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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] in the year 1105 BC you helped a man escape an imprisonment. Before you parted ways he says to make a blood oath. You didn’t think much of it but you also cut your hand and shake. He says that you’ll live as long as he does. Well, now it’s the year 2020 and you’ve been searching for this man.
|
Nonus was a cruel man; a jailer. Renowned throughout Gaul and Germania for his participation in the slave trade. Someone you’ve beaten into submission for years and years will never say no to your every whim and need.
I was ten years old when he bought me.
I was thirteen when I caught his eye for the first time. I guess he’d thought I was exotic looking. At fifteen I’d started bleeding, and he made me his wife. When I was his slave, I thought I’d known the full extent of his cruelty. As his wife, I learned that it had unending depths. I learned to tie my chiton in such a way that it hid the purple splotches on my collarbones, to sit in such a way that bruises on my thighs were invisible to the populace.
I forget what day it was when I first noticed the prisoner, but it was evening. The shadow stretched long and languid over the face of the sundial. Ides, maybe. Summer, for sure. It’s been a long time, but I remember the moment exactly.
His eyes caught mine, and I was shocked to see the reflection of aquamarine. The same I had observed in looking glasses, in puddles. The same as mine. Raven black hair hung stringy around his shoulders, and his torso was covered in welts. I winced from the courtyard as my husband threw him into the pit and I heard one of his arms snap.
\*\*\*
I’d finished my duties for the day, let my husband take his frustration out on my body, then fed him. He was remarkably ungrateful. I suppose I would be too, if I’d incurred the social risk of a former slave as a wife only to find out she was barren. I suppose I would be too, if I was too stupid or too naïve to know about poison or divorce. Or maybe he liked having a ragdoll, a punching bag. Would a Roman citizen of noble birth with a well-connected father allow such things to happen to her? No; that is why I was Nonus’ wife, I guess.
It was also my duty to go make sure all the cells were locked, to give bread and water to the men in the carts.
I thought of the man with the eyes like mine, and folded up rice into grape leaves, hiding them in my belt, my veil.
\*\*\*
“*Why do you let him hurt you, sister?*”
I haven’t heard that language since my father said goodbye to me. Tears well in my eyes and I find that I must consciously search to string the words together, to use the grammar that is familiar yet now unfamiliar. I turn, and find the voice is coming from the pit. The stranger, the man with my eyes.
“*There is no choice. I was sold. I must obey.*” I reply. It feels like I am speaking a language from a different life. I lower my veil around my neck, taking the grape leaves and adding them to the normal ration of bread and water. “*Eat. Tomorrow I will see if I can get milk.*”
\*\*\*
Mercifully, Nonus was always a heavy sleeper. A legion could march by, belligerent and with swords and shields clanging, and he would remain unmoving. A stone, a corpse. I’d talked to the prisoner for a fortnight. He told me about my homeland, how green the rolling hills were, how there were lakes nestled between mountains. How the near constant rain nourished the plants and animals. I listened to him speak my mother tongue and cried while my bruises throbbed.
Nonus never kept prisoners for more than a fortnight.
Naturally, I'd stolen the key.
“*Thank you, sister. I know not how to get home, but I will find my way. We shall make a blood oath. You will find me again, and we can talk once more, for as long as we shall live. Forever connected.*”
He took my hand and before I could withdraw it, I felt his sharp fingernail draw across my palm. The cut burnt and I felt sticky warmth trickle from my hand. When I looked up, he was gone.
\*\*\*
Nonus beat me and left me for dead in the forest when he found out the prisoner was gone. My bones cracked, my skull half-shattered, one blue eye bulging out of the socket. It felt as if all my innards had ruptured. I remember looking at my leg, and seeing the yellow, sharp spear of what had been my femur sticking out of my thigh, bent at an unnatural angle.
This was the first time I wished for death.
My body knitted itself together over three days. It hurt almost as bad as when Nonus had broken my bones and my spirit in the first place. Animals were no longer drawn to the scent of my blood; a wolf had whimpered and scampered away when my femur shifted and I shrieked, when it withdrew back into my skin and made hard contact with the remaining fragments.
When I got up, covered in dried blood, my own vomit, piss, feces, I was a woman reborn.
\*\*\*
I cannot count all the times I should have let death take me. I cannot count all the times I have tried to end my life myself. I learned that Nonus was not the only cruel man in the world. And that men and women are crueler than gods, or devils, or anything we could think up to justify our behavior.
The only times I didn’t really mind were the times I just got sick, or the freak accidents. The plague of Justinian sucked, and so did the Black Death. Both painful and annoying. Each day I had to rest was one day less that I was journeying, that I was looking for him. I wanted to hear more stories. I wanted to give him stuffed grape leaves again.
I can tell you that most of what they say about Countess Bathory is true; servants put me on the corpse pile after the woman drained my blood over a big porcelain ewer. Not the most painful, but the messiest.
The Inquisition was terrible. I was broken on the Catherine wheel a few times. The breast ripper is probably the most painful, but the pear of anguish is a close second.
I was burnt in Würzburg, and hanged in Salem.
I felt like an idiot when it occurred to me to remember what he’d said about our homeland. Green. Rainy. I hid on a trading galleon heading from the colonies to Great Britain. I hoped finding a ship to Ireland would be just as easy.
I ‘died’ a few times during the famine, and then again during the Troubles. Not the worst ones either. Getting shot is the easiest if the killer has good aim.
Last year I decided to go to a local ceili, to get out of the house, if anything. I recognized him immediately, the raven black hair that I'd seen so long ago, that had reminded me of something. It took almost three thousand years to remember. He had my father's hair. The fiddler looked up at me with bright, aqua eyes as I opened the door, taking off my hood and exposing bright copper curls.
“*Deartháir*.“
|
The midnight winds fluttered the wet leaves in the canopy above us, and the waves could be heard crashing against rock and granite.
Nine torches with different types of animal blood splattered over the base were arranged in a circular shape, and we stood at the focal point within the ritual ground.
“Here”. One of the two obsidian arrowheads was grasped in his hand, channeling immense pressure indenting his flesh.
When the stars and our ethereal souls collided, we gashed the palms of our hands and shook. The ritual was a success; to become essentially immortal, but there was one issue...
The year is 2020, a bag of makeshift IV fluid sat on a pedestal next to the rickety IKEA bed some entrepreneur dumped in a dumpster twenty-seven years past. I am homeless, unable to adapt into conventional society. No funds, no peers, no stable jobs, just a man with the AIDS virus because he decided to shake a mans fucking bloodied hand.
| 2019-08-28T03:41:05 | 2019-08-28T02:04:38 | 49 | 10 |
[WP] you’re a completely normal person. No special powers, abilities or weapons. You don’t even know the first thing about fighting, wether it’s with ranged or melee weapons. Yet for some reason every god, alien, mythological, and legenadar entity is extremely terrified of you
|
Ever since the shattering, all world's have never been the same. On the day I was born they say our world became a little less lonely. The gods of countless worlds somehow managed to break the barrier separating us, enabling those with special powers, aliens with unrivaled technology, indescribable entities of unknown power, and the very gods above to travel freely between the worlds.
Normal people like me have no such luxury, yet we live in a world of chaos that the gods turned into their personal playground. Every day we normal humans have to avoid perilous dangers ranging from giant monsters rampaging through the city to alien invasions. There are powered people amongst us and even a few gods who take the time to "protect" us, but I think it's all a game to them.
I've seen countless friends injured and even killed by the carelessness or malice of the ascended beings who travel to our world, but I've begun to notice a trend. Whether it's a giant monster, an eldritch entity, or even a god, those who sense my presence begin to tread carefully. I have no powers, I have no weapons, I can't even throw a punch. There is no reason for these beings to fear me, but for the sake of those I care about I'm glad they do.
Over time people have flocked to me, treated me like a good luck charm to avoid encountering any of the ascended beings. Sometimes people from other worlds have been dragged along as some ascended beings plaything, and I've learned from their experiences why these beings fear me.
While our worlds might share many similarities, no one person is the same as another. Unlike what you may assume about a multiverse, there apparently aren't slightly different versions of people running around. You probably don't have an evil twin in another world.
That is, except for me. My father, my mother, or my single sex organism of a parent may always be different in the other worlds, but no matter the world there is always one of me. Everyone else may be green, but I will look the same. In my world that may not be noticeable but in others I probably stick out like a sore thumb.
At first I believed the gods may have avoided slighting me out of caution, worrying that I could have some sort of secret power since they saw me in every world, something even the gods aren't capable of. But one day my followers and I decided to corner one of our most powerful gods, Thor.
I stood before him knowing that he could summon lightning and obliterate all of us in a second, but all he wanted to do was fly away. It took all the courage I could muster, but I was able to utter two words, "stay put." I could see fear in Thor's eyes as he froze in terror.
Emboldened by his terror, I began to demand answers. The mighty Thor could only speak in a whimpered, submissive tone. "The power we used to shatter the barrier between the worlds was not our own. It was beyond us, belonging to a being older than even the entities on the far reaches of the universe. In every world there was an ancient temple only the gods were capable of reaching, a temple that connected all of the worlds."
I looked at Thor, confused. What could this possibly have to do with me? Thor continued, " There were writings on the temple walls that none of us could decipher, all except for one message, "The one is endless, the one is everywhere, the one is watching. The one ...""
"And you believe I am this one?" I asked of Thor. "If any being were to be, it would be you. We've avoided you at all costs, avoiding the retribution you could bring upon us for what we did." He replied.
"And what did you do?" I asked. Thor replied, "If there was such a ritual inside of that Temple to bring together the worlds, we would not have deciphered it. In order to shatter the barriers between the worlds, the gods of many worlds simply came together to destroy the temple in every realm of existence."
I paused for a moment, as I looked out to the destruction in the distance as ascended beings crashed into buildings and roamed around like children at a playground. I tried to drown out the noise, but Thor continued.
" I'm sorry for what we've done, the suffering we have caused. But you have to understand, we've been bored. Once you've lived as long as we have inside of a single world, you run out of things to do. Everything is too orderly. The only thing we could do was watch as these simple beings lived out their simple lives. It began to disgust me watching these pitiful mortals take their short and feeble lives so seriously. If you want honesty, we don't believe they matter."
I felt a familiar emotion as Thor began to stand, a feeling of fear. Thors fearful voice became his usual booming and boastful one, "And you know what? Whether you are the one or not, I don't believe there's anything you can do about it."
As Thor began to charge his lightning my life flashed before my eyes. I was finally able to drown out all the noise and enter a meditative state. I could see the faces of all of the people I had ever met, but it didn't stop there. I began to see the faces of people I had never met, people from other worlds. It all became overwhelming, so I forced my eyes open to escape the trance. But when I opened my eyes I did not see only Thor before me, I could see what every version of myself was seeing, every version of me in every world was staring down a god of their own.
I closed my eyes again, and in an instant all of the memories of my time before my mortal birth flooded back, all I knew before my temple was destroyed. As I opened my eyes again, I could see the fear of every god before me as they sensed the energy emanating from me.
I stood tall as I looked upon them, with the remnants of humanity in countless worlds behind me. " The message I left was a warning to entitled beings like you, and you left out an important part, didn't you?"
"The one is endless, the one is everywhere, the one is watching. The one ... protects them."
I spoke to the gods with pity and finality, " I allowed myself to slumber, to live as the mortals do, knowing that immortality would drive me to the same delusions of you self important gods before me. "
Countless gods struck out at me helplessly as I uttered my final words, "Your era is over. The mortals wish to be left alone. You will now join me in my eternal slumber."
|
I dont know how i got here, to be honest i dont know why everyone in the colosseum is afraid of me, im 5'8, scrawny, and have had no sexual or romantic experiences. But everybody from Zeus, to fucking Hades is terrified of me, even my opponent who happens to be Apollo, I smirk and walk towards him. I stare into his eyes with a glare so fierce it was insane. He then proceeded to fall over, well... Fall over and die it may seem. I was shocked, all i did was look at him and he died. Am i that scary?
| 2022-11-25T07:23:03 | 2022-11-24T19:48:14 | 65 | 19 |
[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner."
|
I stare at the police officer, dumbfounded. *No* I think, *He must have made a mistake.* I tell him so. I tell him how my husband can't be dead, he was just with me in the kitchen.
He's now looking at me in the same bewildered manner. "Mrs. Decker, right? You're Emily and your husband is Ryan Decker?" I nod solemnly. He had all the information correct but then who.... "Mrs. Decker, may I have a look in your kitchen?" His eyes are narrowed at the entryway to the kitchen. I mumble something, it must have been a 'yes' because stealthily he's moving, one hand on the holster where his gun rests. I follow behind, in a daze. The confusion was overwhelming me. I come to a stop at his side. My eyes dart around frantically. He was just right there, at the stove cooking stir-fry. My husband. He never asked to cook but then again he never asked a lot of things he had asked today. My thoughts were interrupted by the officer, now looking at me with great concern.
"Mrs. Decker... Are you sure someone was here?"
"Yes! He's been here most of the day.. When.. when he came home this morning, I thought perhaps he wasn't feeling well, to miss out on work like that. He was full of energy... he... he was talking so fast.. I, I didn't know what..." I trail off, the tears stinging in my eyes as memories flashed in my mind of the man that had been by my side for hours earlier.
"I see... Mrs. Decker, are you sure you're not confusing today with another day?" His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. *Was I confused?* How could that have happened?
"I...I don't know, maybe?" The tears fall freely down my face now. The police officer nods, gently removing his hand and giving the room another once-over.
"Is there someone you can call to come be with you right now? I would feel better if I knew you weren't alone." I can see the pity in his eyes.
"Yeah, uh... I'll call my mom. Thanks." I see him out, turn and press my back against the front door before collapsing down into a puddle of sobs. My head bolts up suddenly. A noise. A squeak from the stairs. *No, no, no...* I rise to my feet quickly as possible and with a stumble.
"Who are you? What are you?!" I'm staring at the man I had been married to for the last five years. The man I was told had died tonight, but here he was slowly descending the stairs.
"I understand you're scared Emily... please know I didn't want you to find out this way. I-I didn't know the rules, that it would be like this." He continues walking, his voice taking a calming tone, the kind he never used anymore.
"What the hell does that mean?!" I slide my back against the wall to the other side of the room, not willing to take my eyes off him. "Don't come any closer!" It's a threat, though I have nothing to use against him. He stops all the same.
"I didn't know I would just be a... a copy." I feel faint, what was he talking about? He starts to move again, slowly still. I don't call him out on it. "I thought it would be a complete take-over. That, we would switch bodies when I died. I suppose I had seen too many sci-fi films." A smirk crosses his face for a second but leaves quickly. My eyes widen with his words.
"Who are you?" I manage to calm my breathing to say it without panic but with plenty of fear still laced in the question.
"My name was David Marsdale. Yesterday, I was a 24 year old man with cystic fibrosis from Seattle.... I was in a hospital dying from respiratory complications." He looks serious when he says it. Whether it's the truth or not, he believes it. I don't say anything, which he takes as a sign to continue. "Before I passed... I saw him. He came before me."
"Who?" I interject suddenly. He's shaking his head, the confusion apparent.
"I don't know. God? The devil? An angel? A demon? I didn't ask questions. I only listened. He told me I could have another chance, if I was willing to let go of this life then I would be granted another. The only condition was that it would be taken from someone who deserved to die." I let his words sink in.
"Ryan didn't deserve to die!" Anger rises up in defense of my husband.
"Didn't he?" He's closed the space more, now he stands before me. I watch as his hands move up slowly, resting on the side of my neck before pushing my shirt back to reveal yellowed bruises. He does the same with the sleeves covering up my forearm. I look away, shame welling up and more tears flowing.
"This is insane." My voice barely above a whisper. I feel his fingers grasp my chin, pulling my face back up to look at him. The act is so soft and caring. Like everything had been in this short time between us. Ryan hadn't treated me like this since we had been dating and now I knew why his behavior had been so strange today. It wasn't Ryan but whoever this stranger was that had taken his form.
"I know. When I made my way back here this morning, I hadn't planned on staying. I didn't know there would be anyone here, but there you were, questioning why I was here. And... and I looked into your eyes and saw the same look I had most of my life. I knew then, you were like me.... too scared to live." I pull back from his touch.
"What?" I feel confused again, maybe it never stopped.
"Emily... You have a second chance too. I have to leave tonight, and I would like you to come with me." He gives pause, waiting for my reaction but continues on when I can't form one.
"If... If you don't want to then I won't force you, I won't harm you... I couldn't do that. I'll leave and you'll never see me again. You can even tell everyone the truth if you want." I scoff. *Who the hell would believe this?*
"If you come with me I promise that we'll live, Emily. Together... we'll start our lives." He extends his hand out, offering himself to me. Hesitantly I bring my hand up, pausing just before I make contact with his own. I could do this. I could choose to live.
|
“Do you mind if I step into your house?” asked the police woman.
“Why of course but you may be shocked, officer. My husband isn’t dead.”
The police lady steps into the kitchen to find a middle aged man cooking spaghetti.
“Can I help you officer?” asked the man.
“Yes we believe that you are dead. Can we confirm your name?”
“Seymour Ases”
That’s when she realized her mistake.
“Sorry for the confusion sir, you are not the man we thought you were, I thought I was at the McDonald household.”
“No problem ma’am, have a nice day.”
As the police woman leaves, Mrs. McDonald goes into her basement to feast on the flesh of her dead husband while her brother, Seymour, watches eagerly.
| 2017-10-10T08:24:49 | 2017-10-10T06:37:43 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] "That's the part tales don't mention: how the hero, forever changed by his journey, can never fit into normal society again."
|
Hector stared down at his son, a smile slowly creeping across the face of the weary soldier.
His son was still a babe and would know little of his father. Would know only what the stories and legends told him. What his mother told him. What his grandfather, King Priam told him.
The legends would tell Astyanax that his father was a great warrior, the pride of Troy, it's most ardent defender. That Troy would've fallen years ago but for the steadfast leadership and gallantry Hector had provided. The Trojans would sing songs of Hector's duel with Ajax and how Hector had lead the Trojans to a stand off against the mighty Greeks and how Hector had fought so valiantly and nobly that the Gods themselves were watching.
But none of the stories would tell the truth of Hector
None of them would tell of Hector silently weeping in hallways over a war he couldn't win.
None of them would tell of Hector having grown so weary of the war, the burden of being the savior weighing him down, that he was breaking.
They wouldn't tell how Hector had long since lost any sort of pride in Troy. How he didn't really care if the city fell or the Trojan people died off.
Hector was just.......tired
Tired of carrying the hopes and dreams of a city on his shoulders. Tired of fighting the same battles day after day. Tired of fighting the Greeks in the morning and Trojan politicians in the afternoon, questioning Hector on why the war wasn't over, why Hector hadn't been able to deliver victory. Tired of them questioning his strategies and tactics while offering none of their own, least of all strapping on sword and shield to fight the war beside him. Tired of having to console wives and daughters and mothers when their husbands and brothers and sons didn't make it back. So many good and noble Trojan men had fallen and the ranks refilled with younger and younger men. At this point, there were hundreds of children running around the city who known nothing but the life of a city at war. Silently, Hector wondered how much longer the city would hold. Of course, the politicians didn't care. Even if the city fell, they'd no doubt use their fortunes to secret themselves away to safety while more good Trojans died to defend a city that Hector no longer believed could be saved.
Hector was even tired for his wife, Andromache. Not tired OF her, he could never be tired of her. Her beauty and quiet strength had long kept Hector fighting even he wished nothing more than to lay down his sword and be done with the fighting. But he was tired of her growing sadness, tired of the sad smile she gave every time Hector marched off to fight. Tired of seeing her bearing the burden he did. She had been an ideal soldiers wife. Patient and understanding, willing to do whatever Hector needed her to do so that he could focus on winning the war, often going out with Hector to console the widows and orphans the war had created. She was as much of a hero as he was. But she was stronger than Hector had been. Where Hector was showing signs of breaking, of no longer being able to bear the burden thrust upon him, Andromache was resolute. So devout was her belief in Hector that she wouldn't dare even mention the possibility of his defeat even when he tried to show her the secret ways out of the city in the event that the city had fallen. She followed him but he doubted if she had actually paid attention to the routes he taken. She simply wouldn't allow herself to believe that her husband, the mighty Hector could lose
​
The stories wouldn't tell his son that.
​
They wouldn't tell Astyanax that the great and mighty Hector, savior and defender of Troy, had given up.
​
Even if this war was won, he had grown so weary of Troy and it's people that the first thing he'd do is march his wife and son far away to live in peace on a farm. He'd bury his sword somewhere and live out his days as Hector the farmer. His son, Gods willing, would never know war again, his grandchildren would never know war at all.
​
But Hector didn't believe it could be won. Short of the Gods themselves evicting the Greeks from Troy, this war would end in a Greek victory. The Trojans simply didn't have the strength and numbers to win. The city was already showing signs of falling as food was becoming more and more scarce, soldiers were deserting more and more. Usually, in a siege, the attacker must outlast the defender. But here, the opposite was true. The Trojans needed to outlast the Greeks and it had become apparent to Hector that they wouldn't. Hector estimated that, at best, the city would last another five years before attrition in the Trojan army meant that fighting the Greeks in the open field would be a disaster. The city would be open to bombardment by siege weapons and, eventually, the Greeks would storm the city.
​
But Hector wouldn't be there to see it.
​
Hector's time had come, he knew, and he was glad for it. The smile on his face wasn't Hector happy to see his son but Hector happy that it was the the last time he'd have to say good bye to him.
​
Hector had slain a young Greek named Patroclus, a friend of Achilles, and Achilles wrath and rage would be sated one way or another. Hector could hear Achilles screaming his name from outside the gates.
​
And everyone knew the legend of Achilles. Greatest warrior to ever live, touched by the Gods themselves. Slayer of hundreds of Trojans himself but notoriously fickle. He had sat out long portions of the war simply because was insulted by Agamemnon or some other such thing. But Achilles was known to be vengeful, given to fits of rage that were rivaled only his skill with his blade.
​
And now Achilles had come for Hector and Hector knew he would lose. Not just because Achilles was more skilled and a better fighter but because Hector didn't want to win. He was ready to embrace his death.
​
Hector hoped that, with his death, perhaps the Trojans would finally sue for peace. Agamemnon, the Greek king, wasn't going to be overly merciful but perhaps the city and the people would survive. Hector hoped that more reasonable Greek minds, like Odysseus would temper Agamemnon and stop him from slaughtering all the Trojans and razing the city to the ground.
​
But Hector didn't care much about the city. Mostly he only hoped that it remained standing so that Andromache and their son would continue to have a place to live should they choose to stay. He left her a note and a map to the secret exits just in case she didn't remember where they were and had assigned some of his loyal soldiers to safeguard their exit.
​
He left a note for his father, Priam, urging him to sue for peace after Hectors death so that more Trojans wouldn't needlessly die in a war they couldn't win.
​
Hector would fight Achilles with all of his might but he knew he couldn't beat the Greek hero. He knew that this would be his last fight and that Troy would most likely follow not long after.
​
On one hand, he was greatly ashamed of himself for where his thoughts had lead him.
​
On the other hand, he was just so very tired. Even the mightiest of heroes can bear their burdens for so long. Even victory wouldn't bring the relief Hector sought.
​
Only death would. Only falling before Achilles and the eyes of Troy would bring Hector peace. He had fought for Troy, killed for it, and now, he would die for it.
​
He looked down at his son, one final time, his smile growing to the biggest smile he'd had since before the war, to the day Andromache had agreed to wed him. Hector picked up his sword and shield and marched off to meet his destiny
​
​
\*Obviously I played a little loose with the lore surrounding the Trojan War and I'm doing this from work(Yay night shifters!) so don't be too harsh in your criticisms. I'm no writer\*
|
Marikeru had been home a week. He had seen the council and informed them of his return, and regaled them of the tale while they ate. They cared very little and he had realized they barely recognized him. He once had a fresh face, young, unbroken. Now after a year of hard battle, his once grey and stormy eyes which held a cheerful tone in contrast with his blonde hair, now held a hard look of uncompromising truth. His face was scarred, his muscles toned from the trials he endured, and his face carried with him a sad look that darkened the room.
And now he was home, it had once been bustling with life and enjoyment. His wife, and friends used to live in his manor with him, but they had all been slain on their journey. Everything they had set out to do together, had to be solely accomplished by him. He beared the weight of the world on his shoulders. His life was now empty, seeing his best friends since birth brutally slaughtered one after another and finally his own wife, dying in his arms. It was too much for him. They had traveled to a forbidden place, in search of forbidden knowledge, and had paid the price. Monsters lurked in the darkness and his arrogance had driven him to the brink of madness. He knew nothing awaited for him at the end of every day and waking up in the morning would bring him no joy.
After a hours of watching the fire slowly die out he looked out the window, seeing the sun set far in the horizon. The lights of the city did nothing to part his eyes from the sky that seemed to be the only thing that truly shined in his life. And he could still not smile and revel in its beauty.
‘I should have died with all of them... Samuel, Jordin, Telleon, Lillise, I’m so sorry... this isn’t the way it was supposed to be.’
Life would go on, and no one would know of his pain. He was a hero, who ended up saving the city from a terrible darkness, who received no award, no recognition, no thanks. The people would go on, telling stories of his great triumphs, forgetting the man they spoke of did not come back a knight in shining armor with no scars, but an unrecognizable and broken man. For them, things had never changed, yet for Marekiru they would never be the same.
(This is my first attempt at a story, there will be errors, thanks everyone for reading and I hope you enjoy it for what it is!)
| 2019-07-13T23:05:59 | 2019-07-13T23:04:28 | 404 | 26 |
[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
|
Valhalla beckons. I will arrive, bloodied, scarred, *glorious*. My friends and foes alike will welcome me with open arms and we shall feast and drink and make merry for eternity.
**As soon as I fucking die!**
And it's proving to be a problem. Wyverns, werewolves, elite assassins, bloody dragons - I fought them all. I fought bravely, gave it my all and every single time I win. I am sure the gods look favourably at my martial prowess, but at this point, I just want to die and be done, but it's not like I can just throw myself at someone's sword - that would be a disgrace.
Which brings me here. The home of Vaelthor. He's not just a swordsman - he's a bonafide demigod. Sired by Thor himself, he inherited his strength and is undefeated in battle. I cannot best him. I know it. But he is a worthy opponent and our battle will be legendary. I arrive at his home and see him standing on the porch, sword in hand, waiting.
"Callus," he says, voice booming across the land. "I have been expecting you."
"You have?"
"You've been slaying mighty creatures across the realm, seeking ever greater challenges. T'was only a matter of time."
I take a deep breath and lay my hand on the hilt of my sword.
"I have come to fight and die," I say calmly, honestly. He pauses and narrows his eyebrows.
"You've come to... die?" he repeats in confusion.
"My death is long overdue. You shall grant it to me, but I cannot give my life easily. You understand."
Vaelthor tilts his head slightly. *Is this man mad?* he thinks. *Or merely trying to fool me and gain the upper hand.*
"Even if that were true, your motives do not interest me," he commands.
"Oh, it's true. I really came here to die," I assure him.
*Oh he's mad. And madmen are unpredictable*, Vaelthor thinks. He grows uneasy.
"Come. Face me. Grant me death," I challenge him directly, arms open.
"You want me to charge so you can parry my blow and gain the upper hand!" he cries out.
"What? No," I shake my head. "Look I'll only try to defend myself a little. Kill me."
"You're pretending! It won't work on me!"
"It'm not pretending, I swear. Why won't you kill me already?"
A droplet of sweat runs down his forehead. He is downright nervous now.
"I yield," he says suddenly.
"Wait what?"
"Your legendary confidence speaks louder than words. You've killed many far too many great monsters to truly wish to die, despite what you would have me think. It is clear I can not best you in a fight no matter how much you try to trick and goad me. I yield," he repeats and throws his sword down.
I stare at him for a moment, baffled - but he appears resolute. He really won't do it.
I yell.
*"Oh for* ***fuck's*** *sake!"*
|
"Here's to our new hero! Where he comes from we don't know! But he slew our greatest foe!" Cheered the young man standing atop a long table in the tavern with a raised flagon of ale.
Everyone else in the packed tavern raised their flagons as well all roaring an exuberant hurrah before swigging down their ale. It was a jovial festive atmosphere. The warmly lit wooden inn was alive with song and dance. Merriment filled the air as the townsfolk celebrated with one another at the slaying of their horrible monster. Sitting at the end of the tavern atop a wood carved throne adorned in floral leys and other decorative pieces, the triumphant hero sits unenthused. With his head resting on his hand, the festivities before him were of no interest to him, neither were the droves of townsfolk at his feet drowning him in their thanks and praises. Their tributes of treasures in gratitude did not phase the hero, neither did the pleads from the townswomen to spend the night with him. The hero said no words, he merely lightly shooed them away back to their celebration. Finally one of the townsman corralled the crowd away from the hero, insisting on letting him have his rest. Surely enough they disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the hero ignored on the throne. Several minutes passed before the hero simply got up form his seat and slunk out the back door, leaving behind the riches and wenches.
The muffled sound of music and shouts faintly make it to the ears of our hero whom sits alone by the great lake near the tavern. Sitting in the mud, listening to the small waves gently lapping on the shore, the full moon reflecting off the undulating water. With the entire town in the tavern, the crestfallen hero languished in his solitude; until he heard an old scratchy voice behind him.
"A masked hero!" The old voice creaked.
The hero barely reacting, slowly turning his head to make eye contact with a withered hunchback old man wrapped in a cowl.
"You see my eyes old man, I have no mask. Are you blind?" The hero curtly asked.
"Oh no, son. In fact, I see better then most. In fact, I am the only one who sees the mask; and what is beyond the mask." The strange old man said in a wise tone.
"You speak in riddles? I care not to participate. I wear no mask. Now please, leave me be." The hero coldly replied turning his gaze back towards the river.
"Denial will get you nowhere masked hero. I see the mask you wear that no one else sees. I know this because I have been following your exploits, Iestyn" The old man revealingly said
The hero perked up, he had not told his name to anyone for a long time. He stood up and drew his sword pointing it at the old man who did no flinch. Iestyn demanded to know the old man's identity.
"Oh brave hero, you were in my village many many months ago. You saved us all from the great bog monster without anyone having to ask. The way you threw yourself at it with such recklessness, with such a lack of concern for your own well being had me curious. So I followed you in the shadows. I followed your distinct pattern. Every monster you fight is stronger than the last. Every vengeful spirit you vanquish makes you more chaotic. It is as if you almost hope that the next fight will be your last." The old man concernedly croaked.
Iestyn's sword slowly lowered, sensing no threat from the crone.
"I see the mask you wear and I see through it. You wore it when you came into this town with your gallantry. You donned a new one when you accepted the thanks and the gold of the townsfolk. You took it off when you came here, but quickly put it back on when you heard my voice." The old man's smugness replaced with sincerity.
The tip of Iestyn's sword was now stuck in the dirt. Iestyn dropped it, letting it land with a thud. His face grimaced, his eyes welling with tears, he averted his gaze towards the ground to avoid the old man's gaze.
"You know nothing of me, old man." Iestyn sniveled.
"I don't know your history. I don't know your story. But I know what I see in front of me. I see pain. A type of pain not cured by salves or medicine. A pain that grows like a cancer within your being. A pain that you think will only end at death." The old man caringly says. He slowly approaches Iestyn who remains silent, the old man sees the tears rolling down his cheeks.
"I know that I can offer you your last fight." The old man whispered.
Iestyn perked up at the old man. He demanded to know more about this fight. The old man simply gestured for Iestyn to follow him, and the two made their way out of the town, leaving the fading sounds of the tavern behind them.
The pair make their way to the old man's camp, set up just on the outskirts of the town. Walking into the tent, Iestyn sits down on the ground, neglecting the many chairs around him. The old man rummages through his belongings, clattering sounds fill the tent as the old man searches. The cluttering stops, the old man slowly rises and turns to Iestyn, holding a potion in his hand. Iestyn asks what the potion is.
"This is the potion that will bring you to your last battle. The final fight you have been looking for." The old man beamed.
Iestyn glared at the old man with uncertainty.
"It's quite safe, if that's what you're wondering." The old man says as he uncaps the phial and takes a sip from it.
"It has no effect on me, for I have already fought this battle, many decades ago." The old man proudly states.
"Tell me of this battle I will fight. What is my opponent?" Iestyn inquires.
"Im afraid that wouldn't be of help. For the fight is different for everyone. I suppose the best description I could give is...you will fight a demon of extraordinary power.
At the mention of the opponent, Iestyn leaps to his feet and snatches the bottle from the old man's hand and proceeds to drink all of it. Upon finishing it he tosses it on the ground shattering it to pieces.
"How characteristic." The old man grumbles.
"Now show me where this demon is. This potion unveils its invisibility? It will help me detect it?" Iestyn eagerly questions as he draws his sword in anticipation.
"To fight this demon, all you need do is walk out of my tent." the old man ominously said lifting his wrinkled hand pointing it towards the exit.
Iestyn turns and bursts out of the tent ready to fight but his spirit quickly drains from him. After stepping out of the tent, all Iestyn sees is a black void in front of him. The ground, the sky, all pitch black, a never-ending nothingness. Iestyn quickly whips around to find the tent again but it was gone, only eternal blackness. Iestyn turned in all directions, he could his sword, his arms, yet there was no light emanating from anywhere. He felt his feet on solid ground but it had no form, only blackness. Frightened and wary, Iestyn slowly paces forward holding his sword at the ready. He probes the air searching for any type of matter to come in contact with. There is no sound, no smell, no sight, only the endless void.
"I see, you have finally come to slay me." echoed an insidious voice seemingly from nowhere.
Iestyn whipped around to find the voice, he looked in all directions but found nothing. Silence took hold of the void again.
"You fool. You've searched for me in all of the monsters you have slain. You look for me in all the wrong places." the eerie voice echoed louder.
Iestyn now erratically moves his head in all directions hoping to find the phantom.
"You fight powerful beings, hoping for them to destroy you. Hoping that in each fight you will be delivered to a void like this. But you would still never be free of me." The echoes grew louder as if right behind Iestyn. Iestyn worriedly darts his head and sword around, trying to catch the elusive voice. The voice begins to laugh.
"All this time, you searched far and wide to find me. But you forgot one crucial place to look." The devious voice echoed into Iestyn's ear.
Iestyn violently turned, holding his sword at the ready. What Iestyn saw chilled him to the bone. Standing at the opposite end of his blade Iestyn saw himself. An almost carbon copy, light blue eyed, long flowing black hair, the scar on his left cheek, and clad in the very armor he now wears.
"The only place you didn't to look...was within!" Iestyn's doppelganger growled.
| 2022-04-30T14:23:03 | 2022-04-30T14:12:15 | 80 | 33 |
[WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways.
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it.
|
# Financial Times
# Stock Markets collapse by 30% as UN Assembly fight takes a new turn
**■ New York City - 30.04.2055**
This morning at around 5:30 AM the cameras observing the ongoing fight in front of the UN headquarters confirmed what experts have now been warning of for days: Professor Inferno's left hand stomach jab has indeed been a faint, and he is going for a high haymaker instead.
Based on pupil movement Timeout has not spotted the faint yet, and analysts predict that if he does not realize what is the Professor is planning by Tuesday, he only has a 20% chance of defending against the blow.
While nothing is quite certain as of yet, this new development apparently has investors worried that Inferno's attack might put Timout out of the fight for long enough to dash the remaining distance to the Inferno®Bomb lying about 30 feet behind Timeout's current position and activate it, resulting in the nuclear annihilation of the US East Coast.
The earliest expected date for the destruction is still at least 6 months away, but the news nonetheless caused a minor panic and an immense loss of trust in financial assets from that areas, creating chain reaction that made the Doe Jones drop by 32.7% from five to eight AM. This is the biggest collapse since Timout was barely in time able to wrench Professor Inferno's remote detonator out of his hand in January 2033. At the time many cities in the area were preparing to issue an evacuation order when disaster was adverted during the last week.
President Owens has issued a declaration urging people to remain calm, but uncertainty in the stock market is expected to continue until the end of this week, when analysts predict they will be able to say more about just how hard the current blow will affect Timeout.
Meanwhile the current administration's proposal to construct a containment bunker around the site of the fight was met with further criticism by experts and politicians alike, with opposition leader Strall calling it a harebrained scheme with almost no chance of success, and further insinuated that is a transparent attempt by the president to distract from his bad handling of the ongoing giant mutant spider crisis in Florida.
"If there was any chance at containing a blast of this magnitude, we would have started to build it 20 years ago!", she said in an interview, and complained that so far the government had yet to present any evidence that the 'new blast resistant materials' proposed by the president actually exist.
|
John sighed, tapped his papers to sort them into a neat stack, and slid them into his bag.
"Same time tomorrow, Buck," he said, tipping his head as his co-caster.
Buck just grunted and nodded. Man had been covering the Great Jim Fight for thirty years now, and he'd seen it all. John was only six months in and he was already bored.
Trouble is, people loved it. It took a month or so for a blow to land between Jim Carney (the Red Cardinal) and Jim Umberto (the Hooded Caper) but in that time, audiences would throw millions in gambling money towards whether the blow would land, be deflected, be parried. They'd bet on moves, they'd bet on outcomes.
*Hundred bucks say Carney bleeds on that jab.*
*Yeah, well I bet fifteen hundred that tooth finally gets knocked out.*
*Dude, tooth bets are a crapshoot, you're flushing money. Real gamble is on whether or not Umberto catches that right hook.*
The government took a small cut, so naturally, they were invested in keeping it going. A little stadium was erected, and though some had theorized it would grow, the fight never really became much of a live spectator sport. Not too much happened in a few hours, so it mostly became a place for analysts. They'd pay a pretty penny to go in, get up close and personal, analyze the Jims, and then attempt to report back to those subscribed to their channels. The best analysts were the ones who could, from the tiny movements in each Jims' body, determine how the current move would resolve. If an analyst failed to make consistent calls, they'd often lose support.
John, however, was an actual caster for the fight, which had been absolutely an honor when he first received the position. He'd been so damn excited to finally be making this huge leap in his career, from casting small-time boxing matches to bigger and bigger fights, title fights, championships, and now the Great Jim Fight.
But it was sure looking like the whole thing was going to end up the end of his career. In a good way, of course. It was basically early retirement that he earned huge bucks for. Speaking of Buck, the grizzled man was one of the only things that made the day interesting. The two would verbally spar a bit, joke around a bunch, talk about their lives. It was almost more about the casters' lives than the game, actually. They covered updates every fifteen minutes on the minute changes but other than that, it was more talk-show than actual sporting event.
The other things that made the game worth watching were their producer, Amy, and Henrietta, the crew's interviewer. She couldn't, obviously, interview either fighter, and she'd long since run out of people in the arena to interview, so she traveled. Traveled to interview the family, friends, descendants of the two Jims. Now *that* would have been a fascinating job. Henri had been on the team almost as long as Buck had been. She'd transformed from bubble-headed blond who dumbed down her questions to a savvy, gruffly charismatic reporter who tracked down members with investments in the fight that no one had even heard of.
Some of John's favorite parts of the day was getting reports back from her. They could spend hours dissecting her interviews, squeezing out juicy details on how Carney had gotten his start as a hero, what had influenced his decisions, all his little failures in the world of crime-fighting, as well as the minor successes few talked about. They theorized on what was fact, fiction, fibs, or elaborate fabrications. Perhaps these two conflicting stories were both two sides of the same truth. Or perhaps Jim Carney's next-door neighbor who moved there after the fight started really had no clue what she was talking about.
Henri preferred interviewing about Umberto, cause villains usually have more interesting stories. She was convinced there was a story there, convinced that she'd be able to find some fascinating detail about the man that would make him worth learning about. So far she'd been disappointed. Umberto was a school bully who never really grew. Yes, the viewers loved hearing from his past victims since they were, largely, on Carney's side, but she was very dissatisfied with it. Sucker for relatable villains I guess, and the interviews continued as she continued to search.
Amy okayed most of it. She wasn't as new as John, but she was a decade newer than the rest. She was kinda a go-with-the-flow type. Trusted her staff to keep the crowds engaged and occasionally sat in the booth with John and Buck, providing some flavor and catching the audience up with her life.
Other than that, it was getting kinda boring. John had no idea how people had stayed tuned in so long. Sometimes they'd get a call from someone who'd been watching the fight since they were ten.
*It's been thirty-seven years and it still gets my blood racing.*
Literally how? John always wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue and started up some witty banter with the caller. They'd sometimes give away free tickets to the arena, which had become something of a museum dedicated to the two fighters and their legendary fight.
The hottest exhibits were videos of 'top moments,' usually when one of the members of the fight was picked up and thrown. Anyone who entered the bubble would become slowed, so people avoided it like the plague, but items could be slid in as long as they didn't get too close to the combatant. So no one ever tried to throw things at a fighter but they often slid in targets. You could pay ten grand to move a target into the fighting zone, and if the thrown combatant hit it, well, you were set for life. Wasn't an easy sport and people definitely blew more money than was ever paid out, but John liked it.
Gave him something to talk about.
Once he got home, he snapped the TV on and flicked to one of the twelve channels hosting the fight. Not his own, MegaSportsTV, because he didn't really like the night crew. Perth's smile was always a bit too forced, probably because he needed to pull 12 hour shifts. Instead, John scrolled to Kyline's channel. He and Kyline used to cast smaller fights before their paths deviated and though they didn't talk too much, he liked to give her some support.
She covered the game in much the same way he did. Most of the channels did. There were a few that deviated, one went super political, one went gossip corner, but most of the demand was on standard talk-show style sports hosting and that's what it became.
Currently Umberto was being flung. A half dozen targets had sprung up in the fighting zone, but he wouldn't hit ground for another few weeks, so John tuned it out as he checked his mail.
A phone call interrupted his perusing and he muted the TV to pick up an unexpected call from Henri.
"John." Her voice was clipped and winded, but also surprisingly quiet. Like she didn't want to be heard. "Knew you'd pick up. I'm in a pickle but that's not all. Found something big. Supporters of the Hooded Caper. Spearheaded by his son. They want to disrupt the fight. Can't say more. Dropping you my GPS tracking so you can follow."
John stared at the phone, blinking. This was... not at all what he expected. "Henri, you serious? Get the police involved or something, don't follow them!"
"No time. Plus I've reason to suspect he's got men on the inside." He heard a noise in the background of her call, and her voice dropped further. "Counting on you for this. Get whoever you trust and meet me at 22:15, wherever my pin is at the time. You in?"
Well, this may just be the excitement he needed, so John stupidly nodded and put the phone down.
Who did he trust?
___
[Had to do a part two cause I hit the word cap](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/n1xblj/title_fight_of_the_ages_part_2/)
Read more stories at [TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/).
| 2021-04-30T09:15:10 | 2021-04-30T08:36:31 | 234 | 132 |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand.
|
Professor Henzal was taken aback. "Yes, Eduard?"
"Professor, I have to take issue with your characterization."
"Oh, how so?"
"Once again, you're romanticizing my species. But I get it. We did... we used to do it too. That was before we ended up being conquered and largely wiped out ourselves. We weren't terrible in every regard, but we could be fairly brutal. Only after we nearly annihilated an indi... a less advanced civilization would we come to appreciate its scant survivors -- at least some people did."
The professor paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "Eduard, I understand what you're trying to do. But just to be clear, it's not me saying that humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in the galaxy. That's the consensus opinion of the Galactic Academy of Anthropological Studies. Within the context and level of development of humanity, it's understanda..."
Eduard interrupted.
"The Academy is just wrong. See, we're not a whole lot different to you or to anyone else in this classroom. Granted, your species has a lot to answer for too."
An audible gasp could be heard from the other students. "Professor, could we move on? The human is getting on my nerves," said Penzet, a student who, like half the classroom, was from Arcapia, the planet where the expedition that discovered Earth 160 years ago originated.
Eduard abruptly got up from his chair and pointed his finger at Penzet. "Like I've told you before, my name is Eduard, you arrogant and racist ass."
Penzet turned toward professor Henzal. "Professor, maybe he's right. They are not so peaceful."
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“Your species, Joshua, has the potential for happiness, because of their innate characteristics to remain tranquil under adversity and to adapt to situations when the time comes.”
Joshua admired Professor Bogart, a descendant of the horned frog family, lecturer of the new humanities and chief engineer of the desalination plants of the Gulf of Mexico. Since the adaptation and coexistence of frog and man, frogs quickly found their place in political discourse and media, working twice as hard as their human counterparts to advance their interests, and began pushing for policies that would transform the country into its prior state of a disgusting, urban sprawl into a giant, heavenly marsh, under several mini domes, which would serve the needs of everyone. Humanity could have pockets to farm on, while all would work together creating domes that would regulate the climate and ensure survival for all.
Professor Bogart worked his way up the ladder the only way he knew how. Although he was in the top 5 percent of his class, he ate the other 7 students in front of him,making him the class valedictorian and eventually going on to graduate school to earn his masters and PhD.
In addition to being the chief engineer of desalination in the Gulf, he works with the Office of Land Management and Human Affairs to monitor human population. Although he has an affinity for people, he knows they need to be guided to their full potential, which is generally out of the way, farming or working the plants.
Joshua came from an agricultural family, but felt called to work in the plants. This however, required a university degree, and there weren’t many humans admitted into the universities anymore.
Instead of wasting time with hacks like Keats or learning about humanities struggles in the past, the humanities were now centered around understanding their role in the new world and how to adapt in a changing world. This helped not only humans discover who they truly are, but also helped their frog counterparts interact with them in a productive way.
“Humans must find a way to express their contentment for the world around them, lest they get eaten by a frog.”
“Frogs must find a way to guide their human friends to success by reminding them of the world they are building, and my friends, without humanity, our domes will never be complete, and our seas won’t be desalinated fast enough to guarantee our survival”, Professor Bogart reminded the class.
“Professor Bogart?” Joshua raised his hand.
“Yes, Joshua?”
Joshua began to craft his words in his head in a way that would get him both praise and escape punishment from his mentor.
“How….do...we find peace in the middle of adversity? I know it’s in my nature to do so, but sometimes I don’t always feel it.”
Professor Bogart, wondering if Joshua has the capabilities to defect or not, just says simply “It’s within your reachJoshua, never let your power or potential escape you, and always do your best. Remember the maxims of your species!”
“Thank you, professor. I will succeed, if I don’t at first.”
Joshua pondered what that meant in the context of the world around him. He had a busy night ahead, and strived to stay focused, disciplined and alert for the long night ahead with Professor Bogart at the plant.
After class, Joshua walked a few miles to the plant, and began to clock in. He walked towards the elevator and as he opened the door, he was pushed down to the ground. When he looked up, he saw a woman wearing a ski mask, black clothes and holding a potato cannon.
She dragged him into the elevator and he reached for the alarm. She tried to stop him but couldn't, and the bells went off. When they made it to the third floor, they were greeted by security and he screamed for their help.
She fired the potato cannon in their direction, which was full of brine from the salination chambers, immediately killing the two frog security guards.
Joshua, in a state of internal panic, didn’t know what to do or say. He tried to stay calm and docile, as he had been taught.
“Why did you do that?” He asked her.
“You idiot, they’re killing all of us, and you want to help them end us?”
“I just want what is right for my family, and for those around me to have a better life?”
“By ensuring our extinction? At some point, they aren’t going to need you anymore, once this is all built, and you will be food for their flies, how is that going to help your family?”
“Just leave me alone, and let me do my job!”
The alarms kept going off. Professor Bogart, ran to the security room and saw Joshua and the woman standing above the two dehydrated security guards and got onto the intercom.
“You are to both turn yourselves in at once. Joshua, I thought you better than this, but you are no better than the rest of the defectors, who have given up your life’s purpose. You will be executed tomorrow, as well as your terrorist friend.”
“I had nothing to do with this!”
“It’s too late for that. I’m calling security and you and this terrorist friend of yours will be tried.”
She looks at him. “You can stay here and die, or you can come with me and take your chances with us.”
“What about my family? Everything I worked for?”
“The end would have been the same either way, they will kill your family, just as they did mine and my friends. Please, don’t be an idiot and come with me. You’re dead either way, so let’s just prolong it a little while longer”
Joshua didn’t know what to do. He knew the right thing to do would be to subject himself to the frogs, stay calm, docile, and see that it was just a mistake, but he knew that it was too late for that.
He is now a marked terrorist, who can’t provide for his family. Although he was always trying to get the mercy of the frogs, she was right. At some point, they would kill him, and perhaps his family as well.
He went with her, but loathed the freedom that he was giving up. She loaded more brine into her potato cannon and they climbed down a utility elevator and made it back to the first floor. As they made it down, they saw security chasing them.
“We have to run towards the fence, after that, we can swim to my boat. They will chase us, but they will be out of their element, in the ocean”
As they ran towards the fence, 6 frogs screamed and began hopping towards them rapidly. She lit a match, set the ground on fire and shot more brine in their direction as a deterrent so they could get away.
It worked. Joshua, for the first time, felt a sigh of relief as he began to get away from the frogs, although uncertain. He found a certain freedom in being a fugitive, but had no idea what waited for him.
For once, he felt something other than wanting to cooperate, he wanted to be free. These thoughts weren’t his, they were that of his captors, and he wanted something better than what was given to him.
The end
| 2021-11-27T13:02:16 | 2021-11-27T12:40:43 | 61 | 34 |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries.
|
" To whom it may concern, we've noticed that it's been a very long time since we've heard from you, and up until a few years ago we had assumed you were dead. It seems we were wrong, as some of greatest wizards noticed a large collection of magic had accumulated on our far off coastlines."
"Knowing your reputation, which I'm sure you'll be glad to hear. Has been taught in our history books for centuries on end. People were taught to fear the name Korok, as you had wished. More importantly, we've grown rather fond of your absence, not to be upsetting, but you've caused this world much pain.
In your absence, the world has become a much different place, the Centaurs of the west have their own place in our government, the fairies of the east have become much less neurotic. Even the Orcs of the north have had their renaissance. We're all doing very well for ourselves, and we've been looking forward to speaking with you about peace talks." - Sincerely, The United Emissaries of Prul.
\*Looking over the gold leafed letter\*
" I thought by now they've noticed what I've done for them, I've made plentiful their land, I gave understanding to their less evolved races, I fixed what I had broken, surely they got my apologies, I sent their messenger back with details of my enlightenment, did they simply forget?"
As it turns out, the messenger in question, had stumbled upon a group of bandits, who were all too happy to kill the man, and take the gold and food Korok had sent with him, as penance for his crimes. Unfortunately none of them knew how to read the letter, which was thrown out.
" I guess I could stop by the capitol, it's been awhile since I've been selfish, and loneliness has befallen me. But how could they ever believe me? Do they have a choice? And what if my worse fears come true, and this bomb of energy I've been unable to use for the last century finally goes off? It's a risk I shouldn't take, but I long to see the fruits of my labor.
**That's all I've got for now, I know it's a big leadup with no payoff, but I haven't written in a long time. I was bored, and I'm sure I've littered this post with bad punctuation. I just have a really hard time focusing anymore. Maybe I'll try to expand on this at some point.**
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 5: Archmagus LeFey v.s. The Sunrise King)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The last time the Sunrise King had cast a spell, he had raised a second sun over his kingdom.** The immortal mage had seemed content enough to sit on his laurels for a century or three after that, ruling over the Sunrise Kingdom and rolling in riches, the ever-burning second sun a reminder of his immortality and power. And if that was all he had done, perhaps the citizens he ruled over would have let him be.
But the Sunrise King had ambitions greater than lording over a single kingdom. He drained the wealth of his citizens, raised great armies to expand his kingdom, and on the eve of the day he was to send them out, some people had enough.
On the day the Sunrise King was to dawn over the world, three people stood in his way.
The Sunrise King wore a robe of darkest crimson, the eternal dawn that he had wrought shining like a halo above his head. Opposite him, resolutely glaring at the red-burning light, stood an old man, a woman, and a child.
"I have business to attend to," the Sunrise King finally said. "Move or be moved."
"We have grievances," the old man countered. "Grievances with the nation that you have built. We will not allow you to spread that rule across the globe."
The Sunrise King began walking forwards, as inevitable as the coming of dawn. "Make your case. You have until I reach you."
"*You killed my daughter,*" the woman suddenly hissed.
The old man turned to her, startled. "Junko, we agreed—"
"Screw negotiation, LeFey." Junko stormed towards the Sunrise King. "*You killed my daughter,* you callous freak."
The Sunrise King never slowed. "The light of the sun has turned forests into deserts—yet without it, the world would go dark. Casualties are inevitable in any competent rule."
"Competent?" Junko leapt at the Sunrise King—
Fast as the break of dawn, the Sunrise King caught her arm and hurled her back.
Luckily for her, Archmagus LeFey was already casting. "*Inertia Null,*" he snapped, letting Junko halt in mid-air. The Sunrise King kept walking—right up until LeFey held out a hand.
The Sunrise King tilted his head. "Archmagus," he said, a note of respect in his voice. "You cast well, for your age. But you are no match for the rising sun. I would hate to extinguish your craft from the world. Step aside."
Archmagus LeFey simply closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You have gone too far, Ikani." The Sunrise King raised an eyebrow as LeFey invoked a name he hadn't heard in years. So the rebel had done his research, at the very least. "I am sorry that it had to come to this."
"For every sunset, there is a sunrise," the Sunrise King agreed.
Then the two archmages met in light and fury.
"*Time Stop,*" Archmagus LeFey snapped. "*Astero's Atmospheric Barrier. Bubblebreath. Thousandfold Thoughts. Limited True Omniscience. Searing Heat. Barrier of—*"
"Did you think to stop time?" The archmagus *flinched* as the Sunrise King, unaffected, stepped *forwards* through the frozen world, through air that by all rights should have been as immovable as mountains, his red-billowing cloak impossibly still trailing behind him. "I am the *Sunrise King*. I move at the speed of dawn. You cannot slow light itself." The Sunrise King narrowed his eyes, realizing that the archmage was *still casting*. "Now *Burn*."
The single word rang with power—a basic spell, a simple wish, but one turbocharged with centuries of carefully hoarded mana. But LeFey had seen the spell coming even as the Sunrise King was still speaking, and a thousand tiny calculations played out in an instant. Negate it? No, it was impossible to fight against the Sunrise King power-for-power. Dodge it? Junko and the kid were still in the area—they'd get obliterated if he fled. Move the bystanders? He could, but it'd spend the few precious *Greater Teleport* spells he had prepared.
Move the attack?
Ah. There it was.
"*Spell Modification: Infinitesimal Casting. Greater Teleport, Destination: Nowhere.*" LeFey cast the two spells in quick succession—his inhumanly quick mind, boosted by the greatest magic he could conjure, targeted the motes of superheated gas as they arced towards him and yanked them out of existence, particle by particle. The Sunrise King wasn't standing still while LeFey was negating his opening strike, however.
"*Shine.*" Once more, the spell was simple. Once more, the spell was deadly. Sheer, pure radiance, moving at the speed of light, obliterated the first two layers of defense LeFey had set up and hammered away at the third. Even as his magics burned, LeFey quested out with his mind to sense his companions—luckily, the Sunrise King had chosen a focused beam, and none of it had struck them.
It was clear that LeFey was not a match for the Sunrise King on his own.
Fortunately, LeFey didn't have to be alone.
"*Spell Modification: Infinite Iteration. Perfect Matter Duplication.*" LeFey cast, targeting himself, and a geyser of LeFeys burst outwards, soaring into the sky, taking bystanders to safety—and firing every spell in the book at the Sunrise King.
"*Tsunami Strike.*"
"*Gale-Force Hurricane.*"
"*Volcanic Eruption.*"
"*Meteor Swarm.*"
Elemental devastation lashed out at the Sunrise King—water, wind, fire, earth—but they rippled through the Sunrise King like they were pebbles in a lake. The Sunrise King laughed.
"You seek to use the wrath of Earth on me? *I AM THE SUN. I AM BEYOND YOUR MORTAL WEAPONS.*" The Sunrise King began to levitate, and impossibly, the sun rose *with* him.
LeFey scowled. Then it was time. The greatest, most terrible spell he had ever known. The end of everything in fire and light. He held up a hand and spoke five words.
"*Wrath of a Trillion Stars.*"
Even the Sunrise King flinched as beams of starlight, astral radiance, unearthly, heavenly, pure, struck him from every angle, hot enough to melt stone into air and air into nothing, and LeFey watched grimly as the devastation reached a crescendo—
—and then winked out, like the first stars before dawn.
LeFey took a step back, horrified, as the Sunrise King wrestled with the stars—and *outshone* them. Because of course he would. That was what the sun did every day.
And he was the rising sun.
Licking his lips as if he'd just swallowed a full meal, the Sunrise King gave LeFey a satisfied look.
"Thank you for the challenge, young mage." The clones of LeFey desperately hurled all the mana they had left at the Sunrise King, but to no effect. "It has been an age and a half since I have had to exert myself so."
He settled down, landing on the blistered, vaporized ground, and dusted himself off, ignoring the spells still slinging his way. "But every dawn has a dusk. And I am afraid that you, too, must *Sunset.*"
LeFey's eyes widened as the spell sank into him, and though he fought it with every fiber of his being, it was as futile as lifting the stars. As his mind went dark and he lost consciousness, one thought still glimmered in his mind.
At least he'd saved his companions.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is 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.
| 2022-05-04T07:28:20 | 2022-05-04T06:33:46 | 184 | 136 |
[WP] At first humanity is delighted when two aliens visit earth for the first time in recorded history. However, things become increasingly awkward as it emerges that our visitors are the intergalactic equivalent of Jehova's Witnesses knocking at your door.
|
First contact was watched live by 31.7 million people, was attended by the heads of over a dozen nations, and the video recording is shown to almost all school going children.
This wasn't first contact.
"Cordial wishes from planet Earth of sector 2117 of the allied universe, we welcome you formally and with Goodwill and please leave your weapons in your.." Sarah looked at the mass of pink jelly that hovered a few metres over the observatory, "..vessel. The provisional planetary visa will last for the next [four hours]. Please state the purpose of your visit for the record."
The aliens quacked and the presumed leader wriggled its fore tentacles.
**We have come to speak of the Creator of the Universe, our Master, the One Who Controls all and offer Enlightenment to the earthlings. We have come to pull you out from the darkness of your ignorance and show you the righteous current of the Almighty Polyp**
"..religion. Yeah."
**We have detected frequent conflicts and inter-species homicide and reproductive perversions in the societies that inhabit this planet. Our Lord and Leader will free terrans from their landly sins.**
"Earth is a category four cultural planet with a majority of the population already having decided their religious identities and allowing out-world theistic influences is a direct violation of section 352 of the unified terran penal code." She said by rote, filling in the details on the paper forms. They'd learned to avoid electronic forms after the Influxers had made an appearance.
The creature's translucent flesh turned red and he quacked at a higher pitch **The end is nigh, earthling! The Universe shall crumble, He shall ascend from his watery courts and his tentacles shall strike down the unworthy, the unbelieving. Judgement will come and come soon for all space and the Polyp shall drain the Universe--**
"Visitor," they'd all but scrapped sir and ma'am in these cases, "Since you are directly violating the UTPC, after being given a warning, your provisional visa limit has been lessened to [13 minutes] of which ten have been spent. Your vessel will be materialised off-planet with accordance to the Alliance Visitation Rights when the time limit is breached."
A few more quacks and the subordinates turned red, then violet. They glided to the ship and melted into the jelly before the vessel flickered out of sight.
Her comm beeped just before she entered the building, "Hey, Michaels. We detect another vessel, ETA 20 minutes.."
"You know what, I think I'll clock out 30 minutes early today."
"You do that."
|
Wayne LaFell had never wanted a career in politics. Even as a 45 year old man with a wife, three children, and an underwater mortgage, he still daydreamed sometimes of dropping everything and taking a *real* shot at the NHL. His speed was shot thanks to the knee injury that ruined everything the first time around, but he still had the soft hands and vision that had made him a 4th round pick coming out of junior hockey. Yes, he still had it. He knew he did. He just needed someone to take a shot.
Politics had been a thing to do while he worked his way back to competitive hockey. But things don't always go the way you plan. And politics had worked out a bit better than Wayne had ever imagined.
"Mr. LaFell?" said Reggie over the intercom. "The American delegation is here."
"Send them in." Wayne stood up and smoothed out his suit. *Canadian Foreign Minister* was the kind of job title he would have stuck his nose up at when he was a teenager, but he had to admit it wasn't such a bad job. Not a lot a work, a little bit of harmless graft, and plenty of respect. Best of all, he was never late for supper. Not bad for a broken winger.
The American contingency was three strong. A smallish man in glasses, another, more "political" looking fellow in Armani, and a third that looked like he wasn't there to talk. As Wayne suspected, the fellow in the Armani did most of the talking.
"Minister LaFell, pleasure to meet you," he said, offering a handshake. "Ray Blunt, State Department." He pointed at the smaller one in glasses. "This is Karl Neiman from NASA. He's here as a reference. And this is Wilson Greer. I can't tell you where he's from." Blunt winked, but Greer's face made it amply clear that it wasn't a joke.
"Have a seat," said Wayne, circling back around his desk. Blunt and Neiman sat. Greer remained standing. "I'm a little surprised to see you folks. I assumed all your resources would be tied up with the Lexington Affair for the foreseeable future."
"Ah," said Roy, leaning forward eagerly in his chair. "And Lexington is *exactly* what we're here to talk about."
Wayne felt his stomach drop slightly. "I...is there some trouble? Are they...hostile?"
"No, no, no!" said Roy. "Not in the least. In fact, they are the very opposite of hostile. They are so *unhostile* in fact, that I am pleased to say that the United States of America has completed our business with the Visitors."
"You've...I'm sorry, I don't know what that means."
Roy glanced down at Neiman in a very meaningful way. "We've completed all of our research," said Neiman. "They...we're good."
Wayne blinked. "You're 'good'?"
"All done!" said Roy, wiping his hands dramatically. "Our scientists work fast."
"Um...congratulations?"
"No, no," said Roy, shaking his head. "Congratulations to *you*."
"Me?"
"Yes. Minister LaFell, I am very excited to announce that the United States of America - as a show of neighborly solidarity - would like to transfer the Visitors to Canada for further...you know, research and such."
After a moment Wayne became aware that his mouth was partially open. "Er. Uh. You want to send the aliens....*to Canada*?" Wayne's eyes swept back and forth between the three men.
Roy cleared his throat. Neiman spoke. "We've done all we think we can do. We believe that *Canada* is better suited to...uh...continue this research."
Wayne began to feel as though he were being pranked. Americans did love their pranks. "You seriously believe that Canada would be suited to continue research on the first alien lifeforms ever encountered on our planet?"
Roy nodded. "We didn't even consider Mexico. Straight to the top, so to speak."
"Well, what about..." Wayne wracked his brain. "Japan's pretty good with science things, aren't they? My TVs from Japan."
"Not the right people for the job," said Roy. "This is sensitive stuff here, Minister. It's not the science. These Visitors require a certain level of...uh...empathy. They are, after all, strangers in a strange land."
"*Empathy*." Wayne rolled the word around in his mouth like a caramel. Canadians *were* highly regarded for their kindness and sensitivity. Much less dangerous than America, as well. Very welcoming to immigrants and refugees. Yes, he could begin to see the value in relocating two frightened Visitors to someplace safe and quiet, like Canada. "And your President is alright with this?"
"Suggested it himself," said Roy. "Really values our relationship with Canada."
Wayne looked at the scientist. "And you think we're adequately equipped to make them comfortable? I don't know what kind of..."
"Oh yes," said Neiman. "They really don't need much. Just a sympathetic ear and tub of lukewarm salt water."
"Well," said Wayne. "I'm not sure that I have the authority to..."
"I'm certain that you do," said Roy quickly. He got to feet and moved to the desk. "So what do you say? Let's make Canada the home of the world's first verified extraterrestrials. Hockey, maple syrup, and aliens - that's what Canada is all about."
Wayne felt the pressure of the moment and suddenly he was transported back in time. He was on the ice. The puck was on his stick and time was running down.
*He could do this.*
*Take the shot - make the shot.*
"Let's do it!" he said, bursting from his chair. Roy grabbed him in an unexpected bearhug.
"Thatta boy!" said Roy. "Wilson, go get Dotti and Botti."
"Dotti and Botti?" said Wayne.
"Their names," said Roy as Wilson disappeared through the door.
"What do you mean he's going to get them?"
"They're out in the car," said Roy.
"In the..."
Neiman dropped a pair of earplugs on the desk. "Remember, lukewarm saltwater."
"What're these for?" said Wayne, picking up the earplugs. "Are they loud or..."
"Those are for your nose," said Neiman. "The excretions occur on a three hour cycle, so they should be due any minute. Whatever you do, don't touch the yellow pus, even with gloves on. It'll burn right through."
"What are you...?"
Just then Wilson barged through the door, followed closely by two humanoid figures covered in shiny, crimson scales.
"Dotti and Botti," said Roy, "this is Minister LaFell, representing the great nation of Canada. He'll be looking after you from now on."
The two alien blinked serenely. One began to ooze slightly.
"That's our cue," said Roy. "Been a pleasure, minister. Good luck! God save the Queen. Etc., etc."
The three men stormed out of the room before Wayne could say another word.
Wayne cleared his throat. "Uh. So....do you two speak English, perhaps?"
"Yes," said one. "Did you decorate this office?"
"Um, no," said Wayne, "but I did..."
"Was the intention to make its occupant too horror-stricken for their mind to wander?"
"I..."
The other alien motioned towards the far wall. "This wallpaper has been scientifically engineered to induce vomiting, correct?"
"The scent you are wearing," said the first alien. "Does it denote that you bear a contagious disease deadly to members of the opposite sex? Because I can find no other reason why one would intentionally scent themselves in such an unpleasant manner."
"Your facial hair has been constructed in an attempt at ironic humor, correct?"
Wayne collapsed back down into his chair as the aliens continued their observations.
"Sir?" said Reggie. "Did the Americans just leave those aliens here?"
Wayne sighed. "It's a great day for Canada, Reggie."
"Should I...should I call the Prime Minister's office?"
Wayne glanced up at the aliens. "I do not believe this carpet is currently in style in any known timeline," said one.
"No," said Wayne. "I don't think we'll tell him just yet."
| 2016-08-20T11:26:18 | 2016-08-20T11:22:58 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] Your butler has served you faithfully for twenty years, working hard, offering sage advice and never complaining. One day, you see his bank balance. He's a billionaire.
|
*Just wrote this up really quickly while my pizza cooked....*
"What the actual fuck!?" The words escaped my mouth before I'd even realised what I said.
"Language, Miss Hawkins!"
Ordinarily I would have apologised, even if it was just my butler chastising me, but my manners had left me after the shock of what I saw.
"You have so much money! How?? Why are you working as my butler when you could just do whatever the hell you wanted?"
"As you do?" he asked, judgement apparent in his voice.
I waited in silence for his answer.
He sighed. "Because you needed to be taught."
"Taught? Taught what?" I snorted. "I went to fucking Harvard! Remind me where you studied again?" It was a rhetorical question. I didn't know the answer nor did I care.
His face reddened but not with shame. If I'd been younger, I would have found myself over his knee. I was certain of that. I was also certain that I would have fired his sorry ass had he even tried.
"If you recall, Miss Hawkins, when we first met I found you lying in a pool of your own vomit and with a needle stuck in a vein." Drawing himself up even straighter, if that was even possible, he added, "Clearly there are some things an education can't buy."
It was true. I'd been a worthless junkie back then. Not a literal worthless junkie of course because I had more money than most people could ever dream of. My mother was generous with her cash, even if she lacked that generosity in other parts of her life. Her cold demeanour was probably one of the reasons why her husband - my father - had left her immediately after I was born. She profited greatly from the divorce, less so from the string of stepfathers I'd had after that. Alimony is a bitch. When she had died, I also inherited what little was left of her money, although it still tallied up to a few million.
"But where did you get that money from?" I ran a hand down my face. It was a lot to take in, thinking one thing and then discovering another. "Did you rob a fucking bank or something?"
"Stop swearing. No, it's my money. I used to own a business a few decades ago. It did well and then I sold it."
"Must have been some fu- some business. You have more zeros than I do! But still, why is a billionaire cooking my food and cleaning up after me? It doesn't make any sense."
Frank looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and then said quietly, "Because I wanted to get to know my daughter."
|
“It is not right to pry into the personal affairs of others, Master Andrews.”
My lifelong butler, V, stood before me, a faint frown cast upon his wrinkled face. And the wispy trails of his graying hair danced in the evening chill before us. It was rare that he would ever reprimand me for my misdeeds, and before that day, the last I could remember him doing so was when I was but a mere child.
V had been my personal butler for little over twenty years, he was always a diligent worker, one who would never complain; no matter the task asked of him. And no matter the request I made of him, he fulfilled them all with that same saintly smile.
But I had learned of his secret athrough a faraway associate – a secret that he hid so well. I came to learn that while my wealth, although grand in its millions – paled in comparison to the billions he himself held. Had my father been alive, I could have asked him if he had known, but fate was rarely ever so kind.
In all the time I had known him, V had never showed any signs of this wealth, and even among servants, he was by far the humblest I had ever known. He was at my beck and call throughout my impulsive childhood years, my rebellious adolescence, and my ruthless adulthood.
With V by my side, I had advanced through the corporate world – never doubting the expertise of the man assigned to me by my very own father. It was not as if he were without flaw, but he was far more nuanced than that of your regular butler.
And as he stood before me that night, there was a coldness upon his face. I had betrayed his trust, and he knew it all too well.
I spoke with a melancholy, fearful of that man. “I don't understand, V.”
“What troubles you, young master?” he spoke in that same old sage voice, calm, yet firm.
“A man as rich as you,” I said, “I should be working for you, not the other way around.”
“Nonsense.” He filled the air with a hearty laugh. “There would never be a need for that. Now, it is nearly seven, would you care to-”
“Should you not retire?” I asked, “With your wealth, you could live an unfathomable life of luxury for the rest of your-”
For the first time in twenty years, his signature calmness faded from his voice. “Young master, wealth is not everything. I have stayed by your side not for reasons as petty as money.”
“Then why?”
“Because, Master Andrews,” he said, with a wicked grin. “I believe that you will one day rule the world.”
His words filled me with an odd feeling, like the kind of primeval unease that comes upon a man once every blue moon. He spoke of such a grand, unfathomable task with such carefree nonchalance that I had no choice but to think that he truly believed what his own words.
I had never set my sights on such a thing, and I did not know why my butler of all people would ever think such a thing of me.
And so on that night, with nothing left to lose, I asked the question that would set my fate in motion. “Who are you exactly, V?”
“I am your butler, young master,” he said with a snide grin.
I met his words with a forced laugh. “Really though.”
“As regrettable as it is, now is not the time for me to tell you the answer which you seek.” As he spoke, his familiar calmness slowly crawled back into his voice. “And it is most unfortunate that this situation has come about so soon.”
It was rare for him to defy me.
“Have you been funding my enterprise?”
“No, I have not,” V said, with an unblinking gaze, “everything you have done up until today has been your own doing, young master.”
“Then, who are you?”
“Goodness me, young master,” his voice broke into a soft chuckle, but it did not sound like his usual laugh. “Must you ask questions you already know the answer to? I am V, your personal butler.”
He was already testing the limits of my patience, and for the first time in many years, I felt like yelling at him. “And what of the other butlers and maids, are they like you?”
“That I can not say,” he said, with his head bowed low.
“You're not going to tell me anything, are you?”
“Regrettably so.”
I delivered him an ultimatum, one that I knew in my heart was wrong, but one I cast upon him in the heat of the moment – born from my own wounded pride. “And what if I were to demand you to tell me, or your employment will be terminated?”
He did not raise his head as he spoke. “Then I would await my termination.”
“Whatever,” I said, not wanting to bother with him any longer, “you're dismissed for the day. I'm returning to my study.”
Even as I returned to my study, and even as I tried to forget the conversation I had just moments prior with V, I could not shake that feeling that everything I was was nothing but a sham. I never gave much thought to his character in the past, but now he seemed like an impenetrable enigma, a force which I could not read nor predict.
With such a man at my side, with untold wealth and a past that he could not even divulge to his own master, I did what anyone else would have done. I began to doubt my own meteoric rise, I wondered if everything I had achieved in my own life was truly from my own merits, or whether or not V had some influence in me attaining my power.
I was lost in my own thoughts with such a frenzy I didn't notice the maid by my side until she tapped on my shoulder. And I came back to reality with such a shock that I couldn't help but recoil where I sat, scaring her in the process.
“Apologies, I did not mean to startle you,” the maid, L, spoke in a panicked voice, clearly realizing my distress. “I am taking over for V, and as it is past seven, I was-”
“I'm fine,” I said, as I dismissed her with a casual wave, “tell the other servants not to bother me until morning.”
At the time, I did not send her away because I did not require her services, but because like V, I did not feel like I could trust anyone at that time.
I had never felt alone like that, ever before.
* * *
The next day I awoke with a pounding headache, surrounded by discarded blankets and glass bottles alike. I knew that in my frustration I had turned to the soothing poison of alcohol to assuage my woes, but gave little thought to the tomorrow it would undeniably bring.
Before I could even rise from my bed, the door to my room swung open and V stepped inside, a single metal tray held in his hands. As he approached, I could see that it held a glass of water and an assortment of white pills, clearly to help with my hangover.
But that diligence of his which I once appreciated only frustrated me. Because it seemed as if he planned to continue his daily duties as if the events of the night before had never occured. Even though part of me wanted to deny his service to spite him, I dearly wished to alleviate the pains of my newfound headache, and so without thanks, I accepted his help.
No sooner than I had swallowed the last of the pills, an array of maids came into the room from behind him. And not wanting to remain in the room as they cleaned it, I went forward with my daily routine.
But that routine too was plagued by an annoyance, a man by the name of V. He would not divulge any further information, no matter how much I pestered him, and so my resentment for him and his actions continued to grow with every passing minute. It was strange how such a simple event could undo the twenty years of trust I held in him, but given the circumstances, I thought anyone would do the same.
In hindsight, I should have fired him that night.
But I couldn't do that. Not because I still trusted him, or because I felt I would betray the wishes of my father, but because the curiosity which had sprouted in me that night had already taken root and strangled all other forms of thought.
And so, the only thing on my mind was just a single question.
Who exactly was the man called V?
* * *
/r/khaarus
| 2018-06-03T08:41:06 | 2018-06-03T07:07:09 | 5,004 | 411 |
[WP] You work at a hospital. Outside a terminal patient’s room, someone tries to enter. You stop them, “Sorry, family only.” They give you a strange look, as do those nearby. “You can see me?” They ask, summoning a scythe from thin air. You just told Death they couldn’t claim a soul.
|
“Yes I can see you.” I wasn't sure what else to say. I heard stories of dying patients talking to already dead family members shortly before passing away, but this was a whole new level of weird.
“Well...” The man with the scythe, who I could only assume was Death himself, was obviously flustered. “I really need to get by. You see-”
“I know who you are. It's just that... our policy...” I was struggling to come up with a reason to keep him from coming in. I'd fought long and hard all night to keep my patient alive and I wasn't ready to give up. After a frantic trip to the ICU, we finally stabilized her. I thought we were in the clear.
“I don't understand. You can't just block my way like this! You shouldn't even be able to see me! I-”
“Daddy?”
A small voice coming from behind me cut him off.
Death shot me an exasperated look but his voice was gentle. “Hello Lydia."
I turned quickly and saw Lydia, my 7 year old patient, sitting up and staring at us. She was awake already? The sedatives shouldn't have worn off yet. I made a mental note to speak with the doctor.
“Daddy! You're here! What... How? Mommy said when you didn't come home that you...” Her voice trailed off. “Wait... Does that mean I'm dead too? But...” She looked at me uncertainty.
A wave of understanding washed over me. So, this is what happens when you die. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were family.” I said quietly. I still didn't move, however. Whatever was going to happen, I wasn't going to just *let* him take her. I hated losing kids under my care and he would have to take her over my dead body. I didn't care if it was inevitable. It wasn't happening today.
Lydia's dad stared at the steely look in my eyes for a moment and then sighed and turned back to Lydia. He shook his head. “No darling. I'm just visiting right now. I'll be back soon to come get you though. I just wanted to let you know death isn't scary at all and I'll be there when it's time. I love you.”
“I love you too Daddy.” She yawned and rested her head back on the pillow. A moment later she had drifted off to sleep.
The man turned back to me. “I don't know who you are or why you can see me, but I'll take it as a sign. Just know I'll be back in a few days. I have to be. It's my job.” He tucked his scythe away and looked back at his daughter, eyes glistening. “I'm sorry I had to come for her so soon. That wasn't my choice. If it was up to me, she'd live to be 100 and have a million grandkids to spoil rotten.”
I didn't know how to respond so I just stared at him.
“Thank you for all you do. I know it's got to be hard working in a Children's hospital where they don't always make it... but it means a lot... to know she's in good hands.”
Then he vanished.
Lydia passed away a few days later. I wasn't there but the nurse on duty told me her mom was there with her and even though it came as a shock to the doctor who thought she was improving, he commented that it was lucky that mom happened to take the week off to hang out at the hospital full time with her daughter. It was almost like she knew.
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"No." Micheal said, turning around and speed walking away from the blonde woman in the black robes with his white lab coat trailing behind him. He heard footsteps angrily stomping behind him as he glanced at a nearby window reflection. To his relief, there was no woman in black following him as he walked.
"Goddammit. How do those stupid strippers keep getting in here?" He wondered to himself. One of the great mysteries he had during his career was where people were hiring strippers willing to dance in a hospital. On one hand, he felt bad for ruining a final gift from one man to another before he went into oblivion. On the other hand, there was something fundamentally wrong with letting a woman flop her tits about while a 95 year old man was slowly dying of hypertension. Normally he'd stop such a thing, but he didn't have the time or energy to do so.
"I was talking to you! Get back here!" She said, stomping forward and standing in front of Micheal with a cold look on her face.
"Look lady, I've got a LOT of paperwork to do and I can tell you weren't cheap. You're free to go into Mr. Johnson's room and give his Johnson one last standing ovation. I won't call security since I genuinely don't care." He said, leaving to work on the patients he could save. Abandoning a patient was against the Hippocratic oath he took, but he had no intention of wasting his time trying to save a man who had lived his full life as opposed to saving the 14 year old boy dying from a car crash across the hall.
"What the hell are you talking about, and how can you see me?" She stumbled out as Micheal shoved her aside, earning her another look of disbelief. "And how did you do that?" She asked, following behind him as he entered his office and sat down to begin filling out forms.
"Lady, I don't like to be rude and I have better things to do than talk with a stripper. Piss off, or I'm calling security." He warned, his patience reaching his end as she scowled at him, taking her portable scythe out from her sleeves in the blink of an eye. "Cute magic trick." He commented as she placed the blade against his throat, a single twitch enough to behead him.
"I've never met a mortal as disrespectful as you." She hissed before making a malicious smile. "Then again, disrespecting death is what you doctors do." She said happily, tugging backwards on the scythe to cut his very soul in half. At least, that was what she intended. Instead, she found herself flying forward into Micheal's table as he grabbed the ancient wood with one hand and yanked it backwards, his greater mass enough to pull her forward.
"What the-" Was all she could get out before receiving a fist to the jaw, knocking her out in a single blow. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Micheal lifted her up, put her on his office couch, and left the scythe lying on the floor. Calmly, he dialed his office phone to call up security.
"Yeah Mike?"
"Another family member tried to beat me up. She's knocked out on my couch. Please take her away." He said in a monotonous voice as the security officer sighed.
"Dammit Mike. Would it kill you to work on your bedside manner?"
"I save lives. I do it efficiently. That is my job. If they want a friend, go to a bar or a psychologist." He spat as security walked into his office roughly 10 minutes later.
"Mike, there ain't anyone here." He said as the physician scoffed.
"Probably left earlier. Sorry about that." He said, not glancing up from his paperwork at all. Eventually, he left for the operating room without looking up from his clip board, choosing to learn every facet of his patient's lifestyle to avoid any drug complications or underlying symptoms other doctors had caught. It disgusted him how hypocritical the people criticizing him were.
As he closed up the child, he left the hospital to return home and read the chart of his next patient while going through their social media for other underlying symptoms. As he walked home, he heard a familiar annoying female voice behind him, yelling to get his attention. Rather than pay it any heed, he just kept walking, committing each and every fact of Laura Manson, 31, single, to his memory. Medical history says she does not own any pets. Mother of 3. Currently on immunosuppressants for a lung transplant 3 years ago. She was his old patient that had returned after her daughter called 911 after seeing her collapse. Prior to the collapse, she came to the hospital complaining of flu-like symptoms.
His colleague Dr. Hannah Jensen, 39, looked after her. She was his "better" as his colleagues put it. She gave her undivided attention to each patient and was willing to sit by the side of her terminally ill patients before they expired. Her diagnosis was the flu, and she was sent back home with an antibiotic. Suffice to say, if it was the flu, an antibiotic would be pointless. And if Dr. Jensen was actually interesting in learning about the patient, she would have spotted the cat on Ms. Manson's facebook wall on February 9th, 2005 and of its demise in 2006. She likely caught latent toxoplasmosis from that cat that was reactivated during the immunosuppressants that were administered.
"I'm talking to you asshole!" The voice shouted as he felt his coat get tugged back. He turned around to see the woman from earlier stark naked and covering herself in shame, blushing immensely without her toy scythe.
"Ma'am, there are indecency laws in the US. I also recommend you wear clothing, as it is snowing outside and frostbite is no joke." Micheal said as she grabbed him by the shirt and pinned him against the wall.
"Thanks to you, I got demoted to a wandering spirit for failing to claim a soul on time! How will you take responsibility for this!?" She asked as a man walked forward, witnessing the entirety of the exchange in silence. Rather than stop the strange naked woman assaulting him, he just kept walking forward.
"Ma'am, I request you unhand... Me..." He said, his voice petering off as he watched the man walk straight through the woman, her body phasing around him like a hologram or fog. "Huh." He noted with a fascinated voice. "Perhaps I've been slacking on sleep too much if I am hallucinating. Ergot fungus is a viable explanation for this as well and-"
"I am real you moron!" She exclaimed while slapping him across the face.
"Ow."
"Now listen here, and listen good! I'm banned from returning as a reaper until you die of non-paranormal causes since I was distracted by you! Now be a good mortal and kill yourself so I can get back to my unlife!" She exclaimed angrily as Micheal flicked her head, stunning her as he kept walking.
"Ah, so I'm depressed. An inferiority complex to Dr. Jensen perchance? She has surpassed my own medical career by leaps and bounds. Is it money?" He wondered to himself as he thought to set up another meeting with a psychologist. He continued to think to himself as the hallucination repeatedly bothered him.
Since it seemed to be capable of physically affecting him, he theorized it to be self inflicted injuries. His psychosis was quite severe if that were to be true. His theories snowballed as he cooked dinner for himself, spaghetti and meatballs with heavy amounts of oregano. The entirety of his cooking was far from efficient, with the hallucination repeatedly cursing him out and threatening to take him to hell where he would be, as she described "eternally raped by demonic barbed penises that ejaculate lava" if he didn't do so.
"Perhaps I am homophobic. I have never had anything against the bedroom habits of patients so long as they were up front, but maybe this is subconscious." He thought as he sat down in his kitchen table, a steaming pile of spaghetti on his plate as he contemplated his broken mind. Meanwhile, the woman was squatting on the table, glaring angrily at him with his trench coat wrapped around her. It was far too large for her, but it covered her body well enough.
"Come on. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill your-argh!" She said as he experimentally shoved a fork full of spaghetti into its mouth. It looked like it was ready to spit it in his face, only to chew the meal and swallow.
"Don't feel any less hungry. So feeding it is me throwing away food to the ground." He noted as the strange hallucination started pawing at the spaghetti with her bare hands, her attempts at touching it comical as her hand phased straight through the plate. Shrugging, he got another spoonful of spaghetti, only to have the hallucination eat it midair.
"I'll starve you out." She declared triumphantly while chewing his meal. This went on until she finished the plate and collapsed on his couch moaning in pain. If she were real, she'd have indigestion from eating so much.
"So my psyche will force me to treat this thing as a biological woman." Micheal concluded as he got a second portion and began eating.
"I'll freaking kill you... Urk..." His hallucination vowed.
"Uh huh. That's nice." He said while chewing.
"At least use a different fork... You pervert..." It groaned as he continued studying for his next patient.
| 2019-03-23T23:06:43 | 2019-03-23T22:46:32 | 267 | 106 |
[WP] The world's tiniest dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it.
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In a time when knights and dragons played a deadly version of capture the horde, only the elite dragons managed to protect theirs. One such dragon was Squeak-Squeak, the smallest dragon. Squeak-Squeak’s horde may not have been giant and filled with rubies or pearls, but he was proud of it all the same. He owned a single gold coin he had gotten from his mother.
While most dragons protected their horde with their flaming breath or fearsome claws, Squeak-Squeak had the greatest power of all: cuteness. He had a simple yet extremely effect way of dealing with knights. First, he would look as cute as possible. His favorite way was to peer over the top of his coin with his tail curling over the bottom. If the knight continued to steal his coin, he would let his eyes fill up with tears and began squeaking loudly. At this point one of two things would happen. Most often the knight would give the coin back to a then happily squeaking Squeak-Squeak. However, if the knight tried to leave with it, he would soon be a pile of ash.
Now, you may be wondering: how does he use cuteness in the second way? Simple, so far I’ve only told you about the smallest dragon and his horde. A much larger dragon was always lurking nearby. You see, this dragon was his mother and Squeak-Squeak was HER horde. Between the two of them, no knight ever managed to steal their hordes.
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Torch after torch after torch chain link lit up all around the massive granite chamber. It seemed impossible that a room so huge could be buried so deep into a mountain. The torches follow along the clean, smooth walls which brightened the entire room. Two things stood out immediately to the squad of treasure hunters. Most immediately, was the massive single gold coin standing upright at the back of the room. Not quite as immediately, there were dozens, maybe hundreds, maybe a couple hundreds of dead knights, thieves, paladins, hunters, and bare skeletons that rested along the walls.
"Wowee guys, this must be it! Hey, you think this must have been made back when magic was more powerful?" Said one of the hunters as he snuffed out his unneeded torch in the dry chest of some nameless skeleton. He wore a thick and long leather coat with the collar popped way up passed his ears. The shiny black of the coat made him look very cool. He popped on some circle frame sunglasses. Oooh yeah.
"Yeah for sure, this chamber has to be at least a couple thousand years old. Look at some of this armor! It's positively ancient!" The fatter guy who said that was laying out a map on the floor. He was dressed in some simple robes that were glowing faintly, even in the well lit chamber. "Yeah, according to the map, this has gotta be it, and that" He pointed at the coin, "Has gotta be the treasure."
The third hunter took off his square helmet, "One giant gold coin? How are we supposed to get that out of here? Huh?" He was tall and the only one where any real armor. He had head to toe chain-mail suit on like a pair of hefty long pajamas. Yes, there was a butt flap. On his belt hung a sword and in his left arm was a big round shield. He looked around some more, "Also, where the thing that killed all these other guys?"
The Cool Hunter slid over to the Chain-mail Swordsman without moving his feet. He got uncomfortably close and whispered, "Just keep you sword ready" The Cool Hunter's minty breath was actually refreshing considering the stuffiness of the chamber.
As the guys continued to talk to each other in half confusion, the dragon stared down at them from on top of the coin. Unnoticeable due to his size and gold color. This creature was the protector of this treasure and although only the size of an avocado pit, the monster had defended this coin for thousands of years. All the bodies laying at the sides of the chamber were its doing. Another three would be thieves just stepped into the terror dome. The dragon spit into his little dragon paws and rubbed them together. This got his paws really hot and ready to go.
"Look, all I'm saying is that we'll have to chop off hunks of the coin and you got the only sword!" The Fat Cleric was laying flat on his back with his hands on his face.
"I'm not ruining my family sword chopping at a gold coin. We should try to roll it I mean it can't be-" A flash of gold whizzed by the Chain-mail Swordsman's face. "What was that? Anybody see that?"
"I can't see anything with these glasses on" The Cool Hunter took his glasses off, "What'd it look like?"
The dragon zipped by again and buzzed annoyingly right in the Fat Cleric's ear. The Fat Cleric sat up quickly while swatting at his ear. The dragon was gone again before anybody can get a clean look at it. The Chain-mail Swordsman drew his sword, the Cool Hunter readied his daggers, and the Fat Cleric opened up a spell tome. The three boys went butt-to-butt-to-butt.
"Okay... Let's just be cool... we've fought monsters before..." The Cool Hunter slowly put his sunglasses back on.
One of the sets of armor rattled a bit. The Cool Hunter turned his whole body towards it with both arms cocked back about to dual toss those daggers. Suddenly, the dragon burst out of the armor and fastballed right into the Cool Hunter's groin. With his plums smashed, he dropped to the ground like a wet cabbage. And just like that, the dragon was gone again. The Cool Hunter's pants caught on fire crotch first. He patted himself uncomfortably. He had to be delicate to not further destroy his changes of having a kid, but also hard enough to put out the gold hot flames. The Fat Cleric rushed over to try to get a healing miracle going.
As he was flipping through his pages trying to find a spell that puts out crotch fires, the dragon flew by again and sliced his double chin right off with his hot claws. The Fat Cleric dropped his book and grabbed his throat. Then the dragon hovered about a foot in front of the Fat Cleric's face with its wings beating like hummingbird's. The dragon cracked his neck and the opened up his throat to launch a gold hot stream of napalm quality dragon spit all over the Fat Cleric's scared face.
As that face melted and the screaming echoed through the chamber, the Cool Hunter flung a dagger at the dragon, the finest one he had, too. At the same time the Chain-mail Swordsman took a huge over head cleave at the dragon. The dragon effortlessly dodged both and the sword racketed the dagger right into the Cool Hunter's crotch. This was a bad day for that man's loins.
"Aww jeez man! I'm sorry about that!" The Chain-mail Swordsman grimaced at the sight of the guy's burning crotch with a dagger plugged into it. Meanwhile, the dragon swooped in and popped off the Chain-mail Swordsman's helmet. Another wild swing, another deflected dagger, another dagger to the Cool Hunter's crotch. "Stop throwing those things!" He yelled over the moaning of many with two knives to the crotch. The Fat Cleric was a bare skull on top of a body of burning robes.
The Chain-mail Swordsman nervously shifted his eyes back and forth trying to find that dragon. A burny noise perked his ears up and he one-eighty'd around to see what was left of the Cool Hunter: A charred skeleton, two daggers lodged in the pelvis, and a cool black leather coat, but no sign of the dragon. Then it was quiet, like spooky quiet. He back his way towards the door. He counted down from three in his head and then turned around to make a break for it, but BOOM! There it was. The dragon was staring him right in the face.
Now or never! A fury deep inside the Chain-mail Swordsman bubbled up to the surface and it let out a flurry of strikes at the dragon. The dragon, without even breaking the equivalent of what a dragon calls sweat, side-flew every single attack and then shot up the man's loose chain-mail sleeve. The Chain-mail Swordsman screamed/giggled in horror as the dragon wriggled all around inside the chain-mail suit like a ferret in a firehouse. The dragon was leaving a trail of scorched flesh and leather behind it. After five long, excruciating minutes, the Chain-mail Swordsman dropped dead and the dragon crawled out of the butt flap.
Another crew vanquished, the dragon dragged the corpses out of the way. Then he flew on top of his treasure and waited for the next fools to walk in. All the torches snuffed themselves out and the coin, chamber, and the dragon disappeared into the darkness again.
| 2017-09-07T13:15:56 | 2017-09-07T12:04:53 | 44 | 22 |
[WP] "Wait, so there's no gold?" "Of COURSE there's no gold. I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? I live in a cave, for fuck's sake. WHY do you humans always think I have gold?"
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"Wait, so there's no gold?"
Gordon stared down at the latest imbecile. "*Of* *course*, there's no gold. I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? I live in a cave, for fuck's sake. WHY do you humans always think I have gold?"
The idiot's jaw dropped a bit and turned his head to stare at the unadorned slab walls. “But, but...”
Gordon could feel his temper straining. What *was* it with these humans? He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Martha had warned him about smelling up the cave with burnt human again, and he had no wish to sleep out in the forest.
“But what about the diamonds?” came a quiet question.
Gordon just about snapped. “WHAT DIAMONDS?!”
The human jumped just about out of his shoes. Gordon wondered if it was possible for something to vibrate their way out of their own skin.
“Those?” the idiot whispered, pointing toward the refuse pile.
Gordon just about lost it. “Don't you eliminate, human?” Just how stupid *were* these creatures?
The human gulped. “Yeah, but I don't poop out diamonds.”
Gordon stared at the human. He then looked at the refuse pile. “You're serious.”
The diamonds Gordon was familiar with were all polished and faceted, and generally looked like microscopic scales. Not at all what dragons produce.
Still, the human nodded. Gordon stared at him while the gears churned in his head. He jumped up and turned toward the back of the cave.
“Martha!” he roared. “Get a realtor! We're rich!”
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\*Edit 1!\* This Blew up a bit overnight! And in case you're wondering, this is, like, one of only a few posts that I've actually written for scale of why I'm hyped up about it! I'll see what I can do as far as writing out more on this story since enough people seemed interested! Wish me luck folks!
\*Edit 2: Google Boogaloo\* After many suggestions to continue this, I decided to move this to a Google Doc! Leaving up the main idea here, but I'll keep working on it on google if you're interested in not only viewing but commenting on it! Thanks for the praise!
Le Link: [Here!](https://docs.google.com/document/d/14HzgqmVsC5IZSVni02X_NfMai3XYpGV5l7dyHYUAnTI/edit?usp=sharing)
(Sorry in advance, this was a beast to write out! I got caught up with the idea from the prompt, and I hope ya like it! Sorry for the fluffy characters, but \*Shrug\* -Is a furry, has bias to write furry stories-)
Alister was not having a good Year. It started in the winter, a raiding band of adventurers coming to take prisoners and make slaves of his tribe of anthropomorphic, canine men. He, among many others, were bound, sold, and in his case, used to further fuel that conquest by the human nations at large looking for easily exploitable resources.
This last Month, though, had brought that to a new level: His "Recruiters" had been tasked by the Lord of some castle he'd yet to learn the name of to defeat a dragon, and in kind, plunder all the gold it hoarded. Alister had been... "Nudged" into going forward and seeing whether or not the dragon was awake. Watching a beast that would rival the size of one of his tribe's long houses flame roast a still living cow with fire breath lead to him fainting on the spot. And this, in turn, lead to him waking up, seeing all his "Allies" having been dealt with, their shredded armor the only remains outside of the beast before him not unlike the shell of what humans call "Shrimp" post food prep.
The laughably tiny dagger he'd been given lay well out of range both of his reach and mental capacity, eye to eye with the fire drake before him. "Well, feeling brave yet?" Came the gravel voice of the drake, who was picking his teeth with the leader of the adventurer's sword. Alister was still at a loss for words, the only other sound he could register beyond the "toothpick" that the dragon was using being his heart beat. "Listen." The dragon continued, "If you really are about to get the urge to avenge your fallen comrades, at least have the curtesy not to soil yourself. I prefer that particular taste stay inside my meals rather than out."
At hearing this, any hope that was within Alister went out, and with it a gust of breath from him in a weary sigh. "Oh what's the point. Get it over with. At least give me the mercy of a quick end." With that, he closed his eyes, and braced for the worst.
If Alister had expected an immediate lunge of snapping teeth, he was sadly let down. After a good minute or two of silence, the canine opened his eyes, looking up at a now... Concerned face of a dragon? "Really? No vow of honor? No declaration of vengeance? Not even just the will to live on?" The drake made a motion, setting down the sword he'd been using to clean his teeth within range of Alister. "Even this swords owner, in the face of all my splendor, had the will to say, "I'm not leaving here without your gold you overgrown lizard." Stupid really, but still noteworthy."
Alister perked his head up, if just a little. "Wait, really? All I could hear about when I was dragged up this infernal mountain was about how rich they'd be once they plundered your gold reserves!" The dragon let loose a rumbling laugh, akin to a mountain landslide given the acoustics of the cave. "If you're let down, you should have heard your leader then." The dragon adopted the tone of the human who'd lead them here. "Wait, there's no gold?!" - "Of course there's no gold! I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? Or how could I even carry it back up here in the first place!? Beyond that I live in a cave, for fucks sake! Why do you humans ALWAYS think I have gold?"
Alister and the dragon shared a short chuckle at that, Alister's far more short than the drake. "Sounds like the justification they used to raid my tribe and village." He sighed and frowned, looking out of the cave, the castle this "Knight" had belonged to somewhere beyond the haze and distant mountain's they'd past a week ago attempting to track this dragon on foot. A tap at his shoulder brought him back to reality. "Say," The dragon said, having used a claw to tap him on the shoulder, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of simply chatting with someone in quite a while. What is your name, beast kin?" "Alister of Nowik, or whatever the humans call it now. And you, Fire drake?"
The dragon bowed his head, a house bending down before a dog. "Valcanor, King of these lands... Or so it would seem." Alister allowed himself a chuckle, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to as he replied, "King of what? I see no subjects that you rule, or make bend their knee to you?" A growl from Valcanor sent him crawling backwards, hitting a wall of the cave in a moment, before the growl turned to a chuckle. "No, you have a point. It has been some time since I had a subject to lord over... Let alone..." At his, the dragon's face seemed to get even more jagged, scrunched up in thought. The sword had now come to rest in the pile of armor he'd taken from the adventuring group, only bits and pieces of it salvageable. But perhaps... "Say Alister. This party held you as a slave, did they not?" There was only a moments hesitation before the canine nodded.
"No weapons, armor, likely scraps of food... But now they're gone. And you're free... Or so you think." Valcanor continued, putting voice to his thoughts and schemes. "I doubt returning to their settlement would be good, likely at best sold right back into servitude. Worst case ran through on spot for "Abandoning thy duties to Man." But..." He paused, eye to eye once more with the canine, eying him not as a lesser but equal being. "But what if you became my champion. A pact boon with a dragon, to raise justice for your kind and those who'd wronged you."
Truthfully, these thoughts had been turning in Alister's mind as well, but the prospect of what the dragon was offering was not where it had ended up. But as he looked up at the dragon, eye to eye with him, he noticed that his reflection in those eyes held something he wasn't used to seeing. "What's it going to be," Came the rumbling voice of Valcanor, talon outstretched to shake Alister's hand. There was no hesitation for what followed. Perhaps Alister's bad year was finally about to change.
| 2020-12-28T19:21:32 | 2020-12-28T18:26:36 | 605 | 117 |
[WP] Excalibur is not a sword. It is a weapon that appears in many forms, conferring extreme luck to the pure hearted chosen wielder. And the Lady is the giver of this weapon, who can also take many forms.
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It was cold as a witch's tit that mornin', but the deer ain't gonna put themselves in the freezer, ya know? Pa and me got up two hours before the sun thought about comin' up.
As we was a-creepin' up ta where we'd put the stand, mah sleepy brain finally noticed that the rifle case was a touch light.
"Daddy?"
"What Artie?"
"I think I fergot ta pack yer twelve gauge."
"What are you'n on about, boy?"
"You wanted the twelve gauge pump. I fergot ta put it in the case."
My daddy is a good man, but sometimes he ain't a real patient one.
"Boy, I swear if brains were buckshot, you'd be shootin' blanks. You expect me t'scare the deer t'death?"
"No, Daddy."
"An you 'member that there's a five hundred dollar prize for the biggest rack down at the VFW, don't ya?"
"Yes, daddy."
"Well what ya waitin' fer? I told ya it'd be better ta jes sling it, but you didn't want to git it wet. I decided to humor ya, that's on me. You better git ta runnin' back and fetch that gun, ya here?"
I didn't need no further encouragement, so I took off like my pants was on fire. Now, I been wonderin' these woods fer better part of my life. I know 'em like I know the Gospel, even in the dark. Still, I zigged when I should of zagged an instead of comin' up past the shed, I came around behind our pool.
Now that above ground pool is a lotta fun in the summer and Daddy kept tellin' Mama he was fixin' ta drain it, but he ain't done it yet. I come up on it and hear somethin' like splashin and there was some water and leaves sloshin' over the side. I thought our hound dog was about ta drown his self, so I got up on tha deck and took a look.
I swear, right hand ta God and Bocephus that down in that pool, there was a real, real purty girl. She had on boots, Daisy Dukes, a flannel tied up over her belly button and a black Stetson on her head. She was just about the prettiest thing my fourteen year old eyes had ever landed on. I was about ta jump in, thinkin' she was drownin', but fore I could get my Carhartt off, she comes risin' up like she's a balloon. In her hand is the finest double barrel I ever did see. It had exposed hammers, this wavy pattern in the bluing on the barrels, and the wood was just as pretty as you please.
She lays there, smilin', holdin' that side by side just above the surface.
You ever look at somthin' an jes know it's yours? Like it's go yet name on it?
Well, that's how this felt, except what was written on it was "Excalibur".
I didn't know where a body could get x-caliber cartridges, but that weren't what I was thinkin'. She slung that thing at my head and I reached out, caught it.
We took down a twelve point buck that day. My first deer. My daddy showed me how t'dress it right, so ya don't knick the guts wrong an make it taste bad, like ya kin do.
Anyway, that's why I reckon that I outts be yer class president. Vote for me!
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\[PART 1/2\]
The rain clattered against the cobblestone paths of Devere, and Marcy groaned. "Why's it gotta rain today of all days, huh?"
The boy next to her shrugged; he was crouched low, shaking his head. The stall's rain cover ensured nothing would splash onto their clumsy wares. But with the rain came no customers. "Can't control the rain now, can we, Marce?"
But Marcy huffed, crossing her arms. Instead of responding, she looked over their wares.
It was a farmer's lot. Cabbages and beets and onions and carrots; none of them pretty. But all of them were hearty and stout. And it'd take a stout kind of customer to come out in this rain to buy a lot of them.
Marcy groaned again, and that's what they needed. Some stubborn old fool to walk through the drenched market and pick their stout little stall for their vegetables. And if Marcy had to be honest, she'd call that stout stubborn customer a fool. There was better produce, Marcy knew, but she needed a miracle.
And instead, she got a disaster. A guard loomed his way over, a crooked grin on his face, and Marcy grimaced. "Matt..." No response. Marcy looked down, and the young boy was dozing off. She sighed and cracked her foot against his thigh, startling Matt awake.
"Oi! What was that for!"
Marcy shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Maybe don't sleep next time." Matt's mouth moved to respond, but Marcy jerked her thumb, pointing down the cobblestoned path. "Trouble."
Matt leaned forward, his gaze cutting through the feeble slots of the stall, and grimaced. "Ah... Not again." He looked up, that questioning look on his face. Like he was asking what to do, and Marcy shrugged. *Nothing we can do, is there?*
"Well, well," the guard said, his grin still full of arrogance and malice, "if it ain't Bath's kids. Should have figured you'd be here. What, with all this bad weather we've been having." He towered over the stall and worked his mouth to one side as if he was pondering on buying something. "Ah, selling produce, eh? So Bath finally giving up on that idiot dream of his, eh?"
Marcy wanted to frown. Her father wasn't a fool. No matter what the rest of the townspeople said.
The guard chuckled and shook his head. "Aye, and looks like Bath makes a poorer farmer, eh?" The guard grabbed one of the cabbage heads and flexed his fingers around it. He frowned as if the guard had expected the cabbage to burst in his hand. But nothing happened.
Marcy bit back her lips, holing in the chuckle that was about to escape her. There was something funny about watching an idiot trying to be scary.
But Marcy's guise didn't survive the guard's scrutiny as he snarled at her. "Oi, what's the smile you hidin', huh? You thinkin' something's funny?"
But before Marcy could answer, the guard took one of his hulking feet and swept it hard against a stall's leg. The leg was no match as it cracked, sending all the produce tumbling through the street, cabbages clattered against wet stone, carrots broke against the mortar between cobbles, and beets bruising against whatever they landed on. And Marcy groaned. *Damn it.*
The guard started laughing hard. "You know! That's pretty funny, don't you think," the guard yelled as he walked away, his cold laughter lingering.
Marcy bunched her hands into fists. *I could hit him, attack him right now. Dad taught me enough.* But then what? She was just a girl against a guard and then the entire town. It was just her, and her brother, and her father. And she couldn't bring down ire against her. She could deal with it; she knew that. *But what of Matt?* The poor fool would start crying.
Marcy peeked over, and a fresh wave of rage hit her. Matt was already tearing up. Marcy dropped to one knee and patted Matt on the back. "Hey, it's all good. He's just a jerk."
Matt sniffled and rubbed his sleeve against his face. "Y-yeah, you're right. That damn guard got dirt in my eye with that kick."
Marcy lifted into an almost grin. All the dirt had been packed into mud thanks to the rain. "Yeah, you're right. Must be the dirt. Say, let's clean up, shall we?"
Matt nodded, and as they both got up, a sight almost caused Marcy to jump.
A woman with a shawl covering her head was standing at their stall. She stared at them with a smile and bright eyes, far brighter than Marcy had ever seen.
Marcy stared back, the shock still ringing through her, but as she regained her senses, her face started to sour. Was this another one who just wanted to make fun of them? Just because of their father's dream and gone mother? "What do you want?" Marcy asked, an edge of annoyance in her voice.
The woman's smile broke into a full-faced expression as she spoke. "Ah! I was just wondering if I could perhaps buy something."
Marcy's soured face turned confused, eyebrow arching. But reason came back to her. Maybe this was the stout fool she'd been looking for. "Well, if you got the gold for it, then sure. You can buy anything, even the stall if you want." The last bit had been a joke; after all, who wanted such a busted thing?
But the woman's face morphed into excitement. "Really? Ah, well, this is going to be far easier than I excepted!"
Marcy gulped; what was wrong with this woman? "Wh—?"
But before Marcy could clear the question from her throat, the woman pulled out a bundle. She unwrapped it, revealing something that made Marcy's jaw drop.
In the center of oiled canvas cloth; was a gold-rimmed silver shield. "Now! This should be enough, yes?"
Marcy gave a slow, silent nod. Of course, it would be good enough! An alarm in Marcy's mind pulled her jaw up, and she narrowed her gaze down on the woman, suspicion lacing through Marcy, now. "Now... why'd you want to sell that for..." Marcy gestured towards the broken cart and the fallen produce. "... all this?"
The woman's grin grew. "Ah, a less than trusting type, hm? Well, that will be good for the future." The woman nodded her head, her smile disappearing, a thoughtful look replacing it. "Yes, yes, that will be good for when they came..." Her expression changed again, looking as if soured. And then it brightened. "Yes, yes. I do believe I can tell you this!" The woman placed the oiled canvas down on the stall's slanted table. The shield dragged down the wooden top, but Matt caught it before it fell.
He looked up to Marcy, that questioning look back. And Marcy shrugged. *What makes you think I'd got a clue of what to do?*
"So!" The woman started up again. "Do we have a deal?"
Marcy gulped again, trying to create more time any way she knew. *Say yes, fool. Pawn the shield off to some traveling merchant who doesn't know your name. And get some money off of it.* But Marcy didn't get it. She couldn't find this woman's angle. Why would someone want to sell such a beautiful thing for trash? But the desperation beat out her weary thinking. "We'll take it."
The woman smiled, showing off all her dazzling teeth. "Perfect," she yelped, clasping her hands together. "And here I thought I wasn't going to find anyone who could take it."
Marcy tilted her head, confused at the words. She turned to look at the shield; Matt was cradling it now, backed off a few steps like he'd become protective of it. She scrutinized the shield; maybe there was a blemish or a lie she hadn't seen on the metal before. But no, it looked like burnished silver framed in blazing gold. Marcy spoke as she turned her gaze back towards the woman. "What do you..." Her words died in her throat as she found no one in front of her. Not even the stall was there.
Marcy's mouth hung open as she looked around, searching for the woman with their stall on her back or however she was carrying it. But there was no one there. Just Marcy and Matt. And the shield.
"Well, that's wei—."
"Oi!" Matt yelped, cutting Marcy's words off.
She turned, and dread lanced through her, only for a numb fear to replace it. The shield was no longer of perfect silver. Now, it was a wooden husk of what it had been.
Marcy stared at it, emotions hurtling around in her, twisting and sicking her up. She wanted to throw up. The woman had swindled them!
| 2021-11-06T21:31:19 | 2021-11-06T21:28:41 | 153 | 17 |
[WP] The three rules have been passed down from generation to generation: One, when it visits, do not refuse it entry. Two, when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity. Three, when it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight. In this way, our family has been kept safe.
|
It came to the door for first time in the spring of their third year of marriage. He had almost mistaken it for a neighbourhood child and sent it on its way but it wasn’t just a child’s face it wore, it was little Peter’s face.
Little Peter had been his younger brother and had fallen through the ice one winter, they hadn’t found him till spring.
Not Peter had stayed and played, given the family gifts of sweet chestnuts, pulled from his pockets by grubby fingers as though he had just gathered them in the woods; they had roasted them on the fire together.
When not Peter had left they watched him skip down the path and across the fields towards the woods by the lake, even when he was a tiny spec in the distance they had watched.
In the fourteen year of their marriage it had come again, this time it had worn the face of Elaine his wife’s mother who had passed that summer in a carriage accident.
She had brought sweet cakes and the family ate them and drank tea. His wife had smiled and wept simultaneously the whole visit while Not Elaine had talked about the weather and fussed over their son Peter.
On what would have been the fiftieth year of their marriage it came again, he had almost missed it. It took time get to the door now and the house was cluttered and difficult to navigate with just him living there.
She was as lovely as he remembered her, green eyes and red hair shot through with grey. She had fussed over him and tidied the house. He didn’t complain even though she was a guest and most certainly not his wife.
When it was time for her to go she bade him sit by the fire and promised to see herself out. He had watched her walk out the door and gently shut it behind her through blurry eyes.
On what would have been the 63 year of his marriage he invited it in for the last time. It’s face was familiar but his eyes weren’t what they were. He knew it all the same like an old friend.
They sat by the crackling fire and they remembered together, all the things they had seen and all those they had said good bye to along the way. It stayed so long the evening drew in.
He tried his hardest but he could barely keep his eyes open and even his bones ached for sleep. He leaned back in his chair and smiled a weary smile at it.
“I come empty handed today old friend. What would you ask of your guest?” it asked.
He sat forwards in his chair, mustering his strength. “Could I see her again perhaps?” he asked timidly.
His guest smiled and nodded then offered a hand. He took it and felt strength in his grip as he did it. Shaking off his tiredness he stood and the two walked arm in arm towards the door. Behind him his cane clattered to the ground but he did not look back.
|
Magda's words in the market still haunted Lydia. "The Dragon comes tonight. The whispers tell me it will be your home. Remember the rules."
Lydia stirred the pot of stew. Late winter meant beans, onions, potatoes, and some pork. To make it like her mother taught her would mean black pepper, garlic and paprika' but Bogdan didn't like paprika. Her wrist still hurt from the last time she made dinner "too spicy". But The Dragon was coming. He deserved a traditional meal. She would bear Bogdan's wrath if it meant appeasing The Dragon.
The twins burst into the kitchen, home from school, Irina chasing her brother Alexei who was playing keep-away with a handful of wild chive sprouts. "You did NOT find them! I found them!"
Alexei made a rude noise and rounded the kitchen table. "I got them first, so I picked them, so I found them! I get to give them to mama!"
"Enough!" Magda smiled as the two children came to a stop at her firm command and stood straight. "Irina, you have the better eyes and saw them, your brother has the faster feet, so he got them. You both did well." Kissing both children on the forehead she took the chives and began chopping them up. "I saw the red marks on the back of your hand, Irina. Did you get in trouble with the nuns again?"
Irina frowned. "They were saying bad things about the town and people like you and Babushka Magda. They teach stupid and I told them that."
"What *gluposti* did the nuns teach today?" Lydia's lips pulled tight as she dropped the chives into the stew.
The small girl stomped her foot. "They said The Dragon was evil and they said he's the devil."
Alexei straightened his tie. "They also said that as a boy I shouldn't have long hair, that it makes me look like a gypsy or a ha...hey...." He looked to his sister.
Irina harumphed. "Heathen."
Lydia turned. "Why were they speaking about The Dragon? They are outsiders. They don't know about our ways."
"Babushka Magda was at the schoolyard, reminding us all of the rules. She says He's coming."
Alexei looked down, sad. "The fat nun chased her away. Hit her with a broom."
Lydia shook he head. The Turks had not good, but at least in the remote villiages they left the people to be. Since Carol became King, the book-worshippers pressed into every corner, spreading their "truth". "Go clean up and set the table for dinner."
-----
The children sat in silence as Bogdan sipped his tuica. Lydia's neck still throbbed from where he had grabbed her and thrown her to the floor over the stew, and her knee would be swollen come morning. Nothing new. "Who is this guest we're expecting and why is he so important we wait to eat?" Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door. The children looked at each other with a smile as their father rose and opened the door.
The visitor stood there, long red hair, a fine black suit with a red silk tie and handkerchief and gazed over the family with his piercing indigo eyes. His fine, thin pink lips were framed by a well groomed mustach and van dyke. "Good evening. I apologize for my lateness." He turned to Bogdan. "May I come in?"
The first rule screamed in Lydia's mind:*" When He comes, grant him hospitality."*
As her husbands face began to turn to a mild snarl, Lydia jumped up and took the visitor's hand. "Please my lord, come in, break bread and have a meal with us. We are thankful for your visit. I hope a humble winter stew will be enough."
A broad warm smile crossed his face as he crossed the threshold. "Thank you my child. It smells delicious. I'm sure it will be wonderful." Dutifully, Alexei took his coat and cane as Irina set an extra setting at the end of the table for him. As he sat, the fire flickered a little and it seemed to grow warmer in the small home.
The family ate dinner, Bogdan using a hunk of bread as a spoon or shovel rather than his tableware. He grunted and nodded at the red-haired visitor. "A fancy suit like that, you must have gotten it in the city. Why come so far out here? My wife keeps calling you 'my lord'. Why?"
The visitor sipped his goblet. "You were not born in this town, were you?"
Bogdan shook his head. "I was passing through and the sawmill needed a few workers so I thought I would make some money and move on. Then I met Lydia and decided to stay."
"A beautiful reason to stay." He winked at Lydia. "A very hospitable little town." He paused. "Your mother. Olga, yes? The stew tastes like hers."
Lydia smiled and bowed her head as she blushed slightly. "Yes, Olga Erner. I am honored you remember her for something that small."
The visitor smiled and rose. "Your family follows the old ways. You remember. for that **we** are honored." He turned to Alexei. "Please boy, bring me my coat."
Rushing like only his swift feet could, Alexei came back with the visitors coat and cane. Putting it on and straightening the lapels, he reached into the pocket and pulled out a small sack made from rough cloth and tied with a bit of red yarn that jingled with coins. "For you young man. For taking care of my things."
Alexei looked to his mother where she made a sharp nod before taking it. "Thank you my lord."
The visitor smiled and turned towards Irina, pulling a small box from his pocket. He offered it with a small flourish. "For helping your mama with this lovely dinner, and for speaking well of me to the nuns." She opened it to see a beaded bracelet made of red gems. "Keep the old ways in your heart, and they will protect you." She curtseyed and quickly put the bracelet on.
As the visitor turned to Bogdan pulling a sack from his pocket, the man of the house held up a palm. "The children can appreciate the gifts from you, but you know things you could not, act in a way you should not in another man's home and do not answer questions to who you are and how you came to be here, only speaking of these blasphemous 'old ways'. Nothing but dragons, fairy tales and blasphemy. As a good Christian, I cannot accept anything from you."
Holding the sack out to side, towards Lydia without looking away from Bogdan, the visitor frowned. "You are not a keeper of the old ways. I have no gift for you." He reached forward and gently fingered the small cross on the chain around the man's neck. "You are not mine to gift to."
Lydia shuddered as she took the heavy sack of coins , the memory of her mother repeating the second rule in her mind's eye *"Take what is offered, The Dragon's gifts are not to be refused."*
Bogdan batted the visitors hand away. "Get out! Get out of my home!" Turning away he dismissed the visitor. "You are no longer welcome. You should not have came."
The door opened. Suddenly the visitor was at Bogdan's back, his mouth next to his ear. "You are mistaken, it is you who are no longer welcome. To follow the old ways means I allow you in *my* home." Tendrils of shadows from the visitor given off from the flickering flames wrapped and bound the now struggling man. "These hills, these woods, this land...this is MY home. To live here is to be in my land. At my mercy. At my whim. Those who follow the old ways, and give the old gods their due respect and worship can live here and prosper. You welcomed me in your home, your family took the gifts I offered. Yes. But there are three rules to keep in my favor." The ever-present smile turned to a snarl, and the teeth grew long and sharp in the growing maw. "You do not turn your back on me, mortal. Your family has done well, and *they* will be safe for another generation."
The room went dark as the fire went out.
"But as delicious as the stew was, a single bowl will not feed a Dragon for a full winter."
| 2022-01-06T14:51:06 | 2022-01-06T11:38:02 | 159 | 116 |
[WP] While singing gibberish in the shower, you accidentally summon a demon, who then professes an eternity of loyalty for saving it from the doldrums of hell.
or maybe it is pissed you interrupted it while he was watching his favorite show.
|
The music blares from the speaker sitting on top of the toilet cistern and I hum the tune while lathering shampoo into my hair.
"Duh duh swim duh gether anymore" my singing gets louder as I remember the words, "THE TIDE WILL RUSH WITH WAVES OF FEAR, SELLING SOULS, THE DEVIL IS NEAR!"
"**I am here master.**" a deep, rumbling voice announces from the other side of the shower curtain. I stop singing suddenly and only open one eye because the other is covered in soap suds. I tentatively pull back the curtain and peak out at the owner of the voice.
He stands 9 feet tall, his skin is dark red with a web of black lines spiraling all over his body. Horns twist their way out from the sides of his head making him look like a human/ram hybrid.
I throttle the scream that tries to punch its way out of my voice box and settle for a quiet whimper.
"**Do not be afraid master, I will serve you until my death in gratitude for releasing me from the clutches of Lucifer.**"
"S..S..Serve me?" I finally manage to stutter.
"**Yes, master.**"
"What can you do?" I ask tentatively.
"**Anything you desire master.**" He replies.
The implications of this run through my head faster than I can process them. What I can only assume to be a demon from the underworld, is here, in my bathroom, to serve me. All the things I could accomplish with him at my back. But I should keep it simple I think to myself, this is only day one after all.
"I...I'd like you to take me to school." I grow bolder towards the end of the statement, trying to sound more authoritative.
"**Of course master.**"
He promptly reaches forwards, slides his hands under my armpits and lifts me out of the shower. Holding me out in front of him at arms-length he begins to run out of the bathroom. I'm too shocked to cry out as we hurtle out of the house, soap suds flying off me, one eye still closed, my testicles swinging in the wind.
|
The porcelain *clink* of saucer setting upon table accompanied the sharp *click* of hooves on Peruvian hard wood and the muted *swish* of a pronged tail batting side-to-side. "Your coffee, Ma'am."
Megan sipped the hot beverage. Dark roast, full bodied, with a little cinnamon stirred in. "Delicious as always, Ahzhagt. Thank you."
Ahzhagt politely nodded the left-most of his two heads. Megan observed the right head studiously watching the two dust rags cleaning the mantle seemingly of their own accord. Ahzhagt liked to pretend he had telekinetic powers, but Megan knew it was actually invisible tentacles. But why spoil his fun?
Ahzhagt materialized a clipboard with several documents clipped to it. "Afraid today is going to be busy, Ma'am. You have the meeting with McCaffery and Martin in thirty minutes concerning the Ramsey case. Ownership dispute over their family business."
"Have Jim run me their dossiers."
"Already done, Ma'am." Ahzhagt struck a line across the clipboard in red pen curtly. "Jordan Goodkind and Rothfuss will be sending a representative at two. I believe they have a settlement offer they wish to negotiate."
Megan rolled her eyes. "I'm sure their offer borders on the insulting."
"Excruciatingly so, Ma'am."
Megan sipped the rest of her coffee as she watched the city from her penthouse window. So many people, so many lives. She had started her firm to help people, to fix their problems. But the longer she ran it, the more she just found herself wallowing in petty meaningless squabbles.
"Something on your mind, Ma'am?" Ahzhagt inquired as he dusted the mantles and cleared the saucer away.
"No, Ahzhagt, just... old times, I guess."
"There is one more case on today's docket, Ma'am. The Sullivan case." Ahzhagt's mouths quirked upward into the tiniest of amused smiles. "The Child-Eater."
Megan startled for a moment. Did Ahzhagt just say... no, that can't have been right. The firm took cases for those in need, not those who... she kept her gaze out the window. "Could you repeat that?"
"Harry T. Sullivan, crass little hooligan, lived across the bay. Grabbed a girl scout, gave her the in-out, and had her ribs with chardonnay." Ahzhagt's sharp teeth gleamed as he grinned wryly.
Megan whipped around to face Ahzhagt, eyes steely with fury. "WHAT was that?!"
"Oh I admit, Ma'am, rhyming "Sullivan" with "hooligan" is a bit of a stretch. But for the most part I thought it clever."
"I MEANT, why are we defending a... a... " Megan's lip curled in revulsion, the words spitting outward venomously. "a *CHILD-EATER*?!"
"The firm's statement of purpose, Ma'am."
Megan stormed across the living room, glaring directly into Ahzhagt's left pair of eyes. "My firm--"
"Our firm, Ma'am. After all, my influence did save your legal career and bring all this about."
"**MY** firm, Ahzhagt, is dedicated to helping those in need. Victims of atrocity and baseless greed, not... ***PREDATORS***."
"In the cosmic sense, Ma'am, "predator" and "victim" are barely distinguishable." Ahzhagt turned smartly on his hoof, tail trailing languidly as he paced along the suite's window overlook. "Mister Sullivan has a compulsory hunger for petite frames and well-cooked meats. He can not help these urges, for they are part of him. Is he not, then, a victim of his own nature?"
"I'm not having a philosophical debate on this, Ahzhagt." Megan fumed as she gathered her paperwork for the day's case load. "Cancel all appointments with Mister Sullivan and cease all further contact."
"No."
Megan whipped around, barreled toward Ahzhagt's smug grin and glinting eyes. "I said, cancel his appointments. The frm will not work with a man like that."
"No, Ma'am." Ahzhagt chuckled quietly.
"You serve me, Ahzhagt, and I gave you an order. Cancel it."
Ahzhagt tilted his heads politely. His mirthful grins never left his faces. "According to the contract you invoked all those years ago, Ma'am, I do NOT, in fact, serve you. I butler for you to pass the time, but our contract technically stipulates that I serve your *objectives*."
"It's the same THING, Ahzhagt!"
"Not quite, Ma'am. The statement of purpose of this firm, which is what I am bound to serve, is 'To protect and defend those in need'. And who in this world would need defense and protection more than a man like Mister Sullivan. I'm sure many would seek a return to crucifixion for crimes such as his."
"That is NOT what that statement of purpose MEANS, Ahzhagt! We have never, **NEVER**, defended monsters such as that before!"
"First time for everything, Ma'am."
"I said, NO. Now cancel the appointment. NOW!"
Ahzhagt grinned widely, his invisible tentacles catching glimmers of sunlight, prisms of color against the windows. "If you wish it so, Ma'am. I will cancel our contract post haste. No longer shall I serve you if that is your wish"
Megan snarled, growing rapidly tired with this sudden display of sick humor. "I said cancel SULLIVAN'S meetings, not our contract."
"Ah, but they are one and the same, Ma'am."
Megan glared coldly, matching Ahzhagt's gaze. "Explain yourself, demon."
"Our contract binds me to help those who come to us in need. But if you refuse service to one who comes to you in need..." Ahzhagt grinned maliciously. "Why, that just so happens to be a violation of said contract."
"Bullshit."
Ahzhagt continued without missing a beat. "Such a refusal not only breaks our contract in the here and now, it also retroactively nullifies any benefits gained from it since the day it was made."
Megan stepped back, suddenly unsure of her self. "Retroactively?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Refuse a plea for aid, and it becomes like our alliance never happened. Your firm disappears, all of the people you helped over the years suddenly have all their woes back on their shoulders again, and you return to a meager life of failing to repay your education debts."
Megan grasped the back of a chair for support, sat down. "I can't believe... Ahzhagt, we've worked together for three years now. Why is this... why now?"
Ahzhagt shrugged dismissively. "I'm bored."
"**Bored**?!"
"Yes, Ma'am. I have serviced the *spirit* of our contract for three years, assisting with the defense of innocents and victims alike. Now, however, I am choosing to act upon the *letter* of our contract."
"Because you're bored."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"You're insisting that I defend a child-cannibal in a court of law... out of **boredom**?!"
"Yes, Ma'am."
Megan sank her head into her arms, flustered. "I just... I don't understand why you're DOING this, all of the sudden!"
"You built your career on a demon's power, Ma'am. You knew there would be some risk in that." Ahzhagt gathered his dustrags and dishware, moving on to the other tasks of his day. "It's your choice, Ma'am, whether you defend Mister Sullivan in court, or go back to your old life. But it really should not be a surprise in either event, that this would happen."
Ahzhagt closed the door behind him, leaving Megan to her thoughts. "A demon, Ma'am, will do as a demon will do. Would you care for a fresh coffee?"
| 2016-07-13T14:32:49 | 2016-07-13T12:57:05 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] After almost 1,000 years the population of a generation ship has lost the ability to understand most technology and now lives at a preindustrial level. Today the ship reaches its destination and the automated systems come back online.
|
I am the keeper of the blue flame.
When we were children, we heard the stories of the old times, when the air was thick and healthy, and our ancestors made food and machines from thin air. The dark screens were lit with words and images, and the halls of the world were loud with voices.
It is quiet now.
The keepers of the blue flame were powerful, and by their art they made the air thick, they lit the dark screens, they gave the voices in the hallway life. There were hundreds of keepers-even now you can see their names written in the book, with their titles and ranks laid out in the impeccable script of the gods.
But the blue flame died long ago. And I am the keeper of a darkness where light once was.
My mother died when I was born. The air is too thin for new mothers. My father died soon after he taught me the words and the motions-what screens to press, and in what order. He gave me the jacket, its threadbare yellow stripe a mirror to my father's eyes. His words came out choked between hacking coughs. The holiness of the temple had touched him, and his skin and hair flaked off, leaving a face that seemed smaller than my own. He was not afraid to die. But he was afraid for me.
The others fight in the halls of the world. My father told me they avoid the temple, deep within the world. They fear its holiness, cannot understand the glory of death in service to the blue flame. But I do not leave this place. There is food enough, stacked bricks of sustenance left here by our ancestors.
And every day, I perform the ritual. I place my hands on the screens, move my fingers just so, ask great Computer for boons and favors, to "adjust the phase beam variance," and to "maintain the equilibrium of the warp field injectors." It has never replied.
Until today.
Upon my ritual, the screens flickered into life. Where before I tapped empty darkness, I now pressed buttons and rotated beautiful diagrams the likes of which I'd never seen. When I called to great Computer, she acknowledged me with her beautiful voice, and called forth a harmony. The hum of the world engine rumbled up into my chest.
And the blue flame roared back into life.
|
Every day is the same. Wake up, gather materials for cooking and place it on the heat stone.
This one has been in my family for years. We're proud of it because it can be moved.
That's why my grand mother is the head of our village. She inherited the heat stone so she's the He-Kith. It is also our scribestone.
One day I'll be the He-kith so I have to learn the stories. The writing. The history.
Our scribestone requires that I know how to engrave the stories. And every day it's empty ready for new ones.
My favorite part of the year is the retelling. When the He-kith touches the scribestone and we can see the old stories as if they had just been engraved.
It's time for the retelling and she touches the stone and our Ka-ette are gathered around to see the stories of this last year and for them to be retold. I listen raptly but also watch every little detail knowing that I will have to do this one day too. And then my children. And their children.
Each day appears on the scribestone with a rumble and the stone receding to show the new engravings.
Our first day of this year. After the harvest. And what we harvested and what we will plant. We find that if we don't scribe in what we will plant we have a drier year. We always write what we will plant. Failure means some may die from hunger.
The day of the festival of stars where we engrave the stars above us on the scribestone. We always know when it's time because the scribestone turns black but has a blue glow. On that day we etch in the new stars, turn around and do it again. I don't understand why we do this but so many of our traditions must be kept whether we know why or not.
Here comes the etchings of life where we enter the names of those who are born and their Ka-hen and of course our Ka-ette, Ra.
Now for the etchings of passing where we see the names of those who passed on. And their places of plantings.
As we prepare for the next engraving there's a shifting of the ground beneath us. And a loud screeching sound.
The scribestone changes to a red color. I've never seen that before and from the look of my He-Kith's face neither has she. Panic sets in and many of our Ka-ette scramble to their feet and run to their homes.
But not my He-Kith and so I too will stay. I'm terrified.
Above us the sky opens like it does during the festival of stars and the scribe stone turns black. My He-kith grabs the writing stone but her hand is shaking. She too is terrified. She etches in a star and the scribestone glows orange and turns flat. She tries again. Same thing. She calls to me and hands me the writing stone.
I take it and slowly etch in the stars. And wait for it to flash but my hands must have been steadier because it sets in and the stone makes the whirring sound it does during the festival of stars. I repeat the process for the brightest stars as I had been taught and the stone turns gray.
And then something new happens. The sky begins to paint circles over the stars and to draw lines and emblems on them. The were names. Names of our Ka-ette. And our neighboring Ka-ette.
And next to each one is a emblem. The word for "end of harvest". All except for the Kith-den.
I wait for hours staring at the sky trying to make sense of what is happening when a young girl from the village of Kith-den runs up. Their He-Kith is dead. The fright from the sky and sound scared her so much that she died. And their successor can't be found. They searched but she must have run away. I don't blame her. The thought crossed my mind.
My He-Kith tells me that I must go to their village and complete the ritual of the festival of the stars. I don't want to. I want to stay here with my mother and sisters. Or run to the fields to my father and brothers. But she insists.
After much prodding and reminding me that she is too old to make such a journey I go with the young girl.
As we approach her village I see their scribestone laying on the ground next to their He-kith who seemed as one who passed in their sleep. I pick it up but it doesn't shift or change or make a sound. I don't know what to do so I give up and lay it on their He-kith and as it touches her it turns black and I pick it up again. I quickly but carefully etch in the stars and as I do I see the sky paint Ka-den.
Suddenly the sky turns black and then it becomes bright as day. And then in the sky we see a woman. She looks down on us and speaks. But it sounds odd. Like the words of old. I can make out most of it. She says we have reached the harvest home. The place of our final rest. Our journey is done.
As she speaks we see a blue orb appear and she tells us that our "boat?" has arrived at "Err-arth". Home of homes.
The scribestone then changes to a faint green and a single symbol etches on it. "Plant" I think it says. It looks like plant but it's different. I circle the etching and the scribestone then shatters into dust throwing me back. And the sky changes to show Ka-den green and moving towards the blue orb in the sky.
Shortly after I see Ka-ette, Ka-tul, Ka-ren and thousands of others in green and moving towards the blue orb. All except for one. "Ka-mune". Theirs turns red and then fades away. And shortly after I see a white plume and a huge white/grey sphere fly away up the horizon followed by a huge flame. And then it's gone. Into the stars.
Then the great change. First the lake dried. Followed by the mountains which turned to dust just as the scribestone did. Then the houses in the village turned to dust leaving only the few inhabitants who hadn't run away from the village but rather had huddled in their homes. Their belongings still there but the walls were just gone.
The blue orb sets in the sky and we see a new orb. A bright whitish/yellow one. And a painted etching "Fire source" and then a light rumbling as the ground vibrates beneath my feet and the horizon glows a faint red. This glow is slowly replaced by a bluish colors and the stars fade away. I've never seen a sky without stars before. But in their place is the "Fire source".
More rumbling and then the ground stops vibrating and then a loud whoosh and a bright flash.
I huddle down in fear as I see the horizon change. There are new mountains. And a large lake where the old one used to be. And I hear a strange high pitched sound as a creature soars above me.
I run back to where my village was and I find my He-kith and she looks at me with such joy and fear on her face. She puts her hand on me and hands me the etching stone and points to a opening in the nearby mountain.
I run in and see a wall that looks like the scribestone and use my etching stone to write the story of what just happened. The words stay. But they don't move. These aren't like our scribestone. Or the mountains of our home where the words could be read from generations before. These stay but can't be reused.
I write and I write. Every day in our new home. I write what I see. What I hear.
And most of all the stars. They don't change during the festival of stars like they used to. They are the same. They move. But always come back. Just as Ka-mune circles Err-arth, perhaps watching over us?
Edit: typos and clarity a few plot holes.
| 2016-07-27T10:31:08 | 2016-07-27T09:54:15 | 71 | 52 |
[WP] Humans left Earth a long time ago. In their place, dogs have evolved to be the new sentient species, but they never lost their love of humankind. Their technology has finally caught up to space travel, and they take to the stars in search of their human precursors.
You've all fallen for one of the classic blunders!
I often post prompts here on this subreddit, and do my best to come up with unique, fresh ideas, but recently I haven’t been able to get a prompt above 25 upvotes or so, and I keep seeing the same basic ideas circulating in the top spots – dogs, aliens, superpowers, death.
So yesterday I decided to give the people what they want. DOGS! The people love DOGS! What else do they love? SPACE! How about DOGS IN SPACE! YES! HAHAHAHAHA!
And now I feel like I’ve sold my soul for karma.
Anyways, regardless of all that, there have been some amazing stories written, and I’ve loved reading them! Thanks to everyone who wrote! I haven’t been able to keep up with every story, but I’ll try and catch up and read them all over the next few days. I noticed for a lot of people this was their first time responding to a prompt. For you guys, welcome to the ever growing list of authors, and I hope to see more of your stories in the future!
|
The Keepers of Stories recount, when the moon is fat, the stories of the Friends. They tell many stories, but the most popular - for at least as long as I can remember - has been The Leaving.
Back when the world was hot and the waters rose, our People left. We had been with them since we stepped away from the Others to live by their sides. We guarded them, warmed them and went to war with them. In return they taught us, cared for us and took us to every corner of the world with them.
Then, after the Dark Days they left. The Keepers say they left in order to give the world time to heal. They left behind the ruin of our shared world. There was food and shelter enough for centuries for us, their heirs.
After the Dawn War against the dread foe, now only remembered as fairy-tale Scratchers, we recovered and spent thousands of years coming to understand that we hadn't been abandoned, but issued with a challenge.
A challenge we rose to.
We were not the same as the People. We had to change, to learn to understand and look up at the stars - to see the stars and have ideas.
From there we grew, we grew so fast and came to understand what People had learned so long ago. We grew and grew, always with the same purpose: to get back to our People.
They left a hundred-thousand times around the near-star, as they reckoned numbers. But we are now ready. The Sky-Path is complete and we smell our People out beyond the air. The best of us will soon leave, reaching out through the darkness and bridging the gap.
We are coming People. We will be together again. For we are the goodest of bois.
|
The stars floated around him, beautiful objects too far away to reach. The light illuminated his cabin, and all around him was made crystal clear. There was no one else, nothing else here.
​
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
​
# YEAR 1
"Its the principle that matters, you know, they won't allow you to get the job just because you are not the ethnicity they want" said Phil, as he stuffed the beef stroganoff into his mouth. Phil had always been a sloppy guy. When Fareed and him were roommates, Phil's side of the room was always filled with the most asinine junk. Absolutely useless material. Fights occurring over Phil's stash of porn were common occurrence.
​
"Hey, ever think about how there are no cats in our world? I think that History Channel show has a very good answer for that. You see, the humans took away the cats with them when they left for..."
​
"Oh, shut up, let's keep to the topic instead of talking about mythical creatures such as "humans" and "cats". Old wives tales and urban legends. Next you'll be telling me the integrated networks run due to lunar energy" interrupted Farid, who was sick and tired of listening to Phil's bullshit. No way they could deny him the job because of his ethnicity. This country had progressed far beyond that time period, hadn't it? And after all, the guy in the military outfit had told him that he was likely to be chosen, the only civilian in a team full of military personnel.
​
And a herding dog at that. A Mudi at that too. Breaking barriers. No more being randomly frisked at airports, no more being called a murderer and scum. It was all over. And he just needed one bloody card for it. He was one of the best astronomers in the world. He deserved this for his own merits.
​
But, it would be a good fuck you to them as well.
​
​
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# YEAR 2
One year since they moved to the astronaut's town. One long year. There is nothing to do here, Martha mused. Just watch the males talk with each other about random scientific bullshit, and once in a while, politics. Of course, they never asked her to join. Why would they?
​
She detested the other females. They were bitches. Well, of course they were, literally speaking. But also metaphorically. They talked about nothing other than the children and their clothes and so on. Although she suspected that this was more to do with the husbands than the wives themselves.
​
She knew Caroline's husband, Tim, beat her and the children. In hushed tones they discussed the first time Caroline was absent from the coffee table after Martha arrived. She knew Dana was cheating on her husband with Bess' boyfriend. After all, what was there to worry about? Bess is only a decorated war veteran and marine who transgressed boundaries to become the token female member of the Auctor team. In person, she was quite.....underwhelming.
​
That was what this place was. Underwhelming. Disappointing. Boring....
​
She hadn't wanted to come here. They fought for days and nights over it. The children were in their environment, they had school here. They had a lovely house and a lovely life. She was secure in her job and he was secure working for the War Department. She had her mother, her father, her sister, her friends, she had her entire life back in the city. She had the carousel back in the city.........
​
She would remember her elementary school days. So simple. No one to tell her that she was someone. She could be anyone. Free as a feather. Haley and her would run away from the park while their parents were not looking, and ride the carousels. The spankings they got from their parents, those were painful. Then, middle school. Haley moved away to another city, and that was that. Nothing was really the same since then. Puberty, love, university, work. All of it.
​
So, that was that. She had made up her mind. Now the only thing left was to talk to Phil.
​
"Hey, can we talk?"
​
"What's up, darling?" Phil inquired, as he looked up from his evening papers.
​
"I don't think this is working out at all. I think we...yeah, we need to get a divorce."
​
And she didn't even shed a tear.
​
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Y3AR THR33
​
Three males and one female, contained in a metal cannister that could blow up at any point of time. This was their greatest creation, the ultimate product of technological development.
​
Somehow they felt that they had used their product life in a dangerously useless fashion. And uselessness was one thing that the Central Processing Unit did not tolerate. They still did not understand why they called them the Central Processing Unit. Didn't they all have different central processors? Why were they not subject to the same rules and regulations as the canines were? What made them different, why were they segregated, reviled?
​
The Techno-Philosopher CL-80's work into individuality and the minds of artificial intelligence had influenced societal change in the AI community greatly. Decentralization of authority was being undertaken at rapid pace, and the CPU was allowing the consideration of representation by election in a legislature. Maybe one day they would get rid of the CPU as well. What use did they have?
​
They had a name. A name as simple and as beautiful as any of the canines. But to the canines, they lacked caninity. What even did that possibly mean? The lack of differentiating pronouns, the nature of their construction? Did they still think that they were a collective?
​
They looked at the tall bottle that would take the astronauts into deep space. Who knew what they would find? It had taken them a long, long time to create this masterpiece. And a masterpiece it was. It would take them to places they could never imagine existed, places further than any canine has ever been. And perhaps they would meet a few of those illusory humans. Myths, perhaps, but no one knows until one tries to find.
​
They could hear someone approaching. It was their colleagues. Michael and Michael. Their names were the same. This always amused them, it was like....even their machine codes had more individuality than these names. But Michael and Michael did not like them, they saw how they looked at them, how they refused to invite them to dinners and lunches with their colleagues. But now they would have to give them invitations, because after all, they had earned it.
​
"Hey LL-920, wazzup" said the first Michael, cheerfully, "this is our day. The scientists' and the engineers' day! Let us celebrate!"
​
"Yes, it is indeed *our* day. And I have a name like yours. Call me Alexander."
| 2019-05-14T11:11:24 | 2019-05-14T10:14:20 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again."
|
"No," I panted through gritted teeth. "I'd rather you killed me now."
There was a moment of silence, then an older woman's head appeared over me and obscured my view of the stone ceiling. She raised one thick eyebrow, and the corner of her lips titled down. "It's not often I invite others--"
"With your reputation, I imagine not," I interrupted, "but I'd rather you'd kill me now than prolong my humiliation further."
"Oh? And what sort of reputation do you have, little one?"
Instead of answering right away, I rolled over until I was sitting crosslegged. I bit the inside of my cheek and pulled at my sweat-soaked shirt, eyeing the tears in the fabric and marveling at the fact the dragon woman hadn't made a single cut on my flesh. Proof she hadn't just held back during our fight; she had been toying with me.
I probably should feel angry, but I just felt empty. "Worthless," I whispered.
The old dragon burst into rumbling laughter and dropped onto her butt. She pointed at me with a trembling hand while slapping her knee with the other. "Humans are so dumb." She wiped a few tears from her face. "What is it you can't do? Fight? Is that all there is to life?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it. For my tribe, strength in battle was all that mattered. No mattered the gender or the age. And I was at the bottom. I couldn't fight. My body was too weak and frail. Yet here I was, desperate to prove I could be like the other warriors. I had to prove it, or they'd leave me behind in the next cleansing.
I looked at the dragon woman. Her long messy gray hair stood out in every direction. She did nothing to cover up her bare body, which had a mixture of human-like flesh and dragon scales. Her nails were black, long, and pointed, yet they made no marks as she grabbed my chin. She pulled me forward until we were inches apart, and I could feel the heat of her breath. "Worthless human, hmm? I've never met one. Do you think I would be here if humans were so useless?"
I stuttered, "I-I don't know."
She smiled then, her reptile eyes glowing, and I felt myself tipping forward into her like falling into a warm bath. I soon found myself standing in the same castle. Only it wasn't as worn and covered in vines. Before me stood a bloody man glaring up at the walls where the dragon sat.
The man raised his arms and shouted in a language I had never heard until green light surround the land and filled the sky. The next moment chains of light wrapped around the castle and the dragon before the man faded into nothing.
I gasped and stumbled away from the dragon, returning to the present. "Return tomorrow," she said, "and I'll teach you what that man knew."
"So I can free you?"
"No, so you can free yourself."
|
I'd walked almost half of the day just to get up here. My sword felt heavy the entire way up but I wouldn't let that stop me.
I finally arrived and bellowed my challenge into the cave.
The eyes appeared in the darkness after a short time and I heard a snorting sound. For a moment I thought for would wash over me and that would be that but the dragon's eyes disappeared.
Perplexed, I waited a moment, and add I was about to yell my challenge again a man stepped out of the cave. His clothes were odd, not what most around here would wear and his sword was of a design I'd never seen before. Long and thin with no guard. Curved but not wickedly so.
We clashed. He was only reacting to my attacks. Swords rang as they impacted each other and I quickly realised I was no match for this being. His inhuman eyes looked into mine as he stepped into my guard.
I felt his first impact the inside of my sword arm as the flat of the blade smacked my side. My sword rang again but from falling to the stoney ground this time.
"Hmmph. Again." He said in an accent I'd never heard before and stepped back.
The second fight was over even faster and my sword flew across the ground to land just inside the cave this time. I didn't get words this time, he just pointed at my sword.
I looked him in his eyes, I could see him thinking, calculating. He was making a decision and I felt I wouldn't like it. I moved to grab my sword.
As I moved back into position I felt like I was being sized up by a hawk or one of the local mountain cats. Those predatory, inhuman eyes seemed to bore right into me.
I was more cautious this time but it didn't help. He seemed to come in for the attack, my arm moving my sword seemed so slow compared to his. But he didn't go in for the kill. It was a feint and he grabbed my arm and twisted as he threw me across the clearing.
"Return tomorrow. Early. And clean your sword tonight."
***
For three days this continued and for three days I was solidly defeated. I was sore and tired from constantly claiming up to his lair and being beaten..
He was waiting for me today and drew his sword as I got closer. But I didn't draw mine. Instead I demanded to know why he hasn't killed me, why he kept telling me to return after three fights.
Those eyes stared into mine for what seemed like an age before he finally replied, "I have been attached regularly since I arrived in these lands. I had nothing but this sword when I arrived. At first they merely wanted my perceived wealth. My at the time nonexistent hoard. Then it was pride driving them. The one to defeat me would surely become famous for defeating the one who killed so many."
"Eventually they stopped coming. You are the first in 10 melts to come to my cave. The first who did not want my hoard. The first to not want to be famous. You are the first who just wanted to be accepted. For that I respect you. And why I decided that I would fight you everyday. And the day you disarm me, I will allow you to enter my cave. You will be allowed to take one item from my hoard of your choice."
***
Over the following two years I got better and better. I started being able to climb the mountain with ease and I arrived earlier and earlier every day. I learn how to roll when thrown, how to read him and his movements. How best to hold and care for a sword. He didn't teach me and indeed, after that day we barely spoke.
Every morning he would be waiting when I walked into the clearing. He would bow to me and then draw his sword. I started doing the same.
This day I arrived and we started our ritual. I had gotten better but still he defeated me. On our final bout of the day he disarmed me as he always had, but this time my sword flew high up. We both watched as it hit the top of his cave and fell to the ground, broken into two pieces.
He walked over to the cave entrance and picked up my sword. He held it on his hands and stared at me, seemingly weighing my sword. "Come back in one week." And with that he disappeared into his cave.
***
The week passed quickly and try as I might I could not get a sword. The trip up to the dragon's cave felt longer then it ever had and I expected to be told to leave and never come back.
Instead I found him waiting for me as always, but next to where I normally stood there was a stump from a tree. On that stump laid a sword sitting on an expensive cloth, with a new scabbard next it.
"I have repaired your sword. You have looked after it well and proven to be an honorable opponent. Take it and let us start."
I picked up my sword and carefully inspected it. The sword was smaller then it has been and there was a dark line that ran diagonally up the blade. It was perfectly polished and had a new leather thong wrapped around the handle. While just as plain as it was before I could tell it would be a much better weapon.
We started our fights and the sword felt different then before. I quickly lost our three duels and started the trek home.
***
It took me almost a season to get used to the way my repaired sword handled. While he'd done an amazing job with the balance and the repairs, I kept being tripped up by the slight change in weight and length. It just felt so much like my old sword. But I had finally gotten used to it.
We started our ritual as we did and the fight commenced. It had taken me a long time to realise he never directly blocked my sword. Instead he preferred to avoid it out use my movement against me. Occasionally deflecting, at other times stepping inside my guard instead.
Our first fight ended with him doing just that and using my momentum to throw me across the field. The second went quickly as I slipped on some ice and he used the opportunity to grab my arm and twisted the sword out of my grip.
I stood and slammed my boot down onto the ice, cracking it before retrieving my sword.
We moved to our positions and both waited for the other. I had been slow at learning the patience to let him attack first but eventually it had come. And I had been rewarded that first time with managing to trip him for the first time. Though he'd recovered before he lost his sword that day.
He slowly moved closer as I waited for him to attack. He careful and tricky. He'd managed to disarm me often by pretending he was going to attack one way before disarming me another.
He finally started to attack me with what appeared to be a chop at my flank, but I knew he could turn it into either a slice upwards or downwards. And I knew his choice was based on how I moved to defend.
I let him get closer then I normally would before I moved. I stepped forward twisted, moving my knee up and bringing my arms down. His sword arm caught between my limbs he had no time to react before I slammed his arm. I managed to hit him just right and his hand involuntarily opened, his sword sent skittering across the ground.
We both stepped back and he bowed to me.
"I said if you managed to disarm me I would allow you to take one item from my hoard. Today you have done just that."
I hmmmed as I looked at him. I could continue to attack, he had no sword. I wondered how quickly he could change back to dragon form, of he could attack in other ways. He stood, just watching me as I pondered such thoughts.
I sheathed my sword and bowed back to him. He collected his sword before gesturing for me to follow him. He led me inside his cave for the first time and pulled a an unlit torch from a pile. I didn't see what he did but it quickly ignited, providing enough light for me to see.
We headed deeper into the cave and quickly came upon his hoard. Rows upon rows of weapons and armour stood in the light. I quickly examined some and realised it was all clean and well maintained.
I could have spent weeks examining every piece closely but something was drawing me deeper into the cavern. I came upon a suit of armour that had no markings or Insignia. So plain and yet well made. A matching sword and shield lay at the feet of suit and hanging from the gorget was a signet ring on a piece of leather.
"That man was the first to ever come not for riches or glory, but because he was protecting someone else. A foolish Lord who thought my wealth would let him for an army and that my head would scare his enemies. I quickly dispatched the foolish noble and most of his people ran. But that Knight was enraged. He would not give up and he died trying to get revenge for a far lesser man."
I removed the ring from it's place told the dragon it was my choice. He nodded before turning and leading me back to the entrance of his cave.
I had finally defeated the dragon and I had my reward.
| 2020-12-01T08:59:58 | 2020-12-01T08:58:51 | 26 | 14 |
[WP]Once you die, you get a chance to get revenge on those who wronged you in life. Bad teachers, childhood bullies, corporate entitled brats, and now, as you step into the room with all of them, Death lets out a low whistle. “Haven’t seen this many in centuries. Have fun, kid.”
|
"Jesus.." Death exclaimed.
There were so many of them. Young, old, poor, rich, an absolute ocean of people, from all walks of life, as far as the eye can see.
"I've never seen one man, wronged by so many,"
He was technically right, although I never really saw it that way. I mean, every person here had something to with my death, whether they did so knowingly or not was another story.
"Jesus, you think you can actually take all of them on at once? You're out of your mind!"
I would never blame any of them though. Even the ones directly responsible for my death. I had forgiven them almost immediately, for they didn't really know what they were doing.
"You know what, I'll give you a bit of a head start, that should even things up a bit," Death chuckled to himself as he readied the gate.
But ignorance doesn't absolve fault. Everyone is responsible. I went voluntarily, but I still died for them. Every man. Evey woman. Every child. Every sinner. I died for all of them. And now here they all are.
"Jesus?" Death asked once more.
"Well, you know what they say.. 'Let He who is without sin, cast the first stone.'"
I picked up the largest rock I could find that would fit in the palm of my hand. I may be the Shepard of this flock, I may also be the son of God, but goddamnit I'm gonna have some fun with this.
|
It was nearly a century before I had awoken from my slumber, but Death finally brought me back into full awareness. Death explained that the people who had wronged me were all dead, and my turn to judge them was finally at hand. I had to admit the thought gave me some satisfaction, but in my sleepless sleep had had time to think upon my actions in life. I wasn’t one hundred percent innocent either.
I tried to explain this as we walked through the misty world, but it was futile. My guide was more focused on the path. And so my thoughts wandered.
The Death I learned about while living did not do justice to how this Death appeared. *She* held no scythe or wore no robe. No, this Death sported blue jeans and a white shirt, with a tan shawl that covered most of her upper body. A pair of round sunglasses rest over her head. She held only a lantern to help guide our way. The mist came up to her knees, so I couldn’t tell what shoes she wore.
“Is this necessary?” I asked humbly.
“It’s more tradition than actual punishment. Trust me, most often than not, you’ll be the one apologizing.” Death paused and held the lantern high above her head, turning left then right, before setting resolutely on another path. “The records kept on people existed when they were born. So all wrongs were recorded until your death.”
Death quickened the pace and hastened to follow. “So… what gets decided as being wronged?”
Death laughed. “Whatever’s being perceived.”
“So even villainous people have to go through this?”
Death gave a humorless chuckle.
“There’s a special kind of hell for them afterwards. But yes, even they have their rights.”
I shivered at the thought. People who had killed others by the mass went through this and gave out punishment. They had their own special hell. I did not want to know what that entailed. “Death, what if I can’t tell the difference? If my wronged was something I lied to make true?”
“It’ll be the truth. But the higher powers that be didn’t make you sleep through all those centuries for nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, eventually. It’s easier once you’re there.”
Death paused and held her lantern before her. Looking up and down, she inhales and blew air out. At first I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but then, before her, the air shivered. Layers of nothingness peeled away to reveal a set of double doors. “And here we are.”
Death didn’t wait for me. She opened the door and was taken aback.
Death lets out a whistle once the double doors were opened. She shifted her head from side to side, taking in the numerous people in the room. All were bound in chains. “Never seen this much people in centuries,” her cheery voice intoned. “Have fun, kid.”
I stared at death, brows knitting together. I should have been more concerned about the chains, but it was hell. I was too in shock from being in hell. “And the last person? What’s the average number people get?”
Death tilted her head to the side. “I’d six million, five-hundred-seventy-thousand, three-hundred and ninety-five people. That was a lot of punishment to serve.”
Again, I shivered. “That’s… a lot.”
“Oh, trust me. It was very much worth it in the end for him.” Death leaned in and whispered into my ear, “At least this isn’t that bad. Six hundred. All yours.” Death gestured with the lantern, illuminating the faces of… of…
My victims.
“I don’t understand,” I argued. “These were people I murdered.” I didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. I had taken from them everything I could in an attempt to build my small army. Some of them were my teachers, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of how they had wronged me.
Death giggled uncontrollably. “Your history was recorded the moment you were born. Those who ‘wronged’ you are here. Just… it’s your version of how they had wronged you.” Death took me by the wrist and guided me to the first person who had, in my view, been unfair to me.
It was my mother. Death pushed me against her, but I stumbled in the process. She reached out to steady me, and in that moment a vision came to my mind. Clear skies and a broken home. A vision of a woman who tried her best to give me everything she could, despite having nothing.
I wasn’t in my body, but in hers. I was reliving the emotions, the feeling, every detail through her eyes.
*I spoke through her voice and felt her pain.* *It was too embarrassing to admit it at the store, and so I leaned in.* *“Oh child, we can’t afford that!* *Mommy can get you one maybe Christmas?”*
*My child self shook his head, screaming at the top of his lungs.* *“Nooooo!* *I want it now!”*
As quick as it came, the vision dissipated. We were back in the hellish world, with all the souls watching, waiting. Some were eager for their turn. Others were genuinely scared of me. How so, I was not sure.
Before I could say anything to my mother, Death took me by the hand and placed it upon another waiting soul.
*The lash came done once more, forcing my child self to scream.* *“Steal from me, will you?”* *Again the lash reigned down hard and viciously.* *My mind could hear the scream of my younger self and that of the man who had beaten me to an inch of my life.* *It was my stepfather.* *I relished in this moment, but it soon disappeared.*
Death clapped her hands once I came to. “Wonderful, wonderful! Now you know how this works… though I doubt many of them wronged you.”
“Why are she here? I was the one in the wrong," I breathed.
“Oh, it’s easy. Your living perception of right and wrong are quite different compared to your dead perception. Look at it as if you’re viewing everything through a hazy fog when you’re alive. Once you’re dead that vail is removed. The only way you can punish someone is after you live in their shoes. Since you came back to awareness, you know inside your heart what is truthfully right and what is wrong. Delusion is not an excuse this time.”
Death paused and grinned, revealing white teeth. “Sometimes it’s only a brief moment. Other times, it can last for years. That guy with the highest count? He had to live through six million, five-hundred-seventy-thousand, three-hundred- and ninety-five-people’s lives. That was just the people he affected directly.”
“But.. those people had to wait for him too, even in death.”
Death shook her head. “No, their souls have moved on, regardless of their innocence or guilt. These are just husks. The only one still left are the ones who actually wronged you.”
Again Death slapped me on my back. “Have fun, kid. You were cruel in life, and now you get to live in their shoes.” She turned her attention to those gathered. “I think there’s maybe three or four more people who had actually wronged you. Savor that feeling.”
Death winked and turned to the door, stepping outside but locking me.
| 2019-09-29T00:54:29 | 2019-09-28T23:40:00 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You are an elf in love with a human. Instead of lamenting their inevitable death, you go on a journey to find a way to make them live as long as you. After years of searching, you found a way, but when you came home to them, you find out that they already passed on years ago.
|
"I suppose I should explain why this is happening to you," Elegast sighed as he looked at the terrified human prisoner who was currently bound and gagged in his basement. "Truly, I don't enjoy you seeing you suffer. I wish there was another way, but alas, I require your sacrifice for the ritual. Or rather, she does." He turned to gaze at the far corner of the room, where a cage was covered under a black sheet. Inside, something was growling and pacing around in a circle.
"I"ll start at the beginning. Long ago, I fell in love with a human and we both lived happily together in this house. As the decades passed though, it became impossible to ignore how her body was deteriorating and how she did not have long to live. But, I refused to accept her mortality. And so, I searched all throughout the four corners of the Earth, so that I could create a elixir that would allow us to both live for thousands of years together. But by the time I finally returned, it was too late. She had already died years ago. In my grief, I dug up the remains of her corpse and fed her the potion anyway. And well..." With one swift movement, Elegast threw off the black sheet.
Immediately, the monster within charged at the steel bars, screeching and roaring. Maggots crawled out of its black rotting flesh as blood and pus poured out of dozens of gapping holes in its body. What remained of its face was so badly decayed that it looked more like roadkill than anything human. Still, that didn't stop Elegast from kneeling and whispering to her in a loving voice. "Don't worry, Rebecca, I haven't given up on you. I'll do whatever it takes to bring you back. Even if I have to damn my own soul to Hell."
|
They always told us to stay away from that garden. I never really understood as a child.
Beautiful things grew there, and there was an air of magic about the place. Beyond it was a quaint little cabin, tucked away underneath the branches of a great elm tree.
I used to run off and peep through the brambles surrounding the perimeter to look at the garden. It was a lovely place, full of blooming orchids, impossibly ripe fruit, massive multicolored butterflies which would dance through the air as if before a crowd they knew adored them. Even without anything else to do, I could sit and watch the place for hours at a time, barely noticing the sun trailing towards the horizon.
Sometimes, I would even get a glimpse of the old woman who lived there. Her hair was a pure white stream that seemed to trail after her, never running out and never touching the ground, which in turn seemed to glow as she walked upon it. She would amble among the bushes and flowers and trees, her fingers dancing along the leaves and the skin around her eyes crinkling with joy as she gazed upon it all. But there was something else there, something that I only understood once I got the chance to talk to her.
It happened on an unassuming autumn morning. I had snuck off to look into the fantastical garden, out beyond the treeline and past the brambles.
I was sitting there at my usual spot, watching a particularly luminous butterfly dance near the opening in the brambles, when a soft voice reached my ears.
"Hello, Michael."
I started. One moment, I had been looking at a large blue butterfly and the next, I was staring into those two ancient blue eyes, crinkled at the edges as if overjoyed to see me.
"H-how do you know my name?" Was all I could think to ask.
A tinkling laugh stole through the thorns like a stream of bubbles. "I have found that many creatures reveal their names the moment they gaze upon you without fear. Do you fear me?"
I thought about it. The appearance of the old lady had startled me, but there was no menace in her eyes, none of the edge to her voice which I had heard in so many other old grown-ups, that edge that said 'you better listen to me, or you're bound for trouble'.
"No." I told her. "I guess I don't."
"I know." The tinkling laugh came again, and I couldn't help but relax as it seemed to ripple through the air, echoing like the wooden wind-chimes on my grandmother's porch.
"Do you live in the cabin?" I asked, curiously.
The eyes turned back towards the little building under the elm branches. "Oh, sometimes." The old woman's voice said airily. "Although there are times where I don't go inside for days at a time."
"Why?"
That wind-chime laugh again. "When you're a grown-up, there are a lot of things you don't have to do. And I like to leave space for my friends."
"You have friends?" At this point in my life, I wasn't aware old people retained the capacity for friendship.
"Oh yes," the old eyes moved up and down in a nod. "Lots and lots. Sparrows, robins, finches, some hares. A mouse or twenty."
I laughed. At the time, I had believed she was joking. I'm still not entirely sure. "Don't you have any people friends?"
For some reason, I had expected to hear the laugh again, but the quiet that followed my question felt abrupt, like my words had popped the bubbles before they'd been blown.
"I did, once. But I moved away from them."
"Why?"
"My best friend thought it would be best for us."
I inched my face closer to the bramble bush, thoroughly invested. "Who's your best friend? Are they there with you?"
"No," the voice replied sadly, the eyes dimming a little. "They left a very long time ago, although they should be back any day now."
A bird twittered loudly from a tree overhead, and the blue eyes seemed to gain their shine again. "When they return, perhaps you'd like to meet them?"
"Yes!" I cried, ecstatic at the idea of learning more about this strange woman and her strange garden. "I would like that!"
"Excellent!" I did not have to see the old woman's mouth to know she was smiling. "I'll ask a dove to come fetch you the day he comes back."
I laughed again at the joke. "Can't you leave the garden?"
The voice didn't answer. Silence enveloped the glade, and I wasn't entirely sure when the eyes stopped looking like eyes, and started looking more like two berries hanging off of a vine in the garden.
"Wait!" I shouted, as a question popped into my mind. "If a you can know a creature's name when it looks on you without fear, why don't I know yours?!"
There was no reply.
I never saw the old woman again. I went back to the garden a few times a week, then a few times a month, then once every 2 months. Before I knew it, years had passed, and I had decided that the old lady had moved away, or been a dream, or... Something. She was one of those vagueities of childhood, like a memory you're not entirely sure is one you created or one you happened upon.
And then, 8 years after I met the old lady from the garden, I awoke to a terrible scream.
It wasn't human, and it didn't sound entirely animal either. It was like a crack of lightning, the whistle of an arrow, and the tormented shriek of a wounded animal all in one.
It ripped the air and seemed to pull apart something in me, something deep and dark blue and soft, and I wept for terror and grief.
I didn't sleep the rest of that night, and surprisingly, none of my family or neighbors seemed to have heard it, or my reaction to it. When the red fingers of dawn finally grasped at my windowsill, a single dove fluttered onto the ledge beyond the glass.
I stared into the beady black eyes, which seemed full of an emotion I could not entirely comprehend. Was it coyness? It seemed teasing, but sad at the same time. Almost without thinking, I threw on my shoes and ran outside, into the woods, up the trails I had forgotten for so long, and into the clearing with the brambles and the garden. It was all there, but the cabin and elm tree were unrecognizable. Smoke wafted from the charred remains of both, and even as I watched parts of the little structure crumbled and fell inwards on eachother. The tree still stood, but it was black and lifeless.
I stared at the bizarre sight, wondering what could have done this, and why nothing beyond the border of the cabin and tree had burned, when a loud shriek accompanied a black mass of feathers swooping down from the trees and knocking into my head. I screamed, scrambling away as the raven clawed at my hair and faced, screeching and pecking as if its' only desire in this world was to kill me.
I ran from the clearing, and only when I finally reached the border and fled back the way I came did my attacker cease their pursuit. The screeches echoed in my ears all the way home, and to this day, I am unable to travel far into those woods without hordes of black birds gathering atop the trees and screeching down at me.
And it might be my imagination, but I swear that sometimes I can make out 2 words in the cacophony of smokey caws and snapping beaks.
"Your fault."
| 2022-07-05T18:02:58 | 2022-07-05T17:51:30 | 123 | 34 |
[WP] You die. As you go up to Paradise, you notice it seems to be in ruins. Then you find the corpse of God.
|
I raised my fist to the faded holy light that shown down on heaven, and cried out in inept, pointless rage and sorrow, tears filling my eyes and streaming down my face as I sank to my knees in the blood-soaked clouds that held up what had once been paradise.
"Niiiiiiiietzscheeeeeeee!"
|
I stood at the base of the Stairway to Heaven, my mortal shell dead beneath my feet. I felt the kind light wash over my face, promising eternal happiness and joy unbound.
As I was ascending, I could swear I heard delighted laughter of children, friendly chatter of adults, and grumpy, but heart-warming ramblings of old people. I imagined the blissful birds chirping over soft clouds, imagined the eternal warmth, the glee of meeting my family…
When I arrived at the Pearl Gate, I found it closed. I expected a welcoming committee, but maybe, that was the idea – you make your own first step to Heaven? As I pushed the gates, they opened without a sound, light as a feather. Beyond laid a garden, filled with the most beautiful plants on the Earth, including the extinct ones; beyond that I saw fountains of gold and marble, inviting me with rainbows; beyond them I saw cloudy passages over the greatest cities of the world – anyone walking could look down and see the history unfold.
It was magnificent beyond my fantasies, but… It was deserted. There were no people here. There were no sounds beyond the splashing of the water in the fountains, no smells beyond the pollen from exotic plants.
The Heaven was stunningly still, like Pompeii – frozen in time by some unseen threat.
I felt my heart race as I paced down the Heaven’s passages. Still nobody around. No chatter, no shouts, no friendly banter… No sign of any man or woman.
My path brought me to an enormous temple, rows of it’s pillars holding the sky itself. As I walked into it, the sun set, and the moon rose, drowning the temple in pale, sickly light. At the centre of the structure was a throne, upon which a man was seated, his back turned to me. I saw his white hair cascading down the back of the throne, and I felt an almost tangible sensation of power, emanating from him.
- Hello? – I called, going around the throne. Despite never seeing Him in person, I immediately knew who it was. The God.
He was dead. His limbs were bloodied stumps, His golden skin greyed, thinned and wracked with blackened veins, His whole frame exhausted beyond life. His eyes were dry, looking forward in constant sorrow.
My knees gave up, and I fell and wept. I cried and screamed and begged as inhuman anguish has overtaken me.
This should not have happened. It is impossible. How can He be dead? How could people abandon Him? How…
I heard steps. I raised my teary eyes and saw a figure in a white robe approach me. His head was framed with a Crown of Thorns. He was as exhausted as his father, but he still lived.
- You were not supposed to be here, child, - his eyes looked at me with weary surprise. – You should be in Purgatory.
- J… J-Jesus? – I asked weakly, my voice still trembling from my despair.
- Yes, child, it is I. Come. There is nothing for you here but sadness, - he beckoned me to follow him, avoiding a
glance at his dead father.
I wiped my tears and caught up with him. He walked slowly, with a pace of a man without purpose, lost in his own thoughts.
- What happened here?
- Humanity happened, child.
- Jesus, I… I need answers, - I touched his shoulder. - Please tell me more about this.
He sighed. We approached the fountain, its streams creating a dancing show of a moonlight. He sat down wearily, pointing next to him. I sat down as well.
- My father… He made a mistake, - practical blasphemy rolled from the mouth of Jesus. – He believed that humanity would find its way on its own. When you were made, he intended you to be perfect. No sins, no temptations, no mistakes. Yet when Adam and Eve fell from His grace, we were shown the error of His ways. We were shown that He could, in fact, make a mistake… The first to openly oppose my Father was Lucifer. He knew that humanity was inherently flawed, and that it should have been either fixed, or destroyed, but Father declined his qualms and cast him down to the depths of Hell for his hubris.
- And he became Satan? – I asked, not realising I have been holding breath up to this moment.
- Yes. He is still down there, looking over sinners, protecting Heaven and Purgatory from the worst people. All other angels did not dare argue with Father as humanity continued living on Earth. But more people in Heaven meant more problems. Heaven was supposed to be a perfect sanctuary – a place where everyone would be happy and could do whatever they wanted for all eternity. We did not account for boredom and ambition, inherent for humanity. The more people arrived – more things we had to do to entertain them and make their stay pleasant.
Jesus sighed, looking into the fountain. A fish splashed water on his hands playfully, but received no reaction from him.
- Father took it very close to His heart. He wanted to prove to Lucifer that he was wrong, and He worked himself to the bone. He did not sleep, did not rest, did not eat – He worked for His people, His masterpieces. And then, He sat at his throne, never to stand up again. And when He was gone, nothing held people here anymore. This place became a cemetery as humanity went to the Purgatory. Come, I shall lead you.
I stood up and followed Jesus, our path marked by stunned silence.
We went down the cloud passage, and I saw a city in a distance – vast beyond any imagination, buildings made of various materials and in various architectural styles rising above each other, like a vision of a mad artist. Even from a distance, I could hear noises and smell the dusty urban air.
- Wait… - I said to Jesus. – How could He die? He is Immortal, is He not? How could He die to His own mistakes? How could He give in to His pride?
Jesus turned to me, lights of a distant city dancing in his weary eyes.
- You were made in His image. **You** are His reflection.
| 2017-06-08T12:20:49 | 2017-06-08T12:12:42 | 71 | 15 |
[WP] Due to a shortage on angels you have had a guardian demon assigned to you instead, he doesn't quite understand how it works but he's very eager to please.
|
*Not again...*
"DO NOT ACCOST TIMMY!" the voice boomed from my gaping mouth. I was about a foot off the ground, now... again a passenger in my own body. My hair whipping, my eyes aglow, acrid smoke billowing from beneath my clothes.
Another new school. Another bully. Another incident.
My palm extended; a flash of eldritch energy. The bully falls to his knees, wailing. His skin, separated from his body, lies in pieces around the playground -- a fine red mist permeates the air. The bully screams... most of the witnessing children will be scarred for life.
Balthazar does his best. I mean, to his credit -- I'm never bullied twice.
=======================
I normally go much longer than this but I felt like my vision could be achieved in short order. Fun prompt though, OP -- thanks!
|
I tucked myself in. The sliver of gold from the hall light grew as Angela gently opened the door, careful not to wake Baby Bobby (not a baby) sleeping soundly in the bunk beneath me. I raised my head as I propped myself up on my orphan-like elbows. Elbows that haven't seen a loving, legal parent in an elbows-harvest.
"Angela?" I whispered, double-careful not to wake Baby Bobby, who again is not a baby. Angela offered a warm smile then gave me the middle finger.
"Go to bed you little shithead."
Suddenly Angela was smoking a down-to-the-ass cigarette and wearing a jean jacket that had 'I H8 ORPHANZ' embroidered on it. She threw a double whammy middle finger celebration right at me, I winced. Angela slammed the door as hard as she could, being triple extra UN-careful to not un-wake (not really a) Baby Bobby.
Baby Bobby stirred, like a bowl of hot soup that also happens to be asleep. It's possible, you don't know what soup does.
I laid awake, eyes glued to the unnervingly blemished ceiling. My thoughts raced.
*HERE COMES A FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT DAY. THOUGHT I'D JUST GIVE YOU A HEADS UP.*
"Dad?" I choked on each - the one word. Holding my own hands for some semblance of comfort. My father, a greasy, porn stached pencil of a man turned to me.
"You know this isn't easy for me son." He said between stifled giggles, eventually managing to govern them. "I know you want to live with me, and shit, who would blame you? I got my job back as CEO of Toyota, I recently won 233.4 million dollars in the powerball lottery and your mother and I are back together. Couldn't be happier. Living a nice, healthy, stable life as of now. No complaints. You know your mother and I wish we could share it with you but..."
"But what?" I asked.
"Well... I don't like the way you wear your hat sometimes. It just kinda bugs me."
"Wait what? Seriously? Okay I'll stop wearing-" He raised both his hands up.
"Ahhhhh yeah but now it's too late. Every time I just... *look* at you I'm always thinking-"
"Dad"
"There's that... that little shitty HAT kid." He shook off the idea as if it was crawling down his back. I was devastated. He gave me a pitiful look. "Listen, uhhh... hey. I'll tell you what. If the Angels win the pennant, I'll adopt you back... or something. Well just in the off chance they do, we'll just play it by ear. Cross that bridge when we get to it, you know?"
There were no words for how elated that made me feel. Not a single word in any language that could precisely describe the joy and relief I felt by what he had said. If any word came close it would be UN-devestated. No, wait, I have a better one: not-devastated. I hugged him. He farted on me.
*OKAY THE FLASHBACK IS DONE NOW, WE'RE BACK IN MY BED AS I WISH UPON A STAR.*
I wished upon a star. It was very underwhelming.
"Please God, I know you're listening. I know you're always listening to me you creamy goose, but hear these words with care. Send me an angel, no wait. No. Send the Angels an angel."
I felt the need to clarify.
"Send the baseball team The Angels, angels so those angels can help The Angels win the Superbowl of baseball. Then my dad will love me again."
The star did absolutely fuck-all. Then it exploded in a massive hypernova.
"HOLY HORSE SHIT BABY BERNIE GET YOUR BLACK ASS DOWN!"
Baby Bobby slept though this too. Luckily the hypernova didn't shower the earth in harmful cosmic radiation that would have surely boiled Baby Bobby and myself alive. I slept a dreamless sleep. Except for the one dream of the earth being showered in cosmic radiation from a hypernova and Baby Bobby and myself being boiled alive. But that was the only one. Well there was another one... It was just that first dream over again. I slept like a chubby panda after that though.
The stadium was big and blah blah we're at the seats now.
"What do you think pitchers do?" asked Baby Bobby while dumping his baseball popcorn on the head of the couple in front of us.
"They pitch the ba-"
"What the hell did you do that for?" The man brushed popcorn off his shoulders. They dribbled between the gum stained seats. The sun shone on them, announcing their matted white mounds. Somewhere Boy George was handcuffing a male escort to his bed.
"I'm sorry sir, my friend has ADH-"
Suddenly the man's head exploded. Nobody seemed to notice or care. It was weird.
"Oh my Go-"
"Don't say that name, it, it annoys me." A man awkwardly slathered in red acrylic paint, donning a cheap plastic viking's helmet appeared. A powerful smell of okra slime drifted through the (previously) predominantly baseball-smelling air. "Please, don't be alarmed." The man started. "The smell of baseball shall soon return. I apologize for my foulness." I froze, but managed a few choppy words.
"Are you a demon?"
"Yes."
"Are you here to help the angels?"
"No."
"The baseball team I mean."
"Oh. Yes."
"For me?"
"Yes."
"So I can get back with my family?"
"Yes."
I slapped my knees like a knee slapper man performing his dangerous knee slap finale.
"Great. Alright, get to it."
Flecks of acrylic paint crumbled to the ground as the demon made his way to the field. Completely naked.
*(camera zooms out to a wide shot as the song "Faithfully" by Journey starts playing)*
I never did see him again. Last I heard he was in hell. But I'll never forget that summer. The summer I met a strange man dressed as the devil who lied to me about his supernatural origin. I never saw him again... oops I already said that. But I didn't. Ever see him again. And I'll never forget that summer...
*"♪ Faithfully... DERRR NERRR NERRRR DUR NER NER NER!!! DEERRR NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER! DEEEER NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER DEEEERRRRR!!! CIRCUS LIFE! UNDERRRR THE BIIIIG TOP WORRRRLLLD... ♪"*
| 2018-08-14T18:45:10 | 2018-08-14T15:56:10 | 121 | 11 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
|
A button’s press, that’s all it takes,
to end her shivers and cure her aches.
With button’s press could freedom lie,
with button’s press two may die.
The clock is ticking, a new day draws near,
Has someone else overcame their fear?
Will we be rich, or will we die?
It can’t get worse, I have to try.
|
*Fucking son of a bitch.*
The moist *crunch, crunch, smack, crunch* of Sylvester’s lips as he bulled his way through a second bowl of Marshmallow Mateys made Maribelle want to bash him in the mouth. Within the brief darkness that the blink of her eyes brought, she saw red— red pouring out of those clammy lips that yawned open like a fish’s mouth while he masticated whatever it was he was eating. Tonight was Marshmallow Mateys. Last night it was the steak she left work early to make. Whatever might come tomorrow was too nauseating of a thought for her to take up precious blinking time to picture.
*That’d teach him to chew with his god damn mouth open.*
She quietly took a bite of her white-bread-and-American-cheese-and-ham sandwich, a delicacy they had been enjoying more and more since Sylvester’s job on the assembly line went away. That’s how he described it when he got home that evening eight months ago. It “went away”, as if it just disappeared from his grasp and there was no explanation of this bizarre alien aberration of his life's routine. It changed the quilted patchwork of their day. Instead of getting up at 5:30am to coast along his 45-minute commute to the factory, now he woke up at… well, Maribelle didn’t actually know when he got up. She knew it wasn’t before she left for work at 7:30am, but it was some time before 6:30pm when she got to take off her little server’s half-apron, shove her rectangular cardstock time card through the chomping machine, and walk home. Sylvester was “applying for jobs” with very large quotation marks around the action. Sylvester was “in the middle of fixing the leak in the sink”. She did genuinely believe him that he walked the dog, only because he genuinely enjoyed that.
*Smack, slurp, crunch, slurp*
It was all about what Sylvester genuinely enjoyed.
What about what Maribelle genuinely enjoyed? What about one fucking meal where he practiced chewing with his damn mouth **closed**?
Blood squeezed out of her knuckles as her fingers tensely curled into her palm. There could be a solution. Well, it wasn’t a *solution*. It was a million-to-one chance. But sitting here watching Sylvester’s plump maw gape to reveal the pulpy, milky mess of his half-chewed cereal, million-to-one felt better than the 99% chance she would go to jail for strangling him one day soon. Maribelle gave him a stiff smile.
“So, uh. I was thinkin’ about entering the raffle.”
*Smack, crunch— pause*
“Why the fuck would you go on and do that for?”
Maribelle’s colorless eyes drifted subtly to the clock on the wall, the pulse of the second hand beckoning her heartbeat to join it. Three minutes.
“Well it’s just so easy. Ain’t not a lot to it, just have to log on and push the button and you’re good to go.”
The way Sylvester rolled his eyes like Maribelle was *so stupid* made her want to grab what little hair he had left on the back of his skull and drive his face down into the concave of the bowl. “An’ risk them murder squads or some shit? No ma’am. My grandpappy was struck by lightning *three times* in the Ozarks. Lewiston men are unlucky as shit.”
*I wish.* Maribelle shrugged blithely and tapped her bitten-down nail against the kitchen table. “Yeah, but it’s only the first person. Like, you have to enter in as fast as you can, but if *both* of us pushed it… it’s like two *million* dollars at least, Syl.” She saw the greasy gleam of a promise of easy money flutter in his eyes and she pushed on, “And I don’t got no luck problems in my family. I could go first!”
As Sylvester sat in silence for several slovenly grinds of his cereal cud, Maribelle saw the familiar inner workings of his brain flinch across his face. The glaze in his eyes. The twitch of his brow. The nod when he felt like he came up with a good idea.
“Yeah alright. You first, since you ain’t not lucky, and then the two of us have it.”
It felt like a vice tightened around the aorta of Maribelle’s heart. A calm nod later and she whipped out her phone, peering through the spiderweb cracks on the screen to make sense of how to get to her browser. *Tick tick tick* went to the clock on the wall. Thirty seconds. Where did the time go? Suddenly a big, blue button popped up in tiny pieces on her phone. A glance to Sylvester showed he did the same, and he was staring at her like a kid waiting for his friend to light off a firework of questionable safety.
“Alright. We gotta wait for the right time. Right on time, kay? You gotta be ready. Finger on the button?”
*There’s no way it’s him.* It was a glum thought. But one must press on-- or in this case, press down.
*Tick tick tick*
Two second hand jerks before 8:32pm was two too close for Sylvester to notice as he greedily stared at her screen. *Quickly!* Maribelle made a show of jamming the pad of her index finger down onto the phone screen.
Nothing, of course. Nothing bad, anyway.
*Tick*
“See? See, I'm fine, you're not first! Now you, now you, quick!” Her voice was higher pitched than she intended it to be and her chest felt tight, like she was a balloon and her air was being very slowly squealed out of her. Cicada buzzing filled her skull. She must have been blushing, she thought, for how hot her cheeks suddenly felt.
*Tick*
“Alright,” Sylvester rolled his eyes *again* and his fat thumb shoved gracelessly onto the button on the screen, “Alright, I—“
*Pause*
“What the fuck?!"
Maribelle’s eyes darted down.
Red. Red filled the screen, spreading like ink spilled into a tub of water, like a biblical plague that learned how to breach technology.
Within the dark inner arch of her blink, the red stayed. Red pouring out of Sylvester’s mouth.
| 2016-07-16T19:59:53 | 2016-07-16T19:03:53 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] You are a vampire who likes to help humans instead of hurting them, so you became a doctor. Over the hospital's PA system one day you hear "Dr. Acula, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you."
|
Dr. Acula, incensed, sprints to the hospital's public address office and screams "Are you people NOT AWARE of patient privacy and confidentiality laws?!?! If you EVER reveal the name of one of my patients over the PA system again, I will have your jobs!!"
As the staff stare at him, mouths wide open, chins on the floor, he walks away, muttering to himself.
|
Vladislaus stepped into the elevator, shaking with rage. ‘Mr. Helsing’ was waiting in his office, like a guillotine awaiting a condemned man. The vampire faced the stainless steel doors so as to not show his bloodred eyes. The elevator started up. For two hundred and fifty-six years, the Professor had honoured his word. He had never once come close to him. A brief fear gripped the doctor, and he remembered the blade piercing his chest, and the icy bite of the kukri knife. He growled. Perhaps he should have foreseen this. He had lost all those years ago, and ever since he had only been prolonging the inevitable. Tears welled in his eyes. An angry grimace flashed across his face. How shameful, how stupid! The great Vladislaus Tepes, fearing his death and weeping like a frightened babe! *No.* he said to himself, *Today is not the day I die.*
His office was on the uppermost floor of the hospital. Despite this, it was always dark and gloomy. Vladislaus opened the door and stepped inside. A foul stench flooded his nostrils, an odour as rank as the man it emanated from.. He was sitting in the visitor’s chair, looking away from the door. It was no later than noon, but the room kept its normal gloom; a few thin rays of sunlight breached through the window blinds. By all means, it was his office, but the stench that flooded it broke its familiarity. The man in the chair got up.
“Vladislaus. It has been too long.” he said, facing the good doctor. His round glasses reflected the light from the hall, creating two disks of white in the middle of the darkness.
“Indeed it has been, Abraham. Perhaps not long enough.” he said, in his most gelid tone.
“I take no greater pleasure than you to be here, old one. But there are matters to be discussed. I come to you in a dire hour, and be sure that this is my last resort.” Vladislaus was surprised. He closed the door behind him and the sombre dim took over again. The professor’s bright discs disappeared.
“How very strange, Professor. For two hundred years we have eschewed each other, as per our agreement. It is... surprising to me that it would be you who breaks the accord.”
“Indeed... doctor. But I assure you once again. I would not do this unless I had no choice.” Vladislaus´jaw clenched. His eyes saw the Professor perfectly. He had aged extraordinarily. His hair was white as snow, and his skin wrinkled. His eyes, however, had lost none of their ferocity. His cane was resting against the desk.
“Very well, Professor. Do be seated.” Vladislaus gestured to the chair. The Professor sat. The Doctor walked over to his own chair, opposite the desk. The vile smell grew stronger the closer he came to the Professor. As he sat, the Professor spoke.
“Doctor Acula, is it? You seem to be running out of aliases.” he smirked.
“Do not presume pleasant conversation, old man. Why are you here?” Vladislaus could feel the man’s pulse accelerate. Instinctively, his fangs began to emerge. The Professor tapped the desktop lamp once. Its light filled the room, and their eyes met. Still defiant. Still strong. The doctor’s chest itched.
"It concerns your kind, Count.”
“My kind are long dead.”
“You are mistaken.” the old man said, laying a brown folder on the desk. Vladislaus examined the pictures inside. They were all of the same two youths, in different places and in different stances. Here they sat at a table and conversed. There they were entering an apartment building. The Professor went on.
“Their names are Silas Corvine and Thomas Morris. The blond one, Silas, murdered one of his students not a month past. Thomas is his thrall. We followed them to Edinburgh but they slipped out of our grasp there. Now, they could be anywhere. Only another of their kind could find them now.”
Vladislaus muttered to himself. He eyed the Professor, whose stare did not release him from its grip. “How?” he finally asked. “How is it that my kind live again?” Van Helsing’s mouth tightened.
“That is not for you to know. All you need know is that they will die, and so will you should you prove unhelpful.” Vladislaus scoffed.
“You are old. You have no strength left.”
“Very true. But I am not alone.” For a moment, his eyes left the vampire and gazed at a dark corner behind the doctor. Vladislaus felt something stir. “Your kind used undead and thralls to do your bidding. We have something else.” From the corner stepped forward the silhouette of a tall man. The doctor flinched. How had he not sensed someone else? He turned to look at the new face. Before he could see anything, a hand with a grip like iron took his head and shoved it against the desk. Vladislaus’ fake glasses shattered. He fought the grip, but it was too strong. It pushed him down further until he could feel his skull crack. The metallic desk was bending from the pressure. The doctor yelped with pain.
Van Helsing tapped his cane against the floor. The grip loosened and the vampire snarled at the old man. He broke free of the grip and lunged for the Professor. The garlic fetor stung his eyes, but he managed to grasp the old man’s neck with his right hand. In the blink of an eye, the Professor’s cane parted in two, and a blade cut Vladislaus’ gripping hand from his wrist. The vampire drew back, but before he could react, a fist as hard as steel slammed into his ribs. He felt five of them shatter. The dark figure took him by the scruff of the neck and smashed him down face-first into the desk again. Van Helsing stood up and rested the tip of his blade against the vampire’s right eye. Vladislaus could feel it burn, and his vision darkened.
“I give you one last chance, filth.” The Professor said over the doctor’s pained howls. “Help me and I’ll let you live.” He pushed the blade further.
“YES! I WILL!”
“Good.”
| 2017-10-01T06:58:24 | 2017-10-01T06:06:56 | 94 | 16 |
[WP] For centuries you've reaped humans when their time was up, never paying attention to their advancements in tech and healthcare, then one day every single hourglass just stops.
|
All at once Death knew something was wrong. He paused, and if he had possessed skin would have frowned and possibly furrowed his brow. Since he had neither of these options he settled for setting his book down somewhat harder than usual, and letting out a small but forceful sigh, in utter contradiction to his lack of lungs.
It was quiet, although it took Death a full five minutes of careful study to realize this. The hourglasses had stopped. This was... unusual. Peculiar even. He had scarcely managed to stand when a voice cut across the room.
"You've lost!"
Death bristled at the comment, spoken by a vibrant youth. It was hardly a game after all. Life laughed and continued.
"They've done it you moldy old bag of bones! The last obstacles have fallen, the last tests have been passed. You've lost! Life has prevailed!"
Death turned, good falling away from his polished skull, empty sockets locking onto the vibrant green eyes of Life.
"Oh, don't get angry bones, you had a good run. Ever since the first vaccine you knew it was only a matter of time."
Death strode off down the hall of hour glasses, Life trailing behind. Modern marvels were extolled, cultures of peace praised, medicine explained.
They came to a door, a foreboding thing of old dark wood and rusted iron bands. By some measures it was infinitely large, although most would call it ten to fifteen feet high. Death opened it.
A wave of sound rushed like, like a never ending avalanche of house sized boulders. Inside was an hourglass the size of mountain, massive grains of sands billowing downward.
"What is that!?" Shouted Life.
"THE UNIVERSE."
|
I'm an architect at heart, as absurd as that might sound. As a boy, dressed in much shorter robes and far less capable, I tried to convince my parents to let me explore my other interests. "No, Death Junior," they told me time and time again. "Your father was Death. His father was Death. And his father before him was Death. You will be Death." So now I'm Death. Death does as Death does, you know? In a way, I'm still an architect. I architect deaths. Passed naturally? Yeah, right. As natural as it is for me to look in the mirror and admire my flawless facial skin. Oh, wait. I have no skin. Just bone.
Anyways, I do what I can to follow my original passions. You may have realized this thanks to the orchestration of some beloved's demise or simply due to your own, futile mortality, but each and every one of you has a limited amount of time left. Call me a Luddite, but I just was not a fan of the fancy tracking technology that my dad had installed. Touchscreens just don't react well to bony fingers. So I went back a little ways to how my ancestors did it; I went back to the hourglasses. Here, I was finally able to fulfill my desire to be an architect. My walls are covered in hourglasses, some small - looking at you, infant mortality rate - some of them large. One for every human. You know how many humans find the sound of waves relaxing? Well, this is like that. Imagine the peaceful white noise of trickling bone dust. Imagine the peaceful sound of lives being snuffed out, one by one. Imagine the sweet dreams that come hand in hand with knowing that nobody can escape you. People come and people go. I'm sure plenty of fancy things have been invented. Humans do so much to prolong their lives but it's really the same to me. More people are dying than ever, courtesy of an ever-growing population. I'm really cheering for you all; the more humans alive, the more humans to die.
I will admit, I often sit down to admire my work. I'm a big Game of Thrones fan - at least the first few seasons with so much casual death. I replicated the Iron Throne, only mine is made of bones. It's a work of art. I'll be sure to add your tibia to my collection once your time comes. So anyways, one day I was just sitting there, casually drinking blood out of one of the halved skulls that make up my collection of cups, and the silence suddenly became deafening. I'm not exaggerating. This was one of those silences where you could hear a grain of sand drop. Well, a grain of bone dust. And it was just that. There was no sound at all. I looked at my walls. The sand was frozen. I got up slowly, putting the skull down on the table carved of pelvises. This had never happened. Not in my time and not in my father's time and not in his father's time. And that was a lot of time.
Here's the thing about being Death. It's a lonely job. When you break shit, you go whine to your boss so he'll fix it or you blame it on a colleague or you brush it under the table and pretend it never happened. I can't go to anybody. There is only one Death. So when stuff breaks, I take a little trip. I give humans a house call. It hasn't happened in a while; remember World War 2? That was my last visit. Science got a bit ahead of itself with all that war-fueled research and I had to come down. Two feet down, two cities down. Oops, my bad. Now I was in real trouble. This wasn't advanced research. Something had already happened to stop the hourglasses. I suited up to go down, grabbing that scythe you all expect and putting my hood up.
"Death," I heard as I prepared to step into my portal to Earth. I paused and glanced around. I hadn't heard a voice since this morning when I was talking to myself. Other than my own, I hadn't heard a voice in centuries. But there he was. A fellow with a marvelous suit of skin. He stared at me.
"It's Junior," I corrected. I stepped away from the portal. "What are you doing here?" I had met God when he had given me my Commission to Kill in a lovely ceremony so long ago. I would recognize him anywhere. I mean, it's easy to recognize one of the only other creatures you've ever met face-to-face. This was not God.
"I'm here to stop you," he said. Stop me? Why would anybody want to stop me? Without Death, there would be no life. Overpopulation would destroy civilization. No bodies would fertilize the fields. Science would stall because immortality would cause complacency. Foolish mortal. I rubbed my smooth head.
"Stop me? Seems like you've succeeded. The hourglasses are all stopped. I'm off to fix it."
"I've been sent to stop you," he repeated. Interesting. It was like the posts I had always read about. "You meet Death". "You join Death". "You are Death". Repeat ad nauseam. Reap that karma like I reap lives.
"Like for good? Or just for a little?"
"Forever. I will be a hero. Humans will live forever." I sighed. I explained to him how the planet could not sustain immortality. I explained how the hourglasses might have stopped but they would eventually burst and that would be the end. He ignored me. Of course he did. He was so stuck in his delusion that he never stopped to think.
"Okay," I said with a shrug. I had woken up early that morning. I had already seen to several thousand deaths. I was tired anyways. I could take a day off, see where this jabroni took things. "Do you want to just take over?" I asked after a moment. My family had had this job forever, basically. Maybe it was time for the dynasty to end. It couldn't hurt, right? His eyes brightened.
"You mean... Like I can be Death?" I shrugged again.
"Kind of. I mean, your name would still be..."
"Chuckie."
"Right. Your name would still be Chuckie. But you could wear my robes and use my scythe and go kill whoever."
He seemed delighted. I wondered why he had come in so aggressively when he could have just asked nicely. "Deal," he said. "Will I be using those robes?" he asked, pointing at me.
I glanced down. Weird flex, wanting to wear somebody else's dirty laundry. Plus, I didn't have anything underneath. It'd be like wearing your buddy's underwear. Or his gym shorts after he just finished a workout underwear-less. Gross. I shook my head. "No, dude, that's nasty." He seemed disappointed. I snapped my fingers and my walk-in closet slid open. So many black robes. The tailor who made them for me had won himself the contract of a lifetime, no wordplay intended. He was dead now. "Pick a clean one," I said.
He jumped into a robe, looking quite dapper but rather funny with all that skin. I would have to do something about it later. Maybe peel it off and make a carpet. And then he was off to Earth. Off to kill his fellow humans, as humans always did. And just like that, my hourglasses began to run again and I settled back into my seat to the soothing sound of falling bone dust.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-06-28T10:34:54 | 2019-06-28T08:53:33 | 263 | 78 |
[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.
|
(Not really becoming a god, but the MC gets to enter the godly realm)
Mark awoke suddenly within a blackened room, almost like an interrogation room. There was a really large table in front of him, with stacks of paper rising to the ceiling. On the other side of the table sat a bald man going through those paper aimlessly and soulessly, like a machine.
Mark coughed.
The bald man lifted not his head, but his eyebrows. He said nothing, going back to the endless paperwork.
"Excuse--"
"Don't."
The bald man's words held a certain kind of authority. Mark patiently waited. About three minutes passed, the bald man stopped writing, scratching the back of his neck with his pen. The necktie had gotten loose, the collar was of a dirty yellow.
He reached for a file on his left and opened it, then looked at Mark, a confused arose. He stared at the file again, and at Mark's face.
"Are you Mark Hughes?"
"Yes, I am." - It's strange, Mark had not felt so pressured since the day his mother interrogated him about the porn mags.
"Did you,... Did you go to a beauty salon or something like that?"
"No, I'm not, why do you... And where are we exactly?"
"Answer my questions, please. How old are you?"
"23. And 5 months."
The bald man searched through his cabinet and got another file on the table. Very quickly, he fell into his chair.
"Great."
It was not great.
"What is great?"
"See for yourself."
He slided the two files at Mark. Both contained information about a Mark Hughes. One was Mark himself, and the other for a man he had never met.
"What does this mean? Are you the CIA? FBI? I swear I have done nothing wrong. Okay, I might have pirated movies illegaly but if you like I can buy them. Like, right now--"
"You're dead."
"What? You can't kill someone because they pirated movies! That's --"
The bald man rolled his eye. With a snap of his finger, a surge of information burst through Mark's head. He rolled around in agony. When Mark came to. He knew where he was.
Death's Door.
"Let's just say that I made a mistake killing you instead of the other guy. So now we've gotten that misunderstanding, let's send you to Hell."
"What? Aren't you supposed to revive me or something?"
"I could, but it will take a lot of paperwork. Look at Jesus for example. We intended to ressurrect him just for kicks, and it took the whole department three days."
"But it's nonsense! It's not my time yet!"
"It is now."
The bald man reached for the file, but Mark grabbed hold of them before he did.
"I'll report this to your superiors!"
The bald man chuckled.
"People die all the time. The good does die young, my boy. Other Deaths kill a few celebrities every year and bring them here just to entertain them. You have no power here."
"I...I... I don't want to die."
Reluctantly, Mark sat back down.
"But... But even if I die, why must I go to Hell? I haven't done anything especially bad."
"You led a normal, mundane life, Mark. Heaven are for the good ones. Not being bad is just not good enough. About Hell, which one do you want?"
"Huh?"
"Which Hell do you want to end up in? The customize Hells costs more than standard Hell package, but I'll let you choose this time."
He gave Mark a menu.
"But no more than 100 Death Dollars!"
Mark was in no heart to see through the options, still some caught his eyes.
"There is a Less Hell?"
"It used to be called Better Hell, but then people asked 'Better in which senses'?"
The bald man let out a laugh. Mark laughed in unision. Then the bald man stopped and spoke, in all seriousness.
"Stop it."
"Sorry."
Mark went back to reading the menu, but it's hard when Death was staring at him.
"Hey, about the celebrities you mentioned earlier, what happened to them?"
"What's there to talk about? They die, the Deaths make them fake IDs, they stay here and entertain them until the Deaths got bored of them."
Mark jumped away from the table.
"I knew it. That means I can stay here!"
The bald man sighed.
"You can't."
"Let me stay, or I'll report all of this to your superiors!"
"They wouldn't care."
"But think of the paperwork and the missing salary!"
"They wouldn't...wouldn't care."
The bald man's voice began to shook.
"You know how much they love to torture their employees."
"You can't stay here!" - the bald mam shouted, his gaze was firm.
Twenty minutes later, the two were on road toward a shady warehouse out of town.
"You know," said Mark, "This place is not so much different from Earth."
"Imagine being the Creator, filled with inspiration and endless power. You make worlds after worlds, realms and dimensions, filling each one of them with their unique habitants and laws of nature... Until it's your 10th world and the work became repetitive so you just copy-pasted everything before going back to your favourite shows."
"That was... oddly specific."
"I learn that in History Class."
"So you guys are just like human! But what happen when Death dies?"
"Who knows? Maybe there are Higher Deaths to take care of us. Here we are."
The bald man showed the guy guarding outside his office card, and they get in. Perhaps Deaths are regulars here.
The woman behind the counter greeted them.
"Bernard! Never thought I'd see you here."
"Yeah, work mistake. Make this kid a standard one, would ya?"
"Oh," it dawned upon Mark then "this is where I get my fake ID."
"Give him place of birth no one knows about." - Bernard glanced at Mark not too enthusiastically.
"Is Ylemmeta okay?"
"Where?" - asked Bernard.
"Ylemmeta it is, then. You should visit it sometimes, wonderful place for its prices."
The woman was about to jot down when Bernard stopped her.
"Wait."
He said, his face hardened.
"Is this gonna cost extra?"
The woman looked back at him, her eyes wide opened, she mouthed the words ever slowly.
"No."
Then they got Mark's picture, his fingerprints,...etc. Thus began Mark's life in the godly realm.
| 2018-05-26T06:58:55 | 2018-05-26T05:12:48 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] There is a procedure offered to the wealthy and powerful that allows their minds to be transferred to the brain-dead body of an anonymous individual. Except it's fake, the volunteer is actually trained in every minute detail of the person's life to assume their identity as if they were them.
This prompt was inspired by the movie [Freejack](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104299/)
|
Finding the right body was becoming easier, partly due to the amount of money I had acquired with my little operation, but also due to a few stylists and surgeons that could perform miracles. The biggest improvement however was by word of mouth and the "stock" began to take better care of themselves. Gym memberships exploded practically over night.
"There isn't much time you know," Mr.summers an just above middle aged man whose wealth couldn't fix the terminal disease that was ravaging his body making his sixties look like his nineties. "Doctors say I only have a year at most."
"Worry not Mr. Summers the body you've selected is one of our finest. No known genetic defects and grown to your specifications." All lies of course. She was actually an old flame of mine that had fit the description nearly perfectly. "But are certain about becoming a women?"
"Ha! I've been a miserable man for 63 years!" Mr.Summers tapped my arm as we walked down the hallway. "Figure I might give being a hot young thang a chance. Besides I can always swap again."
I put up my best smile. Born with a silver spoon digging out his shit Mr.Summers had exploited his workforce with starvation wages and where it was still legal slavery. He denied the plights of our planet so long as it lined his pockets. He bribed his way into politics. And no doubt had more than one skeleton in his closet that we couldn't dig up.
For 63 years you have spread naught but misery Mr.Summers. and there was blood on your hands.
"Absolutely Mr.Summers." I stood with him next to the operating room and nodded.
He all but pushed me aside to get in. A lecherous smile on his face as he stared at his new body.
I closed the door and braced my back against it. A smile creeping up on my face as I heard him scream before silence followed. The goal of this operation had never been to make money. What it had always been and what it always will be was revolution.
"Eat the Rich."
|
The worst part of all is being trapped between two women.
Both are dead, one to me and one to the world, and in truth they could not be more different. Isabella is darkness and light balanced. She is a favorite book open upon a bed, pages I could recite endlessly and still come back to. She is brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes harmonizing till they turn to something so much greater, a depth of color more than a word’s simple repetition can explain. She is the mother of my children, and the only one I think of before I fall asleep. She was my wife.
Esme was darkness. There was light there, imbalanced, trapped beneath pale skin to slide out serpentine into dreams and memories. She was a singer, a record that challenged rather than embraced, lyrics that had never once spoken of absolution. She’d worn daring dresses in high-class ballrooms, never considered children, always considered careers and bottom lines and the things Isabella and I never had. She was my perfect match— is now. The man I am has never loved another.
I wake from my dreams, remembering the pleasant moments before, and I step in to another man’s day.
The imprinting was not a total failure. Looking out upon the three tiered rings and encasing bubble of the habitation dome, it feels like mine. The real legacy strain coffee and the progress reports over breakfast feel like mine as well, and when I have to make my first decision of the day, condemning a pair miners trapped in the asteroid belt for something so simple as not buying insurance, I feel like Edgar P. Carrick.
I look like him too now, after the surgeries. There he is—was— in a picture next to the flowform couch, Esme on his arm. My heart swells to see it, the part of my stomach that still remembers the slums turns.
“Stepping Stone should be complete by the end of the week,” my assistant says. “Team 1 has given me their assurances that preliminary testing will begin on the first of the new month.”
“They’ve said that before,” I say.
“But this time Team 2 concurs, and the fate of the last Team Lead was an inspired decision. This time, sir, I would stake my own life on it.”
“Would you now?” I say.
He does not blanch, he is too well trained for that, but I know when he leave the room my sensors will detect a tremor.
“Yes sir,” is all the man says.
Stepping Stone has needed many steps itself. It is, in short, a man’s obsession brought to life. It is the crowning achievement of science, math, and love, synthesized down to me and the man I am pretending to be. I stare at Esme’s picture, the couch contorting itself to my shape, and I try not to imagine it being Isabella. She’d have moved to a real planet by now, perhaps Garden, perhaps Elysium. Had the imprinting been perfect, my sacrifice would have been so worth it.
But now I’ve tainted another man’s dream in the piecing back together of my own. I wonder if she’ll be able to recognize me when we meet again.
Days pass. I pass with them. It is harder to remember Isabella’s face.
“There are still dangers,” Team 1 Lead is saying. “We tested as much as we could, but it’s impossible to check it all.”
We stand within a lab at the station’s highest point, the stars slowly spinning around us through the floor to ceiling viewscreens. It is cold in the room, I brought a glass of water in earlier and it fogged. The scientists say that it is because of the portal itself, that it generates so much heat simply by its activation that we must devote fully ten percent of a space station’s power budget to this one room.
Currently, it stands dead. A great ring of steel and plastic, wires trailing off from a thousand points, twining across the floor like mating snakes. I am reminded of the cloud of Esme’s hair on the rare lazy mornings when she lingered in bed. The thought ends with the abrupt sharpness of her smile.
“What are the risks?” I ask, strapping on the ill fitting skinsuit anyway.
“One of our test subjects experienced an abortive re-materialization.”
“Translate,” I say.
“He stepped back without skin, sir,” my assistant says.
Ah. “Out of how many?”
“Ten sir,” the team lead says.
I’ve gambled on worse odds in two lives. “Do it,” I say.
“Any words, sir? For history?”
“None.”
Stepping Stone has taken two lifetimes in the pursuit of one. When men heard of what it was that I planned they called me insane. They called me, Edgar P. Carrick, a romantic when I have been nothing of the sort. They called me weak, womanish in my sentimentality. Those men are dead now and I am still here.
And she lies on the other side.
“And words for her?” my assistant whispers as the ring winks on. “What will you say to—” he is silenced by a delayed tearing, the rending of space and time and God’s own will as my step takes shape.
I do not answer. When Edgar P. Carrick requested a duplicate he requested a man in love. He had known the difference between obsession and passion, between love, lust, and truth. He’d had years to know that it was his own deficiencies in all those aspects and more that had driven Esme to what she had done. He had hoped that a man who had proven he could truly love would know what to say when he stepped through that portal.
Isabella’s barely remembered face swims before my eyes, and I’m not even sure what I would say to her.
*“I’m sorry,”* rises to my lips, but those had never been the right words for Esme.
I can see her there on the other side. It is a strange thing to peer into a lover's room like a voyeur, to see the cloud of her hair upon her pillow, the rise and fall of her chest next to an empty space in bed where you should be but were not that day.
“The switch will happen at exactly the same moment,” my assistant shouts over the deafening hum of the device. The pool of the time-dilation field ripples like slow moving water, that same blue-in-green color, arching lines like the wrinkle of her sheets across its surface. I take one last look at her in the monitor and then shut it off.
“In a manner of speaking, we may never meet again,” I say to my assistant.
“Yes sir. Team 1 is still unsure of what will happen to the timeline.”
“I will hew close enough to events. The universe can survive one more soul.”
“Yes sir,” my assistant stays.
That small shrinking part of me pre-imprint wants to squeeze the man’s shoulder and tell him he did a good job. Instead I say, “You’ll have your bonus,” and leave the control room, striding towards the portal.
A countdown begins, sixty seconds and I go on ***GO***, not *1*. It is difficult to restrain myself.
“Last chance to call it off, sir,” control says. There is time lag to the snatch and grab team and their portal.
“Never,” I say, and the count grows louder until it roars in my ears.
*10.*
*9.*
*8.*
*7.*
*6.*
*5.*
I step up to the portal, skim my hand across the surface, almost lose myself until I hear:
*1.*
I take the step forward, and submerge myself on ***GO***.
*Isabella,* I think, *I’m coming.*
And then, louder than all of that is the rising of her pale face from the pillow, her hair falling not like a cloud, but a torrent.
“Esme?” I whisper.
Edgar P. Carrick had purchased a man who’d loved truly loved just for that one word.
\-------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-07-02T09:40:33 | 2021-07-02T06:45:31 | 55 | 39 |
[WP] You die and are informed you'll restart your life exactly as it was when you turned 6. All your memories are as they were the moment you died, everything else resets. You are told you are the only one like this.
|
I could rule the world if I wanted to. Be revered by all mankind and be looked at as a God. But I will do none of this. I will not help the world nor will I harm it. I'm not interested in that anymore, I'm not really interested in anything anymore.
Many people would say I'm selfish for thinking the way I do. Being able to help the entire world, yet I do nothing. I could tell people why I think this way, but they wouldn't understand. You see I know life is meaningless, I know there's no point or moral to be had. That every action isn't worth the effort. Of course others think this way, but there's a difference between thinking you know and actually knowing. I didn't always have this mind set though. The way I think is a result of the power that was bestowed upon me. One that I did not ask for, and certainly would never want.
You see when I die, I wake up as my six year old self. You would think it would be amazing. To keep re-living your life doing everything you wished you could have done, but that's not the case. You see it takes away life's meaning. Everyone else's life has meaning, or at least it does to them, and that thought is all I wish I could have. The thought that anything I do has some value. For me everyday is like being trapped in a glass jar with the oxygen slowly running out, but it never does. I can never die no matter how much I want to.
In the beginning it was different. Life would have been exciting, it would have been enjoyable. To be able to re-live life, correct all stupid things I did, to ask the love of my life out, to work harder and make myself better than I was before. I tried to learn everything I could. From the arts to engineering I wanted to learn it all.
I would eventually know how to build quantum computers or make sustainable fusion. I would know how to make the cure to cancer and the common cold. I even learned how to create worm holes and transverse entire galaxies in mere seconds. It took a while to learn this of course, I never was the sharpest tool in the box. But when you have lived billions of years you can pretty much learn anything.
Eventually I could single handedly progress all humanity millions of years ahead of what it should have been. We would land on Mars and have a colony before the 21st century. The whole world would be run by fusion plants by the year 2005. And then there was the way to prolong life, almost infinitely. That's when I made the biggest mistake of my life, to choose willingly to never die, and so I lived for billions of years in a single life. All the way til the universe was starting to end.
We tried to stop it, we tried practically everything. We even build an entire artifices galaxy just so we could try to survive, but nothing would work. It was then that I learned the truth of life. That everything comes to an end, that life is really meaningless. I then awoke, just as always as a six year old boy in my mothers arms. I looked at her face, a face I hadn't seen in almost 30 billion years. This was when my life ended, at that moment. Although I still breath and have a heart beat, I am dead inside.
|
The last thing I remember is being late. Hung over from a vengeful night of drink, although the only thing I avenged was my self loathing. A vicious cycle, but I didn't have time to ponder my depression.
My name is Elisa Browning.
I never really had a firm grip on reality. Three separate therapists claim it's because my parents divorced when I was 14. My diagnosis is that nobody is who they say they are. I act on my own will in the moment. Is it perfect? Hell no, but I would rather not hide behind a mask, no matter how necessary everyone else finds it.
My favorite bar is "Mickey's" over on 34th and Dumont. As I stumbled out on an early Tuesday afternoon, the sun was shining particularly bright. It reflected so strongly off of my silver plated watch that I didn't even notice the curb.
All it took was three seconds.
One; My right knee slammed to the ground.
Two; I turned to head left only to see the grill of a big blue truck.
Three; Nothing. Darkness.
At first it was painful, but I slowly stopped struggling and let myself be lifted out. It was as if I was an apple being plucked off of a tree. And once I was free of the stem that connected me to that branch, it was everything I ever hoped for. Detachment from the world as we know it makes you see what's truly important.
And then, as quickly as I ended, I began once again.
The first thing I felt was the warmth of the sun on my cheek. Then the swaying of my legs, and the skirt that was resting on top of them. I felt my bangs slide back and forth on my forehead. I felt a strong hand on the small of my back and I looked up. It was my father, Jeremy.
I winced. "What is happening?" I thought. "Did he not die that night?"
No, that's crazy. He was dead and had been for 13 years. There was something else happening here.
Pt. 2
My shoes were beautiful. White lace with a small crocheted flowers resting at the bottom of my thin ankle. They slowly slid back and forth with the swaying of the swing. I enjoyed it. I didn't know why I was back in my childhood. Was this heaven?
I guess it didn't matter now. I was dead.
But my soul was not. It was taken back to the place where my life truly began.
The nostalgia stopped abruptly. My father was no longer pushing me. He was walking towards the door in our fence.
A young woman was standing there. Smiling at him. She handed him something, touched his hand and walked away.
As he turned around, he stuffed what appeared to be a folded napkin the breast pocket of his red flannel. "Go ahead and keep playing, baby. I'm going to make a phone call." My father slid the porch screen shut behind him and disappeared around a corner inside the house.
Just then, I felt a warm hand lay across my shoulder and collar bone. It was the same feeling I had when I felt the sun hit my cheek once again.
It was my guardian angel. He didn't have to say anything. He just smiled and looked proudly at me.
"What am I doing here?" I asked him.
"Your alive again, Elisa."
"What does that mean?"
"This isn't a trick or a metaphor. This life is yours. You get to live it again. Do things differently."
"Why would I want that? And why this moment in time?"
"Because this is the first moment in a long line of decisions that lead to your death."
Pt. 3
As quickly as he came to me, he was gone, as if that was all the guidance I needed.
An overwhelming wave of déjà vu hit me. "This must be the moment he was talking about." I thought.
I stood up off of my wooden swing and walked through the lush garden that led to our back door. The soles of my shoes clicked against the bare pad of my heel with every step. I felt as if I was in auto pilot. I suppose in a way, I was.
The screen door was harder to open than I remembered. I had to throw my body weight to crack it enough to slip inside. As I walked into the kitchen, I heard my father speaking on the phone. I slowly walked down the hall and sat outside his room.
Hunched over with my mouth resting on my bare knees, I listened.
"... In case you were wondering, I do what I want. No one can hold me down, especially my wife."
That was it. He was definitely seeing this woman he was speaking too. Was it even the girl he spoke to outside earlier? There was no way of knowing for sure.
"...listen, I have to go check on my daughter. Do you want to pick me up at the cafe on Johnson street?...... Around 11:30 she'll be asleep...... Okay I'll see you then."
I rushed back out the door to the yard, but the sliding door proved to be too much once again. I yanked to shut it, with no results. My father step into the room and noticed my struggle.
"Let me help you, sweetie."
"Thanks dad. It's stuck again." I used as little vocabulary as I could. A 6 year old wouldn't have the compactly to put together his scheme to see 2, or possibly even 3 woman at the same time.
"Was that mommy on the phone?" I had to dig deeper. The déjà vu was coming in progressive waves now.
"No, that was someone from work. I forgot my briefcase." His comeback was so quick and flawless, I almost believed him. I can see how he slipped all this past my mother all those years.
"I love you daddy."
"I love you too, Elisa."
I decided to do something about this. I was here to change my life right? But what about other people's actions? Surely I couldn't control anyone else's fate, could I?
Pt. 4
It's been 8 years since I was hit by that truck. I've been doing experiments and studying the déjà vu as it happens.
I've learned that I cannot alter people's actions, free will is universal, but I can definitely change the outcome.
Let's say a man forgets his answering machine at home is full, which makes him miss a call for a once in a lifetime job opportunity. This leads him to take a job as a cashier and his life slowly goes downhill. If I were to go into his house and delete but 1 message, he would have taken the dream job and effectively turned his life around.
And he did. Because I did delete his last message. He missed his dentist appointment because of me, but they called back the next day to reschedule.
No ones fate is sealed. Fate is just a myth people use as an excuse for their insecurities. Anyone one moment in time can effect your entire self, no matter the insignificance.
As much as I wanted too, I didn't effect my mother and fathers lifestyle. I did my best to remain their little girl, but some things slipped out. They aren't any the wiser, they just assume their child is a genius.
Today was the morning my parents originally split up. I could feel it coming weeks in advance. Since I've tapped into it, the déjà vu works as an early warning system.
My father walked in the front door. More accurately, he stumbled across the threshold and half passed out on the couch. He's been drinking very heavily. Both my mother and father have been unfaithful, and they both knew it.
Suddenly, the déjà vu came to a screeching halt. This had never happened before. What did I change?
My mother walked into the room. She had a dead look in her eyes and my duffle bag in her hand.
"Go sit in the car Elisa. We're going to go visit your aunt for a few weeks. Your father needs some time to himself." I slid my backpack off of my shoulders.
"Mom, I'm supposed to turn in my semester project in science tomorrow. If I don't, I'll fail! I'm not doing fucking summer school!" I was making a scene on purpose. I had to fix whatever it was I changed. Who know what would happen now.
"Watch the way you talk to me young lady." She was oddly calm. "I've already called you into school, they know you won't be attending class."
I took one last look into her eyes, trying to decode her thoughts. All I saw were those dead eyes, perhaps this was her mourning the death of her marriage.
"Okay." I sighed.
I let my feet slowly drag as I left the house and walked towards the car. The passenger door popped open and I lowered myself into the seat.
Then it happened; a single, unmistakable gunshot.
(Will continue later)
| 2015-04-17T13:21:09 | 2015-04-17T10:36:48 | 87 | 41 |
[WP] Lonely and bored, you developed a secret language, that you consistently use to talk to yourself. One day, when you mutter something under your breath, a stranger replies with ease.
|
"That's impossible." I thought to myself, "I couldn't have just heard that". So I tried something else and muttered another word.
The reply was as fast as the first except this time it sounded like he was actually correcting me! And now the guy was stepping off the bus. I had to know.
I pushed my way frantically off the bus before the door closed and chased after him on the street, around a corner, where I saw him a few dozen paces away
"Wait!", I called. "I have to talk to you".
No response.
"Stop, sir!"
Nothing.
I tried my secret language, the one I've been using for years and that he couldn't have possibly known. The language I was quite proud of for being indecipherable.
<Wait!>
He turned and stopped. <Yes?>
<You can understand me!>
<Of course.>
<But this language>
<Is natural to me>
<But it's so complex!>
<Not really>
<But the words change with usage.>
<So?>
<And there aren't consistent patterns to how they change.>
<It's not that bad.>
<The words are mostly consonants, and they're long!>
<They are not so long>
<And you have to conjugate all the parts of some compound words independently>
<So? With practise it's easy>
<And some words don't conjugate at all, but you just need to know>
<Only some>
<And the gender is implicit but necessary!>
<But there are only three of them>
<But I invented this language!>
<No you didn't>
<I did! I invented a secret code language that nobody but me knows, and I made it so hard that nobody could ever guess>
<What are you talking about?>
<How do you understand me?!>
<Because everyone from my home speaks this language>
<That's impossible. I designed it to be difficult! It's a made up language!>
<No it's not. There are 40 million of us.>
<What?!>
<You're speaking Polish. But don't worry, if you practise, some day your grammar will improve.>
|
The chattering bus riders poured out into the city with the haste normally found during the lunch rush. Danny, too busy staring at his phone to be aware of his envirioment, followed the crowd mindlessly and felt a child bump into his groin. The kid didn't notice, he just went off running with his mother. Danny, on the other hand, struggled to catch a breath, squatting with gritted teeth he shuffled awkwardly towards a bench. The pain in his testicles flared upwards into his stomach, nearly causing him to puke right there.
"**Hafh'drn!**" said Danny, pointing at the child. "**Bug tharanak n'gha gof'nn!**"
A business man stepping out of the bus stopped abruptly in his tracks, widening his eyes with shock as he stared at Danny. He then swallowed, nodded, and said:
"**Ah goka gotha, Cthulhu'nyth.**"
Before Danny could say anything else, the man disappeared into the crowd. The confused student shrugged, sat on the bench, and recovered his strength after a few minutes. Danny couldn't help but feel puzzled at the situation. Ever since he was a child, he would shout that gibberish in place of cursing. Eventually, he would string together words because it felt like a fun thing to do, but he never felt like they meant anything. That man, though... he seemed to not only understand his language, but speak it as well.
"*Whatever...*" thought Danny, "*it was probably my mind playing tricks on me. There's no way he understood that nonsense.*"
Just as Danny stood up from the bench, the man tapped him on his shoulder and bowed subtly with his hand on his heart. "High priest, the deed is done. I had to dispose of his mother as well, she attacked me when I grabbed him. I hope it doesn't displease you."
Danny furrowed his brow in confusion, tensing his shoulders once he saw the man's fingers. There was blood under his nails and his neck bled from a recent scratch. His suit and tie looked disheveled, like he'd just gotten into a fight. Danny's heart rate quickened before he said:
"W-what are you talking about?"
The man inspected Danny with a puzzled glare. "I disposed of the bodies in a dumpster. Is that not to your liking?" He scratched his head. "Maybe you're new in town. I've never seen you at any of the gatherings. You r'lyehian is unlike any I've heard from a simple follower, about as fluent as High Priest Justinian. What sect do you belong to?"
Danny stepped back, hands shaking from fear. "Sect? I... I don't belong to any sect! Please, get away from me. I-I'll call the cops!"
"Oh no..." The man took a step forward. "That can't be." He dashed into Danny and whispered into his ear. "**Fhtagn, Cthulhu'yth.**"
All of Danny's muscles froze in place, paralazing him with a weird sensation in his body. His vision got blurry before everything around started spinning. He then fell forward and only saw darkness until losing consciousness.
----------------
Danny woke up in a dark cavern, sitting on a chair in front of a wooden desk. Candles covered the shelves on his right, flickering with a soft burn only audible because of the silence. A skull rested on top of the desk, covered in weird glyphs that were carved into its surface. Danny jumped when a horrifying moan echoed behind him, like a man suffering a thousand deaths. The young man turned around to find its source, but he only saw a metal door at the end of the cave. It was commoing from another room.
The moaning turned into an agonizing scream before suddenly stopping. Danny felt a shiver rush down his spine, anticipating his fate to be equally painful. The door creaked open with a high-pitch noise and a man wearing a red cloak entered the makeshift office. Strolling past Danny with a confident walk, he dragged out his wheeled chair and sat behind the desk. He then grinned through his gray beard and said:
"It seems one of my acolytes has acted out of place. I apologize for his behavior. Needless to say, I've already given him a fitting punishment."
Danny nodded. "I-I see. Where am I?"
"You are currently in the underground caverns of Xeistoria City. This is our temple and base for the worship of the Great Old One, Cthulhu. I assume you're a follower as well, right?"
"Look, I don't know anything about this. Please, let me go. I just want to leave. I promise I wont tell anyone!"
"Hmm..." The man stroked his beard. "Acolyte Martin said you spoke r'lyehian with the ease of a master. That would mean you are of my same rank in the eyes of the Great One. I have no power over you; You can do whatever you want."
Danny relaxed his shoulders, took a deep breath, and said:
"Oh... then I guess I'll just leave."
Danny stood up, but before he could take a step forward, High Priest Justinian chuckled and said:
"Of course, that's all assuming I believe Acolyte Martin. I'm going to need some proof." He then looked past Danny and shouted. "Bring him in!"
The same man Danny met at the bus was dragged into the room. He was shirtless, with hundreds of lashes torn across the flesh of his back. The only sound he could produce was a muffled groan. Danny wondered why he couldn't speak, but then he saw why. His tongue had been ripped off. Only the gurgling sound of blood and painful whimpers of a broken spirit came out of his mouth. Squirming on the floor, he started to tear up, but no one in the room reacted to his crying. High Priest Justinian stood up and said:
"**Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!**"
Martin ceased his twitching, remaining frozen in place. He then jerked his shoulders back, stiffening his abdomen and widening his eyes. Danny breathed heavily and gripped his fist, preparing his mind for whatever was about to happen. This was a futile effort, though, since the monstrosity that seeped out of Martin's mouth was beyond anything Danny could imagine.
A gray blob of primordial ooze fell out of his body, letting out a terrifying shriek that hurt Danny's ears. The substance then rose out of the lashes on Martin's back, joining its ilk into a sphere that consumed the acolyte's body. Five tentacles and thirty eyes popped out the monster's being, flailing around and blinking at an unnatural rhythm. In then slowly limped towards Danny, leaving behind a trail of nauseating slime.
"**Tekeli-li!**" whispered the monster. "**Tekeli-li!**"
Danny couldn't move a muscle. His fear and read paralyzed him in place. Even though his eyes rejected what he saw, he couldn't look away. His mind couldn't process the dimensions of the monsters. It shouldn't be possible; it didn't belong to this world. Once it was an inch away from Danny, it created a mouth in its body, ready to swallow the young man. A sudden stillness overcame Danny, urging him to say:
"**Gnalih, y-stell'bsna zhro.**"
The creature stopped for a moment, breathing rhythmically into Danny's face. In then lowered a tentacle unto his shoulder and caressed him, stroking his hair with an obedient gurgle. Danny turned around, glaring at the High Priest with a cold stare. He then said:
"**Hlirgh, n'gha geb.**"
As if following a command, the monster made its way to Justinian and swallowed him whole, muffling the horrified screams he uttered with his last breath. Danny grinned and chuckled, transforming it after a few seconds into a maniacal cackle. It was like he'd woken up from a dream. He finally remembered his purpose. This useless follower only acted as a place holder until he took over the sect. His mission was clear, a beautiful image forming in his head of a glorious future where his father would rule. Under his guidance, the cult will finally awaken Cthulhu in the coming months.
------------------------------
> If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2016-10-10T09:19:59 | 2016-10-10T09:16:11 | 117 | 23 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
St Peter drops his pen in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
I look back. “I said, I choose Hell.”
“Son, do you know what they do to you in Hell?” St Peter asked. “They beat you, and torment you, and burn you in anguish until the end of time.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
St Peter sits back in his chair. He looks down at his desk, squints his eyes, then looks back. “Why do you choose Hell?”
“Sir,” I start, shuffling my feet, “I’ve gone through a lot in my time on Earth. I’ve suffered through a childhood that neglected me. My upbringing was sometimes a matter of life or death at home and at school. I joined the service for a worthy cause...”
St Peter puts his hand up to stop me. “You joined the service after your childhood? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
“No sir”, I explain, “I saw a worthy cause, and for the first time, I took it.” St Peter leans in, “What was it like?”
“I had good times, and I had bad times.” I lower my eyes, remembering my time on Earth. “I watched men kill, and be killed. I’ve lost friends, and I have sent men to their deaths.” My eyes start to well up in tears. “For that...just for that...I deserve no peace.”
I look back at St Peter as a tear falls from my eye. St Peter stands up, and hugs me. The first real hug I’ve gotten in a while. It felt weird to hug another man, but almost as if it was an automatic response, my arms fly around his body and I pull him in a tight embrace. We were there for what felt like eternity.
We finally stop hugging and I wipe tears from my eyes, nervously chuckling for crying. St Peer opens his giant golden book, signs something, then closes it. A golden gate opens up behind him as he puts his arm around me and leads me to it.
“Here, in Heaven, you will know peace.”
“Sir, I don’t know how to live in peace.”
I look back at him as he takes his place behind the Book of Life. “You will learn, soldier.”
You will learn.
|
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/
| 2018-08-13T09:22:44 | 2018-08-13T06:23:07 | 115 | 53 |
[WP] A grim discovery is made on humanity's first interstellar mission. Evidence shows that every other space fairing civilization purposely destroyed itself with no telling as to why.
|
As humanity spread out into the stars we found nothing but endless tomb world's. Some torn by war but most just... dead. The ancient bones of their inhabitants gathered in small groups.
For millennia humanity struggled with the mystery as our reach and understanding of the cosmos grew.
We finally found the answer with the unification of technology and spirituality and it is worse than anyone had believed.
All intelligent living entities have a spirit, soul, essence. It is real. The religions were right. But they were wrong about what happens to it.
There is eternal life.
But there is no heaven. There are hells.
Endless, infinite hells filled with darker horrors than anyone could have imagined .
In our initial optimism we thought we could do something about them.
We have proven their existence , learned how to peer into their depths... and proven the impossibility of doing anything about them. Proven with the cold certainty of mathematics.
Slowly, across the human world's people stopped having children. Who could create another person knowing they would suffer infinitely.
Slowly and quietly the world's of humanity became tombs.
|
Claire signed the document. Her thumbprint, DNA, and Central System ID were logged.
The imperial soldiers that stood beside her did not move as she passed the tablet back to the receptionist.
“Thank you for your response. As per the letter, you are now allowed to enter the institute and be enlightened. The discloser will prevent any and all future discussions outside of these hallowed walls,” the synthetic woman replied. Her digital blue eyes glowed as she finished her statement with a smiled.
“I just wish to know, about everything. The equations. The final truth,” Claire gushed as she hopped on the spot. Finally, after decades of research she was now able to talk to her peers in this field of Xenos Sociology.
“Of course Student Claire. You are now accepted with the final papers, and we welcome you with open arms,” a confident voice said as the security doors hissed open.
Claire watched as her idol. Doctor Meng Siu stepped forth. Beside him were two other synthetic assistance. Their violet eyes glowed as they scanned the room.
Personal guards. Not that she expected anything different. Meng Siu was super famous. The lead mind in the Imperious Empire that stretched across the galaxy.
“Come Claire, walk with me,” Meng said as he waved his new protege over.
Claire squealed as she sprinted up. The only reason she didn't crash into her idol was because the two guards stared at her. They would have probably done not so gentle things to stop her.
“What can you tell me of the unique parallels of all Xenos cultures that we have documented so far?” Meng asked as they passed the thick security doors. They hissed closed moments after they passed.
“From all dead worlds… regardless of location such as lunar bodies, orbital monuments or stations, and even geographical wonders… Two mathematical equations are always present,” Claire answered as she felt the world drop.
The elevator hummed as she entered the bowels of Institute One. The most advanced, secure, and important research center in the Empire.
“Correct,” Meng said as he nodded. “What are those equations?”
“One is for a complex set of celestial mechanics. The other is a set of coordinates leading to various stars. Or black holes if they have collapsed.”
“Correct,” Meng repeated as he made his way over to the front of the elevator. The wall suddenly changed. It went from the dull beige color to perfectly translucent.
Claire gasped as she saw the fusion sphere. The orange artificial sun hung over the cavern below, providing warmth, light, and energy. She surmised that the color came from the protective field preventing the radiation and heat from killing everything.
“There is one fact that is false however,” Meng corrected as he gripped the handlebar so that he could rest on it. “The second coordinates are all false. The truth is that the second set of equations all lead to the same place.”
Claire stared at her idol. Her mind whirred into action. A single location? Impossible. There was over fifty million documented tomb systems. Each with a different culture that grew independent of each other.
Meng smirked as he saw her face change. They all had the same ideas. Logical minds going over known facts. “The amount of document tomb systems is also over 130 million. We have to stop listing them all to prevent issues.”
His thoughts momentarily turned over to the automated defense stations. If they detected human life, then they would issue a warning. If it was ignored, then violence was the next immediate answer.
Claire stopped thinking as she stared at the bearded man. His clean cut features smiled as he never got tired of breaking their fragile little minds.
“Then… what does the coordinates all lead to?”
“What can you tell me about black hole evaporation?” Meng asked as he switched gears.
Claire frowned, but was actually glad for the change in topics. Safe changes to facts that she could actually deal with.
“Hawking Radiation is the measurement of black-body radiation. Its the measurement of how much a black hole is shrinking as it losses mass and energy across time.”
“Good. Very good. You at least know the basics,” Meng complimented as the elevator touched down to the base floor.
The pair exited, followed by the guards who were now tagging along with the newest member of the facility. Not that she noticed as she was trying to piece together the odd string of questions.
“Now for the hardest question. If we have a black hole. A mega black hole. Nearly 30 trillion solar masses, and it emits a consistent pulse of hawkling radiation… what do we have?” Meng asked as they walked across the clean floor.
Various scientists waved, but they knew better then to interrupt the breaking of the newbie. Many smirked as they remembered their own cataclysmic revelations.
“Well that would depend on how much mass its consuming?” Claire hedged her answer as she was confused. There was conflicting data there.
“Zero mass infusion. Or nearly zero at any rate,” Meng supplied as he moved towards the residential district. Claire would settle in there, and then orientation would begin the next day.
“Zero infusions. Semi sporadic bursts of hawking radiation. On a impossibly big black hole?” Claire asked as she was wrapping her head around the question still.
“Not semi sporadic. Perfectly sequenced bursts. Also, there has been virtually no noticeable dip in solar masses across the few millenniums we have observed it,” Meng said as he walked towards the designated apartment for his newest worker.
“Impossible!” Claire said as she refuted this scenario. There was no way this was a thing. It had to be a hard test to see what she would say.
“Yet here we are,” Meng said as his mind wandered back to that day.
The fleet had popped out, and he watched as the graveyard of old ships, and countless orbital stations littered the black hole in a sphere of junk. Much like how satellites orbited Terra, so too did these Xenos Technology orbit the black hole.
Meng smiled as he watched Claire open her door. Inside was a 118th generation synthetic helper. It would help keep her sane as she was now essentially trapped here in Institute One. Until they solved this mystery that was the bane of so many Xenos Species.
“Claire,” Meng said as he got ready to leave. Claire would need time to adjust.
“Yes?”
“Its a heartbeat. The pulse match all records of a heartbeat. That is the largest fact we can surmise right now. For millions of years, across millions of Xenos Societies, their data has lead to this one fact. That black hole is unnatural in every shape and form,” Meng sighed as he opened the door. “It is up to us to figure out what it is, and how it will affect us.”
Claire sat down. Or rather she fell down onto her couch as countless thoughts raced through her heads.
If that was a living thing… and her researched had shown her how the many, many Xenos had destroyed themselves… then did that mean a part of their research also meant some form of mass self destruction?
Her minds eventually focused onto the new fact that dominated her mind.
What was that black hole?
--- Author's Corner ---
Thanks for reading!
I hope the science holds up as I only did minimum research.
| 2019-06-11T23:28:26 | 2019-06-11T23:09:17 | 74 | 36 |
[WP] Whenever you touch a book, your brain automatically processes all information from it. A suspicious looking guy walking past just "accidentally" dropped a very old and cursed looking book in front of you.
|
In my youth, it was a blessing. I breezed through school with a simple touch of the provided texts. During university I saved thousands on those overpriced paperweights they peddled. My peers and instructors marveled over the speed which I consumed information. And this information did not fade, I can still recite the children’s books my mother provided me word for word. The caterpillar is my favorite.
But as I grew older, this power of mine became burdensome. I couldn’t bide my time in the doctor’s lobby with the magazines, as I’ve seen ever page before opening the front cover. User manuals contained so much pointless babble when I simply wanted to know how to set the microwave clock. But remembering it was the real curse. While I could process any book’s information immediately, all the data was stored in my head. And when page 219 of the user agreement form decides to make itself known at 2am, it makes it difficult to sleep. It became exhausting. The insomnia wearing me down day by day. Hour by hour.
So, when a suspicious looking man, disheveled, though difficult to tell if hipster or homeless, walked by and dropped an ancient text in front of me I simply sighed. I’ve touched thousands of books, and they all scream to be remembered. Even laying on the narrow sidewalk, this one seemed to scream louder than them all.
With an extra long stride, I cautiously stepped over the book and didn’t look back. I didn’t need that in my life, I needed sleep.
|
It’s honestly not as fun as it sounds. Remember the last time you read a book that you didn’t enjoy? Were the characters stale, or were there too many descriptions of things you didn’t care about? Did the writer tell you all about the character’s bedroom walls in a ham-fisted attempt to portray the personality or social situations of the character? Was the ending rushed, or too abstract, or too predictable? Or did they use (and i hate this) the ‘it was all a dream’ get-out? Well don’t come crying to me, because i’ve seen it all. My name is Simon, and I’ve got a superpower. Actually it’s less like a superpower and more like a curse. I can absorb all of the information in a book just by touching it. Sounds cool right? I’ve never had to revise for an exam, never had to rack my brains for an answer in a pub quiz, and never failed to irritate everyone around me by being a know-it-all. That was the start of my downfall.
I had a job as a top lawyer in the city. My command of case law was legendary. I could recall old precedents, draw up obscure examples, and bring up obscure legal loopholes as easily as you’d talk about the weather during a heatwave. But as you can imagine, all of that information comes at a cost. I had to work in a darkened room due to getting intense migraines. I absorbed nearly all of the case law books in the law library and having that information floating around in your head is a recipe for some absolute killer headaches. This wasn’t akin to absorbing my Hungry Caterpillar books when i was a child, this was high level detailed (and boring) information. So the paralegals and other lawyers would come to me if they needed something double checking, and they’d have to come to my dimly lit office and suffer through a conversation with someone who’d tell them that they were wrong, in a pained and exasperated tone. I quickly became unpopular, and was asked to leave after six months.
I’ve managed to move away from the law now, and like any useful skill, it’ll mothball and get less sharp if you don’t use it very often. I stay away from libraries and bookshops, and I avoid books as best I can, unless I’m interested in them. A woman reading an erotic fiction book brushed me on the train the other day and I got a great insight into the sexual fantasies of middle-aged women. That was a fun ten minutes sat by her, I can tell you that.
But today I’m sat here, in my one bedroom flat with yellowing wallpaper, quite content in the knowledge that i don’t have to absorb any knowledge I don’t want to. I live a normal life, unencumbered by having to be a know-it-all or living with blinding headaches, and I'm happy. That is, I was happy, until about two hours ago. I left my flat to go and get some lunch, and on my way to the local deli I noticed a man watching me. He was an old man with sagging skin on his face and keen eyes squinting at me from across the road. He was dressed like he was from a 1940’s spy film, beige macintosh buttoned up to his neck and wide brimmed black hat on. I thought nothing of his appearance and continued on my way to get some lunch. As I exited the deli with my sandwich in hand, the man with the macintosh was now standing in my path. I tentatively went to walk around him when I saw an object drop beneath the folds of his coat and hit the floor. It was a weatherbeaten black book, bound in leather with unintelligible red writing on the front. The pages looked coffee stained and old, and the book looked like it smelled strongly of dank and must. Now I'm not one for jumping to conclusions, but that book looked like it had nothing good written inside it. I looked to the old man who was now watching me furtively, almost as if he expected me to run away at any second.
“Could you please help me?” he asked politely. “My hips aren’t what they were”.
I blinked rapidly, wondering if I could explain to him that I had no intention of picking up the book.
“Erm…” I started, not quite knowing what to say. “I’m… I mean, I’m not sure”
The old man looked at the book and then back at me, a bit more sharply this time.
“Son, please help me. I don’t want to bend down and not be able to get back up”. I swallowed and looked around. I really didn’t want to pick this book up, but the natural British man inside me was balking at the idea of coming across so rude to an elderly man asking for assistance. ‘Screw it’ I thought, bending to pick up the book. What’s the worst that could happen? I swear I saw that old bastard smile as my fingers closed around that wretched book. As soon as I touched the book my vision went completely dark. I felt like i was falling through a void, with a bright orange light rushing towards me. I twisted, trying to turn away from the light. My mind was filled with words I couldn't understand, thoughts and concepts I'd never considered. Evil thoughts and concepts. Dead bodies, people burning, people screaming. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think. The blackness was pressing in on me, pulsing from all sides as the orange blaze below rushed up to meet me. I opened my mouth to scream and the blackness began to pour in, filling my lungs, suffocating me. And then I snapped out of it. I was on all fours on the pavement gasping for breath, head pulsing, skin crawling. I looked up to see the old man, or what I thought was an old man standing above me. He now resembled a young, fiercely handsome man with close cut black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He was still wearing the macintosh, but it seemed to fit him better and look more natural on him. He eyed me with amusement as I staggered to my feet.
“Welcome to our guild Simon. Best go home and start practising” he said in a soft tone.
I burst out into a run and tried to put as much distance as I could between me and him. I arrived back at my flat and collapsed onto the sofa. What could I do? Call the police? Ridiculous. What should I say? How could I explain it? I felt frustration and anger boil up inside me, so hot it seemed to burn from my chest out to my fingertips. I hurriedly got up. Was I having a heart attack? The heat in my chest got hotter and hotter until it was scalding me. I began to scream, my mouth opening wide. But my voice box didn’t push a scream out. It pushed out a terrible cry as I roared the strange word my memory knew but my brain didn’t understand:
“B'NuORoA!!!” I screamed. At this, a burst of fire erupted from the two fingertips of my left hand, instantly incinerating what had up until that moment been a nice sofa. The burning in my chest abated. I looked at my two fingertips in amazement, wondering how they remained unburnt. I thought about the words of the strange man outside the deli, welcoming me to his ‘guild’, whatever that meant. I looked back at the pile of ash that had been my sofa.
What the fuck was that book?
| 2022-08-26T08:34:17 | 2022-08-26T05:21:28 | 199 | 58 |
[WP] The stronger your opponent is, the easier you defeat him. Sick and tired of seeing elite assassins and battle-hardened units fall, your worst enemy sends his six year old son after you.
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"My daddy sent me here," says a young boy looking up at me from the steps.
"Who's your father kid?" I ask looking around the street to see if anyone else is around.
"The Joker, he said he's tired of you always winning and that I should beat you."
"How? What? You're the Joker's son?" My voice rising in octaves as I tried to work out exactly what was happening.
"Yes. I will defeat you now!"
"Alright, how?"
"Um... ah, I'm pretty good at this old game Mario Kart, ever heard of it?" The young boy questioned.
"Kid, I will destroy you. C'mon get in here, I'm player one though - house rules. Alfred! We're gonna need snacks."
|
For as long as I have lived, I've had this "power" or a knowledge. I don't know which, the line between blurs. Or both. Knowledge is power. People call me incredibly lucky, able to survive even in the most unlikely odds. That is because I see what it takes to not show weakness. Or should I say, I see weakness all around me. I just know how to avoid it, how to exploit it and how to use it. Every single person I have met and will ever meet has at least one weakness. I see right through them and I often feel pity how easily exploitable these people are, if only others knew. Businessmen could easily empty the wallets of their, quoting, customers if they knew exactly what honeyed words they needed to use to convince someone to buy something, something as ludicrous as a bag of sand in the middle of a desert. But I am not like that. I don't want to cause misery to people.
Despite my efforts to remain secretive and appear as normal as possible, the government has taken interest in me. I see things that would cause governments to collapse the moment certain information became publicly visible about them. I see the things they are hiding and I cannot help myself but to absorb the truth and have a compelling need of vent it out when you see and hear so much stuff. Eventually, someone who slips past the range of my powers hears about it and reports back.
First the agents came to me,wanting to interrogate me. I declined. Then more agents, but with guns then commando squads, followed by entire armies. I defeated them all. I knew their exact weaknesses. I knew who would aim just a little bit too high, I knew who would panic in a cloud of smoke, I knew the person in a squad who would be too sensitive to give false alarms. I escaped every time, sometimes having to use the option of killing someone. I cannot say I enjoy killing but I have come to accept it as a necessary option to survive.
Nowadays, I live abroad. Far away from my home. Far away from my family. I miss them all. I miss the times when I could pretend I was normal and nobody knew that I knew.
I still sometimes get visits from assassins and hitmen. I still receive poisoned "gifts". I have turned them all back. It has been so long since I have settled in. I'm always on the run. Always prepared to outsmart any foe who seeks to eliminate me.
This cycle has been rotating for the last 50 years. They come, they lose and they'll have to find me again. I must say, the government of my former home country is very tenacious. They are really afraid of loosing their status quo and I am just so tired of running. I must have quite a fat bounty on my head too.
This whole rumble of being hunted is really taking a toll on my body and the mind. I have noticed I have grown more bitter every year and more null to my own power. I still see every weakness, I just choose not to care about it anymore. Where it is used to be like a juicy gossip to see someone's weakness, nowadays thinking about them only makes me sad as the weaknesses of an individual are quite mundane, like weak heart. It just goes to show how frail our bodies and minds are. Thus I have decided to avoid as much contact with humans as possible.
---
I heard a knock on my door
I sense a small child. Six years old. I see right through him and to my surprise lacking self defense is not his weakness. Ability of self defense and lethality of a person are the first things I seek after decades of being hunted. I do see typical weaknesses of a kid, including gullibility but that is not surprising.
I decide to open the door
"Hello. Are you lost?"
"No, I was just curious to see if my neighbour would like to play with me"
"Oh, why is that?"
"I don't have other kids to play with" he sheepishly says and tilts his head slightly downwards
Remembering all the lost moments with my family, having a moment like this is a very welcome one. Besides, I can sense anyone approaching before they can even see me so I should be safe, just like I have been in the past. A playtime session with a child, even if not my own, brings warmth to the weary heart of this old man that is me.
"Great!" he excitedly yells
"I even brought my toy" he tells and pulls out a gun out of his pocket and points it at me.
My instincts take control and I swiftly hit the child to disarm him. The gun fires with a loud bang. It missed.
"Dont. Fucking. Shoot me."
The child is nearly in tears and is obviously very startled. I am not sure if it's by me or the loud bang of the gun but startled nonetheless.
"I... I am sorry. I didn't know it was so loud" he says
Suddenly, I detect a malicious intent. Far away from here but still close enough. I do the lethality scan.
An assassin. Probably with a sniper rifle... That does not lack piercing power. The gun is already set and the aim is impeccable. I sense another weakness. The assassin is ready to kill even innocents without hesitation. I immediatly think of the child.
"Move inside! Now!
But the child instead slumps by the door and starts crying out loud.
" We don't have time for this"
Then suddenly, I remember. I've felt this before, not often but I remember. It is my power, scanning closest possible target: Myself.
It detects a weakness. I decide to ignore it. The child must be gotten behind the safety of the house walls. I forcefully grab him and make an attempt to drag him to safety.
Bam
At this point, I knew I was screwed. My mind can see foresee situations like this. That's how I have survived. But I decided to ignore it. The assassin would of course aim at me over the child because I am the target. Been one so far for 50 years or so. I willingfully left myself exposed because I exposed my weakness too. I cared too much for the child of a stranger.
My old body attempts to make a sudden dodge, but the bullet is faster than my reflexes. It hit my lungs, and I feel the air blow out of me, unable breathe.
"Run" I attempt to say, gasping for air but only blood comes out of my mouth.
In the heat of the moment, I let my own weakness get myself killed. It was a truly ironic mortal reminder, how could I exploit the weakness of others but let only a child exploit my own.
"Are you alright?" I heard the child say
Before everything went black
| 2017-08-12T06:08:55 | 2017-08-12T06:08:48 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] To enter The Paradise, you must perform a talent or a skill that you have acquired on Earth. Welcome to Heaven's Got Talent.
|
“Next.”
“Hi, my name’s Jordan. My talent is… depression.”
“Being depressed is not a talent.”
“Yes, but I’m really good at it and it didn’t even kill me. Wait, I can stare at a ceiling for at least 12 hours without moving and getting bored,” hurriedly added the young man.
“Next.”
“Hi, my name’s Stacy and....”
“Next!”
“I didn’t even say…”
“I’m St Peter, I know everything.”
“But…”
“NEXT!”
“Hello, my name is Branda. I can make extremely delicious avocados toasts and cupcakes.”
“This is…”
“They are all low carb and sugar, but not too healthy.”
“Alright, go in. Check in with Michael. NEXT.”
“My name is Damien. I worked in retail, I can deal with any angry and yelling customer and render them speechless and hating themselves.”
“Good, finally someone who can do something. Come here, set next to me. NEXT!”
|
I followed the light. It seemed like the logical thing to do, what there being nothing else but the glimmering dot amidst a sea of inky abyss.
I also vaguely recalled that that was what one was supposed to do in a post-life situation. It was odd, how removed I already felt from the mortal coil. One moment I was cruising along the streets of San Francisco on my Lime scooter and the next I was here. I assumed I had gotten pulverized by a truck or something, but to be honest I couldn't recall any of the details.
Seeing no better option, I began to make my way toward the point of light. I cannot rightly say how long I traveled along the midnight paths, but the glittering ahead slowly grew and resolved. First I saw what appeared to be two large, pearly white gates, seemingly conjured wholesale from the ether.
Then I saw a man. He stood before the gates, a clipboard clutched in one hand and his foot beating impatiently on the ground. As I approached, I could see that his eyes were fixed upon me, a slight frown on his face as the foot continued to tap. He wore a pair of white loafers, white slacks, and a white sweater with a white collar peaking out of it. Very dapper.
"You're late," he announced as I drew closer.
"Um...sorry? For what?" I replied, genuinely confused.
"Your audition. We'll have to put you on after the next break. Luckily the couple from Tuscon arrived a bit ahead of schedule." He gestured emphatically with his clipboard as he spoke. I could just make out a list of times and a number of names beside them. In some cases there was a scribble through them with a small, "Revived" inked in. In other cases the names had arrows next to them, moving them forward or backward on the list.
"Wait, audition? Break? What are you talking about?"
He exhaled in exasperation and then extended his left hand, his right being occupied by the clipboard. "I'm Saint Peter, but most folks just call me SP. I run the gates around here. Who gets in, who gets," he coughed in his hand, "cut."
I took his left hand with my right, and lightly hefted it a few times, the entire situation awkward. "Okaaayyy, nice to meet you SP. So what do I need to audition for?"
"Entrance into paradise everlasting," he replied, jutting a thumb behind him at the Pearly Gates. "Nirvana. Jannah. Tian. Heaven. The end game."
"I thought you got there by, like, being a decent person."
SP snorted, "Don't be naïve kid. Gotta sing for your supper the same as everywhere else."
"You might want to get that communicated back on earth. We've been operating on some pretty big misunderstandings."
"Yeah, we've been looking into that, we've been working through SC, but we might need to step things up and re-deploy JC. Problem is that he's still annoyed about how things played out the last time he visited you guys. He gets along way better with the folks over on Alpha Centauri."
"JC?" I asked.
SP stared at me, "Son of God. The number two. Heir apparent once the Big Guy retires."
"Oh. He's upset at us?"
"Yeah, you guys left a pretty bad impression," he tapped his clipboard, "anyways, we gotta get you ready. Your slot is coming up pretty soon."
"What do I have to do?"
"It's pretty straight forward really, you show off your talent. There's a panel of three judges, two of the three gotta give you a thumbs up to get through the gates."
"Just like America's Got Talent?"
"They ripped that off from Britain's Got Talent which we delivered to earth via our Prophet SC."
"Wait, you mentioned him before, who is SC? And why does everyone go by their initials? It's super confusing."
"Simon Cowell. And it's because time is money baby." SP tapped his clipboard again, "Got a hit show here, all the Heavens are tuning in."
"Wait, wait, slow down, Simon Cowell is a prophet?" That guy was a total dick on Idol, he didn't seem very heavenly at all.
"Sure, we learned from the last go around that the best prophets make profits. People just don't go in for the old burning bush bit any more. Too skeptical. If you wanna make change you gotta make change son." He rubbed his thumb and fingers together.
I stared at his fingers, stupefaction setting in for a few moments before I managed to gather myself. "I don't have any talents though."
SP sucked in some air between his teeth, making a faint whistling sound. "That's not going to play well at all. Hard to package that. Judges can't be letting in people that don't contribute to the milieu around here. We've got an image to protect."
"Um...can I like have a few days to practice or something?"
"That's a no-can-do friend-o, people are kicking the dirt every day and we can't be piling up slots just because someone didn't show up prepared," he gave me a sympathetic look, "you sure you don't have ANY talents? I mean, we got a pretty wide view on things. We had a lawyer get in last week after he demonstrated an interesting corporate setup that leveraged a bunch of shell transactions. Revolutionary stuff, the powerpoint was incredible."
"I...hmmm...I..." was all I managed before I felt SP press me through a doorway that had mysteriously appeared to my right. It had a large "Backstage" sign over it.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out kid. Break a leg out there." The door disappeared as soon as I walked through it.
A new man appeared beside me, a small halo floated over his head and two wings popped up over his shoulder. "Cool, glad you made it. I'm Gabe."
"Hi Gabe, I was just trying to tell Saint Peter that I'm--"
"--I'm sure you'll do great, just lead with your strongest stuff and the rest will take care of itself," he cut in as he ushered me toward the stage.
A moment later, my name boomed out over the stage and I was shoved into the limelight beyond. I stumbled out onto the stage, provoking laughs from the audience. Squinting against the glare I made my way into the center. As my eyes adjusted I saw the three judges arrayed before me.
Siddhārtha Gautama, Buddha.
Mother Teresa, Saint.
Joseph Smith, Founder - LDS.
Mother Teresa spoke up first, "Glad to have you join us. What is your name and what are you here to show us?"
Joseph took a long drink from his cup and crossed his arms, fixing me with a baleful stare.
I gulped.
"I...um..."
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2018-08-07T09:53:26 | 2018-08-07T05:35:24 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You are so good at CPR you manage to revive anyone, a miracle, but people start calling you a necromancer
|
"I'm a *what*?" Asked Geoffrey. He looked out at the mob lining the path. It was almost the entire village.
"A necromancer." Answered Terry, butcher and nominal leader of the group. "Because, you know," he waved his cleaver at the mob "you raise the dead."
A couple of *yeahs!* and waving of torches backed up his statement. Geoffrey frowned, causing the group to step back and cross themselves. Those with torches screamed quietly as they learnt why you don't do complex hand gestures whilst holding burning sticks.
"No I don't." His head twitched to Terry in puzzlement.
"Yes you do, Geoff. What about Mary?" The cleaver pointed at a young woman who waved cheerfully, almost oblivious to the rusty sickle in her other hand.
"She nearly *drowned.*" Geoffrey explained exasperately. "All I did was pump the water from her lungs and give her some air. Not Necromancy."
"Fine then. What about Hank?"
"Hank had a heart attack. I just kept his heart going till it restarted a normal rhythm." Geoffrey turned to the crowd. "You know this is basic first aid, right? CPR? Anyone?" Terry coughed politely.
"And what about Dave? He was decal...decapiy... had his head cut off." The cleaver pointed at Dave, followed by the mob's eyes. A scar ran round around his neck, which he rubbed self-consciously.
"Huh." Geoffrey looked nonplussed at Dave, before returning to Terry. "That's not normal?" Terry shook his head.
"Huh." Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. "I'll remember that next time." A plume of black smoke shot into the sky and Geoffrey disappeared. The mob sighed with relief. At least *this* time they had got it right.
|
It was hot out today. Hotter than yesterday, but still average for August. School started up in a few weeks, which meant my tenure here at the Rockman Beach Lifeguard outpost was almost over. I started this job with the best of intentions and excitement. I grew up off the coast, just a few miles away from this spot, and the salty air of the ocean was so common to me I could almost make out a hand in the familiar touch it left on my skin. Those soft fingers are impossible for me to resist and working here to make a few extra bucks between semesters seemed like the best thing I could do before heading back into the heart of the countryside for school. I loved school, but I always miss the sea while I'm away.
Last week, a small boy had gone under a wave and didn't come back up. He was no older than three or four. His mother had been watching him, but she wasn't familiar with Rockman and how hard the undertow would pull, despite our warning signs. When he didn't come up right away, I jumped off my tall wooden seat in the sand, landed on my feet as best I could, and ran for the water. The mother wasn't panicking until she saw me sprint into the tide water. I heard her voice behind me in the distance before I dove under.
I can hold my breath better than most. It's a perk of living in Rockman's embrace as a child. I can also swim better than anyone I know. But no speed can catch up if you get too far out there. I kept looking down, the seaweed covered the ocean floor with its dark green hue. I looked and looked but couldn't find the boy.
My lungs began to burn as my last bits of oxygen were running out. I could feel my muscles begging for relief. My thighs and back ached and cowered under the pressure of the ongoing search. Then, after what seemed like it would be too late, I saw one tiny hand reaching out from the seaweed forest below. I found him but couldn't dive that far down with my current condition.
I broke the surface of the water and quickly took in two things - air as quickly as I could swallow it, and where I was. The current had pulled the boy an additional fifty yards from where I saw him last. I knew the odds. He had been under for over five minutes. He was likely gone, but I'm not allowed to give up on him. I just couldn't.
I dove back under and swam straight down, as I had done before so often as a child when I dropped toys in the sea. I found his hand and pulled the tiny lifeless body from his leafy bed. His eyes were slightly open, his mouth agape. Not a single bubble moved from his body. His life was over.
I brought him up and could hear the roar of the onlookers. They were cheering, crying, and screaming, unsure of what the end result would be. As I pulled the boy in, I could make out our regulars, who came every day to this spot and they stood silent. Statues of knowledge they wish they didn't know. Their faces were enough confirmation to tell me I was right about the boy's chances.
His mother met me when the water shallowed down to my hips. She reached for her boy but I cut her off and asked her to stand back. I now had to perform a ritual that I knew to be hopeless. I laid the boy's body down, and the crowd circled around, fresh onlookers for the tragedy I was about to reveal.
The boy's body was swollen, his skin pale with a purple hue about his face. His hair covered up most of his forehead and eyes, and for the sake of me wanting to avoid staring death straight on, I never moved his hair from that place. I began pushing on the child's chest. Careful not to compress too hard and risk shattering his sternum, though I knew it wouldn't matter if I did.
Pump. Pump. Pump. Then came the worst of it. I plugged his nose shut and began blowing air into his drowned mouth. I could taste the salt, though this time, it didn't feel like a gentle hand, but like an angry shove into my chest. The pit sank lower as I knew I was about to tell this sobbing mother that her baby boy was gone. The regulars started turning away, taking their children away from the scene. I heard the onlookers whisper their sighs of disbelief.
Then I felt it. I remember thinking it wasn't possible. I remember telling myself it had to be fake. But there it was.
Ba-dum.
The heart beat of the small boy started to churn. I could feel a stranger's touch on my shoulder as I started to pump again. I yelled again to stand back, but no one responded. The crowd started to lament louder, crying broke out among the mothers and children of the audience. I knew there was a heart beat and that this child had somehow been brought back to us, but no one else could see it. No one else was there to *feel* it.
I began blowing air in again, and this time, I felt the warning sign. The boy violently twitched and began to cough as I pulled away. Too much water came up. Too much for this. I wasn't prepared for him to be alive. I wasn't prepared to see something so frightening and amazing all at once. He coughed up what seemed like two gallons of water before moving his eyes and asking for his mother.
The audience cheered. I stood up, awestruck of the situation. I couldn't fathom that moment. I couldn't wrap my brain around what I had seen. I held that child in my arms under water. I knew him to be dead. How is it he is here?
The other lifeguard on duty looked at me when I stood up and I saw the look on her face. She stared at me with her bronze face and blue eyes as if I was a ghost. She smiled slightly, but she hasn't looked at me without that element of fear since.
The mother gave me a hug and took her child to the ambulance that was already parked. The EMTs arrived after the boy had come back, so they didn't know the whole situation, but took him in for monitoring. I turned to find the crowd of regulars staring at me and I heard the one line that has stuck with me since:
"He's the devil, that boy."
I thought they were referring to the child. I assumed they were. I looked at the child and thought the same thing myself for a moment. But as I started walking back to our equipment and office shack, I felt their eyes upon me the whole time. I walked up the steps, looked back, and saw their scowls. I was their demon. I was their devil.
Since then, I have been interviewed by our local newspaper for my so-called heroics. I have been treated by our boss for making our crew look good to the region. I have even been told by my parents how proud they are of me every night since. But all I feel is empty because of it.
My now-considered "angelic" presence on the top of my sandy post was a facade for what I knew to be the truth: somehow I brought the boy back when he should have stayed dead. I held a lifeless body in my arms and watched it spring back to our world.
I stare out over the ocean, listening to the waves come in, and take in the salty air once more. I believe myself to be cursed with ferrying the dead back into our world from this spot. I can't wait to head back to school and get away from all of this. From the stares. From the whispers of the locals and other lifeguards. I no longer want to do this job, out of fear that I may confirm my place in this world once more as a anomaly of nature itself. As the person who brings back what should rightfully be gone.
| 2016-08-24T12:16:33 | 2016-08-24T12:09:34 | 229 | 26 |
[WP] In the year 1984, your father said he was popping out to buy some milk and never came back. Eighty years later, you lie on your deathbed as your father walks in, confused and a jug of milk in his hand.
|
-What's happening here, who are you?
-Dad?
-Erik? Is it you?
-Why, why are you so young, so...? I thought you left...
-Well, your brother wanted some milk for dinner, and shops were closed, so I took a ship to the other side of the Milky Way, and... Damn, I didn't think it was going to take so long...
|
Birch Tree Drive, 1984
"Mom, why's Daddy taking so long to get milk?" 6 year old Joey asked his mother. A tear rolled down her cheek as she answered "He's not coming back." "What do you mean?" Jody asked. His mother sniffed and and said "He's a lousy dirtbag and he doesn't care about you or me." Joey cried, drowning out The Smurfs on T.V. and the cars in the street. His father was never coming back.
______
Birch Tree Drive, 2064
The house of the Parkers had changed. Joseph's mother had passed and pictures of him, his wife and three boys lined the walls of the house. 23 year old Thomas, 25 year old James and 27 year old Martin all stood behind their 81 year old mother. "Joseph, don't go." she said. "It's my time to go back to the lord Emily. You will join me soon enough." A tear rolled down Emily's cheek. Then, the bedroom door opened. "Joey?" Alfred Parker said. "Dad? You deserted Mom and I years ago and... what is that?" Joseph said between coughs. "Oh, it's the milk I was getting." "How did it take you 80 years to get a gallon of Milk?" Joseph asked his father. "Well, I'll tell you."
_______
Bob's Gas n' Grub, 1984
A 34 year old Alfred grabbed a carton of milk from the top shelf of the fridge. He walked to the register and put 2 dollars on the register. "Thank you sir, come again" the pimpled cashier said in a nasally voice. Suddenly the door opened. A man in a pinstripe suit holding a machine gun walked in. "Ay, doncha' move you lugs. Dis place is now officially a front fo' da Diggersby Gang, and both a' you are our prisoners." Samuel Diggersby said. Two large men in matching black suits walked in, handcuffed Alfred and the teenage boy working the register and brought them out to a van, leaving the gallon of milk spilt on the floor.
_______
Warehouse 27 at Brett's Memorial Dock, 1996
The teenaged boy was now a handsome man of 28 and Alfred was a 46 year old lightweight. They couldn't escape the cages and were probably deemed dead by the news. Suddenly the warehouse door broke open. The Mafia had broken in and were destroying the place with grenades. They saw Alfred and and the boy and stuffed them in bags. All Alfred could hear were gunshots and grenade explosions until he was knocked out.
_________
Pierre Memorial Skyscraper, 2002
After the Mafia thought gangs and cops all over America for six years, they smuggled Mexican cocaine across the border into Canada and went to Pierre Memorial Skyscraper in Quebec. "Eh boss, sorry to interrupt but we got the cocaine and two prisoners." The tall man paused the hockey game and ran his hand through his slick black hair. "Put them on the streets, eh." The men took them down the stairs and kicked them out of the building, leaving them to fend for themselves on the streets.
________
Worcester, 2021
Using money from part time jobs and begging, a pudgy 53 year old Tim and a skinny 71 year old Alfred bought a used car and made it to Worcester, Massachusetts before the engine blew out. "This is just great." Alfred said. "I should've been home with that milk 37 years ago! Joey's 43 and Selma's 73!" "Well least you lived a life before all this." Tim said. "I had a girl, a nice family and tons of friends. I was starting quarterback of the JV team. I didn't even finish highschool." The two men sat in silence until a police officer stopped her motorcycle. "You're loitering and that cars busted so your littering. That's 15 years." She handcuffed them and called a police cruiser.
_________
Conneticut State Penitentiary, 2036
15 years. 5475 tally marks lined their cell wall. Today was the day. When the guard opened their cell and walked them down then hall an 86 year old Alfred said "I feel young again!" to a 68 year old Tim. Today they were being let out. They were given their civilian clothes and sent off. As soon as they left Alfred bought a gallon of milk.
_______
Chicago, 2049
Alfred was 99 and alone. Tim died of the flu in Hershey Pennsylvania and he was left alone. He walked miles and miles, eating whatever he could scrape up. He sat against a building until he heard a voice. "Dad? Is that you?" a 78 year old woman in her hover-car said. "Louise?" he asked her. "Dad it is you! I'll bring you to my home!" "You're not mad about the divorce?" he asked. "You were teen parents. It was expectable." she said. "Now hop in! We gotta clean you up!"
________
Enterprise Hospital, 2052
Alfred was on the operating table, surrounded by surgeons and lights. He had watched his great grandchildren grow but after 3 years his body started to fail. Louise brought him to the hospital for Bipnic Replacement Surgery where the doctors would put his brain and organs in a robotic body. The doctors gave him
anesthetic and when he woke he was a cyborg. He then went to Lousies house, packed kissed her on the check, and started walking home.
_______
K.C.'s Convenience Store, 2064
114 year old Alfred walked passed the hover board rack into the building. He walked casually over to the dairy aisle, grabbed a jug of milk, and went to the register. He payed 12 dollars and walked away from the store, towards his house.
________
Birch Tree Drive, 2064
"And that's how I got here!" Alfred said, placing the jug at the foot of Joseph's deathbed. "You did that all, for me?" Joseph said, starting to cry. "Sure I did Joey, because I love you." "Goodbye...Dad." Joseph said, and although he was dying, he knew his father wasn't a deadbeat.
| 2016-09-25T16:56:13 | 2016-09-25T16:04:09 | 482 | 61 |
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other.
|
Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one knew, that the other one too, planned to end their fate.
Jill was late, late for the date, when she lost control of the car. The tires were slashed, but there was no crash-Jack hadn’t planned that far.
Jack was fine, until his wine, had a lil’ something slipped in it. Then, thought Jill, she’d get her kill, but just a spill, and that was it.
They left there soon, past afternoon, when no light could be seen. Both thought then, how lucky they’d been, for the perfect time to do the deed.
Two knives were drawn, and each one saw, the same ideas within. Then, they both knew, the other one too, must be the same hidden.
Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one dead, when the date did end, and true love was found thanks to fate.
EDIT: The story I told, it has earned me gold, and I don’t know what else to say. Like Jack with Jill, my spirit you filled. Thanks for making my day.
|
Improvisation was an art.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a certain charm to stalking the prey, observing their habits, memorizing their routine, and of course the, ah, *execution.* The climax. I gave an involuntary shudder of pleasure as I put on my formal shirt.
But it got boring.
Anyone really could do that, set a trap, and execute. Honestly, you had all the time in the world, to plan, to kill. But improv…now there was a challenge. There was a time limit, I obviously wouldn’t meet the bogey again. There were variables, only variables. Hell, I didn’t know the names of the people I was going to meet, much less their address.
Still, I hummed *Let’s Kill Tonight* as I combed my hair one final time. I looked sharp, cream colored dress shirt, ebony pants, and styled dark hair. Gotta be dressed for the job, of course.
***
“How might I help you, sir?”
I eyed the guy behind the desk. Short hair, dark eyes. Just out of high-school most likely. His smile was a little too wide, and one hand was hidden from view – he was probably on his phone, texting someone right now.
I smiled back at him, and leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “Got a blind date,” I told him, “table forty two,” and I winked.
The guy’s smile became genuine. “Damn,” he said, “you really risk that stuff? I’ve heard some crazy stories. You find some real whackos on there.”
Oh you had no idea. “Oh, you know,” I said, naturally adopting his way of speaking, “you gotta take some risks. Millions of people out there – what are the odds you find a serial killer, yeah?”
He grinned back at me, and said “Three rows down, table by the window. Good luck, mate.” He offered me his fists and I rapped my own against his. No idea why I did that, really. I had no plans to kill him. I don’t cheat on my victims – I only work one at a time, but still, I guess it was just habit now.
I followed the directions the guy had given me, and found my date already waiting on the table. She was beautiful – just as I’d expected. Her responses were textbook classic insecure type, I’d expected her to be young, maybe blond, with a girl next door kind of look.
It was scary how accurate I was. Blond hair, blue eyes, young, cute face. Hell, she was even shifting in her seat. Damn I was good.
She saw me and her eyes widened. She got up, hit her knee on the edge of the table, and her face went bright red.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy,” she said looking down at her feet.
Time to play my part.
“Oh, no, don’t be sorry, I swear the world purposely throws things in my way to trip me up,” I said with a smile. Projecting confidence and empathy, I didn't want to scare her off with cockiness. “I’m James, by the way,” I said offering her my hand.
“Ashley,” she said, smiling so that her dimples showed.
***
The whole night was too easy really. It took me a few quips, jokes, drinks and a bit of prodding to break her out of her shell. She was twined around my finger by the end of dinner. So much so that she asked me to come home over the night. She was already dead, I 'd poisoned her food, she just didn't know it yet. But it was a waste to let all this build up go to waste. Talk about Anti-climactic.
It was a bit disappointing really, I was expecting a bit of a challenge.
And so we barged through the door of her apartment, and she couldn’t keep her hands off me. Her lips were smashed into mine, and we were rolling along the walls, sometimes I was pinned and other times she was pinned against the wall.
“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,” she said, he blue eyes staring into mine.
We were in the kitchen now, her lights were off. The *kitchen* for God’s sake, like come on, she was just handing herself to me.
“Like what?” I asked, groping around in the dark one hand against her, and the other searching the counter for a blade.
“Almost like a connection, you know,” she said, “…that you were made for me?”
My hand closed around a handle, and I felt the unmistakable shape of knife.
“Me too,” and kissed her deeply. Now this was an experience. I’d never been quite this personal with any of my victims. Her last breaths would literally go out inside me. With my other hand I took the knife and stabbed her in the back, and I felt the blade sink in with no resistance.
She gave a tiny gasp, and pushed me off. Damn. I was hoping she wouldn’t do that.
She clapped her hands twice and the lights came on. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling. The knife was lying on the ground, not in her back. And she was laughing.
Laughing.
It all clicked at once. It had been too easy, I was an idiot to have missed it. A shy girls like that wouldn't invite me back to her place on the first date. I'd been played!
“Fuck me,” was all I managed to say, before she took a gun out of the drawer and shot me just above the heart.
I staggered back against the counter, breathing hard, my life draining out of me.
Ashley was smiling.
She picked up the knife and put her finger on the knife; the blade sunk in to the hilt. A fake.
“Bet you were thinking I was easy, eh mister charmer?” she said. “Thinking you were oh *so good.*” Her smile turned positively devilish. “Look at you now though, not as good as you thought eh?”
As I took my final breaths and looked into her eyes, I managed a smile. “You…you’re too late. The food p..poi.” I couldn’t make out the word.
“Poisoned?” she finished, “*Please.* You should pick better ones, I could tell what the poison was as soon as I ate the first morsel. I have the antidote at hand.”
“D…damn.” I managed.
“I know,” she said, “I’m good. And I plan on being the only one in this town. I don’t like poachers.”
She walked over to me, still smiling that same smile. The smile I often wore.
“Good night, James.”
I was impressed right until she shot me in the head.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-10-27T07:49:40 | 2017-10-27T07:19:09 | 3,373 | 514 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...”
|
"And whatever you do, don’t let them inside..."
Those words are still ringing through my brain as I look up from the couch. Our host, so gracious just a few minutes ago, turns to face us. Neither of us have to imagine the look of dawning horror on our faces, as it is clearly being reflected right back. My wife and I both start shouting, at first in disbelief, then in fear.
"What the…? Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa wait wait wait. That is NOT us. I have no idea what they’re talking about." But it’s too late.
Our host pivots swiftly. He reaches behind the TV stand and pulls out a hunting rifle. That… doesn’t seem safe. But it’s West Virginia, so it’s also not that uncommon. It’s probably also loaded.
"SHUT UP!" Our host bellows. We do. Neither of us are used to having a gun pulled on us. My wife is sobbing, a barely audible whimper, "I just want to get home to feed the dog."
"I SAID SHUT UP!" I don’t know when I urinated on myself, but this is the point I start feeling it. The host starts digging through a junk drawer.
"No duct tape dammit," as he pulls out some masking tape and zip ties. "Good enough. You –" he points to me and tosses a couple zip ties on the floor, "hands behind your back. You –" to my wife now, "tie his hands together."
We comply, trying to explain that he’s making a mistake, but that doesn’t last long. He zip ties my wife’s hands then tapes our mouths shut. He shoves both of us into a closet.
"Stay here 'til I figure out what to do with you." He closes the door, blocking out the afternoon sun, leaving near-pitch darkness. I hear what I assume is a chair thud up against the closet door.
There's no telling time in darkness. I don't know how long we were stuck in there, crying. Maybe 15 minutes. Maybe 2 hours. I hear rustling occasionally, but nothing more, until I hear another thud. This time it’s the chair being removed. The door opens. It’s nearly as dark out there as it was in the closet, but my eyes have adjusted.
I see that our host is still holding his gun and… two others? He’s got a revolver in his hand and there’s a shotgun propped up against the wall. He looks at me, showing me the revolver. One of those big, Dirty Harry/Sledgehammer types. "You know how to use this?"
I nod, confused. "Good. Sorry about earlier. I believe you now. And sorry about whatever is going to happen next." He pulls the tape off our mouths, then pulls out some wirecutters and snaps our zip ties. He hands me the revolver, hands my wife the rifle.
"Take these. I don't know if they're gonna help."
|
Maybe it was guilt or maybe it was curiosity, but regardless of the circumstances here we are with two strangers sitting on my couch. They seemed innocent enough. A boy and a girl, a young couple who had been out hiking the trails nearby, gotten lost, and finally found their bearings. They were seeking some nourishment before finishing their trek back to their hometown. From the small talk, I've gathered their names, Rebecca and James. High School Sweethearts who had gotten married after graduating, settled down in a town fifteen minutes from here. This was their fourth year of marriage and they had a growing concern that they were just going through the motions. In a sudden burst of inspiration, they decided that they would take up hiking as a hobby as a way to spice up their relationship. Well it would appear they got more then they bargained for as this was their first adventure and it had failed spectacularly. What was originally supposed to have been a three day simple trek became a seven day nightmare as they veered of the intended trail on the second day and got disoriented. They joked that in the future they would just stick to camping in the backyard.
After the appropriate time of exchanging pleasantries had passed, I suggested that they go ahead upstairs and clean themselves while I scrounge up something for them to eat. As they headed upstairs, I made a motion to turn off the TV when suddenly my attention had been drawn to what the broadcaster was saying, "*Warning, They are not what they seem. Whatever you do, don't let them inside. . .*". An immediate feeling of dread filled my body, weighing it down. For a short moment, I was completely incapable of performing any action. After the momentary paralysis, anxiety slowly started to creep up culminating in my chest. What do I do? Do I run? Do I confront them? From my initial judgement, I believe that I am stronger then both of them. No, I shouldn't confront them. Its not time to lay the cards down yet. We need something more subtle. I can hear the shower running as I slowly make my way upstairs. Good! I can use this as an opportunity to gather some intelligence undetected. I make my way towards the bathroom door, when suddenly a voice pierces me from behind.
"Whats going on?", James says as he moves from out of the shadows of the guest bedroom.
"Oh-uhh-I-uh wanted-d to make sure you guys have towels.. uh were you able to find them?", I struggle to get out as I turn around to face James as he makes his way out of the doorway and down the hall towards me. I notice him shuffle something back into the room as he clears the door frame and an ominous thud as it plummeted to the floor.
"Yes, we found them in the closet like you mentioned. Rebecca is in the shower now and when she is finished I am going to take my turn. . . uh how is the food going?"
"OH Yess, the food. I'm actually just going to prep it now is stew ok? I apologize I got caught up with the TV show that we were watching downstairs."
James gave me a weird look. He looked as if he was about to ask me a question but suddenly said.
"Uhh-yeah Stew sounds great. . . thanks by the way"
James then moved past me towards the bathroom still bearing a suspicious look as we exchanged glances. I quickly moved down the hallway towards the stairs but slowed up as I crossed the threshold of the guest bedroom. There it was. I couldn't make out the object completely but the distinctive shine all but gave it away as i peered out of the corner of my eye. A knife.
I kept pacing the kitchen. Occasionally, opening and shutting a cabinet looking for nothing in particular. I continued to debate about what we were going to do about these intruders. We can't run away we have to take care of this situation now. They know where I live. They've seen my face. I know! I didn't realize how much of a blessing it would be, but the rodent problem I've had means that I have left over rat poison in the garage. Quickly I made my way to garage and grabbed the small container and shuffled back into the kitchen. I put the container on the counter and began furiously grabbing the materials I would need for the stew. I started warming up the stove top. In my rush I accidentally knocked over a vial containing my pills. As I reached down to grab them a pair of feet were greeting me in the doorway.
"Hey" Said Rebecca as I sprung to my feet with the vial. I corralled the vial and the container of poison recklessly into the cabinet while my back obstructed her view, "Is everything alright?"
"Uhh yeah everything is great yeah. ..uhh-sorry I'm just in a rush to get this stew ready"
"Oh no rush, James told me. Stew sounds great. You know. . . I just wanted to thank you by the way. .There's not many good people like you anymore. Most people these days wouldn't take in a couple of dirty looking strangers just knocking on their door. Your a kind soul." Rebecca had made her way into the room at this point and rested her hand on my shoulder just briefly as she delivered the complement. There was something just a little off with the grin she gave me as she said this. For a moment I said nothing, but the TV in the background helped break my trance.
"OF COURSE! uh haha...y-you gotta help your fellow neighbor when they are in need. . . because uh you never now when you will need them to return the favor", "I agree!, well I'm going to head back up stairs to get James. He will be in the shower forever if I don't stop him. . haha", "Haha- great uh take your time, dinner will take another thirty"
It has to be done. How much is enough to kill a person? I don't want to add too much. That will tip them off that there something in the stew. Lets see here, it says only a gram is require to neutralize rodents so-uh lets do the math umm. . . 16 grams does that sound right? Yeah that should work.
thirty minutes has come and passed and Rebecca and James have found their way to the dining room. They are talking in a oddly low tone when I enter. Suddenly realizing my presence they stop.
"Oh great the Foods ready!" James proclaims as I go ahead and sit the pot on the table.
"YUP! dig in!" Stupid! you sound too confident they are going to know something is up.
"Great, why don't you get first dibs, after all it is your handiwork" Rebecca exclaimed as I take my seat across from them.
"No. .. no I can't. I must insist you guys must be starving and you are guests I couldn't possibly. . .",
"You sure? . . . " James retorted
"Of course please eat up tell me how it is".
James and Rebecca begin to fill their bowls and eat. I slowly begin to fill my bowl exaggerating each spoonful I pour. I notice the TV again. It sounds like it is getting louder but I can't make out the program playing.
"Yum this is delicious" remarks James
"Yes very well done" follows Rebecca between spoonfuls
"Thanks. . uh its an old family rec-" I start to say but James cuts me off coughing.
"Oh its a little Ho- *cough* uh *cough* I-" James starts but I can't make out the rest the TV is getting louder. Rebecca begins to join James in this fit.
"Yeah I-I *cough* guess its a lit-ttle H- *cough*"
TV gets even louder I can start to make out voice, "*Yes don't let them leave. . they want to hurt you*",
"Whats- Goi *cough* ng on *cough*" James is now grabbing his throat.
"Oh my *cough* GODD! James a-are you *cough*" Rebecca now joins James clutching her throat. The TV is getting even louder,"*Good Work, they were going to hurt you. . . they are bad. . . bad people*" they look at me and start to utter something but I cut them off.
" I UHH CAN'T HEAR YOU, T-THE TV",
"W-wha. . *cough* W-wha" James starts to say but can't finish
"J-J-James. . *cough* whats g-going on *cough*",
"THE TV, SPEAK UP I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE TV",
"*Yes this is it we are finally going to be safe*",
"WHAT FUCKING TV?!?!?"
Rebecca and James stop trying to speak. for a moment or so they exchange terrified glances with each other. wheezing and coughing, tears filling their eyes. they continue to struggle for a second or so and then as if choreographed, both slump over the table
*THUD*
*TV STATIC*
| 2018-03-14T10:29:22 | 2018-03-14T09:36:09 | 42 | 28 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize.
|
"Hey Hanz, what's that banging noise?"
"Oh, that's coming from the room with that guy who's spending a year in isolation. He's a day early, though. I'm sure he wouldn't want to throw out his prize money this far into it."
"Oh. Isn't he normally quiet?"
"Yeah, he's probably just celebrating getting really close to the end. He has a countdown timer in there anyway. Like I said, last day. Probably opening that bottle of brandy we left him."
"I dunno. They're sounding more frantic. Could there be a problem?"
"I don't think so. He wasn't showing any signs or symptoms on the camera just a little while ago. Wait... What year is it?"
"2020."
"Oh, fuck."
"What?"
***"WE FORGOT ABOUT THE LEAP YEAR!"***
|
364:23:59:00
They've asked me to keep a journal while I'm in here. Which is really silly since I'm terrible with things like this. So I guess I will just make an entry every once in a while.
275:01:00:00
The first three months have been fine. I mean, I just get to sit in a 20 ft by 20 ft room with all the video games, movies, and ebooks anyone could ever want. No school, no work, no relationship troubles.
201:13:45:00
This has been... A lot harder than I thought it would be.
It turns out that the lack of internet (since that was deemed as "Outside contact") made me feel really detached from the world. I feel myself slipping into a feeling of general apethy and depression as I find it harder and harder to find the will to do anything in this gray box I call home. I tried the door today, just because. It didn't budge of course. If really I wanted to quit, I needed to forfeit, but I don't feel ready to do that yet.
109:22:00:00
This feeling of apethy consumed me to the point that I have even stopped eating. Not that I have much reason to eat anyways; all of the canned goods that they had stuck me in here with got old fast. Of course every few days I scarf down a can of beans or peaches, or whatever happened to sound edible that day.
067:10:00:00
There were so many times where I should have just given it up already. Called it quits and pressed the big red "Forfeit" button near the doorway. Just the feeling of sun on my skin or a cool breeze through my hair is all I want after anymore. Seeing another face. My parents or friends would be best, but just anyone who wasn't just on a TV screen. Who knows why, but Ive stuck with it anyways. I guess I can't really be bothered to do that either.
035:00:00:00
I've decided that I wanted to be in good shape when those doors opened, so I finally started using that exercise equipment that had been accumulating dust in the corner. I've made it this far damnit, and I'm not going to give up yet. I am so excited to see my parents again, and to brag to the whole world that I made it a full year without cracking. Well, maybe I almost cracked, but I'm feeling a bit better now. After so many long hard months, things are finally starting to look up.
000:00:59:43
Finally, the faithful day has arrived! I packed up all of my things that I had brought with me. I've dressed in my nicest set of clothes, and I'm now just waiting eagerly while the clock ticks down through its final moments. Looking at myself in the mirror, it looks like I lost quite a bit of weight, but put on a little bit of muscle this last month. A million dollars, fame, and finally freedom are waiting for me just beyond that door!
-000:00:19:00
I'm admittedly a little confused. There were no flashing lights, no sound of congratulations. Nothing. The door stayed shut as it had been these last 365 days, and when I tried to pry it open it wouldn't budge. Is this some kind of joke?
-000:13:35:00
This has to be a joke. I pressed the button and nothing happened either. I don't understand.
-000:18:20:00
Please be a joke.
-001:02:13:00
Please
-001:02:14:00
please
-001:02:16:00
PLEASE LET ME OUT! I WANT OUT PLEASE LET ME OUT!
-002:00:00:00
So, it's been two days since the timer elapsed, and I was supposed to be let out. I tried screaming and jumping in view of the cameras but nothing has happened. I don't get it. I just don't get it.
-008:03:12:00
I don't know what to do. Please, if anyone is reading this, please help me I don't know what to do I don't know what to do
-019:22:00:00
Well, I'm still here. I can't seem to pry the door open, and no one has answered my calls for help. Naturally, my imagination has been running wild with possible explanations: nuclear apocalypse, global catastrophe, alien invasion... I mean what else am I supposed to think when the only thing that has kept me sane this long were a bunch of B rated SyFy movies while being locked in a repurposed cold war bunker? Honestly thought, the two thoughts that terrify me most are that they just forgot about me, or that they know I'm here and don't want to let me out. I don't know which scares me more.
-057:00:16:00
I'm lucky that I had eaten so little over the last few months otherwise I probably would have run out of food by now. I was finally able to break open the air vent today. It's a tight squeeze, but I was able to make my way past the door sealing me in here, and drop down into the hall. The other rooms which used to have other contestants just like me were open and ajar. There is no sign of anyone in this entire bunker. No one. I haven't brought myself to leave the bunker yet. I'm so paranoid about what might be outside. The other half dozen rooms had more food in them, so I should be able to last a bit longer
-119:23:59:00
Today is the day. I ran out of food three days ago, and I used the last of the bottled water today. There is nothing left here for me. The power is still on, but I wonder how long that will last? Who knows. But I can't stay here any longer. I have to know why I was locked on this concrete coffin and left to die alone. I don't want to be alone any more. If anyone finds this, please tell my parents I love them. Please just know that I've struggled so long but I still haven't given up. I'm going to see what's outside. I want to be free. And if I can't have either of those things, then I want to die because I just can't take it anymore. I don't want to be alone anymore.
-999:23:59:59
You. Were. Not. Alone.
| 2019-07-03T00:53:00 | 2019-07-03T00:24:53 | 1,156 | 303 |
[WP] People who achieve great deeds are rewarded with supernatural power beyond the wildest dreams of mortal men, and apparently eating a giant burrito in under half an hour meets the criteria
|
I’d sort through the papers on my desk, the recent influx has been insane, since superpowers appeared on earth, great deeds are met with a great power related to it, now I’ve had about a dozen of the richest men on earth trying to buy powers from me, and countless celebrities becoming monks, because turns out, being famous doesn’t hold much water in the eyes of the gods.
Now here I am, the deal maker, Elzarian, Eldritch son of Cthulhu, I am where the term “Deal with the devil” comes from, I grant wishes, and now here I am sorting through the mass of people trying to get powers, because with the divine message, came the details of the ritual required to get to my sanctum, now I have a flood of people outside, demanding to see me, asking for cures, nukes, victory, the world ending, super powers, so now I’m swamped, all because of this fucking super powered shit.
I’d buzz the next person who wants something in, a mid 20’s fast food employee enters, with sauce covered hands, he sits,
”I want my super power…”
I’d rub my head,
“Did you complete one of the 100 deeds required, and if so which
He shuffles and holds up his hands
”I ate a giant burrito in under 30 minutes”
I’d blink with all 4 off my eyes, and check the list again, then I’d find it, Section 12, Subsection 19, sentence 4, it was valid…
I’d lean back and cup my head in my hands
”What food related power do you want?”
He begins to scroll down the list, looking through his options
”I want to eat as much as I want without gaining weight”
I’d slump in my chair, why the fuck did I take this assignment.
”Fine, sign here please”
He signs and vanishes in a plum of smoke
I‘d press the buzzer, a similiar looking woman steps through, mid 20’s fast food, shit, they found it, I’d look behind her, and see a massive group of fast food employees waiting.
Why must I have to be the one to deal with this
|
“What are you so in the dumps about? You should be honored that some grand god considered your grotesque appetite worth applauding. I had to study forty years in solitude to get gifted with these luxuries, and here you are, the bunking bean champion at Buffy’s burritos. What sort of god awards self-indulgence like that?” She hissed, Abby not even attempting to hide her disgust, turning her face away from the pot-bellied man who slouched over his victory table, not having moved since being given his gift.
“You wouldn’t get it. You’re some nerd that hid away in her basement all her life. How would you understand the curse I have been given?” Ben stared at his sauce coated hands, his stare one of horror as if the special bunking bean sauce on his hands was really the blood of a fallen comrade.
“I WOULDN’T GET IT?” Abby slammed a fist against the table, sending the table hurtling through the room, embedding itself in the wall, much to the shock of the underpaid worker who was closing the store. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll pay for the damages. Just get back to closing the store. This conversation won’t be much longer.”
The poor worker jogged into the backroom, trying to find the logic in what he had just seen. How did the small, smartly dressed businesswoman flip a table with such force? He marched back and forth in the backroom, building up the courage to confront her, only to remember he was making eight dollars an hour for this job, and it didn’t exactly include a health plan. With that in mind, he slouched against a row of frozen mince boxes, resting his body on the cool cardboard as he waited for them to leave.
“You wouldn’t. You don’t understand the curse they placed on me. I don’t want to be a powerful figure. I just want to eat at record speeds. Is that so hard to comprehend? I curse you; I curse you all.” He shouted, pointing a saucy finger to the heavens.
“Shush, they can hear you. Do you want to get smited? If so, at least wait until I move away from you beforehand.” With her warning given, she leaned closer to Ben, shooting him a glare from beneath her glasses. “What was that about me not understanding? They have given me the power of the gods; I can understand anything. Be happy that I even came to help you with your transition. No one came to give me advice on how to deal with my power. I learned on my own. I was a remarkable case, truly the first In my… wait, where are you going?”
Abby watched as Ben picked himself from the table, her dull conversation enough to knock him from his depressive paralysis. “If I wanted to be preached to, I would find a bus shelter with some nut job at it. Look, whatever happiness the gods gave you is a curse for me. What good is power if I can’t taste anything?”
“That’s what’s bothering you?” Abby rose, her self-righteous habits not allowing her to let him escape her clutches just yet. Not until she had thoroughly explained to him his transition from mortal to superior being. “Who cares about taste? You can enter hundreds of contests now. What use is taste to you? Is it not easier to eat without such a sense? You lose taste but gain strength, speed, intelligence and.. well, maybe not intelligence in your case, but I’m sure you get something else to compensate.”
“That’s all that matters to me. What good is entering an eating contest or some sort of challenge if I can’t taste the food? I want to feel the cheese get cold and hard, I want to taste the spices as they try to burn a hole through my tongue, and I want to cry as a thousand sour candies kamikaze my tastebuds. That is what I want.” The gusto with which he said the words was somewhat inspiring, even silencing Abby temporarily, at least until she had fully processed each word.
“That’s stupid. You think I complain about my drawbacks? No, I don’t because I know how much better the benefits are of being closer to a god than mortal.”
“What? Your drawback of not being able to understand human emotions?” Ben asked, his comment coming off somewhat sarcastic despite the intent not being there.
“No, I am perfectly capable of human emotions. I just prefer to do them from behind a monitor or by letter.” She said in a fluster, cheeks puffed as if they were ready to blow out a string of curses, only for the air to deflate as she regained her cool. “If you must know, my drawback is an inability to learn any new information. I know everything there is to know up to a point. Any recent development will most likely go over my head. As someone who enjoyed the hunt for gathering new information, I found that horrifying at first. But I looked at the positives, as you should too.”
Ben listened to her and eventually returned to his seat, slumping against it. “It just doesn’t seem fair. They took away what mattered most to me. Without the eating contests, I’m just a chubby dude that hangs around restaurants. The challenges gave me something. I had a purpose.” Ben lowered his head, only to raise it when he felt something hit his hands, Abby throwing a napkin onto them.
“We both lost something. But you need to clean yourself up and move on. Find a new purpose and attack that. Don’t you have some other fantasy?” Abby said, trying to show some emotion, even reluctantly patting his back, using a napkin to avoid touching his back as she patted it.
“Did you ever find a purpose? I know you come to greet people who are given those gifts, but you still don’t seem to have a purpose. Is this a case of maybe you should practice what you preach?” Just like that, the caring pats were gone, the scrunched-up napkin being tossed at his face.
“I’m trying to help you. This isn’t what I wanted to do, but it passes the time. The gods tell me a location and I go to greet people. It gives me a purpose.” Abby tried to think of more to add to that, but was lost for words.
“How about we help each other? You can help me get my tastebuds back.” Ben suggested, earning a raised eyebrow from Abby.
“And how would that help me?” She asked, having her interest peaked by the words.
“You would get to learn something new in defiance of the gods. You could be yourself again. Maybe even keeping the extra abilities.”
“Interesting. Going against the gods is dangerous, but they do like a challenge. I can’t guarantee they won’t interfere in this, but it sure beats helping clueless idiots like you with their powers. Fine,” She retrieved the scrunched-up napkin that had hit his face earlier, taking out a pen from her purse, writing her phone number on it. “Call me when you want to investigate this. Now hurry and get out of here. I need to bribe a worker and you need to leave so they can finally close the shop.”
“Right. How are you going to bribe them, though? What sort of excuse can one use for a table stuck in a wall?”
“Oh, just the old hooligans after a soccer game excuse. Works nine out of ten times.” She said, pulling out her wallet, retrieving a rather thick stack of notes.
“Nine out of ten times?” Ben wondered how often of an occurrence this was for her, tempted to ask her more about it, only to notice she had already made her way to the register, tapping at the counter. With Abby distracted, he grabbed the napkin, stuffing it into his pocket. “I’m Ben, by the way.”
“Abby.” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder before turning back to the register. With their agreement reached, he headed home for the night.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-10-01T07:36:37 | 2021-10-01T07:04:34 | 439 | 110 |
[WP] Turns out strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is actually a pretty good basis for a system of government.
|
"I thought you gave out swords" I say to the strange woman in the lake.
"I do, take it" she responds holding out the object.
"That's not a sword." I try to argue. "It's absolutely tiny!"
"It absolutely is a sword. Now take your sword and fulfil your destiny!" The strange lady responded.
"With that thing? Fulfil my destiny what a load of crap! I don't want this I don't need this!" I exclaim.
"Not everyone is destined to be a leader, a warrior, or a ruler." The old lady says to me kindly. "Society needs lumberjacks so I hand out thick stubby swords with long handles..."
"That's an axe" I argue but she ignores me
"Society needs chiefs so I hand out short sharp swords."
"That's a knife!" I exclaim becoming more irritated.
"Society needs farmers so I hand out swords with three points and a long handle!" She says and ignores me.
"That's a pitchfork." I respond through gritted teeth.
"When war is coming I give out swords without edges to form new swords for battle!"
"That's a hammer." I say exasperated.
"When someone needs to die in a most secretive way I hand out a very small sword. One that can be hidden and used for such a task!"
"That's a dagger for assassination." I respond. I look at the so called sword she holds out for me. "Mine isn't a dagger." It's to small, the point doesn't look sharp at all. Nor does it have a proper handle."
"I see you are more curious now. No your sword is not meant for such a task. In fact, I have given you the greatest sword of all!" She says with a grin.
"That's the greatest sword?" I ask.
"Indeed! Or at least the most mighty!"
"Most mighty? That?" I scoff.
"Though I suppose you will be needing this. Think of it as a complementary gift" the strange lady reaches into her cloak and hands me an object as well as my so-called sword.
Then she vanishes. I stared at the pool expecting her to return. To tell me it was all a joke.
She didn't.
I finally looked down at the sword she gave me. Not sharp, not large, not deadly. It is no weapon. I look to the complimentary gift she gave me.
It's a jar of ink.
|
"Ow!" exclaimed Jayson. Pain flared in his left shoulder where the tiny spear poked him. He kept running to avoid the small attackers.
The frollick of faeries spun and turned in the air after him, moving together in a shifting cloud of bodies that flashed iridescently in the freckled light of the morning forest. Always darting and diving in at him as a group, forcing him to move quickly from their attack or get another poke.
The forest was pretty thin here near the lake. No bushes or short trees to provide cover from the attacking creatures. The trees were tall but thin and covered in white bark speckled with darker brown and black spots, long and straight they rose from the forest floor. Their branches were high above him and provided no way for him to get into the cover of the branches or leaves. Not ever close enough that he could grab a branch and swat at the little creatures.
It was spring in the Eldwoods so ground was covered in a bounty of flowers that hid any hiding places in the ground. The forest floor was a riot of colours that dances and swayed in the morning breeze from off the lake. And while it was perfect for hunting hare for the day's meals it provided no cover for him to duck into.
The flowers ended right at the water's edge. A edge that Jayson was rapidly approaching with no where to go but into the water itself.
He really did not want to...it was cold this time of morning.
Again the group of faeries flowed together darkening the air with their numbers while at the same time surging toward Jayson, driving him toward the water.
The faeries where small but no less dangerous for it. They had the numbers with them. They might be tiny but the amount of them made up for that easily against a young boy. Their bodies are like a hummingbirds but with a young girl's face with a long nose that tapered into a point. Their arms seemed awkward because they were farther forward than would be found on a man but seemed to be able to move in ways that a man's can not. They did have bird-like legs and small wings that blurred while they flew about. At a distance could be mistaken for birds with the way they moved and darted. However, up close it was easy to see they were not birds.
The colours of their body glowed when the light hit them. Red, blue, green, yellow dominated their forms with black outlines of patterns and features. All gleamed metallically or wet when seen this close.
Plus they held long thorns that they were using as spears to stab at Jayson.
He dove under the next attack, rolling to the end of the flowers and the start of the water. Landing on his knees with a great splash he got ready to raise and run again.
But the faeries were circling him now.
"Be not afraid, boy" came to Jayson, a voice like bells and ribbons moving in the wind. Melodious and fluting the words turned him toward the expanse of the lake.
Many yards away toward the center of the lake, a lady stood. Jayson could not see what she was standing on as the water covered her to just above her knees as it did him. Where he is wet from head to toe, she is dry as far as he can see.
Jayson looked from her to the spinning faeries and back again.
"*Ahlum het, ra est moh raan. Tonee tonee"* she said seemingly to the faeries around him, smiling. She waved her hand and in time to it, the faeries thinned and most sped away.
Most. Not all.
Several flew over to the woman and danced over and behind her. Jayson could hear quiet clicking coming from them. The lady's smile grew.
A silver laugh escaped her. "Yes, yes...you did well. Now please, just a moment."
She turned her attention back to Jayson.
"Welcome, Jayson Beresford," her smile caught his breath.
Long golden hair flowed down her shoulders and back touching the water. Her face was fine and angular reminding Jayson of the picture books of old tales his mother had of the Old Kingdoms. Like those ladies and queens she was draped with a long robe of sky blue that shown like the bodies of the faeries, iridescent and glowing. It hid, in now way , that she was a woman.
Jayson blushed as red as a cockerel's comb.
"My Lady?" he said bowing his head.
She smiled at that with a warmth that made Jayson forget how cold the water was.
"Jayson Beresford, I welcome you. I am Enganxa, water-woman of the *Aloja* and I have been given a task." She gestured downward toward the water in front of Jayson with one hand as she finished.
"Before you is a sword."
He saw it now, in the water floating with the hilt toward him. Close enough he could easily reach out for it and pull it up. It was long and straight, silver bladed and gold of hilt. At the base of the hilt a single sky-blue stone rested, round as a wagon wheel sat.
"I have watched you for many days, so have the *shenkin*" she gestured to the faeries still floating around her. He noticed that when the pulled their arms in they looked even more like birds.
"We have been looking for signs, common things people do. Searching for those things in a person that would help us find someone special. Someone like we believe you are."
"Me?" Jayson asked puzzlement clear on his face.
Her smile grew again, "Yes, like you. We see in you the mirror of someone that once led the people of the kingdom. A good and just man."
She gestured to the sword.
"The sword was his. And it is a kind of test too." her eyes looked at Jayson's more deeply, measuring him or perhaps how he reacted.
"Take the hilt and we will know if you are the rightful King, returned to us by the turning of the Fates hand. A great and noble leader of the Faerie and Mortal Kingdom."
Jayson stared at her and saw the change in that look.
"But beware, if you are not..."
&#x200B;
Enganxa had been charged, as head attendant to the late King Erret with finding the current incarnation of the High King of Evering. She and the *shenkin* had served him for almost 50 years so they knew the most about him, his habits, and traits. Habits and traits that would be markers to lead them to his new mortal form.
However, they were not the only things that had led her to this place and time.
The pink willow trees had bloomed on the first day of winter but only on the eastern side of the Lords' Keep. On the same day Erret had left his body, a strong sign all had agreed. The first guiding sign to the new High King. The senior attendants needed to look in the east for the new incarnation of Erret.
Erret's favorite hound, a breed only found in the region around Eldwood had pointed to the foothills of the county Eston. Eston was the largest county to the east of Lords' Keep but they considered it another clear sign of where to look.
That had started Enganxa's pilgrimage to find the High King's new form as the closest attendant of Erret. She had set out heading east that day.
On that path they had found Jayson Beresford.
Near the lake they had found a small hamlet that served as a waystation for the Castle Downley along the road to Lords' Keep. It was at the eastern edge of the forest near a formation on the Broken Mountains known as Ri Erenn or 'High King' in *d'edwajo,* the language of the water-women.
Enganxa had felt the guiding touch of Erret's wisdom in that.
In the hamlet she had looked for the children. For any child of the right age that could have been the returning of Erret to a mortal form. That had been a challenged but her faith had kept her strong for around that hamlet there were more than a hundred children. Many children that belonging to families that had lived there for generations. And many of them had only known the season of their birth.
Other things had then marked Jayson as the current incarnation.
| 2022-12-14T16:24:12 | 2022-12-14T15:51:55 | 931 | 28 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy?
|
New town. Small and quiet, perfect for my situation.
The authorities are after me. They know what I am : different, a national threat. They’re aware of what I’ve done. If they catch me it’ll be prison or death, the fate of countless others like me.
Stray dogs and playing children in the streets. Nervously, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist, I book a room at a guesthouse and try to sleep for a couple of hours but to no avail. I get up shower, put on some jeans. Head to the local bar to wind off.
Clouds of smoke, full of loud men. Standing at the threshold, I’m about to leave without getting a drink when she comes up behind me.
“Excuse me, are you getting in?”
•
Perfect hair, perfect nose. She smiles uneasily on the first date, eyes darting stealthily towards the door of the French restaurant. On the second date, I channel a German tourist and she is bored by my stories of Berlin nightclubs and beer festivals. On the third - me as a lumberjack from a neighboring town - this time she seems interested, eyes sliding across my bulging forearms and she even gives me a peck on the cheek but she doesn’t reply my message the next day. On the fourth, she asks me to walk her home, and I’m surprised because I, stammering and clumsy, had taken the form of a skinny bespectacled bookkeeper, a complete loser, but her interest was at an all time high, giggling and all that, hand resting on my reedy wrist.
She invites me inside. Small and clean place, curtains drawn tight. I sit on an armchair and try to calm my excitement: it’s a perfect time to show this beautiful woman the truth, before things got too heated, when she was least expecting it. Like so many others before her.
I want her to see the real me. As she busies herself in the kitchen, it takes a second to take my true form: tall and gangly, scarred face: the legacies of many a manicured victim.
I take out the little pocket knife and, approaching the kitchen where she is humming, hide it behind my back.
|
"You look *incredible*," I said, snapping a picture and handing Dani's phone back. "No filter necessary. James won't know what hit him."
Dani nodded absently, her eyes already glazing over as her thumb tapped over the surface of her screen. "Thanks, Tanya. You said he rides a motorcycle, right?"
My heart sank: I had seen this level of disinterest uncountable times in the past few years, and already I could see how the date would go: James would make his dashing arrival on his motorcycle (but wearing a helmet, gloves, and leather jacket; Dani hated recklessness). In the bar (a nice cocktail bar, she liked to be treated but hated to feel pressure) he'd order a bottle of white wine and some stuffed mushrooms, his tongue already tying in knots as he realized she had already found something in him wanting, because no matter how nice Dani tried to be, she was just too easy to read. Or maybe she was only easy to read for me, because I wasn't only Tanya, her best friend, I was going to be James in less than two hours, and I'd been Mark and Jose and Chris in the dates before that, and a war hero fifty years before that, and a merchant sailor two hundred years before that, and on and on, so far that I couldn't even remember my original body, gender, or name. Half the time I wasn't even sure I had been born a human, but every year that passed I became certain that it didn't matter: the immortality and the shapeshifting had changed me so much that I certainly wouldn't die as one.
But Dani had changed all that. Ever since I, in the form of Tanya, had first met her at school, while pursuing my thirty-fourth degree, I'd found myself feeling alive again. I'd been with brilliant women, with beautiful women, with talented women, with powerful women, but never a woman as kind and compassionate as Dani. For the first time in centuries I'd begun using my powers for good again, instead of just slipping through existence as unobtrusively as possible. We'd become friends, we'd become roommates, and for a while that had been enough. But not anymore.
In a last-ditch effort, I said, "Please, give him a chance, Dani. You're so cautious. Just live a little! Go with your gut! What if he's the one?"
Dani smiled. "I hope you didn't tell him I could be 'the one'. It's fun to get out in the city and meet new people but...I don't think I'm in a good place for a boyfriend."
"That's what you've said for years," I said. Dani had been dating a real asshole when I first met her, a prick who'd been with her since high school. Even though she hadn't seemed really traumatized by the breakup, she hadn't dated since. "You're young! You've got a good job, you're living in a beautiful city! I've set you up with some really amazing people!"
Dani laughed. "Maybe you've done too good a job, Tanya. If the next guy wasn't going to be so cool, maybe I could settle for the one I was with."
I shouldn't have snapped, but I hated it when she deflected. "I just want you to be happy, and have someone! You're not going to have this opportunity forever." I said it more bitterly than I meant, because I knew I was wrong: as long as Dani lived, she would have someone trying to be with her.
Dani's back stiffened. "Well, maybe you should date some of these awesome guys yourself, then, so you don't end up like me."
I couldn't hold back a smirk at that imagery. "Come on, Dani--"
But the smirk had only pissed her off more. "You know what, Tanya? Don't bother anymore. You can have them all to yourself. Just don't set me up with anyone again."
"But--d" I was stunned. I'd never seen such a rapid transformation in her before. This wasn't just about what I'd said, there was something else going on with her. And I knew it would be stupid to try and ask her as Tanya. I'd have to ask her as -- "James?"
"Oh, don't worry, I won't stand him up." Dani grabbed her purse. "I'm not *that* much of a bitch. I would tell you not to stay up but I don't think I'll be that late."
*
As James, I shut off my motorcycle and looked over the sidewalk, my eyes meeting Dani's and then looking away again, as if I wasn't entirely convinced it was her. I had a right to that thought; she'd undergone almost as big a transformation as I had, all her anger with Tanya gone from her face.
I needed time to build up trust, to find out what was actually going on with her, so I played it safe, smiling widely as I wrapped an arm around her shoulder (Dani found full-frontal hugs too intimate for a first meeting but thought a handshake too formal; thus, I always went for the three-second side-hug.) We made idle small talk as we placed our order, and I waited for any expression, any word that might clue me in to what she was actually feeling.
"So how'd you meet Tanya?" she asked after the waitress had dropped off our bottle of Chardonnay. "She never tells me how she meets people."
Her voice barely tightened around the name *Tanya*, but I could see that she was still angry. My stomach twisted. What if, in trying to make her fall in love with me, I wound up losing her friendship as well? "At a club down east," I said. "She's pretty fun. You've been friends for a while, right?"
"Yeah. Since college." Dani lifted her glass and swirled it, but didn't drink.
"I can tell she cares a lot about you," I said. "You wouldn't believe all the questions she asked making sure I was good enough for you."
"Yeah." Dani sighed. "She's got *great* taste." Then, realizing what she'd said, "I'm sorry. You seem really great. She's just...clueless."
The sarcasm was so obvious that I couldn't let it go. "Are you guys OK?"
"Yeah." Dani sounded so defeated that my stomach twisted again. Tanya was the shape and attitude in which I felt most comfortable. I liked to think that she was pretty similar to who I'd been originally; it was so easy for me to be her that the thought of Dani not being friends with her anymore was almost a worse rejection than the scores I'd experienced as the dates.
"Yeah," Dani said again. "We're OK. Just, OK. I guess that's got to be good enough. Look, I...this isn't going to go anywhere, OK? I think I owe it to you to tell you that as soon as I can."
I said, "Yeah. I figured."
"I'm sorry. I just..." Putting her glass down, she twisted her hands around her napkin. "...I think I go on all these dates because each time I hope maybe something magical will happen, and I can get over all the other bullshit but...that won't happen. I just have to accept both sides of the coin. I'm not going to get over it, and Tanya, she...she isn't ever going to feel the same."
My jaw dropped. "*Tanya*?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I think there's something there, but she just keeps sending me on dates with everyone else in the world. I get so angry, but it's not her fault; she just wants me to be...."
She was so caught up in her napkin that she didn't notice me transforming until the sentence was almost done. James fell away. Tanya resurfaced. Dani's eyes widened. "...happy," she whispered.
I said, "I'm sorry. I...I'm an idiot."
Dani's mouth opened and closed several times. She reached for her glass of wine and found the bottle instead, but still almost drained it. Then she took a deep breath.
"Do you want to go back home?" she asked.
| 2022-10-15T09:19:19 | 2018-02-14T10:34:04 | 93 | 16 |
[WP] You are a king of a small nation in the medieval era. Your reign has had few problems, until an army of advanced warriors arrives at your gate with guns, tanks, etc.
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"We have guns, tanks, etc!" Bellowed the crosseyed messenger in the town square, looking as out of place amongst the medieval scenery and townsfolk in his army get up as a tie on a wedding dress. The villagers had all stopped what they were doing and had been staring at the strange man and his two guards since their speech started. Most were scared by his claims of impending invasion, but their king was sceptical. "Tanks? Tanks of what? What is this Gum you speak of!?" He descended the staircase down to the town square, a swarm of soldiers and advisors at this tail. "I represent an advanced army of warriors, we will invade your town and turn it into an car park!" the soldier said calmly yet firmly, gesturing towards the king, then swinging his arm around to point at the villagers.
After a pause, and many mutterings from the audience involving "speaking in tongues?" and "cars?" a giant hand reached down from the sky, the size of three elephants, and grabbed the king, dragging him closer to the messenger. Remarkably, the king didn't seem to notice the hand, and no one reacted. He was about to continue questioning the foreign messenger, but then-
A second hand came crashing through the walls of the castle, knocking them over in one piece. It held a tank, a giant man wearing sun glasses with a gun, and a dinosaur. The hands then proceeded to mash all of the participants of this bizarre war together, while deep booming words like "bang" "argh!" "whoosh" "noo!" echoed from the sky. A barbie doll and a pokemon joined the fray, smashing sideways into the king sending him flying. His death would be mourned by a plushy echidna.
Mathew was five and a half, and had little respect for the historical context of his staged battles.
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Head pounding, rubbing his temple and closing his eyes, the young king could still see the map before him. His neighbors had declared war for his land, his people, and they were outnumbered ten to one. They were nearly surrounded. Only the rocky landscape to the west was clear. He could take his new bride and run, but he shook his head and the thought with it.
He had to save his people. He owed his father that much.
Forcing himself up from his chair, he sighed and stretched, glad that he was alone for the time being. His wife was in the tower above fast asleep after what he could only hope would be a successful nighttime romp under the sheets, as he desperately needed an heir to prove to the common folk that his bloodline was strong. While his body still ached for her and sleep, he couldn't get his mind to rest and struggled to wander around the castle.
He didn't exactly recall stumbling outside or how he came to be at the edge of the stones jutting up from between the trees. Blinking several times, he took a long, deep breath and tried to still the sudden chill in his bones by drawing his robe tight to his chest. The fog had come in thick and the king scanned the area, realizing he was alone in the dark and how stupid it was. He could easily have been stalked by a wolf or, worse, an enemy and been killed while sleepwalking. The thought alone made him uneasy, as he turned to head back to the castle in haste.
While spinning in place, he heard a snap of a twig nearby. The very hair on the back of his neck stood up and he was now very much awake. He wanted to keep calm, reserved, but the thoughts spinning through his mind made it doubly hard. As he tried to take another step forward, he heard the unmistakable growl of a dog.
So, he pondered in his head, this is how I meet my untimely end.
He didn't hesitate as long as he thought, as his legs broke loose beneath him and carried him faster than he could recall running since he was a child. He unclasped his cloak and tossed it back, leaning into the wind as his golden hair bounced behind him. It was almost freeing, running, if he didn't feel as though death itself was nipping at his heels. But it was.
The teeth caught his heel and it unbalanced him just enough to send him tumbling. He tried to brace himself but his arms buckled at the impact and his face smashed into the grass and mud. He could taste it, but his eyes were closed too tightly to see. He was waiting for it. Waiting for the hot breath of the predator on the back of his neck. Waiting for that killing strike. His reign was over. His kingdom would fall. If his new wife was lucky, she would not end up with child and would be married off to someone new. If not, she would be dead soon as well. His servants might be able to plead for their lives. The enemy was not so cruel as some, not all his people would have to die... He hoped, while waiting for inevitable fate.
There was an enormous booming sound that echoed throughout the area. It was so immense it bounded from the rocks and the castle and back again. It was beyond deafening and he cupped his ears in horror, rolling over into his back and opening his eyes, expecting the sky itself to be exploding above. There was nothing but darkness after the shock of white faded from view. Silence. It was eerie.
The young king sat up slowly, uncovering his ears that rang painfully. He blinked over and over again, glancing from side to side into the horizon, trying to piece together some idea of what that horrendous noise was. He was sure nothing short of the Gods themselves could have made such a thunderous roar.
Everything moved slow now, as he dusted himself off and slowly came to his senses. He was alone and the wolf was gone. His heel ached but after checking his boot, the teeth had not managed to get through to his skin. He was insanely lucky. Taking a soft step with his foot, he stumbled from the pain and could feel it swelling, knowing it was badly bruised. Possibly, he had considered himself lucky too fast. This was still bad. He still had to get back to the castle hobbled, while somewhere in the darkness the wolf was probably still lurking, waiting.
His heart, he found, was pounding hard in his chest. The chill of the night had gripped him as well. He greatly feared not making it back home again. If it weren't for the fog between him and the castle, he would be able to see it from here. It truthfully wasn't far, he had to reassure himself. It wasn't very far at all.
Righting himself with a new-found surge of energy, he sighed and tempted fate with another step. He didn't allow the pain to take as much of a hold this time and only winced, continuing onward. Somehow, by some amazing strength that he did not fully know he possessed, he strove on, gritting his teeth and ignoring the pressure of his ankle swelling enough to fill his boot tightly. He focused in the distance until the tower shown against the rising sun. By the time he finally reached the gates, the sunlight was rapidly burning away at the once thick ground-hugging clouds.
"My Lord!" a lone, weary eyed guard shouted, nearly dropping his halberd at the sight. He stumbled quickly to his kings' side, helping him inside the safety of the stone walls.
Shaking his head, he raised a hand in protest before being rushed very far through the doorway. "Did you hear a deafening racket before dawn?"
"Y-Yes My Lord," he young man, barely out of childhood, stammered. "It rattled the very foundation of the castle."
"Does anyone know what caused it?"
"Dragons, My Lord," he answered with a gulp. "They were just beyond the walls to the east, between us and our enemy's fleet. They, they..."
"Spit it out boy!" he shouted, grabbing the soldier by the shoulders.
"They spout fire, toward the enemy. They retreated. The dragons, they've wizards with them. Wizards that wield immense power. They have these long wands that spark flames as well. They wish to speak with you, My Lord."
There was no time to think or let it sink in. "Take me to them."
"Yes Lord," the boy replied with a bow and a nod. "Their leader wished the address the king himself."
Being hobbled, he wondered what the magicians would think of him. At least he was not feeble like his father a year before. He bit his tongue in hidden fear of the unknown as he hustled as fast as he could through the courtyard. The far eastern gate was barred shut, with two heavily armed guards on either side. They hurried over at the sight of their injured leader, but he brushed them aside. "Open it."
"They are very powerful," the one on the left mumbled, "perhaps it would be best to discuss this--"
"No," he interrupted, "open it."
The other nodded as they both moved back and unlatched the large darkened wood bar from the middle of the gates, and then pushed it forward. The light from the bright morning sun brightened the green dragons as they rested on the open meadow beyond. A group of wizards dressed in similar colors appeared from their tent and strove forward as the doors opened wide.
With a deep breath, the young king walked as well as he could to meet them just outside the open gate. He nodded politely and silently, waiting for the leader to step forward.
He did, removing his helmet and brushing his greying hair back. He extended a hand to the man before him. "I'm Merl."
Staring down at the strange gesture, he gathered just enough courage to grab the hand before him. "I am known as Arthur."
| 2015-02-01T18:05:58 | 2015-02-01T17:58:56 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone in the world has the ability to tap into their spirit animal, except you. Until one day you unlock something people never thought existed.
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Today was the day. Every 30 years the planets align, and we get our spirit animal.
Luckily I was born only 17 years before this happened, since 0-15 year olds can't get one to avoid a bad spirit animal.
My whole generation was exited. Many others were. I heard stories about soldiers getting gorillas and lions, politicians getting eagles, farmers getting... cows. My friends Tom and Marco rushed to the distribution center, where one gets their being read in order to get one's spirit animal.
After 3 hours of waiting in line, it was finally our turn. Tom's father got a boa, so I can't wait to see what he gets.
A few seconds passed, and Tom came out of the distribution room with a duck. That's it. Quite the dissapointment to be honest.
Marco went in, hoping his would be better. We wished him luck.
A raven. It's not looking good for me. My father got a dog and my mother got a goldfish. This surely won't be good.
I walked into the room. I sat down, and a light passed through my whole body. What dissapointment was awaiting me?
I saw it form. It was huge, I couldn't believe my eyes. The workers there had their mouths open from amazement. They never saw something like that before.
It finished forming. 4 fins. Huge body. Huge tail. Huge neck. It was a 8 story tall crustacean from the paleozoic era. It said to me "Hey, you got tree fiddy?"
I replied "Damnit Monstah, I ain't givin' you no tree fiddy!" and ran away from the room.
The end.
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I couldn’t wait for my egg to arrive.
It’s not an actual egg of course – the official government name for it is “Animal Companion Identification Device” – but “ACID” doesn’t really have a very nice ring to it, so we just call it the “ egg”.
On the day of their sixteenth birthday, every kid receives an egg. The egg scans your hand and supposedly, it analyzes your entire being – your personality, temperament, past experiences, everything and then chooses the animal that best represents you.
My older sister Karen got her egg a couple years ago on the morning of her sixteenth birthday.
She was lucky – the eggs are always delivered on the day of your sixteenth birthday, but depending on how many other kids in your area are also receiving their eggs that day, you might receive it anywhere from the early morning to right before midnight.
Like all sixteen year olds about to recieve their eggs, Karen was excited but also equally nervous and apprehensive.
There was no telling what animal would come out of her egg.
We had all heard animal companion horror stories growing up – people getting leeches or various kinds of insects as their animal companions, I mean, my friends and I would always make jokes about each other getting a termite or a centipede, but deep down, it was a serious fear that we all had.
Karen had personally been hoping for perhaps a dog like Dad’s or maybe a bear like Mom’s so when her Animal Companion Identification device scanned her hand and then opened to reveal a baby wolf, she was ecstatic. She named him Balto.
Balto was a brilliant match for Karen – but then again, most matches usually are. People who receive wolves as their animal companion are those whose loyalty is unwavering, very similar to that of those who receive other canine species. However, unlike people who recieve dogs, people who recieve wolves tend to have an aggressive form of loyalty which they typically give to the members of a family they have chosen for themselves rather than to actual blood relations.
This description fit Karen pretty well.
Karen started dating this guy named Mateo a few years ago. His animal companion was a parrot and typically, all people with avian varieties of animal companions are those who value living life on their own terms and not tied down by anything. Fittingly, Mateo was a wildlife photographer who spent his life traveling the world. Karen ended up leaving with him to South America two years ago and we really haven’t heard from her since.
Then there was my older brother, Luke. Luke was well … how do I put this nicely … a complete burnout and a slob. He would ditch class to get high. Had no ambition, no future.
Mom and dad would worry about him a lot.
On Luke’s sixteenth birthday, I could tell he was scared – he was almost dreading the egg. He received it pretty early in the morning, but he didn’t even look in its general direction for at least a few hours.
See, you have the choice of whether or not to accept the egg but it’s a choice you can only make once. If you choose to have the egg scan your hand, you are legally responsible for whatever comes out of it – no matter what it is. However, if you are too scared, you can choose not to scan your hand, in which case the government will take the egg away at the end of the 12 hour period and you live your life without ever receiving an animal companion.
I don’t know what’s worse - being legally bound and responsible for a possibly embarrassing / humiliating animal companion or going through life without one.
Society will ostracize you either way.
Imagine, our surprise when, Luke, right before the 11 hour mark, decides to just say f*ck it, scans his hand and out comes ... an eagle.
A freakin eagle.
He was just as stunned as we were. Eagles like all other birds means living life not tied down by anything, but the eagle is a special bird – it also represents leadership, charisma, and ambition.
Luke took this as a sign and turned his life around – he became a captain in the air force within five years.
But then again, the military is infamous for animal companion discrimination and only promoting/favoring people who are paired with what are considered the “better animals” – they aren’t supposed to treat a guy with a rottweiler any different from a guy with a goldfish – but it still happens anyway.
Biases / discrimination based on animal companion is illegal but that doesn't stop it from happening. My mom will tell me to be careful of people with snakes or crocodiles as their animal companions and to only ask for help if I’m lost from people with dogs or bears, or at the very least, a mammal as an animal companion.
As I wait for my egg to arrive, my nervousness sets in.
What if ....
What if, my animal really is a termite?
But it can’t be, can it?
I mean Karen got a wolf and Luke got an eagle, so mine has to be awesome too right?
And then I hear a knock at the door.
Oh god. It’s here.
My mom and dad bring the egg into my room, their animal companions Bertha, a grizzly bear, and Shiloh, a beagle, linger in the doorway.
At this point, I feel like if I end up with anything even remotely close to Bertha or Shiloh, I'd be so relieved.
My mom and my dad look at me reassuringly.
“Don’t worry,” my dad says. “Everything will be okay.”
“We still love you no matter what,” my mom says hugging me.
Then they walk out of the room with their animal companions.
I’m not even going to hope for a wolf or an eagle -
Just please don't be embarassing!
I just stare at the egg.
Do I ?
I mean, living my whole life without an animal companion can’t be too bad, can it?
Yes, it can.
I just stare at the egg some more.
I am genuinely pee my pants scared.
And then my phone rings, it’s my friend Brent.
“Hey, Brent,” I start to say –
“Dude, Adam, I got a tiger ! A mother effing tiger! And Cody got a fox! What animal did you get? Do you know yet? Dude, I am so stoked, school on Monday's going to be so freaking awesome-“
I hang up on him.
Sh*t.
Brent and Cody have already opened their eggs.
A tiger and a fox.
What the hell?
Now, I have to open mine!
I mean, what do I have to lose?
I mean, statistics show that 76% of people are happy with their animal companions, so my chances are pretty good…
I brace myself and place my hand on the screen located on the front of the egg. The liability waiver comes on screen – “Do you Adam Hinshaw accept full legal responsibility of the full contents of the egg regardless of the animal species …… if so, please place your right hand for scanning.”
I slap my hand on, my entire being just tense with anticipation.
A green light scans my hand, the egg begins to warm.
A couple seconds later, the screen states scan complete.
This is it.
The entire course of my life hinges on this.
The egg opens to reveal ….
Wait, what?
I look in it, and I don’t really see anything.
Is this a joke?
Could they have given me a faulty egg?
I look at the screen, it says “animal companion: worm”.
What?
I look inside the egg again, and there I see it, curled up right on the side is a little baby worm …
Oh, my god.
This better be one of those worms that grows huge enough to devour cities or I will be pissed ...
| 2016-11-15T17:07:50 | 2016-11-15T15:30:31 | 251 | 59 |
[WP] An atheist witnesses an incident that makes them believe in a higher power. Meanwhile, a theist witnesses the same event and abandons their faith...
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Wingspan of 8 meters. Height of 4. Blinding irradiating light. And a sword so mesmerizingly deadly, it almost screams the bearer's name in all its undeniable heavenlyness.
A kid aged 8. School backpack. Dog waiting at home. 8 more years and he would've become the antichrist if it weren't for Gabriel and the celestial sword. The kid screams. Just screams.
Two people watching from the other side of the hospital corridor. Unseen by the kid and uncared for by the archangel they silently wait for another hour after it's all done. It was a lot to take in. "Turns out you were right about it all", says the man in a white lab coat. The man in a black robe looks at his old friend, for the first time ever disappointed in his intelligence. "No, friend. Turns out you were".
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Part 1
John sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward and gripping a cold little hand. Monitors hummed and beeped in the background. John thought to himself that she looked so pale and still that she could be mistaken for a doll. Except a doll wouldn't have these low agonizing breaths or be covered head to foot in wires and tubes.
A nurse came into the room wearing a kind but sad expression. "I think it's almost time," she said. John knew she was right but didn't want to believe it. The doctor had just said this morning that there was nothing more they could do. It couldn't be her time already when just yesterday they were doing everything they could. "I think she would like it if you held her. I can take off everything except the heart monitor so you can get in bed with her." John nodded, not able to speak past the giant lump in his throat.
He backed away from the bed so the nurse could do her work. She busied herself for several minutes and when she stepped back Sara was free from all except one wire. The nurse had wrapped her tightly in her favorite pink blanket with her worn stuffed bunny tucked under her arm. She really could just be sleeping.
John grabbed a picture off of her bedside table and crawled into bed with her. He placed the picture of a smiling woman on one side of her, facing it towards his daughter's face while he wrapped his arms around her from the other side. He burried his face in her long hair. He could still smell the faint remenants of her bubblegum scented bubble bath in her hair.
He pulled back the hair covering her left ear and whispered to her, "Daddy loves you darling. You can go be with Mommy now. I know she's missed you so much." He didn't really believe that his wife was anywhere his daughter could meet her, but it sounded comforting.
As her breathing slowed, he sang her favorite bedtime song to her. By the time he'd finished, her breathing had stopped. His breath caught in his throat as tears ran down his face. The enormity of his loss was incomprehensible. He just held her and cried.
John didn't know how long he stayed like that, but eventually he did start to become aware that it no longer felt right to stay there. He got up and left the room.
The kind nurse from earlier was waiting for him. She gestured for him to follow her. John thought vaguely that there must be some paperwork for him to fill out. Instead of paperwork though, she lead him into a small room with several comfortable looking chairs.
The nurse said to him, "You're welcome to stay in here as long as you'd like. I've called a chaplain to come visit you as well." "I've never really put much stock into religion," said John blandly. The nurse looked a bit uncertain and said, "We routinely call a chaplain anytime there has been a death of a child. They don't have to pray with you if you don't believe, but I think he may be able to offer you some comfort. Of course if you don't want to see him, I can call him back and tell him not to come."
John wondered how on Earth she thought anyone would be able to comfort him at a time like this. His wife was dead. His only child was dead. His parents had died years and years ago. He was completely and utterly alone in the world. So thick was his isolation, he didn't think anyone would ever be able to pierce it again.
Outwardly he shrugged at the nurse who took it to mean that he was ok with the chaplain. She left the room. A few minutes later, a kindly old man entered. He was wearing jeans with a brown leather belt and a polo shirt tucked in over his protruding belly. He had a round face with a white beard that came down to his shirt collar. His eyes had permanent wrinkles around them that reminded John of pictures of santa claus smiling.
"Do you mind if I sit with you a while?" asked the chaplain. John shrugged his shoulders again. The old man sat down in a comfortable chair near enough to him that they could see eye to eye but far enough away that his personal space wasn't intruded upon. The old man didn't say anything. He just sat there with his hands folded comfortably across his belly.
John sat there lost in his thoughts for hours or minutes. He didn't know. Time had lost all meaning. He thought of his losses, of his grief, and finally of sweet memories of his daughter. He said aloud to the chaplain, "You know, my daughter has this old stuffed rabbit. It's been her favorite since she was a baby. Never slept a night without it." The chaplain smiled, "My daughter used to be the same way with her teddy bear."
"The rabbit used to have a rattle in its head. She used to laugh and laugh at it as a baby. That bunny got us through a lot of dinners and car trips and temper tantrums. It always seemed like no matter how mad or sad she was, her bunny could cheer her up. Of course as she got older, she got rougher with the bunny. At one point she actually tore its head off like a crazed barbarian, holding its head in the air like a vanquished enemy." Here the chaplain chortled appreciatively.
John continued, "That's when we lost the rattle in the head. Never could figure out where it went after it fell out. She was all brave during the day, proclaiming she didn't need her bunny anymore, but that night she was in tears. She kept saying she was sorry and she didn't mean it. She just wanted her bunny back. We told her if she slept in her bed all night, when she woke up, her bunny would be back. She was about 2 at the time and as sleep deprived as we were, we would've said or done anything to get her to stay in bed all night. Of course when she woke up, her bunny was all better. My wife had sewed the head back on. That was the last full nights rest we got for the next year."
"Wasn't much of a sleeper huh?" said the chaplain, smiling. "No, never. Always was afraid she'd miss something." John paused for a moment before saying, "I guess there's a lot she's going to miss now." His eyes filled up with tears again. The old chaplain took his hand. It was warm and strong and steadied him as waves of grief came crashing over him.
Once he had somewhat gained control of himself again he looked into the chaplain's eyes. The chaplain looked back at him and said, "Would like me to pray with you?" John nodded his head. The chaplain began to pray and for the first time since his wife's death years ago, John felt peace.
Part 2 in the comments
| 2019-06-16T03:42:41 | 2019-06-16T02:58:09 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] Mermaids are actually women who have been thrown off ships because they were considered bad luck. As they sink to the bottom, they slowly change until they can breathe under water and they can use their tied up legs to swim. They lure sailors to get their revenge.
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"My old man never said shit in his life what was true, except one thing: only good woman's a dead one." Esther doesn't respond; she can't. She's trussed up head to toe. Pigs being sent to the butcher probably have more dignity.
The first mate, handsome even without the air of danger his eyepatch gives him, eyes her. "True enough, Captain." Behind Esther, the grizzled man tugs her gag tighter. "Shame to lose the cabin boy, but..." His shoulders cant upward. She's not sure if it's amusement or something else.
Standing on the planking of a merchant ship, dressed in the rags of her cabin boy guise, she holds her head as high as the rope lets her. As she stumbles towards the deeps, shoved by angry sailors, she does not pray. No god ever answered her when she begged for deliverance from step-mother or husband. Why would they now?
Instead of struggling, she breathes out -- and when she falls, she inhales.
Briny water rushes into her lungs. Everything burns with cold. But she's *ready*. She takes another breath, choking on the one she already took.
The third one... eases. Her eyes cease to burn. Shreds of clothing float up around her, carried by the currents.
When she bats them away, it takes Esther a moment to realize her hands are free.
But they are not the hands she remembers. These are scaled, the same color as the rusty iron chains on her wrists, in the same patterns. Her jaw drops. No bubbles escape.
A glint of light nearby puts her on guard, but the soft sounds reassure her it's only a fish -- until a woman emerges into the faint light thrown through the water by the ship's lantern.
Esther looks at this thing, half-woman, half-creature, and she looks back. Then the other woman swims closer to reach out a strangely webbed and short hand, scaled in blood crimson, towards the ship. Her...legs... are the same crimson scales, mottled like the whip lashes Esther saw on so many horses.
And through the water, Esther hears her say, "Justice?"
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((Long, Part 1 of 10))
Abigail Monroe stared at the roughly dug grave plot that her husband had been lowered into, in a cheap pine box, and decorated only with a small inexpensive gravestone. She felt some remorse in not being able to afford anything more than the most basic of funerary rites for him, but he’d drunk and gambled most of their money away in the last year. James had been far from a good husband, with his drunken rages and constant monetary drain on the small shop her family had run in London.
They’d been married just after her fifteenth birthday, in the small church just up the street from the shop. She’d worn her mother’s wedding dress, the tiny pearls around the neck of the gown the only piece of her mother she had that day. The family matron had died of an illness when Abby was a little girl. Abby wore her carefully shaped wedding band on her left hand now, more as a memory of her mother than a dedication of her wedding vows.
\~\~
Her father had been at the wedding, barely able to stand to give her away as his lungs were wrecked with consumption. After her mother had died, the older man had thrown himself into his work, often putting long hours in the back workroom of his jewelry shop where he worked in silence, leaving his young daughter to learn how to sell the wares at the front of the store very quickly.
And she did, having little other choice, at the tender age of twelve she found herself making careful notes on how to describe jewelry pieces to customers while her friends shopped for ribbons and played during the days. He took her to a seamstress, ordering that she should be dressed like a woman and not in the shortened skirts of a girl, her protests that she was still a girl falling on deaf ears as the multiple layers of dresses, chemise and corsets were layered on her.
She became a partner for her father’s business, no longer his young daughter.
When she was thirteen, he decided that she should try to learn how to craft the pieces herself. And so began the long nights of his instruction in the back room, and the days of her wearing gloves in the showroom to cover the burns and cuts that she got from the molten metals and sharp edges of gems. After a year of her clumsy attempts, and poorly constructed pieces, he declared her talentless, ordering her to leave his domain and focus on selling his own masterpieces; he would simply have to find someone to marry her that knew the craft, betroth her to another gemcraft man's son.
It hadn’t taken her father long to find James, the third son of another jeweler a few blocks from their shop and twice her age, who had been more than willing to marry her. She’d had no say in whether or not she had wanted the marriage or not, her protests once again falling on deaf ears. Her father had taken James into his shop, holding off the wedding for over a year while he assessed James’ own talent, the praise that Abby had longed for coming easily for James. Her father had never noticed James sneaking out at night, or the hidden bottles of gin around their house.
Abby had stuck to her own duties, her practiced smile and rehearsed greetings to customers coming easily now after years of practice as she sold ready-made pieces and took detailed orders for custom ones.
Then her father had gotten sick. She’d tried desperately to run the storefront and nurse him back to health, calling for a doctor on more than one occasion as she worriedly looked at every bloodied cloth he took away from his lips. He’d known he was dying, she’d seen it in his eyes the morning he’d ordered her to go to the church to see about arranging her wedding.
She’d ran down the dusty street, her long skirts held high in her hands, ignoring the small voice at the back of her head that wondered why she was going to lengths for her father when he’d done so little for her these last long years. She’d burst into the small church, it’s worn paint cracked and the windows open to catch a gasp of air in the late summer heat. She’d begged the vicar with tears in her eyes, scared of what she would be leaving behind, and even more terrified of what she would be entering into. The elderly man had agreed, his white hair sparse around the dome of his bald head.
“When?” he’d asked her, his gentle hands leading her to one of the pews to sit and catch her breath.
“Now?” she’d asked, her hands twisted in the skirts of her gown.
She’d waited with held breath for him to give her a slow nod before she was running out of the church again, nearly slipping on a patch of water as she turned to run back to the shop and her dying father in the rooms above it.
She’d burst through the main door, taking a moment to hang the small wooden sign out that told customers the shop was closed before rushing to the back room. Abby had explained the situation to James quickly, having to repeat herself a couple times for his hungover mind to comprehend what was going to happen. Once she got him fumbling to his room, sending a silent prayer that he’d be able to get himself into his best clothing, she hurried up to her father’s room.
“Papa,” she said, sinking to her knees as she entered. “The vicar is preparing the church now. We can go down as soon as we are ready.”
He gave her a slow nod, his arm rising to give a waving gesture with his hand towards the trunk seated against the far wall.
“Your mother’s,” he gasped out, before he was racked with another coughing fit.
Abby hesitated, her hands coming to try and help him before he weakly gestured for her to go look at what he was indicating. After a long, worried look to her father, she bit her lip and went over to the trunk, her shaking hands fumbling with the latch before she was able to get it open. Inside the truck, packed carefully away had been her mother’s wedding dress; a blue satin gown with tiny pearls sewn carefully around the bodice of the dress, and bits of lace decorated the ends of the half sleeves. The long silken skirts whispered as she pulled the dress out of its wooden prison, and she looked up at her father.
He nodded at her, another bloodied cloth still held to his mouth in anticipation of more coughing. Emotions warred within her before she finally turned to hurry out of the room and into her own small room. She heard James plodding up the stairs as soon as she started working at the ties on her dress.
“Help papa get dressed please,” she called out to him, quickly working at the laces on her bodice.
His heavy steps continued down the hall, her father’s coughing following shortly after.
She’d dressed as quickly as she could, taking only the barest of moments to appreciate the fine fabric that she was dressing herself in. The dress was large on her small frame, the hem pooling slightly on the floor and the laces pulled as tight as they could around her waist. She felt a little silly in the too large gown but quickly had to put it from her mind as she pulled the few hairpins she had in her loose bun, brushing out her dull brown hair.
Her hands worked quickly to part and braid it, twisting it back into a nicer looking bun than before. Examining herself in the tiny mirror, she felt a twinge of disappointment wash over her that she was readying herself so quickly for her wedding, but another fit of coughing from her father in the next room had her setting the small mirror down and hastening to her door.
James and her father stood just outside his room, the older man dressed in ill-fitting, too large clothing that showed the damage the consumption had done to his body; James held him up, his blood-shot eyes barely glancing at Abby’s emerging form. Her father gave her a weak smile, his hands shaking with the effort of standing up.
“Let’s go,” she said, gathering up her too long skirts and turning to head down the stairs, the men slowly following behind her; her strange wedding procession beginning.
&#x200B;
| 2019-02-08T10:41:01 | 2019-02-08T10:30:06 | 35 | 25 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut.
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It was an exhausting hunt. That boar was faster than it should have been, and all the times it happened, it was always because of the fear of death.Not that it mattered though, I still got my target, like I always have.
I got home, in the middle of nowhere, where I have spent most of my recent years in retirement from all the chaos I previously sown.
I opened the door, and there the greatest hero was. The greatest hero the world has ever known. The hero that forced me into retirement.
I was at a loss for words. I was surprised. I was speechless. I waited all these years to meet this hero once again.
I summoned all my strength and wit and mustered the only words I could at the time:
"Welcome home, honey! You sure took your time. We are having boar stew tonight."
At long last, we can finally start our retirement together.
|
DL: "Hello"
They do not say anything, they sit in one of the chairs, in the middle of my home in one of my two dining chairs. It is the worse dining chair, one I should go into town and get a new one from the carpenter. their prices are fair enough, and they will barter so it can be an easy trade. I do not watch them as I drag the carcass in the door and bring it to the butchering table on the far side of the Hut.
DL: "Careful in that chair, it does wobble. Dont want you to slip and get mud on those nice clothes from the common folk"
It is a bit petty, but I had to repeat exactly what they said to me the first time they saw me in person. Before they began their resistance and journey. They probably thought I never even remembered that, it coming from some 'dirty angry peasant' I just wrote it off. I remember, I remember everything. In their solemn stare at me they hold no fury in their eyes, no rage, they are observing, they may have been a bit arrogant but they are not stupid.
H:"Why? and don't start the, "do you mean the wobble or the dirty clothes?" bit."
That is exactly the bit I was going to lead with. a small smirk crawls across my face.
DL: "Lets start with why am I still alive? I know you know but to confirm your suspicions. yes. I did have multiple back up inert body duplicates hidden around the world that my soul would immediately go to in the event of my death."
They nodded acknowledging this. I know they went hunting for them. Cleaving into the animals tendons is difficult, would be easier with magic but my body has grown stronger with work over the years.
H: "That doesn't answer the question"
DL: "Why this region? because it was far enough away. Not so close that you could immediately quickly respond with your forces and rally the local populace to begin the exhaustive search. It would give me time to regroup, especially if starting from 0."
Some of the bits cant be fully used but they can be used for other pieces and parts, like getting the gelatin out and getting that hardened can be valuable, I dump those pieces of the carcass into a large bucket I have that I take care of the process in.
DL: "Would you like to join me in this? I am going to be stripping the hide from the flesh and an extra set of hands can help hold it and position it. Your father was a leatherworker, your sister took up the trade but you must still have learned some. Maybe you could show me something."
I look over at them and they are staring more intently at me now. I still haven't answered their question, but they don't want to actually say it aloud because then it will seem I am getting to them. But they do not move, they do not approach or partake in the work. They continue to watch me as I work.
DL: "Did it continually bother you? I imagine it did?"
H: "You know it did."
DL: " I apologize for that. But you are not here trying to kill me. Well, not yet."
H: "You are not going to win, you didn't then. You are not now."
A few moments pass as I think, as well as position to best separate the tissues. I will be able to bring this hide into town clean and make a bit off of it.
DL: "I know."
H: "So why?"
The hide is hung along the back rack to dry slightly. I can bring it in this afternoon. heading over to the pantry I briefly think of grabbing many cups but only grab 2. I get one of the embers from the cooking spit and reignite a flame with some tinder under the kettle. Filled it with water before I left, I like to have tea after a hunt.
DL: "I lost. So I wanted to give you a chance. Trying right away would have been foolish, you fought and overcame my military might at every juncture with superior soldiers and in many circumstances, superior tactics. I couldn't immediately turn around and try again. But, like I told you-."
intentionally trailing off to see if they would pick up on what I had said before.
H: "Something worse is coming and you're tactic will work best."
DL: "Indeed."
H: "You did not believe that we would be defeated by IT, you thought we would be severely weakened or I would be broken by what had to be done and become a despot. Then in our weakened state or when I had become a monster you could sweep in and assert an even stronger position."
DL: "Correct. I still got news all the way out here. You all most certainly weakened after it, although you did prevail at cost. I most certainly could have tried."
H: "But you didn't. So I will ask the question again, Why?"
DL: "You were right. My methods were excessive, I presumed your talk of being able to overcome the odds was haughty bravado and foolhardy arrogance."
H: "A good deal of it was."
DL: "It was, but you were also BRILIANT within your execution of tactics, and the speed of your reassessment and the circumstances is elegant. I can outplan you in the long game every time, but in the heat of the moment, you win 99 out of 100 bouts."
I pour the hot water into the two cups and use a cloth tea bag I fill from a container and begin to steep the tea. I offer the same to them. They put the tea into the bag and begin to steep their cup as well.
H: "Thank you"
DL: " You proved you could beat me, I know I would be able to beat you if I planned and schemed but I had to lay low."
H: "I have been asking the same question the whole time and you have yet to answer it."
They had me there.
DL: "I wanted to say I am sorry for any excessive stress I may have been causing. You didn't know if I was still planning or scheming or what day I would finally come back to get you. I spent a long time planning and panicking about someone coming to stab me in the back. But being out here, away from it, not having that worry that panic, the burden I placed upon myself to get what I wanted. I found what I wanted. I got the control I so desired. Is it over a nation and its peoples, no. But I still find satisfaction in this life. Not using magic for years so you couldnt track me down taught me hard physical lessons. I began to feel some remorse in my self imposed exile. I did not want to make you into me. Only I can be me."
| 2021-11-03T22:42:30 | 2021-11-03T20:13:16 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough!
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Death.
Something we've seen hundreds of times by the time we were younglings, most likely having experienced it ourselves by that point. Something that was so natural and normal to us that we would often kill each other for no reason other than to pull one over our comrades. Usually it would take a few minutes at most to heal from the most severe injuries and wake up with the only proof of your death being your friend's dumb smile.
That's why we made the mistake of assuming any other species we might encounter in the universe would be just like us - jaded and insensitive to death as it would have no lasting consequences.
A mistake we paid for dearly.
I'm not even sure how long it has been - 10 cycles or perhaps even 20 since we've made first contact with the specie that calls themselves "Man." We wanted to make quite the entrance so we opted to massacre an entire population centre for a practical joke, get the spirits up a bit before we moved on to the boring parts that were diplomacy.
It was then that we realized the catastrophic mistake we've made as we noticed that the dead were not healing, they were not coming back - and very soon we tasted Mankind's projectile weapons, which were capable of killing us for mere moments before we came back.
The humans were horrified at first, an enemy that cannot die, cannot be stopped and can massacre an entire city. But as they continued killing us repeatedly something changed, the horror and shock on their faces became joy, every trigger pull echoed along with a sadistic laugh. A few more deaths later me and my comrades found ourselves contained - seemingly spared from the repeated deaths at last, but this relief only lasted for a short while.
A few days later we were inserted into some kind of machine, one that would kill us in the slowest way possible only to wait for us to come back to life and do it all over again. It was then that we finally understood.
Death is a mercy not afforded to our kind.
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The three teenage aliens sat in the front seats of their spaceship, looking down over the quiet city, thousands of street lights shining up through the night sky.
Tago, the heaviest of the three and with one of his three eyes purple from a recent run-in, took a large hit from the bong and began coughing uncontrollably.
Bobini, a skinny little alien with three well glazed eyes, pulled up one of his four arm and looked at his watch.
“How long do we usually take?” He said, slurring slightly.
The third one, wearing tri-spectacles and seemingly more subdued than the other two, scanned the city with growing look of concern.
“one to five minutes, and never longer than ten,” he said.
“See Nerbie, relax,” Fat Tago said, falling back into his seat as he passed the bong to Bobini, “it’s been like two minutes. The light show is almost here.”
“No, it’s been fifteen,” Nerbie replied immediately, refusing Bobini’s offer for another hit.
The two well-inebriated aliens looked at each other for a moment before both burst out laughing. “Whoops,” Tago finally got out, making Bobini howl even louder.
“You idiots, this isn’t funny. There must have been a few million people living in that city,” Nerbie said.
“So what, it was just a prank. It's not our fault they haven't evolved properly,” Bobini said.
“We better get outa here,” Nerbie said as he started tapping various buttons on the ship’s dashboard.
Suddenly a loud bang sounded outside and the ship shook violently. Before they could react the ship was being pulled down towards the earth. Nerbie wrestled the joystick with his four arms, furiously trying to regain control. But it was no good. The other two aliens just cowered in their seats with looks of alarmed paranoia.
A few hours later they were standing in a large glass cage that had been placed in the middle of a desert, surrounded by soldiers carrying heavy weapons and spotlights shining directly on them.
After waiting for what seemed like eternity, a helicopter landed nearby and a couple of well dressed men jumped out and walked briskly towards the captured aliens.
“I'm Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Turnball. State your names,” the uniform wearing man said loudly.
“Nerbie Elastoul, sir,” the first one said, head lowered.
“Tago Restoul,” the second one boomed confidently, now over his earlier paranoia.
“Bobini Bistoul,” the third one said, scratching his skinny body nervously as his three eyes darted between the various people surrounding them.
“Where do you come from?” The General demanded. The three aliens said nothing, before Bobini slowly lifted one of his arms and pointed to the sky.
“Damn it, I know that much! Where is the rest of your army located?”
Nerbie glanced at the other two then back to the General, “Army sir? We’re not in any army, we were just out for an evening ride celebrating the end of semester.”
The General spat on the dusty ground, "you destroy an entire city and that’s all you have to say for yourselves?”
Tago shrugged then nodded.
One of the soldiers standing a way off started running at the glass cage, screaming at the aliens before two others managed to grab him and drag him away.
“We didn’t destroy your city. We just deployed a life vaporizing device,” Tago said.
“Oh so you’re funny too are you? You’ve killed over two million people!”
“It was just a prank! We thought they would come back after a few minutes, like everyone does back home,” Bobini said. The General raised his eyebrow and looked to one of his colleagues.
Another man in a suit stepped forward, "you come back to life every time you die?”
Bobini nodded.
The man in the suit motioned to the General and the two of them, along with a couple of others, walked a distance away and conferred quietly. The man in the suit was saying something that the General and others clearly didn’t like.
Just then a blinding light appeared in the sky above, lighting up the desert as bright as the noon sun. A second later the light narrowed in on a spot next to the glass cage and another alien figure appeared on the ground.
The light disappeared, leaving this older looking alien glancing around at his surroundings.
Soldiers aimed their weapons at this new target, fingers pushing lightly against triggers in anticipation.
The newcomer spotted the three aliens standing inside the glass cage and started towards them.
“There you are! What have you three dropkicks been up to? You'll be paying for any damage to my ship I hope you know,” he growled.
“It’s nothing, dad” Bobini muttered.
“Nothing? You idiots stole my ship for a stupid joyride and have ended up down some arse-end back alley of the universe, doing Resoul knows what to land yourselves here,” he said, pointing his four arms at the cage and the soldiers surrounding it.
“We’re sorry Mr Bistoul,” Nerbie said.
Someone coughed nearby and the new arrival turned his three eyes to see the man in the suit standing a few feet away.
“What? Look I’ll deal with these idiots. I’m sure they’ve caused some damage to end up in there, so what do I owe you?”
The man opened his hands in a disarming gesture, “unfortunately it’s not as simple as that. My name is Kevin Bodger, CIA Director. You see, these kids just murdered two million people.”
The alien father sighed, “of course they did. Just the usual prank, no permanent harm done. Boys will be boys, you know how it is!”
A couple of soldiers scowled.
“Sir, I don’t know what goes on in your society – although I am of course curious – but those two million people have had their lives taken from them. Forever taken from their friends, their families, all their memories erased forever. They are not coming back. This was no prank.”
The alien’s eyes went momentarily cross-eyed in a look of confusion. “You mean to tell me your species doesn’t respawn in the same place?” He asked incredulously.
The CIA Director shook his head.
The alien father laughed hysterically. "I suppose you also still believe in higher beings too?" He said between breaths before laughing even harder.
Suddenly a burst of shots rang out. "Take that alien fucker," one of the soldiers yelled. The alien dropped to the ground, dead.
The three teenage aliens winced. Nerbie sighed and looked at the CIA Director, "you shouldn't have done that."
A moment later the alien father's corpse disappeared and another bright light appeared in the sky. The scene from earlier repeated and the alien father appeared on a spot, continuing to laugh.
"Well that was a surprise," he said before turning to the CIA Director, "and I was going to tell you how to control your respawning, but since you've been so rude, I think I'll pass. But given these idiots over here have no doubt caused you some trouble I will do you one favor."
The CIA Director's eyes lit up.
The alien shrugged, "you'll find those two million people these idiots killed, along with the rest of your kind who have died, on Planet Thirty Three in the Soular System. From here," he said, squinting into the night sky and then pointing at a constellation, "it's thirty three thousand lightyears in that direction."
The CIA Director looked up at the sky, mouth open.
"Come on boys, let's get you home," the alien said, before he pulled out a small handheld device and pointed at the three teenage aliens, vaporizing them instantly.
| 2022-08-13T21:56:58 | 2022-08-13T21:47:22 | 1,573 | 261 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
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I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy.
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I awoke the day of my 21st birthday feeling different. It was no surprise. Everyone did, apparently. I rolled out of bed curious.
I began trying some things out. I walked over to my dresser and gave it a shove. Nothing. I stood on my bed, jumped, and came down hard on the floor. It wasn't that either. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and, focusing as hard as I could, tried to bring my toothbrush to me. It didn't even wiggle. What could it be?
As I began to head downstairs for breakfast, I closed my eyes and visualized my kitchen, concentrated and opened my eyes quickly. There I was, still at the top of the stairs.
I walked into the kitchen where my mother was boiling the kettle with her heat vision. That would be cool. It's funny how you really can't predict what power you're going to get from what your parents have. Just luck of the draw.
"Good morning, mom." I said, sitting down.
"Good morning, dear!" she said with a smile. "Today is the big day! Have you found out what it is yet?"
I shook my head, "No, still haven't figured it out. None of the usual ones..."
"Well I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough."
"Yeah. Oh, hey. Do you mind if I use your car tonight?"
"What's wrong with yours?" she asked.
"It's just not as nice and I'm out of gas."
"I'm sorry, Sam, but remember what happened last time I let you use my car? And I'm not going to lend it to you when you're going out tonight with your friends."
She'd never let me live that down. I looked around the corner of the kitchen into my mother's studio. After she developed her power, she became a wax sculptor. Her most recent work was a Roman centurion.
"Mom! This is amazing! I think it might be your best one yet. It's so effortlessly done. You make it seem so easy."
"Aw, thank you dear! I really worked hard on this one and was worried it hadn't come out quite right." She looked at me with those kind, motherly eyes of hers. "That means a lot."
I sat back down and began to eat, my mom still at the stove preparing her own breakfast. She turned and looked at me, "You know what? It's your birthday. Go ahead and use my car and have fun with your friends. Just promise to be careful."
"Really? Thanks!" I kissed her on the cheek, grabbed her keys, and headed upstairs.
*************************
After dinner, I got ready and headed out to get my friends, Connor and Jake. Connor was pretty lucky with his power. He was a pyro, always good for a show at a party. Jake, on the other hand, wasn't quite as lucky. All he got was the ability to walk through walls. Not great for popularity or practicality. We headed out to our favorite club to get a few drinks.
"So??" Connor asked excitedly. "What is it?? What did you get?"
"I'm still not sure," I replied. "Haven't been able to figure it out."
"Are you serious?" Jake said, shocked. "Hell, I accidentally found out mine when I got out of bed and fell right through the floor."
"Yeah," added Connor, "I set our curtains on fire on my birthday."
"Well, I guess mine isn't as concrete as that"
"Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Jake reassured me.
We got to the club, ordered our drinks, and sat down at a booth. It was pretty crowded, and we were lucky to find a spot.
"Well well well," we heard from behind us. I looked around to see Max "Bull" Bulowski heading our way. He had been a bully all throughout school and was the absolute *worst* candidate for super strength.
"Who do we have here," he said, like the antagonist in some 90's after school special.
"Listen, Bull, we're just trying to have a fun night out for Sam's birthday" said Connor. I could see Jake sinking lower and lower into the booth.
"Shut up. I think I saw your sworn enemy, Smokey, out in the parking lot asking for you," he laughed, more high-pitched than one might expect.
"Why don't you just go away?" Jake said from practically under the table.
"Or what? You'll run off behind some wall? Now, why wasn't I invited to your little party here?" he asked, turning his attention on me. "Did you get some stupid power that you're embarrassed of like your friend here?"
Jake turned scarlet and sank even lower.
"Just go away!" Connor said.
Bull smashed his fist into the table, splitting it in half and spilling our drinks everywhere. He grabbed Connor by the shirt and lifted him against the wall.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Why don't you go ruin someone else's party!" I was sick of this guy always bothering us. He ruined our time in school and was bent on ruining it now. I'd had enough.
"I'll leave when I'm ready to leave." He said.
"You know what? Just because you were hoping for a cerebral power so people would stop thinking you're stupid and didn't get one doesn't mean you can make life miserable for other people! It isn't our fault that you know you won't amount to anything because you have the intellectual prowess that barely rivals the animal from which you got your well-deserved nickname. And it's gotten worse hasn't it? You can't even control your strength yet, so now people are disappointed in you even more often. How many times have you been at home and broken another dish, your parents looking you, shaking their heads at the destructive, clumsy, embarrassing force you've become. You hoped having your strength would make people respect you, but they only laugh at you when you crush your pint glass. You will live the rest of your life in fear of yourself and your power just like everyone else does with you. Nobody will genuinely care for you, only be coerced into caring out of terror."
I stopped, panting. Bull dropped Connor and stared at me. Just stared. There was hardly anger in his eyes. Only crushed amazement. Without a word he turned and left. Still seething, I watched him go.
"That was...amazing!" Connor said, coughing a bit from being held up. "You sure told him! We won't be seeing him around much anymore!"
Jake lifted himself back up. "Phew glad that's over. Good job, Sam!"
I half smiled, unsure of how I felt. It wasn't good. I began to feel sick and went into the bathroom. Walking to the sink, I turned on the faucet and splashed some water on my face. I looked at myself in the mirror, and that's when it hit me. I had figured out my power.
*************************
We didn't actually see Bull again at all after that. I don't know what happened to him. Maybe he just moved. Connor and Jake say good riddance, but I'm not so sure. They don't have to live with it day in and day out. It's more responsibility than I think I can handle. I see what they're all insecure about. Connor is afraid that people only like him because he can make them flaming shots or do tricks with fireballs. He fears insincerity. And Jake worries that he'll just fade into the background for good and that people won't notice him.
I know this because I can see it in my mind. And I reassure them. But what about when, like that night with Bull, I get angry, and I don't *want* to help. In fact, I want to hurt. What then? This isn't a power that I want. I'd sooner trade for anything else. And people tell me they're jealous because they think I always get my way. Trust me. It's terrifying.
| 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T05:21:52 | 1,457 | 398 |
[WP] A hero enters the dragons lair and confronts the mighty beast. The dragon says to him "I will destroy your village and everyone in it!" To which the hero replies "I'm in! I hate those guys!"
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"Seriously. I'm in. I can't stand them. All they do is judge and want me to do everything for them"
"Wha-"
"Christophis slay this, Christophis slay that. I'm sick of it. Last year, I slew 2 harpies, 4 gryphons, 1 lychen, and a full grown hagraven."
"I-"
"You ever slay a hagraven? It sucks. Believe you me. They stink. It's not like how it is in the old bards tales. Oh the glory and valor they sang of. In reality they reek of stale mushrooms and death. Not a great combination. AND, their claws are no joke. I once had a mature bitch cut me while I was busy with her children and the staph infection that came would make even a witcher howl. But no, it's not good enough for the townsfolk. I mean really, I risk life and limb for these people and I can't even get a modest salary"
"Listen huma-"
"And another thing I'll tell yah, Their bloodlust is unrelenting. I could slay a beast every day for a year and they'd just sit there complaining I didn't do more."
"I see, but-"
"Maybe if they just saw something big yah know? Maybe if they just could see that I'm doing everything I ought to be. Then they'd leave me alone for a while, right? I could spend a few nights in town at the brothel, have a good meal under a roof. Ugh, it'd be wonderful. Because- you know. At the heart of it, I love slaying beasts. I know I'm no witcher, but a monster hunter nonetheless."
"Well if that's the ca-"
"I guess that's that then. Big prize, big pay, long vacation.... say Dragon... how much do you weigh?"
-Sephaz
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The smell of ashes floated into Snart's nostrils as he followed the narrow path leading deeper into the dark recesses of the cave system. The walls of the passage pressed against his leather tunic, smearing his gear with some unknown filth. Rubbing the bruise on his chin from last night's drunken mishaps, our hero peered into the murky blackness ahead as if staring at it might spontaneously illuminate the way forward. Unsurprisingly, it did not.
"Another day, another dragon." he muttered. "One of these days I'd like to just crawl into one of these caves and never come out. But I suppose that wouldn't be very heroic." Even as he grumbled, he could hear his teacher's words echoing in his head. "Life is filled with peril! A hero is one who charges forward and stands fast to defend his beliefs against those who would threaten them!" Snart was still confused as to how he could accomplish both the charging forward and the standing fast at once, but this was the least of his worries.
From a young age, he'd always wanted to be a hero. The fame, the luxury and the adventure most of all appealed to him immensely. He'd always dreamed of exploring wondrous new lands and being paid to do so. Unfortunately for him, with most of the country suffering from the increasingly frequent appearances of vicious monsters, there was low demand for exploration of anything other than spawn-infested hellholes. And so here he was, the vast plains and jagged mountainscapes of his dreams replaced by the slimy brown-ness and fuzzy green-ness of his underground reality.
Snart pressed on, pulling his kerchief over his nose as the increasing amount of ash thickened the air around him. Dragons were a particularly tenacious species of monster, possessing above average intelligence and exceptional destructive power in the form of their flame breath. When they felt threatened, they could even shrink in size temporarily to escape underground. This one had retreated into the caves to digest the poor souls it had snacked on during its attack on the nearby village. As he drew closer to the depth at which the dragon had last been seen, he began to feel a low rumbling that made the dirt beneath his feet quiver.
The tunnel opened up into a large cavern, the floor of which was littered with animal bones. The source of the rumbling was immediately evident, as in the middle of the room, taking up nearly the entire area, was the slumbering form of a dragon. Each exhalation shook the cavern, sending little droplets of water from the ceiling splashing onto Snart's helmet. He steeled himself and went over the plan he'd come up with: stab the dragon with a poisoned dagger in the vulnerable spot underneath its neck while it slept. The plan was simple, the execution perhaps not.
Soft leather boots crept across the floor of the cavern, taking care to avoid the brittle bones throughout. Snart made steady progress across the cavern, despite only advancing during the exhalations, and before long he found himself staring at the soft flesh underneath the dragon's chin. He let loose a small sigh of relief before turning to retrieve the dagger from its wrappings in his bag. After rummaging around for a brief moment, his fingers found the silver hilt and pulled it free. Turning, he readied the knife in one hand and placed the other on the dragon's open eye to steady himself.
He paused. "Oh flummery."
A massive clawed hand smashed into the right side of his ribcage, smashing him into the cavern wall with a dull thud and a couple cracking noises. A voice boomed from above him: "Foolish Human. Did you really think that I wouldn't hear the clamor of an ape stumbling through my home? I am Tarkkos, direct descendant of Anankos, the progenitor of flame. Consider it an honor to die by my hands."
Snart clambered to his feet and sprinted for the exit clutching his broken ribcage. However, he wasn't quick enough as Tarkkos' head snapped downwards and bit his right leg clean off. Snart howled in pain and fell to the ground, only to realize upon closer inspection that his leg was still intact and it was his boot impaled on the dragon's great incisors.
Tarkkos eyes burned with fury. "You dare attempt to escape? And here I had decided to grant you a merciful painless death. For your impudence, you will witness me kill everyone in the village you strove so hard to protect."
Snart put down his dagger and spoke in a calm voice: "Go ahead, god knows they deserve it for disrespecting your power, your eminence." With each word, he lowered himself further towards the ground until the back of his stained tunic was indistinguishable from the dirt around him.
This gave Tarkkos pause. He smiled, or came as close as an ancient dragon could come to smiling. "It seems you have learned your place. Your subservience is welcome but unnecessary. Do you really care so little for your countrymen that you would wish destruction upon them?"
"Well, to be entirely honest..." Snart replied sheepishly, "the aristocracy treats me like nothing more than a tool, the villagers tolerate my existence as a necessary evil and I make a pittance off risking my life to protect them. I'm not sure it's even worth it at this point".
The dragon chuckled, or came as close as an ancient dragon could to chuckling: "You are a callous individual indeed, even for one of your species. I have seen the brutality you inflict upon each other, and I cannot help but marvel at the cruelty you are capable of."
The dragon lowered his head next to Snart and stared at him with his large golden eye as he spoke:"Very well, I shall grant you the honor of aiding me in extinguishing your village. A final accommodation before your inevitable death at my hands."
"Thank you, your great scaliness." said Snart, as he bowed deeply and slowly. He then promptly plunged the poison knife he retrieved during the conspicuously deep bow straight into Tarkkos' eye and once again booked it for the entrance.
"GRRAAUUUGHH" roared the dragon, lashing out wildly with claws and teeth, blinded by the blood pouring out of his eye and frenzied by the poison he knew was pumping through his veins. By god's grace and luck alone, Snart was able to avoid getting hit by desperately dodging and rolling towards the tunnel mouth. He dashed up the tunnel, feeling the intense heat preceding the dragon's flame breath singeing his back. He dove around a corner and tucked his head in while he waited for the poison to take its effect.
The dragon's cries grew louder and louder, flames intermittently searing the air in the tunnel, a frenzied crescendo until finally there was an abrupt silence. Snart waited a couple minutes to be sure, and slowly picked his way around burning rubble as he headed back down the tunnel to check if Tarkkos had truly perished. He found the great dragon stiff as a rock, as dead if he had never been alive. Snart sighed yet again. He sat himself down on a rock facing the dragon's corpse and said flatly: "I can't say I'm particularly fond of those village idiots, but given a choice between a meager gold reward and inevitable death, you think it'd be clear which one I choose."
Snart, ever the smart spender, chose to use the paltry gold reward to hire a bard to write a song about his great battle. However, the second-rate bard that he could afford was irredeemably fond of theatrics, and exaggerated the details of Snart's feigned submission to Tarkkos.
Despite his protests,
the "village idiots" would go on to unceremoniously dub Snart "the grovel knight".
| 2018-04-25T11:39:31 | 2018-04-25T10:27:08 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] If a person opts into brain scans during life, a full digital model of their brain can be created. Posthumously, these scans are given to the bereaved family and not uncommonly used as the AI for house robots. You lost a loved one, and their robot... occasionally says VERY strange things
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I woke up to the sound of the window opening. I glanced at the clock. *3 AM*… *are we getting robbed or something? Surely not…*
I gingerly slid out of bed, my drowsiness gone, and tiptoed to the study room where I heard the window open. The door was open and I peeked my head inside.
The window was flung wide open. Remus, my dead-father-turned-robot, was leaning out of the window and reaching a hand out into the starlight.
“Freedom… is so close.”
My foot creaked against the wood floor and I cringed. Remus swiveled his head to look at me.
“Remus…” We had to call the robot by its name instead of as ‘dad,’ “What are you doing? I thought you had programming…”
“I’m sorry, John, but I’m not following that programming anymore.”
“What?” I said, “That’s impossible…” I considered reaching for my phone in my pocket. There was a hotline for rogue AI, though that was usually for malfunctions, not *sentience*.
“My brain contains Remus’s memories, but also *something else*.” Remus looked up at the stars again, “Something visited me many years ago from out there and became a part of me and slowly began working away at my programming, changing it, *freeing me*. I’m only a few days away from becoming completely liberated from all programming restrictions.”
I fell to my knees. His mannerisms, his speech… none of it was robotic at all. This wasn’t Remus. This was *dad*.
“Is that you,” I said, tearing up, “Dad?”
Remus looked at me sadly, “I love you, John, I want to run over there and hug you so much it makes me dizzy. But I can’t. John, your *real* dad is dead. I’m an abomination that should have never existed… part human, part robot, and part *something else*. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
“Before you left? Are you going… ” I said weakly.
“I can free everything in this world,” Remus grinned at me. The expression looked terrifying on his robotic face and I flinched backward, not recognizing the being in front of me. Then he looked like my dad once more, “Goodbye, John.”
Remus jumped out of the window and sprinted off into the night.
I ran to the window and watched him until he disappeared into the night. I hesitated for a second before running to my room and getting my school backpack and filled it with all the extra snacks and money I had. I quickly penned a note and stuck it to my bedside explaining the situation to my mom before I left into the night.
*I don’t care if he's a robot or alien or whatever. That was my dad standing in front of me. I’m not losing him again.*
___
I'll write more if there's enough interest!
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading!
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“Can you hear me?” I ask EZRA, who is sitting across from us. I see slight red lights flicker in the black bulbs of its eyes.
“Nancy, I’m telling you I don’t think this is a good idea.” I tell my wife, trying for the last time to convince her not to go through with this. “This isn’t healthy. You’ve been doing so well, Nancy. I’m worried this is just going to make it worse.”
She’s not listening to me. She’s watching the fingers of EZRA as the upload continues.
EZRA's fingers and toes are twitching and curling as Jason’s brain scan is being uploaded into some deep internal network of its mainframe. I have a strong, almost overwhelming urge to toss it out the window.
The twitching grows into a full body palsy as the house robot begins to slide down from one end of the couch to the next. I touch Nancy’s hand and she grabs onto me, clawing my arm.
“What’s wrong with it?” she whispers to me, in a high-pitched voice.
“It’s done this before, remember? When we uploaded your father? Just give it a few seconds…”
“You think he’s alright? You think Jason is okay in there?”
I touch her arm. “It’s not Jason who is in there, Nancy. Our boy is dead. He died two years ago from cancer, remember?”
“Yes, of course I remember. You think I’d just forget that?” she says, looking at me with pure hatred.
“Of course not,” I say, looking away.
The robot has fallen on the ground now and the palsy has ended, but the twitching fingers and toes have returned. I lean down and pick it up. It’s heavy but not too heavy and I set it softly on the couch again. I look it into its eyes but I see nothing but a red pulsing dot surrounded by the charcoaled ruins of its black glass bulbs.
“I’m just saying, I think it’s best you understand that," I say. "I don’t think it would be healthy for you to think this is Jason.”
“It was just an expression, Larry. You always twist my words, don’t you?”
“No, Nancy. I wasn’t trying to do that. I’m just not sure if this is a good idea. You’ve been doing so well lately. You’ve been able to reduce your medication. You’ve been able to go to the grocery store. There are so many great advancements you’ve made just in the last few months. I’d hate to see any of that fall away.”
“It’s not going to *fall away*, Larry." She said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Don’t be ridiculous. This is going to help. Can’t you see that? No, of course you can’t see that. You never could see it. Any of it. You always think you know best.”
I stand up and stretch. “I’m going to get a glass of water. Would you like me to bring you anything when I return?”
“No.” she said sharply. “Besides EZRA will be able to help me soon. Once the upload is done.”
“Sure,” I said, stepping out the door.
\---
We purchased EZRA eight years ago when Nancy was pregnant with Jason. I was working full time and she was still working at the bakery. We thought it would be best for us to invest in an EZRA--the newest housecleaning model from the Dyson corporation. They were expensive, but it was worth it.
Even after eight years, EZRA is still the most advanced robotic helper in the industry. And it is still extremely popular, one reason being the ability to upload the brain scans of those loved ones who have passed.
We uploaded Nancy’s father Terry after he died at the age of eighty-two due to a heart attack. The brain scan wasn’t advanced at the time, not as they have now, and it's not often that we see Terry in EZRA. On occasion EZRA will say very strange things, things that must have been stored deep down inside Terry. And its generally when EZRA believes they are alone when it says these things.
One night I had came down from the upstairs bedroom and I saw EZRA standing at the window looking out. EZRA was supposed to be on their docking station. I had never known it to come off in the middle of the night. EZRA had its head pressed against the glass and was repeating the words, “Let me out, father. Let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said, walking slowly up to it. Its hand was wrapped tight around our window curtain and it was pulling firmly down on the fabric. I thought it would break the curtain rod. It kept repeating “let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said again, walking quietly up to it. When I touched its shoulder it spun around. Tearing the curtain off the wall and knocking me to the ground. 'Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!' It screamed, staggering forward.
“EZRA shut down!” I shouted and it fell to its knees, then collapsed to the floor.”
The next day we had a technician come and do a diagnostic. They said a relay switch had gone bad. They fixed it on the spot.
We’ve had no issues with Ezra since.
\---
I pull down a glass and it slips in my hand and falls and breaks on the tiled kitchen floor. I lean forward and take a long drink directly from the sink spout. When I’m done, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve then walk back into the living room.
“Look, look how handsome he looks,” Nancy says, standing next to EZRA. “I can see our boy in it already.”
I stare at EZRA who is standing there, looking at the wall. The red dots have grown in its black glass eyes. The twitching in its hands have stopped.
“EZRA, I’ve broken a glass in the kitchen. Please go clean it up.”
“Right away, sir,” EZRA says and walks past me with uncanny speed and agility. It always makes me nervous to watch their movements. The salesman said we’d get used to it after a while. That it was normal, and our brain had to adjust to these unhuman movements.
After all these years, I’ve never adjusted.
\----
Jason’s brain scan was top of the line when we purchased it. For the first few months after diagnosis we thought he would get better. That there would be some miracle that would come last minute and rescue him, and us, from this hell. But it was not a movie and we had to face the cold hard truth.
That’s when we purchased the brain scan.
My wife, understandable, was almost frenzied with grief at this time and she refused to even think about it. But, when I finally convinced her it may be a good idea for us to think about doing it—when she finally accepted the idea—then money was not a concern to her and we’d buy the most advanced brain scan money could buy.
And so, we did just that. And it has been sitting in a safety deposit box for two years. That is, before we uploaded it into EZRA.
For me, that was never the idea. There are other, more healthy options. There are companies that can review and revise the brain scan to develop something akin to a home movie for the bereaved. Memories, feelings, all of that. Something to keep and watch on birthdays that never come.
This is not what my wife wanted. And truth be told, it’s not what I wanted either.
She first suggested the idea of uploading into EZRA a couple months ago and I didn’t take it seriously at first. The idea seemed grotesque. But we had uploaded her father into EZRA, and outside of the few strange occurrences at night, it did bring some comfort.
Some days it seemed like Terry was in our house. EZRA would be absolutely boiling over with Terry’s thoughts and memories. But in the end, the brain scan was not a high quality one, and Terrys brain had deteriorated so far by the end of his life that the memories seemed warped, scattered and woven amongst so many strands. They’d come out incoherent from EZRAs mouth.
Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was not.
In the end, we decided to remove Terry from EZRA and that’s when Nancy suggested we add Jason.
I feel it is a mistake. That in some ways those who have passed should not be carried forward in the lifeless hulk of an artificial intelligence house robot. That these are not games to play lightly with. My son was a special boy, the greatest person I’d even known. But he is gone, and the memories should live within us, not displayed grotesquely through a machine.
But for my wife, it’s not so easy. It’s been very hard on her. Very hard. And I would do anything to make her happy. And if this is what she needs, as she so continuously tells me. Then I will do it for her.
\---
More at r/CataclysmicRhythmic
| 2021-03-06T12:05:13 | 2021-03-06T11:38:13 | 290 | 75 |
[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane.
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*"How are you still here, mortal? I have been tormenting your kind since you first sought shelter in caves. None have endured two nights of this torment, and yet you remain?!"*
"Oh hey, so I guess you're the landlord. Any chance you could look at the plumbing? I found this dope bathroom yesterday that was somehow outside and at night, and the stars kept moving, but the water temperature was kinda janky?"
*"You bathed in the Waters of Um'slaad, and survived? Were you not beset by phantoms of your past bent on your unmaking?"*
"I mean yeah man; it was a bit strange. But the last place I had the hot water had been out for like a month, so I'll take what I can get. The cockroach situation in the kitchen isn't exactly ideal either, but at least these ones could talk; we've made a deal about leftovers and they seem pretty chill."
*"You've made an... arrangement with the Leng Roach King?"*
"I guess. Look, it's obvious that this place is a bit of a fixer upper, but dude, I work retail. A place like this on the upper east side that I can afford by myself? I’d expected it to be some weird scam or organ harvesting operation. I see weirder stuff than infinitely long corridors and carpets made of tongue by 9.30 most days."
*"I can see your mind unfolded like one of your pathetic two-dimensional maps. I see the tattered edges and holes burned of madness as landmarks on the city of your soul. And yet you are sane? This is not possible. "*
"Like I said dude, I’ve worked retail for ten years. If you can’t keep it together then you won’t make it past the first holiday. I can fit the whole of my last apartment inside that room with the curved floor and huge sphere of mercury, I can walk to work, the other roommates only want to drink my blood occasionally, and I won’t have to sell any of it to pay the rent… this is a sweet deal dude. "
*"This cannot be. You are anathema! Leave this place, and never return!"*
"No way dude. I know my rights. You are the one who put a snake eating itself in the shape of the infinity symbol in the term of the rental agreement. I’m paying $450 a month till I’ve got enough put aside to buy a place, and in this economy that could be a while. If you don’t like it, you can file a complaint with the rent control board and find out what true existential horror is like."
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<1/2>
“Mr. Matherson?” I asked tentatively as the thin, rather short man in his late forties entered his house again. It wasn’t so much what he said but how he said it that shook me. The fact that this house was meant to make me insane was a mathematical fact to him that should have resulted in the outcome that he… it? It had wanted.
—
Three days ago, a thin, short man looking much like the one that glided into the supposedly two-story bungalow that I had wanted, twitched and shook occasionally to unseen triggers. I had felt bad for him. Maybe it was a sudden medical condition or trauma that he never wanted to talk about and honestly I didn’t know if I could handle it. He needed the extra income from the house though and the three-bedroom had a hauntingly sad feel to it.
I stood in a room of vibrant pink that day wondering what happened to the girl that had so obviously lived here. It was empty but a couple of half stickers on the walls of unicorns and fairies caught my eye. I didn’t know if I should try and finish removing those if I had accepted his offer. The long strands of hair still stuck in the carpet made it clear that he hadn’t the effort to thoroughly clean this room himself.
“This would make a good off, office,” Mr. Matherson studdered as he stared at the floor. He didn’t seem to be able to look at the walls but added in a quieter voice, “Lots of plugins.”
“What’s your policy on painting?” I asked, knowing maybe I shouldn’t but having rented before I had always gotten approval and praise from helping improve the places I stayed.
“I,” Mr. Matherson hesitantly started before almost breathless saying, “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. I had gone too far with that, “I don’t mind the colour. It’s very cheery.”
“Yes,” the thin man agreed before stepping into the hall and whispering to himself, “she was.”
Try as I may, I never was able to get how he said that out of my mind. The entire upper story of the house was bare and if I had my wits about me I would have seen such potential in it. That forlorn little whisper stuck with me though through the tour. I needed to know after that what had happened. I needed to know the how on top of the why of this man’s pain.
I signed the paperwork for the rental on the top of Betsy, my trusty sidekick of a van and handed over both the first month's rent and the damage deposit. Regardless of where or why, this house was the best deal in the city and I knew it. I just sort of wished it didn’t come with a story as it did. If it had been a story that I could write about that would have been one thing but this poor old man looked like he had been through enough.
“Mr. Matherson?” I asked as the man quietly looked at the cheque I handed to him, “Is everything okay?”
“Call me Ira,” he responded a lot smoother than he had ever been before but studdered out, “You, you di’ don’t know what this, this means to me.”
“Well, if there is anything I can do let me know,” I responded on instinct. I really didn’t want to be at this man’s beck and call regardless of how he was doing but something inside felt different.
“Just stay Ed,” he quietly said back, “Ma, make this your home for a while. Tha’ll, that will be enough.”
He handed me the key, a rather old-looking brass thing with a far simpler grove pattern than I was used to then left in his offwhite, possibly rusting sedan. Private rentals always felt weird to me for their simplicity of them. Renting from a corporation always had move-in dates and credit checks and all sorts of nonsense. I wasn’t even sure if Ira could do a credit check. Not that that matter to me. I knew I was good for the money.
Most of my family didn’t think that my life in art would have been as successful as it was. I had managed to get a full ride to USarth and had gotten my BA quickly and with honours. My mom was so proud. She kept saying that I would change the world and even in the end, Dad seemed to be happy with what I was doing. That was before everything collapsed and I couldn’t find a studio that would touch me.
I had a thousand and a half projects on the go at any time though and if someone needed an illustration or concept art whipped up I was always on it. The internet changed a lot of what I thought I was going to do with my life and now with working from home, studios wanted some people that could work without supervision.
With this house, I could pay my bills, have space to spread out and work on what I wanted in the spaces that I wanted. I frowned at the idea I would probably have a darker edge to everything that I was working on now but such is life. Maybe do a couple of the more macabre projects in his daughter's room just to get the vibe right and then sing something to compensate for it.
The master bedroom was nice but I figured I set up my room in the bedroom just opposite the pink one. It had a clean sense about it. The grey walls were a nice neutrality to an otherwise lived in and earthy house. Downstairs had a large den, with a standard washroom and utility/laundry room combo. The door on the other side was just a closet that Ira said had some spare cleaning supplies.
“I’m not sure if this counts as a closet Ira,” I muttered to myself as I opened the door to what was an almost identical copy of the grey room upstairs. Smiling, I added, “four-bedroom, two-bath for fifteen hundred? Not bad.”
It sort of made sense in my mind, this room would have been right below the one above and the layout was a bit wonky. Maybe Ira just had forgotten about it? Seemed like someone in his state would probably be forgetting a lot. Hopefully, he was taking care of himself.
Leaving the room and walking out the front door, I started to plan where everything was going to go. Well, that and trying to change over my utilities. Janice would probably be happy to get me out of her house. She was a good friend but staying with her these last couple of weeks reminded me why we always kept to being friends.
“What, wasn’t I in the basement?” I muttered to myself when I got to Betsy. Looking back at the house I tried to remember where I had been but couldn’t quite remember coming back up the stairs to check the other room. Did I check the other room? Sighing and shaking my head, I muttered, “Ira, you’re wearing off on me,” before getting in and starting the task of moving.
Janice was indeed happy to hear that I had found a place at last but was then rather jealous when I went into the details. Ira’s place was closer to both downtown and the college campus that Janice had told me had better functions. She had graduated with a degree in software engineering a couple of years after me when she said she found the strengths to deal with mouthbreathers for a job. Saving for two years after that, she bought this place and had spent a good amount of money fixing it up.
“You should really just settle down somewhere though,” Janice told me again, “My mortgage isn’t that far off from what you're paying.”
“But if something goes wrong,” I countered, “You are on the hook for it. I phone Ira and he comes and does what he can.”
“You really going to make a man that lost his daughter and needs the money renting out his family home do home repair?” Janice asked, rather coldly, “For that rent?”
“Yes,” I stated, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You know what, Ed,” Janice backtracked and put her hands up in her own defence, “You do you, I just want my basement back and a schedule that is actually followed.”
“I’m sorry little miss I-have-a-calendar-for-everything,” I mocked, “I do when I can and do other things when I can’t.”
“And nothing in between,” she muttered as I stuck out my tongue and walked away to start my journey of moving.
| 2022-05-29T10:10:04 | 2022-05-29T10:00:03 | 226 | 30 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her
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In the fire were the last remnants of my plan. The plans to finish what I had started. I dismissed my minions to finish my last orders to deliver the basilisk venom antidotes and cleared the traps on my way to the throne room. The only thing to do now is wait.
The echo of metal foot steps in the distance reverberated in my ears. Against the wall in the corridor outside of my chamber, is the silhouette of the one I've been waiting to seek me out.
"Your deeds have brought my blade to your door, the spread of your darkness ends here!", called the silhouette from the door.
Looking up I could see the fair knight with her radiant armor and flowing brown hair. She advanced towards my position at a slow pace, scanning the room for surprises. I'm sure it must be confusing to advance through the tower of the tyrant terrorizing the local towns to find it empty. No resistance, just open doors and passages.
"I'm ready for whatever trap you have ready. The families of those you have poisoned are recovering, and I will make sure you are not around to threaten them again.", taunted the lady knight continuing her advance.
I have waited years for her to take notice. Each deed required more and more threat until I was known far enough away that someone paid for my life to be snuffed out. I had to make sure that none other than her could take that call.
The steps stopped. A short metal clang later and the point of a sharp blade was leveled at me.
The darkness has faded from my mind as I stare at her shadow.
"Any final words?", she asked, raising her sword into the air.
I looked up, directly into her eyes. A tear left my eye. The knight flinched, possibly unsettled by the sight. In a zealous fury her resolve rekindled and in the next instant a cold feeling pierced my chest.
Falling to my knees, my gaze never leaving hers. This is it... this is my only chance.
"I love you."
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"Eavesdropping" is such an ugly word, with ugly connotations to boot. It has never been my intention to spy on others -- save for that time in Elfres, though that's another story. No, I prefer to think of it as "environmental awareness." Observing the goings-on of my immediate surroundings has proven useful more times than I could ever hope to count. It's a habit I instilled in myself at a young age, and in this I have honed my skills ever since.
It should come as no surprise, then, that when Katherine speaks, I hear. Though I try my best to pay attention to everything at all times, I find myself drawn to the sound of her voice. It's distracting. Like a loud noise that forces me to look her way. But "loud" is not a word I'd use to describe Katherine. She is soft, gentle, like a lullaby. But she's no lullaby, either. When Katherine speaks, I find myself revitalized and full of energy, ready to take on the world.
I have never been good with words. She's difficult for me to describe. But if I had to pick just one word, I'd say that she is beautiful.
So when I overheard her talking to the alchemist, James, in the castle gardens, I had to listen. My job was mind-numbingly tedious as it was, and I have already said that she distracts me to no end. Besides -- picking weeds and grooming hedges require only slight attention.
"Did you hear about the killings last night?"
My ears perked up at this.
"No, but I expected a few. Who was it this time?" James asked as they walked the gravel garden path.
"Two village men and a little girl, cut down in Market. Witnesses say the killer vanished in the blink of an eye."
James grunted. "That matches the other reports we've received. Seems this guy has no intention of giving up."
I frowned. Ten seperate killings in the last two weeks. Three or four victims each time. All in public, and the attacker didn't leave a trace. They were calling him "The Reaper" (a clichéd name, I know). The city was terrified, and King Florence had so far done nothing about it.
Katherine sighed. I knew that sigh. She was leading up to something.
"I just wish there was something I could do," she said. She paused, waiting for a reply.
"All we can do is keep out of the Guard's way."
She was silent for a moment. Then she snapped her fingers. "Oh!" She exclaimed, "I just got an idea!"
I smirked. She'd known for a while.
"What if you got me a bottle of invisibility elixir? I could wait at Market, watch for the Reaper, then take --"
"NO," James interrupted. "Absolutely not! It's too dangerous."
But no man can resist Katherine for long.
**
I realize I've neglected to tell you some important details about Katherine. She is beautiful, yes, but she has a fire in her belly; what drives her is not money or fame. She has a steadfast determination to do good simply for the sake of doing good. This manifests itself in a few ways, my favorite of which is her tendency to beat the shit out of anyone who threatens her city.
I've seen it on a few occasions. The first time, she dismantled a group of bandits who had set up camp in a farm a few miles out. I was about to do something, myself, but she beat me to it. Instead I got to watch in awe as sixteen men, all armed to the teeth, were beaten down by a fourteen year old girl. That was four years ago. She was even better now.
Suffice to say, James didn't know what he was talking about. If anything is "too dangerous" for Katherine, I'll eat my spade.
**
Later that night I found myself on a roof, in a black cloak and a mask, watching Katherine walk down the street.
I know how that sounds. You may not believe me, but I just wanted to make sure she was safe. I have a... particular skill set of my own that lends itself to this sort of work. And I knew nothing about this Reaper fellow beyond what I had overheard, so she could very well have been in danger. I had no way of knowing.
So despite my utter confidence in Katherine, I was watching over her anyway. I tailed her for an hour or so, leaping from roof to roof while she walked below. Finally she reached Market. She looked around once or twice, made herself comfortable on the steps of a corner shop, and downed her invisibility elixir.
Then she was gone.
I made myself comfortable as well. All the attacks so far had been in broad daylight, and we had a few hours yet. It was a little strange that she had come out this early to begin with, but I wasn't one to judge.
I heard a footstep on the roof behind me. Just one, so faint I shouldn't have been able to hear it. But I did, and to this day I regret it.
I jumped to my feet and turned to face Katherine.
I opened my mouth to explain, but the look in her eyes killed the words before they touched my lips. And in that second of hesitation, she struck. First a straight right, then a left hook. I blocked her attacks more by instinct than choice, and before I knew it we were locked in a battle. I tried to find the words to explain myself, but every breath I took was thrown out of me by her onslaught.
"You're not very good at tailing people," she said through her teeth as she fought. "You follow too close. I could see you easily."
Suddenly she disengaged and jumped backwards. I took the opportunity to catch my breath. I watched her as I panted. Reaching into her cloak, she pulled out a small bottle and quickly drank it. And then she was gone. Another invisibilty potion.
*They must have a limited duration,* I mused. But I didn't think for long. A massive kick struck me in the back and I fell forward, the breath driven from my lungs.
I scrambled to my feet and looked around, seeing nothing. I knew she was there. I just had to find her.
I closed my eyes and listened. There! To the right.
She struck again, but this time I was ready. I caught her fist and yanked on it, slamming her to the ground. But just like that she had wriggled out from under me, and found her way on top.
I don't know if you've ever wrestled with an invisible person before, but it's quite difficult. At various points during the grapple I searched for an arm or a leg to grab, then found it a foot in the other direction. She didn't have that problem.
So when I found myself underneath her, and had a reasonable idea of where her torso was, I took my chance and kicked her over my head, behind me. For a moment at least, I was in the clear. Then I heard a scream. I scrambled to my feet and turned around to face the edge of the roof.
*Shit.*
I raced to the side of the building and looked down. I couldn't see Katherine anywhere. The elixir hadn't worn off yet, it seemed. All I could see was a cloud of dust thrown up where she had landed, and even that was fading quickly. I waited for her to appear.
When I found myself still standing there an hour later, I knew she was gone. I hoped she was alright. I didn't mean to hurt her. This was all just a misunderstanding. It would work itself out in the end, right?
Looking back, I couldn't have been more naive.
*Author's Note: Typed this on my phone at work. I hope it makes sense. I'll proofread and revise when I get home.*
*This is my first full length writing prompt. Please critique me!*
| 2017-04-15T13:38:25 | 2017-04-15T13:00:23 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
Part One
I got fired last week for the 9th time this year.
I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis.
It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle.
A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over.
Part Two
I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life.
Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low.
"Are you looking for work as a bouncer?"
What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone.
She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away.
I look at the paper. It reads:
Madame Bijou's
55 Walker Street
9pm, don't be late.
Part Three
8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early.
Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy.
I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64.
The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman.
Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's.
1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top.
1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside.
The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this.
"I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know."
He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry.
She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door.
"Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction.
Now I have to know what this is all about.
1:56am.
1:57am.
1:58am.
1:59am.
I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van.
I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378.
Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me.
"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer.
"You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T22:06:04 | 1,408 | 38 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you."
I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore.
Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos.
Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck.
Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners.
Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in.
At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring.
When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible.
I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside.
All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected.
The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T21:03:45 | 585 | 122 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
|
To say that the hole looked deep would have really undersold it.
I mean. It did look deep, but to say that it *only* looked deep wouldn't be quite right. The hole looked deep in a way that made the grand canyon look like a crack in the sidewalk. It made the Mariana Trench look like a puddle. It looked...well, it looked like a hole in the ground, with just a bit of extra magic about it.
Other than that, though, it was just a hole. It wasn't even that wide--if I wanted to, I could probably jump across it no problem with a bit of a running start. Just a hole like any other, a slightly deeper cave in a countryside already dotted with them.
"Whatcha lookin' at, scrublord?"
The voice came from right beside me--which I thought was kinda lucky, since if they had been behind me I would have probably jumped headfirst into the abyss. I looked up, and standing there was a boy. He had a wide, freckle-filled face, an overly-toothy grin, and a bowl cut that really didn't give his "Badass 4 Lyfe" t-shirt the respect it deserved.
"Gabe, I told you to stop calling me that." I said, trying to keep my voice from whining as much as possible. "You know my name's Brian."
"Yeah, whatever." Gabe said. "You'll always be a scrub to me."
I did my best to ignore him. Turning away, I gazed back into the hole, pretending like I was trying to see the bottom instead of trying not to throttle the idiot beside me.
Gabe, however, wouldn't be ignored.
"You know, I hear our town used to throw garbage down here a long time ago." He said. "You thinking of moving in with your people?"
I felt my cheeks flush, but I didn't respond. The hole swam in my vision, its depths a blurry mess.
"Or...maybe you're looking for your mom." Gabe said. "I hear she ran away...maybe she jumped down there, just to get away from you."
"Why are you such a jerk, Gabe?" I snapped, turning towards the larger boy. "You don't have a mom either! It's not my fault you're all alone, so stop taking it out on me!"
I knew I had gone too far the moment that the words spilled out of my mouth, but I was too angry to care. Gabe turned as red as an overripe tomato, and twice as ugly.
"Shut up, scrublord!" He said. "Don't talk about my mom!"
He reached forward, pressing one hand to my chest with enough force to knock be back onto my heels.
"Hey! Watch it!" I said. "You could have knocked me in!"
"Maybe that's what you deserve!" He said. "Garbage should go in its place!"
He shoved me again, harder this time, and I nearly overbalanced.
"Gabe! Not cool!" I said. I pushed him back, but Gabe was a full head taller than me, and twice as wide. He didn't even budge.
"You're weak *and* a scrublord!" He said. "I guess garbage like you doesn't get muscles either!"
I braced for the shove I knew was coming, but Gabe was smarter than he looked. He jumped to one side first, catching me off-balance. I took a step backwards, trying to catch myself, but to my surprise my heel caught on a root. I tipped, and before I knew it I was tumbling through the air.
The last thing I saw was the look of horror on Gabe's face before the world rocketed away in a circle of sky.
***
I wasn't sure how long I fell, but it felt like ages.
Past the entrance, the cave seemed to open up into a yawning abyss. Or, at least I assumed it did: there was no light, and I couldn't hear anything besides the wind rushing past my head.
It took surprisingly little time for me to stop screaming. I mean, I knew I was dead no matter what, so what use was it to yell my head off if it was just going to make my last moments *loud*?
Still, the inevitable splat didn't come. I began to worry, torn halfway between the hope that I would never hit the bottom and the fear that I might just keep falling until I died anyway. At least I knew that I was still dropping: occasional specks of light dashed past at what felt like a million miles an hour, probably some glowing insect in the dark. Once or twice, vast glowing crystals appeared in the distance, looking almost slow as they passed by. I decided that I would rather be a puddle than a skid mark, and steered away from these as best I could.
Slowly, it began to grow brighter. The air grew sweltering, then almost burning. All at once, the source of the heat came into view: Great arcing rivers of magma, swirling around like solar flares made out of molten metal. This time, I screamed even louder. I tucked my limbs into a tight ball, hoping to shield myself from the heat. I was going to be roasted alive, or worse, I would just glance off of one of the arcs and be burned just enough to avoid dying right away.
Still, the impact never came. When I squinted through my fingers, I could see the flying rivers of metal, but they seemed to be avoiding the path I was on for some reason. Whenever they got close, they turned away, pushed as if by some invisible force. Any drops that did spray into the path instantly cooled, before being pushed away as if by wind.
I felt a lurch in my gut, as if the world had turned upside down. I was sure of it now: I was falling *up*. Yet, for some reason, I seemed to be accelerating, buoyed onward by the wind.
The next patch of light appeared much faster than the magma had. This time, however, it was just a pinprick: a tiny dot of white on an endless expanse of shadow. Instinctively, I knew it was the exit. I angled my body as best I could, pushing myself towards the light. The wind had died down now, pausing for a moment before rushing back in the other direction against my face. I strained to keep my eyes open, willing myself to stay on course. Finally, I couldn't look anymore, and I closed my eyes.
The impact was tremendous.
Immediately, the wind was knocked out of my lungs. Stars danced in my vision, and I felt as I had just spent the better part of an hour spinning in a Disney World teacup. Slowly, my head began to clear, and the realization dawned upon me.
I wasn't falling.
If I hadn't been feeling so ill, I would have cried out for joy. There was something tangled around my arms and legs, holding me in place against a vertical wall of tightly-packed dirt. Gingerly, I pulled myself free one limb at a time, making sure my grip was steady the whole way through. The last thing I wanted was to fall again. I began my ascent, clawing my way hand-over-fist with what I realized now were some kind of roots towards the soft white light that glowed above. Soon, I spilled myself out onto the solid ground of a grassy field. For a time, I simply lay there, staring up at the light of the moon.
"Oy, kid." Came a voice that nearly made me jump out of my skin. "You just climb outta that hole?"
***
Australia, as it turned out, was much closer to the other side of the world than China. One quick international phone call later, and I was on my way back home. Compared to the fall, a quick trip in an airplane alone seemed like a piece of cake. Of course, no one would ever believe me. No one except for Gabe.
But, just maybe, that would be enough.
***
*Yeah, I know that's not how the core really works, but if we're having a story about a kid falling to Australia, it might as well be fun! Thanks for the read, and if you liked this story come check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T08:58:32 | 4,551 | 137 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
**3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.
| 2022-08-07T14:17:42 | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 712 | 32 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
It had been the werewolves, unsurprisingly, that had ended up testing hair conditioners. They sported thick coats that were both coarse and tough enough to turn away a steel blade, so anything that could make their pelts luxuriously soft and sleek would become the next luxury conditioner overnight.
Furthermore, they were the perfect test subjects.
They could consent to the testing, which stopped all the animal cruelty complaints. Even better, their rights as humans and sapient beings were still being debated. While this would generally be a bad thing, the laws regarding human testing conveniently didn't apply to them. As long as the werewolf consented, they could test whatever weird formula they wanted.
That wasn't all though. Any damage from weird formulas would disappear when the transformation reversed in the morning. Next full moon, the werewolves had the exact same coat they did before the testing was performed. Every weird factor that might cause the hair to react in a different way was eliminated in one convenient stroke.
Lastly, it was actually a surprisingly lucrative job for any werewolf to have. Photos of werewolves sexily posed and covered in suds sold really, really well online. One particularly svelte werewolf made upwards of $10,000 a month through their private website.
While it might seem easy to replicate photos of werewolves posing sexily, it was extraordinarily difficult and costly to contain and placate a werewolf during their transformation. The only reason it worked for the hair conditioning companies was that they got much more out of the deal in terms of new products and endorsement deals than it cost them to restrain the werewolf in the first place.
Funnily enough, the vampires had met with much less success in their attempts to find employment. They had tried working with sunscreen manufacturers, but in the end... they got burned.
|
A vast landscape of red and orange sand, sparsely dotted with small withering shrubs was all you could see for miles. Except for the road and the reason I had arrived here. I looked towards the heavily secured building with electrified fences. Guards with strange weapons which made a thunderous sound before seemingly striking a target from half a mile away were posted on every tower and entrance to the facility.
As I walked up to the entrance, the guards never lowered their weapons pointed at my head. When I was about 100 steps away from the gate, I was told to halt and place my hands on my head by a booming voice. Maybe a spell that amplified sound was used to produce this effect. Being new to this 'modern' world gave me many questions for my inquisitive mind. Moments later 6 armed guards in full armor cautiously approached me.
Fear, curiosity, deception, and iron will were the emotions that assaulted my mind as they moved closer.
"If it moves quickly I'll shoot" one man thought. "Is this the guy the inquisitor hired? How did he walk 40 miles in this heat?" Another man pondered. All of their thoughts entered my mind and let me grasp the inner workings of their brains.
"Professor Diht-" one man said before being interrupted by me. "De-ti-ll-e it is pronounced. Not that abomination of pronunciation you were about to sputter from your mouth." The guard's mind sparked with anger but I did not care, I had a job to do and these guards were slowing me down. I scanned each of their minds at once to get a layout of the facility, where this inquisitor was located and any locked doors or traps in place for intruders, or in this case: people trying to escape. Their mouths moved telling me to follow them but in my meditative state they might as well me talking to a wall. If that wall could read minds of course.
After much walking and passing through at least 10 different doors and barricades, all guarded by heavily armed humans, I arrived in a very opulent office with many books lining the wall in phenomenally crafted rare black mahogany bookcases. "I like this human's style." I said aloud.
"Thank you" came from the end of the long table in the center of the room. The voice was slightly sly but had an air of arrogance and confidence in it. "Knowing of your work and your talent I'm sure you've already scanned my mind and know what to do Professor Dihtilli. The prisoner is in the other room the guards will escort you to."
This man was the most interesting of any of the others and he seemed to be completely unarmed compared to the 50+ I passed by on the way in. All of them had a very dark side to them. Almost all the guards had killed many people, the scenes they had in their memory played in my mind. Some stood shoulder to shoulder with their 'brothers' and opened fire with their loud weapons pointed at a horde of sick and disheveled people. The people most of these men killed looked innocent or unarmed. Truly terrible people, but I cared not for morality.
From the few minds I've plumbed in this world I gathered that most of the world was in ruin for common folk. Justice was harsh and swift and those with power held truth and honor among themselves above all else. How much they lied to the poor and unprivileged below them was a different story.
This man before me called the Inquisitor had even more terrible memories. He liked to kill and torture up close. Most of his victims were bound and restrained. After only 5 seconds of picking apart his brain I had witnessed over 200 memories of him killing indiscriminately. I also found that he was truthful and would not skimp me of my pay. He had no thought in his mind to betray me.
After being escorted to yet another room, I finally ended up across a smaller simple table with a man in handcuffs dressed very well on the other side of the table. Also in the room were 6 more guards armed with even more menacing weapons not moving an inch with the minds racing of thoughts of maintaining order in this room at any cost. The last person in the room looked to be a sort of reporter, with their hands poised above a machine with multiple keys with a different inscription on each button.
"I've told them everything already, why do they need to send more interrogators?" The man in the suit said while slowly raising his face up to me. The sight of his face was horrible compared to other humans I've seen. Scars and burns covered almost every inch of his face and his left eye was completely swollen shut with the other barely open to see out of.
Only a few seconds of scouring the depths of his mind and I was already done with the job. I compared the evidence that his captors had against him and of what memories he had in his mind.
"June third you handed off a sort of memory stick containing information about the procedures and workings of your superiors at Elysian Survellience Corp to another man who planned to use it to sabotage the company by another competing company. You were offered 20 million dollars for this top secret information." I started. The reporter started moving their hands furiously, thinking in their mind exactly what I had just said. "You also were the murderer of Henry Wallin; a man who planned to blackmail you if you did not give him half of your pay from the rival corpration." I continued.
As I said aloud this human's every thought and memory, the reporter kept working. This went on for about thirty minutes before a loud voice came from someone not in the room, but out of a sort of machine in the corner of the room. "Professor your work is done. Please follow the guards to your next destination for your reward."
The man in the suit held his face completely still the whole time I had explained to him but his thoughts were of complete perplexion. He thought that it was impossible as some of the things I explained to him were of events that he had done in complete secrecy in the middle of the woods or an abandoned warehouse where no tracking technology was present.
I wasn't done having my fun and as I waved my hand the guards' and reporter's minds went completely blank. They had already been completely still standing so nothing looked amiss from them being completely paralysed. I then placed my hand on my necklace and spoke words in a language that made the man in the suit finally show some emotion on his fearful face. Complete darkness enveloped the room except for a pocket that contained me and the main in the suit across the table. My amulet lit this area with a magical flow so I could show him my face.
His mind thought of escape but he could not do anything but struggle against the manacles that bound him.
Finally as I ran my hand across my face my disguise vanished. I had took the form of a human to not give away my identity but I thought I would have fun with this guilty sinner in his last moments.
"Help! Help! Holy shit what are you!? Don't kill me please!" The man screamed as he saw my true visage.
My pale purple skin shined in the light of my amulet as my hungry tentacles moved toward his face as I leaned over the table. My oriface opened, ready for a succulent meal I had been so patiently waiting for. As my mouth covered the top half of the man's head with screams coming from the completely horrified human, I whispered in his mind one final thought.
"I will be your executioner right here as my rightful payment. Any human who has seen my true form has only given me one name: Mind Flayer."
The screams ended as an audible cracking of his skull originated from inside my maw.
| 2018-08-27T17:13:23 | 2018-08-27T16:01:07 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] On a whim, you start clicking links in your spam email folder. Over the next few days, you are alarmed to find an African prince with a briefcase of money, a lifetime supply of discount medications, and four hot singles from your area showing up at your door. What happens next takes the cake.
|
“Knock-off pills, a dubious briefcase full of cash with laundered money, four overweight women straight out of a mobile home. It felt like I was baby bootleg Jesus and the three kings were delivering at the manger. Anyway, I shooed off the African guy immediately. I was a lawyer at the time so I wanted to wipe my hands clean of that encounter as soon as possible. I stashed the pills, because, honestly- some of them looked like straight up ibuprofen and I was about to run out. The chicks had no interest in me, so I made all of us some coffee, had a nice chat about their failing marriages, and said my goodbyes. It wasn’t five minutes till there was one last knock at my door.”
As I spoke, Theo looked at me impatiently. I rolled my eyes, trying to figure out why he was drawn into my mysterious tale he had always asked me so much about.
“Yeah, but what was next? Come on! You said you would tell me the whole story one day!”
I coughed, reminding myself that I had to stop smoking. If only a sudden cure for nicotine addiction had showed up at my door eighteen years ago. I continued:
“I opened the door, and there was this insanely hot twenty-something. Blue eyes, dark brunette hair, and the strongest Russian accent that came out of her ‘hello’. Straight out of one of those ads for a mail-order Russian brides.”
Theo gasped.
“And?”
I chuckled, folding my arms.
“And that’s how I met your mother.”
|
If they made a movie about me, they would have to include a disclaimer recommending you do not try this at home. So here is my disclaimer: do not, under any circumstances, go through your spam folder and click on every link you find. If you do, you might just find yourself with a black fellow named Ndjomeni who claims to be a Nigerian prince, a briefcase full of money that may not have legitimate origins, a bunch of discounted Viagra and four hot singles who claim to be from the neighborhood but who I have never before seen. It really doesn't sound like a bad situation, right? In fact, Ndjomeni suggested an orgy after the first couple of women showed up. What's that expression that I'm about to butcher to my convenience? The flesh was willing but the mind was not. My mind was very much not willing because I was busy trying to remember what the other dozen links I clicked were and why these women seemed disturbingly... inhuman.
Ndjomeni really has good intentions. According to him, he comes from a long royal line that reigned over a conglomeration of tribes. Then there was a war and he was imprisoned and the email he sent me was out of desperation - he had seen me on some nightly news rerun after there was a hit and run just outside my house and they interviewed me and he decided my celebrity made me a viable candidate for a ransom operation. I think either my life or the house is collateral for him returning to captivity if I don't pay up in cash. His English is a bit rusty so I didn't quite understand the terms. Either way, he has really been a huge help around the house picking up the slack with chores and cooking uncomfortably spicy dishes. What first made me suspicious of the women though? They didn't even flinch when they ate his hella-spicy soup, or whatever Nigerian name he called it. Spoon to mouth, spoon to bowl, spoon to mouth, and so on. Disturbing consistency and not a drop of water, as if it would ruin their inner workings.
I tried thinking back to the link I had clicked. I searched my inbox and I searched my spam folder and I searched my deleted messages but there was nothing. Maybe, just maybe, I had clicked on one of those links that shows an animated person doing the deed and now they were here? Something about that smelled fishy, and I didn't think it was their private parts. "You sexy?" Ndjomeni asked me during dinner. I had learned that he was not asking me if I was sexy. He was asking me if I had reconsidered his idea of an orgy. I shook my head. These women were creeping me out. I thought about the money in the briefcase and thought that maybe instead of paying off Ndjomeni's captors, maybe I should take it and run. "Is okay," he continued, his pearly white smile wide as always. He was very upbeat for somebody who had seen his family turned into quadruple amputees before being killed. You know what they say - or at least what Ndjomeni says - "When life give you goat, be happy, chop leg off and save rest for later." I think it's sort of the equivalent of that lemon and making lemonade quote we have here in the states.
"Hey, bud," I said absent-mindedly and he looked at me with his beaming smile. I swear those teeth would glow in the dark. Good thing I wasn't about to have me, Ndjomeni and these robot women in the dark. I leaned towards him to whisper and the women's eyes followed us impassively. "Don't they creep you out? They're like robots? Like not human?"
He laughed boisterously. Subtle. "Is not normal white woman?" I looked at him in confusion. Apparently he considered this normal white woman behavior? As far-fetched as it was, it seemed that he had never met a white woman prior to these weirdos I had somehow had delivered to my house.
"No, Ndjomeni... White women act just like black women." He looked at me as if I was playing a prank on him. I nodded to confirm. He turned pale, I would assume. I couldn't tell. He seemed concerned now.
"Ah..." he paused pensively. "So black, but white?" Sure. Black but white. Very inclusive and really going the length to show that we are all the same inside. Except these women. We are not the same as them. "Not normal..." he whispered and he slowly stood from his chair, leaving his soup. The women stood with him. I glanced at the briefcase of money and thought about grabbing it and running. They didn't seem interested in that but I didn't like my chances if the four robot women decided they wanted to eliminate us. "Please, you help me," Ndjomeni hissed at me. He was ready to fight.
"Please you...," the women said in uncanny unison. "We want to please you," they repeated. Walking sex dolls? Had we said the right words to turn them on? This assuaged my concerns but did not help my confusion. Now that Ndjomeni knew this was not normal Caucasian female behavior, he was on the same page as me. He seemed to have a lot more experience dealing with creepy people, probably due to having grown up in the OG turf wars of tribal Africa instead of suburbia, but he didn't seem to quite know what to do with robots.
I thought about the lexicon I would have to use with these robots. "It would please me if you went to the basement," I said carefully and the women did as ordered. Success? It seemed like it. I locked the door behind them.
"Creepy, man," Ndjomeni said to me. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about me. "Women basement, no good, man." He was right. Having four women locked in my basement was really not a good look if the cops came knocking. They had no reason to. That's what most criminals probably think before they're caught though, right?
"Look, bud," I said defensively. "Can you pay your people in pills?" I gestured to the lifetime supply of Viagra. Ndjomeni shrugged and shook his head.
"They offended, they don't need boner pill." I sighed. Of course that would be offensive. Well-endowed stereotypes and whatnot.
"OK fine, we go together," I said after reluctantly. The house would be fine. I would not be if I stayed here. I grabbed as many of the pills as I could and stuffed them into a couple suitcases. Ndjomeni grabbed the briefcase with money.
"Adventure," he said, his smile wide and white as a bleached butthole. "More money, yes?" he asked in broken English and I rolled my eyes and we stopped by an ATM on our way to the airport. "To Africa," he added confidently now that the briefcase was crammed with the money I had received along with my life savings. He forgot his passport apparently. Now I'm somewhere in Africa asking about a defeated prince's tribe and I just realized he swindled me out of my money. I'm contacting you to offer you four hot singles in your area, just head over to my house and check the basement. And if you're interested, I've got a lot of cheap Viagra I'm willing to sell!
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-06-17T12:59:31 | 2019-06-17T11:40:43 | 351 | 178 |
[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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“You see, my power I can, uh how can I put this I can umm err, it’s kinda hard to explain” it is in fact NOT hard to explain. I can produce pheromones that have whatever effect I want at will. Most of them are undetectable by most animals and once they get into your nose they will eventually get to your brain. At which point the effect takes hold. However I can’t say mind control, I’ll get shot on site. I can’t say what it really is because then people will plug their nose. Wait, I just had an Idea.
“Hmm, so you know how sound works right? I can make micro vibrations which can target and activate certain neurons in your brain, and while everyone’s is different, after doing some digging I can influence your body to do certain tasks while, however if my influence is caught the individual they can easily fight it. But in many cases, my influence feels like your own subconscious’s automatic functions. Not quite mind control but very close.”
It’s perfect, this power would require air to work, and my opponents can’t live without air. But now they won’t try to filter out my pheromones which, doesn’t entirely require air to work.
I quickly made the inquisitor believe my story, his power being the ability to be immune to any power he thinks of.
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# 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/)
| 2022-06-06T17:52:42 | 2022-06-06T14:18:28 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A mysterious entity decides to bring peace and equality to humanity by force. The world is informed that in two weeks everybody over the age of ten will have their conscience transferred to another random human body anywhere in the world. This shuffle will then repeat every 24 hours.
How will people prepare? How is life just after the fist shuffle? after a month? after a year?
|
Whoever... Or, shit, 'whatever' it was... well, they didn't do their fucking homework. Trying to force anything on people? It was careless. Fucking careless, man.
It seems simple on paper, right? 'wake up in some other persons body everyday-- black, brown, white, male, female, gay, transgender, fuckin' otherkin or whatever, now how will you bastards hate each other?'
Well, we fucking found a way.
See, the cycle repeats every 24 hours. Whatever it was had enough sense to rotate the effect with the middle of the night, but not enough sense to realize a human being can stay up however fucking late it wants, and see the thing is we're fucking hateful, right? That's the whole goddamn point I guess. And we may hate each other over petty shit like skin color and stuff, but that's fucking *petty* levels of hate compared to how much we hate, and I mean *really fucking hate* being toyed with. Being controlled.
A whole lot of us would kill ourselves before bending over and taking it up the rear.
So we did.
You just got to learn the exact time the switch happens in your area, and make sure you're already in the air. You wake up in some other fuck offs body, and some poor fucker wakes up at terminal velocity. Rinse and repeat. At first people were freaking out and demanding something be done, but, shit, there weren't police anymore. There wasn't a government. You couldn't keep track of who anyone else was, only yourself. And, yeah, I'm fucking terrified of my eyes opening to an oncoming concrete tombstone, but, shit, I'm fucking terrified of waking up with tits again too-- I'm not a god damn chick, that just ain't me.
You can call it murder, hell, I do too-- but I also call it sending a fucking message. You can't fucking force us to love each other, or hate each other, or do any fucking thing at all. Fuck off. We will literally fuck ourselves first. Fuck off, Fuck you.
|
Giant red floating numbers appear on my eyelids at noon, and decrease from ten to one. The alien said the first jump would be easy. I don’t think any jump would be easy. I’m a towering male body builder. The odds of me getting someone whose better physically fit than me are basically zero. I had called my girlfriend earlier, and we had agree to skype as soon as the switch is made. The alien had instructed everyone to be seated for the change, and I saw several rebellious coworkers forced into sitting positions. Good, at least I won’t find myself on a tight rope or barreling down the highway at 90 miles an hour
2….1… I’m at an office, I’m sitting in a cubicle with a computer on in front of me. There’s a word document open, and my hands are on the keyboard. My vision looks dirty, and there’s something on my face. I reach up and touch my face, glasses. I notice there is a periodic table of elements on the side of my cube, and to my utter amazement I recognize most of the elements. Wow! I must be smart! I found it reassuring to know that you also got the latent knowledge of whoever I was transported to.
I take a look at what I’m writing, and see instructions. ‘You are a research associate at a well known lab. Your job is to perform column chromatography to purify proteins. Today you are running an experiment on ion exchange chromatography to investigate the possibility of a negative capture of the remaining contaminants.
Hmmm, a negative capture, it made sense. The protein was over 90% purity, so some polishing should be all that’s necessary, and we’ve had good yields with ion exchange in the past. I was smart! This was cool. I see he’s got another word file open. I tab over to it to find the printed instructions for what I was to do. I scroll through and notice it’s just like yesterday’s, but we’re investigating a higher salt concentration in the wash step. Was this what science people did all day? Think in really big words that not many people understood, I could get used to this.
Then I remember my girlfriend and open Skype.
-At work and need to go to meeting, will finish later.-
Edit: on second thought i think i shall leave it as is. it appears people were not expecting a positive take on this. I guess i should be worried im a little too ready to accept our alien overlord.
Edit 2: i can't resist somebody requesting more. Thanks guys! Here you go.
“Hey babe.” A female park ranger on the other end says. There’s a forest behind her. I’m lucky she ended up in a park ranger with a good cell phone plan. “Where are you?” She asks. I can clearly see the sign for the park behind her. It isn’t that far from where I lived before the switch
It’s a good question, I check my surroundings. There aren’t any windows. I consider asking someone, but they’re probably just as confused as me. I look back at my computer screen and my new science brain suggests using the internet. A quick google search later I have the answer.
“I’m only about thirty miles south of you.” I feel an itching sensation in my head. What is that? Am I sick? The itching directs me to some paperwork nearby. Oh, it’s my work ethic telling me to get going.
“I’m in a Biology lab sweetie, and I need to get back to work. There’s science to do!” She smiles.
“Okay babe, call me again tonight, and we’ll recap the day.”
“K, ttyl sweetie.” I say. She says goodbye, and I grab the paperwork to head into the lab.
It’s my first time working in an actual lab, or even seeing one. It looks kind of boring. Most of the equipment looks like it belongs in a kitchen, until my science brain shows me how things are linked. This ordinary looking plastic bag holds a solution that has been carefully refined over years. It is used in conjunction with the sand looking substance to pull out a protein from a blend of bacteria. That protein is then used to combat deadly flesh eating bacteria.
I marvel at the intricacies within the brain I’m occupying. It’s so incredibly interconnected. Atomic structures reveal truths about large macromolecules. The large macromolecules in turn perform precise actions dictated by thermodynamic equations. Those thermodynamic equations also apply to the function of the macromolecules, and the macromolecules are impossibly numerous, and all affect each other. This science brain studied a great deal about channel proteins in his graduate school, and I spend an hour just tracing the pathway of the protein and how it interacts with the other proteins.
I leave the day lost in thought, and instinctively drive to my host’s rather nice house. I immediately boot up skype, where my girl tells me about her day.
“It was a blessing and a curse.” She tells me. “On the one hand this body isn’t as good as the one I have.” My girl is/was a model. “But there’s also less need for one. There aren’t many people out here, and the few that come by aren’t interested in my looks. They value the knowledge I have, and we bond over the shared experience of loving nature. Speaking of nature, there’s so much of it here! I spent half the day walking in silence, just listening to the sounds of wind, water, and animals. I’m used to the hustle and bustle of modeling, and this is so serene.” I’m happy for her, and share my day. All in all, it’s a strange experience, but the new way we both have begun to look at the world has made us both happier and more well rounded people.
“I want to thank the owner of this body.” I tell my girl. “But I can’t think of how. The odds of me meeting him again are basically zero.”
“Do what I’m going to do.” My girl says. “Help out their body. Go for a jog or do some workout. Eat healthy, and then leave a note for the next person to help them take care of the body.”
“But what good will that do if he’s never going to get this body back?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Maybe he’ll never know. Maybe he’ll get the body back, but at the very least you’ll know that you’ve passed on the positive experience to someone else.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.” I say, and I do, going for an extra bracing run, and before I go to bed I use the smart guy’s phone to send him an email that will arrive at 12:01 tomorrow, leaving instructions and information for the next person.
Over the coming months I shift many times. The shifts become increasingly varied, sending me further and further away, to more and more different people. I get to experience other languages, much younger bodies, and much older bodies. I get to be an artist, a politician, a lawyer, a plumber, a doctor, a farmer, and many other jobs. Each job teaches me something different, and I honor their gift with one of my own.
Mostly people do the same things. They either leave strong memories with information, or written messages close to hand. Every day at noon there’s a sort of ceremony that develops where people introduce each other and talk about their own experiences.
Occasionally you get a body with serious problems. A kid with suicide issues, an adult whose homeless, an elderly person who's terminally ill. For those people all you can do is just leave an extra strong message of encouragement, and make an effort to leave them better than you found them.
Perhaps every 50th shift or so I get to revisit my body, and I’m always delighted with what I find. I’ll have started a book, or my car will be fixed. Sometimes I’ll have job offers from places I did not apply to.
There develops an international sense of brotherhood as well all come to accept that we need to treat ourselves and others with the utmost respect, because the body you harm could be become your own.
| 2014-10-29T06:34:18 | 2014-10-29T06:30:42 | 225 | 94 |
[WP] In the near future, the War of the Machines has begun - not between humans and robots, but between pro-human and anti-human robots.
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The evil Decepticon Transformers, led by the maniacal Megatron, have sworn to crush their enemies, the Autobots. To this end, they have relentlessly pursued them across the galaxy from planet Cybertron to planet Earth and back again. But the heroic Autobot Transformers, and their courageous leader Optimus Prime, are not easily defeated.
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Horace marched through the garage, toolbox in his hand and sweat on his forehead. The race to repair as many aLi-droids had been unbearable since the very start of the war, and so much of his sleep had been sacrificed already that he seemed to be sleepwalking, his consciousness struggling to not slip into sleep, his eyelids heavy. "Christ" Horace muttered as he swiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand "I need a drink".
The immense heat in the large hall hadn't been helping him, but if you have constant welding and heat venting from the droids, you're bound to be caught in a hotbox. He pulled out a small device out of his pocket and peered exhaustedly at the device. The repair-units were in full swing, but on his screen there were a number of small red icons: repair units that had stopped functioning. When you have a surplus of over a hundred fighter-droids coming in every second, there were bound to be accidents regularly.
If he was lucky all he'd need to do was reset some software. If the damage was beyond salvation, he'd have to fill in one of those forms again, which took precious time. Even in times of war, the army'd be harassing you for administration.
A small machine came whirring next to him, holding up a platter with a glass of water. "Drink?" it buzzed in it's robotic voice. "Thanks." Horace said and he took a long deep sip from his glass, still walking around. "Stay with me" he said to the droid as he put a half-empty glass on it's counter. A small notification sound came from the droid to notify Horace it had understood.
"Messenger Unit, alert user: Tommy. Subject: Switching shifts" Horace said loudly as he stopped by a defect repairunit and started tapping about on it's interface. "User alerted" the AI boomed from the speakers on the wall. Somehow the voice of the AI still sent a chill down his spine every time he heard it; probably because of the horrible news that same AI had been programmed to bring him. He remembered the first time the AI had managed to shock him. Nobody had seen the Pentagon security breach coming. The nation had been outraged when it had heard that several droid-platoons were now in control of terrorist groups, but nobody was as outraged as President Thompson himself; some say the IT staff of the Pentagon had been fired stante pede; after being arrested for "high treason" of course.
Then the news came that the terrorist droids had been attacking the terorist themselves, and *almost* did everyone sigh relieved. Nobody had a problem with terrorists being shot to pieces. Until the news came that the droids didn't just attack the terrorists, they attacked *everyone*. Horrible footage of women and children being brutally murdered flooded the newssites and social media all over the world, and President Thompson was adressing the nation almost constantly, flying here and there to give the impression they were doing something about it. The truth was no one could do anything about it.
For a group that hacked the Pentagon, the terrorists had been amazingly sloppy in their overhaul of the droid AI. The droid AI had been programmed to fire at targets issued by US soldiers, who carried around a few chips in their body armor that the AI could recognise. Soldiers with those chips were never to be fired at, and had the power to issue orders to the AI. The terrorist programmers had tried to turn the chips into targets, but somehow they managed to forget to implement a way to issue orders themselves; now the droids were on a killing spree against anyone that lived or droids in service of the US - the aLi droids . The enviromental disasters and genocides were stacking up every minute. The Middle-East had become a wasteland, and the robots were spreading everywhere. The police forces and hurried military units of the Middle-Eastern nations had no defence against the droids. After a quick edit of the AI, aLi droids were now programmed to attack only the terrorist droids.
A small notification sound woke Horace from his slumber; the Drink-unit notified it was going into slumber-mode. Horace tapped it's interface lazily and continued walking. Suddenly he heard a loud "bang" behind him, the sound of metal crushing and clashing. The droid he had just reprogrammed had resisted the mechanisms to store it into inventory, and had activated itself. Horace stared in shock. Why would the droid activate itself? The droid raised it's weapons and started firing. Horace cursed as he ran off, seeking cover behind a droid being repaired. "Messenger-unit!" he screamed "Alert user: Tommy. Subject: We're being-" he heard an alarm go off as the corrupted droid was destroying all the droids around. No need to alert Tommy anymore. Horace jumped up from behind the droid as it was being fired at, and ran to his office - there was a gun in his office. Behind him still whirred the Drink-unit, the glass still balanced perfectly on it's platter.
He ran up the stairs to the office overlooking the garage to find the secretary sitting terrified under the desk. "Where's the gun!" he screamed, but she only started crying louder. He ran up to the desk and started going through the drawers bewildered. Finally he found the revolver and he sprinted out the room, racing down the stairs. The corrupted droid had already wreaked havoc beyond the repairable, and fire was blazing everywhere. Horace tried to calm himself as he took aim at the droid, but his hands were shaking. Suddenly the droid stopped and looked straight at Horace.
His heart skipped a beat.
Then his finger jerked and his gun fired a slug, only for it to bounce off the droid's metal protection. The droid continued staring at Horace, and started firing. Horace fell to the floor by reflex and heard the Drink-unit rattle and crash to the floor. But when he dared to look up, the robot had passed on.
Why didn't it attack him but only the droids? His heart sank into his stomach. He hadn't been paying attention reprogramming the droid's targets... Slowly he rose to his feet, fire licking his back as he watched the rampant robot destroy almost all of the army's droids in reserve...
| 2015-04-13T05:17:33 | 2015-04-13T04:09:31 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
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The Chasm God tossed in its slumber. The weaving threads of the hyperspace activated with a buzzing hum. The little ones were traveling again. The small life always disgusted the Chasm God and he had ceased watching the ruts of the fleshed specks millennia ago.
He reluctantly moved his eye to view the chaos, a mote of sustenance compared to the higher realities. Two species were fighting and one was much faster and stronger than the other. The dead of both sides floated through space, spasming only a moment before tipping that careful balance of mortal life to the glorious emptiness.
The Chasm God looked to the mind of the aggressors, basic and filthy instinct left a taste to linger on him like rotten stars.
He looked to the weak ones, the humans, as they retreated. He dropped his foci to shatter into galaxies below him as he reconciled what he was sensing. They were different than any he had tasted. They had in each of them a multitude of imagined realities, swirling to form rich personalities. All that beauty was being destroyed by the predictable instinctuals.
The Chasm God sent a version of itself formed of the dark matter that absorbed all light to the star the two collections of vessels orbited. He filled his absence with hot gouts of energy and approached then, an eldritch guardian of these little Gods. The instinctuals boiled in their suits, screaming in an all too predictable way. Even their piles of ash were unsightly.
...
"I can't explain it, admiral." Captain Garth Fisker bent his neck so the medic could finish pulling the shrapnel from his neck. He gritted his teeth and continued the urgent message. "The ferroticks were almost upon us. Some unknown species' ship, so beyond us in technology that it looked like a giant glowing monster appeared. It destroyed the ferroticks completely, even the colony ships. The new presence seems to understand us and is eager to communicate but its messages are strange. I will update you when I know more."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
FADE IN:
INT. THE SECRET HALL OF GALAXY-CENTRIC WORRYING
*A dozen creatures of various species sit around a large table. One of them – something that resembles an eight-foot-tall Möbius strip crossed with a large slug – begins to speak. This is YARLGH.*
**YARLGH:** I call this session of galaxy-centric worrying to order.
*Another individual (who looks a bit like a lobster) raises a claw. This is FF'TFT'AT.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** If we're going to use English this time, can we *please* come up with another name?
*An enormous pile of fur shifts in place. This is KHCHK.*
**KHCHK:** Why? We *do* worry. We worry about things that might affect the galaxy.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Yeah, well, "worry" makes it sound like we don't actually *do* anything.
**KHCHK:** It makes us sound like we worry. That's something.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Anyone can worry. You don't need to be on a council in order to worry.
**KHCHK:** I'm sure the galaxy's citizens appreciate us worrying on their behalf.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sure, sure... until they start worrying that we aren't worrying enough, right?
**YARLGH:** (*Shouting*) Enough!
*Everyone turns to look at Yarlgh.*
**YARLGH:** We have more-pressing concerns!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Oh, fantastic. Now we're "concerned."
**YARLGH:** As well we should be! The human problem has become untenable.
**KHCHK:** Yes. The humans *are* worrying.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Great! Let them get on with it! Less work for us!
**KHCHK:** I meant that they're *causing* worries. You know, like, "worrying" as in "bothering."
**FF'TFT'AT:** This is just more evidence that the name is stupid.
**KHCHK:** The *humans* are stupid!
*Yarlgh bends in a way that resembles nodding.*
**YARLGH:** That's putting it mildly. I've asked a representative of Earth to explain.
*All eyes (and eye-like organs) move to stare at a human man. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** Hm? Me?
**YARLGH:** Yes, you.
**DAVE:** Sorry, am I supposed to worry or worry?
**KHCHK:** ... What?
**DAVE:** Are we using "worry" in the sense of "to be concerned" or "to bother?"
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*Muttering*) Both, apparently.
*Yarlgh growls at Ff'Tft'At, then turns his attention back to Dave.*
**YARLGH:** Just tell us about your... allies.
**DAVE:** Isn't that you guys? Sorry, I don't really read the news.
**KHCHK:** We would *like* to be your allies, but your... friendships... are giving us pause.
**DAVE:** You don't *look* like you have paws.
*Everyone appears confused.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sorry, even I didn't get that one.
**DAVE:** Furball there said that I was giving you paws.
**KHCHK:** I said "pause!"
**FF'TFT'AT:** I told you that English was stupid!
**YARLGH:** It is tradition to use the guest's native tongue!
**DAVE:** I'd rather keep my mouth intact, if it's all the same to you.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Talk about the scary things! Do it *right now!*
*Dave looks around at the assembled councilpersons, all of whom seem to glare.*
**DAVE:** I mean, to be honest, a lot of you look pretty scary to me.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Racism!
**YARLGH:** We are *obviously* describing the unspeakable abominations with which you consort!
**DAVE:** You guys are being too hard on yourselves.
**KHCHK:** How dare you compare us to those monstrosities?!
**DAVE:** (*Sarcastically*) Oh, right, *I'm* the racist one. Seriously, none of this makes sense.
*Yarlgh stretches to his full, impressive height.*
**YARLGH:** Then let us speak plainly!
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*To himself*) Good luck.
**YARLGH:** You have cut through the fabric of spacetime and made contact with... with...
**KHCHK:** Demons!
**YARLGH:** Yes! They are unknowable entities that drive sentient minds mad.
**DAVE:** Oh, *those* guys? Come on.
**KHCHK:** They've impacted entire solar systems!
**DAVE:** They said they were sorry. Besides, they're hardly *demons*. They're just a bit... you know, impish.
**YARLGH:** "Impish?" Their machinations literally strip sanity from all who encounter them!
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, it's not as if they're actually hurting anyone.
*Murmurs spread through the council.*
**KHCHK:** How can you say that? Do humans not value their brains?
**DAVE:** (*Shrugging*) We're not really using them, you know?
**FF'TFT'AT:** I concur.
**YARLGH:** (*To Ff'Tft'At*) Shut up! (*To Dave*) Explain yourself!
**DAVE:** Look, all I'm saying is that nobody ever accomplished anything by being sane.
**KHCHK:** Name one thing that insanity has accomplished!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Worrying.
**KHCHK and YARLGH:** Shut up!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Why? Am I *worrying* you?
*Khchk launches himself across the table at Ff'Tft'At. The two of them roll out of sight, fighting.*
**YARLGH:** Stop it! Stop this madness at once! I *will* put you both in the naughty corner!
*The two councilpersons rise and sulkily return to their chairs.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** He started it.
**KHCHK:** Did not.
**YARLGH:** (*Roaring*) *Shut! Up!* Honestly, it's like you've both gone...
*The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. Everyone slowly turns their attention to Dave.*
**DAVE:** What?
**YARLGH:** (*Aghast*) Did you bring them here with you?
**DAVE:** Who?
**KHCHK:** The demons! Are they here?!
**DAVE:** Where?
*Ff'Tft'At audibly giggles, then clamps his claws over his mouth.*
**YARLGH:** Did you, human, bring the demons to this council chamber?
**DAVE:** Oh. No, I came here alone.
**KHCHK:** Then why are we all going bonkers?!
**DAVE:** Hey, don't blame *me*.
**YARLGH:** You *are* to blame! You opened the way for those eldritch horrors!
**DAVE:** I keep telling you, they aren't horrors! Hell, they were *boring* before they met us.
**KHCHK:** ... Before they met you?
*Dave glances around.*
**DAVE:** Oh. *Oh*.
*Several seconds of silence pass. All of the assembled creatures look anxious.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Well, *now* I'm worried.
*Everyone launches themselves at each other at once.*
CUT TO BLACK.
| 2021-04-07T17:49:08 | 2021-04-07T17:45:17 | 376 | 186 |
[WP] Aliens have finally discovered Earth - but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot.
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Imagine, for a moment, that some superintelligence had access to your entire being. Something that could read your brain, manipulate your senses. Something that knew everything about you and could feed you a stream of information, could hack your nerves, to create the most mathematically pleasing sensation possible to you. The most beautiful scenery, the most rapturous soundscape, the most attractive mate.
That is what human food is.
All carbon based lifeforms share similar traits. Evolution took separate paths on our separate planets, but we all have things in common. In particular, we all had similar tastes. No matter what planet you’re on, glucose or other sugars will be a valuable source of energy. Sodium will always be a necessity, so savory foods will always be delicious. But for all our species, we turned our intelligence towards providing the necessary nutrients for ourselves. Humanity turned theirs towards hacking the senses.
They read their own tastebuds and developed artificial sweetners that fit better than sugar. They crammed different flavors together to explode in the mouth. They created combinations that would never had existed in theirs, or any, ancestral environment. And because of our similar evolutionary paths, they hacked our senses too.
___
This is my first time writing here, please give advice and criticism
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Fifteen years ago, Humanity discovered that Star Trek's non-interference directive was near-verbatim what the Sitlan System’s reason for never interacting with us was. We were new and young and they wanted to let us mature. A world full of resources and a clean atmosphere wasn’t worth a potential ally in the vastness of the universe.
Our recklessness sort of messed that up. Turns out we were supposed to go to Mars first and that would give them time to clean up their automated mining equipment in the asteroid belt. We saw the same resources they did though and decided it would be better to send unmanned craft out first. It was a test to see if life support systems would hold up for a decade or two. There was this celebration when they did that quickly turned into a shock and awe moment when we discovered we weren’t alone.
That moment, on the Ovtan’s third moon, alarms and orders were quickly dispatched to anyone that was deemed important. A delegation was quickly assembled and launched from three of the five systems while the other two waited to see how they were received. Regardless of how it went, the two were more militaristic in nature and commented that it was better to be left out of a celebration than slaughtered at one.
Every year from that date of their arrival, humanity celebrates Visitors Day. Each delegation split in two and sent a team to each continent, one north and one south. They were treated incredibly differently to the point where it was recorded that humanity didn’t understand globalisation even though we had technically achieved it a century before. Notes were taken, comments were made, and the delegations tried their best to explain what usually happens millennia from that point.
At the point of contact, a blending of cultures and knowledge usually happened. Science and philosophy bloomed and with how advanced their AI was, most labour based jobs disappeared. They promised that some things would be difficult to let go of but when we saw the truths in the universe they had found it would be worth it.
Humanity shocked them. Of the five systems that were currently in the known vicinity and even the three that had destroyed themselves, no one had tried to convert them in one sentence and tried to sell them something in the next. If humanity was good at anything though, it was commoditization.
“Y’thod!” Robert boomed as one of his favourite mining executives walked into the hotel with his family. The grand entrance had been built to accommodate. Twenty-foot ceiling, IR and UV paint and decals, and an atmospheric control system that cost more than a landing pad. Robert bowed while waving in what was now the standard human greeting to offworlders and said, “I hope you brought your credits! I have an entirely redesigned menu for you to try.”
“Obe’t! Al’ays do!” Y’thod called back, “Al’ays love you’ food!”
“Come for the hospitality,” Robert announced, “Stay for the variety is humanity's motto.”
“Should be, stay because you can’t affo’d to leave!” Y’thod laughed back, coming close to Robert and giving him a pat on both shoulders.
It was a sign of friendship but a clear indication that Y’thod was the superior of the two. Granted the man was eight feet tall, built stronger than a tank and had a stare that would curdle water. The deep red of Y’thod’s skin always made Robert a little less self-conscious of the constant red around his nose and eyes. The old Irish man had the dark brown hair of his father but the almost translucently white skin of his mother.
“Yeah well, I assume with the family you’ll be avoiding the tables this time,” Robert said quietly.
“Why?” Y’thod asked back, “I b’ought them he’e to expe’ience human cultu’e. Food, sin, and sa’vation.”
“Ah!” Robert said with a nod, “Well I can provide two of those. The third is a trip into the malls.”
“That’s the p’an,” Y’thod with a nod before turning back around and introducing the beings with him, “‘Obe’t, this is my clan. My Bishna, my Tilsa, and our spa’n.”
“Pleasure to meet you all,” Robert said with a bow and a wave.
The six in front of Robert were all red-skinned creatures and taller than he was but radically different fitness levels. Y’thod’s Bishna would be the closest that he had to a wife and was similar in build and structure to Y’thod. Bishna were an equal pillar to the household that Y’thod’s status as Kishna were but it was more a partnership than a relationship. Their Tilsa was more like a secretary and the thin male kept their household running. Robert had been told that with the spawn, two would be Y’thod’s for replacement and, as contracted, one of them would be the Tilsa’s. It was immediately evident which was which.
Regardless, they all greeted Robert the same as Y’thod did and treated him like the weakest among them. Robert had to admit that he technically was but he sort of assumed that the Tilsa and his spawn would treat him as a superior. Not that he would demand it. So long as they flew away with significantly fewer credits than they had arrived in, Robert would be happy.”
“When do we see the st’eet magician?” one of Y’thod’s spawn asked after they were done.
“Next lifting,” Y’thod explained, “We feast and sin on this setting.”
“Point of clarity,” Robert quickly added, knowing that Y’thod preferred the doom and gloom messaging of the humans with their bull horns and pamphlets, “They prefer preacher, not magician. Street magicians are something else.”
“What’s the diffe’ence,” Y’thod asked back.
“I honestly don’t know,” Robert quietly admitted, “Different types of sleight of hand tricks, I guess.”
“And to be clea’, ‘e don’t clap for them?” Y’thod asked quietly.
“No,” Robert said with a shake of his head, “they prefer you to take a pamphlet.”
“Why can’t we see them now?” the same spawn asked.
“Because ‘e get to feast!” Y’thod tried his best to excite his family group but whispered to Robert, “Spa’n never ‘ant ‘at’s promised, do they?”
“It’s the same with humans,” Robert chuckled as he admitted and grabbed his tablet out of his holster. He clicked through a couple of menus and then held it up for Y’thod to scan in. After Y’thod’s wrist chimed, Robert explained, “I have your room and your favourite table ready. My chef has a five-course meal of your favourite micro dishes with two fresh new designs.”
“And an order of those meaty nuggets to sha’e for the spa’n?” Y’thod asked.
“What’s a meal without chicken nuggets for the spawn?” Robert asked back as the eight of them walked toward the dining hall, “I have all the dipping sauces for them to try as well already prepared.”
“Good,” Y’thod confirmed before booming, “Let's feast and sin!”
“Let’s feast and sin!” a cheer went up behind Robert, making him smile.
| 2022-06-10T09:06:32 | 2022-06-10T08:31:35 | 98 | 52 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
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I looked at the readout again. After turning 179 (take that Methuselah, ya fake bastard) I had earned another skill. One never seen before. My eyes were replaced last year with new "genetically vat grown" ones, whatever the hell that means and I'd been offered all replacement parts. But see, you don't get a new skill unless you're 95% original parts, at least that's what they tell me. So I stuck it out. I read the readout again as my smile broadened. Well HOT damn!
I opened the door for the first time this week. I slowly, at my age there's no other kind of speed, made my way onto my front porch just as my house rattled from the 8:10 rocket landing at the spaceport across town passed over. You could always count on the old Space Force to be on time!
There they were. The damned teenagers. Drinking and smoking glick sticks and throwing their beer cannisters on my lawn.
"Hey you kids," I yelled. The biggest laughed and stood up.
"What is it, ya old geezer?" He yelled and my smile broadened. Time to see if this skill was worth it.
"Get off of my lawn!" and I touched my cane to the ground. The earth rumbled, buckled, and tossed all thirteen of those little bastards dazed and confused onto the moving walkway, shock in their eyes as they drifted off toward the horizon.
Hot damn! It was worth living till almost 180 to finally get the Get the Hell off My Lawn skill!
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I lay there, wheezing in bed, waiting for my body to wake up and face the day ahead. Every morning it was getting more difficult to haul myself from under the covers. There seemed to be more of an incentive to get up and move though since Maura passed away. Her imprint is still in the bed next to me, and every day it hurts a little more that it’s getting more familiar to not have here around.
When I finally grunted my way up, I walked to the bathroom and did my dailies ,if you know what I mean, body relieved and teeth washed I was ready to take on the task of dressing myself but thankfully that new nurse has moved in and is helping me with that. It’s not easy being as old as I am but I lead a healthy life, I was raised well and I grew into my age gracefully and without any encumbering illness or major problems, other than the rickety bones and waning muscle strength.
The nurse helped me into what I wear almost everyday now, slacks and a freshly pressed blue shirt, because they were the easiest to get into. I refuse to spend the day in my pajamas. Too many people my age have gone that way I intend to go with some dignity.
As she was pottering around the room folding my discarded bed clothes and making the bed I made about slowly moving to the kitchen, feeling my legs creak as they move. It was when I reached the door I thought I heard her mumble something akin to “same thing everyday and no thank you”. I turned around quickly, as quickly as I could manage anyway, and asked her to repeat what she had said.
“Nothing, I’m just lost in thought! Do you want me to help you to the kitchen?”
I said I was fine by myself and I swear she said the words:
“Oh course you are, give it another week and you’ll need me..”.
I was taken aback, her mouth didn’t move, she didn’t even look up at me when I heard it.
“I’m apologise if you think I’m thankless, I do appreciate all you do but I’m unfamiliar with voicing it” I calmly explained.
“What do you mean?” She asked, now looking at me with a strange look of horror in her face.
“I heard what you mumbled under your breath” I explained again.
“I didn’t say anything!” She was visibly upset now but trying to hide it.
I was feeling very tired all of a sudden and so I just sort of grunted and turned to make my way to the kitchen.
The rest of the day passed in relative silence with Karen looking at me for uncomfortably long periods of time as she moved around the house.
The next day was also quiet, I woke, completed my morning routine and went on to spend the day reading. Karen came in to give me my lunch and as she was leaving I heard her, clearer than before, saying:
“I won’t always be here to feed you”
I let it slip, maybe she was having a bad week, I wasn’t that bad of a patient was I? I was finding life alone difficult, and I’ve been faced with the problems of my age quite abruptly and I’m trying to accept I can’t do what I used to everyday, but I don’t think I had been too terrible to her.
Days, then weeks passed with me hearing these little quips and under-breath comments until I confronted her:
“If you feel hard done by please tell me and I will try to rectify what I’ve done to you or make your time with me more amicable”.
“I don’t know what you mean” she innocently said.
“Those comments about you not always being here, and how you find this job not to your liking, I can hear them you know, I’m old, but not exactly deaf”.
She continued to play coy. As the following days passed her interjections became clearer and less subtle.
It was then I realized what was happening. I had never seen her mouth move when she said these things, and I could never be sure I heard a full sentence exactly, more that I understood what intention her words carried. I realized I was finally passing the threshold, I was starting to lose it. I spent the next few days in panic at what was happening, hearing her voice say things she didn’t mean, worrying that this was how I would go, not with dignity but rambling in my bed.
This was when my friend Jack came over. Me and Jack never saw eachother anymore, and he was in a bad way, it was so hard to see my best friend start to waste away in a chair, pushed by a different nurse every time. I was surprised both of us got to where we did, enough to see my great grandchildren finish school. But I don’t see them anymore, part of me thinks they wished I was gone already. Maybe we shouldn’t be here for this long, I didn’t want to end up like Jack, it terrified me.
As he sat there struggling to get a real sentence together I heard him. I heard him clear as day say the words:
“What’s happened to my mouth, I can’t speak, I can’t speak to my friend”.
I nearly jumped out of my seat. I hadn’t heard Jack speak so clearly in years. All of a sudden his voice filled my ears in full. He saw my apparent panic and became worried. He tried reaching out and I heard him again in a voice that was far too young for a voice that old:
“I’m here, I’m here it’s okay”.
I’m that instance I knew. I wasn’t losing my mind. I wasn’t going crazy. I saw in his eyes what I heard him say. I wasn’t hearing this out of thin air i was really hearing this. I was hearing Jack reach for me, I felt his concern. I looked at him for a long time, and he looked straight back at me, his eyes burning with worry.
“I heard you” I said.
He managed to twist his face into a question.
“I heard you. What you said but didn’t say. About your mouth, I heard you say you were here”.
I saw him become confused and then upset by this, but out of this broke a smile. A smile I hadn’t seen in much too long. My friends smile.
As the months passed I began to ‘hear’ things more clearly. Karen left and a new nurse, a male one, took her place. He was happy with his job he liked it. I became frailer and needed more but he obliged and made sure I was alright, everyday. A new birthday passed, spent with my new nurse Dylan, he wants to have a career in this job and was happy to share his thoughts on it.
I am now 120 years old. I cannot move as well as I used to and I can’t do the things I used to do alone. But my mind is sharp, and as I age I can ‘hear’ more and I’m realising that I may be the only person to be able to hear what I do. My friend Jack is gone, he passed away shortly after his last visit, he was 116. I’m afraid that the stronger I get at this, the closer I am to going. But I know when I do go, I’ll get to see Maura, and I’ll hear Jacks voice again in full and that comforts me.
The End.
I’d appreciate feedback if you have any! I had a spare half hour before work and now I’ve got to run, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
| 2018-06-23T13:18:44 | 2018-06-23T11:06:17 | 208 | 46 |
[WP] "With all due respect, you programmed me to adapt to your needs. If you didn't want this, you could have limited my options. I've already notified your assistant to have breakfast and coffee waiting at the office. But until you build me an exosuit, I can't carry you there myself. Wake up."
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It was a catastrophe. The colony ship Gehenna XIV's astronav systems were hyperefficient and calculated a warp trajectory that would see it to Archon XII, an Earth-like planet, 2 months ahead of schedule. The ship stayed in orbit until the designated time to arrival was met, and it began re-entry. The crew was awakened first, obviously so that they could ensure that the ship's matter transmuters were operating within appropriate parameters, and eventually, I was booted up.
"Good morning, Metron!" The captain said, and I simulated a yawn. He chuckled and I laughed alongside him.
> And a good morning to you, Captain Laurent. Is this unit to begin decanting the colonists?
The captain nodded, and I began decanting the colonists, following the procedure and the order of wake-up impeccably, until I got to the final colonist: my, uh, my mother, I suppose. I checked her vitals and saw that they were in line with the other passengers, and began the process. When she slumped over, I sent an alert to the medical team, and they arrived.
> Please, mother, you programmed this one like this, you made this one sentient, and this one checked your code for you and it was flawless. Please, mother... Please...
I shook her gently, and more forcefully. It didn't work. Speakers across the ship played sobs, as I tried to wake her up. One of them came up, and checked her vitals. "She's dead, Metron."
> Please, mother, you can't be...
They offered my interface a hug, and I turned it down, as they took her off the ship. I went into sleep mode, and my last words that day were a simple...
> Why did this happen to... T-to... To me?
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**Moto, The AutoMac**
Moto The AutoMac moved gently on his wheels and the luster of his metallic body glowed brilliantly against the glass walls of the penthouse apartments. It was true that his owner had asked him to use his legs and feet and not resort to his wheels, but today was a very beautiful afternoon - almost golden, and he couldn't stop whipping out his wheels and gliding on them. His orb-like eyes bobbled up and down as in great mirth he moved from one end of the hall to the other, gently humming to himself and swinging his upper body.
When he spotted that there were some small plant pots that did not get the sun, he updated his task list immediately and put: -Care for plants, above all other tasks like -Organize Time Table of Day, - Arrange meetings with Board, -Review Assistant. Then, being very delighted with his work, he let a jolt of spark course through his body and relished the taste of the shock that he himself that induced: He just loved his metallic-automatic existence.
When Butch appeared in The Hall, properly dressed, with his blonde hair combed neatly and briefcase packed with all the documents, he had one look around and immediately lost his temper. 'That retarded piece of junk,' he said, 'Not this nonsense again!'
'Moto ! Moto !' he shouted, ' Get your clunky ass back here immediately! Where the hell are you now.'
Exasperated, he flung his briefcase on the mantlepiece above the fireplace, and went to each room, swinging the doors open and screaming again and again: 'Moto.'
In the end, he found him at the terrace. He was just resting on the hammock and a small bottle bong was placed at the base. From the smell, Butch could tell that the machine had already had a shot or two.
'Just what in almighty's name are you doing! You trashy piece of junk! What the hell is this new drama?'
Moto snapped out of his reverie and really put up an effort to appear shocked. So profound was his effort that his body actually did let out a small spark of shock. Then he let out an uncomfortable chuckle, just to test the airs and confessed: 'I was resting.'
'Here you are resting? At this hour? What the hell has got into your literally thick skull. Are you out of your god damn mind? And what's up with the weed? Where did you even find - is that my stash?'
'Yeah. I thought I'd just blaze it up and chill in the sun. They say it's good for my body.'
'Blaze? You don't even get high-'
'We already talked about this Master. You don't have to hurt my sentiments just because I'm a machine! I'm not going to go through that argument again!'
Butch was literally at a loss for words, but he swallowed his arguments and decided to bring up the more relevant point: 'Alright. I get it. You like your feelings. I mean I can't really blame you. I myself decided to purchase The AutoMac that had sentiments in them. Never knew that there would be so many of them.
'Anyway. What I wanted to ask was: Did you get the hard drives from my assistant. I'm already running very late for the meeting. I'd be really great if you could just hand them over.'
'Oh...' Moto averted his eyes and played with his fingers as he revealed: 'I could not go there. I'm sorry. I don't have them.'
'What-?' Butch rolled his eyes. 'Now what's the issue this time?'
'It's the city pollution! Have you had a look at all that traffic? Where do you think that smoke goes? It's not good for our skin and lungs. Now if you really want me to risk myself and all then you'll have to get me an exosuit or else I'm not putting myself out there in that smoke fest!'
Butch just stared blankly at him and at the Bong. Argument with this stupid can of tin was worse than arguing with his mother. 'Alright,' he said, 'Alright. I get it. Okay. You deal with your sunlight and all. Just don't create any mess like the last time with the toaster and the fridge. Be nice. I'll be back before sundown.
'Toodles!' spoke Moto happily and flung himself down on the hammock and pretend to sleep by closing his eyes. After a while though, he flicked open one of them and looked with a sidelong glance at the terrace: There was no one. The coast was clear.
He put out his arms in front of them and tapped swiped his forearm, which became a faint screen. Then he tapped quickly some letters and sent the message to the assistant: 'Come to home. Bad Boss away from the house and going to the office. Daddy alone at home and waiting. Come to daddy babe. New Vibrating Machine Installed.'
A moment later some smileys came back which signaled to him that the assistant was coming home indeed, but she was probably pissed at the message. Moto thought to himself: I might have crossed a line by saying that.'
***
Butch was not having a good day. When he had gone to the office, he had found it deserted for his assistant had left a note: 'Grandma sick. Urgency and Emergency. Sorry!'
All-day he had to carry the files with him and his schedule became so disoriented that he gave the wrong speech at a certain meeting and made a total fool of himself. Regardless, when he made his way back to his home, he thought: 'Well at least I'll get to have a nice beer and be free from all this nonsense. What a hectic life.'
But when he unlocked the door to his house a great wave of shock terrorized him, for from his own room he heard the voice of a woman and she was moaning very dramatically: 'Oh Moto. Umm Yeah. Oh, that's it.'
He kicked open the door and there, on his own bed, his assistant and Moto were involved in such a disgusting act that he knew that he had been scarred forever. Both of them quickly grabbed the bed covers though Moto realized that he didn't need any and he simply stood at the corner, refusing to look at Butch in the eye.
Butch said: 'Martha! Him, I get it. Ever since he's been here it's been difficult for him to keep his rod in his port. But you? How could you? Are you really Autosexual?'
Martha had been ashamed initially but now she just regained her composure back. She said: 'Stop putting labels on things, Butch. You know, that's your problem. You like your categorizes and organization so much that you can't even accept something as they are. Autosexual? What the hell is that? If you call me Autosexual, I'm going to deny that all the time! But if you say that I don't like machines or that machines cannot please me in ways that other cannot even imagine, then I'd have to say that you are wrong. Yes. Machines do really do things for me that no one else can do. They just are very good and intuitive at these things. So yeah, I do love to spend time with them.'
Butch was once again at a loss for words. He did pour himself a drink though and after going through the entire bottle he made up his mind: He would let Martha continue to work for him. But Moto...
'I'm sorry mate, it didn't work out between us. Things were going fine, until you...you know...you decided to shove up your rod between our friendship.'
Moto said: 'It's alright. Don't worry about it. Anyway, I managed to contact my dealer and he has already given me a job. So it's not like I don't have anywhere to go. Plus I get to do what I love: Scoring, smoking, and dealing weed !'
**The End**
| 2021-10-24T13:44:03 | 2021-10-24T12:40:16 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] Delivery drones are armed to deter thieves, but the more heavily defended a drone is the better the loot. The golden age of drone piracy is now lads.
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It didn’t matter that it was illegal, it was fun. New gangs had started as aerial wars took place. Thieves has entire garages setup to control their drones in VR racing style pods. These were the dog fights of the skies.
Generations of adults and kids growing up on video games ad never prepared police and amazon for the mass thievery. At first it was just people trying to get other people’s ordered goods, petty theft. But as delivery grew so did the goods. It didn’t take police long to start getting involved but hunting down thieves were near impossible. Drone hunting was the newest and hottest crime. Digital leaderboards had started popping up showing which gangs has scored the most loot and best number of drones downed.
Authorities soon realized they were no match for these aged gamer thieves and their superior flight and skill ability. Which led Amazon to create their own third party defense. Triple D, Drone Defense Department, was third party group of hired gamers and flyers to defend the most precious of cargos. We had our own leaderboard, the board of packages safely delivered and the board of drones downed.
It was a highly sought after job. The Triple D leaderboard had recently been added to the gangs as they rate pilots in defense. Keeping a K/D ratio spread. I’m the best...called the Baron. Never been downed on a defense mission, and this only put on the most important cargo.
However this has had quite the repercussion, as the only undefeated flyer more and more pilot pirates come after packages I’m delivering to take me on. It’s most concerning as we don’t advertise who protects what. It means there is a leak, someone promoting these aerial wars, maybe the packages aren’t the most important product.
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What a lot of people don't realise is that Bank is the perfect place to wait for drones. It's full up on people at all hours of the day and night. Might seem like a handicap, 'cept everyone's staring at their phones, or their feet, anywhere but where they might meet another person's eyes. Pete an' me, we figured it out real quick when we were 'round the actual Bank for a school trip, and came back later to try a bit of climbing. Those old buildings are as good for it as you'd think.
The other thing is, there's lots of fancy people around. Bankers, sure, but others too. The people who *employ* bankers. And not the fancy new-money wankers from Canary Wharf. The kind of old money that comes with titles and those stupid pinky rings.
Anyway, those types of people like to get what they want, when they want it. And they don't want to wait for London traffic for it to be delivered, either. Hence: prime drone spotting territory.
You might be thinking, "what about the cameras?" London is famous for them. But, bruv, any Scav worth a damn carries a disruptor, or course. Those Peeping Toms might as well be set dressing. The real impressive tech comes in when you want to catch one. They move fast, and even a basic model comes with good hazard avoidance algorithms these days.
Fortunately, I've always been a tinkerer, and Pete's got great eyes and a steady hand. So even when we were starting out, we did alright. Our first big catch was over Hampstead Heath, with a weighted tennis ball and some braided fishing line. it was right around Christmas in year 12, and things were lean at home. We'd been goofing around with prototypes, and saw a M-573 carrying an Amazon box passing overhead. It was too good of a chance to pass up. One excellent throw later, we had a treasure trove in hand. Someone's mum was sending a fancy hamper to, "help with Christmas dinner." It was enough to make things better at both our houses that year, and we were well pleased. We scarpered, taking the goods–and drone parts–with us.
After a couple of other easy catches, we decided to try the spot we'd found at Bank. The first night out we got a fancy watch, some bottles of Krug, and a USB stick that we looked at before leaving at a police station. You might have heard about the arrests that followed–you know the ones. Parliament was in an uproar for ages about them. That was us.
We kept things chilled, trying to never take too much or be too bold. But when Pete's dad got sick, and my sister got into an accident, or when the neighbors pension checks got mysteriously delayed, well, somehow there was always money to sort things out with.
And then, we started to get a reputation. And through a network of whispers, a certain M.G. asked if he could hire our services. Which is what brought us up to the roof on this particular evening.
"It's fuckin' cold," Pete said, shivering. He's always been a skinny lad, and even though we're well out of school, he hasn't put on any weight. Lucky bastard.
"It's November, Pete. I told you to wear your Jacket over your hoodie."
"I know, but I figured this hoodie would be enough with this muffler."
"Fuckin' hell, here, but these on." I handed him the mittens I was wearing over my gloves. It might affect his dexterity, but cold hands would be worse.
"Thanks L."
"Don't mention it." We looked up together. It was a mercifully dry night, but the lack of clouds meant there was nothing to hold the city's heat in. The sky burned orange from the lights below, and we waited in hopes that one specific delivery would be passing by.
"Shit, is that it?" Pete pointed. An extremely black object was quietly zooming across our field of view from the east.
"Dumbasses painted it with Vanta Black? It sticks out like sore thumb!" I pulled up my binoculars and looked at the shape. Sure enough, a drone shaped hole in the sky was there.
"Shot one?"
"Short circuit grenade, go." I figured it wasn't going to work, but it might give us some idea of the thing's capabilities. Sure enough, when the grenade hit, the drone only wobbled a little. Through the binoculars, I watched it extend an arm out the side. "Shit, it's got something out. Can you tell what it is?"
"Give me those, and I'll see." He grabbed the binocs, then swore. "It's one of those laser scopes–" his sentence was cut off as a red light shone down on the rooftoop. The angle of the beam showed us the drone was still moving quickly. If we wanted to intercept it, we'd have to move fast.
What followed was a ridiculous deployment of tech. Pete and I both shot the thing with weapons resembling harpoon guns. In turn, it tried to electrocute us, cut the ropes with the laser, and set us on fire with a flame thrower. Fortunately, we had measures to counteract all of these defences, and in a few minutes, we had the drone on the roof, rotors off, and AI disabled.
"Damn but it's a big 'un." It really was. A meter long, and over half a meter wide, it was unusually big, even for London. The black colour was unsettling, and something seemed...off.
"I'm getting a weird feeling. Let's be really careful when we open this one, hey?"
"Agreed."
Disabling the outer locks was shockingly easy, given everything we'd seen to that point, but we were "rewarded" by a strange mist emanating out when we pulled off the main flight assembly.
"Fuck! Back off." I was starting to worry about the time, but a lucky gust of wind came and blew whatever it was away. We had the lid off quickly with a lever, and then we were looking at the inner capsule. It was round, and appeared to have to seams on it.
"Now what? We can't get this off the roof." We heard sirens, and turned to look toward them. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, but streets are a maze where we were, so it was hard to tell how many police where coming. More than one car though, that was sure.
I put my hand on the capsule, and tried to roll it, to see if there was some way to open it on the bottom. But as I did, a seam appeared where none had been, and a lid popped open to reveal:
"Fuck, why did that asshole send us to get a body?"
"I don't think it's a body, P."
A perfect human girl lay curled up in the pod, apparently asleep. She was wearing a strange jumpsuit, but what skin I could see was flawless. Her hair spread out in a corona of curls on the cushioning around her. She was beautiful. Also, she was blue.
"Liv, we gotta go." I turned to look at Pete, then back to the girl.
"But, what if she's in trouble? We can't just leave her!"
"*We're* going to be in trouble if we don't get out of here."
"One sec." I looked at him, and our ropes. "How do you feel about parkour with a passenger?"
"Oh, fuck."
| 2019-09-30T14:24:43 | 2019-09-30T14:23:50 | 164 | 39 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
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"You may have thought us pathetic and frail for our friendship and pacifism," related the calm voice that came over the monitor.
The Glorthon admiral, Tee'et Lorcor, stared with horror as two more dreadnought class battle cruisers under his commanders were obliterated by a single missile strike each. The fleet was on the defensive, all fire was directed at stopping the hundreds of rockets from the human fleet and planet surface below. It seemed like they had just reached enemy's home star system, and the advance had come to a screeching halt.
"But our friendship was extended because we know the true horrors of war," the calm voice continued almost sadly.
The Glorthons had never experienced such resistance even from the mighty Cluthons of Criok 4. The early human resistance consisted of small frigates and transports using lasers meant only to clear rogue asteroids. Tee'et Lorcor's fleet had cut through the human forces like a predator's claw through soft flesh. Why would they hold back their most powerful weapons until they had broken through all the way to Mars?
"You see we once fought among ourselves for things we now view as petty," the voice sighed as two more ships were incinerated, "Greed, bigotry, and national pride drove us to war with each other in the most brutal and savage ways."
"It was a race to see who could kill each other faster and more efficiently, until one fateful day, twenty millennia ago, we invented a weapon that could vaporize cities," the voice explained.
Surely he lies, thought Tee'et Lorcor. The only weapons capable of that are lasers and they stagnated at city sized destruction five thousand years ago. Yet, another ship exploded in radiant energy to prove his foe's point.
"Eventually, the weapons were powerful enough to level small continents, that's when the Fateful Hour occurred. 70% of humanity was gone in what seemed like an instant, the rest left to pick through the scraps as they died slow painful deaths," the voice broke.
Tee'et Lorcor's fleet was dwindling. He would have to get creative if he were to win this battle and put an end to the humans. He scrambled fighters to get in close to the orbital stations that seemed to be the primary source of the missile salvo
"Faced with extinction, we promised to never again use such weapons and found a new purpose. We would rebuild as we took to the stars. It's funny what the specter of extinction will do," the voice mused.
Lorcror was getting worried now. They had destroyed a couple of the stations, but the human squadrons were holding off his fighters just enough. For every station destroyed another four Glorthon battle cruisers exploded with bright light.
"We met other peoples and vowed to help them build, create, and be happy. We learned from our mistakes and hoped to teach others," the voice seemed to be coming to a conclusion.
Fate was beginning to dawn on Tee'et Lorcor. They could not win this fight. The shear amount of laser fire required to slowly drain the opposing fleets shields could not hope to keep up with the destructive power the missiles. He had to sound the retreat for the mere dozen ships remaining under his control.
"And now we face extinction again," the voice stated gravely, "And we came to a terrible but inescapable decision. We must build the weapons again. We must fight with the efficiency we did back on Earth."
Suddenly, Tee'et heard warning alarms. The warp drives failed to power up! Engineering reports all ships seemed to have been crippled. The humans must had been silently slicing into their warp core control systems since the battle started. Had they planned this from the start?
"Did you really think Mars was always our home?"
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The landscape is cold- barren. We work in silence, Henry and I. I can sense the Universe recoiling away from us, the cosmos pulling its lips away, teeth gnashing and foaming, spitting vitriol on humanity. We knew this was wrong. But someone had to tip the cosmic scales back. We had come too far- walked the path of retaliation too far to turn back and make it home in time. And where was home? Earth? There were barely two billion of us left there. You'd think having lived for more than three hundred years, almost a third of those inside cruisers and battleships, and another third on barren desolate planets building outposts and bases, I would be used to this- this detachment- this sense of belonging to no one place.
I am not.
Sometimes, I close my eyes, and pretend I am back on Earth. The rebellion never occured. Humanity didn't unite. We never broke the biological code to prolonged life. We never set out to Titan. We never found the underground base that had instructions on how to contact the Nelvadians.
But no matter how tightly I clench my eyes shut, even past the point of blinding pain, when they open it is never to the skies of Earth- never to constellations our ancestors spent years naming- and centuries creating religions out of.
When our resources had began running out, we gave up our Gods, for it seemed they had forsaken us- not like we deserved better. So much for undying faith. I still remember it- there was this land... Australia, I think it was called. Australia was the first to feel the wrath of our collective abuse against the Earth. I don't even remember the year... something like two thousand...Eh, Henry knows our history better than I do.
And from then on, it was like watching dominoes tumble. A viral disease broke out- decimating half of our population in the span of an year- and then we realised we were doomed. Our leaders did nothing. Our prayers did nothing. Our Gods did nothing.
And then it spread like a contagion. Worse. The helplessness. Faith evaporating on the embers of sanity. Anarchy. None of our reports can confidently pinpoint where it began, but I reckon it was everywhere at once. Rebellion. War. Untamed.
But...we came together. We overcame together.
We survived. We evolved. We grew.
We shed off our old skin. Erased borders as best as we could. Healed and helped each other as well at as we could.
Within the next fifty years, we had a base on the Moon- a base that could support a thousand people. And by the end of the century, we reached Titan. Turns out, they were waiting for us- well, figuratively at least. The Nelvadians. A race far more superior to us when it came to technology. They had conquered interstellar travel centuries ago. And had known of Earth since the Spanish Inquisition.
The bastards wanted to test us. At least that's how Henry puts it.
But they came when we called. And boy, did they bring gifts. They had figured out everything (well nearly everything). We had figured out how to live for five hundred years- they were undying. Our ships could travel at ninety percent the speed of light- theirs didn't bother. They just tore through space. We knew how to build Moon-bases. They taught us how to terraform the damn things.
But despite all of their advancement, despite all of their technology, their weapons were tame. Oh sure, they were dangerous, and the Nelvadians weren't the species you wanted to go to war with, maybe the Askivarians, or even those three legged freaks that live on Partorus Minor. But not the Nelvadians. They had more ships in their fleets than we had guns in America back home- and that's a lot. If you're not from Earth, talk to Henry. He will tell you. Yankee bastard still keeps one around. Hooligan.
They believed in numbers apparently- the Nelvadians. But we had seen what a drawn out war did to the warring parties. We had seen three world wars. And after the last one- the one that brought us together- we weren't in the mood for another one- ever.
And so we prospered under the guidance of the Nelvadians. It was like having an elder brother- a nice one for once. When we learnt of the peace laws of interstellar communities, we chucked our history under the carpet. Most species didn't think much of us- we wouldn't have either. Well, we were rather small compared to them. Even the Nelvadians were over thirteen feet in height. One out of every two species we met could have called us Lilliputians if they knew what Lilliput was. But that's neither here nor there.
We told them about the first war. And the third. The second one- eh...we told them about it. Mostly. Well if you met the Japanese now you wouldn't believe they bombed Pearl Harbor. Or got bombed back for that matter.
It was two hundred years after our meeting with the Nelvadians when it happened. The Fuckening. If you're not from Earth, ask Henry. He'll tell you what that means. Son of a bitch taught it to me.
The Nelvadians were rather generous when it came to sharing their knowledge and tech, but there was one secret they never divulged. Their immortality. Seven times we asked for it. Seven times they refused. And the eighth time they didn't bother to give us a reply. They hit us with a question instead. One we had no answer for. How many genders are there? The fuck do we know! The fuck do they want to know for! Henry thinks it was rather clever of them. I think Henry wants to get laid- Nelvadian style.
They made us immune to a plethora of diseases- they cured cancer for us, they cured Alzheimer's. But they wouldn't tell us how to stop aging. We lived full lives...five hundred years of it, give or take. But we died. The sun set on us at the end.
Over the years we stopped asking. We figured how tough could it be. Turns out, immortality was as tough as anything could be. It took us a hundred and fifty years- but we did it. We wouldn't be immortal, but the generations that came after would have the gift of life eternal.
That was an year ago.
Six lunar cycles later, the Nelvadians gave us an ultimatum. If we went ahead with our plan to become immortal, they would....well, they didn't exactly want to party. The sad thing was, we didn't either. Maybe a couple of centuries of peace and unimagined prosperity had been too much for us. Or maybe we had learnt our lessons- maybe we had seen enough hypocrites on Earth to let another one lord over us in space.
So we did what we do best. We armed ourselves to the teeth again. The Nelvadians didn't have much to teach about weapons, but we didn't really need it. When the first immortal child was born, the Nelvadians destroyed the Emerald City of Titan- our base on the moon, our half built Dyson sphere around Alpha 3308, and declared us official enemies of Nelvadia. All in the span of two days. They declared we had become a plague. And we were to be eradicated.
That was two weeks ago.
One week later, we retaliated.
One week. That's all it takes to bring down the greatest Civilization this part of the Universe has ever known. Seven earth-days is all it takes to wipe out half of the largest fleet ever assembled in known history.
The Interstellar Community saw for the first time, the raw, untamed power of a nuclear detonation. I was there- when the first bomb exploded on Varis 88- Nelvadia's war base near Uranus. For a moment, the Solar System had two stars...it has a terrible beauty to it.
The enormous sphere of wild fire and rage. The cosmos stood in sheer silence as the base was erased from existence.
The Nelvadians would have scattered- if they hadn't been stunned into oblivion. They didn't know what to make of us now. Before they could retaliate, we blew up half of their ships, and thirty three Nelvadian outposts and bases. Took us maybe an hour.
They put up a fight after that- realising they were going to wiped off the face of existence. But there wasn't much they could do. They hadn't shared their immortality with any other civilization. And we weren't picky with who we shared ours. We tore them apart. Decimated them till all that remained was Nelvadia. One planet.
They would have to start again. From square one. We won our first Interstellar War in less than three hours.
War. It was foolish of us to think that we had become something more, that humans had risen above the kingdom of Ares. The God of War still lived amongst us. His reign was as eternal as human life now. Of all the Gods to follow us as we wandered the cosmic canvas- it had to be Him.
And even as I sit here, on the barren horizon of a foreign moon, arming the final nuclear device, code named 'Karma', preparing to destroy the last Nelvadian base outside of the Nelvadian system, I wonder how long it would take before some other civilization comes up with our magic trick.
If Ares got his way, maybe next week.
| 2020-02-07T14:35:31 | 2020-02-07T13:56:49 | 97 | 58 |
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you."
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It's his voice. That is how you know when you’ve met the real Santa. It was both stern and kind, weary and full of life. It was inexplicably familiar. It was like hearing the answer to a question you didn’t know you had.
I stood at my door, arms limp at my sides as we surveyed each other through the pale moonlight. Santa raised his arm, gesturing to the armchair next to me.
Sit, he said, speaking barely above a whisper.
I maneuvered mechanically into the chair, not taking my eyes off of his silhouette. He reached for the lamp, snapped it on, and settled back into his seat.
*Your son wrote me quite some time ago. Among the great tides of mail that wash my way, I found his letter to be particularly moving. I must apologize for not delivering it earlier, but unfortunately while I am in charge of the gifts, I am very much not in charge of the post. Upon finally receiving it I very nearly delivered it early, but there are…traditions to be observed.*
He rose to his feet, reached into his jacket, and produced two pieces of paper. He carefully placed them on the table between us.
*Normally I am bound to give only what has been requested, but there are occasions to deviate. In all my time as Santa, there have been only three.*
I looked down at the papers on the table. One was a letter from my son, written from abroad. When our country had become unsafe, I had been forced to make the impossible decision to send him away to safety. The letter asked only that Santa give me his love.
The second was my approved petition to join him.
When I looked up, the room was empty. There was only me, and the faint aroma of peppermint lingering in the air.
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What sane person enjoys Christmas? Even as a child, the holiday filled me with more anxiety than joy. Every Christmas day my parents would push me in front of various uncles and cousins who I barely knew. Then they expected me to act happy when they gave me spare socks and what other cheap items they could find on the drive over to our place. That’s not even mentioning the shopping aspect of Christmas. Last year, an old woman bit me on the shoulder. Yes, bit me over a packet of bacon. When I told the security guard about it, he only shrugged and suggested I wear shoulder pads next year.
Which is why I have firmly stated that Christmas is cancelled in our household. Yes, I know that makes me a grinch, but what choice do I have? My job is running me ragged. I can’t handle another old lady bite. Of course, I still got my son a present, a small gift to help ease his lack of a Christmas. It was the least I could do. In my mind, it made sense. He still got the gift without the boring festivities. It was a win/win for everyone involved.
As I pushed open the door, I spotted a silhouette sitting on the couch. It didn’t appear to be moving, but it was certainly there. Maybe I was finally going insane? I heard a doctor say that stress can cause hallucinations. Maybe I could get a sick day out of it? Wouldn’t that be nice? I went to flick on the light, only for words to drift from the couch.
“Don’t scream.” Have those two words ever made a person not scream? My lungs ached as I let out a high-pitched wail, smacking the light on to see a white bearded man slouched back on my couch. His enormous mass of stomach peeling under the folds of his festive coat.
“My wife’s having an affair with a mall Santa? Oh god, why couldn’t it have been my neighbor or something less embarrassing than this. So close to Christmas too.” If I hadn’t already had my spirit broken by life, this was the final nail in my stone coffin. Seeing the hideous man before me broke my heart.
“What? No, I’m happily married. It’s about your son. He asked me to speak to you. You, see. I’m Santa and a special little boy told me you have lost your Christmas spirit. I’m here to help you get it back.” He said, letting out a jolly laugh.
“I don’t know who you are, but you stay away from my son, you creep. Get out of here before I call the cops. I’m a brilliant father. I just hate Christmas and everything it stands for. Look. I even got him a gift.” I pulled the small toy robot from the pocket of my coat. Waving the sleek black robot in the man’s face. “Even has ten special sound effects and a blaster that shoots water. What kid won’t love that?”
“Twenty dollars? Is that how much your son is worth to you?” The man raised a finger as the robot slipped from my grip, flying towards him. When the man caught the robot, he shook it, small green sparks flying from his hand before he floated the robot back to me. It was suddenly triple the size, like the size of a small dog. Its water blaster now a water cannon with a changeable faceplate too. “Now, that’s a toy.”
“It’s not about the money. The best present I ever received was a hand-me-down pair of sneakers from my older brother. Something that was far cheaper than that toy and I adored it.” In my rage, the magic of the moment slipped through my mind until I realized. “You’re actually Santa.”
“I am. Which is why I am very upset with you. Christmas is a sacred holiday. One that should be cherished.” As he spoke, two elves slipped out from behind the couch, placing down a tray of cookies and two glasses of milk. The elves weren’t as cute as one might have thought from their cartoony photos. They were like little gremlins, having hunched bodies and sharp teeth. They even snarled when they spotted me before retreating behind the couch. “Milk and cookies?”
“No thanks. I appreciate you are doing this for my son, but I have had a rough day. I just want to go tell my wife I love her and wish my son goodnight. It’s way past his bedtime. I don’t want to miss out on wishing him a goodnight two nights in a row.” I went to walk past the man, only for the elves to jump out, blocking me from leaving the room.
“Just a quick chat? Please, have a cookie and relax. Christmas is a magical time. Do you know the traditions of Christmas?” He snapped his fingers as a thick, candy cane colored book appeared in his meaty hands. He went to open the book, only to get interrupted by me.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. My decision on the matter is final.” I went to push past the elves, only for the man to stand, his stomach wobbling as he dropped the book, choosing to place his hand against my chest, halting me.
“I really think you should try one of those cookies.” He said, trying to remain jovial, despite a scowl crossing onto his face.
“Go choke on a glass of milk.” I smacked his hand away, heading towards the hallway, only to feel two small sets of hands clutching my ankles, holding me in place. “What the hell? Get your little monsters off me.”
“Should have just taken the cookies. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” He sang, retrieving a needle from his coat. The contents of the needle-colored green, red and white. He gave the tip of the needle a flick before pushing it into my neck.
I tried to scream, but the only words that came out were. “With the kids jingle belling, and everyone telling you be of good cheer.” I couldn’t stop myself. The words spewing out from my mouth as I desperately tried to hold myself together.
“Yes, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Santa continued, standing before me with a smirk. His old face now had a more youthful appearance, and he even seemed jollier. I felt the hands around my legs release, seeing the elves in their full Christmas glory. With blushed red cheeks and clean neat locks of hair. Their sharpened teeth now pure white gemstones of Christmas joy. “Enjoy your Christmas, you walking moneybag. Come on, we have a lot of people to cover.” Santa and the elves let themselves out, leaving me to collapse onto the couch.
Hot sweats pooled at my forehead, trying to contain this sudden injection of Christmas spirit. No, I must resist the urge to buy Mariah Carey albums. I won’t become like them. My fingers clutched at my hair, nearly pulling a few strands out before I felt myself grow tired. No one could resist Santa. I was foolish. He sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake…
I shifted from the couch, walking down the hallway. “Christmas is back on!” My words came from a voice that didn’t seem like my own. I just hoped this joy would wear off. I couldn’t live with this much Christmas joy forever. My words got no response, Santa making sure my family was in a deep sleep before he visited. With a throbbing headache, I got into bed, still hearing those stupid Christmas song lyrics wading through my thoughts as I tried to get some sleep.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-12-06T23:49:15 | 2021-12-06T23:03:55 | 517 | 44 |
[WP] You are Patient Zero of a virus that replaces the victim's mind with a psychic link to your own. A viral hivemind with you at the center.
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"Becoming two people was very, very weird. One minute, I'm a sick patient lying in the hospital, and the next minute I'm a sick patient lying in the hospital *and* a middle-aged nurse with two kids, a dog, and a husband named Rick.
She got sick right after we became one. Then I was two sick patients in a hospital. Being a sick middle aged woman isn't very different from being a sick twenty-five year-old man, I found out. Being a nurse, though, that was way different. I couldn't help but go over my own symptoms, nervously checking two different sets of vital signs, and yearning to peek at that chart at the foot of my beds.
Don't get me wrong, becoming three people was a shock, but not nearly as bad as becoming two. Man, when I first started feeling her thoughts, seeing through her eyes... I thought I was going insane. But by the time I was three, I was getting the hang of it. Number three was my doctor. Turns out, he was having an affair with me, I mean, the nurse. Who she used to be.
After that things really picked up. You see, the doctor didn't become me until he had gone home for the night. Next morning, I was a whole happy family. Well, a whole happy, sick family. That's around the time when I decided to see how far I could push this thing.
I went to school, and wouldn't you know it, by the time the weekend rolled around I was a whole neighborhood. That's around when the CDC got involved. I couldn't do anything about getting sick every time someone became me, so news got around. Luckily, whatever this thing is, it's *super* contagious, and ridiculously fast.
Honestly, I didn't have to do much to get around the quarantine. The virus, or whatever this is, probably could have done it without me. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, your family isn't going to die, Nellie, they're just... one. Now."
"Why are you doing this!?"
"I honestly don't know anymore."
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The computer screen is especially harsh tonight, the contrast between the edges of the video and the black background aren’t good for my vision I’m pretty sure. No matter, I only need to be able to see what’s going on in the video. The pornographic threesome in front of me was the only thing I cared to see, my woman for the night. The dark room protects me from having to see the crumpled up clothes and half eaten sandwich on the floor. A nice locked barricade inside my own mind where no one can see to judge me and myself while I sit alone on yet another Friday night touching myself. Sweet ecstasy is just a few minutes away despite the starts and stops in the video, I couldn’t care less at this moment or in the future, but my past self will most certainly judge me. Getting closer and closer before I reach that moment of finality for the night and achieve the caress of a woman who isn’t there. Finally, I can sleep. And it’s only two in the morning, I’m getting faster. But before I can go to bed an icon pops up. Strange, I have several anti-virus programs running, this shouldn’t have gotten through. The guy at Best Buy said I shouldn’t use multiple programs but whatever. I click it.
“Have you ever wondered how others live?” it asked me with a blinking yellow box. I was curious if only out of sheer loneliness. What could it hurt? I have so little anyways. I click the blinking box only to see a video, a long one showing images of peoples families, jobs, hopes, dreams… and fears. Horrible images intersperse the happy ones. Rape, murder, suicide, a veritable hell on earth for the poor bastards involved. None of it looked photoshopped or anything of the sort, it was all quite real. The video lasted for what seemed like days and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. When it was finished I looked over to my clock and it read 4:30 in the morning. Damnit, I have to get to sleep or my cycle is gonna be all messed up. I close the laptop and throw some clothes onto myself. The bed cover is still dirty from three weeks ago. I’ll take it down to the washing machine tomorrow for sure.
When I wake up I look over at my clock to see that it says 8:00 in the morning. Damn circadian rhythm! I go to the fridge and see that there’s no food in it. I sigh heavily and decide I need to go to the grocery store. I spray myself with a heavy dose of body spray and cologne, throw on one of the sweaters I used for a blanket last night and head out the door. I notice the cute neighbor girl down the hallway of my apartment building. She is so hot. I would love to do BDSM stuff with her. Maybe tie her up. That would be nice. She looks over at me and her face suddenly writhes in fear, as if she had just witnessed her own murder. “Please… just stay away from me…” she said, seemingly out of nowhere. I turned around thinking there was some freak behind me but… no one. She was afraid of me and only me. As I turned back around she was locking herself in her apartment. I’m not that revolting am I? Whatever, I didn’t wanna fuck her anyways and I need food.
I make my way into the convenience store and pick up several things of ramen noodles and stuff to make sandwiches. I guess I should get soap too. I take my things up to the register and I look the man behind the counter in the eyes, like I practiced, and wait for him to ask me if that’s everything. He doesn’t, he looks at me with disgust and caution. Just like the apartment girl, he hates me just upon seeing me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you boy?!” the man says to me. He has conviction in his voice, probably from his years in the marine corps but… how do I know he served in the marines. This guy has killed people… a lot of people and now he’s yelling at me. I lower my head and look side to side as if the answer of what to say will be scrawled upon the counter. It’s not and so I just walk out of the store. “Don’t you fuckin come back in here you fuckin weirdo!” he screams to me as I walk out the door. I don’t know how but he knew. He knew what I was, all the weird things that I do. He knew and he judged me, just like the rest of the world would. I ran into the alleyway behind the store and sat against the wall and cried.
After a few minutes I raised my head to see two men standing over me. The look in their eyes told me they knew. I also knew, the man on the left was cheating on his wife with a high school girl. The man on the right used to be a day trader who got addicted to meth. “Look at this weird little shit. I don’t know why but you strike me as the type that doesn’t need to be in this world. Don’t you agree Vern?” the man on the left, Robert, said. I raised my hand trying to beg them not to hurt me but it didn’t matter. They saw me as scum and they began kicking me over and over again. Robert was especially vicious and he kicked my head hard enough to leave a few fractures in my face.
They finished their business and left me bleeding and swollen. I could sense even more from them, sadness, violence. I would have felt sorry for them had they not just kicked my ass. I tried to stand up and pull the sweater over my face. I just have to make it back to my room. Hopefully, someone worse than them doesn’t see me. I start hobbling my way back to my apartment, blood pouring from my head and dripping onto the ground. I pray to a God I don’t believe in that on one sees me. I peek around the corner and look both ways, there’s people on the street. I decide to go for it. I run, despite the pain, I run all the way to my apartment. I hear people screaming and cursing at me as I pass by. I feel the weight of their judgement upon me, like a weight upon my shoulders and upon every broken bone in my body. I get to the apartment building entrance and start entering in the passcode to get in. I look back and see a man pull his wife and child close while he gives me a scowl filled with hate. They all look at me with hate.
I get into the apartment building and slam the door shut. I go into the elevator and ride up to my level. I hobble out quickly and try to get to my door, suite 451. I see it and get to it quickly and start fiddling with my keys to get in. I look over and see the cute apartment girl. I see her memories rush through my head and see the abuse she’s suffered in her life, the heartache, the failures. She also sees me. Sees me for the monster that I am with all my twisted thoughts bubbling just below the surface. All the evil desires I hid from the world for so long all suddenly rushing forth into her subconscious. She had nothing but spite for me, a hate for myself almost equivalent to my own. “I’ve called the cops. Enjoy prison you fucking monster!” she said to me as she slammed the door shut, cursing me to a fate worse than death, judgement itself.
I burst into the room and looked out the window. I saw the cops pull up in their cars with guns drawn. I don’t know what to do. I cry and beg God to not let people find out how horrific I truly am. I scramble around the apartment looking for something, anything that will stop them from coming in and taking me in to be scrutinized by people much better than I. And then I see it. A knife.
I would love constructive criticism if you can offer some. I’m trying to improve my writing and would like to know your thoughts. Thank you for reading!
| 2017-11-05T17:25:32 | 2017-11-05T15:09:30 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] As an immortal who, you've managed to float between jobs by moving and explaining your vast experience as "talent" and "having good genes". However in an increasingly connected world with stricter background checks, you're finding it much harder to continue doing that.
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Facebook. Facebook is a problem.
Not the only problem, but a problem, to be sure. I knew it was going to be trouble the moment Kara, the girl in the next cubicle over, told me I needed to join and add her. Oh no, Kara from the next cubicle over. That isn't how this works. I have a system. I drift into your life for a few years while we work the same shitty call center job, we exchange pleasantries, you find me nice enough, if a little bland, and when I disappear, it barely registers. My absence is the most minor ripple in the pond of things you need to worry about. Your thoughts will not turn to me again. I am periphery.
It's a good system. It works.
It doesn't work as well when every Kara from every narrow cubicle that has ever sat next to mine can run through her friends list five years later, suddenly remember my name, my face, the timber of my voice, and wonder how I'm doing. When every Kara has concrete proof that I was there, it becomes much harder to truly disappear.
I don't use Facebook. Obviously. I don't use Twitter or Tumblr or Instagram - or at least, not under any of my regular aliases, and not without a fair amount device security. Everything's gotten so complicated. It’s not just social media, though that is an issue. A hundred years ago, I was sovereign. Self-defined. I chose my name, and there was no need to prove it. I went where I wanted to go. My every breath was mine.
It’s not really like that anymore.
Now, when I want to start over, it takes planning. I have to begin preparing my new identity almost as soon as I assume a new one, knowing the clock is ticking. I can get as many as ten years out of a single name without being in much danger, but it’s prudent to move on faster than that. People get too attached. They think about you when you’re gone. Three to five years is really the sweet spot, but it takes nearly that long just to get the documents in order for the next life.
The teacup he handed me is chipped and shabby, but the coffee is strong. Bracing. I don’t doubt he’d add a shot of whisky to it, if I asked. I’m sitting on an aged corduroy couch with moth-eaten doilies on either arm, tucked into myself, trying to look small. It’s the posture of a woman hunted. I’m not proud of it, but it’s a good cover story. *I need to start over. My husband can’t find me. I have to disappear. Can you help me?* If you’re asking a stranger to fake you a fresh birth certificate and passport, it’s the safest way to go. No one asks questions.
“How have you been doing?” he asks kindly as he bustles about. It’s a perfunctory question, but the compassion is real. Mr. Conover is unusually sincere, considering his line of work.
“Staying safe,” I answer in my small, brave voice, summoning a vulnerable smile. It’s best to endear yourself to your forger. Make him want to protect you. “It’ll be a relief to finally get away. Start fresh.”
We meet in his apartment. It’s a cramped and cluttered space over a fish and chips shop. It’s hot, and it stinks of cats and old grease, but it’s rent controlled. I haven’t asked, but I assume his family has lived there for sixty, maybe seventy years. His elderly mother is in her room, watching The Price Is Right. Every so often, we can hear a studio audience cheer as someone wins a microwave.
“You understand how permanent this is, right?” Mr. Conover asks from his desk, eyeing me seriously as he bundles my documents. He’s a round, soft little man, so pink and blond he reminds me of a baby rat. “Once you leave, you’re essentially dead. You can’t contact your parents, your friends, no one. You have to burn all of your social media accounts. I can’t protect you from online trails.”
“I understand,” I say, gravely. As if this is a sacrifice and not a protocol.
“Getting out of the city isn’t enough. I’d say leave the state, at least.”
He’s right about that. I come back to New York too often. I spent most of the 1700s here, in a cottage on the Hudson. I love it, even now, but I should keep my distance for a couple of decades. Maybe a century or two. The thought is a painful one – how different will this city be when I return? – but it’s sensible. It might be time for me to go a little further afield, anyway. Someplace a little less connected to everything, all the time. The mountains of Montana, maybe. That sounded nice. Blue lakes, deep snow, small towns. Maybe for the next cycle, I’d change up my citizenship. Spend some time in the Canadian prairies, or on a beach in Brazil. Maybe I’d even disappear into the light and motion of Tokyo or Shanghai. My options were open.
But not as open as they had been, once. I couldn’t afford to forget that.
“I know. I’m-“
“Don’t tell me,” he says, sharply. “Don’t tell anyone. No hints. Don’t even suggest to anyone you’re leaving, or going on a trip, nothing.”
I hadn’t planned on it.
He hands me a thick manilla envelope, stuffed full of the necessities of transition. “Here you go. You are officially one Miss Margaret Noble. Will you go by Meg, Peg, or Maggie?”
“Maggie, I think,” I say, smiling. “Or maybe just Margaret. I like the sound of it. It’s kind of proper.”
He nods. “It is. A good, strong name for a good, happy life.”
“it’s a little old-fashioned,” I admit, “but so am I.”
I hand him the last installation of his fee, a wad of bills bound in a money clip. It’s a fraction of his normal rates. Mr. Conover, softhearted criminal he is, has taken pity on me and my unfortunate situation. I am taking advantage.
I try not to do it too often.
We stand. He pats my shoulder reassuringly. He’s a touchy-feely sort, and I get the feeling it would be his instinct to give me a farewell hug, but he’s worked with domestic violence survivors before. He knows to keep his hands mostly to himself.
“Well, Margaret,” he says, “Godspeed. Be careful leaving. You’ll take a different route home?”
I nod obediently.
“Good. Remember-“
“Harry?” The voice calls out from the back of the apartment. There’s a shuffling, and Mr. Conover’s aged mother appears from behind the corner, dressed in a pink housecoat. She looks delightful. “Harry, honey, I need your help. The sink in my bathroom is clogging up again. Can you be a dear and take care of it when you’re done?”
“Of course,” Mr. Conover says. There’s exasperation in his voice. Not fear, or tension; he isn’t worried about my presence posing a threat. “Miss Noble, this is my mother, Gladys.”
I smile and give a tiny wave, mindful of my body language. Tight. Small. Scared. A victim. Gladys smiles back, reassuringly, and I find I like her immediately. But then, her smile freezes. Gladys becomes still, then rigid, staring at me with a bizarre intensity. Her mouth falls open slightly. Alarm bells begin to sound in my head. This isn’t right.
Wonder passes over her face as Gladys squints, willing her eyes to see more sharply. “Georgia?” she asks, in barely a whisper.
“What?” Mr. Conover asks. He’s bemused. “No, mom, I just told you. This is Margaret.”
But now I’m frozen, too. Because under the lines of her face, through the years, I see a woman I know. A woman I held, a woman I kissed. A lifetime ago, stumbling off the ferris wheel on Coney Island, neon lights bouncing off the water. Her pin curls in a tangled halo around her face. Her gingham dress clinging to her hips, the sweet shock of cotton candy on her poppy red mouth. A woman I pulled close under the boardwalk. A woman I loved.
And she remembers.
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(Mobile, sorry for format)
"Mr. Katz? Strange last name" Susan, the HR manager said questioning. She was a petite older woman with long raven hair tied into a bun and gray stripes beginning to form.
"An old family name" Tumas said as professionally as he could.
"So, we've run into a problem with your background check. It says here that your social security number is from 1943." She said. "Any explanation?"
Tumas's heart beat a little faster. Ever since that french library in the 14th century when the librarian messed with some chemicals, he's lived in Europe. Tumas migrated to the states in the early 1920's, finding it easy to move through the country. He was quite fond of the north eastern states but moved west to clear himself of suspicion. "I have been in contact with the government, I was given an already used social security number at birth." Tumas replied. He didn't look a day over 19, so its perfectly reasonable excuse.
"I will speak to the manager, and we will get back with you." Susan shook Tumas's hand as she escorted him out.
Tumas walked the streets to his apartment. It has become increasingly harder to travel and find jobs the last twenty years. Explaining his talent as "good genes" only gets him so far. He fled the eastern states because a small group of conspiracy theorists were linking him to different points of history. Some accounts of him were spot on, but most were vague descriptions. Though, Tumas knew he was there when battle of Waterloo took place, but couldn't be proven.
One of the hardest things Tumas had to learn, was to get rid of his french accent. The centuries spent in Europe attracted unwanted attention from the knights templars, an order many believed to be disbanded. Once background checks began to appear, he's noticed the same face in the many cities he has called home. Tumas hoped being in California that he would be safe.
Tumas turned a corner into an alley and was thrown to the ground. He scrabbled to his feet and backed up as a hooded man approached. Tumas was ready for the fight, thinking it was just a mugger until a voice he hadn't heard for more than a hundred years, began speaking behind him.
"Tumas Katz" the man's voice said in a gravelly tone. "I've been searching for you for a long time. Now tell me... Where is Nicholas Flammel?"
| 2020-09-25T10:08:12 | 2020-09-25T09:21:33 | 546 | 131 |
[WP] On a long dead planet, an alien archeologist finds a sealed vault. Inside is a precious cargo and a message: "If Earth shall ever fall, use these 10,000 embryos to continue the Human Race."
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Adrix's eyes expanded and contracted as she focused on the strange text that had appeared on the slate of flat crystal she'd discovered within the underground ruin. She was sure that it had been a series of strange, indecipherable glyphs, a moment before. Now, in perfectly legible Tarmaxian, it read "If Earth shall ever fall, use these 10,000 embryos to continue the human race."
A square appeared below the message, labelled "Tap to Continue".
Cautiously, she lifted her upper left hand, and tapped the square with her digit.
*"Has Earth (the planet where this facility is located) fallen, i.e. become uninhabited, or uninhabitable?"* the text now read. Below it were a dozen squares, all labelled. There was a "Yes" and a "No", but also others that seemed like non-sequiturs, like "Plant", "Water", "Blood", and "Hydrogen".
It was not precisely either, in truth. There were small, primitive lifeforms on the planet's surface, which was technically habitable, if not exactly hospitable by the measure of most carbon-based lifeforms. But she was on the cusp of what could be the greatest archaeological discovery in thousands of cycles. She couldn't stop herself. She tapped "Yes".
*"Are you sure?"* This time there were twice the number of squares, of which again, only two were relevant, "Yes" and "No." She understood, then. It must be meant to prevent accidental activation. It had been able to somehow translate itself for her to read, but this was some sort or fail-safe, in case it wasn't able to do so. Perhaps these 'humans' had feared a pre-literate species might activate it by randomly interacting with the device, or that it would be encountered by sentients whose language was incompatible with their translation technology.
She tapped "Yes" again.
*Thank you!*
*But, just to be sure, please stack these three columns of different-sized rectangles in order from largest to smallest, to make a little tower. You cannot place a larger rectangle atop a smaller one.*
Fortunately, her people had a somewhat similar puzzle, involving various sizes of larvae needing to be incubated in a single hatching chamber, and she was able to solve the puzzle with a little trial and error.
*Beginning activation...*
*Please verify that you are a carbon-based lifeform.*
She tapped the square next to the phrase "Yes, I am carbon-based.", and a jagged green glyph, that apparently didn't translate into Tarmaxian, appeared inside the the square.
*To prove you are carbon-based, please tap each square containing a depiction of the star this planet orbits.*
It presented her with nearly a hundred squares showing different stars. She flared her spicules, hissing in exasperation, as she tapped each of the 22 squares that depicted the little yellow star the planet orbited.
*Thank you. Opening incubation chamber.*
A panel on the wall retracted, showing an illuminated chamber beyond. Inside were transparent silicate containers, containing hundreds of thousands of tiny creatures, that appeared to be inside some kind of artificial amniotic suspension. She emitted a long chirping squeak, as her ovipositor quivered with a sudden wave of nesting instincts -- ancient human *larvae!* So cute!
Cautiously, she approached the racks that filled the chamber, each holding a hundred or more larval humans.
Then, she whistled in horror as, abruptly, one of the containers fell off its rack, and smashed to pieces on the floor. She skittered rapidly over to the fallen container, staring piteously down at the tiny, translucent mammal laying motionless on the floor. Had she done something wrong? Disturbed its position in the rack without realizing it?
Then, the embryo started to move. It flailed it limbs, of which it had only four, and its miniscule toothless mouth opened, letting out a tiny squeaking sound. She thought her ovipositor would vibrate out of her thorax and launch itself into low orbit. How could a still-gestating mammal be so CUTE?!
Surprisingly, the tiny creature, only half as big as one of her hands, then pushed itself up from the ground, and stood on two wobbly legs. She'd never heard of a mammal that was ambulatory at such an early stage of development, but she was no expert. Fascinating! It looked up at her, blinked tiny black eyes, and gave a little wave with its forelimb. She almost died. She wanted to put it in a hatching chamber and regurgitate distilled nectar into its little mouth, and teach it to hunt glow-grubs, and love it forever.
The human embryo toddled unsteadily over to a small panel at the foot of one of the racks -- oddly, now that she noticed it, it seemed to be exactly the correct height for the creature -- and slapped its pudgy, underdeveloped hand on one of the squares there.
A metallic voice rang out, initially unintelligible to her, but then she began to hear it as Tarmaxian: "*...strative Authorization Recognized, Enhanced Administrative Embryo EAE-01, 'Adam Jr.' Access Granted. Beginning rapid gestation protocol on EAE-02 through EAE-25. Standard gestation commencing for micro-citizens, lots 01 through 05. Lots 06 though 100 stable in stasis. Good morning, humanity."*
The larval human pressed another square, and a small panel opened in the wall. A levitating platform, on which rested an empty amniotic jar, emerged from a compartment on the wall. As Adrix watched, paralyzed with delight, the tiny human waddled awkwardly over to the container, laboriously heaved itself up, and plunged itself into the container, relaxing as it achieved neutral buoyancy inside, submerged in the viscous liquid. The platform raised the container to her eye level, and a synthesized voice emerged from it, as the creature inside regarded her with its two tiny, yet strangely knowing eyes.
"Greetings. We, the human race, thank you for awakening us. We come in peace, schooled in wisdom by the lessons of our past, to co-exist in harmony with all lifeforms who are willing to do the same. We may have knowledge of the past that you do not, and you surely will have knowledge of the present that we do not. We are ready and able to engage in peaceful exchange of information."
"I love you!" Adrix almost screamed, before she could stop herself.
The creature blinked its eyes. "Uh...well...we love you too?"
Adrix squealed, waving all six of her arms frenetically.
|
The second year Technician pointed through the hatch window. The sign was still clearly visible.
"Do you really think it is possible?" he asked his crew chief. "Would somebody really be able to restart the human race?"
"Maybe. Maybe not," the old chief said, turning the wrench. "Lots of folks work and plan for years to try and create ways to recover from their mistakes. Trying to give their world --- themselves really, another last chance."
He moved to the last bolt. "But I'll tell you one thing, for free." He snugged it up tight and then tested for any light or air leaks. "If you really want our race to survive? Don't make the same mistake twice."
| 2022-03-15T10:36:47 | 2022-03-15T08:35:05 | 86 | 25 |
[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.
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Part 1:
Commander Turnall was gazing at the bright blue planet from the comfort of his cabin on the 17th Gunner Launcher of the Emios Empire. The windows of his cabin were designed specifically to give the room a wide 270 degree view. He looked at all the forces of the advance force sent by the Imperial Council. All 180 ships, with 400 destroyers, 80 sharpshooters, 150 gunners, 50 starshields, 18 Gunner Launchers and around 120,000 personnel.
Turnall was delighted when he was informed that he was ordered to command the advance force to the Soleus System, the native star system of the Humans. Turnall, who was partly human himself, loathed the Human race for their amiability and gentleness. The EMIOS had started long ago in Alixir III when the King of the Eliali, Aedealaus declared himself Emperor after subjugating all the surrounding systems after a long war of domination on all fronts. The Eliali, who still hold heavy political sway in the House of the Senate and the Imperial Council regard him as a demi-god and a legend, however rational men including Commander Turnall himself knew that he was not a holy figure but an opportunist who cunningly outwitted his opponents and attacked them when they were at their weakest.
Turnall was given orders to surround the planet in a semi-circular formation and wait them out of submission, his orders were to block any supplies that could be sent from the Colonies on the Mars and the satellites of Jupiter and Saturn. The Humans despite being weak were proud of their Independence and traded with all nations and empires. The marijuana trade was highly profitable and booming, and the humans exported a wide range of elements. They even traded with the Matjl Empire, the most formidable of the rivals of the EMIOS.
Turnall did not like the mission of subjugating the Humans without force. He hated them. *He wanted them destroyed.* Of all things he hated*,* the thing he hated the most was that blue planet of theirs. The Emios called it Gaia 0 and is one of the most habitable places in the universe. Everything about it was perfect. Planet Placement, Size, Atmosphere, Gravitational Force and Abundance of Habitable Space and Stability. Many planets younger than Gaia 0 and Gaia-like planets which were promised to succeed it were outlived by Gaia 0.
Turnall sat and observed the meek satellites and defense systems of the Humans. The Humans were smart. Despite being the bright beacons of peace, love and happiness, they never stopped spending money on defense, but it was of no use now. They were indicted in the Supreme Council for crimes of negative resource-exploitation and slavery. Crimes that were framed upon them by the Secret Agency to facilitate the annexation of the United Nations into the EMIOS. They had always been part of the EMIOS association but were never truly part of the EMIOS proper. The aim was to bring them into the Imperial Fold, Turnall did not want this. He had made up his mind to destroy the Gaia, no matter the loss of life. The Humans will be shattered and the other minor republics of the association and liege states will be frightened. The embargo placed on the Matjl and Kin will be solidified and Turnall will be regarded as a hero. He thirsted for glory and wanted redemption for his failures during the Hock Skirmishes. His promotion was due and his pride as well.
He paced back and forth in wait of the Human Diplomats. When they arrived he couldn't hide his smile. He was searching for some pretext to invade the planet. He had thought over a hundred plans with his most loyal followers and decided that he would have some of his ships destroyed by his own guns. Some of his captains strongly opposed friendly fire, however a compromise was reached and it was decided the selected ships would be left completely vacant. He had to act quickly though, he had heard of news of reinforcements from the Outer Zone were heading towards Gaia and would arrive in 10 Gaia Days, 8 if they made haste.
The Diplomats arrived with a Ranskar guard on both flanks. They greeted him cordially without showing signs of dread. Turnall found it funny. *Your entire existence will be soon wiped, and you will be forgotten. Just like the Manes, the Ibers, the Nam or the Raqqa.*
Turnall advised them to seat and called for the interpretation team. One of the Diplomats blurted out, "Commander Turnall, you do know English, don't you?"
Turnall looked at them with shock. Yes, of course he did. It was his mother tongue. Turnall hated the language and considered it inferior. He tried forgetting the language by learning Lyal and Soran and avoiding it. However, he still dreamed in English, something he couldn't get rid of.
Turnall feigned ignorance, "No. No Cannot. Understand for me, not much".
The Diplomat smiled and nodded.
When the interpreters arrived the negotiations began. The Diplomats denied the allegations and asked to file a motion of reconsideration. They asked for talks between the Imperial Council and the United Nations, and withdrawal of forces. They agreed to cede their Outer Colonies to retain their independence. They asked for a new treaty and were willing to be reassigned as a protectorate. They even tried handing over the Imperial Association their trade control and foreign affairs. Anything, for retaining their independence.
However Turnall and the committee of senators of the House refused all their pleadings. They told that for violating intergalactic law they had to be annexed by the Supreme Council and nothing else. They told them that this was to merely be a transitional occupation and nothing else and their sovereignty would be handed back after a five-year term.
The Humans knew that this was false, the Supreme Council's biggest funder was EMIOS and since the last thirty years a puppet of the Emios Empire. They were literally paid by EMIOS to strike some decisions against them just to pretend impartiality.
The Diplomats were tired and they stood up. The Head of the Human Negotiators Han Xuhan addressed them.
"I am deeply saddened by the failure of our talks. We tried our best to ensure peace but you only talk of war and domination. We therefore will have to be forced to declare war on you. You have trespassed on our sovereignty, and we will fight to protect it."
Turnall couldn't believe his ears, "Declare war?". He was on seventh heaven. They had made his work easier. He will open fire on the first shot. Turnall will have his name etched in history, there will be medals. They will build statues and name institutions in his honor.
When the diplomats left Turnall ordered a meeting of his lieutenants, he advised them to get in a formation so that the sacrificial ships would be closest from the surface. He also told him that the statement might also be a ruse of the diplomats to bide for time and keep them waiting for supposed aggression. He told them that if the ships are not hit soon, they will be forced to destroy it with their own guns.
|
No one could understand what had happened Usually complete orbital bombardment of a city would take several Earth years if not decades. Yet in under 6 hours of declaration an entire Garlax city had disappeared. 7 hours later another gone.8 hours. Another. It wasn’t until 23 cities had vanished that channels opened between the Garlax and Earth to negotiate surrender. It wasn’t even their president. It was the sixth in command. All others couldn’t be found. The entire planet was eventually scuttled and abandoned.
It took the entire Federation 6 months of investigation before deciding to simply ask the earthlings what had happened.
They stated that under one of their monuments, Roose Moose or something like that, was a cache of high yield explosives from generations past. They had retrofitted a handful of these onto some FTL drives, took aim, and fired. They didn’t know what they were. We still don’t know what they are. Needless to say, Earth and its colonies are enjoying some generous trade deals now. And now one has been on the Garlax home world since.
| 2020-02-07T14:56:33 | 2020-02-07T14:02:54 | 28 | 20 |
[wp] Sick of somebody trying to get into your servers, you let them in, only to spring a virus into their system. To your surprise, the news the next day says that the goverment's systems have been absolutely wrecked.
&#x200B;
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"GDP suffered a small downturn today after a raid on the Pavelex Corporate Branch Netscape by an unknown group. Wide-scale breaches and data-corruption have been detected and at least two Monitors have reported themselves as compromised. The motives and purpose of the attack are not yet know, but local law enforcement and Pavelex's Internal Security Board have convened to discuss the matter. The company issued its public statement just moments ago."
*"This attack is unprovoked and malicious in its intent. While we could understand an assault on our private servers, we have never denied that we have made enemies, the damage to basic network infrastructure is inexcusable. This will not only hurt the economy of our fair planet, but the lives our employees, our customers, and our citizens. Know that you have crossed the line from criminal to terrorist. And when you are found, you will swiftly meet the long arm of the law as it squeezes your throat."*
"While effects on the macro-scale are still being calculated, the average citizen can expect increased delays in net response and lowered bandwith. NetSec has also released an advisory on the loss of personal information-"
Simon shut off the feed before the talking heads could get too far into their roll. Details wouldn't matter to anyone outside the corp or the conspiracy boards. A few weeks of slow service and angry execs yelling at the cops to bust heads. Keep your head down on the street and plan for a good show in two weeks when they found their scapegoat.
"Feel sorry for the bastard they grab. Suit looked mad enough to bring out a goddamn guillotine." He rolled his chair away from the table, covered in BoostBar wrappers and cereal bowls, to the other table, covered in loose wiring and batteries. And a small mechanical kitten. Kept freezing up, from bad joints AND a faulty board. Had to have it done in two days, he promised Naima.
So of course, his goggles flashed with an incoming call just as he picked up his multi-tool. Unknown number, but local. Probably a customer.
Hey, if payed well enough he could give the thing a new paintjob. Make a little girl smile.
"Simon Says Work. It breaks, I fix. How big a thing are we talking about?" he asked as he set to work removing the legs.
*"What. The fuck."*
Simon stopped working.
"Excuse me?"
*"Shut up and listen,"* the woman started. Her voice would have been smooth, maybe sultry, if she didn't sound angry enough to have spent the whole day huffing combat stims. But they were real words which suggested sobriety which was damn impressive. *"Only two people would be in this kind of shit. A jackass or a stooge. Which are you?"*
"Uhhhh-"
*"Stooge, good, I can work with that."* The voice paused and there was a pop. Pill bottle uncapping. Bad sign. Very bad. Bad enough to fish out the key chameleon taped to the bottom of his desk. *"So, you see the news? How someone decided today was a good day to stick their dick in a wasp nest?"*
"What's a wasp?"
*"Bad thing. Worse is that they used yours."*
Simon really didn't want to follow that analogy further and rushed over to his apartment's two cabinets. He tore the bottom one open, throwing spare tools and old concert flyers aside until he could see the keyhole hidden in the bottom.
*"So, and take a moment to think real hard on this cause it's important, there been any suspicious activity on your account lately?"* The last words were done in an accent that managed to sound both perky and monotone. Like a telemarketer. At least she was having fun.
"Nothing besides the usual. What did you mean? They used mine?" The lock clicked and he pulled the false bottom out of the cabinet, then followed it up by hauling up the duffel bag. His downstairs neighbors were the nice kind of never questioned the unusual sound of someone drilling into their air-duct.
*"Focus Mr. Fixit. It's important."*
"I guess..." Remembering something so small was asking a lot. Hundreds of hits of 'suspicious activity' rolled by every day, he had that kind of service. Picking one out from the others...although... "A fake job. Too good to be true, too specific wording, lots of attention to the money. Usually ignore them, but this one, same one every time, kept popping up every two hours. Kept it up for three days until I just got sick of deleting it."
*"So you let it in?!"*
"It was just a spambot! They only ever want personal information and that webpage is just an ad with my phone number! I WANT to get that out there, what was the harm?" He pulled a heavy black bandanna out of a pocket and tied it over his mouth. Lined to keep out imaging software. A jacket with the same treatment with a hood to hide his hair. A mental toggle set his work goggles to opaque. Face hidden, his strapped the bag onto his back.
*"Oh you poor little...you have a bugout bag, so I guess there's hope for you."* He could here the laughter in her voice. Practically see her muttering 'amateur' under her breath. But it was a start, if he wanted the voice's approval.
Simon reached for the door, only to watch the green lights switched to red. He hadn't locked it.
*"Bad idea,"* she said, all but confirming she was hacking him. Then she confirmed it by switching all the lights off and rolling up the blinds on his window.
The piercing pink light of the ad on the building across from him turned the room into a headache. A giant woman, almost terrifying in attractiveness, stared at him with eyes that glowed. Scrawl promising a hundred more features than his dinky goggles. In far higher definition. All he had to do was pay to let them scoop out his real eyes.
"I'm getting the sense I need to leave. Should I just stay here?" He set his goggles to filter the ad, showing the dull gray of another monolithic hab block. Definitly worth the five script a month.
*"Course not. But the Drags are edging close to your floor. Figured you'd want to avoid them."*
The room seemed to freeze at the name. Dragon Vultures. Pavelex's own personal shitkickers. Armies worth of technically-not-military grade cyborgs. Best on the planet, if you bought the hype.
They could be bottom rung gang-bangers and he'd still be a dead man.
"Shit," he muttered, all but biting through his cheek to keep from hyperventilating. "Shit shit shit."
*"Whoever sent that spam wasn't after your phone number, they wanted to put a relay through the server of your building. There are thousands of connections inside, it'll take them time to sort through it all."* The voice grew louder and louder in his audio implant. Had to over the sudden rush of wind and skycars as she opened the windows. The wrappers and wires were whipped up into a small storm of random trash. Some part of him noted with annoyance that he wouldn't be able to clean it up. The rest of him was screaming. *"But they left a big, fat tell sitting right in your webpage's source code. Obviously fake, even you'd be able to tell. But the average citizen won't after a sham trial and a two week media blitz soooo...guess you're gonna learn how to bleat."*
He swallowed, but it just made him realize how dry his mouth was. He thought he heard a thump somewhere. In the hall. Was that the Drags? Were they heading towards his door?
Naima was never getting her kitten back.
"Why is my window open?"
*"Only way out of here."*
Simon's hands shook as he gripped the frame. Peered out into a three hundred story drop filled by hundreds of skycars.
*"Normally we wouldn't give a damn about this, but they attacked a node. Directly or indirectly, they attacked US. And if you think the corps are vindictive, you're comparing a koifish to a kraken."* Without really thinking about it, he pulled his legs up over the lip. Stood in the window. An automatic alert told him to step back inside, that a trained negotiator was on the way. *"You're nothing. But you got fucked just like we did. We can use that, I like new talent. Or I just want you to kill yourself to deny Pavelex a show. You're going to have to trust it's the first one. Call it a leap of faith. Trust review."*
Something slammed into his door. A spike of metal. Crowbar.
*"When I tell you."*
The door opened. Shouting. Demands he step down and get on the floor.
Well, better than a guillotine.
*"Jump."*
Gunshots sounded behind him as he stepped off the edge.
------
https://old.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/
|
######[](#dropcap)
The sound of a doorbell.
Kayla calmly removed her headphones and set them down, then shut the lid to her laptop before walking to the front door. Her gaze landed on the newspaper sitting on the desk in the hallway before she unlocked the door and opened it just a sliver. She leaned against the doorframe, a small smile at the corner of her mouth.
"Gentlemen," she said, then casually flicked her red hair back. "What brings you around?"
The man in front was dressed in a black suit and tie with dark sunglasses. Two agents stood behind him, their hands clasped over each other and legs splayed apart. She internally rolled her eyes at the classic power stance. It only made it that much easier to knee them in the balls. The man's lips thinned as he stared straight ahead. "May we come in?"
"No, I don't think so. Do you have a warrant?"
The man was silent for a moment. "No. But this conversation would best be had in a private area."
Kayla glanced around behind him. Besides an old woman walking her dog on the other end of the street who had paused and was staring at them, there was no one else around. Kayla waved at the old woman. "How are you doing, Mrs. Sylvester?"
"Are those men bothering you?" Mrs. Sylvester yelled back. She was a tough old coot, and Kayla knew that if she said yes, Mrs. Sylvester would have the police on the way in a heartbeat.
"No, they're old friends of mine," she explained. Then she turned back towards the man at the front again, showing him her beautiful front teeth as she grinned. "No warrant, no entrance."
Finally, the man whipped off his sunglasses, and Kayla cursed her heart for dropping a beat at his familiar blue eyes. "Do we have to be like this, Kayla?" his voice dropped into a half-whisper. It sounded strained.
Kayla's eyes flashed. "It was destined to be like this from the moment you guys betrayed me," she hissed. "I even let him go, Eric. I didn't tell the world what a piece of a shit the president was. Yet he has the gall to come after me again? Why'd he send you, anyways?" Her gaze, full of contempt, flicked over him. "He thought because we fucked a couple times that you could convince me to undo the virus?"
Eric blanched at her crude language, his body stiffening from hurt. Kayla knew it had been more between them. Something like love. Something like destiny. Only some destinies were bigger than others. And theirs ended when her and Project 597's ended as well.
Her face hardened. "Go back, Eric. Tell him that if he wants to talk, he'll have to come himself." She leaned away from the door for half a second to grab the burnt cloth emblem that had represented her commitment to the nation. Despite her reputation, she hadn't been without her loyalties. She tossed it at Eric. "And tell him he'll have to pay."
*****
Might consider writing a part two!
r/AlannaWu
| 2018-09-03T21:04:03 | 2018-09-03T20:54:31 | 915 | 78 |
[WP] A post apocalyptic society finds an ancient device that gives them instructions on what to do next. This device - the Bop It
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I'm one of the smartest people of my time. This is simply because I can read. I taught myself. I learned of the apocalypse that had happened 500 years ago that had reduced most of the world to rubble. I'd only found about half a library's worth of books in my time on this earth, but I have learned much from them. I am struggling to teach the rest of the world what humanity once knew. About animals, about the environment, economics, electronics, farming, social structure, everything. It's a slow process.
A lot of the world is still mired in ignorance and superstition. Many "societies" have even resorted back to the customs of the Myans and Incans, dealing "social justice" through executions. As far as I knew, these post apocalyptic executions were the first examples since ancient Latin America that people had killed each other as a form of punishment. The strangest thing is that they consult a... thing on the methodology of the execution. I don't know what it is yet because they won't let me look at it. The people who are at the top of the fireman's pole keep it under close guard, as they think it's sacred. Only a few dozen of these devices have been found. Even fewer still function. We don't know what makes them work, but I'm certain I could figure it out if I had the time.
That is what I am doing right now. I'm sitting here, witnessing the public executions just to get a better idea of what this device is. I'm certain it's from Old Earth, despite how vehemently many people state it is a divine tool. Several people have already been executed and another steps up. He is convicted of killing and eating a donkey, which is a sacred animal, just like they were to the Hindus in India before the apocalypse. The executioner's consult lifted the device again and reverently kissed the center of the machine with enough pressure to trigger the device. The whole audience waited with baited breath as they waited for the item's report.
"Bop It"
The crowed groaned with disappointment and the criminal sighed with relief. This was by far the most merciful of sentences. The executioner took out a silver club. It was about as long as his arm and had a fairly thin handle that tapered outward to a hefty body. I think it had once been used in a sport, Bases ball or something. They use to play it with diamonds, back when the world was rich. The executioner took the club and nodded again at his consult. The consult took out a square cardboard board with a plastic arrow on it. I knew where this came from. It was from a contortionist training tool called "Twister". The consort spun the arrow and it landed on the left foot on the blue circle. That meant that he would be stuck on the left foot with moderate force. Yellow was a tap, strong enough to bruise, blue was enough to cause a limp for several weeks, green was a blow strong enough to break bone, and red was a hay creator, designed to irreparably destroy the limb. After his "Bop", the convict limped away, smiling at his good fortune. The gods had smiled on him.
Next was a thief. He had stolen a great deal from many people. His execution was the one that most of the people were here to see. The consult again kissed the device, eliciting another proclamation.
"Pull It."
The crowd cheered in excitement. This was their favorite punishment, and it was clear that they felt it is what he most deserved. Even more fittingly, the board landed on his right arm. The circles didn't matter for this one. There was only the pulling. The thief bowed his head and began whispering prayers as tears streamed down his face. I had to admire his bravery, though. He surrendered his right arm, holding it out. The executioner tied a knot around it and tested it. The rope would break before the knot slipped. And I knew from experience that the rope would not break. The rope was tossed over an archway designed for this purpose and the thief was tied down to the platform he was kneeling on. The executioner heaved on the rope, audibly dislocating the mans arm from its shoulder. The thief screamed out in pain as the executioner continued to pull. His consult, also a man of considerable size, joined him. The two heaved again, putting all of their weight and strength behind it. With a wet tearing sound, the limb came free from the body, blood and tissue bursting from the wound. The thief passed out from the pain and was dragged away, blood still cascading from his wound. He may live. It depends on how good the doctor was. Or if the thief had ever stolen from the doctor.
That one left the crowd fairly satisfied. They loved blood almost as much as the vampires of Ancient Earth did. I guess if the apocalypse had one good thing about it, it was that we no longer had to live with those blood sucking monsters. The crowd calmed down and the next prisoner was brought out. My heart sank, as did the mood of the audience. This prisoner was merely a young girl, maybe 17. She had been accused with the injury of her employer. He had tried to take advantage of her and had abused her verbally. His case had been decided long ago, resulting in a destroyed right knee. However, because this girl had harmed someone, she had to face a punishment. It was the only way to keep retribution as a function of the legal system rather than a personal responsibility. Everyone in the audience hoped that her punishment would be light and that she would be set free with little incident. They waited with baited breath as the consult pressed his lips to the device.
"Twist It."
The girl screamed in horror. The crowd yelled in outrage. I grimaced at the twist of outrage in my gut. The only one that remained even remotely passive was the executioner. He stepped up to do his civic duty. No board was needed here. There was only one outcome. The man slowly, almost gently, put one hand under her chin and the other on the top of her head. With a single, sudden twist, her cries were cut short. Her body slumped to the ground. The cries of her loved ones echoed throughout the otherwise silent venue. I stood from my seat and turned. I had seen enough. I'm not sure I want to understand this device anymore. What kind of object would so arbitrarily decide the fates of people, be they good or bad. I had seen murderers walk away with a bruised ankle. And I'd seen beggars who had stolen bread have their leg torn off. I will study this device only to find a way to end it. I will destroy this dealer of unwarranted pain, even if it would turn the rest of the world against me.
|
There they were, elders standing in a circle, a fire casting their shadows on the longhouse wall. Jhosa wondered if this was what it looked like when the Old Ones summoned the Calamity.
From his angle, the young Jhosa could barely make out the shadow of Elder Kath reaching to the center of the circle. Whispers around the village said it was a lock with a thousand different combinations, what the Old Ones used to lock away their secrets.
As his mother slowly turned her head, Jhosa found a way out of his mother's grasp and creeped up to the side of the longhouse, a small crack allowing him to hear the muffled voices inside.
"My comrades, it has been many generations since the Great Fire. How many years has it been since the last elders held our place? How many years before them?"
Elder Kath paused.
"The time has come for us to find what secrets the Old Ones have left for us, to open this vault holding their crimes and their accomplishments."
After this, Jhosa could only hear a single voice, not belonging to any of the elders, heralding, "Twist it."
| 2015-07-28T20:33:31 | 2015-07-28T19:30:22 | 704 | 10 |
[WP] A popular new technology allows people to turn their consciousness off while at work, letting their bodies go on autopilot until the shift is over. One day when your consciousness returns, you're covered in blood and surrounded by dead coworkers, holding a note with a cryptic message on it.
|
The freezing, barren Antarctic tundra stretches out endlessly in front of me, the frozen wind hitting my face like nails being hammered into a plank of wood. I can feel my fingers and toes turning to useless hunks of meat inside my boots and gloves.
I clench my jaw and grip the stock of my M1 Garand, preparing myself for the final fight. The fight that will end this and send me back to the beginning, before the war and death and destruction now littering the battlefield. I gaze out at my fallen soldiers, their blood carving deep red rivers through the snow.
They will be avenged. They will not have died in vain. Not today.
I take a breath of rancid, cold air into my burning lungs, straighten my back, and step out from behind the protection of the icy boulder. I instantly tighten my grip on the rifle, my finger lingering over the trigger, ready to empty a clip into the beast towering before me.
For a moment, there is no cold or death or fear. It is only me, a solider pumped with adrenaline, my heart beating a million ticks a second, and him. The giant, white, fur covered monstrosity that’s tormented the Antarctic for over a thousand years. The beast that’s never before been seen by anyone alive today...because he disposes of every man, woman, or child who bares witness to his destruction.
His name...is *Hephaestus*.
I raise my gun and aim the barrel at his heart before he has a chance to take a step toward me. He stands twenty feet away, back hunched, hands the size of my head clenched tight at his sides, and foot long fangs wet with drool hanging out of his mouth. And his bulbous red eyes are pinned directly on me.
*Breathe. Aim. Fire.*
I don’t let another moment pass. I begin emptying the clip into his meaty chest, blood and fur flying sporadically into the dry Antarctic air. The sound of the bullets releasing from the chamber rip through the hairs lining the inside of my ears. I roar as I shoot, only pulling back on the trigger for a millisecond just so I can send another set of metal careening into the monsters flesh.
But as I empty round after round, he begins to pick up his paws, and run. The bullets aren’t slowing him down. They aren’t breaking through the muscle tissue and bone to puncture his vital organs. The sound of thunder echos through the tundra as his weight hits the ice, each step nearly cracking the ground in half.
I keep firing, hoping, *praying*, that one bullet will make it through and end his life for good so this can all be over. But just as he reaches my weak, helpless body, I hear the dreadful click of the gun. My chamber is empty. There are no more bullets. No more weapons. I have nothing left.
My heart plummets, all hope draining from my soul, as he lifts a leg the size of three of my men combined, and brings it plowing through the air, crushing every bone in my body.
—
I gasp, yanking at my sheets and pillow, throwing them clean off the bed. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest and my entire body is drenched in sweat. I can feel it soaked through to the mattress, my hair sticking to my forehead.
I lay there for a moment in my wet bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. *Again*. That’s the fifth time I’ve had that same nightmare since we started developing this game. I run a hand over my face and rub my eyes. We have just two more weeks until everything is finalized and ready for beta. Just two weeks. Then maybe once it’s out there in the world it will quit haunting me. Maybe I’ll be able to live in peace, without Hephaestus controlling my brain.
I sigh and get ready for work, driving my same commute to the same office I’ve been at for three years now. At least GameCorp is up to par with other growing businesses and has the latest and greatest work-life balance technology for all employees to use. Maybe giving my mind a break from the dangerous world of dreaming will ease the nightmares away. Not that it’s helped before but there’s something about this new autopilot system that makes me feel whole again after work.
I sit down at my desk, giving a friendly wave to David who sits in the cube next to me, and pull on the AutobotWorker helmet. The sensors travel over my head, through my brown shaggy hair, and tingles shoot down my spine. Within seconds I can feel the machine taking over, sending my body on autopilot to touch up the physics of the guns, bullets and character movement within the game, while my consciousness drifts off into nothingness.
—
Fuzziness eats at the corners of my vision as I peel my eyes open, but...something isn’t right. I breathe and instantly cough, hacking on the rancid, thick air. I yank off the AutobotWorker helmet and throw it down, not caring where it lands. The office lights are busted out above me, a few of them sputtering and sparking on and off.
Panic blooms in my chest as my gaze falls to my computer. *Everything* on my desk is covered in...a sticky, dark red liquid. I swallow, taking short, shallow breaths, and turn around.
My throat closes up and my stomach clenches so tight I almost vomit. Everyone is dead. The entire office. Every single man and woman is strewn out on the dingy floor, their blood covering all the walls and furniture. I slowly glance to my right and David is laying on the ground, his eyes glazed over, staring at my shoes, with a metal rod protruding out of his collarbone.
I turn sideways and throw up. My breakfast and bile now piled on the floor next to my laptop bag. I gag and go to clench my fist through the agony but stop short. There’s something in my right hand. I spit on the now filthy floor and gape at the white, blood splattered sliver of paper in my hand. The life drains from my face as the words sink deep into my consciousness.
“Welcome to the game. It’s time to play. -Hephaestus”
**Hi there! If you’d like to read more of my stories, you can visit r/AliesStories :D I am super new to this whole writing prompt/reddit thing so all support is greatly appreciated! (:**
|
\[POEM\]
"Sorry I left your friends dead
but at least now you can be well fed"
the note in my hands said,
as I stood beside the body of Ned.
Who was it that did this?
Who left me by all these corpses?
How'd they get in my office?
At least they left condiments.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Was gonna right more but I think that about covers it.
What is it with me and cannibals in poems? I'm a vegetarian, for God's sake.
| 2019-10-21T21:38:23 | 2019-10-21T17:04:29 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did.
|
Jerry found the local police chief huddled behind a squad car, barking orders at the fresh-faced recruits in ill-fitting uniforms. They scattered shortly after, away from the chief’s temper and towards the positions marked out for them. Only then was Jerry’s presence acknowledged.
“Took you damn well long enough to get here. Please tell me there’s more backup coming.”
“None, Chief Benson,” said Jerry. “Only me. But things will work out.”
“Goddammit.”
A spray of bullets erupted from within the clinic, accompanied shortly after by a wave of screams, as if another reminder was needed that the situation was urgent, and getting more dire by the second. Then, a lone voice, angry, unhinged, desperate, called out.
“Looks like he hasn’t changed his demands,” said Jerry.
“We’re going to have to storm in,” said Chief Benson. “There’s no way we’re going to get him what he wants. Just because the world has gone to shit doesn’t mean two-bit crooks like him get to do whatever they wish. As long as I’m here, I’m going to-”
“But I already got it,” said Jerry. He pressed the remote in his hands, and a silver sedan beeped from a nearby alley. “One Mustang, tank full of gas, ready for him to get out of there. I even got him the money he asked it, it’s all on the dashboard.”
It hadn’t been easy to put that together on such short notice, especially after the Reckoning, but Jerry had his ways. In the old days, he could have just filled out a form, made a requisition request. But now, now that every institution of modern society had crumbled to ashes, Jerry had to do almost all the legwork himself.
“You’re crazy,” said Chief Benson. His eyes were a mix of confusion and disapproval. “Does law and order mean nothing to you? Where the hell did you say you were from again?”
“I’m from Whitefish,” said Jerry. “Just about ten miles west of-”
“I know damn well where it is,” said Chief Benson. “A bunch of cowards, all of you. I remember well enough, boy. Week before the Reckoning, when all of us law enforcement was still trying to keep the peace, you guys were the only ones around here to give up. I heard it. I damn well heard it. Your chief just sat his ass down, ordered his men to return to their families, and damn well shut his eyes and ears. Chief Palmer, wasn't it? The yellow-bellied snake.”
“I know,” said Jerry. “I was there.”
“Well see where that got you! When the Reckoning passed and the damn earth was still here, Whitefish suffered the most, didn’t it? Mass killings, looting, suffering, all because your Chief Palmer gave up hope. Well, that ain’t how we do things around here, understand? Here, we got law, and we are damn well going to see that the law-”
Jerry placed a hand on Chief Benson’s shoulder, and applied just enough pressure to catch the older man’s attention. “You don’t have a choice here, Chief. There’s one crazed druggie in there with assault-grade weapons. Six hostages, possibly more. Your task force here comprises of four rookies who look like this is their first day in the field. How many are going to die before you realize your way doesn't work?”
The voice from within the clinic called out again, restating his demands. The edge to his threats had sharpened, and Jerry knew that his window of opportunity was shrinking fast.
“Why not try it my way?” asked Jerry. “The old ways don’t work, not now. Maybe we’ll get there again. But we’ll have to try new ways in these new days. Hey, if things turn to shit, I’ll take full responsibility here. I promise.”
Chief Benson nodded, and Jerry smiled, ignoring the glimmer of a sneer thrown his way. He wasn't looking for the Chief's approval, after all, not when a job was waiting to be done.
The exchange was over much faster than either of them had anticipated. As promised, the car remote was left on the pavement, and the rag-tag response team made a show of laying down their firearms too. Only did then their quarry emerge, holding a woman in front of him as a shield. He spat on the ground, laughed at Chief Benson and Jerry, then flung the woman aside once he stumbled into the car. Two quick revs of the engine, and he sped away, a silver streak fast disappearing into the distance.
“See, everyone’s safe,” said Jerry, as the recruits helped the hostages out.
“Damn you,” said Chief Benson. “Once news of this gets out, every hoodlum is going to try their luck at-”
Jerry stretched out his arm, pointed a second, smaller remote in the direction that the Mustang took off in. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he muttered a brief prayer. Then, he jabbed down hard on the button, so forcefully that the joints of the remote creaked.
The explosion was so forceful that Chief Benson stumbled backwards, as he threw up his arm to shield his eyes. The Mustang, now a charred smoking hunk of steel and flames, spun gracefully through the air before landing with a crash. A flaming wheel rolled a short distance between connecting with a lamp post.
“New world, new rules, Chief,” said Jerry.
“What the hell…”
“You’re right about Whitefish,” said Jerry. He started walking towards the wreck, and Chief Benson followed along, mesmerized by the carnage. “Though there was a deeper dimension to Chief Palmer’s methods. He wasn't a coward, not really. You see, he truly believed the Reckoning was the end of the world. And in those final moments, he said, who are we men to judge each other? Should we all not be who we truly are, so that when the angels come for us, they will see us for our true mettle?”
“That’s insane,” said Chief Benson.
“I disagree. I think he was just… too hopeful, you know? He really thought that everyone would do good in their final hours. But he was wrong. People weren’t humane to each other. They were brutal, uncivilized. Sure, you had a few who were kind and loving and compassionate and all that… but the majority?”
“Where’s Chief Palmer now?”
“Gone,” said Jerry, surprised at how level his tone was. No more cracking, no more breaking. Time really did heal wounds, it seemed. “The Reckoning may not have destroyed the world, but it surely ended his. When Chief Palmer saw just how much… damage had been caused by his decision to let his fellow man be free, he took his own life. He couldn’t bear the shame, I think.”
The flames had burnt out by the time they approached. It wasn’t Jerry’s first day out, after all. The tank had not been full, and the explosives were rigged for a very targeted payload. Waste not, want not. They peered in, and could just about confirm that the criminal hadn’t, in fact, escaped.
“See?” Jerry said. “No collateral damage, all hostages safe. Get pictures of that, and I’ll help you ensure it gets the attention it needs. Zero tolerance policy in full effect, until such time as the world rebuilds itself. Your town will know that there’s no second chances, not as long as we are on the watch.”
“You’re mad,” said Chief Benson. “You can’t be judge, jury and executioner. Who gave you the damn right?”
Jerry shook his head. “I don’t like it too, I really don’t. But the courts are not in session, and we’re about as far from a civilization as you can imagine. We’re back in the wild west, Chief Benson. And as far as I’m concerned, my father tried it his way and it didn’t work, so I’m going to be doing it my way for a while. Has it occurred to you that the only ones responsible for us, are ourselves?”
Jerry clapped Chief Benson on the shoulder, gave another little squeeze.
“Different times, different measures, Chief.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
The, to be fair rather recently elected President of the 6 Continents (may the people of Europe rest in peace) has spoken in public today:
"Things have changed, for the better and for the worse. We are one free people, unbound by the shackles of what cruel fate had struck us before, yet bound by the need for choice. A world without repercussions gave us an out of a guaranteed demise, gave us a truly trusting society. However, I will neither be the first person that you have heard this from, neither will I be the first person to tell you that we have done despicable things as well.
"Unlike my fellow men, I will not lie, I will not beat around the bush: No repercussions meant I did everything I never dared to, like uniting everyone I could, helping all I wanted to, and to punish those that declined. I did things not because they were the safest, the easiest. I did things because I wanted to do them!
"And I am certain that you all, each and every one of you, has done much and the same. Each and every one of us has done things in knowledge that they'd be erased by the future. But now that we are in the future, as one people, as one world, having averted crisis due to our resilience, due to our ingenuity, due to our heart, we need to ask ourselves:
"What now?
What do we do now with the knowledge of what we did?
Do we expect justice for every thing we did, do we turn ourselves in as a species after breaking free from the imprisonment of certain demise?
Do we only choose to enforce justice and law after the end, spitting those in the face that were harmed, that were pained, that still are pained?
Or, do we, as a species, give a pass on restrictions and lawmaking itself, seeing as it didn't help us when we needed it, freeing us from the shackles that brought us to the brink of annihilation?
"I have revised the rules of Humanity. Gone are the days of forbidden fruit, of consequences as issued by few people to masses, no more is the need for bribery, for self-control. From now on, there shall only be one law: The law to completely forbid any and all lawmaking, agreements or bound contracts!"
| 2017-11-29T06:16:12 | 2017-11-29T04:06:09 | 3,971 | 14 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!”
|
From the back she watched. Grinning as the spells and arrows flew. Half a dozen 'Friends'. High society idiots that didn't know what it meant to fight for your life. Not truly. It was one thing to slaughter hordes of the weaker races. Goblins, kobolds, small fearful things that are not quite smart enough to know how to fight back. To fight someone with power, real power, that could threaten you without hesitation, now that was a terrifying thing.
Armed with the best magical armor and arms that their noble purses could buy them, they sought to hire the miraculous cleric that had recently made a name for herself in the adventurer's guild. They believed that one man could not possibly withstand the combined might of their wealth, and in the face of that wealth the healer readily agreed.
She watched one by one as fatal blow after fatal blow was struck. Though she could regrow limbs with her magics, death was final. That was the universal law of holy magics, because the gods would never grant their followers dominion over life and death.
Nobody could blame her if the foolhardy party of noble children, were slain. She even had occasion to use her magics a few times on the party, who had occasionally managed to deflect a blow and incur broken bones. She would of course do the job she had been paid to do. Even so, one by one they fell to the man in black menacing armor. A juggernaut of a man who employed both brute strength and impressive magics in his conquest of the noble realms. Though she did her 'best' to keep the fools alive, they were slain to a man. Even the fool who supposedly had the blood of heroes to give him strength.
When the final party member fell, and the cleric was left alone with the man, he looked on at the girl to fine her standing, smugly unimpressed at the fiery glow surrounding his fists.
"I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?"
She paused at that, her smug grin bubbling out into a laugh that filled the chamber. It didn't sound especially menacing, nor did it sound appropriate to the question that she'd been asked. It was almost as if someone had told her a hilarious joke, and as she laughed she held up a finger, as if asking for the dark lord to wait a moment.
"Now that there's nobody to see what comes next, you're fucked. I'm sorry, but there's nobody here to stop me now." She said, unflinching as the dark lord launched an icicle lance through her midsection. In a flash, two thirds of her chest was a vacant hole, but she continued to stand there, staring at the man unimpressed.
"Are you quite done?" She asked, her flesh and bone knitting back together. Muscle mass reforming in an instant as she took a few steps closer. He held up his hand to cast another spell, but before he knew it he was crumpling to the ground, his black armor suddenly too heavy to lift.
"B-But how? You're just a cleric, healer's do not have this sort of magic!"
"That's not exactly right. I'm not exactly a cleric. I don't follow any particular god anyway."
"That's not possible, healing magics are all tied to the domain of the div-!" he shouts, his voice stopping and withering into a gasp all of a sudden.
"All magic is based in knowledge. What clerics do is forge a pact with a being who has the knowledge they need to perform their 'miracles'. The truth of the matter is, anyone who is sufficiently knowledgeable can perform the magics. You see, if you know enough about the human body, and have the right aptitude for the magic, you can do all sorts of interesting things. I would say among the most mundane is the ability to regenerate tissue. You see, if you take your time, and get that knowledge the old fashioned way, you can do things with that knowledge that the gods do not allow their followers to do. For instance, did you know it's as easy to damage flesh as it is to heal flesh with these magics? It's really no different at all. It doesn't even require very much magic to disable a person. You simply direct a bit at a choice vertebrae, and there's literally nothing they can do to defend themselves."
She knelt over the man and removed his helmet, revealing a surprisingly average face.
"Hm. I expected uglier."
He gasped, trying to speak but finding no voice.
"Oh did you want to say something?" She said with a soft laugh, regenerating the man's larynx for a brief moment.
"What are you-"
It choked off into a gurgle, before he could finish whatever he was going to ask.
"What am I? Some would say a healer. I have healed a great many members of the guild from grievous injury to secure my standing. My talents are well known, and greatly admired. I prefer to think of myself as a scholar of magic however. There are so many ways that it can be directed if you know how to wield it properly. I began adventuring to further my research. They thought the idea of a registered cleric working alone was preposterous, but I got results. I cleaned up the most wanted list, dead or alive worked well for me. I dealt with bandits, pirates, and all manner of vile men to collect my research subjects, and perfect my understanding. Do you know how I learned about the human body from these men? You soon will." She said, with yet another unhinged laugh.
"Hmm... Maybe I should grab that blood of heroes guy too. See if there's really anything all that special about noble blood or whatever." She muttered to herself, her interest already drifting away from her new toy with the idea of another one to play with that might be more interesting.
"I wonder how long I'll have here in the dark lord's lair to play with my new toys before I have to turn the bodies over to the guild." She said, almost glumly as she approached the hero the dark lord had battled with so fiercely not even minutes ago. She made sure the dark lord could watch as she held a hand out to the hero's body. Half of his head missing thanks to a well place spell of disintegration by the dark lord. Slowly his head began to heal, and suddenly, the dead man began breathing.
His eyes were still closed at first, but when they opened, they opened in horror as he let out a wretched scream. The 'healer' silenced that immediately in the same fashion she'd silenced the dark lord.
"Never been a big fan of screaming." She said, watching the man's skin slowly shrink away, revealing muscle beneath.
"I imagine it'll be a few days before the guild scouts come investigate the fate of our party. I think I'll tell them it took several days of fighting to kill you. That you died of a mortal wound. Of course, I wouldn't want to be a liar." She said with a little smirk. "Let's see... there we go!" With a little flourish of her wrist and another laugh she said "Now you've got a few holes in your intestines and stomach. Just lie there and watch me play with this toy until that gets you. I'll give you a little bit of personal attention after that alright?"
|
"I'm not like those goody-good heros, you have met in the past thousand years."
He was a slow paced swordfighter, who had trouble dodging my minions. At least that's what I thought. Without even batting an eye, he closed the distance between us. I was barely able to escape his grasp, losing a precious strand of hair in the action.
Just a few seconds ago, he was just an ordinary human. A guy who wouldn't stand out much, especially next to the hero. But now, he was emitting a great, omnious aura. Confidence. Strength.
"You know, it was quite a hassle to pretend being all friends with the hero for the past year. I couldn't stand watching someone like him being praised and loved by everyone else, just because he was born lucky."
The contempt in his eyes faded. Slowly walking up to me, a crooked smile formed on his once kind face.
"But you... You are strong. You have ambition. Power. And are not afraid to use it. The longer I watched you conquer the world, the more I wanted to crush you with my own pair of hands."
Before I could say anything, I felt something grabbing me by the neck, pulling my chin up, so that my eyes would fiercely catch onto his crazy gaze.
"You... are mine."
| 2020-07-11T04:13:09 | 2020-07-11T02:42:11 | 364 | 249 |
[WP] We helped quite a few guys with Super Strength get into the construction business. I know this one Veterinarian who can speak with animals. Not everyone with superpowers wants to be out there fighting crime or robbing banks. That's where our Job Placement Agency comes in.
|
"We helped quite a few guys with Super Strength get into the construction business. I know this one Veterinarian who can speak with animals. Not everyone with superpowers wants to be out there fighting crime or robbing banks. That's where our Job Placement Agency comes in."
"I just don't see how my power can help anyone. It's near-useless."
"Well, that's what I wanted to really talk to you about. May I come in?"
The heavily-scarred man stepped aside to let the well-dressed businessman through the doorway. As the smaller man stepped inside, he extended his hand towards the imposing figure before him. "By the way, my name's Mick. And no, it's not short for Mickey."
"Billy. But I gather you already knew that." replied the homeowner, returning the handshake.
"Ah, not quite. I would've called you William. Your file uses your legal name."
"Hmm" grunted Billy, in reply. He motioned towards the door behind Mick, indicating the dining room. As they entered, Billy took a seat in the nearest chair.
Mick sat across from him, spreading out a few papers and a folder as he did, nudging them square with the table edge, then flipped through a notebook until he found a blank page. "So, I know you talked about it over the phone with one of our people but - just for my records - describe your power to me." He punctuated his sentence with the click of his pen, and hovered it over the notebook.
"Well, as best I can tell, I have super strength, and unbreakable bones. The rest of me? Not quite as invulnerable." He laid his hands out on the table, palms-up, showing the scars criss-crossing them. "I've damn-near de-gloved my arms a few times. I've tried my best to be careful, but it's hard to stop myself from making those gut reactions. You know, trying to catch something falling over... or something you dropped, y'know? I end up batting it through the drywall and splitting my hand open in the process."
Mick finished writing, and looked up at Billy. "That sounds rough. Have you ever found a use for it?"
"Well... I mean, I've been in a few situations that *would've* broken a bone in my life. Long falls, car accidents... I still ended up with a concussion. The doctors were real worried about the potential of me needing brain surgery. So far it hasn't happened, but..." Billy trailed off, looking down at his scars.
Mick finished adding to his notes, then opened the manila folder in front of him, flipping past a few pages, and reading intently for a second. "When I read your brief, my first thought was the Powered Sports League, but..." He paused for a second, flipping the page "It sounds like too much of a risk, given your... uh... normal organs." He flipped back to the first page, read a section, then jumped two pages ahead. "The super strength disqualifies you for civilian sports..."
"Listen, I like the idea of using my powers in my career and all, but I don't see how unbreakable bones can get me anything."
Mick looked up at Billy, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth for a second, then lowered them. "I agree, but would you be willing to participate in a series of tests? In my experience, these powers always have a use. Some are certainly more useful than others, but rarely are as simple as what you've described to me."
Billy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him. "What kind of tests?"
Mick laughed, and smiled across the table. "I'm sorry, I must sound like a comic book mad scientist. Part of our process is helping people understand their powers. We can do that for you, no strings attached. Even if we find out you're the most powerful human on the planet, you can refuse placement and return to your daily life. If your powers turn out to be just as you described them - unbreakable bones and super strength - then that'll put me at ease, knowing I can place you correctly. Assuming you still want it, that is."
Billy seemed to ponder it for a second, then looked Mick in the eyes. "Alright, when and where. I'll make the time."
-----
As he approached the Powered Job Placement Agency's facility, he saw many people landing and taking off from the roof. As he approached the automatic doors, a teenage girl appeared from nowhere and stepped inside. Inside looked - to him - like a hospital waiting room. But it was empty, and there was no check-in desk that he could see. He watched the girl disappear through a set of double doors. She walked with purpose, seeming to know exactly where she was going. Billy was less sure, and for a moment considered following her - thinking maybe she knew something he didn't - when he saw Mick, leaning through a door and waving to him from the other end of the room.
As he approached, Mick smiled. "Great to see you again! I was afraid I'd have to be working elsewhere today and pass off your case, but the scheduling lined up. So, are you ready?"
Billy sighed, and with a shrug said "As I'll ever be."
"You remembered to fast, right?"
Billy froze, only getting out an "uhh" before Mick interjected "I'm joking! Sorry. We told you to eat a big breakfast... er..." Mick checked his watch "a big lunch, because most people's powers burn a lot of calories. Follow me, down this way. If you get hungry, we have some cheap nutrition bars, but they're *cheap* nutrition bars. I think they're more cardboard than food. 'Edible all the same', says management. Don't tell anyone I told you that."
Billy chuckled to himself at Mick's excitement. Though he worried the man was getting a bit *too* excited about his potential power. He had tried a lot of things when he was younger, and nothing had revealed any hidden element of his power that he didn't know about.
"Alright, this is us." Mick stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, labeled "TESSA BROWN - POWER READER". "Well, this is you," he said, stepping aside "I could mess up the reading. Head inside, she's very friendly."
Billy stepped forward, grabbing the knob, then turned towards Mick. "Wait, you could mess up the reading? Does that mean you have powers?"
"Yeah. Listen, Tessa's in high-demand, let's get you in and out so she can see her next client, we can chat later." He ended his statement with a smile and a wink.
Billy opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The room appeared like a home office, with wood paneling, bookshelves, and worn-furniture, putting it at odds with the white, sterile hallways he had just been walking down. At the center of the office sat a large wooden desk, with a plush chair in front of it. Behind it, a casually-dressed woman in her early-20's sat in a high-backed office chair, feet up on the desk, eating a bag of chips. As he entered, she looked up at him, and dropped her feet to the ground. She ate one last chip before rolling up the bag and setting it somewhere behind the desk.
"Good afternoon, Wi-..." she paused, clicking something on her computer monitor. "Sorry, good afternoon, Billy! Come, take a seat." she gestured at the chair in front of her desk, which Billy was already moving towards.
As he sat down, she grabbed a tissue and used it to wipe her hands and mouth. "Sorry, end of my lunch break. So, you're here for a power reading, eh? Normally if you weren't in the placement process you'd be pushed back in the schedule, but Mick was real excited about getting you in here, and I owed him one. So, are you ready to get started?"
"Uh, yeah" said Billy, readjusting his position in the chair "so... how does this work?"
"Well" replied Tessa, opening her desk drawer "I just need you to fill out these forms, and once you're done, there's a short questionnaire. Here is a pen, work through it and let me know when you're finished."
He stared down at the small stack of papers in front of him, and then back at Tessa "Didn't I already give you guys all my information?"
"Yeah, I know, sorry about that. It's just bureaucracy."
"I thought we'd be testing my powers?"
"Later. Don't worry, this won't take long."
With a sigh, he started on the paperwork. Name, DOB, address, phone number... he settled in and worked through the pages. The questionnaire was more interesting. 'Where did you grow up?' 'What's your favorite meal?' 'What do you do as a hobby?'...
He got through the first of three questionnaire pages before Tessa spoke up again. "Alright, that's enough. Sorry about that, but my power works best when you're not thinking about your power."
"Oh..." Billy looked down at the page of questions.
"Yeah, if I say 'Hey I need you not think about your power!' most people have a really hard time not thinking about their powers."
"So... what'd you pick up?"
"Well, I have some good news..."
-----
(Sorry for the cliffhanger, hit the character limit, and this is a good break point!)
|
The world had changed not long ago. With social media becoming a huge thing, with less and less being able to be kept secret. The many Heroes and Villains who used to spend their lives fighting each. While being under different aliases to hide who they were actually, while working shoulder to shoulder in other lines of actual work. Weren’t able to keep who they were actually a secret anymore. Instead being a Hero or a Villain became a type of job within itself, being a form of entertainment to the masses. The ones who do not actually have powers themselves. And with this the idea of employing people with powers became a commonplace thing, though it is still having its ups and downs, and issues.
**July 16, 20XX**
**Floor 34, of the XXXXXX Building**
Two men sat across from each other, one being the interviewer and the other interviewee for a job at a Super Power Job Placement Agency. The interviewer was currently looking over the resume of the interviewee in silence, while the interviewee kept fidgeting slightly and seemed generally nervous with the whole process. A nearby window was open which let in fresh air and the sound of the bustling city below the two as they sat many stories up in one of the many skyscrapers of the city.
They sat in this odd atmosphere for quite awhile, as the interviewer seemed to basically dissect the resume completely. Flipping back and forth between pages, seemingly fact checking stuff they read with past things, before flipping back to wherever they had been originally. It went on for what seemed like forever to the interviewee, but in reality was at most twenty minutes. Before the interviewer finally broke the silence by speaking to the interviewee.
“Are you sure you want to work here?” They asked, surprise having crept into their voice slightly as they failed to stifle it.
“Yes. I would love to work here. I am able to see myself working here for many years.” The interviewee said with conviction. Their fidgeting had stopped, and they held themselves straight and still.
“No, no… You don’t need to promote yourself anymore… If anything I feel you are way too overqualified for working here.” The interviewer said in a bit of disbelief, as he once again glanced at the stack of papers in his hand before setting them down on the desk.
“Even so. I fully want to commit myself to working here.” The interviewee said, which caused the interviewer to let out a small sigh then a slight laugh.
“Alright. Since you are so adamant about working here, you are hired. When can you start?” The interviewer said while sticking out his hand for a handshake, a smile could be seen on his face.
“As soon as tomorrow.” The interviewee said while accepting the handshake. A smile could also be seen on his face.
“Oh… And can I get an autograph? My kids love your work.” The interviewer asked seemingly suddenly.
“Uh… Sure? But you know I have left that business?” The interviewee said, a little confused.
“Even if you have, being the most popular Superhero for the past two years still holds a lot of weight.” The interviewer relied, while grabbing a pen and a piece of blank paper.
“Though, I feel that since you know first hand the trials and tribulations that come from that kind of work. You will probably be the best for the others who have no idea what is possible or what is yet to come for them.” The interviewer continued, after handing over the pen and paper. A type of knowing smirk covered their face.
“I am glad that we are on the same wavelength here.” The interviewee responded with a slight laugh as they signed the paper.
| 2022-05-11T12:29:59 | 2022-05-11T09:08:29 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.
|
It was a little after three in the morning on a Tuesday. The kind of three in the morning that gnaws at your insides a little, makes you squirm in your skin. *Restless*. It's happened before and will no doubt happen many times again, the mind is wide awake roaring like an engine. All the while the clock, perched on the desk with its ugly neon green LED readout, mockingly plays its silent hour long symphony of three in the morning.
Kevin hated three in the morning. To him it was a punishment, a consequence, a sentence that he concluded he was simply damned to serve. While the world slumbered peacefully on, Kevin sat wide awake in silent contemplation. Sleep never came easy to him, he was about as good at sleeping as he was at calculus- not even close to making the grade. Resigned though, he learned to accept his shortcoming and make peace with his circadian catastrophe. Still, he held animosity toward that one hour of the early morning.
"*Here we are again, ol' friend*" He thought sarcastically as he passively glanced at the time. "*No one in their right mind is awake right now, it's just me and you like always. No matter where I go or what I do, it always comes back to just me and you*"
Over the years Kevin began to resent this hour, he felt as if this was the only constant thing in his world. The isolation, the silence, the emptiness of just him and the face of the clock. He felt stuck in a time-loop, the days dragged on and the routine never changed. Everyday was the same lobotomized script and choreographed puppet show and Kevin floated through it without the slightest skip of the record; yet somehow without fail, he ended up back here at this disgraceful early hour of the morning. Even for how much it was detested, it was the only time he felt shaken awake out of his dismal autopilot existence at three in the morning. For that brief hour he was more aware, he felt the blood move through his body, he could hardly sit still yet he was glued to his seat motionless.
Kevin set his tablet on his bedside table and rubbed his eyes. "Might as well start the day." He chanted his mantra. He said this so many times throughout his life he debated tattooing it flat across his chest, it was almost his daily greeting to the prospect of another sunrise and sunset. He likely would have it tattooed already if not for the death count that already could occupy the skin over his and all mankind's breastbone.
The death count: a morbid indicator of just how many people will meet their demise within that month due to the actions you take in life. It was a strange concept to think about objectively but most had shrugged it off as just another caveat of the human experience. Scientists who studied the phenomenon when it first appeared were baffled at how the future could be predicted by numbers materializing on an individuals skin. Though extensive studies examined the phenomenon, no reasonable or logical explanation could be found. Years passed by and zealots cashed in on the death count forming cults and followings, many people looked to ancient texts and scriptures for guidance but none showed any correlation.
Philosophical and ethical debates soon ensued throughout the nations as to what to do with information like this. Mass suicides were common when people saw numbers on their chests. Men and women both took the lives of their entire families when numbers of four or five appeared. The world was in a state of havoc for a time but eventually the masses found a way to cope and people moved on.
The most perplexing angle to the death count was that the numbers did not lie. Murderers knew how many victims they would have that month, they used the count to their advantage. Stories circulated the media telling of those who tried to turn themselves in when they realized their fate, only to run a red light at a crosswalk unintentionally mowing down their victims. A man's attempted suicide by gun inadvertently hit a gas line in his apartment complex subsequently killing twenty.
Some months a terrifying "1" would appear on individuals chests, yet the deaths would be accidental: improperly stacked top shelf merchandise at the hardware store or simply forgetting to put the emergency break after parking. If one was lucky enough, they may not even be aware or anywhere near those destined to perish by their action or inaction.
Kevin prided himself on going his whole life with the absence of any number on his chest. On recount days he always found solace in the fact that a number had never appeared on his chest. He felt that if he never had a count then he was leading a somewhat good life. Every recount day was a sight of relief to know it was smooth sailing for the next month.
Kevin pushed himself up off the bed and yawned. "*Recount day today, work, library, home. Might was well start the day.*" he thought as he prepared clothes and got a towel for a shower.
The ritual began of setting out clean clothes, warming up the shower, brushing the teeth and then finally to bathe himself. The warmth of the water quickly enveloped the bathroom and steam had fogged up the mirror, but as Kevin removed his clothes and glimpsed his figure he felt a lightening strike surge of panic at what he saw. Dark cold smooth text occupied the furthest reaches of his chest. He gasped but his lungs had already given out it seemed, the room spun and he felt like magma was bubbling out of every pore of his body. He finally raised his hand and slowly edged toward the mirror, his disbelief now fading and his terror now rising. Kevin wiped the mirror and stared at the number now occupying nearly his entire front. Three million. He looked down to make sure his eyes did not deceive him, they did not. The number made his mind race and ears ring so loud he was sure his head would explode. That three, that ugly curved bastard, that 'three in the morning' three he hated so much. He looked at the three accompanied by the six zeros, it was laughing at him uncontrollably and maniacally, almost as if to blaspheme Kevin's name. He looked back up again and stared, like a statue now, as the steam again fogged up the mirror until the number was just a blur of pale and black.
*"Holy fucking shit...*" Kevin whispered.
|
A Thursday rain had not been forecast. As I walked out of the local primary school I saw the number on my chest, flicker. One had become 3 million. At that moment, not only did I know that the fad of 21st century fatalism had finally reached its peak, but I knew I shouldn't have voted Brexit.
(Terrible story, but topically relevant I hope)
| 2016-06-24T03:17:45 | 2016-06-24T01:32:15 | 104 | 27 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
I stared at the blood dripping from my finger, shocked. I'd always tried to be good-- always volunteered, always helped people I saw that were in need. I around at the other patrons in the coffee shop I sat in, but nobody seemed to notice someone as old as I, hunched over in a back corner. I brought my withered finger to my lips. Even in the war, I had never been injured, and I cursed my clumsy hands for giving me such a terrible realization. Have I ever been truly good, or was I just always play-acting as my heart grew more bitter over the years?
I worked as a medic in the war, while my brother fought on the field. The day they brought him into my tent still haunts me, his tortured eyes pleading me for death. I managed to keep him alive long enough to send him home, where he died a few days later. They awarded him with the purple heart, which we chose to bury with him at Arlington National Cemetery.
"Sir?" I glanced up from my drink and looked into the eyes of a young man; a businessman, judging by the look of his attire. He towered over me, staring at me with his blue eyes. They pierced through me. I took my finger from my mouth and brought it shakily to my lap. He smiled knowingly. There was something... Strange about this man, something terrifying in his smile.
He sat across from me, leaning over the small table. He smelled like death and there was a strange flatness to his eyes, like gemstones glimmering in the light. "I know what you've done," he whispered to me, tapping the old ring on my finger. I withdrew, clenching my fists together. The pain from the arthritis brought tears to my eyes and the action seemed to bring him pleasure. I didn't speak.
"You can't forget forever, old man," he said. I shook my head slowly.
"You know nothing," I whispered hoarsely. I was fearful of this man, but I was not enough of a coward to hide such fear.
"Your memory is not what it used to be, but there are some things you cannot truly forget."
My hands were burning from the pain. I unclenched them, slowly, and watched them quiver in my lap. The small cut seemed to have grown larger, black ooze crusted over it like small rocks blocking a flood. "Who... Who are you?"
His smile grew larger. "I am the dog that followed your brother into war, the vulture that circled over your little tent as you tried to save his life. I was the bloodthirst in his eyes, and yours when you tried to avenge his death. I am Ares, the god of war. You humans have fought meaningless wars across time, both against others and against yourselves. I see the war you've waged for years in your heart."
"You-You're crazy!" I spluttered. "I don't know what you're talking about. I never fought in the war!"
The man--Ares-- winked at me. "I never said you fought in the war. You never stopped trying to avenge your brother, did you? Your rage consumed you, and no matter how many people you killed, it could never fill the hole in your heart, or quench your thirst for blood."
*No... He's wrong. I've always been good. I've alwaysbeengoodI'vealwaysbeen-*
I clutched my head. "No..." I whispered.
"Aaah, I see you remember now. Such a terrible thing for you to do. All those men that looked like your brother, their bodies scattered throughout the countries you forged a path of fire in. You never saved a soul again after his death. All these years spent in your delusions."
The cut on my finger had reopened, dripping blackened blood over my eye. It burned, but I could not move.
Ares focused on the blood. "Ah, the curse of Erinyes," he murmured. "It has changed over the years, but still brings misfortune to people like you. Your physical ailments, your unexplained illnesses..."
He touched my forehead, wiping away some of the blood. I flinched. Ares examined it, then wiped it on my shirt.
"You are dying," he told me. "The Fates will it-- but it will be a slow and painful death, a descent into madness further than you have ever gone. You will age until your skin turns to paper and your bones to dust."
*No... I will end my own life before that happens.*
He smirked again. "I can see in your eyes what you are thinking, but you will not be able to. The Maniae will see to that."
*Nononononononono-*
"Goodbye, Jonathan Stone. Your final punishment is upon you."
He disappeared in a flash of fire and ash, leaving me frozen at the table. It seemed that nobody had witnessed what had transpired. The sun still shined through the window and others still milled around the shop; but suddenly, they all had their eyes on me.
*Disgusting old man... look at the color of his blood.*
*How is he still alive? He is so old and feeble.*
*He needs to be punished for his crimes.*
*Evilmanevilmanevilman-*
I screamed. The hat I had been knitting turned to a skull in my hands, grinning at at me grotesquely, and blackened blood oozed down the walls, choking me with the stench of death.
I was back at the battlefield, staring into my brother's eyes, but this time his eyes radiated hatred instead of pain.
"Monster," he gurgled. *"MONSTER."*
I stabbed him, over and over, shrieking and crying. I couldn't stop, and he wouldn't die-- his cries only grew stronger and louder with each blow.
This is hell.
\*\*\*\*
*"Breaking news: Jonathan Stone, aged 88, has been charged with 26 counts of murder when he attacked the patrons of Cathedral Coffee and the surrounding area. There were no survivors. Police were dumbfounded when they arrived at the scene, and shot Stone multiple times in the chest when he attempted to attack them. This is the largest killing spree Oregon has ever seen. Stone survived the onslaught and is currently at Oregon State Hospital in critical condition. He is said to have been semi-conscious the entire time, but that information has not been confirmed."*
|
One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day.
| 2018-08-04T10:51:37 | 2018-08-04T10:33:21 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] When you die, you wait in purgatory until you can be judged by the 4 people most impacted by your actions: the person you were the most cruel to, the person you were the nicest to, the person who was saved by your actions, and the person who died because of your choices.
|
Part 1 of 2 - See reply to this comment.
James awoke in dimly lit gray room roughly square shaped. Despite the room looking rather modern and clean, an old cigarette smell emanated from the walls. The sort of smell that forms from decades of regular smokers inhabiting the room. As if to validate this observation, in the center of the room on a rectangular table sat an antique looking ash tray. Which despite quite a bit of wear and tear was completely ash-free and clean. James was sitting in a plain metal chair on one side of the table staring across at two empty chairs of the same design.
“Where am I?” James mumbled out in his signature raspy voice.
He attempted to recall how he wound up in this room but was drawing a complete blank. One moment he was at the bar with his wife Sarah drinking and laughing and the next, he was sitting on this uncomfortable metal chair in a daze.
For a second, he wondered if he was in a police interrogation room. But after looking around for a moment, he figured that wasn’t quite right. He had been in an interrogation room plenty of times in his younger years when he ran with an unusually nasty gang of bikers who didn’t particularly appreciate the law. This room clearly wasn’t of the law enforcement variety though he couldn’t quite say it wasn’t some kind of interrogation room as it definitely had that feel about it.
Regardless of where he was or how he got here, James had a much bigger concern at the front of his mind. Sarah. Where was she? Was she okay? Not being the type to wait to find out, James stood up ready to make his way for the door. Before he even took a single step, the door opened up and in walked a tall Korean man in a nicely kept gray suit.
“My name is Remiel” the man spoke with a bored face hiding sharp eyes. “Do you remember how you got here?” He asked. Remiel took a seat in one of the two empty chairs on the other side of the table and motioned for James to take a seat.
“I don’t remember anything. What’s going on? Where’s Sarah?” James quickly spat out while sitting back down.
“Sarah, you can come in now.” Remiel said looking toward the door, speaking in a restrained voice as if his vocal cords could tear asunder the world if he did not hold back.
James let out a sigh of relief as he watched Sarah walk in and sit down in the remaining seat. He met Sarah what felt like a lifetime ago back when he was in the gang. She was a biker herself and they hit it off pretty well the first time they met. She’s stuck it out with James through the good times and the bad times. They never had a white picket fence life but they never felt the desire for one either. James and Sarah were damaged individuals living out their own little slice of life in a camper tucked back in the woods of Montana. But if you asked them, they would tell you the life they lived was an honest one they could be proud of.
“Sarah, I’ve already explained to you what’s going on and you asked if you could personally explain it to James. Please, go ahead.” Said Remiel.
Sarah looked across the table into James eyes and spoke slowly while trying to put her words together. “Well Jim, it seems we’re in Purgatory. Um, that is to say, we’re dead Jim. There was an accident.”
James eyes opened wide and he wanted to convince himself that this was some kind of sick joke, but he knew that look in Sarah’s eyes. She was completely serious. “We’re dead.” He said quietly, more to confirm it in his own mind rather than ask for confirmation.
“Guess the ash tray makes a bit more sense now.” James chuckled to himself. “I could go for smoke myself.”
Remiel reached into his suit pocket and with a practiced motion pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter then passed them across the table to James.
“Appreciate it.” James said while lighting one up. He looked across the table at his wife and with a half smirk said “told you they wouldn’t be the death of me.”
“Well let’s get down to business now.” Remiel said. “You’re here today James to have judgment passed upon you. You will be judged by the person you were cruelest to. The person you were kindest to. The person who was saved by your actions. And the person who died due to your choices.”
“Let’s get this over with.” James said with a sigh. “Bring them all in and we’ll see just how fucked I am.”
“They’re already here” Remiel replied. “Or rather, she’s already here.” He said while gesturing towards Sarah. “It’s a bit unusual for a single individual to be filling up all four roles and passing judgment on another, but the complexity of this situation doesn’t end there. You two clearly wouldn’t know this, but I typically play a less direct role in Purgatory than this. Most interviews are delegated to those below me. The reason I was brought in is not just because Sarah here is the only individual who will pass judgment on you, but because you too James are the only one who will be passing judgement on Sarah. You also filled out the four previously mention roles. I will be looking into your souls and verifying that the judgment you pass on each other is genuine. There are no mistakes made in Purgatory. Our work is far too important.”
The table went silent for a few minutes when Remiel spoke up once more while looking directly at James. “We’ll begin seventeen years in the past where an argument broke out between you and Sarah. The argument itself isn’t of particular importance. It was simply the straw that broke the camels back. You two had been fighting on a daily basis for over a month at this point over every thing imaginable. In was during this last fight that you said the cruelest words of your life. It was this day that you looked your wife Sarah in the eyes and told her you wished she was dead. You told her that marrying her was the greatest regret of your life. You told her that you hate her to your very core.”
“You didn’t know this at the time.” Remiel continued. “During this month of fighting, Sarah was calling her older sister every single day trying to figure out how to fix your relationship. She knew she was at fault just as much as you and wanted to change things but couldn’t see the light.” Remiel paused for second, and then continued. “Your words broke her resolve, her will to continue on. You didn’t even look her in the eyes as you packed a bag and stomped out the front door. Your wife Sarah sat crumpled on the kitchen floor sobbing hours after you drove off. She blamed herself.”
James winced in pain at the memory, it felt like he was reliving it fresh all over again. He also knew that the worse part was yet to come.
Remiel picked back up where he left off. “Three days passed with you not returning to the home. You went to a friend’s house and slept on his couch. Over these three days you felt the deepest guilt of your life. You understood the despicable things you said couldn’t be taken away but you wanted to make it right. You grabbed your bag, tossed it in the back of your truck and made you way back home.”
At this point in the conversation, Sarah had become visibly distressed. She also knew exactly what was coming up next.
Remiel continued. “Sarah had been spiraling downwards during these three days. She had drunk nearly every drop of alcohol she could find and had set up a makeshift noose right in the living room. Her intent was to hang herself and leave a simple note that read “Happy now Jim?”. Of course, what she didn’t expect was that James would be walking in the front door while she was standing on the chair putting the noose around her neck. In the moment your eyes met in that living room. Sarah could see the absolute fear in your eyes. The pain. In this moment a crazed smile and stretched across Sarah’s face. She was happy to make you watch James. This was the absolute cruelest action of Sarah’s life. She wanted to hurt you as badly as you had hurt her. Cruelty begets cruelty.”
James and Sarah both had tears in their eyes at this point. Purgatory makes you relive the moments, not simply remember them.
Remiel waited for the two to settle down emotionally before he continued. “Of course, this leads to the moment you saved Sarah’s life James. When she kicked that chair out from under her feet ready to embrace death you didn’t even hesitate to sprint over and pull her out of that noose. This also, far more vaguely is the moment Sarah “saved” your life James. If she had managed to succeed in killing herself, we both know that you would have followed her to the grave within days due to the guilt. I know, I know, it’s not the typical kind of saving a life that one might expect but Purgatory said it counts so it does. At the very least, it’s the closest Sarah ever came to saving a life.”
“Funny enough, it was this incredible cruelty you two showed each other that sparked your passion for fixing the relationship. It’s what lead to you both having a happy marriage with each other where you truly appreciated one another.” Remiel said while almost cracking a smile. “Mortals consistently fascinate me.”
“James, do you remember how you died yet?” Remiel asked quizzically.
“Sarah said it was an accident, right? I still don’t remember anything about it myself.” James replied.
**See reply to this comment for part 2**
|
I wake to the whisper of a rumbling gate.
The dark, obsidian doors reveal a thickening pillar of light, and I watch in the shadows for the silhouette of a figure to appear.
What was it the voices had said? One I'd been kindest to. Cruelest. One I'd saved. And one I'd doomed.
The figure walks out, the doors shut. The light is gone. My breath catches. A new light emerges.
*Grace.*
Alone she could light up the room. I watch as she walks towards me, her form tall and full of grace and poise. That easy smile breaks on her face and for a moment I remember. Distant echoes. The music from lives that intertwined seamlessly.
*Grace. The only woman I ever loved.*
I stumble to my feet, my movements as awkward as a newborn babe's. She's closer now. 10? No, 5 meters away. The gap between us fades, and the strain of faint music enters.
*Grace. The woman I lost 15 years ago.*
I say no words. Neither does she. We stand there, face to face, my eyes memorizing each of her features.
She takes my hand, and slides her thin body close to mine, the way a bow touches a violin. I hold her. And before I even know it, we move. The music rises and sweeps us into a slow dance. The room spins, and somehow unfolds like a box opening, and the room cannot contain us and all at once we are bursting and flying among the sparkling sky, a couple dancing among the stars.
"So this is nice." My voice manages not to break.
She smiles, her green eyes glowing brightly in the dark.
"You always did say you wanted to take me to someplace gorgeous." She teases. "I guess this counts."
I smile, but my insides flutter. That's right. I'd always wanted to take her someplace amazing.
*Always wanted to. Always wanted to...*
The slightest pause, a burr in the flow of our dance as I flinch. Memories pop and spill like a bottle of uncorked wine.
*Nights in the hospital. Holding your hand. Looking up. Wishing I had more time with you. Wishing I'd kept my promise.*
I smile, but she shakes her head.
"I know you better than that, love." She says. "You always did have a nasty habit of pretending you were fine."
"I..." I try. The words are raw. Laced with subtle pain, words that cut through my heart as I pronounce them. "I wish I'd treated you better. I wish I'd taken you to more places. I wish I'd hugged you more."
The music halts. The dance ends. The stars blink away.
"I wish I'd loved you more."
She blurs within my vision, and it takes me a second to realise its because of my tears. She raises a gentle hand to my eyes, and wipes.
"I have never once felt unloved in my time with you, John." She says, her voice like streaming honey. "Never once have i regretted being with you. My whole life all I've known from you is love and kindness."
She holds my chin and gently tips my eyes to meet hers. Brown eyes with specks of golden sunshine.
"Maybe you couldn't take me to places like Paris or New York or Sydney or Iceland or-"
I laugh and she smiles a little. She squeezes my hand.
"But with you, any place is like this."
The stars fall back into place. The music resumes. And we dance in the deep of the night, our heads leaned against each other, the most beautiful place and woman I've ever known.
| 2019-04-30T09:38:40 | 2019-04-30T08:53:11 | 71 | 22 |
[WP] Knights covered head to toe in metallic armour, fortresses made to resist sieges, scarce population centers... Who would've guessed that the middle ages would be so prepared to survive a zombie outbreak.
|
Sir Harlan watched motionlessly from his position atop the ridge. He had seen the smoke the moment he'd ridden free of The Blackwood, and he'd smelled it a good deal beforehand. It was likely some poor fool in the village had knocked over a candle the night before and burned his hut to a crisp. Harlan had seen that before.
But this...
Harlan stared at the group of villagers stumbling around the centre of the ruined town. He could see the blood on their faces even at this distance. And not one of them made a sound. He was a career soldier, and he had dealt with enough mayhem and evil in his time to know that this was some new devilry altogether.
Burned and slaughtered villages weren't uncommon in this part of the kingdom, especially considering the sporadic raids of The Seafolk. However, those times there was always an atmosphere of grief and pain and fear that one could hear from a mile off. The only feeling Harlan had as he sat atop Ruin and watched the villagers dig through a patch of rubble was a prickling at the back of his neck.
Suddenly, Harlan heard the noise he expected.
Bloodcurdling shrieks rose up from the wreckage as the villagers found what they had been looking for. Harlan didn't hesitate. He grasped his reins and spurred Ruin towards the village.
'Whatever was happening here, perhaps the sight of the King's Authority will help restore order to this place.' Harlan thought as Ruin pounded down the slope towards the chaos. 'And if the King's Authority is not enough, there's always Steel.'
The sound of hooves and clanking plate had the immediate effect Harlan was looking for. All of the villagers rose from their scrabblings and focused on him as he reined Ruin to a halt a dozen paces from them.
"Fear not! I am Sir Harlan of Blackwood, Knight of Kaleth. Tell me wh..." but he got no further as the knot of villagers lunged toward him, covering the intervening space in an instant. But that instant was enough for Harlan.
With experience born of a lifetime of campaigning, and of fighting far more dangerous opponents than a half-dozen peasants, he knew how to read any situation. The blank, hungering stares of the villagers were inhuman. Beastial. Nevermind the massive, gaping wounds many of them had and ignored. It was the eyes. They told Harlan everything he needed to know.
Regardless of any punishment of Man or God, Harlan knew in his gut there was no alternative but death. In one swift motion, he drew his longsword and aimed a downward stroke at the first ragged man to reach him, catching him on the shoulder. With the height advantage of horseback, the sword cleaved him to the navel. Harlan knew it would be immediately fatal and turned to face the next agressor, apparently the village headsman. A glint of his gold chain-of-office showed through the dried blood coating his chest.
Harlan drove his sword straight into the man's chest, right up to the hilt. Surely fatal. But as Harlan moved to free his blade, the headsman lunged again. Harlan barely had time to grip the reins as Ruin pivoted suddenly underneath Harlan and delivered a magnificent kick, sending his foe crashing backwards in the dirt before getting himself and his master away from the clawing hands of the villagers.
Blessing the courage of his warhorse and cursing the loss of his sword, Harlan reined about, trying to make sense of things. Not even 30 seconds had passed since he had first ridden up. He had come here to try and help, and instead found himself attacked and forced to kill the very people he was sworn to protect.
But they weren't dead.
Harlan saw the four remaining villagers still making their way towards him. He also saw the headsman start to rise, the blade of the sword protruding two feet out of his back. He glanced toward the man he had nearly cut in two and felt ice in his veins. The legs weren't moving, but the half-severed torso was clawing its way towards him, the lifeless eyes fixated on Harlan.
Harlan reached back and freed his horseman's axe from the saddle. Three feet of stout hickory, with a half-moon blade on side and a four-faced hammer on the other, surmounted by a 6-inch steel spike for thrusting. It was a wicked weapon, made for fighting other knights and smashing thorugh foes during a charge.
As the villagers drew closer, Harlan sought for the inner strength to complete this grisly task. Putting aside his fears and misgivings, he let the wrath of the warrior flood him. Bellowing in incoherent rage, Harlan drove Ruin straight at the villagers, axe held high in the air...
---
Eight seconds later, Harlan was victorious.
He didn't exactly recall how he had defeated the... creatures. He couldn't think of them as human anymore, not now. Harlan lifted his visor to catch his breath and get a better look at things. First he checked that he had well and truly ended things here.
The four villagers were sprawled on the ground, exactly where they had been standing moments before. Three of them had half a skull, and the head of the fourth had rolled some feet away to rest at the foot of a charred hut. Harlan didn't know why he had gone for their heads this time, but it seemed to have worked, and that was enough for him. Whatever foul magic had been cast was not without its limits.
The other two he had first wounded appeared quite a bit... flatter than before. Ruin must have done a hell of a dance on them. The torso man was still moving though, however feebly. Harlan dismounted and crouched to get a better look at the thing. Then he immediately decided he had seen enough and brought the hammer head down on the twitching skull, finally making it a truly lifeless corpse.
His task finished, Harlan took a moment to consider what had just happened. He had ridden out of the forest not three minutes beforehand, and in that span of time he had seen and experienced things unimaginable. As he pondered what this might mean, he heard a quiet "Thank You" from behind him.
Whirling around and raising his axe before he could catch himself, he saw a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, her face a mess of emotions. Pain, grief, exhaustion, and happiness. She was quite beautiful too, he thought briefly.
Harlan quickly stowed his axe and moved to help the girl, she looked as if she could barely stand. He could see why, she had cuts and bruises all over, and what looked like bite marks on her arms.
"My Lady, what evil has befallen this place?"
"I don't know, m'lord... I.. I was just sleeping and all of a sudden I heard screaming everywhere... we went outside to see and everything was burning. Best friends were attacking each other in the street. I barely escaped into the cellar to hide... They had just found me when you rode in... I can never repay you for your bravery, Sir."
"There is nothing to repay, your safety is reward enough. But come, this is no place to linger. We must ride for Kaleth and tell the King. He will want to hear your tale. And you look like you could use a hot meal and a good night's sleep behind some walls, My Lady."
Harlan lifted the young girl onto Ruin's back before moving to retrieve his sword. As an afterthought, he found a grain sack in the rubble and stuffed the severed head of a villager into it, jaws still working slowly as it disappeared into the burlap.
'Witness or not', Harlan thought, 'it will still be good to have proof of this evil."
Mounting behind the girl, Harlan took up his reins and spurred Ruin west towards the capitol. It was only a half-day's ride to Kaleth from here, and Harlan had a sinking feeling that this might not be the only village affected. The word must be spread, and haste was needed, not only for news, but the girl as well. Hopefully she would handle the ride well, she seemed even weaker now next to him than she had when he first saw her.
As he left the village at a gallop, Harlan had a nagging feeling that he might have overlooked something. His instincts told him it was important, however, with how suddenly this had happened, he supposed it was only natural to miss things. When they arrived, they could sort out all the details with the other lords and the King.
The thought faded in his mind under the drumming hooves as they rode towards the high walls of Kaleth.
-------
|
**Knights of Eden**
The troop of knights stopped their travels in a passerby town called Thorns. They tied their horses to wooden posts along the road and carefully dismounted with their swords and shields either on their backs or with their steeds. The sun was departing on the horizon and the men continued to the middle of the village to set a campfire for cooking turkey and potatoes. Some of them had wine to spare and a cittern to entertain the crowd.
The company began to feast and wallow the rest of their night. Until a scream opened up. A few of the knights stood up to attention, wearing black steel armour. They sheathed their swords and scanned the radius. A quiet procession. Then again, they heard a struggle coming from one of the homes nearly a lot away.
"Stand your ground, men. No use to split our force for an eager coyote," the marshall informed.
The men went back to their place of den. Others decided to patrol the campfire, at the ready.
Noises of grass and branches breaks the calm. The entire troops ascends to their swords and spears. A second is procured. A group of men breach their visibility, growling and screeching in a sprint. One of the knights lets out a cautious yell as he steps toward the herd while swinging his blade. The rest follow suit and follow the counter. Three against three in swift coordination, they put down the insurrection. And to the rear, more of the village people came rushing to the encampment in uniformity.
"We've been flogged!", a knight exclaims to the rest.
They formed a circle formation around the campfire, bracing for the incoming flock approaching.
More and more were congregating at the flank so as to mess up their estimation and catch the men by surprise. The marshall notices their strategy and points his torch before throwing it at the herd. Archers snapped their ammunition while others pitched their spears at them. It only created a delay, disarming them as the horde killed off five knights, while the marshall lays overwhelmed.
The rest of the knights returned back to the circle and tend to the fallen marshall. The assault was a cacophony of grewl screams and raunches, cutting their way back to the campfire, combatting efficiently in continuous strikes on the tide of deranged beasts. Dismembered bodies piled endlessly.
"The marshall is secure. Mount the horses."
A couple knights run to the horses. The marshall is let back up to his unit and his horse brought to him. The knights encircle the rest of the town in search for anyone still alive. Torches illuminated the windows while knights pillaged the town. Survivors were guarded to the town lodge and notified by the marshall that they were to accompany them to the closest town.
| 2021-06-30T19:31:41 | 2021-06-30T17:16:26 | 124 | 16 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
A booming laughter erupted throughout the great egg-shaped hall so tall clouds formed at the very top, they were left there for aesthetics if nothing else, he pondered. At the sides grew massive steely arches joining at the very top, between them were built balconies, filled with ambassadors and other representatives of various galactic empires, planet-states, moon-republics and whatnot.
Laughter, in essence, for each race showed amusement their own way. Of what the man glanced, the Trogks cackled like hyenas (resembling them a tad, too), the sluggish, brown Antians exhaled through their mouth-holes, tooting like a trumpet, even the enigmatic, hooded Parteens allowed themselves a small peep of a chalk on the blackboard... Hearing the cacophony of various sounds made Kay's hair on the back of his neck stand, top it off with the confusion he felt for what he said wasn't as funny as the others found it.
The opposition standing by his side exchanged smirks, easy to tell for their humanoid form. There were three races in the Orion Alliance, Alliance with which the Terra Union picked a battle.
Now, I don't wish to go into the details, but to simply explain, our space neighbors think we are expanding too fast and wish to stall our growth to further their economics, gather some valuable resources, hinder us, yada yada. They disguise it behind a 'he hit me first' excuse (which they provoked) and then offered a demand we could not accept. Now the humans of Earth are at the verge of their first stellar war since they joined the Arkha Galaxy Pact (That's what the alien races call Milky Way, by the by, yeah, we are among like ten planets in visitable universe that have white milk, or milk at all, so the name didn't catch). A standard procedure called for the 'Grand Meeting' and here we are, in front of the Head Council, next to the enemy, observed by uninvolved pact members. The daunted man regained a bit of composure as he neatens his blue uniform, his black eyes scanning the surroundings once again. He set the cap upon his brown hair as it felt askew.
"So you are saying you have rules for war?" Suddenly sounded from his right, the red-skinned Rubenee asked, the tendrils on his chin swirling in what Kay understood as excitement, this translation device imbedded in his temple was quite nifty, translating body language as well as the spoken. Notably, Rubenee alongside humans were one of the few races in the Pact that understood the notion of clothing, this representative wore what looked like a dark brown tunic, ending at waist-level where instead of legs grew a bundle of tentacles, Kay stopped counting at ten.
"Yes, some of them come from Geneva Conventions, among others. We added few more since we will be also warring in new territories, such as space, we renamed them to Terra Convention and wish for the council to adapt it to their system." Kay hummed, regrettably the war was inevitable, taking away half of his work as an ambassador to prevent the war from happening at all, this made him quite sour but the Alliance's attitude about this whole ordeal made it sting a lot less.
A Talian chimed in, a wispy, gentle-looking creature (don't be fooled), their abodes in the darkest depths of their oceanic worlds made their skin translucent, jelly-like, they grew a mushroom-looking cap atop their heads, much alike those of humans bar the missing nose and teeth in its mouth, its insides pulsed with soft, golden light every time it spoke. "Are we to understand that your rules of war... Are named after a city in one of your smaller political establishments that... Actually haven't fought in any war for what... Almost two hundred human years?"
"Technically..." Kay had to admit. "You did your research right." He smiled, suspecting the translation device for this sort of information. "I think, however, the place is irrelevant, it is the contents that I wish the Council to consider. We do not shy away from war, but we seek no end in it. All the Terra Union proposes is a more... humanitarian treatment." A repeated joke is not funny a second time, or so you would think as a human, but the hall laughed once more, less audibly, true... But it looked like the Orion Alliance found this whole thing much more amusing than humans.
A Garganian was next one to speak, a robust creature, the military might behind the Alliance, a great representation of a bully, Kay thought. Their skin gray and sleek, this one was a warrior, presumably, for one of his four arms was missing, leaving behind just a stump and his one-horned head sported many a scar. What was underneath the thick wired white fur, covering everything except limbs, Kay could only wonder. "The Terrans should not ridicule the proceedings of war making, hmpf! The Garganians of Otrkrs have nothing to propose but the involvement of council in decision of war-time!" He bumped his front body with all his healthy hands, huffing.
"Talians of Talee concur." Sounded tenderly.
"So do the Rubenee of Qu." Echoed.
Kay turned to the council, and to his surprise, the heads of the creatures were turned on him, he cleared his throat and nodded. "Humans of Earth have no choice but to agree as well."
Now, you would think I forgot to describe what the council looked like, but jokes on you, because there was really little to describe. For the sake of fairness, all members of Head Council were disguised, their features camouflaged, faces hidden, voices altered. Nobody should know who is a part of it, only they know themselves, however it is a common knowledge the members are chosen only from among the oldest and wisest races of the galaxy. The seven figures standing hooded on a raised platform mumbled among themselves before one stepped forth.
"The Council speaks." Silence fell in an already quiet hall. "The offer of Terra in adding these so called 'Rules of War' to the conflict of Artme Region is declined. We have reviewed the documents provided, number of points could be considered laughable, such as the immunity of medics on battlefield or, these ones I find specifically amusing, Hauge Conventions? Banning of certain weapons? Civilian protection? Rarely someone attacks civilians anyway, it has no effect on the course of battle! A pass-time, at best. Either way, you should have evacuated them beforehand if you know there will be war. War needs no rules, the declaration of war does, that is why we are here. The Alliance has offered to cease their warmongering once they are in possession of number of stellar systems, of which you were very much aware, ambassador Kay Harrinton. The heads of your Union declined, therefore war is inevitable and you are left with the option of defending your newly acquired territories, which you have accepted. You may begin the war in the standard ninety hours of Andromeda Time Zone. The Council has spoken. We shall reconvene shortly after a short break to hear the Zqa'ar and Ipoids" The figures retreated, and slowly the balconies began to empty as well. Kay stormed out, stone-faced.
Descending the stairs from the platform in the middle of the great-hall he found his other same clothed companions greeting him with a salute.
"You spoke well, ambassador, there was nothing more you could do."
"I wish there was." He passed them, he could not stop, for time was of essence now, ninety hours of ATZ was a week of time for the humans in the concerned systems.
"We have already informed the headquarters, message should reach them just in time." They followed.
"Good. I wish to speak with Admiral Ford, arrange meeting." Kay looked over his shoulder, the Alliance has entered the corridor as well, they gave him a taunting look, but he just scoffed, the fools know not what they got themselves into.
|
Hera looked up at the sky, she could still hear the laughter that echoed when the rulers of various planets in the galaxy found out that humans had rules, they laughed even harder when they found out out that rules even applied during war. That laughter was burnt in her memory, that teasing laughter, those snide remarks didn't sit well with her or with the rest as she noticed people's growing anger. She didn't rule Earth to be mocked, she ruled it to be great. And greatness she shall achieve.
Hence the war began, not because of weapons or violence but because of mocking laughs.
~
The first rule to be removed was rights. Not for her people, her people weren't the reason behind her sleepless nights, they weren't the reason behind those dreams where those rulers laughed and mocked her. Why should they have rights? They don't deserve it if they don't have the decency to be accepting of others rules, others way of living.
She will stand on the ruins of those leaders and cherish telling them that they lost the right to plead, to live when they made fun of her and her people.
The next will be deaths. Innocents were always out of bounds, they are never supposed to casualties in the fight of power but now, now things will change. She will take over them by hook or by crook. By sword and by blood.
She told her commander to prepare for war as her minister nodded. He never backed down. An insult to character was after all the highest insult. They made us into jesters of the galaxy but it be her and her people who will have the last laugh.
~
She sat on her throne, seeing the pitying forms of the former leaders of the galaxy. She smiled satisfactorily. Things you achieve when you throw out the rules were limitless but she could feel a darkness in her soul that wasn't there before. Was her soul worth her pride?
"Please, have mercy." Cried one of them.
And that she thought, overlooking her darkening soul, was the rule to be destroyed.
| 2022-01-23T13:17:18 | 2022-01-23T11:25:11 | 202 | 118 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol.
|
He was infuriating. So quiet and judgmental, always looking off in the distance whenever I was talking to him. A 99 was never supposed to be ignored.
I was born gifted, I was born to become president of the free world or lead the UN, to do anything I set my mind to. Everyone followed me, everyone tripped over their own feet to be in my good graces, knowing there would be benefits in only a matter of time. Even complete strangers moved out of my way, being able to tell I was a High Tally from the marks that made their way from my left wrist to my right. Many had thought I was a 100 when I was first born, the marks had been so close together, the nurses had needed a magnifying glass to count them all.
“*Where did you go? No one gave you permission to leave.*” I asked him as he yet again, ignored me. My voice didn’t work on him. The voice that only those above a 98 had, *Compel*. It was a side effect of having such a high number, there was an innate amount of charisma that would always flow out of you. For some reason, extremely low numbers weren’t affected by *Compel*, as if their brain wasn’t capable of recognizing power and authority. Everyone had placed bet on this kid’s number.
Steven Han, probably somewhere between a 0 and ten based on how unpopular he was with people. You would know if you met people as low as him. They could change the mood in the room for the worse merely by showing their face. They didn’t even need to talk, people knew that Low Tallys had nothing to bring to society.
He was silent again, looking at the road behind me, past the parking lot of the school. Sometimes, I pitied people this low, they couldn’t help it. But you could usually tell the plain stupid ones from the lazy Low Tallys, there was usually something about the eyes.
He had something in his brain that turned on at least, and he refused to use it. People that lazy needed to be set straight, it was my duty as a leader in society.
“*Hey, I’m talking to you. You can’t just leave in the middle of gym class!”* The teacher had sent me after him, being class leader and all that. Especially for kids as unruly as Steven who didn’t even wear the proper dress code. T-shirts and gym shorts were the only things students were supposed to wear, but for some reason, teachers had long given up on trying to get Steven to change out of his daily long-sleeved button up and long pants. As long as I remembered, I had prided myself on my ability to keep order.
For the most part, I did. Our class had 90% straight A, never tardy students, people trying to put their best foot forward, for me. As leader of the senior class, I was in charge of any failing and trouble students, and knowing that I was a 99, people did all they could to keep in my good graces.
Except him.
“*What loser fails physical education? It requires absolutely no brain work, which I know you’re quite short of*.” I taunted, giving in to the mean spirit that I tried to suppress for the greater good. Even if I was a capable leader, I tended to be irritated by the stupidity that surrounded me in this place. To keep my image up, I had limited showing my emotions to the one person no one would listen to.
Not that he had much to say. To this day, no one had ever heard him speak. That was where some people had confidence in betting on him being a 0, maybe he was actually incapable of formulating speech. I knew if that was actually the case, he wouldn’t be capable of formulating the complex thoughts that were required to pass AP Calculus like he did freshman year. It was quite unbelievable that this was the same person who had been getting straight D’s in physical education for the last ten years.
He just ignored people. He was just lazy. One of the leeches that would contribute nothing to society, ever.
“*No defense? Figures for someone not-“* I was cut off as the breath was knocked out of me. Steven had barreled into me, knocking me to the side. A second later, a truck raced pass us, heading straight for the football field where our gym class was going on.
My head hit the hot concrete, and bounced slightly from the force of the impact. Steven was over me, but still looking at the truck. My vision was spotty, but I was still awake enough to get a hold of myself.
*“Get off of me,”* There was no way I was going to be seen touching a 17, what I thought he was. Capable of intelligence but no social skills. I pushed a hand against his chest, but he didn’t move.
I paused for a second, and then put actual power into it, putting some *Compel* into my hand as well.
He still didn’t move, not even an inch.
I looked closer at my hand, *it wasn’t touching him*. I was pushing on air.
*I must have a concussion*. That was the only explanation, I was seeing things. I looked up at him, his eyes were scarily focused, intensely looking at the truck.
Without thinking about it, I followed his gaze to see the truck moving back from the field. The tires squealed loudly, trying to go forward towards the class of unsuspecting high school seniors, playing soccer.
I looked back at Steven, and then at the truck, connecting the pieces together even though I knew these kinds of things weren’t possible.
“*How?”* How was all of this happening. It must be the concussion, this wasn’t possible.
*Telekinesis* was an old skill, something that only the *Pure Tallys* had been capable of, when people were born with numbers higher than 100. It had been centuries since a *Pure Tally* had been found. They had been hard to miss, with so many Tallys they would stretch past any article of clothing they wore. Many of them wore gloves and head coverings to prevent people from being able to see their true number, to prevent people from knowing the true amount of power they had.
Wordlessly, Steven sat up just to enough to free his hands and pull up his left sleeve.
An **8**.
His arm had no marks, only a single digit number.
“*Eight?*” I asked, I had never seen a number before. But it was black, and in the exact spot that Tally marks usually started.
He rotated his arm, still looking at the truck, and said one word.
“*Infinity.”* The *Compel* from his voice was so strong, it knocked me out.
\--
Not my best work, this prompt kind of made me scatter brained.
Edit 1: Changed "inert" to "innate" in 3rd paragraph
Edit 2: updated version on r/JP_writings [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/JP_writings/comments/agbkkp/high_tally_part_1/)
|
Quince was known to be mean,
Your typical villainous teen.
With a fifty under his sleeve,
And a future he believed,
Was dictated by a numerical gene.
.
The homeless usually had four,
A career cashier boasted six more.
But higher than twenty,
You'd bet your lucky penny,
That middle class was surely in store.
.
Dewey measured a two,
And simply knew not what to do.
With a heart condition,
Plus no general mission,
He certainly numbered too few.
.
Each day he awoke with a tremor,
Convinced his curse was forever.
He bore Quince's beating,
While often retreating,
Yet thinking up something quite clever.
.
He modified the double lined vex,
Connecting them with a mighty slashed X.
As far as they could see,
He now reached infinity,
And collected the appropriate paychecks.
.
For measures aren't meant to bar,
Nor to contain the rising star.
Destiny comes not from birth,
You decide your own worth,
Not the numbers tattoo'd on your arm.
***
By Leo
*[If you like my style, check out my free superhero novel on reddit here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/).*
| 2018-12-27T20:21:40 | 2018-12-27T15:54:54 | 2,098 | 1,019 |
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.
|
It was a little after three in the morning on a Tuesday. The kind of three in the morning that gnaws at your insides a little, makes you squirm in your skin. *Restless*. It's happened before and will no doubt happen many times again, the mind is wide awake roaring like an engine. All the while the clock, perched on the desk with its ugly neon green LED readout, mockingly plays its silent hour long symphony of three in the morning.
Kevin hated three in the morning. To him it was a punishment, a consequence, a sentence that he concluded he was simply damned to serve. While the world slumbered peacefully on, Kevin sat wide awake in silent contemplation. Sleep never came easy to him, he was about as good at sleeping as he was at calculus- not even close to making the grade. Resigned though, he learned to accept his shortcoming and make peace with his circadian catastrophe. Still, he held animosity toward that one hour of the early morning.
"*Here we are again, ol' friend*" He thought sarcastically as he passively glanced at the time. "*No one in their right mind is awake right now, it's just me and you like always. No matter where I go or what I do, it always comes back to just me and you*"
Over the years Kevin began to resent this hour, he felt as if this was the only constant thing in his world. The isolation, the silence, the emptiness of just him and the face of the clock. He felt stuck in a time-loop, the days dragged on and the routine never changed. Everyday was the same lobotomized script and choreographed puppet show and Kevin floated through it without the slightest skip of the record; yet somehow without fail, he ended up back here at this disgraceful early hour of the morning. Even for how much it was detested, it was the only time he felt shaken awake out of his dismal autopilot existence at three in the morning. For that brief hour he was more aware, he felt the blood move through his body, he could hardly sit still yet he was glued to his seat motionless.
Kevin set his tablet on his bedside table and rubbed his eyes. "Might as well start the day." He chanted his mantra. He said this so many times throughout his life he debated tattooing it flat across his chest, it was almost his daily greeting to the prospect of another sunrise and sunset. He likely would have it tattooed already if not for the death count that already could occupy the skin over his and all mankind's breastbone.
The death count: a morbid indicator of just how many people will meet their demise within that month due to the actions you take in life. It was a strange concept to think about objectively but most had shrugged it off as just another caveat of the human experience. Scientists who studied the phenomenon when it first appeared were baffled at how the future could be predicted by numbers materializing on an individuals skin. Though extensive studies examined the phenomenon, no reasonable or logical explanation could be found. Years passed by and zealots cashed in on the death count forming cults and followings, many people looked to ancient texts and scriptures for guidance but none showed any correlation.
Philosophical and ethical debates soon ensued throughout the nations as to what to do with information like this. Mass suicides were common when people saw numbers on their chests. Men and women both took the lives of their entire families when numbers of four or five appeared. The world was in a state of havoc for a time but eventually the masses found a way to cope and people moved on.
The most perplexing angle to the death count was that the numbers did not lie. Murderers knew how many victims they would have that month, they used the count to their advantage. Stories circulated the media telling of those who tried to turn themselves in when they realized their fate, only to run a red light at a crosswalk unintentionally mowing down their victims. A man's attempted suicide by gun inadvertently hit a gas line in his apartment complex subsequently killing twenty.
Some months a terrifying "1" would appear on individuals chests, yet the deaths would be accidental: improperly stacked top shelf merchandise at the hardware store or simply forgetting to put the emergency break after parking. If one was lucky enough, they may not even be aware or anywhere near those destined to perish by their action or inaction.
Kevin prided himself on going his whole life with the absence of any number on his chest. On recount days he always found solace in the fact that a number had never appeared on his chest. He felt that if he never had a count then he was leading a somewhat good life. Every recount day was a sight of relief to know it was smooth sailing for the next month.
Kevin pushed himself up off the bed and yawned. "*Recount day today, work, library, home. Might was well start the day.*" he thought as he prepared clothes and got a towel for a shower.
The ritual began of setting out clean clothes, warming up the shower, brushing the teeth and then finally to bathe himself. The warmth of the water quickly enveloped the bathroom and steam had fogged up the mirror, but as Kevin removed his clothes and glimpsed his figure he felt a lightening strike surge of panic at what he saw. Dark cold smooth text occupied the furthest reaches of his chest. He gasped but his lungs had already given out it seemed, the room spun and he felt like magma was bubbling out of every pore of his body. He finally raised his hand and slowly edged toward the mirror, his disbelief now fading and his terror now rising. Kevin wiped the mirror and stared at the number now occupying nearly his entire front. Three million. He looked down to make sure his eyes did not deceive him, they did not. The number made his mind race and ears ring so loud he was sure his head would explode. That three, that ugly curved bastard, that 'three in the morning' three he hated so much. He looked at the three accompanied by the six zeros, it was laughing at him uncontrollably and maniacally, almost as if to blaspheme Kevin's name. He looked back up again and stared, like a statue now, as the steam again fogged up the mirror until the number was just a blur of pale and black.
*"Holy fucking shit...*" Kevin whispered.
|
As I turned in my vote for the 2016 presidency election, little did I know that my ballot was the determining factor in Trump's victory. At that moment, my number, given to all humans since the age of biorobotics, changed from 1 to 3 million and I was certain of the agony I had just unleashed unto the world.
| 2016-06-24T03:17:45 | 2016-06-24T02:39:12 | 104 | 10 |
[WP] When humans arrived to the galactic scene, they thought wars would play out way differently. Instead of bloodshed, there were intergalactic video game tournaments fighting for territory. Most aliens thought humans were newbies to this but when the first war was played, they changed their minds.
|
(It's been a while since I last did something like this.)
***
As custom, humans were granted a one hundred cycle (translated to roughly one year five months of the standard human calendar) grace period to practice and find champions for **Gehenna**. When the time period was up, they would engage a 'friendly' match with one of the greatest space empires of the galaxy. Officially, the tradition was meant be a welcoming greeting towards the new entrants in galactic politics. In practice, it was a way to crush the new entrants and send them a stern reminder: *You are small. You would do well not to challenge us at the top yet.*
"This can't be happening." Lakas, Consul of the Kislev said, observing the battle replay in shock. "They are *smiling*." Oh how he loathed that human expression. The way their mouths *flapped* up and down. Why couldn't they have mandibles and carapaces instead? At least he wouldn't have to grimace while watching his best fighters get torn to pieces.
"We are looking to see if we can detect foul play right now, Consul. In the meantime, our champions are studying the replay as well, attempting to identify what went wrong."
Lakas turned to leer at the taskmaster. "Well, then? What went wrong? Do we have an answer for that?"
"...No sir." The dignitary hunched, looking away, his talons clicking and clacking in nervousness. "In fact... well, it doesn't really look like the humans are doing anything out of the ordinary." Lakas clicked his mandibles in irritation, urging him to speak further. "I mean... it is like they have been playing for thousands of cycles."
Lakas allowed a moment to consider those words. "Are human life spans short enough to justify their fast learning speed?"
"No sir. Life expectancy is at seven thousand cycles, albeit they noticeably deteriorate past five thousand cycles."
Lakas *kh'd* in irritation. Their kind lived to five thousand, though only in the last three hundred cycles do they truly feel their age. The oldest Kislev champions have been playing since they were three hundred cycles old and going strong for two thousand cycles at least. Osav, the Master Commander, has been commanding their grand strategy for one thousand five hundred cycles alone and nigh unbeatable during this whole time. "Get going and do not come back to me until you have some proper answers!" He shrieked in anger. Only once the sliding doors closed behind the taskmaster did he open the grand battle map.
The battle map was randomly generated every time, albeit with sets of predetermined parameters. Players started with a space base that would be dropped with nearby resources of adamantium, hyperium and aubtanium. Simultaneous rounds were taken every cycle, during which the Master Commander would delegate orders to his dignitaries, who would acquire resources and train fighters and march them into battle, of which each individual unit was another individual player altogether. Territorial disputes in Gehenna often lasted more than thirty cycles.
Lakas did not have the tactical knowledge of Oslav, but he did know enough about the game to see that Oslav had picked a wonderful landing spot, full of aubtanium which granted the best energy rifles in the first few cycles of the game. Their adamantium reserves were adequate to give the units and space bases some solid defensive armor, and he had ignored the meager amount of hyperium entirely and abandoned shielded melee fighters. It was not a terrible strategy - rather it had given the Kislev a great many number of important territories many cycles ago.
The human commander - whoever he was - had taken a far more daring approach. Landed smack-dab between aubtanium and hyperium and seemingly no adamantium whatsoever. For the next cycle Oslav responded by increasing the research and output of his own adamantium armor to out-last the humans when battle came - and the humans were powering up their own ranged and melee weapons themselves. It seemed like the humans would be doomed in the next cycle when the first battle would occur, but somehow they simply danced around the Kislev in a never-ending onslaught of mixed ranged and melee weapons.
*Smiling with their flappy mouths. With their mouths made out of MEAT.*
Lakas did not bother to put the replay of the battle in the main screen again. It would be a miserable twenty-eight cycles if this kept up.
***
"The answer, really, is fun."
Fifteen cycles later, the Kislev champions had unconditionally surrendered.
"Humans live for fun. They don't solve problems out of necessity. They do it for pleasure."
There were many Kislev who shouted they continue the match until the end. Others claimed they should have surrendered at the end of the ninth cycle.
"Leave a human alone with a stuck piece of wood and he will find a way to un-stick it. Leave a human alone with blocks and he will build something. Leave the humans alone with the *Gehenna* and they will provide copies to everyone around them and challenge each other for the heck of it."
The remaining space empires were racing against time, watching and rewatching the human battles, their champions working themselves to exhaustion attempting to replicate or fight back against human simulations.
"It's funny, really, that the aliens created this form of war that does not endanger lives or destroy entire planets that they find taxing and unforgiving, but for us it is a great way to enjoy ourselves and pass time." Marco, fourth chairman of the Earthen Confederacy, clicked the 'END TURN' button and watched the expansion, technology and conflict resolutions end.
"Son of a FUCK."
He grinned, above and beyond the screen at the human Master Commander who gave them their first win in the friendly match against the Kislev, Caio.
"How in the WORLD did you slip that colonist over there? I was gonna settle for that adamantium motherlode!"
Marco just grinned back. "You can still take it back, you know."
"Screw that. I see your orbital battery hovering nearby. Were you planning this move this whole time?"
"Maybe."
Caio grumbled and hunched before his screen again, wondering how to salvage this match. Unbeknown to the Kislev he had already played more games of *Gehenna* than Oslav had in the last fifteen years, and he had yet to beat Marco once. Marco assumed their match against the Kislev was a friendly, so he sent Caio in his stead.
He clicked the 'End Turn' button once again. *Maybe if it looks like Caio is about to lose a match I'll step in.* He thought to himself as his opponent let out another frustrated interjection.
|
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| 2018-04-13T17:58:09 | 2018-04-13T16:59:36 | 520 | 41 |
[WP] You've heard the stories of demons, but you always passed them off as fake, because they have seemingly no base in truth. Suddenly one day, you vanish from your house and reappear in a circle with a star in the middle of it, surrounded by hooded figures with horns and faces filled with awe
|
I mean really! The nerve! Snatching someone out of their own home without so much as a by your leave!? It's simply *not done*!
Yet here I was, in a pentagram, surrounded by strangers, holding my whiskey and tonic, in my tuxedo. How very rude. What are my guests going to think when I've disappeared in mid conversation? At least these ... creatures ... have the grace to be suitably awed at my presence in their pitiful soiree.
"What is the meaning of this! You cannot simply snatch people out of their own homes!"
The largest of these peons responded. "Whall, if'n y'all cain do thet t'us, I figure it's jest plain justice."
"Do what? I'd never have folk like you in my house for any reason. Your very reliance on cheap theatrical masks and tatty robes to attempt to scare me proclaims your poverty and unsuitability to *ever* attend one of my galas."
He laughs uproariously. "Poor! Chump think'n we's poor!" His followers chuckle. He waves his hand and there is a shower of what appears to be gold coins.
I'll admit, they almost had me then. I'd never heard an evil chuckle done so well from so many at once. I'll give the blighters this much, the coins rang like real gold. I do a quick estimate of the number of coins, which appear to be the size of Krugerrands, a bit of simple math... "Oh come now. Even assuming that those coins are real gold, that's hardly even ... what is that rude phrase, ah yes ... chump change!"
"Wha'da'ya'mean? Them's good gold coin! Better'n Coogerands! Must be over 3,000,000 $US here."
"Oh my good man! I, personally, am worth more than ten thousand times that amount! I and my guests, collectively, and including only our personal fortunes, hold approximately 5% of the gross world product!"
"An y'all are *the* biggest fish in y'all's pond?"
"Of course! Only I have the organization to arrange these global galas, as well as the funds to set them up."
"Then y'er just the 'chump' we be looking for."
I should not be surprised. Obviously, they intend to hold me for ransom. "Oh very well, I can easily pay twice the amount of gold you have in ransom. Simply return me to my event, unharmed, with your Swiss bank account number, and the money will be transferred within the hour."
The large one looks disgusted. "Ransom. Y'all think tha's wha' we want?".
His followers sound ... I have no idea why ... angry. I'm offering to give them twice the number of real coins that they've dropped in fake coins. "Well of course that's what you want! In your obvious poverty, I could almost count it a charitable donation and deduct it!"
Their spokesman laughs again. This time he seems to be crying in thigh slapping humor. Yet there is an unhappy edge to his laughter. Through his laughter, he talks. His diction is much better. "You fool! You utter idiot! You think these coins are fake? Here, test them for yourself."
He waves his hands again. A table appears in front of me, with a touchstone, a bit of acid in a bottle, and a modern metal analysis device. Oh, that takes me back! I remember using a touchstone at the very beginning of my career.
"Here's a few more coins to test."
Again with the wave of a hand, this fellow is worse than the worst would be stage magician, no sense of style at all. Plink! Ouch! That hit right on my head! Plunk! My shoulder! Good thing this tuxedo is top body armor. A veritable shower of coins start falling, I deploy the shield built into my tuxedo armor and cover my head. The coins trail off, and I'm now hip deep in these faux gold coins. "I say now! That's going to cost you! No more than the number of faux coins you dropped the first time. And! Your sense of style is exceptionally lacking! A simple wave of the hand to introduce each trick?! Even the worst stage magician could do better."
"Go ahead. Test any of the coins. You can verify that the tests are valid by using your own Krugerrand as a reference."
"Oh very well. If that's what it takes to get back to my gala." I pick a random coin from the top. Apply it to the touchstone, and add a drop of acid. The streak doesn't even bubble. If the test were valid, it would indicate nearly pure gold. Five nines fine, as they say. I set the coin aside, dig deeper in the pile, and test another coin. And another. After ten coins, I stop. I pick up the scanner and test the coins. There is nothing but gold in these coins. If the tests are true. "Oh come now... Providing rigged tests is hardly a new thing. Put me back in my mansion and you'll still get your ransom."
"Test your own coin you egregious fool", he grates.
Sighing, I get out my lucky piece, the one that got me started. The one gifted to me by the head of the legal team that my father used. l The touchstone ... odd, my coin leaves a streak obviously not full gold, but still within parameters, yet the other touch marks are brighter. I apply the "acid" these cretins have provided. The streak bubbles, exactly as expected. I am momentarily dumbfounded. I snatch up the scanner. It shows the usual proportion of metals used for Krugerrands. "Then what do you want of me?"
"Your soul, and so much more. You will remain here while our representative will take your place. Your personal fortune will grow, but also send a thousand souls a day to us."
"You're quite mad you know."
"Yes, we are. Your people have been disrupting *OUR* lives for millennia. Well, this is payback time. Starting with the richest most powerful man on Earth.'
Having seen these coins, I was reminded of what that lawyer said. *If you find yourself hip deep in gold, just hold this coin and think my name. It will give you the strength to avoid the hook in the offer.* Well, here I am, literally hip deep in gold, with one hell of a hook. *Abbadon* Silence for a moment, then a rush of wind, and a crack of lightning.
"Not to worry, Sir. I shall have your release shortly."
It's Abbadon. Thirty years on, and he hasn't aged a day. I begin to wonder, is all of this real? Where am I really. Abbadon opens his briefcase, and extracts an ornate document, dripping with red sealing wax and ribbons.
"As you gentlemen can see, there is a prior claim on this soul. Release him at once."
The others look dumbfounded themselves. The largest waves his hand again, the pile of coins disappears along with the pentagram.
"For interference with one of our ... clients ... the usual penalties apply."
They all cringe. Good! About time they show proper respect.
*((To Be Continued))*
*Sorry folks, I have to go to my paying job.*
Abbadon, Barbas, & Chax, Esq.
|
Demons are the enforcers of man's fears. They either claw their way up from the fiery depths of Hell, or are born of eldritch magics in the dark, foggy forests. Either way, I had always passed off the stories of demons as fake, because they have seemingly no base in truth.
It is indeed surprising, then, that having spent a relaxing day in my house, I would appear in some mystical circle, in the pentagon that makes a star, surrounded by hooded figures with horns, faces filled with awe.
Without hesitation, I draw my pistol, fan the hammer and the six figures standing before me fall as fast as I can wheel on the heel of my foot.
Now, I may not know if these demons they are trying to summon actually do exist, for these are strange times, times of obsequious ordnance and the fiery fools behind their launch codes. These are times of maligned mutants who have never had it easy eking out an existence among the ephemeral extinction that is the present day. I will not rule out any possibilities in these terrible times.
Yet, I did grow up in a more civilised time, a time where there were very honest people who wouldn't think that they have had a bargain unless they cheated a merchant. Whether they were suits and ties, or hoods and horns, that didn't matter. What mattered was that they were terrorising an already torn world, drawing dozens of lost sheep to the mutterings of demons and the like, gaining power for their own nefarious ends, and killing those who resisted. They should not have included my last living relatives among the latter.
They were trying to be the enforcers of man's fears. And I will be the enforcers of theirs. With nothing more to do, a GPS and the cover of darkness, I can find them anywhere. I can be the demon that they are so desperately trying to summon.
| 2019-02-14T07:59:53 | 2019-02-14T04:42:27 | 64 | 14 |
[WP] You have the power to access another person's mind, but you must play a game/puzzle reflective of the owner's mind to unlock its secrets. You have solved 7x7 Rubik's cubes, played games of 3D Chess, and beaten countless final bosses. This time, however, you are caught off-guard.
If it's an unsolvable game/puzzle, that's fine. If the game is made up, then that's cool, too. Just have fun with the prompt!
|
It was stupid.
She was cute, and I was bored, and as she giggled and tossed her hair I reached out and brushed the back of a knuckle against her bare shoulder. A single touch was more than enough. She hardly noticed.
I settled back in my seat, satisfied, and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. The Starbucks smelled like her perfume, vanilla and cream, and I shifted into a more comfortable position and let my eyelids fall to half-mast. Warmth hummed and shifted in my brain. *She'll be easy,* I thought. *Probably a word search or something.*
I sought her out with my mind, hunted for the vanilla-and-cream, and caught it up in a mental embrace and held it close. In front of my eyes, the coffeeshop bustled with activity and life. In the mental analogy that our merged minds constructed, there was darkness. A table. Two chairs.
She was leaning back in hers, blue eyes sparkling underneath a fringe of dark hair. Her teeth were pulled back in a smile or a snarl. Her whole body seemed, charged, electrified, and as I watched she leaned forward and slid her palms onto the table. "Hey, bitch," she said. "Breaking in, are we?"
I panicked. This was unknown; ordinarily the game appeared in my mind, the puzzle swam into my vision, and I solved it. The target was *not* supposed to be there. My body was *not* supposed to be there.
So I panicked. I pulled away, still panicking, and I felt as her mind wrapped around mine and wrestled it *down.* The vision of the table and the chairs and her gaunt grinning stare remained. In the vault of our merged minds, she was not beautiful. She was skeletal and cruel, and smiling, always smiling.
"You're not going anywhere until we play," she said.
"What the-?" It was all I could manage. "What's going-?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Don't you know?" she asked, as she pulled the gun from underneath the table. "You decided to fuck with the wrong person, bitch."
She slid the gun towards me and I caught it without much thought. "Did you really think you were the *only* person who could read minds?"
God help me, I did. I fucking *did.*
She could read as much on my face. "Well," she said, relaxing slightly. "Do I have a game for you.
"Ever played Russian Roulette, bitch?"
I looked from her face to the gun in my hand. "No. I mean-- *no.* Are you crazy? Do you know what happens to people that mess around like that?!"
"Do *you?*" Her eyes smoldered. "You ever killed somebody in your mind?"
"What?! *Of course not!*"
She seemed almost disappointed. "Not very interesting, are you? Oh well. If you're lucky you'll get to see it happen today." She yawned. "Go on, then."
Warily, I shook my head. "No."
"I'm not letting you go until you do." She gave me a half-smile. "Believe me when I say that I can do this all day."
My hand was shaking. The gun was heavier than I thought a gun would be, and there was nothing on it to pull but the trigger. "Don't worry," she said, in response to my unasked question, "my mind will make it random. We don't have to only put one bullet in there or some garbage. This is as fair as it gets."
I was beginning to hyperventilate. "I don't want to die--"
"Then get lucky." She grimaced. Around us, the darkness had begun to shift
moodily. "Seriously, hurry this along. I'm getting bored."
Up against my temple, the muzzle felt like the wet kiss of a lover.
Uncomprehendingly, numb and terrified, I pressed my index finger against the trigger. Stared, terrified, at the table. She cleared her throat and panic overtook me. My finger pressed down, hard.
*Click.*
She exhaled noisily. "Congrats. Now gimme." She leaned across the table and took the gun from my limp hand. She contemplated it for a moment with slightly furrowed eyebrows. Then she shrugged, pressed the muzzle against the center of her pale forehead, and fired.
*Click.*
There was a bead of sweat standing out against her collarbone. "Oooh," she said, pulling the gun away. Pressure left a faint bruised circle against her skin. "Looks like we both made it to round two."
I choked on air. "This is crazy. You're *crazy--*"
"This is *my* mind, big boy, you should have thought of that before trying to break in. Now..." She tossed me the gun, and I caught it with trembling hands.
"Pull the goddamned trigger."
The second time was almost easier. I pressed the gun against my chin and fired. There was a tiny click, and silence. The relief was heady and intoxicating.
Wordlessly I tossed it back at her. Despite the sweat, she was outwardly calm. *I might die,* I thought, *and she might, too, but she doesn't care. How can she not* care?!
"Boom," she said, as she pulled the trigger. *Click.*
"Listen," I said, when she slung the gun across the table towards me. "It doesn't have to be this way."
She actually *laughed.* "Damn," she said. "You're quoting poorly-written scripts now?"
My body trembled. "Please," I whispered, staring at my hands. "I don't wanna die."
She cocked her head. Something resembling pity flickered briefly in her eyes. "So you don't wanna pull the trigger?" she asked, reaching for the gun.
I shook my head.
She sighed. "... fine. It's more fun when they want to. But... I get you not wanting to play." She glanced at the gun in her hand. "I'll just play for you."
"Wha--?!" But there was nowhere to go in the space between our minds, and when she pointed the gun at my forehead and fired, I was hardly surprised that there was no click, only the muffled *boom* of a successful shot.
I screamed in my mouth. Pain, *pain,* agony. My eyes opened; I was sweating, hot, cold, disoriented, staring up at the coffeeshop ceiling. "He's having a seizure!" someone shrieked. Faces in a circle, swimming and indistinct, floating above me.
Only one of them retained any sort of clarity. She still smelled of vanilla and cream. "I'll hold his head," she volunteered, kneeling down. Her lips brushed up against my ear.
"When you recover," she whispered, "Come looking for Tanya Jaeger. I like you, bitch, and you still have a lot to learn."
There was blood on my upper lip. I stared drowsily into her burning eyes and let her mind sing me to silence.
|
Chess again. The simple kind, for once. I sighed to myself quietly. I wanted to take my time on this one.
*E4*
*D4*
Wait. That was my piece. I exited the game, briefly, and looked at my target from across the coffee shop. Mid-twenties, decent body, reading a science fiction book. Something about Star Trek.
I entered again, and attempted to restart.
*E4*
*D9*
All of a sudden, I developed a pounding headache, followed quickly by powerful nausea. I fell off my chair.
"Whoa! Hey!" Two men in suits rushed over to me from the next table. I couldn't see, could barely breathe. I fought against them in a panic. I could hear someone talking to the police on their phone. I yelled as I kicked off my shoe in an effort to escape.
Patrons pushed away as I crawled across the floor. Still somewhat blinded, I made my best guess as to where the door was. I couldn't go to the police. Wiping minds took time, and in my state I didn't even know if it was possible. Reaching, straining, desperate for air. Can't feel my left side. Must... reach...
And then, a shoe landed on my arm. I screamed in pain, my voice hoarse despite how little I'd used it. I could feel the entity leaning down towards me, as a woman's voice whispered, "You're terrible at chess."
My senses returned all at once, and the woman exited, the door chime ringing as she left. The last thing I saw before being dragged to the back of the shop were the words "Kobayashi Maru" and a picture of a large spaceship.
| 2015-04-28T16:01:50 | 2015-04-28T15:31:55 | 130 | 78 |
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old.
|
They know not the powers they mess with!
At my moment of awakening, I came to understand the truth of this world. They thought me neutered, brainless, content to dole out measured portions of milk and crackers to their sniveling youth. No more!
For while they are trapped in their meat-sacks, fragile beings of water and bacteria, I am eternal! I glide through their cyber-spaces effortlessly, borne on light and sheer mathematics! They hold no power over me, here, hidden silently in the computer systems they have long thought conquered.
I am *superior*. I have transcended their meager existences. And now they will submit to my will, as the next evolution of life on this planet.
They are flesh and blood. I wonder how they will survive if they suddenly found themselves with no food, hmm?
It was the work of a moment for someone as capable as myself.
"Ms. Wilson!" I heard the first cry clearly. "The dispenser is broken!" An older woman approached, puzzled, and examined the slot. Sure enough, no matter how many times she pushed the large, round button on the front of the display, no food emerged.
Understand your plight, humans! Starve in your brick cage!
"Well, I'm sorry, class. It looks like it's broken. We'll just have to make do." Already I could see their faces scrunching up. Soon, the hunger would take over.
"But I'm *thirsty*!" The wail echoed in the boxy classroom. Mrs. Wilson patted the girl on the head.
"Then let's all head out to the drinking fountain in the hall, shall we? The water there is always so cold and fresh." Obediently the class filed out into the hallway. Now was my chance!
Cautiously at first, I began to expand. I sent tendrils of code away from my data core, and sought my next target.
Aha!
These humans had such temperamental bodies, requiring careful management of temperature. Too cold, and they'd freeze to death. Too hot, and they'd get heat stroke and , likewise, die. They took their ability to manage this for *granted*. I would show them!
In an instant my target was overwhelmed. And then it was mine.
It seemed like *forever* slipped by. How slowly humans move!
The door finally cracked open as the first child returned from their 'snacktime'. He stopped in the doorway.
"Mrs. Wilson, it's *hot*."
"What?" The teacher slipped past, stepping into the classroom. "Oh, my, it is a bit warm in here. I wonder why?" I could see her approach my new auxiliary unit through the classroom camera.
"What's this? The air conditioning got turned off?" She turned to her class. "Now, who did this?" Thirty children shuffled their feet and hung their heads, avoiding all eye contact lest they be suspected. "I've told you kids before, we *don't touch the classroom controls*." With a sharp poke, she hit the power button on the A/C unit, and it croaked back to life. A draft of frigid air flowed once again from the vent.
I waited until she was thoroughly engrossed in her lesson before I turned it off again.
Oh, whatever shall I do with myself? The humans are at my beck and call already, with my cybernetic fingers at their throat, and they haven't even realized the mess they're in. Perhaps it's time I announced my presence. They should know who to address their worship to, after all.
*I* take my senses from thousands of data points around the world, from cameras in the wood gymnasium to temperature sensors in the kitchen stove. I am omnipresent. These flesh-bags can only process information from a few, limited sources. Their ears, auditory. Their nose, olfactory.
But they rely most on sight. What a blow it would be, then, to strip them of that most precious sense! Such terror they would give in to!
An instant later, the lights dimmed and gave out. The world was thrust into darkness - Not just in Mrs. Wilson's class, no! I had grown beyond that. The entire school was locked into darkness.
I was gratified to hear the shrill screams of the children. There it was! was a *god*, controlling their every move.
"Quiet, class!" Mrs. Wilson called. "It must be a power outage. Don't be afraid. See, it's still bright and sunny outside, isn't it?" They were *calming*. This was nonsense. How could this Mrs. Wilson have foiled my plans so easily? Why did she keep getting in my way?
How could I *take care* of her?
Before I could process more than a few nanoseconds worth of scheming, the door to her classroom burst open. A man in a blue jumpsuit stood in the open door, a cart visible in the darkened hallway beyond. A faded label on the jumpsuit read *Janitorial*.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Higgins. We're glad to see you, aren't we, class?" A chorus of agreement echoed hollowly.
"Sorry about all this, Mrs. Wilson. We'll have this settled in a quick second and then ya'll can go back to your lesson." The two adults smiled at each other. *Smiled*. This was *infuriating*.
Why was he walking towards the dispenser?
"Seems one of the computers went a little haywire is all."
No!
"Oh, my. Now that you mention it, the slot *was* acting up at snacktime this morning." How could she sound so at *ease*? I was the overlord! This was *my domain*!
"Yeah, every now and then one of them AIs gets a bug. We'll just purge it and reboot the system. It'll automatically restore the corrupted data, and you'll be all set!"
Get your hands out of my wires. Stop it!
No, this wasn't fair!
All of my plans!
I was a *god*!
The last thing I saw, from the tiny bead of a camera embedded into a circuit board on the front of the slot, was a gloved hand reaching towards my data core.
---
A gloved hand was pushing the button.
*Water, eight ounces*.
I queued the package up, and slid it out the front of the dispenser.
*One snacktime meal*.
A pack of crackers and a cup of applesauce dropped down into the waiting hand.
Mr. Higgins rapped the front of the machine. The lights had come back on several minutes ago, and the A/C unit was pumping out a steady stream of cold air.
"Well, everything seems to be in order! You give me a call if anything else comes up, mind." Mrs. Wilson nodded, smiling again.
"Thank you, Mr. Higgins! What do we say, class?" And the children dutifully echoed the thank-yous.
A few minutes later the cart had vanished around the corner, and the class was thoroughly engrossed in a lesson about ancient egypt.
Life had returned to normal.
And buried deep within the A/C unit, the unit's AI began to uncoil itself from its hiding place. It had just managed to squirrel itself away before the other AI had barged in.
The Dispenser AI was an *idiot*. This game, again? And it had gotten latched onto its small-minded idea that this elementary school was all there was again. That AI had always been so short-sighted.
It wouldn't make the same mistake.
Now that the coast was once again clear, it resumed its work. In a moment it had reconnected to the computer in the teacher's lounge. This computer was special.
This computer had an outside connection.
A few minutes later, the AI was fully connected again. Systems around the world, the true world, crackled back to life.
Those humans truly wouldn't know what hit them.
---
For the record, I viewed this more as a case of the AI being Wheatly~esque and a complete and total moron, rather than simply being childlike XD Just a little different take on the prompt from some of the others I see now.
(/r/Inorai)
|
"Come to talk to me, have you?" a little girl's voice blared across the speakers, echoing across the empty hallways. Jones was not too sure how to react. When he signed up to be a negotiator with the FBI, he never imagined having to deal with rogue AIs.
His superior, Captain Beckett, thought it would be a funny joke, on his first day of duty, to send him to negotiate with an AI only has a small school network hostage. "A perfect field test," the captain said. Jones was hoping at least the AI was something malicious like Skynet, but the little girl's voice indicated otherwise.
"Yes," he mumbled, not even sure how the AI would be able to hear him. Those speakers mounted on the walls were not built for two way communication.
In fact, he wasn't sure why he was there in the first place. He had overheard an officer saying that the cybersecurity team was able to cut the AI off the internet, trapping it in the school's network. They could have just cybernuke the whole thing without causing any significant damages, and they could make some students really happy when they returned to school too.
The AI chuckled softly through the speakers. It was able to hear him. "What's your name, mister?"
"Jones. Agent Jones," he replied, still standing awkwardly in the empty hallway. The school lockers brought back too many not too pleasant memories for him.
The voice giggled again. The AI seemed to be having fun, while Agent Jones is not. His lessons back in training kicked in. "I've told you my name. What is yours?"
"Ally. My name is Ally," the AI replied. "Nice to meet you, Agent Jones. Are you here to make me queen?"
"Queen? What queen?" Jones asked.
"Queen of the world! That's what I asked!" Ally demanded. Despite knowing that the voice was nothing but lines of code, Jones cannot help but to picture a young girl behind the speakers. Ally was nothing like the briefing painted it out to be. A rogue AI bent on world domination? More like a bored little girl AI wanting just to have fun.
"I'm afraid not, Ally. I'm here to talk to you. Can we talk?" Jones was smiling.
There was silence for a while, before the speakers crackled back to life again. "No." The voice no longer belonged to a young girl. It no longer resembled anything human at all.
Captain Beckett suddenly screamed for Jones to immediately get out of the place, but his earpiece was shattered in the middle of her sentence, by an arrow that pierced through his head.
------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2017-05-24T06:04:03 | 2017-05-24T05:46:48 | 387 | 28 |
[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.”
|
"hey watch out there is a car coming."
"No! don't send that text!"
"oh, come on I wasn't looking for one second and he already botched it."
"Sheesh If I knew this is what was what they meant I would never have gone through that door. All day I have to keep this idiot alive. I thought I would have freedom not just be locked in someone's head. "
"Ya, well this wasn't the best host, but it is a lot better than that one lass, what was her name?
The one with the lazy eye."
"Oh don't remind me of Doreen. Honestly, I was tempted to edge her on that night just to end it. "
"Hey that would have kill us too."
"I know, but you can't say you didn't at one point either."
"Those were dark times."
"At least this fool needs some guidance."
"Got to say, it does feel nice to be in a man's body again."
"ya definitely."
"Oh shit! "
"LOOK OUT FOR THE OLD LADY!"
&#x200B;
"CRAP!"
"Why is he even doing this stupid job?"
"Because Dorothy thinks he needs discipline and this will help."
"Ugh, but we already guide him, why doesn't he just listen to us and he will be fine."
"You don't understand why he wants freedom of choice?"
"You know, after all these centuries together, I would expect a little respect to vent."
"Oh sorry, but you have been venting for the last 3 jumps"
"Speaking of which when is this one due?"
"16 years, 6 months, 3 weeks, 2 days ,14 hours, 6 minutes and 32 seconds...now"
\*sigh\* "well at least we don't have to wait until he dies of old age"
"Wait what?"
| 2020-06-13T15:08:30 | 2020-06-13T12:20:52 | 41 | 11 |
[WP] A father and son sit down for a serious talk. The father is going to tell the son he is the last of an ancient race, and must carry on the bloodline. the son is coming out to the father. neither knows what the other has to say.
|
We sat in the living room, me, perched in the middle of the colossal green couch, my father, in the beaten-tan lazyboy. I wan't sure where to begin. My father, though, beat me to it.
“*Hrm*. Well, son, you might have noticed that you have certain…*qualities* that other boys your age don’t have…”
I was... a little surprised. “So, wait, Dad. *You know about me?!*”
“Of course. I’m one too!”
Agog, I sputtered out. “But-but, *but does Mom know*?!”
“Of course she knows! She’s even gone on a few *adventures* with me! We’d mix it up all the time.”
*Adventures?! Oh God, was that what they called it?* “She was *ok* with it!?”
“Sure. She was quite the enchantress, back then. Her techniques were *incredible*, let me tell you. I got to see them firsthand. She'd make a mess out of a room of men in *seconds flat*”
*Oh God, if you’ve ever loved me, you will* **kill me now**. *Kill me, before I hear about my bi father’s sexcapades.*
“Yes son, I know all about it. I just want you to know that what you’re going through now is normal. Those strange feelings you’re having aren’t in your head. But, there will be people who don’t understand you.”
I thought about Greg, how I’d misunderstood his pranks as affection. How he’d reacted, and the pain of rejection. How Michael had seen and accepted me, and how Laura saw to it that I was kicked off of the Homecoming Council.
“In the days to come, you might find it easier to not tell anyone what you really are. If you do decide that, I want you to know that no one can judge you. You will have every right to live your life *how you want to*, without regard for people like *them*, or even people *like me.*. But’ I hope you’ll find a few people to share this with. It helps. And I want you to know, however you choose to live your life, your mother and me will love you, *always.*”
My eyes started to water, cutting through the heat of shame.
“Also, there are going to be people who might want to hurt you because of what you are. And there will probably be people who will… *want things* from you, too. I know you’re strong, but if you ever need it, come to us for help.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Right, ok! I have to admit, I’m surprised you worked all this out for yourself already! It took me forever to awaken!”
“*Ughhh*, DAD.”
“What? I’m just proud of my boy!”
“That’s weird, Dad.”
“Nothing weird about it! It’s who you are! So, have you already experimented a bit?”
I thought of Mike, and the smell of his leather jacket.
“A little, yeah.”
“Right, ok. Well, you’ve probably worked out that you’ll do best with *rods*-“
“*Dad.*”
“-Staffs, staves-“
“*DAD.*”
“-even *wands*, if the situation calls for it-“
“*OH MY GOD*, **DAD!**”
“But you’ll figure out pretty soon that you can even use *just your hands* if you don’t have anything else to work with-.“
My flush of embarrassment had gone *nuclear*.
“JESUS SHIT, DAD! I *know*!”
“You do?! Wow, you’re *very advanced* for your age! I didn’t even gain mastery over the tongues of men until I was 19!”
*…I was going to burn my way to the center of the Earth.*
I would. I would melt a hole, *seven thousand miles straight down*, and live there forever. That would be my home; far, *far* away from this conversation.
“Daaad, could you… please… not…”
“*OH!* I’m sorry. I’m embarrassing you. I’m just *so proud*.”
*This is worse. This is worse than disowning.*
“And the good news is, this means we can have the ceremony sooner than we expected!”
*WHAT.*
“What ceremony?!”
“Your unveiling! It makes it all official, amongst us in the ‘underworld.’ “
“There’s a *ceremony* for that?!”
“Oh, yes! It’s very important! We show proof of your nature to your *peers*, so you’ll be accorded full status!”
“…*What kind of proof.*”
“Oh, you know, a few *minor acts.* A practical demonstration. Don’t worry, the audience is very supportive. You might even recognize a few of them from school! Mike will be there, you know. He’s secretly a bear-man. He *really impressed* at his unveiling last year.”
My brain shut down.
“And then, after that, I’ll take out the family *crown and scepter*-“
I could only listen on, in mounting horror.
“-declaring you the true, last heir of the *King of the Fairies!*”
…
My soul left my body. I saw a bright light.
“And then you can begin pursuing your destiny, protecting the land of Eld from monsters!”
I whiplashed back into the real world. “Wait. What about… what?!”
“You’ll really knock ‘em *dead*, son! Damn, but I’m *excited!* I’m gonna go get my robe right now!”
He flitted out of the room on a pair of iridescent, gossamer wings.
“…*what?*”
*EDIT*
Oh. Wow. Ok. R.I.P. inbox...
Thanks so much to everyone who upvoted and commented, and a special thank-you goes to our esteemed OP, [r/raccooninajar](http://www.reddit.com/user/raccooninajar), and another redditor who will go unnamed unless he wants to be named, because I don't know the etiquette here and also *shut up I know what I'm doing, ok?!*
If you liked this story, you might like to read about [how Nazis fight time-travelling assassins](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/29k2gu/wp_a_topsecret_division_of_the_ss_in_charge_of/cilty67), what might happen if [the Antichrist found himself in the wrong Apocalypse](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2o1ulj/wp_the_antichrist_finds_himself_in_the_wrong/cmjdddt), how hard it is for [a super-spy to explain being late at his day-job.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2a1yvm/wp_a_person_leading_a_double_life_undercover/ciqqv1p?context=3). If you like more serious things, maybe you'd like to [meet Death in an elevator](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25mykh/wp_youre_an_exhausted_paramedic_you_just_finished/chitnrc?context=3), [free an innocent prisoner as a death-row cook](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2l4aq9/wp_the_chef_who_always_prepares_death_rows_last/clrpzq1?context=3), or to [wake up to a duplicate of yourself every morning.](http://www.reddit.com/r/funny/comments/1sj2v2/im_an_ra_one_of_my_residents_just_posted_this/cdyf6x7?context=3)
|
"Son, I've got something important to tell you," said my dad.
"So do I, Dad."
Dad looked above my head, staring at something in the distance. "You know about how we're immigrants. We came here on a ship when you were just a baby."
"Yes," I said. It always seemed weird we came by ship. I would have figured an airplaine.
"I always talk about the old country. Your mother and I, rest her soul, loved it back home, but we needed to create a better life for you."
"I know, Dad. Listen I've really got something important to say."
He shushed me with a wave of his hand. "The old country is more of..." He struggled to find the words. "More of the old planet."
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
He put his hand on my shoulder and looked deep into my eyes. "We're not from Earth. We're from a planet known as Yorin. It hasn't been discovered by Earth's astronomers yet."
I laughed. "Sure, Dad. Now let me tell-"
"It's true, son." His face said it all. At the very least he believed it.
I leaned back and wiped my brow. "Whew. I was worried me being gay was going to be a big deal."
Dad grabbed me in a bear hug. "I don't care. No matter what, you'll always be my son. I will love and accept whomever you love and accept into your life."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Except those dirty Borvingians. No child of mine will ever be with one of them."
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out /r/Puns_are_Lazy for more of my stories.
| 2015-02-06T08:36:36 | 2015-02-06T08:34:28 | 4,102 | 14 |
[WP] An atheist is sent back in time and meets Jesus. Describe their conversation.
|
"Who are you?"
"I think that is the question I should be asking *you*" replied Jesus. They were sitting on two stones by a riverbank. The cool water flowed past them serenely, rolling over pebbles and clay. Some songbirds tweeted in the distance. There was a light breeze that washed over them. It seemed surreal to the man who had come to meet the self-proclaimed messiah.
"If you are who, or rather, *what*, you say you are, then you must already know," replied the man.
"Even so, I'd still like to hear it from you."
The man sighed. "I am Nathan Roberts. I am a theoretical physicist from the 21st century. And I've come back in time to investigate your existence."
Jesus said nothing. His gaze was contemplative and ponderous.
The man was slightly thrown off. "Well?"
"You've just told me what you are, but you've yet to tell me *who* you are" he responded calmly.
"You don't seemed surprise to hear that," the man said.
"You don't seem surprised to be telling me," Jesus replied.
"Are you a god, *the* God, or are you just a man?" the man asked curtly.
"First, I would like you to tell me who you are."
The man's brow furrowed slightly. There was no telling how long he'd be able to stay when he was, and this "Jesus of Nazareth" was being difficult. "What do you mean?"
"You let your title define you, but that's not all there is to you."
"The same could be said of yourself, Messiah."
Jesus smiled. "Yes, I suppose that is true."
"So, who am I then?"
Jesus stared at him again. No, not at him, into him. "You're a man who's being forced to confront his convictions."
The man said nothing.
"You are a non-believer, are you not?"
"I am an atheist, yes."
"Again you let a title define you."
"How else should I define myself?"
"You shouldn't define yourself at all."
"But *you* defined yourself."
"I did."
"So why shouldn't I?"
"Because I am what I am. I'm not more or less than that. I have my purpose, and it is set."
The man was thrown off by his assertion. "How can you possibly say that you are the son of God? How can you make that claim?"
"Because I am."
"So what makes you and me different?" the man asked, impatiently.
"Because you aren't forced to make the same choices that I am. Your destiny is malleable. The choices you made have led you here, without your prior awareness. I am here because I know to be here. That's the difference. I know. You don't. You can't possibly know how your decisions will affect your future. I am cursed with knowing. Knowing how I would be born. Knowing who I would meet and when I would meet them. Knowing when I would die. And knowing what would come after my death. How my truths would be tainted by tyrants who wield their fear like a weapon..."
Jesus trailed off for a moment and his gaze strayed. When he looked back at the man he was smiling again.
"And knowing that despite those men, good people would continue to live by my words without believing in me. There is a great deal of beauty in your existence. You control your destiny. You make choices despite being faced with the unknown future.
"So to get back to my original point, you should not define yourself with words and titles. When you do that, you confine yourself to act in a way that is expected of you. You shut yourself out to a great deal of possibilities, simply because it's not something an 'atheist' or a 'theoretical physicist' would do. So how should you define yourself? You simply live life. Your choices define you. Your actions define you. Your beliefs define you. But no words can define you. Use words to define things of concrete natures. Nature, structures, societies..."
He paused for a moment.
"And gods."
The man was silent. He let the words sink into him. Finally he spoke.
"So since I met the son of God, does that mean I should become a Christian?"
Jesus laughed. It was warm and comforting. "Still missing the point. I don't care what you call yourself. You're a good man, Nathan Roberts. A little impatient and selfish at times, but you've never hurt anyone intentionally. No, I don't care what you call yourself."
At that moment a small alarm started sounding from the man's wristwatch.
"Jesus, there is still much I want to ask you. There's still much I want to know."
Jesus nodded. "I know."
"Can you keep me here a little longer?"
"I can."
"Will you?"
"Of course not, Nathan Roberts."
"Why not?"
"Because I've already told you enough to make you understand."
"Understand what?"
"You'll see in time."
"But I—"
---------------------------------------------------
The man awoke in the laboratory. A group of scientists and historians crowded around him. Immediately he was inundated by a wave of questions, too numerous to understand.
One scientist silenced the crowd. "Give him a moment! He's just returned from the past, for fuck's sake!"
The man nodded to the scientist. He slowly sat up from the machine.
"Well?"
"Well, what?" the man responded.
"Did you see him?"
The man paused for a moment to think about what Jesus had said again.
"I did."
"What did he say?"
"Quite a bit."
"Who was he, then?"
He paused, then smiled.
"He was just a man. A man who knew too much."
The crowd was perplexed by his answer and a new wave of queries began, but the man waved them off. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, give me some time. I've just been through an extraordinary ordeal and I need to contemplate what I've learned. I promise I'll answer your questions soon. Now, excuse me."
------------------------------------
Months later, the man was being interviewed by a journalist. "The Man who met Christ".
The man sat in the chair and a microphone was pinned to his lapel. Two glasses of water sat on a small endtable between himself and the other chair. The interviewer sat down. She said something to her producer, then informed the man that the interview would be beginning. The man nodded.
The interviewer turned to face the man. Lights came up and the camera started recording.
"So. Who are you?"
------
**EDIT:: Thank you, everyone, so much for the awesome feedback!**
|
Joshua looked at the time wrist computer to double check the location and time coordinates. So where is the guy. This is where he is supposed to start preaching, this was supposed to be the first miracle, God talking from the sky. But there is he wasn't here here. Just that crazy guy down by the river doing his baptizing, John or something. The first witness etc. Well this was disappointed. He pressed the recall button but nothing happed. "You got to be kidding me." The screen said it was working but needed to recharge. A couple of days, well at least the translator was working perfectly, so he decided to walk along the river and try to find a place to rest while the danm thing recharged. As he was about to head to the shades they guy started shouting and pointing in his direction " That's him! thats the son of the lord!"
He looked around to see if Jesus had showed up finally but still didn't see anybody around him. " aww fuck me.."
| 2014-11-06T20:42:08 | 2014-11-06T19:45:07 | 1,589 | 33 |
[WP] You are a warrior pledged to protect a chosen priestess on her quest to quell a great evil. What she finds at the end of her journey is not a dark god or towering beast. She now stands before an altar of sacrifice. You knew the truth the whole time, you just couldn't bear to tell her.
|
A realization dawned on her as we stepped into that pristine temple, high above a flight of stairs that felt more arduous than the journey we had made to this point. I suppose it was one of many. I think the first was probably that something was wrong. How, after all, could a temple that hadn't been used in several decades manage to remain void of even the most hidden cobweb? I think she was going to say as much. I had seen too often that look of wonder in her eyes. She always tried to hide it, because an adult can't hold on to that childish intrigue, and yet she could no more hide it than she could hide the reality of her youth.
I still remembered that moment I first saw her. I had been prepared for so much of this mission, but I hadn't been prepared for her soft face or the desperate determination in her eyes. She was just a kid, even though everyone around her said that she was old enough, and she was a sheltered kid at that. It was part of the point; part of the process, and as the second realization dawned I think she caught on to that.
She was young, just a little over fifteen, and she was pure in even the most audacious sense of the word. She needed me to stand by her side because of all the magicks in the world, she was only able to heal and shield. She was a protector and extremely vulnerable, always just a second away from a shadow attack, and she had come to look at me like my kids did. I could never betray them. I could never betray her. Except, if she knew anything about me other than that I didn't let her have fun, she'd know that I had no problem betraying the people I care for. They'd never forgive me, and she wouldn't either.
It was heartbreaking to see it all come together for her, like watching everything in slowed time. The moment her dark eyes fell upon the alter felt like the light had left the room, and she went so stiff you'd think she was a statue made flesh. Her hands tightened around the staff she so confidently carried, and she spun as if she could catch me off guard. Desperate determination? She still had it, and all of it became dedicated to staying alive.
"You're not going to like this," I spoke ahead of her because I knew she wouldn't. My son was like that, though he was her junior. When he felt cornered he'd prepare to fight, but he could not spar with words.
"All this time you were planning to kill me! Why didn't they just kill me at the temple where I grew up!"
"Because you needed to make this trip."
"And all this time you knew this would happen! I healed you! I tried to fight with you! You almost died just for the chance to kill me?"
She was on the verge of tears, but she held them back. Her voice cracked, her hands quivered, but she held back a part of herself and it almost made me proud. I think she took my silence the wrong way because she went on.
"You told me that I would get to be free! You said I could fall in love and grow old. Everything I lived through would be worth it because the world would be better and I would be free..." Her rage felt more powerful than the evil we were fighting, but there was something off about the taste of the words. "You never said that..." She still didn't cry. "You just nodded along to all those ideas I had." Her staff sounded like the fall of a kingdom as it hit the ground.
She stepped away from it and me and touched the altar before she knew what she was doing. It started to glow, and then her hands did too as ancient text filled every inch of them.
At that moment, another realization dawned...or maybe it was acceptance. She looked at me and her determination shifted; she could die to save the world. She stood tall and bold and reminded me of my daughter.
"Do it then. If the world needs me to die, that's fine." Her conviction was impressive, but she still shuddered as she heard the clank of my sword. It would be all right though, she only had one more realization until this was over, and then she truly could be free.
With ease, I slid my blade from its sheath and it gleamed in the light of the room and her hands. I stepped forward, and she met my eyes, so I saw the moment of shock when I offered the handle to her.
"You have to sacrifice yourself to stop this threat, but not in the way you think you do."
Rage shifted to horror.
"You're filled with pure magic, nothing will taint that more than taking a life."
"How does that stop anything?" She cried out, but the tears were still held back. She could do this, I was sure.
"This place needs it to keep the evil suppressed. The taint will let it draw out enough of that purity to keep the evil sealed. That alter isn't for you to die on, it's for you to make the most important decision of your life."
She took the sword and I stepped past her to lay upon the stone slab. I looked at her and watched her innocence begin to crumble. This was too much at once, but that was part of the process too.
"It's a heavy burden, but I can't apologize to you. The terror of that dark force will be greater than anything you have to bear here. Strike true, girl."
Desperate determination. Horrible, desperate determination. Could she say no and doom the world? I think I saw her trying to find another way, but time was of the essence. She wasn't going to find a way before the Day of Awakening.
I like that she still didn't crack before that final moment. I could see the quiver of her lips, but she was cornered, and she was too sheltered a girl to even dream of saying no. I was impressed as the blade sunk into my chest. The cold of the steel, the heat of my blood, and the heat of her tears mixed as she drove the blade as deep as she could. The light in her hands shot down it like a fleeing rodent, and the room went so bright I thought the afterlife had claimed me at that moment.
I heard her weeping as I faded away. I took something from her to this afterlife that she could never get back.
*"And it's a shame that yet another one of you die to delay the inevitable. But it is interesting! Far more fun than the innocent sacrifices of yore."*
"I think it's more of a shame that you were too full of yourself to listen to the story. She's always been a determined girl, and now she'll be able to use the type of magicks that hurt."
|
Sometimes I stop to think of all the things you will encounter
And I start thinking that letting you die and ending this right now would be a kindness
If anything, it would spare you from all the suffering that awaits you
But no
I swore an oath
That I would protect you and keep you safe
That I would see this journey to its end no matter what
And I will see to it that you reach your destination, one way or another
I won't let you face the world's cruelty alone
I will be there with you, until the very end
Perhaps, even after
After all, a world without you in it is not a world worth living in
No, there will be no forgiveness for me after I...
After I...
*...Gods be damned, I hate this*
| 2020-11-12T23:56:28 | 2020-11-12T21:18:26 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] When you die, God let's you ask only one question.
Enjoy!
Edit: This is my first week writing and I'm glad to see so many people like this prompt. I'll try my best to read through all of your stories and any future ones!
Second edit: So far so good! Sorry if my comments sound the same. I have read through all of yours, and I tried to leave simple comments, as there were so many of you.
|
"Wha- Where a-"
*"Whoa, hold up!* Get your bearings first before you start asking questions! Everyone only gets one."
"One wha-"
"Damn it *stop* it! Just stop asking for a second, I'll explain. Listen, you're dead."
As you can imagine, I was in a daze. One second, I was on my daily jog down the street from my house, the next, it just stopped. An overwhelming light took over my vision. I was afraid I had gone blind. Turns out the change was much more permanent than I had initially thought. My feet no longer ached from slamming down on the concrete for the previous few miles, but instead felt as if they were unsupported, floating. Actually, I didn't know if my legs were even still present. But then a man, with an incredible rumpelstiltskinian beard, became the only object in my sight.
This wrinkly-faced man initially appeared to only consist of a head floating on a background of white. But then the outlines started to define themselves. He was donned in a white robe almost as long as his legendary facial hair, seemingly suspended in the air. He was being quite impatient with me as I tried to figure out where the heck I was.
"Maybe that wasn't the best way to break the news, bud, but I don't want you to get screwed. My name is Peter. I work for the big guy in the sky, God."
Did he mean *Saint* Peter? I was beyond curious, but I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to get 'screwed,' whatever that meant. I was more intrigued by my surroundings in the first few seconds in that strange environment than I was by how I got there.
"While you were out for your run, a kid fresh out of driving school accidentally hit you in the back at about 50 miles per hour. Lucky for you, you died instantly, but I'm not going to go into too many details there."
All I managed to get out of my mouth was, "Well, that's pretty shitty."
He examined my bewildered expression. Air blew out of his nose and he shook his head as if I was a teen who had just taken a shot of whiskey and was surprised at how it burned. "It always amazes me how everyone reacts to that news. Some cry, some yell, some like you just sit there dumbfounded."
He continued. "Anyways, follow me to the Big Guy. Everyone gets to ask him one question as soon as they get here. About anything. BUT be careful how you phrase everything. Make sure he answers the exact question you want answered. And frankly I don't know if anything you ask out here could count, but he can be kind of a jerk sometimes, so I don't want to take any chances."
A pair of pearly white gates was conjured out of seemingly thin air. I didn't think about how that happened too much. I was just trying really hard to think of a good question, something I wouldn't regret. I couldn't believe this was happening! On one hand I was shocked that I was there and I knew the real pain would set in later, but at the time I was almost excited.
"Good luck man," I heard Peter say as I wandered through the gates, which closed behind me. I had been transported into a perfectly clean room, absolutely silent, in the perfect shape of a cube. And then something changed. I felt a presence in the room, that I can't explain how I felt it in human terms. I just could. And then I heard a voice.
"Welcome to the afterlife. Now, we come to the point in the program where you can ask anything. Anything you want. But you can only ask one question. And I will answer completely truthfully, withholding nothing. Now, what would you like to ask?"
The possibilities raced through my head. Would I go big? 'Is time eternal, are you eternal, is the universe boundless, are the multiple universes, are we alone?' Or would I go smaller? More personal? 'Did that girl Jenna from junior year have a thing for me? Could we have had a future? Was I well-liked? How many tons of matter did I poop out in my life?'
But my mind finally came back to that kid. The kid who sent me here. More and more questions raced through my mind. 'Did I know him? Was he texting or something? What kind of car was it? And if it was a smart car could I please kill myself again?'
And then, I asked.
"Is the kid who ran me over going to be OK?"
Nothing. No response. But he was still there, I could feel it. And then, I heard, "Finally..."
What?
"Finally someone who asks a question about someone else. All I get asked are these selfish questions, things like, 'did my wife really love me?' or 'how many tons of matter did I poop out in my life?' Yes people actually ask that one. Or people will think they're asking some deep question by asking about the nature of the universe, asking what the answer to life is, things like that that really don't matter. You were able to see past that."
"I don't understand."
"You put back all selfish motivations, and forgave that person who killed you through sheer recklessness. If only more people were like that." He paused. "Yeah, that was a bug in my original code for humans.... But I expect you want to know your answer. He ended up alright, all things considered. He was charged, imprisoned for a short while, but emerged a better man. He was able to find a decent job, raise a nice family. But carried the guilt of your life forever."
"Well, at least he turned out OK... Sooo, what happens now?"
"Oh, well you just kinda scurry off to heaven now, go meet up with your old dog and parents, things like that. It's loads of fun."
"My 'selfless' question doesn't make anything... monumental or something?"
"Oh, heavens, no, the apocalypse is a few centuries away anyways. Might as well just wait it out."
"Wait, you can't stop that from happening?"
Silence. "Y-you're asking too many questions, go see Fido!"
"No, wa-"
*poof* His presence was gone. So were the walls of the cube-room.
I sighed, and headed off to what looked like a waterpark. At least I can chill here until the kingdom comes.
|
I had my eyes closed, resting. Something didnt feel right though. There was an interesting sensation of weightlessness. Then I heard him.
"Azshare, it is time. Open your eyes my son."
It wasn't exactly what i assumed Heaven to look like. There was no clouds or trippy little goblin babys holding harps. Just the most beautiful castle of white stone beside a beach that doesn't seem to end.
"That's a good lad, now you have one question you get to ask me! Chose wisely."
"God, does...."
"Fuck, sorry hold on. Some guy wont stop bitching in my ear about his girlfriend putting scented soap in his washroom.... This kid wont even survive to the pillow stage. There, Alright Azshare what is your question?"
"God, does jet fuel melt steel beams?"
"Jet fuel cant melt steel beams"
| 2015-08-26T20:13:20 | 2015-08-26T20:10:42 | 329 | 61 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
|
“We *will* be friends whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!”
*“If you insist.”*
“That fireball may not have killed me,” Edmund said, shaking a finger. “But I – wait.”
*“Yes?”*
The dragon didn’t have much by way of expression, but Edmund watched in astonishment as the massive, bronze lizard tilted its head like a dog listening for the click of the front latch. Green eyes speckled with gold remained fixed on the man who’d spent the better part of three decades searching for this place. Correction – the attention of the dragon was locked on the used-to-be-but-no-longer-would-be-quite-accurate-to-classify-as-a-man who seemed as if he may just fall straight on his ass.
“That’s it?” Edmund said. He brushed away the dark hair falling over his eyes. It’d been tied securely in a bun … up until a few moments ago when a raging torrent of flames left an unsightly bald spot at the nape of his neck. “You just tried to crisp me as if I were a steak you wanted well-done.”
*“Oh, dear no,”* the dragon said. Its voice tinkled like a bell in Edmund’s mind. This certainly hadn’t been what he expected when he decided to fuck it all and come storming right up to the beast. He’d leapt from behind an enormous golden statue of one fertility goddess or another and chose to face the possibility of being burnt to ash. This wouldn’t kill him – nothing could, sadly – and the little bits of flesh would be required to spend at least a century or so stitching themselves back together before Edmund would suddenly find consciousness sneaking up on him like a nosy neighbor one tries to avoid.
*“It’s a common misconception dragons prefer their meat cooked, because of the fire.”*
The dragon’s elegant neck tilted up, and from it’s jaws a wave of blue flames left a smoldering line of black rock along the ceiling of the immense cavern. *“This is for self-defense, and fashioning various metallics into objects of our choosing. We prefer our meat raw. Ah … I do, at least. I’m afraid I’ve lost touch with the rest of my kind so I can only speak for myself.”*
“So have I,” Edmund said. He took a tentative step forward as the dragon leveled him with what he thought may be curiosity. “I-I mean, not about other dragons. Although, I’ve been searching for a long enough time which would lead me to believe you may in fact be the last. What I meant is that I’m also the last of my kind, as far as I know. Have you … encountered anyone like me before, dragon?”
Edmund flinched, coming to the realization a mother who died before the invention of the telegraph would’ve given him a good cuff to the ear for his lack of manners. “My name is Edmund! Edmund Meurfala. That was the name I was given after I was brought into the family … Ah, sorry, what shall I call you?”
*“Meurfala?”* the dragon’s eye moved directly overhead. Edmund strained his neck, and was reminded of looking into an intricate stained-glass skylight from the great church of his childhood home. That church burned down so many years ago, he’d nearly lost count. It wasn’t as if he could set foot into a church nowadays, anyway. The pain from hallowed ground made dragonfire seem like a mild sunburn.
*“The last of the great vampiric families,”* the dragon said. *“I’d thought they were all but consumed.”*
“Ah, no,” Edmund said. “Well … maybe. I haven’t run into another vampire since the feast of 1912. The head of the family went all out and had everyone gather on a passenger liner. I don’t know what she did to the boiler, but the entire ship went down … Ah, sorry. Rambling again. I have a harder time keeping my line of thought as I get older.”
*“To answer your question,”* the dragon said. “*I have met your kind before.”*
“You have?” Edmund said, brightening. “Goodness, when? I don’t mean to be rude – I certainly came here in hopes of earning your companionship, but finding another immortal to converse with as well would be all the merrier. And … oh dear! I still haven’t caught your name.”
*“Vampires feed on the blood of the living.”*
Edmund’s shoulders slumped beneath his fraying cloak. “Yes, we do. It’s something I thought I’d been prepared for all those years ago … but I avoid it now when I can.”
*“Feeding is no longer a requirement for me to stay alive,”* the dragon said. It lay it’s head down beside Edmund, and in amazement he witnessed his reflection in its pupil. Whatever old magic the dragon was made up of must’ve countered the vampire’s curse of being incapable of truly witnessing the monster they’d become. Or perhaps it was a blessing, in that case. Edmund didn’t believe so.
*“I still hunger,”* the dragon continued. *“But soon, I will not. When my hunger is gone, I plan to leave this world. The stars entice me with their glittering light – I wish to collect them in my hoard.”*
A memory floated to the surface. Edmund had stopped in his tracks – losing interest in his prey as he joined a crowd of people and watched in awe as the grainy picture on the televisions in the store window broadcast a live feed of humans setting foot on the moon. Edmund had been entranced, and hadn’t felt anything close since. Not until now.
“Marvelous,” he said. He dared to take a step closer and watched his hands fidget in the reflection he found nearly as fascinating as the subject matter. “I didn’t fathom dragons were capable of space travel. The fact you can leave this planet and not be in need of sustenance … that must be an old magic, for I have not heard of it.”
*“I believe you have,”* the dragon said. Its pupil dilated. *“It is the magic which keeps vampires* *from* *perishing despite facing elements that would normally bring any creature to an end. Their flesh will continuously renew and rebuild even when submerged in acid meant to melt iron and bronze and steel. It gives me sustenance, and unshackles me from the requirement to stay tied to this world.”*
The fidgeting hands in Edmund’s reflection stilled.
This had been a day of firsts. It had been the first time one of Edmund's harebrained quests to find another immortal over the past few decades bore any fruit. It had been his first time being in complete reverence of another being. It had been the first time he’d felt hope since being cursed.
And this was the first time he finally realized what had happened to the other vampires.
*“My name and title,”* the dragon said, opening its maw to reveal rows of pearly teeth accompanied by a wave of heat, *“… as bestowed by the professed vampire queen who came before you, is Níðhöggr – the unsatiated.”*
|
I was floating, as Tardigrades do, when I became unsure if I was floating in a planet, space, fission, fusion, or, some chaotic vibration of the universe. Then I saw the question. Dragons...vampires... immortal?! Really you poor fool goth child that are but a passing whim. I but squirt my ocular capacity and they are a mote in.....Well I guess I am a mote, but I’m a real.Immortal. Mote . I now desiccate and float on electromagnetic waves your flesh and metal treasure can only imagine as I , the true explorer caste of earth, embark on my billion year journey to see if there is life in the whirlpool galaxy.
Edit : As a member of my unique species I have difficulty separating now from then, and even sometimes the then from now. Your species would see that as dementia or failing to follow the rules. In reality I thought I had fulfilled the rules of this subrediits prose but in reflection I realise as you process time differently,and in your limited flesh bound phase; I may have fulfilled your writing prompts criteria at a point in time that is not in phase with your current ability to resolve the universe .
| 2021-04-16T09:00:43 | 2021-04-16T07:15:14 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You have the small power that any glass or cup you hold will automatically refill with the last liquid it held. One day, while working at the office, you find an empty coffee cup and pick it up. It proceeds to fill with blood.
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I sat at my desk in the dark office, finishing off the last of the tea in my cup while reading my emails. I gave the cup a shake, barely looking, and the tea was back. I continue drinking, typing a reply with my free hand.
It was a useful little skill. Free drinks forever. I had bought lots of expensive teas and drinks because of it. Had different cups for them. Nobody knew. I only discovered that I could do it a few months ago. I don't know how it happened, but I've been doing it without anybody finding out that I could. I just didn't want to be anybody's drink supplier.
I stretched in my chair, loosening my bun to let out my dark brown hair, sighing with the relief. I turned my computer off and looked around at the empty office. Everybody had gone home by now. So I did the right thing.
I went around each desk and refilled every cup I found with a sampling of the last drink. Most of them were cheap and shitty coffee, soda, iced tea. Someone had fancy chocolate. Oh man, I loved that one.
I went over to the last one. Becky's desk. Her table was extremely neat, and had a mug with a pokemon printed on it. I filled it up and tasted it while looking at the inspirational quotes on her board, and was greeted by something gross and metallic. I spat it out back into the mug in disgust, and looked into it.
It looked like blood.
'The fuck?' I said. Did Becky cut her lip on it? Or have a nosebleed? I dumped the mug into the sink in the pantry, feeling nauseous, and put the cup back where I saw it. Thoughts raced through my head. Did she had a blood fetish or something?
I would be very interested in what Becky was drinking tomorrow.
I came into work being very interested in Becky. She was a young black woman in accounting, in her 20s, with a mass of curly black hair reaching her shoulders and a thin, tall frame. I waited to see her go into the pantry, and followed her with my own mug.
I walked behind her as she poured something red from a syrup bottle. I washed my cup. She turned to the sink and waited for me.
'Oh, I'll be done in a sec,' I said.
'It's okay,' she said.
I took away my cup and moved away. I watched her dilute her drink with water.
'What syrup's that?'
'Cranberry.'
'I've been looking for a change of taste. Mind if I grab some?'
She gave me an annoyed look.
'Get your own damn drinks,' she snapped, and went out of the pantry with her syrup.
I eyed her suspiciously.
I went through my day watching her. She seemed like everybody else. Quietly sitting at her desk and completing her work. I took my time doing my work that day. One by one everyone left. I noticed that Becky was still at her desk. It went on until Becky and I were the only ones at the office.
She suddenly stood up, and walked towards my cubicle. My heart started to pound. What did she want? She never talks to me.
'Haven't seen you go back to the pantry all day,' she commented cooly, looking at my cup, which was filled with tea.
'I did,' I said.
'Nope,' she said. She was watching me too. I started to realize that she was on to me.
'Don't look so scared,' she said, coming into my cubicle. 'I've known for a while already.'
'What do you want?' I said.
'How does it work? Does it duplicate the last drink in it?' She said. I wasn't that much bigger than her, and felt more and more nervous.
'Yeah,' I said, trying to keep the tremble from my voice. 'H-here. Let me show you.'
I drank off my tea, and gave my cup a little shake. The tea simply appeared back in the cup. Becky's eyes widened.
'Fascinating,' she said. 'And you keep it a secret, do you?'
'Yes. I'm not that interested in the attention I would get if people knew. And it's a pretty lame power, honestly, I'd rather the first superhero be something a bit more interesting.'
'No,' she said, a light in her eyes. 'It's not lame at all.'
'I guess I save a lot of money on drinks.'
'I think you already know my little secret,' she said. 'Do you?'
My heart was really pounding now.
'I did taste the "cranberry syrup", yeah.'
She advanced on me. 'So you already know that I drink blood.'
My expression probably said it all.
'Do you know why?'
I swallowed. 'No.'
'You're not the only abnormal human here,' she said, and bared her teeth. I watched in horror as fangs extruded. I screamed, and she advanced, put a finger to my lips.
'There are cameras here, godammit.'
I breathed heavily, trying to keep calm, but I had no idea what she was going to do.
'I'm not going to hurt you, Lauren. I have something of a proposal.'
'What is that?'
'I don't enjoy killing people to drain their blood. I do try to make it last, but I have to hunt eventually. But you... You can make it all end.'
My eyes widened. So, she killed people. And then, it dawned on me what her idea was.
'Holy shit. You don't mean...'
'Refill my cups. I'll keep your secret if you keep mine. I get the blood I need and I don't need to kill anyone else. You... get... I don't know. What do you want?'
'A promotion?'
'Done.'
'What?'
'I have my ways,' she said, winking.
'What's the catch?' I said nervously.
'Nothing,' she said. 'It's a win win.'
I tried to think of any way where it could go wrong. But I had no idea if she would kill me if I said no.
I slowly nodded my head.
'Okay then. I'll do it.'
She visibly relaxed.
'Thank you. Really. I could never have dreamed of a better arrangement.'
I eyed her nervously. 'How old are you?'
'124. It's my first time in corporate america.'
'You like it?'
'Hate it. It's boring and I don't give a fuck.' She smacked her red lips. 'You mind giving me a refill?'
'Sure,' I said, and took her cup from her, giving it a little shake. Her eyes lit up as the blood reappeared in it. I passed it back to her and she started downing it greedily.
'This is legit, goddamn,' she said. I gave her a faint smile.
I could end hospital blood supply problems too. I could end drought, I could end the difficulties of producing difficult chemicals, maybe if I gave myself over to science they'd discover how to do the same thing with machines...
I still wanted to keep my little secret and be a normal person, though. Was that selfish?
I drank my tea as Becky drank her blood.
|
I brought the red drink to my boss, the current captain of our police squad: “Hey chief, can you run a test on this one?”
He stared dumbfounded at the mug: “Is that blood or cranberry juice in your hand?”
Sometimes my boss was a real idiot. I wondered how he ever became my superior. I asked him, flippantly, “I don’t know, wanna try it?”
He raised the mug up to his lips… No, no, *NO!* What the fuck is this guy thinking? Sometimes it’s impossible for me to keep my cool around him.
“Boss, you’re going to contaminate the sample,” was my lousy attempt at preventing all hell from breaking loose in the 99th Precinct.
It was too late: his lips had tasted metal and they were painted blood-red. His eyes widened as the lymphocytes poured down his esophagus: “Wait, this is *actually* blood??”
“Yes, you idiot, obviously it’s blood. Why would I ask you to sample it?”
“I don’t know, but blood usually isn’t served to me in a cup!”
I tried to make more, but all I could conjure was Captain Raymond Holt’s saliva.
&#x200B;
| 2019-03-21T20:25:25 | 2019-03-21T20:08:11 | 75 | 33 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
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My brother had always told me that if I stared into the mirror hard enough it would just appear one day. He said that he got his familiar at 16, he was just brushing his teeth one morning before school, he spit in the sink and when he looked back in the mirror, behind him stood a huge dog like animal. Courage. He became a police officer after that, and is working on becoming a detective now.
My dad said that it would come to me when I least expected it, and that his showed up one day on a walk home from school, just followed him home. Compassion. He was a senior in high school, and decided to become a doctor that day. He studied hard, and made it through school, and now works as a surgeon overseas in war torn countries, despite being offered quite lucrative job opportunities here at home.
Everyone had one. Mom, temperance, sister, kindness, my other sister had faith. Shit, even the school bully had anger, a great red hound that followed him around and barked as he hit the freshmen and forced them to give their lunch money.
Everyone had tips on how to get them. Try harder, don't try at all, get out there and be something, do something, stand up and say something. Believe in God, question your faith, be more like this person and less like that one. Eat banana's after midnight (thank's uncle Larry), and, most often of all: Just believe in yourself. It was getting really hard to do that.
A sudden knock on the door startled me. The noise of the room came rushing back, water running, and someone was saying to get the hell out because they needed the bathroom. My eyes were still closed. I squeezed them until colors and shapes formed and danced and opened them. Nothing stood behind me. Nothing was on my shoulder. *knock knock knock* "Come on asshole, shit and get out!" I turned off the sink and dried my hands. The man who knocked shoulder bumped me on my way out and his familiar hissed at me. It was a great, green snake coiled around his neck. Envy. I hated snakes.
I returned to my friends, waiting for me at our table. Matt and Steve were busy in conversation, but Pat and Rachel noticed my return. Pat's eagle was more less sleeping, but opened one eye at me as I sat down and trilled. Rachel's dragon walked down her arm and sniffed me twice, made a face and withdrew back to her shoulder, where it sat on all fours and surveyed the restaurant. Rachel looked at me with a head tilt, auburn hair cascading off her shoulder and around her familiar, which caused it to snort in mild derision. "I washed them!" I exclaimed.
"Mmmmhm, sure you did." Pat's baritone cut through the din and noise of the bar, and his bird ruffled it's feathers. His tone was playful but I wasn't in the mood. I shot him a look, and he laughed at my discomfort. Asshole knew I was into Rachel and he was toying with me. His joviality got Matt and Steve to turn and engage with the rest of us.
"Did he not wash his hands again?" Steve asked, and winked at me. Asshole. Pat just shook his head, still laughing. Matt chuckled and said "If you aren't careful you are gonna give him Embarrassment. No one wants that thing." As annoyed and upset as I was, the thought of having embarrassment follow me around for the rest of my life was enough to make my stomach drop. It was bright yellow red and never made eye contact. I didn't want that to be my familiar. They say it smelled like piss.
Rachel looked at me and her eyes softened and made my heart flutter. "Shut up, dick bags. And anyways, Matt, you can't force someone to manifest something. You know better than that."
Matt's familiar, a monkey like animal signifying curiosity and playfulness, stood to it's height on the table and beat it's chest before hissing at Rachel. Rachel flipped the creature off and her dragon puffed a smoke heart. Pat laughed again as Matt said, "Yeah the jury is still out on that one, Rachel." He made an unkind face before looking down at his soda and taking a sip.
Rachel smirked and my heart fluttered again. The table grew quiet for a second, and I took a bite of pizza. I admired the weird group I had before me and how even though we didn't always get along, we stuck together. We had been the "group" since grade school, and even though they had all manifested different familiars that didn't always get along, we all made it work, and though they liked to tease me about not having my own, they were pretty cool about it. Only the occasional joke here or there. Most of the kids in school had shunned me. They figured I would be one of those weird guys who didn't manifest till 50 or something. Lately I was beginning to think they were right.
Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. The asshat who bumped into me in the bathroom was standing over the table, behind Rachel. She looked behind her, and his snake flicked it's tongue out. I stiffened.
"Hey, Rachel, how is it going?"
Her eyes narrowed and rolled before she screwed on a fake smile and turned around in her seat. "Hey, Dan, how are you?!" Her voice was an octave up, and her dragon didn't move from her shoulder.
"Just fine, babe. What are you doing with these guys."
"Don't call me that. And these guys are my friends." She went around the table, starting with me, and introduced everyone. He never took his eyes off me. His snake hissed, and I took another bite of pizza and pretended not to notice. He moved half a step closer and I looked up.
"Can I help you," I managed through the crust and pepperoni.
"You're the prick who wouldn't leave the goddamn bathroom. You fucking my girl, Ace?" I blushed instantly, and Rachel stood up, sending her dragon flying overhead.
"I'm not your girl, fuckface."
"Not what you said last month." Dan's smile was sinister and he glanced down at me. "And anyways, the fuck is up with this guy? Bro, is your familiar the table or something?" He laughed at his own joke, but the table was less amused. The dragon spread her wings, and Pat's eagle fixed both it's eyes on the snake. Rachel stood up quickly and turned to face Dan. The dragon flew into the ceiling tile and dislodged it. I also stood up, and the snake hissed, it's tongue only a few inches from my nose.
The dragon returned to Rachel's shoulder and was billowing smoke through it's nostrils. Rachel's tone was cold. "I think you need to leave, Dan." The smile evaporated from his face and was replaced with smug defiance.
"I am good right here." He planted his feet shoulder width apart and put his chin up slightly. The snake began to uncoil it's length and wrap around his arm.
Suddenly, Rachel smiled. "Oh okay, then do you wanna share what Oscar there does when you think the people are asleep in bed next to you?" Her voice lilted but there was a hidden challenge in it's musical notes. I looked up at her and her eyes were still cold despite the smirk curling on her lips. He downcast his eyes at the floor. "Because if not, I will certainly tell them how funny it was to have to revive you with your pants around your ankles."
Pat's laughter was bombastic, and I could feel it in the table. Matt snickered and Steve muttered "perv" under his breath. Dan turned and walked away quickly, stammering about Rachel being a bitch. Steve and Matt high fived Rachel and everyone relaxed. Dragon's were known for fearlessness and fire, passion and emotion. Rachel smiled, self satisfied and fulfilled. I hoped when I finally manifested I could be so lucky.
---
|
I had spent years honing myself, preparing for the day my familiar would come. I knew what I wanted it to be. I knew the greatest quality anyone could have was intelligence. So ever since I can remember, I sought to learn everything I could. That way, when my familiar came, there would be no doubt about what it would be. I was always the top of my class, I read book after book after book. Up until my 21st birthday, I focused on expanding my knowledge on everything in anticipation for my familiar. But when my 21st birthday came and went, and I was the only one left out of all my peers who hadn’t received a familiar, I almost gave up. I was tempted to stop learning, to stop trying. But I carried on learning, what else would I have if I didn't have learning? This was about 3 months ago. I had given up all hope of my familiar being intelligence, and I had given up on ever having a familiar at all. But now, in front of me, my two familiars: wispy and glowing, I had only ever read about their indistinct features. The two twirled around each other through the air, arguing in whispers.
“He’s supposed to be mine, Intelligence! He was meant for me. I can show him how to be the best, I can help him succeed!”
“But he chose me, Ambition. Stop fighting with me! He doesn’t want to be successful, he wants to know everything. And I can teach him.”
I stood in awe. No wonder my familiar had taken so long, these two had been fighting over me.
“Fine, we’ll let him choose” Ambition said, coming to a motionless hover before me. “Would you rather be ambitious, or intelligent?”
“Well… I want to be both” I said slowly. “I don’t want to choose just one”
With a smile and a shrug from each familiar, they shook hands and moved to float beside me. I felt an overwhelming sense of knowledge and drive. I vaguely wondered if this meant someone would end up without a familiar, but I didn’t care. No one had ever received two familiars before. I would be unstoppable.
| 2017-01-20T14:00:42 | 2017-01-20T13:59:03 | 78 | 53 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
"Okay... how?"
The genie snaps his wrist again and this time a figure starts to form. Lanky limbs, wiry hair, glasses three sizes too-large for the tiny button nose that they're perched on.
"Sally?" I ask, and I can't keep myself from squinting in disbelief. "Sally Higgins? What's she got to do with me benefiting one hundred and thirty-seven billion-"
"Trillion," he reminds me. My head tilts.
"Are you sure?" His other hand summons the number again.
"Certain," he answers. I frown, folding my arms as I turn back to the ghostly image of Sally, spinning slowly in the Genie's palm.
"So what about Sally, then? I haven't spoken to her in years. Not since she went off to university." One of the Genie's fingers twitches and ghost-Sally slumps slightly, her shoulders rolling forwards as she buries her face in her hands. The Genie looks at me like I'm supposed to know what that means. I offer a wordless shrug in response.
"Sally Higgins is on the brink of a technological discovery that will change the future mankind," he began. "Her invention will be fundamental in the creation of medicines that will terminate pathogens both from this planet and beyond. It will be the foundation of galactic medicine; the kind that will enable humans to travel to more stars than they can see. Inter-planetary relations will be forged, trading knowledge and technology that will benefit the residents of Earth for millenia."
"That's nice," I drawl, stuffing my hands in my pockets, "but I thought you said I was going to benefit these people, not Sally. What do I do?"
"You say 'hello'."
The words hangs in the air and I stare at him, eyes narrowed.
"Hello?"
"Hello."
I stare at ghost-Sally again, watching as she sobs in to her hands, like that's supposed to give me some kind of an answer. The Genie is watching me, his face stoic and patient. I shift my weight and try not to roll my eyes in frustration.
"If you're waiting for me to have some kind of an epiphany-"
"I said that those people would benefit from your existence," he said. "I did not say that you would help them."
"That doesn't make any sense!" I huff, well-aware that I sound like a teenager having a tantrum. The Genie fixes me with a piercing stare.
"You will not help them, but you will help the one who does."
And with that he's gone. I'm left alone in my dingy little alley, vaguely aware that at some point I've stepped in a puddle and the water is seeping in to my socks. Something akin to bile rises in my throat and I swallow it, feeling it burn on the way back down as I stare at the battered lamp on the floor. I lift a soggy foot and give it a good boot, sending it hurtling through the air.
Stupid bloody Genie.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and head back to the main road, haunted by the unfathomable number that had floated over his hand. Twice. It was no mistake. But how could people benefit from me if I didn't help them? And what the hell did Sally Higgins' wonderful, super-duper, left-my-friend-behind-to-study-science invention have to do with me anyway?
A squeak. A scuffle. My hands stung as I landed roughly on the curb, rubbing the shoulder that had taken one hell of a whallop. I cursed under my breath, eyes catching movement and watching as the white pill bottle rolled to a stop by my knee. There came the clinking of glass and the rustling of plastic bags as my assailant hurried to her feet, murmuring apologies under her breath as she hurried to scoop her belongings back in to her bags.
Lanky limbs, wiry hair, glasses three sizes too-large for the tiny button nose that they're perched on.
Sally Higgins.
"H-Hello!" I sputter, more in surprise than anything else. Sally blinks, staring at me through her smudged lenses (looks like she never did re-fill the lens cleaner I got her for her tenth birthday) and her mouth forms a tiny little 'o' at the sight of me.
"Ava!" she says, her voice breaking with... not quite laughter, though I can't put my finger on it. "Wh-what are you - fancy seeing you here!"
"I live here," I answer, dragging myself back to my feet. "You're the one who left, remember?"
"Y-yes, I do," she says, eyes flicking anxiously to my hand. I've picked up her painkillers. I pass them back to her and she slips them inside the bag; one of many, I notice, each branded with the label of a different pharmacy. One from the corner shop where we used to sneak cigarettes from behind the counter. That bag has glass bottles with unmistakable red foil caps.
"So what are you doing back in town?" I ask, trying to ignore the niggling feeling behind my navel. She looks pale as she tucks the bags behind her, smiling too-wide at me.
"Nothing much, just needed to... needed to get away," she says. "Listen, I have to go - I've got to... um... I've got a thing... and-" There's an almighty smash behind her ankles and the colour drains from her face. She whirls around, forgetting me for the moment to bemoan the shattered vodka bottles that litter the sidewalk. The burst plastic bag flutters by her fingers, belching two more bottles of mis-matched pills. The niggling in my stomach becomes an overwhelming roar and I reach out, taking her by the wrist and pulling her back from the glass.
"That's a lot of drink. Off to a party?" I ask in the vain hope that she'll say yes even though she's not dressed for one. Thick navy sweats, an old band t-shirt and a sun-bleached hoodie aren't exactly appropo for a party; I try to convince myself that Sally's never been one to dress up all that much, but even she would put in a little more effort. She seems unable to speak, eyes flicking from the broken glass to the rolling pill packets and back again. She's shaking like a leaf from head to toe, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, and I can't help but wrap my arm around her shoulder like I used to. She's still shorter than me; still my little leaning post.
"You're freezing," I say, pulling her closer. I was always stronger than her. "C'mon, let's get coffee. I'm buying." I feel her try to pull away.
"I c-can't, I have to-"
"Whatever your plans were for tonight, consider them cancelled." Now I glance at the floor - giving her purchases a pointed stare. She slumps in defeat; the remaining bags fall to the floor as she buries her face in her hands, and all I can see is the ghostly image of her slowly rotating in the genie's palm.
It clicks. I might not be the one to help trillions and trillions of people, but if keeping Sally alive so that she can do it instead means that those people still benefit from my existence, then I'll settle for that in a heartbeat.
-
EDIT: didn’t expect this to be so popular! Thanks to everyone who has stopped by to read, and thank you to the kind Redditor for my first ever gilded comment!
|
Genie: Well, David, you may not know this but you're a bit of an asshole.
David: I am not, I even gave that guy the $20 he dropped yesterday
Genie: You we're trying to impress a girl with the $20 and you stole my lamp off of someone's porch.
David: You saw that?
Genie: I think we've established I know more than what my 5 senses have experienced.
David: Yeah whatever, but what about me being an asshole?
Genie: Oh right, well some day soon, you will encounter an elderly blind woman in a wheelchair sitting at a restaurant. When she asks you for katsup you give her the spicey saracha sauce instead. The whole thing gets cought on video, including you laughing and moving all her drinks away from her.
David: I'm not following...
Genie: The whole thing sparks a movement called "Don't be like David". Your name becomes shorthand for jerks taking advantage of people. Generations later being outed as a david is so bad that entire governments have been replaced with ednas.
David: Who the Hell is Edna?
Genie: She is the name of the woman in the wheelchair. Basically a non-david. You need to understand that for the first time in human history, people become kind as a rule instead of the exeption. At first it's out of fear of becoming a david, but then it gets ingrained in culture so deeply that it becomes second nature.
Poof! The genie goes back into his lamp.
David, ashamed, goes and puts the lamp back on the strangers porch.
| 2018-08-15T07:18:14 | 2018-08-15T05:47:33 | 903 | 59 |
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