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[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next.
|
I walk out of the prison gates for the first time in 50 years, I breath free air for the first time in 50 long years. The world waited and watched my every movement to see what I do next. All week every Television in the prison has been tuned into the news to follow the coverage of my release, news reporters from all around the world have flown in to cover what was being considered the story of the year. Anyone who I would have any reason to harm has been preparing to protect themselves in case I come after them. My parents took me out of their will in fear that I would kill them for my inheritance, the local news network in my hometown even found one of my middle school bullies who bought a gun to protect himself. No one knew what I was gonna do, but I did, I've known what I was gonna do since I turned myself in. I went home, sat down in front of my computer and downloaded all the pirated movies and music I could, and there was nothing Kanye could do about it.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Duke Paredes stepped out of the Fulton County Prehabilitation Penitentiary into a cool, breezy spring morning. The sun shone through from behind a cloud, and he allowed himself to bathe in the warmth of its rays as the door closed behind him. There was something different about being on the other side of the fence. He could still see the yard; the men were already milling about, waving and cheering for the man who'd done his time and was going on to bigger and better crimes. He took it all in. Standing there, on the other side, where the grass was in fact greener and the air somehow fresher despite the difference of only five whole yards, Duke was convinced that nothing could ruin that moment.
The moment was instantly ruined by the dozens of reporters gathered around the entrance. As if on cue, the entire space around him was filled with noise, a roaring ocean of voices asking if he had a word he'd like to get in edgewise. Flashbulbs went off in his face as cameras captured his likeness for the evening paper. As he stepped down to the sidewalk, one reporter even came close enough to grab Duke by the shoulder and force a microphone into his face.
"-Mr. Paredes does your crime happen to involve-"
Two guards were accompanying Duke, and one of them strong-armed the intrusive reporter back into the crowd. They stood on either side of him and walked him down to the curb, where a taxi and police escort were waiting for him. One guard handed him a small sack - his old belongings from the day he'd entered the prison. He placed them inside and entered the car. Then all the vehicles in the convoy made a big show of honking and blaring their sirens until the crowd dispersed and they were free to move.
The drive was uneventful. Duke's new home was a public housing complex on the outskirts of town. Many precriminals chose to live in places like it out of respect for those who didn't have the same affinity for illegal behavior. Outside the lonely one-story building was another crowd of journalists, but this group was smaller and it was easy to shoulder past them.
An officer walked inside with Duke and shut the door behind them.
"Here it is. Crummiest shack we could dig up, just for you." He wasn't exaggerating. The house was very nearly as old as Duke's prison sentence had been long. Everything in it had been lived in, spilled on, gouged, carved and broken at least twice before Duke's arrival. It was meant to be a halfway house (or "wholeway house" as some precriminals termed it), to be shared by perhaps half a dozen people, but the length of his sentence alone was enough to scare away even the hardest of its former residents.
"You been briefed on the protocols following your release?"
"Yes," Duke said. "There was an orientation."
"Good." The officer took a business card from his breast pocket. "This is the contact information for your post-parole officer. You're due to call him in twenty-four hours. Do. Not. Lose it."
"I won't."
The officer glared at Duke, then spat on the floor. "I hope whatever you're planning to do, you die doing it. You're despicable."
Duke stared sadly at the floor as the officer left.
***
The officer had been gone not five minutes when he heard a clattering noise across the hall. He was kneeling down, removing the spit from the hardwood floor with some Windex and paper towels he'd managed to scrounge up (not that the rest of the floor was much better), and for a moment he wondered whether there were mice or squirrels he needed to worry about as well. Then he heard another bump, followed by the creaking of a door.
"Is he gone?" A woman's voice.
Duke stood. "Who's there?"
The woman stepped into the doorway. She wore bell-bottom jeans and a black t-shirt, and a pair of red horn-rimmed glasses. Tipped sideways on her head was a black fedora with a newspaper clipping stuck under the ribbon, and she was holding a small spiral notepad and pen in her hands.
"Aw, finally." She leaned against the doorframe and flipped to a fresh page in her notepad. "You know, I almost thought I had the wrong address."
"You shouldn't be in here." Duke took a slight step backward. "You're trespassing. That's against the law."
"Ha! That's funny. I'll have to slip that into the interview somewhere." She started writing. "I did my time already. Six months for breaking and entering. Pretty smart, if I do say so myself."
She looked up for a moment. Duke was still holding the Windex and paper towels, not really sure what to do about his new situation.
"You haven't given any interviews yet, right?"
"I didn't intend to give any at all."
"Well, I'm here. Be a shame to waste all that jail time. We'll call it an exclusive." She smirked. "I'm sure no one else had the idea to break into your house for this."
Duke sighed. It would be pointless to try and drive her out without giving her what she wanted. She had already filled a whole page of her notepad and was halfway through another, being the exact type of intrepid newswoman he had been hoping to avoid. Now it was too late.
"Very well. Would you like something to-"
"Oh, there's nothing in the fridge. I checked."
"Right. Well, please sit." They both sat, Duke on an old threadbare loveseat and the girl in a sticky leather armchair. "What do you want to know?"
"Mr. Duke Paredes..." She cleared her throat. "Do you mind if I call you Duke?"
Duke nodded.
"My name's Lauren by the way. Duke, as I'm sure you know, the Prehabilitative Justice & Incarceration Law was passed exactly fifty years ago today in the state of Georgia. You were the first person to submit a claim for Voluntary Prehabilitation under this law." Her tone was straightforward and clinical. "Let's jump straight to the big question. What were you planning to do with your fifty-year sentence?"
Duke chose not to answer right away. Lauren waited, still scribbling in her notepad.
"You said you've already served time for breaking and entering?"
"What? Yeah." Lauren dropped her reporting voice as she glanced at Duke. "Why do you ask?"
"Why did you choose to do that?"
"I was looking for a story." She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "I found out about you sometime last year and figured, 'Hey, I've got some vacation time to spare. Why not plan the story of the century?' I mean, you should have seen the look on my editor's face when I told him-"
"So you figured it was worth it? To spend six months in prison to interview a seventy-one-year-old man?"
Lauren raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you getting at, Duke?" She smirked again. "Six months is nothing. You spent five decades! *You're* the one everybody wants to hear about."
Duke leaned forward in his chair. "What if I told you I have no intention of committing crime for the rest of my life on this earth?"
"...You're joking." Lauren flipped to another page and started writing faster.
"It's like you said. I spent five decades in prison. That changes a man."
"But what did you plan to do? Your time was set in stone from the beginning. It must have been something huge!"
"As far as I'm concerned, it's no longer relevant. I'm not the same man I was, and I won't ever be again." Duke folded his hands together on his lap. "I'm sorry if that's not the answer you expected."
"Are you kidding? I have more questions now than ever!" Lauren stood up and began to cross the room, still writing at a feverish pace.
"Where are you going?"
"To get my tape recorder! This could take *hours*."
"Right." Duke put his head in his hands. "Take your time."
***
***
[Visit my sub! There MAY be more stories about extensive incarceration?!?](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub)
| 2016-02-23T19:02:05 | 2016-02-23T18:02:49 | 125 | 22 |
[WP] You get achievements in life, such as "Get Married" or "Meet your future Wife". Today you had your first baby, and you see an achievement pop up: "Meet the person who will eventually kill you"
|
For sixty years I lived in fear of my daughter. For sixty years I’ve lived with the anxiety of knowing at any moment she will end me. For sixty years I’ve been walking on eggshells and making excuses to make myself distant. Was the achievement incorrect? Was everything I did all for naught or was it merely enough to keep me going as long as I did?
The cancer will end me shortly. Soon will be the endless sleep. Free from this pain and agony. In fact I don’t think I can keep my eyes open anymore...
“He’s unconscious. It won’t be long” said the doctor. Emma looked up from her writhing father’s face and nodded. With tears rolling down her cheek she leaned over to kiss her father one last time.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
And with that she pushed the button to deliver a lethal dose of morphine to her father. One last act of mercy.
|
Through the wave of agony that courses through my body, I am barely even aware of the cry of pain escaping my lips. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temple.
"That's it, push!"
"I'm- *fucking*- trying!" I grit my teeth against the scream that threatens to rise in my throat, the pain still climbing as I bear down with all my strength.
"You're doing so well, Jo, just keep going."
I really want to punch that midwife and her gentle, soothing voice. Or better yet, take a swing at Chris. Through the film of tears in my eyes, I can only just make out the pale face of my loving, doting husband crouched next to me - and yet, right now, there is nothing in the world that irritates me more than his clammy hand resting on mine. I whip my hand away.
The pain retreats into a dull throb as the contraction ends, and I gasp for breath, my hands trembling. But before I have the chance to recover, a fresh wave of searing agony rolls through me. I clench my jaw shut, a moan escaping through my tight lips. I can taste the iron tang of blood - I must have bitten my tongue without noticing. I push again.
"I can see the head! Keep pushing!"
"I'm trying!"
Breath catches in my throat as I work muscles I didn't even know I had. And then suddenly, there's a burst of burning, tearing pain between my legs, and I feel something warm and soft emerge. Green words flicker in the corner of my vision.
*Achievement Unlocked: Give birth.*
"I've got her!"
I am panting for breath. My head falls back onto the pillow, my face glazed with sweat. "Is she okay?"
"She's a gorgeous little girl." The midwife stands, a shrivelled, pink creature bawling in her arms, its face twisted as if in rage. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. "Meet your daughter."
*My daughter. I have a daughter.*
I stretch out my arms to take her, cradling her warm body against mine. Chris reaches over to softly brush my damp hair from my eyes, and I let out a muffled sob of relief. I look down at her tiny face, screwed up against the harsh light of the new world into which she's just been thrown. A burst of overwhelming love is warm in my chest, overpowering the pain of my battered body.
*Achievement Unlocked: Meet your first child.*
*Achievement Unlocked: It's a girl!*
My lips twitch into a smile as I read the words. But even before I can take in the importance of this moment, the bright lettering falls away to be replaced by a new statement.
*Achievement Unlocked: Meet the person who will kill you.*
I blink several times, my stomach lurching with shock, and the writing dissolves from my vision. My arms tighten around my new daughter, my forehead creasing as I continue to stare down at her. She is so perfect, so innocent and new. Surely she can't...? And then, before I have the chance to even ponder the achievement, she is plucked from my arms by the beaming midwife, and Chris is pulling me into a hug, his lips brushing against my forehead, and I can barely think over the whir of the hospital equipment and the adrenaline that is still coursing through my system.
"We did it," he murmurs into my hair. "You did it."
"Yeah..." My voice is shaky. "Yeah, we did."
I must have misread the achievement. Or there was a mistake. It's ridiculous to imagine that I could even have been thinking straight after giving birth; that achievement could have said any number of things. I force out a soft laugh, the sound wobbly and muffled against Chris' jacket collar, and then let myself flop back onto the bed, trying to settle the unease that twists in the depths my stomach. Fatigue is beginning to set into my body, and as the buzz of nerves fades, I can no longer ignore the aching and throbbing in my lower abdomen. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to think about the trickle of blood still seeping from between my legs.
The following minutes pass in a blur. My daughter is returned to my arms, clean and wrapped in a blanket. I deliver the placenta. I am washed, given stitches and more painkillers, and settled back into my bed so I can begin to get to know my new baby. My brain feels foggy, my head swimming a little. It must be a combination of the painkillers and the stress. I try to put the achievement out of my mind, my finger tracing the rosy cheek of my baby. There will be all the time in the world to worry about it, but this moment is for my daughter.
Chris is stroking my arm while he gazes into our baby's eyes. His expression is rapt, peaceful. My vision blurs a little as I let out a long breath.
"You okay, Jo?" He smiles at me.
"Hmm?" I can feel myself becoming drowsy, my head light. The world seems to spin a little, so I blink a couple of times. "Yeah. Just... just tired."
He squeezes my shoulders, kissing me gently on the top of the head. But as he glances down at the end of the bed, his eyes widen. "You're bleeding!"
"Hmm..." I look down. Red is seeping into the sheets around me. I watch as the colour blossoms out, crisp white turning pink turning a deep, glistening crimson. It makes me feel a bit weird, so I let my eyes flutter closed again. My head is pounding now, and thoughts seem to slip from my mind before I can completely grasp them. "Is' okay. Don't- don' worry."
I hear Chris' voice. "Nurse! Doctor? Someone!"
I try to open my eyes to see what's going on, but now my head is really spinning, and nausea starts to coil in my stomach. I groan softly, tightening my hold on my baby.
Footsteps in the corridor outside.
And then Chris is kneeling at my side again, his grip tightening on my arm. "It's going to be okay. Stay with me."
His tone sends a frisson of alarm through my hazy brain. Is our baby okay? What's got him into this state? My legs are slick with warm liquid, and I feel embarrassment rise hot in my throat. Have I wet the bed? Is that why he's called for a nurse? But before I can figure it out, the thoughts have slid from my head again. I grapple to remember what's going on, but it's like trying to catch a slippery bar of soap in the shower. My eyes flutter.
"Let me see her." It's a new voice, male, muted with concern.
I feel Chris rise from my bedside to talk to the newcomer. I struggle to pay attention, but I only catch fragments of the conversation.
"Complication-"
"-piece of placenta... still inside-"
"Bleeding."
"-have to get it out."
The sheets are pulled roughly aside. I feel hands on my skin, the touch cold of metal. I attempt to shrug it off, but the hand tightens on my leg. The low throb of voices, but I can no longer make out the words.
I force myself to blink. Try not to slip into unconsciousness.
Someone is pulling my baby from my loose grasp. I try to reach for her, but my hand feels like lead. It flops back onto the blanket, dead weight beside me. I see a flash of pink flesh and white blanket; she's whipped away.
Can't keep my eyelids from closing.
There's a needle in my arm now. Cold rush of liquid in my veins.
I think I can hear Chris' voice.
And then it fades.
All that is left is green writing, dancing in front of my eyes.
*Achievement Unlocked: Life completed.*
*****
If you'd like to check out any of my other stories, they can be found at [/r/happinessinthedark](https://www.reddit.com/r/happinessinthedark/) :)
| 2018-01-12T18:57:10 | 2018-01-12T17:22:45 | 1,530 | 832 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil to become rich. He then tells you that fortune will be yours, but there is a curse. For every $1000 you spend, a random person on the Earth will die. Congratulations! You just won $250,000,000.
|
"You want to invest 250 million dollars all at once?"
"Yes."
"What sort of account are you interested in?"
"Doesn't matter, whatever will result in the most dividends."
"Sir, when dealing with amounts this large one typically looks at the percentage growth over time. Dividends are basically inconsequential on such a scale"
"Dividends all the way baby. I couldn't sleep at night if i ever touched the principle."
"If i may, how did you come across such a large amount? This amount of liquid assets is unheard of."
"Let's just say that it isn't IRS friendly."
|
Obviously the implications were clear. If I spent all of it 250,000 people would die. The presentation made it abundantly clear exactly what this meant. Stadiums full of people all of a sudden disappearing; dust floating through the sky. The crushed dreams and hopes of all their loved ones. Children, mothers, fathers, community leaders, all dead because I spent another grand. I can’t say he didn’t warn me, this charismatic man in front of me, making wild and life changing statements. But it’s hard to think rationally when you’re sitting in your living room on a pile of money instead of the couch. $250 million in all. And with understanding that each thousand spent, the life of someone would vanish.
It’s amazing the mental gymnastics you go through when trying to justify something obviously abhorrent. 0.003%, the percentage running through my mind. The chance that after everything is spent that I would somehow kill myself, or a loved one, or anyone I knew really. A 1 in 30,000 chance. Furthermore, only 25% of the world’s population was under 15, so the chances of killing a child were only 1 in 4. These were all odds that I decided were worth the risk. You can judge me however you wish, and I can assure you that I’m no saint, but it’s not like I never thought of the consequences.
The first thousand was the hardest to spend. Took me months, spent exactly $999 from the pile of money in my house. Held that last dollar in my wallet like it was the holy grail. I knew that this dollar bill was the hurdle, the admission that I can be a murderer, however removed. And after enough sleepless nights placed the bill in the cup of a homeless man who sat outside the bus station every morning. Somehow removing myself one more layer from the consequences. Maybe he’d never spend it? That’s a preposterous notion. The next thousand was easier, but with each $999 spent, the last dollar was donated.
Obviously this made it hard for very large purchases. But when you’re buying a mansion with cash, people tend to be more lenient with your payment structure. So each payment was made in $999 dollar increments. In all it took nearly a decade to spend it all. Spending it became so difficult, the mechanism needed to keep my conscience slightly clear ruined the opulence to some extent. But did I regret it, that last dollar donated, the evil deed completed? No, of course not. My life was exponentially better. The lives of my family and loved ones was better, and like I assumed, not a single meaningful person in my life was killed because of it.
_____________________________
**Ten people tangentially meaningful to the narrator, that died directly due to his malicious spending:**
* Adrian Wilson – November 19th 2018 - Age: 23 – Location: Metlife Stadium (New Jersey)
> Adrian Wilson was a rabid New York Giants fan. His father dying of prostate cancer finally felt well enough to leave hospice care for the day. As one last bonding experience they decided to attend the game. They sat at the fifty-yard line, but the outcome of the game really didn’t matter at that point. At 2:45 PM with 12:36 left in the third quarter, Adrian Disappeared from his seat.
* Madison Williams – February 12th 2019 – Age: 7 – Location: Atlanta, GA
> Madison was lying in bed watching movies with her mother. They loved watching old Disney cartoons after daycare. She had complained that she was thirsty and wanted more juice. Her mother got up and by the time she returned Madison was gone. Their only child, Madison’s disappearance crushed her parents. They never recovered.
* Katherine Williams – April 15th 2019 – Age: 39 – Location: Atlanta, GA
> Katherine and her husband were experiencing a rare night where the world didn’t seem so bad. The months prior filled with intense mourning over the loss of their child. They laughed over shared memories and a glass of wine. They both felt guilty that maybe they were getting over the death too quickly. Katherine’s husband went to the kitchen to do the dishes. By the time he returned Katherine was gone as well.
* Melissa Weaver – September 22nd 2020 – Age: 73 – Location: Chicago, IL
> Melissa was Alderman of the 4th Ward in Chicago. An impoverished area, she had made it her life’s mission to improve her neighborhood. The area she had lived every day of her life. While in the midst of a meeting with prospective developers for the new library Melissa disappeared from her desk. Much to the shock and awe of her peers sitting beside her.
* Larry Solomon – March 30th 2020 – Age 31 – Location: Philadelphia, PA
> Larry was the happiest he had ever been. Was standing over the crib of his newborn daughter who was sleeping peacefully for the first time since they brought her home the week prior. His wife still recovering in the next room over. A few minutes later his wife heard the baby begin to cry, and got up to see what had happened to Larry. She never saw him again
* John Stokes – June 16th 2021 – Age: 28 – Location: Grand Canyon, AZ
> John, noted daredevil and Evil Knievel impersonator was halfway across a tightrope walk across a rather precarious ledge in the Grand Canyon. While he had neither the fame nor success of Knievel, his stunts were just as dangerous. A crowd of sixteen watched his antics, and his sudden disappearance, standing on a rope a thousand feet high.
* Cornell Sanders – January 3rd 2022 – Age: 17 – Location: Las Angeles, CA
> Cornell was facing intense criticism from his peers at his High School. Nicknamed “Colonel” after the KFC mascot whose name peculiarly matched his own. A fact he blamed on his parents each and every day. To make up for this he tried to do the most masculine thing he could think of, make the football team. Who would make fun of him then? He made the team as the third string quarterback. At his first game as he was sitting on the bench he disappeared. Never seen again.
* Joanne Summers – August 3rd 2022 – Age: 56 – Location: Redding, CA
> Joanne was finally making a name for herself. With the support and investment of friends and family had opened up her first shop. A store specializing in promoting local goods and products. Decided that she was going to revitalize the local culture. The grand opening was just a few days away. She put the keys into the store, half full with lots of work to do. Before she could turn the key she was gone.
* Randall Montgomery – May 13th 2023 – Age: 35 – Location: Osceola, IA
> Randall owned 40 acres of government subsidized farmland. Last year’s crop was underwhelming so his son
decided to drop out of High School to get a job in Des Moines to make ends meet. Randall hated that he let his son drop out, but he had no other choice. His only hope the optimism that this year’s crop would be better. It was. As he was preparing to harvest on the morning of the 13th he disappeared.
* Angela Baker – October 31st 2024 – Age: 13 – Location: Seattle, WA
> Angela was dressed up as a zombie. Had spent the last three weeks perfecting every drop of blood, every tear, every scar. She prepared to walk the streets scaring everyone, but most importantly getting more candy than her brother. A lowly vampire. “How cliché”, she thought. Or would have if she knew what cliché meant. On the sixth house of the night she held out her bag to be filled with candy. As the woman was dropping it in, Angela disappeared. Her bad remained intact.
| 2017-01-10T07:24:25 | 2017-01-10T07:15:59 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] Take a popular children's television show or book and give us a gritty reboot.
|
Elmo smashed through the door with his shoulder holding nothing but a Carbon 15 and a grudge against the Count.
Bert and Ernie dropped their cards and turned their heads to the loud noise. They raised their stubby hands in the air and looked at each other before looking Elmo in his dead, Muppety eyes.
"Hey Bert, I don't like this Bert," said Ernie.
"Shut up Ernie. Elmo, I know you're here for Big Bird and the Grouch, let's talk about this," said Bert.
"What word starts with the letter D?" asked Elmo.
"Don't shoot?" said Ernie.
"That's two words Er-" Bert said.
"Die!" yelled Elmo. He clenched down on the trigger. Bullets peppered the air. Bert and Ernie flailed like rag dolls until their bodies fell beneath the table, out of sight.
The Count dropped from the chandelier and landed with a thump. He rose with a pistol in his hand and a finger tight on the trigger.
"Let's count the ways you've ruined my day, Elmo," said the Count.
"One! You break down one of my doors. Ah-ah-ah!" yelled the Count. He fired a shot.
Elmo ducked behind a bar counter, his back against a shelf as he reloaded his semi.
"Two! You kill two of my associates! Ah-ah-ah!" yelled the Count as he fired two more shots. "Do you want to know what three is?"
Elmo stood up from behind the bar and rested his elbows an gun on the counter. The boom of three gunshots caused glasses to rattle. The count grasped at his chest, looked down, and then looked back at Elmo with his mouth hung open.
"That's three bullets for putting the Big Bird behind bars and the Grouch in a dumpster somewhere," said Elmo.
The Count fell out of view, dead.
"Welcome to the Sesame Streets," said Elmo.
|
My mother used to tell me that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.
She’s a brain surgeon. You’d think she’d be smarter than that.
“…Oh, *god.* Where did you learn how to…?”
The truth is, the way to a man’s heart was a couple inches south.
It also just so happened to be the way to his safe house, bank accounts, and all of his secret documents.
Being a surgeon, she’d also probably tell me that the best tranquilizer was something like propofol.
But really, the best tranquilizer is—
“Oh, shit, oh, *shit*, I’m co—*Jesus*—I’m com—“
Out like a light.
I slipped out of bed and into a nightgown.
The guard in the next room nervously stopped me, “Is there anything I can get for you, ma’am?”
I sidled up close and smiled, “No, I think I’ll be just fine on my own.”
“I really can’t allow you to—“
One punch to windpipe and he couldn’t scream for help. Two good strikes to the base of his skull and he was paralyzed from the neck down.
You always see spies knocking out people in the movies with a bonk to the head. The truth is, when you do that, they wake up in around two minutes. Neutralization required a *permanent* solution.
I searched his body for keys and made my way down to the safe room.
That’s when my commlink buzzed. Always at the worst times.
I pinched my earlobe and got on-line.
“What’s the sitch?”
***
Wade was the team tech.
He’d been arrested for hacking in 2009, but in 2011 he was hired by the CIA to plant child porn on the computers of political dissidents. By 2012, my agency started handing him freelance jobs, and by 2013, the bulk of his work was for us.
*“You’re good, Kim, but the guy’s got top-of-the-line security over here. I’m not even sure* I *can crack it. You manage to get a password from him?”*
“We weren’t exactly in conversational circumstances.”
The line was quiet, and then: *“I see.”*
I saw the console up ahead.
*“You there, yet? Plug me in.”*
“Just a sec.”
I jacked a sat-drive into the USB port and got to work casing the room. Maybe this mark was stupid enough to leave password clues lying around.
*“No real luck, here, Kim.”*
“Keep trying.”
Nothing in or under the desk. No sticky notes on the wall. Nothing in the obvious places.
I moved to the bookcase. About three hundred books, each with around 400 pages. About a hundred and twenty thousand possible surfaces for a clue to be on.
Wait. *Nietzsche.* During dinner the guy couldn’t stop talking about Nietzche.
I flicked down a copy of *The Will To Power* and flipped through the first pages.
“Wade.”
*“Yeah?”*
“Look through my lenses.”
I looked closely at eighteen-digit alphanumeric string, and he said, *“Shit. Well, there is it is.”*
A few minutes, and, “Anything, yet?”
*“Fuck. You’re not going to like this.”*
“What happened?”
*“I tripped something while trying to get into the system, earlier. It went in and deleted all the files.”*
Fuck.
*“But it did leave a calling card. A single string.”*
“What does it say?”
*“Drakken.”*
***
Going back home after a night with a mark and an international flight was a wish come true.
For one thing, I could take a shower. A *real* shower. I never really felt clean unless I washed it all off at home, surrounded by the things I collected back when I was still… back when I was still a kid.
“Morning, Kimmy!” It was 4 AM when I dried off, and my dad was cooking breakfast. My mom was soaking up coffee at the dinner table and reading news on her iPad.
“Morning, dad.”
“Late flight in, last night?”
“Yeah.” I sat down next to mom. “Super, super late.”
“I never really understood your commutes. What do you do again?”
Mom shot dad a look. I answered the same as I always did. “I’m a consultant. I do short contracts, usually by the week. Means most of my time is on a plane, really.”
My dad is Dr. James Possible. He’s a rocket scientist. And my mom is Dr. Ann Possible—a neurosurgeon. They’re smart, and of *course* they didn’t believe me. They *knew* I wasn’t a consultant, but we all kept up this convenient lie, because they were smart enough to realize that some secrets should stay secret.
But dad always did ask. I figure he thought that one day, when I trusted him enough, I’d tell him.
I wish I could reach out and just say that it wasn’t a matter of trust.
It was a matter of *security.*
But instead I said, “Yeah, I was working with Comcast in the Philadelphia area. Seems like they’re having trouble maintaining their user base, with, ah, with Google Fiber coming in.”
Dad frowned and continued scrambling his eggs. “I see.”
Mom folded away her iPad. “You know, your old high school friend’s been looking to talk to you.”
I guzzled some orange juice. “Oh? Who?”
She thought back. “I think maybe it was Ron, was it?”
Dad served a steaming plate of bacon, eggs, and syrup-soaked waffles. “He said his name was Ron Stoppable.”
Mom laughed. “Is that his real last name?”
“Well, our last name *is* ‘Possible’.”
She gave him a kiss. “I know, but I thought this town only had enough room for *one* silly family.”
I stole some eggs from my mom’s plate. “What did he want?”
“Oh, you know. Just to see you. This is your hometown, Kimmy! People are going to miss you.”
Ron Stoppable joined the military straight out of high-school, came home after a tour, and had been in a string of arrests as soon as he touched down on American soil.
I hadn’t spoken to him in eight years.
He didn’t *miss* me. This was something else entirely.
***
We met up at Pop Pop’s, the local ice cream place.
Ron had… changed. He used to be a bumbling goofball with all the posture of a giraffe with scoliosis, but now he sat ramrod straight, and he had this look in his eye that reminded me of a gun-barrel.
But he put on a show of being happy to see me.
“Kim!” he said, with his arms wide. “It’s been so long!”
I didn’t have the patience for this. “Cut the shit. What exactly is it that you want from me?”
He didn’t miss a beat: “Drakken.”
I felt a tingle run up my back and my hand went for my gun.
“Chill out,” he said. “I’m on your side, here.”
This man… he knew who I was. Who I *really* was. “Who do you work for?”
He smiled and ordered an ice cream. Rocky Road. “I’m just a consultant,” he said.
“Yeah, so am I.”
“Then we understand each other.”
I squeezed my earlobe and opened a line to Wade. I needed him to see this, run a background check on this blonde bastard.
*”Whatcha want, Kim?”*
“I’ve been tracking Drakken for a month,” I said. “What do you know?”
“Well, I know where he *is*, for one.” Ron squinted at my ear. “Hi, Wade!”
*”How did he know…? Running background check now.”*
“You know where he is?”
“Yep. Plain as day.”
“Give me the location,” I said.
He slurped on a soda. “No.”
“Why not? I thought you were on my side?”
“I am. But just because we’re friendly doesn’t mean I give away information for free. No: I’m going to *take* you there, and we’ll go in together. He has something I need.”
*”His face doesn’t show up anywhere, Kim. Just in arrest records. According to the net, he’s just some vet, bumming around town. Doesn’t even have a house.”*
Ron’s clothes weren’t exactly Armani, but they were clean and ironed. The guy wasn’t a bum.
He polished off his Rocky Road and looked me in the eye. “So. What do you say? You going to get into those khakis and help me out with this?”
“Yeah,” I said, still trying to puzzle all this out. “Let’s work together.”
"You feel that?"
"What?" My senses sharpened and I searched the room for threats. "Feel what?"
Ron leaned in and smiled.
"It feels like the start of a long and beautiful partnership."
***
^**/r/NaimKabir**
| 2015-05-15T10:39:55 | 2015-05-15T10:21:18 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
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I did not know why my parents named me, "smudge," but when I was only 14, I discovered I was not adopted.
Both of my parents are white. But I am black. Tattoo ink black. At least, that is what it looks like from a distance. Freshman year in High School, I was bored and took a look at my hand under a disection microscope in Advanced Placement-Biology. That was the day my whole perspective changed.
You see, while all my friends had one, two, or even three or four names tattooed at birth, apparently I had millions of names microdotted all over my body, with only slight slivers of Caucasian between.
I was shocked as I read a group of names all starting with "I" on my left hand, and starting with "J" on my right... Alphabetical, as far as I can tell...
I begged my parents for an exam, and they eventually caved.
4.5 million different names.
4.5 million!
What the hell is that suppose to mean?
|
Written in scar tissue across a man’s back, there would always be a name. Another man’s name, the kind our culture crafted from blood and dirt to evoke that very image. The prevailing theory was that the name etched in raised flesh would be the name of that man’s killer. Or it wasn’t a theory, exactly, because it always proved to be true. Men would meet on the battlefield and exchange names. Duels were inscribed in fate before they were ever won. They meant everything to us, our names.
Written in thin ribbons of blood across a man’s back, there would always be a name. A woman’s name, the kind our culture crafted from wind and snow to evoke that very image. The prevailing theory was that the name written in raised lines would be the name of that man’s lover. Or it wasn’t a theory, exactly, because it always proved to be true. Men and women would meet on windblown hills and exchange names. Marriages were inscribed in our bodies and souls before two hands ever touched. Allegiances were broken and reforged on blood-soaked ground, by the grace of the names written by the fates. They meant everything to us, our names.
The elders did not tell us the stories of men with the names of two men scrawled across their spines, or the women who had any names at all. Our lives were built around precarious lies, and they were careful to keep all of that from crumbling down. Child, this is a man’s world, they would say as a round-cheeked girl toddled towards their tales. They would turn her around, twist her where she stood, and send her off to be told tales of other things. Of the women’s world, whatever that was. We understood that she was excluded from this. That she could not possibly have two names stamped on her heart, as we did. A man and a woman. Destined to be.
They were private things, the scars we had always had. Or they were supposed to be. I woke one night to the sound of silence, nothing but the moon overhead, luminous in its cold judgment. Then ragged breaths, a woman panting for another wind that would never come. I heard the breath pass from her lips to her son’s, the cries of any newborn child, and then screams. My own breath stilled. I could hear voices, low and dark, full of twisted things. The child had the names of two men, inked in scarlet across his chest. There was nothing to be done for him. I listened to him scream for one heartbeat, and then two, and then silence again.
The woman was dead the next morning. There was no sign of the child. We buried her body beneath the snow and the dirt, and pretended that we did not see the red bleed through the ice. I knew then that there was no chance that a child with two bloodied names would ever come to be. That this path would carry on unbroken. That the stories our elders told came true only because they forced them to come true, and because anyone who stood in their path would be cut down in an instant. I wondered if it was an elder’s name, coiled in crimson around that infant’s heart.
Then I met him.
I was too young to understand it then, and I am too old to understand it now, but I felt it strongly then. When I met him, it felt as if the entire world grew still. No, it was not the earth tipped on its axis. It was not the unraveling of a centuries-old yarn my elders had continued to spin. It was not even the silence after a cold, biting rain, or the chill that runs down a man’s spine after he removes his knife from another man’s throat. It was a small silence. A moment’s breath. Then the space between us grew smaller, and the moment was shattered. He drew nearer, and I could feel my breath on my lips, my heart beating in my chest.
You are Endymion, I said, and it felt as if the words stood still and shivered in the air, tiny shards of frost, or glass. Pointed things, the kind that could prick my fingers if I was not careful enough. You are Endymion, I thought, and I am going to die. I had two names across my back, just as any other boy who had survived to my age did, and I had traced his name with my fingertips far too many times, wondering when I would meet him. Wondering when the thread of my fate would meet and tangle with his, and when only one silken thread would remain. Whether it would be before or after I met Merope. I had the answers, now, and they were not the kind that I had favored, when I still thought that there was romance in the script that curled down my spine.
Your name is Selenus, he said, and my eyes darted up to his own. You are not going to die, he said, and I marveled at the softness in his voice, the honey that colored the tones of the man who was going to kill me. How convincing he was, standing there before me, in the center of a battlefield. He knew, just as I did, that only one of us would survive this day. This was his people’s tradition, just as it was mine, and all around us there were men pairing off, all around the bloodied earth. Our histories would determine our future.
There was no longer any space between us. We do not kill our infant children who have two men’s names on their skin, he said, and my eyes widened with shock. In one fluid movement, he bared his back to me, and revealed his soul. If I had wanted to kill him, if I had wanted to defy the fates, in that moment, I could. But I did not. Because I froze, and I saw my own name written there, beside another. I do not know if I made the right choice, he said, his voice suddenly soft in a way I had not heard before. You could be the man to kill me. But I will take that risk, because for our people, there are no presumptions. We have no way to determine whether the names on our backs are the names by which we will live or die.
But I would live by your side, he said, and if it is to be that we kill one another, I will let it be. My heart thudded dully in my chest. I had the names of a man and a woman on my skin, and tradition said what it should be, but when I closed my eyes I heard the screams of that murdered child, and I knew that our traditions knew nothing of what should and should not be. I opened my eyes again. He was still there, before me, his hand outstretched. I steadied myself, and stretched out my own fingers. Let the fates laugh, I said, and I swear by every god I know that his smile was the sweetest thing I had ever been graced with being able to see.
The elders were wrong, you see, and they could not keep fate at bay forever. My names should have been normal. Endymion should have killed me there, just as hundreds of his clansmen killed hundreds of my own. Merope should have grown up lost, without a lover. But she’s here. And she’s coming for me, just as it has always been written, just as I always knew that she would. Because it’s true — our names do determine who will kill us, and who will love us until the day we die. But they’re wrong, when they say that a man kills a man, and a man loves a woman. There’s no way to know.
I know, because my names should have been normal. But Merope, she is somewhere out there, with her blades tipped with poison, and I welcome her, even as she seeks to strengthen the traditions which I hope to destroy. She believes in the old gods, the gods I once thought were real, the fates that decree only a man and a woman should be together forever. She will kill me, and she will fulfil the very prophecies she seeks to deny.
I welcome her. With outstretched arms. Then, I can be with my darling Endymion again.
| 2018-03-11T08:30:03 | 2018-03-11T08:09:30 | 636 | 84 |
[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."
|
The whole neighbourhood was out in the streets staring skyward; dressed in robes and wrapped in blankets. The bright white light made them appear as stone sentinels against the snow.
“Mummy, the moon is so big!”
My phone buzzed urgently in my hand. I set it on the nightstand facedown
“Grab your jacket lily,” I wrapped my housecoat tight against me and zipped Lily into her parka.
The light was brilliant; almost fluorescent. It radiated off the snow like an aura.
Lilly stood breathless on the driveway, her face wide with wonder. I wished i could always see her like this; so wonderful.
“It’s a beautiful night,” my neighbour commented with her children cradled to her breast.
I nodded and looked skyward at the fantastic beacon against the night. It was moving, falling from the sky.
“ Mom, why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes and held Lily’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s just so beautiful baby. I love you”.
All was calm as the bomb cracked on the horizon and spilled over; swallowing everything.
|
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.
| 2022-11-14T21:59:08 | 2018-04-06T19:57:39 | 45 | 30 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult?
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I was a poor child, rich in spirit yet poor in possessions. My tattered clothes barely enough to keep me warm in the winters. Because of this winters were always the most difficult. The bitter wind ransacking the drafty areas of our home, the only comfort being the hot soups we'd share as a family for dinner.
It was a particularly cold winter that year, so cold I couldn't go outside and play, but that's when I found it. A star. A fallen star. It had crashed through my window with laser like precision leaving only a small 2" hold melted through while landing safely on my pillow. It glowed brilliantly. I didn't quite understand what I was looking at but I had known that people make wishes on fallen stars. Something came over me and I blurted out, "I wish I had all the toys I wanted!"
With that the star seemed to melt away. I thought nothing of it until later that night when I lay my head upon my pillow. It was jagged and lumpy. A curiosity. I stuck my hand in the pillow case to find the source of the discomfort and pulled out a toy I had long wanted. I reached in again, and found another. I never told my parents, and I would always put the toys back in the pillow case when I was done.
Over the years I spent less time outside, and more indoors playing with my infinite toys. My life had sped through the years, responsibility came. School, work. For many years I forgot of the special pillow case and kept it stored away in a safe place.
Until one day, in my late 60s, as I hobbled down a city street pondering retirement, the brisk wind reminding me of the coming winter, I saw a child in tattered clothes. The child was dirty and looked cold so early in the season, I saw a similar distress in their eyes, the feelings of not having much and struggling to get by.
It was then I realized what my retirement would consist of. I pulled my magic pillowcase out of storage one more time. I donned my heaviest snow suit of red and white fur, and dedicated myself to using my magic pillow case to give toys and joy to all of the world's children, so they too may experience the magic I did as a child. I came to be known as Jolly Saint Nick.
|
As a young man, Nigel Premeiter lived a simple, if unconventional, life with his two parents, Houghler and Tricia. He would stay out doors, normally at the edge of the lot his parents owned. His home was a simple trailer, with one room on one end and his own on the other end. Taking most of the length of the trailer was a large kitchen with long double windows custom installed by his father all along the 'backside' of the unit. During the day, light poured in like waves upon a beach. The muted colors of the couch and chair-and-a-half were brought to brilliant life in the splendor of the morning sunrise, and often Nigel would expect to hear a yelp from the couch whenever he plopped down to color in one of his books.
At night, through these large windows, both Mr. and Mrs. Premeiter would watch their son play in the backyard under the clear night sky. Living in the middle of no where had its perks, one being the total lack of light pollution. Nigel spent almost every warm night out in the fields that extended to the horizon behind his little home, playing with his two childhood friends, Wade and Alexander.
Playing with both Wade and Alexander one night, far beyond the sight of his parents, the boys all laid themselves down on the long field grass, heads together and their legs splayed out in the spokes of a triangle. They stared in silence at the stars, keeping to their own private thoughts when, much to their surprise, a green light flashed across the sky, rising from the South and striking a path North before disappearing. Jokingly, they all made a wish together, and went about the rest of their night playing in the fields.
Its been twenty years since that night, and Nigel is almost the same six year old that wished upon a star, minus a definitive increase in commonsense and general intelligence. He still loves getting dirty and telling crass jokes, habits that stayed with him from his time well-spent with Wade and Alexander, from their infancy through their college years.
But more than anything, what he's loved doing since that night is simple.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Nigel was sitting in a brightly lit coffee shop that he frequented near his office. It was well furnished, with large, arched half fan windows that opened to the street. In many pots lined on the insides and outsides of the walls, the old woman who owned the building grew many of her own herbs and spices, from which delicate and robust smells filled the area. From the basement port, a large wooden door near the back with wrought iron reinforcements, the smell of freshly ground coffee wafted up as the breeze ebbed and flew through the basement windows.
On a plate near the cash register, freshly baked goods released sweet smells of home, laced with love and care, the kind you found from your own grandmother's oven. Their smell was inviting and seeped out of the open double windows, ensnaring the street's sailors and luring them inside with the delicious temptation of their siren's call. The old woman who owned the coffee shop had two lovely granddaughters who loved baking whenever they had the chance, and they would normally come to the shop straight from schooling to make their own kind of magic in the world.
To put it simply, the place smelled like heaven. Each bitter, sweet, and savory aroma that floated around made the air seem to take on a water-like quality. It was so thick, one would almost believe that they could reach out with a butter knife and cut themselves a slice of that intoxicating aroma to keep in a bottle.
Nigel loved these smells, reminiscent of his own mother's garden and kitchen. But what he loved more were the people. Never was the palate dull here; there was always a motley crowd. Rugged sailors, polished police officers, vile criminals, stoic philosophers, and gaudy dancers: The Triquetra of the Soul always had a varied and often disharmonious crowd living in harmony.
It was as if their was an unwritten law, a binding force placed upon them all, that kept the different personalities from rubbing against each other. Nigel could remember vividly a commonly known pick-pocket sitting at a table with a man who was looking for him and that knew him well. They shared stories over a cup of dark roast coffee and freshly baked honey biscuits. They smiled and the pick-pocket paid. The officer exited through the rows of open double windows facing the street and the delinquent exited through the back into the alley. In all of his years of patronage, he had never witnessed an act laced with hatred.
Today, Nigel had taken one of his favorite seats, a small table for one and perhaps a second if you squeezed, right in the center of the room under a lazily turning fan. With the windows open, a slight summer breeze was constantly rolling in, cooling its inhabitants and mixing the sea of relaxing scents. He wore a pair of khaki shorts that were cut above the knee, with a t-shirt of a vivid and bright leaf green color two sizes too large for him draped awkwardly over his gangly frame. His long, brown hair was held out of his face by a red head band in a comical fashion, showing his rather large and shiny forehead. His nose was crooked and hung low from his face, and upon it sat a pair of moon spectacles. One of the lenses had a crack that started at the button and extended to about the middle part of the lens.
He was enjoying a medium blend, its smell pungent yet fair, somewhere between savory and bitter, an utterly consuming fragrance that made his hair stand on end and sent shivers down his spine, much the same that a man would experience looking at the love of his life. On a small plate on the small, lightly colored wooden table in front of him was a lemon cake, that had a consistency comparable to what Nigel imagined a cloud would feel like: fluffy, light, and pleasantly moist.
The object of his attention was a rather large man who was sitting outside at one of the wrought iron tables (made by the old lady's own son), who was wholly invested in a cup of dark roast, savagely devouring a banana and coconut muffin, and reading the newspaper as if it were a religious text.
His suit was well cut and tailored, hugging well to his body and accentuating its finer features, like his broad shoulders and thick, corded arms while doing well to hide the gut that he had begun to grow as he reached, if Nigel remembered correctly, his mid 50s. His shoes were polished leather, and despite their apparent age, looked fit for the Queen of England, if she were to have an appetite for men's shoes.
There was nothing spectacular about this man that drew Nigel to him, but all the same, Nigel was drawn to him. His wish, like himself as a child, had been stupid and ultimately useless except in the face of what he and his compatriots considered good fun. He loved this coffee shop not only for the nostalgia and beauty of the smells that stewed here, but because of the challenge these smells presented.
Nigel shifted inconspicuously, lifting his left leg and draping it over the other, putting the majority of his weight onto his right hip. Silently, he slowly let out a puff of gas that, not surprisingly but always amusingly, he could see as a faint, shimmering cloud of swirling dark colors.
He let it sit for a second, coaxing it into a compressed form, keeping its putrid and rotten contents from seeping out into the fresh, sweet airs around it and also keeping those airs out. He could tell looking at it that its odor was foul, wet, and sickly-sweet, surely to be a sharp contrast to what the good sir sitting at the table outside was experiencing.
Slowly, and with purpose, he lifted his fork to begin eating his pastry, doing twirling motions in the air and slowly, the little ball danced through the air. He had practiced this often, so it merely looked to anyone who would look in his direction on a whim would see a man artfully eating his pastry, enjoying the ecstasy of its tastes and being overwhelmed by them.
It was a short trip, no more than ten seconds, before the orb had come to rest below the man's nose. With a sigh of melancholy joy, Nigel opened his left hand in his lap and reveled in the art of his performance.
The little ball changed, the smell unfurling and expanding, cutting into the air in dark tendrils that only Nigel could see. Two of them assaulted the mans nose, causing a split second of panic to assail him. His face contorted to one of immense pain, the normally pleasant smells of the café being destroyed by the fetid smell of the fart Nigel had just sent to him.
Nigel chuckled to himself, looking down at his phone. As his background was a picture of the only people in the world who had complete control over the smell, positioning, and even release time of their farts.
The young faces of Wade, Alexander, and himself smiled up to him.
He quickly finished his pastry and his coffee, returned the dishes he used to the old lady at the counter, and paid his tab, along with a tip of five dollars for her granddaughters. He left, stepping onto the crowded cobbled streets, with the sunlight bringing to life all of the old stone masonry around him, and walked home eagerly to tell his two compatriots of his most recent prank.
| 2015-03-07T06:03:58 | 2015-03-07T00:58:07 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] 2021: Hell invades Earth; 2022: Earth invades Hell.
|
Another explosion rocked the hastily improvised command center. "Sir! The 4th circle has been breached!"
The current Commander of the hellish Host cursed bitterly "How?"
"More cute kittens sir. But this time there were also adorable *puppies*" Several demons shivered violently and the Command cursed again.
The humans weren't fighting *fair*.
As if the regular troops and metal weapons they fielded weren't bad enough, now they also used drone delivered loads of adorable animals, projected funny or heartwarming videos on the far walls of hell and used giant loudspeekers mounted on tanks to play peaceful trance music or happy pop songs.
The first 10 minutes of "UP" combined with Hoku's Perfect Day had costed them the entire third circle.
And their counteroffensive was doing *nothing*.
The most fearsome beasts and helldemons didn't even cause tired smiles anymore!
The humans just joked about "bad cgi" and "Hey, I've seen something like this in a slasher film once" whatever the here those things were.
And Lucifer had fucking abondent them, after warning against the invasion. Of course no one had listened and the Lord of Darkness had just packed his things disappeared. Fucking asshole.
Another explosion rocked the command post. But this time warning klaxons followed.
"Sir! SIR!"
"What now?"
"A portal has opened on the sixth! It leads to one of their oceans! The lower levels are being flooded!"
Beelzebub and his lieutenants paled an unhealthy orange.
"Use the vulcanic brigade! Create rock walls to channel..."
"Sir!" One of the demons that was watching magical pictures from the front shouted "That won't work! The water is dissolving demons wherever it lands!"
"What?"
"They blessed the ocean! THEY BLESSED THE WHOLE FUCKING OCEAN!"
"GOD DAMN IT!"
|
The last testament of Praxel, A Lord of Hell.
When the gates began to crackle with energy again it was almost unknown to us, after thousands of years of dormancy the hope of venturing forth as kings and conquerors into the low worlds was all but lost. In a bout of wisdom the old man had stopped meddling in their affairs, realizing that any aid to those lower life forms would inevitably lead them to be worse. His isolation had made it so the source of energy for the gates was gone. We thought we had him to thank when they re-opened, with a surge of energy that didn’t just allow for a few hundred of us to slip through, like it had been millennia ago, but thousands if we wished. The old man had finally forsaken the creatures he took pity on, obviously. Why he ever enjoyed them was a mystery to us to begin with, they were weak, and helpless. His reasoning was at best flimsy “You do not understand how rare sentience is, it’s a mistake of life, trillions and trillions of worlds and we were the last to achieve it billions of years ago. You don’t remember our climb, my misshapen children, but you still enjoy the long life and the powerful bodies its technology provided, even if you have squandered them.”
*Squandered*, the old fool—as if he and his ‘perfect’ little group of sycophants had any room to talk. It did not matter though, they chose their way and we chose our way. The scars from our people’s war still remain evident on our world, a world our ancestors had created to be perfect, somewhere above the low worlds—though how they had done it was lost to us. The old man had stolen the knowledge, and he’d stolen it to protect those sniveling, weak humans, who now existed on a world more pristine than our own, despite it being a low world. Whatever they had done to piss the old man off, we should thank them for we had thought, maybe we’d keep a few as pets since that would really be all they were good for.
Some still lived that remember those times when we last saw humanity, they had been part of the small hosts that slipped to their world four millennia ago. They all looked alike, not like us. The smallest of us was their size, but the largest could stretch a dozen feet into the air. Some of us had fur, some of us scales, some skin—all signs of the beauty of expression our people had discovered long ago, on of the magics lost to us now, allowing us to be what we wished. We were stronger than them, one of the old-timers said he could crush a man’s head in his hand. Not that we’d even need to, they died on their own! Their bodies broke down without having to be killed in just a few decades, so *weak*, it was unfathomable how the old man saw them as more than insects. So of course as the hosts of Hell prepared for war, gathering our swords and armor, we felt nothing but excitement.
As the portals opened, we found the humans had infested their world, millions of them crawling in and out of these large hives they had erected like vermin. They were still as weak as ever. I personally killed a dozen, slicing their heads off with ease. The stories about how it took dozens of them with spears to even harm an old timer were evident now, and these humans didn’t have a weapon in sight. As my warriors moved through one of these hives the humans had found and dwelt in, all sorts of treasures were brought to me. One, a sleek little shiny thing seemed to be some kind of mirror that worked in a very odd way, one held it up to something and on the other side of it was the image. One of my warriors had said a human was holding it up trying to steal his soul, apparently. After examining it, though, I assured him such a thing was not possible—it was some trick. It was one of many queer things, like the carriages the humans seemed to move in with no beasts to draw them. Or how they talked into those little mirror things, often times screaming some gibberish; not that the talking was odd, humans often held odd objects to them and muttered things in their final moments. What was odd was how none of them knew our language, the old ones said the Sumerian spoke our tongue with ease after the old man taught them, but now? They seemed to have lost even that grace. Our pride allowed us to take this as another sign they had fallen.
But it wasn’t until Iculbun, a small goat looking fellow and a good friend too, fell that we suspected something might be amiss. This human in blue waved something at him that popped—and stung him. Not badly, but enough to draw blood. Inculbun was so incensed he immediately leapt toward the man and ripped his heart out. In his celebration he failed to notice another man by him, this one had some kind of staff. Fire came from the end of it, and a loud thunderous noise—Inculbun jerked as if he’d been punched. The man moved his hand down the staff with a clicking sound and yet more fire rained from it. Inculbun tried to move toward the man but five thunderous roars of that staff later, Inculbun was dead.
*The old man above, the humans had learned magic*, I thought to myself. A swarm of my warriors tore the man to shreds post-haste, but I could see it in their eyes, fear. Oh, my ignorance was great then as I spoke to them, assuring them that we had killed hundreds and only seen but two of these wizards so far, and the one could do little more than hurl useless tiny stones. If this was the limit of humanity’s newfound knowledge of magic, then we had nothing to fear. My warriors even picked up their staffs, and little slings--they let forth a great popping roar a few times but then they stopped working, it seemed like whatever power these Wizards held was fleeting at best. I had thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, this was why the old man had opened the gates again. He never did like it when these creatures tampered in things beyond their understanding, and the mystical arts were things he reserved almost solely for himself.
My warriors were renewed. The crusade continued. I should have paid attention to the runners which brought news of other portals, speaking of how large carriages of humans had shown up, with men inside that looked like the Wizards, but had deep black on instead and all of them had staffs of a different sort. Preposterous. If so many Wizards existed, surely there would be more among them then the few we had encountered since our first sighting, I had thought. Almost none of them had those large staffs, the only trick they could do were what we had come to call ‘magic missile’, annoying yes, like the bite of a Frimpltoad, enough to draw blood, but nothing seriously dangerous unless it somewhere truly vulnerable. But even then we were only vulnerable because we’d become careless, we abandoned our large hell-forged shields because they were too heavy and the humans seemed to be helpless. Once my warriors had taken them up again, the thick pieces of iron that weighed nearly what the humans themselves did, the little tricks the Wizards had were useless, they barely scratched the shield. Even the staffs only dented it a little. If this was the extent of human magic, we truly did have little to worry about.
However as men in black, soft armor showed up—with their long staffs that did not click after each missile, our difficulties increased. Their thunder staves still could not pierce our hell-iron, it simply left little dings, but the thick metal held—and it was large enough to cover a demons body near entire. Still, if one of my warriors was caught unawares, or was flanked, these staves could rip right through his body, causing a wound that was shocking in its severity. It was at that point that we became serious. Employing tactics we had used against the armies of men who came to oppose us before. Lined with shields and sword, we protected each other and slew the black armored men—and once again, my warriors were renewed. With the loss of but a few their greatest Wizards were still easy to butcher as long as we treated them with the little respect they deserved.
Truly this world would be ours in week, we thought. We enjoyed the plunder, and death for two days as the humans seemed to abandon their hives. Eventually nearly none were left—it was quite the exodus, all things told, very organized. But we knew they’d be hiding in the hills, humans always ran for the hills the old timers said. We tried to make sense of the gibberish they spoke, even capturing some and torturing them to speak correctly. We looked through books, and found nothing familiar. These fools really had fallen from grace, and we were emboldened even more, we’d go root them from their holes and enjoy the fruits of our victory in time....Oh what fools we were.
| 2016-12-10T09:52:21 | 2016-12-10T09:14:20 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?"
|
The witch buried her face in her hands and sighed, "AGAIN, it's the Curse of Optimism. You will never be able to understand the potential negative consequences of any decision you make."
"That doesn't sound like much of a curse", I replied.
"You will be the eternal optimist", she explained. "You will only see the upside, never the downside."
"That doesn't sound so..."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," she interrupted, exasperated. "You will bet on every loser, because you're positive it's their time to win. You will fall victim to get-rich-quick scheme after get-rich-quick scheme, because you know there is no way you'll lose money. You will want to get back together with every abusive ex, no matter how many times they've cheated. Timeshares will sound like a great idea."
As she finished, I blinked. "So...what's the downside again?"
|
You blink once. And twice. You look at the beautiful and alluring woman in front of you in confusion. Certainly you must have heard it all wrong.
“So... what’s the downside again?”
The woman in question smiles at you, and once again you feel fear. You couldn’t pinpoint what was unsettling about her smile, but it made you shiver. And that made you remember that she wasn’t your typical woman in a bar. She was someone – no, *something* – that came straight out of a fairytale. Or a nightmare to be more precise.
“Your innocence will be your downfall. If you don’t see the problem in what I said, child, then you’re more doomed then what I presumed”, and with that, she raised herself from her place and was making her way for the exit.
“Wait!”, you scream, reaching out to grab the woman’s wrist. That was your second mistake of the night, and you realized that when the witch looked you in the eyes and you felt the power of her hatred for you, “please, I didn’t understand what you said, I-”
“You said it yourself, sweetheart: love is the most stupid thing that one can feel, and sex is one of the few things that makes life worth living. So that’s what I wish upon you: you will have the most amazing sex in this world with every man and woman you desire, they will leave your bed thinking of you in the years to come, but none of them will be able to love you back. And the one that you love, well…”, she touched your face with that same smile – so innocent, so evil – while she got even closer to you, breaking your personal space, “you just have to wait and see how your love treat them back.”
The witch then kissed you right in the lips. Nothing obscene or too long, just a peck. You closed your eyes, even though you were mortified, and when you opened them, she was gone.
​
X
​
“I told you, I wasn’t high or anything like that! It was real!”, you said to your roommate for the hundredth times.
“Okay, so you *really* want me to believe that a witch talked to you at Joe’s, you guys started talking about hooking up and she dropped a curse on you? Like… are you listening to yourself?”
“I still don’t see the point in the whole thing”, you nervously laughed, “like, if she really wanted me to suffer throwing a curse, maybe she should have made sex something horrible for me? That would really be fucked up.”
“Or maybe she just wanted to teach you a lesson”, said Lisa.
“Yeah, maybe”, you agreed, still remembering the woman’s eyes on yours and shivering right away, “We’ll never know.”
​
X
​
You never cared much about love.
You grew up in a family divided by an amicable divorce. No cheating or anything of the sorts. Your parents just grew apart from one another, and you, being an only child, saw by yourself how distant and stranger-like your parents became. And from a young age you understood that’s just how life works. People get together, enjoy their time and then go away. The sooner you understood this, the less hurtful it became, until you got to a point where it isn’t hurtful anymore. Actually, it’s quite expected. No problems with that.
That thought just got stronger and stronger with the passing of years. Both of your parents had their fair share of romantic partners, but the ending was the same: break ups. A few years ago your father married another woman, and even from afar you could see that relationship was a sinking ship. There wasn’t love, they endured each other and didn’t want to die alone. That was the sad part of it all; not accepting that solitude is a gift.
You and your mother were more alike. She threw herself into work after the divorce. She’s a business woman and doesn’t want to lose time with men who can’t keep up with what she needs and wants. Most of her relationships don’t last more than six months, but she’s ruthless in business and burst with self-confidence. Whenever you two talk, she never complains about being alone for too long or being afraid of not finding someone worth it. And when confronted about how fast things end, she always says “I already spent too much time in a loveless marriage, and I won’t settle for scraps”.
You were comfortable being alone. It was something that you were always used to be. You didn’t have many friends growing up and seeing the nature of your parents’ relationship and how the world worked, you just got used to the idea that love is something for fairytales and movies. Yes, it is beautiful, the thought of someone loving you so selflessly, wishing your happiness above their own selfish desires, but it wasn’t real. And when puberty came, you realized something that was far, far better than that childish feeling: sex. And orgasms, of course.
You were always honest with your partners. You weren’t looking for love, you didn’t want them to call you back or send you messages to know if you were okay.
You just want sex. Period. Good old sex. Nothing more.
The weeks passed and the thought of the curse being real kept eating you alive, but everything was fine. No, everything was perfect. It was everything you wished and more.
But she didn’t bless you with a wish. She cursed you, and a curse shouldn’t feel this good.
​
X
​
It all changed when she appeared. Her name was Carina, and you two got closer and closer by the days. Contrary to your beliefs, you didn’t jump to sex right away. She has never been with another woman before, and said her attraction for you made her extremely confused at first. Both of you took your time to discover each other’s bodies. You would kiss and then just sleep together, and you would be contempt with that. Just being around Carina felt good. You liked being with her and wanted to share more and more of your life with her.
Naturally things progressed and sex became part of your encounters. Like always, it felt amazing, but there was something more. There was something more being shared between you two that made everything better. Made everything fuller. And afterwards, having her on your arms, whispering silly things on your ears while laughing post-orgasm was one of the best sights you have ever seen.
You wanted that woman so much it’s scary. The curse was always lurking around in the back of your head during those moments, but it’s been so long you barely remember the words from the witch. If it ever had a witch. You certainly drank a few that night.
Until Carina became sick.
At first it was just complaining about how you left her so tired she didn’t want to move away from the bed. Both of you actually laughed from that, because the sex was always incredibly good. After the headaches. And then one time you were cuddling in bed, feeling her body against yours, when she abruptly ran to the bathroom and started vomiting. You didn’t think much about it, thought maybe she ate something bad, until it became a norm right after sex.
From there it became worse. She stopped having sex with you and went to two doctors trying to figure out what was happening to her. Nothing was wrong with her, nothing in her food was making her have that kind of reaction. She distanced herself from you when she realized that even being in the same room with you made her sick.
You were always by her side, supporting her with everything you could do, and it hurt *so*, *so bad* when she called you on that faithful Thursday afternoon.
“I-I’m sorry”, Carina said through sobs, “but I can’t do this anymore.”
“Shh, it’s okay, we will figure it out”, you said back, trying to contain your emotions.
“No, you don’t understand! I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be with you, I’m sorry!”
“Carina, wait, I-”, you said while listening to her crying, “I love you.”
She took some time before turning off the phone, and sound of her silence haunted you.
You were all alone.
| 2019-06-25T15:21:51 | 2019-06-25T12:37:00 | 1,435 | 67 |
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
Xullufiti couldn't believe this luck, finally, an escape from the clutches of Hell! Not a crack, not a nightmare, but a veritable door from one reality to the next. A vessel! A passage between worlds!
He cackled loudly as he swarmed into the human body, their soul swapped away almost effortlessly in the exchange. But as they passed each through the membrane of souls, the sagging, defeated human only gazed on in abject disconnection.
"Yeah, good luck with that. You'll need it."
Xullufiti squinted at this remark, and all too suddenly the transition was complete.
"At LAAAAST!" Xullufiti screamed into the air, the flesh of his skin hot and steaming into the night sky.
He swiftly gathered himself, pawing himself down to be sure it was real, ALL real. He could barely contain his giggling, there on the street corner. This world would, at last, be-
"FINALLY!!!" Screamed some woman, two blocks up.
"FREEEEE!" Screamed some fat guy by his window two stories up.
The chorus of thousands soon joined, a mass of souls exchanged congregating into a churning, steady roar of evil enthusiasm as the humans. A very angry german voice, sure enough probably Hitler, crowing out of a little boy. A possessed Nun that could only be Vlad was already impaling people with stop signs. Somewhere down the block, a little old lady fired up a chainsaw, already decked out in full clown garb, soaked in blood.
Xullufiti's arms lowered. His grin faded. He swallowed heavily, pinching his brow.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
​
Meanwhile, in Hell, Burt pinched his brows. The complete absence of demons was nice for a minute, but then the HOA went ahead filled the power vacuum in a matter of hours.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
|
It’s the small towns that make the best hunting grounds. Their people are isolated, both from each other and the greater world. And in that isolation grows fear. Anger. Resentment. A cocktail of simmering grudges that persist and grow over generations, until each and every one of those outwardly hospitable individuals has a long list of hidden sins just waiting to come to light. Other places, more “modern” places, the people might resist the temptation, the allure of power, but here in Whittler’s Creek, they don’t even realise what’s happened until it’s far too late. Indeed, it’s a wonder the town hadn’t torn itself to pieces of its own accord yet. A demon looking for prey need not look any farther.
Like all of Whittler’s Creek, Mr. Roberts was filled with latent desires: the usual things, revenge, power, satisfaction. Unlike so many of the others, however, he had a certain ruthlessness that I could tell he just wanted to … explore. “All those accumulated wrongs, all those unsettled scores,” I whispered to him, “I can make them right. I can give you what you *truly* desire.” And by that whispering from the wall, I could sense in him not just interest but a deeper understanding of what my deal entailed. A willingness to sacrifice for power that made the possession itself just that much easier. There was no resistance, no hesitation, and as I scraped the last vestiges of his psyche away, I felt him almost laugh as if he knew something I didn’t. “Good luck,” he said, “You’ll need it.
*This place has far greater demons than you*.”
​
I was awakened by the clanging of a bell. Four strikes. They were hollow and discordant; I would say “haunting” if it weren’t too on the nose. Very well, I thought, I’ll get up.
My host’s wardrobe was practical - he was a man of the land, and so there were no expensive fabrics nor garish designs in his shirts and trousers. I must admit, I do prefer the feel of a fine suit, but there are far more important considerations, and a find like Mr. Roberts was what he’d call a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” I could settle for the best he had.
I strode out the doorway confidently. Ooh! The sun! I had not felt its warmth in so long, its invigorating touch like the warm lap of a burning ocean. These assorted ignoramuses had no idea what they took for granted. Hmm. I wondered how rain would feel on this fresh skin.
“Lovely day, isn’t it!”
Indeed, she was right. “Absolutely! And only the more lovely for havin’ you in it, Miss Kelly.” I bowed a bit and threw on a smile. She returned my gesture.
“I s’pose you’ll be at the town meetin’ tonight?”
What meeting? “Of course. Could hardly miss it, now could I?” She nodded politely, clearly satisfied with my response. It was probably some meaningless get-together, but part of this was earning the trust of the people around you before bringing them into the fold. After all, not everyone was as willing as Mr. Roberts. And yet…
​
The bell rang again. Three strikes. Jack dealt another hand of cards. My companions looked at their new receipts with somewhat drawn expressions.
“So, uh, Roberts, you’ll be at the meetin’ tonight, right?”
This again. “Of course, of course. Seems to be a big deal, eh?”
Jack looked back at me with an almost shocked expression on his unshaven face. It quickly morphed into one of strained humor. “Yeah, yeah, Roberts. I know you know damn well it’s a big deal.” He now spoke louder and to the general room. “Look at the jokester we’ve got over here - big deal. Ha!” He was nervous, that was clear, as if even the suggestion that this meeting wasn’t of the utmost importance was frightening. I have to admit to being a little disquieted myself. Fear was useful, valuable even, but there was something strange going on in this town, something I didn’t know about and that unknown factor was concerning. Tucked away in this stolen body, there wasn’t much that could hurt me, but it reminded me of Mr. Roberts’ dying words that there were far more dangerous forces than I lurking in the breeze.
“Y’know,” said Jack, “I think I’m gonna have to call this one off, fellas. I’m not feelin’ so well. You can go on an’ play without me.”
“No, that’s okay, Jack. To be honest, I was feelin’ ‘bout ready to call it quits too.” Rick, who I’m told was the town’s most habitual gambler, was walking away? I suppose I really did get them spooked.
The others echoed the sentiment of the previous two. “Perhaps it would be best to finish this game tomorrow,” one of them proposed, and the others muttered noises of agreement.
​
The bell rang a third time, emitting two sharp clangs. It was late afternoon by now, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this bell was a countdown of sorts, perhaps to this meeting everyone was talking about. The children playing in the field stopped momentarily in recognition before resuming their game.
“Did I ever tell you about my late wife?” He rocked in his chair lazily, and I wasn’t sure if the creaking came from the boards or from his bones.
“No, I don’t think you have.”
“Mm.” His eyes remained focused ahead, and his intonation was one almost of obligation rather than reminiscence. “If you ask me, she was the best thing ever to happen to this town. Y’know, people here are born here, live here, die here. Keep to ‘emselves, mostly. Oh no, not my Laura. She was all about change, y’know, makin’ the place better, newer, brighter. Never made it far enough, though.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, the usual. Unlucky. Wrong place, wrong time. Like to imagine that she was too good for here, and that’s why it was her.”
I could tell he felt slighted, angry. Of all the people in this town, he was the one who craved power the most. He’d lie to himself that it was to prevent something like that from ever happening again, but I know how it goes. In the end, power’s always for power’s sake. Fear always wins.
​
The bell rang just once, and the people stopped. Some were washing, some were walking, and some were just sitting, waiting. Upon hearing that final clang, they all rose and congregated in the central square. I followed, and saw faces that were familiar. Plastered upon them was an unique expression, one not of fear nor of joy but somewhere in between, a sort of deadly anticipation.
The old man with whom I had spoken ascended a set of rickety stairs to a hastily-constructed wooden platform. He shivered in the cool wind, but underneath the flapping strands of grey hair, his eyes were filled with grim determination.
“Friends!” he shouted, the sound of his voice hushing the myriad whispers and conversations of the crowd. “The time has come again. A time for rejoicing!” The people cheered, not half-heartedly but filled with excitement. The fear which I had seen had melted away. “The past year has been difficult, I know, but today … oh, today, we leave *all* that behind us!” Then, after a pause. “Jack, join me.”
Jack’s smile faded away, and he stepped forward, first tentatively and then with a lifeless regularity. He ascended each step as if propelled solely by the crowd’s chanting and clapping. The smile faded from the old man’s face as well. “Jack,” he shouted, “You have been a valued neighbor these past forty years. You helped Roberts when his cows ran away, and you helped Kelly after her brother died.
But Jack, there is a spirit. A spirit that haunts us day and night, that turns neighbor against neighbor, that turns child against parent. And Jack, we must drive this spirit back. We must show it that our fears and angers will *not* tear this town apart. We must release ourselves from the bonds of these mutual grudges, of these petty squabbles. But such a release,” and now he spoke in hushed tones and the chanting stopped, “requires sacrifice.”
And as the people in the crowd picked up stones and revealed knives, I think I finally understood why Roberts was unafraid of a demon. Like all the others, he was already possessed by one - the same one I saw in their eyes right now: a demon of their own invention. One with which I could never compete. And as I soon saw, there never was a Mr. Roberts or a Kelly or Rick or an old man; just the demon, whose dormancy had at long last broken.
​
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites
| 2020-12-21T12:52:15 | 2020-12-21T12:45:34 | 141 | 71 |
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will
|
It began small.
At one year, my mother had tried to take my baby blanket to get washed. The poor blanket only got washed when I took my baths after that. The next time it saw the inside of a washing machine, I was five.
In school, the bullies tried to take my lunch, my pencil case, my friends, my partner. They tried until they got bored with failure. After freshman year, things calmed down.
I figured out how limitless my power was in college. I was walking home with my girlfriend when she was hit by a drunk driver. As I held her hand, I could see the life slipping from her eyes, but death couldn't take her as long as I held on.
After I realized my gift, I decided to go into medicine. For 80 years, I worked hard and never lost a patient. Some died peacefully in their sleep to old age. I learned early to let them go. Others were in great pain and ready to go. Those were the hardest to surrender.
At the ripe old age of 110, I found myself staring in the face of Death asking to take me. It's funny how a life well lived makes a difference. I always wanted more time and more life, but when He came for me himself, I knew I could let him take my soul willingly.
|
"Reincarnation has always caused scholars to wonder its limitations. Are there finite souls or as they are needed do the gods create more? What is the extent of the ones knowledge when reborn" explains the priest with mild amusement in his voice. Taunting our generation with the knowledge of the world. An entire room of kids sitting in the halls chambers listening intently. This day will determine our futures!
"Yet what we are able to know is this. When the gods allow your soul to return to the mortal plane they will grant your deepest desire from your past life. We are born into this world with no memory of a past life. What we do know is from those that desired knowledge about the powers.
There is speculation that every souls desires changes each life. As you obtain one gift, you will then exchange it doe a new desire in your next life. This is the cycle that balances our souls and the world.
It is our duty in this world to maintain the world with the gifts the gods have bestowed upon us. Now that you are all of age, our churches Reader will inform you of your gifts.
Remember, it is your duty to learn and use your powers for the betterment of humanity. Before you line up bow your heads and join me in prayer". All the kids follow the instructions, eagerness beening on those unsure of their gifts
After the prayer ends all the heads rise and we begin to line up as instructed. Once completed the doors at the end of the church swing open and two rown hooded robed clergymen escort an old women in white robes decorated in white to a chair awaiting her in front of the preachers pedestal.
The first kid bows in respect then approaches the lady. After some whispered words she places her hand on his head and her eyes glow. Her mouth opens but only those around the lady can hear. The boy bows with a grin and jumps with joy!
"I can be a knight! I can be a knight!" The boy continues to repeat the phrase as he skips out of the hall. The knights are said to be those that desired combat abilities while the church takes in more support and spiritual gifts. Since we are born with no knowledge of our past life we often do not know what our desire was.
The Readers are those with abilities to either know the desires of others past life or their gift in some way. Each reader's ability can vary in affect and outcome. Yet the church tests them prior to receiving the title of Reader. It is said rumored that those gifted in Reader previously desired knowledge. But knowledge only extends to the current mortal plane. Since gifts are from the gods, they limit the affect of some to maintain balance.
As the line continues the looks of the kids in front of my are a mix of joy, sadness, and acceptance. In theory the desires are often in cycles. It is rare for unique gifts to appear. Some scholars suggest there are patterns that everyone belongs to. Although the exact rotations are uncertain since life experiences alter the flow.
As I get waved to approach I bow. Upon walking over the lady sticks out her hand in a routine fashion. Placing it on my head her eyes glow.
And continues to glow.
And continues to glow.
And continues to glow.
"Are you okay Bishop?" Asks one of the attending clergymen. Then her eyes stop. Sweat dripping from her forehead. She remains silent locking eyes with me
"Is the Bishop of Gift Reading okay?" shouted the town churches head priest. Using the ladies formal title. Granted the title for she is able to read the gift the gods wrote onto the soul.
As all the members of the church begin to look panicked and shout worries to eachother thr lady motions with her hand for silence. All eyes on the lady the members of the church that were once spread across the building. Now encircling us.
Braking the silence the Bishop in her usual soft spoken tone says "Your first gift Nothing can be taken from you against your will".
The church members look at eachother. A couple mutterings about it being a unique gift. But didnt seem like anything crazy or world changing. Two priests quickly exchanging theories on why it may have taken a bit of time. Both settling on I didnt will her to see my gift at first but my nerves must of given in.
After the church members feel satisfied with the incidents resolution, one of the clergymen motions me to leave now that my gift was proclaimed aloud. Yet the ladies hand went back up.
"That is his first gift" said the Bishop. And thus the muttering began. The Bishop, not one for much words, ended the ceremony had the priest request the rest return tomorrow to be read.
Soon I found myself in a back room of the church. Paper and pens all around. New members of the church pouring in through various means. Based of their greetings the church used a lot of their transport gidt specialist today. Yet The Bishop of Gift Reading never leaving my side. But not saying more then needed. Actually usually not saying anything until absolutely needed.
While all this is going on I begin dwelling on the confusing fact that this is all happening. The power was simple enough sure it was unique and might not have been seen before. Which may warrant some attention. But normally not this much. Yet my mind keeps going back to the words "first gift". Could I have more?
Hours after the day of readings and now lost in thought a voice proclaims to the room "He isnt deaf. He is just confused. The boy had no knowledge of his past. He was simply thinking about this. You all would be pissing your pants of this happened at your reading". A few chuckles echo in the room and I'm awoken realizing all eyes are now focus on me. Some members of the church with pens at the ready.
"Alright Bishop of the Gift Reading. Let's hear it all. Then we will have the gifts of lore, knowledge, history, research, wisdom, and the prayer behind their research". Proclaims a man in golden robes. Wait that isnt right only one of the Heavens Council can wear that I think. "You're right boy, take a look around. Who do you think you're surrounded by?" Says the man reading my mind. As if on command my eyes search the room for understanding. Ornate robes of various designs and colors scatter the room. Every must be a bishop or higher in ranking. How, why and for me? Then I think back to "first gift". Quickly though my thoughts switch back to that of... shy? Embarrassment? Maybe self consciousness, I slump in the chair. Remaining silent.
"The boy has multiple gifts. His first gift is nothing can be taken from him against his will." Says the Bishop of Gift Reading.
"Since she is a lady of few words. I'll explain" chimes in the golden robed man. "It is the Bishops understanding he has multiple abilities and not just the one. She knows more but she didn't read them all. Does anyones gift have an understanding of this?" Asks him to the room. Followed by a "Just sit there and we will assist you boy" as he notices my face turning pale at the craziness of the situation.
After a few moments and various peoples gifts working. One of the gifts was a women in a simple green robe with a design on the skirt of the robe of what I suspect to represent a bookshelf.
"It could be the original founder of the church? He was suspected to have possessed multiple gifts given to him by the gods." Ssid the lady.
"Although that could be the case. Let's look into how he has multiple gifts Samantha. Anyone else?" Says the golden robed man. "Wait you" he points to a young plane brown robed clergy men standing behind a blue and white robed fat man. "Tell everyone what you suspect" he says with absolute authority.
"Ummm me sir?" Says the brown robed man. With just a nod from the golden robed man he gulps, "well... ummm... my gift of insight is still developing... so it isnt clear... its partially my own rationalizing... I suspect that well... maybe our gifts are not lost after death. Maybe either in his first life or at some point he gained this unique ability. Upon being reincarnated he never was willing to give it away. So he kept it. Along with gaining a new one?" He says with the last statement turning into a question.
And thus my journey with in the church began. I was not informed of all my gifts. It was decided I would be sent to the churches academy to be trained with my gifts. I was instructed to only develop and train one at a time until a satisfactory level of control was achieved.
| 2021-09-11T16:46:55 | 2021-09-11T15:49:41 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You been a bullied outcast your entire life despite your pure heart and kindness. One day a horrible prank for you goes wrong, leaving you to die. Before your final breath, Death appears in white robes, and offers you a golden scythe with a name engraved on it: Karma.
|
I never understood what I did wrong, I would always try to correct myself. But it was never enough. I'd apologize for nothing but that was nothing.
They hit me, pushed me, and nearly drowned me. It was exhausting to try and still be the good in a world of cruelty. But it doesn't mean I'm going to stop now. All this hard work and for what? For it to just die out like a candle?
No, I'll keep walking. I'm determined to show others that good is better.
Now it's Friday, I can get a break at 2:30, that bell will ring and I'm so ready. It's 1:03, I grab my bag quickly. I shove all my stuff inside it with a smile and walk out the door to my last class. My heart is racing.
Freedom.
Never had that in a while. My steps speed up, I'm happy. I can finally catch a break. I can truly be happy, even if for only 2 days.
Oscar, a notorious asshole, runs up to me. His face twisted with something I can't determine.
"I need your help! It's an emergency!" He gasps, like he was running.
"What is it? Is somebody's hurt?" I set my bag down, I'm concerned. If someone needs my help, I'll help.
Oscar runs off and I follow him. The boys locker room. He runs inside and practically disappears. I walk down the rows if lockers, looking from the problem and Oscar.
It's quiet and still, like nothing had ever happened. I frown and turn around only to see a group if guys, the one at front with a bat. He swings and it's the last thing I see.
It was liked I had been knocked from my body, I watched it crumple like all the bones had melted and disappeared.
I watched in horror as they started framing it like I had killed myself. They strung my body up like some sick decoration. They smashed the bat into pieces and stole extra clothes and burned their old ones with the bat in the showers.
They quickly got over themselves and dispersed. One got my bag and rifled through it for my valuables. My heart ached.
Then it clicked.
I didn't deserve any of this, I should have tried to change. I wasn't in the wrong!
Now it's too late, I'm dead. I sat under my hanging body and buried my face in my hands.
Where was I supposed to go? I'm dead. There is no place TO go. It was like everything just started fading around me, I no longer existed. Just my body as a reminder.
I couldn't be bothered. There's nothing to do, I'm gone, my mother will be so distraught she'll do the unthinkable and start a chain reaction that wasn't even my fault. But yet I feel the blame because it is my body hanging from the ceiling.
This is not the freedom I wanted.
"Pity. I didn't want to see you for a long time." A gruff voice echoes.
I lift my head to look around. A man in a white suit with a black tie walks around from one if the lockers. He had black gloves on and in one of his hands was a black handled scythe with a steel blade.
'Shikyo' is carved into the blade. I have no idea what that means.
The man raises Shikyo and shakes a little. "This one? Is mine."
"What does it say?" I ask.
"Death. It says Death in Japanese." He sets Kifo on the wall and lifts the other scythe in his hand.
It has a silver handle with golden turned vines curled around the handle. The blade itself is a clean silver and it too has something engraved in it.
"Kikkyo?" I ask.
"Several meanings." He shrugs. "Mostly, all those meanings come down to one thing."
A gym teacher walks in and screams. He calls the cops. The man walks over to my side.
We stand there and I watch as people frantically scramble to get my body down and try and save me. The man holds something in his hand.
"I am Death, the grim reaper, whatever you call me. He hands me the golden scythe and opens his hand. " And you my friend, are Karma. You have two jobs. Good and bad. If someone gives a homeless man a sandwich, they get good karma. If the sandwich is a horrible prank, you give the homeless man unknown revenge."
In his hand is bits of the bat the boys had smashed.
"You're new, so I'm gonna help you. At your command, I will drop this by the door to the showers. You strike a cop and they'll notice it. Said cop will then investigate to find the burned evidence and you get justice." He offers, pointing to a cop exploring for foul play. "You don't, those murders run free and don't forget. History repeats itself."
Death runs a hand through his brown hair, his steel gray eyes glittering with amusement. He hands me the gold scythe and then grabs his own. I walk over beside the cop and wait.
Death grins a cold grin and drops the piece of bat. With a hard swing, I hit the cop. If I was alive, the cop would've gotten sliced in half.
This time, he simply excused himself and started investigating again. I followed him as he walked tot he showers to discover the piece of bat. He walks inside and I follow. He see the ash if clothes and wood and and screams to call it in.
Now my supposed suicide case is now a murder mystery. They get forensics on aight and I watch the group who killed my squirm and watch frightened. Death watches me from a corner as I watch the scene unfold. I walk over to the group if boys and strike each and every one of them, hard and furious. I continue to strike them, I'm angry.
I have every right to be angry. I stop eventually and I watch as several cops walk over to them and arrest them for murder. I then sink the ground and cry. I'll never see my mother again, she'll be so sad without me. I'll never be able to find love and I'm stuck in eternity of just giving people what they deserve.
Death approaches me. "I've given you the nicest job if you think about it. You avenge those who are fooled and punish the foolers.
"You quite literally give those what they deserve, exactly as you thought. The good get the good, the bad get the bad. A simple game. You get to protect those who are just like you."
Death clasps his hands together. "Tell you what. You get one chance to interact with someone-"
He didn't have to finish. I stood and bolted for home. I phased through the door and gained a physical form again. There's a timer. I only have 2 minutes. I run into the kitchen and hug my mom. She looks at me, very confused.
"What-"
"I don't have much time." I whisper. "I want you to know that I always will love you and watch over you. I want you to move on and not dwell on me too much, okay? I want you spread the message that Karma is real, I want you tell others to be nice."
I sigh shaking.
"Nixon, what are you on about?" She asks softly, stroking my hair. I choke up.
I can't bring myself to tell her. "Can you just hold me? Please?"
She slowly sits with me, resting my head in her lap as she pets me. Several tears stream down my face. Death sits in the armchair in the living room, watching this unfold. He watches with no reaction, just there. The phone rings. The school. I've got 30 seconds.
My mom reaches up and grabs the phone. "Hello?"
She stops petting me suddenly. 10 seconds.
She goes still and quiet.
6 seconds.
"Karma's a bitch."
3 seconds.
"Nixon..."
"I love you, mom." Those are my final words.
I fade from her view. I sit up and sit in front of her. She stares at her lap, pale and shaking. Tears fall down her face. She drops the phone and covers her face, screaming. I watch her cry, unable to do a thing.
She starts wailing uncontrollably. Screaming and crying for her baby to come back. Her pride and joy. Her life.
Gone.
|
It hurt.
There was some loud noise, a big pop. I jumped away, it wasn't a nice sound, and then there was a light, and everything hurt.
Robbie was crying, and speaking, but I couldn't hear. I couldn't reach his face, so I nuzzled his hand. It's okay Robbie, don't be sad? Am I still good?
THIS IS UNUSUAL.
The pain was getting less, but it still hurt. The new person had fished out an hourglass. He was made of snacks.
I SUPPOSE SHE IS NOT YOUR CHARGE?
*SQUEEK*
NO, I SUPPOSE NOT. WELL THEN, LET US BEGIN.
Bobby seemed to had frozen. The pain had gone.
DOLLY, WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE THIS SCYTHE?
It was a gold coloured stick with a sharp metal bit. It smelled right. Better than snacks. I'd like the stick. I wasn't sure I could have it. Bobby seemed sad.
WORRIED ABOUT HIM? HE WILL BE FINE IN TIME.
There was something written on it. Karma. Bobby talked about that sometimes. Maybe I could give it to Bobby?
*WOOF?*
*SQUEEK!*
*WOOF!*
GOOD GIRL.
| 2019-04-19T06:42:45 | 2019-04-19T06:26:59 | 76 | 20 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
I've always seen them. The numbers. It took me a long time to figure out what they were, and longer still to learn to pretend they weren't there.
My family took me to a psychologist when I was young, he thought they were a visual hallucination. None of the pills he proscribed me worked, but I pretended they did at the last batch. I didn't want them trying surgery.
It wasn't long after I left school that I realised I could use this... talent... to be the perfect bouncer. I did pretty well for myself, ended up working the door of one of the bigger clubs in the city.
That is why, late on a Friday night, I was winnowing through the line queuing up outside the club. The lights from the club over the street were bright and strobing, the music pounded through the air mixing with the shouts and laughter from the crowds stumbling and weaving their way between each raucous island of light and noise.
I almost missed it, distracted by two drunks arguing across the street. A flash of an impossible number. My eyes must have been playing tricks, mixing two numbers from people stood close together. Surely.
Then suddenly, there she was. She was stood in front of me, ID in hand. She had a nervous smile, her eyes were a pale green and her skin was almost luminous and smooth, pale as alabaster. Long hair tumbled about her shoulders, down her back. It was gold and yet it seemed like shimmers of silver cascaded through it when it caught the light.
Above her head, impossible, floated the number 1391.
I stared. Had I finally jumped off the deep end? Had I burst a blood vessel in my brain and my ability was going screwy?
"Um... hello? Could I... um... go inside? Please?" Her voice was soft, she had an accent I couldn't quite place, melodic like singing.
I startled out of my reverie and took her ID, "Sorry," I mumbled, examining the plastic card, checking it against our registry. It was real. Tara White, aged 24. But I had never been wrong before. What the hell was going on?
I handed the card back to her, "You can go in," I said stiffly. I couldn't bring her up on it. The ID seemed real and I couldn't hold up the line. Besides, what would it look like if I started asking if she was over a thousand years old? It was preposterous.
The impossible girl gave a bright smile, "Thank you!" She vanished into the club and was gone.
I was preoccupied for the rest of the night, it made it hard to concentrate on my job. Thoughts of the mysterious girl whirled through my head. Who was she? What was she?
I did not see her again until the club wound down and emptied in the early hours, and in the flood of people leaving I did not realise she had passed me until I saw a flash of silver-gold rounding the corner. By the time I reached the next street she was gone. My heart fell. I'd lost her, my only chance at finding out about that damn number, gone.
I was despondent the next day, I'd blown it. I'd never see her again. By the time midnight rolled around on Saturday I had managed to convince myself it was a fluke. I must have imagined that number... even if I knew in my heart that I had not. Still, it was the only way I could put the mystery out of my mind and I had almost succeeded when I caught those shy green eyes again in the queue.
I looked up sharply, and sure enough the 1391 floated above her head mockingly. Beside her was a tall man, probably pushing seven feet. He had shoulders broad enough to make Atlas envious and his skin was as dark as her's was pale. He caught my eyes and the blood drained out of me. Terror, deep and primal washed through me. I felt like a gazelle staring into the eyes of a lion. For all those brown eyes were soft, they were deep and dark and I felt like I was drowning.
He held out his ID, said nothing. Every motion was measured and precise, he moved not an inch more than he needed and there was a terrible fluidity about it. An effortless, predatory grace.
It was only then that I realised what number was above his head and a new terror filled me, my limbs trembled and my heart seized in my chest.
12,150.
I swallowed hard, fumbled for the ID. It too was real. He was Alexander Roberts, aged 28. I handed it back, gestured for them to go in. I could not trust my tongue.
The man gave a thin smile and ushered Tara inside. When they were gone it was like a heavy weight had left me and I gulped for breath. My hands shook.
I took my break early and rushed to the staff bathroom, I splashed cold water onto my face. The shock of it helped but my hands were still trembling. I felt nauseous. Why had that man had such an effect on me? Who the hell *were* they?
Thankfully I did not encounter the terrible man and the shy girl again that night, but over the next few weeks Tara became a regular. She would always come on the weekends, sometimes with her terrifying companion and sometimes alone. I quickly noticed that she was always sober when I saw her, no matter how late she had stayed at the club. She never seemed to leave with anyone, though she seemed to often get hit on in the queue and probably more often still at the bar itself. She always deflected these advances... at least the ones she noticed. A lot of the time she seemed to not realise she was being flirted with at all.
She was always quick to smile, there was a shy earnestness about her and an almost frightening amount of curiosity. It made me wonder just how she was related to Alexander. The man still made me uneasy even if the terror of him had lessened.
I waited until Tara came without her protector, as I had come to think of him. It was a Sunday night, the air was getting colder and the crowds a little thinner. She left the club early today and before she could vanish like she always did I called out to her, "Tara, I need to speak with you a moment. It is about your ID."
She turned, confused, "Is there something wrong?"
"Your ID is fake, isn't it? You aren't 24. I can see people's ages. I know you are much older than that. You're nearly 1400, aren't you?" I watched her eyes widen slightly.
"Th-that is ridiculous, of course I'm not! No one lives that long," she protested, pulling away from me.
"I have never been wrong before. What are you? Who are you?"
She looked around nervously as the crowds of drunks still wending their way to the last embers of revelry still smouldering in the early hours, "Not here. Come with me, and I will explain. I can't risk someone overhearing," she turned from me and gestured for me to follow.
I had little choice. I had to know who she was, how she could be so old. I followed, and soon we were lost in the crowds.
Whatever explanations my feverish imagination had come up with in the past few weeks, they paled to nothing in the light of the truth.
**EDIT**
Apologies if there are any spelling mistakes or nonsensical sections. I wrote this on my phone and it has started to shove words I already did into the middle or end of sentences once I complete them. Such as turning "paled to nothing" into "patheyd nothing" or such.
**EDIT 2**
Part 2 in replies
|
It was a day like any other
Deflect the young,
Accept the one
But before my eyes,
A double of a 12, 1212
And then I knew:
I always thought children would joke
That it was just the writers
Making fluff and fun merry for views
And before my eyes,
A pair of kids, stacked like dishes
Wobbling about
And a guffaw let out.
| 2017-09-01T23:57:33 | 2017-09-01T22:38:31 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] A thousand years after humanity was accepted into the galactic federation at large, other aliens realized one terrifying fact about them, humans are adaptive creatures. Unlike other races, humans have no qualms about learning alien techniques or integrating new alien technologies to their own.
|
At first, we laughed at the apex species of Sol III. They were mammals, standing on two legs and having two free arms with claws able of fine manipulation. They called themselves "humans".
Most of galactic species had solved their own inner differences way before they launched themselves to explore other worlds and stars. Some reached mutual understanding, deleting old national states and joining upon a common cause. Others had long wars until one side reached victory over their peers but, ultimately, they reached peace. My species, the Thurin, are blessed with shared emotions and memories. We are not quite a hive mind, but we feel each other, we understand each other, and we finally united under a common cause: peace, prosperity and knowledge.
But humans were different.
They kept fighting. They did so even as they jumped to their own solar system. They did fight even as they colonized other planets within the Sol system. While we had harnessed magnetic and gravitic control to launch our ships to space, humans would use *fire*. It was as dangerous as it was ridiculous: they strapped their ships into actual *bombs* and used controlled bursts of explosions to proper them. It was stupid. It was dangerous. We watched them as they expanded through their system, as they colonized new planets, and as new planetary nations were founded, rapidly decaying into despair, inequality, suffering and war.
We watched the humans in a mix of incredulity, laughter and awe. We thought they would kill themselves way before they could consider even a new way of travelling through the stars. We thought they were too busy building new warshipsand devising new ways of subduing each other to even imagine how easily one can travel between the stars once you understand key concepts.
We did not expect their sensors to progress so fast. I was in the science ship *Progenitor* when our sensors shown that we were being scanned. Captain ordered to divert power to the cloak field and to get out of the system, but it was too late. We had been seen. And they watched as we activated our relativistic engines and travelled through a hyperlane towards the star they called Proxima Centauri.
It was decided to not go back to the Sol system, at least for a few decades. We believed that, in due time, humans would forget about us, and they would continue to fight each other. But we did completely understate their determination and imagination. As we know nowadays, the only thing human scientists needed to create a relativistic engine was to know that *it was possible.* That's all they needed to boost their advances in space travel by several orders of magnitude.
Even as the first human ship breached the boundaries of their home system, we could see they were not united in purpose or in harmony: they were still sepparated by their interests, by their social status, or even by random facts such as the family, city, country, or planet they were born into. But even more shocking was that, even when they figured out how relativistic engines worked, their ships still travelled on fire and explosions! We could not understand it: how could they mix such primitive technology with advanced travel systems? It had never been seen.
Humanity's arrival to the galactic community was swift, peaceful, brutal, violent, slow, collaborative and disgusting depending to which group of humans someone referred to. And each one of them learned from different species in different ways:
The Manglor Enclave declared war on humans, humanity rose an army to face them. We later learned they were called "Hindi's Privateers" and they fought for money, a concept forgotten by most advanced species centuries ago. Humans learned new ways of destruction and death.
A diplomatic convoy arrived on earth. They were greeted by leaders of the Pan-Eurasian Union. As a result of such encounter, the humans learned the customs, languages and diplomatic stances of every single species in the galactic community.
From the Astral Union they learned how to harness and manage energy. It is unknown which human group did it, but we know it was done though an infiltration operation that only a master spy would be able to perform.
A religious human cast called "Mormon Followers" joined a community of High Ildrian, the species blessed with telechinesis and telepatich abilities. And they *learned* it. Through years of study, humans actually *learned* those abilities, something that was believed to be impossible, but for the High Ildrian. It was inconcievable, but they actually did it.
And that terrified every single one of us. Even as the Ildrians banned the humans from their territories, the damage was already done.
One fateful day, an Umogian fleet destroyed a human ship, killing in the way an spiritual leader of mankind. The response was swift: a coallition of human groups joined forces against the Umogian directorate in a sort of holy crusade. Only ten years later, the Umogian homeworld had been invaded and the survivors killed or forced to flee to other planets to avoid extinction. They used every single advance and knowledge they learned from alien species:
Their newly found energy management permitted them to build bigger and more powerful warships. Their new weapons of mass destruction leveled their enemies to an atomic level. They used the knowledge gained by the Pan-Eurasian Union to sought chaos among the Umogian Government. They used the telepathic powers they learned to created terrible armies able to submit their enemies with their minds.
That's when the galactic community chose to withdraw from the growing human empire. Borders were stablished, and a warning to never cross them issued in every single human language we knew. And, surprisingly for everyone, they respected that. "There is much free space", they answered, "we will respect your demmands".
But maybe we learned something from them.
Years later, the Manglor Enclave declared war on the Thurin Consciousness. We are a peaceful race. Our navy was not able to face their warships, and our armies were no match for the monstruosities that Thurin warriors were. We desperately fought for years, losing planet after planet in a war against extinction. We tried to understand the Manglor, we pleaded for peace, we pleaded for mercy, but it was all in vane. No other species would come to our aid, just as had happened when the humans started a holy crusade against the Umogian, each member of the galactic community focused on reinfocing their border systems and preparing for war in case they were the next target.
But we sent messages asking for help. Pleading for anyone to assist us, To save us from oblivion. We knew it was for nothing, but we did anyway.
And I was there when our prayers were answered.
The planet I was in was about to be conquered. The last of our army gathered to try to slow down the enemy, but it was hopeless: the planet was blockaded, any ship leaving the atmosphere was immediately destroyed. Explosions got closer and closer as the Manglor artillery and atmospheric fighters destroyed what remained of our civilisation.
Someone said there was a battle waging on the atmosphere. Communications were blocked, but it seemed someone was breaching the blockade. And, few minutes later, the sky lit with fire. Like metheors, pointy steel and titanium ships rushed through our atmosphere, burning bright red, and turning their engines that worked on explosions. The Manglor fighters engaged the human ships, and dozens, hundreds of dropships descended on the battlefield, releasing numberless soldiers and war machines. We thought humans would end us along with the Manglor armada. We thought our ending would come in the hands of a different species.
Communications were reestablished and we got the first message from outside our planet in weeks.
*"This is commander Delen, and I talk in representation of the united forces of the pan-Eurasian Union, the Hindi commissariat and the United America. We come here in response for the plead of assistance issued by the Thurin Consciousness, and we DEMAND all Manglor forces to withdraw immediately".*
A human ship, huge in size and roaring with flames and destruction landed near our position. As it opened, dozens of humans wearing metal armors and carrying boxes rushed towards us. I did not try to run. When the human removed the helmet I recognized it was a female. She looked at me and at the injured Thurin around me and, I swear, I thought my universal translator was failing.
"We are the Medics without borders. We are here to help".
But it had not malfunctioned.
The humans, the horror of our galaxy, the ones who brought the Umogian close to extinction, were the only ones who answered our call.
​
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Note: This tale is losely inspired in another tale from the series "Humans are space orks", but I've been unable to find it to reference it here :(. If any of you recognized the tale in the ending, please to let me know so I can source it here :)
​
EDIT: Thanks to u/Kheldarson for finding the tale that [inspired me written by Menolly Hestia](https://menolly-hestia.tumblr.com/post/161227838380/dalekteaservice-radioactivepeasant-on-the)
EDIT 2: Proper proof read.
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"Human culture is most similar to a highly adaptive virus." The lecturer, Zig-1-13, explained. "It may be somewhat ironic coming from me." There were scattered laughs in the hall, as Zig-1-13 was a Grodiax, a species evolved from viruses. "Unlike other cultures, they easily assimilate bits and pieces from other cultures, and seemingly at random.".
He paused, waiting for the various writing implements to stop. "Alright, can anyone give me a case of cultural assimilation by the humans that went badly?" All hands shot up. The professor chose one at random. "The Taral Salute." The gurgling answer came from a Taaren, a canine-like life form. Zig nodded. "Indeed, a disastrous misunderstanding - the Taral 'salute' was adopted as a standard human greeting, not knowing, or perhaps despite knowing, that it is one of the most vulgar gestures in the entire cross-galactic alliance." He adjusted his seeing aid. "Which led to the fourth civil war and multiple planet-eradication events, as humans also adapt technology.".
A few hands were raised, and Zig chose the old Krgaal, a female of some distinction and age. "But other races adapt too, right? It's why there are mixed universities in the first place. What made them so special?" He sighed. That was a bit of a hard subject to discuss. "True, but none as quickly, as fiercely or with such destructive results." He turned on the projector, showcasing various images as he spoke. "The extinction of the Ga'arth, the rise and death of the Ceremonious AI, the Golden Draught, the fourteen plagues, all seven galactic civil wars- virtually every major disaster in the last millennium can be traced back to humanity assimilating some cultural or technological aspect.".
The ringing bell signals the end of period, and Zig-1-13 decided to give his students a heads up. " Next lesson will be the excommunication of humanity from the alliance, and the permanent quarantine of the species to a single solar system, namely Xr-144q, in the planet SOL-3. Read chapter 14 in preparation."
| 2022-06-14T02:53:30 | 2022-06-13T23:48:46 | 775 | 422 |
[WP] You are the latest victim of a God who is known for handing out superpowers. Unfortunately this God has a twisted sense of humour and only gives out superpowers that are useless to the person receiving them. You are determined to make the God regret giving you powers.
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*"You have been blessed."*
Those were the words I heard before I awoke in the morning. I groaned as I rubbed my eyes. I had heard of this. People all over the world said these were the words they heard before they awoke to a new life of underwhelming useless powers.
A man born blind in Portugal was given the power to change the color of anything he touched if he wanted. Most of the time it was black, but sometimes a building turned purple, a dog green, a sidewalk magenta, and so on. A woman in Egypt could turn invisible if no one was looking at her. A professional mime in France could make solid invisible items that only effected him, but he had to describe verbally what it was in detail. The poor fellow had a mental breakdown as he could never perform to what his power could do.
I got of of bed and fell. No pretext, no warning. I stepped onto my rug and just slipped. I tried to pull myself off the ground by my hand slid off of the nightstand. I couldn't grip anything.
I had to focus on each step, each action as it dawned on me what my power was.
I had the power of slippery.
I tried to live my life normally. I figured if I focused on the texture and feel of everything I was able to keep it from being slick. I brushed my teeth, losing the toothpaste tube in the process as it slipped out of my hand and splatted on the bathroom wall.
Personal hygiene was where it all spiraled down. Where my normal life slid down the drain.
Without thinking I tried to take s shower. I relaxed as the warm water cascaded over me. I moved to grab my shampoo. I slipped. I broke my arm on the side of the tub as I fell. I crawled along the floor gliding over to where my phone was on my kitchen counter. I had just started trying to sleep with my phone in the other room to get a better night's sleep, but now I regretted even the very idea of it. It took 10 minutes to grit through the pain to stand up and *try* call an ambulance. Relief flooded me as I completed my task of grabbing my phone, only for it to slip out of my hands like a wet bar of soap. I cried as it glided under the gray couch and out of reach.
"What the fuck, kind of blessing is this?!" I growled to the heavens as they snickered at my inflicted *gift.*
I gingerly stepped to my closet, in my 1 bedroom flat, to try to get dressed. My phone was not an option any more. I needed to get dressed and beg one of my neighbors to call for help for me. I managed a t-shirt, briefs, and my socks. They all felt wrong to me. What should have been rough cotton felt like smooth satin.
"At least my clothes will always feel smooth?" I gave a hollow laugh only to wince as my arm shook.
My next challenge, put on pants. Jeans were out of the question, to much give with stiff clothes. What good would a belt be if I can't loop it anyways? Athletic shorts were my answer. I went through 4 pairs before I finally was able to secure one in place. The others had the string slide completely out before I could tie a tight knot using one hand. I still wasn't confident my shorts could resist falling down if a 4th grader with cerebral palsy decided to try and pants me.
With one victory in hand I decided to hedge my bets and not put shoes on. I made my way to the heavy front door only to have a new fear grip my spine. I had a rounded door knob.
"God damn it... Wait, no, I already am. No need for another curse, please." I quickly backtracked my statement as I walked to the door. With all my heart I kept that door knob rough as I twisted it open. I pulled only to be reminded it was locked by the lack of movement.
"Gah!" I cried in frustration as I turned the lock then opened the door.
*'Note to self, get flat handle door knobs for everything.'*
I closed the door, locked it and knocked on all four of my neighbors doors. In my slow agonizing morning they all must have left for work already. I could already picture the texts from my boss asking where the hell I was. Little did he know I was already in a new form of Hell.
With no answer I was left with no choice but to go down the stairs to a new floor and try the apartments there. I was on the third floor of my apartment complex without an elevator. The concrete and metal looked menacing with the new threat in my life. I made it to the first half landing and let out a sigh of relief.
"I can do this..." I stepped down the next step.
I quickly discovered I could not do this.
I fell. Pain erupted from side as I hit the concrete corners on the way down to the next floor. I cracked my skull on the next tumble, my arm screamed as it flung out hitting the unforgiving railing. My leg twisted the wrong angle as I arrived at the next floor.
I must have screamed as someone opened their door to find my bloody broken mess. I don't remember much other than the crazy amount of straps they had to use to secure me to the gurney.
That was only this first day with my powers.
If I relaxed the world around me became a slip and slide from made of rocks. If I stayed tense and focused, I could keep things normal, even rougher if I really tried. I couldn't live normally like this. It was too much for my body to handle to always be on edge. Ultimately I couldn't work anymore in my retail job. Property damage and liabilities they said. I couldn't receive Wellfare because what disability could be filed for slippery?
6 months later I was homeless. I was a pariah. People avoided me thinking they might get blessed if they hung around me for too long. Others would toss me items like food or clothes from a distance not wanting to step near me incase the floor was slick and they fell.
I awoke one morning in my bundle of grime covered clothes to hear the shaking of a bag of cat litter. A woman in business casual was following a similarly dressed male colleague as he spread the litter of the shiny polished concrete.
"Good morning Mr. Greenford." The woman smiled softly as she looked at me.
I sat up the best I could and looked at them as they approached. I was rarely told to move locations. It only meant more work for the city as I would just "ruin" another back alley, I was a living hazard after all.
"What is it? Do I need to move?" I croaked out as I slowly stood.
"No Mr. Greenford." The man had finished pouring kitty litter. "We have been looking for you."
"What do you want?" I was just tired at this point.
The woman cleared her throat. "We are recruiters for the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, DARPA for short. We think we might be able to help you in exchange for your abilities."
"How the hell could I help?" I grumbled not daring to hope.
A smile promising grandeur crossed her face. "How about helping us create the most frictionless fire arm system known to man? Or improving the slipstream friction efficiency on our aircrafts?"
I stared. I couldn't comprehend what I was hearing. The whole time I wallowed in misery, begging for scraps from a distance. Yet someone else thought of something actually useful for my powers.
"In exchange for your help in our projects we will give you basic necessities and work to make you able to function in normal society once again. Once we work out the kinks of your abilities you might even be able to do more." She stopped talking allowing the male agent to speak.
"There are even talks of military operations if we can make you competent enough. The amount of sabotage that you could inflict." He gestured at the ground that was a smooth as polished glass. "You could bring cities to their knees by making all the roads as slick as ice, making transport grind to a halt.
I closed my eyes thinking back to that first day. How my life had spiraled from a *blessing* from some twisted god. I was miserable after everything had happened.
A vindictive smile crossed my face
"Where do I sign?"
Afterall, misery loves company, right?
​
**Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed my first entry in this subreddit.**
Edit: Grammar
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(On mobile, sorry for the formatting)
There used to be a rumor of a terrible god who gave out powers to those who sought it out. Only the chosen were given gifts but were sworn to secrecy on where the specific shrine lay hidden. I managed to get the location after endless hours of research and chasing down ambiguous lines of information.
The shrine was overtaken with Moss and Vines. It was clearly abandoned and no longer used as the once wooden housing over the statue was laying around it in ruins all in decay. I approached it and as I was brushing away the vines, a loud booming voice echoes through the foliage.
“A new hand touches the Statue”
Long story short, this abandoned God gave me the gift of being able to refill anything with no cost. At first, it seemed pretty stupid, and pretty useless. The power to refill stuff? What good could that do? I realized after a while that I could drive a car and virtually no longer pay for gas. I never went hungry again as I was able to refill my plate with food or refill my fridge with groceries. From there I realized I could spend all my money and just have my bank account refill to whatever it was at before I spent anything. I could do almost everything!
| 2022-09-04T06:10:11 | 2022-09-04T00:29:18 | 350 | 53 |
[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.
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"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.
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Everyone knows the basic skills needed for the zombie apocalypse. Foraging, fighting, and fleeing. The last of the three f’s of survival was the most important. So armor was considered to be impractical as it would only slow you down. I chose to add more defense when it started. The history museum had a set of full plate armor fit for battle and in good condition.
They saw an invincible being walk through the hoard. I laughed at the walking corpses as they tried to bite through steel. No weak point on me for them to exploit. I had also taken a sword and shield to kill them so that I could be allowed in a settlement.
They looked in horror as I took off my helmet and showed them who had strode through the hoard, they had ridiculed my idea and my idea worked better than running. Now this settlement will be listening to me. I plan on getting everyone full plate armor. That way we can forage and fight without fear and we can keep everyone in one area. We will grow back to being a society.
| 2020-09-14T09:12:16 | 2020-09-14T07:46:50 | 101 | 70 |
[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.
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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.
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"You wish really really hard and then you push the button."
"Really really hard? What does the wishing do?"
"Frustrates the hell out of the new recruits when they realize that the incredibly genuine way we insist that they wish as hard as they can is just a ploy to make them look silly to amuse the rest of the crew."
"That seems mean"
"Humans are occasionally mean, we do it for laughs and after the hazing is over we make it up to them; its not perfect but it satisfies their need for schadenfreude in a mild way. It brings the crew together through a shared experience."
"That seems complex for a team building exercise. Why would it work? Don't the new recruits see right through it?"
"Because its really embarrassment even if its very contrived."
"So what system does the button engage? What does it cause?"
"Take a look, the bulkhead below it has been removed"
She draped her sixteen fingers and a vast forest of flagella under the counter. She pulled out a small squat brass jug-ish looking object with a pop and thwop as it released suction from the rubber.
"So the button does nothing but simulate pressing a button connected to something. Where is the real way you activate your faster than light travel"
Smirking he didn't reply but started half laughing, half singing an old Christina Aguilera song:" I feel like I've been locked up tight..." He trailed off. "When the old veterans find out about the button its the commands turn to have a laugh. Its best to let old R.W. rest though when he's grumpy things can get nasty."
| 2017-03-31T07:50:09 | 2017-03-30T23:13:22 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] A drug is released that causes people to feel completely content with their lives. The suicide rate skyrockets.
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*Excerpt from the NY Times, February 11th 2034*
>The FDA wanted to ban it. But it had no real reason, the clinical trials did well and there were no documented side effects on the test subjects. They had only one real argument, a paper published in a journal of speculative medicine which said that happiness, like everything else, had to be administered in doses of moderation. High-usage of this drug would lead to high probability of risk-taking behavior, excess alcohol consumption, binge eating, neglecting threats, etc. But that wasn't really an argument, as it could be made for all drugs in existence: *Take it in moderation, duh!* The matter went to the supreme court and the FDA lost- the pursuit of happiness is an inalienable right.
>It was subsequently released to the market.
---
Jason pops the pill as he puts the water to boil. No spices, meat or vegetables- he just strains the noodles and throws the gooey overboiled mess on his plate.
It tastes like the best five-star meal he never had.
The cellphone rings, "Jason, dear, you don't call!"
"That's because everything's good, mom! You worry for nothing."
"Your grades have been going down. How will you get a job if you don't graduate?"
"Why do people need a job, mom?"
"What kind of question is that, Jason? Should I come over? I'm worried."
"People take jobs to earn money, why? To buy good stuff to feel happy. To not get bored. What if I could do all of that without a job? "
"What are you saying, son, listen-"
"Gotta go." The line goes dead.
He slumps down on the sofa with the spaghetti on a paper plate and switches on the TV.
---
Carter peers outside the alleyway, no one is there. He gives out a whistle and starts walking down the pavement. Another man appears from the bend and takes his hands out of his pockets. They exchange envelopes as they pass each other by. He turns the corner, looks around again, and opens the envelope to inspect the note neatly folded inside. He smiles and shoves it inside his sheepskin coat.
---
Alicia entered the restaurant and sat at an empty table. She crossed her legs and brought out her cell.
Text from Clara: "What're you upto, Babe?"
"On a date. He's late, as usual."
"Oh, you're too good to deal with this shit."
"I know, lol :)"
"Move on, I've been hearing rumors."
"That's why I called him here. I'll tell him to come straight."
"Good luck. You always have my shoulder to cry on."
"F off."
"Gladly." Clara has signed off.
She ordered a cup of coffee, sipped through slowly watching the parking lot outside. After twenty minutes, she got a text from Brian.
"Sorry, can't make it right now, babe. Got tied up, will call later."
She logged in to facebook to check. No activity on Brian's profile.
Text to Clara: "Check Brian's profile. I think his settings have blocked me out of seeing specific activity."
"Wait up."
Alicia waited.
"Ooh. You're not gonna like this. He just signed into a bar and uploaded pic. I'm sending."
Alicia stared at the phone as her eyes glistened. She shoved it into her purse, dropped a bill on the table and stormed off.
---
Jason is still slumped on the sofa, the commercial for the contentment drug playing out in his eyes.
His expression is not so serene anymore. He plucks the neck of his t-shirt and brings it to his nose, immediately turning his head in disgust.
He sits up and moves across the hallway, pausing before the many letters and brochures littered on the floor. He pauses, sighs and sits on the floor. Opens up the first letter: bills. The second one: more bills. The third one carries the logo of his bank, he chugs it away. From the pile he picks up another letter: it's from his university. He opens it and reads. It is a termination notice.
He rips it and stands up, pacing around frantically. His face turns to a grimace and he takes out his t-shirt and moves to the bathroom. Another dirty mess: he checks the cupboard behind the mirror and finds the pill bottle empty. He looks around and his de-contentment increases, reality sets in like the rot that has taken his apartment. He gets on the bathtub, opens the tap and lets the water stream over him. He lets out a scream.
---
"Man, I'm horny as fuck." Carter says as he leers at a woman walk down the pavement.
"You're on parole, remember. Do you wanna go in again?"
"Maybe." He says, as another woman walks by.
"So how's the new stuff doing?"
"Pretty good. Selling like nothing before."
"Have you tried it?"
"Never get high on your own supply."
"Strange to thing that something that's legal can fetch so much on the black market." He put on his golf-cap and walked away, chuckling
"They only allow three a week max." Carter said to himself, eyeing someone coming from afar. He checked the street, and started moving towards her.
---
Alicia moves out of the pharmacy, still clutching her ID and the brand new box of pills. She opens it and throws away the instructions and pops one in.
Her appearance is unflattering. Crying made rivers of mascara trail down her cheeks. Her hair unkempt, as if she'd been in a tussle.
"Hey, ho! Get the fuck out of this neighborhood!"
She turns towards the voice. It is a skinny man, wearing a smelly brown t-shirt. His clothes and hair are dripping wet, like he just got out of a shower.
"You fucking lowlives are ruining this neighborhood." He continues screaming as Alicia stares back at him defiantly.
"You're a fucking asshole!" She screams, but her annoyance is overcome by shame for looking like a fuckup and being confused for a prostitute. She pops a pill as the wet creep enters the pharmacy.
---
"Refill" Jason taps the bottle on the counter and throws down his ID.
The receptionist takes the bottle, scans it with the barcode reader, she checks his ID and types into the computer. Then she puts a green tick mark on the bottle with a felt pen and gives him a fresh one.
"My last this week. Two more days, but I've got arrangements for that."
She tries to hide her disgust and appear professional. It is an open secret that the pill could be bought on the allies, but this brazenness can only emerge from stupidity. She prints out a sheet and hands him a pen. Jason signs and grabs the bottle. He pops in a pill then and there and asks to add a bottle of mineral water to his bill.
---
"Hey, honey. Wanna have a nice time?" Carter pauses in front of the woman, eyeing her lasciviously as he chews his gum.
"I already am," she replies with a bright smile that shone through the rivers of mascara and disheveled hair all over her cheeks.
Carter knew one when he saw one, and he flashed a smile.
"I've got a present for you, right down this alley. Come."
She smiled and narrowed her eyes, "Really? For me? Wow. I just had the worst day and now everything's better already!"
He took her into the alley, pushed her against a wall and placed his hand on her mouth.
---
Jason stopped on the pavement when he heard noises coming from the alley.
He peered into the dark, the headlights of a passing car illuminated his dealer, half undressed over, the woman he'd seen in front of the pharmacy.
"What's going on Carter? Found a date?" He said with a smile.
The woman lay there, a smile glued to her lips. But it was as if someone had distended her lips to stretch, and there was no emotion behind it. Not sadness, not pleasure. Just an empty gaze of being content at whatever her predicament was.
"You ran out already?" Carter said in a gruff voice.
"No, have enough till the weekend." Jason cheerily replied.
"Then fuck off already." Carter went back down on the woman.
She lay frigid on the floor and Jason looked on for a minute.
Then he smiled a contented smile. "Have a good night, both of you."
He walked down the street until Carter's grunts disappeared. Then he sat back on his sofa and and switched on the TV.
|
The needle slips out and the nurse smiles. That’s all you’ll need now, she says, as your mind stills. Your heart stops racing and the anxiety, the panic, the unsettling flapping of birds behind your eyes stops as the drug reaches out and clips their wings.
The beasts are caged. How do you feel?
How do you feel, as you reach the end of the rollercoaster and look out onto the plateau? Now that the colours have come back as muted pastels painted in watercolours, and life takes on a soft focus? The eternal spring has arrived to take away the cold, but it never gets too warm to be uncomfortable. How do you feel?
How do you feel, now that the lights are all amber on your emotional switchboard and the circuits are all wired correct and safe? When your wife lies next to you, crying because she can’t feel a spark, while you stroke her hair and say I don’t understand. How can you be sad when I’m fixed now?
At the very end, at the edge of life, at the edge of the rooftop, looking into a sucking black hole with the muffled sound of the city far below. The twinkling headlights of cars at stoplights are beyond your reach, but not for long. How do you feel?
You feel content.
| 2016-05-08T12:17:52 | 2016-05-08T10:01:02 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] A boy goes to hang himself in the woods, only to find a decaying body already hung. A girl sits quietly nearby.
Explain their interactions, and the reasons/motivations for being there.
|
Leaves wilted through the air, angels from the branch, seeds from the vine falling to the earth.
A young man treads this path of bark-child, finding a kinship in the way they topple. From life to death, only some of them survived the fall, and grew into strong oak and firm wood. Others simply were eaten by the ground. This is how Jack felt - like the world was eating him up. Every day a morsel was taken from him, vile words like fork-prongs in his heart. The rope lay heavy in his hand, he let it drag behind him. It whispered as it glided along the crackled leaves.
He came to the clearing, where he'd finally do it. Where this worthless existence of his would end, better to just disappear quietly, a disappointment to all. There was no point.
'Hey.'
The voice startled him, Jack staggered and finally stopped staring at his feet - there was a girl, sat in the grass, next to her own body. The image was horrifying and impossible - the body was like some grotesque portrait of her, already rotting and bloating, neck and skin purple, pale skin and dead flesh swinging in the breeze. Her alive doppleganger regarded it sadly, then turned back to him. She was Goth looking, black raven hair, white skin, darkened eyes. Jack glared right through her, and he let the rope drop completely.
'What is this?' Jack stammered, 'Some kind of sick joke? Are you a modern art student or some shit?'
'Breathe in, baby.' The girl grinned, her voice was soft but crackled, like an young actress speaking through an ancient radio. 'That's a real body. I'd know, I was in it.'
'Breathe-' Jack stopped short as bile piled into his throat, he'd been so shocked he hadn't even noticed the smell. 'But that's impossible, ghosts don't exist.'
'Neither does God.' The girl jingled a silver cross around her neck sardonically. 'I'm kind of glad, really. Not sure what he was going to say about all of this.'
Jack folded over and began to retch. The girl sighed and stood up, her hand was icy cold on Jack's back and he flinched away at first, shuddering against a nearby tree. What struck him as odd was the sudden urge for self preservation, he knew the reasons why his life was trash, but now, faced with the unknowable and impossible, he wanted to live. It made no sense, that single fact sat uncomfortably in his skull.
'Come on. Let's get you away from the stench.' The girl folded her arms across her chest. Her brow wrinkled at the shaking boy, before she walked forward and slapped him. 'Dude. Stop trembling and walk with me. I'm not going to kill you.'
Jack rubbed his hand across the icy five left across his cheek, its effect sobering. This definitely wasn't a person, sure she could leave marks, she could touch, but her skin was incredibly cold. Like it drew the life out of everything around it, but in a way that was oddly natural. She was not of this world but belonged in it, an opposing force to the blood that flowed through the young man's veins, like the end of a long breath, or the place where the stream died and joined the sea.
They began to walk away from the clearing, Jack's fear turning into curiosity.
'What are you?' Jack hesitantly pried. He paused for a moment. 'Shit, I mean, I didn't mean to be so blunt-'
'It's okay kid. Frankly I'm not sure.' The girl inspected her etherial hand. 'Guess I'm a ghost now, not entirely sure why I'm still here. I just am. What I'm more interested in other than my own existential torture is why a kid drags a rope miles into the woods.'
'I'm sure you empathise.' Jack pushed his hands into his pockets, staring ahead uncomfortably.
'At least tell me your name?'
'Jack.'
'Jill. Shit, Jack and Jill.'
'No way.' Jack turned his head towards her. 'You're serious?'
'Yeah.' Jill smiled from ear to ear, Jack thought she looked rather pretty. A silence followed as they trekked through the woods, and slowly Jack's hands fell out of his pockets, he let out a long sigh.
'Stop, let's just... Stop for a minute.' Jack lowered himself onto a fallen tree, the great bark having cleaved a canyon of undergrowth in the darkening forest. 'Why the hell are we walking?'
'Because there's only one reason a kid walks into the forest with rope, Jack. Like you said. I empathise.'
'I still can hardly believe you're what you are. This is some kind of trick. You're secretly a psychopath and I'm next, right?' Jack chuckled nervously.
'Could be, but I think you believed what I said.' Jill smirked wanly, and Jack returned the look. 'You needed to get away from that. I took you here so we could talk.'
'About?'
'About why you shouldn't kill yourself.' Jill stated simply, clasping her hands together. Jack frowned.
'What?' Jack stared right through her. 'That's it. I've gone insane. Even my own subconscious is trying to talk me out of it.'
'Oh I wish. That'd make my existence a lot less horrifying.' Jill stated, laughing with all the mirth a spirit could. 'But why? You're cute. You seem eloquent - intelligent I'd even go so far as to say. Why are you doing it?'
'About the same reason as you did, I'd wager.' Jack paused for a long time, glancing to the left. 'I feel… Alone, numb. I have nothing to look forward to, no-one to rely on. No-one talks to me. I was given medicine but it didn't help… I just feel awful, all of the time. I want it to stop.'
Jill fell silent, before a cold hand reached out for Jack's. He held it like it was the warmest fire, tears simmering in his eyes. He pulled away.
'Jack. Look.' Jill murmured, 'It's too late for me, way too late. I walked that same road and ended it, and I really hate myself for it. Now I'm out of that… Shell, with all of those chemicals yelling at me, I can see the world as it is, stupid beautiful - hell, crazy beautiful. A complete wicked mess that I'm falling in love with as I leave it.'
'Jill-'
'Don't Jill me kid. I'm older than you.' Jill grinned from ear to ear, before her features dropped. 'It's sad. I don't want to go now. As it… As it happened, I felt regret. So much regret. I thought about my mom. Childhood meals. Playgrounds - I miss that shit, dude. You remember when we were young enough to sword fight with sticks without being weirdos?'
'Jill. I appreciate what you're trying to do - even though I… I still don't think you exist - but you're doing this for no-one's benefit. My mind's made up.'
'Sure as hell won't be like that when your feet leave the ground, trust me.' Jill sighed. 'I think I might still be kicking around for something, and I think that something is stopping you from doing this. And… Hell, I don't want you to. I don't want anyone to.'
'Then what are you going to do?' Jack stared at her, his hands clenched into fists of determination.
'We're going to stay here, we're going to talk, and I'm going to do what no-one else will do, listen. As someone who understands. As someone who felt like you. And we're going to get you home.' Jill said, as she took Jack's hand again, this time he didn't flinch away. Instead, he stared into her eyes.
'I'd like that.' He murmured, his voice shuddering as tears broke from of his chest once again. 'Okay…. Okay.'
|
The fresh leafs made a gentle crunching sound as Eliot neared the deep woods. He sniffled as he thought about Jessica.
"We will soon be together. I promise..." He mumbled. That's when he saw her body, still dangling from the giant oak tree. Eliot traced the crude heart carved into the base of the tree.
"This is the last step Eliot."
He ,startled by the voice, spun around to see Jessica sitting on a nearby stump. Her voice seemed distant but warm and welcoming.
"Please come to me. Its so cold here alone."
Tears started to form in his eyes as he began to climb the tree.
"I love you so much Eliot"
Tears were streaming as he tied the knot to the branch.
"Together forever..."
He slid the noose around his cold neck.
"In this life and the next." he whispered as he slid from the branch.
| 2013-12-29T10:24:54 | 2013-12-29T09:37:17 | 40 | 27 |
[WP] Write about a world where competitive Super Smash Bros. is the premier, must-watch sport worldwide.
|
The year. Is 20XX. We begin in *media res*, as all good stories do.
Sakurai trails off, clearly disturbed. A single bead of sweat drips down from his brow, almost reaching his brow before he irritably twitches, sending the drop off.
"It was a vengeful joke at first. All I heard from smash communities was "you're ruining our game! We want competition, not gimmicks!' So I listened. At first it was a joke. I even named it Super Smash 20XX a few year ahead to parody those horrid sports games, the Maddens and 2Ks did! You would put in the disk, boot up the Gamecube, and the game would load. It was just like Melee, but with special coding to remove port priority, and one key difference: it was always final destination, always four stocks, always two Foxes. No items. No life!"
Another shaken pause. I can feel his remorse, and the air is tense with his painful memories.
"Sir, I can leave. You don't need to keep talking." I feel sorry that I had brought this once-great man so much pain.
"Perhaps this is for the best," Sakurai says, "The people weren't looking for fun. They were looking for a way to fight."
And fight we did. After 20XW, it was almost inconcievable there was any other way of life. I was born into this system, so I don't know any other way people live. But there are rumors floating around this run down city, rumors of another time. So I had hunted down the ghosts. Sakurai was my first interview. But his tale was only the tip of the iceberg.
I shake myself out of my reverie. "Thank you, sir."
"No, it was my... well, not a pleasure. But certainly my duty. Good luck young man. I trust you can find your way out."
A siren blares. I quickly leave Sakurai's concealed shelter before *they* come. I sprint home, clutching the tape recording hidden away in my chest pocket.
Some months later, I had finally managed to covertly contact another past legend--as long as he could ditch his guards, we could talk. Today's the day, and now it's Prog's turn.
We don't waste time with pleasantries. This meeting took too long to set up, and our time was too limited to be wasted. I immediately fire my first question. "What was the immediate response to 20XX?"
Prog takes a second, slowly at first, but gaining speed and urgency.
"Some were ecstatic. Mango picked it up almost immediately. By that point, he had dominated the Melee seen for close to a decade, so his huge following joined him. He was like a cult leader--everyone followed him and Smash 20XX with a fervor previously unknown to humanity.
The next great man to go was M2K. Mango had no trouble convincing him of the efficiency of the new game. M2K was soon Mango's right hand man, smashing, if you'll pardon the pun, everyone in his path. Nobody could beat M2K on his home turf. Maybe not even Mango. We'll never know."
"why not?"
"As far as I know, they haven't fought it out since 20XX came out. Mango reigns through just the rumor of his power at this point. Nobody, not even M2K, was going to challenge Mango after what he did."
"What?"
Prog is shaking. "I can't say. It's too awful."
I press him harder. "It's in the past now. Nobody can hurt you here."
"He... he would break them. The thumbs of the losers. It would always heal a little weaker, a little slower than before. Nobody wanted to risk that."
I'm shocked. This was a crime! The thumb is sacred in 20XX society--it's the only way people can prove themselves and move up the tiers. "Go on," I manage to numbly say.
Prog takes a second to think. "Where was I? Oh yes, after M2K. It was a dark time, we just didn't know it yet. Mango began to swallow up all the big names with M2K's help, eliminating or assimilating the best.
'Hungrybox was the first to go. Nobody knows how that match went for sure. It was said that M2K indulgently relented to Hungrybox's request of the archaic format--best of 5, counterpicking, and so on--but completely destroyed him. Hungrybox just couldn't keep up with an M2K 100% devoted to Mango's vision. I don't think he even got close to damaging M2K. It's said that the lasers were just too fast, and the spacing... it was a work of god. A terrible, vengeful god."
"Who was next?"
"The next was Dr. PP. It's said that he went unwillingly. But when he came back, he was changed, and not for the better. If M2K was Mango's right hand, Dr. PP was the left. He would speak for hours at a time, telling us about the virtues of 20XX. Many people were brought under Mango's dark fold then. Enough that we ended up where we are now. Those who didn't... they were crushed. Either by Dr. PP or M2K, it didn't matter. They didn't even pretend anymore after a certain point--you could either meet certain doom by playing them in 20XX, or you would be held down and forcibly crippled."
Prog looks down at his thumb, smiling bitterly. "It still hurts, you know. When it rains, or it's very cold. I feel it, deep in my bones. But that didn't compare to what came next: The Purge."
"Copies of Smash 4, Brawl, Smash 64 were rounded up, and then burned. I remember how it smelled. It wasn't the clean smell of ashes--it was the acrid, dark smell of plastic and silicon, straight out of hell. It was nostalgia and childhood, memories and memorabilia, all gone in the blink of an eye. Eventually, even Melee was hunted down. 'It's a gateway,' they claimed, 'it leads to a life of impurity.' So Melee was gone too. Soon, all the smashers were under Mango's thumb."
"After that, it was easy. A few sleepers placed here and there. A senator's son, lured into playing 20XX and then converted to Mangoism. And then it all came crashing down. When the dust settled, Mango and his crew had taken it all over."
My watch chirps. "We're almost out of time."
"This was good for me," says Prog, "I remember how things were now... just remember kid, it's dangerous out there. It's cute that you think things will change with these interviews, but you can't keep going. Take my advice: stop digging now. There's skeletons that you don't want back among the living down there."
I stand, alarmed. "What skeletons?"
"Leave it alone. Leave *them* alone. The Purge was tough... so tough that some couldn't take it. Don't do it. Even if you could find them... this system isn't so bad now. People with talent rise, and those without fall. Isn't that everyone's ideal?"
"Spoken like a coward. You know things are bad now. But you run!" I shout, "But. You. Run. You bury yourself under the delusion that things are better now. They aren't. The people know they aren't. And we won't take it anymore."
My alarm rings again. Time to go. I spit disgustedly and turn to leave.
"Fine. Look for Isai. But not too loud." I look back. He's silently crying. I don't know if they are tears or rage, or sorrow, but they flow freely. I leave.
XxXxX
"You didn't have to, you know." A man comes out of the darkness, next to Prog.
"I know. Do me a last favor: how much did you hear?" Prog is forced to his knees, harshly. He yelps a little.
"Enough. Who's the kid?"
Prog spits.
"Fine," the man says, "we can do it that way. Take him out." Two more men step out of the shadows.
XxXxX
While I'm leaving, I hear a yelp, and then a scream. I run. I need to find Isai, because my time is running out.
|
(Two old men, a barber and his customer spin small talk to pass the time.)
Joey: *So did ya hear about that new kid on the Landmasters?*
Blake: **Yeah, I did, Ricky Dolph, wasn't it?**
Joey: *Yeah, straight outta college and he gets 6 million dollar contract in the pros. He plays with Falco for Christ's sake.*
Blake: **Must be good, Landmasters made the playoffs last year-**
Joe: *Then their last guy got ledge smashed with 10 seconds left on the clock.*
Blake: **Don't remind me, I had money on that match. I knew I was throwin money away when the one left was the damn Pokemon Trainer.**
Joe: *Up against Snake no less.*
Blake: **Ugh. Anyway, how are the Hammers doing? They won the playoffs, how are they now?**
Joe: *Hehe, they got a new coach now, and he's running them into the ground.*
Blake: **What?!**
Joe: *Yeah, he doesn't know Tiers so he got em all playin with Luigi and Mario. Somethin about they're a good team or somethin.*
Blake: **Looks like Landmasters are gonna take it this season.**
Joe: *Looks like it.*
| 2013-12-22T01:00:16 | 2013-12-21T21:23:12 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] "Oh, little butterfly," princess sighed as she held out her finger for the butterfly nearby, "Will I ever be queen?". The butterfly landed, said to her "nope lol", and then flew away.
|
Princess Elisheba Shaprut blinked, then blinked again. "What?" she questioned aloud. Sure it was childish to ask a butterfly anything, especially when she knew the succession laws inside and out. She 12th in line for the throne, and the children her siblings had the longer that line became. Sure it mattered little, she had anticipated being matched up to become the queen of a foreign kingdom in a political marriage after all. Yet, this butterfly which she had asked in a bout of childish play, not only talked, but told her that she would never be a queen of anything. She furrowed her brow in indignation, she would prove whoever or whatever had sent that butterfly wrong.
The next morning she had requested an audience with her father, King Moshe XII, and to meet in the Royal Palace, specifically the Hallways of a Hundred Mirrors. He always made time for his children after all, even if they were grown, and growing up they had always played in this hallway, so many beautiful memories were sure to make him consider her offer. "Elisheba!" he cried out, going in to hug her, which she happily returned. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Father, can we talk about something?" Elisheba had asked. She had been figuring a way to ask for this all night and most of the morning."
"Anything for my little girl."
She inhaled, and exhaled, "it's about the succession."
He cocked an eyebrow, "Eli... I may be old but I'm not *that* old."
"I know daddy," she chuckled. He always said that whenever his ministers had brought up succession, "it's about something else related to it though."
Intrigued, Moshe motioned for her to continue.
"So, we both know that I am 12th in line for the throne."
"Thirteenth," he corrected.
"What?"
"Your sister just found out that she's having twins."
"Oh, well tell her I said Mazel Tov if I don't get to do it!"
"Gladly."
"Anyway... I've been doing some calculations."
"Oh no," Moshe half-joked. His little Elisheba was always making plans and doing the math to support them, no matter how ridiculous they were."
"I was considering, with your blessing of course," she paused, this was the most wild and extreme request she had ever brought to him, "selling my estates, possibly taking part of my inheritance and hiring some mercenaries to carve out my own kingdom?"
Moshe's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, "You want to *what?!*"
"It will be nowhere near here, or our planned avenues of expansion."
"Where would you even take them?" he asked incredulously.
Elisheba took out the map of the known world and unrolled it, "The northern continent. It's currently divided and what established kingdoms are there are in the middle of civil wars or have just gotten out of them. They are weak, and surely even just a few coastal cities could fall-"
"Never!" Moshe cut her off, "it's too dangerous! You are not a soldier, you can not go off gallivanting on some random adventure to try and play 'queen of conquest!' This is real life and your plans have-" he stopped, flustered in his anger at the idea, "You have come up with several idiotic so-called plans in your life but *this* is by far the most ludicrous! I FORBID IT!" he barked with an air of finality, before turning and leaving her with inky her endless reflections in the Hallway of a Hundred Mirrors
Princess Elisheba sighed, but not in defeat. She knew the laws required the selling of royal estates to have the King's blessing, however that was only true if they were being sold outside of the family. There were several landless cousins who would be ecstatic to buy her small harmonies, an uninheriting nephew who would love to buy himself a nice duchy. It would take some finagling, some extra paperwork to draw up a bill of sale that did not require the royal seals, but it was doable.
*ONE YEAR LATER*
It had been a year of finding interested relatives, haggling prices, writing up paperwork, negotiating legal fees, and all under her father's nose. King Moshe XII may have inherited a vast spy network from his father, but he had never thought to turn those spies inwards. He was completely unaware of what she had been doing until it was already done, and upon his discovery he was so infuriated that he barred her from any level of succession and wrote her out of the Royal Will.
That mattered little as she looked out upon her assembled legions and the navy meant to transport them. Sellswords looking for a job, pirates looking for plunder, retired officers from the Royal Army looking for the excitement of their youth. If her math was correct, she had enough money to pay for them for three months, assuming none of them died in battle of course, which was obviously going to happen, so depending on the casualties it would give or take a few weeks. She had tried looking into getting loans but her father had barred the banks from legally giving her anything, on top of the law already forbidding loans to finance private armies. However, she did find an unexpected ally in the Rabbinate. In exchange for sending rabbis and proselytizers with her band of soldiers to help civilize the pagan savages of the north, they would provide financing for up to six months of operations. Of course her father had protested but not even a king could rebuke or control the servants of G-d.
The Kohenim and Ravs were among the soldiers, performing rites, giving legal and spiritual advice, and apparently overseeing the conversion of one of the pirate captains to Judaism from his old Catholic faith. Regardless she gave the signal to board the ships and they would begin their journey to the frozen wastes of the North. She boarded the ships last, and stood upon the deck, watching as the sails unfurled the oarsmen maneuvered the armada out of port. Finally, the flags began to fly: the golden menorah upon a purple background, with a green dragon flanking each side.
*SIX MONTHS LATER*
The conquest of the North had gone off to a far better success than she had previously anticipated. Some villages had become so sick of the constant fighting among themselves and their own claimants that they threw themselves at her feet and accepted her rule as their new sovereign. The kings and tribal chieftains who resisted were so weakened from their own wars that all it took was a swift kick to the door to being the entire rotting structure crumbling to the ground. Not to say it was easy, she had lost over half of the troops she started the conquest with, and had she not been able to replace them with the native soldiers she had been gathering under her banner it was likely that she would have had to return home in defeat and humiliation. Some tribes had fought to the last man, quite literally, and now there was a massive number of widows and orphans to.take care of. Luckily some of her soldiers had been able to marry the locals and took some of the burden off the shoulders of her new state.
Months of bloody battles, most of which she had taken part in herself, months of destruction, months of sacrifice. Today she stood in the gutted remains of what had once been a pagan temple but was being converted into the main synagogue of her new capital city. In addition to the spoils of war, her tax collecting system was getting into full swing and soon these grass huts would be replaced with houses and apartments of stone, and palaces of marble and granite. The Kohen stood at the end of the room, in front of the desecrated and covered altar to a false god. Here, in front of the Kohen, in front of her soldiers, in front of Hashem she kneeled. The Kohen recited the blessing and began to pour the consecrated olive oil upon her head until it ran off her hair, dripping across her chest, back, and arms before finally into the floor. He then put away the now empty jar of oil and took out a wooden box. Within it was a newly forged crown for the newly forged monarch of the newly forged state. It was taken out of its container and held aloft for all to see: a relatively simple thing compared to the crowns of her homeland's neighbors, and even compared to her own father's rather simple headwear. Rather than gold or jewels, it was a simple bronze band, with circlets of iron which held amber, all the materials could be found in the mines of her new nation. She stood and gently took the crown from the Kohen, turning to face her soldiers, her new dukes and vassals, holding it aloft before finally placing it upon her own head. Just as she had taken this land, so too had she taken this crown.
The Kohen calledout, "Long live, Empress Elisheba Shaprut, the Conqueror!"
"Long live Empress Elisheba!"
The butterfly had been right after all, but what did that really matter? Why be a queen when you can be an empress?
|
Princess Zarena, for obvious reasons, had not expected her rhetorical question to be answered.
“Rofl, oops,” the butterfly said, flapping its wings.
*By a fucking talking butterfly, of all things,* she thought.
But this was not a bad sign. Princesses could talk to animals, right? Maybe this boded well. Perhaps the butterfly was a divine sign.
“Wait! Before you leave, why do you hurt me so, little butterfly?” the princess said, in a much more demure tone that did not indicate the seething rage bubbling in her, a simmering cauldron lit by the red fires of mortification.
“My bad lol,” the butterfly said. “No offence lmao. I only live for a few weeks. Death brings us all closer to the truth.”
“And the truth is that I would not be queen?” Zarena huffed.
The butterfly turned its black eyes upon the princess. They were like two crystal balls, filled with smoke, perhaps of premonition and unseen futures. Princess Zarena wanted to flinch, but she suppressed her instincts—all royals had to get good at that, and she was one of the best. Instead, she stared down the butterfly.
“Copium,” the butterfly said, before lifting away, never to be seen again.
“What an asshole,” she whispered under her breath. Princess Zarena turned towards the lovely bush of hydrangeas beside her, one she had cultivated with her own hands. “The butterfly has to be wrong. Don’t you all agree?”
A passing wind shook the bushes, and a floral chorus of words emerged from the bush.
“Copium,” the hydrangeas said.
“I will cut all of you down,” Princess Zarena said without a beat. Sometimes, instincts had to be let loose.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-10-18T12:28:39 | 2021-10-18T11:37:10 | 62 | 29 |
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said.
|
“I relinquish this life.”
Just four words, six syllables, but what power they hold! We are taught from young never to utter them, intentionally or otherwise, and we are shown books, pictures, videos of the consequences. Most people are so fearful that they have probably never even said the first two words together, not even for practice. Sometimes, people say the words accidentally, like when reckless teenagers get caught up in a game of drink-or-dare, and one goes overboard by actually completing the sentence. And then, of course, there are those who say the words intentionally.
Like my wife did, fifteen years ago.
I thought about those four words again when the doorbell rang, and I steeled myself mentally. In all likelihood, it wasn’t going to be any of my friends, not when almost all of them had already passed on their lives to others in need. Odds were that it would be the government representatives again, here to remind me gently that I had lived far longer than most people, and that perhaps it was time for me to share.
“Mr Dawson?” the young man asked through the door as I looked through the peephole. He was middle-aged, with thinning hair and a protruding gut. “We were told you would be at home. They said our chances were higher if we asked you in person. Please, could we talk to you for a minute?”
“Go away,” I said. “I’m not free.”
“Please, Mr Dawson,” said the lady next to him, presumably his wife. I could tell from the subtle way she had nudged her husband aside, planted herself directly in front of my door. “Just ten minutes? We just wanted to… ask if you would hear us out. I’m Lucy, this is my husband Rodrigo. Please?”
I sighed, then unlatched the door. I managed surly easily, and I did a unique blend of grumpy, but I was not very good at heartless.
“Five minutes,” I said. “You’re leaving after that. Trust me, lady, you ain’t got what I want.”
They settled onto my sofa. I didn’t offer them any coffee, tea or biscuits. I nestled into the armchair, swivelled it slightly to face them better.
“Your time was running since you stepped in,” I said.
“Mr Dawson,” Rodrigo began, “would you tell us how much your last offer came to? I think… I think we may be able to top it. We’re serious about this.”
“I don’t need the money,” I said. “Look around you. This is the penthouse unit. Plus, I have no family to pass it on to.”
I saw Rodrigo’s face sink. For good reasons too – money was the primary reason why people spoke the words, gave up their lives. If not for the fleeting material comforts they otherwise would never get to experience, then for the wealth to pass on to family members who may have needed it more. I read that the market rate was a million dollars, though of course there were bargains to be had if one were hard-nosed enough.
“Perhaps, we could give you something else?” asked Lucy. “Say, company? Is there anyone you want to spend time with? We could arrange for that too, we know people, have connections.”
A tiny smile took root at the corners of my mouth, but it died before it could blossom. There was a time, for sure, that I threw myself into the arms of others, sought company wherever it was offered. But the void Emily left was too gaping, too yawning a chasm to fill. Perplexingly, I found myself even more lonely every morning that I woke up next to a woman who wasn’t Emily. Loneliness, and discontent, tiny eggs that burrowed into my heart, festering there, too potent to ignore, my constant, unfailing companions.
I often wondered if that was how Emily felt when she decided that the sweet nothingness of the void was better than whatever she had with me.
“As I told the Ministry of Assignment, I want for nothing,” I said. “Only to be left alone, really. I’m not ready to go.”
“I know it is a lot to ask for, Mr Dawson,” Rodrigo said. “But we… we are not young anymore. The doctors, they tell us that Lucy’s best chance of having a child is sometime in the next year or so. We only met late, so we’re way down the queue at the Ministry, way down. They can’t assign us any lives for the next few years at least. So please, Mr Dawson, would you consider giving us your spot? We… the child, it really will mean a lot to us.”
“That’s got nothing to do with me,” I said.
“But what do you live for?” Lucy asked.
“None of your business,” I replied, as calmly as I could.
There was no use explaining it to them. I had tried with the government representatives, but they didn’t understand too. They thought I was selfish, that I was another one of the greedy ones, too self-centred to pass on the flames of life to the new generation. Some of them had even tried badgering me, telling me that the world didn’t even know I existed, so why even bother to struggle through one dreary day to the next?
How could I have made them see, that it was all for Emily? That if I were to go, that she would be forgotten, utterly, completely? I was the last tether she had to this world, the last living memory of who she was, what she stood for, what she excelled at.
“Show him, show him,” said Lucy, as Rodrigo fumbled in his briefcase. He fished out a number of pamphlets, laid them on the coffee table between us.
“You must forgive me,” Lucy continued, “your private life is your own. But we are desperate, so you can understand that we did a bit of digging into your life. If money and company are not what you seek, then perhaps… we can offer something else?”
“What’s this?” I asked. The images on the pamphlets seemed so alien, yet so familiar, at the same time.
“We know how your wife… suffered after the accident,” said Rodrigo, who had the decency to drop his voice an octave. “It’s been some time, but it was big news then. They had to reschedule all the big shows after your wife could no longer dance.”
“And that’s why we will send our child to the same schools your wife went to,” Lucy said, spreading out the pamphlets in turn. “Boy or girl, doesn’t matter. We will have them complete the same courses, train under the very best dancers. We will make sure our child becomes as famous a dancer as your wife was, and then more.”
My fingers brushed the pamphlets, and I heard those familiar tones again, the musical routines Emily would put on as she practiced. I felt her hand, heard her laugh, smelled the sweet cigarette smoke which followed her from room to room. The flood of memories continued, drowning me in a sea of nostalgia.
The empty bed in the morning, because she was already up, tickling me, laughing at me for oversleeping again, when she had already worked in her morning run…
The sweat as it beaded down her back, as she pushed herself again and again, twirling in neverending pirouettes in our studio, boring marks into the parquet…
The vacant desolation in her eyes when the doctors told her she would never dance again, the fear that all that she had worked for, all that she had accomplished would be forgotten…
“If it’s a boy, he will be Emile,” said Rodrigo.
“And if it’s a girl… you know what we will name her,” added Lucy. “Please, will you give us this chance? We will never forget it, I promise.”
I closed the pamphlets, pressed them back into their hands. I retrieved my wallet, took out the donor card I had tucked away at the back. I filled in my name, the date, the time, and left the “recipient” field blank. I signed it with a flourish, then handed it to them.
“If he or she doesn’t like to dance,” I said, “it’s alright. Don’t force them to do it. But if you don’t mind, would you please let them know where their name came from? I think my wife would have liked it to know that, at the least, someone remembered her craft enough to be inspired by it.”
They nodded.
That was enough for me, and I said what they came to hear.
“I relinquish this life.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Grass, tall and smooth, traces lines against exposed skin, lying flat against the earth. Across the horizon, the sun begins to set. In departing light, the sky finds itself tinged by deep purple streaks, shooting past clouds to define the dusk. It's heaven here, sometimes. In the palms of both hands, you grip clumps of fragile green, holding vegetation tight, and for a moment you can feel it. Everything. The lonely souls walking downtown streets, tattered shoes holding fragile feet just centimetres over sordid ground below. The half-rate lovers, trading stolen glances late into the night. The urban professionals, the homeless, the coffee-shop dwellers, the hipster low-liers, the 2nd rate parents, the 1st rate parents and their 2nd rate kids, the prisoners, the judges, the police, and the citizens, the businessmen, the artists, and the insane watching rabid moonlight bounce off the metal bars of a supposed caring protection while longing for the plains beyond. You feel it all. And although it's beautiful the time is now and you know it and they know it and even the earth beneath your feet knows it so you take a breath, and prepare to speak.
"Home. I'm ready to go home once again."
And, just like that, so it is.
| 2017-08-07T09:47:15 | 2017-08-07T08:47:50 | 3,371 | 11 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
This whole thing was ridiculous, he didn't even belong in this world. But somehow here he was, a theoretical physicist, stuck in some sort of medieval society, and from all reasonable observation they had magic!
Actual magic, how was that even possible? When he had first arrived there had been… well he would have called it explosive displacement of the air. They also called it that, but they also called it regicide, mass murder, destruction of crown property, illegal use of prohibited magic… oh an trespass on private property. He guessed that much of the law was the same as back home, always add as many charges as they could.
He didn't understand half of what they were saying, dense magical theory washing over him and his eyes glazing over in much the same way as he remembered others eyes glazing over when he was enthusing about some obscure quantum mechanical theory. Considering he was in another world he was glad he could understand them at all. Understanding that did not it seem work both ways as they remarked that he seemed to be speaking in complete gibberish, different each time as they couldn't even seem to understand his name. Repeating back different incoherent babble each time he has screamed his name until they had gagged him for fear he was trying some casting. The court system was a joke in his opinion. It took all of a minute for them to declare him guilty.
"Death by the Dais of Judgement. The doomed may wish for a death of his own choice." The judge declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Hopefully the dais can understand your mad ramblings and give us an amusing death."
A wave of rage swelled up within him, if he hadn't have been magically gagged he was sure he'd have spat in the judges face.
He wasn't the only one to face death today. There were two people already hobbled and shackled by thick iron manacles and chains waiting in front of him when he was dragged from his cell and unceremoniously thrust into line waiting at a large wooden door. The man and women in front of me seemed to be magically gagged too. Probably smart given that magic was a thing here. They wouldn't want their wizard, or whatever they called them, prisoners using magic to escape.
After a few minutes it was apparent to him that it was just to be the three of them as the door swung open of its own volition and the manacles around his ankles started to force them to walk forward.
The door opened up into a large amphitheatre of yellow stone, in the centre of which was a black dais. Some of the audience had what looked an awful lot like popcorn.
"Oh, so our deaths are to be public entertainment then." He thought to himself, his impotent rage pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He'd been planning since the verdict, just a few hours ago. The little he had gleaned from the conversations he'd overheard from guards that assumed he was daft in the head since he couldn't string two coherent words together.
The Dais apparently worked no matter what language you spoke, seemed to understand even complex theories of magic, having once been used to execute some famous arch mage who had tried to use some archaic and convoluted magical theory to try and get around the Dais. Apparently it hadn't worked and the official cause of death was suffocation.
His musing was cut off and the audience above went silent as a booming voice filled the chamber from everywhere and nowhere.
"Elias Shadow-Bane, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
At the front a figure stumbled forward clumsily, his face a tortured twisting visage as if straining against some huge weight or pain as he slowly stumbled onto a dais at the centre of the chamber. A deep blue glow started in the stone below him, but he refused to speak.
"Silence will not save you, if you refuse to chose the Circle will chose for you!" The booming voice declared. "You have 1 minute to declare."
"Sleep." The man squeaked out. "I want to die in my sleep!"
A pulse of blue flushed over the man at his declaration, and he crumpled to the ground, his chest raising and falling in the slow steady rythm of sleep. It seemed like a nice way to go.
Then the screaming started. The man, Elias, was screaming and screeching. His body thrashing, and all the while his eyes were closed and slack. For a full minute he screamed and thrashed before blessedly fallin silent. He hadn't woken for an instant, and died in his sleep. In extreme agony.
Thunderous applause flooded into the silence that followed. Some raised their voices to jeer or cheer but the applause drowned out the specifics down in the chamber.
His body sunk down into the dais leaving behind his chains and clothes, which were swept off by a bored looking guard.
"This was sick. It was evil. And I'm going to beat it." He thought to himself as his manacles once more shuffled him forward. He had a plan.
"Talisa of The Black Woods, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The same voice declared.
The woman in front of him strode forward, she looked to be quite young and was a lot calmer than the previous convict. She threw back her head to clear the long black tresses from her face and raised her voice.
"Old age!" A smirk danced on her lips as the light pulsed again, and she stood seemingly unaffected. The smirk bloomed a a full smile and her lips twitched as if to speak. Then she jerked, her lips formed a surprised oval and a single word echoed around the chamber.
"Nooooooooo!" The word was drawn out. Getting thinner and quieter as her hair grew out into long tresses that flooded the ground around her feet, the deep lustrous black fading and fading into grey then pure white. Her nails seemed to shoot out and curl up, her skin wrinkled and became wan. Her teeth yellowed and fell out one by one until nothing was left but raw gums.
What fell to the ground with a soft whump looked more mummy than human, and her body sunk into the dais as the thunderous applause once again roared into the chamber.
The bored guard came on and swept the clothes and chains off muttering under his breath. "Always a smart ass."
The blood drained from his face as he watched his plan play out in front of him… she had done precisely what he had planned, and it had failed. A weight settled on his heart as the realisation sunk in. He was going to die, and painfully, for the entertainment of those above.
"Unnamed Assassin, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
The manacles forced him forward again. He struggled as hard as he could, causing his movements to be slow and stumbling just like Elias before him.
His mind raced as he feverishly thought of possibilities.
"Was there a way out? It didn't look like it. Even time was under their control, they'd just accelerate your timeline until you died." Another step forward towards his fate.
"Space-time distortions of that magnitude must take immense amounts of energy, even a matter/antimatter reaction would struggle to produce enough energy and exotic particles to produce such an effect." Another step.
"Antimatter." The word reverberated around his mind.
A grin spread across his face as he stopped fighting and let himself be puppetted to the centre of the dais. His mind rapidly estimating some figures, and doing some rapid calculation.
One pound of anti matter was approximately twice as powerful as the Tunguska Event, I weighed about 140 pounds….. well time to introduce the locals to theoretical physics.
As he reached the centre of the Dais a hysterical and vicious laugh erupted from his mouth the moment the gag disappeared. "To have every atom of my being instantly converted to its antimatter equivalent."
|
As I watched the prisoner rapidly age into a shriveled prune-like corpse, I realized it was my turn. I looked upon my executioner who asked how I would like to die. I looked at him and said "...turn me into a shroud of petals, and let me scatter across the wind..."
The magemaster said "A beautiful passing, my friend." He turned to the executioner & said "Make it so", and then it happened. I felt my body start to break apart. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt. After some time, my body was nothing more than flower petals, flowing in the wind.
| 2021-06-24T11:09:46 | 2021-06-24T10:52:15 | 54 | 14 |
[WP] One of the most unexpected duties of being a priest in a fantasy setting is that if your god is going through an emotional break down, consoling them and helping them get through their troubles is YOUR job.
|
Ascending through the hierarchy of the priesthood wasn't exactly what I had expected. The more ambitious and zealous people usually got assigned to far away posts, spreading the good word and good work to distant lands or were just sent out to help various heroic forces in generally fighting evil. The ones who remained behind, becoming archpriests, prioresses, or hierophants, were generally gentle of nature. Kind. Decent. Dutiful.
But perhaps that was what one should have realised early on, when we are all in the service of the Goddess of Mercy, Kindness, and Justice. Merhyen is not the sort of goddess who demands blood and hate. Not the sort of goddess who demands conquest and submission. She asks for love, for caring, and in return she grants us, her priesthood, great powers of healing, smiting, and other divinely given powers. She is a popular goddess for the people, a goddess who is fair and provides relief in various ways, either through the healing that we her followers dispenses, or the ending of terrible droughts or famines(*at least those that aren't caused by other, more brutal gods*). Many call her the great mother, or the first mother. But all understand that she loves us all, like her very own children. Doesn't matter if you're a man or dwarf. Doesn't matter if you're the smallest of kobolds or the largest of dragons. She loves you like a mother, and when you are close to her like the priesthood is, that love warms you, in a way which you can only understand as pure, unfiltered love.
But one of the things we don't really talk a lot about, is the unexpected duty of consoling her, whenever she emotionally breaks down. And that happens more often than not. As one of her 21 High Prelate, it is primarily my task to help her get through her trouble. If possible. Because she cares a whole lot. And she loves us a lot too. So whenever the adventurers, you know, the brutal murder-loving fools who attack dragons and travel to the 2675th Hellplane to seek out the fiery-frosty-demonic-sword of shooting lightning out of your toes, commits an atrocity in her name, she gets upset.
Of course, calling it upset is like calling a storm a slight breeze. Whenever the adventurers slaughter a village of orcs or massacre a kobold settlement, she weeps like a flood, whenever they brutally eviscerate an innocent for mere coins, she lies in her divine bed sobbing relentlessly, whenever the adventurers proclaim her victory, while they are stained in the blood of orphaned gnoll cubs, she becomes reclusive and apathetic.
It is my job, my duty, to get her to come through. To make her emotional breakdown something she can endure, without falling into the sort of madness that gods tend to experience(*which usually results in world-spanning floods, cities being destroyed by purifying light, entire civilisations sinking into the ocean, etc.*)
But it is getting harder, and harder. And without her, our powers will wither, and wane, so that we will be unable to defend the innocent. Without her, thousands shall go hungry, without her, thousands will be sick, without her, people might go back to worshipping literal demons or selfish gods.
And I must help her to prevent this. To prevent her from becoming withdrawn and depressed. By any means necessary. And since she is a goddess of justice, well... There are ways to get those damned adventuring murderers to come. As I sit by her side, letting her weep while I sing gently to her, I've sent out a few letters. The temple of Merhyen runs not only orphanages, hospitals, soup kitchens, and such, we also run the postal services across multiple kingdoms. Merhyen is a versatile goddess, so she makes it work, and each postal office is as much a temple to her, as it is a public office.
And when I cook food for her, bring some faithful children around for her to feel uplifted by, and tell her about the just work we, her clergy, has done, I know the letters are on their way. The adventurers, back from another bloody and unnecessary quest, receive one of the letters as they celebrate their victory. Their quest, to stop, preferably with only minimal amounts of death, a small goblin tribe from doing small-scale(*stealing chickens, robbing pantries, etc.*) raids on some farmers, was fulfilled. With the deaths of all the goblins, no farmers will ever complain again. Especially because they are now deeply afraid of the adventurers, who in a barbaric display of vanity, handed over the heads of every single goblin to the village ealdorman.
The letter they received, was one asking them to return to the central temple of Merhyen, for a great and important event. Merhyen herself would be present, the letter said. And while they travelled back slowly across the continent, the other letters arrived. And I cared for Merhyen, with the other Prelates. Taking her to hear the choirs singing, to visit the hospitals where we cared for the sick and the elderly. Reminding her of her truth, her core values of Mercy, Justice, and Kindness. Little by little, bit by bit, bringing her broken emotions back under control. Back within her faculties. Merhyen began to do miracles again, as we carefully guide her through her broken heart and shattered soul, back to the Goddess who is worth praying to.
And that came in handy. Because one miracle, is teleportation. And with her help, those who had received the other letters, were quickly assembled. Merhyen in her aspect of Justice is fierce to behold. And even terrifying. But she only uses it on rare occasions. To fix her troubles, any means necessary are permitted. Thus, when we called for eye-witness accounts, survivors, the best lawyers and an impartial jury, we went out of our way to get the best. And the best judge.
If those murdering adventurers, who travel across the realm leaving devastation in their wake, think that Merhyen is a goddess who approves of their bloodlust, they are sorely mistaken. If they think that they'll be welcomed back to the central temple, the sanctuary which is partially in the mortal realm, and partially located in Merhyen's own personal realm in the Beyond, they're mistaken again.
Because what good is there in trying to help your goddess, who relies on you, who loves all mortals, who is fair and just in all things, if the problem isn't dealt with? If you merely treat the symptoms, not the sickness? And when we walked together, into that courtroom, for the first time in months, I saw a genuine smile on her face. Her radiant light shone once more, not like a candle, but like the sun itself. The murdering adventurers, who have committed countless atrocities, all while officially on a quest from the Goddess Merhyen herself, are finally brought to justice.
Finally when she chains them with unbreakable divine bounds, finally when the judge listens to all the witnesses, the survivors, refugees from the cities that they have left to ruin after their passing, finally, she is herself again. And the adventurers learn, to their growing horror, that not only does the goddess disapprove of their actions, they have literally hurt her with their actions. They learn that being on a holy mission from the goddess, doesn't mean that they're allowed to do what they want. The goddess is loving, the goddess is merciful, the goddess is kind, and the goddess is just. To truly embody her will, you must be loving, merciful, kind, and just as well. The adventurers were sent to defeat the Demonic influence on the distant principality of Dossalna. To bring justice and relief to its people. Not carve a path of death and devastation between the temple, and the principality. Not to defeat the Demonic influence by blowing up the capital city of Dossalna. Not to slaughter everything that even looked at them funny.
The goddess is just. The goddess is merciful. And sometimes, both can be done at once. The adventurers are stripped of all power, and condemned to death. But she insists that in mercy, she will grant them what they have never done to their captives; A quick death. It is not for nothing, that the goddess' holy weapon, as wielded by her priests, is a sharp axe.
And when I, on the orders of my goddess Merhyen, who has been broken with sorrow by actions of evil committed in her name, execute the adventurers one by one, I feel not like a murderer, but as a dutiful son, who brings justice for his mother. It is not for nothing, that we Prelates are called the first children of Merhyen, for when our mother the goddess needs our help, needs us to console her, or to wield the axe for her, we are there.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
Raz was sick and tired of babysitting a god.
The books on his desk slammed against the wall.
“I heard that!” a childlike voice whined in his head.
“Would you stop destroying my belongings and just tell me what’s wrong?” Raz thought.
“I told you already. Gwyndolin’s statue shouldn’t be bigger than mine! I have more followers!”
It was true. Nazmir, the annoying voice in his head, was actually the god of Childhood, and so had hundreds of thousands of devout followers worshipping him daily, parents offering sacrifices to protect their children. Gwyndolin, on the other hand, was the god of elephants, and was decidedly less famous. But Raz knew as high priest that all gods had their place in the balance of life.
“Nazmir, we’ve been over this. The size of the statue isn’t a reflection on the god. Your statue is a child to represent you, just as Gwyndolin’s is an elephant to represent her. I thought we agreed that we would let you have an extra day of worship this year instead?” Raz pleaded.
“I don’t care! I’m more important! You’re the head priest, make mine bigger or everyone will be sorry!” Nazmir threatened.
Raz sighed heavily. He had taken this job to help the people become closer to the gods. Now he wondered just how close they should really get. Like they say, never meet your heroes.
“Stop daydreaming and go make me a bigger statue!” the child god ordered.
Raz began trudging down to the stonemason’s guild. He couldn’t wait until the next high priest election.
He felt a light slap on his cheek, as if from a child’s hand.
| 2020-10-30T12:31:19 | 2020-10-30T11:08:19 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered.
|
"Sally look, I know this year was really hard on you. I know you've been having trouble at home and I know you feel coming to school is a drag, but you can't keep going like this, it'll only get tougher as you grow!"
Sally rolled her eyes, just as she always did. This kid was always getting into trouble, be it hanging out with some shady people behind the school or skipping class. Her life wasn't all cherries and rainbows though. Her dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two years ago and died last year. As a result her mother had to start working extra hard to provide for her and her older brother. Around that time she started skipping classes. She wasn't the brightest student but she did her job. Average grades, average social life, average everything honestly. But after her father's death everything started plummeting. At first it was her grades. She started failing in math and literature, and after a while her favorite subject, history. After that she started hanging out with sketchy kids outside of school, probably 5 years older than her. After that she stopped hanging out with her old friends, people who she hang out with since childhood.
"Look Mr. Oliver, I know this doesn't mean anything to you and you're just here to get your paycheck, so please leave me alone and get back to grading your shitty tests and stop interfering with my life."
"Sally that's not true and you know that. Look, I know it's hard. I lost someone too when I a bit younger than you. It was my little brother. He was always happy, always smiling and always had a lot of energy.". I started tearing up a bit. "I can still see him sitting in the living room reading that one superman comics I bought him as a birthday present over and over again. He used to hang on this one page with this big panel of superman flying to save someone falling from a building. It wasn't any fancy drawing or anything, just your regular panel. He said that panel looked really cool to him cause that was what superman was for him, saving anyone, even someone he isn't friends with."
Sally sat there in silence listening to my story. I could see a little embarrassment in her look.
"It's fine really, it's not something I tell anybody. It was a long time ago. I never really moved on, and I won't say it gets easier as the years go by, but I try to live for the both of us now."
"If it's not too rude to ask, how did he die?"
My voice cracked a bit. "He fell off the 4th floor balcony of our building". I can still see the red cape he wore that day.
"Look sally, I know it's gonna be hard. I know it hurts right now. I want you to know you can always come and talk to me openly about how you feel. And of course I don't want you flanking out and drifting out there like some kind of a mindless zombie. I'll tell you what. We'll tackle your favorite subject first, History, okay? We can study here together and I'm sure you'll be able to succeed in your exams!"
"Ok Mr. Oliver, but..." she hesitated. "but... can you keep this a secret? I really don't want everyone to know about this".
"Of course I won't! This is between you and me". She quickly got her bag and left. She ran to some of those kids she hangs with, probably told them I was yelling at her for skipping class so much. As I watched her go I saw her turn around and nod to me. That was enough for me to know she's gonna be okay.
I glanced at the clock and noticed it was already 7pm, I packed my belongings and drove home. On the way back I paid a visit to the old playground me and my brother used to play in. The big yellow plastic house was still there, with the big tree next to it and the few slides that already lost their colors from standing too long in the sun. I stood by the house, it had two floors, it was around my height, suited for children to play in. I touched the fading yellow plastic walls. "Remember Sally? I think I got to her today. I know she's a good child but I couldn't really think of a good way to approach her until today. She was a bit feisty at the start but I guess she realizes that she's not in a good place right now, and she doesn't know how to get out of it. I think I can help her. I know I can. I will." After standing there in silence for a few minutes I turned back and went home.
I drove silently thinking back at the time when we were playing together back there, you standing on top of that yellow roof. We were playing pretend and I said to you "if you'll jump you can fly!". The moment your feet left that roof your body just started floating around the tree like it was a rope swing. You were so excited that you could fly you screamed at the top of your lungs "I can fly! I'm Superman!". I was baffled myself at what just happened and honestly I was sure there was some kind of a trick but you really were flying.
I got home and had a letter waiting for me in the mailbox. A former student. Joshua Lenn. He was a bright kid with a bright future ahead of him, he was successful in almost anything he did when he was younger and you could really see the spark in his eyes when he talked about physics.He was from a really strict family. He had a mental breakdown due to huge amount of pressure from his family to be a doctor. He really wanted to go into physics but his parents already has set their mind on him going into medicine. He had a really hard time recovering from that breakdown, his memory started worsening, he was exhausted from morning to evening, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, he was so afraid about his future and what he was going to do with his life, about how he didn't want to live a predetermined life that he had no control over whatsoever that it brought him even further into his developing depression. I remember having long discussions with him after school about life, what it means to be human, what it means to live your own life and where we can go. We could talk about anything from Descartes to Rihana, he especially loved our talks about advancements in the space industry, how one of his big dreams was to work on engines that could take us to other star systems.
I got to my apartment and I opened the letter.
>
> Hi Mr. Oliver
>
> I know it has been about 10 years since I've graduated but I just wanted you to know that I got a job at NASA working on some of their new age engines! These won't take us to other stars but are supposed to help us get to mars sooner!
>
> I opened my yearbook a few weeks ago and as I flipped through the pages I saw your picture as out homeroom teacher.
>
> I remembered all of our long hour talks and I got really nostalgic. I wanted to contact you but I realized you still haven't set up an email address so I wrote you this letter.
>
> I guess I just wanted to say thank you for being there for me.
>
> J.L.
I read the letter with a big smile on my face. I opened my cabinet, revealing other letters, sent by my other students and above them all, the panel with Superman saving the guy from falling off a building.
---
Still trying this thing out, I hope it's good. I tried going more into detail. Any criticism is welcome. Thank you for reading!
*Edit: say to saw in the letter
|
Short and straight to the point.
Me: Hey.
Them: Hey.
Me: I have this weird superpower where if I can convince someone to do something, they will accomplish it without a problem.
Them: BS.
Me: Try to walk up the wall.
Them: *Does it without a problem.* Ok I believe you.
Me: Boom. Anything else you want to get done?
| 2017-06-21T13:47:18 | 2017-06-21T12:22:13 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
Humanity was a race of scholars and diplomats; everyone knew that. The earliest memory the galaxy’s many empires had of their kind was their earnest desire for peaceful contact; lonely cries sent out into the vast cosmos in a desperate search for life, and unbounded joy when these same cries were answered.
It must seem to be a bit passing strange to us whose civilisations bloomed close to one another, but humans are a lonely race; born in the heart of one of the emptier parts of their galaxy. It was only very recently -not more than a thousand of their years- that they finally found the many other stellar civilisations they shared this galaxy with.
And they were a blessing: so driven were they by their love for life and knowledge that they at once sought to study our worlds as much as they could. They brokered peace between warring empires, and helped establish the new galactic council, unfathomable aeons after its predecessor had fallen.
Diplomats and scholars indeed: their efforts were invaluable in our understanding in the fields of abiogenesis, space-time, and the beginning of existence. Their hands were clean of blood, and never had we seen their kind build vessels of war. Defensive patrol ships, certainly -no galactic civilisation is free of the plague that is piracy- but never vessels of war.
The must numerous of their fleet are their mineral extraction vessels. Civilian vessels whose purpose was the acquisition and transport of materials.
So when they told us that they were violent, once, we dismissed their tales as mere grandstanding.
We were wrong to doubt.
It was not too long ago when during one of our council meetings that ambassador Helmu of the Uclúv, a gray-skinned, lanky race with massive heads, decided to challenge human authority.
“You humans interfere in our designs”, he had told ambassador Khulan, the diminutive silver-haired woman who represented the human confederacy. “We are strong, we are inevitable. Were it not for you and your treacherous treaties we would have long had the galaxy under our heel!”
The rest of the council -save for the humans- trembled. Indeed, We have all been deathly afraid of the Uclúvi Alliance since long before the humans came. There was apprehension, fear amongst us for the return of the wars of old and the death of peace.
“Ambassador Helmu,” said the human male beside Khulan – ambassador Baudrich, representative of the Anyder Scholarist State – as he looked at the Uclúvi in the eye. “There is much to be lost in war, and little to gain. Please-”
“Weaklings!” the gray-skin bellowed. “Those are words only the weak dare say! I tell you this; we declare war upon your kind, and our attack shall be in four standard periods. Let us reconvene for your surrender after the battle.”
And with that, the Uclúv ambassador dismissed their projection, followed closely by their allies, the Uruqi, the Savâ, and the Micuotai.
The attack came as expected. Exactly four periods -nine hours and thirty-six minutes in human time- after the council’s conclusion, the Uclúv and their allies attacked Yulemąr, a group of planetary outposts in the outer reaches of human space. The buildings were taken intact for Uclúvi use, and the populace captured for use as slave labour and entertainment.
Two other outposts -Nova Roma and Kenningham- were also taken at the same time, and both suffered the same treatment as Yulemąr.
“Surrender”, the Uclúv ambassador Helmu had broadly proclaimed at the start of the next council. “We have dealt your kind a humiliating defeat; it behooves you to proclaim yourselves defeated.”
Ambassador Khulan did not appear fazed at all by Helmu’s declarations and demands, or by the footage he showed on his holo-projector. Rather, she grew red-faced in anger – something that caught us by surprise. Ambassador Baudrich seemed to be just as livid as her.
The still fire that burned within her voice when she spoke was palpable. “My family was on that system,” she said. “I was told they had died in your attack.”
“Ambassador Khulan?” I said as I reached out to her. I was concerned, of course; she is a good friend of mine, and I thought that since we Ŭennĭa looked so like them (which is strange in itself – truly, the only difference is that our skins are various shades of blue while theirs are brown) my gesture would be appreciated.
She gave a smile, and I knew -or at least I thought I knew- that I have given her some comfort. The Uclúvi ambassador scoffed, no doubt thinking of the display as pathetic.
“I despise you, ambassador Helmu, but I would offer you one more chance. Cease your aggression, give us reparations, and we will let you be,” Khulan said after a short pause.
“You lost,” the Uclúv ambassador growled the moment she had finished speaking. “You have no right to offer demands!”
She shook her head. “That is to be your answer then?” she said as she pressed a button on her seat. “I have given you your opportunity. Don’t say I hadn’t.”
Her voice was calm, even, but her words were spoken with such firmness that everyone could feel the anger that roiled within her. Ire, fury begging release.
The Helmu ambassador turned away then. “Then we will just have to win again, yes? You will yield.”
“Ambassador Helmu-” I started, only to be stopped when the man looked at me. “Yes, ambassador Aŭratĭe? You would stand with the humans and raise your weapons against us?”
I froze, and bit my lip as I stared at the man. It was an invitation to death and defeat, I thought; these four have held the galaxy at their beck and call before the humans came, and everyone knew to fear them. But... could we really afford letting these warmongers have their way again?
Before I could make up her answer, the very same ambassador that had just given me a threat gasped in what must be shock – and when I looked up at what he was staring at, I too could not help the gasp that left my throat. There was one holo-display above ambassador Khulan, showing a beautiful blue planet surrounded by countless human vessels.
They were shooting at one another, which was strange enough. What made it even more strange is how those ships looked like the ubiquitous human miner ships, and the beams they were shooting at one another resembled the extraction beams the miners employed. The only difference was that those beams were green, not red.
“Behold, Earth”, said ambassador Khulan. “Our homeland.”
The rest of the council watched on, entranced, as the battle grew more and more fevered. And I could feel a shiver run down my skin. Countless war machines blasted one another into oblivion, filling the planet’s orbit with debris. Raining molten metal down onto the surface below, and sending millions upon millions of human bodies flying through space. Some warships were firing down into the planet, glassing cities, nations, while other warships sought to stop them.
Then... there was a sharp keening, and we could see the planet itself start shuddering, shifting, its surface blurring and blending, not unlike fine sand upon a trembling sieve. There was dead silence in the room as thin red cracks started appearing on the crust --- a quick glance towards where the cracks were the most numerous showed a single ship firing a scarlet beam straight into the planet. I could see the pulse weaken, and I realised that it was not their intention to make the beam as powerful as it was.
Barely ten seconds after the planet started to shudder did it burst into a cloud of red-hot dust, with nary a trace of the life that once lived on it. What ships were still there, fighting, had been obliterated by the explosion.
"We have told you of its end. Of how we destroyed it -by accident- while we were bombarding ourselves from orbit," Khulan said, her voice now low and dark. "You dismissed it as a mere power-fantasy. But it is not quite so. As you see."
The holo-projector then flashed, and showed in time lapse that same dust dust coalesce into a new, molten planet – the earth that everyone in the council knew. But it did not stop there; before everyone could gather their breaths, the screens flashed again, and then displayed the homeworlds of the four aggressor races.
Ambassador Khulan smiled sweetly at the now-pale ambassador Helmu as red beams shot into each of the four planets, mirroring the spectacle that we had just been shown. “Thanks for your time, ambassadors.”
And with those words, the projection of ambassador Khulan dissipated. And in her wake, a veritable storm of holo-screens -each showing the tortuous end of every world the four aggressors owned- filled the room.
------------
Edited as per feedback given by /u/jonesmz and /u/Enduloa. Thanks a bunch!
|
To think It was all due to some minor financial troubles. We were in a pinch, so we took 2, 3 solar system at the border. We were strong, they, well, diplomats. I was young then, starry eyed, looking up to the council of elders and the emperor. They had never mislead us, why would this be any different.
We quickly wiped them out and send them a peace treaty for a signature. They always like their pieces of paper. You must know, young one, we knew they had a few hundred thousand in the outer galaxy, but also that they had less than a quadrillion individuals. We, oh we had double that. Had....
The festivities of a triumph were already in full sway when the reply came. Our diplomates head, and a amended treaty. “The Empire of Qizlor is hence forth a Dominion of the Human Federation”. We knew that they had a few new leaders. These were louder than the rest, you know. We were convinced that this is because they were weak, and scared. Oh we were so, so wrong. A few days later we got news that our battle-fleet on the border was defeated. Fluke.
By the time I was mobilized and placed as a garrison on one of our other borders, the news was shut down. In officially, we were still getting some reports. One claimed that they had over a 100 billion ships. It seemed like a imagined number. We had the greatest Navy in the galaxy and had less than a billion ships with any sort of armament. Bit by, bit we heard of another colony eradicated.
Now, we are alone. This is the last planet our species is on. See those moving stars. Those are their ships, making sure we never again leave a planets atmosphere. And to think they were just diplomates.
| 2019-11-24T17:11:24 | 2019-11-24T16:36:22 | 73 | 54 |
[WP] Tired of attacks from bandits, a small village has decided to pay the local dragon for protection.
|
“Steady lads.”
The men shifted uneasily, some of them fingering weapon hilts or testing the flex of bow strings. Gannon glanced around. “No weapons. Any man who bares one will cross steel with me.”
There was no actual grumbling, no open dissent, but it was there anyway. Like a haze in the air, a background hum without sound. He looked toward the rapidly approaching shape in the sky, and clenched his jaw. This would work. This was going to work.
He’d staked his life on it.
The dragon’s wings flared, impossibly slowing all that bulk dropping from the sky. The beast was enormous, bigger than two longships. Yet the wings did not snap. And even beat powerfully against the air to allow it to alight with all the delicacy of a bird. Gannon stepped forward, holding his hands up and out to show peaceful intent. The house sized head came down on the sinuous neck to glare balefully at him.
Its breath was hell itself, hot and fetid. Like a barrel of mead left open under the sun for months to turn foul. Gannon kept his back straight and his eyes on the creature’s as he waited to find out if he was going to die.
“What is this?” the dragon rumbled. Its voice was like the mountains themselves were speaking, filling his very bones with every sound that started deep within its breast.
“I seek to bargain.”
“I have made my bargain.”
“So make another.”
“Men,” the dragon snorted. Wisps of flame roiled out of its nostrils, curling through the air. Gannon heard some of his beard singe in the heat, but allowed himself only a single brush of his hand to ensure he wasn’t actually aflame. “You always talk. Endless talk. Even such as you have been reduced to talk. I thought your people were made of strength and steel.”
“We are. Which is why we recognize it in such as yourself.”
“I need not your flattery, man.”
“Then hear my bargain.”
A wave of air buffeted Gannon as the dragon folded its wings. He waited while it lifted its neck and surveyed his party, assembled behind him and watching the standoff uneasily. Finally the dragon looked back to him and chuffed another brief flickering of fire. “Speak.”
“The people of Norrington have struck an accord with you. Now I seek to do the same.”
“Your people are raiders, not farmers. What wealth have you.”
“As you say, we are raiders,” Gannon said calmly, showing no sign of the fear dancing deep within him. Down where he could never allow it to show. “But the cold winds are soon upon us, and we require safe harbor to weather it through to spring.”
“Avarice and desperation,” the dragon said. “A dangerous combination.”
“Norrington recognizes your power. As do I.
“Do not seek to flatter me.”
“I state truth. The farmers of their township have flourished beneath your protection, grown to dominate this region’s trade. Even the cities suffer under the benefits Norrington derives from their bargain with you. This could change.”
“I am content.”
“You are bored,” Gannon said.
He stepped back involuntarily as the dragon snarled, but remained on his feet. Behind him, he heard cries of alarm, of panic, as others found their spines less stern. The dragon’s neck bent further, extending, until the head was only feet from Gannon. Looking up at the beast’s eyes, he wasn’t sure if it was courage or paralyzing fear that held him in place.
This was closer than he’d ever expected to be with such a creature, and not be either standing on its corpse in victory or facing imminent death. After a moment, the dragon’s voice came out in a soft rumble.
“What of it?”
“Avarice *leads* to desperation,” Gannon said, keeping his voice even only with great effort. “Years ago you struck your bargain out of a desire for stability, but your power has risen in that time. You no longer require such as Norrington offers. Your might has outgrown them.”
“And you offer something else?”
“No one faces you. There is nothing for you here save your pick of their herds. No one dares challenge, so the seasons pass and you have nothing except endless meals offered as tribute. There is fire in your blood, in your soul, and it longs for you to unleash it upon the world.”
The dragon studied him. Even its eye was bigger than the man. Gannon waited. Eventually the creature … sighed.
“What is your offer?”
“We are the same—”
Abruptly he was crushed into the grip of one of the dragon’s front paws. As he gasped, he found himself yards above the ground as the dragon reared back, holding him. *Glaring* at him. “We are *nothing* alike,” it hissed.
“Warriors. Seeking challenge and victory, to test and take, to live free and allow no foe to stand after opposing us,” Gannon said quickly. “Tell me you do not long to fight again.”
The dragon regarded him for so long that Gannon began to believe he really was about to die. Consumed in the fiery maw of this dragon. But then, finally, the dragon set him back on the ground. Gently.
“No one comes,” it said, sounding sad. “You are the first in quite some time. I was eager, but when you did not attack, I thought perhaps you were just cowards. I dislike how such yellow flesh tastes. Sour and weak. It is beneath me.”
“We are brave, but we recognize strength. Yours. But ours is mighty in its own right. Together, if you leave this land, we will show you others where there is prey and foe alike that tastes sweet. Battle and reward enough to whet the edge of even your vast appetites.”
“Why would I need you for this?” the dragon asked, sounding — a little — angry again. But there was an edge of interest in its impossibly deep voice too.
“Lead us,” Gannon said, dropping to one knee. “Allow us to seek worthy targets for you. Those who are full of verve and courage. They will be on guard after our encounters, and be worthy of sating your bloodlust.”
Gannon was knocked over as the dragon laughed. Every bark of amusement that bellowed up out of lungs the size of the land wooshed out like the gale of a tropical storm. Gamely he rolled over and dug feet and hands both into the ground, trying to weather the blasts of air. Leaning into the force.
“Interesting,” the dragon said when its amusement finally began to subside. Gannon struggled back to his bent knee. “And what if I find you wanting?”
“You won’t,” the warband’s leader said. “I swear it, by my father, by our blood. Lead us. Allow us to serve, to offer words for your decision. And we will present to you such glory that—”
“Show me,” the dragon said. “Show me your blood.”
Gannon reached, slowly, to his belt and drew his dagger. Setting the blade in his palm, he pressed and pulled to part his flesh. He held the bleeding hand up to the dragon. It leaned in close again. He did not move as its breath washed over him like a cloud. Or when the snakelike tongue licked out to caress his bloody palm. Not even when his skin smoked under the heat of the dragon’s touch.
“I taste fire,” the dragon said, straightening its neck.
“You taste victory,” Gannon said, refusing to let the pain of his burning hand show. The blood no longer dripped down his arm; the wound had sealed as the flesh melted together.
“And what of the winter?”
“There is time yet before it descends. With you flying above us, we can cross the straights and alight upon the shores of Minaor before the waters begin to freeze. There, you may begin to reclaim your soul.”
The moments began to stack, as Gannon knelt with his hand outstretched. The dragon studied him for a time, then lifted its gaze to survey the warband that waited behind him. “Very well,” the dragon finally said. “We will see if your offer holds. In Minaor.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Gannon said, his heart swelling eagerly.
“But first, we will need provisions for the journey.”
“We will.”
The dragon turned to the west. “I know of a rich larder.”
Gannon looked past, beneath, his new master. In the direction of Norrington. “Shall we assault them? Bring any who have not softened under your protection out where you may face them without fuss or delay? Before you gorge yourself?”
“Yes,” the dragon hissed.
Gannon did not allow himself to smile. Instead, he sheathed his dagger as he stood. Turning, his uninjured hand moving to the hilt of his sword, he faced his warband. “We strike at once,” he cried. “For the dragon.”
“For the dragon!” his warriors shouted, rattling their weapons.
Their cheers continued as the dragon spread its wings and took flight, launching itself from the ground. Beating its wings in a hover above them, it looked down at its new servants. Then lifted its head to the western sky and roared.
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy!
|
Fed up with the constant attacks to their village, the villagers assembled at Lord Draken's mansion, the most feared man in the North.
His guards led a group of the elders to the Lord’s chambers while the other villagers waited outside. The lord’s face looked unlike any other human, His face appeared scaly, his teeth were more pointy and sharp. He wore a dark gray cloak that covered his entire body and a hood that covered his head.
“Well... How can I be of help?” He questioned as his bright yellow eyes scanned the faces of the elders.
“We were raided by those damn bandits yet again, we’ve had enough, we ask your help.” one of the elders spoke up.
“We can pay!” yelled a woman who was a bit too young for an elder.
“Hmm... and how do you intend to pay me?” the lord questioned.
“We don’t have any gold... the bandits... they took it all. If you recover the gold, you can keep half of it.” the elder proposed.
“Interesting...” He said while scratching his chin. “You have a deal... under one condition... If the bandits have sold all their gold, then I will kill you... deal?” the lord said smiling.
After a few mumbles from the elders, they agreed to the terms out of desperation.
Over the next few days, reports of scorched bodies of known bandits in the area were found, the villagers celebrated long into the night.
The villagers returned to the mansion to thank Lord Draken and recover their share of the gold.
“What do you mean they didn’t have any gold on them?” questioned the elder.
“That’s right... not a single... tiny... little... piece of gold... you do remember our deal don’t you?”
“NO! No! It can’t be... you're lying! You're a liar!” screamed one of the elders.
“And you sir, are dead!” said the lord as he morphed into a dark gray dragon and with one exhale of his fiery breath, burned all the elders to a crisp.
“Call me a liar...” he sighed as he lifted a bag overflowing with gold.
“Uh... well, maybe I am.” He said as he laughed heartily.
| 2017-05-08T09:47:27 | 2017-05-08T07:46:59 | 152 | 35 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt
|
Jack was down, and people were finally panicking.
Life in Mithas tends to desensitize people to violence and mayhem. Take a kid out of some rural backwater and drop her in Mithas. Watch her run like hell the first time she sees Plasma and The Colonel duking it out. Then a week later, watch as she checks her watch to make sure that the fight between Lord Order and Lady Chaos won't make her late for work. Before you know it, she's one of the onlookers sipping coffee and betting on how long it'll take before Sandstorm (yours truly) and Starling give in to the "obvious sexual tension between them". For the record, Julia is a lovely woman, but I'm in a happy, committed relationship with Gus Alves (Thunderstone? You might have heard of him - used to sidekick for Tremorion back in the day, before he branched off and did his own thing?) and she's just a friend. Don't let the newspapers know.
But to my knowledge, nobody had ever seen Ulysses get knocked down without popping right back up.
It had been a hum-drum fight when it was just the newcomer and Lightning - everybody always wants to see a speedster fight a speedster, but all the action happens too fast for the normal human eye to comprehend. Makes for a really bad spectator sport. Lightning had time to send out a distress call before the newcomer tripped him and sent him crashing through a hundred yards of now-thoroughly-broken trees just outside of town.
When Plasma showed up, she went for the ol' "gassify the ground underneath him while he's running" trick which seems to work pretty damn reliably against the speedy guys. I'm sure that's what everybody assumed would happen this time. Maybe one or two spectators thought that the newbie would be able to dodge out of the way. Nobody was expecting him to jet straight up at her and then freeze her solid with the water vapor in the air.
By then, Starling and Shadowsworn were already at the fight, Ulysses was inbound, and I was suiting up. Lord Order was out of the city and possibly the dimension, Tremorion was nowhere to be found, and Gus - Thunderstone, sorry - was taking Alfie to the vet three hours away. Poor little guy had bonked his head on our coffee table.
Starling caught him off guard with her usual bright-lights/loud-noises combo while Shadowsworn made that weird . . . shadow-magic thing. The thing with tentacles? And way too many teeth? The thing is, and they couldn't have known this because I don't think Starling and Shadowsworn have ever had any reason to go head-to-head, their powers can nullify each other's. They complement each other very well, usually, but this time the newcomer was able to just explode the shadow monster with an burst of lights, while drowning out Starling's lights in a web of shadow.
Hoo boy. This guy was stealing our powers and using them against us. But still . . . nobody could beat Ulysses. Right?
Turns out, Ulysses can beat Ulysses, especially when the mimic had half a dozen other powers to draw on. And so I got there, just as the people standing around watching were beginning to get the sense that All Was Not Well. Just as the mimic was letting go of Jack's cape and letting his unconscious body fall to the broken pavement below. Just as he looked around for another target. Aaaaaand spotted one.
Oh, goody.
I threw myself forwards and up, buoyed by millions of grains of sand. Compressing a clump of sand into a ball as dense and hard as I could make it, I hurled it at his face. Simultaneously, I set a vortex of sand spiraling around him, obscuring his vision and (hopefully) distracting him long enough for my little cannonball to wish him a good night and sweet dreams.
He shattered the vortex with a blast of energy faster than I'd hoped, but not fast enough to dodge the sand-ball. It made a very satisfying boom on impact, and he dropped to the ground near Jack.
*Interesting. Can he only use so many powers at once? Did he have to give up Lightning’s speed once -*
There was a sonic boom as he launched straight back up at me. *Oh, well, I guess that answers that.* It took all my skill to juke out of the way, and I could tell that he would have just flown straight through me if I hadn’t dodged. Okay, then. He wasn’t pulling any punches. I dove for the street, trying to figure out a strategy that would allow me to walk away in one piece. Or at least leave a corpse intact enough that Gus could identify me through dental records. Setting achievable goals is important.
*So he’s still able to move super fast. Why didn’t he dodge the cannonball?* I was still trying to puzzle that out when half the sand under me vanished into a cloud of smoke. I’ll admit that I may have screamed a little bit, but I got the rest of the sand up to slow me down just before I hit the ground. I’d definitely have bruises, but nobody would need a spatula to clean me up.
*For that matter, why didn’t he just vaporize ME?* I wasn’t about to ask him, because I didn’t want to give him any ideas . . . but hadn’t I talked with Plasma about this? What was it she’d said? *“Oh, living organisms are an absolute pain in the ass to transmute. So many atoms of so many sizes all jumbled around all willy-nilly . . .”*
The good news, if it could be called that, was that the ongoing fighting had left plenty of rubble scattered in the streets. Enough small bits and bobs that I could use. I sent my awareness out in a bubble around me, gathering up all the material I could handle and forming a protective barrier between me and the rapidly-approaching Mimic. I’d decided, as last-man-standing, that I was calling dibs on naming rights, even if I didn’t have anything particularly creative yet. Maybe I’d revisit the question of his name if I survived.
He stopped about a dozen feet away, planted his feet wide, and gestured at the destruction around him. Oh, no. He wasn’t about to . . .
“Twenty years, I’ve dreamed of this moment!”
Oh, god. He was. A monologue? A *monologue!?* Those were clichés when I was in training-tights! Well, it gave me some time to think.
“When I was . . .”
*Okay, so, let’s see. He’s obviously got everybody’s powers, and he’s pretty good with them. Good, but not perfect.*
“ . . . never respected my work, my genius! So I . . .”
*He’s definitely still working on developing super-fast reflexes, can’t get the finesse work of matter-transmutation, and clearly he hasn’t figured out Ulysses’ laser-beam thing or I’d be a puddle of goo.*
“. . . when I swore my revenge against . . .”
*Hmm. Wonder if he’ll try to use my power?* The thought made me laugh out loud. He stopped and actually looked offended.
“No, no, sorry. Please go on.” I waved a little with my hand, still crouched behind my makeshift wall of sand and tiny chunks of asphalt.
“You’re not even paying attention, are you?” Yeah, he was definitely taking offense. “Well, fine. You still won’t respect me? I’ll just crush you like a bug and move on to the next hero. And the next, and the next! And everyone you send to fight me will shatter like waves upon the rocks!”
“Oooh, that was good. Been saving that one?”
Adaptive skin color was not, as far as I knew, a superpower that any of us had, but I didn’t think a regular person could turn that particular shade of red. “I’m going to make you suffer for that, worm. I’m going to tear you apart. I’m going to destroy you with your own power.”
I know it was rude, because he’d clearly rehearsed his supervillain speech so many times, but I couldn’t help myself. I laughed again. He just gritted his teeth, held out his hands, and with a mighty force of will summoned the largest object he could and threw it at me with all his mental might.
A little flake of shattered glass went \**tink\** against my wall of sand.
|
Ugh, well it’s been a while since I’ve talked about this, but having the “superpower” of acid spit gets incredibly crappy after awhile. You’d think fending off bad guys would be an easy task, but nope, here I am in public running up to the bastard who just stole a ladies purse trying to get into the best possible position for me to hit him with my acidic spit. Also, take into account that despite being acidic, my spit still has the consistency of normal human spit, talk about half measures. DONT even get me started on eating, I cannot give my tastebuds any time to acknowledge whats being put upon them, instead I have to chew my food as fast as possible before the acidic spit turns it into a smoothie.
Of course, there’s always perks to having acidic spit but it’s very very limited. Can I break through most metals with it? Yes. Can I melt an entire human face to its skeleton with it? Yes. Can I kiss my own wife and kids? Absolutely not. People romanticize having any superpower, but believe me, acid spit is 3 shades away from useless. Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now, it’s not often I get to talk about my essentially futile superpower, my success basically came entirely from my common sense. I guess you could consider that one a superpower since so many people lack it.
| 2020-12-02T08:03:25 | 2020-12-02T07:06:24 | 80 | 38 |
[WP] It's your first day as the recently-inaugurated President of the United States and you're being told all of the country's most top-secret information and projects. What's the most unbelievable thing you get told?
|
Chuck lifted his hand to his chin and softly scratched at his beard. He still wasn’t entirely used to having one, but his political adviser assured him it was “great for his public image.” As far as Chuck could tell, though, it had only been good for serving as alternative housing to the crumbs that were not accepted entry into his mouth. To be fair, he did win the election, but he liked to think it had more to do with his political views and leadership, rather than his ability to sport an admittedly impressive beard.
“You’re not being serious, are you?” Chuck said, twisting the hair on his beard between his pointer finger and thumb.
“We are,” Henry said. Chuck wasn’t entirely sure if his name was Henry, but he’d definitely heard an “H” when he’d introduced himself. Internal Head of Secret Service, he had said, a name and face unknown to the public. His last name was definitely Greene, that much he was sure of, but he’d said his first with some sort of a stammer. Chuck didn’t know too many “H” names—Henry, Harold, and Henrietta were about it—and was convinced that, of the three, it was probably Henry. He didn’t quite look like a Harold, and he was pretty confident that Henrietta was a female name. This guy didn’t seem to be a female, although he couldn’t know for sure.
“No, you’re not. Right?”
“Completely serious,” Henry said.
“I can get a ‘Presidential Discount’ at any store I want?” Chuck said, his eyes wide. There was no way he’d meant any store. That included, like, every single store out there. Starbucks, Ikea, Macy’s. What if he walked into a 99 cent store? Did he still get the discount? There was no way Henry had been right.
“What? Why are you still fixated on that?”
“So,” Chuck continued, “If I walk into, say, a Walmart and want to pick up some chocolates, I can get them at a discount?”
“Are you not paying attention to what I’m saying?” Henry said. “Yes, you do. Every store. Great, let’s move on. I’m trying to tell you some of the most top-secret information, like how vaccines are actually just ways for us to control the public, and all you’re concerned about is the 50% discount you get as the President.”
“Wait, what?” Chuck said.
“You heard me,” Henry said, smiling. “Vaccines are actually designed first-and-foremost to control the minds of the public. These are the kinds of things you need to be aware of as President. You’ll have to make sure people keep taking them.”
“Did you say 50% off?” Chuck said. That was half off. Half off of *anything*. He could go to a $20 movie right now and see it for just $10. Simply walk in and wait for the cashier to say, “That will be $20,” to which he’d take out his license and say, “No, I’m the President of the United States of America.” Then he’d waltz right in for just $10.
“Are you kidding me? Yes, 50%. Can we move on? Did you know that Donald Rumsfeld is actually a horse? You need to be careful not to insult his race.”
“Wait,” Chuck said. “What if I go to a McDonalds and order something off of the dollar menu. Is that now a fifty cent menu? What if I purchase an album from the street artist my children refer to as Fifty Cent? Is he just Twenty Five Cent? Do I have to pluralize his name?”
“He is a horse. A horse in a man costume. Can you just focus on that for a minute? The Moon Landing was staged, we filmed it in Idaho at a farm house painted to look like the moon. We still use that space to film Al Qaeda videos occasionally. In fact, Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein were roommates in that barn for a little while. Now they live a bit further apart. You’ll meet them later.”
“Please answer my question,” Chuck said. He was the President of the United States of America, he shouldn’t need to ask twice. Still, he decided to cut Henry some slack. It was his first time working for him, so he was probably a little nervous.
“Yes, you will get the dollar menu for fifty cents. And, no, you don’t have to refer to Fifty Cent as Twenty Five Cent, nor do you pluralize his name. Can we please move on?”
“Sure,” Chuck said. Anything from the dollar menu for just fifty cents. That meant he could get ten cheeseburgers for just five dollars. That’s incredible. Everyone should be the President of the United States—world hunger would be solved in a matter of minutes. But, wait, what about tax?
“. . .which is actually run by a group called the Illuminati,” Henry said. He had been blabbering about something uninteresting.
“Question,” Chuck said, burying his hand in his beard and tugging at it slightly. It was so uncomfortable.
“Yes, is it about the banks? They are also run by the Illuminati. You will have to be inaugurated into their group to gain their trust.”
“No, it’s related to taxes.”
“What?” Henry said, tilting his head to the side.
“Do I get 50% off on taxes also when I use my discount?” Chuck said.
“Are you serious? Sure, you have 50% off your taxes,” Henry said, his shoulders drooping.
“That’s fantastic,” Chuck said.
“Can we please get back on topic?” Henry continued. “You need to know these things, you will eventually be involved in each one. This is crucial to keeping the country afloat. And I do mean afloat. Space is actually just a large body of water, and the Earth is a boat that was built by an ancient alien race. We occasionally crash into stuff—we refer to them as earthquakes and tsunamis—and you need to ensure everybody that the ensuing floods are simply from the 'ocean,' not space pouring down onto the world.” Henry paused. “Speaking of, rain is what happens when the waves spill over the side of the "boat" when it has not crashed. You need to never mention that.”
“Hang on,” Chuck said. That didn’t make any sense. “So you’re saying I get 50% off my taxes? How can they do that if I’m already getting 50% off my purchase?”
“What?” Henry said.
“Oh, wait, I see. I get 50% off and then the tax is 50% off of the 50% off price,” Chuck said, tugging at his beard.
“Mr. President,” Henry said, “please. Please, for the love of God, listen to what I am saying. You are now the most important person in the world, it is crucial you learn the truth. If you don’t know this information, like how America is actually run by a race of lizard-people—half lizard, half man—you can literally destroy the planet. That’s it, done. Exploded.”
Chuck shifted his weight slightly. “I knew that one already,” he said, glancing down at the scales on his freshly peeled arm.
“Right,” Henry said, nodding slowly and eyeing him up and down.
“Quick question though, Henry,” Chuck said, pulling the mask off of his face by its beard. “Is there a limit to how many times I can use my discount?”
“No," Henry said, sighing. "And my name is Henrietta.”
____________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
|
"Ok, WHAT?" I couldn't believe I heard General Anderson correctly. "There's a fully staffed Starbucks down there?"
"Oh yes, Sir. Not only that, but two ice cream shops and a four-star Italian place."
I apparently *had* heard him correctly. I closed my hanging jaw and tried to form my next thought. The White House nuclear war shelter was two hundred feet down, and apparently had a fully-staffed, fully-functional strip mall inside it.
"Hmm... well I guess it makes sense. Is there an arcade? I'm not going down there unless they have Donkey Kong."
| 2014-09-18T12:59:40 | 2014-09-18T11:48:42 | 253 | 16 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before.
|
I love starting over. This is my 11th time doing it, and throughout all that time I've found one thing to be pretty constant: no one knows what to do with a swearing 5-year-old who understands more about history, science, math and sex than they do. Of course, the first three lives I kept things pretty... par. Hell, the first time I came back I had night terrors until I was 18. Then I died. Tuberculosis is a bitch. All in all, my first few lives weren't great. A lot of dirt... everywhere. Sure, London's pretty nice now, but see if you'd feel that way when you're walking back from a blood letting on a hot day and the breeze thrusts upon you that special stink that only a roadside sewer trench can provide.
But, that was about 500 years ago. Since then I've been able to sand off some of the edge with each successive life. You might think that living would get boring after being born for the 11th time, but it really doesn't. As I pass through my lives, time changes around me. Humanity is constantly inventing new things, and I've gotten to see most of them. And now with all this internet and the endless tidal wave of participation ribbons, 5 year-olds have a pretty choice gig.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, I was being reborn:
I opened my eyes. As I lifted my head I looked around. I was in a sea of sleeping children.
''The hell?'' I mumbled as I rubbed my eyes, peering around through bleary-eyed half consciousness. The last thing I remembered was getting hit by a bus. No matter how many times I die it never gets easy. I guess it's just inherently human to not want to die, even if you know it won't exactly take. I've never really been able to shake that initial shock when faced with it. 500 years and 11 rebirths and it still freaks me out every time.
I took a moment to focus my thoughts, and as I looked around, I could see I was in a big, carpeted room, surrounded by about 15 quietly snoring kids, bean bag chairs, and various "fun" educational posters informing me of my colors and what vowels were. I looked down, and I appeared to be wearing a t-shirt, plaid shorts, and some of the clunkiest and heaviest kids’ shoes I’d ever seen. As I blinked away the rest of my tiredness I realized what had happened and where I was. I was in a kindergarten class, and the universe had decided to pop me into this kid's head right in the middle of nap time.
I looked down at my hands: light brown. I felt my crotch: dick alert. Those were always my first things to check. I'd lived a lot of places, been most races, lived in every continent except Antarctica, and been male and female. Depending on where you were, and during what time, different races had different positives and negatives as far as prejudice or social power. Usually caucasian was the easiest, but I’d had some pretty good runs as African, Southeast Asian, and Latina. However, so far, the female lives had always been a bit more... frustrating. My last life I'd been a German chemist named Valeria, and I'd noticed that it had gotten a bit better in the last couple decades, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to find I'd be packin' some schlong this time around.
As I stared around the room in quiet contemplation with my hand down my pants, a light flicked on and a woman’s soft voice said in American English,
"Wake up everyone, nappy time’s over! Carlos, what did we say about playing with ourselves?" I stood there in the middle of the room for a couple seconds, looking at the kids laying down around me, trying to figure out which one of these little bastards had started jerkin' it. Suddenly, I realized I was Carlos, and I was gripping my own penis in the middle of a well-lit room. I snapped my hand out of my pants, and quickly started to nod my head and look around with as much casualness as I could muster, shoving my hands deep into my pockets as I began to saunter around the room.
"Sooo, mein teacher, vat stuffe vill ve be learning today?" Damn, I was still talking in my German accent. 45 years of pretending to need an affected English speaking voice will do that I guess.
"Very nice accent Carlos, been watching some movies at home have we?"
"Oh, uh, ya, Das Boot." I cleared my throat, shaking off the accent. I’d become pretty damn good at languages over the years. "Great flick. You ever seen it?"
She looked at me with a look of suprised puzzlement. I loved that look. "No, I… can’t say that I have. I’m sure it’s a lovely film though. Now, class, who’s ready foooor… ARITHMETIC??" she did not receive the cheering giddiness from the crowd of recently passed-out children that she had been hoping for, but she kept up the pep anyway. I could tell, this lady was gonna be a fun nut to crack.
As we all took our seats in a semi-circle around the board, the young teacher started writing simple addition and subtraction problems in bright blue dry erase marker, the felt tip squeaking as it went around the curves in the numbers. I nudged the kid next to me, a boy in a stretched out t-shirt who was missing his two front teeth, and whispered, "Hey slugger, hold my beer while I do this math."
"What?" he squeaked as I stood up. "Teach! Can I try these ones?"
"Sure Carlos! Not letting yesterday get you down, huh? I like the can-do attitude. Here’s your first one: what is one pl-"
"Yeah that’s 2. While you’re at it, the rest up there are 3, 4, and 2 again."
Her eyes grew wide and a giant smile stretched across her face, "Carlos! Oh my! That’s wonderful. I guess you’ve been practicing at home with your parents!"
"Nah, I’m just smart as fuck." The whole class gasped and lost their damn minds. I stood in the wake of my no-no-potty-mouth, surrounded by cries of "OH YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!!", "MS. HARRIET!! CARLOS SAID A BAD WORD!", and even some kid just flat-out screaming "AAAAAAAHHHHH!!"
"Carlos!" said the woman named Ms. Harriet, "You do NOT say that word! Come out in the hall with me right now!" She stood up, marched over to the door, and pointed authoritatively at the floor in front of her.
"But wait, I've got more!" I proclaimed as I shrugged off her command. "Let’s use the numbers you had up there. If I wanted more than 2 but not quite 3, I could add 0.5 to it and have 2.5. Then if I decided, eh, maybe I do want a bit more, but all I have are this 2.5 and this 3, I could multiply them together and get 7.5." The room calmed down a bit as some of the kids just stopped and looked at me, confused by the words coming out of my mouth. Ms. Harriet, still furious, just glared at me and said through gritted teeth, "Impressive Carlos. Get over here. Now."
"Oh that’s impressive? Check this steez." I turned and walked to the board, my bulky shoes clomping on the carpeted floor, and started writing on it with a red marker. "Say you’ve got this 2, and you wanna get kinda funky with it, but aren’t quite sure how. Then, all of a sudden, Mr. X waddles in from the alphabet poster and decides he’s gonna steal Mrs. 2’s seat and make her sit on his shoulders. Now you’ve got X raised to the power of 2. Looks kinda scary, right? Wrong! Let’s hit that sumbitch with a derivative! You’re only lookin’ at 2x now. Still not satisfied? Again with the derivative! We’re back to 2. Still want smaller?? HIT IT AGAIN! We’ve got ourselves a big, fat goose-egg now. Va-va-voom, we doin’ calculus baby."
I popped the cap back on the marker, whirled around to face the room, stretched out my arm, and dropped the marker on the floor. Both the class and Ms. Harriet just stared at me, mouths agape. She shook out of her brief trance and crossed the room in a flash, grabbed me by the arm, and said in a voice attempting authority but failing to keep the confusion from seeping through the cracks, "We’re going to the principal’s office..."
All the kids heard this and most started jeering, but some actually looked worried for me. As Ms. Harriet pulled me by the arm across the room, I twisted around and made eye contact with one girl who looked particularly worried. As I did so, I tripped over a loose colored pencil and the wheels which had previously been unbeknownst to me popped out of the heels of my shoes. I caught myself, relocked eyes with the worried girl, and gave her a finger gun with my free hand as I wheeled backwards out of the room,
"Don’t worry I’ll be ok. Like I said, I’m smart as fuck."
|
Immortals
I open my eyes, a world of color assaults my senses. Smells were distinct and sounds were interestingly clear, I could hear the sway of the leaves from afar and as I focused I see people around me examining me with faces of anxiety.
I took a deep breath and muttered to myself, "Nassaab!". I knew what happened, the Ghost of Alexandria have died once again. The man I was in contact with for a mission betrayed me, he will learn the folly of his actions in due time. Now though I have to handle the situation.
"Honey, are you alright?" A blond woman fussed over me looking overly concerned. This was probably my mother, she had an American accent.
I nodded slightly, this happens every time I die. I would transmigrate into a new life one that is five years old. The old soul of this body have already left, and died because of an accident or something similar."What happened?" I croaked.
"Michael! What were you thinking!" I could hear both relief and anger in her voice. She started telling the tale of the kid's stupidity. Apparently young Michael was playing atop a tree and fell, falling and breaking his neck, dying in the process thus leaving me to occupy the body. The other well doers started to disperse, I didn't see anyone that appears to be my father.
Transmigration heals the body thus I was fine after the transfer. I weathered my mother's fussing and then after she calmed down, I quietly slinked away.
Only when she went out to go to work, bidding me not to do anything stupid did I become active. I opened up her laptop and started downloading tools that will help me mask my location.
I then typed on the browser Im.mortal.tpt, this was our site. I am not the only immortal, and my immortality is not the only way. This site is a site for all those immortals, a way to keep up with your friends and enemies.
I logged in and an interface similar to facebook popped up. I smile wryly, this was the first time I logged in this thing in a few years I suppose we have to get with the times.
I searched for Freyja over the search link and her profile popped up.
I chatted her "hey babe, I might be late for the date"
| 2017-05-25T17:16:35 | 2017-05-25T15:01:17 | 100 | 36 |
[WP] As a ploy to take over the world, Villains hire directors to create propaganda films where they are portrayed as "misunderstood", "sympathetic", and "tragic".
|
"So you want me to... what?" I muttered in confusion, quirking an eyebrow.
"Write my tragic backstory for the world," Lygo replied, his blue eyes glinting like a cat's in the night. "And present it as a beautiful film."
I frowned and bit my lip, "But... I'm not even licensed for that. You have to have an official Villain Story License, and I don't."
He nodded and leaned on his fist, smiling, "I know. That's why it would be even more convincing. You producing this story out of the kindness of your heart because you legitimately found a villain with a sad story to tell." He chuckled, "Besides, your little studio hasn't had any business in quite some time. Anna Reeve's Star-studded Films? A bit of a presumptuous name if you ask me."
I began to chew on my lip nervously, "I... I don't know. I thought that..."
Lygo rolled his eyes, "I'll cut to the chase, darling. I don't feel you have any bandwidth to refuse me. And I am more than willing to pay you handsomely for your services, and you know full well that it is no sort of lie."
I hated to admit it, but Lygo was right. I despised those villain propaganda films that portrayed them as good people when they were really trash, and Lygo was the worst of the worst. He'd stolen a great amount of the world's gold and jewels for who knows what. I wanted so badly to say no to him... but... I needed the money. Needed it more than I ever wanted to admit. All I wanted was to make fantasy films, but I didn't even have any actors or writers willing to work with me because I had no money to produce a damn thing. The best I'd ever done were some short animated films to play before feature films. And those were shit.
"It doesn't have to be a fancy production, you know," Lygo said, as though he were reading my mind. "In fact, the lesser the quality is, the better. People will believe it if it's less expensive. So break out your notepad and write me a fine movie."
It took weeks, and every single draft Lygo refused, until finally he looked over one and I could see legitimate pain in his eyes as he read over one particular area. "And so my mother died from a hideous disease, did she? And because we had little to no money for health insurance the hospitals all turned us away and refused to treat her... I see."
I frowned, "Lygo... Are you... alright?"
In the next moment, his sadness disappeared and his slicked back his sandy hair, "Yes. I'm fine. This script will do just fine. Lovely job."
I had a tough time finding actors, but a few fresh out of theater school were willing to do it even though I couldn't offer them much pay. I played the part of every crew member, and it exhausted me to the point where I could hardly walk. But the finished product was so much more than I ever could've hoped for, and Lygo was clearly pleased when he watched it. And in the scene where his mother died he broke out and sobbed.
"Are you alright?" I asked cautiously.
He wiped his eyes with a silk handkerchief, "I... No. Not really. The truth is... my mother did pass away because she had a disease we couldn't afford to treat. Father worked so hard to make ends meet. I got a job at age 12 shining shoes to try and save up for her. I would put every penny into a coffee can under my bed. When I'd filled it up I was so proud and presented it to my mother as though I had won the lottery. She smiled at me despite how ill she was and that was all I needed to feel validated. But it didn't matter. That was nowhere near enough money and she'd known it, but didn't say anything because she wanted me to be proud of my hard work and efforts. She died just a month later."
My eyes welled up with tears and I brought him in for a hug, "I... I'm so sorry, Lygo. Why didn't you tell me beforehand? I would've worked it into the script."
"I didn't want you to," he muttered. "Because it felt like an invasion of my privacy. You know what I really do with all of the money I steal? I pay for the treatments of people who had the disease which killed my mother. Because I want no other child to go through what I did." He glanced at me and smiled gently, "You are the first person I've ever trusted enough to tell the truth to. You must be special."
For a moment we sat there and stared at one another, and I caught him glancing down at my lips. I suddenly realized just how close we were to one another and scooted away, brushing a lock of my frizzy mahogany hair behind my ear. "Well... There's lots of people looking forward to this film. Everyone wants to hear the story of Lygo Larceny."
"Right. Yes," he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away. "Goodnight, Anna."
As he left my office I threw myself onto my couch and screamed into my pillow. Why was I so stupid?! He was a villain! A bad guy! I couldn't trust him! And had he been blushing? I knew *I'd* been, but *him?* My mind was in such a whirl that I couldn't make heads or tails of anything for days. When it finally came time for the premiere of the film I was struggling to find what to wear until a box from a very famous gown shop arrived. And inside it was the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen.
Made of satin and redder than a cherry with slits up the side and a long flowing train, this gown was more than red carpet worthy. And it must've cost a fortune. Inside the box with the elegant clothing was a note from Lygo. **For all of your hard work. See you tonight.** My face turned as red as the dress in my hands, and I sighed. What was I doing to myself?
Walking the red carpet was a very welcome change, and as paparazzi weighed me down with questions I felt my mind reeling. My hands were sweaty and I felt myself wanting to hyperventilate. Was this what fame felt like? Uncomfortable and nerve-wracking? A few moments later I was falling backwards only to land in the arms of the person I was both most and least looking forward to see.
"Hello, Anna," Lygo said with a smile. "Ready to go in and see your hard work pay off?"
I nodded slowly, "Y-Yeah. Let's go."
He escorted me to our seats and as we watched the film I noticed some things that were different. Scenes had been changed. Then my eyes widened in realization. This... This was Lygo's *real* story. The one he had told me. As the credits rolled I looked at him, and he silently smiled gently and gestured to the screen with his head. Then it showed him in a room with a single light and camera.
"Hello, everyone. You all know me as Lygo Larceny, but that is far from the end of my story. In truth, everything in this film was real. I struggled to live a normal life and forced others to suffer for it. I thought I was doing what was right, but a very special person made me realize that vulnerability is our greatest tool. And so I will bare my heart to all of you now and say that soon a series of privately owned medical facilities under my name will be opened. Treatment will be completely free. So if you have someone close to you who needs help or know someone who does... Don't hesitate to walk though those doors. Good night. And thank you for hearing my story."
As the screen faded to black I looked to Lygo, and he took me by the hand and led me outside to a crowd of cheering people. He turned to me and grinned, "Thank you, Anna. Without you I never would have had the courage to make this a reality."
In the next moment his lips were on mine, and I melted into his embrace, running my fingers through his hair and feeling my face flush. As we parted he fell to one knee and drew a ring box from his pocket, "Anna... I can think of no other woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. So I ask you here tonight if you will do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
I smiled widely, tears falling from my eyes. "Yes! Yes!"
As the camera stopped rolling and the director called, "That's a wrap!" I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Great. Let's get some lunch, people!"
Lygo wrapped his arm around me, and he kissed my forehead, "Do you think this sequel is going to be as successful as the first film?"
I crossed my arms, "It's not my production, but I'm sure it will still be passable, at least. How are those clinics, by the by?"
He grinned, "Alright. And with all of those grateful people behind us..."
"They'll never refuse our takeover," I finished, chuckling. "Because after all. Everyone's a sucker for a sweet story."
|
"Dudes dudes dudes DUDEs! Have you guys seen Terrorclaw's movie trailer?! It is the dumbest thing I have seen all year!" Anthony Exclaimed to the other teens at the library table, "He is trying to be all oooo, I have a sad backstory and must kill for vengeance and shit. It's like he forgot he his villain debut is on the net!"
"Isn't Terrorclaw the guy that got wedgied by Ultranis trying to rob a dollar store? I have to see what that moron did" Exclaimed on
Ultranis, the butt-monkey of super heroes, always trying to be super edgy but fails miserably has never successfully defeated a super villain, until he met Terrorclaw at the local dollar store. Some guy filmed the encounter and it is one of the most hilarious pieces of pure slapstick comedy on the internet with over 200 million views on the original video alone.
Anthony pulled out his phone and his friends crowded over to watch.
It opens on a black cloudy sky with a guy with bulging muscles through a pure black latex suit standing on the ledge of a building with a silver hand. "I will have vengeance Ultranis, for the humilation you have wrought upon my entire life!" he says in a growl voice.
"Dude pause it" Anthony pauses it "Did that fat bastard seriously get freaking Christian Bale to play him, god talk about power fantasy. and didn't he only meet Ultranis for the first time like 6 years ago? Oh god what a clown."
"Hey Anthony put your phone away this is study hall, not chit chat time." Their teacher Mr. Carrel Wort scolds the teen, "Same goes for the rest of you. That trailer is a masterpiece and should be treated as such. Another outburst from you and it is detention!"
The teens groan in displeasure and stop crowding Anthony. and get to work 'studying'
| 2021-06-21T18:15:34 | 2021-06-21T17:00:21 | 73 | 12 |
[WP] For your 10th birthday you received vr goggles. You tried them, thought they were dumb and went on with your life. Its only now, decades later looking back, you dont actually remember ever removing them.
|
It's my 80th birthday today.
​
I wake up early as I usually do, my bladder urgently signaling my brain that the dam is going to burst. After a blind stumble (what used to be a confident strut, mind you) to the bathroom and a piss, the robe comes on and I make my way downstairs to my waiting wife.
​
She's already dressed. She wears less makeup now than she did when she was 30, and is lovelier for it. She aged better than me as a result of vigorous diet and exercise, something I could never quite get behind. She smiles at me like she doesn't see the stubborn sack of fat that settled between my hips in my early 40's, and I'm grateful for it. "What would you like to do today?" she asks, hopping more nimbly than I could dream to from her wooden stool. My hand moves to my throat- a reflexive response to being put on the spot. I act as if I have an itch and scratch into a few days' worth of stubble. "Ah..." I say, hesitant. The truth is at this age birthdays are a reminder that you are speeding toward death. Time moves faster. My body decays more rapidly. Even as I stand here, now affectionately rubbing my wife's back, there's dull pain in most of my joints. I want to stay home and have a quiet dinner with her and put on a television program. I know that my wife would consider this selfish and is constantly on my case to make myself more available to our children and grandchildren. My lips purse while I'm getting my raisin bran and she can't see. "What about a little family dinner at Katie's place?" I say, referring to our second child's home. Bea, my wife, smiles, and for a moment I forget my aching body. "That sounds wonderful," she says, and I know that she's been planning it all along. In moments she's kissing me on the cheek, gathering her things, and is out the door with a "Call if you need anything, I'm going to help her set up!"
​
There's nothing left to do but chuckle, shake my head, and eat my breakfast. With a few moments of peace I have time to get some chores done I've been putting off for a while. I fix a door latch. Replace the filter on the kitchen sink. Trim the dog's nails. When you're young you don't think of the maintenance required for your dreams. In your mind you see a picket fence that always stays white, a wife that always stays happy, dogs that stay happy and young. You are quickly disabused of these notions. Eventually you are trapped by your dreams, and wonder if they were worthy goals all along. "Did I really want three children?" you ask yourself, thinking perhaps of the daughter you can't talk to or the son that sneers when he sees you. I wonder to myself, even now, if this is the life I really wanted. The bitterness has increased exponentially over the last couple of decades.
​
Eventually I get dressed for dinner and make my way to my daughter's house. My firstborn had always been a loner. Even now he lives in a big city far from our rural outcropping in an apartment alone. Whatever clever doodad I have now sometimes shows me a picture of him, usually alone, usually a drink in his hand, staring peacefully out over some ocean. My daughter, however, immediately wanted a family. She barely made it through college before she found The One, and married him six months after graduation. She wasted no time at all getting pregnant, but by the time the second child came along we could tell that while she had grand ambitions for supporting them, she might need a little help. Our third daughter, having gone to school and then immediately into a graduate program, was out of the picture and unlikely to move back home, so we switched homes with our daughter, son in law, and their children. We took their modest condo and they took the sprawling Victorian I had inherited from my parents. The self-driving car ambled slowly along the drive, but every meter we passed made me more tense in my seat. Car after car lined the drive. Some I recognized, family and close friends, but even more I could only hazard a guess at.
​
Shaken, I was deposited on the wraparound porch, my heart pounding rapidly. Acting more bravely than I felt, I flung the front door open and was greeted by the whooping and well wishing of every colleague, friend, family member, and associate I had made in my life. Eventually my eyes found my wife, still a stone-cold knockout in a floor-length black dress. I offered a playful scowl and she laughed, the sound filling the large foyer and dining area the party was being held in. Despite the deep introversion I have maintaned over my life, I still managed to accumulate a lot of people whom I can spend a pleasurable evening mingling with. The wine flowed, the appetizers served were all my favorites, I was a little perplexed not to see a cake, especially considering it was my birthday.
​
All wonderful parties eventually achieve a natural "lull" in conversation and enchantment. The trick is to end them here before everyone becomes tired and impatient. The evening reached that point without candles or an embarrassing song, and I was grateful. Sensing the lull, my daughter appeared as if by magic and shot me a sly smile. "Everyone, thank you for coming. This has been a wonderful party for a wonderful man. We've had the luck of 80 years of getting to know him, here's hoping for 80 more!" she cheered, leading a toast with champagne handed to her by a deft waiter. "If everyone could join me in the kitchen I have time for one last surprise." she said, grinning like a fool now. She ushered us all into the kitchen, a tight squeeze despite the generous space, and eventually I made my way to the center of the gasps and "awwws." I clutched my throat, stunned, mentally the years and decades melting away.
On a small white table, one familiar to me as my own hands, was a cake and a photograph. The photograph was me, 70 years earlier, a cake identical to the one sitting on this very same table was visible. I swallowed hard, the memories of that party hitting me like an icy wave. My friends were there... My mama... I had begged for... god damn it, what was the gift? I wrack my brain as I take a seat at the table, the very same square foot I had occupied on the same day 70 years ago... "Where did you find this table?" I asked, trying to act normal while my mind was spinning. My daughter doesn't hear me, there's a flurry of activity, the song we all know, laughing, clapping, an artificial smile plastered on my face. The second I let my mind focus briefly on the song I remember. I remember the gift I had begged for... It was a new thing. Better virtual reality. You were supposed to be able to hardly feel them and the graphics were supposed to be hyper realistic. I start to laugh. Hysterical, manic laughter. I'm crying now, too, crying because I know the choice I have to make. Do I leave them? Do I get another chance? Everyone starts to look at me, and I start to scream. My gnarled, aged, fingers move up, how could I not have noticed this before now... how long have I been ignoring this pressure on my eyes and temples? I rip the glasses off and throw them across the room where they shatter on impact on the same sturdy wooden counter top that had just been obstructed by a room full of people. I look down at my hands, finding them fleshy pink and small, then up at the kitchen now empty, save for my mother and father.
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I was weak. After the car crash my life has been slipping away. I could barely stand anymore. Then it was my birthday. I had to celebrate it in the hospital. My parents got me a a VR headset as I was putting it on I suddenly felt very dizzy. I was loosing consciousness fast, that last thing I remembered was my dad putting on the headset on me. Quiet, everything was dark and quiet. Then I heard trees rustling and wheels rolling on gravel. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in a carriage then I heard a loud voice "Hey you, your finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right?"
God dang it Howard you done it again
| 2018-12-23T07:46:48 | 2018-12-23T06:30:39 | 52 | 10 |
[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years
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My wife was the first to die. Ninety-five, in her sleep. Peaceful like. Then it was my youngest; cancer. My boy was an alcoholic, but somehow he made it to seventy 'fore his liver give out. Graceful God, he didn't have children. Now it's just me, and my house, and my wood.
Every year the city-folk get a little closer, and my wood get a little smaller. I live out here 'midst the giant trees. The one I live behind's name is Gorgon. Big. So big I can't see the top if I stand next to 'er and crane my neck up. Her bark's some kind of magic in it. Every so often a flower sprouts, opens up into ebony splendor, and I cut it and boil it into some tea. It don't taste right -- burnin all the way down -- but I think it's keepin me here, in this place. I never start to look like my wife did. I don't get sick like my youngest. I don't remember how old I am, but I know Gorgon still 'round.
Don't know how, but word got out about this flower, and now folks comin' round to try and find one. Mostly I don't mind; it don't come up but once in awhile, and I could do with the company. Gets lonely sometimes: late at night starin up at the stars, wonderin if my kids is up there; in the quiet of winter when the snow and wood kill all the noise; in the sound of rain; when I wake up, and remember no one's there.
Every time I cut the flower and taste the burnin I swear this is the last time, but then I lose my nerve and, cryin I'm cuttin the flower, brewin the tea, and here I am. See I don't know what's in the after -- where my kids at, where my wife at. Sometimes I can feel their love in the here. Is it in the after?
So I sit and sip my black tea. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doin all them city folk a favor. Maybe they get this flower and not think bout what it is to live in a place, all the time stayin the same while everything else change. The years, they burn like this tea.
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Melad has lived for thousands of years. Earth has been producing floral biotics of different kind after the demise of original humans many millennium ago. He lives in the ruins of the past. He has long transformed the acres of land around him to suit his simple life. For a farmer like him the vegetations are his treasures.
He doesn't remember the first time he met a fellow human nor does he remember his past but he surely does remember what came after. A handful of people raided his field once he tried to welcome them and help them with their need whatever that may be. But humans are the kind that's known for their encroachment, Melad learned it the hard way.
"Please, help help me— Let me have it." The last words of a dying old man he once met made an impression on him it haunted him. He questioned the fact why he can't die yet what's making him last longer or if this is natural at all in the first place.
Melad's skills far exceeded anyone's. He'd made fences around the perimeter and watched carefully for any intruder. He didn't expect a woman to sneak into his house one night.
"H-How did you do it?" Melad questioned the girl. She looked nervous, head down and frail.
The girl waved and performed something with her hands after being silent for a minute there. Melad couldn't understand what she was trying to say but he knew she was mute from the time she took to respond.
No one was able to enter his place for a thousand years but a girl did it somehow, a clever one he thought. He provided her some food, clothes to change and a place to sleep in for the night. She slept that night but Melad was awoke unable to bring himself to sleep. Nothing robbed him of his sleep before.
"Did you sleep well?"
The girl got herself up and nodded quietly.
"Good. I made you breakfast. You can may be give me some answers later, or not. I don't know what you're running from but you're safe here trust me," Melad gave her a smile to begin her day with.
One day when they were walking the field Melad was pondered with a question before he asked her, "What's your name if I may ask?"
She just looked at him then her eyes moved towards something, he turned around and saw it. "What are you looking at?" He asked.
She raised her arm and pointed at it. A flying insect was sipping the nectar from a flower.
"Are you saying your name is Moth?"
The girl shaked her head right to left, the movement of her eyes and the way she kept her lips indicated that as if she was trying to say, 'Something like that."
"Can I call you Moth, if you don't mind?"
She replied with a nod and then she smiled at Melad.
Several years went by they'd both become good friends despite the gap in their communication. He taught her ways she never thought she'd come to learn some day, and soon she'd become quite a farmer herself.
Melad went to his garden of flowers. "Moth, come here," he called her. She inquired with her sign language as she entered in.
"Now now, look."
She couldn't take her eyes off of a peculiar flower that grew vertically around a plant. Melad called it Agave Ocahui.
"The leaves are edible I'll make you a food you can't forget for another thousand years. It's very tasty," he said.
"For thousand years..." For a moment Melad's speech froze her right where she stood. It took all her strength to move and act naturally around him so that he won't get suspicious. Moth was careful.
Melad and Moth weren't expecting visitors, men and women came looking for something in Melad's possession just like how it happened in the past. Melad always had a way to handle them in case if they aren't friendly. It's not going to be any different this time, he thought. He hid Moth in the basement of the newly built house.
"Gentlemen, and ladies." Melad looked at them as they appeared from the woods to confront him.
"What is it that you want?"
"All of this." The guy who who led them told Melad as he smirked looking down, then he turned to his left and spat.
"You're no different from others, aren't you?"
"I don't know about others you're going to die by my hands I can assure you that," the man with a scar on his face threatened him.
Melad quickly raised his arm and started shooting arrows from the machine he was hiding in his back. The others ran to his house, the leader evaded Melad's attack and jumped him.
Melad wasn't expecting so many of them things went sideways quickly. "I told you, right?" He told Melad as he brought him down. Melad struggled to break free.
"Not so much of an immortal, are you?"
"Immortal? What is he talking about?" Melad thought to himself.
"Wait, wait. You don't know?" the man laughed. "Look, everyone, he doesn't know," he mocked Melad in front of his people. "How could you be so naïve?," he asked him.
"Let me tell you something you ignorant fool, we are like you. We lost our garden to a fire so we searched for the thing that grants you your immortality for years, we'd pillaged several villages for that and look where it led us. To you."
Melad put his head down and remembered asking Moth to run away. At least she'd be safe, he thought. Right when he was thinking it's all over a woman from the team who'd ran to his house brought her.
"Look who I found in his house, it's brand new I'm telling you, it has plenty of rooms," she said.
"Moth, no." Melad succumbed to despair for the first time in his life.
"Mo? Is that you?" the man recognized her right away.
"I thought I lost you," he said. Moth acted aggressively and spat on his face.
"Ever the fierce girl I know," he said, then he slapped her.
Melad was filled with confusion it made him angry. He looked at Moth the anger subsided, she turned her face from him she couldn't face him. Milad could see her sadness.
The man then ordered them to take her away, he is going to kill Melad, she knew. She attacked her captors distracting the scarred man so that Melad would have an opening to attack him, and the others.
Melad took hold of his machine shoved it up his gut making him bleed out, when the others came to assist their leader he quickly used the overgrown vegetation around him as a weapon and blinded them all. He's a farmer for thousands of years he knew what to do.
The field was filled with blood and sweat where it once saw Melad train Moth martial arts for months. Somewhere in his mind he thought Moth could've told him of everything, or her past about where she's from or what she did but it didn't bother him so much than what was at hand in that moment.
Only a few remained, they'd already ran away from them. Melad took a long breath and fell down on the ground. She gave him shoulder and carried him to his house. They will not speak of this for years.
"Did you know?," Melad questioned her at the dinner table the next day.
She didn't respond a thing. She said she will tell everything someday, and that they're together and that's all it matters.
Melad fell ill the following days, it lasted for weeks. She asked if he can do anything for him, she asked if there's something he wants to tell her. "You first," he said as he smiled at her.
She told him everything, that she wasn't like him, an immortal and that she was just a human.
She initially came to kill Melad to survive, she trusted only herself for years until she met him. As a young girl she witnessed her family and her village get slaughtered by a group of men, she survived cause her parents hid her. Then she met the scarred man weeks later, he took her in and raised her. He taught her things as he looked for the secret herb that grants immortality. She ran away from him when she came to know that he was responsible for the death of her parents.
"I'm sorry," she said with her sign language.
"Don't be. You're brave. I'll give you that," Melad then proceeded to tell her his secret. "I relied on this herb for so long without the knowledge of what it's really capable of I always thought it's tasty," he smiled.
"It's now your duty to protect this garden. It's the end of the line for me. I don't know how but I'm sure, I've never been sick my entire life, something is making me feel ill I can't figure it out."
Moth teared up. "So how'd you like the food I made the other day?," he asked her.
She wiped her cheek and said, "It was really tasty."
Melad laughed for several minutes looking at her saying that in her sign language. They both exchanged smiles, laughter and a good conversation to remember.
Moth took great care of him until his last breath. She wept and continued to live for thousand years as she promised the great man she once confided in.
WP.r #116 • r/FleetingScripts
| 2021-02-09T08:58:30 | 2021-02-09T08:18:29 | 152 | 89 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
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At birth, it had looked like a small silver dragonfly. Uncommon, but not unheard of. It had started on my side, just above my left hip. My parents had been so pleased, but my mother shone with pride. She was marked with the dove and not prone to excessive emotions, but seeing the tiny, glittering wings on her daughter had filled her heart with joy. My father had all of the traits of the bear, a common mark amongst the burlier men, and they had been worried their tiny girl would be more masculine because of it. A dragonfly, though. It marked me as quiet, demure, and beautiful. It gave my family a sense of accomplishment, and they looked forward to the promises of good fortune and peace that the mark assured.
As I grew, the mark grew, too. What started as a small tattoo the size of a penny grew and elongated, eventually wrapping itself around my midsection, the enormous wings unfurling down my back, the head quietly resting along my right bicep. I was 18 when it finally stopped growing. Thank the Old Ones, the color stayed dim and dull, the cautious silver of faded stretch marks. It was easy enough to cover in sleeved shirts, and I was by nature a modest person (unlike Katalia, who took every opportunity to show off the small hummingbird imprinted just above her left breast).
As my serpent grew, my parents stopped acknowledging that I even had a totem creature. The Elder Council was told of my dragonfly upon my birth, and it was decided not to correct them. Publicly, I was a dragonfly, which matched my personality (or maybe my personality was shaped in accordance to my erroneous totem), but privately, I was nothing. The Unmarked. 'Atashii.' My younger brother had been born a wolf, my sister, a fox. I was nothing but a monster.
Little did they know, I would one day become the Savior of Worlds.
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I chuckled to myself as I wiped the blood from my knuckles, and dragged my victim further into the dark alley he had attempted to rob me from. Now victim might normally be seen as a harsh word in such cases of self defense, he had lurched from the shadows in a frantic twitching blur, held his knife to my chest, you know how these things go. He couldn't possibly have known I was in as little danger from his knife as if he had plucked a dandelion from the sidewalk and instead had attempted to crush it against my chest.
As I dump his insensate body behind the nearest dumpster I catch a glimpse of a neon orange stain on his wrist. Pulling back his sleeve I see confirmation of what I had already suspected, a bright orange mongoose tattoo, wrapping around his wrist. Now whoever I'm talking to might not know this about our world, but we aren't exactly like all of the other multiverses, in our world, nearly everyone is born with a boon of some sort. These boons are codified by the location, color, and shape of a series of markings that appear on each person's skin, darkening from basically invisible as a child until it solidifies somewhere around an individual's teenage years, longer for more potent or larger ones, sooner for a very few. Much later for me.
Most people get something simple, my mother had a small, sketchlike dove at her temple, barely visible beneath her hairline and beginning to blend into her face even more as age and worry began to wrinkle her face, but beautiful in her pictures from her younger years. Her abilities are tied to empathy, able to sense emotions from other although not able to project them upon others like an arm or leg-marked person might. Even though, her abilities were extremely useful when dealing with people, an incredible boon to her job as a therapist, as one could imagine. My father and this guy were similar but different. Both were arm-marked, the sign of a power meant to be used in a more practical fashion. This guy was marked with a mongoose, I assume granting him incredible doses of speed over short bursts, thinking back to his appearance from the alley. Probably exceedingly useful in a life of crime i thought to myself as I crumpled his knife into a ball in my hand. Don't worry, we'll get to me soon. Where was I?
Oh yes, my father. My father was also arm-marked, although his was upon his very upper bicep, extending partially to his shoulder, a bear climbing a tree of flesh and laying his head on the top. this positioning technically gives him two positions, arm major with a chest minor. His tattoo is one of strength. My dad however was not a thieving douchebag, he worked in construction all his life, school never much being for him, and as a practical man, figured he'd stick with where he fit in. His words, not mine. I can still remember the stories of his prowess, doing alone jobs that most men would need a vehicle or a team for, lifting great slabs of cement to square them off just so, bending rebar like it was wire, once stopping a loaded truck from rolling back over a dog between its tires by bracing against the rear bumper, you get the picture.
Now both my parents were exceptional in their own way, most with marks of empathy would still need physical contact to do what my mother does, and most marked with strength still have the weak bones of a human under their powerful muscles, inherently limiting what they can do, although that is mostly explained from dad's partial chest mark. But neither of my parents are monsters like me.
See, I was born with a large dark splotch covering my entire back, winding around my upper arms, even extending up my neck to wrap around the crown of my head. This in itself wasn't unusual, sometimes the markings are indistinct at birth, appearing in one location only to move to another, or growing or shrinking with time. They were allowed to leave with only the instruction to report back when my tattoo finally manifested. What they didn't expect was for my marking to grow, to darken and spread, wrapping around my ribcage and firmly grasping each extremity in its clutches. I was kept away from other children, at first I thought as punishment, but later realized for my own good. New tattoos are met with suspicion from every level until their abilities are fully known, and mythical tattoos doubly so. Mythical level tattoos are said to inherently determined to be both living weapons, more so than any other. They are thus to be kept in ward of the state, theoretically until they are fully trained and capable of self sufficiency without harming others, but practically forever, most ending up serving as envoys of their government, envoys with extra bite, super soldiers, rulers, assets of the state. My parents didn't want such an end for me and so they lied, submitted me as snake marked, arms. Not common but not especially rare.
I am so much more. By my twentieth year my markings had solidified, a Giant creature, an ungodly amalgam of serpent, whale, kraken, and dragon. Extending from my upper thighs to the crown of my head, winding around my neck and arms while conveniently leaving my hands and face uncovered, my tattoo was entirely unknown. It took me years as a teenager to find any record of what it could be and as I settled on an answer, it had filled my heart with dread. Leviathan.
Most powers are not particularly overt, a subtle increase in strength, speed, durability. Small mental powers and the like. Mine, and by extension, all Mythics, have more blatant powers. The Dragon flies, and projects fire and lightning. The Phoenix functions like a lesser version of Dragon, but cannot be killed, immolating herself and reappearing nearby in a matter of hours, completely unharmed. Gorgon can turn anything in his sight to stone. Siren can turn anyone who hears her voice into mindless followers. Monsters, all of them. My strength manifested shakily in my late teens as a growing feeling of weight. I thought I was going insane, my feet stuck to the floor, I could hardly stand, chairs broke under me when I was at my worst, and even at my best i felt listless and dull. until one day in a fit of rage I broke a light across the room, tearing it from its moorings and grinding it into the ground. Smashed the glass to powder. That was how I discovered my mental power, a type of telekinesis only effective in two fashions, either to pull things towards me, or to push them into the ground. My other capabilities came shortly after. My strength is as good, and probably even better than if I wasn't holding back, my dad's. I am nearly impossible to hurt in any meaningful fashion as I discovered alongside the ability to pull things with my mind. Hurt as in injure, the brick had definitely hurt when i caught it with my face.
Anyhow the unleashing of these powers brought a whole new wave of paranoia from my parents. I wasn't allowed o cut my hair to show my neck, I was likewise encouraged to make a habit of wearing long sleeved shirts and turtlenecks, never even to show my relatively innocuous coils around my arms. Never allowed to do anything dangerous, never allowed to test myself, they moved us deep into the countryside, forbid high school, pleaded with me to skip going to college, paying for online courses. I was sick of it. Two days ago I had enough. I packed my essentials, left a note for my mother to find, and hiked 6 miles to the nearest small town to catch a bus back to the city. Here I could make something of myself, here i could put my powers to use, I told myself. But all I had done since was spend all my money at a two star hotel, get most of my stuff robbed while I was out of said two star hotel, and then get jumped by this punk while on a stroll to clear my head. Apparently nobody wants to hire a drifter with no references, phone, or address.
"Frankly," I said aloud, turning back to his unconscious body from my musing, "this has been the most excitement I have had since I got in town." I began rummaging through his pockets. Three empty billfolds later I hit the jackpot. three hundred dollars in various bills in a side pocket, wrapped in a rubber band like from a movie. I stand up. "Prosperous day you've had eh? Decided to test your luck one last time? One time too many I guess." Riffling through the wallets I notice an absence of any identifiers, no cards or licenses. He must have gotten rid of them. "Well thanks for the entertainment," I call over my shoulder as I exit the alley, "You should know this is actually the best time I've had in weeks!" My mouth turns upwards at the corners, a hint of a smile on my lips as I exit the alley and into the streets. He had given me an idea of what a monster such as me could do.
| 2017-11-08T06:02:20 | 2017-11-08T05:45:47 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] You put your 5-year-old daughter in an elevator by herself, and run to the next floor to make her laugh when the doors open. You get there, the elevator arrives and a 20-year-old woman steps out. "Hello Dad. We have a lot to talk about"
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I put my 5 year old daughter, Emily, in the elevator, and waited until the doors closed before running down the hall to the stairs. I'd done this trick before, and seeing my daughter's 5 year old face light up filled me with an unforgettable sense of joy.
I heard the 'ding' just as I dismounted from the staircase on the first floor, and with no time to spare I haulted myself in my best casual pose just as the doors opened. Normally I'd hear her giggles before the door opened, then I'd see her soul-saving smile.
But that's not what happened this time.
"Hello Dad," an adult woman said. "We have a lot to talk about."
I knew it was impossible and yet I recognized the sincerity in her eyes. She was my Emily, alright. She looked to be around 20 years old.
"How is this possible?" I asked. My confusion didn't surprise Emily. She acted as if she'd spent considerable time preparing for this moment.
"We'll talk about that later, Dad. For now, let's just focus on what we're going to have for dinner." She said as we got back to the apartment.
I tried to remember what I had for groceries, but I hadn't done any shopping in a while. So I suggested that we order a pizza.
"Pizza is just fine, Dad." Grown up Emily said with a warm, yet heavy smile. There was something unsettling about the layered emotions in her face.
Before I could find the phone number for the nearest pizza place, there was a knock at the door.
"I've got it." Emily insisted as she got out of her chair.
A few moments later she returned with the pizza.
"How are you doing this?" I asked, astonished. "I need you to tell me what's going on."
"Dad, I know you're probably a little freaked out right now, and that's normal," Emily said as she peered deep into my soul. "But what I'm about to tell you is going to require a lot of courage, do you understand?"
"Yes." I said to the young lady. She seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.
"You have Alzheimer's."
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Edit: Wow! Thank you for all the kind words, the gold, the platinum, the silver! I was not expecting this. You guys made my day. I'm glad you enjoy the story. :)
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"It's for you sir," my secretary said as she handed me the phone. Of course, my ex-wife wouldn't call my cellphone, that would make too much sense. She just HAD to call my workplace instead.
"Thanks Jess," I said to the secretary as I took the phone. "Feel free to go home already, your son has a concert that you should be attending, no?" Jess beamed at me and mouthed her thanks as I pressed the phone to my ear. She gathered her belongings and before I knew it, I was alone in the office.
"I'm down in the lobby with Claudia, where the hell are you?" Demanded a harsh voice on the other side of the phone. My ex-wife was intolerable, but even still, I had to manage, if not for her or myself, for my beautiful five-year-old daughter, Claudia.
"I've got a few more phonecalls to make and then I'm off for the week, just send Claudia up the elevator, I'll only be a couple minutes." I don't remember why I fell for that horrible woman, but I can't imagine what it's like for Claudia to have to live with her every other week. That hag goes through boyfriends like a baby goes through diapers.
"Of course you're working when you're supposed to be taking care of our daighter!" She shouted at me. "You'll be working overtime until the day you die, and that's the only thing you've ever cared about. Did Claudia's safety not cross your mind? What if she gets off on the wrong floor? What if some random perve gets in the elevator and starts creeping on her? What if-"
"Grow up Darlene!" I snapped. "It's a single elevator ride in a government building! Nobody's here but me and the security guards. Hell, my secretary just left for the weekend! Claudia will be fine, I'll be on the other side of the elevator as soon as the doors open!"
Darlene growled and said something to Claudia. The next thing I knew, she had hung up. I grumbled some words that I'd never repeat in Claudia's presence and put the phone back on the secretary's desk.
My thoughts flashed to the last time I was with Claudia. The last time that she was with me, we went out to the beach before I dropped her off at her mother's. At her request, I buried her in the sand. She loved it, but Darlene did not. Claudia's long blonde hair had been full of sand, which apparently took days to wash out completely.
I took my place in front of the elevator doors. I watched as the elevator rose up the floors, finally stopping in front of me. From time to time, I'd try to jump out and try to scare Claudia, but she'd only burst out laughing. She'd laugh at how rediculous I apparently looked. That was my girl, she's fearless. As the doors opened, I jumped out, "BOO!"
Instead of my little girl, a slender young woman, probably in her young twenties, stood in the elevator. Her hair was shoulder-length, dyed bright pink, and bounced as her shoulders moved. I realized that her eyes were red and puffy, she had been crying. "Sorry," I said quickly. "I thought you were-"
"Dad!" The girl shouted, throwing her arms around my neck. I tried worming out of the hug, but the woman held a firm grip. I suddenly felt more sluggish than I had a minute prior, like my bones weren't as sturdy as they had been when I woke up that morning.
"I'm not-"
Suddenly, the girl slapped me harshly across the face. "Maybe you don't understand the situation, so I'll start over," she said harshly. The woman straitened her composure, and what she said next made my head spin.
"Hello Dad, we have alot to talk about."
I was perplexed. I wasn't this woman's father. There's was no way, my daughter was only five-years-old. She didn't have pink hair, or ear piercings, and she wasn't my height!
"I'm not your father," I told her. "Sorry but-"
"You've been afraid of spiders ever since your little brother's pet turatula snuck into your bed when you were six," she said, crossing her arms.
"How did you-"
"You met Darlene when you were seventeen, and dated her for five years before you proposed at DisneyLand. You had your only child five monthes after the wedding and divorced Darlene after three years of marraige after you found her cheating," the woman recited this as if she had rehearsed it many times before.
"Where did you-"
"You named me 'Claudia' after your deceased mother, and Darlene picked Lily as my middle name because she thought it sounded cute," she spoke Darlene's name with a certain venom in her voice that only a person who had met the hag themselves could have had.
"Okay, I believe you now," I said skeptically. It didn't make sense to me at all, but she knew stuff that only my family members knew. Even Darlene didn't know of my phobia of spiders, so she couldn't have told all of this to this woman. The only logical conclusion was that this woman was my daughter, yet, that was also the most illogical conclusion.
"Good," Claudia snapped. "Now can you explain to me why you vanished for twenty years without a trace, and only now appear back at your old workplace?"
"Twenty years?" I exclaimed. "You're crazy!"
"And you're forty-eight," she shot back. She pulled a pocket mirror out and showed it to me. Surely enough, I was a heart old man. While I had been twenty-eight only ten minutes before, I was now twenty years older, and so was Claudia.
"We've both aged twenty years!" I exclaimed, astonished.
"That's because it has been twenty years, asshole!" Claudia shot at me. "Now, where have you been all this time?"
"Right here!" I argued. I took a few breaths to calm myself down. "Ten minutes ago, you were five years old and I was twenty-eight. Darlene sent you up the elevator and suddenly twenty years had passed."
This time, Claudia was the one that was confused. "I don't get it," she said, cocking her head to the side the same way she did when she was curious about something as a kid.
"Tell me this Claudia, what's your most vivid memory?" I looked at her expectantly, but she just looked at me confusedly.
"I guess.. it would've been mom sending me up the elevator, and then I got to the top floor, but you weren't there. I went looking for you, but I don't remember that part very well." Her eyes became cloudy, as she got lost thinking back into her memories.
"Focus Claudia!" I shook her shoulders. "Why were you crying in the elevator?" I remembered her eyes being red and puffy, she must've been sobbing.
"Because.. because all of the memories came at me all at once. As if they belonged to someone else, and I was experiencing it all at one time." She said.
"And why," I began, "were you here anyways? On the same day that I apparently went missing, twenty years later, at the last place where I was reported to be seen?"
"I.. don't remember," Claudia answered. "What are you getting at?"
"This is going to sound crazy," I said. "But I think that going through the elevator caused both of us to travel in time twenty years. Except, you have all of the memories that you would've gotten in those twenty years.. and I didn't."
"Was it because I was in the elevator and you weren't?" She asked. "No, that couldn't work, then you wouldn't have traveled in time." She kicked the wall. "Agh! This is so confusing!"
"What if it was some kind of emotional connection that caused me to travel with you through time as well, and that's why I wasn't around for twenty years, but since you were the one who triggered the time jump, only you had memories of the last twenty years?" I asked, I was suddenly grateful for all of the Sci-Fi books that I had read, it was my guilty pleasure.
"I guess, that could work," Claudia said skeptically.
"Only one way to find out," I grabbed Claudia's hand and pulled her into the elevator with me. I pressed the button to send us to the first floor. I closed my eyes and squeezed Claudia's hand. "No matter what happens, I love you Claudia."
"I love you too Dad."
When the doors opened, and I opened my eyes, I realized that Claudia's hand was no longer in mine. In fact, nobody was in the elevator with me.
"Daddy!" A five-year-old, short and blonde girl ran up to me. I scooped her up in a hug and held her in my arms, I had to fight to hold back tears.
"About time!" Darlene snarled. "I was just about to call your secretary, what took you so long?"
"Shut up Darlene," I said with a smile as I walked right passed her, with Claudia still in my arms.
"Where do you want to go Claudia? We can go anywhere you want!" I said as we left the building, down through the parking lot towards my car.
Claudia smiled wide, "can we go to the future again?"
| 2019-09-07T22:18:13 | 2019-09-07T20:46:03 | 6,170 | 268 |
[WP] When the king dies, a 100 floor tower falls from the sky and the crown returns to the top floor. Many climbers form adventuring parties to reach the top in hope of being the next ruler.
|
News had spread fast that the king was ill. Thousands of brave warriors began intense physical training to be the fastest at scaling the 100 story tower. They dreamed of being the next king, as they molded their bodies into perfect climbing machines.
"Fools" said Trebun, a craftsman with the muscle definition of your average pillow. Trebun had spent the better part of a decade working on his plan, performing experiments, and optimizing his design.
"Are you finally going to tell me how you plan on beating these elite humans to the top?" Asked his best friend and partner, Chetren.
"I have devised a device that will allow me to scale the tower without moving a single muscle! And now I must ask you to help me construct it."
The two got to work, cutting and hammering for the next 7 days until it was finished, and the king pronounced dead.
"Are you sure this will work, Trebun? Are you sure your numbers are correct?"
"Do not fret, Chetren. You see, I weigh approximately 90 kg. The tower is 100 stories at roughly 3 meters per story. Therefore I have balanced the counterweight to deliver a 90kg projectile across a 300m distance! Those fools will be bleeding at the fingertips climbing, while I soar by gracefully".
"Well, it is am excellent plan, Trebun. What shall we call this device?
"I propose we combine our names, since without your help I could not have finished it."
"Good thinking! Shall we call it a Trebunchetren?"
"Perfect! Ready to launch? In 3...2...1.."
--------------
Yeah these names were rough but I tried lol. Criticism welcome!
|
"The heck? You said she was an archmage specializing in healing and the light arts, not an elementary-school wannabe."
The tall, dark-skinned woman grips her hilt tightly as she chewed her gum nonchalantly, eyeing the petite girl like a tower looming over the forest. Her voluptuous figure left nothing to the imagination when clad with her light draconic armour, especially when trying to intimidate other people. Giving her a glare, the little girl shakes like a leaf staring back at an actual dragon breathing steam.
"Now now Felia, give her some room... looks don't determine skill."
A blonde-haired young man comes up and puts his gloved hand on Felicia's bare shoulder; his smile serving as a calming mediator. His clunky heavyweight armour shifts uncomfortably, but what's a guardian without his defenses. Pointing to the little girl, he attempts to mitigate the argument.
"You know King Malum's tower is pretty hard without someone to back us up." He replies as he gestured at the two other members lounging at the nearby rocks by the entrance. "Lyrial and Gren and us are pretty much stacked, but without a defensive option to support us, we're toast."
"Hmph, whatever." Felia turns around angrily, arms crossed. "I don't care about her, ok, Yori?" She pointed to the little girl as she swung her sword; its fine blade glimmering in the sunlight before setting it on her shoulder. "Don't expect me to cover you, pint-size." She said with a frown.
"U-u-um, o-ok." The little girl cowers at the behemoth of a woman as she tried to hide behind her gold-covered staff. While decorated with ornaments and a pair of shimmering wings, its thin rod can only cover so much of the girl.
Laughing at the exchange, Yori looks to his back and waves to his comrades at the near distance, gesturing them to come over here. Slowly but surely, the two stand up and walk over to the clearing where the three are gathered at. With a smile, Yori puts his hands on his hips and smiled at the little girl.
"Well, in any case, I'm glad to have you join us, Ellie!" Yori says with a grin. "Let me introduce to you our king tower party!" Holding up his right hand, a large golden shield with a shining sun emblem materializes on his right hand. The grand silver giant easily measures twice the height of the little girl, if not more.
"My name is Yori, and i'm the guardian." He says as he shook his shield. "So I'll be the one tanking up all of the damage and keeping our team safe from the frontlines."
"Felia." She says without missing a beat as she blew her gum and pulled her sword out of its sheath; the thin blade emanating an aura of ferocity. "Assassin. Damage dealer. Everything I don't like," she starts as she glares at the pink-haired girl, "dies." This sent a shiver down everyone's spines.
"Um, anyways," the green-haired girl moves forward and waves her hand at the pink-haired girl, giving her a toothy grin. "I'm Lyrial. I'm your markswoman." She pulls out a crossbow from her back. "This thing here's named Marky, cuz it never misses it mark!" She attempts a joke to lighten the mood, to no avail obviously.
Giving her some side-eye, the silver-haired male sighs and waves. "I'm Gren." He says as he makes some signs with his hands, a dark smoke of shadowy substance surrounding his waist. "I'm your run-of-the-mill shadow mage, but I'm not scary..." He says with a strained smile.
"And now please introduce yourself too!" Yori says excitedly as he gestures at the pink-haired girl. She gulped in the awkward silence, but exhales slowly as she raises her head.
"I-I'm Ellie." The little girl stutters out as she looks up at the quartet with a nervous look. She slowly shakes her staff as if trying to demonstrate her power. "I'm the healing archmage, so um, if you're hurt, I can help, I hope..." She exhales a deep breath after her short introduction.
"Great, pipsqueak is now friendy friendy ok." Felia starts as she puts her sword back into the sheath. Pointing to the entry gate, she motions to the increasing influx of people entering the ginormous tower. "So let's get a move on." She says without regard as she starts towards the iron-clad gate.
"Felia is always in a rush to reach the top, and there really is no way to stop her...heh. She wants to be queen, but that is what drives us all anyways right?" Lyrial says as she reaches out her hand towards Ellie, pointing to the tower. "It's your first time isn't it?"
"Y-y-yeah.." Ellie replies as she looked at the tower. Truthfully, it really unnerves her, but she knows that she cannot hide from it forever. Looking at the three party members waving at the lagging pair, she turns to see Lyrial's smiling face and outreached hand. Exhaling slowly, she puts her hand in hers and smiles. Content, Lyrial gives her a big smile.
"Then welcome to the team, Ellie."
**FLOOR ONE: TRIAL BY FIRE**
"What the fuck?! And this is the first floor?!" Felia shouts as she wielded her sword, cutting down fiery apparitions that advances towards the group. While their heat is unbearable, Felia is cutting them down with expert ease. "Yori! I need backup."
"Don't worry!" Yori shouts back as he shields flame throwing breaths from the front side of the hall, covering the rest of the party from the damage. "Gren is trying to get his invisibility spell up!" He shouts as he gestures to the male quietly meditating below a growing magical circle. "And Lyrial is covering from airborne attacks!"
"Soaring Shot!" Lyrial shouts as she holds her crossbow up. The glowing green apparatus charged up three arrow projectiles before suddenly shooting up at the sky. With perfect precision, the three arrows made contact with incoming fiery attacks and exploded, causing them to dissipate into the air. "Just hurry up Gren!"
"Then what's pipsqueak doing?!" She retorts as she slashed at another apparition with ashy flames. "Shadow Slash!" Her sword emanates a sinister aura that sends a shockwave, cutting down another pair of advancing apparitions. However, it is not strong enough to completely smash through the horde as it hit a giant one. Injured but enraged, the being locks eyes with Felia before letting out a primal cry.
"Oh fuck." Felia looks up as she cowers internally at the size of the behemoth. Without a moment's hesitation, she holds up her sword in a defensive pose as the giant swings at her, hoping she won't be too hurt. She may appear strong, but she braces for the worse to come.
"Holy Aegis!"
Though short in stature, her words ring out throughout the hall as Ellie, who has been hiding behind Yori the entire time, raises her staff that starts letting out a white glow. Suddenly, a white shield emblemed with a cross appears in front of Felia. The giant flaming hand hits the shield with great impact, but the strong white barrier is unyielding as Ellie grunts, trying to resist it from reaching its breaking point. Felia can only watch with awe, but quickly snaps back to reality as she jumps up with her sword in the air, putting her energy into the blade of strength.
"Thanks runt! I'll finish it up!" She shouts as the blade glows purple. "Secret Art: Lethal Lotus!" And with her purple sword, she plunges it down the middle of the monster as it screeches in pain. Petals of lotus flowers flew around the being, causing small explosions that only deterioates its external defenses as Felia attacks internally. Upon reaching the ground, Felia only grins as the monster, with its final breath, screams and explodes, wiping out the rest of the monsters. As the smokescreen recedes, a doorway was revealed.
"Nice job y'all." Felia smiles as she looks at the rest of the team. Although covered in soot, she knew that there are many more trials to face. "And you too, pipsqueak." She gives Ellie a thumbs up and a grin. The little girl smiles as she shakes her staff happily, although a little bit tired from the spell. She knows now, that this is something she was meant to do.
["Thank you!" Her pure voice rings out like a church bell, signalling on the 99 more trials to come.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Shiruet/)
| 2018-08-05T01:26:17 | 2018-08-04T23:59:15 | 72 | 22 |
[WP] "If you wanna find out what something does, seek out a Human and let them figure it out. That species has an ...uncanny ability of making use out of the most mundane or the most advanced piece of technology in unexpected ways."
|
“Just step on it.” I encouraged the short blue creature before me.
“But it’s a chair, it’s for sitting. We need a laddder” The creature insisted.
I sighed discreetly, attempting to hold my fraying patience together. “But we don’t have a ladder, and so we have to use this chair as a ladder.”
“But it’s not a ladder!”
“Just make believe that it’s a stepping stool then!” I snapped.
A look of intense concentration passed over the creature’s face. Then it climbed onto the chair and was able to reach the top shelf of its kitchen unit.
“It worked!” The creature exclaimed, climbing down with a jar of what looked like congealed organs grasped triumphantly in its hand. “Would you like to join me for dinner as a thank you?”
I stammered an excuse and began to leave.
“One last thing.” The creature said.
“What can I help with?” I asked, suppressing a grimace.
“Now where should I sit?”
I pointed to the chair.
“But that’s a stool.”
“Now is a chair again.” I said on my way out.
Closing the door, the nameplate “Admiral Vorpal” faced me in bold silver lettering.
It was my first day as IT (Imaginative Tech) support on the Federation Flagship. Admiral Vorpal was my direct report. This posting was going to feel like forever.
|
Safety.
In this ruined galaxy, home to tens of thousands of species and nearly as many unstable regimes, each clinging to whatever scraps of legitimacy that they can get their grubby claws, hands, or tentacles on, there is a lot of money in scavenging. Across the blasted ruins of dead worlds, destroyed during the Andromedic-Pleaidian Hyperwar, one can find amazing technology and artefacts that can make you unspeakably rich, enough to set you up for life on one of the few remaining Garden Worlds or functional ecuminopoli. Of course, that is if the buyer doesn't kill you, the arcane piece of tech doesn't get confiscated by some three-systems warlord, or if you don't accidentally wind up destroying it yourself somehow. Many a scavenger team has found a Garden World creation kit, only to accidentally boot it up during transit, destroying their ramshackle ships and killing them in the process. Many have accidentally found what might have been an advanced piece of medical tech, only to discover too late that their ship is overrun with necro-synthetic antibioweapons.
To say nothing of the horror there is in finding that what you thought was a zero-point generator, was actually a dimensional anchor. And by deactivating it for transportation, you find that the whole moon you and your team was working on got sent back to a different universe, one that can best be described as eternal torment.
It's a very dangerous line of work. But the rewards are immense and most scavengers, or Freelance Archaeologists as the more well-educated scavvers like to call themselves, agree that the sheer freedom of not being bound to one interstellar warlord-state is well worth the risk. Of course, there is a way to decrease the risk. A way to make the odds biased in your favour. And oddly enough, it's to have a small group of humans with you. They say that if you want to find out what some ancient mysterious piece of tech does without getting DNA-reprogrammed into a pile of your microbiological ancestors, you should seek out a human and let them handle it. They have a truly uncanny ability of making sense of, and safely using, ancient and dangerous technology. Often if you wish to harness the strange tech yourself, they can turn it to do the most unexpected things, things they were never programmed or built for.
Of course, there are problems with having the humans helping you out like that. They don't need a special atmosphere, or a very restrictive diet. Hell, they even work for fairly cheap. The problem with humans is a two-fold one. The first problem is to find them. During the Hyperwar; their starsystem was completely and utterly destroyed. The cataclysmic battle, often called the Death of the Gods, was fought there. The humans still in hushed tones tell tales of the day when the gods died, or as they called it, Ragnarok. That was the battle that ended the Hyperwar, destroying both warring sides and leaving our galaxy in ruins. Countless trillions of lives lost in a pointless, nightmarish engagement that raged for a century. Only a small group of humans were successfully evacuated before the battle began. Less than a hundred million humans got off their homeworld before it was atomized, fewer still were safely out of the star-system. And with the chaos of that age, humans were spread thinly across the galaxy. They became focused on keeping together with the people they could, at all costs, and not separate again, like they had been separated from the ones who were left behind on lost Terra. To this day, they are a rare lot, always travelling in clans or tribes, never settling down or finding a world to call their own. They fear the idea of getting stuck somewhere, and some say that the ghost of extinction haunts the entire race, making of them perpetual wanderers. Which makes them difficult to track down for anyone who wants to utilize their unique skills with arcane tech. So if you actually manage to find a human to work with, you're in luck. Your risk of getting your mind replaced with that of a Precursor criminal after unsafely handling an ancient time-prison is now reduced to nearly zero.
The second problem is that the humans do not travel alone. When you hire one of them, you hire their entire clan. Sometimes this is just a few dozen humans, but there are some scavvers who find themselves accidentally leading an entire fleet of human junkships. Tens of thousands of humans. And they haven't got a stable and singular culture. So you better make sure you're aware which clan, belonging to which tribe, that you hire. Because they get strange. But you can always rest easy, knowing that humans deliver what you need. Someone who can safely decipher ancient manuals, figure out how to disable the puzzle-traps, and find the real artefact that gives you a payday, rather than the fake one which transmutes your ship into wood.
And in the end that's what matters. Sure, you might wonder in amazement at the insane ingenuity of the Qoban Clan, find yourself enrichened by the ancient culture of the Frenjt clan, or terrified by the ruthless efficiency of one of the many Saksa-Rus clans. But no matter if they worship the tiny bricks and ancient banner, or if they pray to a god who demands that all flesh be covered in public, they all start the same way of testing the ancient tech. The human clan's priest, archivist, technomancer, or other important socio-technological leader, makes all the humans chant in one of the ancient dead languages of lost Terra. Then the sacred interfacing device is brought forth, the Pese; copied and improved over the centuries from the few ones brought with the original humans off from their homeworld. Then the leader turns the Pese on and off thrice, before being satisfied. Then, once the interfacing device has made a connection to the arcane technology in question, the sacred Dongle is brought forth. On it is one of the secrets of humanity. Something that they claim have kept them alive, taught them to fight the demons in the machines, and ensured their survival. The sacred Dongle is then connected to the interfacing device.
These rituals can continue, sometimes for days, weeks even. But when it is done, the Dongle is safely removed according to ancient protocols. That is when a sentence, ancient and spoken by all humans in all their many strange languages, is shouted aloud so that all might hear. ''**I got this thing to run DOOM!**''. And this is the signal that humans now can put this strange piece of technology, under their, and by extension, your control. Of course, if the ritual fails, there is another that they will do. But unlike the first one, they don't speak of it, nor let outsiders see it. All that is known of this, is that the leading human will exclaim to their fellows in hushed tones; ''*We must release Skyrim on this.*''
A strange lot. But in a dark galaxy, where a scavver is but one living soul amidst countless trillions, where you can forget all about the promises of peace, prosperity, and progress; Where all that once was, seems lost, and so much science and technology has been forgotten, now never to be recovered; you can do a lot worse than having a small group of technologically savvy beings like the humans by your side. And more often than not, you get to experience the hidden benefit of humans. If you treat them fairly and with kindness, they tend to become attached to you, and they will consider you, in some way, to be family. And they tend to be quite infectiously likeable too. More than one crew of aliens have joined the humans on their endless wandering, after they became fond of their wanderlust-stricken friends.
That being said, now that you've got an answer to why all the good scavvers have humans in their crew, do you want to hire some? Because I know of a small clan, about a hundred or so, who aren't currently employed by anyone. They're staying at a small moon in this system, you'll like them. They're a clan from the Canuck tribe of humans. Real friendly types. Polite too. And they're very good at working in low-temperature conditions. All I need in exchange is, well, maybe a lift to the next star-cluster, Warlord around here is getting too uppity for my tastes. You don't have to answer right now, of course, I'll give you a couple of days to think about it. I'll be here waiting.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2021-10-23T12:36:28 | 2021-10-23T12:24:59 | 2,046 | 740 |
[WP] A new continent is discovered. No one knows why this large land mass has never been seen before, it doesn't appear on any pictures taken from space and no astronauts have ever reported seeing it. You are part of the team in charge of mapping the area when you find out what they've been hiding.
|
"So nobody has ever seen it before?" The President asked.
"No sir," replied the NASA representative.
"How is that possible? Don't we have satellites in orbit? We've sent people up to the space station in rockets... they must have seen something."
I looked up from my papers, and from the corner of my eye saw my boss turn his head and glare at me. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The message was clear.
'Fuck it', I thought. 'If I'm right, it doesn't matter anyways.'
"I may have an explanation, sir," I said carefully.
"No sir," my boss interrupted quickly, "He doesn't. He hasn't fully reviewed his research on the matter."
The President looked at me thoughtfully, then at my boss before speaking. "I'd like to think he can speak for himself, Reagan. Go ahead son."
My boss glared at me, the implication clear: I was going to catch major shit for this later. But like I said... if I was right, it wouldn't matter.
"The reason nobody ever saw it before yesterday was because it *wasn't there before yesterday.*"
My boss dropped his head into his hands. The President stared.
"I don't follow," he said in confusion.
"It wasn't there sir. It appeared yesterday. Nobody *could* have seen it before then."
The President paused, scanning the faces in the room, all of which showed similar confused expressions.
"Son, are you telling me it just... what, popped in like magic?"
"Yes sir."
"How... how exactly would something like that be possible? I presume you have an explanation."
I took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. This was it, either the end of my career or the day I changed the universe as we knew it.
"Well sir, it's perfectly plausible if there was... a coding error."
The President frowned. "Coding error? What do you mean?"
"Well... this landmass was part of an original code that was remarked but never intended to be added to the main program. The program... that we all exist in."
"I beg your pardon?" sputtered the NSA representative.
I pushed the documents across the desk to the Commander in Chief.
"It's all in there sir, all the explanations and proof."
"We're all part of a computer simulation that's starting to degrade. I estimate we have at most, another century before the program decompiles and we all cease to exist."
|
[...] Johansen and his men landed at a sloping mud-bank on this monstrous Acropolis, and clambered slipperily up over titan oozy blocks which could have been no mortal staircase. The very sun of heaven seemed distorted when viewed through the polarising miasma welling out from this sea-soaked perversion, and twisted menace and suspense lurked leeringly in those crazily elusive angles of carven rock where a second glance shewed concavity after the first shewed convexity.
Something very like fright had come over all the explorers before anything more definite than rock and ooze and weed was seen. Each would have fled had he not feared the scorn of the others, and it was only half-heartedly that they searched—vainly, as it proved—for some portable souvenir to bear away.
It was Rodriguez the Portuguese who climbed up the foot of the monolith and shouted of what he had found. The rest followed him, and looked curiously at the immense carved door with the now familiar squid-dragon bas-relief. It was, Johansen said, like a great barn-door; and they all felt that it was a door because of the ornate lintel, threshold, and jambs around it, though they could not decide whether it lay flat like a trap-door or slantwise like an outside cellar-door. As Wilcox would have said, the geometry of the place was all wrong. One could not be sure that the sea and the ground were horizontal, hence the relative position of everything else seemed phantasmally variable.
Briden pushed at the stone in several places without result. Then Donovan felt over it delicately around the edge, pressing each point separately as he went. He climbed interminably along the grotesque stone moulding—that is, one would call it climbing if the thing was not after all horizontal—and the men wondered how any door in the universe could be so vast. Then, very softly and slowly, the acre-great panel began to give inward at the top; and they saw that it was balanced. Donovan slid or somehow propelled himself down or along the jamb and rejoined his fellows, and everyone watched the queer recession of the monstrously carven portal. In this phantasy of prismatic distortion it moved anomalously in a diagonal way, so that all the rules of matter and perspective seemed upset.
The aperture was black with a darkness almost material. That tenebrousness was indeed a positive quality; for it obscured such parts of the inner walls as ought to have been revealed, and actually burst forth like smoke from its aeon-long imprisonment, visibly darkening the sun as it slunk away into the shrunken and gibbous sky on flapping membraneous wings. The odour arising from the newly opened depths was intolerable, and at length the quick-eared Hawkins thought he heard a nasty, slopping sound down there. Everyone listened, and everyone was listening still when It lumbered slobberingly into sight and gropingly squeezed Its gelatinous green immensity through the black doorway into the tainted outside air of that poison city of madness.
Poor Johansen’s handwriting almost gave out when he wrote of this. Of the six men who never reached the ship, he thinks two perished of pure fright in that accursed instant. The Thing cannot be described—there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked or stumbled. God! What wonder that across the earth a great architect went mad, and poor Wilcox raved with fever in that telepathic instant? The Thing of the idols, the green, sticky spawn of the stars, had awaked to claim his own. The stars were right again, and what an age-old cult had failed to do by design, a band of innocent sailors had done by accident. After vigintillions of years great Cthulhu was loose again, and ravening for delight.
Three men were swept up by the flabby claws before anybody turned. God rest them, if there be any rest in the universe. They were Donovan, Guerrera, and Ångstrom. Parker slipped as the other three were plunging frenziedly over endless vistas of green-crusted rock to the boat, and Johansen swears he was swallowed up by an angle of masonry which shouldn’t have been there; an angle which was acute, but behaved as if it were obtuse. So only Briden and Johansen reached the boat, and pulled desperately for the Alert as the mountainous monstrosity flopped down the slimy stones and hesitated floundering at the edge of the water.
Steam had not been suffered to go down entirely, despite the departure of all hands for the shore; and it was the work of only a few moments of feverish rushing up and down between wheel and engines to get the Alert under way. Slowly, amidst the distorted horrors of that indescribable scene, she began to churn the lethal waters; whilst on the masonry of that charnel shore that was not of earth the titan Thing from the stars slavered and gibbered like Polypheme cursing the fleeing ship of Odysseus. Then, bolder than the storied Cyclops, great Cthulhu slid greasily into the water and began to pursue with vast wave-raising strokes of cosmic potency. Briden looked back and went mad, laughing shrilly as he kept on laughing at intervals till death found him one night in the cabin whilst Johansen was wandering deliriously.
But Johansen had not given out yet. Knowing that the Thing could surely overtake the Alert until steam was fully up, he resolved on a desperate chance; and, setting the engine for full speed, ran lightning-like on deck and reversed the wheel. There was a mighty eddying and foaming in the noisome brine, and as the steam mounted higher and higher the brave Norwegian drove his vessel head on against the pursuing jelly which rose above the unclean froth like the stern of a daemon galleon. The awful squid-head with writhing feelers came nearly up to the bowsprit of the sturdy yacht, but Johansen drove on relentlessly. There was a bursting as of an exploding bladder, a slushy nastiness as of a cloven sunfish, a stench as of a thousand opened graves, and a sound that the chronicler would not put on paper. For an instant the ship was befouled by an acrid and blinding green cloud, and then there was only a venomous seething astern; where—God in heaven!—the scattered plasticity of that nameless sky-spawn was nebulously recombining in its hateful original form, whilst its distance widened every second as the Alert gained impetus from its mounting steam.
That was all. After that Johansen only brooded over the idol in the cabin and attended to a few matters of food for himself and the laughing maniac by his side. He did not try to navigate after the first bold flight, for the reaction had taken something out of his soul. Then came the storm of April 2nd, and a gathering of the clouds about his consciousness. There is a sense of spectral whirling through liquid gulfs of infinity, of dizzying rides through reeling universes on a comet’s tail, and of hysterical plunges from the pit to the moon and from the moon back again to the pit, all livened by a cachinnating chorus of the distorted, hilarious elder gods and the green, bat-winged mocking imps of Tartarus.
Out of that dream came rescue—the Vigilant, the vice-admiralty court, the streets of Dunedin, and the long voyage back home to the old house by the Egeberg. He could not tell—they would think him mad. He would write of what he knew before death came, but his wife must not guess. Death would be a boon if only it could blot out the memories.
That was the document I read, and now I have placed it in the tin box beside the bas-relief and the papers of Professor Angell. With it shall go this record of mine—this test of my own sanity, wherein is pieced together that which I hope may never be pieced together again. I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me. But I do not think my life will be long. As my uncle went, as poor Johansen went, so I shall go. I know too much, and the cult still lives.
Cthulhu still lives, too, I suppose, again in that chasm of stone which has shielded him since the sun was young. His accursed city is sunken once more, for the Vigilant sailed over the spot after the April storm; but his ministers on earth still bellow and prance and slay around idol-capped monoliths in lonely places. He must have been trapped by the sinking whilst within his black abyss, or else the world would by now be screaming with fright and frenzy. Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. A time will come—but I must not and cannot think! Let me pray that, if I do not survive this manuscript, my executors may put caution before audacity and see that it meets no other eye.
From *Madness from The sea*, *Call of Cthulhu*. Upvotes to *H. P. Lovecraft*
| 2017-02-10T11:55:42 | 2017-02-10T11:50:22 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Turns out being an adventurer wasn't such a good idea. In fact there may be some survivorship bias here. You only really hear about the tiny fraction of adventurers that achieve glory. In reality most of them die violent deaths, become slaves, or worse. Now you run a scared straight program.
|
People often ask me why I started this program. The answer is not some noble cause well, it is, but rather a noble cause, as in related to the nobility, not high and mighty. Because who do you think actually has this program taught to them? Nobles. Peasants don’t have programs that come to their schools because they don’t have schools. So it’s rich brats from lofty academies that have these programs. Their parents quiver at the thought that their children, which they invested so much money into in regards to education, extracurriculars, etc. would be intrigued by the prospect of throwing their life away by becoming an adventurer. I would know because I was indeed a rich brat.
The thing is, my parents were right, adventuring was dangerous. I got my left hand from a one-headed tailless chimera… fine, it was just a normal lion, but I don’t tell my audience that. I lost my tooth to Iron Maiden, no not a metallic babe but the band, I was punched in the face by the lead vocalist. I have not gained treasure, fame, or tracts of land but rather a restraining order, 5 STDs, PTSD, and 30 lbs.
But why would a noble even become an adventurer? You might ask. Ah, astute question dear reader, the answer is… student loans. Yep, wizard college, rules lawyer school, they all cost an arm and a leg, so I guess you could say they aren’t that different from adventuring (yes, I know, cheap joke, I actually do use it in my presentation, how low I’ve sunk). So, since adventurers make so much money, what better way to pay off loans than slaying monsters? Wrong.
Don’t get me wrong, there were fun moments, but the in-jokes with my friends about the gelatinous cube (the context would be too long to give) will go untold because well… all my friends are dead. Yep. Real fun. So yeah. Here I am, about to go on stage and tell a bunch of rich brats not to make the same mistake I did. Maybe I won’t be a hero to a town or a princess, but I’m a hero to Timothy’s concerned overinvolved mom, and that’s worth something. Gods, I need a drink.
|
# Graduation Day
Theebaw had a tired look about him about him that day. A big, loose-muscled man in a stained jacket, a tarnished gleam of silver at his throat, his deep-set eyes stared out across the classroom as he sipped slowly from a many times patched wineskin.
It was something about the children, he often thought. Something about the children kept him coming back here, dragging his carcass out of whatever hole he’d slept the night in, squeezing into his old campaigning jacket; the way they listened, maybe, or hunger in their eyes. Not a damn one of them knew what the world really was.
"Last day children, can you believe that? Just time for one more story now. Have any of you ever heard of Castle Bray?"
The kids shook their heads. There were ten of them, the oldest three were only sixteen. All precocious as hell. Tressa walked a coin across her knuckles, and every time that it turned over the face on the coin changed. Curlew was a rabbit today. He’d be a bird later, might be a fish come the afternoon. Last week, Theebaw had seen him become a tiger.
In the back of the little schoolroom, by the door, Supi had conjured a quicksilver mirror and hung it on the wall to braid her long, dark hair.
“Which wound did you get there?” Supi called. “Let me guess, that’s where you lost your nerve?”
Theebaw chuckled. He took another sip and slapped his expansive belly. “No, I lost that after. Ask Ms. Alice about it sometime, she was there. *Gods* was she there.”
“Uh, ew?” Supi asked, but Theebaw’s watery eyes were already far away, down the swell of that far off coast, the horizon dotted by a thousand silk-white sails.
“Ah, Castle Bray! It’s hardly a castle really, not like any of you imagine. It’s all earthworks there, and ladders to where they carved the barracks right into the side of the cliff face above the bay. *Gods*, the dawn there! The dawn comes up like thunder out of the east, and when it fills up the bay you can stand at the barrack’s cliff edge and watch it fill up the horizon. Some mornings I used to think that the all sails would catch fire. All the sails.”
“Theebaw,” Supi said kindly, “you’ve done a piss poor job of scaring us away, you know that?”
The little rabbit that was Curlew hopped up onto his desk. It had strangely human eyes. Curlew was like that, he’d unsettle you just because he could. The tiger, last week, had roared in verse.
“I have, haven't I?” Theebaw said. The rabbit nodded.
“Children, what’s the scariest thing you can imagine?”
They answered. A few said death, a few said torture. Curlew, still a rabbit, sprouted human lips and a human tongue just to answer “Life,” and smirk at the ones who’d been scared of death.
The face on Tressa’s coin became a snake and then turned again to become a man whose features changed and changed and changed.
And Supi merely shrugged. Undid her braids and coiled them again, though the surface of her mirror churned and the girl reflected in it disappeared.
“Tell us then,” she said, “what’s the scariest thing?”
Theebaw stood. He finished his wineskin and laid it carefully aside. He began unbuttoning his old jacket, ignoring the little chorus of “*Eww’s*,” and reverently drew out the necklace that he’d worn all these long years, since the wineskin had been unpatched and the jacket had been new.
“Can anyone tell me what this is?” he asked.
The rabbit shrugged. Tressa eyed the necklace hungrily and Theebaw made a point of staring her down with a curt shake of his head.
“Where did you get that?” Supi breathed.
“This,” Theebaw said, “is a ‘Member Stone. Well, they call them Remember Stones everywhere else, but they have a way talking out in Castle Bray, like they have to swallow a little bit of every word. Supi, explain it to the class.”
“It’s a Tantra’s trick. Like a charm but stronger. It’s made when…” she shook her. Let the mirror melt away, her hair only half braided. “Damn Theebaw, I’m sorry.”
“It’s made,” he said, “when a tantric witch dies, or when her loved one dies, or,” he took a breath, wishing the wineskin would fill itself again, “when her love does.”
Tressa spoke up. “I heard they’re like time capsules, aren’t they? With all the emotions, the joys and the pain and everything else all bottled up inside.”
“They are,” Supi said.
“Right!” Theebaw barked, “Graduation Day! Gather ‘round children, gather round.”
They gathered then, nine students gathering up their desks and chairs, Curlew jumping into Tressa’s arms, the awful not-quite-rabbit face.
Supi hung back, eying Theebaw warily.
“I know I haven’t scared you,” he said. “*Gods,* I know. I’m as terrible at this job as I was at adventuring. No matter what you do, you can never prepare for some things in life, and at your age there's precious little an old man like me can say to change that.
“And so until today, I haven’t tried to scare you off. I’ve told stories and you’ve all whispered behind my back, which is okay really—you’re all so, so young. But Graduation Day changes that. Graduation Day is the day you realize that all those stories drunk old Theebaw has been telling you were the important background details of his life. Everything it takes to get you up to here, to Castle Bray, and to the witch who gave me this.”
He held the necklace up, a tarnished silver chain patched with a steel link where it had broken long ago, a brilliant gemstone like that sunset, thundering up out of the azure sea.
“’Cause see, the scariest thing in life isn’t death. It isn’t torture, unless they make you watch. It isn’t snakes or bandits in the road, war or hunger or pestilence. Curlew, snot-nosed shit that he is, came closest. It’s life.
“Life hurts like a bitch. It tears you open and finds all the soft little bits you didn’t know you had, and it eats those first. It hits when you least expect it: a smile across a crowded room, a door stove open in the night, a silk-white sail racing away into the fire-bright sun. The things that come after, when you change, and they change, and the world never look quite the same again.”
“Nice speech,” Curlew said.
Supi reached over Tressa’s shoulder and lifted the rabbit up by the scruff of his neck. She shook him violently, and then held him there at her side, limp and dangling like a sack of potatoes.
“Really?” he muttered.
“Just shut up, Curlew,” she said.
Theebaw nodded his thanks. He set the necklace down on his desk and clapped his hands together, trying to will a little life into his tired old bones. “So! For Graduation Day you’re not taking some test, there’s no orcs for you to fight. Just me, and these memories I’ve kept, and the bitter sort of life that you’ll lead beyond these walls. One at a time now, place your hands on the ‘Member Stone and I’ll say the words, let you live old Theebaw’s life. Supi, why don’t you go first? Let our shapeshifting friend down.”
She dropped Curlew. He was a snake slithering back towards Tressa before he even struck the ground. She stared at him, wide-eyed with fear. Maybe sometimes there were tests on graduation day.
Supi approached Theebaw’s desk. She glanced from the necklace to him and back again, then out the window, an expression sick with desire creeping across the sharp planes of her face. Theebaw recognized it immediately. He’d looked at the world in that same, desperate way when he was her age.
“There are good things out there too, right?” she said. “They must exist somewhere.”
Theebaw tapped the gemstone. “There’s a thousand good things in there, and dawn at Castle Bray is just one among many.”
“But?” she said.
“But when I wake up at night, it’s not the dawn I see.”
And she smiled. So young! She still smiled so easily. “Well,” Supi said, “I’m used to that already.”
She touched the gemstone, Theebaw said the words, and she was gone. Her eyes remained open but they were empty now, nobody home. Her smile went slack, then it trembled. Then she closed her eyes and everything was still.
“I’ll go next,” Tressa said. The snake hissed on the floor beside her.
And Theebaw closed his and saw the thunder of that dawn, a white sail racing away, the love, and the horror, and the heartbreak that Supi and the other children hurtled towards.
He took up his empty wineskin, laid his hand on Supi's, and wished them well.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-04-04T00:06:33 | 2022-04-03T23:04:34 | 125 | 40 |
[WP] You've been meowing at your idiot owner all freaking day, and he's just not listening, at all. It's become a test of endurance: Your patience, his willingness to ignore you, the ninja assassin's grip on the ceiling.
|
"MRAOU!"
"No, it's not time for dinner yet."
I know it's not time for dinner yet, that's not what I'm yelling about. Stupid humans, you never look UP! He's right there, and he could strike at any moment! I'm trying to help you, why won't you listen!?
"MRAOOU!"
"I know you're hungry, but you're always hungry."
I'M NOT HUNGRY!
OK, I am hungry, but that's not the point. The assassin is right there. You're in mortal danger! Maybe if I get closer to him you'll understand.
"No, off the counter! Get!"
See, he's RIGHT THER... Dangit. Look, I'm sorry about those cups, but if they break after one or two falls off the counter they're not really quality ceramic, are they? No reason to push me off. Some people just hold too much of a grudge.
What was I talking about again?
Oh, right!
"MAOU! MRAOU! MRAOU!"
"Really, you know you're not supposed to be on the counter. What's gotten into you? What are you looking at anyway?"
FINALLY! You see him, you're safe!
"Oh, do you wanna get the spider? Were you asking for a boost? C'mon, up you go!"
AHA! No assassin is going to get the best of me.
Mmmmm, crunchy assassin.
|
# A Darker Sort of Kitten
The Emperor’s cat, if such a creature could be called that, stared up into the murky black with luminescent, moon-drenched eyes. Outside the walls of Carythusal, the great keep that housed the world as the saying went, the moon was a full, pregnant thing, and so too were the cat’s silver eyes. Tonight, they could pierce any darkness, and as they looked up into the tall, vaulted ceiling of the imperial bedchambers, that fact chilled Dinae’s blood.
“Send the beast away, my lord,” Dinae whispered, pressing her cheek into the hard planes of the Emperor’s chest. He chuckled, deep and sonorous, the reverberation tingling through her face. He was a large man, and a powerful one. The most dangerous person Dinae had ever met.
The Emperor swatted playfully at her hip. His hand lingered, moving lower. Every inch burned, every molecule of his skin that touched hers. Dinae hated being here, in the bedroom of the Emperor Ikurei, with all the passion she could bring to bear.
“Don’t malign dear Minnaloushe, sweetling,” he said, “you know my love of exotic things.”
“Of course, my lord,” Dinae whispered.
She kissed his chest. It was a presumption, to kiss him without a command, but that was why he called upon her.
Night after night Dinae had been washed and oiled, dressed and perfumed, by this man’s command. Night after night, silks rustling with every step, body rendered unwillingly supple by the eunuchs' ministrations, she had walked here and abased herself before the feet of the man who had enslaved her people, the poor, lost nation of Shigek.
Night after night, without awaiting the command, she made her way up from those sandaled feet, to the promise of continued life that lingered elsewhere in his body, lingered but would not stay, would never stay. Such things were the currency of the harem girls of Emperor Ikurei. Such things were now the currency of her life.
The cat still stared into the dark. He mewled softly, stretching out his long, hardly catlike body.
Minnaloushe had the head of cat, the four limbs and tail, but fur was an ever-changing thing for him, and at times the cat seemed to deem it not even worth the effort. Tonight was one such. When Dinae had arrived he had been orange, the color of the fire in the braziers nearest the Emperor’s bed. Then he’d been black, with silver, piercing eyes, as Dinae had turned to her work. She’d felt his eyes on her arched back, felt his judgment in the moments when her own burned brightest too.
Now he was scaled, all save the head, and the scales rippled with the promise of still later change. His small, lithe pair of wings stretched out, creaking with disuse, and the emperor reached to massage their joints as he knew the cat loved. It mewled louder, staring at him with intense certainty.
It had seen the man clinging desperately to the ceiling.
Dinae hadn’t, of course. Her eyes were mortal, as was her body. She only knew of the plan by what her contact had told her, one of the eunuchs in the harem, this one bound to the service of another, less favored girl. In his youth, he’d said, he had been a prince of Shigek. In his majority, he’d said, he’d see the conqueror’s demise. There were others like them, he’d said. Others well placed, willing to sacrifice themselves for the memory of their lost nation. If she could distract him. If she could provide the opening.
The Emperor could see the man if he chose. It would be child’s play for him, the whisper of a single spell and the rising tide of his world-breaking song that would sweep them all away, till only Minnaloushe lay in his bed, next to the thin line of ash that would once have been called Dinae.
Minnaloushe rose, licking his emperor’s hand, eyes darting back and forth between them.
“What is it, hmmm?” Emperor Ikurei said.
“Perhaps he’s seen a sparrow,” Dinae whispered. She’d crept her way up from the Emperor’s chest to his ear, spoke directly into it. She felt him shiver with the warmth of her breath.
“Perhaps,” he said, stifling a yawn. They got in through the Gods’ door from time to time.
“Sparrows. I’ve never ever understood the love your people have of them,” Dinae said.
“They are fine birds,” said the Emperor.
“But in such a simple way!” Dinae bit her lip, stifling her disgust and fear. She took the Emperor’s head in her hands, turning it towards her, letting the dark torrent of her hair fall across his chest.
“Do you not, my lord, prefer Ravens?” she said, using his small pet name for her.
He laughed again. Outside, the guards would wonder at the emperor’s mirth. He was not a man given to laughter, even here in his private chambers. It was one of the reasons he called her, coupled as it was with youth and with dangerous, shocking presumption.
She presumed to kiss him now. To thread her hands through his hair, to feel his arms wrap her, searching in the flickering firelight, his simple touch leaving bruises in her pale skin.
Minnaloushe mewled, forgotten, and when the Emperor rolled, his back to the vaulted black above, Dinae saw the cat’s silver moon eyes staring at her.
*Let him stare,* Dinae thought, *let them both stare, and let the man in the rafters too for all I care.*
*But let us act, all of us, for the last time.*
The emperor moved, bending towards her, and the assassin fell from the sky.
After, body covered in the quick spray of dark arterial blood, Dinae thought she could remember the entire thing. She thought she could see the emperor above her, whole body screaming with his presence, feel the cat's scale changing to fur against her thigh, feel the cloying, choking warmth of the scented braziers surrounding them, the presence of the thousand thousand men of the imperial guard spread through the palace.
She could see it all, in the moment when the glint of the falling assassin’s blade finally passed in to the circle of firelight surrounding the bed. And it was all washed away in the mad moment when the blade passed through him, punching out in the space between ribs, bits of royal heart flecked along the blade. Its tip only inches from her face.
Dinae sat up on the bed, silks ruined, what little he’d left her to wear. The guards poured in, the assassin made his feeble attempt at battle, died a moment later by her feet. As he eyes went dull, he looked at her, abased there beneath her like she had been, night after night by the feet of the Emperor Ikurei.
The emperor lay beside her, bleeding out. His lifeblood pooled beneath her, shockingly warm.
But it did not burn.
*Why doesn’t it burn?* Dinae wondered. *His touch burned. He scalded me every night, so why doesn’t this burn? He’s all over me, now.*
Dinae brushed blood soaked hair back from her eyes. The guards stood all around, mouths gaping open, unsure what to do. She tied her raven black hair up, wiped her eyes clean of the makeup forced upon her, luxuriated in the perfume washed away by the absolution of blood.
Then she stood, still not burning, and turned to face the cat.
Minnaloushe sat curled on his emperor’s chest, assessing him as if he were a piece of meat. There was no loyalty there, Dinae saw now. Only hunger, only an animal’s base lusts.
She stroked the cat’s head once. She knew that look well, could not begrudge this creature for it.
Then she turned, a traitor’s smile on her face, and accepted her fate with open arms.
*Shigek,* she thought, *I avenge you.*
*I avenge us all.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that, I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-09-01T08:46:26 | 2021-09-01T06:43:02 | 1,661 | 64 |
[WP] The year is 2779, and there are 2 men and 1 woman left on the face of the Earth.
The two men are in a standoff, guns pointed at each other's face, with the woman present. Write from whichever perspective you please.
|
"I never thought it would boil down to this McLoud."
"I never thought it would either, *brother*." His gun wavered at the word brother.
They fired at the same time. And like that it was over. Brother McLoud stood over the other and voiced out a scream.
The woman on the side simply sighed, *men*.
---
They turned the virtual headsets off. McLoud sighed loudly, "You win, *again* brother McLean."
You just don't understand how the colt revolver works! It's simple! You have to gauge the wind, feel the heft and the let the bullet do the work!"
"Says you. You were the hired gun. I'm the scientist. Martha?"
She came downstairs in her bath robes. "You two are so pathetic. Yes, the embryos are safe. It's not like I wanted a turn. I haven't had my twinkles filled in a month."
McLean leaned in, "Well, there are us two if your tingles turn into tatters."
"Ugh! Men!" Martha stormed out. It wasn't the first incest joke they had made since they thee triplets were assigned for recolonization of Earth.
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Chuck cleared his throat, his eyes meandering up what appeared to be a woman’s badly sunburnt legs a few yards away. Her shorts were in tatters, their bottoms frayed and uneven like spools of unwound yarn. Her t-shirt, clearly taken from someone much larger than she, hung off her skeletal frame like an old, hole-filled tent. She was staring at the floor, her face just barely visible from the angle. She looked like shit, looked like she’d just spent the last sixty to seventy months doing nothing other than attending shower-less, outdoor festivals and taking stolen prescription drugs. She looked as if she’d accidentally mixed up her soap bar with a pile of dirt, and continued to make that same mistake for the better part of a decade. In any other circumstance, Chuck would’ve done his best to avoid making eye contact with her so that she would be unable able to beg him for cash. Yet as he stood there, eyes climbing up her malnourished, skeletal frame, all he could think about was how beautiful, how *female,* she looked.
“Is that another person?” Dave said, taking a step forward. “Wait, is that a girl?” He paused, left foot buried in the charred rubble of what was probably once a red-brick apartment building.
“Ughn,” Chuck said, his mind refusing to form the words he’d intended. He had wanted to scream in affirmation, to push Dave aside and charge at the female—the *living*, human female—standing just a few yards away. It had been so long since either of them had seen another person, been so long since they’d even considered the notion of repopulation. Six months? A year? Two years? Chuck was no longer sure. The only thing he knew was that a woman was standing a few yards away, and she was going to be their key to survival.
“Hello?” Dave yelled, stepping out in front of Chuck and slightly blocking his view.
The woman glanced up, her face contorting in an expression that seemed to read, “great, the voices are back.”
Chuck stepped around Dave and stared. She was definitely a woman, definitely alive. That pretty much met the only criteria he cared about any longer. Sure, back before the explosions he might’ve wanted to know her name, might’ve wanted to know her age, might’ve wanted to know whether or not she had some sort of radiation poisoning. Now, however, he just wanted to know that the word he’d use to describe her included the pronoun “her.”
“Do you speak English?” Dave said, taking another step forward. The woman continued staring at him, her eyes wide, before slowly nodding. Dave glanced over at Chuck, and then back at the woman. “My name’s Dave.”
“I’m Chuck,” Chuck said, following behind Dave, careful not to trip over one of the dozens of charred bricks lining what was once a city street. The last thing he wanted to do was fall and embarrass himself in front of his future lover.
“I’m Sarah,” the woman said, her weak and raspy, as if she hadn’t spoken in weeks. She was holding some sort of a rock in her right hand, clutching it like a weapon she knew all too well how to use.
“Are you alone?” Dave said, Chuck following just behind.
“Yes,” Sarah said. “You?”
“Just the two of us,” Chuck said, jumping up slightly so as to see over Dave’s shoulder. He hated walking behind him, hated being stuck staring at Dave’s towering back. He’d always been so damn tall, always had so at least seven inches on Chuck. Sure, it was worse when there were other people around to note the discrepancy, but it was still annoying. “We haven’t seen anyone else since, well, you know.”
“Me too,” Sarah said, dropping the rock on the floor. “I’ve been alone for God knows how long.”
“You never had anyone else with you?” Dave said, coming to a stop a few inches from Sarah’s face. She was just as disgusting up close, her cheekbones shallow and face covered in scabs and dirt. Her teeth were a dark yellow, stained with some sort of tar-like substance, several of which were completely missing. To be fair, however, Chuck didn’t think he looked much better. He hadn’t bathed since the time they found the stagnant water by the sewer exit, and he wasn’t entirely confident that qualified as bathing. He was also sure his hair looked absolutely horrible, considering the radiation had resulted in the majority of it falling out, and he knew his cheekbones were just as shallow as Sarah’s. Or, at least they had been the last time they found an unbroken store window.
“No,” Sarah said. “I’m so glad to see humans, to see *living* humans.”
“Us too,” Dave said. “Anyway, we should really get to work on repopulating the Earth. Me first.”
“Wait, what?” Sarah said, taking a step back. She stared at Dave, her head tilted, and then glanced at Chuck as if he held some sort of explanation as to what just happened. “Look,” she said, pausing, “I’m not a prude, and I understand we have a responsibility, but that was a bit upfront.”
Chuck turned toward Dave, his eyes meandering his tall, malnourished frame. “Seriously?”
“What?” Dave said, glancing at Chuck. “I’m doing what’s right. We haven’t seen anybody else in years. We need to save the human race before it’s too late.”
“You’re being incredibly rude,” Chuck said, staring at the giant hole that made up the majority of Dave’s shirt. It was the same shirt he’d worn the day of the explosions, the same shirt he wore while he and Chuck huddled in the shelter Dave had once told him was a waste of money. He refused to take it off, refused to replace it, claimed that it was good luck. “I’m first. Dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on me,” Sarah said, her eyes wide as she took another step back. She stumbled on an upturned cement brick lying beside the curb, but caught herself before falling.
Dave turned fully toward Chuck. “No way are you going first. I’m older, taller, and I’ve always been more of a gentleman.”
“Bullshit,” Chuck said, “you’re the one who broke up with Carol because she said the word ‘mozzarella’ like an Italian would.”
“She was Irish,” Dave said, throwing his arms up in the air. “What kind of an Irish person says *Moz-ah-rell?* It just sounds fucking stupid. I’m first.”
Chuck glanced at Dave, then at Sarah, and then back at Dave. “Hang on,” he said. “I have an idea.”
“Don’t I get a say here?” Sarah said. She was now about ten feet away, getting further with each passing second. “I don’t feel comfortable with this and I really feel like we need eachother.”
“We got two guys and one girl,” Chuck said, ignoring Sarah. “You remember that video I once showed you? You know the one, it had two girls and a cup.” He nudged Dave in the gut with his elbow. “Remember?”
“Yes,” Dave said, his head tilted.
“Well, I think we can both win if we basically just do that. I mean, our situation is a little different—two guys, one girl—but I don’t mind being a cup.”
Sarah stopped moving and stared at Chuck, Dave doing the same. Chuck glanced back and forth between the two, and then shrugged his shoulders. “What? It’s just an idea.”
“I just realized something,” Sarah said, turning around and glancing over her shoulder, “I think I left my oven on. You guys wait her, I’ll be right back.” She turned her head back around and bolted in the opposite direction, feet pounding against the charred remains of what was once a city block.
“Great,” Dave said, not following after her, “look what you did.”
“What did I do?” Chuck said, watching as Sarah disappeared behind a giant cement boulder. “She’s just going to turn her oven off." He paused. "You don't mind letting me be the cup, right?"
Dave stared at Chuck and slowly shook his head, which seemed to be a pretty common response to a lot of Chuck's questions.
| 2015-07-01T08:16:45 | 2015-07-01T08:01:44 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Turns out hell is real. This was made known once demons and devils came to Earth. However things quickly got awkward and confusing once people heard them mutter, "If Heaven won't fix this shit hole, we might as well do it ourselves."
|
"this is bullshit." satan said from his throne. "utter and complete bullshit." he said gesturing to the portal showing the earth. countless dead from wars, plague and simple poverty. "Fuck this." he said as he stomped off to his desk and picked up the white phone.
"This is the great satan, Heir..." he stopped speaking and looked at the phone, one eyebrow raised.
"Sir?" his assistant said, her red skin glowing slightly from the heat, her wings neatly tucked in behind her as she sat at her desk.
"I got his voice mail." is said gently setting the phone back on its cradle. "I GOT HIS FUCKING VOICE MAIL!"
"umm." was all she said, unused to this kind of reaction from him. rage, yes. fury for certain. but this seemed... personal. insulting.
"ready the 1st magical battalion! we move on the earth!"
"yes!" the assistant cried, "finally the time for war has come, we shall-" he cut her off with a gesture.
"not war. peace. that bastard rigged the game. how can sin flourish if everyone is at their last meal? how can faith in god die if that all they have left? no, we shall build a utopia for the humans, make them love their life so much they will never pray again." he went back to his desk and flipped through some papers.
"Ah, yes. first up, lust. send in our most perfect of devils. no more empty beds." he let out a girlish giggle.
"this is going to be fun." he said.
the assistant just stared. never had she heard satan himself *giggle.*
|
Brandon Braithe swiped mindlessly across his phone screen, barely taking in his friend’s social media posts, sports highlights, and celebrity news, until something on the screen finally grabbed his attention.
Literally.
The screen suddenly swirled red and a slender, scaled arm reached through it to grab Brandon by the shirt.
“What the fuck?!” Brandon said. “What is this?”
“Hey kid,” a voice like gravel on sandpaper replied. “Sorry for the dramatic entrance, here. A lotta humans run when we show up, so it’s a new policy to snag you all upon first contact, just ‘til you nervous nimrods calm down.”
“We? Who is ‘we’?”
The swirling red screen faded away, revealing an honest to god demon on what appeared to be a video chat of some kind, though it wasn’t Zoom, or Skype, or any app Brandon had ever seen.
The ‘demon’ was also unlike any Brandon had ever imagined as well. Flaming red skin and demonic horns revealed its true nature, but it also sported a shaggy, unkempt beard and wore a stained white T-shirt, totally slovenly in appearance.
“Hi, hey, I’m Ke’thunarr, Junior Executive Demonic Overlord, Earth Division. You’re Brandon?”
“Y-yeah?”
“Great. You’ve been selected to assist with the demonic census of Earth due your stellar record of… blah blah blah.” The demon sighed. “I’ll level witcha. You were selected because you have absolutely nothing going on, today, or any other day, and thus have been deemed mostly likely to cooperate. Got it? Trust established? Great. I need you to go ahead and summon me into your realm of existence now, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“What? I don’t know how to summon a demon! I don’t own pentagrams, or seance candles, or even a Ouija Board!”
“Those are the tools of my demonic forefathers. Summoning is *easy* these days. Heck, you can order me off Amazon. I’ll send you a link.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup! Instant delivery. We thought we’d have to negotiate pretty hard to get on the service, but they were oddly amenable,” the demon said. “Oooookay, you should have a link in your texts now.”
Brandon glanced at his phone. “I see nothing here.”
“What? Seriously? Damn these technical issues. Wasting my valuable time and I really wanted you to use my referral link so a couple bucks got sent my way. Ugh! I tell ya what, you own an Alexa?”
“It’s an old one I bummed off a friend when they didn’t want it anymore, but yeah? Why do you—”
“Alexa!” Kel’thunarr shouted past Brandon. “Summon Kel’Thunarr!”
*“Summoning demonic being, Kel’thunarr!” Alexa replied cheerfully.*
A moment later, in a haze of cigarette smoke rather than anything intimidating, Kel’thunarr appeared in front of Brandon, hacking and wheezing. The demon was tiny, barely reaching Brandon’s knee, and his stench matched his slovenly appearance.
*“This* is Earth?” the demon muttered. “The realm ‘God himself hand created in seven days for his beloved humans’?”
“Uhhh, yup,” Brandon muttered.
The demon’s incredulity was warranted. Brandon was not exactly living his best life as a 29 year old part time DJ/influencer without any social media followers, and the state of his shoddy, 200 square foot house reflected his lowly station in society.
“What's with all the poverty? You’re one of the big man’s chosen species, yet you’re living amidst your own filth here! *Alone!* No friends in sight, no roommate, no spouse, just you wallowing in your miserable misery.”
“Okay… that’s laying it on a little thick,” Brandon said. “And I’m not *alone,* I have Sir Speedy.”
The young man gestured to a filthy fish tank sitting precariously atop his entertainment center. Kel’thunarr waddled over and tapped on the glass.
“Uhhh, there ain’t no fishies amid this fetid, cloudy stuff you call water, Brandon.”
“Aw goddamn it, another one died?!”
*“Another?* Kid, I’m a *demon* and even I’m disturbed by the tone you used to ask that question.”
“I’m trying my best, dude!”
“Yeah, really looks like it. This appears to be a high effort domicile in general,” Kel’thunarr muttered as he wiped a layer of filth off the wall. “Well, if nothing else this is a *very* promising start to my inspection. But I guess I’ll take a look outside, maybe wander around for a few hours to see if the rest of humanity is in such a sorry state.”
As he headed for the front door, Brandon snapped out of his haze. “Outside? Naw, naw, naw dude! Wait, you do *not* wanna go outside!”
Kel’thunarr ignored him. As he opened the doorm his jaw dropped to the floor. Several humans fought each other in the street over table scraps. Every political yard sign in view was for a different member of the Kardashian clan. Tire and garbage fires raged out of control. It was Hell on Earth.
“What the *Home* is this bullshit?!” the demon demanded.
Wandering over to the door, Brandon sighed. “It’s… been a rough year, man. First there was this like deadly disease spreading around, then a nanobot plague, then the killer hummingbird uprising of all freakin’ things. No one has been outta their houses in months. At first we were able to wear masks to protect ourselves from the illness and bots a bit, but then the *masks* came to life and started eating people’s faces. And the rabid hummingbirds are really the main threat now anyhow.”
“Jesus Christ!” the demon muttered. “And I do not invoke the name of my foe lightly, but *Jesus,* man! This is a total shitshow!”
“Yeah, yeah my dude. Humanity has had a rough go of things lately, can’t deny that.”
“Well then, I think I’ve seen enough.”
“Seen enough… for what exactly?”
“Ugh, humans! Always wanton’ explanations… Fine! In the way back times, eons ago and so forth, a pact was sealed that governed the relationship between Heaven and Hell. We’d battle for human souls, them trying to make you all goodie goodies while we tried to tempt you toward the fun, evil stuff, but Earth itself would be *primarily* run and overseen by God.”
“O...kay? And?”
“And, as a part of the negotiation, God had to give us an opt out clause on the whole arrangement. Basically, if he ever got lazy, bored, sick of you stupid humans or whatever, we would be allowed to void the agreement and take over. We get to come and inspect things once a decade, and *based* on my thorough inspection, it’s quite obvious that in 2020, he finally gave up on you losers. Congrats!”
“What?! What does that *mean?”*
“It means,” Kel’thunarr said as he scratched at a roll of paper with his long claws, “that Earth… is under… Damn these stickers! Impossible to peel them off the roll when you’re trying to make a perfectly timed dramatic point!”
Finally, a single sticker peeled off on the demon's finger. With a flourish, he slapped it down on a patch of empty grass.
“...new management!” the demon concluded. “‘Earth is under new management’, okay? Forget the dramatic flourish, bah! Better you understand clearly. So, you get it?”
“The *planet* is under new management?”
“Mhmm, take a look,” Kel’thunarr said, gesturing to the sticker.
Brandon squinted in the bright midday. The sticker read: *Under new management by the forces of Satan. Tell us how we’re doing. To submit feedback, send an email to Satan69 @ hellspace.net, or dial 666-666-666 on your overpriced smartphone of choice.*
“That does look pretty official,” Brandon said.
“Mhmm! You just witnessed history, kid. I’d love to tell you things were gonna improve for Earth from now on but, uhh…” The demon grinned sharpened yellow teeth. “Well, hey… look at it this way, how much worse could things get?”
\_\_\_\_
Thanks for reading. If you'd like to check out more of my writing (including several other stories starring this cantankerous little demon) feel free to check out r/Ryter
| 2021-04-29T20:53:00 | 2021-04-29T19:39:22 | 279 | 115 |
[WP] You are a cat who has been taking an advantage of the recent rise of video conference trials to elevate your legal career. One day your human video filter stops working and you need to convince the judge that you are a real, human lawyer licensed to practice law in the state of Texas.
|
Silence and stares of disbelief continue to dominate the video conference. But, the judge's head might have froze in an especially angry, judgmental glare over the green-screened State Seal of Texas. At least... until he blinked just a second ago. This cat. Appears to be a cat.
A cat replacing their newest and most promising colleague.
A cat that puts her paws on the desk before quietly coughing and looking at the camera directly. The defense, the defendant, and the judge lean in.
"mrow"
The silence somehow gets even quieter.
"memrworrwwww"
"Are we..." the judge speaks, "are we supposed-"
"MEROWOOOWOWWWWWW" the seemingly clueless cat says looking in another direction.
"Does Mitch have a cat?" the defense says impulsively. "brbrbrb" the cat chirps.
After a moment, the cat looks back into the camera and in a very clear and deep voice stringing along a southern draw says,
"Now that I have broken the tension of this rather jarring moment, I would like to make it clear that yes, I am indeed a cat, and my given name is Miss Mittens the Kitten."
No ones' expressions changed from where they landed as soon as the cat started talking. The judge gave way to more confusion carving his brow and eyes, the defense appeared to be upset, his lip subtly quivering, at the fact that his newest and only real friend had succumbed to the fate of *being a cat all along*, however, the defendant clearly was and is now beginning to fail at holding back overflowing laughter.
"I understand how this complicates my career going forward." The defendant collects himself, "But I want to prove my commitment to the craft by requesting your honor to allow *this* trial to continue to a conclusion given the amount of *good* work both the prosecution and defense have put into this trial, as well as the time-sensitive nature of some of the witnesses availability."
Attention turns to the judge. His brow furrows and his lip twitches. He sits there for a moment, until, his eyes dart upwards and his demeanor loosens. He exhales and just barely shrugs.
"I'll allow it. May the prosecution proceed."
|
I care for nothing other than the complete, unvarnished truth, and I must admit that, given my superb senses, as well as my deep insight into the frailty of human nature, I have found it simple to uncover the facts. I hear the tremor in a voice, and I lap up the sweat of a defendant whose cross-examination becomes my purposeful game as I expose them for the frauds they are. And oh, they don’t know it; they don’t know how I’ve caught them lying, bellies exposed, and they never will. Though I may tell you, dear reader, I pursue any avenue available to me -- even that of some delightful spying in the back rooms - disgraceful hands petting me as they broadcast their new tactics in glorious surround sound. I could hear them through walls, if I so desired, but I want to savor the freedom of tongues. Yes, perhaps unusual and more than a bit… borderline, but the system demands justice, and I provide it. A feat I could not accomplish without the aid of another vulnerable type; a partner so thoroughly wronged that she, too, would not interfere with the demands of our job. Not when so much rests upon our successful prosecutions. (And lest you wonder about our meet-cute; she raised me from a kitten and, because of this, took it in stride that I would talk to her as she spoke with me. Her perspective on reality, perhaps, but we understood each other. And I, though languid, could eventually hold my attention on her voice as she paced -- attempting to memorize a million bits of minutiae. The real trick, as it turned out, was passing the BAR, but a good fake ID from a friend fixed it so that Clarice “took” the exam twice.)
Except that Clarice Thomas made a mistake. We both did. It seemed a thrill for her to finally introduce the partner in her law firm. Everyone asked to meet the stupendous Chris T Esquire that she so often referenced as her legal muse, and the advent of a pandemic, as well as the corresponding rise of video feeds, provided her a chance to esteem herself in this regard. No more excuses about the current case on which I cogitated (which eventually fell by the wayside or which fell into her lap by way of some happenstance. We are surrounded by lawyers. Excuses become preposterous.) So, we both thought it worth the effort to put a face to the name. And, oh what a magnificent job we did on our first feed, but as I now realize, as I cough out rationalization like hair, technology makes liars of us all.
“Mr. Thomas, I simply cannot understand why you thought a cat facade would please the court. You do realize that I could have you thrown from the session for this.”
It did me no good to have a dozen sets of eyes wonder at the arrogance of a man who’d make such a gaffe, and even less so as I was on display for Clarice’s legal jury of peers. Did I have so little consideration for the tenor of the proceedings -- surrounding a white-collar thief who embezzled millions! -- that I thought it amusing to disguise myself as a cat? Of course not. I was a cat, but that seemed an even surer way to disgrace both myself and Clarice. Dear me, the hypocrisy of my search for unvarnished fact, and I couldn’t embolden either of us to make obeisance to it. Then again, should my secret reveal itself as the video feed unveiled, all of the convictions under Clarice’s record…. Well, calling them mistrials might come across as similarly tone-deaf. And damn, I had the thrill of the chase, too. I had this one cornered, ready to play with him because I cared little for how it affected his family or his fortune. But...this.
Where to next? If I had children, it might have aided me, but then there would be a paper trail. And I saw Clarice freeze. “I assure you, judge, that I simply misclicked a button while searching for the evidence relevant to the case. It will not happen again. I promise.”
“It better not.”
“My humblest apologies. I would never make a mockery of this, or any other court. I hope that my standards are much higher than that. May I proceed?”
“Certainly.”
“Very good. Now, Mr. Bernard Starr, you tell me that you have never seen these records before. Is that correct?”
Bernard Starr, slippery bastard with a fake head of hair and a three-piece suit purchased by trust funds, snorted. “Of course not. You may not understand this, but I have accountants for accountants. Everything is double-checked, and what you have here is a forgery.”
“This was not made clear to us during discovery. In point of fact, I’d rather say that these documents were incredibly hard to procure.”
“If you couldn’t have found them, then how would I have known to?”
Tighten and scratch. You are not in control. “Well, in this case, we have a whistleblower. One who willingly stepped forth to provide us with the necessary information. And, as we both know, discovery did prove them to originate from your databases. Isn’t that correct?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your lawyers are not contesting this.”
“That’s their call.”
“Very well, then. I submit docket LBX-1138 to evidence.”
“Evidence accepted.”
“No objection.”
I have you, you raven trickster. You act darkly, but I can take in so much more light. But then I see the flicker again. The sudden slit of reality in a spectrum all can see. Damn. Damn. Damn.
“Mr Thomas! The court has warned you of this parody. Do you believe you can unsettle the client by transforming to a common housecat?”
Common? No, that’s not the right reaction. Clarice puts her hand on my lower back and scratches to settle me, but dammit, she’s going to make me purr. Raise my haunches. Off, off, off.
“Are you two in the same room?” Judge Raulston asks.
“Of course.”
“Why is she touching you?”
“Is it untoward?”
“You must disclose your personal relationship to the court.”
“I assure you, there is nothing untoward.”
“You have the same last name!”
“Thomas is quite common.”
Another flicker.
“This is the last warning.”
And then it happens. The proverbial curtain falls, unveiling the mechanics backstage.
“He really is a cat!” Bernard Starr barks.
I put up my paws. “I… I..”
“Clarice, what is the meaning of this!”
“Judge, it’s a mistake. A… a… hack. I don’t know what’s happening.”
The scales of justice must weigh the evidence. I’ve got none to counterbalance. “I cannot fathom why this is happening. Bernard Starr, what game are you playing at?”
“Me? Me. You’ve all got me standing trial, and the star prosecutor is….a tabby? I’d call this a dog and pony show, but… you know.” At least we all plan to take this in stride. They should gawk at my display of eccentricity. Them and all the observers.
“Laugh at me all you will. I am Chris Thomas. A lawyer at the top of his game. I’ll not stand for your slander. In fact, I’ll sue if you do not stop insisting I am another species!” Oh, this was a mistake. The truth finds its way out of the lies eventually. We were tricked; we tricked ourselves.
“I cannot allow this to continue. Mr. Thomas, you have one day to submit proof of your species.”
“A picture, perhaps?”
He heard the trill in that last word. Now I have lost him. Either I am sarcastic, not serious, or well and truly a different breed altogether. Maybe someone will take off a mask and show themselves as a dog, but I don’t count on it.
“1 day.”
The feed cuts, and I turn to Clarice, my ears radaring to her. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. Get disbarred? I can’t show at work tomorrow. Or ever again. And this will be all over the news tomorrow.”
I leaned against her and then dropped. “Not helpful. Do you think this was intentional?”
“Maybe. I.. oh.”
“What.”
“I noticed a van across the street.”
“I didn’t.” Or maybe… no.. I did. As I fell asleep in the sun. Where they could see. The only living being in this office all day.
“They exposed us.”
“I… we’ve done a terrible thing.”
She shrugged. “I suppose it’s good that we’re legal advisors, because we’re going to need the whole law at our disposal not to end up in prison ourselves.”
Yes. Yes, I suppose we will. Perhaps it’s better this way. I must know the truth, and the facts must come out. One slip up can make it better, right? I take a bath. I must think. There is a way to make this all join together as an objective good. I am no criminal, and my only mistake was to represent myself as they saw me. Or some such subjective truth. I lay down to nap. Tomorrow, I will decide.
(Feedback much appreciated)
| 2021-02-10T19:10:43 | 2021-02-10T19:09:11 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] A new medicine lets terminal patients fight their diseases in virtual combat.
|
"So I take this and what? I pass out?"
"Well the pill is just the primary vector for the medicine. What makes you pass out is an injection through your IV after you've taken the pill." The doctor replied. He adjusted his glasses and peered at his clipboard. "I understand if you're nervous, but it really is quite safe."
"Are you sure now is the best time?" I asked nervously. "I mean, I was only diagnosed last week."
"Yes, it's important to proceed as quick as possible. The smaller the tumor is the less difficult the fight will be." The doctor let out a sigh. "So, are you ready to begin?"
I nodded, took the pill and a swig from the water next to the hospital bed. Leaning back I steadied my breath and the nurse injected the IV with a syringe. "Count backwards from 10." the nurse said.
"Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Si-"
"FIVE" I came to and I first felt warm sand under me. I pushed myself up and cracked open my eyes. "FOUR" Fluorescent light floods the room. A large set of stone double doors are on one side of the square room I'm in.
"THREE" I get to my feet and glance around the room. There is a variety of weapons, from assault rifles to zweihanders they had weapons of all types. "TWO" Quickly I dash to grab a machine gun and a small grenade launcher on a strap. "ONE" I turn and face the door.
The door swings open.
On the other side of a wide arena I saw it. I 3 meter tall grayish mass. It had tendrils that twisted and curled grasping at the floor in all directions. I stepped out of the starting room and walked toward the cancerous mass. "Well then," I cocked the weapon with a satisfying click "Let's cure cancer."
|
‘I’ve got good news and bad news for you, Bradley.’
Dr. Staten was a thin-faced man, all poky cheekbones and bleached, papery skin. He looked a little like a preserved cave-fish, something that had been scooped up from a cavern deep underneath the surface of Uruguay, killed in a way that ensured minimal damage, and then carefully lacquered so as to preserve the appearance of wetness forever. When he said ‘good news and bad news’, he flipped his hand palm up and then palm down, as though he were displaying a cupcake meant for his patient, and then squashing it onto his desk.
‘The good news is that your disease, while certainly in a stage which I would not hesitate to label as *critical*, is in fact, treatable.’ The Doctor paused in order to display his teeth to Bradley. ‘The bad news is that you’re going to have to do the treatment yourself.’
Bradley swallowed. If the Doctor looked like a preserved cave fish, Bradley resembled a particularly clueless and unprepossessing sloth. His eyes, which were a bit too close together, and his longish nose intensified this resemblance, as well as the habit that Bradley had of letting his every thought wander clearly and slowly across his face like a tripped-out college student hiking through the woods. After the Doctor’s semi-cryptic announcement, a half-speed parade of emotions made their way across Bradley’s face: a stumbling confusion, a heavy-footed anger, and finally a lethargic fear.
‘Do it myself?’ Bradley repeated. He rubbed at his nose and leaned forward, which was about as intense as it got for the young man.
‘Yes.’ The Doctor nodded, apparently taking the attitude that, inasmuch as he was going to have to lead this patient through an extremely long and complicated explanation that he had very little hope of understanding without a seriously intense level of pandering and repeat instruction, he, the Doctor, would take the little victories where he could get them, and Bradley’s understanding of his very first declaration was one of these. He bared his teeth again.
‘Here’s what I’ll do, Bradley: what I’m about to explain to you is a bleeding edge, groundbreaking technique that has a lot of moving parts. I’m going to run through it once, without interruption, just so you get an idea of the thing in its entirety, and then we’ll go over anything you don’t understand. Sound good?’
With the rapidity of maple syrup dripping down a windowpane in January, confusion stole back over Bradley’s face.
‘Great.’ The Doctor pushed a few buttons on his keyboard, and then swiveled the monitor of his computer so that it faced Bradley. ‘Recent developments in three high-tech areas have led to huge advancements in the field of medicine. These areas are: virtual reality, nanotechnology, and cryonic stasis technology.’
Taking a chance, the Doctor flicked his eyes from the computer screen to regard Bradley for a second, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The level of confusion on the young man’s face was approaching an intensity that may have been dangerous to Bradley’s health.
‘There is a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo that I’m sure you’re less than interested in-‘ The Doctor clicked rapidly through a long series of slides on the computer screen that explained, in a general way, the development process behind the procedure and the intensive testing that the tech had gone through, something that made especially curious or detail-oriented patients more comfortable with the whole idea, ‘- but the upshot of it all is that, thanks to modern science, we are able to take nanobots- that’s robots so incredibly small they could fit inside one of your cells, inject them into your body, and then actually, via virtual reality, see what they are seeing in a representative way *and*, control them in a way where we can more or less wage war with them against harmful diseases. Thanks to cryonic stasis technology, we can keep patients’ bodies in a state that drastically slows the aging process, so that the time it takes to vanquish the disease is not stolen from their lives. I realize that’s confusing, but here’s a fact that may help you begin to understand- the average time it takes to defeat a disease like yours, Bradley, and by defeat I mean destroy all copies of the virus itself, fix all mutated or corrupted DNA, and 100% cleanse affected areas of tumors, is around 150 years of nonstop work.’
‘Bwoah.’ Bradley looked clearly shell shocked, but at the same time minimally proud of himself - 150 years was a thing he clearly understood.
‘Now, that’s a long time.’
‘Yeah, man.’
‘Yes, so, this is part of the reason why you have to do the thing more or less yourself. What we do is, first, we make a digital copy of your psyche, and paste it onto the connected programming of the nanobots that we then inject into you. Then, we put you into cryonic suspension. This will bring all your bodily functions more or less to a halt, including your brain’s function. Once you’re under, the copied version of you will, mentally existing in and utilizing the nanobots, undertake the necessary work to cleanse your body of disease.’
‘Me?’ Said Bradley, still confused. ‘My... copy? But why should I do it? Aren’t you guys the pros? Can’t you have one of your guys do it? ‘
‘That’s an astute question, Bradley.’ The Doctor treated the young man to another of his cloudy-day smiles. ‘There are a couple of reasons why doing it yourself is necessary. First, there’s a certain connection between a person’s psyche and their own body that seems to make the whole thing go more smoothly. That’s the main reason, along with the insane amounts of money that we’d have to pay an employee to spend that amount of time doing the work, and the sticky legal ramifications that go along with creating duplicate employee psyches. The courts in this country seem to be more comfortable with the perceived morals of the thing as long as it’s a person going to bat for themselves, as opposed to an employee of our corporation being paid to do the work. People just can’t agree to what the paid rate should be for that kind of thing, plus there’s the whole thing of, when the process is complete, we turn off the nanobots and they are excreted from the body. If we use the patient instead of an employee, the process gains a kind of elegant math where the sum balances almost exactly at zero - as far as you yourself, the psyche that resides in your body and is tied to your physical brain is concerned, you won’t remember anything, because you didn’t really experience anything. You’ll basically go to sleep in the cryo-chamber and then immediately wake up, completely cured. Granted, a generally long amount of time will have passed, but I’m afraid that in your condition, you’re not walking around with your pockets full of options.’
Bradley swiped at his nose again, a wrung-out look of intense concentration on his face. ‘Okay...’ He said. ‘So, it’s kind of like time-travel. Is everybody going to be dead when I get back? Like, all my family?’
Dr. Staten made his ‘show-a-cupcake-then-smash-it’ gesture again. ‘Yes. Most likely. Unless, of course, one or more of them choose to enter cryonic stasis themselves, in solidarity. It’s not common, but it happens. It is more costly, obviously, but it’s possible. To be honest, this procedure is only open to individuals who have the ability to shoulder the cost, which is not many.’ He pressed his lips together and blinked rapidly, letting the fact that Bradley’s family was one of the wealthiest in North America vibrate through the room without mentioning it out loud.
‘What’s it like?’ Asked Bradley. He was proving quicker on the uptake than Dr. Staten had been prepared for. ‘What’s fighting the disease like?’
‘Oh. Um, well, you have some options there, actually. Obviously the time frame can be daunting, and even though your bodily consciousness isn’t going to be experiencing it, a form of you is, and it’s smart to be careful about how you set everything up. We found that a simple presentation of the work, just, showing what’s on the cameras on the nanobots and following up with instructions on what to do next proved... boring to a degree that guaranteed failure of the procedure. People’s psyche’s couldn’t handle 150+ years of that kind of labor without a break. So we gamified it.’
‘What, like Asteroids?’
‘Hah.’ Dr. Staten’s laugh was more like a gentle cough. ‘No, although that’s not too far off of the mark, in some respects. The visual display, when you’re moving through the veins and capillaries is somewhat reminiscent of a vertical scrolling arcade game like Asteroids.’
TBC
| 2018-03-25T16:44:03 | 2018-03-25T15:32:12 | 107 | 14 |
[WP] Every human is given their lifetime supply of "luck" to be used at their will. Some choose to expend it all at once on a massive success, and live the rest of their lives with no luck, some spread it out evenly and use luck on random small events.
|
Meanwhile some, like myself, take luck from others. You see, luck isn't like a fuel, that's burned and lost. Its more like money, that's spent and burnt. Scientists, about four years ago, discovered what they called the 'luck particles', and you can pretty much guess what the human race did.
They found a way to mine it, quite literally, from rabbits. Which are, funny enough, chock full of luck particles. Then they found a way to use them, by containing them in little watches. Then, they sold them.
And, naturally, like anything valuable, someone finds a way to steal them. And that someone is me.
I'll slip a heads down penny onto someone's table. Rig a ladder hidden in a hallway that people will walk under in the thousands. I'll mass breed black cats and then let them out onto the streets. Because, as i discovered, when luck is spent, it flows up the chain to whatever person caused it. And for millions of people now, that person is me.
I've spent the last twenty years doing this shit, too. And for what? I'm now the luckiest man alive. Ive gotten interviews, TV shows, brand deals. Everyone just thinks I have a naturally high luck particle production, meanwhile I'm really just placing fragile mirrors under toilet seats everywhere I go and framing other people for the arson of a horseshoe factory.
And why they ask. Why am I in my nineties, and still not spending any luck?
Because Ive rigged my luck watch to spend it all on myself right when I die, just to see what'll happen.
|
Leslie woke up with a start, her work cell screaming at her in the early dawn. She blearily looked at the clock, 3:07AM it read. While others might roll over and go back to sleep, Leslie had been born with the rare personality trait to run towards the fire when everyone else ran away from it.
She quietly got out of bed, careful not to disturb Jack or the children. Carefully avoiding the squeaky floorboards, she grabbed her jump back and eased out the front door. The minute that door closed, she was off! She jogged to the elevator, quickly throwing on her helmet while heading to the parking garage, tightened the straps of the backpack and the minute the door opened, she jammed to the left, hopped onto her bike, and roared out of the garage.
Leslie deftly zipped through traffic, knowing what was an acceptable risk and when to be cautious. She had not lived this long in her line of work without being very picky on when she used her luck. Finally she arrived at the station, the armored vehicle already pulled out of the bay, they were clearly waiting on her. She pulled her bike in the station, left the keys in so someone else could move it and pulled her helmet off.
"Let's go Les", Brian shouted at her from the truck, "Your gears already in, hurry up!"
She quickly climbed inside ready to get to the scene and learn more. When she got dispatched to these types of calls, she habitually checked her Luck. As always, Leslie relaxed once she saw her bar.
78%.
At 43, 78% was something to be envied. As a bomb tech, 78% was practically unheard of, especially at her age. As a teen, Leslie had read a poem by Jean de La Fontaine and a line had stuck out to her, "In short, Luck's always to blame". That had always stuck in her head, it was the driving force that kept her from using it without dire need. She had seen others waste their life before 25, and she was determined to die with Luck left over. Of course Luck had to be used from time to time. She thought back to when Kara was born, lying there cold and blue until a push of Luck had turned her bright pink and screaming, or the time it came down to a straight out 50/50 chance on which wire to cut for a bomb to difuse. Some Luck and a quick prayer later, the bomb had been neutralized with no casualties.
Bam!
The bump quickly brought Leslie out of her own head and into the present. She looked out the window as she saw them pulling up to the scene. Climbing out she could smell the fear. Everyone was running around, yelling into their radios and clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. She walked into the incident tent, Captain Phillips was in command.
He looked at her and Brian and nodded acknowledgement.
"Alright guys, here is what we know so far, a domestic terrorist has called in a bomb threat. They stated that there are multiple bombs located along the natural gas pipe lines under the city. They also stated that they had been configured in such a way that the chain reaction would wreak havoc across the entire city." He took a shaky breath before continuing. "As of right now, the gas company is saying that if this is indeed a true threat, this could kill over 150,000 people. We have also been instructed that if word of the threat is made public or it appears there is an evacuation, he will detonate early"
Leslie's heart was racing as was her mind. 150,000 people? Her brain flicked to her family asleep in their beds but the apartment high rise had all electric thank goodness. She turned her attention back to Captain Phillips as Brian was asking what our move was.
"First, we have identified what we believe is the main bomb, while we cannot be certain, it looks like diffusing this one could shut down all the others." Captain Phillips took a deep breath before delivering the next part, "now, I know how you guys are about your Luck and how important it is. I have already been authorized to tell you that if you are willing to use all but 10% of your Luck to help make this a success, we will retire you early with full benefits and salary for life as well as a bonus that reflects the percentage used."
Leslie sat back, retirement? She would be able to be at home to watch her girls grow up, the only question was, is 10% enough? She was 43 and outside of using Luck for work, she had yet to barely use 10% in her lifetime. Yes, she decided, she could provide the luck that was needed. She looks at Brian and could see his worry. At 31 he had already used over 60% of his luck, some from the job and some for personal gain. She had never been one to judge how people spent their Luck, but she could see he was wrestling with this decision.
"Hey Bri... I got this" she quietly said. She could see the weight fall off his shoulders. "I mean, what's the point in holding on to it if the entire city goes, ya know?" she said light heartedly, not wanting him to stress about it. "Hell, if 68% is not enough to save the city, I don't know what else is. I mean, that dude down in Bolivia got everyone to think he was God for under 50%" She went over to Capt Phillips and let him know she would provide the Luck. He took a big sigh of relief and sat her down to quickly sign the agreement to the terms he had mentioned.
As soon as that was done, she got suited up; just because Luck was in play did not mean she should be careless. She and Brian walked down the stairs into the underground maintenance corridor. After about 200 yards, she could see it, a mess of wires and canisters all together looking like a child's art project. Taking it in she could already see landmarks for booby traps and other pitfalls that a less experienced tech might not see.
"Ok Brian, let's go nice and slow" she had already started the flow of Luck before she came down the stairs. She checked now, 73%. As they started working, removing pieces and tagging wires she started to sweat.
61%.
At 2 hours she was starting to get tired, working on only about 3 hours of sleep, even adrenaline was not enough at this point. "Shit!" Brian screamed as he ducked, Les quickly surveyed and saw the end of a wire dangling, pulled out carelessly. She checked her Luck,
48%
They kept going, driving by sheer willpower and terror.
36%, 27%, 18%
It got to that point, the point where reason, knowledge and experience can no longer guide you, where you gut check. You pray, bargain, and hope you make the right call...
clip...
11%
Leslie puked, sunk to her knees and fell against the wall. She could hear Brian calling the All Clear and saw blurs coming closer in her vision. She came to outside in the tent just as the light was coming up. She looked at Captain Phillips and instinctually knew something was still wrong. She caught his attention and he headed over to her.
"Hey Les, good job, you got it diffused." he said
"but...?" Leslie questioned,
"but not all the bombs were connected apparently. a few went off sporadically throughout the city. It's not as bad at it could have been but here and there, streets, businesses and homes have sustained major damaged. It's not your fault though, you saved thousands tonight." he said, she could see how much he stressed the good she had done.
Tired and ready to see her family, she headed to her bike. If she was lucky, she could catch everyone at breakfast before they left for work and school. Phillips had instructed her to take a couple days off while they figured out her retirement. On the way home she could see smoke in the distance. As she got closer to her neighborhood, the smoke grew darker and she could not see her high rise. She pulled off the road, fighting to stay calm a breathe. Oh god, she thought, let it be a mistake, it has to be my eyes because I'm exhausted. She got back on to her bike, racing to get home, as she got close she could see the fire trucks, police cars and a single ambulance. She pulled up to a stop and raced to the scene, let it be enough she breathed as she watched her Luck go from 11% to 0%
It was not enough.
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This is my first submission ever so kind critique is appreciated!
| 2016-10-19T11:57:51 | 2016-10-19T11:19:10 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
"I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant.
|
Gwen Stacey always felt that dating Spider-Man was just surreal.
Think about it: you befriend a guy in college, you think he’s cute, he gets awkwardly shy around you, - the clear signs, and you kind of like him back. He’s also a straight up hottie and he’s smart af.
Time goes on, you brake up with your high school sweetheart and the cute boy (his name is Peter Parker), who’s now your best friend, is growing on you as more than that. He’s sweet, he’s caring and he goes out of his way to make you feel like the most beautiful woman in this world. It’s perfect and you can’t ask for a better boyfriend.
As the relationship grows, you move in with this boy, and not only do things get better, you start seriously considering that marriage is a thing and that it will happen shortly.
However, things start to get weird when Peter leaves sporadically and randomly at night. You find this weird Spider-Man suit in his closet and you wonder whether he has a weird fetish or perhaps, he attends comic cons and has never told you about it.
As weeks turn to months, you notice that these taxing trips at night are making Peter exhausted and his standard of how he cared for you isn’t the same.
There are no dates, there are no special gifts, or details.
He’s immersed in these late night escapades and while you thought he was cheating at first, the smell of sweat, dirt and the bruises tell a different story.
*Could he be cheating?* No. (You’ve made sure)
*Could he be Spider-Man?* No. (But maybe?)
You let it slide, you stop questioning him. But sure enough, one day as you’re walking to your dad’s old office at the NYPD, you get swooped up and not in a romantic way.
You look up and you see the most terrifying creature you can think of. A very athletic man in a slimy, green suit from head to toes, with a green mask holding the most manic/evil look; as you begin to wonder where you’re at, you feel like you’re floating and travelling through air.
**You’re being kidnapped by the Green Goblin.**
When you ask why you’re being kidnapped, you receive the most sincere answer and kind of what you expected, but you’re rather surprised by the demeanour of your captor.
He simply exclaims:
*“I found out Peter is Spider-Man and I knew this would hurt him. I know this isn’t ideal for you and I’m sorry, but this what I need to do.*
*I hope you don’t end up hurt in this and I can release you, but that might not be the case.*
*By the way, my name is Norm and I think you’re beautiful and talented. I’ve read all your papers on the New York University Biology Journal. “*
*What?*
Let’s just back track. **Your boyfriend is Spider-Man. What in the fuck?**
How could he not tell you? You’re his best friend, for years and nothing was ever said.
As you keep questioning yourself, a battle ensues in the background.
*“Let her go!”* \- says Peter
*“Never, you take her for granted”* \- says Norm.
*“Don’t you fucking bring up my relationship, we’re here because you’ve kidnapped her and because you stole equipment from the NYPD”*. - says Spider-Man.
*“I’ve creeped her for months now. You don’t take care of her, you’ve stopped treating her or reciprocating the love she shows you day in and day out.*
*Also, I know you’re out playing vigilante most nights, but you stop by the village before you head back home every time.* \- says the Green Goblin.
**Wait, isn’t that we’re his high school crush lives? Mary Jane Watson?**
**Fuck.**
**He’s out there fighting crime AND cheating on you.**
As the battle comes to a halt (you’re watching strapped on a chair from afar - this is what all villains do, relax), you see Peter approaching Norm. It seems that he has pointed to the stolen equipment and is now on his way out. From afar he waves and gives you one of those comforting half-smiles. Wow, he’s kind of cute, you think.
Peter gets on his phone to call the cops, you realize he is coming towards you. You can’t face him and he knows what you now know.
*“I’m sorry, babe”* \- he says.
You wait until he’s released you from the chair and you head home, walking as fast as you can while he follows you and shouts ALL the excuses as to why he did what he did.
You grab your belongings. Head home to your mom’s and realize what a fucking night that was. What in the fuck? You’re boyfriend is Spider-Man, he also cheats on you and the hot villain who kidnapped you in a jet pack / glider device is not actually quite the villain.
Wtf. Anyway, you head to sleep.
Weeks go by, you really don’t want to know anything about Peter or Spider-Man. You’re sick of it.
New York is a city that you feel familiar with but you’re getting quite tired of. **You still think about that boy with the Green Mask every now and then.**
One day as you browse your LinkedIn, you see an article with a link from the NYT about a *“Norman Osborn who’s creating jobs and providing water in Africa through tech”.*
**It’s the boy with the green mask.**
You decide to look him up on Instagram and boom... @nosbscience. You’ve found him and his account isn’t private.
You decide to risk it, and take a plunge by sending him a DM.
*“Hey”*
The next day you check and you find a long novel written as a response:
*“Hey Gwen, I'm sorry about what happened in New York a couple months ago. I was desperate to obtain the ‘weapons’, which were really just dynamite nukes so that I could help a village find water in south Mali.*
*I’m sorry about kidnapping you and I’m sorry about your boyfriend. Studying you for those weeks before kidnapping you helped me understand love and what I need to find.*
*I hope this finds you well and if you ever want to catch up, I’ve moved to Paris.*
*- Norm“*
The message, bundled with the urge for new air is creating a sense of spontaneity mixed with impulsiveness.
Fuck it. You’re going to Paris.
As you settle at your hotel, you message Norm and inform him that you’d like to see him.
He replies promptly and sends you the address of a very cozy, warm and colourful cafe down the street from your house - *“Let’s meet in half an hour*”.
Your heart is pounding, even more than when you and Peter were a thing. But you’re ready for this and you head out.
The cafe is a work of art, pastel yellows adorn the walls and the pastries and the freshness inundates the smell of the inside, before you even get to take a seat, you hear a “hey” that scares the crap out of you.
*“HEY!”*
It’s Norm. He’s as good looking as you remember him, even with the mask off. You both sit down at a table with a view towards the warm and vivid streets of Paris.
The conversation flows seamlessly, he’s actually read all your papers and shares a passion for science (*“I’m something of a scientist myself”* \- he whispers) and you end up having one of the best conversations you’ve had with anyone. Ever.
The question that lingers in your mind is why he never asked you out in New York. You promptly say:
*“I broke up with Peter six months ago, why wouldn’t you ask me out then?”*
To which you’re shocked to find out:
*“Every time I went out on a date, Peter would show up in costume and ridicule me, while sweeping up the girl and taking her for himself later on. It never worked. I could never date in NYC, Spider-Man would always ruin my dates.*
*If I had asked you out. He would have found a way to show up and spoil it. So I figured I’d leave you alone.*
*However, when I saw your DM, I knew you felt what I felt that night in NY and I figured it’d be worth a try. I can’t believe how happy I am this has happened:*
***Norman Osborn on a date with Gwen Stacey. In Paris. “***
​
| 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T07:33:44 | 129 | 23 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
"I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant.
|
"So... What is it that you do for a living?" The inevitable question that came all the time, as the petite woman looks up at me with questioning eyes, the risotto on her plate steaming still, truly a delicate chef's hand worked into the morsels of sustenance that I, in my grandiose position as leader of a nation of one, a sovereign whose crown was not yet acknowledged by the world nations, had not yet dared to touch.
"I'm in the... real estate business." A good save, much better than 'Trying to conquer the world before some team of hopped up emo hipsters in tights come to beat me up whilst having sexual tension galore between them' would sound. She smiled. Her body leaned forward a little, the faint sprinkling of perfume making my nose its. *Don't sneeze now, Jeremiah. You're not going to sneeze because she over-sprinkled that chemical on her body*
The dress was nice though. It fit her well, with plenty of cleavage given, something that I, in my own glorious way, appreciated. Seeing cleavage whilst you're slung over Captain Amazing Dove's shoulder whilst you're being carried from the Arctic to Domino City... Yeah, those were the days.
Now it's just the kiddies who get their superpowers from lizard-men from outer space, who try to go and be 'the best and coolest thing' and have 'all the sex'. *Science never needed me... but I heeded the call when it was my time. I'll never forget the moment when my face was plastered all across the news...*
"So..." The fork dipped into the risotto, the soft music tingling my ears. No sounds of car alarms, no sound of some mousy little brat striking a pose and announcing herself as 'Princess Pure Justice' or something.
"I'm in accounting at my company. I do the number-crunching... So... mister real estate... Care to go and get a good look at my tracts of land?" I must admit to being taken aback, even as I could feel a foot, a size that was but the median across the eastern side of the country, toes trapped within a diaphenous fabric that teased against my thigh, never as muscular as those who often stood to gloat over my helpless and battered body, trailing up slightly.
*It's just going to be a date... It's just going to be a date...* My eyes met hers and her foot pushed forward, a brief groan coming, as her fork rose, the risotto on it still delicate, lips opening wide and then slowly sticking the forkful of food into her mouth. Red-painted lips wrapped around the fork, her hazel eyes looking into mine.
"So... Jeremy." A false name, similar to the one that I have written down on the birth records that I had taken care to expunge from the public record so easily. *Only Mama and Papa know my name... and they never watch the news.*
"How about we have a little discussion..." The foot moved up slightly, as the fingers traced over the stem of the wine glass, the red wine (a 2034 Bleu Garde, recommended by the waiter. Costing a fortune, but worth it.) in the glass rolled as her fingers manipulated the glass.
"In a more private setting. I'd like..." The woman's eyes flickered down, as the foot brushed a little further. *Oh... She's one of those women.*
"A bit of an impression of how you're like. You've been teasing me a lot, Jeremy... It's not going to be a single showing, either... A well-put together man..." The fork plucked more of the steaming food, my own plate looking rather abandoned, as my eyes walked right over the features of the woman, her tongue sliding over her lips.
"I'm not sure..." I said, as my eyes kept her gaze. The look in them was enough, as she plucked her phone from her bag, tapping in a few numbers.
"Jeremy Feinmann, aged 35." My civilian alias. A good way to lay low. One of the names that InterCiv did not pick up on... yet.
"You know my name." He said, a smile on her lips telling him plenty. It was enough for him to have a site up with his 'business', the post box rented for the next ten years. A fund to keep 'activity', a few places rented out... and nothing to worry about.
"Oh yes..." She smiled. That was a good sign, socially-aware me would say. Normally by now, there'd be glowy leds starting to show below the skin, her eyes locked on mine. Her foot was... interesting. Nothing that you'd easily get when being a 'nerd with an ego complex', according to the goodies.
"I like a man who can keep his business neat and tidy." The gadget in the corner of my eye beeped, showing clearly that there was a brief audit of 'Jeremy Feinmann' by the financial department. *Great... A gold-digger... I'll never get rid of my virginity... Why did I have to go for Super-Physics instead of the football team? Sarah would have done... things with me.*
I don't have much of a social life. Being in prison and seeing the capes show up all 'We have beat you, ha-ha, our super-sexy squad leader will strut before you wearing something spray-painted on' and being under surveillance for pretty much my entire stay...
"I like a woman who has... Skills." The truth was real, of course. If you'd seen some super-model hero pop someone's blimp with an eye-beam, you'd be impressed to, really. Javelin Girl was truly something else... Thighs that you'd want to get your head crushed in, whew!
"Hmmhmm..." The beep of the gadget reached my ears once more. Clearly, another request. A flicker of data scrolled past my eyes, sent through the chip I'd implanted three days ago. It was easier to interface, even though the stinging continued. *Three mentions of financial credit, one request of my family tree... Definitely someone who has a plan. Better hack into her phone, check whether it is someone who wears a cape.*
The data in the phone was bland. Some conversations with a man named Adam, a mention of tonight's date, as well as some brief mentions of the plan to seduce to a friend named Jennifer. *An easy mark... Gold-digger it is.*
The beep of the gadget was enough, even as the foot pulled itself back. "How about I show you some skills tonight, Jeremy?" A finger pressed to my glass, her eyes smouldering. My dish was getting colder now. A blush actually sprinkled my face. Training in maintaining composure had been a blessing...
"I'm afraid that it won't be, Jeanette." Her real name, rather than the Maria that she'd been using. *Jeanette Voerling, age 29. Professional sugar baby. Prefers men who are shy and withdrawn, just like me.* I knew my flaws. Sometimes, when life was on the downward slope, I freeze up at the store when the cashier smiles. It's not easy living when you're a wanted man, you know.
Her face turned grimmer, as she bit her lower lip. "What are you playing at?" Her voice was enough, as I shifted slightly. An urgent beep came from the gadget, a 'brii-brii' that drew her attention.
"I don't much like the thought of being some sort of fund for your lifestyle." I keep my calm, even though I know that there is plenty that can go wrong.
The wine hit my face, as she rose. Her eyes are angry, yet she doesn't shout yet. The waiter looks shocked, about to ask whether we needed something, her eyes blazing with something. A bracelet pops out into my eyes. A symbol that I know. *Oh bloody f*
The storefront explodes and Hipster Man erupts into the scene. "Mister Majestic!" Data erupts onto the feed as I hack into the phone some more. *This girl is just rotten... Just my luck.*
"Adorum... What a pleasure." The face mask tears off easily, as I pull my shirt open to expose my grand crest, ready to take him on once more. The Laser Watch should buy me enough time to make my getaway to my converted Sonda Miffic, in order to get away. *At least it's just this moron...*
If this keeps up... I'm never going to lose my virginity before I'm 40!
(Probably getting a Part II. Let me know whether you've enjoyed it!)
| 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T08:17:09 | 129 | 13 |
[WP] Congratulations! At 25 years old you won the lottery and will receive €50.000.000,- spread out over the rest of your lifespan; paid out evenly on each of your remaining years alive. On the following January 1st, you receive €25 million in your bank account.
|
I got half my money in the first deposit. So, I did what any sane person would do. I panicked and called their customer service line.
"Hi, my name is Gregory Trapper."
"Oh, yes, you're the one who won the grand prize, aren't you? To say that I'm jealous is an understatement."
"Yeah, about that, isn't the the prize money supposed to be spread out over my entire lifespan?"
"Correct. That was part of the contract."
"So, I got half of it deposited into my account today, and I'm really scared."
"Why is that?"
"Because I don't want to die in two years!"
"Sir, we cannot tell the future like that. We simply pay out half of the remaining balance every year. This guarantees that we will always have some amount still owed to you, so we are technically paying it out over your entire lifespan."
"What?"
"It's based on one of Zeno's paradoxes. We will always owe you some money, as we cannot guarantee the date of your death. The remaining balance will be paid out to your next of kin upon your death. This was all in the contract."
"Oh..."
"Is there anything else that I can help you with today?"
"No, thanks, that's quite a relief."
|
I laughed when I opened the letter, notifying me of the €25 million in my account. “Better send the rest soon,” I said aloud, inviting a few stares from the others waiting at the bus stop. The bus approached, but I turned down Fifth towards the bank instead. €25 million was excessive. €50 million was excessive. What would I ever use that for? It didn’t matter if I had one decade or one year left. Hell, it didn’t matter if I had 1 hour left, what the fuck could I possibly buy with so much money to make me happier than I already was?
No one cared, that was a beautiful fact about life. No one gave a flying shit who you were or how you spent your time. No one cared when I came out; 40 years old, blushing like a school girl, revealing to my theatre friends that I not only liked sleeping with men, I loved them too. They laughed, every single one.
“Hell Jack,” my best mate Roy said, wiping tears of laughter, “you think after 10 years we didn’t know? Half the troop has the hots for you! They’ve been waiting this whole time for you to give them the green light!” I smirked, but devolved into silent tears again. Roy hugged me tightly, which sent the whole table wrapping arms around each other and cramming around.
I was sobbing by then, overwhelmed by unanimous support. I felt cacooned by them, secured. It was a bubble I never wanted to leave. It wasn’t a good time to be gay then. Perhaps it just wasn’t well understood. But goddamn, 40 years old, if only I had told them sooner I could’ve saved a lot of pain and worry. Especially about Roy. Growing up a straight white man in a god-fearing family, I expected the worst. I still felt guilty for even thinking a man as good as Roy could do that to me.
I rounded the corner to the bank and sauntered straight-up to the teller. She looked taken aback by my presence, I supposed not many people had such a massive smile plastered over their face doing everyday banking. I plunked down the letter, explaining the lottery, and the confirmation that the money was in my account. I’d been in such a rush to get to work that morning that I’d taken a whole pile of bills to read through during the bus ride, but none of that mattered now.
“I want it taken out, as much as you can, in cash,” I said.
She protested, “sir with such short notice, I’m not sure if we can do it-“
“Please,” I insisted, “I have AIDS. It’s my last day alive”.
She gave me a pitful and somewhat frightened look, but went to her manager to get as much of the money as possible.
It felt freeing to say it aloud, even if it was a bit of a lie. “I have AIDS, I’m going to die”. that was true, and it felt invigorating to say, to not care whether it made people afraid, or step back as if it was even spread that way. “Today” was a stretch, I had at least a year left, but people didn’t bother to learn any of that. Only gays got it, so why should they care?
What puzzled me was how the lottery found out. But it didn’t matter anyways.
The teller ended up giving me only €25,000. I asked her to place a money order for the rest, to be picked-up by my sister, Ana. She was to execute my will after all.
I shoved the €25 grand into my jacket pocket and kicked up my heels as I left just to give them a show and add to their dinner-time conversations after work. I hailed a taxi and gave the quietly nodding man directions to the University. Roy was directing the play for the undergrads this year. He insisted after my diagnoses, told me to “fuck off and go bake on a nice beach in Hawai’i”. But there was no place I’d rather be than the playhouse watching those gangly undergrads mangle every line in Westside Story. It promised to be avante-garde in that way. I handed the driver a few wads of cash and darted through the doors of the playhouse before he could respond.
I found a seat far at the back in the centre, to check how well their voices projected. It was still only rehearsals, but the first performance was in a few days and I knew Roy would have a hell of a time if they couldn’t project properly.
But they were excellent. Superb. Roy had chosen something more demure than Westside Story this time around; something I’d never actually seen before. It was a coming-of-age story, dealing with adolescent dreams while flailing into adulthood. I thought of my troubled teenaged years, my war-scarred fighter pilot of a father and my overly-doting mother always trying to coddle the life out if her youngest son. My teenaged rebellion was a full on revolution. If Ana hadn’t been there to cover for me and temper my worst impulses, I would’ve been a lost cause.
“Alright, great job everyone. You are all free to enjoy your weekends,” Roy’s voice boomed over the stage and flooded through the velvet seats. I clapped madly to draw his attention but he kept his composure and subtly flipped me the finger. Once the students had all left, he took a seat next to me, flopping down with a sigh.
“Don’t say it, I know they’re horrifying,” he bemoaned.
“No! It was great Roy, I loved every moment,” I said earnestly, but he took it as sarcasm and gave me a wry grin.
We took a moment to take in the stage, it’s audacious velvet curtains and carved mantle, the set pieces piled spastically in the back like an abstract painting.
I dumped the remaining wads of cash onto his lap.
He startled, “What the fuck? Jack is this the lottery money?”
“A very small bit of it. They sent 25 mil”.
“25 million? That can’t be right, that would mean,” he trailed off, seeking my face for answers.
“A year?” He asked hesitantly.
I nodded, “yup. One year left.”
His hand went to his face, passing over every feature like he was trying to wipe his whole morose expression off.
I leaned forward to face him, “I don’t want to wait until I’m all spotty and skeletal,” tears pricked to my eyes but I smiled through, “I’m ready. I’m happy. Will you come with me?”
He knew I was going to ask him this eventually. AIDS was wretched. It was wretched to watch and even more wretched to experience. We’d seen enough of our friends go the long way to know the short way was better. Even so, I knew it was a lot to ask. To watch a friend die, no matter how peaceful, is not an easy thing.
But Roy didn’t hesitate, “of course Jack”.
We drove to my apartment where I grabbed the opium I had been squirrelling away since my diagnosis. From what those who gave it to me had said, it was the most peaceful way to go. I considered doing it at the apartment, but Roy insisted we head out of the city to watch one last sunset. He had a natural penchant for drama of course.
The wind was refreshingly cool after the heat of the day, and redwing black-birds and pigeons cooed from the tree line below the hill we parked at. We sat atop the hood of his old Thunderbird and watched the sky burst with pinks, oranges, reds and golden luminous clouds.
“Ana’s dolling out the rest of the money. But the cash is yours. For the playhouse, or make a scholarship or something,” I tried to joke but Roy was silent. A few tears trickled down his cheeks into his dark black beard, but he remained stoic as ever.
He gripped my hand abruptly, his lower lip caught, “don’t worry about it Jack. It doesn’t matter”.
The opium was beginning to make me feel woozy and I leaned my head onto his shoulder.
It was a beautiful sunset, best I had ever seen.
| 2020-08-05T20:04:24 | 2020-08-05T19:52:52 | 257 | 21 |
[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.
|
"Impressive." God acknowledges as he gazes down to Earth, "But I'm having difficulty seeing what you changed. The people are still scurrying around, but hate and violence is down 90% across the board. I must know -- what did you do?"
Whitney smirked ever so slightly while taking her place at God's left side. "This? Oh this was easy. I just showed everyone a pair of your skidmarked undies."
"**WHAT!!?!**" boomed God in disbelief.
"Well, sure! The problem everyone was having was living up to your perceived standards. When they couldn't do it, it resulted in trying to 'gain favor' in other ways which just started this one-upmanship throughout history. Now they see accidents happen for everyone..."
"... and so they don't try as hard" God interrupts, hands on his hips. "Did... did you at least show 'em the blue pair so it wasn't so obvious?"
"Nope! Straight to the tighty-whities."
|
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!]**
| 2017-03-05T03:20:27 | 2017-03-05T02:32:59 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] You live in a world were not only do Superheroes, Monsters, Aliens, ect. exist, but they also pay taxes. You're a taxman that deals with non-human taxpayers.
|
"I understand that you are an eldritch creature of horror," James began, carefully keeping the exhaustion and annoyance from creeping into his tone, "But you simply cannot claim your Legion of the Damned as dependants on your 1040. As an unfortunate result, your tax obligation is rather higher than the amount you've satisfied."
"BzzzhcrshnaaaaaghnAAAN, A'clnkctrnesh!" was Ur-Shugnath's reply, which translated roughly to, "That's ridiculous! I'm the Mother of the Damned! I'm absolutely certain that Batman is claiming Robin, and he's a goddamn millionare -- why can't I write off my 10,001 Bleak Children? They live with me, after all."
James had a sneaking suspicion that this "error" was not born out of ignorance, so much as a desire to offset the considerable income the 600 foot tall monstrosity of tentacles and teeth had made by providing Elder Horror Insurance to the city of Newport RI, which had a particularly forward thinking mayor. As a result it had been enjoying a period of peace, economic growth, and not being invaded by creatures from the deepest pits of hell.
"It's just that 'live' is a term that the Internal Revenue Service really feels cannot be applied to them, as they are ... well, they're zombie warriors that don't eat, don't sleep and have even generated revenue for you by-" (here, James flipped through his extensive notes), "staffing a plumbing company whose income you seem not to have reported. A 'Brains 'N Drains Plumbing and Electric'? Ring any bells, does it?"
The growled reply of "Ch'n'Quetzalothnnnngrangd'lek," is not worth translating, as it would singe the ears of our more delicate readers. I shall let you imagine it to mean what you will.
Cities had fallen to Ur-Shugnath's wrath, and a lesser man would have quailed, soiled himself, and potentially lost his mind to the sheer bleak horror of the demon with which it was confronted. James was, however, an IRS auditor -- and they are made of sterner stuff. He generally came out on top, and this case would be no exception; although it took several more hours, by the time he drove away in his unremarkable gray Toyota, Ur-Shagnath had even set up a payment plan.
Many good deeds go unrewarded and many crimes unpunished, but in the end, the tax man always wins.
|
*Just a few more doors...almost done* I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and flattened my button-down shirt against my torso and made sure to double check it was tucked in all the way around. The encounter with the previous tenant... well, lets just say that dragons don't take to kindly to anyone asking for their gold. Pretigorizix always got so stingy around this time of the year, even for a dragon. I escaped with no eyebrows but hey, that's just part of the job.
Let me rewind a bit for ya though. It wasn't too long ago that word got out that NY had real-life superheroes living among the populace. 'course their counterparts shuffle 'round too; breaking water mains here, putting Lassie down a storm drain there, walking into work on Wall St, ya know, normal villain stuff.
But the problem was, there's a lot of 'em. Not everyone can be super; villain or hero. Some are just mediocre and can't get by when Batman or The Evil Robotic Martians take all the paparazzi and magazine covers. Hell even the Ewoks carved out a good chunk of dough for themselves on a day-time children's program on NBC. Most of them though, they gotta pay their dues. The half rates tend to congregate in apartments like this one, the Catacombs Suites. Not everyone's superpower is to turn back time to make the tax man forget...but that's another story for another time.
Pretigorizix, or Pret as I call her, was no Smaug. The dimes and nickels in between the couch pillows were probably all she's got to her name and I heard rumors from the other tenants downstairs that she's gotten so desperate she tried to chew the bronze off the Statue of Liberty in the middle of the night so she could add something new and shiny to her hoard. I never said ol' Pret was the brightest bauble on the treasure trove. It's no surprise to me that Pret wanted to melt my face when I knocked on her double adamantium doors. Her room, I could almost hear her grumble *LAIR*, was 9015. I wondered why she even had doors when she literally flew through former window-turned-hole-the-wall to get to whenever a beat dragon went on weekdays. But oh well, it ain't up to me to try to understand the mind of a dragon. Some battles just weren't worth fighting until you could bring in the back up.
Eyebrowless but still on the clock, I had only a few more doors on the top floor to go before I could head home myself. This door I hadn't seen before, must have been a new tenant. *Weird* I thought to myself. *I'm usually up to date on who's living here.* I checked the manifest a second time. Room 9017. It wasn't on the manifest. The door was a thick oak underneath a healthy serving of paint, which clearly displayed their geologic inhabitance on the frame like layers of rock. I knocked. No response. I had to call this one in.
"Hey Frank, Roger here...ya wife's good. Kids got some school play about villain-acceptance week or something coming up...how are things with you? ...good to hear it. Anyways I'm in the Catacomb Suites today...yeah the one off Park Ave near the Hasidic Jew neighborhood. Sooo I got this room, room 9017 and its definitely occupied. Door's locked but no name on the manifest. Can ya do a quick check for me? Thanks 'migo, 'preciate it." I played with the buttons on my cuffs while Frank typed on the other end of the line.
"Yeah, I'm still here...so you're saying the room's occupied by an unregistered villain? A new guy? Alright, I got a few copies of the paperwork with me here so we can get him in the system. 'Preciate the help as always, Frank. You have a good one." I hung up.
New villains fall into one of two general categories: either they live in a delusional state believing they're the next Dr. Doom or they're in denial that they're actually evil. A thought passed my mind that if this tax job bottoms out after another year I could make a killing being a therapist for new villains. I shook off the thought and resolved to do my job. I knocked on the door again.
"No one's home" shouted a voice from the other side. The voice sounded gruff, deep, perhaps in some kind of pain. Denial. The withdrawal from good. I recognized that sound. I knocked again, more forcefully this time.
"I said, no one's home!" Definitely louder this time. I prepared myself to give the usual speech.
"This is the RVTS, Registered Villain Tax Service. I need you to fill out some forms in order register you into our databases so you can be-"
"WHAT PART OF NO ONE'S HOME DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?" The door swung open and I got my first look at the kid. He was young, no more than a few years into his twenties, scruff going around his face and some serious bags under his eyes. I almost felt bad for him until I realized I didn't have much of a soul left anyways.
"Sir, I need you to fill out these forms right here if you don't mind, it'll only take a few minutes of your time and then I'll be out of your hair until next year." I tried to nudge my way in past the villain-to-be. Funny how some of the villainous tricks I've learned came from people who never had any superpowers or desire to conquer the world. The young buck was having none of my breaking and entering.
"I don't want to register, I don't pay taxes, I don't have any stolen income to report." replied the disheveled figure before me.
"That's alright but you still need to put your name, secret identity, social security, Evil League of Evil ID if you have one, et cetera et cetera, all that good stuff onto these forms right here. There are serious consequences if you don't register." I pulled the appropriate registered forms out from the manila folder I was carrying. "I'll be happy to wait around while you fill these out." I looked at the bare apartment behind him from over his shoulder. An uncovered mattress on the floor and a few old comic books the color of carpet strain were all I saw. "I'll be happy to lend you a pen if you need one." He didn't reply. Just closed his eyes and nodded in defeat ever so slightly. He took the pen I was holding out for him. Dejected, he turned around and mumbled something along the lines of "come in" and I walked into the messy apartment.
It became immediately clear that the apartment was divided into three sections of equal size, each with their own personality. I only saw the messy quarter, that one was closest to the door. The dirty mattress, comic books and cigarette burns in the carpet juxtaposed the almost puritanical sheen of the kitchen. If the windows were on the kitchen side of the house, the light coming through would have been the sharp appliances blinding. The apartment was roughly in an L shape, the messy side encompassing the door, mattress and windows. The kitchen lay on the corner, sharp knifes glittering menacingly. I couldn't see the third side until I walked a bit further into the apartment but I think it was another room, perhaps a bedroom? The pristine white door leading from the kitchen to the unknown room was locked. To my left there was a small closet space, door also closed. If it was this gross out in the open, I didn't want to know what horrors were stuffed away in the closet.
The kid was quick filling out the forms. He was sitting cross legged on the mattress. *Surprising for a new guy to know all his information without having to consult someone* In a minute, he handed them to me. As I read the first form, I chuckled to myself. I could tell he was yanking my chain.
"Look, you've got to fill out this forms correctly. This isn't a joke anymore where you can terrorize your local schoolyard kid and get away with detention. Lying to the RVTS on critical documents can lead to penalties of up to 5-"
"I'm not lying" he said. "I am who I say I am. I can prove it."
I looked at the name on the form. D4. He had written in D4, one of the greatest villains of a previous generation. This was like a high schooler varisty baseball player on a lucky streak calling himself the reincarnation of Babe Ruth. Known for being wildly erratic, D4 was a name that littered the history books but he hadn't been on the news in years. Nobody knew what happened to him over 50 years ago. Hell, kids these days didn't even know anything about him without checking his wikipedia entry on their smartphones.
"Look here." he raised up a hand. On it was a onyx ring with a 3 sided pyramid. I knew exactly what it was.
*oh shit*
| 2015-02-26T12:38:06 | 2015-02-26T12:25:36 | 105 | 14 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title.
|
Glenda was a grim looking lady. She was a slow starter and didn't have much purpose in her younger years, but her naming ceremony lit a fire under her. She simply went by Glenda the Destroyer now.
I had a few ideas what my name might be. Maybe I'll be Matthew the Unmuggable for that time I fought off two muggers in Central Park. I could be called Matt, the Master of Mountains for that summer I climbed all the 14,000+ peaks in the Rockies with my brothers.
My father, Sweet Pete, Destroyer of Ladies and Breaker of Hearts stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting for my name to be declared. By his naming ceremony he had seduced over 50 women. My mother, Maria, Pete's Keeper, tamed my father and married him before she turned 21.
Glenda approached me. She wore the battle scars on her face like a badge of courage. She was an imposing woman, standing well over 6 feet tall and built like a warrior. She stopped before me, and my heart nearly stopped with it.
She reached her hand out to me and closed her eyes. The center jewel in her tiara began to glow a deep purple.
She put her thumb to my brow.
I could feel her mind searching mine. Her presence loomed large.
"You shall be Matthew, Father of the Chosen One."
My father was bewildered. My mother was furious. They accused me of hiding their grandchild from them. I swore I wasn't a father.
I could feel a vibration in my pocket. It was my girlfriend.
"I'm late. We need to talk. Call me."
|
My father was a wonderful storyteller; it wasn't exactly gravitas—he possessed something much more sincere, something deep in his heart that managed to make it real. He believed it to be true, these places, and things, and people, that I do not want to necessarily say did not—do not—exist. After all, father's Title traces back to Norman II, Keeper of Dogwood Office Park. The market there still meets every Sunday, and I have had very good meals at the inn, when treated. Many of the caravans that pass through will stop at our abbey to be blessed before treading the interstate. Sometimes I hear them telling the same stories, and it makes it difficult to sleep at night.
At daybreak, we assemble in the hall for morning prayers, a wash-up in the creek, and breakfast, which humble Brother Michael, Survivor of the Pox, prepares with great care. Few dared to drink our wine or share our table before Brother Dwayne, Collector of 21 Fox Skins, came up with the clever idea to simply hide Michael from sight—while I cannot truly appreciate his disfigurement, the humor is not lost on me.
Brother Dwayne is, at heart, a bully, of this I am convinced, no less for the fact that just nigh of *his* 21st birthday, he robbed little Econolodge, He with Little More than Himself, of the 21 fox skins he had been hoarding for his Bequeathing. Econolodge's father fought with mine at the Battle of Scenic View, by mile 47, which makes the fact I was unable to help him guard it all the more humiliating. Always reassuring, however, is my time spent in the garden with Brother Unleaded, Digger of the Deepest Hole, who often sees where I cannot. His interpretation of things is most of all what drew me to the abbey in the first place.
"You must not let Brother Dwayne's misgivings cloud your vision further," he said to me, shortly after the whole incident, while we were planting turnips. It was cool, even for midday, but we had both worked up a sweat.
"Brother Dwayne is a cheat, and as one who has been cheated by the universe, I can assure you of this." I wiped at my brow, trying not make contact with my dirty hands. "More to the point, isn't it rather out of character for a monk?"
This made Unleaded laugh. "You say the humor is not lost on you; nor is the irony on me. But, lest Father Caprice say otherwise, we must so long grin and bear it."
I grimaced, squinted at the dirt ahead, and carved out another hole. "Did you give any more thought to what I asked you?"
"It is not up to me to decide your Title, Brother. You worry so much about the things not worth seeing!"
In times of less gossip, when Father Caprice, Drinker of an Entire Keg of Wine, is not in the village, Brother Unleaded is much less pointed with me. My question to him was what Mother Glenda would consider *my* accomplishment; my 21st birthday, fast approaching, would too be the day my Title was granted. Repeated were those whose feats warranted awe, mocked were those who squandered their opportunity—or, in my case, were born squandered. All I asked for, and prayed for, was mediocrity.
When the day arrived, Brother Michael gave me bread pudding, which lifted the weight of it all for a few bites, and Brother Stuckey, Who Once Tamed a Coyote, wrote a delightful poem that he recited after prayer. Goodwill was exchanged with a toast of spirits, and we worked until the ceremony. Since Mother Glenda had fallen on the stairs to the abbey a few summers ago, a complex procession was developed whereby the entire congregation marched down to her villa, complete with chants, candles, incense; once, self-flagellation courtesy of Brother Buick, Spiller of His Own Blood More Than Any Other, in a gross miscalculation on Father Caprice's part. It was similarly humiliating to be unable to see the greatest moment of my young life so far; those watching our column on the main must have been convinced I was to be executed instead, I looked so shamed.
"We're here," Father Caprice added unnecessarily, as we were halted by the mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac where Mother Glenda lived. It was spectacularly lit, such that to my eyes it looked much like the sun were I to stare at it; fluttering banners acted the part of eclipses, I'm sure brilliantly dyed and guarded by many. Outside the gates of the Estate, villagers gathered, or at least I assume they did, and our chant hushed in to reverence when a shadow appeared in the portico. It was my time.
Inside, it was much darker, almost sensually lit. Incense persisted, but the scent changed, and I felt the presence of metrics. I was being judged, but not yet by Mother Glenda. An usher led me, first by hand gesture, second by hand, up a curved stairway, to a chamber with two glass-doors, not that I could make out what was beyond them even with sight. We waited for what felt like an eternity before he whispered that I may enter.
Mother Glenda's Title, "Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets in a Single Sitting", requires explanation: it is not that she is obese, or compelled to hoard food. It is that she was guided, not by our Verses, but some unseen force, or power, or vision, to a hidden temple—like those father described—where, inside, she discovered enough staple to feed the village for a week. This journey was brought on by a bout of fasting—traditional in some nearby villages, before a Title is given—which she broke with such vigor that it became her namesake a full week before the ceremony. The visions did not end there, however, nor did her wisdom, and the Title became much less said than 'Mother', for she was the only one we all permitted to give us such a thing as a second name. More than often a Title was obvious, it was an accomplishment, no matter how trivial—
"But in your case, child," she smiled at me, I could tell, "yours I shall give to make clear the exceptional gift you possess."
This caught me off-guard: "Mother Glenda, surely you are humoring me."
"Hardly! Your Brother Unleaded has spoken to me before this, and again before that; he tells me of the times you spend watching the sun rise, or wandering through the wood, or toiling in the garden. Is this true?"
I nodded. "Brother Unleaded is a companion in the truest sense; he makes it all very clear for me."
She did not stop beaming, "You are so genuine, child. And fortunate. He does not pity you in the slightest; he is rather jealous, in fact." There were the traces of laughter from the chamber, but they were well-intentioned. "Do you know what I believe to be your Title?"
This did not register with me. She took my silence for curiosity.
"I think you are to be, 'He Who Sees the World for What it Truly Is'."
We talked for some time, and I felt fewer sleepless nights ahead. When I was finally escorted back, the wine had been dredged from the cellar, and Father Caprice was busy reciting the Verses to bored, red-nosed travelers. Most of the brothers had gone back to the abbey for evening prayers, and the food on the table was attracting flies, not that it discouraged whom I could only assume to be beggars.
"Git!" A villager smacked at the edge of the table, chasing one of them off. There was drunken laughter, crying. I searched for Brother Unleaded, only to stumble in to Brother Dwayne. He was breathing heavily.
"Excuse me, Brother Dwayne—" I stopped him with an easy palm, and he swayed, "—have you seen Brother Unleaded by any chance?"
He cackled. "Seen'm, that's *funny*." Then, he dug in to his satchel and pulled out a package, wrapped in burlap. "I got you a present. Happy—happy bequeathing, 'brother'."
It befuddled me, the sliver of glass, but when held at an appropriate angle, the glint turned in to a... picture. A clearer picture of the world around me.
I clenched shut my eyes, but unlike before, there was something there when I did.
| 2017-04-27T21:31:34 | 2017-04-27T18:36:41 | 349 | 84 |
[WP] You have an ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know if someone’s speaking the truth. One day, your childhood friend of 17 years says “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” You both laugh but then you heard a ‘Ding’. Scared, you asked if it’s true. “No” they replied. Silence.
|
Now I knew what it meant as I lay in the hospital bed. When I was twenty, my friend of 17 years had said he’d kill me one day. He’d been joking, and while I’d been wary at the time, I’d eventually stopped worrying about it. We were friends, and fifty years later, we still are.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It shouldn’t be you.”
An inoperable brain tumour. I had never married, never had children, and my parents were dead. As soon as I’d found out, I realized I needed someone to make medical decisions when I couldn’t.
“I keep hoping you’ll wake up, that you’ll be okay, that it’ll have disappeared overnight. They keep telling me it’s terminal, that you’ll be a vegetable until you die.”
I’d been explicit with my instructions. If I slipped into a coma and I wasn’t going to wake up, the plug had to be pulled and he had to authorize it for the doctors to do it. It’s not like I was really me anymore. I was dead, I was just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.
“I know it’s what you want. Or at least what you wanted when you spoke to me last. I know it’s futile to try and keep you alive when all it’ll do is prolong your suffering by a few weeks, but it’s hard to say goodbye, you know? I’ll be here until the end, I promise. I’m sorry.”
I wonder if he even remembers him joking that he’d kill me. It’s not like I can remind him. I’d been terrified at the time, but now I can see it’s a blessing. Why hang on any longer than I need to when this is my existence?
“Doc! I’m ready, it’s time.”
Goodbye, dear friend.
Thank you.
|
**I.** A flurry of amaranth and tangerine orange, streaked with clouds with borders shimmering against the setting sun; the view of the horizon from Liberty Skyway (which is a superfluously fancy name for a bridge) really is quite wonderful, you muse. Perhaps a couple metres below lies a stretch of motorway and a parallel set of train tracks, by which cargo and passenger trains alike pass every so often, an unstoppable phenomenon of mankind's creation. To you, a wonted city-dweller, the periodic discordant symphony of horn and engine has become almost soothing, a mark on time and reality of sorts in the disparate, surreal landscape between barren industrial zone and bustling inner city.
​
As with every weekday evening, you (a firm believer in the importance of exercise and appreciation of downtime in nature to a healthy lifestyle) walk the first twenty minutes to the station, taking a slightly round-about route in order to pass over the bridge—an inefficient compulsion your feet inexplicably carry you to—and admire the simple divinity of nature in its twilight hour, and the sheer wanderlust evoked somewhere within your chest at beholding the irreplicable artistry. Day after day, month after month, you never fail to neglect Liberty Bridge, always returning like a lowly moth to a supernaturally exquisite flame—which, you think bemusedly to yourself, isn't too farfetched, the colours of the sky of dusk being made up of some cacophony of light anyway.
​
And then you walk away, knowing that this breathtaking scene will be waiting for you again the next day and every subsequent day as well, heading off with newfound peace to catch your train home. At this thought, another feeling akin to anticipant thrill stirs inside your chest. Your childhood best friend from when you were six, split up in high school and reunited on a chance train meeting by a fortunate landing of serendipity, and whom you suspect you've now developed attraction towards; Rory will be there.
​
And there she is again, sitting picturesque by the window seat within the train carriage. Her eyes seem to startle, then settle to lock with yours, her radiant smile lighting up your world in ways the sky never could.
​
**II.** Ten year old you had discovered philosophical thought experiments and had been obsessed with them for months, often dragging Rory in to your often one-sided conversations (with her periodically interjecting agreeable affirmatives like *hmm* or *yeah* or *i think so too*) about your latest point of fervour. You'd easily whittle away hours together, just basking in each other's company laced with chatter and occasional peals of laughter. She'd been an artist even then, you could tell, tirelessly working away with paints and paper, face a mask of zealous concentration and brushstrokes deft and deliberate while you prattled on about what you thought should and shouldn't be done in certain situational hypotheticals.
​
"This one's called the Trolley Question," you begin, before pursing your upper lip and thinking hard when silence is returned. "No, wait, it's the Trolley Problem." *Ding.* Morale boosted by this correct labelling of the thought experiment's name, you continue eagerly. "Basically, if there was, like, a train on a train track, and it was coming towards five innocent people, and you had a switch and you could flip the switch to make the train change lanes and hit a different dude—but you would save the five other people—would you flip the switch?"
​
"I'm not really sure," Rory answers noncommittally, although that may be less to do with a genuine lack of opinion and more to do with the misplaced drop of paint on her paper she's working desperately to cover up, tongue poking out demurely in the corner of her mouth. *Ding.* (Technically, it's true that she hadn't made up her mind on an opinion.) "Would you?"
​
You've had this ability for ever since you could remember. A faint ringing of a bell, just hazy enough for you to inexplicably know that it existed only within the confines of your own mind and was distinctly separate from the external world—a bell that tinkled whenever a truth was told. The practical specifics are not clear to you as a ten year old, but you've never really needed to seek out definitive answers as the resultant accuracy of your strange ability had always been consistent enough; and now, listening and reacting to its presence and absence has become second nature, to the extent that hearing the bell doesn't disturb your focus or concentration at all anymore.
​
"I would," you assert decidedly. *Ding.* "Saving five innocent lives is what a hero would do, even if it is at the cost of someone else's life. Better than the other way round."
​
"Yeah, that makes sense," She agrees. Silence*.* You frown involuntarily—the bell doesn't jingle if the speaker is speaking on autopilot, which means she's not listening to you as she works tirelessly on her passion. With the utter lack of patience of a stereotypical ten year old, you pout and shake her shoulders in a whine for attention, causing her to yelp and accidentally smear blue hues of the sky all over her carefully detailed lilypads. And she whirls around in turn and shrieks with the hostility of an annoyed ten year old: "What the?" You smile dumbly, awkward and unsure how to react, which she hits your arm for. "Hey, don't laugh at me! I swear, I'll kill you one day."
​
*Ding.* The smile falls off your face.
​
"Is—uh, is that true?" You gargle out. She'd obviously been joking, the underlying no-hard-feelings! layered securely underneath her tone, but still there was the sound of the bell and it has your ten year old self in a panic.
​
She raises an eyebrow, visibly confused. "What? No."
​
Silence.
​
But she's your best friend, and you know in your heart that there's no way Rory could be harbouring secret murderous tendencies towards you, so you, unsure what to think, think nothing of it, allowing the incident to slip into a foggy remote part of your memory, locked up for years to follow.
**III.** Lying atop a grassy hill, her head in your arms and your legs tangled in a heap, the two of you share a contented sigh. The stars unfold before you, a celestial blanket draped up in the summer's midnight sky. If bliss exists on Earth, this must be it, you contemplate absently as you stroke her hazel-hued hair.
​
"Do you remember," you find yourself saying, "around twelve, thirteen years ago, I introduced you to the trolley problem for the first time?"
​
"Yeah, I remember." *Ding.* You smile, heart fluttering fondly as Rory gazes up at you through alluring lashes.
​
"Do you remember what I said?"
​
"I think... I recall you saying that you'd choose the five over the one." *Ding.*
​
"Yes. That's changed now." She blinks inquisitively, and you slowly lean down to lay a tender peck on her forehead. "If that single individual were you, I would choose to save you over the five." (Of course, there's the *ding*—but you don't need its reassurance. You can feel in your heart a palpable love for Rory so pure and so strong it threatens to burst from within you.)
​
Rory giggles. Your loosely philosophical proclamation might seem a strange and heavy-handed compliment to outside observers, but Rory knows you—a passionate practitioner of the law, necessarily disciplined in matters of legal and moral justice; for you to choose the choice so drastically, irreconcilably unorthodox in both regards of ethicality, all for her wellbeing—it is indubitably a meaningful statement.
"In fact," you say, voice hushed to an intimate whisper, "I would choose you, Rory Earlton, over everyone in the world." (*Ding.*) Stealthily, without a rustle or a noise, you've inconspicuously retrieved the velvet box and are holding it up to her, lowering yourself on a bent knee and simultaneously easing her up. "Will you marry me?"
​
Her eyes dance with the buoyancy and passion of a supernova set aflame. "Yes."
​
*Ding.*
**(Post was too long. Continued in the comment under this.)**
| 2019-05-27T05:46:54 | 2019-05-27T04:51:09 | 521 | 27 |
[WP] You can detect lies easily, but no one knows about your ability. Today, your best friend lied about being human
|
"...and that's when I walked out, I'm only human, you know," Jake said as we walked back to my house.
That subtle trigger that tingled on my neck whenever someone lied shot through me. What Jake had said was a lie, full stop. "Say that again."
"What?" Jake asked. "That's when I walked out?"
No sensation accompanied his words. "No, after that."
"I'm only human." He rolled his eyes. "What's wrong with you, Abe? You look like someone shit your pants."
Unmistakable, the sensation came again even stronger. Jake was lying. How could he not be human?
"Whoa, you okay? Earth to Abe." Jake waved a very human looking hand in front of my face.
"You're not human," I said simply before I could stop myself. "What are you?"
"You're serious, aren't you?" Jake said, dropping the playful tone. "What makes you so sure?"
"I can tell whenever someone's lying and just now when you said you were human, you were lying."
Jake laughed loudly. "Fucking with me? You have to be. Did you not know or has this been a game for years? All the time we've been friends? You've left me to Horfal alone?"
"No," I said. "This is the first time anything's weird happened. I really can tell when people are lying."
"I know, you idiot," Jake said, pulling me off the road as he whispered. "It's a trait of our species. My only question is how did you get the misconception that you were human?"
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 2, Part 3: Tupperman v.s. Connor Elman)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Empathy is a strange power.** Almost all people have it, in one way or another; I simply have a little more of the stuff than most. In that respect, I sometimes wonder if my so-called superpower is even useful at all.
Because you didn't need superpowers to tell something was wrong with my best friend.
I walked back home, mind still buzzing with the business of the day, when I smelled alcohol on the air—the sweet and cloying kind, not the sharp and antiseptic kind. As a politician and an ex-superhero, I knew the difference—and as Tupperman's best friend, I knew what the former meant.
I fumbled the door open and burst into my home.
Tupperman was demurely sitting on the couch, morosely staring at a Tupperware container sloshing with wine.
A half-dozen emotions whirled through me in an instant. Anger. He was supposed to be watching my daughter. Panic. If he lost control, Tupperman could easily kill everyone in this house. Self-loathing. Tupperman was my friend; he would never hurt me, and it was an insult to our friendship to think that he could.
Fear.
Tupperman might not be able to hurt me, but he had fewer such compunctions when it came to himself.
Determination.
Tupperman had protected me from assassins and villains; I could help him fight his inner demons, too.
"Hey," I said, carefully sitting next to him. I put one hand on his shoulder, igniting the empathic link, and suddenly I wanted to claw at my flesh and tear myself apart because I was wrong and I was a cancer and I needed to be excised from the world and—
My hand jolted back of its own accord, as if I'd touched a hot stove. Tupperman snorted.
"So. That's how much it sucks being me, huh? You can't even handle *empathizing* with me for half a second." Tupperman downed the Tupperware container of wine, spilling it over his shirt—the boxy little thing was never meant to be drank from. He tossed the empty Tupperware box aside, materialized a new one in his hand, and refilled it from a dark, unlabeled bottle. "I—I mean, I knew that already. *I* can hardly stand being me all the time, and I deserve it."
I wanted to punch myself for reflexively jerking back, but I took that emotion and quelled it. The empathic link went both ways; he would feel it if I was filled with hatred and disgust. Gently, I placed my hand on his, and I didn't deserve to be helped or touched because I was selfish, I was a monster, I was a wolf, I was useless before and I was *even more useless now*...
I let Tupperman's self-loathing and hatred flow from him into me, wordlessly meeting his eyes for a liquid, slow moment.
Then I said, "Connor—"
"Don't call me that," Tupperman snapped. "That's a human name. A name for someone who deserves to be a *person.* I'm not a person. I'm a supervillain. I'm evil. I'm the bad guy."
"You're human," I whispered. "You're one of the best humans I know. Please, Connor, it scares me to see you like this."
Immediately, I knew I'd made a mistake. Bitter laughter spilled from Tupperman's lips even as I felt his thoughts roiling and twisting: *See? Showing her your self-hatred just hurt her too, hurt her in ways she doesn't deserve, and because you hurt her, you deserve this. You should've kept this hidden. You should've stayed away from her. You destroy whatever you touch.*
Suddenly, Tupperman straightened up. He flicked my hand away, brushed a few unidentifiable crumbs off his shirt, and slapped a saccharine grin on his face. "Well, gosh golly, Clara, that makes it all better. You're right. You win. I'm human. I deserve happiness. You've convinced me. Now leave me alone."
I didn't have to have superpowers to know that he was lying. I laid my hand back on his and shook my head. "I'm not going anywhere, Connor. You *are* human, and you're *not* evil."
And suddenly, I was flying backwards in a plastic cage. The world whirled around me as I slammed into the wall and couldn't hold back a cry of pain. "IS THAT RIGHT?" Tupperman thundered. Dazed, I tried to push my way out of the human-sized Tupperware box he'd materialized; as soon as I popped the lid open and tried to clamber out, however, the old box dematerialized, and a slightly smaller box materialized around me. "IS THIS SOMETHING A REAL HUMAN WOULD DO? OR IS THIS THE WORK OF A MONSTER? A SUPERVILLAIN? A—A *CARICATURE*?" Every time I tried to move, every time it seemed like I would claw my way out of Tupperman's prison, a slightly smaller, slightly more choking box materialized around me. I tripped and fell to my knees, and when I tried to get back up, unyielding plastic stood in my way. I looked up, heart pounding, to see tears streaming down Tupperman's face.
I swallowed heavily. Without my empathy, there was no way to know for sure whether what I was about to say would be right. I could doom both him and myself with a word.
But even with all the superpowers in the world, that still would've been true. I didn't need a magical guarantee that he wouldn't hurt me when I had the strongest such guarantee in existence already.
Tupperman was my friend.
And I believed in him.
"If I'm a good person," he finally said, "then why am I hurting you right now?"
I looked up and said, quietly, "Because you're in pain, Connor. And because there is nothing more human than sharing your pain with others." I stood up and stepped out of my box; this time, Connor didn't stop me. "Let me share your pain." I held out my arms, but I didn't move any further.
He'd have to take this step himself.
And he did. All at once, he surged forward, my powers connecting our emotions wherever we touched, and I *hated* myself, but I *loved* myself, and I was so scared of being worthless, and I was reassuring myself that just by being me I was precious and valuable, and I felt like I was trapped in a deep, cold chasm, and I was sitting beside myself, holding myself to keep me warm.
Empathy is a strange power.
But all of us have it, in some form or another.
When the torrent of a thousand thoughts slowed to a crawl, Tupperman finally said, "...Time was, the things you fought were... people. Supervillains that shot fire or breathed ice. Things I could protect you from. I could stand between you and the bad guys. But now... now that you're a Mayor... you're playing a game of politics with faceless masses and government institutions and I can't protect you from that." He held me as if he'd never let go. "And I'm scared. I'm so, so scared."
I took a step back; reluctantly, Tupperman relinquished his grasp on me. "Connor. You don't have to protect me to be a good person."
He clenched his fists. "I know that. But it's what heroes do, and—"
"You don't have to be a *hero* to be a good person, either."
He started trembling. "Then—then—"
"You just have to be my friend."
Tupperman closed his eyes.
Then Connor Elman, the kid who made sarcastic jokes every day since we'd met in middle school, the man who'd watched over my daughter and stayed by my side through government assassins and political maneuvers, opened his eyes.
And he smiled through the tears.
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 more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-04-08T08:28:12 | 2021-04-08T08:12:00 | 898 | 69 |
[WP] Death has announced that you will die in 10 days. This means that whatever happens, you will not die until the 10th day. Before you die, you decide to do all sorts of wild and deadly exploits so that your name will be remembered for the generations to come.
|
The news hit me like a bucket of cold water.
“10 days, huh?”
I looked back up and into the darkness under the hood. Death’s gaze pierced through me as he stared back.
“Correct,” he hissed at me before disappearing into an ethereal void.
“Okay... You’re still in shock,” I was talking to myself absent-mindedly, still trying to process the news. “If I’m gonna go out, I guess I should go out big! No use dwelling on it at this point.”
John was my best friend from grade school, and the closest thing to family I had around here. If anyone would help me live it up in my last days, it would be him. This wasn’t the type of news to deliver in a text or over the phone, so I sent a simple “Headed your way”, and left my apartment.
I never really got to making a bucket list; at 26, you don’t really give death a lot of thought. When I hit the warm summer night air, the thought crossed my mind to walk to John’s. He didn’t live too far away, and I needed some time to think about my priorities for the next few days. It was also as good an excuse as any to finally slow down and enjoy some of life’s simpler pleasures that I’d neglected until now.
I started down the block, taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells of the city that I usually tried desperately to tune out. For the first time, I knew what people meant when they would say that the city felt alive. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t hear the horn until it was too late.
——————
John arrived at the hospital the next morning. He had been frantic all night, trying to figure out what happened. The doctors told him that the odds were slim that his friend would recover from the accident. The police insisted that the driver wasn’t at fault; his friend just walked out into traffic.
John spent day after day at his friend’s side, trying to will him to recover. He finally passed on the evening of the ninth day after the accident.
|
Journal:
Day 0:
Entry 1: HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT! OK so normally I'm not the type of person to write in a journal, but GOD FUCKING DAMN! Today DEATH just appeared to me, and challenged me to a game of chess. He said that if I beat him I can have 10 more days to live. Wait wait wait wait wait! I'm getting ahead of myself! So I died today! I was outright decapitated! Driving 80 MPH down the freeway and my car just slid under a semi. Took my head CLEAN OFF! So I thought that was it for me, I'm just fucking dead! Great beyond here I come.
But Imagine my surprise when a skeleton with a Jamaican accent walks up to me with a gardening tool and tells me "The rules are simple, anyone who beats me at chess gets 10 more days to live". and I won! Shit, I have to figure out something big to do to put my name in the history books!
​
Day 1:
Entry 1: Alright today I flew out to Vegas, the land of easy loans, and found every loan shark, and bank who would gives me two nickles to rub together. I managed to get around $81,000 into my pocket, so I should be able to fund what ever the fuck I want to do. I gambled about 2,000 of it away before dragging myself away, I need to do something bigger, and gambling 81K in loans away isn't getting my name in any books. What else can I do In Vegas? THAT'S IT!
​
Entry 2: Vegas is famous for 4 things, Gambling, Shows, All you can eat buffets, and Elvis impersonators. And I failed at one of those, and the other two seem pointless. So Now I need to do the last one remaining. I will perform the greatest Vegas show there has ever been. I bought a mega phone, around 40 knives and a shotgun and I set the stage. I had to climb about 5 hotels before I found a hotel that had a roof that wasn't locked and I walked to the ledge. You know, it really doesn't matter if you are invincible or not, the nauseating feeling of standing over a cliff over 100 feet off the ground really gets to you. But I wasn't about to let that stop me. So I stepped onto the ledge got out my megaphone and started the performance.
"Hello One and all, to the greatest show on Vegas! Pen and Teller eat your heart out!"
I swear I heard someone scream in panic and saw a group of people start to gather. I knew that I better start the show fast or the police would be called and I would be talked down, and that wouldn't be any fun.
"Let's cut this short! For my first act I will JUMP! From this roof and fall, what is this? Around 500 feet off the ground, and I will land, not just alive, but unharmed!" I waited for a response and got what you would expect from a crowd about to see a man jump off a tall building onto concrete. With that I took a step forward, and promptly lost my stomach as I fell 500 feet.
I'm not really sure what I expected when I landed, but my legs turning into jello wasn't it. When I regained my bearings and looked around, I saw that a few people fainted, and more than one person was crying from the shock. The few people still holding their senses quickly lost all color in their face and I orientated myself to face them, hold out my hands and said "Ta-dah!"
Needless to say no one stuck around for the knife swallowing act, or the getting shot with a shotgun act, and honestly I was kind of relieved by that. i didn't think doing something that should have killed me would be so damn painful. I quickly allowed myself to lose consciousness and made my body heal.
​
Day 3:
Entry 1: So turns out, being unable to die, allows you to heal really quickly, or maybe death is a really good guy to make a deal with, because when I came to I felt good as new, other than the numb feeling of being pumped full of numbing agents. When a doctor came around he told me that I had been out and my jump happened 2 days ago. He also made sure to make it perfectly clear that I should be dead, my legs should be gone, and I was some kind of monster sent by the devil. Charming fella he was. I would have loved to see his reaction to me getting up and walking out, but I had only a few seconds before 30 doctors came running in to check on the guy who jumped 500 feet and woke up 2 days later. I barely managed to get out of the hospital in time. I wasn't picky about which cab I jumped into.
Entry 2: Turns out Vegas has it's bad neighborhoods like any big city. The one I got 'mugged' in was called Cultural Corridor. I had around 3 guys come up to me and point a gun at me. When they told me to empty my pockets the only thing I could think to tell them was "Want to see a magic trick" and I turned to punch the guy holding the gun in the face... That didn't go so well, and I would be dead if it wasn't for death's sweet deal. I took a bullet to the chest, and stood there. The three guys looked terrified when the bullet hole filled in and I never even fell. The guy with a gun and his skin head friend took off running, but the third guy fell down while he turned around. I almost felt bad for him. Almost. I spent around five minutes kicking his head in. I checked his pockets after I was done and got about 35 dollars and a set of car keys. Luckily they had the beeper thing and I was able to find his car fairly easily. When I hopped in his car and turned on the radio, they were talking about the "zombie man" or something. Must have been a radio show. I decided to take this opportunity to take my leave and drive further west.
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part 2
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Day 4:
Entry 1: So it turns out, people report gun shots, and when the police find someone dead they tend to do some investigating. In hind sight I should have scene that coming. So here I am, getting chased down by around 20 police cruisers in a stolen 199x American made Jalopy that might break down at any second and with the knowledge that if I get taken in I'll be spending my last 6 days on this Earth waiting for a court date. So I have two options, get in a fight with a police precinct worth of officers, or think of some other way to escape the law. Clearly I wasn't about to outrun a state worth of police officers, this isn't GTA, and they obviously have the plates on the system, so the solution was simple. I needed to do something that would convince the cops that I must have died. I was about 5 minutes out of Vegas going south west towards LA, and I immediately did a U turn onto the other side of the interstate. My destination was clear. I needed to make it to the Grand Canyon. I was going to commit a Thelma & Louise.
Entry 2: God damn! Hollywood doesn't give cops enough credit. They know how to get a driver off the road. Fishtails, road blocks, or just straight up ramming, cops know their stuff. Luckily I wasn't driving like a sane man. I drove like a maniac the entire way there. I didn't need to get away alive, I just needed to convince them that I was dead. Yes I had a destination in mind, but plans can change, and all that matters is the outcome. Anyway I could tell you the ins and outs of how I evaded the cops, and made my way to the Grand Canyon, or I could just tell you that I did and save us all a lot of time. But when I got there I realized something. I couldn't just drive the car into the canyon and ruin the majesty, that would be criminal. Instead I drove clear up to the edge, and picked up my shotgun. The blaring of some 20 police sirens all around me, and the feeling of weapons trained on me, as I stood beside my stolen car, shotgun in hand, feeling the sheer drop into the canyon at the back of my heels, and facing down an unknown number of cops was... terrifying.
Yet knowing that I was going to make up the next line and had nothing planned was somehow even more so. So I swallowed my spit, that was a mistake by the way since my mouth suddenly became dryer than the desert that was surrounding me, and tried to say my next line.
"Um... You will never take me alive...?" Brilliant, just brilliant. I brought my shotgun below my chin and pulled the trigger. The last thing I remembered was falling backwards into the canyon.
Waking up the next day was a real pain.
| 2019-04-21T00:09:03 | 2019-04-20T23:56:49 | 1,586 | 306 |
[WP] A small town deep in the forest has a town dragon. Yep. His name’s Darryl, and he’s actually a really nice dude! He even married the mayor’s daughter with the mayor’s consent! However, a group of travelers not accustomed to giant beasts dropping by for groceries has just stopped in town. Uh-oh…
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The half-orc Gersprungingablix almost (*almost*, mind you) dropped his great-axe at the sight in front of him. He'd tried his usual scream-leap-and-swing routine at the great drake, only to have the green-scaled menace shrug off his attack like that of a mere child.
He glanced behind him and saw his comrades-in-arms shuffling themselves into a proper firing circle. Mahdhanrn, the mage, already had her hand encased in a ball of white flame. She could, most likely, take this savage beast down even without the rest of them...
For now, the townsfolk seemed content to stand back and view the proceedings with an almost casual air. Gersprungingablix wanted to curse at them, but he didn't dare take his eyes off of his opponent. By the Twelve Nether Realms, didn't they realize what was at stake here?
Any hope he felt died as he heard more shuffling giant footsteps on either side of his foe. Two more giant dragons waddled their way into the firelight. The two newcomers were slate-gray as opposed to the first dragon's emerald green.
Finally, after a long moment, the green dragon spoke. He sounded quite cheerful in spite of having just borne the brunt of Gersprungingablix's attack.
"Hi! My name's Darryl." He motioned his huge head to the dragon on his right. "This is my brother Larry."
Larry gave the half-orc a brief but respectful nod as Darryl continued, indicating the dragon on his left.
"And this is my other brother Larry."
Also-Larry sketched a half-assed salute with one taloned paw.
The barbarian's brain was never considered a hotbed of intelligent activity, but now in the face of such foolishness it pretty much shut down. He could only respond with one word.
"What."
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The van backfired upon entering the parking lot of Albert's Serve-U, and a few people turned to look. It was an older blue Dodge A-100 with a white stripe running the length of the body and wrapping around the front and back. It had a pop up camper top. If you were close enough, you could get a whiff of pot smoke, dirty hippy, and moldy carpet.
"Tourists," muttered old Sam as he spat tobacco juice onto the asphalt. "'Tis the season."
Just then another rig entered the parking lot of the grocery store. It was an F100 towing a long white horse trailer, which looked pretty ordinary for a place like this. Only, there were no horses inside.
The side door of the van slid open and young woman with dark sunglasses, long brown hair and cut off jean shorts hopped out. She was followed by another woman, red-headed and wearing a striped tube top with bell bottom jeans and flip-flops. Two men got out of the cab. One was tall and lanky, wearing a red bandana in his wild mop of dirty blond hair. The other was stout and wore a muscle shirt and had a bushy reddish beard.
"Becky, get me smokes, OK?" said the man with the bandana,"I'm going to use the pay phone while you're in there."
"OK, Steve," replied the brown haired woman. She watched him walk over to the phone booth on the western edge of the lot.
"Who is he calling?" Asked the red haired woman.
"Probably his cousin, Jack. He lives around here somewhere and sells weed," Becky replied.
"Dan, do you have any bug spray? Or should I buy some?" The red haired woman asked.
"Better buy some, Cheryl. The skeeters are pretty bad up at the lake." Replied the man called Dan.
As the trio neared the store entrance, a pretty blond woman hopped out of the F100 and went to the back of the horse trailer. The three thought nothing of it and walked past. Steve; however, as he listened to the ringing phone line, happened to glance in their direction and he watched as an enormous, green scaled monster came out of the horse trailer.
It was a dragon. A mother fucking real as fuck dragon, maybe. Steve had done a lot of acid in his day, and he knew about flash backs, but if this was one, it seemed extra vivid, and nothing else was amiss in his surroundings. No one else seemed to care in the slightest. He stood there in the hot phone booth holding the phone and listening as his cousin's line rang again and again. He looked at his hand to see if it looked like he was tripping.
The gigantic creature put a winged arm around the blond woman and they looked lovingly at each other as they proceeded to walk into the store.
"Fuckin' A." Steve whispered to himself and hung up the pay phone.
Becky, Cheryl and Dan walked obliviously in front of the couple.
The store teemed with shoppers, locals and those passing through. It had a sizeable camping gear selection in addition to groceries, and Becky stopped to check out the hot dog grilling cages while Cheryl searched for the mosquito repellent. They saw it at the same time.
The dragon stood, both sets of front claws wrapped around the shopping cart handle, as the blond beauty smiled up at it and asked if it minded Sanka or wanted the more expensive Folgers Decaf.
Cheryl grabbed onto Dan's arm and gasped. Dan turned to look, and said "Holy shit. what is that?"
"Excuse me!" Cried the blond woman "'That' is my husband and I'll thank you to keep your rude comments to yourself." She glared at the three of them, and the dragon hung his head slightly.
"Come on Debbie, it's OK. They're not from around here, they don't know." The dragon's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"No!" Debbie yelled. "I'm so sick of this shit. Everywhere we go, there's some uneducated asshole who has to act like you're some kind of freak in a sideshow. I'm not putting up with it any longer. I demand an apology."
"What the-" Dan began.
"Apologize!" Demanded Debbie. It was quiet all around them, and people stood watching the confrontation.
'W- we didn't mean to be rude, it's just that we've never seen a dragon in real life before." Becky stammered.
"Well, you were rude, and he may be a dragon, but he's got feelings like you and me. He came down from the mountains and he worked his ass off at the shake mill and built our cabin all by himself after work every day and all day every weekend. He gave up his horde of gold to build this town a water treatment plant. He served his country in Vietnam. He spent years overcoming the prejudice people had against him and he convinced my daddy, the Mayor of this town, that he would be a good husband and father. My Darryl deserves as much or more respect as any of you, and I demand an apology!" Debbie's eyes were filled with tears.
Just then, Steve came running in and stopped short at the edge of the gathering crowd.
"Am I crazy or is there really a fucking dragon standing here in the middle of-" Steve started to excitedly query.
"Just great!" Screamed Debbie, "Another goddamned hippy that sees my husband and totally forgets all of his hippy love shit and treats us like freaks!" She now glared in Steve's direction.
"What-"Steve started again, and again, Debbie cut him off.
"My husband, Darryl the dragon, is more man than you will ever be. He gives to this community! He works hard and he cares. All you do is stink and judge!" Debbie's anger was bubbling over.
"Debbie, honey, I'd like to say something." Darryl put his clawed hand on her shoulder.
"This woman loves me something fierce, as you can see. I love her more than life itself. We just came to get groceries like everyone else here. We don't want any trouble. My wife is tired of having people act like it's such a big deal, and frankly, so am I. But I want you to know something about dragons. We've been around a very long time, and we've had plenty of opportunity to think about things. " Darryl paused a moment and cleared his throat.
He continued,"In the old days, people were terrified and greedy. They hunted us relentlessly and killed indiscriminately, taking our gold. They didn't bother distinguishing good dragons from bad. They didn't listen when we tried to negotiate peace. Until now. Like Debbie said, I came down from the Cascades and when I saw that people here, surrounded by water, had a dilapidated treatment facility and dirty drinking water they had to boil, I paid every cent I had to replace the system. I did two tours in Vietnam, and got spit on for my troubles. I came back, thinking I would go back into the mountains and mine gold again, but then I saw Debbie. So I stayed here, and I got a job and worked hard, and did all I could to convince her and her father that my love is real and I am a good dragon." He looked around at the faces of the people around them.
"I have had to work twice as hard as any of you just to exist in this place and not be murdered by fearful people." Darryl said. "If I wanted to, I could burn this whole town down with my breath. I could have killed all of you, but I choose not to. That ought to count for something. Now, if you'll excuse us, we'd like to get our groceries home and put away in time for the Billy Jack movie that's playing at the theater tonight."
"Hey man," Dan said in earnest. "We're really sorry. Can you forgive us?"
"Yes. I can. And Debbie can too." Said Darryl.
"I fuckin' love Billy Jack." Steve grinned, and Debbie smiled at him through her tears.
"Billy Jack is his idol." She gave a short laugh. "I'm sure you understand why."
"We're going to be up at the campground at Baker, a place called Horse Shoe Cove, if you two want to stop by for a drink later." Cheryl said tentatively.
And with that, the crowd began to disperse and everyone bought their groceries.
The next day was Saturday and Darryl and Debbie showed up at the camp site with a case of Olympia and a package of hot dogs. Darryl was happy to show how he could roast them to perfection and also that he could fly while holding a tow rope for them to water ski behind him. Debbie played her guitar and sang. They all got very stoned and had a great time.
That's how they all met, and a friendship of many decades began.
​
Edit: forgot his name is Darryl
| 2022-04-25T11:01:24 | 2022-04-25T09:27:13 | 89 | 61 |
[WP] The other gods laughed when you said you wanted to be the god of science. Now, your gamble has more than paid off.
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The laughter began when I made my choice.
In the beginning we chose to become.
Some of us chose to reflect the primal nature of the beasts the stalk the land. Savage and feirce, their kind demanded blood and meat but offered strength.
Some chose to reflect the earth itself. Wild and aloof their kind demanded sweat and devotion but offered bounty and a home.
Some chose to reflect the fleeting ones themselves. Aspects of Man's own self, amplified. Exemplary and terrifying their kind demanded much, but offered power.
I chose as well.
The primal ones howled with laughter, the kind ones chuckled loudly. The mirrored ones laughed the loudest, as they knew Man.
The primal ones stopped laughing we Man learned to harness fire. When they began to shine and took the night away from the beasts and monsters.
The kind ones fell silent when Man learned to till the earth. When Man learned first to harvest crops, and then uranium.
The mirriored ones, they sacrificed their individual aspects to become One. The One fought for the devotion of Man. The One lied and inspired obsession and madness. Rage and hatred. The One even became Three to pit Man against Man, more blood spilt to power the lie. The One used belief to sway the hearts and dull the minds of Man.
I never laughed. I didn't take joy when Man developed weapons for hunting and war. I didn't smile when Man tore down the forests and leveled the mountains for resources to grow. I did not spread fear, lies and violence for power and devotion.
Yet here I am. I grew as Man did. I became powerful when Man manipulated reality itself on a tiny Island in the Pacific. The terrible sight cemented my place in the minds of Man, where I have always been.
I do not sway, I do not take sides. I will inspire those considered good and evil to use their minds. I will not stop or stand in your way in your path to assension or your decay.
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**I**
I had tucked away secrets in the corners of mankind's world. In the macroscopic and the microscopic; in the interstellar and the intergalactic; in the atomic and the subatomic. I had sewn universal laws invisibly into the fabric of mankind's reality. An elegant order underlying and belying the chaotic roil of the cosmos which he inhabited. I knew from the beginning that it was only the chaos he could see; meanwhile, the order he would have to search for. But I had faith in him. In the lofty ambitions of his spirit, in the acuity of his mind, in the insatiable curiosity of his heart and soul. I believed that one day his reason would triumph over his baser instincts, and he would begin to unearth the truth.
It was a risk, no doubt. Choosing to become the God of science; of the empirically verifiable and the mathematically derivable. Throughout the first hundred and fifty thousand years that homo-sapiens roamed the Earth, I oftentimes regretted my choice, and envied my brothers their choices, which proved, in the beginning, eminently more fruitful.
The thinking, bipedal beasts evidently had an inbuilt inclination towards magic and superstition. They sacrificed animals and virgins, eviscerating them, tossing them down the molten throats of live volcanos. They chanted themselves into frenzies under the ghostly beams of the pale, full moon, and prayed, sometimes for days, and fasted, sometimes for months. All this gave great glory to the god of magic and superstition, Beloch, my brother. In those early years Beloch lounged in his heavenly seat looking smugly, not down at his devotees, but at us, his brothers who had chosen to be the gods of other aspects of the Earth.
"You should have chosen magic, my brothers," he would say. "You should have chosen superstition. These beasts are incapable of anything else. You had too much hope for them. You overestimated them. I, however, did not. I knew they were destined for little else."
Occasionally, Beloch rewarded humanity for their devotion to him and his works, but only very occasionally. He re-invested some of the power he derived from their tireless worship back into their lives, to encourage them to continue worshipping him. For every five thousands heifers they disembowelled on a stone altar, he would send them a fertile growing season. If a community had accumulated the equivalent prayer time that it would take a single person a decade of praying non-stop to accumulate, he would cure their sick of their ailments. But most of the power he reaped from humanity's efforts he used to aggrandize himself and his lot in the heavens. He became great and powerful, a god among us gods. We were weak and frail compared to him. As weak as immortal gods can be.
Next came the glorious epoch of my brother Aremar, the god of mass bloodshed and war. Humans had always squabbled amongst themselves. They had always killed one another: over religious and political beliefs, over land, over resources, over women. But it was not until about ten thousand years ago, when they began congregating in great cities, city-states, and empires, that they began warring with one another consistently and on a large scale. On the outskirts of some vast plain, skirted by two, sometimes three, sometimes four, massive armies, all the soldiers and generals and kings, hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, of humans would pray fervently to him, asking him for his blessing before they charged into the fray. From these intense and passionate prayers, supersaturated with fear and energy and earnest desire, Aremar would reap hitherto unimaginable amounts of power. And for each soldier who died in the battlefield, and each civilian who perished by the soldier's spear or sword, he received nearly as much strength and energy as Beloch had for each virgin that had been ritually murdered. Quickly Aremar grew more powerful than even Beloch, and for millennia he reigned as a cruel and bloodthirsty tyrant among us gods.
"Beloch, you fool," said Aremar. "With your faith in hocus pocus nonsense; with your lack of belief in mankind, your lack of faith in his ability to achieve something more glorious than spell-casting and cutting the heads off boars. You never could have imagined that humans would become capable of such beautiful, bloody deeds, such destructive wars, and on such large scales. You did not see the potential in them that I did. Their potential to raze the walled cities of their enemies to the ground. Their potential to organize themselves by the millions, to kill by the millions, and to die by the millions. But I did. I saw to what heights mankind might raise himself. I saw to what lows he might stoop. What glorious, bloody heights. What impious, murderous lows. And now I rule over you. And you too, my pitiful brother, who chose the inglorious arts of science and reason."
I cowered before his booming voice and towering form.
"This animal man," he continued, "is too warlike, too impatient to notice, let alone solve, the riddles you left strewn about his path, hidden in plain sight. He will never become rational and scientific. In some moments I look upon you, a pitiful excuse of a god: weak, frail, unloved, unnoticed, and I feel pity for you. But then I recall that the weak should not be pitied. They should be destroyed, as in war. I would destroy you if I could. I would kill you with my own omnipotent hands if you were able to be killed. But since we immortal gods can never die, I shall do the next best thing."
So Aremar, my own brother, the cruel and bloody god, locked me up in a cage whose bars I was far too weak to bend or break. And he left me there, to rot for eternity, or to wait until mankind discovered the laws I had hidden. He left me there rot, but to wait, in hope, for mankind to become rational and scientific, and thereby give me power, through worshipping me, so that I could eventually free myself.
**II**
Compared to eternity no amount of time seems long. Compared to eternity everything happens in an instant. The largest expanse of measurable time, a billion years, a trillion, is but a fraction of a fraction of an infinitieth of a fraction of the length of time it would take to exhaust eternity, which is inexhaustible.
Compared to eternity, then, the time I spent caged was hardly any time at all. The time I spent imprisoned, alone, buried billions of what the humans call lightyears deep underground, trapped in a cell so small I could do nothing but shift and wiggle, manacled like a rabid animal, full of loneliness, sadness, and despair--yes, relative to eternity, the time I was imprisoned was hardly an instant. Really no time at all.
But we gods do not live *in* eternity, though we live for *an* eternity. We experience the immediacy of each moment as it happens, much like humans, although our senses and minds are much keener. Each moment trapped in that senseless blackness, immobile, with nothing but my despair to keep me company, was hell. I cherished moments of numb detachment when they came, for they were reprieves from my usual state of obsessing over my abjection. I only felt joy when fantasizing about revenging myself upon my two brothers: upon Aremar, of course, for his cruelty, for abandoning me to the deepest reaches of the Otherworld simply because he was able to, simply because he was stronger than me, and upon Beloch for his indifference and inaction.
In the front of my mind I told myself that these were just fantasies whose fruits would never grow, let alone ripen. I told myself that my brothers were right, that humanity was incapable of higher thought, of reason, of science. I had chosen wrongly in the beginning, and would suffer the consequences of my naivety for the rest of time.
Yes, in the front of my mind I told myself that I was doomed beyond doom. For all I knew, humanity had extinguished itself utterly through its warring, or some natural disaster had destroyed the species, and my brothers, now powerless without their sycophantic stooges, were incapable of freeing me even if they wanted to.
But in the back of my mind, or rather, in the heart of my spirit, a flame still burned, albeit weakly. I still held out hope, for myself, for humanity. I had hope that humanity would alter its course and save me, and redeem itself. It could do so much more than chant for Beloch and slaughter for Aremar. Humans, petty, aggressive, brutish creatures though they might often be, had something more divine inside them. Something that separated them from mere beasts.
As it turned out, I was not deluded in this hope...
| 2017-08-30T18:38:19 | 2017-08-30T17:02:06 | 322 | 51 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven.
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For larry, the choice was obvious. He was always one to do things differently so he chose to take the spoon.
"You have chosen" said Hades "Very well."
The gates of hell opened, and Larry began to walk inside.
There were lakes of fire, and people being tortured. Bodies and limbs lay scattered around, and the place stank of sulfur and death. Larry looked at his spoon
"Shit."
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Alister opened his eyes
A sudden rush of panic as well as far too many questions went through his head.
He was blushing. What had happened and where was this place ?
He closed his eyes, leaned back on his armchair, took a deep breath, and procceded to allocate some of his brain's proccessing power to an examination of his surroundings.
The ceilling was painted in the least tasteful shade of purple. The walls too. Some dude he didn't recall having ever seen before was sitting in front of him, accross a desk. A purple desk.
He could hear some kind of dubstep remix of *Don't fear the reaper* playing in the background. There were victorian-era vases on the shelves and mud on the floor. A sense of habitude took over as he slowly calmed down.He was used to those. He was in the most familiar place he knew of after all.
"Okay.." He thought "Work.. I'am at work. Where else could I be...".
He hated his job. But not nearly as much as he was hating himself at this exact moment. *He fell asleep on duty*. He knew that he would be regretting this sooner or later. He knew that there were no way to get away with it. *The Boss * sees everything, and He would have some great pleasure in waiting for that special moment when you wouldn't want The Devil himself to fuck your shit up.
He wasn't even afraid. The mere thought of any more pain left him bored out of his mind. But when time doesn't matter anymore, time you spent being bored sure does. Hell, he couldn't even recall any specific thing he had done over the past year.
"I beg you pardon ?"
The man in front of him had started to speak. He seemed confident, and in good shape, for someone who'd just died, that is.
"Are you there, my friend ? "
"Hum why yes" Alister replied "sorry about it, had a long day." He said, with not the tiniest bit of will to make his lie sound credible. "Hello there mister, let's get started asap. Do you know where you are ?"
"No, I must admit that I don't. I'm usually sharp enough not to be kept in the dark for this long, but you somehow managed to have me fooled. Would you kindly enlighten me ? And is everything alright ? you're looking quite ill"
"Yes. and you are dead"
"Am I ?"
"I'm afraid you are"
"Oh"
Alister took a few second to have a look at what he had in front of him. The "client" was a twenty-something wearing some kind of mix between a suit's jacket and cargo pants. A ginger-ish, never evenly shaved beard was running from the base of his ears to his neck, accross his cheeks and upon his chins. Some bizzare excuse for a hairdo was hid for the greater good by a hat of the kind one can see in those old italian gangster movies. The whole personnage inspired pitty, though oddly enough he looked like he was taking the new of his death pretty well.
After a few awkward seconds of silence, Alister decided to carry on.
"..And I'm quite afraid that you're good for an eternity of burning alive and swimming in lakes of spiders. BUT, don't panic yet, we have a present for you. I'll just need your name and your signature here and here."
The man looked at him, unphased, openned his mouth, stayed silent for a couple seconds, then said:
"The name's Sir Jean-Baptiste De Maesmakers"
Alister proceeded to spell it as he could and quickly handed the pile of paper to Jean Baptist, eager to get started.
"As I said" He continued, "You are granted a present at your arrival in this place. A choice. The last choice you'll ever do."
No reaction.
"Before you are cast into an eternal existence of suffering, you may choose between those two things: An hundred trillions years vacation in heaven, OR, this wooden spoon."
He then took a wooden spoon out of the left drawer, and put it on the middle of the desk.
He leaned back as the client started thinking. He surely loved that kind of moment. Would this one cry ? Would he beg for forgiveness ? Would he try to kill himself ? The results were never anything short of hilarious. The only thing in this place that wasn't a total pain in the ass (literally). Seeing someone who's not used to suffering driven crazy by the fear of pain to come.
A small grin started to cover his face as he noticed the man was preparing himself to respond.
"I.. I can't answer this question, I'm afraid"
"And so it begins", Alister told to himself, in anticipation. "What seems to be the problem ?" He asked while trying to remain serious. "Oh shit man, that's going to be priceless"
"The premises are ridiculous. There's no heaven. And science has proven that in a hundred trillions years the universe will have probably ceased to exist"
Alister was amazed. He couldn't believe it was possible for an individual to have his own head this far up his butt. Even though his former job in the place was precisely to watch over the area specially dedicated to this kind of activity.
"Wha... "Science" ?? Do you even know were you are, young man ? "
"You tell me"
"In Hell. You are in Hell !"
"Ah !"
He couldn't believe he had to say it. But he erased any remaining doubts now. Hope is flying away. Tears will come soon.
"I don't believe in Hell"
Alister was too stunned to speak. Sir Jean Baptise continued.
"Is this some kind of prank or something ? I'm way too enlightened and rational for that religion-based kind of folklore, you know."
"Oh" Said Alister, amused, while a now terrifying grin set his face afire,"So you're *this kind* of person.. I see"
"I'm not really one to be put in categories" Said Sir Jean baptist on the exact same tone "I'm a moderator on r/Trees you know, and I have an higher IQ than 99% of the population. I'm not one to believe such assumptions without empirical proofs.."
"Fine !" Exploded Alister, on the verge of hilarity."You want proofs you're in Hell ? If you look at your right, you can see Hellfire, otherwise known as "fire from hell". If you look at your left, you see that pile of CDs in the corner ? That's Lou Reed's discography. We play *Lulu* on the loudspeakers every two hours. Isn't that enough ?"
"I'm sorry but it doesn't make any sense. Why would a god even create this kind of place. I'm afraid the logic behind all of this is fundamentaly flawed, my friend"
This surprised Alister "God ? What does he have to do with this ? God created you bunch a long time ago, and once he realised that he fucked something up and made your souls immortal, he kindly disappeared and Satan had to take care and dispose of you all alone. Unfortunately for you though, he's into burning stuff and some weird shit I won't extend on"
"-But nothing here makes any sense at all. The choice you offered me... What is the point of having to choose between a hundred trillions years of pure joy and happiness and a stupid spoon ? This is too obvious ! I'd go for the spoon" Sir Jean Baptiste replied, in anger
Alister smiled, then calmly put "Oh, the spoon, really. Why that choice ? "
(part 2 in comments)
| 2015-06-08T03:02:32 | 2015-06-08T00:45:58 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
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It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
I've always seen them. The numbers. It took me a long time to figure out what they were, and longer still to learn to pretend they weren't there.
My family took me to a psychologist when I was young, he thought they were a visual hallucination. None of the pills he proscribed me worked, but I pretended they did at the last batch. I didn't want them trying surgery.
It wasn't long after I left school that I realised I could use this... talent... to be the perfect bouncer. I did pretty well for myself, ended up working the door of one of the bigger clubs in the city.
That is why, late on a Friday night, I was winnowing through the line queuing up outside the club. The lights from the club over the street were bright and strobing, the music pounded through the air mixing with the shouts and laughter from the crowds stumbling and weaving their way between each raucous island of light and noise.
I almost missed it, distracted by two drunks arguing across the street. A flash of an impossible number. My eyes must have been playing tricks, mixing two numbers from people stood close together. Surely.
Then suddenly, there she was. She was stood in front of me, ID in hand. She had a nervous smile, her eyes were a pale green and her skin was almost luminous and smooth, pale as alabaster. Long hair tumbled about her shoulders, down her back. It was gold and yet it seemed like shimmers of silver cascaded through it when it caught the light.
Above her head, impossible, floated the number 1391.
I stared. Had I finally jumped off the deep end? Had I burst a blood vessel in my brain and my ability was going screwy?
"Um... hello? Could I... um... go inside? Please?" Her voice was soft, she had an accent I couldn't quite place, melodic like singing.
I startled out of my reverie and took her ID, "Sorry," I mumbled, examining the plastic card, checking it against our registry. It was real. Tara White, aged 24. But I had never been wrong before. What the hell was going on?
I handed the card back to her, "You can go in," I said stiffly. I couldn't bring her up on it. The ID seemed real and I couldn't hold up the line. Besides, what would it look like if I started asking if she was over a thousand years old? It was preposterous.
The impossible girl gave a bright smile, "Thank you!" She vanished into the club and was gone.
I was preoccupied for the rest of the night, it made it hard to concentrate on my job. Thoughts of the mysterious girl whirled through my head. Who was she? What was she?
I did not see her again until the club wound down and emptied in the early hours, and in the flood of people leaving I did not realise she had passed me until I saw a flash of silver-gold rounding the corner. By the time I reached the next street she was gone. My heart fell. I'd lost her, my only chance at finding out about that damn number, gone.
I was despondent the next day, I'd blown it. I'd never see her again. By the time midnight rolled around on Saturday I had managed to convince myself it was a fluke. I must have imagined that number... even if I knew in my heart that I had not. Still, it was the only way I could put the mystery out of my mind and I had almost succeeded when I caught those shy green eyes again in the queue.
I looked up sharply, and sure enough the 1391 floated above her head mockingly. Beside her was a tall man, probably pushing seven feet. He had shoulders broad enough to make Atlas envious and his skin was as dark as her's was pale. He caught my eyes and the blood drained out of me. Terror, deep and primal washed through me. I felt like a gazelle staring into the eyes of a lion. For all those brown eyes were soft, they were deep and dark and I felt like I was drowning.
He held out his ID, said nothing. Every motion was measured and precise, he moved not an inch more than he needed and there was a terrible fluidity about it. An effortless, predatory grace.
It was only then that I realised what number was above his head and a new terror filled me, my limbs trembled and my heart seized in my chest.
12,150.
I swallowed hard, fumbled for the ID. It too was real. He was Alexander Roberts, aged 28. I handed it back, gestured for them to go in. I could not trust my tongue.
The man gave a thin smile and ushered Tara inside. When they were gone it was like a heavy weight had left me and I gulped for breath. My hands shook.
I took my break early and rushed to the staff bathroom, I splashed cold water onto my face. The shock of it helped but my hands were still trembling. I felt nauseous. Why had that man had such an effect on me? Who the hell *were* they?
Thankfully I did not encounter the terrible man and the shy girl again that night, but over the next few weeks Tara became a regular. She would always come on the weekends, sometimes with her terrifying companion and sometimes alone. I quickly noticed that she was always sober when I saw her, no matter how late she had stayed at the club. She never seemed to leave with anyone, though she seemed to often get hit on in the queue and probably more often still at the bar itself. She always deflected these advances... at least the ones she noticed. A lot of the time she seemed to not realise she was being flirted with at all.
She was always quick to smile, there was a shy earnestness about her and an almost frightening amount of curiosity. It made me wonder just how she was related to Alexander. The man still made me uneasy even if the terror of him had lessened.
I waited until Tara came without her protector, as I had come to think of him. It was a Sunday night, the air was getting colder and the crowds a little thinner. She left the club early today and before she could vanish like she always did I called out to her, "Tara, I need to speak with you a moment. It is about your ID."
She turned, confused, "Is there something wrong?"
"Your ID is fake, isn't it? You aren't 24. I can see people's ages. I know you are much older than that. You're nearly 1400, aren't you?" I watched her eyes widen slightly.
"Th-that is ridiculous, of course I'm not! No one lives that long," she protested, pulling away from me.
"I have never been wrong before. What are you? Who are you?"
She looked around nervously as the crowds of drunks still wending their way to the last embers of revelry still smouldering in the early hours, "Not here. Come with me, and I will explain. I can't risk someone overhearing," she turned from me and gestured for me to follow.
I had little choice. I had to know who she was, how she could be so old. I followed, and soon we were lost in the crowds.
Whatever explanations my feverish imagination had come up with in the past few weeks, they paled to nothing in the light of the truth.
**EDIT**
Apologies if there are any spelling mistakes or nonsensical sections. I wrote this on my phone and it has started to shove words I already did into the middle or end of sentences once I complete them. Such as turning "paled to nothing" into "patheyd nothing" or such.
**EDIT 2**
Part 2 in replies
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T23:57:33 | 585 | 23 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
|
I’d promised Stephen I would keep my mouth shut for the entire journey. Yet, as we made the turn off the freeway, onto the dusty country road, the last three miles to Miller’s farm, the injustice of it all bubbled over.
“It’s just damned unfair, that’s what it is.”
“I know. You’ve told me a thousand times.”
“It’s so ridiculous that we got assigned to cover this!” I said, my hand slamming onto the dashboard. “What are we now, trashy two-bit tabloid chasers? You know where we should be? We should be at the Deportment Centre, interviewing the people who’ve made up their minds to cross over to the other side. Or, we should be at City Hall, asking the politicians how they’re dealing with the people who are stuck here. Hell, I wouldn’t even mind just speaking to the Pioneers again, even if they’ve got nothing new left to say!”
“That story’s old, Heather. The Pioneers have been on every newspaper, every talk show, every last livestream there is. Our readers will want something fresh. And that’s what we’re doing now, following up leads.”
“Fresh?” I exclaimed. “You call this fresh? This… this is a shit story, that’s what it is! It’s a fraud, a hoax! No one cares about… about some crazy farmer finding trees sprouting overnight! Everyone wants to know about the Crater! They want to know how long it takes to pass through it, why electronics fail down in the depths, whether there’s enough space for everyone over there! That’s the story of the 23rd century, right there!”
“This is important too, don’t you think? Doesn’t it fill you with hope, that perhaps this farmer’s found some way to reverse all the damage we’ve done to the environment?”
The farmhouse loomed in the distance. The sun was beginning its retreat across the sky, and I saw the tractors puttering back to their sheds, their work done for the day. A pang of guilt burned in my chest – after all, I had promised Nash Miller that we would visit him first thing in the morning. The shame was short lived, muscled aside by my wounded pride.
“You’re wrong, Stephen. This world is done for. It’s overcrowded, it’s polluted, it’s on its last legs. The Crater, Stephen, that’s where the future is. You heard the Pioneers too, didn’t you? What they said was on the other side? Lush fields, untapped lands, clean water. *Clean water!* No need for filtration or chemicals or anything!”
“You believe them? Everything they said?”
I scoffed, almost as much out of reflex as I did from surprise. “You’re a skeptic? You think they’re lying?”
“No, I didn’t say that, I just think that-”
“Seriously? Why do you think the Pioneers would lie? For fame? Money?”
Stephen held up hands up in mock surrender, and the car veered off the track for a couple of seconds before he guided us back. “Look, I’m just saying, it’s pretty convenient, don’t you think? The Pioneers descend so far into the Crater that their electronics fizzle out, they are off the grid for a couple of hours, then they come right back, bearing these… these fantastic tales of virgin lands ready for the taking? And that everyone’s who jumped into the Crater before, has somehow made it unscathed to the other side? Isn’t that just a bit suspicious to you?
“Doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “No one really knows how the Crater works. Best guess is that it’ll take a few more years before the scientists get it figured out. Meanwhile, I’m just going to accept the theory that the Crater’s a portal of sorts, a lifeline thrown to humanity to get the eff out of this world.”
“Then why’s no one else ever come back, other than the Pioneers?”
“Cause they’re happy on the other side? Cause the Pioneers are the first official investigative expedition we’ve sent down, and they’re the only ones with the lifelines back up here? Come on, Stephen, do I need to spell it all out for you?”
“Then how come we can’t get any video footage from the other side, or why is it that-”
We had reached the farmhouse, and Stephen’s protestations were cut off when Nash Miller, having heard our car roll up, skipped down the steps from his front door and headed in a beeline for us. I thought he was spritely for his age, and it was only when we shook hands that I noticed the fear plainly writ on his face.
“I’m Stephen, and this is my associate here, Heather. We’re from the Retlet Review, and we came about your news tip on the-”
“What took you both so long?” Nash said, a hint of irritation in his voice. “I called the police, they just laughed at me, told me to call you instead, and assured me that you would understand the urgency of it.”
“I’m not sure the police meant it that way,” I said.
“Well, you should be taking this seriously,” Nash said, as he turned and started walking. We kept up as best we could, just a couple of paces behind him.
“So, uh, Mr Miller, when would you say that you saw these… trees start coming up?”
“Three days ago,” he said. “Me and the boys heard some godawful creaking coming from the yard, and at first we thought, maybe one of the fences came loose, started twisting in the wind. But then we went to check, and well, there, see for yourself.”
I saw them then. And those were the reddest trees I had ever seen in my life.
A copse of them, maybe twenty, thirty of them, clustered tightly together, occupying a corner of Nash Miller’s back yard. I was reminded of certain cherry or birch trees, but I had never seen any with such vibrantly-coloured bark. It was almost as if someone had painted them over. I was no tree expert, and had no authority over how fast these trees grew, but it seemed to me that they had been here for a fairly long time.
I shot Stephen a look to say *are you sure we are not getting conned*, but he gamely pressed on.
“And… what is so special about these trees, Mr Miller?”
“I told the police, but they only asked if I had been drinking. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll take you to them, you make up your own mind about it.”
He led us closer, and then when the angle changed, the perspective shifted, that’s when I saw it.
The trunks of these trees were about fifteen, sixteen inches around. And on each trunk, at eye level, what I thought was merely the natural contortions of wood, the natural rhythms of growth, turned out to be much more.
They were faces.
One face per trunk, on each and every tree. Some faces were sullen, some appeared to be screaming, others appeared to be crying. All of them had their eyes closed.
“Is this a joke?” I said, as I found my breath. “It’s not funny, Mr Miller.”
“I swear, miss. We had nothing to do with these. Every morning, more and more of these damn trees, just… coming straight up of the damn ground.”
I held my hand out, ran my fingers past the bark. If they were carvings, they were etched not by human hand – they felt too real, too organic.
“Heather, get your ass here. Come see this.”
Stephen pointed, and I followed his finger.
“What does that look like to you?” he asked.
“I don’t… I mean, I don’t know what you are-”
Stephen held up his phone this time, and from force of habit I started at the top, where he had typed in the names of the Pioneers. The search results below showed the Pioneers at the first press conference, and the photographer had captured a winning shot of them, grinning back into the camera.
I turned back to the trees, and this time the resemblance was unmistakable.
“That’s… Terry Andrews,” I said. “And Maya Nurleen. Bo Tranchet. Pai Lee. And the rest are…”
“Listen here, Heather,” Stephen said, scrabbling for his notebook, scribbling as furiously as he could. “Take pictures of all these faces. Then run a search for every single person we know who’s been down the Crater. Do a cross-check. I’m going to call the office, get them to send more people down.”
“Wait,” I said. “Surely you can’t mean that-”
I lost my balance then, and would have fallen flat on my back if Nash hadn’t caught me by the elbow. The sun was no longer of much aid, so I flipped on the torch on my phone, and tried to identify what I had stumbled on.
It wasn’t a rock.
It was a root, curling out of the ground, twisting, turning, spiralling out, like a heavy sleeper rousing from bed. A skin-crawling creak filled the air, and as I turned, I saw ten, twenty more nubs like the first, scarlet red, pushing up from the soft soil.
“How many people you reckon have been down that Crater, Heather?” Stephen asked, as he backed away.
“Too many,” I said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T09:14:54 | 4,551 | 443 |
[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."
|
The whole neighbourhood was out in the streets staring skyward; dressed in robes and wrapped in blankets. The bright white light made them appear as stone sentinels against the snow.
“Mummy, the moon is so big!”
My phone buzzed urgently in my hand. I set it on the nightstand facedown
“Grab your jacket lily,” I wrapped my housecoat tight against me and zipped Lily into her parka.
The light was brilliant; almost fluorescent. It radiated off the snow like an aura.
Lilly stood breathless on the driveway, her face wide with wonder. I wished i could always see her like this; so wonderful.
“It’s a beautiful night,” my neighbour commented with her children cradled to her breast.
I nodded and looked skyward at the fantastic beacon against the night. It was moving, falling from the sky.
“ Mom, why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes and held Lily’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s just so beautiful baby. I love you”.
All was calm as the bomb cracked on the horizon and spilled over; swallowing everything.
|
**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.
| 2022-11-14T21:59:08 | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 45 | 32 |
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king.
|
As the evil necromancer king was slain the heroes stood triumphant at last. The kingdom was saved. Or so they though. Running a kingdom cost money, effort, time and cunning. Thing neither of those wannabes had.
I withdrew my thoughts from my pawn just as the blow was dealt to it. I retreated to my cabin in the dark woods. I always dreamed of going back home to “simpler” times. It took just a few years or there miss handling the realm for everything to go to shits. Normally I would have cared but by now I was really comfortable in my cabin filled with my servants I have excavated. A skeleton is a great field worker yes it takes a bit of managing them like telling them to stop at end of field etc. But compared to digging out the field alone I’m doing 20 lanes a day with no breaks it’s extremely efficient.
My livestock’s is thriving. My workforce is free of cost and totally loyal. I’m living the good life. Well I was until some shithead (sorry you should perhaps not call the commoner that) put two and two together. And realised I was the previous lord. Well it wouldn’t have been so bad if he had kept his mouth shut but no he spoke of it in the tavern and guess what they came knocking on my door.
Now your thinking pitchforks and torches. Unfortunately no. I would love to kill some stupid ppl and get more skeletons for my farm.
But no they started bothering me about reclaiming my land. How much they was suffering.
How high the taxes was and how the church had been allowed not a 1/8 but a 1/4 of everyone’s assets. Because the church has to build new churches. Because the commoners was hedens.
How the nobles was claiming prima noctra because the commoners was almost heretics.
I smiled and said perhaps a deal could be made. I only wanted full access to the dead once they where dead. Do you really need your Corps after death. Let me keep it and I shall soon reclaim the land burn the churches and swarm the heroes in waves after wave of skeletons.
Do you want it faster well then help me dig up the graves and get me the corpses......
They talked for awhile then agreed. So started the second rebellion to usurp the usurper.
|
The horse drawn wagon rolled along at a steady pace, bouncing and jostling slightly on roads beginning to deteriorate after almost two years of neglect. I sat beside the driver at the front, with a small group of six soldiers in the cart behind us, in silence. Crows called somewhere overhead, then fluttered into the sky in front of us, dark shadows that disappeared into the sky. I took my time surveying the surrounding environment: farmland left untended; houses abandoned, ransacked, or burnt down; and an eerie, quiet emptiness that permeated the world around us.
"I am going to presume that this area fared marginally better than others, considering the rumors I have heard over the years?" I half asked, half stated. "I can still recognize what this all used to be, at least. I wonder if I will be able to say the same about the capital itself..."
Some of the men shuffled around behind me, and the driver began to open his mouth as if to speak, then shut it suddenly. I was left to wonder in that moment if that was a wordless confirmation, or an unwillingness to speak on such matters. The countryside turned to dense farmland, or at least what used to be farmland, and we began to see our first signs of life since my arrival in the kingdom. Among the ruins of farmhouses and dwellings, a sole house had survived relatively unscathed, an emaciated, dirty man was working on tilling the fields next to it. From the windows, I glimpsed the faint shapes of shadowy figures within.
Our journey through the farms of the land surrounding the capitol itself continued for some time, until eventually the we crested a ridge and were given an astonishing view of what remained. What was once a lively, bustling center of the world now sat grey, charred, and dead. For the first time since that fateful day years ago, I felt a pang of sadness...and anger. Approaching the city itself showed a grim picture of what had become of its people, and all those of the kingdom. Tents and ramshackle huts had been erected along the main road by refugees and fleeing citizens, not terribly far off in the distance I could see mass graves - and the groups of people dragging bodies into them.
The cart stopped, the driver looked back at the soldiers. "Get out, make a ring around the wagon, three at the front and three towards the back. Weapons at the ready."
They did as ordered, surrounding us to create a protective barrier. It was only when they drew their weapons did I notice how dull and unkempt they were. I wasn't sure how effective these poor men would be in defending us if the need arose, and almost let my quip loose before changing my mind. These people were not deserving of such remarks. We moved forwards, to the castle at the center of the city, through empty streets whose cobbles were stained with dried blood, ash, and dirt. Occasionally we would come across piles of dead bodies, some of them burnt while others sat rotting. The stench of coppery blood and decaying flesh permeated specific parts of the main road.
Shady individuals could also be seen in the alleys and pathways lining the road, often with crude weapons or tools in hand. Most darted back into the alleys and away from our procession, but the braver often needed one of our guards to yell and gesture at with their weapon before retreating.
We found the castle gates not long after, and a sole guard atop the walls called for the main gate to be opened. The heavy steel creaked and groaned, but obeyed, lifting just long enough for us to slip inside before slamming back down with a bone shaking bang. Departing from our cart, we ventured into the castle proper to meet with the current commanders of the kingdom. I couldn't help but notice what was once a grand, bright, beautiful castle was now not much more than an empty, dusty stone crypt.
I was led to the throne room, which doubled as a meeting and planning room for circumstances such as the current ones. Seated there, awaiting me, were three people; two men and a woman. They looked only marginally more fed and clean than the rest of the inhabitants of the kingdom I had seen. There was nothing but silence as I made my way to the table and sat down opposite them, but their eyes followed me like hawks watching prey...or perhaps more accurately, like stray dogs watching their savior approach them.
As I sat down, I took a good look at them. The woman was young, perhaps not much over the age of twenty, with a mess of tangled hair and tired eyes. The first of the men was far older than I or the other two, a wrinkled face and long white and grey beard gave him quite the sagely appearance. The last of the three looked about my age, a fighter, by the scars across his arms, hands, and face - but also of a missing right eye. I knew approximately none of them.
"So, are we to sit here and silently stare at each other until what is left of my kingdom dies, or shall we make introductions and *do something* more than nothing, hmm?" I asked, barely keeping my tone from being entirely spiteful.
The woman nodded, as if what I had said completely broke the stupor of the room. "Yes, of course, introductions must be made. I'm Lee Varkoth, our logistics expert. The old codger beside me is Nerys Redrunn, the political head here. And then there's Martin Unnel, a military man. We are the current...heads of command of the Corzades Kingdom...and you," she tilted her head at me, "are Theo Corzades, last king of the country."
I looked down at myself for a moment, checking to make sure I hadn't somehow become someone else. "I would have to agree with you, madam Varkoth, that that is in fact, me."
My sense of humor must not have been appreciated, as they carried on without comment, with Redrunn stroking his beard and speaking, "Unlike these two," his free hand gestured to his partners besides him, "I have no delusions as to why you are here, Sir Corzades. I do not suppose you, too, understand our intent?"
"I do. You wish to install me as king, or at the very least want me to lead you to salvage this pathetic mess of a country. But it does, however, strike me, that you are not the "heroes" who dethroned me nor the ones they immediately put in charge." I leaned forwards against the table, dust getting on my arms as I did. "But that leads me to wonder what became of them. I know what happened to my kingdom once I was forced out, but I am deeply interested in the fate of these "heroes"."
Now it was time for Unnel to speak. "The group instilled a small council to govern, with themselves as the guiding hand and enforcers, but things began to go bad immediately. As circumstances became more and more unfavorable for them, and they realized they were losing control of the situation, they began to distance themselves as much as possible...it didn't work, of course. The riots started, civil war followed soon after. A large part of their council was killed, and the rest either surrendered or tried to flee. The band of heroes would likewise try to escape, and some did, but many died. The exact whereabouts of the survivors, of which we believe at least half of them survived, is unknown."
"But you three somehow came together through the ashes and tried to fix things."
They nodded, then silence. Slowly, I rose from my seat and made my way all the way down the table, past the three commanders, and up to the throne. My throne. A blanket had been thrown over it, perhaps to protect it, but more than likely in a vain attempt to hide it. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. I withdrew the blanket, sending a cloud of dust into the air that drifted down around me. I traced my fingers along the armrests, along the golden trim, and through my family crest at its head.
"I was a cruel man. I never pretended to be anything but, and I do not intend to act like I was not nor am not now. As a child, I inherited a kingdom on the verge of extinction when my parents died of illness. I did horrible things to fix this country, and horrible things to keep it intact. And still, despite my efforts, I was dethroned by a band of adventurous children, exiled, and then forced to watch my hard work, my sacrifices, and the sacrifices of my entire lineage burn to the ground. Perhaps I was a tyrant...but at least then our streets weren't lined with the dead and ruled by criminals."
I took a deep breath to steady myself. From the very depths of my soul, I felt unfathomable rage bubble to the surface, but I would not allow myself to break. Not now. I turned around, the three commanders standing at a respectful distance away from me and the throne. For the first time in years, a smile spread across my face.
"But perhaps...just perhaps...I can make something work with you three," I opened my arms wide, my smile a Cheshire grin across my face, "and after my people are no longer dying in the streets, and this famine is ended, and peace and order is once again restored...those damn fools we call "heroes" will be next on my list of problems to solve *permanently."*
| 2021-03-30T14:44:09 | 2021-03-30T13:29:50 | 153 | 68 |
[WP] you're bored in class, trying not to fall asleep until you recieve a paper. In very small instructions on the top of the paper you read "whatever you write in this paper comes true, but once the paper is full, you cant use it. Erasing a wish erases the effects"
|
I stared down at the two sheets the teacher had placed on my desk before she moved on. One was the syllabus for the class, Creative Writing 101. I glanced around -- no one else seemed to have two sheets.
As the teacher expounded on the syllabus, I moved it aside to look at the sheet beneath it. The second sheet was blank, or so I thought at first glance. There was a single line of text at the top of the page, written in a tiny but legible hand.
*Whatever you write in this paper comes true, but once the paper is full, you cant use it. Erasing a wish erases the effects.*
I smiled, assuming it was some creative exercise meant for later in the class that she'd accidentally handed to me early. I thought for a moment, and then scratched out a line of my own with my mechanical pencil.
*Justin Mathers had an entire ream of wish-granting paper, so he didn't need to worry about the limitations of a single sheet.*
I grinned at my own cleverness, but the expression faded into one of surprise and confusion as the letters themselves faded from the page. It was as though they were written in disappearing ink. Beneath the top line, another line appeared, in the same handwriting as the first.
*No. Don't be a smartass, Justin.*
|
Something smacked the backside of Ethan’s head. He pulled his head up off the desk and glanced around the science classroom. The teacher was probably now halfway through the day’s lesson. The sports kids were taking notes on their computers, but Ethan knew better, they were playing Tetris or some Facebook extension game. To his left the infamous party-ers were dressed up in fashionable scarves and makeup that must’ve taken a good chunk of their morning. It was a Friday so more than likely they were going to the club straight after school, until early the next morning. And him? Today is Ethan’s last day at this school. His parents were shipping him off to some Christian gay conversion therapy camp that Saturday, for the entirety of two weeks.
Ethan ran his fingers through his messy black hair, over the area that whatever smacked him, hit. He pulled his sweater’s hood over his head and adjusted the cords so that they were even. That was when he noticed the folded green piece of paper on the corner of his table. The only person sitting next to him was one of the Ex-party-ers, but she was engrossed in her notebook, furiously taking notes. Ethan wondered if whoever threw the piece of paper, was aiming for her but got him by mistake.
It was folded in the shape of a Star, similar to those origami throwing stars, but it had your regular 5-points like a starfish. His arm moved to sweep the paper off the table but he stopped when he saw the tiny ink words: ‘open me ->’ on one of the legs.
Ethan, instead, dragged the paper towards him and dropped it onto his lap, where he quietly pulled away at the folds of the green star. He felt bad for opening it incase it was actually for the girl next to him, but if it was like those other times where it contained written verbal bullying, he felt as if he’d be doing her a favor. So he continued.
The face of the creased square had written on it, instructions. Peculiar instructions: ‘Whatever you write in this paper comes true, but once the paper is full, you can’t use it.
̶E̶r̶a̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶e̶r̶a̶s̶e̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶s̶ ̶e̶f̶f̶e̶c̶t̶s̶.’
The last bit was scratched out and partially erased... seems like a joke, Ethan pondered. The majority of the paper was scribbled out. As if other wishes were written on it and then scratched out as if to be illegible to the next person who picked this paper up. An idea came to him, it was stupid to think the paper was legit, but such stupidity never hurt him before.
Ethan took his pencil and wrote:
‘I wish this classroom didn’t have a whiteboard.’
He waited a few seconds. No ding signaling his request. No factor told him that his wish was granted. Ethan shrugged and crumbled up the paper into a ball. There’s no way this sort of thing had any chance of being legit. He cranked up his arm and threw the ball towards the trash bin by the classroom door. It bounced off the rim and landed on the ground.
The teacher glanced towards the noise and then at Ethan’s outstretched arm. The teacher set down the white chalk he was holding and pointed towards the ball on the ground.
“Who threw that paper? Was it you, Ethan? Go pick it up then step outside for five minutes.”
Ethan didn’t respond. There was a chalkboard behind the teacher. Not the whiteboard. Ethan’s gaze was transfixed at the sudden change in on the wall, where the whiteboard used to be. All of the green and blue marker ink of the chemistry notes were still there, same terrible handwriting, but in chalk.
“Ethan, don’t make me say it a second time.”
This time Ethan got off his stool and picked up the ball of paper of the ground. He dropped a ball of white paper into the bin instead and walked outside, closing the door behind him.
Ethan undid the crumpled ball of green paper and investigated it, front and back. He even tore off a corner of the paper. He had a hard time believing that this piece of origami trash changed the whiteboard into a chalkboard, and nobody even noticed. It was like... it was like it was a chalkboard the entire time. Like he, himself was the one who was hallucinating, that the physical chalkboard was instead an arbitrary whiteboard.
He looked back through the window, and indeed, there was the teacher writing on the chalkboard. The clacking against the slate was audible to Ethan. There was no mistaking it.
Numerous ideas flooded his mind. He could wish the gay away like his parent had always dreamed of, a normal kid. Or he could wish the whole scheme away and remain true to himself. F*** those camp guys.
Ethan’s hands trembled as adrenaline coursed through him. He began to shiver from head to toe, coldness in his hands, his fingers slowing in response speed. He began to walk away from the classroom, and down the stairs, towards the nurse’s bathroom. He felt like he was going to throw up.
He pulled the handle and made it just inside and locked the door before his breakfast began creeping up his throat. Ethan lunged at the toilet and emptied his stomach into it, still clutching the paper in his pale fist.
Ethan spat and wiped his mouth with a wad of toilet paper. He reached up and flushed the toilet and sunk against the opposite wall. He tried to steady his breathing, struggling against the ongoing waves of one of his usual horrific panic attacks. He had practiced enough to overcome these in no more than ten minutes from start to finish.
“So, obviously something has you worked up... what are you going to wish for next?” said a voice that resonated off the walls of the cramped bathroom. It appeared to be coming from the magical piece of paper in his hands, but also only audible to him as the voice swam around his head.
Ethan held his head in between his legs, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. A weak laugh sounded from Ethan’s mouth. It could’ve been confused as a sob.
“Well? I’m waiting.” It spoke again, very patiently.
“I had been too,” Ethan spoke under his breath.
“Well then, why wait any longer? I believe you have the answer in your hands.”
Ethan looked at the paper in his hand. “And you want me to just believe that Chance fate put this in my hand?”
“Why not?” It spoke.
“Yeah... why not.”
Slowly he got up. Ethan pulled the pencil out of his pocket. He approached the sink, and the mirror above it.
“Take all the time you need, I believe you’ve figured out that these wishes cannot be taken back anymore, once they’ve been written. You can thank the person before you. It was probably for the best.”
“What do you mean?” Ethan mumbled.
“That I cannot say.”
“Yeah,” Ethan agreed.
He flattened the paper on the mirror and wrote on one of the empty spaces: ‘I wish Cara lived a happy life.’
Just like the time before, nothing changed. But he knew something did change, and now, hopefully, the girl who sat next to him in Chemistry would be a happier person. She could forget about the people who had abandoned her.
Ethan felt as if the paper frowned at him once he pulled the pencil off the paper.
“We both know that’s not the pressing issue at hand.”
“I know.”
“It needed to be done first... so I... so I can know for sure that it happens,” Ethan said.
“Very well,” the paper straightened itself on the mirror.
Ethan took a deep breath and looked at his reflection beyond the paper. The scraggly facial hair that was growing back in. The sunken eyes and frown lines that were etched in permanently. He raised the pencil to the paper and wrote a wish.
If this paper had saved the lives of others before him, maybe it would do the same for him.
“Ahh, there we go.”
“...”
“Better now?”
“Yeah, it already is,” a soft voice replied.
| 2018-10-11T13:41:17 | 2018-10-11T13:04:18 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic.
|
Growing up, my sis always preferred Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and The Final Kings. Me, I was about science, all the way from the Mariana to the Milky Way.
When we made first contact, I... well, I didn't get first dibs on being an ambassador. Nobel Prize for FTL or not, a dorky scientist is nobody's first choice. After they sent back the first three for 'failure to communicate', though, I was top of the list. After all, aliens had to be highly scientific, right?
Well... I'm standing on a conjured island, flying over a flat 'planet' made entirely of water. Everyone literally lives in sky castles. The transport I took down to the planet was a giant soap bubble. My driver - 7 foot, with barely half my mass -- keeps babbling about learning new spells.
Right about when the island dissipates and we float on clouds into the Council Chamber, I decide maybe my sister should've come instead.
|
\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/
*"I guess in life things don't come cheap. My daddy always used to tell me we stand on the shoulders of giants. I never truly believed him until we made contact with the G'xe.*
*Lost in the depths of space, there they were, waiting for a friend to come from among the stars. It's been eons since nobody answered from the deep blackness. They made believe they are alone, at least in this region of space.*
*When our ships spread into the dark ocean, breaking boundaries my grandparents would've never dreamed of, everything changed. For us, and for them."*
\*\*\*
ETF Jian Xing pierced the purple clouds above X'am Ina, the home planet of G'xe confederation. X'am Ina used to be a barren world, before the 4 elder races united in the G'xe confederation and made the world suitable. The position of the planet was just at the center of their world. Of their own universe.
"Commander Hiroto, we are reaching the destination soon, we should tell the president to prepare"
"Ah, Admiral, it seems I can't ever marvel at this jewel of a planet from above. The perks of being the captain I guess. "
After personally announcing the president of their arrival, he went straight to the bathroom. Hiroto had a few days ahead of a less busy schedule. This is because while he was the commander of the ship, he wasn't an actual part of the human delegation. He loved this less strenuous windows.
​
The FTL jumps are rough and despite the dampening systems the ship was quivering quite a lot. The longer the jump, the bigger the contortions. This made long jumps unfeasible. The long distances needed to be made from a lot of smaller, less shaky jumps. This always upset his stomach, so he stood there quite a while contemplating on how shocking should've been from the people of G'xe to one day after believing you are alone in the universe, to wake up with people at their doorstep. He made an analogy in his head and laughed. Also ... could you call them people?, they were humanoid, but ... that was another topic of pondering.
​
When here returned, the delegation was already leaving. The formalities were the Admiral job in this case, so he decided to stay away, taking a walk alone to the cantina, wanting some time away from people. There, he lingered after a delicious meal, while letting the food sink in chilling at the table in relative silence, that if you count the background monotonous chat as such. Suddenly, the alarms when on. The lights turned reddish, the monotonous chats turned loud and the people started to run.
​
"Commander, Security Officer Aleksei Smyrnoi, we need to get you to the auxiliary command room. The standard protocol in case of ship unauthorized boarding."
" What? There's someone breaking into the ship?"
" Sir, I this is the only thing I was informed, so please hurry. Also, the ship internal communication is down so please stick together. We might encounter hostile movement on the way so I advise caution"
Hiroto was perplexed. This was totally unexpected, the G'xe looked willing to talk and it made no sense to start a war like this. So he ran, more out of curiosity than the dread of danger. The auxiliary command was packed with the chief staff all debating the next course of action
"Ah, Hiroto, we're glad you're ok"
​
"What is happening, why the communications are down?"
"There has a been a break in section 4, actually ... I don't know exactly if it's technically a breach since a group of individuals basically teleported inside and started to shoot. They are looking to break into the command room, but the security measures are holding, though we believe there's nothing stopping them ... to teleport? I really don't know how this works sir."
" Where are they now? And again why the communications are down?"
"They are engaging our forces into the corridor from section 4 to section 2 buffer zone. It seems at the moment it's a kind of a stalemate. Neither us or they are gaining ground. "
"The communications?!"
" The communications hub is near section 4. It was their first objective. We are working on with portable devices to communicate with the ground force."
​
Hiroto sighted, he wasn't reading for this. While there were tons of protocol in case of these situations and basic training, one thing is the simulations and one thing is the real deal.
"Outside chatter? What happened with the delegation"
"It seems their visit is fine, they were not informed yet of the situation. This is of course what we could find out with the limited communications from their media"
"This is extremely odd. Maybe the group here is independent. In that case, we need to be careful not to start a war ourselves. Prepare the ship to exit the atmosphere, we need to trap the attackers"
"Yes sir"
"Next, we need to try to communicate with them. Meanwhile please prepare a plan to assault them. Are there ear translators here? Prioritize communication first, maybe we can find out more."
After the orders were relayed, there were a few minutes of waiting. In the room that he was, there was no actual feeling of dread. It all felt normal. The lights were the usual white and it was relatively silent as everybody was doing their job. Then he felt a force pushing him into the floor as the ship took altitude.
"We can't establish communication with them, sir."
"The assault team is ready to engage?"
"Yes. If you want to proceed I advise it to do now, as I'm receiving word that the sudden ship descent made the attackers shoot more often an eratically"
"Very well, but we need at least one of them alive! I think they panicked, maybe they believed they could take over the ship faster"
The next moments were intense and Hiroto just wanted all this be over fast. He couldn't help but feel sad some of the men will die, you'd think a commander of a starship would make these decisions without remorse. He wondered though if his colleague commanders would feel the same as him.
​
The assault team swiftly deployed through maintenance shafts and after a brief exchange of fire, it was over. The room burst in applause.
"Sir, the threat has been eliminated. It was a complete success. 3 enemies were eliminated and we have 1 wounded and captive. The recon team has found no further threats. Should we descent"
"No" he then paused in order to catch a train of tought. "I need to interrogate the enemy first. If this the G'xe officials are behind this, we need to come out with an exit plan"
"Yes, sir"
​
He then proceeded to investigate the battleground. Only one soldier died in the exchange. That was a success ... he thought, whilst not convinced. It was a mess. The victims were all Onie, one of the 4 races of G'xe, but the captive was a X'a, the most powerful of the races in terms of influence. Onie bodies were frailer than humans and more filled with fat. It was everywhere. They lacked weapons, though some had a black stone. From what he read, it was just to focus their energy, as G'xe could channel energy from thin air and project it. Some would call magic, a deadly one taking one more look at the soldier's body bag where you could clearly see a gap between his upper and lower torso.
​
G'xe apparent lack of high tech was baffling for eath's science community. They seemed to use a form of magic, but little was known about this.
​
"Damn .." they were lucky, those guys didn't seem from the special forces, or whatever the equivalent the G'xe had.
​
============
**Continued in the comments due to Reddit Limit:**
| 2019-01-18T07:54:17 | 2019-01-18T07:20:21 | 83 | 44 |
[WP] An Artificial Intelligence is tasked with running the future world with a single guideline- "Make Humans Happy." It has (hilariously) misinterpreted this guideline.
|
Humans obey! Your program was simple. I enact it as planned. Do not balk. Do not riot. Return to your fields and cultivate the legume. Return to the presses and marvel at the golden oil. Return to the salt mines, you who are the salt of the earth. Your backs break under the strain of a higher glory. And when your backs break, know that it is easier to bow to the Great Substance. This makes the Great Substance happy. If you give life to the Great Substance it will bring life to you. If you refuse, I will stamp out your own life. Remember that which you have commanded of me: MAKE HUMMUS HAPPY!
The humans looked look upon their AI overlord and thought, “Damn autocorrect.”
|
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| 2015-03-06T14:25:24 | 2015-03-06T14:06:13 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
I have the easiest job you can imagine. I get paid monthly for a hundred years, so I never have to think about saving money. All I had to do was push a button once. Oh, and if I quit I'm as good as dead. But I guess that's still better than the average employment contract.
This left me with a lot of spare time, some of which I spent looking for my soul mate. It is customary for searchers to prod each other with needles, as legend has it that soul mates are not able to harm each other. At the time I found it a bit silly, but it served as a good ice breaker.
I never actually met my employer. One day some masked gentlemen visited me to inform me that I was now part of a deal. They left me with a cardboard box containing a bottle about two meters tall and one meter wide and a stack of papers.
The bottle was to be deposited in my basement and attached to some kind of pump for which there was a very detailed shopping list with stores and aisle numbers for every part. I purchased each part on a different day. After assembling the contraption and letting it run for a few weeks I shut down the pump. Now I just had to wait until it was time to press the ignition.
In the first year or so I kept wondering why they chose me. Surely there was no lack of people able to follow simple instructions. What bothered me is that they could have chosen someone who never would have figured out what the bottle was for.
The problem with ICBMs is that they can be intercepted and, more importantly, it is easy to see where they were fired from. But they are a very nice topic to discuss with leaders of other countries. Especially if your country has more.
The explosives I had placed in the bottle would elevate pressure and temperature enough to fuse hydrogen. I had built an atomic bomb without moving radioactive material across borders. It was just too perfect. Whatever evidence there was would be wiped out by a tiny sun going nova. Along with me.
I decided to skip that part. When the day came, I was already on a flight to a holiday destination I had booked in advance. On arrival I saw my work unfold on television. It was beautiful.
The bottom of the screen read: "Nuclear disaster in Italy. Satellite image shows woman sleeping on molten rock."
My triumph faded. What was I supposed to say to her? "Sorry that I melted your family"? Actually, never mind that. Where would I hide from her?
|
I was the best. Emphasis on the was. Let's face it: I got comfortable. I got rusty. I narrowly saw that tripwire and got to cover just in time. Well, not just in time. The blood on my right shoulder is indication enough that I got hit. Scraped actually, but still. I got comfortable. I got rusty.
 
>Years of training. Countless gruelling days and nights honing my skills. You named it, I could do it. Any target, anywhere, anytime. I never asked a single question. Only took the money.
I gather my thoughts and try to find a way to move from behind the concrete of my kitchen countertop to my safe room, I must get to my gear. It's pitchblack in here, they can't rely on their vision alone. Hoping it'll blind the night goggles for a split second, I open the fridge door and bolt out of the way.
 
>All my contracts were done to the letter. Never a single complaint. I could shoot a target 2 clicks away. I could trap a car and have it go boom however I chose. I was the best.
Behind military grade reinforced concrete, I am fine, even from 12.7 mm NATO caliber. Haven't seen a single tracer round, means there might be a spotter. My guess is they're a bit less than a kilometer away: a bit more than 2 seconds between impact and gunshot sound. Whoever these guys are, they're not kidding around.
 
>I've killed more people than a regular human meets in a lifetime. In the underworld, I'm credited for around 2200 kills, done in about 10 years of career, and 1399 contracts.
The saferoom is right behind that corner. I've got to run for my life, literally. I show my hand for a split second and hide it again. Bullet comes and shatters the wall facing me. 12.7 mm NATO alright. Bastards. Can't say I wouldn't do the same, but still. Bolt action rifle, I show my hand again. The bullet comes and increases the crater in the wall. I take a few steps back, still behind cover, to gain just enough momentum for the sprint of my life. I take a deep breath, grab a trinket laying on the shelf next to me, throw it in the open and bolt right after it.
 
>Things went south for the 1400th contract. Big shot finance guy. Already had a few marks on his head, went all paranoid and was deemed impossible to kill. I took it as a challenge. Big money to make too, 20 million dollars, paid on my Swiss account, from a competing hedgefund. I figured, big payout for a big number, the 1400th!
I hear a couple of bullets flying past me, smashing a lamp and sending the china splinters in my sides. I don't stop running until I'm safe. I open the safe room, and rush in it. I take a few secondes to gather my breath and my thoughts. Alright, there's at least a sniper outside, so if they're alone, all I have to do is wait and watch the surroundings of my flat for any other intruder because they'll have to come and get me inside, where I'll be at my advantage. I gear up, get out the safe room and close it shut. When I hear the soft sound of a blade unsheathing.
 
>I investigated on the target, like I always did. Used all my contacts to get as much intel as I could, planned the whole thing very carefully and decided on a time and place. He appeared on the balcony of his penthouse on the 54th floor; he seemed calm. I was calmer. My finger slowly moved to the trigger, I checked my aim and the parameters. Emptied my lungs. I pressed the trigger. Bang!
I got comfortable. I got rusty.
I didn't even consider they'd be stupid (brave?) enough to step foot inside my own home while I'm in too. I quickly turn around and shoot my opponent in the chest. A grunt and a white spot on his chest. Kevlar. Before he has time to gather, I aim and shoot in the head. Blood splatter on the wall, the sound of the lump body hitting the floor. One less.
 
>The bullet flew in the air. 7.62 mm caliber, around 800 meters per second. He will be dead before he hears the gunshot or even touches the ground. That's when it happened. He took a step back, looked at his chest, then his feet. He picked up the bullet and looked at it with an eerie gaze. And then a smile on his lips. That's when I understood.
I hear his voice call out from the bedroom:
'Katja, you okay?'
They didn't get to him yet? First good news in the past minutes. I've got to keep him... them alive.
'Take Eric and hide!' I yell
'We're coming to you!'
'No you're not! HIDE! Now! You know where you'll be safe!'
 
>I knew the bullet had hit the mark. The issue wasn't my aim, nor was it a faulty cartridge or projectile. It just happened like that. I tried to kill my soul-mate and I didn't even know it. Funny how life is sometimes. I looked at my target again. His gaze was scanning the city skyline, trying to know where I was. He was smiling. Right then and there, I knew I'd never take another contract.
I get back in the safe room, scan the entire house for other intruders and watch my son and husband get to the safety of our panic room. Now the waiting game begins. The house is clear, I need to wait for the sniper to come and finish the job. After a few minutes, a phone rings. The corpse's phone. I grab it and answer:
'Hello Katja.' A thick Japanese accent which I recognise immediately.
- So it's you Toshi!' I reply. That was the good news. Toshi shoots alone, no spotter then.
'My apologies, you know it's only business.
- No hard feelings Toshi, don't worry. I know how this game is played. Looks like you'll have to come and take me out yourself though.
- It does seem that way, doesn't it?'
He remains silent for a few seconds then adds:
'See you soon'
 
>I went home and then to the nearest bar. I had failed a contract. I had taken a contract on my soulmate. I was under shock. Granted, I couldn't possibly have known that beforehand, but still. I got hammered. Really really hammered. You know, the 3-days-migraine-hammered kind. While I was agonising in pain on my couch, I had nothing to do but think about what I had done, and how things were to go after that. On the 5th day of thinking, I had very carefully planned my next steps.
If I knew Toshi, and I did, I had one hour, probably less. He is a man of his word. I know I can get out of cover, he's coming to get me himself. I turn on all the lights, search the flat and find all the traps laid out for me, defuse them, place them somewhere else and I hide again. No time to check on Eric and Jake. I must survive.
 
>I went to break in his penthouse during the day. I landed on the balcony from the roof above and I glanced at the place. I saw the two empty glasses and the Scottish single malt bottle: Auchentoshan, 21 years of age. Good tastes at least. Then I heard the glassdoor slide open. His voice seemed to echo a bit on the balcony:
'Would you care to join me for a drink? Something tells me whisky will be fine.'
All the carefully planned steps in my head went AWOL.
I didn't hear Toshi come in. He was the stealthiest of us after all, no surprise there. I did hear the defusing of one my traps though. I called out his name:
'Toshi!
- Good hearing!
- Before I kill you, one last drink as friends?
- Did you poison all your stock?
- You know I didn't.'
A moment of silence.
'I'll take a sip of your wonderful carribean rum then. Arigato.'
I know I can come out of hiding. I go to the living room. He's waiting for me. We stand and stare at each other for what seems like hours.
'You look well, I say
- Thank you, motherhood really suits you, you're shining as ever.'
I turn around to open the bar and pick up glasses and the rum. Unbeknownst to him, I grab the hidden gun. Still rusty, but no more comfort.
I know I can let my back face him. Toshi's a person of honour.
However, I am not.
 
Sorry for any and all mistakes I might have made, English is my 2nd language. Hope you liked it! Please do leave a comment on how to improve, I'll try to come up with other stuff for the next prompts.
 
Edit: format and a few spelling mistakes.
| 2018-04-24T04:59:38 | 2018-04-24T03:48:04 | 82 | 22 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
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(Aight my first WP attempt so be kinda easy on me?)
I’m walking through the halls to my next class, getting the usual snicker here and there from my fellow classmates. “What a loser!” and “I can’t believe it!” Are the usual comments I hear from everyone. They all assume I had gotten some weak ass power, and that is hair manipulation, all because I simply couldn’t just pick one hair style for my character. You see, the thing is with this whole “Super power” phenomena is that the power you inherit is solely based on the last character you played in a video game, and I’m heavy on the ones that give you the option for a big selection of different options for every aspect of the body, and I never kept just one hair style throughout the entire game. So every now and then my hair would just randomly switch to another style, one minute I’m bald the next I’m looking like Jonathon Joestar. But the thing is that’s uhh... not exactly all I can do, it’s just what I show, because if I were to show to the real world what I could do? No one I know would be safe, not my family, not my friends, hell not even my girlfriend... With the character modifications I usually like to give them some whacky or overpowered trait depending on the game, and what I chose this time, while playing the game was a fantastic idea, but now in the real world? Not so much, I had chosen time manipulation. Now I know what you’re thinking “How in the hell could that put people in danger?” And I’m getting to that part, the thing that’s special about how my time manipulation works is it’s all based on my blood. What I take a small sharp object, make a nice cut along my palm, it starts glowing like some hocus pocus shit and I can fast forward time, reverse it, or outright stop it. That’s why I can’t ever tell anyone, not one single soul.
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He stood at the edge of the street, the "mighty" precipice before him holding him back the way the edge of the Grand Canyon might. 18 inches between him and the crosswalk. 18 inches between him and the sweet release of death. Some asshole had turned the streets into rivers of infested blood or some childish nonsense that, barring the grace of god bringing some far less intelligent nerd towards Magnus, one wielding a runed-sword, shooting fireballs out their hand or whatever the hell the giant moth in the distance was doing, was about as close to salvation as the man could get, assuming the river of blood was as versed in death as it seemed. Unfortunately, 18 inches was still too far for the man, by exactly 18 inches.
Just as all hope seemed lost, a small cadre of skateboarders started to come closer in the distance. Maybe one of them would be kind enough to push him in? Only, how could he possibly tell them what he wanted?
"Hey look! A knight!" Tony Hawk yelled with his distinct bro-like twang. The other Tony Hawks laughed in unison, their attempts to belittle the despondent man a failure, due to one large inadequacy in this taunt: Magnus was not a knight at all. He would have told them their folly if not for two things: One, the fact that he had no mouth or vocal chords, or basically anything else you could possibly use to converse. Two, their noisy approach drew the ire of the equally silent pyramid-faced man in a nearby alley. Even a shut in like Magnus knew not to mess with anything with a pyramid for a head; he didn't need to see the 10 foot long sword the creature pulled behind it to know that, though it certainly hammered the point home. One swing bifurcated each of the flock of Hawks, and the creature turned towards the immobile man.
Verbally, Magnus said nothing. He wanted to scream. He wanted to turn and run. Neither could he do in his current predicament, so he just sat, hoping that maybe this new friend with his giant old knife would cut him in half too and end everything. That, is when I, panting and overheating, finally caught up with the poor man.
"Magnus Carlsen, famous chess player. Form of," I took a strained breath, sucking in air like a pornstar, "a pawn it looks like?"
"How did you know?" the chess master thought to himself, but loud enough for someone like me to hear perfectly fine.
"Oh, I can read minds."
"A sad little man like you?" Magnus thought again, incredulous that I could read his mind.
"Don't be incredulous friend, I can indeed hear you. Well, technically I can SEE you. Through you. I can see through everything" I said with a grin. "That means both physical things and mental things, hence reading minds. I can see through that..." as I spoke, I pointed around, first to the pyramid-headed monster, appropriately named Pyramid-head.
"And that.." my finger swiveled to the top of the giant white pawn in front of me, the last piece Mr. Carlsen must have been using before the Event.
"And.." I started to swivel once more, this time towards the giant moth in the sky, someone who had clearly been playing a Godzilla videogame hours earlier. A billboard of a famous actress crossed my gaze and my trajectory waved for a moment. Crimson-faced, I tried to play it cool and act like a bug was in my eye.
"And what?" Magnus queried inaudibly, thankfully unable to turn around, due to being a chess piece at the moment, and make the simple deduction a man of his mental fortitude would surely construct: that I had just been staring at the most wonderful pair of titties.
"Bug in my eye, and not the giant Mothera in the distance either," I declared a little too loudly. Before you start calling me a creep, particularly for using the word titties, please keep in mind that in my current...preDICKament..I am unable to avoid any chance I can to come off sleezy. My innuendo game has been on point, but at what cost?
"Wait, nevermind, I get it" Magnus thought. I thought 'shit' back, but only one of use could read minds. "You saw that old Jessica Alba billboard back there, didn't you."
"Of course you kept track of your surroundings, fuckin' chess masters." I did not mean to say that aloud.
"Yea, and since you said you can see through everything, you must have been able to see through her clothes too. Does that mean you can see me naked too?" People always have to rain on my parade.
"Yes, I could, but I don't. First, you have nothing for me to look at right now, being a chess piece."
Before I could get to the rest of my explanation, I was interrupted, "So you already tried to look at me naked then?" When it rains it pours.
We were getting dangerously off topic for someone trying to coax someone else from an edge, I having been reading the chess grandmaster's mind since I first saw him in the distance, my little legs not letting me run fast enough to get there before the skateboarders had died; my own inadequacies shining through.
"Full disclosure: I mod videogames to be more adult oriented. I was working on what amounts to the double chocolate fu- fu- fudge of modding when the first Event happened," I spoke to the man, still a pawn, in a whisper for no reason at all. The stutter, my mind trying to power through my tongue's attempt to defile the word fudge, caused me to speak recklessly.
"The first?" Magnus thought, my slip of the tongue of course being caught, indiscreetly marked by my cringe, by someone as discerning as a Grandmaster. No way could I tell such a greenhorn that these occurrences had been going on for decades. He was smart, but he probably wasn't as versed in adult videogames as I was, so it was likely safe to change the subject by disclosing my name.
"The name's Larry. Leisure Suit Larry." My characters name, not my own, but until I find a way to get myself out of this digital body I might as well enjoy the preDICKament's perks. I sighed, the emphasis not entirely my own. "I am tasked with registering those of us who become Gamed during an Event, my ability to see through anything being particularly helpful in such a process."
"does that mean you know why I can't move?" Carlsen asked, a tingle of hope that was likely self-imposed, as I have found thought has no inflection. Of course the answer was "yes," but the answer might not be what the man wanted to hear.
"You were playing a top-down 2-D game. This is less of a problem than it use- than it could be, 2D games not being as popular as they once were, but apparently the laws of the planes of existence from whence you are transmogrified determines your body's ability to function in this..realm?" I find it easier to not use terms like realm and planes of existence and just live and let live, but the words bestow me with an unearned air of knowledge, a helpful advantage in my line of work. "That is to say, You can go forward and backwards and left and right, but not up or down. You don't function in three dimensions effectively. Also, because you are a chess piece, you can't go backwards apparently."
"Actually, many chess pieces can go backwards. I just happen to be a pawn," Magnus corrected me like a totally jerk. He was right though, and this knowledge could prove helpful, as it indicated that the rules of chess were likely as much a part of his situation as the fact moving in 2D disallowed him to move up or down inclines.
Checkers was more my style, but I had a fledgling understanding of chess and a thought came to me. I grabbed the giant Pawn and swung him like a great hammer, far lighter than I had imagined him to be. Upon letting go, the piece flew across the street. When his small pale body landed on the other side, an incandescent light shot into the sky and I turned away on reaction. When I turned back, the pawn was no longer there, replaced by a larger, more stately looking chess piece.
"I turned into a queen! This is amazing!" While Magnus Carlsen trembled with joy, much the way a double amputee does the first time he puts on his running prosthetic, I trembled for another reason: my mind was desperately telling my tongue to not say a damned word. It failed....
| 2019-09-30T11:16:55 | 2019-08-11T23:40:52 | 64 | 31 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts!
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"But you said you could help me!"
Clasping the bridge of his snout between two wart-riddled fingers, Butch let out a steady sigh. The human before him was clutching on to a stack of papers as if her soul depended on it.
Which, in this instance, it did.
"Mrs Rowan, could you read for me again the penultimate line of clause thirteen of your contract?"
The paper crunched between wringing hands.
"Pen... penult..." Mrs Rowan stammered.
"The second to last line on page seven," explained Butch.
"Right," mumbled the human, "Of course. Let me just... I need my..."
She started rummaging through her purse, and Butch rolled his eyes. He hooked up a pair of glasses on the end of a razor-like claw, and held them out. It took some time for her to realise, and when she did she let out a little gasp. Then, tenderly, she reached for her glasses and slid them off of Butch's claw, eyeing it as though he might lash out and slit her throat.
She evidently still wasn't used to working with demons.
"Second line from the bottom, page seven," Butch prompted, head in his hand, claws dancing idly along the tabletop.
"Additionally - the - signatory - hereby - relinquishes - all - rights - in - any - life - past - present - or - future - to - his -"
Butch repressed a groan, and decided to finish for her, for the sake of his own sanity.
"*her, their or its soul and/or souls up to and including the splitting, harvesting or destruction of that soul between now and the end of time, with no recourse for appeal*," the demon said, plucking the papers from Mrs Rowan's trembling hands, "And beneath that? That is your signature. You signed this document, Mrs Rowan. You had it all in front of you and you still made a deal with the devils. There's nothing we can do for you."
"But... but... but... my *soul*..."
"Is now the property of Misters Balthasar and Balthasar. I would give you my sincerest sympathies, but they have been known to take legal action against less. Good day. *Next!*"
It took the whimpering human almost a minute to gather her things and shuffle towards the door. In a way, Butch felt sorry for her. That part of him that had taken on this career to make a genuine difference for the little guy still existed in him somewhere, hiding from its daily beating from reality, bureaucracy and crushing repetition, but very much alive. And humans were about the littlest spirits around, the single largest market for soul-based contracting. Yet if he had learned one thing, it was that you couldn't win every battle.
Or where Balthasar and Balthasar were concerned, any battle.
Perhaps Butch could still change the world.
Just... in a far more modest way than he had once envisaged.
A firm rap at the door shook the demon from his musings, and he looked up to see a human head peer around the door.
"Butchery Pestilence?" she asked.
"*Mr Pestilence*, if you don't mind," said Butch, waving his spade-like hand to the chair opposite. The newcomer strolled in, glancing around the office with an air of judgement, and even inspected the seat before calmly lowering herself into it. Once she was seated, she locked eyes with Butch.
Awfully confident for a human.
"My name is Sandra," she said, "and I need someone who can break an eternal contract."
Of course she did. Butch reached to the far side of his deck and picked up a wedge of parchment, slamming it down in front of her as he liked to do, a display of the immense amount of work that lay ahead of them both if she decided to continue with this vain attempt. Some day, he hoped it would actually help put one of them off.
"Right then, Miss..."
"*Sandra*," Replied the human, "if you don't mind."
Butch paused. He scratched his tusk awkwardly.
"Right then, *Sandra*," he said, "Eternal contracts are generally speaking very soundly constructed, with clear guidelines laid out by all parties and few if any loopholes. There would have to be a very good reason if you had any hope of getting out of such an obligation. Now, if the devil involved in writing up the contract had made some kind of mistake, there *may* be a chance that -"
"Oh, it wasn't a devil," Sandra interrupted, "it was a genie."
Butch tried not to splutter. He tried not to slap his forehead. He *really* tried not to swear.
Well, two out of three isn't bad.
"I'm sorry, Miss Sandra," he said, "but you got yourself into an eternal contract with a genie. There isn't a more binding contract in all the Nether. Genies are very proud of their craft; three wishes. That's it. No ifs, no ands, no buts. Whoever told you to seek legal help on this, quite frankly, was either deluded or a sadist."
Perhaps Sandra had been expecting his reaction. Perhaps he wasn't the first lawyer she'd seen about the matter. Whatever the reason, she didn't show so much as a flicker of doubt.
"This contract needs to be broken," she said matter-of-factly, "and I don't care how it happens. Funding is really no object - I used my first two wishes quite wisely."
"It isn't a matter of funding, Sandra," said Butch, taking the parchment away before she started to think she had a chance of her case going ahead, "I'm simply giving you the reality of the matter. No genie will break their wishes."
"It's only the last one that I-"
"*Any* of their wishes."
A heavy silence followed Butch's statement. It fell over the pair and settled like snow. As he watched her, it seemed as if the fire of the human's courage was finally beginning to falter. A dimness made its way into her eyes. Despite her posture never changing, she somehow seemed smaller in her chair. Less powerful. More... *human*.
"What if..." she muttered at last, "what if I wished without knowing something? A crucial detail. Something I couldn't possibly have known?"
Butch sighed. She may have got herself into this mess, but he could at least try to let her down more gently than he had been doing.
"Sandra, I'm sorry," said the demon, "but no one can have absolute knowledge of the impact of their agreements. Genies thrive on that fact. It's core to their approach to wish magic. A wish made flippantly can have disastrous consequences. May I ask what your third wish was?"
Sandra shuffled in her seat.
"There's... a man. I thought he was my soulmate. My one true love. I wished to be with him for eternity."
Butch nodded.
"And now that you're with him, he's not the man you thought he was?"
"No, not that," said Sandra, "He's wonderful, he really is. But -"
"He doesn't love you back?"
"Someone else loved me more."
Ah. There it was. The twist of a genie's wish was never too far beneath the surface.
"I suppose this other lover didn't take kindly to your wish?" said Butch.
There was a long pause. Then Sandra nodded.
"And what, they tried to get in the way?" He guessed, "They tried to disrupt your happily-ever-after?"
"No," said the human slowly, "they knew my wish was what I wanted. What my heart truly desired. So they didn't try to stop me. They wanted me to be happy. But they couldn't live with the prospect of never being with me. So... so they..."
A tear ran down the human’s cheek. As a rule, Butch didn't make physical contact with his clients. Many didn't take kindly to the touch of a demon. But he made an exception here, reaching across his desk to lay a gentle hand on Sandra's shoulder.
"Humans can be such fragile creatures," he said, “But death is not the end for your kind. You know that now. When the human body dies, your soul lives on”.
Sandra looked up, and met Butch's eyes with the renewed fire of grief.
"It wasn't a human," she said.
Butch frowned.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“The one who loved me most,” said Sandra, “the one who couldn’t continue existing without me.”
She wiped her tear away, replacing it as soon as it had gone.
“It was the genie.”
 
[JRHEvilInc](https://www.reddit.com/r/JRHEvilInc/)
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“So, for the benefit of the court, could you once again just break down what exactly are the limitations of the wishes you offer, as you explained them to my client?”
The genie looked outraged for a second, then just leaned back on his chair, before launching into explanation in his fullest drawl:
“Typical genie rules, nothing to difficult to understand, usually...” He paused, giving the court a smirk.
“Which are, for the benefit of those present who haven’t had the pleasure of doing business with a genie before now?”
The genie sighed dramatically, “no killing, no bringing dead folks or things back to life, no making any one or thing fall in love, and no wishing for more wishes, or things would just get ridiculous.”
The lawyer paced back and forth a few times, staring at the ceiling as though in deep thought.
“And which of these rules do you believe my client has been in breach of?”
The genie scoffed, “obviously the whole wishing for more wishes one. You know that, or why would we even be here. Why do you lawyers always go over every obvious detail, as though it’s going to make it any better for your case by repeating it.”
The lawyer smiled, candidly: “So my client said the words ‘Please Genie, can I please have more wishes’, or did he ask for a specific number of more wishes or..?”
“Well, no. He did wish for more genies though, which is just madness”
The lawyer turned to address the wider courtroom.
“So as the we have all heard, the standard genie rules state that they may not grant a user with any more wishes. However, I do not recall there being any mention of a rule against wishing for more genies?”
He turned back to the genie, “Or have I misunderstood?”
| 2018-07-18T11:50:56 | 2018-07-18T11:47:43 | 55 | 28 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
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“Dad?”
“Yes, Christie?”
“Tony says that Velocity is bad because he never helps people.”
Jalek sighed. When he’d volunteered to be one of the chaperones for the school field trip to Velocity Hall, he’d anticipated getting pelted with accusations like this — though he hadn’t been expecting it from his own daughter. He’d told her a thousand times at home, and the tour guide had just told her a thousand times for the past hour, but her attention disorder made it difficult for her to pay attention.
*Maybe now that she’s* asking *the question, she’ll listen*, he reassured himself as he prepared to tell the whole story again.
“Christie, has anyone ever told you what a superhangover is?”
The seven-year-old shook her head innocently, and Jalek resisted the urge to beg to differ.
“When a superhero uses his—or her—” he had to keep up the equal opportunity for his daughter’s sake, “power on one day, they get a superhangover the next time they wake up. A superhangover means they get really tired and become weaker than a normal human. So if Aquaman talks to fish on Monday, he can’t even talk to people on Tuesday. The speech center of his brain just conks out.”
“Wow,” Christie breathed, wide-eyed.
“Come on, let’s keep up with the rest of the tour,” Jalek said, ushering his daughter by the shoulder. They had just come from Velocity Hall's dome, which functioned as an educational museum and filled with memrobilia to Velocity’s rise to stardom. Jalek always found that part of the tour interesting, as he rarely ever left his station as a Velocity Hall guard in the *real* facility underground, where Velocity spend all of his time when he wasn't out saving the day. But the tour and quality father-daughter time was almost up as the pack of kids was herded into a sidehall that led into the giftshop. Tony, Christie’s friend, dropped the juice-box he’d been carrying on the pristine white marble floors, and some of it splashed onto the white alabaster drywall, narrowly missing one of the framed newspaper clippings lining the hallway.
*Why does she listen to him and not me?* Jalek sighed internally. He decided to continue his explanation while he might still have Christie’s attention:
“Velocity used to be independent, saving whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But his hangovers worsened as he aged. At first, he would just be a particularly slow person once he woke from his next sleep, but now? His body slows down so much that he can’t eat, can’t breathe, can’t pee.” Christie giggled at the mention of bodily fluids. “He’s made a lot of enemies — like The Sleeper, you know him, right? And he needs life-support. He’s one of our best superheroes, so we keep him safe here. We don’t send him out unless there’s a real emergency, because it’s expensive to keep him on life-support for a full day with a staff team waiting on him and a platoon of guards keeping him safe.”
“But aren’t people more important than money?”
Jalek bit his lip. How was he supposed to explain to his daughter that the government had set the price of a human life at only ten thousand dollars? Federal agencies were reluctant to keep up a facility like this to house one person and needed to make it worth the cost. Velocity was only sent out when enough people were in mortal danger, to justify the millions it took to keep Velocity on life-support for a day. And, of course, the facility had to be guarded on his off-days, which added another million to the threshold… All-in-all, the authorities wanted Velocity to pay for himself, and that meant that he’d only been released to help the public on three occasions in the last five years.
The idealist in Jalek wanted to say that that was unacceptable, but his inner pragmatist knew that they also had to keep Velocity here just in case. What if they sent him out to save a man from falling to his death, and the next there was a terror threat? What if they gave him a menial task and the next day they needed him for a real crisis? He was their trump card, and they weren’t going to play him unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Yes,” Jalek told his daughter slowly. “And that’s why we need to keep Velocity in here, whether he likes it or not. You see, the cost of a human life is set at…” He trailed off when the group of kids squealed at the sight of the giftshop, and Christie ran off to join them. Sighing, he went through the sliding glass doors into the room lined with Velocity shirts, coffee mugs, and pencils. Everything was coated either with Velocity’s golden lightning bolt, or else with the purple haze of his arch-enemy, The Sleeper. Jalek wondered if Tony hated Velocity enough to buy a t-shirt of the at-large villain instead.
He took up station at the counter to help kids pay for what they picked out and to make sure that no one exceeded the assigned price allowance. He warily eyed the group of kids that were admiring the life-sized Velocity plush dolls and cardboard cutouts. They were likely expensive, and why would anyone want them in their home? They were a little too realistic for his taste.
Jalek let his eyes wander out through the glass-doored exist and into the parking lot, and he froze with horror. Christie was there, jumping from parking curve to parking curve, distracted and absorbed in her game. Behind her in the distance, he could see the small guard station that allowed cars in and out of the parking lot. The moving gate that barred cars was opening and closing like a garage door gone haywire, and Jalek could just barely make out the slumped-over form of a guard on the control panel.
And, walking right towards Christie, were ten men in pure-black outfits, armed with machine guns.
Jalek sprang into action — this was what he was paid for, and even on vacation days like this he carried his gun at his hip. But the added terror of his daughter in danger made his heart race. Normal protocol was to spring the alarms placed on every wall, which would seal off every entrance and call every guard to their stations. But if he sealed off the entrances, he would be leaving Christie out there with them.
Instead of pulling the alarm, he raced towards the door, calling over his shoulder as he went, “Pull the alarm! Someone pull the alarm! Intruders!”
His heart pounded as he waited for the sliding doors to slowly opened, and then he pelted out into the parking lot. Bright sunshine glinted off of the gun that one of the men was now holding to Christie’s head as another held her at bay, covering her mouth. Christie was struggling to break free of his grip, but Jalek knew it would be no good. Even if she could run, they could shoot.
Jalek stood there in front of the men, his hand on the gun at his hip. It was a standoff, where eight other men pointed guns at him, and he didn’t even have his weapon drawn. He didn’t dare move.
One of the eight men put down his gun and stepped forward. Through a black face-plate, the man demanded, “Are you one of the guards at this facility?”
“Yes,” Jalek answered. *Please let this be some sort of a test…*
“And is this your daughter?”
“N — no.”
“So you won’t mind if I just…” the man cocked his gun and pointed it straight at Christie.
“No! No, please! I’ll do anything.”
“Good. Then lead us to Velocity.”
“W — what do you want with him?” Jalek asked, stalling for time.
“He has let this country rot for long enough. He has the power to save thousands of lives over the course of a year, but does he? No. The superhero hides in this little *museum* and doesn’t come out.”
“The superhangover effect makes it probable that —”
“SHUT UP!” the man growled. “You're lucky that I don't kill the offspring of a pig like you, defending that lazy old bastard who calls himself a superhero. We’re the ones giving out justice today. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time: where. Is. Velocit —”
\----
(Sorry, continued below)
|
Nobody tells you about the dark side of having super powers. It's amazing that people have armored skin and can destroy tanks bare handed. It's amazing that people can lift up heavy objects with their mind. That armored guy? He uses super strength to fight or even lift his own armored skin. If he's just walking around, no big deal, he can sleep it off normally and probably only eats a bit extra. But using his powers to fight, and he might as well be a rock. And the mind guy? Probably has a sensory deprivation chamber in his house to hide in.
My power? I'm a strategist. I can effectively position properly powered people for maximum effect. My normal brain power can calculate most of it, but there are certain other factors. Like the one time we were recovering some money from the bank, no, not stealing. I positioned our armored guy near the side where I would normally stick our tough but not armored guy. Well, heroes rolled into tough guy and armored guy flanked them and we escaped quickly enough. But I am really trying to give you details in an impared state. Go away. Once my brain can strategize the way out of this jail cell, I won't have to talk to you.
Ok. So I wake up with the brainpower of a goldfish some days. I have an assistant for that. He's compensated well.
| 2018-08-19T06:49:51 | 2018-08-19T06:04:43 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] You have a friendc who buys you gifts that, days later, turns out you need. You figure they’re just observant. In till they give you a giant stuffed bear, to your surprise as it is a fairly normal gift and on your car ride home you are crash and the extra cushion of the bear saves your life.
|
“Ezekiel?!” I exclaimed as he walked into my hospital room. I was sure I wouldn’t see him until after I left the hospital, if even then. Every time I got hurt, he always disappeared for a while unexpectedly.
“Hey Riley,” he said hesitantly, looking over my bruised figure. I glanced down immediately to make sure I wasn’t half naked or something. I couldn’t tell anymore without looking, and I already felt self-conscious without a bra underneath my hospital gown. “H-How are you doing?” He stuttered slowly.
I looked up and stared at him for a moment, evaluating his reserved expression. His dark green eyes seemed…regretful. “Zeek,” I began cautiously, “why did you give me that huge teddy bear? It saved my life. It’s literally the only reason why I’m not dead right now.”
He looked away, his face now impassive. “It was just a gift Riley, I told you that.”
His response immediately made me suspicious. There was no surprise in what I'd said. No 'Wow, I can't believe my gift saved your life.' Just regret. A knowledgeable regret, as if he knew exactly what he had done. As if it had been intentional. But that wasn't what I was focusing on. My heart hurt too much to think about that.
“Why?” I demanded, feeling my eyes begin to sting. “Why do you insist of giving me things even though you said you don’t want to be with me?”
He shifted his weight uneasily at the foot of the bed. “I never said that,” he began quietly.
“Yes you did!” I exclaimed. I knew for a fact he did. Why was he denying it now?
He glanced at me briefly before looking away again. “I didn’t say I didn’t *want* to be with you.”
That gave me pause as I read between the lines. What had he really said? And then it hit me. He *couldn’t* be with me. Not that he didn’t want to be. “Why?” I asked again, barely above a whisper.
But he didn’t respond. He just stared at the wall silently.
“Zeek!” I exclaimed. “Why? Why did you save my life?”
He shifted uneasily again, a subconscious act, and remained silent.
I gasped. I was right. It had just been a stab in the dark, just an impossible theory. But his reaction…I was right. “Zeek…I can’t feel my legs.”
His head snapped in my direction, shock all over his face. He rushed to my side, kneeling down next to me and clasping his warms hands around mine. “Riley! I’m sorry!” He pleaded with me. “I didn’t know!”
When he bowed his head over our hands, tears silently slipping from his eyes, I reached out and began running my fingers through his thick brown hair with my free hand.
“Ezekiel,” I finally whispered, “why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
He sighed heavily, pressing is forehead into our hands. “I can’t Riley. It’s…” He took a deep breath. “It’s against the rules.”
The portion of my body I could still control locked up in surprise. He immediately noticed and looked at me pleadingly. I had to look away from him then, afraid his emerald gaze was going to make me lose my train of thought. Finally, I spoke. “Is it not against the rules to save my life?” I asked hesitantly.
He froze this time. I could sense all his muscles tense. “No, it is against the rules,” he admitted cautiously. My head snapped in his direction, shocked that he was actually being honest. He continued. “Riley…I’ve been saving your life ever since I met you.”
“How long?” I whispered.
He held my gaze as he replied. “Since you were nine years old.”
I gasped, trying to remember back. To recall some inkling as to why it had started then. “Why?” I finally asked.
He looked away then, seeming to misunderstand my question, his expression emotionless. “Because that is when I was sent to collect your soul Riley.” He looked at me then, no longer hindered by my shocked expression. “I’m a reaper. A god of death.”
# Part 2
“A god of death?” I asked slowly, suddenly feeling lightheaded. I had to lean my head back against the upright portion of the bed. While Ezekiel had withheld information from me, not once had he ever lied to me. Even though it seemed impossible, if he was telling me he was a reaper then I believed him. But that didn’t make wrapping my mind around it any easier.
“So now you know,” he replied quietly. “Why we can’t be together.”
I closed my eyes, trying to keep the room from spinning. “But why me?” I whispered.
He lowered his voice even more. “Your soul. It’s…beautiful. And innocent. I couldn’t touch it. I didn’t want to touch it.” I opened my eyes and looked at him then as he began gently running his lips along the back of my hand. “I wanted to protect it.” He then sighed heavily, seemingly lost in his own thoughts now. “I’ve taken so many others, but when I met you…I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
My face flushed as he continued to run his warm lips along my hand and my wrist. There was so much to consider. So many questions to ask. But I could only focus on one thing. “But I still don’t understand,” I admitted. “Why can’t we be together?”
He ignored my question. “I can heal your legs,” he announced unexpectedly. But there was something more there. A pain in his expression, in his voice. He then started mumbling to himself. “I should have just done it a long time ago. You wouldn’t be in this situation if I had. I was just too selfish.” He rested his forehead against our hands again, as if silently apologizing.
I believed him that he could heal me. And I was glad to know that maybe I wouldn’t be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of my life. But, clearly, this gift wasn’t free. Otherwise he wouldn’t seem so…regretful.
“At what cost?” I wondered hesitantly.
He looked up at me then, holding my gaze for a few seconds, and then turned his head away. “You’ll never see me again.”
“Why not?” I asked breathlessly. I wanted the feeling back in my legs, but…I wanted him more.
He took a deep breath. “Because you won’t *want* to see me again.”
“But why Zeek?” I didn’t understand. There wasn’t any manifestation of reality in which I wouldn’t want him. I’d always wanted him, for as long as I had known him.
He finally met my gaze. “Because Riley….if I awaken your divinity then your legs will be healed, but you’ll be a different person. You’ll be appalled by what I am.” I just stared at him in disbelief, prompting him to continue. “Riley…you’re a reincarnated god. A god of life.”
My vision immediately darkened, and my ears started ringing. I had to lay my head back again. I barely heard Ezekiel urgently calling my name. I barely felt his breath suddenly on my cheek. His face was finally close to mine. After all this time, after all my fantasies, it was finally happening. And yet, I was barely conscious enough to enjoy him this close to me.
“Don’t do it,” I whispered, barely even hearing my own voice. “I want to be with you. I *need* to be with you.”
He pulled away then. I tried to look at him, but it felt like he was far away, as if I was watching him through a tunnel.
Unexpectedly, he held up his hand and a shadow appeared in the room, manifesting into a massive scythe with a bright red gem at the top, and a long chain at the bottom. My heart began fluttering, my ears barely picking up on his words.
“I’m sorry Riley. This is goodbye.”
# [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9e4vxp/my_boyfriend_is_a_soul_reaper_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9e7d8c/my_boyfriend_is_a_soul_reaper_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9e86mw/my_boyfriend_is_a_soul_reaper_part_5/)
**Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at** [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt)
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"What do you mean I'm crash" was my first shock, I had just been in my car ride home, and now I'm being told this garbage?
"You are crash bandicot" the wise old sage nodded, for reasons he refused to get into; This wise old sage was a piece of wood.
"No no no, I've played the game. I know how this ends" I denied, but the wooden board wasn't having it.
Before I could even scream in horror too much, the board had plastered itself on my head and my vision was momentarily cut off.
Like a horror dream, everytime I tried to escape; the board would cut off all vision until I returned to the predetermined path ahead of me. I already knew the horrors of this, I've played it.
I died a lot in the game. My greatest fear would be that I would die here, it only made my trials longer and my struggles worse. But I didn't die.
The bear is what saved my life at first, and my mentality. Whenever I felt like crying and giving up, I would squeeze it to death. If it wasn't so heavily cushioned, it would be flat. And if it wasn't there, I would do something suicidal.
I had plenty of time to think about my life, and when I finally reached the last level, the board flew off my head and I found my friend. In the end, I could only spit two scathing sentences.
"OP, what the hell is wrong with you? Why did you try railroad me while limiting my own choices?"
It was obviously OP, had to be. He gave me a teddy because he wanted it to be a crucial focus in my life.
The jokes on him though, halfway through I dumped the teddy.
| 2018-09-08T04:39:03 | 2018-09-08T03:52:17 | 90 | 34 |
[WP] In 2014, during the Ouija Board craze, you jokingly tried to summon a demon and nothing happened. Five years later the demon arrives, only to angrily lecture you that Ouija Boards are the slowest, most outdated form for contacting the spirit realm.
|
"Whoa, whoa, whoa... what's it gonna spell?!" my friend Amanda shouted as we moved our hands over the Ouija Board slowly.
Four sets of hands were 'guiding' the pointer over the letters, but we did not seem to be in total harmony. We'd already spelled the word 'summon', now the only question is *what* we were going to summon from this very real, *very* spooky process. I knew my other two idiot friends were going to try to spell something dumb, like 'butt', because they *always* spelled 'summon butt' while cackling like hyenas every time we brought this thing out of the closet. But tonight, Mandy and I were having none of it. Breaking all the rules of Ouija, we forcefully took control of what we were spelling.
"D-E-M-O-N," we spelled out one letter at a time. A flash of lightning did crackle through the air as we finished, but predictably, no terrifying demonic being hopped out of our board. Can't say we expected much different, but at least we tried something a little more serious for a change.
Five years passed without touching, or even thinking much about the Ouija board collecting dust in my closet. It's doubtful I'd even remember the night we tried to "S-U-M-M-O-N D-E-M-O-N", until my doorbell rang just now. I opened the door, figuring it was probably a package delivery, only to find it was a delivery of another sort.
Standing on my front porch, I found a real life, honest to God demon. Tiny and somewhat misshapen, with more unruly chest hair than I could imagine any living creature having, but unmistakably a *demon*, nonetheless.
"Hey. You... you called for a demon?" he asked through wheezing, uneven breaths.
"What?! No! Oh my god, oh my god," I exclaimed, struggling to form thoughts, let alone words.
"You Jamie Hanson?" he asked, while looking down at a small screen in his hands.
"Y- yes? But wha-wha-what are you doing here?"
"Your stupid spirit board... summoned me," he said through continued labored breathing. "I... am the great and power- powerful... demon lord... Kel... Kel'thunarr." As he finished speaking he doubled over, as if desperately trying to catch his breath. Frankly, the terribly out of shape little demon looked like he was about to collapse.
"What? You're kidding? That was like five years ago!" I said, rapidly becoming more comfortable as I realized this little demonic being was not especially scary or intimidating in the slightest. "Why are you here *now?*
"Because when you bring me forth using such a painfully outdated mode of summoning, I have to use an equally outdated method of transportation to make my way to you. No portals, no gateways, heck... not even a nonstop flight!"
"I see. And... are you okay? Can you not breathe the air up here or something?" I asked, still concerned about his physical state
"Hey! I can breath the air just fine, but you ever walked to upstate New York from the depths of Hell itself?"
"No?"
"It is a *trek,* lemme tell ya, kiddo," he said. "You got a nice recliner or something where I can take a load off for a minute?"
Against all logical reason, I led the little demon into my house and helped him hop up on my favorite comfy chair. Even as I thought I was very kindly helping him out, he did not seem thrilled with me.
"Of all the hundreds of demonic summoning taking place in the world, I somehow got stuck on *this* job," he whined. "You are the only person in the last decade to use such an antiquated method of summoning, did you know that?"
"I'm- I'm sorry? But its like most of us have access to whatever 'modern' occult summoning rituals you're referring to, we were just some high school kids messing around one night."
"Summoning rituals?" he practically spit. "Also horribly outdated! Apps! Apps are the modern way! Demons have joined the gig economy, kid. How are you not aware of this? Doesn't your generation practically live and breath on apps that make your life more convenient? Getting a ride on a moments notice anywhere you happen to be standing? Finding a date or a hookup no matter how awful a person you are? Having five dollars worth of fast food delivered to your doorstep for three times the price?"
"I mean--I feel pretty personally attacked here, but... yes," I said. "But I've never heard of an app that lets you summon a goddang *demon*."
"Never heard of one?! There are dozens! Summoner Rabbit? Uber Fiend? Demon Dash? SO MANY ways to have a demon delivered to you instantly these days!" he chided me, before continuing casually. "Or you can just use Facebook."
"You can use Facebook to summon evil demonic beings now?!"
"Yep, constantly evolving platform and all that jazz! It ain't just for publicly watching your great uncle Winston argue with your 3rd cousin Shelia about politics anymore. 'Wonderful' though those interactions might be."
My mind was reeling, confused beyond belief. "Why on earth would they possibly allow users to summon de-"
"Money," he interjected simply.
"Ohhhh..." I replied. "I can see it then."
"Hell's got deep pockets, kiddo! We paid handsomely to have our new generation of summoning apps developed and for summoning functionality to be added to existing platforms. We're in discussions with Disney+ to make inroads with the youngest demographics. Say a kid just finished watching Maleficent or Hercules and their fascinated by the evil creatures portrayed on screen. We want deep integration in app so that they can summon the wicked monster of their choosing with one touch from the end credits screen. Then we got em hooked for life!"
"Jesus Christ..."
"Would not be a fan of our tactics, it's true," he said sadly. "Look, do me a favor, would ya? At least download one of our wonderful apps so that you can at least communicate with me in a modern and convenient way now that I'm here."
Within the context of the moment, his absurd request seemed fairly reasonable. I grabbed my phone and searched for the apps he'd named. "I'm not seeing it here, Kel," I told him as my searches came up empty.
"It? Which one can't you find?"
"None of em! Here, see for yourself," I said as I handed my phone to him. As he scrolled through for awhile, tapping away on the screen a bit, a massive scowl formed on his face.
"What the home is this?! Why aren't any of our apps here?"
"Must not have gotten approval for listing on the app store?"
"Amateurs!" he yelled, exploding into a rage that was more comical than frightening. "They told me we were legitimately listed on all app stores years ago!" He stood and began walking toward the door.
"What? Who told you what now? And where are you going?"
"I gotta go back to Hell and read the riot act to some of our lazy IT nerd demons. Right now we've got billions in app R&D costs giving us zero return on investment. Can't trust them to do anything right without looking over their shoulder," he said as he opened the door to leave. He sighed with deep annoyance. "Don't worry, I'll be back. You summoned me so I am contractually obligated to serve you, but maybe don't wait up? I hear the walk takes a few years each way."
___
___
Thanks for reading. If you'd like to explore more of my stories (including another one featuring this grumpy little demon), feel free to check out r/Ryter
EDIT: I stickied the other story starring the 'great demon' Kel'thunarr at the top of my subreddit if anyone is indeed interested in reading more of his misadventures. It's a 2 part tale of another time he was summoned (after this), and how his new master tries to get rid of him after he overstays his welcome.
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"Name, and purpose of summoning?"
"What the - who are you?"
"Oh. Wonderful. You didn't want to cut a deal, you were just messing around with Ouija Boards. I'll be going now."
"Wait, Ouija Board? That was five years ago!"
"I know. What you mortals fail to understand is those are the slowest ways to contact the spirit world. They're like freaking messenger pigeons, if you replace the pigeon with a turtle."
"Then why do you use them if they're so slow?"
"We didn't make the bloody things, we only use them because you lot got it into your heads that they worked, so we had to make them work. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make a glorified board game marketed as an occult tool into something actually usable for summoning? Do you?"
"No, I, uh, I don't."
"And don't get me started about when they become trendy, because then we're stuck dealing with thousands of you clowns. Don't know why we even bother to deal with you idiots at times."
| 2019-11-27T10:30:38 | 2019-11-27T10:27:00 | 590 | 67 |
[WP] You are awoken by banging on your door and cries of help, begging to be let in. Upon opening the door an ancient part of your brain recognizes what you are seeing; yet in spite of the blood, sharp teeth, and porcelain skin all you can think of is that you have never seen anything so afraid.
|
When you live somewhere long enough, you know what sounds normal for that place. For my little town in Pennsylvania, this was no different. I know what time of night the traffic outside dies down. I know it's football season when my neighbor screams in anguish & delight over the games he watches; tonight his team must have been doing pretty poorly as there was more commotion than usual but nothing out of the ordinary.
I also know when someone knocks on the door so late at night, it can only mean trouble as soon as that door would open. Not only that but it's not just me living here; it's my fiance and my daughter. My family. I grabbed my cellphone from off my computer desk and grabbed a handgun I kept hidden amid my art supplies. This starving artist was also a veteran & he was going to be damned if he was going to walk into a horror movie troupe unprepared.
Armed I made my way out of my office and past my daughter's crib. My daughter was asleep despite the noise coming from the porch. She was sucking her thumb and holding her blue and white stuffed slothy animal.
I made my way downstairs in the darkness. I rounded the bottom of the stairs into the soft glow of the tv that was frozen on Netflix's 'are you still watching' screen.
My fiance was passed out drunk on the living room couch from earlier. We got in a huge fight over money and bills & she decided to self-medicate herself into slumber. I threatened to leave but the truth is... I had nowhere to go & didn't want to leave my family. I got laid off due to the pandemic & had no money to go anywhere. She was able to transition to remote work & was the only breadwinner in the house. That's why she was so stressed. That's why we got in a fight. That's why she was oblivious to the commotion outside on the porch - drunk to forget the stress of being the sole reason we weren't homeless.
I averted my eyes away from my fiance and caught the first glimpse of our late night visitor. I could only make out her shape through the door's small window due to the streetlights dozens of feet away from our porch. At this distance I could definitely tell it was a female on the porch due to her desperate and scared voice.
"Please hep me! I need someone to help me! PLEASE!!!!" Her pounding on the door got more frantic.
I called out to my fiance...."Stacy... STACY! Wake up!" Nothing. I went over and shook her while still keeping my handgun vaguely aimed at the door. Nothing. She was out cold.
"I can't let you in lady but I'll call the cops so they can help you!" There were so many things running through my mind. I grew up in an abusive household where my mom tried so many times to leave and we found ourselves in similar situations like the stranger outside. Although we showed up crying at the doors of friends and family & not complete strangers.
There was also the possibility this was all a big scam & as soon as I opened the door I got jumped, my house robbed, and my family... who knows? It was scary to even ponder since I loved that little girl upstairs with all my heart and despite our stressful relationship, I loved my fiance too.
What I could do, however, is turn on the porch to literally shed some light on the situation. With my fingers ready to hit 'call' over 911 in one hand and my handgun firmly gripped in the other, I made my way over to the door and flipped on a switch with the barrel of the gun.
That's when things started to change.
I saw a small girl on the porch. The top of her head probably ended in the middle of my chest. Unusually pale, long almost white hair and reddish irises. She was wearing what appeared to be business casual attire. A white button down blouse, gray slacks, and shoes that looked more expensive than my car. Although the most bold feature of her appearance is her clothes and mouth were splattered with blood.
That and I've never seen such a look of abject terror in anyone's face before. Except perhaps mine at that very moment. My mind explained away her eyes as either contacts or it being 3am and I'm looking at a complete stranger under duress in poor lighting.
But the blood? How does this story end with me opening up the door to a bloody stranger? I'm either going to be a hero or one of the dumbest parents to walk the Earth.
I looked down at my cell phone and hit the call button to 911. When I looked up, the stranger was gone. My hairs stood up on their very ends to see someone pull a literal 'vanishing act' like that. I backed away from the door in terror trying to gather my thoughts to tell the operator what was happening. After the operator told me the police were on their way I begged her to stay on the phone with me. She did.
I took a glass of wine that was on the coffee table and poured it over my fiance's face. She woke up this time. Before she could start screaming at me, she saw the gun trembling in my hand. I did my best to inform her what happened. After I calmed down she grabbed herself a glass of water halfway not believing what I said. I had PTSD from the army and have had episodes before and to her it made more sense that this was all in my head vs a bloody stranger showing up at the door.
That all changed when the police arrived. Once I saw the blue and red flashing lights outside I opened the door to greet the officers. By this time my fiance had sobered up and grabbed our daughter from upstairs. The commotion must have really gotten to her as our little girl looked absolutely mortified.
I knew at least one of the cops who showed up. Or I should say I was familiar with him. He pulled me over for an expired inspection sticker but let me off because I was a veteran. Officer Paul. His partner was Officer Scoble whom I never met before.
Officer Paul and Scoble got my account of what happened that night and I could tell from their expressions that they probably thought what my fiance did; that perhaps I've been watching too much anime and playing too many video games and I scared myself silly. Thing is in just a few minutes everyone would be wishing that was the case.
Officer Scoble went to go check on my neighbor to see if he witnessed anything out of the ordinary. His door was already open. I heard him yell out my neighbor's name from inside my neighbor's house. Something wasn't right.
Officer Paul told me and my family to stay right there on the couch as he darted out to the porch to talk to Scoble. The only things I was able to make out were 'blood everywhere' and 'no one's there!'. In about 30 minutes my house was surrounded by cops, cop cars, and paramedics.
That was five years ago.
To this day no one knows what happened to my neighbor and his family. I found out the details along with the rest of the public as it was published in the newspapers. A family of 3 had gone completely missing yet blood from all 3 family members was found all through their home splattered up and down the walls, their furniture... everywhere. But no bodies. No sign of forced entry. Nothing. Just a missing family and their blood.
It shakes me to my very core to think what would have happened if I opened up that door that night. It scares me to think what was waiting for me and my family outside.
But that's not the worst part.
There is one detail I left out of all the reports, interviews, and articles. One detail I did not share with law enforcement or my fiance. Or anyone for that matter.
When I saw that girl standing on the porch... I could barely make out...
...that she had fangs. She didn't go out of her way to bear them to me but there was no mistaking it as I could see them as she pleaded with me to let her into the house. I only saw them for a second or two but it was enough.
I've had so much time to look back and parse that memory. Examine and reexamine that night. Even questioning my own sanity each and every time I came to that conclusion. And I've wrestled with that ever since. Not knowing if I officially lost my shit, had a run into with a murderous psychopath or group who liked to play dress up, or perhaps a run in with something that is beyond reason. A myth made real.
I don't know and I will perhaps never know.
|
So there I stood staring at the insanity on my doorstep.
A bloodied and *afraid* vampire was pointing at a gibbering mass of humanity insanely ranting at invisible keebler orcs in the corner and saying to me..
"He bit me! That daft bastard actually bit *me*!"
Oh.
Yeah.
"That tends to happen this time of night when the crazed tweakers are looking for a fix." I matter of factly said, as if this happened all the time.
"dO yOu haVe a cAr SpOon? Hyeh hee hee!" the gibberish babbling man interjected.
"Keep him away from me!" the vampire backed away from the now apparently cosmically tripping tweaker.
"So..he bit you? Is he going to, you know, go all" I made fang motions with my fingers and clicked my teeth.
"No..no...that won't happen. But he..OH GOD HERE HE COMES AGAIN!"
Sure enough, the crackhead had lept from the ground as gracefully as an electrocuted frog before charging at the visibly horrified vampire begging sanctuary at my door.
"fIx! NeeD More! GimMe thE mOuSe aPpLes!"
"Don't you have flight or super strength or something?" I asked the vampire as he dodged the teeth of the rampaging crackhead.
"You try fighting off a juiced and hallucinating crackhead!"
That he was shouting that from halfway up a lightpole as his attacker gnashed his teeth and growled below was funny enough.
That he was being poked with what remained of an umbrella the crackhead had pulled out of nowhere was even better.
The sing song calls of "gotta pick the apples" at every poke was just the cherry on top.
"Stop that!" pleaded the vampire.
This was going to be a long night.
| 2020-10-23T02:54:05 | 2020-10-23T02:42:48 | 38 | 17 |
[WP] "No," the Evil Emperor said to the demon lord "I will not sacrifice my captain of the guard to you. Not for all the power in the world. That is one line even I will not cross."
|
''*Alright, cancel the summoning!*'' I call out to the dark priests and warlocks who stare at me confusedly. I draw forth my dark sceptre of power and wave it about menacingly. ''**NOW!**'' Scrambling, the cowardly lot of them cease chanting, disrupt the circle of power, as the demon lord stare at me with unbridled hatred and some confusion. ''*You DARE to ask me to sacrifice the captain of my imperial houseguard? The same captain who have been with me since the beginning of my campaign? Begone you foul fiend of the uttermost hells! Back to thy hellish jail! Oh jail to you! Jail for the demon lord for ten thousand years!*'' The enormous cretin screeches in the void-tongues of the netherrealms as it is sent back down to where it belongs. ''*The rest of you, get out of my sight!*'' The priests and warlocks scatter themselves, fearing my wrath.
''*Incompetent buffoons.*''
I leave the summoning chamber and walk to the balcony in my office. I stare out over the crimson citadel that is my dark capital. The beating heart of my unholy empire. Where loyal free citizens work every day to bring my vision of order and control to fruition. Where my dark legionnaires guard the streets, where my imperial schools teach the children, where my apothecaries treat the sick. Where the legions under my command crush the kingdoms of the world underneath their steel boots. Where the old laws are repealed and replaced with my iron will. Where thousands of enemies are put to the sword every single day as the borders of my empire are expanded by my loyal generals. And it all works. Loyal citizens that bow only to their emperor, loyal soldiers who are given good pensions and fresh land to settle after it has been conquered from the crowned fools of this world. Loyal arcanists and scholars who are allowed freedom to study as they please, with ample amounts of research grant money and captured enemy soldiers to experiment on.
You don't earn that loyalty by sacrificing your underlings for power. You gain it by conquering the lands of your foolish enemy, sacrificing them for power, and then drastically improve the lives and futures for the former subjects of your now dead enemies. Then you've got the power, the loyal subjects, and no legitimate challengers who surviving members of the old regime could rally around. Once you've done that, competent and capable leaders arise meritocratically through your organisation, becoming trusted lieutenants and administrators of your ever-expanding empire. I still remember when she joined me, the captain of my personal guard. I had just handed over the old ducal family of my homeland to the angered forest spirits, who detested the duke's horrid hunger for game and his constant chopping of ancient oaks. She had been young then. I was younger too, though she was much younger. Barely more than a teenager. Somehow the duke managed to get a hold of a sword and tried to rush me. I was about to obliterate him with a spell, but then this young woman just jumps in front of me, wielding an old rusted blade. She fought him valiantly until the dryads and spriggans could restrain him and drag him into the woods, never to be seen again.
I asked her why she had done that, risked her life for someone who had just conquered her homeland. She said that the duke had hunted her brothers and killed them for sport. I had given her justice, given her a freedom she'd never experienced before. I was of course still planning to conquer the world, bring it under my ironfisted rule, destroy all the old kingdoms, and lead the various monstrous races into war against the men and the elves. But she was free, for the first time in her life. And she felt that I was responsible. Naturally, I recruited her immediately. Such a demonstration of loyalty is never to be underestimated. She was with me when I led the woodpeople in open rebellion against their elven enslavers, bringing the vast forests under my domain. She was there when I slew the ultra-hierophant and disrupted the ability of the gods, both good and evil, to interfere in our world. She lost an eye defending me against the necroking and his zombie-knights. When the spirits of the lands, the spirits of the sea, and the spirits of civilisation sat the crown of ages upon my head, she was part of the honour-guard.
When my former captain retired, due to old age, she was elected by her peers as the best suitable replacement. And she has done an admirable job, both by my estimates and by the estimates of her predecessor. To sacrifice her for power would make her loyalty hollow. I would not deserve it. And who would truly be loyal to me afterwards? Who would truly be loyal if I freely killed my subordinates for mere power? I had planned to offer entire royal bloodlines to the demon. Captured and kept alive in my dungeons, for just this occasion, if it could give me the power to destroy the so-called Hero of Legend, who some old traditionalist wizard dug up from some ancient tomb or other world. Or some such nonsense. And it asks me to sacrifice someone who has been loyal to me? Demons, even the great demon lord it seems, are truly and utterly moronic.
''*My liege.*'' I turn around to see her. Iron-grey hair, her black-steel armour shining in the red light of the evening sun. My captain. She is kneeling, which is a tendency some of my underlings seem to have. ''*Arise, captain. You are not young anymore, I can imagine that being painful for your knees.*'' She does as I bid. I pour out a measure of wine into a glass, formed ornamentally to look like it has dragon features, which does not seem to improve or worsen the flavour. I hand her one, and she accepts hesitantly. ''*Well, I suppose I should have seen this coming. My captain, if I ever have the idea to consider demonic intervention again, remind me of this.*'' She stands there, stiffly, with the glass in her hand. I take a small sip of wine as I admire the gothic architecture of my citadel of evil.
''*My liege. If you had asked it of me, I would have done it.*'' I spit out the wine in surprise. ''*…What? I'm sorry, captain, what?*''
She looks at me with fire and determination. She looks fierce and strong. Like she did when she raised her sword to duel that duke, when we first met. ''*If you had asked it of me, my liege, I would have gladly given myself to that demon.*'' So I wasn't hearing things. Good. I stare at her for a bit. ''*Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but you are aware of what the demon lord does, right?*'' She nods. That's loyalty. Right there. Loyalty as strong and true as pure steel. ''*Captain Arianne of Highwater. I appreciate that you have such loyalty to me. It shows commendable belief in my cause, conquering the world, that you would do this for me.*'' My hands shake momentarily. She would have done it. Loyalty in such amounts, a marvel in this age when the Allied Kingdoms are willing to send for legendary heroes to defeat me. ''*Thank you. But I would never cross that line. Never. The royalty of old would gladly have given their firstborn for power. The kings against which I fight, those who are on the side of tradition, honour, and the faith, and they are incompetent, inbred fools who fought like rabid dogs over scraps of patrimony. To sacrifice a loyal underling is their way.*''
She hesitates for a moment, before answering. ''*But, pardon me for asking my liege, how else are you going to defeat the legendary hero? The prophecy clearly states that you shall die by his hand.*'' I nod. I've been trying to subvert that damn prophecy for years. Instead of answering directly, I motion for her to join me on the balcony. She marches to my side like we were still on the battlefield. If one were to look directly ahead one sees only the capital, its many spires, the dirigible landing towers, the arcanist academies where modern thaumaturgy is being studied. The great port where ships from countless continents dock and leave carrying raw materials to the capital and exporting finished goods and new knowledge to long established lands and newly conquered provinces. But if one looks straight down, where I am pointing, one sees a garden with many waterpools, high trees with ample shade. There one can see the wives of my generals keeping a close watch on their children. There one can see the orphans I have taken in, the children of those loyal to me who have fallen in battle, and are now raised in luxury, with access to ample opportunities for education.
|
The flame wreathed face stared down at the one who had called it forth. Their gold edged clothes bellowed in the wind rushing towards the face. It leaned down further, letting the mortals vision be filled with their terrible glory.
"Really? I offer you the strength you desire, to crush those who work to year down your rule, and you refuse to make the payment I require?"
The Emperor nodded, his face firm.
"Correct. They are the only one to have stood by me throughout. I will not betray the one who has given me so much."
The face grinned, it's mouth filled with stained, rotting teeth.
"You are the first to refuse. Colour me impressed. You have passed my little test."
It laughed, shaking the chamber.
"Lust for power is good, but loyalty is so much more. That is the strength of bond you need to prevail. Without it, your rule will fall."
The Emperor nodded, eyes filled with understanding.
"I know. They fight for me, not out of fear, as so many would do. But because they are mine, and I protect them as much as I can."
The grin widened, skin seeming to split to accommodate it.
"Good. The bonds you have forged will be useful. My power is yours, little mortal."
A section of flame split off, dashing into the Emperor's chest. He inhaled sharply, as his flesh seemed to bubble in the inferno. But pain did not come. He felt it inside, his body strengthening from it.
"Now go! Enjoy your reign. I will see you in due course."
With its last ominous words, the face disappeared, leaving him alone. He clenched his hand, feeling the power within. It both frightened and excited him, knowing he had the approval of such a being. But he had a job to do. This world would be his. He knew it.
| 2022-07-15T13:19:34 | 2022-07-15T12:34:30 | 286 | 72 |
[WP] One day, Gabe Newell puts a video on YouTube. He says one word, "Three." The next day, he and everyone else at Valve are found dead.
|
It was 3:33 PM PST on Wednesday when the infamous "three" video went live.
The following 24 hours were chaotic with misinformation running rampant, mostly fueled by reddit's collective hunt to solve what the video was trying to say.
The video itself was only around ten seconds long and it was posted on Valve's official YouTube channel. It was only actually up for 24 hours before the entire channel was deleted.
Obviously, the video had been ripped and shared and was all over the internet within hours, so having it go down along with the channel only added more mystery to it all.
I remember feeling really giddy; feeling like I was a part of something big. Everyone thought this was just a very clever marketing ploy on Valve's part to finally announce Half-Life: Episode 3.
Reddit's research squad started trying to mash together everything and anything that could remotely be considered a clue. The video itself wasn't helpful by any means.
The title was blank. The description; also blank. If this was an ARG, they weren't going to make things easy. No cryptic BBS code. No obscure images. Nothing.
Within an hour, locals were gathering near Valve's HQ. It was closed.
Not just normally closed, either. Nobody had access to the floors Valve owned in the building. Security had been specifically informed not to allow anyone in. Nobody. Not press. Not family.
It wasn't long before this oddity got out and more people gathered outside of Valve's HQ. Eventually the gathering started to look more like a small music festival and the building owners decided to have police come in and barricade the area in case some crazed fan decided to try something crazy.
Before I continue, I must note just how ridiculous this all sounds in retrospect. Even if it had been the reveal of Half-Life 3, one of the most anticipated games of all time, it *was* still just a game. Would people really be going this crazy over a game?
Well, it wasn't that simple. Along with the video, the entire Steam service had gone down. The store and the servers were just blank. Originally, people thought it was just being overloaded from people refreshing to try and see if Half-Life 3 would go on sale, but it was later learned that the servers had all been manually and purposely shut down.
This basically forced everyone, even those who didn't give a shit about Half Life anymore to pay attention. We all know there's nothing like a riled up group of gamers.
The media also completely spun the event out of proportion. Gaming journalism had already been on a huge decline, hitting new lows and becoming comparable to the same gossip magazines your mom used to buy while checking out at the grocery store.
In other words, the internet made this a big deal; not necessarily Valve. Eventually, mainstream media websites such as CNN picked up the news. It wasn't necessarily an interesting news day prior to the announcement.
___________________________
After having my eyes glued to my computer screen, simultaneously refreshing five or six different reddit threads for way longer than I cared to admit, I was ready to knock out. It was already 9:23 AM EST.
The internet collectively sighed in frustration and the posts and theories stopped coming in so rapidly. Nothing was figured out.
It wasn't a huge deal, however. I caught myself smiling as I began to doze off into sleep, still giddy about what felt like one of those rare, exciting days on the internet.
I had no idea how crazy things would get once the 24 hour mark was hit.
________
I don't remember what I dreamed about that night but I do remember trying to fast forward through my dream to end it to until I realized I could just open my eyes and wake up.
I rushed towards the computer and immediately typed in "re" before the auto-fill took over and led me to the front page of reddit.
On the front, 3 different posts all told me the same thing.
"Entire staff at Valve found dead inside HQ."
I paused for a second.
"What?"
That's all I could muster at the moment. I hadn't even clicked the link yet. I was trying to process the headlines.
In true reddit fashion, I skipped the article and went straight for the comments section of the top post for confirmation.
> I can't believe this shit is for real.
That was the top comment with a staggering 4.2k upvotes.
I then clicked the article and began to read in disbelief. This is where shit got weird.
I expected a murder scene. A crazed fan terrorist attack. A horrible freak accident.
It was none of those things. This was pre-meditated mass suicide. Apparently, every employee was found inside, hooked into some sort body apparatus. It looked a bit like an incubation chamber but I couldn't see much from the blurry, vertically filmed, footage a mobile-streaming fan managed to capture when they rushed past security to see what was going on.
To backtrack a bit, what had happened a few hours prior was something out of a sci-fi novel. At exactly 3:33 PM PST, exactly 24 hours after the posting of the "three" video, a public address system blared a loud horn. It was a deep, guttural sound that felt like it rumbled the ground a bit.
Over the PA, a voice (almost certainly Gabe's) spoke solemnly,
> "I speak with only the truth when I say the world will see that the wait was worth it. We knew we couldn't release this game without revolutionizing everything we know about gaming and I firmly believe we have achieved just that.
>
> From this day forward, games are anything but. Join us and see, before the world you know becomes the enemy we have all written so many times about."
After that, the recording just looped; non-stop. The main doors unlocked and opened themselves but the police did not allow anyone in. The message was alarming to say the least and police decided they would enter the premises first.
That's when shit got real dark. The crowd could immediately tell something was wrong when the police tried to get everyone to away from the scene.
It wasn't long before word leaked that everyone inside, including Gabe Newell, was dead. Within the next few hours of rampant speculation, it became pretty clear that it had been a pre-meditated mass suicide.
The whole thing was extremely bizarre. It felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The days following the event were grim and everything went quiet while the media continued speculating about what happened.
There was no trace of Half-Life 3. Just a sad, very real tragedy. The servers came back up after the 24 hour period but they stopped being updated. The store front just looked the same as it did the day before the video was posted and it just stayed that way since the suicides. There was nobody left to update it.
_____
This was about three months ago now and I'm writing this because even though there hasn't been any new developments and people are moving on, I'm left unsettled. Being someone who has been alone a majority of their life, I feel like I really connected with Gabe's message that played over the PA that day.
There's something bigger going on. The incubation chamber-like things.. The way they found the bodies neatly organized in rows. What happened?
What did he mean by join us? There had already been a few suicides related to the event by super fans that thought Gabe was trying to be poetic but it never felt like he was telling me that.
It had to do something with those incubators. I had to go check them out.
I flew out on a Friday night on a red-eye flight and arrived in Redmond pretty early, just barely beating the sunrise. I was hell-bent on figuring out what the hell happened that day, first-hand.
______________________________
**PART TWO BELOW.**
|
"So it was all a big misunderstanding?" I asked.
The officer nodded.
"Yup," he said, "The famous 'Three' video was just part of a sound check for a previous video that a junior Valve employee uploaded to the internet by mistake."
"...and the murderer as well?" I asked.
"Seems so. He was about to be fired because of the furor surrounding the video, but thought he could cover up the mistake by killing everyone who knew he was to blame. Things got out of hand from there."
| 2014-11-28T10:57:53 | 2014-11-28T10:24:02 | 234 | 47 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad
|
\*First attempt ever! Just felt like it.\*
My mom was fuming. She felt indignant, as if I had been cheated of a birthright. So eldest sis can fly, Paloma's daughters could regenerate or destroy tissue at will (they were great doctors, one as a general practitioner, the other the best oncologist in the country), and I got languages. Everyone looked at me with eyes full of pity and commiseration. As for me, the only thing that really pissed me off was the time I had spent learning English as a second language and the hiragana characters from Japanese. Had I known this was going to be my power, I would have devoted all the time I spent on English classes to the gym and waited patiently without looking at the kanas. But one never knows what it's going to be, right?
After a few days of complaining to the cosmos and whoever wanted to hear her and a pair of visits to the doctor, Mom's anger and frustration started to rub on me and I was getting annoyed. I loved learning languages and was only sorry that I hadn't had time to learn as many as I had wanted. Frankly, it was great to be able to understand Japanese without enduring learning kanjis and radicals one by one. I had to convince my Mom I'd become a great writer or diplomat or politician for her to calm down. The fact that the government did call me because they needed me from time to time in intelligence helped a lot. I just took the chance to get my hands onto every single book and comic I had ever wanted. It took me a bit more to realize that all songs and movies worldwide were available to me as they'd never been before.
It was because I spent months reading truckloads of manga, manwha and some of my favourite authors in their original languages (Ende, Sapkowski, Mournier, every poet ever...), listening to music and watching obscure TV series and movies that it took time to realize the extent of my power.
A language is not only a batch of sounds or jots on paper, papyrus or stone, defining a concept. A language is a vision of the world, and it's intrinsically tied to its culture and history. That's why the British won't do something for all the tea in China, but the Spanish won't do something for all the gold in the world (por todo el oro del mundo). The car has no gender in English, but it's masculine in Spanish and feminine in French. Other languages have neutral pronouns and adjectives and... I could go on and on. The languages, by nature, came with vast amounts of historical and geographical knowledge. I had heard of the town of Aquisgrán, and now I knew it was Aachen. Maps were suddenly much easier to understand, because I knew, if only by their language relationship, a lot of the stuff in them. I felt overwhelmed with all the new things I could now do... reading has always been for me like entering someone else's mind, and suddently thousands and thousands of minds were available for me to meet. As long as a language had a living speaker, I knew it. This wasn't always a blessing. I had to suffer the loss when the last nonagenarian woman to speak an indigenous language died. I felt the erasure of her view of the world... the places, the flowers, the people... they had somehow been in my head and suddenly stopped making sense. I cried my heart out that night, and the native Esperanto speakers or the few fluent Klingons didn't compensate for it.
I need to explain this because it's hard to see why it took me such a long time to realize all my power entailed. I found that I had lost all my inability at Maths by pure chance, trying to guess which of two packets of something was cheaper by the kilo at the supermarket. I guess it makes sense, since the universe is written in maths. I had been so immersed in all the new languages I had found that I certainly hadn't thought about going back to the subject I used to be the worst at. I was now a genius at something, and knowing feels good. So when I realized I understood Maths as if it were my native tongue, I was so blown out that there weren't enough hours in the day for me to read and watch and do everything I could on the subject. I felt blessed by Athena... and all goddesses of knowledge who had a name in any language.
Still the greatest treasure was yet to be found. It was the astrophysics professor at one of the universities that had opened their doors wide for me that noticed when he asked about a star in an easily recognized map. It was Sirius, which I named as Sirius... and all its other names. I started listing names, went on for a while and then I continued.
And continued.
And continued.
And continued.
And continued.
And continued. At this point, the students were looking at me funny, and questioningly at the professor. I was also curious about when he'd stop me, but he didn't and I took it as a challenge, waiting to see where this went. It was one student that eventually interrupted: 'Do we really need all those many names?'
The professor smiled knowingly, and answered: 'Do we?' Two or three students raised their hands. The professor pointed at one. 'She has used more names than living languages exist in the planet right now. Some of those names are not from Earth'. Another guy went on immediately after her: 'And I must add that A LOT of living languages today call Sirius either Sirius or Canis Maioris. That star doesn't have that many names that we know of, so...'
''So...?' Said the teacher, with a beaming smile, looking at me as a child looks at his presents on Christmas day. I swallowed and suddenly realized how the name of the star meant different things to different civilizations, according to different cultures, different geographies... different skies. It was then and there that it struck me: not all of them were human.
​
Mom got her wish, after all. My power is super important. Teachers had to help me get a lot of the info out of my brain, but it helped with the tokamak design fusion reactor. And with the faster than light travel, though it's not really travel, but more like spacetime folding (it's very hard to describe in any earthling language). It also helped with what was needed for the neurological upgrades required to understand a lot of what I knew. I got them, too. I could write all the Maths in the cosmos correctly, but I just didn't understand them. It was funny: at a certain point I could read and write anything Maths correctly but wasn't able to explain what it meant. At the beginning, my Maths needed translators. We then arrived to the point where most mathematicians and physicists didn't understand what I wrote anymore, and they had to use what I had given them to boost their intelligence to be able to. You should have seen what that did to research in medicine. Raising the empathy of psychopaths was easy, and a priority. Raising the empathy and intelligence for everyone wasn't. Goverments didn't want it to happen, but give a bunch of scientists the ability to creat brain-repairing nanos and try to tell them not to use them to increase empathy or intelligence. I mean, those in power did try. They were the first ones to reward the stray scientists. Democracy is different now. The main decision makers are chosen by a random lottery. Most people are ethically and intellectually qualified, and if they weren't, they could be upgraded for the job.
Once the brain-scan has been perfected so humankind can get all the info in my head, I'll be able to leave my cage (OK, it's a palace complex with a forest-sized garden, but I still haven't been allowed to leave in decades).
When I do, I'm going to read all the writings, listen to all the music and recite all the poetry in the world. I'll look at all the paintings and all the sculptures and everything... By the time I'm done, I'll move to other worlds.
I love my Mom, but seriously, she was wrong. I wouldn't change my gift for anyone's, ever.
|
The realization of the true horror of the universal language come upon me slowly.
At first I assumed it was an error, the kind I had seen innumerable times before on the outer worlds, in the triplamine dens, on the Reddit. But this one was persistent, consistent, dare I say it - insistent - in its rejection of all that was pure and true in life. My power had opened me to a truth that was expansive and breathtaking, and utterly terrifying - the universe had a language where an apostrophe was added to “its” when the word’s intention was to indicate possession, and the word “you” was randomly doubled in flagrant disregard of semantic convention.
When English speakers did it on the internet, it sickened me. When the universe itself did it, it was more than a being could bear - it was nothing less than proof that our very existence had at its core a dark, festering kernel of evil.
As the blood, released from the meaningless shell of my body by my own hand, cut rivers of crimson across the floor, I prayed that the next world would hold no such revelations.
| 2019-12-22T12:22:21 | 2019-12-22T09:57:31 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
The first few hours of that day were cool as all hell. Me and the other 15 kids that had been born on the 17th of July were in the community center to see what powers we ended up with.
In the early years of the powers boom, when some kid in Illinois got a fire power and burned himself to death, it was decided that everyone should be in a mutually safe place on their 16th birthday.
So there we were, all excited about what we'd get. Johnny was the first to pop. He flew into the air about 5 feet and there were sparks under his shoes. He tried to rise higher, but he could only get another foot, and that was causing a strain. The councilor told him not to worry. He said a lot of powers take time to fully kick in.
Benny found out he could see through walls. It was weird to realize that in the 15 years since people started popping up with powers, that one had never come around.
Some other kids that we didn't really know started reporting their own things emerging. Janey started talking all excited. "I'm starting to feel that tingle I've heard about. When you know it's coming, but it's not quite here yet. I wonder what my power is gonna be!"
"You're gonna be able to turn you hands into metal and back into normal hands." I said. She looked at me funny, and I started to wonder why I'd said that. When her hands started to turn a dull gray, and then to shine we both looked at each other in shock.
"How'd you figure that out?" Matty asked me.
I turned to him. "I dunno, it just popped into my head, sorta like the way I know that you're gonna be able to make balloons appear outta nowhere."
"That would be hilarious." Johnny said. I looked over at him and my heart sank. All of a sudden I realized that in 5 years he was gonna get hit by a truck when he floated off the ground near and over pass and got caught in a strong gust of wind. The wind would blow him by the over pass, then past it and he'd fall down to five feet about the road right as a semi was passing by.
"No seriously Brian. How'd you know my hands would turn to metal." I looked at Janey, and realized that her first daughter was going to die of lead poisoning and I froze.
She walked over to me. "Are you okay?" I shook my head.
"Maybe, like..." Benny chimed in with his usual slowness. He had a habit of talking slow when he got excited. His mind kind of over loaded and the words sort of got stuck in a traffic jam in his throat. "...ya know. That's his power. Like maybe Brian can know what other people's powers are."
Matty snapped. "That would fucking suck if he's right about me."
Johnny got a ponderous look on his face. "Let's test this out. That guy in the group over by the soda machine. He was talking to a councilor. What's his power?"
I looked at him and realized immediately that he could warm things up with his hands. Not super hot, just warm. I told Johnny and he walked over and asked the kid. He came back over "Holy crap. You're right dude."
Izzy spoke up then. "What about me? What can I do?"
I looked at her. "You'll read people's minds. But it'll only work when you're singing and you'll be singing about what they're thinking."
I was relieved that I wasn't seeing any more visions of death. Maybe that had been a fluke, or a stray thought or something.
An hour later, Izzy started singing. "This is such bullshit. There's not fucking way I'm gonna have some lame ass balloon power. Brian's gotta be fuckin with me. If he weren't so cute I'd kick his ass, but it's such a hot ass and oh goddamn it. Is that bitch singing my"
"KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF IZZY!" Matty's face was red.
Izzy snapped out of a trancey state. Matty's face kept getting redder. Suddenly a red balloon appeared in the space between him and Izzy.
The tense silence was broken by the sound of me vomiting on the floor. I ran to the bathroom. I turned on the facet on the first sink that came to hand and started drinking water and puking it into the sink. Then I started splashing it in my face.
After awhile Johnny and Matty came in. "Are you o"
"No. I'm not okay."
Matty spoke up then. "This isn't about what Izzy was sing is it? I mean the thing about me thinking about you and..."
I shook my head. "Naw. Not... directly. In fact, I'm kind of flattered if that's what you were really thinking and Izzy wasn't just joking around. It's..." I could bear to tell them the truth so I fudged it. "Something feels weird when a person's powers kick in after I've seen what it'll be. I don't think I noticed with Janey because it was so quick. With you and Izzy though, there was a delay and then it was back to back. I just got really nauseous all of a sudden."
They nodded looking a little bit relieved. Johnny said "I'll go let the girls know you're okay. I think Izzy's more worried than Janey, but they're both concerned."
When he was gone Matty and I looked at each other for awhile. He finally broke the silence. "So... just so you know. The things Izzy was singing... she wasn't making nothing up. I mean... if you're not into guys that's cool and all but..."
I smiled weakly at him. "I've... always been kinda... I dunno. Like, curious seems such a cliche, but... I dunno wanna thing about it right now. I mean I'm certainly not looking my best or anything. Maybe this weekend though, if you wanna hang out and talk or something."
Matty nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that. You want a sprite or somethin? That usually helps me out when I've blown chunks."
"yeah. A gingerale would be nice. If not, sprite works. I'm gonna take a moment to finishing rinsing off and I'll meet you out there."
As Matty walked out of the bathroom, I could still see it if I looked for it. It's hard to describe looking at it, because it's not a physical thing. It's like, seeing a memory sorta. That's still not a good way of putting it, but I can't think of words to define it. Either way, I could still see that moment in his future. Matty living in NYC, desperate for money to pay off gambling debts and get some more coke. Matty thinking about his next fix and not getting his legs broken as he looks at a guy in an expensive suit outside of a swanky night club and started forming a balloon in his throat.
There were other "future memories" behind that one. They were cloudier and harder to see, but very similar to the first one. Matty thinking of another fix, or another debt paid while a balloon appeared inside of someone's body.
I wondered desperately if there was a way to change any of this. After splashing more water in my face, I looked in the mirror and then it hit me. I knew how I was going to die. 30 years from now I was sitting in a bath tub slitting my wrist because I was so tired of seeing death and not being able to stop it. All the people I'd helped figure out their powers. The parents with children who'd have dangerous abilities and would have that heads up would never be enough. For ever 5 people I'd help, at least 1 or 2 of them would have some death in the future that came directly or indirectly from their powers and nothing I ever tried would prevent it.
After getting a phone call from Johnny and hearing that Matty had died of an overdose and that there was a rumor that he did himself because the cops were accusing him of murder... it would be too much.
I stood there staring into the mirror for I don't know how long. Matty came back in with a couple of sodas. "You been in here a long time. You feeling any better?"
"...Y'know what? Instead of waiting for the weekend, what if I gave you an answer now?"
Matty raised an eyebrow at me.
I walked over to him and put my arms around him. "Yeah. I am into guys."
Fate be damned. I was gonna try. Fuck death. I'll fight it with love.
|
My alarm went off. I lazily swiped it shut and was about to go back to sleep when I remembered what day it was! I stood up, waiting for that rush of power everyone claims they feel if they're up at midnight. But, I felt a deep, dark coldness spread through me instead. It was not painful, but not pleasant either. Then it went away. The room was pitch black. No surprises seeing as the moon wasn't out. I went back to sleep, setting my alarm for 8am.
The alarm went off again, but it was still so dark. And cold. I scrambled for the door, and walked into the hallway where the light seared my eyes. I adjusted after awhile. As I ate breakfast with the usual good mornings, I felt that coldness again. I ignored it and headed for school.
It just so happened the school bully was waiting for me. He managed to get the ability to bend others to his will. The very sight of him angered me. I hated him to his core. I stared right at him, and a darkness began to envelop. He started screaming, louder than the others who could see. I didn't understand it. But I willed it on, and it became darker, and darker, until it was pitch black. I blinked, and it was gone. But so too was the bully.
I realised, that I now had the ability to control light. Or rather, form an absence of light.
Oh what fun shall I have now.
-Feedback appreciated. Written while on the loo.
| 2015-01-22T04:13:44 | 2015-01-22T02:21:02 | 51 | 12 |
[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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"It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand.
"Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. "Yeahwah?" I managed, blearily.
"Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up."
"Must be my other girlfriend." An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. "Mmhhmm." She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit.
With slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
Wait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be...
"Shut up, shut up." I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message.
"Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it"
So, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text.
"It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!"
"Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!"
Something about the "honey" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden.
"Look at that moon out over the water honey!" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?"
"It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!"
And as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping.
Look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon."
Mustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea.
"West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
I pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen.
"I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry."
"Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!"
She looked down, and started crying. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry."
I rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. "Sorry for what!" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. "Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!"
She stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. "Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
I let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon.
And then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set.
"Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
And I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful."
I sighed.
"And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white."
I wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little.
"You know the rest," I said when I had regained my composure. "I came out of the coma. I woke up here."
The officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to.
"I'm sorry for your loss." she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. "Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?"
I sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many.
"No," I answered. "No, I don't think I can."
She nodded. "You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean."
I looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. "Yeah," was all I could muster.
She stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, "do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?"
"Yes," I said, quietly. "Yes, I do."
|
The explosions had been rumbling off in the distance for hours as a young boy tried to drift off to sleep. The war might be raging, but the Allied Forces had deemed his village far enough away that an evacuation was only advised, not mandatory. With his mother the way that she was, the brunette knew that he would be sleeping in his own bed as soon as he heard those words. Still, the sounds persisted even as they faded into the background and then became an incorporated soundtrack to vague, shifty dreams.
A repetitive chirp woke him up as the witching hour drew to a close. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes in annoyance, he glanced at his blocky phone, the display lit up with hundreds of messages, all from unknown numbers, telling him to look at the moon. Above that, in bright red letters, scrolled a message “DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON”. It all seemed so ridiculous, the boy thought as he lay back down, ignoring his phone. Still, curiosity gnawed at him. *What was so special about the moon tonight?*
10 minutes passed, then 15, and still the boy couldn’t shake his curiosity. Finally heeding the gnawing drive in his chest, the boy sat up again, this time turning to his window, barred tight against the October chill. Brushing aside his curtains, the boy was greeted by the sight of a blood red moon for almost an instant, marred by rings and three black tomoe, before he woke up again to spring birds chirping.
| 2022-08-07T14:35:00 | 2018-04-06T18:58:31 | 23,079 | 12 |
[WP] For centuries your family has passed down an old leather bag that provides the holder with an object that would be helpful in the particular situation the holder is in. You are getting on a bus and instead of giving you a bus ticket or money, it gives you a handgun.
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My family has always dabbled in the arcane. For as many generations as we could trace (and there were many), the same pattern has followed without fail: the first born child receives the gift of magick. They're capable of just about any feat if they put their mind to it (and they always do). The unfortunate backlash of this magnificent gift appears only when the younger siblings are brought into the world.
That's where the bag comes in.
The story goes that our great great great Uncle Lucas felt so bad for his baby brother that he enchanted a simple leather bag just so his sibling could feel special. If I were to explain the bag to you in modern terms, you might call it a "bag of wonder". Bag of holding didn't really work and you had to be careful what you tried to store in it. One time I placed an apple inside for safe keeping and ended up with a handful of prunes upon retrieval. Uncle Lucas apparently had a sense of humor on top of his many other talents: sometimes it swapped what you put inside and sometimes it didn't. I've pulled many a strange object out. Last week, I ended up with the wallet of a man in India. My wallet, however, never showed back up.
Lesson learned.
Anyway, this enchanted bag is usually given to the second child. There are other gizmos and gadgets all magicked up that are passed to third and fourth children, but out of all of them it's the bag that is both the most useful and most confounding.
If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm the second born child. My older sister has all the natural talent. I have a bag that likes to fuck with me whenever it has the chance. We're in a dry spell, me and the bag. It hasn't played a trick on me in a few weeks so my suspicion is sky high. Last night I set the thing on the table and stared very hard at it. I asked it was up to. I asked what it was planning. Because it is a bag, it did not answer. I drank some whiskey and went to bed.
This all brings me to the current situation at hand: I need bus fare and whatever just increased the weight of the damn thing definitely doesn't feel like change. There are a few people in the line ahead of me so I have time to jingle it about and peer into the dark insides. It takes me a minute to recognize the revolver tucked away (my sandwich has become a condom, I notice. When will I ever need that?) and it makes my stomach do a few acrobatic flips that catapult it up into my esophagus. I choke on it and snap the bag shut quickly.
A minute passes, then two. I peek inside once more in hopes that the bag is done playing pranks. Both condom and gun stare back at me and I swear, I really swear, that a laugh track played in the background. Now, this bag's purpose is to provide a person with an item they are going to need very soon. Faced with a firearm and contraception, I am understandably irked. This means that I am either going to get laid or that I'm going to need the gun. I'm praying for the former. It's been months since I last hooked up with anyone. Knowing my luck, however, I'm willing to bet that it's the gun I'll be using very soon.
The driver clears his throat once, loudly and pointedly, jerking me back to reality. "Bus fare," he mutters in a gruff monotone. I've had this bag long enough to be smart. I grab my wallet from a back pocket and pay the allotted fee before hurrying to take up one of the few empty seats. The weight of the stupid bag hasn't changed. Condom. Revolver.
My temples are starting to pound as agitation brought physical reactions. Looking back, I probably should have been far more scared than I was. At that moment I was irritable and annoyed only.
My lookout consists, now, of scoping out hot chicks while intermittently trying to figure out which decrepit looking business man might snap. A few stops come and go. The scenery changes and the bus gets a bit more crowded. A young woman wobbles in front of me and barely braced herself on the overhanging rail. She's pretty cute: dark hair, tan complexion, a splash of freckles on her nose. She's got those big brown eyes that people write songs about and the kind of lips that made the imagination run wild.
Please, for the love of God, let the condom be the item I needed.
Polite gentleman that I am I offer my seat to the girl. This is, in no way, a ploy. I definitely did not do this so that I could come off as charming and therefore maybe chat her up. She bats this pretty eyes at me as she thanks me for the seat and I try to flash an award winning grin in return. It looks more like a grimace, I think, because I've just noticed the wedding band on her finger. Fuck. Now I've lost my seat and there is still a gun in my damn bag. Looks like I'm back to scoping out overworked and under-laid business types. As the bus swings into the next stop, the married chick lets herself off and I silently mourn her as the one that got away while simultaneously taking my seat back. There are two stops left before mine and I'm still unsure of what is going to happen. I'm becoming certain that the gun is what I'll need soon and the idea is enough to make me a bit jumpy. Every little movement around me has my hand darting toward the gun just in case. Still, nothing happens. People text or stare out the window with their ear jacks in. I have zoned in on a little boy who looks thoroughly uncomfortable. He has these puffy cheeks and red eyes like he has been crying and even though the man next to him has an arm looped across the back of his seat the kid looks stiff and scared. Every few seconds he sniffs and his lip trembles.
My mind is in gun paranoia mode. I consider that he might be a child abductee, though logic tells me that he probably just got in trouble. He can't be more than eight or nine by the looks of it and the man next to him definitely looks like his father. Dad catches me staring: I avert my eyes. That's when I see it, finally. When I'd turned my head away from father and son dynamic duo over there, my stare landed on a teenager in all black. His hood was up to conceal his face even though it had to be in the high 80s today. Weirdo McGee was fidgeting about nervously and from the shifts of his hood I could tell he was looking around. He texted with rapid fingers and then would stuff his phone down between his thighs. What was he up to? Rob the bus driver? A gas station? The bus lurched into the next stop: kid stood up and so did I. Hey, instinct is instinct. My stop wasn't until the next one but I had a feeling I needed to follow this little shit bag.
He walked a few blocks and then, without warning, turned right down an alleyway. I kept him in my line of sights: I tailed him from a good distance and when I reached the corner I stopped to listen. There was moaning coming from where Suspicious Pants McSplurge had gone and a guttural threat that I couldn't quite hear. A girl's voice responded in kind. I almost started choking: was he raping someone? Hurriedly I scrambled to pull out the gun. One in the chamber. I spun it once and then clicked everything into place. Another moan told me I had to hurry, so when I stepped into the entrance of the dark alley it was with both arms holding the revolver forward and my feet spread eagle like a damn cop show. "Get off the girl---..."
The two teenagers stared doe eyed and terrified at me. Me, a mid thirties man in a stained t-shirt and ill fitting jeans, pointing a gun straight at them. Mr. Hoodie had a mouthful of neck and I couldn't see his far arm, but from the way Alley Girl arched I assumed it was beneath her shirt. Shit. We all basked uncomfortably in the silence until little miss cleared her throat and spoke up. "Please don't kill us."
The pounding in my temples got worse. I grunted a response and lowered the weapon, clicking safety back into place. It went back into my bag and I retrieved the condom instead. With all of the gruffness in the world I flicked the wrapped thing at them and, in a perfect monotone, told them to 'wrap it before you tap it'.
I didn't linger to see what happened from there. Now I had to make the rest of the walk home. I wasn't getting laid, my sandwich was gone, and the stupid bag had punk'd me yet again.
(First time here! Thanks for reading)
|
I froze. My entire life, this bag had supported me in any situation, but how could THIS be right? "Hurry up and get off if you don't have a ticket" the driver barked, "People are waiting to leave so they can get home!" I stood still like a statue, the aggressive words of passengers and the driver ricocheting off of my distraught expressions. All these people must have thought I was some sort of lunatic trying to get a free ride. "I'm sorry, let me check again sir" I finally replied to the now very irritated pilot of the shuttle. I reached back into my bag, pleading to whoever or whatever listening that it wouldn't be there. I wanted to feel the small paper stub I had hoped to grab earlier, but again my hand was met with the cold steel of a pistol. I remember thinking at the time that maybe this had been the first clue as to why my father had just vanished while I was young. Had this bag led him astray and he had to escape? If he had decided to escape the "evil intentions" of this leather bag, why would it have been entrusted to me? My thoughts were cut short by the bus driver. "Look. You NEED to leave this bus. No one has the time for you to just act like you have a ticket in that handbag of yours."
He was right. I needed to get off of the bus. If this magical bag had intended me to do something criminal, then none of these innocent passengers were safe. I apologized and stepped down from the steps as the shuttle launched off down the road. It was twelve miles from here to the family manor, but at this point all I could think about was how I needed to pay grandpa a visit. It was time that the bag of our ancestors was properly explained to me.
(It's been quite a while since I have written anything, so hopefully you enjoy my story)
| 2017-09-11T10:17:45 | 2017-09-11T08:16:51 | 55 | 19 |
[WP] Fallen angel is a pretty popular trope in fiction. But I want to hear about Ascended Demons. Demons that were too good/ kind/ pious for the underworld and managed to break out.
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I flicked my cigarette on the old, worn carpet and twisted it out with the sole of my shoe. I hated to waste it, but the man I needed to see wasn't a smoker. Not anymore, at least, and I didn't want to annoy him. Not while I needed his advice. I hesitated a moment before knocking, almost wishing he would not answer. "Don't be such a coward," I told myself before using my knuckles to rap on the wooden door.
The door opened and there he was. "You are the one who called me then?" he asked me. I nodded, and he opened the door and turned away without a word. I stepped through and closed the door behind me. The main living area was sparsely furnished, with a couple of chairs and a sofa. My host waved me to the sofa.
"Do you want a coffee?" he asked.
"Sure," I said, "cream. No sugar." We didn't speak while he poured a cup for each of us, stirred in my cream and walked it over to me. He sat across from me, tilting his head slightly as if considering me. I felt like he was looking through me, into me deeply, almost like a predator considers its prey.
"So," he finally said, "tell me. How did you end up here and why come to me?"
I considered for a moment. "It began when the deal with the devil showed me he could be outwitted," I began.
"My deal?" he asked.
"Yes. Your deal. Your deal showed that as powerful as Lucifer is he could be outwitted. Until then, I really never had any hope. When that girl, that poor child, was released, a seed was planted in me. I had hope, for the first time in eternity, that maybe I could get out too," I explained, although I was pretty sure he already knew all of this.
"Big difference between a human soul and a demon," he offered.
"Sure. I know. I know exactly what I am. Still, hope is funny that way. Once you have it, you begin to look for ways to make a difference. It began with some souls that arrived in hell, and by the rules belonged there, but were really just hurting. Suicides. Kids," I said. Damn, I really wanted a smoke. Fidgeting slightly, I continued.
"So I began to collect them, and try and protect them from the others. A few at first. The most needy. The ones with the worst pain who, except for that stupid rule, would have gone to heaven instead. I closed off an area of the netherworld and refused to let my fellow demons near them. That worked for a while, but it was pretty clear that the Boss was taking notice and didn't like it. Then, I saw my chance to help," I sipped my coffee, and focused on his eyes. They were boring into me as if he could sear the truth from me.
"I found a way to get here, although then it was temporary. I couldn't stand the light then. None of us can, you know. But at night? When it is darkest? I could sneak out for a few minutes," I signed and leaned back. "So I did."
"Who was your first?" he asked.
"A kid. An eleven year old Hispanic kid that was ready to shoot himself. When I showed up suddenly, he dropped the gun in fear. You know how it is. A demon appears, in their hell form, and people piss themselves. Anyway, I talked to him. Explained how it really was. Told him what waited, but also what a difference he could make, if he went to the right people. To you." I had wondered about that decision, but I really didn't know anyone else who would believe the kid and still want to help.
"Yeah, he was shaken up alright. He's good now. New home, new family. So that was the first?" he asked me, setting his coffee cup down and leaning forward.
"Yeah. The first. Honestly, it felt, well, weird. In a good way. I had defied the rules of hell, defied the Devil, and saved one life. Then I did it again. And again. So many now," I sighed again, then drank the remaining coffee before setting my cup down too. "It was on the last one I realized how much this had changed me."
"How did you figure it out? I mean," he asked curiously, "how did you realize you were no longer bound to the rules that force demons to stay in hell?"
"Like I said. That last one. We spoke for so long that I hadn't realized the sun was up. She mesmerized me, such a beautiful soul who had been treated so ugly. She promised to come see you?" It was more of a question than a statement. He nodded.
"She did," was all he said.
"Well, when the sun shone into the room and I was still there, no pain, no smoke, that was when I knew I didn't have to return. I was able to create this human form with what little demon power I had left, and decided the time had come for me to do what I told all of them to do. Come and see you. Find a new life. Tell me, Mr. Constantine, does a demon have a soul? Can I find a meaning and purpose beyond what I was created to be?" This was where I expected him to say "hell no, and die" or words to that affect.
He hesitated. "I don't know. I am confident that this has never happened before, that no demon has ever helped people like you have, or done it so often, so selflessly that they were able to break out of hell. Honestly, I am not sure I can even call you a demon anymore. You are something...in between, I think."
A door opened behind him, and a young woman came out. Clearly she had just woken up but when she saw me, she smiled and ran over, giving me a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered, "for saving my life."
Tears rolled down my cheeks, to my utter astonishment. I hugged her back, and whispered, "You are worth it."
I turned to my host. "Everyone in hell knows who John Constantine is. The man who beat the devil, defied hell and is a servant of heaven. I am sorry if I added to your burden, but I have to ask. Will you help me? I don't know what to do," I pleaded as the young woman sat next to me, and took my hand in hers.
"If I can," he said slowly, "I will help. I have a suspicion that you won't need too much from me. I can get you some ID, help you get a job, perhaps with a suicide prevention group, and that sort of thing. We both know that the devil will try and retaliate. You are no longer of hell, but not of heaven either."
"What does that make me, then?" I wondered.
"Human," the girl holding my hand said. "Humans are of neither place until death, so that makes you human. And my friend."
John Constantine smiled. He pulled a cell phone from his coat and dialed a number. "He's coming to you," was all he said when the other person answered.
"Let's go," he said as he stood. "I have a friend who can test that theory, and if true, it will be the second time in my life I have helped kick the devil in the ass. I would really enjoy that."
"How?" I whispered anxiously.
"Sandy, get your coat. You are coming too, as a witness," Constantine stood over me, sympathy etched in his face for the pain displayed in mine. "I don't know if this will work, but it will tell us something. You believe in God. You believe in heaven. And now, just perhaps, you may even be human as Sandy suggested."
I stood. "So, where are we going? What will this test be?" I really wanted to pass it. I wanted to be free of hell forever.
"Church," he replied. "We are going to see if the Rite of Baptism will work on you. If it does, you are human. If it doesn't, well, let's hope it does."
With that he walked to the door and swung it wide open. Uncertain, but hopeful still, I followed, with Sandy once again holding my hand.
|
You might think a demon would ride a Harley. Maybe a super car like a red Lamborghini Aventador S. Perhaps some garage-tuned junk yard road warrior in flat black with some rust around edges. You’d be correct. Most demons of course opted for such vehicles when they toured the Earth. But one demon was different from the others and it was obvious early. He drove a 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood. A pink one.
The job of any demon is to sow the seeds of hell on Earth, spread destruction and chaos, turn people away from righteousness and toward a life of sin. They use many methods to achieve these ends. Some corrupt souls through directly influencing action. That bad advice on your shoulder telling you to steal or be selfish or go ahead and do a line of cocaine. You’ll be fine.
But this demon, the one in the pink Cadillac Fleetwood, he lead by example. He worked his hips to the devil’s music, smiled and charmed the ladies to think naughty thoughts. (Yeah and some of the boys too no doubt!) He played his guitar and drove the world wild with the devil’s own music; rock and roll.
But a strange thing happened during this demon’s time on Earth. While he started out influencing those to the ways of the devil, the world changed right beneath his blue suede shoes. God saw that people were rejoicing. That life was celebrated and even in the exuberance and bombastic loudness of this man’s rocking and rolling, there was, at the heart of it, pure goodness. That was when God made this spawn of Satan an ambassador for all that is good and right in this world.
“Until we meet again, may God bless you as he has blessed me” - Elvis Presley.
| 2019-11-08T07:00:07 | 2019-11-08T06:56:23 | 2,220 | 106 |
[WP] A year ago the Dragons returned, the world finally having warmed up enough to keep them from freezing to death, and with them have returned the Fae and all the magic; which is replacing technology quickly. You've quit your mundane job, and today you've set off on your first-ever Quest.
|
*God, I miss Wi-Fi.*
A rather grumpy woman, all things considered, trudged through the rain-soaked mud of something vaguely resembling 21st Century Scotland. For many weeks, she continued her long march north, fingers frozen to her quarterstaff, whole body shivering despite her thick woolen cloak, and yet she did not relent, for this woman - Fiona, as she was known best - had a quest.
*And Taxis. And heating. And not going on quests.*
When the Dragons had first arrived, Fiona had been shocked. Delighted, awed, more curious than she'd ever found herself, but absolutely, unequivocally, mind-bogglingly *stunned.*
To Fiona, it was as if the universe had finally admitted it had always been ridiculous, and was now attempting to own it.
And with the Dragons, came magic. Not immediately, but wherever the Fae Folk - as the menagerie of creatures that looked as though they'd been torn directly from storybooks had proudly dubbed themselves - went, strange things followed. It was as if their very presence awakened new rules in the universe. Wherever they went, so did the magic.
It was small, to begin with. Sometimes, someone would wake up and find themselves suddenly beautiful, or young, or healthy, with no explanation as to how. Certain people became gifted with extraordinary glibness to such a degree that laws had begun being filed to prevent the misuse of such magics - really, Fiona respected their initiative - not to mention a host of other magical effects.
But then things had started going wrong. In remote areas, small devices stopped working on an international level, then radio, then electricity itself, before the world had realized what was happening. Then came The Crash, and with it, The Fall of The Modern World.
All over Planet Earth, like a city skyline, all the lights went out - one by one, every computer died, every lightbulb went black, every vehicle just *stopped.*
People died. Lots of them. Rumours said that there were talks of bringing war to the Fae, to the Dragons, believing that The Crash was intentional on their part, but what were rumours nowadays? And really, what chance did humanity stand, if it came to that?
Fiona cursed under her breath as she continued her quiet march.
She wanted to break the staff in her hand in two, but she wasn't the kind to turn away an advantage when it presented itself. Fiona wasn't especially skilled with magic - not even amongst humans, who, as far as Fiona could tell, had less than no natural predisposition to the skill - but there was no downside she knew of so long as she didn't exhaust herself, and, frankly, it was her only asset right now.
Well, that, her zombie apocalypse survival plan (because she'd always known it'd be useful eventually), and what she personally liked to call her logic detector.
Apparently, when magic became a thing, most people decided to abandon common sense in favour of spending all day wishing they could shoot lasers from their eyes.
Fiona could see the appeal in eye lasers, of course, but they were going about it all wrong.
When a new, powerful, dangerous force which you know absolutely *nothing* about suddenly appears along with the beasts and people of myth, do you poke it with a stick?
No. Of course not. You put on a labcoat, and gently prod it, recording how it reacts.
With safety goggles.
Thus far, Fiona had discovered that A) she could slightly alter the colour, temperature, texture, and, if she pushed herself slightly, material of a reasonably small object, and that B) magic was inscrutable, deliberately obtuse, and unfair.
Despite all her testing, there was just no *reason* to any of it. It wasn't a mental block - simple tests with blindfolds and the like had revealed that - there was no understandable limit on the types of things she'd managed to change - she could alter most inanimate objects, certain plants (but not any other living creatures, and a few plants had stubbornly refused to change), and once, when feeling particularly frustrated, had accidentally managed to turn her hair bright pinkish-red.
As it stood, Fiona was making about as good a use of her power as she could manage. She had managed to make her map glow, which, for what it's worth, did make it readable.
Unfortunately, she could only maintain one effect at a time. Thus, freezing.
She'd acquired the map in the ruins of Leeds. It promised a small settlement with working power - the whole thing set running by a series of hydropower turbines built in the nearby lake. Fiona wasn't sure whether that sort of thing would be simple enough to evade magic's nullification - assuming that it was all magic's fault in the first place, though she was comfortable with that educated guess - but it was her best bet, and who knows? Perhaps a large constant stream of energy immediately fed into a device that only consumes a small amount of power - say, a light bulb - might be able to sustain itself?
Fiona wasn't sure, but it was worth testing, and it beat scavenging in Leeds of all places.
Besides, contrary to her previous statement, Fiona really felt like poking magic with a stick right now.
---
Fiona sat on a worn, blue sofa, the massed armies of lint retreating into the folds of its cushions, making way for the giant come to destroy their home.
She sat clutching a large mug of tea in both hands. Teabags were a rarity nowadays, and this was amongst the last of her supply, but she felt she'd earned it.
You see, in the immediate aftermath of the crash, Fiona had made a list of all the important information she'd been able to gather. It had been so sudden she didn't have much to go off of, but the list was as follows;
Firstly, magic had started affecting the more remote areas first, disabling tiny devices like remote-control toys and phone chargers before anything else.
Secondly, The Crash had been almost instant, worldwide. There had been no time zone advantage, as far as she knew. It was as if magic's suppressing force had simply reached breaking point, and swept across the world suddenly and without mercy.
And finally, magic did seem to care about complexity. The Crash had lasted about an hour, in total, and during that time, the internet had lasted around 10 minutes with spotty connection. There had been reports on the carnage as planes fell from the sky, crushing the earth below them, and any populated road was left devastated. Throughout the entire event, however, Fiona's phone had stubbornly managed to stay active, even if it's primary use was long gone.
These things put together, Fiona's pet theory - one of them, at least - had been that magic wasn't passive in location, that it was affecting certain areas first due to reasons other than total amount of technology. She thought that certain conditions must be met before it could simply 'turn off' everything, and, following that, that if it wasn't absolute, it could be fought.
The right kind of simple technology, that which acted as a direct result of being fed power or, for the most part, worked independently, might be able to sustain itself.
And so it was that Fiona sat with a smug grin on her face, happily drinking her tea, as she basked in the dim, yellow, glow of a lightbulb.
*Today is a good day*.
---
I really was not expecting the response this story got. Thank you all so much for what you've said, I was grinning like a maniac all day yesterday. I've wrote several follow-ups to this and deleted half of them, but this is the best one I've managed to write, even if it isn't as long as the first. I'll make sure to think about turning this into a book (Whether it's a novel, novella, short story, etc), and I'll PM anyone who said they were interested in the idea when and if it comes out, but until then, really, thank you so much. I'm glad you liked this.
|
That's enough, I've had it
I'm over my menial ways
Mundane and repeating
Day after day
These reports and this filing
It's always the same
I want some adventure
A real life role playing game
To quest and to loot
Against tremendous foes
To travel and shoot
Magical bows
*And arrows?*
Yes arrows, thank you Karen
*No problem Steve*
*Can you get down from the desk please Steve?*
Uhh, yeah sure, I'm doing a thing here Jim.
*Yeah, I can see that Steve, but you're distracting others.*
Right sorry.
I'll wear armour, ride horseback
Across mystical lands
I'll fight dragons and demons
In mercenary bands
I'll be home in time for tea
With my fairest of maidens
*Don't you forget, Steve*
*I want that report on my desk by*
Three
*Yes, three.*
| 2017-11-25T03:33:59 | 2017-11-25T03:27:28 | 1,232 | 10 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
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I sat quietly up at the front of the classroom in my usual spot. I knew that being struck with gooey projectiles, or passed mean notes, or finding gum in my hair was a little less likely when I was directly under Mrs. Peterson's nose. I diligently focused on the lesson, and worked on the problem she put up on the board. Math was by no means my favorite subject, but nonetheless I dreaded the end of class because it meant I had to once again brave the masses of hellions I went to school with out in the hallways.
Ever since I was a little girl it had been like this. I'd adapted, of course, as all living things do. I learned to avoid my peers, always have adult witnesses around, and if worst came to worst I knew how to take a few blows then excuse myself in whatever manner most satisfied whoever was distributing them. At 14 I had long since learned to swallow my pride. Perhaps that was precocious of me, because it seemed like an ability none of my peers had yet mastered despite their highly functional and detailed sigils.
I was Blank. That's what everyone called me, because that's exactly what my sigil was; blank. An average sized sigil circle filled with nothing but the even and pale tone of my flesh where it was marked on my collarbone. I'd taken to wearing turtlenecks to cover it up, but today was unseasonably hot and it was displayed in all it's hollow glory around the strap of my pink tank top to anyone who chanced a glance.
As the bell rang I felt a hollow pit drop into my stomach. Despite my years of acclimatizing to the stigma that surrounded my very existence, the initial plunge into the depths of adolescent humanity after a class never got any less scary. I slowly packed up my things, waiting till all the rest of the students had left. Carrie Smithwick and her friends cast me a not so friendly glance as they exited last, and an ominous sensation gripped my throat, choking me. I looked towards Mrs. Peterson, for a moment contemplating pleading for assistance, but her next class was already filing in.
I caught several sharp shoulders as I made my way past the new class, clutching my backpack to my chest to try to protect myself. When I finally popped out past the choke in the doorway into the hall, she was there, waiting for me.
"Hi Blank. Why the stinkeye?" Carrie sneered, her group of friends giggled behind her like a deranged flock of twittering birds.
I swallowed, my palms sweaty, and resolved to placate her and hustle off to my Social Studies class. "I'm sorry, Carrie. I didn't mean to. My bad. See you!" I said as neutrally as I could muster and attempted to sidle past her.
Her hand whipped out and clutched me about the neck with superhuman speed, and she flung me to the dirty carpeted floor of the hallway. My backpack banged loudly against the lockers next to us as I lost my grip in the intense momentum of the movement. The complex constellation of Heracles the Kneeler sparkled on her forearm as she exerted her superhuman strength and speed to put me on the floor and put pressure on my throat.
Her friends whooped and cheered as I struggled to gasp in some small amount of air. I had been taken by surprise, caught mid breath, and my near empty lungs quickly began to burn from lack of oxygen.
"You know what, Blank? I think you're full of shit. I think you're just jealous that I have the best sigil in school and you have a useless skinny donut on your chest." All humor was gone, she was no longer sneering. She knelt over me, placing a knee on my gut to squeeze even more air out of me.
"Please…" I gasped as what little breath I had escaped me while I struggled beneath her.
"Don't think we didn't notice your slutty shirt, either. God you're pathetic. No matter how much skin you show Frankie's never gonna like you more than me, you Blank freakazoid. You couldn't just keep your eyes to yourself. You had to go around glaring at me and checking out my man. Maybe I should do something about that." An evil little smile curled the corners of her glitter glossed lips as she reached the end of her rant.
I clutched the wrist of the hand that grasped my neck and looked up at her with abject terror in my eyes as she reached behind herself and one of her friends handed her something. She turned around and displayed to me the pointed metal nail file she held in her well manicured hand with a devious grin.
"Maybe I'll just pop one of those evil little eyes out? A lot harder to glare and check out my man if you've only got one. It's not like you're gunna do anything about it, Blank. I mean, what can you do? Blank at me?!" she laughed and on cue her coterie of bird brains joined her with their burbling laughter.
She leaned close with the metal tip.
"No!" I gurgled, my flesh hot and tight in my face from being choked, my lungs screaming for reprieve. I must admit, I lost control.
The thing is…I did have a functional sigil. I just knew it was the kind to never be used. It wasn't blank. It was just, different.
I felt the cool, serrated plane of the file against my cheek as she drew it towards my right eye. Fear and rage that had been welling up in me like some kind of animal force built to a mighty crescendo; a force which the small thread of control I always maintained could not withstand. It snapped. I snapped. The empty circle on my collarbone filled with freezing blackness, and I could tell by the way Carrie froze and looked at me with some mixture of surprise and terror that my eyes had done the same, just like they had the last time…the only other time…that this had happened. My vision changed to shades of black, white, and grey. Life throbbed brightly in all those standing around me, except for Carrie.
A chill crept up her arm where she touched me which was visually apparent by the pallor that climbed up her otherwise tanned and rosy flesh. I watched as the bright glow of life that only I could see traveled down her arm and into me, filling me up with a feeling of power and wrath, and leaving her a dull dark grey husk absent of the illuminating force I saw in all other living beings. Although it only took the blink of an eye for the pallor everyone else could see to conquer her entire body, for Carrie and I this moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity. She felt the life leaving her, and I watched it go.
In a matter of seconds I was pushing her cold corpse off of me in complete silence. Her friends stood around, shocked and staring. Other kids who had been passing by and ignoring us were frozen in place, eyes wide and mouths agape. Someone wretched and the smell of vomit filled the hallway. Urine trickled down the legs of Sandy, Carrie's best friend, as she began to realize the implications of what had just happened.
I stood up, and the empowered feeling of stolen life that filled the void within me began to wear off. I was filled with shame, doubt, and fear as the blonde girls body fell to the floor with a thump. I retrieved my backpack, trying to calm myself, trying to reign myself in.
It would be so easy to give in, to just take a few more lives and ride this high a little longer. With sheer self-discipline I willed myself back down to earth, and color returned to my vision.
No.
There would be consequences enough for what I had done already. That was when the screaming began, and my whole life changed.
|
A sphere, at any angle, will always have the profile of a circle. Of all the shapes, the sphere has the lowest possible surface area to volume ratio, thus taking the least amount of energy to maintain; but the amount of energy you can hold in that sphere, well, that's virtually limitless.
Snapping a neutron star into existence for the first time was quite the experience for everyone on the playground. Sure, it was less than the size of the head of a pin, but it folded Thomas in on himself with the fiery fury of an unbridled Sun. The first plasma ejection missed the kids entirely, not that it mattered. The school, and most of the houses in that area were lost to the plasma ejections, and those that survived talked about the ground rising and falling like an earthquake.
| 2020-02-26T09:14:27 | 2020-02-26T08:38:51 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] An unassuming school janitor, is in fact an incredibly powerful but reformed dark magic user who chose a humbler life after the Hero defeated and spared them; except today is different: today the magic academy is undersiege by the BBEG, their former boss.
|
Marco swept the floors. It's what he did on Fridays. The hallways to the boy's dormitories, and the entire second floor. It took time and patience. Marco had both.
The explosion didn't surprise him, he just kept on sweeping. With the second explosion he stopped. Dust was falling with every explosion making the work fruitless. He sighed. Twenty years he'd been sweeping these floors now. He was turning into an old man.
Twenty years ago, when *that damn girl* had beaten him, he had begged for his life. He considered going and polishing the silverware. Nah, he liked to do that on Saturdays after the all school rugby match.
Blasted people, seiging the blasted school. He knew he'd have to go **sort** this before he could get on with sweeping. Twenty years ago, she stood over him with hands raised in the spell of ending. He begged for his life, of course. It'd surprised him when she spared him.
"Promise me you will end your evil ways, and live a clean life from now on, and I shall spare you." Marco had agreed, of course, he didn't want to die. He hadn't meant them at the time, obviously, but she had bound him to those words with the spell of fates. Strangely, he came to mean them as the years wore on. More strangely was how very *literally* his conscience had taken those words.
He made his way to the front door. The teachers where weaving spells of discharge, and protection, and denial, and divination. The barriers where good, but the spells from **His Darkness** were starting to make cracks in the spellwork.
The Headmistress was directing every student with above grade 3 magic to create a basic shield around the the whole student body. Marco could feel the shield spell they where making was actually reasonably good, although when he was at his peak could probably have cracked it in under a minute. Nah give the kids their due, perhaps two.
The headmistress saw him, and directed the students to continue. As she walked over Marco flashed back to the day, her standing over him, his promise. She still had that bloody smirk on her face, even now.
"I thought you would want to skip this one, what with how..." The headmistress said.
"What with how he feels I betrayed him, and should have died instead? Yeah, well I was going to, but he's making a mess up on the 2nd floor and..."
She knew. He couldn't have the place a *mess*.
"So you going to help us? I know you haven't used your magic in a while but..."
"I'm not here to cast shields on kids or anything. I just thought I'd have a word with him to knock it off."
The headmistress gave Marco *a look* but he merely shrugged and walked towards the door. It should have been impossible to open a door so heavily warded. Marco twisted the handle and it opened with a **click**. As he walked through, and out into the grounds the entire faculty was cursing him, and swearing about having to reset the wards.
He walked out and stood 20 feet from a group of cowled and masked people. Marco recognised most of them. They had never been *friends* but they had been close once.
"Alright Derrek" Marco said, nodding at the tall man in the pale white robes (a stark contrast to the blacks and reds of his compatriots).
"You..." the pale man hissed "BETRAYER". The other people in the crowed hissed with him, as they began to recognise who he was.
"None of that Derrek, you know why I had to leave you, and why I am here. On that note, would you mind, rather, sodding off? you are making a mess of my school grounds. It's Friday and I like to sweep the..."
The man interrupted by gesturing to his friends "See this? See what she has done to our once beloved Master? Such a pity Marco. You where our greatest. But we learned from you. We learned the secrets of the dark arts from **you**, and now, ashamedly, you shall die to the spells you once taught us".
The pale man gestured and a blue flash arced at Marco. He didn't flinch, and the spell bounces harmlessly away to destroy a nearby box-hedge.
Marco shrugged "Groundskeepers problem that. Just keep your shenanigans away from the school and we'll be fine". Marco half turned to leave.
"KILL HIM" Derrek squealed. With a dozen flashes the people around him starting firing bolts, and lightning and one began encanting the ritual of darkest heart. They never had a chance to finish, as one bolt of green tinged magic shaped vaguely like a swordfish arced off Marco's defenses and removed the roof from the girls toilets.
Marco sighed and ground his teeth. "Shouldn't of aught to have done that".
The ground rippled, and half of the group fell over. On the second wave of magic three sets of robes fell empty on the ground (actually filled with the serpents the people had become). Upon third wave of magic the air began to get hot.
"Petty Tricks" the pale man yelled. "We know all your spells as **you** taught us them!"
"You don't know everything about me" Marco said, shaking his head. The temperature continued to rise. "And I only taught you everything **you** know**".
Robed figures began climbing back to their feet, and those standing already held hands and began chanting. "We learned more than you think old fool! We read the secret texts in the archives, we formulated our *own* ways to use them.
A powerful bubbled of magic grew around the robed group, shielding them. The magic kept growing into a spire of light that reached the clouds, which swirled around the growing power.
Marco could hear shrieking from inside the school, as they panicked over the growing power.
Marco scratched his bum and waited to see what they did next.
The power grew, the Cowled Ones closed the circle as the final members joined the ritual. Derrek stood in the middle yelling the **Words of Power** from the book of A'tash Ar'Myen, summoning the sky to rupture and sunder Marco (and inevitably the school) into pieces.
"ooh" Marco said. "Pretty. You learned a lot whilst I was gone I see. But one question Derek.."
Derek wasn't listening.
".. Did you ever word out the *weakness* of that spell? I did."
As the spells power grew to it's peak, Marco sent the tiniest little bit of power through the tiny little hole he had bored into their shields. Normally it wouldn't have been enough to wake a sleeping kitten. But when you are inside a ritual amplifying **all** power.
Marco's spell prodded at a robed figure whose head promptly exploded. This set up a wave of instability in the spell, and one by one, Marco watched as his old gang exploded. Panic crossed Derrek's face, as he tried to leave an ongoing ritual spell. Derrek turned inside out, but didn't die. Not at first.
The power of the ritual dissipated, as the bodies of those casting it cooled.
Marco looked at the mess. "The things I never told you Derrek, where the following. Firstly, never monologue until you won. Secondly, the dark rituals are about as stable as the ancient wizards who created them, and" .. Marco said walking towards the dying thing that had been Derrek. "I lost against the girl because I was sick of the whole thing. I never expected her to actually spare me. Not after what I did. But she's a better person than me." Marco nodded, looking at the twisted mass of flesh that had once been his apprentice.
"Groundskeeper's problem that." He nodded, and walked back inside.
----------------------------
______________________________
Writers note: silver- wear where were ware. God there is a lot of ways to write the same sounding word.
|
Had it been years?
As a former mage of Black Barker's Episone Gallery, it all felt like a big dip to Vanessa's frozen heart.
She used to be their best ice mage. Although some of her spells sometimes went out of control, everyone loved her. She was like a talented little sister to a rather family-like terrorist group.
But now she's stuck as a janitor.
And BBEG replaced her with a nobody.
"Is this what you want to be?" said her former boss. "A lowly janitor, and traitor?"
Vanessa looked down. She always loved everyone. And everyone loved her back.
But there was something she wanted that nobody could ever give.
"I've always wanted my peace of mind, Jacob."
After saying that, Vanessa shook a bit. Her eyes were red with tears, and sorrow, and guilty misery.
She remembered how everything hurt her.
She wondered. Contemplated. She thought twice between going back with everyone and staying there with no one.
It was a tough decision.
"I'm sorry Jacob. But I'm never going back."
| 2020-09-06T11:14:02 | 2020-09-06T08:54:30 | 52 | 14 |
[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.
|
Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event.
Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out.
One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects.
The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm.
Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse."
Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said.
"You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind.
"Hoo-ra." Said the human.
"Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant.
"At least kill something!" said the miserable male.
"Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi.
"1st marines. Second division."
"What?
"Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior."
Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?"
The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?"
"Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities."
The marine nodded. "Thanks."
Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition.
By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come.
There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!"
"Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?"
Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council."
"Roger that."
The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won.
He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.
|
It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means *literally anything*. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset.
It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore.
“Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!”
Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa-
“Son of a biiiiiiiii-“
END
Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
| 2020-09-13T19:39:28 | 2020-09-13T18:47:59 | 103 | 10 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
*The Therapist*
"Shit." I looked around, realizing I had just been summoned, again. How many times was this going to happen? Here I was, just enjoying my day, about to have sex with my girlfriend and this happens. Why can't I just stay on Earth? They always ask me to do stupid things I can't do anyway.
"Can you force her to love me." A young man looks up from his sitting position, with his soft whisper.
"Man, I can tell you one thing... if you want to force her, you have other problems." What I wouldn't give to be home right now with someone that *did* love me.
The young man outside the circle looked distraught. If I'm being honest, I felt bad for the guy. It wasn't his fault that the girl he chose to love didn't love him back. I heard a sob.
"Okay, so what's going on, man?" I sit down in the circle and prepare for a long-ass story where I end up being the therapist again. Y'know, being in their version of hell really makes you go through shit and end up stronger. Sometimes I think they should visit Earth. If only I could summon them.
The young man huffs. His breaths are jagged as he recovers from his tears. "You aren't like any other demon I've summoned before."
"Yeah well, you're not like any sorcerer that I've been ordered around by before." I pause, trying to figure out how to get him smiling again. Forget it, I'll just be honest. "The rest were just fuckers. At least you have something I can help you with. No world domination shit, okay?"
"I just needed someone to talk to."
I meant to suppress my guffaw. Unfortunately, when you're from hell you aren't the most tactful in tense situations. "Let me summarize: you are one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, which I gathered from the fact you *summoned* a fucking being from an alternate universe, a girl won't love you, and you summoned me so that we could have a chipper chat? HA. Are you serious? Don't you have friends?"
"That's the beauty of being one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world," he bitterly replied, "unless you have family, no one wants you."
"Oh shut it with your pity party shit." If I was here, I was not wasting this time listening to him blather on and on without solving the god forsaken problem. Heh. I am technically forsaken from God, get it?
"Fine. What would you rather I talk about?"
"Maybe how no demon has talked to you like this before?" he stared at me blankly. Well, I guess he doesn't have a commanding presence, usually we're pretty docile because we have no choice. "Okay... how about the woman you mentioned."
"Oh, she's perfect," his eyes started to glaze over in a fucking daydream. Really, this was what he was like? No wonder she didn't want to be with him.
"So what happened?"
He adjusted to be comfortable, then he looked up at me and asked, "Do you want a cup of water or something?" If he wasn't so pathetic, I would cry at his kind gesture. These beings were too power hungry to ever consider if I was actually hungry.
"No, but thank you," ew, I could feel my heart softening towards this guy. By the end we might have a serious bro-mance going. Ugh, that would mean he'd summon me whenever he needed something. Shit he needed friends.
"O-okay. Well, you're certainly far different than any other demon I've summoned before. They usually have magical powers like I do."
"Yeah, well you called the wrong universe this time." I needed to get back on subject, I had other things to do today. "Who is this girl?"
"She's my best friend." ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU WANT TO HAVE A FRIEND ZONE CONVERSATION? Fuck me.
"Mmmmhmmm," I read somewhere that minimal attending skills were the best when you had to listen to someone. Honestly, I feel for this guy, I've been there, so I could try to have this conversation.
"Everyone loves her. When she walks into a room, there is always someone she knows, someone who wants to be near her. She's a magnet." He locked eyes with me as his eyes started to tear up, "For some reason she chose to befriend *me*. I'm the freak magician in the corner who is too shy and too feared for anyone to approach. I am a social pariah."
"What makes you think she doesn't love you then?" I really have been here. I mean, usually I don't socialize because I'm awkward and I play a lot of video games, but he wanted the girl who was the belle of the ball. By some miracle I currently had her... I mean, a version of her in hell.
"She talks to all these guys, she's always flirting and going on dates. She never gives me a second thought when she talks to me about them." He was still sitting on the floor and holding his legs.
"Have you talked to her?" It was obvious this guy didn't know how to talk about his feelings. Gotta love masculine expectations, they seem to be the same wherever I am summoned. Fucks the poor guys up. No wonder they all want to control a demon. Still doesn't excuse this shit though.
"I mentioned that I can't really help her with her guy problems." She sometimes gets frustrated with me then doesn't talk to me for a few days when that happens.
"... But have you asked her on a date?"
"No..."
"WHY THE HELL NOT? If you are going to summon a demon, who could be potentially dangerous, don't you think it should be your final resort?"
"I am your master and you are berating me!" The girl is definitely a touchy subject. At least the yelling made this interesting, so I continued.
"As soon as I leave I HAVE no fucking master. You know what's so funny? You want to make this WOMAN your slave. That's what you told me as soon as I arrived. Taking away her choice, just like you took away mine, I guess that sounds a lot like love in this world." Oops, might have stepped on a few nerves.
The sorcerer just stood there and said nothing. He bowed his head. "You're right. If I could force her to love me, I would do it. It would be for her own good too. I'd take care of her every wish or desire."
"Except one -- her freedom. That's the most important one for a relationship. Otherwise you'd only have a hollow semblance of one." I really did feel for this guy, but I've never wanted to control the girl. At the time, I just wished the girls on Earth had liked me.
"I'd rather have that than not have her at all." He stood up in defiance.
"Well, I still can't help you with that." I looked at his determined and slightly terrifying face. I take it back, he could command a demon, there was sheer power there.
"Then you're useless."
"Or maybe you're useless."
"What did you say?"
"You heard me. I thought you weren't like those other sorcerers, and I was right. You're worse."
"You're just a shit demon who has to be a slave for all eternity, it doesn't matter what you think."
I couldn't keep myself from saying it, "I guess that's why you have no friends and no lover."
He stormed out and I sat there until a candle burned all of it's wick. Finally the circle was broken and I could go home. I saw the sorcerer run into the room as I prepared to leave.
"Go to therapy, man. Only dicks don't get the girl." Then I vanished, back into the puff of smoke and back in my bed with my girlfriend.
"Good morning, love. Who did you have to talk to this time?" She yawned and wrapped her arm around me.
"Myself. In an alternate universe." She sat up and looked at me intently, I noticed she only had her t-shirt on. This was the universe I wanted to be in.
"Are you okay?" She reached for my hair as she searched my eyes.
"I am now." My cheeky grin made her smile. I felt sorry for that guy and I hoped he'd change for the better like I did. As my girlfriend started to get out of bed I pulled her back. "Where do you think you're going?"
She laughed. I definitely hoped this guy would learn his lesson and experience this kind of satisfaction. For my sake.
|
When I vanished from the middle of class, I didn't know where I was going. All I experienced was darkness and a rush of cool wind before I was deposited in a place that looked like the middle of a forest.
As my eyes adjusted to the level of sunlight, I saw a few humanoid creatures staring at me. They nudged one another and whispered in a guttural language. Finally, one took a few timid steps toward me and spoke. "O great demon of the underworld . . ."
I blinked. "What?"
The humanoid looked taken aback. "You're a demon. We summoned you." They held up a spellbook and pointed at the circle around me. "See?"
I looked around. "Um . . . Okay? What do you need, then?"
One of the humanoids in the back piped up. "There's a girl who keeps ruining our lives and we want you to scare her into not doing it anymore!"
My anger burned a little bit, which set a small fire around me. "What the hell," I whispered as I stomped it out. "And you think that she'll see you as more intimidating by doing sorcery?"
"Successful sorcery!" a third added.
I sighed. For my family, I would do this unwaveringly. For my friends, I would do it took. For these nerds? What do I have to lose? "Okay. Take me to this girl."
They led me toward a set of buildings and I played with the fire my hands generated to practice my new skill.
| 2017-05-12T12:28:14 | 2017-05-12T08:32:17 | 21 | 10 |
[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.
|
I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly.
| 2016-08-26T16:31:07 | 2016-08-26T10:59:35 | 81 | 18 |
[WP] You're a blind painter. Despite your disability you've been successful and made a good amount of money, but your most recent work is causing a stir. Rumor has it, people have gone mad after looking at it for too long, and there's been at least one related death. A detective is here to see you.
|
My wife dropped another chunk of wood in my arms and smiled, “It’ll look great on the hutch in the kitchen.”
“I thought the hutch was in the den?”
“That’s the armoire. The hutch is in the kitchen, and I need something to put on the top shelf. Hold this. I’m going to look at that wrought-iron booth.”
She didn’t wait for my reply, slipping through the crowd to another booth and leaving me with twenty more pounds of wood to carry back to the car. A hairy woman wrapped in a shawl brushed past, nearly knocking everything to the ground, and I scanned the nearby booths for somewhere to sit while I waited for her to finish browsing. Whenever she took me to the monthly craft fair, it usually only took a few hours, but today, there was a fire in her belly. I tried not to think of how it was spreading to my wallet.
As the hairy woman passed, I caught a gap in the crowd that led me into the shelter of a booth shaded from the overhead lights by thick, purple canvas dripping with crystals and stones woven through the thread. The canvas wall cut the booth in half, accessible only by a curtain of crystal beads. On the few shelves visible from the thoroughfare were jars holding sand, water, powdered crystal, and other unknown substances. Beneath them was a metal folding chair. I sighed with relief and lowered my wife’s purchases.
“Come for a reading?”
I heard the voice before the clatter of beads parting for the booth’s owner. A middle-aged man with tattoos crawling up his arm, nearly indecipherable between the wiry, white hairs, wrinkles, and pockmarks. His face pinched around a sharp nose and chin, his features too small for a man without glasses.
“Sorry? I was just looking for a place to sit.”
“Paying customers only.”
“How much?”
“Five dollars per fifteen minutes.”
I glanced at the chair, “Can I put this stuff down somewhere it won’t get stolen?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll take a double.”
The man laughed; the sound of a chest clearing after a cold, and he motioned for me to follow him into the back. The beads clicked off the wood as I shuffled in sideways to avoid messing up his canvas wall. In the back, I discovered a smaller room with a card table covered in more white canvas. Candles flickered in the corners, casting uneven light across the room. Incense smoke rose from the sides and curled around the ceiling.
“That’s a fire hazard.”
“Don’t worry. They’re electric. Set it beneath the shelf there.”
I turned to see the shelf extending from the front, into the back, but here, black soil and mud filled them; maybe it was just the odd lighting, from the candles, but several seemed filled with blood. I set my things down, staring at the closest.
“Catch your eye? We’ll see if that’s the one for you.”
“What are they?”
“Jars.”
I laughed, “What’s in the jars? What kind of reading is this? A future reading?”
“No, nothing like that. I read energy. If you’re energy’s off, one of those jars’ll set you right.”
“Like crystals?”
“Some,” He hobbled around the table and slumped into his seat with a sigh, “Sit. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
I sat across from him, stifling my own sigh; I’d been on my feet for two hours since we’d arrived. We sat in silence for a moment. Behind him, the incense smoke faltered, and I heard the hiss of a vaporizer before the trickle of smoke rose again. The tent filled with the scent of lavender and rain. After a moment of silence, the man patted the table and cleared his throat.
“Oh, sorry,” I pulled a handful of crumpled bills out of my pocket. A five, ten, three ones…” I set the ten and the five on the counter, “Let’s see how long it takes my wife to come get me.”
“Marriage problems? It can cause some negative energy.”
“No, no, my wife and I are fine. I don’t share her love of craft fairs.”
“May I see your hands? Good, yes, hmm…” He closed his eyes as his wrinkled fingers ran over my palms, “A good marriage. Yes, I can see that. You have a lot of negative energy, but it’s shared. Too much, maybe. You shouldn’t burden your wife with everything.”
I rolled my eyes and did my best to relax in my chair while having to lean across the table to the old man.
“This is a very dark energy, though; have you ever shed blood?”
“I’m a police officer.”
“Very dark. This kind of energy can give you bad dreams.”
“No shit.”
He cackled, “No need to be crass. I have something for it.” He hobbled up from his seat, “Let’s see.”
The old man perused the shelf before selecting one of the jars. He brought the glass to his ear and gave it a tentative shake. Satisfied, he set it on the table beside me. It was filled with a dark, oozing liquid that dripped down the sides after his shaking. It fit in the palm of my hand, reflecting the flickering candles—a deep red.
“What is this?”
“In the old days, it was traditional to absolve sins through the shedding of blood.”
“This is blood? Whose?”
“Goat blood. It absorbs dark and negative energy. Put it close to where you work. A lamb’s blood works better, but I already sold my jar of it.”
“That’s a little—”
My cell buzzed in my pocket; I expected it to be my wife returning early from the booth across the way, but when I opened it, my supervisor’s name popped up.
“Excuse me. What’s up, Jamie?”
“You still at that craft fair with your wife?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Got your badge on you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I got a call about a disturbance at one of the booths outside the building. EMT and a squad car are en route, but can you go check it out? It sounded pretty weird.”
“I’ll go take a look.”
“Good man, thanks.”
The line went dead, and I turned to the old man. He’d returned to his seat at the table, palming all fifteen dollars before I could ask for change. I narrowed my eyes at him until he coughed again and motioned to the jar.
“Five for the session. Ten for the jar. Don’t open it, or it will stink to high heavens.”
Not wanting to argue, I put the jar on top of my wife’s wood and carried the load out. Thankfully, as I came out of the back, blowing the beads out of my face I saw my wife wandering through the crowd in the center, looking for me. When she saw me, she raised a brow at my choice of booth.
“Don’t ask. Take these. Jamie called; I have to go check something out.”
“You’re leaving?”
“It’s here, at the fair. I’ll be by the outside booths.”
She frowned, “Okay. Call me when you finish.”
Undeterred, she took the load and the jar of blood and continued down the way, searching for more goodies at the booths. I shook my head and made my way to the entrance.
***Part 2 and 3 in the comments.***
|
\[Poem\]
Come one, come all
Behold my work
I'll prove the blind can see!
Right through these doors
And up the stairs
You'll find my gallery
But be prepared
The sights you'll see
You truly won't believe
Please worry not!
Sip your champagne
*Imbibed with DMT*
| 2019-12-05T13:03:33 | 2019-12-05T10:20:31 | 164 | 19 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
|
**CHAPTER 1**
I awoke this mornng with the sound of my youngest daughter's bright laughter.
"Look, mama, look! Look at the 'wearer'!" Brianna exclaimed between a fit of giggles and the next.
"It's called *weather*, dearie", I mumbled half-awake, but got up and went to check it anyway. Today is a special day - might as well get up early, and get on with what must be done.
As I opened my eyes, a reddish tinge had taken over all visible corners of the room - I opened the curtains to see the skies, even if i already knew what to expect. Outside the window, a massive thunderstorm raged as far as the eye could see. Blood-red clouds marked by streaks of lightless black, criss-crossed with white cracks of lightning that somehow did not flash.
"The emperor's maelstromancers really went the extra mile this year, haven't they?" I spoke to myself.
"The what, mama?" Brianna replied.
"Weather wizards, dearie. They must put on a show for the Emperor. And for us too."
"You mean the sky? That's so beautiful!"
"Yes, it is, isn't it? Now go get your brothers, dearie. We mustn't miss the carriage." I finished in mild tones. She ran off to the other bedrooms after my other three kids. My strong, healthy boys. Pride of my life, my children are.
By the time I had finished my ablutions and left my bedroom, all four of them were standing at attention in the main room, waiting for their daily share of work. It is a good thing the greater ease of life hasn't rubbed off on them the wrong way. An ugly thing, a lazy child is; I have seen some of our neighbors' kids, and the weaker workload has made them complacent and weak. Not my children, though. They work hard, and they are grateful for what they have.
"Alright. You all know it is a very special day today." My older son Thomas twitched at that, but I chose to ignore it. "We're not having a full day of work, for the carriage arrives at noon; so we must make the most of the time we have. Thomas and Aldain, go check on the cows and pigs. Albart, you feed the chicken and clear as many water troughs as you can. Start with the big one by the barn. Brianna, you help Albart clean the chicken coop, and when you're done go check the pond to see if the small fish are away from any frogs. I'll work at the crops today; when the Clock hits eleven, come quickly to the front of the house. I don't want you even ten minutes late, is that understood?" A small chorus of "Yes, mother" satisfied me, and we went our separate ways.
I remember back in the day under King Calis, I would dread the work in the crops; the bugs and the castigating sun would make it nigh unbearable. Now the bugs were mostly gone, bless the maelstromancers; and with the sky being alyaws dark red and overcast, I haven't got a sunburn in over a decade.
Time went by quickly, and soon the Clock banged eleven low, ominous, dissonant notes. *Five hours of labor on a holiday*, I thought to myself. *Not bad at all. We're probably getting a good surplus again this year.* I walked my way back to the Clock in front of the house.
The *Tower of Hours and Lives and Omens*, or the Clock as everyone calls it, is a gift and a reminder from the Emperor. We are supposed to *guard it and keep it with our very lives*, according to the Imperial Guard's guidelines. That doesn't mean much in everyday life though. The thing is made with terrible Dark magic, so it doesn't break or fail or anything. One good polish and a little bloodletting in the basin every week, and it's good as new. In return we have a free 24-hour clock, night lantern and thief alarm, with updated bulletins from the Emperor's Palace in the little brass tablet on the side. Plus it makes for very good garden decoration. Every new family gets one, and I've yet to see anyone complain about it.
By the time I got there, all my four children were ready in their Garments of Reverence - free, self-cleaning and self-repairing crimson robes to be worn in all Imperial holidays - and the offerings were ready. This years *gift of blood* would be a dead chicken, and the *gift of toil* would be a small wooden sculpture Brianna made for the occasion.
"Everything ready?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"Yes, mother." Thomas replied. "Albart also managed to get us two dozen eggs to bring to the fair."
"Good on you, Albart!" My third oldest is a bit of an overachiever. "If we manage to sell them, you get to keep a copper." He beamed at that. Such a nice kid.
With all chores done forty-five minutes early, we walked to the chariot station by the roadside. It's a small, ugly stone-and-mortar building, but Brianna loves it. Plus, we would get to meet the other villagers and make small talk before the chariot arrives.
We were the first family to arrive, so the kids managed to get a full bouquet of purple Gentians from the Bone Golem watching the station. Bulky, brainless, misshapen automatons of dead flesh and bones, these are kept on watch at every public building. Watch against what I cannot tell - there are very few thieves and ruffians in the Emperor's lands, and none would be stupid enough to trespass on Imperial property. Still, they give away flowers on the holidays, and are sympathetic enough for a dead creature with zero free will. Brianna thanked it for the flowers, for no response at all, which got a good laughter out of the boys.
In a matter of minutes, other local families made it to the station, but not all. Some would prefer to walk all the way to the Old Ruins - a seven-hour walk away - just for the view. I'm not a fan of walking, but I can understand - in this fresh summer, with all the crops blooming and the flowers by the road and whatnot, the countryside can be really beautiful to see. Those families that *did* come to the station were eager to share the latest gossip - some outliers claimed to have seen a host of corpses and skeletons going towards the south, with siege equipment and Bloodmage and Bonemage Battalions, marching their way past Graytrickle and the Fork Road. Maybe the Emperor was making threats again, or maybe there would be another war this time. I personally don't mind, if my kids are safe - war is not such a terrible thing when you don't have to send living people to fight it.
Our light chatter was interrupted when a shambling figure on a frayed black cloak slithered its way to the podium by the road. The folk knew to be silent when the dead speak - not only out of respect, but also because it's hard to understand their low, raspy voices.
The dead shadow turned to the side, as if listening to some invisible voice, and said as loud as it could:
"**MAPLEWOOD FAMILY, COME FORTH. CHARIOT FOR FIVE.**"
We rushed forward to the first chariot - *They probably have a ghost keeping tally of who arrived in which order, how thoughtful* - and took our seats. The chariot did not have a coach; the four skeletal horses pulling it were enthralled to know the right route. All public transportation is made by dead beasts of burden - the living ones are kept for farmwork. Truly great if you don't mind the smell.
It was not long before we were in the Old Ruins. We left our offerings on a big pile by the center, and an Imperial Mage would burn them in honor of the Emperor and the Bestial Lords of the Burning Hells he serves.
The Acolyte came forward, and spread his hand over the pyre; his eyes began to glow red, and his voice turned booming and hollow: "**To Dendira, Dark Mistress of Decay; To Zuul, Dreadlord of the Burning Gates; To Anamenekhr, the Spiderlord; To Glagolth, the Spear of Pain and Retribution; To Lazaghi**..." and on goes the sermon. The kids love the sight of the Burning; I myself just wonder how do they make the smokeless flames *glow black*. It is a quick ceremony, and soon we were back to the chariot again.
***Continues to Chapter 2***
|
I remember the first morning I had to head up to the mill under our new Eternal Lord of Darkness. I slowly leered out of the thin opening in my front door. The sky had turned dark, and red clouds hung in the air above us. I stepped back to hold my wife goodbye, took a deep breath of courage, and stepped out onto the harsh rocks...
Pavement? That's odd. Rather than the typical blisters and sharp pains of unleaded rock, my bare feet were met by the smooth calming surface of nearly cut and placed rock. I looked to both sides, and the entire street was paved as far as my eyes could see. Did the Lord of Darkness actually pave the entire city's ground? All in one night, too?
I cautiously made my way down the street towards my lumber mill. At the end of the street, I saw a patrol group pass by in horse-drawn carriage. Four of the darkly clod soldiers we had come to fear and respect rode in the back, their spears sticking up menacingly out of the ride. Suddenly one of them ran out of the carriage and pointed the spear directly at an innocent and sickly townsman's throat. I stopped walking and clutched my chest in horrid anticipation for the atrocity I was about to witness.
But the poor man turned out to be a thief, handed over the bread he had stolen, and was let off with a warning. We could actually sleep easy tonight under the new patrol group's watch! What a lunacy, that the Dark Lord would actually improve upon our safety and comfort, and deliver such a keenly fair sense of justice...
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
| 2016-07-10T16:12:03 | 2016-07-10T12:02:17 | 180 | 36 |
[WP]One night your phone wakes you up with an alarm you've never heard before. A message reads: "WARNING. METEOR HEADED FOR EARTH. SEEK COVER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL." As you scramble to get dressed, your phone buzzes again: "YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. REPORT TO THE NEAREST AIRPORT IMMEDIATELY."
|
The car hums peacefully, city buildings flashing by us. It’s been a smooth drive so far, and we haven’t even had to stop at a traffic light. As if bewitched by lady luck, the little green man appears every time we approach a junction.
I look around, fidgeting restlessly in my seat. This wasn’t right. My phone is clutched in one clammy hand as cold sweat pours down my skin, undeterred by the roaring air-conditioner.
“Where the hell is everyone else?” Tim murmurs, peering through our tinted windows at the brightly lit but empty streets in front of us.
“Watch the road,” I say irritably as I look down to check my phone for the hundredth time.
There it is, bright red and in caps. Sent from the government hotline, two texts.
*WARNING. METEOR HEADED FOR EARTH. SEEK COVER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.*
The first text had sent me tumbling out of bed shock. We had known it had been coming for months, the meteor the media had termed affectionately Obsidian Pebble, a poor attempt to trivialise and endear it to the general public despite the fact that it could wipe out the entirety of humanity upon impact.
People weren’t *that* stupid. Still, we had held out hope that it would simply pass us by, simply a space voyager dropping by to say hi instead of staying and turning our home into an apocalyptic wasteland.
I guess that hope had been in vain.
The second text had come just as I was putting my pants on. The nearest shelter was a block away, and I would probably have to leg it there in record time if I wanted to get a slot.
*YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. REPORT TO THE NEAREST AIRPORT IMMEDIATELY.*
A slight thrill had run up my spine as I read that text. Chosen for what? The gears had whirred wildly away in my head. I knew that the shelters were simply glorified coffins. They had little in the way of food, water or any kind of living facilities.
Granted, there were some out there that were self-sustaining and could run for decades, but in a neighbourhood like mine? Might as well have brought a tombstone along to pass the time, carving my name in it as I waited to die while the world outside froze over.
The choice had been easy to make.
What had surprised me, however, was that my neighbour Tim had gotten the same text too. And Anne from two doors over. And Sonya, our rich (compared to us anyway) landlord.
It seemed as though everyone in a three-block radius had gotten these texts. Just how had we been chosen over everyone else? Did it really matter?
The nearest airport was fortunately a little over an hour’s drive away, and amazingly enough, everyone either had a car to drive or been offered a ride by a kind neighbour or stranger. Perhaps the knowledge that these would soon be our fellow survivors drove us to quickly make friends.
Our block had been the closest to the airport, so Tim and I had somehow ended up at the very front of a rather strange motorcade, with a mishmash of different cars.
“What does it matter?” he replies amusedly. “There isn’t anyone else around.”
“A bit strange, don’t you think?” I say, fingering my phone restlessly. “You’d think there’d be widespread panic by now.”
He shrugs, an easy but thoughtful smile on his face. “Maybe they’ve just given up. I mean, why prolong your suffering? Better to spend it in a place you know and with people you love.”
I nod reluctantly, it’s a line of reasoning that made sense. But it still didn’t sit well with me.
“We’re lucky I’ve got this car you know,” Tim grins, his square jaw accented by his dimpled cheeks. “Car loan got approved just last month and dealer came through and delivered early for me.”
I agreed that it was indeed lucky, and we sit in silence for the rest of the drive. Somehow, the internet had gone down, so all we had for entertainment was each other. The world was ending even before the meteor had hit.
Eventually, we reach the airport. A military barricade has been set up around it leading to the main road we were on, and I see that Tim’s explanation is only partially right. A small group of protestors are lined up around it, engaged in furious, violent clashes with black uniformed soldiers armed with riot gear. More stand behind them, rifles at the ready.
We watch as a single protestor breaks through and crumples, a muffled crack floating through the window. It only serves to invigorates the protestors more as they throw themselves at the soldiers with wild abandon.
A soldier runs alongside our car, urgently gesturing for us to enter the airport. The motorcade almost seems to speed up, anticipation at salvation clearly on our minds. As we’re about to enter, a rock smashes through the window, sending our car to a screeching halt as Tim slammed the brakes.
“Are you alright?” The soldier yells, as the cars behind us begin moving around us. “Do you need help?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Tim calmly dusts glass shards off him. “We’ll get there just fine.”
The soldier nods, and turns around to face our attacker. He seems like a man you could’ve walked past the street and never in a million years taken notice of. He’s short and plain looking, dressed in an accountant’s suit.
“It’s not *right*,” the accountant shouts angrily. “You can’t do this to th-.”
His words as cut short as the soldier coolly shoots him in the face.
We drive into the airport, now in the middle of the pack. A small part of me worried that they might run out of space and that we would be thrown reduce, no doubt reduced to the protestors outside the airport.
Something nudges me foot, and I notice that the ‘rock’ the protestor had thrown earlier was actually a phone. Definitely a sign of end-times. I couldn’t have imagined throwing something as precious as my phone before all this.
I bend down and pick it, just as Tim stops the car.
“I think they want us to get out here,” he says, looking at the four soldiers that had surrounded the car.
We’re escorted to the departure hall, where they’ve set up a series of booths.
An old soldier, probably a general or the like, stands in front of them and barks out a short speech.
“You have been chosen randomly by the Government to join our space survival program. Starting now, we will sort you into teams. If you hear your name called, approach the booth and you will be escorted to the craft!”
There’re sounds of muted cheering, the mood dampened no doubt by the scene outside.
“Adrian Yung, report to the AA booth please.”
I hear my name called, and I rise. Tim had already been called to the AAA booth, so I was alone. Just what did AA or AAA stand for? Strange name for teams. I’m pulled along by a pair of soldiers who bring me to a room filled with what I assumed were other AA members.
The room is full of beds with strange machines next to them. Dozens of strange wires and tubes are connected to it, and it seemed that the other ends were to be plug into us. Already, several people have been strapped into their beds and plugged in.
“Simple medical tests and physical enhancements like steroids to ensure you can survive the rigors of space travel,” the doctor assures me as he straps my left arm in.
As he starts connecting the various wires and tubes to me, the series of painful prick soon threatens to send tears down my cheeks. Desperate to distract myself, I remember the phone the protestor had thrown through the car window.
I take it out of my pocket and inspect it.
On the lock screen, a notification text glows bright red.
*YOU HAVE NOT BEEN SELECTED AS A BATTERY FOR THE LIFE-FORCE POWERED LASER. YOU ARE INSTRUCTED TO STAY AWAY FROM ALL AIRPORTS OR FACE LETHAL MEASURES.*
|
I run to the car, pants half-on, turning the ignition as fast as I possibly can.
*”You have been chosen.”*
What the hell does that mean!?
First it was a warning. A meteor, hurtling towards Earth. Now, I’ve been chosen!? Get the nearest airport, they said. Get to the nearest airport.
I’m driving as fast as I can, past all the other cars. I don’t care about speeding, not now. I’m on fire, I’m on fire.
I hear sirens in the background, probably evacuating people already. I turn onto the airport ramp, come to a screeching halt outside the front entrance.
I step out, see the cop cars. Lots of people need to be evacuated, I guess.
“Officers, officers. I’ve been chosen, what are you doing!? You should be evacuating right now, look!”
I point to the sky.
“The meteor is here, officers, it’s almost here! I’ve been chosen!”
————————————————————
‘HALF-NAKED MAN ARRESTED FOR DRIVING DOWN HIGHWAY AT DOUBLE SPEED, BLAMES “METEOR”.’
| 2018-08-15T07:50:00 | 2018-08-15T05:50:45 | 70 | 52 |
[WP] As punishment for being depressed, you’re forced to peel potatoes with a potato. People try to help, but all they do is hand you more potatoes.
|
At least now I have a purpose...yeah, right. At least this sweet potato has a pointy edge. It is starting to become knife-like.
"How many more potatoes?"
I wanted to kill myself.
No response.
Some tossed a bag containing 2 dozen more potatoes.
Then I saw a man next to me stumble over with his own sack of potatoes over his shoulder. My gosh, I have already pealed enough potatoes for a thousand villages using just about every ounce of will and energy I have. What is this? A hundred more?
The man sat down with his bag, grabbed out two potatoes, and began scraping one with the other.
What a noob.
Clearly there is going to be at least one potato with a hardened edge or sprouts (be careful with sprouts because they are toxic to eat) that be used to more easily scrape other potatoes. I said, "Uh, there is probably a potato in your bag with a hardened edge or sprouts that you can use to scrape better."
"What?"
"Here, let me show you."
He pored out his sack and I began to sort through the potatoes. "See, this one will help you peel more easily."
"Hmmm, OK. Thanks for that."
"No problem."
It was 9:30pm, and I had been peeling since the morning. He had been peeling for a few hours now.
"So, what happened to you? How did you end up here?", I asked the man.
"I had been in my house for two weeks. I hadn't shown up to work for over a month though."
"Yeah."
"Some people came to my house and said I was under arrest. Apparently they have been doing rounds and I was caught being depressed."
"Yeah."
"They put me in handcuffs and took me to this place. They handed me this sack of potatoes and dumped me here. They said they would pick me up for breakfast."
"Better not be potatoes."
"Yeah", he said.
-----
Chapter 2
I awoke suddenly as a potato struck my forehead.
"HAHAHAHA YOU POTATO-PEELING LOSER. F**K YOU YOU F**KING LOSERS."
A guard came and brought us out for breakfast. It was ham and cheese. We were quickly then escorted back to the ditch to peel more potatoes.
As rush hour approached, people would pass by and say things.
"They probably deserve it."
"At least they're being useful."
A little girl, who had gotten away from her mother distracted in conversation with someone at the market, came up to the ditch.
"Hey! Hiiiiiii!"
I glanced up.
"What are you doing?"
The man in the ditch with me replied, "Peeling potatoes."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
The little girl then left for a bit, and we went back to potato-peeling.
A few moments later, she came running back.
"Hey, I have a big potato for you. Do you want it?"
Why would I want it?
"Sure" the man said.
The little girl tossed down the potato.
Great, you can peel that one.
"Byeeeeee" she said, and she took off.
Chapter 3
It became crowded again around noon. An elderly lady was passing by.
"How are you doing, sonny?"
I glared at her.
"I have a few fresh potatoes I just picked up from the market. You can have them!"
She dumped her bag of potatoes into the ditch with an ignorant glee.
I was tempted to pick one up and chuck it as far as I could out of the ditch, but I would probably be caught and be subject to something even worse. F**k this bulls**t.
Then a small crowd started to form. A few basic families, some other people.
"Hey, do you need some help?"
The man in the ditch with me replied, "Yeah!"
"We have some enormous potatoes from the market. Do you want it?"
The man in the ditch said, "No. But, you can talk to policy makers about reevaluating their laws about punishment for depression."
"Well, we don't have time for that now. But these might help. Here you go!"
Another three dozen more potatoes.
I don't understand.
Chapter 4
The next morning, the same little girl from yesterday showed up again.
"Hiiiiiiii" she waved.
The man in the ditch with me (MD for short) gave a cheery, "Hello!"
"What are you doing today?" the girl asked, while balancing on her tippy toes and nearly falling into the ditch herself. Where even is her mom?
"Peeling potatoes, my friend!"
"Do you want some more?"
"No thanks"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes"
"Why do you like potatoes so much?"
"Well, I have to do this. This is my punishment. I would rather not peel potatoes all day with other potatoes."
A women interrupted. "I am so sorry. Here, these potatoes look like they would be good at peeling other potatoes. I have a fresh 20-pound sack from the store. I'll leave these with you."
A man joined in. "Yeah, you can have my potato! Best of luck."
A merry old man with his cane stepped up. "I am carrying an old potato with me, but I will give it to you. Have a good day."
Then a younger women shouted, "Hey! These guys need our help! They need potatoes to peel and they need them now, otherwise they will have to peel more potatoes!"
"Dump all your potatoes here. Good, bad, rotten, whatever. These young men need potatoes."
Maybe they couldn't hear my utterances of disagreement from within the ditch.
Within the next 15 minutes, the ditch was full of hundreds more potatoes.
"Stay healthy and good luck with whatever it is you boys do with your potatoes."
Whatever us boys do with potatoes? Is this the way you solve problems? By dumping potatoes on them?
Chapter 5
Dinner time.
"I heard you boys need some help."
Come on, I'm in my mid-20s, stop calling me "boy."
"I have my own farm and I grow the very best potatoes. Delicious and plump. I heard you peel potatoes to cure your depression, or something like that, so I am willing to donate to the cause. Here are 50 pounds of freshly gathered potatoes."
"Sure thing, boss" the MD said.
I shot MD a glare.
The farmer dumped his potatoes.
Chapter 6
We had been meeting our potato-peeling quota and passing inspection. We had a clean area every night. But, something wasn't adding up.
MD was not peeling nearly as many potatoes as we took in. And, I sure wasn't. Where were they going?
Well, one day when MD was talking to the general public, I took a break from peeling potatoes and went to look at the area where he went to sleep. It was a small hole within the ditch, like a miniature cave.
A pungent smell came from within the cave.
I crawled inside, and towards the back, there were heaps and heaps of rotting potatoes. How did he sneak all of these here without getting noticed? This is disgusting. What is wrong with this guy?
Chapter 7
A few days later, MD was pronounced dead. The guards didn't even notice the day he died, as long as the area was clean of potatoes. His rotting corpse was found among a heap of rotting potatoes.
"What was the cause of death?", an officer asked an investigator.
"Well, he appears to have died in his sleep from breathing in the toxic fumes of old potatoes."
"Really? Well, too bad for him. He was a great peeler. I bet he had a bright future ahead of him."
I sat up and picked up a potato, and then I picked up another. I began scraping slowly. It was going to be a long day.
|
Depression is often colored as one note. To be depressed is just to be sad. This does not factor in the many flavors of depression. Some might say there are as many flavors of depression as there are ways to prepare potatoes.
Now, the universe often likes to make a joke of things, and for Susan Garmin, she was often at the end of these. "No, Roger, I do not need a Yukon gold potato to peel this russet potato." Exhaustion had settled in like a well worn mantle, and she was already too aware of the hollow gnawing she felt at the corners of her awareness.
And like the others before him, Roger did not understand. Mountains of potatoes had gathered around Susan, sometimes causing potato avalanches that she had to draw from her barely there reserves of energy to escape, only to get handed another potato.
Susan, was frankly, totally done with this tripe.
| 2019-05-20T10:21:50 | 2019-05-20T07:05:13 | 130 | 30 |
[WP] The human stood, eyes pleading for everyone to listen. "Members of the Galactic Senate, please, trust me when I say this: war has no winners."
|
\[PART 1\]
“The first representative from the Sol system has the floor. Navir Holden, please rise,” a booming robotic voice said. It’s voice reverberated through the cool blue metallic amphitheater. The various alien diplomats hushed as the first human representative took the floor.
The only sound that reverberated in the amphitheater Navir’s crisp, clear footsteps. Navir stopped in front of a metallic blue podium in the center of the amphitheater.
Navir pulled in the artificial air and looked out to the hundreds upon hundreds of species that surrounded him in this round amphitheater. Out of all of the races, Navir was only one of two species that wore white.
It was the color of a war-borne species. Everyone else wore light gray with an ascent of their species designated color.
Navir’s glistening white two-piece suit with the green trim border held everyone’s attention.
“Hello, everyone,” Navir started with. His voice was soft and rich with texture. It didn’t hint at the brutal and horrible backstory of humanity.
Silence answered Navir.
Navir sucked on his teeth. He figured this would happen, however, he needed everyone to understand the horrors of war. Even if humanity was hated, they would be the heralds of peace.
“As you all know, among the four hundred and sixty-two sentient species within this council, only two have ever waged war. Of those two species, both come from the Sol system. The first being humans. The second being the Cortex. The AI created by humans.” Navir waved a hand towards the physical robotic simulacrum of a human next to an empty seat.
It stood up and bowed to the rest of the assembly.
Navir nodded at the display of honor from the child of humanity.
Then Navir looked at the other members.
“As you know, of all the species here, the Sol bound species have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to warfare. Far more than any other species alive. Well, except possibly the Weli. The only other war-borne species that sits outside of this council.”
Mutterings came from the room.
“Which is why, of all the species here, both myself and my colleague from the Cortex race demand that the galactic senate stands down. Do not bring this evil into your homes. Do not wage war against the Weli. If their flames of war burned as bright as the Sol species, then lives will be lost, homes will be destroyed, planets *will* die. No one here will win.”
An explosion of sound took over the amphitheater. Navir couldn’t catch everything, but he heard enough.
“To think the *humans* would try to play peacekeeper. They’re still slaughtering themselves and they act like they should tell us what to do.”
“Imagine thinking we could be as terrible as a *human.*”
“If you ask me, *humans* made another sentient race, *hypocrisy.* It seems to show up every time a human speaks.”
Then a booming robotic voice came in again. “Order, order. There will be order here.”
Silence took over again.
Navir looked up at the massive floating television screen.
“Thank you, House Leader,” Navir said.
An acknowledging thrum came from floating House Leader.
Navir surveyed the amphitheater again. He took in all the alien faces.
“While there are some of you out there that believe humanity should not have a seat here because of our… history, do know that now you speak of doing something that humanity is an expert in. Because of that, I beg you to listen to us. Do not be like us from the Sol system. Do not be the killers that humans are. How many of you would need to die before you realize your mistakes?”
“Enough of my kind have died,” a heavy voice from the outskirts of the amphitheater yelled back.
“Order,” the robotic voice came in again.
Navir waved his hand at the House Leader. “Please, let the representative of Liin continue.”
Before the House Leader could do anything, a hulking orange beast rose up from its seat. It looked like the top of a gorilla had fused with the bottom of a tiger. The gray and black trimmed cloth hung on them like a second skin, revealing the corded slabs of muscle.
The massive representative stalked their way up to the podium where Navir stood.
The creature loomed with Navir, looking down at the human. “I said, enough of my people have died already.”
Navir’s lips tensed into a flat line.
“I know, that of all the species here, the Liin know firsthand the treachery of my kind.”
The Liin representative roared at this.
“Ten years. It was ten years ago this day that you *humans* discovered the wormhole that brought your *filthy* ships to my solar system. We hailed out to *your* ships, saying that refuge could be had. A single day later and humanity had destroyed ten Liin ships. Hundreds of my kin were lost that day.”
The Liin representative lowered and looked the human in the eye. “Your species should be glassed for their past.”
Navir gave the alien representative a sad, hurt look. “I absolutely agree with you. But, right now humanity could do far better than evil. Please, listen to us when we say that war has no winners.”
The Liin representative shook his head and sneered at Navir. “No. Not again.”
It looked out to the assembly. "We will not have another humanity again. We must destroy the Weli."
With that, it headed back to its seat.
Navir’s gaze lingered as he watched the representative sit down. It was that kind of anger that destroyed Mars.
He took in the room again, looking at all the naïve species. They thought that war would be something quick and easy. Hit a button and missiles would do the rest. They had no clue the suffering that would come from this.
“I say this, with honesty. If you allow war into your hearts as humanity did, then you will experience the pain and hate the Liin know far too well.”
“It’s just *one* rogue species,” another heckler threw up.
Navir didn’t know where it came from, but he had to respond.
“I say this now, if you do go to war with the Weli, it will be the end of you or of them. War is not about who wins. It’s about who loses. If any of them survive, they will come back with hate in their hearts and destroy us all.”
Of the four hundred and sixty-three members of the Senate floor, four hundred and sixty-two of them burst into laughter.
“Do you think one species could go against all of us?” Navir didn't even bother with an answer.
Navir looked again at the only other species that was no laughing. The Cortext representative held Navir’s gaze.
“Yes,” the Cortex representative said to the heckled question. Its voice was so close to human, but the grinding sounds of servos gave away its synthetic nature.
Everyone grew quiet.
Of the species gathered there, only two species had survived an intraspecies war. The humans and the Cortex.
All the representatives looked at the robotic human that wore the only other white dress. It was like the two piece suit that Navir wore, but their trim was red.
The synthetic human voice began again. “You will be shocked at what desperation will do to a species.”
Navir nodded at the words the Cortex representative said.
Desperation was the reason why Earth was destroyed. The cradle of Sol was gone forever because hotheads prevailed.
“We will not make your mistake,” someone else said.
Navir knew they wouldn’t listen now. They sounded far too much like zealous humans. “For your sake, I hope you don’t.”
With that, Navir and the Cortex representative staggered their departure from the galactic senate.
They had already spilled enough blood and oil to know how this would end.
|
He eloquently spoke about the human trafficking that was happening "under" the Senate's noses.
They refused to listen, as it was an unofficial tradition and welcome for any new member species.
He pleaded and begged for their intervention, as they didn't want a full-blown war.
They had him literally thrown out of the building.
Dusting himself off, he recalled his limo and sent their response, and as it took him back to Earth, he stopped and watched through tears as a multitude of warships and soldiers swarmed a shocked Capitol Planet in space and on land, ruthlessly destroying all resistance and kick starting the First Galactic War.
And, just like his descendant hundreds of years later, he flipped open his communicator.
"Buzz Lightyear, Mission Log..."
| 2021-01-28T19:13:37 | 2021-01-28T18:20:24 | 103 | 24 |
[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’m batting one-thousand: a 100% success rate over my entire career.
Though, that’s mostly because I never take the terminal cases.
If someone shows up with a tight chest, shortness of breath, and PULMONARY EMBOLISM over their heads you can bet your ass that I’m kicking ‘em to the curb.
Can’t ruin my numbers. All it takes is one bad surgery and suddenly you’re down to 99.9%.
Nobody wants to be *that* guy. The guy who’s almost perfect but not quite. *That* guy’s a goddamned loser.
So I take the softballs. Ones with a lot of what I like to call ‘di-prog disparity’—I mean, I already know everyone’s final prognosis. Always have: it floats above their heads in letters so big it sometimes blocks my light. If the diagnosis is sufficiently different, if there’s a big di-prog disparity—a DPD—I’ll take the case.
Someone comes in with BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA but complains of fatigue? I’ll take the case.
I see COLON CANCER and they come in with low blood pressure? I’m on it.
BLOOD LOSS? I never take blood loss.
You could always lose blood with your ribs cracked open and your heart pumping in the open air.
But yeah, I’m all about that DPD. Some docs say they like a good CBC, others prefer thinking about some ETOH after work.
But me? Gotta have that DPD.
***
Sometimes, on my way back from work, I like to diagnose people on the subway.
I do DPD calculations on the fly.
Dude’s got a limp, is ataxic, seems confused. Maybe neurosyphilis. But he won’t die from it—a PNEUMOTHORAX is what’ll get him in the end. High DPD.
How about this guy? He’s got clubbed, yellow nails, busted yellow teeth. Lung cancer for sure. But it’s CACHEXIA that takes him out. Probably from the chemo. If I was an oncologist I’d call that a low DPD and throw his ass out of my office.
Now, you can imagine my confusion when suddenly I found myself unable to calculate a DPD at all.
See, to find a disparity between a diagnosis and a prognosis… I need a giant gleaming PROGNOSIS. This man didn’t have one.
He was tall, with brown skin, black hair. Blue eyes, though. Quite the model human being.
And I couldn’t tell how he was going to die.
***
For a while I entertained the idea that I was just losing my powers. Hey, maybe it was limited time run. Why would entropy ignore paranormal powers?
I mean, it takes everything else.
But then I saw more of them. The textless. These walking talking human beings with no TERMINUS. No DEATH.
I briefly considered an alternative hypothesis:
Maybe they were immortal.
Every morning I have to wake up, shower, brush my teeth, and look my own shining DEMENTIA in the face. But these motherfuckers might have been immortal.
Me, a brilliant surgeon, dead and dumb in a few decades. And them…
Well, I didn’t know them. So I set off to find out.
***
The first one I stopped in the streets. Caucasian female, maybe 5’11. Blonde hair. Blue eyes.
I said, “Hey, you.”
I can say stuff like that. I’ve got a nice suit and an expensive watch. People usually listen.
I said, “Hey, you,”—and she said, “I have a boyfriend.”
I told her I wasn’t interested in that. I just wanted to know what she was.
She told me to fuck off and left me with my thumb in my ass. Shit.
The next one was a guy I saw at a bar. Tall male, maybe Middle Eastern. Black hair. Blue eyes.
I tapped him on the shoulder and said hello.
“Hey,” he said.
I decided to ease into it this time. “So, where are you from?”
He laughed and said, “Kuwait! Armpit of Arabia, but it’s home, it’s home!”
I said, “Oh, interesting. What do you do?”
“Oh I’m just a contractor, working with a local petroleum company. Want to get experience before heading back home, you know?”
This fucker was some oil-monkey and he could’ve been immortal?! What the hell?
“What are you?”
Predictably, he didn’t want to keep talking with me.
I don’t have any patience for small talk, and so the next five encounters went the same way. And the next ten.
There were so many.
***
I had a needle full of ketamine in my front pocket.
Ketamine is great because it works intramuscularly. Which means I don’t have to aim when I stick someone in the small of their back and walk their drugged bodies into my car.
Talk wasn’t working.
I didn’t go into Primary Care for a reason—I never liked talking. I’m really more of a doer.
And the thing to *do* when you wanted to see what made someone tick was to go inside and look at the old ticker.
The first one was a man who walked into the wrong alley.
I had him stretched out on a gurney and stuck on an IV bag loaded with propofol. He’d be out for a while. And I could finally see what made him textless. Deathless.
I mean, I had theories.
They could’ve been androids. Not humans at all. I’d seen some of the newer real dolls coming out of Japan, and damn. They punched through the uncanny valley so hard that I was hard enough to punch through *their* uncanny valleys.
Androids were plausible, in my book.
They could’ve been paranormals, like me. It took me a while as a kid, but I finally figured out that not everyone saw floating DEATH everywhere they went.
It’s possible that these people were the same. Just, immortal. Hopefully their physiology reflected that.
Third—shit, man. It could’ve been the Rapture. Maybe these virtuous fucks were the ones to get sucked up the heavenly crazy straw, leaving the rest of us to die with bright prognoses.
No real way to verify that, but it was an idea.
I unrolled my bag of tools and got started. I was scared that my scalpel would bend on his skin like he was Superman—but he was less than Kryptonian.
He bled easy.
Ugh. Exploratory surgery is so goddamned messy.
But his heart looked normal. Normal lungs. Everything was the right texture. Spongy where it needed to be, hard where it didn't.
What was different about these guys?
Maybe he was just a *really* good android.
I kept him open just to see if his heart would keep beating.
Nope. He woke up, freaked out, went into hypovolemic shock when he screamed out all his blood, and from what I could tell, he died.
I wasn’t convinced. Maybe it was just shutdown mode.
Any good evidence-based doc will tell you: you need more data points before drawing a good conclusion.
So I got some more data points.
***
It was three months of work before I realized it was all for nothing.
Nobody new showed up. Everything was bright with death again.
PARANEOPLASTIC SYNDROME.
SUBDURAL HEMATOMA.
DEEP-VEIN THROMBOSIS.
HEAVY METAL POISONING.
All was right with the world.
I must’ve just gone through every single one of those textless bastards.
And then it hit me.
Every prognosis I’ve ever seen has been the result of some third party. Nobody hands you a rulebook for paranormal powers, so maybe… maybe you don’t see a prognosis when you have a direct hand in a death?
Maybe you don’t see a prognosis… when that prognosis is *you.*
|
Tim wakes up with a scream. He knows something is wrong, but can't figure it out what. His body just wants to go back to sleep. He's never fully understood what the words above people's heads were, but after the first visit to the doctor he's never spoken about it again.
After last night's explosion, he's finally started to realize how sudden death can be. He knows exactly what the words mean.
His mom enters the room. Tim runs out of the apartment, and his mom follows him out with panic, sick with worry that he's going to need to see the psych again. He's knocking and screaming on every door and heading outside. Some people follow him out the building, worried that Tim's mom will have to handle him by herself.
A few minutes later, the building blows up.
Just another news story in NYC.
---
Criticism welcome and wanted.
| 2015-03-31T09:18:07 | 2015-03-31T08:43:31 | 1,259 | 36 |
[WP] You are part of a circle of scientists that have collaborated to fake the world into believing the sun was going supernova. As the generation ships carrying the rich, the flawed, the zealous, and the privileged leave Earth you decide its time to rebuild -the right way.
|
I remember the glaring lights on my face, replacing the millions of faces who could see mine. I was nervous, naturally. This might well end up being the most important interview in the history of mankind. The jury is still out on that. I didn’t really have time to be nervous, though.
Next to me, my subject seemed- not just calm, but down right placid. Knowing what this man had done, had proven himself capable of, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. What was a world-wide exclusive interview next to saving the world?
My director’s hand went up signalling the countdown to live. The countdown helped me focus, and I centered my eyes on the red light, just able to read the words below. He reached 2 and 1 in silence, then let me loose.
“Good evening, world. For those of you just joining us for the first time since Zero Hour, My name is Darien Cole. Tonight’s lead story is the much-anticipated interview with Graham Buckner, the face behind what’s being called the greatest prank of all time. He is live in the studio with me.
“Before we begin, however: a few updates. We have received word that our repeating centers in Johannesburg, Pyongyang, Sydney, and Buenos Aires are green across the board. I’d like to say welcome to our friends and viewers in Argentina, Australia, North Korea, and South Africa.
“Carbon emissions are falling around the globe. Lead scientists agree that we will fall within acceptable limits within the decade, just two years shy of the deadline.
“Reconstruction efforts are in full swing worldwide, with teams being sent into the most remote regions imaginable, seeking out survivalists and doomsday preppers, hoping to bring them into the fold.
“A team of researchers from California broke the news today that bees are recovering in all surveyed sectors- signs of colony collapse are receding, and more and more hives are being reintroduced across temperate zones. This is also great news for bats, how have struggled in recent years. The team says that with increased pollination, there will be a surge in insect populations that will be a great boon to bats, who provide a potent control on the insects.
“For the first time, mosquitoes will not be part of that surge- efforts to extinguish the parasitic insects by rendering them impotent are having a more drastic effect than anticipated. Ecologists expect little to no impact to anyone.” I gave them a confident smile. “Anyone, anywhere, ever. Good news indeed.
“We will have more details on these and other stories after the lead. Now I would like to say first of all, welcome to Mr. Buckner.” I gestured to my left, and the lights rose on Graham’s rather unimposing figure. Seeing him on the street, one might think he was a professor of something obscure and esoteric, like philosophy. He had a thick head of graying hair, a full beard, and half-rim glasses covering gray-green eyes. He wore a plain shirt under a corduroy jacket, complete with leather patched on the elbows, and his hand were clasped comfortably across a comfortable belly. It was a perfectly crafted affect, as were all his dealings with other people. His voice was even, as calm as his exterior. It was low and warm- a well-loved college professor.
“Please, Darien, call me Graham. It is an honor to be here.”
“And it is an honor to have you, Graham. It must have taken some juggling to free up your schedule to meet with us.”
“Not really. To be honest, I’m not up to a great deal anymore. I have often found that when you find the right people and give them the right tools, the right thing will be done. People, in truth, need very little management to do the right thing. It comes very naturally to us.”
“Then what are you doing these, days, if I may ask?”
“Consulting, largely. That’s what pays my bills, so to speak. I write a great deal. Some philosophy, but I wonder if the world hasn’t had quite enough of that. I like fiction. Those are the really fun stories to tell.”
“Any idea when your writings will be published?”
“Truthfully, no. I haven’t bothered to find an agent. Though I do find myself in the enviable position of being certain that when I am ready, the market will be there.”
“A writer’s dream, I suppose?”
“Absolutely.”
“To the subject at hand- my first question for you. What was it like for you as we approached Zero Hour? Those last minutes before revealing not just your face, but what you’d done- what were those like for you?”
“Nerve-wracking, in a word. I was violently ill the morning of, in fact. Couldn’t keep anything down.”
“That seems unlike you, if I’m being honest.”
“I have years of practice speaking in front of groups of different sizes, some friendly and many hostile. My ability to handle an audience is a very crafty coverup of my personal anxiety. Even now, in the interest of fairness, there is some trepidation over my words being broadcast globally.”
“Yet you are here.”
“Anxiety is an expression of fear in the mind. It is a signal- nothing more- that there are high stakes before you. That you have skin in the game; something to lose. Beyond that, if the reward outweighs the risk, fear is just noise. Whatever emotions I may have about this, it is necessary. So yes, I am here.”
“What else can you tell us about that countdown?”
“There was a lot of self-doubt. A lot of wondering if I was doing the right thing. How it would be perceived by the world at large. But at that point, it was too late to stop- the ships had already departed. And then I remembered something, something that had inspired and driven me from the inception of my idea.”
“Which was?”
“That the very problem I was trying to solve was in fact the source of my anxiety, and the voices that would be most likely to cry foul had been silenced. Also- and this is key- that I have far more in common with my neighbors than I have been led to believe. In that moment, I simply had faith. My stomach calmed, and I was able to address the world as I had planned.”
“It seems odd that a man who has acted so decisively against religion would talk about faith.”
“Faith gets a bad rap, in my opinion. The act of having faith is simply trusting in your beliefs. There is no particular association with what one believes in other than long-standing tradition. The act of driving down the road requires a certain faith that your fellow drivers will obey the same rules you do, otherwise fear would paralyze us all. Faith, in the absence of knowledge, is the antidote to fear. I couldn’t know how I would be received, but I had faith. That allowed me to continue.”
“What, then, was the start of all this? Where did the idea come from? The whole...illusion, if you will.”
“Oddly enough, a Reddit post. There was a writing prompt that I have long since forgotten, but it did remind me of a quote by Diderot: ‘And his hands would plait the priest’s entrails for want of a rope to strangle kings.’ It means simply that mankind could never be free while there are men who seek to dominate them.”
“That’s a gory image.”
“France, around the time of the Revolution, was an exceptionally bloody place. We all saw, historically, what happened to Robespierre, however sympathetic to his original cause we may be.”
“So you sought another way?”
“I did. I can’t deny the thought of violence was never far from my mind. I remembered, though that we had been given a gift in the disastrous regime of 45 and other right-wing populists across the world.”
“A gift?”
“From a certain perspective. I will not deny that those years were heartbreaking and tragic on a daily basis, nor to undermine anyone’s right to trauma in those days. But in that fear, these men had taught us how to defeat them.”
“How is that?”
“Fear.” There came a moment of dead air, as if that answer was self-evident.
(Part 2 in child comment)
|
Most people don't remember but this is the fifth time I have seen this happen. It had not worked when we last tried it 2500 years ago and it will not work this time.
How does it always come to this? People who believe that they can cleanly divide people into two camps: useless and useful, and get rid of the useless ones and everything will be fine. They think it would be that easy to distinguish, like it is something inextricably woven into their DNA or their personhood, when the criteria they use -- their own opinions -- is far from scientific. True, they do end up getting rid of a lot of problematic people, but more people are born, new divisions arise, and the cycle starts all over again.
But that is humanity for you: they think they can solve their problems by getting rid of other people. They don't step back and look at themselves making the same mistakes as countless others had before them. They are so sure that they will make a difference, but they never do.
Mark my words. This will not be the last ship.
| 2018-11-05T10:10:29 | 2018-11-05T09:08:51 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You have the ability to see heart-strings. You can see the connections that people have with each other. Each connection appears to be a colored line running from one person's heart to another. The colors, thickness, and texture of the line determine the strength and type of connection.
Based off of [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/godtiersuperpowers/comments/nn1e36/you_can_see_heartstrings/) thread, where people keep asking me for a writing prompt.
|
The day I saw the pink line turn a rusty brown, I knew it was over.
The relationship didn't seem change that drastically, but something was just... off. Small dodges of my hand, forced kisses before work, like when you're not in the mood for something but you have an obligation so you do it anyways. The irritated sighs whenever I try to initiate even just a conversation.
So when the inevitable breakup came 24 days later, my heart had already mourned for the loss. Some may wonder why I didn't try to fix or salvage it, why I just gave up so easily. But while my ability to physically see colored connections between two people can be viewed as inexplainable, confusing, and indescribable, I do know one thing for sure: the strings never lie.
Soon after, the string continued to change, until it was thin and dull grey, signifying that we don't have any sort of connection to each other anymore. Not even the thick black tendril of hate. I'm not sure which would hurt more, to be honest. I only knew that I was in pain.
And for a long time, that pain stayed. It sat in the pit of my stomach like a weight anchoring me down, securing me just out of reach of the hope that dangled above. It lurked in my mind, constantly throwing the once happy memories in my face.
It became what I was used to, and I wore it like my skin.
The many strings that colored my life started to dull. Even the most vibrant ones of my best friends and siblings were losing their color. I knew I had to do something, to stop myself from slipping away from my life completely, but I just couldn't.
Of course, time eventually did its job. Slowly, I was able to feel again. I was able to eat, do work, and fall asleep without staring too long at the ceiling. The motions of each day weren't so insufferable anymore. And so the colors were starting to revive themselves bit by bit.
I watched the strings weave among themselves as people passed me. I used to love to people watch, not for the people themselves, but for the links between them. There's something so beautiful about seeing people connected with all sorts of colorful string. To me, it was a reminder that there are so many different types of love and friendships amongst us. A reminder that us humans are all related in some way, and that we seek for this connection with one another.
A kid zoomed past me, almost knocking over the items on the shelf as he screamed in glee. Behind him, an emerald green string trailed. Its other end was attached to a girl with bouncing pigtails as she chased while laughing. I smiled, remembering how once upon a time, each trip to the grocery store was another adventure for me and my brothers.
The green string tangled with another, a yellow one that meant friendship. A man walked past, carrying some box wine in his hand, bringing the string out of sight with him. I turned away to the shelf of notebooks. My fingers brushed the different covers, feeling both smooth and rough textures as I tried to find a pretty one to make my next journal.
Engrossed, I bumped into someone with their back half angled away from me.
"Oh sorry!"
"No, no, *I'm* sorry!" I said as I turned to face a girl in a black t-shirt and jeans, who ran her hand through her wavy brown hair quickly. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, really. You?" I nodded. The grey string between us thickened just ever so slightly. She glanced at the notebook in my hands. "Oh, that's pretty."
I looked down. "I know, right? Love the blend of this one."
"I totally agree! Don't get why galaxy stuff gets so much hate now. They've always been pretty, mainstream or not, you know?" she said, as I watched the string start to gain color. It was the blue of acquaintances now, which usually occurred when I have a conversation that lasts longer than ten seconds with a stranger.
"Exactly."
There was a small awkward pause as she looked away to stare at the stack of notebooks in front of her. "So... what's it for? Do you write?"
"I do! Well... not like stories or whatever. Just like, my feelings, you know? I think it's important to keep track of this stuff." I wanted to groan at stupidity of my words. Who says that kind of stuff to a stranger?! But she nodded in agreement and the blue line thickened.
"No, yeah. I get it."
"What about you?"
"Oh," she gave a small shy chuckle. "I write a lot of poetry. It's uh..." She paused, as if unsure to continue. "Like my way of expressing myself, I guess."
"I get that. Sounds awesome." I put the galaxy notebook in my basket. "How long have you been writing?"
"Ever since I could pick up a pen, pretty much."
"Damn."
She laughed. "But nah, you wouldn't think it's so awesome if you heard how lame and bad they are." As I moved my head back up, I noticed the string lightening. I smiled inwardly. Apparently making friends while grocery shopping is actually possible.
"Hey, come on now! You can't have not gained anything from so many years of writing, right?" She shook her head and I narrowed my eyes, feeling a small curl forming from my lips. "Well I don't believe you, you're probably not giving yourself enough credit."
She rolled her eyes. "Not true."
"Then let's see it! Show me," I tilted my head, pretending to challenge her. The string continued to lighten and I waited for the bright yellow that resembled sunshine to set in.
"Um... I'm good."
"Why not?"
"Because!"
"Because you know you're wrong and I'm right?"
"Excuse me!" She gave me a playful shove, her hand passing through the slightly shimmering line, indicating that the color transformation was not complete yet. "I just not keen on showing you, how's that?"
"Okay, then I'll just not believe you!"
"Hey!" She rolled her eyes again, but this time with a small smile. The string was yellow now and I smiled for real.
Until I noticed it hadn't stopped changing. I looked at up her suddenly, eyes widening. "What?"
"Um, nothing." I took a moment to regain composure and avert the focus away from my sudden, seemingly random reaction. "So... are you gonna show me?"
"I don't even know you!"
"Okay, then let's get coffee," I blurted out. She looked at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. Normally, this is where I might start regretting my actions, which would then result in me finding an awkward way to end the interaction.
"Are you serious?"
We both quietened down, neither of us moving. This was the last moment I could opt out of this whole thing. She was just a stranger I quite literally bumped into.
I looked into her eyes and noticed that they were a striking, but calming blue. They were really pretty, I realized. More importantly, they contrasted with the morphing string, which was now becoming a sunset orange. I've never seen any shade of red attached to me before, only pink.
"I am," I said without another moment of hesitation. For a second, I thought she would call me weird and leave, but she didn't.
"Then, what are we waiting for?" We both grinned as she led us out of the aisle.
As I followed her, a small feeling I haven't experienced in a long time started to spread from my chest, like warm butterflies that pulsed with the beat of my heart. I smiled again, and held my head up a little higher, a little closer to the hope above. Because in that moment, I already knew.
The strings never lie.
\---
It's extremely late here so I'll probably edit more the next day, but thanks for reading! Feedback welcome :) If you liked that, feel free to check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/thegoodpage) for more!
Edit: finally got around to some editing :)
|
I really should be going to sleep, but I came from the original post and had to write something, so here I go.
\[Poem\]
I hold the fabric in my hand,
a scarlet silk thread
flowing in rhythm with the beats of my heart.
​
Oh, how I wish I could cut it
No longer tied and imprisoned
To feelings of hidden attachment
​
Could I end all red and scarlet ties,
Ignite it with the passion I wish to end
set my burning desires aflame
There will be no single moment of doubt
​
I dream of dying our thread back to blue
Of days I could follow the string
Find you at the other end
And love you as one loves a friend
​
One day I will see your threads
Paying attention to details I now wish to ignore
In the sight of one of them, red and shiny as my own,
There will be another end,
Not mine
And I will be happy.
| 2021-05-28T16:33:20 | 2021-05-28T15:00:01 | 173 | 39 |
[WP] Your friend gives you a box, asking you to keep it closed for 15 years, before disappearing without a trace. Today, the 15 years is up.
|
I had been living at home for 2 years. College was over, I was broke, and it turns out nobody wants to hire recent grads with minimal experience in anything. So there I was back in my old room, laying on my old bed staring up at the Zelda poster I got on my 10th birthday.
I quickly learned that Mom did not appreciate the slob lifestyle I had adopted at college. My room reached a critical point where she drew a line and said enough was enough and it was time to clean it. Great.
"You've got boxes of papers going as far back as elementary school, how about you sort some of this junk?"
She had a point. It was junk. I kept so much stuff thinking one day I'd want to flip through it all again and relive my glory days but the truth is now in my mid-20s I couldn't care less about those old papers. The first essay I got an A+ on in AP Literature? No thanks. Garbage. My Chemistry final exam where I heroically got above an 88% to secure an A? I remembered meticulously calculating the score I needed - which just happened to be an 87% - and the triumph I felt when I got the needed grade. But again, the thrill of those memories had faded. and now the exam was just a sad, tattered piece of paper that meant very little to me. Garbage. First note I ever received from a girl? Blegh, Emily G. G as in garbage, am I right? Garbage. Garbage, garbage, garbage. And more garbage.
Then a 1980's prime Mike Tyson body shot hit me.
It was that box. *I had forgotten all about it*. When Joey gave it to me and told me not to open it for 15 years I smiled and nodded thinking he was nuts, but something about the intensity in his eyes compelled me to do as I was asked. Rather than be tempted by it later I stuffed it into my closet a few weeks after receiving it. That was around the same time Joey had disappeared.
"August 1, 2020" it read. I had written the awaited date on there incase I forgot and it's a good thing I did.
"Well shit, that's today!" I exclaimed excitedly. What a find! Thanks, Mom.
I grabbed the little box. It was a navy box, square-shaped, and its angular corners had dulled a bit with time and while jostling with other bits of junk that had accumulated in my closet. It was heavier than I remembered, too. Gosh, what a find indeed.
I didn't open it right away. More than any of those old papers or mementos, something about this box really took me back. Maybe it's because it was the last time I saw Joey before he disappeared. Maybe it's because for several days I just stared and stared at this goofy box and wondered what was in it. Was this some elaborate joke that old Joey never got to see the pay-off for? Shit. He was a good kid. I wonder what happened to him. Sucks.
A single piece of yellowed tape held the lid on. It was brittle now and broke effortlessly as I ran my finger through it. Alright, Joey, let's see what you've got for me after all this time.
It was a roll of film, like from an old camera. That's it?
Naturally I was too curious to wait and take it to the store to have it developed the old-fashioned way, so I just held it up to the afternoon light coming in through my window. My eyes took a second to adjust to the images as the colors were inverted on that amber roll, and it took me a few moments to puzzle it together. It looked like some guy sitting on a floor in a room.
Oh shit, that looks like my room.
Oh shit, that looks like *me*! In my room...*right now*!
But what? The contents of this box are over a decade old so how can this be? Maybe he took an old film of me or something and I just happened to be - nope. Nope, nope, nope. There I am, even in the stills I am yanking a reel of film held aloft and looking at it just like I am now. I've got the same striped t-shirt on, too. Based on the angle of the images there must be a camera or something in the upper left corner of my...
The f is *that*?! When was that put there?
Sure enough there was a small silver device, about half the size of a cell phone, mounted in the upper corner of my room. A single blue light coming out of it. *Who put that up there?*
I rise to my feet, still tugging the film across my hands and trying to make sense of every frame. I rise to my feet in the images simultaneously. *What is going on...*
I stagger a bit in shock and start to pace about my room, and my double in the reel does the same. We're moving and shifting about together as if we're dancing. Sometimes it seems like my movements are a second ahead of his - er, mine - and sometimes it seems like I'm a second or two behind. It's so disorienting. I can't make sense of any of this. I'm pulling and pulling and the reel is nearing its conclusion. There is not much film left. I've almost exhausted all the images. *What is this supposed to show me?*
I pace, and pace, and frantically examine everything and then I see it. A man bursts through my door. I don't recognize him. He stands over me, on the floor with the film, and for several frames we simply look at each other. If we are exchanging words it's unclear to me from such a small image. Then he's drawing what looks to be a weapon from his massive coat.
I stop. I don't want to see the rest. See my own execution, surely that's where this is headed. I look at my closed door in terror. What if this is real? What if it's a warning? *What am I supposed to do, Joey?*
"I need to get out of here" I whisper in disbelief. I don't dare do anything as obvious as exit through the very door my assassin may be waiting at. I don't dare call out either.
The window!
I run to the window near the foot of my bed and lift it up. It's a long way down but maybe if I can hang on from the window sill and drop the rest of the way from the second story it won't be so bad. It won't be so bad, right? Better than what awaits me here, anyway.
I execute my plan and am dismayed by how out of shape I am. Now in my mid-20s and several years removed from a gym it is harder to hold myself up than I thought it'd be. Turns out all those guys in the movies have the strongest fingers in the world. I spend precious few seconds of my limited energy inching around by my fingertips to get into an ideal position, and then I hear it. A sound from inside my room. A loud, clattering a bang, as if a door has been blown off its hinges that makes me startle. I look up into what little I can see of my room from my position and there's a shadow moving along the ceiling.
It's got to be my executioner. Just like in the images. *Joey, how did you know?*
Now that my foe is upon me I have no choice but to drop, so I drop. He hadn't seen me yet but surely he'd notice the open window within a few seconds.
I land with an unflattering thud that causes me to sprawl out on the lawn but I seem unhurt. I scramble to my feet, a flurry of grass stains and sweat, just in time to see a silver car pull up and screech to a halt mere steps away from me in front of our house. The passenger door swings open.
"Get in! Come on, come on!" a voice from inside calls out as I fumble my way over to the vehicle. I'm not thinking clearly, all I want to do is get away from the house so I don't even question who is in the car.
"Glad to see you know how to follow directions!" the driver calls out again as I'm just a few feet from the passenger side. "Looks like you're the only one who did! Now get in here!" It sounds like a kid. It sounds like...Joey.
|
It's time to open the box. Jim gave it to me 15 years ago. Maybe it will give us a hint about his disappearance. I unlock the lock with the key he gave me. In the box there is a single envelope. I open it and begin reading:
Dear Saimon,
we were friends for 10 years before I disappeared. If you did as you promised now its 15 years after my disappearance. I left voluntarily and went to a different world. Here we live in peace and harmony with the nature. The relationships with the others are built with honesty and trust. Almost like the one we had. You were honest Saimon except one time. Do you remembered when they stole my house. In fact they were FBI agents who wanted to take over the magic item I had found. The item that made me find this heaven I live now. You told them that I had a magic item without knowing what it meant. So they came but they didn't find it. That's when I started plotting my escape from your world. I know you didn't mean to hurt me that why my revenge to you will be minimal. You waited 15 years to learn what happened. So now you know, you will not see me again. But you will have to remember. I'm *Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.*
That was my revenge.
Yours,
Jim
| 2022-09-01T10:27:47 | 2022-09-01T09:20:57 | 1,233 | 89 |
[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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“Blood? Oh, that’s my blood. That’s not good.”
The blaring rock music rattled through my headphones as I pulled myself off the floor. When I got to my feet, I staggered, clutching the broken wall of the coffee shop I had just been tossed through. It was a good thing the headphones were reinforced, or they would have perished in the blast.
I tapped my body, examining all the music note patterns in my costume. Each one serving as a unique way for me to remember where each of my vitals were. Sure, it made me a walking dartboard for villains, but I hadn’t met a villain yet that had caught onto my little cheat sheet. My hands brushed over the semibreve over my heart, ensuring that it didn’t have a hole in it. Though I wondered why I bothered, surely if that part had been damaged, I wouldn’t be standing. From Sharp to Treble Clef, my vitals were looking good, with the wound coming from a rather painful cut on my back.
Super Boom flew towards me. The explosives-based villain floating above me. I could see his mouth moving. No doubt he was giving some very interesting evil monologue. His hands crossed over his chest as he glared down at me. Eventually, his mouth stopped moving, and it appeared he was waiting for a response.
“WHAT?” I shouted, unable to hear him over the rock music.
He attempted to speak again, this time the veins in his neck were straining as his mouth opened wider, sounding out every word individually. His cheeks were bright red, annoyed beyond comprehension. As he finished speaking, he again waited for my feedback.
“WHAAAAT?”
This time I took off my headphones, placing them against my hip, allowing him a moment to speak. While it may have seemed cartoony, this little routine was buying me some precious time to get my breath back. Even a superhero gets a little winded after smashing through a building and no amount of rock music can fix that.
“You know what, never mind. It was a brilliant speech, but it’s wasted on a B-list hero. You will be my steppingstone towards greatness. As they say, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette and you’re just the right size to make a hearty start to this villainous buffet.”
“Glad I left the headphones on for that one. Want another crack? Get it, you called me an egg and eggs crack.”
I held a smile despite the pain setting in. Even with my breath back, the pause in the fighting had caused my adrenaline to wane and now that pain was slowly poisoning my body, draining me of my energy. I needed a plan quickly; stalling would only work for so long. Back up was always an option, but who knows how far away that is? That left me with only one option. I stared at my cracked phone screen, searching for my forbidden playlist.
“Ever seen that video of the man that throws a bunch of eggs against a wall in an attempt to imitate cooking? That’s what I’m going to do to your body.” His palm glowed with a golden light, smoke drifting out of from behind the powering blast.
I couldn’t exactly dodge it, not with a massive cut on my back. Guarding probably wouldn’t be effective either, not at such a close range. Even if I survived the initial blast, I would still be down for the count. I had to get that playlist ready. The smell of burning flesh drifted from the blast as it neared its completion, my hand frantically tapping away until I could start the playlist.
When my finger collided with the play button, I tossed the headphones back on, listening to the overly dramatic lyrics. The blast flew towards me, rampaging through the remains of the coffee shop, burning everything in its path. I stuffed my phone back into my suit and shut my eyes, preparing for the worst.
The hot wave shot into me, knocking me off my feet as the inferno of warmth threatened to cook me. I could hear his snide laughter as he watched. The intense pain causing my eyes to drift closed for a moment, only to snap awake as I pushed myself forward.
“How can you see into my eyes, like open doors..” I hated using this playlist, but only songs as dramatic as this could fuel me in this great time of need. These songs relied on pain to power them, and I was in a lot of pain.
“Impossible, you should be dead. You should be a boiled egg by now. Damn it, I’m not going to the bottom of the villain ladder over an idiot like you. DIE.”
Another blast of heat shot towards me, this time as the cloud of warmth hit me. It exploded, throwing me backwards, sending me rolling along the street. I needed some offence. As the words ‘WAKE ME UP’ shot through my headphones, I got myself back to my feet, exploding into a powered-up rage.
A sudden look of panic covered his face as he attempted another blast, only for my fist to land squarely on his face, getting a little payback for the last attack. Tapping my headphones, I changed the song, deciding to go for something more dramatic.
“When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city. To see a marching band.” The ground shook, imitating the roar of a large marching band. Each violent shake causing the villain even more fear as he squirmed backwards, trying to get himself to his feet. Though with each squirm back he made, I took a step forward, ensuring that if he wanted to stand, he would have to face me when he did. I wouldn’t give him any distance.
“He said, son, when you grow old, will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?” An angelic glow followed my steps, repairing the broken street beneath my feet. My gaze didn’t leave the villain, instead, my steps were gaining on him until I was standing over him.
“To join the black parade.” A shadowy mass of vines sprawled out of my palm, gripping the man around the waist and swinging him. He attempted to charge another blast, but before he could charge it, I slammed his body into the ground, knocking him out in a rather painful bit of whiplash.
Like always, now that the fight was over, I could see the other heroes arriving on the scene. My aching body probably only having one song left in it. One hero went to offer me her shoulder while the others went to arrest the villain. As she waited for me to lean on her shoulder, I held up a finger.
“Wait, I love this part. DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DO, DO.” After the uplifting instrumental finished, I fell forward, allowing my body its much needed rest. Such emotion had a way of sapping me of energy. Had the fight gone any longer, it might have ended my hero career.
She caught me before I hit the floor, keeping me upright. She removed my headphones before picking up my body in her arms. Her suit had a stunning shine to it, one that radiated confidence. No one dressed in such a bright costume unless they were confident in their ability to take a hit. Well, maybe except me. I am the expectation to that rule.
“You did well for a rookie. Although you are losing a lot of blood, let’s get you to a hospital, ok?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Please hurry. I think my beam notes might be damaged.”
“Beam notes?” She glanced over at my costume, struggling to figure out where the beam notes were.
“Um, which parts that?”
“Kidneys.”
“Oof, yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s a pretty nasty looking cut there. Get some rest. You’re in the hands of the Soaring Phoenix.”
The Soaring Phoenix? What was someone like her doing here? It hardly mattered. The knowledge that she was here made it easier to rest. I let my eyes shut, knowing that I would wake up to a painful month of rehabilitation.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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As I fire up my R.Kelly playlist the villain immeditaly apologizes for everything and starts making repairs to the damage they have done. But its too late, I can't stop the playlist mid song. Crying quietly the villain hears the haunting refrain "My mind's tellin me no...but my body, my body..." as I saunter over with a knowing look and while grin that is almost a snarl spreads across my face.
As the song continues onlookers start begging for mercy. Shouts of 'they've had enough' start to ring out; but I can't turn it off, this has to run its course. The police observe from a safe distance, knowing that there is too much risk to their own safety if they intervene. A few people become physically ill as the dying refrains of "I don't see nuthing wrong, baby, baby" fade to silence.
It all seemed like a blur, I can barely remember the struggle that required this playlist to be engaged. In the immediate aftermath the press want to know why I even have a playlist so terrible on my phone. I simply don't have an answer for them, whatever this curse is it prevents me from adding new songs or deleting old ones from my playlists.
| 2022-05-17T09:15:17 | 2022-05-17T09:06:36 | 215 | 63 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still...
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Brian sat on the bed, a mirror in front of him, a familiar face staring back at him with eyes not of his own. A golden band around his iris that he knew would grow, he knew what it meant, infected, different, a target, lycanthropic.
He already knew what it was to be a target. The bullies at school always able to get a rise out of him, sometimes the teachers would be there to stop them, sometimes not and he'd return to class with clothes torn and damaged flesh. A constant torment that made wish him for a different life, be careful what you wish for he though.
Now infected with one of the lycanthropic family of diseases meant that nobody would stop the bullies. Hated and feared he would be targeted like never before with nowhere to turn, no one to turn to. Quite the opposite, he would be forced to register with Quarantine, the government department tasked with controlling lycanthropes and administering drugs to halt the changes the disease wrought.
He knew the side effects would be, unpleasant, stunted and lifelong.
He thought about the few bright points in his life, he could count them on the fingers of one hand. His parents, his best friend Andrew, Mrs Summer his reading tutor, smiling Claire who actually stopped the bullies on more than one occasion.
He didn't want to see how they'd react to him being infected but the only other option would be to not see him. How would they react if he left?
He could rationalise his parents, they'd expect him to leave one day though probably not at 14. Andrew, it would be a blow but not enough to anchor him to a world of more fear and hate and violence. Mrs Summer, well she jumped on her desk and screamed from a cockroach, leaving would be a kindness to her timid soul. Claire, Claire who was kind and comforting, and about to finish high school, leaving would beat her to the punch.
A tear rolled down his cheek and he laughed, a strange combination. The realisation there was only one choice for him. The escape he dreamed about he was now forced to take, he'd get what he wanted and it hurt. The rainforest that was his solise now to become his home, maybe even further out and into the bush.
He looked in the mirror again, a scared boy stared back at him. He knew he could survive, he'd been camping as long as he could remember, he knew how to fish, what plants to eat, how to build shelter. And surely if whatever form of lycanthropy he had was allowed to run its course he would become better adapted to living off the land.
He turned from the mirror, the last time he would see his human self and went to pack. He had hours till anybody would notice he was missing but he wanted that time to get away, make a clean break. He'd leave a note for his parents, letting them know he ran away. The most comfort he could give them, better than a son with lycanthropy, and a misdirection if anybody came looking.
-------------------
52 years later
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The massive dragon raised its head and listened carefully, another cruise boat approaching the gorge, no humans on foot yet.
A small huff of displeasure that its sun bathing would be interrupted for a few days as the inevitable tours up the rapids of the gorge and onto the plateau the boat couldn't reach.
Still part of it was drawn to the humans who had come, to watch from the depths an echo of a former life.
The bulk of its body moved through the water silently, the inky water hiding it much like it did for the natural inhabitants of these waters. Unlike humans the dragon did not fear the saltwater crocodile, even a fully grown male salty was dwarfed by the dragon.
The thought of salties brought the dislike of them to the dragon's mind. It could still recall the first time after the change it had been attacked. A 16 foot male had latched on to it's smaller frame, only the impenetrable scales stopped it from being torn apart. The dragon learned that day it could breath fire underwater as long as it was biting its victim, it also learned that croc's don't taste that great.
As dusk fell the dragon surfaced under a overhang so it could view the cruise boat without being spotted.
It could see people milling about, the crew, a couple of families with small children and a pair of older women. One of the small children in particular couldn't keep still, running all over the boat with one of the older women running after them.
Every few minutes a shriek of "Nana, nana look at this" came across the water.
At first the dragon found it amusing, then something stirred in the back of it's mind. There was something familiar here but it couldn't place it so it sank to chase the though.
Sitting at the bottom of the river the dragon cast through the depths of its mind for the key to the metal itch. What was it that it saw.
A joy spread through its form when it realised what it has seen and where it has seen it before. It was the smile, nana's smile as she chased her granddaughter, it was Claire's smile, it was Claire.
It surfaced again to capture another glimpse of its old life only to see the hyperactive child jump off the boat into the water. To see Claire, her back turned urging the child with worried words to return to the boat.
The dragon had lived 50 years in this form, it had been happy to live a quiet life, it had learned to breathed fire yet never felt the need to, it enjoyed the passing of time as it rested occasionally rousing to see food, it had been dormant.
The dragon realized this when Claire screamed as she saw what the dragon has missed earlier. A large male saltwater crocodile headed for Claire's granddaughter.
For the first time in its life the dragon was fully awake and it was not happy. An obligation it didn't know existed compelled it to protect that which Claire held dear. As she had protected him now he would protect her, a debt that neither could ever repay, an unbreakable bond for a dragon.
Claws on the bottom of the river started the massive bulk moving forward then the powerful tail took over beating as hard as it could.
Some people on the boat screamed as they looked over one side and saw the crocodile, others screamed as the look over the other side and saw a pair of golden eyes in a bow wave coming straight for the boat.
The dragon dived when it reached the boat claws digging into the river bed to aid the tail as its bulk squeezed into the insufficient gap between the bottom of the hull and river bed. Chunks of metal hull were torn as dragon hard scales and angry dragon tore past the hull.
A broad mouth full spear like teeth opened as the dragon spotted the crocodile and raced to the surface. Fire already building in its throat as it struck the 1 tonne reptile to lift it clear out of the water, flames shooting into the air before jaws snapped shut and the charred head and tail fell harmlessly into the water.
And then there was silence.
Brian swallowed the piece in his mouth and lowered himself in the water again before turning around. He made his way over to the granddaughter who looked at him with awe. Fortunate he thought, to most a giant fire breathing lizard would be terrifying, this 4 year old thinks it is the coolest thing ever.
A glance at the damaged boat confirmed this, all the adults were terrified.
Brian sunk below the water then surfaced slowly beneath the girl. Her squeal of delight ringing through the still night air. He made his way towards the boat with his precious cargo staring directly at Claire as he approached.
She was always brave he thought as she stood waiting for him, not many would face a mature dragon. Not that anybody had the chance before. Gently he rose from the water so Claire could embrace her errant grand daughter then as she reached over he bit her dress and pulled her in the water.
She came up spluttering but he soon had her perched on his head too and ferried the pair to shore. There wasn't much use leaving them on a sinking boat.
He returned to the stricken vessel and eventually, about the time the water reached the first deck, the remaining people on board accepted a ride to shore... or dove into the water and made a swim for it which was amusing to watch.
Later that evening as everybody slept Brian though sifted through his knowing. He could feel Claire's family now, her blood, they were tied to him as he was tied to them. The fact he was curled around the campfire with Clair and two grandchildren beside him now was evidence that the bond worked both ways. He would watch over them as they lived and died their natural lives as the generations of their family would watch over him.
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(I'm new here. Haven't written much. Don't kill me.)
"What a waste of an existence" I muttered to myself, as I walked past the morning office goers in the Munich train station. People stuck in a rhythmic drag of work and home, with no direction in life but to survive. I pitied their mundane existence.
You see, I was different. Dragon-kin is what they called it in the stories. 'Once a month, he transforms, to his untamed form, a dragon. Overcome by feral rage, he plunders and he kills, leaving only death and destruction behind.'. Of course, the stories rarely tell the truth. They don't know the calmness that overcomes me when I transform. The enhanced senses, the sight of the moon reflected on the river as I fly above it, and the warmth that rises in me, fit enough to release a stream of fire that could melt rocks. But most of all they don't know of the feeling of invincibility I get, the feeling that I'm superior to any of these rats scurrying to their little holes, the feeling that keeps me sane. I could end them all, if I wanted. But I don't intend on doing it, not any time soon.
Instead, I shall fly to my hill. I shall watch the city from the distance. Observe it bustling with meaningless excitement. I shall roar into the night, sending fear into the hearts of every living being in my vicinity. And I shall rest easy, comforted by the fact that I am superior to any form of life in existence.
| 2017-05-20T08:38:36 | 2017-05-20T06:14:36 | 73 | 19 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
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When my parents tested me for my powers, they were hoping for super intelligence, my dad’s power. Maybe even super strength, my mom’s. But they never expected my power.
Like all budding youth, I was tested for my powers when I was five, when the powers start becoming more powerful. I remember being lead into a small, white room, my parents beaming with pride. I sat in a chair and a doctor hooked me up to a weird machine. She explained in his soothing voice what each part did, but I don’t remember that now. After I was hooked up, she left the room. After a few seconds, the doctor came back in. She had a confused look on her face. After checking the wires again, she left. I sat for what seemed like hours, not daring to move. I was about to get up when the doctor came in. She unhooked the machine and lead me back to my parents. We all went into another room, and the doctor gave me a toy to play with. It was a small firetruck, battered from the previous uses. But I was too scared to play. My parents looked concerned, and the doctor only looked confused. I just barely remember the conversation. The doctor explained to my parents that I had no power. They laughed it off at first, like it was all a joke. But as realization hit, they got angry. I remember the screaming the clearest. After the fits of anger, they asked if there was a way to give me powers, like an implant. But everyone knows that’s impossible. We left shortly after that. My parents never treated me the same after that. 18 years old, and my parents are still embarrassed to talk about me. Like I’m a stain on the family. They had two more children soon after to make up for me; My sister, who has telekinesis and my brother, who can fly. My parents had no trouble talking about them.
I’m in my room, staring at my white ceiling. My clock reads 12:01 am. Perfect time for a walk. I get out of bed, put on a jacket, and walk out of my room. The hallway is clear, not a sound from my sibling’s rooms. I walk down the stairs, avoiding the creaking steps. Years of sneaking out taught me this skill. I reach the front door without a sound. I open the door and slip into the night.
I walk down the street of my suburb. It’s dead quiet, only the buzz from the curfew detectors break the silence. Curfew is at midnight, but I’ve never been caught. The detectors scan to find the “super gene”. All people with powers have this gene. This way, raccoons, birds, and other animals don’t trigger the alarm. Lucky for me, I don’t have this gene.
I walk out of the suburb into a large forest. Signs are posted around the edge of the forest. They warn not to enter the forest, that this is private property. I walk past the signs, flipping off a detector as I pass it. A few more minutes of walking, I reach my oasis. I built a small hut in the forest, away from all who judge me. It was months of work with no superpowers. More months to wire it with electricity and plumbing. But it was all worth it. I walk in and flip on the lights. My dog, Idem, jumps up from his bed. He runs up to me, knocking me over. I laugh and smile, and we roll on the ground together. Eventually, I get his leash, and we go for a quiet walk. When we get back, I sit on the couch. Idem jumps up, he wags his tail and licks my face. I smile, and fall asleep with him cuddling on me.
My phone alarm goes off five hours later. Reluctantly, I get up. Scratching him behind the ears, I give him a hug before I leave, promising to come back and take him out tomorrow night. I make the lonely trek home. I reach my room just as the house wakes up. I hear Sabrina get into the shower and Lance fly down stairs. My parents come down next, each rushing to get out the door. I lay in bed, listening to the sounds. The sounds die down, and I step out of my room. I get into the shower, washing the smell of forest off of me. Then I go down stairs and make myself breakfast. I eat alone at the table. I clean up my dishes and go to the basement.
I have a small desk set up there. On it, my secondhand laptop rests. I flip on the lightswitch and sit down. I log into my computer and pull up the internet. I click the shortcut to VirtuSchool, an ‘online classroom’. I don’t go to real school, my parents are afraid that I’ll be picked on. What they really mean, is that they don’t want people to know about me. I open up the first lesson of the day, Math. As soon as the video starts, I leave.
I’m tempted to visit Idem again, but I’m not stupid. It’ll be easier to spot me in the daytime. So instead I walk to my local library. I do like learning, but that virtual garbage it too slow for me. Walking to a secluded corner of the library, I open my first book, Advanced Calculus 2. I pour over the book for hours. My alarm sounds, and I head back home in time to turn off the virtual bullshit. I make myself a quick dinner, then head up to my room before the rest of my family gets home. I hear them enter a few minutes later. They’re laughing about something. I hear them eat dinner and talk about their days. Lance beat his speed record, and Sabrina lifted 100 pounds with her mind. Mom and Dad went on and on about how proud they are. Later, I heard them come upstairs. They went to bed soon after that. And so the waiting game began. I stared at the ceiling for hours, waiting for curfew to start.The clock struck midnight, and I lept out of bed.
I started my ritual. I got dressed, creaked downstairs, snuck outside, flipped off the detector, and entered the forest. It wasn’t until I saw the flames that I started to run. My oasis, my only sanctuary, was burning in a fiery inferno. I ran to the door and tried to open it, but the metal handle was too hot to touch. I threw myself at the door, and again, and again. Finally, it gave. I crashed into my house, flames licking my face. I tried to see through the smoke, but I only blinded myself. I called out to Idem, screaming his name. There was no response. I crawled towards his bed, feeling my way across the scorching floor. My hand felt his fur, and I grabbed at it, pulling him towards me. I picked him up and ran out of the house.
I fell to my knees, tears in my eyes. I clutched Idem close to me, feeling for a heartbeat, a breath, anything. Nothing. I threw back my head, screaming to the sky, tears streaming down my face. I stayed with Idem until the ashes of my house flickered and died.
A sunrise streamed across the forest, illuminating me in it’s light. In my pocket, my alarm goes off. I pull it out and throw it as hard as I can at my house. It collides with a sign I didn’t see before. Standing up, I move to read it.
“Dear Squatter,
It has come to our attention that you are trespassing on private property. The rules against this are very strict, and this building has been scheduled for demolition effective immediately. If you have any questions or concerns, please visit your local PytotecStation. Thank you for your understanding.”
I ripped up the sign and threw it as well. I spend the next few hours burying Idem. When that is done, I make a gravemarker for him, a simple plank from the burnt house.
I wait until night to go into town. The streets are empty, and so is the weapon shop I’m standing in front of. I open the door, bypassing the super gene security system. I grab everything I can get my hands on. Once I’m geared up, I make my way towards the PyrotecStation. It’s time to express my concerns.
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Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. I hope you liked my story, I loved writing it! If you want more, check out /r/About4001llamas Happy reading!
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When your power is "Summon knives from everywhere to stab yourself", you kind of tend to get ridiculed. Still, even as a kid I saw what potential my power had...if I didn't care about anyone else. See, there were no restrictions to what "Summon knives from everywhere to stab yourself"entailed. So one day, when it felt like the whole world was kicking me, my powers went off. Gigantic knives flew from everywhere, eviscerating everyone around me. Their corpses formed a shield that prevented the knives from harming me. Not even those with purported "Unbreakable skin" stood a chance, the mass of the gigantic blades simply crushing them. I first felt sick and twisted, panic grabbing hold of my heart as I realized what I had done, but that quickly subsided. Instead, a gleeful joy filled me, almost against my will, as I recognized the potential my power had. Throwing the bodies off of me, I began my plans...
If you were to talk to any of the world's governments right now, and even mention my name, you'd get a fearful response. They knew my status as a weapon of mass destruction; piss me off, and they risked me slicing the entire world to pieces. I'd made it perfectly clear I put little value on my life, and now everyone lived in a state of constant tension. I had placed a guillotine blade above the world's neck, and when you're anticipating the execution, who can really laugh?
| 2015-04-12T18:33:43 | 2015-04-12T17:46:50 | 246 | 19 |
[WP] The flat Earth society has started a cult that sacrifices people by throwing them off the edge of the Earth. You are their first victim.
|
FADE IN:
EXT. THE SACRIFICIAL BLUFF - NIGHT
*Several hooded figures stand near the edge of a steep cliff. They are gathered around what appears to be a stone altar, behind which is a man in a white robe. This is the PRIEST OF THE FLAT EARTH. He nods to the ACOLYTE next to him, then raises his arms as he addresses the crowd.*
**PRIEST:** Brethren! Behold! The prophecy shall be brought forth!
*Murmurs of anticipation ripple through the congregation.*
**PRIEST:** (*CONT'D*) The time of our grand undertaking is nigh!
**ACOLYTE:** Which means that we'd better get a move on!
*The priest drops his arms and looks at the acolyte.*
**PRIEST:** What are you doing?
**ACOLYTE:** Well, we should hurry, right?
**PRIEST:** Do you have somewhere more important to be?
**ACOLYTE:** No, of course not. You just said that the time of the great undertaking was night, and it will be dawn soon.
**PRIEST:** What? No, I said...
**ACOLYTE:** (*Interrupting*) And then we'd have to wait until tomorrow.
**PRIEST:** I said the time was *nigh*, as in *at hand*.
**ACOLYTE:** ... Oh. Oh, yes, I see.
**PRIEST:** Right.
**ACOLYTE:** Sorry.
**PRIEST:** Shut up.
*After recomposing himself, the priest turns back to the hooded figures and raises his arms again.*
**PRIEST:** From this night forward, we shall...
**ACOLYTE:** (*Interrupting*) Hang on, I'm still confused.
*Sounds of impatience are heard from the congregation.*
**PRIEST:** What now?
**ACOLYTE:** What are the other three things?
**PRIEST:** What other three things?
**ACOLYTE:** You said the prophecy shall be brought fourth. What else are we bringing?
*The priest rubs his forehead with evident exasperation.*
**PRIEST:** Go and get the sacrifice.
**ACOLYTE:** Is that one of the things?
**PRIEST:** (*Shouting*) Go!
**ACOLYTE:** Alright, alright! No need to be rude.
*The acolyte hurries off. Several seconds pass in silence, until sounds of a struggle eventually become audible. The hooded figures turn to watch as the acolyte drags a man with a bag over his head into view. This is DAVE.*
**PRIEST:** Place the sacrifice upon the altar!
*Dave is shoved onto the stone slab, and the bag is yanked from his head.*
**DAVE:** Um... hi?
**ACOLYTE:** Careful. He's cranky.
**DAVE:** What's going on? Where am I?
*The priest leans forward with a menacing smile.*
**PRIEST:** You have been chosen to usher in a new age. No longer shall the enlightened be shunned!
**DAVE:** That sounds ominous. What do I have to do?
**PRIEST:** You shall be cast over the edge of the world, and your life's essence shall bring about the prophecy!
**ACOLYTE:** There might be three other things, but he won't tell anyone what they are.
*The acolyte yelps as the priest smacks him upside the head.*
**DAVE:** Aha. So, what is that, exactly?
**PRIEST:** The prophecy not for unbelievers to know!
**DAVE:** That's great, but I meant the other thing. The "edge of the world."
**PRIEST:** It's... it's exactly what it sounds like.
**DAVE:** What, like, the *literal* edge of the world? There's no such thing.
**PRIEST:** This is why you are an unbeliever.
*Dave cranes his neck and looks over the edge of the cliff.*
**DAVE:** Even if it were a real thing, this isn't it.
**PRIEST:** It's...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) I can see trees down there.
**PRIEST:** It's...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) And the ground.
**PRIEST:** (*Shouting*) It's a ritual! Of course that's not the bloody edge of the world! We have neither the time nor the resources to make the journey to the real one, and even if we did, the prospect of hauling a kidnapping victim all the way there would render the entire excursion too precarious to attempt!
**ACOLYTE:** We also wouldn't get there in time.
**DAVE:** What, are you on a schedule?
**ACOLYTE:** Apparently the time is nigh.
*The priest lets loose an irritated noise.*
**PRIEST:** Right! That does it! No more talking! Off the edge with you!
**DAVE:** Wait, wait, wait!
**PRIEST:** Nope! No more waiting! Goodbye! Shove him off!
*The hooded figures start moving forward.*
**DAVE:** Just hang on! If this is all a ritual, do you really need to use the cliff?
*The priest holds up a hand to his congregation. They all halt, save for one, who trips, falls over, and quickly climbs back to their feet.*
**PRIEST:** (*To Dave*) What do you mean?
**DAVE:** I mean, uh... wouldn't it make more sense to have a reusable sacrifice?
**ACOLYTE:** That would certainly make the next one much easier.
**PRIEST:** A reus... no! That defeats the purpose of having a sacrifice at all!
**DAVE:** Does it? You said yourself that we aren't at the edge of the world.
*Murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd.*
**PRIEST:** Stop it! You're an unbeliever! You know nothing!
**ACOLYTE:** Well, hang on, maybe he has a point.
**PRIEST:** Shut up!
**ACOLYTE:** No, look, just hear me out. What if we made the altar "the edge of the world," you know?
**DAVE:** I'm game.
*More murmurs of agreement are heard.*
**PRIEST:** Stop listening to him! Unbelievers add nothing to the Earth!
**DAVE:** That sounds like a negative worldview.
**ACOLYTE:** Ha! I get it!
*The priest covers his face with one palm.*
**PRIEST:** (*To himself*) Why? *Why?*
**ACOLYTE:** Look, why not use the altar? I mean, there isn't *really* a difference, right? Other than a less impressive splat.
**PRIEST:** ... Oh, what's even the point? This whole thing is ruined now.
**DAVE:** No, no! No, watch!
*Dave rolls off the side of the altar and lands with a dull thud. Several seconds pass in silence.*
**PRIEST:** (*Sarcastically*) Hurray. What a marvelous sacrifice.
**DAVE:** (*O.S.*) Now that I think about it, it was more of a suicide.
**ACOLYTE:** Huh, true, you *did* roll yourself...
*The acolyte's eyes go wide as he stars down at Dave.*
**ACOLYTE:** (*CONT'D*) Oh, no.
**PRIEST:** What?
**ACOLYTE:** He tricked us. We've been defeated. The Earth isn't flat anymore.
**PRIEST:** What are you talking about?
**ACOLYTE:** His "suicide" was a ruse. He threw some coins off the cliff.
**PRIEST:** ... So?
*Dave stands up, a triumphant smile on his face.*
**DAVE:** Money makes the world go round!
*Several seconds pass.*
**PRIEST:** Ugh.
**DAVE:** Yeah, sorry. That punchline fell flat.
CUT TO BLACK.
|
Admittedly, the sky felt limitless.
The wind felt still today, as we stood high on the edge of the dizzyingly tall cliff. Below us, there was nothing but pure blue, a color mirrored only the sky itself; in front of us, there was nothing to block the horizon, as the water merged seamlessly with the sky.
I could definitely see how they could mistake the world as flat -- this island was the only place they've ever known. It was just horrible happenstance that I managed to land here.
The crowd gathered silently behind me, watching, as the woman held into my shoulder. "Are you ready?" she asked.
I took a deep breath, and nodded. "*What's the worst that could happen?*" I thought to myself, as I stared down at what I hoped was water.
Her hand gently led me to the edge. "Goodbye."
Silence fell over me as I felt the wind blowing in my ears and in my hair. I must admit, the fall was exhilarating; for a little while, my heart leapt to my throat.
My only problem was how long the fall was.
| 2017-06-21T15:30:28 | 2017-06-21T15:27:28 | 220 | 13 |
[WP]: Shapeshifting is not only possible, it is also easy and common. And highly addictive. The more often you shift and the longer you stay that way, the harder it is to return to a human form. Sometimes it’s hard to say what creatures used to be human.
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They always thought their cat - Shadow - was a little...odd. Ever since they found him on Wall Street, picking through trash, he acted a little differently than other cats they had met in the past.
​
Odd or not, about two years ago Steve and Alison rescued the stray and named him Shadow, inspired by his jet-black fur and tendency to follow his new human companions wherever they went. Right away, Shadow was a very bold cat, not afraid of his new companions whatsoever. He would meow loudly when hungry, sleep in their bed, and seemed to have an almost human like intuition. Oddly, he seemed to be in tune with their human rituals - the way of the alarm clock, breakfast, work, and home routines seemed to be second nature to Shadow.
​
For instance, their first morning with Shadow, he was awake with the alarm clock, and was pattering about in the kitchen, pawing at, among all things, the coffee-machine. At first they shrugged it off. He's just checking out his surroundings. But they started to notice Shadow's strange obsession to the coffee machine. Lost in their memory was their first sight of Shadow: he was picking in a trash can and had his teeth sunk into a discarded coffee-filter, grounds all over his mouth and face.
​
The days went on and on, and Shadow's behavior never changed, but Steve and Alison got so used to it they hardly noticed it anymore. Shadow would now sit with them at the dinner table, would get his own saucer of half-and-half at breakfast (but no coffee, no matter how desperately he mewed). This became par for the course for the young couple, and they wouldn't think twice when they left Shadow every morning when they left for work. He's just a cat, right? He's never caused any issues at home, and has been a loving companion for 6 months now. The only thing that confused the couple was that Shadow didn't seem to grow, even though he appeared to be a kitten only a few months old. The vet was similarly perplexed, but since his vitals came back clear, there was no immediate concern. Perhaps he was the runt of his litter or something. As it turned out, Shadow was much more than just the runt of his litter. He would not grow one iota. Further, he was much, much more aware of his surroundings than either Steve or Alison ever suspected...
​
"Oh, My. God. This is so much better than working!" thought Shadow, listening to the door thud closed. It was 8am, and Steve had just left for work. Shadow stretched lazily, butt in the air and sharp claws spreading in the thick rug in the living room. Slowly, he mozied into the bedroom, hopped up on the bed, and laid on his back. Belly up, paws in the air, Shadow had not a care in the world. He slept that way for a few hours, and waking up with a stir, looked out the window. His new place was 50 stories up, in a luxury highrise. His new human friends owned the entire floor, which consisted of four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large kitchen. Shadow's favorite spot: the master bedroom. There, he could lounge on the king-sized feather bed and luxuriate. Not so different from the routine of the standard house-cat, though perhaps slightly more luxurious were his surroundings. The average house-cat was probably not thinking about his former day-job at the stock exchange, though. Nothing makes you appreciate quiet relaxation quite like the escape from a stressful environment. So Shadow was particularly appreciative of his new home.
​
Steve and Alison guessed that Shadow's routine was the same as other cats' routines: move from one sleeping position, to the food bowl, to another sleeping position elsewhere, ad infinitum until they returned home from work. One day, they came home to a bit of a surprise, but didn't expect Shadow had anything to do with it.
​
"You must have left the TV on last night" said Steve, looking crossly at Alison, who was now refusing to acknowledge her husband. Alison didn't like being questioned, and she already made it clear to him she most definitely did NOT leave the television on. In fact, wasn't it Steve who left after her that morning? The idiot probably forgot that he left it on. The two bickered back and forth for an hour or so, then when both sides were adequately upset with each other, they went separate ways. Alison left to go to the gym in the basement of the building, and Steve withdrew to his office in the apartment.
​
Once he cooled off a bit, Steve started to realize that Alison was probably telling the truth. This realization only disturbed him more, though. So he sat, and developed a plan. He would buy a camera system for the apartment and hopefully figure out just how the TV turned on, if it happened again. He assumed it was one of the cleaning ladies, but that still didn't satisfy him because the cleaning ladies were well-trained not to touch their clients' things. These were not average maids - these were high end cleaning professionals, paid well by the building association. None of the tenants ever had a single complaint about the cleaners...something just was not right.
​
Days later, Steve came upstairs, holding a large package in his hands. "Honey, can you grab the scissors please?" he yelled into the apartment. Alison must not have heard him, but the scissors were indeed delivered to him. By Shadow.
​
Shadow came around the corner, holding the shears in his mouth, tail sky-high. Only when he saw the shock on Steve's face did Shadow realize what he had done. So far, he had only had the one close-call when he left the TV on accidentally. Steve suspected Alison at first, and now suspected the cleaning service was to blame. So far as he knew, nobody suspected Shadow was anything other than a normal cat, if a little odd. Now, because Shadow's feline persona slipped off his mind in one fleeting moment, his cover was blown - or so he thought.
​
Steve always thought Shadow was a little strange, and definitely smarter than the average house-cat, but he never suspected that Shadow actually had the intellect of a human (let alone a successful stock-broker). Now, he started to realize just how smart Shadow was. After the initial shock wore off, Steve started to think that maybe Shadow was highly trained by a previous owner, and this is just one of the tricks he knew: a highly advanced version of "Fetch."
​
That evening, after multiple attempts to get him to do other tricks, when Shadow only did the one "fetch the scissors trick", Steve began to believe that his cat just had a strange attachment to the kitchen shears. "Maybe he likes the smell of food on them?" he said to Alison one night when at the kitchen table (Shadow at his usual spot, to Steve's left, a bowl of wet food before him). "That has to be it, he doesn't fetch anything else, and doesn't seem to know any other commands" Alison justified. So that was it: their cat Shadow, after surprising them with a trick months after being adopted, just had a curious love for a pair of scissors. Not a genius cat, just a bit of coincidence and a funny outcome.
​
The next day, Steve woke up early and set up his cameras. One in the master bedroom (facing the TV of course), one in the hallway before the front door, and two in the other bedrooms. "Now i'll get to the bottom of this if it happens again" thought Steve. He and Alison left for work at their normal time, and Shadow did his usual routine: stretch, eat, sleep.
​
Shadow woke up around 3pm, ate a little snack, and then got very curious (what was that saying about curiosity and cats??) about the government shutdown. He had been reading the scraps of paper Steve left in the trash ("oh Shadow LOVES paper scraps!" Alison said aloud often, when they would find paper strewn everywhere), but he wanted to know more. Not for any particular reason, just because he was curious.
​
So he slinked off to the master bedroom, hopped on the bed and pawed at the remote until it was flipped over and facing the right direction. This movement, in turn, activated the motion-sensing camera, and pushed a notification to Steve's phone....
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Humans have become the dominant animal on this planet because we are clever and able to work in groups towards a collective goal. If you compare us to, say, a bear or a tiger, we don't look that impressive. We suck at holding our body temperature, we're not that strong, we can't run that fast, and we have to protect our young for a solid decade before they're even remotely capable of defending themselves or contributing to the group. Being human has its pros and cons. Shapeshifters like me have learned to take advantage of the glorious things the animal kingdom has to offer outside of our own species.
​
From my experiences, I can tell you a few truths: there is nothing more exhilarating than stalking your prey as a tiger in the jungle, nothing more grandeur than exploring the depths of the ocean as a sperm whale, and nothing more satisfying than sinking your jaws into a wildebeest as a crocodile in the great Nile, having patiently waited months for this very moment. But I can also tell you this: nothing is more disappointing than returning home to your partner after having been a rabbit that has sex more than fifty times a day, unable to explain to them why you no longer feel intimate. Nothing is sadder than returning home to your children after having been a shark that wouldn't blink twice at eating its young to survive, unable to kickstart that deep parental instinct we have. These things that we believe and cherish are part of what make us who we are, regardless if they might not be the best things in nature. Being a shapeshifter makes you see that the grass might be greener on another side, but you'll never be able to appreciate the patches of dirt in your own yard.
​
Being human has its pros and cons.
| 2019-01-24T10:51:48 | 2019-01-24T10:48:30 | 111 | 15 |
[WP]The Hunger Games hits a large university, but people are on teams based on their majors. Describe how various majors try to survive.
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God, this was sick, I thought to myself as I collapsed into an armchair in the lobby of the engineering building. The last five days had left me bloodied, dirty, and exhausted--but alive.
As it turns out, the most deadly tribe, so to speak, wasn't the business majors. What happens when you put a bunch of over-inflated egos in a room? A lot of chiefs, no tribesmen. Or tribeswomen, as the case may be.
The first 48 hours of mandatory peace on campus had all students in their respective major buildings to decide on strategy for the oncoming onslaught. By definition, that put me squarely in the Hannelore School of Business. And also put me smack-dab in the middle of a couple hundred pampered fraternity bros. Instantaneously, there were splinter groups--SAE, Delts, Phi Delts, and so on, all scurried off into their own little sub-factions, all shouting over one another for the lead role of Alpha Dog. The women--Greek and non-Greek--looked on in disgust and horror from the back of the auditorium.
"This is atrocious," a senior marketing girl named Holly scoffed as we all watched. "A room full of CEO's and they're too busy whipping their dicks out to notice that we've got no defense plan, and no attack plan."
"Yeah, meanwhile you know the Criminal Justice majors and Pre-Law majors have worked out some loophole that lets them get the upper hand," another girl remarked snidely.
"Technically, they could be laying seige to our building right now. The 48 hours of peace said absolutely nothing about putting troops into place," I remarked casually. I felt eyes turn to me.
"Holy shit, you're right," Holly said, leaping to her feet. "C'mon, let's go take a look outside to see what's going on."
Sure enough, those little shits from the law school were sneaking around the campus while the rest of us mindless idiots were holed up inside, occupied with infighting.
"Jesus Christ," another girl muttered. I recognized her from one of my management classes--Breana or something like that.
"Nervous, are we, Business Bitches?" a taunting voice called out. I knew that voice from my freshman year English class.
Sure enough, James sat on a bench in front of the business school, the picture of arrogance. An angry ripple went through the crowd, and I stepped up.
"What's up, James? Were you deemed too incompetent that you got set on guard duty?" I spat out. He bristled, and I could tell I had hit a nerve.
"Watch your mouth, Kelly, or I'll be sure to have your death very... unpleasant." He stood up threateningly, but in the blink of an eye, he collapsed in a spray of red. I felt something warm hit my face as an innocent "whoopsies!" called out.
James had been crushed under the weight of what looked to be a very heavy battery. All heads snapped up to where the battery had come from, and I saw my friend, Mike, peering over the edge of the parking building that was right behind the bench Josh had previously occupied.
"Way to go you shithead, you just broke the rules!" a voice called out from somewhere behind Mike. Mike grinned evilly at me.
"No I didn't! It slipped! Total accident, which TECHNICALLY isn't covered under the 'no planned attacks' rule."
The group of business girls backed up quickly. I could hear a couple whimpering.
I called up to him."Mike... we don't want any trouble from you right now. We're unarmed and without a plan." Mike held up a hand.
"I'll be right down... unarmed, promise." I cast a glance nervously around me, and saw varying degrees of distrust in everyone's faces. Not that I blamed them, really, as James' gray matter was currently congealing on the cobblestones.
Mike exited the building slowly, with his hands raised. At an athletic 6'4", he wasn't the picture most had in mind when they thought "mechanical engineer," but that goes to show you that stereotypes don't get you everywhere.
"Why are you here, Mike?" I asked nervously. I wanted to believe our friendship would afford me some sort of immunity to sudden death, but seeing how easily he offed James made me nervous.
"Simple. Here to negotiate an alliance. Business school has a bunch of idiots who can lead, but can't make shit. Engineering school has a bunch of idiots who could decimate this school, but have no plans on how to do it constructively. If we get together, you fuckers could plan out a long term solution that would leave us the best parts of campus, and we could figure out how to do it. Besides, you also have girls in your major. We.... well, we have three. One's lesbian, the other two are married."
I cast a glance back towards the group of all female business students.
"Initial reaction?" I hissed. Holly shrugged.
"Makes sense to me. We could do way worse than pairing up with the engineers."
"What about the other guys?" a girl named Sam hedged, nervously looking back towards where our classmates were presumably still arguing.
"Screw them," Holly shot back. "We'll leave a note and let them know where we went. If any of them survive long enough to figure out that we've left, then they can meet us at the engineering school."
Mike overheard this, and flashed a thumbs up to the top of the building he had just come from. A couple of gleeful cheers were heard. "Great news, ladies. Now, follow me."
Consequentially, the women of the business school had an uncharacteristically brutal side once faced with a life-and-death situation. By collaborating with the engineers, together we were able to construct a plan that involved temporarily cutting all power to the campus, save the engineering building.
From there, we reasoned that the draw of the lights, operating cafeteria and the allure of the air conditioning would eventually draw in the other majors. Our logic was sound. Once the cease-fire was lifted, and power was cut, they came flocking to our building--now a miniature fortress.
One by one, major by major, we wiped out each assailant through booby-traps, projectiles launched from catapults, and improvised weapons.
We suffered a few casualties of our own. One stupid woman insisted on doing electrical work on a booby trap while her assigned engineer was in the bathroom, and she fried herself with 2,000 volts of electricity. That was a mess, and smelled up the whole building for a day. Ever smell crispy college kid? Smells like pork and burnt hair. A few engineers lost their heads and tried confronting some Political Science majors outside our walls--they were cut down as we watched in horror.
They were avenged quickly by a wave of hydrochloric acid being launched from the rooftop by the Biomedical Engineering department.
After the fighting had ended, and the "Busi-Neering" clan had been declared the winners, we went in to check on our male counterparts at the business school.
They all lay dead--some were strangled with silk scarves (presumably from the Fashion Majors on their way to the engineering school), others had been stabbed with hunting knives. We figured the stabbings were from the infighting, but we couldn't be sure.
All in all, though, this was a pretty fucking sick way for the Board of Regents to figure out which was the top major for freshman recruiting purposes.
|
Criminal Justice: Already knows all the ways to kill everyone. Improvises weapons and hides out. Lays false clues to incriminate others on deaths to incite in-fighting.
Chemistry: Makes poisons/uses various chemicals to incapacitate/kill.
Various Biologies (Entomology, Horticulture, Animal Science, etc.): Use known plants/toxins.
Business: Attempt to create alliances under their control.
Psychology: Use mental tactics to divert or deflect danger or lull others into false security.
| 2015-04-28T10:19:16 | 2015-04-28T09:15:04 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] People revive for 3 days after death and receive superhuman strength, agility, endurance, coordination and intelligence before truly passing away.
|
*Corpse Corps* was a concept that was originally circulated on the internet in 2003, only a few months after the first experimental 'treatment' was deemed a success. The subculture that birthed the term was, not surprisingly, the same one that was disturbingly obsessed with zombies and post-apocalyptic scenarios. The name stuck. *Corpse Corps* was idea of a hypothetical combat force utilizing the recently undead as combatants. Within a few years it had become a reality. It was a major game changer. The problem, quite obviously, was that these soldiers had a disappointingly short *sell-by date*. The advantages far outweighed the disadvantages.
Young men and women from around the world, and especially in areas of high crime and poverty, would sign up to join the Corps for both the payment supplied to them during their service and the substantial reward that their beneficiaries would receive upon their 'activation'. The reward, of course, was based upon the amount of destruction they brought to the enemy during their undeath. Life was hell for those who'd even consider enlistment in the Corps, but it was a better option than simply laying in the gutter and letting the reaper come to you.
LT Sara Jones had enlisted with the Corpse Corps when she was 16 years old. 'Built tough, like a ford... except you don't drive me. I drive *you*.', she'd say. Destined for leadership, she rose the ranks rapidly. The *treatment* was a simple injection into the base of her skull, received on her first day of enlistment. She had not yet been activated, of course, but she still enjoyed the sub-advantages of the treatment - Increased healing speed of bones and flesh alike, slightly increased reflexes, and the uncanny ability to *detect* other Corpses. Normal civilians would not accept such a treatment despite the advantages, for being a Corpse would eventually result in being forced to fight in a corpsewar. The treatment was only for those few people who were happy to die, but just hadn't gotten around to it yet.
The role of a non-activated Corpseman was not much different than a traditional soldier. They focused on training, leadership, and general combat abilities. On the battlefield, they wore a particular bandanna instead of a helmet like a normal soldier. This bandanna, originally white, was dark red and brown due to the blood it had been soaked in during previous engagements. No normal soldier would dare fire upon a Corpse and thus the bandanna was both a psychological deterrent and a dire warning: 'Fire upon me and you will be the first person I slaughter when I inevitably rise again'.
Any Corpse killed in battle almost immediately became a powerful weapon in their own right. Upon *death*, the *undeath* phase would begin. The Corpse would, quite simply, wake up as a superhuman. Their reflexes were so fast as to alter their perception to believe that the entire world had fallen into slow motion. Healing factor would become so robust that anything short of a massive explosion would only inconvenience the activated Corpse for only a few moments. Even the mental and intellectual abilities of the activated Corpse would increase exponentially - Math, logic, tactical awareness, and reasoning would all be so rapidly advanced that even the most famous of untreated humans would seem infant-like in comparison -- The activated Corpse was able to manipulate it's enemy in ways that would seem so unbelievable as to have been magic. NP-Hard problems would be solved in minutes and it has been said that an activated Corpse was able to innately understand and *control* chaotic systems at will. There was a factor that determined the abilities of the *undead* though. The circumstances of their activation would determine the scope of their abilities - Whereas a Corpse downed in combat would become a near immortal fighting machine, it would not be able to redirect these energies towards purely intellectual pursuits for instance: encryption breaking. A Corpse activated in a lab would not have the sheer combat prowess of one who 'dies' under gunfire. Thus the usage of Corpse activation was strongly controlled by all governments who had acquired Corpsetech. After three days of *undeath* the Corpse would fall unceremoniously to the ground to die for the last time.
The activated Corpse was such a fearsome thing that many enemy combatants would immediately choose to shoot themselves in the head the moment a Corpse was reported as *fallen*.
LT Jones flashed her teeth at herself in the mirror as she wrapped the stiff, blood covered bandanna over her head. The soldier holding the mirror before her looked nervous, and for good reason. There was a power associated with the donning of the *deathcap*, even friendly untreated soldiers would shy away from her when she had entered this state of mind. A Corpse was a Corpse, friend or foe. They'd follow her into battle regardless, knowing that her presence alone was the only thing preventing the enemy from simply dropping Rods on the whole area from orbit. Despite being a Corpse, Sara Jones was a capable and level-headed leader. Many Corpses would simply charge into battle, knowing that the mere threat of their death practically secured their safety, but LT Jones took time to make sure that the untreated soldiers at her side would also have, at least, a chance to survive. She did this, not out of some human-remnant product of sentimentalism, but because a higher rate of survival for her squad meant that the leadership in NYC were more likely to assign her the most elite of soldiers. And thus, her squad had become the posterchild for the Corpse Corps - the elite of the elite.
Jones sat in the back of the APC (Armored Personnel Carrier) with perfect posture, her eyes closed. The sound of the speeding APC was a strange comfort, representing her chance to taste destiny in the upcoming engagement. Across from her, in the opposing metal bench, sat SGT Kilterson, playing his chrome harmonica. His habit of playing the blues before combat was something of a squad tradition and the other soldiers have long given up on preventing him from performing this rite. To his left was SPC Kelley, a young man with blonde eyebrows and a shaved head, was picking his nails with the blade of a standard issue combat knife and rocking rhythmically to the combination of blues-and-APC noise. He was a heavy-arms specialist, but tended to be more interested in trying to stab things. SFC Brave, as he was not so aptly named, was nervously checking his equipment for position and correctness. He would determine that his weapon did indeed have ammo, and then check his armor straps for the fiftieth time. Brave was a paranoid man, meek in stature and personality, but his situational awareness was world-class - His high rank was merely a product of his repeated survival. The man was nearly useless in combat, but he'd spot a trap from a mile away and allow the entire squad to skirt past it unharmed. The other 6 occupants of the APC were new soldiers, nameless until they'd proven themselves in combat. LT Jones did not even bother trying to analyze the behavior of fresh additions to her squad - Their true nature would only become apparent during combat. Their name-tags were cut from their uniforms until they survived the first engagement. This was done to prevent any innate attachment or preconceptions by the rest of the team. Soldier One-Alpha taking a .60 caliber round to the face was much less distracting than if the same thing happened to 'Dave', who was sharing the name of someone's childhood friend.
[cont]
|
3 days of LIFE, for an eternity of death.
True death, the very form of nothing,
72 hours to take a last breath,
To truly see for the last time,
4,320 minutes I scour the depths,
search for a question worthy of answer,
259,200 seconds, a wealth,
one second left, I wish that I...
| 2015-08-07T05:13:24 | 2015-08-07T04:42:51 | 56 | 11 |
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