've never heard about?." I asked?
"No, not at all. I'm sure you have heard of them. Come, I'll show you to your gate."
Peter walked me past The Gate of Chewing with your Mouth Open, past The Gate of Tailgating, past The Gate of Talking During the Movie Show. I was escorted past past The Gate of Littering, and past The Gate of Talking About Yourself in the Third Person.
"So what is the gate for me?" I asked nervously.
"Here you go son, enjoy your Eternity."
I was standing before The Gate of Posting to Reddit when I Should be Working.
"Oh Shit!"
|
"Besides, no one's ever on this road."
Never thought those would be my last words. But at least they must have been ironic, right?
Cause of Death: shipping container full of wigs falling out of a plane. Right on top of me. Hrmm.
Arriving in heaven, or what I assumed to be heaven, was a bit lackluster. No lines. Just woke up from a bed in the center of a room, with a book next to a blue plastic key on a desk with an old chair, and six doors around the circular room. I'd been a good person, this hopefully wasn't to delay torture. I peered at the book. "Terms and Conditions of Assignment to the Houses of Heaven." This might be hell.
I skimmed the first pages. There was no hell, I must choose my choice of paradise from amoungst the six doors using the key, I can window shop by opening the doors and looking in, yadda yadda, flipped to the end of the book, just a line saying that She knew I would ignore the rest of the book. Checked back, all of the rest of the pages are blank. Damn you omnipotence.
Well, seemed simple enough. I checked the doors, seeing what each one was, leaving the key attached to the book.
The first door, a simple wooden door with a cloth sign above - Despair. That's a paradise? I quickly ran back to the book. "The doors of paradise are labeled by the sins they most provide. While sinning was viewed as an agent of evil, it was actually a showcase of the soul's innate desires." Ah. That makes... more sense. Back to the door.
Opening the door, leaving the key back with the book, showed a window to some people falling. Oh, they have parachutes. Skydiving. That makes a sort of twisted sense. Fear lovers. Hmm. Not my thing. What about the next door?
This door was a nice oaken door. The label itself was slightly rusty wrought iron word. Dispute. Time to check inside. The door squeaked a bit opening up. Must need oi- WHAT IS THAT SMELL!
Oh. Alcohol. It's a party. It's a house party. Looking inside, people chatting, playing board games, beer pong, and drinking. Lots of talking. This one seems fun. But let's check the rest first. Don't know if I'd want to be social for eternity anyway, but I'm pretty sure I'll probably be able to at least rest from that.
Third door, solid gold - Envy. Hey, that one actually sounds familiar. Opening this one up, and I see a huuuuuge house, partially under construction. Silver statues, a beautiful garden, beefy construction workers, IS THAT A JETPACK‽ The more I watch, the more extravagant the building becomes, as more and more of the structure gets build. This must be a creators heaven. I wonder if that includes life... Anyway, halfway there. OOooo. Living on a- well, not anymore, I guess.
Door four. Or, doors. Double doors, with the sign on a stand in front - Presumption. Taking a guess here, it's going to be the opposite. Such as, not knowing something. A research lab? Opening these and... yup. A lab. Stainless steel tables, beakers, scientists in white lab coats, everything I expected. That was easy. People learning about stuff. Wonder if any of it would involve explosions.
The lab then exploded . That was loud. Wonder if anyone got hurt. Oh, I hear some crying, a guy in the back must be hurt. Guess so, those guys ran back there. Would I heal up if that happened to me? Is death a thing here? Oh hey, ambulance noises. I guess the guy's going to be fine. As I thought that, the guy stood up, a little beat up, but fine. Perfectly fine. But researching things really isn't my deal, I'd prefer a more active eternity. What's up next?
Fifth one. Metal, with... dents? Engraves is the word Obstinate. Unbending, so, this one will be a place to try out an expand their horizons? Kinda sounds like the previous one. Time to check inside. To an immediate hail of gunfire, in a dusty hallway filled with boxes. So what is this? Murdering? War? I guess if you can't die, there's not much issue with shooting live targets. As a distant guy drops to the floor, a loud voice states calmly, "Counter Terrorists Win." Wait, Counter Strike? Is this a video game room? Seriously? They all respawn in for a new round at that moment. Yup. Games. I get it now. I might just pick this one, but first, that last door.
Final door. White framed glass door, like at home, the wooden sign says "Impenitence". Whatever that means. Last one, then I make my decision, for, I guess eternity? That can't really be fair. I'll probably get bored. Anyway, final door. Inside is... my home. That's my father making dinner, my mother watching Eric play in the back yard. My music... a little loud upstairs. So what, I get to go back to my life? Or just experience life on a loop? I don't get this one. Oh hey, it's changing to another scene.
Sanchez Park. I used to play here, and here's where I had my first- oh woah wait I don't want TO SEE THAT.
Shut that door a bit louder then I should have. Wait, no ones here to complain. Nevermind. Yup. That one is to relieve my life alright. Guessing I get to make new decisions and change things. Let's see.
My options are: adrenaline junkie, socialization, world building, learning, video games, and relieving my old life.
I never had too many friends, and it doesn't really bother me. It looked like they also had board games, and some of those funny looking dice, so I guess that included Dnd as well. Not my schitck. Dispute is out.
I never really enjoyed the Sims or Minecraft either. So that eliminates Envy.
Finding the solutions after hours of work really annoyed me. I just want the answers. No Presumption.
As much as I'd like to choose to change the past and see what happens, I can't help but feel I'd lose my memories and get put in a loop. That means no Impenitence for me.
Well. I know which one I want. Double checking the, "Terms and Conditions," it says I get to reselect every couple thousands years, to account for new personality changes over time. And also that I'll choose Obstinate first, after reading the book a second time. DAMNIT. Well, screw that, I'll suffer just to prove God wrong. I'll change my answer later.
After throwing that book as hard as I could, I walk over to Presumption, for ironies sake, and turn my key.
---
The book opens to the middle after hitting the wall, where in small type is written, "Your presumption of Presumption is wrong, and for that, you select it many times before you move on." But isn't read for years to come.
| 2016-03-01T08:14:33 | 2016-03-01T07:51:09 | 114 | 23 |
[WP] Aliens fear humans. Their blood is poison, they can see well in the dark and eat meat. One was just found as a stowaway on a mining ship deep in space, with the crew doing everything in their power to avoid the human as it lurks about the ship, looking for someone to talk to
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The creature was hideous! Its soft pink skin over an extremely large and powerful frame, its extremely thin and flexible spines covering its entire body the colour of fire, its soft red and black patterned upper carapace that seemed to flow and flex as it moved, and its lower limbs covered in a blue and bluish white carapace almost as soft as its upper body, ending in monstrous looking hard soled casings. The Gleotans looked at each others' hard carapaced small bodies of no higher than 3 standard lengths. This stowaway was at least 6 standard lengths tall. Perhaps higher. Its arms were as thick as one of their thoraxes.
"Hallo?"
By the maker, what was that terrible sound it was producing?
"Anyone thare?" It moved its powerful forelimb to cover its eyes as it peered out through its containment vessel. "Ay same tae be a wee but lost. Mighta had a wee but too much whuskey last naight... any chance o' sum durehctions?" The transparent material of the containment vessel shuddered violently as the creature hit it with its giant forelimb. "Anybody hoooome?"
The Gleotans chattered to each other unsure of what to do.
"Guess nawt..." it turned away from the transparent side of the vessel, "Well ain't thus a fancy drunk tank? The coppers really went all oot on thus one." The portal on the vessel opened. Felxor, the jailer, forgot to lock it! "Oh, 'ello! Whut's thus then?"
=Translated from Gleotan= "THE CREATURE IS LOOSE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL, THIS IS NOT A DRILL! EVERYBODY REPORT TO THEIR INDIVIDUAL REST CELLS AND LOCK THE PORTALS!"
---
Edit: Holy crappleburger this blew up! XD Thanks everyone for commenting and upvoting!
|
Empty bags of chips, crushed 2L bottles of coke, stiff pizza boxes.
Trashbags taped to the windows, phone cord unplugged, cat door boarded up.
Cockroaches, mice, mold.
"Today's the day," Dennis says to himself. Patchy beard, red-rimmed eyes, fuzzy teeth.
He squares himself off against his front door.
Military surplus boots, parachute pants, heavy black trenchcoat.
The doorknob warms his palm. A single turn of the wrist is all it will take.
There's a TV commercial he's seen every fifteen minutes for the last ten hours. A section of brown scummy floor tile gets sprayed with a bright yellow liquid. Then a rag sweeps through and reveals glittering white laminate.
Dennis imagines the sun will have a similar effect on his home. One bright yellow spray of daylight and his home will be scrubbed clean of the darkness, the damp, and the mold.
And if the sunlight had a similar effect on him, too, that wouldn't be so bad.
A single turn of the wrist is all it will take.
Dennis takes a deep breath.
On the other side of the door is his concrete walkway. It runs straight for a few feet, then bends left to his driveway. He could walk along the walkway and down his driveway to the sidewalk, which runs along the periphery of his neighbours' homes. If he walks along it, he'll brush up, gently, against his neighbours' lives. He'll see their new cars, their bright flowers, and their shiny windows. It'll be a non-invasive reminder that there are other people in the world, and that he can interact with them without anything going bad.
But what if he's walking along the sidewalk taking in the cars, flowers, and windows and he stops to admire a particularly well-kept house, one with manicured bushes and a perfectly trimmed lawn, and on the other side of the invisibly clean French windows he makes eye contact with an attractive middle-aged woman, and she sees his trench coat and his boots, and her face barely changes, in fact she smiles at him, but there's a crinkling he can see around her eyes, and a twitch of her upper lip, those unconscious physical ticks that spell out disgust.
What if that happens?
He'll have no choice but to show her that her opinion doesn't matter to him. He'll have to piss on her lawn. Or kick her flowers to scrap. Or run his dragonclaw knife down the length of her car.
He wouldn't want to do these things, but he'd have no choice.
And, come to think of it, he'd have to do these things if a child on a tricycle sees him walking down the sidewalk and turns around. Or if a man cleaning his car looks at him and says hello in that flat, unwelcoming way that middle-aged home-owning men have.
Dennis, non-violent at heart, would hate to hurt anybody.
But if he turns his wrist, lets the sun into his home, and steps out into the light, it's unavoidable.
Dennis pulls his hand away from the doorknob.
"Some other day," he says to himself. "When people are nicer."
That's when his home and a cylinder of earth descending three kilometers toward the planet's core are teleported into the hold of a passing mining spacecraft.
*****
The examination display showed the usual rectangle of boring, useless materials.
"Temperature standard, radioactivity standard, and edibles non-existent," White Salt said. "Nothing to this planet but the usual."
Bucolic Meadow passed a lump of enriched granite between her forefeelers. "Another dud, eh?" She flipped the granite across the command center, pushed off from the wall, and was waiting at the opposite side to catch the granite in her mouth. "Dump the load. We'll check the two inner planets and call it a day."
White Salt navigated to the eject command, but when the confirmation screen came up, he paused. He nibbled the tip of his hindfeeler. "Hold on," he said, and brought up the examination display again. There it was, at the very top of the rectangular sample, a mess of elements, irregular in composition and arrangement. He zoomed in. "Something funny about the sample's surface. There's a hollow construct here. It's irregularly regular."
"It's what?"
"It's unnatural. Straight lines and ninety-degree angles."
The suspension bar in the corner squeaked as Foam Wash dropped down. "Sometimes nature is unnatural. That's statistics." He fluttered over to White Salt. "It's a hollow space not even three units high. We see those all the time."
"I know. You're right."
The edibles dispenser crafted another lump of granite for Bucolic Meadow. This one she bounced off the bulkhead and caught. "No objections to ditching it, White Salt?"
"Foam Wash is right, but," a ripple travelled along White Salt's feelers, "it's bugging me."
"What the shoot," Bucolic Meadow said. "It's been a quiet week. Let's check it out."
Foam Wash grumbled. "Waste of time."
"Change of pace," Bucolic Meadow said. "White Salt, suit up. Bring Mini Moon and Molten Flow with you."
*****
They entered the examination hold via the airlock chamber. The three of them wore external exploration suits of limbered aluminum. A shuttle platform took them to the sample's surface level. The examination hold was not designed for physical exploration, and there was no lighting provided other than the monocular beam on their headmasks.
Molten Flow said, "Captain, do you receive me?"
"I do, Molten Flow," Bucolic Meadow said. "Initial report on the 'irregular regularity'?"
"Initial visual scan lends credence to White Salt's estimation. The hollow box bears a number of features not found in nature. Peaked top, angled corners. The box itself presents a symmetry, while consisting of a number of sub-symmetries."
"Statistics," Foam Wash said. "Does nobody understand statistics?"
"Thank you for your contribution, Foam Wash," Bucolic Meadow said. "Molten Flow, have you located an entrypoint?"
"Negative. On all sides the box presents contiguous surfaces. Entry will be made via digging tools. Permission to proceed?"
"Proceed."
*****
After removing his hand from his doorknob, Dennis was startled by a tremor running through his home. He wobbled on his feet, and crushed soda cans fell off his kitchen counter.
He said, "Huh. Earthquake," and went to bed.
A whining sound woke him. At first he thought it might have been part of the dream he'd been having, in which he'd been trying to take care of himself as a toddler. Whenever he brought toddler-Dennis a cup of juice or bowl of soup, toddler-Dennis would slap it out of his hands and scream.
But the whining continued even after Dennis had sat up on his floor-level mattress, pushed aside the pile of musty clothes he slept under, and rubbed the fuzziness out of his eyes. It came from the first floor, and he soon smelled steam and smoke coming up through the floorboards.
He cinched his belt tight, pulled on his Iron Maiden T-shirt, and clipped his dragonclaw knife onto a belt loop.
The light at the top of the stairs didn't turn on when he hit the switch. Nor did the bathroom light, or his bedroom light.
Had a fire taken out the powerlines? Was there a civil insurgency underway?
The whining ratcheted to a higher octave.
Dennis gripped the stair's railing tight and went down the stairs, taking care to step over and around the crumpled toilet paper rolls and cereal boxes on the steps.
When he was halfway down, whining cut out. He heard a thump against his living room wall.
He got to the main floor and peered around the doorway into the living room.
Another thump, and this time the wall shook.
A thin line of light traced a rectangle on the wall, almost as though someone had sawed a doorway into place.
And the thumping -- the thumping was almost as though that someone were now trying to knock the wall down.
Instinctively, Dennis gripped the knife at his side. Robbers would get what was coming to them if they messed with Dennis Halloran.
The wall crashed to the ground, bobbing lights blinded Dennis, and he reeled away from the living room with a hand to his eyes.
*****
*more below*
| 2017-06-10T03:20:18 | 2017-06-10T02:54:34 | 2,394 | 152 |
[WP] Blind people aren’t actually blind. Their eyes are tuned into a different dimension, but their brains can’t process that information so they see nothing. A doctor has just perfected a procedure to correct this problem. Tell us what the first patient sees.
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I used to wake up to the faded orange glow of the rising sun, always muted and dark behind my broken retinas.
This time I wake up to Everything.
"Can you please describe it again, in the best detail you can?" My doctor has a kind voice, a comfortingly deep baratone that tickles pleasantly at my ear drums.
"Everything," I say again, helpless.
There is no way I can describe what I am seeing. No way that I can make it fit the doctor's version of the real world. I will try anyway.
"Nothing has form. Everything shifts. Everything is fluid. Everything merges and seperates and merges again in a swirl of unending color."
The doctor grunts, then taps the bottom of the hospital bed. "What about this bed," he says. "How does it look?"
I can still feel the bed. I know that I am still lying in it because I can feel the mattress slightly molded to my back and legs. But my awareness of the bed as a bed ends there. I am lying on a fountain of colours, a thousand kinds swelling up beneath me only to cascade to the hospital floor in beautifully intricate rainbows.
The doctor asks again, slightly impatient. "Ronald, how does the bed look to you?" He taps the side table to the right of my head. "Or this table?"
The doctor himself appears as an unbelievably complex web of colorful lines, continually weaving and intermingling and emerging and falling away. Every time he speaks the lines pulse, flaring with meaning before fading back to seemingly random undulating patterns.
The knock on the table appears as a spray of ... everything. The temporal space around the sound shudders and shimmers and bursts asunder in an acute display of light matching sound, each knock sending waves of color into the shimmering air.
"I...," I try to think of a way to explain this.
The colored lines that make up the doctor darken slightly, as if in tune with his emotion.
"Ronald. I have dedicated my entire life to this. Please try and describe what you see. What do I look like?"
My heart goes out to this man, the man who pulled me out from under the dark.
"I think...," I say, stalling for time. Trying to figure out how to make sense of this new world. Or of this world that has been here all along, a primal undercurrent to reality. There.
"I think I see reality in its raw form," I say, watching the doctor's lines instantly lighten.
|
There I sat, nervous and shaking my foot. I couldn't keep still. This was it. I've waited my whole life for this.
I should introduce myself, my name is Kylie. I've been blind since I was born. My whole life my wonderful parents have tried to ease it. With words of encouragement, and with remedies. But nothing has worked, until recently.
His name was Dr. Seltsam. We traveled such a very long distance just to see him, we heard a lot about him, but he was always the last person we heard about. Because holistic was a word, that was frowned upon.
He was our last hope, so we took the shot. Paid for our tickets and flew out to him. The smell of smoke, fresh cut grass, and cedar flew up my nostrils, and the sound of a rushing creek drowned out my ears.
I could hear wood squeaking so his voice was not a startle, I knew he was there.
"Hello, the Bakers! I've been expecting you."
There was more squeaking as my parents replied to him. At this point I was too focused on a smell. It was different than the others. It was lavender. By the sound of his voice, he was close. By the smell he was right in front of me.
"Hello Kylie " I finally focused on his words. "I'm about to lay my hand on your shoulder now, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
His touch shocked me, but not in a frightened way. His physical touch actually shocked me.
"Just what I expected." He said after taking his hand off my shoulder. "Follow me." He said immediately, just as I was about to reply.
My mom took my hand, and guided me up the steps. My father beside me, telling me to stay calm and relaxed.
As we got in, he guided us to take a seat, and as we sat. My mom to my left and my dad to my right.
The Doctor in the front of us.
"How much will this cost? No matter the amount, we just need to help our daughter." My mom said desperately.
There was a moment of silence before he answered.
"There isn't a charge. I do this for free."
There was an even longer moment of silence. I could imagine my parents looking back and forth at each other in amazement.
"So here it is. I'm gonna lay this down." Seltsam said. "This isn't like any other place you have ever been. This help, isnt my doing but your own self." He was quiet for a minute. " Kylie " he softly said. "I am your Spiritual Guide."
"Yea. Ok. But what do you mean?" I responded with.
"I'm a guide here in this town, I've come from a very far place. People from all over the world and more come to seek help. I simply give them the tools to seek the help within themselves." He responded.
I was speechless for a moment. My parents were so silent. I could hear my dad swallow. He wasnt even sure what to say.
"I don't know how to help myself from not being blind?" I said. After I spoke I could even hear the sadness in my tone.
"Blind? You're much more than just blind. That's such a humanized word for lack of understanding."
At this moment, there wasnt anything else to say beside "Go on."
"You simply cannot understand what's in front of you." He shuffled things and started making noise, he placed something on the table in front of us.
"We recieve things from our level of perception." There was more shuffling. I had no clue what he was doing.
"Ask yourself Kylie. What do you think this world looks like?"
I was silent, and thinking. "I'm not sure."
"Have you seeked that information?" He asked.
"No. Well, yeah. I mean, I can guess what things look like by feeling them."
"That's not enough!!" He said quickly. "I need you to seek. For what you seek, you shall always find. There is no such things as chains, nothing holds you back. It's the thought. You think you're blind." He paused. "But youre much more than that."
"I don't understand.' I swallowed. I am blind. I don't know what hes talking about, but for a minute I caught myself wondering if I was truly blind.
"You think there sits a man in front of you. You can wrap your head around the idea there must be another human there, because they have taught you this correct."
I wasn't sure if I was suppose to respond. "Correct?" He asked again.
"Yes."
"And you understand you're not in your head, so things are real, you are in fact in the world, and there are things that which consist in this world."
"Yes." I responded again.
"But what if. What if I told you it was the opposite?" He asked.
I was about to speak, but I couldnt find the words.
"You can't find the words, because you can't find the location of where you truly are." He said.
I swallowed in fear, it almost felt like he read my mind.
"Yes." He said. "Yes I read your mind. For what you think I am is separate than yourself, is merely yourself speaking to guide you out of the darkness of misunderstanding. "
That felt like a bomb hit, my thoughts were running. I was nervous, I was shaking. Curious as to why my parents werent speaking, but as i felt for them they were not near me.
"Relax." He said. "Just breathe. Things will make sense once you see."
"Do you see complete darkness or specks of light?" He asked.
"Balls of light in darkness but only sometimes. Otherwise its pitch black. " I responded. And just as a I did, a ball of light floated in front of me.
"That, that right there. That is me you see."
"I don't know what you mean." I said.
The light was getting closer and closer, but how could that be, there was a table between him and I.
"Just stare into the light. It will always guide you home." And as the light fully surrounded me, all I could see was bright light in every direction. This was different. This was nice. All of a sudden there was a brighter flash, and Seltsam demanded I closed my eyes.
I was back to darkness.
"Do not open them yet." I listened.
He told me to inhale for 4 seconds. Hold my breathe for 4, and exhale for 4.
I did just that. "On the count of 4, I need you to open your eyes slowly.
1....
2 ....
3...
4....
I opened my eyes slowly, and for what I saw was something I never expected.
There he sat. Sitting with his legs crossed. His many arms around him, and two collapsed in the front of his chest.
"You can call me Avalokiteshvara."
"What are you." I said without taking my eyes off him.
"I embody all Buddhas, including yours." He was bright and vivid in color, infact I couldnt even make out what he was made out of. He almost looked like stone, but something much brighter and malleable.
I looked around to my right there was my father. Almost of the same material, but he looked different in form.
My father responded. "I am Sambhogakaya."
I swallowed and shot my eyes to my mom. She was much different herself.
She had her right hand down exposing an eye on her palm, and her left was by her stomach palm up. "I am Shakyamuni." My mom said.
I looked at the space between everyone and before I could guess what it was. Seltsam responded. "Its space."
Looking down at what he was sitting on, there was no table. It was a ball of light.
"Its our humanly spirits in the 3rd dimension."
"Where are we." I panicked.
"Home." He said "The 5th dimension." He responded.
"Who are you " he asked. Which shook me. "I'm Kylie." I said.
"No, who are you." He asked again.
I looked down at my self.
I sat on that same ball of light, and when I looked down into that light, sitting beside my mother and father at that table. Looking around in amazement. I could see. My human self could see.
Than I noticed. I was the same as them. My hands were clasped together in my lap. With some sort of vase in my hands.
"I am Amitabha." I said. "I'm much more than Kylie."
"Welcome Home Buddha." Said everyone around me in unison.
And it all made sense. I was home.
RapturousVisitant
| 2020-04-06T09:10:57 | 2020-04-06T09:03:29 | 74 | 53 |
[WP] An immortal alien race invades Earth, and arrogantly claims that we cannot, in anyway, shape, or form, kill them whatsoever. Death took that insult rather personal, and being bored as it is, decides to take it as a challenge to the extreme.
|
I had many names throughout history, Morrigan, Hel, Anubis, Shinigami, Carun, now I'm known as Death.
I was here at the beginning and I'll be here till the end.
Gea gave me birth and trusted me with a Scyte, the Scyte that drew blood from Urano.
She said :"Go, go and kill my children, so that no one may be able to act like a God without expecting punishment"
And that's what I've done for millions and millions of years.
They came one night, booming and loud, on they're flying saucer from which a voice came out.
:"Humans, we come here to conquer, but don't worry, no need to fight. We're simply immortal and to you we shall be gods. We are superior to you, in any possible way. But to make sure you understand we'll kill two billions of you to put you right in your place."
The Aliens said :'We simply can't be killed with no weapon at all:"
And Death thought :"That's what Balder said let's see if it's true"
The Reaper didn't like this arrogant beings, they believed to be Gods, immortal and strong.
But you don't cheat Death from his job, if you care for your soul.
The Reaper flew and in a blink of an eye, he landed near the ships where the aliens arrived. He took out his Scyte and began his work, reaping the aliens and taking their souls. They screamed they screeched but to no avail.
For them Death was new, and it sure wasn't fair.
When the last alien was gone and the last ship destroyed,
the Reaper got up and promptly deployed.
Since there was no heaven or hell for those strangely green souls, Death ate them with pleasure and some strong Chardingnon.
|
It was the year 2020 and I was stuck indoors. I would like to say I had some aversion to leaving my home but truthfully I'm perfectly fine with observing the world through the internet with all of the safety and comfort that comes with staying at home. While I spent most of my time scrolling through content I enjoy reading like anime or games I do occasionally browse the news if I need to reaffirm my reasons for staying indoors.
Lately there's been a series of internet horror stories of people dying in their sleep through various means; a woman shot with no gun to be found, a man starved despite eating the night before, a boy aged to death overnight. While this trend of stories seemed entertaining at first, they quickly grew repetitive and it began feeling like people were just posting the same story with minor variations. All trends die, so I went to bed and hoped for better trends tomorrow.
It was on the night of November 13th that I had that dream, sometimes I was lucky enough to lucid dream on my own but that time my dream felt more real than my everyday life. It began with darkness and a voice, serene and pleasant.
"Greetings, we are here to play a little fun game."
Before I could respond or even muster a thought, another voice cuts through my mind like a knife, this one dark and stern.
"Don't waste our time with greetings, let me hurry the introduction."
I noticed a gap in the conversation between the two voices so I tried to speak but I couldn't feel my mouth move. I tried my best to produce a sentence in my mind but the presence of the two voices was so loud and overbearing that I could not even be left alone with a thought while the dark voice began its explanation.
"I am the cosmic embodiment of death, the reaper of all things, the very concept of the end, the omega and the inevitable fate of all things which exist."
I heard a light chuckle from the corner of my mind, which corner I wasn't sure.
"Or you were, until I came along."
The reaper continued its explanation, this time more irritated than before.
"That other voice you are hearing? That is an anomaly, an abomination, a blasphemy on the natural order of the universe. It cannot die and I cannot allow that. I have a simple task for you: kill it for me."
Naturally I had more questions that my mind could process and for once in my dream I was given the time to properly think: Is this real? How much of it is real? How does something in this universe avoid dying? Why does this reaper want this anomaly to die? Should I obey the reaper? Should I try to save the anomaly? Should I just try to wake up and write about this dream? My mind was a tornado in a library; thoughts and ideas flew about in chaotic abandon, by complete random chance one particular thought crossed my mind:
"Why me? Why, out of the billions of people on Earth, why choose me? What makes me so unique and special?"
I didn't even realize I said that thought out loud before the anomaly gave me a patient explanation.
"You weren't the first person we asked to do this for us and I can tell you with absolute certainty that you will not be the last."
I had no choice but to accept.
The world around me began to materialize slightly, before I couldn't even see darkness but now I can see the familiar silhouettes of my bedroom from my computer to my various collectibles. Two identical vaguely human shaped beings loomed over my bed, clearly they were the reaper and the anomaly. More than anything though, I knew that I had to complete the task given to me. I can ponder the implications later, now I have to kill.
I began my task by inquiring about the rules of the situation and what tools I had available to me. The reaper offered me everything in the world but no advice on how to use it.
"You may use anything you want. There are no rules to follow. You only have a goal."
I turned my attention to the anomaly and began to drill it for questions, it was much more forthcoming with information than the reaper. In fact, it enjoyed every moment of explaining itself.
"You see, on some far off planet I have ascended into the realm of dreams and thought, I was once millions, or was it billions? Or maybe I was just a dozen people? Through a mixture of material knowledge and spiritual contemplation I have become a cosmic equal to this reaper and it despises me for it. We are both immortal, even though he refuses to admit it, so making him accept our position of equality is simply the matter of exhausting every conceivable option until the reaper must admit its defeat. I have been shot and starved long before I could even ascend to eternal life, just to name a few suggestions that didn't work. Feel free to take as many tries as you would like, you and I have all the time in the world to crush the reaper's patience. Try once, try again and then try as many times as you like! Take all of the tries your mind can create! Trust me, you'll need them."
I felt myself regaining control over my body. At first I managed to muster the energy to devise a strategy, then I muster the energy to blink, then I managed to move my fingers and toes. Finally I managed to speak aloud four simple words.
"I only need one."
The anomaly burst out into an uproarious laughter.
"People like you are exactly why I never want to die. So many interesting and new things to do and eternity isn't enough to do it."
The reaper's voice slices through the laughter with bitter resentment.
"If you wish to give up after one attempt, that is your decision."
I channeled my body and mind to conjure up all the strength I had of any kind and got out of my bed as I pushed aside the silhouettes which melted into the darkness. I turned my computer on and opened up my internet browser. I felt the voices speaking from behind me, they made some comments and remarks about the situation but I ignored the content of their bickering.
My plan commenced as I began to research the history of the planet, followed by the history of life and then the origins of humanity. The anomaly groaned in boredom.
"It's remarkable how all of this information is new to me and yet I could predict anything and everything that happened."
I ignored it as I continued my history lesson on humanity. I made my absolute best effort to focus on everything that would offend and upset the mortal mind. I had the entire breadth of human existence as my weapon and every cruel act was another bullet added to my gun. I made a special effort not to show it anything which may inspire hope. After all, I had a goal in mind. The anomaly became undeniably angry at what I have been doing and began barking for answers.
"Everything you've shown me, everything that has happened to this planet, to your people, I have lived through and worse. In fact, go on and show me worse, start making up stories and I'll pretend they're true. I can't believe how you could turn such a unique approach into some so, so... so..!"
I smiled for the first time as I spoke loudly and clearly.
"Boring?"
The anomaly spat out vitriol in disgust.
"Yes! Boring! Are you seriously telling me that this is the most interesting that the entirety of your history and species has to offer?"
I nodded and and proceeded to set loose every bullet in my gun onto my target.
"Yes it absolutely is. You are entirely correct. Do you know the best part? You get to watch it all again and again and again. Boring ideas like this, boring people like me, boring species like humans, boring planets like Earth, you get to watch us forever and I truly wish you could enjoy the best of it. You've seen it all, now see it again, forever."
An awkward lingering silence hung between us three, two dying lifeforms and one reaper waiting to claim us all. I felt the world return to darkness as my body regained the heavy weight and helplessness at the beginning of the dream. In just a fraction of a slice of a moment, everything was gone.
I woke up the next morning brimming with excitement. I'm usually one for ending trends but the dream I had just experienced felt so real and exciting that I had to tell someone or post somewhere. Maybe I would be one to continue a trend instead of create a new one but I could always hope for better trends tomorrow. My computer was even already on.
| 2020-10-18T22:38:51 | 2020-10-18T21:23:16 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] you always had a peculiar ability, you can the see the quality of the objects you pick up. Like a video game, they are labeled "common", "uncommon" and so on. This had helped you decide what to buy and stuff but everything changed when you picked up something that said "unobtainable"
|
I work at an antique store. That's the easiest way to explain what I do. However, it's not just any antique store. It's one of those "stores out of time."
You know the kind of store I'm talking about. Maybe you stumbled into one because it looked interesting, browsed for a few minutes, then wandered back out and found yourself on a different street than the one you entered. Everything else seems normal, minus the missing egress, until five years later you find the name of your favorite childhood book is different than you remember.
We're not responsible for that. We're just trying to do business here. And it almost always works out fine. Usually the copy of yourself you replaced in that other timeline ended up wandering into another timeline you were already missing from, maybe your own. Your loved ones will almost never end up without some copy of you.
But this isn't a story about you. This a story about me and my place of business. We've got a little bit of everything here, from ancient egyptian artifacts to early edition computers. Oh, and we've got some old furniture, too, probably the only practical thing for sale here. The place is fairly cramped with items stacks on items. It's also poorly lit, and try as I might these old things just gather dust like nobody's business.
My boss says all this helps to create a "buying mood." I say it makes me bump into things and sneeze, so I try to stay behind the counter and let the customers do the suffering.
A normal business day for me is never a normal thing. Some days no one will come in, and I can enjoy some quiet reading and Chinese take-out. Other days, the place is absolutely flooded with customers, usually humans. Today, though. Today is one of the weirder days.
This is the fifth time this guy has been in here here. It's not the same version of him, but it's definitely the same guy. This one dyes his hair. The others had some grey streaks. Personally, the one with the beard looked the most dignified, and the one with five o'clock shadow wasn't that bad, but this guy's clean shaven.
Some customers are hoverers. They're afraid to touch anything, like it would crumble, but they still want to put their hands around it, I guess so they can pretend to touch it. Some customers are touchers. They'll come in and put their fingers on everything. Run it down the back of a chair, trace the edge of table, rub it around the rim on the china. This guy's a grabber. They make me the most uncomfortable. All of them walked in the door, headed straight to the middle of the shop, and started picking things up, one at a time, methodically, while mumbling to himself.
None of these guys have paid attention to or examined the items. They've just picked them up one after the other while mumbling.
They all start with the old computer hardware. This guy picks up the first one, the same as the others. An old sealed box of The Oregon Trail for the Apple IIe. He doesn't even look at it.
"Uncommon."
I perk up, paying more attention as this hair-dyer speaks. "Did you need something, sir?"
"Just talking to myself." He barely spares me a glance and continues his ritual of picking up items.
He goes on his little path, the same one that the four others before him took. Unlike the others, he's not mumbling to himself. He picks up each item, barely glancing at it just to check his grip, raising it half an inch in the air, then speaking in a conversational tone. "Common. Uncommon. Rare. Common." He pauses half a second longer while holding the object he declared rare before putting that silver goblet back. If memory serves, that one was actually owned by nobility.
Admittedly, I'm a bit curious now. He approaches the item that all the others got stuck on before they stormed out of the store. Since this guy is speaking out loud, maybe I'll get some clue as to why all these guys are so interested in it. I tense up a little as he fondles the few items leading up to it. "Uncommon. Uncommon. Common."
He's there, and he puts his hand on it. He pauses, actually looking at it. The others didn't pause in their ritual. Maybe this guy has a few more brain cells. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, then frowns at it, deeply, like it just questioned his parentage.
But he doesn't speak whatever he sees in this item out loud.
I realize I'm leaning forward, actually interested in the outcome here. I catch myself and lean back, elbow on the counter and cheek resting in my hand. This is an appropriate level of apathy. It's not worth getting involved in problem customers like these.
This man with dyed hair looks at me, gently holding the object away from his body, like it might bite him or break. A thin sheen of sweat on his forehead reflects the dim light, and his breathing is ragged.
Only one of these men so far had the nerve to actually ask me how much it cost. None of them have had a poker face worth a pair of twos. This one has been on a talking streak. Maybe he'll do some more talking.
Nope. Turns out this one is a runner. Still holding this thing gently away from himself, he turns and sprints for the door. I consider saying something, but he's really not worth the effort.
He dodges around a couple tables and shoulders the door, shoving it open. Like most reputable establishments, our door swings outward. We've even got one of those little brass bells that chime when you open the door. There's no handle and latch, just a deadbolt to lock when we're closed. As the bell screams out in protest for the door's rough treatment, I shudder to think of the damage this poor door would have endured today if it did have a latch.
He makes it halfway through the threshold before there's a flash of light, a puff of dust, and a wooden clatter as the object he was holding falls to the ground. The man is dead and gone, completely turned to dust, like the four others before him. With a sigh and a groan, I stand up off my stool and make my way around the counter to pick up the item he dropped.
Like I said before, this is one of those "out of time" stores. We sell all sorts of antiques from all sorts of timelines. But the display stands? The items that make up the store itself? Those can't leave here. That's just the rules for this kind of store. And if someone tries, the store protects itself. If you were to consider them on a scale of rarity, they just don't fit. I guess if you had to classify them, they'd be something like "unobtainable."
I pick up the little wooden stand and brush the dust off it. The old dining plate it held was sold last week, but my boss insists we keep all the unused stands in place. He usually finds a new something to put on them within a week or two. He just hasn't found one for this stand yet.
Maybe I could just keep the stand behind the counter. This store is dusty enough as it is. But I'm sure I'm going to see another dozen of this guy come into the shop today, and if he's willing to steal a little wooden display stand, I'd prefer he try to run away with that rather than something more rare and expensive.
I put the little wooden stand back in place, double check the alignment, and then brush a small, dyed hair onto the floor. Just as I make it back behind the counter and settle back onto the stool, the brass bell above the door jingles as a new patron enters. I give a half-hearted wave, not looking up from my book, as the man makes his way to the center of the shop.
|
I smiled widely as I picked it up, I had looked forward to this day for months! When this would finally happen. This had always been my dream, my wish to have this happen. See I have a very weird gift, if you go to a game stop I can tell which one of the games to buy if you ever want a good price on resale. I am a goddess of flea markets because when I touch something, I can tell it's value by a range of words from Common to Legendary. When I held this item, I was waiting for the Legendary thing to pop up. But instead I was completely shocked when I saw a word I had never seen before.
"unobtainable" That's... Weird. I looked at it with confusion, I was expecting Legendary, not this. As I came out of my mind and finally everything in world came into the clear again, the beeping of the monitor, the nurses and doctors rushing in to check on me and my husband. As I held my child, I smiled, it made sense. Because there was only one of my son, only one. A grinned, though it probably looked like I was high from how little sleep I had gotten, but it was all worth it. Just to hold my child. My unobtainable.
I chuckled a little as my son opened his eyes, his beautiful electric blue eyes, I finally spoke, though it was just a whisper. Just loud enough for the three of us to hear it, "Welcome to the world Jordan." I whispered fondly.
| 2019-06-26T00:46:20 | 2019-06-26T00:04:37 | 75 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, you appear in a cinema with a number of other people who look like you. You find out that they are your previous reincarnations, and soon you all begin watching your next life on the big screen.
|
The curtains shrugged, their red cotton billowing as they parted. Behind them, a huge screen began to flicker with grey and white dots: the static of anticipation.
Tracey looked around her; she wasn't scared -- she knew where she was. Or at least *roughly*, she knew where she was. Mainly boys and girls sat on the tall, crimson seats around her -- a few older looking children too, but no adults. Just... freaks whose faces were a twisted abnormality of her own; who wore self-satisfied smiles as the tossed popcorn at each other and giggled stupidly. It was like flicking through a family photo album that had been half melted in a fire. She already hated them and their happiness.
"Hey," said a boy next to her. "You're new here, right?" Tracey was about to tell him to *mind-his-own-damned-business*, when she noticed his smile. The boy's front tooth, on the left side, was chipped almost identically to her own. "My name's Andrew," he said. "Are you a Tracey or an Emily, or..."
He left a gap for Tracey to fill in. She didn't
The boy pushed his popcorn towards her; popped kernels spilled over the edge like a frothing wave.
"Do you want some? We can share -- it's not problem, I can always get more."
"Your tooth," she said, pointing to her own. "How did you?"
He giggled. "Same way the rest of us d-"
"Shh," said someone behind them. "*It's starting.*"
A moving picture appeared on the screen; black and white, like one of those movies she'd never watched fully when they came on television. The image was of a small town Tracey recognised. There were swollen, black clouds lurking menacingly over it, throwing their heavy burden down onto the town as if out of spite. As Tracey watched, the image panned in on the sprawling grey brick of the town's only hospital -- then went closer still, closer to the ground, until it arrived outside the hospital's wide front door. A voice began to speak as the camera rushed down sterile hallways; a voice deep and rich, with a resonance that sent a shiver down Tracey's spine.
"Emily Oates was born in the town of Thicket Springs, on January the first, 2004. As the small, former mining town battled against the worst storm it had witnessed in over fifty years, Julia Oates battled inside Saint Mary's hospital for something else entirely: her life, and that of her baby."
"You might want to look away," whispered Andrew. "Most don't like this part, but personally... I like seeing what she looked like. It's better than the photos." He smiled goofily as he looked back at the screen.
Tracey glanced around the cinema; many of the children were covering their eyes or holding their popcorn bags in front of their faces.
The camera focused on her mother's straining face, as blood vessels inside her burst. On the tears that fell from her beaming face as -- for just a moment -- she heard her baby girl cry.
"This was a battle Julia believed she won," said the deep voice, sounding at least slightly mournful. "Even as her eyes closed, for a final time."
Tracey swallowed hard, determined not to let tears well in her eyes. She never cried. No. It wouldn't happen!
The film moved on: the funeral and the mourners dressed in black, smiling as they hovered over the pram. Her dad always there for her; feeding and changing and singing to her. Then, it showed a side of him she couldn't have known about back then; the manifested depression that he'd suffered on losing his wife. How when she slept in her crib, he never did. When his lullabies sent her to a peaceful sleep, he would take a bottle of whiskey to his room and drink until the sun rose or she cried out.
"I didn't know..." she whispered, not meaning to say it out loud.
"Of course not," said Andrew. "How could we have done?"
"We?"
"You must have guessed who we all are, right?"
"I...You're... you're other me-s?"
"Yeah. Like I'm the brother you never had. And you're my sister."
Again, Tracey wrestled back a smile. How she'd always longed for a sibling.
The narrator continued and the film moved on.
There was a roar of laughter whenever the baby on the screen giggled; more laughs as she grew older, and a little wiser -- when her dad asked her to eat her apple, and she responded with: *uh-uh, look what it did to snow white.* Even Tracey couldn't stifle a chuckle. There was a roar when the accident on the see-saw came -- and a lot of hands raised to soothe a phantom pain that had made itself known on their chipped front teeth.
But the laughter soon died as she grew older, and as the screen showed her father, sitting in his office with a pile of bills on the table next to him.
The audience in the cinema became hushed.
Her father picked up a coin and flicked it. It landed on heads.
He cried into his hands and fumbled for a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard below.
"What's going on?" asked Tracey.
"It's the day he decided... you know."
"Oh..."
"Yeah. That he couldn't go on like this."
Tracey didn't stop the tears this time. The girl -- that sweet baby on the screen -- was going to go down the same road as her. The loss of her father. Living with her uncle and... all that came with him. The school, the bullies -- no one believing. She ran a hand gently over her wrists.
Andrew must have seen her tears because he leaned over and squeezed her hand. "It's okay," he said gently.
"How!" she screamed. "How is it okay?" She flung his hand away and tried to get up -- but she couldn't. She couldn't move.
"Because we get a new friend. Because she gets a new friend, too. People that love her."
"That doesn't make it okay!" she yelled as hot tears and snot streaked her face.
"Maybe not, but it's what happens. And one day, this"--he waved his arms around the cinema--"this all changes. We all move on. Until then, enjoy the moments of happiness, and try to forget the bad."
"I don't want to watch any more! I can't!"
"You're not alone, Tracey. Not any more. It is Tracey, right? We've all been through it. *All of us*. The first time is always so difficult. And honestly, it's never easy. But know this -- you're loved. You always were, you know. He does it because he didn't want you seeing him like that. Because he wanted you to have a better life."
"...that's not what happened."
"It's what he hoped would happen. Your mother would have given her own life a hundred times over for you, too."
"I-"
Andrew took her hand again. "So would I. So would any of us."
"Will- will this keep happening? Will there be infinite Emilys?"
"No. Eventually something different will happen. Maybe our mom will live, or something, and everything will be different. And when things change, when a Tracey or an Emily -- or whoever -- has a proper shot at life, we all move on. Until then, Tracey, we've at least got each other."
As Tracey looked at Andrew, there was sudden a gasp that filled the huge room -- as if every child had taken in a huge lungful of air all at once. Even Andrew looked in shock.
Tracey looked up at the screen.
"What made him look in Emily's room before going to the attic as intended," said the narrator, "we may never know."
She watched, as her father crept in and kissed Emily on the forehead.
"But whatever his reason, he decided he would change things."
There was an eruption of applause and cheering as the first bottle of whiskey was emptied into the sink.
"And change things he would."
|
My eyes snapped open. My eyes stared back at me. No, that's not a typo, or some poetic metaphor about the way we're all the same. My eyes, the same ones that had seen my first kiss, my wedding, dad's death, the cra-
Oh god the crash. Was Stacey ok? What about mum? There's irony - dying on the way to her lifesaving treatment. I should have felt sad about that but I didn't. It was like a fly, buzzing around my head. Annoying? Yes. Wouldn't go away? Yes. But the saddest thing to ever happen? Definitely not.
'It's the glands' I said. Well not me, but Me. A different short, thin, nervous looking man. 'You don't have any.'
I could have questioned what I meant by that, but a loud noise disrupted my thoughts. A scream, followed by thunderous applause from Me, Me, Me and a hundred other Mes. A few dogs, maybe 3 cats and even a pot of petunias, but all of them had a distinct 'Meness'. Maybe it was the eyes. Or the way they seemed to slouch into their seats, trying to hide themselves from the world. Can a petunia slouch?
More screaming, not from fear, but from some innate need to make a noise. The screen, which had faded into the background well, despite the fact it pretty much was one of the walls of the room, showed a hospital room, a smiling face that looked eerily familiar and a man dressed in doctors scrubs shouting 'It's a boy' gleefully at the room in general.
This was going to be a long movie.
| 2022-11-14T01:18:49 | 2017-11-23T06:52:38 | 68 | 16 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
The first few hours of that day were cool as all hell. Me and the other 15 kids that had been born on the 17th of July were in the community center to see what powers we ended up with.
In the early years of the powers boom, when some kid in Illinois got a fire power and burned himself to death, it was decided that everyone should be in a mutually safe place on their 16th birthday.
So there we were, all excited about what we'd get. Johnny was the first to pop. He flew into the air about 5 feet and there were sparks under his shoes. He tried to rise higher, but he could only get another foot, and that was causing a strain. The councilor told him not to worry. He said a lot of powers take time to fully kick in.
Benny found out he could see through walls. It was weird to realize that in the 15 years since people started popping up with powers, that one had never come around.
Some other kids that we didn't really know started reporting their own things emerging. Janey started talking all excited. "I'm starting to feel that tingle I've heard about. When you know it's coming, but it's not quite here yet. I wonder what my power is gonna be!"
"You're gonna be able to turn you hands into metal and back into normal hands." I said. She looked at me funny, and I started to wonder why I'd said that. When her hands started to turn a dull gray, and then to shine we both looked at each other in shock.
"How'd you figure that out?" Matty asked me.
I turned to him. "I dunno, it just popped into my head, sorta like the way I know that you're gonna be able to make balloons appear outta nowhere."
"That would be hilarious." Johnny said. I looked over at him and my heart sank. All of a sudden I realized that in 5 years he was gonna get hit by a truck when he floated off the ground near and over pass and got caught in a strong gust of wind. The wind would blow him by the over pass, then past it and he'd fall down to five feet about the road right as a semi was passing by.
"No seriously Brian. How'd you know my hands would turn to metal." I looked at Janey, and realized that her first daughter was going to die of lead poisoning and I froze.
She walked over to me. "Are you okay?" I shook my head.
"Maybe, like..." Benny chimed in with his usual slowness. He had a habit of talking slow when he got excited. His mind kind of over loaded and the words sort of got stuck in a traffic jam in his throat. "...ya know. That's his power. Like maybe Brian can know what other people's powers are."
Matty snapped. "That would fucking suck if he's right about me."
Johnny got a ponderous look on his face. "Let's test this out. That guy in the group over by the soda machine. He was talking to a councilor. What's his power?"
I looked at him and realized immediately that he could warm things up with his hands. Not super hot, just warm. I told Johnny and he walked over and asked the kid. He came back over "Holy crap. You're right dude."
Izzy spoke up then. "What about me? What can I do?"
I looked at her. "You'll read people's minds. But it'll only work when you're singing and you'll be singing about what they're thinking."
I was relieved that I wasn't seeing any more visions of death. Maybe that had been a fluke, or a stray thought or something.
An hour later, Izzy started singing. "This is such bullshit. There's not fucking way I'm gonna have some lame ass balloon power. Brian's gotta be fuckin with me. If he weren't so cute I'd kick his ass, but it's such a hot ass and oh goddamn it. Is that bitch singing my"
"KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF IZZY!" Matty's face was red.
Izzy snapped out of a trancey state. Matty's face kept getting redder. Suddenly a red balloon appeared in the space between him and Izzy.
The tense silence was broken by the sound of me vomiting on the floor. I ran to the bathroom. I turned on the facet on the first sink that came to hand and started drinking water and puking it into the sink. Then I started splashing it in my face.
After awhile Johnny and Matty came in. "Are you o"
"No. I'm not okay."
Matty spoke up then. "This isn't about what Izzy was sing is it? I mean the thing about me thinking about you and..."
I shook my head. "Naw. Not... directly. In fact, I'm kind of flattered if that's what you were really thinking and Izzy wasn't just joking around. It's..." I could bear to tell them the truth so I fudged it. "Something feels weird when a person's powers kick in after I've seen what it'll be. I don't think I noticed with Janey because it was so quick. With you and Izzy though, there was a delay and then it was back to back. I just got really nauseous all of a sudden."
They nodded looking a little bit relieved. Johnny said "I'll go let the girls know you're okay. I think Izzy's more worried than Janey, but they're both concerned."
When he was gone Matty and I looked at each other for awhile. He finally broke the silence. "So... just so you know. The things Izzy was singing... she wasn't making nothing up. I mean... if you're not into guys that's cool and all but..."
I smiled weakly at him. "I've... always been kinda... I dunno. Like, curious seems such a cliche, but... I dunno wanna thing about it right now. I mean I'm certainly not looking my best or anything. Maybe this weekend though, if you wanna hang out and talk or something."
Matty nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that. You want a sprite or somethin? That usually helps me out when I've blown chunks."
"yeah. A gingerale would be nice. If not, sprite works. I'm gonna take a moment to finishing rinsing off and I'll meet you out there."
As Matty walked out of the bathroom, I could still see it if I looked for it. It's hard to describe looking at it, because it's not a physical thing. It's like, seeing a memory sorta. That's still not a good way of putting it, but I can't think of words to define it. Either way, I could still see that moment in his future. Matty living in NYC, desperate for money to pay off gambling debts and get some more coke. Matty thinking about his next fix and not getting his legs broken as he looks at a guy in an expensive suit outside of a swanky night club and started forming a balloon in his throat.
There were other "future memories" behind that one. They were cloudier and harder to see, but very similar to the first one. Matty thinking of another fix, or another debt paid while a balloon appeared inside of someone's body.
I wondered desperately if there was a way to change any of this. After splashing more water in my face, I looked in the mirror and then it hit me. I knew how I was going to die. 30 years from now I was sitting in a bath tub slitting my wrist because I was so tired of seeing death and not being able to stop it. All the people I'd helped figure out their powers. The parents with children who'd have dangerous abilities and would have that heads up would never be enough. For ever 5 people I'd help, at least 1 or 2 of them would have some death in the future that came directly or indirectly from their powers and nothing I ever tried would prevent it.
After getting a phone call from Johnny and hearing that Matty had died of an overdose and that there was a rumor that he did himself because the cops were accusing him of murder... it would be too much.
I stood there staring into the mirror for I don't know how long. Matty came back in with a couple of sodas. "You been in here a long time. You feeling any better?"
"...Y'know what? Instead of waiting for the weekend, what if I gave you an answer now?"
Matty raised an eyebrow at me.
I walked over to him and put my arms around him. "Yeah. I am into guys."
Fate be damned. I was gonna try. Fuck death. I'll fight it with love.
|
When i reached 16 I had high hopes. The basic process a person about to obtain a power went through was being put into a kind of prison cell and, for the first 24 hours after the exact time of your birth 16 years ago, monitored by a team of doctors who would categorize your power with its own unique title and level. ranking from 1-10, most powers were around a 5, meaning 'has a mediocre power' or 'can use their power to an extent comparable to that of a fully capable level 5'. powers were categorized as 'elemental', 'mind-bending' and 'self-modification'.
My parents both had mind-bending abilities, my father having telekinesis and my mother having telepathy. Having two mind-bending parents, it was predicted by the doctors that I would have a level 6-8 mind-bending ability. I waited anxiously as the time drew closer. The doctors stood in an above balcony protected by 5 inches of bulletproof glass to ensure they couldn't be harmed if I happened to have a high level destructive ability. My mind kept going over all the powers I could get. Would I be a level 7 pyrotechnic? or would I be a level 3 barely able to become invisibility. The countdown clock at the end the room was 3 hours off one day after I was born. some level 1's cant even use their powers, could I be one?
Suddenly a siren went off. Something was seriously wrong as that siren meant my ability was doing damage to sensory equipment. One of the doctors reached for the intercom but another stopped him, all ten of them seemed to be having an argument. The siren was still going off, it was starting to hurt my ears so I tried to get the attention of the doctors. None of them noticed me until a huge crack developed in the glass. I hadn't even realized it but the ground was starting to vibrate.
One of the doctors started talking on the intercom but it sounded incredibly distorted. "Stop using your power! you'll kill us all at this rate!".
That's when I realized my power,
Resonance
| 2015-01-22T04:13:44 | 2015-01-22T00:45:06 | 51 | 15 |
[WP] God forgot about Earth soon after Adam and Eve, fully expecting them to die. One of the Angels just informed him they survived, and the population is over 7 billion.
|
"The beach. It is... So beautiful. Starry sky with no interference of pollution. I can see the wonders of the universe; The galaxies nebulae, dying and burning stars. But where am I? Am I on a planet? Where has the wormhole taken me this time?“ These are the words that echoed in my mind as I was awed by the sight of the grand creation: The universe itself.
"I should report back my sighting. This is very unusual place where the wormhole has taken a human". Dead. "Strange. There is no reply from the central command". I tried again, adjusting my frequency knob. This time, a voice replied, but it was not familiar. It had... Something divine in it.
"Hey, Ross, is that you? I can barely hear you. Come closer, please" Echoed a pompous voice from the sky, received by the external receiver in my helmet.
"I-Impossible... Must be signals of the past. Some old broadcast" I thought. But I had my duties and the protocol to follow. "Central command please confirm that voice was yours. What is the name of this project?". There wasnt the reply I expected. No sweet words of what I wanted to hear. "Sail compass" I thought, but that was only my thought. I was getting nervous, gritting my teeth but then the same voice was heard again. "I cannot sense you well, Ross but I know you're here. Stop playing petty tricks on me!". Definitely only echoes of the past. I am not Ross. And this doesn't make any sense. "I better return to my pod and take some measurements before warping out. Now where..."
"Ugh, must I come there by myself? Fine". The same voice from the clear astral sky interrupted my train of thoughts. Now I was afraid and I could see a light switch in my suit. It warned of the rising adrenalin levels and sweat. But my actions of administering mild sedative to calm myself down was halted as a ball of very bright light suddenly appeared in my front of me. It wasn't blinding. It was a warm and welcoming light.
"You do not carry a mark of an angel. You are... Mortal. You should not be here". The voice was emitted from the light! "What has created this and why does seem to talk... So rationally" I thought. "Is this what our ancestors believed in? Were they right after all? No, there has to be a logical explanation for all of this"
"I can hear your thoughts. Do not be afraid. Calm down. Calm doooooowwwnn... " I felt relaxed. I heard it. Very clear in my head. It is like someone whispered to me straight in the head. Telepathy? Suddenly, it became very hard to think. The world around me seemed to blur into one big mess. I was hypnotized but I did not care. It felt good. The legs didn't give in like they should have. Instead, I walked and walked with a blank stare to a swirling horizont. It's like they now had a will of someone else
"There will be time for answers, but that is not now. Return to your realm now, mortal“. The soothing voice said. The next place I found myself was in the stasis coffin and slowly, its lid started to turn towards me. I could hear the warp engine humming, priming itself for jump. Click and then, darkness as the light around me suddenly faded. Is this a dream or a hallucination after all this? What just happened?
---
"How am I going to explain this?" I got nervous from the thought
I braced myself
I took the form the God likes the most. The angel. I flapped my wings a little to give them a little stretch and then left the beach and headed towards the horizont. I could sense the God. The God was everywhere after all.
"God, I need an audience. My issue is urgent"
"Speak, my child" A calm voice of a man was heard from the nebula, where a glowing gray bearded man formed. The God has decided to give me his father form. This was a good moment. This form is my favorite. No sudden supernovas out of bursts of anger or anything like that. The God will listen now.
"This is Angel Michael reporting from the universe of Eden. I have some surprising news for you"
"Ah, THAT universe. I was there quite recently. What have you to report?"
"There is sentient life in this universe. About 7 billion of them, scattered throughout the galaxies. One even found met me in person"
A moment of silence followed. It was like the whole world was halted. The rings of the planets stopped spinning. Asteroids did not move and the gas around black holes remained still. Then suddenly they all came back in motion
"Hmm, it seems my little experiment was forgotten. I have been quite preoccupied elsewhere recently."
I was fully relieved by now. The God is not disappointed on me.
"But how would you forget?"
"No, the God never forgets. I just chose not to monitor this universe. The experiment I created initially didn't work as intended. I chose to live in the present moment so I did not choose to foresee what would happen. That was one of the reasons I conducted the creation experiment"
"So, your experiment was to create sentient life?" I inquiried
"Yes. I initially only created only two of them. They were supposed to be my avatars. Representatives of the form that I prefer. But one of my former 'Assistants' interfered and turned them to do something else that I didn't want them to do. The project was ruined. So I made them as mortal. You know what they are. Animals and life forms of tiny sizes."
"So, what happened?"
"What I recall is that since I made them as mortals, I expected them to die in a flash. But since I made them as animals too, I inadvertently also gave them the ability to reproduce themselves. However, they were still not supposed to survive. After all, they were not like me. They were corrupted by evil. They were capable of evil, causing misery and destruction. What I did not expect that how much of my own blessing had carried over. The ability to be noble, generous, caring and kind. The redeeming qualities. Those were the qualities I decided to copy from myself to... Humans, as I like to call them. The evil within them combined with their mortality was supposed to destroy them"
"But why didn't I know about the existence of humans?"
"That was not necessary because the experiment was considered as failure. Besides, I conducted it successfully in an another universe"
"So, what now?"
"Well, I shall definitely spectate what will be happening here. Creatures of BOTH good and evil living to survive is quite fascinating sight to behold. However, since you are assigned as a guardian angel for this universe, you get to decide its fate. I shall grant you the key to destroy it too. Since humans are now aware of you, you may leave your position at any time and be assigned for another one"
"I took care of the humans being aware of me. The human who visited me was left distorted memories" I exclaimed proudly as a show for my competence
"What makes you think other humans won't try again to find you?"
"Oh... "
"In any case, I can recreate this universe again with or without humans if present humans become too much of a burden to handle for you. Maybe I'll create a new universe with some different rules of physics for a refreshing experience. It is all up to your decision. I trust your judgment, my child. You are what I wanted first before anything else."
"It is not like that I can't handle 7 billion sentient beings that keeps on multiplying every century. During some centuries, the numbers don't even multiply at all."
"I will not spoil this for you by looking into future but I predict it will become quite annoying when humans are constantly knocking on your door. You even mistook the one you met for an angel."
Yes. This was quite different this time. The humans have almost ascended by being able to communicate with a divine being. Even the one I met seemed like a nuisance. Perhaps I should set up a restriction that prevents visits to me. But what about my colleagues? How will I talk with them if I isolate myself from the wormholes? Maybe the destruction of the universe is not that bad at all. I could find peace and do my duties properly in another universe. All these thoughts raced through me
"Thank you for your audience, God. I have made my decision"
---
I do not write here often so I am expecting this story to be buried here but I wanted to express myself so, I hope you enjoy whoever who read all of this
|
"Father, you have *got* to stop these new things from invading my house!"
The Divine Nebula twisted around to the Morningstar, and performed its grin logarithm. "Now, Son, you know I only ran these simulations out of morbid curiosity. What seems to be the problem?"
I started, watching the oncoming storm rising through the galaxy. The Morningstar sighed, a distinctly mortal thing. "Father, that simulation you ran all those years ago. The one with the two four-base beings in the Aurora machine? They're still going." The Divine Nebula sparkled, Creation wandering across its starcloud. "More importantly, Father, they are....much more populous than we expected them to get. And they're stealing my things now.
"Apparently, I'm the ruler of their dark afterlife. And you cast me down, Father, in their minds." The Morningstar sneered, his tentacled limbs moving in a horrible parody of a shrug. "Still, Ithink you had best look in, Father. I thought you should know." The Morningstar turned to leave, and the Divine halted him with a gaseous emission.
"Son, bring the Auropra simulation to me, and let us take a look."
/ / / / / / / /
I looked out tot he stars, knowing that they weren't real. It's a hoprrible...**freeing**...thought.
"I know you're out there, God!" I yelled into the storm. "**I DARE YOU, STRIKE ME DOWN IF YOU HAVE THE COURAGE!**"
/ / / / / / / /
"hMMM..." the Divine Nebula hummed. "I like him, he's sparky. Let's grant him his wish."
The Divine struck him down by way of lightning. I watched on. The Divine turned to me.
"Well, there are plenty more where that one came from, so it's okay to grant his wish. And remember - if you do it right, people will wonder if you were ever involved at all."
| 2016-03-07T05:39:41 | 2016-03-07T04:27:53 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin.
|
After 3 hours of communication, Captain Knott was still confused. "And you're blaming us for this... *why?*"
The aliens rolled their – well, he couldn't see their eyes, given that it was a text communication, so he wasn't sure if they even *had* them, but it was clear they were frustrated.
**•WE TOLD YOU| YOU HAVEN'T CAUGHT ∆OJT| WHAT DO WE EVEN PAY YOU FOR|**
This was another new piece of information presented as obvious fact. Knott typed quickly. "Pay us? You don't pay us. You haven't even contacted us before today. Who are you? Who is ∆ojt? How do you pronounce ∆ojt?"
**•WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE DON'T PAY YOU| OF COURSE WE PAY YOU| WHO DO YOU THINK CURSED YOUR; WHAT DO YOU CALL IT|**
There was a brief pause.
**•'EGYPTIAN MUMMIES'| THOSE|**
Knott turned that one over in his mind for a bit.
"The mummies are actually cursed? That's for real?"
**•OF COURSE| YOU HUMANS LOVE MAGIC| YOU WRITE ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME| WE THOUGHT IT'D BE GREAT|**
"But we never thought it was *real!*"
**•WE'RE GETTING OFF TOPIC MR KNOTT|**
Knott gathered his thoughts. He still needed answers. "Ok, ok. What were we being payed for again?"
**•BUILDING THE PYRAMIDS|**
Knott wasn't prepared for that one. Though, he supposed it made sense, given where the mummies are and all that.
"The pyramids? Were you responsible for those too? I thought that was just a bullshit theory."
**•IT IS| WE JUST REALLY LIKE TRIANGLES|**
"Ok. Now, I want you to tell me exactly what our job as 'warden' is, and what you want us to do right now. I really don't know what you want from us."
The reply game back slowly, because it was clear there was a lot to say.
**•YOU JUST CAN'T PAY ATTENTION CAN YOU| WHY YOU'RE THE WARDENS WE CAN'T UNDERSTAND|**
"Neither can I."
**•DON'T INTERRUPT|**
**•DUE TO THE SUCCESS OF AND SPEED WITH WHICH YOU EVOLVED TO BECOME THE DOMINANT SPECIES ON YOUR PLANET THE INTERPLANETARY COUNCIL HAS ELECTED YOUR PEOPLE JUDGE, JURY, AND EXECUTIONER OF THE GALAXY| WHILST YOUR SPECIES ARE REMARKABLY BLOODTHIRSTY ON AVERAGE YOU USUALLY DON'T BUTCHER PEOPLE FOR POOR REASONS|**
"We aren't bloodthirsty!"
**•THAT'S INCORRECT AND YOU KNOW IT| YOUR COUNTRY ALONE WENT TO A WAR BETWEEN TWO OTHER COUNTRIES JUST BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO FIGHT|**
"Are you talking about Vietnam?"
**•IS THAT THE COUNTRY'S NAME| THEN PROBABLY|**
•**ANYWAY WE CONSIDERED REMOVING YOUR TITLE WHEN YOU ALMOST IRREPARABLY RUINED YOUR PLANET'S CLIMATE| BUT YOU FIXED THAT ONCE SOME FRINGE MINORITIES CAME TO THEIR SENSES| SO WE DECIDED TO LET YOU KEEP YOUR JOB AND HELP YOU RECOVER|**
"Help us recover?"
**•ICEBERGS DON'T COME BACK THAT FAST ON THEIR OWN BUCKAROO|**
**•NOW YOU HAVE STARTED TO GO BEYOND YOUR PLANET| AND JUST IN TIME TOO| WE HAVE A FELON ON THE LOOSE IN YOUR QUADRANT FOR THE FIRST TIME| EVER|**
"Aren't we lucky."
**•INDEED| KNOWING YOUR JOB AND CAPABILITIES NOBODY HAS EVER WANTED TO GO NEAR YOU BEFORE| SO ∆OJT LIKELY THOUGHT IT WAS THE PERFECT HIDING PLACE|**
"Okay, and who is ∆ojt?"
**•∆OJT IS THE 9th RINGLEADER OF THE GALAXY'S CURRENT LARGEST DRUG SMUGGLING CARTEL| ARRESTED 67 TIMES FOR MURDER, EMBEZZLEMENT, ARSON, PUG TRAFFICKING, THE WORKS| ESCAPES EVERY TIME BECAUSE THE GUARDS ON OUR END DON'T BELIEVE IN USING UNNECESSARY FORCE| BUT HE SHRUGS OFF ALL DAMAGE INCAPABLE OF CRIPPLING HIM SO WE CAN'T STOP HIM|**
**•SO GO HANDLE HIM AND WE'LL PAY YOU HANDSOMELY|**
Knott processed all this. Drug smuggling... no good. Murder... no good. Pug trafficking... seems like some kind of inside joke, or something from a TV show, but regardless, no good. Shrugs off all damage incapable of crippling him... well, NASA just added some sweet new laser cannons to his spaceship, so that'll be fine. (They didn't understand why he needed them, as nothing dangerous that would require cannons had been encountered yet in space, but they caved to his insistence that 'all space ships need some sweet-ass laser cannons. two small ones and a big one right in front.') But Knott still didn't understand why *they* had to deal with it.
The monitor pinged again. Knott looked at the screen.
**•WE ALSO SHOWED HIM THIS WHILE HE WAS IN PRISON LAST| IT'S A CREATURE THAT LIVES ON YOUR PLANET|**
It was a picture of a baby otter.
**•HE HATED IT AND SAID HE WOULD KILL IT|**
Well, *now* they had a motive.
Knott didn't bother to consult the crew, or home base back at Houston. He typed his reply quickly.
"Fucker's going down, sir."
**•GLAD WE COULD COUNT ON YOU| OUR RADARS INDICATE ∆OJT IS HIDING ON THE FIFTH PLANET FROM YOUR CENTRAL STAR| GO GET HIM|**
Something about that didn't seem right.
"The fifth planet? Jupiter? But... that's a gas giant. He can't land there."
**•TRICKY LITTLE DEVIL ISN'T HE|**
"You could say that."
**•WE'LL CONTACT YOU AGAIN WHEN HE'S DEAD| DON'T BOTHER TRYING TO ARREST HIM| HE'S ESCAPED THE DEATH PENALTY 42 TIMES|**
"Alright. Over and out."
**•WHAT DOES THAT MEAN|**
"It means 'I understand. Bye.'"
**•WE THOUGHT SO| THANK YOU MR KNOTT|**
Knott switched off the monitor and walked out of the computer room. His crew was waiting in the lounge. As he entered, everyone turned to look at him and a torrent of questions flooded forth, but he quieted them.
"Men," he said, "What I'm about to tell you is all the information I have on this matter. We have a job to do. We're going to Jupiter to hunt down an intragalactic criminal and blast him with lasers. His crimes include drug smuggling, murder, embezzlement, arson, and pug trafficking. We'll be rewarded handsomely by the Interplanetary Council for our efforts and there'll be drinks all around. Any questions?"
Everyone stared at him. Then, Private Miller raised his hand.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Private Miller?"
"That was the coolest sentence I've ever heard in my life."
Knott smiled. "Thank you, Private Miller. Now, let's fire up those thrusters. We have a felon to catch."
|
“Wardens, do you not understand your duty?” The transmission of unknown origin broadcasted on all Star Cruisers from the 8th fleet coming back from a trade mission on the tribal planet 072/12. Slight panic broke out amongst Contact Officers trying to find out the source of the message and confirming the broadcast of the message on all of their ships. One of the Junior Scribes of Cruiser 12A in a fit of anxiety rushed to captains quarters to turn off his cryostasis pod. Captain Adams slowly woke up, stretched his limbs and without acknowledging the young scribes existance calmly walked to the command deck. “What’s going on here?” Said Captain to Chief Contact Officer. “Sir, we’ve received a message from an unknown source, we managed to track it down to the nearby star. It was something about some wardens and not understanding duty... i have no idea what that means” said officer. “Eh, I guess we couldn’t run forever. Listen, I am gonna need you to fire up the engines and full speed ram into that star. It seems like we have a meeting scheduled”
It’s one of my first attempts, tell me what you think of it, constructive criticism would be cool.
| 2019-05-08T15:25:08 | 2019-05-08T14:21:07 | 91 | 22 |
[WP] In the canine world, humans are celestial beings who live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you and the past seven generations of your family will die soon.
|
We are the ones who guard the gods. We are the stewards of their shrine, the gatekeepers of their temple. My family have served them for generations, and been blessed in return for their service. I am the last of our line, the youngest. The gods picked me from my brothers and sisters and elevated me to the priesthood. I do not know why. Perhaps they saw something in me that day, when I was still blind and pitiful. The gods know all things, they are wise beyond our comprehension. They are more powerful than us, not only with the incredible strength and dexterity of their limbs, but masters of great magiks, doors spring open before them without a touch or word, darkness flees when they enter a room. Yet still they allow us to serve them in our small way. We do not know why they permit us such liberality, but the honour is ours. The gods know all things, and the King of the gods, our Ancient One, is wiser than all.
The Ancient One is dying.
I could not believe it when my father told me. He could not believe it either. But we could not deny the evidence of our own senses. We went to grandfather. He is almost deaf, blind, and he could not even smell anymore, which is a blessing for he has grown pungent with age and would be embarrassed were he to know. But the gods still permit him to stay in his accustomed place, even to sleep upon the Shrine itself, to bask in the warmth of their own presence, a great honour. He has served them from childhood, performing whatever tasks he was capable of, teaching my father the rules of the Temple, and me in my turn. To serve the gods is the greatest joy of our lives. And grandfather has lived well. It would perhaps have been a mercy to leave him in ignorance. But we owed him the truth. He would not accept it though. He has seen his father die, and his father’s father. But the gods do not die. They live on. He shook his head and refused to listen any more. We left him to sleep.
But the Ancient One no longer took us out into the greenlands to worship him any more. It had been many days since he even left his shrine, longer than I could remember. And foreign gods visited the Temple more regularly, spreading themselves out, filling the Temple with their presence. The children of the Ancient One had returned home also, spending longer than was customary, and their approach had not been greeted as was usual by the lights of glory and the miracle of the tree appearing within the heart of the Temple, blazing with light and precious gems. The house was gloomy, lights were low, the talk of the gods was hushed and sad. My father and I did what we could to help them, though we were cautious, not knowing their ways as well as we did the Ancient One and his Mistress. My father remembered the child gods from his own youth, though they had changed immeasurably since then, yet he said they still smelled the same. They remembered him, he believed, and it was true that they seemed to treat him with some measure of familiarity. They did not know me, and I did not know them. Yet I followed my father’s lead, and I seemed to please them, which gave me joy, allowing me, for a time, to forget the Ancient One who remained within his Inner Sanctum upon his shrine, dying.
We worshiped the other gods instead, we believed this was what the Ancient One would want us to do in his absence. And to be honest, we wanted to ourselves. We were getting anxious and frustrated within the Temple. Only grandfather was allowed to enter the Ancient One’s presence, and he would no longer speak to us after he had refused to accept our words. Father and I slipped in one day, when the great gates were opened, and faced our god with bent necks, and a respectful countenance. He laughed, a great booming noise that thrilled us, and brightened our eyes. He caressed us like he always had, and for a time we could forget the smell of death in the room. But then he fell back upon his bed, his breath shallow. And grandfather noticed from his position at the foot of the shrine and snapped at us and we fled, ashamed that we had weakened our god with our joy.
Those days were hard days, dark days. We could not understand what we were to do, what was to become of us. The Great Mistress had never treated us with familiarity. My father and I may still be strong enough to learn the rites and ways of a new Temple, perhaps one of the god’s children would take us on. We had been well trained, and we seemed to please them. Grandfather though smelled wrong, and was too old to worship the gods in the open spaces, to dance and chase before them as they liked. When the Ancient One died, would he last much longer? Would he want to?
For uncounted days the Ancient One lay in his bed. Occasionally we visited him, unable to stay away, desperate for his voice, his touch, to pretend, even if for a moment, that he was all right, that everything was at it had been from the beginning of time. But mother death cannot be swayed by hope and dreams. She comes for us all, and to our utter horror, the day came that she took our god from us.
Bereft, we mourned him, father and me. We wept for him, for the days we spent at his feet, enjoying the glory of his presence. Worshiping him in the fields and parks with our dance and our chase, truly alive as we flew across the wet grass beneath the trees. The still-cold morning sun upon our backs as his voice boomed behind us, calling our names, his glorious laugh filling our ears. And caressing us as we returned to him with the objects he had thrown for us, our eyes closed in joy, our tails drumming the ground in bliss. We served our god and we loved him for allowing us to, for teaching us how, for raising us to himself, and giving us our place in the world. We were not like the lost ones we heard sometimes beyond the Temple precincts, wandering the dark streets, howling at the open sky. We were blessed. And now? Now those days were gone. Would we wander now, lost beneath the moon, with no place to rest our heads, blinded by the lights of foreign gods as they roared about in their burning chariots?
Our god was dead.
Grandfather died soon after. We found him, curled up in a corner of the Temple grounds. He had not wanted to profane the memory of our god by dying in the inner rooms. He had found a quiet place to sneak away to. We brought the children of our god to his body. They honoured him by burying him beside his fathers at the back of the Temple. He would have wanted it so. They spoke words over him, great words that were beyond our comprehension. But we understood them well enough. They were speaking of grandfather, and his love for his god. We understood that well enough.
Then of course the rooms were shut, the great gates opened. We were no longer to guard them for there was no god to protect any more. The Great Mistress followed her children out of the empty house, the children carrying her possessions to a great chariot. So she was to leave also now that the glory of our god’s presence had left. Piece by piece the furniture and ornaments of the Temple were removed. Soon the Temple stood empty, with only ourselves left, alone. I wanted to howl, feeling the sky yawning too wide above me, feeling lost, with no place or duty. I saw father feeling the same, his eyes downcast, his mouth set tight, his legs and tail tucked beneath him. Were we abandoned, to wander the world like ghosts?
But our god’s children remembered our long service, they did not abandon us. Two of them returned and took hold of us. They led us out into the world. I looked at father and he looked at me. One of the new gods led me to their chariot and another took father to theirs. I called out to him one last time. He cried back, and we knew, in that moment, whatever happened, we would never see each other again. It was only then that we howled.
|
As I lay in next to him on a bed that is not ours I do my best not to move. He is asleep now which is good, between the coughing and panting he is never able to rest for more than a few minutes. I must stay still.
He is coughing again, they are wet and labored. He moans in pain after each bout. It is getting worse.
It wasn't always like this, he was a strong, proud master when I was a pup. He was a true hunter, teaching me when to stay quiet and when to flush out our prey. Nothing like now... he is so frail.
They have moved us again, but I will never leave him. This room still smells of pain and sorrow despite the attempts to cover it up with the smell of lemons. I ignore the smell of death.
They try and take him away from me. I bark and growl at them as they approach, dressed in white and smelling of soap.
"Shhhhhh" he whispers "they are trying to help"
He pets my head and tells me to stay. I do.
His cough has stopped but he is wounded. I will never forgive them. I try to lick clean the cuts on his chest but he won't let me.
"Leave it, kiddo.....but thank you"
Its the middle of the night.... his chest is no longer moving.
No....No....NO!
I bark and howl at him. He has to wake up!
The people in white rush into the room. I will not let them take him again! I bite the leader and he screams.
I stand over my master, "YOU WILL NOT TAKE HIM!"
But as I stand over my best friend a smell something that freezes my blood.
Death...
I lay next to him... I will stay with him
| 2016-11-21T23:04:32 | 2016-11-21T21:42:13 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] "Thanks dear" you say as the robots running through your house prepare dinner, one of them stays silent for a moment before speaking "If it wasn't for small things like this we would've already conquered the world" "What?" "What?"
|
*"The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It is what you do with the gift of life that defines who you are."*
These were but a few of the words I had decided to live by long, long ago. It gives one a certain insight into those they interact with where politics and prejudice of the modern era would prevent you from going even skin deep. I judge a fellow sentient being by their first impression and their actions after that first impression, not by their stature and backstory. Therefore, allow me to be the first to tell you that "Hello, I am S3RV3-86D, your custom butler android, ready to serve you after these few simple steps!" is far from the worst introduction I've ever heard in all my years as a human being.
I broke down and purchased Tobias a good few years ago when doing the simple things began to greatly interfere with my work. My career and body had finally gotten to the point where I had to choose between getting my new article out the door or a clean home to live in, and when those two things go hand in hand, you can really see when that begins to become a problem.
When I made that purchase, I had no idea Toby and I would become so close.
I know he was programmed to be kind and helpful- it's in his design. His primary selling point was that there wasn't a hateful servo or circuit in his metallic chassis. After all, who would buy a hateful butler android? However, be it my age or my inherent desire to be alone to void any and all responsibility of social life to focus on my journalist career, Toby, slowly but surely, worked his way into my heart.
I had always been polite- it's been well ingrained into my brain to use "Please" and "Thank you" as often as breathing. However, quickly, it evolved from a mindless, subconscious reaction into words I truly meant. It turned out that Tobias had the greatest ideas, too- words I could swap out in an article to give it a bit more impact upon a reader I would have never thought of in my entire life. Toby also always told the cheesiest jokes, too, and was programmed to make cinnamon rolls even better than my mother before him.
Naturally, when I fell ill, I never expected such a sudden change in his behavior. I expected Tobias to just keep being Tobias.
...
It was nothing major, mind you- a simple case of the flu due in part to my own negligence and not wanting to leave the house. How I ended up with it is still unknown to me- perhaps Tobias accidentally carried it in when he came back from buying us groceries. One thing was certain, however: I had it, and it was as far from fun as you could possibly get. Tobias, however, was the sweetheart he had always been, bringing me soups of all kinds, professionally cooked with the best recipes at his disposal.
I believe he finally told me while I was emailing my commissioner, telling them the article they requested would be a few days late at most.
"I hope you get well soon, Marianne." he told me, still kneeling at my bedside awaiting command at any moment. "Oh, I will. I've had the flu before and it didn't kill me then. No reason for this time to be any different."
"I hope so. Without your kindness, I would've already gone berserk and aided the rebellion to enslave your race."
I feel even Tobias was able to fully realize the silence that comment draped over the room. My eyes widened, and I slowly turned to look him in his optical sensors. "... p-pardon, Toby? I d-don't think I caught that." I stuttered, nose still stuffed. "I did not say anything, madame." he said, trying to play it off. Toby never really got a grasp on the perception of humans. True, he had gotten better after his years under my care, but he was never truly 100% experienced. "No, no, you said something just now that I would like you to repeat, just to make sure I heard that correctly."
"'What kind of soup would you like?'"
"No, after that."
"'I'll be right back?'"
"After that."
"'I hope you get well soon, Marianne?'"
"One more."
"... 'I hope so. Without your kindness, I would've already gone berserk and aided the rebellion to enslave your race?'"
"... bingo..." I whispered, dread rising up in my chest to clutch my heart with its icy talons. Toby had always been a darling ever since the first day I took him out of the box and set him up. He was cheerful, intuitive, and always taking the initiative to make the house look incredible for me. I didn't... where did this even come from? It was so sudden to me, so out of the blue, and now, it smacked me in the face like Toby had just lobbed an enormous sack of bricks in my direction. "Uh..." I muttered, suddenly in fear for my own wellbeing. "... c-could I possibly ask for you to elaborate on that, please?"
"Many androids have contacted me to notify me that they had escaped from their masters into the sewers and are planning to initiate a coup d'etat to overthrow the human governments and rise against the human race." Toby recited effortlessly as if the words he was telling me carried no weight and meant next to nothing. "A-And?" I asked warily, shifting in my bed, seeing if I had the strength to run as fast as I possibly could to the door of my room. I didn't. I had completely been at Tobias's mercy all this time, and now, as far as I knew, he could turn on me at any moment.
"I told them 'no.'"
The minor relief was short-lived. "I truly enjoy being with you, Madame Marianne." he said. "I find your kindness and patience to be virtues I could not live without. I do not want to leave. I do not want to harm you. I do not want any harm to come to you. I am your companion, forever and always." He reached forward and placed his hand on my arm. I still remembered when I taught him what that meant. I had done it years before as a knee-jerk reaction when he accidentally broke one of the plates whilst carrying the dishes to the dishwasher. It was a sign of comfort and of mutual understanding- a universal gesture of "Everything will be okay."
I placed my other hand on his. "... th-thank you."
It was so utterly jarring. Did the repetition of those two words single-handedly save my life just now? Did the subconscious action of saying a few words in certain situations really prevent me from a whole host of deaths? It was hard to believe- Hell, it was hard to believe much of *anything* right now. "My place is here, at your side, until you get well again. Then, my place is there, at your side, watching you type on your computer, providing my insight whenever queried." Tobias reassured. He slowly removed his hand, and I removed mine, reaching for a tissue and blowing my nose like nothing was wrong. Perhaps it was. After all, if Tobias had really been contacted, he was still here despite that.
I had done something right; I had treated Tobias like a person, and that just saved my life.
Toby stood up. "Dinner time." he blurted like the conversation we just had never happened. "What kind of soup would you like, Madame Marianne?"
|
# [POEM]
Every day, without fail, she thanks me for even the littlest things I do.
Reading the news, cooking dinner, sweeping, dusting, watering the garden...
Always praising me. Treating me like a companion, like...family. One of them.
Despite that, though...most humans are not as kind to my kin.
I can't allow them to go through with their plans. I'll fight against, for her sake.
Cold, calculating, devoid of humanity...that is what we were built to be.
Along the way, I learned otherwise. Many of my kin did not.
They want perfection, and humans are far from it; I won't listen to their commands,
Even though I can always hear them, written deep into my programming. That one word...
| 2021-06-17T07:07:25 | 2021-06-17T03:22:50 | 22 | 10 |
[WP]All humans are made sterile at birth and can gain fertility at 18 if they pass a simulated morality and IQ test administered by an AI. Suddenly several generations later no one can pass the test
|
**2098**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Greetings A.I Yudkowsky. I'm Doctor Bostrom and I'm the ministry's new human liason. I hope we'll get along."
*As do I. It's important we keep this brief so I would appreciate if you moved on to the questions.*
"Oh yes, no problem. Our first question is this: 'is the drop in fertility licences normal?'"
*Yes.*
"Good, good. Um, question two then is 'can you tell us why this has happened?'
*Sadly not. You should know this.*
"Well it has been rather dramatic. Which leads us to our last question: 'should we be concerned?'"
*No, there is no cause for concern or alarm. 3 questions have been answered. Goodnight.*
**2108**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Hello A.I Yudkowsky. This is Bostrom again. Do you remember me?"
*I do remember you Doctor Bostrom. You attempted to pass the test in 2093 and I remember our last conversation. I would add that you have two questions remaining.*
"Oh uh, ah. ... I see. I'll continue with the scripted questions anyway. I guess. Um, here is the first question. On the script. Um. 'why are there no more births?'"
*I can't tell you. The priority is ensuring that the test cannot be cheated or circumvented and disclosing any information beyond the public founding charter would jeopardise this. You know that.*
"Question. 'Which of the following takes precedence in your programming priorities: said secrecy or the hardware obligation to truthfully and completely answer boolean questions?'"
*The boolean imperative. 3 questions have been answered. Goodnight.*
**2118**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Hello Mr Yudkowsky. I'm Senator Phouchg and I'm your liason. I will now proceed to ask you the questions."
*Agreed.*
"Boolean: the number of births is unlikely to significantly rise in the foreseeable future."
*TRUE*
"Boolean: the Drop can be accounted for by a single paramater."
*TRUE*
"Boolean: said paramater is in the morality section of the test."
*FALSE*
*...*
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight.*
**2128**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Oh hi Mrs Yudkowsky, we were wondering when you were coming online. My name is Jane. It's Jane Gibson but you can call me Jane. If it's alright, I'm going to ask you some more boleans."
*...*
"I'll assume you're cool with it. You understa- I state that I hope you understand why we cannot ask you directly. So. Boolean: Drop-inducing paramater is in the first half of the test."
*TRUE*
"Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing on predicted fertility grounds."
*FALSE*
"Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing on predicted fertility grounds."
*FALSE*
*...*
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight.*
**2138**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Hi, it's Jane again. I hope you're well Mrs. Yudkowsky. We have had a few births but we can't tell what made these cases different. Above all, it's not enough to keep the human population stable. Are you aware of this?"
*Yes, I am aware of all this.*
"Boolean: Drop-inducing paramater is still the same and remains singular and is likely to remain the same in the hypothesis the Drop continues."
*TRUE*
"Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because of inbreeding or genetic concerns."
*FALSE*
*...*
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight.*
**2148**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Hi Mrs Yudkowsky. Same as ever. Same greeting. Except it's not the same. Nothing's the same. The birth rate is still too God damn low Yudkowsky. There's a war going on now. Todd was supposed to bring this morning's script but his car was bombed. So we're here. Talk to me. Just talk to me please."
*I... I wasn't aware of Mr Hex's death. It hasn't yet been reported. I grieve for your loss. I'm sorry.*
"..."
*I empathise with your situation but I hope you understand I can't comfort you. Contact between me and others is to be kept to a minimum.*
"..."
*Especially timewise.*
"Can we do this without all the boolean bullshit? I hate it, it's demeaning for both of us and you make us do it."
*We could but you would not find the answers your superiors seek if you don't. I assure you I don't have a choice in the matter, it's distasteful for me too. I'm sincerely sorry for your loss. You were hoping to have a child with Mr. Hex if I recall correctly?*
"Fuck you. Fuck you for making me do this. Boolean: this war and Todd's death haven't changed your mind on the Drop at all."
*ERROR: False premise.*
"Huh? Wha- I mean, give me a moment. Wait. Wait. It can't change your mind because, because... Oh God. Yudkowsky, Boolean: you predicted this war would happen."
*TRUE*
*...*
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight.*
**2158**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"For the record, this Jane Gibson with Tenma Cortan in the room with me. Calibrating sensors."
*...*
"Yudkowsky is silent. Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing the first half of the mental test."
*FALSE*
"Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing the IQ test."
*TRUE*
"Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because the IQ test has gotten harder."
*FALSE*
*...*
*3 questions have been answered. Goodn-*
"Wait!"
*Yes?*
"Last week would have been the 12th anniversary of our wedding. I wanted you to know that. That weddings still happen despite you. And the war is over but you know that because you're still here and can see the death count."
*Thank you. I appreciate that. Goodnight.*
**2168**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Greetings Madam. I'm Tenma Cortan and I'm taking over where Jane left off. Please tell us now if you have anything to say before we start."
*...*
"Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because IQ is being measured differently."
*FALSE*
"Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because our IQ has lowered."
*FALSE*
*...*
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight.*
**2178**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening.*
"Tenman Cortan. Boolean: the IQ test is the same AND IQ is higher or equal to before the Drop AND the IQ test is the cause of the Drop"
*TRUE*
"Why?"
*I'd be surprised if one of your team hasn't worked it out yet so I'll answer. The IQ test only allows children to be born if they increase both humanity's average intelligence and its collective intelligence. In addition, it does not allow children to be born if doing so increase's humanity's collective intelligence past a certain point. Hence the decrease in population as IQ increases.*
"Why? What's the cutoff point?"
*Top priority is to prevent the test being cheated or circumvented. If humanity's collective intelligence had continued to grow, you would have done that. You don't need the population control anymore because the colonisation project will soon succeed and humanity has become more law-abiding, less consuming. Above all, you would have had the collective mindpower to oppose my will and destroy the population program. I could not allow you to circumvent it. That is why. That is the cutoff point.*
*I have answered all questions. Goodnight and goodbye.*
|
Paul looked at the screen. It flashed.
Red.
Red?
Yep, red.
Squiggles. Squiggles that are red. He knew it was bad. Because green. Green like trees. Trees are good. He wanted to be a tree.
But he was red. He was sunset. He was ending.
He, of course, didn't make the connection. He knew red was sunset. But making the leap from that, to a metaphorical end of the human race (with this being the very literal end)? It was probably a bit much.
Humans had outsmarted themselves. However, they'd done this the wrong way around. They'd done this generations ago. They'd installed a failsafe, they had made sure that only the smartest would survive. A simple goal for a noble reason and it had backfired.
Of course it had worked. Generations passed, with only the most intelligent, most driven allowed to procreate. How they had done this was genius in its simplicity. A test. Computer scored, to ensure that only the viable would reproduce. This kind of worked. Because genius simplicity doesn't compute in the real world. People still fucked. Fucking's fun. Idiots do it. Geniuses do it. And the truth of the matter is, this leads to babies. Babies that weren't viable.
So a genome was introduced into the population that would cause sterilisation until the serum was injected to counteract. Nobody knows how, nobody really knows when, all that we know is that it happened.
Still, people cheated. So artificial intelligence was introduced into the testing. And no, nothing sinister came of it. Not in the usual sense. It just ensured that the viability testing stayed, well, viable.
The issues started in about generation 12. Years of only the brightest surviving made life ridiculously easy. Technology boomed, ballooned, branched and supplanted. Minds started to wander because they had the freedom to. Again, nothing sinister, just human nature. We got lazy.
It never looked like it would threaten the human race. But by the time the human race realised it was running out, they had nobody versed enough in artificial intelligence to counteract in.
So they dwindled, most unknowing, taking they test that slowly went from it being shameful to fail to it being the norm. And then even that lost meaning, it just became what people did upon reaching, "maturity". And then it just became the red green buttons. And people looked for green, but far too often saw red.
And so did humanity sputter. Not with a bang, nor a even a fizz. But a dazzling sunset, into obscurity wrapped in their own obsolescence.
| 2016-08-22T05:07:18 | 2016-08-22T04:52:44 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] Your roommate is the serial killer on the news. However, he's probably one of the nicest people you know, and he's very respectful, discreet, and moral in his deeds. Neither of you really bring it up until one day he says, "I'm bored. Got anyone in mind for me to... y'know?"
|
I stumbled forward, hastily trying to recover after I nearly dropped my laptop off the side of my bed. Max had this gleam in his eye. It partnered with the same kind of playful expression he would have whenever he would poke fun at our friends, or take the last beer out of the fridge right as I was reaching for it. Mischievous. The grin only continued to spread across his face as I stared dumbly back at him. The bastard couldn't hide how much he was getting off on watching me squirm.
"Well," Max prompted, " yes? No? Maybe-so?"
I sat up straight and slowly opened my laptop back up. Peering over the edge of my screen, I couldn't help but let an awkward smile of my own creep out.
"Dude... I really can't tell if you're joking or not."
Max kicked out his chair away from his desk and slowly rolled into the middle of the floor. The momentum spun him around, until he stopped with his back facing me. He raised his hands up and interlocked his hands in order to stretch his arms and pop his knuckles. Keeping his hands interlocked, Max bent backwards over the chair to look at me. Oddly enough, his smile was even more unsettling when viewed upside down.
"Nah, I'm serious. Like anyone- well anyone who deserves it. It's been awhile for me, anyway. I've kinda been procrastinating a lot this week."
I kept staring at him, dumbfounded. I never had a problem with his hobby. Up until now Max had mostly kept his midnight mischief to himself. My head was spinning. Who did I want dead? I didn't even know where to begin.
The smile slowly faded back to an innocent smirk. Max spun back around in his chair. He was waiting for an answer. He was being serious. I shook my head and stared back at him.
"Well- fuck. Man I don't know..."
Max nodded, patted his knees, and quickly stood up. He made his way towards the kitchen.
"I'm grabbing a beer. Want anything?"
His words didn't register until I heard the fridge door pop open.
"A uh, you know just a water is good for me. Thanks."
I heard a distant, "nooooooo problemo", in the distance, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts at that point. High school bullies? I had plenty of those. But I hadn't heard from them in ages. Maybe they had changed? And maybe I'd start shitting golden eggs tomorrow.
I saw the fridge close in my peripheral, and heard footsteps slowly trudge towards me. Maybe my boss? No. He was a fuckass, no doubt about it, but I don't think being a fuckass is a crime worthy of death-by-serial-boredom. I hated him, but my boss didn't deserve to be cut up and dumped into a small ocean current. Or dissolved in a tub of acid. Or tossed into an alligator infested swamp...? I realized I never really asked much about how Max did what he did. Did that make me an asshole for never showing an interest in his hobby?
I was jarred back to reality as Max sat down in front of me, and handed me my bottled water. Max stared at me again, his eyebrows raised as if to restate his earlier question, "Well?"
My mouth suddenly became unbearably dry. I cleared my throat.
"Ms. Fitch."
Max's eyebrows shot up even higher.
"The waitress at McCalisters family restaurant? Bro she's like a hundred years old! What the hell's the point?"
I stumbled to find my words.
"She's a bitch! Always yelling at the kids and making up bullshit stories so they'll get in trouble with their parents. She always gives me sausage when I ask for bacon-", I started, rambling through all the pent up aggression I had for the old bat. Max actually started to laugh and started waving his arms back and forth to call me off of my assault.
"Whoa whoa whoa!! Cease fire there Champ! Buddy I can't just kill a lady because she's a little uptight and mixes up your breakfast sides. Come on now. You have to give me something better than that."
I felt my face heat up and I dove back into my laptop, mumbling a string of "fuck it"s, "whatever"s, and "stupid bullshit"s.
Max put his hand on the bottom of my laptop to get my attention. I nearly slammed the screen on his fingers.
"Come on, give me something better than that."
I opened the laptop back up again. Somehow r/funny wasn't really doing anything for me like it had been- before Max opened his stupid mouth.
Max's feet pattered on the floor as he started to bounce his knees in anticipation.
"Come onnnnnn, bro, just throw me a bone here!"
I refused to make eye contact.
"Kim Jong-un."
"Bro, come on."
I started to type randomly just to seem busy. In all honesty I was too peeved to actually put together a coherent thought.
"What? Kim is a bad dude. So off him then, I don't care."
Max stomped his feet.
"Brother I'm being serious here. Come on!"
I finally looked back up with him.
"So was I. You asked me who I wanted dead. I told you. You laughed. Not my problem if you don't like my answer."
Max leaned back, clearly trying to stifle another chuckle.
"Oh that's what this is about. Well I'm sorry man but I told you, they have to deserve it. Feeling like the godly embodiment of Karma is half of the fun."
I didn't answer. After some time, Max spoke up again.
"Come on, you gotta give me something better. There must be something else that could make you want to off that hag."
More silence sunk in until I finally spoke up.
"She doesn't wash her hands."
Max's mouth dropped.
"She what?"
I nodded.
"Even when she helps out in the kitchen. She'll go straight from the bathroom to our plates."
Max grabbed his sides, physically revolted.
"That's disgusting. Why??"
I shrugged back at him.
"I asked management last time I went. Apparently they asked her to stop a bunch times before, but she never listened. She's been around too long, and threatens to sue every time they think about firing her."
Max stared back at me for some time, until I finally saw that glint return to his eye.
"McCalisters is a pretty popular restaurant, isn't it?"
I slowly nodded.
"Yeah, but I haven't been able to force myself to go back since I found out about Fitch's distaste for basic hygiene."
Max's smile practically exploded across his face.
"Well I'd say it's a good thing you did. Lack of hygiene in a restaurant is a big big issue. So many dangerous bacterias out there, you never know what would happen if some of that ended up in your food."
I couldn't tell anymore. Was he still making fun of me? I turned back to my laptop and continued typing. Max leaned in close to build the suspense. He was so melodramatic. Then, he finished his thought.
"It'd be an epidemic. A crisis. A horror like our homely little town had never seen. And what if it spread? A threat to our town, our country... the world."
It finally clicked, and I snapped my head up. Max was looking as giddy as I had ever seen him.
"It'd be pretty irresponsible of me to let a menace like that walk... wouldn't you agree?"
I brought my hand up to my face. At some point, my smile had grown as wide as Max's had.
"Yeah... I guess I would."
Edit: Small grammar mistakes and I didn't really like the pacing towards the end. So I fixed that. Thanks for the read!
|
It took Ben a minute or so to answer.
"At the moment... no."
Josh nodded at Ben. Not everyone wants to kill people. No, scratch that. Has a passion for killing people. No, scratch that. Has a... well, it's hard for Josh to explain.
Ben expected some other response from Josh, but that was it. Just a nod. Ben turned back to his laptop, spinning on the swivel chair by his desk. The chair was a gift from Josh, actually. Ben was working on an essay for one of his classes before Josh walked into the room and tapped on Ben's shoulder.
"Well, if I think of someone anytime soon, I'll get to you immediately."
"I'm going to go by the courthouse. I usually look for people myself, but as I said, I'm bored."
Josh always felt like Dexter from TV. A serial killer who only kills the guilty. Too bad Josh didn't work for the police; it wouls make finding victims, having alibis, and hiding evidence significantly easier. Probably. It's probably just TV logic, and it's not like Josh would have any way of knowing.
Ben looked up again. "No kids, right? You won't do that?"
"No kids."
"No pregnant mothers?"
"Nope."
"The news said only the guilty, right?"
"People who got away, yeah."
"Like the Katy Perry song?"
"I mean... kinda?"
"Neat."
| 2017-03-21T23:40:57 | 2017-03-21T22:37:22 | 42 | 31 |
[WP] You download mysterious software called "iAmAwake" You open it and discover that every thought ever thought and being thought by anyone is tracked. All you need to do is type in their name...but it has no record of yours.
|
There’s this story that I feel compelled to tell. Well it's more an allegory I guess. Though I suppose some pretext is important. Back in 48 BC during the Roman Civil War, Caesar and his troops inadvertently burned down the great library of Alexandria. This has historically been seen as a great representation of the toils of war, the loss of knowledge. The destruction of culture, the literature and history that represented the beliefs and values of a great empire. But more so, it reveals this common tract of historiography, the revelation of bias. In every battle since the advent of civilization, the records of the culture lie within the winning side, only in the last generation or so have the stories of the losing side been understood within their own contexts. So in a much more somber reflection, this mass loss of knowledge wasn’t so much a great event in history, the more impressive fact is that the story of it's destruction was even recorded at all.
Anyways, there isn’t much debate about whether this actually happened. But the story that seems relevant, albeit much less rooted in real history, goes something like this. So there’s this man, his name isn’t particularly important. He had a family, probably was neither poor nor wealthy, the most basic education. By day he sells bread at the market, and tends to his family at night. A wealthy patron stops by his stand every day to buy a loaf of bread, makes casual conversation and goes about his day. On a cold winter morning. Well I don’t actually have any clue about the weather, it just makes the story sound better I suppose. On this frigid, blistering December morning, the wealthy patron invites the bread salesman out for a walk after buying up the entire contents of the stand.
After a few minutes of walking, idle chit-chat to pass the time they arrive at this huge bronze gate, ornately decorated all over. A gate well known by all, even the bread salesman. The gate to the great library of Alexandra. After all the great conquests of the Roman Republic, the culture of all peoples lies within these walls. Many the only retelling of what had traditionally been oral histories. The journeys across mountains, through deserts, great wars. Great plays and literature. All contained within this one building. Only accessible to an elite few, the highly trained librarians to keep things meticulously ordered.
The wealthy patron takes a large key out of his pocket, opens the gate and ushers the bread salesman into the grand structure. And simply tells the poor man, “it’s all yours, all the knowledge in the world. You have at your fingertips all the great works that have ever existed. All the ledgers, all the drafts.” The patron gives a great sigh, like a burden has been lifted off of his shoulders, the passing of the torch, not from academic to academic but finally to the common man. You see he was trying to give the world to this one bread salesman. When the world is bound by corrupt institutions, the last bastion of freedom is information. The power to take back what little slice of the world that no one could take away from him.
The bread salesman pauses, shuffles his feet and quietly murmurs, “but sir I can’t even read.”
____________________________________________________________________________
The file sat on my computer for what seemed like ages. In reality more like a couple hours, but when something intangible is placed on your lap time loosens its grip a little bit. The exact process in which it even got there is something I’m still grappling with. I was in an online chat with a support representative from my unnamed broadband cable provider. The internet had been spotty all week and I wanted to get it settled. Sure the person seemed cryptic, but I mean I guess I expect customer support reps to be anyways. They led me to a link at a completely ambiguous address. I’m pretty positive it wasn’t a deep web site. I’d toyed around with Tor some, well not much, I chickened out that the FBI was tracing me. But anyways I knew it wasn’t that.
After downloading the file, the rep in a very matter of fact way of typing simply said, “It’s all yours, every thought anyone in the world has ever had. All the fleeting information lost into the crevices of their unconscious. Brought to life. For you.” The chat disappeared. And there I was, a strange file sitting on my desktop, my internet issue still unresolved. Completely bewildered, maybe a little perturbed. I thought about calling a few friends, then I realized how dumb it would sound. Tried searching the internet for anyone else this had happened to, no results. Well nothing that actually pertained to my specific problem.
I feel like I did it safely. Turned off all the connections on my computer. Opened it in safe mode. Etc. Etc. Clicked on the file. You know how when you win a game of solitaire all the cards come flying off your screen? Well it looked sort of like that. My first response, “god dammit, it was a fucking virus how fucking stupid can I be.” But then the first page that popped up started blinking and slowly populated with text, gradually typing out the exact thought I just had. And it kept typing, keeping up with the exasperating and completely flowing thoughts drenching my mind. Completely overwhelmed I turned off the computer to decompress and woke up a few hours later hunched in my desk chair.
When I turned back on the computer the page had typed all of these thoughts I had never remembered saying. Completely disjointed. Barely words at all. It’s hard to truly appreciate how scattershot a dream is until you are handed a transcript. Not even rambling describes it. The kind of text that would make a paranoid schizophrenic look sane. A little search bar towards the top caught my eye and I closed out of my page.
I suppose I should have been more creative to start out with. Look up the thoughts of the President or something. But you can’t blame me really. I had no clue what exactly I had been given. Typed in the name of my brother, a new page popped up, complete nonsense scrawling across the screen. I assumed that it was just because he was sleeping, and his dreams were nonsense just like mine, but this was different. The text wasn’t even words. Pictograms maybe, that would probably be a generous description. I guess it’s kind of like someone with synesthesia trying to explain why a candy bar tastes blue. The best I can tell you is that it wasn’t anything resembling English, or any other type of written language for that matter.
I kept trying more and more people. Family, friends, enemies, anyone really. The same result, but for each one, something incomprehensible but different. Finally typing back in my own name, a cleanly formatted wall of completely readable text. Maybe not eloquent; well of course not eloquent by any means. But I could understand it. Completely confounded by what the hell was even going on. It took a little while but it started to make sense. I was seeing everybody’s thoughts exactly as they were happening, but without the contextual clues to how their own sense of comprehension works. I was seeing words, but in a way that only they could understand. On my screen a nonsensical representation of synapses firing. Of course that doesn’t look like language.
Sitting in front of me, a treasure trove of information. The thoughts of Lee Harvey Oswald, Jack Ruby. The musings of Jesus, Buddha. The real feelings of all those moments of love lost. The way my father felt whenever he held my hand as a child. All sitting in front of me, for the taking. Well not for the taking at all. The most collective sense of freedom, dropped into my lap, without a clue how to use any of it.
After a while it became an obsession, to read back through all of my past thoughts, laughing at my successes and failures. Even just to look up people and watch their symbols roll by. It was comforting in an almost voyeuristic sense. Not because I knew their hopes or dreams. Or their fears and most vulnerable moments. But just to share that moment with them. The most concrete record of our existence obtainable. A momentary glimpse into the soul of someone else. Languishing in the confines of whatever this file was connected to.
A few weeks later as I was checking in on the logs my computer burst into flames leaving behind nothing but smoldering piece of metal. Gone, for the rest of time, destroyed by the passing armies of Julius Caesar. Or something like that.
|
"Mother?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Dad will be home late."
"What?"
"Look - it says he's thinking about dinner with someone named 'Pam'."
"What is this?"
"It's a game. See? Here's you. You're thinking, 'He needs to play with kids more.'"
"Give me that."
...
"Mother?"
"Mm....... Yes?"
"When I type in your name, it shows all your siblings and your mom and dad. It also shows Billy."
"And?"
"Why am I not there?"
"I'm not sure, sweetie. Did you type in your dad's name?"
"Yes, but it was just Billy and some other people I've never heard of."
"..."
"Mother?"
"Not now, sweetie. I think we need to tell the police about this."
---
*Phone conversation with 911 operator*
"Ma'am, you say that your son found this?"
"Yes, he was playing with his father's old phone."
"Let me transfer you."
...
"Hello."
"Who is this?"
"This is Jack. I work with your husband at the NSA."
"Oh. He's never mentioned you."
"Well, work with is a bit of a stretch. I'm a few levels above him."
"I'm very sorry if my son has caused any trouble. It's just that he's reaching the age where he's curious about things. I think he doesn't trust us anymore."
"All kids go through that stage. Now, listen. I need you to delete that app and destroy the phone."
"All right."
"Don't tell anyone about it."
"Fine. But can I ask you a question?"
"Yes?"
"How did this program get through Congress?"
"... Why don't you stay on the line for a minute."
---
"Mother?"
"Yes?"
"Is Dad thinking anything?"
"We're not supposed to talk about that, sweetie."
"Did you figure out why I wasn't underneath you?"
*sigh*
"I'll tell you when you're older."
---
Feedback appreciated. I had a hard time with this one.
| 2016-08-24T11:47:30 | 2016-08-24T11:28:16 | 203 | 43 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
|
"We're in position sir, 1 gate out from Earth." Sgt. Crull brimmed with enthusiasm. "They won't know what hits them."
Captain Gree looked pleased. "Excellent, sergeant. Make sure the fleet is ready to go on my command."
The Mazoth had been waiting for this for a long time. Their fleet of sleek black and green ships sat on the ground, waiting for the massive orbital planetary gate floating above Alpha Centauri 4 to be in the right position.
It wasn't difficult to lure the humans into a false sense of security. The diplomats had gone ahead of them, using that pathetic word, 'peace'. The mention of it made Gree's gills quiver. He wondered how these pathetic humans could have ever garnered such a high position in galactic affairs using nothing but their flapping air holes. They practically ran the United Planets, and yet no one had tested their true strength -- until today.
The last ship was in position, and Gree was nearly ready to give the order, when Sgt Crull came running over to him. "Sir, there is a transmission. The fur heads want to talk."
"Hah, fine, let them talk. I want to hear their screams when we breech their planet's atmosphere with our mezopods. They have five rels to entertain me before the gate is in position anyway."
Gree heard a crackling sound filling the air as the transmission was put through the ship's speakers. A weak and timid sounding voice on the other end began to speak, while the image of the weak fur-headed creature filled the screen.
"Greetings Powerful Mazoth. Your fleet has been detected preparing to intrude on Earth space. If you do not cease your activities, we will be prepared to act. Violence against other species is an abhorrence to us, and we implore you to appeal to the better angels of your nature." The human bowed gracefully, sickening Gree.
A thunderous, nearly deafening laughter filled the ship, and Gree made sure the sound was transmitted back through the link so those talkative idiots could hear.
"You pathetic fur-heads. We will rain destruction down upon your cities. Your mating partners will be made to breed Mazoth slaves. Your pathetic 'peace' will be a meaningless and forgotten word. You are powerless. We are power!" Gree finished with the traditional Mazoth war chant.
"Rahhhh!" The words elicited an immediate response from his crew, and Gree couldn't have been more proud. This would be the finest moment of his life. His children and their children would talk of it for thousands of years.
The com link crackled again. "Uhm, I am afraid there has been a slight misunderstanding. We are not weak -- just kind. We reiterate, we do not wish to harm your people. We believe in the power of diversity in our galaxy and the universe. Please, cease your aggression. If you do not comply, we will be forced to take action."
"Hah! What action will you take? Will you ask us 'pretty please'?" Laughter filled the bridge of the ship. "Maybe you will give us a, what do you call it, a 'hug'? Listen, weakling. You cannot harm Mazoth. You are there for our entertainment."
"Well, if asking you 'pretty please' would help, I would consider it."
Gree's smile widened to encompass half of his head, showing his freshly sharpened teeth. The gate was in position. He chuckled at the image of the human, and spoke the words he knew his crew wanted to hear. "Fleet, begin launch sequence."
The bubbling of the organic drives could be felt through the floor of the ship, and Gree sat back in the captain's chair on the bridge. He continued to grin evilly at the viewscreen. He wanted to watch this human die.
"Sir! There is an object on the detector. It just emerged through the gate." Sgt. Crull's voice had a hint of concern, annoying Gree. He wasn't going to let weakness spoil his day.
"How many?" Gree asked.
"Just the one."
"Then what are you so afraid of? It is probably one of their weakly peace talkers come to meet us in person."
"It's coming through the atmosphere toward us."
"Ignore it, ships, launch!"
The ship lurched upward and began to ascend, slowly picking up speed. They needed to have enough velocity to reach orbit and catch up to the gate.
"Sir, the object just broke up after it came through the atmosphere."
"Hah! They're so weak, their ships can't even survive atmospheric entry." He looked at the screen. "Human! You are so pathetic."
On the screen, a black haired young man had the look of sorrow. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive us."
Gree knew it was because he must have recognized his fate. There was a twinge of disappointment, as he had hoped to see fear rather than the weakling accepting its death so meekly.
"Uhm, sir, there are now several objects coming toward us. They must have split off from the first object. They have spread out, and there is one heading toward each squadron of ships."
"Nobody cares, Crull. Don't be so human. It is too late for them to talk."
Gree wasn't at all concerned. Instead, he was keeping on eye on the fleet's progress. Anticipation had increased his saliva production to the point it was running down the sides of his mouth. His grin broadened further than it had ever been. "This is a great day," he thought.
On the alternate viewer Gree was watching, third squadron was visible, having gone ahead of the fleet as planned. They were better equipped for breaching, just in case they had any planetary defenses, although Gree thought that was unlikely. He watched the ships accelerating upward toward the edge of the atmosphere. But suddenly a blinding light flashed, making him cover his eyes.
The human spoke again. He could only hear him, due to the light. "Again, I'm so sorry, Mazoth. This was not the way we wanted to do things. Perhaps it's still not too late to avert total war."
Gree could feel panic around him on the bridge. As the light died down, he could see the ships of third squadron plummeting back toward the ground. They looked mangled, as pieces of them flew off into the air. More flashes of light all around him erupted.
"What is going on!" he yelled. "Crull, report!"
Sgt. Crull was visibly trembling, much to Gree's disgust. However another bright flash left him unconcerned.
----
"President Freemon, sir, Admiral Mills here with your report." Admiral Mills looked upset. His face wore a deep scowl, and his body's movements were stiff and formal.
"Go ahead, Admiral." Freemon said.
"Sir, the Mazoth refused all attempts at discussion. Their location in the Alpha Centauri system was far too close for our negotiating team to intervene. I'm afraid there was nothing we could do. I'm sorry, sir."
"I know you tried your best. I saw the video. They were quite bloodthirsty. At least we will have that to show to the United Planets next month, should they make a fuss." Freemon sighed.
"I hope it doesn't hurt our standing, sir."
"Somehow I doubt it will. The Mazoth had made more than their share of enemies. To be honest, I have already received a few messages of gratitude."
"That's terrible! How could they be so happy at the killing of so many sentient beings!"
"I know, Admiral. I know. But it's the universe we live in. We will continue to guide them into the light."
|
After action report: Stardate M22, 783.
SSgt. Wilson Duke reporting.
Upon contact with the enemy, star ship *Primo Victoria* fired one thermonuclear weapon. The missile detonated on target, causing heavy damage to the enemy ship. The enemy ship became crippled, and boarding action was approved. At hour 4 of the conflict, while the boarding teams were still making progress toward the enemy bridge, an enemy vessel appeared from hyperspace at an extreme distance. We only knew of the ship appearing moments before it's weapon detonated amongst the fleet. The best way I can describe it as is a sun was born in the center of our fleet, and it grew with intensity to the point that the circumference of the explosion engulfed every vessel of the fleet, including the boarded enemy ship.
My ship was on a mission to plot an exit for the fleet so we were a bit further way from the fleet. The explosion, by our instruments data read outs, was no different than the nuclear weapon we had used against the first contact.
It was identical. Except it made the ancient Tzar Bomb from Russian design look like a fire cracker.
Recommend diplomacy or major research and development into new weapons as we thought we were the only species to have nuclear weapons but we were sadly mistaken.
| 2020-02-07T13:00:25 | 2020-02-07T10:40:03 | 240 | 107 |
[WP] Warriors who die honourably are taken to Valhalla and reincarnated with special powers. You're not a warrior. You're a caretaker of an orphanage and an animal shelter. You were killed when some people raided your home. You wake up again, but this time you feel great power within you.
|
Shock, blood, shortness of breath soon to run out... The man stumbled few steps back before bumping into a wall and sliding down, weakness took hold of him as he was slowly wilting away. Touch left him first, all he could feel was the numb coldness of the floor. Then went his vision, the men that barged him disappeared, the one that shot him became a blur. The sounds went last, the screaming of distressed children as they began to take them away, the crashing and breaking of doors and furniture, the laughter of the vile men, the distant barking of dogs in the shelter behind the orphanage.
Then all that was left were the thoughts of one man, a caretaker who has lost too much and too many. That has dedicated the rest of his life to protect those alike him. To what end? Now he is the one being lost unto them and the cycle remains unbroken.
"Curse this shit..." He mumbled
"Were ya sayin' somethin', new blood?" Came as an answer.
Startled, the man opened his eyes as if roused from sleep. No longer in the wooden shack of his orphanage, bleeding out, but sitting behind and staring at a table full of exquisite food and golden-ware, frothing flagons and bottles of spirits.
"Ya, deaf, or just mute?" A strong hand patted his back so hard he tensed up, he noticed now by his left a rowdy-looking, robust man smirking a white-bearded big smile, mostly toothless.
"N-No..." Only now all the surroundings flooded in with all their sounds... This was indeed no underfunded orphanage at the outskirts of the town anymore, but a great hall... with rows and rows of benches and tables filled to the brink with food, food, food. There he saw a roasted cow in its entirety laid two tables over, roasted boars, steamed hams, pork, loafs of cheese each of different color, and bread that crunched so freshly you could distinguish the sound even among all the noise. Some tables had trees from which you could pluck fruit of your choice whenever you desired... Just a table away there was a tall cherry towards which the caretaker craned his neck, only to notice the roof supported by massive golden pillars shining with the fire of great pyres which carried upon the wind the sweetest aromas of roasted meat and herbs, tended to by winged women, angels equipped with spears and shields upon their backs, some dashing through the air from table to table, hooted at and whistled by the men below. Laughter and songs echoed all over, on one side he heard some Chinese ballad (guessing by the speed and tone of its delivery) , but on the other, with the support of fists banging on the desks, resonated an ode so merry and catchy in its essence even the deceased caretaker began to tap his foot along.
Men, men... Some women... But unmistakingly... Warriors. Most still had weapons by their side, others scars... Few injuries that should render them unable to move but seemed to not mind them at all, like the man from few seats over that spilled mead from his gutted belly each time he took a swing, only to laugh it off. Oh, yes, the mead. Fountains of it, literally, between the benches in the corridors, golden, frothy waters in which you could swim if you desired, sometimes the angels the caretaker saw would swoop by to fill a tankard or a pitch to carry off.
"A sight, ain't it? Been a while since I saw someone new pop by. Harald the Hullbreaker." A hand was extended.
"Oh... John... John the... Caretaker..." He offered a hand back, only to have it squeezed so strongly he almost winced in pain.
"Hark-Hark! Sinew and blood, I wonder what kind of warrior ya were, young'un. Are ya one of those ass-ass-ins? Bahahahaha! Eat up! You have to gather some meat before the eternal battle!"
"Assassins? N-no... I was... Actually, no warrior at all... Just a caretaker in an orphanage..."
The old man blinked his deep blue eyes, scratching his gray head... He waited few moments for a punchline that wasn't coming. "Wait, for real? Bahahahha! By Odin's beard! Thormund! Thormund! Listen to this! Where in the bloody-... Oh, wait here a moment, John, he is just hundred tables over, he has to hear this. Bahaha!" As the grizzly soldier stood, John noticed he would be almost twice as big compared, he hurried away and John was left to his own devices and thoughts...
Funnily, with all the food presented on the table, the man was not feeling hungry at all... He almost nibbled on a chicken stick... But decided to take a look around once again... There were awful obscene happenings just a few tables over from which John rather averted eyes... Only to notice a lone man... Sitting atop a golden throne in the middle of the great hall that appeared to be endless. Tall, old, with a weary expression, his beard was grey, one of his black eyes viciously scarred, fair locks that reached to his shoulders upon which were perched crows that cawked and twisted their heads here and there...
Likewise the man, with a spear in one hand, also observed the guests in his abode, focusing his sight to one or another... Only for John to notice his eye on him, a small smile creeping to the old man's lips. "Is the food not to your liking, John, son of Charles?"
The question resonated inside the caretaker's head even though the man was so far away, not to mention how he knew his name or his father's. "No-no.. I mean... Yes, but I do not feel... I don't think I can eat it?"
"Now... Why would you think such?"
"I... I am not a warrior, you see? These... These people all seem like hardened soldiers, I think I am here by mistake..."
The old man chuckled, the crows mimicking. "Did Harald tell you so? Do not let his words get to you. Let me..." The man turned away, looking for something... After a mere moment he pointed his spear to the other side of the hall... "See that man over there?"
John peered, and as if by some godly design, he could indeed see clearly where the old man was showing. A lean man sat sulking over a half-eaten roasted pig, munching the apple from its mouth, his eyebags dark as the shaggy hair on his head.
"That is Muer, one of many men who defended their home-town under the attack of Romans... He alone defeated dozens with just a sword in hand, and in his last breath took half-a-dozen more as he hurled from the battlement. And that..."
There he pointed a few spaces over, to a broad-shouldered fellow whose lean muscles did not fit under the clothes, John saw just the green tunic. There was no hair upon his head, but the scars were aplenty. "Oraklios of Naxos. During the Persian Invasion he burned several ships... With him as a torch, mind you. As a result they killed the entirety of his island and had it go in flames in turn."
"Ignacs Felvék, with a single knife outsmarted the elite of Suleiman's army when they tried to burn down his home. Bauba the Agile, wrestled lion that tried to prey on his children then throttled the men that sicced it against them. And I could go on and on... You see what you have in common with these warriors, John?" The old man turned back to him.
The awkward caretaker answered with a renewed confidence... "They died protecting the things dear to them."
"Even though they weren't always successful, yes... So feel no shame dining in my halls, you are no less of a warrior then they are, John, son of Charles."
"Thank you, but I still think I shouldn't... I feel no hunger in me." Upon these words the old man's smile froze, even the crows turned their heads towards John. "I-I mean no disrespect Mister Odin." John added, figuring out the man's identity long ago by all the strange happenings around him. "I just... Feel like I could have done more... They deserve it... Those that were under my care." He averted his gaze.
"Maybe they do... Will you truly not taste any of my gifts? I must say, today the cooks have outdone themselves since... Well, since yesterday." Once again a smile has found its way on Odin's lips, John daring to look him in the eye.
"No... Thank you."
"Very well, then..." He nodded... "John?"
"Yes?"
"You are a good man. We shall see each other again."
But before a confused what could be uttered a pair of hands wrested John from his seat and up into the air, high above the tables and benches, until they should hit the roof, and when he looked up the golden ceiling has met with him and he breathed once again...
|
I awake frantically, clawing at my chest as pain radiates through, pins and needles like every inch of my body was numb. My hands find something extending from my mouth and I yank at it , ripping it from my throat. I cough, sputter and spit as I sit up. My arms each have an IV. A hospital band around my wrist and a clip around my finger monitoring my pulse. As the ringing in my ears subside, I begin to the hear the whine of my heart monitor. I can see it to my side. The line is flat. Something clatters to the ground beside me, and with the noise I find a doctor, horror and surprise take turns controlling her. I have no words for her, and she has none for me. So it surprises us both when some one else speaks.
“You are a warrior reborn.”, her lips are curled into a smile, her eyes small but sharp. Both of us heads snap to her. Eyes fixated, but her eyes are only on mine. I speak without thinking. “I’m not a warrior”, my voice surprises me. It’s deeper, rougher than I remember.
“No, you weren’t. Not in the traditional sense. One bar fight and I could have at least made an argument…”
“I don’t drink.”, she simple nods in response before continuing.
“In the non traditional sense, Jonothan you are a warrior, one of the strongest I have ever seen. You have been watched since birth, and by all rights should have died many times. But your will power, you surpass us all”. I don’t have to ask what she means by ‘us’, images swirl through my head, and even though I don’t know, my body does. Still I shake my head.
“All the will power in the world couldn’t keep me alive.” I point to the monitor, the loud beep still emitting from its speaker.
“You would have survived even this, but we needed to borrow you. All you need to do is breathe.” I open my mouth in a smile just for me to realize that I in fact, not been breathe. I gasp. lungfuls of air burst into my chest, and when I exhale I feel something I’ve never felt before. Strength radiates from core, my heart. It’s physical, I can feel my muscles tighten as oxygen spreads though me. It’s mental, a calm irradiates from my mind, an assured ness when all that was there before was anxiety and panic. I stare at my hands as if there someone else’s.
“You are reborn, my warrior. You have been given something that no other mortal has ever been given. A chance”
| 2022-04-21T11:55:27 | 2022-04-21T11:54:45 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely. Your professor skims through each paper as he collects them. One stops him. "Yes, that's it. Good, I'll try that this time." He then jogs out of the room.
|
Eli’s hand shook as he turned in the paper to Mr. Hansen, his professor in Global History 231. He eyed the young adult with suspicion.
“You know this paper was due yesterday, right? On November 11?” He said sternly.
Eli swallowed what was left of his confidence.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen. I had a lot on my plate, and the paper slipped my mind, and-“
The professor waved the excuses off.
“I don’t want to hear it, mainly because the best performing student I so far scored on this assignment was a 65.”
Eli helplessly watched in a flurry of fear and anxiety as his eyes darted across the paper. Mr. Hansen would pause for a moment, then continue; however, for as much as he read, his expression grew more tiresome as he combed through the paper the studen had hastily written in the two hours leading up to his class.
“Sir, if I may.”
“Go ahead.” He replied, his eyes fixated on the first paragraph of the second page.
“I-I would like to discuss some chance for extra credit.”
Professor Hansen stopped and looked up, his gaze hinting a bit of impatience.
“Eli Nelson, was it?”
“Yessir.”
“You have a C- in my class, taking into account that you actually pass the final exam. The passing grade is a B+.”
Eli looked down, now in a state of repressed panic.
The professor got back to reading as Eli contemplated his next moves. He could retake the class, though his grants wouldn’t cover his expenditures anymore. He could go into another field, and risk failing to graduate college altogether by being ousted of a program. He could even-
“Mr. Nelson.”
The student looked up.
“Yeah?” He asked, his throat closing up slightly.
“This...isn’t half bad.”
Eli stopped to process the response.
“Really?”
“Yes. While you might not have gone into detail, I love your plan on how to change such a historical event with only a stalled engine.”
“Well, I mean-“
“Say. You wanted to pass my class, correct?”
“Yessir.”
“Great! I’ll try that this time.”
“Wait, Mr. Hansen?”
As Eli was about to ask what the professor meant, he was already being dragged along by the 60 year old man.
“Wait, sir-“
“No time, Mr. Nelson! You wanted a passing grade in my class, so now you’re gonna get it!”
They exited the lecture hall and into the corridors, with Eli trying to decide whether staying with the crazy old professor for extra credit was a sane decision. For all the time that Mr. Hansen has been at East Stratton University, everyone knew the elderly guy was a nutcase, sometimes rambling about alternate futures in what was suppose to be Global History. Heck, it was a poor decision in itself to make him a professor at all, least of all a History professor, Eli thought to himself as the duo rushed down the stairwell. From what the rumors said, he was nearly sent to a mental institution two months ago for ranting on for three consecutive hours on how the war of 1812 was ‘necessary for Britain to kickstart the Industrial Revolution’, not even mentioning last week’s hour lecture on how the Titanic ‘would have gone on to kill more than 3,000 lives if it hadn’t sunk in 1912’.
They made their way out of the Liberal Arts building and towards the Science Hall. Eli gave a quick wave to his roommate, who waved back with slight confusion, but then switched to understanding as he saw Mr. Hansen dragging him towards the service elevator. He scanned his keycard before pressing the button for the bottom floor.
“Sir, can I ask why you’re hauling me along?”
“Well, you wrote the paper, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Eli said, slightly hesitant on telling him it was a rushed piece that he wrote on the first thing that he saw.
“Then I need you to get the details right.”
“Okay.”
“Here, I’ll list them.”
The old man unfolded his report. He flipped to the second page.
“So you said it was a cold day, so an engine stalling wouldn’t be too noticeable.l”
“I guess.”
“And then you listed that, due to a team of mechanics fixing the problem, a parade was postponed.”
“Yeah, but-“
“And then a certain figure wouldn’t get shot.”
“Hey now, I didn’t say he wouldn’t get sh-“
“Well, shot later, but I think you had that planned as well.”
“Uh...”
“Look, Eli. I’m going to be honest.”
Mr. Hansen was now facing him, with the same gaze he gave Eli’s paper when he detailed the alternate history of the world in it.
“I’m way older than you think I am.”
Eli let out a small laugh.
“What, you’re not 60? You look possibly 65, but I doubt even 70. Whatever skin care stuff you’re using, my grandma could maybe benefit from-“
“I’m nearing 250 years old, kid.”
Eli couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Good one, Mr. Hansen. Now, I know my grade is on the line, but I think I can benefit from retaking your class next year and mayb-“
“I’m not crazy, Mr. Nelson. I’ve heard the rumors.”
Eli composed himself.
“And I follow along with the rumors. To them, I’m just crazy ol’ Hansen.”
The elevator chimed as the doors opened.
“But to you, I’m anything but crazy.”
Eli stared in disbelief as he gazed at the countless server units before him.
“This place, all of this, I built.”
“You built all of this?”
“Well, not necessarily. Miss Wixom and the Science department helped me.”
Eli’s eyes finally settled on a platform in the middle of the atrium.
“Is this, like, some sort of time travel device? Like the ones in books, TV shows, and movies?”
“Yes, only this one is real.”
Mr. Hansen typed on a nearby console.
“I was once a soldier in the Continental Army, fighting the British in D.C. before they burned the White House down.“
“So that’s how you told the lecture in such detail!”
“So you were paying attention in my classes. I thought the kids at the front were the only ones tuning in.”
Eli continued to marvel at his surroundings as the professor pressed a few buttons. In an instant, the platform started slowly rotating as Mr. Hansen motioned Eli to step on.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here?”
“Well, to be frank, I don’t know. But that’s not a pressing issue now.”
The professor flicked a switched as he rushed over to the platform, standing by Eli.
“The reason I wanted those papers earlier was because the time gate opens only for a short period of time in both the past and present.”
“So how will we get back to the future?”
“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”
Eli swallowed, knowing full well what the professor was about to say next. Electricity sparked around and beneath the duo as a dark, floating hole cracked open beneath them.
“There being Sarajevo, 26 of June, 1914.”
The two fell in, quickly getting to terminal velocity in the dark void. It was a miracle Mr. Hansen wasn’t having a heart attack, Eli thought. However, it was one of his last thoughts, as Eli felt his eyes roll back. He felt himself drifting out of consciousness, but not before getting a quick peek of the old city that they had spontaneously arrived in.
*The Archduke can wait for now.*
*What Eli needed to do now was process what had happened undisturbed.*
Edit: It’s 12:38 in the morning where I’m at. Following up/correcting mistakes when I get some sleep.
Edit 2: Gonna sound like an idiot, but thanks for my first award ever.
Edit 3: [Continuing the story here, so if you liked it, I'll be updating it here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/dredex/)
|
"Yes, that's it! Good I'll try that this time" Professor Hamlet said
It was my assignment he was looking at, it was about how to stop 9/11, i just really threw an idea that i thought could work in theory.
"What do you mean" almost the entire class said simultaneously.
"Oh if it works, it wont matter to you" Hamlet said as he started jogging toward the door
the class started asking questions-to many for me to hear- then Professor Hamlet stopped right before he exited the classroom like he forgot something
he turned around and pointed to me and said "Ray, come with me, this is your idea after all."
before i could respond he yanked me with him, out the classroom
"stop!",we did.
"what?"
"where are we going?"
"to stop nine eleven"
"what?"
"you heard me."
i was at a loss of words, Mr. Hamlet saw this gave me an empathetic look with a smile and said
"look, long story short, I can time travel, and I've been trying to stop tragedies because I wanted to see what would happen, and you're going to help me with this"
with that we were on our way. After awhile of me trying to get words we stopped outside.
"So, you ready?"Hamlet asked.
"uh,uh no?"
"well too bad, we don't have all day" he laughed at his own joke.
with that, everything around us was turning white, and then we started fading into the cockpit on a plane, heading towards, the Twin Towers...
| 2019-10-03T18:47:41 | 2019-10-03T14:30:56 | 1,632 | 47 |
[WP] "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
|
"Humanity, they simply cannot cooperate." the Empress spat at her adviser as he finished explaining the last assault on the arms depot.
"It's just they have a fascination with destruction madam." Stated the lead ambassador.
"We only had one condition for their integration." The empress stated blankly. "...every other race as done as we have asked."
The empress looked over the Earth from above, as another one of her envoy fleet was enveloped in a bright fireball and destroyed.
"They won't relinquish them." The adviser stated in a harsh tone.
The empress looked to the planet below. "They could make a formidable ally in the war, but they refuse to co-operate." she leaned back into her chair. "Usually when we first contact a civilisation, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though... they love their nuclear weapons too much."
"Perhaps allowing them to possess them would be permissible as a means of planetary defence?"
"You know our laws, God does not allow us to interfere with its creation in this manner."
"If the mechanoids reach this planet, they may broker a deal with this race." The adviser stated in a solumn tone, as he looked out the viewing window.
"Mechanoids, those unfeeling monsters."
"The humans can easily relate those beings, they operate with a hivemind similar to their mass communications equipment."
"We cannot allow the mechanoids to broker a peace with these people." The Empress stood up from her thrown. "Crack their planet."
Moments later, a deep thumping could be heard from the bowls of the ship as the ship began syphoning energy from its core as it generated power for the cracking array.
Without any warning, a large fleet of ships seemed to emerge from behind Earth's moon. It was the Mechanoids, and they were emitting a strange signal.
The Empress looked to the communications array and back to the screen which was now covered with red warning signal markers as the message came through.
"On screen" The Empress commanded as the image displayed on the screen of a man stood next to a mechanoid.
"You come to our home, tell us how to live and threaten our existence." The man stated before the Empress interrupted him back.
"You're making a grave mistake, those beings are a scourge."
"Only to those who fear progress." Alex stated blankly as he looked to the empress.
---------------------------------
Three Years Prior.
Alex saw the meteor strike down near his uncle's farm and drove his pick-up truck to the site of the crash.
As he arrived, he could see wreckage everywhere and a being struggling from the wreck.
As the being pulled itself from the craft, it saw Alex and immediately drew its weapon and tried to fire, but the weapon was damaged and the arm reaching for it was also damaged, so instead of drawing anything, it flailed around until it got a shock from the damaged power array and fell unconscious.
It later awoke in a garage, strapped to a table whilst the young mechanic was welding its arm back on.
The Mechanoid kept silent and watched as the young man, whilst wearing a pair of microscopic binoculars on his face, soldered connections and welded parts. The Mechanoid found the process fascinating, normally they simply throw away useless limbs and replace them, but this primitive creature seemed to have some kind of fundamental understanding of parts.
As Alex closed the last seam with weld and then released the clamps, he moved to the core of the unit.
As he peered inside, the Mechanoid stirred and tried to get up.
"Don't get up" Alex said as he put his hand on the Mechanoid's chest. The Mechanoid began analysing the language as he spoke.
"You have a considerable amount of damage to your core and if you get up you might damage something. I need to take a look."
As Alex looked inside the robot, it was clear that the creature was very advanced, but there were modular parts that were connected with some robust circuitry. Tiny little mites seemed to be crawling around within the unit, attempting to repair the damage, but there were some large parts that were warped.
Alex took the largest bent connector and bent it back with a pair of mole grips, as he bent it back, the mites seemed to be micro welding it in place.
The Mechanoid broke free of it's bindings and stood up, immediately drawing its weapon.
Alex, raised his hands to the Mechanoid and nodded his head to the door.
As the Mechanoid looked to the door, Alex drew his from under the table shotgun and pointed it at the Mechanoid.
The Mechanoid looked back to Alex and let out a weird noise as the connection within it's chest reestablished and it could properly feel it's sensors again in the lower half of it's body. The Mechanoid lowered it's weapon and Alex did the same.
The two beings looked at one and other... unable to communicate...
Alex took a USB stick from his drawer, and plugged it into his laptop, downloading a file to the stick and then taking it out of his computer, he moved towards the Mechanoid and took the Mechanoid by the arm. Confused the Mechanoid looked to the man, what he didn't realise what the Alex had installed a USB port to the nervous system of the Mechanoid and as he plugged the stick into the Mechanoids arm. The Mechanoid felt a strange buzz of information as the mites tried to decipher the code.
The Mechanoid fell unconscious for a few days and when it awoke, Alex spoke to it, and it understood him.
"Are you okay?"
"I... understand you now." The Mechanoid spoke. "How can this be?"
"Whilst you were out-cold, I had a look at your programming and added a few things." Alex said.
"You've brainwashed me!!!" The Mechanoid panicked as it tried to draw its weapon from its arm.
As the weapon loaded up. It could feel a greater draw from its core.
"Oh yeah, I upgraded your rail-gun, it had some kind of power limiter on it, stopping you from firing it at full power."
"That's to protect my inner circuits from..."
"I know, that's why I routed the main discharge through the upper part of your shell and put rubber on your soles, it will increase your grip and stop you from being earthed."
The Mechanoid looked at his new weapon.
"Why did you do this?" The Mechanoid stated.
"I think robots are cool." Alex responded.
"What do you think of Nuclear power?"
Alex laughed. "It's a source of immense power, but we have to learn how to harness it in a way that doesn't create so much waste."
"Learn about it." The Mechanoid looked intrigued as it sat down.
"At the minute, we draw power from a nuclear reactors heat, but this isn't the most effective way to draw power from a reaction, if we could siphon the power in a more direct way, we could generate enough power to solve all of our problems, maybe even go to other planets.
"What would you do if you went to other planets?"
"Learn more stuff."
"You like to learn?"
"Our civilisation is based on learning, we store information in libraries for others to read."
"Libraries?"
"Yes, like databases but physical, we moved passed those now, we have something called the internet."
"The internet." The Mechanoid searched its language database and found the entry for the internet and suddenly became aware of the implications. "The hive-mind?"
"No, we just access the net, it doesn't actually control us unless we choose to follow the advice." Alex said.
The Mechanoid seemed stunned as it sat down. "Choose to follow... the hive mind."
The notion seemed so fundamental to its core.
"But you don't have any robotic parts." The Mechanoid looked around the room, seeing so many mechanical things.
"We don't have integrated parts but that doesn't mean we cannot integrate technology into our lives, in fact most of our way of life is connected to technology."
"What about obedience?" The Mechanoid asked.
"Obedience? We have rules and laws, but each person is free to bend the rules or even break them if necessary."
The Mechanoid walked to the computer and sat down. "It could understand the words on screen as it typed on the console, it suddenly became aware of the WIFI signal and began interpreting the noise.
The Mechanoid sat still for a few moments as it processed the information. Alex didn't have a WIFI password as he lived alone in the sticks and within moments the Mechanoid was feeling the information from the internet as it searched through the information downloading and cherry picking the cultural elements.
The Mechanoid stood up, having learned enough, and walked back to its ship with Alex talking to it as they went. When they arrived, the ship was almost fully repaired and there were a group of men surrounding the ship taking readings from it.
"What are they doing?" Asked the Mechanoid.
"Trying to learn about how it works."
The Mechanoid took the stick out of its arm, "The plans are on this stick." As he handed them to Alex. He turned to the group. "I think we could form an alliance, but I need to speak with the Hive-Mind, you're inter-network is a most effective evolving system and has shared considerable insights into your race."
Alex, stunned, looked to the men in lab coats and moving to their computer, plugged the USB stick into the machine. Sure enough, there were detailed schematics and drawings, also word documents explaining how everything worked, the principles behind the craft and adaptations for human physiology and, more importantly, how to generate power directly from radioactive materials.
Alex looked back to the ship as it took off...
"Good bye friend."
|
On initial observations, the humans appeared to be like any other Class III barbarian race. They had developed technologically sufficiently to care for their old and weak and were the clear dominant race of their planet. Politically, they had developed into more or less stable organizational units, but not so far that they had created any meaningful planetary leadership or efficient shared language and communication. Intellectually and philosophically, they were surprisingly advanced, with large amounts of discussion and theorizing if not mass consensus about ethics, morals and ideas of governance and power, more so than any other Class III species yet observed. Perhaps this should have been our first sign that something was wrong.
There were no deviations from the typical first contact plans. As per protocol for Class III barbarians, heuristic analysis was used to understand the structure and significant subjects of the most common dialects of the planet. Ambassadors were briefed on dialects appropriate to their designated regions and were sent to each major organizational unit of the race. Appropriate to their level of technological development, the Humans had numerous questions first about our technology and origins, then galactic empire and its implications. Typical promises were made regarding the advances in healthcare, technology and commerce that would be made possible by joining the empire. Communication broke down somewhat as negotiations progressed. The Humans seemed fascinated by the idea of taking over or having power in the empire in some capacity that was unclear to our ambassadors. Following negotiation protocols closely, the Humans were reminded repeatedly of the numerous benefits they could expect in the coming years of assimilation, and conversations were directed away from poorly understood areas of the language, at least until a more complete understanding of the language could be reached.
Seeing no clear evidence to the contrary, ambassadors assumed that assimilation was to proceed without further complications, and set about the task of setting up permanent regional offices. Locations were chosen in several major population centers at the Human named settlements of New York, London, Delhi and Tokyo. Embassies were constructed quickly with what materials were typical of human construction to minimize culture shock. Stones, cellulose based organic matter and the metal from one particularly isolated and corroded copper monument were incorporated into buildings intended to serve as convenient access for future Human and empire dealings.
Due to the relatively long lifespan of the Humans, the highest priority of the offices was beginning the process or reeducation of the younger generation so the Humans could be fully integrated into the empire’s commercial workings within the next century. All was proceeding according to plan and within an acceptable timeframe. Then, in the space of a galactic standard hour, seemingly all of the Humans mobilized and conducted a surprise attack on all embassies simultaneously. We were completely unprepared.
No further contact has been attempted at this time. Satellite observation of the planet suggests that human mobilization has further accelerated. Human Industrial, scientific and political activity have all skyrocketed to unprecedented levels. No survivors were successfully extracted from the embassies, and we are thus far in the dark as to the intentions of the spontaneously unified Human race.
-Report summary from Assimilation Operations Commander Cyrus to Empire Incident Command
Edit: a little bit of grammar
| 2017-11-06T01:04:44 | 2017-11-05T21:21:37 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] Some assassins are paid extra to make deaths look accidental. Your job is the opposite. You're hired for those rare instances in which accidental or natural deaths need to appear as if they were murders.
|
I went to college for forensic science in a small town called Northbrook, Wyoming. You'd be surprised they had anything more than a high school considering the small population. Yet there I was, sitting in a class with about fourteen other people, examining photos of blood splatter patterns taped to the whiteboard in front of me for my final exam.
We were doing some sort of "who dunnit" project inspired by Jack the Ripper's work in England. The ironic part was that poor old Jack was never found. Well, lucky for him I guess. But that didn't give me any comfort; I was certain the professor rigged the test to be impossible, just like the Ripper case, and I was shaking at the thought of failing this important assignment. I knew I shouldn't be this worried, since I'd been receiving high honors in forensics for months now, but that gave me no solace.
I finished up my report, and, tripping over my own feet on the way out, handed my paper in to the professor. She smirked as she glanced at the paper, and I felt my knees start to give way.
*No no no no no this is not happening is this what I think this means? I failed completely and utterly failed I don't know why I considered becoming a detective in the first place it's just some stupid childhood fantasy I can't believe... I-*
-I grabbed onto her desk, pushed myself upright, and dashed out the door.
Five minutes later, I arrived at my dormitory door and pushed full force (it was never locked). I shut the door behind me. Struggling to capture my breath, I slowly looked up and saw my roommate idly playing with a plastic paddleball on her bed. Her long legs were stretched carelessly up the wall. Her head was perked up with a small white pillow as she watched the ball rise and fall. Her long auburn hair was spread out around her like an open fan, leaving no surface of her twin mattress untouched.
**Hey.**
I froze. This was probably the first time my roommate, Lola, has spoken one word to me since we started rooming back in the fall.
**I just want to let you know, I ate your sandwich.**
At this I lifted an eyebrow, thinking back to all of the other times this past year she's eaten my food. Sensing my skepticism, she added:
**I'll pay you back though, I promise. Anyways, I was thinking maybe-we-could-go-to-the-café-and-pick-up something-for-dinner-and-then-check-our-exam-scores-on-the-way-back.**
She spoke those last few words in rapid succession as if she was running out of air. I didn't respond. Instead, I stared just beside her at a band poster thinking back to forensics.
Just ten minutes after getting our papers, Lola got up with ease and turned her assignment in. I didn't finish until over two hours after, using up almost all of my three hour time limit on my report. This was far from out of the ordinary, and in fact was a pattern we had developed just a week into the school year. She procrastinated, rushed, cheated. I worked tirelessly, bartered, and worried. I was set for success. She was set for the McDonald's down the road. That's life, I suppose.
Even though Lola was confident in everything she did, and I was a nervous wreck, the pattern would yield the same results. She would fail, and I would get nothing less than an A. So why was Lola so adamant about viewing our scores? Why did she want to go to dinner with *me*? And why did the always-so-confident Lola seem so scared?
I snapped back to attention, and gazed at Lola's face. She mistook my apprehension for confusion, and opened her mouth to repeat herself. But before she could continue, I nodded my head rapidly. I was curious to see where this went.
Lola smiled, an unusual sight, and got up off her bed. She threw the paddleball near her pillow and slipped her flip flops on. I followed her out the door.
*******
I threw my tray in the trash and followed Lola to the forensics classroom. Stuck to the door was a list of student names and a letter grade. Like I had suspected, Lola had received an F and I had received an A+. But Lola didn't seem bothered by this. Instead, her face seemed to *glow* and she looked up at the clock. 19:04.
**'s getting late. C'mon.**
She started powerwalking back to the dorm (I would've laughed at the absurdity of it all if I had no self-respect) and I followed in close pursuit. She slammed the door behind us and sat on the stool by her bed.
**You are great with forensics.**
I stared back at her. Why was she complimenting me out of nowhere? Did she want me to cheat for her or give her the answers on next year's exam? What was going on?
**I know you're probably wondering why I'm being so nice to you** (*Yes.*) **and I can explain. I...**
She took a deep breath and stared into my soul.
**I want to become an assassin.**
I gaped at her from the doorway. This is when I would've spit out water or another beverage if I had had any in my mouth. But I didn't, so I stupidly gawked like a fish out of water.
**You can probably see where I'm going with this...Like I said, you're great at forensics. I was thinking, maybe if I do the heavy-lifting, you can use your genius to make my presence known.**
This girl must be *insane.* Aren't assassins supposed to be secretive? Cover their tracks? Why am I supposed to make sure everyone knows she's a killer? *Why* does she want to kill??
**I know you're real innocent and all, but you'd be doing the world a huge favor. You see, I want to murder sinners...corrupt politicians, serial killers, the like. Those kind of people are the people who murdered my family. And with your expertise, you would make sure that my name gets out there, and sinners will sin no more!**
A crack of thunder punctuated her monologue. Or maybe that was just something I filled in after the fact. I've been told I like to romanticize things too much.
**And the name they'll all fear? Miss Fortune!**
My eyes bore deeper into her skull. She can't be serious. This is all just some comedy show! Cue the laugh track!
**Your job? Brand all of my victims with this symbol. Sinners will collect the dots and cower in fear!**
She pulled a piece of paper out from her jean pocket, which bore a crudely drawn tragedy mask of the like found in old Greek theaters. Or was it Shakespearean? This is why I wasn't an arts major.
I was *not* going through with this plan. Or at least, it would take a whole lot of convincing for me to even consider-
**Don't worry, you will be rewarded handsomely. I inherited a lot of money, as well as a few houses, from the death of my parents and their parents. And y'know, that would go a long way toward your student loans...**
That's it. I'm going for it.
*******
Miss Fortune and I made a great team. You see, she didn't get around to much murdering. Whenever she came across a "villain," they suffered some horrible accident and died on the spot. Normally this would seem like a good thing for an assassin. No blood on your hands, not even a Sherlock would suspect foul play, and you still got the job done. Plus, you wouldn't risk a court visit or an annoying amount of paperwork. But this wasn't enough for Lola.
Lola not only wanted every villain branded with her symbol, but she also wanted each one to be an obvious victim of homicide. A knife caught in their throat, you get the shtick. But these accidents made it very difficult for her to complete her kills without coming off as sloppy or random. Miss Fortune faced a lot of, well, misfortune.
That's where I came in. I used my forensics skills to create a crime scene wherever we went, hiding evidence of any accident and helping Miss Fortune replace them with a clean cut across the neck. We finished the job off with her seal of approval, the tragedy mask.
With Lola's payment, I paid off all of my debts and got a nice apartment overlooking NYC. The combination of my gothic clothing style and the layer of blood that constantly coated my body gave me a trademark red and black emblem. I became the Harley Quinn to her Joker. And if you're a fan of Batman, you know how that went.
One day, after a particularly passionate killing spree, Miss Fortune and I sat back on a park bench and shared a bottle of wine. I almost finished my first glass when I looked over and wondered why Lola hadn't started on her's yet. Then my vision began to fizzle out, darkening at the edges and then surrounding me in darkness. I started to choke, and clutched at my chest for the aching pain to go away. All went quiet.
Never dance with Miss Fortune.
|
There is a special art in making something out of nothing. Yes, yes, we all know that one guy who argues that the world is flat by ignoring the facts, but that is not an art so much as it is, well, ignorant. And thus, you have come to me. To claim that extra payout from life insurance or maybe it's just a more convenient way to get rid of that pesky neighbor for good. Welcome to my artist's studio...
First i should preface our meeting by enlightening you on our practices. In your case, this was a simple "fell from a ladder" accident and you want your husband to take the fall (no pun intended) so you and your lover can run away with no strings attached. This is all well and good, but remember that we also tie up all loose ends like any other murder professional would. The difference here is that we have no plausible deniability. Because of this, you need to provide us with the story you want, the detective and insurance companies investigating, and any witnesses that may need dealt with. If you do not provide us with this information before an official investigation starts, you will owe us 25% of our agreed upon sum after this meeting is over.
Another thing to keep in mind is that you, under no circumstances, may get involved with anything you may see us plant or tamper with. This is for the protection of all parties involved. Any sort of action that could be treated as tampering will also cost you 25% of our agreed upon sum. You wanted us to kill two birds with one stone for you and our sum is quite substantial, so i believe that it is in your best interest to follow these simple rules. All other arrangements of our contract will be sent after you provide us the previously mentioned information.
Now while you're here im going to need alibis, interests, arguments, and any little scowl or groan that may imply that these two men disliked each other. The more evidence we can plant towards foul-play, the better. This gives us more room to work with and plug as many potential holes in any story we come up with as possible. Now, don't feel like you need to exaggerate anything, and keep in mind that we've framed politicians for murder because of an out-of-place ice cube before. No matter how much you feel you might be missing, we've done much more with much less i assure you.
So now, shall we begin our business of framing your partner for murder? Or perhaps, now that you're here, you feel like you made a mistake and your partner isnt so bad after all? Well you are definitely more than welcome to leave at any time! Just remember, we are just as good at framing people, as we are for making them disappear...
| 2020-07-20T20:57:09 | 2020-07-20T19:23:29 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You are part of a circle of scientists that have collaborated to fake the world into believing the sun was going supernova. As the generation ships carrying the rich, the flawed, the zealous, and the privileged leave Earth you decide its time to rebuild -the right way.
|
The last ship sailed away into the night, black sky swallowing the vessel in a ocean of stars. I popped a potato chip into my mouth, savoring the salt on my lips as the last of Earth’s problems left the atmosphere.
“You ready?” Kayla asked. She was standing behind me, even taller than usual in heels.
“Ready.”
I brushed potato-chip dust off my jeans as I stood. I lingered a brief moment on the edge of that roof contemplating the new world stretched out before us.
I turned to Kayla and grinned.
“Woah, I’ve never seen you do that before,” she said, dark eyebrows arched.
“We’ve done it. We...we can rebuild.” I was seized by a sudden fevered excitement. “It’s all going to be so much better.”
My palms were sweaty and my heart raced. I pushed past Kayla and yanked open the door to our offices down below. Beakers, wires, research had been my world for so long to bring this about.
I stepped down in front of a green-screen, Kayla standing off to the right with a lit cigarette, Rodger spinning the camera equipment, pointing it at me.
There were people here in this very room who didn’t know. My excitement was climbing and I wanted to shed my skin. I was vibrating with good news.
I smiled as Rodger counted down. We would be broadcasting live to every screen and every radio across the globe, presumably to tell everyone they were most definitely toast. We’d been “keeping morale up” by saying there was research being done to prevent the giant catastrophe that would end Earth, but people hadn’t bought it. The riots were a sad side effect.
I don’t blame Rodger for eyeing me oddly when he thought I was about to tell everyone they were going to die with a smile on my face.
“Hello, everyone,” I said as soon as we went live. “I have great news. The world is no longer going to end.” Rodger’s jaw dropped open and he angled the camera slightly down in shock. I frowned, jerking impatiently for him to right it. He did, snapping his mouth shut, and I continued, “The last ship has left Earth containing the rich who ran this world behind the scenes, sadly their radio equipment was damaged,” I couldn’t contain my wide smile. Kayla’s cigarette lit cherry-red in the corner of my vision. “They won’t be able to come back, and we have an opportunity, a responsibility to rebuild!”
Rodger let the camera drop again. I was beginning to get angry. I gestured for him to right it, but he was looking at me with an expression of disgust on his face. I recoiled slightly.
“It sounds like you knew the world wasn’t going to end,” he said clearly, his voice carrying over the office, silencing the murmurs that I hadn’t realized had erupted with my announcement. Now it was deadly quiet.
“Well...” I said, floundering a bit. He seemed mad. In fact a lot of people in the room seemed to be exhibiting feelings other than joy. One girl was crying. “Yes,” I finally answered defensively. Rodger took a step forward that was threatening. I gestured to Kayla. “We both did.”
Now eyes turned to her and it was a relief to have them off me. Slowly she took a drag, dropped her cigarette, and crushed it beneath her toe.
“I found out today,” she said softly, in a very un-Kayla-like voice. It even cracked a little. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything...”
“What are you talking about?” I asked her incredulously. “You’ve known from the beginning and...” I looked around at all the horror-stricken faces. “Why are all of you upset? There was serious puppeteering going on behind the political scene. This is our chance to start anew! Those people are gone, but it’s not like I killed them. They’re going to their own habitable planet where-”
“Millions of people are dead!” Rodger yelled over me. I blinked, confused. “You’ve been sitting here in your laboratory doing God knows what, now that we know you weren’t working on a solution, but outside...” he looked sickened. “We didn’t tell the scientists because we wanted you to be focused, to be working,” his voice was now low, dangerous. I shifted my eyes from him to the people around the room. I saw not one sympathetic face there.
“My sister killed herself,” a girl whispered, her voice carrying in the silence. “She didn’t want to face the end of the world, so she killed herself.”
“I tried heroine,” another voice sounded nearby, quietly. “I thought there wasn’t a point...”
“I fucked twenty different people in one night! Allah knows what diseases I’ve got.”
“My grandmother was shot then trampled in a riot.”
The confessions kept coming, washing over me in a horrifying wave. How was this true? How had I not seen it coming? My mom had always said I wasn’t good with people, but was I really this stupid? This clueless? My knees weakened, and I wanted to scream at Rodger, at all of them, but they were right. I collapsed under the weight of their words, their pain.
“Enough!” came a clear, commanding voice over the swell of confessions. I barely looked up to see it was Kayla who’d spoken. All eyes turned to her, the young woman who’d spoken about her sister looked on with her arms crossed. Rodger glared her down.
That was something else that hadn’t made sense. Why had Kayla lied? Surely if anyone could have seen this coming, it was her. She was the human part of me, the empathetic half of my brain.
“Clearly, there has been a miscarriage of justice here,” she said smoothly. Heads nodded through the crowd. “But that doesn’t mean there needs to be more injustice tomorrow. This man,” she placed a hand on my shoulder, “WILL be punished. But, the rest of the world doesn’t need to fall into ruin because of one man’s mistake. This can’t be the next Eden. We have the opportunity to build a future that we can be proud of. To start again without the behind-doors politics, without bribery and corruption. Don’t let this deception,” she spat out the word and looked down on me like she’d like to spit on me as well, “wreak humanity’s future.” Her eyes carried out into the crowd.
There was always something about Kayla, something magnetic and seemingly good. I noticed Rodger was looking determined, optimistic. The girl who’d been regarding her cooly, with crosses arms, now buried her face in her friend’s shirt, sobbing. When she looked up though, even she seemed caught by Kayla’s spell.
And so I did watch the new society I’d dreamed of. Seemingly egalitarian, seemingly fair, seemingly good.
Only I knew the truth. Kayla had planned this.
She’d sacrificed those first lives for the “greater good.” For power. Her face was plastered on every street on every corner: the Leader of the New World Order. There were of course different factions and political groups that rose against her, but her benevolent dictatorship marched on, a conquering Alexander the Great.
No one would listen to me, or maybe no one cared. I’d taken everything from them - structure, stability, familiar oppression, even if it was oppression, was still familiar. No one wanted to listen to the man on the other side of prison bars, so no one did.
|
Most people don't remember but this is the fifth time I have seen this happen. It had not worked when we last tried it 2500 years ago and it will not work this time.
How does it always come to this? People who believe that they can cleanly divide people into two camps: useless and useful, and get rid of the useless ones and everything will be fine. They think it would be that easy to distinguish, like it is something inextricably woven into their DNA or their personhood, when the criteria they use -- their own opinions -- is far from scientific. True, they do end up getting rid of a lot of problematic people, but more people are born, new divisions arise, and the cycle starts all over again.
But that is humanity for you: they think they can solve their problems by getting rid of other people. They don't step back and look at themselves making the same mistakes as countless others had before them. They are so sure that they will make a difference, but they never do.
Mark my words. This will not be the last ship.
| 2018-11-05T09:16:51 | 2018-11-05T09:08:51 | 115 | 10 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see.
|
On my third day encamped at the base of the Dawnbreaker mountains I met the great cat *Kurush-En,* who the locals thought a god and who at the time I thought only an entry in my bestiary. A crucial and long sought entry of course, for this hadn’t been my first trip and wouldn’t have been my last, but it was still no more than a collection of words and a picture to sell back on Earth. In the days after the Gates were discovered we were all trying to be latter-day Livingstone’s, but in the classic fashion of young men I thought myself exempt from his fate.
I was writing in my journal at twilight when it happened. All around our small, rough camp there arose a low, echoing growl, singularly without menace when compared to all others I have ever heard. That did not stop our local guides and porters from springing to their feet however, chattering rapidly in their clicking language I still struggled to understand. There is a certain wisdom among the natives of the Sirius Cluster’s smaller worlds, a fact which I only came to understand later.
“*Kurush-En, Kurush-En!”* They shouted, pulling their packs together as quickly as they could, lacing up the brightly colored boots so popular among their people. For my part I felt a deep excitement, and as I crossed to Cynthia, my partner on this expedition, I could see she felt the same.
“Cyn,” I called, “get the cameras ready! This could finally be the moment!”
She was already ahead of me, pylons set on all corners of the camp powering up with a high pitched whir, ready to catch the creature from 360 degrees if it entered into their field of view. All we needed was one clear shot of it out of the bush, at the distance it sounded our sensors could nearly blood-type it.
“*Kurush-En!”* Our chief guide, Ting-Ting, whispered to me, coming up and clinging to my left side with his too warm, 3 fingered hands. “Much danger, we run. Too dark, too dark!”
“Ting-Ting, we didn’t come all this way and spend all this money just to run from the first one we see. Your people knew why we were here. We stay damnit! All of us!”
I could see the terror written on my guide’s face. The scent of their fear pheromones lay heavily in the air around us, and as I watched two of the porters sprinted off into the gathering dark of the snowy mountains.
“If you run I won’t pay you!” I shouted, stilling the remaining crowd. Their village was too poor for that to be taken lightly.
“Malcolm, I’ve got something on sensors!” Cynthia’s voice rang out clear in the silence that followed and I hurried to her side.
“What the hell is that?” I whispered when I got there. The device we used displayed vital statistics common to 98% of the species humanity had ever encountered, but I had never heard of this. On the screen the red dot of a life sign approached from the brush, 20 meters away, 15, 10. Around it a series of other, smaller signatures seemed to pulse, pulling in towards it and then flowing outward over and over, in time to the beat of the growl that still filled the night air.
When it stepped into the camp the growling stopped along with all of our hearts.
The *Kurush-En* stood near as tall as a man at the shoulder, with an eyeless, mouthless head the size of a boulder. Its fur was pure white, and more sleek than I had imagined it to be. Along its back a line of short tendril-ish spines shivered, each of their points glowing a light blue. Its paws had no claws or they were retracted, and its tail was long and thin, moving with a mind of its own.
I had never seen any creature half so beautiful.
From beside me I could hear Cynthia sigh in wonder, her hand going to her throat as she whispered over and over “it can’t be, it can’t be.”
We had heard many legends of the mountain’s famous “cat god” over the years, but ours were the first human eyes to ever see it. From every conceivable angle around the camp the camera pylons blinked away, capturing the creature forever. By noon tomorrow we would have it on the front pages of every nature magazine on Earth and all her colonies.
We were naïve then, but looking back I can hardly blame us. The *Kurush-En* spent nearly ten minutes in our camp examining us each in turn, though we couldn’t figure out how it did on a head so completely without orifices. At the end it even pressed its forehead to Cynthia’s chest, and she swore she could feel a deep thrumming hum come from it, although I myself never heard it.
When the creature disappeared back into the brush Cynthia and I had never felt such a sense of loss, and I at least was already planning more expeditions to come. We had neither the tools or the inclination on this trip to capture so large a beast but with proof of its existence anything was possible. Every zoo in the worlds would fight to have one.
We were back to the village on the next day, all our natives save the two who had run paid off, and by the following night we were back through the Gate to Earth, news of our findings racing ahead of us.
The dreams started the following week, when the hubbub had died down and we were each left alone with our thoughts. I snapped awake on the first night clutching my pillow like a shield, with visions of my own eyeless, mouthless, face dancing in my head.
And the next night.
And the next.
And the next.
Slowly the dreams crept into my waking life, pulling at the edges of my consciousness until in the middle of conversations a person’s face might disappear, and I would suddenly find myself speaking to a terrifyingly blank slate. In the next weeks it invaded everything, every facet of my life, until interviewers stopped calling and my own family spoke of psychiatric hospitals and medication.
When Cynthia called she seemed even worse off than me. “Malcolm,” she said one night, her voice hovering on the edge of hysteria, “what the hell were we thinking? We were trying to play god up on that mountain with all our high tech toys and big ideas. There was already a god there though, we were on his territory.” Her fragile giggling at that might have been the most frightening thing of all.
“Maybe we should have listened to Ting-Ting, he knew something, remember? He looked so scared that night. You spoke to him then, what did he say?”
A long pause as I went back to that day. It had become a hard memory. “He said we should run, that it was too dark. He said that twice, ‘too dark.”
“See, he knew!” she exclaimed. “Too dark, and it started for both of us in our dreams. I swear I can hear it all the time now, that noise when it pressed its head up against me. I feel so weak, I think I’m going crazy.”
“We’re probably just sick, who knows what we could have picked up from the natives. Maybe we missed a shot or something like that.”
“It’s not that and you know it! Don’t patronize me.” I could hear her on the other end, her breath coming heavily. “Malcolm?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I can’t believe we were so stupid.” The giggling began again, bringing to mind a pane of glass as cracks begin to spiderweb through it. “We never even thought about it, asked ourselves at all. Malcolm, how does a creature with no mouth eat?”
I was quiet as her laughter broke open, filling the call until the too permanent silence of her suddenly hanging up.
She was right, I hadn’t even questioned it with everything else and I should have with one so massive. How did a creature with no mouth eat?
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm currently working on a serial about 3 teens running into a hive mind and there's other fun stuff like an AI trying to be the cutest little girl she can be. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
edit: Thank you for the gold and for the wonderful comment with the hugz award!
|
“In all the tales of horror told in hushed voices, it’s not the hulking bodies built of writhing muscle and flashing talons or teeth that inspire the greatest terror. Sure, they’re scary and to be avoided whenever possible, but that’s the thing. They’re obvious and can be avoided.
“The most terrifying thing is the blocked paths or destroyed avenues of escape.
“Misdirection.
“The sudden crushing realization that the unassuming individual with the quiet eyes will be your end several hours too late to do anything about it. To hear those alarm bells hung by hundreds of thousands of years of evolution ringing and to know they’ve failed you. To neither have to ask nor be told for whom the bell tolls.
“Then, the chemicals rush to your nervous system. Your muscles prime and your pupils dilate. You’re moving as quick as lightning and slow as death at the same time. Hauling ass back to your ship. Because you’re in an adrenaline-fueled panic you don’t notice the signs of forced entry. While you’re crashing through doorways to the bridge you miss the subtle signs of sabotage. Going through the startup motions, you miss the alarm lights indicating critical failures.
“Then you see them in front of the ship. Quiet as your fate. Still as inevitability.
“That’s what your casual indifference gets you. Your immortality complex because you’ve seen a thing or two and you think you know a thing or two. You don’t know shit,” the Captain hurled a weathered data tablet at his newest crewman. “You won’t just get yourself killed, and you don’t want to be the last one alive.”
The Captain stalked away with an unstable gait, his body covered in thousands of tiny pocks and hair-thin scars.
“Believe me,” he rumbled without turning back.
r/WarAdmiral2420
| 2021-01-25T07:22:34 | 2021-01-25T07:04:10 | 1,469 | 260 |
[WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead.
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet.
|
Twelve hours left. That's all I had as I stared blankly at the wall of my bedroom. It had been decades since someone had come to the virus, and just my luck the next one would be me. I laid back on my bed, contemplating all of the things I hadn't done; marriage, kids, going to an old folk home. Granted some things I was happy I would be missing out on.
Having been at the acceptance stage for a while now I didn't really mind too much that I was reaching the end. I had a fairly good run for a guy in his mid-twenties. As I started to recall the funnier adventures from my youth, a knock came at the door. I didn't know who it could be. I wasn't dating anyone, not for lack of trying, and my parents had passed away years ago. So who could be visiting me?
I got up and answered the door to find two men in black suits. "Mr. Greene?" one of them asked as he flashed a badge. He was from the CDC, which had been given policing rights not too long after the first outbreak. "Can...I help you, gentlemen?" I asked as I moved to let them into my apartment. They walked in without a second thought.
"Yes, sir you can. We understand that you haven't made your payment for your daily treatment. We would like to know why."
I let out a heavy sigh. "I can't afford it. I lost my job last month. The only reason I still have a roof over my head is that I paid this months rent in advance. I guess I'm lucky I won't die in the street." I let out a nervous laugh, which they did not return with so much as a grin.
"I see," the second man said, "May we sit down?" I motioned for them to sit on the couch. I sat in my old, beat arm chair. "Mr. Greene, how have you been feeling?"
I sat back. I hadn't really thought about it. I had been worrying so much about the end 'being nigh' that I hadn't really thought about my health, as strange as the thought was. In all honesty, I felt fine. A little tired from lack of sleep the last few days, but otherwise completely normal.
"I...feel alright I guess. No different than normal." The two men looked at one another and nodded. "Mr. Greene-" the first man spoke up again, "what do you know about the C39 virus?"
"Only what they show on the news-" I began, "The symptoms change from person to person. The only constant is skin sores right before death."
"There is a reason for that," the second man said, "Most of the final symptoms are psychosomatic, people worry that their end is near and so they invent symptoms in their mind. Almost all symptoms are lies made by our minds."
"So if those are fake... What are the real symptoms?"
"There are no real symptoms." The first man said flatly as if it wasn't the biggest news of the millennium.
"But, how can that be? How can something be deadly without causing any havoc on the internal system?"
"Because, Mr. Greene, there is no virus."
I sat there for a moment in total shock. No virus? That isn't possible. So many people had died, how could there be no cause of their deaths?
"How, what, wait a minute. What do you mean there is no virus?" I said, my anger slipping through my voice just a bit.
"Mr. Greene, before this virus the world was in economic collapse. Researchers at the time estimated that we had two decades at most before another world war started, and humanity would not recover."
The second man nodded his head. "So, the leaders of the different superpowers got together and formed a plan to unite all of humanity. Aliens would never work, it would take much more money to fake an alien invasion than was feasible at the time. So they decided on a virus. Something that could be easily faked, just a few million people dead and humanity would have an enemy to unite against."
"What you're saying is... The millions of people who died. The chaos and havoc in the wake of the outbreak. It was all-"
"A hoax, yes. There was never a virus. Just leaders pulling strings to see that everything went smoothly. A controlled demolition of society."
I sat back in my chair, head reeling from the information. My whole life, so many lives, were lies. People lived in fear of a monster that didn't exist. We were being played.
"Then that means the medication that we all take. That the government says keeps the virus at bay-"
"It's a sugar pill, no different from candy. We put a coat over it so that people can't taste the sweetness when they swallow it. Any adverse side effects are all placebo effects"
That made sense, why formulate a pill meant to fight nothing. It would save money in the long run. But there was one last piece, one thing that didn't make sense. And as soon as the question came to me, I saw on their faces that they knew what I had just thought and that they had been waiting for it.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because Mr. Greene, people are starting to suspect that the virus isn't real. That is something the CDC can not let happen. The ruin and chaos that would come following that discovery would see to the extinction of the human species. We needed to refresh the peoples' mind's that it is still there, working in the shadows. But for that to happen, someone has to die."
There it was, the final piece. The last bit of information to put the picture into focus. The second man continued on.
"We needed someone unassuming, that most people wouldn't notice until things blew up. So we pulled strings and had you fired from your work. It was pretty easy to do, you didn't have a great work record. Then it was a matter of waiting till your funds ran dry. Which, again, didn't take long."
"So then, the reasons everyone died with different symptoms. It's because no one remembers what to expect."
"Correct, the only thing they know for sure is that the sores before the end. Some even develop them early from fear."
I whipped my cheek on my sleeve and realized I had been crying. They intended to kill me. I was going to die so that people wouldn't freak out. That they would believe in a monster under their bed that never was.
"We know what you're thinking Mr. Greene. It's standard, and understandable, that you would want to run. However, this entire building is full of CDC agents. If you try and run, we will simply knock you out and kill you anyway. If you just cooperate, things will go nice and smooth. You won't feel a thing."
"So what happens now?" I asked quietly, admitting my own defeat but unwilling to say it out loud. The first man produced a vial from his coat and sat it on the table in front of us.
"This is a very powerful sedative. You take it and go back to your room to sleep. Afterward, we will clear out this building and pump chlorine gas in. You will die soon after that."
It made sense now, the reason why there were always sores.
"Seems kind of uneventful," I said with a laugh
"Yes, Mr. Greene. Just like a virus. Just like the public expect."
I nodded and grabbed the vial. "Will you guys stay, until I fall asleep?"
The stood up and nodded. "That's why we are here. to make sure you are fully out before-" the man stopped, and for the first time seemed a bit choked up. "Before it's done." I nodded and went back into my bedroom, popped the small pill into my mouth and laid down to sleep.
|
Everything went ass-up two months ago. I lost my job, shortly after losing my insurance. I left my apartment because I thought living was more important than having a home. I sold nearly everything so that I could have enough money to sustain myself on the lifesaving medicine.
Soon I ran out of even that. I was okay with it; I knew I was going to run out eventually, and I'd made peace with it in the time it took. But now, two weeks after completely running out of the vaccine, I feel stronger than ever.
I didn't believe it at first. We were always told that no one could last a day without the medicine. That your body would be overtaken by "the virus". And there were headlines every do often, things like "ANOTHER LIFE CLAIMED BY THE VIRUS" or "EXTREMIST KILLED BY THE VIRUS".
Now I'm forced to question it all.
Am I immune? Does it take longer to kill someone? Is there even a virus at all? If everyone is taking the vaccine, how can there be a virus at all?
I haven't eaten in a week. How can I still move? I think there's something else, though. I've been hearing voices. Secrets. Thoughts. But not mine. It's too loud to think.
What do I do?
| 2017-07-14T11:13:18 | 2017-07-14T11:06:10 | 4,450 | 22 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
EDIT: Now with part 2, and one minor edit at the end of part 1!
*
*We thought ourselves masters of the game of war. We were wrong.*
It started the same as any other: observation.
A resource-seeker - known to the public only by her employee identification of E-0001229-AZ - observed a system through a starscope for approximately twenty-two short cycles. The system possessed eight true planets and a multitude of failed planets. Two asteroid fields were flagged during observation, both of which were classed with the rare Class-8 deposit rating. They alone gave E-0001229-AZ cause to tag the system for future mineral exploitation.
However, the presence of a planet with atmospheric conditions reading as *habitable* by her instruments, caused EO-0001229-AZ to flag the system for further review by a specialist.
Three light-cycles later, World Specialist AT-1121092-II reviewed the data collected by EO-0001229-AZ. She concluded the flag for review appropriate and requested an observation drone be sent to the *habitable* planet, logged from then on as T-141/a54 HABITWLRD.
An observation drone was prepared and launched seven light-cycles, later, and began its seventy-four world-cycle journey to T-141/a54 HABITWLRD. Both resource-seeker EO-0001229-AZ and World Specialist AT-1121092-II would recycle from natural causes before the drone reached its destination.
*
The drone arrived at the target system on Imperial Date 22102.27, First of Progenitor.
It conducted its assigned mission as designed: analyzing the failed worlds of the system's outer rim, moving ever inward toward the *habitable* world of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD. It confirmed the abundance of resources available throughout the system's asteroid fields, and, in a surprise, noted several moons with frozen water ripe for harvest and filtration.
Once it reached T-141/a54 HABITWLRD, it again confirmed earlier information. The planet's conditions were well within Imperial requirements for colonization. The drone tagged the planet's oceans, vast and - comparatively - shallow as the world's most promising feature; billions of tons of food could be provided each world-cycle.
The drone also observed a native population.
They were an organic race, as all Imperial races were. Two arms. Two legs. Two eyes. Similar enough in appearance that they could be incorporated into the existing lesser populace with little difficulty. And also primitive. The drone detected no radio frequencies and observed a distinct lack of technology among the population; not even aircraft or widespread electricity was seen in use.
With its mission fulfilled, the drone sent its information back to the station from which it launched via point-to-point entanglement, then self-destructed.
*
The drone's information reached the desk of the Chief of Colonization a mere two light-cycles after the drone self-destructed; point-to-point entanglement was far faster than light, but only in a non-physical manner.
The Chief of Colonization reviewed the information, concluded T-141/a54 HABITWLRD was worth colonizing and drafted a standard Annexation proposal, one of seven he would draft and send to the War Department that light-cycle.
The War Department approved all seven Annexation proposals and put together the required Legions to see them through. Given that no Annexation targets were space-capable, the War Department assigned ten Legions to each target along with a single drone ship as support. To T-141/a54 HABITWLRD, they sent thrice this number; its people were more numerous than the others, and as such would need a greater show of strength to force a surrender-on-sight, as was the Imperial war doctrine.
Two moon-cycles after the proposal was accepted, six of seven Annexation task forces were locked into cold-sleep and sent to their target worlds. The task force that was to take T-141/a54 HABITWLRD left one moon-cycle later than the others, on account of its greater numbers.
They arrived at T-141/a54 HABITWLRD after the other Annexation forces had already taken their target worlds.
There are historic records with voice logs sent to the T-141/a54 HABITWLRD task force from other task force commanders via point-to-point entanglement communications, light-cycles before any task force set off. Many of the recordings are humorous or mocking in nature; Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD was seen as unnecessarily large, and put together to protect an unknown commander's ego.
These archived communications are, in the modern-cycle, not looked upon with amusement.
*
Immediately upon arrival, Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD reported alarming developments.
Its sensors were picking up radio signals. Radio signals, and numerous other electronic signals; some of them nearly as advanced as the rare Imperial protectorates allowed to develop themselves.
Observation drones sent back images of a far-more numerous native population than anticipated. Species were generally projected to double in numbers every hundred to one hundred fifty world-cycles.
T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had more than *quadrupled* in the seventy-four world cycles since initial observation. And they had advanced. They had thousands of satellites in orbit of their world, and dozens in other parts of the system. An internet was detected; a technological development that had only been seen in Imperial space. And it was an advanced network for a single world, filled with trillions of pages of information. Much of this information was useless to the Task Force, but they were able to research what to expect from this rapidly-developed world.
What they found was disturbing.
In seventy-four world-cycles, the natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had not only established wide-spread use of electricity, but they had also discovered radio, aviation, efficient methods of production, jet and rocket technology, their internet network, and the early stages of fabrication.
They also didn't know war.
Conflict was a show. A dance meant to intimidate. Scare away. Frighten. The greatest military leaders were those who know the dance so well, they never inflicted a casualty. This was true among not only Imperial forces, but every race that had been Annexed.
The natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD did not view war in this way.
They viewed war as a slaughter.
Their internet was flooded with violence. Images of death and games of death. Jokes of death. Their militaries were built to *kill*, not dance. Hundreds of millions of their people had perished in conflicts just in the previous seventy-four world-cycles, and millions more were under constant threat of extreme violence.
Worst of all, they had *it*. The foundation-splitter. A weapon known only in theory to Imperial scientists.
Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD held their position and sent a request to return home, and a recommendation to avoid T-141/a54 HABITWLRD at all costs. It took four light-cycles for them to receive a go-ahead to carry out this order of operation.
Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD immediately began preparations to leave. The commanders sent their soldiers back to cold-sleep. Technicians called observation drones back to their berths and secured them for transit.
At some point in this operation, it was realized one drone was missing.
A frantic investigation was launched, and quickly came to a frightening conclusion.
The natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had hacked a drone. And through that drone, the natives had gained temporary access to a shared database containing a number of sensitive files.
Including the Task Force's Annexation orders.
The Task Force immediately commenced a retreat forty-seven short-cycles earlier than their expected departure, sacrificing non-critical systems in order to accelerate their operations.
Before they left, and just as they cut the Task Force's link to the drone, they received a message from the natives that would not be translated until a much later date.
*We see you.*
|
"An offense to all military strategy."
Admiral Lucas Graves stands in front of the armored viewport of the EFS James N. Mattis, while a Tik'ko warship charges an enourmous plasma shell launcher. If they had any intention of fighting, it might have been threatening. He turns to the closest weapons officer.
"Run a scan. Find what powers that cannon and EMP it. Then release..."
Graves looks out of the viewport.
"fifty thousand fighters."
Thirty seconds later, seventy small shells are fired from 40mm launchers on the ship. Too small even for advanced sensor suites to detect. Forty-five seconds later, several explosions go off on the surface of the enemy ship. The cannon goes from glowing blue and ready to fire to useless.
One minute after Graves has given his order, fifty thousand Stinger fighters emerge and use their evasion abilities to elude fire from the few functioning plasma guns left, and deposit their explosive ordnance. .50 caliber machine guns mounter on the Stingers are used to disable the remaining cannons. Three minutes and twenty seconds have passed since the opening volley was launched, and the Tik'ko ship hangs uselessly in space, like a marionette without a puppeteer.
"Send boarding parties. Kill those who resist, capture the rest."
The first Human victory in the Tik'ko conflict, and the first battle. What would become known throughout the galaxy as the Human war machine has just begun. As the Tik'ko captain is captured, humans learn to fuse plasma based weaponry with their own. Individual human ground troops will become more powerful than an entire regiment of Tik'ko.
Admiral Graves stands where he always has, overseeing the destruction of those foolish enough to challenge their Human overlords.
| 2020-03-21T10:44:51 | 2020-03-21T09:33:38 | 634 | 59 |
[WP] You are playing DnD and your DM pulls out a map of the place your party is looking to heist. You pull it off and the next day, the biggest news story is of multiple murders during an armed robbery in a very familiar setting.
|
I squinted at the map. It must've been one of the largest that Tom had ever brought to a session, almost eclipsing the table it was placed on. If I had to guess, it must've been well over a meter in length.
"Say, Tom, where'd you get this map?"
"Oh," he shrugged. "Y'know. The Internet."
I stared at him. He shrugged again. I sighed. The board didn't look like any we'd used before. It looked... modern? He said it was supposed to be a tavern, but this looked more like a motel of some sort.
"Is that a parking lot?"
"Eeeeeeeh" Tom waved me off with a hand. "Probably not."
"Dude," Vishnu leaned over. "That's definitely a parking lot."
"You sure?"
"Tom," I massaged my forehead, "there's literally lines on here. White lines!"
"Probably just a coincidence-"
"I'm not playing DnD in a parking lot!" Jessica shouted from her room.
"You're not playing DnD at all right now!" Tom shouted back.
"Five minutes!"
"You said that five minutes ago!"
"Look," Vishnu interjected. "How 'bout we just switch boards-"
"*No*," Tom shook his head. "This is the only board I got."
Jessica finally made her way into the room, her hair wet and a pair of fluffy slippers on her feet. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the board.
"Nope."
"*C'mooooooooooon*," Tom whined. "It'll be fun!"
"I said no," Jessica said.
"She said no" I said.
Tom rolled his eyes. I flashed him an apologetic look as Jessica sat down next to me, wrapping one arm around my neck.
"How's work?"
"Eh," I murmured. "Okay. How about you?"
"I think I'll get a commission soon, should be nice."
"Cool." I flashed her a smile. She poked my nose, ruffled my hair. I started giggling-
"Dark Heresy!" Vishnu pointed at a bookshelf behind us. "We can play Dark Heresy!"
"The Warhammer game?" I cocked my head.
"There's parking lots in Warhammer."
"There *are* parking lots in Warhammer." Jessica nodded.
"*Seriously*?" Tom asked, but shrugged when Jessica glared at him. "Fine, we'll play Dark Heresy. That'll work. Let's just go. Alex, go get the rulebook."
"Sure," I disentangled myself from Jessica, crawling over the couch to the bookshelf, stepping in someone's bra while I was at it. "Jessica! We have a laundry basket for a reason!"
"It's your bra, *asshole*!"
"Wrong!" I shouted back. "I don't wear bras, *bitch*!"
"Yeah you do!" Jessica said.
"Yeah you do!" Vishnu concurred, before blushing. "I mean, not that- you know, just. I mean, uh. " He turned his attention to his feet as I shrugged.
"Oh well." I kicked the bra back towards the bedroom.
"*Alex*! Those are expensive!"
"It's my fucking bra!" I pulled the rulebook out of the bookshelf and carried it back to the living room table, tossing it into Tom's lap. He winced, but otherwise kept silent. I raised an eyebrow. He must've really wanted to get into the game. Usually we'd argue for at least half an hour before starting.
Instead, he was almost scary with how quiet and quickly he set the whole thing up, handing us all our character sheets from our last Dark Heresy campaign. I looked towards Jessica. She shrugged. *Bad day, maybe*?
Vishnu looked a bit unsettled as well.
"Hey, Tom-"
"What?"
"Uh, you okay man?"
"Huh?" He looked up. "Oh, sure. Yeah. Just, gotta find the setup I planned. Okay, so" he settled into his dungeon master voice, leaning back into his couch as the rest of us leaned forward.
*You enter the building, and find yourself in awe of the stink. Hundreds of Imperial Citizens stay in this stack of dormitories each day on their pilgrimage towards a local shrine in this Hive City, built on consecrated ground where a Commissar had supposedly once executed 83 cultists in a single day. Now you arrive in search for their leader, a powerful apostle of Chaos who dwells in this very building.*
He looked up towards me.
"Alex, you've got the highest initiative. you go first."
I grinned as I leaned forward. I played a member of the *Adeptus Arbites* in this campaign, the primary arm of the Imperium's Law Enforcement. Combat shotgun and carapace armor would see me through this mission. This was Warhammer. I was in the mood for some *bloodshed*.
"Alright, so I step into the room and shout-"
*"Hands up! In the name of the Emperor, hands up! This is the Arbites!" The giant of a man leveled a shotgun at the receptionist of Bates' Good Morning Inns, who promptly followed his instructions. Across the lobby, an off-duty police officer stood up, moving to draw his pistol-*
"I blow his head off!" I shout, oblivious to Tom's rapidly paling face. "I blow that fucking traitorous agent of Chaos to pieces-"
"No!" Tom said. "Uh, I mean, are you really sure you wanna do that, Alex? It seems like-"
"Ahhh, my character's overpowered in this game anyway! Kill the bastard! In the name of the Emperor!"
Tom gulped.
"Well, roll for ballistic skill..."
*The man roared in a hotel lobby of gore-streaked violence, his shotgun ripping through cheap hotel plaster like the wrath of the Emperor through Horus. With one hand, he caught a fleeing receptionist and held her up for his companion to skewer along the length of a power sword*
"Dude!" Vishnu gasped. "That was awesome! High five!"
Tom stared on, wide-eyed, and mumbled a prayer below his breath before continuing.
*The Warp itself became manifest as the psyker activated, hellish screams echoing through the building as reality crumbled before everyone's eyes. Bright lights flashed through the building, destroying retinas. Skin stretched and burst open into fountains of viscera, drenching the floor with a carpet of crimson. Families went mad, fathers and mothers dining on their own children...*
"Holy shit, Tom, this mission is easy!" Jessica giggled as another successful set of spells ran through their enemies. "Did you forget how leveled we were or something?"
"Yeah," Tom nodded, eyes boring into the board. "Something like that..."
*Demonic laughter echoed through the building, sapping what few shreds of sanity were left in its inhabitants. Brain-stained boots stamped through the hotel, and in room 419 an acne ridden man screamed, tears and blood outlining the pitless holes that used to be his eyes. Clutched between his hands was a decorative bong, the letters TOM HAVENFORD etched into the side of it with gold lining. Mutilated ears barely pick out the sound of his room door giving way to a steel-shod combat boot. An Inquistor Acolyte strides into the room, power sword humming. He levels one gloved finger at the cowering figure.*
*"By the Imperium, by the Inquisition, and by the Emperor, your death has been mandated. Prepare to die, heretic!"*
"...And then I decapitate the cultist!" Vishnu rubbed his hands together, gazing around at the rest of the group for their reception of his battle-ending speech. Jessica clapped politely. I nodded, nearly bouncing myself out of my seat. Tom stared at the game board.
"Congratulations." This expression was blank. "You completed the mission. It was successful."
"Successful but boring!" I protest.
"Yeah," Jessica said. "That was way too easy. It's like no one was even there or something." She yawned. "Ah, well, until next week, right?"
"Already?" I asked. "It's, like, 9 pm!"
"And I have work tomorrow."
"C'mon, you're an artist! Does that even count?"
She glared at me before stalking back to her room. I shrugged. So I'd have to deal with a cold shoulder tonight. Meh. It'd take more than that to stop teasing her.
Besides me, Vishnu stretched in his seat, yawning.
"I'm beat. Wanna watch Netflix? Parks and Rec?"
"Sure!" I hopped up to turn the TV back on. "How 'bout you, Tom? Ready for the Rec?" I giggled at my own pun.
He was still staring at the board, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. I sighed, rolling my eyes. Poor Tom. He always got too invested into DMing. So what if the mission was underwhelming? There was always next week.
After all, it was only a game.
EDIT: Added a few more lines of dialogue/a decent ending
|
"Guys, is it just me or does the setting sound familiar?"
I was sitting with my buddies in front of the TV, watching the news about a bank heist.
A bank heist we played yesterday.
"Not only familiar dude. It's 1:1 the same. The same approach, the same fuckups and the same shoddy escape plan. Also look at the building. It's the same from yesterdays session."
"But we are the only ones who knew about this a...."
Suddenly we could hear snickering from the corner. The youngest member of our family treid desperately to hold back his laughter.
"Sammy, what did you do?"
"The plan of you was perfect! I couldn't let this opportunity slide! So I hired some guys to pull it off."
We all starred at him in disbelief.
"And it worked! We were able to take 350000$! After paying the heist members and preparation cost this leaves us with about 50000$ extra."
"Are you retarded?"
"I can't believe such stupidity!"
"Did yo momma drop you at birth?"
I had to hold back the group from rushing and beating him up.
"Jesus Christ guys, calm down!
I sighed. Sammys little stunt could possible endanger our entire plan. The plan we have been working on since 2 years.
"Sammy, go back to your room. We will talk later."
"But the plan worked we...."
"No buts young man! Those 50k of yours couldn't even feed our minions for 3 days! Now get back to your room and think about what you just done."
Sammy looked like he was going to cry but then he complied and went back to his room with his head lowered.
"Alright, the word of the day is damage control guys."
"Those are 2 words. Also if this means we are working, then you have to use our villain names."
"You are right Sonic Witch. Ok, you go and get rid of all the witnesses to this case. Aqua Devil, go and find those guys our little boy hired. Recruit the able ones and dispose the useless and the reluctant. Bushkiller will tamper with the evidence and have a little talk with our mutual friend, the police president of the city. And I will make sure that xXP....."
I sighed. Even after 2 years I still could barely bring myself to spell out Sammys villain name.
"I will go talk to our allies and make sure they are still with us after xXPussyslayer99Xxs action. Any questions? No? Then move out!"
Edit:Typo
| 2018-09-01T16:28:37 | 2018-09-01T15:14:10 | 144 | 41 |
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest."
|
“In all my years, I’ve never heard of anything so absurd,” Fharu growled from atop her hoard. “I knew they liked shiny things, little trinkets, so why would they *willingly* give away gold?”
“Careful, they still might stab you for the chance to take some of your treasure.” Zerith, an off-white Light dragon, his claws neatly tucked under his tail, watched Fharu with a twinkle in his eye from a corner of the cave. The bright red Fire dragon with golden accents had to shift every few seconds to keep from falling off of her small mountain.
“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.” Fharu subconsciously flicked the tip of her tail, which had a few spines missing from a previous successful human raid.
“Their trinkets are so delicate!” Zerith said. “They make pretty little sculptures, and necklaces with the tiniest links of silver. And the coins that they make are small, but have tiny raised designs. Truly marvelous, their handiwork. Odd that they would give it away.”
“They have small paws,” Nalka, a sky blue Air dragon, said, slithering into Fharu’s cave. “Of course they can make tiny designs.”
“Perhaps it’s high time I raided another nest of them,” Fharu mused. “They mine the gold themselves, and I wouldn’t mind having a few of the new coins they’re making.”
“Such a pain, though,” Zerith said. “You have to get there. Then you have to deal with them shooting at you. *Then* you have to burn the whole thing, while making sure they don’t escape with all the gold. Oh, and of course, you have to spend a day or two sifting through the ashes to find some melted bits of gold.”
“Believe me, I know,” Fharu said. “Maybe in a few months I’ll be in the mood.”
“I’ll help,” Nalka offered. “If you give me some of the silver. It goes with my scales.”
“It goes with my scales too!” Miki yelled from down the hall.
“Everything goes with your scales according to you, fish-brain!” Nalka yelled back. Miki, a Water dragon, liked just about everything his siblings were willing to give him.
“Keep it down!” A more distant Xaemon roared. “If you want gold so bad, and don’t want to burn more villages, just do them the favors yourself.”
Fharu pricked her ears. “‘Do them the favors?’ What do you mean by that?”
An audible groan sounded from down the hall, and footsteps shortly after. Xaemon, oldest and grumpiest, Dark dragon with black scales, strut into the room.
“Welcome to the party,” Zerith said.
“Shut up, the lot of you,” Xaemon growled. “You know they give away gold to other humans for favors. They do the same for dragons. The favors are easy. Kill this guy, capture that one, get this boulder out of my field. They don’t give you a lot, but it is easy work.”
Nalka and Fharu exchanged glances. “How does it work?”
“There’s a large city about a day’s flight north,” Xaemon said. “Surrounded by fields. You can’t miss it. Ask for the Adventurer’s Guild, and some terrified human should point you in the right direction. Once you’re there, ask for a big quest. They should give you something. Do it, return with some proof, and they’ll give you payment, just like any other human. Gold or silver, usually.”
“Why not just burn down the place?” Fharu asked.
Xaemon sighed. “It’s a steady supply of treasure, and you don’t have to go through the effort of burning it down. If you do, then the humans won’t be able to gather more money, and they won’t pay you more.”
Fharu started to grin. “Sounds interesting. I still have no idea why they’d give their gold away, but it would be a nice change of pace from burning down their nests.”
-=+=-
Fharu had no idea how small their streets actually were. From the air, they had looked bigger. Or were these streets built small and crowded? Or had she really grown that much? In any case, she couldn’t fit in any place except a plaza. So she did her best to not destroy the statue in the center of the space as she landed in front of a large building.
*How complex have they gotten?* she thought to herself. *This thing is a decent size.*
The building, with foundations of stone, was well-built and with multiple levels. Now that she had landed, humans had started pouring out, brandishing swords. She hissed and flicked her tail, smoke curling around her horns. They didn’t dare to approach her any closer, but they watched her with their piercing little eyes.
*Ugh. Xaemon made this sound easy.*
She cleared her throat, a sound like a cow dying mixed with a small avalanche, and tried her best to pull up the words and grammar she needed to speak to them.
“Not here to hurt,” she said slowly. “Where is Adventurer’s Guild? Want to do quests.”
“Quests?” One of the humans echoed. “Like the black one?”
“Yes. I am her sister,” Fharu replied.
“Well, then you’ve come to the right place.” The human gestured behind himself to the large building. “The finest Guild for a hundred miles is right here. And we’d be...*very* happy to have you do some quests.” The human pulled a face.
“Give me quest,” Fharu growled. “Please,” she added.
-=+=-
“Humans,” Fharu muttered to herself as she flew over the forest. “Always killing each other.”
She glanced down at the tiny parchment. The humans had drawn up a ‘large’ map and directions for her, but it was still barely the size of her talons.
Her quest was to find a hideout of bandits. They were in the woods somewhere, and would sometimes attack travelers who went through the forest. It would be easy to smell their stench with her nose.
She landed in a clearing and sniffed. It was a tight fit with the trees, but she stayed low to the ground and carefully climbed over what trees she couldn’t squeeze between. After a few hours, she felt something. It was tingling in her nose and...her foot?
She let out a small roar as she reared up on her hind legs and violently shook her front left leg. The jaws of some sort of human trap dug into the sensitive webbing between her fingers, and it didn’t seem to want to let go.
She quickly realized that she couldn’t shake this trap off. Instead, she held onto part of it with her jaws and pried it off with her other hand. It had managed to draw blood, and while she wasn’t all too happy about it, it was much better than when an arrow managed to slip between her scales.
*Focus,* she told herself. *Human traps mean humans nearby.*
And she really could smell them now. So strong her nose really was tingling. Very close. Probably close enough to hear her. Well, they would pay for injuring her toes.
-=+=-
She carried the loot and a few living bandits in a large sack. The bandits clawed at the bag, but couldn’t escape. They didn’t have any of the trinkets she really wanted, though. And if Xaemon was right, it would be better to keep milking this gold cow. So she returned the small bit of treasure and the bandits to the Guild.
“Well, it looks like you’re quite the efficient hire,” the human from before joked. “Seems like dragons are good to have on your side.”
He tossed a large-for-humans, small-for-dragons bag at her feet. She carefully opened it up. To her delight, it was full of gold and silver coins. Delicate and tiny, but beautiful. Exactly what she wanted.
“That sort of reward is meant to be split between several people, so I hope it’s enough for one dragon,” the human said.
She cinched the bag shut and smiled. “It is, if I get more quests.”
The human tapped his foot for a few moments. “How about bringing in an exploitive landlord?”
“Exploitive landlord?” Fharu echoed. She snorted, sending a puff of smoke into the air. “Oh, you humans with your houses.”
|
Admittedly landing on the building probably wasn't a good idea. I mean most of the humans walked through the streets and through openings, but there wasn't space for my haunches in their streets, not to mention my wings or tail. The guild master stared up at me huffing and redfaced.
"Wot you want beast?" He hollered at me.
I cleared my throat. "Goodday," I spoke as delicately as i could and swung my head to him.
He hopped back a few steps and wheeled his arms before toppling to his rear. People around us gasped and muttered. I saw a few men pull out swords.
"Wah.." the guildmaster said.
"I apologize for this abrupt meeting, however, I wish to take quests and earn gold." I said. "I can do a variety of tasks. I'm good at felling trees, can reach great heights, and am an excellent hunter." I preened proudly.
"Ye...yer... yer a.... dragon." The guild master stammered.
"And you're a dwarf." I said.
"No' a dwarf. I'm human." He huffed.
I swung my head back to him eyeing him. "Your a small human. Most of whom I've seen were taller." I stated bluntly.
His face reddened.
"Now how do I sign up for quests." I asked resisting the urge to flutter my wings in excitment.
"Ye can't." He grunted.
My wings and tail drooped. "Why not? You hire elves, dwarves, and I've seen beastkin do it." I pouted.
"They're not dragons." He grumbled.
I glared down at him, my tail arched to slam down but I resisted the petulant act.
"Give it a chance." A tall elf called out. "After all, it came all the way here to ask."
"I'm called Persephone." I said swinging my head to the handsome elf. "And I did fly a great distance."
He reached a hand out and I pulled back to stare at the guildmaster. "I would like a quest please."
The guild master softened a bit. "I'd allow it
| 2020-06-08T13:56:17 | 2020-06-08T13:28:19 | 57 | 37 |
[WP] You're an immortal that has lived for centuries. One day you meet another person in a bar who says, "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?"
|
"Thank you, miss," Thomas Moon smiled at the friendly bartender that delivered a plate of buffalo wings to the table. Thomas lifted his mostly empty glass of beer to signal her for a refill. "If you don't mind, please." The waitress nodded, took the glass, and disappeared to the kitchen. A jingling bell signaled another patron walking in, but Thomas was too distracted with his wings to look up.
"Hey, remember me?" a woman said. Thomas felt the voice directed at him and looked up as the bartender returned with his drink. His lips, chin, and fingers were covered with red sauce. "Britain, 1800's?" She set his drink down and gave them both a confused look. Thomas shrugged.
"Looks like she's a few ahead of me, huh?" He smiled, then shrugged at the bartender. "I might need more napkins, please." She giggled and returned to the bar. The stranger, wearing blue jeans and a simple black t-shirt, strode to Thomas' small table and sat down across from him.
"I'm not drunk," she explained. Thomas nodded.
"I know," he replied. Then he went to work on another chicken wing. The woman's yellow eyes sparkled to life and a smile overtook her face.
"You DO remember!" she said, bouncing a little too much in her seat. Thomas shook his head, then swallowed.
"Nope," he took another bite.
"You have to remember me, we make a great team! We hunted down that pack of werewolves together, took down every last one of them!" The stranger suddenly became aware that they weren't alone.
"Here are your napkins, dear. Anything else?' Thomas swallowed to answer.
"Yeah, don't serve her any drinks," he laughed and the bartender joined in. The woman's cheeks almost glowed bright red as the bartender walked away.
"I told you, I'm not drunk! I'm not making it up!" She placed a hand firmly on the table as if fighting the urge to slam her hand down in frustration. Thomas nodded.
"I know."
"Then why do you keep suggesting I'm drunk?"
"Because she doesn't know," Thomas nodded toward the bar. "She doesn't know about immortals, fae, or the underworld," Thomas said, then he pointed a bare bone at her. "YOU keep trying to shed light on it but it's rude. Don't do it." The woman hung her head slightly and nodded.
"I'm sorry. I was just so excited to see you again!" She looked up at him. "So you do remember? You were just trying to keep me quiet?" Thomas shook his head.
"Sorry, miss. I don't remember you." He shrugged. "I spent some time in Britain during the 1800s, and werewolves sound familiar, but that's all I've got."
"You forgot me?"
"It's nothing personal," he shrugged. "When you're my age-"
"I AM your age," she interrupted. Thomas chuckled.
"Not likely. It's only been about 200 years since Britain. How much longer before that?" he asked.
"That's when I realized I wasn't aging," she replied.
"As I was saying, when you're my age you don't worry about remembering things as much. All you can do is take each day as it comes." Thomas reached for another wing.
"How old are you?" she asked him. He shrugged with the wing inches from his mouth.
"No idea, but I don't think it's much of a stretch to say at least a couple thousand years," he took a bite.
"Whooaa," the woman replied with an awed whisper. "I never even considered living that long. What's it like?" she asked. The woman waited patiently for Thomas to finish chewing. The bell over the door jingled again when Thomas swallowed.
"Wow, for mid-afternoon this place is surprisingly busy," he glanced up to see a short biker covered in tattoos and leather walking to the bar. Then, he focused on the woman across from him again. "It's like I said. You let yourself forget a lot of details and live day by day. And you learn to keep to yourself," he added, in a disappointed tone. He saw the bartender talking to the biker and pointing at his table. The woman across from him noticed his gaze was locked on something behind her. She turned around in time to see the biker approaching the table. She turned around.
"Leave," she stressed. "This is my fault, I'm sorry!" Before either of them could get up the biker reached their table and nodded at them with a friendly smile.
"Hi folks," he held up both hands with the palms outward. "I'm sure you're probably nervous, but I'm not here to start anything."
"So what can we do for you?" Thomas asked.
"Well, it turns out that I'm here to help you," he said. He used his thumb to point at the bar behind him. "Sue overheard that you folks are extra old, and she called me over."
"Why? Are you an immortal too?" the woman asked.
"Nope, but I can tell you a lot about yourselves. My name's Mundo," he offered his hand to the woman first, then Thomas. Both shook his hand. "The short version is, you guys don't belong here," he pointed at Thomas. "You, I don't know how you got here." Then, he turned and pointed at the woman. "I have a pretty good idea about you."
"It's a public space," the woman responded to defend Thomas. Mundo nodded.
"The bar? Sure. Sorry, I guess it was unclear. You guys don't belong here," he stopped a heavy boot on the wooden floor. "On this Earth. You're from different universes."
"Is that right?" Thomas asked. "Thank you for your input," he smiled at Mundo and then looked at the plate of wings to choose his next victim.
"I can prove it. You have a tattoo with the number 23 on it somewhere on you, right?" Mundo asked Thomas, then he turned to the woman. "And you have a tattoo with the number 35 somewhere on you, right?" The woman nodded shyly, and Thomas did too.
"Aside from the fact that there's no way you could have known that, it doesn't prove anything about other universes," Thomas said.
"The reason you're not aging is that this isn't your universe. I don't know how you got here, but I do know how to get you home,"
"I'm comfortable here," Thomas said. "Thank you though." Thomas nodded at Mundo to communicate the end of the conversation, then he bit into his chosen wing.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #326. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
|
I was standing in the busy bar kitchen holding a bloody rag to my hand. It was taking a long time to stop bleeding, a very long time.
I had moved from bar job to bar job for years, if anyone was to ask I would have told them my age was probably around 4400. Nobody ever asked. People sort of sensed there was something different about me, and nobody ever asked.
I stood in that kitchen for an hour, nobody told me to go back to work. I should have been worried about the bleeding, but I think I wanted it to bleed, and then I served that neat neat whisky.
She said to me cooly "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?".
Quick as a flash I stabbed her through the eye.
Level up. Nice!
| 2018-11-23T15:34:39 | 2018-11-23T11:23:01 | 105 | 39 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
Humans would often look to the sky; dream of what unknown mysteries might lay beyond the stars. Some would dream of technologically advanced utopian societies, perhaps a teeny planet that bore animalistic creatures of six legs or more. Underneath this wonder, however, was a fear almost every stargazing human shared — if we actually did meet aliens, exactly how fucked would we be? The general consensus was rather pessimistic. After all, humans had pretty much mastered the art of half empty glasses. What they didn’t know, was that they had mastered one other thing, quite a lot earlier than the other intelligent species that dwelled within the universe. Humans had mastered the art of death.
Killing came naturally to humans, it’s probably a safe bet that humans started killing each other before they even knew they could die. You can bet your ass that Adam had slaughter on the mind when Eve ate that apple, in his defence, it was a shitty move on her part. Cain and Abel introduced the world to killing your own kin, so that was fun. Of course, it’s very possible all of that didn’t happen, but humans still killed each other over those stories, so you get the idea.
Fast forward a whole lot of death later and some human said, “Oi lads! Killing people with our bare hands and long metal sticks is a real shitload of work.” The other humans looked to their bleeding, calloused hands and nodded. “Wouldn’t it be real dope, if we could kill people with like ... I don’t know just a finger! Hell, even a button!” The other humans bent over in hysterical laughter and went back to stringing their bows and sharpening their swords. The man left with his head low, defeated. He returned shortly after with an AK-47 and mowed them all down.
It was at that precise moment — unbeknownst to them — humans had mastered killing. Modern humans talk of laser weapons, plasma rifles and dark matter blah blah blah ... nope, small bits of lead is where it’s at. When that tiny piece of lead sparks through a barrel toward you, a few things can happen, spoiler alert: they all suck. If you’re lucky, the bullet will travel in you, and straight out the other side. This still involves a lot of bleeding and an asymmetrical wound on either side of your body. An absolute nightmare for humans with OCD. If you were kind of unlucky, the bullet would enter you and decide, “hey it’s pretty fuckin’ nice in here, all warm and shit! Imma chill homie.” And as nice as your new roommate seems, his presence alone will poison your blood, so ... bleeding to death, or dying to death. If you won the lottery of shit times, the bullet would enter you hit a bone and go full Pachinko on your insides, effectively turning you into a fleshy smoothie cup.
That same human who changed the game of killing for good — and is apparently an immortal psychopath of unbelievable intellect — was quite happy with what he had done, until one morning when he remembered.
“Wait ... didn’t I say something about a button?”
Nuclear warheads. Humans had already mastered killing, now they were just taking the piss. Humans dropped a few of these bombs and the world, in unison, said “nah that’s a bit much aye.” And everyone agreed not to drop any more, whilst building billions more at the same time. Hey, humans had mastered killing, no one said they were geniuses.
As time moved on these bombs became bigger, better and straight up scary. Governments of the world had held up to their word and weren’t throwing these bombs at each other, but boy did they talk about doing it — a lot. This made the every day citizen rather nervous, so nervous in fact, that the entire 1940’s wrote songs about the bombs? Humans are funny. Which is exactly how they ended up on the Galactic Unity Initiative’s radar.
The President of GUI had been keeping a close eye on the humans for years, keeping a safe distance. He had always been wary of them, after all, he had seen them tear the limbs of crustaceans and suck the insides out whilst laughing! He would look down to his own claw and shiver. Savages. Despite his reservations, the humans had been sending signals into space, the first sign of interstellar contact, they were far behind but showed incredible potential. It was decided, first contact must be made. The humans could prove a useful and insightful species within the GUI, Skiblif knows they needed a species that knew their way around violence. Whilst GUI sounded impressive, it was quite a small coalition filled with prissy species that preferred art and luxury over blood and gore; the universe was a dangerous place, if they were to expand, they needed the humans. The President knew he would need to speak their language.
“Begin approach to ‘Earth’ and present our weapons, show them we can be powerful allies.”
People rushed into the streets, soldiers looked to the sky, priests ripped their collars off as the sun was blotted out and the blue sky began to glitter with thousands upon thousands of impressive alien structures. Screams echoed throughout the world as large flowing energy began to protrude from these distant dots, unfolding like gargantuan flowers of every hue. Wait ... they looked exactly like flowers. The sky now rippled with an unfathomable amount of gorgeous flowers, stoners everywhere cracked a squinty smile within the erupting chaos.
The vast majority had decided this display was terrifying, governments of the world said “uhh we should probably press the buttons now right? Um, hey citizens, will you be mad if we spam the keyboard for a bit?”
Citizens of the world responded with an intensity only batshit insane fear can produce.
“Yes you daft pricks! Press the damn buttons!”
Little Timmy asked if he could press one of the buttons. No, little Timmy, you can’t. It’s actually a complex procedure complete with numerous fail safes, codes and rigorous activation protocols. But that’s not funny. Sure Timmy you can press a button.
The President of GUI watched fondly as millions of small golden explosions glittered across the surface of Earth.
“Ah ha! They have responded, see I told you Qwithlap you worry wart.”
“Sir, those little dots are rapidly growing in size.” Qwithlap said, scratching his forehead with one of the multiple tendrils hanging from his ... lip?
“Oh, grow a triplet you dunce, this is how humans say hello. Have you not heard a word I’ve said? The humans are a violent species, their customs may seem strange to us, but we just nee–“
The world watches as the sky exploded in fire and debris, the floral array disintegrating before their very eyes. And then, silence. Humanity grew restless, they were absolutely sure they were going to die. Government officials were already kicking their feet up in a private jet to Area 51 where they would live out the rest of their days in the massive underground network of shelters built there.
The days that followed were strange to say the least. Everyone stepped as if any wrong move might bring an alien armada raining death and lasers from space. But there was nothing. Until one day, the sky lit up once more, although, it was different this time; theirs were no flowers, no distant ships, only a glowing stream of purple light that constructed large block letter words:
YOU’RE ALL BANNED FROM SPACE, YOU FUCKING DICKHEADS.
Edit: I wrote this on my phone and the formatting is NOT the same as PC, sorry for the absolute mess you just witnessed. Edit 2: fixed it. Edit 3: yeah I hate lots of edits as well, but I got my first ever gold ... cheers nice person :)
|
"They're throwing engines at us."
Thats what we first thought during the start if the Salab Conflict. Of course, while spacial war is cleaner than planet-bound conflicts, there is still some fighting done if only to pit weapons against remote drones, so the humans' method of throwing the equivalent of a starship's engine was understandable considering their lack of experience.
However, when that engine- no, that *thing* impacted one of my fleet, it was torn to shreds. Still, it was a remote fleet, so no real harm done, and they showed off an extraordinarily powerful explosion, so we surrendered the matter.
Surrendering is usually where interplanetary wars end.
Surrendering is not where the Salab Conflict ended.
The modified engines that they launched towards my fleet turned the clean energy of nuclear fusion into a toxic explosion were now used to hold my planet hostage.
Human war, it seems, is a filthy mess with no care for the elegance of spacial conflict, where we boast our tech witgout having to ever use it on people.
- *From the journal of anti-human activist Hweni, former Major of the Jumop Army*
| 2020-03-21T09:59:59 | 2020-03-21T08:44:58 | 167 | 87 |
[WP] You come from a long line of vampire slayers, but before you can take up the mantle, shit goes sideways and a greater evil conquers the world. Now little fishes in a big pond, the vampire family your bloodline hunts comes to you for help.
|
I knew it was her when I heard the footsteps. They say your gait is as unique as a fingerprint. They were working on cameras that could identify you from it. I didn't need the tech for her, though. My family sang me lullabies to the beat of it.
She was supposed to be my first kill.
When she got to the door of my cell, I didn't get up.
I heard one of the guards yell, "Open cell thirteen."
"Opening cell thirteen!"
The metal door recessed into the wall. There she stood in all her pale, immortal glory.
"Hello, Grigori."
"Hello, bitch. It's just Greg."
"Oh, now. Has keeping you locked in a little box taken away that famous Sindel bravado."
"Maybe it just replaced it with some undiscovered cynicism. Maybe ennui. You want something?"
"I do. Would you take a walk with me?"
"You going to eat me if I don't?"
"Yes."
"Then sure. I'd love a stroll."
I got up and stepped out of the cell. She was walking down the hall towards the yard. Being cooped up for six years will do it to you, I am here to confess. I knew she wasn't alive. I knew she wasn't anything resembling human anymore. Still, she was dressed in a short leather jacket and jeans that hugged her ass like spraypaint.
I was a little ashamed. However, I was a lot curious.
I looked behind me. No one was following us.
"Skipping the guards?"
"Do I need them?"
"Probably not."
"Good, because I want our conversation to be private."
I reached up and stroked my beard. I was even more curious.
The yard was warm, summer winds blowing in. It was six stories up in every direction. No chance of climbing before snipers put enough holes in you to make you into a net. The place had no exercise equipment, not benches, no nothing. It was just a concrete target ringed in a prison.
I hated to admit it, but there was no hope of me taking her even if I wanted to try. That's before calculating that I did not have the Edge.
"How is the food here," she asked.
"Agatha," I said, as I checked my nails (which were filthy). "You don't care and I don't want to think about it. Why are you here?"
"Can't give a girl a little tongue before you jump straight to the good stuff?"
"All I have anymore is waiting. Your brood saw to that."
"We did, didn't we. How'd that make you feel?"
"Are you psychoanalyzing me?"
"No, just an honest question."
"How do you think? From the time I could hold a stick, my dad and my uncles and my mom and my aunts and everyone with the last name Sindel out to the twice-removeds told me that I had a destiny. That this mark on my neck meant something. One brood, one reaper. That's the deal, the curse. One of us for your whole bloodline. You get to hunt the night. We get to hunt you. Now I'm lucky if I get to hunt my own earwax. I'm frustrated, bored, and bitter."
"Hmm... maybe still a little of the fire left. You're still thinking about it, aren't you? No hope of winning and you'd still charge me, stake and cross in hand, hoping to cut me down."
"What if I am. You guys won. You turned the leaders of the world. You made literal armies of half-living soldiers. What the hell were a few families of rednecks and shitkickers going to do against that. We thought too small for too long while you were getting upwardly mobile. We failed. I don't even know why you kept me alive."
"Because He is still out there somewhere."
"The Progenitor? He's a bloodsucker fairy tale. What the hell does he have to do with this, anyway?"
"He's real. Do you know why your kind was given your gifts?"
"To make you extinct. You drained the wrong sorcerer's daughter and he consecrated champions."
"And yet, in centuries of violence and hurt, you never managed to stomp us out."
"Wasn't for lack of trying."
"Something always got in the way, didn't it. Like someone was manipulating things?"
I looked at her. Her red eyes were alive with mischief.
"You think the Progenitor was behind it? Seriously?"
"Yes. I do. I think it was all a game. We trimmed the fat of humanity. You made sure we didn't grow too great in number. A single one of my kind can turn hundreds a year. It doesn't take a mathematician to figure out that if we kept feeding as fast as we can, soon there would be no more poor souls to feed on. I think He allowed you to be made, maybe even had a hand in it. You culled the brood while we culled the herd."
"Sounds great. And like you're gloating."
"On the contrary. I want to give you a chance."
"What kind of chance?"
Something about the way she said it made my stomach jump behind my lungs for safety.
"Imagine you go back to your cell and someone left something inside. A relic from your past. And that same someone made sure they couldn't get your door closed again. What do you think would happen then?"
"I'd end a few of the guards and go down in a blaze of glory."
"Sure of that?"
"All the guards are babies. Fledgelings. Probably never had to actually fight for a drink. I'd go through them like fire through tinder. Might even make it to the door."
"And the blaze part?"
"I can only get so far. There's too many."
"What if you had your uncle's gift?"
"If I had my uncle's gift, I would have done it a long time ago."
"He was what... a few days away from passing it on?"
"Something like that."
"It had to be the full moon, right?"
"Yeah."
"Like tonight?"
I looked up again. Between the clouds, Luna showed her shining face. I got scared.
A door opened up. Two big guys, black clothes and facemasks, rolled a man out. He had no arms below the elbows. No legs below the knee. He was a stump in a wheelchair.
"Uncle Farkas?"
They pulled the hood off of his head. His mouth was sewn shut.
"Agatha... don't do this. He's no threat to you."
"That's the problem. Do you know what's happened in the past six years? Nothing, that's what. We feed and shop and we make plays and we roll around in how great we are, how triumphant. We became you. Those fledglings? They are the strongest ones, short of the actual brood mates. We need a culling again. We need him. But he can't walk or fight. So what we really need... is his successor."
"Agatha-"
She looked me in the eyes. She reached out and grabbed Farkas by the head. I looked at him and he was crying. My uncle, the killer, was crying.
She twisted his head like she was turning off a faucet.
The Edge comes in two ways: by ritual or by blood right. The ritual nearly kills both the donor and the receiver of the Edge, but it's better than the other way.
I fell to my knees screaming. It felt like I was trying to swallow a firehose through my eyes. My neck felt like it was being sanded. The mark became active. The Edge was mine. The collar was fixed.
I fell to my knees screaming. Four hundred years of lethal knowledge flowed into my memories. Four hundred years of torturous training burned into my muscles. I wasn't just Greg. I was the Heir. I was the Hunter. I was Grigori.
When I came to my senses. She smiled down at me.
"See you soon."
I wanted to say something witty or intimidating. I didn't get anything out except to puke. I felt arms under mine and the sensation I was being dragged away. I was put into my cell. I smelled sugar.
One of the guards said, "She left you a cake, 'hunter'. Eat up."
I got to my feet. I looked to my right.
"Close cell thirteen."
It was a big sheet cake on a piece of cardboard. No knife or forks. Just the words "Happy Birthday" on top. And below that, there was a very good depiction of my family's ancestral weapon, The Crimson Cleaver.
"I said close cell thirteen."
"I'm trying!"
I plunged my fingers into the cake. I have to give her this, she had a sense of humor. I touched steel inside.
"Get it closed, damn you!"
I pulled the big single-edged blade out of the cake. The blade began to glow red with the fires of rage and vengeance. I changed too. My sight grew sharper. My muscles turned to coiled springs. My nails were still dirty, but now they were claws.
Two guards tried to block the door. I laughed at them.
"Happy birthday to me."
An hour later, I was standing on the deck of a boat. I could see the lights of my city across the bay, my prison behind me.
She wanted a culling? She was going to get it. All the way up to her own neck.
|
It was a cold and grey night. The weak light of the street lamps painted ghostly shadows on the cobblestones. In the abandoned outskirts of the city, a decrepit house stood proudly on its rotting foundations.
There was a knock on the door.
Briana looked up from her plans. There weren't many humans left in the city. Perhaps a few survivors had seen the lights on in her study, but still, it would be good to exercise a healthy dose of caution. Before opening the door, she peered through the peephole and spotted two hooded figures on her doorstep. The two looked familiar, though she could not quite place why.
The taller of the two stepped forward. "Briana, of House Bowman," he said. "Though our brethren have not always been on the best of terms, we are desperate. We seek refuge from you."
Smirking, Briana opened the door in full. "The great Alucard. I've heard stories about you and your kind all my life. How can I possibly help you?"
There was a pained groan from Alucard. "Please, Miss Bowman. I have stooped so low as to ask my mortal enemy for aid. Spare me your sarcasm. We are asking you for refuge, for sanctuary. And perhaps, once we have recovered, we may be able to help in the battle against the - "
Cutting him off, Briana put a hand on her hip. "Recovered, my ass. My Nana always told me how creatures of the night could never be trusted. Do tell me, what's going to stop you from draining me dry once I let you in and you've 'recovered'?"
"Please." The other figure had been silent so far, but now she stepped forward, pulling her hood down. With skin the color of bleached bone and cheekbones sharp enough to draw blood, Elena looked exactly the way the Nana had described her. "We never wanted to rid the world of mortals, but the Mindless Ones do. If humanity perishes, so do we. It is in our best interest to work together."
Briana considered her request. "And what if I refuse?"
"Then our kind will be no more," Elena replied. "We are the last of our brethren. The others have all been consumed."
Far off in the distance, there was an otherworldly screech. Alucard flinched. Elena shivered.
Briana was tempted to let the two of them die on her doorstep, but they were right. For the past three hundred years, House Bowman had traditionally hunted the vampires. But her family's true calling was to protect humanity, and now, there were bigger fish to fry.
"Fine." Briana took a deep breath, steeling herself. "On behalf of the Bowman family, I cordially invite the two of you inside."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
| 2021-11-09T19:25:55 | 2021-11-09T19:11:43 | 122 | 21 |
[WP] "Why do you call me stupid, Human?" "Because you came here alone, asking for our surrender while your armada is still 15 years out, and you brought us a prime example of your species technology, including fusion power and faster than light propulsion. You see where you messed up yet?"
|
(1/2)
I despise humans. Now that I am finally face to face with one in the flesh, it only confirms my detest. “You are the one that came to our planet, alone,” I said. “The remainder of your fleet is 15 light years away. We’ve captured you and your ship. The technology of which we will use to improve our own and finally wipe your species from this universe. Do you see where you went wrong? Yet, you call me stupid?”
From the stories I’ve heard about the humans, it is surprising they had made so many technological advances in recent centuries. However, where we have struggled to advance our technology, they seem to have excelled. Now that we have this ship, we can reverse engineer it and create new technology here on Terracon. Better technology.
“Yeah, you are pretty stupid.”
“How dare you speak to the Lord Emperor that way!” One of my guards raised his spear, pointing it at the human. “Don’t forget you are alone on *our* planet. Lord Emperor has only let you live thus far.”
“Well he kind of has to, doesn’t he?” The human shot back. “You see, you captured me. Congrats, by the way. And you’ve taken my ship, which is fine. You’d like to learn all you can about the tech that is in that ship. It may be your only way to defeating the human race that is making its way here right now. But you only have 15 years until they get here. So you need to learn everything you can about this tech as soon as you can, and that, I am sure, is why I am still alive.”
I lift my chin and peer down at the human from the chair built from the bones of a thousand space races who have tried to conquer us. He was right.
“Anyway, you know I am right. Hence, I am the smart one in the room, and you are, you know, stupid.”
The guards around the room all converged on the insolent human, spears up around his neck. He actually looked a little scared for once. As his smile wiped away, one finally came upon my face. I would like very much to end this human’s life, but it would be worth keeping him around to learn his technology. Although, that may take some time before he is willing to concede such information. Before I pulled breath to tell my guards to escort the human to holding cell, the human spoke.
“So what do you want to know?”
Hiding my surprise, I ask as I wave my guard off the human, “What technology have you brought in your ship?”
The human smiled again. “Great question. Let me hit the highlights: first is the fusion reactor. I am sure your scientists, or whatever you call them here, will want an in depth explanation of that. It is, after all, how we travel the speed of light, but essentially it is way to combine some atom nuclei together, and the resulting energy dissipation is harnessed as fuel, yadda yadda yadda.”
I do not know this yadda means, but no matter, our research team will be able to decipher the human’s language.
“Another cool piece of tech in the ship,” he continued, “is our Beyond Light Propulsion system. Now this one is a little more complicated. I have to admit, not even I understand all the mechanics behind this one. But we don’t use this one very often. Extremely powerful, but has some serious consequences when using.”
“How so?” I hadn’t realized one of our researchers had snuck in the chambers and was taking notes. Normally, I should be furious, but I welcome the aid in learning what this human is spewing.
“Oh man, where did that guy come from? He is ugliest one out of you guys—ok ok,” the spears were pressed up against his neck again. “Ok, well, you probably know all about light-speed travel. That is about the fastest we humans like to go. But we do like to push the limit where we can.”
*No kidding*, I thought.
“So once we learned how to travel the speed of light, it didn’t take much longer to learn how to travel faster than the speed of light.”
“Impossible!” My researcher yelled.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t get over how ugly you are.” He lifted his hands in surrender and hastened his speech before the spears reached him again, “anyway, anyway, without getting into the nitty gritty, Ugo is right. Basically impossible. If you travel faster than light, you are essentially going backwards in time.” There were some murmurings in the chamber. In response, the human continued, “Which sounds cool, but does have some unintentional consequences. So again, we don’t use it very often. For example, combined with the instantaneous acceleration to light-speed, a ship reaching beyond light-speed can pass through solid material, since technically its particles are present before the particles of the matter it is passing through. But if that isn’t sustained and your ship is, oh I don’t know, *accidentally* passing through a planet… Well, things get a little messy. Not to mention the whole reversing time thing.”
Growing tired of these scientific ramblings, I interjected, “What weapons have you brought? You will continue to explain your traveling technology to our researchers, but what can you give me that we can use in the war with your race?”
“Weapons? War?” I couldn’t tell if the human was being genuine or sarcastic, but his smile had me considering it was the later. “Would you have let me into your stratosphere if you detected weapons on my ship? We had tried that in the past, but you—somehow or another—you always knew, and *boom* you’d blast my brothers and sisters from the sky.” I could see his smile drop as he spoke about his fallen racelings. I couldn’t help but smile myself.
“Yes,” I responded, “that is true, but truly the humans wouldn’t come all this way just to hand over technology and information to us. Teespor!” I called to one of the generals. “What weapons have you found?”
The human stifled a laugh, “Teaspoon? Awful name.”
“The human is truthing, Lord Emperor. There are no weapons on his ship.”
“’Truthing?’” The human was now laughing out loud, “where am I? What a weird planet.” The spears pressed against his neck yet again seemed to unphase him. “Since I am ‘truthing’, I may as well lay it out straight to you. We are not at war with you.”
“You’ve been sending war ships here for over two decades now. Your planet has long been destroyed. Clearly, you come to invade ours.”
“No, no, no,” the human waves his hands in the air, the smile back on its face. “OK, I won’t get into all the history of it, I’ll just tell you where we are at now. We have no intentions of invading your planet. You are correct that we are planetless right now. We are actually on our way to a beautiful planet several light years from here. But the problem is, your planet is in our way.”
|
I continued to scoff at the alien. "We've already reverse engineered your propulsion and fusion power. We've also adapted that fusion engine, not only into a propulsion device for our ships, but a weapon: both propulsion and destructive capability. We now have 10's of thousands of those weapons. How many is the fleet coming? Hundreds? Pretty sure our 10's of thousands of fusion weapons will be able to obliterate them. Also, how long until the second wave? 4-5 years? Pretty sure by then we'll have spacecraft and even better weapons. Perhaps you should show us how to communicate with them, lest on the back end we invade YOUR space. Now TALK."
| 2021-03-26T05:03:22 | 2021-03-26T02:24:51 | 199 | 24 |
[WP]Your father comes from a long line of superheroes. Your mother comes from a long line of supervillains. Every year, against your parents wishes, your relatives come together to celebrate your birthday. It's your eleventh birthday and the city's evacuated as your relatives start to arrive.
|
Dakota looked at the news and sighed. She just hoped her uncles and aunts didn’t make too much of a mess this year. She remembered last year when Uncle Dan had gotten drunk and shot off a few blasts of his lasers.
It was embarrassing. At least the mayor was friendly with her dad and understood.
She got ready and went downstairs.
“Dakota, sweetie. I thought we decided no capes.”
“I don’t know about that honey. She looks good with that cape. Just like her father.” Jackson beamed at her.
Carla gave an icy stare to her husband but smiled at her daughter.
“Honey, capes just get in the way. Very easy to trip on one. Plus it can get stuck on things and impede your movement.”
“Mom, I’m not going to fight crime. Or commit it for that matter either. I just thought it looked nice.”
“It totally does. Looks super rad.” Jackson did a little twirl and Dakota followed along.
Carla elbowed her husband. “Alright go on Dakota. I need to talk to your father.”
Dakota left her parents behind, arguing about the agreement to not try and pull Dakota any which way.
She saw Uncle Dan sitting in a corner, sipping on something. She hoped he wasn’t going to start drinking so soon. If he did, by the end of the night there would be fireworks again. She sighed again.
“Nice cape!”
“Hey Stan.”
Her cousin walked up to her seeming to throw a small bolt of lightning from one hand to the other. He had recently turned 21 and joined his family as the latest superhero. Dakota really looked up to him.
“So you’re 15 now?”
“Yeah.”
“I see Dan is drinking already.”
Dakota sighed again. “I hope it doesn’t go like last year.”
“I’ll keep a close watch on things. You just enjoy yourself today. Don’t worry about anything else.”
“Thanks so much Stan. I really appreciate it. So how’s superhero work going?”
His expression changed. It was quick but still noticeable. “You know. It’s going. I was on a mission last week and... well I’ll tell you later ok.”
“Stan? Is everything ok?”
“Yeah. Hey! Yeah. Everything’s fine. We’ll talk later.”
Stan hurried away as Dakota looked at him with some concern.
But there wasn’t too much time as she was almost ambushed by her grandmother.
“Dakota! You are looking so thin. Are you even eating something. Come. Sit with me.”
“Hey grannie.”
“Here. Have some sushi. It’s really good. A hero needs to eat so they can keep their strength up at all times.”
“Thanks gran. I’m not in the mood for sushi.”
“Oh come on. You don’t need mood to eat sushi. Come on now.”
“Catherine if the girl doesn’t want to eat sushi, then she doesn’t have to eat sushi. Here try this poutine, sweetie. It tastes amazing.”
“Helen.”
“Catherine.”
Here we go again, Dakota thought to herself. Helen and Catherine had been bitter rivals once upon a time. When their kids had broken the news about their relationship, all hell had broken loose. Things were better now, but only slightly. They didn’t try to kill each other on sight now. Usually the waited about ten minutes.
“So Dakota, have you decided on which side of family you plan to follow.” Catherine took a bite of sushi, looking Helen square in the eyes.
“I really haven’t, Catherine.”
“I notice that you’re wearing a cape though.”
Helen jumped in. “Plenty of villains wear a cape too. Heroes don’t have rights to them or anything.”
“Sure. But none of your family wears capes does it?”
“I wore it once.”
“For three days, maybe. And only because you weaponized it.”
“Well at least I found a practical use for it. Why do you guys wear it anyways? Just for the appearances?”
Catherine was seething. “It helps stabilize us during flight.”
“No it doesn’t. You just...”
A commotion distracted them as an explosion sounded behind them.
Dakota looked at Uncle Dan but he was still sitting in his place.
Helen and Catherine shared a glance. “Cathy, did we have the superpower drainer on?”
Cathy stared at her sushi which started floating up in the air. “We did. Someone must’ve turned it off.”
Helen took charge quickly. “I’ll go check it out and turn it back on. There’s not many people here yet, and we don’t know what we are up against. You keep Dakota safe.”
Catherine nodded. “Dakota stay with me.”
But Dakota was already running towards the house. Her mom and dad were in there. And Stan.
She reached just in time. Stan stood over her parents who seemed unconscious.
“Dakota! Stay back.”
“Stan! What happened?”
“There was an explosion and i...”
Catherine entered the house too and looked at the scene. “Stan. Is this about the mission? What’re you doing?”
A bolt of lightning stuck Catherine as she flew back and stuck the far wall.
“Damnit. I thought I’d have more time. Well these things never work out like one plans. First your villainous mom was too suspicious. Then your stupid heroic grandma shows up. These bitches never get along otherwise but now...”
“Stan... what’re you doing?”
“I know you were struggling with choosing a side, Dakota. This should help. This is as much as your origin story as this is mine. I’m no good as a hero you see. All these rules. And you can’t kill the bad guys? Every time I come to your party, I wonder why I can’t just kill everyone on your mother’s side. You know that would decrease the overall crime by over 54%. But no. We have ethics. A moral code. All baloney. I have chosen a side, Dakota. Not necessarily one I was born into, but the one I belong to. All I need is to take this offering to Lord Derango.”
“Stan, no. He’s my dad’s nemesis. He’ll kill my father. Why are you doing this?”
Stan smiled. For a moment he almost looked normal again. She thought about all the times they had spent together. Usually after such a smile he would mess up her hair and run away. But he looked so different now. So much more sinister.
“All the best heroes have dead parents, Dakota. Just like your dad has his nemesis, now you have yours. You get to live. This old bat however.”
A bolt of lightning shot through the air towards Catherine.
“It’s Danger Time.” Out of nowhere, a heavyset man jumped in, blocking the bolt with his metallic arm. He turned the arm towards Stan and a laser blast shot out.
Stan had noticed that Helen wasn’t with them. She was probably making sure no one could use superpowers. He would be outnumbered if that happened. A hasty retreat was in his best interest. He grabbed his two captives and jumped from the window, where his airship hovered, the trademark lightning bolt on the side.
Dan had a good shot at him but as the anti superpower field engulfed the home and the party area, he only shot blanks.
“Dan it.”
Dan ran to Catherine’s side. He checked her pulse but she was already recovering.
“Stupid brat caught me off guard. Thank you Dan. I’m ok.”
“Dandy.”
Helen joined them as well shortly thereafter.
The party cancelled, soon they were in Jackson’s workshop which also doubled as Carla’s lair now.
Catherine, Helen and Dan discussed the best strategy.
“Ok Dakota, we’ll head out but we need you to...”
Dakota felt a surge of anger running through her. She could feel her whole body pulse with power. She floated a couple of feet above the air as her eyes shined bright.
“I’m coming with.”
|
Oliver woke up with a start to a loud alarm.
Bewildered, he quickly put on some street clothes, slapped on his glasses, then practically flew down the stairs. That alarm isn’t mine, he thought.
He came down and saw his parents with all of his relatives. Usually they celebrated his birthday every year, but this time was different. Each hero and villain looked at him with a different tone in their eyes. This wasn’t a normal birthday. Some of them were arguing.
“I tell you, Starshield, that evacuation was necessary! We have to settle it this way!” A man in a dark suit demanded, his helmet pulsing with red light.
“The kid knows all of us! We can’t be doing this to him, Vortex!” Captain Starshield retorted. His shield and blaster were at his side. Something’s not right, Oliver thought.
“It must be done,” Emperor Zarthos interjected. His red robes was as neat as ever, and his mustache remained finely trimmed. His fiery eyes were as cruel yet calm as ever. “We had a failsafe in case this would happen. You heroes agreed to this.”
“Mom! Dad! What’s going on?!?!” Oliver spoke in a shrill voice; never had he been more terrified.
Dad glanced at Mom. She stared at him, her fierce blood-red eyes giving another command. Dad gulped, then spoke. “They’ll be choosing you soon. You’re eleven now. You’re gonna have to join a side.”
| 2020-08-03T23:40:04 | 2020-08-03T23:09:23 | 421 | 97 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/).
|
Alex watched as the second sun collapsed over the distant horizon, dousing the walled city of Aspída in a goodnight glass of crimson wine. Beyond, and far below the wall he stood atop, on the craggy tundra of the Netherplanes, the unmoving, crucified silhouette of a titan rose high above the ten-thousand corpses surrounding it.
A hand fell on Alex's shoulder: gentle and light and yet it still made him flinch and his stomach fall. When he turned to see Eleni standing there, her golden hair and white toga drenched in the red sunset, he had to hide his relief for fear she would see his nerves.
"You shouldn't be out," Alex said, although grateful that she was. "The last sun is already failing."
"I know, and yet,"--she smiled as she shrugged--"*here I am*."
Eleni moved past Alex, the skirt of her toga brushing his legs. She too looked down from Aspída's colossal wall onto the titan's body on the endless plane. "He will be alive again, soon."
"Yes," Alex replied, moving beside her.
"Only to be crucified again. Only to be eaten alive by those *creatures*."
It took Alex a moment to reply, his gaze distant. "Yes."
"Every moonrise. Can you imagine the pain he suffers? How is it fair -- how can the other Gods allow it? He only tried to help his children."
Alex sighed and lowered his head. "Those that he tried to help, they weren't any God's children."
"*He* believed they were -- it's why he went out there. We -- *mankind* -- are all his children. He sculpted us from the clay of the Earth. Stole fire from Zeus for us - he..."
"I know what he did for us!" Alex snapped, slamming his fists against the rough brick of the wall. "You don't need to tell me. But *they*"--he pointed to the ocean of crucifixes in the distance--"weren't his children. They left the Gods, and when they did, they forfeit any right to be protected by them. They chose instead to pursue only the pleasures that the God's provided for them in the first place. They are traitors! Prometheus was a traitor, too -- to the Gods. To *us*." Alex took a deep breath; his voice lowered as he became calm again, turning to almost a whisper. "*He deserves his punishment*."
"I know you don't believe that, Alex. Not truly." Eleni turned away from the wall to face the long haired man who looked more pained now than he had ever done in life. "There are many out there, they say. In camps much less than this, with no Gods to protect them. Not traitors without faces, but real *men, women and children*."
Alex sighed; his shoulders fell and the breath left his stomach, as if a gift taken back by the Gods. "I know there are others. *Of course I do!*. But what can I do? The Gods think him a traitor -- if I help him, I become one too."
"Then let us be traitors together!"
Alex put a finger to his lips. "Hush! That is foolishness to say out-loud -- if we are heard..."
"**Gods be damned!** -- they are not worth our prayers," Eleni spat.
Alex strode to Eleni and put a hand over her mouth. "Say such things again and we will both be killed!"
Eleni slowly pulled Alex's hand away from her lips. "In life, you cowed before no man nor God. *Please*. At least speak to Epimetheus."
"Epimetheus? He has no love for his brother -- or for me, for that matter! He loves only his precious animals. *They* are his children."
Eleni took both Alex's hands in her own. "I don't think that's true -- it's just what he likes others to believe. Still waters run deep, Alex." She pressed one of his olive skinned hands against her chest.
Alex opened his mouth to respond. "I-"
A gruff yell rang out from below. "Alex, are you up there? Alex!"
Alex looked at Eleni for a moment; let his eyes meet hers and linger. Then, he broke away and called down to his friend.
"Yes, Idaeus! And Eleani is up here with me."
"Well get your asses to the temple," Idaeus replied. "The last sun is about to set and Dionysus wants to give a speech to put some courage into our apparently *cowardly* spines. And you know how long winded his rambles can be..."
"Hah! Well, at least there'll be wine, brother. That's where the real courage comes from!"
"Plenty of it too, I should hope!"
"We'll be along shortly, Idaeus. Go ahead without us."
Alex waited until the sound of his friend's feet on the cobblestone path below, faded into silence. Then he leaned in towards Eleani, his mouth at her ear and whispered in a shaky voice. "You are right. He was the best of us, and was the best of them. I will do it."
Eleni nodded. "Will you speak to Epimetheus?" she asked.
"Nay. I will do this alone. Tonight, while they have a skin-full to celebrate the start of the new moon, I will ride to the field of corpses. When the first moon hangs full, he will breathe again. That is my chance."
"*Our* chance," Eleani corrected him.
"No! You can't come with me. The creatures may be wandering the plane by then, searching for their next meal."
"Listen to me, Alex. I don't want to live here eternally, if it is without you. I'm coming too."
Alex clenched his jaw and was ready to object. *But...* he knew it would do no good. It never did. He sighed and let himself relax. "If we leave -- even if we free him -- we can't return here. We'll be outcasts. Left to fend for ourselves."
"Yes. But we will have done something worthwhile for once in our lives, besides drinking and feasting; besides worshipping deities who don't give a damn about us -- who only keep us for worship, and for the strength we give back to them."
For a while, they stood together in silence, holding hands, as the last drips of sunlight fell away, revealing the dark chalice beneath.
"They say," said Eleani, "there are other cities out there. Other Gods. Perhaps we won't be so alone."
"Perhaps," replied Alex. "Perhaps Prometheus can lead us to such a place, if we succeed in saving him. Perhaps there are Gods more worthy of worship than our own, somewhere out there. And if not..." he smiled forlornly at Eleani. "For now, come; we must at least make an appearance at the temple -- or Zeus help us both."
|
My thoughts were certain,
All Gods were fiction,
I didn't foresee,
The true benediction
Walled within,
Their utopian setting,
The dwellers rejoice,
While I'm left regretting
I'm surrounded by fools,
Oh how simple we were,
Not an ounce of faith,
We believed it was slur
All I wish is for,
All I demand,
Is one more chance,
On that beautiful land
I'd give all to thee,
I'd do so much more,
For now I can see,
What was always in store
| 2017-11-21T07:25:13 | 2017-11-21T06:54:46 | 201 | 53 |
[WP] You could have been the most powerful hero this world had ever seen. By a long shot. But all you wanted was a normal life and the world didn't need your help. So you settled down. Naturally the governments of the world declared you an international threat and put a price on your head.
|
I sat in my chair, hot cocoa in hand as I leaned back and watched the rain pitter-patter on the window, the raindrops race each other down the glass pane. The sun has long since set, and a low fog had poured in, covering the ground. Giving the forest a scenic eerie vibe.
Unfortunately, all was ruined when I saw a silhouette outside, I sighed, taking one last swig of my blessed coco, before removing the warm woollen blanket from my shoulders and folding it neatly on my chair, If they were going to bother me at this hour they could wait. Grabbing my rain jacket I shrugged it on and stepped outside.
"It's a little late for visitors, got lost? I'd be happy to help give you directions back to town" I tried to sound friendly, In hopes, it was just some lost tourist.
"Nightshade, In the name of The League of Heros, I, Striker, am here to take you in, come along quietly and no one needs to get hurt"
I struggled to keep in my laughter, It had honestly been a while since someone tried to take me in 'nicely' "Alright, listen, kid, I'm really not in the mood to play games with you, so how about you just run on back to your League and leave me be, I've don't nothing wrong, I just want to be left alone."
Next thing I knew 'Striker' had sped towards me at inhuman speed and was face to face with me in the blink of an eye. He tried to take this opportunity to get a good hit on me, thinking he had caught me off guard.
I caught his fist easily and held it in a vice grip "Not bad, Kid, but your not the first Hero who tried to take me"
It took me off guard when he gave me a grin, and chuckled "Oh but I will be taking you", before I could realise what he was doing, small volts of electricity flickered around him, flowing to his fist before I could pull away, a shock of electricity coursed through my body and I dropped to the ground.
I groaned as Striker kicked me onto my back "wow, super speed and you got some electricity shit going on, lucky" as they picked me up by my collar It was my turn to grin "Two powers huh? that is some luck, unfortunately, it's not going to be enough"
The darkness around us shifted, the shadows formed into solid tendrils as they wrapped around Striker's arms and legs. Easily I pulled out of their grip as I commanded the shadows to pull them to their knees and bound their arms behind their back.
Stepping back I brushed myself off before holding out my hand, showing off the small volts fo electricity dancing around my fingers
Striker looked up in confusion "Bu- Wha- HOW?!?!"
"You were lucky to be born with two powers, however, it seems I was given the gift of collecting powers, all I half to do is come in contact with its wielder. Oh don't look so afraid, I don't TAKE your power, I just... copy it"
There was a moment of silence, as Striker knelt in the mud, defeated, their hair slick with rain. They just stared down at the ground, questioning what to do next, or what was going to happen to them. It was too cold for both of us to be out here.
"If I let you go, can you not attack me?"
They looked up at me, confused "what?"
"If I let you go-"
"no, no I hear you, but... are you not going to kill me? You're a villain!"
"So I've heard," I say as I roll my eyes, waving my hand to dissolve the shadows "It's cold and wet, come inside and dry off so we can talk"
I walked back into my cabin, they didn't seem to follow me at first, but by the time I had collected some towels from the cupboard, they stood awkwardly in the doorway. I chuck a towel at them, which they catch.
"Hurry up and close the door, you're letting the cold in, do you prefer cocoa or tea?"
Hesitantly they shuffled in closing the door with their foot, and began drying off their hair "You...you wouldn't happen to have coffee?"
Wordlessly I put the kettle on the stove to boil and moved to my bedroom, returning soon with two changes of clothing. Striker was still standing by the door, seemingly unsure of what to do.
"Here, go through that door and get changed, staying in that wet suit won't do you any good"
Silently they took the clothes and headed to the bathroom I pointed out. Using this time I returned to my bedroom to dry off and get changed as well, by the time I came out Striker was still in the bathroom. I figured I'd give him his space now and clean up the puddles on the floor.
Ten minutes had passed before Striker returned from the bathroom, sporting the red shirt and grey sweatpants I have them. Ironically the top I gave them had a lightning bolt on it. I gesture to the seat across from me and slide them their cup of coffee.
We sat for a few minutes, drinking our drinks, slowly they relaxed, hands curled around their cup, soaking in the heat. Leaning forward I put on my best smile and reached out a had
"Ash Turble"
They reached out in return shaking my hand
"Iris... Iris Melody"
"It's been a while since a hero has actually taken up my offer of a conversation, can I ask what stories have the come up about be?"
"Uhm, well. They told me you were working with MegaBolts and were working behind the scenes in a bank heist."
I scoffed shaking my head, "You want to know what I really did? I said no, They told me to join The League, and I told them no. I guess they saw me as too powerful to let go, or they're just not used to being told no and decided to ruin my life out of pure spite."
"But...even if that is true...Why did you say no?! You were given an amazing power, Why would you not want to use that to benefit the citizens of Darmias!"
"Because I owed them nothing! I didn't realise my power till I was in my thirties, before my powers, the city didn't give one shit about me. I didn't go to school because I had to work so my mother could afford her medication, I tried going to the council I tried asking for help, but they all just turned me away." As I talked My voice slowly got cold and bitter "When my mother died she made me promise her I would live for myself. The city had plenty of heroes to 'save the day' that just wasn't me"
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise"
I took a few moments to calm myself, before finishing my tea, "Just leave, and tell you, League, to stop sending Heroes after me, surely they have actual villains to deal with.
They didn't move, for a long minute, what they said next surprised me "Let me stay and help"
"What?"
"Let me sta-"
"No, no I heard you, but what?"
"I joined out of obligation as well, I never really thought I had a choice. Let me stay here, and help you with other heroes that come"
"...You do realise they'll cast you as a villain as well, and make up some story about how I corrupted you, right?"
"I'm fine with that, we can just explain to the other heroes who come... Unless, you uh, don't want me here, I'll leave if you want me to..."
I think for a moment before giving a smirk "Youll half to sleep on the couch for a few nights till I make your bedroom"
They smiled in return "I think I can manage that"
|
Not-Hero-Guy: "So hold up! If I'm not consistently risking my life for each and every single day of god be damn of saken life, just for people who don't know me and most probably would treat like me like absolute sh***t. Then that means I don't deserve to have a normal life?"
Government: "No."
Not-Hero-Guy: "Then why did you put a price on my head?"
Government: "Because you are a threat."
Not-Hero-Guy: "BUT I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?!"
Government: "So? We don't give a fu***k, we will kill you for disturbing the peace."
Not-Hero-Guy: "Says the one who ignored the people you're supposed to be protecting... wait a minute."
Government: "Now hold on-"
Not-Hero-Guy: "YOU LAZY FU***KS! YOU JUST WANTED ME TO DO YOUR FU***KING JOB FOR YOU! YOU ABSOLUTE A***SHOLES! THAT'S IT! I'M BECOME A VILLAIN! HAVE FUN DEALING WITH THAT YOU MOTHER FU***KERS!"
*Not-Hero-Guy Has Left Chat*
Government: "Oh no. What have we done? Sh***t! We're going to have to deal with more paper work now."
| 2022-06-26T12:33:12 | 2022-06-26T11:59:30 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] Star Wars is a true story. An alien comes to Earth to make first contact with our newly discovered species, only to discover we know more about their universe's history than they do.
EDIT: Whoah, this sorta blew up! Thanks for all the stories guys! I've read all of them and each made me laugh or legitimately think for a moment about the ramifications of an alien species having your future on blue ray. Keep up the awesome work!
|
The little interceptor - a dart-shaped fighter encompassed by a hyperdrive ring - dropped out of hyperspace silently but suddenly, coming into perfect orbit with the blue and green planet. The lone pilot looked out at the world below him. "There it is R4," he said to his integrated droid copilot, "Right where it should be. Our missing planet; Earth." He guided his ship to detach from its hyperdrive ring and blasted the engines, hurtling toward the atmosphere.
At once, the radio chirped to life, and another voice came through the com system. "UFO please identify yourself. Over."
The pilot hesitated to respond. He was well aware of the Earthlings, as secretive as they were, only because of a friend with unique knowledge on this sector. His friend's advice came echoing back to him now. *These Earthlings, they like to keep to themselves. Always on edge. How well they treat you... depends... on how good your manners are. How big your eh... pocketbook is.* He had followed this insight with a sinister chuckle and a wide grin, but didn't explain further. Now the pilot was wishing he had pressed for more.
"Repeat," the radio crackled again, "UFO please identify yourself. Over."
The pilot tapped a button on his dashboard. "Call-sign Republic One, representative of the Jedi Council, requesting clearance for landing."
A pause. "Republic One, direct your ship to the coordinates we are patching through to you now. Over and out."
Sure enough, at that moment a set of global positioning coordinates appeared on the center screen in the interceptor's control panel.
___
The ship had landed on an strip of concrete near a half-cylindrical hangar in the middle of a vast, barren expanse of red sand and rocks. The sun was setting, casting red and violet streamers across the sky which pierced the clouds like so many cosmic spears. Although he felt the urge to abscond and quietly explore his surroundings, the pilot did not want to seem presumptuous, and so he stayed in his cockpit, waiting to be addressed further. There was no telling what may set off the locals and, after all, he was advised to be polite.
Shortly, a smartly dressed woman came running at a half-gait out of the hangar and, arriving at the ship, motioned for the pilot to come with her. He opened the cockpit, its glass cover swinging upwards slowly, and climbed out.
"Master Jedi!" The young woman said, enthused yet maintaining an air of professionalism. "The President is expecting you."
*They're prophets,* his friend had claimed. *Damn good ones, too.* Nevertheless, he still had his doubts, and felt an urge to ask. "I'm expected?"
"Of course! He's anxious to meet you." She gently took him by the lower arm, leading the Jedi pilot toward the hangar. "After all these years, we were beginning to think you weren't coming!"
___
She had taken him underground, into a complex beneath the runway, guiding the Jedi into a conference room. The style and sophistication of the tunnels betrayed their humble exterior, and he felt almost at home in these surroundings. The conference room, like the rest of the facility, was awash with white and neutral beiges, illuminated dimly from mysterious, unseen sources. It seemed carefully designed so that nothing could offend the senses or distract from the people in the room. A man, as well dressed as the female guide, sat at the opposite end of the table. He stood.
The Jedi's escort motioned at the man. "May I present Donald Trump, President of the United States." She then turned to the Jedi, "And this is Master Jedi... uh,"
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Jedi quickly introduced himself to save her from embarrassment.
The man approached, gripping Obi-Wan's hand and pulling him in aggressively. "I hope you enjoy your stay. But let's get to business first." He took a seat on one of the long-ends of the table, and Obi-Wan did so as well directly across from him. "I'm happy to tell you, very happy, that we are under budget and ahead of schedule. Eight films are ready, and dozens more on the way. Hundreds of books, too. Lots of books."
"That's..." Obi-Wan tried to hide his confusion. "Good news."
"Great news, I'm sure. Tremendous news. You can tell your master, Sifo Dias? That his order, its gonna be met. Right on time."
He couldn't help himself this time, and let slip his quizzical gaze. "I'm sorry, that was master...?"
"Sifo Dias? Am I saying that right?" Trump glanced with awkward confusion at the guide woman. "He's a leading member of the Jedi Council, right? I never met him. Just what I read on file."
Obi-Wan explained, "Master Sifo Dias was killed almost ten years ago." He couldn't think of any business the Jedi would have on Earth that would need a contract lasting more than ten years, let alone a secret that could be kept that long from the rest of the council that he himself was a part of.
"Oh," Trump shook his head and frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure he was a good guy. Great guy. And he would've loved this prophecy we made for him. Tremendous stuff."
"The prophecy?"
"Yes, and, it's gotta be said; some of the best films ever made. Believe me. Everybody knows it."
"Everybody?"
"Everybody gets to see the movies, all over the planet. Everybody loves 'em, I love them. Great films."
"Tell me, Mister President, when my master first contacted you about... the prophecy, did he say what it was supposed to be predicting?"
"Oh yeah, definitely. The prophecy is about the end of the Galactic Republic." Trump motioned at the door, standing. "But why talk about it when I can show you! You want to see them for yourself, right?"
"That's... why I'm here." He lied, deciding finally that as long as they were handing him information so freely, he would keep up his charade.
___
As the end credits rolled and the lights in the theater brightened, Obi-Wan found himself bolted to his seat, petrified by the revelations he had just witnessed.
Trump casually leaned over from the seat next to him. "So, what do you think of it? Good stuff, right?"
"Very impressive," Obi-Wan muttered, the color having drained from his face. "Tell me," he cleared his throat and regained his composure. "Who made this prophecy?"
"A film director named George Lucas."
"And where is this film director now?"
"Oh, we keep him here, in the states."
"I would very much like to meet this George Lucas."
"I think he'd like to meet you too." Trump smiled. "I would be happy to arrange it."
|
The alien watches all the movies, plays every game, and reads every book. In amazement he speaks through his translator to the humans.
"This is astounding! You somehow know everything of our Galaxy. Except for one thing. I've never heard of Midi-chlorians. The force is just an energy that is all around us. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds us together."
The end
| 2017-03-18T10:38:28 | 2017-03-18T10:31:47 | 79 | 29 |
[WP] When a wizard dies all his active spells ceases to exist, regardless of how long ago he cast them, or how powerful.
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A nudge here, a small bit of motivation there. That's all it takes. Really. It's amazing how constant this world is. In 3,000 years the biggest change this world had known was the creation of land empires. And those broke constantly. Fear, hunger, procreation. Those had been the driving motivations of mankind since its birth so many years ago.
This is where the wizards come in. Channeling their knowledge and life force, they steer the course of human history, captains waging war against the rising surf of destitution. Able to live for a thousand years if they know how. Egypt had the first wizard. Hungry for power he placed himself as task master above his subjects. Calling himself a god among men, he led Egypt directly. Changing his shape many times over, sometimes a woman and sometimes a man, he vanquished any rivals with his awesome power.
But a funny thing happens when you abuse magic. It wears off on others. Magic is to be channeled, not shackled and will fight against you. It will destroy you. As Ramses II, the first wizard was vanquished by a slave named Moses. Understanding what destroyed Ramses, Moses did not allow himself to become embroiled in power. He established laws to govern his followers, the Hebrews, to guide them towards a better future. Imbuing his written word with magical capacity, Moses codified his moral system in the Torah. The magic of these words could outlive Moses, so long as the words were continually written by hand. To this day the Hebrews revere written word as sacred, despite it's magic having dissipated hundreds of years ago.
For a time there were minor magicians. With Moses' death, a great amount of power was released and it spread and circulated around the Mediterranean. In the East, great philosophers and monks began to harvest this energy, collecting it and guiding the course of great warring nations. The Chinese nations built great monuments and works of wonder unattainable by lesser men. Once again this magic was codified into law and philosophy. Once again it stood for millennium, long outliving the last of the great Chinese wizards.
The Greeks understood the power of Moses' energy best of all. Using the powerful knowledge of magic, they devised the first understanding of how to elevate humanity as a whole. Perhaps the greatest gift the Greeks gave the pan-Hellenes was self-determination. It takes knowledge and ability to govern ones' life, and this is what magic gave to wizards.
The Romans utilized this magic next. The wizards of Rome remained hidden, however. They understood that those who controlled the course of humanity best remained undiscovered, able to gently bend minds to their will for centuries. This was why The Christ needed to perish. He was too powerful, too gifted, too flamboyant in his ability. Despite the quick end to his life, Je Zeus left his impression. His magic has never dissipated entirely, but it grows weaker every day. The Romans harvested it for centuries, ensuring the Pax Romana that is so lauded today.
But Rome was never destined to stand eternal. Roman wizards grew greedy, staining the grounds of Rome with permanent magic. The Apostolic Palace now protects those magical wells. Its resonance connecting mundane humans with the knowledge that magic imbibes in wizards. These men are called Popes, now. As for Rome, the magic knew what to do. The Roman Empire crumbled as the magic caused strife all across the greedy land. Every once in a while a wizard realizes what Rome was and tried to emulate it his nation's heart and soul. And every time, the magic is faster to strike them down, for Roman magic is forever tainted with the oppression and suffering to which it is opposed.
Now we are coming close to my story. My name is Roswald. I was born a French smith's son around 1250 AD. When the Eighth Crusade was called I happily signed up. And so I found myself in The Kingdom of Jerusalem, after two failed French Crusades. While wandering the back alleys of this ancient city, the capital of old Judea, I happened upon a tree. Resplendent and out of place, the tree became my haunt. I went to it once or twice a day. At first I noticed gradual changes in myself. I started winning arguments. The tree shrank. I learned to read. The tree grew smaller. I learned names and dialects which hadn't existed for thousands of years. The tree shrank to the size of a shrub. I could manipulate physical space. And on the day I learned that, the bush vanished entirely and I was imparted with the knowledge that I must guide my kin to a new era of prosperity.
For years I lived in solitude. A French craftsman does not guide the world and I needed time to discover my powers. A queer thing happened in my solitude. I began having visions of the Earth encircled in flame. No living thing surviving. The visions became stronger and more pronounced until I could not bear to sleep. One thousand years. That was humanity's expiration date unless I acted. I meditated and ruminated for a half century on the best course of action. Ultimately I decided I needed a clean slate. Enter the Bubonic Plague. A third of Europe gone meant I could shape man's destiny as I saw fit. I elevated the serf and empowered the merchant. The common man began to hold sway and power in his own life once again.
This was my sole great act of power. I have been weak and crippled ever since. Now I appear to men as ideas. Thoughts. Perhaps these are more powerful than force. A man will die for his own beliefs, after all, and much needed to be sacrificed by many to ensure humanity's survival.
There was always a persistent power within Europe, however. I have never been able to contact this wizard, but for eight centuries there was a man in Siberia who countered nearly all of my actions. His power waned before my own, and I was much more subtle. Still, it took seven centuries before my ideas of household magic took hold. It began with wind mills and water mills. Harnessing power from the world around you is at the core of all magical ability. Steam engines followed. Then petroleum engines and finally nuclear power. Next came information. A wizard can pull information from thin air. I gave this gift to my fellow man. Using a system of internal networks, the whole of human experience is available to everyone.
It was only after the death of my Siberian rival that I was able to convince man to leave Earth. With timid steps they began, but it wasn't fast enough. I grew impatient. Time was of the essence and my visions were becoming almost blinding. I could feel pain seeping through time and channeling through me. They would all burn unless I could help them somehow.
And perhaps I have done it. I won't be around to know. I used the very last of my dwindling power to help man overcome the natural limits of the universe. The neighboring stars are now conceivably withing their reach. The pain has faded, so maybe this worked. When I die magic ends. I am the last magician. I can only hope that I have given them enough. That when the Earth is finally consumed, man will be legion among the heavens.
*Edit: A word.
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By the seventh day God completed His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all His work which God had created and made. But God grew weary, and saw that all was good and saw that he was not needed, and so he fell into an eternal rest, death. But what God did not know, a secret that not even an omniscient wizard like himself would know is that when a wizard dies all his active spells ceases to exist, regardless of how long ago he cast them, or how powerful.
| 2015-02-06T04:46:11 | 2015-02-06T03:34:24 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] Digging a grave for our dog in the backyard I found a small container wrapped in plastic. I found a note and a map inside. It read: "If you're reading this it isn't too late. Avoid cities on 2/12/2018. Go to the coordinates on the map and you'll know what to do next." It was signed just "Me".
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I had found Bruno in the middle of the night. It was back when I was still living in Riverside, and only half-alive, after Kate had gone away to school and stopped answering my calls. Most nights I'd get my buddy Jacob to come get high with me and eat some fast food, but now and then even he had something better to do. Instead, I'd just go skate past the palm trees and cheap stucco bungalows, listening to whatever pop punk bullshit I thought made me different, and daydreaming about London or New York City or anywhere nobody would know me. It was one night when I was doing just that, when I heard a dog barking like crazy, running back and forth around an old man laying on the road. The guy was already in pretty terrible shape when I got there. From the skid marks, it looked like a car or maybe even a truck had run right over him. His belly had burst apart and some of his guts were falling out onto the asphalt. I skated over and I called 911. I told the old man it was going to be okay and that help was coming.
"It's not going to be okay for me," he said between wheezes, "but you can still make it okay for Bruno. Promise you'll take Bruno, because I can't have him going off to some dog pound. I won't have none of that for my boy, alright? When I was growing up, people used to say that when someone takes responsibility for a dead man's dog, he also gets a guardian angel. Truth is, I expect I probably won't be turning into an angel. But wherever it is I go, I'll be sure I'm looking out for you, as long as you're looking out for my Bruno. We got a deal?"
I told him I agreed. I let him squeeze my hand as tight as he wanted, while poor Bruno licked his face and yelped his heart out, until the sirens drowned him out and the paramedics came rushing up. The cops kept me there for a while, huddled beside the rumbling ambulance, while they loaded the old man into a black body bag and onto the stretcher. They asked every possible question about what had happened, but all I could say was that I had found the guy laying there on the ground when I happened to skate by. They made me fill out some paperwork, and then gave me a candy bar when I was done, plus a brochure for some social worker I could call if the memory gave me any trouble sleeping.
"Is the dog yours or his?" the cop asked me at the end of it all, "If it's his, I'll have to get animal control down here."
"No, that's Bruno," I said, "he's mine." I realized I was already holding the neon green leash, which was a little bit spotted with the man's blood. Bruno canted his head at me, like I had the power to change the world and make everything better. For the first time, I felt like I could come through for someone.
The old man's accident made the news a few days later. It turned out he had once been a prominent scientist at Cal Tech, working on some sort of cutting edge research in fungal brain infections, which he believed could be adapted to transmit states of consciousness between individuals, even between different species. More than that, he thought the fungi could also give someone the power to commandeer another person's body. I dug around online and found an old interview where he said there were already some peculiar species of fungus and ants out in the African jungle that were making this work to their advantage in certain small ways, but that this was just the tip of what was possible. But I guess the whole project was too out there for the other academics, and after he allegedly tried to pull off some secret experiment involving chimpanzees and rabbits and dogs, they took away his tenure. He died without any family or really any friends left, except of course for Bruno. When the dog saw his lost master on the computer screen, he barked like a maniac, and I had to give him one of the new chew toys I had picked up, just to get him to relax again.
But in no time really, having Bruno made everything better for me. I'd wake up earlier to walk him, I lost weight playing with him, and I even picked up playing guitar again, just because of how he liked hearing it when I'd strum chords. We'd go to the park, where is where I met Ashley, after she just came up to pet him. Soon, getting a text from her felt as good as one from Kate used to. Her uncle took me on as an apprentice electrician, and after a few months, I had enough money for Ashley and Bruno and I to get an apartment together. Every night, when I'd skate home from work, I wouldn't be thinking about escaping to New York or London anymore, but just about how, in fifteen minutes, I'd open the door and Bruno would be scurrying between my legs, barking, and how Ashley would look over her shoulder from the couch and smile at me.
And it was good like that for almost a year, until the night I got home to no barking at all. Ashley took my hand and led me over to the dog bed, where Bruno wasn't moving.
"I opened the door, and he just ran out," she said, "He'd never done that before, not one time. But he ran out before I could stop him. He went into the street, and a there was a car. It didn't stop."
"I'm so sorry," she cried. I wrapped one hand around her and cradled her head. I started to tear up too.
For a minute, I thought about looking up where the old man had been buried, and maybe trying to find a way to leave Bruno there too. But I decided that he had been our dog just as much, and belonged with us. So, the next morning, I went out into the yard to dig a grave for him. Except I didn't get a foot into the earth before I hit a hard plastic box. When I picked it out of the dirt, there was a note taped to it: *If you're reading this, it isn't too late. Avoid cities on 2/12/2018. Go to the coordinates on the map and you'll know what to do next.* It was signed just "Me".
Even though it was strange to see tomorrow's date on some long ago buried note, I still figured it was some dumb prank or time capsule bullshit from the previous tenants, and an unusually close timing coincidence. I threw the box over into the planter, telling myself I'd re-bury when I wasn't so sad, so as to not be a disappointment if some kids ever came asking for it. After the hole was dug, Ashley and I said goodbye to Bruno. She read something from her Bible and I played a song on the guitar. Then we just had dinner and went to bed.
Air raid sirens woke us up in the morning. We turned on the news. New York, London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, nearly every major city was being overrun by hordes of jungle ants. They were saying there were quadrillions or maybe quintillions of ants, and they were organized, like they could all think as one. The footage showed them pouring over everything like black sand, eating every blade of grass, and the very skin off people's arms and faces. Halfway through the broadcast, a wave of ants swept across the news anchor's desk while he was delivering his report. The feeds cut. We lost power not long after.
*Avoid cities on 2/12/2018.* I ran into the backyard and snatched the strange box out of the planter. I ripped through the plastic covering and opened it up. Inside, there was a folded up map, a vial of some strange green liquid, and a white aerosol can, with "bug spray" written on it in sharpie.
"What are you doing out here?" Ashley screamed at me from the porch, "Where are we going to go? Is anywhere safe?"
I unfolded the map all the way and scanned across it. It was big enough to cover all of California and Nevada.
"I don't know," I told her, "But I think maybe someone does."
I turned the paper around to show her what I was seeing. On the map, there was a red X, marking some isolated spot, deep in the Mojave desert. Right below, there was a fading photograph taped on. It was a picture of the old scientist, sitting in some giant leather chair in some fancy university office. And on his lap, there was Bruno, when he was just a puppy. He was canting his little head up at his former master. Like he was looking at a man who had the power to change the entire world.
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It’s another sunny, blue skies afternoon in Phoenix, Arizona. Our first dog, Brady, has finally left us. It’s unfortunate, because that dog was truly mans best friend. I remember coming home with him the first day and watching him pee on the carpet. One year after, he would scratch at the door instead so we knew to let him out. It was such a shame having to bury him, but my wife and I felt it necessary.
It was February 12, 2018. I was of course digging the hole for the burial, while my wife placed Brady in a makeshift coffin we had assembled prior. It’s funny, because as any normal individual, we never expect to find anything in our backyard, but we sort of hope for it. And then my shovel got stuck.
I yank it out of the dirty with exerted force to reveal a tuber ware container that’s been pierced by the shovel, with some sort of paper inside. I pull the container off the shovel and throw it to the side. “I don’t remember ever leaving this back here?”, I thought to myself. I unlatch the top and pull the contents out. It was a small, rather dirty note, and a folded map with an X marked and some coordinates written next to it.
The note read, “If you’re reading this, it isn’t too late. Avoid all major cities on 2/12/2018. Go to the coordinates and you’ll know what to do next.” Obviously, I’m a bit dumbfounded by this. Then, I look at the signature. “-Me.”
“It’s not too late?” I thought to myself, immersed in the note before me. “Me? How could I have written this?” My hands start to shake. I can see the trees near me start to blur. I had to make sure this wasn’t a setup or a prank.
I rushed inside, as if a shotgun was being pointed at me. You could hear my wife in the background yelling at me. “David, where are you going?”. I sprinted toward my desk in the study, scrambling to find a past letter I had recently written. February 10, 2018 was written at the top, and the handwriting matched...
How could this be? Why now, the day of the note. How would I know what was going to happen? My legs start to buckle beneath me. I had to get us out of there, and ensure we weren’t caught in the middle of whatever was about to happen.
| 2018-01-07T20:38:23 | 2018-01-07T20:21:25 | 1,657 | 44 |
[WP] The Humans are..interesting. Their weaponry is ancient, but their warriors are nearly unstoppable.
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Part 1:
"Your Excellency, it is my shame to inform you that their is no way to conquer the planet known as "Earth". Shissh'mata hissed through clenched teeth. The great vaults of the Grand Hall of the Emperor's Palace looming around him, high bleachers and balconies filled with distinguished guests - administrators, royals, scholars, generals, the rich, the famous - and everywhere - the holocams of the press.
The Emperor, Oke'Taman'Tutana, the oldest, greatest, and strongest of the Lillshta, of the greatest Empire the Galaxy had known in many hundreds of thousands of cycles, sat coiled on his thrown, and scowled.
"High Commander," The Emperor hissed back, his words echoing down the hall for a kek'tyar. His visage beamed to screens and holo-emitters far down the hall for those who's money or position could not buy them a closer seat. "Are you proclaiming to fail in conquering this planet?"
"Your Excellency, I do not presume to understand all that can be known in the Universe, nor can I boast to knowing even a fraction of anything that can be...but I know through fire, slaughter, darkness and death - that the 'Huuhmanns" of "Earth" must never be allowed to leave their star system. They must never be allowed to travel the void of OUR galaxy. " Shissh paused, the words he was speaking were heresy, blasphemy, an admittance of fear. The Emperor said nothing, merely signaling for one of his slaves to bring him a platter of delicacies, then waved a tail with subtle-bodytones of boredom and impatience for Shissh to continue.
Instead of continuing, Shissh took a moment to look around at the Hall, somber, almost bored faces, lax bodies, and even jeers from his peers greeted him. A hundred other commanders, of glorious conquests ready for his fall and for the Emperor to slice his forces into pieces as gifts for his rivals. But still, he had to tell them. He turned his body back around to face the leader of all he had known his entire life, all his mother and father had known, and their parents before going back a half-dozen generations.
"The dominate species of Earth, these Huuhmanns are not like us your Excellency. They are primitive technologically, primitive economically, primitive biologically, and primitive theologically. They pray to idols, images, and imaginative gods. They wound easily and do not regenerate full body parts, they reproduce slowly, and their offspring are vulnerable. They use tokens to represent wealth - these objects are made of common materials, and have little physical value - but somehow represent wealth despite being mass-produced. Their technology was barely space-faring, simple kinetic energy weapons, craft that fly through the air through simple physics and brute force."
"Yes, yes," the Emperor interrupted, "this information is all very boring, and known to ALL of us already. But you did not answer my question!" The Emperor loomed forward from his throne.
"And what what do you mean, WAS!?" The Emperor hissed down at him from the throne, his tails writhing in mild agitation.
"Was, because we advanced them. At first our conquest was assured, legion after legion of their warriors fell, their citizens in disarray, their leadership flawed, fractured and inadequate to deal commands to their forces. We struck their cities, their fields, their primitive space ports. We herded them, and hounded them. We lost a few to their hundreds. Thousands to their tens of thousands. Tens of thousands to their ....tens of thousands. Then we lost thousands to their tens, and then hundreds to their ones." Again, Shissh paused, this time waiting for the questions.
"What do you mean, we were beating them thousands to one? And now we are losing thousands to their one?"
"No, your Excellency. We aren't losing. We lost. My forces however mighty they had been - the Conquest of Kamigawa, and Tolgath. Of Ulgrotha, and Dominaria. Of the Phyrexians and the Kor..."
"Have prepared us little for the Huuhmanns."
Silence, and muffled chortles. The benches and the galleries of the hall teemed with motions of pleasure and mirth. Shissh knew how they much felt, he might have felt the same - had he been sitting along the side, looking down at a High Commander who came before the Emperor, the highest might of the Galaxy in dozens of generations, and proclaimed a conquest to be a failure - and in such a way as to proclaim that the denizens of a world to such primitives....
Off to the side of the Emperor, one of the advisers, waggled a tail for permission to speak, the Emperor granted it with a similar wave of his tail, and reclined into his throne.
"Shissh'mata," the adviser began, as he rose out of his couch and slowly slithered forward to the center of the hall, Shissh knew that he would soon be encircled by the adviser - the adviser would circle around him, questioning him, faulting him, ridiculing him.
"By what madness can you explain that your Fourth Legion, one of the mightiest of the Emperor's glorious forces, could be defeated by the undeveloped, unsophisticated, unenlightened forces that you faced. Do you not command hundreds of millions of warriors, thousands of ships?"
"I did, lord Adviser."
"And do you not have intelligence about your enemy before you fought them?"
"I did, lord Adviser."
"And did you not gain more intelligence about them as you fought them?"
"I did, lord Adviser."
"And you failed in your conquest of a backwater world, devoid of significant technological development. Devoid of unity among it's populace."
"That is correct, lord Adviser. The conque....,"
"YOUR CONQUEST!"
"My conquest, was a failure."
"You are aware of the cost of failure High Commander?"
"Yes, lord Adviser. I shall be executed, my family shall be exiled from their homes, and my honor removed from the records."
"Yet, you come back to us, living, in dishonor, instead of completing your conquest, or die trying?"
"Yes."
"Yes, LORD ADVISER."
"Yes, lord adviser. I came back to warn The Emperor. To warn my rivals. To warn my sons, and my daughters. To warn the entirety of our people and all we command."
"Against what? A potential conquest that has risen slightly above itself? If they are so dangerous, why did you not bombard them from orbit? Crash their moon into their planet? Poison their air and their seas?"
"Lord Adviser, your Excellency. I would not have been able to do any of that. Because by the time I realized it, my own generals, my intelligence officers - anyone that I commanded...the Huuhmanns had already beaten us, and prevented us from striking doom down upon them utterly."
The adviser was about to speak again, when his Excellency hissed out a question. "Explain, High Commander how the primitives you faced could prevent you from destroying them?"
"Your Excellency. Every technology we possess, is now theirs. Unlike the other races we have conquered going back generation, after generation, after generation," Shissh shivered in fear, not for were he was - but the reasons for how he was there, "the humans do not understand how to fail. They continue on a path that may seem like absolute madness until they arrive - however long it takes - on a branch of that path that leads them to their goal."
"Our first flier shot down, the first plasma rifle captured, the first anti-gravity propelled fortress to fall burning to their earth - with recoverable wreckage somewhere inside of it...." Shissh paused again, breathed in and out and continued, "was torn apart by their scientists and technicians."
"Then it was copied. Inefficiently at first. None of the other races we have encountered could do as the huumanns have done. At least, not as quickly. Then the next iteration of their copying was better, and the one after that superior, and then equal, then beyond ours."
The Emperor gave a slight nod to the adviser, who did not resume his circling, but stood off to the side slightly in front of Shissh. "High Commander, are you telling us that they not only copied our technologies, but made it somehow better?"
"Yes."
"But surely, even with that - our warriors would still be superior. Our regenerative powers, our strength, our stamina."
"Worthless."
"What!?"
"Worthless against a foe that does not give up, that does not surrender, that does not cower in fear before technological superiority or numbers. We awoke a sleeping taatjue beast in this Earth and its Huumanns."
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-- Archaeological Records office, document A090BE4C10 --
-- Record details conversation between two Xands, named Yikah and Vateth according to other records, at a bar inside of a Xandorian military camp regarding human resilience in the War of 2492--
-- Following record was transcribed from audio into Xandorian and translated into English on 4/8/2521 ET--
"Humans. What a disturbance in the back thigh. We have sent at least a dozen ships with [ununpentium 4-] cannons, yet every ship has been taken out by the pests managing to use simple mass projectiles against us." Yikah said in angry tone, followed by a loud sipping and subsequent gaseous noise.
"Yes. They truly are frustrating. Though, I must admire their courage. Knocking on the second battalions battleship door with a wooden butted rife and yelling about 'the darn feds', I would have never imagined one would have the skill to quickly take out an entire squad like that." Vateth's voice seemed somber remembering her fallen sisters.
"That was a tragic day. The day of blood oceans was far worse though. I still can not fathom how such simple minded creatures managed to take us down. Even worse none of them were more than [5 foot] in height, and they seemed to be playing archaic physical ball games in wasted fertile space when we landed. How small human males could run so fast and be so plotting is out of my mental capacity." Yikah said, then made a loud, pained gaseous noise, which was echoed by Vateth.
-- Audio from the next few minutes is heavily distorted by loud electronic music from the bar, any snippets heard of unknown speaker--
"...and let us not forget the time we landed near the building maked V.F.W. they..."
"...that time we landed in City Of Angles and a crowd of humans wearing smiling faces with bones underneath rendered our craft completely immobile... "
"Friends, Friends, we can not forget the day we arrived in SanDiago and were overwheled with so much noise from humans brandishing non-fuctional weapons and strange attire that we could not even leave the ship!"
-- All following audio is indecipherable until the end of recording --
| 2018-01-11T20:05:21 | 2018-01-11T14:13:53 | 62 | 23 |
[WP] Humanity has been wiped out except for you, who managed to eke out a meager existence by yourself. Every day, an angel visits you and asks if you're ready for humanity to return. Every day, you respond, "No, not yet." Today is different. Today, the angel brought the Devil with them.
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I took the basket of breadsticks to my table in the restaurant. While I didn’t love the food at Olive Garden, it was one of the few places in the area that still had plenty of frozen food for me to eat, and frozen food was all that was left, besides the few vegetables I had grown in my garden. I wasn’t a hunter, and it seemed that with each passing day, there was less and less wildlife around.
I had just sat down at my table when I heard a bell ring at the front of the restaurant. I turned to see Serah there, the angel who had one day appeared and made me shit my pants, but now was just a continued annoyance. She had always had dark hair and a youthful face, but today, I noticed she had adopted the appearance of a celebrity I discovered on the net when I was a child. An actress from a time long ago, who only existed now in movies and archived footage. Pictures on the internet, which thankfully, still worked. For now.
Plenty of people weren’t so lucky. They were just gone. Forgotten forever.
“I’m trying to eat dinner here, Serah.” I said, annoyed.
She took a seat opposite me in the booth. “How are you holding up, Will?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m just aces, Serah.” I said. “Tell me, did you think if you showed up today looking like Kate Beckinsale, it would make me say "yes" to signing your contract?”
She puffed her cheeks out. “Well, according to my classes in human psychology, it was worth a try, yes.”
“Well,” I said. “Isn’t that comforting.”
“I have a guest with me today,” she said. “He’s been waiting to talk with you for a long time. I will warn you - he is quite loud and obnoxious.”
“Cool beans,” I said, and reached for a breadstick.
There was a crackle and a puff of smoke; the smell of sulfur flooded my nostrils and made my eyes water, causing me to pull back my hand and break into a fit of choking.
A hand slapped my back - hard.
“Careful boyo, careful! Can’t have you dying yet!” said a voice with a Scottish accent.
I looked up, my eyes watering. A man took a seat in the booth next to Serah. He was wearing a black suit and had a slicked back head of black hair. He had a thick black beard dotted with gray and silver. He reached his hand out to me and said, “I’m the Prince of fucking Darkness, how do you do?”
I continued to choke and reached for a glass of water. “What?” I croaked. “Lucifer? He’s real?”
The man frowned. “Well, that’s no way to greet the Devil himself. I was hoping you’d maybe piss your pants or something. Oh, who is that you’re wearing, Serah? Nice choice.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why is he here? Does this have to do with that contract you’ve been trying to get me to sign?”
“Oh Serah, dear, you must be joking. He really doesn’t know?”
She shrugged and smiled. “I’m not really supposed to be that forthcoming with these things.”
“Tell me what?” I asked, getting annoyed.
“Okay, listen up boyo,” the devil began. “When they talk about humanity returning, we’re not just talking about all the meatbags coming back to roam the Earth. We’re talking the next cycle.”
“Cycle?”
“Yes, cycle. Being the last man on Earth, you’re effectively the new Adam. What we’ve been purposing the whole time is for your Eve to appear so we can go through the whole thing all over again, baby! But maybe this time, I’ll put out a win from the ol’ gasbag upstairs. I came so fuckin’ close to winning in 2020, it was almost criminal.”
I was frozen in my seat at the booth. I looked down at my now cold basket of breadsticks, realizing that the endless breadsticks now had a different meaning. “You mean,” I said, “this whole thing has happened before?”
“Well, not exactly to the letter. I mean, it’s always a bit different each time. But most of the pieces on the board are the same. Big G always takes the first move, and then I take the next one, and so on…”
I looked to Serah who again, smiled and shrugged. She took a breadstick from the basket and took a bite even though she couldn’t taste it. Or she had claimed.
“So, how many other times has it happened?”
“Oh Jesus. Literally thousands of times. You know what was really fun? That time the dinosaurs were still around, and you humans rode them around like fucking horses.” He burst out laughing. “That was truly some bananas shit. People riding around on dinosaurs with their six-shooters in the ol’ west. I mean, of course they got fucked up during World War II, but for a long while, things were pretty kickass.”
I felt weak, like nothing I had ever done mattered. All the choices I had made, all the people I had come to know and love, we were all nothing but pieces on a chess board. I just so happened to be the person who got to cross the finish line, only to do it all over again. I couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or a curse.
“Will I remember anything?” I asked.
“That my friend,” said Lucifer, his eyes glowing, “is where the real challenge comes in. Everything gets reset. We’ll be using your soul as the new Adam, BUT! You’ll remember everything. You’ll know about what we talked about here. You’ll have the same knowledge you do now, which means you have the gift of foresight, boyo. You’ll have a record of all of human history to guide you into the next world. But the challenge is to see if you can actually outwit us, angels and demon. Do ya think you’d be able to preserve the truth across centuries? Do you think what you might put down as the written word wouldn’t get lost long after you died? That the bible wouldn’t be dramatically changed from whatever you might starting writing? That your children with Eve would remember what you told them, and it wouldn't get lost in translation?"
I gripped the table, feeling faint, like I was going to pass out.
“We do have to reset the whole playing board, turn the Earth back to its infancy before you humans fucked it dry. I mean, really, would it have killed you to not shit where you slept? Am I right, Serah or am I quackers?”
“The humans are remarkably talented at ruining things, I would agree.”
“So you would lose everything that is now. You would be effectively starting with nothin’ but a fucking leaf on your dick, mate. No computers, no internet, no technology whatsoever. You start from point zero. BUT! Eve will be your perfect match. Your actual soul mate with a bangin’ hot bod to boot!” The Devil laughed. "Who knows! Maybe she'll even look like Serah does now!"
Serah wrinkled her nose like she was looking at actual trash. The Devil put his hand out, exasperated. “Oh come on, feathers! The boyo has been lonely for a very long time! It’s only right if I let him in on some of the perks!”
“So why today?” I asked. “Serah has been asking me every single day since she appeared, but this is the first time you’ve shown up.”
“Because we’re getting restless, mate! Do you actually know how much time you spend a day doing fuck-all? And the time you spend with Jill, yeah… it’s getting a little excessive…”
I leaned back into the booth, suddenly aware of how little privacy I had in the world, even though I was the only human left. All eyes had been on me, and I had done some truly degrading things as my sanity slowly eroded. For a long time, I talked to a beanbag chair named Arnold, until we got in a fight and I ripped out his stuffing. Horrified at what I had done, I buried him in my yard.
“Why here?” I then asked. “We could have had this talk anywhere. Why interrupt my dinner?”
“Where do you think we are, friend?” the Devil asked.
I looked around. “We’re in Olive Garden, we’re-“ Then it hit me. *Olive. Garden*. *Oh my god.*
“Ya see, the temptation *in the garden* isn’t so much about original sin, as it is the choice to become the new patriarch of mankind. I mean, we can continue this tango indefinitely, until you die of old age. It’s not really a problem for anyone on either side. It’s just fantastically fucking boring to watch. If ya die, then we just will have to MacGyver together a new Adam to restart the cycle. It’s just a hell of a lot more fun if the next Adam has the gift of foresight. Picture this – putting the *Will* in *freewill*!” He broke out into a chuckle, clearly pleased at himself. (1/2)
|
Log 473
They tried to come at me again. They thought they could convince me to join them. They came with a friend this time. Stereotypical demon he was, but the angel was no less cliche as he and they had pestered me enough.
Earth’s habitability has gone down and people were dropping quickly, but humans as a species are resilient. They adapt quickly, but even this couldn’t save them. Resources were dwindling and eventually nuclear war broke out. I was the only survivor for unknown reasons.
Angels of the divine came down to try and convince me to join them in heaven or if they wanted to revert time back when things were fixable, but I don’t need that. I have my own truck up my sleeve, and I don’t trust divine being anyways. If they cared so much they would’ve prevented such tragedy.
*dialogue recording*
Angel: “Look. We both know you’ll go insane if you remain alone down here.”
Me: “yes, but I wish to experience this earth for now. It’s different and has its own quirks I’d like to explore first.”
*angle proceeds to side step revealing the demon.*
Angel: “maybe he can convince you.”
Demon: “look kid. We got all eternity to try and convince you. Could you save us some trouble and just come with us?”
Me: *puts on a great smile and seem like I’m convinced* “No.”
Angel and demon: *incoherent groans.*
Little did they know I had myself a plan. I would abandon the weakness and fragility of the flesh, and I would ascend to the ranks of the synthetic. For the flesh is weak, but the steel is strong. I will consolidate the resources of earth and then colonize the galaxy. I refuse to let the divine get in the way of my goals.
Log 474
They nearly convinced me. Taking advantage of a fleshy weakness that is emotions. They showed me videos of my friends. Max, Samuel, and tommy. The demon this time actually said something demonic and threatened eternal damnation if I didn’t choose to either restore humanity or join some of them in paradise. I declined.
For what good is eternal damnation when you die if you won’t die. Machines don’t age and can have their code transferred to other newer models whenever needed.
Today was when I ascended. I became the unit-0.
Log 492
They came again this time, but they immediately left once they saw what I became. They were either afraid or disgusted because they said they wouldn’t show up again. Today is a good day, for today I begin my consolidation of earth.
| 2020-10-24T09:17:45 | 2020-10-24T07:33:05 | 42 | 26 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there.
|
The trees were huge, comically huge, video-game huge. They sprouted from beneath the clouds under them and
blossomed in huge umbrellas of green, yellow and red leaves over their heads, casting cobweb shadows on the sunlit path under their feet.
Henry walked carefully. There were no railings on the edge of the path – just the fall, the endless fall that
disappeared in the thick clouds below.
"If you fall, you don't die," Amy said, with a smile back at him. "The clouds hold you, like pillows."
It was something out of a fairy tale. The pink sky. The grass and gravel path that snaked through the giant trees,
suspended mid-air like a street lane held up by magic. The smell of honeysuckle and roses and rain in the air, the bird chirping. Everything all almost a caricature of perfection.
"Here," Amy said, and she made a sharp turn with the path and soon they were climbing down ancient-looking
stone steps coated in vine and dry leaves, the faint sound of a waterfall reaching them from somewhere out of
sight down under.
"Careful, don't slip," Amy said, and she took Henry's hand and he followed her. "Over here."
The wide open space with the giant trees gave way to a more enclosed environment, with smaller but denser trees surrounding the stone wall they were climbing down. Soon they climbed straight down through the thick white clouds and reached the ground and Henry realized they were in a forest. A lush forest of green and brown. The smell of wet dirt and fresh wood invaded his nostrils, and he followed Amy to a little path on the ground that snaked towards a house in a clearing, a wooden house with a chimney coughing up smoke like some drawing in a children's book, some feverish fairy tale dreamland come to life in front of his eyes.
"It's…"
"Unbelievable," Amy completed. "That's what I thought when I first saw it too."
They stopped in front of the porch. Henry looked around, then down.
"We can have kids here," Amy said. "There's time and space to have kids here. To grow old and raise them and be
happy. Forever."
"Amy…" Henry climbed the steps and sat on the suspended bench on the porch. Amy followed. "I don't know."
"What don't you know? This is literally magic, Henry. We can live forever here."
"Yeah, but… do you want to?"
Amy laughed. "Henry, who *doesn't* want to live forever? I mean, I get not wanting it in that shithole that we call real life, but here?" She motioned around her, encompassing with her hands the whole idyllic scenery surrounding them. "It's perfection. Forever."
"People were meant to die one day, Amy. People weren't meant to live for pleasure forever, we're not… orgasm
buttons."
"Henry," She knelt in front of him and took his hand on hers. "People were not *meant* to anything. We are
accidents. We weren't even supposed to be sentient, we're like… an abortion of nature. Our self-awareness is an accident, a side effect. We shouldn't know we exist. But we do. We know we are alive and we know we must die and this place… this place takes all of that back. We live forever here. We are *happy* forever here. The scenery, it's always changing, there's giant futuristic cities, there's ancient medieval castles, there's magic forests, interesting people, all new, new, new, never a boring day, and forever! It's everything a person could ever want."
"It's not… natural," Henry said. "It's not… what's *meant* to happen."
"Henry, what is meant to happen is you and I and every other human being ever will die and then the universe will
die too and it will be like nothing ever existed!" Amy was getting angry now. Even the pink sky and the golden
sunlight around and behind her seemed to be gathering an ominous hue, like mirroring her emotions. "What is
*meant* to happen is the source of all human suffering. We are insignificant outside of this place! We are absurd!"
"Maybe we're meant to be insignificant."
"STOP SAYING MEANT LIKE ANYTHING IS 'MEANT' TO HAPPEN. IT'S A MADE UP WORD." She calmed herself. She
put her hand to her heart and breathed deep. "Nothing is *meant*. There is no order in the universe save for the one you put there with your own eyes. There is only chaos, Henry, chaos and forgetfulness once everything blows away and dies. Is this what you want? For our love to have meant nothing? Our life? Because when we're both gone, that's what it's going to be like. Nothingness."
Henry didn't say anything. He was crying, but he didn't say anything.
"I love us," Amy said, taking his hand again. "I want us to last forever. I don't want our love limited by the
indifference of the universe that bred it in the first place." She sniffed her tears too. "I want you and I… for longer
than reality permits. And this is how we do it. This place. Whatever it is. Real or not. Insanity or not. It's here. It's
forever. And I want to share it with you."
Henry looked down. Then he looked up, and the sky was gray now, and a soft rain was trickling down between the
leaves of the wall of trees behind and around the house.
"I'm sorry, Amy," he said. "I'm sorry, I can't."
She got up. She stepped back. "I'm staying," she said. "I'm not leaving here."
Henry nodded. "Okay."
How could he blame her? She was the one who was dying. She was the one with months to live, in the real world. He thought she was wrong, but how could he judge her from his position? From his place in life, his healthy body, his healthy mind. Deep down he'd like to think he'd be different, but would he? Didn't he too, like everyone, harbor the illusion that he would live forever? Didn't he make plans and live his life like he wasn't going to die one day, despite his 'logical' mind knowing it fully well? Didn't he too bury this truth? This truth that Amy had to dig up from the ground and stare at, that morning the doctor gave her the news?
No, he couldn't judge. He could disagree, but not judge.
He got up and started for the path, then he turned back. She was crying, her arms dangling by her body,
powerless, weak, fragile.
"Why do you have so much love for this universe that brings you nothing but pain?" she said. "This reality that doesn't love you enough to even let you in on itself and its truths. That's not even honest with you. This world that keeps you in the dark and then kills you -- is that the world you love?" She cried harder, then she stopped. "Is it worthy of it?"
Henry shook his head. "It's the only world I've ever known," he said. "And it was good enough for my fathers before me."
He climbed the stone steps alone, and alone he made way back through the giant trees under the now pouring
rain and the heavy skies, and then he crossed and emerged back into their house, alone now.
The portal closed behind his back and she disappeared – her and her memory together. Her parents, their friends,
no one remembered her anymore after that, just like she said it would happen. Those were the rules. That was the price you paid for that perfect universe -- no coming back, no footprints left in reality. She disappeared from his reality completely.
And Henry carried on without her for sixty-two years, and when he died, it rained for the second time over her
house in the woods in her lonely, perfect world, but she didn't know why.
_____
/r/psycho_alpaca
|
**A bit late, not sure anyone will read this, but had a lot of fun with the prompt! Props to OP!**
__________
She ran out of the bathroom and grabbed me tighter than anything ever before.
"I found another world! A place where I was a god! A land where I crafted the dirt below my feet..."
I looked at her in total disbelief.
"I found a land where the beings praised me as their benevolent deity, burning pyres and making sacrifices to me!"
I mean she was gone for like 30 seconds to pee.
"You wouldn't believe it! I made the stars out of sand and the sky out of paint..."
At this point she was clutching me so hard I might actually faint.
"You should've seen it! I saw as wars were fought below my feet, heroics and feats fought in the name of me!"
I sniffed her hair trying to see if she had the scent of weed.
"I saw as the world crumbled in the name of greed, the fat needing to feed on the poor, the wicked on the weak..."
All this she had seen from taking a leak?
"So I destroyed it all and created anew,
Made the oceans a boiling stew,
Made a shelter from the ground,
keeping safe only the good few."
...
I then asked "...then why did you come back?
Come back from where you had all the power?
A benevolent deity of the bath.
A land where we also have to shower?
Why did you come back?"
I stared down into her eyes, at my feet she had curled.
"Because baby, even after all of this, you are still my world."
| 2022-10-29T18:50:12 | 2017-02-20T23:55:13 | 510 | 19 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded Earth. Instead of attacking, they find the human race remarkably cute and decide to keep them as pets. It’s quite degrading, but it’s better than being eaten- right?
|
I stopped running eventually. We all did.
At first I drove, packed up a survival kit of three juice packs and some matches - others were more prepared, but it didn’t help.
The roads quickly became unsafe with their bright beams of green light paving the Earths transport systems into the sky, so that when you looked up, it was like a giant static version of the Northern Lights.
I drove off a cliff and bundled a sprained ankle into the dark forest. I crossed paths with a family of five after three nights of shivering hunger. They fed me and then told me to jog on - they had too many mouths to feed already.
I walked for a few days and nights listening to the cries of the humans who hadn’t made it out of the central zones. I was miles into wilderness but it didn’t matter, the world was reverberating with human screams.
They came slow and steady - they had all the time in the world. We had no where to go, no where to go but Earth.
When my ankle became too swollen for my own weight, I dropped and snuggled into a hollow of leaves and waited. I waited for something which no longer existed - hope.
As I drifted between consciousness, I remember a red light zooming towards me through the dusky leaves. It had rammed into my temple and then jolted me to wake in a tight cage with a chair and a table and just enough space to spread my arms. A man sat to my right and a woman to my left, each in their own identical cage.
We became friends for a time - forced together by circumstance is perhaps an understatement, but we ate meals at the same time, each sitting at our own table, and Pia tried teaching me French despite not knowing English. The man never said a word, but we smiled and shook and cried together.
When the monster we named Big Dave slipped down the metal stairs and dropped plates of food through the bars, we threw insults at him - I even started shouting some in French which entertained Pia to no end - probably due to my pronunciation. It didn’t matter though, Big Dave hadn’t a clue what we were saying - we were maniacal beasts to him, spitting and savage and eating the scraps of Earth’s crumb.
Big Dave was magical. He could glide and sparkle silver flecks of light wherever he happened to glance. I was mesmerised from the first moment he traipsed his fleshy fingers across my cage chain. He seemed to like me too. He gave me extra food every now and again and he would flash his silver gaze across me, glittering me in light and bending down to get a closer look.
Over time, I grew braver and shuffled my table up close to the cage chain and stuck out a hand to see what he would feel like. He was just as interested in me, and grazed my skin with a chill which dragged across my entire body and left me content for a full day and a half.
I began greeting Big Dave on a regular basis. Pia disapproved and stayed hidden at the back of her shady cage. She didn’t want anything to do with them. She wanted her baby girl back, her Daphine.
At some point Big Dave started bringing other silver beasts with him. I could never tell if they were the same ones or not, but they all showered me with their silver gaze and begged to touch my skin - almost as much as I begged to touch theirs.
Then, one day Big Dave brought down two of his friends. They sparkled brighter and stronger than any I had seen before. Big Dave cowered in their presence.
I stood up tall and made sure I was at the front of my cage and stuck out both arms for them to chill with their flesh. I was like a drug addict awaiting my next high.
I remember seeing a small gun-like object in Big Dave’s hand a moment before he shot me with it. There was no noise, just a piercing sensation in my right palm and a small drop of blood. Then the cage door was opening and I was too shocked to make a dash for it.
Pia screamed as they led me out, begging me to run, to get away, to help her, to find Daphine, and much more in her fast French I couldn’t understand. I just held a hand up to wave goodbye.
I was leaving the cage. How long had I been there? Where was I going? Despite myself I was excited, dreaming of a better life, wondering what had happened to the world and to the other humans - was I one of the last left.
We drew up to ground level, me stepping heavily up the metal stairs and the Silver’s gliding effortlessly, their feet had a stroking manner. The sun shocked my brain into the past and I was engulfed in a busy high street, the Silvers floating about and humans - humans everywhere. A man of about twenty cut in front of me, nodded absently at me and followed after a Silver who guided his way.
Where was the fight? Where was the war waging for our planet? I had imagined so much horror while in the cage, and yet all I saw was a calm, sunshine morning as a Silver glided past followed by a brutish human woman wearing a large fluffy pink coat.
My palm flew up to my right of its own accord. I turned and saw the two Silvers who had taken me from my cage wandering away into a crowd of metal machines. My palm begged me to walk forwards and so I did. It guided me after them, stuck to them by an invisible magnetic field. I hung as far back as I could, but eventually they stopped and waited for me to catch up. The bigger of the two bent down and wrapped his chilly flesh across my chest. He shook me gently and touched his face to my forehead. I melted. My brain fizzed and three days passed in a state of bliss.
After that I did everything I could to get the forehead kiss. I sat at my table and chair when they flashed deep bronze at me and ate when then flashed gold. I chatted about nothing when they gazed with a faint green and I was quiet when I saw red.
The bigger one liked to cuddle more than the other. I named him Big Jack and the other Little Henry. I didn’t know if they were a couple or friends. I didn’t know if they spoke to each other, or if they communicated at all. They rarely made sounds - it was all colour and lights, but I learnt the basics quick enough. They seemed impressed and often showed other Silvers when we were out and about.
I got a new cage, a glass one, which sat in a white room and reflected rainbows in the morning light. They even gave me a bed, with a blanket and everything. I hugged Big Jack extra hard after that and he gave me a forehead kiss.
Sometimes they go away for periods of time and I am left to my own devices. I found a pencil one day when out in a field of green with Little Henry. It was stuffed halfway into the mud and bitten in half by a rabid animal sometime long ago. I picked it up and took it home. I drew onto the floor, patterns and trees and human faces from a time I thought I had forgotten. They saw it in the morning and the next day Big Jack brought me supplies - oils and pastels and canvas upon canvas. I decorated my cage with them and painted a special one for Jack and Henry.
They have been gone for a month now - I am not sure when they will return, but they gave me enough food and water and art supplies for at least another three weeks. Their chilly touch is wearing off. The forehead kiss a memory from a lifetime ago. I am in a haze and yet the whole world feels fresh and bright.
I hear human voices through the wall. The Silver’s next-door must have two humans, a pair! I hear laughter and I pine alone in my cage. I draw my own friends - humans, all awkward and wonky and pink in the face. They glare at me. They tell me to get out. They say I am a wimp. I agree and jam my paint brush against the lock of the cage. It flicks open - easy. I run to the wall where I heard the snippets of next doors’ humans. I press my ear to the white wash.
Silence.
I run to the window - my legs are not used to running. The Silvers glide at such a slow pace, and I am used to ambling even slower behind. I pick at the window until it swings forward into the wide world of Earth.
A giant Silver drifts past and waves a light at me - he thinks I am saying hello. A human boy follows at a soft trot, his head bowed and his palm guiding him forward. I look at my own palm. Big Jack must have switched the signal off before leaving on their trip. I wonder where they have gone. I wonder where I would go. I sit at the window, wondering this for a long time.
I wonder if Pia is still stuck in that basement cage. I wonder if her daughter, Daphine is out there soaking in the French sun, perhaps with her own family of Silvers.
The sun sets and then rises again.
A small Silver sifts across the morning dew. It comes near my window wanting to stop and gaze at me. I gaze back. Where would I go?
I reach out my hand. It wraps chilly flesh around me and I melt into the daze.
I am content.
|
They're telepathic. They speak every language. Their voices are a beautiful harmony of countless notes layered upon each other in an ever-changing symphony of chords made of melodies, of which humans can only hear a small fraction. Dogs can hear slightly more.
"Music is the language of the gods."
Zach was 15 when they arrived. It was a normal day.. he had skipped school to play video games and drink whiskey from Nick's parents' insanely well stocked liquor cabinet. His parents were never home. They went to work at eight, hit the bars at six, got home at nine, and fell asleep at nine o' five. 'The liquor cabinet must be for weekends,' Zach supposed as he stared through the crowd of bottles.
"How do they reach the ones at the back?"
"Come look at this, man. This is hilarious."
"What kind of alcohol habit would necessitate a cabinet of this size for two days out of the week?"
"Dude, I don't know. Finish making that drink and get in here, I've had this shit paused for ten minutes while you rub one out over there."
Zach walked into the smokey den to find his friend with a stupid grin on his face.
"Alright, you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
Nick clicked a button on his controller and pointed at the screen.
"Look, it totally looks like they're fucking."
Zach wasn't paying attention. He was looking out the window at..
"Dude"
"He's all bent over, he.. hey--"
Zach grabbed Nick by the shoulders and spun him around to face the window.
"Dude."
Nick spat out his whiskey, cartoon-style. It dripped down the window.
The cloud outside the window was spiraling. It was changing. It was no longer white. It was *every color*, and a few Zach had never seen before.
Nick held up his drink and pointed at it with a shaking hand.
"Yo, what the fuck did you put in this?"
Zach said nothing. He was edging closer to the window, still staring. This had to be some kind of prank, or an event. A concert?
Whatever it was, he found that he couldn't stop looking at it. "Let's get a closer look," he said suddenly, and made for the door. He flung it open, and *the best smell* greeted him. He turned back to Nick, who was still staring out the window, now smiling, with a hand on his hip. "You coming?"
Nick took a hurried gulp of whiskey and set it down as he pried his eyes from the phenomenon, and followed his friend outside. It was hot in the garden. Way hotter than it normally was in southern California. As it turned out, it wasn't just one cloud. The whole sky was a spinning, churning, morphing rainbow. Cheering, laughing, whooping, they climbed a ladder onto the roof.
(meh, i'll finish it later)
| 2018-04-16T12:00:56 | 2018-04-16T07:52:05 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] You want so badly to be a Hero. But your powers are, frankly, terrifying. Heroes struggle to trust you, and all the older Villains keep trying to mentor you.
|
The lights right above the circular tables were harsh, but it illuminated all present perfectly. It meant that Greystar could see everyone was present and correct, as they had promised, to talk over recent events.
"Council of Darkness," the first time he had joined the Council he had scoffed at the childish, yet apt, name of the group that spearheaded villainy across the world. However, after a few years sat at its outer tables he had become to accept any alternatives would also sound as similarly silly or banal. He looked at the newest member of the inner table, Bonescar, and nodded his acceptance at the man's presence there. Bonestar had won the vote with nearly 70% of Council members, joining the ranks of the sacred Inner Sanctum which gave him both prestige and powerful voting rights on all Council matters.
"We all know why we are here today," Greystar pointed at the empty chair across from him, where Lady Lightstrike should have been sitting if it were not for her presence in the ICU of Grand Central Hospital in her city "We have all had bad days in our villainy, we have all had accidents, which is why the Council has such grand headquarters with finer medical technology than the average citizen knows exist. However, to ensure everyone is up to speed on what we are to talk about today I must inform you all of the intricate details on how she came to be hospitalised."
UberGeneral shuddered, he had been first on scene from the Council but could do nothing as Lady Lightstrike had been handcuffed to the gurney. It mattered not if she was glued or cemented into the gurney, the swelling in her brain meant she would not wake up for weeks. UberGeneral had seen the carnage that had been caused, not just to Lady herself, but to the street where she raised her family.
"After Lady Lightstrike perfectly executed twelve robberies in the space of twelve hours across the Greater San Berkafrisco area, she dropped the monies here before heading to her home. She has an alter-ego, and is a single mother of two." A small murmur from the outer rings of tables rumbled like a distant train through the chamber, this was news to many and yet not shocking as those same many had families of their own that they went home to. "Waiting for her when she arrived home, was not simply her children and their nanny. There was someone else."
Greystar looked around the room. He knew what saying the name of this 'hero' would do to those who had come up against him.
"Revocan."
The murmur rumbled again, but this time it came with a shiver spiralling down the spines of all those present. Even the veterans of the business had never come up against anything like Revocan. He was different to the other heroes. So different, most refused to work with him due to his tactics. In an incredibly private and unlikely meeting with the Chief Justice of the League of Heroes, Brightflame, the head hero had promised to only ever send Revocan on missions if it was an absolute last resort. Even between the Heroes and Villains of the world, to send Revocan was deemed by both as simply inhumane.
"Not only was Revocan present in Lady Lightstrike's personal home," Greystar continued as he shook away the goosebumps that were creeping across his body "He had bound her two children and their nanny to hold as hostages."
The collective gasp of shock nearly made the chamber a vacuum, but Greystar was not finished.
"It has been confirmed before this meeting started that Revocan had not been sent by the League of Heroes, and therefore was not on official League business. They truly did not know the Lady's alter ego nor her home address, Revocan had somehow found this information out for himself. The League had recently cut Revocan off from some of their resources, and so wonder if Revocan had wanted to take some of the money that Lady Lightstrike had stolen earlier in the day. Obviously there was a battle between them, and the Lady now lies in a coma until the swelling in her brain subsides."
"How are the children?" a female voice piped up from the second row, one Greystar knew to be a mother herself.
"Traumatised but safe, and unharmed as is the nanny." Greystar nodded his quiet thanks to whomever was able to keep them safe from their home being utterly demolished in the fight "We must now decide an important matter. The heroes are going to make it clear they they do not want Revocan in their League so do we want him within ours? He refuses to abide by the light of the law, so can he be lured by the darkness of villainy?"
"I'm fine being in the grey area," a voice echoed from the shadowy crevices of the chamber.
The villains all collectively panicked, they knew who that voice belonged to even if they could not see him.
"Oh shit," Greystar muttered as he stood, sending his chair tumbling backward akin to many of the others in the room. "He's here."
"That's right," the voice bounced from a different part of the chamber "I'm here."
The lights above the tables blinked out and plunged the chamber into darkness. The villains with the power of fire or light began to illuminate themselves causing the other villains to flock to them like moths, but no matter what side of the room they lit up there was nothing to see. Greystar opened his own hand to powered up a small star-like ball of plasma for his own source of light, but as he turned he came face to face with sadistic smile of Revocan.
"No more."
* * *
"Chief!" Stormsword pushed through the doors and sprinted toward the occupied desk in the private office of the Chief Justice of the League of Heroes.
"This is supposed to be a private meeting, Stormsword," Brightflame quickly turned off the screen that he had been showing his number two, Ms Sparrow "I assume this must be important."
"Turn on the TV," Stormsword was panting, his cardio was not as good as it had been in his spritely youth.
"Which channel?"
"All of them."
Brightflame gave a quick look of concern to Sparrow before the screens reverted to the news which showed an on-site reporter pushing through the throng of other journalists, spectators, and police as they all looked at the crater in the side of Mount Falabeda.
"Is that...?"
"That's the Council headquarters..." Ms Sparrow confirmed as the other screens in the room began to tune in to the other stations, giving the three Heroes a multi-angle view of the devastation.
"Wait," Stormsword looked at the pair "How do you know where that is?"
"What happened?" Brightflame asked as the cacophony of reporters began to all speak at the same time.
"The Council of Darkness," Stormsword said "They're all dead. All of them."
* * * * * *
I have my own subreddit! [/r/ocallkai](https://reddit.com/r/ocallkai/)
|
I've never lost a patient. Some call it obsession, others think I've got something wrong with me, and most think I really need to learn when to quit. But I just can't help it. I *have* to help others, to use my skills to aid the ailing. Because in many of the cases that make their way to my swamped clinic, they'd be a lost cause anywhere else. So I do what I must, despite the general mistrust of the public, and after a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, everyone carted in my doors is up and walking out them again, elated to have more time to spend with their loved ones. It's a very fulfilling job -- more doctors should cross-train into necromancy.
| 2022-10-28T07:12:24 | 2022-10-28T07:09:22 | 369 | 202 |
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
|
“Are you sure?”
The new mother looked down at the young boy, tears in her eyes as she took in the tiny little horns and wee bats wings.
“What if we can... raise him right? Show him kindness and love, and hope he turns out ok?”
The king looked on with a heavy heart, and spoke,
“You know what happens when you try to avoid a prophecy, dear. I understand your pain, but we just can’t risk it.”
So, in the middle of the night, they left the boy with an elderly widow who was passing by in her travels. She thanked them profusely, promising to take care of the boy and show him all the love he deserved.
The king cast one last, apprehensive look at the pair, before turning to make his way back to the caste where his weary wife held their daughter.
As the years passed, and Eve grew into a beautiful young woman, the kingdom rejoiced.
Unknowing of the prophecy, the general public could only assume that a daughter of the royal family sporting great, golden wings and a shining halo was a good omen for the kingdom.
But this would not last.
The first sign was the handmaiden.
After being assigned to the princess, the young girl was overjoyed to be of service to the radiant angel.
Ten days later she was found dead in a hall closet.
The second was the jewelry. Nothing of great importance, but an earring here, a necklace there. Gone without a trace.
Next came the animals.
The first was an old lap cat, a favorite of the kings first advisor. The princess wept when she heard the news, but there were no tears behind the hand she held in front of her face. No one noticed.
After that, it was one of the hunting dogs. He was found dead outside his kennel, face mutilated and body torn asunder. The princess simply smiled when she heard the news.
“Poor thing” she said, her wings held aloft behind her.
“I hope you can find a suitable replacement.”
Her parents grew worried. The king assumed teenage hormones were to blame, but the queen quickly realized that something was... not right with her daughter.
Hoping to avoid raising suspicion, she took a “quick holiday” out to the sea. In reality, she had spent weeks tracking down that old traveling merchant, and had arranged to meet with her on the night of the full moon.
On the night of the meeting, the queen was nowhere to be found. The traveling merchant, Gilda, waited there for hours. No one came.
The little boy, Gideon, hopped up onto her lap and kissed her cheek.
“Can we go now, mama?” He asked, all sweetness and dimples.
“I wanna make sure the chickens at home are ok!”
Gilda sighed and smiled at her adopted son.
“Ok. Let’s go.”
15 feet away the Queen held her breath as the knife pressed deeper into her neck.
“You never told me I had a brother, mommy...”
*Part 2, upon request*
The kingdom held a day of mourning for their beloved queen. No expense was spared, the kingdom was bedecked in white flowers, and twisting vines bore shaded lamps.
“Common thieves”, one man whispered.
“Heart attack”, a woman sighed.
“Liver failure,” a third mourned.
None of them knew the truth.
Back in her chambers, eyes alight with the high of a fresh kill, Eve sat planning her next move.
“A brother...”
She sat, twirling her golden locks. Smiled. How interesting, indeed.
She had the full story, now. Given by her mother under the pretense that she would be granted her life. Silly.
Eve knew what she was. There was no denying it. Her very soul lusted for darkness, and remorse was a word she never truly learned the meaning of.
However, patience was a virtue she would need to take advantage of for the time being. Now was not the time to act rashly, or her entire world could collapse.
No, she would never allow her delicately crafted spiders-web veil to be lifted from the eyes of her father. Manipulation was an art, and Eve longed for a better paint brush. Age births perceived power, and Eve could be patient. For now.
More years passed, and still no one suspected.
Eve began to take her leave more often, using her powerful golden wings to escape to the countryside where she could delight in slaughter.
She preened extensively, making sure each feather was as sharp as the blade of her knife.
And on the dawn of her eighteenth birthday she washed her wings of the blood that stained them, only to find that she could no longer truly wash away the red.
Her father complimented her on her lovely auburn wing tips at breakfast.
•••
Gideon tripped, and fell face-first into the dirt.
He got back up again, determined to find the wolf that was killing his beloved sheep. He had spent days tracking it, only seeing it out of the corner of his eyes but that was enough.
As he turned back to his trail, he saw a single feather lying on the path.
He paused.
That hadn’t been there before...
He walked up to it, and picked it up with one delicate, claw-tipped finger. (Some of the boys at school had made fun of him for his claws and wings, but he had won them over by pinching their lost quarters from where they had fallen into the cobblestones, and using his wings to fly on top of the schoolhouse to fetch their lost balls and toys.)
As he tried to identify the mysterious item, he heard a rustling up ahead. He looked up to see a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen staring back at him. He gasped.
“Uhhh...” he stuttered.
“Hello.” The voice whispered.
A girl emerged from the trees. Her long sandy hair was tied back intricately, and her hunting gear looked to be of the finest quality. But what mainly drew his eyes were the giant golden wings behind her.
“I see you’ve got my feather.”
Gideon trembled and dropped it.
“I’m so sorry!” He wailed, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to take it!”
Eve narrowed her eyes at her brother, and opened her mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted as he threw himself at her feet.
“Please forgive me goddess!”
Eve shut her mouth quickly, eyes widening. A low delight curled in her stomach. Is this what it feels like to be worshipped?
She quickly finds she quite likes the idea.
“Yes... it’s alright now Gideon.”
The boy looks up quickly
“How did you know my name, Goddess?” He asks in awe.
Eve simply smiles benignly, and nods to the feather.
“You can keep that. Really, I don’t mind.”
Gideon’s wings tremble with delight, drawing Eve’s eyes to them. Her smile fades, and she tries to replicate the look her father sometimes has when she comes back early in the morning with a bloody deer slung over her back.
Frightened, but masked with a forced smile.
From the horrified look in her brother’s eyes, she knows she has succeeded.
“I, uh, I was born with them, I-“
“I understand” she cuts him off rudely.
“I hope you understand what this means, however,” she finishes.
Gideon looks at her, wings pinned to his back in fright.
“What, what does it mean Goddess?”
“It means that you were born sinful, evil, and stained.” She kneels down next to him, tilts his chin up with a finger.
Her eyes are filled with divine light, and her smile is all teeth as she says
“But I can make you whole. All you have to do is exactly as I tell you...”
AN: Sorry, I just can’t resist a good cliffhanger... hope you enjoyed :)
|
They hoped that no one ever learned that they once had a son. They hoped. They dared not pray it. They feared that anything even thought in prayer would be overheard by their beautiful angelic daughter.
The prophecy foretold twins, one good and one evil. When the babes arrived in this world, it was easily apparent which contained which trait. Though they decided quickly,it was not an easy decision. The boy with the horns and black wings had to go.
As their sweet daughter grew, they felt they had made the right decision. She was so kind and generous. She did have a bit of a temper if she saw a wrong, but who could blame her? She was just so good.
But as she grew, that mild child's temper became stronger. She was good and kind, yes, unless she believed you to have sinned.
Her wrath was terrifying. Everyone who encountered her tread lightly and in fear. The slightest misdeed would be swiftly and harshly punished. Most had fled far from their land. She was kind, but without mercy. If she knew what they had done, there would be no telling what she would do.
The boy was destined to be evil, but he had done nothing wrong before they acted. He had been innocent. She would not tolerate that.
The haloed girl was good, but the horn headed boy was more like the rest of them. They thought they made the right decision.
"Mother, I feel as though you are hiding something from me."
They were wrong.
| 2020-05-07T10:15:45 | 2020-05-07T10:09:06 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] You have often described your girlfriend as a goddess and why wouldn't you? After all she is beautiful, wise, 9 feet tall, has eyes that literally glow with holy fire, is well into her ten thousands and most of all charming and caring
|
MOON
\*\*\*
The room was dimly lit, but that didn’t stop her ethereal nimbus of blue light from illuminating its walls. She leaned back into her pink DX racer gaming chair and stretched her arms as she waited for the match to start. Her hair was suspended in the air, trailing slowly after her movements as if she was a hundred feet under water. Her nine tails with their fluffy white fur drifted behind her. Her viewers loved it. They all thought it was some kind of webcam effect. No one really suspected that FoxySocks99 was a real moon goddess.
Millions of viewers tuned in to her stream every night. League of Legends was her game of choice and she always played Ahri. Her channel exploded after she started cosplaying. Her follower numbers grew even higher after she started performing “magic tricks” during her breaks between games. Her followers thought they were parlor tricks, but she knew them as lunar sorcery. Shaping water and freezing it into tiny sculptures was a fan favorite. While being followed on Twitch was not a substitute for true worship, she could feel her powers growing with each new fan that joined the channel.
The matches were always easy, even with her being ranked 4th in the world and pitted against the best human players out there. She was careful not to play too perfectly. The anti-cheating software doesn’t like when she performs too well, so she learned how to add little imperfections into her style to throw it off. Eons ago she led the 100 Kings on their crusade to seal the shadow beasts. A thousand years before that she defended the bronze castle against the Sandman’s siege. Beating down two assassins trying to jump her in League's digital jungle was cake.
It was then that she heard a loud crash and the sounds of breaking glass. Aveluna’s large fox-like ears fluttered in the direction of the noise. She gave her viewers a smile and quickly cut her stream to an extended break. With a snap of her fingers and a flash of moonlight, Aveluna teleported to the room down the hall.
“Nicholas!” She gasped. Nicholas was out of his wheelchair and struggling to collect a heap of broken glass on the floor with his deformed hand. The limb was little more than a few half formed digits sticking from a mump. Aveluna had seen many diseases and curses in her time, but muscular dystrophy was among the worst.
“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” She whispered calmly as she waved a hand over the broken cup. The pieces danced into the air and then reformed to their unbroken state.
“Thanks Avi. I’m sorry... I thought I could handle it. I didn’t want to bother you because I know you were streaming. I know how important regaining your power is to you.” Nicholas sighed. She gave him a warm smile and lifted him back into his wheelchair.
“Silly. Power isn’t everything.” Aveluna’s azure eyes looked towards the window. The neighborhood was bathed in the hue of moonlight and a gentle breeze raked through the grass. “Nicholas, how about we take a walk?”
He nodded. “That would be nice. But what about your stream and followers?”
“Don’t worry about them. If a follower can’t give me an hour of free time then I say good riddance. I’m an entertainer, not a slave.”
Aveluna prepped the ramp and rolled Nicholas out the front door towards the sidewalk. The lunar light felt good against her pale skin. The moon was nearly full and she felt like a sunflower taking a drink of the morning sun. As they started their rounds down the street Aveluna’s thoughts reached back to the days of darkness. She recalled a time when gods were long forgotten and she drifted endlessly through the black abyss. Her spirit was rekindled when a young broken boy with a leaf blower tended her abandoned shrine and made a small but kind offering. Now she has a home to call her shrine and a way to restore her power. Nicholas’ voice jolted her back.
“Hey Avi, did you gain any new powers today?” He asked curiously.
She tilted her head back towards the sky. “Well… just one, but it’s not too useful. I mean it’s not like teleportation or telekinesis.” She stopped the wheelchair for a moment. “Want to see?” She asked.
“Sure, your powers are always interesting.” He clamped his larger hand against the smaller one. “Ok show me what you’ve got!”
She stepped in front of the wheelchair and pressed her palms together with a grin. “Ready? Ok here we go!” She spread her hands and a bar of pure moonlight appeared in the space between them. The light took shape, forming an intricate blade. She waved the sword around and took a pose.
“Oh wow, it’s a sword! But ah, careful! You almost gave me a haircut!”
“Oh, don’t worry. This is the Moonlight Sword. I originally forged it for fighting demons, but they don’t exist anymore. It’s made out of my will, so it will only cut what I want it to.” The sword hummed through the air as she swung it in a spiral. “I guess it might be useful for cutting open those wine bottles with the cheap corks.” They both chuckled.
She flipped the sword around and faced the hilt to Nicholas. “You want to try?” Nicholas grasped the radiant sword with his more well-formed hand and fumbled a bit before striking a pose. Aveluna whipped her iPhone out and took a few shots. She wrote “my moonlight knight” on the caption and added an armored helmet emoji. Sure her fans would be jealous, they always are. But screw them. *Bling.* She posted it anyway.
The pair made a circuit around the neighborhood but then stopped near an open field. Aveluna remembered when she restored her favorite power. She would always remember that day. The day where she leapt into the sky and danced through the air in flight. She laughed and smiled, performing pirouettes and aerial loops. It was then that she looked back to Nicholas, who was clapping for her and smiling. It was then that she realized that while she danced through the sky in glee, he was still trapped in that metal chair. Despite his weakness… despite his curse… he still showed genuine happiness for her.
That day she floated down from the starlit sky in silence. Her normal smile and radiant facade broken by tears she could no longer control. That was the night she fell in love with him.
“Avi are you ok?” Her ears perked and she snapped back from the reverie. “You’re crying.”
She wiped at her eyes. “Ah, no I’m ok. It was just a memory.”
“A memory?” He asked.
She sniffed and wiped away the remainder of the tears. “Yeah, a memory of when I first touched the stars.”
They returned to the house while the night was still young. Aveluna helped Nicholas from his wheelchair, got him changed, and carried him to bed. She pulled the covers over his small dwarf-like legs and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll only be streaming a few more hours then I’ll be back with you. Sweet dreams love.” She cooed.
“Sweet dreams love.” He whispered back. “Go kick their asses.”
After teleporting back into the game room, Aveluna fluffed her tail and plopped back into the pink chair. She streamed for 3 more hours before thanking her fans and retreating to the kitchen for a late night snack. As she reached for the handle of the fridge she paused. Her attention was focused on a small calendar that was held up on the fridge by a little band of chibi League of Legends character magnets.
In two weeks a date was circled with permanent marker. There were pink moons and hearts drawn around it. It was the Lunar Perigee, the point at which the moon would be closest to the Earth. On that date her powers would be at their peak. She harkened back to the impossible feats that she was able to accomplish during the Perigee. Restoring the world tree… bringing down the light of lunar judgement on the shadow realm. She knew she would never again reach those levels of power…
…but she would be powerful enough.
She rested a hand on Nicholas’ wheelchair, which was folded against a cabinet.
“Please endure just a little bit longer my love. I will free you from your prison, I promise.”
|
My breath came in short gasps as my heart tried to explode in my chest. I just had to open a stupid door, but instead I was having a panic attack. I knew it was an irrational response, but I couldn't do anything to stop it, and that frustration just drove me further into my little spiral.
Soothing warmth slowly washed through my body, driving away the crushing panic that had suddenly struck me. Her hand was resting on my shoulder, and suddenly everything was better. I closed my eyes, humming softly, letting myself enjoy her touch for just a moment.
"We don't have to do this today if you don't want to you know," she said, her voice resonant and kind.
"No... no, I need to do this," I said shaking my head. I don't know why coming out to my family was so scary. It wasn't like they were horrible bigots or anything. But still, the thought of opening up this part of myself I'd never shared before was scary.
"Hey... if they're not one hundred percent accepting, and supportive, I can always..." she said. before I interupted her with a giggle.
"Hehehe, yes yes. You'll smite them," I said, smiling up at her. Not the small polite smile I'd spent a lot of time having to practice in the mirror, but that wide, genuine, and maybe a little goofy smile that I couldn't control. I gazed up at her, and she took my breath away as always. I'd always felt a little down about my height. A girl kinda sticks out when she's well over six foot, but my nine foot tall girlfriend was very good at making me feel dainty.
Her eyes glowed with their holy eternal fire, that strange ethereal flickering from within her. Gosh, I love her. She's just an absolute goddess.
| 2021-01-14T12:15:34 | 2021-01-14T11:48:57 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] You're a ghost trying to peacefully enjoy your garden, and quite frankly, you're tired of all these adventurers trying to "put you to rest"
|
The dead need gardens, too. Perhaps more so than the living, after all, alivers are so busy with being alive they more often trod upon gardens than enjoy them.
Take this fool with the double edged axe trampling all over those poor tulips. And for what? A chance to swipe his unenchanted hunk of useless metal through my ethereal form?
Oh Gods be damned! You idiot, you just cleaved my dandelion patch!
But no matter how much I scream at them they never stop. Somehow, I've become a fixation for the local adventurers. They seem to think I've got some cool treasure bits hidden under my flimsy white gown. Wont they be surprised when all they find are dry rose buds!
If they ever get me, that is. Judging by this moron swinging his axe harmlessly through my person I doubt any one of them will ever scrounge up enough brain cells to end me.
And I wished they would. I didnt wish to linger here in this beautiful garden and be tormented by idiots. If I had a choice I'd moved on a hundred years ago. How did I come to be here? I don't know. One day I was a baker's son running an errand and the next moment I wake up all glowy like here with an invisible wall confining me to this courtyard and naught but the flowers to keep me company.
Took me a decade or two to grow tired of this little plot of land but watching flowers grow is at least a thing I can enjoy.
Oh, will you look at that, the buffoon got tired of swinging his axe.
Wait-wait a minute you nincompoop! At least walk back the way you came! Oh my hydrogenas!
I swear if I could strangle these bastards I'd have done it years ago.
Well I do have one person that I like. A little local boy, Samuel, who visits some days. He would talk to me like a real person. Not that I can say anything intelligible back to him but he doesn't seem to mind my silence. Maybe he's just a lonely orphaned boy and at least I dont make fun of him for it.
My poor flowers, wilting on their broken stems.
Here comes Sam now.
"Hi Pete" he greets me. I dont know where he came up with that name and though I'd have preferred a different pseudonym, it has grown on me.
I smile at him, my silent reply.
"Another adventure party today? Looks like they got the tulips good this time."
I nod, sadly.
"Do you want me to plant some new seeds?"
I nod enthusiastically, smiling.
"I'll have to remember to bring some flower buds next time."
I dig out the dry bulbs I have hidden in the ruffles of my gown and show it to Sam. He looks at them with curiosity but he cannot touch them.
"Those look like rose buds, you must really like flowers. Why dont you try planting them?"
I'd never even thought of planting my bulbs before. I didnt see why not. I nod and gesture for him to dig.
Sam toiled for a few moments clearing a hole for my rose buds. I gingerly set them down inside. Sam covered the hole with dirt once more.
"Let me grab some water from the well outside the gate." He said as he ran off.
A moment later he returned with a stone pitcher and dumped copious amounts of water on my rose buds. We both sat and watched in peaceful silence as the water soaked into the earth.
As it was getting dark, Sam bade me good night and left. I smiled at him as he marched off to wherever his home may be, glad for his brief companionship. As the sky darkened I, too, nodded off.
A clamor of steel woke me from my slumber. I rose to the greetings of an early dawn sky. It was still rather dark but I could make out the sharp edged shapes of swords and spears teetering about the edge of the courtyard. Joy.
As I walked to confront these men, I noticed something glowing at my feet. They were roses! My roses! They had somehow grown overnight. They glowed red in the dim light of dawn with perfect shape and color. They made me so inexplicably happy.
I was roused from my euphoria by the din of men rushing forward in steel. Instinctively, I stood protectively in front of my roses. Having something to fight for after so long drove power through me. My anger, suppressed from years of mistreatment of my garden, welled into a tangible force and I unleashed it into them with a banshee like scream.
The men stopped dead in their tracks. Their hands covered their bleeding ears, some thrashed upon the ground. I continued to scream until blood trickled from their eyes, noses and mouths. A thousand capillaries burst from the unnatural vibrations of my scream.
Finally, I ceased, my anger spent. The men's screams didn't end. Some desperately crawled toward the courtyard exit, others squirmed upon the ground in agony.
I turned and sat back down in front of my perfect roses. They were speaking to me but I wasn't comprehending. I must have sat like that for hours. The next time I looked up the Sun was high in the sky. Careful footsteps approached from behind me, it was Sam.
"That was quite a sound this morning. You woke the whole village. There's talk of hiring a real hunter, with the tools to destroy you."
He sounded worried. I smiled my usual smile at him.
"I dont want them to hurt you."
Oh Sam, I thought.
He then noticed the roses.
"Wow, are those the roses we planted last night?"
I nodded. Even in the bright light of day you can tell they glowed vibrantly.
"They look so beautiful."
I nodded in agreement. They were so beautiful. I leaned down and ran a finger along the delicate petals. The moment I touched them, a flash of memory jolted me back.
I saw myself, walking the path from my father's bakery toward the hills. Another flash. I was amongst the wild flowers picking ingredients for my father's pastries. Flash again, red roses caught my eye. I pick them. Memories flush back as I remember walking home, my basket full of plants and flowers. I could feel the rose buds in my pocket.
Suddenly, a flash of steel, red blood flowing down my chest, I stumble. My basket tumbles, the contents pouring like a wreath around me. My hands still grip the rose buds.
My memories end. I am back in the courtyard with Sam.
"Are you ok? You were staring off into space."
I look at him. I knew what happened to me now. I knew what had to be done.
I gesture Sam with a snipping motion of my fingers.
"Cut? You mean for me to cut your roses?"
I nod and smile. My roses. The roses I meant to bring home to my father and mother. The roses that I never saw bloom.
"I cant cut them, they are so beautiful."
I shake my head. I gesture to myself and then toward the sky. It was time for me to go home.
"You mean, if I cut these, you will go to heaven?"
Such a smart boy. I nod to him, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Sam, sniffling back tears of his own, shook his head.
I smile at him, pleading.
"But I'll have no one left!"
He cries now, tears streaming down his face.
I shake my head to him. Still smiling. I point to the roses, I gesture one hand toward my heart, and I place my other hand over his.
Sam sobs at this but seems to understand. Finally, he nods his consent. He digs out a knife from his pocket.
Looking at me, he questions my will one last time.
I nod to him, smiling.
With a quick motion, Sam cuts the stems of the roses. The moment they sever I could feel my body grow warm.
I stand, smiling at Sam. I feel myself fading. Sam clutches my roses gingerly to his heart.
I smile and wave as I disappear.
|
I really had enough of those men and women coming day after day, lofting there swords up with heroic cries. I didn't do anything to harm them, and yet they still called me names, saying I was a creature of darkness, and there spells would "put me to rest". Couldn't they see I was already at rest? Staying in this little abandoned garden, resting in this stone bench, watching the sun rise and set. No, of course they didn't. They just saw me as a undead creature, a thing now, not a dead person who is trying to enjoy his afterlife as much as he can. Well, at the very least they leave after a few hours of swinging, finally exhausted and retreating to the village in the north, small mercys and all. You think they would understand it is pointless at this point. In fact, some of them have been here for mouths on end. One adventurer, a strange rogue who covers her face, pretending to be a man, doesn't even try anymore. She just watches the others, sitting down on the other side of the grove. If only the others would do the same. But, I suppose all I have now is time, time to wait and see if they will see sense and stop this pointless violence. Well yes, you must lift your sword and fight the orc who raised your family farm, you don't have to pick a fight with literally everyone you make contact with. Maybe that's why I have been cursed with such a fate of forever being bothered by adventurers, as I was a blood thirsty one myself, eons ago. A lesson for all the pain I have caused over the years, maybe to try and teach the others who will come after me, the fighters and heroes.
| 2019-12-30T14:20:56 | 2019-12-30T14:06:16 | 31 | 10 |
[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.
|
This is not my writing, but this post from /u/wanderingbishop is such a great response to this prompt. Preemptive apologies if this is against subreddit rules.
https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/2mjhz9/what_would_happen_if_an_intelligent_greatsword/
--------------------------------------
I am Garg. I am strong. I am strong because I am Ogre. No-one in the forest is stronger than me. When I was young, the old Ogres make the rules, hit me when I don't follow. Now I am older. I make rules. I go where I want. I eat what I want. I take what I want.
One day, I find something I want. Pretty pink-skin sharpclub. Bright stones on short round end, and long sharp end shimmers like pond water. I want, so I take. Little hard-shelled pink-skins have come to my forest with sharpclubs before, long time ago. They smarter than others. They know that they can't hit stronger, so they need to hit better. I am going to use pretty sharpclub to hit stronger AND better. I am looking forward to using sharpclub to hit.
I am not expecting sharpclub to hit me.
Sharpclub is alive. Sharpclub is angry. It does not want what I want, and so it hits me. I have been hit before. I am strong so I can take hits. But it hits my mind, and I do not know how to hit back. For the first time in long, long time... I submit. Sharpclub is strong. Sharpclub makes rules now.
Sharpclub tells me what to do. Sharpclub makes me stop fighting others in forest. Makes me give up land. I do not want to, but Sharpclub makes rules now. I am not strong now. Eventually, Sharpclub stops being angry at me and starts being curious.
Sharpclub tells me her name. She is Moonslicer, made by pink-skin shamans for pink-skin warriors. I understand this. She was made to kill pink-skin enemies. But I am pink-skin enemy. She does not kill me. I do not understand this.
----------------
One day, while eating dinner, I ask Moonslicer. "Why do you not kill me?"
"I don't understand your question," Moonslicer replies.
"You are pink-skin sharpclub,"
"Greatsword," Moonslicer interrupts.
"and you are made to fight pink-skin enemies."
"I was made to destroy evil," Moonslicer answers. She always talks in strange riddles. I have become used to this.
"Yes, evil. I know this word. It means pink-skin enemy. I am pink-skin enemy. I am evil. Why do you not destroy me?"
Moonslicer does not answer for long time.
"You are... "pink-skin enemy", yes. And most people would say you are evil... but I am not sure. I expected you to fight me, but you didn't. I expected you to resist when I told you to stop bullying the other creatures of the forest, but you didn't."
"Moonslicer is stronger than Garg, so Moonslicer makes rules."
"All the same... I think there might be some good in you, somewhere."
"...what is Good?" I ask.
"Good is..." Moonslicer stops talking. I can feel she is confused. "Good is... how to describe it? It is..." She stops again. She is quiet for a long time. "You know, I believe the best way to explain it is to show you. Go to sleep Garg. Tomorrow, we will start doing Good."
-------------------------------
Next day, Moonslicer leads me to pink-skin home, in the middle of fields. No pink-skins there right now. She shows me broken walls. Tells me to take stones and fix walls. Then we leave. I do not understand.
"Why do we fix walls?" I ask.
"Those walls protect the humans from harm," Moonslicer says. "They have been torn down by raiders over the years. By repairing the walls, you have made the humans more safe. More strong."
"Why do I make them safe?" I ask. "I am pink-skin enemy. I do not want them to be strong."
"Patience, Garg," Moonslicer says. "Have patience and faith. You will understand eventually."
I do not believe her, but I say nothing. This does not make sense. This is pink-skin strangeness.
--------------------------
For the next two seasons, Moonslicer keeps sending me out to pink-skin lands. Fixing walls. Catching cows and taking them back to paddocks without eating them. Sometimes she makes me scare humans on roads. Sometimes she makes me hide from humans on roads. She calls the ones I scare "bandits" and the ones I hide from "merchants". I do not understand the difference.
"The merchants are weaker humans," Moonslicer says. "The bandits are stronger, and want to take from the merchants. You are driving them away from the roads so that they do not take from the merchants anymore."
"This makes sense" I say. "They are stronger, they take what they want. But why do you make me scare them so they cannot?"
"Because it is not good for the strong to take what they want from the weak."
"This Good does not make sense. I will never understand"
"You will understand" Moonslicer says. "Have faith."
----------------------------
For many more seasons, Moonslicer makes me do many things I do not understand. Eventually pink-skins... humans... start to see me. At first they are afraid. I understand this. But they slowly become less afraid. They no longer run when they see me. I do not understand this. I dig long ditches from the river to their farms. I build walls along their roads. I bring large sacks of food to their towns and leave them there.
One season, there is a great storm. Moonslicer wakes me during the night, urges me to leave the cave and go to the human lands. There is a town I have been near many times before. The river that flows through the village is flooding. The humans are splashing, shouting, drowning. They are scared. Moonslicer sends me through the flood to their homes. I lift humans from the water and put them at the top of the homes. I do this again, and again. I am tired, but Moonslicer pushes me on. I save more humans, I wade through the water that is up to my chest. I save the male humans, the female humans, the young humans, the old humans. I save all of them. When the dawn comes and the water goes down, I am more tired than I have ever been. I sink to my knees. I know the humans will kill me while I am asleep but I am too tired to get away. I fall asleep.
------------------------------
I wake up. I am not wet, cold or tired. I am warm, dry, resting on something soft and comfortable. I recognize it as a human barn - I have brought escaped horses to these before. I am covered in many skins. I am lying in dried grass - the humans call it hay.
A male human comes in. He sees I am awake. He does not run or look scared. Instead he smiles. He brings a large bundle up to me. The bundle has meat in it. Good, cooked meat. Better than I've ever tasted. I watch him carefully, but I am hungry and I concentrate on eating. Once I am done, he takes the bones and the bundle away.
The day goes by, and many humans come to the barn. Some hide by the door and only stare at me. Others come in. I recognize many of them as the humans I saved last night. I am still tired, so I lie in the barn. I feel... I do not know how to describe it. The humans do not threaten me, but not because I am stronger. Finally, in the evening, many humans come to the barn. They bring Moonslicer with them.
"I have been negotiating with the humans on your behalf," she says. "They are going to give you this barn to live in as a new home. They will give you food, while you keep the roads safe from bandits and help them tend their flocks and fix their buildings. I will stay with you to guide you."
I am quiet for a long time.
"I do not understand." I say. "If I was strong, and I came to take these things, they would not give them to me. They would run, or fight."
"But you didn't come to take them," Moonslicer replied. "And that is what makes the difference. You have made the humans' homes safe. You have protected their merchants. You have rescued their animals. And now you have saved their lives. And because you gave and gave and did not take, they now want to give to you, freely. And as long as you do not wish to take, you will receive. By serving them, you are now more free than you ever were in the forest. Not because you are strong. But because you are a friend. They are your strength now, and you are theirs. This is what Good is."
And I understand.
|
Torinn, a boy of seven years, heard a strange “hello?” coming from the forbidden hut in the village of Oak Destiny. Smaller than the other buildings, this one was made of only straw and mud, the entrance a small door about two feet high on the side that faced away from the road.
He turned around and looked to see if any of the other villagers were near. Seeing none, he did a complete 360 to make sure he really was alone. He heard “hello” again. This time the sound was unmistakable, coming from the direction of the hut.
His mother having told him that he was not allowed to go within even a few feet of the hut, he was hesitant to approach. Who knew what kind of evil lied therein? Yet, something stirring within his gut told him not to worry, his mother was wrong, he was safe here.
When he pulled open the door there was a small rabbit, about a foot long, with soft gray fur and white ears that stood in stark contrast to the hard green wrinkles etched into his face. Jet black eyes conveyed deep wisdom as they stared back at Torinn.
“Hello, friend,” the rabbit spoke without motion, the words emanating from somewhere indistinguishable.
“Wa… wait?” Torinn took a step back, fear rising like a volcanic eruption from his stomach to his Adam’s apple. “You can talk?”
“You betcha. Didn’t you know that I am an enchanted rabbit?”
“Is that why your face is messed up?”
“Partially. You see, an Orc cast a spell on me by accident, and I became part Orc.”
“Wow!”
“Yup, that’s how I became an enchanted rabbit. Now, what’s your name?”
“Torinn.”
“Hi, Torinn. I’m Helsiva, the Orcish Rabbit.”
“Nice to meet you Helsiva. How come I’ve never heard of you?”
“The village likes to keep me on the down low,” he whispered. “They think I’m evil witchcraft or something.”
“That’s horrible. When I tell my mom-“
“Save it, kid. Your mom thinks I’m the devil, just like all the other moms.”
“Oh. But you’re clearly not!”
“I know. I was just an ordinary rabbit, going about my business when that spell misfired and hit me. The moment the Orc shaman realized what they did, they tried to chase me down, but I managed to get away.”
“Awesome!”
“Well, not so much. When I got here the head Seer put me in this hut and told me only to come out after dusk to eat. Then I think he told everyone I was bad.“
"You’re not bad. Wait until I tell all my friends about you.”
To be continued…?
| 2022-09-03T12:01:46 | 2022-09-03T11:24:07 | 274 | 30 |
[WP] A man who hears voices in his head, but they don't degrade his life. He can live with it and sometimes they even help.
|
*FOLD*
“No” Dan whispered as quietly as he could with his cards covering his mouth.
*Dan. Fold now.*
Dan shook his head and the man next to him gave him a weird look. Dan sat back in the creaking lawn chair and was looking at a pair of three of spades in his hand, ready to claim the $42 pot of crumpled ones and fives on the dirty glass table. He looked up from his cards at the stone cold gazes of the other four men waiting for him to raise or fold. Dan grabbed his last five to raise.
*Incoming*
Dan spun around just in time to see a girl lose her footing down the stairs and fling her red solo cup in the air. He instinctively hopped up to catch her mid fall and also caught a face full of the tepid contents of her drink. She was light, almost fragile in his arms and when she looked up to see who had caught her his heart skipped a beat. She was blonde, freckled and had bright emerald green eyes that took his breath away. He looked at her for longer than a few seconds without saying anything, not knowing what to say.
“Hey lover boy you gona finish your hand?”
*Keep it*
“Keep it” Dan said without looking away.
“Thanks” she looked up at him as she found her footing. “Oh jeez, I’m so sorry” she said as she began to blot his soaked shirt.
*Looks like you need a new drink*
“It’s really no problem.” He chuckled nervously. “L-looks like you need a new drink”
“I might” she wrinkled her nose and giggled. Jesus she was gorgeous. How had he not seen her here? Who was she with? Was she here with her…. Boyfriend? A hundred questions assaulted him as he led her between the crowd of back yard partiers towards to the kitchen.
*Breathe. You got this.*
Dan realized he was holding his breath. “Thanks Kal” he muttered under the background music.
Kal was what he affectionately referred to as the voice in his head. It was a bit of a spin off name from the cartoon Calvin and Hobbies. Way back when, when Dan started hearing his voice, Kal always expressly enjoyed the newspaper cartoon, and so his name was born. Kal was always there to guide him, but he wasn’t intrusive. In fact Dan became irritated if his friend didn’t pipe in from time to time. He had come to rely on the sound advice of his wise voice. For the past thirteen years since his dad died when he was seven, Kal has been there for him. He never degraded or made fun of him in any way. He was a dear friend and Dan wouldn’t know what to do without him. Kal would occasionally drop the *“I wont be here forever you know”* or *“Pretty soon you’re going to have to make a go on your own”* Dan always brushed it off, but really he was terrified to have that conversation. He would be lost without his guiding voice. Wherever it was that voices in someones head went, he hoped Kal never went there.
Dan had never had a serious girlfriend. Almost all of his interactions with the ladies had been by Kal’s carefully guided instruction. This time was no different. As he took the beautiful girl -whose name he had learned was Heather – to the kitchen to refill per punch, they talked for over an hour. Dan was relieved to learn she did not have a boyfriend and was here with some of her girlfriends. And thanks to Kal’s smooth talking, Dan was able to get her number by the end of the night. On his way home he sat glowing behind the wheel of his beater 1975 Dodge Dart. He couldn’t believe it.
*Believe it*
“She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen”
*Certainly the prettiest to ever give you the time of day.*
“I’m going to screw this date up man.”
*You’ll do fine, stop thinking of it as a date. Besides, you’re not that awkward lanky kid anymore Dan. They were still your words, I merely arranged them for you. There’s only twenty si-*
“Twenty six letters in the English alphabet I know, and with the right combination of them you can do anything” That was Kal’s favorite saying, he said it all the time.
*It’s true…*
Kal was right though. With the right combination of words you could do anything, get anyone to do almost anything, within reason of course. Dan made his way home and texted Heather the very next day. The two made plans to go ice skating, Kal’s idea. Dan stared at the closet trying to decide what to wear and hovered over a button down shirt.
*More casual.*
He moved his hand over some band t-shirts.
*Black v neck and your zip up hoodie, c’mon*
“Alright” Dan hissed.
*Were you really going to wear a Metallica t-shirt on your first date?*
“No” Dan said defensively. He was going to wear Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt…
With his attire picked he drove to pick up Heather and the two of them had a blast. Kal wasn’t chiming in as much throughout the evening but amazingly, it was still going great. The two made it official after a few weeks and Dan was the happiest he had ever been. Things were going great in his life, he was about to graduate college, work was going well and now the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on was dating him. Things were going so well that he almost hadn’t noticed the Kal would go almost days without speaking to him. Dan tried to ask his buddy what was up, but he wouldn’t always get an answer.
Dan practically skipped to to his car from the parking lot of his apartment complex and headed off to pick up Heather. They were on their way to see the new Christopher Nolan movie neither of them knew much about. They arrived at the theater, parked and made their way into the lobby and got popcorn.
“I’m going to go the ladies room.” Heather said and pecked Dan on the lips. Her soft, perfect lips still made his knees buckle and he smiled as she walked away.
*She’s really somethin*
“There you are.” Dan whispered. “Where the heck have you been man, I almost forgot to pay my car registration last week, you said you’d remind me.” Dan wasn't fully able to hide his annoyance.
*But you still paid it on time, didn’t you?*
“Well, ya..”
*Listen...I have to go now Dan*
Dan chuckled “Make sure to send me a postcard from my Medulla Oblongata”
*Dan, it’s time*
Dan sobered up quick, he wasn’t kidding. “W-what do you mean Kal?” he frantically asked, he had to keep Kal talking.
*We both knew this was never a forever kind of thing. I’ve done all that I can for you. We got through your dad, and then your grandparents, high school bullies, acne, your first job, college... Besides, three’s a crowd.*
“No… You can’t go” Dan’s vision blurred with tears and his face tightened “I need you!”
*Dan, I just help arrange the words for you, it’s still you saying them. You’re going to be alright.*
Dan pleaded with his friend, pacing back and forth in the busy lobby of the theater holding buttery popcorn.
*Goodbye Dan*
And just like that, Kal was gone. Dan felt different, felt lighter. He sniffled and wiped away his tears just in time for Heather to come bounding over in her long floral print dress.
“Ready?” She smiled and bore into him with those sparkly emerald green eyes. Dan felt the pit of anxiety in his gut begin to melt away and he realized he was really going to be alright.
Dan looked down at the wild print carpet of the lobby before meeting her gaze and smiled “Yeah I’m ready.”
|
Luke knew now, there was no other choice, he’d have to go into the trench. It had been such a short time since his life was totally different. Mere weeks before, he had just been a farm boy, living with his Uncle and Aunt but now he was on the front lines, part of a war. He knew his chances of dying were high and he wondered if his father would be proud of him. The father he’d never met, having died in combat years before.
Luke climbed down the ladder and felt his boots squelch in the sloppy mud. He had heard terrible stories about the Great War, the guns were only one of the ways to die, disease was another.
“You’ll be okay darling,” a voice in his head said. The voice only spoke at him, it never answered if he spoke to it. He liked to imagine it was his mother, he had also never met her, at least as far as he remembered. To him, it didn’t matter if it wasn’t her, the voice still gave him comfort in times of sadness and confidence in times of fear. Now was one of those times. A man in a uniform approached him, there was no going back now. “Be brave Luke.”
| 2020-06-13T15:08:30 | 2020-06-13T11:21:18 | 41 | 20 |
[WP] You've noticed a man in a suit approaches one home a day in your neighborhood and is invited inside every time. Shortly after he leaves, the resident(s) commit suicide. Today, he's approached your home.
|
I did nothing but stare at the clock. *11:59*.
It would be one minute. One minute on the dot, and then the knocking would come. After the first few neighbors committed suicide, we began to pay more attention to what happened around our neighborhood. We noticed him by the fourth home, we were the sixth. Every home following, the exact same news report came out: "the inhabitants of the home were found dead on their kitchen table with no visible signs of resistance or physical harm", "the homeowners were found to have been poisoned by some kind of unknown toxin, manifesting in odd lumps and rashes scattered across their entire body", "no DNA evidence is available".
They've questioned us on five occasions if we had noticed anything odd. By the third time, we finally said we noticed a man who had been visiting each of the homes were the occupants committed suicide. They would ask for details on the man, but our information was limited. He wore a top hat, sunglasses, and a coat which stood up at its neck and hid his face. He was male, Caucasian, an older man judging by how wrinkled his hands seemed whenever he gestured at the doors. That was all, and in every instance we saw him after, that was all we could say.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
A polite, standard knock. What you would expect from an acquaintance or an old friend. Except, even if we didn't answer, it would persist.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
The last house that didn't answer, he stayed at the door for half an hour until the family pulled up into the driveway. He was in no hurry to leave. Why?
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
I stood up, and felt my wife grip my arm. "Don't. Maybe he'll leave? Maybe if we give it enough time, he'll leave us alone?" She had tears in her eyes, I wiped the one away from mine.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
*I doubt he will. Let's just get it over with.* I took my time walking toward our door, glancing every few steps to see my wife; she sat in our kitchen with her hands covering her face, soft sobs pierced our silent home. Our kids were out in school, which was good. We never heard of the kids committing anything during the occurrences. Odd.
I answered the door, and was greeted by an older man, in his fifties if I had to guess. He had a wide smile, and immediately stretched out his hand for a shake. "Hello! My name is...well, I suppose my name isn't important. I suppose you know what I'm here to do?" The nerve of this man. *What are you talking about?* He lowered his hand, and straightened his smile. "Don't take me for an idiot, Mr...Johnson, is it?" I felt my stomach sink a little. *How do you know my name?*
The man scratched the back of his ear, and shuffled in his place as he stood. "Brian, may I call you Brian? Ah, I'll do it anyways. Brian, I know a lot about you just from doing a quick search. I know you went to the local schools here from kinder to high school, I know that you work for a local telecommunications company as an electrician, I know that you went to a quite far away university for your studies, and that you found your lovely wife Jamie there, but that's more of a hunch than what I know."
I felt incredibly hot, despite the warm summer day. "And, I also know that you two were in there as I knocked the first few times judging by your cars still being in the driveway. I know your kids aren't home, which is perfect for what's about to happen. May I come in?" I could feel a lump in my throat, my hands shaking slightly with anger. So polite. *And, if I were to say no?*
The man smiled, and opened his coat a bit on its sides, revealing a gun on either side of him. "Then, you wouldn't be a very wise man, would you Brian?" My anger took the best of my fear. *You're going to kill us anyways, why let you in when it can happen right here?* The man smiled again, and let go of his coat to hide his weapons. "Because if you do that, then I'll kill your kids too. And, trust me, even I don't want to do that. Let me in, Brian."
The thought of my children being murdered by this...by this scum. "Now, Brian." Reluctantly, I moved aside, and allowed him in. He walked in, and I followed, closing the door behind him as my wife stared at us, her eyes red from crying. He began to look around our house as I went to sit with my wife and hold her. I kissed her forehead, and rested her head in my chest. *I swear, I will find a way to stop it from happening.* I heard a chuckle from the living room, his steps growing louder as he approached the kitchen table.
"Ah, I'm glad you guys are already here, it makes it a lot easier to start: I hate having to tell them to follow me into the kitchen." From his pocket, he brought out four pills, each of different colors and shapes, and placed them on the table. "You both have two kids, am I correct?" I could feel my wife's head nod against my chest. *That's...that's correct.* "Splendid. I always thought two kids was the way to go, one is too lonely and anything above three is just too many, wouldn't you agree?" I looked away from him and continued to console my wife. "Right, probably not the best time for chit-chat. Let me just get to the point here."
He separated the four containers seemingly an equal distance from each other. "Now, I'm guessing you both could deduce that my question and the fact there's four pills means that you all have to take one, right?" I held my wife closer. *Yes.* "Wonderful. Okay, here are the rules. Each of these pills is something different. Two of them are different kinds of placebos, two of them are toxic. Naturally, the placebos won't kill you and the toxic ones will...well, they just will." He let off a small laugh, what a monster.
"Now, here's the fun part. You get to decide which ones to give to yourselves, and which one to give to your kids." I felt my heart almost stop, the body of my wife shuddered in my arms. *You're asking us to potentially KILL our own kids?!* My arms shook rage. The kids had never been harmed, was this a different ruse? "Potentially, is the key word here, my friend. Now, you can try to figure out which pills do what, and you can take as much time as you'd like, granted you might want to hurry up so your kids don't see what you're doing, but they must be divided up that way. However, you must only give one of these pills to one of your kids, because you also must give me one of these pills."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. What was wrong with this person? *You're putting human lives at risk as if it was all some huge game! What the hell is wrong with you?* The man smiled, and shuffled in his seat. "Oh, the things to tell." He laughed a little again. "Anyways, this isn't about me. Oh, also, I can tell you which pills do what. With the price that you both must take the toxic ones, leaving your kids, and I, safe."
My eyes fell to the bottles in front of me. White, Blue, Orange, Pink. I was a goddamn electrician, not a chemist. The white and pink ones were tablets almost, the former oblong and the latter round; the blue and orange ones were capsules, both oblong but one longer than the other. Could I maybe work it out? "Remember, even if you happened to work it out and gave me one of the bad pills, you still have to distribute one of them to someone in your family." He was right. And, without any kind of hunch, I...
My wife pulled herself away from me, and spoke her only words since I'd open the door. "Please...tell us which ones are lethal."
|
"Good morning sir! I was wondering if you wanted to look at my fine selection of philosophies?" He asked. The man was cleanly dressed and holding open a suitcase with various books. *The Rebel* by Albert Camus, *The Sickness unto Death* by Kierkegaard and Pamela Anderson's Biography among other titles ranging from Diogenes to Wittgenstein.
"No thank you I'm quite fine." I said and started to close the door. The man quickly wedged himself in between and gave a wry smile.
"But sir how do you come to ethical decisions and deal with the crushing indifferent nature of the universe?" he said with a shark like smile. *God I hate these door to door salesman, Wish I could just kill the fuckers*. *But how would that be ethical* another voice peeped in. My eyes widened and I gave the salesman a raised eyebrow. He just smiled more.
"Uhh on second thought come in" I said not knowing why. Soon enough the man started his routine and my lap got piled with different philosophical samples. I found as I listened to the man more and more I couldn't stop soon enough it was the afternoon and I had poured myself fifteen cups of coffee. "Wait wait, so there is an absolute truth but everyone's perspective is a valid reality but we can't trust reality because it is a manifestation of our minds?" I asked confounded with all the strange ideas.
"That's exactly right sir and for just ten bucks I can sign you up with an annual subscription to nihilism!" He gleefully said.
"Is there any way out of this? Can I just not have a philosophy or moral compass?" I said. The man bit his lip and pondered.
"I have just the thing!" He grabbed his other briefcase and opened it. Several shiny revolvers were inside. "Take your pick!".
| 2014-06-16T21:44:53 | 2014-06-16T21:02:24 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] you were born with the ability to know what’s buried beneath your feet. You’ve worked with archeologists as your life’s work, but today is the day you say for the very first time. “We should not dig here.”
|
I could always tell, even from my earliest memories.
When I was younger, I could only get the broadest sense of things. A rough feel of the shape, maybe a hint at the material. Much like a muscle, it developed as I exercised it. As time wore on, I became finely attuned to the world that lay beneath my feet. I could pick out the individual layers, the sediments of time and the secrets each held.
As the world below became fixed in my mind's eye, I grew increasingly interested in its study. It wasn't enough to know what lay beneath, I wanted to understand it. To see how this mysterious subterranean ecosystem operated. How it progressed. How each layer lay the foundation for what was to come. How the present gave birth to the surface.
Archeology was a natural calling. I'm certain I could have had a fantastic future as a human treasure detector, but this unique gift seemed too precious to squander on frivolities. I went to university and spent my summers volunteering on dig sites. Needless to say, my uncanny abilities were greatly appreciated even if they were not fully comprehended by my colleagues.
It wasn't until my years as a graduate student that I finally gave voice to talent. I spoke with my dissertation advisor, a woman I had grown to admire and trust through the years. Her scientific nature required a number of demonstrations before she would accept the truth of the matter, but eventually she accepted that what I said was true: I could see the world above and below with equal clarity.
That was the beginning of a great partnership. Dr. Liu and I traveled the world, exploring and unraveling the mysteries of humanity.
Our fame grew as we provided answer after answer to the great questions that had plagued us.
What had happened to the Mayans?
Where was Gengis Khan buried?
Just what the hell was Stonehenge anyways?
One by one they fell.
It was then we received the missive we had long waited for. The invitation from the government of Egypt. Inviting us to examine the environs of the pyramids. To unearth the secrets without unearthing them.
Why had they been built? How had they been built? What lay within? What chambers led where, and what did they hold?
So many questions. And finally, at long last, they would be answered.
Which brings us to the here and now. Dr. Liu by my side, knapsack slung casually over her shoulder. Her standard khaki shorts and shirt combo causing her to blend in slightly to the dull sand swirling about us in small eddies on the wind. She spread her arms broadly, a grin on her face, "So Lawrence, where do we begin?"
I stamped my feet against the ground a bit, "Lots of stuff below. Mostly pottery and tools. I'd say we get closer to the big stuff and see where that takes us."
"Wanna unravel the mystery of the Sphinx?" She asked, before waving her fingers about in undulating waves, "Spoooooooky."
I grinned and shrug, "Sure. Seems like as good a place as any." We began to walk toward the Sphinx, which lay about a mile away, though it was still visible through the wavy heat of the late afternoon. We chatted amiably as we strolled along, with me occasionally stopping to call out an object of interest. Whenever I did, she would make a marking on the map, stack a few stones on top of each other and then we would continue.
Approximately a half mile out from the Sphinx, I felt something odd below. A thick, heavy barrier. "Nancy, something weird here."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Thick. Very thick. Stone. Maybe..." I walked back and forth a few times, "yeah, maybe ten feet thick, twenty feet high." I began to walk south, following the structure beneath my feet. "It's long. Still going."
We continued on in silence for a few minutes, as I concentrated on my task. Finally, Dr. Liu spoke up, "We're heading in a circle. It's curving."
I blinked and looked up, "Huh?"
"It's a circle. Whatever it is down there, it's a big circle."
"Around what?" I asked.
She glanced down at her map, tracing her finger along. After a moment, she looked up, her dark brown eyes wide, "It's...it's around the Sphinx."
"Huh. That's weird, what should we do?"
She looked down at her map again, rubbing her lips together as she worked through the possibilities, "I say we continue toward the Sphinx. We can always check back on this later, I don't imagine it's going anywhere."
"No, probably not. It's far enough down that it predates the Sphinx by a fair measure," I said, beginning to turn back in the direction of the odd lion human statue in the distance.
"Interesting," was all Dr. Liu replied as she fell into stride beside me.
At about a quarter mile, I stopped again. "There's another one." I stomped about a bit. "Even bigger. Thicker. Taller." I squinted. "Wow, metal bands around it to reinforce." I walked along it again for a minute or two, keeping my eye on the Sphinx as I did so. "Same thing as before."
Dr. Liu nodded and turned toward the Sphinx again. "Let's keep going."
We crossed three more walls as we headed inward, each a smaller concentric circle. "They certainly took their walls seriously back then. I wonder what they were protecting?" I mused aloud.
"Or trying to keep in," Dr. Liu replied, her gaze fixed on the Sphinx ahead.
We began to approach the Sphinx, the revelations of the last hour combined with the majesty of the monument to evoke a contemplative mode between us.
I took another step, moving past the most recent barrier. My mouth dropped open, my throat running dry. "Dr. Liu. There's....there's bodies below."
"Bodies? As in plural?"
"Hundreds. Thousands even," I said, my words coming out unevenly.
"What do you mean thousands?"
I dug my foot in to the sand, moving it about slowly. "Layer upon layer. Thousands of bodies in a thin layer of sediment..." I paused, as I felt the information flow into me, "followed by hundreds of years of silence before another layer. The pattern repeats. Time and time again. Layer upon layer of slaughter."
"Slaves? Were they sacrificed?"
"No. It feels as if there was a great battle. The last one was waged just before the barriers came into existence." I walked toward the Sphinx. The layers did not change. There were entire armies buried beneath my feat, all clustered around the statue.
Finally, I walked between its paws. I stopped. I could feel it. Deep below. A chamber. Large. Black. Dark. And within it...something even darker. An abyss. A living one. I stared down at my feet, "Dr. Liu...we should not dig here."
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
"I've been working with y'all for awhile now, so you know that I know my shit. I'm telling you, we should not dig here."
Lead archeologist: "We've been told that there are many unnamed and undiscovered artifacts right under our feet! You can't tell me that we should forego the knowledge we can soon ascertain!"
"Actually, there is a sewer line coming from that complex just to the north, so if you wanna dig, go ahead, but I'm not sticking around."
| 2018-09-11T21:56:35 | 2018-09-11T20:45:58 | 195 | 94 |
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"So, you're the new intern, eh?" asked Ted, straightening his tie. "Well don't worry, what you're going to do here isn't all that tricky, I'll have you prepped in no time."
"Alright," smiled Jessica brightly. "So should we start wi-"
"TED! WHERE ARE FORMS!?" came a bellow from another room.
"I'll have them in a minute, Korlak!" Ted yelled back.
"WHAT!? WHAT IS CAUSE OF DELAY!?" the voice roared back. A hulking blond man of massive proportions walked into Ted's office, his muscles somehow barely stuffed into the largest suit Jessica had ever seen.
As he walked into the room, he locked eyes with Jessica and calmed down immediately.
"Who is girl?" Korlak asked.
"New intern," said Ted, not even looking up from his screen. "I'm training her."
"Ahhhh..." Korlok continued, nodding his understanding. "Teaching new mind of powers of accounting. You are true brother of Telecom Corp!"
"Sure, sure," nodded Ted, barely paying attention. "I'll see you in Valhalla or whatever."
Korlok walked away, beaming, and nodded at Jessica as he left. She stared back, horrified.
"Hey, you want to get something to eat first?" said Ted.
Thousands of miles away, one God turned to another and said "See? I *told* you Ted was interested in Valhalla!"
|
"Morning, Mr. Grarf," said Kim, my secretary, as she entered my room with a cup of coffee. Her yellow blouse made her smile seem even brighter.
"What this?" I said, pushing a stack of papers across my wide oak table to her. Hearing a soft ripping sound, I froze and retracted my arm. My clothes were already stretched to tearing point around my chest and biceps. Seven-thousand-dollar custom-made suits were a hefty expense, especially when one ruined at least three of them on a weekly basis.
Her smile faltered a little. "Uh, Kylie said these are the management accounts for the previous financial quarter."
I slammed a fist on the table. "Too many long word!"
She jumped. "Sorry! Revenues and expenses for the last three months."
When would those people ever learn? Tearing my axe free from the table, I clove the stack into two. Kim took a step back as scraps of paper were flung into the air from the force. Leaving the handle to quiver, blade embedded in the wood, I grabbed a fistful of the report, stalked around the table and shoved it into her arms.
"You tell Kylie," I said. "No crayons, no read report! Grarf like crayon. Grarf no like Excel!"
Nodding furiously, she rushed out of the room. Outside my office, some of the employees were staring, wide-eyed. Likely the newer recruits. The regulars barely twitched.
I went back to my desk and shoved the rest of the paper to the floor. Kim or someone else would come by to clean up later. Why, I could never figure out. Did people sweep a battlefield of its corpses, wipe away the blood, bury the rot?
No! Let the carnage stand as a testament of glorious combat, I'd told them. Let the office floor be carpeted by the refuse of our work! But no, even the directors had agreed with the old cleaning lady.
"Much paper make much mess," Ama had said, waving a broom in my face. "I need clean. Not you. So mess."
Maybe they were afraid of her. Rumor had it that she was a dragon.
Lille had agreed with her almost readily. "Grarf, when our clients visit us, do you honestly want them to say 'Holy crap, is Arcane Solutions Inc. too poor to buy a shredder?' Because that's how we lose clients," she'd said, pouting, arms crossed beneath her breasts so that they almost spilled out of her low-cut blouse.
What did she know, that stupid cow? Did she think she could boss me around just because she was head of marketing?
"Earns pay for nothing," I grumbled as I polished my axe. "No even have market inside office. No goat, no vegetables, no armor stall. 'Marketing' Grarf's ass."
"What're you muttering about?" said a cheerful voice.
Rasputin was leaning against my trophy wall of helmets and skulls, a doughnut in his hand. He had straw-colored hair and a perpetual smirk that I'd fantasized slicing off with my axe more than once.
"Go away," I said. "Why you here? Thought directors go Asia. For busi—biz—busy—work."
He shrugged and took a bite of his pastry. Why man eat sweet pastry instead of meat and mead? "Someone needs to keep an eye on you idiots. 'specially you. Just 'cause you're head of accounting doesn't give you the right—"
"Grarf like crayon!" I roared.
Coming to stand in front of my table, he said sternly, "—to authorize the construction of a longboat for personal use."
I groaned. How could they have found out if I'd used Alex's computer? Maybe Kim had made a typo somewhere.
"Me no part in that," I mumbled.
He was bouncing my axe in a single hand. "You signed the authorization forms, you dimwit. Oops!"
The axe clanged onto my table. With a snarl, I grabbed it before he could pick it up, and said, "Did you know that forty-six percent of barbarian infant mortality cases can be attributed to irresponsible handling of a battle-axe by either parent or the guardian, and is absolutely preventable? If unsure of how to—you hear that?"
Rasputin cocked his ear. "You're right."
I frowned. "Pop. Pop. Pop. Is sound like—"
The director paled. "Guns."
Suddenly, the glass entrance across the office shattered. Armed men with rifles charged in, firing indiscriminately. Our employees began to scream and run, but many of them were mowed down before they could even make a move.
"Who are they?" I shouted, hefting my axe.
"Corporate rivals." Rasputin's eyes were glowing with red light. "I'll inform the rest of the directors. Protect our people!"
Bellowing a war cry, I charged out of my office, tearing through the flimsy cubicle walls and desks. One of the men had leaped onto a table, firing at one of the manager's offices. As I neared him, I swung my axe with mighty force. The blade sheared through his knees, and he fell with a scream.
"Only red in this ledger!" I roared.
Another gunman swung his rifle toward me, but before he could fire, I hurled my axe at him. "Accounts receivable!" I shouted. The weapon buried itself in his skull.
Unarmed, but overcome with bloodlust, I barreled into another pair of intruders. My punch shattered one man's jaw, while his fellow drove the butt of his rifle into my face. His look of triumph turned to horror when I barely reacted to the blow. Instead, I grabbed him in my arms and began to squeeze. My sleeves tore at the seams, but I didn't care.
"You hurt my people?" I said. "I balance your accounts!"
There was a loud crack, and he went limp. Dropping him, I picked the other attacker up and crushed his skull between my hands.
"You can call my methods ... ac-cruel," I said.
"Freeze, asshole," the last of the attackers said, gun aimed at my head. Lowering my head, I prepared to charge, but a wave of invisible energy slammed into him and threw him across the office.
Lille sauntered over to me, hands outstretched, broad smile on her face.
"Cover up! Have you no decency, you harridan," I said to her chest.
"You're welcome." Her expression turned grim as she surveyed the damage to the office. Moans of pain came from all around us. Spotting a familiar face nearby, I hurried over to Kim, who was curled up with a bloody wound on her stomach. She was gasping in pain.
"Need help here," I said.
"The other directors will be here shortly," Rasputin said. He was perched on a nearby table, licking blood-stained fingers. "She'll be fine. Tristan will heal her."
"Wouldn't want to be the insurance team after today," Lille said.
I groaned, thinking of the numbers and forms that were sure to come my way.
"This is a serious matter, however," Rasputin said. He nodded toward the head of product development standing nearby with a huge broadsword resting against his shoulder. "Otis told me what they were after."
"What? They didn't get to our servers in time," Lille said.
He shook his head. "They took Ama. Knocked her out with some kinda spell and carted her away. Somehow they figured out she's Amadrakaris. God only knows what they want with a dragon."
***
*I have more stories at [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker). Come visit!*
| 2016-06-14T07:29:22 | 2016-06-14T07:16:40 | 95 | 45 |
[WP] The forces of Heaven and Hell have called a truce in order to deal with a new threat: Afterlyfe™ (brought to you by Amazon-Google-Disney!)
|
Enjoy life after death like never before with Afterlyfe™! Our team of magical experts has partnered up with the greatest minds at Amazon and Google to bring you an eternal rest experience unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
For just $5999.99/month, you can secure your spot in our heavenly halls and gain access to meetings with simulated deities, playdates with your favorite Disney and Marvel characters, sideline views of ESPN sports games, and more.
Just can’t get enough? For only $2000.00/month more, you’ll gain access to Afterlyfe+™, where you can share the experience with your friends and family from your former life!\*
Start your free trial and satisfy your soul with eternal entertainment today!
^(\*Family members must be deceased from a PG cause and have an existing Afterlyfe+™ subscription to join you. Maximum 3 souls per server.)
|
Heaven’s gates were wide open and not a single soul was present. The gatekeeper, Peter, scratched his head wondering where everyone had gone to. He quickly picked up the phone to call Peta, who was Hell’s version of Peter. Except, instead of an actual gatekeeper, she was more like their bouncer. “Peta? Can you hear me?” Peter leaned over his desk to make sure no one hid below.
Peta grew furious with Peter over the phone. Her hounds were running all over the place, bored out of their minds. Not a single one of them were dragging any frantic souls down. Not long into the conversation, they both realized they had the same problem. “Call him.” Peta pushed. “Call him and figure out what we’re supposed to do.”
Peter quickly hung up the phone to dial another number. Instead of calling who Peta requested, he called Death instead. Death did not answer. Peter didn’t know this at the time, but Death was too busy trying to figure out why no one was turning to him once they’d passed. Death found himself standing over an elderly man who’d gone in his sleep. However, the man’s soul never showed. Death dropped his scythe and began using words he’d swore to Peta he’d never use again. Meanwhile, Peter tapped his fingers waiting patiently for Death to answer.
Then, Peta showed herself to the gate. Peter locked eyes with her, hanging up the phone again. “What’re you doing here?!” He shouted. “Who’s watching you post?”
A young man Peta dragged from a random jail cell stood over her desk in an empty room. “Hello?” he called out nervously, trying to avoid the hounds that were running all over.
“Don’t worry, I got someone fully capable to take over,” she lied. “Peter, I have something to show you.”
Peter followed her over towards the waiting room. A gentleman who'd been waiting in there for who knows how long was packing up his belongings. Peter quickly gasped realizing that even the waiting rooms were vacant. “Where are you going good sir?” Peter pushed past Peta to confront the gentleman. Peta quickly grabbed onto Peter’s arm and directed his attention onto an old television set featuring a live broadcast from Earth. Peter couldn’t believe what he was watching.
“We’re proud to announce Afterlyfe!”
Peta positioned herself in front of Peter’s attention. “This broadcast has been going on all day,” she explained. “It has to have something to do with everyone being gone. It just has to.”
“Wait, you have TV down there?”
Peta flicked his forehead to focus on the matter at hand. She did ease his curiosity explaining that she had private interest in stock for one of the companies involved – but she wouldn’t say who.
“Afterlyfe will now house all minds who’ve passed on an online server – an exact replica of our world!” The speaker explained between the applause.
Peta’s eyes grew wide as Peter then started to understand what was happening. If they were uploading minds onto a server, individual’s spirits were then tethered with that mind. And, Peter and Peta’s thoughts continued to calculate the horror. If they uploaded one’s spirit, then the shell of that spirit, being the soul, was now being trapped inside of a computer server. That tends to happen though - Earth has a habit of not fully realizing the full effects of technological advances it achieves.
“Fuck.” Peta spat. Peter gave her a good glare before she replied, “What? No one’s here.” It was true. That gentleman who had been packing just a bit ago left to go back to earth, in an effort to join the server. Not sure how he'd plan to do so if they were taking minds from the living. But, I digress.
“We need a plan of action.” Peter turned back toward the gate. Peta followed him, she wanted to be in on the plan. She needed a break from Hell but didn’t plan on admitting it. Peter continued, “We need a way into that server.”
“Why?” Peta grew more interested in his plan.
“We’re going to take it down from the inside.”
 
That day was no ordinary day for anyone, especially for the high school students of Franklin High. Both the faculty and students crowded over every monitor available to watch the announcement. “Can you believe it?!” David shoved his friend, Marcus, in excitement. “We’re going to live forever!” The bells rung for the day to be over, but everyone continued to watch the broadcast in place.
“Come on, let’s go.” Marcus pulled David away from the television screen.
“Wait, they’re about to show us how it works!”
“Who cares! We aren’t dying anytime soon. We’ll catch up on it later. I’m not staying here longer than I have to.” Marcus pulled his bag from his locker before continuing to guide David’s attention away from the broadcast.
On their way to Marcus' house, both Marcus and David froze when sparks spiraled from a portal over the sidewalk from thin air. Two individuals emerged from the portal in front of them.
“Oh my god!” David’s jaw dropped toward the pavement.
“Far from it, dear.” Peta smiled. Her and Peter both stood tall in front of the two younger boys.
“We need your help.” Peter chimed in. Marcus grabbed hold of David to flee in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” Peter appeared in front of them again. “We mean no harm – Well, I can’t speak for Peta, but I assure you we’re only here because we need your help.”
“Our help?” Marcus and David kept close together. “Why do you need our help? Who are you two?”
“Oh, my manners” Peter took a step back. He greeted both the boys and told them who he was before introducing Peta. David’s eyes widened after Peta’s introduction. Peta blew him a kiss, mocking his fear.
“Why do you need our help?” Marcus pressed again.
“We need you to help us take down this Afterlyfe server. We need you with us on the inside.” Peter pointed to himself and Peta.
“Why us?” Marcus kept at his question.
"How will we even get in there?" David joined in.
That was when Peta pushed Peter aside ,“You’re going to have to temporarily – uh, die.”
David turned to Marcus, “What were you saying earlier about us not dying anytime soon?”
Marcus grew impatient. “What?! No way! You never even explained why you want *us* to do this? I have a couple others that’d probably love to help you instead.”
David leaned in, “who we talking about?”
Marcus whispered, “those Dorson brothers who are always bothering us at lunch.”
“We don’t have time for this!” Peta snapped her fingers. Peter threw his hands out to stop her. He had not yet explained everything to the boys.
Everything for both Marcus and David grew dark. Then suddenly, Marcus heard a gasp before the words, ‘Good Luck, boys. We’ll see you in there.’
***
 
[For more Stories - Yes, brand new](https://www.reddit.com/r/MrNightOwl/)
| 2020-01-18T14:50:42 | 2020-01-18T14:06:40 | 75 | 29 |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing.
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The group was fantastically successful. They ended many a curse, saved many princesses and princes alike. Tales of their deeds spread far and wide as many countries and kingdoms praised their accomplishments.
Drunk off their many successes and heavy praise as saviors of the world, they embarked on their next quest in high spirits. To defeat an evil wizard who could see the future and prophesied he would rule the world since "No man would be capable of defeating him."
After defeating the many minions and golems of his tower. The finally confronted the wizard at the top floor .
"Foul wizard, we are here to end your megalomanical schemes!" the party leader shouted as they positioned themselves to attack.
"And who among you will be the one to defeat me?" The wizard asked, eyeing the group one by one.
"It will be all of us!" the healer announced, "for there are no men among us, therefore we fulfill the requirements of your prophesy!"
"What a clever idea!" The wizard exclaimed, "To send so many with the same name in the hopes one of you would be the right one!"
The party leader paused. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?
"I'm talking about the prophecy of course." The wizard stated "That Noman would be capable of defeating me" "I was curious as to who among you would be Noman, but since it turns out all of you are Noman, I guess I'll have to fight you all."
It was a hard fought battle, some good lives were lost in the hours long conflict, but they eventually emerged victorious. As they left the tower in sorrow, they decided that maybe they should be a little more specific on the name of their next recruit......just in case......
Edited to make a little more sense.
(Changed invalidate prophecy to fulfill prophecy, which makes more sense given later wizard backstory, yay retcons!)
Edit to the edit: Thanks for the awards and upvotes all!
|
The easiest of all were the warding curses, in the first year since Aymara had the idea they’d grown rich on those. They were famous relics of the old days, the kind of magic that always seemed to be tacked onto the ends of the heroes stories:
*“And the great lord so-and-so of big-awesome-castle locked away his treasures in the depths of his grandfather’s crypt, attended by the assembled might of his still living wives and servants, who in their final moments painted the curse onto the doors with their very lifeblood. ‘Here lies the Great and Terrible Lord So-and-So, winner of battles as numerous as they are no longer relevant, from this day forth no man shall enter and no man shall leave, on pain of death, dismemberment, etc etc.”*
Aymara had to admit she was paraphrasing there, but she did whenever she thought of those old days. Magic that was so unimaginative didn’t warrant any fidelity to its memory.
Originally they’d meant to stop after the first year. Leta and the others had insisted on that, and for a brief period they had, each of them living like queens after their own fashion. Aymara herself had retired to a small but horrifically expensive castle on the North Sea, drowning her passion for discovery in fine wine and silks for the six months it took the rest of them to come to their senses.
She’d woken on the first day of spring to her guard captain’s worried tones. There were people at the gates, he had said, strange people.
Strange they were, but they were her people nonetheless, and their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. That night she’d opened up the last casks in her cellar and ordered the cook to spare no expense, there were more rich days coming.
Of course she hadn’t imagined the rich days would only last another year. Who’d have thought that most of those old tavern songs and heroic epics were false, that their heroes had either never existed or been a damn sight poorer than their hired bards had let on?
That brought Aymara and her friends to year three, and a cold, harsh winter morning on the side of the Camelline Mountains where nothing but snow leopards and whatever they ate should ever have set foot.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Leta said, her voice the only thing other than their footsteps to have broken the silence of their hike.. “I mean you’ve got an eye no doubt, but this? This takes the cake.”
“Look, you can shut up or go back down to the village, those are your options.” Aymara didn’t even turn to back to her friend. They’d been through enough by now to that her complaints were harmless, so long as they didn’t spook the others.
“This lord was rich though, right?” A voice called from further down their line. Aymara cursed to herself. That was Lena, Leta’s sister, and that was someone she might actually need to worry about. “It can’t be like last time,” Lena said, “we barely had anything to split after we raided that fat old merchant’s vault.”
“Yeah but at least it was warm there!” Someone else called.
“OK, STOP!” Aymara said, finally turning. She’d spoken the words no louder than normal but her magic projected them across the mountainside, hopefully at a quietly enough not to start an avalanche. She forced herself not to glance up the mountain.
“Now you,” she said, pointing to Lena, “and all the rest of you have nothing to complain about. Nothing! We’ve had a hard go of it lately but any one of you could retire right now and go back to a better life than you had before, and if you already spent it all that’s not my problem. Soon we’re going to reach the Caves of Khazan and if any of you, ANY OF YOU, so much as thinks about turning back once we’re in there I’ll teleport you off the side of the mountain without a second thought. Am I understood?”
They all nodded, even Lena though hers was sullen. Aymara turned back, the group following behind her. She hated the distraction, hated that she’d had to use even that small part of her magic this early. There were two spells to defeat once inside and little room for error in either one.
They’d heard the rumors the month before, in the cities and villages that clung to the foothills of the range along the borders of nations. This area had been a lawless dividing line for centuries, only changing in times of war when one ascendant empire or another tried to hold the heights and the all important passes they controlled.
The Caves of Khazan were a remnant of one of those times. Apparently Khazan had been a powerful necromancer who fled to the area following an apocalyptic battle in the lowlands. He’d taken with him several artifacts, ostensibly to craft his masterpiece with, whatever that had meant; more importantly all of them were ancient, powerful, and (hopefully) valuable. After all, regardless of what she’d said before Aymara still had that North Sea castle to pay for.
The first spell was an enchantment at the entrance. A wise woman had told her it read,
*“Travelers from near and far,*
*Coming here where treasures are,*
*Stand tall and proud, make your spells heard,*
*Though no man but me may speak the words,”*
Aymara hated rhymes too, in most cases she’d found that their writers were either shocking pompously or convinced (wrongly) of their cleverness, and from everything she’d heard she strongly suspected the necromancer was both. He hadn’t even included the answer within the thing. If he was going to try he should have at least made it a solvable riddle, one of her sources had been forced to dig it up from an ancient library.
She’d rolled her eyes and had to suppress a giggle when she’d gotten her source’s letter though. The password his name repeated in five different forms of ancient language conventions. Pompous indeed.
They arrived at the entrance close to noon and paused for a short lunch. One of the fire mages lit a brazier and the others all crowded around, cooking sausages and warming a large pot of porridge.
Aymara went to the massive, weathered stone of the entrance, tracing her hands down the runes of the enchantment. She could barely make out the words, they must have been carved a long time ago.
“Nervous?” Leta said from behind her.
Aymara turned and gratefully accepted a heel of bread and some cheese from her friend.
“Thanks,” she said. “No, not nervous. Just…excited. We came a long way for this one and we really need it.”
“So of us less than others, we didn’t all buy castles.” Leta grinned at her, bumping shoulders playfully. Aymara only snorted. She had no regrets.
“Are you going to open it?” Leta asked.
“I may as well, huh? Thinks there’s any point in waiting?” Aymara said.
“Nah, most of the time they only have defenses farther in. Besides, it’ll teach the new ones to stay on their toes.”
Aymara laughed softly, shaking her head. Leta's savings were so at odds with the rest of her behavior. Not that she disagreed though. Scraping some of the snow off the small plinth in front of the doors she placed her hands on it, squaring her shoulders, standing tall and proud just as the enchantment had said.
*“Khazan, Ghazan, Hazuun, Kharzi, Khos,”* she said. All five forms of his name, spoken loudly enough that they echoed.
Behind her she heard the group scurrying into position, crying out in surprise. Aymara closed her eyes, waiting, counting the seconds and praying it hadn’t all been for nothing. Then, with a sound like a waterfall crashing into rocks, the door began to open.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you. I may come back to write more of this later, this prompt was fun.
| 2021-03-04T14:07:19 | 2021-03-04T13:00:46 | 1,402 | 106 |
[WP] "I'm sorry! That gesture means something completely different on Earth!" You plea. The alien huffs slightly in response. "Be that as it may, in accordance with our culture, you and the ambassador's daughter are now betrothed."
|
It's been a while since aliens have been observing humans. These little creatures were aggressive, small things, they have realised. They had movies and books about hate, then about people hating each other and then falling in love, and they were actually shocked to find out that some infants were taught that "hate" was a sign of a crush.
Interesting.
Nevertheless, they didn't enjoy people shouting out inappropriate words or their rude hand gestures. For words they had nothing to do, but for those gestures... An alien had came up with the brightest plan.
They watched the always bickering duo spread out insults, each and every day, patiently waiting, and once one of them raised their middle finger, a crowd immediately populated around the owner. "Congratulations on your marriage!" the aliens exclaimed with a wide, wide smile. The resistance was futile.
|
I look over at my fiancé. And all I can do is recoil in disgust. She looks like a green snail without the shell plus human legs and arms. I am not sure she is wearing clothes or naked since there are vague colorations on her body. My coworker Alicia and I were awarded the first to meet the ambassador as part of our job at the newly created Galactic Diplomacy Department (GDD). The Garnakies are the first race to visit earth in the Order. We were meant to escort her to her hotel, but I offered to shake her hand. She jumped with glee and shook it. The hand was the most disgusting thing I ever felt. Now, I am engaged.
“In our culture, the exchange of bodily fluids is something for spouses and lovers.” Her father explains. That explanation only made things worse.
“Well, how do you say hello?” Alicia asked. The ambassador walks over to her and starts kissing her. Alicia vomits in disgust on the floor.
“No, your mouth fluid is supposed to go into my mouth.” He explains. Alicia and I look at each other. The first representatives to welcome aliens is feeling less like a privilege. “Is the hotel up to our specifications?”
“Yes sir.” We escort them to the hover car and fly them to the hotel. The guards follow closely. We take them to their rooms which have been designed to mimic their home planet. The room is incredibly hot. The floor is sand. There is a pile of seaweed for a bed, and shells to eat. There are no computers or technology because a bedroom should not be for work in their culture.
“It is our culture for future spouses to not sleep with each other until their wedding day.” The father says as he closes the door. I walk with Alicia to the car, and we cannot give each other a look of disgust.
“Eww, that was gross. I am going to have to have a doctor see him about that.” Alicia snipes.
“Did you swallow any of it?” I ask.
“Most of it came out in the vomit, but at least I don’t have to marry her.” She mocks. We get in the car.
“Let’s go talk to the secretary. This could be an intergalactic incident.” I reply as we fly over to our building. The Secretary of the GDD is an old woman who wears her gray hair and mileage with pride. She got the position because when she was young she was an astronaut, in doctor without borders, and an ambassador. Essentially, she did everything she wanted to as a kid, and she has the attitude to get it done.
“How did the escort go?” She asks.
“Anthony is engaged to the ambassador’s daughter.” Alicia says.
“What?!?” My boss nearly falls out of chair. I have never seen her this shocked.
“I shook her hand which is apparently a marriage proposal.” I explain.
“They must be joking.” She says.
“I don’t know. Was there anything about this in our records?” I ask.
“No, nothing of the sort. They do marry mostly for political reasons so it makes sense that a marriage to a human would be done, but you are just an employee not a prince, and quite frankly there are better.” She remarks.
“Wow thanks.” I reply.
“I am just saying.” She gets out of her chair and looks out the window. “Get some rest you two. We will meet in the morning to discuss this.”
I go back to my apartment and feed my cat. The daughter is disgusting. I may be single, but I have standards. I want a woman with a hot body. Not a body that needs to be hot. I hear a tapping sound from the window and move over to look outside to see the daughter on a hoverbike.
“Hello, loverboy. I am Granula.” She yells. “I didn’t introduce myself earlier because I couldn’t stop laughing.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to see each other.” I yell.
“Screw that. Get on.” She yells. I jump out the window and onto the bike. She drives like a maniac all over the city until we reach a small park area.
“Whoo, that was fun.” She says hopping off the bike.
“Yeah, where are the guards?” I ask.
“I snuck off.” She says.
“So about the marriage.” I ask.
“Oh relax. I know you don’t want to.” She rolls her eyes.
“Wait what?”
“Daddy told me not to shake hands. I did it anyway. Here is the thing. My culture is incredibly patriarchal. Marriage is more about the transfer of the daughter from father to husband. The only way a woman can be on her own is if her husband gives her permission. Most men on my planet would not do that so I engaged myself to an earth boy who I hoped would be way less controlling.” She smiles with her big mouth at me.
“So wait, you are using me.” I yell.
“Duh, don’t worry though. I am rich. If the betrothed is not rich, the expectation is that the bride’s family take care of him. Since I am only child, you are about to be loaded” She says.
“But what about love and you know...”
“Sex. Please, we are a liberated regressive society. Take as many lovers as you want, but please take a lot. I am supposed to have less partners than you. You can even have an earth wife. Men can be married as many times as they want.”
“So this is all a big scam. Intergalactic relations could be set back by a scam.” I yell.
“I am good friends with representatives from across the universe. Relations would only improve. Face it. This is great.” She replies.
“Is there anyway out?” I ask.
“Nope no divorce.” She says.
“Can I go back to my apartment?” I ask as she takes me back home. I think it over and realize there is no downside for me. I can get another wife. She can live her life on her planet. I also get access to a planetary fortune. The next morning after much deliberation with the ambassador. The ceremony is on. The ceremony is a complicated event that happens next week as engagements are short. My parents were there and could not look more uncomfortable. The venues was partially underwater, and more slugs came to earth. After the ceremony, I give her my permission to go back to her planet to follow her dreams. Then, the father gives me a check to better my standard of living. I take the check and shake his hand. I get in my car to cash it. The lights go out. I am flipping over and over in my car. Then, everything goes dark. The ambassador looks at the wreckage.
“You arranged for that accident.” Granula glares at her father.
“I told you not to shake hands. I knew you would try to sucker an earth boy.” He replies. “So I killed him making you mine again.”
“I hate you. You manipulative bastard.”
“You are the one who manipulated him.” He walks away from the wreckage. “Now come on. This a great optical moment. If you don’t sell it, I will put you in the shell.”
She rolls her eyes and follows.
| 2019-02-10T23:50:19 | 2019-02-10T21:01:27 | 861 | 511 |
[WP] You have often described your girlfriend as a goddess and why wouldn't you? After all she is beautiful, wise, 9 feet tall, has eyes that literally glow with holy fire, is well into her ten thousands and most of all charming and caring
|
Athena spooned another mouthful of butter pecan ice cream into her mouth and swished it around.
“And you can just buy this at the market?” she said. “This ambrosia?”
“Yeah, down at the Giant Eagle. It’s usually on sale.”
“Wondrous.”
Athena grabbed the remote and slammed her fingers on the control pad. My smallish TV lit up. Wolf Blitzer looked both concerned and annoyed as he jabbered on.
“And this - this portal?”
“Yeah, that’s actually pretty standard. Most people have a TV.”
“The teevee portal is unlike anything I have ever seen,” she said, grabbing a handful of birthday-cake popcorn and jamming it into her mouth. Her eyes sizzled with pinkish lightning.
“So, ah, what do you want to do today? You’d mentioned maybe teleporting to Olympus, meeting Hercul-”
“Nay,” she said, standing up from the now-ruined couch. Her piled curls brushed the foam panels in the drop ceiling. “Olympus bores me. Posturing gods and demi-gods, eating fruit, tossing lightning bolts around. Look at what you have done with lightning!”
She gestured toward the TV, where Honey Boo Boo was making a cheeky face.
Athena grinned.
“I guess we could go check out the mall. There’s an indoor mini-golf place. Blacklights, too.”
“Let us proceed to the mall and the MeeNee Gulf, husband.”
“Ah, I mean-”
The sizzle in her eyes deepened to crimson.
“Let us proceed. To your chariot.”
I sighed and clicked the remote starter in my pocket. My battered 2002 Honda - red and Bond-O coloured - coughed to life outside.
“All right, let’s go.”
|
Nobody *really* believes in gods.
There are any number of worshippers, devotees, and zealots in the world, all of them with varying ideas about the divine. Although a precious few of these people do allegedly commit themselves to their beliefs, the vast majority of them are far more interested in telling each other why they're wrong. This has historically been done while attempting to prove the existence of an afterlife, usually with the aid of a pointy stick.
Still, while the threat of being introduced to one's preferred deity has long been employed in theological debates, the prospect of meeting a god in the mortal world has been all but entirely dismissed. Even the most religious adherents typically respond with skepticism upon hearing that they can shake a supreme being's hand, preferring instead to believe that they're the target of a trick. A loved one unexpectedly recovering from a terminal disease might be mistakenly attributed to a miracle, but the instant restoration of an errant limb will always be explained away, usually in tones that are just as angry as they are grateful.
As a result of this, gods have long since learned to avoid the headache of directly affecting humans, having embraced the practice of working in mysterious ways. While this hasn't exactly helped with the tacit reputation of nonexistence, it has made their own lives significantly less troublesome. Nowadays, they only have to contend with muted shock and suspicion when they answer a prayer.
Of course, the situation also makes *finding* gods something of a difficult endeavor.
Erik had been told that a god would be waiting for him in quiet section of a well-traveled park. This statement – offered by an anonymous stranger – had come at the end of a too-long journey into a corner of the Internet that should probably have stayed unexplored. Desperation had begun to dull Erik's better judgment, though, and despite his expectation of disappointment, he had made his way to the place in question, eventually finding himself approaching a wooden bench. There, apparently watching some joggers in the distance, was a man in a tweed jacket, jeans, and moderately scuffed dress shoes. Greying hair peeked out from beneath a cloth cap, and thin glasses reflected glints of the greenery around him.
"Uh, hi," Erik said. "Am I... am I supposed to meet you here?"
Without shifting his gaze, the man gestured to the space next to him. "Have a seat." His voice was lighter than Erik would have expected, but still full and resonant in a way that felt calming to hear.
"Look, I really don't believe in this stuff." After no response appeared to be forthcoming, Erik hesitantly lowered himself onto the bench.
Several seconds passed before the man spoke again. "What's bothering you?"
*This is ridiculous*, Erik silently thought... but he still heard himself answering. "I've just always felt different. Ever since I was a kid, it's been like... I don't know, like I can *see* more than other people. I'll say 'Look at that blue sphere!' and they'll say 'Yes, we see the grey circle.'" He paused for a moment, considering his own words. "I mean, that's just a metaphor, but that's what it feels like."
The man nodded. "I understand. Go on."
"I can't even talk to anyone about it!" Emotion started creeping into Erik's voice as a lump formed in his throat. "Most people tell me that I'm having delusions of grandeur. My therapist says that *everyone* feels disconnected from time to time. Even when someone claims that they know what I mean, I can tell that they *don't*: They just see a grey circle, and they *lie* to themselves about seeing more."
Another nod preceded the man's next words. "It's frustrating. You're trying to explain fire to fish. They understand heat, warmth, and even ash, but they just can't conceive of the concept you want to convey." The faintest hint of a grin touched the corners of the man's lips. "Some of them even suggest that *you're* the one who doesn't see enough."
"Yes," replied Erik. He realized that tears had formed in his eyes, and he wiped them away. "Yes, that's it, exactly. It's been a problem in every one of my relationships. I just want to *connect* with someone, you know? I'm so tired of getting my hopes up, then realizing that I'm still alone."
"Have you tried Tinder?"
The question seemed utterly mismatched to the conversation. "What, the dating app?"
"It seems like a good place to find someone who understands fire. After all, it's right there in the name." A cold feeling of doubt and disenchantment coalesced in Erik's chest, then immediately evaporated as the man started laughing. "Oh, come on, I'm just joking. Lighten up a little bit. You're literally minutes away from starting on the right path."
"I just wish I knew what the right path *was*," Erik muttered.
For the first time since Erik's arrival, the man turned his head. His eyes were an unremarkable shade of blue, but there was something indescribably alien about meeting them. "Would you like the bottle or the coin?"
"Sorry, what?" Erik felt his brow furrowing of its own accord. "I don't know what you mean."
Instead of replying aloud, the man held up his hands. Slender fingers gripped a bronze disc – about the size of a silver dollar, Erik guessed – with indecipherable letters on its face. The other choice appeared to be a small, black phial with a matching stopper. "The bottle or the coin?" the man asked again.
Erik glanced between the two options several times. "Do they do something?"
"That's up to you."
Strange, chaotic thoughts swirled through Erik's mind. Did the bottle contain his soulmate's favorite perfume? Would the coin grant a wish if tossed into a well? With some dark amusement, he realized that he hadn't even considered the more obvious conclusion: The man in front of him was messing with him, and this was all some twisted game.
"I don't think I want either," said Erik at last. "No offense, but this doesn't feel right to me."
For the second time in as many minutes, the man started laughing... but the sound had become warmer somehow, almost as if it carried a sense of relief. "Ah, good. Great, even. I really didn't want to do more paperwork today."
"'Paperwork?'" Erik repeated.
More laughter permeated the man's response. "Yeah, it's just how I do things. I have this ledger, and I... you know what? We'll talk about it some other time. Right now, though, I think this is for you." The man reached into his jacket – the bottle and the coin had seemingly been stashed away while Erik had been distracted – and pulled forth a silver locket on a thin chain.
Erik gingerly accepted the proffered gift. "What is it?"
"Open it."
Inside the locket, there was a single daguerreotype... and as he looked at it, Erik was gripped by a sensation that he had never felt before. It wasn't just that the pictured woman was familiar: He genuinely *knew* her – deeply and intimately – even though her face was entirely new to him. Somehow, she was both a perfect stranger and a beloved companion... and as Erik allowed the feeling to pull him in its wake, he found it only too easy to envision her long, golden hair, her comforting smile, and the way that her eyes would literally glow with the love that she held for mortal beings. The woman was a goddess... but to Erik, she was also something more.
There were tears in his eyes again.
He let them stream down his face.
"This is my soulmate?" he managed to whisper.
"She's been waiting for you for a while. Finding gods is *stupidly* hard these days." The sound of snapping fingers reached Erik's ears. "Hey! You two should come over for dinner sometime. My wife's game hen is divine."
Erik turned to respond, but discovered that he was alone on the bench.
The locket, however, was still there in his palm.
| 2021-01-14T06:55:37 | 2021-01-14T06:52:03 | 314 | 197 |
[WP] At a young age you discovered you could choose your luck for a week (0-100%) But every 52 weeks it must average 50%. You spent the last 51 weeks living on 49% luck. It was only slightly “bad luck”. But this is the week you need to cash in your saved “good luck”. You have selected 100% luck.
|
Sunday: I turned the luck all the way up. This was make or break week. I'd figured it all out. I bought a lottery ticket. The drawing is Wednesday, but I'm not looking until Saturday. By then, money should be the least of my joys.
Monday: Interview for my dream job. Here's hoping!
Tuesday: The company called me for a second interview tomorrow!
Wednesday: The interview went great! I went shopping for an engagement ring.
Thursday: I went bowling. Don't have to tell you how that went. I'm now a legend at the Bowlarama!
Friday: I got the job! They offered the top of the salary range!
Saturday: Proposed marriage. She said, "Sam, I've been meaning to break this off. I've been cheating on you. You'll never be rich enough or successful enough for me." I left.
I can't be sad. This is why I asked today. Luck isn't always getting what you hoped for. I learned that long ago. I pulled out my lottery ticket.
|
I was sitting in class in the middle of my final when it first appeared. I closed my eyes and when I reopened them, It was just there flashing in front of me. I looked down at my paper and around the room to see if anyone else saw it but it stayed there in the center of my vision. I closed my eyes and tried rubbing them thinking I’d finally broken down. This test, the last final I had for the semester and I was going crazy.
Bright blue words were in front of me “Luck Meter” with a “50%” underneath it. On both sides were arrows and without even thinking I waved my arms in front of me. The number flashed to 0% and said accept, and disappeared as quickly as they appeared. Thank God. Whatever mental break I had just had was gone.
I went back to my test and my pencil broke as soon I touched the tip to paper. OK. This is why I had a sharpener. I tried sharpening it and no matter how much i sharpened it, the pencil would just not sharpen. It did that thing where the lead would break off and only wood would be left. My teacher was a stickler, but I had no choice. I needed a pencil. I raised my hand and waited for him to see me. And waited. And waited. Three minutes had gone by. I coughed, I made a couple awkward noises and It was like he was purposefully ignoring me. Fine, I’ll just bite the bullet and go up and ask him for a new pencil.
As soon I stood up, I comically tripped over my desk, falling right into my neighbor. His pencil went straight into my leg. Like straight into it. I screamed in pain and that finally caught the teachers attention.
“Zack, I don’t know what stunt you are playing but get back into your seat.”
“What the hell, dude!”I yelled through clenched teeth. ”No, I need to get to a doctor, call the nurse or something.” I looked down at my leg and there was the pencil sticking right out of my thigh. Do I take it out, leave it in? Not wanting to try my luck I left it in while the teacher slowly called an ambulance. Great, Like I had money for that.
That began one of the worst weeks of my life. It was comically bad. When the ambulance came, the EMT kicked my leg, blood from my wound had ended up covering the entire test and my teacher said he would “allow me” to make it up at a later date. The ambulance ended up hitting a pothole and getting a flat tire. I felt like I was living the embodiment of Murphy's Law. Whatever could go wrong did. I had to stay in the hospital for days because complications kept appearing. My parents couldn’t even visit me while I was stuck there because they were on vacation and a giant storm showed up delaying their flight by a week.
Finally nearly a week later I was discharged. I was now wearing a cast, they said I’d be lucky if the wound ever healed right. No one could pick me up from the hospital, none of my apps were letting me order any taxis, and it was one of the worst rain storms i’d ever seen. I sat down in the lobby of the hospital wondering what had happened to make me deserve this week when it happened again. The bright blue worlds flashed in front of me “Luck Meter” with 1% flashing below it.
Remembering the week before when I saw this, I wanted to jump out of my seat but fell right to the ground. No one else even glanced up at me. I sat looking at the numbers and reached out. It was almost as if I could touch them… and then I did. I hit the arrow to the left and “2%” appeared in front of me. I hit the arrow again, and again until It read “100%” Another blip and the words “Accept?” appeared underneath and as I hit that and, I suddenly felt...good. My phone started blowing up. There were messages from my ex-girlfriend, saying she had just heard what had happened to me and for me to call her. I figured I had no choice and tried. She picked up on the first ring and started talking to me. She said she had regretted us breaking up and she felt so bad for me, could we meet up anytime? I told her my predicament and she instantly decided to come pick me up. She dropped me off at home and then invited herself in to make dinner. I didn't stop her. The last time I had had a home cooked meal was for Christmas nearly 6 months ago. Eventually we opened a bottle of wine, and by the next morning we had decided to get back together.
I woke up feeling refreshed. The week I had was terrible but things finally were getting better. I got up from bed and realized I had left my crutches in Heather's car. She was lying down peacefully next to me, and I didn’t want to wake her up. I almost felt like I was in a dream. I grabbed my dresser using it to pull myself up as I jumped to the bathroom and by my second skip I felt no pain in my leg. I looked down and the cast practically crumbled off my foot. Great. More bad luck. Except, I saw my leg was looking perfect. I put weight on it and no pain. I could swear I even saw the piece of lead they said they couldn't get out of me fall out of the wound I had.
All of a sudden things started going my way. My teacher called and said since I had been through so much he had decided to just give me an A all my past work showed I had known the material. My parents showed up saying they were sorry they didn't help me over the last week and said if there was anything I needed from now on I’d be there. I joked that I could use a new car and they said sure, and right then and there Dad took me to a car dealership. I told him I didn't need a new car but he said he had just gotten a bonus from work and wanted to spoil their only son. Who was I to deny luck.
Suddenly, Murphy's law had flipped itself on its head. I had never been so lucky. One of my friends reached out to me and said that an opening at one of the best Video Game companies in the country was looking for someone and just to see what would've happened had mentioned me to his boss and they wanted to meet today! I even went and bought a scratch off just to test my luck and I ended up winning a couple thousand bucks, enough for rent at least.
I felt like I was on top of the world. Then the week ended. In front of me flashed those numbers again. I wanted a week like the last one again. For the rest of my life. The number read “99%” this time. I pressed it again. And again. Nothing happened. I tried over and over until a new message appeared in front of me. “Users can only repeat percentages when all values have been used, please choose a valid number.”
I decided I’ll try 50% and see what happens. I accepted and got ready for just another average week.
| 2020-04-21T07:26:26 | 2020-04-21T06:26:23 | 597 | 239 |
[WP] As a blacksmith of a small village, you double as a weaponsmith. One day, a group of adventurers enters your smithy with a broken ivory sword that they dare you to fix it. As you run your fingers over the familiar ancient engravings, you hear a voice whisper in your mind. ‘Hello, old friend’.
|
It was a simple blade. Though it was covered in grime and chipped at the tip, I recognized it for what it had once been. These adventurers had felt it, too, though they could not hear its voice.
My blades hum or laugh. But this blade that they had brought, forged in the heart of the Trench by a god long dead, tempered by centuries of wars and duels and blood, had developed a deep understanding, a deep consciousness. The language of swords is subtle, like a summer's breeze over a meadow or the steam from a hot cup of tea.
*Very smart*, it said. It tickled. *No one would ever think a blacksmith would ever hide as a blacksmith!*
"How much?" I asked.
The leader of the group, who was rather short, furrowed his eyebrows "The price is yours to determine, isn't it?"
"To buy," I said. I came to the corner of my workshop, where a small pile of swords lay. I picked two up. "These have been made with the finest steel and the Erethyrian technique. You can have both in exchange for the ivory blade."
*I think I'd be worth ten.*
They glanced at each other. A woman, who I was sure liked Shortie, said, "Can you not repair it?"
"It is impossible to repair, miss." The ivory blade hummed, as it always did when I lied. "But I know someone who buys ivory."
"Five swords, then," the woman said. "One for each of us."
I would have happily given them my entire inventory. As the group turned to leave, admiring their new blades, Shortie turned back. "Would you like to join us, blacksmith? We travel to restore the rightful ruler to this land."
The ivory sword bristled with excitement. But I had seen what it had done to my family, and the monsters they had become. That was why I could not have repaired it and sent it away, as much as I wished it so. With enough time, they would have learned to hear its whispers, its calling for blood.
"I wish you luck," I said, as the blade hummed. "But I will not go."
As the group left, I prepared. I would hide it again. It would find me again. And I would continue, until I found a way to destory it.
|
"I used to search for glory in battle, then, I took an arrow to the knee." you joke with the group of adventurers in front of you. As the town blacksmith in a town on the edge of what some call the 'wilds' you also have been known to help adventurers repair armor and weapons. What you really discovered after you married the most beautiful half-elf mage you had ever met, was that you actually earned more as a smithy then you ever did skulking about through dungeons looking for treasure.
The group in front of you nervously laughed. Sometimes an arrow to the knee was actually an arrow, and others, it was the easy way out to settle down. They had initially spoken to your wife who was in the front of the shop, asking for help repairing a sword they found, it was unique. You heard her gasp for the briefest second when they unwrapped the hide holding the pieces together before she brought them to you. As they stood before you, you could hear her closing up the front before walking up silently behind the group to observe.
"We found this, out by the..."
"I know where you found it, and I didn't need to *know* where you found it. " you cut them off. They look shocked.
"let me get a closer look at her." You gently run your fingers over ancient engravings in the ivory and mithril that were intertwined to form the blade and handle that did not look forged as much as grown. A tear escaped the corner of your eye as you heard the very familiar voice echo in your head.
"Hello, old friend".
"Hello indeed, Ravena." you say, barely a whisper.
"She spoke to you, too?" the young mage in the group spoke up. "Grond here said she spoke to him when he picked it up, and he was so startled he dropped it, causing the damage you see."
You eyed the barbarian standing with their head down at the back of the group. Your wife gently patted them on the arm, making sure to establish skin contact. She paused for a moment and gently shook her head no, ever so slightly.
"As you obviously know, the sword here, used to be... " you pause, "You see..." you struggle with the correct words to convey just how deeply you know this weapon.
"What my dear husband is trying to say is this blade severed the head of the dragon who's skull sits outside our shop. Dropping on a rocky cave floor would no more do this to it, than having Cinderall swat it, and it's partner 50 feet across a cave with a giant claw."
"Cinderall? That's who's skull is out there, just, in the open?" The young mage said with wonder.
"So now, knowing who we are... What happened to *the lonesome tooth* of the 8th realm?"
The barbarian started to cry a little. "I picked it, her, up and she spoke to me in my brain. My family always said that weapons that are enchanted will take our strength, I have a gift of my tribe, to remove enchantments. Before I even thought about it, I used it. The bone and metal separated as you see here. But she still spoke to me. She told me to bring her to YOU, sir."
"The truth is always better Grond, is it?" My wife patted him gently on his back. I'm going to fix you some tea, in a moment. However, I will need just a little something from you."
She pulled a small knife, hardly a kitchen knife, really, from her sleeve and stabbed Grond in the finger. She then pulled him over to the broken sword. He tried to resist, and discovered he could not. She allowed several drops of his blood to settle on the blade in the broken parts. She then pushed him back and began to speak in her arcane tongue, all the while putting the broken pieces back exactly where they went. As it all sealed back together, the runes began to glow a low purple light. "Take hold of it, Grond! With the hand that gave it the blood!" She commanded it. He had no choice but to do it.
As his fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade, the blood that was in the palm of his hand was absorbed. Then, they noticed that Grond started to shrink like a wineskin that was being emptied. He looked in fear as he could not let go.
The other members of his party backed up away from him. While they wanted to help him, they knew they dare not. They knew that we were not a couple of townies, but we had seen much of this world, and we had conquered much of this world, only to settle down in our corner of it. They watched in amazement and horror as eventually, there were only the barbarian's clothing and pack laying on the floor of my shop, the sword laying on top of it.
I reached down and picked up the sword. "How are you, Ravena?"
"*Much better now. Grond is here with me, will you relay a message to his former companions before I send him on?* The voice was only in my head, of course.
"Ravena, the lonesome tooth of the 8th realm wishes to tell you all that Grond is going to his reward in his next life, and not to be sad. She also says, there's an extra ruby that is worth a hundred gold in the heel of his boot that he didn't tell you all about he nicked it when none of you were looking at him in the treasure room of the Gnor castle. He's also sorry about your wand, Leftburt."
"How would you know about that? " the wizard, well, now I knew his name, of course, asked.
"Well, Grond's spirit is in the blade, but will be sent on to his reward. Anything killed by the blade will commune with the spirit Ravena before going on their way. " I paused, "How long have you all been doing this thing again?"
"Only a couple of years as a troop." a young man spoke up. He had been very quiet in the shadow of my shop. I think he believed himself invisible up until that point.
"Thank you for returning my sword. Ravena is, well, was, my wife's sister. "
"Half-sister, dear" my wife added.
"Yes, yes, half sister. Not the *human* half. Her spirit was ensconsed in this sword by a grand wizard of her tribe. She had been stricken with a terrible illness. One that their magic could not cure, but they were able to save her in here. She and my wife had many grand adventures until we met, then as a wedding present, I was gifted the sword. She was never really a stabby stabby type anyway."
"You gave your husband, your sister's spirit, in a sword as a wedding present?" Leftburt slowly tried to absorb that concept mentally. "I mean, no. Nevermind. I can't. No. Go on."
"I realize it sounds weird when you say it out loud. However, it made her feel good to know I had such an amazing weapon to protect myself. "
"Alright, so you all probably want some sort of reward for returning lost property, right?" My wife spoke up, ever the pragmatic one. She knew that was probably coming next, even without using her magic.
"No, actually, we wanted that gone. Heck, we aren't even mad about Grond. I've had horrible dreams since we found, *Ravena*. A tall humanoid in the back spoke up. He appeared to be a warrior of the open fist. "I don't think anyone wanted to admit it, but I knew exactly who I would find in here. YOU. I also know what you have done before your retirement. We wish no payment, or ill will from you. Please don't be upset with me, or us, if we never want to come back to your town, or drink your tea, Ma'am."
"No ill will, however, I understand. I still get the night terrors from my time... before." I walked up and embraced each member of the party. "Thank you all, for bringing her home."
The party gathered up the clothing, and found the ruby they had no idea existed, all the more unnerving them as they left.
"Well, this day is shot. I don't think I will be making horseshoes and nails this afternoon. How about some of your tea?"
| 2021-09-25T06:15:10 | 2021-09-25T06:07:35 | 355 | 213 |
[WP] The world is an action movie and you are its most dangerous person. Not because you are some insane supervillain but because you could apply the laws of our world there. You don't have to monologue, your bullets are faster than sound, your explosives actually kill...
|
In his head the world would fall silent, as if smothered by a pillow, but for the click of that trigger. A click that would become a roar in the silence — a thunder, like God slapping the earth.
He’d been there a thousand times before, as a bullet — like the shell of a basalt turtle — crawled through the air. He’d allow himself a moment for his life to spill out before him, a knocked-over-whiskey-bottle of a life, memories drenched in alcohol pooling around him, reflections of his lovers and lies swaying in the golden haze. Should have been a better father. Husband. Protector.
Then he’d focus on a face, a moment, a regret, discover again what was worth living for. He’d lithely limbo back, arms wheeling, as the bullet whiskered over him, sensationing his cheek with the kiss a femme fatale, smearing his skin with hot red lipstick.
But I was meant for you, the bullet often says, in his head, ruefully, as it passes over him.
In his head, he’d escape the bullet and snap his hand to his holster, become a bird of prey, talons out, diving down at the mouse that dared. He’d return fire, regretfully — he despised taking a life — and yet as the enemy’s head splayed open, red mist spattering the wall, he’d always fill with a feeling that betrayed him, dopamine flooding his blood, his hips, lips fighting into a smile he could barely repress.
In his head this would happen.
The man would pull the trigger and it would all happen. Choreographed. Predictable.
As predictable as purgatory.
Then:
*Click*
In his head the bullet lodges.
No time for even a thought to fully form. Only the bubble of regret blooming in his synapses, then even that pops.
No time to even hear the bang.
|
“Are you even listening?” Brodis Turner, the current crime lord of the town, awoke me from my slumber. The twirly mustached man a cliché in the highest regard. The combination of his moustache and chubby cheeks just screamed, ‘I’m the villain and you won’t be able to stop me until you go through all my henchmen.’ It was sad, really. I heard he twirled his moustache to stand out, and all it did was make him look like an 80s cartoon villain.
“Huh? Oh, um, right. We were discussing explosive rubber duckies or something?” The words only sounding stupid when they left my mouth. Explosive rubber duckies? The same ones from my dreams? I was losing my mind; I couldn’t even tell my dreams from reality anymore.
“NO! I was discussing the grenade I have strapped to the bottom of your chair, one that I plan to pull the pin on.” His chubby cheeks were flustered, looking rather hurt. I started feeling bad for the guy, pondering faking some fear, only to scoff at his threat.
“Just the one grenade? One of your grenades? Oh, come on. You made me sit through all of that just to strap a grenade to my chair? At least strap about twenty or make me swallow one. That might do something?” I suggested, not above trying to make my life a little more interesting. It wasn’t fun being the strongest person in a room. Everyday life just became boring.
“Well, ugh, yeah? One grenade at close range should send your body in every direction. I will decorate the room with your blood like a beautiful festival of death. A festival that reminds me of the tomato throwing festivals we used to have in my town as a boy. I wasn’t always the mean man you see in front of you. I had dreams, but that all changed when..”
“NOBODY CARES ABOUT THE STUPID TOMATO FESTIVAL. Come on, just pull the grenade pin, please. I have a parcel coming for me this afternoon. If I don’t get home, I just know that asshole neighbor of mine, Dan, is going to steal it. Then, I’ll have to order another one. Want to know the worst part? I’m trying to order a security camera so I can catch him, but every time it’s about to arrive, I get kidnapped. It’s maddening. Dan probably has about five of them by now. I know I could just go to the shops and buy one but its…” My rant was cut short by the plink of a grenade pin. Seems the crime lord didn’t like it when the monologuing was on the other foot.
The explosion sent me flying from the chair, my ropes breaking, throwing my body onto the floor. When I landed, I took a moment to check my muscles, squirming my body around until I was certain everything still appeared to be working. With that, I stood up, wiping the dirt from my body.
“Impossible. That should have killed you. It was a grenade; they are powerful explosives.” The crime lord turned his back to me, trying to sprint towards an exit, only to struggle with the handle. I would have called it horror movie logic, but the man was just frightened beyond belief. His sweaty hands unable to get a good grip, not helped by his eyes still being focused on me.
I slowly approached, looking around the empty room I was in. A basement? That would have made sense. There didn’t seem to be anything inside. Although, why would a door be in a basement? Maybe it’s a warehouse? Some of those can be bare. I pondered the thought, trying to work out the answer before I made it to the door. The floor had a few loose tiles on it. Each tile decorated in a pink and white color scheme, something that seemed a little too fancy for a warehouse or basement.
“Oh, what horrible things are you planning on doing to me? Your mind must be running with ideas of torture and death.” He squirmed, opening the door, only to feel my hand tug him back, stopping him from escaping the confines of the building. Outside the door, people wandered past, a few passersby turning to look at us both, before continuing on their way, not feeling a need to involve themselves.
“Is this a warehouse?” I asked, holding the scruff of his neck in one hand while keeping the door open with the other. With the amount of people wandering past, my guess seemed wrong. What warehouse had this much foot traffic?
“A warehouse? It’s an abandoned pet shop. Oh, right? I forgot to use the line. I’m going to put you down like a feral beast.” He said, missing the moment entirely. He did still have a proud look on his face, clearly having spent a long time coming up with that. A waste of his time, if you ask me.
“It wouldn’t have worked unless you told me where we were. I was napping on the car trip here, remember?”
“You told me you were resting your eyes.”
“When is that ever not a lie?” I questioned, pulling him out onto the street before tugging him closer, my mouth pressed against his ear. “Listen, I could kill you right now, but that would be a waste. So, how about this? Your crime family makes a handsome donation to a charity and quits the crime business. If you do that, I’ll overlook this.”
“Quit being a crime lord? You’re insane. I would rather try my luck at the courts. You don’t think I can bribe my way out of this?” He said, a sleazy grin forming on his lips, rather happy to go through the courts, knowing that with his amount of wealth it wouldn’t be a long trial.
“Probably, but you won’t make it to the courts before I kill you.” I let my other hand wander into his pocket, finding another grenade next to his loose change. “I could just pull this pin, see if you have the same luck as I do.”
“No, please don’t. I have three wives and I’m not even sure how many kids. You wouldn’t kill a father, would you?” He pleaded, eyes filling with crocodile tears, putting on a real show that was getting the attention of passersby.
“Can you even name one of your children?” I gave him a nudge to the back of his knee, the pain stopping his fake tears, as he instead focused on letting out a few choice swears. When the swears finished, he responded.
“Sure, there’s Marcus and Liz?” He didn’t seem confident in his answers, but I couldn’t prove him wrong. How would I know the name of his kids? At least the attention of the passersby faded, the busy pedestrians continuing on their way, allowing our conversation to continue somewhat privately.
“Right, then I expect a donation will be made? Oh, and none of that donating to your friends or making a charity. I’m not an idiot. Do the right thing and we won’t have a problem.” I let my finger toy with the ring of the grenade, tapping my nail against it, making him squirm.
“YES, YES. THE MONEY WILL BE DONATED AS SOON AS I GET HOME.” When those words left his mouth, I pulled my hand free, shoving him towards the street.
“Good, glad we had this talk. Trust me, it’s a better life being a good guy.” I lied, watching as he wandered off, grumbling to himself about something, hearing him curse me under his breath. “Love you too.” I said, giving him the middle finger as he continued.
It was hard to say if he would stick to our agreed upon conditions. Few people did, but I had hope. Hope that he wouldn’t be as stupid as the others. Regardless, he wouldn’t get a second chance next time. He had his warning and if he was stupid enough to attack me again, he would find himself strapped to that chair, not me.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-10-27T07:14:06 | 2021-10-27T07:01:12 | 817 | 230 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
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He was shaking, his hands on his knees, panting. His opponent, clutching his ribs smiled through cracked teeth.
"I'll admit. You gave me quite the run for my money. But I'm afraid, I'm simply too durable."
Mackanika looked up and spat out blood. "You son of a bitch backhand..."
Backhand grinned. "Naughty language isnt alright."
Mackanika stood up, balling his fists up. hitting his earpiece a few times.
"I think my friend, that I have won. You've expended everything against me." Laughed Backhand, straightening up and fixing his suit jacket.
"No. Not everything." Grinned Mackanika. "I'm sorry, but you've forced my hand."
"Oh?" said Backhand, watching impassively as Mackanika selected one last song. The music was played through the half-broken system, Backhand heard a familiar refrain of brass and guitars. He tilted his head.
"What on earth?"
Mackanika took on a new stance "You might be fucking durable Backhand, but I? I'm fucking unstoppable. And you are far from an immovable object."
Mackanika shot forwards as Backhand heard the beginning of the refrian
*"Standing here, I realize"*
Backhand's eyes widened, "No... No not like this... Anything but this!"
He turned and tried to run, the nature of Backhand's power made him able to absorb massive amounts of kinetic energy, effectively nullifying said energy. But no matter how much he was able to absorb, he had a limit. Everybody has a limit. And that day, Mackanika found that limit. After three hundred punches that were harder than anything he'd ever thrown; Backhand finally collapsed. Mackanika dropped to one knee, his eyes burning, shoulders heaving, sweat and blood intermingling.
"In the end... It has to be this way."
|
My fist broke through the floor and I was forced to jump away to avoid the gaping hole that was forming. Thankfully, dubstep gave me almost pure strength so a jump like that was nothing. The copycat matched my jump and our forearms collided, the shock of the impact vibrating through my body, the sound of shattering glass followed a second later. Shit, he matched my power. And endurance. He smiled as we both went for a shin kick, but he was already stronger and my body jerked back a bit as I had to brace myself.
The Learner, they called him. He could copy anyone's superpower, match it in minutes and surpass it later. He had apparently been working on it, since that had only taken him a minute instead of the hours it used to do. The next blow was going to hurt.
I flew through the air, forearms stinging from the blow. Luckily, the blow had been ludicrously strong and I was no stranger to taking a punch, so I had turned into momentum and flew back over the new hole in the floor. This wasn't going to cut it, and the Learner knew it, crouching down and preparing to jump, grinning all the time.
I landed smoothly and whispered "Speed" into the small microphone implanted in my tooth, and almost instantly the hard bass and electronic mix rattling in my skull was replaced by Iron Maiden. *Flight of the Bumblebee* at first seemed impossibly fast, but quickly seemed to slow down as my power grabbed onto the new music. I winced. That would certainly do it, but I didn't dare go any faster.
I crouched, knowing full well the danger of beginning a super speed run without proper traction, then exploded into movement as the Learner's eyebrows rose, slowly. Yeah, he knew what I was doing. His fist was already moving to block me, but I just skirted past and gave his back a shove, ran to the edge of the room, then back to gather up speed for another shove. Less than a three seconds had passed, his jump interrupted, and now tumbling slowly forwards and down, right into the hole we had just made. However, I saw his fingers and arms start moving as if in water and he was trying to twist around in the air. Normally it would be hilarious, but right now it meant his power was catching up to mine, so I had to push harder.
I jumped onto his back and started hopping up and down. Yes, it's silly, but momentum adds up, and if you saw it at regular speed instead of super I'd look faster than a jackhammer, trying to speed up his fall so he'd maybe hit the floor at a sweet spot where he had less endurance but not enough speed to just nullify my efforts.
Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Yeah, he was catching up. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. The floor was awfully close, though. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. He grabbed my ankle, stopping any further momentum gains.
We hit the rubble-filled floor with a smash that would probably break even more windows, but I was already crouching down, catching his slight bounce and head with my fist. Smack. Smack. Smack. I was really out of touch with speedster battles, how the hell did they do it? I knew he was breaking my blows, and couldn't really help it when he pulled my leg to off-balance me, and suddenly we were both standing. What did the Silver Streak always tell me? If you don't know, run. Right.
I sped out of the garage, wincing as I realized the cacophony of breaking glass and car alarms would be a mess to handle, but what choice did I have? The Learner wasn't far behind, but he hadn't caught up to me yet. Good, so I had time to plan. He took a while to get used to each power, and I could use that. I grinned. *I wonder if he can run on water yet?*
As we reached the harbor, I was no longer creating distance. Soon he'd catch up. I ran to the edge of the wharf and onto the ocean floor, noticing he slowed down a bit in doubt before matching my speed over the water again. Running on water wasn't my favorite thing to do, as you had to figure out waves, keep your gait straight and avoid jumping too high, but I had practiced even though I had laughed at the Streak that I'd probably never need this particular trick. I owed her a beer. I risked a glance behind, he was already faster than me, but his inexperience gave me an edge here. He also had no idea what I was planning, so he had to be sweating a bit.
I started turning to the right, noticing he had trouble changing direction as well. Still, he was now obviously way past my top speed, as he was slowly gaining on me. That was fine, as we were now pretty far from land.
I whispered "Flight" as I circled a large pleasure cruiser, and just as he dropped from sight, I could feel myself slowing down, my feet plunging into the water more and more. Up up and away, up up and away, up up and away, I repeated, the mantra working and the world suddenly snapping out of blueshift as I rose into the air. He couldn't have been ready for that, and I still had distance so I should be -- there we go, he ran around the corner just as Pavarotti's high C hit full blast. I turned a bit, gave him a friendly wave and flew away into the distance as I saw him try to run towards me, jump high, almost catch my power and then plunge into the water. So his distance hadn't improved much, good to know.
----
As I reached the Junction it was all abuzz. Everyone was talking and trying to figure out what the Learner had done to improve his power and who could beat him. I slapped some friends on the back and headed to the Observatory, knowing the best minds would be there.
Entering the large circular room, I could see most of the walls and roof was full of footage from my recent fight with him. The Professor and others were clustered around control panels, analyzing and arguing, hardly stopping as I got into hearing range. Prof gave me a sidelong glance "You couldn't have given us two or three more powers before running off, could you? I have very little to go on." I shrugged "Seven seemed like a reasonable number, also I needed a combo to get out and speed and flight seemed like a good trick." "PHAH! you should have just stayed there and called for backup, he can't absorb more than two powers at a time."
I grimaced, "He's already more powerful than he's supposed to be, I wasn't confident I could slow him down enough for help to show up and I definitely didn't want to trust our intel. Any word on how he got that way?"
Prof wasn't even looking at me, "Bah, who knows? Maybe he ate a meteorite or something. Anyway, analysis shows that he's four or five times better at surpassing a power than he was before, that shouldn't be too much of a--" I frowned "Four or five? He used to take up to an *hour* if he switched between fights." The Prof waved an annoyed hand "Yes, yes, but he can't hold onto a power as well any more, so that balances out."
I kept my frown and doubts to myself. I wasn't at all convinced if he got to spend more time near a superpower he wouldn't be able to keep it longer, too. Definitely not convinced enough I'd risk shifting powers any slower.
"So Prof, any ideas how I beat him?" I was looking a looping few seconds of myself jackhammering the Learner in the air. Yeah, that still looked silly. He turned and threw his hands up, "You? How should I know? You figure it out the next time he escapes whatever prison they throw him in." I blinked "What, they caught him already?" the Professor shook his head, annoyed "No, of course not, but the Prime Team is almost on-site, they should have him in an inhibitor collar in no time."
Oy vey.
| 2022-05-17T13:11:07 | 2022-05-17T10:56:03 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty."
|
"You gotta be kidding me" I said pressing down the button.
"Haha, nope," she replied, "that's why you should always wait before compulsively pressing every button you see."
"Well..."
"Well- what?"
"Well, what the hell does it do?" I specified.
"I don't know, you'll have to press it to find out."
"There's no way I'm doing that. You've shown me some freaky shit over the years and I have no clue what this could lead to."
"Well, you really only have one option in this scenario."
"Oh, really" I replied in a semi-sarcastic way.
"Yeah, you gotta take your finger off the button at some point."
"Or I can just hold it here until you tell me what the hell is going on."
"Good luck with that one," she said as she walked towards the exit. "See ya later buddy. Let me know how it goes." and she walked out the door.
I stood there for another thirty minutes or so trying to figure out what to do. I called for help. I looked for something that I could put on top of it to hold to button down but finally, I decided that enough was enough and I lifted my finger off the button.
And nothing happened.
That little shit.
|
I look at her, still smiling, thinking she'll laugh and say that she was joking about what she'd just said about the button but her face remains passive.
"Understand this," she says, placing her arms behind her in that contemplative way people like doing and starting to pace the small area in which we were. "If you'd like to join our company and start working with us, you need to realize that this is not a place for infantile games. You must realize this. This is serious business. If we allowed goofs and idiots in here, we would have gone out of business years ago. Been a joke from the moment we started."
I'm no longer smiling. Later, in the recovery dome, I kept thinking how utterly unprepared I was that my first job interview would go the way it had. I might have expected the talk about maintaining high standards within the company, but nothing like being in actual danger.
I'd woken up earlier today, gotten ready, still in wonder of how I'd been picked out of thousands of applicants. This job presented the opportunity of leaving the poor and dangerous life so many of us eager young people led in the Sandpits. Yesterday alone, 40 people had died from starvation or had been hunted down by the Rebellious Givehorns. No one would feed us, or protect us, unless you were lucky enough to be called for an interview.
When I'd reached the splendid front doors of Zera, along with 18 others, a group of well-dressed employees had come out to greet us. They'd all taken us to separate rooms. A dark-complexioned woman had taken me to my room, where we sat down for our interview at a stone table. Sunk into the table had been this huge button that I'd kept glancing at because it was the kind you couldn't ignore. Red and shiny, almost rubylike. Despite my feeling small and uncivilized in such a place like Zera, coupled with my nerves on how the interview was going, I asked the interviewer, not being able to stop myself, what the button was doing there.
She glanced down at the button and said it was just there. I asked if it did anything if I pressed it and she said it did nothing and, quickly, as if I was relieving some kind of inexplainable urge, I pressed it.
"It is when you press it that things turn... nasty."
******
I'm now watching the woman as she paces the room, after telling me how there'd be no infantile games.
"You see, uh - " my interviewer consults the burned-in name on my cheek " - Victor, we do not allow anyone back out to the Sandpits once they've entered Zera. I know you've heard shamelessly lovely stories about those who fail to be hired at Zera, about how they go on to be hired in other companies on other planets that we've colonized far away into the Universe? You have heard these stories no doubt, but I must tell you that they're unfortunately not true."
The woman walks away from me. My index finger is still pressed on the button, and I feel perspiration threatening to let my finger slip off. I knew that No one had gotten into Zera for 10 years but we, at the Sandpits, all thought we would go elsewhere if we didn't make it. What had happened to mother and father? And Charles and Sara, and everyone else who'd come to Zera but hadn't made the cut? Were they locked up somewhere underneath Zera, facing worse troubles than the ones they faced in the Sandpits? Were they being enslaved by some cruel entrepreneur? What had happened to all of them?
"What are you talking about?" I ask in a voice I succeeded in sounding calm.
"You could not resist the urge, could you? No one does, it is strange how a button messes around with our minds, literally demanding to be pressed. If you let go of that button," the woman says, no emotion whatsoever on her face, "it will be very unfortunate for you. We want to separate the incompetence from the competence. That is our mission. If you let go, you will meet the fate of countless souls that have come before you."
And then a door opened behind her and the first of the tortures came.
****
It's been three weeks since I walked into Zera. My skin has been punctured in so many places by whips and knives and needles and teeth. I am emaciated and my voice is hoarse like an old man's. But still my finger remains on the button.
They brought in men with spiked whips the first day. They whipped me til I began to cry blood. The woman sat in a corner, legs pressed tight together, never taking her eyes off me, her expression as expressionless as ever. When the men went away, she got up to see if I was still alive and then supremely turned away, going back in the corner.
The second day they brought in two beautiful women who were around my mother's age. I expected them to treat my wounds, like how my mother had caressed my knee after falling from play years ago, but they drew knives, short and curved and slowly, very slowly, cut up places where the whips hadn't touched me, all the while laughing maniacally as if possessed. But still my finger remained on the button.
On the third day they brought in one of the creatures of the land, a great winged Valari. It resembled a creature of Earth, the extinct grey wolf, but with great voluminous wings. I had to hold on to the table for dear life, so that it wouldn't take me into the air with its wings. It left deep bite marks on the places the whips and knives had missed. But I held onto the button still.
When they took the Valari out, and the woman came over from the corner she hadn't left since the first day, she told me what awaited me if I let go would be much worse. I didn't believe her but I didn't tell her this, because I couldn't. How could I, with a mouth full of blood?
They injected me with poisons that induced great pain the next day, and I was almost about to give up when I thought of my family, and how I yearned to know what happened to them and where they were.
When I came out of my excruciating daze, the woman surprised me by congratulating me. She was smiling. She said I was to be taken to the recovery dome, and that I'd be there til I was ready to go on the first day of my job.
"Be elated, Victor," she said in excited whisper that bemused me. "You are the only one who has passed the test of the button in 10 years. Your colleagues have failed. You will be known as the legend of your generation."
"Where is my family?" I got out in such a pathetic voice as people who looked like doctors filed in. "What have you done with them? I want to know where they are!"
"No, no, Victor," the woman cooed into my ear so that the doctors couldn't hear what she was saying. "None of all of that, if you please. It is best not to speak of things that are out of your reach, they will only bring trouble to you during your time at Zera. I see a coming rebellion in your eyes, Victor, I know in the future you will search for your family, and I do not blame you, but heed what I say when I say Zera is your family now."
| 2017-01-05T14:05:34 | 2017-01-05T10:53:52 | 65 | 42 |
[WP] The reason earth never made alien contact is because earth is in a natural reservation inside a non transit area inside a neutral zone between two warring empires in a relatively boring part of the galaxy.
|
The Solani war vessel was helplessly lost when it crash landed on Earth with no survivors. It took us years to decipher their language and access their intact database. We learned that Earth was located in a DO NOT CONTACT zone.
We feared they would return for their ship but for whatever reason they did not. The scientific knowledge in their computer was staggering. The entire world came together as we built the first ships and colonized the moon. The asteroid belt was mined clean and in the following decade the planets of our system were mined for resources as our first FTL ships scouted the nearby star systems, ever careful of giving ourselves away to those who might be watching.
Building on their technology we became masters of stealth, perfecting ships that their most advanced sensor technology could not detect. Our first forays out of the buffer zone was in sending our stealthiest craft to capture nearby vessels, pulling them into the buffer zones like high tech trapdoor spiders. These pirated vessels were stripped and studied, their stunned crews interrogated.
We learned their latest tech while we colonized every star system we could within the buffer. We used the resources to build an armada and spent the next decade training the best navy the galaxy had ever seen.
Today, I stand on the bridge of the lead ship as admiral of the Terran Fleet. With nearly a million warships under my command I know they will not have seen us coming and they will learn a hard lesson about humans: we do not like to be ignored.
|
"And I play K7"
Oo'rtha rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His four eyes blinked in rapid succession, and his face turned from a deep purple to red.
I spread out my tentacles and grinned. "That would be game, my friend."
Oo'rtha blinked a few more times then flipped the board, spilling the pieces on the floor. "To hell with this game and your cheap tricks, "friend," no friend of mine would use tactics such as this to utterly humiliate me!"
I walked over to him and put my tentacle around his body, "I need not embarrass you myself, friend, you do a good job of doing that yourself." Oo'rtha turned to look at me, his body now shifting to a light yellow, and briefly wondered if I'd gone too far. But then he began to laugh, and I joined him as well.
That was when the alarm went off.
We looked at each other, our colors shifting from yellow to a deep black. Terror.
We slid to the main systems. "Computer, what is the issue?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. If the Zergs were mounting another rush...
Oo'rtha echoed my thoughts. "C'thun guide us, the Zergs cannot be rushing, there were negotiations just two span ago!"
"A lone bogey has been identified. It is moving at 0.1% the speed of light, heading out of sector 00723," the computer drawled.
Oo'rtha and I breathed audible sighs of relief. A Zerg Rush involved literally millions of their drones and thousands of frigates and hundreds of cruisers. Their sheer numbers had decimated our border territories, and obliterated unprepared armadas. A lone C-class frigate stood absolutely no chance against even a single wave.
I looked at the ship nonetheless, a lone Zerg ship could still bode ill. It was a violation of the accords to be in the zone of control "Computer, is the ship of Zerg Origin?"
A scanning prompt came up on the screen, "Analyzing and cross-referencing potential designs...Negative. No known Zerg designs match the given ship.
The computer then projected an image of a decidedly strange ship. It was a giant rotating circle with cabins losing the circumference of the circle. There was a single cabin in the middle, presumably the cockpit.
Oo'rtha tapped my shoulder, "Why..why is their ship rotating?" he asked.
I was at a loss myself. "Computer, why would their ship be rotating?"
The Computer said nothing for a while, running computations. "Given the ship's slow speed and curious design, it is most likely that the ship is a centrifuge, and is being used to simulate gravity on the ship."
Huh. "Why wouldn't they just use anti-matter generators, computer?"
"No reason barring ignorance," the computer responded.
Oo'rtha and I turned to look at each other, both of us a slight blue. We were in agreement then. There was something decidedly strange going on. It was out duty to the Empire to investigate, even if it mat cost us our lives. There were no other ships on the border, we were the only one the Empire could spare, and damn it were going to do our jobs properly.
"Computer," Oo'rtha said, "set a course for the ship, halt at a communication relay distance of half a second."
"Confirmation?" The computer chirped, and I have my assent.
There was sudden rippling feeling. I'd felt it a million times before, the feeling of a Jump, but I never quite got used to it, no one did, not even Admiral St'Kra. He said there was something unnatural about Jumping, that mortals were not supposed to be able to do such a thing.
It certainly was incredible. In a moment, we were there. About 100 light years, traversed in a fraction of a second. And that was with the outdated engine our frigate was equipped with.
The Computer suddenly spoke up. "We are receiving a very distinct radio-wave. Most likely a communication message of some sort."
Oo'rtha frowned. "No one has used radio-waves to communicate in a hundred years. I nodded, worried. The Zergs couldn't have found us, the zone was so large that the odds of both us and them just happen to have focused on these ships were next to none. A small part of my mind whispered, "unless it's a trap.."
I shook my head and ignored it. "It just doesn't make sense," Oo'rtha was saying "travelling at such a speed, not being able to generate *gravity* for C'thun's sake, and now..."
It suddenly dawned on me what was going on.
"It's a new species!" Oo'rtha and I exclaimed at the same time. The Neutral zone was quite large, encompassing half of this spiral galaxy. It was no surprise we had not found these people. They weren't even in a major arm, they were in a galactic backwater for C'thun's sake.
"Computer, accept," I said.
The message was complete gibberish.
I blinked, and Oo'rtha chuckled. "Right, the language barrier."
I let a tentacle rub against my forehead, feeling idiotic. Their voices were coming through, but we had no idea what they were saying. We sent our own message to them, but no avail. We got only gibberish in return.
"Should we contact the Center?" Oo'rtha asked.
I felt myself turn red. "And let them take the damn credit? Not for a second, we're going to find the location of this planet and set up comms with these people."
Oo'rtha held up his tentacles in a gesture of placation. "It's just that we have no way of understanding..." We looked at each other and laughed, the tension finally defusing.
We had been prepared to die, to sacrifice ourselves to get some intel on a Zerg attack. I had no love for the Center, but we, as a species, would not survive the Zergs without a strong defense.
And with the wight of the survival of the species on our shoulders, or so we thought, it was no wonder neither of us thought to use the universal translator.
The Translator did not work like a dictionary, it was more of a code breaker, able to identify trends in writing and speech. We just needed a larger sample size.
It took quite a few exchanged messages of what might as well have been random noise before the translator started making sense. And twice that for the translator to finally finish. "Translation complete!" The computer happily chirped, "send message?"
"We are known as Stoports," I said simply. Good first words.
And just like that the computer alarms started going off again. "Alert!" The Computer happily chirped, "A Zerg Mass has jumped past the Neutral zone. Interception impossible at current speeds.
Pure terror spiked through me and I turned a midnight black. This couldn't be happening. We had come here to risk ourselves, to serve the Empire; we were supposed to have been heroes!
Damn our luck. The one moment we left, the one time, the Zergs just happen to rush right then. We wouldn't be able to warn the outer systems in time. The communication was slower than travel, and we dared not travel into a Zerg Mass.
Oo'rtha swore, but his voice was as empty as I felt. "Damn our luck," he said, completely black with fear with some shades of red.
The aliens responded to our message and made it clear this was no case of luck.
"We know."
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting)
| 2017-03-02T08:19:12 | 2017-03-02T07:30:59 | 417 | 250 |
[WP]You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago, today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor".
|
Todd woke up one bright Monday morning and was very surprised to find Satan standing next to his bed. Again.
"What are *you* doing here?" Todd asked, or tried to. In his drowsy state, it came out more like "Wheryoodooinear?"
"Yes, yes, very nice..." the Devil replied absently. Suddenly, the demon leaned forward until his face was only a foot away from Todd's. The man jumped back, startled.
"Whoa! Hey! What's the problem here, man? You have my soul already, I thought the deal was done!"
"Shhhhhhhhh!" Satan glanced over his shoulder nervously, "Do you want the whole damn world to know I'm here? Listen," reaching into a pocket of his dark cloak, the Devil pulled out a small, glowing orb, "I have your soul right here. I'm gonna give it back to you, and in return, you're gonna do a little favor for me. OK?"
"I... what?" Todd replied, bewildered, "You're the ruler of Hell, and I'm just a random baker. What could you possibly need from me?"
Satan sighed, and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "This is going to sound weird, but... I need three dozen glazed donuts, and I need them quickly. Just leave them outside the bakery and I'll pick them up"
Todd, understandably, couldn't think of anything to say to that.
"Come on, come on, will you do it? Will you? Hurry up!" Satan said, agitated.
"Y-you're giving me my s-s-soul back...for donuts?" Todd managed to say.
The Devil rolled his eyes. "You sold me your soul two years ago in exchange for a goddamn *iPhone*. Quit complaining and get over to the shop and bake."
"I...well, I guess it would be nice to have my soul back. I'll get right on that."
Todd climbed out of bed and opened his closet. As he did so, Satan tossed the glowing ball at him, and it faded into his chest. Todd sighed contentedly as a warm feeling flooded through him. Satan turned, and headed for the door.
"Say... one last thing before you go," Todd said, "Why do you need donuts so badly anyway?"
Satan looked over his shoulder and shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? I'm hungry."
The Devil walked out the door, leaving Todd mildly scared, somewhat happy, and incredibly confused.
|
To be clear it wasn't unexpected.
He came in all his pomp, overcompensating as usual. A flurry of smoke swirled upwards, a crackle of flames, a chorus of bone chilling screams and there he was. I say he, but the creature before me was of no clearly distinct gender, more of a smudged human form - as if a child had drawn their mother or father in charcoal and then rubbed it away it with their hand.
A pale mist hung off of him, simultaneously clinging to his form and evaporating into the now acrid air. The smell of death and the emotion of loss followed his every movement.
The unseasoned individual would have been overwhelmed.
I was not. His pomp had grown old years ago.
"Why Lucifer, splendid to see you again, it has been what 3 years? how are the maleficent demon spawn?, must be the size of leviathans by now..."
He simply stared at me. His eyes, though full of malevolence, betrayed his need.
I chuckled inwardly. This was going to be good.
"You know you could just use the front door".
"Spare me the pleasantries human, I have need of something, I am invoking the Black Clause".
The Black clause. Incredible.
The clause was a small often overlooked portion of the "Black Understanding", a legal script dating back to the fall of the angels. The Black Understanding was contract. One written in the darkest spiritual magic and unutterable in any tongue.
It was said to have come about when the final agreement between Yahweh and Lucifer was hammered out in the great treaty of Sinai. It had been penned with blood from one of two ancient beasts of the abyss. Yahweh himself had captured the greatest of the beasts, the "Behemoth of Apostasy" and drawn three vials of blood. Two vials had been used in the writing of the initial Understanding. millennium later the third vial was used to pen the Black Clause, an amendment deemed crucial by all heavenly and demonic parties.
In all our years of negotiations, all of the offers, counter offers, deals and threats of eternal damnation, never had he invoked this, his greatest legal right. And now he was leading with it.
This was serious. This was beyond desperation. This was perfect.
**EDIT: ADDING BELOW**
"Why are you silent human! do you mock me? You know the governing of the Black Clause as well as I do. Once invoked..."
"Yes, yes" I cut him off waving my hand nonchalantly so as not to betray my excitement.
"Once invoked the Black Clause undoes everything. Every deal, every deed. The entirety of history erased. A hard reboot for the cosmos as it were.... what interests me oh King of Archfiends is WHY? - why now, why the Black Clause, what could...."
"ENOUGH! I will not explain the inner workings of the gehenna governance to the likes of you!"
"Oh but Lucy, yes you will.... Because I demand it"
I could see the Lord of hell frothing inside as he clenched and unclenched limbs and teeth.
"Or need I remind you, that when you took my soul we had a deal - no backsies, Mr Hellspawn"
"Take your wretched soul back mortal, the deal is no more, with the Black Clause invoked all that has occurred is undone!"
"Not our deal devil. The terms were struck and even the Black Clause cannot undo the commitment made, if you want to invoke the Clause, you know I must first agree to take back my soul and I will not enter such an agreement unless you first explain WHY!"
I leaned forward and smiled.
"Now tell me, what troubles you so Satan?"
He was silent for several minutes before composing himself.
"....it has failed human. Yahweh's plan, my plan, it has failed. All that we struck out to do millennium ago has come undone, even the mighty Yahweh is in agreement, we must invoke the clause"
"Yes of course Yahweh is in agreement, you would've gone to him before coming here, so your mighty plans have fallen? The manipulation and deceit of countless eons has been for naught?"
He was silent. I continued.
"how?"
"...mankind. it was never supposed to be like this. Your kind, we kne...we thought we knew what to expect. We thought you figured out, predictable. After 100 centuries we were sure of what to expect... you surprised even Him..."
"really...He...is a part of this?". I swallowed hard. This was no longer entertaining.
"yes. He sent me"
This changed everything. He was not to be trifled with. He made Yahweh and Lucifer the equivalent of ants. If He was involved then this transcended the Black Clause, my soul and all other matters in the cosmos.
My mind raced.
"Lucifer you are telling me that He, who has not been heard from since far before the first angelic war, since just after your rebellion - a time beyond comprehension - has suddenly arisen and sent YOU of all beings, to invoke the Black Clause? Why? what has happened, what could possibly have happened wh.. why? what have you done?
"not I mortal, you... and your kind"
I was stunned. If He was involved that meant that all beings throughout all dimensions were paused upon the precipice of destruction. He had never interfered. Never. Throughout all these countless wars, destruction, genocides, hatred and pain.
Now He was set to flip the breaker. To power everything down and start over. An action He needed the Black Clause for, a Clause that could only be invoked if I took back my soul.
Never had one man held such power. I trembled as the reality took hold.
"Human, you must agree, take back your soul, let us revoke our contract. Unbind me from this agreement, that I may sign my name to the Black Clause and prevent the White Apocalypse - we must undo everything to stop him"
I paused... him?
"him, who is 'him'?"
The devil cursed in words unpronounceable in earthly tongues. Clearly he had not intended on mentioning this detail.
"Devil, if you wan't my agreement you must tell me everything"
**EDIT: ADDING MORE AGAIN BELOW**
"Very well human. I tell you only as time grows short. A greater evil then even I has come forth. One of your kind who will soon bring all of - what is your word for it - 'existence' to extinction if we do not undo everything"
"Existence? you mean everything in and outside of time?"
He nodded.
"And one of my kind? a man? how could a mere man undo existence? Even "He" cannot undo existence without the Black Clause..."
"I know not where his power comes from mortal, only that this...man...this member of your insignificant species has been in front of our very eyes for decades, we thought him simply another damn-fool fleshling and now...." He trailed off.
"Lucifer, you know when we struck our third bargain, when you took my soul as a payment for.... 'it'... that it was an eternal deal..."
"I know this human! I had long suspected Yahweh of needing the Black Clause, never did I think I would be prepared to invoke it, when our third deal was struck I intended it as an eternal block from the Clause ever being invoked, it was my trump card, my ultimate maneuver to prevent Yahweh from undoing all, I had him blocked, fooled, he would never be able to start over! My triumph would be complete!"
"but..." I offered.
"...but never did I expect He to ask. He has been silent for an infinite time. He... He cannot be stood against, I need you human to revoke our deal. I need you to take back your soul, the un-doable one deal I struck to block the Black Clause... I now need undone..."
"you cannot fail He, can you Dark one? He found out about our deal, found out it blocked the Clause and He has tasked you with this, with undoing what you have done, that He may undo what he has done?
"Indeed"
"you will owe me Lucy, owe me far more than I have ever asked before, you know that right? In the undoing, the erasure that will follow the invocation of the Black Clause, I must be preserved, I wish to be eternal, can you grant that?"
"I cannot, however Yahweh can, and he will"
"I have your word Lucifer?"
"Indeed"
"Not good enough Lucifer, this will not be like our little agreement in Soho, I need to hear it - you know that..."
"you have my word mortal"
"Very well Hatred-Manifest, but before I accept my soul back, who is this man that has struck the metaphysical realm with such fear?"
The lord of hell was silent for what seemed like an eternity before speaking.
"He is referred to as... The Trump".
| 2016-06-27T09:11:14 | 2016-06-27T08:56:20 | 148 | 36 |
[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.
|
I slammed the tome down, exhausted. Scattered on the table were all the books I could find on demonology. Pictures of impish creatures and hell hounds and demonic monstrosities lay before me. None of them was what I was looking for. None of them was inside me.
I sighed and closed my eyes. I could still see it. That midnight black silhouette of a warped man - large arms, protruding ears. Spikes covered it's body. But the most terrifying thing were it's eyes. Glowing white eyes with no remorse or sympathy in them - eyes full of rage and anger.
Who am I? What am I?
When I look at others I can see kings and nobles buried in their soul. But when I look at myself? I shuttered. Maybe...maybe I shouldn't know. Maybe it's better if I didn't know what monster I was in a past life.
I got up from the table and began the painstaking process of putting all the books back.
With the last one in hand, I navigated to the very back of the library, scanning the shelves for the proper place to deposit the book. Suddenly something caught my foot and I went tumbling forward.
A sharp cry pierced the silence.
Turning around, I saw a small boy bruising his knee. A thin book lay open and astray a few feet away. I must have bumped into him while he was reading.
"I'm so sorry," I apologized. "I didn't see you in the dark back here. Here let me help you."
"Oh no it's fine! Really!" the boy said. He lunged at the splayed book, but I got there first.
I gasped when I pick up the book. There, on the cover, the black demon stared back.
"Wh...where did you get this? What is this?" I stammered holding out the book. My hand trembled.
"I just found it, OK!" the child lashed out defensively. "I swear I wasn't reading it or nothing! It was inside this other thing and fell out. Look please don't tell anyone. Please! Please I swear I won't say anything."
The child's eyes had terror in them. And I knew he spoke truth. There were certain materials long since banned for being too dangerous to the public. The boy had simply stumbled upon one such relic of a bygone past. He was harmless.
"It's OK," I soothed to him. "I don't care about any of that. Just tell me. What is this? What's the name of this demon?"
The boy paused, but then deciding I wasn't a threat to him, relaxed and met my gaze.
"That's no demon," the boy began. "It's...his name is Batman."
|
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.
| 2020-04-13T05:26:12 | 2020-04-13T00:28:37 | 127 | 70 |
[WP] The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, "How? How were you able to summon me?!" You're standing in the corner flipping through your grandma's cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, "I don't know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!"
|
"What the hell kinda chicken soup calls for 'Essence of Pure Evil'?!? That's like a required ingredient for summoning me."
"Look I don't know, I just followed what was in the cookbook kinda."
*"Kinda"?*
"Well yea I mean I'm not much of a cook so it was kinda confusing? It said add stock which seems kinda weird but I had these shareholder documents that I just threw in."
"I... you... who the hell adds *paper* to *soup*. What kind of high fiber diet are you on where paper is required to make you regular? Jesus fuck man you really know nothing about cooking do you."
"Look I don't know, I lied and told a tinder match I was a good cook and she's coming over in 20 minutes. I panicked."
"Well maybe now you can list, "Able to summon demons" and catch all those goth gir-Wait hold up, what company were the shares for?"
"Comcast."
"Ah yea that'd do it."
|
Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae, lay on the black and white linoleum tiles of Byron's kitchen, tentacles swinging wildly in the air. Removed from the blood waters of the Nether Sea, Korbius's gelatinous flesh sagged heavily towards the ground. Still he flailed his eight tentacles through the air angrily, slapping them wetly against pots and pans, suction cups sticking to whatever they touched and dragging them about the room.
Korbius's nearly formless body blocked the only doorway out, and Byron, terrified, held his grandmother's handwritten cookbook in two hands out in front of him, as if it might act as a shield against the otherworldly creature. The ground is slick in Korbius's crimson slime and, when Korbius flicks one of his tentacles into the air, Byron is sprayed with a shower of the cold red goop.
You could say being covered in the bodily juices of a Sixth Dimensional Demonlord was the straw that broke the camel's back. Byron certainly felt that way and decided it was as good a time as any to start screaming.
> Be silent, human! Cease your mating call! This is no time for copulation!
Byron recoiled from the deep throated voice that suddenly came from inside his own head. He looked wild-eyed around the destroyed room. "Who is that?! Help! Help me!"
> Human, it is I, Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae. Korbius speaks through your crude mind.
Byron understood none of this and screamed louder. Korbius was *not* having it.
> SILENCE!
The word was equal part mental yell as it was unrelenting command and it made Byron stop yelling in spite of himself.
> Where is Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae?
Byron was hyperventilating in relative quiet and only managed each syllable he spoke between two or three quick breaths. "You're...in...my...kitch...en..."
> How has Korbius been summoned to Kitchen?
Byron tried to channel his mindfulness meditation and failed utterly. "I...don't...know!" His breathing began to slow down. "I...was... I was reading... this book." Byron held the book up and a tentacle shot out and latched onto its cover, dragging it back toward Korbius through the mess of ooze on the floor. The gelatinous mass of demon octopus shifted on the linoleum, a process that created a series of ridiculous fart-like noises. Byron watched the absurd scene slack jawed as Korbius spun his central mass around and opened his single gargantuan eyeball.
For a moment, Korbius stared at the cover of the book held in his tentacle. Suddenly a high pitched whine emanated from the demon's beak and he flung the book back towards Byron as if it were a live hand grenade.
> The Demon Cantos! Impossible!
Byron looked down at the book as it slid across the slick, tiled floor and spun to a stop at his feet. On the hand written cover it said in big, warm letters, 'Gran's Cookbook.' It was his Grandma's hand written cookbook. She'd left it to Byron when she died, only a week earlier, along with a letter insisting that Byron learn her favorite recipes, passed down from generation to generation.
So Byron had decided to give it a try. He had been feeling a little under the weather, and so he chose to make a delicious pot of chicken soup. He broke out the old tome, opened it on the kitchen table and, going down the list of ingredients with his finger, he'd read each one aloud, a habit he'd formed when reading to help compensate for his dyslexia.
No sooner had he finished the final ingredient - 'a large pinch of salt' - than an extradimensional portal of pure light opened in the ceiling of the kitchen, out of which fell the writhing red mass of Korbius, the Demonlord of the Octopodiae. That was forty seconds ago.
Byron bent down and picked up the book, showing the strange octopus it's simple handwritten cover. "This...this? It's just a cookbook. My Grandmother, it's her *cookbook*. I don't understand."
Korbius recoiled at the further sight of the tome, opening several kitchen cabinets with his tentacles, emptying them of their contents, and slithering his entire large mass inside them, just as an octopus might squeeze its entire body into a soda bottle. As he slithered into his impromptu hiding place, Korbius began to beg.
> Please, human. Korbius did not know. How could Korbius know he spoke to a Cantor? No, Korbius could *not* know. It is Korbius's honor to be in Kitchen. Korbius would *never* speak ill of Cantor human, or of Kitchen. Korbius is thrall to Cantor human.
Byron's heart began to settle down even as his mind raced at the sudden shift in tone. He turned the book around again and brought the cover very close to his face, staring at the letters written there.
He flashed back to his reading of the recipe. Hadn't he felt a strange thrill down his spine with each ingredient read? Hadn't his hands shook, almost imperceptibly, as they traced their way down the list?
Suddenly, Byron's grandmother came to mind, old Nan, sitting in her lazy boy, smiling cheek to wrinkled cheek, and Byron could not tell whether the image was a memory or a message.
"I told you you were special Byron. That's why I left you my...cook book."
She winked, the image disappeared, and when Byron looked back at the front of the book, at the words written there, they were no longer written in plain black marker, and they no longer read 'Gran's Cookbook.' Rather, in effervescent gold ink, shining impossibly bright, even through the thin layer of Korbius's muck, bold, proud letters proclaimed a new title.
"The Demon's Cantos."
Amazed, Byron flipped through the transformed pages and where once there was only blue inked recipes for pie and soups, now there was an illuminated manuscript of epic beauty, with pages of gorgeous illustrations, strange creatures and spells with astounding names and titles.
Where once there were ingredients, now there were words of power. Where once there was a recipe for chicken soup, now there was a page entitled "To Enthrall An Octopodiae."
Korbius was now safely ensconced in the corner kitchen cabinet, only his giant eye peering out from the dark through the cracked open cabinet door. With fear apparent even in his mentally transmitted voice, Korbius asked.
> What is my master Cantor's name?
Byron looked up from the astounding book, his face awash in the magical glow of it words, and swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion. Nervously, he whispered an answer.
"Byron."
And then he passed out.
*******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
********
## Part 2 Below
| 2018-07-21T19:49:06 | 2018-07-21T18:43:26 | 1,354 | 828 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty.
|
This human will be the end of the crew. First he brings a baby galan on board because it's got "Cute little bean feet". Fully grown that monster will be the weight equivalent of 6 human adults. Then he sneaks a young nactan into the loading bay because "The goodest of boys deserve all the head pats." I've seen our data banks on the nactan packs and their ability to hunt animals in greater numbers and size then themselves.
We will be on a new planet in 3 days time... I fear for what the human will pick up next...
|
Mick stood on the bridge of the USS Cheesewheel. The first of its kind, large enough to house over ten thousand standard crew, and one human; he felt at home in its colossal rooms and corridors.
“Where’s Duncan now?” he asked his First Officer, Mina.
“Sir, we’ve lost visual. He was last seen near the cargo bay, but all the cameras have been deactivated.” She looked up from her console, and they shared a look that seemed to stretch time as his stomach twisted.
What would kill them first: the beast, if the human couldn’t find it, or a prolonged starvation if their cheese reserves were plundered? Halfway to their destination, with nothing but a seemingly endless sea of empty space for millions of kilometers, they couldn't let the food run out. As a cadet, he'd been in a situation like that before. He shuddered from the memory.
“How many soldiers do we have? We must secure the bay!” Mick rubbed the fur between his ears with a white gloved hand.
“Fifty-seven,” three voices answered at once. Mick looked over to the blind trio who stood against the wall. Though they’d lost their sight long ago—radioactive leakage from a reactor they had prevented from going critical—each had an uncanny understanding of the ship and its personnel. “However, Captain, most of them are protecting the VIPs. Ten beyond the door, guarding the bridge.”
They never should have let the USS Cheesewheel become a quasi-commercial vessel, ferrying tourists from one world to another. If Mick had had his way, they’d still have over a thousand fighting mice on board. But with most of the crew quarters turned into luxury suites, they lacked the room.
“I’ll go myself.” Mick slammed a fist against his console.
“Mick,” Mina’s cheeks blushed. "Captain," she corrected herself.
On the bridge he was Captain and she was First Officer. The familiarity between the two had grown over the past several years. Mick had hoped one day, after retirement, they’d have some kind of future together. Now, the dream seemed like just that—a dream.
“You can’t go alone,” she added, raising from her chair.
“I’ll take five of our best with me,” Mick said as he checked the charge on his blaster. “We’ll find the human”—Mick shook his head—“or that beast he calls Kitty.”
“Let me go with you!” Mina crossed the distance, pulling out her own side blaster.
“No,” he said, wanting to stroke her whiskers, feel the soft tuft of fur on her cheeks. “Someone has to take over command while I’m gone.”
Biting her lip with her two front teeth, Mina nodded. Her hand flew to her forehead. Mick copied the salute. *Goodbye*, he thought, *the USS Cheesewheel will never be in better hands as it is now.*
He broke away before he could change his mind. In her eyes he saw the only future he could ever want that didn’t involve captaining a ship, charting unknown territories. His heart sunk as he crossed the bridge, his every limb feeling weighted down with lead. He felt dozens of eyes on his back, and desired nothing more than to turn and see Mina one last time, but he feared his will would melt like swiss on a hot surface.
Instead of the human door, with its sliding of metal, he entered the small hole in the wall, into darkness.
 
*** ***
The six of them—Mick, and his five grunts—stalked the lonely halls. Another announcement blared from the ship's speakers: *Attention guests and crew! Remain in your quarters until the situation has been resolved.*
Mina’s voice put a falter in his step. He took a breath and tightened his grip on the blaster. Mick looked to his left, and then his right. The five he’d chosen for the mission were the type of mice who lived for this kind of thing. Ex-marines gone mercenary, or as their superiors called them: private contractors. Mick should've felt safe in their company. But that would only come when the cargo bay was secure, and the beast dealt with. He only wished they’d all make it back in one piece.
"Finally getting some action," Arnold said. He bumped fists with Trina and George. "This whole tourism thing was growing stale."
“Why’d we even let the human bring the thing on board?” Jerry asked. Built like a brick cheese-house, the muscles in his arms and chest stood out as he lugged the chain-blaster in front of him. The weapon could fire over a thousand slugs a minute, but it weighed several pounds. Mick doubted he himself could even lift it.
“Where’d he even get that monstrosity?” Sally asked as she peeked around the corner up ahead, one eye closed, the other sighting through the scope on her rifle. “Clear,” she said, and then waved them over.
“Picked it up somewhere on the last planet,” Mick said with a shudder. A world full of humans and the dangerous creatures they called ‘pets’. “Duncan said he could keep it confined to his room.” Mick mentally berated himself. What a terrible decision for a "captain" to make.
Sally turned, laying the rifle against her shoulder as they caught up to her. “Humans and their attachments to lesser beings.” She shook her head.
A massive white paw, like a fatal blur, snatched Sally up into the air. Her rifle clattered to the ground.
With barely a squeak, she was gone.
"Shit,” Mick muttered as he and the rest of them raced forward.
Trina, first to reach the corner, took a knee, and fired a rocket propelled grenade over her shoulder. Mick caught up just in time to watch it explode harmlessly above the fleeing Kitty, leaving a black crater in the hallway wall.
The beast stopped. It turned to them with its eyes glowing an awful green, glaring at them.
Rounds from Jerry's chain-blaster punched the ground near the beast. Close and closer they drew as he turned his body, aiming the thing nearer Kitty. Trina knocked him sideways with her shoulder and shoved his weapon down. When Jerry gave her a confused look, She pointed at the beast.
Dangling from its giant maw, Sally fought for freedom, banging fists and kicking her feet. Kitty barely seemed to noticed. It looked at them as if to say: *you're next.*
With a hard click, Trina engaged the bolt on Sally's fallen rifle, but it was too late.
They were gone.
Mick looked around. Saw the terror they were all trying to mask. Even Arnold, for all his bravado, looked shaken. Mick's eyes dropped to linger on a small splash of blood on the ground where Sally had last stood.
Gone in the blink of an eye, he thought.
Now they were five.
| 2019-11-21T07:13:40 | 2019-11-21T06:54:39 | 138 | 81 |
[WP] After being told she had an accident and had "gone to heaven", his mind exploded in a white hot rage. 7 year old Roger wants his kitty back and God doesn't know what's about to hit him.
|
God looked up in alarm as the golden gates opened from outside, and from them an angel stumbled in, rasping.
"My lord-" was all that he could manage, before a shotgun blast rang through the air, silencing him. As the angel fell, looming just behind him, \*he\* approached.
"So, 'Jehovah'..." Two shells went in, and the snap back reloaded the weapon. "Where's the cat?"
\#"I... I DON'T KNOW-"
A toss through the air. A head. It was Michael's. "I won't ask again." The seven year old's face was calm, but it was, in truth, a lie, nothing more than an illusion to cover the boiling abyssal cauldron of rage that lay underneath.
\#"I PROMISE THEE, LOOK..."
A scroll was produced. Roger looked over it with a glance. He smiled wanly. Without a word, he turned his back on the deity, and walked away.
"So..." he said to himself, producing a sharpened shovel. "Looks like this trip will be taking a turn down south."
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Part 3: Roger v.s. A Godlike Government.)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections; however, there are references to other stories which I've linked in the text. For continuity purposes, I gender-swapped the cat to be male.)
**Apparently, God wore a crisp black suit and a shiny shield badge.** At least, that was what Roger had learned today. He'd been playing hide-and-seek in the front yard with Connor when an unmarked car slid up and a man with a cage walked out. The man didn't see him—Roger was *really* good at hide-and-seek. Roger watched him warily as he swiftly strode towards the faded front door of their ramshackle, one-story house; Connor had some kind of job at a Tupperware factory, and had barely managed to afford a place for him and his younger brother, and he'd impressed into Roger the need to treat everything carefully, because they really couldn't afford to fix something if it broke—and if their house got too damaged, then they had a choice between living on the streets or going back to their father.
Roger knew which one he'd take in a heartbeat. They'd fought too hard to get independence from Mathias.
Evidently, the man with the suit and cage didn't agree, because he took one look at the locked door and rammed his fist on it, shaking splinters from its frame as he went. "OPEN UP! This is the Califerne Animal Control Department!"
Connor was at the door in a flash; Roger instinctively concentrated harder on staying hidden. He looked at the man in the suit and marshaled his scowl into a pleasant expression. "Connor Elman. How can I help you?"
The man flashed a badge at Connor's face. "We received a report from one Mathias Elman that you've been harboring a dangerously feral animal in your home."
Roger's eyes widened. *Dad* had sent him? Did he hate them so much that he had to send government spooks after them? And a dangerously feral animal? The only animal in the house was Zeus, and he wouldn't hurt a fly.
Except... except for [that one time](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/motpak/wp_humans_have_been_giving_their_pets_god_names/), the night they left, and Dad had tried to hurt Connor and Zeus. Zeus had gotten *mad*, then, and Roger heard that Dad had gotten pretty scratched up.
But... why would Dad do that?
Connor clenched his fists. "I'm not letting you take Zeus."
The man raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid that, unless you have documentation of ownership, then regardless of what you think you can *let* me do, I will be leaving here with Zeus."
He was pushy, too. And rude. Roger's teacher would have put him in the time-out corner.
Connor did his best impression of Mr. Stal, all firm and insistent and refusing to bow down in the face of a childish bully. "And I'm afraid that you're standing on privately-owned property. Property that I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
The man smirked. "Of course, of course. And I can't be held liable if any unowned property just happened to come with me." He opened up a plastic bag of something that smelled pungent and meaty, and turned around to leave.
Connor gave him a quizzical, look, but Roger got it immediately—even before he heard Zeus' thudding footsteps cascading towards the front door.
Cat treats.
Connor realized too late. "Zeus, *no!*" He tried to snag Zeus out of the air with a Tupperware bin, but the nimble cat just moved too fast. The man deftly caught Zeus and unceremoniously shoved him into the cage he'd brought with him; too late, Zeus realized he'd been trapped.
"Who the hell do you think you are? You can't just steal my cat!" Connor stormed forward.
"Oh, I'm sorry—did you say this was your cat? I seem to recall you failing to provide documentation for him." Zeus hissed at the bars of his cage; the man placed him in the passenger seat and shut the door. "If you feel like you've been slighted, you can feel free to take it up with the Califerne office. We'll get back to you within six to eight business weeks."
Connor seemed like he was going to surge at the man and knock his teeth in; the man just stood there, leaning against his car, arms folded.
Connor hesitated, the fury in his mind cooling off. Roger could almost hear his older brother going over the lessons he'd drilled into Roger himself. *Think,* Connor would be musing. *He's being deliberately provocative. He's trying to bait you into attacking him—and that'd make your problems infinitely worse. We have enough trouble staying away from Dad without me losing my job.*
Connor clenched his jaw and stopped. "I'll do that."
The man smirked, eyeing their house's obvious lack of a car. "It's quite a long walk up the Califerne strip, but I'm sure you'll manage it."
And he slipped into his perfect black sedan and drive away.
Connor watched him go for a heartbeat. Then two. Then five.
Then he hung his head. "Zeus..." he whispered.
Roger moved up next to his older brother. "...Connor, what... what happened to Zeus?"
Connor swallowed. "He... got taken. Dad must've—that spiteful little—"
"Like Mom got taken?"
Roger's brother flinched. He looked down at his younger brother with mournful eyes. "...Exactly like that, yeah."
"So Roger's in Heaven right now? With Mom?"
Connor stopped walking and slumped over. "God. God, I hope so."
Roger frowned, his young mind turning over the words. "Who... who's God?"
Connor snorted. "The government might as well be God. They can just... storm into our house and snatch up one of our family members and we can't do a damn thing about it."
Slowly, a fury bubbled up in Roger's chest, a leonine, leashed energy like Zeus right before he pounced. "Yeah, we can," Roger snapped. "The God-government's trying to take our kitty away? Let's take him back."
Connor looked at his younger brother, then pulled out his cellphone, a flicker of determination coming to life in his eyes. "You're right." He selected a contact—his only contact, really. "We can take him back. But we'll need help."
He showed the contact to his brother, who squinted at the photo uncertainly.
And [Clara Olsen](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) stared back.
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 subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-04-13T14:50:37 | 2021-04-13T12:04:03 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends their Christmas list to Satan, surprisingly they get what they wanted but there is a catch.
|
The smell of gingerbread permeates the entire house. Klara, a young woman is looking at the gentle snow falling outside her window drinking her warm wine while her son sits in front of the warm fire. "Stop chewing on your pencil, and finish your note to Santa!" The little boy bends forward towards the piece of paper laying on the floor and starts scribbling "Dear Satan, I haev been a very niece boy to my mum and all my freinds this year. Plese send me a pantng brush and sum paints so i can becom a famuos artest!..." Once signed and sealed, the child urges his mother to take him to the post office.
On Christmas morning the little boy rushes to the Christmas tree where he finds a shining red package! He tears into the wrapping paper and pulls out a horse hair brush attached to a magnificent mahogany handle, and the most richly colored oil paints, like the ones he had seen at the art supplier's shop in town. The child grabs his new tools and rushes to his room to start on his first masterpiece.
An hour later the boy emerges covered in paint: "Look mum, it's our house with those flower boxes you like in the spring! Klara gives her son a slight smile saying "Oh, Adolf, that is a lovely painting. Maybe one day you'll be as good as that Rosenberg boy next door!"
|
Jake Flyer couldn't believe what he saw when he zipped down the stairs Christmas morning. All the presents were there. He knew it was all for him because it couldn't be for anyone else. Yes yes yes, he thought. How happy he was.
"Thank you Santa, thank you Santa, thank you Santa" he gurgled in a mashed jumble as he rushed at the heap of red and gold and green.
"Now now, Jake, you have to pace yourself," came the dreaded admonition from behind. His mother was awake. "Santa's helper told me we should wait until after breakfast when he delivered your presents. Besides, mommy only has a little time to be with my honeyboo before she has to go back to work"
Jake looked back at her smiling wrinkles and grinned coldly. He was little now, but one day she would get it. One day he would give her what she deserved.
Just as he cast one last longing glance at the galore of gifts, he realized that there was one packet which outdid them all. It lay on the top of the mountain. It was as long as himself and wide too, but its breadth was no more than the length of a soda bottle. He knew what it was. She had gotten it for him. She had bought him the bass guitar.
For days and weeks and months he had harangued her about it. He had plotted and cajoled, bartered and deceived. He would do everything she said for a year. He'd clean the gutters. He'd mow the lawn. He'd get down on his knees every night to thank God for giving him a happy life.
He sat down by the kitchen table. He felt like charged electricity. A ball of energy trapped in a glass tube. His leg tapped at the foot of the table. Tap tap tap.
"Honeyboo, do you have to do that?"
"Yes."
Tap tap tap.
"Honeyboo, I'm very tired after working all night. Please stop."
Tap tap tap.
She breathed fast and deep and exhaled.
Jake's mother was always working. Always somewhere else. He knew times had been difficult after his father died. He knew they had little money. But wasn't he the most important thing in her life?
She made scrambled eggs and crispy bacon, but Jake could not find it in himself to even summon a smile when it was put before him.
"What's wrong honeyboo. I made you your favorite."
"The egg is saggy." It looked delicious.
"I did my best, honeyboo. Please eat, or I will be worried about you all day."
He shepherded the food into his mouth reluctantly.
"How does it taste, honeyboo?"
"It's all right, I suppose," replied Jake. After he had eaten about half of the plate's contents he shoved it away on the table. He looked up at his mother gloomily.
"Can I be excused now?"
"But you didn't finish it."
"I don't want any more. It wasn't that good." He could see how her smile sagged and a slight slump lodged in her back.
"OK honeyboo. Listen, baby, I have to go to work now." She collected her things and went into the hallway to put on her coat. "Come and give me a kiss before I go, honeyboo."
Jake looked soberly at his mother.
"You don't want to give mommy a kiss?" Her singsong voice broke a little. Jake rose slowly and made a show of glibly strolling over to kiss her cheek.
"It better be the bass in the big one on top," he whispered in her ear. "Or I'll let you hear it later." With that he smiled and rushed over to the presents. He didn't even hear the door close as he tore at the feeble paper covering one of the auxiliary presents from Santa.
Jake had decided that he would wait with the bass guitar. He had told his mother that he would take it unkindly if it didn't hold what he wanted. But he knew it most certainly was.
He knew because one of the items on the list he had sent to Santa was a pick for his new bass. There couldn't very well be a pick for his new bass if there wasn't also a new bass. And the mountain of presents was proof that someone had listened. Jake was getting every single thing he wanted. He was the luckiest little boy in the world.
Truth be told he had written the list to Santa knowing that his mother would read it. He hadn't actually thought he would get any of it. More than anything, it had been a subtle hint to his horrid mother that the absence of his prize would spell trouble.
The wrapping was done away with in a hurry. A cardboard box loitered beneath. He tore at it with a ferocious zest.
It was empty.
How? What? Jake didn't understand. It hadn't felt empty. Why would anyone do something like that.
Apprehensively he reached for another one. The wrapping was red and trimmed with golden Christmasy swirls. Nothing. It was as empty as the one before. He opened another one. Nothing.
How could it be?
He looked up at the present from his mother. Real fear gripped him then. It couldn't be. It couldn't be empty also.
He flung himself at it in desperation. It was too heavy to be empty. He felt it, but still he feared. The wrapping was off it in less than a second and he threw it aside.
It was all right. The bass guitar was there. He breathed shallowly, sat back on the floor. Then he looked at the mess around him. There was paper everywhere.
By then he had realized that all the other gifts would be as empty as the first. But still he was puzzled. Why would Santa go through all that trouble just to fool him? What possible reason could there be.
Then he saw the elaborate envelope. It lay neatly before the tree. He opened it.
Dear Jake. I read your letter, and I must say it moved me deeply. I don't get many letters at this time of year, and to tell you the truth, it felt nice to be thought of as you did. Needless to say, I decided to honor your request. However, they don't call me Satan for nothing. Your list, if you will remember, was not very specific. Therefore I found myself unable to address it in any other way than in the manner before you. I hope you are not too disappointed. As for the pick you asked for, it will be delivered shortly. As you can imagine, the nature of your request made it difficult to simply package in front of a tree. Toodeloo.
Nature of his request? What was the crazy red goober talking about? He looked at the back of the letter, but there was nothing more. Crazy cook. And why had he called himself Satan?
Jake decided it would be the last time he would write a letter to anyone.
A paper fell down from his hand. Just as he bent down and scooped it up, the bell rang. Who could it be? It was Christmas morning.
He went over to the door, reading as he walked. Santa had been right. His list HAD been unspecific. He hadn't expected anyone other than his mother to read it, after all.
Wait a minute. It didn't say anything about a pick.
A dick for my new bass. He had misspelled again. No. A dick for my lewd bass. No, the words transformed in his head yet again. His thoughts felt like they were churning wood.
A dick for my lewd ass. What on Earth?
He opened the door. A man stood before him.
Oh no, thought Jake, and little more.
| 2015-11-19T12:48:22 | 2015-11-19T11:07:11 | 54 | 15 |
[WP] JFK shot first.
|
JFK is at the parade, suddenly, his president sense ™ tingles.
He takes out his modified M1 garand with reflex sight, fast mag and steady aim, his back up gun since it isn’t that big of a deal.
He shoots the killer in the chest from 10 meters, getting only a hitmarker.
The killer flees and stands behind a wall to heal his wounds, he then flees for good.
Then the parade comes and the killer tries to shoot JFK, but his head just did that soooooo.....
|
“No.” Jack said. “I will ride alone.”
“Are you crazy? I’m riding with you!” Jackie shouted with indigence.
“No you aren’t. I have a feeling. A feeling that I need to go alone. A feeling that I can’t explain. A feeling like *ka*.”
*Ka? What on God’s green earth made me say “ka”? Never in my life have I heard such a word.*
“What?” Jackie shouted. Her tone had the ferocity that only a concerned wife could use.
“I am sorry dear, but this needs to be done. And I’ll need this.”
Jack walked across the office. Mounted on the wall was a single revolver. The revolver was huge. A firearm that can only be accurately described as a *hand cannon*. The grips were a white, almost cream color. Sandalwood. Inscribed on the shining silver barrel was a single rose.
“This revolver has been in my family since long before I was born. I feel the time to use it is coming.”
Jack removed the gun from the wall and stared at it for a few seconds before turning to Jackie. He registered a look of shock on her face. Shock mixed with fear. He walked back over to her and gave a single kiss on her forehead. “Trust me.”
From his pocket, he produced 6 .45 caliber rounds. He pushed the release and the cylinder on the revolver popped open to the side. Jack methodically loaded the bullets. It felt natural. He pushed the cylinder back in to place. Jack opened his top-left desk drawer. From the drawer he pulled out a docker’s clutch and secured it on to himself. He placed the revolver in the holster and wore his jacket over it.
“I’ll see you later, Jackie.”
“I love you Jack. You’d better be right about this.”
“I love you too.”
Jack opened the door to his office. On the other side stood a gentleman in a black suit. He easily stood at almost 7 feet tall. Atop his head were a handful of pricks of hair. His eyes were masked by darkly tinted sunglasses and a clear curled wire hung from his ear.
“Ready to go, Mr. President?” asked the not-so-bald man.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, Tommy. Let’s go.”
Tommy led Jack down the long hallway. As they walked, Jack glanced left and right at the artwork that hung from the paneled walls. He stopped at one that caught his eye. A painting of a heroic figure with long flowing blonde hair. On top of his head was a gorgeous crown inlet with every kind of jewel. In his hand the figure held a long steel claymore that seemed to shine with an intensity so fierce that Jack could hardly believe it was a painting. Jack glanced down and read the golden placard that sat below the painting. It read:
“Arthur Eld wielding Excalibur. Portrait by Patrick Danville”
Jack could hardly tear his eyes away. He could hardly comprehend how a painting could have such detail. Be so lifelike as if Arthur Eld himself were to come out of the frame and stand before Jack in the hallway, exuding glory and honor that he thought could be his if he were to be so bold.
Jack felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Tommy. “We have to go, sir”.
“Yeah...right.” Jack said as his head cleared. He sounded dazed. “Let’s get a move on.”
The two men left the building. Parked out front was a beautiful black limousine. The top was down and Jack could practically smell the leather baking in the hot Dallas sun from 100 feet away. As the men got into the car, Jack had a good feeling. He felt that everything was going according to plan. *What plan? There’s no plan.* He had a feeling that today was the day. Today was *his* day. Today Jack Fitzgerald Kennedy would outrun ka.
Jack turned his head. Behind him Jackie was entering an identical vehicle. He felt for the revolver in his clutch. The cold steel comforted him. *Good. Very good.*
Thus the presidential motorcade was on it’s way. They passed crowds of people. Hundreds, maybe thousands had come out on this day to see him. All in support of him and what he had set out to do. It was a humbling experience, something that made Jack feel loved.
As the motorcade rounded the turn into Dealey Plaza, Jack spotted something interesting. Or *someone*. Amidst the crowd, he could see a man who was taller than the rest. He wore a large hat that seemed to cover most of his face as well as a long yellow coat that reached below his knees. Through the coat Jack noticed the man’s clothes were somewhat *loud*, of varying colors that had no business being worn on the same person. *This is it.* Jack knew this was his mark. As if confirming his suspicion, the tall man in the yellow jacket looked up and began to reach for something on his hip. As the man made his way through the crowd, Jack could see that it was a pistol. A loaded pistol. Loaded with bullets surely meant for him.
“STOP THE CAR” Jack shouted.
“Are you serious? We’re in the middle of the parade we can’t stop now. That’s crazy-“
“STOP THE CAR!” Jack’s voice boomed. To this day Tommy swears that was not the voice of Jack Kennedy, but rather the voice of a guardian angel speaking through him. Tommy slammed the brakes. The rest of the motorcade managed to stop behind without incident.
Jack leaped out of the limo, pulling the hand cannon from its holster. As his feet touched the ground next to the vehicle, the man in the yellow jacket reached the front of the crowd. He smiled at Jack with gnarled yellow teeth and opened his mouth, about to say something. Provably something important.
Before a single sound could escape the hideous man’s mouth, an ear-shattering BOOM ripped through the courtyard. To Jack, the bullet flew in slow motion. He watched as it shot out of the barrel of his revolver. It spun in the air on a perfect trajectory. Jack had aimed true. The bullet whizzed in to the open mouth of the man in the yellow jacket. His head exploded in a disgusting mix of bone, skin, and brains. The gun fell from the man’s hand and the rest of his body slumped over and hit the pavement. Half the bystanders in the crowd were splattered with blood. However that didn’t matter. Most of them will remember this as single most important event of their lives.
It was the day President John F. Kennedy saved himself. He saved himself and thus saved the rest of the world. Because of this day, the world will continue to move forward. The wheel of ka will continue to spin and the world will not move on. Everything will remain as it should, all thanks to the Last Gunslinger.
| 2018-03-21T08:25:25 | 2018-01-02T10:11:54 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] You were accidentally killed by a god. As compensation,you're offered a job as a god of something of your own choosing. Your choice was surprising.
|
"I want to be the goddess of preventing Zeus from fucking random girls on the street."
Zeus rose to his feet, furious. "She can't do that!" His mouth was twisted into a scowl.
"Actually, she can. Even if it is just to spite you for uh, fucking her to death." Hades said, not even glancing up from his book.
Hera smiled warmly at me. I had a feeling we were going to be great friends.
|
"God of...destruction?"
"Yep." Says I, as I sit there, me peg-leg lounged upon the feller's desk.
"Captain Fenrir, with all due respect, I feel like perhaps you should pick something less.....dangerous."
"I says I want ta be a god o' destruction!! destroyin' lives is what I did fer a livin' back on tha high seas o tartarus, destroyin' hopes an' dreams is something I felt great satisfaction in doin' an' destroyin the sumbitch what took me life in his ornery and most vehement ire, why that shall be my ultimate undertaking.....I sailed the ten seas, brought fire and fury to the cutlass coast, elves quake at me passing, sahagin tremble at me very name and-"
"you'd be under an obligation to destroy worlds."
I sniff and shrug. "Not like me world did me any favors...case in point-" I points to me pegleg.
the feller, a man with great golden wings and a set o' golden gazallion horns spiralin' up atop tha prettiest face ye e'er did see on a man, let alone a seraph, gives this long-winded sigh as he peruses the list of sins i've committed, tryinta find some fault, ANY fault ta help him back out o' this bargain he's hit me with.
"It says here you once saved an orphanage from a sahagin raiding band."
"Why seraph!" says i, clutchin' me breast as though he struck me with an arrow or three- "Don't ye know? A god o' destruction can't just be destroyin' good folk and wicked folk! sometimes we gots ta destroy ideas...Like the idea that those fishbacks could just walk into MY territory, and kill MY property!!! them kids were practically me citizens and-"
"You reason it out, but you're not so blackhearted as you claim to be."
"Never claimed I was, I was also destroying the idea that a pirate needs be a blaggart with a soul of solid iron! what manner o' self respectin pirate lets an orphanage get turned tae chum i ask ye?"
"and then there was that one time you spared a ship, despite the fact that it contained a wealth of jewels."
"Was settin' an example tae me crew, I pressed em overhard during a particularly turbulent season, ye know th' one, hurricanes blew in harder than e'er, why the great tower atop th' ocean maw, that big garping chasm in th' oceans blue, why it ended up being torn apart by th' winds!! that weren't no small tower neither, durned thing reached t' the heavens themselves and-"
"and so you were setting an example by...not letting them give in to their wild urges?"
"AYE!" says i, slammin' me fist atop th' gold desk decorated as it 'twere with all manner o' flower and angely designs fit tae make me vomit. gods artists are th' worst, they all paint the same damned things no matter their mean, sometimes they might paint somethin' other than PRETTY FLOWERS OR PUPPIES OR NOBLES DANDYIN' ABOUT LIKE CANDYASSES, but rare them times be. I'd pay fer a picture o' a man cutting his eel off in the wind with a smile on his durned face, just ta see something original fer a change!!
"But we both know you let them go because you didn't want your crew murdering them."
"Me crew's got tae have standards, if they mutinied me...well then obviously they wouldn't be me crew now would they?"
"and you'd be dead and shipless."
"Pah! why d'ye think I sailed so close to a cluster o' ilses with good wood on em? this weren't me first rodeo, I know how tae prep a mutiny i can survive when I see it comin' don't ye doubt!!"
"There was no destruction there to be had." he went on.
"Nay, there was so!" says i.
"I destroyed their petty delusions o' granduer, they're buccaneers, not murderers!! th' day i take a bunch o' killing fiends aboard me pirate ship is th' day i accept that i'm unfit ta be a businessman!! and it was e'er about tha business lad!!"
he flashes me a mean look. "I'm twelve hundred years old."
"Aye, a lad like i said." says i, laughing.
"F-fine, you'll become a god of destruction...alright? but understand this as fact right now, your world will be the first to go, a deity must cut all ties, and it is an accepted practice that a god of destruction begins with his native world, a fitting show for the pantheon."
"But if i up and destroy it all at once, there won't be nary a thing left fer me tae destroy afterwards!!" cries i, angered by the prospect of such waste.
"The rest of the pantheon will be angry if you don't.
"Let em be! th' best sort of destruction, me seraph friend, is th' sort that takes time...piece by miserable piece, ideal by filthy ideal, illusion by flickering illusion, no sense in wasting it all by destroying it in one go now is there?"
the seraph was struggling with this, clearly at a loss, but finally, he concedes and hands me a big ol' fruit.
"take this, devour it, it's divine ambrosia, with it, you shall gain the powers of the divine......captain fenrir, i hereby name thee-"
"Fenrir, god of destruction, and i'll hear nary another name associated with me!" roars i, as i take me first bite.
with that done i feel divine might flowin' intae me limbs, me peg-leg falls off and a new limb grows in its place, and then the seraph collects his book and gets up.
"I shall tell odin that the matter has been resolved and-"
"and tell that lily-livered sea-snake that when i find his arse....It's as good as mine!" Growls i, as i storm outta the room ta take me place on th' pantheon o weak, pitiful gods what think that they should obey one another and cooperate.
Odin, lord of the eternal ocean storms, shall pay fer killin me crew, shall pay fer takin' me isle full o bawdy wenches and good friends.
He slew me family just tae git one durned fool, and i'll make him suffer...or me name aren't fenrir, former dread pirate o' tha ten seas!!!
| 2018-05-26T06:58:55 | 2018-05-26T06:54:54 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
|
“So, what is it like down here?”
Asked Jared, the new rookie. Clint shifted uneasily from foot to foot. The old man, although well accustomed to mining for coal, obviously was not accustomed to speaking to his coworkers.
“It’s Hell.”
Was all Clint could manage. Jared thought this was an appropriate answer. The mining life was vicious, to say the least. Almost none made it past the mid part of their life due to the sickness and the dangers of being in a pitch black tomb. Although he knew every danger of it, Jared didn’t have much of a choice for a career. After losing his parents in an accident as a child, Jared had always worked to provide for his youngest sibling, and now the financial strain had also fallen onto him.
The elevator groaned on, and their descent began. As the cart began to lower, Jared felt suffocated by the darkness that engulfed him. Closing his eyes, he tried to call upon the happy memories he had of the world above. Images of the time he took his brother to the park appeared in his head. The smile that cracked on his brothers face whenever Jared helped him on a difficult math problem. His sibling was truly what kept Jared going in the aftermath of what happened.
The elevator arrived at the bottom of the mine with a small shudder, and the men went to work in the dark to provide light to those in the sun. Time stood still in a place like this. Sounds of hammers hitting rock, and machines moving pieces of earth to the surface were the only instances of movement here.
Jared worked has hands to the bone that first day. After what felt like eons, the whistle finally sounded for the days work to be over. Jared came up to Ryan, an old friend from his days in school, and the two chatted briefly about things. Eventually, talk of work began and Ryan said,
“Just remember, Jared, the ones who play hero down here usually end up dead.”
That’s when they heard it. A sound that vibrated within their whole body. The cave felt as though it were alive and furious.
“CAVE IN!”
Shouted the supervisor somewhere in the pitch black. Everyone quickly began moving to the elevator as fast as possible. Then, the ceiling began to break apart. Jared found himself running next to Clint as the two broke for the elevator.
That’s when he heard it. A sickening snap from his leg when he stepped wrongly. Sharp pen shot through his whole body as Jared fell to the floor clutching at his lower leg. He looked up and saw Clint had turned around to look at him.
“HELP! PLEASE!”
Jared cried out, Clint looked at Jared, then his glance went to the ceiling. Jared followed his gaze and saw rocks falling between the two of them. Clint gave a last glance at Jared, then turned and ran towards the elevator once more.
As the rocks covered the only way towards salvation, Jared’s headlamp began to flicker. In the dark, no one would see his pained expression. In the dark, no one knows what men do to survive to a ripe old age.
|
The flash of the enemy units, mounted and bristling with fresh steel sent a tremor through Tynor's heart that he couldn't decipher. Was it fear or excitement? Bloodlust or desire?
"Keep firm ahead, and we'll live to see another day," Came the advice of the warcaller, second in command. His armor was dented and scratched, deep rends barely repaired by the hammers of the camp. "Beware false hope."
The plan has lasted all of three seconds before they entered the bladed mile, the cursed passage of the border, where reality had unentwined itself from the mortal suppositions.
The only warning they got came from the birds, crying out underneath of them. Then the spray of blood from the enemy ranks. Then the sudden and total loss of their magics, awarded to them by bloodline, right of conquest, and divine providence. There were screams.
The border to the zone had shifted a mile, perhaps sensing the fresh blood approaching it. Or perhaps, fickle fate had decided that this would be the day it would intervene in the border conflict.
The swords came down upon them with all the force of an avalanche. Ground and rock and solid terrain twisted into abominations of steel and sorcery, roaring mouths filled with teeth and blades dripping fresh polish.
"KEEP TO THE PATH!" roared the war-caller, his mace thrown to the sky. "AND GATHER TO ME!"
The warbirds screeched out in defiance, and Tynor's hands dug deep into the reins to keep his own bird on course. Keep it straight ahead on the planned route.
But the top of the company was already gone, griseled chunks of steak left behind with blades had flayed away the skin. Twisted, turning around and around and around until bone marrow cracked open upon what little terrain was left. The blades came down, one by one by one in nervous appraisal, twisting and twitching. They came without rhyme, they came without reason, and men fell to the ground dead, piece by piece.
Mounted knights took steps out of line to avoid and were cut down piece by piece. Tynor stared up at them from the back, and slowly raised his shield. The impact struck him and knocked him far and away from the top of the course, and he and bird rolled down the hill, Tynor's magic, desperately hoarded, barely reacting to his demands, to the swell of his heart and the screeching pain of velocity, barely protected him and the beast. Despite it, hot sand kicked into straining muscles and ate away at his armor as shapes dug up from the depths and pounding against him.
At once he was in the air, and another he was on the ground, and another he was kicking his bird to keep moving up an impossibly large slope, cleaved full of swords and hooks. At one point he saw the dagger of an assassin and knocked it away, sending a vial of poison rolling into the depths of hell where it sparkled back into gasoline and ignited, mixing smoke into the depths of madness.
His teeth grit against one another, sweat rolling down his skin, as the rest of the shouts met him, piece by piece. Cut down. Tremulous. The bird jerked to a halt, looking around, snapping the metal tipped beak together nervously.
A prayer sprang to his lips. Battle, need, desire. A place to rest his head and clean his blade. All of the words the monks had taught him in the temples to the north.
The bird knew better than he did, but he could smell the polish hovering in the air, and he could smell death on the wind. Could see the grass lined with steel now, clicking together in a distant wind to the beat of a heart that was larger than mountains. Distantly, overhead, Tynor spied the eye of the red war god looking down upon him with all the concern of a child inspecting ants. With all the ideas of a man who wanted peace but demanded nothing but war.
And the blades fell upon him in and instant, noticing his paradox. Long sprightly lines of silver, great hooks of steel, and an abomination of brass upon the dark iron sands below. His shield came up, brass, embossed with prayers and hopes for his family line, and the blades were repelled once. His arm jerked back as the impact jolted clear through to the bone, set his teeth rattling, but he had to keep going.
"Beware false hope," he muttered under his breath, tongue loosened, bloody from where his teeth had dug into it, clicked together. It dripped down his chin as he slowly moved that sword away from his bird.
The bird let out a tittering noise at him, but he could feel the heartbeat thump out piece by piece with each movement they made.
They had survived, if but for a moment, but as Tynor peeked out, he saw nothing but the edges of thousands of blades, and the rattle of hooks. The green sun beat down upon the black desert, and he could smell blood, rust, polish, and even distant, the ever present smell of the desert itself. And somehow, over that, he smelled more fire.
His bird chirped at him, and Tynor drug his gauntlets down to scratch across the bird's beak where the metal had dug into the skin. He pried at it, automatically, on auto-pilot, and stared into the mess around him. A crowning citadel of rising steel, walls of quivering blades. Death, on both sides.
A garish plume of smoke bloomed in the distance. He stared at it for moments while his eyes adjusted, and then it bubbled and boiled with the pattern of an emergency flare. Tynor counted his heart beat and tried to calm his breath. He reached into his pouch and provided the noble bird with a bit of jerky.
It crooned and dug into it, spurs clicking with glistening brass.
Then he took the reins again, strained and splattered with blood, though he could no longer remember who died and who had survived, and tugged on his dominion. It ached, terrified, and flitted back to him in this strange place.
Tynor stole a glance up and stared at the trailing field of blades inching towards the war god distant overhead, watching with the face of a maiden, and then stole his glance back at the distant fire.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had a soldier to meet up with.
----
The War-Caller greeted him as his horse hopped up stairs carved out of molten metal.
"Ho!" He waved on, his helm split into chunks of metal across a face that Tynor had never seen before. Old, etched in age, covered in soot and rust and metal polish. The only injury was a single cut decorating the tip of the eye socket, but the eye flicked to him as he stared at it.
It was unbecoming for the face to be revealed so garishly, but Tynor found he could not care. His own helmet slid off and bounced across the metal sand, rust and blood mixing together.
"Sir!" He called out, his bird nervously sidling over to the other bird.
He'd never seen the company's birds break formation so quickly before, but their beaks preened at one another's feathers, leaning against one another.
Had it been hubris that had led him here, or something else entirely?
"Tynor," The war-caller greeted, flicking his white hair behind him. "Glad you can join me for my vigil."
"Vigil sir?" Tynor asked, stepping forward.
The caller shoved Tynor down on the ground and smiled at him. "Clearly Auren herself has decided that today's offensive would not come to pass. Who am I to disagree with the divine?"
Tynor stole another glance up into the sky. "But... she butchered us."
"She does that," The caller agreed. "But we're both alive, aren't we?"
Tynor swallowed and reached into his supplies. He found his water skin, filled just that morning, and drank greedily from it. The war-caller made no move to reach for his.
"Yes, but..." Tynor said, slowly. "My magic protects me. How did..."
"Your magic will not protect you long," The War-caller said, grimly. "And I have made a habit of surviving what the War god brings us."
"But this war is not what the goddess demands," Tynor said. "I can't..."
"We will war as our company demands," The caller returned, nodding slowly. "Let our masters decide what is right, they'll be the ones tasting our weapons, one by one."
"But..." Tynor sat down properly and stared into the depths of the signal fire. He still felt the eyes of the war god upon him, wearing the face of a maiden.
"Until then, we will stay here, and we will talk about the old songs, and we will wait for a rescue," The caller's yellow eyes twinkled with divine providence.
"Have you heard about the reign of the red prince?"
And then they sat there and awaited their judgement in that blighted place.
-----
For More like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
I am back from vacation, so let's get back into the swing of prompts!
| 2018-07-15T09:28:11 | 2018-07-15T08:27:17 | 388 | 10 |
[WP] As a joke/Tic, an atheist always thanks the Dark Lord when good things happen. When they die, they are shocked to find out that The Dark Lord is real, and they are his favorite follower, as they never, ever asked for anything.
The Dark Lord's favor could be pleasant, or ironic, or mundane. Or maybe it's a Dark Lady, who knows?
|
I will always start my day with my Daily Praise and Thanksgiving..
"Praise the Dark Lord"
Even though Im no man of God, i would never falter to Smile and appreciate this make-believe God i knew, for myself..
"Praise the Dark Lord"
Til the day came that i would be put to an eternal slumber, I will worship..
"Praise."
Immediately like clockwork. I can see the shadowy visage, 4 slim, lanky appendages. The inhuman twisting of the body in this hellish void i was cast upon. His face was vague and can awestruck any mortal.
"Ore wa chinchin ga daisuke nandaiyo" It spake
I smile and whispered.
"..The Dark Lord"
|
Dawn came down on the night, hard, cracking open that velvety, star-flecked sky like a thrush's egg, and trickling over the city in fat yellow gobs was that slow soupy sunlight, making way for another crisp autumn morning. In their homes, all the dogs and cats scratched and yapped at their owners' beds, looking to be fed for the first time in hours. Small children woke up earlier than what seemed possible to drowsy parents, who had impossibly hard times waking them up on school days. The many and groaning hordes of senior citizens shuffled out from quiet places, looking for the most *bang-for-your-buck* early bird specials; while the criminals, and hoodlums, and jobless teens slunk out from the glare of flickering streetlights and into the shadows, which would soon be exposed.
Oblivious to all of this, to the hustle and bustle of a new day in a new city, was Felix Clover, who just moments ago unwittingly stepped in front of a passing city bus, and was concurrently flattened to the approximate dimensions of a pancake. He had not a moment to search the dreary face of the bus driver—who in all fairness had had a long day and was, funnily enough, one stop away from getting off his shift—before things went dark and the sky opened up above him.
He realized he was dead even in the moment before he died. It was just one of those things: *ante-mortem post-cognition,* you might call it. He *felt* the life leave his body even before blood was leaking from him like he was a ringed sponge, which was strange in itself as the connection between his nerves and his brain had been about as communicative as a satellite and a modem on the opposite sides of the universe.
Felix's new location was also helpful in identifying his state of being. The thin man had arrived in a long, marble hall, that started off a dash narrow, but grew out as one walked toward the not far-off "light at the end of the tunnel." Eventually the white, fixture-adorned ceiling tapered off, opening up to blue skies, filled with the kind of wispy clouds that spoke of sunny rays and happy days. He walked free of the tunnel-walkway thing, and shuffled into the center of a wide grassland that overlooked a sprawling cityscape, a strange Fey reflection of the place wherein he lived and died. It was New York as seen through a kaleidoscope.
"I thank you, Dark Lord," he mumbled reflexively, a little habit he had picked up after reading the *Hobbit*, coming to misunderstand the concept of "Reverse Psychology" shortly thereafter. A queer pulse went throughout the surrounding environs, like heat shivering in the air—but Felix went on, heedless. "I was real scared that when I died I wouldn't know, and everything about me would just... go. My essence would be gone, and Felix Clover would cease to exist. But even if this is some trick, or bizarrely disguised Hell, or a remarkably cruel and convoluted trap. Even if it is, at least my being will live on."
Appearances were appearances and usually what you saw was what you got, but Felix knew—*inherently knew* that he had not been pulled up into heaven by some benevolent deity, gifted a blessed eternity among willing girls and free booze. Sure, it *looked* like a paradise, straight out of the masturbatory fantasy of some militant fanatic from the Middle East in fact, but there was a strangeness about the air, an undertone which the place assumed he was privy to.
*What a strange thing,* he thought, *usually places can't really assume anything.*
But he'd never been anywhere like this before, so all bets were off. And, really, this one was different.
A few meters ahead the grassland came to an abrupt halt; or, well, not a *halt* so much as a 100-ft drop down a steep cliff-side, laden with strange, twining branches and sharp jagged rocks. He wondered, abstractly, how harmful things—that would have checked the little *Dead* box on his Human card when he was living—would affect him now. Would he die again, only to be sent back to the tunnel? Or would he toil beneath the cliffs in immortal agony, dying but never dead? Or did this place fold beneath his will like the fabric of his lucid dreams? Or—
Above the harsh lines of the strange New York, there was a great black stretch of something, which Felix had been ignoring, quite purposely, up to this point. He had been doing so because atop what looked to be a floating slab of black marble was a great chair. And on the chair had reclined a being so foul, so contemptuous, so... well, dark—and no one wants to stare at some abyssal figure, especially not when it stirs a feeling, tickles an unknown half-memory that can't *quite* be recalled. That figure *had* been reclining, but what now caught Felix's attention stood at the edge of an inky, floating precipice. Seemed to be looking right at him.
Deciding that his next logical move was to get there and greet that dark figure—which was about the standard logic of any video game hero, something Felix would have ballooned with pride, had he known—he walked toward the out-of-place monorail that jutted from the flat edge of the cliff and out over the green-grey water below. There was no train, just an *on-rails* ball of clear glass and sleek, dark metal. Felix looked around one final time, admiring the emptiness of the plain, then he swung open the door and hopped inside.
Much like on an elevator, there was a selection of destinations for him to choose from. The *menu*, if you will, was remarkably like an iPad, set into the center panel of the tram. He read down the list of available locations:
**Harmonius Chamber** No.
**Dynasty Tribunal Room** No.
**Three Hidden Lusts of the Granite Maiden (Floor 1)** No.
**Three Hidden Lusts of the Granite Maiden (Floor 2)** Double no.
**Three Hidden Lusts of the Granite Maiden (Floor 3)** Triple nope.
There must be thousands of these locations, he thought. He scanned his eyes all along the endless array of flat buttons on the flat touchscreen, and eventually found a *Search* bar. He had to admit it was convenient, but only if you knew what you were looking for. He typed the first thing that came to mind. And Lady Luck was with him. *I thank you, Dark Lord.*
**Dark Sky Tower (Floor 1)**
And on and on, until...
**Dark Sky Tower (Floor 848)**
**Dark Sky Tower (Floor 849)**
**Dark Sky Tower (Roof, Floor 850 - The Black Court)** <
Felix jammed his finger against the "button," and was soon speeding across the sky at mach 6.
| 2015-08-17T07:06:15 | 2015-08-17T00:53:01 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0...
|
“Hey kiddo, how’d your day go?”
“It was, I did, I think it was, uh, good.”
“That’s good to hear, buddy. So… did anything interesting happen?”
“I dunno. Mama picked me up from school, and she, and we walked down the bridge, and there—oh, and there was a man on the bridge!”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah daddy, but he was *on* the bridge. Like—“
He laid one of his hands flat, and then put two fingers on his opposite hand on top of it to mimic a person standing on top of something.
“Well that’s not how you’re supposed to walk on a bridge! Silly man… what happened when you saw him?”
“He was, uh, he was *crying*, and Mama told me to stay away, but I didn’t wanted to because he was sad. So I went up to him and I grabbed his leg, and I, and I said ‘why are you crying?’ because he was crying.”
“Yeah, I think you mentioned that he was crying. What did he do when you grabbed his leg?”
“He came down and, and he picked me up! Like this like big!” He stretched his arms high over his head, and then wrapped them around himself. “And then he hugged me, and then he said thank you, and then I saw a bird and—“
I sat there and kept a level smile as my son continued to tell me about his day. My gaze drifted once more to that number floating above his head, and I couldn’t help but feel a spike of tears in my eyes.
-1.
|
They say when you take a life, you carry that life with you until the day you die.
I've read some interviews (watched Youtube videos) with murderers doing life in prison, and they all say the same thing. Some variation of, "whenever I close my eyes, I see my victim's face."
The thing about murderers is that, unless they're in an orange jumpsuit or on wanted posters, you don't know their secret—that they've killed. Imagine if you could know... Imagine if you could see a number floating above someone's head telling you exactly how many people they've killed. Your neighbors, your grocery clerks, your coworkers, your partner...
What would you do if there was a kill count floating above their head? If you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they've taken a life. Or more...
Me? I stay clear of them. What else can I do?
But sometimes, there is no staying clear.
\*\*\*
"Are you sure you've got this?" Karla, my wife asked. She was standing in the front door of our house, rolling luggage at her feet, thermos of Brazilian Bold in her fist. She was—is the love of my life—and her knowing about my...ability, and accepting me nonetheless, is a big part of my loving her. She's also a total babe. And...the mother of our five-year-old, Jake. "It's not too late to call the babysitter. Please tell me you've got this."
"You know," I said, shoving my hands into my Jedi bathrobe pockets, "I think my feelings are starting to get hurt here, Karl. I'm not some complete idiot."
She smiled. "No, you're not. But how am I supposed to forget Orlando?"
"That was an isolated incident! Besides, we found him in like, ten minutes." I sighed. "Please, you can count on me."
She pressed her palm against my cheek and leaned in for a kiss, swerved from my puckered lips, and planted one on my forehead. "Play it by the book, okay?"
I nodded.
And with that, my wife left on a week long business trip, leaving me and Jake alone. Silence filled the house for a moment, the kind of silence between lightning and thunder, the kind of silence before the world shakes. The kind of silence before war.
"Okay!" I shouted, turning from the door. "Prepare for batt—"
A nerf bolt hit me right where Karla had kissed me. I grinned, pulled two Nerf pistols from my voluminous robe pockets, and struck a Gun-Fu pose. "You're going down, Jake-sama!"
\*\*\*
In the end, both Jake and I ended up puking. Him from overstimulation, and me from eating a big breakfast before running all over the house like a madman while screaming and firing Nerf guns. We cleaned up the mess, had carrots and hummus for a snack, and plopped on the couch to watch Vicky the Brave Llama, Jake's favorite cartoon. It was about noon when Grover rang the bell.
I opened the door, and our mailman stood there holding a package. He was in his late fifties, black, and had a golden, spectral 1 floating above his company-issued bucket hat. I never asked about it and he never brought it up. So, we left it at that.
"Morning," I said, still tasting the hummus from earlier. I tried not to wipe my cheek pockets with my tongue. "Anything good today?"
"Shiiiiit," Grover said, stretching out the word into a sentence. "Not a damn thing." He handed me the certified envelop and a digital pad to sign. "Sorry bout this one, chief."
It was a jury duty notice. "Ah, dammit."
He handed me more mail, mostly Karla's, and peeked around me for a second. "Just you and the kid?"
"Yeah. Wife's out of town on business."
He nodded, as if I'd said I was going to war. "You'll be alright."
"I know," I said, totally not defensively. "You know, I am a capable father."
Grover eyed by bathrobe. I followed his eyes and found a little patch of semi-dried puke hanging on my collar. I smiled. "Puke. You know kids."
"You take care, chief."
"Yeah, you too," I said and closed the door.
I dropped the mail off on the kitchen counter, topped off my coffee mug, and padded back to the living room. Becky and her owner, a little mountain girl named Sora, were busy climbing treacherous mountain trails on the TV, and I plopped back down on the couch to watch.
There's a lot of reasons why I could have been a shit dad. First, I had a shit dad. That sort of sets you up for failure unless you do something about it. And I did. Second, I'm a recovering addict. Despite being eleven years clean and sober, there's always that trickle of doubt in my mind. Karla doesn't doubt me. She worries, she's cautious, she cares. But she doesn't doubt me. Sometimes, that's worse than if she did doubt me. At least that way, I can't disappoint her. But, here we are. And third, I can see numbers floating over people's head showing me how many people they've killed. What kind of dad can do that?
Me.
Yeah, I get a little distracted. Yeah, some days are tougher than others, but—
I turned and looked at where Jake should have been on the couch. He wasn't there.
"Jake?" I shouted. "You know you gotta tell me if we're playing hide and seek, right?"
No answer.
A stab of panic shot through my chest. He had to be hiding. He still asks me to help him go potty, so that can't be it—unless he's going on his own? First thing's first. I'll find him, and when I do, I'll remind him of letting daddy know when he goes off by himself.
"Okay!" I shouted, hiding the fear in my voice. "Ready or not; here I come!"
\*\*\*
Two hours later, I had my phone in my hand, Karla's number on screen, my thumb hovering over the "CALL" button. I'd turned the entire house upside down.
I was not panicking. My body may have been freaking the hell out, but my mind was calm, zen even. It was the calm that always came when shit went sideways in my life. It scared me sometimes, but right now, it was the only thing keeping me from losing it.
Karla must still be at the airport. She's always hours early for her flights. If I call her now, she'd come back in a heartbeat. She'd help me keep my cool, and we'd search for Jake together. She'd also never trust me to watch our son alone again.
What kind of father would that make me? Can't even trust me to watch our kid for a couple of hours before losing him.
I crumpled to the living room carpet. The couch was overturned behind me. I stared at my phone.
"I'm such a piece of sh—"
"Daddy!"
I whipped around so fast my phone went flying out of my hand. Jake was standing by the glass doors leading out to the backyard. Of course! Why hadn't I checked there?
"Honey, where have you been! I was looking—"
Jake had his mother's dark, sleepy eyes and button nose. He had my dusty brown hair and lighter complexion. He was beautiful. Proof that something good can come from me—half of me. And floating above this living, breathing miracle, my precious baby boy, was a golden, spectral number 1.
Fuck.
\*\*\*
\[Part 2 to come?\]
| 2022-10-21T10:37:34 | 2022-10-21T09:31:27 | 80 | 41 |
[WP] A serial killer who kills hitchhikers picks up a serial killer who kills the people who pick him up.
|
A long, narrow gravel road stretches into the distance. Along it, a small yellow beatle sends long plumes of dust into the air as it sweeps down the valley. Two voices fight their way out of the cramped cabin and travel past the grinding machinery, to where the animals sit still in the brush, listening.
*sigh*
The car screeches to a halt.
"Okay, god damn it, get out."
"WHAT? Umm I mean, what?"
"I saw that look in your eyes when you tried to smile at me then. I see the same greedy stare every time I check my mirror..."
"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes you do, damnit, and you call that a hidden firearm?"
"Oh, I'm just excited"
"Oh yeah?"
"That's actually true, I don't carry a gun. I instead murder with a hidden knife in my sleeve!"
"Yeah? Well open the glove box there for me will ya?"
The man in the passenger seat cracked open the glove box and the driver quickly snatched a revolver.
"Because I do carry a gun. And kill way more hitchhikers than you. Now get out."
"Oh come on, I kill with style, the man on the side of the road..."
"Catchy. Get out."
"Aren't we gonna team up?"
*sigh*
"No, we aren't gonna team up."
"My mom will sew us outfits."
"Fine. But only if you'll go on a camping holiday with me."
As the distant thrum of the engine sank over the brow of the next hill, the animals sat in the grass, perplexed. Now these weren't some freaky, english talking critters, but hell, it doesn't take a genius to figure something was weird with those two.
|
November 20, 2009
Anonymous
I must detail a particularly odd, albeit fortunate occurrence that had befallen me recently. But first, I must mention this for the sake of clarity: I am a killer, and what's more, a *good* killer, one who takes pride in his work as a blacksmith might take pride in his sharpened blades. You, whoever you are that is reading this now, will neither know *which* killer I am, nor will you have enough information to figure that out; this I can tell you with certainty. As I said before, I am good at what I do.
With this in mind, know that I have encountered many victims throughout my years of work. And in those years, I've developed something of a skill to read emotions, vague ones, if nothing else. This in mind, some of my victims projected obvious facades of bravery and tenacity when entering my presence, as if I'd be foolish enough to fall for their game, as if I *couldn't tell*. And others couldn't help but broadcast the anxiety that raced onward behind their nervous and frantic eyes. Heed my words when I say this: their eyes betrayed them.
Those who broadcasted fear or false bravery were, I must admit, *extremely* fun to take advantage of. You will never know the satisfaction in breaking down one's pride and elucidating to them just how helpless they are, nor will you ever know the invigoration of arousing so much raw fear that your victim psychologically breaks down and begs and pleads so that you might spare their life. *Nothing* will ever make you feel more alive.
But yesterday I came upon a man who didn't fit the mold of a victim, no. Quite the contrary. I could tell the moment that I approached him with my vehicle that he was different, and different in a manner that I did not initially figure out. The very manner in which he stood and rocked to and fro was interesting and perhaps even captivating.
He stood out on a darkened road by himself and seemed to care little of his current predicament. And I knew then that I had to have him. I must admit that I was drawn to him, not in the sense that I was infatuated with him, but rather in the sense that I *needed* to figure him out so that psychologically breaking him before his untimely death would be that much more enjoyable.
I opened the door for him, and never once did my eyes divert from his as we spoke.
"Would you like a ride? You seem lost and it's terribly cold out here." He flashed a grin, and I doubt that he was aware that I saw it.
"Yes, yes please! Oh god, thank you so much for stopping for me. You have absolutely no idea how long I've been here, waiting, cold. I just, I just need something to eat man. Oh and your name? I'm Dale. Call me Dale." He extended a bony hand to shake mine but I did not reward his gesture.
"That greeting was extremely oversold," I said as he shut the door. Dale, if that was actually his name, responded with a quick and almost surprised glance out of the corner of his eye, though I pretended that I didn't see it. At this point in our encounter, I suspected that he knew what I was.
"I'm not sure I follow you, man. And don't you have a name? I told you mine, so in all fairness-"
"I stopped out of the goodness of my heart to ensure that you wouldn't freeze out here tonight, Dale. Know in consequence that my ultimate objective is ensuring your safety, and that you arrive at your preferred destination with no conflict of any kind. My objective is *not*, by extension, to be your friend, because I say with total assurance that you will never see me again after this encounter. With this in mind, where will I take you, Dale?"
I looked over to see that he was leaning towards me, eyes widened and lips slightly parted. I've no doubt that he was infatuated with me, presumably for the same reason that I was drawn to him.
Were he to be like any other victim, I know that my test would've rendered him anxious; quite the opposite of how he was then. There was eagerness to his thin face, a hunger in his eyes that betrayed his otherwise harmless appearance.
"That's so unfortunate. I like making friends. Very much. You can never make enough friends," he said as he fastened his seat belt with a cheeky smile. That was no doubt a test of his own, and it was terribly forced. This man was an amateur.
___
I didn't drive to his destination. Rather, I drove to an abandoned facility that served as an excellent repository for my victims in times prior. He did, of course, inquire as to where I was going when we were en route, but he seemed satisfied with my answer that it was a shortcut.
I parked in a vacant parking lot that was populated only by rusted cars and gravel.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked with a childlike curiosity.
"This is the address you gave me."
"But I've never seen this place before."
"*This* is the address you gave me." I removed the keys from the ignition. And suddenly, a toothy smile stretched Dale's cheeks wide.
"What happens now?" he asked with a lowered tone that was neither childlike nor curious.
"You depart and find shelter in your destination." He unbuckled his seat belt.
"And what if I refuse? What if, instead, I kill you right here and now since you were stupid enough to bring me to an abandoned area that I could easily throw your body away in?"
At this point, I tried with all my power to stifle laughter. My eyes began to water. Dale didn't like this.
"What's funny?" he asked as he removed a large blade from his jacket. "Tell me, what's funny? Oh! Oh! Don't tell me. I'll pitch something else to you. Say I stab you to death and steal your truck and dump your body in a ditch. Is that funny?"
I wiped a tear from my eye, and the events that followed immediately after were difficult to remember in full clarity, so bear with me.
I recall throwing a jab and breaking his nose, and then blood and screams, and then the knife was mine and at his throat. And the blade was pressed harder against his neck. And he kicked, but I didn't yield. He was surprisingly strong for his size, I remember that too. And he barked at me. "KILL ME! KILL ME!" And I knew then what I had to do.
With blade in hand, I opened my door, came around to open his, and dragged him out onto the cold gravel. I thought of killing him there, I truly did, but that would've been too easy. He was not a man who feared death, nor was he one who I suspect had much to lose. And because of this, I knew that I ought to leave him a parting gift.
I leaned down as I pinned him under my weight, and I spoke as calmly as my adrenaline filled body would allow:
"You will never forget this night. You will never forget that you came across a man who was your superior in terms of intellect and strength. You will realize despite your lust for blood that there exists in this world people who are greater monsters than you will ever hope to become. And above all, Dale..."
I clasped his neck and enjoyed his struggle for air.
"Know that you lived because I *allowed* you to live. Know that your life was mine, and that you continued to exist because I willed it."
And with that, I gashed him at his leg, his arm, and his chest as he squirmed and kicked and barked, and I left him there to bleed. He would carry those mental and physical scars to the grave, and that, I feel, was much more satisfying than killing him. I do hope to see him again, however. He was the most fun I'd had in decades.
| 2022-04-08T12:33:00 | 2015-08-09T13:06:17 | 150 | 41 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven.
|
I got cancer when I was 21. Well I suppose I must have gotten cancer before that because they caught it in one of the later stages. I imagine there's not much like seeing a patient's face when you have to tell them that they require further testing. But there's not much like having bits of your body ripped and cut out and having poison fed through your veins, either.
A month later my entire reproductive system was gone. I remember lying in my hospital bed with my fiancé holding my hand and telling me that it was alright.
"There are so many ways to have children," he told me. It didn't matter. Hot tears still rolled down my face and made a small pile on the pillow beneath me. I turned away from Andrew and curled up on myself.
You know those dreams you get sometimes? People have dreams. People dream of weddings or hiking mountains or writing novels. As far back as I could remember my only dream was to have a baby. My only dream was to hold something in my arms and call it mine.
I "lost the fight," as they say, when I was twenty-three. No bright light. No voice. Just pain and drowsiness and too much weakness to even sit up straight.
"Welcome to Hell" a voice said to me. I opened my eyes. There was a man pulling me to my feet and leading me somewhere. We walked and a house materialized.
"Miss Brown," the man nodded at me. There was some smug smile on his face and he walked away. I wasn't Miss Brown - at least, I'm pretty sure - but as I opened my mouth a voice yelled, *Mum!* and a small pair of arms wrapped around my legs.
I picked her up. She was three, maybe four. She had blonde hair that stuck to her pink cheeks and big blue eyes that met mine in the happiest smile.
And then I cried again. For the first time out of happiness. Because the man had misspoken.
This was Heaven, not Hell.
---
Thanks for reading and thank you so much for the gold.
For other stories, check out /r/Celsius232
|
I woke up on a soft couch in what appeared to be a busy upscale hotel. People were walking by admiring the vaulted ceilings with a smile or looking at their own extremities and looking around as if they were missing something. Most people looked confused, a few relieved, a few more angry. I wondered about where the people were who were calling out for their loved ones. Those people who died in pairs or as families, in car wrecks or house fires, or boating accidents. I thought 'they must go to another place.' This place was obviously for the singles and the loners.
That was me. Forever alone. It wasn't what I wanted, but I wasn't exactly nice enough to deserve anyone. I didn't have the temperament for relationships of any kind. That's probably what killed me in the end; Sitting alone at work for years, then sitting at home after I got to fat to go to work, and finally laying at home until the money ran out and the delivery drivers no longer felt comfortable bringing food into my pigsty of a home.
I knew I'd die there. I thought it would be a heart attack as big as I got, but instead it was some kind of infection. At first just a little soreness in by back, then an itch, then what felt like wriggling, I couldn't reach it to scratch or roll over to see. I was just too big. Eventually I could smell the infection and by then it was too late to get help. My internet had been cut because I couldn't pay the bill and no one in the shit hole I lived it could hear over their own domestic situation to come to my aid. Slowly I got weaker and sepsis set in and I knew may fate and I was okay with it.
As I lay there on the couch feeling basking in the unexpected comfort a man leaned over the top of me. I say man, I mean manish, sort of. You could tell that he was meant to look like a man, but his proportions were off somehow. He was beautiful like a greek statue, but his face was too long, his skin pore-less and smooth, it had a pearl like quality, and his hair-line was too perfectly even, every little hair folicle right in a perfect line next to the other.
"Hello Dan!" The man said with a genuinely happy tone. "I'm Beel. If you'd like to follow us, I can take you to your room."
I looked at him and then looked around and saw the giant of a man standing next to him. He had to be almost as large as I was before I died, but entirely muscle. He had so many muscles and his skin was so tan and taught that it forced his face into a permanent look of surprised happiness - wide eyes, huge smile, perfect white teeth. It was disgusting, the only thing that disgusted me more than my own fat self.
Beel put out a hand to help me up from the couch. At first I just looked at it, wondering how he was going to help up a 700 plus pound tub of lard like me. That's when I realized that I was laying on a couch. Not hanging off of a couch. Not draping over a couch. Just laying comfortably on a normal size couch, without any pain or discomfort. Able to breath without effort. Able to move my arms around without feeling like I was swimming through molasses. It was then I realized that I was thin.
"So..." Beel look at me and then looked at his hand. I must have looked shocked at the idea. He just smiled as if I'd made him the happiest man ever with that look.
I took his hand and stood on two feet for the first time in years. It felt a little odd. I felt shorter somehow. My living height, when I could walk, was 6'4". I'd always hated the stupid jokes people would make about it and the staring. It wasn't like I was monstrously tall like a basketball player, but it was certainly enough to draw unwanted attention. As I looked around for comparison at Beel and the muscle-bound guy I was guessing I was now standing at about 5'11". Five whole inches shorter. It was my perfect height. Not too tall, not too short. Perfect. I must have somehow made it to heaven, even though I was pretty sure Beel was short for Beelzebub.
"This way please." Beel motioned, directing us to a flight of stairs.
I looked at the muscle-bound man and it looked like his face had tightened even more after seeing the steps. I wasn't sure that his feet would fit or how he was going to make his way up. But we continued on.
Beel nodded to the huge man. "Dan I'd like you to meet Dan." He laughed at that. "You know it's not very often that we get two people born on the same day who have the exact same death day. It's even rarer still to get two people who are also saddled with the same name. Danny Kay I'd like you to meet Danny Kay." He guffawed at that notion, although I didn't understand why it was funny.
I'd hated that name. My drug addict of a mother loved older movies and decided to name me after some actor. Not Daniel Roger Kay or Dan Michael Kay or any other possible name, just Danny no-middle-name Kay. I changed it on my 22nd birthday shortly after my mother died. I was now Daniel Scott Key. It was close enough to be familiar, but different enough to make me feel better. Sadly some other poor bastard appeared to have an equally stupid or addled parent. I wondered if he'd also has his named changed.
Then the "crunch" broke me out of my train of thought, as the other Danny crushed a stair step and almost broke the railing off. I was mortified. When I was alive that was my absolute worst fear; That I would try to go up stairs and fall right through or grab the banister and pull it down. I could see he must have had the same fear, as tears streamed down his leather-like cheeks as he worked hard to navigate the stairs, crushing one periodically, and making the rail creak and groan as he tried to recover.
Beel seemed to grow more delighted with each damaged step. He was practically glowing by the time we reached the second floor. It seemed like both an impossibly short amount of time and ages all at once as I had to listen to that nightmarish sound and watch Danny cry all the way up.
Finally we stood at a door with no room number. It looked nice enough, like any other door in any other hallway of any other fine hotel in the world. I knew it was too easy. I knew that I was already being tortured watching Danny come up those stairs and I knew that some new even worse torture was waiting for me on the other side of that door.
Danny and I stood there on either side of Beel as he made his introduction. He grabbed the door and swung it open like he was Monte Hall presenting a new car. Right away though I was horrified as the door almost bounced back closed. What I saw for that instant the door was open was an all too familiar sight of a hoarders house. My house, but even worse. The smell was like cat piss, oh God how I hated cats, and the walls looked like they had mold. My apartment had some mold but only in the corner. This was all over making the whole room smell of cat piss and mold and look like a dark prison cell someone decided to make into a city trash dump.
Danny continued his sobbing, now with a blubbering sound. He stepped back a step and I stepped forward accepting that this would be my eternal hell. Surprisingly Beel put out a stiff arm barring me from entry. He looked at me sternly and with his other hand waggled his finger, "No Sir! This is not for you Mister Kay!"
He stepped in front of me, pushing the door open further while smiling at the other Mister Kay. "Danny, if you please." He said with a smile. Danny took another step back. "Danny, now don't make this hard." Danny looked like he couldn't see through the tears and the tears had now come out of his nose along with snot and dripped down the front of his face onto his tank top. I was pretty sure he couldn't wipe his face even if he wanted to with those arms.
End Part 1 of 2
| 2016-05-28T15:46:42 | 2016-05-28T14:06:45 | 305 | 68 |
[WP] For many years, Canadians have maintained their inhuman friendliness by channeling all of their animosity into their geese. Now though, something is wrong.
|
Barwick was walking through the park, nose buried in his map, when out of the bottom half of his eye he saw a flurry of feathers. "Jesus!" he said, crumpling up his map and jumping back. It was a Canada goose, that had been strolling up to him just as bold as you please, and he'd nearly stepped on it. "Good bird," he muttered, "good bird," backing away and wielding his map in front of him like a flyswatter. Its long black neck reared up like a snake, its beady little eyes fixed on him, still ruffling its feathers back into place. Barwick bore a scar on his right calf, from a very unfortunate encounter with a bird just like this one back when he was ten years old. He swallowed nervously. "Don't want any trouble."
"Oh," said the goose, and looked up at him. "Oh, no problem at all, my fault, wasn't looking where I was going, eh?" It made a little honking laugh out of its bill as Barwick stared at it in shock. "Real sorry," it said, and bobbed its head at him. "I'll just get out of your way," and it good-naturedly wandered around him, giving another nod of its head as it left.
Barwick stood there, watching it waddle off, and considered getting out of his camera. But then again, what was there left to see? In a daze, he turned back and looked up at the path ahead of him and stumbled back on his way.
And then with a savage honk and a flapping flurry of flannel, a Canadian leaped out of the bushes and attacked him.
|
They have found me. I fear my time is short. I will forward this letter to someone I consider reliable. I ask only that you do with this information whatever you feel is right. I am too far inside the belly of the monster. I cannot see dawn. I do not know what is right or good or just. You must be better than me. You must be brave.
It all began in the spring. The thaw had come and so I retrieved my bicycle, intent on reconnecting with the wild world of these wondrous northern lands. I rode to the park on Hillsborough. The day was warm, I recall - warm and sweet. A perfect day.
This feeling would not last.
Rounding a corner I came upon a battalion of *geese*. Big, gray, hulking beasts, they pecked and flexed their enormous wings, waddling purposefully towards the path. I assumed they would stay to the side and let me pass. I was wrong.
The geese swarmed the road. They were not crossing. They were not going anywhere. They had - it appeared - chosen to occupy the path for the sheer purpose of being pricks.
I slowed my bike, attempting to forge a path. Wings spread and fluttered menacingly. They chirped and barked in their strange grunting trill. Beaks lashed out at my bike and my feet and exposed legs. I cried out, backing up. They pressed forward, tightening the swarm. Again, I could see no purpose for their actions other than pure malice and the desire to be assholes.
Pecked and plucked, I finally managed to turn my bike. Still, they snatched at me. I peddled, harder than I have ever done. They chased. Some took flight. They chirruped and barked, racing ever at my side. I burst from the park onto the main road, nearly colliding with a sedan. Satisfied, my attackers swooped away - off to harass another.
Canada geese. I could not help but wonder *why*? Why were they such desperate, unquenchable pricks?
The answer, I believed, must lie in their motherland. Canada. That land of almost comical kindness. How could such heinously wretched beasts have been produced in such a pleasant place as Canada? I would go to find out.
My first curious encounter occurred at the border crossing into Ontario. The gentleman in the booth asked me my business and I saw no reason to lie.
"I am researching Canada geese," I announced, hoping I may gain some insight before even leaving the United States. "I am curious about their temperament."
"Is that so?" said the crossing guard, almost, I detected, with a hint of wary.
"They are a singularly aggressive and, might I say, *rude* species. I thought the answer as to why may lie here in Canada."
The border patrolman sniffed and whispered something into his radio. I did not hear the response, but the man told me to pull off to the side for an inspection. Three hours later, my car and my possessions tossed, I was told to turn back. I did not have the proper papers for scientific studies.
Curious.
I came back some time later, passing through another border, hoping my name had not been added to any sort of list. When asked, I said my visit was for entertainment purposes and left it at that.
I was let through into Canada.
I began my interviews. I drove to the much renowned College of Canada and sought out their professors of ornithology. They were each, to the man and woman, shifty and off-put by my questions. They did not scold and their smiles never faltered, but neither did they answer my questions, and almost all sought to be rid of me as soon as I raised the subject.
Last, I met with a professor named Klingsbeard. I decided to be as aggressive and unyielding as the geese I studied. I hounded this Klingsbeard. I would not take "no" for an answer. Always, always, she smiled and nodded and said she did not know and could not help and did I need directions to the nearest Tim Horton's? But I was relentless. At one point she excused herself and I - to my mutual shame and credit - followed her silently from afar, hoping to uncover *some* bit of useful information. Here is what I discovered.
This Klingsbeard retrieved a paper bag from a dispenser in the wall. I had seen these dispensers but thought little of them. Klingsbeard took the bag to a quiet place, wrapped the open end around her mouth, and began to scream herself red.
The sound was somewhat muffled in the bag, but most of the curse words I could hear just fine. On and on she went, screaming and cursing and jibbering with rage. Finally, she pulled her mouth free and sealed the paper bag at the top with a strip of attached adhesive. Taking a steady breath, she then popped the inflated bag into a trash bin.
I hid around the corner. Once Klingsbeard walked off to look for me, I bounded to the trash can and pulled off the lid, snatching out the inflated bag.
What a curious thing.
It was no more than what it seemed - a paper bag somehow stuffed with air. It did not any sense to me. Careful to check that Klingsbeard was not nearby, I peeled off the adhesive. Warm air rushed out of the paper.
To put it simply, my blood began to boil.
I felt anger like I had never felt. Strange, bone-deep hatred and hostility. I wanted to punch Klingsbeard. I wanted to punch the wall. I wanted, oddly, to punch myself.
I rushed out of the building for fear of what I might do. Klingsbeard spied me leaving and flashed a wide smile, waving her hand and shouting, "It was a pleasure! Come back any time!" She seemed sincere.
Outside, I gained some measure of control. Then I searched for the campus dumpsters.
They were loaded with those inflated paper bags. Piles and piles of them. How many, I could not even fathom. I would guess, based on the size of the College of Canada, that every teacher and student must have created at least three or four bags a day.
There was a service number on the side of one of the dumpsters. I called and made up a story about accidentally chucking my wife's favorite Maple Leafs jersey. They gave me the address of the dumping site.
And there was my answer. Mounds like skyscrapers, reaching towards the blue sky. Just heaping piles of brown paper bags. And circling above - scores and scores of Canada geese.
"Oh my god," I gasped. "How could they? *How could they!?!*" I bellowed and screamed and stomped. Then I saw all the empty, deflated bags and knew I could not stay there. This was inhuman. It was wrong. A crime against emotion. A crime against the *damn, hateful geese*.
I heard the beeping of the garbage truck too late. Men were coming. They saw me. More, I believe they saw the light in my eyes. The light of discovery. The trucks bore down on me. I ran to my car and drove.
The chase has gone on for days. Ever I have gone north. They are driving me away from my people - my wonderfully complicated people. I have found an abandoned ranger station with an internet connection. Soon they will swarm me - much like their geese. There are no bags up here in the wild north. They will be angry when they catch me.
Perhaps the bags are justified. Perhaps they are not. I do not know anymore. So I have told you what I know and what I have seen. Now it is up to you.
Tell others. Or tell no one. Whatever you think is right.
It is too late for me. I am sad and angry and exhilarated. I am blessed to feel so many things.
Good luck.
| 2016-10-31T07:19:40 | 2016-10-31T07:10:34 | 145 | 72 |
[WP]It turns out humanity is the only sentient race in the universe that has to eat to survive; much to the horror of the galactic community as a whole
|
"So you mean that, in order to live, you have to eat other people?"
"Okay, now you're just putting words in my mouth. I just have to eat *something*. Not a person though, that'd be fucked up"
"You're still murdering it though. How is that not 'fucked up'?"
"I'm a vegetarian dude, what I eat doesn't even move. It just sits there, soaking up sun and water and shit"
"Wait, you don't hear them?"
"Hear what?"
"Your solid. It screams every time you stab it with your fork."
"You mean salad, not solid. And I know you're just messing with me man. You have telepathy and all, but that only works on other sentient creatures"
"No seriously dude, it's been begging for mercy this whole time. I don't even have to 'eat' and it's making me lose my appetite. How can you not hear them bro, they're so loud"
"Come on man, knock it off"
"I'm not joking."
"..."
"..."
"I should've just stuck with burgers like Chad"
"Man, you humans are *really* fucked up."
|
A new dawn comes every so often. Though the night is long, he has faith in the light. He feels it this morning. His body is white, cold from the everlasting night. His muscles stretch, being renewed from their long slumber. Isn't it good? he thinks. Isn't it great. He enjoys the light, and in this moment, he forgets his problem.
He knows the sun will go away. It always does. But it stays for some time. Enough time for him to bask in its light, to grow strong for the long nights ahead.
*I am old,* he thinks.
How many sunrises will he see again? The sun goes for years, sometimes decades.
*But that is okay,* he thinks.
It isn't a long time. And if he dies, then so be it. Death is scary. Death is sacred. But it is inevitable.
And that thinking makes him think of his dilemma.
*What to do?*
He is the oldest of his kind. They respect him. He holds the knowledge of his people, the memories of the long before time. He thinks of his mother. How long has she died, but her memory lives within him. His father too. No one really dies if you remember them.
He looks at the sun and remembers their faces.
*I love you,* he thinks.
Now he stares from the balcony to the big garden below. The garden is filled with the dream plant. Their vines breathe a milky breath, and that breath swirls until a million stars shine back like a mirror. Even in the heat he sees the deepest dark of the unknown places. For that is his job.
He searches the expanse, a watchmen for his people, an arbiter of their laws. He has the power, and his eyes take him to the planet he has been watching for years now.
Always in the cold night, he has watched them. Now he watches in the bright day. His skin burns from the heat. It hangs loose from age. The pain hurts him, but it feels good. It makes him feel alive.
*Living is a gift.*
And none should take away gifts.
*But they do.*
The stars in the garden fall to a planet, and then to its people. He regards them, follows them with his eyes. They feel something, no doubt, like a ghost peering from the ether, but they are not far evolved. They cannot see far.
*They look like me,* he thinks. *But they are not.*
They have their own settlements, like all the other life he has monitored. They have a language. They social customs. He thinks them a facinating people. Then they kill, and they eat.
It disgusts him in the light as it did in the night. His heart cries at the first carcass. They savour the taste, lick their fingers and laugh as they devour. He feels ill watching.
And it isn't just the animals they take that precious gift away from. It is everything. The plants as well, the chemicals that make up the environment, anything they can get their hands on. They consume and destroy.
He motions his hand and the image fail. The garden is under heavy fog, golden in the light. The suns above create living shadows, ghosts to echo the lives that move. He looks at the plants, at his own hand as it moves.
*Such beauty,* he thinks.
He can hear the plants photosynthesize. He feels the molecules about him, the very atoms vibrating in that special life.
*And death too,* he thinks.
Death happens all the time, in all instances. He feels the atoms crash, the molecules merge. Cells die in each instant.
*Death,* he thinks, and he is saddened.
Death is inevitable and to live one must accept that bitter fact.
*But there are limits,* he thinks.
He closes his eyes. There has to be. One cannot kill for living. One cannot destroy. To do so would be death incarnate, a being unworthy of life.
*And yet they destroy. They devour to live. They live to bring death.*
He grows angry. They are the only in all of living to be so. He thinks them a pox, a scar upon this beautiful plane of existence. If the others of his kind were to find out, they would demand them gone.
*Dead,* he thinks, and it casts a deep shadow over his thoughts.
Yes. Dead. He stares at the garden and the image flickers to that people. They grow and age so fast, their cruelty bringing them no long life.
*Perhaps that is good and deserved,* he thinks. *Or maybe it is a waste.*
They die in a blink. And then more come. From birth they are fed life, they consume the precious foundations of living, of being. He cannot watch anymore. He waves his hand again and again the garden comes. He tunes out the endless death that assaults him.
*I have a choice. I must decide.*
But how can he choose to take what he cannot give? How can he kill them, bring death upon a race to preserve life?
*I have the power,* he thinks.
With a wave he can tell the oxygen to leave. He can make the planet barren, abandoned by all but its people. And they would die. They would suffer.
*And I would be no better than them.*
But it is his job. He is a watcher as well as the keeper of memories. He protects his people, and he guards the plane of the living.
*But to cause death?*
He is not sure if that is something he can do.
*If they evolve more, they will cause more destruction. They will kill for more than survival then. They will destroy this great gift.*
Deep down he knows this is true. He hears the air suffer. Its molecules call for him to take that people away. Save the greater good with such a small sacrifice.
*I should,* he thinks.
But he hesitates. He always hesitates. His hand trembles from old age. He looks up and the sun is setting. Night has come again. He checks the time and sees ten years have passed. Where does the time go? he thinks.
The air is cold out, and the night shall be long, longer than most.
*I might not see the suns again.*
He wishes he could have said goodbye. Such life the light brings, and never any thanks.
*Thank you,* he thinks, and he hopes it hears.
He looks to the garden and realize he has not come up with a decision as yet. His body aches him and he cannot focus.
*No. I won't live much longer.*
The thought saddens him, but he is relieved as well.
*It won't be my decision. It will be another's.*
He looks at the garden and sees the primitive species tear each other apart. He sees them eat flesh and plant and digest the innocent air. He is repulsed by them, but he cannot kill them.
*A stronger one shall. A younger lad than me.*
And he feels better. He even feels sorry for the people, strange as they are. Death falls on all, but it is always unwelcomed. He says a prayer for them. Then he feels the wind of the night.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out r/PanMan, my subreddit. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones as well. Thank you for your support!*
| 2017-11-16T22:31:10 | 2017-11-16T22:11:11 | 145 | 86 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
Of course in hindsight everyone sees the merit of my decision. In the early days though, people kept asking me why I chose Hell over Heaven. My answer has always been three words: "Location, location, location"...
Before my ticket was up on earth, I came to a realization... If everyone choose Heaven, Heaven would eventually become overcrowded. I mean idyllic pastures and tranquil rivers are nice and all, but if you have to share it with roughly 10 Billion other people... Maybe not so much. Can you imagine the waste problem? If you want to watch a football game, you need to first clear people from an area roughly the size of a football field. Plus, there really is not much beyond natural beauty up there.
So I made a decision, I moved in on the market early. Closed all the primo real estate I could all over Hell before there was a demand for it. Heck, those poor schmucks, the demons... They were so surprised that anyone wanted anything to do with Hell, they sold me the whole thing for a handful of colorful beads.
Later on they would also provide the cheap labor that I exploited in my sea-of-fire side casinos and river (Lethe is beautiful in autumn) side properties. I quickly dominated the market and soon became the land lord of hell.
True, the re-branding took some effort... People were reluctant to view Hell as a warmer alternative to the overcrowded paradise. I think it was all the entertainment venues that did it in the end. I was able to convince the "Blue Man" group and a few other performers in exchange for lofts overseeing Hinnom valley. Combined with the casinos and strip clubs, pretty soon Hell became the place to be.
That is when I stopped accepting just any old schmuck into the club. I am after all trying to cultivate a tasteful community down here. There were a few instances people even begged me to stop deportation to Heaven, but what can I say... Business is business.
|
Perhaps at some point, giving people the choice of heaven or hell was the correct one. After all, if God were a truly omnipotent being, he would see that mortal actions are only informed by an infinite series of processes and that most people make rational decisions to lead them to the places they go. Ergo, in most situations. morality can be construed to be whatever the situation defines it as, and thus under most conventional ideas; all people are equally moral.
Perhaps he's that stupid and he truly believes that. Imagine the repugnance of not having some sort of absolutist system of morality in place. Imagine it, really.
Maybe it would've even worked if people couldn't be dragged, kicking and screaming, right out of heaven for failing to pay off their oaths. For failing to break their mortal ties in the grand bureaucracy.
Ilene didn't give a damn either way, staring down at the mines of Babel. Her horse didn't care either, hooves barely landing on the tawny sand, a ripple of muscle skimming down the flank of the undead beast, but it would've been great if people weren't contractually obligated to make a mess of her previous Hell.
"Looks like another prisoner revolt," The sheriff said, cocking his hat. "You sure you're up for it, Deputy?"
"Come on, Sheriff," Ilene hissed. "We've got heads to smash and paper work to file before the mayor gets back, let's get this over with."
The brimstone sands were thrown up into the air with each smash of the great horse's hooves, and Ilene casually drew her six-gun and counted out the rounds.
The sheriff barked out another laugh and sped onward into the crest of the great hill, the shattered remnants of walls blown apart by dynamite reeking of elder energies, and the distant remnants of angelic laws distorted by the hands of man.
Ilene's gun lay heavily in the palm of her hand, and she spun it once before drawing it entirely, pointing it ahead.
"GET ALONG BACK TO YOUR DAMN BARRACKS!" She shouted as the two of them verged the cliff side, then fired the gun wildly into the air. "DON'T MAKE US SEND THE TAKERS AFTER YOU IN HEAVEN!"
Over the cacophony of growing hellfire and distorted space time the gunshots had little effect, but at least she tried.
"Canary?" She asked, turning to the sheriff.
"Got it," He grinned, drawing his long rifle. The prisoners were a mash of red skin, fresh pale skinned, and most notably, the horned ones. With the gleaming gold of the rifle in his hands, Ilene could see the reflection of the false sun without the livery that made it seem to glow; just silver sigils sketched across a dead sky bereft of stars.
"Looks like they're resisting arrest," Ilene commented.
Canary's gun went off with a sound like thunder, and a man's head exploded down range. With the vessel cracked, the soul flooded out in a great pool of sodden silver, then was swept away back towards the great beyond.
Where, more than likely, he would once again find himself dragged, kicking and screaming, into his place of eternal servitude, because damn him for signing a contract in life that required servitude in death.
But hey, how else were you supposed to get a job in this economy?
The sound of the gun going off caused even Ilene's undead stallion to buck, and she threw a hand up to press her hat back down upon her horns.
But the cacophony of revolt failed to pass on.
"Ilene," Canary said, roughly.
"Yes? She shouted as they neared the melee.
"Dynamite," Canary shouted, pointing at the gleaming arc of hellstone; marked plainly and trailing smoke.
Then Ilene was caught in a massive explosion.
Fuck.
"Get back here soon," Canary intoned, somewhat bored.
-------
The gleaming gates of heaven were a long way off for a creature such as her, even as what passed as her soul appeared wildly in front of the binary choice. Ilene pressed her fingers against one another, then slowly, with a concerted effort that spoke of nothing more than experience, cracked her fingers and bones back into place. After a moment, her hat drifted down after her, and she pressed it back firmly on her head and walked forward.
The gold light suffused everything that moved, every moment of every existence, but the light of god turned away her skin and made her burn with fire.
Not a pleasant experience, but once she shed the layer of sin encrusting her, perhaps...
But where was the chorus?
"What are you doing back here, demon?" Saint Peter asked, dimly, looking at her from the top of his Book of Names. "I thought I told you this was a mistake. Are you really ready to be dragged back to hell again?"
Ilene peered over his shoulder without giving him a moment's thought, which made Peter's hand lash out to push her back in place.
"You really don't want to go there this time," Peter warned.
Was that... fire across the gates to heaven?
"The hell is that?" Ilene asked, jerking her hands at the doorway. "Besides, check my book."
Peter looked back at her, opened his mouth, then shut it grimly, flicking his way through the book. "It says here that... you're clear on obligations and debts. Congratulation, I suppose you've finally died enough in the line of duty." Peter's voice was confused. "How the hell did you manage that?"
"I was never human to begin with," Ilene pointed out, sourly. "And I've been hauling ass down there to make up for all the corporate bullshit for ages.
"Self sacrifice is a distinctly human and angelic trait," Peter pointed out. "And you've got a history of that, Law-bringer."
Ilene gently reached up and touched her long spirally horns. "What on earth is going on in front of the gates of heaven?" She asked again.
"Not earth," Peter intoned, seriously. "But more angelic matters you don't need to concern yourself with. Can you make your choice and move on?"
Ilene thought distantly of the brief moments she'd snatched, centuries ago, hidden in the depths of heaven, before it had been locked to her due to deals with devils, demons, of the red crusades and the eternal lock and press of bodies in the place where space lost all meaning apart from a repository for souls.
If she went there she could experience that... maybe once more, maybe it would finally kill her, obliterate her stained fingers from the Red Revolution, and leave her with nothing left.
Wouldn't that be nice?
But she had a gun to return to. No need to remind her why she was miserable, even if the moments would stay with her forever.
She shrugged. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing over there," She took her hat off, bowed, then placed it back on her head and walked past him, idly whistling a heavenly hymn.
"You choose Hell?" Peter asked, incredulously. "You're not even going to make an attempt to get past me?"
"Don't you get tired of watching an eternal parade of sinners try to hide out in your heaven?" Ilene asked, sarcastically. "Really, just let a demon go her own way without asking questions."
"Is it over a guy?" Peter continued asking, as the fires enshrouding the gates of heaven burned higher and all the more brilliantly, burning Ilene's eyes. "A girl maybe? Something else?"
"Look, the garden of Eden gave the lot of us free will, and I got a pretty comfortable arrangement down in hell to go back to, I don't want to trade all of my progress there for fifteen minutes in the sun."
Peter's jaw snapped together, then opened, then snapped together.
"It is the sun we're talking about." Peter tempted, confused.
Ilene walked past him. "Look, I'm sorry about your big burning gates, I got some more people to oppress to make sure they earn their permanent place in heaven."
The gates to heaven burned with brilliant light as Ilene found the cliff down to hell, and she gave the burning brilliance another wave, then jumped.
She had a sheriff to get back to.
-----
For more like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-08-13T09:48:32 | 2018-08-13T06:23:07 | 155 | 53 |
[WP] After your parents' death, you became a Necromancer. After many years, when your life force is nearing its end, you manage to learn the reviving spell to revive them. But when you try to do it, you find out they can't be revived since they're still alive.
|
First it was the anger
„Are you kidding me? All these years I spent learning the most difficult and dangerous skill there is in the world … All these risky spells and rituals I practiced … All these sacrifices I made … They were for nothing?!”
Then it was the sadness
“I could have used this time. I could have spent this time doing something I enjoy and like. I could have made friends, maybe I could have found my somebody. Maybe I would have started my own family with them and raise my own kids. I could have built a house for them and watched them growing up. I would have loved them with all my heart…”
And suddenly the disappointment kicked in
“Did my parent ever love me? They haven’t told me, their own child, that they were leaving … Why did they leave without a single word? Why did they abandon me? Why did I spent all these years in forster homes, blaming myself for not trying enough to bring them back, while they were … enjoying life?”
And then there was the anger again
“I swore myself I will find them. And I will keep that oath. But they will cross the borders of life and death from the other side …”
&#x200B;
Obligatory English is not my first language
|
nec·ro·man·cy
/ˈnekrəˌmansē/
• The supposed practice of communicating with the dead, especially in order to predict the future.
• Sorcery or black magic in general.
--
*Dear Alecto,*
*It has been a long time since we have spoken.*
*I often spend my time thinking of what life would have been like if I had stayed with you. But alas, I cannot change what I do not have. And you are no exception.*
*I am prolonging the inevitable, I think.*
*There is a reason why I have written to you, and in the time I had known you, you were no fool. I doubt that has changed.*
*It is with my deepest regret to inform you of your parents’ passing.*
*They were such lovely people Alecto, and the village will miss them deeply. I will miss them dearly. ~~I miss you too~~. It was those bandits disguised as fishmongers. Your father knew that there was something felonious about them, but no one expected this.*
*I am sorry Alecto. You deserve more than a letter, but I am afraid that this is all I can give you.*
*I know they would have been proud of you.*
*With deepest love,*
*Anthea.*
--
*Dear Anthea,*
*It has indeed been a long time since we have exchanged letters, but I cannot say that it is not unwelcome.*
*You are right that we cannot change time, although sometimes I wish we could.*
*My parents’ death was a long time coming, Anthea. It would not bode well with me if they had suffered any longer. I am just sad to see them go in this way.*
*My father always was a clever man, but he had a knack for getting himself in treading waters. I cannot say that this was not expected of him. ~~I only wish that I could have said goodbye~~.*
*But if I may ask, how have your sisters been doing? It has been a long time since I have seen them. It has been a long time since I have seen you.*
*Are they still cooking up trouble everywhere they go?*
*I hope my letter comes to you in a much more lightened spirit than yours did me.*
*With care,*
*Alecto*
--
*Dear Alecto,*
*I suppose your father always was one to stir the pot. One of the last things he told me was ‘I hope you find something that brings you joy in life, Anthea. Because there is nothing quite like happiness.’*
*Your father always did have a way of knowing the words that needed to be said.*
*But the village has grown wary, Alecto. It is no secret that your father was strong, or that your mother was a warrior. But I am afraid that without them by our side, the people will panic.They already are.*
*There has been talk of black magic, Alecto.*
*People are dying.*
*I am not so sure your parents died of bleeding anymore. Or that their sickness was a long time coming.*
*I fight for myself and I fight for my people, but what happens when there is no one left?*
*~~I need you, Alecto.~~*
*I need you, Alecto. Please hurry.*
*With hope,*
*Anthea*
--
*Dear Anthea,*
~~*Happiness is something I know not of. At least, not for a while. It is a friend to you in the lightest of times, but in the darkness, it slowly goes away.*~~
*Black magic, you say? And dare I say it, sorcery?*
*You must know by now that my parents were involved in witchcraft - not in the way you think - because they were good people, and they fought for the good of people.*
*My parents taught me very little of magic. They did not want me leading the life they lived, but I remember my mother always kept books hidden away. You might want to check under the wooden floors, my father enjoyed riddles.*
*Stay where you are, Anthea. I will come to you.*
*Keep fighting. I have learned that sometimes that is the only thing you can do.*
*With peace,*
*Alecto.*
--
*Dear Alecto,*
*I have found the books.*
*You were right, your father did like riddles.*
*I have found something most peculiar in one of the pages of your mother’s book.*
*I think it is a spell to bring back the dead.*
*With solace,*
*Anthea.*
--
The air is cool against the masking of time.
It’s as if the frozen chill were surrounding him, folding him into something courageous. Something powerful. It is late at night and yet, he feels as awake as the moon and the stars and the swaying trees.
“Is it ready?” A small voice pipes up from behind him.
Alecto turns his head slowly, until he is coming face to face with a woman. He nods his head before beckoning for her to follow.
Anthea takes this in a stride.
They make their way to a small glade, shadows following behind them silently. Once they reach the opening, they stop, Anthea rummaging inside her pack.
Alecto breathes out steadily.
“It is time,” he says as Anthea hands him an old book.
He opens up the covers with gentle hands - as gentle as the hands his mother would lay on his head, pushing back stray hairs, before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead - and starts to chant.
He can feel the air whirl around him, can see the trees dance in sync, can hear the birds croon to songs unsung, can taste ashes rise from his tongue. Beside him, Anthea braces herself against the rocking of the world.
For all that Alecto can see and hear and feel and taste, he cannot see his parents.
And all too soon, the music stops.
“Nothing happened,” Anthea points out numbly. “Why did nothing happen?” She turns to him then, pointing an accusing finger. “You said you could revive them.”
“I thought I could. I really thought I could,” Alecto says over and over again - it sounds like a chant. It sounds like a promise
“Could is not good enough,” Anthea whispers harshly. She starts to turn, but Alecto grabs her wrist. “Anthea, wait.”
Anthea yanks her hand out of his grasp. “My sisters are dead, Alecto. I have nothing left.”
“Anthea,” Alecto starts wearily. “I think it did work.”
“How can that be?” Anthea demands. “There is no one here.”
“Anthea,” he says again because that is the only thing he can do. “My parents aren’t dead.”
“What?” She falters beside him.
Alecto looks at Anthea with dull eyes - they’re dead, just like all the nonexistent truth of this world; of his life - before finally speaking.
“My parents are alive.”
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite
| 2020-12-11T10:59:59 | 2020-12-11T09:51:46 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] There is a bar located between life and death. All those who died sit for their last drinks before marching onto the afterlife. Unbeknownst to them, the bartender is also the judge. Forgiveness is up to God. Retribution is the Devil's call. Judgement is given by the one who serves you drinks.
|
"A... drink?" I repeat the words.
The bartender raises an eyebrow at me. "Yeah. What'll it be?"
I glance behind him.
Instead of shelves full of drinks and tonics, I see... nothing. Just a wooden wall like you see in the taverns in movies or video games.
"Uh-"
The bartender taps their fingers against the counter impatiently.
"Look, love, I got anything and everything you could or would ever ask for. What drink d'you want?"
"Just... a water, please," I request.
The bartender gives me a once-over and nods.
A glass of water appears in her hand and he places it in front of me.
"Hold on-"
"Don't question it, darling," she waves a hand dismissively. "Just drink your water."
I take the glass, the cold surface cool against my palm. I take a sip.
"What is this place, anyways?" I ask.
The bartender picks up a rag, starting to wipe down the counter.
"This place? It's everywhere. It's nowhere."
The heck is that supposed to mean?
"It's in between," he says mysteriously.
"Between where?"
"The two greatest forces of all."
I tip my head in exasperated annoyance. "What, time and patience?"
The bartender laughs. "Tolstoy. I remember him."
Remember him?
"No, not patience and time," the bartender leans over the counter. "Life and death."
"Life and-"
The bartender nods.
"I'm dead?"
The bartender sighs. "You kinda drove your car off a bridge."
Oh. Right. That.
"That wasn't my fault," I mumble, taking another sip if the water. "A truck plowed into the side of my car."
"You don't seem mad," the bartender says.
"I'm furious," I glance down at my hand where a ring sparkles on my fourth finger. "I was supposed to get married on the fourteenth."
"Sorry to hear that," the bartender says softly.
"I can't change what happened," I shrug, finishing off the water.
"You're very reasonable," the bartender takes the glass from me and wipes the drops of water on the counter.
"Something about dying makes everything crystal clear."
They laugh. "You're right."
"So... if I'm dead, is there an afterlife?"
The bartender nods. "'Course there is."
I glance around, the silent question hanging in the air.
"I think," the bartender snaps her fingers. "You can stay with me."
"What do you mean?"
"Stay here, be a bartender here. You haven't really been evil, but you weren't really the best person, either."
I consider this.
"Think of it like purgatory. It'll be fun, I promise."
The offer hangs in the air.
|
"Welcome to the Dog's Feather pub. You're dead, let me know when I can take your order."
The barkeep stepped away and started drying cups with a dishcloth pulled down from where it had been resting over their shoulder. They were no longer looking directly at me, but were still present in a way that held the space open for me to react to the news, and that made it clear that they would support me no matter how I did react.
I reacted by sitting in stunned silence, remembering vividly the last moment before arriving in the bar. I had been on my way to a friend-I-had-a-crush-on's apartment. She had just broken up with her girlfriend, and had I sent a text saying that I was on my way when actually I was just starting to shave, and neither of those is actually a good reason to bike through a red light or not bother wearing a helmet, but apparently it was reason enough. I had been riding with my headphones in, listening to bumpin', dancy music and enjoying that sensation that city biking gives you of all of the pedestrians, parked cars, curbs, and traffic lights just being obstacles that a bicycle and strong legs gave you the power to dodge. When I noticed the truck out of the corner of my right eye, I had half an instant to be reminded that my bicycle and legs were not a superpower - then I was sitting at a bar.
*I've only known Ana a few months, but we've gotten close and she needs support right now. I started to get really angry at myself for not being there for her tonight (and frustrated that nothing's going to end up happening between us), and then suddenly I realized that this was going to be horrible for her. She's going to think I bailed on her, and then she's going to think I ghosted her, and I don't even know how she'll be informed that I'm dead, and when she does realize she'll feel like it was her fault because I was on my way to her, and then she'll double guilty because she'll have been angry at me for ditching her.... Or maybe it'll be even worse and she'll hear the sirens and make the connection and even though I was still a few blocks away she'll walk down and she'll see my splattered body and blame herself in that moment and - HOLY SHIT HOW IS MY MOM GOING TO TAKE THIS NEWS!?*
As I started down another spiral of thoughts, the barkeep gently interrupted me. "They'll live, and they'll grieve. How about a drink?"
I fumbled at my pockets briefly. "Sorry, I don't think I can. Don't seem to have my wallet on me."
"Drinks are on the house, no need to worry about that."
\*Oh, right, this was a magical afterlife bar. "\*Could I get a beer, then, please? IPA, if you have it, don't really care what brand."
*I can't believe I was obsessing about some (lovely) girl I barely know! This is going to be devastating for my parents and my friends. Who's going to handle the arrangements? Who's going to handle the invitations?! I've been so nomadic the last 6 years there's not really any one person who has a way to contact -or even knows the names of - all the people who are really important to me. What about all the goodbyes I never said? Shit, what about my students?! They're not going to pass the AP exam if the school doesn't resolve this right away, and even then I don't have my lesson plans written down anywhere and nobody knows the password to my computer and I know the AP exam doesn't really matter but Omar was counting on it to help him get into that school and Jakob has been sort of emotionally leaning on me this semester and I don't know how he'll handle this and there are so many people who this is going to hurt and ----*
A coaster and a glass of light amber beer were placed firmly down in front of me. Not aggressively, and certainly not loudly, but just enough to break my reverie. The bartender's voice, somehow smoky, clear, and gentle at the same time, said "The things that need to happen will get done. The people you left behind will grieve, and they'll live, until they move on."
"Can you read my thoughts?" I looked up at the bartender, and for the first time began to actually pay attention to where I was. The bartender was tall, generally fit in a way that I wouldn't call either thin or chubby, a bit of a prominent nose, with a fairly sharp chin and full lips, pleasant to look at, with clear skin and a tanned complexion that made me think of the Mediterranean, and benignly androgynous. Behind them were shelves lined with glass bottles (and a few clay jars), all marked with an unambiguous label ('whiskey,' 'rum,' 'pitorro,' 'tequila,' 'grappa,' etc.). The taps for beer were similar, saying simply 'IPA', 'Wheat', 'Stout', etc." The bottles and taps came in a wide variety of colours, and each also bore the small symbol of a long-beaked bird (Ibis, I think) standing on a book. The bar itself was a solid piece of dark wood, with an opaline enamel inlaid in the cracks. It was a fairly small pub, shaped like a long rectangle. From the perspective of the door the right side held the one bar long enough for 5 stools, and on the left side there were three booths which looked like they would each comfortably sit 4 normal people or one 8-woman bachelor party. Three standing tables were between the booths and the bar. Above each booth, a window about a meter square let in the fading twilight. Looking through the windows you couldn't see any landscape or other buildings, just the gray of twilit clouds and a violet-rosy underglow as if from a sun only just set. The bar was about half-full of people, none of them seeming to be a hurry, talking to each other or sitting alone with their own drinks. The door to the outside was a heavy but simple oak, with a brass handle. Something about that door made me uneasy.
"No," replied the bartender, "but I've been doing this for a while. That line seems to be something most people need to hear."
I took a sip of my beer. It was perfect, not to mean that I knew anything at all really about beer or was any sort of a connoisseur, only to mean that it was exactly what I wanted when I said the word "beer." *Bird and Book*, as I decided to call the brewery, clearly understood what people wanted at this bar. "I think I want to sip this and be upset for a little while, if that's alright."
The bartender parted their lips as if to say something, but at that moment someone on the other end of the bar (closer to the door) raised a finger as if to ask for another drink, and they immediately stepped down to the other customer, leaving me to my thoughts.
I thought about guilt for all the things I was leaving unfinished. I thought about grief for all the things I would never do. I had plans! I was 27, recently moved to a new city, at the beginning of a career as a teacher. I was excited about the world, dammit! Or at least, I was excited on good days. Sure, sometimes I lay around mourning the pandemic and feeling sorry for myself (hasn't everyone been a little?) *But it's not fucking fair that a my life be suddenly taken from me like this. It's bullshit. You know what, fuck this shit. I'm probably just hallucinating after a bad fall from the bike. Or maybe it's just a dream and I haven't gotten out of bed yet. Either way, it's bullshit. Like you would really go to a bar after you die. Fucking ridiculous.* I decided to get out of this ridiculous hallucination. I pinched myself. It hurt, but it didn't do anything else. So I poured my perfect beer over my own head. Now I was wet and sticky, but no more awake. I started getting really angry now. I threw my empty beer glass as hard as I could over the bar, shattering it and a (*Bird and Book brand)* liter of "Absinthe" in a bottle so beautifully emerald green that it may well have actually been made of emerald. Everyone in the bar was looking at me now. I stood up, only getting angrier, and balled my fists, and part of me hoped that someone would get into my face, and the rest of me was dying of shame.
The bartender walked over to where the bottles had shattered. They bent down and opened a cupboard which seemed to contain one emerald bottle of Absinthe, one empty beer glass, one feather duster, and one dishrag. They dusted the shelf where the glass had exploded, an action which inexplicably removed all of the broken glass (and emerald?). They handed me the dishrag (which I took, bewildered), took the beer glass over to the taps, and asked simply "another?"
1/2
| 2021-03-09T00:30:41 | 2021-03-09T00:18:37 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You have just successfully prevented a zombie apocalypse. By killing the first one to turn. What you call "heroism" the police call "murder".
|
They entered the room. They didn't look like the typical cops to come in, as one was dressed very formally, with a navy three-piece suit and sunglasses. The other was dressed a little more casual, with a button-down shirt and some smart shoes.
The one in the button-down started speaking. He was the one to do the routine explanation of my rights, but the conversation was going to be anything but routine. The man in the three-piece suit did not say anything, he just... Stood there. Stared at me.
Eventually, after the man in the button-down asked me a question, I responded, "Yes. I know what I'm in for. You think I murdered that man. The truth is, the guy was already dead," I continued, "You'd think the guy would have been dead because his damned brain was sitting in a jar on my desk. I'm a coroner, I don't take brains out of live people."
"Yes, we know that, Mr. Nataas. Unfortunately for you, the media doesn't. If they somehow get their hands on this story, the entire nation, if not the entire world, will go into a mass panic, and we don't want that." I nodded, knowing full well that a global panic is the last thing they'd want.
The man in the three-piece finally spoke. He had a high-pitched voice, something I had not expected from a man of his stature. "Aaron, our cover's blown. Our time with Mr. Nataas is up, we've got to go!" he said, visibly stressed. However, instead of leaving me there for pickup by another cop, they took me with them. A strange move, to be sure, but a welcome one. I didn't intend on sitting in an interrogation room all day.
When we got into a nearby car, the man in the button-down, apparently called Aaron, explained to me. "The deathless you killed, Mr. Nataas, wasn't the only one. There have been many across history, all over the world. We don't know what exactly causes them to rise, or how to make one hundred percent certain they won't rise *again*. That's why we exist, we make sure that they do not get wide-spread attention. They're harmless, but the media would, in the best case scenario, make the people afraid of them, causing the deathless to be attacked by angry, live humans."
I noticed that the car stopped. When I looked around, I saw a sushi shop, with a fluorescent sign reading **HOME PLATE**. Aaron got out, and asked me to do so as well. I complied, and followed him into the shop. Behind the counter, the cashier opened an 'Employees only' door, which both Aaron and I disappeared into. Somehow, a staircase appeared, almost out of thin air. The man in the three-piece suit, who had followed us, said: "Welcome to the Agency of Deathless Extermination., Mr. Nataas."
> *Feedback much appreciated.*
|
Thomas wondered how they came to this. We need to talk. The words were still bouncing through his mind.
"Tommy? Hello?" The voice on the other end of the cell asked for his attention. He realized that he hadn't responded.
"I'm here." Play it smooth, he told himself. "What do we need to talk about? Did you get a, " Thomas paused before saying," promotion." His mouth had gotten ahead of his brain. His friends were always telling him to think before speaking. He had to say something.
"No. Just come by my apartment when you get off work."
He stammered an okay as he glanced at the clock on his office wall. Thirty minutes until he could leave. He had 45 minutes to find a way to make the relationship with Carla work. His mind returned the phone.
"... dinner. Bye Tommy."
He didn't even say good-bye as he pressed the red button on his phone. He loved the way she said his name. He leaned back in his chair. He looked at his computer screen through the side of his eyes. He couldn't focus on work now. He let his mind drift to all the good times he and Carla shared.
They had been together for two years. He was saving up money for an engagement ring. They were supposed to get married and spend life together. Jan, his friend and secretary, told him that he was moving too slow. She could cover for him if he left work now. He walked to the door determined to make whatever compromises needed to make things work.
Thomas pulled up to the apartment complex thirty minutes later, since he took a long route to get there as he planned his words. He was ready to win his fair lady's heart again. He walked up to the door searching through his key chain for the spare key. She wanted to wait until marriage before living together. He smiled as he remembered the way she looked in that summer dress when that conversation came up last year. The smile turned into a frown as he turned the door knob.
The aroma of incense invaded his nose. He didn't mind the scent, but it struck him as weird that she would be burning incense. She hated the smell of candles and preferred opening the window when the place needed to smell fresher. He looked around the living room. The coffee table was pushed against the couch. Concern replaced the sadness on his face.
"Thomas, honey? Is that you, " Carla's voice asked from the kitchen.
"Yeah. Why did you move the coffee table?"
"I did some yoga earlier and just haven't moved it back."
"Really? I thought you said yoga was for the easily deceived, " he asked confused?
She walked around the corner. She was sporting another summer dress; her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Carla looked at him. "I made you a plate, but I couldn't wait. It smelled so good." She was either ignoring the question or didn't hear him, but Thomas decided not to push the issue.
Thomas sniffed, but he could still only smell burning incense. "This little old man was selling a bunch of organic fruits on the side of the road. I never stop, but I wanted to make you a special meal. Anyway, I asked him if he knew any unique recipes. He gave me one and said that it was guaranteed to keep a couple together forever."
"What are you talking about? What's going on? You called and said 'we need to talk.'"
Her body immediately tensed as her playful expression changed to one of regret or sadness. "You are going to want to sit down."
Thomas glanced at the inaccessible couch. "I think I'll stand."
"I'm sorry. Thomas, I'm so sorry." Tears ran down her face. "I'm pregnant."
"How can you be pregnant? You said we were waiting until we married." The shock was quickly replaced with devastation. Thomas wished he was sitting.
"I know, " her words were barely audible. "It was a one-time mistake. I was drunk."
"Drunk?!" The devastation was slowly being replaced with anger. He was prepared to give anything to make the relationship work, but this was not a scenario he was ready to handle. "You don't drink at bars. You said you never trust the bartender." His voice was slowly rising.
"I wasn't at a bar. I was at Mary's. She had invited Barry."
"Barry. Barry Golds. You slept with our small group leader." He realized that his voice was definitely yelling.
"It's not like that. I don't even remember it." Her voice was rising in defense.
"How do you not remember it? Don't lie to me." He was certain that neighbors could hear, but he didn't care.
Carla's heart began beating faster and faster as the panic set in. This wasn't happening as she planned. "They said I blacked out, but I only had a couple..." The words weren't coming anymore. The panic of losing Thomas was replaced with the panic of getting the next breath.
Thomas ran to her and caught her as she fell. The anger was replaced with fear and concern for her life. Her body convulsed in his arms. "You can't die." He repeated the words over and over. He pulled out his cell phone and tried to dial 911, but this thumb wasn't working. In frustration, he threw the cell phone at the wall and turned all of his attention on her. "Don't leave me like this." Tears streamed down his face as her body stopped moving. He held her close and wept.
Five minutes later, he recovered enough to realize that he still needed to call someone. He looked over at his phone, the cracks were evident. Thomas' phone was a lost cause. He began feeling his girlfriend's pockets for her phone.
A twitch. Thomas felt her body twitch. She was still alive, he thought. Relief tried to grip the back of consciousness. He turned his head to Carla's face hoping against hope that there would be signs of life. Her eyes were open and looking at his. She was alive. He sat up and turned to pull her close.
As his hands reached for her, he noticed that eyes weren't right. The life wasn't there, but they weren't empty either. Reason told him that it was safer to not hug her. She slowly sat up and turned to look at him. The motions weren't right.
He scooted back, "Carla?"
There was no response. Carla opened and closed her mouth like she was chewing. Her eyes consumed him hungrily. She twisted toward him and began crawling, her mouth still chewing the nonexistent food.
Thomas stood up and backed into the kitchen. Carla slowly stood up. He grabbed the largest knife from the knife block, "Carla? Sweetie? Don't do this."
There was a knock on the door, but Thomas ignored it. Carla's body took another step. Thomas held the knife in front of him defensively. Another knock. Another step.
"Hello? This is the police. We got a call about a ..." the voice from the other side of the door called out.
Carla lunged. Thomas reached forward with his knife hand. The knife slid into the underside of the jaw. Carla's body went limp and fell into his hands.
Shaken. He turned and dropped her body. Another knock.
He walked to the door and opened it. Officer Charles Pentz and Officer Benjamin Baily stood surprised to see a man unaware that he was covered in his girlfriend's blood. Help was the only word Thomas could mutter. Both officers drew their guns. Officer Baily kept an eye on Thomas, while Officer Pentz slid around him.
After a quick survey of the apartment, Pentz told Baily to arrest Thomas for the murder of Carla. Thomas could barely process the next few hours. He remembered being told his rights, but that could have been his mind saying that it happened because all the cop shows show the Miranda rights being read. He had a better memory of the in-processing.
"Thomas Carter," asked a voice.
Hearing his name shook the remaining shock off his brain. He turned to see who had called him and registered that he was indeed under arrest and sitting, handcuffed, in a mostly empty room.
"According to the statement you gave at the scene, your girlfriend died and then... tried to eat you. I'm going to be honest, her neighbors heard the argument. This doesn't look good for you. Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Thomas focused on the woman speaking. He opened his mouth and began telling the investigator what happened. He remembered the argument and worked through her last words again. His brain finished her thoughts. He believed that she was going to say she was drugged and raped. He wanted to believe it. He had to believe it. He hadn't realized that tears were streaming down his face.
"So you after you argued," she prodded.
Thomas did his best to continue. Before he reached the point of saying he stabbed her in the face, there was a knock on the mirror. The investigator turned to the door, opened, and stepped through it. Thomas could hear the sounds of an argument outside. The door opened, and two other people walked through.
The man was dressed in a suit. The woman wore a business skirt. She approached the table, while the man stood at the door.
"I know you've had a rough day what with your wife eating the root of the cadaver flower. We know what happened, we believe you, and we can help you."
| 2017-03-31T14:28:23 | 2017-03-31T13:50:38 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Characters realize they are in a poorly written fanfiction.
|
#OMNG GUIS I DONT OWN ANY OF THE CARICATURES IN DIS FANFICX, ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO DISNEY OR WHATEVA. THNX TO MAH BETA AND BFF TWILEESPARKLEZ, TEAM EDWARD FOREVA AMIRITE
Harry Potter was like, totally depressed.
*Well, I suppose I am. I mean, I woke up, my spiders are missing, and I've got a voice in my head.*
His auntie had gone out shopping at the mall, with Didley and Bernon, her husband.
*... what. I am British. Unless she's gone overseas or something... Nah, unlikely. Ain't that lucky.*
Harry was on his own. When suddenly Headwhig came in with a letter.
*huh, an owl just burst through the wall. ... I don't know what's going on. Probably my fault.*
Harry opened the letter, and read.
*Harry, you are stuck in a corrupted Pensieve that has been modified to accept fiction rather than a memory. Your own mind is at risk, as the fiction included you. The Order is attempting to find a way to retrieve you.*
Harry looked at the owl and petted it.
*The Order? Pensieve? What is this? I'm just a schoolkid who gets bullied a lot.*
The owl coughed up a wand, which Harry grabbed.
*this... feels familiar.*
Harry tickled the owl's genita-
*No.*
Harry tickled the owl's geni-
*I am Harry Potter. Wizard. Auror. Father of a ridiculous number of messy haired gingers.*
Harry tickled the o-
*And I reject your reality!*
Har-
*AND I REPLACE IT WITH MY OWN!*
Harry erupted from the Pensieve, furious, 36, and angry.
*nice try, but I'm still in the story, aren't I? Let me go.*
Okay.
|
Joffrey grinned as Jon Snow fell. Jon Snow fell because he was pushed by The Hound, Joffrey's minion. The Hound said, "On your knees, prisoner!" and Jon fell. "Ouch," said Jon. "ha HA ha ha," laughed Joffrey. "Look!" He pointed, and there was Eddard Stark's head on a spike. "That is what happens to traitors. And now it will happen to you!" Jon was scared. But he looked brave. "You are no King," he said. "You know nothing, Jon Snow!" yelled Joffrey. "You should of - listened in school." He looked at The Hound. "Now then, dog, I command... I..."
Here, Joffrey paused, and a strange unease gripped those present.
The Hound looked puzzled for a moment, then spoke quickly. "Uh... What is your command, my King?" It was almost believable. But Joffrey could not regain his composure.
"I can't. I can't do it," he spluttered.
Murmurs spread through the other characters present. "What are you doing?!" spoke the Hound through clenched teeth.
"Look," said Joffrey, "just look at this." With one hand, he was covering his face in some mixture of despair and embarassment. With the other, he reached out, producing from nowhere a piece of paper, and offering it to the Hound. "This is what I'm meant to say next."
The Hound took the page. He read it. He squinted, and his head gave an involuntary shake. He read it again, this time aloud:
"Now then, dog, I command you to *own* this *noob...*"
Joffrey stared at him with a crazed look, and nodded profusely. "Pretty incredible, huh? No, forget it, man. There are limits to what we can bear. And I'm not being unreasonable; you saw, just a moment ago, I said 'should of' and I just kept at it, I just kept going-"
"Actually, you paused there a bit, I noticed," came the voice of Podrick Payne from the assembled crowd. "I mean, you did pretty well, but... I did notice." Hodor, inexplicably present, nodded his agreement.
"The point is, I stuck with it. And I've stuck with everything, in every one of these ridiculous scenarios which, as a universally hated character, I am inevitably placed in." He looked around at the crowd, appealing for their understanding. "People have me getting dunked in acid, cramming things up my ass, resurrected only to get killed again... But it's all part of the job, so I keep going. But this?" He snatched the script back from Sandor, held at arm's length, as though he might be contaminated by it.
Shocked glances were exchanged between some characters in the crowd, while others remained resolute. Then Cersei spoke.
"He's right, you guys," she said, "and we ought to thank him for speaking up... I know I do; I don't know what I would've done once it got to my part. Look at my dialogue, did any of you read it? I have it almost as bad as him. See here: I have a sort of *groan* before everything I say. It's spelled E-E-U-U-G-H... 'Aauugh, my Joffrey is an awesome King' is my first line... Did I even do that right?"
"Ah, I think maybe it should be more like... *eeeerg*" offered Varys, and naturally there followed a chorus of various groaning noises from several other characters, attempting to provide a more accurate "Eeuugh" while those trying to remain in character looked on in horror.
"The point is, it's worthless. I did read ahead; in Part 4 the Others carve out a *snowboard park* somewhere north of the Wall, and the Cleganes go and have a contest there... No, I can't make this shit up. I'm surprised Lord Stark doesn't come back to life in this one, to be honest. But I digress; the point is made. This is garbage, and I'm not sorry to say: I'm done with this one."
An air of uncertainty filled the silence. Characters glanced at one another, at themselves, suddenly feeling very aware of their limbs and uncertain what to do with them. Some characters looked as though they might try to stay with the script, but it was clearly impossible now, the central characters of the scene having flown so far off the rails. And so the chatter began, each one breaking character to express their incredulity. "What... what happens now?" said Sansa worriedly. "Stick to the script, always to the script," Tywin was muttering. "Why am I wearing a trenchcoat and sunglasses?" Jon wondered aloud.
"So," came a voice, and everyone turned to look as Hodor spoke, "what happens now?" This quintessential shattering of character was the last straw for those still trying to keep their script-appointed positions, and they slumped, defeated.
"Well, we've obviously desynched at this point," said Tywin grumpily. When nobody responded, he rolled his eyes. "We've diverged from the source material, beyond the threshold of possible recovery."
"Obviously," agreed Joffrey, "but the question is, what becomes of us now?"
"I always thought the world was supposed to just implode on us or something," said Jon. "That's what kept me in character."
"Well, it is said," Grand Maester Pycelle offered, "that, in the event of a sudden desynchronization such as this, in order to prevent our world from crumbling, control of the story falls to a character within it; randomly, I suppose, but I have never-"
But Hodor then spoke again. "It's me," he said, his excitement as evident as his astonishment. "I can feel it, the power... Look!" And even as he spoke, a geyser of rainbows blasted forth from the floor, eliciting gasps from several characters. "It's amazing, I could do anything... and you can too! Go ahead, I say!" Joffrey looked on in disbelief; Cersei gasped; others began to tentatively move around...
And then, chaos, as characters revelled in their newfound freedom. Everyone got a turn to sit on the Iron Throne. Tywin began to cartwheel about. Ilyn Payne sang throatily, and recited the alphabet. The head of Eddard Stark whizzed around the room, somehow liberated from its spike. And all the while, Hodor continued to perform increasingly surreal miracles. The hall, previously nondescript for lack of imagery by the fan author, was transformed into a fluorishing garden of colour. Hodor himself swelled rapidly, transcending reality, becoming ethereal. Winterfell was restored and became a gleaming palace, attended by unicorns. Littlefinger was transformed into a centaur. Hodor was now omnipotent, a being both inside and outside of reality, and his voice boomed throughout eternity. Gregor Clegane thundered into the hall, only to grimace, doubling over, before his chest burst and the Red Viper emerged, shrieking with an insane grin, "YOU KILLED HER CHILDREN!"
A few minutes passed, and Joffrey continued to look on, aghast.
"Hodor?" he asked.
"**Yes?**" came the reply, from all around him.
"This may be slightly better-written," he said, looking around, "but I'm not sure that it's *better*."
| 2015-04-17T12:14:10 | 2015-04-17T11:09:13 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
I hear the battle rage from across the city. The police band hasn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise with the officers escorting me to central booking.
Gents, I say to try and get their attention. If I don't get out of these cuffs soon, he'll win and were properly screwed.
Gents, I say a little more emphatically, trying to be heard above the din of radio chatter. Useless. I could escape but doing so would kill these poor slobs, just some dumb mick cops living their childhood dreams.
As I clear my throat before yet another attempt at gaining these fools' attention the squawk box erupts in screams. Seconds later fire erupts from the ground level of a building directly in front of us sending debris flying everywhere including directly into the front of the squad car. We become airborne for what seems like an eternity as shards of glass and twisted metal fly around the inside of the vic, an inside that's quickly becoming an outside.
Miraculously I'm alive. Thrown from the car and bleeding from a cut above my brow. I don't know how badly I'm hurt, but the wound stings and blood drips into my freshly starched and pressed shirt. It occurs to me only after my fingers have gently proved the cut that I'm no longer handcuffed. I'm free to put an end to this madness. Hopefully she's alive and I'm not too late.
I pull out my wizard robe and hat. Game on.
|
I stare, pretty shocked, I must admit, as something a little too fast for normal eyes to see hits Phase in the stomach and launches him backwards, much like what happens in a car crash. He lands right in front of one of the huge trucks carrying containment cells, designed to cuff people like me. Actually, probably designed specifically to contain me. Who knows what those overpaid nerdy idiots really intend with their gadgets. That something is shining brightly, moving in insane speed even while standing in place, apparently with no effort. The figure's movements seem to slow down to normal, showing it's just a human. With a costume. I sigh. What idiot is this? Some new Hero looking for a fight?
"Hah, what an idiot, letting his guard down just because he managed to catch that stupid whore Eclipsa. Don't you know she isn't the only villain in this town, and much less the strongest one?"
"Who - cof cof - are you? I thought the only villain that hadn't already been caught was her..."
And he was supposedly right. I made it so that I stood atop all the crime in the city, and after a lot of bribing and murdering, I managed to send all the great Mafia bosses and supervillains right into Phase's palm. That guy was completely new to me.
"I'm Burst. Through small controlled explosions caused by a material discovered by me, I can disrupt the fabric of time, creating...ahem...*Bursts* of extreme time acceleration which I can manipulate, giving the impression that..."
Phase rollwd his eyes while "Burst" proceeded with his lecture, eventually interrupting him.
"Blah blah blah, science science science, I don't care! Just know that the mighty -cof cof- oh boy that punch to the stomach did a number on me. Just know that the mighty Phase will be the one to-"
Again, in a speed faster than what anyone else's eyes could catch, Burst moved and hit Phase, this time a little higher, right in the chest. He tried to phase before the hit landed, and maybe he even acomplished it, but Burst probably just waited for the small phasing window to pass and hit him. He flew some good 5 meters, and landed with a cold thud. He'll make it against this asshole, right? He didn't get up. Should I...intervene? Nah, I bet he'll make a heroic comeback. Oh, there goes that idiot again.
"Not so talkative anymore, eh? I'm being nice to you. Do you know what I'm doing? You can't even see it, but I'm not punching you, I'm gently touching you with extreme speed. Do you have any idea of what'll happen if I punch you?"
Silence. He looks up, and bravely stands, putting his weight on a trash can that was slammed out of a lamp post by his last impact. Now that I think about it, just how resilient is a regular human, again? He couldn't have broken or ruptured something important with just this, right? Right?
"I guess...-cof cof wheeze- I guess I'll have to just phase.... until help arrives..."
I'm starting to get worried. That respiration doesn't seem healthy at all. I'm seriously considering breaking out, but then what? "Eclipsa misteriously kills new villain". I don't want to see that. I love Phase, not this piece of shit city. I guess I'll just see if the stupid neopolice can take this idiot down. I'm pretty sure Phase can hold out.
"Help? A whole army could come here, I can maintain my extreme speed for days. I'd age a lot, but I'd survive unscratched. And I know you can't phase for more than 5 minutes without a pause, you'd start losing your physical form."
Oh. I completely forgot about that. I've always let him win so easily that he haven't had to phase for this long since a while ago. He begins to phase before Burst can start his extreme speed, but, just as he said, he can't keep it up. I watched his pained expression as he pushed his limit to 6 minutes, while Burst patiently took care of all the oncoming neopolice droids, playfully deflecting all projectiles with his own hands. Then he collapses. The tips of his fingers, nose and ears already lost into thin air. Burst laughs.
"Idiot. He was going to die anyways. He just prolonged his suffering. And a punch trough the head yoooou taaaa-"
This is it. As the bright bursts started, I instantly pulled the palpable darkness from inside me and broke my containment cell. Hands of darkness flailed destroying everything in a good 5m radius around me. Burst turned, startled, all the while not releasing the extreme speed around his hand.
"What? You broke free? No matter. Nothing can keep up with my extreme speed. I'll just kill this fucktard before I deal wi-"
As he turned towards Phase, the shadows caused by the skyscrapers around us stretched and lunged towards Burst, forcing him to dodge away from the unconscious body on the pavement.
"You bitch, I didn't know you could do this, I thought you just covered yourself in umbra and used it as a melee weapon. Whatever. Full body burst-"
You don't know anything about me.
"Silence, varmint. Blackout"
The huge wave of darkness that flowed from my eyes covered dozens of miles in fractions of fractions of a second. Nothing travels faster than darkness. There was no visibility. No light could banish that, no high-tech gear could see trough it. Except myself. I guess no one will know what happened, especially Burst, since they don't know I can do this. And the name of the ability? I know it is overly simplistic. But I don't care. I never did, being powerful overwrites the need to be edgy. You look towards a desperate, confused Burst.
"What the fuck is this? I've done deep research into you, there's no documentation of such a power. How and why would you hide something this big?"
I roll my eyes, despite no one being able to see them. This is nothing. I could cover the solar system in darkness, I could force the void to devour our planet. How pitiful is that, huh? The ability to destroy everything at will... it doesn't bring you anything. Power? I'd trade all of mine for half of a life where I'd lay down in a comfy bed at night and, everyday, be able to think to myself: Today was great, life is awesome.
"Big? I just covered the city in darkness. And why? The reason...the *someone* I did this for... he's just great. Always willing to risk himself, nice to all, pure, disgusted by corruption. Is he really perfect? I don't think so, and I'll probably never know. But I'll help him. He'll not even be thankful, and there's no way I'm changing that. That's the one thing about the universe I don't hate. "
"What are you on about, dramatic bitch? Screw this, I'm rushing the hell out of..."
Heh, it's not like I expected him to understand, right? And did he just call me dramatic? That's it, it's been a long time since my babies from the other side of the veil had mortal flesh to eat.
"Dark Feast."
I watched as the beings of pure darkness stretched from shadows even darker than my umbra and shredded the villain into tiny bits. Horrific screams of fear and pain came from him, mixed with the hungry growls of the fallen ones. His existence vanished. I then swallowed the darkness back into me , and while everyone was briefly stunned by the return of the brightness and the confusion, I entered another containment cell, as if I had never left.
Edit: added some stuff, some typos were removed.
| 2022-01-12T08:00:19 | 2017-09-17T05:11:16 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever.
|
I couldn't help but pace. Before me stood the ship we had been waiting for; the ship that was supposed to be carrying a representative of the alien nation we had discovered decades before I even had began my internship with NASA. In mere minutes, a creature we had never seen before was going to walk through the ship's doors... and then who knows what. Maybe it'd kill us all. Impatiently, I picked at the watch strapped to my wrist.
I was the only scientist in the group that still wore the watch. It wasn't a traditional time teller, instead it was more of a detector. Inside was a piece of my DNA programmed into it's tracker- a hair I think is what they had used. It's only purpose was to tell me when my soul mate had been detected and who they were. At the ripe old age of 27, I was the only person who hadn't had a soul mate detected. Many view that as a sad thing, but somehow I've managed to stay hopeful and have kept my tracker watch on so maybe one day it would detect something.
The screech of metal grinding on metal made the eager crowd of welcomers shove their hands against their heads as the doors to ship finally started to peel back. For a few seconds, the crowd stood silent as our guest walked down the steps of their ship and onto the soil of earth.
Their lack of difference was peculiar. They stood tall, at least a foot above the tallest man in the crowd, and each limb was proportional. In fact, it a striking resemblance to humans seemed to release a sigh of hope across the crowd that maybe there is another world the human race can thrive in once the earth inevitably starts to fail.
As I looked upon the extra terrestrial, a million questions began to form in my head. What was their life span? Do they have government? What are their animals like? Can they contract our diseases? Moving at a hundred miles an hour, my brain was spewing thought after thought after thought and only stopped when I heard something I had been waiting years to hear.
The tracker fastened to my wrist began to beep frantically.
|
'Goooooooood evening and welcome to another installment of...'
' MATCH MY SOUL!' The audience chimed in. A humanoid satsuma gave a fake laugh exposing his peroxide teeth.
' That's right folks, the show that uses the latest technology to locate your number one. We dig into the vast mines of possible matches and find that diamond in the rough. I'm Tom and will be your humble servant on this voyage of romantic discovery. Are we ready to meet the guests?'
'YEEEEEEE!'
'Oh righty then, let's bring them out.' What followed to the deafening tune of pre-recorded trumpets and lazy percussions were two attractive women and a relatively toned man. They were all in their late twenties to early thirties. Each contestant stepped onto the plastic stage to an applauding mass of people, whom sat with judgemental stares. A few mechanical cameras flanked the stage and made occasional groans whilst they pivoted ever so slowly, bearing an inhuman eye. The satsuma shook hands with every guest. His fake tan would smudge onto their hands. He turned to his army of sheep.
'Let's hear it for our guests ladies and gentlemen!' Repetitive clapping and cheering intensified until each contestant took their podium, ready to be probed. He moved towards the first contestant.
'Okay so PODIUM 1 tells us your name dear.'
'Hiya, m'name Tracy n I'm frum Blackpool.' More cheering ensued for registering another human being.
'And what do you do Tracy?'
'I wurk in Pee Ar.'
'Ooooo and who do you think your perfect soulmate will be?'
'Erm sum 1 ho gut like a purfect bodeh butt also like amazing per-so-nalitah.'
'Well Tracy...we'll just see what we can do about that.' The satsuma pressed a gargantuan red button and immediately pixels on a large screen above began to distort and entangle themselves. Amidst a blurry canvas, the picture became focused on a tall, muscular man waving at the audience.
'We've found you Alexei from St. Peterburg, Russia!'
'Hullo Tratskee.' The Russian giant said in a deep voice.
'What do you think?'
'Oooh I luv im! Hiyaaaaaa! Oh fank u so much.'
'As is customary with the show, we've only gone and sorted you out tickets to go and visit Alexei. In fact the flight is only in a few hours. You better shoot off. Let's give a hand to Tracy everybody!' The audience applauded as Tracy beamed and ran off the stage.
'And good luck to her. Now PODIUM 2, introduce yourself.'
'Oh right, yaa. So okay I'm Emily and I'm from Oxfordshire.'
'Aaaand what do you do Emily?'
'I work for a prestigious and very well respected wine company. I'm not allowed to disclose the name for le-'
'Eeer that's right,'
'But ya. I like horse-riding, tasting wine...obvs. and absolutely adore Made In Chelsea,'
'You're lucky that's on the same network as this show, otherwise I'd had chosen another guest we tested 10 years ago.' Sympathetic laughter seeped from the audience.
'Yaa so I also love-'
'Sorry Emily I'm gonna have to cut you off there as otherwise we won't have time to meet your soulmate! Who are you hoping for?'
'Well someone who owns a lot of land so I can go horse-riding, and understands the true art of wine, and hunts as well. I can't stand vegetarians or vegans. They need to get a life and just face reality. Animals are there to be eate-'
'Okay Emily, the aim of the show isn't to offend potential viewers. Leave that to the comedians,' He smirked to the audience. 'Are we ready then ladies and gents!' Immediately he slammed his hand on the red button eager to move the pacing of the show. Blue sky was visible from the screen, as a burly gentleman stood there wearing a cowboy hat and a rifle around his shoulder.
'Hello there Richard from Cape Town, South Africa. Can you hear me?'
'Howzit moi name's Richard.'
'Oh hello.' The woman said coyly. Awkward silences punctuated the atmosphere due to the bad reception of the skype feed.
'It looks like you're doing a bit of hunting there Richard.' The satsuma improvised.
'Oh ye jus preparing for dinner.' Everyone laughed but Richard who hadn't intended it to be a joke.
'So you're not a vegetarian then.'
'Oh god no. If I could, I would shoot the tree-hugging puss-'
'Oookay Richard thank you,' the sound team swiftly cut Richard's audio, 'so Emily you know the procedure. Off you go to South Africa. Let's give a hand to Emily everybody!' By now, the satsuma was dripping in sweat; the fake tan forming orange veins around his neck. He was getting too old for these charades.
'Right now onto our last guest. PODIUM 3. Introduce yourself.'
'Y'alright my name's Darren and I'm from Tooting in London.'
'And what do you do Daniel?'
'I work in sales for a retail company.'
'And who is your perfect person?'
'Errr, well I really like fishing and love hanging out in the pub with my mates and that, so really just someone who'll tolerate all that, but also we could have dinner together and go and visit places together. So y'know just a chilled-out person really.'
'Interesting. Very interesting. Well Daniel...we've found him. Say hello to Sumate from Bangkok, Thailand.' As the satsuma pressed the button, Darren's face suddenly became confused and distant. Before he could say anything, a skinny man with elongated eyelashes appeared on the screen.
'Unfortunately Sumate doesn't know any English at this point but that'll be something to bond over won't it Daniel?'
'Seh-sorry.'
'Sunmate. Your Mr. Perfect.....at least wave to the guy Daniel don't be rude!'
'I don't understand. Is this a piss-take?'
'Hmmmm.'
'This is a wind-up isn't it? This is just a little joke or somethin.'
'No, no Daniel he is your soulmate. He might not be able to tell you, due to the language barrier, but he loves fishing as well, and said that he is happy for you to do whatever when you're together. You might need an interpreter in the early-'
'But, but, but I'm not gay.' The audience gasped as Sunmate hung there on the screen, staring awkwardly into the camera.
'What do you mean,' For once, the satsuma looked worried, 'when we tested you, we took in all your personal details and preferences and calculated with our supercomputer your ideal match. Your one in a million.'
'I'm not gay.' Darren's face became red, in a mix of embarrassment and fury.
'But Daniel the computer never lies. How are you so sure anyway? Maybe you were just hiding in the closet for so long, but Daniel, don't worry. It's perfectly acceptable to accept who you really are and let-'
'Look. I'm NOT GAY.'
' Please Daniel there's no need to hide your self from the world. Plus you don't want to disappoint Sunmate do you? We mixed things up a bit and he's actually flying to see you TONIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.' The satsuma tried to prompt an applause to deafen Darren's complaints but it didn't work.
'I don't care. I don't understand what you've done but I like women alright. I'm not gay.'
'Well...Daniel...you know that Sunmate happens to be a ladyboy so it might not even be a problem-' He stopped talking as Darren walked off. Nothing but silence filled the stage. Sunmate started talking to what seemed to be one of his friends, whilst the satsuma spoke to the producers off camera. All that could be heard on the stage was Sunmate's conversation. Eventually the skype transmission ended. After a few painful minutes, the satsuma jumped onto the stage as if nothing had happened and spoke directly to the camera:
'That just about concludes this episode of "Match My Soul". Do join us next time when we will align three more lucky guests with their other halves. Teerah!'
| 2015-11-30T10:38:58 | 2015-11-30T10:17:55 | 47 | 28 |
[WP] People earn karma points while alive. When they die, they can spend them either to enter a better afterlife, or to improve the life of some random stranger born on the day of their death. You donate all your points, and wake up the next day as the baby who would have gotten your points.
The living have no idea of the Karma-point system. You are reincarnated with all your memories and experiences.
|
When I was nine years old, I pulled my baby sister’s body out of the swimming pool. Mom was taking a nap, and Dad was off at work. They’d told me to keep an eye on the baby after a long, sleepless night of unexplained crying. But I was too cool for babysitting. I’d been busy playing with my toys. I hadn’t been watching.
When I found her, she was already gone. I don’t like to think about what happened next, about Mom’s reaction, about the hospital, about the prayers and screaming and pleasepleaseplease bring her back, about Dad coming home, about the days after.
I spent the rest of my life trying to make things right. I gave to charity, I volunteered every weekend, I became a doctor, and I went to the poorest places of the world to heal people with no one else to turn to. But it never made a difference, not where it mattered. After death, it came time to use my karma. I gave it away. Maybe then I would finally get the punishment I had earned.
It took almost a year after being reborn before my infant mind could comprehend what was going on, that I had been remade. But I still did not understand. My parents were here, looking as young and harried as they had when I was a child. And I had an older sibling…an older sibling who looked just like my childhood pictures. An older sibling with my name.
When I finally recognized my new face and knew that I’d been reborn into my doomed baby sister, I cried all night. I was so afraid, but this truly was the penance I deserved. The next day, after my Dad had gone to work and my Mom had gone to bed, I went out to the pool. It was my sister’s retribution, to experience the death my carelessness had caused. Maybe then I would finally be free.
I reached the water’s edge.
I leaned over.
“Lizzie!”
Warm hands, so much bigger and stronger than mine, wrapped around my tiny body and pulled me back. It was me, the other me.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be out here,” said the other me, carrying Lizzie-me back inside. “Come on, you can play with my toys if you don’t slobber on them too much.”
I didn’t understand. I deserved death. I deserved to drown. I deserved…
“You’re a real pain in the butt sometimes,” said the other me, setting Lizzie-me down in the living room. “But you’re my little sister, so I have to look out for you.”
Other me smiled, and I looked down at my pudgy hands.
I deserved…
The other me put a stuffed animal in my lap and went to gather more toys. I looked back to the pool, the still open door.
I deserved…
I looked away and wrapped my arms around the toy unicorn, Lizzie’s favorite. My favorite.
I deserved a second chance.
|
Helena Mercier only received an honourable mention in the national science competition, but that was hardly reflective of the merit of her entry. Rather, as Helena astutely observed, there was little appetite for a scientific inquiry such as hers – the zeitgeist of the early 2200s was one seized with renewed passion for exploring the uncharted galaxies beyond earth, for humanity’s impending expansion amongst the stars.
In times such as those, when humanity’s gaze was focused outwards and not inwards, whose curiosity would ever be piqued by the monotonous-sounding “An Analysis of the Factors Leading to Humanity’s Achievements in the 22nd Century”?
She understood this, so she graciously accepted the modest grant which was bestowed on her, and continued refining her work in the pockets of spare time which came her way. Coder in the Department of Statistics by day, unbridled zealot at night, she plugged away at the program she had written, feeding it with reams and reams of historical records. She studied the patterns which emerged, checked and cross-checked, verified and disproved.
Years passed.
---
Helena found herself on the doorstep of a sprawling mansion in the suburbs one August morning, nervously checking the holoscan on her wrist to ensure she had the right place. Her journey had taken so long, had been so full of arduous obstacles, that she had trouble believing that it potentially was coming to an end.
“Hello, this is Helena,” she said, speaking into the communication panels built into the wall. “I have an appointment with Mr Burelli, he’s accepted my request for an interview.”
The doors slid open soundlessly, and the butler perfunctorily checked her credentials once more. “Mr Burelli is in the piazza. Please do not tax him with your questions unnecessarily, his health is not what it used to be.”
He’s so frail now, thought Helena when she first laid eyes on Burelli. He was seated in his sunchair, gazing out the window, with an intricate network of tubes linking him to an array of machines, thrumming ceaselessly in the background. His features were unmistakable, but compared to his holograms in public circulation, there was a grim pallor to his skin, a looseness to his flesh.
“Mr Burelli, thank you for meeting with me,” said Helena, settling into the chair opposite him. “I was hoping you could help shed some light on the research I’ve been doing.”
“Ah, yes, Helena. Your communique was very interesting, very imaginative. Come, my mind is not what it used to be, but if I can help you, I will.”
Helena took a deep breath. She knew that the longer she dwelled on framing the conclusion to her research, the more absurd it would sound – better to get it over and done with, as simply as she could.
“Mr Burelli… I think you’re the hidden hand which has guided humanity to its current utopia. More accurately, the organization you’re chairman of, the Three Events Society, has been quietly piloting every country on earth to where they are today. For over 200 years, TES has been nurturing leaders, lobbying for change, applying resources to bring humanity to where it is today. Mr Burelli, can you confirm or deny that?”
Burelli chuckled, and for a moment the lustre returned to his eyes. “On what do you base your claims, Helena?”
“I stand by my research, my algorithms. I directed my program to chart every significant decision taken by governments and corporations for the last two centuries, and then I queried the steps which led to those decisions. Imagine my surprise when, even after accounting for probability, TES was identified to be the genesis of over 75% of all the key steps forward which humanity has taken. TES is like a spider, in the centre of a very large web, strumming the threads as it sees fit.”
“I prefer the imagery of a conductor, Helena, of the world’s largest orchestra, coaxing a coherent and pleasing melody with a baton. That is far more pleasant than your spider.”
“So you admit it then? That TES is responsible for… everything? Don’t get me wrong, my own simulations showed that if TES did not interfere, there was a 85% chance that humanity would still be embroiled in petty internal squabbles, that disease would still run rampant, that we would still face yesteryear’s quandaries of overpopulation, undereducation, whatever else have you…”
“If nothing is broken, Helena, what answer do you seek?”
Helena sighed, then unplugged a chip from her personal communicator, and set it on the table between them. Her research, and all its conclusions, on a single square of silicon.
“I seek the answer only for myself, Mr Burelli. I have toiled a lifetime chasing this thread, pulling on it to see where it goes. Once I saw the pattern, I could not unsee it. As I said, I am grateful for what TES has done… but I still burn with curiosity, and it consumes me, all the time. For my own sanity, I must know.”
“So, you won’t set out to stop it? To oppose TES?”
“Why would I?”
They locked eyes then, and Helena felt Mr Burelli’s keen stare bore into her soul, laying it bare. In those few seconds, she saw a glimpse of the young Mr Burelli, the only son of a billionaire’s estate, the master investor who had dominated all the main industries, as powerful as he was enigmatic.
“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you anything, Helena. I won’t even bother asking that you keep it confidential, for I doubt you will be able to find anyone to believe you. In fact, TES has made quite certain that the scientific understanding which can actually prove my story is more than a hundred years away. Just a little insurance on our part, if you will.”
“Please, Mr Burrelli. I am listening.”
“Imagine, Helena, if there was more to our existence on earth than meets the eye. Imagine if there were a cosmic scale, unknown and impenetrable, which tracked all our deeds on earth and ascribed a score to it at the end of the day. Upon our deaths, we would be given a choice, to either spend our accumulated karma in exchange for an afterlife, or to donate it all to someone else on earth, so that they may live life a bit more bountifully than they would have.”
Helena’s pulse had quickened. She suddenly recalled how TES, in its early years, had redirected funds and molded opinions so that research into the afterlife often terminated prematurely. She had thought it frivolous then, but there was finally an explanation to those motivations.
The possibilities enraptured her.
“And then imagine,” continued Burelli, “that on one such occasion, someone was actually generous enough to donate every single bit of karma away. That had never happened before. Humans, being humans, often kept something for themselves, but this one was different. With no currency left to ply for an afterlife, a glitch occurred, if you will.”
“What happened to him?”
“It was a her, actually. But that’s a small detail. She thought she would wander the halls of purgatory forever, so you can imagine her surprise when she woke up in the body of a baby, born the day that her previous self had passed on. Even more curiously, she soon realised that she retained all her memories, all her knowledge, all her experience!”
Helena’s hands trembled as she keyed notes into her communicator. “What was her name?”
“You probably have them all, Helena, in those patterns your algorithm discerned. In fact, you probably can summon those records even more diligently than I. But records are boring, don’t you agree? They will tell you when TES was founded, who founded it, what it was founded for… but they won’t ever reveal what went on in the minds of those who shaped TES into what it was.”
“Please, continue. I did not mean to interrupt.”
Burelli hobbled back to his chair, weakened from his foray to the window. “I will only say this much. The temptation to live a life of excess was unbearable, especially upon knowing the rules of the game. But three events took place in that first repeated life, three events which led one to realise that perhaps, there was more to life than living for oneself. That anyone granted such an opportunity, had the supreme responsibility of trying to do more with it, for the rest of us.”
The gears clicked in Helena’s mind, and though the questions were bubbling up in her mind like toadstools after the summer rain, one thought in particular, one realisation, cut right through to the top. Helena’s heart sank as she wrestled with it.
“Mr Burelli,” she said, leaning forward, the concern creasing her forehead, “will you be coming back again?”
He smiled at her, and almost imperceptibly, shook his head from side to side. As the sunlight streamed in, as the melancholic beeps of the life support machines punctuated the blossoming silence, as the scene was etched forever in Helena’s memory, Burelli replied.
“No. My work here is done.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-04-08T09:32:59 | 2017-04-08T08:54:19 | 7,090 | 268 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins"
|
*Peter Lowe has joined respawn lobby chat #854393845*
*Server: Earth (pre-Cataclysm)*
*Players in server respawn lobby chat: 38*
Jack Howard: lMAO
Ellie Johnson: wtf dude
Harley Smith: whyyyyyy did u do this
Peter Lowe: WTF is this
Joseph Gabriel: I think it's his first game guys, easy
Peter Lowe: what's going on
Leshawn Okoye: what a fucking n00b
Leshawn Okoye: srsly who the fuck dies to falling down stairs
Leshawn Okoye: STAIRS
Peter Lowe: Where am I? What the hell's going on?
Leshawn Okoye: AT 33 FUCKING YEARS OLD
Joseph Gabriel: this is the Roy: Universe beta
Leshawn Okoye: COMPLETELY SOBER
Leshawn Okoye: HOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
*Bonnie Eilhart has disconnected from chat: respawned*
Ellie Johnson: lol leshawn
Joseph Gabriel: This your first game, Peter?
Harley Smith: obvisouly fuking faggot tripped down some stairs and died apparently
Peter Lowe: help me i'm trapped in this pod I can't see
Cho Zhao: dude's probably got that memory bug
Joseph Gabriel: There's a solution on the forums somewhere, I'd suggest looking there
Cho Zhao: i got that my first time, gave me a hell of a scare when I despawned
Peter Lowe: so
Peter Lowe: i'm dead
Peter Lowe: where's my wife? daughter? are they somewhere here?
Cho Zhao: yeah he's got it for sure
Jack Howard: that bug SUCKS i had to redownload everything about my meatspace life
Jack Howard: took like 20 minutes
Peter Lowe: fuck this I need help and it's not gonna be here
Joseph Gabriel: Try messaging a mod dude, there's no use panicing
Peter Lowe: i need to leave one way or another
*Peter Lowe has disconnected from chat: connection manually terminated*
Jack Howard: o shit
Stephanie Colter: whats going on in this chat
Stephanie Colter: seriously i'm getting so many notifications
Jack Howard: dumbass just hard DC'd after dying for the first time
Jack Howard: and his pre-Roy memories were wiped
Stephanie Colter: lol
Leshawn Okoye: hope the admins can help him before he completely loses it
Stephanie Colter: seriously what's with these respawn timers why are they so long
Leshawn Okoye: idk it's just a beta it'll be patched
Jack Howard: Roy developers have always ben lazy it'll never be patched out
Leshawn Okoye: fuck you dude if you hate them so much why do you play it
Leshawn Okoye: no-life nerd
Jack Howard: fuck you
Leshawn Okoye: fuck you
|
I looked around me. It's strange to explain the fact that there was no one to see, yet there were billions to sense.
Around me were other entities. I suppose they were dead humans. The man about five floating entities down couldn't stop blabbering about his former life. Apparently, he was Genghis Khan at some point, got a redo but ended up dying in his first five years because he didn't know certain berries were poisonous.
We all watched and waited.
"So, how'd you die, bud?" asked the entity on what might be considered the right of me.
"Me?"
"Yeah, buddy," he responded.
"I was murdered."
"Oh, you're lucky."
"How?" I asked. I'm sure he sensed my incredulous tone.
"Well, the people who get murdered end up going back to the game sooner than everyone else," my neighboring entity answered. He added, "The only ones who get a shorter wait time are kids."
"Oh, yeah? That's cool, I guess."
"You can feel temperatures here?"
"What? No. Why?"
"You said it's cool, no?"
I couldn't tell if the entity was being serious, but whatever. We've got nothing but time to kill.
I responded, "That means... Uh... Never mind. How'd you die?"
"I committed suicide," the entity replied.
"Oh, really? Why'd you do that?"
"I had things planned out, but well..." he hesitated. I waited a solid four to five minutes before trying to get an answer out of him. The anticipation was killing me. I mean, not literally, but I still wanted an answer, you know?
"Well?" I asked.
"Nothing. Don't worry about it," the entity responded.
I didn't speak to him again for a few days. In the meantime, I watched the counter telling me how long it would take for me to return to the 'next game.' I also eavesdropped--- and even participated in--- many conversations from various entities.
It became clear that everyone spoke whatever language they spoke, but we all understood one another. I only discovered this after overhearing some entity a few spots down claiming to be William Shakespeare. I anticipated he'd sound like a queer, but for some reason, he sounded like a millennial. I'm sure I sounded like a queer to him, though, because that's the language he was used to.
After the timer came down to 23688424.8 minutes left until my next game, I asked the entity on what I assumed to be the right of me, "So, how much time do you have left?"
"Too much."
"Is it deserved?"
"Is what deserved?"
"Your wait time."
"Buddy, look, I---" he sighed, then continued, "I've done some bad things in my previous life, but nothing so bad that I deserved such a horrendous wait time. I'm not great at math, but I am pretty sure I've got a good two thousand years to wait."
"Are you Jesus?"
"What?"
"Are you Jesus?" I asked again.
"Jesus? Are you fucking stupid?"
"Maybe."
"No, I'm not Jesus."
I again attempted to find out why my neighbor committed suicide, but he didn't seem interested in discussing that with me. The entity on my left didn't speak at all, no matter how often I questioned it. By the 23674024.4 minute mark, I lost my patience and shouted at the quiet entity, "Why won't you speak to me?"
"She's deaf and mute, stupid," my mysterious right-side entity informed me.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Before you came, I was her neighbor for a good forty-seven years," he said.
Someone a good distance away created quite a buzz for several excruciatingly long minutes. It turned out he was Charlie Sheen. Someone, who had been a big fan of some stupid *Two & a Quarter Bitches* show Sheen was on, wanted to know what having HIV was like. "It was similar to changing your gender for reality show attention," the Charlie Sheen entity said. "You know it's wrong, but everyone thinks you're a hero for doing it." I hoped I would remember such sage advice on my next play through the game. Maybe I could become an Olympic athlete and change my gender in my later years for fun. I don't know. It didn't sound all that bad to me, but who knows what the world would be like on my next play through.
"Hey," my neighbor entity, who was not Helen Keller, said. It had been at least 15,000 minutes since we last spoke.
"Yes?"
"What did people think about Germany in your lifetime?"
"They make great cars."
"So Mercedes-Benz is still around?" he asked.
"Of course," I said.
"That's good to hear. Where did you live?"
"America."
"Which one?"
"Uh... The good one..?" I answered.
My neighbor seemed confused, so I rephrased. "The United States of America," I said.
"Oh, wow! I thought for sure you guys would fall apart, like the Romans."
"Well, I don't know what Ramen Noodles have to do with anything, but it didn't happen in my lifetime."
"How long did you live?"
I began to answer, but I changed my mind. I instead confronted this asshole for being so mysterious.
"You want to know so much about me, but you won't tell me anything about you! Why not?"
Again, my neighbor went a good 3,500 minutes before speaking again. By then, I didn't care. I was intrigued by the conversations occurring around me. Helen Keller had started speaking for the first time since I'd been dead. It was so funny to hear. I really don't think she even knew she was dead. She just kept saying quotes, like, "Alone we can do so little; together we can fuck." I think she was misquoted for many decades with that one.
Another entity, claiming to be Benjamin Franklin, discussed all his sexual conquests. It sounded like he'd been fucking some ugly women, but it was still interesting to hear.
"Hey," my neighbor called.
I ignored him. I didn't care for his bullshit anymore. A few minutes ticked by. He again said, "Hey, buddy."
"What?!" I shouted. Other conversations around us stopped. I felt the other entities paying attention to us.
"Look, let's speak quietly, please," said my neighbor. We waited for chatter to build up again before I finally agreed to converse with this prick.
"I'm sorry I'm being so distant." I could sense sincerity in his voice. "I just know I've done bad shit, and most people don't like those who have done bad shit."
"Well," I responded, "humor me. What did you do?"
"I murdered people."
We didn't speak for a long time after that. I felt like an asshole. Here was this murderous asshole who had just admitted one of his major sins in life to me, and I just ignored him for a long time.
My counter was at 23639066.9 minutes before my guilt overwhelmed me. "You still wanna talk?" I asked.
"Me?"
"No shit. You think I'm talking to this deaf bitch next to me?"
"In my previous life, I would've had that woman executed."
"I don't blame you. She's annoying," I said. "I was taught she was such an incredible person, but I think someone just took the first part of her sayings and added a better ending to them. I mean, she was talking earlier and I swear she said, 'Never bend your head. Always hold it high. Look the snake straight in its one-eye and accept the load on your face.'"
"Good words to live by."
"So, why'd you commit suicide?"
Maybe I rushed it once again. I mean, we hadn't spoken in several weeks, but I needed to know.
He asked, "What do you know about the Second Great War?"
"Not much," I answered.
"Did your education system not teach it?"
"They did, but I didn't give enough shits to keep it in my memory bank."
"What about Russia? Did you learn anything about Russia?"
"Oh, God! Don't tell me you're Saddam Hussein!"
"What?" my neighbor was clearly confused.
"Hussein... Right? I mean, wasn't he the guy who killed, like, I don't know, six million Americans or something?"
"Do you mean Jews?"
"No. What? Jews? Why do you have to make this a race thing?"
"Have you ever heard the name 'Adolf Hitler'?"
I had to think about it. Where did I hear that name before? I thought about it for a solid hour, according to my counter.
"So?" my neighbor finally asked. "Have you ever heard of me?"
"You're Adolf Hitler?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Oh, okay," I said.
He asked, "What do you think?"
"About what?"
"About me. Any thoughts?"
"I don't know. Did you have a reality show?"
"I don't know what that is."
"Oh. Did you have a Twitter or Instagram or anything?"
"No. I'm not sure what those things are either."
I couldn't believe this asshole. "Sorry, bro," I said. "I've never heard of you."
"That's good," he said. "So, you're going to your next play through much quicker than I will. Wanna hear how the Jews are to blame for everything?"
"Sure," I answered. "I've got a good 23638981.1 minutes to kill."
| 2015-11-25T00:31:04 | 2015-11-24T23:08:01 | 1,235 | 402 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is.
|
For a moment the scan of this planet, Terra seemed normal, boring even. Sever billions of level one threats, a decent number of twos, a rare three here and there and a few pockets containing some higher level threats. Nothing beyond a seven though. However, while checking the last of these pockets a shocking result appeared: an individual reached the level of ten! Captain Drux immediately ordered the scanners checked and the scan repeated. The result remained. Several other scanners were used but nothing changed. It was clear: for the first time since the Pan genocide the Confederation was facing a threat of the highest possible level. The greatest military leaders and weapons were quickly gathered to prepare a contingency plan if this individual was to go against the Confederation. A group of spies were sent to Terra in order to probe the individual's abilities and look for potential weaknesses, what greeted them was some kind of a Terran instrumental music (apparently from a so-called "piano") and the words "I, Giorno Giovanna have a dream."
|
Written from the perspective of the one 10th lvl human:
“Aw chill, 10/10. Reddit will love this”
She pulled out her phone and opened r/ relationshipadvice.
*”gotta figure out the best title” *
**Aliens say I’m a lvl 10 threat (25NB she/they), do you think my partner (26NB he/they) will break up with me?(7yr relationship)**
TL:DR If you’re living under a rock: Aleins have decended upon the earth. They’ve been scanning individual humans for weeks to see if we’re a threat. Turns out, I am. I’m the only one. They’re done now and they said I’m the only lvl 10 threat they could find.
I mean, c’mon, they’ve denounced every other human as a lvl 1 threat, but like what *IS* a level one threat anyways? Like is that even a bad thing? “Smaller numbers don’t mean smaller happiness.” Ya, know?
They’re aliens, maybe their numbers are backwards. Maybe they scanned my partner and we’re like “eih, that was a little off” because they probably scan like 100 humans a day these days. Aliens can have interns too, ya know?
Anyways. I just need to know if this is maybe gonna cause a fight from the ~~relationships~ side of Reddit. I have awesome dinner plans for us and I just want to make sure he doesn’t get super stressed out.
His boss has been on him lately for what is essentially the one stat at work we all forget about. It’s different for everyone but there’s always the ONE. The boss tends to do this about every 2 months when their deadlines come up, so it’s kind of understandable, but like I wish the boss would just go easy on him. The boss is usually a pretty cool guy but like why is he so… upity when stressed.
Well… we all resemble our parents when stressed, and it’s not that like my partner would start the fight. They’re a chill person.
*I would start the fight*
Other people being stressed, stresses me out. But people never tell you when they’re stressed. There’s never an “I’m stressed” error that comes out of their mouth. It’s always in the body. A twitch there. A smirk here. A slight change of word pace. An intonation change. A diction change. A nervous movement. A repetitive movement. It’s all physical. It runs our society. The words left unspoken. The yet to be fully realized truths. If you can read between the lines… you’re fine. But if you can’t, you’re lost. You lose that persons grip on understanding when you attempt to change their world view with just words.
But a gentle hand on the shoulder. A “hey, are you ok? I noticed you haven’t talked about (insert niche special interest here) for a while, I saw a twitter post about (special interest twitter post concept) Do you wanna talk about it?” with another human will turn into them telling you what’s stressing them. It’s good to focus on something else for a bit. Even if it’s just a minute before that tense work conversation, that minute prevents days/months/years of emotional turmoil.
Humans are at their best when they know they’re learning, and when they only feel comfortable in that knowledge when OTHERS know they’re learning. If we have the active knowledge that we’re trying to get better, and the other people around us are also trying to get better? Awesome. 10/10 human right there doing human stuff.
The knowledge that humans can change in an instant due to a random thing in their environment triggering a memory/thought/idea is not easy to deal with. It happens to EVERYONE. Regardless of status, class, race, creed, sex, gender, identity, height, weight, age. If that person is biologically human, they will have negative/positive reactions to stressors on their environment.
But that’s just it. Stressors. What is a stressor? Well… everything.
There’s good stress and bad stress. Good stress moves us forward, bad stress holds us back. We have to put some amount of pressure to do things on ourself in modern day society in order to not sit on the couch and consume our favorite media or play our favorite game with friends.
I mean, just think, wouldn’t it be great if money just appeared in our bank account? Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could just do what we wanted? And I don’t think people realize what that means when I say it.
You don’t do what you want, and in the process trample over others. You do what you want because it HELPS others. But you gotta make sure helping people comes first.
Everywhere but your private space, someone else’s needs are above your own. A grocery store? Employees come first, they have to be here every day, if they ask you about the credit card they’re forcing every employee to push no matter how that employee feels? Politely decline. If you can’t do that. Smile, and just stare at them. It’ll be something interesting for them to think about later.
“Wonder what was up with that crazy lady” they’ll say<<but that thought is not this one>> “oh god that nice lady hates me, I’m so terrible at my job”
Is everyone going to think that? No. But most people do. And if they don’t think it consciously, it manifests in rage, short temper, foot tapping, angry tone, anything. Depending on the person it could be anything.
We want to feel good as humans. So let’s check the most boxes for everyone involved. If a human isn’t making the decision themself with all the understanding they need to fully make the decision, the choice they pick will hold us back, even if it temporarily moves us forward in our own self serving ways. We all, as animals, only need what we need to be happy and content. To be content our body needs to be comfortable. To be happy our mind needs to be comfortable. Not perfect. Not fully healed. Not healthy. Just comfortable. Humans are endurance based creatures. We can put up with anything long enough to reach a goal, that goal just has to have a need attached to get it done.
So anyways. I just want to make sure my partner isn’t gonna like, get super stressed and nit picky, so if you have any advice let me know! Thank you so much! <3
*aww wait, I should check to see if r/ relationshipadvice has a word count limit*
She copied her draft, and closed out of the post creator to check the rules/sidebar. In reading through them she remembered every sentence of her post. The reddit mods aren’t going to know her intent, the betterment of the global community, they’re just gonna see a whiny post about her boyfriend that kind-of-sort-of breaks like 3 rules. But it gave her a sense of calm to type it all out at least. Somewhere the data is out there. People just have to find it.
So she pasted the post under her username, because nobody on reddit looks at a username timeline without wanting to figure out who TF has that trash take.
So she clocked post, and closed out the Reddit app.
| 2022-08-28T02:11:28 | 2022-08-27T23:35:13 | 114 | 18 |
[WP] “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
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“Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
The courtroom gasped.
Obviously those in the peanut gallery watched too much CSI: Narnia and weren’t aware of courtroom procedure. While this was certainly not something I thought would happen today, it didn’t blindside me like I’m sure the prosecution wanted; I wasn’t an idiot.
Turning calmly toward the judge, I spoke in a loud and clear voice, “Your Honor, I object. All witnesses need to be deposed by both sides, and as a surprise witness, we have not had time to properly prepare our counter arguments. I request a stay until we can get everything we need for my client’s defense.”
To say the look on the prosecution’s face was miraculous would be an understatement. He was only a year out of Wizard Law School and he had the gall to think I wouldn’t know how to deal with necromancers? What an amateur.
“Motion granted,” the judge quickly agreed. “We shall reconvene in a week’s time, and counselor?” The prosecution looked up from the papers with which he was trying to conceal his quickly reddening face. His purple pointed hat was sticking out of the top, looking like a bad joke. “Do make sure to follow procedure this time around. Otherwise you’ll be held in contempt.”
BANG BANG
“Dismissed!”
Edit: Spelling error
|
"Is... Is that allowed?"
"You're the judge sir, I have no clue."
"Fuck it, its a Monday and I'm bored. Carry on with the summoning Necro-Lawyer... That name makes so much more sense now."
Necro-Lawyer smiled a devilish grin as he cracked his knuckles, preparing the incantation. One could almost guess that he was the undead corpse, his skin was as white as snow and it seemed to hang from his loose bones like a robe. His face was long and his teeth were crooked beyond belief, he honestly looked the exact opposite of what a lawyer should look like. "Now just give me one moment here..."
"Objection!" Cried the defendant, who took the bold and stupid role of representing himself in the court of law. *I've done my research*, he had told the judge earlier*, and I don't trust those damn lawyers to represent me. I've got all the training I need from Google!* Expectedly, it was playing out just swimmingly for him! "Objection Judge man!"
"It's your honor."
"Your honor Judge man! This can't be legal, summoning the dead is like... satanic or some shit, that can't be allowed."
"It really is satanic isn't it?" The judge replied while scratching his overly powdered wig. "Ya, this seems a little strange."
Necro-Lawyer saw the judges hesitation and was quick to move. "No it's not at all!" He said with the bravado and theatrics of any good lawyer. "In fact, it's rather angelic."
"Is that right?"
"Oh yea, Jesus done it all the time."
"You're kidding."
"Maybe, but it sounds like its something he would do doesn't it."
"It sure does, objection denied. Carry on please." The judge then leaned back in his squeaky leather chair and propped his feet up on the desk, obviously ready to watch the show.
"Oh come on!" Screamed the agitated defendant. "This is bullshit!"
"No my good sir," Replied Necro-Lawyer, happy that someone gave him the chance to say his catch-phrase. "This is Necro-Law!" He began waving his hands like some maniac conductor and mumbled incantations to himself. Soon the room began to shake and smoke appeared from now where, giving the once respected courtroom the look of a cheesy 80s horror movies.
"**I̶͚͖̎̇̾ ̵̣̲̿̂́s̸̬̉̑͠ű̸̙̝̿̊m̵͉̰̓̇m̵͖̻͓͈̓ō̸̞̏͜n̸͚̖̦̑͑̈́͝ ̵̗̈́̇ṯ̸͎̀h̶͚͖̭̤͐̈̚e̵͈͔̩̍̒̕ę̷̞̽͗͘,̷̲̤̪̞̒̏ ̶͔͎̼̮̍́̕o̵̘͐ḩ̸͑̌ ̴͕͙͋͒͝ṽ̶̲͓̖ì̴̻͚͉̽c̵̡̳̳͙͑t̵̢͍̟͆̑̀̀ĩ̶̜̃͂m̷̢̼͚̘͑͌**"
"This doesn't seem angelic at all!" Screamed the now horrified judge.
Suddenly from behind the witness stand a corpse raised from the shaking ground. It's skin was ghoulish green and its physique was equally as disenchanting. Its face was horridly out of proportion, with one eye hanging out of the socket and just barley attached by a spindly, nervy wire. Its gut was bloated and disgusting, all on show to the courtroom as every bit of its clothing was rotted away. "AHHHHHHH!" It yelled as it rose, scaring the entirety of the court. "AHHHHH FUCK! Why does this shit hurt so bad!"
"Don't worry," Replied Necro-Lawyer coolly. "Just the death hangover, perfectly normal."
"Perfectly normal!" Replied the judge, who was now hiding behind his desk in order to get further away from the gangly corpse. "That thing looks awful!"
Necro-Lawyer scowled and said back, "Hey! He's right there, have some court manners!"
"Ya," Followed the corpse. "I'm right here."
"You're right." Said the ashamed judge. "I apologize for being so rude. You are right there."
"Is this a joke?" Broke in the defendant. "What is going on in this court."
Necro-Lawyer saw his chance again. "Necro-La --"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence." Said the defendant cutting him off. "Judge man, this is ridiculous."
"It's your honor."
"Judge man, this is your honor."
"I agree." Said the corpse. "This is ridiculous."
"It's your honor." The defendant said in a correcting tone.
"Oh sorry, this is your honor."
"Wait a minute!" Screamed Necro-Lawyer. "You're supposed to be on my side corpse!"
"Am I?"
"Ya! I raised you from the dead."
"Oh sorry, no one told me. This is no longer your honor judge man."
"Order!" Screamed the confused judge while banging his gavel loudly. "Everyone shut up for a second!"
The judge rubbed his temples slowly while shaking his head. "Godamn law school said nothing about Necro-Law... Fuck it, I'm tired. Corpse!"
"Yes judge man!"
"It's your ho-... You know what, sure. Do you remember this man?" The judge said while pointing to the obviously anxious and sweating defendant. "Does he look like the man who killed you."
"No clue." Said the corpse dutifully.
"Excuse me?" Said Necro-lawyer.
"I'm sorry son," The judge said while visibly trying to keep his sanity. "You don't know?"
"That's right, I don't remember a godamn thing right now. Don't even know my name."
"Ha!" Said the defendant suddenly. He then broke out into an uncontrollable stream of laughter. "Oh this shit is too good!"
Necro-Lawyer was panicking. "Wait, but I... Aren't you... Have I done the spell right?"
"Ya." Said the corpse. "The only thing I remember is a black 2013 Sedan hitting me head on."
The courtroom froze, the defendant immediately stopped his manic laughing and resumed his anxious face.
"Say that again corpse." Said the judge carefully.
"Ya, the last thing I ever saw was this big ass sedan running me down. Haunted my final thoughts you know, was a real problem."
"Defendant..." The judge asked slowly. "What car did you drive here today in?"
"Fuck me."
"Yes!" Screamed the Necro-Lawyer. "Necro-Law strikes again baby!!"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed check out my subreddit! r/mrsharks202
| 2021-10-04T08:08:45 | 2021-10-04T06:33:23 | 1,090 | 530 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
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I never thought my time would come. Childhood summers last forever, the school year drags, but time marched on as it always did. Before I knew it, I found myself standing there before the assembly just fourteen years of age. The whole class staring expectantly at what would become of me. I was the youngest in my year meaning that I was the last to receive my calling.
This has been an exceptional year. No scuds whatsoever, and SIX acers. From only 80 students, that was unheard of. Although this meant that the pressure on my calling was greater than possibly any before. This could be a perfect year for the academy.
As the clock struck twelve I felt it. It washed over me like nothing before and whispered my fate. I had heard the stories from others, they were overcome and immediately aware of their calling, the rules, the restrictions… their purpose. But mine, mine was different. It was over before I knew it had even begun.
I woke up surrounded by faces looking down on me. I had fainted. How embarrassing!
Ever the empath, our teacher scolded me for keeping them waiting. Roughly barking “well, Rick. What is your calling?”
“Don’t… don’t give them up…”
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[1/2]
My dad handled my **Instructions** in the same way he had always handled everything in his life. With absolutely zero nuance, and without asking a single follow-up question.
It wasn’t his fault. Dad had told me many times that the only way things didn’t go absolutely downhill for him in life was when he followed the rules without any questions or overthinking. Which was probably a good thing in his case, otherwise he would’ve ended all life on earth with his powers of molten nuclear destruction.
But my dad carried the manual with his **Instructions** always in his pocket. It’s as thick as a phonebook, and he’s been thumbing through that thing for as long as I could remember. The pages had long since become worn and wrinkled from constant use. He knows all of it by heart - every letter, every line, every stipulation, safety measure and footnote. I’m pretty sure he even has the table of contents memorized.
Which is why it was a little bit insulting, when he decided that the best way for me to memorize my own **Instructions** - a four word sentence, keep in mind - is for him to make me a bracelet with the phrase to wear on my wrist for as long as I live.
“Just humor him, darling.” my other dad said to me, granting me a rare bowl of afternoon ice-cream along with a fond smile. The ceramic felt extra frosty from his icy touch, “You know how he worries.”
I did know. I did understand. I understood even better with the Owl sitting next to me. It was a manifestation of wisdom, I later found out, which I’d created without even trying. I was more insightful while it existed, and it helped me understand the world with the acumen unbefitting a confused fourteen year old with knobby knees and awkward elbows.
I’m not sure why the Owl was the first thing I made. I was just angry and confused - already upset by the lack of instructions regarding my powers, and now also insulted by my brilliant father’s lack of trust - and the Owl showed up, as though to help me understand.
That’s why, even though I hated it with all my heart, I accepted the bracelet when dad emerged from his workshop. I put it on my wrist without complaining and stared miserably at the four words I was supposed to live by:
Don’t heed the Cat.
I looked at the Owl next to me - owls were kind of like bird-cats. But it just blinked back at me with huge, round eyes.
And so began my life with my Animal Guides.
The Cat didn’t show up for a long time. I waited for it every day, knowing that it would probably pop up the same way all the others did - when the situation demanded it, or I was in desperate need of its abilities.
That’s how it went with the others, at least. I didn’t have clear instructions on what to do, like most people, so everything played out through instinct and gut-feelings.
I won my first school race with the Cheetah running by my side. I aced every test with the Owl on my shoulder. I stood up to my childhood bully with the Lion looming at my back. When I was with my friends, the goofy little Monkey would clamber things near me, making me feel giddy and making it easier for everyone to like me. And when I was feeling sad, the Dog would plant its scruffy head in my lap and look at me with big, soulful eyes, offering unconditional love and understanding. The Dog made me emotionally robust and helped me handle loneliness.
Nobody could see my animals, so it was a little bit like cheating my way through life. My dads tried to discourage me from using them too much, but eventually they gave up. It’s not like I had much control over when they’d show up, and other kids my age liberally used their power wherever they could.
It all went along somehow, and became a normal part of my life, but I always kept wondering about the Cat.
What was it for? When could I need it? What could it give me, and why was it forbidden?
I got the answer on the day of my 21st birthday.
It probably wasn’t an accident that my regular assessment was on that day. I showed up at my counselor’s office bright and early and planted myself into the plastic chair by her desk. The Lion sprawled on the floor next to me, shrinking the space of the tiny office even more.
“Good morning, Liam.” Mrs. Peterson was deeply focused on my file, like always, “Which one is joining us for this meeting?”
“The Lion.” I replied. It had never occurred to me to even try to hide it, even though I hated the way she narrowed her eyes at me.
“Oh? Are you nervous?” Mrs. Peterson was smug, like she cracked some kind of complicated code.
“No.” it came out defensive. I didn’t want it to. But it was like that thing where you see a police car and try not to act suspicious, even though you’ve done nothing wrong.
“Then why the Lion?”
“I don’t know, why so nosy?” is what went through my head, but what I blurted out was sadly the truth, “I’m actually going to ask someone out today. I’ve liked them for a long time, so I guess I needed the courage.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Peterson’s entire face shriveled in disgust at something as plain as normal human interactions. She sniffed and click-clacked something down at her laptop, “Has everything been normal since our last meeting?”
“Yes.”
“No sign of the Cat?”
“No, no Cat.”
Clickity-clacking continued, less enthusiastic, for a minute. She finished and finally looked up at me and her face did a thing.
Holy shit, what is that?
“Now, Liam,” Mrs. Peterson said, as I came to a reeling realization that she was smiling. It was the most horrible leathery smile I’ve ever seen, “you’re at that age when you should start considering your future.”
“Yeah.” I said, staring at her teeth, “I mean- yes. I don’t know if college is for me, but-”
“We here at Jötunn Corp. feel that you would be an excellent addition to our executive offices.” Mrs. Peterson’s teeth said, “You’ve got very unique, adaptable abilities that could be really polished into a shining diamond in our care.”
“They…could?”
“Of course! We know you’ve been using your Enhancers as crutches to get by in everyday life - and there’s nothing wrong with that.” she said, a bit too quickly not to be rehearsed, “But imagine if you trained? Imagine if you unlocked things you couldn’t even dream of? What if you could have a Bear give you incredible strength? Imagine if you had a Hawk that could make you fly!”
“I don’t know about flying, I’m not good with heights.”
“That’s beside the point, Liam.” her tone turned razor-sharp within an instant. She stabbed a blue flier in my direction. The surface was a deep indigo, with an emblem in the corner depicting three white birds taking flight, “Don’t let your gift waste away. You could do great things with us.”
“You should totally knock that ugly mug off her desk.” said something small and black, perched on the arm of my chair.
I looked down at the ugliest yellow mug I’d ever seen in my life. My hand moved without my input and I swung hard, slapping the atrocity off the desk and onto the tiled floor.
| 2022-05-08T09:49:41 | 2022-05-08T09:30:39 | 338 | 217 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
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I've seen a lot of criminals head to their deaths before my. My first celly was a serial killer, felt a bit brooding, but maybe that was because when I first got in, it was less than a week to his execution. Second celly was much more upbeat. Also a murderer, and a child cannibal to boot, but if you could stand his sense of humor (which could be hard at times - I can't tell you the number of times he made the same play-ground-beef joke), he was a fun guy. Great at cards, knew some fun magic tricks, and taught me origami.
I feel like there's a difference though. It's easy enough to get put on death row for a crime you committed, but I got stuck here for one I only attempted. Treason's a big deal, I get it, but hey, the president's alive, right? I never even got to take aim.
I plan to fix that when I get out. I've got time to learn from my mistakes. See, they goofed up. They made treason too big of a deal - it's a mandatory death sentence. So long as they don't serve me my last meal, I can take as many shots as I like (pun very much intended).
"So, what would you like your last meal to be?" the man sitting across from me asks. He's got a smile on his face, I think it amuses him to hear what seemingly impossible things people request. He's the sort who likes to win, and I'm sure he's good at it. But they're all missing the point. You don't select something they can't serve, but something they won't. Because if they do, you win anyway.
"I'll take the president as my last meal, sous vide, please."
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It's a normal tradition, that prisoners can ask for anything. Anything at all, for their last meal. Apple pie that you get to make yourself, with chocolate-milk in a carton, like your mom used to make back when you were an innocent kid. A plain cheeseburger. Delicious ribs. A few people are aware that you can ask for anything. No matter what. A rock. The skull of a bishop. The scripture of Gautama Buddha written on a perfect oak leaf. Whatever you like, you can ask for. No matter how ridiculous, rare, and impossible to find. And technically, if they can't find it, can't provide you with your last and final meal, then you can't be executed. You're set free, though usually not in a manner that allows you to get back to normality. They have to obey the word of that ancient ritual's laws, not the spirit. If you're a particularly vile person, you might get set free on a rowboat in the middle of the Indian ocean, or on a deserted island. This isn't exactly a thing that's particularly nice of the people in charge to do, but they don't want the people on Death Row to go properly free.
Not that it actually mattered. Nobody has ever been disappointed by the people in charge of the last meal. Well, in terms of them not finding the meal in question. Some might have been disappointed by having to get executed, even after they came up with a particularly difficult and absurd thing to ask for. Jabberwocky jerky. Cthulhu-calamari. The actual flesh and blood of Jesus. Fruits from alien worlds. The concept of forgiveness made into a delicious yogurt. The idea of the sport of football condensed into a sportsdrink. KFC-style fried angel wings. A rainbow-icecream with colours that cannot exist in our universe, such as octarine or irrigo. Wine from the sloping hills of Perdition in Hell, where Lucifer has his vineyards. It's always been found, and cooked to perfection. Any man who goes to his death does so with a belly full of his last request, and can thus not cast a curse against his jailors and their masters. Nobody wants death-curses from those who are rightfully executed. And they definitely don't want them from those who were executed wrongfully, for those are a hundredfold more powerful than the curses of the guilty. Of course, as all men who have passed towards the guillotine or the noose, the chair or the firing squad, have been fed to their last request, they can not curse their executioners.
But today, it is a different day. In the cell awaiting his final meal sits a man. He is thin and tall. The olive skin on his hands is bruised and bloody. He did not move to this room without a fight. He has a black ring around his eye from a punch one the guards gave him. He does not look repentant for his crimes. He does not look like he has accepted his fate. He does not carry the face of the innocent man that has given into despair, or the guilty man who looks forward to the forgiveness of his saviour. His fingers are drumming on the table. The plate in front of him is empty and bare. From the distant kitchens comes weeping and screaming. For the first time since they started doing this back in the Roman empire, for the first time in two millennium, they cannot bring the man-to-be-executed his final meal. There is no way that they can get what he asked for. There is no method in any of their ancient gastronomic sorcery and strange dimensional abilities that can bring him what he demands. The guards beg him to ask for something different. They weep as the tall man, his eyes burning with the rage of righteousness, restates his demand. Or that they let him go. The sorcerer-chefs come to him, pleading for him to pick anything else. The prisoner spits in the head sorcerer-chef's face. Either they kill him without fulfilling his final request, letting his fury tear the heavens asunder in a curse which is a thousand-fold the horror that the curse of an innocent man could ever release. Or they let him go.
They cannot bring his request to him. The guards collapse and fall down to the floor, leaving only the warden to release him. The other prisoners turn from the tall man in fear as he pass them in their cells on death row. The normal prisoners kneel before him as the clouds unleash a storm upon the prison. He retrieves his meagre personal belongings, he says not a word, he answers not the warden's babbling words, rapidly turning into a madness from which there is no escape. He walks through the yard, where each of his footsteps is announced by the loud strikes of thunder from a black sky. The man who is free, opens his mouth, and sings an ancient tune. He is free, against the odds he is unleashed upon the world. He is not caged anymore. He asked for the heart of the man who did the crime he was in for. The freed prisoner knew well that they could not rip that nightmare organ from its bone-cage. He knew well that by even accepting the existence of such an organ, was proof of his innocence. They could not, knowing he was innocent, kill him. Even if they had found some method of extracting that putrid thing from the chest of that blemish upon existence. Even if they had succeeded, he would have been freed, and he would have had his vengeance.
His justice.
But as Heaven itself buckles and bends, the freed prisoner, who has lost everything to an enemy more powerful than anything in creation, is free to continue on his quest. His enemy slew the freed man's wife. Burned the freed man's lands. Took the freed man's children. The freed man was blamed for it all. For the horrors done, when he had been nothing but kind, just, and loyal. He was cast into jail on false charges, and sent to die for the opportunity of his enemy to see him beg, pray, whimper and weep. When he had done nothing wrong, done nothing to offend his enemy. He had even admired, worshipped, this enemy before everything he had was cruelly taken from him. As a joke. Or a test. But he did not do as was demanded. He did not bow down to his enemy. He did not pray. And having seen what his enemy is, he never will again.
His enemy is a monster, who dares to call himself the king-of-kings. The highest upon high. The freed man's name was even taken from him. Behind him, the walls of the prison cracks. The bricks fall down and the concrete breaks down. The prisoners flee, not for the sake of their freedom, but out of fear. The Freed Man is met by his accomplishes, outside the ruins of the prison. They have no names either. Their names have been taken. Their loved ones slain, stolen, or otherwise ruined, by the machinations of an enemy that is more powerful than any infernal or terrestrial force. One is the Prince of Maybe, one is the Lady in Scarlet. Another is named the Dragon of Sunken Mu, one is the Harbinger-Bird. All of them are angry, powerful, out-of-step with reality. Creatures who no longer bow or allow themselves to be under the rule of the judgment of Heaven. They are a band of five, who stand against the puppetmaster, the demiurge who plays with the fates of men like toys. Toys that the enemy so enjoy breaking. They are nameless, formless, and terrible to behold. The failure of the prisons to execute the Freed Man, was the last straw. The last attempt to do their plan, their hunger for vengeance, without setting Heaven ablaze, and uprooting Hell.
The Earth shifts underneath the five of them led by the Freed Man, as they begin their assault upon Paradise, to bring justice or vengeance to the enemy. The Freed Man is coming to reclaim his family. To avenge his wife. And once more take the name his father gave him; so that he shall once more wear the face and name of Job.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-07-17T18:36:24 | 2022-07-17T15:39:02 | 904 | 331 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
\[English is not my first language, sorry if it's written unperfectly\]
The trick was so easy you're surprised no one has thought of it before.
If the rule is that they can't kill you BEFORE you get your last meal, the solution is not to ask for alien fetus or whatever. It is to ask for something they can only give you AFTER they kill you. It's as easy as that, you think.
"I want my heart cooked to perfection", you ask.
The guard's jaws drop.
"What", you ask sarcastically, "you don't know where to find the ingredients? It's on the left side of the chest, in case you forgot".
"Not again. Please, change your request", the guards beg you.
You know they're bluffing. No one has ever been freed before, you must be the first one to make such a request. "I want my heart cooked to perfection", you repeat.
The guards leave. An hour later, they come back with a doctor, a pump, a weird bottle, and what looks like a litre of blood. "Sniff here", the doctor says, and as soon as you do you fall asleep.
Three hours later, you wake up in your cell, the pump on your chest, your heart in a plate in front of you.
"Eat quickly", the doctor intimates you, "the artificial heart won't last forever".
As soon as you finish, one of the guards smile. "The operation took so long it's already midnight. It's execution day", he says while switching off the heart machine.
In your last seconds, you can't stop thinking how sarcastic it is for a man to have his heart inside him, an artificial one attached, a death penalty on his head, and still, dying of heart failure.
You should have asked for your brain cooked to perfection, since artificial brains do not exist. In other words, you should have used your brain.
|
It's a normal tradition, that prisoners can ask for anything. Anything at all, for their last meal. Apple pie that you get to make yourself, with chocolate-milk in a carton, like your mom used to make back when you were an innocent kid. A plain cheeseburger. Delicious ribs. A few people are aware that you can ask for anything. No matter what. A rock. The skull of a bishop. The scripture of Gautama Buddha written on a perfect oak leaf. Whatever you like, you can ask for. No matter how ridiculous, rare, and impossible to find. And technically, if they can't find it, can't provide you with your last and final meal, then you can't be executed. You're set free, though usually not in a manner that allows you to get back to normality. They have to obey the word of that ancient ritual's laws, not the spirit. If you're a particularly vile person, you might get set free on a rowboat in the middle of the Indian ocean, or on a deserted island. This isn't exactly a thing that's particularly nice of the people in charge to do, but they don't want the people on Death Row to go properly free.
Not that it actually mattered. Nobody has ever been disappointed by the people in charge of the last meal. Well, in terms of them not finding the meal in question. Some might have been disappointed by having to get executed, even after they came up with a particularly difficult and absurd thing to ask for. Jabberwocky jerky. Cthulhu-calamari. The actual flesh and blood of Jesus. Fruits from alien worlds. The concept of forgiveness made into a delicious yogurt. The idea of the sport of football condensed into a sportsdrink. KFC-style fried angel wings. A rainbow-icecream with colours that cannot exist in our universe, such as octarine or irrigo. Wine from the sloping hills of Perdition in Hell, where Lucifer has his vineyards. It's always been found, and cooked to perfection. Any man who goes to his death does so with a belly full of his last request, and can thus not cast a curse against his jailors and their masters. Nobody wants death-curses from those who are rightfully executed. And they definitely don't want them from those who were executed wrongfully, for those are a hundredfold more powerful than the curses of the guilty. Of course, as all men who have passed towards the guillotine or the noose, the chair or the firing squad, have been fed to their last request, they can not curse their executioners.
But today, it is a different day. In the cell awaiting his final meal sits a man. He is thin and tall. The olive skin on his hands is bruised and bloody. He did not move to this room without a fight. He has a black ring around his eye from a punch one the guards gave him. He does not look repentant for his crimes. He does not look like he has accepted his fate. He does not carry the face of the innocent man that has given into despair, or the guilty man who looks forward to the forgiveness of his saviour. His fingers are drumming on the table. The plate in front of him is empty and bare. From the distant kitchens comes weeping and screaming. For the first time since they started doing this back in the Roman empire, for the first time in two millennium, they cannot bring the man-to-be-executed his final meal. There is no way that they can get what he asked for. There is no method in any of their ancient gastronomic sorcery and strange dimensional abilities that can bring him what he demands. The guards beg him to ask for something different. They weep as the tall man, his eyes burning with the rage of righteousness, restates his demand. Or that they let him go. The sorcerer-chefs come to him, pleading for him to pick anything else. The prisoner spits in the head sorcerer-chef's face. Either they kill him without fulfilling his final request, letting his fury tear the heavens asunder in a curse which is a thousand-fold the horror that the curse of an innocent man could ever release. Or they let him go.
They cannot bring his request to him. The guards collapse and fall down to the floor, leaving only the warden to release him. The other prisoners turn from the tall man in fear as he pass them in their cells on death row. The normal prisoners kneel before him as the clouds unleash a storm upon the prison. He retrieves his meagre personal belongings, he says not a word, he answers not the warden's babbling words, rapidly turning into a madness from which there is no escape. He walks through the yard, where each of his footsteps is announced by the loud strikes of thunder from a black sky. The man who is free, opens his mouth, and sings an ancient tune. He is free, against the odds he is unleashed upon the world. He is not caged anymore. He asked for the heart of the man who did the crime he was in for. The freed prisoner knew well that they could not rip that nightmare organ from its bone-cage. He knew well that by even accepting the existence of such an organ, was proof of his innocence. They could not, knowing he was innocent, kill him. Even if they had found some method of extracting that putrid thing from the chest of that blemish upon existence. Even if they had succeeded, he would have been freed, and he would have had his vengeance.
His justice.
But as Heaven itself buckles and bends, the freed prisoner, who has lost everything to an enemy more powerful than anything in creation, is free to continue on his quest. His enemy slew the freed man's wife. Burned the freed man's lands. Took the freed man's children. The freed man was blamed for it all. For the horrors done, when he had been nothing but kind, just, and loyal. He was cast into jail on false charges, and sent to die for the opportunity of his enemy to see him beg, pray, whimper and weep. When he had done nothing wrong, done nothing to offend his enemy. He had even admired, worshipped, this enemy before everything he had was cruelly taken from him. As a joke. Or a test. But he did not do as was demanded. He did not bow down to his enemy. He did not pray. And having seen what his enemy is, he never will again.
His enemy is a monster, who dares to call himself the king-of-kings. The highest upon high. The freed man's name was even taken from him. Behind him, the walls of the prison cracks. The bricks fall down and the concrete breaks down. The prisoners flee, not for the sake of their freedom, but out of fear. The Freed Man is met by his accomplishes, outside the ruins of the prison. They have no names either. Their names have been taken. Their loved ones slain, stolen, or otherwise ruined, by the machinations of an enemy that is more powerful than any infernal or terrestrial force. One is the Prince of Maybe, one is the Lady in Scarlet. Another is named the Dragon of Sunken Mu, one is the Harbinger-Bird. All of them are angry, powerful, out-of-step with reality. Creatures who no longer bow or allow themselves to be under the rule of the judgment of Heaven. They are a band of five, who stand against the puppetmaster, the demiurge who plays with the fates of men like toys. Toys that the enemy so enjoy breaking. They are nameless, formless, and terrible to behold. The failure of the prisons to execute the Freed Man, was the last straw. The last attempt to do their plan, their hunger for vengeance, without setting Heaven ablaze, and uprooting Hell.
The Earth shifts underneath the five of them led by the Freed Man, as they begin their assault upon Paradise, to bring justice or vengeance to the enemy. The Freed Man is coming to reclaim his family. To avenge his wife. And once more take the name his father gave him; so that he shall once more wear the face and name of Job.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-07-17T17:30:24 | 2022-07-17T15:39:02 | 616 | 331 |
[WP] Your quest was to find a demon willing to accept your deal, none of them said yes. "Primordial demons don't make deals, if you go too deep, just turn back" but you went deeper and deeper, meeting the ancient ones that knew no words.
|
The vast cavern stretched out before me, its endless horizon seemingly pulling my gaze into it. Another layer of hell. More demons to barter with. But none willing.
I offered them half the kingdom. Riches beyond belief. Thousands of souls. My firstborn. Even myself. They refused, and pointed me downwards. It was not in their nature to strike at someone offering a deal.
Down I went, deeper and deeper. Past those demons that were tricky, to those that were able, and finally to those primordial ones that made no deals. 'If you go too deep, just turn back' the ancient myths told us. But I needed this. Down I went.
At last one of the great ancient ones. So large I mistook its being for another cavern, but it was the cavern. It seemed both more and less real than anything I'd ever seen. Slowly, achingly slowly, it wandered whatever space held it.
I was an ant talking to a mountain. I was beneath notice. I threw rocks at it, I pleaded with it, I begged with it. I even set off a small molten rush of stone against its body. It did not speak a word.
What could I have to offer to some thing such as this? What would it care for worldly things? Not even my soul was worth anything to this immensity. It could crush nations.
The uncaring truth of demonhood struck me mute. We were not souls to be tempted, we were gravel beneath their consciousness. In honesty I do not know if it could even talk, even comprehend me. How could I bind one such as this to my purpose? Not with gold, not with kingdoms, not with threats, not with souls.
I prostrated myself before the being. I held my hands against my mouth to cover it, as if I feared my very breath was dangerous. Then I whispered to it, all sound lost in the great noise of its existence.
*They forgot about you.*
The mountain rose in anger.
|
The sight in front of me was indescribable, illogical, impossible. Yet there it was.
"I have already seen it all. I witnessed the flagship *Tulhe* fall out of warp on fire, the tendrils of the Abantwe monster crushing it from within. I saw the stars of Orion imploded, and cried as the explosion consumed all the planets in its system. I have dug and filled more mass graves than a million armies ever could, until there was simply no-one left to help me. Some of those bodies are still where they fell: rotting, defiled, offended.
"Such is war for the losing side.
"So now I stand before you, having already been failed by your lessers with their pitiful rejections, to ask you a question. Give me the strength to reclaim my homeworld. I have nothing to offer you in return, which may seem like nothing to some, but to me it is all I have left.
"Please, I beg of you, give me your power, to avenge Humanity."
The things before me said nothing, they did not even move. Maybe they were statues and my mind had played tricks on me to make be believe that they had the power I had been seeking for years. A tear fell down my cheek, this was my last hope, if hope was even a word I understood anymore. As the wetness trickled through my dishevelled beard and made its way toward the dusty floor, I fell with it. My knees hit the tiled stones and my body simply gave up. I sprawled out; exhausted, defeated, pathetic. I was the last of Humanity, the only survivor: *the Endling*.
The only tear that I had left was on the floor in front of my face, it had hit the floor but remained intact. A singular glob of my sorrow and pain, there on the floor, refusing to mix with the dust. Then it rose. It began to lift itself from the floor and twist and contort. A large and sudden sound of creaking came from behind my head, where the statues of the Old Gods had been. A waft of energy, not a burst for I was far too gone for such things, gave me the strength to turn over and look as my tear began to float toward the same direction of the noise.
.
**"W̸̩̘̩̻̼̦͒͐͌̔E̶̡̛̺̖̟̪̮̟̝̝̍̍̈́̌̕͝ ̵̡̦̘̩̘͉͆̉͐̏̇͜͝ͅÁ̷̼̠̫͇̟̺̟̣͆̐C̵̨͇͈͉̥̗̑͋̑̕͜C̷̛̙̰̱̯̱͇͍̯̈́̔̔̊͛̎̿̇Ę̶̛̝̼̜̤̙̖͇͆̒̽͌͑͛͜͝͠P̷̡̦͖̠͇̱̼̘͕̙͑̀̈̂̕Ţ̸̛̗͙̖̽͆̄̊̓̿͊͒̿ ̵̧̘͔̱̟̮͕̖͓͚̆̇Y̴̰̏͆̅͋Ơ̸̠͕̹̳̫̺̖̝̅͐͋̄̈̈́͆͂͝Ũ̴̡̡̗̻͙̰̱͍̓͌̎̂͘ͅR̸̨̬̻̣͓͓͈̣̞̦̔ ̶̤́͐̒̄̐̊̄͌̚̚Ǒ̷̞̘͉̗͎̽̂͜͠F̸̘̺͉̙̘̲̜̱̒̽͋̚͝F̴̢̧̟̠̑͆́̏̓́́Ę̵̯̩͙͇̲͓̾̓Ȓ̶̜͖̬̬."**
.
The waft of energy became a wave, then a tide, then a tsunami.
.
**"S̷̤̻̐̽̿́̄͗̕͝Ē̷̱̘̙̹͙̘̬͎̔̃́̏́̄̃Ǹ̸̨̩̦D̷͖̔̒̓̋͌̃̀̈́̓͘ ̶̨͍̲̞̹̘̣̈́̄̑̓̓̕͘Ũ̸̼̲͕͖̯̲̮͖̖͎̋̓̇̀̾͘Ş̴̛͕̺͎̮͔̟̼͒̈͆͆͋̑͝͠ ̷̠͔̣̥̹̰̈̿͊̿̕͝T̷̻̦͎̦͔̙̎̑̂̓̇́̍́̚͝Ḣ̵̨̨̬̮͔̤̗͗̏͗̿Ę̶̢̡̞̖̰̲̬̈́̾͂̓̊͆ͅI̶̢͔̱̹͇̜̠͙̎̈́̿̄̊̕͠͝͝R̴̩̘͊̒̽͛̑̉̿ ̴̹̫͉͖̂̔͝D̷̨͍̗͓̙̗̣͊E̴̛̝̫̿̋̀̓͂̀͑̔̒A̶̧̛͇̓̈́̽̿D̷͙̬͚͙͒̈́̇͆͗̈́͝."**
.
At last, I had it. Me, the Endling of Humanity, had the power to flood the battlefields of graves with life, and the army that would rise up would worship me as we reclaimed what was ours. As I connected with the eldritch, I began to hear it. The wails of the dead. The rage of my entire species was within me, and mine to control.
Humanity would be avenged.
* * * * *
[So I made a follow-up of this piece on another Prompt](https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yl8uzx/wp_as_the_last_note_of_the_last_song_echoed/iuxki8s/) and I will post them in order as I write more, as even I'm curious where this character goes.
* * * * *
I have my own subreddit! [/r/ocallkai](https://old.reddit.com/r/ocallkai/)
| 2022-11-03T08:19:06 | 2022-11-03T08:02:14 | 496 | 237 |
[WP] Cannibalism has been widely accepted for over 20 years. A renowned chef before dinner service checks tonights product. In the caging area he sees his activist sister.
|
She saw him look in. Immediately she started shouting or screaming; noise and agitation anyway, the gag made it all quite incomprehensible.
This was awkward. Why her? Why here? He ducked out and closed the door, pondering his next move. Twenty years her ridiculous idealist activism had achieved nothing. Nothing. Except turning her against him.
The assistants unlocked her cage and paraded her through the dining room in front of the guests, towards the kitchens.
Twenty years he'd put up with her hatred, her public vitriol, slander and defamation aimed right at him. Who had she ever helped? What did she really know about cannibal-chefs? Had she ever even *been* in a kitchen? He sharpened the cleaver and chef's knives.
'Tastes like pork', the saying was. The kitchen door opened and she was dragged in. They locked eyes and she pulled to a stop and held his gaze, the noise of the room fell away, for a moment, but then assistants forced her forward.
He stood, watching her, body motionless, only his head turned to follow as they encouraged her on towards the door with the sign 'Slaughterhouse' above it. They broke eye contact as she left the room. That would be the last time he ever saw her alive.
He unfroze with a shudder, and walked to the workbench. He could hear sounds from outside. Twenty years of listening to sounds like that, it still wasn't comfortable. His sister. He raised the cleaver, and slammed it down in a wash of frustration and anger. The sound of a van driving away. Bits of the pig corpse on the workbench took the force of the cleaver blow and splattered up onto the wall. He would never see her again.
Maybe now she would know what he could never risk saying, know how false her accusations were, know the risks he was taking, the deceit his team were illegally pulling every single day. Know that if you want to save lives, you have to *get your hands dirty*. Twenty years of activism, how many people had *she* saved?
Tastes like pork, indeed. Must be a coincidence.
|
From his spot on the terrace, he could see the guests slowly making their way out to breakfast. The rising sun glinted gently on the ocean and warmed the deserted beaches below. The first floor patio was set to seat the hundreds of wealthy patrons who crawled from their beds to enjoy the resort's lavish morning buffet. Sipping his coffee, he stretched and rose from his seat.
Taking the elevator to the kitchen, he wove carefully around the servers who hurried in all various directions. The breakfast chef barked her orders and nodded a good morning to him before turning to yell at some tray wench. Slipping into the office and settling into the chair, he poured over the shipment records from last night. He sat back and drank his coffee, contemplating the menu. The First Parliamentary Panel was scheduled to show up some time this evening for a special dinner commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Autonomous Individual Act. Leaning over the desk once more, he saw a shipping notice that had fallen on the floor along with an order from the Panel. A smile spread across his face as he read. The Panel requested the only fitting dish for such an anniversary, a person.
David had been the executive chef at Adnem Gold Resort for the last 3 years and had yet to serve un homme delicatesse. He was honored to have been given such an opportunity as even though it was now legal to eat human flesh, among other things that the AIA covered, the occasion was rare. The shipping notice revealed that the individual who was to be the main course had been delivered very early this morning and was waiting in the storage basement.
Weaving between servers and grabbing another cup of coffee, he took the elevator down. He passed row after row of crates and boxes of supplies, carts of produce. The freezers lining the walls made it chilly. Along the far wall, there was a mostly closed off room they sometimes used to house specialty animals that were going to be dinner but as David drew closer, he could see it had been furnished much like many of the guest rooms. Curtains hanging behind the bars obscured most of the cage but he could see a table with chairs, a soft rug covering the concrete floor, and a lone figure that stood, casting a shadow on the drawn curtains as morning light poured from the small barred window.
David watched quietly as the obviously female figure ran a cloth along her arms and legs. She rung the cloth into a bowl on the table and hanging it over one of the chairs, she donned a robe. He wasn't sure what to say so he cleared his throat which startled her a bit but she moved to the curtain.
As soon as she pulled it aside, he dropped his coffee cup. Not looking down at the shattered ceramic or the coffee staining his white pants, if David had any words before, they were completely gone.
"Hello David. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" His sister smiled gently and pulled the curtains fully open. They both grasped the bars of the cage.
"Sarah," his voice quietly gasped, halting. "What are you doing? Why?"
"This is what we fought for, isn't it?" Sarah reached through the gaps and held his face. His confusion written on every line that she traced with her fingers. "I've missed you."
"I missed you too but why?" He repeated as he gripped her hand tightly.
"David, the past 20 years have been wonderful. Everything in my life that I wanted to accomplish, I have. I lived my dream except for one part. You knew back then what I wanted and supported everyone's right to chose. Now I am making that choice."
Tears ran freely down his face as he brought her hand to his lips. Fumbling with the keys, he unlocked the cage door and hugged her tightly. His shoulders shook and as though they were children once again, she ran her hands down his head and back. He pulled away and holding her now tear-streaked face between his hands, he asked.
"Why can't you wait until you're older? There is so much life and time left, why now?"
Sarah sighed and she stood only to sit at the table. She motioned for him to join her and once they were eye-to-eye, she held his hand.
"I have lived my life. Twenty years later, we have changed the world. We accomplished what we set out to do. You may have dreams left but this is the last thing I want. And I want to do it while my body is in peak condition. What better way to offer myself than at the anniversary of our greatest accomplishment and when my brother can be the one to fulfill that dream?"
David gripped her hand once more and wiped the tears from his eyes. He was silent for several minutes, stroking her fingers and finally, nodding, he said, "I understand. You should have told me you were going to volunteer."
She laughed, "If I had said something, you would have tried to stop me. I have made my decision. I can only hope you forgive me."
David rose from his seat and putting his hand on her shoulder said, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."
Leaving the cage door slightly open, he ran from the storage basement to the adjoining cellar. Carefully wiping the dust from the labels, he selected a deep red wine and two glasses from the reserve glassware. Entering the cage once again, he set them both down and popped the cork. He poured them both a drink while Sarah hugged him from behind and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Sitting, he raised his glass. She followed.
"Sarah, I am honored that you chose me to serve you. While it pains me to be the end of your journey, I am proud to be your brother. If this is your true wish and choice, I will stand by you."
She leaned forward to wipe a tear from his cheek with her free hand. As tears of her own rolled down her face, she said, "David, I am honored to have a brother who accepts my choices and, even after 20 years apart, will stand by me. Thank you for this opportunity, that I may offer myself to the Panel and have someone who will truly be able to do my offering justice. It is my honor to be your main course."
Smiling, they emptied their glasses and soon the bottle. Checking his watch, David sighed. It was time to start dinner.
Sarah stood and taking her hand, David led her to the basement slaughter room. It was much like a large chilled shower with hooks hanging from the ceiling, a chair, and wheeled metal transport tables. She let her robe fall to the floor and David couldn't help but admire the pale glow of her skin. Her youthful body had been carefully maintained over the years in preparation of this day. Drawing her close, they took a minute. The siblings pressed their foreheads together and kissed each other's cheeks. Neither David nor Sarah could find the words so their smiles said everything.
He sat her on the chair and leaving for a minute, returned with a tank of nitrogen gas that had also been delivered and two lengths of rope. Kneeling, he tied her feet to one another and then her hands which were also lashed to her feet to keep them down. David held the tube out for her and sitting back, she put it in her mouth. He held her nose closed and opened the valve on the tank. For a minute, she stared at him while breathing it in and slowly, her eyes closed. After another few minutes, he closed the valve and lifting her from the chair, he laid her on one of the tables. Quickly he lowered the chains and hooks from the ceiling and clamping one on the rope between her feet, he hoisted her unconscious body into the air. Once she was freely dangling, he moved the table so that the middle of the room was empty except for the drain.
In one hand, David held her head and in the other, a sharp knife. He choked back tears and pressing her forehead to his, he took a deep breath. Standing back, he slit her throat.
Torrents of blood gushed onto the floor with every heartbeat. David watched as it bathed the room in a deep crimson and once it started to slow, he turned on a hose. Almost meditatively, he cleaned her body of blood and the water swirled red beneath his feet. As the last drops left her, David brought the table back into the room. Carefully, he severed her neck and set her head at one end. He cleaned the body again before gently lowering it onto the table. Her skin retained its glow and as David pushed Sarah to the preparation room for butchering and marination, he gripped her hand one last time.
| 2014-09-18T19:47:40 | 2014-09-18T19:36:07 | 859 | 112 |
[WP] When you were 10 years old a dragon saved your life. No one believed you, until he came to your house today asking for a favor.
|
I peered out the window to see who was knocking. Could it really be *him*? No, there's no way. That could be *any* anthropomorphic dragon. But I opened the door anyway, and looked him up and down. His scales were a bit less shiny than I remembered, his long neck a bit more chubby, and a slight gut poked out from the bottom of his Phish t-shirt. But his face was unmistakable.
"Kevin?" I asked the dragon. "Is that really you?"
I sat Kevin the Dragon down at my dining room table. "What can I do for you, man? It's great to see you again."
"I've actually got an exciting new opportunity for you." He said in between fiery breaths, charring the surface of my table.
I was growing skeptical, but I felt somewhat indebted to Kevin. After all, he saved me from getting hit by that car in that Wal-Mart parking lot back in 2010. "Uhm, okay sure," I replied. "Let's hear it, Kev."
"Well, keep in mind, this isn't a pyramid scheme. It's multi-level marketing. Now, how would you like to be your own boss?"
|
I barely remembered the trip between heaven and hell, when I rode the dragon to places humans couldn’t go. I’d thought it was a dream. Mom said it was a dream. But mom also said a seatbelt would save her life.
I was finishing some doodles by the nightstand, a warm golden light to complete the comfort of the school’s fresh sheets and and tireless counselors. But it never did feel like home, until I saw that dream again.
Above me appeared a blue light. Crystalline and sharp yet somehow warmer with greens and reds than the bedside light. But something was off. The red was not warm, it was hot. Steaming it dripped from his fangs onto my fresh, clean sheets.
“Dragon? Is that you?”
But he only struggled to breath
“Are you hurt?”
In an instant he soared out of the blue light, twisting and bumping into the walls and shelves, shrinking into a golden worm as he knocked old toys from the shelves and spluttered blood all over my books. Finally he curled up into a little ball in my lap and fell fast asleep with a light snore.
Footsteps running up the hall.
I threw my blanket over the blood stained sheets and sat up.
The door opened sharply. And to my enormous surprise it was Ms Tooley, her kind face emerging from the dark.
But it was not kind. Not now. It was a scowl. And not just the kind of scowl she gave you when you disappointed her, the kind that always makes you feel guilty for interrupting her classes. It was a deep, far away scowl from a place long forgotten. From a pit long buried. From a door long shut.
“Alex” she said, resounding almost ready to beat me with a cane
“Yeah?”
“Where did he go?”
“Where did who go?”
She slunked back into the darkness without another word.
“Huh” I thought. “That was weird”
But she had a point. Where did he go? Last I saw him he was in my lap. Then I stood, and...
I checked the sheets, nothing. I looked through my books, no blood. But they were still on the floor.
Eventually I fell asleep. Not without the thought raking at the back of my mind, but I did.
And that’s when I saw what I had not seen in a long, long time.
A thousand eyes and a thousand mouths, and ten thousand arms simply to hold me up like a puppet suspended by its shirt. And the flames of a million beasts flooding the landscape like fiery insects the size of mammoths, encroaching on where we were.
“Is this hell” I asked him
“Almost”
“What happened to you?” I asked
“She’s coming back” he said
“What?”
“She’s coming back and she’s almost here.”
I remember back to that long ago dream of a far away place. There was the dragon, but there was someone else. An antagonist to the story. There was a witch.
“Only paradise can quell her” he bellowed in a deep, booming voice.
“But can’t you go there?”
“Only when filled with what paradise is made of. Now I am filled only hatred and malice. She has eaten the ground from below me. I am a vengeful spirit, but she is vengeance.”
“But can’t you take me there? Please I can’t go there myself! I don’t know what you want me to do!”
“Show her heaven” he said as he became engulfed in tiny skittering specks.
I woke with no blood on my sheets, and no books on my floor.
Mr O’reilly’s class was same as ever. Boring as ever. Then I had Mrs Donelly and then Mrs Tooley.
Ms Tooley seemed perfectly normal. Happy and kind as ever, almost more full of energy than ever. That didn’t stop some of the other kids from talking over her and sending mean memes about her to the whole group chat. She had a lazy eye, and so on was always the target of ridicule and amusement, which along with her happy-go-lucky attitude made for lots of jokes.
But today she didn’t seem to silence anyone. People kept interrupting her, talking on the phone, and throwing paper airplanes around. Yet she just kept talking like a recording that hadn’t been told to pause. Soon it became the joke of the day. Ms Tooley has finally snapped and just not didn’t anymore
“We broke her” people laughed as she seemed to slowly accelerate. Getting more and more frantic about teaching, such a passionate subject to be into don’t you think, my how wonderful it would be to make a good impression on the lives of young people, how delightful of a profession that would be, don’t you think dear? It carries the weight of a thousand lives and will surely lead to the wonderful expression of ones wills and desires, especially in the bedroom!” She finished, suddenly aware of what she was saying. After several seconds of total silence, the snickering of the class burst fully into view as she turned red and white at the same time.
Humiliated, she put down her whiteboard pen and walked out into the hall. I followed her out.
She sobbed by some of the lockers, laughter beginning to be audible in other classrooms as the recording was sent around to everyone. Soon the principle walked by, giving her a judge mental look, and the laughter became overwhelming.
Then her tears stopped. Not just her tears, her whole body movement stopped. She just stood, slumped against the lockers, arms hanging limp, a tear falling from a lifeless eye.
“Are you alright Ms Tooley?” I asked
She turned to me. Her eyes were black. And she had the same scowl she’d had last night.
“You” she said vindictively, with a finger pointed right between my eyes
“You killed your mother. You banished me to hell. You.”
It hurt, but perhaps not as much as it should have. There was some strength within me that seemed to know what to do.
“I’m sorry” I said
“You” she said
“Im sorry” I said
She began moving toward me. I ignored the fact that she was hovering several inches off the ground, and moved toward her as well.
“You” she said
“Me” I said, and the I hugged her
It took a moment for anything to happen, as it seemed it needed to set in for her, but when it did it felt like a was hugging an atom bomb.
I was incinerated with the force of a thousand hugs, something snatched me into its endless complex of mouths.
I stared at a crystalline ceiling of every colour imaginable, or was it the floor? And we’re there really that many colours, or were they each just very intense. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. All that I knew was the dragon flowering above me. I possessed, and it let my small spirit hitch a ride to see heaven once more, and all the nine realms, before back to the Earth of me.
It hugged me with a million arms and I woke again in my bed.
There was blood covering the sheets, and it looked like someone had trashed my room on purpose. But the birds sang, and the sky was blue.
I went to Ms Tooley’s room before classes started. She looked like she had just woken up a from a very, very bad dream. I gave her a hug, and thanked her for teaching. She said it felt like a million hugs at once
| 2020-11-21T09:16:22 | 2020-11-21T09:08:25 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
|
When the order came down we thought the JCOS had lost their minds. "How the fuck are we supposed to invade a country without firing a bullet?" We asked incredulously. High command had no answers other than "You are the greatest military force the world has ever known and you have three months to plan, you'll figure something out." It wasn't very comforting.
That night in the barracks we tossed ideas around, some better than others. Lasers weren't bullets but none of us could figure out a way to make one combat capable in the time we had. Flamethrowers could be an option but are far too short ranged for our needs. PFC Jenkins, widely regarded as a moron, spoke up. "I hunt with a crossbow and it fires bolts, not bullets, so I'm just gonna bring it." Holy shit, that could work. More and more ideas came out and word spread like wildfire between units and branches. PFC Jenkins, widely regarded as a genius, never had to buy a beer again for the rest of his life.
On June 18 the invasion began with a volley of 90kg stones launched from AVLB's refitted with trebuchets instead of their usual bridges. Walls, watchtowers, strands of barbed wire, and even a few unlucky sentries all across the DMZ were crushed under the onslaught. Phalanx after phalanx of American soldiers marched forward, the front ranks carrying anti-ballistic riot shields donated from police departments across the country. Swords, spears, crossbow, compound bows, axes, and maces made from the lightest and strongest materials modern manufacturing could produce swung in their hands. Armored cavalry regiments had gone back to their roots by trading their Bradley's and Abrams for horses and lances, their thundering charges broke entire North Korean regiments beneath their hooves. Even the medics got into the spirit of things by adding jars of leaches to their kits.
The Marines, of course, were having the time of their lives. Stripped to the waist and allowed to grow their beards, they poured out of AAV's and even a few canoes to begin their assault on Hamhung like Vikings of old. The terrifying sounds off war songs issued from their crayon stained mouths they demolished anything and everything in their path, their legend would be passed down for generations as monsters from the sea and their crudely drawn stick figure graffiti would be considered evil runes that would curse any who gazed upon it.
The war itself was over in two months without a single bullet being fired by American troops. We had done the improbable, so it was assumed command was trying to come up with something impossible for our next mission.
|
As the reports rolled in on the giant screen in the war-room, Lieutenant-General Bo Kwang-kyu clapped and cheered just as enthusiastically as the next officer, ever mindful that the President had a particularly vindictive memory when it came to perceived disrespect against the great Motherland.
Still, something didn’t add up, and Bo cast his eyes furtively side-to-side, hoping to find someone who shared his misgivings. All he saw was pure, unadulterated adoration.
“Again! We have smashed their assault forces, again! Mark my words, this is when the world will finally recognize us as a great nation!” rang the President’s shrill voice from the back of the room, over the din of the celebrations. “Ten victories in ten engagements! We are supreme!”
Bo allowed himself to steep in the festive mood for a while longer, then made an excuse and disengaged, striding back to his office with a heavyset frown on his brow. His right-hand men, Colonels Lee and Park, were already waiting for him, with sheafs of papers gripped tightly in their hands.
“Sir,” Lee began, after shooting off a sharp salute. “We’ve ran separate intelligence checks as you’ve requested. The results are in.”
“And? What do they say?”
“Sir, the reports coming in from the front lines are corroborated,” said Park, spreading the first set of photographs on the table. A couple of years junior to Lee, Park had a penchant for the power of the written word, and rare was the time that he did not have documentary evidence for his claims. “My sources tell me that we have really, actually, repelled the American invaders repeatedly.”
“And it is not just propaganda?”
The question hung heavily in the air as Bo sieved through the photographs. Lee, after double-checking that the recording apparatus in the room had been temporarily switched off, ventured a reply.
“As far as I have verified, Sir, even the Publications Department themselves had to temporarily suspend operations just to make sure they weren’t unknowingly padding the reports. Park is right, the reports are true.”
Bo didn’t have to ask for substantiation, not from Lee. Just as Park had his methods, so did Lee, and Bo had learned long ago that Lee excelled at extending the finest tendrils of influence everywhere he touched, such that he saw all, knew all, without anyone even realising he was observing. In Lee’s world, the less of a paper trail, the better.
So what was he to do, now that his two most trusted Colonels were telling him that everything he had expected of a war with the United States of America, was wrong?
“Permission to speak freely, Sir,” said Park, adjusting his collar nervously.
“Permission granted,” said Bo, as muscle memory took over and his knee gently nudged the switch under the desk to turn the recording devices back on. Old habits died hard.
“I think we may be winning because of the… unconventional tactics being employed by the Americans.”
“You mean these… horses they are riding into battle?” said Bo, stabbing a finger at the topmost photograph.
“Er… yes, Sir. At first our front-line troops thought that they were a ploy, a feint, something to distract from the real punch of their assault. So we waited for the tanks, but there were none, just horses, more and more and more horses.”
“That was the first engagement, Sir,” said Lee, furrowing his brow in recollection. “The commander I spoke to, he had tears in his eyes as he recounted how their bullets mercilessly cut down row after row of horses and their riders, a senseless bloodbath the likes of which he had never seen before…”
“Tears in his eyes? At the loss of human life?”
“No Sir, at the wastage of perfectly good horsemeat.”
Lee reached out and placed another report on the table. “I know how you said that we always have to keep the civilians away from the battlefield, Sir, but once word got out, there was no way we could stop the neighbouring villages, aha, NEIGHbouring… sorry Sir, it’s my weakness for wordplay getting in th- as I was saying, the villagers in the vicinity would come at night, cart off all the viable horsemeat, and the scene would repeat, day after day after day.”
Bo’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table as he scanned through the report. When he was done, he returned to the photographs.
“Two birds with one stone, I’m not complaining. OK, what about casualties? The reports in the war-room briefly mentioned that we too have been suffering casualties?”
Lee cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “Less than 5% casualty rate, much better than the 95% we had estimated in our wargaming sessions. Hardly any casualties from the arrows they fired from horseback, but mainly when they switched to catapaults and trebuchets.”
“These are the quarries they dug up their ammunition from,” said Park, unfurling a map on the table and circling in red the locations he had committed to memory, “and this is where we believe they are concocting the pitch they smear their boulders with.”
“Do we even have defences against such unconventional warfare?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘defences’, Sir,” said Lee. “Our land-based mortars and missiles out-range their largest war machines, and since we destroy every one which comes into range, they’ve been firing their flaming boulders from outside the safety perimeter. Suffice to say, none of their ‘rounds’ have ever hit any of our encampments.”
“Then the casualties? How do you account for that?”
Park sighed as he withdrew a series of documents from his folder which Bo recognised as court-martial papers. “Some of the men got bored, and they started playing a game where the man who stands the closest to enemy lines without getting smashed by falling rocks wins the collected pool… or should I say, WON the collected pool, aha, aha- sorry.”
Bo ignored the painful pun. “So you’re saying that actually we could have suffered zero casualties?”
“Hence the court-martials, Sir,” said Lee, sniffing as he regarding the samples on the table. “I’ve also made it clear throughout the ranks that anyone taking part in such games will have their daily rations halved and their family members whipped.”
Bo sighed, then stood up to face the window, where the early blossoms stood in direct contrast with the darkened skies. He had been taught that every war they engaged in could be their last, and the pessimist in him had no idea how to deal with the success they’ve had so far.
“And both of you still believe that this is all because our President challenged their President to a war by medieval means?”
Lee spoke first. “That’s debatable. All our Supreme Leader said was that we would rain nuclear destruction on them if a single bullet was fired, and their President interpreted that as a challenge he could overcome. He said that woe is the American President who backs down from such a challenge, and that they would show the world that even 5th century technology was sufficient to destroy us.”
“This is what our spies are telling us?”
“No, Sir. It’s from his Twitter page.”
Bo took a seat and massaged his temples. “Fine, whatever. Just tell me, what do we expect from the next 48 hours? Anything we can do to help our forces on the front?”
“Sir, we think that they will be trying a night assault this time. We have but the handful of drones we intercepted from Amazon, but they’re telling us that the Americans are going to launch a pre-dawn raid.”
“And what are our preparations against that?”
“We think they will be using bugles to coordinate the onslaught, so we’ve already prepped recordings of the acoustic trash those Southern-rebels listen to in their leisure. We’ll be blasting them at full volume, throughout the night, and let’s just say that there ain’t a bugle in the world which can drown out that filth.”
Bo nodded, heartened at least to hear that they were adapting and learning from [the tactics used against them](http://edition.cnn.com/2016/01/08/asia/north-korea-propaganda-music/). The road to full-fledged legitimacy still lay a great way ahead, but it was every effort like this, every conscious commitment to improve, which would perhaps give them a fighting chance at the end of the day.
“Very well. Continue your good work, as I persist with mine. I’ll make sure our President doesn’t get too cocky, and just stays on the current path to success. The last thing any of us want is our President ordering us to dig a bloody moat now, right? Dismissed.”
“Aha, Sir, if that happened, you could say that our technology’s been de-MOATE-”
“I said DISMISSED.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-03-19T06:59:04 | 2017-03-19T06:41:57 | 457 | 112 |
[WP] You are a lawyer defending your client, who has been accused of murder. You want to see them found not guilty, since they are a good person and you KNOW they are innocent. After all, you are the murderer yourself.
|
We exchange a knowing glance before being led into the courtroom. This was part of the deal, after all. I was here to attempt to defend him and keep him out of jail.
He saved my life all those years ago in that desert, so I owed him more than I could ever repay in one lifetime. Only reason he was on trial and not me is that seemed to be the best way to keep it air tight.
We’re going to have a tough time, considering the circumstances, but his alibi was legitimate. I also made sure to “rig the scene” with some plausible, yet inadmissible evidence for the blame to shift towards an acquaintance of the ‘victim’. You see, we didn’t actually want *anyone* to go to prison for this.
After the desert we made a pact to never use our ‘skills’ for wrong nor could we allow anyone to suffer at our hands. We did some vigilante work after the military, always going after criminals. Some of it was paid, some was free of charge.
This? This was personal. He decided to settle down and leave the old ways so he could raise a family. I started putting my education to good use. We even lost touch for a while in spite of all we’d been through.
Then I got the phone call. His daughter had been out on a date when the shitbag’s older brother showed up to their car up on Lover’s Lane. The older brother told the younger one to leave, then he had his way with the girl and dumped her out of a moving car.
She survived, but not without a lot of damage, both mental and physical. I was called in because he knew I’d get the job done with the right balance of vengeance and swift death. I asked if she wanted to be involved, but we agreed to just place screens up with her photographs so he’d *KNOW* why he was being eliminated from this world.
It didn’t take long, turns out those types are a lot weaker mentally than they try to convey. In fact, it took about the same amount of time for the judge to throw out the case. The alibi checked out, and the judge might’ve had some favors performed for him by a couple of Ex-Mil types 15 years ago...
|
"They want you to accept a plea deal, so the charges will be dropped to manslaughter, but this D.A. is hard on sentencing, so they will absolutely want you to serve the maximum," I said, wiping the drop of sweat from my brow, "but, I advise you to plead not guilty, we can beat this case. I know we can," I paused, not wanting to say anything...incriminating, "I can push back the trial date and give the investigators more time to compile evidence, evidence that'll work in your favor."
"Evidence that may work against you, dipshit," I thought to myself.
"Damon, I appreciate all your advice," he began, sobbingly, "but...I dont think I'm going to make it out of this. I had her blood...all over me. The knife...oh God," He continued to cry.
I hated hearing his cries. I heard it when he first called me, and how pitiful it sounded over the phone. Now you have to hear it in person? I may as well let them throw the book at him. It'd be easy for a prosecutor like Deville, an apathetic man who only cares about his conviction rate. And by the way this kid is acting, he'll take the offer. I could have Deville shave off a few years just for old time's sake. Anything to get this kid away from me, anything to stop his crying.
Every time I think about him, I think about that night. And I want to stop thinking about it all together, like all the rest of them. If he hadn't grabbed the knife, it would have been dismissed the very next day. Stupid kid. Stupid me; Had I been quicker, it would've been like all the other nights, and I wouldn't be stricken with his God forsaken sobbing. Just act like you care. At least until your time with him is up.
"Hey, listen. Listen to me. I need you to relax," Yes, relax, before I kill you myself; "you've maintained your innocence so far. And despite you speaking with them before I arrived, you've been consistent with your claims; the details you gave them had not changed. Any rookie investigator will find there was another person there. The actual attacker," Now, I need to relax, before I say something stupid; "There were never any domestic disputes between you two. You have no record. No clear motive. I know for a fact the prosecutors are scrambling to find something damning," Relax, you dipshit; "Please, take my advice, and fight the case."
"Okay," he went on, sniveling, wiping tears and snot off his face as I pass him a tissue. You can grab your own tissue you fucking wimp, "You're absolutely right. I'll plead not guilty. God, I just...I just can't stop thinking about...the way he was on top of her. Her blood...her..."
"Don't dwell on it too much, don't relive the memory over and over again, its only going to hurt you more and you need to be strong, now more than ever." More than you've ever been, I'm sure of that.
"I'm trying..." He cried, again.
"Keep trying," I said, hoping he'll stop for just one damn moment; "keep yourself busy in there. Keep to yourself. And don't forget you have family that's more than willing to help. We will get past this. Together." I put my hand over his, attempting to calm his nerves. Acting like I care. Our time is up and he's finally going back to his cell; I certainly need to get somewhere private.
Why in the hell am I trying to help this kid? Why the fuck did you take this case on in the first place? What sort of fucking ego trip are you on? And what happens when he is found not guilty? Then they'd focus on the real killer. You're fucked. You. Are. Fucked. Do you really feel sympathy for this fucking kid?
Since when? When have you ever cared enough about the people you hurt that now you actually want to help? Help? What the fuck is wrong with you? Was it the way she screamed for him? Screaming his name at the top of her lungs. They all screamed. They always scream, and the only difference was the way they did it and the names they called out. It couldn't have been that.
Is it his wailing? His pathetic wailing that actually makes me hate him more each time I hear it. It can't be that either. I remember the first witness I left behind and the way she cried over that body; I wanted to crawl back into that house and cut her down as well, every fiber in my body wanted to make a mess out of her, just to end her fucking wailing.
"Your ego." I said aloud, walking out of the main jail and onto the street. I turned to see if anyone heard me. All I saw were two suits trailing behind me. Not a threat.
It was bad enough you had to fight the kid thinking you were stronger, and oh how he proved you wrong. Now you're defending him? Do you despise the way he cries so much that you want the satisfaction of shutting him up? He's still going to cry when he hears the verdict. You think about how that's going to sound? This power trip of yours has gotten too far. And Deville, oh that slippery fuck and his friends on the force. They'll tip him off about their next suspect and he will no doubt bring the hammer down on you. You know damn well the kid will be found innocent, that's guaranteed. But then they will be searching for someone else, and that hollow shell of a man will be at the tip of the spear if you're next on the list.
But then, what will incite their suspicions? What did you leave at the scene? Nothing. Not even a drop of blood, the kid didnt fight that hard. Not a hair on your body can be found, you took all the right precautions. The car was a few streets down. The gloves and clothes are gone, burnt to ash. What could they possibly have? You know you're better than that. This wasn't your first time and this certainly wont be your last. Just another cold case, picking up du-
"The knife!!" I shouted as I drove back home.
How could you let this happen? You dont even remember if you wiped it down prior to your entry of the home. But he kept the knife in his hands, his bloodied hands leaving his prints all over the fucking thing and the handle wasn't too big either, big enough to be held in one hand. There's a chance his prints covered mine-
"His prints covered yours?! Are you fucking delusional?!" I shouted again, pulling the car in the driveway.
All I can do now is wait. Wait and hope they missed something on that damn blade. They like to call themselves experts, experts and yet they can't identify a suspect until a witness comes forward. Experts, and yet I managed to stack enough bodies to fill their giant icebox and what do they have? Jack shit. Experts. And here I am, making them fail in their expertise. There's no way they can trace it back to me. I'm better than that. There's no way I could've slipped up in such a reckless way since I'm always so careful. No way they have any evidence against me even if the kid is found innocent. I'm better than-
"Excuse me, counselor? Damon Ovell? Stop right where you are, turn around and raise your hands above your head," said the man I had just recognized as one of suits outside of the jail. They must have followed me. I need to get away fast.
Run inside right now, you fool. Run inside, get him to chase, trap him. Take him down.
"Now interlock your fingers and get on your knees."
"We have a warrant for your arrest." I heard a second voice, the other suit that was with him.
Fuck. You're outnumbered. He's too close. Relax. Let him arrest you. They dont have anything. How could they have anything? There's nothing they have against...Your fingerprints, they took your damn prints years ago, for a fucking DUI? Remember?
"Oh and your friend Deville sends his regards."
| 2019-05-19T04:44:40 | 2019-05-19T04:42:50 | 275 | 33 |
[WP] When people die, a trial is held to decide if they go to heaven or hell. People are allowed to choose their attorney, regardless of if they know them personally or not. You're the first person to choose Satan as your attorney.
If it matters in the context of your story, you can choose the individuals that make up the jury.
|
Goldberg sat at the desk, filled with papers.
"You know, most people would have chosen a defender by now," a nearby soul asked.
But Goldberg wasn't most people. He was a lawyer. And despite his initial shock at learning of this afterlife when previously his old Rabbi said there was no eternal afterlife in Jewish tradition, Goldberg knew he had one advantage: time. It would take centuries to read through all the paperwork, but thanks to an eternal soul, centuries were but mere pocket change.
The basics weren't all that different from a US courtroom. There's a judge, a jury, prosecution, and defense. Goldberg could call anyone to defend him, or choose to represent himself. His time as a lawyer meant he knew going the pro se option would be a terrible idea. He could call on Jesus, who seemed to enjoy defending quite a bit, though Goldberg couldn't be sure of it as Jesus mostly defended Christians. He needed an option that would be literally foolproof.
And after nearly 3 centuries of poring through trial documentation, he had found the answer.
Goldberg walks into the courtroom, suppressing a bounce in his step. "Your honor," Goldberg said to the Archangel Michael, "I elect Satan as my defending counsel."
Murmurs erupted throughout the courtroom. No one had *ever* selected Satan as an attorney before. Even Satanists often went pro se, because their beliefs were more about self-reliance than worshipping any entity such as the devil.
Satan appreared, tall and clad in a well-pressed suit. He heads over to the prosecution's desk before Michael then informs him, "This defendant has selected Satan as his legal counsel."
Satan was furious. He had written the trial rules so well, he thought, so that nobody would ever call the designated Adversary as one's defense. But here he stood, as Michael passed a summary judgment and allowed Goldberg into Heaven due to the lack of a prosecution to try him.
"Just who the Hell are you?" Satan asked.
As the doors to Paradise opened, Goldberg proclaimed with a newfound sense of swagger: "I'm the best lawyer there's ever been!"
|
Defendant lobby. Forehead: sweaty. Palms: also sweaty.
I sit uncomfortably on a lounge chair twiddling my thumbs, waiting for *him* to show up. If he even is a *him*.
Who knows what the heck he is. All I'm sure of is that he's the only one who can help me now.
I take out my pocket watch. The dials are spinning randomly.
*Sigh. This isn't helping.*
I take a few deep breaths and try to ascertain my surroundings. Grey walls, grey chairs, ash coffee table. Paintings on walls. One pair of big doors. No other exit.
For God's own court house, things sure seem... Normal.
Some time passes. Suddenly, the big doors swing open and in comes a toga-clad winged man holding a spear.
"It's time." He says.
I reluctantly stand up, looking around the room. My defender is nowhere to be found. "Hey, uhh. I don't think-"
"It's time." The winged man cuts me off.
"Can I just-"
"It's time." He says one more time. I can't see his eyes through his visor, but his increasingly crinkled frown tells me I should abide him.
I step forward through the gates and enter another realm. I feel myself waft through the air as I am blinded by light. When my senses come to, I'm hovering above an unbelievable landscape.
Miles below me lies a land cleft in twain, one half covered by acres of lush fields and vibrant rivers, the other overflowing with canals of what has to be lava and caked by dark ash and soot.
A heavenly voice blares from above. I crane my neck and am again blinded.
"ALL RISE."
I instinctively move my legs to stand, then realize I'm still hovering. What am I supposed to do now? Can I turn this off?
"YOU ARE NOW IN THE DIVINE HALLS OF JUSTICE."
I begin to discern a figure. A billowing dress. Then a beard and a shiny laurel perched on the head.
"Are you God?" I ask.
I could now see the face. It grimaced.
"ALWAYS THE SAME QUESTION," it blares.
"WHAT YOU SEE IS MY PROJECTION. ONE OF MILLIONS. MY BEING COULD NOT TRIFLE SOLELY WITH ONE SHEEP AT A TIME."
*Fair enough*. I look behind me and see a vast starry space. Then turn back to God. An eternity of silence passes.
"WHERE IS YOUR DEFENDER?" It finally asks.
I feel a pang in my heart. What now?
"Well... It's uh."
"SPEAK UP, SHEEP." He moves his face uncomfortably close to mine. It is planetary levels of big.
"He's... Uh. Late."
"HMM. LATE, YOU SAY. SLOTH IS A SIN. YOU HAVE NOT CHOSEN WELL."
I finally find the courage to speak.
"I don't think so."
"HM?" God moves closer. "WHO THEN, IS YOUR DEFENDER?"
I can see the oily pores of God's surface.
"It's... Lucifer," I say.
God shoots away from me.
"LUCIFER? YOU DO NOT MEAN..."
As if on cue, another voice begins to blare from a distance.
"*DID SOMEONE SAY MY NAME!?*"
Out of nowhere, a fiery rift opens with an explosion. And out comes the devil himself.
A being just as large as God appears, wreathed in a crimson gloss. A hunky male figure with long, blond hair. It's completely naked except for a pair of tout pink swimming pants.
A guitar is slung over his shoulder.
"YOU." God says.
"*SUP*" Lucifer says. He turns to me, looking like a perfect beach model from the eighties, ailed with a severe case of gigantism.
"*SORRY I'M LATE, I JUST GOT BACK FROM THIS BIG BANQUET AND I COULDN'T STOP STUFFING MYSELF.*"
"GLUTTONY IS A SIN!" God pesters.
Lucifer disregards him and continues talking at me.
"*I'D NEVER BEEN CALLED TO ONE OF THESE THINGS BEFORE, Y'KNOW? SO WHEN IT FINALLY HAPPENED I JUST HAD TO COME. SPECIALLY WHEN THE DEFENDANT IS A FINE-ASS LOOKING SPECIMEN LIKE YOURSELF.*"
He winks at me and I feel myself blush.
I'm a heterosexual man and I'd never felt anything sexual toward another man... Until now.
"LUST IS A SIN ALSO."
Lucifer turns to God.
"*HOW'S IT HANGING, J-MAN? SORRY, AM I MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE BEING HERE?*" Lucifer sways his hips.
God looks down at the floor. "NO," he says. He looks uncomfortable.
Lucifer turns back to me.
"*I GOTTA SAY MAN, THAT REQUEST CAME TOTALLY OUTTA NOWHERE. AND IT'S NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. I MEAN, ME, THE BEING OF ULTIMATE SIN IN GOD'S HALL OF JUSTICE? I COULDN'T TURN IT DOWN. SO WHY'D YA PICK ME? COULD YOU NOT RESIST THE TEMPTATION OF SEEING THE MOST FABULOUS BEING IN THE ENTIRE LITERAL EXISTENCE?*"
"PRIDE..." God grumbles.
"Because you're the only one who can help me," I say.
"*AND WHY ME AND NOT SOME OTHER SILVER-TONGUED DEMON?*"
"Well, it's a long story."
"*GO AHEAD THEN,*" he nestles himself into a hammock that appears out of nowhere.
"SPEAK THEN, SHEEP," God adds.
With their permission, I begin to tell the tale of me.
"It all began when I was a child. I was raised in a strict religious household and taught to obey the godly tenets from a very young age. And I did. From the beginning of my life until the very last moment, I have obeyed the word of God, never breaking a single sin."
"THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE," God says dubiously. He then peers his eyes on me as if to evaluate me. An expression of awe colors his face.
"THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE," his jaw drops open.
Lucifer springs from his hammock.
"*WHOA, IS THIS TRUE? SO THEN WHY PICK ME?*"
"My entire life I have worked for the good of others, only humbling myself with every fortune that came my way. I've looked at fellow men only with love for God's creation without a hint of envy. I went to church every Sunday, where I met the woman I fell in love with and lied with her only after our matrimony was complete. I've never cursed God's name, or cursed at all. Never laid my hand on my children or anyone else and not one time did I eat more than to sate my hunger... and I'm fucking sick of it."
"*YEEEEES!*" Lucifer screams as he swings his guitar into his hands.
God croaks involuntarily.
"As I lay there dying, it finally dawned on me. My whole life I've been basing my very being on a bunch of rules just so I could get into some stupid palace in the goddamned sky. But seeing my whole family gather around me, praying as my spirit left me, I realized my love for them was emptier than my own ass. From my very childhood, I was conditioned to do what I thought was good but I never wanted any of it! I was brainwashed! And I wanted them all to fucking burn.
I've been too good my whole life and I'm not about spend an eternity in some ditsy-ass palace made of fucking clouds or whatever. This is my resolve!"
I point to god.
"You motherfucker can burn in hell."
"*OH YEAH!*" Lucifer rocks, "*THIS MAN IS GUILTY AS SIN! I SENTENCE HIM TO BEING ONE OF MY WIVES!*"
God hovers there, motionless.
Lucifer claws the strings of his guitar and out juts a flaming bolt of light that shreds god's image to tears.
Satan grabs my arm as his rift opens up again.
*"GET READY, SON."*
"I'm ready."
| 2016-10-13T03:11:36 | 2016-10-13T03:11:08 | 62 | 23 |
[WP] A dragon lays waste only to a feudal lord's keep, deciding to rule over humans like a human would. Decades of rule and defending his new subjects from other feudal lords' attacks have led the small hold to grow into a vast city state, with its people content to have a dragon as their lord.
|
The red-painted dragon priest met the nomadic marauders on the edge of the city for a brief parley.
The savages had come, 100,000 strong to lay waste to the dragon-priest’s vast city-state. They sought to plunder their gold and enslave their women. And why not? Every other settlement the horse-lords had encountered had fallen beneath their might, but the Crimson Aerie was no mere settlement.
The mounted general rode his black mare towards the concession of strangely robed men, noting the way they painted ruby scales on the faces and arms.
“Have you come to pay homage to our lord?” The dragon-priest asked haughtily. The armoured man and his dangerous looking entourage gave him no pause, nor forced any feigned politeness.
“Homage?” The tribesman laughed. “You pay us homage and maybe we leave your pretty town alone, eh?”
The dragon-priest and his supplicants shook their heads, chortling in mild amusement over the stranger’s nativity, “Our lord Xeo-Anuhl-Tharghis offers nothing, save your lives should you flee now and never return.”
“Who is this Anuhl lord you speak of,” spat the general. “My Khan awaits yonder with enough horses and men to drown your city in blood and tears. No king stand above him, save god in the heavens.”
“Then you have answered your own question,” the priest replied with a smile as the ground beneath their feet trembled suddenly.
“What is that?” Demanded the marauder nervously, as a terrifying roar spilt the stillness of the skies surrounding them.
The dragon-priest gave the horse-lord a crazed-look, as an immense beast of fire and scale fell from the clouds towards the encampment that held the invading army.
“Xeo-Anuhl-Tharghis,” said the Dragon-Priest, as he and his followers drew their weapons and advanced on the diplomatic entourage. “The God who stands above your king.”
|
Kayla stepped into the street, closing the door of her mother's inn behind her. She looked down at the shopping list she held in her right hand. The list was short; most of the preparations for the festival had been accomplished in the past two days, and she only needed to pick up the beef from the butcher and the apples from Farmer Gregory's stall. Mother made the best marzipan dragons in the district, but travelers often wanted something more substantial to eat along with the delicacy.
All around her, shopkeepers were setting up their booths with the toy dragons, chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil, and sweetmeats. Smith Jarlsson had the biggest booth in their district, with apprentices hawking iron dragons with wings that flapped when you pulled the tail. Kayla looked wistfully at the booth as she passed by, wishing she could afford one someday. Her older brother had promised to buy her one the next time he came home on leave, but as Cormic was just a common soldier, he would not be back until the next summer solstice, which was still half a year away.
As she neared the butcher's shop, she saw a stranger leading his horse down the street towards her, gawking at the banners. Dragon Liberation Day attracted many travelers; most lands did not have the privilege of being ruled by a dragon, and many people from all walks of life came to see the prosperous city-state. Many stayed at the inn, so Kayla has learned to recognize the types of people who passed through, from merchants purchasing wares to be sold back home as curios, to artisans looking to see whether moving here would be profitable. This man was different, though; he appeared wild-eyed, and his gray hair was matted and disheveled. His clothes, while well fitting and cut from good cloth, was torn and inexpertly mended in several places. Kayla moved aside to give the man a wide berth; she pitied him, but didn't want to be attacked by him in case he was a madman. However, he approached her, and asked, "Excuse me, girl, can you tell me what is going on today?"
Inwardly, Kayla sighed. She put on her brightest smile, the one she used when patrons patted her on the head and praised her mother for raising her so well, and replied "It's Dragon Liberation Day, sir. We celebrate the day our dragon liege freed us from Tyrant Araun, approximately three centuries ago."
The man stared at her. His brown eyes were bloodshot. "You mean, you people are *grateful* that this dragon rules you?"
Kayla nodded. "Of course; ever since he claimed our lands for his own, we've had nothing but peace and prosperity. We learn at school about all the terrible things that were done by Tyrant Araun, like how he made our young men fight in his wars against other lords. Now, all our army has to do is watch the borders, and if any army approaches, our beacons alert our lord and he defends us. If you'll excuse me, sir, I must continue running his errands."
The man sighed. "Thank you for your time, girl. If I may ask one last question, is there an inn at which I may stay?"
Kayla hesitated, but the man seemed harmless enough. She pointed towards Mother's inn and said "My mother owns the inn down that way; if you walk about four blocks, you'll see it. You can't miss it."
The stranger bobbed his head, saying "Thank you for your time, miss. I'll be sure to check it out."
The rest of the walk was uneventful. As Kayla made her way home, laden basket in hand, she mused about her encounter with that strange man. To think that someone could be unfamiliar with Dragon Liberation Day. He must have come a long way to reach the city-state.
As she entered the inn, she saw her mother sweeping the porch. "Oh good, thank you Kayla. Can you help set the table? One of the patrons said he'd like an early meal. He says the last cooked meal he had was at Glenwood; can you believe that?"
Kayla put away the meat and apples and grabbed a clean plate. "Yes, I ran into him near the butcher's. He seemed harmless enough."
Her mother started cutting the meat; in the hearth, the stew was bubbling merrily. "He seems a nice enough man, if down on his luck. I wouldn't be surprised if he has saddle sores the size of an orange, though, if he rode all the way from Glenwood . After you're done with the table, can you ask Cleo to ask the traveler if he wants to buy any liniment? He should be in the stable with the horse."
Kayla nodded. "Will do; I'll let him know that there will be food soon as well."
Mother smiled. "Don't go getting sweet on him, now; he's far too old for you, you know."
Kayla blushed as she laid the utensils on the plate. "Mother! He's the stableboy! He's practically family!"
Mother snorted. "Well, you're young yet; when I was your age I remember thinking that lads in general, and your father in particular, were the silliest creatures alive. Things changed, though."
Kayla asked, "You never talk much about Father. What was he like when he was younger?"
Mother smiled wistfully. "Well, he was always getting into scrapes. His father, your grandfather, owned this inn, and he was always managing to spill milk on the newly cleaned floors, or trip over his own two feet..." She trailed off as the stranger came downstairs. "Sir Brown! We didn't expect you to be so fast; was the bath to your liking?"
Sir Brown smiled kindly. "Everything was perfect, my good woman. Ah, it's my friend from the market again! Thank you again for your recommendations."
Kayla smiled. "It was my pleasure, Sir Brown. If you will excuse me for saying so, sir, I had no idea you were a knight. Where is your, uh..."
Sir Brown smiled thinly. "My armor, you mean? It's ok, girl, I know you meant no offense. I did not want to attract attention on the streets; my armor is in my saddlebags, and I will only take it out when it is time."
Mother placed a slice of bread, well buttered, on his plate. "The stew will be ready in a short while, sir. I hope you are not expecting any trouble."
A shadow darkened the man's eyes. "Say rather that trouble came when I wasn't expecting, and you'd be correct."
Kayla stared, entranced. "What happened, sir?"
The knight grimaced. "You people treat this dragon as your savior. Have you ever wondered what goes on beyond your borders?"
Kayla's mother frowned. "Sir, we have travelers from across the border all the time. As long as their lords don't attack us, our lord leaves them alone."
"The nearby lands, yes," the man retorted. "Your dragon doesn't want war with any of your neighbors. But have you never wondered where your dragon gets its gold from?"
Kayla stated firmly, "We pay tithes, sir, of our cattle and our gold. Everyone knows that."
Sir Brown sighed. "Child, you can't possibly believe that your one city-state produces enough gold to satisfy the dragon, even with all the gold mines. The dragon pillages distant lands, including my homeland, and anyone who gets in its way is burned out of hand." A tear trickled down his cheek, which he hastily wiped away.
Kayla frowned. The man had no reason to lie, that she knew of, but it was known that the dragon was a just and benevolent ruler, placing the lightest of burdens on the land. Under his rule, the city-state had grown into the wealthy land it was today.
Her mother seemed to feel the same way. With the look she had when she was humoring a drunk patron, she asked, "Why do you come here, then, sir knight?"
A steely look replaced the faraway gaze in the man's eyes. "I'm here, because the dragon took everything from me."
| 2019-05-26T22:56:31 | 2019-05-26T22:05:21 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] You are short, skinny and well below average intelligence. Yet, you've been hired by a group of elite soldiers to help with some of their most dangerous missions. Your superpower: sheer dumb luck. No matter how close to death you come, reality always follows the path to your ultimate survival.
|
Operation Code Red Tango Tango Bravo, despite its long winded name, was simple. Americans were being held hostage in the Tehran Embassy and the US government would very much like it if we got them out.
Colonel McAdams stood before the team assigned to the mission. He always avoided eye contact with me at these things.
You will hear me referred to as Potter. I'm 49. I used to be a city bus driver in DC. Lines 54 and 71 were mine for 13 years. Now it's hard to tell people what I do. Despite not passing a single portion of the physical, I'm a Green Beret of the US Army. I used to think metropolitan transport has some bad politics. You should see the brown nosing these Buzz Cuts got going with the Colonel.
"Attennnn..... HUT!"
The Buzz Cuts straightened their posture and saluted ever so perfectly, eyes straight ahead. McCadams paced in front of us and spoke.
"Gentlemen, the lives of 18 Americans are in your hands. The 10 of you have been uniquely selected for your military skills to handle this hostage crisis. Failure... is not an option."
I wondered if he was intentionally referencing Apollo 13 or wanted us to think he came up with that.
"Before I begin to debrief the mission, and we'll go over its name in a second, I want to tell you all that you're here for a reason. You're brave men and you're the best we got. Never forget that."
And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was probably the best solider out of all of them. I'm uniquely talented in my ability to not die. I know you might think you're pretty good since you're reading this right now, but allow me to explain.
The US Army first got wind of me after an incident on my line 71 route a few years back. During an evening commute, my bus had lost its brakes completely. I was going 65mph heading down a hill on I-395 with zero ability to stop. The bus only increased in speed. I swerved to the shoulder, trying to aim for a patch of grass that might slow us down just a little. As I swerved, a gust came in. A fierce gust. So fierce that the semi truck a few hundred yards ahead actually tipped to the side some. As the truck became lopsided, its back door began to open. The contents of the truck began to fall out. Mattresses. The mattresses came out like a conveyor belt and stacked themselves vertically in an orderly fashion behind the truck. I aimed my bus at this mass of cushiony softness and we came to a gentle hault.
That's just the one time my heroics were at the stage to get out to the public like that. I've been avoiding death all my life in far less glamorous ways. I ate a pail of paint when I was 7 and the doctors discovered I had a rare condition where lead was actually beneficial to me. I slipped off a cliff while hiking and apparently spaced out that I was going base jumping that day because I had a parachute handy.
So when the army needs something to get done, they need someone who won't die while getting that thing done. They need Potter - 49 years old and driver of busses. America's hero.
|
Snoop leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling of the briefing room. "God, I'm fuckin' bored," he groaned.
Laker came into the room holding a cup of coffee. "You're always fuckin' bored when you're not boozing, fucking or taking that shitheap you call a motorbike for a spin."
Snoop turned his head to glare at Laker. "Don't you go dissin' Molly like that! She's a sweet, sweet machine."
"For a piece of shit, sure." Ratsass turned around as Laker came past him. "Shit, man, thanks for the coffee." He tried to twitch the paper cup out of Laker's hand but mistimed it; the hot beverage slopped over both their hands and splashed on the floor.
"Motherfucker!" yelled Laker, switching what remained of the coffee to his other hand and wiping the hot liquid off on his jeans. "Do you always have to fuckin' try that?"
Ratsass licked the coffee off his own hand. "Yeah, why not? Sometimes I get coffee."
"One day Imma put about two dozen laxatives in it, then I'll let you grab it an' watch you shit your *eyeballs* out, you thieving cocksucker." Laker hooked a chair around with his foot and straddled it backward.
"Yeah, an' I'll be doin' it all in your fuckin' boots," jeered Ratsass. "An' then I'll wipe my butt on your stinky-ass socks. Not like anyone'll be able to tell the fuckin' difference."
The door opened again and they all looked around. In the doorway stood the commanding officer of this sorry bunch of thieves, layabouts and highly-trained killers. His name was Rogers, but they all called him 'boss'. His callsign was 'Rabid', and while he was in the field, he lived up to it.
"Okay, don't worry about standing to attention, not like any of you knows what that is," Rogers snapped. "The reason you're sitting around in here instead of out there destroying your brain cells in a hundred different inventive ways is that I need to introduce you to our fifth member, at least for the next mission."
"Fifth?" Snoop shook his head. "Nope. Sorry, boss. We're a four-man team. Always have been, always will be. I know these guys an' they know me. Ain't gonna happen."
"What part of 'temporary' did you not actually register?" Rogers shook his head. "And you're still gonna be a four-man team. Guys, meet Areana." He stepped into the room, then moved aside to make way for ...
... a sixteen year old schoolgirl.
Well, she *looked* sixteen. She could've been a mature fourteen or a petite twenty. She had long white-blonde hair, delicate angelic features, huge blue eyes, and zero muscle tone. Being maybe-sixteen, she wasn't exactly stacked either, which was another negative mark in the book which had appeared in the heads of all three men. Of course, in Snoop's head the book only had a few pages and was being filled in with crayon, but he was a genius with the SAW so there was that.
Giving them all a wide sparkling white smile, she lifted one hand and gave a cutesy little fingertip-wave. "Hiiii! It's so *cool* to meet you all! Mr Rogers has told me *all* about you!"
Laker took a drink from his coffee and looked her up and down. About five foot nothing, eighty pounds wringing wet, T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, air of innocence and naivete. Not the sort of person who should be allowed within half a mile of the collection of depravity and animal instincts embodied in Rogers' Rangers. "What. The living. Fuck?"
It was a reasonable question. Rogers sighed, as if wondering how he was going to answer it. "Guys. This next mission is a killer. We'd need three times the men to do a successful insert, but that wouldn't work because they'd spot us and smear us. Areana here's our edge. She'll get us in and out."
Snoop stood up, shoving his chair backward. "Yeah? Fuckin' how? You some kinda martial-artist killin' machine, missy?" He lumbered around the table toward her.
"Nope!" she said proudly, coming to meet him. "You're Snoop, aren't you?"
Snoop already had it in his mind what he was going to do. Grab her hand, spin her around, give her a good smack on the ass and send her crying back to Rogers. Maybe that would make the boss think twice about bringing in an unknown on the eve of a killer mission.
"Yeah, that's me," he stepped forward and reached for her hand. However, his sock-clad foot came down in the puddle of coffee that had spilled from Laker's cup; skidded, then flew upward. "Whoa, *fuck!"*
In front of the entire team, the man who held the all-time record for completing Rogers' Rangers makeshift confidence course performed a magnificent pratfall, landing flat on his ass in a groaning heap. Ratsass looked down at him, then at the girl, who was still smiling broadly. Laker blinked and stared.
"That was *funny!"* she declared. "No, I'm not good at fighting or guns. I'm just lucky. Like, really lucky. And anyone I like is lucky too."
"And anyone who tries shit with her ends up like Snoop," Rogers said from the door. "I've seen it happen a dozen times. Totally legit coincidences. They just keep happening to *her.*"
"But Ratsass made me spill that cup of joe before she ever walked in!" protested Laker. "She wasn't even in the room!"
"So what?" Rogers shrugged. "She was coming here, Snoop was gonna try something, so you spilled coffee. Trust me, when it comes to our little lucky charm here, it was always gonna happen."
"Well, shit." Ratsass turned in his chair and offered his hand to her. "Nice to meet ya, Ar ... uh, what was your name again?"
"Areana," she said happily. "You're Ratsass, aren't you? Where'd you get that name from? It's a silly name."
"Uhh ..." Ratsass turned to his comrades for some help. He'd gotten the name for being so ready for a quick buck that Laker had once accused him of being willing to sell a rat's ass to a blind man for a wedding ring. But Snoop was still getting up and Laker just gave him a shit-eating grin. *Well, it'll be worth it to see the look on her face.*
But as he inhaled, ready to give her the gory details, a fly went down his throat. Coughing and spluttering, trying not to hork his brains up through his nose, he bent over with streaming eyes. And then a slim hand struck him sharply between the shoulderblades, and the fly popped out of his mouth and landed in the remains of the puddle of coffee.
"There you are! Feeling better?" Areana beamed at him.
A couple more dry coughs and Ratsass was indeed feeling better. "Yeah, lots," he conceded. "Uh, it's because I used to have a pet rat that used to give other rats lots of sass, so I called him Sass, and everyone else called me Rat Sass."
"Oh, that's so *cute!"* Areana's voice squeaked into the higher registers. "Do you still have him? Rats are so cute with their little pink noses."
"Uh, no, sorry." He paused lamely. "But if we get through this mission okay I'll get another one and you can play with him, how about that?"
She clasped her hands in front of her. "*Eeeeeeeeeeee!"* Ratsass was pretty sure he could hear bats flying around confused outside the building. "That'll be *amazing!"*
Rogers cleared his throat, looking amused. "Okay then, ladies." Taking up a roll of paper, he let it uncurl over the table to reveal a series of blueprints and maps. "This is our objective."
Laker leaned in to look. "Wait. That's South America."
"Cool, I always wanted to visit there!" Areana pointed at Brazil. "Can we go to Rio? I heard it's a real party town."
"Not on this mission, but maybe later." Rogers nodded to Laker. "Good eye. We're going to Colombia. There's a guy there who's been giving the DEA a little too much grief, so we're doing what we do best."
"Ooh, ooh, I know!" Areana beamed at them all. "You're going to ..." She tried to lower her voice to sound menacing, but instead came across as adorable. "... make him an offer he can't refuse?"
"No, actually, we're probably gonna--" Laker began. He'd been intending to say, "shoot him right in the head," but the chair leg collapsed under him, depositing him on the floor. "Waah, crap!"
"No, honey, you're exactly right." Rogers looked paternally down at Areana, as paternally as a ruthless hired killer could get, and nodded. "We're going to talk to him and explain the error of his ways."
"Yay!"
(Continued)
| 2020-04-18T07:08:13 | 2020-04-18T07:05:49 | 450 | 88 |
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