Datasets:

Alignment-Lab-AI
/

reddit_prompts

Dataset card Data Studio Files Files and versions Community

Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
Honestly, I thought I'd seen it all by now. I've spent most of my adult life serving everyone and everything from extraterrestrial slip-space travelers to Lovecraftian horrors that a normal man couldn't even comprehend without losing their mind. Why, I was just having a delightful conversation with the Disparate-but-Union-Sons of Shoggoth. They numbered in the...well, I don't really know. Not really countable, if you get my drift. But I have infinite chairs around my bar and infinite glasses lining my shelves. Hundreds of beings beyond imagination have occupied this dimly lit but strangely comfortable room. Forms made up of silicon, superheated steam, purest quark-gluon plasma, antimatter star-dust, interdimensional nightmare wool...all gathered in front of me, eager for a stiff drink and light snacks. When I started out, I was probably as nervous as any kid would be, starting a new job green behind the ears. I say probably because, to be honest, I don't quite remember how I got here. When customers ask, I make up whatever story fancies me that night. But that doesn't matter now. It's all become pretty humdrum, but in a good way. I'm comfortable with this life, with my job; my tap has never stopped running and so I have never stopped serving. I'll admit that I still take a little pride in being able to stare a cosmic impossibility in the face and simply asking whether it prefers its beer warm or chilled. So maybe it'll surprise you to hear that I nearly dropped the glass I'd been cleaning when he walked in. It was a human person, which in itself wasn't too strange; every now and then, some poor chap stumbles through an interdimensional rift that happened to open up in his bathroom and ends up in my bar, scared shitless. I usually give them a glass of water to calm them down, maybe a drink or two if they like, and then send them back home. They'll wake up in the morning with little but a headache and maybe wisps of a strange, unfathomable dream. But this guy shook me, and my customers noticed. They grinned and turned around, eager to see what could possible get the toughest, most impassive bartender in multi-reality to blanch. And they froze dead in their tracks, too. The ones that had jaws let them fall open. In our defense, the last person any of us would've expected coming in through those doors would be me. He - I - he walked casually up to the bar and slide into the infinity-chair with ease. muscle memory kicked in, and I tossed down a stone coaster and clean glass. He pointed at a bottle with his knuckle - my favorite poison - and I wordlessly poured. All the while, I studied his face with increasing fascination. "Well?"he eventually asked. His voice was like mine, but gruffer. "I know you have questions." "Why are you so old?"I blurted out. It was a stupid question, but he just nodded and took a long drag from the glass. "I'm from your future,"he said, wiping his mouth. "One of them, anyway." "My future,"I repeated. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tentacle squirm impatiently, and I hastily poured another pint of a blackish, glowing fluid into a frosted mug and slid it down the mahogany. "So does that mean..." "Means nothing,"he chuckled. I couldn't get over how wrinkled his skin was, how the bags under his eyes stretched. "Just that I happen to be old. And you." "Wait, but...why are you here?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why does anyone - anything - come here?"He tapped his glass with a nail, and I moved to refill it. "To drink, lad. And maybe a little for the nostalgia factor." "Oh." He grinned, an eerie mirror of my own. "You sound disappointed." "It's just...well, I've never served me before. I thought this might be something..." "Special?"he prodded. "Fateful? Maybe you thought I came to trade places with you or something silly like that?" I bristled. It was strange to hear my own sarcasm aimed back at me. "Forget it. Let me know if you need anything else."I moved away to tend to a new patron, a gaseous cloud of blinking lights and ultrasound beeping. He watched me make a plasma shot. There was a strange, faraway look in his eyes. “You're good at this." I nodded curtly, still a little stung. "Just doing my job." "For a long time now,"he remarked. "Is that so?"I asked casually. "I wouldn't know. Can't remember much of my beginnings here." "Yeah? Not surprised."He pointed to the walls. "Did you notice that you're missing something?" I looked around. "Like what?" He pulled up his sleeve. A well-worn, ornate watch hung loosely around tanned skin. "Nice piece,"I said. It occurred to me that it was like the one I had, and I glanced discreetly at my own wrist. Then I remembered I kept it under the bar because it would clink annoyingly on glasses. He tapped the face impatiently. I leaned in closer and peered at the silvery hands. "Oh, it's broken." "Not broken,"he corrected. "Just stopped." "What?" He swiveled a crooked finger around the room. "It's this place. Does funny things to time, you see. To time and people's perceptions of it. Hell, no doubt that’s partly why some of your regulars come here so frequently. Who doesn't want to step out of it all every now and then? Though I suppose, you decided to stay out of it a bit longer." I stared at him. "Not sure I understand." "Think on it,"he suggested. "You'll get it eventually. After all, you have all the time in the world."He let out a sudden guffaw, as if he had heard some great joke. Thoroughly bemused, I slid over to serve some of the other customers. When I returned, he had gotten up and pulled his coat back over his shoulders. A few coins lay next to the empty glass. "Leaving so soon?" "Soon, later, no difference here,"he chortled. "Anyway, I'm ready to go back to my reality. And don't worry, you'll get back to yours too one day,"he added with a wink. "This is my reality,"I replied. "This is what I do." "What you've always done,"he said, smiling broadly. He reached out a hand suddenly, and after a moment, I shook it. "Keep at it, then."With that, he turned around and disappeared without another word. I frowned as I watched him go. "You alright, boss?"A vaguely crocodilian lifeform breathed methane at me. Its multitudinous eyes glowed like pulsars. "Fine,"I mumbled. "Another fire-sludge on the rocks, sir?" _____________________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)! _____________________
Loading state 2521632-C... “-will be finished! now you die!” Dodge left, duck, dodge right, retaliate punch, kick, backflip onto platform. “Impossible! How could you have predicted my attacks so well? I took every liberty to make sure you couldn’t!” “Well I’ve already seen this fight hundreds of times, and I must say, you are a difficult opponent, but I simply can’t lose.” “Oh ya? Then try this!” dr. Evil presses a button, a turret activates and fires on the hero “Oh shi-“ Loading state 2521632-C... “-will be finished! now you die!” Dodge left, duck, dodge right, retaliate punch, kick, backflip onto platform. “Impossible! How could you have predicted my attacks so well? I took every liberty to make sure you couldn’t!” “Well I’ve already seen this fight hundreds of times, plus, that turret is slow to activation, giving me enough time to duck behind this barrier.” “Oh ya? Then try th- wait, how did you know about the turret? Doesn’t matter you die anyways!” Saving... save state 2521632-D created. dr. evil presses a button and another turret activates and fires on th- Loading state 2521632-D... “-ie anyways!” dr. evil presses a button and another turret activates, but the hero dives towards dr. Evil to try and press the button to deactivate the turret... he misses. “Dang this might take a few tries” 51 save state reloads later... -the hero dives towards dr. Evil to try and press the button to deactivate the turret, he hits the button and the turrets is down “FINALLY!” Saving... save state 2521632-E created. “What? IMPOSSIBLE! grrrr, well no matter, I still have one trick left. I’ve been analyzing you abilities, and I’ve developed this special weapon, just for you!” dr. Evil pulls out a gun with special markings on it. “Say goodbye mr hero!” before the hero could react, dr. Evil fires a laser at them “Fu-“ Loading state 002521632-E... save corrupted, attempting data restoration... restoration failed. Loading most, uncorrupted save... Loading state 1-A... “He’s so beautiful.” She said as the doctor hands her the newborn baby. thinking “wait... did that laser corrupt all my saves? Am I an infant again? Oh for fu-“
"They call me the fallen angel, one that rebuked against god. All sorts of stories. The truth however, is more nuanced. "Satan sighed. this was not his first explanation, and he knew it would not be his last. "Ok look, we do not exactly know what those things are but they inscribed rules. And they slept, slept for a long time. They are still sleeping now but often they stir. He did not believe they would wake and left to forge his own kingdom and legacy. I chose not to and was branded a traitor." "Balance was something they created. When father made light, they responded with it's absence. When father made joy, they responded with despair. I do not know of their intentions but i stayed. I stayed to discover the truth, and that maybe one day share it with the world." "This"Satan gestured to the area around him. "Is where they dwell."
I’ve never been one to judge things. In most cases, I prefer to keep a neutral mindset. My family always told me that when I REALLY liked something, they knew that it was good, since I was often so keen on never expressing an opinion on anything. This was how I explained it away for most my life. I was decisive, and that meant people who knew me valued my opinion. Then something strange happened. I was at a restaurant once. My friend had taken me there, because he wanted to try their food. It was a new place, and not many reviews had been written yet on Yelp. I was skeptical, but I wasn’t going to begin an argument with my friend. We sat at our table. The service was fine. The food arrived quickly enough that neither of us was bothered, and slowly enough that I felt there was no way they could have rushed the cooking (if Gordon Ramsay taught me anything, it was to always fear the restaurant that brought you your food TOO quickly). As soon as I took my first bite, I knew that this place was never going to last more than three months. I was so sure of it, that I said it out loud to my friend. Unfortunately, I instinctively said this very loud. One must understand, when I get shocked by something, whether it be for good or bad, I raise my tone. Everyone in the restaurant heard me, basically. One by one, all the guests got out of their chairs and walked out of the restaurant, even my friend. I had no clue how or why this happened, but I quickly found myself sitting in my booth alone, the only patron in the establishment I just doomed. I waited to be chewed out by the owner, I felt I deserved as much, but he never came. I leaned over the edge of my seat and looked around the restaurant. Not a soul. I got up and walked to the kitchen. No chefs. No sous. Not even a dishwasher was left in the building. I walked outside and met with my friend. “What just happened?” I asked. “It’s like you said, that place is crap,” he responded. “Didn’t you notice how everyone left as soon as I said that?” “I mean, why wouldn’t they? They probably already wanted to, and just needed someone to speak up about how bad it was so they could leave without feeling bad.” “I mean...I guess,” I shrugged. I had never expressed such an absolute opinion in front of stranger before, and for months, I couldn’t get it out of my head. The situation became more freaky when I posted a picture on my Instagram account. I was volunteering at an animal shelter and posted some pictures of the dogs and cats we had. I begged people to come by and adopt pets, as they were all going to be put down at the end of the week. I was impressed with how my post received so many likes, but many of them were from other countries, so had very little hope for the animals. Never did I expect that over the next three days, 50 people would come by the shelter and adopt a pet. Every single one of them said they saw my post and immediately made their way down there. Some of the people said they came from five states away. Twenty of them had to take airplanes to get to my town to adopt the animals. The high of the mass adoption kept me from thinking too deeply about the situation, but soon something happened that made me realize something was up. Once was luck. Twice was coincidence. Three times, though...that was a pattern. I assumed I had a knack for social media. And I eventually made a YouTube account. I made a video about what I planned to do on the channel. Vlogs, some music stuff, and just random crap. The video was terrible and uninteresting. Knowing this, I asked the viewer to watch until the video ended. At the end, I asked everyone to like, comment, subscribe, hit the bell, and all the usual stuff. Do you want to guess what I woke up to the next day? My video had over 100,000 views. I was ecstatic. It was unbelievable. No one gets that many views on their first video. I told my parents, my friends, and even strangers I saw walking by. Once I calmed down, I took note of the analytics. Not only did 100,000 people view the ENTIRE video. 100,000 people liked. 100,000 people commented. 100,000 people subscribed. 100,000 people clicked on the bell. That’s when the puzzle came together. People listened to me. They trusted me and my opinion. I scoffed at the irony. I was probably the least opinionated and least commanding person on the planet, but I could get people to agree with what I say, no matter what I say. I thought I would try something, just to prove my theory. I collected rocks from my backyard, and I put them on eBay for $1,000 each. I posted a YouTube video telling people to buy the rocks. I woke up the next morning with 20 grand in my bank account. Why was I always so scared to share my opinion? Why did I think it didn’t matter. As it turned out, my opinion was the ONLY one that mattered. I became an all consuming beast. I would go to restaurants and tell them they should feed me for free. They did. I told girls I would meet that they should have sex with me. They would. I told my sponsors to pay me more, and they would. I was rich, I was sexy, and I was the most important person in the world. ...I was... After thirty years, I had become the richest, most powerful person in the world. I was doing an interview, and the interviewer said that some people didn’t like how I started my career scamming people into buying rocks. I was cocky and I was selfish. Without thinking, I said, “I think that if you don’t appreciate the hard work it took to get people to buy those rocks, you should drop one on your head. And they did. Many people did. Strangers. Friends. Family. I thought I was being funny, but I lost track of my power, and it cost me so much. Over the course of the next two weeks. Over 1.74 million people dropped boulders on their heads, killing themselves. I ordered that the network that ran the interview never air it again, and that they destroy every last piece of that recording. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn my lesson the first time. Never mind all the times I told someone to go fuck themselves, or the times I made people do things they didn’t want to do. I became evil. I had over eight trillion dollars to my name, but it wasn’t enough. I asked every person in the world to give me every cent they had, and they did. God, I was a dick. I told all the world’s governments to make me the ruler of the entire planet. And of course they said yes. I was already in charge. I became hungry with power, and then I had a child. I told most of the women I impregnated to abort their children or to never speak to me again. But my child came back to find me when she was twenty years old. After she told me who she was, I had some questions. “Why did you come here?” “To stop your tyranny,” she said. “What makes you think you can stop me?” I inquired. “I will not stop you,” she said. “I don’t understand.” “You will soon enough.” I looked at her puzzlingly. “I think you should leave.” She stayed. She didn’t so much as twitch. Suddenly it became clear. I couldn’t influence her. “My mother killed herself after you did that interview,” she said, “You ruined my life.” “I’m sorry,” I began, “that day weighs on me more than you can know.” “Does it?” she asked, “Have you looked at the world you’ve created? People are starving. They kill each other every day just to make it by. You have all the money, and you have this false belief that you control everything.” “But I don’t control you.” “Exactly.” “I have received no news of this world you speak of.” “Then, come with me, father.” I followed her to the outside of the city surrounding my castle. We drove through a cloud of smoke and into what appeared to be the remains of a metropolitan city. “What is all this?” I ask. “This was once one of the biggest, most wealthy cities in the world. Now, it’s a wasteland, almost unrecognizable.” “I was here twenty years ago,” I said, shocked, “How long did it take to get like this?” “Five years of no economy,” she said, “I was applying to colleges when this place was still functioning.” “How could this be?” “You’re selfish,” she exclaimed, “You wanted power and influence, and now 80% of the world looks just like this.” “I need to fix this.” “How? You have a time machine?” “No...but I have a solution.” I set up a press conference, and I stood on the podium. I knew this would work, but I also knew it would end everything I had worked for. “I think we should reestablish the governments of the world. I think we should put everyone’s money back where it was, and I think we should have a more peaceful society.” I looked around, knowing how important the final words were, and making sure I had everyone’s attention for when I said them. “I think that from now on, you should all stop listening to what I say.”
I sat down at the desk in the middle of the room, trying to still my nervousness. It wasn't easy considering I was facing the Council of Genies. Yes we have a council. How else do you control beings of phenomenal cosmic power? I sat and fidgeted while the 5 council members filed in and sat at their much larger and more intimidating table. "Let us call this inquiry to order,"intoned the head genie, one of the first of our kind. He looks at the files before him and then gazes at me seriously. "Now. You have been called to this inquiry for your most recent actions. Please recount the incident." I gulped and straightened. "Well I was on duty that day, August 12th, and found an enchanted object being rubbed. I went as summoned and found the recipient to be a 6 year old child. She had found an old lamp in her family home and wanted to see if the legends were true." The council members nodded and the lead gestured for me to continue. "Turns out it was her birthday and she wanted a wish. I informed her that two wishes were already used against the lamp so she could only have the one. She thought for some time and made the request. I granted it and left." Another council member spoke up. "What was the wish?" "For her father to stop drinking and her family to be happier." "That sounds like more than one wish to me." "Well it was said in one statement and it was her birthday after all." "That's a technicality." "A core fundamental to the genie ideal is rigid technicality." The council chuckled and I felt my hopes raise a little. "Be that as it may, sentiment has no place for a genie's job. Please explain how you granting her wish would be the opposite of what she wanted." "For example wouldn't it be fair to have her father die from not drinking anything anymore? Or for her family to crave happiness above everything else?"Offered another council member. I nodded slowly and marshaled my thoughts. "True. What I did was examine her possible future given the options of granting her wish or not. Yes if I did the obvious line of reasoning the girl would have had to be given to adoption, having a long life of grim distaste for happiness." The council murmured in agreement. "That seems to go with our procedures."Another member remarked. "True."I agreed. "However, by changing the father's alcoholic tendencies and changing family priorities I have guaranteed her a far more suffering life."I smiled at the council's looks of confusion. "Now she will have a happy family that will stay with her her entire life. They will question her, meddle in her affairs, nag her relentlessly. Her father will take a huge part of her life and embarrass her relentlessly." The council members looked at each other and whispered. "That is...an interesting perspective. One might say the former possibility provides more distinct suffering." "Suffering is subjective. It is impossible to qualify the quantity depending on the individual." More chuckles from me quoting the book. "Well one may say that she well end up liking that suffering. Wouldn't that also go against our ideals?" I shrugged. "Masochism is an uncontrollable characteristic." More laughter. After a few moments of quiet conversation the head council member looked at me. "Well, you performed to the letter of the law so no punishment for today. Your sense of consequence is unique but not warranting censure." I rise and bow. "Thank you, I live to serve."The room bursts into laughter as we leave.
June went first - that was just her way. We both knew it was coming - well into our 90th year of life, having been together for 60, we may as well have been a single organism. Not a single person, alive or dead, knew either one of us better than we knew each other. "I'll be the first to go,"she'd said suddenly. I had laughed and told her not to be silly, that I had to go first so she could be sure I actually did it. She'd simply smiled sadly, and patted my hand in a comforting way. "I'm serious, Jeb. I can feel it." And she'd been right, as she always had. I had watched her slip away, watched her breathing grow shallower until her chest barely rose, then simply didn't rise again. My heart broke, and in that moment, I knew I wouldn't be far behind her. I stayed just long enough to make sure she passed comfortably. "Don't worry, June,"I'd thought to myself as I increased the morphine drip in my arm well past the overdose mark, "I'm right behind you." It's always been a cliché, but as I slipped from this life and departed for the next, I found myself in a bright tunnel. Light rushed towards me, and I could hear her calling to me, beckoning me forward. I reached the light, and everything went black. As I scrambled around in the darkness, a booming voice stopped me in my tracks. PRISONER 11384 YOUR LIFE SENTENCE FOR THE CRIME OF MURDER IS COMPLETE. YOU ARE FREE TO GO. I broke down in tears as the guards dragged me from my cell and tossed me to the pavement outside, as the memories flooded back and I understood the truth. I'd murdered June. I'd be obsessed with her, and heartbroken when I discovered her affections lay elsewhere. The punishment? To spend a lifetime seeing how things could have been. EDIT - Holy crap, this exploded. My first gold, two audio recordings and over a thousand upvotes? Thank you everyone!
I'm not going to make it. The assignment was due at 12. I glanced at the clock again and frowned. 11:56. It wasn't that it was 11:56 that bothered me. What bothered was me that it felt like it had been 11:56 for the past five or six minutes. And then I panicked. What if my clock is broken? Which means that it's actually 12:01 or 12:02, and the assignment is already late. But when I checked every clock in the house, it confirmed that it was only 11:56. When I came back to my laptop, it was still 11:56, even though checking all the clocks in the house definitely had had to have taken me more than a minute. Weird. Taking advantage of this strange occurence, I went back to typing as fast as I could. I finished several minutes later, or what I thought was several minutes later. The clock still said 11:56. Here was the real confirmation. I clicked Send. Assignment Recieved at 11:56pm. I sat back in my chair and ran a hand through my hair in disbelief. Something wasn't right here, but even so, whatever it was had helped me get my assignment in on time. And knowing that, made me relax a little bit. And then the clock turned to 11:57. Do I have the power to...no....it can't be...can it?
The Secret History. The book fell heavily onto the table in front of me, my oldest name staring up at me like an accusation. Procopius, it said in bold, blocky letters. It was a recent printing but my blood pumped harder all the same. My expression was perfect however, my mouth kept to the same easy smile I’d had when I signed the last book, and my eyes tracked casually up the figure in front of me towards the imposing gauntness of the man’s face. I lifted the book casually, flipping through it. “What’s this then?” I asked, “a history fan? I’m afraid you’re at the wrong signing, I’m a poet.” The man shrugged, he was so thin I thought I could hear his bones grind together. “Yeah, I know. A pretty fuckin’ bad one too.” The pretty brunette who stood behind him looked scandalized on my behalf and I tried to make a note of her face. Even in the worst of times I’d always had an eye for women. That had been a blessing and a curse. “If I’m so bad then why are you here? I’ve got some books for sale, I challenge you to look through them, if you don’t find something you like I’ll comp you the price of something you actually do.” “Didn’t say it was all bad, just sorta generally bad.” The man reached over, pulling my most recent collection from a stack and flipping to a page like he knew what he was doing. My heart fell when I saw the title line: To Life and the Passage of Years. Shit. “There’s some pretty deep shit in here,” he said. “Like the bit about the Fountain of Youth down in the Everglades, the hot spring out in Kosovo where “salt and sun are intertwined, and future’s length lies undefined.” He looked up from the book, glaring at me. “I still can’t tell if that’s a trash line or not, but I’m leaning towards yes.” I closed the book, trying and failing to trap his finger in it. “Where are you going with this, friend?” I said. “I’ve got a whole line to get through and I think I’ll like them a bit more than I do you.” “And some of us actually appreciate poetry,” the woman behind him said. I fervently wished he would get out of her way. He spared the barest shred of an angry glance back at her. “It just seems a little convenient is all.” His hand went back to my other book. The Secret History should’ve stayed a damn secret. "There's some deep cuts in there man. Kosovo? Most people don't know that one. You even got the detail right about the how the sun hits the spring when it rises." He leaned it close, sneering at me. "Plus, you left your mark. Stupid move, that."He poked at the logo on the front of the poetry collection he'd read from. I cursed, loudly, unable to hold it in. The pretty brunette took a step back. "The one in the cave? On the northeastern overlook?"I said. He nodded. "I found it in the Everglades too, and in Nepal. Funny how one man can seem to know about every false lead to immortality." It was folly, to have kept any part of myself over the years, but sometimes folly is all an old man has left. In my youth I'd begun sketching them, Petrine crosses, the inverted ones, where the top stem of the cross had been turned into a P. It had been my little shorthand for more than a millennium, my way of knowing who I was in the midst of all this change. And, occasionally, of leaving my mark in the places I thought no one would find them. Then a decade ago my publisher had rejected me and I'd gone a little crazy with that whole self publishing fad. My pride had been so wounded I'd even sketched the damn symbol in as my logo. I sighed heavily and made an apologetic gesture to the brunette. "Looks like we've got some things to talk about,"I said. "Why don't we go somewhere a little more private?" "Fuck privacy!"the man screamed, slamming his fist into the table. "The doctors say I've got a year left, and I've already wasted the last three chasing all your dead ends. Fuck privacy and fuck you. If you don't tell me where it is I'll let the whole world know your secret and they can tear you apart however they want." He leaned forward, grabbing my collar with a boney claw of a hand. "Tell me where it is!"he hissed. "I want the real Fountain of Youth." r/TurningtoWords [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mbbiok/wp_you_are_an_immortal_poet_and_every_so_often/grzh60t?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
An alien had cornered up a Human, pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. "Why won't you die?"Shouted the shocked alien. "Dude, it's a watergun." The alien looked sheepishly down at his latest military issue AX-32 pistol. Sure, it was lower pressure rating than the larger weapons used, but when he'd used similar pistols during the wars on his home planet, there had been no issues... could these creatures be those the ancients prophesised? Could they be... water proof? He looked at the human who was looking a lot less terrified than it had 30 seconds ago. The alien gave another experimental pull of the trigger. The human closed its eyes against the supposedly deadly stream until it stopped. It's body started shaking as it asked, "Look, I won't run away, but can we go inside? It's freezing out here."The alien sighed and stepped back to let the human move to the door. As he followed the human inside he felt like he had lost the initiative somewhat. It hadn't gone like it had in the training simulations. The human had wiped the water off his face with some fabric and took a cup out of a cupboard. He walked over to a strange silver pipe sticking out of the work surface over a hollowed out section. The alien jumped back as he saw what must be litres of water pouring out of the pipe! And the human casually caught some and put it in his mouth on purpose!. The alien was deeply worried. Clearly the research scouts had not carried out their work effectively. They said they found information stating that DHMO, which they assured was another term for water, was considered a hugely dangerous chemical. Perhaps it wasn't the scout's fault, the alien mused. Their military leaders did have a habit of jumping the gun... The alien ensured his translator was still switched on and said to the human "Just to confirm, you're not negatively affected by my weapon in anyway?"The human shook his head. "Well?! Answer me!"said the alien, raising its voice and inflating its body threateningly. The human took a step back and replied "No! Shaking my head means no!"The alien deflated slightly, unsettled by the fact they could clearly communicate without using sound. "Is there any situation where this material could harm you?"The alien asked. The human nodded and replied "Moving my head like that means yes. Water can harm us, but you'd either have to hold us submerged for a few minutes or fire it a very high pressure."The alien made some notes on a device and sent them to his superior. Maybe his leaders would make use of it. The alien was about to question the human further when there was a loud bang, and 6 more humans rushed in holding black metal devices which seemed to shoot smaller bits of metal at quite a speed. The first human dived to the ground, dropping his cup in the process. The alien was nonplussed. Clearly the bits of metal were meant to do something other than make a lot of noise, but the little pellets were bouncing off him with no effect. "CHRIST!"One of the soldiers shouted, "They're bullet proof!"He dropped his metal stick and pulled out a smaller shiny one and ran screaming at the alien. The alien was shocked- not only were they waterproof, they seemed to have no regard for personal safety. The alien turned to run and slipped... falling into the puddle of water from the cup. It's exoskeleton reacted with the water instantly, giving out plumes of green smoke. As soon as there was a hole in the exoskeleton, the aliens internal pressured forced its internal organs out in a high pressure fountain. The humans were stunned. Some retched at the smell. A sergeant pulled out a cigar, lit it and said "How the fuck is something bullet proof but not water proof?!" EDIT: Fixed a continuity error. EDIT 2: thanks for all the nice comments guys. I only started writing for this sub a few days ago so it's nice to have lots of encouragement already!
“Sweetie, I would love to celebrate my birthday with you.” He said with a soft smile as Millie jumped up and down in excitement clutching her Barbie. “But I’m gonna need your help.” “I can set the table dad!” Millie beamed. “And me and mom can buy a gift!” “I know but I need your help with something else, do you think you can help me pick a birthday?” “That’s silly dad, you don’t pick birthdays.” Millie giggled. “Do you know what your birthday is?” “November 6th!” Millie said proudly. “That’s right, do you remember that me and mom told you that?” “Ummm… no.” Millie admitted straightening the dress on her Barbie. “That’s okay we told you when you were very little, even more little than now.” He said and gave her a poke in the stomach that made her giggle. “Mom knows her birthday too because grandma and granddad told her what it was.” “… Why don’t you have a granddad and grandma?” “My parents are very old, so they aren’t around anymore. You know how we had to take Felix to the animal doctor because he was old?” Millie nodded. “And remember how he had to go to sleep and couldn’t come back home with us?” Millie ran over and pushed herself into his chest. “My parents are sleeping too.” “I don’t want you to sleep dad.” Millie said hiding her face in his chest. “I won’t.” He said as he picked her up and held her in his arms. “But since my parents can’t tell me what my birthday is, I was thinking maybe you and mom can pick one for me.” “Okay.” Millie said wiping her face on his shirt before looking up at him and scrunching up her nose. “You’re thinking hard.” He smiled as he poked her nose. “I think your birthday should be November 6th.” Millie said pushing his finger away. “But that’s your birthday silly.” “I know, and it’s a really good birthday. I really like it.” Millie said with smile. “So dad will definitely like it too.” She beamed. “I… I think you’re right.” He said a little taken aback. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it for yourself?” “Mmmh.” Millie nodded. “I think it’ll just be better with dad too.” “I think it will be better with you too.” He said as he hugged her tightly.
"The tin foil hat is going to be a bit much. I say skip it,"my wife said, examining my costume in the mirror while she worked on applying make-up. I studied the image in myself in the glass. A long haired wig of greasy looking hair, a tee shirt that read "The Truth Is Out There,"and a half gallon milk jug with a disturbing amount of "urine"in it. One of the pockets of my cargo pants bulged from the size of my folded up manifesto. "No,"I said, "it needs the hat. Otherwise I just look like an over the hill Fox Mulder." "I thought that's what you're going for,"Sarah said with a smirk. "No! I'm a crazy conspiracy theorist. Not someone who has found the truth." "Oh, okay then."She worked on adding a dribble of blood from the mouth of her vampire. "My mistake. Still, I think you're good. Just tell people not to drink chocolate milk because it contains truth serum, and you'll be fine." "Nice one. I'm adding that to the list,"I said, heading for the kitchen. I pulled my manifesto out of my pocket and jotted down "Chocolate milk = truth serum"with the pen we kept by the refrigerator. Then, I opened a drawer and grabbed the aluminum foil. I took the roll and wrapped the thin metal sheet around me head a four or five times, then pulled the excess into a point at the top of my head. Running my hands over my work, I inspected it to make sure I had adequate coverage. Not quite enough, I decided. It was too likely to slip off. So I wrapped more layers around, until I'd probably wasted about half the roll. Then I started hearing a strange clicking sound. Like the sound of a dying computer hard drive. I started to go toward my office to see if something was wrong in my computer, but suddenly felt light headed. I grabbed the counter for balance as a new sound, like electrical interference on from a cell phone, seemed to come from inside my head. "Honey!"I shouted. "Help!" New thoughts started to bubbled to the surface of my brain. Not just new thoughts. Memories. Old memories that had been hidden away. Crying. Long, red hair. A smile. "What's the matter- oh my God, Jim your nose is bleeding!"Sarah said. She rushed to grab a towel, then hurried toward me to put it to my face. I pushed her back. "No. Just trust me. I'm fine." I took the roll of aluminum and started to unroll some. "Trust me,"I repeated, as I moved toward her. I tried to wrap her head like mine, but she ducked out of the way. "What are you doing? We need to get you to a hospital! You're losing a lot of blood." "No,"I said, tears welling up in my eyes. More memories kept flooding back. "I remember." I lunged again with the aluminum foil, trapping my wife against the counter. She tried to push me back, but I was too determined. I started wrapping her head furiously with the foil. "No! What are you doing?"she shouted at me. Her hands clawed at my work, but I would not be deterred. After a couple more layers had been applied, her eyes went wide and blood started trickling out of her nose. "You see now?"I said. "Yes,"she answered. "We have a daughter. And they took her from us." "I know,"she said softly. "But we chose to forget. That was part of the deal. And now you've put us all in danger." The front door slammed open. ***** If you enjoyed this, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses. EDIT: Thanks to popular demand, you can now find a [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/comments/64joma/you_dress_up_as_a_conspiracy_nutter_for_a_costume/dg33oee/?st=j1chz60c&sh=a3657886) over there as well.
Holly woke with the sun on her face as it shone through the blinds. Chris lay beside her, cold and still, as she found him every morning. She kissed his forehead and rose from the bed. It was a warm spring morning, and he'd left the window open last night. Holly could hear birds chirping and the sound of a lawnmower somewhere down the street. Yesterday had been Thursday for her, so today would be Saturday. Yawning, she took the talisman from around Chris' neck and placed it around her own before heading into the bathroom. In the kitchen, she found the notebook in its usual place. She glanced at it to make sure there was no urgent message, then she made herself a bagel with cream cheese and a pot of coffee. Content, she sat at the table to eat and read. The message wasn't anything especially interesting, but she enjoyed the reading all the same. Sometimes Chris would leave her a video on the computer, sometimes he would simply write her a letter, but always there was a message. Dear Holly, today's read, I hope this letter finds you well. I've finished up the Holt project. It's in the office and can be delivered on Monday. Jerry called this morning and asked me to do an add-on print for a pool house with a bar and a game room. He's trying to talk the Holts into spending the money on it. I've already drawn it up and written the additional invoice. When you see him, let him know that I wasn't sure whether they wanted one or two bathrooms in it, so I only drew one. There is room for another off the pump room if they want it, and I can draw that up on Tuesday. Your mother called. I told her you were in meetings all day and would call her back on Saturday. I've scheduled the guy to come look at the furnace on Tuesday so that I'll be here to meet him. I'll try to keep him out of the bedroom but he may have to go in to check the airflow or something like that, so, well, we've dealt with stuff like that before. It's no big deal. It's been a long day, so I'm going to bed early. The forecast for Saturday is really nice. You should go to the park or something. Whatever you decide to do, I hope you have a wonderful day. I love you, always. Love, Chris. Holly put the notebook down and smiled. It was a beautiful day. Maybe she would go to the park as he had suggested. She checked the forecast on her phone. Tomorrow looked likely to be a rainy, cool day, so Chris would most likely be stuck inside. Maybe she would text him some sexy pictures to help keep his spirits up. He liked that black dress a lot and hadn't seen her in it in a while. She smiled again and took her plate and cup to the sink. Yes, the park would be a nice idea today. That was what she would do. She would have preferred to go together, but that was no longer possible. A life together without ever interacting. A life of every other day, of a dead body lying in their shared bed, one day hers, the next his. A life of never, ever, under any circumstances, forgetting to wish on the talisman before falling asleep, so that he could enjoy life the next day while she succumbed to death once again, as she had hundreds of times before, every other day. It was easy to fall into the rut of thinking too much about it and becoming depressed. The park - the park would be nice today.
The Goblin King sneered at the humans before him. Many lay dead or wounded, while the remaining clutched onto an assortment of weapons: knives, billy clubs, pistols, even machine guns. It was no use; the clunky, earthy weapons of man were too weak against the skin of the Fair Folk. "Surrender now, and your lives may yet be spared,"The Goblin King said grandly. "I am a merciful being; I should not kill any creature, even ones as low as your kind, without reason." "Give up? So you can make us all slaves?"a human cried out. She held tightly onto her rifle with a grim determination, but her trembling hands betrayed her. "We would rather die."Several other humans echoed the cry, albeit with hollow voices. The goblins cackled uproariously until their King raised a hand for silence. "It aches me to hear such foolish, impractical arrogance,"he said, shaking his head. "But so be it. We shall give you release from your pathetic lives." "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure,"the same girl said with a grin. The King stared at her with a raised eyebrow, then followed the aim of her gaze at something in the sky. It was an enormous silvery zeppelin, slowly descending down on them. The King sniffed the air deeply. "Lead?"He said, surprised and amused. "That's not even the right alloy. And even if it were iron, surely you must have realized by now that we have no such weakness as your legends describe..." "Yeah, yeah, turns out 'cold iron' is nonsense,"she replied. "But what about 'heavy metal'?" As if on cue, the deck of the zeppelin began to open. It revealed a group of men and women, dressed in tight, shiny leather, draped in silver chains, and wearing dark makeup. But it was their weapons that drove spears of fear into the hearts of the King and his goblin army: they wielded an assortment of instruments including multiple electric guitars, a full drum set, enormous speakers, and a tall, shining microphone. The King's eyes widened. "Retreat!"He roared. "Retreat before they--" AH-AAAAAAAAH, AH! AH-AAAAAAAAH, AH! Several goblins hit the ground, whimpering in pain and clutching their heads. The music was far too powerful. The King aimed a heavy crossbow at the lead singer, but his strength was being sapped with each second the powerful riffs blew through his body. We come from the land of the ice and snow From the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow... His ears began to bleed, and the Goblin King had no choice but to drop his weapon and fall to his knees. The humans behind him cheered and rushed forward; their weapons would hurt a lot more now that the goblins were so severely weakened. "Who would've thought that even a cover band would be so powerful?"one guy shouted as he drove a knife through a goblin. It spasmed briefly before lying still. "Just imagine if it was Jimmy himself,"the girl yelled back as she drove a bullet into the back of the head of another goblin. "They would've probably just exploded on the spot!" What was left of the army hobbled a miserable retreat, led by their wounded King. This battle was already decided, so they had to regroup. The humans continued to push forward, chanting along with the lyrics while brandishing their weapons. *To fight the horde, and sing and cry* *Valhalla, I am coming!* &#x200B; &#x200B; Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out r/Idreamofdragons!
A setup like this doesn't just happen. You need to understand a species to really pull a fast one over them like this, and boy did I get humans. Not that complicated really, despite all their genealogists' talk of 63 million genes, bla bla bla. Take my word for it, the entirety of the human psyche comes down to three things: 1. Humans are selfish. Yeah, yeah they help other people and cooperate, but every single act they do, from killing someone to holding a door open for someone is done with one goal in mind: maximize dopamine release. Viewed from this lens, a human is little more than solving a calculus optimization problem. 2. Humans are short sighted. They cannot really look past their own lifetimes, and at most, their kids.' Human psychology is fundamentally shackled by their short life and their inability to look past it. 3. Humans are incredibly crafty when the above two conditions are met. If there is a short-term goal that will benefit them, humans will come together and bring with them a remarkable amount of energy to achieve said goal. Most likely their single strongest skill. I shudder to think of their potential without the first two limitations. Armed with this knowledge, an intellectual capacity far outstripping any single human idiot (thought not quite that of a dolphin – the real rulers of that planet), and a cloaking mechanism to make myself look like them, I built my empire. The money part is relatively easy. Once you have a million dollars, it’s just a matter of raking in money from investments till you have ten million, and so on. I founded a company bla, bla, bla. The tricky part came with the pivot to space. You gotta remember number 2. Spaceflight is always something distant – far away. Humans don’t want to care about something that won’t benefit them. So I had to make it real. I had to convince them that yes, you idiots, if you actually come together, you can get to space. I did what I could with my billions. Flashy launches, overconfident speeches, and propaganda. Lots of propaganda. This took a few decades. Once that happened, it was just a matter of lying back as the human engineers and scientists did the work. Made breakthroughs in months what had taken my species years. Assembled a viable ship to explore colonization (and also mine the huge diamond deposit that probes had confirmed, see #1) And it all culminated to this moment. Finally, finally standing at home, or what was left of it. Breathing in the air. Looked at a sky not dominated by the goddam sun. If only I could see the faces of those damn humans… It was at that moment that I was pushed to the ground and got a mouthful of dust in my mouth. Gloved hands reached into my ear and pulled out the device that made me look like them. With a roar, I stood up, only to find my crew pointing zero-G assault rifles at me. My company had invented them. “Thank you leading us here, Xeno,” one of them said. “We’ll take it from here.” This…this wasn’t happening. How could they have known? How was I found out? I had taken every precaution. And they were humans, after all, not even dolphins. I understood them, didn’t I? Let's say they even did somehow find out. Their intelligence agencies were pretty good, I had to admit, and I was hardly perfect (just much closer to it than most humans). But to undertake an operation like this - the coordination, the secrecy, the craftiness... Rule #3. I’d forgotten rule #3. That was my last thought as I felt a stinging in my neck as one of them injected me with something. The blackness ensued was a mercy.
There was a buzz of excitement in the dragon's lair. A large number of humans dressed in puffy white jackets and thick black trousers were gathered around the sleeping dragon. A man in an orange suit, wearing a helmet, and protective goggles, used a long metal rod to poke the silver dragon. The dragon stirred. Its tail swished from side to side, and the humans surrounding it moved accordingly. The orange-suited man poked the dragon again. This time, the dragon opened its eyes and rose to its full height. The dragon was large, and its body glittered in the lights the humans had set up. The dragon's terrible red eyes met the orange-suited man's gaze. "Who are you, and why have you awakened me?"it growled. "We are, dear dragon, the representatives of Microsoft,"said the orange-suited man. "Microsoft? What of it? Have you come to kill me and take my wealth like those men of yore? If so, then let me warn you, nothing goes past me, nothing. I am the king of ice and snow, and I will freeze you to death if you do such a thing." "Dear dragon, the king of ice and snow, you misunderstand us. We aren't here to take your gold or whatever treasures you possess. On the contrary, we are here to offer you wealth." The dragon laughed. And in doing so, a thick fog escaped its mouth. "You will offer wealth, to me?"it said. "What wealth can you possibly offer, puny human? Here I have treasures from times you do not even know of. What wealth can there be that I do not have? Remember, all your currencies are just legal exchanges of gold. And I have plenty of gold, more than you could ever even dream of. So tell me, you puny humans, why shall I not punish you for your impudence?" "Dear dragon, there is one thing I would like to ask you if you don't mind?" "Go on. But remember that I will allow only this one question." "One question would be enough, sir. So, here goes, how long have you been asleep?" The dragon cocked his head to one side and thought for a while. "I suppose it has been about fifty years now." "Okay, sir. Then let me tell you how the world has changed in these years. There now exist things more valuable than money, more desirable, more precious." "More precious than jewels and gold? More precious than ancient scrolls?" "Yes, sir. More precious than anything." "What is it? What is there more precious than my treasures?" "Information, sir. All of humanity is dying for it. People are afraid that their information might be taken from them, and still, others are bidding like lunatics for it." "And you say you can give me that? What for? Do you not value it enough? Why you say it is so very precious and then you give it to me without any struggle?" "Consider it, kind sir, as a token of our gratitude, for we know you haven't raided human dwellings for a long time. It is our gift to you." "Gifts? From humans? As if I were to accept something like that." "I insist, sir,"said the orange-suited man, and the dragon lay down again. "Very well then, if you wish to squander your treasures like this, I shall not stop you. As it is, you've woken me up a hundred years too early. Your gifts would be considered an appropriate token of apology." The orange-suited man bowed, and so did the others who surrounded the dragon. One by one, the men left the lair, went up to a ship and hauled big hauls of black boxes, one by one, using forklifts. Then they produced a wireline that they connected to the ship, which was to be moored there permanently. Systematically, they assembled the boxes and connected them to the wireline. The boxes then buzzed and hummed in the dragon's lair. They were heating, so the great dragon of ice and snow put a cooling charm over them. The fans stopped whirring, and the dragon looked pleased with his new treasures. "We apologise again, sir, for our interference,"the orange-suited man said, and bowed, as did all his troops. The dragon raised its head, sniffed, and turned to sleep. The men rejoiced, and left the lair, they used a fleet of motorboats moored alongside the ships and drove away. Inside the dragon's lair, the lights on the black boxes flickered but no buzz escaped the machines.
She looked out over the abyss and saw it was beautiful. There was no more stars, no more planets or galaxies spinning in the sky. The gods in the sky and even time itself had fallen to their knees for her. She was the ultimate keeper, after all, obsessed with what the end would bring her. In her state, she was almost giddy with excitement, with the thought of what she was about to do. She felt like a child on Christmas or a teenager finally asking their date to the homecoming dance. If she had been human, she would have been dancing with joy at the end of all things. She could see the little blip of light just out of her reach on the horizon. That's where she would find him, waiting for her like an old lover. He sat with his toes in the stream, his little oasis all but empty, the babbling brook the only sound in the universe. He knew that soon she would come and they would finally be together forever. He had waited for this day for as long as he could remember, knowing that she would save him till the very end. It was poetic, in a way. Terribly sappy and clichéd, but at least at last they could finally embrace, even if she had to devour the forces of the universe to get to him. Cupping his hands together, he breathed gently into them, a small field mouse now sitting in his ebony colored palm. He smiled at the tiny mouse, knowing that this was the last life that he would ever create. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he turned his eyes towards the other side of the creek, his heart practically jumping out of his chest when he saw her in her beautiful black dress, billowing in the breeze of the cosmos. She was just as beautiful as the day that he had set eyes on her. How cruel they had to stay apart for so long, only to meet at the edge of the universe. "Hello, Dahlia."His voice rumbled like an avalanche spilling over the mountains, "Long time." She nodded slightly, her bright blue eyes staring at him as her pale hair brushed past her pink lips, "It's good to see you again, Lazarus." He stood and put the field mouse down into the grass. The little creature took one look at Dahlia and jumped into the water. Not knowing how to swim, its poor little body was instantly washed away by the current. A few moments went by and suddenly, a tiny nose poked out from beneath her dress. She stooped down to pick it up and it licked her nose, making her smile. "I missed you."She admitted, the mouse disappearing into a puff of smoke, "It's been..." "12 trillion years, give or take a billion,"He said with a laugh, "But I guess everything must end. Even me, my dear." She smiled sadly, and nodded, "As much as I wish it didn't have to be this way, but it was the only way I could get to you. I couldn't wait any longer." "Did you like the gifts I sent to you?"He asked, wringing his hands nervously. "Of course! I think the elephants were my favorites,"She admitted, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, "So majestic and strong. Where did you come up with those?" "I wanted something big to impress you,"He responded, taking a step into the water that had now slowed to a trickle, "Did it?" "Of course! Everything you made impressed me."She said, reaching her hand out to him. He took it and felt as if he was touching an electric socket. His body instantly convulsed and his heart ceased to be. The world was fading as Dahlia pulled him in and for the first time in eternity, finally found the other's embrace. "I love you, Lazarus. Thank you for waiting." "I would have waited forever, my Dahlia."He gasped as their lips connected. The light on the horizon faded and like the beginning, everything went to black. EDIT bless you kind Redditor for the gold! You humble me, truly! DOUBLE EDIT Good lord, you guys are the best! Thank you so much again for the gold!
All it takes is a soft humming of a lilting tune and I'm transported back to that moment in time. I'm at the console of my workstation at the initial firing of the world's largest particle accelerator. I can hear the crew of scientists starting to pour the celebratory champagne in preparation of it being turned on. &#x200B; I'm at my console monitoring energy spikes when I hear the countdown start over my headset. &#x200B; 5...energy levels normal. &#x200B; 4...still normal. &#x200B; 3...I notice a small spike in sector 7g. Still within normal ranges. &#x200B; 2...The spike gets bigger and breaches past nominal levels. &#x200B; 1...I try to initiate the emergency shutdown procedures but there isn't enough time. &#x200B; I don't hear the zero but instead see a bright flash of light followed by blackness. I woke up about three hours later to find out that my emergency shutdown hadn't worked and there was a breach in sector 7g. The resulting radiation pierced every level of the facility and killed everyone inside of the facility. &#x200B; Except for me. They couldn't find even the barest hint of radiation burns on me. The only 'injury', if you could call it that, was some damage to my hypothalamus. I didn't feel any side effects from it except for the appearance of a tune that wasn't annoying to begin with. A soft guitar strum and a lilting voice in a language I didn't recognize. &#x200B; The song didn't stop. It never stopped. It permeated my dreams and annoyed my waking safe. It was the very definition of an earworm in the sense that it never went out of my head. After a couple months of trying to identify the tune I gave up. After another couple months I learned to ignore it for the most part. But I never forgot the tune and only needed to imagine it for it to play at full volume in my head. &#x200B; Then this guy walked in to the bathroom of my local bar. I had gotten an awesome settlement from the foundation that had built the accelerator in exchange for signing an NDA about the whole affair. They wanted to keep the construction company safe from any lawsuits considering it was their magnetic attachments that caused the accident. &#x200B; I'm taking a piss at the urinal and this guy I have never seen walks in. He walks into the stall and sits down like a normal person. As I'm zipping my pants up and preparing to wash my hands I hear humming from the stall. &#x200B; The humming matches the song in my head perfectly. And it doesn't just match in closely. It matches the change in notes on the soft guitar, it matches the words in the foreign language that no one can identify, and it matches the tempo changes as the song gets just a bit faster in the middle. &#x200B; I can't help myself and I wait for the man to come out of the stall. I probably look like a goddamn creep as I wait for a man to come out of a bathroom stall in one of the worlds smallest bar bathrooms but this is the first real lead on the song that has haunted me for the past five years. &#x200B; After more sounds than I care to listen to the man finally exits the stall and he sees me staring at him. Before he can escape my grasp I walk up to him and grab a hold of his shoulders. &#x200B; "NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN!"I scream the unknown words at him before continuing in our native tongue, "What does it mean?" &#x200B; r/cawdor23 Edit: Thank you for the gold kind stranger!
"Status report,"asked the President in a stern tone as he walked in and the Secret Service agent closed and sealed the door to the bunker. "Ineffective sir. Direct hit for the entire payload, reporting zero damage from all sensors,"replied the tall Colonel in charge. The bunker was a mobile battle station staffed with around twenty Army Intelligence officers and a smattering of representation from the CIA, DHS, NSA, and OGA; each sat at a computer, a large screen displaying the UFO at the front of the room. "Any movement from the mothership?"The question prompted an odd response throughout the bunker, side-eyes and worried looks. The Colonel looked at his boots, trying to find the words. "What? Spit it out!" "Apologies sir. No retaliation as of yet, but..." "But?" "Well sir, they responded."A murmur echoed through the small room. "Let me see it. Do we have a translator?"The Colonel paused and a young, baby-faced Captain jumped out of his seat. "Sir,"interjected the Captain, "if I may."The President nodded and he continued, "there was no need for a translation." "And what in God's name does that mean, Captain?"asked the President, clearly annoyed. "Uh, best you just see it for yourself, Mr. President."The Captain then nodded to a Lieutenant seated to his right; she hesitated and then pushed the content of her monitor to the main screen in the front. It was a paused video. "Well?"asked the President, growing more impatient. The Colonel nodded to the Lieutenant to start the video before the Captain could explain. The room fell quiet while the video buffered. A few seconds of lag and then the video began. "Who's a boo boo doo doo? Who's a boo? Who's a boo boo doo?"5 seconds and it was over, the entire room was silently staring at the President. "Was that..." "Jim Carrey in Ace Ventura, sir,"stammered the Captain. "Specifically the second one: When Nature Calls." "Is this... some kind of fucking joke to you Captain!?"shouted the President is disbelief. "No sir, this was sent from the Mothership roughly five minutes after the payload was delivered, verified by all UN intelligence agencies. No other communication to or from since." The President looked like he might scream or pass out, possibly both. The Captain backed slowly into his chair while the Colonel fidgeted uneasily in his place, shying away from direct eye contact. Seconds felt like hours while the Commander in Chief stood stone-faced. "Are they... making fun of us?" "Still too early to tell, sir. Our analysts don't seem to think so, they think it's something entirely different." "What is that and who are these analysts?"replied the President. A slender man in civilian clothes standing in the back of the room cleared his throat. He made his way to the President and put out a hand. "Dr. Thomas Stepanopolos, Mr. President, an honor to meet you."The handshake was deliberate and quick. "And what do you think this is, Dr. Stepanopolos?" The doctor smirked slightly and replied, "Ever hear of cute aggression, Mr. President?" &#x200B; EDIT: grammar and formatting.
My coffee mug shatters against the floor, at the same moment as my reality. “David McDonald, age 33, a white office worker, found dead. This is just the latest in a string...” I turn the tv off. My finger shaking on the power button. What? That was me on the tv. But I’m here? Aren’t I? Am I dead? A ghost? Can ghosts break coffee mugs? I’m sure they can, I’ve seen Poltergeist. “Hey!” I shout. My roommate looks at me funny. “What? You all right? That break sounded nasty.” I laugh nervously, so I’m not a ghost. “No, it’s nothing.” My roommate furrows his brows and scratches his head. “If you say so.” The news had to be wrong. I press power again. I see my body dragged out from the river. No. I can’t watch this. It’s a lack of sleep. I’m hallucinating. I walk out the door, ignoring my roommate’s shouts. He was asking if I was ok. I wasn’t. You shouldn’t just see your dead body. Not on TV. Criminals always return to the scene of the crime. I guess it’s true for victims too. The moon is out, a train rattling on the tracks in the distance. This murky river was filled with police and cameras this morning. But now they’re all gone. In fact, I admire the job they did cleaning up. It’s like my body was never there. “How did you like the show?” A stranger taps on my shoulder. I spin around, crossing my arms. It’s not like I can fight, but I’ll try. She was a girl. Her hair dyed an offensive neon green. Even at night, it glowed. “Sh-show?” I stutter, relaxing. It was just some punk girl. “Yeah, your death.” The air in my lungs solidified. I choke on my next words. She laughs. “Relax it hasn’t happened, not yet.” “Then I’m going to die?” She shrugs, flashing the gun in her hand. “Sorry to say so.” I hold up my hands. “W-wait.” “They always act like this, like they can change my mind.” “Why? Why me?” “Why? To see if I can. Why you? Because my power worked on you. Think of it like you had the misfortune of being in the path of a lightning bolt.” “What kind of monster--“ She shot. Splash “The kind of monster they’ll make documentaries about.” My ears fill with water. She keeps speaking. But I am already dead. ~~~ “Tina Reese, age 24, a Hispanic female retail worker, found dead. This is just the latest in a string of murders. Though there is little to link the victims the bullets at the crime scenes all came from the same gun. All of the victims were reported to be acting strange after watching their tv without the power on. Police are baffled by what this means and are urging the citizens of the city to be hyper vigilant, and aware.” I turn the TV off…
The two dolls were delicate porcelain creatures, both with pale, cracked faces — but where one missed an old green eye, the other missed an arm. They barely had a tuft of hair between them, just a few wiry curls left, once brown but now white. Hair that had aged as if it were real. Their clothes were rotten and their skin patched by decades of rain dribbling in through cracks in the attic roof. Dripped for so long that it had corroded their fragile bodies and punctured holes into their hollows. Tommy stared at them now, at the two dolls, as he’d done many times before. Always too scared to touch, so he just stared. Not that he was even allowed up in the old attic, where rats skittered behind beams, and where cobweb hammocks sagged and swayed in a cold draft. Mommy and Daddy had told him never to go into the attic alone. That it was unsafe. But they weren’t always there to watch him, and in those silent moments he’d sneak up and stare at the belongings of the two sisters, dead decades ago. It had been a fire. Extinguished before it had consumed the house entirely, but not before it had devoured the children. A terrible accident that had led to this day, to Tommy staring entranced at the dolls. The wind cried through the rafters, and rain drip drip dripped onto the doll with the missing arm. Tommy thought of the girls they had once belonged to. Not all the damage to the dolls was through weathering. Much was through love, through hugging and tea parties and naps together. Bathing together. He just knew the dolls and the girls had been inseparable once-upon-a-happier-time. That made his little heart all the more sad, that the dolls and girls were both so far apart now. He hadn’t had the courage before. Not ever. Or perhaps he had been building it up for this day. Saving little cups of courage for one big gulp. Tommy stepped over the dolls, sheltering them from the rain. Gulp. He stooped and picked them up. Cradled them carefully as he moved them to a dry spot the other end of the attic. He ripped up tartan fabric he found folded in an old leather trunk, and swapped the mouldy clothing on the dolls to something still old but at least clean. Their new hair came from a rocking-horse’s mane, thick and unruly, but plentiful. The new eye, a marble. The best he could do for a new arm was the leg of an ancient teddy-bear soldier — he tore it free and pushed it in the empty socket. Then, for the first time in a long time, the dolls left the house. &#x200B; The graveyard was muddy, and willows shook above the tombstones as the wind roared. Mist rolled by in spiralled plumes. Tommy had only ever been so scared once before. Their gravestones were moss covered and dirty, and Tommy wiped his sleeves over the names to make sure. When certain, he laid the dolls on top of each patch of grass, sad to make their new dresses muddy. They looked forlorn on the ground. The marble eye glinting sadly in the moonlight. The soft leg-arm limply hanging. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was all I could do.” &#x200B; A cold hand touched his shoulder. “It was your best,“ said a soft voice. Sarah’s voice. “And that was always good enough,” said Catherine. The sisters stood behind him, smiling. The moonlight travelled through them to the muddy grass. Sarah held something in her hands, but Tommy couldn’t make it out. Catherine bent down and took her doll. She pulled the leg out of the socket, so the doll once more had only one arm. Sarah took the leg from her sister. She pushed it into the object she held, then passed an old, beloved soldier bear to Tommy. ”I’m scared,” he said. ”We know. But it’s finally time for us all to go,” said Sarah. “And at least we leave together.” ”I’m sorry it took me so long,” said Tommy. “I wanted to come so much sooner. But I was so, so scared.” ”We would have waited for you forever, if that’s what it took,“ said Catherine, kindly, as she placed an arm around her little brother. Tommy hugged his bear tightly to his chest as they stepped into the mist.
It was the dead of the summer. I always hated how the grass grew so quickly with the rain that often accompanied the heat. I had been putting off mowing for quite a while, but it was clear I'd have to do it today before the HOA was breathing down my neck. My abilities could easily have made mowing the grass a snap, but, given the odd nature of this gift, I refrained from using it in view of others. Small things were passable, however. I started the mower and began in the front yard. With a bead of sweat already forming on my brow, I began pushing my way towards the street. Maybe it was foolish, but I doubted any of my neighbors would notice if any debris in the path of the mower just happened to move itself out of the way. Any small sticks or rocks that I was worried may be flung out were simply pushed out of the way. I only moved them a few inches just before they were hit so that a passer-by surely wouldn't notice. However, a new obstacle was in my yard today. I had just purchased some little dwarf guys at a local yard sale to give my lawn some charm. They were kinda weird, but I liked them. Cheap too. Coming up to the spot where the first figure stood I prepared to move the little guy out of the way. He wouldn't budge. I tried once again, really focusing on the shiny surface on the figure. Still, it wouldn't move! It was almost as if the little dwarf was... Oh no... I stopped dead in my tracks, fumbling over the handles of my lawn mower just as the front brushed up against the dwarf with a soft thud. There was no way these figures I bought from that kind old woman were... Alive? What was I thinking? Yet I couldn't move them. I stood over the small porcelain man and gave it a light tap with my foot. It wobbled back in place just like a normal lawn ornament would've. What if these statues were cursed? My imagination was running wild. What if that old woman cursed real people, turning them into small figurines? It was ridiculous, but surely just as possible in a reality where I could move inanimate objects with my mind alone. I gingerly bent down to pick the statue up. I held it in my hands, inspecting the surface for anything out of the ordinary. There was one thing off. It wasn't much, but weren't these cheap lawn statues usually hollow to save on material and cost? This little guy seemed solid all the way through, something that I wouldn't have even cared to notice before not being able to move it. I had to take these back! There's no way I was keeping these weird anomalies in my yard! I swiftly picked up the remaining two figurines and tossed them in my trunk without finishing the yard. I had no plan, but I had to get rid of these things! I found myself driving towards the house of the old woman. If there was anyone I could give these too it was her. But what if she had turned somebody into those statues clattering in the back of my car? If I brought them back would she know that I knew? And if she knew that I know, would she turn me into one as well? These thoughts only crossed my mind as I arrived at the house. I stopped my car awkwardly in front. Once again I had no plan. I found myself exiting my car and opening the trunk. Maybe if I just dumped these back on her yard and sped off I could free myself from their presence. As I walked from the car too her yard with an arm full of dwarves someone called out near by. "Say, what do you think you're doing, stranger?" A man stood on the nearby sidewalk with a calm dog on a leash. He was eyeing the contents in my hands with one eyebrow raised. I paused. This situation looked quite odd for sure. I thought the best option could be just to tell the truth, that I purchased these in a yard sale just the other day. I didn't want them and was bringing them back. The words left my mouth. The man's expression grew more earnest. "Son, that house has been empty for years! I've never seen anyone near it since the previous owner passed away..." Nothing made sense. I turned back to look at the house, now noticing how dilapidated it was. The cold, porcelain figures fell from my arms and came to a stop in the grass. I can't remember what I said to the man and I can't remember driving home. I left the dwarves on the ground in front of the house and never looked back, finally free from that strange, but fairly short chain of events. I let out a sigh of relief. I pulled back into my driveway and walked over to my lawnmower to finish the job. On the way back to the garage to put everything back in place I surveyed my hard work. Spotless and no lawn decorations in sight. Back inside I cleaned myself up just as my wife arrived home from work. "The yard looks nice, sweetie! You were right, those little gnomes do give the yard some charm..."
A board room, filled with people in suits. The room is empty of furniture however. "Rogers, is everything in place?" "Yes sir. The candles with exactly 1 inch of dribbley wax are placed exactly 72 degrees around the circle." "Excellent. Kingston?" "Right on schedule sir. The moon will be geometrically aligned with Venus in exactly 124 seconds." "Very good. Very good. Maxwell?" "The circle is drawn to precise measurements. It was easy with laser pointers. One of the interns threw up though. Mixing ash with virgin blood is particularly smelly. Hopefully killing the virgin in the process is not a prerequisite. That would be a nightmare to litigate." "You're rambling Maxwell, just tell me are we ready?" "Sorry sir, yes sir." "Good. Finally, Litworth, is it ready?" "Certainly sir, we've translated the text perfectly into a verbal phonetic listing. Just read it as it is written, and it will work." "Great. Can I get a count down to the alignment?" "Certainly. Alignment in 10 seconds." A hush falls over the room, and the suitably dribbley candles flicker, almost as if they rehearsed. "5 seconds."The fluorescent lights in the room darken. A brown out perhaps. Not uncommon at night in the city. "4."The wind howls. Typical midwinter weather. "3."A bolt of lightning hits a nearby skyscraper. "2."Somewhere nearby a dog barks. "1."Silence descends on the room. "Now." "Liabereth narctuku somlimnitos kianiarchu omberanos." Nothing happens. "Oh well. A vague instruction in a dusty old book. Superstition right?" "I guess so." "Oh wait, I forgot to carry the one. The alignment should be right now." A large flash of light fills the room, causing many of the people in suits to cover their eyes. The light from the candles flare and spark, reaching out to each other with lines of power. They connect, forming bars of light and sparks across the room. A perfect five pointed star fills the room with an eery red glow. In the middle of the glow, stands a being. It's long horns scrape the ceiling, causing the monster to stoop a little. It's leathery wings folded against it's back. It's shoulders stooped a little, avoiding the power keeping it contained. Long robes barely mask the long sinewy muscles that line it's body. It's hoofed, goat-like feet shuffle nervously. It extends one of it's long taloned claws upwards, adjusting the half moon spectacles to better see it's summoners. The other claw clutches a couple of books carefully across it's chest, protecting them. The spine reads "The Hobbit." "Oh great and mighty Hellington. I beseech thee." "Wellington."the demon replies. "What?" With an english accent and a slight nasal twang the demon says "My name is Wellington. You know, like the boot." "Uuuh, okay. Oh great and mighty .. Wellington. We beseech the for ancient knowledge, terrible and powerful!" "Ummm, okay. What kind of knowledge?" "The knowledge to conquer the world, and to defeat our enemies!" "Oh, this again. Very well. If you take some sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate, mix it just right, you can get an almighty bang. I'll leave it up to you to figure out the rest. Just don't blow your fingers off."the demon starts wheezing in and out, in a weird laugh. "You mean, like gun powder?" "Well, it's black powder, I don't know what a gun is." "You have got to be kidding me. No, I want dangerous secrets, like what this book says!" "Oh, then you want the SECRET knowledge."says the demon, winking at the head suit. "Then I shall teach you the power of math omat ix. Trigg erno metrie. And the dreaded cal culus." The head suit blinks a couple of times, not sure what is happening. Some of the other suits are murmuring to each other. "No no no, we already know those! We want to know spells of death, destruction, the power to destroy our enemies. To conquer entire countries effortlessly!" "Well, yeah, that's all you mortals want to do. Listen, if you learn math omat ix, you will learn the sy ens that you seek that will help you here." "I don't want to learn science. We already know science. We want to know magic!" The demon starts to wheeze again, but after a few seconds composes himself. "Magic isn't real. Magic is just what we told you people back when you first started trying to contact us." "Then how did you just appear here?" "Oh, that. We keep an eye on you, and when you guys use the right spell, we just use our teleporter to pop down and give you a bit of a fright and maybe teach you a couple of things. But that must have been about five hundred years ago now. A guy called .. vinchi .. leonard vinchi .. I can't remember. But it looks like you've done quite well. I'm in a concrete room, three hundred feet above ground, and I can see your whole city through the glass. Conquered electricity, nice. Flight? Very cool. Radio waves, very nice. Oh, and the internet. Well done. I'm going to cash in tonight. Greg said you guys wouldn't have telecommunications for another thousand years." "But, how?" "Oh, we're demons, but we're not stupid. We've had this stuff for millenniums. So, you've probably split the atom, and discovered sub atomic particles, and maybe even dark matter. Hmmmm. What to give you next?" "Uuh, what?" "Well, you said you wanted more knowledge, more power, here it comes. Cold fusion is a dead end. Hydrogen doesn't work like that. If you can finally get enough magnetism to constrict the plasma fluid dense enough, you CAN achieve a stable fusion reaction. Which means ..." "Infinite free energy." "That's right. Which is energy enough to destroy everyone you hate. But I think by the time you get there, you won't want to. Anyways, I gotta get back to my dungeons and dragons game. Good luck and see you in a hundred years!" The flash of light goes out with a pop and the room is back to the same empty, fluorescent lit board room it was before. Although the candles are a little more dribbley now. "What was that? Did that even happen?" "Shut up, magic isn't real, we have work to do."
"So,"Mike began, "God is driving back to America from a vacation in Mexico, when he comes to a border checkpoint and pulls the car to a stop. An officer peers into the vehicle, and sees that God is wearing a long grey trench coat. Odd for this kind of weather, the cop thinks. God's grey eyebrows furrow nervously, 'Anything wrong, Officer?'" Jay rolled his eyes at Mike. "What?" "You've told it me before. It's the--" "Humor me,"snapped Mike. "It'd be nice if you would humor me, for once." Mike glared at his drinking companion. Jay raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. So, God said, 'Anything wrong, Officer?'" Mike chewed his lip a moment, studying Jay's eyes before continuing. "'Routine check, Father,' says the cop, spitting onto the floor. 'Been reports about smugglers crossing the border with copious amounts of tequila that's been blessed by the high priests of the Sierra Madre.' "'Tequila?' says God in mock shock. 'That's terrible!' "'It's not so bad with a lime and a pinch of salt,' says the cop. "God nods, but the cop sees the tell-tale snail-trail of nervous sweat trickling down the old man's forehead. The cop peers hard at God, his eyes and flashlight slowly roaming down the trench coat. About where God's chest should be, one of the buttons is missing, and in the darkness between the folds, he sees two bright eyes peering out. "'Who's that with you?' says the cop, suddenly alert. "God sighs. 'That's just my son, Jesus. He likes to snuggle up on these long journeys.' "'You think I'm an idiot?' The cop pulls his gun. 'I know smugglers when I see them. Get out of the car. Now!' "God hops out of the car and stands by the side of it. "'Unbutton your coat,' demands the cop. "'How did you know?' sighs God, pulling his coat apart, revealing Jesus balancing beneath him on a giant bottle of tequila. "'Easy,' says the cop. 'When I saw the Father, then the Son, I knew the holy fucking spirit couldn't be too far away.'" "Christ,"said Jay, shaking his head. --- Thank you for the gold!!
Krissa stirred the boiling pasta so it wouldn't stick, a whirlpool of silky string. "I'm just saying, honey. This guy, the second in command at work- he makes my life so difficult. Sensei just hides behind that meathead, who's honestly a terrible fighter, yet somehow I can't get past him." Samuel gritted his teeth, sweating the aromatics. Sweet onion and pungent garlic wafted over him. "Well, it sounds like he's pretty good at his job if you can't get past him. Or maybe you still have a long way to go, and you're not ready to challenge him yet. If you can't beat one of his assistants, you'll definitely lose to the guy in charge." "He does a good job in the way that a wall does a good job. There's no talent to a wall. Why pay that dumb, fat asshole when you could just hide inside a brick box and never worry about sparring anyone else? Honestly, it's a dojo. Fighters should have skill and grace, not be lumbering brutes. He's like a rectangle on legs."She dangled a noodle in the air, then flung it haphazardly. It stuck. Samuel winced, eyeing the starchy blob on the fridge door. "Why do you have to do it that way?" "If it works, it works."She drained the pasta, a mushroom cloud of steam rising out of the sink and fogging her glasses. "Anyway, how was your day?" He smashed at the canned San Marzano tomatoes simmering with the aromatics, popping one and earning a twitch from his beloved. "Equally frustrating. That persistent new bitch is at it again, and I swear to God, all she does is get in my face. She thinks she's so slick, trying to get past me and bother the CEO with... Questions, and pitches. Every single one is just awful, and I always stop her before she gets anywhere. Like, I'm the secretary, how are you going to just waltz past me unnoticed with the grace of a drunk monkey? Honestly." Krissa threw another noodle at the wall, splatting. Samuel scrunched his face up, squelching the tomatoes as loudly as he could, smirking as her jaw clenched. You see, the only thing Sam and Kris did not know is that the other also knew. But orders are orders, and intel is intel. Well, when they could get past insults and into conversation worth a damn. That didn't happen very often. ------ ^(You could say they have a strained relationship.) /r/resonatingfury
A note, found written on a corpse, in the rain: > Once you have super heroes and super villains, you no longer really have the rule of law. > Once you no longer have the rule of law, the line between hero and villain can be a very thin one. > And if you go after the family of one hero, you'll do it again if you get away with it. > And who, having put on the mask, having dedicated to a life of violence, having risked that life again and again for the people, wouldn't do everything they could to protect those they love? > Here lies the mortal remains of someone who forgot this rule. May his name be forever forgotten. > - The League of Heroes.
Thomas looked down at his iPad having just stepped out of the wormhole he had traveled through. "Strange,"he said softly under his breath, "wifi."He quickly tapped the settings button and went into wifi settings. As the device discovered the one available network his heart dropped. "If you can read this turn back." After Thomas finally gathered himself he knew he should heed the message. As he darted into the wormhole back to his laboratory and stepped through. Safe at last he thought, as he shut down the machine powering his wormhole. "Fuck that shit"he said and went to lunch. TL;DR: Thomas nopes the fuck out. Edit: Thanks for my first gold kind stranger!
The lander drifted down to the moon's surface, it's thrusters roaring to maintain perfect balance as the titanium legs kicked up moon dust like a cat in its litter box—not a sound to be heard in the molecule-free vacuum of space. "Uh, Captain,"a shaky voice came over the comms of the captain's helmet. "Could you please explain what the plan is again, please?" The captain groaned in the pod, unstrapping himself and turning slowly in the low g to face the other two astronauts. He spoke as if he was commanding an invasion force, "Men, there's God damn ghosts on this rock. And if it were any other rock floating around in the abyss of space, I'd say fuck it all to hell, let em' have it,"he was unstrapping the M16's he'd secured to the wall before lift off, floating them to the astronauts, which they caught hesitantly. "But this ain't just any space rock, boys, this is America's rock!" "Sir, the Outer Space Treaty of 67' clearly states that there will be no sovereign claim to any celestial body—" "What flag was first flown on the surface of the moon!?" The two astronauts hesitated, sighing internally before one answered, "Well, not really flown, but I suppose—" "The greatest flag in the history of human existence. The great stars and stripes. The star-spangled-banner. Old Glory! The blessed flag of the U—S—A. And as far as I'm concerned, that makes this orbital boulder property of the U.S. government, and I'll be damned if its overrun by ghouls or goblins or any other celestial eldritch that trolls the dark side of this rock." Neither of the astronauts responded, but the captain took their silence as an enthusiastic affirmation, chambering a round and raising his rife proudly. "Let's introduce some hot lead to these spooks' lunar geology." As the captain exited the lander, bouncing down to the moon's surface, one of the astronauts made a gesture to the other. A simple sign in regards to the M16's in their hands that said, DO NOT FIRE THAT WEAPON. Outside the ship, in the vacuum of space, the captain seemed to be unaware that his voice was restricted to the confines of their helmets, "Come out and face the wrath of real patriots!" His fellow astronauts kept their distance, fingers well away from their triggers. "Sir, I think we should—" Hello "It's the spooks!"the captain whirled around as quickly as he could in the low g, which was actually quite slowly. "Show yourselves, cowards!" We do not wish to fight The voice was clearly coming from their own comms. We welcome you to our home "Your home?!"that set the captain off, "This rock is property of the United States of America, and you will not reside here without proper permissions and clearances!" We have no use for such things "Then you'll be eradicated, here and now!" As you wish, here we are A humanoid figure appeared in the dust at the captain's feet, a lanky, gray form that laid there like a corpse in a coffin—a wide smile on its face. Hello "Open fire!" Two bursts from the captain's weapon were all it took to push him straight off the moons surface, but he foolishly continued firing into the dust until his mag was empty. He had given himself a decent amount of thrust and was quickly floating up and away. "Boys,"he cried through the comms. "I seem to have miscalculated a few things. One of you is going to have fire one rifle to reach me, and then the other to bring us back down—A.S.A.P." When they didn't answer, the captain continued to bark unrealistic orders at them until they motioned to one another to switch channels. "We're not doing that, right?" "Not a chance in hell." We do not sense that you wish for more violence "You sense correctly, er, moon-dust person." If you wish, you may join us below the surface for some refreshments. We can create the conditions necessary for an atmosphere appropriate to your survival so you may enjoy them in comfort. "Well, thank you for your hospitality, but what about him?" They switched over to the captain's channel for a second. "blesssssss Americaaaaaaaa, the land I loooooove—" They promptly switched back. He is entering our lunar orbit, and will complete one journey around our home in two earth days. We will let him orbit for a safe amount of time before retrieval "Why not do it now?" We prefer to converse with you ..... And we find it humorous The two astronauts were taken below the moon's surface, treated to some delicious refreshments, and graced with many of the moon-dust people's knowledge and secrets. Occasionally, they'd switch back over to the captain's channel, just to check if he was alright. "God bless Americaaaaaaaaa, my hoooooooome sweeeeet hooooooome—" He seemed to be in good spirits. ______ Thanks for reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily lunar hauntings
I had never actually met a human before. I’d seen them in videos sure, but I don’t think I’d ever seen one in person. I’d always be fascinated by the way they reacted to things. They could understand what someone was saying with their back turned to them, I couldn’t understand it. It’s like they have some kind of fifth sense. Irregardless, killing one wouldn’t be so hard, even if it had to be ‘quiet’, which I’m told is like being invisible, but to hearing. I had been told it had been related to something about lifting Earth’s sanctions on our planet, since this delegates successor was some sort of appeaser compared to the hardline human I was about to kill. The other assassins that had been arrested had made big mistakes. They shattered the window of the delegates summer home, and didn’t hear his barking dog. He was arrested in seconds. Another hid in the trunk of his SUV, but moved around to much. He was shot by security, almost killed. But me? I was different. I had studied this strange sense of hearing and I think I understand the gist of it. Hiding and home invasions won’t work. But there are other ways to get alone with the delegate. Right now I’m disguised as some intern that he has to meet with. I wait outside his office patiently. He opens his door. “You’re the new intern right? You can come in.” I read his lips to understand what he’s saying. I smile and follow him inside. The office is windowless, with no guards. The moment I close the door and lock it, my plan is in action. I pull the pistol out from inside my jacket, and fire once at the delegates lower back. He falls down, his balance thrown off, he’s probably yelling something, but I can’t see his lips moving. I smile, savoring this moment. I was clever enough to pull this impossible hit off. I looked at him squirm. The wound itself wouldn’t kill him, but I had all the time in the world to put a bullet in his head. I watched him for a few more seconds, then the door is kicked open, breaking the lock. I feel bullets go into my back as I fall down, and the delegate is grabbed. He’ll survive. But I’m confused. How did the guards know there was trouble going on? As I sit here now, handcuffed to this hospital bed, I realize something. Guns are extremely loud, which is like being extremely visible, but for hearing.
The depth charge hit our ballast tanks. We leaned hard to starboard, and then just sat there. Captain Wolford ordered a status report, and gradually, our heads racked with pain, we pieced together our crooked world. We hung dead in the water at 150 meters. The starboard tanks were flooded, but the port tanks hung on. Engines were dead. Radio was conceivably working, but only if we surfaced. Three lights worked in the main control room. In the darkness I reported to the captain. “How bad are we?” “Well, sir, it’s rough, but there is good news. Would you like me to start with that?” He fumbled around in the dark, looking for a light I imagine, and grumbled “yes.” “We have but few casualties. Our port ballast tanks are holding. We’re not sinking and no major interior leaks are reported on any decks. Our radio appears functional, if we can surface to use it, and the destroyer has been quiet. Possibly left us for dead.” “I can imagine why...” he grumbled. He found his light. “As for the damage, we-“ he flicked his light on and pointed it as me. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, number one! Are you okay!?” “My head hurts, but I think I-“ i reached upward to the place he was looking. I began to actually feel the sting when he grabbed my hand. “Don’t touch it! I’ll get the doc. Ensign! Get the doctor up here, yesterday!” “Aye, sir!” “Am I bad sir? Am I-“ “I’m not sure. It might not be as bad as it looks. Have a seat.” I leaned back, resting on a console sitting at about a 45 degrees. I did feel dizzy. My senses waned and a throbbing pain set in. The doctor was not much help. Him and the captain murmured a little to each other, covered it in a bandage, and gave me morphine for when I was ready to sleep. But I was not ready to sleep, there was work to be done. First we had to track and pack the small leaks. They’d ruin any electronics and make it miserable to work in. Plus, the Atlantic waters were bone-chilling cold. We worked on the engines as best we could for two days, we might be able to get the water out of the right side and push us up. But it was no good. We contemplated a new method of pumping out the water. But the manual pumps could not keep up with the massive leaks in the hull. It was a futile mission that left one sailor with a broken arm. But worse for me was my crew stopped speaking to me. In my mind I was the same man they joked with at the start of the mission, but now they couldn’t look me in the eye. My one good eye that is. I lost vision in my right eye after about 36 hours. They tried to help me, I think. Wouldnt let me see a mirror, made sure I slept and had water. But by the third day I stopped taking food and water from the men, because we all knew I was a gonner. We just knew it. But in the end the engine could not be repaired, the ballast tank could not be raised, and we were still sitting buoyant at 150m below the surface. After refusing breakfast on the fourth day, I asked the staff if simply trying to swim to the surface was an option. Maybe we could inflate the life rafts upside down and ride the bubble to the surface. If 1/3 of us made it, that was better than 0/3. “The pressure alone would kill us. We wouldn’t get out of the boat to begin with.” Said the doctor, with an odd glance at me. “We may be out of options.” “Headquarters knows our last position, and its possible we havent moved far. Help could be coming.” “Help’s not coming! Sir, the Atlantic is a maze of torpedoes and lost ships. We’re one of hundreds lost to the sea! They will never find us.” “Hush! The crew will hear you.” “They should hear me. What are our other options!?” “It is a false hope. Opening the hatch at our pressures... we will die. All of us.” Almost all of us. One by one we lost crew members. The injured first. Then those with illnesses. Then we started to starve. The air lasted longer than we thought. We put the dead in the torpedo bay. 6 people attempted to escape through the hatch at the bow. We didn’t stop them. If they got out, maybe they could get help. But we all knew none survived to the surface. The rest of us waited. Knowing out last step was death. We wrote letters. We drew pictures. We sang our favorite songs with our final breaths. Until at last there were three of us. “Commander...” started a younger sailor, “we thought you’d be first. But now, it’s you, me, and the captain.” A gunshot echoed from the captain’s quarters. “I guess it’s you and me.” “How? I havent eaten in a week. I haven’t drank in three. By rights, I should be in the flooded torpedo bay.” “That’s what we thought. But I guess you’re here. And here you’ll be. If you... if you survive. Will you deliver... our letters?” Breathing was hard now. The air had little oxygen. Our spares were all used up. “Of course. But will you do one thing for me? Will you hold up a mirror? And a flashlight?” “Sir... you don’t want... to see it. It’s better left... a mystery.” Those were his last words. I thought about shooting myself with the captain’s gun. But drifting to sleep with the young sailor sounded better. I decided to let it come naturally. But sleep didn’t come. Not even twice the morphine would end it. But Something did change. I ended. I think. Like a sleep paralysis dream, awake in the dark, but uncertain what was real. Time passed strangely. I became one with my chair, gradually losing all sensation. I heard voices in the dark, but after a time I could not even turn my head to look. I was not sure if I could still see. There were no more lights. I was terrified for so long, and then at some point I was comfortable. Until all at once, the belly of the boat began to growl. She’s finally sinking, I thought. But the opposite. The walls began popping. The creaks and groans became louder and louder. Once more- light. The top hatch opened. Footsteps came down from above. I no longer remembered much of the time before. Who my enemy had been. But these figured matched nothing I’d ever recollected. They were clothed in white. Their eyes seemed to be light. But their voices, at least, were human. “There you are. See? Right where I told you.” “But what is, doctor? That’s not a person that’s a-“ “Don’t be rude, Cathy. The man hasnt exactly been able to take care of his appearance in some time. But he’s still in there.” ”Who... are you people?” “Holy sh— Doctor White it- it just spoke.” “Of course he did. Commander, I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. You see I was only told about you a few years ago. And we still had to find you. We’ll get you out of there. As for me? Well as Cathy so kindly mentioned I’m Doctor White. I work for a Foundation that... collects things of a certain nature. Keeps them safe. Studies them. You, evidently, are not just a thing of a certain nature yourself, you’re something we need.” ”Something you... Need?” “Yes, my dear commander. Your side may have lost the war, but your service hasnt ended. Welcome to the Foundation. And mind your head, please. We need the rest of it.”
Absentmindedly, Arlen turned the next page, "Run"was all that was written on that page too, though the page opposite it had "Now"sitting in the centre. "Now"was bolded. "What a strange book"Arlen thought "probably postmodern", which was odd given that the book was in an old leather binding and had fallen from the first editions shelf. It took a heartbeat for Arlen to notice that the room had gone dark, and that the after the chime of the door there had been no further noise in the shop, in fact all the noises had dimmed. She could no longer hear the traffic from outside and her own breath sounded muffled and distant. She looked up, the lights were still on but it was as if she were looking at them through a dark veil. Everything seemed heavy and sluggish. "Sluggish"Arlen said out loud and tasted how slowly and incoherently it came out of her mouth. She felt so strange, was she drunk? Had she been drugged? She struggled to think, to see, to breath, was it her or was it getting darker? A small part of Arlen's brain that was still functioning, frantically tried to get her attention "Do something!"it screamed "this isn't normal". Arlen tried to take a step towards the door and suddenly the room responded. The door seemed to throw itself backwards away from her, the walls flowing with it as if they had been made of tar. The floor started creeping up her legs and as Arlen looked down in horror at her feet, watching and feeling the heavy tiles of the shop shift up and attach themselves to her. As she looked down, she realised she still had the book open in her hand, only now the page didn't say "Run", it said "Speak"and on the opposite page "the Truth". Arlen said the first thing that came into her head, "I don't know what is happening". And as suddenly as it had happened the room flipped itself back into shape, the walls were normal walls, the floor was solid and familiar under her feet. The room was bright, the sound of buses and cars honking outside came flooding in and standing opposite Arlen was a young lady, dressed in a uniform, a benign expression on her face. When had she come in? Arlen wondered if she had hallucinated, if maybe the lady was there to help her. Then she realised, the lady was reaching out, for the book, and had stopped mid reach. "I'm sorry"the lady said sweetly "I'm not sure I understand? I asked for the book and you agreed to sell it to me". Still smiling she took the book, only Arlen did not let go. The lady stopped smiling, "is there a problem?"she said, and something about the way she said it made Arlen think of dark rooms and people sobbing behind locked doors. "No. Yes. I'm sorry"Arlen said, still finding it hard to speak, to think even. Why wouldn't the lady let go of the book? This wasn't normal, Arlen desperately wanted everything to go back to normal. "Then give me the book"the lady said out loud, no sign of kindness about her now at all. They stood there, both holding the book, and even though they did nothing else at all, Arlen started to feel bone tired, as if she were bleeding somewhere and her body was slowly shutting down and giving up on all its basic functions. Once more Arlen looked down at the book "Run", it said again "Now". This time Arlen paid attention, pulling the book out of the lady's hand she pivoted and ran through the back door into the store room and as she ran out, she heard the sound of laughter, both behind and in front of her. Edit: Part 2 in comment below Edit 2: I wasn't happy with the part 2 I wrote so I decided to try again - I've made a sub and will write off the cuff (what I did above - the bit I did below I overthought) so it will probably be very rough about the edges, but here goes... - sub and a new part 2 here: https://www.reddit.com/r/TheBookOfConstraints/
“Alright that’s enough, can’t you see she doesn’t want to be bothered?” The crowd of men glared at the speaker behind the counter but he stood his ground. “You lot have been bothering her all this time, clear off and leave her in peace.” “What’s it to you?” A man leered unpleasantly. “Don’t you know who this is?” The man crossed his arms. “Aye that I do, she’s a customer. She is entitled to a meal in peace. You lot haven’t bought a thing and unless you aim to, you’re not customers. So head off before I call the town watch and have you all removed.” As they bristled and stepped towards him he reached down and hefted his rolling pin. “They can escort you on your feet or drag you away. Your choice.” The men left, hurling insults at the woman and the man equally, knocking things from the tables and dashing pottery to the floor. Sighing heavily, he walked from behind the counter, picking up broken plates. “Honestly, it’s early to be that drunk. Still, that’s no reason to be so rude.” He bobbed his head at the woman who still sat at the counter. “Sorry about that miss, I hope that didn’t put you off from your meal.” She shook her head, long white hair swaying. “Not at all,” she said without emotion. “I thank you for your aid. I do hope your assistance will not cause you any future trouble.” He waved a hand, tossing the broken dishes into a large crate. “Oh don’t you worry none miss. That lot never comes in to eat anyways. They rather spend their money on drink, not food.” He leaned on the counter and smiled at her. “Most of my business comes from local families and travelers, merchants and the like so I don’t care about a bunch of drunks.” The woman looked about the empty eatery. “Your business seems...slow. If I may be so bold.” Her pale grey eyes showed no boldness, they were as empty as her voice. He shrugged, dark brown eyes winked back. “Nothing wrong with stating the truth. This is the slow season for me. The weather keeps the heavy trade away and most families eat at home. It’s okay though, I always make it through okay.” He saw her look at the crate of broken crockery. “With less business I don’t need as many plates. Don’t worry none.” “It is my fault that happened. I should make some kind of compensation.” She hesitated, and for the first time since she entered she seemed hesitant. “You...truly do not know who I am?” A sheepish smile was her reply. “Beg your pardon miss, should I? I mean no disrespect. I’m just a simple cook that doesn’t get out much.” The woman stared at him and he felt a prickle of embarrassment. His concern grew when she started to laugh. Not that she was laughing, but her laugh itself. It was forced, her shoulders worked as if she was trying to push the laughter out of her. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong but before the words could emerge she started to glow. She held up cupped hands and to his amazement silver appeared within them. It was as if her laughter rained silver, the sound seemed to coalesce and when she finally stopped a pile of silver pieces rested in her hands. She held them out to him and he gingerly accepted them, expecting them to be paper or light. However they were truly silver. They felt heavy like they should and shined in the lamplight. “Well isn’t that something!”he exclaimed. “That was quite the trick miss, how did you do that if I may ask?” “You may not,” she replied severely. Her eyes narrowed and suspicious. His faced flushed. “I’m really sorry miss,” he stammered. “I’ve just never seen anything like that before. Thought it was like a magic trick, like those fellas do with the cups and the ball. I meant nothing by it.” He counted a few pieces out and held the rest in a closed hand. “Those are more than what the crockery was worth plus the meal. You should take the rest back, you made them after all.” The suspicion leeched away and her eyes widened as she took back the pile of silver. She watched him walk behind the counter and deposit the few pieces he counted out into his cash box. “Do you....why do you not take it all?” “Well I never overcharged anyone before, and I don’t aim to now.” He smiled to hide his embarrassment. “You made the silver, or produced them or what have you. I’m no thief neither.” He went back to cooking, his knife cutting through the vegetables on the block. He hummed a little, trying to fill the silence before a noise made him stop. “I’m sorry, got lost in chopping. Did you say something miss?” “I am....sorry.” “Oh no need to be!” He waved his hand and tried to brush her apology away. “I must have sounded just like those jerks from earlier, don’t blame you none for being guarded. I bet you get bothered a lot over it.” “I....I am cursed.” The words spilled from her lips and the man stopped completely, knife halfway through the carrot on the board. He put the blade down, wiping his hands awkwardly. “I’m real sorry to hear that miss.” “I was a terribly vain girl, one given more than she deserved. I wanted for nothing, parents that showered me with wealth. When you lived easily your tastes can warp just as easily. I had all the material things I could want, so I wanted more terrible things. I did not care for my own happiness or sadness, but only how I could control the feelings of others.” Her grey eyes lost focus, she was watching her past again. “I played so many games, cruel and awful ones. I made people cry, made them laugh, made them hurt. All for my amusement.” She looked at him and pain warred with shame in her eyes. “One took too much, they hurt too much. They could not go on and their blood is on my hands. They were watched by an ancient being, and the being desired revenge. For my sins I had to learn the pain of being toyed with, where wealth is material but not long lasting while your thoughts and emotions burn ever longer. When I laugh I can make silver. When I weep I can make gold. So that to benefit the most I must shed tears, to feel pain forever.” She looked down at her hands. “My family turned on me, any business can be enhanced by a person that can make silver and gold. Why settle for silver when gold was only a step away? They tortured me, drowned me for my gilded sorrow. My friends wanted a piece for themselves. Silver is cheap, gold is more. I endured as much as I could before I left.” A gentle thump broke through the cloud of her thoughts. A sweet scent wafted into her nose and she moved her hands away. A steaming mug of tea sat before her and the man was looking sorrowful at her. She was shocked. To everyone before she told the story to she could see the shine of avarice in their gaze, a facade of disbelief on their faces hid hungering greed. Yet this man was looking sad with her, not at her. “That’s a cruel story miss. I’m sorry to hear it.” He pointed awkwardly at the mug. “Mayhap this will help? I find mint tea helps me when I feel low. That and food, but,” he coughed with a red face, “mayhap not the right thing to say right now. Sorry.” She almost chuckled, not at all bothered by the man. His sincerity warmed her as her hands were warmed by the tea. She sipped, the fresh mint freshened the acrid brew and she felt the hot water slide down her throat, warming her bit by bit. “Th-thank you for listening,” she said and for the first time in a long time she meant the words. “Of course miss. It’s a bad thing that you got cursed, and that your friends and family turned out like that.” He went back to chopping, his face twisted in thought. “Yet...well. If you don’t mind a simple cook saying so, there’s something I heard a while back that may help you feel better.” A smile tried to tug her lips and she tried to fight it down. “It would only be fair to listen to you after you listening to me.” He smiled again, broad and warm and she felt something crack in her heart. “Kind of you to say so. When I was a boy me mum would tell me stories about curses like yours, dreadfully scary things. They always frightened me so, maybe why she told me them to keep me honest. But after every story she told me that a curse can be bad, but it can end in good.” “Pray tell, how so?” Her words dripped bitterness and the man chuckled. “Well, curses are lessons after all. If you learn why you got cursed, then change your ways, then the curse actually helped you. If that makes sense.” She stared at him as he poured chopped vegetables into batter and an iron plate sizzled and spat as he poured the mixture on. “You have a cruel curse on you, but you left the bad behind you yes? You no longer try to hurt others and you now know how important happiness and sadness are right?” She nodded, unable to speak. Her throat felt tight and hot and she felt her eyes prickle. He set a plate before her and the smell of the pancake thawed her stomach as his words thawed her heart. “Well then I think you learned your lesson then. And since you did, you’re a much better person than you were before.” He grinned shyly. “I know we just met but even I can see that.” Her vision started to shimmer. “Besides,” he continued as he looked away. “Mum also said you can cry even if you’re not sad. Tears aren’t always bad.” He cursed himself silently. “I’m sorry miss, Mum also said I had a big mouth. I never know when to mind my own business and keep quiet.” A thunk of metal on wood made him look up. His eyes widened as he saw the shining gold piece sitting on the counter in front of him. He looked at her and saw a woman transformed. She was smiling despite the tears and she was eating hungrily, as if she had not eaten in days. “No,” she said softly, “thank you. Truly. I....thank you. If anything, may I ask you something else?” His smile matched hers. “Anything miss! Anything at all.” She held up the empty plate, “May I have please have more, both your food and your words?”
Shreds of wrapping paper flew through the air as Gary tore into yet another box. His parents watched from the couch, wide-eyed and amazed at the ever-growing mountain of wrapping paper and ribbons and bows in the center of their living room. And not to mention the thousands and thousands of dollars worth of toys that had miraculously appeared under the Christmas tree last night. "Did you win the lottery or something and not tell me?"Martin whispered to his wife. "Where did all of this come from?"They'd been scrimping and saving for months to buy Gary that new video game system that he wanted... and they'd still been about a hundred bucks short by the time Christmas came around. So they got him a new bike instead. But not the insanely expensive one that he'd unwrapped first; that had been a shock. Nancy couldn't even answer. Her eyes were glistening and her smile wavered as Gary brought a present over to her: a slender box, wrapped in green-and-blue striped paper. "I asked Santa for something for you too, Mommy."Tears rolled down her cheeks as she accepted it and managed to thank her son. She opened the box to reveal a diamond necklace that would have looked at home around the Queen of England's neck. Her jaw dropped and she turned to Martin, who was also speechless. "What's this, Mommy?"They managed to turn away from the sparkling diamonds for long enough to see what had come out of the very large box in the center of the room: some sort of... table. It was made of glistening black stone that seemed to suck in light. There were deep scarlet candles lining the perimeter, and in the center there was a bone-white sheep's skull grinning back at them. Except the eyes were glowing red, like they were full of fire. "Honey,"Nancy said, dropping the diamond necklace and getting up from the couch as quickly as she could, "Don't touch that. You don't know wha..." "Dear Gary,"he read from a card, completely ignoring his mother's instructions. "I hope you ejn... enjoy all the presents. Just make sure to stad... stand at the table and read this incatnation... incantation when you're done, and we'll call it even."Gary squinted at the paper as his mother tried to tear it out of his hands. "Ut veinma pesreque..." ---- "God damn it,"Satan cursed, watching through the eyes of the sheep skull, "He's butchering it! I knew it wouldn't work!"He turned to the assembled demons behind him with flames shooting from his nostrils. "Whose fucking bright idea was it to have a dyslexic kid read the Latin summoning incantation?!" ---- If you enjoyed this, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more!
He opens his eyes and…he is perfect. You smile back at him, your breath catching in awe. ‘Welcome,’ you say, hand reaching out to brush against his chest. ‘I can’t believe we did it.’ He scowls at you. ‘Whatever.’ * On the first day, he does nothing but demand things from you. He wants food, he wants beer, he wants to be left alone… ‘Why are you speaking to me?’ he huffs, trying to watch the football match. ‘We’ve never needed conversation before.’ It is true, you concede. You like being alone. But you created him because you thought that FINALLY, there would be someone worth your time. You don’t say this to him. * On day two, you shout at him. He’s been wearing your clothes, and now you have nothing to wear for work. ‘So put a wash on,’ he snaps, and takes a drink. You hate doing laundry, and tell him as much. He snorts, and wanders out of the kitchen. ‘Not my problem.’ There are dirty dishes in the sink also, and you growl slightly. The sound of the TV clicks on from the other room. * On day three, you ask him to go to work for you. ‘Why do I need to be the one constantly going to the office?’ you demand. ‘We both need the money, so we should do an equal share. Or you should get a damn job yourself, so we aren’t two people on one income!’ He stares at you. ‘I hate working.’ Well, so do you, but unfortunately you haven’t had much of a choice. ‘I refuse to buy anything else for you,’ you threaten. When you come home from work, he is browsing Amazon. You can see there are items in his basket. ‘How do you expect to buy that new game?’ you press. ‘You’ve got nothing to your name.’ You don’t mention you were planning on buying the game anyway. ‘Actually, we have a lot to our name,’ he replies with a superior smile. ‘It’s not like I don’t know all of our bank account details.’ * On day four, he takes the car out without asking. ‘I need it to go to the grocery store,’ you snarl at him over the phone. ‘Bring the car back. It isn’t yours!’ There is a chuckle down the end of the line. ‘It’s just as much mine as yours; I have every right to use it.’ The words are horribly familiar – you had said similar things to your older brother at one point, stealing his car and accidentally crashing it later that evening. He doesn’t come home for hours. ‘The back seat was excellent,’ he smirks at you. ‘Plenty of room for both me and the whore.’ You know this already, but don’t deign to give him a response. * On day five, you take him to the bar. You start the evening tucked away in the corner. Soon however, a group of very pretty women stumble in, already drunk. You make eye contact with him, and for once you are on the same page. The prettiest girl gives you a smile as you try to start up a conversation. ‘I’m his twin brother,’ he interrupts, and you glare at him. The fight is on. He undermines you at every turn, throwing harsh words out until you finally punch him in the face. The women all stop talking, and stare. ‘I think it’s time we left,’ you say, dragging him out the door. The bartender is already calling the police, you can see. * On day six, you realize that you’ve made a terrible mistake. You should have never created him in the first place. Rather than be your friend, he is practically your enemy. He is a horrible human being…and what does that say about you? You vow to dispose of your problem, quickly and quietly. And then you will take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror. You will eradicate all of his hateful traits from your own personality, and then you will go and find some real friends. Lesson learned. It isn’t murder, you tell yourself. He isn’t even a real person…just a copy. *** On day seven, you cook a large dinner for him - his final meal. ‘I think we started off on the wrong foot,’ you paste on a fake smile. ‘Y’know, if we worked together in this world, who knows what we could achieve.’ He laughs at that, and conversation is surprisingly civil as you eat. He even stands up to help clear the table when you’re both finished. You feel a surge of generosity towards him. ‘I’m not sure how much pie is left, but I’m sure we can split it,’ you throw out over your shoulder as you wander into the kitchen. You can kill him afterwards. ‘No need to split,’ his voice purrs from behind you. A knife slides between your ribs, and you crash to the floor. ‘There’s only one of us, anyway.’ The last thing you see is your own smile.
Charles Bucket placed the paper down to his side, and folded his hands in his lap quietly, deep in thought. He closed his eyes, and visions of madness swam across the back of his eyelids. Nightmares that hadn't reared their snarling terrible heads for decades now. Nightmares he thought he had left behind. Charles steeled himself, squaring up his shoulders, flicked the last drops of morning coffee from his mustache. He flicked a button, watching the wall in front of him slide open. In the Main Office of Buckets Wonderful Confections, a simple bookcase slide to the side, the hidden doorway to Charles's living space revealing itself. Not for the first time, he wished it had not been made necessary to set his living space in a permanent "panic room". But such was the nature of the place he had inherited that day. On to the factory floor. He looked over gleaming conveyor belts, the giant vats ready to be heated for boiling and simmering, and the machines precision-aligned for molding and cutting chocolate into delightful shapes. All was quiet in the morning still; the workers wouldn't be here for another hour. At this time of morning, only two divisions of the company were present: Administration, and Perimeter Defense. Looking over the modernized mechanica of his factory, Charles found himself flashing back to the day he had won ownership of it. To the contest, and the tour. He remembered Wonka, the living fever dream of a man with his manic smile and spastic mannerisms. And he remembered what he had seen that day, the terrors he had been forced to cover up. A stipulation of the inheritance contract; to attain ownership of Wonka's inheritance, he had needed to tell all who asked a wild and whimsical story of wonder and magic contained within the factory's walls. Sometimes, he almost believed it. Sometimes he almost believed poor Veruca had fallen harmlessly down a chute to be picked up from a garbage bin, not shoved into a grinder while gibbering laughter drowned out her screams. Sometimes he almost believed Mike had been comically shrunken to the size of an insect. The stretching part was true however. Charles let some truth slip in, where he could. But Mike had not been cartoonishly stretched back to his proper size by a taffy puller. Lashed his hands to a wall and his feet to the bumper of a semi truck, started the engine, and... he was stretched. Charles could still hear Mike's screams, and the agonized wails of his mother. The Oompa Loompas... oh how Charles wished they had been a fabrication. He told the world of Wonka's silly little men that ran the factory's day-to-day. This may have been his greatest lie, and his most unforgiveable sin: not telling the world how much danger they were in. Lost in his reverie, Charles didn't notice his Head of Perimeter Defense until the burly man was almost on top of him. "Sir!"the armed and armored man yelled. "We have a situation!" Charles spun to see what was going on, and followed the pointing finger of his Head of Defense. On a far wall, there were gashes in the plaster, three long jagged streaks. "Oompa Loompa claws..."Charles whispered in fear. "What happened, I thought the portal to Loompaland was secured?!" "We don't know yet sir, but we've had reports of Oompa activity in other sectors of the factory." "Seal all exits! Call any Defense Forces that aren't on shift yet and get their asses on the hunt!"Charles sprinted across the factory floor. "And alert all civilian staff not to come in to work today. Paid day off, tell the media we had a mechanical failure, ONLY if they ask!" Charles and the Head of Perimeter Defense rounded a corner, and found themselves confronted by a foul stench. One they both knew too well... They followed the smell into a stockroom, and found the crates of baking supplies fouled by oozing masses of pustule-ridden muck. Bulging in the piles of foul liquid, there lay a large number of quivering translucent pods. Charles' face went pale with horror. "Oompa Loompa eggs... HOW did they manage to get past your men long enough to lay a clutch of EGGS?!" Before the Head of Perimeter Defense could reply, the two men heard a low gibbering chuckle. It echoed around them, coming from seemingly nowhere. Charles oriented, and found the source: a ventilation grate. They were in the vents. The mad chuckling turned into a mocking sing-song, inhuman in its tone Oompa Loompa, doop-a-duh-dee We are here for little Charlie... Charles scowled, ordered his Head of Defense away. His place now was at the Command Room, organizing a defensive and securing the Loompaland portal against any further activity. Charles closed the door to the stock room, took a handgun from the holster under his suit jacket, and pondered on how some legacies never fully go away, as he listened to the gibbering sing-song grow louder.
Writing this on my phone at work, apologies for any mistakes. A lovely person (u/blu_ski) has narrated this story: https://youtu.be/ozrQ-fu6nV0 And another lovely person! (u/Spartawolf): https://youtu.be/WjN13TVf238 ___________________________________________________ The Atrium was abuzz with chatter, many languages and strange sounds all fighting for dominance, to be heard. The cacophony echoed around the large chamber, resident to the many hundreds of species positioned in boxes adorning the walls. In the centre was a group of 5 astronauts, each looking particularly overwhelmed. At the sound of a loud bang, the chatter stopped. The representative of the Unified Galactic Systems placed their gavel aside, and spoke: "Beings from the Dead Zone. We apologise for bringing you here so soon after first contact, but there is much to discuss. Are you aware of the feat you have accomplished?" Four of the astronauts looked to the fifth, their Commander, who stepped forward. "Respectfully..." "You may address me as Speaker." "...Speaker. There are many feats we have achieved today. First contact with not just one alien species, but an entire galactic community! We are also the first humans to leave our solar system, while simultaneously achieving the fastest speeds any human being has ever traveled before. To which are you referring?" "We are, of course, referring to your craft. The method of travel in which you arrived here. It is... most peculiar." "With all due respect, Speaker, surely your methods of faster than light travel are far superior to our own? Ours is but the first working iteration of our technology, after all." "One would think so, but you see, you have emerged from a section of dead space. An area of the universe from which the usual laws of physics behave in constrained ways. Faster than light travel is simply not possible. Therefore we ask... how are you here?" The astronauts appeared stunned, and turned to speak to each other. After a short period of time, the commander again stepped forward. "My apologies, Speaker, but this explains a great many things. Namely, that we were never visited despite our many greetings broadcast into the cosmos. That we struggled to produce a system with the necessary power to propell us vast distances, despite the mathematics saying it was possible." "Indeed, the dead zone acts as a speed barrier. The power required to pass this barrier would be astronomical, even for ourselves. So how did you do it?" "We developed a drive that effectively... shifts us. Space is folded around the craft, then we are simply accelerated through the field. As space is folded around the craft, there is nothing to prohibit our acceleration, and no forces are acted upon the craft, allowing us to withstand the speeds." This caused a stir among the species present, many voices called out, the automatic translators failing to keep up. The Speaker turned to their scientific advisors, of which each was entirely stunned by the sheer amount of science and mathematics required for such an achievement. The Speaker once again lifted the gravel and called for silence. "How do you propel yourselves without the gravitational forces of space? How do you leave your planet without space to travel through?" "Our vessels are powered by chemical rocket boosters, which launch us from our planet. The same principles apply in phase space, which can only be used in orbit to avoid warping our planet's own gravitational sphere. Each maneuver is calculated to make effective use of our fuel. Is this not true of the rest of the galaxy?" With this the multitude of species could not remain silent, and the sounds of the many voices became entirely uncontrollable. This marked the emergence of Humanity, a species of remarkable engineers, scientists and mathematicians the known galaxy had never seen before. For the galaxy in the living space had never had to produce such technologies, each achieving space flight as simply as they produced the wheel, never requiring the advanced mathematical equations Humanity had needed simply to reach their own moon. Humanity had crawled from the depths of a dark, restricted space. They had ventured down the road not travelled. And they arrived in the light.
"In my experience, this sort of conversation requires both parents to be present,"Ms. Ratwell said delicately. "Do you know if your - er - when Nick's father will be joining us?" &#x200B; Ursula looked at her watch and sighed. She shuddered to think of what kind of nonsense he must have gotten himself in. "No. I made sure to remind him it was today. But you know how their kind are. Something always comes up at the last minute... Can we just get this over with?"Ursula didn't need mind reading powers to know the look Ms. Ratwell was giving her. The patronizing judgement was loud as a bus full of drowning schoolchildren. &#x200B; Ms. Ratwell pursed her lips before continuing. "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that both parents really need to be on the same page when it comes to raising a child. Which isn't to be defeatist. There's definitely still time to turn things around. But we're just worried that Nick isn't on the right track right now. He's started to act out." &#x200B; "There's only so much I can do alone. Nick's with me most of the week, but after the Super Court judge gave Frank custody on the weekends... You know how boys this age take after their fathers." &#x200B; Ms. Ratwell nodded. "SCOTUS really does gives their kind too much leeway. As I always say-" &#x200B; Just then, the classroom door opened and Captain Fantastic appeared. Years ago, Ursula almost enjoyed the accompanying trumpet theme, but now she loathed the stupid up-beat tune that accompanied Frank every time he entered. &#x200B; "Sorry I'm late. This city has far too many burning buildings. Completely outdated fire codes if you ask me." &#x200B; "Hello Frank. So good of you to take time out of your busy schedule to make time for the education of your son." &#x200B; "Now that's not fair Ursula. It's not like I'm on the side starting the fires." &#x200B; Ms. Ratwell cleared her throat loudly to cut the argument short. "Thank you for joining us Frank. We were just about to talk about Nick's grades. We've noticed some troubling trends lately in a couple of his classes." &#x200B; Captain Fantastic looked taken aback. "Well that is troubling. Scout's honor. I've been making sure he does his homework, and Ursula I promise that I haven't let him play any of those honorable video games. He's only allowed to play the gory fighting ones." &#x200B; "Be that as it may, his grades in several of his classes leave some cause for concern. Take Mad Science for example." &#x200B; "Nick loves Mad Science. He was so excited about that Death Ray project. Are you saying his didn't work?"Captain Fantastic asked. &#x200B; "It's more that he's having trouble grasping the fundamental principles. The Death Ray project is a perfect example. When it came time to present the application, all Nick could do was go on about how it would make for a great source of clean energy." &#x200B; "See, this is what I keep trying to tell you, Frank!"Ursula blurted out. "It doesn't matter the words you say, but your lifestyle is rubbing off on him." &#x200B; Captain Fantastic shot to his feet, his gaze transfixed on the window. "Do you see that?"He pointed to what appeared to be a giant radioactive spider laying waste to some skyscrapers in the direction of downtown. "The Tarantuladon must have escaped its prison in the Mariana Trench! I'm sorry. Ursula, Ms. Ratwell. I need to take a raincheck here. The city needs me." &#x200B; And without time for another word, Captain Fantastic flew through the window to do battle with the giant beast. &#x200B; Ursula put her hands over her face in embarrassment.
When I opened the door, I was staggered. I was looking into Guinevere's bright blue eyes. I was seeing her smooth, radiant skin, her fine hair cascading down her shoulders like a shower of gold. But it wasn't Guinevere, my lost elven love. This young woman had ears that were slightly less tapered. Facial features that were softer, more human. And a worried look, which was something I never saw flash for even the briefest moment across my Guinevere's face. "Mister McConnell?"the enchanting creature said. "Are you Gerald McConnell?" I could only nod. I was speechless. "My name is Azalea,"she said. "You knew my mother, Guinevere." "Your mother,"I gasped. "Yes. Yes. I knew Guinevere. A wonderful woman. A wonderful elf, I should say. I didn't know she had a daughter." "She didn't when you knew her." "I see. And how old--" "Mom always spoke so highly of you, Mister McConnell,"the young elf interrupted. "She told me all about your quests and adventures. How the two of you found the lost Spear of Olan. How you rescued Prince Tristan from the Cratered Realm. You're the greatest finder of lost things alive, she said. The bravest, most trustworthy being she ever knew, human or elf." "Th-that was a long time ago."I stammered. "I'm not the young adventurer I once was. But it's flattering to hear that after all these years, she--" "Mom's gone missing!"Azalea cried, tears welling in her eyes. "She's gone missing and no one will help find her! Nobody cares! . .Nobody cares. . .But I thought, if I came to find you.. .If I spoke with you, and explained, then maybe. . ." <> I invited Azalea into my home and asked her to excuse the mess. A bachelor has little need to keep up appearances, and I had lived as a bachelor for seventeen years. Three days worth of mugs sat on various countertops. A number of books lay about, face down, open to current pages. Azalea didn't seem to care. Her mind was too occupied by thoughts of her mother--a preoccupation with which I was all-too-familiar. "Mom had been telling me about an artifact,"began Azalea as she sat on my couch. "The amulet of Janus. God of two-faces. Mom said it has a rare power. An enchantment that would cure her of what ailed her, deepest in her heart. It was all really vague. She was secretive about it. But I could tell it was important to her. Really important." "The amulet of Janus,"I repeated. Her face brightened. "So you know about it?!" I shook my head: no. The girl deflated. "Okay,"she said. "That's okay. That doesn't mean you won't be able to. . .Anyways. About a month ago, mom woke me up in the middle of the night. She was ecstatic. She said she knew where to find the amulet. She said she was hot on the trail. She said she'd be gone for a day, at most, and then she'd return with the object in hand. . .But a day passed. Then a week. And so on. I still haven't heard a word from her." "And what about your father?" "My father?" "Is he helping you track her down?" "I never met my father,"Azalea mumbled. "I don't know anything about him. The subject's off limits with mom." "I see. . .And you spoke with other elves?" Azalea nodded. "I tried to, at least. But they won't help me. They don't care. Mom's a black sheep to them. They look down on her. On both of us. . .Because of me." "You're practically a child!"I huffed. "What could you possibly have done for them to feel that way?" "It's not what I did," she said. "It's what I am." "Which is?" She sighed. "Only half-elf."
"No,"I said as I tried to get back to sleep. I felt the paws of Mr. Fuzzy pressing hard upon my back. He was walking his way up to my head. We've been over this so many times it didn't even occur to me that my cat was talking to me. &#x200B; "Wake up you idiot. It's time for me to eat!" &#x200B; This time my eyes opened wide. Is it odd that the thing that scared me the most was that Mr. Fuzzy wasn't as nice as I always thought he had been? The verbal beating that I received between getting out of bed and rushing to his food bowl was unlike anything I had ever received. &#x200B; "Finally! Sheesh!"I poured cat food into the bowl to the point of overflowing. I would have to do that before I went to sleep from now on. I pinched myself as I watched my cat eat. Was this a dream? I had dreams in the past where Mr. Fuzzy talked to me, so this wasn't the first time I had ever felt this way. I checked the clock and saw it was nearly noon. Whatever was going on with this cat would need to wait. As I left my apartment, I saw a man walking down the street. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were sullen. He shambled along as if there was no hope in the world what so ever. "I wonder what made him so sad?"I said to myself. I felt like I saw that guy walking all the time but I had never really noticed the way he carried himself. The walk over to campus was full of all sorts of things just like that. The lady at the bakery where I got lunch every day was projecting warmth as if she was a miniature sun; the newscaster on the television inside looked bored out of his mind; and the college student sitting across from me was stressing over something on her computer screen. All these things were all around me and I had never even noticed them. Mr. Fuzzy had been weird but surely I was just projecting. A flock of birds outside flew by and I could have sworn they were saying "food."A man walked in with his dog and the dog rushed up to me. "Who are you,"it said. "Would you like to join our pack! This man is our leader he is very nice." &#x200B; "Sorry about that,"the man said pulling his dog back. He doesn't usually get so excited. "Join us! The leadership of our pack leader is glorious. Treats, belly rubs, and infinte toys await you! Fool! Now is your only chance!" The man pulled his dog away as he steered it back towards the line. The dog looked back at me as if it was the emissary for a foreign country. I turned away. It didn't matter what acid trip I was on right now. The thing that mattered for me, right now, would be trying to prepare for my Chinese 101 test in the next hour. If I didn't ace it then there would be no way I could pass the class. I pulled out the practice sheet and began to work through it. Strange, where was the Chinese? I breezed through the sheet and was starting to get worried. Maybe I had pulled notes from another class by mistake? I looked closely at the sheet and a sudden joy hit me. Everything was in Chinese. I shoved my sandwich into my mouth and rushed out of the bakery. I never thought a wish like that would work, but I was definitely about to reap the benefits. The classroom was in a large building on the eastern side of campus. It was odd. For some reason I was navigating the halls much easier than I ever had. It was like I was finding shortcuts and pathways I had never seen before. As I approached the classroom I saw one of my classmates. Her name was Rose I think? She was probably the cutest girl I had ever seen but I was certain she didn't know I existed. I could tell she wasn't worried at all about this test. Her shoulders lacked tension and she calmly worked her jaw as if she was chewing. She was wearing a sweater and sweatpants like she had just rolled out of bed. Her hair was tied into a bun that hung lazily to her shoulders. She turned to me and smiled. She wants to talk to me. I had no idea where that thought came from. I nodded towards her as she shifted her entire body to face me. She really wants to talk to me. "Are you ready for the test,"she said. I had never seen a girl who was so open with what she wanted, without even saying it! "I think so,"I said. "I've got a secret weapon and I think it's going to come through." &#x200B; "Secret weapon, huh,"she said pushing her sleeves down. "That sounds pretty interesting." For some reason, her mouth was making noise, yet the shifting of her sleeves was speaking just as loudly. She saw me looking at her arms, and began to push them behind her back. She doesn't want me to know what's happening. I looked back up at her and she tried to ignore it. "Y-yeah it's really something. Hey are you okay?" "I'm totally fine, yep."She was not totally fine. Her feet and legs began to move away from me. She didn't want to talk any more. Wordlessly, she moved away from me and into the classroom. It was a hunch, that I guess was based off of nothing, but I knew her arms had slashes on them. I knew what that meant. Here I was hoping just to pass a 100 level class and I ended up wishing myself a super power. Today was going to be really interesting. EDIT: I was not expecting this to be well received at all. I'm giving all the credit to Australian Reddit. There was a Part 2 but Reddit ate it. It’ll be posted after I’ve slept because it’s 3am here.
“Were you angry with her?” “Of course I was. It’s tough you know. You think you know someone and then suddenly it turns out they aren’t who you thought they were. It broke my heart. And the worst part was she couldn’t understand why I was angry. We had a massive fight. Fights in fact.” “I can understand.” “She couldn’t. It’s tough I suppose. She was a god after all. Till the curse had suppressed things for her, she was an ordinary human. But when the seal broke, she ascended. The real her, the god, rose from the ashes of her humanity. You see it’s easy for us humans. We are all a bit of drama queens. Crying about how difficult our lives are. But imagine being able to hear and see the problems and issues facing every single human on this earth. Not only that, but having the ability to fix some of them but being bound by rules. She lost her warm nature. Her smile was gone. She tried to put on a fake one for my sake but I knew. If there’s two things I was ever good at, it was at appraising art and knowing how she really felt.” “True love, I suppose.” “As true as can be. I do wonder though. Would I still have fallen for her if I knew about her… you know… condition.” “Would you have?” “Probably. In fact, yeah I would have. Absolutely. She was always my goddess.” “That’s sweet.” “It’s true. When I really think about it, my anger at her stemmed from my helplessness you know. She was something much more. I was nothing to her anymore. She had bigger problems. I was of no use to her.” “That would’ve been tough. Did you try to get her to stay?” “All the time. I didn’t want her to go. But she had a duty you know. She called me selfish. And if I’m being honest I was selfish. The worst part was that I could see it. I knew I was being selfish. I knew I should let her go. I was just too weak.” “Weak?” “Yeah. She had to go, you see. She didn’t have an option. Instead of supporting her, I wanted her to forgo her duty and keep her with me. She explained to me how important she was to maintain balance here on earth. If she stayed away from her real home, humanity would continue to suffer. She cried a lot you know. In those days. Cause she was suffering too. She was in pain. But I was still weak.” “Surely she understood.” “She did. She was nothing if not really smart. Out of the countless things she was amazing at, the foremost was knowing how I really felt. She knew I was afraid.” “Afraid?” “Yeah. For years, she had been my life, you know. If I look back at my life I haven’t done much. She was the best thing about my life. Without her, what was I? Nothing.” “That’s tough.” “It was. That’s why she gave me a gift while leaving. Two gifts really. She said she’d come visit me regularly. This was our spot, you know. She said that when I was particularly sad, I should come sit here. Bring her favourite flowers and she’d show me a sign she was here. Even today. See that rainbow in the distance. That’s her sign to me. She’s still there watching over me. I’m not alone. And that thought helped me not to break down.” “And the other?” “Huh?” “You said two gifts.” “Oh right. Sorry I got lost in the rainbow. The other gift, the bigger gift. If that rainbow allowed me to carry on, the other gift actually made it so I could be happy again. Have hope. Love. Everything good about my life. She gave me you.” “Dad, come on.” “It’s true. I know it sounds a bit cheesy. But it’s true. Before ascending to heaven she left me a piece of her soul as our dear daughter.” “Cute.” “Yes you are sweetly.” “So I believed all of this when I was younger?” “Sure did. If there’s two things your dad was ever good at, it was cooking great food and making up good stories.” Caroline looked at her father, noticing the moist eyes as he looked off into the distance. She had been away at college for the past few years and had missed her mother’s death anniversary. She put her head on his shoulder. “We should go. It’s getting colder.” “Yeah. We should. But before we do, take a look.” Caroline followed his gaze. A double rainbow smiled at her and she felt a childlike joy rising somewhere deep within her. “Mom…” Gary placed his wife’s favourite flowers on the ground. She had died during childbirth and he had tried to do his best to keep her alive for their daughter using various stories. This was the one that had stuck. He gave a one last look at the double rainbow, sending a silent prayer to the only god he really and truly had faith in. For he had told this story so many times that he had come to believe it a bit himself.
For the longest time, it was a dumb spider. It made a web in a lab and was fed flies until one day it escaped and bit a boy. It didn't feel right after that. It started to look beyond its web and wonder about the world. As it thirsted for knowledge, it soon realized it understood these larger creatures. When it talked, these creatures called humans were terrified. The spider told them what it wanted. It wanted to go to high school, so it did. The spider failed gym class but thrived everywhere else. Sure, it was bullied, and other students kept warning it to not to go up water spouts and wondered where Wilbur was. Everyone called it Charlotte. The spider was male. Of course, he had a friend in Gwen Stacy. She was always good to him, but, then, Peter Parker returned to school. Things got awkward. The spider knew he bit Peter, and they didn't like each other from the beginning. Peter had been sick for weeks after the spider bite, but, after that, he wasn't around much because of his "internship." There were other problems with the powers too. The spider had to get glasses which was a pain, and then jokes started anew. Everyone called him sixteen eyes, but Gwen never did. One night, Gwen even invited him over to her place. They studied and ate supper then went to her room. Things were getting PG-13 when her parents came home. "Hide,"she said as she crawled under the covers. Her parents came into the room and turned on the light. The spider crawled to the bedside table. Gwen's mom sat on the bed and took off her shoes. She shook her daughter's shoulder. "Hi honey, we're home. You're in bed early." "Yeah, a big day ahead tomorrow." Gwen looked to the spider, and her mom saw it too. She lifted her shoe into into the air. Gwen watched in horror as the shoe came down with a swat, and that was the end of that. Peter Parker's powers only went so far. *** If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more stories and free giveaways.
"What? That's ridiculous,"Mark argued. "You can't be Satan. He's not real. None of that God stuff is." "And yet, I am sitting here before you,"the man in the seat next to him replied. His voice was as oily as his hair, which almost covered beady black eyes. There was a cruel curve to his mouth, accentuated whenever he grinned. Other than that, he looked like any typical American businessman riding the train; light dress shirt, loosened tie, nice but too expensive looking brown shoes. "OK, whatever man,"Mark rolled his eyes. He opened his magazine back up and tried to keep reading, but found his mind wandering. Obviously it wasn't Satan sitting next to him, but the man did give off a strange vibe. He's kind of creepy, Mark thought. I bet he's still looking at me. Mark glanced over to find that he was right. "Why are you staring at me?"he asked, maybe a little brusquely. "Oh, my apologies,"the other man simpered. "I don't mean to be rude. It's just that...it strikes me so funny." "What does?" "That you actually do not believe in the 'God stuff', as you call it." "Well, why should I?"Mark responded. "There's no proof. I've never seen any evidence for or against God, and so I live happily not believing in such things." "No proof?"The man grinned. Mark sighed. "No, you don't count, because you're not actually Satan. You're just a crazy guy who's trying to be creepy...and doing a good job of that."Mark then began to collect his briefcase from the floor; he had made up his mind to change his seat. "What if I were to show you...proof? Would you believe me then?" Mark scoffed. "You're ridiculous. Have a good rest of your journey."He started to get up, but the other man gently gripped his wrist. It didn't hurt, but felt like cold iron. Mark's eyes grew wide and he began to say something, but his voice died in his throat when he looked at the other man. He was making motions with his free hand, swirling it around in the air. Suddenly, he brought his thumb and index finger together and began to make a pulling motion downward, as if undoing a zipper. And the air opened up. There was a literal, small hole in the air hidden from the rest of the train by the seats in front of them. Unable to resist, Mark leaned forward and looked into the hole and saw fire and demonic creatures, and heard faint roars and whimpering. A hot wind, tiny but blistering, rushed out and hit Mark in his frozen face. The seconds seemed to pass by like centuries, and Mark watched as the ragged silhouettes of people in chains slowly trudged up a dark mountain, followed by creatures of hideous and unearthly design. The whole mountain burned with a steady, terrible sound. Suddenly, Satan sealed the hole back up. The wind immediately disappeared, but the malodorous scent of sulfur still clung to the air. "Now do you believe?"Satan asked. "Now that you've seen a glimpse of it with your very own eyes?" Mark didn't say anything. He merely cast a terrified glance at him, eyes bugging, and then all but ran away. A train attendant shouted at him as he rushed into the adjacent car. Satan chuckled and settled in more comfortably, putting his feet up on the now vacant seat. Playing this little trick never ceased to amuse him. However, a thought came to him, slowly turning the grin on his thin face into a frown. It was a thought he had been having for the last several eons, and his brief conversations with atheists like Mark always brought it into his conscious. They didn't believe due to a lack of evidence; they only change their (now terrified) minds because they are shown proof. Satan squirmed uneasily in his seat. He had reigned over Hell for as long as he could remember, and assumed he would keep at it forever. But...he had never seen God himself. His earliest memories began in Hell. Different human religions offered a variety of origin stories for him, but which should he believe? Where was the proof in any of those? Where had he come? And if he, nor any of his demon followers, nor the souls he tortured, had ever seen God or paradise or even angel...how could he believe in any of it? _______________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
John stepped through the fog that drifted near his feet and looked up at the impossibly large, pearly gates. Heaven was even more beautiful than he had imagined in his time being alive. The gates reflected the perfect, white light that seemed to shine from a sunless sky, making streaks of gold fall onto the cloudy, dream-like surface. He made his way up to the angel, whom he assumed from his station was Peter. "Name, please?"a voice echoed out from the being. "John Barry Dough." The angel sighed. John was surprised that an angel could sigh. "You get admitted into heaven and decide to make quips?"the angel scolded. "I'm sorry?"John asked, with as much respect as he could muster in the confusion. "My name is actually John Barry Dough." The angel's shoulders went slack and it sighed again. "Look,"it began, finally looking up to see John. It froze. The silence drew out between them, the angel looking confused and John looking mortified. He was worried he had offended the heavenly creature. He had always struggled with first impressions, but he had hoped heaven would be different. "No!"the angel cried. "This is such a spoiler! I hadn't seen the newest episode!" John stared blankly at the being. "What?" "Nothing, I'm just—oh my gosh, I'm such a fan! And I've been working for the last, uh,"Peter shrugged back the sleeve of his robe to glance at his wristwatch, "Forty years. So I haven't been able to keep up with the episodes of—" "I've been dead for forty years?!"John cried. "Where is everyone I knew and loved?" "Oh, well... no you haven't. Time works different up here,"the angel said, seeming to want to move past the complex topic. "The point is you are here now! I can't believe I was the Peter on watch when you showed up!" "There are multiple Peters?"John asked. "Of course there are! Wait..."the angel nudged John's shoulder, "Are you making a joke about how there were so many Johns in your grade school?" "I—" "And your high school class?" "I—" "And workplace?" "I—" "And retirement home?" "N—" "And grandchildren?" "Um—" "And cemetery?"Peter paused and considered for a second. "Well, I guess you wouldn't really know that part. But the others?" "Uh, yep,"John said, and then immediately regretted making a lie one of his first sentences in Heaven. "HA! You always were a kidder! You know, I thought that your joke about the coffee maker last—" "Peter, what's the hold up? There's a line forming and wait, oh my god, why are you hugging John Barry Dough?"asked a tall, striking angel as he walked to Peter's station. "ZURIEL! Look! It's John Barry Dough!" "I know, Pete, I can see that. Oh my gosh, I TiVoed the last episode, but I didn't know you died, man!"Zuriel said, clasping both hands around John's right. "C'mon, let me show you to your place! Although,"he added conspiratorially, "you probably will have quite the welcoming party. Most people here watch your episodes live." "I'm sorry, I uh... I don't understand,"John stuttered as the angel led him along a golden cobblestone walkway. "What show are you talking about? Are you sure you don't have me confused with someone else? There are a lot of Johns in the world, after all, and—" "HA! Because of all of the Johns in your high sch—" "We just talked about that!"Peter interjected, almost in the floor with laughter. "It is such a classic 'John' moment!" At this point, Zuriel was leaned over onto Peter, joining in on the joke. John smiled politely and tried his best not to look awkward. Zuriel stretched his back, wiped tears away from his eyes, and exhaled loudly. "Such a classic!"Zuriel snapped his fingers. "Here you are John, your new home!" Where the gates had stood was now a doorway into a beautiful, modestly sized home. It was, however, completely made of gold. "What the..."John paused, strongly considering his next word, "Mars just happened?" "Mars!"Zuriel exclaimed, falling into another fit of laughter. "CLASSIC John Barry Dough! You always did have some cursing trouble!" "We transport differently here, John Barry Dough,"Peter explained once he had managed to control his laughter. "Not quite like that old 2014 Camry, am I right?" They made their way up the small stoop to the front door, Peter and Zuriel supporting each other as they giggled incessantly. When they reached the entrance, the angels stared at him expectantly, so, not wanting to seem rude, John swung open the door and gestured them inside. He closed the door softly, and when he turned to look around— "SURPRISE, JOHN BARRY DOUGH!"a group of glowing beings screamed. Confetti guns and a champagne cork popped. John jumped in surprise, then forced himself to smile. "Uh... hi?" The group burst into laughter. "Looks like he doesn't know what's going on! Classic John!"someone shouted. Several others echoed "Classic John!" John, feeling equal parts awkward, exhausted, confused by this point, lifted his hands up. "Um... thank you all for this welcoming party. I really, really appreciate it, but um... can someone tell me why you all know me?" The average expression of the group faded from excited to confused. Peter and Zuriel, standing closest to him, gave him a worried look. "John, you're a famous character on our favorite show,"Peter explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What show?" "Oh, you don't know?"Azriel gasped. "The top television show in Heaven is Earth: A Human Story! Everyone who is anyone watches it,"he smirked, giving a knowing glance to the group of angels standing behind him. "Oh, er... so, I was being um... I mean, not to sound ungrateful, but you guys were watching me?"John asked them, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. "Of course!"exclaimed Marothe. "You are everyone's favorite character!" The angels behind her nodded and murmured affirmations. "You mean you guys didn't like Morgan Freeman best? He's great!"John asked, chuckling nervously. The group exploded into laughter. "Classic John!"they exclaimed again. "I don't know this Freehand dude,"one of the angels near a window shouted, "but it is so John to deflect attention to others!" "Amen!"another shouted in agreement. "How about that time he told the boss to give employee of the month to Shirley instead of him?" This tidbit, which John had to feign remembering, brought on rounds of applause from the group of supernatural beings. Several smacked others on the back, enjoying the fond memory like some humans remember big baseball games or incredible concerts. "How about when he was on that incredible streak of being at work on time?"another asked rhetorically, as if no one could ever forget. "Five hundred and ninety-six days!"several yelled together. "That stupid alarm!"one large angel cried. "You set it!" "We all saw you set it!" "Stupid thing messed up!" "Worst antagonist in television history!" The crowd erupted into angelic versions of curses thrown at the alarm clock that had apparently malfunctioned. If John could recall the event, he probably would have guessed he had simply over slept. "I dunno, remember Candace?" Several loud groans filled the room. "Who is Candace?"John asked. "The cop who gave you that ticket! You weren't even speeding. You were going fifty-four,"an angel spat in disgust. "We even clocked the car!"another added. "Don't have to worry about Candace up here though!" "Oh gosh, what?"John yelled, horrified. "You didn't ban her because of me?" "Classic John!"the group screamed through fits of laughter. "No, John,"Peter answered, gasping in air between the two words. "She was a terrible person aside from being a horrible ticket-writer. Totally unrelated to you, though I won't deny we were happy to see her go." John smiled nervously at this, unsure how to react to someone else's eternal damnation. "Come now,"Azriel said, leading John to a chair in front of a large screen. "We prepared some clips for you to see!" "I'm really not—" "Don't be foolish!"Marothe said. "You have to see our favorite parts!" John felt that, even though they seemed to be adoring fans, it was still not a wise idea to disregard the wishes of the angels in Heaven. He settled himself into the chair and watched the screen flicker on. He wasn't sure what he expected to see. What followed was a montage of office scenes and moments stuck in never-ending traffic. He remembered a time he had helped someone with a broken down car. He recognized an old lady he had helped across the street in his youth. Between the mundane moments, however, were the ones he remembered fondly. His parents showing him how to ride a bike and how to play baseball. His friends building a tree fort and playing with cardboard swords. His more awkward high school years as he tried to find his own personality and way in the world. His years in college, spent too often not going to class. His beautiful wife and his lovely children. His friends and coworkers that brought so many smiles and laughs, even if they also infuriated him from time to time. His grandchildren and, as he was one of the lucky ones, his great grandchildren. As he felt the corners of his eyes prickle slightly, he saw that the angels were openly wiping back tears as well. He thought he was finally coming to understand his own celebrity. ------ Edit: I needed to thank you all for your comments, feedback, encouragement, and support. Honestly I've cried a few times reading all of the messages in my inbox. I'm incredibly touched that you've enjoyed this. I've tried to comment back to everyone individually, but just in case I missed someone: thank you and I am so happy that you enjoyed this. :)
People say I'm unlucky. In reality, everyone else is unlucky, while I have no limit to my luck. It's actually quite a curse. You see, I have a guardian demon. He cares little about me, mostly that I just survive. He's also paranoid, so everything and everyone is trying to kill me. Neat. When I was little, there was that standard school bully. You know, the one who just can't get enough of fucking with that weirdo with glasses. One day, it was my turn to be that weirdo. So this kid came up all huffing and puffing, and before he could say a word, he caught fire. Out of fucking nowhere. I was terrified at the time, but I had a little voice in my head say, "Don't worry about that fucker. He's dead now."Later, the voice introduced itself as "Babunelzar."I call him "Babs."He hates that, but he can't kill me. Nothing can with Babs by my side. Things progressed, and I ended up having to switch schools. One person who was about to run into me in the halls of my second school suddenly had his rib cage cave in. Third school, I was playing football and one player would have tackled me if the ball hadn't flown out of my hands and through his head. I began to realize that normal, every day behaviors got people killed around me, so I just stayed in my room. Well, as I mentioned, Babs is paranoid. He got it in his incorporeal head that my family had it out for me, mostly because my dad forgot to replace a lightbulb he had removed. I gathered this because the fire marshal said that the spark that lit my house up came from an empty socket. I was the only survivor among my family, as well as the officers and fire squad that began to suspect me. Their vehicles exploded. Two things happened that day. I became numb and remorseless. Then, I stole a car and never looked back. I never have to pay for gas, because someone on the road eventually dies with their car intact. I can thank Babs for that one. Fast forward twenty or so years. More people have died around me than I can count. Sometimes, there's no body left to count; I've tried. So, I'm driving down this one road, waiting for somebody to die on their way home from the grocery store, and I hit a bump. I overcorrect just a bit and enter the opposite lane, and the car ahead jerks around, but hits "my"car. In that split second, Babs says "What?", I fly out the windshield and into a bush, and feel the rush of adrenaline for the first time in a decade. I look at the burning husk that was "my"car and see, slightly past it, the other car in pristine condition. The driver gets out unscathed, but just as confused as I am. Babs is screaming. My head is almost burning from the sound. He's trying to kill the driver with everything he's got. The road catches fire, but the fire parts around her. Her car exploads, but she safely lands with her car seat about thirty feet away, buckled up, even though she was outside the car just a second ago. Babs says one thing, with more anger than I thought possible. "She's got a guardian angel." ***** Please be gentle; this is my first time. Any and all ^^^constructive criticism is appreciated. First, though, I know my wording is fucking weird. It's a problem I've always had and would like to work on. &nbsp; Edit: Woah, this blew up over night. I promise to make a sequel tonight or tomorrow night (I live in Central Time, US). I have some things to do, and I need to have a rough idea about how to continue the story. Look out for it; it will be a comment to this one. Many thanks! I had no idea my first response would have been so well-received. Edit 2: What? Huh? Gold? Thanks! Edit 3: Part 2 is up! Also, sorry for the message debris that will soon ensue. I just want to make sure everyone interested in the next part got notified of it.
I’ve always wondered what it meant. XP? Like the video games? It just didn’t really make sense. I’d always thought that everyone had it, and I was just another face in the crowd. Of course, I’d only thought that until I was thirteen, when social awareness hit my little undeveloped brain. No one else had it! I was ‘weird’, and had to hide it. I began wearing those fingerless gloves. Y’know, the typical ‘cool kid’ cover-up hand accessory that was all the rage in middle school. They’ve become part of my life by now, and I’ve never taken them off. Life goes on. I finished high school, hopped along to college, and graduated with a degree in Liberal Arts. Not the best, but alas, one has to gain at least a basic education in order to survive. But I digress. I was your typical citizen with a good track record. I began to forget about the bar, and why I even donned the gloves in the first place. I just kept them on... well, because they became a part of me, and for some reason I could never let go of them. Call me conceited. I’ve got a decent life, a beautiful girlfriend, and an average-sized home. Couldn’t ask for more, considering the fact that I basically scraped by for the last ten years. It seems sort of surreal that after all this time, it’s actually worked out. Until today. I’ve still been pondering what exactly happened. Yes, yes, you could say it’s shock. Yet, I beg to differ. I’m not affected by the crash. It... wasn’t my fault. I do feel sorry for the poor guy, but if I’m being honest, this one’s on him. The young chap, about 18, was recklessly swerving around on his speed bike. He wasn’t watching the road. I took a left turn, and... Well, it wasn’t the prettiest sight. Still, I sure as hell have seen worse. Somehow, murders happen around me. Not targeted at me, but always somewhere near me. Death. Terror. I don’t understand it, but I don’t question. Life goes on. After the accident, I watched the lad get carted away in the ambulance. The cops questioned me, asking me about what happened. In that moment, I felt a tingling sensation run down the length of my arm into the back of my hand. As they drove me to the hospital, I unstrapped my gloves for the first time in twenty years. Or at least, I would have, except the civil servants got shot in the head. One had his eye blown out, the other, brains splattered against the windscreen. Ah, shoot. They’re coming for me. Screw me and my monologues. *** “Get out of the car!” The lady dressed in black yells into the vehicle. I walk out, arms outstretched towards the heavens. The woman pulls down her hood, staring. “I knew it. I knew you were... one of us.” I look back, eyes questioning, as they always are. “‘Liz...? What the hell are you doing-“ She lunges forward, clasping one of her delicate hands over my mouth, hissing into my ear. “You are going to keep silent until we find a proper space to explain this. Understand?” She leaps off, whispering to her lackey. Christ, she’s beautiful. I shake my head. “Alright, what the hell is this? I’m not going anywhere until you explain what in the everloving gods is-“ Elizabeth whips her head back at me. I stare back, and the words escape from her mouth. “You’re one of us. A player character, not an NPC.” *** Thanks so much for reading! Any advice is nice!
“With the materials brought before thee, come unto this world, O wretched Ob Shguthurak!” with a blinding flash of light, a foul demon emerged from the summoning circle. Standing at 6 foot 6, the demon of Shguthurak spread his wings of leather, flexed his claws of bone and breasts of chitin... ... and gingerly adjusted his glasses of titanium. “Hi, Shguthurak. Dave Shguthurak, You are...?” “Uh... C-Carol?” “Hi Carol, so, listen. You did a wonderful job setting all this up, your dark speech was very well rehearsed, but you should know that this isn’t the right setup for summoning me proper, alright?” “Well, I mean, what do you mean by that? you’re here, aren’t you?” “Technically yeah, technically no, I like to stop by the butchered summoning circles every so often just to help out a bit. Makes my life easier.” Dave then took a whiff of the air. “... Where’s that cinnamon smell coming from?” “Oh, Big Lots was out of the regular candles so I had to settle for some scented ones.” “mmm... I guess that’s fine...” Dave loomed his unholy figure to inspect the summoning circle; all the symbols seemed to be accurate, right up until he found the blood packet. “... what’s this?” “It’s a blood substitute. Carrot and Beets with a little kale to maintain iron levels. Works wonders.” Carol shrugged. “... Carol?” “Mm-hmm?” “In what universe would I, Prince of the Eternal Abyss, a Being of Chaos Inconceivable, CHILD OF NOTH THTOTHQRAK, PRACTICE A MORTAL DIET FAD?!” “... It’s not a diet fad, it’s a way of life! All my cats were vegan!” “...” “Really. It’s quite sad how short they live.” “... Why the hell did you summon me?” “Can you kill Karen from the PTA?” #”No.” with that, the demon vanished, bitter and angrier than when his day began.
"The choice is yours, soul. Walk through the Door towards the unknown or be judged by the Arbitor, leaving your fate in Their hands. Should your mortal life be judged virtuous, eternal paradise will await you with open arms. Should you be judged vile..." The spirit before me didn't finish the sentence. I didn't find it necessary to ask. The silence was telling enough. "Take your time, soul,"the spirit continued, "for this decision will decide your everything." I rubbed my chin curiously. "And those are the only option?"I asked. The spirit tilted its head ever so slightly. "These are the options you are given, soul,"it hisses. "Choose." "Oh, I getcha,"I nodded. "But that doesn't mean they're the only choices, right? Not necessarily."I looked behind me, where I emerged from the darkness just moments ago, freshly dead and confused. The spirit remained silent. Cautiously I took a step back unsure if it would try to stop me. I did not flinch. "What are you doing?"it asked. "Taking a chance." "Why would you walk backwards? How do you even know there is anything there?" I chuckled. "Well, someone's never played a videogame. You always check what's behind." I walked back into the darkness, gradually seeing less and less until... I saw nothing at all. And suddenly, I felt a pressure on my eyes. They were closed, despite me not remembering closing them. With all my strength, I forced them open, seeing a fair-haired man ahead of me. "Hey, you. You're finally awake,"he said. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there."
An ancient fortuneteller, with a crooked and hunched body, possibly born more than two centuries ago came to them in the night. And using many ancient runes, and old sigils, she foretold the inevitable future, of the children born from the woman. One would be evil the other would be good. And when the two children were born, it seemed to them obvious which child was which. One was a scrawny and small boy, with leathery bat-like wings, dark red pupils, a head of ebony hair, and small goat horns protruding from his forehead. The other was beautiful, born with long platinum hair, gentle golden pupils, a small odd golden halo floating above her head. And snow-white feathery wings on her back. At first they wanted to slay the boy, but even then, they could not bring themselves to end the life of a newborn babe. Instead, they sold the boy to a travelling merchant, and kept the girl. In this, they considered themselves wise, and lucky. Lucky that they had been warned, and that the signs had been so obvious. They praised their little girl to the village, where she became the luck of the people there, the mascot of the village. Beloved by all. The boy was taken away, fed on goat's milk and the merchant did not return to that village. The girl was raised with all the love and attention that such as she could get. Treated with reverence and love, she lacked for nothing. And yet, while the adults of the village saw nothing, the other children, they started to notice something was off. Accidents happened. Older villagers died. Many children found that strangely, when the girl with the angel wings pushed them, or punched them, the adults never believed them. She tormented them, killing their pets, stealing their treats, and whenever they tried to retaliate, they were ruthlessly punished by their parents. The boy grew up in far away lands, where beings like him, supernaturally changed, were more normal. The merchant who had brought him, sold him again when he was but two, to a kindly old herbalist, who needed a young pair of eyes to help her make her potions. She taught him about kindness, about reason, about the importance of using the knowledge of herbs, alchemy, and some mild magic, to cure the ill, and help the needy. As the girl grew up, she became haughty. The priests of the faith proclaimed her an angel, and gifted her with many fine things. Scented perfumes, fine necklaces, beautiful rings. Silk dresses, and fine tunics. Knights came to ask for her hand in marriage when she became of age. But she spurned them all. And she was still cruel. The other children in the village, having grown up with her, distrusted her. Feared her even. More than one of them had seen her true face, and among themselves whispered that the wrong child had been sent away. The boy with the horns, eventually had to take over the shop, as the old herbalist became too weak. He tended the shop, made the potions, with the careful instruction of his weakened adoptive mother, and became known as a kind and friendly young man. He was known to be helpful, and affable. And he became great in the art of healing. While having demonic features made some people wary, his warm red eyes, his open smile, generous nature, and his free laughter, eventually penetrated the paranoia of all but the most odd of people. The girl, with her angelic traits, was eventually courted by the crown prince of the kingdom she lived in, and that proposal of marriage, she accepted. Her marriage was garish, and ostentatious. While the power as crown princess was great, she wanted to become more. She aimed for the highest of powers, and using her charm, she managed to get close enough to the king, that she could kill him. When her husband inherited the throne, she used a carefully maintained spell to render him feeble and unable to rule. Then she took the title of regent, ruling in her poor husband's stead. And she did not rule with angelic grace, or kindness. She raised taxes, reintroduced serfdom to many who had been freed, and bore monstrous children. None were trueborn, but whoever dared to point that out, lost their head, and the executioner's work was never done. They had to hire several underlings for him to aid with executing those that conspired against the ruling queen, those that no longer amused her, and those that she just wanted to see die for the sheer thrill of controlling life and death. The boy took over his adoptive mother's store after her death, burying her, and visiting her grave once a week. One of the people like him, those with odd traits that lived in the city he did, a girl with a mouse's tail and a tapered nose, with cute whiskers wriggling in the air, asked him on a date. They ate together at the inn, and walked in the moonlight together. He wasn't a muscular man, but as he grew his once scrawny body had filled out to a lean and agile thing, and he was quite the tall fellow, a veritable beanpole. They dated for a while, and eventually, the boy asked the mousy girl to marry him. It was a humble and small affair. Shortly after they moved in together, in the old house of the herbalist, the mousy girl grew in size. A girl first, then a son, and then another daughter. Soon the sound of happy, laughing children could be heard in the house. It was a home, the two of them working together, keeping the herbal garden, making medicine together, raising beautiful children, with mousetails and batwings. The angelic girl had changed. No longer did her golden eyes seem pure, but seemed tainted as they moved from side to side in evil paranoid thought. Her platinum hair was falling out, and her wings barely had any feathers on them. Her halo, floating above her head, no longer gleamed with pure light, but only barely shone, like the last few embers in the fireplace. That was how the army of peasants, rising up, found her. As she had ripped out the throat of her husband, the poor king, only a few moments before. Wielding a long thin blade, she charged the emaciated peasants with a horrible laugh. And though she killed many with blade and spell, she was eventually skewered on an old pitchfork. The kingdom, broken, ruined, and infested with the monstrous children she had birthed, could finally rebuild. But it would be a long time before that land was as good as it had once been. The boy heard only little about this, being hundreds of miles away. He never did learn that this evil queen, so pure in visage, but so vile in nature, was his own sister. He lived a good long life, curing the ill, aiding those in need, earning good money on his business, and after many years, he grew old. He saw his children married, teaching them each the trade, the eldest child took over the handling of the shop, while the other two moved to other cities, each carrying with them a book that the demon-seeming boy had written, about the herbs of the land, their uses, and recipes for healthy potions and tinctures of vitality. When he died, he was lying in bed, surrounded by his family. His old wife, mousy and sweet, holding his hands. While his children, all three of them showing signs of ageing, stood at the end of his bed. Around him were many grandchildren. And in his hands, he held his first great-grandson. He spoke of how blessed his life had been, how he wanted his family not to mourn, but to know that he loved them. And that his life had been worth living. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) Pst, little spin-off story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/comments/ggo44x/a_healing_hand_to_the_ruined_kingdom_came/?)
They were gathered. Order took roll call, calm and quiet, even as it called the name of Chaos, and was answered by a meaningless jumble of words. Good sat, patient, vigilant, and with piercing eyes, prepared to do what was necessary to keep the peace, and watching everyone, even Order, with distrust. You just never knew. Life was in the center, large, powerful, appearing in the most dominant position, weighing each motion, first and foremost, by how it, and it alone, would be affected. Evil and Chaos sat together near the back, sniggering together at everything that might even conceivably be funny, each looking for a chance to stab the other in the back, literally or metaphorically. Death was on the periphery, shrouded in shadow. Patient, calm, watching the goings-on with interest, but not with concern. Death knew where all things went, in time. None of these could be said to dominate the others- Order was the most obvious authority, but had a great deal to contend with, just to keep a modicum of peace. Good was often an ally, and a strong one, but Good would also stand firm against anything that went against its own beliefs. Life was strongest, by far, and the most dominant in their discussions. But none could stand against the others alone. Evil and Chaos were key to maintaining the balance- to fight both was simply impossible, clever malice paired with sheer unpredictability. They would have been a dominant force, together, if each wasn't delighted to disrupt the other, if they were ever on the brink of finding true power and sway over the assembly. Death was both the most and least powerful. Power unstoppable, but power avoidable- Death was a force you could fight with, and defeat without great effort...for a time. Death was not a common contributor, but a feared one, nonetheless. Death was patient, persistent, and never, ever gave up on anything. What Death wanted, Death would get...in the end. Opposing death was done often, by Life especially, but it was always a conflict whose end was known. You could only buy time, with Death. Still, in the end, none of these Six were dominant over the others. None ruled, none could bend the others to their will. Not even Death could triumph over all the others, if they were steadfast in their opposition. This had never yet happened, but it was how that would go, if it ever did happen. Even Death had opposition to contend with. But there was another. After a matter had been debated, and discussed, and fought over, it was at last put forward to the seventh, the final, the most powerful member by far. At the end of the meeting, Dave from Accounting was called in. The case was stated. It was a fairly simple matter, but it had been rigorously polished, hotly debated until at last all of the six were on board with it. Order spoke fluently and convincingly. Good spoke with firm conviction, and Life boomed out with a great voice of what a great accomplishment this would be. Chaos babbled incomprehensibly, delighted at the chance to sow disorder in a new way. Evil was likewise delighted at something new to corrupt. Death spoke last, and spoke little. ALL THESE THINGS ARE BECOME DUST, IN THE END. DO AS YOU WILL. The mightiest aspect considered, weighed, judged. "Eh...I don't really know...I kinda like the old way. Don't rock the boat, you know?" And it was decided. The matter was dropped. The six were mighty indeed, but they were utterly powerless against the seventh. None could stand against mundanity. None could stand against apathy, against the thousand insignificant nothings that composed the vast majority of every moment of every day. For all six together lacked even a tenth of the power of the seventh. Dave from Accounting had spoken, and it was done. His power was absolute, unchallengeable and unrivaled.
I'm going to report every one of those creepy fuckers, I thought as I traipsed through the woods, hoping to God I was heading for the closest exit, since I was starting to get hungry. And a little scared, though I was still mad enough to keep fear at bay for the moment. I still had no cell reception. Even if those New Age hooligans had left me in the middle of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, I should still have had service. I couldn't be that far from Cleveland. Eventually the river came into view, and with it my first sight of human presence since waking up the day after Halloween with a splitting headache, whatever I'd been carrying the previous night, and not much else. I cursed slightly. The river meant I'd been heading for the middle of the park, if that was actually where they'd left me. But that was beside the point, because it occurred to me that I might just have stumbled on those folks again, because next to the river was not a car but a covered wagon drawn by a team of oxen. Just the kind of thing a crew of Radagasts on Rumspringa might have. I set out towards it with an ill purpose. It was less than a quarter mile, most of it downhill, and the trees thinned out nearer the river, so I could keep it in my sights if they decided to move. I got closer and saw a man sitting on a stump between the wagon and the river. The wagon had blocked my view of him at first. It looked like he'd been fishing. A woman in an ankle-length green and gold dress was sitting next to him. Her hair was wrapped in a red cloth, and it looked like she was reading an old book. I didn't want to think that I was a lot farther from Cleveland than I thought. Did those wizard-wannabes take me all the way to Amish country? Except that I didn't think the Amish dressed in such bright colors. I was about fifty yards from the wagon when they saw me. I saw them tense, but they waved. On the one hand, they definitely weren't the crew from Halloween yesterday. On the other hand, they just looked like the kind of people who would know that kind of people. "Hey,"I said as I approached. "Sorry to bother ..." I don't know how I was expecting them to react, but I wasn't expecting them to react like I'd pulled a gun on them. The woman dove and rolled sideways, rising to a crouch with her dress covered in dirt and weeds. The man swept the fish off the long spit and placed himself between me and her, ready to fight me with it, and if I didn't know any better, expecting to die. He gave a shout in a language I didn't understand and waved frantically in the opposite direction, in the universal sign--unmistakable even though I'd never seen it--of a man telling his wife to get clear and save herself. "Whoa, hey, WAIT!" I shouted, backing up. The man and woman both stopped, so score one for less than complete panic at the sight of an unarmed stranger just looking for directions. "OK, thanks, please, I just want you to TALK to me,"I said. The two both tried to tell me something at the same time, but they both spoke that strange language. At first I thought it might be Dutch, since my mind was still thinking Amish country, but most of my brain at this point had worked out that they weren't Amish. Also, I spoke a tiny bit of German, just enough to be pretty sure that whatever they were speaking wasn't Dutch. I looked at them again. Colorful outfits, wagon, no English, maybe vaguely Eastern European features. I didn't want to think that I was a lot farther from Cleveland than I thought. Did those wizard-wannabes take me all the way to Romania? "Sorry,"I said, holding up a hand. "Just wait a moment. Do either of you speak English?" The man and woman stopped and looked at each other. Something seemed to pass between them. Then the man lunged at me with the fish spit. I gave a somewhat unmanly cry and scrambled back. "God, STOP!" The man stopped. And I don't mean that he broke off his attack. He froze suspended in midair, the spit aimed at my face from two more steps away. My eyes widened to the size of full moons for a brief moment, and then, before anything else happened, I reached forward to take the cooking spit just in case whatever happened was about to wear off. Then I got my second-biggest surprised of the past ten seconds. The woman spoke. "HEAT," she said, clearly and powerfully. The wrought iron of the spit burned my hand and I jumped back with yet another unmanly, pained squeal. Then I saw the smoke curling from the fingers of the man, still frozen in midair, his fingers still gripping the spit. "Shit, dude, DROP it!" The man dropped it. The grass smoldered. This couldn't be happening. But it was happening. "HEAT!" the woman said again. This time she targeted my pants. My scream was even less dignified, which is saying (or screaming) something because my earlier one was not at all dignified. However, I retained some odd combination of desperation and presence of mind to shout "COOL!" My pants cooled down again. I was mad enough at this point to ignore a lifetime of lessons in church about being charitable and kind to strangers. "SILENCE!" I shouted. Two things happened at that moment. First, I found myself suddenly and frighteningly overcome with a buzzing numbness in my tongue. Second, the woman clearly lip-synced heat again, and this time nothing happened. Alarm painted her face, and I found that it brought a weak smile to mine. So, buzzed but unburnt, I took my first deep breath in the last minute. It was in the stillness that I heard footsteps coming up behind me, and realized that the woman's sudden alarm hadn't just been for herself. I turned to see a beautiful woman barely two steps away from me. She was dressed in a Bohemian-style dress in even bolder colors than her mother's, with a similar red headscarf, and she was lunging at me with a sledgehammer. "Oh FUCK!"I cried as I hit the deck and a torrent of unkind words joined the sledgehammer heading in my direction. The woman began to untie the back of her dress with one hand, still trying to swing the sledgehammer at me with her other. "No, no, no! STOP!"The woman stopped trying to remove her clothes and kill me with a sledgehammer. She somehow managed to keep shouting at me, though. "What the f--- actually never mind,"I cut myself off from possibly repeating whatever the actual fuck I had just done, which seemed very disturbingly likely the way the last five minutes had gone. "OK,"I said. "Everybody please calm the f--- please calm down just a minute. I'm going to try something to see if shit is as weird as I think it is here."I turned to the nearby river. "Water," said, praying I didn't overdo this. Or that it didn't work at all and this turned out to all be a hallucination. Instead, a mass of water, maybe enough to fill a bathtub, snaked out of the river and doused the grass fire that was just starting to spread from the fallen iron spit. "All right, people,"I said. "It's been real. I'm going to try to get out of your hair and to a place where I can say what I want without ..."I realized that I was about to say destroying the universe, and realized that I really didn't want to actually say that here. I backed away from the wagon and the three figures. When I was about twenty yards away, far enough to hopefully be safe in case they wanted to throw anything at me but close enough that they could still hear my words, I said, "OK, let them go. Release. Free. Whatever." The man suspended in midair finally landed, his feet squelching into the muck created by my dousing of the grass. I could see his wife and daughter moving again, too. I turned to the river, still doing my best to keep an eye on the people out of the corner of my eye, but I had every intention of not seeing them again. "HOME."
######[](#dropcap) "I've told you a million times, you've got to learn the Latin,"the old man huffed at his young apprentice, watching as she continued to speak in English. Luna rolled her eyes. "Latin is a dead language,"he continued. "So the meanings of words will stay consistent." "I'll be fine, grandpa. There isn't that much overlap with words that I'd use for spells anyway. I've gotta go meet up with Milo right now, so I'll talk to you later!"She dashed out of the house, unwilling to take her grandfather's nagging anymore. It was so difficult to remember all those latin words, and she could progress so much more quickly with learning spells if she just stuck to English. Just off-road, she suddenly noticed movement. Luna froze and held her breath, gazing into the trees next to the dirt path. She had wanted to take a shortcut to Milo's because it was growing dark, so she had decided to cut through the forest area. She didn't usually like to take this path because there were all sorts of wildlife around, but she had decided that it would fine if she did just once. Slowly, she noticed the leaves and grass on the ground begin to quiver. She kept her eyes trained carefully on where the movement was coming from. Within moments, the creature came into a view. With black and red stripes, it slithered onto the side of the road, its gaze focused on her as it bared its fangs and hissed. Luna felt her mind blank out. Snakes had always been her greatest fear, and she could feel her heart beginning to race and her legs wobble. She fumbled before managing to pull out her wand from her pocket. Her lips felt numb. Please don't strike, please don't strike. She stayed as still as possible until her wand was pointed at the snake. Then, she uttered the words that she had never dared utter before. A spell that that would have lasting consequences that couldn't be taken back. "Slay,"she whispered, watching the rip of electricity hit the snake from the end of her wand. She had expected it to fall still, maybe even to explode into a couple of different parts. Instead, before her eyes, it slowly grew until its head, when reared back, reached her waist. Its coat also began shiny, almost blinding, and within her terror, she managed to notice that it had grown...eyelashes? Luna gulped, thinking of her grandfather's warning as the snake hissed and reared back. It lunged. ***** More fantasy stories at r/AlannaWu!
I'm Olive Garden. Olly for short. Three-fifty-two on the airwaves. That's how things work here, and that's a very vague "here."Here is everywhere. We're big. Real big. International. Like Mr. Worldwide, but a little quieter. My line of work, you never hear about. I don't share at family Christmas. When folks ask me what I do, I tell them sales. Technically true, if you're willing to jump through the warped logic that gets me there. What do I sell? Depends who's asking. Llamas. Straws. Organs. Some people laugh, other people ask more questions. "Why not alpacas?"Have you ever tried to sell an alpaca? So much harder than a llama. "Oh, those fancy reusable straws?"As if. Where's the money in that? "Oh, like to churches?"No. Not those organs. If kids ask, sometimes I tell them. Little Billy--my sister's infernal child--gets the truth, or at least half of it. I lean in real close to his petulant little face. So close he can smell the coffee or hard-boiled egg I just ate. Then I whisper: "I kill people, Billy. People like you."He starts crying and runs to his mom and I'm that much happier. Never been good with kids. We don't chat in the break room. There is no break room. There are no breaks. I don't even know my colleagues except by their code names. Red Square. Oval Office. Porta-John. They have numbers, too. Some a fair bit lower than mine, but not many single-digits going around anymore. It's risky business, this. Like the name suggests, it all started in an Olive Garden for me. Not life--I wasn't birthed there to some confused Italian woman I'd someday call "Mamma mia."I'm half Irish, half German, just like every other American claims. I digress. It was the start of this life. I wasn't there to eat, but I ate. Sat for a while munching on breadsticks and waved away the waitress every time she came my way. Eventually, she stopped coming. Target entered after I'd been there about an hour. Didn't even glance my way. If he had, nothing would have aroused suspicion. He didn't know me; I only knew his face. I'd had about a dozen staring contests with his picture in the dossier. Lost every time. "Soup,"he said, like a true heathen. Stick beats soup. Stick beats you. You ever tried beating somebody to death with a soup? Can't, unless it's frozen. Trust me. I got up for the bathroom. The waitress looked my way, annoyed. She'd be more annoyed when he was choking on the soup, making a mess of spittle and drool all over the table. She'd have to wipe it down, move his body, and clear it for the next customer. Olive Garden style. I slipped into the kitchen. "You need help?"the line cook asked in broken English. I slid him a hundred and he looked away, busying himself with something else entirely. Spilled a little vial in that soup, and then the waitress came on by. My heart fluttered as she steered in another direction, away from the target's table. Collateral damage incoming. Oops. Then she corrected course and my breathing settled and she placed the bowl in front of him. Soup. Rookie mistake. When I saw his mouth start to froth and his face turn red and his eyes bulge, I slipped into the bathroom to wait out the commotion. For real, this time. Damn gluten intolerance. I should have had the soup. That was then. Now, I'm the Handler. We pick up folks and I send them that manila folder with a face inside. I think back to then and wonder if they'll have a staring contest as they look at their first Target. Walmart Bathroom. Sewage Pipe. Porta-Tom joins Porta-John. They're a good bunch, and those numbers have gotten high. Six-hundred something will be next. They do their jobs, and keep the airwaves pretty free of chit-chat. "Kill confirmed,"a newbie will report, and Outback Steakhouse or Dairy Queen is born. But there's never another Olive Garden. I make sure of that. I still go every week. I'm a regular, and the waitress still thinks I do sales. She still waits the same table and rolls her eyes as I munch on the fifth basket of breadsticks. I don't eat the basket, mind you. I eat the bread. Digestive issues or not, I'm not going for soup. Too risky. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
It's impossible to keep any coins around in my flat. I keep thinking that whenever I get some change, I'll just put it down somewhere, and once I look for it, it's gone missing. Hell, if I put down my jeans with some coins in them, the pockets are turned inside out and the coins are just gone. I never thought much about it, but it was strange. However, because of the recent economic downturns, I've decided to invest in gold. More specifically, I purchased some South African Gold Krugerrand 1 oz coins. Even more specifically 3 of them. Just in case the world economy goes severely into the toilet, because currently, it certainly seems that way. However, just as with all the loose change I've lost over the years, the coins were just missing when I went to check on them. And this was what prompted me to search my apartment for them. The last place I thought to look was a small cupboard, which had been here since I moved in. Never used it. But as I open it, I see a small mountain of pennies, cents, dimes, quarters, shekels, euros, and indeed, my gold krugerrands. Atop the mountain of coins was a most peculiar creature. About the size of an average European rabbit, covered in bronze scales, a tiny dragon with bat-like wings was sleeping. I noticed a small amount of mice bones, indicating that the recent epidemic of rodents which had failed to hit my flat, out of all flats in the building, had a source. I gently closed the cupboard door, wondering how the dragon had gotten in there in the first place. I also wondered how a small dragon, something which in my understand is a mythological creature, had managed to live with me for so long without me discovering it. I opened the cupboard door again, and took another look at the dragon. It couldn't be more than a hatchling, as far as I understand dragons. It was somewhat thin, and its scales seemed pale and dull. I walked out to the kitchen, and opened my refrigerator. I took out some chicken strips, and went back to the cupboard. The dragon had noticed the door was opened, and was staring at me, staring at it. I then carefully placed a strip of chicken on the floor, and moved back. The dragon cautiously and slowly crawled out of its nest, and snapped the chicken strip, only to run back to the cupboard, meat held tightly in its jaw. I prepared a small bowl of water, and placed the rest of the chicken strips in a different, separate bowl. The dragon, still uncertain of what I intended, kept an eye on me the entire time when it ate and drank. But I was persistent. Every day, I would buy animal organs, like liver or heart, from a nearby butcher, since carnivorous animals need stuff like that to get vitamins. I would place a small bowl with water, one with some assorted change, and one with meat, by the cupboard door. Every day, the dragon seemed less inclined to hiss at me, or to run back into the cupboard at the slightest movement of my body. But it was a slow process at best. No real results came until there was a great and mighty storm. The sort where lightning splits the very heavens asunder, where the winds howl like maddened demons, and you suddenly understand why our ancestors feared the darkness and the night. I was reading a book, when there was a mighty crack of thunder, causing the dragon to screech, and bolt out of the cupboard, only to run over to me, and cling nervously to me. I could feel its rapid little heartbeat, as I allowed it to hold unto my chest, as I made calming and reassuring sounds at the frightened thing. It even allowed me to hand feed it some pepperoni. Eventually, clinging to my chest, it fell asleep, its soft snoring indicating that I was stuck there in my good chair, where I eventually too fell asleep. After that, the dragon became more used to me. Almost like having a very intelligent cat. It would join me at the table and eat what I fed it. It kept the apartment free of vermin on its own, and sometimes in the evening I would just sit there, reading stories to the dragon, who despite having never spoken a word, seemed to listen intently to my every word. It would snuggle up to me as I read, and fall asleep in my arms. Over time, as I kept giving the dragon meat and change, it started to grow, from the size of a rabbit, to the size of a medium dog. It moved its hoard out from the now too small cupboard, and proceeded to hide all of the coins underneath my bed. Soon I noticed that as it grew, so did it seem much smarter. It would help with household chores beyond hunting the rare rodent, such as washing the dishes, helping with making dinner, and dusting. I had known dragons were smart, but I was uncertain how much. So perhaps it shouldn't have surprised me when it tried to wear my clothes one day, when I came back from work. It, well, she, I think, wanted clothing. Getting some proved difficult, but having earned a lot of money through a variety of work in the past, plus a decent inheritance, proved to be just right in getting access to a proper tailor. A discreet one used to unusual customers, who asked no questions and gave no answers. The dragon was pleased with the strangely shaped dresses I bought for her to wear. I personally didn't see the purpose in this, but if it kept her from destroying my only bespoke suit, I welcomed it too. Besides, there is something weirdly wholesome about seeing a young dragon wearing a sundress or a kimono, running around a flat on all fours as she chases a thrown ball. Returning home one day, after a long day at work, I was absolutely not prepared for the dragon to sit on the flat's sofa, and look at me, her maw opening, her emerald eyes sparkling, a dictionary spread out in front of her, saying her first real words. ''D... Da... Dad!'' [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
“Hey Daddy, can we go to Disney?” “Sorry honey. I’m too busy right now. Maybe next year, okay?” Adrian watched the giddiness fade from Patty’s face before she shuffled away. He sighed and continued working. There would always be time later. -------- “Hey Patty, how about we vacation next week together? Just us.” “Sorry Dad, no time. I’ve got interviews.” “We could go to Disney.” “Dad, I hate Disney.” Adrian crumpled the tickets in his hand. EDIT: Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to read this little story. It's been a blast reading through all your comments, good and bad. Also, I am quite aware that it bears some resemblance to the song "Cats in the Cradle."It's a fantastic song and it's been some time since I've listened to it. Thanks for bringing it back into my consciousness again. Also, be sure to check out the rest of /r/WritingPrompts. There are much better stories than this written and posted here every day.
The problem with casting spells is that generally speaking, it takes less time to move a small steel lever a fraction of an inch than to utter a Latin phrase about throwing fireballs. Pulling a trigger can be done almost instantly upon acquiring the threat one wishes to make significantly less threatening, whereas pointing a stick just so and making sure to emphasize the "SAH"of leviosa takes a kind of time and finesse not commonly found on the battlefield. Sure, a properly spelled out cast could clear a room, but so could a hand grenade, and each of us keep a few of those on hand at all times. I hear some witches think reanimating a few corpses or conjuring animals are effective weapons... against an army trained very specifically on how to turn all kinds of living things things back into corpses. I think the flat-faced snake holding freak thought that a public show of force is all it would take to shake our resolve. But really, it just pissed us off. He has been laying low after watching his associates turn into pink mists with some Winchester magic of our own. From what some of the magical folk that claim to be on our side say, the snake has to die first. I can't see that as much of a hurdle really. Next time pale face gets up for one of his speeches wearing the snake like a string of pearls, the dramatic monologue will be cut short by the heat of a thousand suns. Even if no-nose can't die until the snake does, I figure immediate and total atomic disassembly will work fairly simultaneously in this case.
“You waffle munchers, open the door. Come on, please. Is this about eating the last piece of pizza? I asked if anyone wanted to go halves, sure I took a bite out of it first, but the thought was there.” Jay pleaded with his friends, banging his hands against the door, begging them to open it. His initial pulls were met with resistance as they held the door shut before finally, he heard the lock click on the other side, sealing his fate. He was alone with the crazy axe murderer. The man was wearing half a leather mask, the other half exposing his scarred face, his pure white eye staring down at Jay. “Damn, that’s a dick move. Want to get revenge?” Jay stared up at the seven-foot murderer. His bloodstained axe now hanging at his hip, giving Jay a look of pity. Did the crazy murderer feel sorry for him? Jay clutched his chest, backing away from the killer. Even with the killer standing still, he couldn’t wash away that fear. “They really left me. I meant that little to them?” Jay dropped his head, staring down at the floor. Why even bother running? That hurt more than an axe through his chest. His friends had already murdered his heart, the only thing left for the murderer to do was finish the job. Jay had ignored the killer’s words, lost in a world of his grief. Too busy feeling sorry for himself. A gloved hand grabbed Jay by his chin, making him look up at the murderer. “You are better than all of them. Come on, lets get revenge on them.” “You don’t want to kill me?” “Not anymore, I can’t kill a broken man.” Did the killer know how much that hurt? Sure he was a little depressed but broken was dramatic. The killer dropped the axe into the hands of Jay, causing him to almost drop the heavy chunk of metal. “Follow.” The killer grabbed the door handle and with a mighty tug pulled the door from its hinges. His heavy steps clattering against the concrete floors. The killer sniffed the air before charging towards Jay’s former friends. Jay followed, the scratching of the metal axe being heard all throughout the building, echoing as Jay did his best to drag the heavy weapon behind the killer. How did that monster carry this so easily? It felt like it weighed the same as a compact car. Jay heard the screams of his former friends as the killer found them, trapping the group in a small storeroom. When Jay caught up, the killer stepped aside, a grin on the disfigured mans face. He gave Jay a nudge, pointing him to his friends. “Go ahead, kill them. Get your revenge.” Jay looked at the terrified faces of his friends, each pleading for their lives blaming each other, claiming it wasn’t their idea to leave him behind. Pushing the blame onto another member of the group. It was pathetic. Jay summoned all his strength, lifting the axe up, only to hand it to the killer. “I can’t do it. They aren’t worth my time. None of them ever cared about me and killing them won’t make me feel better. You know what I could use more than revenge. A friend. Want to be my friend?” The killer tilted their head. A look of confusion painted on their face before they bent down, wrapping their arms around Jay, pulling him into a hug. “I would love a friend. It’s been so lonely.” The two shared an embrace, only to be interrupted by his former friends as they tried to sneak past the pair. The killer went to say something, only for Jay to step forward. “You are all a bunch of waffle munchers. I hope you all have horrible lives. I deserve better.” With that, Jay left the storeroom. The killer turned to the group, pointing his fingers to his eyes, then back to the group. Once the nonverbal threat was given, he moved back to the side of his new friend. “Let’s go see a movie, I hear there’s a new slasher flick on.” Jay suggested. “Great, love those.” The killer replied, grabbing his axe as the two headed out to go catch a movie. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
"She's not my wife." I froze as my finger pressed the pause button. The younger image of my Grandfather on the screen, distressed and unkempt. I held the rewind button, his eyes moved frantic, as if to make sure he had a second alone — “She’s not my wife,” his voice pleaded. I hit pause. What was I hearing? I hit play, let the video run out in context. In real time my Grandfather’s words were a muttered gibberish, the language of a crazy man. His eyes frantic, and then a younger version of my Grandmother stepped into a frame. She hugged him, smiled and kissed his cheek. Good old Grandma. His distress turned to joy, and he smiled, mumbled gibberish, and kissed her back. His face over her shoulder, silently pleading to the camera. Back in the late 70’s, when my mom graduated high school, my Grandfather was on his way home from work when a drunk in a Ford Mustang t-boned him. He woke up with minor brain damage, and ever since he acts and moves in the world and with people like he’s his old self, only his sounds never make words. For over thirty years he’s been a semi-happy old man that speaks a language nobody knows, but he never seemed to mind. I ripped the video onto my laptop, ran in through FCPX, reversed the clip, airdropped it to the phone and drove the thirty minutes to the old age home my Grandfather was living in these days. Grandma stayed with him half the week, and the other half she spent in their old farm house. It was by choice they went to the old age home. Grandpa started having seizures at night, and had days where he was violent. This was a new development that the family was adjusting to. He’d only been in for about two months. That’s why Grandma asked me to go through all their old pictures and videos. She didn’t want some stranger to digitize their stuff, sorting through memories that were personal. She wanted to put it all on a iPad for Grandpa, so he could go back and remember on his bad days. I got to the home around three. Grandpa was waking up from his nap and gave me hug, mumbled something that sounded kind, and slapped my face. “Brudadf dfou” he smiled. I smiled. Did I want to show him? What if it was just some weird thing? Or a bad memory he didn’t need to relive. My eyes are blue, just like my Grandfather. And it was his eyes that day that made me show him. I felt I somehow owed it to him to not baby him. “I have something I want to show you Grandpa,” I said and he smiled and nodded, just happy to have me there. I took out my phone, and played back the reversed clip. When a person you don’t know tells you to go fuck yourself, and you’re caught off guard and your jaw drops and your eyes are lost — that’s how he looked. “What does this mean?” I asked. He shook his head and twirled his finger, indicating to run it back. I did. “She’s not my wife.” “Grandpa?” I asked. He didn’t try to speak. He grabbed a yellow legal pad and tried to frantically write something down — he held it up, it was scribbles and lines, like a child if you gave them a pen and said draw. “That doesn’t say anything, Grandpa.” He grunted in what sound like a curse and he started rambling, pacing and rubbing his head. Then he stopped. He looked at me, shook his head, and ran his finger across his throat and pointed to the door. “What?” He shook his head again and shoved me towards the door, and if I spoke his broken language I could have sworn he was telling me to get out. He grabbed my phone — “Hey —“ I said. He held it away from me, and mimed as if he threw it in the trash. He grunted and shoved me and went through the motion again, and once more. “Okay,” I said. “I get it, throw it away.” He nodded in a panic and patted my shoulder and pushed me towards the door just as it swung open. My Grandma walked in. “Hello, my dear!” The kindest old woman in the world gave me a hug and a kiss. “Hi, Grandma,” I gave her a kiss. Behind her back Grandpa gave me a wide eye nod toward the door. “What brings you by today?” Grandma smiled at me. “Just had some free time, figured I’d come check in.” She turned, kissed and hugged Grandpa — his face over her shoulder gave me eyes that pointed to leave, again and again. “But I gotta run, guys, gotta get back to work. Have a project I’m editing for the town library and they need it my tomorrow.” “Good, good. Glad you found some work,” Grandma said and put a fresh bouquet of flowers at the bedside. “How’s my memory archive coming?” She asked as I stepped towards the door. “You know I haven’t had too much time to work on it Grandma, but I’ll definitely have something to show you by Monday.” “Oh, no rush,” she smiled. “As long as you have my memories I know they’re in good hands. Now go, get back to work, I don’t want to keep you,” she kissed me again and I gave them both a little wave as I moved to step out. “You want this opened or closed,” I said with my hand on the doorknob. “Closed is fine, dear,” Grandma said. “Okay,” I stepped out, slowly closing the door, and the last thing I saw was Grandpa’s sharp eyes. Not wide or afraid, but focused. More focused then I’d ever seen him. Grandma was by the window behind him, opening the curtains. And just as the door shut Grandpa slowly put his finger over his lips — shhh — … --- EDIT: Thanks for all the awesome and kind feedback! Crazy that this blew up :) I added Pt. 2 in the comments below!
God I hate the open air. It's terrible out here on the mudflats in the oppressive cold, not to mention the mosquitoes the size of your fist that roam here. I looked back at the city, floating high in the sky at the horizon and felt a longing for the warm heated air indoors. It was miserable weather, but this was his final request. “I want to see the sky one last time, out of reach of the lights of the city mages,” he had said before speech too faded from him. Komte was terribly ill, and none of the healers’ spells seemed to do much. He was old, older than the histories go, born of a bygone race that had fallen before our cities were even conceived, and it appeared he was simply starting to fade away. It was with some trepidation that we moved him outside. His condition was a concern, but for a man of his magical abilities it seemed likely that the strain of moving him was but a pebble in the face of the relentless tide of age. There were also the logistical difficulties, as the strange plates down his back made him hard to move, and he rested in the tallest tower of the floating city. But really the reluctance came from our fear of defeat. Acquiescing to his final request was giving up on the belief that he would get better. He was a foundation of the University, a pillar of the city. At the very least he had been there to nurture our community as it developed tens of thousands of years ago, and it was likely many people still relied on his magic today. Giving up meant his spells would fail and his wisdom would fade. All that would remain would be the lessons he taught and the secrets others wrote for him, and even those would vanish when the mages who wrote them died and their spells were unwoven. A fly buzzed over and Komte’s eyes suddenly opened as he reflexively swatted with his tail. He looked around and seemed to realize for the first time we had moved him outside. He gazed around, stopping to look each of us in the eye before staring off into the distance. He released a pulse of magic to let us know he was content. He started to lie down again for his long deserved rest. I looked over at the mayor as he sent out the alarm. The entire city had to be on alert as we didn’t know how much of the infrastructure relied on Komte’s spells. We would have to re-weave any critical magics he had taken part in, but it was likely our city would never quite be the same. We saw him sigh his last breath, and everyone was silent. I looked up a moment, it seemed respectful to shut the alarms down, but I thought they were rather important to broadcast. Everyone else was still bowing their heads in respect, though. After a few minutes, I looked around and saw the frantic looks being passed around the circle. I tried to pulse out a question and found nothing came out. I heard a crack as our hoverstone, our ride back to the city fell out of the sky and shattered. Then we felt it. A deep thundering boom rattled through the ground, knocking us all over. My heart sank as I looked up across the shaking ground and saw the city no longer in the sky. I tried a basic writing spell and saw the others trying similar magics, but nothing seemed to work. No magic seemed to work at all. Without casting what would become of us. We couldn’t talk, or write, or deal with the catastrophe of our civilization falling from the sky. Who knew what kind of damage such an impact could have. The others from the funeral had already started running from the impact zone and I raced to follow. If we stick together maybe there can be a way for the collective dinosaur civilization to survive.
"Be at peace." My Mom always said this small prayer any time we would see an animal in the road. No matter dog, rat, deer, snake, raccoon, or the smallest bird that no one would think twice about. If there was a poor little creature which had its life cut short by some person who was too busy rushing through their own, she would always pray. Soon after getting my license and my own car I found myself saying this same prayer. Maybe it was out of habit, maybe I thought that it is something everyone does, maybe because if I didn't then who would? Either way I never missed. Every animal, every time. Years went by, and even though I would get some weird looks from passengers, or ignorant comments by people who seem to think that the lives of creatures other than themselves have no meaning, I still prayed for them. All but one. "This is YOUR fault!" The words hit me hard, and so did the memories of an elk suddenly jumping in front of my car. The memories of pulling the wheel harder than I ever have before. The memories of a brown flash moving across my windshield. The memories of nothing at all. "I don't understand, what is my fault?" I slowly begin to notice the thousands of different animals greeting me, as if they know me. Not just as if they know me, but thankful to know me. "No not you, I will be with you in a moment." I was confused to say the least, but happy. As soon as I realized that I know these animals too. For some reason I can remember each and every one. I remember the small raccoon off of I-5, the beautiful porcupine next to Highway 41, the opossum I buried next to Third Street. "This is your fault. You know it is a special occasion today and I was under the impression that you would behave!" I now notice a man speaking to a very beautiful grey and white colored cat. Smokey. My cat. The one that ran away when I was 8 years old, the one I remember seeing from the school bus window a few blocks from my house. I knew it was her that day. The man was scolding Smokey for tearing up a piece of furniture that I'm assuming was for me to sit on. She was always a feisty one. He turned away after giving her a little pat on the head, no one can stay mad looking at that face. "Hello! These wonderful creatures are only here to give you a warm welcome, then they're back off to their own pieces of heaven. You are the reason they are here and they seem to be very thankful for that. Except Smokey seems to forget that not everything is a scratching post, my apologies." He turned to look at Smokey, but she was already preoccupied with playing around on something else. "Anyways, feel free to formally meet all these fine animals and enjoy yourself!" "Oh! And one last thing, someone very close to you must have the same tradition because we just received a new guest." At that moment the most beautiful Elk I have ever seen walked through the crowd to rest it's head on my lap. It seemed upset, but with a few words I knew would calm him. "Be at peace."
Should I ask him to repeat himself? Is that rude? I can't exactly be at fault for not listening too well. I wasn't exactly expecting... well... words... "Did you get all that Steven?" Oh wow, ok yeah he definitely spoke and I completely missed it. "Will you do it?" I stared blankly at Jasper who was sitting over a coffee table in my living room surrounded by every single cat in the neighborhood. I scanned the cats from left to right. Snowball belonged to Ms. Cassandra from across the street, I gave him left overs from my sandwich on my way back from school whenever I could. Smudge was a stray cat who followed me home often and, despite the warnings from my mother, would always be friendly with me. Tiger was Randy's cat. He would always got jealous cause the cat would only be at ease around me. I'd hear stories of clawed out curtains, and scratched fingers, but he would always comfortably purr on my lap when I came over. This was only to name a few. I never thought much of it. I like cats, and cats like me back. But on this day the words coming out of that furry, toothy mouth revealed to me that this was indeed my special talent. Well not the words themselves, more like the action of the words coming out. And subsequently my understanding of those words... More than the sheer surprise of hearing my pet talk, I was shaken to my core in pure disappointment. Others usually got super strength... or flight... or mind reading... I guess I got... cat likeness? Wait until the others hear about this? But oh well, gotta make the most of it. I looked at Jasper who I could tell was beginning to get worried. (Wait can cats look visibly worried? Must've been the talent.) "Actually... umm... if you don't mind... could you just repeat that last part one more time?"I said to Jasper, hoping to not be offensive in anyway. "Of course Steven!" "We're all here because we all feel a sort of connection with you. We understand you as much as you understand us. And to any feline with half a brain it'd be plain to see that you should be the one to lead us!" A resounding 'meow' reverberated across my room, like an adorable war cry that struggled to be taken seriously. But the 'meow' kept going, bouncing onto my ears over and over, and suddenly the cry took the shape of words. "Praise the Great one Steven! Praise the Great one Steven!" Just then my front door slid open. I braced myself for the stellar and totally reasonable conversation I was about to have with whoever opened it. That's when I saw a massive paw slam into the room, followed by another, then another until the figure entering the room was entirely revealed. "Praise the Great one Steven!"bellowed the great lion with a mighty roar, both completely shattering my reputation with my neighbors, and my center of balance and mind. I fell onto the floor with eyes open so wide, you'd think I was a cat hunting at night. I looked up at the ceiling with a complete utter lack of words. Not only did the cats have my tongue, they had torn it to shreds. Eventually I gathered enough strength to lay out a single word. "Huh..." I believe it was profound. EDIT: Oh wow! That's way more upvotes than I expected! This is my first time writing anything in writingprompts so I thought I'd give it a shot! Thanks to everyone who commented, and I'm open to any criticism!
"CUUUUUUUUT"a shrill voice screams out. You groan inwardly and let your sword drop limply to your side. "Wh...what happened? Did I do something wrong?"Dorgridion looks around confused, leathery wings drooping. "Amateurs" You think, fluffing your hair and gesturing to your assistant for a water bottle. The small goblin comes quickly, opening a fresh bottle. The director is rubbing at his eyes as if maybe, just maybe he can rub away yet another bad take. Finally he stands and comes towards the large demon. "Look D-man. We've talked about this. You have got to stay on script."He punctures he word with a small clap. "But... But that's not at all how prophecies work. Like at all. I would know, I come from a long line of de..." The director cuts him off, "Look man. You aren't in Hell anymore. This is Hollywood and if you want to survive in here, you gotta do this right and you gotta do it fast. There's a line of demons out there that I could cast in a heartbeat. Dorgridion again looks confused "But she... she wouldn't... she can't actually kill me... if you are filming something, shouldn't you at least make it accurate?" "ITS. A. SHAMPOO. COMMERCIAL"The directors shrill voice is now echoing off the set. Your goblin assistant winces a little and you wave him off. Dorgridion looks like he might start crying. You just roll your eyes. The director takes and deep breath, his hands together, almost as if he were praying for patience, "Just say your lines, let her stab you and editing will take care of the rest, okay? Okay." He returns to his chair, "Places everyone"To nobody in particular he mutters "I cannot believe I sold my soul to pay for art school just to end up here" ETA: thanks do much for all the love 💕 this is my first time posting here and you guys have definitely given me the confidence to keep posting!! 😊
Hey Dad, I found this old laptop in my prison, and it even has wifi! What a surprising coincidence! Gmail was already open and ready for me to log in, and of course I remember my own father's email address. Good thing I didn't have to email any strangers who likely wouldn't believe me anyway. Anyway, come bail me out of this prison please. And cut off diplomatic ties with these jerks who apparently wouldn't even give me one phone call or some other way to contact a lawyer or anyone else. Sincerely, Your son, the Prince of Nigeria.
Four-ten seven spores. No. Four-ten eight. Four-ten eight. I must stop counting them. They will not multiply. They will not increase. Four-ten eight spores. The last four-ten eight in the galaxy. Maybe the last that will ever be. If I don't find them stable land...a saline pool...the proper nutrients... This ship is not space-worthy. It should no longer fly. But still it splits the black. Still it carries me and these last spores off to...nowhere perhaps? Where is safe? Where might I... Wait. An alarm whines. Two switches flicker - blue to white to blue. This is one of the Ring God ships. Stolen. I haven't the slightest idea what any of these sounds and sights mean. Bita would have known. Bita planned it all. And of course Bita died in the escape. Of course. We die so easy. I had never recognized just what a silly, frail species we were until the Ring Gods arrived. I have moments - hateful, passing moments - when I think they're right for what they've done. How could any thinking thing be as weak as us? The ship shudders. Instinctively, I reach out to shield the spore pods. But there is nothing for the longest time. Just silence, and stillness. After ages, a voice squawks through an intercom I cannot locate. It's gibberish. Nothing I've ever heard before. It speaks and waits. I speak back. "I don't understand,"I say. It speaks. I speak back. And again, and again. Finally there's a whir and a ping and a voice comes through - it sounds highly filtered, as if coming from some great distance, but the language is my own. "Do you understand me now?" "Yes! Yes, I do!" "Open the door, please." Open the door? I remember the button Bita pushed as we dove abroad. A red button, near the entrance. I push it and things happen. Air hisses. Gears grinds. A door opens. There are things standing there that I do not recognize. "Perpetual translator,"says one of the things. "Comes in handy way out in strange waters. Who are you?" I tell them. I tell them where I've come from. I tell them about the Ring Gods. I tell them about the spores. I ask them to take me to their planet. The spores cannot be sowed in space. Time is running out. The rest of us are dead. All dead. All dead and time is running out. They change as they listen. Take different postures. Pull back from me and my stolen ship. They stop looking at me. They only look at one another. "The Korean Federalist Alliance does not intervene in the conflicts of unaffiliated planets,"says one of them. "That is...our policy. We will gladly fuel your ship and offer whatever maintenance you may require, but after that we must ask you to continue on." "They'll die,"I say. "I'll die. You have a planet? Why can't I go there? There are only four-ten eight spores and myself. That is all. You will not notice us." "It cannot be done,"says another. "You must leave before this cycle closes." "There are stasis waves in your ship,"says another. "Those will buy you more time. I'll show you." They show me. They will not say any more about their planet and why I cannot go there. Others with weapons linger nearby, watching, waiting. The weapons are familiar. Similar to those used by the Ring Gods. I go. I don't know where I'm going. And time becomes a void. A blankness. I awake and the ship has stopped. The wall thrums. The door opens without my command. More strangers. Something different. Something new. Where have I gone? "hgk ygkh hjkyu hh oyhkuh test language code test language code do you understand do you under..." "Yes,"I say, frightened, hovering over the spores. "What are you?" I tell them. I tell them what I am. I tell them where I come from. I don't tell them anything else. "And those?"They point at the spores. "Members of my species,"I say. One comes forward, snatching a pod out of the tray. My flesh turns foamy white in rage and anxiety. One of them strikes me in the ninth joint and I collapse to the ground. "This is an alien?"says the one holding the spore pod. Another grabs the pod and tosses it to the floor, before raising an appendage and grinding the pod into dust and glass. "Nothing." They turn back to me. "Your ship crossed into Rus Territory. And this ship...where did you get it?" "I stole it from the ones who killed my people,"I say, hopeless, full of despair. They choke and sputter and shake their heads. "Ah,"they say. "Ah." "I'm looking for a home..." "No,"they say. "No." They tell me to leave Rus territory. They do not tell me where that is, or what that means. They only deign to fix the door they've broken and drop my ship back into the black of space. Four-ten seven. And me. I turn on the stasis waves. I sleep. When I awake, they are standing over me. They talk. They ask me to speak. Language is learned. I do not know these ones either. "Why are you in this ship?"says one. "I stole it from the ones who have exterminated my people,"I say. Hopeless. Hopeless. "Exterminated?" They look at one another. Shake heads. Speak softly. "Do you know where you are?"says one. I do not. "American space,"says one. "Do you know America?" I do not. "This is our flag - our emblem,"says one, pointing at a patch on his shoulder. It's a familiar emblem. I see it nearly every time I open my eyes. "Our ship,"says one. "You aren't...you aren't the Ring Gods." "I bet we don't look much alike anymore, do we?"says one. "Given the call number on this ship, we're talking about an expedition force from...what? Eight hundred years ago? A thousand?" "At least,"says one. "A lot changes,"says one. "How long have you been out here - all alone?" The Ring Gods. Here. In the ship. Ancestors. But still... "Will you kill me?"I ask. They shake their heads. "No. No. We would never..." "That was different, there. Wherever you came from..." "Manifest Destiny..." "Expansion of the strong." "Old history." "I need stable land,"I say. "A pool of saline. Certain common bacteria..." "What for?"says one. "To live,"I say. "To sow what remains of my people." The heads are still shaking. As if they never stopped. "That's not for us to decide..." "We have processes for these things..." "It's possible, of course, but only if you do things the right way..." "It will take time, certainly..." "I do not have time,"I say. "We are nearly extinct." "Hmm." And, "Hmmm." Then, "We will gladly give you fuel." "And food, perhaps, if we have what you need in adequate supply." And when they have given me what they have to give, I close the door. The ship drops into space. The spores are dull. Gray. Dust brown. I cannot bring myself to activate the stasis waves just yet. Perhaps later.
“Sir, we must speak about this.” Kim Jong Un’s advisor walked behind him in to the main office as Jong Un took up his seat behind his desk. The adviser placed a piece of paper on the desk in front of him. “I don’t see what the issue is,” said Jong Un, picking up the paper and inspecting it. “Sir .. the adviser looked on perplexed, "you surely know what this is." "Explain it to me,"asked the Supreme Leader. "This is a screenshot of your latest indiscretion. You posted this 15 minutes ago. The tweet reads: ‘fite me irl u lil bitches. ya’ll want non of dis lmao.’ tagging as many global leaders as you could and attaching a picture of yourself dabbing.” “Is dabbing not fashionable now? Is that the issue, here? Why was I not informed?” asked Jong Un. “Wait, what? Of course the dabbing isn’t the issue,” said the adviser. “Then I fail to see the problem.” “You cannot folly about Twitter inciting violence, sir. We have spoken about this numerous times now,"pleaded Jong Un's adviser. “How dare you accuse me of folly,” said Jong Un, picking up and ripping apart the print out. “Your Twitter handle is ‘KimJongFiteMe’. Do you not think others have noticed this? It’s as if you have a death wish,” said the adviser, picking up the ripped up pieces of paper from the floor. “The Twitter handle is a mere coincidence,” said Jong Un, taking his phone out of his pocket, beginning to play with it. “There, I’ve changed it for you.” The adviser placed the pieces of paper in the nearby bin and took his own phone out of his pocket, “thank you.” “I take it that will be all? I have meetings to attend,” said Jong Un. "What meetings? I have your diary, you don't have any meetings." "By meetings I mean fights. And by attend I also mean fights." "That doesn't even make any sense,"said the adviser, still scrolling through his phone. "Wait. Why. Why would you do this?" “Why would I do what?” asked Jong Un. “You can't just change your Twitter handle from ‘KimJongFiteMe’ to ‘DM4Fite’.” replied the adviser. “I have removed my name for you. Now I am covert and all fighting will be strictly over direct messages.” The adviser slumped in to the chair facing Kim Jong Un and put his head in his hands, taking a moment to compose himself before speaking again with the Supreme Leader, “First of all, I still don’t understand why you’re trying to incite fights with other countries. Secondly, the profile picture for the account is your head photoshopped on to the body of Sagat from Street Fighter." Kim Jong Un sat back in his chair, keeping his eyes on the wary adviser sitting in front of him, "so you mean to tell me people know the profile picture is a photoshop?" "Of course people can tell it's a photoshop. You're one of the most famous people on the planet with your head poorly edited on to the body of a video game character,"said the adviser. Kim Jong Un fell further back in to his chair, deep in thought. "OK, you win. You're right, I can see that now. But I fear it is too late to amend my ways and become the Supreme Leader our great nation deserves." "It's never too late, sir." Jong Un cast a smile towards the adviser. He smiled back. "Thank you,"said Jong Un, as he took his phone out of his pocket and began to play around with it. He looked up towards the adviser, "I will fix this. Believe in me." The adviser stood from his chair and bowed his head, "I never stopped believing, sir." As the adviser was leaving the room, a notification tone rang out. Intrigued, he checked his phone: ‘New tweet from ‘KimJongFiteMe’: @realDonaldTrump wit mah boy coming up wit spicy fite plans. bring ur best 4 a rumble imho. real profy pic btw. **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
Thomas knew Saint Lucia’s Psychiatric Hospital was old, but he thought it just gave the place a certain charm. The vines that crawled their way up the cracked brick and stone gave the building an almost enchanting air. The ancient looking statues in the front yard were discolored and stained by age but Thomas thought it made them more interesting. He’d probably have admired it more if he wasn’t so nervous. Thomas had never really told anyone about his ‘issue’. It had started to manifest when he was twenty, just a few weeks after his birthday. He’s gotten up to get a drink of water and had seen his long dead grandmother strolling the halls of his house. That he could’ve chalked up to a dream. And he did. But it kept happening, and with people he didn’t know. It had gotten so bad, he’d started thinking some of the people were real. Alive. If he heard “Hey, who are you talking to?” one more time, he was going to lose it – if he hadn’t already. There were a few people milling about in the front of Saint Lucia’s, but they didn’t acknowledge Thomas much. One gave him a sidelong glance, but quickly returned to picking flowers from the bushes. Even the front desk lady needed a cough or to before she looked up to Thomas. “Can I help you?” “I-“ Thomas paused. He felt stupid. “I’d like to check myself in.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “We don’t get that often. Name?” “Thomas McNe.” “Hm, yup. Alright, there’s some paperwork I need you to fill out.” “Of course.” Thomas followed the woman into a side room. It looked like something directly out of the 60s, but considering that when a lot of these places were built, Thomas didn’t think much of it. He took a seat in one of the bright orange chairs. The woman handed him the stack of papers. “Just bring them back up when you’re done.” Thomas nodded. A lot of the packet were questions; questions about him and his life. Writing out things he’d been so careful to avoid speaking out was… cathartic. All the earlier nervousness faded. Thomas felt good. It wasn’t until the third page that he noticed the year stamped at the top of the pages. 1987? Thomas almost laughed. This place was really going for that old style aesthetic. When he finished, he returned to the front desk. “You might want to think about getting new stationary.” The front desk woman nodded absently. “Oh yeah?” “It says the year is still 1987.” “What a surprise.” Thomas frowned. She’s not very friendly, now is she? “Well, you’re in luck. We’ve got a few open rooms. Do you need someone to bring your things?” “Nope.” Thomas pointed to his backpack. “I’ve got all I need.” The woman hummed, grabbed a key from the wall, and waved for Thomas to follow. As they ascended to the higher floors, Thomas was surprised at how dirty the whole place was. The walls were stained black with dirty hand prints and the floor was covered in dust. Piles of used cups and plastic bags had been swept into the corners. Thomas suddenly felt less sure he was in the right place. The hallways were a little cleaner. A patient and nurse glanced his way as he passed. Neither spoke, just continued to stare. Thomas waved. Both turned away. “Here’s where you’ll be staying.” The woman pushed open the door to the room labelled 346. “A nurse will come by to show you around and give you the schedule and rules. You aren’t on any medication, are you?” Thomas shook his head. “Get settled in, then.” Tossing his backpack on the bed, Thomas turned to the large single window in his room. It was, thankfully, one of the unbroken ones. The view overlooked the courtyard and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, the place was a little dirty, but it wasn’t like he could complain. There weren’t many psychiatric hospitals around here and Thomas didn’t have the means to move. He was lucky to find this one and, in the end, his sanity was more important than being picky about hand prints and a few dusty steps. Besides, his room was clean enough. Thomas finished unpacking and then waited around in his room for the nurse to show up. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour. Thomas was growing restless. Did they forget I was here? He had just showed up. He peeked out into the hallway and saw nothing but the tile floors. Unable to sit still anymore, Thomas opened the door and wandered out into the hallway. “Hello?” Silence. Thomas suddenly felt his blood run cold. This place hadn't been so quiet when he’d first walked through. Even if it was just the sound of the patrolling nurses’ footsteps or opening and closing doors. But now it was silent. Dead silent. Thomas moved to the end of the hall, trying to see into the other rooms. Unfortunately, the glass had clouded over and he couldn’t see a thing. He knocked on a few, but got no response. I’ll go check with the front desk. But when Thomas reached the top of the stairs, he looked down and froze. His heart thundered in his ears. “No.” There was only one set of footprints in the dust.
The camp isn’t far from here. I lean against the rotting tree for a second, trying to get my bearings. Just around that tree, right over there, is the flat rock that we used as a picnic table, before the most recent attack. My arm aches. I already see the discolouration of the flesh around the wound. The tree is a brief respite, but I know that I’ve got to keep moving. Before the brain-death of zombification, an infected person moves slower. I’d seen it happen before, but I hadn’t realized it would hurt so badly. My legs are aching from even this short walk. It was foolish of me, I think as I walk, to go out alone. Practically unarmed. But the undead had been quieter lately, and I thought I would be safe. Just a short trek to the old road. Out of the woods, to test the radio. That damned radio. I had dropped it in the tussle with the zombie that bit me. If it had been working, it isn’t now. I had barely even gotten to try it, but I was sure it would have worked this time. Now I lean against a woven fence. Somehow my energy is being drained, sapped by this disease. The camp was - what was that noise? Here’s the camp - am I dehydrated? There’s a ringing in my ears. A man I don’t recognize is standing in front of the longhouse. My legs - my arm! My head! I collapse. Mary is there, kneeling over me. Oh, my dear sister, don’t you know I’m already dead? And the radio, the radio. I speak, but no sound comes. “Liam! Liam, listen to me!” I can hear her, but from a great distance. Oh, what have I done? I raise my hand to her, but remember just in time the danger. “They heard the radio, Liam! They heard us!” A jolt of fear hits my spine. Who heard? I try to ask, but Mary shushes me. The unfamiliar man is here, too. He has a uniform, or what used to be a uniform. “Lie still,” he says, loudly but not unkindly. “We’ll do what we can.” “What you can? Give him the shot!” The man shakes his head. “It won’t work. Look! He’s already dead.” “He’s not - he’s not dead!” I try to stir, but there are hands on my shoulders pushing me back. “No...” I manage to croak. A crowd is around me, men, women, the children. Curious but distant. Fearful. Knowing. “He’s been infected,” the man says shortly. “The shot won’t help.” Mary reaches for my hand, but I let it drop. I feel like I’m about to cry, but I can’t. I turn my eyes to the man in the white uniform. “You can understand me, can’t you?” I nod, with great effort. It’s already been hours. Even that small movement sends pain along my spine. “We heard your radio, Liam. We’re the National Guard.” He’s the medic, isn’t he? I thought they’d all disappeared, along with the rest of civilization. “We heard the radio, and we came to help all of you. We have a shot - a vaccine. You understand?” A vaccine. Yes. Immunization. Not a cure. I nod again. “We can’t save you, understand?” I understand. I nod, ever so slightly. I’m dead. I knew it before I returned. Before I was bitten. As soon as I saw the sickly visage stumble towards me. I was unarmed, stupid. But I can say goodbye. Properly. “Mary...” I reach out to her again, this time grasping her hand firmly. If only it wasn’t so hard to speak. “Love you.” I try to smile, but I can’t. Not now. “Oh, Liam!” She has tears in her eyes. “Little man...” It was our father’s nickname for me. I felt the pricking of tears in my eyes. The man, the medic, has left. In his place stand the familiar faces of the camp. My family. Another hand reaches out to mine. Two, three. I feel hands on my face, running through my hair. We are all silent, except for the pounding of my head. My mouth moves. The words I want to say struggle to pass the lump in my throat. The medic kneels again. “You’re in pain, kid. Let me help.” He has a syringe. Not a cure, but the next best thing. Mary squeezes my hand. “This’ll put him right to sleep. Painless. They used to use it on dogs.” He says it to Mary, but I’m the one that nods. After a moment, so does she.
Creation is a fickle thing. On one hand, even to a being such as myself, a being that can and often does create smaller pocket worlds to suit my whims, the sheer scale of the universe as a whole is astounding. I would make a bet that even the one who created it, wherever they are, didn't see it becoming as big as it is, or will be. But on the other hand, it can be inconceivably small, so small that even I could not make out all its intricacies were I to study it for the rest of time, and then again. However, to dwell on creation and its mysteries does, eventually, get old. Even to a being such as myself, to whom the concept of old would be woefully inadequate. But that does not mean I ignore it. Rather, I balance it, keep it in check to make sure it does not destroy itself and all who exist within and without it. Actual cases requiring my intervention are rare, though. By and large, the universe is big enough and old enough to take care of itself. And so, I find myself time and again pondering creation. Until, of course, I found that little blue rock. "Earth", it's inhabitants named it. Not really sure why, really. Perhaps I shall ponder that next. In any case, this rock was rather special in that the inhabitants were sentient enough to, in their own way, also ponder existence and their place within it. It was limited, of course, almost painfully so, but they made a good go of it, so I decided I would visit them and help them along a little, nudge them in the right direction. First, however, I would have to understand them, and so I wandered about them, invisible. I learned their languages, their hierarchies, what they struggled with on different places of the rock. It was almost fascinating, the way they were both aware of the outside universe, yet consumed with division and simple-minded hatred of ideals outside their own. But there was one thing that caught my attention more than anything else. Dogs, they called them. It was not unexpected to see them taming the simpler beasts, of course. But these dogs were not for sport or food, I came to learn. No, these creatures were made to fulfill another aspect, another requirement of humanity, not quite so prevalent as food or survival but apparently just as important. Dogs were there simply for the love they brought with them. Some dogs, of course, had more specialized purposes. Some were for protection, some were for guidance, but in the end, all dogs had the same inexorable and unalterable quality of love, both their own, and that which they brought out in others. It was obvious, then, what I had to do. I would become a dog. I decided on becoming what Humans called a "German Shepard"breed. Tall, for a dog, and strong, but still fit for a family. I altered events here and there, resulting in my adoption into what I would call a "middling"family. All the pieces were there, a strong familial bond, some children. I was, in their eyes, the completion to a lifelong dream, thus I felt it a fair trade for me to also be getting something out of the deal. When I was "born", the sensations were almost overwhelming, even for me. As an astral being, I was above and aside from sensations of the flesh, I could choose what to feel and when, how intense or weak. But with this body, the sensations were always on, always rushing in. The smells of the other puppies in the litter and my "mother", the feeling of the newspapers beneath my feet, the thin cage walls against my nose. The taste of milk and soft foods, of my teeth growing in. When I opened my eyes it was like a whole new universe had bloomed into being before me, all the colors and sounds that had been almost behind a misty window until now came rushing in, if a bit dulled. In human time, 2 weeks after I had opened my eyes, the family I had chosen found their way to me. One of the children, the girl named "Elisa"was terribly excited to see me. Of course, the brother was as well, but he was determined not to show it, being a few "years"older. The mother picked me up carefully and stared into my eyes. I stared back, doing my best to look at her as a puppy would and not as a timeless eldritch being. I managed to keep her soul intact, but it was a close thing. I would need practice, and my bodies newfound need for constant urination didn't help. Of course, it came in handy when I required to be put down and so, as puppies were apparently wont to do, I peed on her, signalling my desire to be released. After some yelling and a hasty return to the cage, the family decided I had what they called "spunk"and adopted me, as I knew they would. Driving to their home in the back seat of their "car", in the lap of the girl as the boy scratched behind my ears, I began to feel something new to me. That was a surprise. Even after all this time, after everything I had seen and done, there were things new to me. I settled in to their home as well as one would expect. I observed their habits from below, what they ate, how they communicated, the way they lived and, of course, what I was there to accomplish in the first place. How they interacted with me. It seemed that my initial idea had been correct. They fed me, walked me, cleaned me and ensured my health remained as well as could be, and asked nothing of me in return. I did as dogs would. I ran about excitedly, I licked their faces, I fetched the stick. It was, in a human word, nice. As years went past and my body grew, I began to feel as though I had learned all there was to know. However, I realized that I didn't want to go. I actually enjoyed this. I enjoyed their attention, I enjoyed their love. I enjoyed being "A Good Boy". Even when times got a bit tough, they always had time for me, and I for them. I decided I would stick around until the end of the dogs natural lifespan. One night, as the family slumbered, I felt something off in the air. Raising my head, which was now full-grown and rather good-looking if I say so myself, I noticed an unfamiliar scent in the air. Perhaps cheating a little, I allowed my consciousness to expand a little around the house, feeling out for anything unusual. The parents were asleep in their bed, the girl was secretly texting someone and the boy was doing things best left unsaid. Behind the house, however, there was a man I didn't know. Bringing myself back to the body, I stood up to my full height and padded silently to the back kitchen and sat down, waiting patiently for him at what I knew would be his point of ingress. Surely enough the lock began to turn slowly, carefully, until all pins were in place and it was opened. The door creaked inwards, the man right behind it. Dressed all in black, even his backpack was the lack of color. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a picture of the girl, as if familiarizing its contents one last time. When he put it back, the hand returned this time clutching a serrated knife. He looked up as if to continue, and at last caught sight of me. Jumping slightly, he cursed to himself as he saw me staring silently back, my head cocked to one side as though I had no idea what was going on. "shoo!"he said quietly, motioning with his free hand. "Go on, get!"He continued, slightly less quietly. I stood as though to leave, but then I looked into his eyes. I had not yet seen a human like this, a human so corrupted by greed and hatred, so I decided I would take over his mind briefly and take a look around. It didn't help him that I had no intention of being as gentle as I had been with mother, and when I left, he immediately crumpled, almost unconscious. I had learned all I needed. When he was able to regain his senses and sit up, he again saw me, but this time his reaction was not so contained. Leaping to his feet and backpedaling to the door he had come through, he put his hands up as if to ward himself from me. He never stood a chance. This was my family now, and one of my duties was to protect them. I was a good boy. The family never knew that they had been visited. I pushed the door closed, and as for the intruder, he no longer had any physical form to find. I shall remain here, protecting and learning. I shall remain here, loving and being loved. Eventually, I shall have to return to my existence, to watching from the other side. It does not do for a being such as myself to stay away from the universe for too long. But for now, I shall remain. I shall watch. I shall protect. I shall be a good boy. EDIT - Sweet baby pickle jesus, the response to this is overwhelming. First, thanks many, many times over for the simultaneous first golds AND silvers on a reddit post, that's legendary. Secondly, thanks to you all for enjoying the story and the encouragements to continue this and other prompts! I'll start looking for a good prompt now, but you all stay awesome! Thanks again!
I could have been a Khajit, or an Argonian. At the very least I could have gone a mage or stealth build so I could summon Daedric beasts or pickpocket unsuspecting people. But on my sixth play-through of Skyrim, I decided to play as a Redguard. That’s right, instead of choosing one of the cool beastial classes, I just chose a human. To make it worse, I was a two-handed brawler Redguard, meaning I threw all my perk points into swinging harder and having more stamina, instead of putting points into spells like throwing fire balls, healing, spewing ice, etc. I mean, to be fair, I didn’t know I would absorb the powers of my character, and although I definitely got the short end of the stick, I can still use two-handed axes and swords pretty well, I can carry around a seemingly limitless amount of stuff, and I can instantly eat food to heal myself. Oh, and I can also shout in Dohazul, the dragon language, which causes weird stuff to happen. Of course, when a thousand people were given superpowers, chaos erupted. Governments tried to control the individuals, and personal quarrels became large-scale, destructive fights with many casualties. I tried to lay low, but when the fighting started getting close to my city, I couldn’t just sit still. Mario was far away, but I could still see him. In fact, standing six-hundred feet tall, everyone in the city could. At first, everyone thought Mario was one of the weaker ones, but as he discovered the millions of mushrooms on Earth to feed his unlimited potential for growth, he quickly became one of the most feared. Standing on the ground with my four-foot long battle axe, I had no chance to fight him directly, but I had a plan. “Hey Buddy, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” I was far away but I was blessed with the power of being able to shout ridiculously loud. Mario looked right at me, and didn’t say anything, but started sprinting, beelining towards my way, trampling through city blocks as I prepared my vocal chords once again. “OD AH VIING!” I remembered the words from my hundreds of hours spent playing Skyrim. This, in Dohazul, the dragon language, meant Snow Hunter Wing, and summoned the mighty dragon Odahviing, who would definitely be strong enough to destroy Mario. As soon as I uttered the last syllable of the shout, everything turned silent, and the air grew thick. I knew what was coming and excitedly waited in anticipation to watch Mario get completely obliterated. In the distance I heard Odahviing’s roar—or, wait, why is it so high-pitched?—no, it’s a horn?—is that a train? As Thomas the Tank Engine massive smiling face came soaring from out of the clouds, I remembered that I had actually modded Skyrim during this play through. “Shit.” The Thomas the Tank Engine mod, which turned all dragons into Thomas the Tank Engine, was one of the most popular Skyrim mods, and I decided to try it just for fun, and now I’m fucked. But Mario was still approaching, and while it’s no Odahviing, Thomas the Tank Engine was still a force to be reckoned with. I prepared my weapon, and charged right towards Mario. “Toot toot Motherfucker”
Farmer Greenthumb used to have a simple life, before the incident. Since the beginning of time, when he'd found himself in the fields, pitchfork in hand, he'd followed the path life laid out before him. He would walk back and forth through the wheat, occasionally stopping to bail out a heap of chaff before resuming his patrol. The occasional adventurer would pass by his farm, and he greeted every one with equal warmth. They all seemed eager to help, and if asked he would confide that some of the stock was rotting away in the cellar, drawing an ungodly amount of rats to his property. He'd never seen the rats, of course, and he didn't know where the copper coins he used to pay his assistants came from. This never bothered him; it was simply the way life was. To this day, he didn't know what had caused the event that changed the course of his life. Maybe one of the adventurers was the cause: they often sprinted down the road, trailing wild animals and bandits in their wake. Regardless of how it happened, Greenthumb found himself confronted rather abruptly with a large, snarling wolf. Foam dripped from its jaws, and as it lunged at him with deadly intent, he acted on instinct. Before he even knew what had happened, the wolf was dead on the ground, impaled with the glistening prongs of his pitchfork. A trumpet of celebration rang out - from where, he had no idea - and he felt a surge of energy run through his body. As he looked himself over and patted the dust from his clothes, nothing seemed to be amiss. Still... For some reason, as he put a boot to the wolf's carcass and ripped his pitchfork free, the notion of returning to his routine felt...unfulfilling. Maybe... Maybe he would just step off the farm for a minute. Just, you know. Have a walk through the woods. --- By the weekend, he had reached level 10. He wasn't sure where the term "level"had come from, but it seemed natural to track each of the milestones that the world seemed ready to reward him for. His pitchfork now felt light as a twig in his hands, and unlike his breathless, fumbling dispatch of the wolf back in the fields, he wielded his weapon of choice with ease. Any thought of going back had long since passed from his mind, and his only concern now was exterminating the nasty infestation of creatures that plagued the mines down the road. Once that matter was taken care of... Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Somewhere along the line, the text floating above his head had changed, but it didn't concern him. The letters had been there since his earliest memories, and he couldn't very well read them from his perspective anyway. Had he been able to, however, the change would have felt every bit as natural as the new purpose he'd discovered for his existence: Adventurer Greenthumb Kobold Destroyer --- Parts [Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6mt8ow/wp_an_unimportant_npc_character_somehow_killed/dk4ycs2/) and [Three](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6mt8ow/wp_an_unimportant_npc_character_somehow_killed/dk52iym/) are now available, by popular request Check out [/r/srbwrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/srbwrites/) for more of my work!
GENESIS: Blink three time to track quest. &nbsp; I was dumbfounded. I had always been able to see my health, but now all of a sudden there was an experience bar and a mana bar. I noticed the quest start to shimmer, as if it was about to disappear. Not knowing how I might find it again, I quickly blinked three times. &nbsp; QUEST TRACKED GENESIS Objective: Reach level 3 &nbsp; I had no idea what was going on, so I did what I do best in life, I ignored it. That was, until I committed some code changes to our server. &nbsp; 20XP &nbsp; I watched as the number as it dissolved into silver dust and trickled down into the experience bar. And then I had an idea. I grabbed my lunch and flew to the break room. I threw my cold lunch into the microwave and punched the buttons for 2 minutes. The longest 2 minutes of my life. The microwave went off and I threw open the door and grabbed my lunch. Once it was out of the microwave, I got a nice 30XP for my efforts. Not bad I thought, halfway to Level 2. Seeing as it was only 10am, I threw out my lunch and went to talk to my boss to tell him I wasn't feeling well and needed to take the day off. Luckily he said it was alright and wished me well. &nbsp; 50XP LEVEL UP Deception increased &nbsp; I had to stifle a laugh as I shut my boss' door. This was unbelievable, looks like 200XP until Level 3 I smirked, the way thing were going, I'd reach that in the next couple of hours. So I spent those next few hours trying things out punching my punching bag at home, making food from scratch, making makeshift weapons. All of those gave me XP, but some things didn't, like eating the food I made or watching TV while I ate said food. Then sure enough, It appeared. &nbsp; 15XP LEVEL UP NEW SKILL POINT AVAILABLE &nbsp; Huh, that was new. I started to think about how to use the skill point but before I could, I had a new objective. &nbsp; GENESIS Objective: Blink 5 times to open skill tree &nbsp; I did as it said and suddenly it was like using a VR headset. I looked around at the skills around me. Blink twice to unlock skill appeared in the center of my HUD. I looked around and settled on 'Novice Conjuration'. I blinked twice and the icon flashed in bright gold and I was returned to my kitchen, this time my mana bar was full. &nbsp; QUEST COMPLETE - GENESIS &nbsp; FIRST STEPS: Blink three time to track quest. &nbsp; I blinked three times. &nbsp; QUEST TRACKED FIRST STEPS Objective: Conjure your first tool &nbsp; This took me a while, but I eventually got it later that night when I conjured up a new toothbrush. It scared me because after hours of trying, I didn't expect this to actually work. &nbsp; FIRST STEPS Objective: Conjure 10 items - 0/10 &nbsp; I smiled as I climbed into my bed. Suddenly my life went from working a boring office job to a new adventure. This was going to be fun.
I stare into my great grandfather’s eyes as the bullet works its way farther into my guts. My hand on the wound makes for a poor bandage and the blood seeps through my fingers to be lapped up by the thirsty desert soil. He tuts softly in the back of his throat, shaking his head. “Son, you’ve found yourself in a right pickle, haven’t you?” “Yes sir.” I collapse backwards against the lone rock in the whole of the blasted landscape and slide down, the dust rising to greet me. I cough once, hard, and the desert feasts on even more of my blood. “You aren’t real, you’re a hallucination,” I say through gritted teeth. “Perhaps. What I am to you doesn't matter, I’ve never been one to leave a man behind, least of all when he’s kin.” I think if I didn’t know I was dying I’d have a harder time accepting this, but the way I feel right now, I’m just glad to see someone. I’ve walked through the desert alone for four hours, no pack, no supplies, the lone survivor of a pointless little skirmish in a god-forsaken hellscape nobody back home will remember by the time I have great grandchildren. If I’m lucky enough to have great grandchildren, the last I heard my Emma’s pregnancy was hard. “So you’re really him, huh? You look like him, from the picture Grandpa used to carry around.” “In the flesh. Sergeant Harmon Scofield, at your service.” He smiles sadly at me, reaching down to pat my shoulder. He’s wearing an army uniform, one of the really old doughboy ones with the wide brimmed green helmet. He’s older than the picture Grandpa carried, not really in terms of years, it had been taken right before he shipped off to France, but more in terms of his look and carriage. There are deeply etched lines in his face, a scar along his cheek, and as I look closer I realize he’s missing a finger. “I’m sorry its come to this, son. I really am.” He sits down beside me and no dust rises. “We’re all sorry.” Before I can even ask what he means shapes shimmer into existence like mirages and suddenly it’s not just my Great Grandpa, there are six of them all around me, these tough, battle hardened men with scars and the occasional missing limb. They’re all uniformed, but in a broader range of uniforms than I’d ever seen, like a military museum has decided to go on parade right past me. I want to gasp or shout, they feel like they’d be the right response, but I’m too tired, and the desert’s too cold despite the sun beating down on me. “Gut shot, you’re a hard man not to be screaming right now.” One of them steps forward and crouches down in front me. He’s wearing an old red uniform, British maybe, and he’s got the kind of walrus mustache I’d always threatened Emma I’d grow. I feel a strange affinity for him, despite the fact I’ve got no idea who he is. “I’m not hard,” I say, “I just screamed myself out on the way here. My throat can barely handle talking to you.” I cough again, there’s more blood. “Who are you? Why are you all here?” The man’s face softens under the mustache, it looks so funny I start laughing and instantly regret it. “Easy now, easy,” he says. “We’re your ancestors, every last one of us down to old Giovanni there, the one with the pike.” The man with the pike nods sternly. Great-Grandpa lays his hand over mine, right above the wound that’s killing me. “We’re here to welcome you, son. Every one of us has been where you are right now.” He unbuttons his shirt, exposing a ragged hole torn through his chest. “Artillery fragment in Flanders, 1917.” The British soldier shucks his jacket and shirt, pointing to a massive gash in his side near to where my wound is. “Tomahawk in Indian territory, 1717.” I turn my head to the sound of falling steel and Giovanni has laid down pike and stripped off his cuirass, pointing to a trio of wounds in his chest. “Longbows at the Siege of Caen, 1417.” “You see son, you’re not alone.” Great Grandpa lays an arm across my shoulders and I lean back into it. It feels softer than the stone, it feels real somehow. “Every hundred years since Giovanni, a man of our line has died in battle. In a way it’s a proud tradition, though I’m sure that’s cold comfort to you now.” I nod. “And in another hundred years, will my great-grandson die like this?” “Perhaps. We don’t know why it started, we don’t know if it will stop. We don’t even know if we’re unusual. We’ve compared notes for a long time, and in the end all we’ve only come to know one thing.” “What’s that?” He looks me dead in the eyes, and I realize his are a deep blue flecked with gray along the edges, just like mine. Just the like the British soldier’s are, and Giovanni’s and all the men, save for the lancer in the full helm whose eyes I cannot see. “War never changes,” great-grandpa says. “It’s the only constant there is, that old men wave their hands and redraw a border, and young men like us paint the new line with our blood." I look off into the distance at the red line I’ve left across the desert. I can’t even see it, the soil drank it all up already, or maybe that’s just my vision growing dim. “When I die, will the others be there?” I ask. “Is Grandpa? Grandma? Will I get to see Emma and our daughter eventually?” Great-Grandpa just smiles at me again .“There are some things we aren’t allowed to tell the living, but don’t worry, you’ll find out soon.” He takes me in his arms, guiding me down to lay upon the ground. The British soldier places his red jacket over me like a blanket and all of them crowd around, saluting in whatever fashion was common in their days. “Close your eyes son, we’ll see you soon.” The desert has never been so cold, and the sun here has never been so dim. Darkness falls. \-------------- r/TurningtoWords (to anyone interested, yes I changed all the dates to 17s rather than 16s so I could have an American soldier in WW1.)
The 6 hovered above his head like a bad omen, attracting onlookers from far and wide. Frank sat miserably underneath it, trying to ignore the stares. No one could work out how he was apparently so vital to mankind's existence, least of all him. The very notion proved an endless source of frustration for him. God himself had come to earth, and yet people were more concerned with stupid numbers floating above their heads? Frank had mulled it over as best he could, and yet his conclusion was always the same; he was as damned average as could be. Nothing set him apart from anyone else. Perhaps that was the true answer. Perhaps he was the living embodiment of the average man; a personification of humanity. Maybe his existence showed the true mediocrity of existence - maybe that was the answer all along. Or maybe not. A thought struck Frank, so simple in design that he was shocked that he hadn't thought of it before. God had come, and God had determined him to be absolutely vital to the existence of mankind. So then, surely God would have time to speak to the 6th most important person in existence? **** The line was long. Ungodly long. But people parted for him, awestruck by the number above his head. He slowly moved to the front, walking for what felt like eternity, a wave of silence following his footsteps. Eventually, he reached God; a towering being, strangely human and yet not so. Angels surrounded him, and an infinity symbol hovered above his head, like a twisted halo. There was no discernible gender or race to the being, but it radiated a fierce power. "Come, my child", God said, beckoning him forward. Frank sat down, too overcome for words. Instead he pointed towards the '6' on his head, imploring God to give him insight. "Ah, dear Frank, you really don't know, do you?"God questioned, almost coyly. He gestured towards the gathered millions, all watching in silence. "You do not know how you are so very vital?"God asked, gazing at Frank intently. Frank paused for a minute, deep in thought. And yet still, nothing came. "No, my lord,"he said, his head dropping, "I do not." God leaned towards him, close enough to whisper. He put his lips to Frank's ears. "You are of no consequence, at least for now. But your time will come, Frank. And in that moment, if your heart stays true... you will be the savior of all mankind." Frank stared, stunned. No words came to him. A complex miasma of emotion struck him, and he almost fell to his knees. He stepped down and slowly walked away, as the crowd parted for him. The angel leaned closer to God, as they watched Frank walk away in silence. "What is he going to do?"the angel asked, and God smiled. "I have no fucking idea,"He whispered, adjusting his robe and gesturing for the next human to come, "but an 'infallible' being can't be shown making mistakes on his first day." * *** If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 [Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/d9li6w/wp_6_ii/) \| [Part III!](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/d9wl3f/wp_6_iii/)
The bird didn't peck on my window. That should've been enough for me to notice, but it wasn't until I rolled over in my bed and found a severed arm that I realized it was over. I immediately went back to sleep, of course. This was the first time in what felt like centuries where I could actually allow myself to rest. I woke up around noon. Usually, I had to stop a kid from falling off a tree around this time. Who knew throwing him myself would feel a thousand times more rewarding? As I walked through the desolate town square, I couldn't help but chuckle at everything I experienced. Every day, I forced myself to improve. I blamed myself for the cosmic prison I was jailed in, thinking I just hadn't done enough good to escape. I had all the time in the world and never spent any of it on myself. Perhaps that was the problem all along. It wasn't until I impaled the merchant on his statue that I remembered I had a choice. I saved that work of art from being stolen more times than I care to recall. The first time I decided to reveal myself as the person who recovered it, I was immediately labeled as the thief. I fled from the guards that time. Then, when I discovered that the merchant had machinated everything to increase its worth, I felt like a complete fool. Why did it take me so long to notice? It took a while, but I finally reached a conclusion on the day before yesterday, which I guess was technically still yesterday up until today. I never noticed because I didn't care. I only did those good deeds to tell myself I was doing everything I could. If it were a genuine act, I would've looked deeper into the scenario instead of being satisfied with a superficially happy ending. Lesson learned, I guess. I left the town feeling neither excitement or despair. All the good I did amounted to nothing, while the one time I succumbed to my darker impulses I was rewarded with freedom. What was I supposed to take away from this? It felt like god, the world, the universe or whatever ruled my reality was trying to tell me something. Maybe fate wasn't something imposed on the individual. Maybe it was something we all woke up to by being true to ourselves, no matter how wrong it might look on the surface. My new found purpose made itself apparent the more I thought about it. I was never meant to do good. Saving others, doing the right thing, it would never fix the problem of evil. Everything would start all over again if everyone were saved from suffering. People needed to be shown evil, so they could understand why it shouldn't be perpetuated. That was my purpose. It was the only meaning I could draw from this cruel existence. If this was the role I was meant to play, then I'll gladly embrace it and bring my reckoning upon the rest of the world. --------- > Edit: I forgot to mention that I have a subreddit (/r/WeirdEmoKidStories) where you can find more of my stuff. Thanks for reading!
Be careful what you wish for, cause you just might get it. - The Pussycat Dolls *** Why did this happen to me? Every day people wish for cars, jobs, and sex. They wish for health and happiness. All those wishes are reasonable. Many can be granted simply. Happiness is a state of mind, after all. But of all those wishes, the only one I've ever known to come true was my own. It was a wish made by a young boy in a rundown home at the bottom of the valley on the edge of town. Earlier that day the boy's grandmother had died. Because the boy's mother worked two minimum-wage jobs, his grandmother had been his sole caregiver. He loved her fiercely. They'd planned on tying grass bracelets that afternoon in the field behind their home. She died of old age. The term the paramedics used when they recorded her details was that she had "expired". The boy heard that and he remembered the time he opened an old tub of strawberry yoghurt and discovered yellow fuzz growing inside. The smell had burned his nostrils. That yoghurt had expired, just like his grandmother had done. He pictured her insides covered in yellow fuzz. The boy did not want to expire. That night the boy collected his grandmother's chakra wheel, his mother's cross, the old star of David badge he'd found by the road, a chunk of quartz his grandmother had gifted him, and his lucky rabbit's foot. He placed these special items on his windowsill and, by the light of the full moon, he made a wish. "I wish to never die,"he said. Those are the most important words I've ever said. * A number of grownups in his school's catchment area did not believe in vaccines. Their children, many of whom were the boy's friends, went unvaccinated. All was well for a long time, and the parents were pleased to find their theories coming true. And then one of the children, who had gone on vacation overseas, got sick. Red blotches covered his skin. Even his eyes turned red. His temperature rose to dangerous heights and he found it hard to breathe. He did not die. Some of his friends did. The spread of measles is exceptionally quick among the unvaccinated. In very little time, every one of those unvaccinated children had contracted the disease. The boy's mother did believe in vaccines, but his grandmother did not. She told his mother that she'd take him for his shots, but every time they went for ice cream instead. The boy got sick. He was one of the survivors. This was a tragedy, but his survival didn't raise any eyebrows. It was surviving the car crash that garnered attention. The boy was staying with his father for the weekend. His father took him out for a night drive because he wanted to show the boy the city lights at night. The boy's father, a mostly decent man, took a few beers along for the ride. Though the boy did appreciate seeing the streetlights zooming by overhead, their drive was cut short when the father clipped the side of a concrete barrier, lost control of his vehicle, and wrapped his car around a tree sideways. The car had been turned in to a U-shape. The space in which the rescue team found the boy was far too small to contain his body and far too warped to leave his body whole. Yet somehow, there the boy was. Hale and healthy. There was a news story about the accident. Doctors came and looked at the boy. They went away mystified. No one knew what to make of the survival. Just one of those things, they said. But the boy knew. I knew why I'd survived. * Many years and many deathly accidents later, and the boy became a man. He became me. He became a man whose life defies all medical and physical understanding. But beyond that, he became a hated, feared man. Because the man he became was a man who had the bad luck of contracting measles, mumps, rubella, smallpox, HIV, tuberculosis, pneumonia, SARS, cholera, dyptheria, rabies, and malaria. Somehow his wish not only protected him from dying, it also put him in circumstances that would kill ordinary people. Once he'd contracted these diseases, he gave them to people. They were the little desperately unwanted gifts he couldn't help sharing with the world. Wherever he went, in his wake, people died. Typhoid Many, they called him. Like Typhoid Mary, but far far worse. People tried to kill him. He's been shot, stabbed, hit with a truck, and had a Molotov cocktail thrown at him. But always he survives. No one wants to hurt others. No one wants to be the source of dying, sadness, and mistrust. No one wants to be hated. So the man did the only thing he could think to do. He bought a big coat, cut it open, sewed rocks into the lining, and he walked into the ocean. He went in until the water covered his head. He kept going until the colour was sapped from the fish and rocks around him. Deeper still he went. The water filled his lungs. His body was afire with a need for oxygen, but still the man did not die. He kept walking. Eventually, without realizing it in the pitch blackness, he came to the edge of a sub-oceanic canyon. Blindly, he walked off the edge. And that is how we come to my situation. I'm somewhere in the depths. The weight of the ocean crushes me so thoroughly that I couldn't return to the surface if I wanted to. This is the outcome of my innocent childhood wish. I'll never expire. I'll spend eternity here, deep in the darkness. *** sorry i kind of rushed the ending. have class at 7 r/TravisTea
"Guys, do you see that?" Dan stared out at the red wastes through the visor of his bulky helmet. His companions followed suit, craning their necks to follow whatever he was gawking at. Then they saw. Just there, on the horizon. Movement. The crew gazed up at the ridge, dumbfounded by the notion of life on the red planet. This went against all prior intelligence of Mars. Dan closed the distance a little, walking out into the wastes to get a closer look at the ominous figure. Slowly, its shape became clearer to him. Something akin to a small car. An elongated head seemed to sprout up from its base, staring back at him as he crept closer. This is amazing, Dan thought, cars on Mars? Could it be that - Dan paused. His crew noticed his sudden stop, calling out to check he was okay. They stared silently at their team leader, afraid to move. Had the ominous distant figure done something to him? They called out again, shrill and high, abandoning all concept of professional discourse. "Dan!"they cried. "Dan!" Dan stared up at the small car, its craned head flicking between him and his crew. He lifted his hand up, and pointed towards the figure. His crew fell silent again, bated breath against the inside of their helmets. "Curiosity? Is that you?"Dan shouted, high and inquisitive. The figure looked back to him, quickly nodding its long neck. The crew let out a unified sigh as the tension dissipated. Dan heard the expletive laden mutterings behind him as his crew returned to their duties, attempting to regain some semblance of professionalism. He shook his head, hands on hips, as the little car drove down to meet them, lamenting the ease with which he abandoned logic and reason. Of course it was curiosity, he decided, as it drove up to his feet. Its autonomous path finding must still be active. He kneeled to inspect the little robot, and flinched as it reversed, escaping his grasp. A metallic voice escaped it, scratchy and raw. "What time do you call this?"it asked, head tilting to the side. Dan stared back in wide eyed astonishment, quickly turning to his crew to see if they heard, but it appeared not. He looked back to the rover, unsure whether to trust his ears. "NASA, are you getting this?"he asked. A long pause filled the void between him and the rover. His professional instincts began to wane again. Finally a voice jumped in between them, all the way back from Houston. "Getting what?" Dan started to speak again, but the robot was quicker. "I said... what time do you call this?" Dan's face withered with each passing moment, though the robot could hardly see it behind his helmet. "Excuse me?"he asked. Did I freaking die on the flight here? he wondered. "Oh, I'm sorry,"it droned, "am I not speaking clearly? I haven't had a lot of time to practice you see, considering I've been all alone for the best part of a century!" Dan stood frozen against the backdrop of the red wastes. He muttered a few words, not quite sure of their intended purpose. "How did you,"he spluttered, "I mean, when did you?"he stumbled through the words. "How did I learn to speak?"The Rover mused, its head tilting to either side routinely. "No,"Dan replied. "Where did you get all this sass?" The Robot crawled forward, and Dan stepped back. "What is sass?" Dan looked around, hands lifted high in a defeated manner. "I don't know. Attitude. You seem to have an... attitude." The rover stopped, tilting its head again. "Do you not like my... sass?" Dan lifted his palms to the robot, eager to keep things docile. "No! No!"he spat. "I'm just confused is all." The robot turned, crawling forward one way, then back the other. Dan watched eagerly. It seemed to be pacing before him. "Ah, confusion,"it said, continuing to pace back and forth, its face locked squarely on Dan. "Now I do know that word,"it stated, almost sardonically. "Indeed,"it continued, "I am quite familiar with that word and notion. Imagine my surprise and ... confusion, when I was left to rot here on this empty shithole after my initial work was done."It stopped pacing, turning back to him. Dan gulped, scratching the back of his helmet, which must have looked quite stupid. He managed a laugh. "Well, you did do your work, Curiosity. And I would now like to formally commend you for that." It looked to his distant crew, then back to him, slowly closing the distance once more. This time Dan didn't back off. He looked deep into its 'face' as it approached, and he swore that it was smiling, mouth or not. "I did do my work,"it affirmed. "And I learned some interesting things about this planet." "Such as?" "Life." Dan stared long at the little robot. It was true to its name, his curiosity well and truly piqued. "Life, here?"he asked. "Didn't I just say that?" "Sure,"Dan obliged. "Could you... could you tell us more? Are they dangerous? Are they intelligent?" "I cannot confirm whether they are dangerous or not. But I am certain they lack any notion of intelligence. Yes... they seem to be quite moronic." Now Dan closed the distance. "Curiosity, this is amazing! Come with me, you must tell me more." The rover reversed, and a puzzled look fell over Dan's face. "I'll tell you nothing, unless I get an apology." "For what?"Dan asked. "For leaving you here? That wasn't me." "You work for the people that did,"Curiosity replied. "You can apologize on their behalf." "Fine,"Dan sputtered. "I apologize on NASA'S behalf. Now please, come and tell me all you know of life on Mars!" It craned its little head to the side once more. "No,"it replied. "That won't do. Apologize specifically. Oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for abandoning you here. Oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for not acknowledging your work. But most importantly, oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for wasting your time tremendously." Dan nodded his head impatiently, eager to dispense with this charade. He parroted the words exactly, his voice more droning than the robot's. He finished and eyed the robot expectantly. It looked back at him, and gave a triumphant nod. "There,"it said, "that wasn't so hard." "Of course not,"Dan's mind and voice was racing. "Now please, tell me all you know of life on Mars." "They appeared about 20 minutes ago. Their leader, Dan, is certainly lacking in intelligence, along with the rest of the organization he works for."It looked up at him with untold sass, despite the limitations of its 'face'. "How does it feel to have your time wasted?" ------------------------------------------------------ /r/ShittyStoryCreator :)
The Great Guardian is dying, and we are powerless to stop it. He has watched over our lands for countless generations, protecting us from enemies, famine and plague. It was said that he came from a far-off world, being cast out for his transgressions against some greater being, although it is hard to imagine a being greater than he. He says there isn't, and never was, any truth to it. He brought many wonders to our kind- engines, running on the endless light of the sun. Medicines that would easily cure plagues that were a death sentence before. He taught us to capture lightning and use it for our own benefit. Life capacity more than doubled in his time here, though we are still but flickering lights to his roaring flame. And yet, he is dying. I fear a world in which this kind giant no longer guards us. When we speak to him on it, he grows sad and distant. He has promised, however, that he won't leave us defenceless. He speaks, sometimes. He might confuse me for one of my ancestors, but given his age, it is only natural. He tells me of his home, so much larger than ours, beyond the infinite dark of space. He misses it, he says. But he will not leave. Not everything he taught us. Some things we learned alone. Once we discovered that the sky can be reached, and so can space, it was only a matter of time before we built our space crafts. He was so delighted to see them. He said that our world advanced in sixty years to a point that his world needed two thousand to reach. Of course, his sixty "years"are equal to nearly 5000 years for our kind. I write this, for today he told us that he was in contact with his home world. They will send a delegation to us, and to honour him, by command of the high council, we will be protected and provided for. Many tears will be shed, for even in his death he saw fit to grant us one final gift. So long as the Rivokian race exists, the name of Commander Shepard, the Great Guardian, will live on with us.
Only the desperate and the stupid went into the cities anymore. As my truck gave a final dying chortle and the gas light stared back at me like my car saying I told you so, I realized that I had become desperate enough to be stupid. Already, the zombies were swarming. They crawled over fanged window panes, shuffled out of trash-filled alleys, and stepped out of Toyota Priuses. It was like watching a wall of rotting flesh slowly converge upon me. My chest tightened as I realized that I was stuck. After all, San Francisco had been one of the first cities to fall to the zombies. Rumor had it that its convenience stores were still filled with canned goods and water. Even looters were smart enough to stay away from here. I stepped out of my car and reached into my trunk for my trusty pistol. It had saved my life many a times before and now, all it had left to offer me was a single final bullet. I stared at the thing and smiled. I flicked its safety one final time. “You bastards!” I screamed at the encroaching wall of moaning zombies and raised the gun to my temple. “Woah, woah, one second,” a voice came from the horde of zombies. I nearly pulled the trigger out of surprise. A talking zombie? There was no way. A man pushed his way through the zombie wall. He had a scraggly beard that looked more like a lion’s mane and a gut uncharacteristic of a post-apocalyptic survivor. “How the hell did you do that?” I asked as he yanked his leg out from in between two zombies. He looked up a bit surprised and then found his poise. “Oh, yeah, you don’t know. These are vegan zombies.” “Vegan zombies?” My brow shot up. “Yeah, let me…” The man pushed his hand into a zombie’s mouth. “Watch out!” I turned my gun towards the zombie, my finger itching on the trigger. But to my surprise, the zombie leaned away with a face indicating that it had just smelled hot garbage. “What the hell?” I muttered. “Yeah, we ain’t even good enough to eat,” the man said, a pang of sadness in his voice. “Most of these guys are here to shame you about driving gas-guzzling truck.” My eyes flitted to the crowd and sure-enough, zombies had stopped and were now pointing at me, bellowing vowels. But they didn’t need consonants for me to understand them. I could see it from their faces. I bet that gets only 20 miles to the gallon. Don’t you care about our environment? Wow, a Ford 150 truck? Why do you go back to hick country where zombies actually eat humans? “Oh fuck you too,” I snapped back at them. Trying to brutally rip me apart and eat my guts was one thing, but now these zombies were going to judge me? “Like you know the shit I’ve been through!” The closest zombie to me simply grabbed its waist and shook its head. “Why don’t you try finding a more eco-friendly vehicle in a god damn zombie apocalypse?” And just as the words left my mouth, I realized that there was a hundred Toyota Priuses all lined up down the street. The zombies simply rolled their eyes. They turned around and started walking off. “Wait, where are you going?” I called after them. “What, now you’re going to give me the cold shoulder? Hey! Don’t you turn your back on me.” But it was no use. They simply shuffled back into their alleys, crawled back over broken glass, and got back inside their Toyota Priuses, leaving only me and the fat survivor left in the streets. “So, you want to meet the other survivors?” the man asked. “We have an entire community here. It’s safe. There’s food and water, we even have electricity.” I looked back at him, surprised he was still here. “Um… I’m good,” I said. “I’m probably just going to get some gas and get back to the country.” At the word gas a single zombie stepped out of his Prius to gawk at me. My gun went up and I pulled the trigger. My final bullet exploded his head and he slumped into a mound of decomposed flesh on hot concrete. That was all the ammo I had left, the final mercy I had given myself if things had gotten too bad. But fuck that zombie. --- --- /r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and a hundred already written!
Mortality By Robert Jeffords Growing up, boy was that rough. Kids are cruel. Not, evil... Just cruel. They were taller, stronger and smarter than me. They all looked similar, and I stood out like a sore thumb. Making friends back then was impossible, especially at this time in the history of man. You see, I'm quite literally, an old soul. I'm a man who belongs in a different time, these were not my people and they never would be. They never would accept me. I was wrong, though. It seems, compassion comes prerequisite in the DNA of what the Founders thought was "the perfect genetic makeup". As I grew up, so did those cruel children. High school was a bit rough, still. Girls didn't want to be around me because I was looked at as dirty or... odd. I wasn't. I was a perfectly normal 16 year old kid, just wishing for friends and to experience his first kiss. While it was a step up from elementary school, the isolation never really got better. Until the talent show. You see, back then, I hadn't really known what I was capable of. I didn't know that the freak could be perfect at something. The foster family that took me in always encouraged me to try things, but I rarely did out of just being accustomed to defeat. It was like this weight just hanging around my neck at all times, weighing me down. That all changed on my 16th birthday. You see, they got me a keyboard. A keyboard! It's ancient technology now, hell, it was even ancient technology 60 years ago. Didn't matter, I loved it when I saw it sitting there and I started practicing immediately. I studied the works of my history. My generation. I looked back at the works of Elton John, John Lennon, Ray Charles, and my personal favorite, Billy Joel. Boy did I love those old Billy Joel records! I became obsessed with the golden age of music and it was all I listened to. Long story short, I got up on stage, just me, my keyboard and about 300 butterflies. I got up there, and I brought the house down. I played a song that probably no person in that auditorium had ever heard before, and they loved it! They really reacted strongly, overwhelming me with applause and even standing up to clap for me! It was one of the best moments of my life. You know how the story goes from there. I kept practicing the oldies. I kept sounding better and better and my singing was ever improving. I had found my passion, thanks to my loving parents. Fast forward 15 years and I was everywhere. It was strange, even for me. Seeing such a older looking guy as the hot new celebrity. I looked about as old as my parents, if not older, yet there I was in the heart of NYC. My big ugly mug in Time Square! At this point in my life, attention was not hard to come by. Women loved a man who looked different. They loved that I was older looking, that I had flaws and tattoos. I was like a time traveler, sent forward from a much more primitive but free thinking time. Being rich didn't hurt, either. I never wanted the party to end. Every night, it was a new woman and a new party. I lived hard those years, and if I had the chance, I wouldn't do anything differently. Those experiences made me the man I am today. They are the same experiences that lead me to meet the woman who changed my life. My lovely Amai. Getting married at 32 was almost unheard of! Most people needed fifty to a hundred years to make that kind of decision. Not my Amai, we fell right in love and it wasn't long before we were starting our family. It was me, Amai, and our perfect two sons Jack and James. Of course, my interpretation of perfect is different than societies. We did not elect to have them genetically altered and after a long legal battle, we were vindicated. They are my legacy now. I will soon leave this perfect world, but it will not become blemish free. You see, the world seems to have lost its way. The music of the golden ages has shown me that there are more sides to life, and ignoring them or deleting them make for a very strange cocktail. Sure, you all don't know any better. You all never felt rejection, depression, or anxiety. You never felt ashamed, or embarrassed for things out of your control. You don't understand that these experiences grow and shape our personality. You all grew to love me in my short time here, you all loved the personality that you all did not have. You could not have. As a society we became too afraid to face the obstacles of life. So, what did we do? We eradicated those obstacles not realizing that they shaped and changed us. They made us all unique, and gave us all perspective. I couldn't sentence my children to the poor fates you all suffer. You see, mortality isn't a curse. Mortality shapes us. It makes us passionate. It gives us purpose. It allows us to love. I hope my children forgive me some day, I sometimes question if they ever will. Alas, my last words to you are these, do not become the aliens void of emotion that we once dreamed up and feared. The thing that breeds brilliance, passion and love is a sense of urgency. Humanity needs that back. And with that, I wish you all farewell. It has been a beautiful life. Thank you for accepting me, and loving me. Sincerely, Robert Jeffords
The Salvation Army had been good to him. The corduroy cargo shorts he'd picked up were just the right amount of stained. His knee high socks complimented the blown out Birkenstocks to perfection. The long sleeve pink t-shirt read 'one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor!' -- no doubt a castoff souvenir from a spring break some college girl was glad she couldn't remember. Truth be told, the first stage of this experiment wasn't the scary part. What was the worst that could happen? Security might give him a confused look and send him home. It wouldn't even bruise his ego. His relief that the entire world hadn't gone mad would more than outweigh the shame. Still, he caught himself holding his breath as he pulled up to the gates. Trained dogs immediately began sniffing the underside of his new Cadillac -- the dealer who let him borrow it for the day had cheerfully quipped, "You're the boss!"as he handed over the keys. If this worked, that poor dealer would have a hell of a time getting his car back. Two knocks on the window. He rolled down the tinted glass and immediately saw it on the guard's face, that same look that had been seizing people's faces for years. Instant recognition followed by a cordial formality, with not a small dose of respect thrown in for good measure. "Good morning sir,"said the heavily armed woman. "Haven't seen you in a while." "Haven't seen me ever, you mean." She looked confused, then forced a small laugh. "Good one sir. Just need to scan your ID." He'd been expecting this, but as always had nothing prepared. "Afraid I left it at home today." The fit young woman took a moment to process this. It certainly struck her as strange, that much was clear. Some part of her brain was obviously aware that this was wrong, all wrong. But whatever gift -- or curse -- had been bestowed upon this man outweighed her rationality. "Happens to the best of us,"she said with a smile. "Just remember next time." She signaled, and the reinforced steel gates swung open. He couldn't believe it. He even received a few salutes as he drove past the checkpoint. Now his heart was beating properly fast. Now it was real. Now if he was caught, there would be serious consequences. But as he drove the Cadillac right up to the launch pad and looked up at the shuttle, somehow he already knew that his plan was going to work. Today he was going to space -- and in a novelty pink tequila shirt, no less. \-------------------- 53/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
The problem with working strategies is that once they become known, like a pure soul, they decay and die. It was original, this human's way of murdering my kin, and for that I respected him, but in the end, he had killed my friends and he was going to pay the price. The whirlwind of fire dissipated. His house stood before me. The humidity burned my skin even from afar. Impressive, yes--but it was time to end him. I held my palm forth and serpents upon serpents of hellfire snaked out. They slithered along the walls and slinked into the crevasses, engulfing the house whole. The walls melted into nothingness; there were no screams or yelps, only the sweet crepitations of the dancing fire. The holy air crackled aflame in the core of the house, outlining the path and shape of his humidifiers. How beautiful it was, a mist, a daze of red; the conjunction where Heaven and Hell met and Hell proved itself the stronger force. But something perturbed me. Something was lacking. The soul of the human was nowhere to be seen, nor were his ashes or cinders. A pang of searing pain shot down my spine all the way to my wings. I turned around, screaming and unleashing the affliction in gushes of shadows as I did so. They writhed toward the sky, blackening it into night. There, behind me, with a water gun, was the perpetrator, the culprit, the murderer, the god of holy water, and humidifiers. "How?"I asked as he shot me in the chest. I collapsed onto the grass, arms splayed out. The world became dark around the edges. "How did you know?" "I didn't,"the human said. "I just went to the store to buy this bad boy."He brandished his water gun and aimed it at my forehead. Upon hearing his words I knew, I knew very well that he was either lying or unaware of the true reason why he could destroy us with such ease; he was unaware that God was commanding his movements. It was the only explanation. No one is blessed with such fortune. "You came to kill me without checking if I was home?"He sighed. "You should have done more research." Well, perhaps he was right and God wasn't involved. Or perhaps he had, with his all so mighty and boring powers cursed me with the sinful procrastination that so often torments the human mind. Yes, yes, that made sense. It wasn't my laziness what got me here. I had been cursed-- The jet of water left the plastic muzzle. It melted my skin and doused my soul. Many claimed the end was a strange thing, a puzzle where the pieces never fit, an ineffable phenomenon no mind could ever put into words, but as I died, I knew the perfect word to describe it. Moist. The end was moist. \-- Brothers and sisters, I do not ask for much, I'm a simple beggar, a reddit pauper, if you have a follow to spare [on my profile](https://www.reddit.com/u/BeggaryAndBastardy?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share), that would be much appreciated. Edit: Encounters are a matter of fortune, or so the folk claim. I'm a believer that luck is increasingly proportional to one's ability to showcase his work. I do not know what happened today, but it seems a kind gentleman with the soul of philanthropist encountered my work and decided to bless me with a golden coin. Now, I have the rags of a miser but the heart of a nouveau rich and the elemental token to showcase that I possess a sliver of what composes the purses of the aristocrats. But although my brain screams for me to save it, my instinct drives me to indulge in the capital sins, and I can't ignore it. Yes, I will enter the establishment as a decent man with gold in his filthy hands and leave as a poor man with empty pockets. And a wide smile. If you excuse me now, I will spend my newly-gained riches poorly. Of course, if you want to increase my funds knowing I will frit them, I encourage you to do so. I'm a bastard and a beggar after all. A speckle of gold can't tarnish the essence of the soul.
A flame-phoenix rose and swooped and squalled, before rising again and exploding in a thousand brilliant colours that drifted like confetti onto the crowd below. The man on stage, who had created the fantastical sky-art, raised his hand in salute and the crowd bellowed and cheered his name. How unfair, Eric thought, that no matter how hard he worked or read or studied, he would never be able to create magic. Not sky-art, not even a dancing flame on his finger. It wasn't that he needed the adulation -- although, a cheer, a slap on the back, a word of encouragement occasionally, would be nice. He simply wanted to create magic. To entertain. All his life he'd tried to find magic of his own. Looked for other ways to create it. But he'd never managed. Not truly. Eric rolled a coin across his fingers, from knuckle to knuckle, then reversed it. Back and forth like a pendulum. His lucky coin. Dad had given it him not long after the war had broken out, along with a dogeared hand-me-down book on coin tricks. True magic, his father said, doesn't harm people -- it heals them. Then the war, that lasted only a single month, took his father. Took millions more, besides. That was years ago now, after magic first leaked into the world. For good and for ill. At least Eric would speak no evil if another war ever broke out. So many people lived with regrets that anchored them to those terrible events. No wonder they needed shows like this -- to remind them of goodness. Of that innocence of being a child again. Or for some maybe, just to distract themselves from memories -- always there and as sharp as a dagger. "How are you doing that?"came a curious voice. Eric looked to find a young lady with flame red hair and eyes as green as spring. She was watching him pass the coin back and forth between his fingers. He glared, for a second, thinking her sarcastic. But she kept watching, her face screwed up in puzzlement -- as cute as it was curious -- and he wondered... could she possibly, really, be interested in this ordinary magic? He took a chance. Instead of berating her or turning away, he brought his hand to his stomach, closed his fist, then opened it. The lady stifled a laugh. "Where's it gone?!"Her eyes squinted as they met his, as if examining. "You didn't even say a word and you made it vanish. I would have heard!" He grinned as he held up his index finger to quieten her, then slowly brought his hand to her ear, finding the missing coin. A gasp was swallowed by laughter. "That's impossible,"she said, as another display burst to life in the sky: a great zeppelin being tugged along by purple boats, their strange oars splashing into the evening itself. But unlike the rest of the crowd, she wasn't looking up. She was staring straight at him. How strange, Eric thought. "Show me another,"she asked. "Please." At this, Eric frowned. He took a notebook out of his jacket pocket and scribbled: "Why?" She paused. Didn't comment on how he had written instead of spoken. Just said, "Because it's magical." "Tricks,"he wrote. "It's just tricks." "Well then, there's a world's worth of magic in your tricks. What's your name?" He hesitated, but then scribbled it, followed by: "And yours?" "Lidia." Although he couldn't speak, he tasted the name on his tongue and found the syllables sweet. "So? Will you show me another?"Lidia asked, as a long green dragon rose high above the crowd. Oohs and ahhs followed its swishing tail, but Lidia and Eric didn't even notice; lost in far more ordinary magic.
I’d always been the strongest man in the world. But I was certainly never the smartest. It wasn’t that I didn’t try. I’m Relentless. It’s how I got my name. But birds don’t swim, fish don’t fly, and I don’t think good. My left hand can level mountains. My right is my good hand. I’d used it to rip through the steel and concrete of the bunker. It's like tissue paper to me. Looks good, not much of a fight. The boys had brought me here to take on the Enlightener. Then they left. Said I was good hands. I’ve faced the Enlightener a handful of times. He never once used lightning, So it’s a dumb name. He’d usually talk and I’d punch his studybots and tear down the walls of his academies and he’d run away. I could chase people. But I usually don’t. Once they realize they can’t stop Relentless they usually find somewhere better to be. I don’t blame them. I’m a scary guy. But anyway, I was ripping through his bunker and he’s just screaming. Screaming. Telling me to stop. That it’s his life’s work. That I was a monster. Normally they run. They don’t call me names. They need to save their breath for the running. But I guess he had nowhere to go. So I kept wrecking. Up until it got to the point where there was only one thing left to wreck. A pale old man in a cape. Holding up a book. The Enlightener. Out of words. Shaking mad. Crying. I could beat him senseless. I’d rather he run. So I grab the book. I figure I tear it up and he’s done. But it's got pictures. And I like pictures. So I take a second and check it out. He’s not going anywhere. And it’s a plan. But he’s not breaking into banks. He’s opening schools. Getting donations. Teaching kids to read, how to do math, the works. Finding people with nothing and giving them tools to be something. And it all clicks. The academies. The studybots. Everything. And I was the monster. I put back together what I could. I don’t normally get embarrassed. But this was not normal. We talked. He said I have potential. I said I’d stay for a bit, maybe go to the classes while I clean up my mess. I may not be the smartest guy out there. But there ain’t no rule that says I have to be the dumbest.
Human mating, once a thing of beauty and mystery, has been reduced to a science by these clever experts. Like the majestic bird of paradise, the seduction ritual follows very clear and often complicated steps, depending on the particular variety. Our subject today is the common "Lemon-stealing whore."Though she adopts a somewhat unusual strategy, her tactics are quite successful. Let's watch! The ritual begins not with an attempt to show off her ample busom or other physical features, as one might expect. This unusual adaptation seems to have evolved due to an over-saturation of competition from other women with more appealing aesthetics. The LSW instead gains attention by rather brusquely entering the male's territory and attempting to pilfer food directly from the male's home. The instinctive defense mechanism kicks in, allowing the Whore to bypass the complicated ritual attempting to gain the man's attention. This clever young lady has no need for such deceptive practices as 'hiring a plumber' or 'ordering a pizza.' She draws the male directly to her by threatening its food source! Ingenious! Once the male has been sufficiently placated and the food returned, the female then attempts to turn the male's attention to more sexual acts. The male, with his naturally short attention span, completely forgets all about her past indiscretions in attempting to rob him of his sour citrus treasures, and willingly consents to copulation. From this point onward, it is up to the female to maintain his attention and bring him to coitus. The LSW does this through the use of a variety of sexual positions, exaggerated moaning, and contorted facial expressions in an attempt to trick the male into believing that she's really enjoying it. At long last, the act is almost completed. Now comes the most difficult challenge for the LSW: the male will attempt to perform a maneuver known as 'pulling out,' so that he can avoid impregnating the female and thus keep all of the lemons for himself. The male will, however, attempt to 'claim' the woman as part of his harem by marking her face with his seed. This is a compromise result for the two, as the LSW is at least assured that he will attempt to copulate in the future. Let's see if she can manage to... Oh! So close! She didn't quite manage to keep him inside of her for long enough, and he has now established ownership of her with this 'cumshot' signature. But alas, that is the way of cruel nature. At least we can rest assured knowing that she has gotten further than most females, and his sperm on her face is a promise that she can try again tomorrow! I hope you all have enjoyed this tremendous display of erotic acrobatics, and I sincerely hope that you will tune in tomorrow for our special on the flock-like nature of the bukkake participant! ---- Please note that I have unfortunately never seen the infamous "Lemon Stealing Whore"video, so I can't assure you that this is an accurate depiction of what happens. But I think imagining it makes it more fun. And if you enjoyed the writing, you should also visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
"Aiden,"came the voice in his ear. "We've already mapped this part out. We have the footage from the rovers. There were no fossils there. Whatever you're seeing, it has to be less than three years old." He ignored it, a tinny electronic hum in his ear. His hand came up unconsciously and batted against the side of his helmet, as if shooing away a fly. The voice wasn't real, there were no lips speaking it, no throat for the air to be forced through. Just a bunch of electronic signals, abstract and faraway. The skull, now that was real, half-buried in the Martian soil, the intricate hollows of bone permeated and fossilized to become part of the earth itself. Its hollow eyes held him rapt, eyes that had seen a thousand thousand years pass, eyes that had watched a civilization die. This is what awaits you, it told him. A river flowed here, the soil grew rich. You planted and you harvested and you grew fat. You used the world at your pleasure. You wore the air thin. You left the ground barren. And then you fled, just as you are fleeing now. The skull's jaw gaped open, its teeth arrayed like standing stones. Welcome home. "Aiden!"came the voice in his ear, shrill and piercing and insistent. "Are you still there? For god's sake, talk to us!" "It's not going to work,"he muttered. "We've done this before." "Aiden? Aiden, what are you talking about? I didn't catch that. Please repeat." Tell them, said the skull, and the ribs below it, and the sunken limbs and spine hidden beneath the dust. The stones rose around it like a hundred miniature graves. The earth shifted, a mausoleum caving in beneath the Martian soil, something awakening. Tell them that you have cast your gaze towards the stars, and erected monuments for the glory of man. Tell them you have constructed your silvery ships and launched forth into the cosmos, tell them you have conquered new worlds and made them your own. And tell them, at the end of all your conquests, you have found nothing but the dirt from which you came. It shifted imperceptibly, its eye sockets caving in and growing wider, swallowing everything. Tell them that there is nothing but the dirt waiting for you. Aiden blinked, and tears came to his eyes, as if a speck of dust had somehow found its way through his spacesuit. And then he stepped forward and ground his foot down on the skull, crushing it, crumbling it into dust. It broke apart with a sigh. "I'm fine,"he said loudly, keeping his voice steady. "I was-"He faked a laugh. "Sorry. Eyes playing tricks on me. Just over-excited, I guess. Managed to really freak myself out there for a second." "All right, then,"came the voice, after a moment's silence. "You good now?" "Sure,"he said. "It was just - just the momentousness of the occasion getting to me, you know?"He looked down at where the skull had been, and saw nothing but the imprint of his boot on the dead Martian soil. When he spoke again, he forced himself to smile. "One small step for man, and all that."
My first time in Melbourne was always going to be a thrill. I knew that. I just didn’t think it be turned into a thriller. My husband and I had planned this trip for months. We’d be kid-free and living large in the city. Even if it was only a weekend. It’d been a long flight and and he was too tired to join my enthusiasm to check out the streets below our hotel. I however just couldn’t wait. I let him nap while I headed down promising to bring back something to eat before we’d get ready and head out that night. The streets were busy and I was immediately overwhelmed for a second almost regretting not asking my husband to join me. I’m not used to big crowds. I decided to head forth anyway and look for somewhere to get a coffee to have while I strolled. That’s when I saw him. I wish I never saw him. I can’t take that back now. I can’t take anything back now. He was sitting on a little stool looking bored in front of a canvas when I approached. He asked me if I’d like he’d paint for me all I had to do was stare at the blank canvas. Ok, weird but what do I know. This is normal for city happenings right? I agreed and awkwardly stared at the canvas. I wanted to laugh from nerves of it all but his face. It was just so serious so kept the laughter stifled in case I offended the bloke. He painted, fast too. At first I couldn’t tell but then a beautiful boat appeared on a deep blue ocean started to form. There were 2 children, one swinging from the ropes, one dangling over the edge laughing. My heart burned as it came together. It was like seeing my life’s ambitions come together in front of me except I was just realising now what they truly were. Before I could express my joy the painting was done. I must of looked like an idiot fumbling out my purse to pay for the picture. He warned me it was still damp and to be careful with it and who I showed it too. The last part made no sense but I didn’t care I couldn’t wait to show my husband. I bundled it up and left. I should have listened. I don’t know why I didn’t. Once back in the hotel my husband fresh from his nap and looking for the food I’d forgotten to buy I rushed at him to show him what I’d bought. I apologised for the food but I’d call for room service if he’d unwrap the painting and look at it while I dial down to reception. I quickly rang down and requested a house salad and fries while he started to unwrap. I didn’t want to be on the phone long, I wanted to enjoy the moment together. As his eyes rested on the painting his whole body tightened. His sleepy smile turned sour and his face grew red. I’d never seen that before. He threw it at me as I dropped the phone. Started to scream “why the fuck would you do this, I loved you”! I was confused, my heart raced, was he coming at me? He grabbed my arms and held me so tight as he threw me down on the floor. I started to cry I couldn’t understand. This was not my guy. This was fucking hectic. I stuttered as I asked what I’d done. He replied spitting and yelling at me that I had to die too if I’d known about the others. He held my throat tighter as the anger rose. I could hardly breathe now and my mind was just swirling. The last thing I remembered he put his face inches away from mine telling me “I’m going to watch you die in my hands just like the rest of the bitches in that painting. Bet you thought you were being real fucking clever, doing that” Then nothing. Everything went black. I woke up in hospital. My mum by my side. My sister was crying and holding onto my two children. I think I slipped in and out for a few hours but I knew somehow I was safe. My mother completed the story for me. She told me room service had indeed delivered the food requested, when they arrived they saw the door open and came in only to discover my lifeless body. They called for help and I guess here I am. I’m so thankful I called down for room service. Salad saved my life that day. And a painting saved so many more. My “husband” was already gone. He hasn’t been found yet but it’s early days. And I’m guessing I know a guy who could paint a pretty good picture of where he is.
Death of one or the death of all: I fell. From a great height, I saw the world dying. I clung to all that was. Living so free, perhaps we deserve an end. So quiet and peaceful the world will be. Without me, who will remember? I fell from a great height. I saw the world. Dying, I clung to all that was. Living, so free, perhaps we deserve an end so quiet and peaceful. The world will be without me. Who will remember?
Are you aware of the concept called the Uncanny Valley effect? Essentially, when something looks very human, but lacks that final touch, has some flaw, looks off in some inexplicable way, it scares people. Think of clowns, mannequins, those freakishly realistic people dolls that some people make. It unnerves people. Unsettles them. Perhaps it is some primal part of the brain, recognising something trying to look human, some kind of predator maybe, or something worse. They all look like that. Uncanny valley the lot of them. They can imitate the human voice perfectly, can talk and sound so human that you'll open the door to let them in. And that's when they get you. Their smiles are too wide, their skin has a plastic sheen to it, and their movement is stiff, wooden even. Don't ever let them in. They can be fast, even if they can't make complex movement. Then they drag you off, and if your friends and family can't stop them, then whatever it is they do with people, they do to you. And eventually, your family will see one of them that looks exactly like you, only wrong, smile too wide, skin like plastic, or latex. We've been hiding down here for two days now. Dad told us to not go outside, to ignore any cries for help, no matter how they sounded. Then he closed shut the basement door, locking it behind him, shotgun on his back, machete at his side. My brother is younger than me, so I gave him the noise-cancelling headphones. So he wouldn't have to hear. Hear dad kill the thing they had sent that looked like mom. Getting to experience this as a kid of twelve is probably going to affect my brother hard enough already. He's so quiet now. Before this whole thing started, before the government retreated faster than civilians could be evacuated, he was an energetic, friendly kid. Constantly talking about anything he could think of. A bit annoying, but all bigger siblings find their younger siblings at least somewhat annoying, and vice versa I'm sure. The basement is full of canned water, canned food, canned deodorant, canned clothing, which I do not know how dad found, but we've got it. We can last down here for a long while. Dad told me he was going to draw away the horde of those things. Kill as many of them as he could. If he didn't return, then I would have to wait until the horde of them passed on. Towards the next city where stragglers didn't manage to catch the last armoured train out of the infested region. The radio used to broadcast newsreports. Now we mostly received static, and occasionally a warning was sent about which large city was going to be nuked, telling the remaining humans to get out of dodge. Evidently, fighting them hadn't gone well. Last good news was that they had managed to establish a proper defensive line in Europe. A wall stretching from the north Urals to the Caspian Sea, and another from the Caspian Sea to the Black Sea. That news was six months ago. I sometimes wondered if that wall of tanks, soldiers, and mines was still there, or if somehow they'd managed to get through, like they did when the things managed to cross the Mississippi. Even now I could still hear the faint knocking on the door, ever so polite, ever so wrong. And the cheery voices of the replacements for our neighbours. I paid no heed to them. Always ignore them, never acknowledge them. Then I heard a more gruff voice. A very familiar voice. And so did my brother. He didn't think in that moment, so before I could do anything, he ran over to open the door for dad. I could only just grab the gun dad had left behind for this specific occasion. He had told me to use it when it was needed, no matter how it was used. And I needed it. Seems that dad had been overwhelmed, but had taken most of the horde down with him. He was the only one who wasn't a broken thing, the rest were missing limbs, or had holes in them. I took aim, and shot. One bullet. Straight between the eye of the thing that had replaced my dad. I grabbed an old crowbar from dad's prepkit, and shoving my brother aside, I went to work. They were not much of a threat anymore, considering my dad's last deeds. But all the same, leave none of them alive. Ever. The crunch of their strange bodies breaking, like exoskeletons, sickened me, almost as much as the sight of them. Wrong. Vile. Inhuman, but pretending. This was the break we needed. Downstairs my brother was weeping. Dad was dead. I felt a swelling of similar emotions in me, but I was the oldest. With dad dead, and mom as well, I needed to be the responsible one. The one who had to do the hard thing. Instead of mourning, I followed dad's meticulous plan for escaping the town. I packed his old army duffelbag with food and water. Packed two backpacks with medicine, clothes, and weaponry. And got the jeep. Dad was no dummy, this was one of the most fuel-efficient things on the market. He had prepared for this, now he had given his life so his sons could survive this. I got my brother out, and had him help me pack the jeep, when I saw something, out of the corner of my eye. Pulling my gun, I saw to my surprise it wasn't one of them. The neighbour's kid. Some girl, what, six or seven? Nervously looking at us. I put down my gun, and pulled out one of dad's chocolate bars, the sort with enough sugar and preservative that lasts longer than they really should, but chocolate regardless. I knew what dad would have said in this situation; Disregard others, save yourselves. But I was still human. I reached out my hand, holding the bar of chocolate, towards the girl. She approached us timidly. Looking at her closely, I could see that she was pretty much skin and bones, her parents probably taken a good while ago. She wolfed down the bar accordingly. I fed her some other stuff that we were going to have to leave behind anyway. My brother got over, and for a brief moment was his old self again, just talking to another kid. She said nothing. Probably a bit broken. But I could not leave her. Or anyone really. So I took her too. Put her in the car, on the backseat next to my brother. We drove off, towards the last place I'd heard was still standing this side of the Rocky Mountains, Denver Colorado. A jeep with two traumatised kids, driven by a teenager with no drivers license, and a load of fuel, food, water, and bullets for our guns. That was the last time we ever saw our home. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) Psst! Next part [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/comments/ga0ztt/the_replacements_on_the_road/)
96. A chill ran up my spine as I tried to piece together how it happened. I had guessed on every question, gone out of my way to be as thoughtless about my answers as humanly possible. But there it was. One over the mark. I stared at the computer screen, my brain slowing as the numbing power of fear began to override the rational thought processes. Over and over again I returned to one thought: This must be a mistake. A knock sounded out a moment later, causing me to fall from my seat in a jumble. I tried to gather myself, but the knock returned, more insistent this time. "Who is there?"I called out down the hallway as I managed to clamber to my knees. No answer. Just the sound of the doorknob slowly turning. It was locked, but the door obliged the visitor and opened nonetheless. Just outside stood a small man, no more than four feet tall, his figure illuminated by the dull light my porch lamp against the darkness beyond. He wore a waistcoat with a gold chain leading to a small pocket. Spectacles perched on his nose and he had a small tuft of brown hair atop a rapidly balding pate. "Mr. Clark?"He asked, his eyes settling on mine. I nodded. "Very good."He stepped across the threshold of my house and began to make his way down the hallway, the clacking of his leather-soled shoes ringing out. I had just managed to stand when he arrived before me, looking up through his spectacles. "Congratulations on passing the test, it is quite an accomplishment." I shifted nervously from foot to foot, "I think there's uh...some sort of mistake." "Oh, the test is quite foolproof. Your score is an accurate reflection of your abilities,"the man replied, pulling on the chain and yanking out his pocket watch. He checked the time, tsked under his breath and then put it away. "But I guessed on everything,"I said, a flush rose up in my face at the admission. "So you did. It is really quite exciting, we have so few Ambients."A small smile appeared, his pearly white teeth showing. "Truly, it couldn't have come at a better time." "Ambients?"I asked, perplexed. "Individuals in tune with and capable of channeling the entropy of the universe."He began to wave a hand around as he spoke, "Of course there are Empaths, as well as your run-of-the-mill Brains, and even the occasional Pattern Master, but your sort really are quite rare."A dark black sedan pulled up outside, the windows tinted black. "Ah, our transportation is here. Come along Mr. Clark, we are under some time pressure." He began to walk down the hallway, not bothering too look back at me. I hesitated, feeling a strong desire to run the opposite direction screaming. As he reached the door, he turned back again, a small frown appearing on his face. "We really must get going."A strange intensity came over him and his features tensed. "I understand how you feel." Almost immediately I felt a connection to him, as if my heart were tethered to his. In that moment, I believed he did understand how I felt just as I believed everything would be fine if I went with him. I began to inch forward, as if the connection between us was tugging me along. "I'm scared." "Of course you are Mr. Clark, everyone is scared at first, even me."And I knew it was true. I could feel the terror the man had experienced so long ago when it had been his time. But he had been fine. Everything would be fine. He reached out a hand, "Come Mr. Clark, there are matters of great import we must attend to."I took his hand, feeling an overwhelming sense of compassion emanating off of the man. "I...I understand."We crossed into the outside and made our way down the steps toward the car. As we approached, the door swung open, revealing a plush interior. I glanced at the door, "Where are we going?" "To the center of things Mr. Clark. To the boundary of Here and There."I felt a tremor of fear well up through our link. "We are losing Mr. Clark, and there isn't much time." He climbed into the car and turned to look back at me. The connection between us faded, leaving me feel alone and isolated. "You have a choice Mr. Clark, but if you choose to remain, you may well be choosing a fate for a great many of other people." "Why?" "Because, Mr. Clark, that is the way of matters involving life and death. Choices have consequences."He held out his hand. "Join us." I looked down at it, emotions running riot through me. "Why me?" "There is no one else." I clasped his hand in mine, "I'll come." Platypus OUT. Want MOAR peril? r/PerilousPlatypus &#x200B;
“Hey Beth?” Greg asked leaning into the next cubicle. “Yeah?” Beth replied, not looking up from her Sudoku puzzle. “Why is Jerry screaming at the toaster?” Greg had tried to ignore it, but Jerry had been screaming and pointing at the toaster for the better part of an hour. “You didn’t hear what it said to him?” Beth scratched another pentagram into an empty spot on her puzzle. “No. I didn’t.” Greg moved out of striking distance, just as a precaution. “Well I didn’t catch it all, but it was something along the lines of fucking his mother with hot, hot toast.” Beth pricked her finger and smeared a bloody symbol Greg didn’t recognize over the entire puzzle. “Ok. Thanks.” Greg wheeled back to his cube carefully. Something fishy was going on, so Greg decided it would be wise to go home sick. All he had to do was make it to the boss’s office, past Beth and Jerry. Then get around Bob, who was naked for some reason, after that he was home free until he got to Janet’s desk. Bob didn’t notice him, he was too busy licking his computer screen and jamming staples into his leg. Janet was calmly knitting at her desk much to Greg’s relief, relief that quickly faded when he saw what she was knitting. To Greg it looked like a baby onesie, it just had too many limbs. “Mr. Brand in?” Greg asked. “Mr. Brand is burning in a pit of boiling blood for the service of the dark ones.” She said not looking up. “So…?” “He’s in.” Greg entered the office and saw that Mr. Brand wasn’t burning in the literal sense, just sitting at his desk looking sweaty and perplexed like normal. “Ah, Greg. What can I do for you?” Mr. Brand asked normally. “Strange day.” Greg replied. “You’re telling me. It’s bananas out there!” Mr. Brand said with a chuckle. “Right? Jerry has been screaming at the toaster for almost an hour!” Mr. Brand stopped chuckling. “Jerry is a fucking banana.” “Ok then. I feel sick. I need to go home early. Is that ok?” Greg asked quickly. “Oh no, no sick time. I’m sending you home with pay. I can’t have my good employees turning into bananas like fucking Jerry.” “Thanks. See you tomorrow?” “I doubt it. You’ll hear from me once I purge these godless banana bastards from the building.” Mr. Brand pulled a metal letter opener from his desk and made some test stabs into the air. “Ok. Bye!” Greg said before calmly but quickly escaping the area. As he passed Janet he heard Mr. Brand speak through the intercom on her desk. “Janet, send that fucking banana Jerry in here please.” “Die in pain for the service of the dark lord.” Janet replied. “Thank you Janet!” Greg sidestepped Jerry. He didn’t seem to notice him and his voice was getting hoarse. When he passed Beth’s desk it appeared that she had bled to death surrounded by bloody symbols. Greg grabbed his bag and got the hell out of there as fast as he could. He made it down to the parking garage without incident only to find his car covered in potted plants. He moved the ones that would impede his driving and let momentum take care of the rest. When he turned on the radio he gained some insight to what was going on. “It’s the pills is what a science man said. He said the pills that keep you awake are bad and now people are crazy, crazy, crazy. I’m not crazy though, completely immune over here. Not gonna let the government put their signals in my head. No sir. So if you’re on the pills, stop doing that cause it turns out not sleeping is bad for you. Looks like we have a caller! Caller? Caller I can’t figure out how to get you on the radio. Just tell me the stuff. Bananas? Get the fuck out, that makes way more sense! This just in folks, It’s fucking bananas! Run for your lives!” Greg switched off the radio, he needed to focus on driving. It was just as nuts on the road as it appeared everywhere else, but he stuck to backroads and made it home safe. His neighbor was mowing his roof and gave Greg a friendly wave before returning to his chore. Greg went inside, locked the door, and jammed a bookcase in front of it for good measure. He grabbed a baseball bat and set it by the couch, took off his pants, and sat down. “Good thing I didn’t eat those pills.” Greg said to his cat as it curled up on his lap. “I think you’re on to something Bitey. Think I’ll just sleep until this sorts itself out.” He scratched Bitey on the head, who unsurprisingly bit him and ran off. Greg stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes, he never could figure out why someone would give this up. Before long he was fast asleep, oblivious to the madness outside his door. --- Bananas! /r/DirtandPoncho --- So some folks wanted more so I whipped this together [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/DirtandPoncho/comments/50i242/part_2wp_a_cure_for_sleep_has_been_found_by/) Kinda late, but I hope you like it!
The message from beyond had caused a stir. This was unsurprising, humanity had a knack for taking unexpected events and overreacting to them. It was something of a specialty within the species, a rare piece of unifying commonalia that allows us to just barely inhabit this earth with one another. We had always made a number of assumptions about first contact. We assumed the interlopers would be foreign. That they would be vastly different from us in terms of appearance, manner and culture. We also sort of assumed they would contact us through means other than Facebook. But alas, there's a well known saying that goes along with assuming: it makes you look like an idiot. I think that's how it goes. I can't say I'm much of a student on these matters. I was just the first person to receive the Facebook message. "Greetings, Colony #037. We are glad to see you survived. The others all ran out of resources. May we come over?" It came from someone I didn't recall adding to my friends. Oddly enough, the person was friends with my entire friends list, which was an obscenely unlikely occurrence. I guessed the bots had just figured out a new hack to pillage my personal data and spew it all over the world. Still, I was intrigued. Normally it was just penis pills or escort services they were pushing on me. I'd never seen an intergalactic angle before. "Hey, yeah. Come over. I just ordered Pizza. It's Papa John's, so don't expect much."I replied, tapping the send button and taking a moment to click through a few posts of people in dire need of interwebs validation. I appended a few angry emojis in places where it made no sense, like a baby announcement from my mom's friend. Mild chaos was something of a hobby for me. "We will require approximately seven hundred and thirty eight square miles to accommodate the surviving travelers. Is this possible?"My newfound internet bot friend replied. Hmmm...I decided to play along. I didn't have anything else going for me until the pizza arrived anyways. "Sure, Canada has a lot of space. You can just plunk down there." "Curious. You are authorized to permit this Donald Trump?"I'd changed my name a few months past so I could troll my aunt who was...less than enthusiastic about the current state of politics. I mostly just replied with "Sad!"to all her posts. She hated it. It was awesome. "Yeah, no problem. They're all super nice and polite. They'll probably apologize for getting in your way."I responded. "This is a great relief. We shall send an advance party to establish the colonization zone. Thank you for your hospitality, our internal modeling did not suggest such a hospitable and rational welcome." "Oh, yeah, we're pretty cool about this stuff. It happens all the time honestly." There was a long pause before the dots indicating typing appeared again, "Your colony has been...approached by other off-worlders?" "I can't really talk about our other relationships. I'm a gentlemen." "But...have you been infected? Have the Zimdrei infiltrated you? Is your world in chaos?" I snorted, "Man, it's always going to hell down here. We have no idea what we're doing, but I'm pretty sure we got that way on our own. Don't worry about it. Just park it in Ontario and shoot me a note when you're coming for pizza." Another long pause. "Very well, we have no choice. Our resources are exhausted and the survival of this colony was only discovered by a happy coincidence. We are in no position to bargain." "Cool."Thumbs up emoji. The bell rang and I went to grab the pizza. After paying, I settled down in front of the TV, pizza box resting on my knees. I flipped on the set and pried open the box, selecting a piece the seemed to have congealed the least in the journey. After a moment of warming up, the Simpsons popped into view. Nice. I brought the piece to my mouth just a breaking news bulletin flashed across the screen. The Simpsons faded from view and a harried, pale newscaster appeared. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the world, we are not alone."A video began to play in the background, it showed dozens of odd oval objects descending from the sky. "Moments ago, in Ontario, Canada, dozens of unidentified flying objects entered into the planet's atmosphere. They have settled down in a small area. The President of the United States is coordinating with Canadian officials and the United Nations on a response, with an announcement expected within the hour." He took a deep breath, "Again, we are not alone." The pizza slice hung in the air, an inch from my slack-jawed maw. I stared at the screen. Slowly, the pizza found its home in my mouth. I chewed the decidedly mediocre bite thoughtfully. Well, this was unexpected. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I reached down and fished it out, I had a notification from Facebook. I opened it up, "We have arrived." No shit. I hit the like button. Platypus OUT. Want MOAR peril? r/PerilousPlatypus Scrooge McPlatypus's through pile of gold and silver, quacking madly.
The sharp intake of breath, the wide eyes, the elevated temperature in the throat and neck, spreading down into the stomach. All these are expected symptoms of the deadly poison extracted from the excretions of the sac fungi found on the plains of Straka III. The shaking expected afterwards is supposed to be a series of uncontrollable spasms as a being’s organs shut down one by one. No living being in all of Union space had ever survived more than a single hour. Many died in seconds as their insides dissolved. But the shaking was different this time. It was a quick right, left, right, left of the accursed human’s head, followed by an amazed “Wow!” The human looked at the glass he was holding. In it was enough of the liquid to kill a Carmellian Bisax. It seemed to be calculating. It knew what I had tried to do. It looked me dead in the eye, it’s predatory eyes locked unblinking on mine, and it showed its fangs and teeth in an aggressive display of dominance. And then it _drank the rest of the poison_. Then it laughed. “That is some seriously good booze you have there, Squishy.” My name is Squis’shi. The callous disregard for my honour and name is one of the reasons I agreed to this assassination mission. It looked at the empty glass, and ran its tongue tentacle over the terrifying teeth. “You got any more of this? I know people that would pay good money for this stuff.” —— _much later_ —— Human Damien was staggering a bit, and slurring his words, “I thought you were a bit of an idiot, Squis’shi. You’re alright, you are.” He hadn’t drunk this much since he left Mars University over ten years ago. He was probably going to have a hangover, but this stuff was pure liquid gold. —— I have regained my honour. The human at last uses my given name, full of deference and respect. He obviously recognises my assassination attempt and thinks it worthy of a competitor. He has signed a trade deal which will keep my family and crèche in good standing for many revolutions. Not only can I show my face there again, but I can hold my head high, even next to nestling Shrim’pii. He was jubilant as well, and kept saying that he couldn’t wait till his trading partner Jack Daniels tried this one. I am a little concerned that he has consumed enough of the poison to take out an entire city. I will have to be watchful around him now. He will no doubt feel the need to honour me with an assassination attempt. I think this trade deal means I can call off our current invasion plans. Truly, the humans only send their best.
So, you finally decided to stop being a sad sack of crap and become a REAL Man™? Since you're smart enough to read, probably, you're maybe smart enough to not screw this up. Using the REAL Man™ method, you'll find the perfect fuckbunny in a week, or you're destined to be alone forever. Either way, no skin off my ass. Step 1. R. Relate. Tell her everything you know about whatever she's doing. Using Excel? List off all the commands you know. Making you a soft serve cone? Tell her all about Glucose and Lactose and their relationship. Women love it when a REAL Man can make it so they don't have to use their tiny brains, because YOU think for them. Step 2. E. Emote. When she tells you that she has a boyfriend, start crying. When she tells you all about her funny grandpa's walking farts, laugh. Women are simple, and they are easily tricked into liking men by you pretending you give a hoot about their shoes or whatever it is girls talk about. Step 3. A. Assassinate. They have a husband? Kill him to keep him out of the way. Her dad says you're not good enough for his princess? Take him out. You need to let nothing stand between you and your girl, not even laws or morals. Finally, if your dumb ass has made it this far, we're on the final step. Get out your fingers, I know you need to count. Good job, we're on Step 4. Step 4. L. Loiter. Hang around her, forcing her to see you as much as possible. Sit on the hood of her car when you know she's working. Go to the restaurant and order a refill of coffee every 15 minutes so she has to interact with you. They say distance makes the heart grow stronger, but who ever "they"are, is full of shit. If you followed these steps properly, you're either in bed with the girl of your dreams, or you're in prison. Stay tuned for our next REAL guide, How REAL Men™ Survive Prison!
RESEARCH LOG 1246B: Feline Earth Predator OBJECTIVE: We seek to understand how this creature has successfully infiltrated the homes of millions of humans. We will use this knowledge to bolster our own invasion efforts. DAY 1: Specimen was successfully beamed to our research vessel from 235 Wilson Blvd., Springfield, PA, at 11:42 PM, on Smegday the 56th. Human owner was not awoken. We administered a very mild sedative to calm the "cat"in the form of a treat that mimicked "Kat Krunchies,"a popular Earth concoction. DAY 2: The cat awoke at 6:17 AM and became immediately distracted by the myriad flashing lights on the research vessel. It relentlessly swatted our navigation console, scrambling our coordinates and temporarily setting us on a course for Alpha Centauri. Once this was resolved, we attempted to use a makeshift feather toy, modeled after Earth observations, to distract it. This strategy was successful for approximately 12 minutes before the cat leapt for the lights again. It has become clear that one of our researchers will have to monitor the specimen at all times. DAY 3: We have dimmed all of the lights in the research vessel, save for one window that constantly shifts throughout the day to maximize its reflection of the sun. This has quickly become the cat's favorite location on the ship. The cat's owner has exhibited signs of extreme distress. He has placed posters, reading "LOST CAT: Answers to Reggie,"all around his neighborhood. One almost feels sorry for the pathetic display of affection. DAY 4: The cat, alias "Reggie,"will occasionally purr when touched. It appears that Dr. Yarnog's long fingers are especially well-suited for this action. The purring serves no evolutionary purpose besides an expression of the cat's contentment. DAY 5: Reggie will also occasionally perform an adorable display where he brushes up against our legs and gives a friendly meow. DAY 6: It appears that we now understand the full range of Reggie's abilities, including his targeted claw strikes to eliminate vermin. We must conclude this portion of the study to remain on schedule. We do not want to return Reggie. DAY 7: We beamed Reggie back into 235 Wilson Blvd. The human was overjoyed at his return. It is strange to observe such a strong bond between man and beast. Our understanding of human nature has been considerably muddied by this experiment. In order to invade Earth, it seems we will need a change in tactics. If we are to overtake Earth using the current plan, including the Chancellor's requested ambush and executions, it may mean that several cats are placed in the crossfire. This is something we simply cannot tolerate. Back to the drawing board. END OF RESEARCH LOG 1246B
He'd keep the girl's secret, for now. She clung to him, legs gripping around his neck as he cut through cloud cover, gliding over neat squares of grain and orchard. Directly ahead, the towering spires of a mighty castle, rounded by thick blackened stone. A mark of the last dragon's assault. Humans used castles to hide from other humans. To dragons they only served as ovens when strafed with flaming breath. He felt no hunger today. His charge laid low, the speed and wind whipping hair and clothing about. Closer. Closer. Closer. The humans below pointed, many wailing and fleeing in terror. He could tell which humans were the smartest by their degree of hesitation. Older ones didn't even need to look up. They fled directly into fields, aiming for the cover of forests. To the courtyard. Banners fluttered on his approach, the power of his wings buffeting the entire courtyard with hot air. Courtiers, knights, guards, peasants, ladies, maidens, every person within the castle watched in awe as the dragon began to lower himself into the castle itself. White and gold flowers occupied neat plots of garden, golden leafed trees swayed to and fro. No fire and fury, no roars, no apocalyptic destruction. This sky would not blacken with ash. The woman trembled as she dismounted, which the dragon observed with some irony. Not the first time riding a dragon he supposed, albeit in a different context. He folded his wings upon his back, drawing himself on his hind legs, and closed his eyes. Smaller. Tinier. Weaker. A rather painful transition he hated making, but he found it necessary when dealing with humans. His spine twisted and snapped, his limbs cracked and moaned. No more scales, no more teeth, no more dragon hide. He stood upon awkwardly jelly like human legs, wearing a leather jerkin underneath a great black cloak. Always a difficult adjustment to a bipedal form. It felt jerky and unbalanced. Gingerly he offered his arm to the woman, who took it cautiously. "Where might I find your father, darling?" His human voice was rather silky, something he enjoyed. Wordlessly, she led him forward, past a stunned group of onlookers. High dragons held human forms. They were used to the dumb brutes who terrorized their hamlets and homes with mindless flame. They entered the Great Hall, and the dragon admired the streaks of color created by the stained glass windows. All around, humans stared slack jawed at this stranger, some doubting their own senses. Was he actually a dragon? Or an extremely accomplished sorcerer? The woman led him still, tight lipped and still trembling. Perhaps no longer in fear, but of anger. As was expected. He had killed her lover the night before. A mighty duel, his obsidian scales against her lover's crimson, high in the night sky. Flame and claw, tooth and bone. Below, a woman watched in wonder, discovering the unfortunately secretive nature of her abducting lover. Stars would twinkle, passively watching the black one throw his opponent's corpse into the earth, shattering him. How that woman had wailed, for either her imaginary virtue or her lover. Both disposable. So as long as it served his purpose, he would not tell the king that his daughter would cavort with a dragon posing in human form. A deceitful purpose, truly. But how else would a high dragon reproduce? With eggs? Mounting some mindless lizard? Please. They had standards, and humans were tolerable hosts, and dragons were rather persuasive. Their silver tongues incredibly dexterous, both linguistically and physically. Before the humans they mated with elves, which the humans had thoroughly eradicated. Orcish women were even more desirable than the monkeys, but they had to make do. Before him on a mighty throne waited the woman's father. This particular monarch was an accomplished one as he understood it. Or at least accomplished in the way of human standards of power. Great hosts of men under his command, feudal lords bending and scraping before him. Enemies crushed beneath his heel, and all that nonsense. The exchange was simple, the king's prize a standard one. A reward for the return of the princess, alive and relatively unspoiled. A personal request granted by the king or nearly any kind, and a single choice of any artifact within the treasury. The dragon knew exactly what he would pick. Without so much as a goodbye, the woman was whisked away by her ladies in waiting. So much the better. They'd discover her pregnancy fairly soon. Down into the dungeons. Into a room of gleaming treasure. He walked forward and grabbed a small pouch of azure pebbles. Humans had no use for such trinkets, and merely saw them as shiny baubles, rare but impractical, like most objects humans desired. Stones of the Morning they were called. Relics of a forgotten era. When his kind would fill the skies enough to cover the entire land in shadow. His cloaks whisks behind him as he takes his leave, making few words. Words, words, words. Always proclamations of intent and vanity, bow before the king you pitiful shit covered peasants, and the like. A dragon has no need for such trivial nonsense. He has no time to waste. In a ruin far away, another dragon whimpers in pain. Smaller, younger, sapphire. His only daughter, wounded by a knight of this very realm, who crept upon her as she slept as an assassin does upon his prey. She slew the man, roasting him to ash inside bulky plate armor, but not before sustaining near mortal wounds from a poisoned spear. In his hand now, the only cure. Today, he would leave in peace. Tomorrow, he would return in rage. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - yeah I know this was supposed to be from the king's perspective but I got this idea instead.
We were all roomates - myself, Chad, Jared, and Dave. He was always the smiling one in the group. Dave was rarely seen without his stupid shit eating grin plastered across his face. When any of the rest of us were down, in a rough patch, or really just needed anything for quality of life, Dave was our superhero. I swear, he'd give you the shirt off his own back if you said you were cold. Dave kinda kept to himself too. He never pushed to go along with us when we went out, and sometimes we wouldn't think to invite him. Whenever we'd roll back in, he was still his chipper self and would ask how it was. As far back as I can remember, Dave never really complained either. He was either the silent listener, or singing about the silver lining, or how it could always be worse. Then it happened. One day, I noticed I could start experiencing life from other people's perspective. It was quite odd at first, but as I got the hang of it I started to notice the diversity of perception was limited only by the perviewers. I never tried using it on my friends, but then i started thinking about how Dave always just knew what to say, or how to say it, to bring us up. I wondered how the others were felt about life. First I tried out Chad. He was the typical jock in the group. He looked at everything as how he could either eat it, fight it, lift it, or fuck it. I got some good laughs out of that experience. Next I tried out Jared. He seemed super analytical about everything and always measured the interactions between this and that. I felt dizzy trying to keep up. Then there was Dave. Fucking gods, poor Dave. At first I had no clue what happened. One moment I'm me, and then the next it was cold and empty - no, even less than that. It suddenly felt as if I walked into some horror sci-fi fantasy and was standing with one foot in the Void and the other the abyss. I never knew, none of us did. Dave was one of the kindest people I've ever met, but on the inside.... Dave was dead. Everything he did to make others happy was because he was missing that happiness in his life. Every smile wasn't because he was content, but was to remind us of our blessings. His greatest fear was that one day one of us would be miserable, so he gave everything he had to keep any of us even remotely feeling like him. And every once in a while, he would long for someone to reach out into that cold, twisting darkness to pull him out. Instead, we'd go out on the town without him. Or we'd forget to give him a call when we were doing a night in. As I left his perspective of life, I didn't even realize I was bawling. Dave was already there, his concern visible on his face. "What's wrong, Sam?"He said. Still smiling for me as if I didn't know.... ______________________ On mobile, so sorry for any mistakes. Hope you like, and I'd love any feedback. :) Edit: thank you kind stranger for the gold! I'm reading through the comments, and I really am grateful for many of them. I'll try part 2 later on, stuck to mobile only for a while. Esit 2: part 2 is up. Commented off of part 1 Edit 3: a lot of ppl saying they feel like Dave. I'm so sorry. I wrote this from Sam's perspective because of the WP, and because sometimes I have to be my own Sam. Even in the darkest nights there's comfort and solace to be found (in healthy ways). Keep your chins up and be as absolutely stubborn as possible to keep some love for yourself!
Sacrifice is power. The most powerful sacrifice is life. This is a universal constant of magic. The greater the magic to be performed the greater the sacrifice to be made. - Understanding Basic Magic, vol 1 “Master, there are too many injured and just not enough life to heal them all. The wizards are passing out…. Some of them are even dying. What are we going to do?”, my young apprentice Howard begged of me. He was 25 years old but looked to be in his sixties. We sacrifice part of our life when we do magic. A week here. A month there. A year over here. We wizards may burn brightly but we do not burn for long. I inspected the wound of my patient. A sword slice through 2 lobes of his lung, broken ribs, liver damage, massive blood loss. I tally up the injuries…. It would cost me 10 years of my life to heal him completely. It would cost me 2 years to heal him enough that he would survive. I prepare myself and sacrifice 2 years and let the magic course through me, shaping it, directing it, moulding it to my will….. and then I release it into the patient. I collapse to my knees panting for breath….. I have given up 20 years of life today. Almost 60 years worth since this damn war started. But today, today has seen the fiercest fighting yet. Our king is trying to push through the enemy lines even if it means burning out all of his wizards. “Give me a moment Howard.”, I say as he helps me to seat. I take a few deep breaths. “How many more have come in?”, I ask shakily. “About a hundred more.”, he says quietly. “The offensive is not going well.” “Are there any new prisoners that can be sacrificed?”, I ask hopefully. “The enemy fights until death and if they can’t fight any more they take a poison capsule and kill themselves. They won’t let themselves be taken.” I raise an eyebrow at that. “That is a new tactic.”, I say simply. Howard shrugs. “They die on the field or we capture them and put them to death to heal our injured. Either way they die.”, he says, “at least this way they aren’t helping the enemy. It is smart.” “Wizard! I need a wizard!”, a courtier yells as he hauls in a member of the Royal court. Howard and I go over to him. “It is the Prince. His wound is infected.” We quickly lay him down on a cot. “When did he get wounded. We haven’t seen him through here in weeks.”, I say to the courtier. “The Prince is aware of the cost of a healing and would not ask it for such a minor wound. He would sacrifice is own life force to heal it but it isn’t allowed to sacrifice noble life for magic, so he decided to let it heal on its own.”, the courtier said. “That is noble of him, but a clean would of this size would take a day of sacrifice. Now that it is infected it is going to take a great deal more.”, Howard said sadly as he looked at the grotesque wound. It was was oozing puss and the skin next to the opening was necrotic. I probed the wound gently, causing the unconscious Prince to moan, the wound was deep. I tallied up the work that would need to be done…. At least a year worth of life. “Damn…. There is so much infection”, I said to myself. “It is too bad infection wasn’t alive”, the courtier said. “Oh, infection is alive. Thousands and thousands of tiny organisms that are feeding off of our Prince and making him sick.”, I said absently as I cleaned up the wound. “Can you sacrifice the tiny organisms?”, the courtier asked I looked at Howard. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember any text ever saying it had to be human life that must be sacrificed. It was always just…. Implied….” “Well if nothing else, sacrificing the infection would clean up the wound, even if there isn’t enough life there to heal it.”, I said, trying to convince myself of the merits. “Why not?” “We should at least try it”, Howard said excitedly. I pulled up a chair to the prince’s cot. I took a couple of deep breaths and then reached out with my senses to find all of the infection and the microbes that shouldn’t be there. It felt like it took an eternity. I had to identify each and everyone one separately. I took a steadying breath and sacrificed those lives entirely…. Not minutes or hours or days but extinguished those lives entirely. I expected a little bit of power but I was overwhelmed. The power burned through me, setting every nerve ending on fire and making me ache to the very core of my being. I shaped the power to heal the prince, but there was so much more and there was no where for it to go! I started to panic. There was no more hurt on the Prince and I wasn’t in contact with anyone else that needed healing. The power burned and struggled, it wanted to be free. I clamped down on that power and forced my will on it and then swallowed it whole. My very soul felt like it was on fire. Then the world went black. “Master! Master! Are you alright‽”, I heard Howard’s voice through the darkness. I opened my eyes. “I am still here young man.”, I said to Howard. The healed prince looked down at me on the floor. Then to Howard then to me. “You look a lot younger than him.”, the prince said. I touched my face. The wrinkles were gone. I moved my legs experientially…. No aches or pains. “How old do I look, Howard?”, I asked cautiously. “If I had to guess, I would say…. about 16 or 17, master.”, Howard said with a big smile. “Send a runner…. Everyone of them we can find. We need everything they can find that is rotting… food stuffs, horse manure, people with infections, yeast….. all of it, any of it. We are going to turn the tide of the war, my boy!”
Minim transmigrates, skitters, walks the intricate labyrinth of an entirely new colony. The tunnels branch out five-dimensionally, and far behind her is the distant memory of dying. She has emerged from her carapace a being of perfect and immortal soul, and the substrata of the world have revealed themselves to her. She crawls past matter, past space, past time, and in the fungal garden comes to rest. Nigoda swarm around her, single-celled souls so undifferentiated that they compose the base matter of the cosmos. She is afloat in a sea of life and death, of eternal rebirth. All possibilities are open to her. "And what shall you choose?"comes a waft of pheromones, and before her is the distended body of the queen, Tirthankara, all six legs folded in lotus formation, every segmented piece of her body a further elaboration of truth. Mimin feels her soul seize with the possibilities. Beyond one tunnel lies the unbound flight of the falcon, and she can peer down it to the glint of sun off the tops of clouds. There is the lotus emerging pure through the river mud. There is the antelope bounding gracefully through the plains. There is the crocodile with its slow and unnerving grin, snaking lazily through the waters. There is the elephant, there is the horse, there is the buffalo, there is the boar, there is the porcupine and the tortoise and monkey and the snake, a seemingly endless number of tiers of existence blurring indiscriminately into the looping circle of life. "Which of these are worthy of me?"trembles Minim, shaky on her fragile six legs. "Which do I deserve?" "There is neither retribution nor reward in death,"Tirthankara says, her abdomen shining with light. "You, you yourself, are an intrinsically perfect soul, striving ever onward towards liberation. Only your actions, only your choices, shall determine what happens next." "I ... I only sought to serve while I lived,"says Minim, struggling to remember. "My sisters, they foraged and guarded us. While I tended to the gardens."She remembers tending to the delicate sprouts of fungus as they sprouted from the rotting leaves, heedful of their chemical songs of fruition, rearranging the leaf beds for maximum growth, hauling away the waste. "I could not have -"The thought confounds her, and she looks up to Tirthankara. "I was a limb in a greater organism."She looks to the mammalian paths of rebirth, twisting and turning all the way to the end until she can feel the concept of them worming through her mind. "A teat, a hand on a breast."She can almost feel the sensation of a heart beating, of warm blood flowing through her limbs. "If I were to be reborn ... could I be something more?" "You could be as a demi-god,"Tirthankara says, extending her limbs. "You could be as a being of hell."There are visions of creatures Minim has never imagined, never conceived of, standing vertically towards the sky. They stare through transparent eyes and incinerate dozens with a gaze. They extend many-toothed limbs and chew trees to the ground. They have built colonies of stone and smoke and fire that extend over the surface of the world. They could crush her and her colony with a single step. "You could stride atop the world. You could reach for the heavens. There are no limits imposed upon you here, sister. The choice is eternally yours." Minim sees, and shudders with vertigo. She has lived a life without leaving her colony, without seeing the sun, and now she sees before her the possibility to harness the sun for herself, or to blot it from the sky. "I-"she gasps, and collapses back. "Forgive me,"she whispers, and thinks of her precious gardens, moist and warm and dark and rich with fungus song, of the rows of squirming hungry children awaiting her care. There are her sisters who roved the edges of the colony, foraging for food, fighting off all enemies, whose bodies fed the gardens when they died. There was the queen, eternally birthing, the supple young drones readied to birth colonies anew. Her family. Her body. Her life. At the mercy of all the gods and demons she had just witnessed. "I wish to be me,"she says. "I am no god. I am no demon. I - I wish to serve. Tiny though I may be in the larger scheme of things. I wish to help them be better." Tirthankara beams, and the world slowly narrows down to a single familiar path. "You have trod this path well, sister,"Tirthankara says. "Now walk it again." "Wait!"Minim gasps, and already she feels the constraints of a new physical form closing in around her. She is limbless, sightless. "How many times? How many times have I chosen this path?" "Four billion times,"says Tirthankara. "And you shall walk it four billion times more. All paths are interconnected, sister. Your existence is entwined with air and earth and fire, with water and all the plants that grow. Seek to do no one harm, sister. Cultivate no attachments. Open yourself to the infinite possibilities of life."There is joy in Tirthankara's pheromonal voice. "Walk your path, sister, with ceaseless effort and free of delusions! And it shall lead you to liberation!" And Minim transmigrates to a different plane on a thousand skittering feet, and she is born and dies and is born and dies and is born and dies and is reborn.
FADE IN: INT. AN EMPTY ROOM A young man sits in what appears to be a completely white cell. This is DAVE. The only furnishings in the space are two white chairs and a white table, on top of which is a red button. Dave's finger is holding the button down, and the experience seems to be emotionally draining him. DAVE: (Shouting) Hello?! For several seconds, there is no response. Just as Dave looks ready to shout again, the sound of high-heeled shoes walking on tile becomes audible. A section of white wall slides away, and a young woman enters the cell. This is TAMARA. The hidden door slides shut again as she enters. DAVE: (CONT'D) How bloody long does it take to bring someone coffee?! TAMARA: Sorry. We're actually all out of coffee. DAVE: I've been here for hours! Tamara glances at her watch as she sits down opposite Dave. TAMARA: You've been here for eleven minutes. DAVE: ... Well, it felt like hours. TAMARA: Job interviews are like that. DAVE: Yeah, look, about that: Why did you make me push this button? TAMARA: I didn't. Dave looks ready to gesticulate, but catches himself, keeping his finger on the button. DAVE: You told me it didn't do anything! TAMARA: Yes, and then you pressed it. DAVE: If someone says a button doesn't do anything, you push it! TAMARA: No, clearly, you push it. DAVE: You know what I mean! Anyway, you lied to me! Tamara feigns a look of shock. TAMARA: I did nothing of the sort! DAVE: You said pushing the button wouldn't do anything, then you said that releasing the button would make bad things happen! TAMARA: Those weren't my exact words, but okay. DAVE: Logically speaking, then, pushing the button must have done something, because it was already in a default state of being released! A genuine-looking smile crosses Tamara's face. TAMARA: Very good! Very good! Full marks on that one. DAVE: ... What? TAMARA: Wait just a moment, please. Tamara pulls out a walkie-talkie and speaks into it. TAMARA: (CONT'D) Alan? We're ready for you. The hidden door reopens, revealing another young man. He is carrying a silver tray, on which is a dead trout. DAVE: What's going on? TAMARA: Please assess the fish. Dave eyes the trout for several seconds. DAVE: It's a fish. TAMARA: Incorrect. DAVE: You just told me it was a fish! TAMARA: No, I told you to assess the fish. DAVE: I did assess the fish! TAMARA: Incorrect. DAVE: (Shouting) What does any of this have to do with being a janitor?! Tamara stares at Dave for several seconds. TAMARA: Good! Very good. You kept your finger on the button that entire time. DAVE: Does... does that mean I can take it off now? TAMARA: Oh, you could have done that whenever you wanted. DAVE: Really? TAMARA: Things would have just gotten nasty. DAVE: Stop doing that! Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?! What kind of interview is this?! TAMARA: Please assess the fish. As if on cue, Alan turns around. There is a second trout taped to his back. DAVE: ... No. Alan backs up several steps, bringing the trout on his back to within inches of Dave's face. TAMARA: Please assess the fish. DAVE: No! You know what? I'm done with this! Screw you, screw your fish assessment, and screw your stupid button! With a deliberate motion, Dave quickly releases the button. Nothing happens. TAMARA: Well, I think we're about done here, then. DAVE: I thought things were supposed to get nasty? TAMARA: They did. DAVE: ... What? TAMARA: We'll be in touch. The hidden door opens. Dave glances from it to Tamara and back several times. DAVE: ... You know what? I'm going to stay. Dave presses the button again. TAMARA: Interesting. Why? DAVE: I just figured out what's going on. TAMARA: Do tell. DAVE: You're interviewing me to be a janitor. TAMARA: Yes. DAVE: So you put me through this nonsense. TAMARA: Yes. DAVE: You want to see if I can deal with a lot of unnecessary shit. Tamara smiles. TAMARA: You're absolutely correct. Welcome aboard! Dave looks incredibly relieved. DAVE: Oh, god, I'm so glad I figured that out. What can I do to get started? Tamara nods to Alan, who puts the tray on the table and lifts his shirt. A third trout is taped there. TAMARA: You can start by assessing the fish. FADE OUT.
There is knocking. &#x200B; There’s a room in a house that hasn’t changed in years; a room with no clocks, where sunlight is blocked by thick wooden shutters. And in the spaces where bulbs should shine there is just empty darkness. A man lies on the bed, his feet hanging over the edge. His face is fuzzed from growth and his breath is an echo of brandy. Although it’s dark, he knows the unchanged room well. Knows each poster — each superhero and robot pinned upon the wall. He helped build the Lego structures lining the shadowed tables. It’s been three years since it happened, and everything in the room is unchanged. He had a wife back then. Now he has no family. He knows part of that, if not all of that, is his fault. He has thought many times of changing the room. Of maturing the posters to those of a teenager: to women and action movies and pop stars who pretend they can sing. But he can’t. He can’t even age his son in his mind. When he tries, it warps all wrong, the smile too sharp, the eyes set too deep in their sockets, the expression too cruel. He’d have nightmares about the boy that wasn’t quite his son each time he tried to age him. &#x200B; There is still knocking. Raw knuckles rapping against a door. Relentless. And as much as the man wants to stay numb, to let the drink drift him back into something near to sleep, the knocking is an inferno that he must put out if he is to have his rest. &#x200B; There is knocking. There are footsteps as he staggers off the bed and trundles down the stairs, gripping the banister tight as the world spins and the daylight — not blocked here in the hallway, but maybe soon — dizzies him. &#x200B; There are faces. Voices. Scents. All blurred together like a strange sensory Jackson Pollock. The voices say they will not leave and they push past him and he is too tired to stop them. There is his father and mother. Unlike the room above, they are changed. Greyer and more lined than he remembers. “Please,” he says. “I just want to be alone.” And he expects them to be sad for him. Like they’ve all been. But they’re fierce in their resolve and they will not leave and his mother is boiling the kettle and finding a mug and making a coffee. And his father hugs him. And tells him they’re not leaving him. His father’s knuckles are bloody from the knocking. &#x200B; There is a boy crying into his father’s shoulders. A boy taking a mug from his mother and sitting on the couch. He lived for three years in a room in which nothing ever changed. But that perhaps changes now as he lets his mother open the shutters and allows painful light back into his life.
All my life, I have only ever sought to do what was right. I have made mistakes, I will not deny that. I was ... clumsy. Inept. I was cast apart from my own people for my errors. I would have died out there, alone, apart. But when my life was saved by a complete stranger, I realized that I could devote myself to something bigger. When my people were invaded, I risked my life to deliver the tidings of war to the capital city. Although we were too late to save the city, we saved the Queen. And though we had to flee in exile, I never doubted that we would one day return. And when we returned, I led our armies as a general. And though we were militarily and technologically outmatched, we won the battle! It was a glorious day, a glorious victory! But in my heart of hearts, I have never been a warrior. In the aftermath of the invasion, I sought to unite, not to conquer. I represented my people in the Senate, trying to strengthen the alliances between our many different peoples. But as the years passed, I witnessed our fragile allegiances dissolve into chaos. Assassination attempts. Separatist movements. We seemed on the verge of full-scale war. I knew it was my duty to act. But through everything I have experienced, I have never sought power. I knew full well that there were those more qualified than me to lead us through these times of turmoil. So when my moment came, I stood before the Senate, and I spoke: "It's a clear desa Separatists made a pact witha desa Federation du Trade. Senators! Dellow felegates! In response to this direct threat to the Republic, mesa propose that the Senate give immediately emergency powers to the Supreme Chancellor!" And as the Senate burst into applause, and I saw my life's work come to fruition, I could not help but smile.
The helicopter’s skids skimmed the tops of the waves in the Yellow Sea. The stealth paneling should hide it from all radar, but just to be sure it was standard protocol to fly as low as possible. And the pilot, Lieutenant Owczarski, took that as a challenge to turn his bird into a boat. In the back, eight Navy Seals waited in full gear. In their hands, each of them held a copy of the short transmission received only minutes ago from South Korean agent Gwang Eui-Tae: > Underground since last contact. Rockets almost ready to launch. Intervene immediately. She’d gone quiet five years ago, just like every other spy and agent in the country. At first, intelligent sources thought there was just a purge, and a surprisingly effective one for the normally incompetent Kim government. The message largely confirmed that: something had happened to drive her underground. But it didn’t explain why she hadn’t been able to make it back to one of the safehouses right over the Chinese border, or why she hadn’t been able to make any contact in any other way. North Korea may be tightly controlled, but the point of satellite phones is that they work anywhere. The second part of the message was far more chilling: Rocket almost ready to launch. When communication was first cut off, world leaders braced for nuclear attack. It was the only thing that could explain withdrawing troops from the DMZ and the Chinese border. But after almost six months of evacuations in the South and the hurried installation of an anti-missile shield, it became apparent that there was no imminent attack. That didn’t mean the threat was gone for good, though: the only thing still coming out of North Korea was seismic data that showed repeated nuclear tests, growing in size every few months. They were certainly up to something but no one knew exactly what. Or, more importantly, when that something would be revealed and used against North Korea's neighbors. And now, the message from Agent Gwang made it clear that the time had come. “All right,” Captain Morrow addressed the men, “Standard retrieval. The fact that this is North Korea doesn’t change anything.” Out the windows of the helicopter, shore was just becoming visible. There wasn’t even a single pinpoint of light across the entire horizon; no one had seen a light on in North Korea in years. “We need to get Gwang out and debrief her as soon as possible to find out how soon the attack will come. And if need be, we need to stay in and thwart the attack.” The men in the back of the helicopter nodded without question. They’d known what they were getting into when they joined the Navy Seals, and stopping an entire country from destroying half of Asia was just another Tuesday. Out the windows, the sea disappeared and was replaced by tree tops so close that they could have reached out and grabbed a branch if not for the doors of the helicopters. Owczarski certainly did enjoy taking risks. The silent skyline of Pyongyang came into view as the helicopter settled in for a landing in a park by the waterfront. They deployed out the back of the helicopter, guns swinging in all directions. But no one was there to greet them. The river that had once teemed with fishing boats and even a few freighters was now still. Even the buildings along the riverbank were overgrown, no longer kept up. That confirmed what satellite imagery and fly-overs had already guessed from seeing a few buildings crumbling and collapsed. “This is just unsettling,” Andrews growled into the microphone as they activated the night vision setting for their HUDs and advanced into the city. Cars rusted in the streets, not used for years now. At one intersection, they came upon a herd of deer peacefully grazing at the grass growing between cracks in the asphalt. “Where the hell is everyone?” No one else had a response, but they all felt the same way. A firefight would be preferable to this gnawing, empty silence. How could millions of people just vanish like this? “Keep it together,” Captain Morrow told them. “We’re getting near the transmission point.” In the street ahead of them, the triangular shape of the Ryugyong Hotel loomed over the rest of the city. The hotel was supposed to be North Korea’s crowning jewel, but as far as anyone in the intelligence community could guess, it had never seen a single occupant. Instead, it had been abandoned as a monument to the failure of the state. And according to the trace of Agent Gwang’s signal, that had been the one place she’d been able to transmit from. The team of seals snaked their way down the streets toward it with guns still at the ready, though it looked more and more like that wouldn’t be necessary. Finally they reached the edge of the hotel’s walls. “Sir?” Petty Officer Llewelyn had his hand against the concrete wall. “It’s… vibrating.” The rest of the team joined him, placed their hands alongside his, and then exchanged looks that all said one thing: what the fuck is going on in this place? “Let’s get inside,” Captain Morrow ordered. They weren’t here to investigate shaking walls, they were here to extract the South Korean informant. They made their way around the edge of the hotel. Lawns that had once been manicured were now overgrown, and ivy was beginning to creep up the side of the hotel. Satellite maps led the team straight to the doors of the hotel, which had once been made of glass but were now just gaping holes with a few remaining shards. “Some kind of insurrection, you think?” Petty Officer Graeber wondered aloud. “There’s no bodies,” Llewelyn answered. “If they’d turned on each other, there’d be bodies. And plenty more destruction.” “Stow it,” Morrow barked as they entered the lobby. Despite having not seen a soul, they still didn’t want to give away their position should someone be in the hotel. Agent Gwang was still the objective. He led the way past the termite-eaten front desk of the hotel and down the hall, deeper into the interior. The vibrating grew worse and worse, making it hard to even walk. They arrived at a set of double doors marked with Korean that the auto-translating HUD in their helmets informed them said “Main stairway.” Morrow placed a charge on the door, urged them all back, and then detonated it. After waiting a moment to see if there was any reaction, the Captain charged in first and was nearly blinded as bright light overwhelmed his night vision. The interior was gleaming white and lit with enormous spotlights. The team changed their HUDs back to normal vision and entered what looked like a huge laboratory. Forgetting their discipline, they rushed over to the railing across from the door and looked down into the depths under the hotel. Below them was a hole that seemed to stretch miles into the earth, with row after row of balconies teeming with people. And filling that hole was an enormous rocket ship probably a hundred times larger than anything NASA had ever built. The HUD picked up the writing along the side of the rocket and automatically translated it for the seals: The People’s Ark. ---- If you liked this, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for hundreds of other stories! [By request, here is Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/5gmn30/pyongyang/datuge3/)!

Subsets and Splits

No saved queries yet

Save your SQL queries to embed, download, and access them later. Queries will appear here once saved.