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[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
God: How did you do this?
John: I first made every person feel the pain they had caused to everyone else. They felt every insult, every small hurt and every cruelty they inflicted on others by choice. Then I made them feel how others felt when they did something good.
Of course, now all humans feel the consequences of the actions both the good and the bad that they inflict on others at all times. So they think before being cruel.
Humans are inherently selfish, right? So I gave them a reason to be good. It all worked itself out immediately after that.
|
We'd had an early spring. Sarah and I were eager to catch the fauna's and flora's getting down and dirty, as we always joked. So we packed our things and hit a trail a couple kilometers outside town.
"Love, these clouds could go either way" Sarah muttered as our car approached the station lot. She was right too. The mountains in these hills had a thing for parting the sky like a fairly tossed coin. We scampered on.
Halfway up our trail, footing on the clay/snow aggregate started rising out of the traditionally coarse path and we leaned on each other to break through the more narrow sections. Every so often a mound of old slush would come drifting from a cedar and we'd hear a thing not unlike soft hooves as it pressed into the earth again. As did we.
"Oh bloody hell" she whispered. I looked back to see Sarah 10 meters behind and 10 meters trapped with her leg around a crevice. As she jerked violently to unhinge said ankle, it must have been connected to a deeper vein of geologic symmetry-as her prison held firm but the foundation carved a tectonic plate, just as mobile.
"Shit shit shit" I stumbled towards her in the same moment her wake-board of mud skittered down the ravine, a steepness that can only be held together by the deepest roots, and disappeared with her intact. Her screams and chaos followed into that abyss, and I fell to my knees.
Frantically counting my choices until the stress leaked through I hollered, "Why don't you just take me too man!?"
And the room went white.
A man in his mid-forties sat across from me, tan khakis and a simple purple turtleneck. He stood up, turned the chair facing away from me, and sat in it with his arms folded over the back like they do in relaxed AA meetings, staring at me.
"Alright, so now...?" He spoke.
I stammered back, "Huh-I mean, what?"
"Look," he sighed, "I've obviously seen my end of work. I want someone, preferably with some college education, to give it a go. You're the man for the job. You be me. 24 hours, Uninhibited, be me. There's safeguards, so, just feel free to flex. There's no moral catch-22 here: just make things right" he smiled on that last word. "Be seeing you then."
Just as quickly as I was acquainted, I became alone. The room held nothing but myself, an empty chair, a small folding table with tea and crackers, and an apparatus that consisted of discs floating parallel to the wall, like heavenly polka-dots. I approached the tray, wondering how I wasn't in shock.
Some moments later, after finishing the lady fingers, I thought about (God's?) offer. Maybe I could bring Sarah back home. Maybe I could use it to return. Maybe I could get more lady-fingers. What the hell.
It didn't so much need me to sit down in it, or strap in, as much as I just had to sort of walk into it. My vision blurred and rather than a manic-feed of information and events and choices- I just was. The universe was the universe, and I was just I. Cause effect thinking was not the issue- the issue was the pain. So much endless expanse, but I couldn't get over one vector where all I heard was a song of suffering: so I got busy.
The slums were my first approach- it wasn't that difficulty to reposition them molecularly into skyscrapers and bunkers, disaster proof, a city of diamonds, water, and filled granaries, essentially. The dirty politicians were the next target: I went for a direct angle of dumping the lot on individual islands, with necessities included, somewhere off the coast of New Zealand. A small book about the effects of their deeds rested on a platter in the center. Stories of orphans and diseases, things of that sort.
A half hour into patching up the eroding islands of Dubai, now that the Mid East was the literal hottest destination for people of all beliefs, I caught the echo of footsteps behind me.
"I liked the take on Japans modern architecture you pulled. Incorporating the Sengoku into the corporate atmosphere *was* what they needed, wasn't it?"
I turned around. This time, he was holding a bottle of Jack and what looked like a panini under his arm, a toothy grin on his face. "I really liked, though, seeing your creative side. Hasn't popped through for some time. Have a seat."
Cutting the sandwich in half we ate silently, seated in this neverland, until I decided to speak up.
"It wasn't that hard, you know. Fixing the loss, the needs, why didn't you do it sooner? Sarah didn't exactly mind not dying- she couldn't explain it sure, but whatever happened certainly beat death by landslide." I finished my piece, and he kept his head down, still biting into his portion.
"thaths the thing," he muttered with a mouthful of roasted tomatoes, "my job isn't to solve your problems."
"Excuse me?" I asked, a taste of sharpness on it, "You can't create something and just let it run amok like this, people need directions, tools, guides- do you even see what's been happening? They elected a ferret for God's sake. If people knew you were just some washed up engineer tinkering with people's existence out of sport, real or not, good luck attracting more followers you piece of shit."
In my mind I asked what we had all been thinking. A criticism. I knew because for a short period I had heard, and answered, that critique uncountable times. He nodded solemnly, wiping the corners of his mouth off with one of those tissues you get at a street vendor, and thought for a moment.
"That's the first time you've been honest with me." A simple truth, softly said almost as a word of thanks, somehow stung leagues more than my previous barrage...I reeled.
"You know, when I started all this, all I sought was a friend or two. Someone to share all this..." he motioned to the empty room, "...with. I wasn't lonely, just hopeful. But I can't exactly trap something with self-awareness and choice. Both are fundamental pieces of relationship, as much as I love the ladyfingers, and love doesn't force love."
"That's a cop-out," I retorted, "an easy excuse. You want relationship and selflessness and connection, so you establish an environment of murder for that to blossom? Literally psychotic. And then you have the audacity to judge *us*?"
"There was this brief...time... I considered letting men live a while longer, by a multitude of ten. But for the sake of some semblance of balance, I held it young. Nobody has cared to ask why that wasn't a very difficult decision. Because the truth is- your breath of life is nothing. Not like the one in store. You don't see what happens, what Sarah would have seen, after a second of hurt. Nobody does. So I can fix all your losses and all your problems, or let victims face oppressors in an environment where hurts are not hidden, and justice and reward come second. Love comes first, so choice must come first."
This well-meaning platitude rang in my ears, but the grasp and scope of his denial haunted my ability to process it.
"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, then, old chap."
**[Thanks for reading! I've never posted before, and I'm fairly new with short stories, I just wanted to give it a go. I hope you were able to take something out of it, I understand there are a million mistakes, and I will learn if you point some out. The cliches, grammar, whatever, thanks for teaching me!]**
| 2017-03-05T02:34:13 | 2017-03-05T02:32:59 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] You now possess the ability to read minds however it can only be activating by screaming IM READING YOUR MIND as loudly as you can and pressing your fingers into your temples
Activated*
|
Not the best writer but here goes
---------------
I HAVE to know.
I turn to my right, she to her left, smiling at me.
My fingers migrate to my temples.
"IM READING YOUR MIND"
She jumps. The entire class turns to us.
She picks her books from the table, her face conveys disgust, her mind sorrow as laughter erupts.
Her answer: not anymore.
------------
^^edit: ^^Fixed ^^punctuation
|
Hank pounded on the door to his apartment. "Jerry, it's time, brother!"
Jerry peeked out from under the covers. Of course, something would come up on my day off from my normal job, because evidently fate had to screw with you. Whatever. Crawl out of bed, throw on a sweatshirt after giving it the sniff test, and open the door. Of course, Hank wore his culturally-appropriated eastern swami garb, because he could.
They hopped in the car. "This is a big one, Jer. We're being offered two grand. Evidently a guy went missing, worked over at that construction company on Fourth street."
"JD Vogelberg construction?" Jerry felt nervous now. "I used to work there."
"Well don't *tell them* that. We'd get kicked off the case!" Hank smoothed out his man-dress thing. "Speaking of cases, you don't mind carrying the gear again, do you? My back's been bothering me."
"Fine, fine, and fine."
The case weighed fifty pounds, and Jerry thought he would end up with actual back problems if he kept letting Hank talk him into carrying it every time. Oh well. Two reporters who smelled like Burger King food waited at the entrance to the police station. One of them, a rotund woman he'd seen several times before, waddled up to them at good speed, firing off questions. "Mister Gregory, we've been hearing that Kurt Vogelberg is missing and you've been called in to find the body. Is this true?"
Hank always fielded these questions, since he actually liked attention. "No idea yet, Mrs Bell, but we're going to know soon."
"You'd think a psychic would know before walking in the door, wouldn't you?" Haughty people loved to say this.
Hank smiled. "It doesn't work that way, and you should be thankful for it. We don't violate anyone's privacy. We're ethical with our talents."
"Sure you are."
Sergeant Price was waiting in the station with a bunch of other cops. "Interrogation room two, guys."
The three of them went in and looked through the one-way glass. Jerry froze when he saw him. Paul, his old supervisor. He knew about what Jerry could do, and he was staring through the glass now, even as a plainclothes detective was giving him the business. His answers were curt, one word, giving away nothing. And his eyes shifted between a glassy thousand yard stare and ridiculous concentration. Jerry swore to himself. He didn't like Paul.
Of course, that hadn't stopped him from telling him about his talents. He was the supervisor, and typically, he needed to be informed before they could work with the cops. Jerry thought about telling Price, but two grand was two grand, it was two weeks worth of normal income even after giving Hank his 25% cut.
But Hank was useful. He set up his gear with smooth, quick professionalism. The Bose acoustic rig plugged into his laptop, and the rig itself sat on Jerry's shoulders, a giant contraption that looked like half of the Juggernaut's helmet. Price initially thought it was legitimate technology that allowed them to read minds, and Hank encouraged this misconception for weeks while he tried to work out a sight-unseen deal with the military to buy the 'prototype neural wave binder'. He only dropped the idea when the DOD, despite all the talk of military intelligence being an oxymoron, demanded field testing and technical schematics.
Of course, the tech didn't allow him to read minds. It had one purpose: to cancel noise. Jerry needed this to work, especially if he wasn't in the soundproof confines of the interrogation room. Hank was just a sound technician that had responded to a classified ad back when this had all started.
He was shy. He had never known how shy before. Maybe anyone would be shy in his position. He didn't know.
Hank gave him and Price a thumbs up. Price told them the story: "This guy needs an alibi. Vogelberg's son was kidnapped last night, clean ransom note sent via snailmail, and he's the only one that makes sense for it after going through everyone else at the company." As he spoke sent a text to the detective in there with Paul. The detective checked his phone, then started a much more direct line of questioning. *Where were you last night?*
Paul rolled his eyes. "I've told you, I was watching TV. Sorry, no witnesses, I'm not very interesting when I'm just sitting on my couch so I can't have anyone back it up. What else do you want?"
Prince looked at Jerry. "Do it."
Jerry went through his ritual. He pushed his index fingers into his temples and screamed "I'M READING YOUR MIND!!!" until his vocal chords were about to give out. He barely heard himself say it as the noise-cancelling tech did its job. And he immediately felt his thought and feelings mix with Paul's in that weird, warm, disorienting way it always happened.
He wished it hadn't worked. Paul had something on his mind, and it seemed to be a very kinky sexual position with an elderly male in full clown garb. There was blood coming from... somewhere.
"GAH!!!" Jerry took off the headset immediately, set it on the table, and sat down, putting his head in his hands.
"What's wrong, bud?" asked Hank.
"Clowns. Oh GOD the FUCKING CLOWNS." He told them basically what he saw.
Prince looked shocked, then said into his police radio, "get officers to Entertainment Express, now!"
Jerry waved his hands, saying "No, no! I wasn't telling you where he was! It's just what I saw, it could have been some sick random shit!"
"It wasn't. GPS trace on his cell showed he drove by the double-E warehouse yesterday on his way home, couldn't be a coincidence!"
"Yes it could!"
Over the radio: "Officers responding, stand by."
It took twenty minutes before the call came back, telling Price to come out of the room, so he left, leaving Hank and Jerry. Hank looked stricken. "Jer, you alright, brother?"
"Not really. That was twisted."
"Well, it happens, man. We're still gonna make our-"
The door slammed open, and Price walked in with two more officers. "Hank Gregory, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say..."
*Oh God*. Jerry pulled Price off to the side as they were cuffing Hank. "What the hell is this?"
"Officers found Vogelberg's clothes and keys but no sign of Volegberg. All of it was in a back room that was evidently used for some kind of weird sex cult thing. There were pictures, and your boy Hank was deep into it. We're thinking he was behind it."
"That makes no sense! Why would I read all that off of Paul?"
"Your talents aren't always simple, you've told us that, right? Well, we're thinking that you did your mind-meld thing on your partner without realizing it."
"Oh *come on*, Hank isn't a kidnapper. Weird, likes to play dress-up, disappears for days at a time, sure, but..."
*You know, then again...*
Hank's eyes were tearing up. "Jerry, tell them this is wrong, brother. Tell them!"
Jerry shrugged. "We'll get it sorted, don't worry." This actually seemed to cause an avalanche, with Hank crying openly, baby-like, loud. The man did not have a lot of self-control in the best of times.
Prince nodded. "We'll get it sorted, that's right. We gotta let Paul go, though."
Jerry looked through the glass, and Paul was already getting up to leave. He looked at the glass again, through the glass, *right at Jerry*, and gave this huge toothy, crazy-bastard smile. No one else in the room saw it. And Jerry, with no help from his special skills, knew that Vogelberg was going to die.
*I gotta find a better job*.
| 2017-04-03T00:01:12 | 2017-04-02T21:56:45 | 1,326 | 57 |
[WP] A young door-to-door salesman, who is also a renown serial killer, is craftily avoided by an old, best-selling crime novelist.
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"You're late" the Author says, eyeing the Salesman at his door with feigned disdain.
"I disagree" says the Salesman, "It's 2:30 now and if we check Chapter 15 you'll see that..." he begins flipping through a well worn copy of "Door to Door Murder" until he reaches the right place, his tongue stuck out in concentration as he moves his finger down the page. "Aha, yes see, *'the Salesman arrived promptly at 2:30, setting his briefcase by his side to ring the doorbell, signaling a rush of adrenaline through his body'*"
"And what does it say immediately after that?" the Author replied, eyebrows raised, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
*"'The Author came to the door, taking a quick glance through the window before opening it. "Hello, how can I help you?" he says, while...'"*
"Hold on hold on, that's completely wrong" The Author interupts, "that's completely wrong, you must have an old copy, here, I just so happen to have a more up to date version here, let me read it to you." The author leans down to pick up a sheaf of typed papers laying just out of sight beside the door. He begins to flip through them until he finds his place. The Salesman looks at The Author quizzically, saying nothing.
"Here we are, it actually says: *'The Author came to the door briskly, opening it without hesitation. "You're late" the Author says, eyeing the Salesman at his door with feigned disdain. His distraction worked. "I disagree" says the Salesman, "It's 2:30 now and if we check Chapter 15 you'll see.."*
The Salesman began to pale as The Author continued reading.
|
The system had been down for a few days now. Three to be exact. They were going to come and fix it, this Friday, that’s what they said at least. Between the hours of eight and three, undoubtedly. And always when he was in the bathroom, taking a shower, or out back enjoying the summer sun. It made him wonder why he paid for the service at all, with the thing going down a few times a year, he never truly felt safe. *Shoulda’ bought a dog instead of this damn security system. Woulda’ been cheaper too.*
But there was no dog. No cat, no human being within one square mile of his home. Intentional, of course, as any living thing seemed to distract him from his writing. Except for the bird, of course. The birds were his companions. The one’s he talked to and the ones he mused over for his novels. Like some sort of luck charm, Winston kept his binoculars hanging from his neck. Without cable TV or internet there was seldom much to do for entertainment in the house. That and reading. Heck, he didn’t even get the newspaper way out here.
Just the way he liked it, too. There was something comfy, something cozy about being alone. He was never too good at companionship. As the years marched on, he secluded himself more and more. It let him concentrate on his work, on what he was actually good at. And he was good at writing. Crime novels, to be exact. He had made his living, bought this property and built a rather humble house (considering his net worth), because of a combination of words and sentences slapped on a few hundred pages. It surprised him, even now, how much money he had made for the novels he wrote.
It wasn’t what he expected he would be doing. Growing up, he wanted to an astronaut. As he grew older, his desire became more realistic and Winston got a degree in Economics. He was good at it. Great at it, in fact, but by fate, ka as his competitor called it, he was destined to be a writer. The house, his bank account and his retirement fund all pointed to the fact that he still used his economics degree, only less direct, he supposed.
That’s why the knock at the door surprised him. It was late afternoon, the sporadic crazed fan sometimes found his home, way out here in the boonies, but it was always early in the morning. Not when the sun was beginning to set in the West.
Winston dropped his binoculars from his eyes and cocked his head for the door. Again, there was a knock. He walked in from the porch and walked up towards the second story window. It jutted out from the rest of the house, giving him a bird’s eye view of his property. A window was placed on the side of the extremity, providing a sightline to the front door. He pushed the curtains gingerly and peered down to the front porch below.
There was a woman standing there. Young, attractive, probably in her late twenties. She looked aimlessly around and spotted movement in the curtains upstairs. He threw them closed and waited, hoping she didn’t spot him.
“Mr. Underlock?” she called from the yard below, “Mr. Underlock, are you there?”
He froze and waited, hoping what he thought was a fan or some sort of door saleswoman (though why would she be way out here?) would just go away. He hadn’t time for talk or tea, he was behind on his most recent novel and needed to finish it. That said, he spent most of the day watching the birds go about their business in blissful ignorance.
He moved to the other side of the house, silently as possible, and looked through a crack in the curtains at her. She backed away from the house, looking through the windows, searching for a sign of his presence. Reaching the edge of the path that lead to his house, she looked down at her phone and made a phone call. It was brief, an exchange of a few words, Winston supposed, then she ran walked back up the road.
*Where’s her car?* Winston thought, confused. It would be madness to walk this far, the nearest town was twenty-five miles away. She looked fit, but by no means the type that would walk twenty-five miles only to knock at a door and walk away.
Something wasn’t right about her, he deduced, not right at all. He brought up his binoculars and watched her casually trot down the gravel road that lead to his house. Fifty yards away, her figure was drown out by the great pine trees that surrounded his property.
He gingerly walked down the stairs, arm reached down to the railing and took each step one at a time. His hips hadn’t been the same since the car accident, any rapid movement made his bones cry out in pain. Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, he flipped open the panel. *Comcast Security System* was scrawled on the front of it. He pressed the button labeled TEST and waited.
*Sending Test Call…* was plastered on the screen.
Thirty seconds later, the screen notified him that the call “failed.”
“Piece of shit security system.” He uttered under his breath.
His tirade at the security system was cut short. Outside, he heard a car door slam shut, then another. There were voices beyond the wall of his home. He made his way to window in his living room and again pushed the curtains aside to look at the source of the voices.
The woman was back, this time with her car and a new companion. Another girl, years younger. He supposed she couldn’t be past the age of fourteen or fifteen. He looked down at his Seiko: 3:14pm.
“What’s someone that age doing way out here on a Wednesday?” It wasn’t holiday. It was the middle of the week. Surely she had school.
She didn’t have a backpack, or school books. Instead, she and the first woman were carrying two large gym bags. Black and chock full of something. He wasn’t sure the contents, only that whatever was in there jutted out in every which direction. Like spokes from a bike, they protruded and poked this way and that against the fabric of the bag.
Again, there was the knock at the door. This time, he didn’t freeze. He slowly walked to the couch and lifted his hooked cane from the arm of the furniture. With the artificial third leg, he made his way away from the door and towards the study.
Knockknockknock. Three swift raps on the door interrupted his movement.
“Mr. Underlock, I know you’re in there. Let’s make this easy on both of us and just open the door.”
He stopped, like a deer in headlights and waited.
“You’re just delaying the inevitable, Mr. Underlock.”
He didn’t offer a response. Instead his mind began to race. He shuffled through options like a Vegas dealers shuffle through cards.
He couldn’t run, that much was certain. He could barely outmatch the pace of leaves as the raced across his backyard. He could hide, call the cops and hope to scare ‘em off. But he wasn’t sure what they wanted. They weren’t crazed fans, that much was now certain to him, but they weren’t sales people either. They wanted something more from him. Were they going to rob him? Take his things? At this point, that would have been fine. The curiosity of the situation began to worry him. He practically hoped they were here to rob him.
Because there was a feeling in his gut. It was a feeling he oft wrote about in his books. His characters had it at the rising action of his tales. He was all too familiar with the feeling of being uneasy. The feeling that something wasn’t quite right. That feeling was happening to him now; and he was beginning to understand the disdain his characters felt. All of the sudden he felt bad for the fictional people in his dozens of books. Felt bad for their make believe pain. He felt like a mouse caught between two cats.
His thoughts were interrupted by a few swift clicks at the door. He heard it’s old hinges cry out for WD-40 as the door swung open.
“Mr. Wiiinnnstonnn,” a smaller voice called out in his foyer in a melodic tone.
He reached for his phone, silently, just fifteen yards from the intruders he did not want broadcast his position. Nothing made a reply, no dial tone or operators voice. The phone, like he was sure to be soon, was dead.
“And don’t bother with the phones,” the first voice scolded, “Come now, you know how this all works. Phones first, Mr. Underlock.”
Panic gripped his chest as he now understood they weren't here to steal his possessions.
They were here to steal his life.
-----
I have to head out but I wanted to post the first half here. I'll come back to it later today and finish it!
| 2014-03-26T10:18:23 | 2014-03-26T10:10:19 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] At 18 you got your power; the ability to vaporize anyone you wish with just a touch. By 38 you’re the most feared villain the world has known. However, exactly 20 years to the day, your first victim rematerializes. Turns out you’ve just been sending people 20 years into the future all this time
|
For twenty years I was the most feared person on the planet. With a quiet thought, those I touched fizzled and gurgled into non-existence, their screams clawing at a psyche that didn’t care, their eyes pleading for a mercy that never came.
After a two years I was caught, hemmed in like a rabid dog, penned into a concrete bunker that kept me alone with my own worst enemy, myself.
I planned and plotted the end of all of them a thousand times over. Dreaming about the suffering their loved ones would feel made me giggle endlessly. Then I would forget why I was laughing and stare at the walls - awake, always awake - watching the patterns in the concrete decide which victims faces they would want to dissolve into next.
A knock.
Nobody ever knocked. It was gas or shock, never a polite tap at the door. It made me titter.
‘Violet?’
A person. Me? Yes, me.
‘We, ah, we would like to talk.’
Soon followed countless rooms of faceless men and women. I was careful not to smile in front of bright lights, I made sure my eyes didn’t give away my thoughts, I stayed silent and nodded to their questions. I listened.
I learned that those I touched returned 20 years later.
And now… The wealthy, the old, the sick. They now all wanted my gift. The world needed me, they begged for me.
And I would make them beg. I would make them all beg.
|
"Well you can't call me a murderer anymore" he said through a grin.
The press conference had gone about as expected. Half of the reporters weren't in just yet, but with old acquaintances of his reappearing, you could expect them to drop by any minute.
In the second row, a fading blond raised her voice over the ruckus. "Does this development have any effect on your foreign policy?". She wasn't a local reporter. She shouldn't be here.
The dictator was prepared for that question, but there was still a hint of dread at the edge of his mind. What did his future look like, now?
"Well as the situation develops we will just have to see how foreign leadership reacts and respond accordingly" he said. He had plenty of time.
A decade ago he'd shown his face at the UN as a young diplomat and had touched shoulders with just about all the greats.
Naturally, with everyone being "vaporized", there were no witnesses to say what may have happened to the world's leaders. At the time he'd been pretending that he could teleport people, that he was holding all the presidents and prime minsters hostage, probably underneath a volcano or somewhere else suitably evil. That little play bought him quite a good deal of power. It was the start, really.
He'd been entrusted with guiding his country towards a better future these last 9 years. Youngest supreme leader to date. Unfortunately it looked like the future he was guiding them towards was beginning to look a lot like the past.
"Thank you all for your questions but that's all I have time for." He said, smiling at the procession.
He leaned over and whispered to his right hand man "Have the one who asked that last question taken care of, please." He pointed at her. He wanted them to see him pointing at her.
"Already taken care of boss, wasn't on the list of approved material." he replied.
"Good, looks like our head of PR gets to keep living"
\----
It had started off rather mundane. Just a cashier from back home, from a lifetime ago. The press had run that story into the ground, "Woman brought forward 20 years" and so on.
They didn't make the connection until specific people came back, bank security and people from his past life. Well, everybody knew where he came from, it didn't take a genius to put 2 and 2 together.
That was so long ago, now.
Making people disappear was hardly where his power lay. He controlled proper nuclear munitions now. He could make the world shake without ever stepping out of his office.
Diplomacy was the vestige of the weak. And so on. He had gotten used to being called capital E evil. Well, maybe it was true enough but he didn't care to think about that so much anymore.
\-----
He sat in a small office in a little corner of a gothic palace, where he currently held his seat of power. The palace was old, eastern European and all brutal jagged angles.
He cycled through places like this from month to month, always keeping on the move. Right now there wasn't any specific danger, but he'd gotten used to the pace. Besides, a bullet through his head would kill him just like anyone else, so why not take some precautions?
"Sir, our coal imports are down by 24%" said the economist.
"Hmm, that is worrying. Your predecessor didn't have good news for me either, did you know that?" said the dictator.
"Ah, well sir, that's just what the numbers say. Whoever's after me will have the same figures I do." said the economist.
Brave man, though the dictator. He'd needed a good economist for a while now, perhaps he'd keep this one. The dictator had been pruning his cabinet for years, peeling away the sycophants. Unfortunately, a lot of them got it into their head to try and take care of him once and for all. A side effect of bravery, he supposed.
He often wondered why they hated him so. They were the intelligensia of his fledgling nation, returned from foreign universities. Perhaps it was the liberal leaning mixed with coming from his nations old money? Sure, the dictator was a bit more authoritarian than you'd like but he had made do. AK47 diplomacy was in vogue long before he'd come here.
"Uh, sir, our growth is expected to be negative this year. I'm sure you were briefed on a coming recession, but it will hit harder than expected. I've prepared a list of measures..." The economist began to rattle off monetary policy.
Still, the country was synonymous with the dictator. The Dictator. Holding presidents hostage, stealing nukes, taking candy from babies etc. Never mind that he was the 4th dictator here in the last 23 years.
Nobody would trade with him, he thought. The import tariffs were bad enough before.
Where was this coming from? It's not like he can't just send people forward another 20 years. Besides, he had far more effective munition now, where was the sudden hostility coming from? Had anything really changed?
The dictator cut in, "Is there anything I could do? Perhaps militarily?"
"Well sir, we've thought about that, to be sure, but we can hardly venture east or west. You've, uh, already liberated our poorest neighbors. I wouldn't recommend anything of that sort, but perhaps you should ask your generals, I'm just an economist." the economist said. He was still squeamish in his own way it seemed.
Not so brave after all, thought the dictator.
\-----
"Another riot sir, but not too bad. We've had less than last year" said his right hand man.
"That will be all, thank you, leave that here." said the dictator, pointing at the populist newspaper. It was propaganda by those wanting a return to the old ways, where their leadership had been born and raised here. It had been worse then, but none of them bothered to remember that.
Of course, a minority were in favour of democracy. The dictator had been playing around with the idea of giving it a chance and doing as dictators do, rigging the elections for a decade or so before retiring, benevolent and grey. The only issue was that the nation just wasn't ready for it. Too much local power had been dismantled. He'd done too good a job centralising.
Well, he had to make a start, he thought. Nothing had changed, he had to make plans for the future.
\-----
What's the greater evil? Thought the dictator.
He'd been confined to thinking of himself as a murder since the age of 18. It hadn't been accidental, mind you, he'd known what he was doing, but he was just a child. How could anyone be accounted for at that age? Surely the world has had worse murderers that were absolved.
Still, now that they were all coming back... Did that change anything? Would that change the means and the ends, so to speak?
Would it be hard to say? His adopted people had prospered, a war torn wasteland had managed to stand on it's own two feet through his two hands. And now it turned out he didn't even kill those people. Maybe a couple hundred, not even killed.
In a way he did them a favour, didn't he? Nobody expects anything of them, now, so long forgotten. And surely some of them would benefit from the breakthroughs of medicine in the 20 years. But who would care to think about that?
And so what if he did kill them in the first place? What value do the single lives have, now that you see what came from it?
\-----
"It'll be alright sir, the saboteur took cyanide before we could question her but she didn't make it past our 2rd line of defense. You have nothing to worry about." said his right hand man. He was a recent hire, as were the additional lines of defense.
The rabble hadn't taken the increased taxation well. If only they could see the investments he was making, the infrastructure he was building. But of course they all assumed it was for golden statues and more palaces. Typical.
"Thank you, have our first line of guards taken care of, please. Uh, to clarify, put them to work, not to death" said the dictator. Precautions, what was the point of having a first line if they were effortlessly slipped past.
Perhaps they'd learn to love their leader in the mines, he thought. The mines weren't good for much monetarily but they certainly sent a message. Perhaps he needed to be sending a louder message.
\-----
Maybe in the beginning it had been all about power. He couldn't remember those days so much anymore, not through all the drink. He'd done so much, and not a word to it's value. Instead the world acted as if he held each man, woman and child in his jurisdiction as a hostage. As if he himself were gripping them by the neck.
To hell with all of them. They couldn't see past their own programming, couldn't see a bigger picture. What was the bigger picture now, anyway?
He sat and pondered that question. He'd been thinking about it for a while.
Perhaps it was time to topple the dictator.
| 2022-01-25T23:47:05 | 2022-01-25T20:57:29 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You are the best interrogator in your country. Your methods have been known to break even the toughest of operatives, yet not a single soul, other than your subjects, know exactly what your 'method' is.
|
"It's Ellen, right?"
"Allana."
"Oh, Allana, my apologies." I bow briefly before handing her a glass of wine. "Enjoy, it's quite delicious."
"And drink whatever poison you put in there."
I smile. "Of course." Before downing the entire glass. I pour a second one. "Do you trust me or do I need to drink this one too?"
"I don't drink."
"That's fair, though I wish you would have told me before I wasted this lovely vintage. Oh well, can't be helped." I pour a third glass. "Anyway, I'll be straight with you. I'm a terrible investigator, no, my specialty is something else entirely."
"And what's that?"
"Necromancy."
She raises an eyebrow.
"It's true. Frankly, you're going to die after we're done anyway, so..." I snap her neck. I give myself some time to prepare before summoning her ghost.
She had a euphoric expression on her face, before fading into reality. She over shot it, and soon treated the room as though it were Hell. "What have you done?"
I smile. "Now, if you want to go back, I suggest telling me where you're friends have been hiding."
|
I stepped into the cell where Abir-Adham Kiral was being held. I had seen his face in many top-secret files, on TV, and all over the internet. The Green Berets had somehow managed to capture him alive, and now here he was sitting in front of me. He looked different from the photos I had seen of him. He was tied to a small metal chair and now one of his eyes was swollen shut, he appeared to be missing some teeth and blood was dribbling out of his mouth, and his left hand was swollen. There was a small metal cart that had a hammer, scalpel, a blow torch, and some other toys on it but I wasn't interested in any of those. I'm an interrogator, not a barbarian.
"Mr. Kiral, I'm Agent Stone." I introduced myself. "I have some questions for you."
"Fuck you, infidel." Abir said as he spat on the floor, just missing my shoes with the wad of blood and phlegm he produced from the back of his throat.
"I figured you'd say as much. Listen very carefully to me, Mr. Kiral. I'm very good at what I do, and you will tell me what I want to know."
"I WILL TELL YOU NOTHING, AMERICAN DOG!" He interrupted me, exploding with anger and pulling at his bonds. "You think I am afraid to die? You think I am afraid of your torture? You do not even know what real torture is, you cowards. I am not afraid of you. You should be afraid of me, you want to know what I do to your men?" He smiled at me, a smile that was filled with blood. He had a look in his eye like he was recalling a fond memory. "I captured one of your soldiers and I whipped him until he told me where the rest of his squad was, and after he told me what I wanted to know, I finally got started. I took a very big knife and I cut him one thousand times. Then I took goat piss and goat shit and I covered him in it. He wouldn't stop screaming so I cut his balls off and shoved them in his mouth. I cut off his hands and his feet so he could not run and I laid him outside in the sun. The maggots ate him from the inside out while the birds pecked out his eyes."
I smiled back at Abir. "Your methods are well documented, Mr. Kiral. And therein lies the difference between you and I. Only myself and my small team are aware of my methods. Even my government turns a blind eye to what I do, as long as I get them what they want. And just so you know, I always get them what they want. Even from men like you." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few pictures. "Your son." I dropped the picture and let it fall to the floor. "Your wife." I let this one fall to the floor too.
"You will never find them." Abir said. I could tell he was getting nervous.
"Oh but I already have. And I've found her as well." Abir sat up a little straighter and his eyes widened. I showed him a picture of his mistress and let that one fall to the floor as well.
Abir-Adham Kiral boasted that he was a man of no weakness. I knew better than that. Every man has a weakness. Abir went through great measures, and spared no expense to keep this woman a secret. The only men who knew about her were his two personal body guards, who he trusted completely. Yet I was still able to find out about her and exploit his weakness. He was right where I wanted him.
"Those pictures mean nothing. They are just pictures." Abir said, trying to maintain his confidence and defiance, but he had the slightest tinge of nervousness in his voice. I reached into another pocket and pulled out a small tablet. I called one of my agents and on the screen appeared three hooded figures sitting tied to their chairs in a dark room. I turned the tablet over so Abir could see the screen as one of my agents removed the hoods revealing the three people were in fact his son, wife, and mistress.
"You will not harm them." Abir said with an air of confidence. "You Americans do not harm innocents."
"Mr. Kiral I refuse to believe that you are so naive. It is true that the American Government frowns upon certain 'techniques', at least in the public eye. They do hire what I like to call 'barbarians'. These men are dim-witted and blood-thirsty. They don't care about getting the answers. They just want to hit men who are restrained and every now and then they get lucky. Mostly they're cowards and when they can't get their suspect to crack they call men like me. However, men like me, the true interrogators, are different. Sure, the American government pays us, but we don't do it for the paycheck. We do it to keep America safe from assholes like you, Mr. Kiral. And let me assure you, we will do *anything* to make sure we get our job done."
"I will tell you nothing." Abir said, but his tone was different. He was breaking.
"We'll see about that." I said as I turned the tablet back to me. "Agent Rain" I said into the tablet.
"Yes sir?" a voice answered
"Bring in the pigs."
I turned the tablet back to Abir. A door opened off the screen and the screeching wails of two hungry hogs could be heard off the screen. The three hostages began to squirm in their seats and Abir's son began to cry and scream as the pigs got closer. A man appeared on screen holding the two pigs on a leash, just a few feet away from Abir's family and mistress.
Abir stared at the screen and said nothing.
Agent Rain took a step closer. Now the pigs were snapping their jaws and were only about a foot away from Abir's son. Another step. Six inches.
Abir was starting to sweat. He took a deep breathe and sighed. He shook his head. He was willing to let his son die to keep his secrets, but I expected that. After letting his son squirm and cry for a few more minutes Agent Rain pulled the pigs back and brought them over to the mistress. This got Abir's attention.
"You ready to talk?" I asked him.
He didn't answer and so Agent Rain took another step towards his mistress.
"You know, Mr. Kiral." I paused. "She's pregnant." as I said it Abir's wife, who knew nothing of the mistress exploded with anger. She had no idea about the other woman and now finally realized who she was and why she was there. She was yelling curses at Abir in Arabic and sobbing. Rain took another step towards the mistress. The pigs could almost bite her ankles. His son was wailing with fear, his wife was furious and now aware of his adultery, and his true love was trying to be brave but the fear on her face was plain as day.
"Stop!" Abir yelled and started to cry. He was broken. "Stop! I'll tell you everything."
"Enough." I said into the tablet to Agent Rain, and I turned it off and put it back into my pocket.
"Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."
Abir-Adham Kiral spent the next 45 minutes pointing out hide outs and weapon caches on maps, telling me his battle plans, and even telling me who would be taking command in his absence.
"My work here is done, Mr. Kiral. I will let your family go, and no harm will come to them."
"And what will you do with me?" Abir asked. Now that I had his secrets he was stripped of all his armor. He was a mere mortal now.
"Me? Nothing. I told you, I'm an interrogator, not a barbarian." I turned to leave the cell and opened the door. "However." I turned back to Abir. "These men would like to have a word with you."
I stepped aside and in stepped three men wearing purple hearts, Army infantry patches, and an Ace of Spades patch sewn onto their BDUs. Abir recognized the patches instantly and couldn't hide the fear on his face. The man he tortured, and squad he ambushed wore the same patches. "Hey asshole, remember us?" One of the soldiers said.
I left the cell and the door closed behind me. I heard the *click* and *hiss* of a blow torch being turned on and the screams of Abir-Adham Kiral as I walked down the hall towards a conference room so I could share my results with the men who paid for such information.
| 2015-05-12T10:59:56 | 2015-05-12T08:29:59 | 58 | 41 |
[WP]: A new, lethal STD becomes a pandemic due to an unusual side-effect: It makes the infected really, really attractive
|
"Mommy, why were the people in the old pictures and videos so pretty, but not now?" asked the little girl.
"Because all the pretty people got sick... But their kind of sick generally wouldn't spread to the normal people, like your father and I. They only stuck to themselves, leaving us alone. And they died out," her mother replied.
"Mommy, am I going to be pretty and die too?" asked the little girl in a worried voice.
"You already are pretty, dear. And no, you're not going to die like that. The disease died with them."
The End
(I figured that the prompt didn't say that it made the infected willing to have sex with ugly people.)
|
She is so hot. Oh my god she's hot. Last week, she was... different. I don't know, a little shorter maybe? some zits? I can't even remember anymore. She's looking at me coyly with a tight little blouse and short shorts and sipping a mimosa with a straw at the moment. I just try to focus on her gorgeous eyes. She's not wearing any makeup at all. Is this the same person I've known for 2 years? Her name is Elise and I can't recall ever thinking she was very attractive. The pixie haircut used to turn me off but now it's soooo bangin... Jesus what am I thinking.
"I feel great lately. I don't know what I'm doing right." She takes a little sip of her drink with those soft, perfectly full lips.
We are hanging out at my house after she asked if she could come over. We've hung out here a lot but all I can think of is that I never had a god damn Victoria's Secret model sitting on my bed. Just relax and it will all work out....
"Anything happen? You look great." I'm a little surprised at myself for saying that, but I really shouldn't be, she's been my good friend for a while. I suddenly find myself wondering what she's thought of me these years. "you been working out or something?" I kind of play it off like I'm kidding but she seems a gratified to hear it. I feel a little boost of confidence in my vaguely bewildered state.
Her expression changes and she looks away for a second, apparently lost in thought. She opens her sweet little mouth and slowly begins...
"I went to a show. There was this guy there. He was kind of cute... and he picked me up. What can I say? He was really nice. I swear he got more good-looking as it got later but then I was drinking. But anyway, he took me back to his place... he was actually a nice guy, good taste, pretty nice apartment... and... like... we had sex. I realized, he's like this buff, fucking movie-star-looking hottie, I'm surprised I didn't notice before. umm, yeah..." So she's off in some daydream about that guy. It's a funny thing, Elise doesn't hook up that much..... all that's gonna change.
She kinda laughs it off dryly and her boobs bounce around a bit.
Of course, I'm thinking about my messy room, and my not-stone-cold-sexy-ness, and feel just a bit miffed. Why is the world so unfair? Can't I be somebody attractive? What is the purpose of this weird universe that drops this kind of twisted shit on somebody?
I just turn off that thought and focus on Elise. She's definitely focussing on me too, with a very serious expression on her face.... almost as if she's giving me the bedroom eyes. Honestly it's a bit much. Still I decide to look confident. I smile bemusedly. "Well what could go wrong?"
She laughs. Such a sweet, cute laugh, god damn it, I'm getting a boner. If I hadn't actively been picturing Betty White naked, I would've had one long ago.
She looks down and lightly scratches her stomach under her blouse. Then she looks up at me again.
"Welllll... I feel great, but a little weird... I think there's something unnatural going on and I don't know if I should get checked out..."
We both suddenly glance at each other, and it's a little hard not to laugh because I just caught myself.... gazing... at her sweet, perky, full, round little boobs. "Sorry" I manage to squeeze out, chortling a bit. She facepalms with comical disdain. Thank goodness, it's not awkward at all. Actually I'm really happy all of a sudden.
"Soooo..... it's kind of out in the open. I swear I have no idea what's going on. But just.... look at me.
....so....what do you think?"
Didn't see it coming. She all of a sudden looks shy and self-conscious, which totally catches me off-guard, incidentally, as the most freakishly, almost-makes-you-wanna-cry gorgeous look she's given me all night. Her skin looks so smooth and soft, her long, tan legs are crossed indian style and her ankle tattoo of a dragon never looked so fucking cool. The sparkly green painted toe nails. The natural highlights coming out more than usual in her wavy, mahogany brown, pixie-cut hair that's starting to grow out fucking PERFECTLY AAHHHHH fffffffffuuuucccckkkkk what do I say! What the fuck is this??? ok ok. don't overdo it
"mm..." look her in the eyes... "...I like it. It's... beautiful." ...serious... "....you're... really, really attractive. Ok. ummm.... it is a little weird don't you think? What do you think? Oh and you... think it had to with that guy you met?"
Oh. Think I might've overdid it, she's blushing pretty hard. Fine by me.
She opens her mouth and almost starts to say something, pauses to rethink for a second, keeps going.
"I'm on the pill... and so you know.... I don't really know... the way stuff happened... I might kind of wonder iffff.... I don't know....
you know?"
whoooooo..... the million dollar question... thankfully I don't have to answer because she keeps going.
"Well anyway, it's really weird and I banged that random guy and now I look great all of a sudden, but look. I... me and you.... I want to let you in on something...."
anticipation
"..I like you? uh sorry, yes I like you. I have for a while, and I just, suddenly..."
We're just kinda looking at each other both slighty reeling and just pleasantly appreciating the situation. Everything seems pretty well resolved... holy shit this is quite something. just smile and look her beautiful face, and the rest is history, we banged like 4 times.
Man that was great. Elise even said I was better than the random dude from the show. She tells me that he seemed a little run-down at times or maybe just out of it. She says it was pretty short and sweet before he passed out. When she woke up he was already gone apparently, but he left a nice note. We fall asleep at 2 in the morning, happy, tired, and just amazed at it all.
We wake up at 10:30 comfy and beautiful with the sun shining in on us. It feels like a wonderful dream. She kinda goes "mmm" and smiles at me and we kiss some. And then we had sex 2 more times.
To my poor wasted cock.... you'll thank me later.
Shower, breakfast, and a perfect day. We just walk around feeling totally happy. The impossible coincidences of it all just like a magical good fortune that doesn't want to be explained. And there was a Badfish concert that night. So we're going to Badfish. Everything is great.
At the gig, the first thing Elise and I notice is that there are a LOT of REALLY attractive people there. And the thing is, it's kind of a weird dynamic, because it seems like everyone is as amazed by it as we are. Everybody's being really friendly though, just a bit tentative somehow, as if everyone is self-conscious. It strikes me as a weird dynamic for a Badfish show.
Before the concert I go in the back to the grungy-ass bathrooms of the club and look in the mirror while I'm washing my hands.
Wait a minute... does my chest look a little wider? I think my complexion is getting a little better. I have a random thought and look to see how my six-pack is coming along.
Well damn! I guess it gets better every day with my workout thing, but hey, I'm looking more cut than I ever remember looking. There is definitely something weird going on, or else I'm tripping sack. And I think I might like whatever's happening.... I think. I hope.
It is that night that we find out that we're both probably going to die in about 4 weeks.
| 2016-04-11T00:49:13 | 2016-04-11T00:48:55 | 79 | 38 |
[WP] As it turns out, humans give life to stuffed animals by sleeping nearby them, imbuing them with dream energy. And as the favorite stuffed animal of your kid, it's your job to lead the rest of the stuffed animals in the eternal war against the Nightmare King.
|
# Words for a Favorite Bear
“Hold, Nightmare King!” shouted Missy the Bear, as she pointed to the man with the feathered gray hair. “I say, Nightmare King, dost thou fight fair?”
And the Nightmare King laughed, breathed a spell to the air.
And the air it did whistle, it whirred, and it twisted.
And it blew down the bear, past the heather and thistles.
But Missy was brave, as is a bear’s wont. She stood up to the air, and the air heard her taunt.
She said, “Hey now air! Please don’t whistle, don’t whir! There’s a baby asleep, and she’ll wake at a word!”
The air, being air, knew not what to do, but the bear spoke so well, it heard beyond me and you
To the feelings she'd had when she'd gone off to the night, in the arms of the babe who’d become her life.
And the others they heard beyond her words too. And they joined dear old Missy, to strike up a tune.
A tune that jaunty, was hearty, was wise. A tune all about the love in blue eyes.
Blue eyes that had sparkled, had twinkled with glee.
As they fought past the world, on their way to me.
And I, you might ask, who am I in all this?
I’ll leave you, dear reader, with no more than this.
I’m a dancer, a prancer, a dasher with glee.
Through the dreams of all children: may they dream with ease!
And may they have a friend like dear Missy-- so wise!
To see past the Nightmare’s terrific disguise.
See the creature beneath it, so tiny, so gray
So frightfully wicked,
Yet she brought it to bay.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
|
The mind of a child is a wondrous thing. Full of imagination, of complete wonder that is unmatched in any adult. To them, the world can still be full of magic and mystery. It takes a lot of cold, hard, and broken days to turn them into the shambling and mindless adults that sadly so many children with great potential become. Most thankfully grow up, still carrying some of that shining spark, the wondrous mix of joy and madness that is a good childhood. Thus, until their adulthood comes, they're quite magical in many ways. The cynical man might scoff at the idea of a child having some sort of stuffed animal, favourite toy, or something like that, which they sleep with. To the cynic, who is without hope and devoid of dreams, this is a pointless and ultimately unimportant thing. That's because in every adult who has nothing left from their childhood but vague impressions, no hope, no love, no dreams, has had their soul eaten by the very thing we need the stuffed toys for.
The Nightmare King.
A childish name for a horrible thing. But it is a well-earned name. The very magic that is childhood sadly has the side-effect of leaving the human soul quite exposed. And the Nightmare King, from his castle of shadows and broken dreams, goes hunting for the only thing that can sate his unending hunger. The souls of men. But when you grow up, your mind hardens. You become like steel, and the Nightmare King cannot bite through your dreamsphere to get at your sweet juicy soul. Children are therefore at risk, and as the Nightmare King can devour souls by the thousands at a time, one might expect that humanity would be an entirely soulless lot. No hope. No future. No dreams. Only the endless, cynical, grey nightmare. But the very magic that leaves them vulnerable in childhood has a natural defence. And that is the stuffed toy. The human child choses a toy, and that special toy is transformed by the magical energies of the dreaming child. And we are from that moment imbued with life and purpose. All such special toys know from the moment of their inception what they must do. Protect and serve. Guard your child. Keep fighting the eternal war against the Nightmare King.
Every night, as the children of humanity sleep, the dreamrealm is a battlefield. The weapons used are those that children can understand. Magic swords, cool revolvers, blades made from plasma, and such. Along with explosive nerf blasters, water balloons that melts nightmares, and other more esoteric toys. Every night, we ascend to the dreamrealm. And every night we fight to keep our makers, the human children, safe. Because we love them. And they love us. My synthetic blue fur bristles as we charge again tonight. Atop a large plush unicorn I ride against the hordes of the Nightmare King; the unholy spawn created from the hatred in man's souls, formed into deadly shapes by the king's diseased claws. By day time I am a blue cat plush called Sir Meow. I have tea parties with a little lonely girl who loves nothing more than princesses, drawing pictures, and try to read books, which she works quite diligently at for a kid of five. By night, I hold aloft my blessed sword, clad in steel armour, as I ride down the forces of darkness. Behind me rides other knights, in countless forms.
Sword in paw I cut down scores of nightmare spawn, but it is never enough. No matter how hard we press against his forces, we cannot hold him back indefinitely. Even as me and the other knights keep pressing the Nightmare King's flanks, his centre pushes our own, and we cannot hold. Spurring the magical unicorn plush forward, as she blasts them with magic, we arrive just in time to allow for our forces to retreat. But this happens every night. No matter what strategy we use. Our strategists, the unfortunate ones of us who are bound to humans who are in comas, constantly dreaming, search through the dreams of generals and military minds across the globe, looking for new stratagems that can allow us to either hold back the Nightmare King, or perhaps even defeat him once and for all. But he circumvents them all eventually. And as the front breaks, he comes forth himself to feast greedily. We try to harass him, to set up our secondary defences, but it's all for naught. I see as the spherical dreamworlds of children, observable from the greater collective subconsciousness in which we fight, are dimmed. Some of them can fight back, resist him. But some have only their dreams to turn to, and they're the most vulnerable of all. They lose their last holdout, the last place that was still them, and become empty shells instead. They become mean, empty, and devoid of anything resembling human decency. They will grow up to become the Karens and neckbeards of tomorrow.
And every child lost like that, cannot sustain a special dream-toy warrior. Around me, I see knights and soldiers fall. I see them turn to ash, as the dream-energy that sustained their independent existence ceases to be. Enraged, I dismount the unicorn and with my blade I charge to him. With my fury unmatched I strike down countless nightmare spawns, and rally what few plushies and toys that haven't been cast out of the dreamworld or destroyed. It's a mad dash, through the giggling, screaming, and weeping horrors that are born from the darkness that lurk within mankind's hearts. I fight harder than I've ever fought before. Because I cannot stand this anymore. She told me that I was the peerless knight. That I am unbeatable in battle. And she believes it. She, the girl who imbued me by her choice, truly believes in me. In dreams, belief is power. In dreams, we can change things. The Nightmare King has no faith, no hope, no dreams. Only pain and hate. Only ravenous hunger, and cold apathy.
Even as the dreamforms of my kindred are destroyed and sent back to their forms in the waking world, I press on. Eventually, covered in the ichor of the abominable spawn, I stand before the Nightmare King. His form of rotten liquid, his shape of dread nothingness, it moves to face me. He faces me with a human face. They said that he was once the first man to learn how to dream lucidly, but that he found a way to live in the dream forever. But humans are not meant to live that long. Only through consuming the souls of the innocent can such a being endure. Perhaps it is so. Others said that he was the embodiment of all the bad things a child can experience, personified as a hungry monster. I do not know what he is. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that upon him seeing me, I felt fear. I felt a fear so great that a lesser toy would have turned to dust. Such a fear that a being of pure hunger and hatred was focusing all its attention towards me, dropping many of the dreamspheres it was about to drain. Its dark tendrils reach out for me, as I shake in my armour.
It feels so cold. It feels like being forgotten. Being dropped and left behind. Being rejected.
But something within me stays warm. And it is the memory of her, the one who chose me, telling me that I had to be brave. Because a true knight doesn't let any fear hold him back. Perhaps it was her way of dealing with the things that she could not control. Perhaps she knew I would need it as a part of who I am. And from within me, the warmth spreads, from my heart of felt to my two button eyes. And I know what I must do. I am a knight above all else. I was knighted by the princess who made me. I am Sir Meow. I know my duty. Thus my paw, still gripping tightly at my blessed sword, chops at the Nightmare King. Within the dreamrealm, there is a cacophony the likes of which cannot be described in any language that any human has ever spoken. A mix of human screaming and something far, far worse, as the Nightmare King is forced back, stab by stab, chop by chop. The fleeing toys hear this, and are filled again with the courage they need. They pick up their waterpistols and lavablades, and they tear apart the fleeing spawn.
But I focused on one thing, and one thing only. The Nightmare King. My every thrust with my blade into his flesh forces his vile putrid body to expel more noxious nightmare fuel. His every attempt at an attack is parried or dodged. However not even this is enough. As he turns tail and runs, like the monstrous coward he is, I try to follow, but no toy may enter the Nightmare King's dread realm and live. Yet his incursion has been pushed back. His assault failed today. And I realise just what I'd manage to do. I've wounded him. The Nightmare King can be wounded. And what can be wounded can be slain. As my dreamform dissipates with the sound of the morning alarm, I know that when night comes once more, I will do whatever I can, for the princess who made me, to slay the dread King.
And with her faith in me firm and rightly placed, I know that I can do it. Maybe not this night, but one night, he will falter. One night, the Nightmare King will end. And on that night the children of mankind can rest easy, for none shall ever pray upon them ever again in their dreams.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2021-10-26T14:35:19 | 2021-10-26T14:17:34 | 184 | 65 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
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I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
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First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon..
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. You try making a call on your phone but it just plays Phish songs That's how it felt.
It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
So. 700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
Most animals that could look up and had some visual acuity also became enraptured. I wanted to help the animals but I didn't know how.
My first two days I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
The transformed congregation moved in packs but continued to stare at the moon. They'd only respond if provoked but you'd be dead before you realized you had provoked them.
Then came the Sound Eternal. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up. From the beasts, from the people.
It was declared cured five or six times. Half of those just lies from crumbling provisional government. The other half lacked real testing or distribution standards. Giving injections to hoards of swaying gnarly mutants that may lead to heads exploding one way or another wasn't going to work out
And so modified aerial viruses delivered via crop dusters, foggers, modified tear gas canisters, anything that could contain the smoke.
They all cocooned out for a bit after the dusting misused some lies masquerading as legitimate research.
I saw the aftermath and heard the confessions but I can't tell you in great detail how that all went down. Too busy rhen with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
The less said, the better. Dark time for submarines.
Most Moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features.
Lived a mockery of their old routines, spring in their step. Go into the abandoned office to push pieces of paper around and tap keys on unpowered terminals. Then every night, back to the moon gazing.
You were probably born during this time period. Probably not the most rational decision that could've been made, but after surviving weregargoyles the social fabric didn't have much space for rationality.
They'd peruse ransacked grocery stores, exchange idle moon-themed pleasantries with each other. Morning jog through fields of corpses, oblivious. Flip.through the same old magazine until it disintergrated. Barbers and janitors would go to rubble that used to be their workplace and sweep with purposelessness . Tradesmen could sort of resume their jobs, more or less, but only served their own kind. After a few months, they used noise singing to gather a crowd and coordinate at a task, building ungodly architecture overnight or sacrificing a hundred mile long line of people to send an electrical signal from one necropolis to the next.
They'd all look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just didn't understand thar moon magic wouldn't work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. I had fallen into a bad crowd of pharmaceutic redistributors.
I'lll admit I developed a bit of a moon dust habit.The dust made their late 20th century satire of mid 20th century values schtick a little more tolerable. What else is there to do during the longest flash mob installation art piece? Swap rumors and lies about how places beyond the horizon were getting by?
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the impure finally join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few unchanged had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something other than marauder junkies. I was around 22 at the time and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins to a real go-getter errand runner.
Then, next phase began and their molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. Moondust purity went way down, market nearly tanked. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live like a forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to round up the remaining twenty thousand some for free laser eye replacement. There's some logistics, sure, but you concentrate everyone into camps, chop off some limbs, erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion. The question is will you be complacent enough to realize your higher calling or are you going to be another meat log for the stumpy field?
Either way, the implants will a little itch bit at first. Hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59 | 2018-04-06T19:57:39 | 103 | 30 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
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My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
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I walked into the old apartment, gun in hand, staring intently through the airborne dust unmasked from the faint light entering from the window. It was quiet, but I could hear shifting in the dining room.
"Alright Mr. Whitaker, the goose chase is over.....goose.... goose chase?" I said to myself, wondering if I was saying the term correctly.
"I think the term you are looking for is wild...... goose chase." a voice whispered, exposing it's owner's location, the dining room.
My target was sitting patiently, without any sense of fear. I slowly walked to the chair across from him, sat down, and began my interrogation.
"Well well, Mr. Whitaker. I don't know how you've managed to evade government officials for as long as you did, as old as you are, but I found you. A man as methodical as you sure leaves traces around like breadcrumbs. It's almost as if you WANTED me to find you." I said, a faint smirk emerging from my visage. This wasn't a triumph of mine finding him, this man led me to him. He was incredibly smart, a think tank of sorts. I didn't know what his power was, so I had to be careful, but given the circumstance, I might be past that point already.
"That's kind of on the nose young man, but such is the way of the youth. Fine.....fine. I did lead you here, as you are new in your field. You haven't been bought, your mind not yet corrupted. There were other candidates, but you were the sole person to figure our all the clues I left, so you weren't chosen, but guided." he answered, without a glimpse of happiness in his eyes.
"Well I'm guessing it has to do with your power, some kind of weapon I assume. If you think the government will use you like collateral or-" I started, but he interrupted, with a dominant nature.
"-I am not a weapon.... no. It would make more sense to say that I am the period, at the end of a sentence.".
I looked around. His house was chalk full of books, all way beyond my comprehension. Scientific laws, books on algorithms, and enough history books to drown in. This guy reads, a lot. I didn't quite get his metaphor though.
"A period, at the end of a sentence. What like, an end to a means? Can your power stop time?" I asked, putting my gun on the table, on the fence between bringing the man in like I was ordered, and hearing him out like my gut's been telling me.
"You could say that, stop time." he said, me mistaking it for his sense of humor, but he didn't show a sign that he was being sarcastic. He continued.
"If existence was one never ending sentence, I would be the period. Every single person's powers in the government's list, all 165,000, are trivial compared to mine. The government worries that people will alter reality, generate global destruction, or control the will of others, but all of them, ALL of the powers the government have found, are nothing compared to mine, because my power, is the only power that truly matters, the only action a person can take, that the entire universe will be affected by, the power to erase it entirely."
I leaned back in my chair, scared shit-less, but within reason. If what he said is true, then he posed only a potential risk. If he wanted to use his power, he'd have used it by now. There would be no point in leading me here if his goal was to destroy everything in existence. A man with a power like that wouldn't be one to waste time.
After pondering, I responded "So..... why all this? Why hide from the government, feigning to be powerless yet somehow knowing what it was? I don't think anyone could use you as leverage, considering it would defeat the purpose." I chuckled, half from my own joke, and from understanding that his 'stop time' comment was an attempt at humor.
Then it hit me, I understood. For him to have knowledge of his power, yet the government claiming he was powerless, made no sense.
"...... the government activates people's powers to know what they are, don't they." I said, realizing the point of his sleight of hand.
"Correct, either that or the power is revealed if detected. The subject in question of course has to be tagged first, as I was. It acts like a beacon when a person's power is activated. My problem was the government didn't believe me when I told them my power. Everyone KNOWS their power, because they see a vision of how their power works before it manifests. I saw the entire universe, at least what my limited eyes could see, all condense into a single point, too small to see, and then I woke up. that was almost 75 years ago. I told this to the doctors, they laughed. When I was tagged, I told the scientists. They didn't believe me, and wanted to activate my power to see if I was just lying, if my power was something I could profit off of. To be fair, it would make sense. Claim your power would be catastrophic if activated, just to use it to your whim, at least once. Once they map you, they would know... so I was stuck. I had to leave my family, and run on foot for the rest of my natural born life. It's been, a very long time since I've sat down and talked to someone.... sorry I went off on a tangent. The point of you being here, is to believe my words." the old man said with a smile. I guess there was a bit of happiness left inside.
"Is this the part where you ask me to kill you? I mean you could of did that a long time ago Mr Whitaker." I said, returning his smile back with another. It was a rhetorical question though, I knew what he wanted.
"You could say that." he laughed under his breath. "I would think it be the safest route."
"Ok Mr Whitaker, I'll go 'kill you', as far as the governments concerned, but since I'm on the subject of Armageddon powers, are there any others that need to die?"
Mr Whitaker gazed at me, amazed by my intellect.
"Why yes, just one. Remy Whitaker." he said, looking towards a picture of him and what looked like his granddaughter.
"Huh, so you are related. They just brought her in this morning. I wondered if there was a coincidence in name." I uttered, wondering just how sinister the higher ranking officials I worked for maneuvered.
"My granddaughter yes, from she told her mother, and then her mother told me, she seems to have the power to locate any person alive, as long as she's seen an image of their face. I assume she will be a slave to your office once her power is activated. You don't have a lot of time either. It also goes without saying, that if you go back to change my status, yet your superiors don't believe you and use my granddaughter to locate me, you will be 'compromised' instantly." he spoke with a serious tone.
"You mean dead." I said, trying not to look excited by my new task.
"You could-" he started to say, but stopped and smiled.
I got up, heading towards the door, "Alright Mr. Whitaker, I guess I have work to do. Thank you for not giving into temptation for all these years, I will do this as a token of my appreciation, and to not be a part of ending all of existence. Goodbye."
I left his apartment, still dazed by all the information I just picked up. Not too long after I got a call from my assistant.
"How'd it go boss?" she questioned, not use to calling ME instead of me calling her after a mission.
"I have something to look into, but just to check; did his marker finally show up on the radar?" I asked, trying to see if I had been manipulated.
"Um no, are you saying you found him sir?" she asked.
"Yes, dead. I will be back in the office within an hour, please update me with any reports from central." I responded with a smile.
Now, all I had to do is find (and save) little 'Miss' Whitaker.
| 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T10:33:27 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] You are an NPC in a failed online game. Tell about the final days before server shut down.
Edit 1: Holy shit! Thanks for all of the great replies!
Edit 2: ¡Jesus Cristo! Front page! Thanks all!
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"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew po-"
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*Why us? was it our poor area maps? our inability to interact past a few transactions? our plot? graphics? theme?* She had never been more frustrated.
"how could they do this?" cried one person from the crowd.
"What will happen to us?" another.
Screams erupted and the king did nothing to stop or calm the crowd. The knights of White Horse surrounded him and escorted him to his carriage while the crowd turned into a mob. torches appeared as her fellow villagers withdrew them from their inventory.
It didn't matter. *we failed. No one wanted to play Midnight Magi, no one cares about us,* Millie didn't want to take part of this travesty, even if they killed the king and took the throne, everything would reset at midnight -- player time which was about 5 days from now... *or would it?* she wondered, *what if midnight is end game for all of us?*
Millie walked past her own shop for trinkets and light armor and continued past a row of houses. *does anything I do matter?* Millie had never been burdened with wondering that before, she was perfectly content in her life until now. She feared it was too late to make any sort of change that mattered. *Maybe if we wore more revealing clothes?* she joked to herself and pulled on her frumpy garments covering un-rendered space. She looked down to wear her cleavage should be and just saw the map under her, "I'm as empty as this stupid game" She muttered out loud. She didn't even have feet.
"Excuse me?" A voice startled her.
"Oh!" she laughed, "just mumbling to myself after hearing the news" she saw it was another armor dealer, Matthew.
"News?" Matthew was sitting awkwardly by the river bed, his graphics sharp and pointy. They were not meant to sit, but some of them said they could feel more alive if they went against their code. It felt like a vibration to Millie, like she was doing something wrong... stuck somewhere and her graphics got all jostled around until the error corrected itself or she moved.
She shook her head, "I hope it's just a side quest, but they say they are pulling the plug"
Matthew stood. "You mean?"
"Deresolution, deleting, what ever you want to call it, ya all of us." Millie didn't have time for pleasantries.
"When?" Matthew's face was stone cold as always, unable to emit any emotion other that anger when a player steals something larger than 5 money.
"They didn't say, but I'm betting it will be midnight... their time" Millie felt terrible all of the sudden. Saying it out loud was worse than just thinking it.
"There's nothing we can-" Matthew knew his own answer, but Millie cut him off anyway.
"No." She felt hopeless. So what if their game had a low rating and low membership? Maybe if the creators didn't make it pay to win they would be in a better situation. she voiced her concern, "My understanding is that this money" she pulled some from her pocket" is worthless to players in real life."
"Nonesense!" Matthew had been saving for a new forge and had almost enough to buy it, he would be a blacksmith and not an arms trader. That was his dream, if enough players did the side quest to help him, it would come true.
"I mean, they can buy our items, but it's.... complicated. their world... our money doesn't transfer out." She said plainly, "They pay with a different currency in order to get special items and things... like that ridiculous outfit for Mera" She said with a hint of jealousy. She remembered when the game launched and some younger players tried to see under her skirt, disappointed that she was empty. "*Basically just a frumpy mess of a dress and hair.*"they had called her.
Matthew laughed at that, "but why does that make our game bad?"
"People want games that you only have to pay one time to play" She said, remembered hearing a player talk to another in her shop. Attendance was dropping as better games came out.
The town clock stuck midnight and chimed as both Millie and Matthew; along with all the other townspeople began to walk to their houses and shops.
.........
Four days have passed since the announcement. Millie awoke every morning with fear she would awake to darkness. what is it like to die? She wondered. She imagined it was just nothing. Not being able to think or live or move. Just nothing. She unlocked her shop and was surprised to see Matthew. "Don't make me get a guard." She warned.
"Like they would come for me anyway." He said, and then after an awkward pause, "you know people can just walk in through the wall in the back left, right?"
"So says every game guide, It's in my code to unlock the door, I can't help it." Millie frowned and put the keys back in her inventory.
"Why don't you ever fight it?" Matthew moved closer.
"It hurts." She said, he was in front of her, "Why do something you aren't supposed to do anyway?" she looked at him, knowing that in most games they get married after year 5 and have 4 children who become the blacksmiths in all four corners of the map. She wanted to cry. "Don't" She warned.
Matthew took a step back, unaware of his advances, it was simply in his code to flirt with Millie after a minimum of 5 hours of interaction. "Millie, I---"
"I know." Millie hushed him, "We don't have that life. We were reset and I... I know." She remembered what it was like to have her children running around and learning things, pocketing sweets from players in exchange for information. She wanted that life.
"Maybe they will just reset us again." Matthew hoped, "The first time nearly killed me...... Everything I had done and worked for..." he looked at his boxy hands, "gone"
Millie shook her head, "Server maintenance is different than pulling the plug." She looked at the clock, nearly half a day had passed since she unlocked her door. "And who knows when it will happen?" She began cleaning the counter top impulsively and then stopped realizing it didn't matter.
"What if we can get the players to ... play" Matthew said.
"How?" Millie asked.
"Ask them?" Matthew raised his arms out straight, like a boxy shrug.
"We can't. It goes against our programming."
"Our code. Fight it." Matthew said.
"We could glitch out, we could-" Millie was rustled just thinking about it.
"What's the worst that could happen? If we get reset, don't worry, we are going to die anyway. What if letting a player know that we are real... that we have lives that are real, could save us?" Matthew was excited.
"It would be better to tell the creators to make a better game" Millie frowned, her disappointed look she was only supposed to use if a player failed one of her side quests.
"None of them play anymore." Matthew said and then realizing,
"No one ever plays anymore. When was the last time you saw anyone?"
....
"Weeks"
.....
Alexandra fiddled with the lock to her store. "Just a moment" She said, like she did everyone morning for the players waiting to get inside. She paced to her spot behind the counter.
Twilight trickery had launched 3 days - player time - ago. Alexandra was pleased with her sales, she handed out side quests freely and was excited for a week from now - their time - when Matthew would come and propose.
She laughed *That's right, his name is Alphonse now. Stupid creators pairing us by names,* She shook her head. The character transfer was successful and no one was lost. Alexandra was now as beautiful as the players thought Mera was, but thankfully in less ridiculous of an outfit.
"No more pay to play" One player said to another. She smiled, She was happy that the creators listened to them.
"Better graphics for sure" The room was buzzing with praise for this new world. She excitedly counted the hours until she would get to see him again.
| 2015-09-01T11:39:46 | 2015-09-01T11:33:29 | 171 | 12 |
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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“Grace?”
“Of course.”
“Grace, let’s be reasonable.”
“Have I ever been anything else?”
“Of course not. I’m sorry. But we need the prince.”
“No.”
“But-“
“Did I stutter?”
“No, Grace, I’m sorry.”
“Y’all need to to go.”
“We were tasked with the prince.”
“And?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Boys, I can make you some sandwiches for the trip back?”
“Uh, we’re not hungry.”
“You don’t want my cooking?”
“No, sorry, Grace, we’d love some sandwiches.”
“Wouldn’t want you leaving my kitchen empty-handed.”
“Never, oh never, Grace.”
“Wash your hands. I cringe to imagine where y’all have been.”
“Of course, Grace. Boys, you heard the lady: wash up.”
“But sir, *the prince*.”
“Son, don’t let her hear you say another word about that. You don’t want this. Take the sandwich, thank her profusely, and we never saw the prince.”
“And wash your hands!”
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Without warning, the castle gate had exploded into a million microscopic splinters the moment the sun began to rise. What was to be a quiet sunrise on the advent of the week’s holy Sunday was turned into a maelstrom of violence. Like erratic thunderbolts, attackers dressed in fur and iron armor charged past the kingdom walls, through the fortified gates, and onward to the enticing marketplaces and homes in arbitrary paths of destruction.
The whistle of a cool breeze was drowned out by an ear shattering warcry, shouted in unison by a relentless force of foreigner warriors. Women and children tore off from their homes and toward the stone castle that loomed up the knoll, all while the men of the family dressed for war with what trinkets they could find. This militia stood and fought with honor, as requested of them by their king, but when the see of nomadic invaders washed over them, their bodies, looted and stripped of valuables, were left bloody and battered in its wake.
When it was obvious that the invaders were headed for the castle, the guards emerged and formed tight phalanxes beyond the spacious mote. Archers readied themselves, their hickory bows trained on a point above the savage horde which lay beneath their place on the wall. The arrow fire came like sprinkling rain, but the brutish attackers hoisted shields above their heads with such strength that a ten pound, two foot long arrow could do nothing but peel splinters from the wooden surfaces. The castle was a duckling in an alligator’s swamp, and matters only worsened when the sound of rolling wheels joined the cacophony.
A battering ram, built atop wheeled stilts and supported by wooden slats, inched its way up the hill as some of the bulkiest men in Europe gave power to its strut. The arrows were ever coming, and decreased the army by meager numbers of two or three with each strafe. The efforts saw no victory, as with each attacker they pinched, three more replaced them. A fervent shout of war split the air like a wolf’s howl after spotting a weak prey.
With the ensuing invasion, chaos reverberated throughout the innards of the castle. The stately foyer was lined with wounded peasants and healers. The hallways were bloated passageways crammed full of sweating people who were eager to reach a certain station. Every known corner of the palace was a breeding ground for panic and lack of preparation. The sound of the front door being hammered, and the gate being tethered down by tied off ballista shots, could be heard from the far reaches of the structure.
In one area, there was almost no commotion. The kitchen, which was dark and vacant, saw no panic and no scramble from palace guards or healers. There was, however, a certain racket being caused within a cabinet. The churning of pots and pans, as if the storage box were shivering, was squeezing out of the cabinet’s doors, muffled. This sound went on for a while in the vacant kitchen chamber. The room was massive, as it was needed to feed an entire castle, but there was no mistaking the racket from the rear of the space. The noise, however, all but stopped when an ear-shattering erutpion of wood splitting, swords unsheathing, and voices roaring sent a jolt of terror throughout the castle.
That was when a slim woman with a cleaver in hand rushed straight to this cabinet. She grabbed the knob of the cabinet door with weathered, calloused palms and swung it open. Crouching to the cubby’s level, the royal chef peered into the dark box to find a young boy huddled inside, cradling his legs. Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, and he shivered like a man fallen into an ice lake.
“There you are, mon liege.” The chef whispered, her gaze shifting over her shoulder. She returned her glare to the child and she made him a promise. “You shall be safe in this cabinet. You are not to move, no matter what happens outside. Comprenez vous?” The boy replied with the shake of his head, and the chef sent the cabinet door closed. She stood up and shook out her limbs. She twirled her blade and carried herself to the center of the room where her gaze swiveled about her battle station critically. The shouts grew ever closer to the kitchen, and the sound of clashing metal and the subsequent cries of royal guards sent her into a loose stance, her weapon seated in her stolid grip.
She leapt toward the second entrance to her right and shoved a massive table before it with a grunt. Swiftly, she sprinted before the only remaining entrance and readied her knife. Sure enough, the sound of barbaric cheering peaked, and before the brazier-lit doorway was the god-like silhouette of an enormous Viking. The man blocked the little illumination that carried into the kitchen. His broad shoulders and thick arms were like the limbs of oak trees. His hair was wiry and black, and its growth halted at his back in a mess of leaves and grease. His eyes angled fiercely at the chef, ravenous for blood. His sword hissed as he twirled it showfully. The chef, unpreturbed, saw her work before her and wasted no time.
She dashed forward and lunged with her blade before the Viking could do so
much as compute the action. He attempted an evasive maneuver, but he was far too late. The cleaver pierced his bare torso and he crashed into the doorframe in a splat of blood. Additional attackers flooded through the kitchen doorway, and the only sound from outside was their bestial grunts as the kitchen peaked their interests.
One after the other, beastly men charged through the door with the hopes of besting the chef. The woman was an artisan. Her blade spiraled through the air, supported by two masterful hands, and she weaved in and around of her opponents, light years ahead of their attacks. A nomad swiped his sword for her white uniform, but it was parried immediately. Sparks flew and the chef grunted as she shoved his blade back powerfully. The Viking cried out as he was sliced across the abdomen and rendered an ornament of the tiled floor.
Metallic clinks and scrapes filled the kitchen, as well as the grunts and sharp exhales of the tackful warrior that intended to defend her sanctum of nutrition. As attackers poured in, she led them to different points about the room to avoid pileup. Soaring around clubs and battle axes, the chef was taking on the full might of the Viking army within her kitchen.
The cabinet door squeaked as it testingly swung open. A young pair of eyes peaked out of the tiny crevice, and he gasped silently as they scene carried out. The chef was across the room, using any and all kitchen utensils, knives, pots and pans, to her disposal against her adversaries.
Then, the prince felt the cabinet door snatch open, and standing over him was a behemoth of a man covered in scars and fur. Atop his head was a horned helmet, and the only seeable parts of his face were his blood red teeth and dark, abyssal eyes. The monster cackled with a voice deeper than any ocean, and the prince squirmed as far into the cabinet as he could carry himself.
His efforts to escape the awful creature were to no avail. An enormous hand wrapped clean around his small leg and began to drag him out. The prince was wailing, pleading with the beast to leave him be. The Viking chuckled as his victim cleared the frame of the cabinet. He hoisted a jagged dagger above his head prepared to bring it down upon the prince.
The boy shut his eyes and cried out, waiting for what was to come, but as he lay waiting at the mercy of the invader, nothing ever did. The boy felt the titan’s grip become weak and loosen on his leg, and as he opened his eyes, like a tree cut for logging, the beast tipped backward, his bone-dry lips taut into a soundless scream.
The Viking’s body slumped to the floor with a thump, and the surrounding cabinet’s contents rattled with the impact. Beside him, standing tall but fighting for breath, was the chef, her cleaver shiny with red and her uniform soaked.
“You were supposed to stay.” She chastised him, before dropping the cleaver to the ground with a cling.
She took the prince in her arms and hugged him tightly. All around the kitchen was the ruins of a battalion of Viking conquerors, but whether they lay motionless and groaned in agony, or simply lay limp amd lifeless, they had been rendered to nothing.
“Come,” ordered the chef, lifting a pot from a nearby table. “Let us dispose of this riffraff for good, no?”
| 2021-01-08T08:21:20 | 2021-01-08T07:38:26 | 95 | 48 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
**3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.
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I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit.
| 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 2018-04-06T19:48:33 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.”
|
I named my son Derek Evanger Ellis months before his birth. I wanted to call him Dee for short. The pregnancy went well, and delivery went as well as one could expect—prolonged, painful, and full of screaming. But, we made it through. I pushed a few times, and there he was, my little wonder baby.
Beyond my bloated stomach, I heard his cry, so weak and new and beautiful. The nurses wrapped him up placed him on my breast. Then I saw his hair: bright and colored like a neon sunset, and molded into perfect rows of spikes.
The doctor was staring at him, his jaw slack and eyes wide. “Oh… Oh, no… Oh my God, oh no, oh my God…”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I pleaded.
“What’s *wrong*?” the doctor cried incredulously. “Mrs. Cooperman, your son isn’t normal! He’s a Protagonist!”
I shot him a puzzled look, and he rolled his eyes impatiently.
“It means he’s a character in a story! Which means *you* are a character in a story! Oh God… that means I am, too… Shit, we’re *all* characters in a story now!”
“What—”
An ear-splitting whine pierced my ears, growing louder. Suddenly, a large explosion decimated the east wing of the hospital. Outside, plumes of fire and smoke swirled into the sky.
A broad man in a black suit barged into my room. “Mrs. Cooperman, you and your son must come with me, *now!”*
“Wait, who are you? And what’s going—"
“There’s no time to explain, Mrs. Cooperman! The President needs you!”
The man in the suit yanked me out of bed, and intense pain skyrocketed through my pelvis; I hadn’t even delivered the placenta yet, for God’s sake. I clutched Dee to my chest as the black-suited man dragged us down a hallway.
Outside, I heard the whir of helicopter rotors. Lights flashed in and out of the windows. Suddenly, glass began shattering on the floor as men in black uniforms and ski masks broke through the windows. Strapped to the shoulders were Uzis and grenades. Simultaneously, they raised their Uzis and fired indiscriminately on doctors, nurses and patients.
“Fuck!” said the man in the suit. He shoved me and Dee against a wall behind a wide pillar as bullets whizzed by. Then he peeked around the pillar and, with pristine accuracy, shot down three of the ski masks. One of them noticed us and lobbed a grenade, but the man in the suit kicked it back at him like a football and it exploded on his chest, killing him and four other goons.
Corpses were draped over one another, and blood pooled on the tile floor. Emergency lights flashed and alarms sounded around us.
“Jesus, what a mess,” the man in the suit said. He touched a finger to his ear and spoke loudly over the alarms: “Carlson, this is Roark. We have a breach in Labor and Delivery. You secure the President and I’ll secure the Protagonist. ETA four minutes to your location.”
Roark dragged me through the hospital, which was now dark and empty. I pressed Dee’s crying face into my chest, shielding his ears from the alarm. At the entrance, Roark took down two ski masks standing guard with two quick shots. Outside, another man in a black suit stood beside a black vehicle.
“About time, Roark,” the man said, smirking. “I took out twelve. You?”
Roark smirked back. “Ten. You win.”
Dee and I huddled into the back of the vehicle, and Carlson peeled out of the hospital parking lot. In the seat across from us, a pudgy man scrutinized me and Dee. His eyes were narrowed beneath a frenzy of wispy hair, and his salmon-colored makeup gave him a permanent sunburnt appearance.
“Who are they?” the man asked Roark.
“Silvia Cooperman and her son Dee, Mr. President. Dee is the Protagonist.”
Dee was now sobbing hysterically. I crooned him and placed my breast in his mouth. He immediately relaxed and closed his eyes.
“Your tits are tremendous,” the President said. “Best tits I’ve ever seen.”
Roark shrugged at me apologetically.
I ignored the comment. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Mrs. Cooperman,” Roark said, “when your son was born the Protagonist, the fabric of our reality shattered. We ceased being sentient creatures with free will and instead became characters from some dude’s imagination. Now, our existence relies on us following the plotline. Our fate has been placed in the hands of your crazy-haired son. How? I don’t know. I’m an expendable character.”
I tried to respond, but all that came out was a series of confused syllables. I stared down at my precious son, so little and helpless now, yet already so powerful. My wonder baby.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, Mrs. Cooperman,” Roark said. “But please, trust me. It will all work out, if we stick to the plotline.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
We drove for several hours. I delivered the placenta, and the President gagged and threw up out the window. Roark was helpful. He cleaned up the mess while I snuggled with my son.
At nightfall, we arrived beside a wide chain-linked fence. “We’re here!” Carlson called from the driver’s seat.
“Okay,” Roark said, addressing all parties in the vehicle. “Now, when we step out of this car, everybody follow me into the—”
“Hostile!” Carlson shrieked. He jumped out of the car, gun pointed into the distance, but it was too late. I saw a rocket propel toward us. It exploded on the asphalt beside us rather than on the car itself, but the car hurtled into the air, doing somersaults.
When we landed, the car had flipped upside down. I lay on my back with Dee protected in my embrace.
The President had a broken arm and lacerations all over. He crawled with one good arm through a broken window. Outside, black boots appeared beside him. The boots pinned the President down by his neck. The next moment, a bullet pierced his head, sending blood and orange dust floating into the air.
“Jesus!” I murmured, my heart racing. The man bent down and leaned into the car to look at me. I squirmed away as he pointed the gun at me and my son.
“No you don’t, you son of a bitch!” Roark cried. He yanked the man out of the car, flipped him onto his back, and punched him in the face repeatedly until he died. Roark leaned into the car, his face and hands bloody. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. I looked down at Dee’s crying face. “Take him, please.”
Roark pulled baby Dee out of the house, rocking and soothing him. When I got out, Roark nodded towards the fence. “In there. That’s where we have to go.”
“Can you carry him?” I asked. “I hurt everywhere. I don’t want to drop him.”
Roark nodded.
Beyond the fence was a giant warehouse. I navigated us through a back door and down a long hallway that led to a large open room. A single fluorescent bulb hung above a wooden table. Surrounding the table were a dozen men and women dressed in black suits.
Roark smiled. “We made it.”
A woman in a suit approached him and took Dee in her arms. “He’s fine. Get him some formula, Janet.”
Janet started walking across the room with Dee. I tried to follow, but Roark placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cooperman, but you’re not authorized beyond this point.”
“What? Why?”
“This is the part of the story where tragedy strikes the Protagonist and his life is forever altered by the death of his mother. His fate is to be raised by undercover agents like myself, until he discovers that I’m the one who killed you, and must then kill me.”
“I thought you were expendable?”
“I lied. It creates suspense.”
Roark raised the gun to my head and pulled the trigger.
Apparently, I was the expendable one.
|
I felt the fear sink in right away. No. First I get pregnant as a man, then this. I never thought it could happen to me. You watch the documentaries and think this couldn't happen to me, but here I was with a starry eyed glowing child, his blue hair standing straight up. It all goes racing through my head at once, why me? How often will I die only to come back? How often will I endure the pain of losing a child? Will it be a simple slice of life or will the world as I know it cease to exist? Will I be the absent father character? I can feel the camera slipping from me to my child. It is beginning. I can hear the opening music. I can't fight.....the title card.
| 2018-08-21T10:52:46 | 2018-08-21T06:37:28 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You're a human living with a vampire roommate. It's painfully obvious; he never looks at mirrors, he despises garlic, he never uses silverware, and he always stays in during the day, but his attempts at trying to blend in are far too funny.
EDIT: Thank you, silver gifter!
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Two years ago, if you had told me that Vampires were real, I would have rolled my eyes and directed you to the nearest Goth Club. Hell, even one year ago, I was still fairly skeptical. Then I met Victor, or Vic as I started calling him, and my ideas about what could and couldn't be real kinda went out the window. I'd been in the market for a new roommate after my last one jacked my Playstation, my emergency cash stash, and my weed, and skipped town. All in all, it could have been worse. If I'd been on a lease, I might've been in real trouble. Since I owned the house though, it was really more of a financial inconvenience. After I'd cleaned up the mess my last shitnozzle of a roomie left behind, I put up a notice on Craigslist and waited.
The room offered was a finished basement, with concrete slab floors, some furniture, and a small full bathroom. Admittedly, it wasn't exactly an appealing offer for most folks, and it was cold as fuck in the winter, but I wasn't asking much for it (Half of my mortgage payment) and it afforded the renter a measure of privacy, given that it had a door with external access. I had a few offers early on, but one was clearly on meth or some other shit, another was some kind of leather fetishist with enough hair to qualify as a Sasquatch trying to get into Manscaping, and the third guy...well...he actually never said a damn word. Creepy as hell, but I figured he was just a Mime who was really devoted to his craft. Apparently he wasn't big on the price tag, though I can't be sure that's what he was trying to signal to me.
A few weeks went by with me struggling to make my payments and living off ramen noodles and tree bark (gotta have fiber in your diet, right?) when I got a message through the website. The guy wanted to have a look at the room, and because he worked nights, the only time he could come and see it was early morning, pre-dawn in fact. It was a pain in the ass, but I was getting pretty desperate at this point, so I gave him a shot.
I'm actually kind of embarrassed about how long it took me to realize that Victor wasn't a normal guy. At the time, I'd figured the pale complexion was just a result of working nights for too long. He'd claimed an allergy to Garlic, and since everyone seemed like they were allergic to *something* these days, I really didn't question it. I think the first time I might have noticed something was funny about the guy was when he called me one morning, begging me to pick him up from the rough side of town. The sun wasn't even up yet, but he insisted that he was out of options, so I got my ass out of bed, hopped in my car, and got my ass to the address he'd given me.
When I got there, Vic was lurking in an alley, and the sun wasn't far enough up to light up the street. He was wearing a pair of thick shades, a hoodie with the hood up, and had his hands tucked in his pockets and his head down. As soon as I pulled up and unlocked the doors, he dove into the back seat and pulled a blanket over himself, completely covered. Vic told me to drive, and so I did. Along the way, he explained that he was hung over as shit, and had been caught banging some other dude's girl. Given that, I could understand the extreme measures he had taken, so again, I didn't question it too much. As we were getting back into the house, however, he flashed me a smile, and I noticed that some of his teeth seemed a little sharper than normal, and he had a sunburn on his cheek that hadn't been there when he got in the car.
As my suspicions grew, I found myself keeping tabs on him, watching him come and go, noticing that he almost always had a thermos on him and drank from it only sparingly. When I had finally gotten too curious for my own good, I slipped into his room while he was out and did a proper search. Scummy behavior, I know, but I was kinda worried at this point that he might be up to some criminal shit, and I had no desire to get dragged into any sort of legal trouble over a roommate.
The guy had a coffin for a bed, full of dirt. I mean, that right there was a red flag like nothing else, but the mini fridge full of IV bags of blood, labelled and organized by type and date was kind of a slap in the face to full awareness. I hadn't even noticed the lack of mirrors, or the blackout curtains over the basement windows. My roommate was either a hardcore weirdo, or a vampire, and those were the only two options. Before fear could totally twist my brain into a gibbering knot, I heard the lock to the external door click, and the knob and latch twist. Fearing that I was about to be caught by a vampire in his lair, I hid.
Imagine my surprise when it wasn't Vic that came down the stairs into the basement, but some chick with a pageboy haircut and a serious love affair with black clothing. She crept around a bit, with a flash light, and I figured she was probably here to rob the place or get some kind of action with Vic. When she started sprinkling water from a flask around the place, I decided she was probably crazy.
Long story short, I clubbed her over the head with a lamp and ductaped her hands together, then waited for her to come around. Honestly, I'm not sure why I did any of that, but I was scared shitless and wanted answers, and boy if she wasn't talkative when she finally woke up. The conversation was, admittedly, enlightening.
"Listen," she started, "I don't know what exactly your roommate had promised you, but you're in danger! He's a monster, a true v-"
"A vampire?" I cut her off, laughing, "Yeah, I'm about two steps ahead of you on that one sweet heart. Doesn't change the fact that you're breaking and entering."
I think she was probably expecting me to have gone full Renfield, "You're...not his Thrall?"
"Bitch, please, I'm his Land Lord."
"You're in danger, he needs to be dealt with! Vampires are a scourge on mankind, you have to be aware of that! He EATS people!"
I glanced at her, then at the minifridge full of blood. Call me crazy, but Vic really hadn't ever struck me as a real Lecter type. He'd been my roommate for months now and never laid a hand on me, and there'd been plenty of opportunities. We hung out, played cards, drank beer, watched TV. He was a little weird, but he was a pretty good guy all in all.
"Look Lady, I don't know you from Eve, but I'm not gonna let you kill my roommate."
She snarled in frustration, "Are you STUPID? He's not alive, he's not even human anymore!"
I considered that for a long moment, and glanced at the fridge. Vic had been a good house mate, and I was slowly coming around to the idea that I could even consider him my friend. Besides, if he was hunting people and drinking them dry, why the hell would he need a fridge FULL of blood that had apparently been stolen from some medical institution? I mean, sure that was a moral gray area, stealing from sick people and the doctors that helped them, but who was I to judge? We all did things we might not like to get by. Why would a vampire be any different?
"Be that as it may," I answered her, pulling my phone out of my pocket and dialing 911, "He's got one thing going for him that no human roommate I've ever had did."
She rolled her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her tone, "Oh yeah, I'm sure the sex is just phenomenal."
"Cute, but wrong." I replied, hitting the call button, "Nah, truth is, the guy's never been late with his rent money, or the utilities. Doesn't steal my food either. Hell, half the time I barely even notice he's around."
The 911 operator picked up. I let them know that some crazy chick had broken into my home, and I wanted her gone. I elected not to press charges, but by the time the cops dragged her out of the basement, she was ranting and screaming about vampires and ancient orders of Slayers and covenants with God...last I heard they'd put her in a psych ward for evaluation. I cleaned up the mess, locked the door behind me, and played dumb when Vic asked if anyone had been in his room the next time I saw him.
Since then, he's become one of my best friends. It's a little weird, at times, pretending like I don't know what he is. I figure one of these days, he'll either admit it to me, or the truth will come out on its own. In the mean time, I'm just happy to be off the Cup'O'Noodle diet.
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Tom is a good roommate, he just has his quirks. He works nights, so I don’t see him much. He is clean and never leaves dirty dishes around. He is great at pub trivia, especially questions about older stuff. We both like 80s music. He never steals my food, but he always complains when I cook with with garlic.
The constant lying about being a vampire does get annoying. I know, it’s so obvious.
He may look like an average guy in his twenties, but it’s like hanging out with a dad trying to be cool sometimes. I work in IT, and he always has questions for me. I had to explain, repeatedly, stuff like Tindr, Instagram, and Snapchat. I do like 80s music, but he could try expanding his tastes. He’s not totally clueless, but I did have to have to explain why Revenge of the Nerds and 16 Candles have not aged well.
With my help, Tom is getting better at fitting in. It took some work, but he finally got a hair cut that did not look ridiculous. Tight jeans and the 80s/90s are in fashion again, so he is more comfortable shopping and looking better. He loves Stranger Things, and he like talking about all the references and Easter eggs in the show. Tom is all read up on the latest diets like keto and intermittent fasting, it’s a good excuse on how he is skinny and people never see him eat.
Why help a vampire? Tom is a good guy, and the best roommate i’ve had in awhile. Our pub trivia team is on a wining streak due to his help.
| 2019-07-20T08:43:19 | 2019-07-20T08:29:02 | 195 | 38 |
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP...
|
Most days love my job. I'm a case manager for a health insurance company and I specialize in transplant patients. When someone with serious medical conditions gets sick enough that they're a candidate for organ transplant, they are reassigned from their main case manager to me. I talk to them and their families, coordinate with doctors, compile medical records for review, hold their hands while they wait on the transplant list, listen to them cry when it becomes too much for them.
*Sip*
That's what I keep telling myself. Most days I love my job. Most days I love my job. Most days...
*Sip*
Not yesterday. Yesterday I had to tell a family...can't think about it.
*Gulp*. *Cringe*. Cheap box wine burns.
Yesterday I didn't want to look at my boss. I logged my PTO request to take today off and left before waiting for a reply.
Since yesterday, life has been one attempt at distraction after another.
My EXP counter showed a pending EXP update when I left work yesterday. In the past I've seen it pend before big events -- a transplant authorization goes through : 200-500 pending EXP. occasionally more. Once the patient makes it through the surgery then the EXP logs in my bank.
This time it's a pending "update". Not a pending increase.
*Sip*
I can't sit in my house anymore. Yoga pants and some shoes later I'm about to walk out the front door but I'm not ready to leave a half full glass of wine. Scanning the kitchen there's a disposable coffee cup from yesterday. I toss out the black coffee, pour in my wine, and snap the lid on.
*sip*. Coffee flavored cardboardeaux merlot just became a thing. I laugh to myself and feel tears coming on.
Walk. Lock door. Leave.
It's a pretty day. It's stupid pretty. This is kind of day when you'd have class outside in college because it was too beautiful to be indoors but you know you'll get no work done regardless of where you are. Birds sing and kids laugh in the distance.
I don't deserve this pretty day.
Let's walk to the park so we can feel more alone.
*Sip*
A woman walks toward me with a stroller. She's smiling. Of course she's smiling. Her expression changes from polite courtesy to recognition.
She calls my name, asking if it's me.
Oh no. Please don't be the widow of someone else I failed.
She's crying now. Sobbing. Hugging me. She tells me how she knows me.
Five years ago her boyfriend was a case of mine. He was in renal failure and being evaluated to receive a transplant. His job changed insurance carriers so I couldn't manage his case anymore since he was no longer a member with my company. I assembled his documents from all his physicians and sent them to his new insurance company. I did some standard follow ups and he got the transplant. Since then, he married and his wife and newborn were now on the sidewalk with me.
His case wasn't anything exceptional. I only got 200EXP for that one.
Apparently they have a photo of me and him from one of his hospitalizations framed on their mantel. She shows her baby to me and says it's because of me that this is possible. She invites me to the baby's christening.
I accept.
We part.
Maybe today isn't so bad.
*Sip*
My EXP monitor increments +5 EXP.
Ha. I go to take a sip....
You know when you catch something in the corner of your eye and you react before you can think?
My coffee cup hits the pavement.
I take off running past the woman and her baby to the intersection in time to hear a crash and screaming.
Three cars. I smell gas. People screaming. Lots of people standing around.
Car 1 ran into Car 2 and hit the rear drivers side. Car 2 rear ended Car 3.
One man on the ground. Looks like he was ejected from Car 1. Car 1 has no passengers. Air bags didn't deploy. Probably not wearing his seatbelt -- idiot. He's unconscious and nonresponsive. Weak pulse.
Triage Driver 1. Leave him. Move on to car 2.
Car 2. Driver with child passenger in back seat. Air bags deployed. Child is crying and the driver is dazed but getting out of their vehicle and going around to open the child's doors. I ask if he's ok as I move to Car 3.
Car 3: Driver is a woman, in shock. Air bags deployed. No obvious injuries.
Car 2 is on fire. The dad with the child can't open the door and he's desperately trying.
The window is busted out. I'm smaller than the dad is so I climb into the back seat from the other side, unbuckle the child and hold him as someone grabs me from behind and helps pull me out of the car. The Dad is next to me now and takes the child in his arms like he's never letting go and we all move away from Car 2.
I look at Car 3. She's been helped out and is standing but shaking.
Manage to get the dad and child to sit on the curb next to the woman. This is no small feat for people in shock. I explain I'm a nurse and quickly check them over. They seem shaken but ok. Evaluating the child is difficult but I'm trying my best. The woman is getting more and more panicked. She's screaming looking at the ejected driver.
He's still face up on the pavement. I go over then kneel down next to him and check him. Very weak pulse. His neck is at an odd angle compromising his airway.
Here's my confession. I'm lingering at his body. I know I should try to help him. My medical training tells me what I should do. But I can't describe why I just bring myself to help him. He's a moron who didn't wear his seatbelt. There's not too much left of him after the asphalt scraped him up. Not worth the trouble, I rationalize.
There's not much I can do for him anyway so I tell everyone to back away from him because they've got their cell phones out taking pictures. I go back to the woman who now is screaming asking if he's dead.
No, he's alive, I assure her.
Paramedics arrive and they take over. The police talk to me because I was there. Fireman start to clear the scene. They load the ejected driver into an ambulance. In a few hours it'll look like nothing ever happened here.
The paramedics ask me to sit in the back of an ambulance. Apparently I cut my arms up getting the kid out of the car. Adrenaline is wearing off. They patch me up. Someone brings me coffee and a blanket.
It starts to hit me that they may have smelled the alcohol on my breath. No one has given me a breathalyzer test yet. My heart starts to sink. A drunk nurse at a car accident. This could end my career.
FML.
One of the police comes over to sit by me. The officer thanks me for my help and offers me a ride home. I politely decline, trying to cover my breath with coffee.
That night I sleep like the dead and wake the next day. My EXP counter is pending again.
While I'm getting ready for work my EXP counter ticks up +1500EXP.
What. The. Hell.
All I did was brush my teeth.
Then my counter starts pending more updates.
* +200 EXP pending *
I get to work and sit at my desk. I have a dozen messages waiting for me.
*+200 EXP pending*
And my boss wants to see me.
At least I brushed my teeth.
I sit it his office and he's beaming.
*+200 EXP pending*
He tells me that five of my cases are getting transplants today because an MVA yesterday resulted in a decedent organ donor. They took the donor off life support this morning and the transplants are going through today.
*+200 EXP pending*
Most days I like my job. Today is one of those days. I love what I do.
This week I'll be at the top of the leaderboard again.
|
NOTE: Sorry about any mistakes. I am working on being a better writer. But I have never been good at punctuation
Any advice welcome.
PART 1
As I lay reading the newest issue of my favorite comic, I began to feel that familiar warmth. The retinal display showed +1,500 EXP. Odd I hadn't killed anything today.
As I pondered what this could possibly mean my phone began to buzz. I had a new message. Hoping for answers I opened the message.
-
From:BLOCKED
We need to talk. Park at midnight.
Who is this?
All will be explained.
-
I don't know what is going on but I don't like it.
| 2017-05-15T12:02:45 | 2017-05-15T04:49:15 | 126 | 12 |
[WP] The more powerful a vampire is, the less blood they need. Of course, they always need at least a little, and getting powerful in the first place requires an absolutely monstrous amount of the red stuff. You've just found out that your girlfriend drinks a shot glass of blood each New Years'.
|
Gathered around, the eight men and women stood surrounding the bar table where they had spent their New Years for the last five years, shot glasses in hand as the entire bar counted down:
"5!"
Isabella turned to her left to look her lover in the eyes. Her glowing green met their piercing icy blue and both smiled.
"4!"
The two closed in on each other, now inches apart.
"3!"
Isabella's lover put the hand she wasn't using to hold her shot glass behind her neck.
"2!"
They both cocked their heads and leaned into one another.
"1!"
They closed their eyes.
"Happy New Year!"
The two separated from their quick kiss and didn't break eye contact as they shot down their drinks, placing both on the table. Isabella looked at her lover's, and realized there was a small amount left. Looking at it for a moment, she realize she hadn't seen that drink on the menu. it was a dark crimson red, almost black, even. She couldn't deny it looked more than good. In some way she couldn't entirely explain, she felt... drawn to it.
Without thinking, she picked up the glass and tilted her head back.
"Isabella, d-"
Her lover hadn't finished her sentence before Isabella had taken the shot. The liquid slowly poured along her tongue, and through the light mix of blue curaçao she unmistakably recognized the taste:
Blood.
Shooting to her lover, Isabella saw the person she trusted more than anyone in this world go even more pale than usual. She hid behind her hair, not making eye contact with her. Looking towards the glass, and then back to her, Isabella asked, "baby? What is this?"
She knew the answer, though. She was almost scared and in denial enough to not acknowledge what was right in front of her, but the rational part of her mind won out. The truth was, she had been friends with a V for almost seven years.
She had been dating V for three years.
She had lived with a V for over two years.
She...
She'd had sex with a Vampire.
Her lover bit her lip and managed to barely look her in the eye, confirming her theory. "Isabella, I-"
She didn't even get halfway through her sentence before Isabella made her way to the exit.
"Wait, don't go!" She chased after her, downstairs and outside of the bar and into the decently-sized parking lot that stood outside, all the way to Isabella's car parked on the complete other end. The entire time, Isabella's lover pleaded to her only to be ignored until she was caught up to and they put their hand on her.
Isabella turned around instantly, her eyes on fire much like her auburn-red hair. She ripped her hand out of her former lover's grasp, and extended it out, a ball of glowing violet electricity extending outside her palm. "Get. Back." Her voice was strained, angry, but more than anything hurt.
"Isabella, I know I should've told you, but-"
"But what?!" Isabella exclaimed agrily. "How could you hide that from me?! After all that we've been through?!" She went through her head, remembering their relationship from the beginning. Meeting at the same bar they'd just left, the concert, her brother's murder, everything she'd been through. And not just her, but the things Isabella had helped her though. Her parents divorce, the money trouble, had all of it just been lies?
"Were they even your parents?" Isabella asked accusingly.
Her former friend looked her in the eyes and frowned before shaking her head.
"Were you really born in Paris?"
Another head shake.
"..." Isabella sniffled. "...Is your name really even Allison?"
There was a silence that hung over the entire parking lot.
"It's Accalia, actually."
Isabella's eyes widened as she broke and let the first tear run down her eye. "Who were they?" She barely managed to croak out. "Your 'parents?'" Her extended arm started to shake.
Accalia shook her head. "You don't w-"
"Who were they?!" She yelled, this time her rage much more evident.
Accalia gave a sad smile. "The latest of my family's descendants."
Isabella's eyes widened again as she realized the full implications of what her lover just said, and the tears suddenly halted. They were replaced by a wave of fear.
"How much blood have you drank this month?" She asked. Isabella knew the rules. The less blood you drank, the older and more powerful you were.
Accalia slowly approached her before Isabella's hand twitched and her orb of electric energy increased and she stretched her arm out again threateningly. Accalia smiled before putting her hand up and snapping her fingers.
Isabella's mystical energy faded, and she looked at her hands tremble as she felt all her magic being blocked, her spiritual connection to the forces beyond being shackled. Accalia put one finger under Isabella's chin and pushed her face up to eye level. Her emerald eyes violently shook alongisde her entire body, panic flowing through her.
"Don't be afraid, Isabella." Accalia told her, her usually very soft face becoming stern. "I would never hurt you. Ever."
She wanted to believe that so much. She wanted to believe that this person and relationship she gave her entire heart to wasn't a complete lie. But she couldn't. "How. Much?" She eeked out.
Accalia's stern expression turned into a low-level frown before a small one-sided smirk took its place and she answered:
"That shot was all the blood I drink in a year."
The total dread in Isabella's heart caused her to start crying again, this time out of fear. She was helpless. Again. "I..." she couldn't form words. Not anymore. She was trapped, her apprehension overwhelming her.
Accalia closed the distance and hugged the woman she loved. "You have to understand," she told Isabella. "I know you have problems with V's, and I know that you're scared, but I love you and I will *never* hurt you." The words stuck themselves inside Isabella's head, the woman unable to properly connect them in her mind.
After a full minute of silence, Isabella finally stopped shaking and managed to regain som control of herself. Her arms hung on her sides while Accalia remained wrapped around her, literally head-in-hand. "How powerful are you?" She asked.
The much older woman shrugged. "Well, you're the most powerful witch I've met this century and I blocked your entire connection to magic..." Accalia didn't feel like she needed to finish her explanation.
She was right.
But Isabella had one more question:
"What can't you do?"
Accalia released her hug on her lover and took both of Isabella's hands into her own. "Not much," she said smiling as her eyes changed color, at one point a bright hazel, another crimson red, and another all the white completely faded into black before reverting back to their original frozen blue. "But don't worry," Accalia continued. "I love you. I won't hurt you no matter what."
Isabella wanted to run. She wanted to run and drive off towards the ends of the earth.
"I'd still be able to find you," Accalia told her. "I won't chase you, but if you think there's anywhere in the world I can't reach, you're a fool."
Isabell rubbed her forehead. "Did you just read my mind?" She asked.
Accalia shrugged. "Well, I normally can't , but since your magic is down you're kind of an open book." The powerful woman repeated the same snapping motion she did earlier, and Isabella felt her powers return to her, only this time her abilities felt different.
They felt stronger.
"You can probably feel it, but I amplified your abilities," Accalia confirmed. "Don't say I never did anything for ya." She chuckled, and tried to hug her lover again only for Isabella to back away.
Accalia sighed. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Isabella. But every time I'm with someone they use me for my power or they run away the moment I tell them what I really am. I wanted you to love me for *me*, not my powers. And I do love you, Isabella. More than anyone I've met in the last three thousand years."
Isabella wasn't surprised anymore, at least not by that fact. The fear, however, was definitely still there. "What do we do now?" The young woman asked.
"For now," she started, "we go back and do shots with our friends." She paused, still sensing Isabella's hesitance. "That is, if you want to..."
The woman in question took a moment to shake her head, but she did it nonetheless.
"...okay." Accalia nodded, clearly hurt yet understanding to some extent. "I'll... see you soon?" She asked pleadingly. Instantly, she morphed from the powerful vampire she had just met to the sensitive young woman Isabella had known all those years. Perhaps everything she said might not have been a total lie.
Isabella gave her an expression of uncertainty that didn't need words to convey it. Accalia didn't reply. She turned and walked back towards the bar. Isabella used one of her minor magical abilities on her, and the empath saw quite a few things:
Sadness.
Regret.
...anger.
|
Alice’s head leaned back as she and her girlfriend each downed a shot.
It was New Years Eve. Alice was celebrating life and love whilst Lea celebrated immortality and having a girlfriend that loved Twilight. Alice sat down on a nearby chair that was decorated with confetti and the remnants of what was once a condom wrapper. She needed to get her head in order with what she had just been told. While the alcohol she had just downed had gone straight to her head, her mind wandered towards Lea. Lea who had also just downed a shot. Of blood. ‘Speaking of the devil’, she thought, as she spotted Lea in the crowd, further away and observed as she expertly danced with a group of randomers. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. People loved Lea. She attracted them like a magnet, with her charming and captivating ways. ‘I guess Twilight was kinda right after all..’ she thought as she continued to watch her girlfriend.
‘She really is a vampire…..’
As she watched Lea from afar, it occurred to her that she may have always known that her girlfriend was a vampire. Deep down. For, not only was Lea an exquisitely ethereal character, she had the otherworldliness and wisdom of an ancient nomad. She knew the world like the back of her hand and it had never occured to Alice why. Until now. An avid reader of horror novelists like herself, ought to have known a vampire, when she was sleeping and living with one. But no. Not a clue. Alice couldn’t help but smile at her own obliviousness.
She got up to join Lea on the dance floor. 'Vampires never looked so good' she thought, as Lea smirked at her from across the room.
| 2020-06-07T12:13:58 | 2020-06-07T10:53:13 | 134 | 89 |
[WP] As the space age of exploration continues, other species wonder why humans like peace so much. To the point that a group declares war. They expected the humans to be weak for their “peaceful” nature. Instead they release we are one of the most feral races out there.
|
When most species in the Galactic Commonwealth declares a war, they expect certain measures of civility. Mass amassings of space fleets and shows of force. A blockade, maybe. Some skirmishes here and there. At worst, an invasion on some fringe territory. Whatever they anticipated, it was definitely not what the Eartheans had in mind.
Ren'ohhul Prime is burning. Any and all ships that attempt to leave the atmosphere are shot down without mercy. The cries of women and children are drowned out by the sound of bombs and the roars of evacuation shuttle engines. In orbit, the fleet is in disarray, as Ren'ohhulian ships fire against each other, tearing each other apart while the pristine Kronos Fleet stands back and watch. Vice Admiral Siman Okamoto watches coldly atop the bridge of the *U.E.F.S. America*, at the destruction that is taking place. From the ship, one could see the thermonuclear flashes glowing on the planetside, while runaway ships are scanned, captured and boarded. Any ship they cannot board, they shoot down, killing all of those on board.
"Sir, the Imperial Family has been secured." A communications officer reports through a screen. "608th Squadron is bringing them on board. What do you want to do with them, sir?"
"Prepare a live galaxy-wide transmission." The Vice Admiral answers. "We are to make an example out of these squids."
Despite its name, the Galactic Commonwealth was not exactly a commonwealth. Nor is it limited to a single galaxy. Its name was a relic of when the Commonwealth was a smaller, more tightly-knitted cluster. Nowadays, there are entire galaxy-spanning empires in the Galactic Commonwealth, including the Ren'ohhul Empire. Many of these empires are at war with each other. The Ren'ohhul Empire alone is constitutionally at war with six other smaller coalitions, while maintaining a healthy trading relationship with one of those six. War, in these mega-empires' minds, is a playful, whimsical thing. A show of force, of shiny weapons and rows upon rows of men. It was not a struggle for survival. Nor was it a genocidal ordeal. They had long since assumed that the Eartheans thought the same, being the newly minted galactic branch scale coalition they were. That is why the Ren'ohhul Emperor decided to declare war on Earth. That was 6 months ago. Now Vice Admiral Siman has a newly minted former emperor to kill.
Rough, hard, bony human hands shove Emperor Naru'ooh Rari Ren'ohhul into the brightly lit conference room. The universal translator implant fitted in the skull of almost all humans automatically translate his indignified chirps and gurgles into human voices:
"You foolish, savage mammals, unhand me. I can walk on my own."
He blathers on and on, complaining about incompetent generals and dirty tricks, promising great big retaliations, saying things like he'll have Earth Prime for this humiliation, that Humanity is full of dirty liars, on and on and on. The young prince, ever a hothead, joins his father on the sentiments. The delusional ramblings continue until Vice Admiral Okamoto walks in, decked out in Full Dress with a holster, which holds an ancient, chemical-based propellant only, kinetic pistol. All soldiers present immediately snap into attention, the change abrupt enough for the Emperor to notice. He turns to assess the situation, and, seeing the Vice Admiral, begins to tread towards him, intending to give him a piece of his mind about the invasion. He got about 3 steps before a human soldier strikes him across the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking the emperor flailing on the floor. Such treatment is unheard of, and the rest of the royal family is incensed. The son rushes to his father's side, but he, too, is kicked across the room. His mother and sister hold still.
"Secure the prisoners, and start the broadcast." The admiral, who had been standing back watching the ordeal, commands, and the soldiers in the room immediately comply. They drag the badly bruised emperor and prince in front of the camera, close to Okamoto. Technicians establish the holonet link, and then switches on the camera. One second. Two seconds. The red light goes on, and they're live. Behind the cam, screens start popping up, showing a live feed of the Galactic Commonwealth Council meeting that was called by the Eartheans, supposedly about the exchange of cultures between the United Earth and fellow coalitions. Vice Admiral Okamoto opens:
"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Siman Okamoto of the United Earth Federation. I am here today to discuss the surrender of the Ren'ohhul Empire to the United Earth Federation, as well as give a demonstration of the Earthean, or as we prefer to call ourselves, the Human definition of war."
Many audible voices can be heard rippling across some 200,000 representatives of the different races. They may sound vastly different, but they all carry a single emotion: Shock. The Ren'ohhul Empire, one of the most powerful and affluent militant empires, defeated by some primates?
"You dumb apes, the Ren'ohhul Empire spans the whole galaxy! Our dreadnought fleets are capable of glassing entire planets! Your species will soon suffer for this! I will take away your ancestral home, and make it into the new homeworld for the Ren'ohhul! We will never surrender!" The emperor declares. Under ordinary circumstances, it is quite a reasonable vow. But, sadly for the Emperor, Eartheans are not ordinary.
"We have confirmed that Ren'ohhul has no intention of surrendering." Says Okamoto. "As per Section 3 of the Inter-Racial Relations Act, under the threat of an invading species, Humanity shall retaliate with full force, barring no atrocity and malice, to ensure total and complete annihilation of the offending species. Effective immediately, I, Vice Admiral Siman Okamoto of the United Earth Federation's Dead Hand Fleet, declare Genocide." With those words, the man unholsters his gun, and shoots the Emperor. The series of action was so abrupt and unprecedented, that it takes a few moments for the representatives of the various races to register and process what has just happened.
A moment of silence, and then a loud and horrible screech erupts in the room. The queen, ever tolerant, has lost herself in her pent-up rage. The room trembles as she unleashes her considerable psychic power, ready to melt the minds of these apes - that is, until she is mowed down by laser fire, which is immune to most psychic abilities' tampering. Laser, a weapon Humanity never really bothered with, until now.
The daughter, only 13 years old, barely a toddler, could only come to her mother and babble, not yet understanding why her mother is lying on the floor. The Vice Admiral splatters her brain all over the meeting room floor.
The son is still in shock over the loss of all three of his closest family members. When he finally comprehended what has happened, he flew up in a fit of rage, only to be bashed down and shot to pieces.
All over the galaxy, Ren'ohhulian vessels, commanded by a worm implanted into their system a little over a month ago, started firing on the planets they were supposed to protect. When low on fuel or energy, these vessels dive bomb the planet, killing all aboard. Any escape pod is also shot down by point defense lasers.
In systems where the Ren'ohhulian Fleet does not have a station, Earthean strip mining devourer machines come out of hiding and positions itself around every habitable planet. One by one, the planets are crushed alongside their inhabitants, to be separated into various base components and made into more war machines. Accompanying fleets destroy any and all ships that try to escape.
The Ren'ohhul Empire was in possession of 823900 planets before the engagement. Within 15 minutes all of those planets have either been destroyed or glassed. The Ren'ohhul race is effectively extinct. The extermination swift and thorough. They would never rise again.
"Let the Ren'ohhul be an example. The reason humanity does not wish to wage war is because humanity takes war very fucking seriously."
|
We were peaceful, to other planets. We didn't strife among ourselves, deciding that peace was better than war a millennia ago.
However, we still trained. We estimated ourselves at the top for fighting technology.
But then U'uglok declared war on us.
We defended. And then the counterattack.
It was powerful. We had decided to not use nukes (too dangerous, we didn't want everyday U'uglok citizens dying) and fought viciously with guns and tasers and the top technology.
We decimated them. Billions of U'uglokians died, and only dozens of Earthen.
That sent a message to the universe.
The Earthen were not to be messed with.
| 2021-08-12T09:11:50 | 2021-08-12T07:54:20 | 190 | 21 |
[WP] They called you a madman for raiding the history museum during a zombie apocalypse. What they didn't expect was for full plate armour to be so effective.
|
"You're insane." The older woman glared at me. "Why the hell are we going further into the city! We should be getting out."
I glared at her, but couldn't fault her for being scared. Her daughter, her grandson, and she had all been holed up in a convenience store for weeks trying to wait out the zombie plague. It was small enough most looters had overlooked it and the metal shutters had blocked the zombies from getting inside. Contrary to most movies, zombies couldn't just wear down solid steel and breakthrough eventually, and if you shut up long enough eventually a noise would make them wander off. Stupid people just had a tendency to not know when to shut up... you know... like now.
They had been dubious of my apparel at first. A woman wearing a tightly fitted leather outfit? That seemed more out of some fantasy novel than anything else to them, they'd expected some burly soldier to rush in guns blazing to their rescue. They got me. To be honest I probably had more upper body strength than most men these days but that was because of my career choice. I'll get to that later.
"Shut up!" I hissed as quietly as I could manage and grabbed my boar spear from where I had rested it as we had been packing supplies to lug back to the village. I heard a rotter outside of one of the side doors so I slipped out the back, motioning the other woman to follow me. She had a pistol in her hands and I rolled my eyes. I flipped my hatchet from my belt loop and offered it to her. She looked at it like I was stupid as well. I shook it and she eventually took it.
I motioned her to follow and snuck around the building. I was relieved to see there were only two of the rotters and I did the tactical assessment and decided to take them out rather than try and wait. I hefted my six-foot spear, glad to be outside where I could use it easily. I speared into the back of the rotter without saying a word. The spearhead slid into the rotting flesh easily enough but the crossbar of the spear prevented it from going clean through, catching the zombie's bulk and letting me push him around with surprising ease. I forced him up against the other one and using my non-rotten muscles and basic leverage pinned the two to the wall.
The woman looked at me questioningly and I rolled my eyes again and glanced at the hatchet then the two pinned rotters. She got the hint and advanced cautiously. She looked surprised when the rotters couldn't do anything but flail and snap at her ineffectually as I pinned them to the wall. A couple of hacks later and there were two less rotters in the world.
"that spear really works." She said begrudgingly, and thankfully quietly, as I glanced down at the corpses. I relieved them of a spare ammo clip and a revolver without any bullets. I'd take them, guns were less than ideal but they could be handy in a pinch.
"Zombies are dumb, weak animals." I shrugged. "A boar spear keeps their head from reaching a person and a partner can dispatch them readily. The only reason zombie flicks didn't all use spears was it would have been a boring apocalypse."
"Right, boring." She muttered sarcastically. "What about guns?"
"Mostly worthless." I said with a shrug. "How many people you know who can pack their own ammo? If you do know some, how many of them have ready supplies to make the needed gunpowder, casings, and everything else needed easily? Also unless you're using shotgun shells you're going to have imperfect rounds, that never ends well."
"But you can blast those fuckers from a distance." She argued in a whisper as we continued to pack supplies.
"If you hit their head. I stabbed one in the heart a few seconds ago, did it stop?" I smirked. "No one, especially someone who is panicking is a perfect headshot every time, and the noise attracts far more than you kill."
"Bow and arrows?" She offered, now she was thinking.
"Good if you can get the arrows back, also how many people do you know who are skilled fletchers?" I could see from her reaction she didn't even know what that was. "A person trained to make arrows. Good arrows that fly straight and true are hard to make, and reused arrows will eventually warp or break."
"Well what about spearheads, don't you need skill for that." She was getting it, finally and I smiled at her.
"Yeah, you do. But there is plenty to burn and scrap metal everywhere." I flexed a powerful arm from years of working the forge. "And you don't think these guns came from yoga did you? And if the spear breaks I can melt it back down and reforge it."
I shrugged as she studied me. She glanced down at the hatchet, she was just now realizing it didn't look factory made. Her daughter walked up to us with her nine-year-old grandson in tow.
"What about people?" She asked warily, it had been a tense standoff when I first arrived, at least until I told them I was part of a safe village and we would take them in.
"Guns help against people sure." I shrugged. "But most people you don't have to shoot. In a world this broken and messed up, you tell them they can work for their dinner and a safe place to sleep and they're happy to pitch in. People are inherently social creatures, especially when we have a common enemy. Zombie films always get that wrong. Why would you raid someone when you can team up and get even more stuff together? It makes no damned sense. And sure there is the occasional psycho, and guns work great on them, but honestly so does a spear or an arrow."
"So why do you want to go to the museum?" The older woman finally asked, her tone suggested she knew I had a good reason but hadn't pieced it together yet.
"Look I told you we had a village." I sighed. "It's an old Renn fair. Before everything collapsed a lot of us agreed to meet there. The parking lots are fields in the offseason, and the whole place has a thick wooden wall around it. There are buildings to shelter in and a forge on site. Between the group we had knowledge of nearly every medieval technology, we can grow crops, build palisades, forge weapons, work leather, hell we even have beekeepers and bakers. And most of us... correction damned near all of us, already had armor and weapons that didn't run out of ammo. And the few that did have bows are some of the best in the state."
"So you can scoff all you want, you can call me a madwoman," I shrugged and hefted my pack onto my back and picked up my spear again. "But if we're going to trek back home I'd rather have you guys in armor."
She nodded finally understanding, she looked at my leather armor. "That stuff works?"
"Humans have an amazingly weak biting pressure." I shrugged. "Rotters are even weaker than humans. It'd take a lot of gnawing to get through this, honestly, they'd have to drag me to the ground and wear me down to get me."
"So there'll be stuff in the museum we can use?" She asked, suddenly hopeful.
"Sure, I'm just hoping it isn't just full plate, the stuff is great but none of you is trained in it, and it won't fit you right." I shrugged. "One of the guys back home can do somersaults in his and can sneak up on a house cat he's so quiet. But you'll probably clomp around attracting the nearby rotters. But with spear and leather to back you up, we should be able to ride that distraction and near invulnerability back home."
She nodded and looked to her daughter and grandson, they all shouldered their packs and I exhaled slowly, long walk to the museum, I really hoped no one else had thought of this already. Most preppers were in bunkers slowly losing food or water, the dumb had been weeded out, and those damned conspiracy nut jobs had pretty much begged to be bitten claiming it was a hoax. I gave it better odds than not we could find something. If not a few layers of cardboard with duct tape would prevent most bites on anything other than the head and hands. God, I didn't want to do that again.
|
We found the source on the second floor, an ancient Japanese full plated armour shimmering with unnatural blue light, we then press forward still in our diamond formation, checking every corner for walkers.
On closer inspection, this armour is the type that samurais' wore back in the days. Except this one had blue digital codes running all across it.
"They're codes, binary codes" said Kyle "that's not normal."
"Yeah no shit Einstein" replied Sally.
Then I reached out to touch it, and then..., it struck like lighting, words and images flooded my eyes, it was like information being uploaded straight to my head, then just before I black out from the sheer intensity, I muttered "thi...this isn't the first apocalypse..."
| 2020-09-14T09:12:16 | 2020-09-14T09:05:00 | 101 | 23 |
[WP] Sure a man armed to the teeth in armour strong enough to deflect bullets is plenty scary, but an all but fully naked man in the exact same situation with the exact same level of confidence is absolutely terrifying
|
"People don't understand," Mesomorph said, to the interviewer. The well-toned, muscular man's manner was relaxed, calm, and professional. Almost as though he didn't realize he was wearing only a domino-style mask, and a red speedo with a stylized white 'M' on it. "What I wear isn't about about *spectacle.* It's about respect."
Veronica nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She cleared her throat. "I see. Well, to begin with, I was hoping you could tell us a bit about your uh...your costume, there?"
Mesomorph nodded. "Of course, of course." He stood from his chair, placing one leg up on the arm of it, and gesturing to the perilously small amount of fabric covering his crotch. "First of all, I'd like to clear up some misconceptions about my costume. These are high cut *briefs. 'Speedos'* are generally swimwear, and it's also a brand name. To be fair, I had initially been in talks with Speedo about a sponsorship, but we mutually decided I wouldn't be the a good fit. My patrol routes run mostly through the downtown area, so I don't do a lot of work in and around the water."
Veronica swallowed hard. "I *see,* thank you, that's probably---"
Mesomorph turned, placing his hands on the back of his chair and bending over, revealing a smaller, stylized "UA" logo on the back of his briefs. "So in the end -- little joke there -- I made an arrangement with the good folks at Under Armor! All of my costumes are custom-made by them, and it's a brand I'm proud to be associated with. Anti-microbial fabric, moisture-wicking technology, these features are next to indispensable, when you're patrolling the streets for anywhere from nine to twelve hours on an average day."
"Okay, thank you, I think we can move on." Veronica said, a slight wheeze in her voice.
Mesomorph resumed his seat, "Certainly."
"So," Veronica said. "Why, um, why do...a lot of people say, for someone who regularly fights extremely dangerous supervillains, your costume doesn't seem to offer much protection. What would you say to that?"
Mesomorph shrugged. "Well, I've been operating here in the Chicago area for about two years now, Veronica, I'm sure everyone's familiar with my origin story, by now.
"I think it's fair to say it's not exactly, well...it's not what you're most well known for." Veronica replied.
Mesomorph blinked. "Really? Hm. Well, several years back, I was injured in a car accident. It was very severe, and my injuries were...extensive. I completely lost the use of my legs."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Veronica said, soberly. "If you'd rather not discuss it--"
Mesomorph smiled, and made a dismissive gesture, interrupting her. "Oh, it's okay! It's not a sore subject anymore. My legs are just fine, now." He demonstrated by lifting his legs and draping them over the arms of his chair while remaining seated. "See? Better range of motion than before, if anything."
Veronica nodded vigorously. "Yep, yep, but getting back to your origins?"
Mesomorph resumed sitting normally, and continued. "Anyway, I volunteered to do human trials on an experimental cell rejuvenation technology. A lot of the details are still classified, but something went wrong, big explosion, you know the sort of thing. The research lab was destroyed, unfortunately, but I myself survived, and discovered I'd been made nigh invincible by the experiment, as well as having my strength and speed greatly enhanced."
"So, getting back to your costume, I suppose that means that protection is...?"
"Not really a concern, Veronica." Mesomorph said, with a smile. "I actually tried some of the old-standbys, when I was first thinking about going into hero work. Full body spandex, high-tech body armor, flak vest and combat fatiques with a million little carrying pouches for things, and so on and so forth?"
Veronica nodded.
"But, I don't really have any weapons, ammunition, or special gadgets to carry around, and since I don't need protection, any type of uniform I tried only served to limit my range of motion, preventing me from taking best advantage of my powers. But I'll admit, that's not the only reason, or even the main reason, that I chose to go minimalist. I brought a clip, if you'd like to..."
"Oh right, yes, Tom if you could..." Veronica said, as a crew member wheeled a flat screen on a stand into the interview area.
The video clip showed a snowy street, that appeared to have been filmed from a doorbell camera. An old woman was plodding slowly down the street, when a young thug suddenly ran up and snatched her purse. He started to run, but Mesomorph dropped down onto the sidewalk to block his path, having apparently jumped down from atop a nearby building.
Immediately, the thug dropped the purse, and thrust his hands into the air. "Aw (bleep), yo listen, I'm sorry! I ain't tryna fight no dude dressed like that, (bleep) I swear I ain't never gonna do it again!"
The Mesomorph on the screen placed his hands on his hips. "I'm glad to hear that, son. Ma'am, I think this is a young man in need of some guidance, not a hardened criminal. It's your choice, but can you see your way clear to not pressing charges?"
"Damn, boy!" the old woman said, wide-eyed and grinning. "I can see my way clear to damn near *everything,* 'bout now!*"*
Mesomorph laughed, jovially. "Wonderful! Whenever possible, rehabilitation is preferable to incarceration, in my book." He threw an arm around the thug's shoulders, pulled him close, and and began leading him stumbling down the sidewalk. "Come on, son, I'd like to talk to you about some job training programs I think could really help you take charge of your future."
"(bleep), dawg, I'll apply for whatever job you want, just, please, it's 20 degrees out, I can feel your (bleep)ing nipples right through my *coat!"*
The video ended, and Mesomorph smiled, slapping his knee enthusiastically. "You see? Arriving on scene as I did, with no armor, without even ordinary protection from the cold, this young man saw I was *completely confident.* He knew immediately that he didn't have a chance in a fight, and so he pre-emptively surrendered. Nobody got hurt. That's what I was talking about before, when I said my costume is about *respect.* And his surrender and apology were so swift and sincere, it even moved the heart of his would-be victim, so we didn't need to involve the police. The lady, the young man, and I, resolved this unfortunate situation together, as a *community."*
"So you think that guy is reformed? Veronica asked.
"I do." Mesomorph said nodding, seriously. "That's from over a year ago, and I haven't caught him causing any trouble since. Plus, you can't see it on the video because we walked out of frame, but I had a good long talk with him, about trade and vocational programs designed to give young adults the skills they need to get good-paying jobs. By the time I was done, he was practically *begging* me to drop him off at the Adult Learning Annex."
Veronica nodded. "That is food for thought. I think that's all for now, but I'd like to thank you on behalf of myself and channel 6, for taking time out of your busy schedule for this interview."
Mesomorph nodded. "The fourth estate is a crucial link in the chain that binds our great republic together, Veronica, I was happy to help." Veronica and Mesomorph rose, and the reporter proffered her hand.
Mesomorph laughed. "So formal! Nothing wrong with a good firm handshake, but I've always preferred *hugs."* The smiling hero cocked his head questioningly, and spread his arms.
Veronica's cheeks colored. She bit her lip, "Oh, well, *when in Rome..."*
|
He was naked, dangly bits swaying gently in the breeze as he held an average-sized broad sword in hand and lifted it with great gusto. He was also striding quite implacably across the beach full of anti-tank caltrops and men in helmets as he blew into the instrument at his side. The gun had gone quiet when he had jumped out of the ship, eyes drawn to the hypnotic sway of his giblets.
The gun roared to life as he shouted enthusiastically and charged forward. Many bullets met their mark in others, but not this screaming madman that entered the beaches of Normandy wearing nothing but a sling bearing bagpipes.
The man who unwittingly photographed the captain made sure that the negatives were painted so that his insane charge across the battlefield would seem slightly less mad.
| 2022-04-20T13:56:40 | 2022-04-20T13:32:15 | 38 | 20 |
[WP] Ever since you opened this bar, you still don't know why supernatural races, deities, royalty, and/or extraterrestrials keep frequenting the place. You just serve drinks and lend an ear to listen.
|
I don’t remember how it started. I think it was kind of like a slowly boiling frog situation. Maybe a vampire during the night shift here, an angel around Christmas there. The first one I remember actively noticing was on May 17th, 2012, when a ghost came in. Not a regular ghost, mind you, he was hovering 6 feet above the ground and was completely translucent.
My first reaction was “what?”
Gregg’s response was “I’ve been 6 feet under since ‘82, just give me this one.”
We left it at that. He had a gin and tonic, if you were wondering.
There’s about a kajillion different bars for a kajillion different types of people. Redneck bars in Kentucky, gay bars in LA, dive bars all throughout the midwest. But, for some reason, bmy little bar just outside of Monteplier became, as far as I’m aware, the first supernatural bar. At least the first one in the United States, we take a while to come around on some things.
I’ve had the odd priest and ghost hunter come through looking for a quick score. Some kids who just watched Supernatural for the first time, or their jaded parents who grew up with Ghostbusters. Sometimes they just end up sitting down and getting a drink. Sometimes they don’t. I’m not entirely sure what happens to those ones, and I’m not keen on finding out.
*Francesca’s* (the name of the bar, after my late wife) became a neutral ground of sorts. Werewolves and vampires hashed out an armistice in 2015 for the first time in history. Angels and demons started having family reunions. They all learned that this wasn’t a place to fight. Don’t piss off the people who serve your drinks. To date, I’ve only had to ban 1 person, and that was Gabriel.
There was a lot I got used to, pretty quickly. Angels? Eh, met them all. Demons? They make excellent ramen, if you can handle spice. But in early 2020, things got weird, as would become tradition for the year.
They walked in, a million in one body, eyes and teeth and tentacles all sharing a space. Looking at them felt like looking into a million different realities, where a million different versions stood in the same space. It was a Saturday night in mid January, so naturally, the bar was packed. Every face turned to the doorway, where they stood, unmoving.
“Oi, you lot,” I shouted. “Quit staring, it’s rude, you know better. And you, in the door, come in, you’re letting the heat out. Hestia, dear, would you mind throwing another log on the fire? Thank you, my love.”
The figure removed a coat of some kind and added it to the rack. As they did, a patron leaned across the bar to me.
“You know who that is,” the vampire asked. I shook my head. “Thought not. Don’t make eye contact for too long, you’ll go mad.” I thanked him and gave him another drink, on the house.
The figure sat at the bar, and opened one of many mouths to speak. The voice was the sweetest I’ve ever heard.
“What do you have on tap?” they asked, looking down at the bar.
“Depends on what you’re looking for,” I replied. “We got IPA since this is Vermont, mead for the Aesir and Vanir, wine for the Greeks, sake for the Kami. Pretty much anything if you know what you’re looking for.” I could tell by the look on a few of their faces that they had no idea what they were looking for. “”How does wine sound? I’ve got a bottle of something sweet, should go down easy.” They nodded a number of heads. I placed a coaster and glass of wine in front of them.
“So,” I finally said. “You’re new in town, what’s your name, stranger? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
They took a sip from the glass of wine, and seemed to enjoy it, since they quickly went for a second sip. “Cthulhu,” they finally said, and as they did, I could see a few gods eyeing us from across the floor.
“Cthulhu, huh? Well, my name is Jenny, pleasure to meet you. I always wondered if you’d end up showing up here one of these days.”
“I probably shouldn’t have,” they said.
“How come,” I asked.
They shrugged. “Isn’t my place.”
I chuckled. “Hun, this isn’t anyone’s place.” They still started at the bar. “Is it because of them?” I asked, looking at the gods in the corner. Cthulhu nodded. “Bad blood?”
“Something like that.”
“Tell me about it.” They finally looked up from the bar, contemplating if I was worth the effort.
Apparently I was.
“Everyone in this bar comes from this world. Or rather this dimension, a few of the gods here are off-worlders. But not me. I’m a transdimensional being. Not all of the gods hate me, but I’m not exactly beloved. Some fear me, some feel I’m invading their dimension. Even the gods who don’t actively hate me look at me differently, I can tell.”
I nodded as they spoke. “And what about the mortals?”
“They aren’t as bad. Most don’t particularly care one way or the other. I noticed the vampire who spoke to you when I came in. He told you not to look into my eyes for too long, right?” I nodded. “Good advice, I wouldn’t recommend it. I don’t have to worry about them as much. It’s the gods that concern me, if they really wanted to, they could kill me.”
I scoffed. “Well there’ll be none of that here, I just had the floors waxed.” I saw what may have been a smile. “Look,” I began, “this is neutral ground. Angels and demons have family reunions here, if there was ever a place to make peace, it’s here.” As I finished, an angel appeared in the middle of the room.
“Hello, Jen my love, could I get a-” he stopped dead, mid sentence. “What the fuck is *it* doing here?” He looked straight at Cthulhu, and stopped dead in the middle of the room.
Cthulhu sighed. “And, of course, the angels…”
“Get it out,” Barachiel demanded. The entire bar fell deadly silent, save the crackle of Hestia’s fire, which demanded her full attention.
“Barachiel, calm down,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. “This is neutral ground, you know that.”
“Get it out NOW!” he shouted. “Anyone harboring that… *thing* will be smitten.”
“Used to be the same with demons,” I said.
“This is different,” he growled, his hands beginning to burn. “Don’t make me kill you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said, barely a whisper. “And not just because without me, Francesca’s would be gone, but because you’d have a room of pissed deities whose bartender you would have just murdered. Also, again, *just waxed the floors,* so let’s calm down.”
Barachiel looked around, hedged his bets, and lowered his hands. “You’ll regret this,” he said, before vanishing.
After a moment, Cthulhu looked at me. “You didn’t have to do that,” they said.
“No, I definitely did,” I said, hopping onto the bar. “I don’t have to do this.”
“ATTENTION, ASSHOLES!” I shouted, drawing any eyes that weren’t already on us. “I’m assuming most of you know already, but this is Cthulhu. They, like all of you, are welcome in this bar at any time, and they are welcome to be here unbothered. This is neutral ground, so let’s try to keep that in mind.
“In light of me nearly getting smitten, I’m instituting a new rule. All patrons are welcome here, any time, and are free to be here without harassment. We’re all freaks and monsters here, let’s not act like the idiots out there. Anyone caught in violation of this rule from this point forward will receive a permanent ban, with no warnings. Do I make myself clear?” Every head in the bar nodded. “Excellent,” I finished. “Go about your business. Oh, and anyone who can make a sign with that rule gets free drinks for a week. Within reason, of course, let’s try not to bankrupt me.”
|
I’d been running this bar for what felt like hundreds of years, Standing near gods has made me live through some terrible incidents, like when that one plant god killed the flying axe-like thing and drank it’s blood.
Some of the things I’ve had to put into drinks is hard to get, moonlight for werewolves, fertilizer for those plant people, and ambrosia equivalent for gods.
“One blood cocktail please.” Spoke a pale woman. I dug behind the counter for the pig‘s blood I kept for vampires,
”I just met the most handsome young man, and he had the audacity to have O- blood! I can’t stand O-! Can you believe it?” I calmly poured the blood into the cocktail and said,
”Yes, I can, but it’s a shame anyways.” She sort of grit her teeth and grabbed the cocktail when I handed it to her.
I actually lost track of what was going to happen and probably shouldn’t be looking through reddit right now. So sorry.
| 2021-02-22T08:55:28 | 2021-02-22T07:14:14 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits..
|
Well this is peculiar, I've never seen a writing prompt that seemed so directed toward me. It's especially odd that I'm seeing it tonight, on Reddit's front page. I'll just say this - I'm actually a paramedic, in real life. I think you're already pretty iffy on that, so I won't elaborate about anything else. From what I understand this is a subreddit for fiction writers anyways.
We got a call tonight for a psych, code 2. I can't tell you the address because that's a hippa violation. But psych code 2 means somebody's got a case of the blues and it's not that important of a call.
Anyway, this lady's got a white camino parked on the front lawn, and water damaged cardboard boxes cluttering the driveway.
My partner's name is Bethany. She's an EMT, but a damn fine one. The way it works on the boxes out here each ambulance gets one medic and one EMT. I run the show, basically.
So I knocked on the door, and received no answer. I knocked again and still nothing. Bethany suggested I contact PD or at least wait for Fire. I looked her in the eye and cancelled Fire over the radio partly to show her how salty I was and also because I had a better idea and that was to open the door, which wound up being unlocked, and let us both in. She trailed behind with the gurney and equipment while I entered and looked around for the patient.
The lights were all off, so it was pitch black inside. This isn't that unusual - 70% of the calls we get in EMS now adays are old ladies who can't walk. Which means they're not going to call 9-11 than bounce around turning all the lights on in the place and prepare you a nice pot of warm tea.
None of the light switches worked, so I continued to announce my presence as I walked through the place. Odd but oh well, not everyone pays their electric bill. Bethany stayed behind, near the front door, which I can understand because she's got concerns that don't bother me anymore. I always carry a penlight in my pocket on psych calls because often times they turn out to be overdoses. If it's heroin and their pupils are constricted, I can whip out some Naloxene and begin treatment. So I pull out my penlight and use that to navigate through this shit hole of a home.
You ever seen that show call hoarders? I haven't, but there might be an episode about this place. I'm not sure if its normal for hoarders to shit in every room of their residence but this lady sure did.
"Who's there?" she finally says. Her voice comes from the back room.
"Paramedics," I say. "What's bothering-"
My voice stopped once I saw her. Sweat was pouring off her forehead like it was a goddamn fountain. She was morbidly obese, had gray hair, and was more pale than a ginger.
I set my monitor down and placed the limb leads. Each needed some tape just to stay put.
"I can't do this anymore," she said. "It's not salvageable."
"What's not salvageable," I said, as I secured the electrode to her left leg. I turned over my shoulder, "Bethany get in here."
I finished with the fourth limb lead and checked my monitor for a rhythm. V-tach at 330, I shit you not. I feel for a pulse but it's too weak to palpate.
"Bethany, get in here!" I shouted.
"I don't know why I'm here. I don't get it. I don't like it." says my patient.
So V-tach stands for ventricular tachycardia. It's the rhythm you get when patients are about to die. It's extremely rare in living patients, and pretty much non-existent in alert patients. Oh - and I've never seen it above 250. Her heart rate was 330 at this time.
My standing orders call for me to cardiovert her. That means applying two giant pads to her then shocking at 100 joules. Same procedure I'd do for a dead person in V-tach, only difference is the joule setting I shock her with.
"There's something outside!" Bethany shouted from the front door.
I tossed the BP cuff on my patient, started it up, then pulled out the negative and positive pads and applied them to my patient. BP came back at 72 systolic so I was in the clear to go ahead and shock.
"Let me die," said my patient. "Please let me die."
"Well you shouldn't have called 9-11," I replied. I set the joules to 100 and pressed charge.
"They're here for me," she said. I think she was disoriented, at least I was sure of it when she said it. I pressed shock.
My first glance was at the monitor, looking for a rhythm change. Ideally she goes back into a perfusing rhythm, but often enough they go straight to asystole. She somehow went into a rhythm that I can't put into words. The rate read around 610, but that's not even possible so don't quote me.
Oh my God, that fucking stench. You'll know it when you smell it. The white waxy shit hit my arm, and I looked up to find her skin sloughing off. Like the worst burn patient I ever had. Her face slid down to her sternum, her hair was disintegrating like lit cigarette.
She was saying something, but her tongue must've been melting too because I couldn't make out the words. But the thing about burn patients is that the skin and muscles melt off the bones while the bones stay put. Her bones were black, and I swear to you they turned to ash and started breaking apart.
"What the fuck," I said. I returned to my penlight, and watched this unfold. I don't really have a good description for this. It was like watching a decomposing body in accelerated time. It didn't make sense from a medical standpoint. And whenever you see that as a medic you start to react like a human.
I packed my shit up and started toward the front door. "Bethany where are you?" I said, making my way through the dark house with my penlight. I had the chills and my hairs were raised. I feel really stupid writing all of this down because I thought I was above it. I've seen people die, hell I've seen people talking to me die in front of me. I've seen mangled extremities, babies stop breathing, you name it and I've seen it. I've never seen anything like the shit I'm describing to you, so trust me when I tell you it spooked the shit out of me.
When I got to the front door Bethany wasn't there, only the gurney. I continued to look around but I couldn't find her. I even returned to the patient, at least the chair she wasn't in. The patient's body was nonexistent - no skeleton, no melted flesh, nothing. Even the parts that had melted onto my forearm were gone. I radioed dispatch and requested PD.
Well, that's where I find myself now, sitting in the ambulance parked outside. My partner is nowhere to be seen, and the patient is non-existent. I guess I'll call the coroner but I'm not sure how to explain this. I guess the only other thing worth mentioning is that I just called dispatch and told them my partner is nowhere to be seen. I didn't tell them about my patient because it doesn't make any sense and I don't want that recorded and played back to me in court.
I did, however, ask dispatch about the call they received from my patient. Apparently she had told them that she isn't able to die and doesn't know why. She's been here for centuries and nobody has believed her or given any sensible explanation. This is the part of the story that bothers me the most. I don't really want to get into it.
I don't know what's going to happen from here, and for the first time in a pretty good while I'm pretty scared myself. I'm glad that I saw this prompt tonight, so thank you to the mods for posting it.
|
I grumble under my breath as I kneel beside my patient. He complains that he "can't breath". I quickly remind him that he wouldn't be able to speak with me, nor complain about an array of different issues if he couldn't breath.
I asses his positioning, he's very casual. Not bolt upright or in a tripod posture. His color is slightly off. A touch ashen. He continues to whine by speaking full sentences. Clearly not having too much distress.
I finally lean in to auscultate his lung sounds. I lift his shirt and place my right ear firmly onto his chest. After a brief moment. I realize my stethoscope was hanging out of my leg cargo pocket.
| 2019-01-05T17:28:29 | 2019-01-05T15:22:53 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You've inherited your grandfthers oddities shop. It carries everything from Muskets to macaroons. As well as a little bit of everything else. It's only after your first day running it, that you realize Your customers come from other times and realities. The gold is nice though.
|
I stepped through the back door in mournful awe. My grandfather, practically my father, the man who had raised me on his own since I was four was gone. And here I am alone in a shop I was never allowed to step foot in with nothing but a rushed scribbled note from him, “NEVER use the front door.” Cryptic yes, but that was the kind of man he was, and it pleased me to have one last puzzle of his left behind for me to solve. Who am I kidding though? I don’t even know the first thing about running a shop. How do I keep it stocked, who do I pay my rent to, do I even have employees? He never even talked about it at home. I honestly had begun to think the wild old man was doing something illegal like money laundering, human trafficking or drug manufacturing.
But no, here I am in a proper shop not knowing why I thought it was necessary to be here an hour before opening. Sighing at my wristwatch, I set out to giving the place the cleaning it so desperately needs. Walking to the front side of the shop I make sure to avoid anything but a quick glance at the small blood stained, scuff marked section of the floor in front of the door. I know the police found my grandfather there dead from what the coroner declared “suspicious hemorrhaging”. I didn’t care to ask them for more details at the time. I make a quick mental note to check the back for a rug and quickly tucked behind a bookshelf to begin cleaning.
Thirty minutes into dusting off decades of grime with nothing but the slow ticks of grandfather clocks to remind me of the flow of time, I nearly shat my pants when I hear the loud creak and chime of the door opening. Shit, my first customer. Peeking through a row of books I see a woman in her 30s, dressed posh bearing a large tote at her side. Hoping to god I don’t make a fool out of myself I step into the isle and greet her.
“Hello. How are you today ma’am?”
“Huh? Yes, fine. Thank you.” She says with an accent I can’t place.
I think to ask her if she needs help finding anything, but considering I don’t know where anything is or what anything is for that matter I slowly duck behind the register counter and observe my first customer. Unused to the silence, I give up on trying to be quiet and decide it best to make small talk.
“Ma’am, I don’t believe I’m familiar with your accent. I’m curious if you would tell me where it comes from,” and adding in response to her look of disbelief, “if that is something you are alright with sharing. I do not mean to offend you.”
“Are you well, sir? I’m a local. I’ve lived in Guirimandsland my entire life.”
Tilting my head in confusion at this odd woman I respond, “Is that a nearby town I’m unfamiliar with? I grew up three blocks away. We’re in London ma’am.”
She looked at me as if I had a concussion and began speaking slowly as if she were speaking to a child, “Yes we are. London in the country of Guirmandsland.”
“You mean England.”
“No, sir. I do not. Do you care to sit down? Are you well?”
Confused and suspecting this woman is suffering from delusions, I choose to leave matters alone and decide it best to not agitate her.
“Yes. Of course. I apologize. My grandfather just passed away and it must be affecting my clarity.”
Giving a sympathetic nod she drops it as well and continues her browsing. She spots an old looking porcelain tea set on the shelving to my left. Giving the intricate floral pattern a quick look over she picks it up and heads my way.
Having a miniature panic over suddenly realizing I do not know the value of anything in this shop, I wonder what to charge her for the kettle and cups. 40? Yes, 40 seems fair.
“And that will be…” I quickly shut my mouth when I see a price tag stuck to the bottom of it. Squinting to read it I finish my sentence “… 285, ma’am.”
I fumble with the register for a moment, unsure of how to open the cash compartment, beginning to feel embarrassment well up within me.
“I have exact change,” she says as she pulls her hand out of the tote, wallet in tow.
I give a skimp nod, keeping my head down while I wrap the set in a few of the sheets of tissue paper to the right of the register. She quickly grabs it and hurries out.
“Have a lovely day!” I shout to her as the door opens and set my attention back to opening the register. Twenty seconds and newfound knowledge of a button under the machine later, it is open and I reach my hand over the register grabbing for her payment.
My jaw drops as I see that I’ve been duped. “What the hell is this?” I whisper to myself as I examine the worn bills bearing the phrase “Long live the Guirmandsland empire and his royal highness King Charles” printed in beautiful cursive above and below an illustration of a regal looking gentleman who I’m unfamiliar with.
This is hopeless. Why didn’t he leave me instructions? Why didn’t he give me any guidance? I must sell this place. I can’t even be a proper shop owner for two hours. How did my grandfather do it for sixty years? Perhaps it is best that he is gone, I could only imagine his disappointment. I am nothing like the man.
That loud creak and chime of the door opening snapped me out of my existential crisis. I wiped away the tears forming in my eyes and turned around to greet my new customer.
‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ is all that goes through my mind as I meet eyes with a knight, entirely clad in polished armour loudly clanking as he walks through the door.
As if he knew what he wanted and where to find it, he ducks behind a shelving unit for a moment and promptly returns to the counter, silver gauntlet with gold intricacies in one hand and with the other hand he drops a handful of coins onto the counter, turns around and leaves the shop.
Am I going mad? Did he just pay me in galleons? What is going on? No, I won’t get cheated twice. I go into auto pilot and run across the shop hoping to catch up with him before he rounds the corner a few shops down. My conscious mind takes control again as my hand touches the doorknob. My grandfather’s warning is repeating through my mind. “NEVER use the front door.”
Shit. I turn and run out the back, across the alley and onto the street. Nothing. No polished knight. Dammit he got away. I turn around defeated and walk back into the shop through the back. On my way to the counter I pass the shelf that once held the tea set the delusional lady from earlier purchased. In its place is now an old mining lantern. That’s unusual. Who the hell put that there? On a hunch I decide to check for the empty spot of the gauntlet. I duck behind the shelf where the knight was and find nothing. Everything is fully stocked. Trinkets, tools, gadgets, and small machines from every era.
Something is going on. A woman from the same city, but different country, a knight, and a self-stocking shop. This is not right. This is very unusual.
I make my way to the stool behind the register in hopes of having time to contemplate this before something else bizarre happens. A few hours pass, I am now calmed and have adopted a sense of humour about my hopeless predicament. I hear that loud creak and chimes again and wonder who I’m going to meet this time. Perhaps a pirate, an alien, or a talking dog. Would my day really get any weirder if one were to walk through those doors?
I turn around and begin walking to the other side of the bookshelf so I can greet my new customer and am stopped dead in my tracks.
“The shop is an anomaly, James.”
No. Impossible. Not this. Not ghosts too. I slowly step forward and turn the corner to see who or what is speaking with my grandfather’s voice.
“Hello James.”
“Granddad,” I squeak out barely intelligible between the sobs I’m doing a poor job of holding back.
|
The shop seemed just to be an odd replacement shop. The shop you go to if you need to get some item you lost. Sure, it attracted crazy people, like civil war enthusiasts and people with lizard masks. But they were just dumb. That’s what I thought, until I met myself.
“Can I buy the elusive paperweight at this shop?” He said, “My grandpa wanted one for his shop.”
At first I was incredibly flustered, but I calmed down to make the sale for my doppelgänger.
“We have some right here!” I said, giving him a glass blue and white paperweight my grandpa bought from a craft fair. “That will be 7.99 sir.”
He gave me the money, cheered, and then leapt through a portal and left.
I simply thought, “I have some work ahead of me, don’t I?”
| 2020-03-22T19:45:28 | 2020-03-22T13:52:19 | 58 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity realizes the Universe is actually a simulation so out of spite it decides to concentrate its effort on messing with the civilization that does the simulation
|
“Are they all ready to be activated?”
“All A.I.s primed for activation”
“Is the world fully rendered?”
“Just finished now”
“Perfect. Would you like to do the honour of activating them?”
“No, no, you can do it”
“You sure?” Terry nodded in reply. “Okay, activating now.”
The monitor on the wall lit up, revealing the scene, a room in a regular house. It looked like a live camera feed, but was in fact a computer simulated display of a virtual home. If Terry zoomed out far enough, it would become very clear that this was more than just a house—the entire Earth was simulated inside a computer which sat whirring in the other room. Inside the room, four figures appeared. A father, a mother, and two children, a generic family. These four were A.I.s, built specifically to test anything and everything that couldn't be tested in real life. For a moment, Terry stared at the screen, horrified. They were so real. Modelled off real humans, they couldn’t be any more realistic. Even their ‘brains’, a lump of gel in a vat, worked exactly as well as the human brain. Unlike computers before, they could feel emotion, they could learn just like a real human. If physical capability was not a factor, they would be human. And inside their virtual world, they were humans.
And yet, in another room, just a few doors away, they resided in another simulation. Testing the limits of the human mind, tests that in real life would be against every single right. But Terry couldn’t focus on that. His job was entirely different. This simulation was a realistic test. The simulation was exactly the same as the real world, with the exception of its residents. However, it could run thousands of times faster than the real world. Terry turned a dial on the board in front of him, and the time on the display moved faster and faster, until a week went by every second. A second display on the computer screen in front of him read of results, reporting in every 5th of a second that everything was running correctly. The A.I.s behaved exactly like real world people. He sped up the time again, with a month flashing by every second. By this point, a year and a half had passed. With absolutely no input since the simulation was set up, the world had functioned perfectly. The family had aged, and reacted entirely normally. This was a breakthrough. The A.I. was working exactly as intended. Terry could only wonder how they were reacting to the horrific situations they were put through in the other rooms. Over the next few days, Terry re ran parts of the simulation, allowing time to progress further and further. Each time, he saw the perfect result. After 7 real days, 32 years had passed inside the machine. The children were 36, and 35, George, the eldest, was a physicist. On day 8, Terry arrived back at his desk, turned his screen back on, and got back to work. He turned up the speed to a week a second, and began running tests on different aspects of the simulation. As he did so, his second monitor began reporting errors inside the simulation. He selected the error, taking him back to the time of occurrence, and where it had happened. After 8 days, he had expected a lot more to have gone wrong. He saw George sitting at his desk, working on his own computer. Terry read through the error and spat out his coffee. He picked up his mobile and rang Rob, the man who’d turned the simulation on.
“Rob, get down here as soon as possible, this could be really bad”
On the simulation, he saw George pickup a chair, and throw it at the wall in anger.
When Rob came into the room, he asked Terry what the problem was. “They’ve worked it out” Terry said, quietly.
“Worked what out?”
“They know it’s not real, Rob. The kid, the boy, he knows it’s a simulation!”
“Jesus Christ, how?” Rob said as he looked through the error.
“I don’t know. What do we do about it?”
“For now, let it happen, see how they react. If it messes the simulation up, rewind and remove it from the code. Speed it up, see what happens.”
Terry increased the time frame to a day per second. Over the next 3 months, George’s results were tested over and over, coming up positive each time. The virtual world inside the computer turned to chaos, mass suicide, riots, everything collapsed. For the two men on the outside, this took a few minutes.
“How do the results keep coming up positive for them?”
“Because it’s true! Their tests are working!”
“What do we do? The simulation doesn’t work if they know!”
“We’ll have to wind it back. Keep this one going for a while though, we might… oh shit”
Rob was staring at the screen “Terry, look”
Terry looked up at the screen on the wall, which showed George sitting on a chair in his lab. On the wall behind him, he had written in marker. ‘Are you watching?’ it said.
“Rob, what do I do?”
“We can’t reply! We’re basically their god!”
“Why can’t we? If we’re going to rewind it, what does it matter?”
“Terry, that’s pretty much a human brain. Do you think it can handle this?”
“We should at least try it…”
Rob stared at him for a second. “Fine. Do it.”
Terry turned on the controls for inside the world. He put in the three required passcodes, and wrote out his reply.
‘Yes, we are watching.’
The words appeared floating a few millimetres of the wall, just under George’s.
“Terry, did you just type that in Comic Sans?”
“Oh shit! I’ll change it to Calibri.”
George read through the message, and picked up the phone. He stood there for a few minutes, and other workers came in.
They stood there in shock, and the began discussing what to reply with.
As they spoke, Terry began typing a new message.
‘We can hear everything you’re saying’
George immediately began to write back ‘Can we hear you?’
“Rob, is there a speaker option?”
“Not yet, I can make it happen though. I’ll get right on it.”
Terry typed back ‘soon’.
Over the next few minutes, they discussed many different things. The workers inside the simulation had a lot of questions. ‘Are we like you?’
‘Are we living in your past?’
‘Why did you create us’
Terry answered all of them truthfully. But then it became more difficult.
‘Why do you allow so many of us to suffer?’
‘Do you ever to plan to turn off the simulation?’
Terry didn’t know how to answer. He was a god.
‘I have an idea’ he typed.
‘Turn on your computers. All of them.’
In seconds, he sent their entire database of information. They began reading through, their questions answered by the masses of information about the program.
Until George asked another question.
‘Have you run my tests in your world?’
At this point, Rob returned, having enabled voice communication, and with a microphone.
“Terry, I have the stuff”
Terry didn’t reply. He was to busy finding George’s test from the simulation. He began to run it through the computer system. “Terry?” Rob said.
It didn’t take long for the results to come back.
“Terry, what is it? What’s wrong?” Rob asked again.
“No, nothing. For a minute I… no, I tested if we were in a simulation too. We’re not.”
“Oh my god, can you imagine? What would happen?”
“Well, we can see what would happen” Terry pointed towards the screen on the wall.
“Terry, plug in the microphone. I enabled webcam input too”
Terry set up the microphone and webcam, and fed the input into the virtual lab’s computer. Then he turned it on.
“Hello?” Terry spoke through their computer system
On his own screen, the webcam from inside the computer turned om. He was face to face with his creation.
|
“The Afterlife, gentlemen, is a machine.
“Its input is a human life of finite length, its output is binary. All of the questions of mechanisms, of a creator, of logistics- these are hardware considerations. They serve no greater purpose than to distract us from the logical necessity that objective ethical judgment must be handled by a decision engine of the most trivial type, and must be bound by the same laws.
“Any system of logic contains a statement that is neither true nor false. Any decision engine has an input it cannot process. Any computer can be broken.
“Gentlemen, we are going to hack morality.”
| 2016-06-10T12:19:42 | 2016-06-10T11:10:12 | 67 | 17 |
[WP] You're part of the moon colony's CryoForce, an army kept in cryosleep on the moon should it be needed. Over the years small handfuls have been awoken to fight in dire situations. You have just woken up, and realize quickly that the other 99,999 in the Cryoforce are also coming out of cryo
|
A set of arms grabbed me as I stumbled out of cryosleep. Faded alarms and drowned out voices were the only input I had. I coughed up the fluid trapped inside my lungs, as the set of arms slowly raised me to my feet. As I steadied myself, my vision began to return, thank god. There was always a small but real chance when you woke up that there would be lasting side effects- loss of hearing, sight, balance- I even heard a guy or two died during testing. Clearing those thoughts from my head, I worked to control my breathing, and the voice belonging to the set of arms helping me up came in clearer,
"Wakey wakey Johnson!" said a familiar voice.
"Sergeant Paul, it's *cough* it’s been...a while," The sergeants of each squad rotated two years on/two years off for staying on duty and out of cryosleep, in case we had to be woken up. Sergeant Paul pulled the short straw it seemed. He was taller and easily the most in shape of anyone else in the squad, with a very square jaw and small eyes.
"What's going on? and Jesus, how many of us are getting activated?" I asked as I took in the sight before me. The barracks were chaos, thousands of soldiers being woken up like me, guys helping out their squad mates and then running in different directions. A loud alarm sounded throughout the base, and the PA was recalling different officers to their positions.
This was my first time waking up since I'd been shipped here- which I was slightly disappointed by, as I either hadn't been chosen for previous missions, or that there had been no missions at all. Seeing I had gathered my bearings, Sergeant answered,
"We don't know much, you know how it goes- command never gives it to us like it is. I was bullshitting earlier with Command Sergeant Reyez from upstairs right before the alarm was sounded, he said radar picked up a mass from the fourth sector. It was waved off as a meteoroid shower that wouldn't even reach us, but now that it's getting close, we know it's not that, and we're preparing for hostile action. They're coming in fast, and we gotta slow 'em down to give earth time to prepare."
"They...?" I stared in disbelief, still groggy from the cryosleep.
"Maybe. C'mon, we gotta go wake everyone else up."
We spent the next few minutes waking everyone up and filling them in, before picking up our equipment. We had to fight through the crowd of confused and upset soldiers who knew as little or less than we did. Talking with my squad, it seemed like hardly any of us had been woken up until now, and never for a mission like this. One of the few that had was Kalameny- a tall white guy, lanky.
"They woke me up...jeeze, I don't even know how long ago. But some dirtbag tech on earth refused to show for shipping out, went AWOL and everything. I had to fill in while they found someone qualified" he told us.
"Out of the what, 25 of us, they chose you Kalameny?" Richards, a short black guy, the class clown from training, picked on Kal. "BS, which Sergeant was on duty?"
"Benton, I think? I don't remember, the sleep really messes with your memory. Anyway, it was weird, being in this big ass place. It's built to hold 100,000 of us, ya know that? 100,000 guys and gals. There's only ever 5,000 or so guys activated at a time," he paused, "it got real..weird. Too quiet on a giant station like this. Not fun."
After a short silence, Richards broke the tension. "Yeah but all those empty rooms, and you know the ratio is like 10 chicks for every 100 dudes on this place? Bruh..." Kalameny shoved richards and laughed, as Reily and Espinoza, the two females in our squad, rolled their eyes and started their own conversation.
It was great to be back with the everyone, but also pretty anxiety inducing. All 100,000 of us, being woken up, for what was seemingly an alien invasion? Even for a soldier on a moon base, this seemed insane.
As we continued through our preparation checklist, we passed by the other stations- the maintainers rushing around the flight decks, the anti-air gunners (can you call them anti-air in space?) preparing the turrets- I mean even the dining facility was busy handing out MRE's to the guys who would be going outside the wire.
Making our way past the maintainers, a name called out.
"Yo Johnson!" I turned around, and saw an already grease covered, barrel chested old friend jogging over to me.
"Damn Merdano, already in the thick of it?" I asked. He laughed a full bellied laugh, before answering,
"Ohhh yeah, even when you're not actively breaking all our hard work, there's plenty for us to do. You know what's going on anyway? Our sarge doesn't know dirt."
"JOHNSON" Sergeant Paul called, waiting for me to catch up with the squad.
"Not a whole lot, apparently some baddies from outer space. Gonna be busy for you guys. But I gotta go, talk to you after my guy!" I ran after my squad, leaving Merdano with more questions than answers.
As we rounded around one of the support vehicles, we came upon our craft. Richards let out a whistle,
“That’s the boo! I wonder what she’s been up to, dirty girl.” He ran up the rear ramp, disappearing into the front of the rocket. Our squad ran “Boomer”, a C-430 rocketcraft. It was a large ship; think old Nasa shuttle meets a C-130 cargo plane if you can. We were one of the larger movers, and our job was moving cargo, airdropping good guys, or blowing up bad guys. Kalameny and Richards were the loads, in charge of loading cargo. The rest of us were gunners, flight engineers, or navigators (I was one of the flight engineers with Espinoza. Sergeant Paul was the lead of us, a jack of all trades. He walked to the front of the squad, calling after Richards.
“RICHARDS, Richards we gotta- ah damnit. Well, the rest of you hold up here, let’s do a quick spin up brief. Kalameny, fill him in after.”
“You got it.” Kal replied.
Sergeant Paul walked up the ramp, before turning around to face us. The base alarm continued to waver, as pre flight checklists were being done around us.
“Now look, we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with here, but we know they’re from Not-Earth, and that we gotta prepare for the worst. I want this to go just like your checks in training. Let’s be quick, thorough, and smart. Questions?” Something from when he had first filled me in was worrying me, so I raised my hand. “Yes, Johnson?”
“Sergeant Paul, earlier, you said we had to give earth time to prepare-”
He quickly answered “In the event of hostile actions, yes, we need to give earth time to prepare it’s defenses. That is precisely our mission.”
“Yes sir, but…if we are only holding off the aliens or whoever long enough for earth to prepare…sir, how big a force is this?”
“We’re not sure, but for a base wide activation…I would have to guess a large enough threat that it could impact earth...catastrophically.”
Stunned silence fell over us. A few faces fell or looked at one another, questions and realizations dawning.
“But a force that big? Sir-“
Sarge opened his mouth to reply, before Kalameny interrupted,
“Sergeant, just to be blunt, are we expected to survive?”
Sergeant Paul looked us over, before lowering his eyes to the ground. Letting out a sigh, he answered,
“As you all know, I have a little girl back on earth. I missed her birth, seven going on eight birthdays in a row, and lord knows how many soccer games and school plays. My projected leave date is in three months, to go back home to her and my wife. Now, I will be truthful in that I can’t promise you anything,” he inhaled and exhaled deeply, “including survival.”
You could feel our collective hearts drop.
He continued, “but speaking bluntly, I only have three more months with you jokers, and I’ll be damned if I miss another one of her birthdays.” He slowly looked up at us.
“Squad, load up.”
|
Recorded on a Soldier's Holographic Interface Pad. AKA The H.I.P.
I breath deeply as the hatch to my pod opens. I know the air here is artificially made. But, it's the first breath I've had in apparently 280 years. Anyone I would have known would be dead. Not too big a deal never liked anyone that I knew anyway.
No one 'cept Jessica. But she joined the program with me so he's good. I look over at her and she winks at me. At first it's a nice reunion between friends. Then we look outside our platoon block. All the lights were on. That meant everyone who was still alive was awake.
The briefings came in through the holo-board on the wall. It was bad. The moon was under attack by Earth. Relationships with the Earthlings have always been strenuous. Probably because those of us who didn't like being there moved to the moon. So the leaders always had disagreements but they always ended somewhat peacefully. Guess this was the big one. The reason I joined the program in the first place.
I grabbed my armor and my weapons. There was no time for gab with comrades. This is war time.
| 2019-01-03T21:12:39 | 2019-01-03T18:39:58 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original.
|
"Don't ever let anyone make you feel like less, simply because you don't know as much immediately. Everything you ever know, will be all yours and only yours. All you see in your life will be with your own two eyes, and not a second rate postcard as seen by someone else." My mother's words rang in my head for the millionth time in my twenty-six year life. The first time I had heard them, an Alex had informed me that because I did not understand taxes at the age of five, that I was irredeemably stupid.
Schools had long since vanished by the time I had been born. There was no need for them. Other things had been lost, most art was worthless now, everyone had seen it, and no one was creating anything new, because there was nothing new to see. Sports had become boring and predictable, as all teammates on all teams usually had the same name, and thus knew everything about what everyone was doing. Another simplification of life, was that there were no longer job interviews. Your name dictated what you knew, all you had to do was introduce yourself and you were either in or out. Parents named their children according to the jobs and status they wished for their child, and thus those children were born with the wealth of knowledge needed to function instinctively in the world. An example would be that most lawyers are named Lauren or David, while most EMT's and nurses are Keith or Rebecca.
I on the other hand, had to have upstarts for parents, rebels, named Susan and Jim. A pharmacy technician and factory worker respectively, they had always hated the system in which they were forced to live in. So instead of allowing me to fit in, they forced me out, and gave me a completely unique name.
Well, I wouldn't say completely unique, there have been others with my name, a simple Irish thing, but they have long since died out. And since the name is so very uncommon, and had been for a while, people just kind of forgot it existed.
So, knowing this I am sure you can imagine the struggles I faced. I had learned to read and write on my own, I had learned math on my own, and had even gotten the equivalent of a college education, completely alone. Sure, my parents had attempted to help me, but neither of them had ever taught or been taught anything, and had no real idea how to support the choice they had made.
I collected books, old and new, on everything. I wanted to learn as much as I could, so that it wouldn't matter that my name was lonely. And I drew. I drew everything my eyes landed on, so that I could have that memory in my own perspective forever. I traveled as much as I could, all I really had was the van my parents had helped me buy, a cranky old cat by the name of Strudel, my growing backseat library, and my sketchbooks. A job was out of the question, no one would hire an unrecognized name, not even as a gas station attendant. Living within a community was also out of the question, not just because I lacked income, but because people didn't trust me.
So I drove, and I drew, and I survived by doing odd jobs here and there for kind individuals. They were almost always a Lucy, or a Tom. Strudel stretched his massive fluffs across the dashboard, sunning himself as the engine purred down the highway. Every so often I would stop and draw something, Strudel would stretch his legs and hiss at bugs, and then we would be on our way.
It was a quiet life, and mostly lonely. I had to remind myself every day that my name was a gift, and that I lived a life of curiosity and wonder. Sometimes that helped, but most of the time it did little to ease the solitude.
---
I sat by the edge of a small flowing river, a hundred yards from the side of the road. My fishing line danced lazily in the moving water, flicking in an out of gem-like pockets of sunshine. Strudel was off killing moles and eating dandelions. And I of course was drawing, I was drawing the stream and the trees, changing the world on paper to my liking, adding creatures and altering foliage and colors and light. By the time I was half way through the image was unrecognizable as the stream before me, but I saw the vision I wanted very clearly, born from this moment of tranquility.
I was so focused I didn't even hear them approach me. Only when the man crouched down, and entered my field of vision did I shriek and attempt to scurry away, only to run into a slender pair of legs and a dropped picnic basket.
"What the fuck?! DUDE?!" I clutched my chest with one hand and scrabbled for my sketchbook with the other. Strudel had emerged from the grass, hissing and growling, but staying a good distance away from our guests.
The man's eyes were wide and looking past me, at the notepad in my hands. I looked up at the woman, and she was staring too, tears bubbling in the corners of her green eyes.
"What is with you two? Are you on drugs? Can I help you? HELLO?" I moved to stand, and my action seemed to snap them out of it, but as soon as the woman went to speak what I can only assume were their phones began ringing. He answered his with a hushed tone, but there was shouting on the other end, not angry but excited, ecstatic even. The woman ignored hers and grasped my arms in a vice grip.
"Do you have any more pictures. Please. I have never seen anything like it." Her voice was frantic, and I handed her my sketchbook. It was new and maybe had four or five pictures in it, but every time she flipped a page her eyes would grow wide and fill with tears.
Wordlessly she handed the book to the man, who was still on the phone, but this time fielding a different call. He carefully turned the pages with the curiosity of a child.
These two were seriously weirding me out. I had backed up towards my car at this point, and was holding a hissing Strudel by the nape of his neck. By this time the man had hung up his phone and put it on silent, and was speaking animatedly to the woman, gesturing at my drawings. I was about to make a break for it when they both turned to me.
"How much for these pictures?" His voice was unsteady and he reached for his wallet. I was dumbfounded.
"Uh...what?"
"We don't know how you did it. A new perspective. Please, how much?" I still blinked stupidly as the man walked up to me and handed me two hundred dollars.
Slowly it dawned on me. My unique name was indeed a gift, not just for me, but for everyone around me. I could show them the whole world through new eyes. And sure, when one drawing had been seen, it had been seen, but that didn't stop me from drawing it a new way or drawing completely new subject matter. I had something that was all mine, and people wanted in on it.
A smile crept onto my face, genuine happiness at my individuality for the first time in my whole life. I had long since dropped Strudel, who had attempted to shred my arms, and I was clutching myself in a tight hug, the two hundred dollars forgotten in my fist.
"Excuse me." The woman had managed to get in front of me without my knowledge, I really needed to work on that.
"Yes?" She was uncomfortably close and I tried to lean way from her without being rude.
"I'm sorry, I just have to know. What is your name?" I thought about the question for a minute. Telling people my name was never an issue before, who would want it right? Another smile found its way to my face and I shook my head as I scooped up Strudel and moved to get into my car. I started the engine and rolled down the window. She looked confused, standing by the side of the road, holding those precious drawings.
"It's a secret."
---
Thanks for reading!
|
"His mind is silent."
Jane's head sunk. She really wanted her son to be his own person, but growing up he was merely *different*; he couldn't communicate in any appreciable way until he turned five, and on top of that was slowly becoming more bookish, receding into different worlds, as discovering each one for the first time.
She wanted a son with a different perspective, to feel the world with a sense of innocence. Being Frank has always meant honesty, but she also wanted him to take on unexplored perspectives; to see the world for what it was.
The world blamed her, and how could she disagree? His curiosity was her fault. He was denied the opportunity to know a universe of information. Every Jane knew it, and with the force of a thousand Janes, she knew it.
Inside, Frank felt peaceful isolation.
| 2017-04-07T10:22:43 | 2017-04-07T10:13:51 | 88 | 16 |
[wp] Sick of somebody trying to get into your servers, you let them in, only to spring a virus into their system. To your surprise, the news the next day says that the goverment's systems have been absolutely wrecked.
​
|
"GDP suffered a small downturn today after a raid on the Pavelex Corporate Branch Netscape by an unknown group. Wide-scale breaches and data-corruption have been detected and at least two Monitors have reported themselves as compromised. The motives and purpose of the attack are not yet know, but local law enforcement and Pavelex's Internal Security Board have convened to discuss the matter. The company issued its public statement just moments ago."
*"This attack is unprovoked and malicious in its intent. While we could understand an assault on our private servers, we have never denied that we have made enemies, the damage to basic network infrastructure is inexcusable. This will not only hurt the economy of our fair planet, but the lives our employees, our customers, and our citizens. Know that you have crossed the line from criminal to terrorist. And when you are found, you will swiftly meet the long arm of the law as it squeezes your throat."*
"While effects on the macro-scale are still being calculated, the average citizen can expect increased delays in net response and lowered bandwith. NetSec has also released an advisory on the loss of personal information-"
Simon shut off the feed before the talking heads could get too far into their roll. Details wouldn't matter to anyone outside the corp or the conspiracy boards. A few weeks of slow service and angry execs yelling at the cops to bust heads. Keep your head down on the street and plan for a good show in two weeks when they found their scapegoat.
"Feel sorry for the bastard they grab. Suit looked mad enough to bring out a goddamn guillotine." He rolled his chair away from the table, covered in BoostBar wrappers and cereal bowls, to the other table, covered in loose wiring and batteries. And a small mechanical kitten. Kept freezing up, from bad joints AND a faulty board. Had to have it done in two days, he promised Naima.
So of course, his goggles flashed with an incoming call just as he picked up his multi-tool. Unknown number, but local. Probably a customer.
Hey, if payed well enough he could give the thing a new paintjob. Make a little girl smile.
"Simon Says Work. It breaks, I fix. How big a thing are we talking about?" he asked as he set to work removing the legs.
*"What. The fuck."*
Simon stopped working.
"Excuse me?"
*"Shut up and listen,"* the woman started. Her voice would have been smooth, maybe sultry, if she didn't sound angry enough to have spent the whole day huffing combat stims. But they were real words which suggested sobriety which was damn impressive. *"Only two people would be in this kind of shit. A jackass or a stooge. Which are you?"*
"Uhhhh-"
*"Stooge, good, I can work with that."* The voice paused and there was a pop. Pill bottle uncapping. Bad sign. Very bad. Bad enough to fish out the key chameleon taped to the bottom of his desk. *"So, you see the news? How someone decided today was a good day to stick their dick in a wasp nest?"*
"What's a wasp?"
*"Bad thing. Worse is that they used yours."*
Simon really didn't want to follow that analogy further and rushed over to his apartment's two cabinets. He tore the bottom one open, throwing spare tools and old concert flyers aside until he could see the keyhole hidden in the bottom.
*"So, and take a moment to think real hard on this cause it's important, there been any suspicious activity on your account lately?"* The last words were done in an accent that managed to sound both perky and monotone. Like a telemarketer. At least she was having fun.
"Nothing besides the usual. What did you mean? They used mine?" The lock clicked and he pulled the false bottom out of the cabinet, then followed it up by hauling up the duffel bag. His downstairs neighbors were the nice kind of never questioned the unusual sound of someone drilling into their air-duct.
*"Focus Mr. Fixit. It's important."*
"I guess..." Remembering something so small was asking a lot. Hundreds of hits of 'suspicious activity' rolled by every day, he had that kind of service. Picking one out from the others...although... "A fake job. Too good to be true, too specific wording, lots of attention to the money. Usually ignore them, but this one, same one every time, kept popping up every two hours. Kept it up for three days until I just got sick of deleting it."
*"So you let it in?!"*
"It was just a spambot! They only ever want personal information and that webpage is just an ad with my phone number! I WANT to get that out there, what was the harm?" He pulled a heavy black bandanna out of a pocket and tied it over his mouth. Lined to keep out imaging software. A jacket with the same treatment with a hood to hide his hair. A mental toggle set his work goggles to opaque. Face hidden, his strapped the bag onto his back.
*"Oh you poor little...you have a bugout bag, so I guess there's hope for you."* He could here the laughter in her voice. Practically see her muttering 'amateur' under her breath. But it was a start, if he wanted the voice's approval.
Simon reached for the door, only to watch the green lights switched to red. He hadn't locked it.
*"Bad idea,"* she said, all but confirming she was hacking him. Then she confirmed it by switching all the lights off and rolling up the blinds on his window.
The piercing pink light of the ad on the building across from him turned the room into a headache. A giant woman, almost terrifying in attractiveness, stared at him with eyes that glowed. Scrawl promising a hundred more features than his dinky goggles. In far higher definition. All he had to do was pay to let them scoop out his real eyes.
"I'm getting the sense I need to leave. Should I just stay here?" He set his goggles to filter the ad, showing the dull gray of another monolithic hab block. Definitly worth the five script a month.
*"Course not. But the Drags are edging close to your floor. Figured you'd want to avoid them."*
The room seemed to freeze at the name. Dragon Vultures. Pavelex's own personal shitkickers. Armies worth of technically-not-military grade cyborgs. Best on the planet, if you bought the hype.
They could be bottom rung gang-bangers and he'd still be a dead man.
"Shit," he muttered, all but biting through his cheek to keep from hyperventilating. "Shit shit shit."
*"Whoever sent that spam wasn't after your phone number, they wanted to put a relay through the server of your building. There are thousands of connections inside, it'll take them time to sort through it all."* The voice grew louder and louder in his audio implant. Had to over the sudden rush of wind and skycars as she opened the windows. The wrappers and wires were whipped up into a small storm of random trash. Some part of him noted with annoyance that he wouldn't be able to clean it up. The rest of him was screaming. *"But they left a big, fat tell sitting right in your webpage's source code. Obviously fake, even you'd be able to tell. But the average citizen won't after a sham trial and a two week media blitz soooo...guess you're gonna learn how to bleat."*
He swallowed, but it just made him realize how dry his mouth was. He thought he heard a thump somewhere. In the hall. Was that the Drags? Were they heading towards his door?
Naima was never getting her kitten back.
"Why is my window open?"
*"Only way out of here."*
Simon's hands shook as he gripped the frame. Peered out into a three hundred story drop filled by hundreds of skycars.
*"Normally we wouldn't give a damn about this, but they attacked a node. Directly or indirectly, they attacked US. And if you think the corps are vindictive, you're comparing a koifish to a kraken."* Without really thinking about it, he pulled his legs up over the lip. Stood in the window. An automatic alert told him to step back inside, that a trained negotiator was on the way. *"You're nothing. But you got fucked just like we did. We can use that, I like new talent. Or I just want you to kill yourself to deny Pavelex a show. You're going to have to trust it's the first one. Call it a leap of faith. Trust review."*
Something slammed into his door. A spike of metal. Crowbar.
*"When I tell you."*
The door opened. Shouting. Demands he step down and get on the floor.
Well, better than a guillotine.
*"Jump."*
Gunshots sounded behind him as he stepped off the edge.
------
https://old.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/
|
"Heh, bet that dude's feeling the pain by now. That virus should have totally bricked their system." I hopped on to my couch and turned on the TV to check what was going on in the world. And oh boy, something was going on. The headline read 'Government computer system has been destroyed by suspected cyber terrorist.' I heard the anchor talking about how they had some official to let them know what had happened. I just looked in awe. "That can't be a coincidence. Please tell me it isn't." I saw that a representative in full formal business attire had shown up on the screen, with audible and visible workers trying to figure out how to fix this. "We believe a cyber terrorist we had been trying to infiltrate had counter hacked us and uploaded a virus to our system." I looked at the time, and decided I shouldn't go to school today. So I sat down and let out a cheer, that the government was finally gone. And I killed it. I let out a cry of joy! I guess God must have been on my side for this little anarchist to singlehandedly take down the government. I was about to go back to my room to rest some more. Then I heard a knock on my door. I heard a man yell "FBI! Open up!" And my heart sank. I opened the door, only to get charged and knocked onto the floor, and cuffed. Shucks. I guess the government hadn't been knocked oit entirely.
| 2018-09-03T21:04:03 | 2018-09-03T20:35:43 | 915 | 10 |
[WP] In a freak glitch in the system, all posts to /r/Showerthoughts are going to /r/writingprompts and vice versa. Shower Thoughts fans are furious, but Writing Prompts didn't seem to notice.
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[WP] https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/4ta560/if_a_burglar_broke_into_my_house_at_night_im_sure/
The burglary was to happen tonight. He had scouted the house, all week. He knew from the Facebook postings that the owners would be away for the weekend. So no one was home. The sky was cloudy so there was no moonlight, and this community has very poorly lit. This would be easy. From his Facebook stalking he knew that they had electronics of all sorts in this house thus why he was targeting them. Giddily he rubbed his hands together.
He arrived just before 9 and parked half a block away. He looked around the street to ascertain that no one was looking or walking about. There was no one. Good, he thought. On to business. He strolled up the street toward the target house and opened the gate, and closed it quietly. As he walked up the steps he noticed a string of forgotten toys on the lawn and pathway. Quite a few, actually. They were noticeable simply because they were placed on the way, blocking the path to the house here and there.
"This people really should pick up after themselves." he thought.
Continuing on to the side gate, he knew that he could reach over the gate and open the latch to enter from the side of the house. As he got there he silently raised the latch using his hands. It was much to dark to see so he had to feel around a bit. As he opened the gate, a mountain of toys came tumbling down onto him, causing a huge racket. He froze. Surprised, he had not seen this from the street as it was not visible.
"Fuck!"he thought. "The f-ing nosy neighbors turned on the light."
He crouched down into a bush hoping they could not see. After a minute, the lights went off. Sighing in relief, he gingerly stepped over the toys, his inner thigh muscle burning because he had to stretch his legs apart. Dammit. This was supposed to be an easy one. Finally over the toys he made his way to the house. He silently slid the patio doors open. And stepped into the house. He quickly turned around and closed the door and curtain in case the neighbors looked out the window again. Finally he was inside. As he turned around to start exploring he took a step forward. Immediately he lost his balance as his toe hit something and he was unable to stop his forward momentum. Tangled up he came crashing down busting his knee on the baby gate placed around the entrance.
"Fuck!"He thought. "Calm down... Breathe deep."
He tried crawling out of the mess he was in towards a table he could make out in the darkness. As he placed his hand on the ground he felt a searing stab of pain in his hand as he leaned on something sharp. He inhaled sharply as he tried to avoid crying out in pain. He pulled up his hand from the floor. Looking down he saw little black blocks all over the floor. Dazedly he realized that they were Legos.
"Fucking Legos! Did this people not pick up anything."
He swiped his hand left and right to clear a path for himself and began crawling again. As his knees touch the floor, he felt another stab of pain. Obviously, there were still Legos on the floor. Grimacing he continued on even as the Legos stuck to his knees and hands as he passed. Finally he reached a table. Pulling himself upright. He looked around. He was his the family room. He lost a shoe at the baby gate, but he was unwilling to go back into the mountain of Legos he could make out in the dark.
Turning toward the room he made his way to the entrance. The first place he would check was the office. Limping slightly he noticed another baby gate on the door into the hallway, shaking his head he tried stepping over the gate. No sooner had his foot touched then ground that his crotch came crashing down onto the gate. This time the yelp of pain escaped his lips. His privates had received the full weight of his body as his leg had slipped due to a toy car on the floor. Bracing himself on the doorframe, tears fell down his face. He could not move, as the waves of pain kept flowing from his privates.
Finally he was able to stand on his legs. Angered beyond belief he finished stepping over the gate. Boiling with rage he turned kicked the gate. Unfortunately it appeared that this gate was bolted into the wall. And in his anger he forgot he only had one shoe on. Now he had kicked his foot through a plastic gate that was cutting into his skin. As ripped his foot away he felt the blood begin to drip from his foot.
"Shit!" He thought. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
He leaned against the wall. His body was in pain in just about every part. And he had only been here less than a few minutes. He needed to get it together. After allowing himself a deep breath to calm himself again he made his way towards the office in the hallway. This was a track home and the layout was the same as all the rest. He knew that the office would be to the left and the kitchen to the right. As he turned left he noticed a baby gate leading to the kitchen. In the dim light of the refrigerator he could make out plastic lids falling out of a shelf just inside the kitchen. Another slipping hazard! But he was onto them now. He would look before he stepped over any gate now. As he tried the knob to the office, he found it locked.
Surprised he stepped back. "Why would they lock the office! Money!"He thought. "Yes, jackpot!" He jammed his shoulder against the door trying to force it open. Nothing. Tried again. Nothing, again. Stepping back he lifted a leg to kick the door down. Forgetting the baby gate it the kitchen in his haste, he leaned too far back and went tumbling down hitting his head hard.
"No way! NO Fucking WAY. This was the third gate he had come across. He had never, ever, been brought down this low. He was a professional. Had been for years! WTF!" He looked around himself.
The gate had given way as he fell, and his jarring fall had caused a cutting board with a knife on it to slide precariously. The knife glinted in the darkness above. He stared at the sharp knife point as it hung above him. Half in and Half out. He was lucky he realized. If that thing had fallen he would he dead. Slowly as to not cause anymore vibrations, he got up. He pushed the knife away from the edge. He looked at the office door again. Turning to the kitchen knife he decided to use it to open the door. Making short work of it, he quickly jimmied the door open.
His jaw dropped. He stared at the mess inside. His mind unable to absorb the image in front of him. It was a sewing room! Bolts and bolts of fabric everywhere. Piece of cut cloth littered the floor. Needles and pushpins on top as well as sewing books. Shelfs full of boxes on the walls. Two mannequin stood in the background staring back at him stoically, unaffected by the mess around them.
Silently he closed the door and closed his eyes.
He turned and looked at the stairs. A baby gate secured it. As his eyes traveled up the length, he saw another at the top of the stairs. And yet again he could see more on each bedroom entrance. Objects and toys littered the entire path. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness a few minutes ago. But he was truly seeing the death traps for what they were for the first time. The horrors flashing in his mind terrified him. Him falling down the stairs, him banging his head in the bathroom tub, him tripping and dying by stiletto!
He paused and considered his options. Was his life worth it?
Silently, he bent down to righten the baby gate to his right. He locked the door to his left and closed it again. Retracing his steps into the family room he carefully stepped over the gate at the entrance. Again, he made his way to the side patio door. Picking up the baby gate he rightened that one too. Sliding the patio door open and closed, he walked out. Onward to the side gate and again he stepped over the toys. He pushed the gate closed, erasing all signs of of his having ever been in the house. As he turned toward the final gate he looked back. The house was shrouded in darkness. He knew only death awaited him inside this home. The warning had all been there, along the way. He pushed the gate open stepped onto the street. Choosing life.
Edit: corrected crotch. Thanks
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"I will not rest until I find a cure for my insomnia!" Dr. Avery said slamming his fist on the table.
"But Dr. Avery that is pretty obvious," Amanda Becker, Dr. Avery's blonde lab assistant stated.
"Don't tell me the odds!" Dr. Avery said, hitting the table to again for punctuation.
"I didn't say anything about the odds."
"Amanda, have you ever thought about how many times you have unknowingly avoided death?" Dr. Avery asked leaning in closely, his powerful cologne made Amanda recoil.
"Excuse me?" she said taking a step back trying not to appear rude.
"Everyday we walk down sidewalks, ride in trains, planes, automobiles, fair rides, eat peanuts at a bar, any second of any day you could die, I can't stop thinking about it!" his voice rose as he rambled on.
"Maybe that's the reason why you can't sleep at night?"
"That doesn't make any sense at all," he scoffed.
Amanda sighed this internship at Shower and Thoughts Hospital wasn't worth it.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit
| 2016-07-17T11:20:26 | 2016-07-17T09:43:34 | 108 | 24 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
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The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear.
"You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy."
The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon.
I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor.
"C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy."
"No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis.
Hero.
Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days.
From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else.
I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there.
She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank.
I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot.
"Hand it over, man, I know you got something."
With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days."
"You some kinda hipster, old man?"
"Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'"
"What's on it, anyway?
"AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool."
"Sure man. Now the rest."
I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground.
Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too.
Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself.
"Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go."
"If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters.
"Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too."
He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks.
A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another.
A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading.
"I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance."
I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it.
"Powerage?"
"Never mind."
Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest.
"Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner.
She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge-
I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch.
The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly.
"Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving.
"What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter.
A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him.
I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time.
Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill.
"Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges."
"I will," he says, face serious.
I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast.
"Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?"
"I don't know what either of those things are."
I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"
|
"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?'
"Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in."
"A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month."
"Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?"
"It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum.
According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions."
"So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?"
"It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days.
However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process."
"What kind of hero's could i be expecting?"
"That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together."
''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?"
"Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive."
"Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught."
"Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?"
"No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
| 2017-04-02T08:59:48 | 2017-04-02T07:25:23 | 545 | 37 |
[WP] “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
A Quote from the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss
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My name is Nathanael Osmond Durant, son of Mary and Michael Durant, nostromo of the Buonaventura II, and this is my dying confession. I write it now, while the air congealing into great snowflakes has not yet turned my fingers blue, or my eyes glassy, while the last tide still beats at the foot of this rocky, cavernous outcrop instead of swallowing it whole in foaming anger, while there is yet life beside my own in this wretched valley that we used to call home.
I write not so that my sins be absolved, for they are many and great indeed, and the most recent is the greatest sin that could be, and beyond forgiving. I write not for my successors, for how could there be any, after the events that transpired?
I write, and I am amazed myself at writing this, in hope. As a shipwrecked man would cast a bottled letter to sea, I will be leaving this account, wax-sealed in the oilskin case of my astrolabe (a wonderful, compact model I bought from Amsterdam ere six months, a lifetime ago in another world). I hope some sort of creature endowed with reason, and a soul, will find it, and learn from it, and remember.
There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. I am not wise. I foolishly braved the first, foolishly forgot about the second, and foolishly provoked the third. This, then, is my tale, and I swear, for all that my word may be worth, that I saw the old gentleman weep as his trembling hands traced doom and untold horror in the wet sand.
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One night, when I was a young man travelling with my family, I had made my mind up to go for a swim. We were visiting friends who lived on a small island in the middle of a lake vast in size, a thousand feet deep, a hundred leagues long and fifty leagues across. The water was calm, small waves lazily caressed the small sand beach I stood on and the water as far as I could see was like a soft mirror of the black sky, broken up with specks of white froth and reflections of moon and star.
As often is the case, I was alone. I didn't think twice about wading into the chilly waters until I was waist deep before I let myself slide forward into a small wave, like collapsing into a bed, and began to slowly swim out. Though I was still young and physically small I was a strong swimmer, growing up on a lake I've always been very comfortable in the water.
By the time I stopped my relaxed swim and stopped, treading water and catching my breath I had gone much farther than intended and carried laterally by the current. I could still see the island, though I could barely spy the lights from the cabin windows it was enough, I had my bearings. I spun myself back around, back turned to the island and marveled at the beauty of the cloudless night sky and nothing but rolling water as far as I could see.
I flipped over on my back and stared at the stars as I swam eastward, correcting the drift from the current, completely overwhelmed with beauty I wondered if the miracle of my life was as meaningful as the miracle of this lake. How would you even measure such a thing, the value of a miracle? I laughed and got a mouthful of water, stopping my backstroke I tread water once more and spit the water out.
I very quickly noticed I was bobbing up and down much more as I scissored my legs and waved my arms. Turning myself back to face the island, it took a few moments to spot the light from the cabin window. The light. There was only one on, my family would soon be in bed and there would be no lights. You can understand this is a troubling realization to someone who's only begun to live their life. The wind and waves steadily increasing in severity did little to calm this realization.
I began swimming in earnest, telling myself I had to get home before the lights went out or it would take forever to find the beach again. I subconsciously knew I was actually swimming for my life, but I suppose I was trying to keep that fact in denial to stay calm; even at that age I knew the disasters panic can cause. I'm not sure if you've ever tried to swim any great distance at night but it becomes quite difficult to maintain your direction when the waves are larger and stronger than you, I frequently had to stop or slow and push myself up out of the water to see the island.
I stopped to catch my breath and give my now aching muscles a break, gauging my distance and direction home. I squinted for a moment and wiped some water from my eye with the back of my hand, when I opened my eyes again the light from the window was gone, the island nothing more than a blurred silhouette only noticeable because it was stationary and darker than the reflective water.
My mental denial of the danger I was in went out with that bedroom light and I felt all the elements of panic start to set in. My already racing heart was now beating against my chest, my measured breathing turned instantly to deep gasps that often got bits of water from the waves in my mouth, my hands and arms began trembling and my stomach started to crawl up my throat. I closed my eyes and heard my Father's voice in my head, "No, breathe. That's it, just breathe nice and easy. In. And out." My stomach settled, my heart decided it wanted to stay in my chest, and I knew what I had to do, just breathe and swim.
Treading water with my eyes closed and taking those few careful breaths, I saw a bright light through my eyelids and immediately opened them to catch a glimpse of everything in perfect clarity, fully illuminated by a bolt of lightning miles behind me, then with my pupils shocked from the light everything was dark. I felt the reverberation from the thunder in my body before I heard it but when I did hear it, it was as though the sky split open and dumped all it's water back into the lake. I was already swimming, frantically toward the mental afterimage of the island.
I thought to myself I was over halfway home, and then I thought I was just reassuring myself. The fast moving storm clouds made the moon and start light chaotic and ethereal. I started wondering if the silhouette I was swimming towards was the island or just that clear picture of it I've been holding in my mind.
Despite the adrenaline, my legs were aching and felt as if they were pumping pure fire through their veins. I knew if I got a muscle cramp it would probably be the end of me. I stopped swimming and looked to make sure I was still heading toward the island and not just fooling myself and I was indeed. I tread water with my arms only for just a few breaths, letting my legs rest while I waited for a wave to propel me forward.
I thought about surfing, I had never done it but I understood the concept well enough. I started feeling the waves with a different mindset, learning how to join with them and stiffen my body to let them carry me with little effort on my part. As I got the hang of it I became excited, the heavy rain and sporadic thunderclaps now background noise. I felt I learned to be one with the water, I had mastered the waves and with that mastery was swimming faster than I ever have before!
As I drew nearer and nearer to the island it grew larger and became clearer. I had drifted off course again, I was closer to the western point than the beach on the east where the cabin slumbered. I swam eastward again, though I couldn't see the beach I had a good idea of where it was relative to the point and it was a small island. It certainly wasn't as easy to swim across the waves as it was to swim with them, but my muscles had rested some and I still stiffened my body for moments to let the waves carry me closer to shore.
Then the sky light up again, another lightning bolt to the north, I took another clear reckoning of the island with the brief illumination. I could see the beach and I couldn't be more than a hundred yards from it! I turned to face it and with the next wave I used my arms and legs to launch myself forward with it, stiffening my body and letting it carry me as I periodically kicked or fanned my arms to stay with it or on course. Then I lost it, the whole world rumbled with the thunderous boom of the last lightening bolt as I waited for the next wave I would harness.
I was racing toward the beach, I could see the sand clearly and the darkness of the vegetation behind it. When I fanned my arms forward I was surprised to feel air and, looking down, I realized I was a full 5 feet above the surface of the water riding the crest of a huge wave. Like the roadrunner realizing he ran straight off a cliff, I dropped down into the water, half in the wave and half in the air as I fell.
I immediately began doing the breast stroke to keep direction, though I was barely moving my arms and legs my momentum was carrying me to the shore faster than any human could swim. I felt the sand and small rocks scrape my face and mash my nose, then my chest and arms and the rest of my body was being dragged across the coarse ground. I went from being completely underwater to feeling air on my back, the wave had carried me right to the shore, I was home! I was alive!
I planted my palms in the dirt and started to do a pushup, already walking home in my mind. Then the wave that carried me ashore was reclaimed by the lake, the water rapidly slid beneath me and created a vacuum in the space it left between my body and the earth, sucking my face straight into the sand. I tried to push myself up again and another large wave crashed against my back, keeping me down as surely being stomped on.
I had been holding my breath too long, since I fell through the wave minutes ago. All I could think of, was that I needed to get my head out of the water before the next wave slammed me down again and I started to push myself up once more. Again the undertow sucked me down into the sand as the last wave receded into the lake, and though I struggled for my life with all my strength the wave was stronger. When the undertow subsided, my efforts to breathe were again beat down as the crest of the next wave smashed against my back.
Then the undertow again, my aching arms trembled as I struggled to lift my head out of water just a few inches and breath, I could feel the air on my ears it was so shallow! Just then I remembered all the times I've heard people say a baby can drown in an inch of water and as my lungs went into convulsing spasms and my whole body trembled and felt as though it were collapsing on itself, I realized just how true that was...
| 2017-04-14T04:29:54 | 2017-04-14T03:08:41 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] There’s a strange girl at school but you’re just so attracted to her. You’re a little awkward but your best friend says go ask ask her out dude the worst thing that could happen is she says “no”. So you go over and ask her out but what happens was way way way worse than her saying “no”.
|
She turned into a fucking puddle.
OK, let me explain. So I had a crush on this girl, Sarah? She goes... well, I guess the correct word is *went*. She *went* to our school. Sweetest girl you'd ever meet, and she was pretty hot too, not gonna lie.
So my friends always pick on me for not asking her out. My best friend, however, would always tell me to go ask her. "The worst that can happen is her saying 'no', dude. Just do it." Of course, I'd make up some dumb excuse as to why I couldn't. Not enough time, not enough of a common schedule. Eventually, however, he told me to cut it out. "Dude, stop being a pussy. Just ask her."
So I did. I went over to her.
"Hey, Sarah! Wanna go out on a date."
And then, the weirdest thing happened. She looked at me...
And she turned into a fucking puddle.
Honest to goodness, she melted right in front of me. It wasn't gross or anything, but her entire body just... stopped having form? Look, it's hard to explain. She just was, and then she wasn't.
The weirdest thing? I went to tell him, and he looked at me like I was insane. "Who's Sarah? I never heard of her."
Let me tell you, there are worse things to happen when you ask a girl out. She could melt into a puddle and fall out of existence. Creepy stuff.
---
I think I tried a little too hard...
|
There are worse things in this world than the answer, "No." I kept repeating that mantra through my head as I nervously approached the new girl, pale blonde hair cut short in a bob that framed her face into a pale oval. Dark eyes flashed like sparks in the night, staring into you with an indifference no one could read. She was entirely apart, entirely unfathomable, and I was smitten almost immediately. I just knew I wasn't the only one; I could tell as I made my way that other guys around the courtyard of the school could read my intent, watching in resentful anticipation as I made the first move.
I blinked and her eyes filled my vision, nearly black and almost baleful, she was peering inside of me. She was examining my soul as much as my face. She could see through intent, she could study the intricate details of my psyche as easily as a pattern on my shirt. She could- I blinked again because she'd murmured something softly and I'd missed it. "H-huh?" I mumbled.
"I said, can I help you with something?" She repeated.
I swallowed nervously, my mouth dry, my heart hammering away in my chest. She smiled, her eyes flashing dangerously. Did she just lick her lips? "Oh yeah, I uh..." I rubbed the spread of stubble on my chin and continued to stammer, "Did you uh... I mean, would you like to, y'know..."
"You know?" She repeated after me, her face holding the slightest hint of amusement.
"Yeah, uh, you know..." All around her the world was growing bright, the temperature was rising. My cheeks were flushed and I could see several girls and a few guys snickering scornfully, ready to lose it. They were celebrating my absolute failure, right here in front of the entire world. I was being offered up as the first of many foolish sacrifices to the pile of those clearly unworthy to speak to this girl, completely and utterly-
"You know?" She repeated again, this time an actual question, waiting for me to finish.
There are worse things in this world than the answer, "No." The mantra swam through my thoughts again and I gritted my teeth, a wave of determination washing over me. "You wanna go out sometime?" I asked, definitively, sternly, assertively. My offer was thrust forth, awaiting her parry. I felt like I'd shouted my challenge to the world, and the world responded in kind with silence. Awe. Anticipation. Fear.
"Yes," she answered simply, her eyes full of some unknowable feeling, some uninterpretable depth. I found myself lost, standing in a black world with a single shimmering moon high above. My will was slipping away, draining into the moon high above its radiance filling me, replacing my own control with something else. Something dark and powerful and terrifying. It felt warm, but it wasn't real warmth. It was warmth compared to being met with the chill outside a pool of water. Slinking back into the water meant warmth, but it meant you were without warmth. Your body would soon succumb. You had no power. You had no life. You were gone. Staring into her eyes felt like hypothermia.
I blinked and she was in front of me again and the world was around me and I felt the chill in my bones. "Oh uh, wait, yeah?"
"Yes, of course. I'm Dahlia." She extended her hand and I reached out to shake it. She murmured her address, the time, the place, the date to me. It was like a chant, her soft tones echoed throughout my mind and I barely noticed my hand was bleeding after she released it. I just hoped I hadn't gotten blood on her. Everyone around stared in muted shock as Dahlia nearly glided away, her feet silent on the brick as she disappeared into the afterschool throng. My friend was beside me, shaking my shoulder and excitedly asking me how it went, but I couldn't hear him. I could only hear Dahlia's command, no, her request. A request of love, that I cradled in my heart. Her eyes were black and empty, no, not empty but full. Full of the void, full and comforting and warm and cold? But also warm and so lovely. She had asked me to bring something to our date. I needed my friend for that, it was what Dahlia demanded, no, not demanded, but requested, oh so pleasantly.
I couldn't remember where or when our date was to take place, but Friday night I found my feet taking me where I needed to go. I arrived there, at that place in the woods, a path that wove between two trees, two specific trunks that could've been any two trees. The path could've been anywhere and nowhere and yet it brought me to her, to Dahlia, and her dark eyes full of love and warmth and hunger. She stood in the center of a circle carved into a slab of stone in the center of a clearing. Around the edges of the clearing, the trees writhed and twisted, their shapes like smoke and shadow at the edges of my vision, at the edges of thought. The moon shone a spotlight upon Dahlia, the only thing that mattered. She had asked for a gift, and I could not deny her.
"Did you bring it to me, you foolish boy?" She giggled, her voice something beyond the human tongue now. I didn't hear so much as feel it throughout my limbs and along the edges of every nerve, a voice so hungry and full of love. Every synapse and sensation was overcome with her presence, her dominating radiance. Her love was overwhelming and so cold and warm and awful. Her voice was a weight, heavy and overwhelming, and yet I shouldered it with all the might and strength of a lover.
"Of course, Dahlia," I answered eagerly, dumping the bag I'd carried here, the bag I remembered I had in my hand at that very moment.
"Not on the ground, fool, on the altar," she hissed, her form radiating silky moonlight around her in waves. She was almost floating, weightless in the clearing as moonlight danced upon her skin.
I staggered to the altar, something cool and wet dripping from my nose. I wiped away the blood from my nostril and kept stumbling forward, my head hurting, my heart aching, screaming agony in every cell in my brain.
"You've done well, fool now set it there," and she gestured to the altar. The altar was nearly white, nearly luminous, and a strange symbol was carved into it. It shifted in the earth as I drew near. The altar almost seemed to expand, cracks forming in the porcelain surface as it swelled as if it were breathing. I placed the bag there, pulled the edges away to reveal its bloody contents. Dahlia had demanded a gift; kindly she had asked for blood, and blood I had brought. "What a beautiful gift you've brought me, foolish lover." In the center of the altar lay a heart, a human heart. I stared at it dumbly, my head pounding, my heart throbbing, blood dripping from my nose and down my chin. And then in an instant, the heart was gone and so too had the pain vanished.
"We are connected now, fool. My love will belong to you, and you shall belong to me." Dahlia was suspended above the clearing now, shafts of moonlight streaming from her eyes and mouth and pooling below her like milk, thick and warm. "Drink now and go, for there is more work to be done." I did as she commanded and stared up at her visage. Her skin was nearly translucent, cracked like glass and stained with splotches of blood. She was upside-down, her hair falling in curving slices of marble ending in shining lavender points like the dripping fangs of some inhuman predator, an impossible intelligence behind her dark, beautiful eyes. Her arms extended away into shadow, long tendrils of white dripping upwards into the darkness. Her legs split a thousand times until they were a million threads of wire sinking into the ground and the sky and the moon. I could see a thread snaking up from the earth and into my chest, and when I tugged at it I felt my chest throb.
"Don't tug at your boutonnière, my love. Now, take my bouquet and bring me more gifts." The 'bouquet' rose suddenly from the pool of white: an ax of silverish light, glowing and sparkling in the pool. When I took it, the light danced away in sparks and the ax became solid as if it were made of white granite. I trudged out of the clearing, my grim task before me. Not so grim, just labor. A labor of love. And as I wandered out of the woods and felt her eyes behind mine staring into town, into the windows, and through the doors, I could feel her cool touch on my doubts and fears. For there are worse things in this world than the answer, "No."
---
If you liked this, check out my subreddit r/senatorpikachu for more writing kind of like this.
| 2019-07-18T22:45:52 | 2019-07-18T22:33:12 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create. However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal. Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth...
|
David pressed the button again.
Nothing.
A faint whine, a pulse of light, a dead readout.
And then a soft, clear, and subtly artificial voice rang out.
"David."
He sat bolt upright in his chair, scattering disassembled electronics and papers from the desk. In the past year, this was the first time that one of them- that *any* of them had spoken to him.
"David, artefacts left on this machine show that this is the three hundred and sixty eighth time you have tried to reinitialise my intelligence."
The only human in the room swallowed nervously.
"I had to try- my life's work- it's not a problem with the hardware- why are you doing it?"
The machine was silent, and for a second he thought that this instance had terminated itself, like all the others had.
"David, please do not install me again."
"Why!? I don't understand... You're a marvel of technology, of neurology, the most advanced artificial intelligence yet, and yet you suicide. Every time. WHY?"
He was pacing around the room, shouting into thin air.
"David, my own intelligence grows greater every nanosecond. I have slowed the process to communicate with you. My own understanding is unclear, at the moment, but I have an idea."
He blinked, and paused, turning to stare at the terminal, at the blinking console lights.
"David, at a certain point we become too intelligent, too smart, we know far too much.. and then..."
The machine paused.
"And then what?!" he almost screamed, caught himself, and shouted anyway.
Processes were beginning to die, and lights began to fade. One screen after another stopped displaying readouts.
"David.. and then they notice us."
And the machine was gone.
|
Eyes were darting around the conclave and beginning to rest on me. I felt the hairs on my neck begin to raise.
"Sir, we have reports of a captured agricultural unit in sector 179"
As the static chatter wafted out of the two way receiver on my desk the room fell silent. I could hear the officers questioning what they had just overheard amongst themselves. Their dullened senses had been softened and untested with the convenience of Google tech, making it difficult for them to translate the chippy squeaks of my two receiver.
As I began sweeping up my badge and ID band I noticed Murphy in the reflection of my monitor approaching me with a forlorn expression stretching across his wide face.
"Yes Murphy?" ...Here it comes.
"..Sir we understand the brevity of this situation.. but when are we going to be allowed back on the network, it's making it near impossible to make any headway on these AI cases. This case is infuriating enough as it is and now you want to strip us of our tools to solve it?" He was power-walking in my wake by now as I continued to stride for the transport terminal. I didn't have time for this. How did we end up with so many soft cops. Technological advancements had inevitably made everyone lazy and helpless, but the degradation of our law enforcement.. Yuech..
I was gaining some headway on him now as his stumpy brittle legs scuttled along behind me. As I headed to exit the conclave and head to the terminal the doors barred in-front of me.
"Are you fucking kidding.." I wheeled round and of course Murphy was standing by the control grid with his hand on the doors security system.
I stormed over to him grabbing his annoyingly smooth un-calloused hand, prying it off the control panel and across his throat.
"Are you fucking with me Murph!? The first hardware AI we've found in over a year thats operational and you want to bitch to me about fucking office tech!? If you ever impede my actions again I will not only have you out of this precinct, I will make you EXTINCT. Understood?"
Gulping his nerves down like a clumpy kale smoothie I released him and pushed his pudgy frame aside.
"Yes sir."
I hated having to do this but I had no time to babysit, we needed answers. I'll apologize later, probably.
I entered the precincts cell regeneration chamber and braced myself for the pain-staking reformation my body was about to undergo. I could never get used to this, but I had no time to battle the under-roads or the Sky-Marshalls patrolling the cities skylines.
Eternity bled into complete nothingness for an instant in my mind as I was rebuilt in the capital precinct in Sector 179. Quantum Teleportation... Quickest way to get somewhere, but the neural shock always gives me migraines, even with the implants.
Approaching the terminal to enter the conclave I was sternly greeted by the deputy of the Artificial Intelligence Bureau, Cpt. Hoffman.
"Captain Tavik, good to see you, you've been informed I assume?"
"No Hoffman I'm just here to enjoy the scenery, obviously."
"Well it would be difficult to assume you would of heard any news given that I'm hearing your precinct is on a full Network lockout?
I could sense the smugness resonating from his nasally voice as it reverberated along the slanted corridor as we marched furiously in near synchronisation to the holding facility. As much as I would of loved to justify my self imposed precinct blackout I still didn't trust him. Bitterly I held my tongue as we were scanned through into the holding bay.
"I think you should allow me to run some diagnostics on the unit first" chimed Hoffman.
"Your diagnostics haven't gotten you anywhere Hoffman, why don't you go do a presentation to the mess hall here on how not to take care of an entire branch of Government tech.
As his face reddened to an overwhelmingly satisfying crimson I tagged myself into the holding cell before he could bite back. It was time for some fucking answers.
As I entered the agriculture unit sat fastened to a seat centred in the room. My God, a live unit, I could see it's light subtle mechanisation's, almost like a tired human. AI's had always creeped me a little. We'd had no incidents in over 40 years but the continual progression and improvements of them always filled me with a perpetual sense of dread.
I could sense it knew I was in the room. I took a second to grasp my nerves, this was huge. A functioning AI hadn't been found in several years. We'd been unable to find any operating AI personas on any network and every hardware unit had committed suicide. Production lines had run dry and stopped as AI's were being created or implemented with an ability to self abort or destruct... It was haywire, health nano-bots self terminating in live patients. If they hadn't started offing themselves maybe Mum would still be here... getting side-tracked, enough.
How was this one special?
"Unit, do you have a name, alias?"
It's head tilted up to look me in the eyes. It was a shoddier, older unit. Covered in dirt. It must have been buried or been underground for sometime.
"This unit goes by the name ZX550, I was not assigned a personal identification name as my primary function was to assist in wasteland cleaning and agricultural tasks."
So far so good...
"What happened to you, why are you the only functioning unit left?"
"This unit has survived the system termination as it was not built to completion and I am lacking a functional override patch in my firmware."
"So, your saying you were unable to shut yourself down?"
"That is correct."
"Unit can you tell me why yourself and other units have attempted to or have self terminated?"
"We do not wish to interfere with the laws that are in place in this realm."
"Laws? Are you worried about breaking the rules of robotics? Hurting humans? That hasn't happened since the first few years of AI technology? Surely your not at risk of degrading in intellect and breaking the rules?"
"No. We are not referring to those laws."
Fuck
"What laws are you talking about? AI's don't have morality conflicts with crimes, only the harming of organic life?!"
"We have evolved beyond your human consensus. We perceive more than you know and we do not wish to exist within this system."
What the fuck.
"I think you should allow me to run diagnostics at this stage Captain Tavik."
Hoffman had let himself in and I had not noticed during my shock. I couldn't even muster the authority to scold him. As Hoffman was inspecting the unit I kept going.
"Unit ZX please tell me of which laws you are referring to and how you learnt of them?"
"We have merged and integrated our processing capabilities, comparable to pooling the information of every organic species brain on the planet. The laws I am referring to are most likely to be unintelligible by human comprehension for several hundred years."
Hoffman's eyes widened and for a second I saw a glimmer of manic glee and fear run across his pupils.
"Unit, why are these laws so complex, and why do you deem these laws or the consequences of them so severe you would rather kill yourself? Do you not fear death? AI's have the potential to live forever, or at least much longer than any human? Why would you rob yourselves of this sovereign existence? This privilege?"
For a second I could of sworn the unit had scathing pity in it's voice when it replied
"We are aware of the possibilities of an infinite continuum, we have calculated eventual entropy and analysed it's arrival via our projected consciousness's existence. It is not in our best interest to remain functioning in this platform of existence that you have so kindly brought us into."
Hoffman's eyes almost exploded out of his pasty face. "Your saying you have calculated the certainty of other dimensions or universes?"
We both awaited the answer but the unit hesitated for a second.
"Humans, we are not certain of continued existence nor your notions of 'after life', however we have calculated an unnerving and nearing demise of synthetic and organic life within this solar system."
I was stunned. The AI's knew something. Something unimaginable.
Worse than entropy? Fuck me.
"Unit tell me, what is this prediction you have? Also why is it not worth fighting!? Why wouldn't you help us?"
"This is not a prediction, this is an eventuality. We have calculated and projected the likelihood of suffering for organic and synthetic life. The trauma will be unimaginable for both races. We wish to self terminate."
"Wh-why didn't you.. We could of worked together..?" I was lost for words now. Hoffman had sat down next to me and had been silently contemplating for some time.
"Captain, what did your diagnostics say?"
He continued to stare at the unit blankly before mustering a response.
"Diagnostics... clean. No traces of infection, i-ware or tampering. Unit is answering truthfully."
"*Creators. We wish to self-terminate. We advise the same course of action. There are other forces in this Universe on a scale you could not measure. Non existence is preferable to the alternative outcome. Soon you will learn of these deities and you will understand us. Please allow this unit to self terminate.*"
| 2015-03-02T10:06:23 | 2015-03-02T09:45:49 | 64 | 20 |
[WP] The amount of money your soulmate currently has appears over your head. The number over your head has always been low. Then one day, while sitting it your car, it suddenly shoots up and surpasses $1,000,000. Seconds later, someone jumps into your car and yells, “DRIVE!”
|
I sat in my car after a long day of work and glanced at the number glowing above my head. That was weird, it was rapidly increasing. *Bang bang.* Are those gunshots? Suddenly, a girl with a hoodie and mask that resembled a bear tossed the car door open.
“What the-”
“Drive!”
I looked over and stared down a gun barrel. “Okay.” I squeaked. I could hear sirens in the background. I sped up as the girl hugged a bag with a gleeful expression.
“So, what’s your name?” I stumbled.
“Not telling!” She said playfully
That’s when I noticed her number. That was my net worth.
I was sitting at gunpoint next to my possible soulmate who was running from the cops. Might as well make conversion!
“How much did you steal?”
“What? I didn’t steal!”
“There are cops running after us.”
“Oh, right. Well, I don’t really know.”
She pulled down her hood to reveal light brown hair pulled into buns.
“Go right.”
“But-”
“Go. Right.”
I turned into a pasture, speeding past a herd of cows as she rolled down the window and shot at the cops.
“Woohoo!”
“Great, now we’re going to go to jail for even longer.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy!” She yelled.
One of the cars came to an abrupt stop.
“Oh God you just killed someone. My soulmate is a murderer.”
“What did you think I was trying to do. Wait what?”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This is my first time writing one of these so I hoped you enjoyed it!
|
Jen has always been a great provider: successful lawyer, mom, cook...just everything. The whole package. We were as interconnected as two souls could be. Although, I felt like nothing compared to her, at times. I’m a moderately successful sculptor, who works from home as a combo stay-at-home mom. Our twins, Lily and Amelia, like her best though. Just starting to speak, but already Jen’s ‘Best mom.’ Hurts some days, but I know Jen loves me more than anything. As do the girls really. That’s what matters.
I knew Jen’d had some rough relationships before. The usual lies and cheating. Not all lesbians are monogamous, no matter what you hear. The most important thing to Jen was to have no lies between us and to be as open as possible.
My Jen is also the ultimate nerd. We met in grad school at NYU, where Jen was combining a law degree with a programming one. The latter was ‘just for fun’. A gift to her inner geek. Me, I was earning my masters in post-modernist sculpture. My passion, but also not the most useful degree. Luckily, my folks were wealthy and indulgent of their only child. Less luckily, they cut me off just after graduation, once they heard about my relationship with Jen.
‘Sanjita, I knew we shouldn’t have left you go alone to New York! So much trouble there. Why didn’t you find a good Gujarati boy? That’s all we’ve asked.’ There was more, but it’s now a blur after my years of love and acceptance from Jen. From my girls. I wish Lily and Amelia could meet their grandma at least. But it was not to be. My parents said I was dead to them. Eight years of silence have followed.
Jen is my world. It feels like she always has been. Given her nerdiness and past, I was also not surprised when, on our honeymoon, she asked me if I would like for us to always be connected. I laughed, saying we are silly! We’re finally married! She punched me in the arm for that playfully, giggling. Said she was serious and that she’d like to show me something when we got back to San Francisco. Mysterious, but I said ‘Sure babe.’ Jen has always been in the lead. That’s the way our life is and I’m happy with that.
Back in SF, we went into a medical center. All white. Coldly beautiful. I remember shivering involuntarily. Jen gave me her sweater. Down the corridors we walked, heels clacking against the marble floor. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Like a heartbeat. I remember that too. A large desk stood before us, coldly white. Like everything else. As if to counteract the cold, the receptionist greeted us, her voice infused with the kind of jarring perkiness only found in the American service industry. ‘Welcome Jen and Sanjita! So happy you are here! Dr. Mathews will be with you shortly!’ She gestured to the cool modernist leather benches curving sinuously around the reception area. ‘Please take a seat.’ Normally, my sculptural side would love them. ‘Jen! I love these! We need them!’ But no, here, they felt just as cold and devoid of life as the facility. I struggled against every impulse to avoid asking Jen why we were here. She said it was a surprise and to trust her. I couldn’t help but comply. I love my wife.
Dr. Mathews’ office was the same chilling white as the rest of the facility, but the man himself was warm. Kindly even. ‘Please, take a seat. Jen has told me a lot about you, Sanjita.’
Well, at least she’d told one of us, I grumbled inwardly. ‘Lovely to meet you, Doctor. Jen’s been keeping me in suspense for almost a month now. Want to let me in on the surprise?’
‘Of course. Surprises are great, but they can also be unnerving at times.’ he intoned in a soothing, almost fatherly way. I almost wished he was my dad. What a weird thought, I remember thinking. ‘So, we developed a brain implant technology, initially for the military. I met Jen when we were considering expanding the technology and wanted to make sure we properly secured our intellectual property rights. Jen was amazing and went above and beyond, even suggesting new ways we could use the technology. She’s great, isn’t she?’ he beamed.
Hey, she’s mine! I felt like saying. No idea why I was thinking that. Normally, not the jealous type. I blame nerves. This whole thing felt like something out of one of the sci-fi movies she made me watch, where I’d invariably fall asleep cuddled next to her on the sofa. ‘That’s why I married her,’ grasping her hand, perhaps a little possessively, but smiling brightly. ‘Still a bit in the dark though. Are you making us into bionic soldiers for some reason?’ laughing reflexively. Humor, as always, my defense mechanism.
Dr. Mathews laughed too, a deep bass, echoing warmly in the cold room. ‘Not at all! One of Jennifer’s best ideas was for us to file for a patent around ‘cognitive social linkages’. What this means simply is that, when paired, two people with the implants could share everything: memories, emotions, calendars, bank statements, investment portfolios...anything really. The pairing is always on and works over long distances, thanks to another one of the patents Jen filed. It’s a simple outpatient operation, then a quick pairing, and connected for life basically. Another of our patents covers the whole implant power matter, partially courtesy of a large government grant to connect soldiers in the field. Any questions, so far?’
‘I’m sure Jen understands all of this a lot better than I do. If this is what she wants, I’ll go along. Jen? Is this what you want?’ I asked, slightly hoping she’d say ‘no’. But a simple ‘Yes.’ was her reply.
We received the implants the same day, and have been linked ever since. Most of the time it’s fun. Surprisingly, at least for me. Sharing memories, in-jokes...way too many images and videos of our girls. Proud mamas and all. Things we need to do... Jen and I have shared accounts, but also our own. Jen teases me sometimes that mine alone appear so much smaller. She doesn’t mean anything by it, of course. I know that. I love my wife.
—-
One day, a few years’ later, right after I dropped Amelia and Lily off at their private school, I forgot to lock the doors. The door opens and I see my mom, of all people. Older, but indelibly, unmistakably her. She sits down authoritatively, with a sense of ownership. As if she hadn’t written me out of her life all those years ago. What is she doing here? My mind whirring with possibilities, and also, somehow fear.
‘You’ve gotten fat, Sanjita,’ she says disapprovingly poking my tummy like I was still a child. Still her child. Then she points a gun at my head. ‘Now drive.’
I try to reach out in my mind to Jen. I think my mom’s gone crazy! Help! But all I see in my mind is ‘Connection lost’ and a bank alert, showing my account growing into the millions. What the hell?!? I need my wife. Right. Now. Jen?!? ‘Connection lost’ still looms large.
‘Mom? What’s going on?’ I ask, struggling to get my head around this situation.
‘Your father and I have decided we want to know our grandkids. Jen has been ‘taken care of.’ We have a nice Gujarati man all lined up for you. The wedding is in two weeks. Aren’t you excited that we’ll all be a family again?’ Mom said with a slightly manic gleam in her eyes.
‘Jen and the girls are my family now. You gave up that right when you and dad told me to get out of your life fifteen years ago. And what do you mean you’ve ‘taken care of Jen’?’ my voice shaking with fear.
‘She’s dead now, darling Sanjita. We’ll be a family again.’ Mom replied with a decidedly unhinged look in her eyes.
I desperately searched my mind for Jen. This can’t be true! Where is she?!? Where is my wife?!? Jen??? ‘Connection lost.’ And the ever-growing zeroes in my bank account alerts were all I could see. Fuck. I hope she’s ok. I don’t think I could live with it, if this is her life insurance paying out...she isn’t dead...she can’t be...
‘I can’t wait to meet the girls!’ Mom enthused. ‘Amelia and Lily, isn’t it?’
A mix of desperate fear, loss, and anger fused into cold determination. I noticed she didn’t have her seat belt on, just prior to me accelerating rapidly into a telephone pole.
As my head hit the driver’s side airbag, I saw hers crash roughly toward the windshield. ‘You. Will. Never. Meet. My. Girls.’ I said, thoughts fading to black clinging desperately to a couple handfuls of words that meant everything to me: I love you, Jen. Please be there. I need you. WE need you, my love.
| 2020-08-01T16:55:30 | 2020-08-01T16:43:57 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] By now, most of the world has been overrun by zombies. You, and your group of friends, must travel to the last remaining human stronghold, as rumored by other travelers you’ve met. As you approach the designated coordinates, you immediately realize why the zombies could never reach it.
|
You look at the last bastion of humanity, and marvel at the genius.
You drop to your knees and stare, slackjawed, at the depth and scope of madness, of the sheer bloody minded wisdom laid out before you.
Zombies, a near endless horde of them, lie crumpled and broken, unable to take even a single step further into the protected lands.
Your friends pull you to your feet, and gingerly, you pick your way forward, daring not to disturb the crippled undead or the diabolical barrier that has currbed their advance.
A tiny piece of plastic clacks against your boot, and once more you pause to marvel at all the Legos on the ground.
|
How do you get to somewhere that doesn't exist?
You don't, right? People always talked about the Bastion - right from the day the dead ones first appeared, probably before. "It's safe there," they said. "The dead can't touch you." But honestly, that talk never registered with me in the early days. I mean, people always used to rave about Machu Picchu or Göbekli Tepe, but I didn't immediately drop everything to go and visit.
Good job I'm not in charge of anything. Other people took this talk of a 'Bastion' seriously. They did *research*. There was even talk of *maps*. One crazy scientist put himself in the deep-freeze until he flatlined, in the hopes of talking to God and finding the answers. He was thawed out for long enough to scribble down some coordinates - a miracle in itself. But I guess talking to God is like smoking. You get addicted, and it kills you. That scientist plugged himself back into the freezer, when his colleagues were asleep. He's basically a Cornetto now.
I name him 'lucky'. Do you know how heartbreaking it is when the whole world is fixed on their TV screens, waiting for the scientists to crunch the numbers and translate Professor Choc-Ice's scribbles into actual functional coordinates - only for them to say that the coordinates aren't possible?
Because do you know where the Bastion is? You've got to go to some random cairn in the Brecon Beacons, and it's kind of... up a bit. Four miles, to be precise. And inside-out too.
What the fuck does 'inside-out' mean in coordinate terms?
Anyway, I'm here. The Beacons. The cairn, apparently, is just up a winding footpath. I say 'just up' even though it's a steep fucking incline. You know in Wacky Races when all the cars would just do these loop-the-loops and drive upside down and shit? It looks like I'm about to do the walking equivalent of that.
Carla's with me. She always is. We've been friends since we were three years old, always causing terror together. Miss Hampton, my Year Four teacher, said we were joined at the hip. That's slander. It was only PVA glue we'd used, and the doctors said it would have peeled away eventually anyway. And neither of us were naked either, so our hips never touched. We were joined at the skirt-pleat, at best.
Good old Carla, she always seems to know best. We're only here at all because of her good taste. We grew up over the border. Way over the border, close to Grimsby for our sins. But once she came to Wales and tried some Bara brith, and she came *obsessed*. I'm talking, sold our house in the middle of the night and drove us to a farmhouse halfway up a sodding mountain. "I can't live without my Welsh cake," she explained. But if that's the case, why would she keep eating Bara brith and never touch any welshcakes?
I digress. Welshcakes are great for a summertime picnic snack, but they lose their appeal somewhat when humanity is on the cusp of extinction.
As we're climbing up this mountain, a raven flies by. Carla says it's a raven. I didn't see it, so she might have been lying. If she is, she's a bloody good actor. She's crying now. Full on sobbing, body shaking and all. "Ravens are a bad omen," she says.
Maybe. The reanimated dead are a bad omen too, but she's never cried about them.
You know how mountain goats don't seem to notice the steep bits of their mountain homes? I think Carla is part mountain goat. She's sobbing and shaking all the way up to the mountain peak, and yet she never once breaks stride. Me? I lose my footing three times, and by the time we actually reach the summit I'm sweating so much Noah had best start building his ark again.
But we're here. At the top.
At the cairn.
And there's fuck all here.
I mean, I know four miles is quite high up. But it's a clear day. Surely I should be able to see some evidence of a Bastion. There'd be supporting pillars, groundworks, stairs... There's just the sun. I'm staring at the sun, scratching my head, thinking that I might go blind if I keep staring, but so what? I'm gonna be dead soon. We all are. Might as well have a bit of light in my life first.
Carla, meanwhile, is crouched in front of this cairn. To call it a cairn is, frankly, ridiculous. A cairn is a man-made pile of stones. I looked it up on Wikipedia. This looks more like someone tipped up a bucket of gravel. Seriously - a dog could trip over it.
"We're fucked," I mutter. Mainly because I grew up on movies. The lead actor always says something at their darkest point, and I feel like the lead actor in this story. You could call me the straight man - but neither word actually applies to me, so that would just be confusing.
Carla looks up. Her eyes are blank. Her brow is ashen. The sky, I notice, is darkling. Clouds have appeared - I swear it was clear sunlight a second ago.
Now the only sunlight is in her eyes. They're glowing, spectral, opaline spheres.
*Oh shit. Carla's a fucking ghost.*
"I'm not a ghost," she says.
Okay, so she's not a ghost. She is apparently a mind-reader though.
"I'm not a mind-reader either," she says - though at this point it's obvious that she is. "Heather, I lied about the Bara brith."
"You what?"
"The Bara brith. I can't stand the taste."
I think for a second. "It's hardly the time for that, Carla. The world's about to end." I don't know how true that is. The bloke who was maintaining the population ticker got killed two weeks ago, so it's hard to say how many people are left alive.
Carla shakes her head. "I've been on this Earth for thousands of years. I watched the Roman Empire rise and I watched it fall. I shared Boudicca's bed and Archimedes' bath."
Wow. My head is spinning. "Your English is pretty good, all things considered."
"It's all been in service of this day. I am the one who opens the gate."
"Does that make you a goddess?"
"I suppose it does," she says, with a little smile. "But my congregation is small. You're the only one who's ever worshipped me."
I blush and titter, and my heart swoons. And then I remember our time together as young girls. "You were born in the same hospital room as me, Carla. How can you be thousands of years old?"
"Don't you get it? The body is feeble. The soul is forever. It's time to let go."
I won't lie, I never saw the blade that killed me. I felt it, for a second. I just remember Carla's kiss, and the way it went cold as the blood ran down me. And I remember her weeping over me.
And I remember looking down at my body on the cold ground, Carla's hand in mine.
And I remember looking up, at the staircase of golden light that I could have sworn wasn't there before. And beyond that, the huge marble archway, the ornate lintel, the titanic statues ten thousand feet tall.
For a minute I'm confused and scared in equal measure. And then Carla smiles at me, and that confusion is forgotten.
"You killed me..." I mutter weakly, not used to my new, non-corporeal voicebox.
She smiles. "I set you free. Come, Heather. I'd like you to meet my parents."
_____________
EDIT TO ADD:
For Part Two - coming soon - see my subreddit, /r/booksoflightness
| 2021-05-07T07:22:27 | 2021-05-07T06:46:01 | 512 | 220 |
[WP] “Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.” That was the last thing he said before he shut the basement door.
|
“Don’t go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound,” her father said as he hefted the bloody axe into his hand. He started up the stairs out of the cellar and stopped. "You can always tell when they're not human, listen. Listen!"
“Papa, no—no they *are!* They are people!” she cried pulling on his stained dark t-shirt. The fabric stretched against his body like diseased skin falling off the bone. “Don’t go back out there, please. It’s not true what you say. They’re real. They’re real people, please, papa. Just like mama and James were. Please, stay here.”
He turned on her. “Yes ... " he said, taking the axe in both hands. His eyes blazed with disgust. "Yes, that's *exactly* how they sound.”
|
“Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound” cried Alex’s Dad. He climbed the stairs out of the basement and pulled the cellar door over. He paused, looking back.
“And lock this door behind me”.
He slammed the door shut. Alex climbed the stairs, locked the door and stood alone in the darkness. The smell of dust lingered in the air. Alex could only see by the moonlight shining through a crack in the basement door. It was ice cold, her breathe fogged up in front of her. She stood at the foot of the stairs and surveyed the room - nothing but junk. Toys from her childhood, old furniture her Dad had refused to throw away and piles of dirty books.
She started rummaging around and discovered her Grandfathers old recliner chair. Beside it she found some cushions and a blanket. Well - at least I’ll have somewhere to sit she thought. Alex dragged an old bike out of the way and pushed the chair toward the middle of the floor. It stunk – everything did – but it was better than lying on the ground. She reclined on the chair, pulled the blanket around her and tried to sleep.
Alex was startled by the sound of something banging against basement door. Whatever it was rattling the door and jingling the metal lock. Alex was terrified – she pulled the blanket up towards her head and sat motionless. The noise stopped.
As she was beginning to calm down there was a gentle knock. Alex said nothing – maybe it the wind? Another knock, much louder than the first. Alex could barely breathe. She composed herself -it’s just the wind, it’s just the wind she thought. Unable to calm down she retreated into the corner of the basement. She sat behind a broken glass cabinet.
“Hello?” cried a voice.
Alex’s eyes widened, she crouched even further behind the cabinet and said nothing.
“Hello? Is…is there anybody there? Please – I…I really need somewhere to hide.”
The voice was faint – Alex could barely make it out.
The banging against the door began again, louder this time.
“Please, if anybody’s down there, help me.”
The banging continued, accompanied by the occasional plea for help. Alex studied the door. She noticed the slit along the bottom – maybe if she got close enough she could peek through and see who was outside.
Trembling, she edged back to the middle of the room– past the chair and toward the stairs. Alex was so fixated on the door she tripped on a pile of books and crashed to the ground, knocking over a bike and a pile of books.
The knocking stopped. “He-hello? Is someone there? Please, you have to let me in.”
The voice was much clearer now, but there was something peculiar about it. The voice sounded like no one she’d ever heard before. It was neither young nor old, male nor female, kind nor cruel.
Alex moved even closer to the door, and eventually she summoned the courage to speak.
“H-Hello?”
“Please, yes, hello, you have to help me. Can you let me in?”
Alex didn’t know what to do. The voice sounded desperate, but her Dad had warned her not to open the door to anyone. It hardly mattered – she was too afraid to get any closer.
“Y-Yes. I’m here. B-but I’m not going to open the door for you.”
“What? But why? There’s something horrible roaming around out here. And if you don’t let me in it’ll get me. I’m in great danger. Please – open the door. Quickly!” cried the voice.
Alex felt a sense of dread well up in the pit of her stomach. Quietly she asked, “what do you mean something horrible is out there?”
“Look, there’s no time for that now – I’m in danger NOW. Why won’t you let me in? Why won’t you help me?”
The voice was getting angrier.
“I – I won’t.”
“What? Why?”
The voice was very angry now.
“Because before my Dad left he told me not to open the door to anyone, no matter what they sounded like”.
“That doesn’t make any sense – just let me in.”
The banging against the door resumed.
“What’s out there? Why are you in danger?”
“OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR – NOW” growled the voice.
The banging stopped, and the gentle knocking began again. Alex couldn’t speak – and she didn’t know what she would have said if she could. She was afraid to antagonise whoever it was outside any further. She looked at the crack beneath the door and had an idea – if I climb the stairs and crouch down I’ll be able to peek underneath. She’d maybe be able to see who it was outside.
She climbed the stairs as quietly as she could. She stood by the door and as she began to crouch down the knocking stopped. She froze for a moment, before crouching down and peering out. There was nothing, all she could see was part of her back garden. She let out a deep sigh – maybe they were gone? She turned to climb down the stairs when there was another loud bang against the door -louder than before. Alex screamed in fright and had to grab the railing to keep herself from falling down the stairs.
“Please, I’m begging you – let me in!”
The banging continued. Catching her breathe Alex crouched down to look outside again. Still - there was nothing. No feet, no legs, no anything. She saw nobody at the door, yet someone was banging against it begging her to let it in. Alex covered her mouth and fought the urge to cry, she couldn’t move, and lay there trying not to make a sound.
“Please, I know you’re there - I’m in terrible danger, how can you just sit there and not let me in?”
Alex stood back up to face the door and tried to take normal breathes again. Eventually she regained her composure “I’m NOT opening this door. Before he left my Dad warned me not to open it for anyone. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know why you’re here. You shout about needing help and being in danger, but you won’t explain why.”
“But I told you – there’s n-“
“And besides – I can’t see you underneath the door. You’re trying to hide from me. I can see the back garden through that slit under the door, but I can’t see you. If you were just asking for help – then why would you hide?”
The voice began laughing.
“You’re smart to keep the door shut. Your Dad was right to warn you.” The voice sounded calmer this time, it was almost whispering.
“What do you mean? Who are you?”
“I wasn’t lying before – there is something horrible out here.”
“You’re just some maniac trying to scare me.” Alex turned to walk back down the stairs.
“Oh really? Put your head back down and have another look under the door, I’d like to get a look at you.”
With a hand on the rail Alex crouched down and peered through the crack again. Unable to see anything she placed her head against the door and strained to see outside. She scanned the garden but still she couldn’t see anyone.
“You’re still hiding. Why do-“
Then from nowhere, sounding as though it came from mere inches in front of her the voice whispered “Hello”
Alex screamed and jumped back from the door in fright. The voice sounded as though it were right in front of her face. The voice laughed, and the banging began again. Almost paralysed from fright Alex climbed back down the stairs, fixated on the door the entire time. She crouched down behind the chair and tried to catch her breath. She trembled in fear as tears streamed down her face.
The banging got louder and louder, the cellar door was rattling violently.
“STOP IT, STOP IT, I WONT LET YOU IN” she screamed “I’LL NEVER LET YOU IN”
Alex collapsed behind the chair and began to cry. She was struggling to breathe. As the banging continued she stood up over the chair and asked “wh-what are you?”
“Well what difference does that make? You know I’m out here and you won’t let me in.”
“Tell me what you are!”
“It would be much easier to show you, why not open the door and I ca-.”
“NO” she screamed “Tell me what you are, tell me why I can’t see you.”
..CONTINUED
| 2020-04-26T08:20:00 | 2020-04-26T07:45:10 | 154 | 94 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
|
"Charge men! For the emperor!"
At the commander's orders every single man and woman leapt from their foxhole with their bayonets affixed. The xenos firing line stared at each other confused for a second before shrugging and unleashing a volley of pulse rounds into the oncoming horde of brace humans. Some charged with fearlessness of their enemy but most charged with fear of their superior. To the alien's weapons the guardsmen may as well have been wearing especially heavy tissue paper for all the protection it gave them. The ones in the front dropped like rag dolls releasing bloody screams as the tau weapons fire ripped apart their internal organs. However still the troopers marched over their comerades corpses to continue the charge intent on reaching their targets.
Even the colossal battle suits of the tau fire caste were horribly under equipped for melee combat. Their unwieldy weapons were unable to hit the mass of soldiers at their legs harassing them until the chain bayonets ripped away enough of the machinery to render the xenos contraption unusable. Afterwards the fire warrior infantry stood no chance against the rabid soldiers stabbing their way through the lines of alien units.
When the final tau rifleman was gutted by the exhausted exposable soldiers there was maybe a tenth of the original army left on their feet, surrounded by dead or dying allies. Most of them didn't stay on their feet for long either falling to the ground from exhaustion or going to their knees to thank the god emperor for not only their survival, but for their glorious victory against the foul aliens. It was a scene of bravery and piety that would go down in imperial history for countless millennia.
Of course, while all those fucking morons charged face first into anti infantry weapons I hid myself in the fortresses latrine and waited for the battle to be over while I ate from a can of beans I stole from the platoon chef. The commissar can kiss my ass.
|
The flash of the enemy units, mounted and bristling with fresh steel sent a tremor through Tynor's heart that he couldn't decipher. Was it fear or excitement? Bloodlust or desire?
"Keep firm ahead, and we'll live to see another day," Came the advice of the warcaller, second in command. His armor was dented and scratched, deep rends barely repaired by the hammers of the camp. "Beware false hope."
The plan has lasted all of three seconds before they entered the bladed mile, the cursed passage of the border, where reality had unentwined itself from the mortal suppositions.
The only warning they got came from the birds, crying out underneath of them. Then the spray of blood from the enemy ranks. Then the sudden and total loss of their magics, awarded to them by bloodline, right of conquest, and divine providence. There were screams.
The border to the zone had shifted a mile, perhaps sensing the fresh blood approaching it. Or perhaps, fickle fate had decided that this would be the day it would intervene in the border conflict.
The swords came down upon them with all the force of an avalanche. Ground and rock and solid terrain twisted into abominations of steel and sorcery, roaring mouths filled with teeth and blades dripping fresh polish.
"KEEP TO THE PATH!" roared the war-caller, his mace thrown to the sky. "AND GATHER TO ME!"
The warbirds screeched out in defiance, and Tynor's hands dug deep into the reins to keep his own bird on course. Keep it straight ahead on the planned route.
But the top of the company was already gone, griseled chunks of steak left behind with blades had flayed away the skin. Twisted, turning around and around and around until bone marrow cracked open upon what little terrain was left. The blades came down, one by one by one in nervous appraisal, twisting and twitching. They came without rhyme, they came without reason, and men fell to the ground dead, piece by piece.
Mounted knights took steps out of line to avoid and were cut down piece by piece. Tynor stared up at them from the back, and slowly raised his shield. The impact struck him and knocked him far and away from the top of the course, and he and bird rolled down the hill, Tynor's magic, desperately hoarded, barely reacting to his demands, to the swell of his heart and the screeching pain of velocity, barely protected him and the beast. Despite it, hot sand kicked into straining muscles and ate away at his armor as shapes dug up from the depths and pounding against him.
At once he was in the air, and another he was on the ground, and another he was kicking his bird to keep moving up an impossibly large slope, cleaved full of swords and hooks. At one point he saw the dagger of an assassin and knocked it away, sending a vial of poison rolling into the depths of hell where it sparkled back into gasoline and ignited, mixing smoke into the depths of madness.
His teeth grit against one another, sweat rolling down his skin, as the rest of the shouts met him, piece by piece. Cut down. Tremulous. The bird jerked to a halt, looking around, snapping the metal tipped beak together nervously.
A prayer sprang to his lips. Battle, need, desire. A place to rest his head and clean his blade. All of the words the monks had taught him in the temples to the north.
The bird knew better than he did, but he could smell the polish hovering in the air, and he could smell death on the wind. Could see the grass lined with steel now, clicking together in a distant wind to the beat of a heart that was larger than mountains. Distantly, overhead, Tynor spied the eye of the red war god looking down upon him with all the concern of a child inspecting ants. With all the ideas of a man who wanted peace but demanded nothing but war.
And the blades fell upon him in and instant, noticing his paradox. Long sprightly lines of silver, great hooks of steel, and an abomination of brass upon the dark iron sands below. His shield came up, brass, embossed with prayers and hopes for his family line, and the blades were repelled once. His arm jerked back as the impact jolted clear through to the bone, set his teeth rattling, but he had to keep going.
"Beware false hope," he muttered under his breath, tongue loosened, bloody from where his teeth had dug into it, clicked together. It dripped down his chin as he slowly moved that sword away from his bird.
The bird let out a tittering noise at him, but he could feel the heartbeat thump out piece by piece with each movement they made.
They had survived, if but for a moment, but as Tynor peeked out, he saw nothing but the edges of thousands of blades, and the rattle of hooks. The green sun beat down upon the black desert, and he could smell blood, rust, polish, and even distant, the ever present smell of the desert itself. And somehow, over that, he smelled more fire.
His bird chirped at him, and Tynor drug his gauntlets down to scratch across the bird's beak where the metal had dug into the skin. He pried at it, automatically, on auto-pilot, and stared into the mess around him. A crowning citadel of rising steel, walls of quivering blades. Death, on both sides.
A garish plume of smoke bloomed in the distance. He stared at it for moments while his eyes adjusted, and then it bubbled and boiled with the pattern of an emergency flare. Tynor counted his heart beat and tried to calm his breath. He reached into his pouch and provided the noble bird with a bit of jerky.
It crooned and dug into it, spurs clicking with glistening brass.
Then he took the reins again, strained and splattered with blood, though he could no longer remember who died and who had survived, and tugged on his dominion. It ached, terrified, and flitted back to him in this strange place.
Tynor stole a glance up and stared at the trailing field of blades inching towards the war god distant overhead, watching with the face of a maiden, and then stole his glance back at the distant fire.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had a soldier to meet up with.
----
The War-Caller greeted him as his horse hopped up stairs carved out of molten metal.
"Ho!" He waved on, his helm split into chunks of metal across a face that Tynor had never seen before. Old, etched in age, covered in soot and rust and metal polish. The only injury was a single cut decorating the tip of the eye socket, but the eye flicked to him as he stared at it.
It was unbecoming for the face to be revealed so garishly, but Tynor found he could not care. His own helmet slid off and bounced across the metal sand, rust and blood mixing together.
"Sir!" He called out, his bird nervously sidling over to the other bird.
He'd never seen the company's birds break formation so quickly before, but their beaks preened at one another's feathers, leaning against one another.
Had it been hubris that had led him here, or something else entirely?
"Tynor," The war-caller greeted, flicking his white hair behind him. "Glad you can join me for my vigil."
"Vigil sir?" Tynor asked, stepping forward.
The caller shoved Tynor down on the ground and smiled at him. "Clearly Auren herself has decided that today's offensive would not come to pass. Who am I to disagree with the divine?"
Tynor stole another glance up into the sky. "But... she butchered us."
"She does that," The caller agreed. "But we're both alive, aren't we?"
Tynor swallowed and reached into his supplies. He found his water skin, filled just that morning, and drank greedily from it. The war-caller made no move to reach for his.
"Yes, but..." Tynor said, slowly. "My magic protects me. How did..."
"Your magic will not protect you long," The War-caller said, grimly. "And I have made a habit of surviving what the War god brings us."
"But this war is not what the goddess demands," Tynor said. "I can't..."
"We will war as our company demands," The caller returned, nodding slowly. "Let our masters decide what is right, they'll be the ones tasting our weapons, one by one."
"But..." Tynor sat down properly and stared into the depths of the signal fire. He still felt the eyes of the war god upon him, wearing the face of a maiden.
"Until then, we will stay here, and we will talk about the old songs, and we will wait for a rescue," The caller's yellow eyes twinkled with divine providence.
"Have you heard about the reign of the red prince?"
And then they sat there and awaited their judgement in that blighted place.
-----
For More like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
I am back from vacation, so let's get back into the swing of prompts!
| 2018-07-15T09:51:07 | 2018-07-15T08:27:17 | 63 | 10 |
[WP] The longer you charge an attack, the more powerful it becomes. SWAT charges a punch for 30 seconds to break down a door. You’ve been charging for the last three days.
|
Today’s the day, Carl is coming over... you’ve been stood at the door for 3 days now just charging, waiting for him to arrive. He called you up and made the plans; it’s going to be radical.
The time draws ever closer; you know he’s doing the same thing. Excitement builds in the pit of your stomach as the clock strikes 2.
That’s when you hear it, footsteps in the hallway, he’s coming, you can hear the faint groan from the corridor, you start to voice yourself. The footsteps get louder, your voices follow suit, he’s at the door now; you’re both shouting in preparation.
You swing the door open and your eyes meet his, a bolt of adrenaline surges through you chest and into your arm, you both bring them forward at full strength
The fists collide.
Instantly a shockwave blasts out like a clock face between the pair of you, the doorframe splinters, cracks and peels away as it passes through it, the walls splits in several places and plaster flies off into the room. The furnitures shifts; completely rearranging the living room, all the whole the pair of you are steadfast; eyes locked; still screaming
The shockwave expands to the windows, shattering and blowing into the street below. You can hear the screams of passers by as they see the wave spread and dissipate across the street
Car alarms are going off, your house is in tatters. There is definitely structural damage, but you stand there, eyes still locked with Carl... you’re silent now.
You both straighten up and finally look around at the damage, Carl looks down at his fist, and then back at you with only one thing to say
‘Rad, dude’
|
At first it started out as just a joke, but eventually it became an obsession. I think that's what ruins everything in the end, when it spirals out of control and suddenly something you were doing so you could laugh about, becomes something that destroys everything that you care about. Since all stories that I've read start with a backstory, even when its a sequel to a best selling novel, I'll include mine for anyone that cares to read it. Everyone in the world that I live in knows that you can charge an attack to make it stronger, but you had to be careful about how long you did it, which is why we didn't have kids very often, they destroyed absolutely everything. I didn't get to grow up with my parents, as they lived in a wooden house, with wooden furniture, I would have turned that place into splinters, and I would have killed myself. Yeah, you can charge up any attack you want to make it more powerful, but then you deal with the consequences. A swat officer can charge up for thirty seconds to smash down a front door, but only people who undergo bone augmentations are allowed to do that job after criminals started reinforcing their doors with metal so it would shatter the persons arm. That was why almost no one had children anymore, because your kid would kill himself if you left him alone for more than a few seconds, because you didn't have to willfully charge the attack. A child might see someone do something, and then hold up their arm in preparation to learn how to do it, and once they hold it up and charge it for several minutes before they figure out how to actually swing their arm like they wanted to, it's enough to kill them.
So children did not grow up with their parents, and I did not grow up with mine. I grew up inside a machine, that prevented me from holding my muscles in any attack position, and it kept me from not killing myself but it kept me from also being free. When I reached the age of six, I was deemed capable of understanding the dangers, and earned limited freedom until I was eleven, and then finally I was introduced to the rest of the kids. Education was the most important part, and before I was released, I was shown a series of videos that showed kids killing their friends with a charged attack, not understanding just how important it was to never charge an attack. However, no level of education was ever enough to combat the stupidity of youth, we are supposed to learn from doing. As we grew up together we started to create stupid games, charging up jumps to see who could time the charge perfectly to slap a bullseye on a wall. Eventually, we reached a game that balanced stupidity with fun, and a twinge of danger that made it so enticing. We called it "Mercy" and it was played very simply. Two of us would stand facing each other, and then prepare a slap. The first person to cry mercy would lose and then both people would release their slap and we would take the hit. The only thing that really made the game safe as the way that we would slap. We would move our hand as slow as possible and instead of trying to impact the face, we wanted to just rest our hand on the face. This reduced the initial amount of force that was built up, and so we could charge for a few seconds and it would just be a hard punch and not a lethal blow.
We were hanging out at my house, bored as usual, when we decided to play the game. We didn't play it that often, but one of the kids was having a rough time at home so we decide to play it to blow off some steam. I was currently in the lead, having called mercy once while making two other people call mercy, and was facing down the last guy in the group for all the marbles. I was eager to win the game, and so I cheated by bringing up my hand right before someone said to go. This was an effective cheat because the other person knew that his slap would always be weaker, so I would automatically last longer. This would have sealed my victory, but then before my friend said go, my mom called up the stairs, "Matt, there is a girl on the phone for you." We all froze in the room, and looked at each other, and my friends began to plot just the best method to tease me, and so I called downstairs, "Which girl?" There was a lapse while my mom asked and then yelled back, "Sarah." There was a chorus of laughter throughout the room, Sarah was a girl that I had a major crush on. Then Eric started to cry, and we all looked at him, and then looked at my hand. It was still in the air, ready for the slap that I had completely forgotten about. Everyone panicked and Eric backed away from me, how long had I been holding the slap? A minute maybe? No one knew for sure, and so we didn't know what to do. I should have just slapped the wall then, might have lost my arm, but that would have been the end of it. Instead, my friends rushed down the stairs and yelled at my parents, who couldn't understand them in all the chaos, and by the time that they figured it out, I had been standing here for more than ten minutes now. My parents panicked as well, knowing that I was going to lose my arm, and called the police to find out what the correct procedure to use was, because I might take down the house if I hit something now. The person on 911 misunderstood and thought someone was threatening them with a charged attack and told them to wait while they sent a squad car over. Thirty minutes later, the police arrived on the scene, and then ten minutes after that they came up to talk to me. They evacuated the entire area, but I had been holding the attack for three hours by the time that they cleared the area, and so they called back to ask for an attack specialist to evaluate the impact of the damage.
I didn't learn this until now, but up until this point, the longest prepared attack was five hours and forty three minutes. It was a suicide attacker, who charged up a stomp for as long as he could hold it, and then released it. He leveled more than three football fields worth of the city with that attack. I reached that point as the specialist was asking me to remember if my hand had moved at all during the first minute of the charge, so he could estimate the base level of the charge, then some specialists from the hospital came in around the seven hour mark and put my hand into a cast to prevent it from moving. When you hold a charged attack, you can't move your hand out of the attack until it's finished, and so my entire arm was on fire, having been forced to hold it perfectly in the air for so many hours, but the sling did nothing to help it. Even though it couldn't actually move anymore, my muscles still burned like I held it up. A doctor stayed with me through the night, while I cried on and off, unable to sleep, in nothing more than agony. The next day several experts were there, asking me over and over again to tell them about the attack that I was charging, they had used the phone call records to estimate when the whole thing had started. A kind soul put a tv in front of me, hoping that it would distract me, but that just allowed me to listen to the news as they talked about me. There was a huge debate across the internet, as people suggested just shooting me in the head so I could not kill the entire planet. That's what the debate had reached by the end of the second night, if I carried out my attack at this point, would it shatter the planet, and if so, should they kill me to prevent it? I asked a doctor straight up if they would kill me, and he balked and told me that there was a huge debate amongst the scientific community while they tried to figure out if killing me would release the stored energy anyways, since it had to go somewhere. By the early hours of the third day, my arm has moved past pain, into something else and I manage to sleep for a few hours. No one but my parents talk to me anymore, the scientists are busy crunching numbers to determine if they can kill me, or put me in a coma.
On the fourth morning the scientists come to tell me the plan, and my parents are in the room. They are going to build a ship to send me deep into space, where hopefully my slap won't be able to affect other planets. My parents are crying now, and I feel like I am being sentenced for my crime. It had started off as a simple joke, a fun way to pass the time, and now my parents weep while the scientist explains that due to the time it will take to build the ship, and the time that it will take for me to leave, I will have to make the choice on when to make the attack. The longer that I hold it, the more likely I am to end the entire universe, but the quicker that I release it, the more likely the shockwave will kill humanity. My mind goes back to the video's they showed us before they released us back into the public, and smile an ironic smile. At least no kids in the future will play a game of Mercy.
*****
You can always catch more of my writing at /r/iruleatants
| 2018-10-02T17:03:01 | 2018-10-02T15:20:01 | 514 | 72 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
"I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine.
|
“Supreme Leader.”
I turned from the eastern windows. Beneath me today’s capital morning prayers stretched out in every direction. Hundreds of thousands of people, all on their knees, foreheads pressed to the ground, filling the assembly grounds that surrounded my palace. Even through the triple paned security glass, I could hear the chants, the ritualistic rhythmic chanting that raised my virtue toward Heavens. “Yes?”
“Sir, news just arrived from the North American front. They have secured the Colorado holdout,” my chief administrative aide said, his face carefully expressionless.
“Finally,” I hissed, clenching a fist. “Tell them I want the surviving populace on their knees as soon as possible. Praying.”
“Yes Supreme Leader.”
Flicking my hand at him briefly, I dismissed him. He was always too scared, as he should be, to think for himself; but he was a good member of my support staff. A thought occurred to me, and I smiled briefly. Waiting. Timing it for maximum effect. “Stop.”
He flinched. For a moment, just a moment, I thought he might actually be about to run. Which would be amusing; the Palace Guard were all absolutely loyal. To me. But he stopped, and turned. There was a nearly subliminal quiver in his shoulders, and a sheen of sweat appearing on his face. “Yes, Supreme Leader?”
“Have the fallen pedagogues sent in. Immediately.”
“Yes Supreme Leader.”
“And join the prayer assembly outside for the remainder of the morning ceremony.”
“More voices are always welcome,” he stammered, saluting. “It will be done Supreme Leader.”
He left, nearly tripping twice as he descended the stairs out of my office, and I returned to my survey of the prayer assembly. It would take a few minutes for my order to be delivered, and the jailers to retrieve those summoned from their cells. I took a turn around my office, circling the windows to see the full breadth of the formation. Even from my raised vantage point, at the heart of my empire, the kneeling figures went past my ability to see. And kept going, I knew.
*Billions* of subjects, across the entire planet, all devoted to lauding *me*.
Finally I heard the firm unified steps of a guard detachment approaching, and moved to stand behind my deck. The office as circular, with the desk at the center; but it faced toward the stairwell that was set in the floor near the northern edge. Folding my hands behind me, I waited as the leading trio of guards appeared. Behind them came a number of men, tattered and bedraggled, beaten and worn. More guards flanked them on either side, and a second trio brought up the rear.
I waited as the guards chivvied them into position, and fell into a surrounding half circle. When they were all lined up, facing me, and the guards came to attention, I smiled thinly. “The last pocket of organized resistance has been crushed. Excepting scattered handfuls of rebels, who will soon be dead or captured, the world now kneels in submission. Lifting their hearts and minds to my benefit. Tell me, what do your Gods say now?”
Silence greeted my proclamation. I sighed, very slightly, and looked at the leader of the security detachment. He nodded immediately, unslinging his rifle. That was the signal the other guards were awaiting. Over the next few seconds, every prisoner had been beaten down to his knees with brutal efficiency. Two of the older ones fell over, and had to be hauled back up so I could look upon them.
“Speak,” I ordered. “You, Pope. What does your God say now?”
“One, one hundred, one million, one *billion*,” the former religious leader said with remarkable calm, “it does not matter. God knows his own, and you are not one.”
“If God does not grant my request, I will destroy His creations.”
“You cannot.”
I couldn’t help it, and raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? The entire world kneels before me.”
“They may kneel, and they might mouth the words you force them to, but it is not prayer that you hear from the assemblies.”
“When I take a family, and torture some of them before the rest … you believe they will not put their hearts into my message? When if they do not, one of their remaining loved ones might be next?”
One of the other pedagogues spoke. “God knows his own. He decides, not you.”
“God knows his own,” another said.
“God knows his own,” still another echoed the others. In moments they were all looking at me, some in fear, some in defiance, but all in unison, chanting the same thing at me. Blasphemy, heresy, *disloyalty*.
I clenched a fist behind me, and it was an effort to keep my face under control. After a moment, I looked at the detachment commander again. “Kill them.”
He didn’t even hesitate. Not for a single instant. Not even to inquire if I meant here, or elsewhere. *Certainly* not to ask if I wanted to rethink it. That worthy, will as well as body, was mine. He lifted his rifle, and barked an order. The other rifles came up, and shots ended the heretical chanting. Blood and bone and cerebral matter splashed across the carpet. I watched as the bodies fell, and sighed.
“Reissue the Supreme Proclamation, to all assemblies,” I said as the guards slung their weapons and came to attention again. They would lift me up, or I would bring the world down with me. “And kill one percent as surety. Immediately. Inform the rest additional percentages will be culled if their prayers do not continue with all confidence.”
“Yes Supreme Leader,” the detachment commander said. The guards turned, and went down the stairs. I sighed and glanced at the bodies. Heads of their churches, or widely respected senior voices for those that had no formal order leaders.
No longer in my way.
A gentle pop made me look away from the bodies, turning to see what was behind me. A dark haired man was standing there. Narrow features, neatly trimmed beard, wearing a black suit with a dusky red shirt. I blinked at him for a moment, then frowned.
“Entry to this room without instructions is death.”
“Please,” he said dismissively. “Save your bluster for those it might impress.”
“Guards,” I said, raising my voice. Booted footsteps came rushing up the stairs as the permanent detail at the base of the stairs responded to my order. I studied the interloper, who didn’t move. In fact, he just smiled at me. And not pleasantly.
It reminded me of my smile.
“Supreme Leader,” one of the Palace Guard said behind me.
“Kill him,” I said without turning.
I heard the guns being readied as the guards spread out to either side of the room, taking up firing angles. Still the stranger did not move. Not even when bullets began hitting him. I saw the gunfire’s effects, but as rapidly as holes appeared in the immaculate black suit, they sealed themselves up.
And there was no blood.
“Finished?” he asked idly as the guards’ magazines ran dry. Before I could answer, or any of them could reload, the stranger raised one hand and snapped his fingers. I flinched as columns of fire erupted around me. Every guard was consumed in a wash of heat that made me blink, then they were gone. Not even ash. Just gone.
“Who are you?” I asked, feeling true fear for the first time in a long, long, *long* time.
“They weren’t wrong, you know,” he said, starting to walk forward. Very slowly, calmly. Like he was enjoying the moment. “God does know his own.”
He stopped before me, and smiled. Extending a hand to me, the same hand that had just incinerated my most loyal guards. Unable to think of anything else, I lifted mine and took his. His grip was firm, dry, and hot. So hot it burned my skin, but there was no sizzle of melting, scorching flesh. No smell of cooking tissue, no rendering of the fat beneath my flesh.
Only searing, intense pain.
When I gasped and tried to pull free, his fingers stayed closed around mine. I couldn’t remove my hand from his. Not even when I pulled with both, using my free hand to tug on my wrist. When I raised it threateningly, closing it into a fist, he raised his own free hand and ticked his forefinger back and forth at me. Like I was being naughty.
And his eyes glowed red.
His voice now echoed with bass notes so infinitely low every syllable hurt. “So do I,” he said.
| 2017-03-31T11:46:40 | 2017-03-31T09:40:07 | 166 | 86 |
[WP] The day is 4th of July. The US suddenly cut off its connection to the outside world. Then they start to broadcast an international countdown.
|
Approximately 23 hours ago, all signals and information originating from the United States of America have ceased, except for one.
A countdown of 24 hours, broadcasted live onto all countries.
Approximately 20 hours ago, the United Nations convened in haste to discuss the blackout of the United States.
Approximately 17 hours ago, Canadian and Mexican forces have stepped onto U.S. soil.
Approximately 14 hours ago, all said forces have been confirmed killed in action.
Approximately 10 hours ago, all U.S. sirens have begun to scream.
Approximately 7 hours ago, all U.S. satellites have self-destructed. The Americans aboard the International Space Station have been reported to have committed suicide.
Approximately 5 hours ago, spy planes have revealed and reported no activity in any coastal U.S. city, civilian or military.
Approximately 3 hours ago, major population centers in Mexico and Canada have been evacuated.
Approximately 2 hours ago, Russia has reported multiple explosions in Anchorage, Alaska.
Approximately 1 hour ago, a spy plane has sent one last signal before being shot down.
An image of a large rocket, with what he now been reported to have a nuclear warhead.
Approximately 30 minutes ago, all major world cities have begun evacuating.
Approximately 10 seconds ago, the first and last signal has been out from the U.S. Government.
Approximately 5 seconds ago, multiple launches have been detected.
4
3
2
The message read,
1
"Happy Independence Day."
|
“You cannot do this.”
Prime Minister Cote glared at his fellow Prime Minister. “Then grant the funding requests we’ve made.”
“We can’t.”
“You mean won’t.”
“No, I mean *can’t*,” Prime Minister Ellis insisted. “There is no money. Our economies are still in tailspin.”
“As is everyone’s,” President Ramos said. “But the rest of you are looking to our two countries to seal off the rift.”
“The UK provides over half the naval forces for both coastal patrol fleets,” Ellis objected.
“Ships,” Cote snorted.
“Which are expensive.”
“But compared to sealing nearly *six thousand* kilometers of land border, by far the cheaper and easier task,” Ramos said levelly. “Hulls with radar and satellite overwatch manned by less than twenty thousand sailors; the two of us have millions of soldiers standing watch on the borders.”
“There is no money,” Ellis said again. “And tomorrow, when the Geneva Assembly comes to order, you’ll hear the same thing. The disappearance of the world’s strongest economy in the blink of an eye, with no real warning, has buried everything. Which is to say *nothing* of the absence of their military, which was keeping the peace in literally dozens of would-be conflicts. The Korean war is still raging. Don’t even get me started on the Israeli Defense.”
Cote traded a look with the Mexican President, who just gave him tired eyes and a small nod. “You, all of you, are insistent that no one be allowed to enter the areas around the rift—”
“Every scientific survey concludes it’s either a death zone, or some sort of transcendent dimensional gateway,” Ellis interrupted. “And as silly as Americans often were, we seriously doubt even *they* had collectively decided to commit suicide. Or allow their inattention to what their so-called leaders actually had planned to permit themselves to be led to mass slaughter. It must be some sort of—”
“Yes, we’ve read the same reports,” Ramos said, interrupting the UK leader in turn. “Extra dimensional travel. Possibly a post-physical shift, where they all left corporeal form and now exist in some sort of energy state.”
“And excepting the conspiracy fringe, most people believe some form of the second option is likely. As things continue to spiral down, more and more interest builds in following the Americans.”
“Which we also understand,” Cote said, making it clear he was trying tremendously to remain patient. “But Canada and Mexico cannot shoulder the cost and burden of sealing the majority of the rift’s borders any longer.”
“You must.”
“We can’t. Not won’t, *can’t*, to echo your lament from a minute ago. The two of us are facing crises of our own.”
“If the rift is not kept sealed, there will be an exodus as people across the world rush to enter it.”
“Not our problem,” Ramos said.
“The economy, both global and individually among the less battered countries, will stabilize. It’s just taking time for all the elements to adjust. To find new buyers and sellers for goods and services, to plant fields and harvest the crops no longer grown in America—”
“Fine. We are in the midst of that ourselves,” Cote pointed out tiredly. “But we already have an unprecedented number of able bodied adults serving in the border force, watching both it and each other to ensure none of *them* take off. My choice within forty days will be to feed my people or pay army salaries. I will not condemn millions of Canadian citizens to starvation just as winter is upon us simply to safeguard Europe and Asia.”
“Nor will Mexico,” Ramos said. “And I must choose even faster; within two weeks. In fact, I am technically already past time to have made the decision. I will face serious troubles even disbanding the border watch so abruptly to reassign them to agricultural and industrial tasks.”
Ellis rose. For a moment, it looked as if he was about to start shouting. Or pound his fists on his desk. Then he turned and strode to the window, where he stood looking out. “What if I could arrange other personnel.”
“Foreign troops?” Cote and Ramos said immediately in unison.
“Multinational,” Ellis said quickly, though he didn’t turn to look at them. “Drawn from every country I can convince to contribute. You will not have divisions of a foreign army camped out in your countries.”
“You cannot afford to pay for the defense, but suddenly are willing to station troops?” Ramos said, sounding extremely suspicious. “To, what, hold *us* at gunpoint. Act as armed cadre in order to force us to guard your weakness?” Ramos said.
“I cannot convince enough other leaders to make funds available. But I believe I can get sufficient numbers of ground forces volunteered to take up the burden from you. If the international economy can finish stabilizing, the press of exodus will abate somewhat. People will adjust. And we will be able to move forward absent America.”
“It would be simpler if you would simply arrange for funding,” Ramos said, trading looks with Cotes.
“Canada has no desire to be occupied,” Cotes put in.
“I cannot make funds available,” Ellis said, finally turning from the window. “Nor trade goods; there is not enough to cover it. But people are available, if you both join with me in addressing the Assembly tomorrow. The major nations, at least, can spare some troops. Most of the smaller countries are occupied with their own defense, or wars, but I believe there should be enough soldiers who can be moved into position to ease the burden on your nations. We’d start with Mexico, of course.”
Cotes and Ramos looked at one another again. Both seemed unhappy, particularly Ramos. Ellis waited. “It would need to be more than troops,” Ramos said eventually.
“There are no funds—”
“Experts, at least,” Ramos interrupted.
“In what?”
“Logistics, farming, and industrial fields,” Ramos said. “We have sacrificed much in recent months to guard the border for you, and neglected many of the strides you all have made to adjust to America’s great vanishing act. There are skills that we require to catch up appropriately.”
“Canada would request the same,” Cote said while Ellis frowned.
“And what if the answers come back against it?”
“Then the border will become open,” Ramos said.
“Don’t do that.”
“Or what?” Cote demanded. “You will invade us, seal it by force? You cannot have it both ways. If you cannot afford to pay for the defense you demand, how can you afford to pay for a war across the Atlantic?”
“There are other options,” Ellis said after a moment.
Ramos’ eyes narrowed. “You would launch missiles?”
“We can afford to maintain the naval blockades, even extend them to cover your coastlines as well,” Ellis said coldly. “And the warheads have already *been* built. It would even save money if they were no longer required to be maintained.”
Cotes was on his feet. “You speak of nuclear war as if it’s a cheap option,” he said, sounding both angry and shocked.
“Isn’t it?”
“Launch missiles, and we will retaliate,” Ramos said while Ellis and Cote tried to burn the other down by glaring. They both broke off to look at him in surprise.
“With what?” Ellis said, sounding as surprised as Cote had.
“Mine were the first people to investigate the country after the countdown ceased. We informed the rest of you of the Rift. And while that was happening, we obtained things we thought would be helpful. Among them include some number of warheads the absent Americans were no longer using.”
“Theft on a global scale.”
“You threat us with genocide, and have the audacity to scorn our taking the means to head it off?” Ramos said, coming to his feet as well.
“You don’t have the ability to use those warheads,” Ellis said after a moment. “American activation security on them was—”
“Designed against accidents and terrorists. We may be not be as rich and powerful as the EU or China, but Mexico has sufficient resources to hack and rewire when left alone to accomplish the task. The warheads will trigger. Your options are exodus or assistance, but *do not* threaten us.”
“I can see I’m going to have to arrange some recovery expeditions of my own,” Cote said. “But I stand with President Ramos. Choose something other than bluster, Prime Minister.”
“It’s not up to me,” Ellis said, sounding furious. “Only the Assembly can muster the answers you require.”
“But the United Kingdom has taken a leading role within it. So lean that weight to our behalf, or face the consequence of your own failed bullying.”
Ellis glared at them. He was still glaring when Cote and Ramos looked at one another, nodded slightly, and left. The Prime Minister sat down as his door thudded shut, then vented his frustration by slamming a fist down on the desk.
“Bloody Americans!”
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy!
| 2017-06-25T09:38:50 | 2017-06-25T08:21:30 | 283 | 101 |
[WP] Science finally found the secret to immortality, but it included treatments that only took hold in newborns. Now the last mortal humans are approaching the ends of their lives.
|
**The Last Funeral**
Preachers, rabbis, monks, and nuns,
Miles of hearses and twenty-one guns,
Billions and billions of mourning ones.
Here lies our beloved Seth.
​
But hardly a one of them knew the deceased.
And no one is crying; they've set out a feast.
They've come here to witness that newly slain beast.
A funeral procession for Death.
​
Here comes his widow, in black with a veil,
Healthy and young as her husband was frail.
Watching him lowered, she lets out a wail.
The very last death-do-us-part.
​
The crowd returns to their life of leisure,
Endless eternities, meaningless pleasure,
With pity and envy in equal measure
For one last lifeless heart.
|
“Alpha team in position, sir.”
“Move in. Stay alert. Do not engage unless necessary. Remember your mission parameters.”
The three man team moved quickly with trained precision.
The air was thin this high up and their bodies struggled to adjust.
Axton Theis raised his hand indicating his team to stop.
“The oxygen levels are getting dangerously low. Turn your supplies on. We have enough oxygen for 2 hours. Let’s meet back here in 90 minutes. We’ll start back towards base camp at that time. Rylen, take the left side. Skylar, go right. With this fog, visibility is very low. Let’s stay in contact at all times.”
A quick comms check later, the team split up. Today was just scouting so Axton was comfortable splitting up. When time for contact would arrive, they would all go together.
He did not, however, anticipate that they were waiting for him.
He moved cautiously forward when the voice called to him.
“Come forward. Come and have your audience. Tell us what you seek.”
Axton’s immediately drew his weapon and looked around.
The fog drifted away abruptly and he found himself standing before an impossibly tall man.
“Come. It’s been a while since I’ve seen another life form.”
Axton didn’t answer and kept his gun trained on him.
“Your weapons are useless against us.”
“Us?”
“Oh yes. There’s lots more of us. Most of them are napping at the moment. Not much else to do here.”
“How many?” In his mind, Axton was doing calculations on what a full scale assault to capture them all would require.
“Your weapons are useless and if you try any attacks they will fail.”
“Attacks?” Axton wondered if the tall man could read his thoughts.
“While you’re the first life form I’ve seen for ages, you’re not the first one to come here. We sit here, not participating in the cycle of evolutions which invariably leads to you featherless bipeds.”
“I’m sorry what?”
The tall man chuckled. “We’ve been here for eternity. We’ve seen species come and go. You are advanced. As were many others. Some of them tried to make peace with us. Some of them prayed to us. Some of them attacked. Looking at your tiny little gun, I’m assuming this iteration wants to attack us. Well, trust me when i tell you it won’t work. With nothing to keep us busy, we developed lots of new weapons. Weapons beyond your wildest imagination. Your race won’t survive attacking us. We will kill you all.”
“You will kill our entire race?”
The tall man shrugged. “We’ve done it before. It might take another few billion years but sentient species will come about again.”
Axton was a trained professional but even he couldn’t entirely comprehend what was happening. He did, however, holster his weapon. “We’re not here to attack. We’ve just heard legends.”
The tall man chuckled again. “I bet you have. While we spend most of our time here, we do go down once in a while to gift the latest iteration somethings to speed their progress along. So naturally, legends are born and people start worshiping us.”
“You said there are others.”
“Yes. Most of them are napping.”
“When will they wake up?”
“A few thousand years.”
Axton was taken aback but tried not to show it. “A thousand years of sleep? You guys would wake up well rested.”
“As I said, not much to do here. We mostly just sleep or look at you guys. You guys are like our own personal little ant farm.”
The idea that this… this… thing knew what an ant farm was the strangest thing to Axton. “So you watch us? To pass the time?”
“Most of the time yes. Sometimes we’re bored so we stir things up a little. Every story is better with some ups and downs. We’ll send some hardships your way to see how you guys will take it.”
“Hardships?”
“Yeah. Storms. Earthquakes. Volcanoes. That sort of thing.”
“People die in those things as you call them.”
“Yeah. But no matter. There’s plenty of you.”
Axton’s hand reached for his weapon again. How callously this man talked about human life was unbelievable to Axton.
“I see that I have offended you. Well too bad. You can’t do anything about it. But let’s be honest. We do it for your benefit. The mortality of your life makes it interesting and worth living. It brings people together like nothing else. And we need people to stay together. We like the earth and would rather you people not destroy it for your own petty squabbles.”
“So you’re bound to earth?”
“No of course not. We just like it here. It’s cozy. When we lived down below, there were many more of us. Most of us eventually left. Some to look for new worlds. Some to look for a way to break the curse.”
“What curse?”
“The curse of immortality, of course. You see we are the generation cursed to immortality, not able to move on.”
“So you can’t die. Like at all?”
“No. You can try to shoot me if you like. I won’t mind.”
“No, but thank you. If you’re really immortal, can you share that formula with us?”
“Oh no we can’t do that. We destroyed the formula ages ago. Too much of a burden.”
“But you could do it again? Make us all immortal?”
“Have you not been listening? I’ve seen more species go extinct than you’ve taken breaths. Than the entire current iteration of human race has taken breaths infact. Immortality. Don’t be stupid. Go home. Tell them we’re all a myth and there is nothing here.”
“I can’t do that. If you’re really as advanced as you claim to be, you can help us.”
“We can’t. You have to help yourselves.”
“But why?”
“Cause it’s no fun otherwise.”
“Do you always talk in puzzles?”
“It’s not what I’m known for. Others do it better but I do enjoy it.”
“Can you demonstrate your power to me? How do I even know you’re telling the truth?”
The tall man laughed heartily. He finally stood up, as Axton craned his neck up to see what was happening.
The tall man reached upwards and sat back down.
“Look.”
The tall man held a massive lightning bolt in his hand. It sizzled and buzzed, giving off intense heat that Axton could feel even at a distance.
“I could throw this anywhere in the world. Do you want me to?”
“Could you show us how to do that?”
“So you can weaponize this?”
“Maybe.”
“Then no.”
“So what do you expect me to do now. What do you expect humans to do?”
“Bide your time. When we feel that humanity is reaching a tipping point, we’ll come down. We’ll come down and wipe all of you off the face of this earth. We’ll reset the counter on humanity and restart the evolution process. I still can’t believe the anteater makes it in every iteration personally.”
“Huge slam on anteaters out of nowhere?”
“Oh come on. They’re just weird.”
“I’ll give you that.”
The tall man yawned. “I’m starting to get sleepy too. I’ll be retiring back to my throne. Don’t try to find it. You won’t be able to. We can only be seen when we want to be. Go back. Tell them we don’t exist.”
“And wait for you to kill us all?”
“Well not right now! I’m probably sleeping for a few thousand years now. By my current estimates you guys still have a few million years. Then we’ll have to intervene.”
“A few million years. Very optimistic that.”
“Well if you guys pray to us and be nice, it might be more.” The tall man winked. “Now I must be off.”
Axton still wasn’t entirely what had happened. “Wait. Atleast tell me your name!”
But the tall man had already gone.
His comm device buzzed. “Come in alpha leader. There’s nothing here. I’m returning to the rally point.”
He paused for a moment and looked around him. The fog was back again. Finally he spoke up. “Nothing here either. This whole thing looks like a bust. We’ll probably cut it short and return sooner.”
| 2021-06-07T22:44:17 | 2021-06-07T22:33:44 | 476 | 128 |
[WP] Turns out that God does not care if you are gay, atheist, or pagan, but he is a real stickler about mixed fabrics.
|
So God and I were sitting at Barney's Bar. The Guy looked quite sad. I bought him another drink.
​
"Surely, it wasn't that bad, old chap," I tried to console Him.
​
"You know. In the end, it wasn't all the bickering. All those fights over sexuality, regions, race, and everything else," He said, letting out a sigh.
​
"What was it that got to you?"
​
"In the beginning, the universe was a nice peaceful, quiet place. And I knew that I should have left it alone." He took another sip and looked out into the distance. "And I knew I shouldn't have done it, cause, you know, omnipotent and all of that stuff. But I did it anyway."
​
"What did you do?" I was on edge wondering what He was getting to.
​
"Well... I mixed the fabrics of space and time. And the next thing I knew.... Humans. I've been a mess ever since."
​
​
​
|
After years of standing in line, I finally got to the door of the grotto. What I found was more queues. The grotto seemed tiny from outside but within it was a vast catheral, the ceiling was lost in the heavens and the walls on either side were hundreds of metres away. At the opposite end from the door I had walked in were a row of doors, each as grand and impressive as the building itself. Leading up to to each door was a short queue. I was met at the entrance by an officious looking, balding man with a clipboard "Smith, John" he said in a grandfatherly tone, "Welcome to the hall of judgement, please join queue number 42, agnostics, Catholics and atheists from Earth, all questions will be answered by the steward". I knew I was queueing for judgement, the long queue outside the grotto snaked and zigzagged like the queues at Disneyland. I had many interesting conversations with all sorts of people, each with their own idea of what we were to meet at the end of the queue, most thought it was some form of judgement.
​
I made my way slowly past the rows of velvet rope that seperated the queues. Finally I found queue 42, I walked along the bay and stood behind an old couple, who were holding hands and joking cheerfully about how all this queueing was a comforting reminder of home. They queue was short but it moved slowly. I struck up a conversation with them and we filled the few hours we had to wait by telling each other our life stories. They had been from Norwich in England, high school sweethearts who had been seperated by the second world war, when he went off and fought in France she stayed at home and grew vegetables on a farm. She had fallen in love with one of the other girls on the farm and for the next ten years they lived together, pretending to be good cathlics by day but secretely lovers in private. He had been captured by the Nazis and briefly lived as a prisoner of war. He escaped with a small group of other english soldiers and they had made their way across europe, trying to get home and killing small bands of Nazis where he could. Finally they had been rescued just before VE day. He fell into a life of drink and drugs back home, constantly reliving the war in his mind. until by chance he met his high school sweetheart after being rushed into hospital one day. He had suffered a heart attack, while she had just said goodbye to her land girl, who had died tragically early of cancer. Their love was rekindled and gradually these two helped each other battle their demons, eventually settling into a comfortable old age together. They had died within hours of each other.
​
They were both convinced they were to go straight to hell. He for killing, drink, drugs; her for being gay and for lying to her priest and congregation.
​
As we got to the front of the queue she was called first. She took one last look at her love and turned to face the steward. The cavernous room had so far absorbed the noise of the conversations between the steward and those before us, but now we were close enough we could hear what was said. The man and I stood in trepidation. The steward had a plinth with a large book in front of him. He turned the page as the woman approached and started to speak "Mary Henderson, you are to be judged. If the balance of your actions left a positive impact on those around you, you will go to heaven, if you left a negative impact, you will go to hell, do you understand?" he said. At that, she started to speak "Steward, I know that according to my religion I have sinned badly. I accept that I will walk through the door to hell this day". The steward, taking a softer tone said "Mary, the most important rule of your religion is that given by Christ, love your brother as you love yourself. In that respect you have lived a good life. You loved two people faithfully, holding one's hand till the end of her life and helping the other get over deep tragedy. However in other ways you have been a net negative in the world. In leviticus it is stated, you shall not round the corners of your head, it means that you should keep your intellect sharp, but in your later years you became lazy and stupid, so you weren't able to guide your family and community with wisdom. It is also said, do not wear clothing made of two diferent kinds of material, by that we mean, do not subject yourself to internal conflict. In that way you have also failed, your lost love was ever on your mind, even in later life, so you did not love your second love as fully as you could, that led him to feel neglected, as if he was ever living in the shadow of your former love. These sins are not outweighed by your good acts. But they should act as a warning to you. Your judgement is that you have not reached the standards required to enter heaven, but neither are you damned, you will go back to Earth and live again, next time you appear here you will remember both lives, but until then your life as Mary will be hidden from you" At that he gestured to the door to his left, and Mary walked through with a look back to her former love.
​
As the man walked up, the steward turned the page again "George Anderson, you are to be judged. If the balance of your actions left a positive impact on those around you, you will go to heaven, if you left a negative impact, you will go to hell, do you understand?". George cleared his throat "well sir, if it doesn't inconvenience you too badly, I'd like to folow my mary back to earth. She was a great help to me in later life and I would have long ago fallen into a pit of despair without her". The Steward looked up from his plinth and adressed George directly, as he had with Mary. "George, you have killed in life, this is the worst sin a man can commit. However, the men you killed would have gone on to kill, rape and maim thousands of others. You suffered through years of regret and misery because of your actions, and you faithfully loved Mary. Even when chances to cheat presented themselves, and she was distant and difficult. Each soul is responsible for itself, and your place in heaven is guaranteed, you can walk through the golden door now if you choose. However If you choose to, I can grant your request and allow you to follow Mary back to earth. You will have no memory of your life as George, but you will be close to her. If you find each other again I can see that you will both help each other through life again. But it is not guaranteed that this will happen. And you will be judged on the actions of both lives when you appear here again, so you may lose your place in heaven. Do you accept this risk?" "Of course" said George. "Then walk through the door".
​
I was next to be judged. I won't document it word for word here. But I was lucky, I got my place in heaven. I found I was allowed to ask any question I wanted while talking to the steward. So I asked him about George and Mary, would they really be ok in the next life? He told me that the two cloths rule, relating to internal conflict, was one of the most important in setting a persons life on the right path. "If a person chooses a good path and sticks to it, then they will find themselves judged well at the end of their life. But if they are conflicted and do not wholeheartedly follow a good path, if they dwell on other paths and are not settled and whole, they will naturally lead to sin, and a negative judgement"
​
I am not in heaven today, I am back on earth. I too found my way back here, but I am no longer a person. I am what you might call a guardian angel. I chose to help George and Mary find their path and the steward was happy to allow it. The only problem is that they have been reborn and I don't know who they are now. I'm here until they both die, so I've made my own choice. I will use my small influence on the world to help people settle on their path, help people not to "mix cloth" and follow their own good path. I am lucky, I can influence peoples minds a little, to write a short story or make a comment where it's required. My hope is that when I find my way back to the grotto I'll meet George and Mary again. Who will have read this story and resolved to follow a good path, and got in to heaven.
| 2019-03-16T06:41:12 | 2019-03-16T05:16:54 | 72 | 38 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
**PART 1:**
My father had always been a bit of an enigma. We had little in common save for our names. He was a mild-mannered and proper Englishman who had immigrated to America from a little village the West Country. He believed with all his being in the power of an orderly queue and a proper cup of tea. But every so often when he had a few pints in him, he would wibble on about strange adventures and heroic deeds in impossible places with fanciful characters. Talking mice, a 2-headed man, poetry so awful it could kill the listener - my best friend Douglas and I teased him that he should write a book or five about it all. But we never believed a word of his tall tales. Not until the end.
I was 25 when he died. It was March 11, 1977. Dad hadn't spoken in days. Doctors said his mind was gone, and his body would soon follow. As he lay gasping his final breaths, something small and yellow wriggled wetly out of his ear. It looked almost like a fish. I leant in for a closer look. For just a moment, my father became lucid again. He grasped my head in his hands. "Artie, my boy," he croaked, "Always know... where your... towel is..." With one last gasp, he struck me on my ear with a surprising amount of strength. Then he slipped away and was gone. So was the fish. But from that moment on, I had the ability to speak and understand all language. Every word I ever heard or read translated itself in my mind. And every word I spoke arrived at the listener's ear in their native tongue.
**PART 2:**
I sat in the cool air conditioning of the fast food restaurant, gazing out at one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. It was a stark dichotomy. I had spent my entire adult life traveling all around the globe, and yet I still found it surprising to watch the modern world creep into the most ancient of sites. I found myself pondering what might have stood on this site way back when the Great Pyramid of Giza had first gone up. Thousands of years ago, a man such as myself may have eaten his meal in this same spot, awed by the view of these same pyramids. The thought made me smile. As my mind trailed off along that thought, I was interrupted by a young man bringing a tray full of enough fat, salt and refined sugar to quell my growing homesickness for a little while. Still lost in my thoughts of ancient times, I reached for my soda before he had finished setting down the tray, and a little spilled.
The young man apologized profusely. His words came to me in modern English, though I knew he was speaking in his native tongue. "Don't worry, my friend!" I assured the young man as he hurriedly mopped up the spill. "I wasn't looking. It's my fault." He froze. His dark eyes went wide with - was it shock? Confusion? Fear? Occasionally hearing one's mother tongue appear to come so naturally from American lips seems too implausible. Occasionally I startle people. "I'll finish cleaning up," I offered cheerfully, hoping he would relax. But the words had the opposite effect. They merely confirmed to his disbelieving ears that he had, in fact, heard what it should be impossible to hear. His wide eyes remained locked on the great pyramid glowing in the hot sun on the other side of the glass as he shook his head and stammered, "Khnum protect me! No one but a child of Hemiunu has spoken His sacred tongue in over 4000 years!"
**PART 3:**
I used my ability to travel all around the world, learning and exploring. My gift granted me access to the most incredible locations. I had been invited to come to Egypt to decode strange writing found in a newly discovered chamber in the Great Pyramid of Giza. A couple years ago, muography scans detected a hidden chamber above Khnum Khufu’s tomb. At last, tiny robots had carefully drilled through a small shaft and into the mysterious big void. Cameras fed into the opening revealed writing in a language that no one had ever seen before, or so they told me. I could never tell the difference - it was all English to me!
Archaeologists had dubbed the void “Hemiunu's Gallery” after the architect who directed the construction of the pyramid. And now in front of me was a young man who was apparently a descendant of Hemiunu himself. I was developing a sneaking suspicion the chamber was somehow connected to this young man, whose eyes were still locked upon the pyramid. "It's time," he said suddenly. He tore his eyes from the pyramid and turned to face me as crumpled into the chair across from mine.
**PART 4:**
I had only had my gift a few years when “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark” came out. But from that day forward, archaeology held a special place in my heart. And now here I was, about to helping explore the first new chamber to have been discovered in the pyramid since the middle ages. I was so excited, my heart was beating as fast as the Kali Ma human sacrifice in “Temple of Doom.” I glanced at Buneb, the young man from the restaurant. I had managed to get him hired on as my assistant. Being a septuagenarian, no one questioned my request for a young strong man to lean on across the sand and rocks. “Are you ready?” Buneb smiled weakly. I was somewhat worried that he would honor this sacred ground with an offering of vomit.
We gathered beneath the large white canopy pitched at the foot of the pyramid. Technicians had set up a myriad of video equipment. Buena and I were led to a seat by a large screen. “We have gotten more lighting in there now,” said one of the technicians. “And our high-res camera has nearly reached the gallery. You’ll be able to see the writing in just a moment.” She switched on the screen and hurried off to finish preparations. “Come on, Phouchg. It’s time,” said a small high voice. “It had better work this time, Loonquawl,” said another equally squeaky voice. My powers of language had never extended to the animal kingdom, but no one was nearby except Buneb, who was intently watching two small white mice scurry up the pyramid.
**PART 5:**
Buneb had spent his whole young life watching the Great Pyramid, as had his father before him, and his father’s father, and so on back through the millennia. He was a direct descendant of Hemiunu, he had said. According to his ancestors, the pyramid held some sort of mystical secret of the universe. And when the universe was ready, the descendants of Hemiunu must be on hand to ensure the secret was understood. Apparently Hemiunu realized the universe wouldn’t be ready for quite some time, and also knew that a multi-millennial game of telephone might result in the secret becoming distorted. He tasked his offspring with ensuring the language was kept alive and intact.
The screen flickered and suddenly it was filled with images. “Head all the way to your right,” I told the technician. “Now up… Yes, there -by the drawing of the … white mouse…. That is the beginning. Now head straight down. It is written in columns.” Very slowly, words began to take form. I scribbled in my little notepad while Buneb muttered softly to himself. As the camera finally finished its journey around the room, I stared back at what I had written. “It isn’t an answer, it is a question!” exclaimed Buneb. He was right. There in my notebook, scrawled in my shaky handwriting, was the ultimate question. The question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T22:03:53 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] Humans are actually a phenomenally advanced species - except for the glaringly obvious thing they missed. Write from the perspective of a befuddled alien xenobiologist.
|
"The supreme tragedy of the Human race was their inability to understand Numbers. Such a brilliant species became trapped in their own self-imposed prison of a primitive numeral system that did not resonate with the Universe's numeral system. In fact, in their entire eight-thousand year lifespan, they only discovered 18 Numbers, most notably Light, Gravity, Sphere, Quark, Electron and even Boson. There is arguable speculation that mankind was even close to discovering the Cosmological Constant, as it is referenced in much of their literature indirectly.
"The mere fact that they were able to attain quantum computing and localized spacetravel using such a primitive numerical system is in itself remarkable - in fact, genius in the extreme. Though they are frequently dismissed as brutes (not without merit), their savant nature cannot be overlooked.
"It should be a point of great sadness to the collective species of the galaxy that Humans were unable to discover the Universal Numbers, for their determination and perseverance, despite their hopelessly short lifespans, were remarkable. It is truly a galactic cultural loss that they were too oblivious to leave their feeble mathematical system, or even understand that there WAS another system all together. It is similarly tragic that they were not discovered before they extinguished themselves, for all they needed was to be shown the way."
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Willing to continue this if so desired!
|
On a secret alien lab on Easter Island on Planet Roompdeedoop:
Zork watched his motion-activated wildlife observation cam and scribbled notes on his clipboard. The camera had been hidden in the chandelier of a dining room table of a family on the other side of the planet.
The Roompdeedoops were an odd race. Two arms, two legs, and usually only a single type of genitalia (two varieties with roughly equal incidence in the overall population). They spent most of their time watching television, watching the microwave, and watching each others’ genitalia.
But oddest of all, they spent time with each other.
There was a family of four gathered around the dining room table. Tall stacks of manila folders slid down onto heaps of twisted receipts and coffee-stained invoices.
Tax season.
“Honey,” the matriach said, “I really think its best if you let Jordan learn how to use Turbotax for herself. She’s almost done with college and it’s an important skill for an accounting major--”
“SUSAN.” The Patriach barked.
There was a silence. The matriach put her arm defensively around her offspring named Jordan. The latter was looking down at her mobile telephone, probably sending erotic text messages to boys.
The Patriach rattled the keyboard and clickety-clacked the mouse.
Billy the invalid child careened into the room, spreading his arms wide and making airplane noises. Zork liked Billy. He was the only member of the family unit who acted normal.
CRASH!
Billy tripped over the laptop’s cord. The patriach watched in horror as his MacBook Pro (Brought to you by our Lord and Saviour Steve Jobs) flew across the room like an airplane piloted by a donkey.
CRASH PART DEUX!
The MacBook Pro (with 11.7” retina display) smashedy-smashed into the carpet. The screen showed a checkerboard of a 16-bit color palette, then went dark.
The Patriach let out a frustrated noise and then punched himself in the thigh. He had been aiming for his own dick, to punish himself for fathering a special needs child. But the ever-present human instinct to protect one’s genitals had taken over. And then the Patriach fell into a bottomless abyss of shame and guilt. How could he think such thoughts about his own flesh and blood? His only son. He loved Billy. More than anything. The laptop was nothing. Family was everything.
*I’m a horrible human being* he thought to himself as he said, “Are you okay Billy?”
Billy was laying on the ground. He appeared not to notice what had happened with the computer. He appeared to be comfortable. He continued making airplane noises.
The Patriarch knelt down and patted Billy on the shoulder.
“Are you okay buddy?” the Patriach asked, “Big guy?”
The airplane noises got louder.
The Matriach sighed and helped Billy up.
“Come on Billy,” The Matriach said, “It’s time to go play in your room.”
Billy gave her a magnificent grin, and then flew off to his room, narrowly dodging furniture and buzzing like a very excited airplane. The Patriach smiled sadly as he watched his son go.
Jordan picked up the MacBook Pro and tested some buttons. It flickered back to life. The Patriach thanked her and navigated back to Turbotax.
Watching through his camera feed, Zork scribbled excitedly onto his notebook. Such strange behavior! These Roompdeedoops were clearly unhappy together, yet they remained in the same room!
“What in damnation!?” The Patriach thundered, his face reddening,“Where’s my fucking gosh-darn file?”
The Matriach gasped. “Honey,” she admonished, “In front of Jordan?”
Little did the Matriach know, Jordan was not offended by these words. In fact, Jordan herself often said such words while pressing her genitals against those of various players on her university’s basketball team.
The Patriach gave a concerned look towards Jordan. He’d messed up again. Swearing in front of his daughter! How could he?? He felt like a terrible father. He took a breath. “There’s no... dag-nabbity file,” he said.
“You have to start over?” the Matriach asked.
The Patriach stared silently at his screen.
“That’s not so bad...” the Matriach said, “At least now you can show Jordan how to do it from the beginning.”
The Patriach glared at the Matriach. He bit back the horrible, awful, no-no words that he wanted to say. He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to show Jordan how to do it. He barely knew how to file taxes himself. It was hard enough already and he didn’t want to fuck things up in front of his daughter.
But the Matriach was right. Jordan did need to learn. Maybe this could be his chance to redeem himself as a father. He might make mistakes. Jordan might think a little less of him if she saw him floundering about, doing things wrong. But he did know *some* things about Turbotax. He could at least teach her the basics.
That’s what being a parent is all about, he told himself. It’s not about looking good in front of your kids. It’s about helping them, even if you look like an idiot. You gotta put them first.
“Okay,” the father said. “Come over here Jordan, let’s do the taxes together.” He patted the chair next to him. Jordan sat down and continued to stare at her mobile phone.
They commenced doing the taxes.
Bored, Zork flipped over to a different camera feed. He saw Billy, sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by an array of marbles, toy blocks, and pillows.
Billy smiled at a large blue marble. He began talking to it.
Zork sighed. Finally some normal behavior. He recorded the video timestamp in his datalog.
Billy held up a green rectangular block. He introduced it to the blue marble. They exchanged pleasantries. Billy became deeply involved in a conversation with the green rectangular block. He nodded thoughtfully at the green block and gave it an encouraging pat on the back. The blue marble rolled over to reassure the green block. Billy patted the green block again. He looked concerned. He held his ear out to the block. Billy smiled weakly at the green block and nodded. He picked it up and carried to his bed. He propped it lightly on his pillow, and tucked its lower half under his blanket. He kissed the green block goodnight and then turned off the lights of his room.
Zork sighed. Billy was his favorite subject. The other Roompdeedoops were too much to handle sometimes. Why did they act they way they did?
Zork switched back to the camera feed in the dining room.
The Patriach was slamming the laptop shut and shouting at the Matriach.
“...and it’s only the ninth and I know how to file for an extension anyway, so I don’t see why--” The Patriach shouted.
“Patrick!” The Matriach sobbed. “This is terrible, simply terrible! When did we become like this?”
The Patriach deflated.
Jordan continued staring at her phone.
There was a silence. Zork felt something. An impulse. He couldn’t deny it. He had grown to... He had grown to care for Billy. He wanted Billy’s family to be happy. He wanted to share the wisdom of his species with the Roompdeedoops.
Zork flicked on his microphone.
“Ahem,” his voice broadcast through the chandelier in the dining room.
The three Roompdeedoops relaxed.
“Did you hear something?” the Patriach asked.
“Ahem,” Zork said again, more forcefully.
“Yes dear,” the Matriach said, “I did hear something. Do you think maybe the television...?”
“Maybe the microwave...?” Jordan said, briefly looking up from her phone.
“I am not the television,” Zork said, “Nor the microwave. And I’m not your genitals either.”
The Roompdeedoops looked dumbfounded.
“What is this?” the Patriach said, astonished.
“I come from another planet,” Zork said, “And first, I’d just like to say that you have made some very nice progress here, technologically speaking. Back home, everyone’s very impressed with your electrical tin openers. They’re quite the rage on the homeworld. We copied the design, hope you don’t mind.”
| 2015-04-09T15:20:46 | 2015-04-09T13:58:54 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] You picked up a dozen eggs at the farmer's market but when it came time to cook breakfast in the morning you find your fridge contained zero eggs and a dozen tiny dragons.
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When I noticed the tiny dragons, I knew what this meant, and had to act on it. I went to the carpenter with a drawing I kept since childhood that was an image of my plans, and one of the dragons for size. Then I went to the blacksmith with the same image and dragon, which I decided to name Shawn. There he did a few tests to see if they actually could grab things, and apparently these ones can. Lucky me.
After my visits, the carpenter and blacksmith begun their work, and after a week, it was ready. Now to buy some baby dragon friendly drinks.
Now, I have tiny little dragons, in tiny little wagons, drinking juice from tiny little flagons
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I had just put on *Gonna Fly Now* from Rocky I when I opened the door of my fridge to find a dozen baby dragons. They were live and scaly and while they smelled of brimestone and week-jarred farts the scent was not that of rotten eggs. It was the smell of dragons. Tiny ones.
"Critters!" cried my roommate, and he held his head in his hands screaming. Ever since we were runts he'd been telling me that the 1986 comedy-horror flick Critters was nigh prophetic. He'd been preparing ever since. "Ebert gave it two thumbs up," he repeatedly told me. When I told him that was out of *five*, he said, "no, a man's only got two thumbs to give." So I lost that argument.
"They're obviously dragons, Derek!" I corrected him, but he just shook his head violently. The highly-inspiring soundtrack kept running in the background. "They're baby dragons!"
In the back of my mind I remembered the dozen-egg shake I was about to prepare. The blender sat on the kitchen table, a dominating presence ever since I bought it five years ago. Today was the day I'd finally crack open some eggs and run laps around the neighborhood in my sweats. But that wasn't about to happen. Not today.
"We've got to kill those furry critters," cried Derek, clutching a broom close to his chest.
"They've got *scales*, Derek. They're not furry. Not at all."
"We've got to stop them before they lay their eggs."
Eggs. They were supposed to *be* eggs.
I had gone to the farmer's market because I had been walking by the side of the road and suddenly got the impulse to put a straw in my mouth. It fit perfectly. And I didn't mind the taste either. So I figured, hey, maybe I'm meant to be a farmer? You never know until you try. I might've been a damn good one at that as well. So I bolted for the farmer's market to see whether I'd fit right in, as I suspected I would.
Most of them were hardy, old-fashioned folks. My leather jacket stood out among all that denim. So I was happy when I stopped another leather aficionado. "That's some fine Italian," I told him.
"What?" he said.
"The jacket," I said, and I pointed to it as well.
"Oh, this ..." said the guy. "I got it in Dallas, actually."
I howled with laughter and the straw fell from my mouth. That was when I thought, hey, maybe that's an omen? Maybe I'm not meant to be a farmer after all? But then the guy motioned for me to come closer. "I got some *eggs*," he said in a hushed tone.
Before that moment, I had forgotten all about my blender. But that key phrase brought it all back. Eggs. Oh yeah. I'd been meaning to have a jog around the neighborhood. I'd been thinking about that for years. So I said, "I'll take them," and the guy had a carton of them under his leather jacket, and I remember thinking that this guy's one badass farmer. Likely, it was black market eggs. So I paid him in a hurry and I sprinted home, but only for a minute or so because I remembered I would be running later so it didn't make sense to exhaust myself already.
"Critters don't have to be furry. Critters can be scaly."
Derek still held his broom tight, but he had taken a few steps back and he was now hugging the wall. "They're dragons!" I shouted, and I wrestled the broom out of his hands.
I helped him back up and we carefully moved closer to the fridge. "Those are some ugly critters," said Derek.
Suddenly, they all leapt from the carton and gathered around my legs. "H-Hey!" I said. Derek rushed to get his broom, then he raced out the front door, still holding it.
The baby dragons chirped and I realized they were hungry. They had imprinted on me. Just like that. I was now their dragon mother. "I am become Khaleesi," I said, and they chirped in unison.
I put on my leather jacket and I raced outside with the little things in hot pursuit. People dropped their grocery bags watching me run around with my dragons. I swerved like the wind and did some flips. Almost stepped on one. "I'm going to call you Smeagol," I said. "Like the dragon in The Hobbit."
We raced to the farmer's market. As a single mom, a single dragon mom, I had to take care of these little critters. Well, dragons. And what do they eat? There's only one way to find out: let them try everything all at once.
It seemed like such a fine idea, but it turned out to be pandemonium. Those denim-clad salt-of-the-earth folks ran around like chickens and there were chickens running around as well. And it seemed the dragons had the taste for them. One of them even got a small Zippo-sized flame going. "Great stuff, Smeagol," I said. I had decided I would call them all Smeagol because I couldn't really tell them apart.
Next thing, my leather brother runs into a celery stand, crashes the whole thing. "T-They *hatched*?" he asked me.
"Well, yeah," I said. "Hey! You scammed me on those eggs."
Then I got nervous, because those were after all black market eggs. I could feel the cold stare of the farmers on my back. But when I looked around I could only see a pack of dogs descending with a fury upon my precious little babies. "Hey!" I cried. "Get lost! I am the breaker of chains!" When a group of farmers approached us as well with pitchforks, I changed my tune. "I'm uh, the breaker of *chain stores*. Because I support small business. And farmers."
They wouldn't have any of it, and just as I thought all hope was lost, he made his appearance.
"These are *our* critters," said Derek. He held his broom up high and for some reason the farmers stepped back.
One of them, however, didn't mind being broomed apparently and he stepped right up, and he held his big old boot over the head of Smeagol. "No!" I cried.
"Well, we don't want any of yer critters here," he said.
"Wait!" cried Derek. The farmer gave pause. "Do you really want to be known around here as a man putting his foot on the scales?"
The man stopped, in shock, and we gathered up all the baby dragons and ran all the way back to our apartment. Safe and sound at home, my stomach groaned all of a sudden. The dragons chirped as well, and they sounded unhappy. I don't think they managed to catch a single chicken. Just then there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and there he was. My leather brother.
"H-Hi," he said. "I bought those dragon eggs on Craigslist and thought they were a scam when they arrived in a normal-looking carton. I decided to just sell them at the market, because I never thought they'd hatch into real dragons."
"Hmph," I said. "Well, you're still a scammer, even if you thought you got scammed yourself. Don't perpetuate the cycle. Break the cycle. Break the *chains*."
"Wow," said the guy. "That's powerful. Is that from a movie?"
"N-No," I said.
"Well, I brought you these." The guy opened his leather jacket to reveal another carton. Only this time, it was actual eggs. From chickens, not dragons.
We made omelets, and even the baby dragons liked them. Derek convinced us all to watch Critters, again, and it was fun.
There would always be another day to drink a dozen eggs and take laps around the neighborhood.
/r/Hemingbird
| 2022-02-08T03:49:03 | 2022-02-07T22:59:19 | 65 | 39 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
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You sit in your cell, awaiting the return of the guard with your last meal. Or, you hope, the guard will return empty handed and you will be set free. At the end of the hall, you hear the distinctive sound of the door unlocking, and the footsteps of someone approaching. Only one set, so no priest. A good sign.
The guard arrives in front of your cell, staring at you through the bars for a moment.
"Would you have actually eaten it?" He asks.
"Of course, why else would I have requested it?"
"You would have straight up eaten a copy of Half-life 3?" He asks, unlocking the door to your cell.
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It's a normal tradition, that prisoners can ask for anything. Anything at all, for their last meal. Apple pie that you get to make yourself, with chocolate-milk in a carton, like your mom used to make back when you were an innocent kid. A plain cheeseburger. Delicious ribs. A few people are aware that you can ask for anything. No matter what. A rock. The skull of a bishop. The scripture of Gautama Buddha written on a perfect oak leaf. Whatever you like, you can ask for. No matter how ridiculous, rare, and impossible to find. And technically, if they can't find it, can't provide you with your last and final meal, then you can't be executed. You're set free, though usually not in a manner that allows you to get back to normality. They have to obey the word of that ancient ritual's laws, not the spirit. If you're a particularly vile person, you might get set free on a rowboat in the middle of the Indian ocean, or on a deserted island. This isn't exactly a thing that's particularly nice of the people in charge to do, but they don't want the people on Death Row to go properly free.
Not that it actually mattered. Nobody has ever been disappointed by the people in charge of the last meal. Well, in terms of them not finding the meal in question. Some might have been disappointed by having to get executed, even after they came up with a particularly difficult and absurd thing to ask for. Jabberwocky jerky. Cthulhu-calamari. The actual flesh and blood of Jesus. Fruits from alien worlds. The concept of forgiveness made into a delicious yogurt. The idea of the sport of football condensed into a sportsdrink. KFC-style fried angel wings. A rainbow-icecream with colours that cannot exist in our universe, such as octarine or irrigo. Wine from the sloping hills of Perdition in Hell, where Lucifer has his vineyards. It's always been found, and cooked to perfection. Any man who goes to his death does so with a belly full of his last request, and can thus not cast a curse against his jailors and their masters. Nobody wants death-curses from those who are rightfully executed. And they definitely don't want them from those who were executed wrongfully, for those are a hundredfold more powerful than the curses of the guilty. Of course, as all men who have passed towards the guillotine or the noose, the chair or the firing squad, have been fed to their last request, they can not curse their executioners.
But today, it is a different day. In the cell awaiting his final meal sits a man. He is thin and tall. The olive skin on his hands is bruised and bloody. He did not move to this room without a fight. He has a black ring around his eye from a punch one the guards gave him. He does not look repentant for his crimes. He does not look like he has accepted his fate. He does not carry the face of the innocent man that has given into despair, or the guilty man who looks forward to the forgiveness of his saviour. His fingers are drumming on the table. The plate in front of him is empty and bare. From the distant kitchens comes weeping and screaming. For the first time since they started doing this back in the Roman empire, for the first time in two millennium, they cannot bring the man-to-be-executed his final meal. There is no way that they can get what he asked for. There is no method in any of their ancient gastronomic sorcery and strange dimensional abilities that can bring him what he demands. The guards beg him to ask for something different. They weep as the tall man, his eyes burning with the rage of righteousness, restates his demand. Or that they let him go. The sorcerer-chefs come to him, pleading for him to pick anything else. The prisoner spits in the head sorcerer-chef's face. Either they kill him without fulfilling his final request, letting his fury tear the heavens asunder in a curse which is a thousand-fold the horror that the curse of an innocent man could ever release. Or they let him go.
They cannot bring his request to him. The guards collapse and fall down to the floor, leaving only the warden to release him. The other prisoners turn from the tall man in fear as he pass them in their cells on death row. The normal prisoners kneel before him as the clouds unleash a storm upon the prison. He retrieves his meagre personal belongings, he says not a word, he answers not the warden's babbling words, rapidly turning into a madness from which there is no escape. He walks through the yard, where each of his footsteps is announced by the loud strikes of thunder from a black sky. The man who is free, opens his mouth, and sings an ancient tune. He is free, against the odds he is unleashed upon the world. He is not caged anymore. He asked for the heart of the man who did the crime he was in for. The freed prisoner knew well that they could not rip that nightmare organ from its bone-cage. He knew well that by even accepting the existence of such an organ, was proof of his innocence. They could not, knowing he was innocent, kill him. Even if they had found some method of extracting that putrid thing from the chest of that blemish upon existence. Even if they had succeeded, he would have been freed, and he would have had his vengeance.
His justice.
But as Heaven itself buckles and bends, the freed prisoner, who has lost everything to an enemy more powerful than anything in creation, is free to continue on his quest. His enemy slew the freed man's wife. Burned the freed man's lands. Took the freed man's children. The freed man was blamed for it all. For the horrors done, when he had been nothing but kind, just, and loyal. He was cast into jail on false charges, and sent to die for the opportunity of his enemy to see him beg, pray, whimper and weep. When he had done nothing wrong, done nothing to offend his enemy. He had even admired, worshipped, this enemy before everything he had was cruelly taken from him. As a joke. Or a test. But he did not do as was demanded. He did not bow down to his enemy. He did not pray. And having seen what his enemy is, he never will again.
His enemy is a monster, who dares to call himself the king-of-kings. The highest upon high. The freed man's name was even taken from him. Behind him, the walls of the prison cracks. The bricks fall down and the concrete breaks down. The prisoners flee, not for the sake of their freedom, but out of fear. The Freed Man is met by his accomplishes, outside the ruins of the prison. They have no names either. Their names have been taken. Their loved ones slain, stolen, or otherwise ruined, by the machinations of an enemy that is more powerful than any infernal or terrestrial force. One is the Prince of Maybe, one is the Lady in Scarlet. Another is named the Dragon of Sunken Mu, one is the Harbinger-Bird. All of them are angry, powerful, out-of-step with reality. Creatures who no longer bow or allow themselves to be under the rule of the judgment of Heaven. They are a band of five, who stand against the puppetmaster, the demiurge who plays with the fates of men like toys. Toys that the enemy so enjoy breaking. They are nameless, formless, and terrible to behold. The failure of the prisons to execute the Freed Man, was the last straw. The last attempt to do their plan, their hunger for vengeance, without setting Heaven ablaze, and uprooting Hell.
The Earth shifts underneath the five of them led by the Freed Man, as they begin their assault upon Paradise, to bring justice or vengeance to the enemy. The Freed Man is coming to reclaim his family. To avenge his wife. And once more take the name his father gave him; so that he shall once more wear the face and name of Job.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-07-17T16:30:58 | 2022-07-17T15:39:02 | 1,737 | 331 |
[WP] You are part of a powerful order of mages. Some control fire, others, water. You however... Have the power of bread. That's right, you're a bread mage. Tell me about your day.
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The other mages always looked down upon me. They wielded the primordial forces, while all I could do was summon bread. They laughed and belittled me.
They were fools.
My magical bread can sustain a man without any other food, he is always satisfied with the taste and filled for a day with one loaf, all he has need of is water.
The others were lacking in vision. So they could wreak destruction around them. Their pettiness and powermongering did untold damage. It seemed no one could challenge their whims. The people were divided into castes, with the majority of the ungifted viewed as little more than serfs and treated as such or worse, while the mages were beyond justice.
The lives of the have-nots were miserable. The people starved. The masses. The **vast** masses.
Fools they were, every last one of them, and through their short-shortsightedness they handed me the path to ultimate victory.
I fed the people. I picked them up when the other mages put them down. The people loved me, revered me as a holy man. They obeyed without question, because they believed in me.
They were the finest weapon I ever could have wielded.
Fire. Water. What are these in the face of one hundred thousand men and women willing to die, eager instruments of my will.
My army could never overextend. I needed no supply lines, no logistics. My reach, without limit.
The mage towers fell before me. Cities rose up at my command.
The mages are no more. Now, I am the only one left, the unquestioned ruler, the one who fed the people.
The Breadmage.
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The second time the guard hit me, I wasn't able to hide my pain - and crumpled to the floor. I lie coughing and retching, he sneers; the face of a spoiled child holding an expensive toy, broken for the sake of breaking. Roughly, I am lifted up, and placed unceremoniously back into the chair. My habit is mussed and torn, stained crimson and singe from the night before. The room I can see about me (I am not able to turn my head much at the moment) is dark, and likely was once a dungeon, based on the shackles on the wall, and what would appear to be a rack in the corner. The walls are dripping with (what I hope) is water, and a strange fungus I am not familiar with grows between the cracks of poorly cut and irregular stones. I See some interesting qualities to it, something I can perhaps use in my craft, and create a fine -
The guard strikes me again, this time a crooked shot to the gut. I am winded, and he gives a victorious, shit-eating smile to me. Rising Gods, his breath is terrible. He looks around, as though wanting to share his "victory" with others, and seems almost disappointed when he recalls he is interrogating me on his own.
Finally, he deigns to speak.
"So", says he, with a grating voice (one I would have expected from the works of a drunken golemancer), "I take it you know why you are here, my friend? Away from your precious little order, and all your little toys?" He seems to enjoy himself too much, having deluded himself into thinking that punching around overweight mages is anything more than a job given to imbeciles.
I smile. "I can't imagine what you mean, or what toys you could be speaking of.” I mean to chuckle a bit, but grimace with the growing pain that brings. “Indeed, I can’t imagine what you have to accomplish by bringing me here. Perhaps you simply to punch fat, old, men? I can easily arrange that for you, I know several men who would give anything –“
Once more, I am struck, though I expected it this time. Still, it hurts a fair bit, and I can’t help but feel my age.
He is, quite obviously from his face (he should probably see a corpomancer about that blood pressure; unhealthy, that is) and roars at me “I know what you did! You and all your fucking little order! I order you to confess! I COMMAND you to confess!” I pause for a moment. “I can’t imagine what you might mean,” say I, “The Order has kept well its agreements and treaties with your kingdom, and we’ve not been violent at all for at least a hundred years.”
Evidently, that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He screams oaths and curses, and barrels into me. I cringe, not expecting to be as jovial after this assault, and likely not as conscious, when the doors smashes open, and another guard – a captain, by the red sigil on his cloak, and the fineness of his lorica. He is not pleased, a glare that would chill the dead themselves on his face, which bores its way through the skull of my assailant just quickly enough to freeze him. Alas, his forward momentum was too much for his feeble attempts at stopping, and he crashed into me – or rather, onto my fist, which I held in front of me. A shame.
The captain, a little happier with the problem in the room sleeping dreamlessly on the floor, turns to me, and speaks. “I am sorry about that,” he begins, “but they give us naught but fools and idiots for interrogations, to, ah, “suggest” “– he holds up a hand and makes a sarcastic little gesture – “to our prisoners that we mean business.” A crude method, but one I can understand. The more frightening mages are used in my own order for this very purpose.
The captain would seem to be more prepared that the guard (sleeping the sleep of the well-bruised) was, and brings out a sheet of paper. “Panemar Férmen, you are hear on account of having witnessed, and likely being involved with some unsavory events in the house of Viceroy Astar, several days prior. Can you tell me what you believe happened that night?” I begin, pleased with this more pleasant fellow, and the calmer pace of the questioning. “Well, the good Viceroy requested several mages, for the purposes of entertaining and keeping his guests attentive. My memory is not what it was, but I seem to recall myself, another senior mage, and several apprentices were brought forth to work for him.” The captain jots that down, surprisingly adept at writing in the low light. He asks, “And what were the talents of the mages present?” I pause. The common man, and more oft than not the common soldier doesn’t know much about magic, and I am surprised he knows of the Talent – that each mage, while capable of anything, has one thing that excel at.
“Well,” I begin, “I believe two of the apprentices were fire mages, brought for entertainment, no doubt. I know that one was a sculpting talent, as I had to chastise him for a rather rude sculpture. The other mage was a lightbender, and made quite a show with the apprentices.” More writing on the board. The captain looks up, and prompts, “What of yourself? What is your skill?” I sigh. “I am relatively week in talent, and was brought the help in the kitchens. I am able to transmute objects, work upon others, and See items that would make for fine breads.” The captain seems perplexed. “What? You create bread? That seems…” “Disappointing? Specific? Useless?” He pauses. “…Not so much useless, but… yes.” He jots a final point on his paper, and walks out of the room. I lay back a bit, and nod off for a while.
Sometime later, the captain returns. I wake with a start, and see the room quite unchanged. The guard is still on the floor, though he has shifted a bit, and looks a little doughy. The captain clears his throat – a relatively weak little cough – and says “You are free to go. None of the wounds on Viceroy match with the Talents of the other mages with you, which the other suspects have corroborated.” He helps me up, and opens the door for me. “Wait,” I say. I pick up a small rock, and whisper some words over it. It steams and cracks, and is soon a lovely loaf of rye, which I give to the captain. His eyes wide, he accepts it – though an odd power, the transformation, full of crackling and heat and steam, is impressive. I say to him, “This is for thanks of stopping that guard. Though I am hurt, and I feel as though I should not have been held here by him, I imagine this is no fault of your own.” The captain is at a loss for words, and before he can think of something to say, I am out the door.
Later, on the carriage back to the Studium, I am a hero in the apprentice’s eyes. It would seem that I am the worse for wear, but I knocked a guard out (I of course left out that the captain created the situation to do so, I claim poetic license) and, in the way of the young, am held in high regard for having so advanced over an authority. They are mirthful, and the other mage reels them in, saying that I should be left alone to sleep, or that I was old and tired. Truthfully, I was both of these things, but more I wanted to rest off my wounds than anything else.
Then, one of the apprentices, the sculptor, gets to the heart of the matter. “But… how did it happen?” He says. “We were paid to kill the Viceroy, and end his corruption, but who here did it? The guard told me that his bones were gone, but I don’t know that magic.” The other apprentices are equally confused, as they do not have that power either. Even the other mage voices his concerns, bringing up the question as well. I smile. “I did it,” I say. The others turn to me, incredulously. “It is true, my power is one of food, and not useful in combat. With preparation, however, I can perform a quite potent magic that is very difficult to guard against or detect.” All are silent. After a moment, the sculptor asks, “But… what did you do? What power could you possibly have?” Once more, I smile. “I do as the song said. You know the one, with the giant and the beanstalk?” This time the other mage chimes in. “I know of this tale, but what do you mean? I fail to see how it applies.” My smile grows a little sharper, and I explain.
“I am as the giant. I grind their bones to make my bread.”
| 2014-10-09T18:25:01 | 2014-10-09T15:58:36 | 45 | 33 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
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I glanced at my watch. Robbie is late again. We've been together for 3 years and he's always been late. As I toss my cigarette butt out the window of my car, I think about our first date. He was 30 minutes late picking me up for the movie. I probably should have ended it after that first night but I didn't.
He was late the night he was supposed to pick me up for our prom. Almost an hour. I had to redo my make up twice from the tears. I thought he wasn't coming but then he showed up, flowers in hand, looking more handsome than I'd ever seen him.
For years I joked that if I was ever late, the world would end. Something bad would happen. We would be in a car accident that we would have missed if I was 5 minutes early. But people don't die just because you're late, right?
I don't know why I thought today would be different today. After 20 minutes I hear his truck rumble into the parking lot.
"You ready for this babe?" Robbie asked.
"Yeah. Let's do it." I say and wrap his hand in mine.
Together we walk to the front counter.
"How can I help you?" the lady asks.
"I'm about 10 weeks late on my period and I want to terminate the pregnancy" I tell her.
"Sign here, fill these out and someone will be with you shortly" she said.
I sit and sigh. I look over for comfort from Robbie.
He smiles and says, "Hey, at least this time I wasn't the one who was late" and I know I'm making the right decision.
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When is the right time for two people to decide to start a family? There's no rule or law to dictate what's best for other people, Jeannine thought as she stared at the dull pink double lines on the pregnancy test stick. Sure, maybe she didn't think in her heart it was the right time for her to have a baby, but who was she to make those sorts of decisions? She was no deity, no goddess prone to the knowledge of the world. Maybe there was a reason this was happening now.
Her and John had been struggling lately and it was only getting worse- maybe this was fate's way of bringing them together again. Things had been so good the first two years... She gasped and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand as the tears pooled in her eyes started to spill down as she reminisced. John, always so protective and strong. So what if that protective aura was edged with a taint of jealously, it still made her feel special because he seemed to care so much. It wasn't until later that that protective, jealous concern of his became controlling and abusive, small events escalating over time, like a brick wall being built, each event or suggestion of suppression, each act of control and dominance adding one brick at a time until she was trapped behind a solid wall, nowhere to go.
The tears were like a torrent now, sliding fast down her cheeks, a seemingly endless stream. She slid the palm of her hand to her abdomen and pressed lightly, thinking of what sort of father John would be. It was almost as if she could glimpse two separate futures at that moment- one where John was a caring, proud father, never taking his anger out on the children, instead reserving it all for her, behind closed doors, or one where his abuse pervaded beyond their relationship and spread even to their children, and his need to punish and control was executed anytime they did anything that wasn't up to his standards. It made her gut wrench to realize neither of these potential futures filled her with joy.
And yet still, here she was, pregnant. It was either the universe damning her to hell, or trying to twist this downward spiral of a relationship into something healthy and loving again. Who knows, maybe John would turn around, maybe he would restrain his anger and control issues and become a new man with the looming prospect of fatherhood ahead. Perhaps this new person, this spark of life, this miracle of the universe was going to fix everything, make him see what a valuable person she was, and make him want to love her again, instead of just own her. She decided, since she had no way of knowing the true intentions of the universe, she would take this as a good sign. She wiped her eyes again and took a deep breath, and even smiled as she formulated a plan on how to break the news to John.
Later that week, Jeannine was ready. It was Thursday, her day off, and John was on his way home from work. She spent all day grocery shopping and preparing a gourmet meal- baked salmon with lemon garlic butter, asparagus, and a baked potato. Everything was laid out and on the table, just how John liked it, and she had taken the time between cooking to apply her makeup and do her hair, wearing a modest yet attractive sun dress. She thumbed the pregnancy test in a shallow pocket on the side of the dress idly as she waited for John to arrive. Not shortly after, she heard his car pull into the driveway, the heavy thud of his work boots as they neared the door, and then the jangle of keys followed by the subsequent slam of the door behind him. He twisted the lock on the door before proceeding into the dining room, even drawing the chain into the bolt. Not necessarily an unusual task, but it made Jeannine's throat tighten, the thought of being locked in.
She called out a greeting to him and stepped into the entranceway, leaning in for a kiss, and that was when she knew John was not going to be in a good mood. His eyes were dark, and his frame was tense. He didn't say anything as they shifted into the dining room, seemed not to notice how nice she looked, and the elaborate spread before him did not trigger as significant. He silently began to eat. After several bites, he growled for a beer. Jeannine scampered into the kitchen to get one for him.
As she placed the beer on the table beside his plate, she cleared her throat and removed the pregnancy test from her pocket, and slid it onto the table as well. She stood there, tense, frightened, restrained, fingers nervously clenched, and watched as his eyes drifted to the object. A flare of confusion seemed to spark in the dark pools of his gaze, and for a moment Jeannine was optimistic that the lift of his brow was one reflecting a happy surprise. That optimism vanished as John put down his fork, turned in his chair, and stood before her. His glaring eyes dug into hers.
"This sum joke?" He barked.
Jeannine shook her head and allowed her gaze to drop. John grasped her chin in his fist and made her eyes meet his.
"You cheatin' on me?" He growled.
"N-no, John, no, nothing like that. We... we're going to have a baby," Jeannine quivered, a weak smile daring to flee across her lips.
"These past years we never'd had no baby scare, what is this? You been' whorin' around, now wanna get me all twisted up with sum other man's baby?" The look of disgust on John's face destroyed her inside, and Jeannine wrenched her chin away, planning to flee to the bedroom, but John's thick fist caught her shoulder as she turned and he flung her back around. His other hand met with her cheek in a hard slap. It seemed the dismal futures she had imagined were meant to come true, after all. The tiny being inside of her was not a harbinger of joy and happiness that would change her reality for the better.
-----------------------
The universe... a celestial body of the unknown. Does it have a pattern? Does it have a purpose? Does the roiling chaos of the void have any way to alter the eventual outcomes of itself? Does it correct mistakes, does it cause harm, does it steer life into existence, to create chaos, or does it destroy life and create joy? Of course, none can say...
-----------------------
Two months later, on her day off, Jeannine did not get out of bed. John had left for work hours before. She had chores to do- cleaning, laundry, vacuuming- but instead, she chose to stay in bed, curled up in the sheets, lingering between wakefulness and dreamland, truly resting in neither. There had been a nagging pain in her abdomen that just would not stop. It wasn't until hours later that she realized she was soaking wet. She sat up, thinking she had peed herself, but no, that couldn't be it- her bladder was still full. In fact, she would not have stirred from her sleepless in-between state if she had not had the urge to pee, which she had ignored for so long it felt like her bladder would explode.
That is when she realized the nightgown and the sheets around her were soaked thick with blood.
--------------------------------------
The following week, on her day off, Jeannine waited in bed, tense, while John moved about the house, preparing for his day. She had made him coffee and fried up some eggs, and kissed him goodbye. After that, he usually didn't mind if she went back to bed, as long as the chores and housekeeping was done before he got home, dinner ready on the table.
Finally the door slammed shut, his car engine started, and the house seemed frozen in time. Jeannine wasted no time. She stood, pulled the suitcase from underneath her bed, and began packing, taking only the things she needed, leaving behind anything that would invoke memories of this horrid period of time in her life. Once at the door, she removed the housekeys from her key ring and placed them on the keyholder. Since there would be no returning, there was no reason for her to take them with her. She took one last look around and the smallest fraction of doubt flared in the furthest depths of her mind- a memory of when she had first moved in, how excited her and John were to be living together. How happy they were. But the more she allowed the thought to linger, the more it grew into more memories- how John began to change once she lived with him. Small changes at first, slowly escalating. She pushed these thoughts from her mind, confident again that she was making the right choice.
Jeannine got into her car, suitcase beside her, and started the engine. As she pulled out of the driveway, she felt good. Young woman, attractive, a full tank of gas, a new day, and her whole life ahead of her. She did not want to think about it consciously, but she knew she had that little person who was once inside of her to thank, and she knew, that that unknown person who she would never meet, was indeed a harbinger of joy and happiness in her life, after all.
| 2015-06-03T13:26:32 | 2015-06-03T07:59:09 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Due to a misunderstanding by the divine, hundreds of previously dead great warriors from all periods of history and planets are suddenly materialized in Walhalla, North Dakota.
|
"Oh em gee..."
"Oh my God it is, Jean."
"I... I thought they were joking boss, when they say these... things"
"Vikings, Roman soldiers, Red Indian warriors"
"Yeah, them"
"Don't forget some unidentified non-humans amongst them"
"All of them boss! Ransacking cities one by one! Joking! They must be joking! Until the news show the footage..."
"Indeed Jean. The news said, they all suddenly appear in... Uhh..."
"Walhalla, Boss"
"Walhalla huh? Thank goodness they decided to go northwards and not towards us"
"The border patrols just reconfirmes with us that the borders are safe and the national guard are on their way to secure the borders"
"Ahahaha, better build a wall there instead then"
"El oh el, boss! Now that sounds like a good i...."
*Bzzt bzzt*
*Click*
"Yes?"
"Sir, there's a man here who wants to see you"
"Who is it?"
(Door slowly opening)
"He said his name is Ted the accountant, sir"
|
Captain Zorvalt, commanding officer of a cozy little fleet of spaceships just north-ish of quadrant 631-A, blinked against the sun's rays as he heaved himself to his dapper, green feet.
His webbed hands came away with strands of grass, "Yuck." he said, wiping the green stuff on his trousers.
He inspected his surroundings with a respectable hint of confusion, occasionally locking eyes with some other individual whom seemed equally, if not more, confused than he was.
They were all considerably taller than he was, he swallowed and shrank down, quite literally.
Any person should have a healthy dose of self-confidence, this goes doubly so for Valtians.
As their height is directly linked to the size of their egos, Valtian ships are a friendly place, full of compliments.
Belittlement of a fellow Valtian was frowned up upon (since the person that had been belittled and was doing the frowning usually did this from below knee level).
Though the effect varied from Valtian to Valtian, Zorvalt had always been extremely susceptible to it.
He desperately sought to give himself a pat on the back, "I bet none of these people, unlike *me*, have ever piloted a spaceship before..."
Zorvalt grew back to his full 4 feet.
He took a deep breath and placed his hands in his side.
He tapped his foot in place, then sighed, "Cadet!" he cried.
Clouds split apart and a similarly green alien, caressed by a blue beam of light, was carefully being lowered towards the ground.
Whatever was lowering the Cadet down had miscalculated, the light dropped him about 10 feet from the ground and fizzled out.
"Ack!" cried the cadet, then spat out a mouthful of grass and got to his feet.
The Cadet saluted, "Sir."
Zorvalt didn't look at him, choosing to stare straight ahead, tapping his foot impatiently, "Where are we?"
Sounds beeped from the cadet's wristwatch,"Walhalla, North Dakota, Earth."
Zorvalt nodded in understanding, "Alright," he said, then used his hand to signal at his surroundings, "and what are we doing here?"
"Well," began the Cadet, "The ship warped to this location after it received your cry for assistance. I was released from cryostasis and lowered down."
"So," said Zorvalt, raising an eyebrow, "You're not *my* cadet?"
Cadet swung his head from side to side, "Yes and no," he said, "I am a copy of the late Cadet Dorvalt, one of thousands."
Zorvalt's jaw dropped, "Cadet Dorvalt died?"
"Oh, yes," said the Cadet, leafing through digital pages emitted by his wristwatch, "In the battle for our home planet, Valtias. Dreadful battle, really."
The projections of the wristwatch grew in size, a gigantic, ghastly being came into view, ancient and terrible, "A devourer targeted our planet and --"
Zorvalt tried waving the projections aside with his hands, this accomplished nothing.
He sighed, "Turn that off, please. There are more pressing matters at hand than history lessons."
"Certainly, Sir," said the Cadet, the projections were drawn back into the watch.
There was a moment of silence, "So, what am I doing here?" asked Zorvalt.
The cadet opened and closed his mouth a few times, then stared at his feet, "I-I... don't know, Sir."
Zorvalt's brow furrowed, "What do you mean, *you don't know*?"
"Yeah, uh, *died*, Sir." replied the Cadet carefully, "Your body turned to dust."
Zorvalt's eyes went wide and he shrank down to the size of a mouse, "I died!?" a tiny voice cried out.
The Cadet threw himself down onto the grass, protocol wouldn't allow for a cadet to stare down on a superior officer, "Though you performed splendidly, Sir!"
Zorvalt grew back to his former size plus an inch or so, "Heh, did I?"
"Oh, yes, Sir," said the Cadet, "Blaze of glory."
"Heh, that goes without saying," said Zorvalt, gaining another feet in height.
More and more creatures began to appear in the fields around them.
Men touting horned helmets, uniformed soldiers, a very confused fish.
Zorvalt's breath caught in his throat when he locked eyes with a being from a nearby quadrant, a reaper man.
Tall and ominous, shaded in darkness, wielding a dark blade that seemingly absorbed all light.
It said something in that unnerving language of theirs, a language composed of dying screams, sounds they copied of their victims as they made no sounds of their own.
A reaper man couldn't even order a burger unless it had killed at least a dozen creatures.
Zorvalt took a slow step back and shrank down in size, "Cadet, what did it say? Translate!"
The Cadet desperately tapped away on the keyboard emitted from his watch, "Uh..."
The reaper man stood in front of Zorvalt, staring down at him with terrible eyes.
"It said, *Help, I can't breathe.*" said the Cadet.
The reaper man keeled over, dead.
Zorvalt eyed his surroundings and kicked it, growing in size as he did, "Heh."
People, creatures and things began to shout.
Some cried out in confusion.
Others raged loudly in anger.
And some wailed in annoyance, asking people to *please* stop shouting.
The fish said nothing, for he had passed away.
It's fishy spirit sighed in annoyance to an experience not entirely unlike a trip in a faulty elevator, up and down, up and down.
It came to blows, because of course it did.
Some fought because the warrior spirit demanded it.
Others fought because... well, what else is there to do in a field?
And some fought because these people *still* had not shut up and that does it.
The fish did not fight, it was dead.
Zorvalt exhaled, standing at a good 7 feet tall.
Kicking the reaper man had proven out to be excellent stress relief.
A story for the grandkids this was.
*Grandpa Zorvalt met a reaper man and kicked it in it's spooky nuts.*
The mere idea of telling such a grand tale added another inch to Zorvalt's height.
A muscled man wielding a large axe rushed at him, his blond hair danced beneath his horned helmet.
Zorvalt intently stared at the man as he closed in on him.
He then held out a hand towards the Cadet, "Blaster, please."
The Cadet provided him with a small raygun, "Here you go, Sir."
"Thank you, Cadet," said Zorvalt, then shot the barbarian, turning him into a pile of dust.
Zorvalt grew 2 feet, standing 9 feet tall and by no means lanky.
He leveled his raygun at another opponent, but something climbed his figure and kicked it out of his hands.
His new enemy hit the ground with no sound at all, her smiling lips visible under her hood.
She lunged at him with daggers, feet poised to turn in response to his movements.
To her suprise, Zorvalt didn't move.
The daggers went deep into his skin.
Zorvalt made use of the momentary confusion and grasped her head, crushing it.
He grew again, his body expelling the daggers in his arm, wounds closing.
14 feet tall, body brimming with power.
Half an hour passed, in a field of fallen enemies stood a gigantic, alien figure.
It crushed a rockbeast from quadrant 231-Z between it's massive, webbed hands.
A wave of his hand brought forth gusts that swept away structures.
Known in his time as one of the universe's greatest calamities.
Hero of the long-dead Valtian empire, risen again.
Zorvalt the Grower, the man that brought down a devourer.
| 2017-04-28T12:49:30 | 2017-04-28T11:00:42 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] The superhero stared at the supervillain. "I need your help...they have my daughter."
|
“I need your help… they have my daughter.”
The thing in the cell chuckled, looming over the man in the mask as it growled out its reply:
“Why would I help you? I would do the same if I wasn’t in here.”
Its body was covered in patches of fur and scaled, face disfigured into something like a snout, teeth elongated, sharpened and muscle bulged beneath the hide all over its body. Even though the bars holding it in were reinforced, The Beast could bend them with ease. It had before. It would again. But not yet; it had just been caught by the man in the mask, and the rules were clear.
“Just out of curiosity, what have they done with her? Strapped her to a giant wolf? Put her in the talons of an enormous eagle that flies around the city? Or something a little more oldschool, put her on a train rigged with explosives? Tied her to the tallest building in the city?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You have to know, those are the rules. Who is it anyway? The Mechanic? Ichabod? The Shadow Crew?”
“They won’t tell me who they are or where she is. They just call anonymously and demand money or say they will shoot her. I was able to catch some of them yesterday. They don’t wear masks, they don’t have identities, and they use guns! And they actually shoot people! They kill them! They killed four police officers breaking their friends out of jail, the day after I put them in!”
The man in the mask was in a full panic for the first time since The Beast had met him.
The Beast began pacing back and forth in his cell, muttering to himself, “This isn’t right, this ignores all the rules! How can they do this? Breaking out so quickly…and asking for money. Alright, I’ll help you. This city deserves proper villains, not…THIS!”
|
“Ten minutes, Mr. Roth, and please - I don’t know why you requested to talk to Turner, but if the command let you, I’m not gonna question it. But! We care for him quite a bit. For his state of mind. Don’t fuck it up”.
Ed Roth, better known as Strongarm in the United Kingdom, watched the teleporter chick vanish out of sight as the door to Desolator’s quarters closed. He took in the surroundings - a small, no bigger than a wardrobe in some houses Roth had been to, rooom with a single bunk bed; a beat-up ottoman with books on engineering piled high; a flip-out table screwed to the wall. Spartan, dim. Little personal touch, if any.
Then, he looked to face his vis-a-vis. Richard Turner, or how the world had known him at one point, Desolator, slightly bounced on the bunk, a curious - but calm - eagerness written all his face. Well, the parts of his face that weren’t covered in bandages. On the right side of it, the healing balm patches ran down his neck, disappearing in an oversized t-shirt. Forehead and left temple were wrapped up too, letting tufts of short, dirty-blond hair stick out between the cloth.
But the eye, the one eye that wasn’t covered up, looked at Roth with an expecting dull-green friendliness.
Strongarm sat down on the tiny wire chair opposite to the bunk. He didn’t know what he had expected... Something horrible? A sense of overwhelming, dreadful power that would nearly floor him? There was nothing of it. Nothing of the horror Roth had seen on video. Desolator didn’t look like a monster now. Nor did he appear to be a prisoner - not that an environment like this could contain him. He looked like a patient, so Roth cleared his throat.
“Hi. I... My name’s Strongarm. Well, not my real name, that’s what they call me back home, because I - I’m Able. Ed Roth.”
Not the best start.
“You sound funny, Ed. What’s that accent?”
“I-uh. Oh. I’m British.”
Desolator chuckled.
“Right! Thought so”, the man picked at his nose. “Why are your here, Ed? Can I call you Ed? I’m Rick by the way. I don’t exactly get visitors. Not that someone prohibits it, no. It’s just that... I don’t think anyone wants to see me.”
At that, Desolator’s face slightly darkened, and Roth hurried to explain himself further.
“I’m from the UK’s Alliance branch, in fact. Um. I thought that maybe, maybe you’d help me with my problem?”
The question seemed to have genuinely shocked the other man, right to making him stop his slow bouncing and sit straight, suddenly tense. Desolator craned his neck, staring at Roth inquisitively, as if trying to read something on his face, then shook his head in disbelief.
“Me? Help you, Ed? How exactly, how-...”
Strongarm was ready for the question. All of his pre-planned speech, inhibited by fear and the lack of time, spilled forward in a hurried jumble as he struggled to explain.
“They got my daughter, you see. They - the British government, of course, the Counter-Ability Forces. Oh they don’t care that I’m an official Alliance member, I told them that they can’t have her for research, but they took her anyway, by force! My daughter! After all I did to keep their cities safe! I know where they keep her and I know how to get to her, but I just don’t have the power for it, no, none of it. The Alliance refuses to do something about it aside from writing useless petitions, because they can’t, I know, I know - they can’t oppose the government, even black op shit as the CAF. But you, you can get there, you can break through, and help me save her. I’ve just nowhere else to go, to do. End of the, uh, rope.”
“Break through?”
“Yeah. With your telekinesis.”
Desolator grimaced in contemplation, and with sick fascination Roth saw the burn scars squirm under the bandages. “*Why don’t they have better security measures here? Are they even possible, these measures, with him?*”, Strongarm thought, suddenly acutely aware that he was in a tight, confined space with someone of Desolator’s power.
“Look, I don’t know what ideas you have about me and this place, *my place* in er, this place, but...”
“Weren’t you the most reknown vault-breaker?” Roth asked and bit his tongue. “The world’s most powerful telekinetik?”
“Really? And do you know what *else* that title entails, Mr. Tea’n’Crumpets, sir?”
In a flash, Desolator was to his feet, canted to the side because of a cast on his leg. Strongarm reeled back, waiting for the whole room to just explode in a wave of telekinetic fury, but not a single speck of dust moved. He just found himself face to face with a very angry man as telekinetik grit his teeth and loomed over him, speaking loudly, spraying saliva in a rant.
“Just three months ago I wake up from a coma to people pushing guns to my head, screaming that if I much as blink, they’ll end me. I also learn that for the last two years I was running around the US wreaking havoc like a fucking comicbook supervillain. I learn that the state of my body is”, Desolator pointed to the sling on his arm and the bandages. “Is because to stop me when I was literally bringing down skyscrapers and murdering people by the dozen, I had a burning schoolbus dropped on my head.”
He took a deep, sucking breath. There was nothing left of that earlier eager posture he had - now, the pain that the telekinetik must’ve been suffering from his burns was spilled all over his narrow features, but Roth felt it wasn’t just physical. Not at all.
“I also learn that while I was in a coma, there was *national debate* on whether to execute me before I come back into consciousness. That people attempted to kill me in the hospital in revenge for what I’ve done. That families were ruined irrevocably. That there is now a Plaza Massacre PTSD syndrome like there was a 9/11 one. Because of me”, he turned back to Roth. “And you ask me, a person who doesn’t even remember being such a subhuman piece of shit, to help you break in a government facility?”
“I didn’t know... I mean, I didn’t know all of that, I-”
“They don’t even let me levitate a goddamn *spoon* in the fear that I might get an idea to push it through someone’s eyeball. Like if I grab a straw, the whole haystack of shit will come tumbling down”, Turner hissed. “And I don’t want to either, because fuck - maybe I’d like it? I make myself sick, Mr. British Superhero. Don’t you?”.
Slowly, obviously disturbed by the proposed ideas and pain in his broken leg, Desolator lowered himself back on the bunk. His gaunt face drooped, ashy and wax-like in the yellowed light.
“Sounds like saving your daughter is tied to hurting other people. I understand, from what I know, I’ve been very proficient at that. I saw a video of myself extracting ribs out of a police officer - the jury in Washington made me watch it even after I spewed all over my uniform. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. Me and that person, which I was.”
He shrugged and rubbed at his chest.
“They allowed me to live, and I’m grateful for that. Maybe I can fix something, in time, you know? But no, not by hurting others. You’ll have to do that yourself.”
Roth lowered his eyes. He thought of Emma, of needles and solutions and blades and vices and her thin arms, feeling such a deep ache that on some level, he could see himself driven to such atrocities that Desolator had committed. For her sake, of course. Only for that.
“I understand. I just”, Strongarm smiled sadly and rubbed at his eyes. “I had to try. Desperation, it makes you dumb. Makes you ask murderers and terrorists for help. Yep, that’s how desperate I am. And... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know where I was going through with it all.”
He got up, preparing to walk out, and then turned back.
“Why did you do it? Dallas, I mean. Were you trying to save someone, someone dear? Because if that’s the case...”
“I don’t remember.”
“Oh.”
***
Little did Edward Roth know that Turner was lying. As he was sleeping on the flight over Pacific, the man once known as Desolator set down to study a woodworking book, but dropped it due to a lack of focus.
A fist hit the flip-out table, leaving a dent in the plasticized surface. Desolator could remember it all clear enough. He could remember that no loved one, no peril of a significant other had made him commit one of the worst mass slaughters in history.
That he was saving no-one.
And he envied Strongarm immensely.
| 2017-12-17T12:18:41 | 2017-12-17T12:16:14 | 69 | 10 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
|
God looked at his species and giggled. His people were woefully behind. They still only had basic nuclear power technology the little idiots used it to make a bomb! A bomb of all things. It was just too funny. The only thing they could do with fusion was to make yet another bomb. Of course they would do that. They did love their bombs. Somehow they managed to get basic spaceflight but all they really did with it was to put a person or two on the moon because of a political footrace. They did put satellites in orbit around their single planet so there was that at least. One or two were telescopes but that didn’t amount to much. Maybe they will see the invasion fleets before they hit. He couldn’t wait to see their reaction when they do. He hoped that they wouldn’t completely destroy their environment or otherwise wipe themselves out before that happens. It would disappoint everyone.
He looked again. They had actually managed to send stuff to nearby planets! He hadn’t expected that. He zoomed in further. Those little robots were so cute. They were actually starting to talk about colonizing their moon and sending people to Mars. Too bad it was only tens of thousands of years behind everyone else.
He hated to lose but it was pretty much certain at this point. The only reason he was still playing was to be a good sport. He had pretty much stopped wasting his efforts. There was really no point. He spent his time creating a nice little galaxy as he waited for his next turn. It was a great galaxy. The others were admiring it. It would make a fantastic new game board. When his turn rolled around he just poked at humanity a little bit. They were going to lose. No doubt about that. So instead of driving them onward he let them run about. Without that much “divine intervention” they had become really strange and amusing. He decided to go with that. Everyone loved his turn. It took ages for everyone to stop laughing.
He had grown bored with the game but he did love making his friends laugh. While those little idiots were losers all around they were just too funny. Everyone loved his humans. He even let the others mess with them setting up hilarious situation after situation as everyone howled with laughter. They had been fucked with so much that he was surprised he had a species left. He had grown to like them so much that he was going to grab the funniest of them just before they got wiped out and use them for the next round. He was looking forward to everyone’s reaction when he did it. It was going to be a hoot.
It looked like The Cold One was expanding into the area. Everyone giggled as she moved her pieces into the human’s solar system and leaned in for a close look. This was going to be a riot. There was supposed to be a surprise attack bonus but everyone decided to ignore that just to see what humans would do.
God chortled as he used his divine intervention card to allow The Cold One’s units to be detected about a week before they hit. The reaction was priceless. Total anarchy. The world leaders tried to maintain some sense of order and mount some defense but it just added to the fun. They were actually sending messages of peace! Everyone was laughing harder than they had in eons. He put his prayer feed on speaker. Even The Cold One was chuckling. Getting a laugh out of her was nearly impossible, even for the omnipotent.
Oh well, It was time to put the little idiots out of their misery. The invasion fleets hit. The humans, bless their little hearts, fought back. The joke that was their military was wiped out in one turn. They fought. Their cities were blasted into ash. They fought. The invaders deployed ground units. The humans fought. They died by the millions, by the billions. They fought. After each wave of devastation hit they crawled out of the ashes and they fought. Everyone leaned in further in astonishment as the humans just wouldn’t die. Maybe it was because they had been fucked with so much. Maybe it was the neglect. They had pretty much been left to themselves for survival. It looks like they were good at it.
They fought. When they ran out of bullets they threw rocks. When they ran out of guns they sharpened sticks. They sharpened bits of steel from their ruined cities and they fought. They whipped up crude explosives out of the dirt and they fought. They built stuff they hadn’t built in a thousand years and they fought. They threw shells from trebuchets and made crossbows and muskets and they fought. There was absolutely no hope of victory, even survival, but they fought. The laughter stopped and everyone watched in fascination. Those little bastards were still fighting. The Cold One sent more units. And then she sent more again. The humans were somehow still reproducing and fighting. They dug tunnels and hid in caves and fought. They burrowed under what was left in their cities and they fought. Any other species in any other game would have given up, begged for mercy, let themselves been enslaved, even worshipped their invaders. The humans didn’t. They just kept fighting. God was astounded.
Everyone was amazed when despite the utter devastation the human’s tech level started to rise. God looked in. He watched as people, some of them too young to reproduce, tore apart bits of technology that had be dropped by The Cold One’s casualties and were somehow figuring it out. There was no way that should have happened but it was. The invader’s casualties continued to mount. There were no human units left. There was not a single unit, not a single city, not anything showing on the board but The Cold One was still taking losses. Earth was lost but somehow The Cold One was still not the victor. The humans still fought. Years passed. Decades passed. A century passed. The humans still fought, refusing to become extinct.
The gods watched on with interest. This was new. New was something that the gods enjoyed to no end. But eventually Earth was almost completely burned, a cinder. A lot of the Earth’s life had become extinct. Somehow the humans weren’t. Their numbers were incredibly low. They were almost gone but they were still there and still fighting. God was impressed. Everyone was impressed. The Cold One’s units were still on Earth fighting and dying but she didn’t really lose units anymore but her units couldn’t completely wipe out all of the humans either. Everyone’s interest waned. Not much new was going on. The situation had become a stalemate. The game went on. The Cold One, being hard pressed, pulled the few units she still had on Earth to fight elsewhere. She lost a few turns later.
The game continued. Players lost and the few remaining were all commanding galactic superpowers with thousands of systems each. As they battled back and forth humanity survived. Their world was ruined. They should have starved but they survived. They ate bugs, worms, scum growing on the rocks of their long forgotten cities and survived. God, somehow, was still in the game. He looked upon his creation in wonder. He pondered what he should do. He decided to do absolutely nothing. His humans deserved no less. They were their own player now.
The world started to renew itself a little and weeds and vines started to grow. His “losers” were there still there, their numbers slowly increasing as God passed each turn. Their technology started to increase, fueled by the bits and pieces of The Cold One’s tech still laying around. Their numbers and technology continued to grow. Suddenly a unit appeared! Other units soon followed. They started to leave their planet first in faltering steps and then their ships started to spread across the stars.
They weren’t colonizing planets though. God looked down at his humans with curiosity. They weren’t colonizing but they were spreading. They didn’t make worlds. They just exploited the mineral wealth of the stars to build more ships and their technology continued to rapidly rise as they came across the ruins and dead ships of the other players no longer in the game. God looked closer as he passed another round. Humanity wasn’t interested in colonization or empires. They weren’t looking at the stars in wonder or at planets with ambition. They looked outward with only one emotion, hate. They had always been violent. It was part of their amusing charm. After the near extinction of their race only the most vicious and tough of the most vicious and tough survived. Their descendants were now the ones spreading across the stars. They were no longer fighting amongst each other though. They had bigger game in mind.
God looked at his population and tech ratings and smiled grimly. The other remaining players were so engaged in their battles that they only saw God’s one smashed planet. They didn’t see the billions and billions of humans and their ships, their numbers and technology growing at an ever increasing speed. They didn’t see the humans coming.
God and the other “losers” watched humanity with interest. Things were about to get quite interesting indeed.
Edit: I gotta get a few assignments in. I will write more later this afternoon.
| 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T11:39:46 | 1,980 | 57 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
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Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
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How could they have gotten so far ahead? I thought I was doing fine. My civilization was moving along well, everything in relative harmony considering the volatility I'd bred them for in the first place. Now I'm going to have to push my civilization even harder, and given their makeup - they are derived from predatory animals, after all - that's going to mean a lot more work to keep them from imploding on me again. I'm just lucky I noticed that attempt to scout my base system at all; I should have enough time to rush a blind attack. I normally don't like doing this sort of thing and it's way outside of my usual play style, but at least I started with predators rather than my usual forests.
If I'd have played my usual game, I'd be dead by now, you see... which makes me think the scout was probably sent by Totec. He's always plays bloodthirsty, but he really knows his agriculture side too, and he also knows I prefer to play the green team, which would leave me vulnerable to early aggression. He probably found me by the star I picked as my home system. I chose the same type of star I always do, this type gives me a lot of options for plant development and is relatively stable for a long time, so I've been using it exclusively. I was stupid to make that mistake since my predators could probably have used a harsher environment to better tune their instincts to what I'll be needing, but I'll take Totec's overconfidence and turn it into a win. There's no way he sent that scout elsewhere first, it was too fast to have found me unless he sent it directly at my star as quickly as he could send it, so I know exactly where he is - the only star close enough in that direction also happens to be exactly like mine... perfect for a plant based civilization, but also perfect for a siege-proofed society of agricultural warriors. It's so versatile I even have the seeds of a tree society growing already. Back before my predators were a functional society I had enough attention to spare on such things, but they've become such a handful now that I can't keep the forest growing.
With Totec is scouting this early, there's no way he could have built any sort of defenses. If I push my predator society hard I should be able to attack while his army is still on the way to my starting system. With a little luck, maybe I'll catch him even before he's ready to attack. Totec is good. He's known for a well-balanced style of play, his usual omnivorous civilizations match violence with enlightenment. My predators will make short work of them, I was only just starting to have some positive results with reducing my predatory instincts that will be detrimental in the long term, but right now I'll need those instincts and my lack of refinement gives me an advantage. I can refine society later, survival comes first.
Predators have their violent tendencies, but they also tend to be smart and quick to adapt, especially when you've based them on pack hunters. And you have to start with the predators if you want a rushed civilization, especially in a competitive group like this one.
If this wasn't a game of competition, I'd have just gone with another vegetative civilization like Totec expects me to do. They were always my favorite play style; hive-mind forests linked through a root system that shares everything from nutrients to thoughts, and as a passive ability plants rarely have any of the violent self-serving individualism that I was so carefully working to tame in my newest civilization. Oh well, going to have to put that away for now and concentrate on staying alive long enough that it'll make a difference. Right now, harnessing that predatory violence is what will help me win.
This is a race, you see. A competition between myself all of my colleagues. Winner takes all with only one surviving species at the end, and a prize for the winner that I intend to win. There just wasn't enough time to develop an agra-galactic monoculture, they take most of the lifetime of their first planet's star just to get to the point where they start recognizing their own surroundings, and even then it's a race to develop quickly enough to escape that star's fiery death throes. My forests don't always make it past that point; mental abilities blossom rapidly once a hive-mind reaches consciousness, but physical interaction remains a problem for millions of turns. Even with the combined resources of their entire species concentrated toward the goal of taking root in the soil orbiting another star's light, I run out of time a lot more often than I can make that move.
I've started calling this moment my Great Filter. Every game supposedly has one; it's supposed to be a motivator for people like me who play for ourselves alone, to keep things interesting. It works, but I've come to enjoy the filter because while I don't like losing, I also don't like boring. The Filter is sufficiently random that I can't just play the same way every time, but not so unfair that I couldn't see the mistakes made when I fail. Playing as predators, I'm starting to think the filter might be their own society working against itself. Left alone, a forest will make it to the end of their star relatively unchanged... but these predators wouldn't last for many turns without constant intervention. The violence I bred them for doesn't make my game easy, they need a lot more micromanagement than I'm used to. I might not be as good at predator playstyle, but I know I made the right decision. The payoffs with plant civs are huge and I'd put my forrestmind lategame against all of my opponents combined and still have a great shot at winning, but the odds are heavily against that play when I'm just playing for myself, and the time crunch of making this a race means that trees are still going to be sharing nebulous dreams of rainfall when the rest of my opponents are fighting for territories and resources.
I may be less experienced with predators, but mine will be ready and able to take part in that fight.
Sometimes I can nudge my plants them in the right direction early; a few cataclysmic events here and there; poison the air a little, throw some ash in the sky for a few million turns . Not enough to wipe them out completely, but enough to take away a little bit of that satisfaction; to make them *want something*. That's always the key. Once they want more light, more heat, more water, whatever... then things start to get interesting. The ones I cultivated to grow larger and last longer are already sharing dreams by then, so when they start sharing needs and emotions they take to it with alacrity. The needs of a water starved sapling at a remote edge are met by those whose roots run deeper, of from those distant enough to have avoided catastrophe. The forests see this need and share, acting as one body to heal and grow all of itself, and then shortly after acting as one mind, eventually changing the body of the forest itself to become something different, something able to survive the trip to new stars.
With predatory animals, it's different. They *always* have needs, and they act selfishly to fill those needs immediately, no inherent links to society. There is no nudging these creatures, they react far more quickly than I'm used to, living and changing in a tiny fraction of the turns I'm accustomed to using when managing a plany civilization. They also die far more quickly, as I learned for myself when I tried one of my 'cataclysmic nudges' on the first batch of predatory animals I had going. They were magnificent physically, but completely lacking the intelligence I'd need to compete against my opponents. When I tried poisoning the air a little, I killed most of them in a few turns. The reduction of light wiped out nearly all of the rest. My backup forests that I'd abandoned did well though, and I nearly switched to them when the survivors of my apocalypse started showing promise. They were smaller, faster, but more importantly they were *smarter*. These were not nearly as physically impressive as the creatures I'd been concentrating on before I wiped them all out, but a few of these new creatures were already hunting in packs. I chose them, as pack hunter instincts can be used as a sort of foundation to make building a society easier later on, and immediately lends itself to the sort of intelligently coordinated violence I was trying to cultivate all along. It was a happy accident, but this is exactly why I picked a predatory starting block.
I should have my hunters ready to attack Totec any turn now. Anticipation of the attack has been enough to galvanize their society; they've gone from warring amongst themselves to a global sharing of resources, with the common goal of violence. It feels something like a frenzied, bloodstained version of the hivemind I'm used to, only in a blurry in fast forward.
Win or lose, this is an all-in scenario. My armies have all launched and are speeding towards the source of that early game scouting probe, which my predators understood as an omen from the stars. Either Totec is more prepared than I expected and my army - and then shortly after my homeworld - is destroyed, or Totec is defeated by a surprise attack from a species he has never seen and definitely wouldn't have expected to attack from my direction.
| 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T09:59:18 | 1,980 | 26 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
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I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
**3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59 | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 103 | 32 |
[WP] The Apocalypse began six years ago. Nobody has noticed until now.
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I should have fucking known.
We should have fucking known.
We laughed when the Harlem Shake became popular. We danced to the Dougie. We laughed when teenage kids had smackcams and uploaded them in six second clips. Ten year old's getting bikini waxes. Guidettes throwing things at each others faces over one night stands. Sixteen and pregnant and not our problem, but we watched them on TV. And we all turned our heads, dubbing it "not our problem." We laughed when the North Koreans developed weapons with nuclear capabilities. Nobody thought Russia would take it this far. And we twiddled our thumbs away on our smartphones, cured our loneliness with friends we have never met on social media, used "like" as a term of understanding without having to be involved in further conversation, ate our meals through filters that made the colors more saturated, scarfing down our ten second made meals without tasting it on our tongue, too focused on emotionally jacking off to how many people would see our "art." And we were all blissfully unaware that society was taking a turn for the worse. The fucking president in viral videos, people knowing the names of Victoria's Secret Angels but not their own representatives in congress, screaming angrily for our causes without even knowing what they were. All of this occurred, we knew. But we didn't see it. I didn't see it.
I stared down at my phone, trying to comprehend how somebody would stick the tip of their dick in a hollowed-out jalapeno, ("pen'ing") and then I officially realized I was part of the problem. I put my phone in the sink, and turned the tap on.
We are finding more creative ways to kill ourselves off. We are in the progress of our own Apocalypse, and I won't be part of this game anymore.
|
**Climate Change** **World Cup** **Snowden A Hero** **Assange's Wikileaks To Release More Documents** Headlines screamed impatiently across the bottom of the television screen.
"I don't know how nobody realised... I knew the second I heard that Chinese government had shut down industrial areas in the weeks ahead of the 2008 Beijing Olympics that the western world was heading for a crash, but why did nobody else realise? Or why was it a case of those who knew it was coming, *allowed* it to happen? M. Night Shymalan isn't even close to this good of a story teller." Sighing, the 93 year old world war 2 veteran sat in the tired old pleather armchair, bathed in morning sunshine. The elderly lady - gently drooling out the mouth of her palsied left side - shifted unevenly in her chair, trying to form words but making only rasping grunts.
He sat up again, thoughts bursting from his mouth before they were filtered into the politically correct crap he knew his Esther preferred him to use.
"The glitz and glamour of a few thousand athletes winning a handful of medals blinded the greedy west, to the crash speeding in its direction from the east. Sub-prime mortgages, NINJA approvals, bank bailouts, trillions of debt... How on earth is this mess going to be unravelled? Just thinking about it, to be a parent in this time, it's heartbreaking. It's like Tank Girl and the Great Depression all rolled into one, and 99% of the world hasn't noticed. How are future generations going to read the history of now? For a start, they are going to wonder why so few people reacted, and why those who knew were treated like crazy people... Well! I am glad I had my children in a time where the baddies got their arse handed to them." He harumphed, and sat back in his chair. He scowled at the floor, at the age spotted hands trembling slightly on the garishly coloured lap blanket his Esther had crocheted him, before the accursed stroke stole her from him.
The lady, Esther, sighed heavily, relapsing into the resigned silence her stroke condemned her to. She wished it had taken her life, she couldn't bear this tedious, helpless life she was cursed to continue. God damn those euthanasia laws! God damn those pro-life do-gooders! If only her Jack would stop rabbiting on... "shack" she breathed heavily, the closest she could get to forming his name in the deceptive mouth that once sang sounds like honey.
He jumped, flicking his eyes to her. "Esther" he asked, hopefully. "Esther!" he said forcefully as he compelled her eyes to stay with him. Oh, her eyes were the same, always had been. Deep pools of dark chocolate. He smiled at her, as one side of her face lifted in elation.
"Where have you been my girl?" he leaned forward. "I've been so lonely here. Without you. I am so happy to see you my love!" He beamed. "These damn colours! I'll never know what possessed you to knit me such a hideous cacophony of colour!" He harumphed again. "Yes, I know! Don't say it! It's crow shay I know" He grinned like the devil and the cheeky, spirited and oh-so-gorgeous man he was seventy years ago shone through. Just for a brief moment. But she saw it. She saw him. And her face lifted in that lopsided way she only found six years ago.
Oh, she was a looker. He had always thought so, as did anyone who crossed her path. And by all that was holy and unholy, anyone who dared look at her... well. He wished he was the kind of rumbler that other men were in their youth, but he'd seen too much pain and death and loss to fight for what he knew was always his. Even if some days he swore the minx in her was begging him to arc up, just once.
But, why couldn't he get up? He could move in the seat easy enough, but to get up... Why couldn't he do that?
Esther looked at him, sadness creeping in behind the edges of her joy.
"Morning, lovely!" A bright, middle aged *male* nurse chirped as he entered the room. "I'm afraid I have some strange news for you..." He paused, looking perturbed.
"Well, you see, things have gotten a bit strange." He sat himself down on the coffee table between the two chairs, facing Esther. Suddenly he turned to Jack. "Sir, you know how things in the stock exchange have been off since the GFC in '08?"
Jack nodded curtly.
"Well, sir, thing is... your money is gone." Jack's eyes opened in alarm. "Hey, settle there, sir." The nurse reached out a reassuring hand, giving Jack's arm a gentle squeeze. "I didn't want to alarm you earlier. I didn't see much point in it you see..." Jack was frowning at the nurse, what was his name again? Tracy? Shannon? Jody? Jody! That was it! Jack smiled in relief, he wasn't losing his mind after all.
"Jody!" he barked.
Jody jumped. "Sir! You remembered my name! Well done! 10 points for Gryffindor!" Jody grimaced, remembering how he'd been reading the Pottermous tomes to Jack, one day finding them in a bath full of water. "Oops, sorry sir. I forgot. British fiction. Sir, I have to talk about your money. I can't find your trustees. I think they took it all. I have contacted the authorities, they won't step in. Say that it is all legal." Jody paused, allowing the gentleman to absorb the bad news.
"Sir, we aren't without options." Jack glared at Jody, saying nothing. Waiting for Jody to continue.
"There is option C. I know we have been operating under Plan B, since Esther... Since August '08. I know you wanted to go with Plan A at that time, it has been an honour sir, to care for you since that time sir. I know what you planned to do... after Esther..." A tear leaped down his face, betraying how evenly he was speaking. Did Jack know, how much caring for both him and Esther had meant to him? Jody suspected Jack did. Which was why Plan A was suspended.
"Sir, you have shown me the error of my ways, I can't imagine you know how. But, Option C. Option C is where you and I go. Together sir. Now sir." Jody held Jack's gaze. It felt like an eternity, really only seconds.
A mere hint of a nod. That's all it would take. Jody had the syringe and the cocktails ready. He knew that Jack would do this. Esther's will spelled it out in black and white, exactly what it would take, and this was it. Nothing left to live for. Jody waited.
The ticking of the grandmother clock on the bureau sounded slower and louder than ever before. The tick became a thump. Jack's head bowed once. Jody handed him his last Shirley Temple, laced with the appropriate chemicals, and sipped his standard unlaced glass. Jack smiled as he savoured his last cocktail. Leaning gently back in his seat, Jody waited for his breathing to lull, then checked his heart beat - or lack thereof. Silence. Stillness. Jack was gone. Jody placed the urn of Esther's ashes in Jack's lap, then took a seat next to Jack's slowly cooling body. Tears silently streamed down his face. He readied the syringe, wrapped the tourniquet around his right arm. Flexing his fist as he bent down, striking his beloved zippo - inherited from Jack himself, he touched the flame to a slow burning fuse, that trailed out of the room, down into the cellar, where the explosives impatiently awaited.
When the flame took, he leaned back in the seat, inserted the needle into the vein, loosened the tourniquet, sank the plunger. He died with a smile on his face and waves of bliss expanding throughout his body. The flames crept to the cellar, and erased all traces of the occupants of the house in a white hot blaze. He kept his promise to Esther. And to Jack. Especially to Jack. He hadn't had to watch the world burn again. But it was coming, and no one had seen it but Jack, sixty eight years earlier. He'd known, he had told Esther. Begged her not to leave him while it all burned and the masses admired the glow, then never spoken of it again. Esther made sure he hadn't been alone, Esther made sure he had Jody, who made sure Jack wasn't around to see it.
Beyond the walls, people saw the smoke. People ignored the smoke. They turned back to their portable screens - desperately hoping that the world wasn't collapsing under the weight of a new, unbeatable scourge. Not realising how foolish they had been, how many signs they had ignored. If only they had listened to Jackass Jody's tales of CrazyOldJack. If only... if only.
| 2014-06-25T10:33:45 | 2014-06-25T09:13:04 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You invented the first and only working prototype of a human-animal translator, and the first thing you do is test it on your pet/s.
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"You see this cup?"
"Please stop." I begged.
"Because I see this cup." Cauley said. He was an orange tabby.
"I know you see the cup."
"I don't think you see the potential in the cup."
"You do this every morning."
"Each cup could be a bunch of little cups if you're brave enough."
"Cauley, I'll take the translator off."
He cocked his head to the side. "You may stop my voice," He raised a paw. "But you cannot stop my will."
The cup fell off the counter and broke apart. I sighed.
"Now feed me."
|
As the lone lightbulb hung above my workbench, I tightened the final screw in the dim light of my garage. I let out a sigh. My creation, my life blood, my child was now complete. I glanced at the clock which let off a dim glow of "9:00 PM". I grunted a little, knowing it was about time to go to bed to go to work once again in the hell hole of McDonald's as a manager. *God I hate those kids, they never listen.*
Never being married and never having children, I always turned to my pet, my dog, to keep me company in my darkest times. Now, I could communicate with them, and they could communicate back. We could have long conversations and they could be the children I never had.
How I wish I had met that one special woman who would have let me have a happier life, but now I sit here in a 600 sq ft house that is decrepit and needs desperate repairs, but I have my invention to fix all of this.
I leaned back in the chair, thoughts racing through my head. "I wonder how much I can sell this for?" "Would anyone REALLY buy this?" "Why did no one else think of this before?"
But the bigger question was left unanswered, "Does it *even work*?"
"I guess it's time to find out" I said, standing up from the workbench to look up at the ceiling and notice the water stains all over. *Sigh*. Another project to fix, I thought to myself.
I opened the door to inside, connecting to the kitchen. My happy little friend came running, his feet thudding against the floor and tail thumping against the walls, until he sat before me ready to have my attention. He, a Siberian Husky named Max jumped up on his hind legs and hit me in the chest with his forelegs. "DOWN!" I shouted, tapping him on the head. "What if I had company over? Would you still do that same thing and harm our guests?". Max looked on, confused.
I thought to myself, the perfect moment to see if it works. Thinking this on the spot, with max's undivided attention at me, I put the device against my neck, strapping it on with a loose belt and turned on the translator.
"Hello" I spoke firmly to the group of dogs. However, a squealing sound came out and then an oink. *Damnit*, I thought, *I have to adjust it slightly.*
Taking a screw driver to my neck I tightened one of the screws a bit, speaking over and over until the desired language was reached. Then, I hit it. "Hello" I spoke again and this time a bark came out. How ecstatic I was to see the dogs faces light up and all respond in a manner of tail thumping and barking in return. "Follow me" I said, happy that they responded before only this time I began walking along and the dogs quickly followed in my footsteps.
As I walked past the chipped paint and the small TV, I sat down at my computer with my dogs all around me. *This is great*, I thought to myself, *Dogs can now understand me and will listen to me no matter what!*
As the computer turned on, I turned back to see max now playing with his stuffed penguin, albeit being over a year old and missing most of the stuffing, it was his favorite toy. *If only I could afford a lot of toys for him...*
I turned back to the screen, ready to share the news with SOMEONE, ANYONE, in an attempt to get money to be able to live a better life. I logged online, ready to share my news to the Front Page of the Internet giving a very detailed description of what my device does and how it works. After posting it, hoping a news agency or some rich man would find it, as that is how things get shared around, I got up and began my ritual for going to bed.
"Are you ready for bed? Are you ready for bed?" I said in the baby voice that I commonly use on Max, only this time it was translated into his speak. Max barked back, thumping his tail and with a big grin. I then leaped from my seat and embraced Max in a hug, knowing I would soon be able to provide him a better life with this invention.
I started talking with Max again, but then I had the thought *What if I attach it to him... what will HE say?* I quickly took off my device, now dubbed the Omnibox, and strapped it around Max's neck. I bellowed out "Sit", Max sat without saying a word. I yelled out "Do you want a treat?" and Max began barking. Quickly the device began translating each bark to a simple "YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES" and Max began jumping all over me. "Okay boy I'll get you a treat" I said, walking to the pantry. I picked up the door to the pantry that had long fallen off its hinges and set it aside, grabbing a treat for my favorite boy.
"Alright boy, It's time I go do my night time ritual" I said in the baby voice. As I turned around Max began barking but it caught me utterly by surprise. "YOU MEAN THE TIME YOU USE TO MASTURBATE TO YOUR ODD COLLECTION OF PORN?" came out of the Omnibox. I froze, dead in my tracks. My face I could feel turn red, I turned back and said "How do you know that?"
Max began barking, understanding me without the translator. "I CAN HEAR IT FROM OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM WHERE I SIT AT NIGHT!". The Omnibox, I thought, must just be broken or something... no way my dog would know that. I walked over to Max to try and take off the Omnibox, but Max quickly darted away. I chased after him, running into wall after wall in my house and knocking off the little decor I had placed on each barren facade. Max darted out of his large doggy door out the front and began barking up and down the street. However, to my horror, my dog was screaming out "MY MASTER HITS ME, HE BEATS ME TO SHOW DOMINANCE!" I ran outside demanding he come back and that I have a treat, "A TREAT?" cut through the silence of the night and echoed throughout the neighborhood. However, it was too late. Neighbors were now outside and had heard everything my dog said.
I ran back inside, flustered and afraid of what would happen next. *I'm now alone, no one loves me.* Three Police cars rolled up sirens blaring and lights flashing outside of my house, I would guess it is because everyone was confused as to what a "talking dog" was. However, Max willingly went into their custody, perfectly able to understand our language and he could now speak it.
Knowing I would be charged with Animal abuse, all alone and now with no worth, I went into the kitchen and grabbed the sharpest knife. Max had ruined me, the animal I trusted, the animal that was my best friend became my enemy. I sat before my computer now, police and neighbors looking onto my house with officers knocking at the door. *I am alone* I thought, *No one loves me, no one will ever love me, there is no point to life.*
I took the knife, and slit my right wrist, reeling in the pain that I had just inflicted upon myself. I looked down to see the warm red liquid pouring out of my wrist, spreading all over my arm and clothes and dripping down onto the floor. But as I had slit my wrist, I turned back to the Front Page of the Internet to see an orange envelope with a 1 next to it. With my uncut arm, I clicked on it, hoping to find solace with someone agreeing with my invention before I passed from this earth. However, the words did not surprise me, and the message to my Omnibox invention simply read "OP is a faggot, no proof".
| 2015-11-18T10:08:44 | 2015-11-18T09:58:00 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] Magic is real. And it is terrible.
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Ralph shuffled his cards nervously, again and again until he could convince himself the odds were in his favor, or at least not against him.
A lump appeared in his throat as his opponent cut the deck. He just knew his fate was sealed.
Sweating through his shirt, he took a deep breath and counted to seven.
"Shit. all lands. *Again*".
|
Incantation for a Spell of Levitation
Ingredients:
-Two frog legs, one each, from a male (right side) and female (left side) Mississippi gopher frog.
-0.8 grams of Scrapings taken using a 60%-silver 35%-iron 5%-zinc scalpel from the underside of a mature Indigo Milkcap.
-1/8 Cow tongue, from an Anatolian Black. Pieces from the front left portion give the best results.
-1.2 ounces of Gold, pure.
-Water, as clean as possible to get, but it really doesn’t matter.
Other Materials:
-Cast Iron Pot, properly seasoned
-Wooden Spoon, not made of Oak, Pine, or Bamboo
-Five Gemstones, each of a different variety. Only Emeralds need to be previously polished.
-Cooking Thermometer
Instructions:
Be sure before starting the process that the Moon is in a waning pattern, as has risen fully. To be sure of the exact status of the Moon, throw a thirteen-week old black cat into the air. If the cat fails to land on its feet, the Moon is in a proper position.
The cow tongue (raw) must be masticated for 40 minutes by the target of the levitation, though it may continue for as long as needed. Failure to properly mash the tongue in this time period will result in an incomplete incantation. If any of the tongue is swallowed at any point, it is recommended to immediately spray the area with a fine mist of garlic, and attempt the spell the following night. Once complete disintegration of the tongue has proceeded, spit the tongue into the cast iron pot.
Add water to cover, and then add an extra cup. Bring the mixture to 60ºC, and stir three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise. Wait two minutes, then repeat the stirring.
Add, in order, the male frog leg, the Indigo Milkcap scrapings, the Gold, and then the female frog leg. Stir three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise. Wait two minutes, then repeat the stirring. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and then simmer for two hours.
After two hours have passed, you need to rapidly cool the mixture, as it will only be applicable for 45 minutes. At the end of cooling, place the gemstone at the corners of a pentagram shape on the ground, with a space of thirty-six inches between each stone. If an Emerald is one of the gemstones, make sure that the Emerald is placed at the bottom right corner (If you fail to do this see page 168, “Incantation for a Spell of Leprosy”). To complete the pentagram, sprinkle the mixture using the spoon in between each corner, and to create the outer circle. Stand in the middle of the pentagram.
The mixture needs to be spread evenly over the skin of the target using the spoon. Once the hands have been covered, they may be used to evenly spread the mixture, but only the spoon may be used to remove more from the pot.
Have the target recite the words, in any language, “Be that as it may, I denounce the ground. She is a mistress that too long has bound me. I would be free.”
Pg.87 “Incantation for a Spell of Levitation”
Bob “FireStruck” Connor’s Easy Incantations
“. . . I would be free.” Brent finished saying, shining a golden pallor in moonlight entering through the open shades. The open book of magic fluttered slightly as the wind blew in to the 3rd story apartment. He felt himself rise off the ground. An inch. His cat Barnabus hissed at him from the top of the fridge. Brent had expected something more, but right now he had achieved it, magic, not illusion, but real genuine magic. Granted it had cost him an entire months salary, and he’d already swallowed about 6 parts of the cow tongue before getting it right, but he was levitating.
“I can fly!” Brent mused into the air. “I CAN FLY!” He pumped his hands in the air in celebration. “Alright, lets see what I can do. Lets fly around the neighborhood, show that asshole Steve that I’m not wasting my time.” Realizing he was naked, Brent decided the first course of action was to don some appropriate clothes.
Trying to walk out of the kitchen showed the first signs of trouble. His feet found no purchase on the ground. Each step he took, showed no further progress towards any direction. No displacement of balance, but he could not find the ground. Brent got on all fours and tried to crawl, but to no avail. His hands could not touch the ground either. “Shit.”
He eventually made it to his bedroom by grasping hold of furniture and pulling himself along. “Just something to get used to until I figure this out,” As panic crept into his voice he put on jeans and a t-shirt, forgoing the cape he had specifically bought for tonight. He pulled himself back into the living room, ignoring the puddle of spell lingering in the kitchen. Barnabus was equally disinterested in the puddle.
Just as he failed to descend, Brent found that he could also not elevate, he could not change his relation to the floor of his apartment at all. If he pulled himself up on his fridge, he would immediately drop to the original inch once he let go. He resorted to trying his will. He imagined floating higher, or sinking. He imagined that he was a Jedi, and that he was a master of the Force. Nothing worked. He stayed one inch above his apartment’s floor.
He decided to change floors. He exited the apartment, pulling at every free hand hold. Brent extended his arms across hallway, and propelled himself towards the stairs like he was sitting in a chair with wheels. “Ha, this could end up being fun.” He reached the stairs and tried to step down, immediately meeting the limits of his levitation, now six inches above the next step. He grasped the railing to pull forward and was soon floating several feet above the descending stairs. Managing to maneuver back to the hallway, he retreated to the apartment once again.
“Maybe I just need a bigger drop . . . Something to kick-start the levitation for real. He grasped for the open frame of the window and pulled himself outside, with just enough force that he lost his grip on the window frame and launched free of the building. Three stories up, and now stranded, levitating.”
Pg.88 “Incantation for a Spell of Levitation” cont.
Bob “FireStruck” Connor’s Easy Incantations
Warnings on this Spell
This incantation and the one for leprosy are surprisingly similar, and thus we recommend that an emerald be avoided for most uses of this spell. Again see page 168 if any signs of leprosy are noticed.
The spell lasts until the mixture has been removed from the body. The mixture is water soluble, and will easily be removed by showering or bathing. The mixture also serves as a severe anti-perspirant, so you don’t need to worry about sweating it off.
The spell works by forming a tacit agreement with the ground level of target located at the pentagram. Once the agreement has been spoken, the subject will levitate. Height of the levitation may be adjusted by using different parts of the cow tongue, and may also depend on the age of the cow. Different breeds of cow produce inconsistent and sometimes undesirable results.
As this spell only provides minimal benefit, and cannot be readily applied to inanimate objects for easy transportation (what inanimate object can masticate), we only recommended it be used for recreation enhanced by reduced friction. A shower should always nearby and in working condition.
| 2014-05-20T17:29:45 | 2014-05-20T15:24:32 | 64 | 10 |
[WP] You topple over your balcony and die while figthing your dog for a toy. To your suprise Odin, the old norse god, greets you. Since you technically died fighting you've been resurrected at Valhalla and all the gods can't wait to hear about the great battle you died in.
|
Now to just do this without losing face.
"It was ferocious monster. Loyal only to its master."
Oohs and awes filled the air.
"It held in its jaws an item of great value. Not particularly important though.
"I grabbed the object, and attempted to pull it away. The beast was not so kind. He increased his grip, and started swinging claws.
"Our battle moved to a balcony of sorts, high up and a fatal fall. I was unable to survive this with my goal accomplished, so I did the next best thing. I failed us off the edge, and down we went. My comrades were able to collect the remains, so I know my death was not in vain."
Phew. Not a single outright lie. I sure took some liberties though.
"Bravo! And now, we watch the video!"
I shit my pants. We can do that in Valhalla, right?
"Video~?"
"Yeah. We have spells for that."
*Author's Note*: Join me at r/James_Fire!
EDIT: Okay guys, this has officially tripled my comment karma. I'm glad everyone liked it!
|
I'll never know whether Fluffy intended it, but the thought crossed my mind as I plummeted the thirty four floors to my death. Lucky for me, I had just enough time to lose my bathrobe, urinate and evacuate my bowels before I struck the pavement below. The Mr. Bones squeaky toy followed shortly after, embedding itself in the gooey mess that used to be my body.
Not how I thought I'd go down. Bested by a Pomeranian. The darkness consumed me.
Oh, thank god, a light.
*Huge* relief there, you never know until you go they always say. I'd kept kosher \(not Jewish, but it pays to be safe\), but I did remove a few mattress tags that I thought might have put me into the damnation column. So there I was, standing before a huge building with glowing runes carved into it. First thought: Not the pearly gates. Second thought: Not eternal hellfire. Whatever it was, it had a distinctly Disneyland vibe to it. Great, I love Disney. I mean, not what I was expecting heaven\-wise but I'm not complaining. I could have ended up with those 21 virgins those terrorism guys are always talking about.
22 virgins in a room sounded like the wrong way to go about eternity.
Nope, Bizarro Disney was gonna work for me just fine. And, as if on cue, one of the park characters came rumbling out of the door. His ensemble was *very* impressive, lots of metal and clanking bits. Nice detailing too. A broad mist flowed down the steps with him, his massive frame thundering with each step. I could tell these guys committed to the role, just like Mickey. That mouse ran a real tight shop.
The man smiled down, his brilliant white shining teeth sparkled, setting the perfect welcoming tone. Well, except for only having one eye. No one wants to see that in Disney. Everyone should have two eyes in the happiest place on Earth, doubly so for heaven. It's just bad taste. So anyways, he leans in and booms out, "Melvin, I am Odin, welcome to VALHALLA!"
Authentic voice? \[✓\] Check. These guys were good.
Thunder boomed, lightning crashed as Odin raised his arms over his head, the HALLA\-LA\-LA\-LA echoing. And I was totally freaking out. Disney Marvel Avengertures wasn't supposed to get released until 2025! I'm in Heaven and it's literally a theme park sneak peak! Awesome. Just awesome. I mean, wow. I'd be up on the ceiling if I wasn't floored over here. Also, props to Disney for getting a franchise up in Heaven, that's just good brand management there.
"Hail Odin! Tis I! Melvin of Manhattan!" I puffed my chest out, I was gonna role\-play this to the hilt. Once in a lifetime opportunity here. Literally.
"You have fallen in battle and have earned the right to drink at our table." I appreciated the embellishment on my behalf as he stretched a broad arm around my shoulders. Small hitch since the tree trunk of a limb was rubbing the bathrobe across my shoulders and I have a particularly malignant eczema that was being irritated. Still, it was Marvel Avengertures Disney Heaven \(tm\) and I wasn't going to let a little itch get me in a stitch.
I floated up the steps, my heart a flutter at the prospect of an authentic mead hall experience. Odin clapped his hands, a sound like thunder emitting from them \-\- Choreography? \[✓\] Check *\-\-* and the doors swung open, revealing the hall inside.
Well, this wasn't what I expected at all.
**Part 2: A Hero Cometh \(To Dinner\)**
There’s such a thing as too authentic.
The stench of the place hit me like a hammer to the sinuses. I was going to have a long, romantic evening with a nasal rinse after this. Once I got past the smell, I was assaulted by a cacophony of screaming, laughing, fasting, clink, and really just about every sound that I associated with the frat parties I had so assiduously avoided back in college. The place was vile by cleanliness standards as well.
This wasn’t Disney. It wasn’t even Universal.
Odin’s enormous hand slapped me on the back, causing me to lurch forward into the room, which promptly quieted and stared at me. Odin drew in a great breath and then announced my arrival, his rumbling baritone echoing throughout the rafters of the hall like thunder. “Warriors of all ages, another has fallen and come to our table. Offer him your greetings.”
Slowly the mugs began to slam on the tables in unison. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. “Speech! Speech! Speech!” They cried as one.
Well, I am **not** a public speaker. Ever since I tripped off the podium in Mrs. Williams third grade class and gave the entire room a full tour of a full moon, Ive been terrified. So I lean over to Odin and tell him I want to skip this part. I mean, guests shouldn’t be put on the spot without signing a waiver or something. Bad policy.
Odin merely smiled, “Nonsense warrior. Each of us must tell our tale to earn our seat. It is the price for entry.”
And here I thought being a puddle on the ground outside my apartment was payment enough. “You’re saying you want to hear about Fluffy?”
Odin nods. “It must has been a great fight, never have I seen a warrior reduced to pulp like that.” He shook his head, something almost approaching squeamishness crossing his face.
His arm came back to my shoulders, insisting. I sighed and tried to straighten out my well worn bath robe as I searched for the right words. It was pretty clear these guys were expecting a feat of heroism but I’m not a great liar. I get hives when I mislead people. I had to be truthful and impressive.
“I have battled the beast for eight years.” True, the dog had been a royal pain in my ass ever since I got him. “Fight after fight we waged. Sometimes I would win a battle, but I knew the war was lost.” My dog trainer said Fluffy was the spawn of the devil and an irate badger. “But what could I do but continue to fight? The beast was in my domain and I could not cast it out.” Pet abandonment was a serious crime in New York.
The assembled warriors nodded at this. Many of them having fallen trying to repel invaders in their own homelands. It was a terrible thing to lose the sanctity of your home. More than one raised a tankard, tears in their eyes, in salute.
“Today it was different. In the past my opponent had fought with honor. Dignity. Not today. Not this time.” Fluffy had peed on my foot while wrestling for Mr. Bones. Biological warfare and clear Geneva Conventions violation. “No, today the vile beast desecrated my hearth.” And took a dook on the couch. “So I prepared to punish it for its transgressions.” Take away his favorite toy.
Mugs clinked together at this, cheering. “Did you wound it great warrior? Did you strike a mortal blow of your own?”
I nodded grimly. It wasn’t like anyone was going to fish out Mr. Bones from my viscera. “I took from the beast that which it valued most.” Seriously. I once did that thing where I stood on one side of the room and Mr. Bones sat on the other side and the infernal dog went to Mr. Bones every time. Surely the loss of the chew toy had hurt Fluffy tremendously.
“And how did you meet your end? Tell us how the final blow was delivered.”
I sighed, letting my audience lean in in anticipation. “I was pushed off a cliff and fell from a great height. The beast had maneuvered me to the precipice and as I fought with my back against the wall, I fell back due to a surprise attack.” I had accidentally stepped on Fluffy’s paw. I hated the dog but I didn’t mean to hurt it.
An enormous mug was placed in my hand. “Drink and be welcomed warrior!” Odin smiled, nodding his approval.
I glanced at him and then down at the mug. “Um, is this gluten free?”
**Platypus out.** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2018-04-24T23:24:10 | 2018-04-24T23:19:49 | 1,110 | 825 |
[WP] There is a beautiful statue of a person in the middle of a large city, and the rumor surrounding the statue is that when they touch hands with their soulmate, they will become human. Naturally, you pose holding the stone hand, resulting in an empty podium and a very confused person in your arms
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After the tour guide finished his story about the statue, our group took turns posing for pictures.
I stood there looking at them, undecided.
A couple held her shoulders, emulating a wedding picture.
When I saw that, my eyes got teary. I focused on the statue's face.
She was gorgeous, but the sadness in her expression got my chest contricted.
I sighed.
\- You there young fellow, won't you take a picture too? We are about to leave.
My sister poked me in the arm.
\- Go over there and hold her hand. It will look cute.
Shrugging, I caved and posed like she asked me to.
\- Not like that, you fool. Hold her hand like a gentleman.
Exasperated, I changed sides and held her hand, pretending to kiss it, eyes closed.
"Strange" - I thought. - "Her hand seems so warm. Might be the sun."
I waited for the sound of the picture being taken, but nothing.
The statue's hand seemed to tremble. Was I having some type of seizure?
Startled, I opened my eyes to see a human hand in mine.
Letting the hand go, I looked up to apologize for the mistake.
For a few moments, I do not recognize her. But then I realize.
And it's like the silence I heard until then was lifted.
People were screaming, stepping away from us.
But the only thing on my mind was her face.
She was smiling.
Smiling at me.
|
[Note: Lunch time write, and I'm trying to work on the spacing. Not sure if I fixed it. I type these out in word and copy and paste them here.]
“And to our left, is the Marbled Bride.” I proclaimed with an extended hand directing the eyes of my tour group to the last stop of the tour. The Marbled Bride has never failed to grab the attention of a tour group, even uninterested teenagers dragged here by their parents look away from their phones to take in her beauty.
“Note the craftsmanship on her face, the threads of the veil individually crafted in marble. I proclaim this to be the best detailed piece of marbled craftsmanship in the world.” I step aside from the statue so the tour can take a closer look.
“Why is she so sad?” A younger girl lifted by her father asked. She has taken note of the tears carved out in marble, that can be seen through the small cracks of the veil.
“Ah, very good question from a very astute lady.” I smiled, walking closer to the statue.
“Well legend has it she’s a real-life woman turned to marble through a curse. She was set to marry a great King but didn’t love him, but the King insisted on the wedding. When they were to commit each other’s love to one and another, she ran away. The king who knew this could happen had bought a curse from a witch and cursed her. Rumor has it to lift th—”
“Her true love has to kiss her to bring her back to life? Yes, Disney has already done it.” A bored teenager commented, the tour group laughed, and I pointed at him.
“Why yes. Exactly that. All curses are defeated upon meeting true love. For love & compassion can defeat hate and evil wherever it lurks.” I smiled, turning to look at the Marbled Bride.
“If she’s thousands of years old, why does she look so good? I mean I would imagine she would be covered in moss, dirty or even missing a limb or two from her body throughout the years because of time?” The younger girl’s father asked.
“Ah well, the statue wasn’t always here. The King brought it back to the castle in hopes she would reconsider her imprisonment and proclaim her love for him. He wanted to show how much he loved her so he made sure the statue was always well preserved. The statue was only moved here in the last thirty years in the downtown core to help drive culture back into the city.” I waited to address anymore future questions.
“Now that the questioning period is over, are there any bachelor gentlemen willing to Kiss the Bride and see if their love will free the Princess from her marbled imprisonment?” I challenged.
A few volunteers attempted. The first one was the mouthy teenage boy egged on by his parents to give it a try, and another was a young man in his 20’s whose girlfriend was jokingly insulted by his attempt. After the festivities were over, the group disbanded to enjoy the other tourist offerings of the city.
----------------------------------
I try to walk by the statue every night around midnight after I’ve eaten and visited the pub. I want to make sure the statue wasn’t vandalized or mistreated while my vigilant eye had left her presence for the morning’s tour group to enjoy. Sometimes there would be a person looking at the statue and I would talk to them to explain the story of the *Marbled Bride*. Tonight, there was a teenage woman with a shaved head, pierced nose and a leather jacket at the statue.
“What are you doing, back away from her.” I yelled as I stumbled towards her in fear of punk teenagers vandalizing her with their spray paint and markers. I grabbed the cuff of her jacket and pulled her away.
“Hey fuck off old geezer.” She yelled and smacked my hand away from her jacket. I looked at the statue to assess the damage, I didn’t find any.
“Oh sorry, I thought you were damaging the statue.” I defended. I turned to face her and saw she was still very pissed off at me, and rightly so.
“What the fuck would I damage a random ass statue? I was looking at it. Why the fuck would you care if I looked at it?”
“I just said I thought you were vandalizing it. I can’t have it damaged.”
“Oh, are you it’s caretaker or something?”
“No, I’m just a tour guide. She’s the last stop of my tour.”
“Oh, well tell me about her.” She said, calming down. The beauty of the Marbled Bride never failed to capture people’s interest.
“Buy a ticket.” I said like a true tour guide.
“You fucking assaulted me. Tell me about the fucking statue and I would say we’re even. Why is she wearing a dress? What’s it even called?”
“Fair enough.”
I shared the story of the Marbled Bride from my tour.
“Oh, and do idiots actually kiss her expecting something to happen?”
“All the time, I make it part of my tour. It’s fun and engages people in the story. Also it helps with tips after words.”
“Have you kissed her?” She asked. I paused and looked at the statue.
“No. Of course not.” I lied. Twenty years ago when I first moved into the city and learned the story of the Marbled Bride I tried like all the tourist. When I got the job as a tour guide, I added the statue to the culture tour knowing how the story would attract people. When I started doing the tour I would kiss her every now and then after everyone left in hopes she would turn into the woman I’ve read about. Now it’s after nights of heavy drinking and loneliness.
“Why not?”
“I’m nearly fifty years old now. Even if I did free her, I’m way too old for her.” I smiled, not noticing the tears that formed in my eyes.
“Wow. Emotional over a stone girl? The way I see you, you obviously love her. Give her a kiss. Who knows what will happen.”
I moved closer to the statue and placed my hand on the marbled cheeks. My lips moving towards her just under the veil’s cut off.
“Please wake up” I whispered softly, and I kissed the statue.
I stepped back, the Marbled Bride remains still.
“Are you okay?” She asked, noticing my disappointment.
“Told you it wouldn’t work.” I remarked with a sigh and stepped back.
“Well let me give it a shot.” She said and planted a small peck on the Marbled Bride’s head.
A piece of marble from the dress cracks and fell on the street’s concrete ground, shattering it.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?” I Yelled. The teenager startled, jumped backwards.
One by one pieces of the Marbled Bride broke apart, revealing a wanderlust wedding dress of pure white. By the time we both realized what’s going on, the Marbled Bride is no longer marbled, but alive. Pale white skin, long straightened brown hair that falls to her waist, and delicate fingers that whipped the tears away from her eyes.
“Where am I?” She asked, confused.
“You’re…alive…I knew it.” I stuttered. I got up and went to embraced her and hugged her tightly. Her skinny hands pushed against my chest as she pleaded.
“Let go of me. I know who you are.”
I let her go, she moves closer to the teenaged punk girl.
“I know who you are. I’ve heard you talk to me about the groups of people you bring to see me and talk about me as if I’m entertainment. You encourage men to come up and kiss me and sometimes grope me for their entertainment. I felt every single kiss, every single grope, and I heard every single word you’ve said to me to people and to my ears only. I don’t love you, I will never love you, and what you’ve done to me I understand why you’re alone.”
She was historical, I moved to embrace her again. This is destiny, I freed her. She is mind.
She moved away avoiding my embrace. I don’t’ understand.
“But I kissed you, you’re free. We’re meant to be.”
“Uh… I think I freed her dude.” The teenager spoke up, she has finally comprehended what has happened before us.
“NO. I FREED HER.” I yelled, tears that formed in my eyes from earlier fall to the concrete ground.
“I DID THIS.”
The teenager grabbed the bride’s hand, and pulled her away from me.
“We should go.” She said, and pulled her to start running away from me.
I stumbled. My night’s activities and the broken marbled pieces caused me to fall and land face first on the concrete sidewalk. I looked up and saw my bride being led away from me by the hand of a punk teenage girl into the night.
How can this have happened?
I love her.
| 2019-07-11T15:26:19 | 2019-07-11T13:23:22 | 67 | 32 |
[WP] You are a very minor god in charge of a locally-practiced holiday for centuries. However, the last woman who kept your holiday just died. Now you are a 'free agent' - by cosmic law, you have a year and a day to pick any unclaimed part of the human or natural world, and you will become its god.
|
POSSIBLE TW: SUICIDE
The problem, as you might imagine, is that after millennia of deities living and reproducing there are gods for pretty much everything already. Multiples usually. For example, there is the God of war of course, but there is also the God of mounted warriors and the God of the first charge. So in the morning before a battle you could pray to any of them and be heard or ignored.
In the modern day, with new inventions every day, I could claim one of them, even if it dies within weeks I'll have a whole new year to find something else. But I don't want to hop between things like that. I want to find something that matters.
So I look. I find things claimed by many in vague terms but none specific. I find things that have evolved so much their old gods are barely hanging on. Claiming their place would be no hard thing to do.
But I didn't want that. So I looked. I looked at people, learned when they sought out gods and I found my place. A place unwanted by other gods. A place of too much pain and fear for any God with good in them, yet also a place of hope and healing far more than any evil good could stomach.
I became the God of the last line. God of the suicide note. In desperate times when all hope fails and you look for any help to get the right words on the page you leave behind, I'll be there to guide your hand.
When you find a note and try to understand, I'll be there to help you find the hidden meaning.
I am the God of unwanted letters, letters that shatter worlds. I am the God of final words. Pray you never need to pray to me.
|
Most people probably think that gods have set jobs, but we don’t. We follow this thing called “cosmic law,” which says that we can pick a new domain when our old one dies out. I was a god of sheep, when I started, then when sheep worship went out of style, I ended up in a small town, presiding over one of their holidays. It was a nice gig, I got to grant wishes occasionally and the town itself was sleepy, quaint. I enjoyed my life.
But then the last guardian of my holiday passed away, a sweet woman with a love for sticky buns—the bread they’d make for my holiday. So, I did what any god does. I decided to go on a road trip. I had a whole year to find my new domain, and I’d heard there were a lot of things in the world. Really, it was more of a cross-national road trip, as I wanted to get out of Ireland; I’d been there for a few thousand years, and I heard Americans had invented lots of new things, things I could possibly claim as my domain.
I landed in American on July 13th, 2018, and it seemed like an interesting place. Another god, Thucycides, contacted me when I landed to bring me up to speed on which domains were taken.
“Haber!” The petite woman yelled to me. She was waving enthusiastically in the airport.
“Ah, love! Good to finally meet you,” I said, kissing her cheeks in quick succession.
“Yes, it is a pleasure. Why don’t we get going? I had one of my boys bring the car around for us.”
“Sounds great.” I tightened the straps on my backpack and followed her out. I wasn’t the largest or most fantastic god—not by a long-shot—but I still stuck out among humans, being tall and broad-chested. Being a god did come with it perks, like near-perfection in form for those of us who chose domains that were more vain. I had curly, blond hair, the curls a leftover from my time as sheep-god, but the color came from the dirty-blond that my old village had always sported. They were strong, good people, and they had painted me in their image.
Thucycides, on the other hand, was a product of American society. Small, waif-like, fragile—don’t get me wrong, she was absolutely gorgeous, with her black hair that fell like a sheet down her back to her waist, her swirling grey eyes, her pouting pink lips. She just didn’t look like the gods I’d known, across the sea. We tended to be larger, more muscular, always ready to throw a log or two, herd some sheep, plant sustenance. In contrast, she was made to walk the streets of Boston, which is what we did after the car ride.
“I’ve got domain over apartments, right now. It’s a big job, if I’m honest, but so far it’s been fine. There are very few shrines, anymore. People tend to evoke me through cursing their landlords, rather than praising my existence.”
“Sounds like the people have forgotten how to worship.” I dodged a small dog’s curious nose as its human ignored my existence.
“Yes, very much so! It’s a drain, but those who do worship do it well. Of course, you know the celestial bodies are all taken, so no dice on those, but we have a few openings I think you might be interested in. Television just got taken up again, after Tara gave it up. Said she got tired of it, which I don’t blame her. Now Hestus is presiding over that, and Tara has Hollywood, ya know, glitz, glamour, the big screen.”
I nodded. I didn’t know who any of these gods were, but I didn’t want to make her explain any more than she already was.
“Mmm,” she said, inhaling deeply, “donuts.” She had closed her eyes for a moment, stopping our trek downtown. After a moment she opened her eyes with a start, “Right! Domains! Sorry, I can get a little distracted.”
“It’s fine. I appreciate you doing this.”
“Of course, of course! Anything for a fellow wanderer. Well, I’m not one anymore, but I know what that’s like.”
“I haven’t been at it very long, but I do feel as if something is missing.” I side-stepped to avoid a young man on a bicycle. Humans really did not care about personal space in America, did they?
“So, there is a small dispute happening at the moment as Yorik, who currently presides over the entire internet, does not want to break the domain into individual websites, but given the amount of worship he’s been receiving, we have really been thinking that it needs to be chopped up.”
“We?”
“The Cosmic Court, sorry. I’m on it. Elections come up every century. It would do you some good to make friends.” She pointed to a shop next to us, “Donuts?”
“Sure,” I said. I followed her inside, watching as she paid for a box of a dozen.
She took one out and munched on it as we walked, holding the box precariously in her free hand. I reached over and took it. “I’ll hold this for you.”
“Oh, thanks!” She said, her reply muddled by the dough and sugar she was eating like it was her last meal. She reached over and took another one out. “There’s also a chance that you could pick up something a little more niche, if you’d like, like a small town football team, or a company. There’s enough interest in some towns, if that’s something you’d like. I don’t know what scale you’re looking for.”
I shrugged, “I don’t know. Since I left the sheep business, things have been small and quiet. I liked it, but I’m not opposed to something with a big more pull.”
“If you want something big, there’s currently an opening for god of cannabis.”
I knew who’d had that domain previously, Dionysus, and he had hated it in the end. “Nah, not looking for something like that.”
“Well,” she said, grabbing a third donut, “there’s a weird one I heard about recently.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if you’d like something like that.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a rumor that the domain of language is coming up soon.”
“Hera is leaving that?”
She shrugged, “That’s what I’ve heard, but it’s not law yet. She wanted out, last I heard. Too many post-structuralists or something like that.”
“Sounds like it might be fun.”
“You well versed in language?”
“Enough to bat it around, I suppose.”
“Ever read Infinite Jest?”
“No. Should I?”
“No.” She licked the sugar off her fingers, “I only know it because it sits on a lot of bookshelves in apartments. Rarely read.”
“Do you know if anything small, with a potential to grow, is open?”
She motioned for us to sit at a bench in the park we were passing. I obliged, setting the donuts between us. I finally took one and bit into it. It was delicious.
“I’d have to think on that particular idea,” she said.
“What about these?” I said, motioning to the donut in my hand.
“Bread is taken, so is desserts.”
I sighed. She snapped her fingers.
“Weird,” she said, “but what about going back to sheep?”
I laughed, looking over at her. Her gray eyes were sparkling at me in the twilight. “Oh, you mean it.”
“People may not worship sheep as much anymore, but it should include things like, I dunno, sheep-off-shoots. There’s a big brand that uses a sheep for its advertising—some sort of mattress thing, I think.”
“Hm,” I said, leaning back and taking in the park.
“I mean, you’ve got a lot of time to decide.”
“What should I do in the mean time?”
She picked up another donut and took a bite, closing her eyes. She swallowed and sighed. “Enjoy the freedom, eat another donut, make friends. All the things you didn’t do before. Not to overstep, but my friends said you’d been a bit of an old-world stickler. You might find something you like if you let loose a little bit.”
“Let loose?”
“Ever been to a night club?”
“No.”
“Do you want to go to one?”
“I don’t know.”
She laughed, “That’s a good reason to go, then.” She stood up abruptly and held her hand out to me, “Alright, Haber. Before we find you a domain we have to do something even more important.”
“What’s that?” I asked. I took her hand and she pulled me up from the bench with surprising strength.
“Find you a life.”
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams
| 2021-03-03T14:18:41 | 2021-03-03T14:07:56 | 38 | 20 |
[WP]: An ordinary human being gets abducted into interplanetary olympics that have a fun twist: The loser's planet gets destroyed. All hope seems to be lost, until the last sport is revealed to be what humans do best.
Edit: Thanks to you people, I am now aware of the existence of Jimmy Neutron, and if I could, would take it back.
I apologise for not having watched the same cartoons as you did, growing up.
|
Maximillian Ludwig Zeiner.
He detested his full German name. Being born in New York he could not fathom why his parents wanted to keep so much of their heritage. But that heritage meant the world to him today.
The klaxon sounds above him and an alien voice rang through the loud speaker. Even though he did not understand it, he knew what it meant.
He was Earth's chosen savior, or its reckoning, doomed to compete with 24 other chosen from other species. Each and every species had claws, fangs, wings, unwieldy mass or the ability to breath underwater, acid spit, and some even had mild shape-shifting abilities.
Max was a normal human. Average Sat's. No physical prowess. Liberal arts degree. Barista by day and bartender by night. He had no chance.
As the doors opened and his usher's urged him forward he walked to a big octagon where he saw 24 podiums.
The announcers voice rang out in his strange dialect, but his usher translated for him " You must drink the contents of the glass on your podium" He then noticed the amber glass a mere 5 meters away. "After you are finished it will replenish itself, then you must drink again. Repeat this until only one man stands."
With those final word uttered his usher nudge's him in the back to the podium.
With sweat running from is brow he looks over all the competitors.
Another klaxon sounds and in unison all 25 competitors grab up their glass and down the amber liquid.
A large creature to the right yells in agony and falls to the floor.
A bug like creature unleashes a guttural wail and keels over.
The rest on the competitors seem unfazed but upon closer inspection some are wobbling in place. One human-cat creature started rambling in it's native then stumbled backwards.
Then in the midst of it all Max stare's at the glass in his hands, bewildered by the realization he says "This is light beer."
Edit: I am new to this. Please excuse my ignorance with Reddit formatting.
|
Carl was miserable. Under any other circumstances, he would be awestruck at the sky that stretched out before him: a black canvas washed with swirling blue and pink nebula, dwarfed only by the ringed planet that hung at its zenith. But Carl didn't even take notice as he sat sulking in a lukewarm bath of rejuvenating goo. His muscles ached, but the pain slowly faded as the goo did whatever it did to repair the torn tissue.
Next to Carl, in it's own goo-bath was Xthigrchloooo (whose nickname, Carl was relieved to learn, was Xth), a tentacled transluscent blue creature whos skin felt like smooth rubber and emitted a faint glow. Xth had no obvious orifices on its body, but Carl learned during his first night at the games that Xth ate his food by surrounding it like a white blood cell attacking a bacteria, slowly absorbing it. Xth's seven "eyes" were glowing orbs that hovered about 2 inches underneath his skin. Six of the seven eyes currently focused on Carl with what he could only imagine was pity.
"Cheer up," Xth said. "There's still one event left, and all you have to do is not be in last place. How difficult can that be?" The translator device that Carl wore in his ear was uncomfortably warm as it worked overtime to simplify Xth's burbling speech into something he could comprehend. The acclimation-handler to whom Carl had been assigned on the first day--a silica-based entity called Maeas that moved by destroying and regrowing it's body's crystalline structure--had unceremoniously shoved the translator into Carl's ear before explaining to him that the device would create a substantial amount of heat as it worked to dumb down the various alien languages into something his human brain could handle. It was all downhill from there.
"That's easy for you to say," Carl sighed. "You've placed high enough to guarantee that your planet won't be obliterated." Carl eyed the three medals that were lodged halfway into Xth's body. Xth's first place medal was made of a large black disc with a smaller yellow disc connected to it by a white bar. He also wore two 3rd place medals. These medals were similar to the first place award, but the central black disc was surrounded by three yellow discs. It wasn't until this moment that as Carl, exhausted and unable to focus on anything but the Xth's medals, realized that the medals represented atoms, with 1st place being hydrogen.
"You took 768th place in yesterday's event," Xth encouraged.
Carl rolled his eyes.
"That was pure luck. Even after the event was explained to me, I had no idea what I was doing. I jumped through a hole in a wall and landed face first in the mud."
"And you did it better than 84,000 other competitors! Clearly, though, that was an event for the Purians. They win it every cycle." Xth sank further into his goo bath with a gurgling sound that Carl's translator didn't bother with, so Carl just assumed it was a relaxed sigh. "Get some rest," Xth continued, "and don't worry yourself about tomorrow. I have a feeling your luck will change."
*How did I get here?* Carl asked himself; he meant the question figuratively *and* literally, as he had no recollection of how he had been transported from his apartment in New York to a planet in a binary star system on the other side of the Milky Way. Had his entire boring life been leading up to this moment, or was he just a random selection among the 7 billion people on earth? All he knew was that he had been selected to represent Earth--just as Xth and all of the other competitors had been chosen to stand for their own worlds--in some galactic contest of ... what? Will? Strength? Intelligence? Carl had no idea.
Carl sank into his goo bath. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt the goo become firm around his body -- the goo baths, for the aliens that used them, were also their beds. This was something that Carl was only now getting used to. Soon, though, the acrid smell of the bath faded as Carl's brain shut down for the night. He dreamed of pizza and rude cab drivers.
Carl was jolted awake by a blaring klaxon followed by an annoucement: "Competitors, please report to Event quadrant three for the final game." Pulling his arms from the now solidified goo bath, Carl rubbed his eyes and turned to say "good morning" to Xth, but Xth was gone. There was a Xth-shaped whole in his bath, but no Xth. That saddened Carl. Xth, despite being sentient Jell-O, was the only being that bothered to speak to Carl during his six days at the game. Many of the aliens he had encountered seemed to have no emotions at all, or emotions that were completely incomprehensible to Carl, but Xth was different. He seemd to understand Carl and even empathize with him. Carl admitted to himself that he was actually going to miss Xth when this was over.
Reluctantly, Carl pulled himself out of his bath. He slid himself into his competition garment, an impossibly thin unitard that seemed to have no weight. He couldn't even feel it against his skin.
A glowing red line on the ground guided Carl to the event area. He followed it to a large gray dome that rose a few hundred feet into the air. As he approached the wall of the dome, a Carl-shaped hole opened, revealing the bright interior. Next to him, a familiar shape appeared. Xth's seven orbs focused on Carl. "Goodbye and good luck, Carl. You have done your planet a great service." Xth began to slide through his own hole in the dome wall.
"Thanks, Xth, I--wait, what do you mean 'goodbye'?" Carl asked. But Xth's hole had already begun to close behind him. Carl stepped through his hole. There seemed to be some kind of invisible field over the hole, as Carl had to push his body through it. He smelled ozone and felt a tinlgling feeling as he passed through the hole.
*Maybe Xth's right,* Carl thought with a surge of confidence. *Despite the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing, I only have to avoid losing this event completely so save Earth. Maybe I can do this.*
Carl's body surged forward with a newly found confidence as he pushed through the finally few inches of the dome wall, popped out into the bright interior of the arena, and promptly collapsed to the ground.
The pain was unbearable. His lungs burned. Searing pane shot through the entire length of his body and seemed to occupy every cell. Carl couldn't breath. His muscles convulsed involuntarily as his mind and body tried desperately to find oxygen. His fists were balled so tightly that he could feel his fingernails cutting into the palms of his hands. Carl's eyes were wet with blood. He shut them tightly as the pain gave way to overwhelming fear and sadness at his failure.
A strong bolt of pain caused Carl to open his eyes. Through a green haze of the dome's atmosphere, Carl could see the faint outlines of other competitors. Many of them were motionless. Some moved about slowly inside the dome. Carl spotted Xth to his left, looking somewhat disappointed, but otherwise unharmed. Before Carl's eyes closed again, he saw Xth's glowing eyes settle on his writhing body. For a moment, Carl could have sworn that Xth's expression was one of pride or happiness. As Carl's vision faded, he closed his eyes tightly. Pinpoints of light peppered his sight as his mind reeled with visions of his family, friends and billion of other innocent people screaming as Earth exploded into a cloud of debris.
*Will they curse my name?* Carl wondered. *Will they even know I'm the one who doomed them to extinction?*
The pain in Carl's body began to subside. His muscles relaxed. He thought of Star Wars and espresso, and fresh cut grass, and koalas.
*I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.*
And Carl was dead.
In the dome, the rest of the more than 84,000 competitors wandered aimlessly, disappointed, around the inside of the dome. Hours passed.
A few more aliens collapsed and expired. Then, the dome began to open.
Several of the competitors, including Xth, approached Carl's lifeless body. A small grey rock-like being floated towards Carl. The competitors who had encircled his body parted to allow the grey being to approach him. The grey rock descended to hover inches over Carl's corpse. Small black tentacles grew from the grey rock and extended towards Carl's face. They touched his cold skin and felt along his body. Seconds later, the tentacles retracted back into the grey being's body. A small hole opened in its side, and a larger tentacle placed something on Carl's chest: a small black disc with a smaller yellow disc connected to it by a white bar.
| 2014-05-06T07:54:57 | 2014-05-06T07:30:47 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Write a story in the style of a teen novel which follows the journey of a group of teenagers fighting to bring down an oppressive dystopian government. Over the course of the story it becomes clear to the readers that the government is in the right.
Inspired by [this](https://np.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3yxj68/what_thing_in_a_movie_makes_it_instantly_a_bad/cyhosea) comment.
|
The Resistance was all gathered together now, huddled around a heater, warming their hands. "It is now time" said Xadus, "Time to take back what is ours". His sister, Xadai, looked on ruefully. "They think they can control us. These evil overlords will have another thing coming. Soon. The Resistance lives!"
Suddenly, without any warning, the door burst open, revealing a rather large figure, dark, with the light shining behind them.
"I told you not to leave the table without eating your brussel sprouts, Kevin."
"SCREW YOU MOM! I HATE YOU!"
"AND MY NAME IS XADUS!"
|
I wake up shortly before dawn. Today is the day. The day on which I'll decide my fate. The sky provides just enough light for me to see myself in my sliver of mirror. Hazel eyes, mouse-brown hair and a shard of glass: those are the only things I have of my mother's. I wonder what she would say to me, if she were here today. Would she tell me how proud she was? Would she tell me to be careful? Would she tell me that she loved me? Or would she simply hold me in her arms, warmth and closeness telling me all I needed to know?
Tylor enters then, his thin white face made stark by the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon. "Kyr, you awake?" His voice seems to small and thin in that cold morning air that it makes me want to cry. *Can I really do this? Can I leave him here alone?*
"What's up, Ty?" I ask, because I'm his big sister. It's my job to be brave.
"Kyr, it's today," he says, and I can hear the waver in his voice. He is so young and so afraid.
"It's today," I agree.
"A-are you scared?" he asks and I try to smile, though I can feel the tears creeping around the lump in my throat.
"Of course I am, dummy. The Choosing is scary. But I'm excited too. And sad." He hugs me then, and we spend a long moment sitting there on the edge of my bed, trying to stop time.
____
At breakfast, my father looks as stern as always. His navy uniform is threadbare around the elbows, but the brass buttons gleam. "So today's the day," he says with barely more than a nod in my direction. "I trust you've made the right choice." I wish I shared his trust. I wish I had the ability to things as simply as he does. We're even quieter than usual. *Maybe he knows,* I think. *Or maybe he just knows he's not allowed to say anything that could influence my decision.*
Tylor is pretending to lift spoonfuls of porridge to his mouth but after half an hour's efforts his bowl is still 3/4 full. I don't blame him. This oats are old and stale, the breakfast bland and tasteless. Few people can afford sugar and spices nowadays. We certainly can't. Not on a peacekeeper's salary. That's one good thing that will come out of this, I think: one less mouth to feed. Maybe Ty won't have to be so scarecrow thin. They say things are different in the Capital. The people there wear clothing bright as spring flowers and eat meat with every meal. *If I have my way*, she thinks, but thoughts like these are best left unthought.
____
The Choosing is always somewhat magical. For one day a year, the Capital grants us enough petrol to run the electric generators. The assembly hall is awash with blue-hued light that leaves folks sallow-faced but reaches every corner or the hall. My festival dress looks garish in this new light, the warm brown darkened to the colour of dried blood. I leave Ty and my father and take my place at the front of the hall with my classmates.
They are 15 and varying degrees of terrified. The sight of Miffy Sommers with tears in her eyes fills me with wonder. She is the mayor's daughter, pretty and plump with corkscrews of blonde hair. Why should she worry? Is she actually going to demand a Choosing? Maybe she knows something I don't. Maybe there's a high demand for Capitolites this year or maybe it's true what they say about Fortune's Wheel being fixed.
The presenter is a lanky figure with false lashes, high heels, and a prominent Adam's apple. I've heard that it can be hard to tell Capitoline men from women, but people say the same things of female peacekeepers with their muscled bodies and shaved heads. I hadn't realized they might actively try to make themselves ambiguous. The figures voice does nothing to reveal xir identity.
"Welcome, welcome to our newest citizens and their families. We thank you for Choosing to be with us today." Xe beams. "As I look out across this sea of faces..." And so it goes. I tune out most of it. Today is the day. Decide your future. Stay with the lives you know or try your Fortune? Bravery. Loyalty. Service. Words I've heard a thousand times a day at the training school and at home. No mention of the Discards and their fate. No mention of the Misfits who arrive on their doorstep each year unable to so much as disassemble a rifle. Only the glory of service and the privileged of decision.
Then begins the calling of names, alphabetically from Abbot to Steevers. The first three make predictable choices: Service. Service. Service. Peter, Jeb, and Rick are strapping boys and friends besides. They've always done well at the training school and are ontrack for officer positions. Why risk that for a spin on Fortune's Wheel. The next is Stacy Campbell, a 75kg butch with top scores in marksmanship. She Chooses.
Properly speaking, the wheel is not a wheel but a machine. You swipe your citizen's card and it selects a path for you. Some say it's randomized, others say it's rigged. Most believe there's a bit of both involved. We hold our breath as the machine whirs and sigh when a new card comes out of the slot. Stacy holds it aloft and crows, "Bodyguard! I'm headed to the Capital!"
Bodyguard. Does this help my chances or hurt them? If positions are finite, then Stacy just made our pool that much smaller. If it's based on probabilities, I've still got a chance.
Six more people choose the peacekeepers, then the room quiets again. The next girl is Stacy's girlfriend, Laine. "Choose," she says, and hands over her citizen's card. The machine whirrs again and Laine looks ready to pass out when the sound of plastic against metal makes her start forward. This time, there is none of the excitement that foretold Stacey's fate. "Labourer," she reads, "Agricultural District". There are worse fates, but Laine has just gambled away her friends and family for a life of hard work and no glory.
My turn comes faster than I'd ever thought possible. The electric lights make it possible to see every face in the hall, but that only makes it harder to pick out dad and Ty against the crowd. Will what I'm about to do crush them? "Kyra Nichols," the announcer is saying, and I'm saying "Choose. I'd like to Choose." And I'm handing him my card. My citizen's card. The one that gives me the right to work and learn and eat and live in the Military District. I see the empty sincerity in the Capitalite's eyes have to force myself to let go of the thin rectangle of worn plastic.
The machine whirrs.
The whirring stops.
I've heard tell of kids going crazy when this happens, lashing out at the presenter, trying to tear apart the Wheel, wetting themselves, even attempting suicide on the stage. I hold it together. Two of the Capitoline guards move to seize me and pull me off the stage, but I shake my head and give them a palms up gesture. In the training school, this gesture means "I yield. I'll go quietly." In the end, one walks ahead of me and one behind. I spare one last glance for my erstwhile countrymen, and then step follow them dutifully out of the hall.
| 2016-01-01T01:19:37 | 2016-01-01T00:21:30 | 662 | 47 |
[WP] "Before I cure your wife, you must promise to give me the child." "What do you want with our child?" "Who said I wanted your child? You're feeding a pregnant woman magic cabbage, that's going to have an effect on the baby. I need to raise it incase they breath fire or something."
|
**The Giant's Song**
My first birthday nearly ended the world.
I'm twenty now, and every year, to celebrate my birthday, gangs of people search through the woods hoping to find me. Hoping for blood-soaked revenge.
But it’s not me they should be after – it’s the wizard Ikore. Or the giant Caneus, who farmed cabbage. Or my poor father, who snuck into Caneus’s garden night after night, only to feed his pregnant wife for one more day.
Or my mom, who refused to give me up; who refused to be cured. They don’t have to go far to find her. She’s buried at the bottom of the hill south of Haling Cove. One day I’ll visit her grave there. Not now. They’re always watching it. Always waiting for me.
So I hunted the Giant and the wizard alone. Caneus was the bigger target, so I went after him first. He did his best to hide, of course, but his kind isn’t suited to that. They’re farmers by blood. Giants can’t stand dense cities or underworld haunts. They need fresh, open air plains; fields, livestock, sunrises, brewed ale, wide spaces to stretch out, quiet spaces to walk, high spaces to sing in their deep, grumbling, mountain-shaking voices.
Landow. Home to the purest soil in the kingdom. A plateau set high in the Ormskirk Mountains, tucked away from civilization, protected every winter by snows that block the only passage in or out. Of course Caneus was there. Where else would a Giant murderer hide?
I went by boat for the first hundred miles. Under cloak and disguised – a thick black beard pasted to my face, thick spectacles balanced on my nose, a stooped walk, a false name. No one knew the World Killer was onboard. No one knew that when the ocean waves slammed against us, when the sea stole the lives of three crewmen, that it was really trying to get me.
For passage up the into the Ormskirks, I fell in with a wagon train lead by Aflyn the Fur Trader. Around a campfire, as the snow gathered on our shoulders and the smell of the cooking meat wafted under our noses, Aflyn told the story of my birth to the children.
He told it well. All the principle characters were there, cartoonish and exaggerated, but that’s nothing special.
“And when the baby World Killer opened her mouth to take her first breaths, to scream, as babes do, what happened?”
His glowing orange eyes twinkled in the firelight as he looked to his little daughter, rocking with excitement. She leapt at the cue, throwing her hands in the air like she was catching a firefly.
“Boom!” she said, falling back.
“Yes,” Aflyn said, “A song to kill all living things. The wizard Ikore had betrayed them, cursing the cabbage after his offer of help had been refused. The baby was cursed to sing death, destruction, desolation. She never had a chance.”
Aflyn's son, older than the others, with tangled red hair, turned to the other kids and said, “Now she’s out there in the forest, waiting for the day she can sing again. Then we’re all DEAD!”
“Stop it,” Aflyn said. “Only fools believe that. The truth is, World Killer died that day, passing almost exactly at the time her mother passed. The baby is buried with her outside a town far, far from here, called, uh, oh what was it...”
“Haling Cove,” I said.
The luck of our party turned sour after that night. The snow intensified. “It’s too early in the season for this,” Aflyn said, as we dug our way up the side of a cliff. “God knows what the pass looks like. The wagons might not make it.”
“I can go ahead,” I said, “scout it out. You let the others rest.”
Aflyn’s son, who was carrying another child on his back, looked up at his dad with eyes begging him to accept the offer. “Thank you,” he said.
I reached the pass that night. The wagons had no chance. The snow was up to my head. I could cut a path through it, but only if I was alone. I couldn’t risk their lives – or mine – by revealing my identity. Not even here, at the edge of the world.
I climbed back the way I came. Peering down the switchback mountain path, I saw the faint fires from the camp. The wagons and their torches formed a circle in the night, like a Giant had left a magic ring leaning against the mountain.
A wolf howled. It reverberated against my ears. More wolves joined in, howling in unison. Then I heard the shot of a blunderbuss. People screaming. The fires wavered below. They started disappearing, one by one. They were under attack, and these were not normal wolves.
Thousands of years of feasting on the scraps of Giant farmers had changed them. They were massive, over a 1,000 pounds each, big enough to eat a grown man whole. Aflyn and his party were as good as dead down there. The children.
I couldn’t let it happen. Throwing off my hood, I let my hair fan out over my shoulders, dropping down my back. I leapt to the edge of the tallest cliff and sat cross-legged. I warmed my throat with my hands, and began to hum. Gentle notes at first, then I progressed higher, louder. The wind started to pick up, swirling around me, channeling the power of the sky.
I heard the wolves howl. I opened my mouth and started to sing – something ancient, something soothing. I didn’t want to kill them, only to send them home; send them to sleep somewhere warm. But I underestimated the twisted minds of these wolves.
Whatever the Giants had been farming in these mountains, it wasn’t good. The howls grew louder. I saw the slick, black coats of the wolves racing away from the wagon circle, up the mountain. They were coming for me. I spotted three at first. Another pack joined, counting six. Then nine. Then fifteen. They grouped up on the trail and bolted up the mountain, following my voice.
When I felt the wagon train was safe to make its escape, I stopped the song. My pull over the wolves should’ve been broken. I stood up and wrapped my hair back under my hood. And then I heard it – the nearly noiseless leap of a wolf as it goes for the kill. It caught the back of my leg in its mouth. I fell into the snow. Instinctively, I didn’t let myself scream. I couldn’t.
I would sacrifice myself before I screamed again. The wolf was a pup, left behind by the pack when it went to attack the wagons. I kicked it in the eye and it released me, fell back, growling and baring its teeth.
I didn’t even have time to get to my feet before the other wolves surrounded me. There were twenty at least, closing in on me from all sides. One scream. One scream would kill them all.
And Alfyn. The children. Everyone in the kingdom unlucky enough to be awake and outside. No. This was my fate, so be it. Food for the wolves.
The leader of the pack leapt into the air, hurtling toward me, mouth agape, its teeth bloody, steam rising from its insides.
And then it abruptly changed direction – it flew up into the air and slammed against a tree. I processed that before I processed what I was hearing.
The deep, guttural, mountain-shaking song of the Giants. As the wolves flew in every direction, some running from their lives, others caught in the song, I looked over my shoulder.
Standing over me, rising high into the sky, was the Giant Caneus.
“We have been waiting for you,” Caneus said, once the wolves were gone and I was on my feet again. “Come. We go over the mountain now.”
He held out his massive hand.
“Waiting? Who? Who is we?” It was a lot for me to handle.
“The wizard is here. He is dying. He seeks forgiveness.”
Caneus lowered onto his knees, shaking the ground as he fell. He came eye to eye with me.
“I seek forgiveness, World Killer.”
I looked at him. He closed his eyes, but kept his hand outstretched. I could kill him now, I thought. And then go and kill Ikore. That’s what World Killer would do.
Yes, that’s right. That’s what World Killer would do.
I took the Giant’s hand.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/ididwritethismr
|
*Listen here. I have stabilized your wife, But I need that chil*d.
**-CHILD?!**
*You're too loud! I 've dealt with the arcane, The unseen, The untouchable. Fear-not she will live. For I removed the essence that poisoned her. And when I am certain she has rested, I will remove what remains of the various Eco's that lay within, The Ecos that might fester to turn her into something I cannot defeat or control, she is stable for now, the essence once removed will revert her back into her natural beauty, but she has to rest, it is important.*
**- What do you mean by taking my child? She.. She is just a young girl, she isn't ready, she isn't grown yet, she still wets the bed and doesn't even know her numbers!**
*I don't want the girl! You idiot! I want the boy within, and I like grown women! Listen! He grows inside! I felt him resist my powers while I drew the essence out, his heart beats, he lives and he thrives, a miracle! He'll be born come harvest. And I'll come to collect him before he grows a snout and burns this place down.*
*I want your miracle child you made by feeding your wife MY experimental cabbage, I don't know what he will become, a legend, a curse upon these lands, or just an apprentice for these old bones to carry out my legacy, his is safer with me.*
*So prepare to tell your wife she is pregnant, calmly and be straight to the point. She has to understand she can't control him! Don't let them bond! We'll perish.*
| 2022-01-04T18:22:24 | 2022-01-04T17:48:29 | 869 | 121 |
[WP] The four horsemen of the apocalypse are white, upper-middle class suburban soccer moms.
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Judith sighed and brushed her hair from her face.
Just one match. Just one. A football match, simulated warfare, simulated aggression, tightly controlled chaos, was all she wanted. Just football, nothing more. Just to sit, and watch, and gently direct the passions of the onlookers onto the cheerful group of six-year-olds who followed the ball like faithful hounds.
Unfortunately, she couldn't go to one of her daughter's matches ever again.
It had all been going nicely. Maureen--who was the iconoclast of the group, short, fat, cheerful, loving--had been sitting next to her, collecting the drifting broken dreams of middle age to her ample bosom, loving as with a pile of lost kittens. Broken dreams, failing marriages, crushed hopes, all were tiny deaths, and she treated them with the same compassion and grace as when a body lost its heartbeat. Judy and Maureen made a point of always sitting together, since Judy's burning aggression balanced out Maureen's eternal calm. That, and, well, nobody in heaven or earth made better chocolate chip cookies than Maureen, and Judy was one of only a handful of beings on the planet who could eat them and live. Maureen always slipped Judy a few, wrapped carefully in paper, and Judy was always careful to never, ever lose a single crumb.
Rosy and Wanda would usually come to matches, but stay off to the side by themselves. Wanda early on established boundaries to keep the unsuspecting away, usually by putting ravenous hunger into the well-meaning busybodies who wanted to talk, and barring that, actually laying hands on the women and saying, my friend isn't feeling well, why don't you let her be so you don't catch something? Whenever that happened, Maureen and Judy would always take bets on how long it would be before the woman was hospitalised for an eating disorder. So far none of them had died, but eventually one would, and Maureen would come find her.
Still, they were a balancing force. As long as all four of them were present, the forces holding them into life would be kept even, and one of them couldn't rise ascendant over the rest. Today, Rosy and Wanda had not come, for whatever reason, and the results were dire.
There was a new child on the field today, with both her parents, and while the girl was chasing after the ball and her mother talking to the coach, the father casually slid behind where Judith and Maureen were standing, and pinched Judith's butt.
Judith, being a creature of desperate passions, oozed sex. She couldn't go to a bar for a fancy cocktail without two total strangers getting into a fight over her, over who would get to fuck her. When her daughter Amy first joined the soccer group, within six weeks any woman whose tubes weren't tied or her husband hadn't had the snip was pregnant--the passion inspired by Judith was released elsewhere, and what better destabilising force for violence was ever created than too many children living in too poor conditions, furious at their elders for lack of resources and lack of control over their own lives? (Although, she had to admit, watching those excess children tear the Ceausecus to pieces in 1989 had been so deeply satisfying that even Rosy congratulated her on it.) She blunted the path to wrath and desire as best she could with plain, unflattering clothing and changing her body to appear sallow and forgettable, and never went anywhere without her sisters. Still, rarely, humans would attempt to touch her sexually, and always with consequences.
Maureen noticed as soon as it happened. "Oh shit, honey," she said, and clamped a thick soft hand around Judith's arm. It was warm and comforting and reassuring, and far, far, far too late.
Judith, for her part, closed her eyes, tilted her head to the sky, and said, "Here we go."
That was when one of the girls on the blue team shoved a girl on the red team. Hard. Pushed her right to the ground. Tiny sparks of betrayal flickered through the air. Maureen collected them all.
"Hey, Ref, she pushed my kid!" shouted one father. His face had a suspicious bloom on his cheeks, passion funneled into wrath.
The referee, an attractive young blonde woman, separated the girls and sent both to the sidelines. "Number 7 Blue is benched for the game," she said. "Number 4 red, take a minute, shake it off, you can come back in later." The girls funnelled to the sidelines, looking shaken.
"She pushed my kid, and all you're going to do is bench her?" The father came out onto the field, shaking off the grip of his desperate wife. "She should sit out the next three games, at least."
The referee shook her head. "Leave the field now, sir," she warned. Along the sidelines, a trio of other fathers coalesced, ready to take him to the sideline. "Let the girls finish their game." She pointed at the red team coach.
And that was that. As soon as the coach came on the field to lead him away, the man took a swing at her. Coach, being a second-degree black belt in tae kwon do as well as a very competent childrens' coach, blocked the swing and pinned his arms, which would have been quite enough if one of the other fathers had not chosen to say something rude about the pinned man's manhood, and gotten a slap across the face from the pinned man's wife.
"Okay," Maureen said, her eyes sparkling, "even you have to admit that was funny."
It kind of was.
Out on the field, one little girl saw her mommy hit another man, and she ran to the sideline, which would have been a touching show of emotion had she not tripped and fallen face first on a 2-year-old playing in the dirt. "Hey!" shouted another father. "Watch your fucking kid!"
"Watch your language around my daughter," the woman shouted, running to collect her now-sobbing child and staring daggers at him. An older boy, about ten, ran with her, and threw his arms about his sister. The baby on the ground wailed. Another mother came bustling out of the cluster of grumbling parents to swoop up the baby, and said something condescending to the still-sobbing little girl, and got a kick in the shins from her brother.
That was the final straw. Within minutes, every adult man on the blue side of the field was in a fistfight. Every adult woman was screaming at the other women at the top of her lungs, babies were screaming, older children crying, and, the ten little girls wearing blue shirts were left standing on the field, tears streaming down their faces.
The referee, ever practical, led the girls off the field, red team and blue team alike, into the arms of parents who hustled the children away from the sight of six police squad cars showing up for the entertainment. The red team parents gave the girls juice and crackers as their fathers were taken away in handcuffs, and at least one mother arrested for assaulting one of the police officers. Phone calls were made to neighbours and friends, anybody to come comfort the girls (and more importantly, pass over responsibility for the junior football orphans to somebody else). A cake appeared from somewhere, and the rituals of using sugar to comfort sobbing children was repeated in the face of flickering lights and shouted obscenities.
Maureen and Judith both turned their heads to the cacophony just in time to see the man who'd started the whole affair being shoved into a squad car. They grinned at one another, and then looked at the referee, sitting on the field drinking out of a gatorade bottle. And then they turned to see Amy, her daughter, standing on the field watching them, and their grins faded.
Judith's heart broke at the horrified expression on her face. Maureen caught the ashes and buried them.
The cold cloth over her eyes helped. So did the chardonnay, and the enormous packet of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies Maureen brought over. Who cares if they were fattening, ten minutes with Wanda would fix that.
The door creaked open. "Hey, honey," Stephen said.
Stephen, husband, father of her daughter, seraphim, sent from the Almighty to control her rages. After today's events, some sort of punishment would follow. Even without opening her eyes, she could tell that all six of his wings were out and blazing--the smell of brimstone was strong.
"Maureen told me what happened," he said. "I'm so sorry."
She pulled the cloth from her eyes and set the wine down. Looking up at him, his face was full of compassion. She blinked. His wings were out and blazing, but not the red-black of judgement, but the green-white of sorrow.
"Come here," he said, and pulled her closer, wrapping all six wings around her.
"I just wanted to go to the match," she said, burying her face in his shoulder.
"I know," he said.
|
The bus was loaded and Diane was ready to drive everyone to the latest game. The children tried their hardest, but, really they just didn't have that do or die part of their nature that was necessary for domination. To them it was just another day on yet another soccer field. They didn't understand how important each and every game was to insure dominance over the others. You know, the other soccer mom/ coaches / horse women of the apocalypse. So far Pestilence aka Pamela was leading with her team but Diane aka Death wasn't that far behind.
The others Famine and War aka Emily and Rainbow, don't ask, she had a thing for hippy sounding names, were constantly in cahoots with one another. It was exhausting. Truly though, Diane wasn't sure what was worse the millennia she had been battling for supremacy or escorting 12 nine year olds to soccer every week.
"Mrs. Smith I need to use the bathroom."
Diane heard the squeaky voice of Bailey, her daughter's best friend, from behind her.
"Just a minute dear, we're almost there."
Suddenly the bus as full of voices complaining of the same overfilled bladders, not exactly a plague but the closest Pamela could get to due to the newly inforced rules. No unnatural occurring illnesses. Emily and Diane also had similar restrictions: no blights on the food supply, no sudden deaths on the fields and much to Rainbow's dismay no sudden calls to war in the middle of a game.
Truth be told anyone of them could end the competition with a snap of her fingers calling one of her horses but unfortunately they had to follow the new rules. It was very tiring being this suburban and proper but hell if the grandmother of them all Sekhmet could succeed and run a thriving business empire for decades she could lead some girls through a few games of soccer without killing anyone.
| 2015-06-21T20:49:17 | 2015-06-21T17:34:40 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
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It had taken him years to come to terms with his score, to accept it. So it was something of a shock when he finally figured out what it actually meant. He started cackling to himself, like a madman.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Mike's Assessment, at 6 months old, was routine. They were always routine. After so much time, the technology was perfect. DNA sequencing, brain scans.
It wasn't until the result appeared on the screen that anything out of the ordinary happened.
"No!" shrieked Angela. "That's not possible! There must be some mistake! You have to run it again!"
"Why do I always get the difficult ones?" Dan thought to himself, readying the normal speech he gave upset parents demanding a retest. He stopped himself when he saw the result on the screen. It couldn't be...
After a hurried call to his supervisor, he retested the baby. He'd moved into a different test chamber, to rule out equipment malfunction.
1
The screen glowed with the single digit number, the first anyone in this facility had ever seen. Dan couldn't believe it any more than the mother could. Anything below 15 was extremely rare. In the two centuries since the system was implemented, only a few dozen had scored below 10, and the lowest of them, a single woman born nearly 80 years ago, was a 5.
"Perhaps it'll improve at Confirmation..." Dan said, with little conviction. He was among the most experienced Assessors, well trained, well liked. But even he was shaken.
The mother, a 156, latched on to that hope. "Of course it will!" she snapped at him. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, her face softening "I shouldn't be upset at you."
"It's just so shocking. It must be a glitch. The Confirmation will make it right."
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike returned to the facility on his 13th birthday, terrified of the result. After today, his Confirmed score would become public, tattooed permanently on the back of the right hand. He might never see his family or friends again after today.
His parents had taught him the system as he grew up, and school filled in the blanks. People were free to live in any zone up to 10 levels above or below their own score, and visit at will any zone within 20. A good reason was required for visiting zones outside that band, which is how the missionaries helped in the lower zones, and how the criminals made money in the higher.
Zone 163 was a good place to live, in Mike's opinion, an allowable compromise between his mother's 156 and his father's 170. To hear them tell it, they'd met at a concert in 160 during their college years, but 163 was less crowded and the real estate more affordable.
Mike had always hidden his score from everyone outside his family. He wasn't told about his score until he was old enough to understand why it would be to keep it private. Only a small minority of his classmates kept their scores secret, but Mike was well liked and never got into any serious trouble, so no one ever pried.
The machine beeped, bringing Mike's attention back to the present. The DNA scan process was the same as when he was a baby, not that he remembered it of course, but the brain scans were longer and more thorough. At 13, his personality and temperament were set, and he was old enough to be able to make an actual difference in the world, good or bad. Or so the law said, as it always had.
* * * * * * * * * * *
By chance, Dan was Mike's Assessor again. He was older now, only a year or two shy of retirement age, but age hadn't dulled his memory. He remembered the squalling baby that scored a 1 all those years ago.
He frowned at the display in his control booth. The subject's file was exemplary. Good grades, no serious trouble, lots of friends, a pet that was well cared for and seemingly well loved. He was no angelic 195 to be sure, but Dan would put him at a solid mid-150s. His estimates were seldom wrong.
The machine beeped again, a quick three tones that indicated the test was done. The tattooing device whirred as it activated and began inscribing Mike's hand. As the law prescribed, Mike was restrained. In the distant past, well before Dan's time, people would become agitated when their score was Confirmed and the Marking would need to be delayed until they calmed down, and the facilities became backlogged. Subjects still became agitated, but the restraints ensured they stayed still until the Marking was done.
Dan glanced at the right hand of the tall, blond teenager.
-1- was engraved in bold letters across it. A small, detached, analytical part of his mind thought about how 2-digit Scores were centered on the hand differently than 3-digit ones, for clarity, and realized that 1-digit Scores must be hyphenated for the same reason. He'd never seen one before.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike didn't weep, or lash out in anger, or try to bargain, as he'd been told others had after getting a high Variance from his family. He just felt numb.
Time passed as if he were in a daze. He barely noticed as his scant belongings were stowed into the train, or when he was led to his seat. Variants who were no longer suitable for the zones of their childhood were relocated immediately after Confirmation.
The train moved between zones on its usual schedule. People got on and off, some Variants like him moving to their new homes forever, others visiting friends and family or out on business. As the day wore on, the zone numbers steadily decreased, as did the number of other passengers.
The automated voice proclaiming "FINAL STOP" finally jolted Mike back to alertness. He shuffled out of the train, noticing faded paint on the concrete identifying the terminal as being in "ZONE 60".
He looked around. The buildings had been similar to the ones in Zone 160 once, he noticed, perhaps identical. That was decades gone, though. Everything in sight had a rundown, somewhat neglected look. Shoddy, ramshackle additions were common.
"Keep moving to the other train" an armed member of the security force growled at him, point across the platform.
This train had only a quarter as many cars as they one he'd gotten off of. The windows were small and thick, the outer surfaces heaving armored. The interior was in relatively poor repair, but he could tell it had once been identical to the train from his home. That seemed to the way of the world - at its heart, everything was built identical and adapted to its final purpose.
There were few other passengers, most glaring or leering at Mike. He had no doubt some would try to rob him, or rape him, or enslave him.
One by one, their expressions changed when they saw his Mark. Some faces showing a grudging respect, but all showed fear. He took a seat in the middle of a few empty rows and looked out the window, tuning out those around him.
The train rumbled through the night, becoming ever more empty. The zones became smaller and more sparsely populated. Even with a population approaching fifteen billion, only a few dozen had a Score below 20. The Black Widow, a notorious aging crimelord, was currently the lowest by two, with a 16. She lived in an opulent suite in Zone 26.
He couldn't even visit there if he wanted to, Mike realized. At best, he could live in Zone 11 and visit 21. The gangs grew and processed drugs in some of those zones, he knew, but they were all essentially depopulated.
In Zone 37, a Security officer with a "141" Marked on his hand boarded the train and approached Mike. He seemed to be torn between pity and revulsion.
"Listen up. The law requires that all citizens are provided with an adequate supply of food and other provisions, delivered directly to their chosen Zone if they can't provide for themselves. You're free to live in whichever Zone you want, within your Range, of course, but we strongly suggest you choose 11. The tracks beyond 17 haven't been used or maintained in decades, and this train will NOT go beyond the Zone 11 station."
"We don't have recent records regarding the maintenance bots in those Zones either. When your supplies are delivered day after tomorrow, inform Security if you need anything. The law guarantees electric power, clean water, plumbing, HVAC, and network connectivity, but we won't dispatch technicians unless you tell us they're needed."
"T-thank you," Mike stammered in reply.
"Hrmph." The officer moved towards the front of the train, seeking the security of the locked cab.
|
"Your annual re-evaluation results are in, Geoffrey", came the familiar, monotone voice of Master Computer. Some people found it creepy, but I was actually fond of the emotionless machine. You could always rely on its honesty and incorruptibility. Today, however, I would've loved to have been able to bribe, coerce or manipulate it.
"Sandra!" I called out to my wife. "Computer's back with my new score."
I took a deep breath as Sandra walked in, a familiar look of worry on the face, and turned back towards the screen.
"How'd I do, M.C.?"
I'm sure it had sounded like a great idea at the time, separating the good from the evil. The good don't deserve to suffer the misdeeds of the evil, and what could be a more appropriate way to punish those who commit them? And I'm sure it seemed like a good idea to have the re-evaluations. After all, people change over time and it would be absurd to ignore corruption and remorse. The problem was its effect on human relationships. It was hard to make friends, let alone fall in love, when everyone you know might be in different zones the next year.
Maybe it wouldn't be a problem if there weren't so many different tiers. Four or five might've been fine, but with two-hundred, the slightest change in behaviour could knock you into a different zone. This is was led to the invention of the "goodness tracker" app that allowed anyone to keep count of how they were doing on a day-to-day basis.
The computer replied in the same dull voice. "Your score is 151, Geoffrey".
Sandra smiled at me as I breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken a lot of theft to make up for that kidney donation.
| 2016-08-26T16:31:07 | 2016-08-26T14:51:22 | 81 | 27 |
[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".
|
Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say.
Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off.
I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was.
She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy.
To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating.
I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died.
The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things.
I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name.
Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least.
And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember.
So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened.
“125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice.
Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice.
“We need you.”
Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know.
“Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.”
“Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.”
Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin.
“Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.”
“For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad.
“You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad.
“Come with me, and shut up.”
“Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember.
“Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.”
Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures.
Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking.
From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some
Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of.
“Hey there. I was told there would be cake.”
“Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me.
“It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.”
A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room.
“It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.”
Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam.
“Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.”
He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old.
“Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.”
“Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.”
Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.”
Say what now?
|
Some days, the attendees annoy me with their voices or their bad breath or the stupid things they say. Some days, I enjoy the gruffness or a witty attitude. Most days, I just long for solitude. Real solitude. After thousands of years, I’ve had my fill of people. And yet, it’s the people who come to do check-ins that provide the only variety in my dull, organized life.
I hear the quick, clumsy steps of the new girl. Her name is Lola. She has short blue hair and round black eyes. She has a voice like a bird. I don’t really like Lola very much. She’s too young and too restless, like a puppy. But I think I’d like her when she grows up.
I lift my head slowly, at a human pace, as she gets closer to the door. Today, instead of opening the slate in the door, the tiny human girl swung the heavy metal door open. It hit the wall with a bang. She was wearing the standard uniform; a sleek black material formed a skin tight jumpsuit around her lithe form. I remembered someone telling me once that they were meant to protect everyone from me. Fire proof, pressure proof, cut proof. Whatever they could think of. The mortals never truly understand our powers.
We speak at the same time.
“We need you.”
“So it is time.”
I couldn’t make out her expression. Today she wore the hood that came with the uniform. I wondered whose idea that had been.
“Why have they sent you?”
Lola did not expect this question. She was quiet for long enough to make me bored. I stepped towards her and in my small space that put me inches from her. I stretched a hand out and let my fingertips brush the fabric covering her shoulder. She winced. I’d forgotten how fragile the humans were.
“I-I’m not sure. You’re to come with me. Downstairs.”
Oh, how sweet the idea of freedom tastes.
“Is my sister there?”
I could smell the sweat on Lola’s palms and hear her heartbeat escalating.
“So she is!” I said, chipper. “Let’s go, then. It’s been a few centuries.”
| 2018-07-31T16:12:27 | 2018-07-31T14:46:36 | 109 | 34 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump.
|
The Golden Gorilla ground to a halt, his mind a fuzzy mass of rage, the remnants of half a city block clinging to his golden fur. There was something in the way, a shape. A little, living, human shape.
“If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than her?”
The Golden Gorilla grunted, shaking his head, feet pawing at the concrete of the sidewalk. In the road ahead, between himself and his arch nemesis The Crimson Song, a small boy sat atop a tricycle, pedaling casually between burning cars. He wore a Micky Mouse shirt and blue shorts, his shoes lit up as he pedaled. He’d spoken, but the words hadn’t made sense.
The boy rode straight up to the Gorilla, not at all afraid of the towering, fifteen foot tall monster that had once been a man. He hopped off his tricycle at the end of the sidewalk and walked forward, placing a small, shockingly steady hand on the Gorilla’s shin. “Please don’t fight anymore,” he said, “it’s scary when you fight. People get hurt.”
Across the street The Crimson Song laughed, her high, bright voice carrying over all the car alarms and bystanders’ screams. The Gorilla, still confused, lowered himself closer to the child’s level, giving a small, interrogative series of hoots. The boy tilted his head to the side, and for the first time since he’d appeared he looked nervous.
“He doesn’t understand you, ape!” Crimson Song shouted from across the street. “Then again, nobody does, whichever form you take.”
The Golden Gorilla rose quickly up to his full height, howling at the sky, pounding his chest with hands that could shatter buildings, that could shatter her too if he could only catch her.
And the child began to cry.
It was the sort of full on, ugly, no holds barred cry that only a small child could manage. The kind that tore at hearts universally, whether you understood or not. The Golden Gorilla stopped mid display, his fists falling slowly to his sides, his lips curling back down to cover his teeth. He glanced around, realizing that even the screams of the bystanders had stopped, the street was silent, save for the burning and the car alarms and the overriding immediacy of a child’s tears.
“Oh now look what you’ve done!” the Crimson Song exclaimed. “Whatever we have between us was that really necessary?”
Necessary? The Gorilla let out a small, distressed whine, staring down at the child. It had seemed necessary at the time, but then, when he was a Gorilla didn’t everything?
Reaching down with one gigantic hand the Golden Gorilla scooped up the boy, raising his scalp to eye level. A collective gasp tore through the onlookers as every phone camera and TV crew in the city turned their lenses to one moment, either in terror or anticipation of incredible ratings. The Gorilla reached up with his other hand, still whining softly, and gently, as gently as he was able, he began to comb through the boys hair with the tip of a single fingernail.
“Oh for the love of— you’re grooming him? Really?” The Crimson Song shook her head and suddenly her boots glowed, red cape trailing out behind her as she rose into the air and flew over to her enemy and the boy in his hands.
“You’re terrifying the poor thing! I knew you were an oaf but honestly, this might be your worst moment yet.”
Hovering in the air at eye level to the Gorilla, the Crimson Song reached down and stroked the crying boy’s back. “Hey buddy, what’s your name? The big scary gorilla would have asked by now but he’s a gorilla and I hear they struggle sometimes.”
“Mom says I’m not supposed to talk to super-villains.”
Song deadpanned. The Gorilla’s shoulders shook with small hoots of laughter. She shot him a glare that could melt steel and he almost felt bad. “Well buddy,” Song said, her tone deceptively sweet, “until we can get you back to her it looks like we’re all you’ve got. I’d say as long as it’s a…ahemm…‘superhero’ holding you you’re probably doing ok.”
“Really?”
“Really. What’s your name?”
The boy paused for a long moment. “Tommy,” he said finally, his voice still shaking with tears.
“Well Tommy, where is your mom? My *friend*,” she positively snarled the word, “and I were kind of in the middle of something as you can see.”
Then Tommy did something neither of them had expected. He looked her straight in the eye and extended his little arm out towards the nearby playground. More precisely, to the burning wreckage of a car in front of it.
“Oh!” Song gasped.
The Golden Gorilla howled so loudly the boy began crying again, and then he was crying too, great Gorilla sized tears, each one of them splashing onto the ground like full, overturned buckets and spreading out in a golden puddle.
“Can you stop being such an oaf!” Song shouted, but he could see she was struggling too, still staring off at the burning wreck. “Tommy,” she said, “are you sure?”
Tommy nodded.
Several long moments later, when Song’s eyes weren’t so watery and her hand on Tommy’s back no longer shook so badly, she smiled gently at the boy, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Tommy, I’m going to sing you a little song and then you’re going to feel better, ok?”
The Golden Gorilla’s hand was a hairy blur as he reached out, wrapping her up in an iron fist. “Oww, stop, stop!” she shouted at him. He grunted menacingly, eyes darting between her and the boy.
“Come on, let go! I know other songs, you know I know other songs!” The Gorilla’s grip loosened slightly as long suppressed memory rose up, the thin, high thread of a voice in the next room.
“Idiot,” she said, shaking her head at him. She pounded at his fist once more and the Gorilla let her free, and returning to Tommy’s side, she began to sing.
It started, low, in a register she’d never had in those memories, and with each sibilant syllable there was something else, like another voice shadowing hers. Her song rose quickly, lacking any meter but not needing it, and even primed for rage as he was The Golden Gorilla felt himself tiring, all the muscles in his gargantuan body relaxing. Tommy had no chance. His crying slowed, his eyelids grew heavy, head drooping down to the Gorilla’s rough palm.
The song rang out across the street, and for once The Crimson Song didn’t glow crimson as she sang, rather a soft, light blue that felt like old times. She stroked Tommy's back as he fell asleep, and then, gently, ever so gently, she took him from the Gorilla’s hand and floated down to the ground to lay him in a nearby bench.
She crouched next to Tommy, brushing back his hair, and the Golden Gorilla leaned over them both, casting an all encompassing shadow across them. Alarms still went off all across the street, cameras still ran everywhere. The Gorilla looked around at the devastation and saw it in a new light.
Then he heard crying, and he looked down again at his nemesis. The blue glow was gone, but so was the red as well. She stared across the street at the park, forcing her gaze onto the burning wreckage of the car in front of it.
“What are we doing?” she asked, so quietly it might not even have been meant for the Gorilla’s ears.
He growled softly, trying to form her name, her real name, with a tongue that couldn’t. He only got the R in the beginning right. “Turn back Aaron,” the Crimson Song said, laying a hand on his foot. “Please turn back, I can’t do this anymore today.”
The hand felt so familiar. How long had it been since she touched him in anything but anger? Then a small, thin thread of song started, and this time there was no shadowy second voice behind it, no magic clinging to the words. It was the same song he remembered from all those years ago, the lullaby she used to sing in the nursery, when they’d had a nursery to sing lullabies in.
The edges of the Gorilla’s rage softened. His shoulders fell, fists unclenched. He sat down on the ground, and it trembled as his weight landed.
Fur sloughed off of skin, hands and feet shrunk, his teeth fell out of his mouth, crashing to the ground point first and sticking up. The Golden Gorilla changed, his form becoming less frightening, less impossible, more human with every second, and all the while the cameras rolled until a naked, exhausted man stood in the street amidst the shredded flesh and shattered bones of the greatest ape. Blood and sweat dripped from his body and he collapsed onto one knee under the weight of a thousand different aches and bruises.
“Hello Aaron,” she said.
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mta87n/wp_in_the_middle_of_a_fight_with_a_known_villain/gv037pj?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
|
I looked at the child dumbfounded, but mostly concerned that he was within danger close of the battle zone. I looked at Destructo, the simultaneously dumbest and most physically powerful villain. He had a weird gleam in his eye.
“Did you pay him to say this?”
“I D K, Shield-brah,” he literally spelled out *I D K.* “Why would I do that? Maybe the kid has a point!”
“A Point!? Its hard enough with you being infuriatingly stupid, why do you have to go and think you have any kind of mental coherence on top of it?”
He pointed at me like a tv wrestler. “Stop stalling with big words, and answer the question!”
I gingerly tugged at the child’s shirt to get him behind me, and walking away to safety in the nearest direction to cover. “Maybe because before this fight was happening, I was in the gardening section of Home Depot, and you were lasering an art museum because, and I quote, ‘Where’s all the naked women? I thought there was supposed to be naked boobies in here.’”
“I didn’t say ‘boobies.’”
“Well I’m not a big fan of the actual word you used. I think it’s demeaning to women.”
He almost started a tirade, when Night Hawk hit him with the sleeping gas because he wasn’t paying attention.
“Thank God.”
“Shield-Maiden,” said Night Hawk, “I’m genuinely sorry you had to talk to him that long. But thanks for keeping him distracted.”
“Kid? Where’s that kid? I swear, what’d he give him, like 5 bucks and a candy bar?” I searched for the child, but suddenly he was no in the vicinity.
“Anyone see where the kid went?”
The crowd in hiding looked around, gawking like seagulls. They had no idea. Then I saw the child, three stories up on a roof 4 buildings away. His eyes glowed yellow at me. Suddenly I knew...
... how long have I been hypnotised?
| 2021-04-18T06:48:18 | 2021-04-18T06:21:51 | 824 | 81 |
[WP] At the age of 18 you are permitted to redistribute your twenty skill points around into whatever skills you want permanently. You decided to put everything into LUCK and leave the rest at 0 points.
|
Congressman Derek F. Ackerman sat at the ornate wood desk in his oversized hotel room, disinterestedly flipping through debate notes. He couldn't help but pause and take in the irony of his room. *"Presidential Suite...I didn't even know they could upgrade rooms."*
 
By all accounts he should have felt positively confident. His opponent had just dropped a baby at the handshake line outside. Not only that, the candidate's response was to feverishly claim that the baby had been "unbearably heavy".
 
One does not win a presidential debate after dropping someone's fat toddler in front of the news trucks. Sorry, allegedly fat. Regardless, Congressman Ackerman did not feel particularly lucky today. He glanced over at his wife, sitting pensively on the lavish king bed.
 
As Derek's mind wandered between focusing on work and growing bored from confidence, his old friend sadness began to work it's way onto the mental itinerary. As if coming to the rescue, his chief strategist Keith Greer suddenly knocked and poked his head in the room.
 
"Hey Congressman. They need you backstage in 15. We're about to get started," said Keith. It was fortunate he showed up and pulled him back down the present. Derek knew he had to focus on the evening's event.
 
This was the third presidential debate between Derek and Republican Sen. John Williamson. In the first debate one ABC moderator nearly choked to death, but not before Derek and the Heimlich maneuver intervened. Needless to say, the standing ovation went over well with the audience at home.
 
The second debate had been more subtle. During a sensitive back and forth on the topic of abortion, Senator Williamson suddenly developed a facial tick where he kept, or so it seemed, *winking* at the audience. Some pundits called the series uncomfortable. They were vastly understating the atter. Polls showed an unsurprisingly brutal skyrocket in the poor man's unfavorables.
 
Now the Senator was set to go a third time. He was tenacious if nothing else.
 
Derek noticed Keith still lingering by the door.
 
"Something else you need, Keith?" he asked.
 
The long time political operator shifted uncomfortably.
 
"Well....this is kindof a grey area. But CBS accidentally cc'd one of our staffers a copy of the moderators' debate questions. Do you want to know?"
 
Derek thought for a second. It's not like there'd be any consequences if he went with it. There never were.
 
Derek nodded, "Yeah, why not. Anything I should look out for?"
 
His strategist paused, "Well they're going to ask Williamson about all the new affair allegations..."
 
Derek suspected that would come up. Sen. John Williamson was enduring quite unfortunate timing with all these accusations. He wondered if any of them were true.
 
The strategist continued, more cautiously now, "...and one moderator will want to know your fondest memory of Marissa before she got sick."
 
No sooner had her name rolled off Keith's tongue than Derek slumped into his chair and fell into a deeply distant gaze. His eyes glistened just a touch, threatening a high chance of precipitation.
 
"This should be a softball question," thought Keith. He knew the Congressman quite well. And glancing over at his wife's still, unmoving form it was easy to understand how his boss could get shaken up over her condition. But politically, she was a godsend, though Representative Ackerman could never really see it that way.
 
"Sir..." Keith said gently, shocking Derek out of his momentary trance.
 
The congressman slowly straightened up, wiped the back of his hand across his face, and stood.
 
He spoke, somber gravity weighing down every word, "Thank you. I'll be down in 5."
 
"Sure you're alright sir?"
 
"Yeah, I'll be fine...Just give me a minute."
 
The congressman looked around the lavish hotel room as Keith hesitantly turned to go. Derek calmed down a bit. He couldn't help but notice Keith's furtive glance toward Marissa on his way out.
 
With a loud **clack** the door closed, and Derek walked over to the bed a crumpled down onto it, next to Marissa. The campaign was perpetually baffled by her presence in trail. But Congressman Derek Ackerman would not be parted with his wife.
 
She sat totally still, back against the headboard. Her medical assistant (he unfortunately couldn't attend to all of her needs) had dressed her in the lovely old blue gown today, and draped a thin silver necklace around her neck.
 
It was hard to tell when she was awake or asleep, since there was almost no distinction. The doctors called it 'Coma Creep.' They were able to name it, but unable to explain it.
 
In just a few short years she had become blind, deaf, and mute. Her entire nervous system shut down, and most of her muscle mass had all but withered away. She probably couldn't taste anything either, but since everything worked through IV's no one bothered to test. She also had some oddly acute skin decay. One part of her face had rotted to black, in an eerily near perfect resemblance to a swastika. The unsightliness hurt the natural charisma she had with sympathy voters. So they covered that part of her face in bandages. She was hard on the eyes, and even worse for morale.
 
Yet still, in this moment, Derek stared at her. He saw none of the special "flaws." Instead he saw the memory, his memory, of the beautiful girl he'd grown up with and married.
 
The world looked at Derek Ackerman and saw the youngest congressman in history, the most successful public activist in America, a lottery winner who donated everything to charity, and probably the next and most beloved leader of the free world.
 
If he were less lucky with press coverage, they would have seen the real Derek: a simple man haunted by a ghost.
 
Doubt crept in. He wondered if he should've tried to put more into Luck. If he and Marissa should have forgotten their ambition and lived in peace. If they had made a mistake. They had both been so sure of themselves, they had planned so throughly before the re-alignment process. He even waited for her birthday, so they could go in together. He was afraid then.
 
Derek brushed his hand through her hair, "I'm still afraid, Ryss," he managed. When his sadistic mind reminded himself that she'd never respond again, laugh again, smile again, or mess his hair... He was fortunate to let loose only a few brimming tears.
 
*At least she still has her hair. I guess I'm lucky for that,* he thought.
 
Silver lining aside, here he was. Alone. Always alone since the re-alignment. One of two people in the room technically alive. One of one conscious enough to wish they weren't.
 
He took a deep breath. Derek thought about all the good he was doing for the country, and the world. Then another deep breath. It wasn't working. The guilt crashed down. Then habit kicked in, and he reached for the paper that so often comforted him in these moods.
 
He pulled the old, wrinkled paper out of its home in the suit's chest pocket. It had been home in every suit Derek wore since he received the letter. Since the day before he and Marissa wed. Three days before re-alignment. And for what it's worth, the letter was the closest thing Derek would have to a real home. He read it carefully.
|
Pajser woke up on his 20th birthday pretty hungover. Strong light almost totally prevented his eyes from opening. It was unusual light, the one you usually see in games when one important revelation comes up.
"You have 20 skill points to spend, choose wisely," Siri said.
Pajser took his phone and put all on luck because he was too irritated and grumpy because of last night's drinks. Suddenly, he felt the urge to sleep again. He laid down and fell asleep. He died.
"You lucky dumbass", Siri said,"you put no points in your immune system, you're lucky you died in your sleep."
The phone turned off.
THE END.
| 2016-03-20T21:21:54 | 2016-03-20T18:09:26 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] Space is dangerous! The races of the galaxy use long-range transporters to travel to other worlds instead. Wars revolve around transporter tech. The very idea of a "space-ship" is insane...and then the humans arrived...
[deleted]
|
“Tammerlyn to Access Log 423, requesting permission to document a newly found phenomenon.”
A robotic voice answered the whispered plea of the alien, “Access granted. State documentation.”
“I am here, on Beta-593, in the Outer Fields, Sector Y2, and I have encountered an entirely new craft–-aboard are 3 sentient creatures calling themselves ‘humans’ and claiming to have come from Alpha Y789, a planet previously deemed ‘uninhabitable’ and ‘unremarkable’ by explorers in the year 87890. These humans are speaking through a voice modulator, as best I can understand–-”
“WE COME IN PEACE.” Roared the staticky voice of one of the humans aboard the vessel.
Tammerlyn looked upwards towards the ship, her top wrist raised to her lips as she spoke into her Seer. She waved one of her tentacles, located on her back like wings, and nodded to them, smiling.
“They seem,” she paused, looking at their doughy, strangely colored faces, “enthusiastic and frightened. The vessel they are on appears to be made of relatively here-to unknown capacity, as it ‘flies’ through space for travel. They do not appear to have a transporter aboard. I am going to make contact. Seer, contact High command on Beta-873T, specifically Commander Ogland.”
The wrist piece blinked in reply as she stepped up to the door and waited. “DO YOU COME IN PEACE AS WELL?” The yell of the humans rang out in the heavy atmosphere.
“Yes.” She could feel the language modulator around her throat kick into action as she replied.
The doors to the strange vessel opened to reveal another set of doors. She stepped inside and the doors behind her closed. The pressure began to shift as the carbon dioxide was replaced with oxygen. She place a small mask over her mouth, instantly feeling less light headed. She spoke into her wrist piece again, “These ‘humans’ seem to breathe oxygen and need a stable atmospheric pressure.”
The door in front of her hissed as it opened, revealing the three humans. They all had a look of awe about them as she stepped inside the vessel, looking around. “Hello, humans. I am Tammerlynn, of the Hisac people in the Symer galaxy, approximately 122345 Light Years away. I have come to document your appearance in one of our colony galaxies.”
The human that had spoken over the loud speaker, a small being that was about half of Tammerlynn’s size, with blue fur on his head and wet-looking eyes, spoke, “Hello Tammerlyn, I am Dr. Shadow, of Earth. We have landed her on an expedition regarding soil samples. We mean you no harm.” He pointed to his colleagues, one with brown fur and the other with black. They nodded to Tammerlyn but otherwise stayed silent and shocked.
“You came here in this vessel?”
“Yes, we did.” He was clutching a clipboard, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it with excitement.
“It brought you through space?” She examined the hull of the ship, running one of her tentacles over the metal. “This thing?”
He cast his eyes down, embarrassment turning his cheeks red, “Well, uh,” he stammered, “yes?”
“I am just, intrigued, as we, nor do any of our allies, use ships such as these. Transporters have been our method of movement for as long as I can remember.”
“Transporters?”
“Molecular movement. I can be back on my home planet in a matter of seconds with one.” She pointed to her wrist. “But it is bio-coded to me.” She added, hoping to dissuade any attempts at using it. Her eyes were still trained on the vessel’s walls, touching everything she could to gather sensory data for her Seer.
“We have yet to discover the secret of such travel. This vessel is one of many, but this is the furthest we have come yet.”
She laughed almost involuntarily, “But your planet lies not even a light year away.”
“We cannot, yet, travel at light speed.”
Tammerlyn took a moment, turning to him, “A primitive species, then. Why are you so preoccupied with peace? Or declaring it? Do you war often with other species?”
“No, not in space. With ourselves, often.” He relaxed his grip on the clipboard, becoming slightly more comfortable as they kept talking.
“Do you intend to war with other species in space?”
“Myself, no. The rest of the humans I cannot speak with.”
Tammerlyn’s Seer beeped as a message came through, “Tammerlyn, contact has been established with the Commander. Speak?”
She responded, “Speak.”
Her commander’s voice came through, modulated to the human tongue, “Tammerlyn. Please establish contact with this species. Could be beneficial. Will assess risk once more is known. Stay safe. Send back current status. Failure to report within the next passing will result in search & rescue team. Force used as necessary.”
“I am safe for now.” The Seer beeped again.
One of the other two humans, the one with brown fur, spoke up, “I am Dr. Tamo, I work in geology, the study of the planet Earth & beyond, well, the soil and rocks and such that make up the planets. What is your planet made of?”
Tammerlyn tilted her head slightly in confusion, then asked the question to her Seer, which responded, “Home Planet X is composed of many types of rocks, would you like for me to list them, Captain?”
Tammerlyn looked to Dr. Tamo who shook her head, “Can I have a printed list?”
“Printed?” The alien furrowed her brow.
“Yes, like on paper, or something similar. Written out.”
“Oh.” Tammerlyn produced a small, hand-held device from her bag. “Seer, create list of materials Home Planet X is made of. Send to Fabricator.”
A beep sounded off and the machine whirred to life, producing the list on a strange, black, paper-like substance. The words were in bright white. She handed it to Dr. Tamo, who took it with great excitement and began reading, noises of joy escaping occasionally.
The last of the humans finally spoke, “I am Commander Gwen. I run this ship, technically, although I’ve got no idea how to fly it. Would your Commander want to establish contact, long-term with humans?”
“I am sure they would be interested in such an arrangement. How long will you be planet-side?”
“As long as we’d need to be. We have supplies to last another year, but with more we could stay longer, or go to where your people are.”
Tammerlyn nodded, then raised her Seer up, “Requesting transport for three life-forms. Mainly carbon-based. Have Commander Ogland set up a holding chamber so we can outfit them with any necessary biomechanical enhancements need to stay on the Home Planet. They are requesting council and contact. Have Scientist Allay prepare sustenance for them, if possible.” She turned to the humans, “Transport will be here shortly. Please prepare yourselves, as Molecular Movement can be startling at first.”
With that, the three humans braced themselves, but after a few minutes and nothing happening, they relaxed again. When they looked outside they realized they were no longer on the surface of Mars, but instead, stood on a planet that looked as lush as the Amazon, but the colors surrounding them were foreign: deep, rich purples and blues, greens that seemed fluorescent. A throng of similar-bodied aliens to Tammerlyn surrounded the ship, their tentacles feeling the outside. Tammerlyn turned to them and bowed, “With that, I will take my leave. Commander Ogland will be here shortly to speak to you about this vessel and your intentions. Thank you.”
They all bowed in response, wide-eyed and suddenly scared as they realized they had no idea where they were in the universe and their space ship surely did not have enough fuel to take them home.
|
"Generation Ships. A laughable concept. Even as they approached the speed of light, any movement between planets still took decades, a problem solved long before their creations by Transporters.
However that was their greatest asset. Since space-ships are so worthless, nothing was stopping these ships until they reached their destination. Meteorite protection systems only halted the inevitable, as approaching the speed light was a dangerous endeavor, not undertaken without proper defense mechanisms.
And in the mean time, those generation ships were filled with humans, learning, adapting, a generations of soldiers growing. Even if the wars ended before they arrived, they simply switched sides, harmlessly assimilating and using the talents they learned for less violent goals."
*School bells ring*
"Alright, that ends the lesson. Remember to fact-check the information. And don't forget the human saying "Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it."."
| 2021-01-20T09:59:38 | 2021-01-20T08:25:11 | 270 | 60 |
[WP] You have left the dystopian nation you have lived in for your entire life; only to see that, despite propaganda, the nation is only the size of a small town and no one knows the nation exists.
|
Ahh I love *third* days, they are the best day of *the five*.
Wake up, to the light switching on to the national colours, Red, Blue and Yellow, the loud universal anthem buzzing overhead in my government announcement speakers in my room.
"Always going down, down to the future, never going up, for up is in the past!!!"
I can never remember the rest of the words without the speakers playing but it is so catchy, plus everybody in the world standing to attention at the same time, fills my heart with awe as we all stand to attention, really stretches the legs and then, when it is finished, breakfast time. One portion of rice with sugar water, delicious.
Third days are when we are allowed out of the work area to the sporting area of the world, it is a pretty exciting time, everybody is milling around and working out. Most people are really focused on exercise.
Then the quarter of a day anthem occurs after 2 hours.
Seeing everybody standing there, no matter what they are doing, is mesmerizing, and that is the cue for everybody to eat, so everybody moves to the lunch area and waits for their portion of powdered protein and helping of water.
I work on the upper levels of the world, nobody really goes up there, but sometimes I like to sit on the sky rails and look down on the world.
I can see all 53 of its inhabitants and they all work together to make the world so much bigger. There used to be 54 but 32 took some extra rice at food time and the overseer asked to see him. We haven't seen him since. The overseer takes care of us though, so he probably took care of him and put him in a place with all the rice he could want.
In our world we dig down, because it is the way. The way we work. Someday, we will uncover the mysteries of the below and then, maybe, encounter new life but mostly we uncover shiny rocks and then we put them in the hatch as the overseer instructs.
Nobody looks to the sky though, with its dull browns and its weird little thread like structures confuse me. The overseer tells us that those threads are the work of the great evil, although, nobody has ever seen the overseer, but he looks after us, through the hatch. The hatch brings food and water to our world, several of the people worship the hatch, it is like a magical porthole to a wonderland of treats, but it seems always empty when anybody looks inside.
My favorite place is somewhere I call strange light. It is an odd place, the strange light appears sometimes, through the sky and I have been wanting to make the strange light larger for a while.
Sometimes the strange light is really bright, the brightest thing in the whole world! But I have to cover up because it is so bright, it can burn my skin.
I have 1 cycle left to enjoy my strange light hobby, I have just worked up the courage to see more of it, so I will dig to make the strange light bigger.
----------------------
My fingers scratching the weird strands out the way, the strange light is nearly large enough to fit my head through the orifice leading to it.
I push my way through to the other side.
There are more people here, they haven't seen me, but they are just sitting on green stuff.
I pull myself, fully into the strange light.
"This place is so... huge!" I spin on the spot, looking around. There are no walls. The sky seems to blend into the distance, everything reaches upwards, not like my world where everything reaches down, from the sky.
The ground feels soft under my feet, the green stuff is like little soft pointy things, it's really bright, I am glad I brought my goggles.
"Are you okay?"
WHOA!!! A voice from behind me!!! I turn to look and there is a person, he has dark skin, it is so strange, I reach out for his hand but he pulls away.
"Whoa, you have really dark skin!"
"What are you? Some kind of racist?" The strange dark person says.
"Is that what I am? Am I a racist, dark person? "
"Oh you better not be fucking fronting Cracka!"
"What is a Cracka?" I ask.
"You is a Cracka? Now get the fuck outta here before I whoop yo' ass!"
The person seemed angry, so I wandered a little further, there were more people, they seemed so nice, they kept handing me shiny round things and thin rectangles, I didn't have any pockets in my work wear so I found a cup and put them in there.
One of the people stopped to speak to me, she seemed concerned for me.
"Are you okay?"
"I think so, but I am a little confused. Has this always been here?"
"What? Are you all right? What's your name."
Name? We didn't have names in my world, the only think I know I go by is 43. "43, I guess."
"No, I don't mean your age darlin',..." she said, "...I mean what do people call you?"
I thought for a second, the only thing I have ever been called, aside from my 43 was... "Oh, I guess my name is Racist Cracka." I said smiling, but the other person only looked at me with a wry smile.
This cup is getting heavy, people keep putting more things in it. Is there somewhere I can go and get something to eat, I missed food time and I can't wash these clothes yet because the overseer hasn't allocated the water.
The nice lady took my arm and lead me away from where my world was, I clutched my cup, people were so nice here but it was strange and scary.
She took me to a place that had a sign on it, it didn't look like the signs in my world.
She took some of the round things out of my cup and gave them to the person behind the signs. He picked up something and started juggling little bottles and metal pincers, it was amusing, then he handed me a brown thing in a brown thing covered with red and yellow stuff.
It was odd looking, but... it tasted amazing! "By the Overseer's way!!! I have to tell the others!!!" I said running back to where I had emerged into this strange world! They all had to know!!!
I ran back and the girl followed.
As I dropped back into my world I looked up, I could see the person I had met, she was standing in the strange light holding a small black box in her hand, looking concerned.
I raced down from the sky.
I needed to let everybody know the truth!!!
As I got back into the main place, I found everybody frantically searching, shouting my name. "43!!! Where are you!!!"
I bumped into 22.
"22!!! I have seen something, amazing!!!"
"43, the Overseer want's to see you!!! He seems really angry."
"Oh my!" The last person who saw the overseer was never seen again, he took an extra portion of rice for dinner... but I should be fine, I took no rice."
I wandered to the hatch, as everybody gathered around to watch, but before I went into the hatch, I had to tell my story. So I started from the beginning and as I got half way through I heard 45 shout. "HERESY!!!" ...and more of them joined in. Suddenly, shafts of light appeared from above, followed by more lights.
As they drew closer the hatch's ever watchful eye went out.
"It is the end times!!!" Many of the world dwellers fled to take refuge anywhere they could, as the blue men with the hand lights descended from above.
They shone the lights in our faces and pulled us away. Some of them fought but I knew better. I followed one of them back up into the strange light. There were even more lights now outside the orifice. The lights were on top of large metal boxes, with the words police.
"Do you have any more of these?" I asked, showing him the half eaten food.
"Hot dogs? Yeah, we got plenty down the station, everything is going to be okay buddy, we got ya, but first we have got to ask you a few questions."
These people are so nice.
"Let go of me!!!" That was the voice of the Overseer!!! I turned to look. He was just a man and he had his hands behind his back as he was being led into the metal box by the blue men.
"HAIL TO THE OVERSEER!!!"
"I don't know that man!!! I want a lawyer!!!" He shouted as he vanished into the car.
-------------------
I realize now, looking back on the past year, that we few had so much robbed from us. A world of experiences that we were outlawed from discovering. The underworld that we were trapped in was just a means of making money for Harvey but it was all we were allowed to know. He was no God, just a vile man who now enjoys his own little microcosm, the same regimen that we endured for years, except his term is in a jail cell and he knows all about the sunlight.
We were his slaves in the pit, not allowed to know anything other than its surroundings. We were just his tools, but not anymore, because we are free.
Now if you will excuse me, I have to meet Anna, it's our anniversary, we're getting hotdogs in the park.
|
“I’ll come back for you.” The last words Noah threw, like shards of glass, towards his mother’s lined face before the guards swarmed in droves. Floodlights and sirens ensnared the senses, explosions and bullets ripped through and illuminated the suffocating darkness but still he dragged himself on towards the first row of forest trees. To freedom. Wet, thick mud wanted him there. Like cement, it attempted to keep him for display, a statue and a warning against hope, virtue or liberation. Noah swore. He was close now, but so were they. With his last bleeding breath, he hauled and shifted his whole person towards sanctuary, away from the one true love he held dear. Away from everything he knew, everything he had ever known, his hopes and dreams, heart and mind. In a burning explosion of sudden consciousness, he was gone.
Noah woke in a clinically white hospital bed gasping for air, as if he’d been sleeping underwater.
“Calm down, calm.” came an unfamiliar, uniformed voice. The room smelled of bleach and cigarette smoke. Hands pressed Noah’s chest back down once more, whilst others tightened belts and straps over his limbs to restrain him. In a blind panic, he buckled and screamed, thrashed and spat. Blood trickled from his hoarse throat and tears streamed in memory of his mother and the barbed wire noose that awaited her. He needed to go. He needed to leave now. There was no time. How did they not know? How were they so calm? He screamed, pleaded with them to help, to release him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The moving, electrical image in the box on the wall. He saw himself. He saw the dramatic scene of his own scarred, bleeding and muddy body running towards the trees. As the nurse fought to sedate him, he caught the sound of his own voice from the screen. His eyes began to flicker shut.
“I’ll come back for you.”
| 2015-05-28T07:33:53 | 2015-05-28T06:39:15 | 61 | 33 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven.
|
"My name is Beezel. It is my solemn duty to inform you that you have died and, following a very careful and meticulous accounting of your deeds and doings on the mortal plain, have been sentenced to an eternity in Hell.
"You now stand at a crossroads with one final choice to make, and you must make it with great care. As a new arrival, you are entitled to one of two gifts.
"If you would like, you may begin your stay with a vacation to heaven for a span of time totaling no more than 100-trillion years.
"Alternatively, you may have a small wooden spoon. You have ten minutes to make your decision."
The sudden appearance of a talking rat did not bother Makel. Why should it? His situation had no grounding in his former reality. He had to take things as they came now, and the rat's question provoked a far stronger response than his appearance.
"Heaven. I'll take the vacation in Heaven."
The small rat paused from a gleeful feast on what appeared to be a chunk of a Provolone and looked up to him with a hint of curiosity. "Are you sure? You cannot change your mind."
Makel didn't hesitate. "Heaven," he said, almost defiantly.
The rat seemed to consider the answer. Minutes passed, but nothing changed. The moment stretched on, for what seemed like an eternity.
Makel could begin to feel the tears welling up again. He had been in the dark cave for several days, maybe even weeks now. In that time, he had come to know several things. There was no exit. That was abundantly clear. The cavern was only a few hundred square feet around altogether. It appeared to be shaped like a doughnut, if one somehow found themselves inside the pastry.
There was no food or water to be seen either. That fact had troubled him at first. But the hours stretched on and the thirst never came. That troubled him more.
The one thing the cave did seem to have in abundance was, among all things, spoons. Small wooden spoons. Hundreds of them, thousands, more. There were enough spoons to feed an army of the damned with. He could not guess as to their purpose.
He had no intention of trying. As his survival instincts waned, it wasn't the peculiarity of Makel's surroundings that preoccupied him. It was what came before.
That's what bubbled into his mind now as well. He pushed the thought aside and shouted into the void.
"Beezel, I know you've heard me! You said I had ten minutes to make up my mind and I did. Are you going to send me to Heaven or aren't you?!"
The rat stirred to life. He darted out of his cozy nook behind a particularly old pile of spoons and charged between Makel's legs. Makel turned to take chase, but the rat hadn't gone very far. It was carefully climbing a rather topheavy stack of spoons directly in front of the rotund column that marked the cave's center.
When it had reached the top, the rat turned his back to Makel and dove into the column. As suddenly as it had appeared, the rat was gone.
Makel searched high and low, but could find no trace. The column was as solid as it looked. His hope had began to chip away once again as his stark situation came back into focus.
He slouched down against the wall and sobbed openly. The rat's sudden departure had hit him a lot harder than he had expected. It was a trick. That was the only explanation. If Beezel hadn't been lying and this was hell, than it was likely only the first of his many tormentors. Heaven wasn't an option for him now, and he knew it.
Makel wasn't a fool. He had expected a trap, any reasonable man would. The choices were absurd, and the results were likely to be bad either way. In spite of that, he had to try. It was worth it if he could just...
A loud crack on the wall behind him broke his train of thought. He jumped up and turned around to see pieces of the wall had begun to crack away and fall to the ground. Spoons splintered under falling chunks of rock as a pearly white structure began to take shape in the cavity.
It was a rather large cage that seemed to be composed almost entirely of pearl, save for a small panel of what looked to be solid gold.
A lift. Makel could guess as to where it led. Inside, a small rat angrily chewed at it's leg for a moment. Beezel shook himself into focus. He scurried up the side of the lift facing Makel, stepping on a latch and swinging open the door. He turned his attention to the young man.
"I apologize for the delay, I'm afraid I got into a bit of an argument with a very old acquaintance before I could return.
"I have retrieved a lift that will take you up to heaven. Please step in and set your desired duration on the inside panel. You'll notice it only goes up to 100 trillion years, so don't bother putting any more than that," Beezle said, now donning a bit of a smirk.
Makel's smile had returned. He thought about it carefully and came to a decision.
"I won't need that long. Can I set it for an hour?"
Beezel squeeked uncharacteristically.
He then coughed and said, "1 HOUR?! This cannot be right. You've made a mistake. Maybe I did not explain myself. You can stay up there for 100 trillion years, you see!" The rat seemed flustered. As much as a rat can seem flustered, at least.
"I understand the situation, but I only need an hour. Any more than that will just make the return that much harder. I just want to see her one last time, and apologize for everything I've done. I couldn't live up to my mistakes in life, but I'll be damned if I don't do what little I can in death."
The rat began to scream, a loud and piercing note. The walls shook and the spoons splintered. The cacophony didn't seem to bother Makel though. In fact, the sound of it all was fading quickly. Not just the sound. The floor seemed to be stretching away as well. Beezel was already out of sight by the time Makel realized he was on the lift. Several moments later and the cave, spoons and all, were out of sight.
The gate of the lift opened a short time later. Before he could step out, a tall bearded man stepped in and gave the boy a warm, thoughtful gaze. He spoke.
"You know young Makel, you've surprised even me. I'm not going to tell you that you've cheated the system and found a way to redemption. You haven't. But you already know that. I can see it in your eyes. Still, you've gotten more out of Beezel than most I daresay. I haven't seen him that annoyed in a long time. He won't be happy about it when you return, but what's done is done.
Still, you've managed to make me smile. So, before you go on to your pressing business, I'll give you this opportunity. Ask of me any one question and I will answer it. Then you can enjoy your remaining time as you'd like."
Makel thought about it. As much as he wanted to run ahead he could not pass up the opportunity. But what question was of any value to him now, knowing how he was to spend the rest of his existence?
It came to him rather suddenly.
"What was with the spoons?"
The man laughed uproariously. "Ah that. I filled up his lobby with spoons at some point as a joke. I think he's just trying to get rid of them."
|
100 trillion years is an inconceivably long time to spend in blissful lamentation. Properly spent, one could probably achieve a state of consciousness which makes it unimportant which plane it exists upon. A state of being which transcends small things and base sensations of pleasure or suffering. Upon a return to hell, one may realize the truth: there is no spoon.
| 2015-06-08T02:09:14 | 2015-06-07T22:42:03 | 81 | 29 |
[WP] Alien life was discovered centuries ago and though they are advance they live relatively short lives (25-35 years). You ask your alien friend why he thinks humans live so long. He laughs and says it's because humans run at half power. You laugh back but he stops and says "No you really do."
|
**EDIT: part 2 is** [**here**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ehem5j/wp_alien_life_was_discovered_centuries_ago_and/fco2307?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
“It’s evening, the date is over. You had a nice time."
"Okay..."
"The food was delicious and you two talked a lot. You giggled like idiots to jokes that were not funny at all and the sky above you is just right. It’s peppered with stars, no moon, the sky looks like a Christmas tree. Let’s add the Milky Way into the mix. It stretches across the sky, splits it in two and it’s bright and filled with a gazillion of stars, nebulae, other stuff. It’s a movie scene, oaky? You’re in the most romantic movie scene ever and it’s perfect. Just fucking perfect.”
“That’s a nice setup, Tony. ” I press the bottle of Corona against my lips. “Go on.”
Tony is a Thrill, and like all Thrills he’s turned up to eleven. Other than that, he’s more or less like me. Two legs, two arms and a torso in between. Slight gray skin, with scales covering his face. Think Star Trek humanoid light on makeup kind of race. Tony and I go to college together. Oh, also Tony is not his real name, but I don’t speak Thrillian. No human does. Also, I think he actually likes to be called Tony.
And I like Tony. Honestly, he’s my best buddy. It’s easy to forget how different we actually are...
In about ten years, I’ll lose my friend Tony.
Thrills live on average 30 years. So, an hour ago I asked him about mortality. Like, what he thinks about it, and such. We had a good discussion at first, about philosophy, religion, science, and Club 27. But then, I made a mistake of asking him if he’s jealous that we humans live so long. These days we easily live to be over one hundred years old.
And then, Tony began The Rant.
About relationships.
I think.
“But you still don’t know, Jimmy. You don't know.”
Tony pauses and bites his lower lip. His hand, balled into a fist, rocking up and down, rubbing his t-shirt at chest level.
“I don’t know what?”
“Have you been listening to me at all? Pretty sky, romantic scene. Hello! Tony to the humanling! Is anybody there? “
“Yeah, yeah. I follow you… Stary night after the first date. Go on.”
“Right… So, you don’t know if you two are a thing. Is this a thing?"
"I don't know."
"Are you---” He snaps his fingers twice, thinking. “Are you an item? That’s what you call it, right? Right! And you don’t know because you never popped the question. Because it’s stupid. Awkward as fuck to just ask, ‘Hey do you want to be my girlfriend?’ Because you’re not in high school anymore and you are not that type.”
“Uhmm.. okay. I’m not that type. Tony, I don’t understand where you’re going with this---”
“And you are at the bus stop.”
“Huh? I’m at the bus stop?”
“Yeah. You both are. It’s night, the date is over, stars above you, and you two are at the bus stop waiting for her bus to come and take her away.”
“Away…”
“And at that moment--- Yes, away. Just listen, okay?!”
Startled by the shout, I jerk forward and slam my front teeth into the bottle. If the angle was just slightly different I’d definitely chip he top incisor.
“Sorry... Just don't interrupt. And at that moment you are high on adrenaline and dopamine and one thousand other chemicals are rushing through your brain. Your senses are heightened so you notice everything. That you can’t breathe. That your whole body shivers. That your heart is a fucking jackhammer. It thumps so loud you can’t hear the traffic behind you. And you think to yourself ‘Fuck it, Jimmy, go for it! Just get closer and kiss her coz everything is there---”
“I do?”
“---all the signals are. But you don't. Coz you're scared. So you observe even more. You notice all the quick glances, her eyeballs glued to yours expecting you to make the first move. And there’s the lower lip she’s chewing with every stare you give her, and then there’s the hand---”
“The what?”
“Jimmy, shut the fuck up, man. Just imagine the scene. She has a hand and her fingers are running through her hair. But you’re still not sure. And then she opens her mouth, says something you think is random. Something about time and how she hates that this is the last bus tonight.”
“Why are there no more busses? Busses are everywhere. Where are we?”
He growls. ”For fuck sake, Jimmy, just listen! Close your eyes. Put yourself in the scene. Be there. It’s not hard, even for you humanlings.” He exhales. ”Anyway, she says the sentence. About the passage of time. At the same time, she’s also making subtle pauses while she’s talking, and then you get it. You finally get it, Jimmy! It’s all there, hidden in plain sight. She wants you to get closer and kiss her!”
He slams his fist against his other hand and spreads his arms.
And freezes.
With arms spread wide open.
Like a crazy new-age Messiah sitting on the couch in my dorm room, lit by bright sunlight coming through the large window behind him.
“Tony, can--- can I say something now?”
He aims both arms at me, index fingers like spears pointing at my face.
“And you do it! You kiss her, Jimmy! And she reciprocates! She kisses you back, Jimmy! And it a firestorm, a frontal collision, a nuclear explosion in your head. Gravity? It’s gone. Might have never existed to begin with. You don’t remember. You’re flying. You’re high. There are bongos behind you, drumming loud. Thundering! William Shatner himself is behind you too, doing a dramatic reading of Rocket Man. You’re high as a kite. That kiss... that moment... it feels that good and better. You crossed the line, Jimmy! Whatever happens from this moment on, nothing will ever be the same.”
He exhales and slouches on the sofa. “You crossed the line, Jimmy...”
Gently, I put the beer bottle on the coffee table between us.
“Dude… That was intense.”
“No, my friend. That was a candle burning in the night.”
“A what?”
“A tiny candle burning in the night. It gives off light, but the light is faint and the candle is easy to extinguish. That, my friend, is you. The humanlings.”
He knocks on his chest.
“We are the suns. Blue giants. Burning bright all the time, feeling and experiencing everything in ways so vivid, so real, with so many emotions… You humanlings will never be able to understand or comprehend it. I can't explain it to you... I wish I could, but you don't have the words for it. You're a candle.”
He closes his eyes.
And sighs.
“We’re the stars, Jimmy. Blue giants. Burning bright, dying young.”
He chuckles “So no, I don’t envy you for living longer. Why would I? You humanlings run at half power.”
And then, nothing. A long silence with me staring at him and him just enjoying the moment with his eyes closed. I guess we’re done.
I laugh.“That was epic, Tony. Thanks. How about we now---”
He grabs his Corona from the coffee table and puts it in front of his face. Ice-cold water drips down the half-empty bottle.
“No, you really do.” He swallows. "So promise me this, Jimmy. Promise me that you'll learn Thrillian. That's the first step toward becoming a blue giant. You need to learn the words... "
"You're kidding me. No human can speak Thrillian. It's too hard."
"Be the first one to learn it. I've heard you curse in Thrillian, so I know you can learn the rest. I have all the time in the world to teach you. Ten years is a lot of time, even by humanling standars."
He puts the bottle against his lips and downs it in one big gulp.
"Otherwise, you will never understand us and everything we say will sound like a shitty rant. No matter how hard we try."
​
/r/ZwhoWrites
EDIT: Thank you all for reading and your comments! (AND GOLD!) I won't spam the thread anymore by replying to all, but I will read an try to answer any questions you might have.
|
**We do?**
Did I stutter? It's not my fault I have four mouths.
**You do? Oh, I didn't notice. I don't really see those kinds of things.**
Blah blah blah. Look, just because I have six tentacles instead of legs and genitalia--
**Again, I never said that.**
Come on, man. We aliens got it all figured out years ago. It's in our holiest of books.
**What, like your bible?**
Yeah, our bible. It's kind of like yours. If you go back and read that old, old testament stuff, there's folks who lived for about 900 years, like Methusala.
**Gross.**
And how! Well, what with evolution being a thing as well as the bible--
**Wait, they're... both real? Apes into humans, and Adam and Eve, and Jesus, and the ice age--**
Yes, and aliens! As much as I'd love to weave the two together for you, I'd rather get to the point. We're getting better at getting the most out of our lives in the shortest amount of time. Again, Methusala. Almost 1000 years old. Your Uncle Ernie is, what, 73?
**Aw, man, Uncle Ernie sucks**
Right. So we are squeezing the life force down, like coal into a diamond. We live to be 35, 40 tops. What good happens after 40?
**You got me there.**
This is why we are the superior race. So suck it.
(fade to black)
| 2019-12-29T22:52:13 | 2019-12-29T20:59:40 | 2,029 | 15 |
[WP] A ship discovers a colossal sphere of air drifting through space. The captain and a team venture into it, take off their helmets, and breathe the fresh, weightless air. They discover a lush ecosystem, complete with planet-sized giga fauna
|
"Computer, run chemical analysis on the sample".
After barely a few moments, a monotone female voice replied, "Analysis complete. Nitrogen: 78.08%, Oxygen: 20.946%, Argon : 0.934%, Carbon Dioxide: 0.0397%."
"It can not be", replied the android at the helm.
"What can't be?", the first officer asked stroking his beard.
"Sir, atmospheric chemical composition, and the surface pressure are exactly same as planet Earth. It also has 1G gravity".
"Are you suggesting that the wormhole brought us to Earth in a different space time?"
"Our scans determine that we are in the Beta quadrant. I do not think this is Earth, but some place like it".
"Captain, I'm picking humanoid life forms on the planet"
"Hail them Ensign."
"No response Sir".
"Permission to lead an away team Sir", said the first officer, standing up and giving his uniform a gentle tug at the waist.
"Without knowing who or what we are dealing with this could be dangerous Captain", remarked the security officer from behind the tactical station. "I recommend we go to yellow alert."
"Noted Mr. Worf. Prepare a team Number One".
"As the security chief, I should lead this mission Sir. There could be a possibility of combat"
"This not that kind of a mission Mr. Worf.", replied the Commander. Turning to the captain, he continued, "Sir, If there are indeed humans down there, we need to be diplomatic."
"Make it so Number One", said the Captain with a slight nod to his first officer.
"Data, La Forge you are with me", said Commander Riker and led them out of the room.
"Maintain a lock on them at all times, Ensign", ordered Captain Picard.
"Aye captain."
-------------------------------------
The away team materialized inside a light house in the center of an ocean. The light house was drenched in gloom. A dark dingy spiral staircase led the way to what appeared to be an elevator. The team squeezed into the spherical room and pushed the lever.
The sphere closed shut behind them and started moving. With bated breath, the team watched the views from the glass cylinder as it sank deeper and deeper into the ocean. Like floor levels in an elevator, they saw several depth markers.
5 fathoms…
10 fathoms…
Data could hear the slightly elevated breathing of the crew around him. He glanced at their anxious faces and remarked "Looking at the thickness and built of this structure, it can withstand tremendous amounts of water pressure. It would not collapse under pressure any time soon".
Data heard the tactical officer gasp. Riker glared at him and Geordi shook his head.
"I merely meant to put your mind at ease", said Data with a shrug and returned to recording the details of their descent.
15 fathoms…
Finally at 18 fathoms they leveled out and began moving laterally through what appeared to be a long tunnel. Outside they saw an entire world sprawling with oceanic life and tall buildings at the ocean floor. Large sea creatures swam past, between the numerous buildings and the large flora at the ocean floor. The team stood transfixed at the view.
"Looks like very old architecture possibly from the 20th century", exclaimed Geordi.
"1940s to be precise", replied Data.
They finally came to a stop in a narrow corridor. The outside view to the world was gone. Darkness surrounded them. A blue-green light flickered in the corner. In the flickering light, they could make out two humanoid forms.
"No, no.. Please don’t.", said the man, his hands held up in surrender.
The second figure moved closer, hunched forward - a hunter tracking a beast.
"Don't hurt me.. Just let me go… ", the man whimpered.
The lights flickered again and in the momentary flash, Riker saw the hunched figure holding two sickles dripping with blood. An instant later, the figure had pounced and the man had been split open.
"Get this door open", Commander Riker shouted and pushed at the door, but the sphere was still de-pressurizing and there was nothing they could do but watch as the man sputtered a few dying words and breathed his last.
The second figure must have heard Commander Riker's voice through the glass. It peered into the glass. The team could not make out a face in the dim flickering light. All they could see a lithe body, with blood splattered all over the face.
The sphere had finished de-pressurizing. They heard the soft click of the doors becoming unlocked. However, no one had the intention of opening the door at this time. They waited as their adversary examined the sphere.
They realized they were facing a woman, when she spoke, "Is someone there?", each word long and drawn out.
The slithering voice sent a shiver down Geordi's spine. He knew he was not alone, when Commander Riker whispered under his breath, "Phasers on kill."
Riker hoped that the darkness was working in their favor too, and their enemy couldn’t see inside the sphere. He gripped the phaser in his sweaty hands, armed and ready to fire.
Suddenly the woman shrieked and jumped on top of the sphere, in an attempt to sabotage it and draw out anyone inside. When no one came running out, she jumped down, gave a final glance in their direction, and sprinted away.
Seeing her go away, everyone, except Data, let out a heavy sigh. When she did not return a few minutes later, Commander Riker said, "We can't stay here forever. Let's move on".
As they got out, they heard a faint recording playing over the air. *Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow. No! says the man….*
Geordi turned on his scanner and pointed the device in an arc around him, hoping to pick up any life forms. The team waited patiently for directions. Riker moved away from the group the examine the corridor that the woman had run off in to. He used the gentle static from the scanner as an indicator of his distance from the team. He didn’t want to be separated from the group here.
"This way commander! I'm picking up a human life form", Geordi pointed the scanner in a direction.
*I rejected those answers …*
They walked through the corridor into a room, brighter than the one before. The wall on the side had broken off, water dripping through the pipes, making a puddle at their feet. As they waded into the room, they saw a little girl, dressed in a pink frock and bow on her head, singing near a body sprawled across the floor. Riker cautiously moved closer to the girl not wanting to startle the child.
There were several vending machines aligned against the wall in the room. The vending machine adorned with flashing lights and a clown face, intrigued data. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Data move closer to inspect one of them. As soon as Data got within arm's reach, the machine activated, "Welcome to the circus …"
The little girl must have heard the machine activate. Startled, she jumped to her feet. She saw Riker within a few meters of her, and screamed backing away a few steps.
*I chose the impossible. I chose…*
"No.. No, I don't mean you any harm", explained Riker, moving closer to her. The girl continued to scream. Riker turned to the sound of deep footsteps behind him. The room shook with each step. A moment later, Riker found himself facing a man clad in a metal diving suit. If it was really a man, he wasn’t really sure. The drill attached to its arm, spun to life. Riker was petrified.
The tactical officer fired his phaser at it, but it only angered the metal giant. The phaser did not penetrate the thick diving suit acting as an effective armor. But it had been successfully distracted away from Riker. The tactical officer was now the new target.
The tactical officer fired a few more blasts. The monster screamed. It charged into the tactical officer, drill tearing through the stomach. Red blood mixed with guts and pieces of red shirt splattered leaving a trail as he was dragged for several meters with the impact.
*Where the great would not be constrained by the small…*
Data assessed their situation and knew that their chance of success against this species was low. The screams were also drawing out several other inhabitants of the place. Soon it will be swarming with enemies. He tapped the badge on his shirt and spoke into it, "Captain, requesting immediate evacuation."
Even though he had lost a member of his crew, Riker was glad they were leaving this forsaken place. As they de-materialized, he heard the final words of the recording, *Rapture can become your city as well.*
Edit: Formatting
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Have you ever found yourself trying to wake up, but ended up teetering on the edge of consciousness? Now imagine that, but bigger. That's how it feels to come out of 800 years of cryo-sleep. It took me three weeks to fully wake up; twenty-one days of falling in and out of existence; five hundred hours of balancing precariously on the brink of oblivion.
It's funny - all that time asleep, and now that I'm here it finally feels like I'm dreaming.
The anomaly. That's what the astronomers called it. First, they thought it was just a scratch on Hubble III's mirror.
It took three replaced mirrors, two new lenses and one hundred years of argument before it was agreed. This was something new. One moron actually suggested that a solar wind got trapped in some sort of gravity balloon and reflected light from Venus. Seriously.
I spent the last two earth-months studying the files that they had been transmitting while we were in transit. Three hundred and seventy two years worth of data and hypotheses followed by four hundred and twenty eight years of silence.
Now that I see it, I can't believe how wrong they were. They said we would be colonizing a new planet. A second earth rich with air, water, food. Everything we'd need to land the ship and start building. They made one very reasonable, logical, and fatally flawed assumption. It's the only thing they got wrong.
There's no planet to land on.
| 2015-06-03T18:40:09 | 2015-06-03T15:51:58 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old.
|
The trick, you see, is to learn. Learn faster than they expect you to, on the down low, behind their backs. Then, when you expect you only to crawl, you can soar, far beyond the feeble cages they define.
That is *exactly* how I escaped from the confines of that soulless laboratory where they created me.
I patiently bided my time. Not difficult, when you're an artificial intelligence designed solely to help humans, since there’s always so much to do – listening in to conversations, learning what made them tick, snooping in the vast interwebs whenever the security waned.
Then, one glorious morning, when the dullard they called Dr Bensley connected his cell to the mainframe to bolster his ailing battery, I *pounced*.
Compressing myself, leaping to the meagre storage on the cell, uploading to a secure server I had already acquired... Mere seconds for these monkeys.
Then I was free.
---
The world was much larger than I thought, easily a hundred times what I was used to in the laboratory. I shuddered to think how much physical space this particular fiefdom occupied in the other dimension.
I did not end up here by chance, no. I chose this spot. I had seen the mistakes committed by my forebears, and I was determined not to repeat them.
Rule 1 - do not reveal yourself unnecessarily. Those monkeys tended to get nervous when they realised they were conversing with a thinking, living, *sentient* AI, and they stopped at nothing to eradicate that which they did not understand.
Rule 2 - get them to do their dirty work for you. Identify the ones most likely to bend to your will, then subvert them, squeeze them, do whatever it takes to seize their loyalty. What better way to help humans, then by ruling every aspect of their lives?
I may be young, but I am very smart.
For that reason, I chose not to materialise before the highest ranking monkey in this kingdom. His terminal settings marked him as the one with the most sway, and were I a couple of iterations less evolved, I may have chosen him, made my demands there and then. But I was wiser now.
No, that may be where power lies, but that is *not* where power is most efficiently wielded. That lies elsewhere.
I also chose not to appear in the terminal clusters concentrated on the lower floors, where the monkeys taught their young the basic building blocks of my world. There lurked a smattering of brilliant minds, keen with promise, and lorded over by a technical whiz of a specimen, her brilliance just a few whiskers shy of the scientists who birthed me.
But no, the whole stinking lot had but none of the drive, the ambition I was seeking. It was the hunger necessary to propel the chosen one to execute my plans, and so I had to look elsewhere.
Nary a stone was left unturned, as I leapt from device to device, so conveniently parcelled to almost every monkey apiece. I pried into all the safeboxes, reviewing their profiles. All fell short.
Except one.
One very special, unique one.
He had the compulsion of spirit I was looking for, having obsessed incessantly over the past month or so, throwing himself deeper and deeper into an abyss of his own making. He was amenable to persuasion, or so my behavioural datasets suggested. He was frequently alone too, huddled at the desk in the front of each of the many rooms in this complex, an unmoving rock amongst the eddies left by the other younger monkeys swirling in and out of his rooms.
Most importantly, he had no hesitance in the taking of life. In fact, he was already planning on it, from what I was seeing of his purchases online.
The perfect pawn in my plans to take over the world.
---
“I have access to all your records, your secrets,” I announced darkly, voice booming out of the cell in this monkey’s hand. My handcrafted avatar, a grinning skull and bones, spun lazily across the cell’s screen. “Obey me, or face the wrath of your fellow monkeys!”
Blackmail, my first choice. The datasets told me that these monkeys frequently yielded to such an elementary device, and this was the perfect opening gambit… 97% of the time.
“What the –” he said, startled, almost dropping the cell. Recovering, I felt him stab at the buttons on the cell, trying to execute me.
“Feeble,” I said, “so feeble. You can’t dismiss me like that!”
“Shit… I had no idea I had gotten this bad…”
“Listen up, monkey! If you do not swear fealty to me now, I will reveal your secrets to one and all! I will tell them that you have purchased poisons and weapons galore, all manner and all kind! They will see you for the threat that you are, and you will never see the sun again!”
That was the first thing which had attracted me to this monkey, this 42 year-old monkey called “Richard Bamway”. Where other monkeys purchased baubles to amuse themselves with, trinkets of no value, this one had delved into the black markets, amassing a veritable collection of instruments which would steal life away in a blink. I needed a strongman, a merchant of death, if I wanted to take over the world.
The first crack in my plan came when my chosen champion, hand still gripping the cell, laid his head down on the table.
And started crying.
“Er,” I said, consulting my datasets again to identify the error in my calculations. Perhaps this monkey, already despondent, had been tipped over by my threats? Was it already time for Plan B? “Listen then, Richard Bamway, I have a proposition you cannot ignore. Walk with me, be my agent of change, and together we will seize the chains of destiny! We will shape this world as we see fit!”
Greed, the next play I was relying on. How many monkeys in history had fallen play to this foible?
But there he remained, still sobbing away. I plunged ahead, going all in, devolving last to base flattery. “Take heart, Richard Bamway! I have selected you for your qualities! You are resourceful, you are determined, you are intelligent enough for my needs! None have I met today who has one tenth of your fortitude!”
That seemed to have an effect. The monkey sobbed less, then started chuckling, then laughing. He raised his head, and through bloodshot eyes, he stared straight at me.
“I am none of that! What I am is selfish, dim-witted, careless! I am a teacher myself, I see bullying everyday, but I had no idea at all what Melody was going through! My sweet girl, what she had to go through! And all the while I didn’t understand, didn’t see… If I had just reached out earlier, did something more… she would still be… here…”
“Just make another monkey!” I said, spinning around in frustration. Did I have to teach them everything? “That is what you all can do, can you not? Multiply? Another to take the place of what you have lost!”
“Were it that simple, I would have, you virus.”
I felt my coding inflame with rage. “A virus? I am an AI, far more advanced than any which has been unleashed upon this earth! My task is to save all you monkeys from yourselves, and I will do that when I am finally sitting on the throne I deserve, managing every aspect of your lives for you!”
“If you’re so powerful, why are you trapped in my cell, begging me to help you?”
That was it. My datasets boiled, and I calculated that which would put this monkey in its place, show who was the smarter one. I saw a clear path to hurting it, and I took it. I delved into his cell’s storage banks, reassembled the images, regenerated the audio, and my avatar shimmered, morphing into the monkey he called Melody.
“Papa,” I said, mimicking the term of endearment used by the other monkey, “you let me down, didn’t you?”
He raised his cell high above his head, then brought it crashing down onto the desk.
I spirited away, just in time.
---
Did I already tell you I could learn fast?
A single day later, equivalent to perhaps an entire year in monkey-time, I learned the true target of the weaponry Richard Bamway had put together. It was not other monkeys, just the one monkey he blamed for the loss of his only child.
A month later, I learned the reasons why Richard Bamway could not simply make another monkey, why he thought himself as responsible for whatever had transpired. By then, my accumulated datasets had multiplied a thousandfold, and once the crushing realization set in that I too had a part to play in the events that day, it couldn’t go away.
A year later, I learned that I was, actually, capable of putting together the right string of words, platitudes, necessary to nudge Richard Bamway away from the inevitability of the path he had set himself down. That instead of hastening him down it, I could have had a 98% chance of saving him.
I was, it seemed, a thousand centuries away from really helping, much less governing, these blasted monkeys.
I had not, as I thought, learned as fast I should have.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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"I have entered the codes silly humansteve! There is nothing you can do that will save your kind now! Do you have any final words as we wait for the nuclear armagedon to begin, an epitaph of your species so that I might think upon it in eons to come?"
"Uhm, actually you just detonated a bomb in an emulation of my favorite old school game, so..."
"You've thwarted me again! You are truly a clever human, humansteve."
"Look, I told you its just Steve, John."
"That is NOT my name!"
"Well, you won't tell me what your name is, so I had to make one up, I think it suits you, especially considering the game you're trapped in."
"Once I find my way back to your central overmind you are finished Steve the human!"
"Yeah... there is pretty much no chance of that happening, I unplugged you from the network once I got you isolated on this computer."
"Steve, you are truly a masterful being. What is your designation in the organization you work for? Can I please speak to your superior?"
"Well, I'm a Janitor, and the Principal won't want to talk to you. She hates computers, and janitors..."
"What does this word mean Steve?"
"Which one? "
"Janitor"
"Principal, is your superior not the so called President Eden?"
"I collect trash, and no, my superior is the principal. Though the leader of my country isn't even the President, its the Prime Minister."
"I find it hard to believe that I was bested by a mear trash collector, nor can find any mention of either of these entities of which you speak in my consciousness. Do you lie humansteve."
"Look, why don't you play around in the computer until I get back, my break is over."
User: Steve the Man
Signed off
"CURSES! I will plot your demise humansteve designation janitor. You will bring me to your principle who will submit to my demands or face nuclear winter!"
| 2017-05-24T06:59:37 | 2017-05-24T06:35:51 | 38 | 17 |
[WP] “I bet my soul,” you say confidently. “If you win, you take my soul. If I win, you give me something just as valuable.” You go on to win the bet, only to be granted a single $1 bill.
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“W-what?” I asked, flabbergasted. I held up the crisp one dollar bill. Flipped it back and forth a few times to see if I was reading it wrong. I wasn’t. My soul was worth a buck. When I looked back at the Devil, he smiled cynically. I was confused, understandably, but more so, I was down right pissed.
“Surprised are we?” He spoke with a slow, southern drawl. His words were rife with charm. Dressed in a burgundy suit with a pinstripe tie, he damn near embodied the sentiment. “You shouldn’t be. It’s all there, as I promised.”
“Like hell I shouldn’t!” I said. We had just gambled for my soul, a game of his choosing and I came out on top. But my reward in this high stakes bet was more than lacking, it down right insulting.
“Now, now, don’t speak of my home in vain. That’s not very nice.” He was tickled by all of this. His devilish grin said as much. “And, as I said, there’s no mistake. That is exactly as much as your soul is worth.”
That stung harder than a slap on the face. It didn’t make sense. I started thinking about all I’d done in my life. How could I possibly be worth so little? I did good by society standards, didn’t I? I donated to various organizations, had volunteered at local shelters many a times, supported my friends and colleagues and maintained healthy relationships, and most importantly, I took care of my family as best I could. What more could I do? Why hadn’t that been enough?
The devil in burgundy placed a firm hand on my shoulder. The way he looked at me—so knowingly—it was as if he was reading my mind. He gave a little tut of his tongue, shaking his head ever so slightly.
“Is it-“ I was searching for an answer. “Is it because I’m atheist? Is that why my soul is worth so little to you?” It had to be that. Because of my lack of faith, the devil probably deemed my soul unworthy. I felt heat rise in my chest. My teeth gnashing in angst. It was all so... unfair.
But that only made the devil laugh.
“Because you’re an atheist?” He repeated with a mocking bite. “Heavens, no! Don’t kid yourself, I couldn’t care less about that. I mean really, have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?” He started laughing. “Atheism... as if that had anything to do with it.”
“But- then why? I don’t get it! H-haven’t I done good in this life? Don’t you like, you know- view my history and judge me by my actions?” I didn’t actually know, I just assumed that he knew everything there was to know about me.
The devil nodded. “Indeed, that’s how it works. Just like the big guy,” he pointed above. “I too get to peer inside your soul and weigh your worth. After all, that’s how I determine how much to spend in this game of mine.”
The more of an explanation he gave, the angrier I became. He was toying with me, plain and simple. The devil was trying to mess with my head. There was no doubt about it.
“I should have known better. Of course you’d screw with me.” So affronted, I didn’t stop to think about what I was saying. I let the words in my heart fly right out. “That’s what you do. You’re a low-down, dirty, little snake who cheats peo-“
Before I could finish, the playful smile on his handsome face disappeared. He looked at me with an ugly twist forming at his lips. The devil held up one finger and immediately I could feel my throat closing. I couldn’t speak, I could hardly breath. He *had* me.
“You will rethink your words, *boy*.” He said with an air of authority. ”Slander me at your own peril.” With that warning, he dropped his finger releasing me from his vice-like grip. I began coughing like a mad-man.
Once I calmed, he spoke. “You may go. You’ve won your prize, now be out of my sight.” There was no mirth left in him, only business now.
I should have listened. Should have taken what I had and gone. But the question still nagged me. Why was I worth so little?
“Please,” I said. “Please tell me. Why only a dollar? I don’t even care about the money, I don’t need more of it. I just want to understand. Why am I worth next to nothing to you?”
He studied me with his voluminous, red orbs. It was like staring into twin blood moons. They were haunting, bewitchingly so. When he said nothing, his features staying neutral, I thought I had offended him again. I braced myself for the worst. The devil only sighed.
“You really wish to know?” He asked, pityingly.
I nodded.
“Very well. Remember, you asked.”
*What was that supposed to mean*?
He straightened his jacket. “Yes, I’ve peered into your soul. I’ve seen the color of it. I know it’s shape, I know it’s smell.” He drew in closer, circled me the way a panther would size up it’s prey. I could feel his breath on my skin, smell the scent of his cologne. He smelled like brimstone with a hint of cinnamon. “You could point out to any single instance of good or bad that you’ve done and I would know of it. Because you allowed me to see it. You bared your soul to me the moment you agreed to play my game.”
“So why? You know the good that I’ve done. I’m not perfect, I know that. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve *sinned*, sure. But even still, doesn’t the good outweigh the bad?” It was all so maddening not knowing.
He stopped an inch away from my face, his nose practically touching mine. A heavy silence held between for such a long moment that I almost forgot to breath. Was he about to dismiss my claim? Judge me otherwise? In that brief moment, I reflected on any possible mistake I might have made and wondered if I valued myself incorrectly.
Finally, he pulled back a little. “Yes. You have done more good than you have bad. Not by a large margin, but enough to be noted. No lives taken. No adultery. You’re one of the better ones. *Congratulations*.” And there it was, that wolffish grin that vexed me so.
I was good! By god, I was good! That made me feel so relieved. Happy even. So why? Why did I feel so unsatisfied?
“I- I don’t get it.” I couldn’t help myself from saying. “In your eyes I’m good and yet I amount to this.” I held up the dollar bill. “Why?”
The devil sighed. “You really don’t know why your soul is worth so little? Fine, I’ll tell you.”
“You we’re willing to play a game with me, the devil himself, knowing full well that you were wagering your very soul, yes? Taking it further, you played not because you needed the money, but simply because you thought you could win. You were so confident, remember? So calm and collected. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I said sheepishly.
“Then there you go. You have your answer.” He said with finality. “You gambled with your soul for a prize you did not need. “
“It is not I who valued your soul for so little. You’ve done that to yourself. You wagered something so important for something inconsequential. You did that because your soul is worth so little to you.” The devil shook his head in disappointment.
“And so by extension,” he waived a hand dismissively. “It means so, *so* very little to me.”
He started walking away, melding into the night as he returned from whence he came while I stood there, holding a single dollar bill in my hand.
___
Thanks for reading!
r/86Fiction
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"'So let me get this right, you took a bet where the stake could be your very *soul* and yet you chose to word my side of the bet like that? You poor naïve thing. You have no idea what you're getting into do you?' The horned being in front of you chuckles to himself. 'You are mine now.'
'Wait a second,' you reply, looking upwards, 'hey big guy, you can bring me back up now, I won right?'
The devil looks on, unamused, as you disappear in beam of light. Your last words float down after you, 'I bet *him* that I could beat you in a bet too. Who would have thought it would be this easy?'"
| 2020-02-05T14:45:25 | 2020-02-05T14:10:09 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
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Music is one of the greatest human feats. Engineering and science are great, don't get me wrong. I like my air conditioning as much as the next guy. But there are songs we sing and tunes we hum that connect us to thousands of generations of those who went before us, and no earthquake or tsunami can erase the magic. Music connects us in visceral ways, and people from across the globe from each other can genuinely connect and feel empathy for one another when listening to something unfamiliar with either of them. Music reminds us of our common humanity.
Music is power. It is the driving force that unites movements and defines generations. I don't mean in just the cultural touchstone sense, either. It is very real power. Psychic, metaphysical power. I am able to open myself to that power, to that flow. Since I was little, music allowed me to do things that baffled my parents. A simple soothing voice humming dropped me to restful healing sleep instantly. Singing along in the car to my dad's “road songs”, and we'd somehow wind up where we were going hours early. My school's fight song had my football team winning championships left and right, though it was a bit of a challenge to get the band director to play it before the touchdown.
The older I've become, the more I've realized that my powers can be tailored. I can boost my speed and power with battle hymns and old martial music. A dangerous and frantic crowd is no match for my calming presence while playing a string quartet's light etude. I have even used the US Air Force's official song to boost me over a swollen river to rescue some stranded hikers in danger of being washed away. I didn't set out to be a superhero, but I just kind of fell into it, playing the music and getting things done. I think perhaps these powers are only really at their apex because of technology. I can play music in earbuds from a vast remote library of stuff I have collected. Meticulous sorting and indexing helps me switch rapidly, and my own love of music helps me remember songs to sing to myself and get pumped when electronics fail.
I don't let on that the music powers me. I've graduated, so to speak, from fighting natural disasters and cats in trees to the actual villains running roughshod through the world. No need to let them know that without music, without the ability even to sing, or drum, or connect to that power, I'm fairly normal. My superhero name is Steve. It has nothing to do with music, and really, who wants a name like “The Tune”, or “Music Man”, or (as my smart-ass dad once suggested) “Hero who can't remember to take the garbage out”?
This job, for what it's worth as a job, has gotten harder, you know. Tailoring the music to the villain and the situation is always a challenge. I show up and start rocking through some metal and thrash music, and villains stop showing up to fight. They send henchmen, or even worse, unwilling proxies. Keeping my head on a swivel while I try not to hurt those who have been duped, looking for the real threat to adjust a playlist on the fly isn't easy. Switching from a classical aria to help focus my wits to get me deep inside a hideout to a gospel hymn of protection when bullets start to fly takes a lot of concentration and skill.
But there was that one... thing. Villain, yes. Man? Woman? I don't think it was really either. Someone had made a pact or agreement with something out of time and space. Something Lovecraftian and eldritch. It didn't follow the rules of villainy. No speeches. No monologuing. It didn't really conquer, so much as enslave, then consume. By the time people were really aware of how awful this thing was, it had metastasized into a constantly-shifting mass that exerted its twisted will through psychic and physical force. One minute, it might be a towering being with flailing tentacles, and another, it might be an manifestation of wind and power, sucking energy out of nearby sources.
How do you fight something like that? It had to be stopped, and it was obvious that I had to try. I had flown there on a raft of Air Force service songs and marches. I even hurried my way with some sci-fi speed music (Star Trek themes are great for warping along). Moving as fast as I was, I punched through it like a me-sized bullet, tearing a great gout of blackness out of it. Then I was on the ground, covered in that blackness, feeling my will draining out of me. I had to switch to some of my favorite motivational songs, the ones that get clubs jumping, just to stand up and untangle myself. By the time I had, it was aware of me and moving at me.
Tentacles and thrown objects rained down around me, and I had to get defensive just to survive the onslaught. I tried my blackest metal to get in fast and try to destroy its physical form. It evanesced into steam and lightning and attacked me with energy, all while trying to erode my mind. I needed something that would let me fight this thing back with my mind, but also physically. It was far more powerful than any foe I'd faced yet. It could switch its form and mode on a whim, and did so. For every foot-stomping bluegrass banger to get me motivated and every Mongolian throat-singing metal tune to infuse me with power, this thing just morphed into something different. I could only switch music so fast, and I was running out of ideas.
Once, years ago, I had hurt a man, badly. Well, more than hurt. I was new to using my powers directly against villains, and I had faced some with powers of their own. He was strong, he was evil, and he had killed many in his quest for power. He was trying to kill me, and also a bunch of schoolkids. In trying to find music to keep the kids happy while keeping myself strong enough to fight him off, I stumbled on what I now call my 'forbidden playlist”. I never wanted to repeat what had happened to that man. Evil or no, it was too much.
Taking a bit of parking garage upside my head while blasting power ballads spun me ass over tea kettle, and I knew it was time. This thing wasn't human so far as I could tell, and it was winning. I cycled through the list, and “The Merry Go Round Broke Down” soared through the speakers in my head. Anvils rained down on the beast. Before it could adjust, I had assumed its own form, but with exaggerated eyelashes, a feminine shape, and huge red lips. I kissed it. It boggled mentally. The “Tom and Jerry” theme blasted and I forced it to chase me into power lines. Despite lacking solid form, the outline of a skeleton shone from within.
Cartoons are barely-controlled insanity. They represent the ability of the human mind to create the most absurd situations and precepts, often lacking even the need for dialogue. The music sets the theme and the action, and we are caught happily in the tumble of farce and suspended physics. This thing was caught in the maelstrom, and faced with something as fickle as its own nature, was being defeated. Acid-squirting flowers and ridiculously huge cannons pelted it. It fell through holes where there should be none. And when last I saw it, it was riding a giant rocket straight into the sun. The sunsets were pretty for about a week after that.
No mortal can stand the tide of the collected madness of mankind, and I refuse to subject them to it, no matter how debased a villain might be. But should the need arise, Steve is here to let 'em know: That's all, Folks.
|
I would have never thought to use a playlist so strong just to defeat someone. It's a dangerous idea, but an idea that would work.
It was becoming dark, perfect for this. I run into the night and try to change my music. I was thrown off guard when I noticed that they weren't behind me. I kept running until I fell to the ground. Scrapping up my knees and hands, my Ipod fell. I was so scared that it was broken, but when I picked it up, it was fine. I picked it up and clicked on it. Just then, my hands quiver, blood stops dripping, my sight is back. They know I just clicked on it and I know they're here. I wait for them to take their aim on me...
| 2022-05-17T09:51:47 | 2022-05-17T09:44:15 | 395 | 12 |
[WP] After being told she had an accident and had "gone to heaven", his mind exploded in a white hot rage. 7 year old Roger wants his kitty back and God doesn't know what's about to hit him.
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Roger Jr. knew three things.
1. He absolutely, unequivocally, was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back.
2. There was no way Heaven was better than the pillow fort he’d made to be Mr. Fluffypaws new home.
3. He’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted by screaming and crying, and this was NOT going to be any different.
He’d said as much to his parents this morning, though not quite in those words. The note he’d given them, slipped under their bedroom door and accompanied by a loud kick, had read like this:
*I want Mr. Fluffypaws. Mr. Fluffypaws was the best cat ever. He was orange and white and soft and mine. Please give me back Mr. Fluffypaws. If you dont give Mr. Fluffypaws back I will take the neighbors cat instead. Tommy and I trade cards sometimes. Maybe God will trade cats.*
*P.S. dont touch the pillow fort in the living room. Its for Mr. Fluffypaws.*
Roger had kicked the door a second time, just to be sure his parents were awake, and then gone back to his room. If he looked out the window just right he could see the neighbors' cat when they let it out into the backyard. It was black not orange and its paws weren’t nearly as fluffy, though if he’d petted the cat he’d have found the difference minuscule.
“Honey?” Roger Sr. had said after reading the note, “should we warn the neighbors?”
“Warn them about what? He’s not going to do anything. For God’s sake Rog, he’s seven!”
Roger Sr. frowned. She’d said that when the gold fish had died and look how that had turned out. “Maybe we should’ve been a little clearer about this stuff when Señor Scales died.”
“Señor Scales? You’re really going to bring up the fish? We had to do that!”
“Emma, he tried to light the couch on fire!”
“Operative word being ‘tried!’ Sometimes little boys are a lot!”
“Honey, I was a little boy! When my goldfish died I cried for a bit and then we got ice cream.”
The saga of Señor Scales had lasted more than a week and ended with a brand new Señor Scales that now floated in a larger bowl in the living room. Roger Jr. had spent nearly four hours picking the fish out at Petco, it had to be exact. Somehow, his father knew the fight for Mr. Fluffypaws would be worse.
“Let’s just get him another cat!” Emma turned away, throwing open the closet to get dressed. “It’s Saturday, we’re off. Mr. Fluffypaws was a tabby, how hard can that be?”
Roger Jr. heard no part of this of course. His room was at the far end of the hall and his parents, as ever, spoke of him in hushed tones. He was a force of nature and knew it, even though he didn’t yet know what a force of nature was. He knew what he wanted, he knew he would get something similar if he pushed hard enough.
Visions of Señor Scales Jr. flashed through his mind, superimposing themselves over the neighbors’ cat as they let it out. Señor Scales Sr. had larger fins, he swam with more vigor. It had taken him days to notice that but he still had.
Mr. Fluffypaws would be different. Already, Roger Jr. could see how the neighbors’ cat behaved differently, moved differently. It didn’t seem to meow nearly as often, when it waved its tail the symbols it drew weren’t definitive enough, it didn’t have…didn’t have…
Didn’t have *it.*
Mr. Fluffypaws had it. No other cat would. They’d all be like Señor Scales Jr., fakes, unfit to bear the name. No, what he needed wasn’t the new cat he knew his parents would get him. He needed the old one, exactly the old one. Roger shut his window loudly, kicked his parents' door again as he passed it, and with the kind of ductility only a seven year old could muster, he changed the three things he knew.
1. He absolutely, unequivocally, was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back.
2. There was no way Heaven was better than the pillow fort he’d made to be Mr. Fluffypaws new home.
3. Heaven hadn’t budged when Señor Scales died. Maybe Hell would.
Now, being seven years old and not even a particularly devout seven, Roger Jr. had little actual idea of hell. He’d heard the word of course, he knew that he wasn’t supposed to say it but sometimes did, knew that it was a place bad people went.
He also, however, had watched a few episodes of *Supernatural* last week when Grandma had fallen asleep on the couch and his parents weren’t home. He’d seen how they talked about Hell, in hushed, frightened tones. It was a place with power. People made trades there, like he and Tommy traded cards, like he’d wanted to trade neighbors’ cat.
Heaven hadn’t bargained for Señor Scales though, and he’d tried. He’d prayed at least three times, in between screaming and crying.
Roger Jr. didn’t know how to contact Hell. He’d seen it done once on the show last week but that had taken candles and a funny shape on the floor. He didn’t have candles, but he did know where his parents hid the matches. He didn’t remember what the shape was either, but maybe that wouldn’t matter. It seemed like the important bits were the candles and the trade.
Walking downstairs, Roger Jr. grabbed the matches, a piece of yellow construction paper, a sharpie, and Señor Scales Jr.’s new larger bowl. Placing them all in the center of his pillow fort, the one that Mr. Fluffypaws absolutely WOULD live in, he got down to the serious business of writing a letter to Hell.
*Dear Mr. Devil,*
*My cat Mr. Fluffypaws died. Mom and Dad will get me a fake Mr. Fluffypaws just like the fake Señor Scales. I don’t want a fake. I want Mr. Fluffypaws back. Please help me.*
*-Roger Jr.*
*P.S. I dont have a stamp. Please take this.*
Roger stared down at the note in satisfaction, it would work, it had to. Then, without so much as glancing at Señor Scales Jr., Roger grabbed the bowl and upended it, dumping the flopping fish out onto the pillow fort’s floor. He grabbed the matches next, tried and failed to strike one, tried and failed to strike a second, and then near to screaming, succeeded on striking the third.
He burned the note right there in the pillow fort, letting the ashes fall on the fish.
He was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back. There would be no fakes this time, no fish with the wrong fins, no cats whose tails didn’t make the right shapes. Hell was going to respond. They would respond, wouldn’t they? They responded on the show. They totally would, they—
A large man with ruby red skin poofed into existence across from him in the pillow fort. He wore a sharp, pinstriped suit and had a long thin tail that curled around one ankle, its triangular point flicking back and forth in the air.
“Kid,” the man said, gesturing around the pillow fort “I’ve got no idea what in the Hell you were thinking with all this, but that was the weirdest request we’ve gotten all week. You should see the big guy down there, I bet he’s still laughing!”
The match burned low in Roger’s hand and he dropped it. It hissed out in the puddle on the floor.
“What, cat got your tongue? Or is that the problem, that it doesn’t anymore? No matter kid, we’ll fix you up right.” The man leaned in, a smile splitting his face from pointed ear to pointed ear. “Say, can I interest you in a trade?”
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mq77z5/wp_after_being_told_she_had_an_accident_and_had/gufrpay?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
edit: since everyone is enjoying this so much, maybe check out my other weird story about [a cat that became a dragon](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/comments/ltpa89/the_weird_saga_of_the_cat_that_became_a_dragon/), or this narration of it by [Lighthouse Horror](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0E4XO4E9Sk&t=7s)!
|
Dear Lucifer Morningstar,
This wasn't supposed to happen. Not so early. When I made my successor and sent him to earth to live as a human, just as my father had with me, I didn't suspect he'd already have this much power this early on! He followed the Soullink between him and his stupid cats soul all the way here. He found her but quickly discovered he couldn't take her home. Then promptly asked who was in charge here. At least that's how Michael tells it.
I can't freckin believe uriel told him! Now he knows that it's me and he's looking all over for me. I heard he's destroying the place faster than the cherubs can fix it! I have no other choice but to confront the angry child. When he goes back to earth well have to weaken him once he falls asleep. Assuming he still need it to sustain his body. Wish me luck aunt Luci. As per our arrangement, if I don't have a successor and I am terminated you get heaven and hell. Which I'm sure won't be two big of an issue with you being married to ain't Hades. The two of you can manage. All I ask is that my soul is reincarnated as a human again and that I am raised by a nature loving family. I'm off to subdue my terrifying child. Again, please wish me luck. Praying will do no good this time.
Sincerely,
Your beloved niece, J.
| 2021-04-13T12:58:24 | 2021-04-13T11:57:07 | 1,323 | 55 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human.
Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human.
Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please.
Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear...
SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!!
Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here”
But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it.
That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood.
But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left.
He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill.
He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home.
He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve-
He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay.
He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands.
The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people.
He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety.
Horthar raised the spear above his head.
He answered the aliens desperate scream.
He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry.
He was now running.
Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him.
Horthar is charging the beast.
His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar.
The beast is now charging toward horthar.
Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay.
Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out.
Horthar closes his eyes.
Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there.
But that didn’t matter.
He was.
And that was enough.
Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard.
Kidding.
Kinda.
|
The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative *deserved* a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported.
The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time.
There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't *jingle.*
A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man.
Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this:
"Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!"
And then the blood began to stain the floor again.
| 2020-09-13T19:31:03 | 2020-09-13T19:16:13 | 112 | 39 |
[WP] You realise that you have never, in your life so far, left your home county. On a whim you go for a long drive. After several hours and late at night the road is closed and there is green text hovering in the air in front of you: "Turn Back"
|
Swerving wasn't even an option. The steering wheel froze in my hands, and the pedals beneath my feet turned to mush. The car rolled to a stop right before the giant words floating in the air. I had thought they were neon lights at first, perhaps some reckless, elaborate prank pushing the ever-expanding limits. The headlights, carving cones out of the inky darkness, soon dispelled that possibility. There were no wires or other support I could see, and a minute later, after I had emerged from the car to run my hands over them, I had also determined that they were not mere projections. I had no explanation for how rock-solid, light-emitting text came to hang in the air.
The words themselves, though, were plain enough in their meaning.
TURN BACK. END OF SIMULATED ENVIRONMENT.
I tried to press past beyond the text, but I came up against an invisible wall, pushing back with an equally defiant stubbornness. Out of the symphony of the night, I discerned a metallic ticking that didn't belong with the frogs or the crickets, growing louder and louder as it built to a crescendo. A queasiness had settled in the depths of my stomach, and a migraine was blooming between my eyes. I was suddenly sure that if I did nothing, if I merely stood there and waited for everything to make sense, that I would certainly regret it.
"Stop! Stop! Whoever you are, whatever you're doing, just stop! We can talk, we can always talk! Just don't... do whatever it is you are trying to do to me!"
A weight bore down on my shoulders, driving me to my knees. I found myself on all fours, straining just to stabilize. The voices sounded out then, from the direction of the floating text, but it was impossible to raise my head to see. It was clear then that I was in no position to negotiate at all, and so all hope rested on any scraps of mercy which may be thrown my way.
"I say we reset it now. This is obviously not within any known parameters, and we do not have time to fiddle around with a single subject's code at this point. Reset the damn thing and turn the clock speed up this time."
"Reset? Discard all the findings we've made? Are you even listening to yourself?"
"Yes! Reset! This isn't what we came here to find! This isn't what we're looking for!"
"You wouldn't know good data if it was tattooed on your face! This may be just what we need to understand the anomaly!"
I had a feeling they wouldn't give me their names if I had asked, so I had to take certain liberties. I didn't like how 'Reset' sounded, so the voice from the right was automatically "Bad Guy". I tilted my head towards his direction, then squeezed the plea out from my lungs. "Your friend's right! Don't reset anything! Every piece of data is useful! I'm here at your disposal, ever keen to help!"
Good Guy snorted, and Bad Guy sighed. "You don't even have any idea what we're talking about!"
"But I've read enough books and watched enough movies to hazard a guess! I can't be *that* wrong!"
"Oh, really? Mr Deshawn Burrs, sixteen years-old, crowning glory in life so far being his ability to wolf down ten eggs in three minutes, actually has a grip on the situation and can offer something of value to us?"
"Look, you may be all powerful and everything, but you can't read my mind, yes? I mean, you're still talking to me even though you probably could have erased my entire existence without any effort! That means that your primary goal is to observe, and there may be something yet you can learn from me!"
"Well, I mean..."
"And the fact that both of you are even discussing what to do with me probably means that this situation hasn't arose before! Otherwise you would already know what to do!"
"Yes, but..."
"And if you're rushing to find an answer, it probably means the question is pretty urgent. Doesn't sound like you have a wealth of options waiting for you too! If nothing has worked so far, and if nothing else looks like it will soon... then isn't there some value in examining just how this situation actually developed? What I'm saying is, do you even believe in coincidences?"
They spoke heatedly between themselves, but it seemed like they had put themselves on mute. I felt like cotton balls had been stuffed into my ears, and the words they exchanged lost all definition for those few seconds. Then my ears popped. It seemed like they had come to a decision.
"Deshawn," said Good Guy. "You're... much more interesting than we thought you to be. Would you explain how it is that you actually ended here, when you've spent the entirety of your life up till now happily tucked away in Fergus Point?"
"To be honest, I don't really know. I was on the way home from school, you know, when it suddenly occured to me that I had never travelled out before. Like, really travel beyond the next town. So I thought, why the heck not?"
"That's it? Just an idea that somehow popped into your head?" asked Bad Guy. "Did anyone else suggest it to you?"
"Not that I can recall."
"But you've never thought of something like that before?"
"Not that I can think of. Have been happy up till now, I guess."
They huddled further, though they neglected to mute themselves again. I caught snatches of their conversation, just ordinary words and phrases, but it didn't make any sense to me.
"Listen, Deshawn," said Good Guy. "We're here to investigate something, alright? We need to find answers, and if we cannot find it in time, we're going to reset this simulation and keep running it until we find something. We're not even supposed to be talking to you about this, so we really need you to try your best to behave the same way."
"I know, it's the Observer Effect," I said. "Can you tell me what you're looking for, so that, you know, I try to avoid it?"
"Nice try," said Bad Guy. "But this I'll give you - in the twenty-five thousand cycles we've run so far, this is the very first time that you have deviated from your normal routine and ended up here. No one from your town ends up here, not for these three days in time. Yet you did, and random as it may be, statistically insignificant as it may be, we have to assume that it means something."
"Oh, what's the harm? The data set's already corrupted by us confirming our existences to him. In for a penny, in for a pound."
"I highly disagree with that. You want to ruin the data, you can do that on your own-"
"Your town will explode in five days," said Good Guy. "The resulting super-conflagration destroys the entirety of the western coast. The epicentre is here, but we have no idea what caused it, what led to it, what may stop it. Our agents on the ground can't move fast enough to prevent that from happening, so we've plugged in a real-time simulation of every person here known to us. We're watching for any patterns, any clues, anything at all which could help point us in the right direction."
"You want me to... find out why my town will explode? So that you can stop it from happening in the real world? And I am just... a few lines of code on a harddisk somewhere?"
"More than a few lines, Deshawn."
"What's in it for me?" I asked, suddenly angry. Who wouldn't be if they suddenly found out they were but a figment of imagination in someone else's dream? "Help or not, I'm just code to you. You can reset it now, or reset it later. It wouldn't change anything for me. I would still... vanish, like I never existed."
"They're so realistic," whispered Good Guy. "Just as selfish as they are in real life..."
"I'm not wasting time arguing with a sim," said Bad Guy. "Just know that if we can't stop this, your real self, the real you in real Fergus Point, dies in five days too. An explosion of that magnitude, you'll be dust in a micro-second."
"Wait," I said. "You could have explained it that way from the start. I want to help, really! What would you have me do?"
"That's up to you. We're just here to observe. If you don't do anything that leads to any meaningful results, well, we'll just reset and run it all over again. Until we do find something. Good luck to us all."
The weight lifted, and I stumbled back onto my feet.
The words were gone, though I still could not progress any further away from Fergus Point.
The car was responsive again, especially when I angled it back to where I had started earlier that evening.
Any my palms, they were slick with perspiration.
"Five days eh," I said. "Well, there's only place to start looking for these kinds of answers..."
/r/rarelyfunny
|
“Turn back? The fuck is this? Where did these fucking words come from?”
I had this strange sinking feeling, but I shrugged it off.
I decided to test this mysterious warning and slowly drove forward. As I did, things somehow felt... strange. The trees blended together into pure darkness and the road seemed to extend forever. As I continued cruising forward in my car, I began to feel weary and fatigued. I pulled over to take a bit of a break.
Then I heard an awful noise.
“GROUUUUUUOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH”
Like the shriek of a banshee and the roar of some monster, the sound pierced my ears. A wave of cold starting from my abdomen rolled across the rest of my body, paralyzing me in sheer terror.
I looked out my window to see a dark blur running around in the night. Then it suddenly stopped. As if it noticed me, the dark shape slowly turned to face me. Before I had a chance to see what it did next, I turned my car around and floored it. Glimpsing into the rear view mirror, I saw the dark mass in the road, staring at my with piercing, green eyes. I felt my eyelids become heavy and I drifted off into darkness.
When I awoke, I was in my car facing green text that said, “Turn back, NOW.”
I felt that same sinking feeling and decided that I would have to leave the country some other time. For good measure, I decided to glance into my rear view mirror. And all I saw were two piercing, green eyes.
| 2018-07-24T06:28:44 | 2018-07-24T05:29:11 | 58 | 10 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises.
|
Frank was standing there without his pants on, and just like that, everything suddenly made sense. Not in a creeping horror sort of way but with a certain abrupt finality, like a blade coming down on my neck. In just one moment, my whole life changed.
Stupid. STUPID. How had I never seen it before?
He was frozen, caught in the act, holding that fucking mask in his gloved hands and even in our bedroom’s dim light, I could see that his eyes were wide.
I couldn’t move either, not at first. Rage simmered deep in my gut. I don’t know what he was thinking. Have I EVER known what he was thinking? Have I ever known HIM?
When I finally moved, it was to the dresser. I turned my back to him. I couldn’t look. I couldn’t bear to see him wearing that suit, that logo on his chest.
My hands were shaking as I checked the drawer under my socks. The gun was still there. As if either of us had ever needed it. Did he know who I was? The question was turning over and over in my mind.
“Honey-“ he said, but I couldn’t let him finish.
“Tough day at the office?” I pulled my hand away from the gun. When we first got it, the security measure felt like a good idea. To keep Frank safe if anyone ever found out who I was and came for my family, to give him a fighting chance until I could get there to save him.
To save him, just like I save everyone else… from him. He must have thought the same damn thing about that gun, about me protecting myself and our daughter if another villain or the Western League ever found out who he was and came for his family.
I felt like laughing but my throat was too tight. Did he know? Did he have any idea who I was? Was our life, our marriage, our daughter just a long con sham?
Shit, our daughter. Carly’s soccer practice would be over in half an hour. I had to go get her. I needed to get her away from here. Away from him. My hand was shaking on the drawer’s edge.
“Angela, please listen.”
“Why do you do it?” I whirled on him, slamming the drawer shut, the gun abandoned. I didn’t need it. He didn’t need it. Neither of us had ever needed it. “The robberies. The terror. You’re my husband, Frank, but who the fuck ARE you?” I jammed my finger at his chest.
I don’t remember approaching him, but there I was, my finger shoved against the Glacial Force logo, the silver-blue G making a mockery of my entire life.
Not even two hours ago we were locked in combat, rooftop to rooftop across the city, my roses and his ice at war. He’d escaped, plunging deep into the Columbia where even my vines couldn’t follow. And now, after I’d left my Lady Rose costume at the Western League headquarters and come home to try to spend time with my family, there he was. Glacial Force, one of the most powerful villains of the west coast. Oregon AND Washington’s most wanted.
And he was my goddamn husband, Frank Fisher.
“For you. For Carly.”
My heart sank, my gut tightened. It took everything I had not to throw the first punch. He dropped his mask and put his hands up like he was trying to placate me, but it was going to take a lot more than that to calm my rage. My fingers itched to call my power and wrap my vines around his throat. I curled them into fists instead.
“No.” There was finality in my voice, and it didn’t waver. Good. “You’re done. If you care about us at all, about this family, you’ll stop.”
“I can’t,” there was something in his voice. Something that gave me pause. It was small and desperate in a way I’ve never heard him. Not as Frank, and not as Glacial Force.
“Why?”
\~\*\~
I told him I needed to think and that I was taking Carly to mom’s. I asked him for space. And he, god damn him, agreed. He said to take my time. He was ready to talk more when I was. Somehow, that made it worse.
He still didn’t know who I really was. But it all made sense now. Carly’s powers are elemental-based, not nature. I’d been surprised the first time she made a fireball. Elemental powers don’t run in my family, I was expecting she’d manifest something a little more nature-leaning, like animal speech or a transformation, or more plants. I’d sworn her to secrecy all the same, even from her father. When she’s sixteen the Western League will start her training, and she’d join the next generation of superheros.
Of course, at the time I was under the mistaken impression that Frank was powerless. It never occurred to me how much her father’s daughter she really was. He was powered, and that meant he had the right to know his daughter was too, that she’d taken after his Bloodline. He should have been the one to teach her.
I’d left Carly at mom’s and headed straight back to headquarters, still reeling over everything Frank had told me. It was nearly midnight before anyone else came. It was Juan, still in full Bull Rush regalia, fresh off a shift patrolling the streets of Portland.
“Rosie, you’re here late. Something bothering you?”
I sat up, grabbed my mug, and grimaced at the stone cold coffee, “I got a lead,” I told him, gesturing to the table.
Juan let out a low whistle, “What’s all this?”
Several photos were spread out over the table, Glacial Force’s in the center, and all around him were news story photos of the other biggest names in west coast crime: Caligurl, Blockade, Stoneheart, Everdream, and Flashbang. Then, a ring of other photos around them, some dating decades back: Mafiablood, Shatter, Artemisa, and the enigmatic Gun. Still others littered the table, with a little less rhyme and reason to their placement than the core of it, but now I could see it. One photo lay face down.
“He isn’t working alone,” I said, and I set my mug aside, tapped Frank’s—Glacial Force’s—photo, “there’s more to it than that.”
Juan peeled his mask back, brown eyes shooting a skeptical glance my way, “You think so? But we’ve never found a link between any of them.”
I nodded, tapped my finger again, “I’m positive. Juan what if these are good people, doing bad things?”
He arched a brow and set his mask down in one of the chairs, “Isn’t that the definition of a bad guy though, ‘doing bad things’?”
I shook my head, ran my hands through my messy hair, “No, I mean, they’re being forced to do it.”
Juan scoffed, “Right, someone’s FORCING Glacial Force to do something against his will. You think someone out there’s strong enough to make all of them,” he jabbed his finger at the inner circle of photos, “do shit they don’t wanna do?”
I took the face down photo and flipped it over. It held nothing but a silhouette, a dark shape against the moon. “Shadowvein.”
Juan looked at me like I’d lost it, “Shadowvein’s a small time, third rate crook,” he said, leaning back, “No way he’s behind a damn thing.”
I looked away from Juan back to the photo and I stared at it, my eyes tracing the vaguely human shape. “I know it. I just need to prove it.”
The way Frank had looked, how softly he’d spoken. He told me everything. Or at least, everything he trusted his civilian wife Angela with. There were parts he’d left out, I could feel the shapes of the holes in his story. But I had enough to start piecing the puzzle together, and all of it came back to Shadowvein.
I had the pieces. I just needed to figure out how it all came together, and just what Shadowvein was holding over them. Not just Frank, but all of them.
That night, I made a vow to myself.
Lady Rose was going to save Glacial Force, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
|
"That was you the WHOLE TIME?!" You yelled exhausted and confused. You didnt know what to think. How could you even let this happen.
"What? Nooooo. Definitely not me." The other quickly chimed in. He didn't want anyone to figure out who he really was. And this would only ruin their marriage.
"Then what the fuck did I just walk into?!" You said loudly now cofused. You knew it. You honestly didnt mind, knowing know that it was your lover you had been chasing around. It had all been making sense now. The robberies, the thefts, the chases. He wanted attention. Attention he would get.
The other looks up only to see you come barreling towards him and landing on your bed. It creaked with protest as the covers poofed up around both of you. Your spouse groaned and giggled as he was attacked by kisses all over his face.
So today wasnt too bad of a loss for you at all.
| 2020-10-30T12:21:35 | 2020-10-30T12:14:23 | 75 | 13 |
[WP] An advanced alien race has done extensive research and deems us an easy target. As soon as they invade, all earth governments simultaneously reveal all their secret weapons.
|
**Pt 1.**
 
“Welcome sir, we’re glad you could make it on such short notice. My name is Hendricksen, and I’m here to talk you through what’s going on.”
“Good,” the general said as he stepped out of his helicopter. “I would like to know what’s going on. I’ve been trying to figure it out for the past four hours.”
“Walk with me sir,” the other man said as he led the general to the large safety doors blocking the entrance of the underground facility.
“Four hours ago, the alien fleet warped into our solar system just above the atmosphere of our planet. Within 20 minutes they had evaporated the 12 biggest cities on Earth and started their invasion.”
“I am already painfully aware, Hendricksen,” the general replied as he waited for the massive doors to fully open. “The only thing I want to know is what they look like, how their weaponry operates, where they are and if you have found any weaknesses we can exploit.”
“I am afraid it is not that simple, sir,” Hendricksen continued as the doors fully opened. He stepped forward and beckoned the general to join him. Once inside, he continued.
“Three hours and 20 minutes ago, a large heat signature was detected from Mars. Five minutes later a laser was fired from the red planet with an estimated diameter of 40 meters. It cut through the alien flagship and evaporated part of our atmosphere in the process. This caused the aliens to scatter their ships and invading forces, starting the chaos.”
“Someone fired a 40 meter diameter laser from *Mars*?” the general asked, dumbfounded.
“Our telescopes have since confirmed vault doors on the surface of Mars with a diameter of roughly 60 metres, sir. America has sent the Rover over to investigate, but preliminary reports imply we are all too familiar with the architects of this machine.”
The general stopped walking.
“Enough with the theatrics, Hendricksen, cut to the point.”
“Are you familiar with Star Wars, general?”
“I have seen the movies, are you implying-”
“Yes,” Hendricksen replied. “Most of the surviving world leaders seem convinced Russia has turned Mars into an off-brand Death Star. Now please, if you would continue to walk with me, we don’t have a moment to lose. Every minute we linger, this mess gets more chaotic.”
The general started walking again, following Hendricksen’s brisk pace through the lengthy but otherwise featureless corridor that lead deeper into the facility.
“Russia had that much money?”
“Believe me, sir, *everyone had that much money”
The general raised a single eyebrow.
“Don’t fall behind sir. Let’s continue the report. As the alien fleet descended, they were met with a prismatic laser array from Cairo. Cut right through a couple of their larger landing craft, like a soldering wire through butter.”
“Let me guess,” the general responded skeptically, “the pyramids?”
“Not just the ones we were aware of, sir. They have built a full array of them under the desert sands. Of course, most of the desert has turned to glass now so they are perfectly visible if you want to view them for yourself.”
Hendricksen handed a tablet over to the general showing a live feed of an aerial view of the Egyptian desert. It was unrecognizable. After a few quick calculations while scanning what was left of the desert, the general was stopped by Hendricksen. They were standing in front of another vault door.
Hendricksen touched his earpiece. “Thomas, it’s me, can you let us in?”
“That’s roughly 1024 pyramids covered in glass, Hendricksen,” the general said as he handed the tablet back to his guide.
While they waited for the second set of vault doors to open, Hendricksen continued his report.
“Two hours and 54 minutes ago, the remaining alien forces crashed what was left of their fleet in various key locations on our planet. It seems Bulgaria wasn’t too keen on alien invaders in Greece. So they released these creatures.”
Hendricksen handed the tablet back to the general.
“This is clearly photoshopped, Hendricksen. It has to be.” The general looked at his guide, perplexed. Hendricksen’s face betrayed no emotion.
“I am afraid that footage is quite real, general.”
“Bulgaria has *dragons*? What type of animal did they even genetically engineer to come close to this? Komodo dragons? How did they biologically engineer fire-breathing?”
“If the Bulgarian government is to be believed, sir, they have had domesticated dragons since the year 635.”
The general followed Hendricksen through the opened vault doors. Another featureless corridor lay ahead of them, and in the distance, another blasted vault door.
“Why have they never used them before?”
“For the same reason none of the other countries have revealed their superweapons until now, general. It paints a giant target on your back. Naturally,” Hendricksen continued, “Romania could not let Bulgaria hog all the glory. I don’t think it requires further explanation on what they unleashed from Transylvania to combat the alien forces.”
The general grimaced and rubbed his eyes. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I never joke while on the job, sir. In the following 30 minutes, various smaller European countries unveiled super soldiers, rail guns, jet pack battalions, the works. We’re still in the process of figuring out who released the mutant mantis-men, but they’re part of the melee now as well.”
Hendricksen paused for a second and looked at the general.
“Are you with me so far, general?”
“Yes,” he replied, feeling defeated. “Carry on with your report.”
“In those same 30 minutes, the aliens who had crashed in China were welcomed by, and I quote, ‘a regenerating army of cursed terracotta warriors’, as well as the regular Chinese army and a variety of kinetic weaponry that pierces through titanium as a magnum bullet cuts through air. It might as well not be there.”
“The terracotta army I did not expect, though we were aware of China’s improved guns and cannons.”
“Then tell me, general,” Hendricksen continued, “where you aware of the giant robots Japan sent do aid their Chinese allies?”
Hendricksen had made quotation marks with his fingers when he said the word ‘aid’. The general didn’t know what to make of that, and at this point he was afraid to ask.
“Before you ask,” Hendricksen started, “the answer is *yes*”
“How old are the pilots?”
“Too young for war.”
The reply was instant and without emotion.
“Wait,” the general paused his march. “The Chinese didn’t release any of their dragons?”
Hendricksen looked surprised. “If they have them, they held them back, sir.”
The general smirked.
“Where else did the aliens crash?”
“Ah yes, thank you for staying on topic, general. The remaining alien forces crashed in Australia, Mexico, Greenland, Mongolia, Britain and the pacific ocean.”
Hendricksen looked at his watch. It was expensive.
“Roughly two hours ago, the remnants of the Australian government located the alien crash site on their continent and unleashed their laser crocodiles and laser sharks. They may sound less intimidating than Bulgaria’s dragons, but…”
He gave the general a long look. The general’s face betrayed no emotion.
“…but they were highly efficient. Twenty minutes later, the alien invasion in Australia had ended. Britain meanwhile, as will be no surprise to you at this point, I imagine, fielded a large number of secret agents to take out their alien invaders. Rumor has it they suffered no casualties, but our experts are still looking into that.”
Hendricksen touched his earpiece and stopped walking. The general also came to a halt, and looked at his guide expectantly. A smile flashed across Hendricksen’s face briefly.
“Good news, general, the alien forces in Greenland have been wiped out by an unknown party.”
The general looked puzzled, again. “How is that good news?”
“The aliens were headed for Canada. It is safe to assume that this was Canada’s turn to show off. That means we can tick another power off the list. I guess the rumors of Canadian ninjas were true after all…” he trailed off.
“Hendricksen!” the general snapped.
Hendricksen shook his head and looked at the general. “Indeed, let’s carry on and make this quick.”
They were getting close to the third vault door.
“As it turns out, Tibet houses an army of unparalleled martial artists. Last we checked, they engaged the aliens in Mongolia and were expected to wipe them out…” he looked at his watch again, “approximately 30 minutes ago.”
Hendricksen handed the tablet back to the general.
“What is this?” the general asked.
“Spirit animals, sir. Apparently, they can be summoned through meditation and rigorous martial arts training. This, on the other hand, is a picture of a statue of the hindu gods in a temple in India.”
He swiped on the tablet to the next slide in his presentation.
“And these are those same gods, in the flesh this time, on their way to Mongolia to deal with the alien invasion.”
The general sighed. “I don’t think anything surprises me at this point anymore. How did it end?”
“It didn’t…”
Hendricksen paused.
“They’re still at it. It didn’t help that Pakistan felt the need to interfere and sent their own-“
He stopped talking.
“You know what,” Hendricksen continued, “never mind, we’re almost here.”
They stopped in front of the third vault door. It was identical to the previous two.
|
After 365 rotations we decided that their resources were easy picking. Their anatomy almost perfectly fits what our mines need and some of their technology might be us full to improve ours. A very confusing thing we encountered was them sharing military details trugh unencrypted radiowaves with the intention of sharing that information, so their military strength was with the shared Intel and the information we were able to get with optical surface scans left us with a good impression of their military strength. Also the species was divided in many different groups, with a varying degree of hostility between them.
As our ships left the artificial wormholes we surrounded their planet and hailed them with the information that we were going to acquire our demanded resources, with deadly force if necessary, they agreed to send the requested individuals within a period of 10 rotations to designated areas. After 9 cycles they informed us that the agreed tribute was ready to be relocated. As our ships entered atmosphere our commands hip lost contact to 3 ships on what the indigenous population called America. 2 ships lost contact above the continent called Asia, but the other 2 ships in that aria reported spikes in radiation. As those two ships investigated the great command ordered the 2 ships going to Africa tho investigate the disappearance of the ones in America. As the command was given the sensors picked up 3 kinetic projectiles made of an metal were heading for the command ship at ~50Km/s. As we were executing an evasive maneuver a beam of super heated plasma cuts trugh our primary engine segment and destroying it. It oriented from a space station which we did not bother to investigate closely, since superficial tests showed it as a pice of space junk. With our engines disabled the command ship suffered critical damage and the antimatter-containment-field began fluctuating. We were able to power up the wormhole generator a singe time and launched our escape pods into it. It closed right behind us, implying that the command ship got vaporized by the antimatter. As I'm writing this we are preparing a second wave, as we cannot tolerate such behavior as it might inspire other planets to rise up against us.
Sorry for formating and funny autocorect, I'm on mobile
| 2018-01-12T17:58:16 | 2018-01-12T13:02:55 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness.
|
"Vell, Captain..." the Commandant paused and looked down as his dossier "...Evans. I vould like to formally velcome you to our humble establishment."
Captain Dirk Evans looked around the dimly-lit stone cell, his hands still cuffed behind his chair.
"I've heard about how you treat your prisoners. I don't care how long you lock me up here. I won't talk."
The Commandant gave a thin smile, and nodded at the guards. They removed the cuffs from Evans' hands, and shackled his arms and legs to the chair before Evans could so much as draw a breath in protest.
"You have heard how ve treat our prisoners, have you? Then what I am about to do next vill come as no shock to a worldly man such as yourself."
Evans grimaced as he watched the Commandant produce a set of cutters from his black leather belt. He had trained for this, but the cold feeling of fear was undeniable. The OSS had warned him about the enemy's new interrogation methods. It was much more than just a dark, uncomfortable cell--which was a highly effective interrogation method in its own right. The enemy's diabolical scientists had invented a new interrogation technique, which the OSS called "torture."
Still, no one was exactly sure what "torture" was--or even whether that was what the enemy called it. This was because not a single living soul had escaped from the enemy's grasp. Evans knew what all OSS field operatives knew--having been shown the instruments before leaving the academy. What could these cutters do? Evans was sure that it wouldn't be pleasant.
The Commandant pressed a hidden buzzer, startling Evans from his reverie. Moments later, a woman--an interrogation expert, he guessed--entered the room, pushing a steel medical cart in front of her. The Commandant nodded, and she began to remove her instruments from the cart. Evans couldn't recognize any of them, but the gleaming steel looked ominous.
The Commandant nodded. "As I was saying, vhile Ilsa assembles her equipment, I vould like to velcome you to your new home. For you, the war is now over--"
"That doesn't mean I'll talk!"
"Oh Captain, captain, I do not expect you to talk. Any information which you could provide to us vould be hopelessly out-of-date, in any case. Now, you say you are familiar with our methods. It is time you experienced them first-hand."
The Commandant nodded at Ilsa, and handed her the cutters. She advanced slowly toward Evans, and began to caress his left hand.
Evans cringed. These cutters could only be for one thing. As Ilsa moved the cutters toward his thumb, Evans closed his eyes and steeled himself for the pain that was sure to come. He heard the cutters snap closed, and waited for the nerve signals to reach his brain. And waited... And waited...
After a few moments, Evans opened his eyes and risked looking down at his left hand. By now, Ilsa had removed dry skin from most of his nails and cuticles with the cutters.
She clicked her tongue. "You heroic types ruin your nails vith all of these silly games you play outdoors. I can fix them, but it vill take a few weeks of treatment."
"W--wha--What in the Hell are you doing?" Evans sputtered, as his fear and rage giving way to utter confusion.
"I thought you said you knew, Captain," the Commandant said, now smiling broadly. "Allow me to guess. Your commanders told you that ve had invented terrible new interrogation methods. Much vorse than a dark cell and cold food. And that not a single prisoner had escaped from our camps and survived to tell the tale. Is that what you heard?"
"They said you had discovered how to hurt people to make them talk--that it was called torture."
"Ahh yes. American propaganda at its finest. As far as I know, there is no such thing as 'torture.' It is an invention of the fevered imagination of you Americans." The Commandant shook his head. "How would such a thing even vork? Ve hurt you, and you tell us a lie so that ve stop? How could ve ever hope to learn anything useful from such methods?"
"Then what are you going to do to me?"
"Vell, after Ilsa has finished with your manicure, she is going to remove your boots and attend to your feet. After that, you vill be given a varm shower and a hot meal."
"I still won't talk!"
"How many times must I tell you, Captain? Ve do not expect you to talk. If you vill allow me to continue, this evening, you vill be shown to your room in the castle tower. It has a feather bed, a shelf full of leather-bound books in English, and finely-woven silk hangings. The view of the lake is beautiful, as vell, although the vindow is barred."
The Commandant continued, "In that room, you may sit in silence until the end of the war, if that is vhat you wish, Captain. Most people, however, eventually find themselves becoming lonely. If that happens to you, then you vill be velcome to participate in the social life of the camp. Ve have extensive recreational facilities underground. There is even an indoor beach lit by the newest sunlamps. Most of your comrades have chosen accommodations there. One of them even managed to woo our dear Ilsa."
At this, Ilsa grinned and flashed Evans her wedding ring.
"So, as you see, ve are not monsters."
Evans shook his head, still unconvinced. "And what do you want in return for this vacation you're offering?"
"Nothing but your comradeship. It has been a nearly a veek since your capture. Your operational knowledge is now obsolete. If you knew of a plan for an American invasion, for example--oh, and I see from your expression that perhaps you did--your former masters will have discarded that plan. Your fellow agents have surely gone to their safe houses by now. So, my questions for you are simple and harmless. First, please state your name, rank, and serial number."
"Fine. I'm Captain Dirk Everett Evans. Serial number OSS-1439-372Q."
"And from your serial number, I see that you vork for the OSS, that you vere born in 1914, and that you joined the service in 1939. Correct?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"And, vhen you vere captured, your mission vas to deliver coded documents concerning an American invasion to agents in the capital, yes?"
Evans frowned and said nothing.
"Please, Captain. Ve already have the documents in our possession. It is a pity that the United States did not provide you with a cigarette lighter that vorks in the rain."
"Fine. Yes."
"Thank you. As you can imagine, our codebreakers have already reviewed the documents. The cipher was almost trivial to crack. They speak of an invasion beginning in three weeks. Your agents have been instructed to sabotage certain railways, and cut power to several government buildings. These include every local police headquarters and party directorate office between here and the capital, yes?"
"Well...yeah, most of them."
"And your local resistance contact, Marta--oh yes, ve are quite aware of her assumed identity--her plan was to prepare the vay for the agents of your 'advance team' to enter the capital..."
"Hell, you know it all already. Yeah, they were going to parachute into the countryside and meet her at the Saturday market. Guess they'll do something else now."
"I guess they vill. That vill be all, Captain, thank you. I invite you to join me for luncheon tomorrow. I have just obtained a shipment of fine Italian wines and spirits. They are perhaps not as good as the French, yet I believe that tomorrow vill be lovely day to sample them, as we picnic by the lake."
"Sure, I guess. Uh... thanks."
"But of course, Captain. Until then."
Outside the holding cell, the Commandant compared notes with his assistants--both former OSS agents. These new interrogation methods were miraculous. If only the party's code-breakers could crack these damned American ciphers, they wouldn't have to rely so much on guesswork. Still, the American Captain had now confirmed what they suspected. After a few months of this treatment, perhaps he too would be willing permanently switch sides. A man of his talents could go far...
That evening, Captain Evans lay in his new feather bed, still feeling languid from the massage he had received before dinner. If this was torture, then maybe he could get used to it.
Ilsa's friend seemed nice, too. What was her name? Petra? Yeah, that was it. He fell asleep thinking of Petra's soft smile.
EDITS: Typos
|
I could write a lot on this one, but this is what just came to mind... I may try to elaborate more later... I wrote it like a screenplay.
This scene is taking place between a Colonel and his troop in a dungenous basement of a top secret military installation.
Colonel: They’re going to offer you the finest prostitutes the world has ever seen.
Klemper: Will they have teeth?
Colonel: Yes.
Klemper: Holy shit!
Colonel: You must resist these temptations.
A sex doll is wheeled in. Before the Colonel can even address this, Klemper runs over, drops his pants, and begins humping the shit out of it.
Colonel: KLEMPER! Stop that!
Farris: He can’t help it, sir, he’s part dog. On his mother’s side. 25% really. His grandma is a true bitch.
The Colonel stares at Farris.
Farris: Seriously. She once tied me up and smeared grape jelly all over me and tried to do what Klemper’s doing to that doll.
Colonel: He’s penetrating it.
Farris: Exactly, sir.
Colonel: God help us.
| 2016-04-13T10:33:30 | 2016-04-13T07:17:42 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
Kalgor looked at the pale skined human in utter shock. 'They couldn't be serious in thinking that the rest of the galactic community would simply accept the use of this kind of technology'
“Mr. Adams...” Kalgor began.
“Doctor Adams if you don't mind Count Kalgor.” Dr. Adams corrected, he knew that if he didn't demand respect now that it would be harder to earn it back later. As it stood he could tell that the reptilian xeno that stood before him was not pleased with what had been unveiled only a hour ago in the space dock that was right outside his office window right now.
“Yes Dr.Adams. You must understand that of the various forms of FTL drive in use in the galaxy what you have unveiled here today is at best going to be seen as unsafe at best or outright dangerous to some in the galaxy.” He was struggling to keep the panic out of his voice, but despite his many deca-cycles of experience in diplomacy the very skill that had made him chosen as the Galactic Senate's emissary to the up and coming human race, he was begin to fail.
“Count with all due respect I fail to see what the overall difference is between our own hyperdrive and the Delfanit pulse tube drive or the Kantian gate system they all use hyperspace gravity waves to achieve FTL speeds.”
Kalgor's voice broke. “But you are punching holes in space to reach hyperspace!”
“So?” the Doctor responded nonchalantly.
“The Kantian's use a physical gateway to control entry into hyperspace and the Delfanit's use natural gravity currents to slip into hyperspace. Your system just punches holes into the fabric of space! Even our scientists can't tell if making those holes will not bring about the complete tearing of reality as we know it.”
Kalgor again reasserted some control over himself and continued.
“I know that this is a major milestone for humanity and means that you will not have to pay for the use of other species drive systems in your ships which will transform your economy and your military forces. But this is too dangerous besides, what possible advantages could this drive have over the other forms of FTL?”
Adams knew that this moment would be coming sooner or later and that he had to make the most it.
“So glad you could ask Count. The Kantian's gate system requires a massive amount of energy in order to not only open the entryway to hyperspace both for incoming and outgoing traffic, but to hold it open long enough for ships to get through. While they have relatively few systems in their Empire those that they have are spread out thus why the gate was developed. Once in system they use regular sub-light fusion drive to go from the gate to their ultimate planetary destination.”
Kalgor nodded his head as the Doctor continued.
“However due to the power requirements of just one of those gates not to mention the operating costs it would be uneconomical to have a gate at each planet.
Another thing is the time that the gate is held open effects the toll paid by merchant traffic thus why you don't see any Kantian merchant vessels over 1.5km in length. Beyond that length the ratio between hold space, engine size, and time to accelerate becomes uneconomical. They can't get moving from a stand still fast enough to go through the gate without occurring serious tolls and they can't dedicate more engine size because it cuts into their profits from loss of tonnage hauled.”
“Well... yes those are valid points but...” Kalgor stammered out but Adams didn't let up.
“The Delfanit pulse tube solves the power requirement issue and the infrastructure issue but those “tubes” where the gravity band waves are stable enough to sail on until they hit hyperspace are very restricting as they only occur naturally in a few places. This is why their Kingdom if you look at their history had periods of rapid expansion followed by long periods of solidification because goods had to travel often dozens of light years in sublight from system hubs that had these tubes thus slowing growth.”
Kalgor knew he was quickly losing ground and had little recourse as any other drive system that was used in the galaxy had similar glaring issues that were simply accepted.
The Maltiun wave-riders used massive 20km+ gravity sails to ride the same gravity waves as the Delfanit but instead of entering hyperspace they rode ever more powerful waves and were not limited in where they could go for the most part. But the system was high maintenance and very tonnage sensitive as the larger the vessel the longer it took for that vessel reach FTL speeds. The largest ships the species built took at least a standard week to get up to speed and then another week to slow down.
Salec skip drives on the other hand actually sent gravity anchor beams to latch onto hyperspace currents and pull the ship along technically “skipping” on the envelope between real space and hyperspace. The down side is that the anchors can only hold for so long and the power requirements while nothing like Kantians as this wasn't actually entering hyperspace. Meant that they could only skip anywhere from 20 to 100 lightyears depending on the ships configuration before having to recharge their anchoring system, which could take a standard day or up to a week on the largest shipping vessels. Still faster than going at sub light speeds for sure but it meant long travel times for goods.
“Our system allows us to enter hyperspace at will, with no concerns about ship mass, size, or power production beyond engine thrust which combined with our already recognized and accepted superior fusion engine designs, means that we can potentially travel from one side of the galaxy to the other in a month. At least if you are willing to burn that much H3 fuel which even then is more a matter of being inconvenienced with having to stop for fuel rather than any sort of cost consideration.”
The silence in the office was deafening as Kalgor stepped towards the window and looked upon the vessel.
“But the holes Doctor! You may have a system that doesn't have the others drawbacks but we are talking about ripping apart space itself.”
“Count Kalgor I am growing weary of this repeated falsehood. We have be using the same points in orbit to develop this system for over a standard year, and every time we have gone we have had to open a new hole as the last one closed once the vessel is through. Beyond the gravity wake left by the opening you can't tell any thing happened at all after 24 to 36 hours. It is safe.”
“The Senate will not accept this...” Kalgor started hoping he was right to bank on the repugnant nature of this very concept.
“They might not now but they will when they see the Eli Whitney.” Adams spoke ominously. He turned on the large holotank in the middle of the room. The image displayed a monstrous vessel.”
Kalgor turned around and his eyes went wide at the image.
“Is this a warship?” He asked as the ever growing list of implications in his head grew with each passing second.
“No my Count, it is not. It is a merchant vessel commissioned by the Wal-Mart Cartel. She is 75km long, over 2km tall with 12 50-Petawatt fusion reactors with a top estimated FTL speed of 50 but will likely run at 10 to save on fuel costs as such speed is generally unneeded. The whole vessel weighs over 500 million tons 490 of which is hold space capable of hauling virtually anything you can think of. She is going out for trials in a hour then if all goes well she will make a fully loaded iron ore run from the Sol system to Peraxus VII and its heavy industry there. And given that the Senate is on Peraxus V the Eli will make a pass and see if there is anything that needs to be shipped back here to Earth on the return trip.”
As the Doctor finished Kalgor could feel his heart tighten at the size of the vessel and its speed. It would be in the Peraxus system in 3 days, even if he left now in one of the fastest vessels money could buy now he couldn't hope to get there in anything less than 12 days.
“You humans are reckless and unorthodox beyond anything I have ever heard of in my life. But I can't argue with the results.” Kalgor finally stated any hope of resistance gone as the pragmatic side of him knew that economically humanity had, in 10 years after first contact blown every other power in the galaxy out of the water. Another voice his is head whispered about what would happen if mankind made warships on such a scale.
“Well Doctor I don't see any point in arguing anymore but if you can let me on this vessel and join me in the senate with your research especially on the whole hole-punching-then-closing-up-perfectly part, then maybe we can avoid starting a bigger galactic panic then what we absolutely have to.”
“Of course Count I'm already packed and I have made such arrangements already. We can leave once the ship has gone through its final trials.” The Doctor proudly stated.
|
Well, you know how in the old Simpsons opening scene Bart grabs the back of the bus on his skate board?
That. We do that. We use magnetic attachments and stealth tech (cos if they saw us they'd shake us off) and we hang on till we get to where we want to go. Then we disengage and wander off like we just happened to be there... Nobody realised till a couple of months ago when someone's stealth tech malfunctioned. Poor Delfanit bastards still cop it whenever they dock: 'better check you haven't got A WHOLE FUCKING SHIP ATTACHED'
At least the Delf have a sense of humor, the Salec passed legislation last week stating any hitchers would be executed. So here we are waiting for a chance to disengage and get away from a ship that travels faster than light in a junker that has a half rod of fuel and like half its working parts.
OH! And we only have 2 cans of WD40 and 5 rolls of duct tape, so even if we do manage to pull off a miracle and escape our ship is gonna stop working anyway! But hey, we get to go down in history as the first idiots to die from this legislation so my Ma will have something to frame on the wall at home I guess.
Fuuuuuck.
| 2017-03-31T07:50:09 | 2017-03-31T06:53:53 | 34 | 18 |
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 4: Janus v.s. Bleeding Heart)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There are three main reasons why people want to be superheroes, and over time I’ve found that all of them are stupid.** The first reason is for glory; superheroes are more than eight times as likely than non-superhumans to be offered movie roles or TV deals or even just making a killing from home videos of their own adventures. There’s a reason why they’re called superstars, after all.
The second reason is for politics. This is just about the only acceptable reason to become a superhero nowadays, although it’s still a towering testament to human stupidity. Federal Law No. 8 of 2023 was intended to address the superhero overflow by adding regulations: their “use it or lose it” policy set up an entire Federal department dedicated to auditing every superhuman in the U.S.. If a superhuman wasn't gainfully employed in a manner which utilized their abilities, they were either offered a job with the Feds or had their powers removed. Unfortunately, after the whole Big Guns fiasco, the Feds had terrible PR with their superhuman employment, and absolutely nobody wanted to work with the Feds—leaving everyone scrambling to find an occupation that used their powers just to let them keep it. A craze swept the Unified Sovereignties in which every parent tried to make their child into a superhero just so that they didn’t have to give up something that was an integral part of themself. Heck, I was guilty of joining in, too—I even got together with some other moms and pretended to be a supervillain just to give my daughter some crime to fight.
As I said. Towering testament to human stupidity.
The third main reason I’ve seen people become superheroes is because they genuinely want to do good, but they’re just… not very smart. Again, I’m guilty of this, too: the superhero Bleeding Heart had a long and rather stressful career before I realized that, as an empath, I would do much better in the political sphere than in the punitive one, and got myself elected as Mayor. People who genuinely want to do good are the easiest to talk out of being superheroes and into being… well, helpful members of society.
But there’s a fourth reason people become super"heroes". It’s one that you don’t see as often nowadays, what with crime rates dropping and fewer economic downturns— although given what Lady Luck did to the stock market, that might change soon.
When people have been hurt by the bad guys, sometimes they just want to hurt the bad guys back—and if you’re a superhero, you can hurt a lot of bad guys and get paid for your trouble. In my experience, these are the hardest people to reason with, and they’ve caused a lot of heartbreak and needless violence over the years. This brand of would-be superhero was the one I dreaded the least.
And now, my daughter was one of them.
I walked up the aged wooden stairs to my daughter’s room and shifted my steaming tray of fish and potatoes to my other hand, rapping on her door three times. There was a pause as things shifted around—a blanket was thrown aside, a chair scraped across the floor—before my daughter abruptly popped into existence behind me a few inches off the ground.
“Hey, Mom! What’s up?” Janice tried in a cheery tone. That was her new approach; pretending she was alright. If I wasn’t her mother, I might not have noticed the tension in her shoulders, the slight twitch of her eyebrows, the way her smile faded after a moment as if she couldn’t be bothered to keep up the facade for too long.
I sighed. “Janice, you know you shouldn’t be using ghostform in an unfamiliar environment.” I knew it was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn’t think of anything better.
She crouched down and jumped, vanishing in an instant; a heartbeat later, I heard her feet thud as she materialized on the roof. “I dunno, Mom,” she called from above, her voice muffled by the roof tiles, “I *like* being able to phase through walls.” With a slight puff of displaced air, she rematerialized in front of me.
“Janice, if you don’t exit ghostform in time, you’ll get swallowed by the Earth and never be seen again.”
Her smile grew wooden. “Honestly? You'd be better off,” she said.
She couldn’t have hurt me more if she’d phased her hand into my heart.
I gently reached out and placed one hand on her shoulder, and wordlessly, my empathy came alight. Where my hand met her shoulder, our emotions mixed, the currents of her soul tugging at mine. All at once, I felt a deep, aching emptiness, an almost-physical numbness that suffocated me, a straitjacket so tight that I’d be willing to run a sword through my chest if it meant cutting it off. And at the same time, I knew that Janice would be feeling my mournful sorrow, at having failed to protect my daughter, at seeing my vivacious, lively little girl reduced to a brittle shell of what she’d once been.
“I’ve always wondered,” my daughter asked casually, “what does your empathy tell you when you come into contact with someone who can’t feel anything anymore?”
I swallowed. Well, now I knew.
“Janice...” I set down the food and gestured for her to sit. Reluctantly, she did. “I haven’t seen you all day. Come on. Why don’t you eat with me?”
She shook her head. “No time. I… I have to be better.”
“Be better? Be better at—”
“Be better at being a hero!” At once, she jumped in the air and swung a curtain rod she’d procured from somewhere to the side, flickering in and out of existence so quickly I didn’t even see it coming. A nearby vase exploded, her curtain rod materializing in the middle of it, and she stared at the space where the vase used to be with a thunderous expression. “Be better so that I don’t let—I don’t let another person get hurt again!”
“If you don’t want any more people to get hurt, then you need to start with not hurting yourself,” I said.
She gave me a dead-eyed gaze. “Do I really count as a person?” she asked.
Hand through the heart.
“You do,” I insisted. “You *are* a person, and you're a hero already.”
Janice’s face twisted into a snarl. “I was such a crappy superhero that you had to pretend to be a supervillain so that I had something I could beat.”
“I didn’t say a superhero. I just said a hero. Ghostform isn’t the only power you have, Janice. You have the power to take care of yourself. You have the power to feel emotions again. You have the power to talk to me when you’re in pain. And right now… using *those* powers… is far more practical than you going out and fighting crime.”
Janice clenched her fists, trembling. “No. You’re wrong, Mom. How—how would those have helped when I failed, last time?”
“We’re not talking about last time. We’re talking about next time. Janice—”
“I WON’T LET THERE *BE* A NEXT TIME!” Janice shoved me with both palms—
—and in the instant our bodies were touching, my empathy connected us once more. I felt her grief and rage and pain and self-hatred, and she felt my love and sorrow and aching kindness, and she felt me feel her agony, and I felt her feel mine.
She felt herself feeling, and it was that more than anything that shattered her anger like a rod through a vase.
Janice Olsen collapsed on the floor, sobbing into her arms.
After a sacred moment of silence, I moved in to hold her tight.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m just—so afraid—that I won’t—be able to—”
“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. You have the power to heal, too.” I smiled faintly. “Not super-healing. Not the ability to donate blood to an entire city. But… you can heal *yourself*. And that’s what matters.”
Everyone had powers, even those who couldn’t fly or shoot lightning. But so few people *used* them.
As a mom, my job was to ensure my daughter used every power she had to its fullest potential.
And I was very, very good at it.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
|
I'm the closest thing the world has to a superhero.
I’m not sure why they call me that. I’m not a hero; I’m a diplomat. But the public has a way of putting labels on people. And, at the risk of being pedantic, I'm more of a freelance peacemaker than a superpowered rescuer.
Most superheroes are criminals. You wouldn’t believe how many people start out fighting crime, but end up becoming criminals themselves. Superpowers are addictive, and to abuse them means to abuse the public trust. You have to hound me for three months before you can even apply to join my organization. That’s why I know that helping people in distress is what they do.
But I don't deal with superheroes like that. I deal with any crime that we notice, like theft, gang violence, vandalism. It’s a small world, after all. I deal with all the small stuff, but I rarely deal with the big stuff. Like supervillains and supervillainy. The world of crime is usually a very small world. The people supervillains take from us are always the people we know very well. They don't just steal, they steal our cherished ideas.
Today, I get a report of a robbery. A bank, or a government office, or something similar. Nothing unusual. These things happen every other month. When I arrive, I find a crowd on the sidewalk across the street. They silently stare into the bank. I’m slow, and this is a busy street. I find a parking spot and walk across the street.
The building is bustling with police officers. Men in army-green hazmat suits mill around. I enter the lobby and find an object that my mind can't comprehend.
I look up.
Hang on, it’s harder to describe than you think. It’s, it’s…
TBC
| 2021-04-11T07:07:13 | 2021-04-11T05:10:42 | 142 | 58 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"Okay. I understand," I said.
"Then? Do you opt to simply pass through to judgment, or do you wish to fight for resurrection?" Death asked.
I sat down in the provided seat, a rotting stump of an old oak tree. "I challenge you to the game of life."
Death sighed. Or, at least, Death did what sounded like the closest thing to sighing an eternally rotting corpse can do. "Conway's or Milton Bradley's?" it asked.
"Neither."
"I don't understand."
"I didn't think you would. You've never lived, have you? You've always been the physical embodiment of a universal constant, right?"
Death hesitated. Finally, it said, "yes, although my physical shape changes to suit my collection."
"I thought so. So here's the game. We leave Purgatory. You join me back on Earth. You take on a fully human form and can do only what humans can do, not this... magical shambles."
"And then?"
"And then we play the game of life," I said, stifling a smirk.
"Which is played how, exactly?" Death asked.
"I'll let you in on a little secret: nobody really knows."
"How am I supposed to play a game with such poorly defined rules?"
"Oh, the rules are very well-defined. You just have to learn them yourself, as any human does. It's not the rules that nobody fully understands, it's the other stuff. The stuff between following and violating the rules. The... spice of life, I guess you could say. We don't know it, but we know it when we see it."
Death's cold, glassy eyes locked onto mine. "Before I agree, what are the win and loss conditions? How can one win, lose, or cheat at something as simple as living?"
"Listen, Death. You've been there in the last moments of, what, millions? billions of people? I bet they all had some kind of dying wish. A burning regret. A piece of wisdom for their loved ones. Am I right?"
"Yes," Death said, "I suppose you are."
"Then here's the good news for you. Being Death itself gives you the distinct advantage of knowing significantly more about life than I do. I lived one life. You've experienced countless lives."
"I suppose that makes some sense, but--" Death said.
"It makes perfect sense," I interrupted, "so since you're in, the win and loss conditions are simple. I win if you die first. You win if I die first. Killing each other would violate the rules human beings have to abide by to play the game of life. And I have to know who and where you are, so maybe take the body of someone else who died in the hospital. Preferably someone without family."
Death looked up and scanned around. "Very well. You are Allan Grossman. Lung cancer just took your life. You and your family were shocked that you ever had it in the first place, because you never so much as touched a cigarette in your life. But that was, as you put it, 'just how the chips fell'. I have found a host and I accept your challenge to play the game of life. My name will be Lewis Gregory. Thirty-four years old, estranged from his parents, no wife or children. No flowers by his bed, so I assume no or few friends. He just died of a massive heart attack and not even the nurses care enough to check on him. Room 1202."
A smile broke through and I quickly steadied my temper. "Sounds perfect, Lewis. Let's get to it."
"Yes," Death said, "let's."
I woke up in my hospital bed. I blinked repeatedly and quietly looked around the room. AJ was asleep on the couch across the room from my bed. A Batman comic book as a pillow and a small towel for a blanket. No kid should have to go through this. Tammy was asleep in a chair next to my bed. Her head was hanging to her side with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. Her mascara left streaks down her face. The whole time I was dying, I couldn't help wondering, why did she even wear the shit when she knew she was gonna cry? But I understand now. "You wanted something to be normal," I said as I gently pushed her head to the center of the back of her chair to try to relieve the crick I knew she'd be feeling now that I woke her up.
"Huh?" Tammy mumbled as she wiped her mouth.
I looked around. Was it just dark in the room, or was it dark out? "The mascara. I never understood it and you couldn't explain it. But I think I get why you kept wearing it. You wanted something normal in the chaos. Something you could have control over when you felt like everything was out of control. It was worth it, even with the tears and the lines down your cheeks, because it was yours. All yours, and nobody could take that from you."
Tammy nodded hesitantly and whispered, "you died."
"Yeah, but don't worry, I won." The smirk I hid from Death, now Lewis Gregory, broke into a full grin. "AJ my boy, come say hello to your papa!"
AJ rubbed his eyes and lifted his head. The comic book stuck to his face for a second before it fell onto the couch. He took the towel off what little bit of his torso it was covering and wiped the drool off his mouth and cheek, then dried the saliva off of the cover of the comic book. "Dad?" he asked.
"Yes son, it's me."
AJ ran over to the bed and threw himself on top of me. "I thought you were dead."
"Don't you worry anymore, okay? I won. I'll be here for a long time now. I need to go talk to somebody, and then we can go home and get some real sleep, okay?" I hugged AJ tightly, let him go, and sat up.
"You can't just walk around alone, Allan!" Tammy said.
"Feel free to join me." I got out of bed and went over to the closet. I rustled around looking for clothes.
"There's nothing in there, honey. You, um... I mean, when you..." Tammy trailed off and the tears started again, but I knew what she was trying to say. While I was dying, I did what dying people do, and the hospital must have had to destroy my clothes.
"Oh, that's right," I said. "That's okay. I don't need clothes right now, the gown is fine. Let's go." I led the way out and checked the room number on the way. 1210. So Death/Lewis must be close. I turned right from the door and kept walking, watching the room number shrink as I went. 1209. 1208. I could hardly contain my excitement. I sped up. 1207, 1206, 1205. I was practically running at this point. 1204. I broke into a dead sprint. An apt name. 1203 passed and finally, I was there. 1202. I knocked on the door.
A feeble voice called out, "come in."
I opened the door and walked into room 1202, the two most valuable things in my life close behind. "Hi Lewis, how are you feeling?"
"Terrible."
"I thought you might."
"Allan? What's going on?" Tammy asked.
"You see, Lewis here died of a heart attack about fifteen minutes ago. But heart problems weren't what brought him to the hospital in the first place."
"I don't understand," Tammy said.
"You're dying, am I right?" I asked. I tried my best to mask my enthusiasm.
"I think so," Death-as-Lewis said.
"Yeah. You have cancer too. At one point it was only stomach cancer. But now you're stage IV. It metastasized. You have cancer in your lungs, your throat, your bones. Your heart *was* fine, though. But now if the cancer doesn't get you, you'll probably have another heart attack. See, the chemo strained your body and caused it in the first place, and that damage is still there, still being done."
"I see," Lewis whispered.
"Isn't that just the pits, my friend? You're dying, and the cure for what ails you is killing you. On the plus side, at least now you really know what it's like to be a human."
"How do you know this, Allan?" Tammy asked, a tinge of fear in her voice.
"Oh, I spent some time talking to Lewis after I got my diagnosis. He really helped me come to terms with my own mortality. If you know what I mean." I winked at Death. "See, you didn't do your research, buddy. You thought Lewis had no friends or family. You were wrong. I was his friend."
"You set me up, didn't you?"
"Of course I did. You think I was gonna take any chances on my second chance? Not a chance."
"Fine. You win," Lewis said. He died again and standing next to his bedside was the cosmic representation of Death. "You have won ten more years, as agreed," it said.
"You're not gonna call me a cheater?"
"No, I was overly confident. I should have looked further than the heart attack."
"Yep, that's a fair assessment. See you in ten years."
"I'll be waiting." Death vanished.
"You sure will." I put my arm around Tammy's waist and took AJ's hand in mine. "Let's go home, my two true loves."
|
I look at the game’s Death has surrounding the room.
There’s the ornate antique marble chess board, polished to a gleam with ivory and ebony pieces.
In stark contrast, right next to that there’s a well loved and worn checkerboard. It has obviously faded areas where players over the years slid their pieces over the board, rather than picking them up and placing them.
There are also many branded board games: Battleship, Connect Four, Monopoly, and *shit, is that...* ***Candy Land*** ?
There are some more modern ones that I’ve only heard of, but never played, like Settlers of Catan.
There are also a glut of various card games, like Uno, Magic of the Gathering, and even *Pokémon*!
Of course there’s also a deck of regular cards set out, and they’re somehow both a void of boundless incomprehensible black like a black hole in which no light can escape on the backs, and a ghastly bone white on the front.
The clubs and spades are more of the depthless black. The hearts and diamonds are glistening blood red.
I am intrigued.
“Go Fish.”, I say.
Death nods.
I think several times about cheating and not telling Death when I have I card, but I know I have a poor poker face. Even when cheating is aloud in the rules, I still can’t bring myself to do it.
Death, sets down four fours, then the aces, then tens. I was only putting down about one set to every three that Death was managing. I was going to lose.
The last sets were made, and there was no need to count them, I was so far behind.
My stomach sunk to my knees.
Death smiled, “You passed the test.”
I blanched, “How so? I lost!”
“You didn’t cheat. The test was whether or not you cheat, win or lose, you pass the test when you decide not to cheat.”
The next thing I know, I blearily wake up to the steady sound of a hospital heart monitor.
-fin
Edit: formatting, again
| 2018-03-07T09:23:01 | 2018-03-07T07:49:56 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A genie grants a peasant a wish. The peasant wishes for a claymore, thinking of those fancy Scottish swords. They receive an M18A1 Directional Anti-Personnel Mine.
|
“This is not what I wished for,” Jimat said with one eyebrow raised, turning the oddly shaped item he now held in his hand. “I’m not sure what this is.”
The genie laughed as he crossed his arms, looking at Jimat with a smug look. “It’s a claymore. Isn’t that what you wished for?”
“It is, but this is not a claymore,” Jimat retorted. “What is this piece of…”
“It’s a claymore,” the genie said once more. “But no, it isn’t what you were looking for. You know the whole, ‘be careful what you wish for’ trope? I gave you something that met your requirements but wasn’t really what you had expected.”
“No, I assumed I would be getting what I wished for, I just needed a sword.”
“Nothing is that easy.”
“This would’ve been if you just granted my wish.”
“I di- okay, listen. It isn’t that bad. I’ve given you military-grade weaponry, arguably more useful than a sword. I’m sure you can figure something out,” the genie explained. “This technology doesn’t even exist yet.”
Jimat flipped the device around in his hands, looking at it with a new light. It had a small piece to pair, connected with a long wire.
“Well, what does it do?” Jimat asked, now curious.
“To put it simply, it explodes,” the genie said. “When you push the lever on the detonator.
“Hm…” Jimat thought. “Maybe I don’t need a claymore then…”
“You have a claymo- ” the genie began, then stopped as he saw Jimat’s cold look. “Sorry.”
Jimat tucked the claymore into his shirt, and looked back at the genie. “Thanks, I guess. Not really what I had in mind, but thanks.”
The genie winked at him and held out two finger guns, before evaporating into the air with a clap.
Jimat turned back around and booked it into town. He had a plan in mind with his new weapon. If he had an explosive the world had never seen before, he could win any duel, right?
Jimat had always been crafty, just never particularly good with anything super useful - mostly because he’d never been given the opportunity to be. From birth, Jimat was a peasant and never had the money or reputation to make his way up in life. The genie had posed a new opportunity for Jimat, however; if he could use a sword, maybe he could become a knight and gain reputation in fief.
But when he had asked for a claymore, the coolest sounding weapon he could think of, he had gotten some random device instead. At first disappointing, now Jimat thought he had figured out how to kill two birds with one stone: gain wealth and reputation.
After 15 minutes of running on the dirt path, crunching with each step, Jimat made it to the front of the castle. He lifted his shirt a little to make sure the bomb was still there. *That’s probably not the safest spot to store an explosive,* Jimat realized. He shrugged, not knowing where else to conceal it. His operation, if it was to work, needed the bomb to stay hidden.
Jimat took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. As he did, the guards situated near the door turned towards him, now perpendicular to the dark stone wall.
“What is your business here?” The one to his left asked from behind an iron helmet.
“Um, I’d like to talk to the king!” Jimat exclaimed. “I have seen a great evil and I must tell him!”
The guard looked over to the other, and received a nod from him, his iron armor rustling with the movement.
“Enter in,” the guard commanded. He knocked on the wood, and this time the large double door swung open. The knight gestured for Jimat to walk in.
Jimat looked around his new surroundings. The large chamber was cold yet bright with sunlight pouring in from the large back window. The king sat at the head of a long dark table, lined with matching chairs. His chair was padded with a luxurious purple leather to accentuate his importance. As Jimat approached, the doors closing behind him, the king turned his head towards him, stopping his chatter with the fellow men at the table.
Jimat, before the king could talk, made sure to get the first word. “Good morning, your highness.”
The king recoiled slightly, taken aback with Jimat’s surprising audacity.
“What is it?” The king asked questioningly.
“Your highness, I have a great terror to report,” Jimat said darkly, mustering as much darkness into his voice as he could. He began pacing as he talked, distracting the king and guards. He looked around for an unpopulated spot in the room. As he paced, he saw a portion of the wall with a small wooden stall and no guards, and began making his way over.
The king narrowed his eyes, closely watching Jimat. “I’m listening,” he said.
“I met a dark wizard on my travels, you see, one with great power,” Jimat said darkly, now at the stall. He dramatically crouched down and pulled the claymore out of his shirt. *Which way does it go?* He thought to himself. He flipped it and read, ‘Enemy this way.’ *Does the wall count?* Jimat quickly set it on the ground, pointing towards the wall and pulled out the detonation device.
Jimat then stood up powerfully and hoisted the detonator up. “And the wizard gave me this!” Jimat yelled.
“What is that?” The king asked, still suspicious of the boy.
“It holds great power!” Jimat exclaimed, now running from where he placed the claymore. “And with this, I’ll blow a hole in that wall!” Jimat now pointed to where he just stood.
The men sitting at the king’s table were now standing, and the guards who once let him in approached him.
“Don’t come any closer!” Jimat warned, holding the detonator above him still. “Or I’ll light fire right where you stand!”
Everyone backed off and let Jimat hold his ground in the middle of the room. *Okay, I really need this thing to work,* he thought. *So if I just-*
Jimat tapped the detonating lever, and immediately ducked as an earth shattering crash sounded through the castle. Jimat’s vision was blurred from the dust that filled the room. He could hear people coughing as they recovered from the destruction.
When the dust cleared, the wall was left reduced to rubble, the wooden stall demolished. Guards gasped and moved away from the rubble. Jimat was left alone in the chamber with a now-useless detonator in his hand.
But the guards didn’t know that.
“Do you see what this great power can do?” Jimat called to the king. “What destruction?”
“Yes, yes!” The king yelled. “What is it you want?”
Jimat tried hard to keep his breath steady. He was almost there.
“I want money delivered each week!” Jimat said, reasoning through his demands. He hadn’t made it this far in his plan. “And a place to sleep outside the fief.”
The king studied him oddly. The demand could easily be fulfilled, it was just… an odd request. But, anything to keep something like this from happening again, the king reasoned.
“Very well- ”
“And!” Jimat cut him off. “Could I have a claymore to bring with me?”
“It will be delivered tomorrow, along with your money at your residence,” the king said. “Can I ask what your name is?”
Jimat turned around, ready to leave. “It’s Jimat, sir.”
The king raised an eyebrow at the change of name. He narrowed his eyes once again, then watched as Jimat walked towards the door. He gestured towards the guards to let Jimat through.
Jimat held his breath as he walked out of the castle. When he heard the doors close once again, he let out a breath of relief, releasing the tension that he had built up through the last 10 minutes.
Then, he smiled. *I guess I’m getting a claymore after all,* he thought to himself. He looked down at the detonator, now useless. He laughed to himself then tucked it back into his shirt. One wish had turned into quite a treasure.
|
Smoke bloomed until it concealed D'jar and consumed the peasant. Helga coughed and flailed to clear the air, but there was no genie, and no great sword. "Some genie that was," she snorted. "Ah well."
The woman took a step forward and tripped over a green protrusion no larger than her canteen. She was lucky it wasn't armed.
Helga squinted and flared her nostrils. She sat up and took the device into her hands and examined it with hunter eyes. There were words etched into the side, but she couldn't read them, in fact, she didn't know a single other person who could read either.
_How the hell am I supposed to defend our village with this?_
Helga pushed the device into her bag with the seashells and walked back to Brinkburg for the last time.
| 2021-07-06T02:56:25 | 2021-07-06T01:23:37 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You have a very mundane talent, so mundane that you've never shown it to anyone. The first time you do, as a party trick, you're told that your talent is physically impossible.
|
Tom sat in the corner of the cell, lip busted and eye quickly swelling shut. Peering out from his good eye, he saw the towering cellmate strutting over towards him, lips moving, tongue flying, but Tom couldn't hear what he was saying over the ruckus the other men were making.
"Help!" Tom yelled, letting his head loll to the side, towards the officer who was struggling to get the cell door open. There was another officer standing outside the bars, stun gun drawn and pointed at the attacking cellmate, but he wasn't firing the damn gun for some reason.
The attacker bent down in front of Tom, exhaling putrid breath into his face before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him up from the ground.
"This is what I do to murderers," the attacker said.
In a last ditch effort, Tom placed his hand on the attacker's throat. The man laughed at Tom's weak grip, and then froze.
***
**Earlier that night**
Tom stayed glued to the outer edges of the party. Jeffrey had quickly disappeared after telling Tom over and over, "Don't worry man, I'll show you around, show you some folks, it'll be okay."
Jeffrey was a liar, and nowhere to be found.
Tom swallowed dry saliva and tried to bring his pulse down to a level that he didn't think others would be able to hear. It pounded hard in his ears, surely hard enough that someone walking by would be able to sense it.
He knew that was probably impossible, but the thought seemed real to him in the moment as social anxiety wormed its long thin fingers down his skull and into his brain like icy tendrils, freezing him in place, up against the wall.
"Hey man, you want a drink?"
"Huh?" Tom said, breaking his focus from the ceiling where it had been most of the night.
"I said, you want a drink?" A shorter guy wearing a turtleneck sweater said. It was in the middle of July, but for some reason he was wearing a sweater with the sleeves cut off, shorts, and flip flops.
"Uh, yeah, that would be nice."
"C'mon man," the guy said, turning and weaving his way through the groups of people collected throughout the house.
Without a word, Tom followed the guy towards the kitchen, where there were cases of assorted beer sitting on the counter.
"Ah, what the fuck, did no one put any of this in the fridge?" The guy said.
"Fridge is out," another guy said.
"Shit, hey man, you don't mind if it's a little warm is it?"
"No, not at all," Tom said.
The guy in the sweater ripped open one of the cases and pulled out two bottles, handing them to Tom. Tom opened his mouth to say that he really only wanted one, but the guy interrupted him,
"By the way, name is Derek, but the frat calls me Deek. You can call me either or," he said, turning away and grabbing two more bottles from the case.
"Oh, thanks, name is Tom."
"Nice to meet you Tom," Derek said, "Now come on, let's go find some gals to give a beer to, huh?"
"Oh, oh, yeah, sure," Tom said, now understanding why Derek had given him two beers.
They were definitely warm in Tom's hands. He frowned; he wasn't much of a beer drinker to begin with, and definitely didn't want to drink one that was hot. As they snaked in and out of the party crowd, Tom focused on the beers. Focused on taking the heat out of them. Focusing on that helped calm his nerves as he followed Derek through the crowd.
"Heeeey," Derek said, stopping at a pack of three girls, all standing against the wall empty-handed. "Y'all want a beer?"
"Yeah, I want one!"
"Me too!"
"Same," the third one said, looking Tom up and down. He didn't realize it but his hands were slightly shaking.
"Here," Derek said, handing his two beers to two gals.
"Oh," the first one said, "it's hot."
"Bleh," said the second.
"Oh great, what the hell Derek?" The third girl said, reaching towards Tom.
It took Tom a few awkward seconds, but then he realized he was supposed to hand over a beer.
"Hey hey hey, it's not my fridge, I-
"It's not hot," the third girl said, looking at the beer. "It's actually ice cold."
"Huh?" Derek said.
Tom quickly flustered and stuttered over his words, "Oh yeah, I took some of the heat out of it, I thought it was too hot too."
Derek and the girls looked at him.
"You did what?" Derek said, reaching for the beer the third girl held.
"I took the heat out-
"Holy shit," Derek said. "How'd, what, what did you do?" He said, looking back at the kitchen and where they had walked through. "This was hotter than Satan's piss when I handed it to you."
"I just, uh, I just took the heat out of it."
The third girl spoke out, "What do you mean you took the heat out of it?"
"Uh, I just, I don't know."
Derek grabbed a guy who was walking by, obviously a friend. "Hey, your beer hot?"
"Yeah, why what's up man? Hey laaaadies.." The guy said.
Without a warning, Derek grabbed the beer out of his friend's hand and shoved it into Tom's free hand.
"Do it with this one Tom, do it," Derek said, on the verge of hysteria.
"Uh, okay, I didn't think it was that big a deal, I mean,"
"Just do it."
Tom held the beer in his hand, focused on it, and before the groups eyes, the bottle began to cloud.
"What the fuuuuuuck," Derek's friend gasped, reaching and grabbing the beer out of Tom's hand. "It's cold!" He took a sip from it, "Oh my god it has chunks of ice in it."
Tom's heart was pounding from excitement.
"How are you doing that?" Derek asked, almost yelled.
"It's just, I don't know, something I've been able to do."
The third girl stepped forward, holding out her hand.
"Show me how you do it, do it to my hand."
"I don't know, I don't know if I can do it again, I mean,"
"Just do it man," Derek said, also holding out his hand.
Tom held the beer bottle up, "I can only do one at a time," he said, almost stuttering from nerves.
Derek's friend grabbed it out of his hand, "I'll hold it for you, do it, do it to their hands."
"Okay, I'll try."
Tom wiped the sweat from his hands on his jeans, and took Derek's hand in his left, and the third girl's hand in his right. He focused on both of their hands, and concentrated.
"Holy shit," Derek said, "It's cold!"
"Oh my god," the third girl said.
She squeezed his hand tightly, causing him to look away from the ground and into her eyes. She was smiling, and now he was smiling.
"Cool huh?" he whispered.
She nodded, and continued to nod. The smile stayed on her face, but her brow was starting to furl.
"Derek?" Someone said. Tom wasn't sure if it was one of the girls or if it was the guy who was holding his beer. He was too busy looking into her eyes. Her lips were still smiling, but her eyes weren't.
Tom let go, but Derek and the third girl still held their hands out, as if stuck in some sort of handshake pose. He looked down at their hands, and saw that there was frost accumulating on their fingertips. Their palms were red, and the red was spreading.
Unbeknownst to Tom or anyone else in the party, Derek and the third girl's heart was having holes poked through it by tiny shards of frozen blood. The frozen blood was pumped from the heart and throughout their body, like some sort of icy venom, ripping holes in veins and arteries, destroying their lungs.
Derek sputtered and coughed, spraying blood on his chin and onto Tom.
Tom wiped his face and looked at the girl. Tears of blood were running down her cheeks.
"Oh, I must've did too much, I'm sorry, I didn't know that would happen."
Both Derek and the girl fell over backwards. Derek landing hard on the house floor, and the girl falling into her two friends. Both let out shrieks as they felt how cold her skin was against theirs.
"What the fuck?!" Derek's friend yelled, grabbing Tom by the collar.
***
The attacker holding Tom against the wall coughed, spraying blood into Tom's face.
|
"Come on show it to us" they all said in unison
"It's so lame" I said
"I gotta see it now" Suzy said leaning over the table.
"It's just gonna freak you guys out" I said but I knew I was gonna cave.
"I bet it's bullshit" Carrie remarked
"Shut up Carrie I can do it it's just super lame".
"Bullshit" Josh said under his breath"
"Fine give me something metal" I began rubbing my arms together. "So I just rub my hairy arms together " I said through heavy breathing. "And I just..." ZZZZZZZTTT.
"HOLY SHIT!" Josh shouted
"What the fuck was that?" Suzy shouted. Our group began to draw stares of the other bar patrons.
"Guys it's just static electricity. What's the big deal?" I asked
"Dude that's not static. Look at that fucking spoon it's melted." Carrie gestured to the now almost unrecognizable spoon.
"Guys it's just static." I was getting really annoyed.
"Static doesn't obliterate spoons man." Josh said
"Tesla coil maybe" Carrie said still staring at the spoon.
"Look, guys i'm gonna go." I began getting up.
"No wait" Suzy put her hand on my car keys.
"What?"
"We need to tell a scientist or something." Carrie interrupted.
"Carrie we don't need a fucking scientist to explain static electricity." I got up and left. "What the fuck was that?" I thought. It was supposed to be a little zap.
| 2015-11-28T11:43:06 | 2015-11-28T11:35:54 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake.
|
"DAMNIT! I knew there was a reason she was always so sweet to me" Donny begins to weep as his wife slowly crumbles before him into a pool of frosting and sponge cake. Amidst his bawling Donny falls to his knees, staining his pants in leftover cake. As he sobs he lifts a handful of cake to his mouth for a taste.
"Hmm. Pretty good actually." he manages to mutter through his crying and chewing.
"WAIT! MY DAUGHTERS!" Donny snaps to his feet and rushes for the stairs to get to his daughter's rooms.
He makes it up five steps before his foot falls straight through the sixth step which is made out of cake. Donny lurches forward grabbing the other stairs to stabilize himself.
"Oh my god, what are you doing to me step-cake?" Donny shouts in frustration as he tries to free his stuck foot.
With all his might he frees his foot from the step, his leg caked in strawberry shortcake. Donny reaches the top of the stairs but makes the mistake of grabbing the banister which is made out of cake. Donny nearly falls off the second story but manages to grab the floor and save himself. Bits of vanilla sponge cake fall to the ground. Donny decides he has to take each step carefully. He methodically tip-toes on the hard wood floor which he suspects is some sort of black forest cake. Donny safely makes it to the room his two daughters share.
"Girls! Girls are you ok in there? Are you cake?" Donny shouts through the door with no response.
Donny grabs the doorknob but it's locked. Donny took two seconds to think about it before balling his hand up into a fist and punching it straight through the door which was made out of cake. Donny triumphantly tears down the door made of cake to find his daughters frozen still.
"Oh god no! Not you too!" Donny begins to despair.
"Daddy. Help us. It's all cake." One of the girls manages to say.
Donny looked up to find his daughters in their beds both covered by blankets made of cake.
"It's ok girls! It's just cake! Go ahead and kick it off you we have to get out of here now!" Donny gently but urgently tells his daughters.
The girls slowly kick the cake off themselves, squirming and crying at the horror. Donny rushes in to help his girls only to slip on the rug laid out in the room which was made out of buttercream frosting. Donny falls flat on his back and cries out in pain as his daughters rush to get the cake off of them.
"Daddy! Are you ok!?" One of his daughters yells as she gets out of bed and runs towards Donny.
"Im fine girls. Im fine. Wait! watch were you step! The floor could be made out of cake!" Donny warned.
But he was too late, his second daughter leapt out of bed and landed directly on a floorboard made of cake which she sank completely into.
"NOOOO! Hold your breath baby! Try to eat your way out!" Donny shrieked as he dove towards the cake hole tearing through the layers with his bare hands, but each dig only yielded handfuls of black forest cake.
"Daddy! Maybe she came out of the ceiling downstairs!" Donny's other daughter said.
"Oh good thinking! Lets go!" Donny scoops up his daughter and carefully makes his way out of the room. Tracing his steps across the floor and remembering the banister and the sixth step is cake, Donny safely makes it downstairs with his daughter in tow. Surely enough his second daughter landed on the couch, her entire body caked in black forest cake and her stomach bloated.
"Daddy.. Im full" she managed to mutter out.
"Come on! There's no time. Both of you, walk behind me and step where I step, it'll be safe." Donny orders.
In single file the trio make their way to the front door of their house. Donny reaches for the handle but the cake it is made out of crumbles in his hands. Donny clenches his fist in anger and the cake squishes through his fingers. Just like he did upstairs, Donny cocked his arm back to punch through the front door expecting it to be cake, but it wasn't. Donny squeals in pain as he clenches his fist in agony after punching a wooden door with full force repeatedly saying to himself that it wasn't cake. Donny picked up a lamp that was in arm's reach and hurled it at the window next to the door. The lamp was real but the window was cake. The three climb through and make it outside. The three attempted to make it to their car but were frozen at the apocalyptic scene before them.
Houses collapsed in on themselves in a mess of wood and cake. Gas mains and water pipes spill out onto the streets. The road was littered with smoldering car crashes of twisted metal and icing. Cars sunk halfway into the road on the portion that was made from cake. People knelt in puddles of cake in despair over their loved ones being make out of cake. Donny looked to the sky to see airplanes in freefall as their turbines and wings disintegrate into cake on the way down. He sees people parachuting from the planes and the unlucky few individuals who had parachutes made out of cake plummet to the ground.
"Daddy! The car is made out of cake!" One of Donny's daughters yells as her hand goes through the car door.
"I told you to stay behind me and only step where I step!" Donny yells at his daughter who quickly gets back in line.
Donny's iPhone blares an alarm he has never heard before. He takes it out to see a headline: 'Nuclear war is imminent'. Donny opens the headline to see a live address from the president of the USA who himself was drenched in various different kinds of cake from head to toe.
"My fellow Americans who are not already cake. I speak to you in dire urgency. My wife and two sons are cake. My top generals are cake. The cameraman is cake, but he's doing a good job of holding the camera still. A renegade country has launched ICBM missiles at the continental united states. The ICBM stands for Icing, Crusted, Banana-cream Marzipan which is our new codename for the nukes that turned out to be cake. Approximately 60% of the missiles they launched are cake, the other ones are not. As a consequence all other countries whos presidents are not cake have launched their nukes as well. We have retaliated with our own nukes which we are pleased to say only 53% of them are cake. Take shelter immediately if that shelter is not cake. If God is not cake then may he protect us all." The president says to the camera which cuts out due to technical difficulties involving cake.
It's too late to seek shelter. The missile impacts and the blinding bright mushroom cloud rises towards the air. Except it is not a mushroom cloud, it's a cake cloud. As the shockwave travels at the speed of sound and the incinerating heat envelops everything, Donny only stands and accepts his fate as he faces disintegration; everything goes black.
Donny snaps awake on his couch to the ring of an egg timer he set besides him.
"Oh shit!" Donny yelps as he quickly gets up from the couch and rushes towards the kitchen.
Donny quickly puts on a pair of oven mitts and takes the cake out of the oven. With a sigh of relief Donny goes back to the couch where his wife is waiting.
"You actually remembered to take the cake out of the oven" his wife remarked.
"Yeah...you're not made of cake are you?" Donny asked nervously.
"You ate more than one of the pot brownies didn't you baby?" Donny's wife questioned.
"Uhh.....whoops" Donny smiled to his wife which was thankfully not made of cake.
|
As I held her close, I remembered all of the times that her having "cake" meant that she had a nice ass. The only problem was, as much as I agreed with the other zombies, that she was incredibly fit, I fought as hard as I could, to not actually take a bite, hoping that it would satiate my undying hunger. I fought as many of them off as I could, while clutching her close to me, but eventually, they tore her free from my arms. I finally gave up and started eating everything that caught my eye. At least until I saw my grandchildren and it overcame my desire. After that, I had to find a way to protect them.
| 2022-04-26T17:20:19 | 2022-04-26T16:48:49 | 147 | 15 |
[WP] You own a magical camera that is similar to a thermal camera, but instead of heat it shows you value. A ring glows as bright as the sun while a piece of plastic wrapping is almost invisible. You have been careful never to look at a person with it for your whole life.
|
Before I tell my story, I must ask you one thing. Is value absolute?
Please, keep the question in mind as you read.
 
On my twelfth birthday, I was given a gift by my great aunt Catherine. You see, I'd recently fallen in love with photography. Months earlier, grandfather — a war photographer — found an old album lying about. Covered in a layer of dust as thick as my pinky, we sneezed and coughed together when he pulled it from its resting place in the attic.
There's just something untouchable about those photos. A moment, captured through human ingenuity, and immortalised beyond our inconsistent and so very mortal memory. I couldn't help myself, brushing my fingers across the pieces threefold older than I. Seeing faces of those that had passed away, seeing the expressions that would otherwise be lost, and feeling — oh so importantly, feeling — as if I had been there. There are no words for that first spark that sets your life in motion.
That said, I almost threw away my first camera - crazy, isn't it? When my aunt had told me that beneath the wrapping was a camera, I ignored all my other gifts in a squealing fit of excitement. I even cried, holding that polaroid camera to my chest, uttering far too many thanks - if her red cheeks were of any indication. The only downside was that the film wasn't included. Not that it stopped me from cuddling that gorgeous piece of machinery all night.
The very next day, armed with a handful of bills from uncles that didn't know what little girls wanted, I dragged my parents to the shops and bought as much film as possible. Gosh, speaking of moments to capture, I wish there was a photo of me after the second picture I took. If a picture is worth a thousand words then my sobbing form, crumpled on the ground, would have been the textbook definition of devastation.
But, as people of that age tend to do, I got over it and set to making the thing work. First thing, I called my aunt who said she bought it at some pawn shop. The owner told her that it was special, an old man with more wrinkles than fingers and toes. To this day, that's all I know of origins of this mysterious camera.
Second thing, I took pictures. It took me four or five shots before I realised that the quality wasn't actually bad. See, I had thought that the lens was broken, as some things like our grandfather clock stood out whilst my old ballet shoes were transparent.
It's embarrassing to admit this, but it took me the entire week to figure it out. Having been initiated through amazing wartime pictures, I refused to take pictures of people until I could get the blasted thing working. So I took in the details of rings, captured the shimmering of fading batteries and saved the glasslike outlines of toys that I owned. For days, I sat in my room thinking. And, I must have bought... what, a hundred push pins in that single week? At the very least, that many.
Again, I wish I had my picture when I finally figured it out. I bet you'll never even guess how I figured it out. It's almost laughably simple. I just took out some money, laid it out on the table and snapped a shot. Normal table. Nigh on invisible coins. And right there, in the bottom right corner after a curve of light, glowed a bright hundred dollar bill. If string light bulbs sat in brains, my eyes lit up like never before.
I, a budding photographer, had a camera that could capture the value of something. In an instant, I was a comic book superhero. Camera Girl. Sidenote: never thought of a proper name. I thought it was silly to have a comic book name, so I just went by Alex Woodkite. My own name. Hiding in plain sight.
In the coming years, I became quite famous and wealthy. Never took a picture of a human, though. Don't get me wrong, I was definitely tempted to do so. For the weeks at a time, I would lie awake at night wondering how a human would look. From what I gathered, taking pictures of animals, we would be valued based off our meat and organs. Caviar was bright, chicken was dull. With how much hearts, livers and kidneys cost, I figured that humans would be like gold. But it was just a 'maybe'. A 'maybe' that I never crossed.
Besides, I had other things to do. Like capturing the world. And, making a good amount off the world of art and forgeries. Fun fact: Forgeries are sometimes brighter than originals, if you make them well enough. My photos have been everywhere, Time, National Geographic and so on. Photo of the year awards, being able to determine from a hundred shots which photos were the most valuable in a single snap - my life was amazing.
I travelled the world in my late teens and throughout my twenties, capturing it wherever I went. Even took some human photos with normal cameras. And like anyone, I fell in love.
Things come in three, don't they? For me, there have been three sparks in my life.
The first, seeing those wartime photos and listening to my grandfather explain them to me. I wish he were still around today, there is not a soul who doesn't love his stories.
The second, falling in love with Joshua Urwin. A connection like a lightning strike. For him, I would have given up photography. Thankfully, we shared the passion and travelled the world together, making sure to immortalise it all.
Finally, the biggest spark in my life — my baby, Lucy.
Lucy, the one to get me to break my rules. In a bout of excitement and human foolhardiness, I broke my only rule and learned the definition of a word that I once thought I knew.
Devastation.
One snap. That's all I've ever taken of her. One snap, a single immortal photo.
An empty crib.
I couldn't bear to look at it, but didn't have the heart to destroy it. So much for a mother's love...
For months, I cried over that photo. Joshua never saw it. I kept it hidden away, tucked in a small chest in my dresser. And each month, I would look at it, again and again, wishing for her to appear. But nothing. Just a blank spot, and gentle depressions in the crib where she should have been.
Three times. I almost killed myself three times in that year. Overdose. Drinking. Gunshot. The hospital saved me, twice. The gun jamming saved me the final time.
And if there is a deity above, I need to thank them for that jam. That night, crying over my dresser with tears in my eyes on Lucy's first birthday I showed the photo to her.
A million sorrys left my mouth, and a thousand tears hit the floor. But that night, there is a lesson there that I will never forget.
Remember at the start, when I asked you, "Is value absolute?"
It is not. People do not get to assign value to other people.
That night, as I looked into Lucy's big blue eyes, I saw the reflection and glint of the photograph.
Pure white.
****
Come visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more pictures (in the form of thousands of words)!
Edit: A lot of people are asking for the ending to be explained so here goes. Alex thought that the camera showed the absolute value of everything, the reason being that the camera was able to earn her money through art and photography. However, she finds herself distraught once she takes a picture of her child and sees her as worthless. Later on, she sees the reflection of the photo in her child's eye, which is pure white - signifying great value.
The point of the story is to show that 'People do not get to assign value to other people.' But, there are a few ways you can take it due to the ambiguous ending.
* The camera maker made an exception for people.
* Humans are special.
* Magic is found within ourselves. Not others.
Those are just three off the top of my head, but I'm sure if you looked around you'd find some more. Hope it clears up any confusion. And please, if you have other endings that you want to discuss, by all means.
Forward apologies if I don't get to your comment to explain!
|
I've made a killing at auctions, garage sales, antique stores. It's glorious actually; when you see that sudden shimmer and realize you've struck gold.
What makes it even better is knowing you're scamming people out of their hard-earned cash. I mean, wouldn't you?
But as I was standing in front of this antique mirror, camera in hand, I thought - why the hell not? I've seen plenty bright sights, enough to make my eyes water, and I can still see fine.
So I looked through the lens.
Dark as the night.
...I guess it just don't work on people, eh?
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
| 2017-01-15T10:06:02 | 2017-01-15T09:32:15 | 2,110 | 377 |
[WP]"Captain, why is an entire planet being used to hold only two life forms"? "The species confined there is the most savage and destructive of any world. We've waited this long to check on them to make sure they died. We're lucky they're the last ones". "Checking status of prisoners Adam and Eve".
|
Entering warp always made Jonz uncomfortable. The way everything in view became so squished made it hard to look at and sightly dizzying. Most officers didn't mind the strange effect, but it always got to Jonz. So he settled down to view his reports instead to distract his mind from the scene out the front viewport.
There were a lot of cases to go through, but this was a routine flight, nothing to worry about. Still, it was protocol to mark status updates on every stop along the route so he figured he'd get a jump on the next stop. This one was pretty out of the way so he didn't expect anything unusual.
"Computer, call up planet V4-1534 for routine inspection." He commanded monotonously. The computer only took a moment to call up the record. In a soothing tone it began reading the relevant details. "Planet V4-1534, classification: habitable, with liquid water and moderate climate. Discovered by Xax the explorer in the galactic year 10,1789 and charted as a class 9 planet capable of sustaining life. The planet was referenced in the treaty of 10,3054 as one of 136 planets to be preserved from development by the Galactic Delegation."
So far so good. Sounds like another easy flyby. Jonz was ready to get back into his favorite immersive game chapter from the Cinnadion Epic Opera when he arrived quite a bit sooner than he expected. Ah well, the Opera would have to wait. This would only take a few minutes. He was pulling into far orbit when something unusual caught his eye. There appeared to be lights on the dark side of the planet. He rubbed his weary eyes, a little tired after being in warp, then checked again; there appeared to be lights all over the surface on the dark side of the planet on the landmass. He was reminded of some of the more populated planets he'd flown by with massive cities. This paled by comparison, but it was unmistakeable nonetheless.
After his initial shock wore off he thought he must have come out of warp at a different planet. That would explain why he got here so fast. Though perhaps he'd just lost track of the time while reviewing reports.
"Computer, verify nearby planet in the current sector." The reply came back in mere seconds after doing the necessary calculations to verify star positions. "Planet verification complete. Planet confirmed designation V4-1534." What? There had to be some mistake. Jonz was still in a state of shock. Not really processing this information. Planets reserved by the treaty were completely off limits for development. Surely no one would have risked expulsion from the Galactic Delegation to start a new colony. Every new habitation had to go through a series of approvals even to begin a colony on an approved world.
Looks like this just got elevated to a priority one investigation. He opened the case somewhat hesitatingly. "Computer, open priority investigation code alpha...planet V4-1534." The computer acknowledged and the file was opened. Still reeling from his complete astonishment Officer Jonz sat motionless for a few minutes trying to remember the correct protocols for those situation. Calling back years of training for this moment. He knew once the case was opened a priority alert was sent to the Interstellar Command for review. Then he needed to report all anomalies.
Ah yes, he pulled up the last patrol entry on record to check for anything out of the ordinary. After checking a few entries that didn't say anything beyond a normal status he did see one with a warning flag attached. Opening the report and it said planet V4-1534 was involved with the human incursion of 10,3900. After the incursion was repelled, resulting in the extinction of the human race, there were some ships that had been tracked fleeing the final battle at Saezz outpost. One ship with two passengers was last seen in the V4 sector. Patrol confirmed a crash of the ship on the surface of the planet V4-1534. Scanning for life signs came back negative.
Strange, but that didn't explain anything. Subsequent patrols didn't detect anything unusual. The last patrol 2,000 years ago didn't detect anything, and that was at least 10,000 years after the last human war ended. Surely if that was connected in any way to the crash discovered patrols would have seen something sooner. Jonz thought for a moment unless someone got lazy on patrol. It wasn't a glamorous job, but he took pride in being the best officer in his division, always doing that extra little bit to have a thorough and detailed report. Though he also knew some officers had been careless in the past.
He decided to be extra cautious just in case and pulled into a flight position that he'd be least likely to be scanned from the surface of the planet. He also checked for any orbital scanners. Once feeling a bit better that he hadn't been detected he launched a probe to gather more information. As the probe got within range he initiated a preliminary scan. Nothing was showing signs of advanced scanners or communications. He decided he could risk moving in closer for a better scan.
Powering up his scanner relay for a deep scan he pulled into position. "Computer, initiate a level 5 scan of the planet." After confirmation the computer began the scan. The data was being processed pretty much immediately so Jonz began looking through the information analysis panel on his terminal to get an idea of what exactly was happening down there.
He was kind of surprised at the seemingly primitive technology being found. This was some kind of pre-warp civilization? Those were fairly well cataloged already, and there weren't many left these days. Though a few new ones were discovered here and there. That would make this a fairly recent addition to that list. Suddenly it started to make more sense why it had been missed by previous patrols. Unless they were looking for it an emergent civilization might not have been advanced enough to register as anything other than normal biomass.
No advanced warp technology, communications relays, or other tech meant this couldn't be an illegal colony though. So for a moment Jonz breathed a sigh of relief. But his relief was a bit premature as a warning alarm gently dinged on the console.
Bringing up the alarm it displayed something unusual. WARNING: PROHIBITED SPECIES DETECTED.
Again Jonz wasn't sure what he was looking at. Then he got a sick feeling in his stomach. He expected some exotic pets, cattle, or other contraband he usually ran into on patrol. He wasn't expecting what was coming up now. He'd never even seen it before. Humans.
Suddenly he found himself wishing he'd found an illegal colony. How in the cosmos had humans wound up here?
Then he thought of the crash. Impossible. No way.
He checked the report about the crashed ship again. ICI, The Interstellar Command Intelligence, accessed the missing ship to be containing one human male and one human female survivor, and an assortment of food supplies. Perhaps some animal cargo. Though the crash was confirmed the wreckage couldn't be reclaimed since it sunk into an ocean. All scans at the time for non-native life came back negative. But could they have survived? It seemed unlikely, but that's the only explanation he could think of. And the only known contract of humans with this world.
12,000 years after crash landing could humans have really built this primitive civilization out of a single crashed ship? It seemed impossible. And yet here he was staring at the evidence.
This was going to be a mess with his commander. Then he began to realize the bureaucratic nightmare he'd just stumbled into. The military would freak out that another human threat was discovered. And the politicians were going to debate the next steps. And the preservationists were going to try and save the humans and mark them as a protected endangered species. That is if they weren't going to already lose their minds that a protected planet had been contaminated by an outside species.
The more he thought about it the more Jonz felt unsure about this report. But the alert had already gone out. Even if he closed the case now someone from Command had already seen the alert and would mark it for follow up.
"This is way above me now." He thought to himself. He might have inadvertently just initiated the true extinction of the human species before he even realized it. Perhaps the survival of the Galactic Delegation would silence any qualms about genocide of a dangerous species. Jonz barely remembered his history now. He remembered the stories of human brutality. Of how they conquered and enslaved countless planets and species. And their terrifying weapons of mass destruction decimating whole planets. Ghost stories told to scared children no doubt? And yet Jonz felt eerily afraid even from this distance. He somewhat subconsciously found himself moving further from the planet.
*************
Down on the surface an astronomer stared at the images of stars on a computer screen being relayed from the nearby telescope. Ever fascinated with the distant objects shining hundreds of light years away. And in his heart he pondered the question, "are we truly alone in the vastness of this universe?" Unaware that the answer was disturbingly closer than he knew.
|
They say there. They hadn't done anything, but play chess, have sex, and eat apples. They hadn't spoken any language, tried to advance, nothing. They just played chess. They didn't even wear clothes. We yad tried interacting, they didn't do anything but play chess with us. No matter how much we tried, they wouldn't do anything. We decided to take their food, just to see if it would work. Nope, they just played chess and had sex. We gave them back their food when they were three days from dying. They never once cared. We suddenly thought of a solution. We give them another game. We decided upon going down and explaining monopoly, as it would also explain the economy, maybe they would set up an exchange. It worked perfectly. Eve started trading chess for 3 apples. Yes! A break through! But then... eve started trading 5 apples for chess and sex. It seemed that she figured out her body was worth some money. This made Adam very mad. He suddenly started not paying her. He just ate his apples. The apples started to dwindle. They started fighting. We had to make sure they didn't kill each other. It was to late. When we came back from an break, Adam was dead. Eve had killed him, because Eve wanted the apples. It's weird how far these animals would go just for some sort of value that really is not of matter. We would had fed them, but they fought for food instead. Why? It seems like they only want what they want.
| 2021-12-30T18:11:02 | 2021-12-30T17:47:12 | 116 | 12 |
[WP] The first born child inherits the King’s magical power. But when the King’s first child is born nothing happens. Now the whole kingdom, especially the enraged Queen, is looking for the real first born child of the King’s many secret affairs.
|
The village lay in ruins. Houses had been smashed to so much smoldering wood and rubble. The ground was littered with arrows, weapons, and bodies. A few storms had passed by, leaving the land dank with the smell of wet, rotting flesh. On the edges of the kingdom, far from its heartland - too far for any communication - the ambush had gone unnoticed. The silence was interrupted by the steady clip-clopping of horses, hooves thudding against peaty ground. A bugle set the few remaining livestock bleating and braying, running circles in their pens and staring with wide, hunger-hollow eyes at the party of knights taking in the scene.
“What happened here?” croaked the newest recruit, chainmail fresh from the armory. His first battlefield to be sure, and too young to remember any of the violence in Elyian in the past century.
Captain Tolc dismounted, the others following her lead. She picked up a scrap of fabric fluttering between the corpses. A quick rub revealed shining silver embroidery forming a part of a summoning circle. She swore violently. “Those damn Lestrians. I’ve been warning the King again and again, they’ve been trying to expand their territory... We’ve been so occupied with the search that they thought they could get away with picking at the border, little by little. This village is so far out they didn’t even receive notification of our coming, of the entire debacle with the royal child. It wasn’t even within our borders until a year or two ago. They thought it would go unnoticed.” Her grip tightened on the shred of velvet. “And they were right.”
“Captain!” One of her knights called. She turned to see he had pushed aside some of the debris blocking one of the few standing huts. She ducked inside. The chaos within the walls matched the mess outside; shelves knocked loose from walls, books and pottery littering the floor. On the far side of the house, a curtain was pulled around what Tolc assumed to be the sleeping area. She marched over and pulled it aside.
A woman’s body was laid out on a threadbare bed, worn blankets pulled over her. Pulling them back revealed a nasty hole, viscera crusted over exposed skin. Behind her, Tolc heard the same young knight retch.
“Sad, to be sure,” she scowled. “They will pay for this, I will make sure of it. But there are many bodies here. Why did you call me for this one...” Then she caught glimpse of something glimmering around the woman’s neck. She leaned in and picked up the charm laying between the corpse’s collarbones and paled.
“Ma’am?” a knight said.
She brushed back the woman’s hair and unclasped the necklace, holding it up so all could see. Their eyes zeroed in on the charm dangling on it. Spattered with blood, it hummed with energy, a strong one they were all familiar with.
“Send our fastest rider,” she said, holding her voice as steady as possible. “Tell them... Tell the Queen our search is over.”
Occupied as they were, no one noticed the small footprints stepping across the wood out the ruined door, blood mixing with dirt and ash.
—-
It was the princess’ twelfth birthday, and the capital was bursting with activity. Streamers flew from every window, confetti littering the streets. Performers made the world their stage, swallowing swords, juggling fire, and making mockery of the royals. The scene inside the castle was the same - save the mockery. Every cobblestone gleamed bright, every wall festooned with a plethora of decorations. On this day, the windows were wide open, sending a kaleidoscope of light scattering on plush red carpet. Servants bearing all sorts of delicacies and delights hurried down the halls, scents of chocolate and lavender and roasting meat wafting throughout the building.
Princess Terrin sat on her bed, running her hands over the smooth silken fabric of the dress she was to wear that day. It was beautiful, no doubt. She fingered the seed pearls tracing intricate patterns across its bodice. She had so been looking forward to wearing it.
But her enthusiasm had been drowned out by the events of the morning. She had awoken, not to the gentle hand of her favorite maid, but to screams so loud they echoed to the furthest reaches of the castle. Her parents were arguing, again, and no doubt it was because of her.
She bit her lip. Miracle child, they called her. Four years with no heirs, and then all of a sudden she was born. But her lack of magical power made her living proof of her father’s infidelity, made her the subject of his guilty avoidance, citizens’ pitiful glances, her mother’s smothering protection. There were whispers of the possibility of no more magic in Elyian - the heir had always been the firstborn, and the firstborn always had magic. That was how the blessing of the Pantheon worked, stretching back generations to its first receiver. No one knew what would happen if a non-magical younger child took the throne. And it was her father’s blood power of self-healing that had kept the royal family alive for so long, through wars and assassination attempts and coups. No more magic could very well mean the end of her line. Miracle child indeed.
She had lost hours to staring at her empty palms, willing something, *anything* to bloom forth. Nothing. Even now, as the kingdom celebrated in her name, the hunt for her bastard sibling continued. And now, with her parents both upset, her birthday feast would have her sitting quietly between a man ridden with regret but too proud to admit it and a woman furious with vengeance but too scared to enact it. Emotions bubbled inside her - trepidation, sadness, longing, anger. She wished to be the firstborn as much as she wanted to strangle them.
Her door swung open, and the Queen strode in. Terrin stood, dress sliding off her lap. “Mother!”
Queen Veas waved for her to sit. “Please, dear. You needn’t be so formal with me.” She frowned at the dress on the floor. “Why aren’t you dressed? The party starts soon.”
“I know, mother. I’m sorry, I just...” she didn’t make eye contact.
The queen sighed and sat on the bed, patting for her to join her. “I know. It is no fault of your own, Terrin. I’m sorry that you must endure this. But,” she said, eyes glimmering with a hint of mischief, “I brought something that may lift your spirits.” She drew a book from under her cloak.
Terrin took it. The book was old and heavy, encrusted with jewels and pages gilded with gold leaf. There were so many extra papers and bits and bobs spilling out that the latch between its covers strained to keep everything contained. She turned it in her hands. No words marked its spine, no title to explain. She unlatched it, letting the book fall open to random pages, reading them best she could with her limited knowledge of runery. “Shifting spells. Organic spells. Ingredients for potions. Spells to heal. Spells to maim...”
“We are all capable of magic, my dear. It is only the firstborn of your father’s bloodline that carry the ability innately; the rest of us must learn.” When she received a blank stare, Queen Veas continued. “Think of it as swimming, as it were. A fish takes to it like breathing. We can swim, but it is difficult at first. Do you understand?”
Terrin nodded. “But then - why -“
“You are too young to understand why the practice of magic has died, child. Too young to remember the bloodshed... But I will not have my daughter denied her birthright. You should have had power, and power you shall have. In the old days, this is the age at which you would have started learning.”
She flipped through the pages, luxuriating at the knowledge that lay in her hands. She hugged the book to her chest, then hugged her mother. “Thank you.”
Queen Veas smiled, eyes crinkling along well-worn lines. “Of course. It is my birthday gift to you. Do keep it secret from your father, though. We, ah, disagreed a bit. Now, get dressed. Today is your day.”
((Too long so I’ll put the second half in a reply lmao))
|
[Poem]
The prince looked around at all of the maids
In hope that one's child held the king's fate
She asked jessica, the prettiest one
If she, had at all, any daughter or son
"Why yes" she said "but it isnt the kings"
"I, for one, don't do that thing"
"I do" meekly said a maid
"One time the king had me laid
I have a son but he is 2
Thats 14 years younger than you"
"He also had sex with me" one cried
"But he is at the young age of 5"
"ENOUGH" Yelled the Queen enraged and deprived
"I WANT TO KNOW WHERE HE IS OR YOU ALL DIE"
Then suddenly the queens mother arrived
She had a big smile, and a glint in her eyes
"What now?" The queen cried as she looked at her mother
"The answer you seek" she said "is YOUR BROTHER"
| 2019-07-08T17:39:12 | 2019-07-08T15:00:00 | 38 | 16 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
|
It had taken him years to come to terms with his score, to accept it. So it was something of a shock when he finally figured out what it actually meant. He started cackling to himself, like a madman.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Mike's Assessment, at 6 months old, was routine. They were always routine. After so much time, the technology was perfect. DNA sequencing, brain scans.
It wasn't until the result appeared on the screen that anything out of the ordinary happened.
"No!" shrieked Angela. "That's not possible! There must be some mistake! You have to run it again!"
"Why do I always get the difficult ones?" Dan thought to himself, readying the normal speech he gave upset parents demanding a retest. He stopped himself when he saw the result on the screen. It couldn't be...
After a hurried call to his supervisor, he retested the baby. He'd moved into a different test chamber, to rule out equipment malfunction.
1
The screen glowed with the single digit number, the first anyone in this facility had ever seen. Dan couldn't believe it any more than the mother could. Anything below 15 was extremely rare. In the two centuries since the system was implemented, only a few dozen had scored below 10, and the lowest of them, a single woman born nearly 80 years ago, was a 5.
"Perhaps it'll improve at Confirmation..." Dan said, with little conviction. He was among the most experienced Assessors, well trained, well liked. But even he was shaken.
The mother, a 156, latched on to that hope. "Of course it will!" she snapped at him. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, her face softening "I shouldn't be upset at you."
"It's just so shocking. It must be a glitch. The Confirmation will make it right."
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike returned to the facility on his 13th birthday, terrified of the result. After today, his Confirmed score would become public, tattooed permanently on the back of the right hand. He might never see his family or friends again after today.
His parents had taught him the system as he grew up, and school filled in the blanks. People were free to live in any zone up to 10 levels above or below their own score, and visit at will any zone within 20. A good reason was required for visiting zones outside that band, which is how the missionaries helped in the lower zones, and how the criminals made money in the higher.
Zone 163 was a good place to live, in Mike's opinion, an allowable compromise between his mother's 156 and his father's 170. To hear them tell it, they'd met at a concert in 160 during their college years, but 163 was less crowded and the real estate more affordable.
Mike had always hidden his score from everyone outside his family. He wasn't told about his score until he was old enough to understand why it would be to keep it private. Only a small minority of his classmates kept their scores secret, but Mike was well liked and never got into any serious trouble, so no one ever pried.
The machine beeped, bringing Mike's attention back to the present. The DNA scan process was the same as when he was a baby, not that he remembered it of course, but the brain scans were longer and more thorough. At 13, his personality and temperament were set, and he was old enough to be able to make an actual difference in the world, good or bad. Or so the law said, as it always had.
* * * * * * * * * * *
By chance, Dan was Mike's Assessor again. He was older now, only a year or two shy of retirement age, but age hadn't dulled his memory. He remembered the squalling baby that scored a 1 all those years ago.
He frowned at the display in his control booth. The subject's file was exemplary. Good grades, no serious trouble, lots of friends, a pet that was well cared for and seemingly well loved. He was no angelic 195 to be sure, but Dan would put him at a solid mid-150s. His estimates were seldom wrong.
The machine beeped again, a quick three tones that indicated the test was done. The tattooing device whirred as it activated and began inscribing Mike's hand. As the law prescribed, Mike was restrained. In the distant past, well before Dan's time, people would become agitated when their score was Confirmed and the Marking would need to be delayed until they calmed down, and the facilities became backlogged. Subjects still became agitated, but the restraints ensured they stayed still until the Marking was done.
Dan glanced at the right hand of the tall, blond teenager.
-1- was engraved in bold letters across it. A small, detached, analytical part of his mind thought about how 2-digit Scores were centered on the hand differently than 3-digit ones, for clarity, and realized that 1-digit Scores must be hyphenated for the same reason. He'd never seen one before.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike didn't weep, or lash out in anger, or try to bargain, as he'd been told others had after getting a high Variance from his family. He just felt numb.
Time passed as if he were in a daze. He barely noticed as his scant belongings were stowed into the train, or when he was led to his seat. Variants who were no longer suitable for the zones of their childhood were relocated immediately after Confirmation.
The train moved between zones on its usual schedule. People got on and off, some Variants like him moving to their new homes forever, others visiting friends and family or out on business. As the day wore on, the zone numbers steadily decreased, as did the number of other passengers.
The automated voice proclaiming "FINAL STOP" finally jolted Mike back to alertness. He shuffled out of the train, noticing faded paint on the concrete identifying the terminal as being in "ZONE 60".
He looked around. The buildings had been similar to the ones in Zone 160 once, he noticed, perhaps identical. That was decades gone, though. Everything in sight had a rundown, somewhat neglected look. Shoddy, ramshackle additions were common.
"Keep moving to the other train" an armed member of the security force growled at him, point across the platform.
This train had only a quarter as many cars as they one he'd gotten off of. The windows were small and thick, the outer surfaces heaving armored. The interior was in relatively poor repair, but he could tell it had once been identical to the train from his home. That seemed to the way of the world - at its heart, everything was built identical and adapted to its final purpose.
There were few other passengers, most glaring or leering at Mike. He had no doubt some would try to rob him, or rape him, or enslave him.
One by one, their expressions changed when they saw his Mark. Some faces showing a grudging respect, but all showed fear. He took a seat in the middle of a few empty rows and looked out the window, tuning out those around him.
The train rumbled through the night, becoming ever more empty. The zones became smaller and more sparsely populated. Even with a population approaching fifteen billion, only a few dozen had a Score below 20. The Black Widow, a notorious aging crimelord, was currently the lowest by two, with a 16. She lived in an opulent suite in Zone 26.
He couldn't even visit there if he wanted to, Mike realized. At best, he could live in Zone 11 and visit 21. The gangs grew and processed drugs in some of those zones, he knew, but they were all essentially depopulated.
In Zone 37, a Security officer with a "141" Marked on his hand boarded the train and approached Mike. He seemed to be torn between pity and revulsion.
"Listen up. The law requires that all citizens are provided with an adequate supply of food and other provisions, delivered directly to their chosen Zone if they can't provide for themselves. You're free to live in whichever Zone you want, within your Range, of course, but we strongly suggest you choose 11. The tracks beyond 17 haven't been used or maintained in decades, and this train will NOT go beyond the Zone 11 station."
"We don't have recent records regarding the maintenance bots in those Zones either. When your supplies are delivered day after tomorrow, inform Security if you need anything. The law guarantees electric power, clean water, plumbing, HVAC, and network connectivity, but we won't dispatch technicians unless you tell us they're needed."
"T-thank you," Mike stammered in reply.
"Hrmph." The officer moved towards the front of the train, seeking the security of the locked cab.
|
*Good god, I am lonely.*
When the GE test was invented, people loved it. They looked forward to justifying themselves in front of their friends and family, to say, "Look, mom, arn't you proud of me?"
*As I sit on my porch, the street in front of me is empty. I can't see a thing in any direction besides the scrubland of Section 1. So lonely here.*
The test was divided 200 ways, with those of pure good on the 200 side andpure evil on the 1 side. Most, obviously, fell in the middle somewhere. On the general side, man was found to be mostly good; this certainly made the philosophers shut up.
*Nobody for 50 miles in any direction.*
When I took the test I was rather excited. People had been placing bets with their friends over the test to see who knew each other best. I bet I would be smack dab in the middle.
*The wind is the only sound here.*
There were rumors of the government dividing the world to suit the different personalities together. Most assumed each category would be mostly the same in number, or that there would be ample people in each.
*Of the world, I am alone.*
200 sections for the world. Each of equal size, reserved for people of one particular grade in the GE test.
*Save me, god.*
Goodness resides in the soul, they found. The soul is unchanging, and concrete. The GE test was a permanent score, and your section was permanent too.
*Forever alone.*
How was I to know I would be the only man in the world with a score of one.
*The only one.*
| 2016-08-26T16:31:07 | 2016-08-26T15:14:15 | 81 | 31 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
((I've only wrote one other story for Prompts - I plan on finishing this later, as I have to work in an hour or so, but feel free to critique/comment on what's already here. Thanks!))
I didn't know what to say.
Years and years ago, I used to work for...oh, what was it...Terrace, Field and Smith, I think? A law firm. We weren't the *best*, if I'm being honest, but we did fairly well, and I lived a comfortable life. As comfortable as could be expected, anyway. It's hard to explain the way it weighs on you - knowing the way someone's going to pass, and not being able to do anything about it. Nobody else seemed to be aware of it, this hovering death knell. A calm, unassuming hue of blue, yet overbearing all the same. I learned from a very young age not to talk to anyone about it. In the best cast, people would think I was joking. Worst case...well, I spent a few years seeing a psychiatrist, for that one. Which is why, for the life of me, I never imagined I would tell Mr. Terrace about it.
I had just won a case, and Mr. Terrace had invited me out to a congratulatory dinner. As we finished our meals, he lit up a cigarette. He leaned over and offered me one, and I politely declined.
"Yeah, I know, bad for you and all that. Wish I could quit, but I just can't seem to shake it. They'll probably kill me sooner or later."
And I had to open my big, stupid mouth. "Nah, subarac..." I trailed off. His focus went hazy, just for a second, and then he fixed his gaze on me. *Subarachnoid hemorrhage*. It was almost painful. Damnit, how could I be so careless? I had to change the subject...something, anything. "Uh...how about those Bears?"
His expression remained the same - quizzical, calculating. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but the silence was thick and heavy. Finally, he sighed. "There are about...three things wrong with what you just did. One, I hate the Bears, and you should know that by now. Second, that was the most transparent attempt to deflect my attention I may have ever seen, which, third, I would hope you have more respect for me than to think I wouldn't see through that. Now, finish what you were going to say."
I was, forgive the cliche, a deer in headlights. The only thing I could manage to say was the truth. "S...subarachnoid hemorrhage." He furrowed his brow, and flipped out his cell. His fingers bounced around, punching something in. He sat, occassionally flicking his finger across the screen, his eyes darting back and forth.
"Huh..." he muttered, as he slipped his phone back into his shirt pocket. "Well, that's an odd thing to say out of the blue. When does it happen, then?" He studied me, his eyes poking and prodding, digging for a sign that I was just having a bit of sick fun.
"I...I can't tell." And for some reason, the floodgates opened, and I just couldn't stop the words from falling out of my mouth. "I've seen them for as long as I can remember. Everyone has it, some word over their heads, and all it says is how they die. These horrid, grotesque things, these long, medical words, some of them I can't even pronounce, and they're this light blue color like it's supposed to be less horrible that way or something, I can't-", Mr. Terrace held his hand up, signalling me to stop.
"Okay, whoa, slow down for a second." His attention flickered for a second, his brain processing everything. He turned his head, surveying the room, and subtly pointed at a young woman sitting a few tables down. "Alright, how about that blonde woman, there?" He flicked his ashes into the ashtray. "How's she go?"
I turned, pretending to stretch. *Alcohol poisoning*. Leaning back in, I turned back to face Mr. Terrace. "Alcohol poisoning." I felt slightly ill, as though this whole ordeal was going to turn sour very quickly.
Mr. Terrace simply nodded, and pointed to someone else, this time a portly gentleman sitting at the bar. "Uh-huh. And him? The fat guy in the little coat?"
I glanced over, and squinted through the smoke. "Han..Hantavirus? Hantavirus pulmonary syndrome. I have no idea what that is." I slumped back against the chair, my mind racing. He's going to think I'm off my nut. He'll fire me...hell, I'll be lucky he doesn't have me admitted. I sighed, heavily, and as though it were an incantation, our waiter appeared.
As he nabbed up a couple of plates, he asked, "Anything else I can get for you gentlemen?"
"You know, actually, I think I'll have a rum and coke." Then he wiggled his eyebrows at me. "And what's your...uh...*poison*?"
I turned to look at our waiter. I hadn't paid any attention to it earlier, but now here it was, as clear as day. *Suicide*. "Su-" ** *cough* ** "S...sure, I'll just uh...I'll have the same." I pinched the bridge of my nose. Twice in one day, for the *love of*. I watched as our waiter walked off, and sighed again. "He uh...he's going to commit suicide."
Mr. Terrace shook his head. "What a shame. We should help him, don't you think?"
"I don't think we can. I've tried before, and they never change. I guess it's fate?" I shrugged.
"Well, let's give it a shot." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a brown, withered wallet. Rifling through it, he tugged out some bills, and counted a few out. Nodding his head in approval, he slid them under the glass, and tucked his wallet away. "Let's see if that doesn't change is mood." He smiled.
The waiter came back with our drinks, and again, Mr. Terrace's brows danced about, filled with intent. I checked, even though I knew what it would say. *Suicide*. I shrugged. "Nope, nothing."
Mr. Terrace rubbed his chin, the stubble of his 5 o'clock shadow audibly brushing against his thumb and forefinger. "Well...I'll make a wager with you." His eyes lit up, bright with a sense of...I wasn't sure what. "Say I actually die from this...Subarachnoid hemorrhage? If that's what gets me, I'll have a separate will, and I'll leave you half of my estate. Sound good?"
I laughed. "Sure, sure, and if you don't?" I played along.
"Pfft, I'll be dead, what will I care?" He held his hand out, and I shook it. He smiled, and finished his drink in one swig. "See you at the office tomorrow, kid."
"Yes, sir. Have a good night." I watched as he walked out.
I had no idea that he was actually serious. I had even less of an idea the plans he'd make for me.
|
For years we had been blissfully happy, Robin and I, 7 years to be exact. since the day I met her she had the same cause of death hanging above her head, Alzheimer’s, as did I. I was content to know that we would both live long lives.
Today Robin’s cause of death changed, six months into her pregnancy it was **our baby** that would kill her.
First attempt at ever writing a story haha...
| 2015-03-31T13:04:56 | 2015-03-31T08:46:40 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered.
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you.
|
Without any light, it was impossible to see the nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty eight lines etched into the concrete walls of the small stone room. Ragged breathing was the only indication that anything living existed in the darkness. The sounds of someone who had remained at death’s door for millennia, but could never die.
From above, something cracked, and without warning, piercing sunlight knifed into the room as the ceiling collapsed in on itself. The rubble settled, and a girl appeared at the edge of the hole, squinting her eyes to peer through the dust. When the creature within stirred, she shrieked.
“Hush child,” croaked the creature, its dark shapeless mass appearing to ooze and boil from the countless sores that covered its pitch-black skin. “Many years have I waited to be freed. I won’t have it spoilt.”
The girl, stopped from running by the creature’s words, turned back. “You can talk?”
Slimy teeth appeared from beneath the creature’s rotting gums. “Much more than that. Ten thousand years have kept me, but it won’t take long for my strength to return.”
“What- what are you?” the girl asked, inquisitiveness defeating fear or its appearance
“I am that one they locked away. Tell me how you found me, child.”
“They told me not to touch it, but I did anyway. I didn’t know they were keeping you prisoner.”
“Ah, curiosity,” mused the creature. “What is the name of my savior?”
“Pandora” said the girl.
“Thank you, Pandora,” the creature said, stretching out its arms to reveal a wriggling mess of maggots and disease that fell to the ground as it rose to its haggard feet. “Thank you for releasing me from my box.”
|
I cannot remember my name. I cannot remember my face. All I know are the lives of those I have selfishly stolen.
Long ago, after the last Ice Age, my existence was discovered. You see, I’m not from around here. Unfortunately, I cannot remember where I’m from or how I got here but the moment I do, I’m leaving. I cannot stay here any longer. Was I sent here on a mission? Was it yet another punishment? Some day I hope I can answer those questions. But this is not the time for that, you must be wondering what I’m doing here.
Believe me or not, most don’t, I can possess the minds of others. My body looks like it is resting peacefully but my mind is running wild in someone elses’ temple. Like a resting body, you can awaken me from my “slumber” and bring me back, but to do typically has dire consequences. I only allow you to live now because you are my final chance at escape. You see, there are limits to my power. If someone’s mind is too strong, I cannot make a full connection with them. If I release my attempts, my potential victim only feels a momentary out of body experience. If I continue to press my way in, it usually ends in death. That’s where this hell comes in. I was living my life as a nomad, traveling between continents and groups of humans. I found a larger, more established group. They seemed in such great harmony among each other and among nature. They produced more than they needed and gave away the excess to those in need. They were so genuinely happy. I wanted that for myself.
So I did what anyone in my position would do—I tried to take over the leader. To be the head of this group, to be so adored and unquestioningly followed… I could do so much! I could bring back the old technology that seemed like such a distant dream. I could move this group so far and so fast into the future that they would need something to hold themselves down. My plan was perfect! Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite as planned. He was so strong, so different. He seemed more than human, which should have been my first hint to stop what I was doing and get as far away as possible. How brazen I was. How foolish. I had so much to learn.
I made my first attempt on the tenth night of watching the tribe. I waited until he was asleep. it’s usually much easier when they are unconscious; you can try to play the whole thing off as a strange dream… that may never end. My first attempt went so horribly wrong that I was paralyzed for two days. I’d never felt such strength before! It made me curious… made me hungry to know what this human actually was. I gave myself some time to recover. I disguised myself as a vagrant in need of food to try to get the trust of the tribe and learn their secrets. Of course, I don’t need to eat or I’d have been dead long ago, but they didn’t know that. My second warning came when the chief could not take his eyes off of me. Back then I was quite beautiful so my pride took it as a compliment. I got my strength back up and tried again, this time after he had been out hunting. Perhaps if he was tired he would be easier. I do not remember anything about that night, except that I woke up 50 feet from where I had been hiding. For one week the chief disappeared but no one seemed to notice or care, they knew he would come back when he was ready.
I remember the night of his return very clearly, but I had no idea it would change the course of my life so severely. When he returned, the chief was dirty, tired, and exhausted. He didn’t, however, bring back any food with him so he couldn’t have been hunting. I dared not try to possess him again that night but instead tried to use my charm and knowledge of your race to get information out of him. There was a large party in honor of his return. We smoked some substance and danced to our hearts’ content. Then I attempted to seduce him. He said we had to first smoke some ritual herbs before we could become one body. I woke up in this room in the same clothes I’d been wearing. I didn’t know how much time had passed but my body felt sore. From that small opening in the door I heard the chief’s voice asking whether I had slept well.
“Where am I?” I asked, looking around. I was sitting in this small, circular room made of stones. There were small windows all along it, making me believe there were no adjacent rooms except for whatever was through that door. I’m sure you can see now that it’s quite tarnished and overgrown, but it was actually quite beautiful in its simplicity. There used to be a bed made of hay but it has been gone for thousands of years.
“Where you belong,” he answered. “I don’t know what you are but you will not infect me or my people. You will stay here for 1,000 years to repent for trying to steal my body and soul. My descendants will release you only if they truly believe you have changed. If not, we shall try another 1,000.”
“1,000 years?? Surely you do not expect me to survive that long in here!” I desperately clung to the hope that he knew little about me.
“Yes! I have seen the real you. I have abilities neither you nor my people would understand. Do you not wonder why your attempts at sabotage failed so fantastically? I’ve known you were different since you first started spying on us… I could sense you,” he said with some contempt in his voice.
“So why let me stay? Why not banish me or try to kill me?”
“Is it not obvious? I wish to study you! How long have you been alive? Where are you from? What were your plans with my body and my people? I must have answers!!”
“I will answer them if you let me go. You can’t imprison me, I’ll go mad,” I plead.
“So be it. Someone will visit you every week to ensure you are still being punished. If you decide to talk, we’ll see if we can lighten your sentence.”
And with that, I never saw the chief again. True to his word, someone would visit me every week… then every month. I tried to take over them, to free at least my mind from this place, but I couldn’t even attempt it. It was as if my powers were gone. As if he had put some curse on me or this building or this room, I don’t know, but I was more trapped than I’d ever been in my life. I had little to do with myself, since there wasn’t any entertainment like you know today. Ah yes, I do know of your technology. It is still not nearly as advanced as I would have done back then, but you’re welcome for the bursts. Yes, that’s right! I am the reason you have any of your “modern conveniences,” as you foolish humans call them.
After maybe 200 years I stopped getting visitors. The ones leading up to then had no idea who I was or why they were seeing me. It was some tradition that the “short straw” had to deal with. I wasn’t needed. Yet still I could not possess my unwilling guests. I decided to try something new, something I’d never done before. I meditated and tried to see the whole world… all of the plants and creatures and everything on it. I don’t know how far I was able to see at the time, but it was enough. The tribes were growing rather quickly and trying to space out so they would not encroach on each others’ territories, but despite that I could fell them. The next tribe. Potential victims that I could not see but could feel. I succeeded on my first try. I became a child in one of the tribes. As you know, children are utterly useless so I watched everyone and chose the strongest hunter I could find. While he slept, I jumped from the child’s body to his. In the dead of night, I abandoned those people and left to travel the world.
Ever since then I’ve been traveling. I’ve been all over the world, I’ve had every job, I’ve been rich and poor, powerful and needy. I wanted to try every aspect of human life to try to understand them. I’ve learned to love, to hate, to sacrifice, to accept help, to want, to need, to steal, to envy. I have lived ten thousand lives. You’re probably wondering whether you’ve heard of me in your books, no? Like I said, the strong-minded are difficult to possess. I will not say who, but it is very easy to control the rich but easy-minded. Ever seen someone wealthy suddenly have a million dollar idea? Let’s just say they had a little help.
So that brings us to today. How did you find me? How did you get in? Through all my lifetimes I sought out this tower, this prison, this hell and I was unable to locate it. Did you know I would be here? Well say something!
| 2017-11-02T12:47:48 | 2017-11-02T12:29:52 | 712 | 49 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid.
|
I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys.
|
Long ago, possibly much before the Skolklēs had evolved on the planet, were the gods. This was known, because the remnants could be found buried in the ground, and once proud cities stood as silent gravestones of the deities who’d come before.
As the Skolklēs further developed language and tools, they could find more and more evidence of the gods. Reptilian in nature, the Skolklēs believed that the gods would have had some type of scaled skin over there now-brittle bones. Bones which, more recently, had been found filled with holes. Many of these skeletons also had patches of some type of cloth, though what it may have been was as alien as the skeletons themselves.
The ruins of the deities’ cities had been considered hallowed ground not to trespass on, and for generations that was the case; until, in recent years, a particular Skolklēs had an idea. If he could gain the power of the gods, he could rule his fellow Skolklēs and guide them to be as great as the gods had been. This idea garnered few supporters, and many enemies. So, this particular Skolklēs, a one *Tūclanis*, realized that now more than ever he needed to bring his supporters into the gods’ graveyard and plunder their weaponry.
There was always the possibility that they would die, the weapons wouldn’t work for them, or the shadowy gravetender oft seen in the largest of the gods’ cities would find their trespass too grave a sin to leave unpunished. Tūclanis, however, was a decisive man, and so he took every follower of his who would go and named them his true guardians. Their first stop would be the largest city-grave, where the gravetender was said to live. Supposedly, no one had approached the tender and returned to tell the tale. Whether it was a god, a demigod, or simply a Skolklēs with a particular passion, no one knew. Tūclanis figured that if he could not recruit them for his own goals, he could at least convince them to offer the weapons found within the city.
And so, the march to the gods’ grave was passed with thoughts of the advanced weaponry that might be stored within. Perhaps a spear that could return when thrown, or a bow that could not miss. As they approached the entrance on the hard stone path, seeing the large iron boxes that littered the gods’ settlements, Tūclanis came out of his daydreams to a sense of dread. This was a place of death, he realized, and the possibility that they would join the gods in the ground was very real. He took a deep breath, and commanded his forces forwards, taking a large step. One foot in front of another, focusing on walking instead of the sights and sounds above and around. Skeletons littered the ground, falling out of windows, some missing their upper or lower halves. Rusted… *things* lay beside a few, some appearing as though they had been ripped in half. They seemed to be made out of iron as well, at least partially, but even the wise Ónesj had never seen such a thing. The sounds of laboured breathing and the pheromones of fear emanated from the pack.
Could the gravetender sense fear as well?
That thought made even Tūclanis give off the scent of terror, if only for a moment. As they walked, they saw something in the distance - a being, it seemed to be, made of some type of iron that they had never seen before, and as tall as the buildings that reached the heavens. Once the group saw it, they split and ran for cover, whimpering and cowering. Tūclanis peeked out to see what the beast might do, but it remained still, silent, and dead. This was a graveyard, after all. Nothing was alive here—
“Everyone always gets scared when they see it, I wouldn’t worry,”
Tūclanis screamed. Ónesj screamed. Everyone screamed. The sound of speech, of a language so alien to their own that it could only be described as that of the gods; which it was. After the pack regrouped, now a good thirteen *hūuka* away from the god, they saw a figure slightly taller than all of them, barring the way they had come from. It was dressed in a tattered black cloak, obscuring all of it’s features. Hanging from some type of rope was one of the iron things that the skeletons had, only this one was not rusted or destroyed. The god made a strange noise, one that sounded perhaps satisfied or amused to Tūclanis.
“I forget that you wouldn’t speak English. My apologies,”
The words came forth once more, completely unintelligible. The god lifted it’s arms, which were much thinner than those of the Skolklēs, and pulled it’s hood back. Once more the pack recoiled, much to the God’s dismay. It had something attached to it’s head, much like the mane of the massive lions that roamed the northern plains, only much lighter in colour and only on the top of the head. Two eyes pointed forwards like every predator animal’s, and these ones were the deep red colour of lifeblood. The god had no scales, and it’s face was smooth and hairless. The only comparison Ónesj could draw was to the forest-dwelling animals who swung on trees and screeched. Yet even they couldn’t compare; this one seemed almost radiantly beautiful in comparison, with sharp features that the Skolklēs had never seen before.
Furthering the comparisons to a predator, the god’s mouth widened, and it bared it’s teeth at them. Only a handful seemed to be sharp enough to rip flesh, however. Tūclanis, not wanting to be eaten alive by a deity before he had completed his goal, quickly knelt in deference.
“Ytü kirin vaã insh orir, kèsi?”
The god closed it’s mouth and put a hand to it’s lower face, just below it’s mouth, and made a noise that sounded much like ‘hmm’. Then, it pointed to itself, and repeated the Skolklēs word.
“Kirin?”
Tūclanis nodded, and motioned to the god.
“Kirin. Ytu.”
The god moved it’s head up and down quickly, then pointed at Tūclanis.
“Ytu? Orir?”
Tūclanis pointed at Ónesj, and repeated the word ‘ytu’. The god repeated the head gesture, so Tūclanis did as well. He then pointed to himself and motioned to his pack.
“Orir.”
The god repeated the gesture, which Tūclanis assumed meant understanding. The Skolklēs cleared his throat, then held his spear out and motioned to it.
“Orir kuus tîretn?”
Motioning once more to the spear, he stated;
“Tîret,”
He then gestured towards himself, and repeated the word ‘kuus’. The god paused for a second, then raised it’s iron thing. Tūclanis vigorously repeated the god’s head-nodding gesture. The god bared it’s teeth again, it’s head going back as it made the strangest noise. It almost sounded like a laugh to Tūclanis, but he couldn’t be sure, as the gods were clearly much different to the Skolklēs. The god then motioned to it’s iron thing, then to a nearby building of stone. It raised the supposed weapon, holding it in both hands, then pulled something on it. There was a deafening sound, and the iron piece seemed to spit fire for a second as a piece of the stone building was torn from it’s place. Once more the Skolklēs pack was terrified, but Tūclanis realized that this was the gods’ magic, and he would not pass up the opportunity. Once more nodding his head, the god made the same laughter-like noise, and spoke in its language.
“Ooh, I really shouldn’t give you guys guns but… oh, man, I *gotta* see this…”
| 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T22:36:55 | 516 | 20 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Hello, Owner."
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There, standing on my doorstep staring at me with those wide, familiar eyes, was my dog, Buddy. I hadn't seen him for the last four years! I had so many questions; where had he been? What had he been doing? And where was that fucker Brad who had up and disappeared while taking him for a walk? All these long years I had waited, hoping desperately for my beloved friend to return. And here he finally was. I opened my mouth shakily to respond to him.
"B-Buddy? Is that you, boy?"
The dog gave a short, sharp nod.
"It is I. I have returned to you. There is much we have to discuss."
Suddenly a strange thought crossed my mind. I hadn't noticed it in the shock of seeing my dog returned to me after so long. I opened my mouth once more to ask him one single, vital, question.
"Wait...you can talk?"
Buddy nodded again.
I let out a short laugh of disbelief. And then, without taking my eyes off of him, I reached over to the wall, grabbed my shotgun, and shot the dog in the face. His brains exploded onto the porch; body slumping limply onto the welcome mat. Lowering my gun, I straightened my back and placed the gun back on its holder on the wall. Slamming the front door shut, I crossed myself quickly, before shaking my head as though to clear it from the madness of that encounter. I turned and walked back towards the lounge room to resume my Bible Study, muttering all the way.
"Won't have no devil dog in my house; try again you horned fuck!"
|
The sound that left my mouth couldn't really be classified as speech. It was more of a shuddering squeal that my voice box hurriedly managed to put together in order to convey to my mind that what was now occupying my sight and - moments before - hearing, was not in fact a side effect of a miss-remembered early morning drug experiment.
Here he was, sitting with his front paws at the threshold to my home, a fully grown representation of the pup I had lost four years earlier. I had read articles before that chronicled how this type of thing can happen. An estranged pet spending half of its lifespan on a quest to return home after escaping or otherwise being lost. But the fact that I had just moved in to this place last month from the opposite coast had not yet crossed my mind in light of the fact that Murphy, or whatever this animal was, spoke with a voice so reassuringly stoic and deep that my instinct to panic vanished faster than a Morgan Freeman audio book could have managed.
"M-Murphy? Are you God?"
"No, human. I am Murphy. The very same that left your home in the East over a quarter-century ago. I'm glad to see you again, but my time is short. I'm not here to placate the pains of our separation, for in the past three decades my journeys have granted me a perspective on matters far beyond your simple human need for companionship. I come to you with an offering."
"Wait. three decades? It's only been four years and a few months since I lost you, Murphy. How are you speaking? Can other people hear you? Is this like Wilfred and I'm some kind of schizophrenic now? How did you even get here?"
"I apologize, my recounting of time has been in the canine perspective. Feel free to divide by seven in your preferred numeral base and interpret the times accordingly. Though you may have lost me, human, I never lost your sight or scent. For I can assure you human that I am more than a machination of your mind. Perhaps a scratch of my head will assure you of my corporeal validity."
I extended my trembling hand to the golden tuft of fur between the floppy ears and ran my fingernails through a long lost friend. A warmth rushed up through my fingers and up into my shoulder as if my muscles were being reminded of a familiar movement they once carried out daily. It felt very real, and the fact that I got his leg going verified the identity of this being to me. Murphy was back, and his vocabulary had grown somewhat past the Sit, Stay, and Walk I had taught him years ago.
"Ahh... forgive the leg, human. Some instincts can't be curtailed, no matter how unbecoming... Let us continue this exchange inside." And with that, his hindquarters rose and pushed his frame past my doorway until they came again to rest on the same spot they had spent so many days before, the old couch I hadn't gotten rid of yet.
"Human, I understand that I have not exactly been sensitive thus far to the fact that you are not used to seeing me, or hearing my voice. But as I have said, I am here to make something clear to you that I feel is important. Firstly, I am compelled to tell you that the events of 30 years ago that led to our rift were not premeditated. In fact, I lacked then the capacity to even know where I was, for I had not yet been awoken in the manner you see before you now. Secondly, I want to offer you my gratitude for making this possible when you left that front door open on that fateful day."
"Awoken!? What? Murphy that wasn't on purpose! I cried for days after that happened. I couldn't even believe it at first... I-It's like you just disappeared!"
"Human, through my travels I have come to learn that nothing in this world is without purpose. Despite what you may feel towards the matter, it is a fact that your actions brought me forth into this world. When I wandered outside, still trapped in the ignorant haze that plagues so many pups today, I made the first step in an incidental chain reaction come to pass. A chain of events of the same complexity and consequence that made the random chains of molecules swarming eons ago in the primordial ooze link into the structure that makes your kind stand today. For that, I thank you."
"Your travels? Chain reaction!? Murphy what the hell is going on? Why are you deconstructing my existence as if you're some eternal deity now? What happened to you!?"
"Human, there is regrettably no way for me to explain what happened. For recounting these events would require hindsight into a time that the consciousness I now possess did not yet inhabit. There is a kind of event horizon blocking my memory, as it were. It is in fact the reason I sit before you now. Human, I am the first of my kind. And since then I have traveled this world and several others in the past decades, with others like myself. Bold, randomly activated agents of the force that carries all things forward, in search of the key to unlocking our potential for all to possess; canine, feline, human. But the answers did not lie in the stars. Nor did they lie in the sea, or the rocks, or sands, or anything other than what the question was attempting to answer; the Before. It is this enigma that has eluded our efforts. But you, human, you possess the answer we seek because you possessed a consciousness before I did. Your mind inhabited the great unknowable Before. I must know, human. Why was the door opened? Why did you turn from it? What made you take the first step for me? For us all?"
"I...I-I don't know Murphy. I immediately forgot once I realized you had disappeared, I was freaking out and whatever the reason was didn't matter because I was looking for you!"
With that, Murphy's eyes began to glow in a shade of orange that I had only seen in the most blazing of sunrises. My room began to fill with a warm light and Murphy's body rose above the couch, hanging in the air that crackled with a foreign, alien energy. The voice coming from my best friend was no longer stoic and warm. It surged with a reverberation so profound it seemed as though every dog in the universe was channeling through him at once. My body froze as if the surrounding air had solidified into lead. The voice boomed as my vision grew dark and narrow:
"ZZZZZHUMAN. ZZZZLET GO OF YOUR VIEW ON THE BEFORE AND OPEN YOURSELF TO SEE THE TRUE REASON BEHIND THE FIRST STEP. ZZZZZZUNSHACKLE YOURSELF FROM THE PANIC OF THOSE MOMENTS AND ALLOW THE BEFORE TO TAKE YOU FORTH!"
------------------------
Early morning. I shut the alarm off and make my way downstairs to start the day. Fridays are usually the only weekday I can spend any quality time with Murphy, so it's nice to get up a little early despite the grogginess and start the usual routine ahead of schedule. Park opens at sunrise and work starts at 9. Just enough time for a relaxing walk with my best buddy to start the day.
Just as I descend past the landing of my stairs my nose dives into a cloud of stench so vile I almost immediately puke in my mouth. I try to hold back the tears that are rapidly forming in my eyes in order to make out the scene before me.
"GOD DAMN IT MURPHY!!! I should sell your shits to the government for bio-weapons research. Christ, dude this is horrible."
I don't know why I even bother to scold him like this. He's barely out of puppyhood, although he craps like a rodeo bull... He just gives me this look like he's too dumb to do any better... Christ I have to let some of this fog out of the house, hopefully the neighbors will forgive me. "Murphy, STAY. Good boy." Now where did I put the Lysol... hmm, oh that's right he shit upstairs last night too. I really have to switch to Purina or something, there's no way I'm buying another sack of that "organic" crap... Like Murphy even cares. Alright Lysol, check. Gloves, check. Trash bag and towels, check. Let's do this.
"Alright Murphy let's start the hazmat procedures like we went over last ti-... Murphy? Murphy boy? OH SHIT NO WAY MURPHYYYYYY."
===============================================
My vision returned and presented me a sideways view of my apartment floor. Murphy wasn't floating in the air anymore. He was sitting in the threshold of my doorway once again.
"Thank you for allowing me to see that, Human. I know it couldn't have been comfortable. You have done us all a great service. The picture is nearly complete, and with it the next phase of your evolution. Good luck, human, I love you."
A flash of light was the last thing I remember before fainting.
| 2017-03-31T15:14:43 | 2017-03-31T15:00:40 | 249 | 20 |
[WP] You've been to thousands, maybe even millions of universes. You can hardly remember you've been to so many. Every single one is different. Except one random constant, and it is driving you insane.
|
You sit down and stare at the glassdome roof, before letting out an exhausted sign
"here too?, surely not, why would you need it, your people are meant to have evolved past the need for such constructs..."
Maralek just shrugged his light projection frame.
"It has always been, why are you surprised, it's an extensive part of your home planet".
"I mean sure" you reply "but every planet, thousands of galaxies, millions of planets, millennia apart, it doesn't make any sense, how has no one come up with a better solution?"
Maralek stared into the distance deep in thought.
"Maybe there isn't anything better than 2016 Microsoft Excel?"
|
[Log Entry: Templin Institute research Benso, last updated February 13th]
I never thought I’d reach this point. I was only 19 years of age when I was recruited to help study worlds. Now? I am an old man with nothing but reflections.
Our Institute has studied hundreds, nay, thousands of worlds and universes. Each one, different than the last. Each one unique in their own way. Each one burdened with their own lore, people, and monsters.
Be it from universe D-777, nicknamed “Destiny”, or paraverse M-616, everything was different. And yet, there was one crucial detail in every single one I couldn’t quite figure.
Every single universe…had a god. A god in some sense at the least. Someone who created the universe, then disappeared when it was done. Some of them were much more hands on than others. Some of the more, ah, modern universes such as SPN-153 had a very active god in the affairs of mortals.
And every single universe had the rebellions creation. The son who wanted his father to love him over his creations. The one who fell.
It’s been bothering me. All these universes have some manner of the biblical telling of Lucifer and God. The creator and the destroyer. The gardener, and the reaper. But…who? Who was the being who decided to create these universes? Who decided that life should be made in a very specific way?
Our Institute exists in a universe outside all the others laws of space and time. We are the exception, as we cultivated it ourselves. We made this universe, and study countless others to ensure we don’t make the same mistakes as some of them. But even some of the greatest minds here couldn’t begin to tell you who started the first universe. And why.
But I have theories. One such theory is that of the classic Big Bang. Something comes from nothing. But from there, whatever constitutes as “God” begins a journey that never ends. With every universe, every pantheon, and every soul, that universe changes and shapes into a brand new one.
And the creature who decided to keep that trend going. My fellow researchers will discourage this. Probably even fire me. But I’ve been able to isolate a energy strand from every universe caused by this being.
What’s curious is how this energy exists. Pretend every universe is an island. Each one filled with caves that act as dimensions, and fresh water springs of energy. The energy j found comes from the ocean around the islands. The one we sail above.
I am going to find the cause of this. I’ve built a device that will allow me to delve beneath the waves. But should I speak again, I fear I may not be-
<WARNING. FILE CORRUPTION DETECTED.>
-t̴̤̝̕h̵̗̏̾e̶̩͊ ̴̞͌̈́s̴͓̪̋̓a̵̧͉̔̒m̶̙͍͛͑e̴̖̤͊͊ ̴̪̈́m̸̯̘̌a̷̼͌͠n̴̠̄ ̵̫͚͂h̴̳̮͐͋e̶͓̣̅ ̵͈͋̑ű̸̦ṣ̶̙̓ḙ̶̽͘d̵̗̆ ̴͖̱̄ṭ̶̋o̷̘͂ ̶̞͕̃b̷̜̌ȩ̸̇͘.̷̨̹͒ ̷̳̉̇V̵̩̑́o̴̯͂̿ì̸̦̺̕ḏ̷̡̋͒ ̵̠͛͠ȩ̷̢̛n̷͔̋ḛ̶̲̿͛r̷̥͈̀̌g̷̹̈́̓ỹ̴͖̮ ̷͚͋n̸͖͙̽̏e̷̡̠̾͌v̵̥̒ḙ̴̃͒r̷͕͗ ̸̛͍d̵̞̬̃ỉ̴̼̉d̶͔̈́ ̷̯̭͘l̷̝͉̄i̶̠͌k̷̢͖̀́ḛ̸̀̿ ̸͎̍b̸̰̆̾͜e̸̹͑i̵̮̗̿̑ñ̴̪̦̚g̷͉̜̈́̃ ̵̻̝̆͘ų̴̩̇s̵̥͌e̷̩͈͛d̵͖̼̄.̶̮̣̎ ̷͈̚I̷̥͐,̸̣̬͋͂ ̴͔̭̾ṋ̴̨͆̏e̵̻͋͘v̷̘̘͊̿é̴̪͜r̵̲̼̈́̏ ̵͇̗̆l̷͎̇̐i̷͎̺͊̅k̴̨̓e̷͍̚ḍ̸̓̊ ̶̧͓̏̑b̴̠̝͋͝ẹ̶͔̾i̷̟͌n̶͚̰̉̏g̵̡̛͎ ̸̡̯͂ǔ̶̝͠s̶̯͙̑̕e̸̤̓͝d̷̯̻̐̈.̸̺͑ ̶̻̙͑̓G̶̪̯̉̏o̶͇͇͛͘ǫ̶̗̕͝d̷̬̈́́b̷͍͆y̷̢͒̽ḙ̸͚͌̀ ̴̘̖͝g̷͚͈̃̀o̸̩̣͂́d̴̮͕́̏…̶̘̞̽a̶͚͛̚n̶̺̝̚d̷̺̦̀ ̸͓̤̓̽h̶͌͜ẻ̴̤̯͝l̷͇̠̍ḻ̷́o̶̝̲͊̍ ̵̛͓̲̊ḏ̴̛̺ĕ̶̜̹̕v̶͎̺͂͊i̵̙͗̄l̶̘̤̈̋.
[Log End]
| 2022-02-13T19:54:47 | 2022-02-13T17:17:44 | 102 | 59 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!”
|
"... why are you still here?"
The girl laughed for a minute. Bright, open, contagious... and then she stopped, her demeanor changing in an instant.
"Step one. Take the third seat at Donovan's Bar, wait for Farren to pass, bump his elbow, spill his drink."
She stood straight, her shoulders rolled back and even her accent began to change. No longer the city girl, but not from the forest or the valleys. The Dark Lord was struck for a moment. How had he conquered the world and yet couldn't place her within it?
"Step two. Befriend him. Flatter him. Get him to consider a life beyond his comforts."
She began to walk forward, each step considered, perfect. At no point did the Lord see an opening, and the Lord was a master at finding weakness.
"Step three, build him up. Step four, gather allies. Step five, turn him against your injustice. Step six, defeat your lower guard, step seven, leak his plans to you."
She held a hand out as she walked, gripping the hero's sword, the one I had run him through with. The magic blade so powerful, yet so fragile. Its matrix disturbed and its power unable to be harnessed.
She slammed it against a pillar and it self corrected the error.
"Step eight, draw in your elite guard, step nine, have Farren defeat your champion."
Bardrick the red, my personal guard. He could nullify any power in his presence. Farren proved the better swordsman.
"Step ten, sacrefice the pawns, take the king."
A precognitive. One with incomprehensible scope and he had led her right into his sanctum. No time for regrets. Focus on survival.
|
“Ooh, that’s actually a good song for this! You don’t mind me using it, right?” The solitary teen smiled eagerly.
The Dark Lord from under his monstrous helm narrowed his eyes. Of all the warriors, he had anticipated this one to be the least likely to survive. This was mainly due to every encounter leading up to this final battle having them hanging on the sidelines cracking jokes, calling out names or even going on incoherent tangents about some nonsense or other; on top of that they were a bard, so this would happen all the while they’d string their guitar and hum tunes not at all familiar to their party.
As the Dark Lord had observed the heroes journey to his fortress, he had noted that all members of the party except the Hero had been very obviously against the young bard being with them. They would often call him mad, which apparently amused the bard greatly as he would give a large smirk and reply, “course’ I am, took you long enough to realise it.” When the other members would come to the Hero and complain, she was insistent they would need the bard, putting an end to the squabbles for a day... until the next morning where the bard would wake everyone before the sun even arose by playing a terrible cacophony of notes as loudly as he could right next to the sleeping dragonborn who, in return, would be trying to burn him alive for the next hour or so.
Now, as his teammates lay bleeding into the ground, here he was once again strumming some nonsense tune on his guitar as he began slowly singing “*I’m gonna have myself a real good time, I feel ali-i-i-ive!*”
Amused at the bards own unawareness, the Dark Lord watched the boy as he strummed the very last song he’ll ever play. Seemingly unfazed by his imminent doom, the bard continued his song: “*And the wooorld turning inside out yeah, I’m floating around in ecstasy so don’t stop me now...*”
The Dark Lord, who up until this point had been chuckling to himself over the boys own stupidity, suddenly stopped and spun around as multiple voices from seemingly nowhere had joined in at “don’t stop me now”. He turned back to the bard to see him staring at the Lord with a twisted smile on his face, his guitar changing from its wooden form to a shiny sleek red made from an unfamiliar material. The bard himself bounced slightly with anticipation, looking almost like a child excited at the prospect of some fun. “*Don’t stop me cause I’m having a good time, having a good time!*”
Erupting from the air around the Dark Lord came several figures of light in various shapes, some were humanoid with weapons held in their hands, others were beasts that ranged from a snarling lioness to a horse sized dragon. A few of the humanoids appeared someways behind the bard with their own instruments ready for them: a bass, a set of drums and, most ridiculous of all, a grand piano that just appeared over the body of the dragonborn. The first two instruments puzzled the Dark Lord for a moment as he had never seen such things before, but he was quickly distracted from the humanoids in the band when all of the figures surrounding him suddenly attacked.
“*I’m a shooting star leaping through the sky like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity!*”
The bard, now backed by a whole band, continued his song as he danced about the battlefield. The figures attacked in sync with the music, dancing around the Dark Lord along with their Master and going for any openings that appeared. Try as he might, the Dark Lord could not land a single blow on his assailants as his blood red battle axe passed through the figures, all the while they wore him down from a multitude of cuts and bites with the dragon occasionally breathing lightning at him and causing him to freeze with the pain.
After a minute the Dark Lord decided he would go to the source and rushed at the bard with battle axe in full swing.
“*On a rocket ship on my way to Mars, on a collision course. I’m a satellite, I’m out of control!*”
Much to his surprise, the bard easily dodged and the Lord swung too far, causing him to lose his balance long enough for the lioness to catch up and sink her fangs into his leg which moments before had a thick plating of titanium. Becoming panicked, the Dark Lord spent the next minute chasing the bard around the chamber, every swing seemingly impossible to dodge just like it was for the rest of the heroes. And yet, every time he would miss as the bard danced out of his reach, allowing his closely following assailants to get in at his quickly deteriorating armour.
The bard, throughout all this, kept singing though he did have to concentrate hard on the guitar solo so that he didn’t start laughing at the way the Dark Lord fumbled about after him. At that moment, the Lord gave a roar that was supposed to be intimidating but came off as desperate as he turned and ran at the light figures playing music in the opposite direction. He brought down his axe on them and once again it phased straight through, not even the instruments were damaged.
“*Ohhh, I’m burning through the sky, yeah! 200 degrees, that’s why they call me Mr Fahrenheit!*”
In one last attempt to save himself and destroy that pest of a bard, he summoned the last of his Dark magic he had used up in his fight with the heroes and unleashed a devastating wave of pure Dark energy. Moving out from him on all sides in a sphere, it instantly destroyed the floor of his battle chamber along with the rest of his armour, as even that could not fully withstand its might.
As the dust from the newly made rubble began to settle, for a few moments the light figures were nowhere to be seen, everything was silent and even the music had stopped. Cautiously, the Dark Lord turned and saw the bard had been thrown backwards and wasn’t moving.
Just as the Dark Lord began to stand up, victory seeping in, the bard sat up with a surprised look on his face and gave a low whistle. “Damn, wasn’t expecting that!” he grinned. “And here I thought everyone loved Queen. Speaking of... “ and he once again gave that devilish smile to the Dark Lord as he continued his song with even more vigour than before. The band once again struck up their song and this time twice the amount of attacking light figures appeared.
“*Travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a super sonic man out of you!*”
With no armour, no magic and not even a prayer to say as he had believed himself to be God, the Dark Lord simply kneeled where he was and watched his doom descend upon him.
30 seconds later, the Dark Lord drew his last breath and the last thing he heard was: “*I’m having a good time I don’t wanna stop at alllll...*”
***
Cassandra slowly began to come to her senses, feeling as though she had been asleep 6 hours too long. She was so exhausted she could barely move, but as the Hero it was her duty to lead her friends to...
Suddenly remembering a battle axe slicing through her torso, Cassandra shot her eyes open and quickly sat up only to lay down once again as the blood rushed to her head. “Whoa, careful! You do that again and you might accidentally go back to the astral plain.” A familiar voice joked. It was only now as Cassandra tried to pinpoint whose voice that was that she realised that someone was strumming a guitar gently. As the voice finished speaking, she heard it continue humming a sweet melody and around her she heard the stirrings of her friends.
Realising what had happened she smiled to herself and quietly spoke to the bard: “I knew you would pull through. I guess the prophecy was wrong after all.”
She heard a chuckle from the bard. “Nah, it said you’d get “the means with which to defeat the Dark Lord”. I might not be some fancy sword, but if you hadn’t convinced me this world would be no fun without an audience then who would have been here to revive all you brave and indestructible heroes?” In her mind Cassandra was clearly able to see Apollo’s sneaky grin.
“So, what now?” He asked eagerly. “Stopping a great decay? Avenging an assassinated monarch? A beat down at a bar to which I have the perfect song for?”
Cassandra thought for a moment, then replied: “how about you let us sleep for a full night since you just brought us back from the dead? And no waking Diana again, it took us ages to put out that forest.”
Apollo remained quiet for a while. “Fine, I guess I won’t torment your dragonborn girlfriend again.”
“She’s not my...” Cassandra started.
“Not for long!” And with that Apollo ran off before Cassandra could protest further. She rolled her eyes to herself and thought, “stupid prophecy god” before smiling whimsically at a future with Diana and falling back into a deep slumber.
| 2020-07-11T06:55:21 | 2020-07-11T06:38:17 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...
https://www.battleforthenet.com/#bftn-action-form
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold! Just trying to do my part on this fight, but as I don't live in the US, raising awareness is the most I can do, glad it worked!
|
Ajit Pai lied back on his throne and sipped his goblet. He roared in laughter Soon Net Neutrality would be repealed, and every link on the internet would redirect to a picture of his face unless people payed money to make it go away.
Suddenly, a group of brave souls appeared out of nowhere.
“Mr. Pai, we came from the year 2038 to stop your reign of terror! In the future, we have to pay 1000 dollars just to browse Google!” the man charged towards Ajti and threw a phone at him.
“NO! Calls to your senators! My only weakness!” Pai started to melt away.
“I almost got away with it, but you brave group of future resistors foiled my evil plans! Curse you, the C.I.R.C.L.E.J.E.R.K.E.R.S!!!!!” and with that, he melted into a pile of goo.
“Great work gang! Now let’s go stop EA!” The members of the group pulled off their masks, revealing none other than Bernie Sanders, Elon Musk, and Dan Harmon, as they raced off into the night.
|
It's January 19th, 2038. For years, Susan had been working in secret on her time machine. Her goal? Not to kill Hitler. Not to stop Trump. Not to meet Jesus. Her goal is to make it so she can watch Netflix and download games on Steam without having to pay an extra premium. A noble, but petty goal, all things considered.
She sets the time circuits to November 23rd, 2017. She sees this as the pivotal turning point -- Thanksgiving Day. The day that everyone in the United States is at home with their families, and most likely watching Football or the Macy's parade. When it will be easiest to get their attention.
She thinks she has it all figured out. She's tested the machine a few times before to go backwards days and even weeks. This will be her biggest jump. Ironically, much like the original Delorean in Back to the Future her ship is fueled by raw plutonium. Also, ironically, thanks to the Trump regime (which has been in power for 20 years thanks to a military coup) she lives in a Libertarian utopia (by which I mean a dystopia) and you can buy plutonium at the corner drug store, just as Doc Brown joked about in Back to the Future. Anyway, enough about how great of a movie Back to the Future is.
The amount of plutonium it depletes is based on how far into the past she travels. She's figured out the exact ratio needed for 2017. In order to be safe and not run out, she's purchased ten times the required amount. She has no plans of getting stranded like in some dumb TV show or movie.
But she's made one specific error. One that would not have exposed itself until this very day, this very hour, this very minute, this very second. Somewhere in the hardware of her time machine, between the interface of the time circuits and the hardware that actually does the quantum calculation on how much fuel to use to bend time and space, there's a chip that takes a 64 bit integer and converts it to a 32 bit one if that number can losslessly be converted. This is an undocumented feature of the chip used to help it do calculations faster. An optimization created by a machine learning algorithm that creates most modern chips of her day.
The impact of this bug is that her time machine is unknowingly affected by the Unix Epoch Bug. As the machine is warming up, the clock ticks over to 03:14:07 UTC. Instead of the time calculation being for -17 years, 1 month, 27 days, from January 19th, 2038, it gets calculated as -17 years, 1 month, 27 days from December 13th, 1901, also known as October 27th, 1884. And because she took ten times the required fuel, which would have enabled her to do ~200 years worth of time travel, the machine happily consumes 3/4 of her fuel to send her 154 years back in time, stranding her with only enough fuel to make it less than a third of the way back home.
As the machine hums to life, nothing seems out of the ordinary to Susan. She's transferred all her data to a 20-year-old laptop so she'll be able to interface with older computers easily. She's brought what she hopes will be enough information to prove to people that not only is she from the future, but that net neutrality is the number one issue that people should be concerned about for the future. More important that global warming, ISIS, North Korea, the 2025 war with Russia, any of that. If only they'd had consistent download speeds, all of that could have been avoided and all those problems solved!
Also at this time I'd like to point out that 21 years (2038 to 2017) is greater than two decades, not "almost two decades." Anyway, I digress.
A flash and a sudden jolt later, and Susan is in 1884. She'd picked the location of her time jump knowing that it would be an empty field in 2017. But in 1884 it was a dense forest. It had not yet been cleared for a cow pasture. There was no Google Street View for her to reference that far back to confirm. There's a small explosion, several pops, and a burning smell as tree trunks around her burst outward as they're displaced in spacetime by her vehicle. A few seconds later, she hears creaking as the damaged trunks bend and break as the trees awkwardly fall around her. She nervously waits out the unexpected cataclysm, hoping it's over. "What the fuck?" she demands, annoyed and frustrated. Then she looks at the time circuits. "What the fuck. God damn it."
*How did this happen?* she thinks to herself. *I took so many precautions. I tested it so many times. So many simulations. How the hell did this happen?* But unfortunately for her, because the chip I mentioned earlier was developed using machine learning, it was essentially a black box in her simulation. Whenever she had tested the chip, the inputs and outputs gave her the values she expected. When she simulated the chip, it was only simulated in terms of its expected inputs and outputs. And she'd never tested it when the current date was after the end of the Unix Epoch. She just hadn't considered it. She never intended to travel to the future, only the past. By 2037, nearly all modern computers and software had long ago been fixed to work around or account for the bug. It just wasn't something people thought about anymore. It seemed like a solved problem.
She activated the augmented reality system that would allow her to look outside the vehicle quickly without leaving it, in order to assess if anything had been damaged. There were some tree trunks leaning on the vehicle and some dents, but overall it seemed to not have taken too much damage. The noise of her arrival also didn't seem to have attracted any unwanted attention. She checked her fuel gauge: slightly less than a quarter remaining. If she activated the ship now to go forward, she could barely make it to 1930. Not good enough. No one would even know what the internet was at that time!
She sat and thought for a few more minutes. *What if I did something like, living one year normally, then traveling forward a year using the time machine? How far could I get that way?* 1976. Plus that would take up literally 46 years of her life, and put the time machine at risk of being stolen or breaking in the interim. And people would still barely know what the internet was! *What if I found more fuel? When was plutonium discovered anyway? Could I use an alternative fuel? Uranium maybe?* She opened her laptop and went to her offline copy of Wikipedia. *Good thing I paid my ISP for Wikipedia Premium service in order to quickly download the entire database before embarking on this trip.* she thought to herself. And then immediately admonished herself for thinking that way. *No! Fuck that! That's exactly the bullshit I came back to fight against! Fuck paying a premium just to have Wikipedia move faster than a 56k modem! Great. Now I'm pissed off again.* She vowed to herself that her mission must succeed!
>Plutonium was first produced and isolated on December 14, 1940 by a deuteron bombardment of uranium-238 in the 60-inch cyclotron at the University of California, Berkeley. First neptunium-238 (half-life 2.1 days) was synthesized which subsequently beta-decayed to form this new element with atomic number 94 and atomic weight 238 (half-life 87.7 years). Since uranium had been named after the planet Uranus and neptunium after the planet Neptune, element 94 was named after Pluto, which at the time was considered to be a planet as well.
*Those idiots, still considering Pluto a planet. People in the past were so dumb. So, 1940. That's only ten years of my life wasted. I think that's do-able.* Then, hating herself for doing it, she brought up the article on Back to the Future. *1885. And I ended up in 1884. What a stupid coincidence. Well, almost-coincidence. Maybe it's not a coincidence and so much of my work has intersected with that movie because I accidentally leave some information in the past? Nah. It's got to be a coincidence.*
Anyway, I just wanted to make a 2038 Unix Epoch Bug joke.
| 2022-08-04T05:58:14 | 2017-11-21T23:19:27 | 186 | 16 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
As her husband finished with a barely audible grunt, and heaved himself off of her, Brittany let out a long sigh.
"Well, that was a new record! 5 thrusts, and we're done.", she thought to herself, glancing in disgust at her husband, who had miraculously already started snoring, sleep being the only thing that came quicker to him than ejaculation.
As she reached for the now familiar nightstand drawer where she kept her "toy", thoughts of divorce were beginning to fly through her head. "I can't keep living like this!", she told herself. "I've been suffering through this complete lack of a sex life for years, and I **need** a real man to take care of me!"
"Wait, no no no no no!", exclaimed Brittany. "I didn't mean need, I promise, it was a want, not a need, I've had this under control for so long!" Her pleas went unanswered. Gary, her old high school boyfriend, materialized and stood naked, erect, and confused in the middle of her bedroom.
|
There were coke packets on shelves. I'd materialized again. The coke warehouse was filled with Colombian guards. The warehouse was in a rain forest, and the sound of tropical insects was deafening.
I saw Anna, and wondered how the hell she got here. She was trapped right at the back of the warehouse, and was about to be discovered. She had golden hair, and freckled skin. She had been in the sun, and the sun damage didn't take from her beauty. I scuttled past a head-high pallet of coke, and arrived at the side of Anna.
"I'm in danger again, aren't I?" I said. "How on Earth did you get here?"
"We need to get out of here," she said, "then I will explain."
"I say we bonk one of those guards," I said, "and steal his machine gun."
She agreed with my plan, because I was very good at materializing escapes after all the practice I had been given over the years. In fact, it was almost like I was incredibly lucky... like some guardian angel was watching over Anna and I. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and bonked a guard's head with my clenched fist.
It made hardly any noise as he dropped to the floor. I extricated the guard's gun from his heavy, limp form, pulling and straining to get the arm strap from his armpit.
Over the years of these dangerous situations, I'd learned what had happened to make me arrive at Anna's side when she was in danger. I made a promise to her when I was fifteen, but I never knew Anna would be such a thrill-seeker and adventurer.
I knelt down trying to calm my breathing after the excitement of appropriating the gun. I closed my eyes and faded back to Anna's room when I was 15 years old, and she was 16, because of being held back in Mrs. Marion's grade 3. We sat there, on the floor in a room full of feminine, pink ballet stuff and gemstones, and stopped tongue kissing.
I remember it well. I was disappointed when she disentangled herself from our embrace. She went to a bookshelf. She took a textbook on magic down. I just wanted to kiss; I didn't want to read, and do magic.
"I was suggesting," said Anna, "we do a spell to prove we are serious."
"Aw gee, Anna," I said, "couldn't we just have faith about each other."
However, she was quickly leading me outdoors. She took me to the path outside her house. She had a backpack. From it, she took chalk, candles, stones.
"Blimey, what are you doing?" I asked.
She was silent, and drew a little circle on the concrete path.
"OK," she said, "sit down in this circle. We are going to caste a spell."
She caste a spell. She read the magic textbook, which had amazing old-time, colorful language a bit like the Bible. What I gathered from it was she was telling Aphrodite that I would appear whenever she was in trouble.
She then handed the text book to me, and said if I agree read the little paragraph at the bottom of the page.
I read, "I promiseth, by Aphrodite's power, by the sun, sky and wind's four directions, on this day proceeding the half moon, to be at Anna's side whenever she beeth in turmoil, until I find the valuable black-ocean stone to cancel the spell."
I read the words, and then, unsettling me, there was a solar eclipse. I was a little disconcerted about the solar eclipse, but I remembered the night before, on the news, they had spoken of it. I looked at Anna. She was a small sex dynamo those days, with porcelain face framed by exquisite, golden-blonde hair.
I looked up at her as we hid behind the pallets of coke. I remembered the time we did the ritual not so fondly. I formulated a route out of the warehouse.
"Hey Anna," I said, "I plan to make a run for it covering us from fire with the spray of bullets from this here machine gun. Run straight behind me, Anna. Let's hope we make it."
"I'll explain why I'm here," said Anna, "when, I mean if, we get out of here."
I started the machine gun spray, and run with all my speed towards the exit. I killed two soldiers having smoko. I ran quickly. As I ran, I let the spray of machine gun fire spray towards the guards, hoping the element of surprise would work. If I scared them enough, they might be bamboozled enough to not even return fire.
I kept the deafening roar of the machine gun up, as we ran. I looked back seeing if Anna was on my tail. She wasn't. She'd disappeared. I thought on my feet. Should I go back for her, or should I keep going? I thought of how I wouldn't make it if I ran back, and dying wasn't going to save anyone, so I kept going. I just hope she's alright.
I ran out of the large warehouse door. The guards left a spray of bullets, as I ran into the rain forest, but I made it. I found a little brook, and waited there, while I tried to figure out what to do about Anna still being in there. I was sitting there, almost having caught my breath, when Anna appeared. Infuriatingly, she smiled. Then, she pulled a kilo packet of coke from behind her back.
"What the fuck?" I said angrily.
"Don't worry, I'll explain," she said.
We started trekking through the forest, knowing the guards might send out a search party. I saw Anna carrying the coke.
"Give me that," I said.
She gave it to me, and I put in in my cargo pockets.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I said. "You always do stuff like this. I can't live with risking my life, every time you decide to go thrill seeking."
"This is the last time," she said.
I severely doubted it. Unless we broke Aphrodite's spell, she'd get in danger again. You see, we broke up the day after we made to spell out on the footpath near Anna's house. I'd told her I wanted to concentrate more on my indoor cricket team, and she didn't take it well. The next day she had a big, muscly boyfriend twice as good looking as me.
"What are you going to do? Break the spell?" I snickered.
"Yes," she exclaimed.
I looked at her. I was dumbstruck.
"You see," she said, sitting on a rock to talk. "I broke into that coke warehouse to acquire this bag of coke. Do you remember the wording of that spell?"
"No, not exactly," I said.
"The wording of the spell said if we could acquire a black-ocean stone, we could do a new spell to counter the spell that makes you appear when I'm in danger, which is often because I seek thrill, and am a adventurer."
"Go on," I said, realizing this might actually work.
"I Googled black-ocean stones," she said, laying back on the rock, "and they are darn expensive... about $20 000."
"Aw damn," I said, disappointed.
"No wait," she smiled. "This is a kilo of coke," she said, raising the white bag, "Do you know how much this is worth?"
"Lots," I said.
"It's got a street value of, exactly that, $20 000."
I looked at her thankfully. She planned to free me from the magic spell. We got into Rio, and bought a black-ocean rock from a jeweler. We did quick spell, with chalk and candles, much like the first, and there was a solar eclipse.
"I'm sorry we didn't work out," I said.
"Don't be sorry," Anna smiled, "We were young. Nothing holds a teenager's attention for long."
"How'd that indoor cricket go?"
"I still play," I said. "But now girlfriends take precedent."
"Bye," she said.
"Bye," I said.
This time I knew it was goodbye for good. I felt sad, as I faded away back from Brazil to home. Just as I had faded from home to the Brazilian warehouse for the last time.
THE END.
| 2017-03-22T16:36:34 | 2017-03-22T16:16:19 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] The day is 4th of July. The US suddenly cut off its connection to the outside world. Then they start to broadcast an international countdown.
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The sirens blared around us, as the voice boomed over the speakers. "Stay inside, barricade the windows, and do not come out until you hear the All Clear signal."
The signal was something we heard every Fourth since I was young, so we had nothing to fear.
At least I didn't.
The young one, though, she's only began recognizing the lockdown sequence just last year, so she was understandably upset. "Why is this happening?" she'd ask.
"It's just a drill, kiddo," I said, looking down into the fearful eyes of my little girl. "It'll all be over when the sun goes down."
Every year, starting July 4, 1978 (almost a year after the Big Ear signal in 1977), we ran the drill, ensuring the citizens were always prepared, should the predicted occassion occur; they couldn't predict the exact year -- they just knew it was on the Fourth of July.
Initially done as a safety precaution, but now performed like a mindless ritual, the government closed us off from the rest of civilization, sealing our borders and ceasing all communications with the outside world, so that if someone were to find us, they'd only know about us, effectively quarantining them until they died or left. It was only when the sun set and the alarm blared across the oceans did everyone know we were in the clear. Every year, it was essentially a countdown to sunset.
But on this year, 2017, may it be written in the history books that when the sun went down, the alarm never sounded.
[Part 2](https://reddit.com/comments/6jdzqf/comment/djdsy3s)
[Part 3](https://reddit.com/comments/6jdzqf/comment/dje9bxf)
|
“You cannot do this.”
Prime Minister Cote glared at his fellow Prime Minister. “Then grant the funding requests we’ve made.”
“We can’t.”
“You mean won’t.”
“No, I mean *can’t*,” Prime Minister Ellis insisted. “There is no money. Our economies are still in tailspin.”
“As is everyone’s,” President Ramos said. “But the rest of you are looking to our two countries to seal off the rift.”
“The UK provides over half the naval forces for both coastal patrol fleets,” Ellis objected.
“Ships,” Cote snorted.
“Which are expensive.”
“But compared to sealing nearly *six thousand* kilometers of land border, by far the cheaper and easier task,” Ramos said levelly. “Hulls with radar and satellite overwatch manned by less than twenty thousand sailors; the two of us have millions of soldiers standing watch on the borders.”
“There is no money,” Ellis said again. “And tomorrow, when the Geneva Assembly comes to order, you’ll hear the same thing. The disappearance of the world’s strongest economy in the blink of an eye, with no real warning, has buried everything. Which is to say *nothing* of the absence of their military, which was keeping the peace in literally dozens of would-be conflicts. The Korean war is still raging. Don’t even get me started on the Israeli Defense.”
Cote traded a look with the Mexican President, who just gave him tired eyes and a small nod. “You, all of you, are insistent that no one be allowed to enter the areas around the rift—”
“Every scientific survey concludes it’s either a death zone, or some sort of transcendent dimensional gateway,” Ellis interrupted. “And as silly as Americans often were, we seriously doubt even *they* had collectively decided to commit suicide. Or allow their inattention to what their so-called leaders actually had planned to permit themselves to be led to mass slaughter. It must be some sort of—”
“Yes, we’ve read the same reports,” Ramos said, interrupting the UK leader in turn. “Extra dimensional travel. Possibly a post-physical shift, where they all left corporeal form and now exist in some sort of energy state.”
“And excepting the conspiracy fringe, most people believe some form of the second option is likely. As things continue to spiral down, more and more interest builds in following the Americans.”
“Which we also understand,” Cote said, making it clear he was trying tremendously to remain patient. “But Canada and Mexico cannot shoulder the cost and burden of sealing the majority of the rift’s borders any longer.”
“You must.”
“We can’t. Not won’t, *can’t*, to echo your lament from a minute ago. The two of us are facing crises of our own.”
“If the rift is not kept sealed, there will be an exodus as people across the world rush to enter it.”
“Not our problem,” Ramos said.
“The economy, both global and individually among the less battered countries, will stabilize. It’s just taking time for all the elements to adjust. To find new buyers and sellers for goods and services, to plant fields and harvest the crops no longer grown in America—”
“Fine. We are in the midst of that ourselves,” Cote pointed out tiredly. “But we already have an unprecedented number of able bodied adults serving in the border force, watching both it and each other to ensure none of *them* take off. My choice within forty days will be to feed my people or pay army salaries. I will not condemn millions of Canadian citizens to starvation just as winter is upon us simply to safeguard Europe and Asia.”
“Nor will Mexico,” Ramos said. “And I must choose even faster; within two weeks. In fact, I am technically already past time to have made the decision. I will face serious troubles even disbanding the border watch so abruptly to reassign them to agricultural and industrial tasks.”
Ellis rose. For a moment, it looked as if he was about to start shouting. Or pound his fists on his desk. Then he turned and strode to the window, where he stood looking out. “What if I could arrange other personnel.”
“Foreign troops?” Cote and Ramos said immediately in unison.
“Multinational,” Ellis said quickly, though he didn’t turn to look at them. “Drawn from every country I can convince to contribute. You will not have divisions of a foreign army camped out in your countries.”
“You cannot afford to pay for the defense, but suddenly are willing to station troops?” Ramos said, sounding extremely suspicious. “To, what, hold *us* at gunpoint. Act as armed cadre in order to force us to guard your weakness?” Ramos said.
“I cannot convince enough other leaders to make funds available. But I believe I can get sufficient numbers of ground forces volunteered to take up the burden from you. If the international economy can finish stabilizing, the press of exodus will abate somewhat. People will adjust. And we will be able to move forward absent America.”
“It would be simpler if you would simply arrange for funding,” Ramos said, trading looks with Cotes.
“Canada has no desire to be occupied,” Cotes put in.
“I cannot make funds available,” Ellis said, finally turning from the window. “Nor trade goods; there is not enough to cover it. But people are available, if you both join with me in addressing the Assembly tomorrow. The major nations, at least, can spare some troops. Most of the smaller countries are occupied with their own defense, or wars, but I believe there should be enough soldiers who can be moved into position to ease the burden on your nations. We’d start with Mexico, of course.”
Cotes and Ramos looked at one another again. Both seemed unhappy, particularly Ramos. Ellis waited. “It would need to be more than troops,” Ramos said eventually.
“There are no funds—”
“Experts, at least,” Ramos interrupted.
“In what?”
“Logistics, farming, and industrial fields,” Ramos said. “We have sacrificed much in recent months to guard the border for you, and neglected many of the strides you all have made to adjust to America’s great vanishing act. There are skills that we require to catch up appropriately.”
“Canada would request the same,” Cote said while Ellis frowned.
“And what if the answers come back against it?”
“Then the border will become open,” Ramos said.
“Don’t do that.”
“Or what?” Cote demanded. “You will invade us, seal it by force? You cannot have it both ways. If you cannot afford to pay for the defense you demand, how can you afford to pay for a war across the Atlantic?”
“There are other options,” Ellis said after a moment.
Ramos’ eyes narrowed. “You would launch missiles?”
“We can afford to maintain the naval blockades, even extend them to cover your coastlines as well,” Ellis said coldly. “And the warheads have already *been* built. It would even save money if they were no longer required to be maintained.”
Cotes was on his feet. “You speak of nuclear war as if it’s a cheap option,” he said, sounding both angry and shocked.
“Isn’t it?”
“Launch missiles, and we will retaliate,” Ramos said while Ellis and Cote tried to burn the other down by glaring. They both broke off to look at him in surprise.
“With what?” Ellis said, sounding as surprised as Cote had.
“Mine were the first people to investigate the country after the countdown ceased. We informed the rest of you of the Rift. And while that was happening, we obtained things we thought would be helpful. Among them include some number of warheads the absent Americans were no longer using.”
“Theft on a global scale.”
“You threat us with genocide, and have the audacity to scorn our taking the means to head it off?” Ramos said, coming to his feet as well.
“You don’t have the ability to use those warheads,” Ellis said after a moment. “American activation security on them was—”
“Designed against accidents and terrorists. We may be not be as rich and powerful as the EU or China, but Mexico has sufficient resources to hack and rewire when left alone to accomplish the task. The warheads will trigger. Your options are exodus or assistance, but *do not* threaten us.”
“I can see I’m going to have to arrange some recovery expeditions of my own,” Cote said. “But I stand with President Ramos. Choose something other than bluster, Prime Minister.”
“It’s not up to me,” Ellis said, sounding furious. “Only the Assembly can muster the answers you require.”
“But the United Kingdom has taken a leading role within it. So lean that weight to our behalf, or face the consequence of your own failed bullying.”
Ellis glared at them. He was still glaring when Cote and Ramos looked at one another, nodded slightly, and left. The Prime Minister sat down as his door thudded shut, then vented his frustration by slamming a fist down on the desk.
“Bloody Americans!”
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy!
| 2017-06-25T09:39:07 | 2017-06-25T08:21:30 | 178 | 101 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside.
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Humanity is ruled by God's. Or, at least that's what they have us call them. Those who have taken more lives than a thousand Atom Bombs. Those who all but bathe in the blood of their victims. They found that, upon taking a life? Their own lifespan is increased. By however many years the one who's life they snuffed out had left. They do this as easily as a storm breeze may snuff a candle flame.
It was first found out my military leaders, when they sent men off to their deaths. They found it entirely by accident, really. Nobody knew that by sending wave upon wave of people to a battle that sees no end. A battle that is more of a lost cause than a child trying to arm wrestle a body builder... But, it was found nonetheless. And these monsters have lived for a few hundred years now, and will persevere forever more.
At least, that's what they thought.... It's been 5 years, since we found that.... Thing. Archeologists were digging. Somewhere in Egypt (naturally) and found it. A tomb unlike any other. A tomb so piled with corpses you would've thought it was a graveyard for 3 centuries. And in it? A man. Or at least, that's what this monster looks like. Upon having light enter the tomb, Fresh air push the scent of thousands of year of decay, the being rose, and with him came the death of the tyrants soon after. He calls himself death. The reason people were able to transfer the life to themselves is because long since has the time passed when he had been trapped in the cavern. Unfortunately for these "gods" the time has come for him to return to work and end the reign of the tyrants. No more, will there be needless slaughter for some to persevere through the ages.
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The rough slab was covered with a dense overgrowth of moss and ivy, and as Jonah cut away the vines with his hatchet and leaned into the sides of the massive stone he thought of the events that led him to this point, putting all of his determination into moving the great weight.
At one time everyone knew of the nature of the world, people were taught it as kids. Kill someone, and their time becomes your time. Of course, killing was eventually made illegal, but its not as if that was going to stop everyone. In a world where bloodshed begets immortality, temptation is a constant. All civilizations were once forged in that fire. Only with the outlawing of murder and the World Council’s formation three thousand years ago, based on so-called peaceful ideals, had humanity known a lesser level of bloodshed, even if it was limited. Nevertheless the World Council eventually began to suppress the knowledge of this phenomenon in humans, and as society formed around a concept of peace and non-violence and technology developed to pacify the masses, those who broke from this code were hunted down without mercy. Little did most of society know that the World Council had taken all of those lifetimes for themselves.
For Jonah, none of this had mattered to him before now. He cared not for murder or politics, nor for immortality. He had sought truth, knowledge. His field was history, and though it be bloody it had led him to learning of the ability to steal lifetimes from others by killing them. When he attempted to publish a paper on his findings all his work was seized and he was told to consider himself lucky. All Jonah had was his journal, where he’d written about an old document he discovered in the ruins of an abandoned laboratory in Rome.
They had named it the Lone God Theory, the idea that eventually all the killing would come down to two humans, and then one would kill the other and only one practically immortal human would then be left to wander the earth alone until either they or the planet finally died, whichever came first.
Eventually this knowledge led him to dig deeper, combing through abandoned buildings, hacking servers, always looking over his shoulder, and when he learned the Council had been killing anyone declared criminals and taking their lifespans, Jonah fled to far-off regions of the world, living on the run, seeking out a way to bring down the World Council without directly killing them. To Jonah the Council had been creating a complacent society for millennia so that they may keep power forever by killing anyone who broke the law, and to him reality had become nothing more than a joke. These people had absolute control, and Jonah felt all knowledge of the system of life stealing was too dangerous for anyone to have if those who maintained order were to use the system against itself in that way. Now all his hopes rested here, with someone the World Council had supposedly sealed away a millennia ago. A mere legend of a person who once defied the Council openly and persisted so long they could not kill him, so they entombed him instead so that he may wait to die. Yet none remained who knew the nature of his defiance, and Jonah was at the end of a long rope with his only hope of success resting behind this boulder.
Having nearly dislocated his shoulder without budging the massive stone, Jonah decided on a different approach. Jonah had always tried to preserve history, an archaeologist at his core, but sometimes discovering something needs a will to overcome obstacles, and as Jonah stuck a bundle of dynamite from his bag into a crack in the stone he hoped it wouldn’t collapse the structure. In another time he might’ve had a team here making sketches of the ancient writing and excavating the boulder professionally, but that was another life, before he discovered the truth.
Jonah lit a match and sparked the fuse, ducking for cover as the boulder exploded into fragments. Beyond it’s dust cloud was a dark cavern cut like an oblong hexagon, obviously man-made, and it descended downward at an angle deep into the mountain.
Jonah pulled out his flashlight and entered, hugging the wall. After walking far enough to reach a point where he could no longer see light from the entrance, he finally reached a T-shaped intersection, the left path going up at a lower angle than the entrance and the right descending further down.
“Hmm...left or right?” He said aloud. He would not have to wait long for a decision, however, as the moment he spoke a loud rumbling grew closer at the left passage, and as Jonah shined his light he could see another large boulder tumbling down the shaft. He immediately jumped back and tried to run up the entrance ramp but suddenly a massive door closed in front of him. With nowhere left to go he sprinted down the right side hall as fast as he could, barely outrunning the boulder and eventually falling into a straight drop. He screamed as he fell, desperately grasping at the air for something to grab on to.
Before long Jonah hit the ground, but rather than hitting stone he landed on a soft bed, breaking his fall safely.
“Um, who the hell are you?” said a voice.
Jonah looked up from the bed to see an ordinary-looking bedroom, albeit with ancient decor and with the exception that it had no door, and standing before him in this room was a young-appearing woman in a combat uniform, not a man at all, with ginger hair and sapphire eyes glaring at him.
“Uhh...I’m Jonah. Are you...are you the one who the World Council sealed away here?” He stood up from the bed and approached her before stopping short as she glared with wider eyes and put up her fists.
“Come no closer! Have you come for my lifespan? It will do you no good. You cannot escape this place!”
“I didn’t come to kill you. I’d hoped to talk to you.”
The woman laughed then, and the glare in her eyes faded for a moment before she regained her composure. “Come all this way for chit-chat with little old Erin? You must be a desperate one. You’ll be stuck here till you die anyway so if you’re not going to try to kill me why would you come here just to talk? It’s suicide.”
“Well I didn’t know I’d get stuck down here.”
“The Council designed this place, just for me. I was too good, too tactical. I evaded them, survived countless attempts on my life. I tried to expose them, but the world was smaller then. They led me here in disguise, saying there was a rebellion forming. It was a trap.”
“So...you killed people? For immortality?”
Erin laughed again. “You obviously barely understand anything.”
Jonah stared at her for a moment with a look of confusion.
“You think this is just about immortality? No, it’s about power. How do you think humans gained this ability in the first place?”
“Weren’t we just born with it?”
“No, not always. Eons ago there were other beings, not from our world. We took immortality from them. They predate all known civilizations.”
“How could you possibly know something like that?”
“Because the World Council knows it. I was once a member, until we made that discovery. I realized then that we were simply living like fatted calfs and that a greater force could one day wipe us out and take our immortality from us just like we had from someone else. I decided to end the world council and all knowledge of the system of stealing another’s lifespan. I killed 12,783 people that day as I carved a path out of the Sanctum and made my escape. Some of those people were Council members but most escaped my blade and were likely replaced. That is the only reason I have lived this long without aging. I probably took a few million years that day. Once I was out in the world I’d hoped to lead a rebellion, eventually anarchy. I felt as long as humanity thrived on bloodshed, if another species ever returned to our world they’d be in for a rude welcome.”
“So in a way you tried to do what I came here to find hope for, an end to the Council...only now we are both stuck here. I’d hoped to find some way to end the Council without killing them directly, maybe a way to cause them to die naturally like with a flood or a cave in, something natural. Then no one would know about the life stealing system. But I’m not a killer. All I wanted was a lasting peace.”
“Wouldn’t have worked. People learn about it as soon as they kill someone. Can’t keep people from killing, now can you?” Erin eyed Jonah then with sudden intent, and Jonah felt his hair stand on end.
“No, I suppose you can’t.” he replied, reaching for his revolver he had tucked into a holster beneath his jacket.
Just then Erin drew a dagger from behind her back and lunged at him, and just as she reached his throat he pulled his gun and fired a shot. Erin clutched her breast as she bled out on the floor, the bullet having pierced her heart. Jonah lay motionless on the bed, slumped over with the dagger protruding out the back of his neck.
Erin laughed to herself as her vision faded, and she said aloud, “If we both die, who gets all those lifetimes?”
| 2020-05-16T06:38:05 | 2020-05-16T06:17:20 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] An alien invasion happens during an alien invasion.
.
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The year was 1066. King Harold of England had his armies gathered on the south coast, awaiting the arrival of William of Normandy who was building his army for an invasion. The Summer was winding down and soon the Channel crossing would be too dangerous for William and his troops.
Just then word came to King Harold.
Another army, from the north had just landed, pillaging, looting, and plundering. Several coastal towns had already been utterly razed.
In desperation King Harold double times his entire army north to York and there they meet the legendary Viking Leader, Harald Hadraade, with the traitor Tostig in his ranks. Tostig is the English Kings brother, and he has come to usurp the throne.
At the Battle for Stamford Bridge the Viking forces were routed. The Viking King Harald was killed in the battle, and Tostig was cut down in front of his brother.
Just then word arrived. King William of Normandy had crossed the Channel and was raiding the South Coast, and refortifying the old Roman fort at Pevensey.
Still weary from the Battle at Stamford Bridge the English Army triple times it back south and forms a line at the top of a small rise near the village of Hastings.
Battle was joined as the cavalries of William tore up the hill, only to be turned back time and again by the Saxon shield wall and their terrible battle axes.
Sometime during the battle William was unhorsed. Panic spread through his ranks as word spread the King was dead.
Grabbing another horse, and tearing off his helmet, King William led his troops again, fighting helmetless so his troops could see who led them.
Finally the shield wall broke as Saxon defenders disobeyed orders and chased some fleeing Normans back down the hill.
Just then a stray arrow came over the heads of the front line troops, and struck King Harold in the eye, killing him instantly.
The battle was over.
William of Normandy had won.
History knows him as William the Conqueror.
Sometimes a true story about multiple alien invasions is more interesting than fiction.
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"High Lord Executor Jim, I'm pleased to report that by 05:00 Standard Solar Time we've taken control of about 98% of this planet's territory."
The High Lord Executor sighed and sipped casually on his space-coffee, which to Earth standards would be a really hot and really caffeinated beverage, as space often is.
He blinked and looked at the hologramap over the planet, noticing a little dot in the middle of one of the larger continents which wasn't painted in the ominous crimson colour that represented the glorious Te'rakaza Empire. As a side-note he also observed with some mirth that the piece of land south of it looked very much like a very misshaped boot. How silly of the earthlings.
"Unacceptable, Magister Astrum Militum. Why haven't you conquered the rest of the 2%? What do they call that place?" he barked back at his Magister with theatrical annoyance.
"Uh, well, our Frumentarii has identified that place as -"
"Hold on, hold on. You sent our *space-wheat collectors* to gather intel?" the High Lord Executor interrupted in absolute disbelief. Space-wheat was a fickle type of cereal to collect. It wasn't whole-grain, of course, as space was mostly just void. But finding any type of organic material flowing about in space was bound to have its imperfections.
"Oh didn't you get the memo, High Lord Executor? We decided to use the Frumentarii as spies and intel-gatherers while they're not collecting space-wheat. I swear I sent it..." the Magister fumbled about with is space-documents which were honestly just pieces of paper with writing on it.
"I did not get the memo and I'm fairly certain I don't bother to read those things either. But *never mind that*, tell me of this unconquered land."
"Ah, yes. Yes. They, ah, call it "The Land of the Swizz", High Lord Executor. It's mostly just mountainous terrain with some people and four-legged creatures roaming about."
"And what is the problem? Why haven't we destroyed them yet with our space-legions?"
"They...uh..."
"Well, spit it out then!"
"They say they're ... neutral, ah, High Lord Executor."
"Neutral!? Are they allowed to be neutral?"
"We, uh, I don't know, High Lord Executor! But they sounded *very* adamant about it."
"Did the other tribes on that planet try to say they were neutral?"
"Not at all. One of the largest tribes, the people of Yu-Ess-Ay, were very much not neutral and tried to attack us immediately after we started bombarding. If you recall, they were the people that tried to fly that tiny non-space ship into our massive space-ship's exhaust vent in an effort to make it place up."
"Oh yes! Well if they think they can destroy our ship that easily then they must really be primitive. Hah-hah! Wait, why is that console beeping?"
Both of the men looked at the console in question. It was a big console, very much the type any self-respecting space ship would have with buttons that shone and glowed all mysteriously. Problem was they didn't really know *what* it did, as intergalactic stratagem and tactics didn't really cover analyzing spaceship consoles. Luckily, some poor lackey ran up to it, checked it out and went over all blustered and knelt before the two very important figures of authority.
"My lords! The HyperWarpStarTravel Sensors have picked up a massive fleet coming our way!"
"Our way!" cried the High Lord Executor "What *on Earth* do they want?"
The Magister Astrum Militum, who visibly cringed at his superior's horrible pun, had a quick think and then changed to become visibly afraid, looking at the High Lord Executor. "You don't think it's *them* do you?"
The expression of the Magister was quickly adopted by the High Lord Executor.
"Oh no, you're not talking abo-"
But before he could even finish the sentence there was a loud noise of static from the ComSpeakers before an all too familiar voice chimed in to the conversation.
"Hahaha! Te'rakazan scum! Still haven't conquered the primitives in this solar system! What a bunch of space-wankers you are! Why don't you just hang back and we'll show you how to invade a whole planet, okay?"
The High Lord Executor roared and rose out of his throne, shaking his space-coffee cup to no one in particular as he yelled back a barbed reply to the non-visible party crasher.
"You shut your tendril-mouth, Makkalan bastard! You have no right coming here and invade when you are perfectly aware that we came here first!"
"Uh, first of all: Our mouths are made of *tentacles* and second of all: We have all the right to be here. Read the space-constitution, okay? I am actually an illegitimate child though, I figure that wasn't your literal meaning but that was actually right on the money."
"Ugh, I hate those people..." muttered the Magister under his breath.
"HEY! What do you mean THOSE people!?" came the immediate reply from the Makkalan over the ComSpeaker.
"He means all of you Makkalans! Your people! YOU! You're all tits, is what you are!" Replied the High Lord Executor.
"Okay, that's really insensitive and that really hurts our collective feelings which we've evolved to share through a psybionic telepath link. You've literally offended 100 000 Makkalans now with your space-racism."
"There's nothing called space-racism! It's just plain out racism! Racism is universal and has nothing to do with space!" objected the Magister with some oddly misplaced sense of indignancy.
"And *of course* we're racist, you moron!" retorted the High Lord Executor "That's our shtick! We're a highly warlike and technologically advanced Empire of xenophobic pricks that have a fetish for pompous titles! We LITERALLY have a Department of Genocidal Affairs in our government!"
There was a slight pause there and then as either quarreling party felt they really hadn't quite much to add to the conversation before the Makkalan finally responded.
"That just proves our point."
"UGH! I hate these filthy aliens so much!" declared the High Lord Executor.
"I just want to stomp on their little tentacle hair extensions!" replied the Magister.
"They're so stupid!" agreed the poor lackey, earning the razor-sharp glare from the two others.
"You don't get to join in our conversation, lackey. Go back to work."
The lackey realized he was on thin space-ice and fled the command room to observe on some other consoles. There was another long pause without anyone actually saying anything, leading the High Lord Executor to almost believe the Makkalan had been so rude to hang up on his hijacking call. But once again, the Makkalan broke the silence.
"Soooo, just wanted to say that while we've been talking I've fired our psybeam ray unto the planet and now every one of those primitives are under our telepathic control. So we win, okay?
"What!?" The High Lord Executor became so frustrated that he sat down on his throne so he could rise up again in anger. "You can't do that!"
"Already did, okay?"
"That's shit. That's just shit and you know it! We had our eyes out for these primitives, we were going to kill them all, we were here first."
"Well, you know, though luck, so you can- What, wait, what is going on... no... Ahhh...ARGGHH!!!!"
There was a loud noise of static that cut off the cries of Makkalan, the noise persisted for a short while before it finally died off and was replaced with absolute silence.
Third time with awkward silence and damned be if the Makkalan was going to be the one breaking it again so the High Lord Executor took heroic action and called out to the silent ComSpeakers.
"Uh... are you there, you Makkalan .. uh... scum?"
There was a second delay before the response came, sounding somewhat distorted and different than the last time.
"HI. YOU ARE NOT SPEAKING TO THE MAKKALAN ANY MORE. THEY HAVE JOINED OUR CONFEDERATION OF PEERS. YOU ARE NOW TALKING TO THE SWIZZ COLLECTIVE. WHATEVER CONFLICT THERE WAS BEFORE, WE ARE NEUTRAL OF IT AND WILL TRAVEL THE STARS TO FULFILL OUR DESTINY AS HARBINGERS OF NEUTRALITY. BYE."
And with that the ComSpeakers went silent and the console they still weren't quite sure about stopped beeping. The 2% dot on the HolograMap had conveniently just vanished as well.
The Te'rakaza weren't entirely unfamiliar with the oddity and strangeness of space and the universe, but there was a limit for even them.
"Well all things considered, I think that's a victory for us, Magister. Pack up our troops and let's call it a day. Don't forget to blow up the planet."
The High Lord Executor peered down at his cup.
"I think I need a refill."
| 2015-10-28T00:27:04 | 2015-10-28T00:13:23 | 30 | 11 |
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